#from 22 remaining birds

[lies]

Sometimes when I'm birdwatching

[rjzimmerman]

A least Bell’s vireo (Vireo bellii pusillus) sings at Taylor Yard on March 22. California placed this songbird on its endangered species list in 1980, but this rare vireo has recently returned to central L.A. thanks to habitat restoration and the return of the natural riparian ecosystem along a section of the Los Angeles River. Alecia Smith / Audubon California

Excerpt from this story from the Smithsonian Magazine:

Along a gentle bend of the Los Angeles River, in a stretch of land called Taylor Yard, a sound like a high-pitched record scratch can just be heard above the cacophony of city life. This is the call of the least Bell’s vireo, an olive-gray songbird that is only five inches from tip to tail. The riparian species native to Southern California has lived an endangered existence for more than 40 years. Now, the small bird’s return here symbolizes a new future for one of the country’s most maligned waterways.

Before the concrete tide of urbanization washed over the Los Angeles River Basin, the river-fed wetland that was here represented the perfect habitat for this rare species. But for the past century, this area was one of the largest rail yards in the region, and as an expanding city grew right up to the river’s now concrete-laden banks, the vireo all but disappeared.

Until, suddenly, it returned. The 2007 creation of Rio de Los Angeles State Park, which is itself part of the sprawling rail yard, set the stage. In the early 2010s someone reported hearing the vireo’s memorable call. A few years later, a photo captured a vireo mid-song, and in 2022 a nesting pair took refuge in a tree. This year, the news was even better.

“We actually saw fledglings,” says Evelyn Serrano, the director of the Audubon Center at Debs Park in Los Angeles. “We saw the nest and we saw the babies, so we were very excited. It’s tough to survive in an urban environment when you’re a little bird like that, but it’s definitely possible.”

The return of the least Bell’s vireo shows what’s possible along a more natural Los Angeles River, and Taylor Yard represents the city’s largest opportunity to create vital habitat for many of its vulnerable endemic species. For years, a partnership of government groups and nonprofits has pushed to make the remaining 100 acres of the abandoned rail yard the “crown jewel” of L.A.’s river restoration project. The resulting collective, known as the 100 Acre Partnership, hopes to complete the restoration by 2028, which is just in time for the L.A. Olympic Games. The project is just the latest effort to create a new vision of Los Angeles that’s been in the works for nearly a century.

[pangur-and-grim]

oh yay that's so nice! I think I hid it due to embarrassment, but I'll bring it back now:

CHAPTER ONE

Anna Stewart is changeling. Anna is not a human being.

In the first month of its life, the wrinkled infant produced by Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, with fists bunched and face red from crying, was taken from its bassinet and cradled in long, thin arms. If the Stewarts, sleeping in an adjacent bed, noticed anything, it would’ve been sleep-fogged relief at the sudden quiet. Birch-white hands left Anna in its place. Those same hands dressed it in clothing stripped from the infant. The pink rabbit onesie hung baggy on the changeling – perhaps the earliest indicator that human society would be a poor fit.

It did not cry. It did not complain. It simply stared with bright, alert eyes, and waited, its mouth puckered in ravenous anticipation.

The Stewarts did not notice the change, not at first, although within the week Mrs. Stewart had switched to formula.

And how could they notice? The changeling’s appearance had been shaped for them. Its teeth filed, its skin smoothed, its limbs condensed into uselessness. Throughout the years as it grew, its form strained at these boundaries, aching for expression, but the cocoon of humanity remained rigid about it. The changeling stayed a Stewart.

It grew up. It went to high school. It got into none of the colleges that Mrs. Stewart helped it apply to. It lost multiple jobs in a row, due to some inexact quality that it could not correct in itself, but that made dogs bark and humans curl their lip. It turned 22, with no money, and no driver’s licence, having failed to gain distance from its childhood bedroom.

And now it woke up.

Mrs. Stewart had friends over. Their high-pitched laughter pierced the morning quiet and invaded the warm nest of it bedding. It tried, futilely, to submerge back into dreaming, but another laugh sounded – a braying AHHhahahaha! 

It gave up and kicked its way out of twisted blankets and pillows.

The changeling staggered to the bathroom to perform it morning routines. It practiced a smile, showing only the upper teeth, not the lower. Then it walked out, wishing only to slip past the crowd, and grab whatever food it could from the kitchen counter.

Immediate failure – its carefully lowered foot drew a creak from the top step, and the humans turned as one. It froze, pinned like an insect by their stares.

“What is that on your face?” called Mrs. Stewart, too loudly. As though it did not descend the stairs each day slathered in lotion. Its delicate skin, better suited for the humidity of the Other World, did not agree with indoor heating. 

“Moisturizer. You know this,” it said, in its own performance. “I do this every winter.” It scanned the faces of the guests, to see how they’d take that information – that its mother had pretended not to know! That Mrs. Stewart had taken a stance against her own (supposed) child!

“Might want to rub it in,” said one of the women, and another laughed.

“You should rub it in,” said Mrs. Stewart. “Really, Anna” 

The guests, gathered around a coffee table in an array of plush seating, exchanged glances with wrinkled foreheads and twitching lips. With a sigh, it plodded back up the stairs. The lotion leant more moisture if it packed on thick and left to sit – and why not do so, in its own house? 

The betrayal also stung. All it had was its mother.

Mr. Stewart was not a factor.

He was, after all, the reason for its presence here. A deal made, a child promised – and wouldn’t you know, the cheap patch of land he had purchased churned out a fascinating amount of oil. 

But he hadn’t been able to live with the child that had supplanted his own. In a moment of drunken anger (directed not toward the changeling, but at her fled spouse) Mrs. Stewart had ranted.

“He couldn’t stop talking about your ‘black bird eyes,’ or how you never smile, or how you can’t put on weight” – pausing, Mrs. Stewarts’ eyes had glinted with a malice that had it bracing its shoulders – “he even suggested giving you up for adoption. Can you imagine? His own flesh and blood?”

Except that it wasn’t his flesh and blood. 

It had simply done its best approximation of a smile, nodded vigorously between her exclamations, and said, “What a bastard!” which seemed to satisfy, or at least amuse her. 

It never had the courage to ask if her feelings would change, if a link of blood did not, in fact, connect them. If it were simply a child raised by a mother, and not one born from her. If it would still, in that case, be an acceptable burden, or if she would snarl at all her wasted energy and finally cast it off. 

The changeling lay in bed with these thoughts. A tear slid down its cheek and was absorbed into its thick coating of lotion. 

“You are spiralling,” it said to itself, sternly. “You are self-indulging in negativity.” Likely exacerbated by its empty stomach. It always ate with a speed that hinged on desperation, though this translated not to fat, but to wiry muscles that wrapped its arms and legs. This might grant grace to another, but the changeling had the jerky, sudden movements of a lizard. 

It rubbed at eyes itchy with tears. Venturing downstairs in this state was not an option. Instead, it dressed for the outside world (wiping its face clean, and combing its long, lank hair) and opened its bedroom window. It stepped out onto the branches of a hybrid poplar, whose growth it had encouraged for this exact purpose. The young tree bowed under its weight, but the changeling whispered encouragement, and it held.

In summer, it grew sunflowers along this side of the house. They obscured windows with their yellow petals and granted privacy for its excursions. By early winter, these blackened and drooped and rotted. The changeling moved with great care, ducking beneath the corpses of sunflowers to avoid attracting gazes from the living room. Easily done; the guests seemed consumed by one another, enraptured by each other’s wit and company. Which baffled it, as on the few occasions it had joined them, when it was younger and smaller and possibly cuter, they had proved to be such dull conversationalists that it had bit the inside of its cheek to blood, and very nearly been moved to rage. 

Now it scampered down the curve of the ravine that its family home sat at the edge of. The frost that coated their shorn grass melted under the warmth of its bare feet. If it had left through the front door, Mrs. Stewart would have yelled at it to wear shoes, and almost certainly socks as well. 

The trees greeted the changeling as they always did; with sways and creaks, and releases of chemicals that teased the bare skin of its face and hands. It replied, as it always did, with boundless affection. 

“I love you, I love you,” it said, ducking beneath outstretched branches, and bounding over roots. “Thank you, thank you!”

Slipping into the other world could be done in any forest, but it was particularly easy in the changeling’s ravine. All one must do is ask the trees, please, please can you shudder a hole in reality through which I might slip like a rabbit disappearing into its labyrinthian warren, and the trees say “okay!” and do just that. Ask this of them a hundred times, and then a thousand, and they will intuit your forward progress, and shiver up a hole before a request can leave your throat. 

And sometimes, horribly, if a tree is particularly friendly and obliging, they’ll extend that favour to anyone who passes.

This is what it found on that morning. 

It shrugged happily through a ripple in space and felt the cold winter slip away, the only evidence of it being the frost-nipped redness of its fingers and toes. It was about to merrily skip to its planted orchard, for a morning feast of its own succulent harvest, when it saw the footprints.

Or boot prints, rather, as these sole-blind fools had constrained themselves with footwear.

“Who the fuck…?” It said, and then put a finger to its mouth to gnaw at, anxiously. Don’t Spiral, Anna!

Most likely, the idiot tree that had opened the way for these intruders would repeat its trick if they wandered back along the same path. But would they think to? To duck under the same branch, touch a hand on the same trunk, all of them at once? For the changeling could see three trails of disturbance.

Boot prints pushed deep into the soft soil, advertising the passage of someone large and heavy. And there, a patch of moss scraped at by a hand. The height of the finger rakes implied someone smaller in statue. And the third – oh, it did not like the third at all. The third left a massacre in their wake, broken branches, plucked leaves, thrown stones, kicks and scores in the earth. Someone deeply under-stimulated, certainly, but also someone who failed to heed or appreciate the chemical screams of vegetation. 

It sighed. If this third individual caused sufficient offence, the trees might turn peevish and refuse to open the way back, even if they perfectly retraced their steps. This left the trio doomed to their fate. 

“Curse my gentle nature,” it said, and growled out its annoyance, before going through the breathing exercises prescribed by its therapist. It could never tell if they actually did anything physiologically, or if they simply provided a distraction, but regardless, it worked to soothe them at least one out of every three times. 

That done, it sighed in a performance that the trees lacked the capacity to appreciate, and started off down the very obvious, very messy trail, to save three unconsenting humans from getting trapped in a better world. 

[ladamania]

“On the 6th Day of the 2nd Month of the First Year of the Kampo era. Taking a moment of my free time, I wish to express my joy of the cat. It arrived by boat as a gift to the late Emperor, received from the hands of Minamoto no Kuwashi.

The color of the fur is peerless. None could find the words to describe it, although one said it was reminiscent of the deepest ink. It has an air about it, similar to Kanno. Its length is 5 sun, and its height is 6 sun. I affixed a bow about its neck, but it did not remain for long.

In rebellion, it narrows its eyes and extends its needles. It shows its back.

When it lies down, it curls in a circle like a coin. You cannot see its feet. It’s as if it were circular Bi disk. When it stands, its cry expresses profound loneliness, like a black dragon floating above the clouds.

By nature, it likes to stalk birds. It lowers its head and works its tail. It can extend its spine to raise its height by at least 2 sun. Its color allows it to disappear at night. I am convinced it is superior to all other cats.”

- journal entry of 22-year-old Emperor Uda on March 11, 889 CE and earliest record of a cat in Japan [x]

Black Cat (detail) by Hishida Shunso, 1910 [x]

[sweetpascal]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

gif by: @richardgrimes

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: when you do the unthinkable, joel takes it upon himself to let out all of his anger and frustration onto you. the punishments that follow are ones that officially tear you apart and turn you into an unrecognizable girl.

warnings: MINORS DNI. DUB-CON. BIG AGE GAP [18/52], joel is VERY VERY VERY mean in this chapter, face slapping, hair pulling, hella manipulation, finger sucking, spanking as punishment [with his hand and belt], TW: isolation as punishment, TW: emotional abuse, joel spits on your face, oral [m receiving], TW: forced asphyxiation, joel has a very big dick ok, masochism, sadism, dacryphilia, kinda angsty ??

wc: 7.3k

notes: i felt kinda blah about this series cause i feel like i'm not making joel mean enough compared to how some writers write dark!joel (´•︵•`) so i got really sad and put all my emotions into this chapter as a coping mechanism and made joel REALLY fucking mean and just... a horrible and nasty man. trauma ?? i think so. ENJOY. ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

edit: i posted this later than expected UGH. expect two updates in one day.

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By the time you awoke, the space beside you in bed was vacant. You have no recollection of drifting off in Joel's embrace. As you rise, the fluffy blanket cascades down, gathering around your hips. Joel must have draped it over you once you had succumbed to sleep. The absence of his clothes on the floor and the chill of his side of the bed leave you questioning whether he stayed the night at all, stirring a sense of unease within you. He had done something new, something that made you feel good, and he wasn't here when you woke up. Why? Why wasn't he here? Why do you feel so cold all of a sudden? Was this something normal that men do? Embarrassed by the series of events from last night, you pull on your discarded panties and shorts.

The sunrise had not yet begun. Looking out the window, the sky displayed an almost purplish tint with the sun barely cresting the horizon. It was a cloudless sky, yet the faint chirping of morning birds could be heard from their respective trees. Unsure of the time, as Joel had confiscated your phone and you lacked an alarm clock, the day's start remained ambiguous.

As you tiptoe out of your room, you notice the house is completely quiet. Joel usually wakes up before dawn, but today, a faint snore drifts from his and your mom's bedroom. Moving down the hall, you gently push the slightly open door further. In the dim blue light filtering in from outside, you can just make out Joel's form. He's sprawled on his stomach in the center of the bed, clutching his pillow while your mom's lies abandoned on the floor. Shirtless, the sheets are drawn just below the dimples of his back. The bedside clock shows 5:22 AM.

"Daddy?" you whisper faintly into the darkness, pausing for an answer. Only his soft snores, muffled by the pillow, meet your ears. Drawing nearer, you notice Joel is lying on his good ear, the other affected by partial hearing loss. The urge to rouse him is strong, yet you hesitate, knowing these moments of peaceful rest are few for him.

The rumbling of your stomach makes you whimper. Joel usually prepares meals for you when asked. Your mother, however, rarely agrees, often reminding you that you're old enough to cook for yourself. But Joel always protests, saying, "I don't want your pretty little hands to get all cut up and burned." Perhaps he wouldn't mind if you made breakfast just this once. It would be a sweet gesture to surprise him with breakfast in bed. You wonder if your mom ever did something like that for him.

"I'm going to make breakfast for us, okay, Daddy?" you whisper, a bit louder this time, your hand hovering just above his broad back. You can feel the warmth radiating onto your palm. When he doesn't respond, only emitting another snore, you quietly tiptoe out of the room and gently close the door, cringing when it makes a loud noise at the last moment.

Descending the stairs, a sense of unease weighs heavily in your stomach. Alone, with dark blue hues filling patches of the vacant house and shadows stretching across the walls, you almost feel an invisible presence. You find yourself wishing Joel were awake to fend off the lurking shadows. Rushing to the kitchen, you flip on the light, blinking against the sudden brightness until your eyes adjust.

Opening the fridge revealed a lackluster array of dinner leftovers, several half-empty condiment bottles, an empty milk carton, and a bag of grapes beginning to rot. It was disappointing to find nothing inspiring to cook with. A glance at the stovetop clock showed it was 5:30. The local market would open at 6, and it was only a half-hour walk away. However, the prospect of walking that distance didn't appeal to you, dramatic as it might seem. Your eyes then fell upon Joel's truck keys and wallet in the bowl on the kitchen countertop. Surely, he wouldn't mind if you borrowed them for a quick shopping trip.

Right?

By the time you returned home, it was nearly 8 o'clock. The neighborhood had fully come to life. The groceries in the truck's backseat jostled with every gentle turn. A sinking feeling emerged at the thought of Joel's anger over you borrowing his truck without asking and taking some of his twenty-dollar bills. Yet, it stemmed from a desire to do something kind for him in gratitude for his good care during your mother's absence. An excitement bubbled within you, eager to burst.

You hadn't planned to be out this long, but losing track of time and procrastinating on your tasks is a frequent issue. Joel often chides you for this, playfully urging you to get your head out of the clouds and to come back down to earth. Your only hope is that Joel remains asleep, unaware of your absence. However, the missing money from his wallet, the extra miles on his truck, and the depleted gas are sure to give you away.

As you park the truck in the driveway, you notice the porch screen is wide open, though you remember closing it before sneaking out. Your heart sinks at the sight of Joel's daunting figure in the doorway, his gaze piercing through the windshield. It's a wonder the glass doesn't crack under the weight of his stare. Your pulse quickens, a flurry of nervous butterflies takes flight in your stomach, and your palms dampen with sweat as you clutch the steering wheel tightly.

Joel points at you and then to the ground at his feet, silently mouthing, "Now." He then vanishes back into the house, clearly pissed off. Fear grips you, making it daunting to leave the truck's safety. After six agonizing minutes, you gather enough bravery to step out, your breath hitching in your throat and almost making it difficult to breathe.

After hoisting the grocery bags into your arms and nudging the back passenger door closed with your foot, likely leaving a mark on the polished metal, you make your way to the porch with unsteady steps. The door stands slightly open, and you gently push it wider. As you spin around to close it, a hand reaches over your shoulder and slams it with such force that the house seems to shake. Startled, you yelp loudly as Joel grabs your arm firmly and pulls you into the kitchen, his long strides causing you to stumble over your feet.

"Sit your fuckin' ass down," he practically barks, pulling out a kitchen chair and slams it down. He pushes you toward the chair so forcefully that the grocery bags tumble down around you. As you land on the wooden chair, the impact from Joel's shove nearly expels all the air from your lungs.

He stands over you from your seated position, towering and nearly trembling with fury. Joel's hands are clenched into tight fists, his knuckles whitening under the strain. He scratches his jaw and paces, a low growl emanating from deep within his chest as the intensity in his eyes burns fiercer. You close your eyes, sitting motionless, bracing yourself.

"Are you out of your GODDAMN MIND?!" He bends down to scream in your face, his face contorted in a way that makes him look scary and so different from the usual angry Joel you normally see. This Joel was drowning in rage. His eyes were nearly black and the lines on his face deepened as he snarled in your face. "You fucking ANSWER ME!" One hand grabs the back of your hair and yanks your head back so fast that your nerve spasms, a shrieking cry escaping your lips. His other hand grabs your face and squeezes your jaw so tightly that pain blossoms throughout your gums.

"Stop, stop, stop, please, stop!" You're babbling in his face, thick tears sliding down your cheeks from the intense pain in your scalp, neck, and jaw. You could barely catch a breath from how hard you're crying. "Da-Daddy, p-please!" You're grabbing on both of his forearms, nails digging deep through his long shirt, no doubt leaving indentations.

Joel only grunts lowly, his breath heavy and fast. His hands squeeze tighter, and he roughly shakes your head, loving the way your face scrunches up at the pain he's causing. Then, he forcibly pushes your head away, releasing his hands from your knotted hair and your already bruising jaw. Tears streaming down your face, you draw your knees up to your chest for comfort and hesitantly reach for the back of your head, while your other hand softly caresses your jaw. Your eyes are wide, reflecting a state of shock and fear. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his frown growing more pronounced as you quiver uncontrollably.

He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and flings it towards you. It strikes your knees and tumbles to the floor, unfolding just enough to reveal its barren interior.

"You take my fuckin' truck," Joel says in a low voice, trembling with anger. He steps back, his boots thudding on the floorboards. "You take my fuckin' money." At this point, you're nearly hyperventilating, silently cursing yourself for such a foolish act and expecting him to accept it. He goes on, his tone grave, "And you sneak out without telling me, huh? What, you want more freedom than what I'm giving you here?"

The anger that Joel feels is indescribable. It's coursing through his veins like heroin, poisoning his blood and gradually taking over his body. He doesn't know what to do, or even think. All that he can do is react. How stupid of you to think this was okay. How mind-numbingly idiotic it was of him to expect you to follow his rules and obey him like a good girl. As he looks down at you like smeared shit at the bottom of his shoe, there seems to be only one option left.

Before you can react, Joel has seized your arm and pulled you up from the chair, nearly dislocating your shoulder. His footsteps are long, resounding, and forceful. Tears continue to flow as he hauls you up the stairs. You stumble on each step, crying and sobbing, while you try to keep pace with him. Your knees are banging against every edge as Joel practically drags you up the steps.

"Da-Dad-dy!" Choking on your tears, you can barely see anything. Your vision is blurry, and your hearing is muffled. Every nerve in your body is on fire. "Pl-Please, Jo-el!"

"Get up, girl! C'mon. Get your fuckin' ass up!" He grunts through labored breaths, jaw clenching tightly as he drags your body by the arm up the last step. "I've had 'nough of you."

Suddenly, he kicks your bedroom door open, your heartbreaking cries falling on deaf ears. Your body is shoved into your room with enough force to make you collapse onto the ground. You're gasping for air, your fingers slick with sweat as they frantically claw at the rug, desperate to find something to hold onto.

Joel stands motionless in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you without a trace of emotion. Thoughts flood his mind, overwhelming him like a tsunami. Make her hurt. Make her cry. Make her beg for mercy. He retrieves a key from his front pocket and observes as you pathetically curl into a ball on the floor, your shoulders shaking violently while you cry into the carpet. His hand rests on the doorknob. Before leaving, he speaks in an unexpectedly gentle tone, "Until I believe you've learned your lesson, you're going to stay here, and you're going to think about what you did."

Then, he departs and forcefully closes your door. Amidst your heavy sobs, the sound of the bedroom door lock engaging is audible. Glancing over your shoulder weakly, you notice the doorknob has been altered from before. Gone is the twist lock, replaced now by a keyed lock mechanism.

The epiphany strikes with overwhelming force. Enclosed by a door that's locked and windows sealed shut, you find yourself imprisoned with no means of escape.

Unaware of how much time has passed, you stay on the ground, curled up, emotionless. The tears have stopped, leaving behind an empty stare. The night has already set in, shrouding your room in darkness from top to bottom. Joel's footsteps are audible everywhere, hardly silent. Whenever he approaches your door, there's a halt, a moment of stillness, and then the sound of his steps resumes. Undoubtedly, he was listening with his ear against the door. Each approach brought a heaviness to your heart and a sinking sensation in your stomach.

The aroma of garlic sizzling in oil drifted from the kitchen, prompting your mouth to water and your stomach to knot with hunger. You hadn't eaten since the night before. The clatter of pots and pans, either being used or stored away, brought tears to your eyes. "Stupid, stupid girl," you chide yourself. It was foolish to attempt a kind gesture for Joel, only to have it go horribly wrong. It was a rash and impetuous move. Now, he'll never forgive you for this. This realization has you weeping once more into the spit-soaked, tear-stained rug.

Engrossed in your thoughts, you fail to notice the door has come unlocked and now stands ajar, the hallway light spilling in and illuminating your huddled form. Joel pauses in the doorway, a plate of food in hand, and tuts softly at the pathetic sight before him.

"Sit up," he commands, making his way deeper into the dimly lit room. The sound of his rough voice had your entire body tensing and your quiet cries immediately halting. When you remain still, Joel becomes irritated and prods your hip forward with his muddy boot, leaving a mark on the pristine white dress you wore especially to surprise him. "I said, get your fuckin' ass up, little girl. Don't make me tell you again."

With trembling limbs, you gradually unfold yourself, grimacing as your muscles burn. Your scalp, jaw, neck, knees, and arms feel as though they are on fire. After hours of immobility and neglecting your aching body, the pain strikes you with overwhelming force.

Joel squats before you, emitting a soft grunt as his knees pop and his lower back tightens. In silence, he extends the plate of food between you both: parmesan garlic chicken, green beans, and red roasted baby potatoes. The aroma and appearance make your eyes widen, your mouth water, and your stomach rumble.

The moment your fingertips graze the plate's underside, Joel pulls it away and sets it on the ground. Your faint smile vanishes, replaced by a frown as you meet his stern gaze. He remains silent, his stare unwavering. Looking down at the plate, it dawns on you that there's not a fork, knife, or even a spoon in sight.

"Eat," he commands, his voice a quiet murmur. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes unblinking, his facial expression shifting subtly. The softness and tenderness that were once reserved for you have vanished. He never used to look at your mom the way he looked at you. But now, his gaze is identical. It leaves you feeling sorrowful and heartbroken.

Confused and very much embarrassed at not knowing what to do, you hesitantly reach out to grab the chicken with your bare hand. Joel's hand roughly clamping around your wrist and shoving it away prevents you from doing so. There was a surge of panic that shot through you like a shotgun blast.

"No," he snaps, his eyes narrowing and his scowl deepening. It's clear he's losing patience. Joel has no time for games. "Bend down… and eat," he commands.

There's a tense, heavy moment of silence as you thoroughly think about what he's telling you to do. Warmth spreads throughout your neck and rises to your cheeks before settling on the tips of your ears. Your heart plummets to your stomach. So, like an obedient little dog, you lower your head down to the plate on the ground and begin eating.

Joel smiles at your obedience, one hand gently petting your head and tenderly massaging the tendrils of hair connected to your scalp that he viscously yanked. He softly quiets you when you flinch and unintentionally whimper. He maintains the gentle, affectionate strokes of his hand through your hair, even gathering it into a ponytail to help you eat more comfortably.

"That's a good girl," he softly praises, settling onto his knees in front of you and using his other hand to gently stroke your jaw. "See how easy it is to obey Daddy? You just needed some of Daddy's tough lovin', huh?"

Is this what it was? Some tough love? You've never encountered that before, much less experienced it. Since you were never a problem child, discipline was seldom necessary. Maybe this is exactly what you needed to be a good girl for Joel. Maybe this tough love is what will help you do better and learn from your stupid mistakes.

As you continue eating, Joel finds himself slowly loving the sight of you eating like a fucking mutt in front of him. Knowing that he can push you so far as to do something like this excites him. His hand tightens in the makeshift ponytail he has your hair in, and his eyes darken. Letting out a whimper that was muffled from your food, you make sure to not complain about it to Joel. He was already upset with you from earlier and you really don't want to push it further.

"That's enough," he declares, his hand in your hair stopping your movements while his other hand takes your plate away, leaving half of the food untouched and uneaten. His hand pops you on the cheek when he hears you protesting, a pained yelp escaping your slobbered lips. He forces your head up to be eye level with his. "Listen to me, little girl. From this moment forward, Daddy will decide what you eat, when you eat it, and how much you can eat. Have I made myself clear?" His voice's tone is so authoritative that it holds no room for argument, not that you could muster one even if you wished to.

Nevertheless, you find yourself nodding within his grasp. Choosing not to protest was wise. Should this behavior be part of your punishment or his version of tough love, you certainly wouldn't want to witness him at full strength. Merely the thought was enough to make you shudder with fear once more. Joel was an incredibly strong man, often unaware of his own strength. He could break your jaw with one squeeze--he almost fucking did it this morning.

Joel mocks your nod. "Good," he hums, offering you a pleased smile as he lovingly strokes the apple of your cheeks. "Now, come to the bathroom so Daddy can brush your teeth."

Leaving your half-finished plate behind, you follow Joel into the hallway. You trail behind him aimlessly, your steps shaky and limping. He notices but chooses not to comment. It's for the best, a silent reminder that such consequences will recur if you act carelessly again.

Joel opens the door to the main bathroom and guides you inside with care. He lifts you with ease under your arms and sets you down on the countertop. A small squeak escapes from your chest, a sound that Joel finds adorable. He flashes a subtle grin and begins to wet your toothbrush, dabbing on the toothpaste. He shuffles between your thighs and thumbs your mouth open to start brushing your teeth. His actions brought you comfort, making you feel cherished and cared for. Even though you could have done it yourself, witnessing Joel display his nurturing side was touching. You longed to see more of this aspect of him, silently promising to be well-behaved with every passing minute.

"Alright, babydoll," he says as pats your thighs lovingly and rinses off your toothbrush after instructing you to lean over the sink and spit out the minty froth. "Now, get your butt back to your room and lean over the bed, panties off."

Joel notices the confusion spark in your eyes before it manifests in the furrowing of your brows. Your lips part to question him, but the words become stuck in your throat as his eyes darken and he gives a subtle shake of his head, tutting softly to himself.

"And here I thought you were goin' to start listening to me," he lets out a dark chuckle before invading your space with his strong chest pressing against yours. The force of the action causes your back to crash against the mirror, your head striking the glass while the sink spout presses into your lower back, causing discomfort and pain.

He bares his teeth just barely as he gets in your face, nostrils flaring and eyebrows furrowing, the storm brewing wildly in his eyes. Joel laughs gruffly as your eyes widen and you put your hands up in front of your body against his chest to protect yourself from his unpredictability. Oh, how cute. You were shaking under his hold like a frightened little bunny. Joel presses you harder against the mirror, no doubt forcing the sink spout deeper into your back. He grumbles pleasantly under his breath. He was causing this terrible fear clear as day on your face. The blooming bruises on your body are caused by his hands. The finger shaped bruises looked like a work of art on your delicate skin.

"Oh, babydoll," his breath fans across your face. He gives you a mocking pout, hushing you softly when the tears spill. "You're makin' it real hard not to paint that ass black and blue, you know that?"

Your bottom lip trembles and your body quivers, eyes shutting tightly as you mentally prepare yourself for Joel's next action. Tears spill and disappear underneath your aching jaw. He wipes them away at first, but when they keep sliding down, he wipes a tear-stained thumb across your lips before pushing the appendage deeper into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue.

"D'you taste that?" He asks you so quietly that you almost missed it. He's looking at his thumb between your lips and bites down on his own. Joel gazes into your wide eyes, which stare back at him as if he were the boogeyman. In a way, he is. "That's the taste of fear, sweetheart. Don't it taste fuckin' delicious?" The laugh he lets out is depraved, deranged, and delirious. With his thumb still in your mouth, he uses the other fingers to wrap under your chin before using that grip to force your head to move up and down roughly. "That's what I thought. Now, I ain't going to ask you again, babydoll. Take your ass back to your room and take off your fuckin' panties. When I get back, you better be leaning over the edge or so fuckin' help me God."

The mere threat was sufficient to send you scuttling down the hallway, pushing past Joel in a rush to get to your room. He watches you do so with a sadistic smile on his face. To see you react in such a way has him so fucking hard in his jeans. He cups a hand over the thickness and squeezes. There was a brief warmth pooling in his groin, and he let out a husky moan before his hand falls away. In due time, he silently tells himself.

Shaking, stuttering breaths were muffled in the bedding. You did exactly as you were told. The tips of your toes just barely skimming the rug, you were leant over the edge of the bed with your panties pooled at your ankles. One of your hands had blindly reached across the bed to grab onto your stuffed animal to curl an arm around it and press it against your side. The only comforting thing you can have at this moment that can hopefully ease the unsettling anxiety that won't go away.

Uncertain of how much time has passed, it might have been five minutes, ten, or perhaps even an hour. You caught a fleeting sound of Joel entering the room to retrieve your plate, then he left, securing the door with a lock behind him.

Long stretches of silence enveloped you, allowing the sound of your own heartbeat to echo mercilessly in your ears. It was a fleeting moment of tranquility before Joel determined his next move. In this stillness, sleep nearly overtook you, the exhaustion from hours of weeping creeping up silently. Then, the door unlocks, knob slowly turning. The ominous creaking of your door opening has you tensing as you hold your breath.

The steady stomp of Joel's footsteps enters your room before the door is shut behind him. The sight of you in a position that he demanded from you was driving him fucking wild. Panties at your ankles and your cute ass on display, the hem of your dress stopping just at the middle of your cheeks. He can see your pussy nearly calling out for him to play with her. But he can't, not at this moment. He needs you to understand that your actions, done behind his back, were unacceptable. They were reckless and dangerous—just the thought of it is enough to make Joel feel like punching a wall over and over.

"Now, what am I goin' to do with you, babydoll?" The question is rhetorical. He knows what he's going to do to you, but you don't. Leaving you in the dark of where his mind runs wild, keeping you pure from his deranged, perverted thoughts was for your own good. He intends to maintain a safe distance to prevent any critical harm, beyond what has already been inflicted.

The sound of Joel's voice has your hips shifting, your pussy lips just barely parted to give him a show of your exposed clit poking out from the hood that protects the exposed nerve. As he gets closer, he can see your stuffed animal in a headlock under your arm. How cute and pathetic.

"I gotta say, honey," he starts talking, his voice humorless and no longer holding that warm tone he previously had when he walked in. "It was adorable you thought I was done with you tonight. I mean, you really thought Daddy locking you up here was all that he was goin' to do?"

Unsure if the question was rhetorical or not, you still answered in a breathy voice, "Y-Yes, Daddy."

A smile makes its way onto Joel's face. "Yes, Daddy," he mocks your high pitched, breathy voice. The act of him doing so caused an embarrassed flush to warm your cheeks and ears. To be mocked made you feel so small. But that's what you are to Joel; this tiny, little thing that is so easy to crush in his big hand.

His groin rests against your ass cheeks, both of his hands lifting your dress higher until it pools around your upper back, further exposing your naked body to his eager eyes. The rough denim of his jeans and the cold metal of his zipper pressing into your backside made you hiss under your breath. Joel's hands hold onto your hips, forcing your body further onto the bed until your toes are no longer skimming above the rug, your feet now only dangling a few inches up.

"That's more like it," he grunts quietly, biting down on the plump flesh of his body limp when he sees goosebumps erupt on your soft skin. So, so fucking soft and untainted. As one hand pins you down at your lower back, his other hand gently rubs across your left ass cheek. Barely glancing at you to make sure you're prepared for what's to come, Joel mutters, "Brace yourself, sweetheart."

Then, he thwacks his palm across your skin. The force and strength of the smack made you cry out in surprise and pain. He smacks your other cheek with the same force. He does it again and again, back and forth, back and forth. Your legs kick behind you as fiery warmth blossoms along your backside. Your arm squeezes tighter around your stuffed bunny as you blindly reach a hand behind you to cover your bottom. Joel was quick to grab your wrist to pin it at your lower back.

He doesn't fucking stop spanking you. Not even when his own handprint is starting to show on your skin. He grunts with every thwack of his hand across your sensitive flesh. The cries that are forced out of you were music to his ears. Your backside feels like it's on fire underneath his wide palm; he doesn't know when to stop or ease up. The frustration and irritation from earlier were slowly making their way into Joel's mind.

"Bad." Smack. "Bad." Smack. "Fuckin'." Smack. "Girl."

Joel grunts like an animal as the smacks happen in quick succession. You're wailing into the covers, feet kicking weakly as you try so desperately to wiggle away from him. He won't stop. The pain is indescribable. It burns so badly, throbbing non-stop and feeling like a million needles are being stabbed into your skin. Your throat hurts from your pain-filled wails that are muffled into your bedding.

He's panting heavily and sweating. Wiping a forearm across his forehead, Joel removes his hands from your body, tilting one hand to the side to observe your marked ass. His handprints are on your skin, clear as day. He can feel the blazing heat radiating from your backside. But again, he's not done with you yet. And he tells you just that.

"Quit your fuckin' whinin'," he orders, both hands lowering to his thick leather belt to undo it from the hoops of his jeans. "We're not done until I say we're done." He folds the leather and snaps it together, the resounding sound causing you to cry harder in the sheets.

You learned your lesson. You know that you've been a bad girl. You know this. But the words fail to emerge, your voice and mouth unable to coordinate effectively enough to communicate with Joel. A tumult of emotions rages through your violently trembling body: fear, confusion, intense pain, and fatigue.

Folded, thick leather smacking against tender, angry skin is what forces a scream to erupt from your throat. With your bunny discarded, both hands desperately grab at your bedsheets to pull you away from Joel and his offending belt. You can faintly hear him sucking his teeth before one of his hands roughly yanks you back down by the back collar of your dress.

"Cry as much as you want to, babydoll!" he shouts through your pained wails. Then, the belt strikes across your ass repeatedly. Joel was barely giving you time to breathe through your tears and dribbling snot and drool that slides down your chin. "Kick all you want! Daddy ain't stopping!"

He lowers the position of the belt so that he can strike the back of your thighs as well. You're sure that after tonight, you won't be able to sit or speak for a very long time, for your vocal cords are nearly shattered from how hard and loud you were screaming, and Joel's hands and belt are bruising your backside. You're wishing that this torture will end. You're wishing that Joel will stop and hold you while you cry in his arms like a blubbering baby. Stop. Stop. Stop.

"Stop!" You screamed and screamed, both hands desperately reaching back to cover your backside. Everything burns. Everything feels like it's on fire. The pain only intensified when Joel tossed his belt aside and resorted to the palm of his hand again. "Please, please, stop, p-please!" Your speech now slurred and unrecognizable from thick tears, your hands claw at Joel's wrist, his hand wrapped around both of your own wrists to pin at your lower back again.

Only then does Joel snap out of it.

He's breathing so heavy that an innocent bystander would think that he was having a panic attack. Joel looks down at his creation and finally pulls his hand off of your wrists. Your arms go limp at your sides; you don't even bother trying to cover yourself. He looks at your backside, his thumb gently wiping away some blood that dotted around broken skin that was caused by his belt. He hums thoughtfully, bringing his thumb to his lips and licking your blood from the tip. In a day or two, your ass was going to be badly bruised and marked, all thanks to him.

"Such a sweet girl," he whispers, leaning down to press his nose behind your ear and inhaling deeply. Your body violently shakes underneath his chest. His groin is crushed against your horribly bruised ass, the pressure of it making you cry weakly, all the energy suddenly drained from you once he stopped abusing your ass.

Glancing down at his hard cock, now thick and pressing uncomfortably into his thigh, Joel decided now would be a good time for you to make him feel good. Though he knows you're not up for it, he doesn't fucking care. A darkness lurks within his mind, akin to an alter ego that commandeers his body, a monster in its purest form. This other facet of him is sadistic, vicious, and relentless. With you, it's so easy to fall into this second body. It's addicting. He can't stop, even if he knows this is wrong.

With a hoarse grunt, Joel grabs the back of your arms and yanks you off the bed to drop you down onto your knees. With a hand under your chin to keep your face pointed up to him, his other hand unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down, along with his underwear. He pushes both offending fabrics mid-thigh, sighing with satiated relief when his cock slaps up, nearly poking you in the eye.

You could hardly pay attention. Your eyes were unfocused and hazy, swollen lips parted to inhale and exhale shakily. You were so deep in another world that Joel had to roughly shake your head to bring you back down the earth. Unsure of why you feel so dizzy, you tried focusing on the pain in your backside that was still throbbing relentlessly, the burning fire now sizzling into a numb sensation.

"Tongue out," Joel demands roughly as he holds your hair into a makeshift ponytail with one hand as the other holds the base of his cock to tap his leaking tip against your lips.

Hearing his order, you look up at him with tear-filled eyes and do as you're told. You don't even know what exactly you're doing, but all you can hear in your mind is be a good girl and listen to him. Your eyes almost cross as you get a better look of his cock, and they widen comically. God, Joel was really long and thick. You wondered if all men were this size. It was intimidating to look at. You don't know if even less than half could fit in your mouth, let alone inside of you. Joel observes the revelation in your eyes and drops his left into a wink.

"Careful with your teeth, baby," his voice was gruff and strained, his mushroomed tip throbbing against your lips as his heavy balls tighten from the warmth pooling intensely in his groin. "Yeah, just like that."

His praise was something that you desperately needed tonight. Forgetting about the unrelenting abuse you endured on your backside, you can make it up to him by showing you that yes, you really are a good girl, and you will listen to him and do what you're told.

When you take too long to give Joel what he wants, he decides to take charge in one way that he knows how. Both hands grab either side of your head, forcing it to stay still as he shoves half of his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widened and you sputtered sloppily around his dick, your hands frantically fisting his jeans at his thighs. He grunts and groans, sweat pooling behind his neck and sliding down the line of his back.

"Goddamn," he hissed under his breath, moving his hips forward and back to start fucking your mouth with a brutal pace that has his balls slapping against your wet chin. "Born natural, ain't ya?"

Coughing and choking around his cock, you gagged and dry heaved as his thickness fills your mouth repeatedly. Spit dribbles down your chin and slides down your chest as you bite back the bile pooling in the back of your throat. Joel's breathing stutters for a split second at the sight below him. Your lips were obscenely stretched around his girth, eyes wide and glassy with thick tears just waiting to spill over. The sloppy, wet noises coming from your mouth nearly made him bust right in your mouth.

"Let me try somethin'," Joel mumbles to himself before roughly grabbing the back of your head and forcing your head all the way down until your nose and lips were crushed against his dark public hair. The contractions of your throat squeezing around his cock has him moaning gruffly at the ceiling, his head thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing in time with each moan that comes out.

Taking advantage of Joel's lax state, your nails dig into the thick meat of his thighs to push yourself off of him. His cock slips from your lips, strings of spit connecting from the enlarged tip to your puffy lips. You're coughing and dry heaving, your throat burning terribly. Joel looks down and grins wolfishly.

His hand languidly strokes his soaking cock. The sight of you struggling from his size was an image he wanted to engrave in his mind so he can watch it over and over again. He liked seeing you struggle. Hell, he fucking craves to see it again. Without giving you any time to prepare, he grabs the back of your head to force you down onto his cock once more.

The sopping wet choking sounds that are emitting from your throat are driving him insane. He wonders what would happen if he just...

Both hands roughly grab your head to yank you down until his cock goes down your throat again. This time, he keeps you there for a few, long, grueling seconds. You're sputtering wildly, eyes wide with terror as tears spill over your waterline. Your fists are weakly punching at his thighs, and you try to pull your head back, but Joel only crushes your head harder into his pelvis until your nose is pressed so deep into his pubic hair.

Joel grunts like a wild beast. "Just like that. Fuckin' choke on it." He sees your lashes flutter weakly, your eyes half-lidded and rolling into the back of your head. The lack of oxygen to your brain has your heart slowing dramatically. This is your death. Yeah, this is definitely how you're going to die: choking on Joel Miller's dick, also your mom's husband.

Suddenly, your head is pulled off and you're gasping for air like it's the last thing on earth. Your head is spinning and you're doubling over until your forehead is almost touching Joel's boots. Your throat burns and you can barely feel your tongue. This wasn't supposed to be happening. This is all your fault. You deserve this punishment. Bad girl. Bad, bad, bad girl. Slowly rocking yourself back and forth, you sniffle softly and take a weak glance up at him. A shadow almost casts over your face from where you kneeled, his long cock perfectly aligned below the ceiling light.

Joel bends down to lift you higher on your knees. His big hands gently hold your cheeks, and your eyes shut as this is the first tender touch you've felt in hours. You savor this moment, sniffling again and licking your bottom lip. Joel smiles sweetly, lowering his head to kiss your forehead, nose, and then your lips. A sweet little whimper reverberates against his lips. When he pulls away, he quietly instructs you to open your eyes, babydoll.

When you do, you're met with sweet, nice, tender Joel again. Have you really made it to the end of your punishment? Are you his good girl again? Is this really it? The moment doesn't last long. The smile on Joel's face vanishes gradually slowly. There's a sick feeling that returns back inside your stomach. This is going to be never-ending. This is your well-deserved punishment. Pain, pain, pain.

When Joel purses his lips, you flinch when a wad of spit lands on across the bridge of your nose and slides down your cheeks prettily. Your eyes open and your mouth drops. This was the most demeaning thing for him to do. Spitting on your face is a clear indication that you're nothing more than a personal toy for Joel to use. This whole entire night was of him showing you what you mean to him. The thought added a crack to your heart. All you ever wanted was to be good.

Joel's fingers filthily rub his spit all over your face, a crude smile on his face as he does so. His middle and index fingers are shoved into your mouth, the pads of his fingertips covered in his slick and are now laying against your wiggly tongue. "There we go," he breathes out, gently prodding his fingers further down your throat until they brush against your uvula, causing you to gag and sputter.

You barely have enough time to react before he's yanking his fingers from your mouth and landing a smack to your cheek. It almost sends you flying to the side if it weren't for his hand holding onto the other side of your face. Joel hushes you quietly when your eyes shut tightly, fire spreading across your face.

"This is for your own good, babydoll," he whispers against your forehead, pulling away to pop your cheek again, and then landing another smack to your other cheek. He shushes your pained cries again, giving you a messy, tongue-filled kiss. You can't stop crying against his mouth, snot, spit, and tears all over your face. The anguish won't diminish. It gets stronger and stronger the more Joel breaks you apart little by little.

His hands curl into your hair, tightening into fists and yanking your head back a few inches from his face. His eyes darken as he sees the fear in your beautifully broken eyes. He spits on your face once more, trailing his eyes over the artistic splatter across your nose and cheeks. His cock, still rock hard and soaking wet, hangs out of his jeans.

Joel is a patient man. In due time, you and he will finally become one. Whether you liked it or not, you were his--his to use, his to play with, his to destroy. You don't have a voice anymore. Joel Miller broke you apart with his bare hands and left you scrabbling to pick up the pieces.

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[uncharismatic-fauna]

An Affinity for the Southern River Terrapin

The southern river terrapin (Batagur affinis), also known as the tungtung or the royal turtle, is a species of freshwater turtle residing, as its name implies, in the southern part of the Malaysian Peninsula, particularly along the western coast. They reside in estuaries, portions of large rivers that are regularly exposed to ocean tides.

While initially plain in appearance, the southern river terrapin can be visually striking. The body and shell are entirely black, or dark brown in females. The only spots of color are carried by males: bright yellow or white eyes and orange inner cheek flaps that are exposed when the mouth opens. Batagur affinis is also quite big, with females (the larger of the two sexes) reaching an average length of 62 cm (24 in) and a weight of 38 kg (83 lbs).

The tungtung is an omnivorous species. Its serrated beak allows it to feed on a variety of plants like grasses, algae, and fruits, as well as freshwater invertebrates like crustaceans and mollusks. Due to the high salinity of their habitats, they often leave the rivers and forage for food on land. The large size and thick shells of adults deters most predators. However, eggs and hatchlings are vulnerable to monitor lizards, otters, birds of prey, and crocodiles.

Mating for Batagur affinis occurs from October to February. Males and females remain relatively solo throughout the rest of the year, although they aren't overly territorial. Once a male locates a female, the two touch noses and he pulses his jaw to emphasize his bright orange cheek pouches and the white stripes on the inside of his throat. After copulation, the female lays a clutch of 20-40 eggs in nests dug in the sandy river bank. Young royal turtles hatch anywhere from 60-120 days later, depending on the temperature of the nest. Juveniles can take 18-22 years to reach maturity. Adults regularly reach ages well over 45, and individuals as old as 100 have been recorded.

Conservation status: The southern river turtle is considered Critically Endangered by the IUCN. Over-harvesting of both eggs and individuals has decimated populations, and those that remain are threatened by habitat destruction. However, both local and international conservation efforts have been underway to preserve the species and its ecosystem.

If you like what I do, consider buying me a ko-fi!

Photos

Eng Heng Chan

Paul Calle

Thorn Sophun

[ihatesmiggles]

The dracula case.

Richard Chase , aka The Vampire of Sacramento.

He was nicknamed this, as he drank the blood of his victims and cannibalized their remains.

Richard Trenton Chase was born on May 23rd in 1950, he was an American spree killer who murdered six people in Sacramento, California. He was allegedly abused by his mother whilst growing up, though his father also physically disciplined him but that was usual for the time. By the age of 10, he already checked out for the MacDonald triad, which is bed wetting, animal torture and fire setting.

Chase realized very young about his dark urges, though not ever being able to be in with a girl due to his impotence, he in adolescence then became an alcoholic with a chronic drug problem. Chase, keep in mind, was a paranoid schizophrenic, moving out from his mother because he personally believed his mother was trying to poison him.

He moved in with a couple friends, they often complained that he smelt of weed, though he never cared, paying no attention to guests, walking around naked, they eventually got tired of him, telling him to move out. But he refused, so they moved out instead.

Whilst alone, he began to torture animals, he would dismember these animals, making them into milkshakes blended into cola. He had a belief that his heart was shrinking, that it wasn't beating correctly since his childhood, he believed consuming blood and the animal remains would help him from not dying.

In 1975, he was institutionalized due to his blood poisoning from injecting animal blood into his veins. He scared the patients horribly, even the nurses, they gave him the nickname "Dracula", being described as awfully bizarre. He was then prescribed medication, being taken out from the ward in 1976 after being deemed safe (My god, were they wrong.) Anyways, he was placed in the care of his mother.

His mother, the cruel woman she was, got tired of her son, kicking him practically out, forbidding him to take his anti psychotic medication, claiming that it made him boring, dulling his personality, like a zombie, even though advised not to by the doctors. So she instead got him his own apartment.

When he got his own apartment, he began to eat dogs and birds, hanging them up. Chase's neighbor, said she saw cats and dogs enter the apartment then never go out, so she never knew what happened to them, though she could have reported it, as it was not allowed for them to have animals.

The killings

He used a .22 Automatic handgun to kill his victims, first was a drive-by shooting, then the rest were home invasions. After shooting his victims, he would mutilate, drinking the blood, he would engage within necrophilia with female victims only.

The victims include :

An unidentified woman ( Shot, but missed )

Ambrose Griffin, 51 ( Shot in the chest. )

An unidentified boy, 12 ( Shot, missed. )

Teresa, 22 ( Shot twice in the head, then once in the hand. She was repeatedly stabbed, her organs removed, cut off her nipples, forcing her to eat dog feces, partially eaten at. Richard proceeded to commit necrophilia was done to her body, three months pregnant. )

Daniel Meredith, 51 ( Shot, then mutilated. )

Evelyn Miroth, 38 ( Slashed throat, shot, disemboweled, partially eaten, failed to take out one of her eyes, engaged in necrophilia. )

Jason 6, ( Shot, then brutally mutilated once dead. )

David 1, ( Shot, eaten partially and mutilated. )

Facts

In 1977, Chase was arrested in Lake Tahoe, he had a bucket of blood, also guns in his car. He managed to convince an officer it was just from an animal, so there was no report made. ( He claimed it was cows blood, specifically. )

Witnesses saw him with a dog once, though the dog was never recovered so they truly never saw it again, so they never knew what happened to it, this is the same time the lake incident had happened.

He had delusions of an alien force, and insisted he only ate humans because the outside forces were going to steal his blood. He thought his heart was shrinking as I mentioned, so ingesting blood also helped him from not dying.

He had schizophrenia noticeable in his childhood, but it worsened throughout when he got older.

He had a stable life at 20, but it crumbled. He then got into the ward, though he had killed one before, his mother insisted and weared him off his medication, making him go onto a whole spree.

He also had hypochondria.

Neighbors heard him shooting at the walls, he claimed it was the voices he had heard. He lied about his mental illnesses, so he could get his weapon of choice, it happened after he had purchased it.

He killed small puppies, trying to steal a large dog, but luckily, he failed.

His sister was afraid of him.

In prison, he spoke about ufos and nazis, being afraid of them, wanting to get a gun to protect himself, he also claimed to be jewish, drawing the star of david on his forehead. He believed the prison leagues were in contact with the Nazis, trying to kill him with the food.

He was sentenced to death by , but instead, at 11:05 am, December 26th, 1980, he killed himself from an overdose when he was hoarding his medication. The reasons truly were unknown.

[felinesofhistory]

On March 11, 889 CE, 22-year-old Emperor Uda wrote of his cat:

“On the 6th Day of the 2nd Month of the First Year of the Kampo era. Taking a moment of my free time, I wish to express my joy of the cat. It arrived by boat as a gift to the late Emperor, received from the hands of Minamoto no Kuwashi.

The color of the fur is peerless. None could find the words to describe it, although one said it was reminiscent of the deepest ink. It has an air about it, similar to Kanno. Its length is 5 sun, and its height is 6 sun. I affixed a bow about its neck, but it did not remain for long.

In rebellion, it narrows its eyes and extends its needles. It shows its back.

When it lies down, it curls in a circle like a coin. You cannot see its feet. It’s as if it were circular Bi disk. When it stands, its cry expresses profound loneliness, like a black dragon floating above the clouds.

By nature, it likes to stalk birds. It lowers its head and works its tail. It can extend its spine to raise its height by at least 2 sun. Its color allows it to disappear at night. I am convinced it is superior to all other cats.”

[greenwitchcrafts]

October 2024 Witch Guide

New Moon: October 2nd

First Quarter: October 10th

Full moon: October 17th

Last Quarter: October 24th

Sabbats: Samhain- October 31st-November 1st

October Hunter's Moon

Also known as: Blood Moon, Drying Rice Moon, Falling leaf Moon, Freezing Moon, Harvest Moon, Migration Moon, Moon of the Changing Season, Sanguine Moon,, Shedding Moon, Ten Colds Moon, Winterfelleth & Windermanoth

Element: Air

Zodiac: Libra & Scorpio

Nature spirts: Frost Faeries & Plant Faeries

Deities: Apollo, Astarte, Belili, Cernunnos, Demeter, Hathor, Herne, Horned God, Ishtar, Lakshmi & Mercury

Animals: Elephant, jackal, ram, scorpion & stag

Birds: Crow, heron & robin

Trees: Acacia,apple, cypress & yew

Herbs: Angelica, burdock, catnip, pennyroyal, sweet Annie, thyme & uva ursi

Flowers: Apple blossom, calendula, cosmos & marigold

Scents: Apple blossom, cherry & strawberry

Stones: Amethyst, beryl, cat's eye, chrysoberyl, citrine, obsidian, opal, sapphire, tourmaline & turquoise

Colors: Black, blue, dark blue, blue-green & purple

Issues, intentions & powers: Cooperation, darkness, divination, healing & hope

Energy: Artistic works, creativity, harmony, inner cleansing, justice, karma, legal matters, mental stimulation, partnerships, reincarnation & uncovering mysteries or secrets

The Harvest Moon is the full Moon that occurs nearest to the autumnal equinox date (September 22, 2024). This means that either September or October’s full Moon may take on the name “Harvest Moon” instead of its traditional name. Similarly, the Hunter’s Moon is the first full Moon to follow the Harvest Moon, meaning it can occur in either October or November.

The Harvest Moon & the Hunter’s Moon are unique in that they are not directly related to this folklore or restricted to a single month. Instead, they are tied to an astronomical event: the autumnal equinox!

• October’s full Hunter Moon orbits closer to Earth than any of the other full Moons this year, making one of the four supermoons of 2024!  As the Moon drifts over the horizon around sunset, it may appear larger & more orange—how perfect for the fall season!

It is believed that this name originates from the fact that it was a signal for hunters to prepare for the upcoming cold winter by going hunting. This is because animals were beginning to fatten up in preparation for the winter season. Moreover, since fields had recently been cleared out under the Harvest Moon, hunters could easily spot deer & other animals that had come out to search for remaining scraps. Additionally, foxes & wolves would also come out to prey on these animals.

Samhain

Known as: Ancestor's night, Feast of Apples, Feast of Sam-fuim, Feast of Souls, Feast of the Dead, Geimhreadh, Hallowmass, Martinmass, Old Hallowmass, Pagan New Year, Samana, Samhuinn, Samonios & Shadowfest

Season: Autumn

Element: Water

Symbols: Apples, bats, besom, black cats, cauldrons, ghosts, gourds, jack-o-lanterns, pumpkins, scarecrows & witches

Colors: Black, gold, orange, silver & white

Oils/Incense: Basil, cloves, copal, frankincense, gum mastic, heather, heliotrope, mint, myrrh & nutmeg

Animals: Bat, bear, boar, cat, cattle & dog

Stones: Amber, anatase, black calcite, black obsidian, black tourmaline, bras, carnelian, clear quartz, diamond, garnet, gold, granite, hematite, iron, jet, marble, onyx, pearl, pyrite, ruby, sandstone, sardonyx, smokey quartz, steel & tektite

Food: Apples, ale, beef, cider, corn, nuts, fruit, garlic, gourds, grains, hazelnuts, herbal teas, mushroom, nettle, nuts, pears, pomegranates, pork, poultry, pumpkin pie, sunflower seeds, thistle, turnips & wine (mulled)

Herbs/Plants: Acorn, allspice, angelica, besom, catnip, corn, deadly nightshades, dittany of Crete, fumitory, garlic, mandrake, mugwort, mullein, oak leaves, patchouli, reed, rosemary, rue, sage, straw, tarragon, thistle & wormwood

Flowers:  Calendula, chrysanthemum & heather

Trees: Apple, beech, buckthorn, hazel, pine, locust, pomegranate, willow, witch hazel, yellow cedar & yew

Magical: Faeries

Goddesses: Al-Lat, Baba Yaga, Badb, Bast, Bebhionn, Bronach, Brunhilde, Cailleach, Carlin, Cassandra, Cerridwen, Copper Woman, Crobh Dearg, Devanyani, Dolya, Edda, Elli, Eris, Erishkigal, Fortuna, Frau Holde, Hecate, Hel, Mania, The Morrigan, Nemisis & Nicneven

Gods: Arawn, Baron Samede, Chronus,The Dagda, Dis, Hades, Nefertum, Osiris, Pluto, Woden & Xocatl

Spellwork: Divination, fire magick, night magick, shape-shifting, spirit calling & water magick

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Crossroads, darkness, death, divination, honor, introspection, otherworldly/underworld, release, visions & wisdom

Activities:

•Dedicate an altar to loved ones who have passed

• Boil a simmer pot to cleanse your space

• Have a silent dinner

• Light a candle for your loved ones & yourself

• Decorate your house and/or altar

• Release negative energy & cleanse yourself with a ritual bath

• Pull tarot cards to see what may be in store for you ahead

• Cleanse, clean & de-clutter your space

• Host or attend a bonfire

• Leave offerings for the Sídhe

• Journal & reflect on your accomplishments, challenges & everything you did this year

•Go on a nature walk

• Learn a new form of divination

• Have a bonfire with your friends and/or family

• Carve pumpkins, turnips or apples

• Express yourself creatively through art, music, ect

• Visit a cemetery & help clean off areas that need it or to visit a family member/ ancestor & leave an offering

• Hold a seance

• Bake spooky treats & bread as offerings

• Refresh your protection magicks, sigils & rituals

Samhain is about halfway between the autumnal equinox & winter solstice. It is one of the four Gaelic seasonal festivals along with Imbolc, Beltane, & Lughnasa. Historically it was widely observed throughout Ireland, Scotland, & the Isle of Man. 

Samhain is believed to have Celtic pagan origins &  some Neolithic passage tombs in Great Britain & Ireland are aligned with the sunrise at the time of Samhain. It is mentioned in the earliest Irish literature, from the 9th century & is associated with many important events in Irish mythology.

The early literature says great gatherings & feasts marked Samhain when the ancient burial mounds were open, which were seen as portals to the Otherworld. Some of the literature also associates Samhain with bonfires & sacrifices.

• According to Irish mythology, Samhain (like Beltane) was a time when the 'doorways' to the Otherworld opened, allowing supernatural beings and the souls of the dead to come into our world; while Beltane was a summer festival for the living, Samhain "was essentially a festival for the dead".

•The festival was not recorded in detail until the early modern era. It was when cattle were brought down from the summer pastures & livestock were slaughtered. Special bonfires were lit, which were deemed to have protective & cleansing powers.

At Samhain, the aos sí were appeased with offerings of food & drink to ensure the people & livestock survived the winter. The souls of dead kin were also thought to revisit their homes seeking hospitality & a place was set at the table for them during a meal. Divination was also a big part of the festival & often involved nuts & apples.

Mumming & guising were part of the festival from at least the early modern era, whereby people went door-to-door in costume, reciting verses in exchange for food. The costumes may have been a way of imitating & disguising oneself from the aos sí. 

• In the late 19th century, John Rhys and James Frazer suggested it had been the "Celtic New Year", but that is disputed.

Some believe it is the time of The Goddess' mourning the death of The God until his rebirth at Yule. The Goddess' sadness can be seen in the shortening, darkening days & the arrival or cold weather.

Related festivals:

• Halloween( October 31st)-

In popular culture, the day has become a celebration of horror, being associated with the macabre and supernatural.

•One theory holds that many Halloween traditions were influenced by Celtic harvest festivals, particularly the Gaelic festival Samhain, which are believed to have pagan roots. Some go further & suggest that Samhain may have been Christianized as All Hallow's Day, along with its eve, by the early Church. Other academics believe Halloween began solely as a Christian holiday, being the vigil of All Hallow's Day.

Popular Halloween activities include trick-or-treating (or the related guising & ghouling), attending Halloween costume parties, carving pumpkins or turnips into jack-o'-lanterns, lighting bonfires, apple bobbing, divination games, playing pranks, visiting haunted attractions, telling scary stories, & watching horror or Halloween-themed films

• Day of the Dead(November 1st-2nd)-

 el Día de Muertos or el Día de los Muertos

The multi-day holiday involves family & friends gathering to pay respects & to remember friends & family members who have died. These celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember amusing events & anecdotes about the departed. It is widely observed in Mexico, where it largely developed, and is also observed in other places, especially by people of Mexican heritage.

•The observance falls during the Christian period of Allhallowtide.

Traditions connected with the holiday include honoring the deceased using calaveras & marigold flowers known as cempazúchitl, building home altars called ofrendas with the favorite foods & beverages of the departed & visiting graves with these items as gifts for the deceased.

 The celebration is not solely focused on the dead, as it is also common to give gifts to friends such as candy sugar skulls, to share traditional pan de muerto with family & friends, & to write light-hearted & often irreverent verses in the form of mock epitaphs dedicated to living friends & acquaintances, a literary form known as calaveras literarias.

 Some argue that there are Indigenous Mexican or ancient Aztec influences that account for the custom & it has become a way to remember those forebears of Mexican culture.

• All Saint's Day(November 1st)- 

Also known as All Hallows' Day or the Feast of All Saints is a Christian solemnity celebrated in honour of all the saints of the Church, whether they are known or unknown.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

[leashybebes]

For the ship kiss thing: #22 and BuckTommy, please? :)

22 was rush of adrenaline. thanks for playing!

It was a good call - they got everybody out, Buck got to do the manoeuver, and best of all, Tommy was on scene. It's not that they never get to work the same scenes, but it's not that common, and nine times out of ten, Tommy's up in a bird and they don't actually see each other at all, or they do, but it's for the handful of seconds it takes to organise a patient transfer.

But Tommy was on the ground today, and they passed each other a few times and Buck was achingly, desperately aware of him the whole time. He's still riding high on the rush of adrenaline and a job well done when things are winding down a little and he sees Tommy drinking from a bottle of water, his head tipped back, the line of his throat sharp and devastating to whatever threads of self-control Buck has remaining. Tommy's standing in a little cluster of other firefighters, mostly people he vaguely recognizes from Harbor, no one who will bat an eyelash, so he ducks away from where Eddie and Hen are talking and crosses the space between them.

Tommy starts to smile, starts to speak, but Buck just catches him by the wrist and tows him along, pulling him between two of the fire trucks, pressing him up against one and leaning in.

"Evan - we're at work," Tommy says, but Buck can see through his scandalized tone in a heartbeat. He wants it, they both want it, and Buck's pulse is screaming in his throat.

"Don't care," he says, getting his hand around the nape of Tommy's neck and pulling him into a desperate, biting kiss. Sure enough, Tommy's protests die immediately, his hands fisting in Buck's turnouts to yank him closer.

list of kisses is here if anyone wants to play!

[marvelnewssource]

Cover reveal for What if...

MARC SPECTOR WAS A HOST TO VENOM?

A VENOM AND MOON KNIGHT STORY by Mike Chen | October 22, 2024

So many worlds, so little time. Infinite possibilities, creating infinite realities. Long have I watched Marc Spector cheat death in the name of the Egyptian god Khonshu. But…what if Moon Knight was subsumed by a Venom from another universe?

Marc Spector is used to voices in his head. He’s used to waking up disoriented, unsure what his alters, Jake and Steven, might have been up to. He’s used to having an Egyptian god command him as Moon Knight, his avatar of justice and revenge. What he’s not used to: staring into the face of a literal, out-of-body doppelganger.

Another Marc, crash-landed from an alternate reality, begging for help? Yeah, that is a new one, even for him.

But before he can really process anything beyond Khonshu’s incessant alarm bells, it becomes clear this other Marc didn’t travel solo. Some kind of alien—a symbiote named Venom—casts off its current host and begins to merge with Marc, forcing Khonshu away from his chosen champion and claiming Moon Knight for its own. The formerly stark white suit that struck fear into the hearts of criminals now looms as a jet-black shadow over friends and foes alike. Marc’s lethal prowess fueled by Venom’s penchant for violence carves a trail of chaos as they comb through the vigilante’s torturous past.

Yet a sliver of hope remains: Finally free of Venom’s control, the other Jake and Steven re-gain consciousness to find themselves in a strange reality, without their Marc, but with a strange bird-like god insisting that “they will do.” Desperate, lost, and running out of time, the pair make a deal: become Khonshu’s new avatar to track Venom’s path of destruction, save this universe, and just maybe figure out a way back to their own.

[chaoticace2005]

List of WHERE THE FUCK DID VAGGIE COME FROM?? (and also other exorcists)

1. She was heaven-born: ichor as blood is limited to heaven-born, Adam named her, military schools from being exorcist, picked up Spanish elsewhere (a Winner maybe? We haven’t seen any other angels speak Spanish yet so…)

2. She was a human soul: ichor is in all beings living in heaven (as seen with Adam- but he may be a special case), Adam renamed her, military skills possibly due to past life?, where she learned Spanish

3. She is a human soul, and old info about Vaggie remains canon- she’s Salvadoran and died in like 2014

4. ^ That was a lie she told Charlie, and she either had a different life or doesn’t remember/have one on earth at all

5. She’s a human soul that died and went to heaven but lost her memories (either as all Winners do or just after she became an exorcist.) She didn’t have a name so Adam gave her one. Spanish was something she retained

6. She’s a human soul CHOSEN from Earth to be an exorcist. She didn’t die (maybe she was close though?) but they did take her from her life there and washed her memories away.

7. She went to heaven either by 5 or 6 and didn’t lose her memories. But she was forced to confirm and essentially take on a new identity.

8. She was spawned in some exorcist factory in heaven and that’s why Adam named her.

9. “Vaggie” WAS her name on Earth- Adam was her mom.

10. Adam actually went down to Earth and forced some random mother to name her daughter Vaggie because it would be “fucking hilarious.”

11. He actually didn’t name her, but Vaggie reminded him of Vagina so he started pronouncing it like that.

12. Adam laid eggs and she hatched from those.

13. She’s mothman’s daughter (the cryptid, not the icky douchebag demon.) She was raised on earth but because of her elevated status she became an exorcist when she died.

14. ALL exorcists are mothman’s children.

15. Exorcists are random birds picked from Earth after they complete a challenge.

16. Seraphims just pluck feathers out and boom: exorcist.

17. She wasn’t an exorcist. Adam just gaslit her really hard and also the stick up her ass caused her blood to change color so it resembles ichor. (Ghost written by Angel)

18. All exorcists were created at once by the angels. They all grew up and trained together.

19. Once you reach a certain level of the military on earth you become an exorcist when you die (so maybe it’s a free pass and you don’t have to be “good” to be an exorcist, which explains why some of them are so bent on violence. They didn’t have to go through the same screening as everyone else.)

20. They were conditioned to be like this, with Heaven propaganda and working in Hell made them so cold to demons, and having gone through a rigid military program.

21. They spawned fully formed whenever heaven needs more exorcists.

22. Vaggie isn’t real. She’s an illusion of their conscience. The real exorcist was in us all along.

23. Universe saw Charlie was lonely. Universe said, “here girlfriend.” What’s her backstory? They don’t know either.

24. Their blood is actually PISS and they’re spawned form porta-potties left outside too long.

25. Exorcists are people who died by lemons. When life gives people lemons (and kills them), they turn their blood into lemonade.

26. A glow stick factory in Heaven exploded due to Adam. This was the byproduct. Sera had no idea what to do with them so she gave them to Adam as punishment.

[blueiscoool]

4,000 Fragments of a Roman Wall Painting Found in Spain

Spanish archaeologists unearthed over 4,000 fragments of wall paintings that once decorated the Roman villa of Barberes Sud in the town of Villajoyosa. By restoring and reassembling the painted pieces, conservators are beginning to reveal the rich decoration of the stately Roman residence, which dates back to the 2nd century CE. The discovery offers interesting new insights into Roman art and culture in the region.

New Findings at the Roman Villa of Barberes Sud

Earlier excavations in the area uncovered several Roman villa complexes, necropolises, and parts of a port known as the Playa de la Vila. These archaeological findings likely belonged to the ancient Roman settlement of Alonis, which experts believe was a commercial and industrial hub situated in Villajoyosa, Spain.

The region’s latest excavation campaign has focused on the large Roman villa of Barberes Sud. The site is located alongside a major highway connecting Alonis with the modern-day Marina Baixa region along the Spanish coast. The foundations of Barberes Sud date back to the reign of Emperor Trajan, between 98 and 117 CE, at the pinnacle of the Roman Empire’s power and prosperity.

Archaeologists have determined the impressive floor plan of the Barberes Sud villa complex, which comprises domestic living spaces and a sprawling open-air garden area, which was once enclosed by columns and bordered by lavishly decorated reception rooms. The complex also featured a large courtyard with several rooms designated for servants.

Reassembly Reveals Ancient Roman Decoration

The walls of the reception rooms at Barberes Sud were constructed with compacted clay during the 2nd century CE. Because these walls have since collapsed inward, their surface decorations were discovered in small fragments. Archaeologists carefully extracted and preserved each piece of painted plaster. Then, work began on the consolidation and reconstruction of murals that once decorated the Roman residence.

The wall fragments were numbered and photogrammetrically recorded before being removed from the Barberes Sud excavation site. This process will allow experts to partially reconstruct the original murals. One reassembled panel, comprising 22 fragments, revealed an ornate composition of plant garlands and birds topped with decorative molding. The remaining fragments are still being inventoried and restored. Among them are curved stucco pieces designed to imitate fluted columns.

By Emily Snow.

[saintmelangell]

i think a lot about how christians use the akedah as a foreshadowing of the crucifixion because god offers his son for a sacrifice as abraham does isaac. the problem with this idea is that its completely detached from its source material. i think the popular reading remains that abraham's faith in god was so complete that he would have killed isaac if it came to that, but there are some rabbinic readings that suggest abraham and isaac both knew god wouldn't follow through demanding isaac as a sacrifice. this is why abraham goes through with it up to the point that he does.

i think a lot about how christians use the akedah as a foreshadowing of the crucifixion because god offers his son for a sacrifice as abraham does isaac. the problem with this idea is that its completely detached from its source material. i think the popular reading remains that abraham's faith in god was so complete that he would have killed isaac if it came to that, but there are some rabbinic readings that suggest abraham and isaac both knew god wouldn't follow through demanding isaac as a sacrifice. this is why abraham goes through with it up to the point that he does.

i find this to not be as present in the paschal narrative. jesus does not seem aware of his resurrection. he speaks about glorification prior to the paschal narrative but seems unaware of how this will play out for him personally. nothing in his dialogues on the mount of olives or on the cross suggest to me someone who was aware that he was going to be resurrected. my caveat here is that both mark 8:31-33 and matthew 16:21 are obviously later redactions and i find it extremely doubtful that jesus ever said he would be raised in three days verbatim, especially since these verses are not spoken quotations from jesus.

my other caveat is that the notion of "complete faith" is deeply warped. jesus may have had complete faith in god, but this does not automatically signify that he understood the exact means of his glorification. (i also caution any christian from allegorizing his statement about the temple being rebuilt in three days given the problematic and antismeitic history of the book of hebrews.)

if we compare abraham and jesus' reactions to what god asks of them: abraham is calm and he isn't panicked. when isaac questions where they will get the sacrifice, abraham answers with certainty. jesus is far less composed even among his friends. he is deeply distressed throughout his experience, culminating in his dying statement: אֵלִ֣י אֵ֖לִי לָמָ֣ה עֲזַבְתָּ֑נִי, my god, my god, why have you foresaken me? interestingly, midrash on psalm 22 says that esther uttered the same thing when facing king xerxes to intervene on behalf of the jews in babylon, because she felt the shekinah disappear. to my mind in addition to a further feminization of christ, this also implies that jesus may only have thought that he was intervening on behalf of the jews in captivity, like esther, rather than on behalf of the world, an idea supported by statements such as matthew 15:26, matthew 10:5, and matthew 5:7.

the main issue that i have with the linking of the pashal narrative with the akedah is one of intervention: the climax of the akedah is that god intervenes on behalf of those he loves so that no blood needs to be shed. a consistent motif in god's covenants is creativity, to negate destruction: first the noahide covenant, then the abrahamic (note that this takes place during a famine, when abraham is in a strange land, on a knife's edge; it is under this covenant that isaac is not killed) and then the law passed down on sinai. the institution of mosaic law systematized sacrifice so that through right adherence to the law, bloodshed would be controlled and the people saved from harm. where the law is contravened- when one steps out of the safety which the shadow of god's word, like the wings of a mother bird, provides to her children- there is danger.

these covenants are not vertical outpourings of divine grace on humanity: they are wholly reciprocal. in leviticus 22, for instance, the lord states: it is i the lord who makes them sacred" and again at the end of the chapter: "you shall not profane my holy name, that i may be sanctified in the midst of the israelite people- i the lord who sanctify you." notice the reciprocity with rings from this second verse. the lord is sanctified by the people: the lord sanctifies the people. one cannot exist without the other. this reciprocal relationship is arguably the central tent of jewish law. micah 6:8, which to many rabbis is the single verse which best summarizes the law, also rings of this idea: to do the activity of מִשְׁפָּט֙ (justice), to love חֶ֔סֶד (mercy), and walk with god with צנַע, humbly, with modesty. the two main attributes of god are justice and mercy: thus we are asked to model ourselves after him in our behaviour, and to do so with humility.

god's relationship with his people moves continually nearer and nearer the prevention of destruction. whether you read the story of jesus as messianic or not (and i no longer do), the only way in which this story makes sense to me if i am to place it as part of a continual tradition with the jewish tradition of which jesus himself is part is to assume that that the actual crux of this story was one of intervention. if jesus is indeed the second isaac the way christianity cliams, it makes no sense for god to have intended him to be killed if isaac was never intended to be killed. if god provided the sacrifice for abraham, and his relationship with the world is reciprocal, then if jesus is the son of god it would stand to reason that the world would provide the replacement sacrifice for god's son in return.

abraham's faith that god would provide a sacrifice is very different from the type of faith often modelled in christianity, where you have faith in your suffering up to and through that suffering even to your own destruction. and this model of faith, which i do hold to be at best destructive and at worst incorrect, continually enables suffering both created and perpetuated by christianity as an institution. if god's mercy is the defining trait of every covenant up to christ, and we are expected to act with mercy in kind, shouldn't the aim of christianity be not the transformation of suffering (not to glorify the crucifixion of jesus, not to ensure that it goes unwasted,) but to live in the knowledge that the suffering of jesus, like all suffering, has the capacity to be prevented? is eschatology gesturing towards a new heaven and a new earth without suffering, or is it more likely that god (who made the world and saw that it is good) is aware that we have the capacity to prevent suffering in this world, here and now, by doing what we are asked by god?

we are asked to have abraham's faith: but we are also asked to, like abraham, seize the opportunity to alleviate someone else's suffering (including our own) when god presents it to us. more than mercy, that is the mark of a just god.

[usafphantom2]

Blackbird pilot recalls when his SR-71 Flew so Fast that he and his RSO Landed at Beale AFB almost a Day Before They Took Off from Kadena AB

SR-71 Pilot tells the story of when his Blackbird flew So Fast that He and his RSO arrived at Beale AFB almost a Day Before They Left Kadena AB

The SR-71 Blackbird

The SR-71, the most advanced member of the Blackbird family that included the A-12 and YF-12, was designed by a team of Lockheed personnel led by Clarence “Kelly” Johnson, then vice president of Lockheed’s Advanced Development Company Projects, commonly known as the “Skunk Works” and now a part of Lockheed Martin.

SR-71 T-Shirts

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

The Blackbird design originated in secrecy during the late 1950s with the A-12 reconnaissance aircraft that first flew in April 1962 and remained classified until 1976. President Lyndon Johnson publicly announced the existence of the YF-12A interceptor variant on Feb. 29, 1964, more than half a year after its maiden flight. The SR-71 completed its first flight on Dec. 22, 1964.

The Blackbird was designed to cruise at “Mach 3+,” just over three times the speed of sound or more than 2,200 miles per hour and at altitudes up to 85,000 feet.

Blackbird pilot recalls when his SR-71 Flew so Fast that he and his RSO Landed at Beale AFB almost a Day Before They Took Off from Kadena AB

David Peters in SR-71’s cockpit

The incredible speed of the SR-71 Blackbird

So, it comes as no surprise if, thanks to its astonishing flight characteristics, the aircraft has set numerous speed and altitude records throughout its career.

To give a real perspective of the incredible speed the iconic Blackbird could attain, SR-71 pilot David Peters tells the following, fabulous story.

‘We were TDY to Det. 1 at Kadena AB, Okinawa. One of the birds was scheduled for swap out and my back seater, Ed Bethart, and I were to fly it home. The replacement came in on Friday and we were to leave Saturday morning. So, in true Habu tradition we welcomed the incoming crew and went to happy hour Friday evening at the officers’ club.

SR-71 Pilot tells the story of when his Blackbird flew So Fast that He and his RSO arrived at Beale AFB 17 1/2 Hours Before They Left Kadena AB

David Peters and Ed Bethart

A true story

‘We got up Saturday morning and got ready to go home. Departure was scheduled for 1000. Everything went well and we departed right on time. Headed out to do a pass through the Korean DMZ then into the tankers in the Sea of Japan. Good refueling and climb out headed for the Sea of Okhotsk and the Kamchatka peninsula of Russia and from there to more tankers off of Adak in the Aleutian Islands. Another good refueling and on to Beale AFB California.

‘We arrived with a low approach pulled up into a closed pattern and landed. Following de-suiting and debrief we deposited our classified flight documents jumped in a car and arrived at the officers club for Friday night happy hour at 1630 17 1/2 hours before we left Kadena.

SR-71 print

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. SR-71A Blackbird 61-7972 “Skunkworks”

‘Try that in any aircraft other than the SR-71. Besides this is actually a true story.’

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter Page Habubrats SR-71 and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: David Peters and U.S. Air Force

@Habubrats71 via X

[wachinyeya]

Shorebird populations across the Americas have declined by nearly 50% over the past four decades, facing increasing threats from habitat loss, climate change, and human disturbances. Against these odds, the American Oystercatcher has made a stunning comeback, with populations rebounding by 45% since 2008. The recovery is credited to a collaborative, science-based conservation initiative led by Manomet Conservation Sciences, in partnership with the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

The American Oystercatcher, a striking coastal bird known for its bright red-orange beak and distinctive yellow-rimmed eyes, plays a vital role in salt marsh and barrier beach ecosystems. By 2008, its numbers had dropped to just 10,000 birds. Recognizing the urgency of the situation, Dr. Shiloh Schulte, Senior Shorebird Scientist at Manomet, launched a data-driven conservation effort focused on habitat restoration, predator control, and protection of nesting sites.

Schulte’s comprehensive population surveys—spanning from New York to Texas—provided critical insights into roosting patterns and breeding success, enabling conservationists to implement effective recovery strategies. Targeted interventions and sustained collaboration have reversed the species’ decline, offering a model for future shorebird conservation efforts.

A $10 Million Investment in Coastal Conservation

Recognizing that shorebird conservation requires a coordinated, large-scale approach, Manomet and the American Oystercatcher Working Group spearheaded a decade-long $10 million funding initiative bringing together 35 coastal conservation organizations. 

The combined efforts have contributed to the restoration of coastal ecosystems, benefiting numerous shorebird species. According to Dr. Stephen Brown, Vice President of Science at Manomet, long-term migration studies have played a role in highlighting the broader shorebird crisis. His research contributed to the November 2024 update of the International Union for Conservation of Nature’s (IUCN) Red List, which revealed that 15 migratory shorebird species in the Americas are now classified at higher risk levels.

Manomet’s ongoing mission extends beyond research, actively engaging local communities, conservation organizations, and policymakers to implement science-based solutions. By prioritizing hands-on habitat restoration and protection, the organization remains at the forefront of shorebird conservation efforts.

Expanding Conservation Efforts: From Oystercatchers to Whimbrels

The success of the American Oystercatcher conservation model is now being applied to other threatened shorebirds, including the whimbrel—a long-distance migratory bird that travels between the Arctic and South America. With whimbrel populations declining in recent decades, conservationists are using the same science-driven strategies to help reverse these trends.

To increase public awareness and engagement, the First Inaugural Shorebird Festival will take place on Tybee Island, Georgia, from February 20-22, 2025. This event will bring together citizen scientists, conservationists, and bird enthusiasts, providing a unique opportunity to learn about shorebird conservation efforts. Dr. Abby Sterling, Director of the Georgia Bight Shorebird Conservation Initiative, will be among the experts discussing ongoing restoration initiatives.

Despite ongoing environmental challenges, the resurgence of the American Oystercatcher proves that with the right scientific approach, funding, and collaboration, shorebird populations can recover and thrive.