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flemingsfreckles · 9 months ago

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Physio’s Daughter

Jessie Fleming x Physio!Reader

Preview: Reader is following in her mother’s footsteps in becoming a physiotherapist and gets the opportunity to spend the afternoon with the Canadian women’s soccer team.

Warnings: none

WC: 3.7k

A/N: this is going to be a few parts

You couldn’t believe you were attending ‘bring your kid to work day’ with your mom as a 22 year old but here you were, in the car on the way to her work.

“Are you sure I’m not too old to be coming with you?” You questioned your mom.

“It’ll be just like going to your clinical rotations. Plus you can put it on your resume, so it's really just helping you.” That’s how your mom had tried to convince you that you’d have fun coming to work with her. “Plus I talked with my boss, he said as of now we have an extra spot on the physio team to take someone to the Olympics, if you do well today, maybe it could be you.”

“Wouldn’t you want someone who's more qualified, not just a student?” You were in the process of obtaining your certification as a physiotherapist. You had finished your bachelor’s degree and were in the middle of your post graduate athletic therapy program.

“We have all the staff we need, they think bringing on someone young might be good. The players might like having someone closer to their age, not just all 40 and 50 year olds on their staff. Plus you’re plenty qualified, we have students in and out of the facility all the time.”

As a kid you always tagged along with your mom, you didn't have much of a choice, having a single mom who worked late hours in secondary schools meant your evenings were spent in her training room or on the sidelines of games. The older you got, the less you went with your mom, opting to stay home or spend time with friends instead of accompanying her at work. When you moved out to go to university you had chosen to follow in your Mom’s footsteps, intending to become a physiotherapist as well. At the same time you moved out, your Mom took on a new job, one that allowed her to travel more, a job with the Canada’s Women’s Soccer Team.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend the day with your mom, you were interested in seeing her work, it was more that you knew you'd be the oldest “kid” who was at her work, a lot of her other staff had either young children or kids that had moved away and were on with their own lives.

The ride to the training facility was short, you got out of the car, and walked into the front door. You followed your mom around the facility, having no idea where to go. She walked you down and around various hallways, saying hello to the other staff who passed with their small children. You just would give a polite hello and a wave before continuing down the hall.

It was a weird feeling, walking into a room of players you recognized from TV, players who were well known across the country and the world, and yet they greeted your Mom with a hello and questions about her weekend, as if they were friends.

“That is my daughter, she thinks she's too old to be here but she's studying to be a physio too so I figured I'd bring her here and get some free labor.” You hear your mom joking with the two players standing in front of her, she's pointing at you over her shoulder and the two players who you recognized to be Janine Beckie and Ashley Lawrence were looking over at you. You politely wave and move over in their direction.

“Hi.” Not knowing what to say to them, you just keep it short.

They both introduce themselves to you, you assume just being polite of them, it would be hard to not know who they were. One of the other physios comes in, taking Ashley to get taped, your mom taking Janine to work on her knee. Not sure what to do with yourself you just stand back, as if you were back to being a shy 6 year old in a new environment hiding behind your mom. You watch your mom work, she moves effortlessly, doing tasks in seconds that would take you minutes. You always admired your Mom at her work but you had a new appreciation now that you had begun school and realized how much work and time it took to learn everything.

Players come and go, getting various treatments, keeping the staff busy. You watch around, seeing the rest of the staff, how they work with the players, how they all seemed so relaxed and at ease.

“Hi Jessie, how are you, what do you need today?” Your mom looks past you toward the door where Jessie Fleming had walked in. Obviously you knew who she was, her olympic heroics from many years ago making her a Canadian household name. On top of her soccer talent that drew your attention as a kid, her appearance definitely didn't hurt. You had always found her pretty, a silly little school girl crush when you were younger watching her on TV as she played as a teenager, something that you had forgotten about over the years but her standing in front of you brought it all back up.

“Hi, I’m doing well. Can I just get my calf worked out? I’ve been having some tightness.” She looked at your mom, a polite smile across her face, she pointed at the empty table as she asked.

“Can you handle that?” You realize your mom is looking at you, asking you to help with Jessie as the rest of the staff is held up with other players. She’s asking you to help

“Um, yeah, sure.” You weren’t going to say no, plus you could handle a simple massage.

“Jessie, this is my daughter, she’s a physio student and plenty qualified to massage your calf, I promise.” You roll your eyes at your mom’s comment, feeling embarrassed that she has to explain that you’re able to help. You wash your hands and walk over to the table Jessie had sat down on.

“Hi, I’m Jessie.” She introduces herself, her hand extended for a handshake, you can't help but let out a small laugh at the fact that she of all people is introducing herself.

“I know who you are.” Your hand meets hers taking her handshake and you quickly introduce yourself to her. Her hand is soft but her handshake is firm, it only lasts a second before you pull back, pointing to her legs.

“Which calf?” You look at her. She points to her left before taking off her sock and she rolls over onto her stomach shifting up the table so that just her foot is hanging off the edge. You grab lotion and rub it into your hands before placing your hands slowly onto Jessie’s leg. You take a few passes of your hands over her leg before starting to dig into the muscle. It doesn't take you long to find the knot that is resting in her leg, focusing on it. You feel Jessie clench her muscle and slightly pull her leg away. You quickly lighten the pressure you were putting on her and you look at the direction of her face. You see a small grimace across her face.

“Are you good?” The last thing you want is to hurt the captain of the team, that probably wouldn't go over well with anyone.

“Yeah it's just sore. I’ve had some previous injury with it.” You knew that, you knew about most of the players' previous injuries, they were publicly announced anyway and you liked to keep up with your mom on what she was doing at work.

“Sorry.” Not sure if it's appropriate to apologize, you do it anyway.

“Oh don’t be, it’s never been a huge injury so I’m lucky. Unless you were saying sorry about the soreness, but then don’t worry, it’s sort of a good hurt I guess.” She stumbles a bit with their words, looking back at you over her shoulder. With her confirmation that the pain wasn’t bad, you return your pressure to her leg, working your fingers deep into her skin.

“Is she doing alright Jessie?” The voice of your Mom comes from behind you, you turn to see her walking up toward you, finished with the other athletes.

“She might be better than you.” Jessie laughs joking with your mom. “No but seriously she's doing great.”

“I taught her well then.” Your mom gives you a pat on the shoulder before walking away and moving to a desk to do some paperwork.

You finish up with Jessie’s calf, letting her know she should be good to go, the knot being worked out. She stands up with a smile and thanks you for the help. She uses your name when she thanks you which causes a small blush to come across your cheeks. You can't keep your eyes off of her as she walks out to head to the field. When she turns the corner and out of your sight you shake your head, trying to clear your mind as you feel the small childhood crush come crawling back up.

You clean up the table you had been working on, putting the lotion away and wiping down the table with sanitizer. Moving over to where your mom was working, she was completing reports for each of the players who had come in for treatment, she passed them to you to file once she’s completed with them. When the paperwork is done you follow her out to the pitch. You find yourself sitting on the bench, watching as the players work through drills, your mom occasionally going to chat with the coaching staff or other physios.

You couldn't help but watch Jessie, watching how effortlessly she made moving the ball look, how much power and control she had on the ball, it was fascinating. On a couple of occasions you found yourself admiring her physique a little too much, watching as her muscles twitch with every movement. You also started to notice she was favoring her weight on her right leg the longer practice went on.

“Mom.” You get your mom’s attention, not wanting to make the call yourself on if Jessie’s movements were unusual. “Does Fleming usually favor her right leg?”

“What?” She moves over closer to you, looking out to the field in the direction of Jessie. You both watch as Jessie takes another pass, moving upfield with the ball. “Oh, no she doesn't, I mean she prefers her right foot, but not like that.”

At the next water break you see your mom sitting in front of Jessie, hand on her calf, you watch as they talk about your mom maneuvering her leg. When the team moves back to the field, the players and coaches bring out their kids, letting them join in on games. Jessie stays sitting, now talking with your mom and the coach. She then stands up, your mom following her in your direction.

“Can you take her inside? I want to be overcautious and treat her for a calf strain, heat pack, use the TENS unit, then have her roll out, ice and tape.” Your mom throws a laundry list of tasks at you.

“Of course.” You stand up, grabbing your water and phone from next to you before heading in the direction of the physio room.

“Sorry you're getting stuck with me again.” You apologize to Jessie, trying to make small talk with the girl and also hoping she doesn’t feel like she’s getting stuck with just the student again.

“Oh, I don't mind. I wasn't really joking earlier when I said you did a better job than your mom.” She gives you a smile, you feel the flutter in your stomach. Her praise is nice, but it's the smile that she's giving you that makes your stomach flip, it’s gentle and friendly. “Don't take that the wrong way, your mom is excellent, just it was different, you were more thorough maybe, I’m not sure, it was just different.” Jessie rambles.

“That's probably because I’m more nervous about messing up than they are.” You’re honest, you were doing everything to the exact standard, following the expectations you had been taught in class, yet to develop your own style.

“You’re nervous?” She seems surprised.

“I mean, wouldn’t you be, being brought into a professional sports team and being asked to help that team's captain while you're still a student? I mean I guess you’re usually level headed, penalty machine and all.” Thankfully you have half a brain to not throw in that the captain being attractive was definitely adding to your nerves.

“Oh believe me, I was nervous for those penalties but I’ve always thought nerves are good, they show you care. How much more school do you have?” She continues with the small talk.

“Just another semester. And then licensing tests, but just a semester of school.”

“That's exciting, do you know what you are going to do after that?” You make your way into the training room, holding the door open for Jessie to walk through.

“I don’t know, probably work at some secondary school to start, work my way up to bigger teams, I'll have to see what options I have. Go ahead and sit up on the table.” You point at the table at the end of the room as you move over to where the heat packs were stored. Jessie is sitting on the table, watching you when you turn around. You lift her foot, placing the heat pack on the table before placing her calf down on top of it.

“Is it still just sore or is it more sharp now?” Turning the conversation back to a more professional topic away from the small talk about yourself.

“Just sore, feels like a sore muscle.”

“You know, it's nice to actually meet you finally.” When you give her a confused look, she continues “I just mean your mom talks a lot about you.”

“Oh that's embarrassing.” You regret saying it as soon as it comes out of your mouth, you loved your mom, you know you shouldn’t be embarrassed about her talking about you.

“No, it's actually really sweet, I hope my parents talk about me even half as much as your mom talks about you. She’s so proud of you. You're her world.”

“Yeah, I know, it was always just the two of us. I know she misses me when I’m at school, I feel bad leaving her sometimes.” You look down, then realize youre probably giving way too much information to someone who likely doesn't care. “Sorry, I don't mean to talk about my personal stuff.”

“No problem, I don't mind, it's nice talking to you,” she quickly corrects her sentence “to someone closer to my age.”

You pull up a stool and sit with Jessie while she uses the heat pack. When the heat pack starts to cool off you slide over and start digging around for the TENS unit your mom recommended. When you’ve opened your third cabinet and had no luck finding it Jessie speaks up.

“They keep the TENS over there.” She points across the room to a different cabinet. You push up off the stool and move over to where she pointed, opening a drawer and finding it quickly.

“Sorry, I obviously don’t know where anything is, I didn't have time to really get acclimated this morning.” You feel embarrassed, already feeling inferior being the student but now being clueless and having to have Jessie tell you where everything is.

“That’s alright.” She reassures you. You move back and attach the pads onto her calf, turning the machine on low and handing her the controls and tell her to leave it on for 10 minutes. She messes with the controls of a second before setting down the remote and slightly leaning back, her arms propped behind her. Not knowing what to do with yourself you stand up and move over to the other tables where rolls of tape, bandaids, scissors, and various other tools used by the trainers are askew. You tidy up, finding where things belong through your own searching.

“So what do you do outside of school?” You had gotten used to the silence that Jessie’s voice breaks.

“Well school takes up most of my time, I wish I could travel more, I miss going to new places, seeing new things. But unfortunately school turns me into a pretty boring person.”

“Maybe you’ll get a travel experience this summer eh?” You turn at her, you’re assuming she’s implying going with your mom to Paris for the Olympics. “Your mom mentioned she wanted you to come with the team.”

“Yeah she said something about it to me, I mean I’d have to have her boss, Mark, pick me, I think there’s a few people they’re looking at for the trip. She thinks it’ll be a good experience for me for future jobs. I know it would look good on a resume and all but I also don’t want to get the opportunity just because my mom is here.”

“If it means anything you have my vote, the other people have been boring.” Jessie quickly says. “Sorry that’s not what I meant. I just meant, you’ve been the best one they’ve tried out. You care the most, at least it seems like you do. Plus you’re easy to talk to, the rest were too caught up on work, some of them stressed me out just being around them. And no one else was as observant. Your mom mentioned you were the one to see I was putting my weight off center, that’s why it’s important to have fresh eyes.”

“Yeah, I just happened to be watching, I get told I’m observant a lot.” You move your hands to take the TENS unit off of her gently peeling the pads from her skin. You move to grab her the foam ball across the room, tossing it in her direction. Jessie tried to catch it, it bounces off her hands, into her face and then onto the floor.

“Oh my god sorry, I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” You throw your hands in her direction apologizing. Moving quickly across the room you pick up the ball where it had rolled before gently placing it in her hand.

“Nope, that was my fault. There’s a reason I play a foot sport.” She laughs. Her laugh is beautiful, it fills the room momentarily. It makes you feel light inside.

Just as she moves to the floor to begin rolling out her calf, the training room door opens and in comes the loud crowd of her teammates. They move in all directions across the room, some moving to the ice bath, some moving to grab heat packs. Some move to take off tape, tossing it in the trash. It’s loud, conversations in every direction and you’re quickly swept away, your arm being pulled by your mom as she moves you over to where the ice cooler was. You’re instructed to make ice bags for the players who want them and help them wrap the ice wherever they want it. It’s an easy task but it takes you away from Jessie, no longer having the quiet privacy of the training room.

You wrap arms and legs and shoulders and backs and feet with ice. You can’t help but keep glancing at Jessie, she was still rolling her calf, chatting with her teammates as they walked by. On a couple instances you caught her looking back at you, she’d give a quick smile before looking away. You finish the last player requesting ice and when you look up Jessie is now sitting on the table with Mark, he’s taping her calf. A small part of you feels jealous, which is insanely stupid you tell yourself, she’s his player not yours, he’s the head trainer, you’re not even one, it should be him doing the work.

Only a few minutes later, Jessie hops off the table, giving you a wave and a shout of thanks before leaving the room. Only staff remained, the rest of the players on their way home for the day. You finish cleaning up, asking your Mom a couple of times where everything belongs, making sure nothing gets put away in the wrong place.

It feels like time has flown by in the eight hours that you have been at the training center, before you know it you’re headed out to the car with your mom, the same way you came in this morning.

“Mark wanted to extend the offer for you to spend the rest of the summer here, and for the Olympics. He’s going to give you a call tomorrow, but he gave me a heads up. It can probably count as some clinical work for school, he said he’ll just have to get the paperwork sorted. Something about high praises from a certain team captain.” Your mom nudges you with her shoulder. You look at her and you can tell she’s being suggestive with her wording.

“What?” Your cheeks begin to flush slightly. “You’re the one who kept sticking her with me.”

“I know, I also know you had a little crush when you were younger.” She teases. You just roll your eyes, not wanting to give yourself away.

“Oh my god mom that was years ago, she’s not my type.” It was true, your dating history was littered with blonde preppy girls with terrible personalities, quite literally the opposite of Jessie. Hoping that fact would help your argument that you didn’t still have a crush on Jessie and it seemed to as your mom dropped the topic.

“I know honey, I’m only kidding you. You can drive, I’m tired.” She places the keys in your hand. You don’t mind driving, you turn back looking at the facility, realizing you could be spending your summer everyday here didn’t sound like too bad of an idea.

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming imagine #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #canwnt

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allieebobo · 1 year ago

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College Tennis: Origin Story

Demo | Characters | Dev log | Ko-fi

Tennis/Sports x Slice-of-life x College x Found-family x Coming-of-age x Coz

Experience the ups-and-downs of life as a freshman on the Cargill University varsity tennis team amongst a colorful cast of characters.

Compete in nail-biting singles and doubles matches, forge lifelong friendships, pursue budding romances and make a name for yourself, both on and off the tennis court.

Will the once-great Cargill Coyotes succeed in reclaiming the NCAA Div I championship title for the first time since the 90s? Will you come into your own as a promising young tennis star, primed for the professional leagues? Most importantly, how much are you willing to sacrifice in pursuit of these dreams?

Full character customisation

Customise your gender, height, build, personality, physical appearance, languages spoken, tennis style, dominant hand, and more!

Strike a balance between: tennis, keeping up a rich social life, and maintaining your grades

Nail-biting tennis matches

Every match is different! Play matches throughout the fall and spring seasons, leading up to the NCAO championships—that is, if you make the Cargill team.

Intricate tennis game mechanics: Factors such as your condition/energy, preparation for the match, opponent's play style, doubles partner chemistry, as well as your choices at key junctures of the match etc. will affect the outcome of the match!

Craft your own distinctive playing style and make a name for yourself on the tennis court

Hone your strength, agility, finesse, serve-and-volley skill, and endurance over the course of the game!

Romance four possible characters

Rayyan Afiq, the gruff, hot-headed no. 1 seed

Guillaume/Geneviève Lavigne, the sardonic international student on your floor

Tobin Harris, the warm, unflappable team captain

Sam O'Connelly, your nerdy and spirited high-school best friend

And forge lifelong friendships with many more...

Rayyan Afiq The rival

Gender: Follows the gender of your team Age: 20 Nationality/Ethnicity: Egyptian-American

Student information: Junior, Anthropology major Player information: Vice-captain, No. 1 position, Aggressive Baseliner

Appearance: 5′6 (f) or 5′10 (m). Lean, athletic build. Dark, wavy curls, and thick sweeping eyebrows over piercing dark-olive eyes. Tawny, honey-brown skin.

Description: Surly, intense, and proud. Ambitious and driven to excellence in everything they do. Willing to give up almost anything for their tennis career. Has a soft-spot for cats. Loves organising things, has a plan for everything, and dislikes surprises.

Tobin Harris The captain

Gender: Follows the gender of your team Age: 20 Nationality/Ethnicity: African-American

Student information: Junior, History major Player information: Captain, No. 2 position, All-court player

Appearance: 5′9 (f) or 6′1 (m). Tall, solid build. Short black hair, warm, brown eyes and a calm, assured demeanour. Dark bronze skin. A smile that lights up the room.

Description: Kind, laid-back, selfless, and sociable. Goes out of their way to make everyone feel welcome, but has a tendency to stuff down their own emotions in the process. Surprisingly private and cautious when it comes to their own desires/wishes. Gentle to a fault, steadfast and unflappable. If not playing tennis, probably can be found cooking, hanging out with friends, or going to the library.

Geneviève/Guillaume Lavigne The exchange student

Gender: Gender selectable (f/m) Age: 20 Nationality/Ethnicity: Half French (father's side), half French-Canadian (mother's side)

Student information: Third year exchange student, Political science bachelor’s degree. Hall-mate.

Appearance: 5′6 (f) or 5′11 (m). Toned, supple build. Dark, tousled hair with fair skin. Smoky grey eyes, with a smattering of freckles. Permanent half-smile.

Description: Rarely excited or enthusiastic, always armed with a dry remark. Slightly cynical, but softer than they look. Very intelligent, though they don't often let on what they're actually thinking or feeling. Rich (and intensely private) inner world.

Sam O'Connelly The childhood best friend

Gender: Gender selectable (f/m) Age: 18, Freshman Nationality/ethnicity: American

Student information: Freshman, Undecided major. Player information: No. 6 position for the UCLA Bruins

Appearance: 5′4 (f) or 5′8 (m). Trim build, with a small frame. Curly russet hair that often sticks out in all directions. Mischievous light blue eyes and an infectious smile.

Description: Excitable, with a chaotic positivity that radiates from them like sunshine. Fun-loving and scattered, and nerdy. Competent tennis player, but too often distracted by other hobbies and interests. Somehow manages to survive on a diet of Cheetos and Ben & Jerry's ice cream.

More character descriptions here, face-claims here.

#ct:os #interactive fiction #if #college tennis: origin story #main post #features #don't mind me I'm just creating neat posts #gameplay

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noneorother · 8 months ago

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The art director & the Good Omens book cover tier list of doom, part 1

part 1 l part 2

This is going to have to be a multi-part series because there are *checks notes* 64 different covers that I've found so far.

I am your resident Art Director/Good Omens enthusiast, and welcome to my completely meta-free book cover tier list. Listen, making a book cover is HARD. I should know. But while we salute these artists for their hard work and time, I think we can all admit that once in a while, the vision is just not on. And on very rare occasions, publishers seemed to have managed to commission the cover art directly from hell... 1. The original UK cover

Ahh, the standard by which all shall be judged. We're starting off with a nice & easy cover, with adorable woodcuts of Aziraphale and Crowley flanking a custom Good Omens font! While I have to take a few points off for the terrible kerning of the word "GoOD", the blockprint vibes and general bitchiness of Aziraphale's teeny weeny wittle face, along with the sick colour palette puts the orignial in my good graces. Tier: Great

2. The duelling US covers

Progress! Hail to the designer who figured out trying to make "GoOD" and "OMeNs" fit the same width was a fool's errand, and even managed to IMPROVE on the original handmade title by adding a little halo and devil's tale to the design. Aziraphale and Crowley are facing each other, while also managing to serve absolute cunt. Aziraphale is wearing EIGHTIES SNEAKERS. Crowley's little snake boots have HEELS. They've managed to keep the woodcut vibes and colour simplicity, while balancing out the full title of the book. Both authors get to trade off on who's name comes first! Dare I say, this is a work of genius. I could dock some points for Crowley's sad bat wings growing out of his right clavicle, but who am I to question greatness.

Tier: Blessed by God Herself

3. The Halo Master Chief(?) cover

How the mighty have fallen... As a Canadian child, I was subjected to maybe the most horrifying ad in existence by the War Amps warning children about machine safety. This cover is the paper embodiment of that ad. I am confused by the purple haze. I am frightened by the seeming ethereal flatness of Adam and Dog. I am strangely aroused by Aziraphale's eyebrows, and intensely saddened by the terrible outline/drop shadow they had to inflict on the type to fit "Pratchett" in that god awful space. Tier: WTF

4. Germany, Ein Gutes Omen covers

This cover inexplicably exists in two colour ways: red and teal. I put the audiobook cover here so you could experience the full illustration, and also how fucked up it is that they cropped the book version to include three horse-people of the apocalypse, but cut off DEATH on the regular cover. Points must be given for drawing a pretty slick Bentley, but I think we have to take even more points away for turning Crowley into a Ray Charles/Mike Wazowski hybrid. The ducks are nice. Tier: Not so Good (Omens)

5. Germany, Ein Gutes Omen covers continued

I don't know if the German designer of this cover *knew* that they were using western yeehaw cowboy woodblock letters when they made this cover, but judging by how they spaced the rest of the text at the bottom, THEY DID NOT CARE. And that seems to be a running theme for this one. We get kind of a duality thing going on with the black and pink background, but it just seems like somebody whispered the general themes of Good Omens into a jar, and threw it down a well, and this poor chap came along and picked it up. The baffling choice to align every piece of text on the cover *except* Neil Gaiman's name which is right aligned and rotated 90 degrees (not even real vertical type) will haunt my dreams, I think.

Tier: Bad

6. US, UK The Traffic Jam cover

For the love of Good Omens, WHY. I can think of so many more interesting symbols to put on the cover of this book than the ODEGRA SIGIL TRAFFIC JAM. Props for keeping the good colours and type, but like, I think this cover was secretly designed by @amtrak-official, or someone who just really, really likes public works. Tier: Does the Job

7. France, De bons présages cover

Leave it to France to make sure people know that Aziraphale and Crowley fuck severely. While I can't condone leaving out half the title of the book (and thinking a red carpenter's square counts as decoration), I can begrudgingly acknowledge that Ron Pearlman and Benedict Cumberbatch's love child is excellent Crowley casting. I think I give this a solid dark academia/10. Tier: Good (Omens)

8. France, De bons présages covers continued

Just imagine with me, if you will, the absolutely hilarious reality that this cover posits: Good Omens is exactly the same in every respect, but Crowley drives a pink 1950s convertible. Why do all of the colours on this cover look like they've been pre-digested? Why are the font choices and placement so bafflingly bad. My face is the demon's face holding that car. I feel his pain.

Tier: WTF

9. France, De bons présages covers continued

Minus points for not managing to write the full title of the book once again. I don't know what it is with the French. They seem pretty set on Good Omens being demonic. While I do appreciate a good Bosch-style demon party, the dude in the middle confounds me. All-caps Museo Sans that isn't even *centred* in the frame is just so lazy. I am le tired. Tier: Bad

10. France, De bons présages covers continued

Uhh. The font. The font is okay.... I think? Yeah. The font and kerning are. Okay. OHHH GOD I LOOKED DOWN BELOW THE TEXT WHYYYY. Tier: WTF

END of round one. I need a nap.

#good omens 2 #good omens fandom #good omens #art director talks good omens #tier list #cover art #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale x crowley #book cover #go s2 #gomens #good omens analysis

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catnippackets · 1 month ago

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Hii I really hope it doesn't come off as nitpicky, I'm just curious bcs I'm not Canadian (or American), how is Petra still in med school for seven years with at least 1-2 years still to go? I'm used to med schools being 5 years at most sffdsfds

it can be up to 6-8 years in Canada, also if you aren't in a specific program I know some people will finish degrees even more slowly if they choose to take only a few classes at a time instead of 4-5! so it can take a minute haha

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mydaddywiki · 3 months ago

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George Windsor, Earl of St Andrews

Physique: Average Build Height: 6' 2"

George Philip Nicholas Windsor, Earl of St Andrews (born 26 June 1962) is an English philanthropist, former diplomat and relative of the British royal family. He is the elder son of Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, and his wife Katharine, Duchess of Kent, and heir-apparent to the dukedom of Kent. He is 42nd in the line of succession to the British throne. Charles III is one of his second cousins through the King's mother, Elizabeth II, having been a first cousin of his father. He is the trustee of the Next Century and Global eHealth foundations and patron of the Welsh Sinfonia.

Personally I think he is fantastically cute in a nerdy hot way and it looks like he'll hold on to that attractiveness longer than his father at his age.

Lord St Andrews was educated at Eton College and Downing College, Cambridge, where he earned an MA degree in History. St Andrews served in the Diplomatic Service in New York and Budapest. He later worked in the antiquarian book business for Christie's auction house. On 30 March 2017, he was installed as chancellor of the University of Bolton.

George Windsor married Sylvana Tomaselli, a Canadian-born academic, and together the couple have three children.

#mydaddywiki royalty #George Windsor

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middenway · 10 months ago

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The colour of Turning Red – Part 5

Here's a link to Part 1.

Now look how this scene changes as Ming's mother enters the scene. It's just her voice, but there's a massive shift.

I love the intensity of Grandma Wu's introduction. This tight shot with the scar given to her by Ming dominating the scene is extremely purposeful. She has a single stray hair in her eyebrow, which she promptly removes. This is what matters to Wu and this builds on the language of hair and why Ming's hair is always perfect. And that idea is linked with the scar here.

Back to school. In this scene Mei loses her temper at Tyler... and it's on the basketball court, the space frequently associated with him.

There's no way that's an accident. And look, the gym uniforms are green, because Mei's supposed to be the restrained version of herself... but she fails.

I love how this bathroom scene uses scene direction to control colour changes. The first two pictures are reverse shots at the beginning of the scene. Both are teal dominant, Mei's with a splash of purple in the tiles behind her.

But watch how the colour of the scene changes by choosing different angles. Suddenly the primary colour identity becomes pink.

When they find a room for their hustle, they leave the teal of the school hallways and enter a warm classroom.

And look how much pink appears in this scene.

Even the Canadian flag, which I'm told has red on it, sure looks pink here!

And here's an important scene with Tyler. Note how much he's covered up here. His identity becomes grey. He really feels the need to fit in and be accepted, and he does that by covering up who he is. Notice he and Mei are in the same space, but she's framed in the light, while he's framed in shadow.

When we are properly introduced to the aunties and Grandma Wu, notice how while they are all primarily identified with teal, they have splashes of other colour to break it up. Likewise, look at the items we're shown that hold their pandas. None are completely red like Ming's. None of them police themselves to the degree that Ming does.

You have to wonder, why is it Ming and not any of the others that took on the responsibility of the panda temple? So much of Ming's identity is tied up with what is expected of her to a degree that the others are not.

I like the way this tuft of fur here is shaped and lit to look like fire. Such a nice touch.

To be continued in Part 6.

#Pixar #Turning Red

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astrowhump · 2 years ago

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Useful

Tw: torture (past and present), conditioning, asphyxiation, whipping, and just a bunch of other good stuff :)

11:00 p.m., master isn’t home yet, then it must be time for bed. Lucas pushes himself up from his knees, still trembling from kneeling on the cold tiles for hours on end, waiting for his owner to show up. He looks down at his kneecaps just to find them tinted red, caused by the pressure from his own weight.

The Canadian winter snow is still pelting, a ghost white blankets everything in sight. He’s lost in the panoramic scene for a moment, in the dagger-like icicles and the pine trees bending under the heavy shimmering carpet that covers their every leaf and the eery silence of stillness. Through the glass door and French windows, he watches as the moon shines on the pavement that’s covered knee-high, and for an instant, he imagines the tingling of the freezing snow on his legs. Before he knows it, his mind’s filled with thoughts of the unthinkable…the impossible.

The first obstacle would be the locked front door, hardly a challenge, he knows where master keeps the spare keys - where he keeps anything for that matter- Lucas has been the one keeping this place spotless after all, for a good chunk of the past four years and seven months and fourteen days.

He’s built up quite a tolerance to cold by now, thanks to master’s ‘seasonal torture techniques’. Apparently, keeping the poor boy out in -10 degrees Celsius temperature and frozen snow in nothing but his boxers until his body starts shaking violently and he bangs his trembling fists to the glass door as he begs to be let in, is just as much an amusement as burning him or drowning him or beating him bloody. Even though he could survive several hours in that weather, he’d most definitely lose all mobility within the first hour. He will need to cover himself up, with some of his owner’s winter clothes perhaps, not that a 6’ man with an athletic build’s clothes would fit perfectly on a 5’ 3” boy with a much smaller body, but anything that keeps him warm will do.

It’s gonna be an exhaustingly long walk before he sets foot outside the property and even then, they’re probably somewhere far into the woods, they couldn’t be more than a day of walking from the city though, master goes to the city quite often for work so it must be a reasonable distance.

The thought of escaping seems more and more like an absurd fantasy as his trail of taboo thoughts continues flowing. It was never gonna be anything more than that anyways. Besides, even if he did make it outside on his own, the owner would definitely find his astray mongrel somewhere along the way and when he does, he will make sure that ungrateful mutt knows the definition of real hell. First and foremost, he will bash in his kneecaps, turn him into the dog he is, just as promised. He’ll have to crawl on all fours for the rest of his pathetic life, And that’s not even all. The mere thought of the length of consequences that await him if he steps out of line makes him freeze in his place.

11:45. Did he just spend that long thinking about escaping? It’s almost funny; after years and years of training, this is where he belongs, this is who he is, he doesn’t have a purpose in life but to obey and please his master.

At last, his legs drag him to the upstairs bedroom where he changes into his sleeping t-shirt. The room is warm and his stomach is full, a fact he will never stop being grateful for. Just as he slides under the covers, the door to the living room is opened forcefully and then slammed shut and heavy shoes stomp downstairs. Lucas sits up in the bed, expecting to greet his exasperated master, but the footsteps never make it upstairs.

Naked feet touch the wooden floor and sneak down the staircase.

“S- sir?” He calls softly.

Light peaks out of the doorway to the study and that’s where his feet take him.

“Welcome home maste-“

An empty whiskey bottle flies towards him the second he steps through the door, but his head instinctively ducks and the glass shatters as it hits the wall to his back.

“Why the fuck is my whiskey bottle empty.” It doesn’t sound like a question but Lucas answers anyway.

“I’m not allowed in the cellar when I’m alone.” His voice is small.

“I’ll fetch you one right away sir, I’m sorry” he quickly adds as he feels the angry gaze bore into his quivering figure. He looks up to the vexed man and finds him fidgeting with his tie in a failed attempt to loosen it.

“Let me.” He carefully steps closer to help his master. He’s stepping on eggshells, every step he takes might be a step too far, but master allows him to get close and slowly hook his fingers around the tie and pull. He loosens the loop enough for the man’s head to easily slip through.

“Did you have a bad day, sir?” He speaks softly, placing the tie on the desk behind him and starts unbuttoning his owner’s white shirt.

Lucas looks up at him when he doesn’t hear an answer. The man’s mind seems to be rushing with irritating thoughts, however, his attention is grabbed as the busy hands on his shirt stop wriggling.

“Very.” He sounds tired. The hands continue undressing his top until his muscular form shows as the shirt is taken away. Big hands wrap around bony wrists.

“Weren’t you supposed to be asleep by now?” The pressure on his wrists increases and the boy’s nervousness along with it. He tries to back off a bit, but his movements are blocked by the desk behind him and master’s vigorous form in front. Helplessly sandwiched in between, he presses the palms of his hands to the tattooed chest holding him captive.

“I- I heard you enter and you seemed pissed. Thought that you uh…you might want to blow off some steam, sir?” His eyes wander off to the floor in shame, he does mean what he said, but he didn’t think it through, he shouldn’t have done anything before he was ordered to and now…now he has fucked up. Although, if he is to be punished, master might appreciate the distraction. His idiocy may prove helpful afterall.

He hears a chuckle, not threatening or derisive, rather…sweet.

The man’s breathing no longer seems ragged by irritation and his heartbeat calms under Lucas’s palms.

“Oh you sweet thing. You came to me willingly, to be used and abused. Such an obedient little puppy!” One of his hands let go of the little one’s wrists to card through his silky brown locks. Lucas moans softly into his touch.

He feels like a proud owner, turning that stray animal into this adorable domestic pet, ready to serve and please, needy for his master’s touch, ready to jump off a cliff without hesitation if master orders him so. He has been trained with such delicacy, his prized possession.

The hands in the pet’s hair firmly grip the roots and they pull and twist until he winces and looks up at him through defeated eyes, only to find a sadistic dark gaze thrown his way, he keeps his hands flat on his chest, there’s not much fight in him. The fingers pull until he feels his scalp tearing from his skull and he cries out. Master smiles at the sounds he makes, like a father watching his child sweetly speak gibberish. Finally, the hand lets go, but Lucas’s eyes stay leveled with his owner’s.

“On your knees.”

He drops to his knees like it’s instinct.

“Heel.” He starts stepping towards an empty wall between the bookshelves. On the wall hang two chained handcuffs, fixated by nails on the green wallpaper, his personal modification to make the study feel more like home to his precious little pet.

Lucas follows behind him with ease, used to the scratching of his knees as he crawls by his master’s feet, the hard wood beneath him gives its place temporarily to the soft wool of the Persian rug as they cross the middle of the room and then the uncomfortable wood again.

He extends his arms so that they can be restrained. An air of superiority lines his owner’s smile and he can’t help but pat the willing puppy on the head.

Once his wrists are firmly secured, the sheer fabric covering his upper body is ripped through. He sits there awkwardly as master pulls the remains aside.

His vision is limited to the wall in front of him now. Footsteps track distant and stop a few feet behind him. He listens intently now, all his senses heightened, they always are in these situations, when his brain knows something bad, something painful, is going to happen and his body is unable to do anything but stay still and notice every sensory trigger possible. Now even his mind won’t do anything but sit still and take it all in, defiance is no longer defined in his dictionary. The sound his hypersensitive ears catch next is that of a belt undone, followed by his next command.

“Stretch your back for me darling”

He does as told, moving his knees and elbows in opposite directions until every inch of his back - littered with wounds and physical implications of mental trauma - is exposed and stretched to full capacity.

“You ready sweetheart?”

Lucas keeps his head down and squeezes his eyes shut as if that makes anything better. He belatedly answers when he realizes he is expected to.

“Y- yes, master.”

The belt cracks in the air before it lands on his back. The leather is thick and heavy, and the pain that spreads through his bones and muscles is sickening.

His sweet voice breaks into a scream, so pleasant that his tormentor stops to appreciate it for a second. Another blow brings another sweet cry out of him. He could do this forever.

“Your body’s such a beautiful canvas, it would be a shame not to cover it with art.”

Lucas doesn’t move his composition an inch, offering his naked back for his owner to take his rage out on. However, he yawps as the belt whips his tender skin, one blow from the right and one from the left rhythmically, and the occasional cracks in the air just to make the already tremoring boy flinch even harder in anticipation of pain.

His tears slide straight onto the parquet and his head falls down between his strained arms, chin touching the chest. Master must see it because the next blow comes down on him harsher and faster than the rest and the edges of the belt cut into his skin.

His head rises, he shrieks and tears stream down his reddened eyes, his perfect posture is disturbed slightly. Such a sight. Though it is fun to break defiant brats, it’s even more enjoyable to crush an obedient mutt.

“M- master- “ he sobs. Several cuts on his back are bleeding now.

“What is it, pet?” He stops and walks closer to the bleeding trembling boy.

Lucas ducks his head back down. He had learned time and time again that asking for it to stop only brings him punishment. That word was involuntary, he regrets saying anything at all, even more so when his head is yanked backward by his brown curls drawing a wince out of him. Master’s dark eyes drill a hole into his blushing cheeks.

“Don’t be shy now boy. Beg me to stop. Cry for my mercy. All your wishes just might eventually come true.”

He smiles. It’s frightening and hits the naked boy’s body like a winter blizzard, sending visible shivers down his spine.

His head is let go just to fall limply between his arms again and he can hear footsteps retracting through loud sobs.

Suddenly, something soft grips his neck, silky…the tie. The loop he helped loosen earlier, tightens around his neck more than it should and it’s pulled up until he chokes out. Master looks at him with pity eyes as he loses composure and chokes himself even harder. He claws at the floor with his feet to keep his head up but the noose moves higher and higher, blocking all oxygen from ever touching his windpipe.

“If you want to breathe, ask nicely.”

His eyes turn in their place to stare innocently into those of his master. There’s not much air left in him to form coherent words.

“S- sir…p- nghh; please…Ah” only whispers leave his mouth. He gasps for air with his mouth open and a stream of tears down his messed-up face.

“-ease p-..mas- Ha- hngha.. mast- “ his face turns a dark shade of purple, matching the violet tie around his throat.

His owner only lets go of his lead a moment before he loses consciousness, or maybe one after. Either way the boy’s head falls to his chest, his weak naked body spattered across the room, only hanging up by tied-up wrists. The gradually fastening rise and fall of his chest is all the movement he makes. He mercifully undoes his restraints so the boy can catch his breath

Master pulls a chair to sit beside his panting mess of a pet on the ground and lights his cigarette calmly. Lucas slowly regains consciousness and pulls himself to sit on his knees, the tie still wrapped around his slender neck and vision still disoriented, back still hurting and bleeding, the exhaustion overtakes the pain by the slightest.

A snap of fingers. That means there’s an order to follow. His eyes look for the source of the sound. Master gestures for him to come closer.

His numb limbs are having a hard time trying to follow his brain’s orders but eventually, he pulls himself to all fours and crawls to the bigger man in the chair. The tie dangles around his neck like a runaway dog’s leash; except he could never run away, he has an extremely thoughtful owner, always alert and cautious, even after…four years and seven months and fourteen days - well fifteen now.

His sweaty palms make sticky sounds against the floor until he’s at his sir’s feet. He fits his body between his legs and rests his dizzy head on the lap of the other.

He knows this ritual by heart, after every single play or training or punishment or ‘let me take everything out on you because I can’ session, master smokes his cigarette as he winds down and then…zzzz…signs his brutalized body with the hot end of the cigarette. He hardly even flinches at the burning pain anymore, he’s way too beaten and it’s way too familiar. It almost feels reassuring even, a sign that agony is over for the time being. He’s relieved.

His body is carpeted in these marks, he couldn’t count them even if he wanted to. Most of them overlap, but master has his favorite spots, his neck and shoulders for example.

A loving hand sorts out his tangled locks and he dozes off to the touch, right there on master’s thigh. His eyes open sluggishly and look up for another order, or permission to pass out.

“Ah. Thank you pet, I feel much better now. Bring me that whiskey after you’re done cleaning yourself up, would you?”

“Mmhm…yes, sir”

He gently brushes off the stray strands of hair sticking to his sweaty face and bends his neck to press a gentle kiss to the boy’s temple.

“Up now. You’ve been such a good boy for me tonight. You can go to bed when you’ve done as I said. It’s way past your bedtime.” He whispers into his ears with a deep calm voice.

“Mmm..” Lucas nods and gets up on his feet lazily. He tries his best not to stumble over his own feet as he makes his way to the cellar.

Lucas is glad he proved himself useful for his master tonight.

Inspired by one of @whumpitisthen’s dialouge prompts.

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viktorviolettaenterprises · 3 months ago

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Rainbow 6 Siege Frost

THANK YOU!: @bdangkingfish @cctreasuretrove @exzentra-reblog @ts4cc-finds @sssvitlanz

Tech Specs:

Mesh Originally From Ubisoft, Converted to XNALARA By My DeviantART Friend, BlinkjisooXPS and Converted to Sims 4 By Me

Custom Thumbnail

HQ Compactible

Age Range: Teen to Elder

Category:Costume

Female Only Since I Found Enemy force In this game Got Horrible Design. So I Decide to Making A Montage With More Known Enemy. If you know what I Mean LOL. Special Thanks to @helenofsimblr for Marvelous pose :D

Information

Tsang was raised in Vancouver, British Columbia. When she turned eighteen, Tsang enlisted with the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF). She was sent to the Royal Military College of Canada (RMC) as an Officer cadet and graduated top of her class. After completing a bachelor's degree in Science and Mechanical Engineering, she completed her officer training and was stationed at CFB Esquimalt with the Joint Rescue Coordination Centre Victoria (JRCC Victoria). From there she served on the primary Search & Rescue response team covering British Columbia and the Yukon Territory. An avid hunter, Tsang has used leg-hold traps to capture prey from raccoons to mountain lions on Vancouver Island. She was later invited to join Joint Task Force 2 and was involved in Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF). In 2015 she was eventually recruited in Rainbow alongside Sebastien Côté.

💀DOWNLOAD HERE💀

#the sims 4 #the sims 4 custom content #ts4 #ts4 cc #the sims 4 military #the sims 4 cc #ts4cc #sims 4 #rainbow 6 siege #rainbow six siege #rainbow six #r6s #r6s frost

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ds30below · 11 months ago

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30 Below: resources & AO3 collection

First things first: here's the AO3 collection for all your future fanworks! Yay!

Now, some links to get you started.

🐢Where can I watch due South?

Well, we're all in luck — it's on youtube!

There's also Slings and Arrows and Hard Core Logo, both great—but not only—points to get into Canadian 6 Degrees. You can DM this blog, flownwrong on DW or emotionalrisotto on Discord for a better quality rip of HCL, or something more obscure ;)

🐢Are there transcripts?

Why, yes, there are — wonderful and detailed, on Dreamwidth and AO3. Courtesy of @agentreynard!

🐢Where do I look for history and discovery?

@juniperpomegranate's lists of Livejournal and Dreamwidth DSC6D communities are an endless rabbithole of joy (note that some of them are alive on DW, pop in to see what's up!)

LJC's due South page is just one example of many, many fansites of yore. This one is still up, offers lots to see, and links to many other fansites (see: Wayback Machine)

Fanlore. Linking categories, not just fandom articles, because there's a lot more: due South | Canadian 6 Degrees.

Official site, archived. Honestly, this one is just cute. This is a link to a random snapshot — if it doesn't work, see below.

You'll have to deal with a lot of broken links. Most often, Wayback Machine has your back: paste the link into the search bar and click around on the timeline until you find a working snapshot!

These links are just a few ideas, and mostly concern the online era of dS fandom — please feel free to share your own suggestions.

Otherwise — just pick a link and go from there. Use whatever you find as inspiration. You'll likely see something I didn't and do something I haven't thought of. That's the point. Enjoy!

🐢fest info

🐢themes & prompts

🐢navigation

#due south #ds30below #benton fraser #ray kowalski #ray vecchio #resources #mod post

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 2 months ago

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I get why that anon wants to buy a ticket in Europe for the next tour… but please don’t. In Milan there were 20000 americans at each convert (estimated). So 40000 in total. *40000*. It was 13 years she didn’t come back here. You guys have so many shows. I get that it’s too expensive for you there but it’s expensive for us too here, and if you guys come flocking here we’re screwed. I know I can’t police what people do but PLEASE think about the fact that this kind of behavior leads to thousands upon thousands of tickets not sold to international fans and it’s just not right because you have had something like 60/70 shows, while Italy/France 6/8. Let’s put things into perspective here.

Anon, I'm extremely sympathetic to this, especially to destinations she and other artists don't frequent. But the reality in the music industry now is that this is going to be the norm. There's no way for Ticketmaster to prioritize sales for residents only in any place for any artist. If they had a better system where they could give locals early access that'd be wonderful, but they clearly don't. And to be absolutely frank, if those of us here on tumblr step back because we want our besties in Milan to get first crack at it, others are just going to step in and take the tickets anyway-- and more likely than not it'll be the bots/scalpers who do, not fans.

I'm Canadian and I couldn't get access to any shows in Canada, or even North America for that matter. With someone like Taylor, i think the unfortunate reality is that EVERYONE has to travel ANYWHERE for a show, so people in Milan may have to go to Stockholm, or someone in Madrid may end up going to Munich, or whatever. It sucks, but Taylor and artists of her stature on such a level that there is no such thing as just a local audience anywhere. So it's not an expense thing for most of us travelling to shows, it's literally an access issue. There's no supply, and we go to wherever Ticketmaster sends us via its waitlist system. Truth be told, if I had gotten a code for Toronto instead, my instinct would probably have been to pick that over Europe because being "domestic" seemed more convenient. But I didn't, and I got a code for France, so that's where I went. I don't know where the other anon was from, but it could be that they wanted to go to a show in the US but maybe they'll only get a code for Europe too.

I really, really hope Taylor adds more dates in Milan and other accessible cities for her next tour so that more fans get to go. The Ticketmaster bloodbath is awful and when it comes down to it, IMO it's not a fan issue, it's a Ticketmaster issue. I really, really want all oomfs to go to the shows they want to go to.

(I hope this doesn't sound harsh anon, this isn't directed at you or meant to be aggressive, it's meant to be sympathetic! Just trying to relay that people travelling for shows isn't a clearcut issue, and unless Taylor does a long-term residency somewhere in one place, I think most cities are unfortunately in the same boat to different degrees.)

#Pouring out my heart to a stranger but I didn't pour the whiskey #Anonymous #There are so many artists I'd like to see who never come to my city either so I get how frustrating it is

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conradscrime · 5 months ago

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The Disappearance of Amy Lynn Bradley

August 19, 2024

Amy Lynn Bradley was born on May 12, 1974 in Petersburg, Virginia. At the time of her disappearance, Amy was a 23 year old graduate of Longwood University, having completed a degree in Physical Education. Amy attended university with a scholarship in basketball, and was a strong swimmer, previously having worked as a lifeguard.

Amy was about to begin a job at a computer consulting firm. She decided to go on a cruise with her family on the Royal Caribbean International cruise ship, Rhapsody of the Seas, as a celebration for herself.

The cruise ship was going to Curaçao, an island under the Kingdom of the Netherlands. On March 21, 1998, Amy and her family boarded the cruise. Before disappearing, assumingly on March 23, Amy and her brother Brad had been drinking late and dancing at a Mardi Gras nightclub party on the ship. They had been drinking with the ship's band, Blue Orchid. One band member, a man named Alister Douglas, also known as Yellow, had been drinking with Amy.

Alister claimed that he had left the party around 1 am. There had been a videographer there as well, Chris Fenwick, who had gotten a moment on film of Amy and Alister dancing.

Brad decided to go back to their cabin around 3:35 am. The ship's lock system had recorded that Brad returned to the family's cabin at this time. Amy followed him 5 minutes later. Brad claimed that him and Amy had sat on the suite's balcony talking before going to bed. He said Amy stayed awake longer before she went to sleep.

On March 24, 1998, between 5:15-5:30 am, Amy's father Ron woke up and went to check on his children. He saw Amy sleeping on a lounge chair of the cabin balcony. Ron claimed that he could see Amy's legs from her hips down, but he had dozed back off to sleep. When he got up again at 6am, Amy was missing along with her cigarettes and lighter.

Ron said he went to find her but couldn't. He said it was unlike Amy to just leave and not tell anyone where she was going. Ron searched the common areas of the cruise, and woke up the rest of the family. Amy was considered missing at 6:30am.

Amy's family reported her missing to the crew onboard, and pleaded with them to keep the 2000 other passengers from leaving the cruise ship and to make an announcement to help find Amy. However, they were told it was too early to make ship-wide announcement. After a majority of passengers disembarked the ship, an announcement was made at 7:50am.

Between 12:15pm and 1pm, the cruise staff searched through the ship but there was no sign of Amy. There was a 4 day search conducted by the Dutch Caribbean Coast Guard that ended on March 27, 1998. The Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines chartered a boat to continue to look for Amy. Helicopters and a radar plane were used in the search.

Authorities originally believed that Amy had either fallen overboard or died by suicide. This speculation was soon discredited as Amy was considered a strong swimmer and her body has never been found. There is no evidence of foul play.

There have been many supposed sightings of Amy since she went missing.

On the morning of Amy's disappearance, two passengers told Ron that they saw a woman who looked like Amy taking an elevator to the ship's deck with cigarettes and a lighter. This information has never lead to anything however.

There was a cab driver who said he had seen a woman matching Amy's description. The driver said the woman approached him and said she urgently needed a phone. This sighting has never been truly confirmed.

In August 1998, 5 months after her disappearance, a Canadian computer engineer claimed to have seen Amy walking with two men on a beach in Curaçao. The witness said the woman was constantly trying to get his attention, but he lost sight of her at a nearby cafe. The woman's tattoos were supposedly identical to the one's Amy had. The man claimed he had been 2 feet away from her and was certain it was her.

In January 1999, a US Navy petty officer claimed to have seen a woman at a brothel in Curaçao who claimed to be Amy Bradley. He said the woman begged him for help, saying she was being held against her will and was not allowed to leave. The man did not report the incident initially because he was afraid of his career in the Navy knowing he had been in a brothel.

He only contacted Amy's family after he had retired and saw her photo in a magazine. There's no evidence supporting this claim.

In March 2005, a witness named Judy Maurer claimed to have seen Amy in a department store bathroom in Barbados. She saw the woman enter the bathroom accompanied by three men who threatened her if she did not follow through on a deal. Judy said after the men left she approached the woman, who told her her first name was Amy and that she was from Virginia. The men then came back in and took her away.

There was a composite sketch of the three men and the woman based on Judy's account.

In the fall of 1999, Amy's parents got an email from a self-proclaimed Navy Seal Solider named Frank Jones. Frank told them that he was a former special officer who might be able to rescue Amy. He said his team had seen Amy being held by Colombian personnel in a housing complex surrounded by barbed wire. They gave an accurate description of Amy's tattoos and sang the lullaby that Amy's mother used to sing for her.

Over months, Frank would give the Bradley family news and provide reports on sightings of Amy. Frank told them they would attempt a rescue, but he needed more money. The Bradley's sent him a total of $210,000, with the National Missing Children's Organization helping them. They never received a call from Frank again.

In February 2002, Frank was prosecuted and charged with defrauding the Bradley's. Frank pleaded guilty in April and was sentenced to 5 years in prison.

There was a jawbone found in Aruba in 2010 that had washed ashore. This was initially thought to be the jawbone of Natalee Holloway, a woman who had gone missing from Aruba on a class trip in 2005. Once it was determined to not be that of Natalee, authorities ceased any other testing, despite others who had gone missing in the Caribbean. It was said that the bone is human and was likely Caucasian.

Amy's parents appeared on an episode of Dr. Phil on November 17, 2005. There was an image of a young woman who looked like Amy that had been emailed to the Bradley's was shown on the show. It suggested that Amy could have been sold in sex trafficking. There were two photos sent to the Bradley's via email, the woman in the photos resembled Amy. These photos were observed by an organization that tries to track victims of sex trafficking on sites that feature sex workers. The woman in the photo looks "distraught and despondent". Her name was apparently Jas.

There are many theories about what happened to Amy Bradley. Some believe she was sold into human trafficking in the Caribbean. There was inconsistencies of the story that Alister, the band member told versus what the CCTV footage shows. Many people also think a waiter was involved.

Throughout the night, Amy's family was approached by the same waiter who asked them to pass a note to Amy from him asking her to go drinking with him once they got to shore. There was a professional photographer that had printed out photos of the cruise, but there was no photos of Amy, making people believe someone had purposely removed them.

Authorities also considered that Amy had been murdered on the ship and thrown overboard. There's no real evidence suggesting this besides the jawbone that washed ashore in Aruba.

Amy was legally declared dead on March 24, 2010, 12 years after she had gone missing.

The FBI currently is offering a reward of up to $25,000 for anyone who has information that could potentially lead to the recovery of Amy or leads to an arrest or conviction of the person(s) responsible for Amy's disappearance. Amy's family, on top of this, is awarding $250,000 for information leading to her safe return and $50,000 for information leading to her current location.

There was renewned attention given to Amy's disappearance after Natalee Holloway went missing in 2005.

#true crime #crime #unsolved mysteries #unsolved #homicide #murder #unsolved murder #unsolved case #solved #mystery #cruise ship #missing person #missing persons #missing

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handeaux · 4 months ago

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Dorelle Heisel Plumbed Brain Mysteries And Psychedelicized Cincinnati’s Social Circles

Dorelle Markley Heisel called Cincinnati her home for several decades, but her mind was in another dimension. She was known as “Cincinnati’s Brain Lady” and held college faculty positions in literature, psychology and fine art. She pioneered biofeedback techniques to control mental and bodily functions while introducing Cincinnati’s strait-laced society to the psychedelic subculture of the Sixties.

Virginia Dorelle Markley was born in 1917 in Danville, Illinois but spent her childhood shuttling between her father’s Palm Beach restaurant and her mother’s St. Louis hotel. At DePauw University in Greencastle, Indiana, she was student royalty – literally – voted May Queen in her senior year.

It was at DePauw that she met and became engaged to W. Donald Heisel, a Cincinnati native and Western Hills High School alumnus. At the time of his 1940 marriage to Dorelle, Heisel was assistant secretary to Cincinnati’s Civil Service Commission and was, according to the Cincinnati Enquirer [21 May 1940] “one of the city’s youngest executives.” The Heisels built a new house on a quiet cul de sac in Westwood, where they raised two daughters.

Don Heisel earned a reputation as the “godfather of public administration in the Tristate” [Cincinnati Enquirer 6 March 1988] because of the many governmental officials he mentored at the University of Cincinnati and at Xavier University. Dorelle, who had earned a degree in English from DePauw, added a bachelor’s (1952) and master’s (1965) in education from UC while also taking classes at the Cincinnati Art Academy.

Dorelle taught English for several years in Cincinnati high schools and at the Ohio Mechanics Institute. During the summers she was a fixture at Pogue’s Department Store. Hundreds of Queen City baby boomers likely display pastel portraits of themselves, sketched by Dorelle at her stand in the Pogue’s children’s department. She hated the drab institutional brown walls in her husband’s office, so one day she hauled her pastels over to City Hall and executed a large mural of the Cincinnati skyline, drawn from memory.

UC’s University College recruited Dorelle in the mid-1960s and she flourished there, teaching literature, art appreciation and psychology. With assistance from the Procter & Gamble company, she brought innovative technology into her classrooms with a push-button feedback device that allowed students to register immediate opinions regarding class content. She told the Cincinnati Post [14 March 1968]:

“When students become frustrated with a lecture or feel lost or just plain bored, they can indicate their anxiety by signaling me on the monitor.”

Dorelle’s interest in media and their effects on human communication led her to Canadian theorist Marshall McLuhan, known for his books “Understanding Media” and “The Medium Is The Massage.” Among the earliest mentions of McLuhan in Cincinnati newspapers is a reference to a 1966 Evening College class taught by Dorelle to introduce the Canadian theorist’s ideas to Cincinnati.

Simultaneously with her investigations of media and biofeedback, Dorelle dove into what was then known as the human potential movement. She presided over a multi-week UC Evening College class titled “Actualizing Your Potential: A Group Happening.” Enquirer reporter Jo Thomas sat in on the course and reported [21 August 1969] a most unusual classroom experience.

“I will not lecture,” Heisel said. “You will live out experiences, and I will ask you questions. Answer them in your head without verbalizing them. Writing is so slow and the mind works at such speed.”

Dorelle invited the students to form themselves into trains of about nine “cars,” kindergarten-style and take turns being the “engine” or the “caboose.”

“Elderly women hung on to 20-year-olds. Bald men chugged in front of bearded men. Around and around the room the trains went, gathering momentum and enthusiasm. One train burst out of the classroom door into the bright hall, chugging with gusto.”

The explosion of new ideas generated by the psychedelic Sixties energized Dorelle and she launched a series of public lectures to share her excitement. One wonders how her Cincinnati audiences, among such mainline organizations such as the Federation of Jewish Organizations and the Kiwanis Club, reacted to her exposition titled “Turn On, Tune In, Find Out!”

An early adopter of technology, Dorelle acquired a variety of devices to assist her research into altering thought patterns via biofeedback. Among these contraptions were the electromyograph and the alphaphone that made brainwaves audible or visual. She claimed that biofeedback, in addition to curing a variety of conditions from depression to migraines, transported users into a new state of being that she called the Kairos Dimension.

"The Kairos Dimension is nature taking its electronic course through you by providing strategies for amplifying your sensory range,” she announced in her 1974 book, “The Kairos Dimension.”

The titles of Dorelle’s non-credit classes and community lectures indicate the paths her biofeedback research led her down: “Brainfun: Steering Minds In New Directions,” “The Holographic Mind,” “How Biofeedback Opens Social Spaces,” and “How Biofeedback Supports Excitement And Growth.” Here is the course catalog description for one of these classes:

“Feelings of stress, tension and pressure take place only in muscles, never in the chemical-electrical brain that sends out orders. New research gives us a more accurate model of how we guide and control our range of ‘body sculptures.’ Small group exploration of the latest technologies.”

As the Human Potential movement evolved into various New Age philosophies, Dorelle’s biofeedback strategies caught on among that crowd. When the Montreal Star compiled a list of 50 important New Age books in 1975, Dorelle’s “Biofeedback Exercise Book” was featured along with books on transcendental meditation, herbal remedies, gestalt therapy and “The Joy of Sex.”

The nationally syndicated television show, P.M. Magazine, hosted Dorelle in November 1983 as “Cincinnati’s Brain Lady who enables you to see your brain on a television screen.” For a brief period, UC’s radio station WGUC aired a show devoted to Dorelle’s “Kairos Dimension.”

The Heisels divorced in 1977 and throughout the 1980s Dorelle’s public appearances waned. A Body/Mind/Spirit Festival at Avondale’s Unitarian Church in 1988 found her discussing biofeedback along with proponents of shamanism, tarot cards, crystals, chelation therapy and psychic powers.

Dorelle retired from UC and relocated to Plano, Texas where one of her daughters lived. In retirement, she played bridge and painted portraits. She died, aged 79, in November 1996.

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