#but because of this its rapidly diminishing

[mis-calculated]

Welcome to Mental Breakdown March how may I help you today?

[cherryredstars]

Cherry, I love your work! Can you do a short with a clueless reader of Miguel's feelings? At 1st, he very subtle with it, dropping little hits here and there but then get a little desperate cause matter all the gifts she receives she thinks " Wow what a nice guy"

Love your work ❤️

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Pining

A/N: This request was so cute!! I love writing soft Miggy!!

Unedited

He's at his wits' end.

He doesn't know what to do, because obviously his current plan isn't working. For months he's been trying to get you to notice him. He's been trying to get you to notice how much he feels for you. All for it to end up in vain, all for it to be taken as him being simply nice. Maybe he's being greedy in wanting more. It's run through his head millions of times that maybe he's the naive one. That maybe you know exactly how he feels, but you're too kind to turn him down directly.

But he knows that's not the case. He's heard the way you talk about him to others. Gushing about all the gifts he gets you, how kind and thoughtful he is, how he's such a nice guy. He wants to bash his head through a wall, maybe then he could come up with something to get you to notice.

So, here he is, sitting at one of your favorite restaurants waiting for you to walk in. His knee bounces rapidly under the table, his knee dangerously close to jolting the table repeatedly. His eyes keep straying to the door, trying to desperately catch a glimpse of you. His hands cycle between tapping on the table's surface and squeezing the bouquet in his hand. He attracts the attention of the tables around him when his knee does hit the table, his body jolting when you walk in.

You look as breathtaking as ever, your hair done nicely and wearing one of his favorite outfits. Your face lights up when you spot him, giving him a smile that makes heat crawl up his collar. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his temple as you make your way over, the smile on your face not diminishing for a second.

He took in a shaky breath, mustering up everything in him to return your smile with a small one. His eyes are sharply trained on you as you take a seat in front of him, watching as you smooth out your outfit.

"Sorry," you chuckle breathlessly as you meet his eyes, picking up the menu in front of you, "I got held up and I had to- Are those for me?"

Miguel's eyes fall to the bouquet you're staring at, still clenched tightly in his hand. Miguel blinks before clearing his throat, nodding as he holds it out for you. You smile, whispering out a shy thank you as you take it. You cradle it to your chest, cheeks taking on the slightest shade of color as you fix the crumbled paper they're wrapped in.

Miguel clears his throat, wincing when he tries to scoot his chair in and it squeaks against the floor. "You... I like what you're wearing."

You're eyes stray from the flowers, adjusting your arms to see what you have on. Your mouth drops open in a small 'o', nodding. "Oh, thank you! I wasn't sure if it was this outfit or the other one you liked that one time."

His cheeks are absolutely blazing, and he feels like he might suffocate under his clothes. His eyes dart away to the menu, pretending to look at its contents to avoid looking at your face. A lapse of silence falls over the table, and you slowly look down at your own menu when Miguel doesn't make a move to say anything.

"It was really nice of you to treat me to lunch," You speak up and Miguel looks over the top of the menu to look at you. "I'll be sure to treat you next time!"

Miguel has to bite his lip. There's that word again: nice. The more and more he hears it, the more the word nice doesn't sound so nice. He hums to mask his displeasure of the adjective, slowly setting the menu down.

"Actually..." He begins, folding his hands over the placed menu. You look up at him, eyeing his hands and slowly copying him with furrowed brows. He has to resist the urge to hit the table from how cute you are. "I asked you to have lunch with me because I had to tell you something."

You nod slowly in understanding, body stiffening slightly as you prepare yourself for what he might have to say. Miguel can feel sweat accumulating in the grooves of his palms, and he squeezes them tighter.

"I, um..." Miguel suddenly feels too hot, the air awfully tense. "I was wondering if you noticed my... advances?"

You blink at him, mouth slightly parting in confusion. Your hands slowly unfold as your head turns to look at the bundle of flowers that sit next to you. Miguel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wishing he had asked a waiter for water before you came.

He jolts when you start laughing, catching the eyes of the other patrons. Miguel wishes the floors would swallow him or that he wasn't so tall. Maybe then he could slump into the chair. You smile as you grab the flowers again, gently stroking the petals.

"You liked me? This whole time?" You ask, a soft smile on your face as you tilt your head. Miguel nods hesitantly, mentally preparing for rejection.

You smile down at the flowers, a fond look on your face. "I thought this whole time you were trying to let me down gently."

Miguel is left completely still as he tries to process the words. Let you down gently? The implication hits him instantly, and his heart starts to beat rapidly in his chest.

"You... what?" He asks, needing the clarification before he reads too much into it.

"I mean," You laugh. "You never really responded to my flirting or anything so I just thought..."

"Flirting?" Miguel interrupts, brows furrowing in confusion. He can't for the life of him recall a moment where you flirted with him.

"You know... the compliments and stuff?" You clarify slowly, cheeks begin to burn at his intent stare.

Compliments? Miguel rakes through his brain, trying to recall anything you said to him that might hold a double meaning. But the only thing that surfaces is the word nice.

"You mean... when you would call me nice?" Miguel asks.

You nod bashfully, "Yeah... and wearing the outfits you said you liked."

Miguel slumps forward, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shake with disbelieving laughter. This whole time you were flirting with him. Miguel takes in shuddering breaths as he tries to compose himself, giving you a soft smile with twinkling eyes.

"No offense," He starts, leaning back in his chair. "But you suck at flirting."

You let out an exasperated sigh before hiding your face behind the menu, muttering out a gentle shut up. Miguel smiles to himself, picking up his own menu as all the anxiety in his body washes away.

He really is clueless.

Fun fact: I get told my flirting comes off as friendly all the time and one of my male crushes asked me if I was gay because I kept complimenting him and it reminded him of all his gay friends LOL

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

(Content warnings: TW: Fake Interrogation, TW: Mild knifeplay, TW: Restraints, Playful Soap, Adorable Soap, Loving Soap, Protective Soap)

The metal table was biting cold against Ana’s skin. That alone was going to cause her to break if the situation went on much longer. The thin fabric of her tank top did nothing to prevent the frigid sensation from chilling her to the core. And shorts weren’t much better when it came to comfort. She knew that if she just held out a little while longer, it would all be over. And if she could see a clock, a watch, anything to help her pass the time, she could steel her mind against all the discomfort she felt. The desperate thought made her laugh internally, though. Because, whether she had her eyes open or closed, she wouldn’t be able to see a thing anyway. A blinding light stared down at her from above, its brightness making her wince whenever she tried to adjust to it. And no matter how hard she twisted and turned in her restraints, she couldn’t diminish its unrelenting gaze.

Though her sight wasn’t her greatest asset, she could still hear just fine. And the sound of heavy footsteps pacing around the table where she lay made her stiffen with resolve. And the tiniest bit of fear. But she was determined to see this through no matter what happened.

“So,” a muffled voice spoke in a far too casual voice. “Where are they?”

Ana clenched her jaw, squinting to see past the light’s glare. Whoever was speaking had something over their mouth to disguise their voice. They didn’t want her to have any clue who she was talking to, so she could rule that potential intel out. But maybe she could see a detail that would give something away?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, with a practiced calm.

There was a long stretch of silence, and the pacing continued. But her whole body jolted when her interrogator slammed their fists down on the table beside her head, making her jump.

“Where are they?!” The man screamed. “I know you took them. Now tell me where they are or things will get very unpleasant for you.”

"There was a detail!" she thought to herself. "The interrogator was a man! Or, at the very least, had a very masculine-sounding voice."

A loud noise crackled next to her ear, and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man shove something towards her face. She immediately wondered what it was but fought the urge to turn her head. She had to be level-headed, collected, and perfectly calm. She couldn’t give any hints to what she was thinking. Ever.

Luckily, she didn’t have to battle her curiosity for long. Because the object was shoved at her face so that she could get a proper look. Her heart hammered in her chest as her vision focused on… an empty bag of Animal Crackers?

Just like that, her resolve morphed into confusion as her mind stalled. Her interrogator went on, but whatever they were using to muffle their voice had slipped a bit.

“You don’t want to talk? I’ll make you talk!”

Suddenly, a scenario that was supposed to elicit the ultimate terror devolved into peals of laughter. Ana writhed and gasped for breath, not from pain but from relentless tickles.

“Soap, that’s so not fair!” she gasped out between giggles. "I was really getting into it!"

"Can you be serious for just 15 minutes?" Price grumbled from across the room, exasperation clear in his voice. "This is supposed a torture simulation, not fun and games."

The overhead light clicked off and Ana blinked rapidly, trying to readjust her eyes to normal lighting again.

"I am being serious!" Soap protested. "She ate all my snacks and thought I wouldn't notice! You said we should try to use their weaknesses, and I know hers inside and out. Besides, tickles can be torture!"

Price crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Come on, Soap. If I'm gonna be forced to oversee this, you're doing it my way. It's late. And right now, her passing this training is the only thing between me and a good night's sleep. If I end up staying out here all night because of you, it'll be you on that table instead. Now start over. And be realistic."

Soap rolled his eyes, earning another giggle as he poked Ana’s side one last time.

"Okay," he sighed, tugging his mask up over his nose and giving her a playful wink. "Going back in character. Get your game face on, lass."

Ana nodded, letting her grin fade back into a deadpan expression as she tried to convince herself she was in real danger again. The overhead light clicked on and there was a faint beep as Price restarted the stopwatch.

"I'm gonna make this nice and simple," Soap growled, dropping his voice into a menacing tone. "Tell me where your team is. I want details and I want names."

After a slow inhale and exhale, Ana spoke. "I don't know."

"I think you're lying," the "interrogator" chuckled. "You know what happens to liars, girl? They always tell the truth eventually. At the cost of a few fingers or toes, yes. But it always ends the same."

The graphic threat was an effective touch. Ana could feel terror beginning to coil in her stomach and her pulse jumped. The fear only increased in intensity when he slowly pulled out a knife. She could hear the soft scraping of metal against metal as he drew it from its sheath. And her breath caught in her throat when the cool metal of the blade pressed lightly against her neck.

"Come on, baby girl," he murmured in her ear. "Sing for me. I know you want to tell me what you know."

He was playing dirty, and he knew it. It was common knowledge on base that a smooth talking man made her weak in the knees. After Alejandro caught her mid-breakup recovery watching the same cheesy romance movies on repeat, no one on the team ever let her live it down. But what Soap had no way of knowing was that he was tripping a very dangerous wire by using his knife alongside it. The minute it touched her skin, Ana's heart rate quickened. And it wasn't from fear.

The warmth of his breath ghosted across her shoulder, whispering through the fabric of his mask as he pressed closer. She felt a slight tremor run down her back. But she squeezed her eyes shut, trying hard to focus only on the assignment at hand. Not how close he was to her. Not how her body was reacting to that closeness.

"I-I work alone," she panted. "There is no team."

"Let's see if I can jog your memory then," Soap hissed, pulling out his phone and pulling up a picture of Captain Price. "Have you seen this man?"

Ana turned her face away as he held the image up to her face. She knew this trick well. He was trying to watch her face for the slightest hint of recognition. And she had a terrible poker face. But Soap moved with her, forcing her to face his phone.

When the image came into focus, she couldn’t help but start laughing all over again. It was indeed a picture of Price. It was one she'd seen before. But it had been cleverly edited in advance. In the original picture, Price was frozen mid yell while jabbing his finger at a snarky recruit's face. But Soap had clipped the image in the style of one of her favorite memes. So now there were a total of three angry Price’s standing in a circle, pointing and yelling at each other in classic Spiderman fashion. The tension shattered as both of them fell into yet another fit of laughter.

"That's it. I'm done," Price yelled, throwing his stopwatch across the room and stooping to collect his things.

Soap threw up his hands. "I'm sorry! It was too good of an opportunity. Did you see her face? Even you've gotta admit that was hilarious!"

Soap turned the screen towards Price, but the captain's scowl stayed firmly in place.

"Yes, very funny," he spat, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. "Since you're in a joking mood tonight, how about this for laughs? Neither of you are permitted to leave this room til she passes. Keep the antics up as long as you want, Soap. But if I wake up without a full report and a passing grade outside my door, I will personally kick. Your. Ass."

Price turned on his heel and stormed out of the interrogation room, slamming the door behind him. Silence stretched on for a good while afterward, too. Ana felt a bit ashamed of herself. Soap certainly wasn't helping with his playful personality. But even with that, she should have had the self-control to keep a straight face. It was a silly idea, but what kind of soldier was she if all a captor had to do to break her was make her laugh?

"He's right," she sighed. "We gotta get this done without goofing off. It's important."

"Come on. It's not that important," Soap mocked her, surprised she was turning serious on him now too. "The 141 doesn't get captured. He get in, we down the baddies, we get out."

"Yeah, but I'm not nearly as experienced as the rest of you guys are. What if something happens during a mission and I have to actually use this stuff?"

Soap went quiet, his grin quickly vanishing. His eyes flashed as he frowned a bit. "Not happening. Not on my watch."

"But it could! We have to be prepared for every possible outcome. I know you don't like to hear it, but it could."

"But it won't."

He said the words with a gruff finality, crouching to retrieve the stopwatch from the floor. His easy going nature was gone now. The sudden shift made it clear such a scenario was a topic he never wanted to dwell on and would not discuss any further.

As Ana watched his mood sink uncharacteristically low, suddenly his antics throughout the night began to make sense. He wouldn’t take the role playing seriously because he couldn't. He couldn't bear to imagine someone actually hurting her like that. And the minute he began to see true fear settling in her mind? The second she looked at him with real terror in his eyes? He had used humor and jokes to intentionally shatter the illusion, unable to handle her looking at him like that.

"Soap, are you okay?"

He sat down on the edge of the table, staring down at the bundle of training forms. There was a checklist of scenarios she had to successfully withstand. And there were blank areas beside them for him to describe her responses in excruciating detail. From the look on his face, Ana could tell he did not like what he was seeing.

"I'm fine," he snapped, sending the papers fluttering to the floor. "We can just fake it. We'll spend a few minutes getting our stories straight, check a few boxes, and you'll pass. Then we can just go to bed and forget any of this ever happened."

It was difficult for Ana to take on a comforting role in her current position. She was still strapped to the table and her hands and feet were still bound. But she hated to see him so distraught. She shifted a bit, gently nudging his leg with her foot.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm okay! None of it's real. What happens in this room stays in this room. At the end of the day, we're still just Soap and Ana. Friends to the end, right?"

She'd thrown in the sweet little motto he'd started shortly after she'd joined the team, hoping it would lighten his mood even just a little bit. Instead, he winced. His jaw clenched briefly at the mention of the phrase, and he still wouldn't meet her eyes. But Ana persisted, determined to lift his spirits somehow.

"Come on, don't be a debbie downer! Say it with me. I know you want to," she teased, gently starting a playful chant. "Friends to the end! Friends to the end! Friends-"

"Damn it, Ana! I don't wanna be just friends anymore! I'm in love with you, okay? Don't you get that?"

Ana froze, lying there on the table in shocked silence. Her mind stalled, unprepared for the sudden admission. And for a good while, she didn't know what to even say. But Soap went on.

"I've seen a lot of things, doing what I do. A lot of death, a lot of pain, a lot of suffering. I've seen what it can do to even the strongest people. How it changes them and makes them a broken shell of who they used to be. I won't let that happen to you. I'd rather die than let someone do anything on that list to you. And I sure sure as hell won't be the one to do it to you for a fucking grade. Even if it's just pretend."

"Soap…," her voice trailed off as emotions began to take hold. "I-I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just because I blurted something without thinking out doesn't mean you owe me anything. I just… I just thought you should know."

"...I love you too."

Now, it was Soap’s turn to freeze. Slowly, as if the moment was so fragile even a wayward breath would make it shatter, he turned to meet her eyes.

"Please, don’t joke. Not about this,” he whispered the words like a prayer. “Do you mean that?”

Though her face flushed bright red, Ana held his gaze. Her hand twitched in its bindings as if she wanted to reach for him. But she nodded.

“I do. I have for a long time. I just didn’t know how to say it without risking our friendship.”

For a moment, time stood still as the two stared at each other. Their faces were a mixture of shock, pleasant surprise, and adoration. They were like two magnets once held apart by opposing threads that they’d just severed, now drawn together with nothing left to hold them back.

Soap moved, lunging forward into a passionate kiss. And though she lay prone beneath his shadow, Ana lifted her head as much as her restraints allowed to eagerly kiss him back. His hand slipped behind her head, deepening the kiss with a desperate tug. Soap’s lips felt soft against her own, sliding against her full lips like they were made to be their perfect match. Their tongues began a wild dance and Soap let out a low moan. All this time biting his tongue and holding himself back. And yet here he was, watching as his wildest fantasy was finally made real.

With what felt like great effort, Soap finally pulled back. His knees framed her hips, and he gently rested his forehead against hers. Their chests rose and fell, meeting with each inhalation as they caught their breath.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Soap panted, closing his eyes and savoring the moment they’d just shared. “To kiss you. To touch you. You’re so bloody gorgeous, doll.”

Ana sighed as his fingertips traced the outline of his waist, his thumbs brushing upwards just beneath the hem of her tank top. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. And from the way Soap shuddered above her, it was clear that he’d felt it too.

[mariacallous]

A 13-month streak of record-breaking global warmth has ended.

From June 2023 until June 2024, air and ocean surface water temperatures averaged a quarter of a degree Celsius higher than records set only a few years previously. Air temperatures in July 2024 were slightly cooler than the previous July (0.04 degrees Celsius, the narrowest of margins) according to the EU’s Copernicus Climate Change Service.

July 2023 was in turn 0.28 degrees Celsius warmer than the previous record-hot July in 2019, so the remarkable jump in temperature during the past year has yet to ease off completely. The warmest global air temperature recorded was in December 2023, at 1.78 degrees Celsius above the preindustrial average temperature for December—and 0.31 degrees Celsius warmer than the previous record.

Global warming has consistently toppled records for warm global average temperatures in recent decades, but breaking them by as much as a quarter of a degree for several months is not common. The end of this streak does not diminish the mounting threat of climate change.

So what caused these record temperatures? Several factors came together, but the biggest and most important is climate change, largely caused by burning fossil fuels.

What Caused the Heat Streak

Temperatures typical of Earth 150 years ago are used for comparison to measure modern global warming. The reference period, 1850–1900, was before most greenhouse gases associated with global industrialization—which increase the heat present in Earth’s ocean and atmosphere—had been emitted.

July 2024 was 1.48 degrees Celsius warmer than a typical preindustrial July, of which about 1.3 degrees Celsius is attributable to the general trend of global warming over the intervening decades. This trend will continue to raise temperatures until humanity stabilizes the climate by keeping fossil fuels in the ground where they belong.

But global warming doesn’t happen in a smooth progression. Like housing prices, the general trend is up, but there are ups and downs along the way.

Behind much of the ups and downs is the El Niño phenomenon. An El Niño event is a reorganization of the water across the vast reaches of the Pacific Ocean. El Niño is so important to the workings of worldwide weather, as it increases the temperature of the air on average across all of Earth’s surface, not only over the Pacific. Between El Niño events, conditions may be neutral or in an opposite state called La Niña that tends to cool global temperatures. The oscillation between these extremes is irregular, and El Niño conditions tend to recur after three to seven years.

The warm El Niño phase of this cycle began to kick in a year ago, reached its peak around the end of 2023, and is now trending neutral, which is why the record-breaking streak has ended.

The 2023–2024 El Niño was strong, but it wasn’t super-strong. It doesn’t fully explain the remarkable degree to which the past year broke temperature records. The exact influence of other factors has yet to be fully untangled.

We know there is a small positive contribution from the sun, which is in a phase of its 11-year sunspot cycle in which it radiates fractionally more energy to the Earth.

Methane (also a byproduct of the fossil fuel industry, alongside cattle and wetlands) is another important greenhouse gas, and its concentration in the air has risen more rapidly in the past decade than over the previous decade.

Scientists are also assessing how much measures to clean up air pollution might be adding to warming, since certain particulate air pollutants can reflect sunlight and influence the formation of clouds.

A Temperature Ratchet

Across the global ocean, 2023 was a devastating summer for coral reefs and surrounding ecosystems in the Caribbean and beyond. This was followed by heavy bleaching across the Great Barrier Reef off Australia during the southern hemisphere summer. While it is El Niño years that tend to see mass mortality events on reefs around the world, it is the underlying climate change trend that is the long-term threat, as corals are struggling to adapt to rising temperature extremes.

As the Pacific Ocean is now likely to revert toward La Niña conditions, global temperatures will continue to ease back but probably not to the levels seen prior to 2023–24.

El Niño acts a bit like a ratchet on global warming. A big El Niño event breaks new records and establishes a new, higher norm for global temperatures. That new normal reflects the underlying global warming trend.

A plausible scenario is that global temperatures will fluctuate near the 1.4 degrees Celsius level for several years, until the next big El Niño event pushes the world above 1.5 degrees Celsius of warming, perhaps in the early 2030s.

The Paris agreement on climate change committed the world to make every effort to limit global warming to 1.5 degrees Celsius, because the impacts of climate change are expected to accelerate beyond that level.

The good news is that the shift away from fossil fuels has started in sectors such as electricity generation, where renewable energy meets a growing share of rising demand. But the transition is not happening fast enough, by a large margin. Meeting climate targets is not compatible with fully exploiting existing fossil-fuel infrastructure, yet new investment in oil rigs and gas fields continues.

Headlines about record-breaking global temperatures will probably return. But they need not do so forever. There are many options for accelerating the transition to a decarbonized economy, and it is increasingly urgent that these are pursued.

[moosemonstrous]

Ghost Rider Magical Girl AU

yeah you read that right - check out the tag I'm just following the brilliance of @cicada-candy and @wazzappp

At first, Robbie thinks he must be dead. He drove straight into a wall at forty miles per hour, by all means he should be dead.

This is like the fourth time you’re having this freak out, the snake mutters, coiling around the steering wheel. It flicks the wipers on with his tail, the blades struggling to scrape off the black substance covering the windshield. A ghostly body slowly evaporates from the hood.

Robbie blinks. He’s on the other side of the building, as if he drove right through it. When he looks over his shoulder, through the miraculously intact rear window, all he can see is a solid brick wall of the warehouse.

See? The snake hisses. He sounds incredibly smug. Told ya it would work. I think you got them—

Just to hammer down how rarely the snake is right about anything, he’s interrupted by a loud bang on the roof of the car. It’s promptly followed by manic scratching, like the ghost is trying to claw its way in.

Well, shit, the snake observes. You’re gonna have to get out to deal with this one.

“Like hell I’m getting out.” Robbie turns the key in the ignition to start the car again, the engine rumbling to life with a shower of pink sparks on the dashboard, because this is his life now, apparently. When he tries to step on the gas, he ends up jamming the ridiculous heel of his boots into the floor. “These fucking boots—” He tries again, only for his foot to slip right off the pedal. “Come on!”

The scratching intensifies. It’s gonna take the paint off! The snake shouts, like that isn’t a mind-boggling event all of it’s own. Get the hell out and kick its ass!

“You think I can stand in these?!” Robbie nearly broke his leg running back to the car when the ghosts attacked him outside the auto shop. Just because injuries don’t seem to stick when he’s in this stupid fucking outfit doesn’t mean he wants to try that again, much less kick anything. Inches above his head, the ghost shrieks in rage.

How hard can it be?! It’s just shoes! Women do it all the time!

“Not without– training, or something!”

The next warehouse is only a few meters away, and Robbie is an excellent driver, but he’s not exactly flying under the best conditions right now. If he can’t control the car, he’s going to end up–

A set of hooked talons breaks through the passenger window, the half-melted ghostly face lowering itself down after it. His options rapidly diminishing, Robbie grabs one of the bedazzled white hammers he ends up holding after every transformation and throws it at the creature, hitting it right in the nose. It wails in pain, but doesn’t stop it’s torturous crawl inside.

Get the other hammer! Don’t just throw it, keep hitting it!

Robbie does. He’s dimly aware he’s screaming the entire time, the black blood spraying out of the ghost and onto his white gloves, but eventually the ghost goes limp. It gives one last forlorn moan before dissolving into nothing. Robbie waits a couple of seconds, struggling to catch his breath, before he risks sticking his head through the broken window to see if this was the last one.

No more ghosts. The night is quiet again, the colours returning back to their regular L.A. light pollution levels. He falls back into the driver seat heavily, chin against his chest, which puts him in the inconvenient position of staring right down at the pink fucking gem embedded in his sternum.

On top of everything else, why does it have to be this violently pink?

That could’ve gone worse, the snake slithers across the dashboard to audit the damage to the window. Don’t turn back yet, the glass will repair itself in a few minutes.

“Why can’t it do that when I’m normal?” he mutters. He doesn’t want to be wearing a dress for a moment longer than it’s strictly necessary.

It’s just faster this way, quit whining.

Just to add insult to injury, the gunk doesn’t disappear with all the other magical shit. At least it looks more like motor oil than anything else – it’s enough of a pain to clean it up every time without someone calling the cops because Robbie keeps leaving dark alleyways covered in actual blood. With a sigh, he reaches under the seat to retrieve the paper towels and the disinfectant. It’s easier if he wipes it off right away.

Someone clears their throat outside. The snake shoots his head up, instantly wary, while Robbie ducks down – the last thing he wants is for anyone to see him like this, ghost blood notwithstanding.

“Hi,” he hears, before the crunch of gravel closing in on the car. “That wasn’t half bad.”

Robbie turns back around just in time for a blonde man in a leather jacket to lean down to peer through his window. He looks remarkably unfazed by having witnessed someone hammer thin air into submission, although he does look a little surprised when he takes in Robbie’s whole… thing. He gestures for him to roll down the window, and Robbie does, mostly out of sheer confusion.

There’s a motorcycle parked a few meters behind him. How long has he been here?

“Uh,” the man takes a second to collect himself. “Damn, sorry, I thought you were an actual girl.”

Robbie’s going to grow an entire beard as soon as he gets out of here.

He’s a witness, the snake hisses. You need to get rid of him.

“Hey, now,” the man protests. “That won’t be necessary.”

“You can hear him?” Robbie asks dumbly, pointing at the snake. “Did you–see? All that?”

The man inspects his nails while he talks. They’re painted flame-bright orange. It doesn’t really fit his general biker aesthetic, and Robbie feels something like hope kindle low in his chest.

“I think you and I should have a conversation,” the man says. Then, as if a hilarious joke just occurred to him, grins and adds: “Magical girl to magical girl.”

[ballisticiansfolly]

I've noticed this about you – Trying to pick up and understand things referenced in The English, pt. 1/2

So, I just watched Amazon's new miniseries The English at the beginning of this year, and while enjoying the it immensely I couldn't help but to notice that, besides historical facts and details, there were undercurrents in it that I just wasn't getting. I decided to do some research and came across pretty interesting things. Lots of thought has went into the making of this series. I've divided my findings in two parts. This first part is about general stuff.

Eli's a member of the Skiri/Skidi-Federation, one of the four bands (or groups) of the Pawnee people. Also known as the Wolf Pawnee or Loups, the Skiri used to live along the Loup and Platte river areas in Nebraska. The Skiri use a different dialect of Pawnee than the three southern bands (South band and Skiri differ mainly in pronunciation and vocabulary), but Pawnee speakers don't have trouble understanding each other. Eli's Pawnee name Ckirirahpiks is pronounced [tskirira:hpiks]. Ckirir means 'wolf' and rahpiks 'scarred.'

Recruitment of Indian scouts was first authorized in 1866 by an act of Congress. Between 1864 and 1877, 170 Pawnee men served in the "Pawnee Battalion" under Frank North (1840–1885) who had learned the Pawnee language after moving to Nebraska at the age of 16. (Interestingly, in 1882 North joined Buffalo Bill's Wild West as a manager of the American Indians.) Indian Scouts were officially deactivated in 1947 when their last member retired.

I found pictures of Pawnee scouts from 1870s in this blog post. These three pictures, taken by William Henry Jackson, were particularly interesting because you can clearly see that details of their appearance have been used as an inspiration when creating Eli's looks.

When rewatching the show I noticed that Eli was wearing an Indian peace medal. According to Trooper Charlie White, Eli was known for his heroic exploits while in the army, but - given Eli's brush off - I wonder if Eli's medal had been something he had inherited. Had his father been a chief? Still, among William Jackson's pictures there were Pawnee scouts with peace medals hanging around their necks. A Pawnee scout called Co-Rux-Te-Chod-Ish was the first Native American to receive the Medal of Honor.

Raise your hand if you really thought that Richard Watts had managed to get his hands on freshwater oysters. Perhaps this was yet another case of him "spitting in the soup."

I was super confused when Simon the squeezebox player reappeared in the last episode since I had completely forgotten about him, but I loved the colours in this scene.

"I've noticed this about you. You keep saying these negative things and you end up always doing the opposite." "Hmm, well... Maybe I should start listening to myself."

So apparently even women who have never given birth can breastfeed babies. To induce lactation you need to stimulate breasts 10–15 minutes several times a day and milk will start after a month or so. Also, of course a 'breast' would be an English word Eli couldn't have picked up naturally.

Although hunting was also an integral part of the subsistence pattern, horticulture - particularly corn - occupied a preeminent position in Pawnee life. It not only provided their sustenance but also figured prominently in their religious life.

At the beginning of the 19th century the Pawnee lived earth lodges which were large, dome-shaped structures of wood covered with packed sod and earth and had a long, narrow, covered entryway. The sizes of lodges varied in diameter from 8 to 15 metres and generally contained several families. Historical sources give varying numbers of Skiri villages, ranging from 13 to 18. Each village had its own separate identity through religious functions, but by the mid-19th century the importance of village identity began to fade as the Skiri population rapidly diminished. (Murie, J. R. and Parks, D. R. (1981) Ceremonies of the Pawnee.)

As the 19th century progressed, the Pawnee bands were forced together onto a reservation on the north side of the Platte and were treated as a single tribal entity by the United States government. Missionaries and the government worked steadily at "making white men"of the Pawnee. By 1873 because of disease, crop failure, warfare, and government rations policy, the Pawnee population had decreased to approximately 2,400. In 1875 the Pawnee were persuaded to give up their reservation in Nebraska and move to new one in the Indian Territory. By the 1876 the entire tribe had removed there, where efforts to acculturate them continued. By 1890 most of the Skiri Pawnee lived on individual farms, dressed like contemporary whites, and spoke English. (Murie, & Parks, 1981)

Bundles were an integral part of Pawnee religion and served as shrines. Among the Skiri, there were two general types of bundles. Sacred bundles, cuharîpîru, were village and band bundles and naturally more important. The oldest sacred bundle was the Evening Star bundle. The other type was referred as karûsu, a bag/sack, and was any lesser bundle – that of a warrior, a doctor, or any other individual.

I was curious about the skull in Eli's bag and using skullsite.com and Royal BC Museum's bird bone identification guide I was able to identify it. Given that Pawnee villages used to be located along rivers, it not surprising that that the skull Eli treasured would belong to an osprey aka fish hawk.

Ospreys differ from most hawks by having short prefrontals.

Round and almost circular nasal (nostril).

Has perforation in sheet of bone between eyes.

Particularly curved bill.

Frontal’s width stays even. 

I always like it when a show makes me curious and inspires me to learn something new, in this case to determine cardinal directions using the sun. I used the instructions in this post to make the collage of Eli determining the compass points.

[erajoie07]

Cursed: Aemond Targaryen x Fem reader

Writer's note: Curse, dolls, and the real issue underlying. Thank you for reading!

One day at work, you look across the street to see a hooded figure in a black coat pointing directly at you. What do they want?

Presenting the slides to her class during a chilly morning of a Tuesday, she shifts her gaze from the right side of the class to the left from which she sees a hooded figure in a black coat near her sight. It wasn’t one of their major course outcomes and it was still the first week of class, introducing the subjects. But when she returns her gaze once more, her heart beats out proportion unexpectedly and her insides churn, the hooded figure is pointing directly at her. She stops her speech midway and pays her attention to the figure. Unbeknownst to her, the class turned their bodies to where she locked her eyes with, but couldn’t locate what it is. To her side, the hooded figure slowly depresses its finger, returning to its side before it walks away near the canteen. Hurriedly leaves the class without notice on the side of the building near the canteen but sees no figure. She engages further, asking the canteen manager if she saw one but received none.

YN has always been the subject of talk amongst neighbors, colleagues, friends, and her husband’s close relations and colleagues as well. She is aware that she styles herself good, applies manners in her words and actions, and known to add products to carts online to present herself well. She is known for being an effective instructor at the college she is currently working at. But most importantly, YN is great mother and more than a wife to her husband, Aemond.

When she returned from work that day, she is greeted by the joyous laughter of her toddler daughter, Zelda playing with the dolls her brother gifted. YN’s brother, Zemo collected porcelain dolls and because she was a helpful and bubbly little child, he gifted her two beautifully styled porcelain dolls from his collection named Helga and Marion. Zemo playfully explained how the other can get jealous of the other if paid much attention. Laughing it off after, Zemo ruffled Zelda’s hair.

Now, YN, can hear her daughter muttering a conversation with the two dolls, something about likes and dislikes about food, clothes, and some things.

“You don’t like it? Why? Is it because of Marion?”

YN us fascinated by the growing communicative competence of her daughter. Though she would prefer that she learn her native language first, Aemond began to speak to her in English. Nevertheless, her furst word was “mama”. She is removed out of trance when Zelda begins to spark an argument between the two dolls. Helga’s hand raised a little. YN grows shock, blinking rapidly as if to diminish what she saw. Zelda tries to make Helga and Marion truce on that silly argument.

“Helga, you can’t hit Marion.” Closing the distance between the two dolls as if they are fighting. YN is relieved that maybe it was just her playful imagination. Looking at the time, Aemond will come home soon.

“Zelda, honey, do you want to eat something?”

Zelda looks at YN and nods fervently, she snaps at Marion, “What is that, Marion?”

YN raises her eyebrow at her child, silently enjoying that conversation

“Mommy, can Marion and Helga eat too?”

YN joins along, “Well, what would they like to eat?”

“Your soul”

YN’s hair stood in the air, Zelda’s doll Helga turned to her and bore her eyes at her.

“Mommy, they’ll have juice.”

Between the two dolls, Helga and Marion that Zemo previously owned, he adored Helga and was enticed by her agonizingly painful beauty that captures his soul. His eyes are always fixed on the burgundy red locks and curled bangs above her round eyes. The peach decorates her cheeks and lips well. Marion, the doll he could only at for a short time before being pulled by Helga. Marion favors pink over anything and it is shown by the adornments in her face and clothing. While Helga styles herself in red.

“Hello, my sweet firefly! Come give me a kiss,” Aemond greets their running toddler, carried her in to his arms before receiving a peck on the cheek. Aemond approaches YN and openly stamps a kiss on her cheek before they both hear a sound of disgust from their toddler. Zelda wiggles out of his embrace, “I want to go outside,” Aemond lets her go, watching their baby run bolt out the door. Aemond opens his mouth to speak to YN but YN motions outside calling out for Zelda, “Don’t you want your hashbrowns?” Zelda yells in disagreement.

“I’ll eat it for her,”

YN returns to the chopping board, pressing the garlic from the knife to remove the flaky skin thump! Thump! Aemond closes the distance between them both, “How long can we continue this silent treatment? This argument is nothing but agony.” Still, YN wouldn’t talk, and she is stubborn. Aemond clings his hand on her arm stopping her from mincing the garlic. “YN, what would you have me do? What would you have me say?”

YN furiously looks at him, “I wish you had consulted me before when you were offered that investment and now half of our money is gone. Now you ask me how long will this go?”

“I didn’t think I had to consult you knowing that I run this house.” He says condescendingly

Surprised, “R-run this house? Just so you know, I too can command this house. I too have a say what must be done.”

Aemond’s eyes blazen with fire, his body fells a deep set of rage igniting inside, “You are my property. I run this house. I command you, both of you and our daughter. Mine.” Aemond grips her hair like she was nothing. He loosens his grip on her hair before he walks away. Shock fills her body, still and silent. Tears swell in her brown eyes. If she blinks then the tears will fall.

[hirocimacruiser]

Speaking of the Skyline GT-R, it was a straight 6 engine. The first-generation GT-R, which debuted in 1969, was also a straight-six engine, and its predecessor, the 1964 GTB, had a 1500 with an extended engine room and a straight-six engine. The R32 GT-R, which returned to the circuit in 1990 and went on a winning streak, was naturally equipped with a straight-six engine. However, in May 2002, a GT-R that appeared in the All Japan GT Championship SUGO was equipped with a new "V6 engine." All GT-R models were changed to V6.

In March 1990, the Skyline GT-R (BNR32) made its spectacular debut at the West Japan Circuit at the opening round of the All Japan Touring Car Championship. He achieved his first victory by holding off strong opponents such as the Ford Sierra RS500 and Toyota Supra, and since then has won 30 races.

They would be on an unbeatable 20 race winning streak until the Group A regulations expire at the end of the year. The overwhelming speed of its RB26DETT engine (inline 6-cylinder 2771cc+ twin turbo with nominally over 470 horsepower/02 specification) and four-wheel drive completely changed the conventional wisdom of touring cars around the world.

The All Japan GT Championship, which started in 1993, rapidly grew to become the most popular racing event in Japan. The main battlefield for the GT-R has also shifted here. In 1993, it won 3 out of 3 races, in 1994 it won 2 out of 5 races against Porsche and Ferrari, in 1995 it was replaced with the BCNR33 and won 2 out of 6 races, and in 1996 it won 1 out of 6 races during the overwhelming dominance of McLaren F1. In 1997 1 win in 6 races with the rise of Supra, 2 wins in 7 races in 1998 with the rise of NSX, 1 win in 7 races in 1999 after replacing with BNR34. 2 wins in 7 races in 2000, 1 win in 7 races in 2001, and 0 wins in 8 races in 2002. This is a total of 15 wins in the All Japan GT Championship. It wasn't until 1999 that Toyota's Supra and Honda's NSX gained strength, and a close-up competition between them and the Skyline GT/R began. Due to changes in the regulations unique to the series that equalize the combat power of each car, it is impossible to say whether the machines are superior or inferior just by looking at the trends in the number of wins, but since the beginning of the new century, the GT-R has been relatively competitive. The chances of winning have diminished.

Under these circumstances, the decision was made to switch to a V6 engine midway through the 2002 season. The rear-wheel drive BNR34, equipped with the new VQ30DETT engine (V6 cylinder 2987cc+ twin turbo, over 485 horsepower), showed off its good origins by finishing in 2nd place at the 5th race at Fuji and at the 7th race at MINE. The team is disappointed that it ended 2002 without a win.

The team is determined to make amends for the lack of a win in 2002 in 2003.

The 2003 machine has changed before and after due to changes in vehicle regulations.

It became possible to use a vibrator frame, and the low hood shape of the 2003 GT-R became a hot topic among fans as soon as test runs began. We need to pay attention to future developments.

However, on the other hand, there are many GT-R fans who are disappointed that the long-loved straight-six (RB) will be replaced by the V6 (VQ). This was an era when in-line six-cylinder engines were becoming more valuable, and the RB engine's great appeal was its torque characteristics that appealed to the rider's five senses, as well as its good engine speed and vibration.

Each engine type has advantages and disadvantages. While reflecting the various needs of each era, from a global perspective as an automobile manufacturer, we created products specifically designed for motorsports.

We come to the fact that it is difficult to make an engine exhaust. An RB engine that exhausts from the left side cannot be used in left-hand drive cars, and because of its length, it cannot be installed in front-wheel drive cars either. When considering the global automobile market, it is important to have an engine that can be used in left-hand drive and front-wheel drive cars, and the lightweight and compact V-type 6-cylinder VQ engine can be used for a variety of purposes.

It was.

VQ engine became a luxury in 1999

When it was first introduced in the Cefiro car, it was not an engine designed for motorsports use. However, the VQ was introduced into the motorsports scene one after another overseas. Overseas motorsports officials were quick to realize that it had high potential as a base engine for racing. For example, Spain's one-make formula, which is becoming increasingly popular, Grand Am racing sports cars, the Dakar Rally, and off-road racing in South Africa.

VQ is demonstrating high combat power.

The decision to equip the 2003 model GT-R with a V6 engine instead of the familiar straight-six was not a sales strategy, but an essential choice to improve the machine's competitiveness. I'm saying that.

At the ``Nissan Motorsports Press Conference'' held in February 2003 the keyword mentioned was ``fast GT-R.'' The revitalization of the GT-R, which emphasizes ``fast'' rather than ``strong,'' has just begun with the V-6 VQ engine.

PIC CAPTIONS

BNR32 (1990~1995)

In 1990, the GT-R myth returns. BNR32 begins a winning streak. The GT-R is back for the first time in about 20 years.

BCNR33 (1996~1998)

In 1998, E. Comas/Masami Kageyama, riding BCNR33, won the JGTC championship.

BNR34(1999~2002)

GT-R equipped with VQ engine participates in test race at JGTC Round 3 in 2002 (car No. 22)

[dagwolf]

“The ‘glorious party,’ when there is one, almost invariably lags behind the events … In the beginning … it tends to have an inhibitory function, not a ‘vanguard’ role. Where it exercises influence, it tends to slow down the flow of events, not ‘co-ordinate’ the revolutionary forces. This is not accidental. The party is structured along hierarchical lines that reflect the very society it professes to oppose. Despite its theoretical pretensions, it is a bourgeois organism, a miniature state, with an apparatus and a cadre whose function it is to seize power, not dissolve power. Rooted in the pre-revolutionary period, it assimilates all the forms, techniques and mentality of bureaucracy. Its membership is schooled in obedience and in the preconceptions of a rigid dogma and is taught to revere the leadership. The party’s leadership, in turn, is schooled in habits born of command, authority, manipulation and egomania. This situation is worsened when the party participates in parliamentary elections. In election campaigns, the vanguard party models itself completely on existing bourgeois forms and even acquires the paraphernalia of the electoral party…

“As the party expands, the distance between the leadership and the ranks inevitably increases. Its leaders not only become ‘personages,’ they lose contact with the living situation below. The local groups, which know their own immediate situation better than any remote leaders, are obliged to subordinate their insights to directives from above. The leadership, lacking any direct knowledge of local problems, responds sluggishly and prudently. Although it stakes out a claim to the ‘larger view,’ to greater ‘theoretical competence,’ the competence of the leadership tends to diminish as one ascends the hierarchy of command. The more one approaches the level where the real decisions are made, the more conservative is the nature of the decision-making process, the more bureaucratic and extraneous are the factors which come into play, the more considerations of prestige and retrenchment supplant creativity, imagination, and a disinterested dedication to revolutionary goals.

“The party becomes less efficient from a revolutionary point of view the more it seeks efficiency by means of hierarchy, cadres and centralisation. Although everyone marches in step, the orders are usually wrong, especially when events begin to move rapidly and take unexpected turns — as they do in all revolutions…

“On the other hand, this kind of party is extremely vulnerable in periods of repression. The bourgeoisie has only to grab its leadership to destroy virtually the entire movement. With its leaders in prison or in hiding, the party becomes paralysed; the obedient membership has no one to obey and tends to flounder. Demoralisation sets in rapidly. The party decomposes not only because of the repressive atmosphere but also because of its poverty of inner resources.

“The foregoing account is not a series of hypothetical inferences, it is a composite sketch of all the mass Marxian parties of the past century — the Social Democrats, the Communists and the Trotskyist party of Ceylon (the only mass party of its kind). To claim that these parties failed to take their Marxian principles seriously merely conceals another question: why did this failure happen in the first place? The fact is, these parties were co-opted into bourgeois society because they were structured along bourgeois lines. The germ of treachery existed in them from birth.” 

Murray Bookchin, Post-Scarcity Anarchism, pp. 123–6

[yellowfingcr]

In a fight my muse… (er edition)

tagged by: @rotten-pest and @fishermcn! thank you!

tagging: get hit with beams that make you do this!!

Bold the applicable, italicize if more situational or nuanced for what fits your muse tries in battle.

closes distance / makes distance

uses overwhelming force / whittles down an opponent

can endure a long fight / cannot

is quick to start a fight / is rarely the instigator

tries to dodge / tries to block

uses psychological tactics / focuses on martial approach

is a graceless fighter / elegant fighter

values honor / uses dirty tactics

accepts defeat / begs for mercy / cuts and runs

details! elaboration!

First one is of course highly dependent on the opponent! Heysel is sort of a battlemage, and will adapt to the situation presented before herself. Facing a caster? Launching herself forward knife in hand to force her enemy to engage her close range is possible! A warrior? Disengage! Try to still fight close quarters! Many options are available when you're a jack of all trades (and master of none)

Tremendously difficult to try to do the sensible thing and conclude a fight rapidly through sheer power (physical or arcane) when just about everything in the world refuses the notion, and most things you can do that could be defined overwhelming force take some time to be actuated. She also often just thinks it's funnier, especially when it's between fellow tarnished, to turn things into a slow trench warfare situation. Death by a thousand cuts! Death by a thousand cuts!

She is an assassin, which means she fares better when given the opportunity to surprise attack, but she is tarnished. She is insistent, formally trained in special very awful ways, and doesn't have anything better to do.

See this is one who does need its own elaboration. Heysel likes violence and has grown around the whole concept in her own way, but she will still sort of respect the social contract, which means that she won't hurt you unprovoked, usually. Still if she thinks the situation is so much as tottering in that direction, she isn't particularly hesitant about being the one to strike first. Weird nebulous aggressive tension means uncertain outcomes, which means the range of actions that might emerge from it is rather wide. If she instantly turns it into violence- well, not only she has advantage, there is no longer the question of what might happen because she has decided what happens!

Blocking? With her equipment? When you're her size and shape? Easier to dodge! She still sort of can use a parrying dagger.

You're talking with someone who was employed during the golden wars exactly to wage psychological warfare!

Aesthetics are good filigree but ultimately irrelevant for Heysel. If her current best tactic allows her to spin and twist and do her fancy killer things with heron grace, good! But Heysel also bites and kicks and spits in close quarters, gouges eyes, punches in the throat. In the end, what matters is that you die.

She values honor if valuing it means anything in the situation she's in! If the goal is winning, there really isn't one thing she won't do to achieve her victory. Honor, to her, is mostly a social accessory. Don't expect her to stop before it.

As for this one, whichever she thinks best! As I just said honor is truly frippery to her; so is dignity, included her own. She will beg if needed and won't feel diminished by it. She'll run, if considered the best option. She'll also accept that she has been bested.

To conclude: this post I think remains the one that best explains the relationship Heysel has with violence!

[loquaxleemons]

More rainworld ramblings: DP spoils under cut

I may get hate for this hc but it's my headcanon not yours, and if you believe otherwise good for you.

Again I don't expect anyone to read these it just makes me happy to ramble.

After reviewing all SRS dialogue with Pebbles and NSH, its pretty clear they really don't get that their actions affected more than just their life. I mean they only mention Moon a few times, and usually it's because NSH brings it up.

I don't hate SRS as a character, they're written really well to make me feel so strongly about how bad of a friend they are to NSH and FP. And I still think they're a silly lil dude despite being, a terrible friend.

I'll review what we know.

First Offence: Spearmaster's pearl

The message seems really sweet at first glance and you think, man FP is being such a douche right now. And well he is, but he's also really young, and he's in pain, being cyberbullied by UI, and upset. Sun's approach is not very good for his current mentality, they come in preaching things FP already knows about, they berate him for not doing the experiment right and acting rashly despite him being in pain as his insides are getting eaten, and they know, him they know that he's emotionally immature and probably really upset, and they chose to send him something they knew would just make him more upset.

Second Offence: Watch in Horror Broadcast

-

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment SRS: I'm in noticing you are becoming more defensive. This obviously wasn't the end result I was aiming for, you know. SRS: Please respond to my messages. I don't want to leave it like this. I need someone to talk to. NSH: I don't mean to be cold, I'm just very worried. NSH: The activity I'm seeing from Moon's can is becoming increasingly... concerning. NSH: Our available options are rapidly diminishing, and I feel helpless to do anything. NSH: I can just watch in horror. SRS: ... NSH: You should have sent the messenger to Moon instead of Pebbles. SRS: Do you think that would have helped anything? NSH: To be honest, no... I'm not sure that it would.

Suns gets on NSH's ass for being upset Moon is dead. There is no, I'm sorry for your loss, or even comforting NSH. It's just "I need someone to talk to" it's about SRS, and how SRS feels. Not how NSH feels. And this is more apparent in the other broadcasts because it's just about Suns and how they feel about Pebbles or about Spearmaster.

Third Offense: Humiliated Broadcast

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment SRS: I'm just so frustrated. SRS: I feel like I've doomed not one. but two iterators. SRS: And in the whole process I've lost a great friend, who won't even let me help him. NSH: We make mistakes, it'll be okay. You know Five Pebbles really looks up to you. SRS: Yes, I know that, but... NSH: I think he's scared. Scared, and humiliated. Unparalleled Innocence spreading the news probably made him feel even worse. SRS: ...I think you're right.

this one is actually not bad, but still the conversation is about SRS, they don't ask how NSH feels despite being Suns' therapist friend this whole time.

Fourth Offence: Tragic and Big Setback broadcasts

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment SRS: I just don't understand... why hasn't Moon done anything about the situation herself? SRS: She was appointed as Pebbles' superior. She has the power to stop him. NSH: I've been very close with Moon, and I can tell you she is incredibly caring. NSH: And while her kindness is one of her greatest attributes, it is also to her detriment. SRS: Isn't this excessive, though? Surely she at least has a sense of self-preservation. NSH: I'm sure she convinced herself that she could help Pebbles. That she could bring him under control with words rather than forced action. NSH: She's probably still trying that now, unless her systems have degraded past the point of even allowing that. NSH: That's why this is so tragic to me. [LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment SRS: I remember talking with Five Pebbles not too long after he was first put online. He had a bit of defiance, even back then. SRS: It was an odd situation, to be certain. Its quite rare for one iterator to be made the administrator of another. Just as rare as them being built right next to each other. NSH: His lack of appreciation used to bother me. Moon was a great big sister to him! SRS: Yes, absolutely. However. Five Pebbles had a very strong drive for independence. He was never one to want to be told what to do. NSH: I think a lot of us were like that in the beginning. I remember being in that phase a very long time ago. It takes many iterations for our world views to develop and for us to realize the flaws in those lines of thinking. NSH: Unfortunately, from what I've seen, Five Pebbles seems to have plateaued at that phase. SRS: No, that's not true. I was helping him to get past it. We were making good progress, actually! SRS: The current situation, however, is going to be a very big setback...

I don't like the way SRS explains Moon to NSH despite him being closer to Moon than Suns is, you know Pebbles, NSH knows Moon.

And I just hate the whole big setback chat, seems like they're (NSH and SRS) objectifying Pebbles and treating him like a project rather than a person. Also feels like they're forgetting that he's younger than they are so he's still growing.

AGAIN despite saying all this I enjoy SRS's character, their role in the story and their dynamic in the group feels good, and real. It's exactly how a friend group like this would work. It just confuses me a little how people depict Suns often as a caring person when they are really never shown to be considerate of anyone's feelings like Moon or NSH is. I don't think SRS was a good influence on Pebbles, and might be the reason he's the way he is.

This entire thing is partially why I also don't really ship sunstone, but yk I still enjoy the Sunstone art and stuff. I don't waste my time chasing people I don't agree with. You've got your ideas I've got mine, I bet your art/story is beautiful it's just not for me.

[houseofbrat]

Don’t blame ‘stupid people on the internet’ for palace’s Princess Kate lies

Elite columnists jumped on the masses for Princess Kate speculation before her cancer announcement. But blame the palace for its lies.

by Will Bunch | Columnist

Published Mar. 24, 2024, 1:12 p.m. ET

The background birds had barely stopped chirping in the dramatic Friday video from Catherine, the Princess of Wales, revealing her cancer diagnosis and ongoing chemotherapy when the rush to judgment took full flight.

The elite columnists at the New York Times — the powerful news org that’s watched its authority erode in the internet age, often from self-inflicted wounds — were almost gleeful, despite the downbeat medical news, in pointing the finger of blame for months of increasingly feverish online speculation on the whereabouts of Princess Kate, missing in action since Christmas. The villain in their version was Time’s 2006 Person of the Year.

You.

“The Real Royal Scandal is Us,” blared the Times headline over its lead column from book-critic-turned-cultural-scold Pamela Paul, who said the real lesson from the frenzy that escalated when a doctored, or worse, photo of Kate Middleton and her three kids was handed out to the press, is that Americans should stop hounding public figures when they deserve privacy. She wrote: “Kate’s terrible news shouldn’t just make us feel terrible for Kate; it should also make us feel terrible about ourselves.”

If you weren’t performing an Opus Dei-style self-flagellation ritual after reading Paul’s column, the whip was turned over to her Times colleague Jessica Bennett in its new feature of quick opinion hits called “The Point.” This one was headlined: “The Internet Should Feel Shame Over Kate Middleton.” I always thought that “the internet” — like Simon and Garfunkel’s rock — feels no pain, but of course the entity that Bennett is really attacking here, again, is you. She wrote, also endorsing Kate’s privacy plea, that “[t]he public, in turn, should feel very, very stupid.”

Let’s be clear: This is a completely bass-ackwards interpretation of what’s played out over the last few weeks. The apparent truth-telling of Kate’s Friday night news dump didn’t happen because people are stupid. It happened because people are smart. Smarter, at least, than a Kensington Palace — Kate, her husband-who-would-be-king Prince William, and their army of protectors — that alternatively dissembled about the princess’s whereabouts, encouraged paparazzi speculation, and finally put out a photographic lie and made Kate take the blame for it.

Indeed, the fact that so many columnists for leading news orgs raced to attack “the public” (formerly known as “their readers,” who are deserting the mainstream media in droves) is “a tell,” showing you what the Kate whereabouts scandal was ultimately about: authority, and the truth. Writers like the Times’ Paul still identify with Kensington Palace because they realize they are kindred spirits: diminished institutions whose bond of trust with the people they feel comfortable in attacking is rapidly collapsing.

Not surprisingly, the columns by Paul, Bennett, and others seized on the most out-there conspiracy theories — to be expected in a world of 5.35 billion internet users, when the royal family’s Nixonian PR strategies all but begged them to speculate. They ignored the reality that what most everyday people were saying on the internet — that Kate must be more seriously ill than the bland and occasionally misleading statements from Kensington Palace — proved to be the truth.

Why should the public feel very, very stupid when it wasn’t the public but Kensington Palace that earlier this month released the now notorious British Mother’s Day photo of Kate and her children, allegedly snapped by Prince William himself, that was spiked by the world’s major news organizations after it became obvious that the picture was altered, perhaps substantially? Was it “the internet” that then decided to throw Kate under the bus by blaming the fiasco on her amateur Photoshopping skills — removing William, not to mention credibility, from the discussion?

Should we actually be feeling terrible about ourselves when Kensington Palace did nothing to disown the various paparazzi videos and photos of a happy and normal Kate riding in cars or shopping at a farmer’s market which — as we learned when the video of the actual Kate was released on Friday night — clearly were not her. Indeed, it was a little gob-smacking last weekend to watch mainstream news outlets hype the TMZ shopping video as some kind of “proof of life” when anyone with a reasonably working set of eyes could see this woman looked almost nothing like Kate.

I won’t go chapter and verse on the various inconsistencies from Team Kate about scheduling, timelines, or its initial statements about her condition, or the fact that even some of Friday night’s disclosures about her cancer diagnosis seemed at odds with how the disease is normally discovered and treated. But I will say that while I agree that Kate’s plea for privacy should be respected, the version of absolute privacy for Britain’s royal family now being pushed by these U.S. opinion writers is a little absurd, especially when a lot of internet speculation didn’t even happen until after the palace’s lies.

Prince William is not a private citizen but in all probability Britain’s next head of state, at the top of a monarchy that their nation’s taxpayers support to the tune of more than $100 million a year because his family’s public presence is supposed to provide a form of moral leadership to a Great Britain that’s experiencing more than its share of problems right now. Like running for president or getting hired as football coach at the University of Alabama, marrying into the royal family is a devil’s bargain where you agree to surrender some of your privacy. The public doesn’t need Kate’s entire medical file, but did it need to be lied to?

One thing that truly annoys me about this whole affair is that it played into some seriously outdated attitudes, from some in the public and way too many in the media, about cancer. I’m still amazed when a public figure reveals an early detected and highly treatable form of cancer and some reports still treat it like a death sentence. Cancer is still horrible, but the 21st century has seen remarkable advances in detection and treatment that means that millions of people with the disease are living full and relatively normal lives. Kensington Palace had an opportunity to attack cancer’s unnecessary stigma with honesty — instead of perpetuating it.

But the bigger problem with this fiasco is that, in an age of growing disinformation, given a nuclear-power boost with new AI technologies, the public has lost all faith in who or what can be believed. It was striking that in the same hour Friday as Kate’s bombshell announcement, the first news flashes and shaky iPhone videos were emerging from Moscow about the theater terror attack by gunmen and arsonists who killed at least 137 people.

The vivid videos were real, but everything else about the terrorist attack was murky beyond recognition. A faction of the Islamic militant group ISIS claimed credit for the attack, but that didn’t explain how terrorists moved around so easily in an overpoliced security state, whose leader, Vladimir Putin, has been linked in the past to “false flag” attacks. Indeed, the Putin regime almost immediately, and with little proof, sought to connect the attack to Ukraine, ginning up an excuse to launch even more horrific assaults against its neighbor while clamping down on dissent at home.

Were people on the internet “very, very stupid” for questioning Putin’s version of the truth? Of course not, but it’s harder to challenge the world’s lying autocrats when the supposed “good guys” are fibbing, too. Dictatorship rises in times when the very concept of truth has been obliterated. The public’s total loss of faith in institutions is a straight downward line that started with Vietnam and Watergate and shifted into high gear with the Iraq War — beginning as tragedy until it finally devolved into the farce of fake royal pictures, when our figurehead is not what she seems.

I’ve always clung to a naïve faith that my colleagues in the media could be the last bastion of truth-telling. But the only truth I feel after the New York Times called me and 5 billion other people stupid is the reality of not knowing who I can believe in anymore.

[mellowwhumps]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 25: Running into flames | “I know it hurts. Breathe.”

OCs: Twelve, Emmei/MC

@whumperless-whump-event

——

The shop was on fire. 

The flames, lashing out as it rose in leaps and bounds, seemed like it would never stop, all consuming. The smoke cast a haze over the scene beyond the single, fogged-up glass window that seemed moments from shattering. 

In front of it, two people stood as residents gathered around to see the spectacle, as though it were some sick little show.

Slowly, Emmei sank to his knees. He was a distance away from the fire. It would be fine to just lie down, surely. Pretend nothing was going on, and saltwater tears weren’t dripping onto his shirt, and today never happened.

But it had. 

Of course it had, because hejust had to piss off some random customer. Everything went straight down from there. He didn’t even know there were gasoline tanks in the storage room.

He didn’t start the fire. That’s what he convinced himself to think, because the moment his heart caught up to his mind he might as well have been drowning in tears like some crybaby. 

Nobody was hurt. And he would have been grateful, were it not for the fact that he left his phone inside. Were it not for the fact that he spent months saving for a device even remotely decent to use, toiling away for all twenty-four hours at his job at the charred place in front of him. 

Were it not for the fact that he wrote everything about his not-so-boring current life in it. And to him, that was more important than anything else. 

What was he even to do, in such a situation? The entire place would probably collapse soon. He should do something. 

He could go inside.

It was as though something clicked in his mind. He got back on his feet, standing up as though he was something mechanical and taking a step back in preparation, facing forward. 

A hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. He wanted to ignore it, but instinctively, he glanced to the side to look at them, immediately regretting his decision at the look of confusion on the other’s face. The shop hadn’t fully burnt down yet. Time was rapidly diminishing; he counted down the seconds in his mind.

“Wherer’ you going?” His fellow ‘employee’ wore an inquisitive look, expression obvious even with their mouth covered from view. “Doesn’t look safe…”

“I’ll be…” Not ‘fine’, he promised he wouldn’t say that word. “I’ll come out, I swear. It’ll just be a minute. Left something in the drawer.” 

Truly, he did believe that. The shop wasn’t that big, simply go in and go out. He doesn’t let them get another word in, feigning right to make a dash for the door. 

Emmei forced it open with a loud slam and nearly broke the door right off from its hinges. Immediately, smoke filled his lungs, sending him into a coughing fit as he covered his mouth. It was worse than he thought. The shelves toppled over one another, obstructing his path to the counter. 

One look told him it was a lost cause. He would have gone back, were it not already for the fact that someone had already pushed him out the door, clad in the same uniform as his. 

In front of him, the fire illuminated the night sky as though attempting to outshine even stars.

——————

Where does the border between life and death stop? Unfortunately for them, it was the presence of pain. It seeped through the cracks of their body, smoke and ashes alike curling into their ever-open wounds. They pushed forward nonetheless. 

They knew when Emmei was rushing for time. They knew how to read the signs, so they had to be swifter; this place was not their priority.

Step back, run, jump. They sprung over a fallen shelf in four short steps, any marvel at their achievement short-lasted as they sprinted to the counter and rummaged for the keys to the drawers. Beside them, a flash of amber rushed steadily forward, much too quickly for comfort. This shade of orange-red was not good.

Found something familiar. This must be it. The ‘black box’ that he always carried around.

The fire flared, something seethingly angry. They thanked their own plight for being immune to smoke and abruptly realised they could barely see, their eyes so watery all they could see was red. They doubted they could find their way back to the door.

No. They had to get out. They promised themself they wouldn’t give up, ever.

The glass shattered. It would have made them panic were it not for the obvious fact that there was a better, easier exit right ahead.

They turned in the direction of the sound and blindly darted forward; felt themself falling as they clutched the item close to their chest, cushioning it. They did not hear any more breaking of glass, but heard their skin part with a too-similar crack.

——————

Emmei hadn’t even noticed he was holding his breath, not until a shadow stumbled out of the flames, teetering unsteadily. He wasn’t able to get to their side in time as they tumbled to the floor, thankfully out of range from the fire.

Not a second after, the roof collapsed behind them. He could only look on, just like anyone else. Then, just as quickly as the fire started, he was by their side. 

God, they were barely conscious, he hadn’t known they were going to pull that off, he didn’t even think they would be able to, but no. Instead, their hands finally unclenched and his phone tumbled to the floor, the least of his concerns.

A small fire remained sparking on their jacket, and he didn't even think before unzipping it and taking it off, the mess of singed threads too unsalvageable. He muttered a small curse under his breath. Their wounds were always too strange to comprehend, but in that moment, he knew it was much worse than usual, half-closed eyes squeezing tightly shut as the cloth brushed against their skin.

They were crying.

“It hurts…” they choke out, and how he wished he could take away that pain, to never have made the mistakes he had to even cause this. From all he learnt, they never were taught to regulate any emotion. A pitiful sound escaped their marred lips; soft, wavering. They’d have this pain for the rest of their time here, he knew.

“I know it does, of course it does, you didn’t need— breathe or something, damn it, calm down. Look, we’ll…we’ll go home. You’re alright, you’re safe—” They weren’t even looking at him, eyes so unfocused it could only mean they were trapped in their headspace again. He could never find a way to help them when that happened, but it was getting better. It should have. How could it go so wrong?

He’d forgotten there were people watching. Yet another thing that was all too familiar: the way they all stared past him to the figure beside, possibly monstrous with four arms and a pair of wings all revealed without the jacket. He could play off the strange shade of hair, but certainly not this. 

They all take out their own phones, not to capture a story but to capture a story. 

He would have attempted to stop them, all were it not for the hand grasping onto the hem of his shirt like some lifeline unbecoming of him. He promised he’d keep them safe, and now he was nothing but an accomplice. 

He used his body to shield them to the best of his meagre ability, because at some point in his terribly planned life he realised there was one thing he cared too much for; there was one thing in his store that he never wanted bought or sold or burnt.

Take him instead, he wanted to say, but instead all that came out of his mouth was a small, broken, “please.”

[arenee1999]

I thought I had found something special in OFMD and its fandom.

There have been characters through the years that I've identified with in a fairly superficial way. Studious, likes to read, awkward, lonely, bullied -- and my list of favorite characters paints a rather revealing portrait. But then I found Our Flag Means Death and I found myself identifying with multiple characters in a deep, visceral way that I have never had before. And I found a fandom full of people that felt the same way.

Then the darker side of the fandom began making itself known. Close minded, racist, homophobic, puritanical twats. The canyon that despises Ed and Stede, the gentlebeardies that despise Izzy. All of the people treating Rhys, Taika and Con like dogshit and treating your fellow fans even worse.

And yet, through that many of us still managed to love the show, the characters, the cast and crew and each other.

Then, right when literally everyone was expecting a renewal announcement we were told it was cancelled. Many of us fell into depression. We rallied as best we could to fight for our show. But we were still left reeling.

That same day one of my only friends (and the only one I could talk to about anything)  stopped talking to me. But I pushed that to the side and spent all my energy on the fandom, on Xitter, posting and talking and making as much noise as possible with everyone else.

Then March came around we got that announcement. Despite our efforts and a large portion of the industry on our side, we weren't going to see anything come of our efforts. At least not for the foreseeable future. Long term has yet to be decided, but short term there's no hope. Many of us that had been holding our depression at bay with frantic activity, crashed, hard. Some of us were still able to find solace in the fandom. Our love of the show hasn't diminished after all. So we reinvest in what made us love the show from the start and we let it heal us once again as best it can.

I'm one of the ones that crashed. And I was left with no one to talk to. I held myself together for awhile but eventually began to spiral. Tried pushing away everything because if I don't feel anything it won't hurt as much. I had made rather startling progress on extricating my last couple hyperfixations. And I was rapidly becoming dangerously, severely depressed. Then a month and a half ago I find out why my friend suddenly stopped talking to me. Apparently I talked about OFMD too much and he just couldn't handle it. I was simultaneously too much and not enough. And as I was suddenly and violently smacked in the face with a wave of despair, I dug around to figure out what pulled me out of the last few bouts of heavy depression I suffered. Because fuck knows, I was in desperate need of something. Turns out the last two times it was Taika (both directly and indirectly with Thor Ragnarok and OFMD) and before that it was HP fanfiction (for 10 years HP fic kept me mostly stable and functioning). Which explains entirely why my depression kept getting worse by leaps and bounds as I was in the process of purging all of that from myself as much as possible. So I took a good hard look around and decided my mental health was more important than protecting someone else's feelings. I immediately quit trying to unravel my core psyche and personality and was just starting to reach something resembling functional.

And now the fandom has once again erupted into puritanical, homophobic bigotry and hatred. And I'm finding myself shutting down. The joy I was just starting to find again in this fandom is gone. I see nothing but ash and dust. Even the clips of Ed and Stede's first kiss, that usually bring an immediate swell of joy, leaves me feeling nothing but numb.

If you are that full of hatred for an aspect of the show, be it a character, a pairing, a plot point, a cast or crew member, keep it to your fucking selves. Create closed groups, communities, discords etc. with the rest of the hate filled "fans" and spew your garbage where those of us that are here for what we love can't fucking see it. We do not need to be splashed with the muck from your cesspit.

Better yet, listen to DJenks -

[beybladeninja]

I came up with these ideas for Quirks a while ago and thought I’d share them with you guys.

Rewrite: This Quirk allows the user to rewrite a certain aspect of a person's Quirk - like if a Quirk damages a person's body in some way, the Rewrite user can rewrite the Quirk to not damage their body as much. To activate Rewrite, the user must first physically touch the person they wish to help, speak their name and the name of their Quirk, the aspect of their Quirk they wish to change, and how they want to change it. The drawback is each use of Rewrite causes nerves in the user's body to die, slowly diminishing their ability to move. The user cannot use Rewrite on themselves.

First Letter Basis: This Quirk allows the user to take on a different first name every 24 hours, and the first letter of the name they chose dictates a wide variety of objects they can summon. Size and quantity does not matter. They can only summon items that begin with the same first letter as their first name, and they must decide beforehand how much of that item they need, because once that item is summoned, they cannot summon it again. Once a first name is used, they can only use a name with the same first letter 48 hours later.

Insane Companion: This Quirk allows the user to partake in any delusional fantasy of a mentally unstable person within 10 feet of them. When they come into the vicinity of such a person, their brain waves automatically link with theirs, making them able to see, hear, and interact with the mental fantasy. However, this Quirk cannot be turned off, leading to a rapidly devolving sanity of the user, as they aren't sure what is reality and what is someone else’s fantasy.

Bloodhound: This Quirk gives the user the unique tracking skills of a bloodhound without any physical mutations. They have heightened hearing and smell, and once they have a scent, a colored trail lights up in their vision that guides them directly to whoever they're tracking. The only drawback is they're sensitive to high pitch noises. (Inspired by the movie Wolfwalkers.)

Clear View: This Quirk causes a strong and wide nuclear energy to emanate from the user's eyes, disintegrating anything and everything they see - including people. It destroys everything so the person has a clear view of nothing but the sky. As their field of vision moves, so does the energy and the field of damage. The energy cannot be turned off, so a heavy duty blindfold is needed at all times.

And my personal favorite, the one I gave my personal OC:

Flaming Eye: This Quirk causes a strong blue flame to emanate from the user's right eye, causing a black sclera. The user has partial control over the flame and can guide it to strike or spin its edge fast enough to draw in air, which causes enough friction to grab or pick up items. The flame can become a liability in enclosed spaces, and over exposure of the flame can lead to painful dry eye; constant use of an eyepatch is mandatory.

It’s been a while since I came up with these Quirk concepts, but I’m thinking of making OCs to match them. What do you think?

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Inside Climate News:

Peering through a spotting scope in this remote section of eastern Oregon, Skyler Vold quietly muttered “Oh man” over and over.

In his sight was an open clearing surrounded by rolling hills of sagebrush where 22 greater sage-grouse males performed their famed and elaborate mating rituals. Every year, the sage-grouse come to locations like these, called leks. In these communal breeding grounds, males waddle around and pop their inflatable white neck pouches to reveal their inner yellowish-brown air sacs while making a cooing sound audible from a distance, all in an attempt to court a mate. It was too late in the mating season for the dancers to have much luck that morning, with most females already laying eggs, and by 8 a.m., they had returned to their homes among the brush from which they derive their name. 

The 22 males spotted were the most ever recorded at the site, according to Vold, the sage-grouse conservation coordinator with the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. It’s one of the country’s last strongholds of sagebrush, a landscape that is rapidly disappearing due to climate change, invasive species, human development and wildfires that are growing bigger and hotter. 

Sagebrush is vital to their survival, serving as shelters in which they nest and raise their young, and a food source in the winter, when snow often covers every other plant. The bird’s gut has evolved to remove toxins from the leaves, miraculously allowing them to have incredibly high survival rates despite the harsh conditions.

Roughly 1.3 million acres of sagebrush landscape are lost every year. And while millions of sage-grouse once filled the West across 11 states, their population has plummeted by 80 percent since 1965, according to federal government data. 

For decades, groups have petitioned to have the sage grouse listed as endangered by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and in 2010, USFWS determined a listing was warranted but in 2015, the secretary of the interior announced the species did not meet the criteria to be listed because of a management plan finalized that year to protect the bird. 

Since then, however, the plan to manage the bird has been in limbo, with multiple lawsuits and changing presidential administrations with different views on conservation stalling its implementation and forcing decision-makers to repeatedly return to the drawing board. Protecting the bird while also supporting economic development like oil gas drilling, cattle grazing and mining throughout the vast region where greater sage grouse are found has turned into one of the most challenging land management issues confronting Western states and the Interior Department in recent decades. As development of a coordinated regional management plan has stalled for nearly a decade, each state has been left to manage its population largely independently, with mixed results. 

Now, the Bureau of Land Management—the nation’s largest landowner, which oversees most sage-grouse habitat—has proposed a plan to manage the bird’s habitat in areas it manages as the Biden administration races to finalize programs to better prioritize conservation on public lands that will drastically change how public lands in the U.S. are managed. 

“The majesty of the West and its way of life are at stake. Sagebrush lands are places where people work and play, and they are the headwaters for the West’s major rivers,” said BLM Director Tracy Stone-Manning in a statement announcing the plan in March. “Joint efforts to conserve the greater sage-grouse and its habitat led to the largest collaborative conservation effort in our history, and we are building on that work, together with our partners, to ensure the health of these lands and local economies into the future.”