#he DEFINITELY would have won

[cryptids-lobelia-garden]

Heh, so uh, funny story! My job was busier than I expected yesterday (and today) so I thought I’d have more time to do this and I didn’t! BUT FRET NOT, FOR IT WAS MADE ANYWAY! Anyway, I’ve accepted my schedule for uploading these will be irrregular, but I’m gonna do it anyway, I’m having fun inflicting my little guys with The Horrors.

Anyway.

I should probably mention my interpretation of Volo isn’t immortal, he’s just a ball of spite towards the god that abandoned him and he will become a ghost type to make sure Arceus never gets peace if he has to.

Warnings: I don’t like Cogita, uh.. aftermath of Pokemon battle gone wrong? They’re okay (I don’t like killing off characters) but yeah, they were outmatched REALLY badly, so. Animal injury. Also animal attack aftermath (not super bad just exists).

Day 4: Swaying

Volo feels.. empty.

His one chance at reaching his goal was snatched away in an instant by outsiders who had no business poking their noses in this. Giratina’s gone- which is his own fault, he had lashed out at them unfairly.

And to top it all off, all his Pokémon were hurt pretty badly in that fight. They had been outnumbered and outmatched, and by the time Volo had the chance to pull his Pokémon out of that fight, they had already given all the fight they had.

He hadn’t made it out unscathed, either. Apparently, Cheri is a zoroark, and he’s also blessed by Arceus, which explains a LOT.

So Volo has a huge set of gashes in his arm that he’s only just managed to wrap tightly enough to stop the bleeding, he’s light headed and he’s almost fallen over a few times in the trek down the mountain, his Pokémon are all hurt pretty badly, and they don’t have a place to stay.

He doesn’t want to go to Cogita. She’s been getting worse as time goes on, and he’s already feeling terrible enough without her quips about.. well..

His entire existence, really.

But he’s sure everyone will know about what happened by the time he gets down the mountain- the siblings had taken off on various flying Pokémon in three different directions. So that takes out both the clans and town, and the Guild, too, since he’s fairly sure Ginter is in town today and will hear of this.

It’s a good thing he had thought to grab his discarded bag. He can at least find a cave or something of the sort, heal his Pokémon, and then..

And then what? There’s nothing else for him here.

Volo takes a deep breath, pushing through the spots in his vision. I don’t care how long it takes.

It could take decades, or even centuries.

I WILL find a way to make this work.

I just need to do more research.

Clouds are starting to gather, threatening rain, and Volo looks up, frowning. It wouldn’t be good to be caught in this, it’s going to be a cold night and he doesn’t want to get sick.. Well. Better hurry, then.

He finds his way to the nearest clear spot, setting down his bag and getting his tent set up as quickly as he can. He has to take time to rest every few minutes, leaning against the nearest tree and catching his breath.

Gods. I’m so cold..

I’ll have to find a Blissey later..

..There HAS to be a way to fix this, right? I’m beaten, but I’m not dead. Giratina’s gone, but there’s other ways to capture a god. I don’t need Giratina’s help, I don’t need anyone, I-

Toge jumps out of her ball, weakly squeaking, and Volo feels his heart drop as he rushes to her side.

“Hey, precious girl,” he murmurs, gently brushing a few of her disheveled feathers back into place. They’re stained with blood and dark-type energy, and he frowns. “Are you okay?”

Another quiet squeak.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to fix this.” He sighs, getting to work finishing setting up the tent. He ignores how standing is starting to put spots in his vision, he needs to get this done before they all get soaked.

It takes a while, and little drops of rain are starting to fall, but once the tent is up, he helps her limp her way inside, letting the others out of their pokeballs too.

They’re all hurt. Luca’s burnt in a few different places from fire and electricity, and Volo’s going to guess he’s lucky if nothing’s broken, with how savagely the bird Pokémon attacked him. Trouble’s shivering, far too cold for a fire type, the rocks in her mane cracked by water and ice. Shark is covered in shimmering wounds, most left by a sylveon. Dried leaf-like skin is flaking off Nightshade, who is burnt even worse than Luca is- even Spiritomb is flickering. Their keystone is, thankfully, intact, but there’s not much power in their disc.

That’s not even mentioning the scratches and bites covering their bodies.

Arceus, I can understand sending people who could defeat me in battle, but why send such strong opponents? Why so many?

This isn’t just a defeat, it’s cruelty.

Luca and Toge are the only ones awake. Luca stands, taking a moment to catch his balance before staggering to Volo’s side. Volo holds his arms open as the lucario falls into him, and he feels a rush of guilt as he pulls him close.

“I’m sorry,” Volo murmurs. “I- I shouldn’t have made you all part of this, I..” He sighs, hiding his face in his free hand. “Gods, I am such a fool. I should have realized those three were sent by Arceus, had Their divine blessing.”

Toge squeaks, pushing her way under his arm and resting there, and Volo sighs, staring at the ground.

I really am a joke in Arceus’s eyes, aren’t I? They didn’t even send an adult to deal with me. They sent children.

Sure, they are good battlers, but even so, they’re still CHILDREN.

Perhaps the fact they were sent was a testament to their strength.

Or maybe it only proves how little Arceus really thinks of me.

Volo starts digging through his bag, pulling out bandages, potions, and revives. Whatever the case, I have more important things to worry about right now. Like making sure my Pokémon survive this.

He starts quickly treating the wounds that need the most immediate attention. He doesn’t have a lot of potions on him, but thankfully, he has enough to fix the majority of the worst damage, and he does that before waking the ones who are still knocked out. Then he gets to work bandaging the rest.

I’m glad I thought to stock up on bandages the last time I got a chance to.

A sudden chill brushes through him, and he unpins his shoulder cape, quickly pulling on his merchant outfit. He might hate the job, but at least the clothes are warm.

It doesn’t help much, but his arms are covered and he’s a little warmer.

He lets out a quiet sigh. “..How are you all doing? Is it cold?”

Most of his Pokémon seem okay now, if maybe a little lightheaded, but Shark and Nightshade are both pretty cold, and they look at him with pleading eyes.

“Right. Here.” Volo holds out their Pokeballs, and the garchomp and roserade hurry to jump in. Tucking those to his chest to hopefully keep them warm, Volo sighs, pulling the other four close.

..I’m going to fix this. We all deserve a better world, and damn what Arceus does, I’m going to find a way to make it.

I’ll find a way to do it if it kills me.

~~~~~

(Edited for Hemlock’s name, nightshade didn’t exist at the time in Japan I think based on my research but hemlock did. Also some formatting fixes.)

[vonlipvig]

if i was making scandal s4 i'd have a psychological horror cyrus subplot where he's periodically haunted by a rotting, zombie-fied ghost version of james every time he continues to support the administration in his usual immoral ways, both serving as a representation of his guilt over his loss, and the constant reinforcing of his sunk-cost fallacy way of coping. but because this wasn't relevant to olivia's journey they didn't include it.

[penroseparticle]

irreplaceable rant? to the left to the left

My irreplaceable rant is essentially:

When Beyonce wrote Irreplaceable it was like a giant stepping on an ant. Even in 06 she was shaping up to be a Juggernaut. B'Day launched at number 1 I believe? She was blowing up. Well established, producing bop after bop after banger after banger. And We bought Irreplaceable because we, fully, were on board. Beyonce COULD have another you in a minute. The mythos of Beyonce was taking shape. She was Beyonce, you were some guy. To the left.

When she wrote Lemonade it was like. Oh there are stakes now because whether you think Jay Z is great or not or a garbage dude or whatever, he's at least closer to her level than just "some guy".

Like. Of course she could have another you in a minute if you were some dude. But could she have another Jay Z in a minute? No, categorically she could not, and to say otherwise is to tell yourself fun lies because you hate cheaters or men or whatever. I am a firm believer that Beyonce is one of a kind and cannot be replicated in our lifetime as a cultural phenomenon, artist, creator, singer, you name it she is. incredible. But I'm also not going to pretend Jay Z wasn't in some ways just as singularly, powerfully monolithic with popculture just because most of this website understands rap less.

She writes the Sistine Chapel about him because like it or not, she wants to. She looks at him and sees things you could only dream of creating and I for one am just happy to be here, and could care less what you think about Beyonce's specialist boy who is the catalyst of some of the best music I've heard in the past decade, and also someone who MADE some of the best music I've heard in the past 20 years as well.

Beyonce's first solo recording was 03 Bonnie and Clyde, btw. As in, she was a feature on a Jay Z song before even releasing Dangerously in Love. Which. Also prominently has a Jay Z feature. In the lead single. That arguably launched Beyonce's career. Why would she ever write songs about the man who helped her launch her career that she has been married to for 16 years. A damn mystery.

And for the record, if she wanted to make the most beautiful art in the world about literal garbage, so the fuck what. We hate Duchamps The Fountain on this website now? Irving Penn spent years taking extremely detailed, well composed photos... of actual trash. Like Mud Glove. His photos were hanging in the Smithsonian a few years ago. Turns out beautiful art that says something, even something about trash? Still beautiful.

[whysamwhy123]

If something could go right for Ricky in AEW any time soon, that'd be great 😥

[dutybcrne]

When getting married, Kae's ideal wedding fit is something that heavily blurs his gender presentation. Is it a suit? A dress??? Is he the bride?? Groom??? Who knows? Definitely not anybody getting a good look at him-

[ashendalia]

I don't know what to do with myself so all I end up doing is starting off somewhere thinking about how Griff deserved so much better than what he was given in his life

[mageofminge]

do you guys ever have nightmares about getting a fish tank only for the fish to die within the day you get it due to some really horrible and also easy to avoid errors?

[theinfinitedivides]

LAPoem's Mirotic cover................ Cassies wake up this is our Forestella moment

[spacetrashpile]

ok, so since it seems like today’s session of limited life is gonna be the last (martyn said it himself!), now feels like a good time for this poll:

sorry i had to group the past winners there’s 11 people left and polls only let you have 10 options

[hauntingblue]

'You don't look like a criminal, buy me lunch after the combat' lmao rebecca is luffy approved

[wonder-worker]

how do you think the Lancasters stood the best chance at winning the war?

Imo, if they'd won at Mortimer's Cross or Towton, the Yorkists would be finished.

A lot of the WotR depended on military victories, tbh. We tend to get distracted by fancy discussions like "Who had the best claim?"* or Propaganda Roulette 101, but the fact remains that it was ultimately military victories that sealed the deal and got rid of opposition**. Everything else was pretty wrapping on top of the already-won or to-be-won prize.

*The most useless debate of all **The exception was Richard III's usurpation but that was a fairly unconventional and entirely unexpected usurpation, and in any case it was a military defeat that ended his reign.

[reachexceedinggrasp]

It's a problem for me how every frame of his face needs to be a painting. I paint way too slow for this kind of workload.

[wheucto]

fun fact! assuming the hotel cost 200,000 dollars, it would take about 11 years for OJ to have his million dollars run out due to food expenses alone

[sirfrogsworth]

How do you take a photo of time?

I've been watching the track events at the Olympics since I was a wee lad. It was a tradition in our family. We'd gather around our ancient low-definition 19 inch CRT television and watch tiny blobs compete against other tiny blobs and root for our country.

It was a bit like watching YouTube on your phone in 144p.

Several heroes emerged.

Jackie Joyner-Kersee was amazing.

You can't forget about Flo-Jo.

And then the Olympics decided NBA players were allowed in the competition.

Which formed... The Dream Team.

Was this fair?

Well... they won each game by an average of 44 points.

So... no. It was not fair.

Though it became more fair as time went on.

But, umm... yeah. The other teams looked like the Washington Generals and the US looked like the Harlem Globetrotters if they stopped screwing around half of the game.

But my absolute favorite Olympian was a runner named Michael Johnson.

He was cool as heck.

For one thing... gold shoes.

But he also had this crazy, upright, Tom Cruise-ish sprinting style that just made him look like a running robot on the track.

And in the 1996 Atlanta games he just trounced EVERYONE. I mean, it wasn't even close.

Yikes. Those losing blobs are probably really embarrassed.

Last night I decided to invigorate my nostalgia and watch the track events again. And I got to see one of the wildest races in history.

It didn't even last 10 seconds but it was one of the most exciting sporting events I've ever witnessed. Almost every runner won the race.

After I saw that initially, I was like... who the heck won???

Even in slow motion I wasn't sure.

This was one of the closest finishes in history. There has never been a race where all 8 runners were within this margin.

The arena was silent as the winner was being confirmed. The runners just kind of paced around waiting for official word. My best guess was the Jamaican runner, Kishane Thompson. But then the loudspeaker announced Noah Lyles.

The last tiny morsel of American pride burst out of me with a big "Wooooo!"

I forgot what it was like to be proud of my country. I wish it happened more often. But this young man, despite being last place in the first 3rd of the race, turned on the afterburners and won in a photo finish.

And that's when my inner nerd took over.

Because when they showed the photo finish image, it looked super weird.

Why is the track white?

Why do all of the runners look all warpy like that QWOP game?

So I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out.

Photo finishes are actually fascinating. The first photo finish captured the end of a horse race in 1890. But that was mostly luck and timing. The actual photo finish mechanisms weren't used until 1937.

Originally they would film the finish line through a physical slit.

And the first horsie head that appeared in that slit would be the winner. This technology ended a huge aspect of corruption in horse race fixing almost overnight.

But we have come a long way since then. And I'd like to introduce you to the Omega Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate.

This slow motion camera sits fixed on the finish line of every race. The concept of the photo finish has remained remarkably similar to the 1930s approach. The camera sensor is specially designed to only record a vertical slit.

Only the finish line itself is actually captured.

And because it limits what it records to only that slit, it can capture 40,000 frames per second to get amazing temporal resolution.

So why don't the photo finishes just look like, well... this?

That is because the camera takes a picture of time more-so than dimensional space. I guess it would be more accurate to say it *assembles* a picture of time.

As the runners cross the finish line, the camera combines all of the little strips of pictures into a single image.

It's almost like if you tried to reassemble a piece of paper after it had been shredded.

Imagine each strip of paper is a picture of ONLY the finish line, just at a slightly different point in time.

What if someone stopped on the finish line and didn't move... what would that look like?

Once they got there, the same part of their body would just be repeated.

So the right side of the photo finish picture represents earlier in time and it just assembles the image strip by strip as time passes and you literally get a picture of time itself.

NEAT!

Okay, but how do they determine the winner from the photo finish?

I mean, that shoe looks like it is ahead of Noah Lyles!

Clavicles!

The IAFF rules state the foremost part of the torso must cross the finish line first. And the endpoint of the torso is the outer end of the clavicle.

So if you get this bone across the finish line first, you win the race.

Two more fun facts!

The start of the race is actually just as carefully timed as the end of the race. There are sensors in the starting blocks of each runner.

The starting gun also has an electronic sensor.

They have determined the fastest a human can react to the sound of a gun is roughly 100 milliseconds. So if you start running before 100 milliseconds they know you didn't actually hear the gun, you just got antsy and started running too early.

And the final fun fact...

Did you notice the Omega logo at the top of the photo finish?

That isn't superimposed or added after the fact. That is captured by the camera.

But if this image is composed only of tiny little slivers, how did they get the Omega logo to show up?

That is a little display. And it is synchronized with the Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate to show a little sliver of the Omega logo for each frame captured.

So when the final image is stitched together, it looks like a cohesive logo at the top of the photo.

Pretty clever, Omega!

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[theinfinitedivides]

what did i say. what did i f*cking say