#i have been trying to get into this pdf for 30 minutes

[i-am-church-the-cat]

I! HATE! ACADEMIA!!!!!!!

[roykaplanpod]

Roy Kaplan: Out of Sight launches tomorrow!

Hello, friends! Jesse is here once again to let you all know that the moment you've been (possibly?) waiting for is here, and the first episode of Roy Kaplan: Out of Sight drops tomorrow, December 28, at 6:00 PM CST! You should be able to listen to Roy Kaplan on any RSS feed aggregator and most podcast aggregator services, but also I'll be trying out the YouTube premiere feature if you'd like to make an event of it and chat along as the episode premieres! That will be happening here:

(If people like the premieres I can also do it for future episodes. I'll probably make a poll about that later in the week.)

Roy Kaplan will be releasing a new episode every other Saturday at 6:00 PM CST, with Patreon supporters able to access new episodes one week early (except this premiere episode, of course). This first season, Out of Sight, is twelve episodes, all 30-40 minutes long and encompassing a largely self-contained mystery for Kaplan to solve.

What is Roy Kaplan? Why, it's the newest paranormal cyberpunk detective audio drama, delivered straight to your ears courtesy of yours truly. It's about Roy Kaplan--private investigator, ex-burglar, and psychic--solving all sorts of crimes across the city with the occasional help from his ghost roommate Wes. It's heavily inspired by old time radio shows like Richard Diamond and hardboiled detective fiction of the 30s-50s, and it's episodic in format so you can pretty much listen to any episode on its own without needing too much context. If you want more detective fiction that remembers a detective needs to actually investigate things, with a touch of paranormal and cyberpunk to spice things up, Roy Kaplan could be the show for you!

If you'd like to support the show and help make a second season possible, Patreon is the main place to do it: https://www.patreon.com/jessepinwheel

Patreon supporters can get new episodes early, as well as PDF transcripts which are better formatted for print (web transcripts are available for free on my website https://www.thepinwheellab.com/rk/oos/ )

If you're excited and you want to chat about it, you can join The Pinwheel Lab on Discord, where I post updates on this and my other projects: https://discord.gg/vtAfkyjVfs

It's been a long road to get everything together and ready for this launch, and I know some of you have been waiting quite a long while for this release. I hope all of you enjoy Bomber Blackout and the other episodes that will release over the next five months.

Happy listening, and I'll see you on the other side :)

[crevicedwelling]

Apologies for the stupid question, but I tried looking up distribution maps of Lumbricus castaneus and couldn’t tell if they are really found in the United States. Do you know if they’re found in the US? I’d really like to find some and see their iridescence myself. Thank you very much! 🪱

not a stupid question: this is stuff very few people know and very few people have bothered to ascertain.

if you're going off of resources like iNaturalist, maybe like five people there know how to ID worms and the entire body of oligochaete identifications is mostly incorrect. in the US this leads to false overrepresentation of species with familiar names like Lumbricus terrestris and Amynthas agrestis, with the other common but more obscure species getting incorrectly identified or poorly photographed such that ID isn't possible.

L. castaneus is quite common in my area of the northeast and I can probably find one within 30 seconds of stepping outside. it might be possible to confuse them with a L. rubellus, which is even more common here, but those tend to be a brighter red, are up to three times the size, and usually are not so iridescent. if you have a good camera (a phone should work, but it must be a clear photo), counting the segments of the head leading to the clitellum should be a surefire way to tell: 26 head segments (clitellum start 27) for rubellus, 27 head segments (clitellum start 28) for castaneus.

linked is mapping of northeastern worms; a bit out of date wrt names and some classifications but should still represent what sort of worms can be found where... hoping you are in that region, since I don't know if it has been introduced out west or in the south yet. I'm still trying to access a copy of Blakemore's Cosmopolitan Earthworms for more info but can't find it anywhere unfortunately. I can get you other checklists but will need a minute to dig for them

[fairycosmos]

i’m going to kill myself tonight but i wanted to say i’ve always loved your blog and your my favourite tumblr person :)

hey, not sure if anything i can say can change your mind but please please consider calling a hotline or reaching out to a friend/family member if that's an option. i won't pretend i know the type of pain you're in, or much about the situation you're in, and i hope this doesn't come across as me saying it's easy to keep going because it's absolutely not. whether you're feeling numb, whether your thoughts are totally chaotic. it's a type of hell either way. i know things are unbearably painful so much of the time. you deserve so much better and i just don't think doing this is going to give you that. i'm not trained in all the right and wrong things to say to someone who's going through this and i know that when i'm in this place myself, there's very little anyone can do or say to get me out of it. but i do come out of it. even if i'm not happy, the pressing urge to harm myself is so strong that by its own nature it's unsustainable. it's the hardest thing in the world to bear it and i'm so sorry you're going through it. it's so fucking exhausting. and at the same time it always somewhat dies down and there is always another day to try again.

please, please get yourself to a physically safe space. if you need to cry, break down, sleep for 72 hours, take a shower, eat something, put your face in cold water, rip up a million pieces of paper to get the rage out - it's okay. whatever you need is okay. you don't have to think about what you're going to do tomorrow or next week or next month or in the next 5 years. you just have to focus on getting through today, minute by minute. if that feels like too much, second by second. and you can keep breaking it down like that until it stops feeling like some insurmountable mountain. i know words are not enough to change anything about how much despair and hopelessness you're feeling in this moment. i just want you to attempt to treat yourself the way you'd treat a friend going through something like this. even just for the next 30 minutes. i'm going to leave some resources linked below that have helped me when i've been in a similar spot. they're not solutions and they're not cures. they're just going to allow you to see other perspectives beyond your suicidality. you are so, so worth that. please reach out to a loved one, the authorities or a hotline if you can. it is not going to be as scary as your mind is building it up to be. i would seriously hate to think of you doing something to harm yourself. you have a right to feel how you feel, but you don’t have to give these thoughts the power to actually dictate your reality. i'm really, really glad you're alive and i genuinely hope you're able to get to the point where you are too. you're the one who can really bring yourself back from the edge. what happens next is all in your hands, not in the grip of your negative thoughts, urges, or feelings. please, please do what you know is right for your safety and wellbeing. even if it's the hardest choice in the world to make. please, please stick around for today at the very least. just focus on getting through the now, no matter how unbearable. that's more than good enough, and it's all anyone can ask of you. i'm sending you so, so much love.

international suicide hotlines / guidance for creating a safety plan / coping with suicidal thoughts pdf / download a how to cope factsheet / coping with suicidal thoughts right now / 10+ coping skills worksheets for adults / the coping skills toolbox / how do you stop suicidal thoughts?

[loudblonde]

Day 1: Race against the clock: Simon Riley X Male Reader (vaguely)

warnings: Thallium poisioning being vaguely described, frost bite being described, hypothermia being described

Words: 2356

tags: author regrets looking at images of thallium poisoning, Arthor should have used his chemical database instead, thank you CDC for being a good source of information, Pythagoras theorem was actually helpful for once, author hates mathematics, Author could not be bothered to find the right military code word for polluted air, author did try and find but the PDF file was over 900 pages long and its late, Names have meaning

Date: REDACTED. Location: 141 Headquarters. Time: 0945. Personal Present: Classified

“Aerosolised thallium powder is dangerous. Though it is dose dependent. Acute poisoning occurs in 3 stages. Depending on the amount ingested it may take anywhere from 8 hours to 48 hours before symptoms show.” Kate Laswell stood in front of Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price, (C/S) and the decoy squad.

“What makes it a priority of us?” Soap asked.

Kate showed another photograph of a known terrorist. “We have been hunting him for years now, he finally resurfaced. I had assumed he would play around with anthrax, but it seems he is not ready for that sort of commitment yet.” She said.

“Lucky us. Anthrax is a pain.” (Y/N) said and grimaced.

“Thallium is no laughing matter.” Kate said. “Its acutely toxic, a dose as low as 8 mg per kilogram of bodyweight can be lethal. But its cumulative.” She said.

(Y/N) nodded slowly. “Is there a way to undo the damage?”

“You will be issued Prussian blue tablets, both for before, during and after.” She said. “Your gas masks will stop the worse but not everything.”

4 days later

Location: Classified

The air was shimmering light blue, his eyes widened behind his mask as he pulled his gas mask out, aware of the particles gathering inside it. “Do not enter!” (Y/N) screamed into his radio. “Dust in air!” He yelled before taking the gas mask on, aware it wouldn’t stop everything. He hurried out as guns fired at him, one knocked his shoulder, and he screamed out in pain just before getting out of the building, he hurried away from the blue powder in the air. He blinked as he fell down into the snowy field.

Someone removed his mask and chuckled darkly as they sprinkled more in the air. He heard a voice speak and heard it clear.

“Poison is such a wonderful thing, some of them you can taste, like cyanides bitter almonds and then some are tasteless, odourless and entirely painful to die from. You are not as lucky, my friend.”

30 minutes later.

(Y/N) leaned against Ghost who carried him. He blinked his eyes awake and looked towards Price, everyone was saying something, yet it was all muddled and entirely unwanted. He grunted and looked back at that familiar mask, the mask which (Y/N) swore as not actually bone but he couldn’t be certain. Not at all. Especially not now. White breath came out from his mask, it diffused into the air of the abandoned factory.

He blinked as Ghosts mask warped weirdly, some parts of it drooped down while others spiked, it was almost comical. “Sir, your mask is melting.” He said with a surprisingly loud voice. Everyone looked over at him. “Like melting melting.” He clarified. The whole room smelled funky, everything around them was swimming with fish. It made a giggle creep up into his throat.

Ghost held onto his vest more, keeping him, upright. “Just hang in there.” Ghost said.

“Smells like fish in ‘ere.” (Y/N) muttered to him.

Ghost, despite the situation, huffed out an amused sound. “Fish?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Fish.” He said and looked around. Fish was everywhere. Swimming in and around. He glared at some of them. “Fishies. Fucking hell this stuff is worse than anything else I have taken.”

“Have you taken much?” Ghost asked. Keeping his voice slightly amused though only to hide worry in his voice.

“Nahh, just once or twice as a teen.” He said and giggled again. “Ghost. The fish have really sharp teeth.” He said without realising he was being hoisted up and hauled out. He blinked again as he felt the cold evening air on his body. He whined and leaned against his LT. “Ghost, its so hot out here.”

“Its bloody cold.” Ghost said and motioned for the snow. There was a hint of worry now much more present his voice. “Capn’t?” He said roughly.

Price walked over with a raised eyebrow. The snow crunched underneath his boots.

“He says its too hot.” Ghost said.

(Y/N) whined again, everything was swimming. He felt hot and like his skin was going to fall off. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, he looked down at it and frowned as he tried to make his eyes focus.

Price took his glove off and felt (Y/N) forehead. “Christ, he is burning up. We need to get to the extraction point soon.”

“Sir?” Orion said.

“Yes?”

Orion looked up and showed his gloved hand which had a fistful or hair in it. “I don’t think that supposed to happen.”

Price cursed and grabbed his com unit. “Kate, his hair is already falling out.”

Orion vaguely heard frantic words around him before his whole world turned black and his head fell back.

Ghost shook (Y/N)’s body. “Sir, he isn’t responsive!”

“Kate says the only extraction point is 4 miles away, Ghost give your pack to Soap, you will be running with (C/S) over your shoulders.” Price ordered frantically.

The exchange was quick and smooth, Ghost hoisted him over his shoulders. “4 miles? That’s over an hour away, with the amount of thallium he has ingested…” Soap said.

“No, we must remain hopeful. It should take up to 8 hours before a lethal amount is absorbed.” Price said as they began running.

Ghost grunted as he ran with a grown man slung over his shoulders, though if anyone of them could handle the brunt of the well-trained man, it would be Ghost. His eyes focused on the ground ahead as he followed Prices feet.

It only took 10 minutes to make the river crossing, the bridge was heavily guarded but with them having an unconscious man with them they couldn’t risk the river currents. Ghost and Price shared a look. A look they knew far too well. Weighing the pros and cons of a terrible situation. A silent debate. Their minds linking for just a few moments as time slowed down. Prince nodded and turned to the team, he motioned them to detour, walk up the river, to a shallower place to cross.

Rather risk death by hypothermia then certain death by gunfire. Their race against time just became two races. One for (Y/N) and one for themselves. Price grabbed his radio again. “We are crossing the river, Kate, further down, we will be an hour if not more delayed, the bridge is even more guarded.”

“Just don’t be stupid. Get back safely, I am having medics prepare treatment for hypothermia.” Laswell’s voice said.

An hour passed before they passed the river, they were drenched in water and cold to the bone. (Y/N) looked worse, his skin was red, both from exposure and the thallium already showed its grab of his system. Orion was still unconscious though breathing.

They had run approximately 4 miles away, had the bridge not been guarded they would have already been in the extraction point, though now they had between 5 or 6 miles of forest to run through, while wet and worried. It was a recipe for disaster.

Ghost looked at the others as he shifted the man on his shoulders. Price spoke up. “We have trained for worse; we are not going to let some bloody cold water and hypothermia get to us.” He spoke. Though no one was certain he cheered them up.

They ran for 20 minutes, their gear was heavy and their clothes even more so, yet no one dared to expose their skin and risk death earlier. Soaps lips were already turning a slight tint of blue. Price showed a pocket heater into his hands, and everyone continued on with laboured breaths.

Soldiers are built for endurance.

Soldiers are trained for this.

They are soldiers.

This mantra repeated inside repeated inside Ghosts head as he kept running and running and running.

The forest blurred together as trees. They were fine, everything was fine. Surely so. Ghost blinked his eyes open and looked at the others. He glanced towards Gaz who had wrapped his hands in his dry scarf. Ghost nodded to himself. Sensible. Keeping his hands free from frostbite. If they all made it out of here alive and whole he figured he might have to buy a round of drinks… might.

Ghost slapped himself and kept running. His eyes glued ahead of him as he ignored the way the edges of his vision were blurring together worse and worse by the second. Ghost glanced to Price. “You hangin’ in there?” he asked

Price huffed out and nodded. “Yeah, I’m hanging in, don’t worry.” He said though the tip of his fingers were frost nipped already. “We have handled worse, Simon.” He said.

Ghost huffed. “Ain’t so sure Simon survive this.” He commented.

Price huffed out a chuckle. “I am sure he will.” He said without hesitating.

Another 20 minutes or so passed before they took a stop for a breather. Price looked around at them all. Hopefully the decoy team had found a much safer route out. “Soap, what year is it?” He asked.

Soap looked at him sluggish but told him what year it was with very little trouble. His lips were getting bluer by the minute.

Price nodded and looked to Gaz, who seemed the most alive of them all. “And who is the Prime minister?”

Gaz, who wasn’t nearly as effected at this point caught onto what was going on and said the name of the prime minister.

Price smiled, a smile that reached his eyes at that. He then turned to Ghost. “Can you tell me how to spell the word Cracker?”

Ghost looked to him, his grip on (Y/N) was tight. “C-R-A-C-K-E-R.” He said. “Can you tell me the name of your sons’ dog?” Ghost couldn’t feel his nose at this point.

Price huffed out. “Bastard nickname… his real name…. Gods….” He shook his head and slapped himself. “Charles.”

Ghost nodded. “We need to hurry up then,” he said, taking point as he was better off then Price at this point. Price and the others nodded.

By the next 10-minutes Soap had to be carried by Gaz and Price together.

Another 10 and they had slowed down significantly, Soaps lips were blue, and his nose was darkening in colour, Gaz had wrapped his scarf around Soaps lips loosely to give some warmth and starve off the hypothermia. If Soap survived this Ghost was going to get him a mug that said, ‘a Brit outlasted a Scot in cold weather’. He sure as hell hoped Soap would survive it. He didn’t want to bury anymore friends.

Finally, after some 20 minutes, Ghost, Gaz and a mostly conscious Price dragged themselves into a semi small plane where a decontamination team removed their clothes, everyone warped around as the plane took off, they were all separated, washed and they were being heated up slowly, or Ghost was, he didn’t know how bad they others were. He grumbled from where he was sitting, his mask was off, and his nose felt funny. He didn’t care much. Though secretly, deep down, he hoped he wouldn’t lose his nose.

When Simon woke up in the hospital bed, he hadn’t even been aware he had fallen asleep. He looked over at a heavily bandaged Soap, though at least his fingers seemed to all be attached… maybe not. Simon’s head was swimming. He didn’t know what where or when.

A doctor walked in. “You are the second to wake.” She said as she walked over. She grabbed his chart and noted that he had woken up. She took his oral temperature and wrote it down before looking to him. “You are lucky, you only had superficial frost burns. Your nose looks all black but that’s just from it being reheated and blood rushing back in. Expect it to peel like a sunburn. I will give you the cream for it.” She said.

He nodded numbly and then looked over to Soap. “What’s the damage on the others?”

She thought for a moment and her eyes glanced to Soap. “He is getting treatment. We may need to amputate a toe and a pinkie finger, maybe more, depends on how he response. Gaz never fell asleep, his scarf kept the brunt of the damage off on his hands, he is still ordered to take it slow….” She said. “As for Price…. Still hasn’t woken, he was worse then you but better then soap, I hope he waked today or tomorrow.”

He nodded and then frowned. “(C/S)?”

She shook her head. “Unknown, we aren’t keeping him on base, he was taken away immediately, his exposure was through the roof. Which reminds me.” She walked over and took a pill box out. “Prussian blue tablets.” She poured him some water and walked over.

Simon grunted but took it. “Thanks, Doc.”

She chuckled. “Not a problem… Now. Do you have any pain anywhere?”

He shook his head. “My nerves are shot, so I wouldn’t know.”

She nodded slowly and then looked towards the chart again, noting it down. “Alright.” She said and nodded slowly again. Her mind was considering more things then Simon could comprehend. “I’ll let you know what we know more about (C/S).” She said.

Weeks went by, Ghost knew nothing about (C/S).

His worries were soothed over by rehabilitation training and doing paperwork to pass the time.

He walked into rehabilitation and saw a familiar face. “About time you showed.” He said gruffly.

(Y/N) looked over and chuckled. His face contorted before he coughed a lung up. He drank some water. “Finally, no longer in a coma. Though my job is over.” He said. “Thallium fucking sucks ass.”

Ghost chuckled a bit. “Sounds like it.” He walked over and regarded him. “You safe though?”

“Lost 3 toes, bit of a finger and almost lost my nose.” (Y/N) said. “But otherwise, I am good, military rehabilitation because of Price.” He said.

“He is a good man.” Ghost huffed out.

“Aye, he is…” (Y/N) said. “… You up for drinks as soon as my body stops retching up?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I would like that.”

[putschki1969]

AnimagiC 2023 Updates

Sorry for the lack of updates on this one. I had honestly given up on going to the convention quite soon after the initial excitement of the announcement had settled. I realised that I definitely wouldn't be enjoying myself at an event like that so there was no point in even considering it. In retrospect, I'm kinda glad that I gave up on the idea since their program isn't too exciting. The official program (DOWNLOAD PDF pamphlet HERE) has been released a couple of days ago and it honestly leaves a lot to be desired.

As expected, Yuki Kajiura and FictionJunction are the main event with their 20:45 show on Friday evening at the convention's biggest hall, Mozartsaal. The 30-minute concert will take place right after the big opening ceremony so I imagine the hall will be incredibly crowded. Since the opening ceremony also includes an introduction of all the major German and Japanese guests, you should definitely be there for that as well if you want to catch a glimpse of Yuki and the girls before the actual live show.

Interestingly enough, they don't have any activities scheduled for Saturday. The main event on Saturday is dedicated to SACRA MUSIC with ASCA and ReoNa being the biggest names among the appearing artists. In some way, shape or form they are both YK/Kalafina adjacent so this could be interesting to fans.

Then on Sunday, YK and FJ are once again the main event since they get to perform at 16:30 in the big hall right before the closing ceremony (for which you can expect them to make an appearance as well).

I'm surprised there are no panels or signing sessions planned for them but then again, I feel like those are not really a thing any more at AnimagiC. Only a couple of high-profile guests have a proper signing session scheduled, the rest of them won't even be present for the "autograph-handover".

If you have already secured a ticket and are planning to go, this post is of course not meant to discourage you. I'm sure their performances will be pretty epic and totally worth the ticket price. Especially for those among you who won't get the chance to travel to Japan any time soon. The pre-sale for tickets has closed a while back but if you live nearby, you could always try to buy tickets on the day of the event. They end the pre-sale early to have enough tickets available for the on-site sale. However, that's not to say that the tickets won't sell out quickly once people start arriving so you better get there bright and early. Sales start at 9:00 on Friday (long before the convention opens its doors to visitors which is at 13:00).

YKL#18 Rehearsal Pics

Tweet 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

[kuleana--does-anyone-care]

capstone update #1

TO REITERATE: I'm planning to produce a 30-min documentary film.

Hello, I'm finally here to update my blog! I meant to do this last week, but didn't... I was struggling to wrap my head around this project and what I'll be doing this semester.

I think I'm a little crazy for taking this on. Sometimes it feels like too much, but I certainly won't be quitting.

My first reality check was trying to populate the workback plan. It was a necessary step, but so difficult. I had to come back to it a few times to get it sorted out. I always feel like I'm overlooking something when I'm planning out a project, and I've never tried to produce something of this magnitude before. But I sat down with my workback plan again tonight and finally have it in good shape. Coming back to it has helped me process what I'll need to do, and I feel pretty certain now that I'm not forgetting anything. I also recreated my workback plan in Notion, because I don't think I'll be able to stay on track if I only look at it on Google Sheets. (The formatting... the lack of color-coding and other viewing modes... Nah, homie, I can't. TwT) I also gave myself dates to complete things by. I know I can work to a deadline, and now I have a ton of them. Isn't that fantastic!

Anyway, I'm really happy with my organization on this project now that I have all my tasks thought out, written down, and with dates. The tricky part now will be keeping the Google Sheet updated according to the Notion.

Right now I have a bunch of tasks marked as "in progress." There's so much I need to do in the next two weeks, mostly making lists of people and Instagram accounts to reach out to. I already follow a lot of accounts but I have not created a master list for myself to keep track of them all. Once I have my list, I can start drafting up messages to send to them, asking if they might want to participate in my doc, or could put me in connection with people who would. I'm kind of worried that I don't have much to show for myself, a presence, or a reason why they should trust me, that kind of thing. But I'll try it anyway.

I also need to draft emails/ send texts/ make phone calls to people I know, who said in one way or another that they might be able to lend a voice to my project. Cast out a bunch of lines and see if I get any bites. 🎣

Another thing is, I want to find videos on YouTube and Vimeo of the ʻOnipaʻa Peace March that happened a couple weeks ago. I wasn't able to go myself, but I'd really like to incorporate footage of it into my film. Maybe someone would be willing to let me use a few of their shots. If not a person, maybe one of the local news outlets. I also need to do some research. I have a playlist of some news clips about the Red Hill water crisis from when I made my 5-minute piece about it in Fall '22. But there have been updates since then, and I need to collect even more. I'm not 100% sure what or how much I'll do with it yet. But my creative process is 'collect all the stuff, look at and absorb it all, ???, get vision, create the vision'... so step one is gathering more things. :)

Also want to find more PDFs. Last semester, I found some studies and national news articles about Red Hill, pollution by the Navy/ issues similar to what's happening here, but my research topic was persuasion, so I spent the vast majority of my time on that. There's definitely more out there, and I want to find it because I'm thinking of using scans/ screenshots in my film.

Oh, and I'm planning to request titles from ʻUluʻulu by 2.16. Gonna try my absolute best to stay on top of the deadlines I've set for myself. LONG POST: FINITO!!!

[lazeecomet]

How to teach someone to drive

Featuring my younger brother who has anxiety and has already been a passenger in a car crash

I learned to drive in spite of my parents. They got me an online class (no video, just walls of text and clip art with quizzes) and sat in the car, but they didn't really do any teaching. I failed my behind the wheel test on my first go around. I wasn't gonna have my brother go though the same thing so this is how I got him able to pass his test with 0 faults on his first try in about 6 months (and my parents never even knew it was happening)

Make sure this is something they want to do or feel like they should do. It's very hard to learn to drive if you don't think you need to learn to drive. my brother was against driving but ultimately conceded that he needed to learn at some point even though he didn't like the idea of it

Use the right car. Don't use a big truck or something with weird or large blind spots. I hated driving my mom's volt because i sat way too high in it and couldn't see out very well which feed back to point 1

Link it in with a fun outdoor activity. Are you going somewhere? Plan to do driving afterwards. Do not spring this as a surprise. since your already out and about go for a drive.

Plan a route. Look on Google maps for some cul-de-sac or neighborhood where there is only 1 or 2 ways in or out. This will ensure they can't get onto a main road and also cut down on other traffic

Park the car and take photos of the mirrors from the drivers seat. Show them what you have centered in each. Have them adjust the mirrors to match the photo

Drive around the cul-de-sac. The first few drives will only be about 10 minutes long. Show were to stop at a stop sign. show when to yield. get use to accelerating and breaking gently. Do a 3 point turn and go the other way for some variety. reverse the car against the sidewalk for about 30 feet. parallel parking comes later.

Repeat step 6 until they are comfortable.

Plan a longer route. Use Google maps to find a different neighborhood that has more cross streets and route out a 20 min weave though the neighborhood. with android auto/apple carplay/a phone clip, seeing the route to be taken and knowing what turns need to be taken ahead of time will add purpose to the drive. it sucks to drive around aimlessly. always have a destination

Drive the longer route. This should only need to be done once or twice. Point out any new road signs and what the mean and what to check for

Find the driver's handbook for your state and send it to them. It's usually not more then a 10-20 page PDF with lots of pictures and is a very quick read. the next step is dealing with THE PUBLIC so they should know ALL the rules of the road

plan a route along a less populated multi lane road. something that gets up to 35-45 mph with low traffic. you know the type

drive the multi lane road. go over merging and practice changing lanes at speed. point out new road signs and have them keep awareness of surrounding cars. is there someone behind them that wants to pass? move over. is there someone beside you in the blind spot? are they in front with their signal on? let them in.

its time to start extending the driving time. have them drive to the destination/event or drive home from it. stick to back roads. do not use the highway. google maps has a setting to avoid highways. just follow that. parking lots will now be the new practice backing up

when the situation presents itself, practice parallel parking. its not on the test but its just so good to know. if you could pull into a parking space have them try and parallel park instead

register online for the behind the wheel test and have them drive the car to DMV to take the test

and thats it. in ~6 months only driving one day a week for no more then 2 hours, you can get someone comfortable with driving. going from not driving to driving is all about building confidence. the steps need to be small enough not to overwhelm and the stakes low at the start to make messing up inconsequential. and speaking of mistakes, unless the error is unsafe, do not point out an error until after the situation was passed. its overwhelming and stress inducing if you point out the error while its happening as they will try to correct it, usually slamming on the breaks which is less then ideal.

for example, if they go though a pedestrian crossing without checking for pedestrians (even when there are none), point out how they didnt check, the signs that were leading up to it, and make a point to call out the next one so they do check. on the other hand, if they are about to make a unprotected left on green with cross traffic, STOP THEM.

I hope some people find this helpful. driving is stressful at times. learning how to drive does not need to amplify that

[aronarchy]

https://twitter.com/butchanarchy/status/1382431735518928896

Let’s break down myths about what abuse is and why abusers do what they do, a thread:

This thread, of course, comes with some high-key trigger warnings: abuse and physical assault.

I have also taken much of these conclusions out of the book Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men by Lundy Bancroft.

I’ve recently learned that Bancroft is a awful transphobe (which is part of why I’m taking shit out of his book and putting it here so people can access it), but this book is seriously such a wonderful resource that I recommend that you find a way read it without giving money to him.

Pdf of the book, here: https://ia800108.us.archive.org/30/items/LundyWhyDoesHeDoThat/Lundy_Why-does-he-do-that.pdf

Myth #1: “They’re abusive because they were abused as a child.”

This is a very common excuse abusers flee to to abdicate responsibility for their abusive behavior. Whether or not it is true they were abused in the past, though, does NOT explain or excuse away their own behavior.

There are MANY people who are abused as children who do not become abusers as adults. Generally, if one is in touch with their feeling at having been abused themselves, they know how abuse feels and should want to make sure no one else is made to feel the same way.

Abusers tend to bring up this excuse only in response to asks for accountability: drawing attention to it if it’s an excuse to remain the same, but never as a reason to change.

Myth #2: “Their previous partner hurt them.”

If an abusive person says this, take it with an absolutely massive grain of salt. This excuse can actually be a means of covering their tracks and obfuscating other instances they have abused people.

If an abuser refers to past relationships being bad/controlling in the context of excusing their treatment of an abusive victim, it is almost certainly a distortion and should not be trusted.

Non-abusive people do not use past relationships as an excuse to mistreat other people.

Myth #3: “They hold in their feelings too much, and then they burst.”

Abusers, in actuality, tend to be the opposite of this. They have an overinflated idea of how important their feelings are, make them central to their relationship ships, and act them out on their victims.

Trying to center an abuser’s feeling actually tends to exaggerate this effect, rather than to help it, because it feeds their focus on themselves, when what actually needs to happen is expanding their care for other people and their feelings.

Myth #4: “They lose control of themselves.”

Let’s spend an extra minute on this one, because I think it’s important. I’m going to use an example for this one so here’s extra TW: for abusive behavior/physical assault.

Ex: Tom batters his wife. Yesterday, he yelled in her face, hit her, and shoved her to the floor. Today he told his counselor “I just totally lost control.” To which, the counselor asked “If you lost control, when you had her on the floor, why didn’t go and you kick her?”

Tom responds with horror “I would never do that! I could seriously hurt her/the police might get involved/our neighbors would notice!”

Tom DOES have control, expressed by the limits he won’t cross. His limits are just morally unacceptable to most, so he hides them.

Abusers DO have control over what they do, they are abusers specifically so they can gain and hold control over others. Any assertion otherwise is an attempt to dodge accountability for their actions.

An abuser almost never does anything they themselves consider morally unacceptable. They always have a reason at-hand for why they did what they did. The true problem, then, is that they believe their abusive behavior is justified.

An abuser’s problem is NOT that they lose control over themselves, but that they TAKE control of others. In order for them to really change, it’s not that they need to gain control over themselves, but to LET GO of their control of their victims.

Myth #5: “They have anger management issues.”

This is putting the cart before the horse. Abusers are not abusive because they are angry, they get angry because they are abusive. Abusive mentalities create their anger, not the other way around.

They feel entitled to power and control over another person/people, and are enraged when that control is threatened. Nonabusive people don’t get angry at things abusers rage at, because they know they don’t have a right to that control over someone else.

There are, of course, many other myths about why abusers do what they do, and all of them, we may now understand, work in service to cover up the central reason why abusers abuse:

They want power and control, and they feel justified in taking it.

[swimfaye]

16 hours, 12 Steps, 8 Days.

I overheard him say " You have all this time between Christmas and New Years, why not spend 2 days or 16 hours trying to get a job" I immediately replied "because its hard to do just that"

I don't know or care if the guy on the trail heard what my response was but the thought stayed with me. I don't know how hard it is to get a job. I have just learned and practice getting a job consistently. Whether its taking a job I am not qualified for, or getting a job for a short period that I am over qualified for. I have enlisted temporary agencies and government websites. I have looked up web based applications and literally hit the pavement. I have gone to networking events and I have tried to meet recruiters for businesses.

I have not heard No, so much as the deafening silence of getting no response from an application. I know the frustration of looking up a job on craigslist, crafting my resume to the keywords and ensuring I submitted it through whatever portal the company is using only to get an automatic reply.

I have watched job posting repost after my application or telephone interview or in person interview is completed. I have felt the sting of hearing they didn't hire me because they choose from within. I have been disappointed with getting through three hours of job interviews that could have been an email only to find "you're not a good fit" because of my age.

So, why boil the job search down to 16 hours. Sounds easy enough.

Okay, let's start. Step 1: Open Craigslist.org Step 2. Select the vocation Admin Step 3: Select the location " All SF Bay Area " simply okay. Now review the listings of say 129 pages of jobs, first page 1. Now, you are looking for a full time job within the San Francisco Bay Area that will pay more than $25 and is permanent.

Step 4: you find a position $30 with an immediate start date. Its an Office Management position full time in the City of San Jose. The job responsibilities and qualifications are as follows:

Responsibilities Include: • Answering phones handling customer inquiries and issues • All office management and administrative activities • Customer Service • Basic Bookkeeping & Invoicing • Professional Communication Skills • Office Maintenance • Onboarding of new employees and processing all paperwork • Support company operations • Preparing monthly billing/some accounting duties • Time/expenses inputting • Mailing - Processing Checks and Incoming Bills • Overseeing Customer Service Reps Qualifications: • Office Management Experience • Works well autonomously and able to multitask and learn quickly • Strong organizational and time management skills • Proper written, interpersonal, and oral communication skills • Knows basics in Microsoft Word, Excel, and Outlook • Detail-oriented and strong work ethic • Ability to manage multiple competing priorities

You've spent about five minutes of your 16 hours so far. Now, you have to craft your cover letter and resume which you have never done before. Remember that will take some time. The next couple of steps are : Utilizing a Google Drive go to new Google Doc Select Template versus a blank sheet. Select a Resume style and start to plug in the keywords and information into an engaging paragraph format. Review the submission guidelines ( do you respond to the Craigslist ad and/or is there another address to send information to ? ). Be sure to keep the basics that respond to the ad - especially the start date you are available and the wage you expect.

Let's say that took two hours because you had to review and format into a pdf.

Now, you sent it off at the start of hour 14 of 16. What next? You go back to Craigslist job listings and you find another position to apply to. Maybe you select an specific area like East Bay and you find another one. This will take about another hour because you can utilize your previous cover letter and resume as you save it as new say version 2 and update the qualifications to match the key words and you send it off.

That is hour 12 of 16 and you have done two job submittals, what can you do next?

[skylermadness]

The Rook (Heymans Breda TF/PMC)

(Original Date of Upload: June 10, 2024)

Original Description:

This was initially a commission for YGuy99 on FurAffinity, but spiraled into more of a collaboration. Furthermore, a downloaded PDF with proper formatting has been uploaded on his page. It can be accessed here. This has admittedly been a few months in the making! I admittedly know next to nothing about Fullmetal Alchemist but truthfully after writing this I am very much tempted to get into it. Although I will note that I mainly handled the writing of the initial draft, and a lot of the descriptive systems present in this story were fully handled by the commissioner. Honestly though I feel like he really improved the story in every way with everything he added! But I do thank him a ton for the initial commissioning, especially because this was a really fun story to do. Rated Mature for mild usages of mature descriptive systems and themes.

The sound of a door closing in a less-than-gentle manner resonates through the air of Wyatt’s bedroom, the young man the place belonged to having fully stepped in.  The slam reflects less of a “welcome home” and more of a “thank god that’s over,” whatever “that” is.  With a wistful sigh, he flicks the lightswitch, illuminating the space and allowing him a proper view of his bed.

Wyatt has been feeling many things since he got off work today.  Exhausted, frustrated, worn-out physically and mentally.  At a hyperbolic level, he relates it to coming back from war, a monthly war to pay rent on-time.  Even worse, this has now become the standard cycle of events and emotions that arises from a typical workday at this job, a job that can only be described, generously, as a motley mix of banal and draining. Running around in circles like a rat race every day has been debilitating his mental state, digging him further and further into the doldrums.

Wyatt continues to stare at his bed, zoning out like a zombie.  His instincts nudge him forward, but a lingering dread tethers him to his current spot.  Bedtime… a source of healing comfort, but also the gateway to fast-forwarding into the next predictably unpredictable day.  It doesn't feel particularly pleasant for the young man that his two modes nowadays flip between work and sleep, leaving hardly any time in-between for actual normal human stuff.  That very thought would make him shudder, but his weary physical state only allows him to shuffle slightly where he stands.  Not even enough energy to complain.

Still though.  How much longer must he beat his head on the wall and slog through his current job to simply make ends meet until the next round?  How much longer until the grueling loop of stress and exhaustion mounts up and becomes too much for him?  How much until everything combined finally makes him snap?  He knows it’ll only take one more bad interaction to cause a meltdown, to prompt him to quit, to get him fired.  To force him into the only thing worse than his current situation: another nerve-wracking round of unemployment.

As hard as Wyatt tries to count his blessings, he’s built up some unfortunate resentment, stemming from trying to force himself to constantly feel grateful for such a palled, monotonous existence, solely on the basis of the alternative being that much worse.  From counting blessings to counting days, hours, minutes… how much longer?  Isn’t he meant for more than this?

The mental bombardment of such answerless questions do not uplift Wyatt whatsoever.  It simply seals his fate.  This sense of resignation gently, forcefully guides him to limp towards his bed, like a set of invisible puppet strings.  He pulls out his phone during this mental spiral in order to set tomorrow morning’s alarm.  At least he's gotten used to doing things off of five to six hours of sleep alone.  That has to mean something, right?

After setting the alarm to 5:30 AM, his exhaustion takes over, seasoned with dread, and he properly collapses onto the bed, not even taking the trouble to remove his work uniform.  Doesn’t really matter if he’s just going straight back anyway, or so he convinces himself.

Naturally, he expects to feel nothing but the softness of his blankets and the inviting allure of the mattress to beckon him closer upon it.  However, whatever comfort he could cling to breaks in an instant.  Something small pokes into his torso, accompanied by the sound of some crinkling paper.

“Wha…?” Wyatt musters the strength to roll leftwards and onto his back, then properly sitting up to investigate.  His expression changes to one of confusion when he sees what it is.

He takes his left hand and picks up the object, finding it to be a simple chess piece.  It’s a white rook specifically, shaped like a castle tower, and as he holds it, the fine material surprises him even further.  It’s very cold, as if made of marble, and with a closer look, he deduces that may very well be the case.  It’s a very lovely piece, but a rather strange find for Wyatt nonetheless, seeing as he doesn’t really play chess.  Any set he’s owned has long since found its way into storage, so he can’t begin to speculate where this thing came from.  If someone’s lost it, then they surely miss it.

Not long after does he look back at the spot again and fully notice some kind of note that the chess piece had come with.  He picks that up as well, realizing that the note is made of some kind of elegant parchment paper, while the writing on it is etched in dark ink and has an equally-as-refined handwriting, as if scribed with a quill.  As he reads through it, he can’t help but notice a distinct air of sophistication, as if someone very important is speaking directly, personally to him.

“You are the rook.  A team player who wields both physical strength and tactical prowess.  The rook moves vertically and horizontally across the board, as far as it wants to.  You are a stalwart force in all capacities, and those who underestimate you on appearances come to regret it in the end.  This will make sense soon enough.”

“The heck does any of that mean?” asks Wyatt.  His gaze revolves between the note and the chess piece as he fully questions everything about this obtuse observation.  The rook and the parchment are obviously related, but how they got here is a complete mystery to him.  A part of him wonders if this is some weird work thing he accidentally took home, but he doubts he wouldn't have noticed a small sheet of paper, much less a whole chess piece, stuck to him during his drive home.  Furthermore, he usually locks his door, and the thought of someone just breaking in to give him this cryptic message feels a little absurd, yet still unsettles him nonetheless.  Stuff like this doesn't spontaneously manifest out of thin air!  Maybe he’d received this in the mail earlier, though he’s sure he’d remember as such.  Or, or maybe…

From there, Wyatt slides down a mental spiral, brainstorming a viable reason behind this.  While his eyes peruse the mysterious note, he also unconsciously rubs the chess piece with his thumb.  In his fixation, he fails to notice a pressure welling up within that hand.  Small at first, easy to ignore as his focus remains elsewhere, but increasing as seconds pass.

This strange pressure precursors the odd transformation starting to set in.  Each finger of his left hand, initially fairly average, is steadily getting thicker, the length of each finger also extending forward.  His knuckles crack and pop gently, his fingertips blunting and enlarging with the rest of his digits.  Whatever is happening to Wyatt’s fingers works its way into the rest of that hand, starting a process of swelling.  The mounting pressure makes that hand more firm, more meaty in comparison to its previous appearance.  Even the skin under his fingers and on his palm gains more prominence, padding up, becoming soft and tough.  After a short moment, Wyatt’s hand would look disproportionate, like it belongs more on someone much beefier than himself.

Though he’s stayed oblivious up to that point, the amalgamation of sensations within his hand has grown way too much for the beleaguered young man to ignore.  Another tinge of pressure finally breaks his daze, and he turns his head.

“Why is my hand so- wh- what the-”

Wyatt is pierced by shock.  He completely disregards the note and drops the rook as he takes a proper look, comparing both hands in a panicked fervor.  The left one has already become so much larger than the right one, meatier and stronger in appearance.  He cringes.  It looks so wrong.  Without hesitation, the pressure sensation migrates upwards and layers on and around the forearm, starting to blow it up.

Wyatt can only think of one thing to say: “What is happening to me!?”

He panics at the sight of his arm relentlessly growing with each passing second, condensing and contracting what he soon realizes to be his muscles.  Wyatt’s always been a lean-built person, rather slender, but judging by his arm, that will be changing fast.  His brow raises in confoundment as muscle mass quickly accumulates, thickening and bulging out from that limb as if forcing it through years of hard body work in seconds.  It’s not painful, but not comfortable, either, like a deep, deep massage.  The ridges that divide the muscles entrench themselves within his forearm, the clear musculature forming in his upper arm not long after.

The young man still adorns his work uniform, and as his upper arm swells, one of the short sleeves of his shirt strains against it, his bicep and tricep burning with raw strength and rapidly maturing with what feels like an instant series of workouts.  Then, his deltoid rounds out, further developing through this sudden increase in power.  Muscle doesn’t seem to be the only thing growing either; not long after, the ridges that divide his newly-defined muscles begin to fill up a bit.  A pudgy softness wraps around the raw strength, bits of fat circling his arm, giving it a smoothness that it wouldn’t possess if it had stayed purely muscular.

The sleeve that contains this arm is quick to fit to form, struggling to contain its widening diameter.  It doesn’t take long for Wyatt to pick up on this as a couple of rips pierce the air, a tear beginning to stretch on the shirt from above the bicep, slowly arcing around the sleeve.

“Uhhh-” Wyatt vocalizes, his mind trying to properly comprehend what’s going on.  Why is he buffing up!?  He can't help but shakily lift his currently unchanged right arm, curious, yet terrified at what’s now happening to his body.  Gently, he strokes the firm mix of muscle and fat his altered left arm has garnered.

Unfortunately, this triggers a similar pressure that emerges in the other hand, followed by that same sensation pouring forth from his left shoulder to his torso.  Helplessly absorbing these sudden feelings, he watches the fingers of his right hand pulsate, gradually bubbling as they too begin to thicken, becoming sausage-like.  The changes in this arm mostly mirror those in the other.  However, while his right sleeve fills out like the last, he is interrupted, rudely, by a queasy churning in his midsection.  Wyatt grimaces as his stomach gurgles ominously.  He feels sick.

“Oh no…”

Wyatt keels over, crunching onto his bed like someone’s dropped an anvil on him.  He rolls and writhes in discomfort, trying not to scream as yet another series of changes billows into his torso region.  In these excruciating moments, he doesn’t notice the fabric on the rest of his shirt tightening, starting to bulge around his entire upper body.

Wyatt’s body, for that matter, isn’t anything special.  To his credit, in spite of his inconsistent workout routine, he still maintains a good physique, lean and athletic.  His tall, toned frame of six-foot-one height and one-hundred and seventy-five pounds implies a healthy-enough lifestyle with plenty more room to grow.  That growth is happening right now.

As the pressure heats up in his torso, his chest pushes out, gaining definition and packing hard muscle and size onto his breast.  More and more, slowly but surely.

“Huff… huff…” Wyatt breathes heavily, almost panting as his newly hardened pec muscles squeeze up against his shirt, the developing cleavage cratering a canyon in the middle of the fabric.  This chiseled muscle quickly pads itself up, blimping beneath another soft layer of fat, adding some moob-ish qualities.  The two slabs of meat mound themselves larger, his nipples rounding out significantly, adjusting to the growth.  This all gives his chest a much cushier appearance than before.  He now carries much more power, the raw strength coursing around the tissue and fibers that call his chest home.

The bulk spills down from his boulder shoulders, and Wyatt can feel the back of his shirt rub up against his skin as the musculature behind him burgeons more each second.  He groans and lurches forward, gripping his bedsheets with vigor as the sensation of more power pulsates beneath the pressure, expanding his trapezius and broadening his back.  Such a mass increase between his back and front promptly causes the back of his shirt to start splitting open against his stronger dorsal build.  He squints his eyes and grits his teeth, feeling his bulking frame tear through his work top at the seams, exposing more sections of bare skin by the moment.

“Great… there goes my uniform…”

The constant, relentless heaviness invading the young man’s body wracks itself into his very skeletal structure.  An intrusive tugging sensation from both sides of his form causes his frame to widen fairly significantly.  Before he can fully notice this, another sharp pop surges in his spinal cord, quickly followed by a squeezing sensation.  Wyatt continues to grit his teeth, clenching his meaty mitts into tight fists as he rides the intense sensation compressing him downward.

Wyatt has always been a taller man; again, 6’1” in stature.  However, the intense buzzing and popping sensation tells him that his height might be changing as well.  Something seems to be squatting him down to a shorter height, shaving off inches, centimeters.  He’s getting shorter.

All the while, the queasy, bloating pressure from before continues building within his stomach.  This pressure soon turns into pain, and he groans again, clutching his abdomen and mustering whatever ugly noises he can to grind his way through this arduous process.

“Dude, guh…” Wyatt heaves, suppressing his nausea, beads of sweat dribbling on his forehead.  “Wh… what the hell did I do to deserve this?”

His abs sizzle as they define themselves, rippling forward and gaining definition like the rest of his muscles up to now.  One could possibly even see them indent the front of his shirt for a moment.  However, this is not entirely the cause of this bloated, blazing stomach ache. Shortly before Wyatt’s abs could fully finish their upgrade, the rest of his torso starts heaving itself forwards.  This stops Wyatt dead in his tracks.  He stares wide-eyed, breathing deeply and anxiously as the hem of his shirt rises slowly to reveal his swelling stomach, burying his abs underneath as if never even there.  Predictably, he is accumulating more fat.  His growing gut peeks out more and more below his shirt, becoming increasingly softer and rounder as the moments continue to drag.  The bottom of his increasingly ill-fitting worktop pushes up more and more, failing against the drastic changes of the expanding employee.

“Pop… pop pop… shrp… shrrrpp…”

Judging by the cacophony below him, he concludes that the side stitching of his shirt is now tearing against his increasing wideness, though he can’t even look out of fear that adjusting his position will cause more damage.  Yet, the discomfort grows too strong, and as Wyatt’s face reddens with strain, he is jolted by a loud SNAP, followed by instant relief.  A heavy sigh slides smoothly from his throat.  Once his shirt rises sufficiently, his gut hangs freely over the waistband of his jeans, still bubbling and gurgling with more weight, hiding his now broken belt from view.  He now must weigh at least over two-hundred pounds and counting.

Laying back on the bed, the distraught young man swallows a lump in his throat.  He shudders, some heat rushing to his cheeks, and with self-conscious curiosity, he slowly lifts up a changed hand and tenderly caresses his belly.  The corpulent mound of flesh pins him against the mattress like a weighted blanket.  Damn… it’s really warm.  He grabs a chunk of it with his thicker palms, the soft thickness convincingly filling his hand, widening his grip as it continues swelling with taut adipose.  By this point, his other arm has caught up in size to his left one, the man’s body having lost that awkward asymmetry it possessed at the start.

Now, though, his attention focuses more on the slight itching on his ball-shaped gut.  It tickles a bit, blanketing across the surface of his skin.  The heftier man fixates on the sight of an increasing amount of fuzz making its way across his fat tum.  A light, but noticeable spread of hair sprouts up and along his stomach; not too much, but enough to add an interesting new layer to his exploratory belly rub.  He can even feel an equal amount of itching on his chest, no doubt because it too is dusting with fuzz.

Despite the discomfort and lingering fear in his brain, Wyatt can't help but observe a sense of enjoyment, albeit a nervous one, at the sights and sensations of his much stockier build.  The mixture of warm fat and rippling strength makes the man feel a certain attraction to his own form that he isn't sure he’s felt in a long while. He huffs quietly as his head spins, face warming up again as the flustered transformee resists his willingness to admit, much less accept, such positive emotions with this change.

“Mm, s-so… fat…” is all he can utter.  Wyatt catches a slight tingle in his throat as the sentence ends.  That final word sounded different, slightly rougher than before, but his focus span only lasts so long in these emotionally heightened moments, even if those emotions in question aren’t all that bad.

Then, with zest, the pressure hits his legs.  His lower body buzzes with sensation and anticipation, and against his better judgment, he impulsively decides to stand up from his bed.  Bad timing.

“W- whoa!” he huffs, the transition causing him to wobble a bit due to his significantly thicker size and shifting center of gravity.  He waves his arms a bit to regain balance, feeling their new mass as it jiggles in tandem, though he secures himself and remains upright.  Standing, however, will soon prove itself difficult during this portion of the change anyway.  He shifts his gaze and bites his lip, finding the right vantage point to watch just how the lower half of his body would change.

The tugging at his sides rolls itself down to his hips, prompting Wyatt to rest his hands on them.  Within his hands, his hip bones snap and pop, becoming wider.  This would certainly hurt more if his belt hadn’t already shot off.  Even so, the man shifts his stance subtly, widening his base to maintain balance and avoid top-heaviness.  This new posture can’t help but feel more and more natural for him as the size of his lower body begins matching up with the top.

As Wyatt grasps his expanding hips, more overt physical changes cascade further downwards.  The upper half of his work pants starts to fill, and the skin surrounding his thighs steadily bloats towards the stiff insides of his legwear.  Beneath his skin, his muscles have, again, begun swelling up in size.  Hands fall from his hips to his knees as more burning permeates his quadriceps and hamstrings.  Wyatt’s enthralled eyes go wide again, locked onto his thighs bulging up and out in conjunction, their growth causing ridges to form in his skin that outline themselves pretty clearly.  These ridges indent his sweatpants for a few seconds before ultimately smoothing out, more fat filling in comfortably, hulking his upper legs.

Perhaps the most interesting portion of these changes is contained to the back of this region.  His rear.  Wyatt shudders.  He’s been anticipating this particular change; with the rest of his body growing out like it has, it’s only inevitable that his glutes would follow suit.  They do not disappoint, as a compressing surge throws Wyatt back forward onto his bed, the hopelessly flustered man leaning onto the mattress for support.  A soft vibrating and growing tightness tells him that his perfectly average rear has begun expanding dramatically.  His deep breaths grow louder, more visceral.  Overwhelmed by sensation, the man is left with no choice but to surrender to these more intimate portions of the shift.

“Gghhhhhh…” he grunts gruffly and heartily, his two lean cheeks bulking up into two thick, sturdy slabs of beef.  His face flushes crimson, his rapidly fattening ass bulging out larger and heavier against the seat of his pants.  His blush only deepens as he feels the back of his underwear fill out more and more, the fabric rubbing against his mounding, fleshy cheeks.  Even the waistband visibly weakens, tensing desperately around his increasingly obvious crack.  It’s just so much larger.

However, what really differentiates these changes is the individual pressure in each buttcheek, the fat within them continuing to gain, no end in sight.  His ass… it keeps swelling up and up, far larger than anything he had before, rounder as well.  This roundness gains quite some prominence as he continues to feel his butt bloat by the second.  He somehow holds down a moan as the soft warmth squishes itself firmly up against both his underwear and the seat of his ill-fitting work pants.  Even without the belt now, his pants are tight.  Really tight.

Naturally, Wyatt grows curious.  Too curious.  The man turns his head once again, trying to capture every moment of the change as possible.  It shocks him when he finally gets a good look, though it doesn’t exactly upset him.  It’s already gotten so thick.  Perhaps that shouldn't be too surprising, given that most of his entire body has bulked up as well.  He’s much fatter now.  His shocked expression softens a bit, and he even suppresses a smirk, his continued self-exploration accentuating the odd feeling of enjoyment he’s been trying to ignore…

…and yet, he can’t stop himself from putting a hand on his swelling rump and giving it a nice squeeze.  He doesn’t even think about it.  Wyatt catches himself blushing as he feels the growth beneath his very hand, layers of hefty mass filling out within his wide, firm palms.  A sense of bliss overtakes him, overriding his anxiety for just this moment, allowing him time and space to indulge in this incredible experience.

“N… ngh… damn…” Wyatt is ashamed to admit his undeniable attraction to the changes, but he just can’t help it.  It all just feels so good!  Luckily, now, it seems the pressure is subsiding, the changes presumably slowing, but it’s clear that his ass has garnered quite the bubbly attribute that it had not possessed before!  He finally readies to unhand his butt when…

Shrrrp!

This time, he fails to stifle his moan, and a deep, gruffer-sounding voice bellows from within.  The familiar shredding sound informs him that his work pants are likely no more.  His entire uniform has officially surrendered, though really, it never stood a chance.  Ironically, Wyatt cares far less at this point, though another deep blush returns to his face as he feels the air conditioning breeze along his now-exposed rear, as well as some other open areas where the seams in his clothing have torn.  Before he knows it, his hands lift back up, each one grabbing hold of a brawny chunk of bare ass meat underneath his briefs.  He feels the heavy flab bunch up in his grip, soft and thick, the bulbous butt cheeks bristling with some more light fuzz that sprouts softly along the top.  He purrs deeply and lovingly under his breath.  Wow…

“I-I p-probably should've… mmff…” he averts his gaze from his butt, fully embarrassed, as if all hypothetical eyes are somehow on him.  There’s no denying it anymore, no denying that display, that very chain of events turning him into the stocky hunk he’s becoming.

Wyatt just lets out a defeated sigh before he finally accepts it. “I really am enjoying this, aren't I!?”

Wait.  That voice… It sounds familiar.  He’s not sure though; maybe it’ll come to him.

At this point, the chunky brawn he’s gained is just impossible not to love.  He relishes the feeling of this raw strength and size coursing through his form beneath the warm layers of soft, malleable fat.  Such a stark contrast to how he used to look, and he knows that the pure suddenness of gaining such a form is something he should probably fear.  He certainly did at the outset.  At the same time, though, he truly can’t suppress his burgeoning love for gaining this wonderful body type.  It just feels so good!

“...I should really get to a mirror,” Wyatt mutters to himself, twinging a bit at the tone.  He swears his voice seems to deepen with each sentence he speaks.  Deeper, lower, huskier.  The faintest hints of a nasal brashness have been forming as well, as if his voice continuously teeters the border between maintaining its original sound and changing entirely to something brand new, divorcing itself from the bright, youthful tone he carried before.  Again, too, he can’t shake the fact that he’s sounding ever so familiar.

For the time being, though, it’s not something he puts too much focus on.  He still needs to get a real look at himself.  The man pushes himself up from the bed and steps forward, hauling himself to the bathroom that’s connected to his bedroom.  His running is still a bit wobbly, Wyatt still not fully used to his weighty form, each step landing heavier on the floor than he’s used to.  This is not to mention that his legs are still finishing up their changes.  The constant pressure beating in his bones doesn’t make movement an easy task, and amidst the shuffle, he can just barely see his height continuing to alter with his own eyes thanks to just how many more inches subtract off of him.  Although it isn't exactly the largest reduction in height, it still feels sizable since, even though he can't calculate it himself, he feels he’s dropped down by about half a foot.  Things just feel a little taller than before, like his new self would definitely be looking up at his old one.  

There’s also the swelling within his calves as the crura of his legs grow as well.  Calves, ankles, all within his lower legs, thickening like everything else.  Again, this just means movement while transforming is a challenging endeavor.

Still, he finally manages his way into the bathroom, instinctually shutting the door and locking it before turning on the light.  He heads towards the mirror as the familiar buzzing starts to permeate his skull.  He looks down at his belly in front of him, wobbling a bit with each step, until he reaches the sink.  Reluctantly, he lifts his aching head, and his jaw drops at what greets him in his reflection.

A wave of reactions and emotions swerves through his brain as Wyatt officially gets a good look at his changed form.  Everything starts sinking in, and despite his initial concern, he can’t help but chuckle.  It is rather humorous to see his relatively unchanged head on such a big, stocky body.  This perspective is odd.  However, that doesn't stop him from lifting one of his arms into a good flex, just to see how strong it looks.  The biceps and brachioradialis contract themselves into a pronounced peak, showcasing his solid, bulking strength.

“Eheh, lookin’ good…” he compliments himself, a newfound sense of confidence warming his soul.

It isn’t long until another sensory interruption, this time in his shoes.  Alerted to this new constriction, Wyatt decides to kick off his footwear before they could explode from his growing pair of feet.  This already proves rather challenging, seeing as his foot size has already increased a fair amount. Both feet predictably grew larger, thicker, and meatier than they had used to be, and this negates the idea of “kicking” off his shoes.  They’re getting stuck.

“C’mon… hrfff…” he digs his fingers between the heels of his shoes, and luckily, he finds just enough strength to pry them off with minimal damage.

His socks aren’t so lucky though.  He can only watch as the cotton easily stretches around his expanding feet, his toes chunking up a bit, twitching and popping beneath the fabric.  This fascinates him, and as he continues to hold one of his feet, some holes start to pop and stretch across the material of his stockings.  Tiny bursts of material snap as each thick toe busts out the front end of each sock, his heels even tearing apart parts of the back end, as well.  A few tears also stretched across the bridge of his feet, growing them much larger than before.  Longer, wider, at least 12 inches, a true foot, maybe even more.  This also gives Wyatt a glance at the slight increase in hair in these areas, flecks of fuzz blanketing the tops.  He now owns a pair of two truly big feet.

That's when he notices that the color of that on his feet hair seems a bit off.  Come to think of it, the color of his belly hair looks a bit different as well.  Wyatt has always had auburn hair; not entirely red, but his numerous freckles certainly cement his status as a ginger.  Even his body hair possesses a brownish-red tone to it, though as he observes in this moment, he interprets a lighter coloration of almost reddish-brown instead, just different enough to pique his interest.

“Eh…?  O- OH!”

The ache in his head pounds back in full force.  Entranced by the mirror, Wyatt is completely jarred at the sight before him, the sight of his face starting to physically remold itself.  A slight, albeit surprisingly painless, crack rattles his skull as his jaw juts out slightly, beginning to bolster.  It seems to be broadening, restructuring from round and spherical into a distinct lantern shape, more like a widened triangle.  In response, a descension of weight droops from beneath his wider jaw, a swelling of submental fat that steadily forms into a double chin.  He watches silently, in awe, lifting a mitt to his thickening neck, feeling new indentations of fat surround his fingers, a subtle series of clicks still gradually expanding his visage.  All the while, the man feels his vocal cords tingle as the internal workings of his throat shift at an even quicker rate, his steady huffing and puffing of breath now sounding completely foreign to him.

Of course, the rest of his face has begun changing, as well.  His entire skull crunches in and around itself, shifting bit by bit to fit in proportion with his new body, all while his various facial features remold themselves before his very eyes.  He continues to stare, entranced by the way his eyes reposition a bit, the browline pushing forward while his faded-looking eyebrows darken, becoming much sharper and more angular.

His nose cracks repeatedly before broadening out, getting rather large.  It feels like a steadily growing sneeze that never quite works its way out, his sinuses tingling as his nose widens, popping out from a fairly average nose into quite the bold schnozz.  Parts of his face almost seem to squash themselves inwards, though his features remain firm and prominently defined, more masculine in appearance.  The larger nose coupled with the almost piercing gaze his eyes seem to possess now gives his face a more brutish appearance, one that actually intimidates Wyatt while looking at it.  His bone structure thickens, and his cheeks chub up, puffing rounder and glistening with sweat as his head enlarges overall.  A look of astonishment plasters his transforming face.  He still can’t believe what he’s watching.

This disbelief further accentuates once the changes in his hair occur, another itching sensation scratching itself across his face, similar to his stomach and chest.  Wyatt keeps an on-and-off beard, but he had shaved earlier that day before his shift (work shift).  This clean shave doesn’t last for long, his chin tingling and darkening with scruffy fuzz.  More reddish-brown follicles sprout like tiny blades of grass across the lower portion of his jawline, slightly centralizing at the middle of his chin before expanding a little bit across the ends of it.  He wiggles his widening mouth in response, tucking his lips together as he strokes the sizable amount of new chin stubble with his thumb.

However, while his facial hair grows out, his already-short head hair tightens itself up.  While one hand cups his chin, the other holds the side of his crown, each strand of hair sliding between his fingers as it pulls back into his head.  Wyatt chuckles a bit; he recently outgrew a buzz cut, but it seems to be returning in full force, at least on the sides.  As the same red hue brightens the auburn of his hair, the top tugs itself upwards, spiking and thickening, forcing itself into a crew cut.  In truth this new hairstyle seems almost uniformly militaristic in appearance, the sides neat and tight to his head, along with a faux-hawk like trim on top, reddish-orange in color, almost a little rusty.

It’s at this moment that something finally clicks for Wyatt.

“Wait…” he drawls, narrowing his eyes at his reflection (and somehow still intimidating himself, provoking another blush).  His irises and pupils narrow, his gaze somehow even more piercing than before.  Even the color of his eyes alter, washing Wyatt’s former green color out with a deep blue.  He also takes note of what seems to be hints of aging in his form.  Nothing too drastic, but the beginnings of wrinkles at the ends of his eyes etch themselves in, as well as around his mouth and along his forehead.  This strange rush of new wisdom and experience seamlessly permeates his psyche, and he knows that, to some degree, his very age is shifting, if only subtly.  A warm, nostalgic buzzing in his brain informs him he has left young adulthood behind, now more properly an adult that hovers around his late twenties or early thirties instead of his early twenties.

By now, it’s clear as day who he has become, and given the physical and mental torrent he’d just experienced, he can’t say he’s disappointed in the outcome.  The suspicion on his face relaxes into a smirk of fond realization as he finally recognizes himself.

“Yeah… there he is.”

Heymans Breda.

How hadn't he figured as much until now?!  Well, maybe because he doesn't physically exhibit the anime art style to connect everything to, but still!  Breda is one of his favorite characters from Fullmetal Alchemist, and now he’s actually become him physically?  Why?  For what?  He continues to ponder his reflection, wiping more sweat from his furrowed brow.  Eventually, his naturally intimidating demeanor gives way to a big, goofy grin.

“Guess that explains the chess piece, too!” Wyatt jests.  His heart jumps at the sound of his voice, which has finally settled into Breda’s deep, brash, and hearty tone.  He can't help but laugh, reveling at the sound of it reverberating through his ears, which shift only slightly, a little further downward.

He then realizes something else.  In the midst of his discovery, his damaged clothing loosens, the rips and tears from his sudden growth starting to mend themselves.  Moving his gaze downward, he finds the size of his tattered shirt expanding a bit, the constriction from his hefty body fading away as his shifting garment properly fits itself to his new proportions, all while fading from pale gray to a deep navy blue.  For a bit, he is granted a proper look at his broad, fuzzy chest as the shirt splits further down the middle, the hem dipping down a bit before ending below his waist, flowing down to around his knees.  The deep blue continues across the shirt as a silvery color lines the edges along with bits of gold weaving onto the shoulders.  His collar rises further up from the neck, and a single lapel extends out and folds along the leftward side of the split.  On the right, he feels something small slide along the top of his pec, a silver ring hooking around a small blue clasp in his shirt, adorned with a single golden tassel that snakes up to his shoulder.  His short sleeves then proceeded to extend downwards to each of his wrists, his larger forearms accentuated by the form-fitting fabric.

Wyatt chuckles again as he watches the miscellaneous military adornments decorate his new uniform, although his gaze quickly drifts back to his chest.  Again, he can't help but feel himself up, give one of his pecs a nice squeeze. 

“Heh, that’s really good now…”

Knock-knock-knock.

The door?  The door!

“Damn-” he shudders, snapping out of his spell and unclasping his chest.  As he looks towards the door, a white shirt spontaneously manifests beneath his new jacket, splitting off from the former and becoming its own separate piece of clothing.

“Just a sec, sorry!” he pleads, the soft cotton of his new undershirt hugging his gut as he scrambles to answer whoever’s on the other side.

Wait… he lives alone. Why would-

“I'm just here to remind you of our strategy meeting,” a voice calls from behind the wall.  “We’ll confer in 15 minutes.”

Whoa.  Wyatt knows that voice all too well.  No way… Colonel Roy Mustang.  The Flame Alchemist.  His commander.

Commander?!  Except Wyatt’s not in the army!  He knows that!  Or at least he… he thought…

The man just looks down at himself, frozen dumb, watching the same blue overtake his work pants.  They mend themselves like his jacket, morphing into the same fine material, fitting around his tree-trunk legs.  Even his snapped belt repairs itself, turning from black to silver, almost metal in appearance, part of it dropping and hanging below.

“Breda?”

“Gah!”  Caught off-guard again, Wydatt completely forgets Mustang outside the door.  “Sorry sir!  I'm just, uh… getting changed!”

A momentary pause.  Great.  He’s probably pissed now.  Wonderful first impression.

“Pay no mind.  See you shortly.”

With that, the sound of footsteps fades down what sounds like a much larger space on the other side of the door, the material of the floor sounding harder, almost marble-like.  Wrydatt pauses and processes for a moment.

“Crap-” he utters beneath his breath.  He hastily slides on the sleek black boots that his shoes have somehow morphed into, though not all of the previous tears in his socks sew themselves back up.  Perhaps Breda simply needs a new pair of socks to begin with.

“GAH, CRAP!” Wryda yelps, clutching the back of his head.  He squints with grit, that buzz in his brain from earlier only getting stronger, immutable to his resistance.

Something’s shifting again, something in his mind.  That strange feeling of militaristic desire wells up in him again, the same one he felt when his comman- when Mustang spoke to him from behind the door.  The fact that Mustang is there, talking to him.  The fact that he saw that man as his leader, at least in that moment.  No… the fact that he still can't help from viewing him as such, from feeling anything otherwise.  This is a fact.

“This is crazy… I-I'm really becoming him??” is all he can utter.  The name… W- Wre… no- Wyatt, right… ugh, it feels weird at this point, and the only thing weirder than that is the part of him that still remains acutely aware of everything happening.  This part of Brydatt knows that the more he utters his new na- no, the more he utters Breda’s name, the more that connection will only solidify, cementing him into this new life he’s suddenly grown into.

Fatigued and confused, he moans weakly as the unrelenting headache rattles through his brain once more.  This one feels different though, and every fiber in his being hopes that this is the last.  He meets his reflection’s gaze for a moment, then another flashing throb within his skull sinks him to his knees.

It’s cathartic.  Memories upon memories, increasing desires, familiar and new, a complete reshuffle of his personality.  So many things Wreda just cannot stop from gushing their way into his redefining system, rewiring his neural pathways.  Does he even want this to stop?

His new identity rewrites more and more brain chemistry, and the last shreds of his resistance finally give way, the battle long lost.  An all-encompassing shift in his personality gives the formerly mild-mannered man a tough and gruff thought pattern, a sense of savvy pragmatism he’s certain he’d never possessed before.  He feels intellectually sharp, much sharper than before, though maintains a down-to-earth aspect to his demeanor.  He’s well-aware that his wisdom, experience, and skill in wartime strategy often surprises those who doubt his ability based on appearance alone, and he’s more than happy to use this to his advantage.  He did graduate top of his class at the academy, after all.

Finally, his heart swells, beating warmly, overwhelmed with a sense of duty, dedication, and unwavering loyalty.  He embraces a steadfast commitment to protect Colonel Mustang and the rest of his team, his family, from the tyranny of Fuhrer Bradley and the Homunculi.  He’ll do whatever he can to save his world, anything to support the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric, and his brother, Alphonse, in their life-or-death mission to save themselves and bring lasting peace to Amestris.  To everything and everyone he loves.

Everyone.  All the memories return, all the relationships.  Mustang, Edward, Alphonse, Hawkeye, Hughes, Fuery, Falman, Havoc!  Havoc… he hopes that jerk is doing alright.

Despite this drastic character shift, Wreda- wait, Wyatt!  Right… despite this, Wyatt certainly still exists, in some capacity.  His old identity persists in the background, unbothered, entirely aware of what happened.  In truth, he’s just glad he doesn’t have to go back to his old job, or at least he infers such.  His remaining memories and personality fragments coexist with those of the person he’s just become, living symbiotically with each other.  Now, even if he identifies indubitably more with Breda than he does with Wyatt, they’re both there, the latter able to witness and enjoy the experience of being him, even if that means forgetting his old name every so often.

“Ugh, my head…” Breda mutters as he idly rubs the buzzed temples below his crew cut.

In spite of his exhaustion, Breda feels a swelling sense of pride in his core.  It does feel nice to have a more concrete purpose to his life, a job that he knows will truly help people in ways he can only imagine.  He gazes once more at his reflection, his expression softening, smiling with a gentle warmth.  The self-intimidation from earlier melts away, the decorated lieutenant playfully patting his gut and giggling like a giant teddy bear.  He turns around and examines his backside, his hips and rear perfectly shaping out that part of his uniform.  His grin grows wider, coupled with a nervous blush.

“Heh… not bad.” Breda admits, allowing his confidence to shine through, sneaking in a gratuitous flex.  It feels… refreshing?  Invigorating?  Hopeful.  Something like that.

With one more chuckle, Breda turns to the door, preparing to meet Mustang and his team at their strategy meeting.  The Rook is unsure of what awaits him on the other side; he never really can be at this point, given the state of affairs in his suffering nation.  He presses his uniform neatly, brushing off some dust and adjusting the finer details before he walks out.

The next day, the next moment, is never guaranteed.  He knows this.

He also knows his orders.  He’s followed them up to now, and it’s kept him alive so far.  He knows the alternative to what’s happening; he knows it too well.  More than anything, however, he knows that he has faith in his allies and each of their individual skill sets.  If he stays the course like he has up to now and relies on his team to do the same, then that’s all he can do.

With a deep, reassuring breath, he opens the door of his former bathroom and steps out into the regal halls of headquarters.  Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda, reporting for duty.

[percontaion-points]

The Boy Who Sneaks in my Bedroom Window chapters 1 & 2

Today's review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 1

He was a cute kid, with blond hair and grey eyes with brown flecks in them. He was my big brother, and as big brothers went, he was the best.

It seems kind of odd that she’d describe her older brother as being “a cute kid”. 

 Jake was ten, and was two years older than me, so he always helped with my school work

There is waaaaay too much telling going on right now. 

Also, I didn’t forget to copy the period… There was none in that sentence. Joy. I can feel the headache coming on already. 

“What are you doing here, Liam?” I whispered, wiping my face, but the tears continued to fall.

[...]

“I saw you through the window. I just wanted to come and make sure you were alright,” he whispered back, still hugging me tightly. 

Okay, so the reviews warned that this story suffers from Absent Parent Syndrome©, so IDK why I even bother asking this, but…

So this literal ten year old boy sees Amber crying up in her room, climbs up to knock on the window, and comes in… Yet he himself can’t be assed to tell his parents? Or a teacher? Or literally any grown-up in his life?

 I shuddered at the thought of what my father would do if he had walked in here to find Liam in the house at night-time.

Chapter 1 summary: We’re introduced to 8 year old Amber, who has been living under the tyrannical thumb of her abusive father for the past three years. Although she says that they have a large house in the nicer part of town, she wishes that they could go back to how things used to be, before her father accepted a terrible job. 

Over dinner, Amber accidentally knocks over her drink, which causes her father to lose his cool. He starts yelling at her and hitting her, but when her older brother, Jake, tries to step in and protect her, dad takes his frustration out on him instead.

Later, Amber is in her room when a neighbour boy randomly climbs up to Amber’s window and holds her as she cries. He ends up spending the night with her, which freaks her out. Not because of Liam, but because what daddy-dearest might have done if he’d found Liam in Amber’s bed. 

Chapter 2

[image description: A screenshot of the first page of the second chapter of the book. It has two different fonts that switch back and forth every couple of paragraphs. End description.]

Okay, so I need to highlight this. And I seriously don’t know if this is the PDF, or if this book is seriously like this. 

But does everybody else see this? The fact that there are two different fonts on this page? What the hell is going on? 

Of course I looked harassed, I had half an hour to get showered and dressed.

Okay, so first off, she actively CHOOSES to wake up and only have 30 minutes to get ready for school. So I don’t exactly have a lot of sympathy for her.

Also… Harassed? Are you sure that’s the correct word to use right here? ARE YOU SURE?!

Well, I say left, but in reality Jake and Liam came home early from hockey one day to see that my father had beaten me senseless, and was trying to rape me. Jake had finally snapped, and he and Liam had beaten the crap out of him, almost killing him in the process. They had thrown him out of the house and told him that if he ever came back, they would kill him. He never came back though, that was three years ago. 

Calling the police? Lol what’s that?!

I also love how casually she talks about this. Like it was simply another day. “What did I do today? I went to the store, and then the park. Then my dad tried to rape me, but it was okay because Jake and Liam beat him up. Then I went to the movies.” 

They had thrown him out of the house and told him that if he ever came back, they would kill him. He never came back though, that was three years ago. 

A little while after that, my mom got a job with a huge electronics firm, she was the PA to the director and so she travelled a lot. She was gone twice as much as she was here, so we only saw her for about one week a month, if that. Jake was my only supervision, although at times it was more like I was the one taking care of him. 

As I said, Absent Parent Syndrome©. 

Liam was also very protective of me, but we still didn’t get on - even though he had literally spent every single night wrapped around me in my bed for the last eight years.

Uh-huh. Right. 

 She had dated Liam for a little while, well, if by dating you mean having sex a few times, and then getting dropped. She still wasn’t over it and wanted him back, much to his disgust. 

I have been warned that this is the majority of this book. Joy, I can’t wait. 

 “How the hell can you be unaffected by how freaking hot they are? I mean, you’re so lucky to live with Jake! I would love to watch his hot ass walk around all day,” she purred, fanning her face.

It’s bad enough that we have to have a book in which Amber was almost raped by her father. Do we also have to have weird implications that Amber should be lusting after her own brother?

… so I knew that my brother and his friends were arriving in the canteen. 

Canteen? Yes, it’s technically correct, but I seriously don’t know of a single person who would call a school cafeteria a “canteen”. 

Great, just great! [Liam] was driving me home. Fantastic. He always made the drive home as long as possible just to annoy the life out of me. Then, he insisted on waiting at my house until my brother came home, which meant that I had to cook for him too. Damn it, he is so annoying!

Or you could… Not make him food. 

I’m not quite convinced that Amber’s life improved all that much when her father left. Not if she’s still expected to be subservient to a man who pushes himself onto her 24/7. 

“Hey, where you going?” the other guy asked, grabbing my hand. 

My heart started to race as I looked around, frantically. “I’m looking for my boyfriend,” I lied, trying to sound confident. 

“Boyfriend? I don’t see a boyfriend[...]”

Yes, that’s why she’s LOOKING FOR HIM, dipshit. 

“I hate rushing around; I’ve looked and felt like shit all day,” I cried acidly. 

I… I simply feel like the author thinks that she’s picking the correct adjective, but in actuality, every single one she selects comes off as clunky and awkward. 

THERE IS LITERALLY NOT ONE SINGLE THING WRONG WITH “SAID”. FUCKING USE IT. 

“Goodnight, Angel,” he replied, kissing the back of my head.

Chapter 2 summary: 8 years later, and now Amber is 16, which puts Liam and Jake at 18. He’s been spending literally every goddamned night with her. 

As mentioned, almost in passing, Amber’s and Jake’s dad tried to rape her one day. Liam and Jake happened to come home at that time, so they beat him up and kicked him out of the house. They haven’t heard from him for the past three years. Also, mummy-dearest is absent, which allows for a lot of… well. Stuff that she probably wouldn’t allow if she was actually there. Like Liam spending every goddamned night with Amber. 

The three of them go to school, where some random girl tries to hook up with Liam, but Amber slut-shames her. Then she hangs out with her friends, who ask why she hasn’t tapped either of the boys. Amber is more horrified over the thought of them suggesting she should hook up with her own brother. But she also tells the readers that despite everything, she and Liam are barely friends. Which seems like an odd choice to make, but sure. 

I would also like the record to state that every second I spent being forced to read the interactions of Amber and her friends, I could literally feel my IQ dropping. 

After school, Liam gives some excuse as to what Jake is doing, but it’s literally not important. He and Amber go to the store, where Amber is sexually harassed by some random boys. Liam has to rescue her. 

She later gives him dinner, and they watch a movie together. Liam leaves for a bit, but comes back so that he can spend his night with her once again. 

[benrunschicago]

236 Days until Chicago

So much to cover, where to begin!

I became disconsolate when I saw my weight wasn’t budging and I felt big and heavy. There are two months until the next Army unit weigh-in, so I threw nearly everything out the door and said: I got to switch gears. The scale is stubbornly stuck on 91 kilos. In my mind I keep thinking: 15 seconds less per 5 pounds lost, if I lose 40 pounds that would be two minutes per mile, I’d be doing 10 minutes per mile as my easy Zone two pace.

I’ve done some things that should pay off in the long term: I cut out peanut butter, I cut out chocolate, and I eat a big fruit salad everyday with a dozen different types of fruit, nuts, seeds, bee pollen, yogurt, and honey.

But I’m not sure this will cut it. I think I ruined my metabolism by starving myself for previous Army weigh-in’s—sometimes eating a very small handful of real meals over the course of a month—and I think now the solution to fix that is maybe to rebuild my body and change my body composition.

So I spent last week 1) more body-weight exercises 2 do the Bigger Leaner Stronger plan, which is focused on the Big 3 moves: barbell squats, bench press, and dead lifts. Then 3) I wrote out my Army two-mile run program into a ten page infosheet.

As part of that I started doing it. I said, hey, sure, I certainly have built up an aerobic base this past month. I can start doing tempo runs for 10-20 minutes and get a good score in two months when we do the Army Combat Fitness Test.

The basic gist is you run close to your target speed for half a mile, while feeling like you are running “comfortably hard”. From there each time you can you try to add a quarter mile at the same speed. Once you achieve the two mile distance, you increase the speed slowly over time to the target speed. Then there, you once again continue to add more miles until you’re going at least twice as far as you need to. This link to the PDF here shows the whole plan.

I did this, and already it’s been a big boon for me:

My first day I chose 8.5 mph, or 7:04 pace. I did it for half a mile, and a half of a mile felt like a big stretch, but still relatively reasonable, a.k.a. comfortably hard. Mind you, my month and a half of base building I always ran 12:30 or 13:00 min/mile

Two days off

2nd day: hit my C goal, which is always to do as good as I did the previous time, then hit my B goal, which was to hit 0.75 miles at that speed. Next time, I said, I think I can hit 1 mile.

Two days off, plus one run of 7 miles in the park at easy pace.

3rd hard day (today): hit my C and B goals, which I felt confident doing and knew that I would be able to as soon as I hit the half mile mark and felt strong and fresh still. A goal is to go a little farther than I had planned. B goal : 1 mile, so A goal was 1.25. And I hit that and felt good. I even sped up the treadmill two clicks to 8.7 mph for the last quarter mile.

When I did the 7 mile run in the park, I surprised myself by being able to run leisurely and my mile times were dipping below 12:00. I guess speed is paying off already!

If I can truly change my body composition, then these speeds will be even easier to maintain. I looked at my wife and told her how the speed I ran today is the one I hope to run in seven and a half months! But for 25 miles longer.

What else is new?

I did so much toe yoga that I came close to getting a condition, so I backed off. This is related to how I had foot surgery and now that little toe feels useless.

Also I’m very excited to se me that the other big gym here has a few manual treadmills, which are perfect for learning how to run with good form!

[snek-panini]

Printing another book and I have never had a project fight me as hard as this one has today. There's been just one roadblock after another here. I'm putting it under a cut because it got long and I just want to rant, lol.

Yesterday, go to print. Printer runs out of ink about 1/3 of the way through the job. I don't have any at home and have to go buy it.

Today, get in small accident in parking lot after buying ink. Everyone's ok, the cars just have small cosmetic dents in them now.

Replace ink. Delete pages that have already been printed from the document so I don't get duplicates. Printer prints three more signatures. I find out later that some of the pages here are blurry.

Printer has a mysterious error. Pauses, restarts job from the beginning. Cancel print job. I never found the source of this error.

Discover blurry pages. Fight with HP app till it lets me realign the printer. Delete more text in the original document. Print the remaining signatures.

Try to format blurry pages for reprinting without reprinting entire book. Word's book fold has no option to do this.

Paste offending pages into their own document. Can now print only these pages but the page numbers are wrong. Cannot fix this with any of Word's page number functions, including screenshots of the correct numbers pasted into the document. Nothing works.

Reformat to PDF because it has a was to print only select pages.

PDF does not support custom paper sizes, which this book uses.

Delete PDF in fit of rage. Exit original document without saving so the text I removed earlier isn't lost. Quit for a while. Contemplate all life choices that have led to this place.

Come back later to try one last thing.

Wifi (it's a wireless printer) is not working on only my computer. Other devices have no issues. Restart required.

Massive computer update that takes 20-30 minutes.

Get back into document, delete more text and blank out earlier pages so even if it prints those before I can cancel them I won't waste much ink.

Delete wrong pages, leading to Word reformatting the signature page counts on its own, because it feels left out and wants to help.

Cancel job, add more blanks to the end so it can't do that again. Printer sucks in two pages instead of one, prints on them sandwiched together, so while it did technically print on both sides, it has also in reality printed on only one side.

Cancel job. Yell at sky. Open print tray and shuffle all the pages to make sure they are not stuck together.

Finally print the godforsaken pages.

I do not think I will touch this text block again for a couple of days. I usually don't have much waste paper on projects, but I have enough from this one to have made a whole other book from it. This is the most I have ever fought with any craft project, software, or printer. Including that time in college when my home printer just went on strike for three or four days when I had a paper due. This was worse.

[fishoutofcamelot]

IT’S OFFICIAL! I’M MAKING A MERLIN-THEMED D&D CAMPAIGN!!! <3

Do you like Merlin? Do you like D&D? Do you like the idea of D&D but don’t know how it works? Then The Rising Sun campaign is just for you! (named after that one tavern in Camelot lmao)

CAMPAIGN PREMISE:

Jailbreak! The members of your party have been locked away in Camelot’s dungeons and must work together to bust out. But with a mysterious curse terrorizing the city, that might be easier said than done. Takes place during the three-year gap between seasons 4 and 5.

BASIC INFORMATION:

4-6 players, all at LVL3

Is this your first game? Your 50th game? All experience levels accepted!

Will feature monsters/characters/settings present in BBCM canon

The session will be recorded and posted to Youtube, so even people who don’t play can still join in on the fun!

Wanna chat about Merlin? (And D&D, but mostly Merlin) Join the Rising Sun Discord Server!!!

It’s a oneshot campaign, meaning there will only be one session

Submit your character sheet/s to me (email under the cut) by November 15th!

The exact length of the session will depend on player availability/preference, and how long it takes us to get through the campaign. But expect it to take around 2-4 hours

You can play as a canon character (like Mithian or Percival), or make an OC 

We will be running this through D&D5e (5th edition) as this is what I’m most familiar with. If you don’t know what that means, don’t worry about it!

Players must have access to Discord. Announcements, party talk, scheduling, etc. will be held on an exclusive channel through the Rising Sun Discord Server

WANT TO GET INVOLVED WITHOUT PLAYING?

Don’t worry, we’ve got something for everyone! I want this to be something everyone in the fandom can enjoy :)

The campaign will be recorded virtually and posted to Youtube in 30-minute parts/episodes, with captions available

Transcripts will also be posted to AO3

Join the Rising Sun Discord Server!

Don’t have a Discord account? Information about the campaign will also be posted to the Rising Sun Campaign tag on Tumblr

Feeling artsy? Feel free to post it! Any campaign-related art sent to me (through Discord, Tumblr, or Gmail) will likely be posted to my Tumblr blog and also feature in one of the episodes uploaded to Youtube, provided you give me permission to do so <3

Interested? More details under the cut! 

PROJECTED TIMELINE

November 1: Player Submission period opens

November 15: Player Submission period ends

November 20: Official player + character list announced

December 18-January 18: Campaign session held. The exact date/time will depend on the availability of party members, but this is just the time period in which it’s most likely to happen (it’s my winter break!)

January/February: Campaign “episodes” will be uploaded to Youtube on a weekly basis, with their respective transcripts posted to AO3. Official release schedule to be posted after the campaign has been recorded

SUBMISSION REQUIREMENTS

Submit to my email: ragicmobot@gmail.com

If you don’t know a lot about D&D and want me to teach you/help you make your character sheet, let me know through Tumblr! 

Submissions should include your: 

Tumblr URL and/or Discord ID

Time zone

Expected availability between Dec18-Jan18

Experience/comfort level with D&D

If you are willing to have your face shown in the recording

Character sheet/s

Any homebrew content you would like to use

You can submit more than one character sheet, but you can only play as one character, and only one character will be accepted into the campaign

If we get more than 6 submissions, players will be chosen based on their availability, friendliness, and how well I think their character will fit into the campaign/party

If you’re accepted as a player, I will let you know via Tumblr/Discord before posting the official player list to Tumblr. You will also be granted access to the Party-Only channel on the Rising Sun Discord server

You MUST be a member of this server, as crucial party discussions, announcements, and Zoom links will be shared there

Make sure to have everything submitted by November 15th!

GUIDELINES

My time zone is PST. Expect this to influence scheduling

If you aren’t comfortable having your face in the recording, you can turn your camera off! However, I will ask that you at least keep your mic on

The session will be held and recorded through Zoom. Make sure you have access to this program! 

Due to Zoom restrictions, a Zoom meeting can’t be any longer than 45 minutes. So the session will probably be broken up into 30-minute meetings, with 5-minute breaks in between each one. The Zoom link/s will be posted to the Party-only channel on the Rising Sun server. If I find a more efficient way of doing this, I will let you know

There will be a session zero, also on Zoom, about a week before we record the session. This is just a quick and casual opportunity for us to meet, work out any technical issues, address campaign expectations, talk about our characters, and get to know each other better <3

General courtesy and Zoom/D&D etiquettes apply. Don’t be a dick!

I might end up commissioning/having art done of the Player Characters (PCs). If you’re not okay with that, let me know!

CHARACTER CREATION

Put your character at LVL 3

Homebrew content is allowed, so long as you have me look it over first!

Use the D&D5e character sheet for character creation (if you need help accessing this I can send you an editable pdf, or help you find an online character sheet creator)

CANON CHARACTERS

Make sure all information on your character sheet is accurate to canon. Any deviations from canon (like giving Elyan magic, or making Percival a time-traveler) must be talked over with me first

Does their canon background have holes or unknowns? Fill them in yourself! Get creative <3

If this character doesn’t have a race available in D&D, like a sidhe, then you have two options. You can either homebrew their profile, or you can using an existing race profile that’s similar while clearly establishing what their real race is

When writing their backstory, try to think of how they would fit into the campaign. Why are they in the dungeons? Is Merlin suffering the aftermath of a magic reveal gone wrong? Did Gwaine get into a tavern brawl? Has George been framed for murder?

OCs

Be creative! Time travelers, shapeshifters, orcs - as long as you develop it well enough, I’ll probably allow it

If your character has a race/species that doesn’t exist in BBCM canon - like an elf or a dwarf - then provide backstory as to why their people are never seen or mentioned in the show. Did the dwarves go into hiding during the Purge? Is your character the first of their kind? Were they cursed into a non-human form?

In the event that we get someone to do art for the PCs, please make sure the physical description of your character is very clear and concise. Consider including reference art of some kind as well. This will hopefully make it easier for the artist/s to do their thing

When writing their backstory, try to think of how they would fit into the campaign. Why are they in the dungeons? Did they get caught trying to kill the king? Did their friend turn them in for sorcery? Did they steal something from the vaults?

This should be a chance for us all to goof off and have fun, so I’m not gonna be super strict on the rules. And if you have any questions, hit me up on Tumblr!! <3

[teachingtales]

Long-Term Effects from SARS Virus

I spoke with my brother yesterday. We respect each other and understand that our knowledge is also affected by the greater society. Living in the US, he said it was like being tumbled in a dryer trying to make sense of the sensationalism. It makes him not trust news sources as a result. I totally get that and think that dryer analogy was great. He understands that being away from the US sensationalism, I don’t see it the same way.

Anyway, I told him I’d find him some info about long-term post-SARS effects, from SARS-CoV-1. I told him that while the Covid-19 death rate is higher than the average influenza outbreak, it’s not the death rate we should be worried about; it’s the after-effects. So this is just a copy-paste of what I sent him.

It is 04:19 and I can’t sleep...woke up a while ago...so I looked up some of that SARS stuff I mentioned. I had to sift through different ones because there was some criteria I set based on what you told me...I would only accept articles that were:

- published before 2019

- not published by Chinese government

- not published by the WHO

- not published by the CDC

- not published with specific types of grant/gift monies

I did find out some new things, too! Honestly this was all super interesting and a great way to spend a sleepless morning. Remember when I said that I’m so frustrated that the US has “sensationalized” this because the science is interesting enough?? It was even more interesting than I had known!

So here’s the breakdown:

- of the people studied for post-SARS complications with lung health, around 30% have them. Remember when I said the death rate wasn’t the main concern? Well, dang, I didn’t know that “long-SARS” was practically 1 in 3...damn

- One I didn’t know about: of the people studied for post-SARS complications with mental illness, around 64% have them. The mental illness is due to increased stress hormone during the illness, which “set off” anxiety, depression, and/or PTSD

- Another one I didn’t know about: while some lung improvements could be seen a year after healing from SARS, there were still “exercise problems”. So the exercise you will see on the studies is “6MWD”, which means “6-Minute Walking Distance”. While this improved a bit, even 18 months post-SARS it was far lower than the control group. Why? Well it could be related to...

- ...another problem I didn’t know about, which was how well oxygen diffuses in the body. So even with improved lung function, there are still impairments in how oxygenated one’s blood can be

- Another problem that was interesting to find was Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). I made a group to talk about living with chronic pain, and in 2020 we got this new member. They introduced themselves by saying that they had Covid-19 early on and “it turned into CFS”. I thought that sucked a lot but it was all I had heard of it. I do know that some illnesses do cause CFS, because it happened in a friend I had before. I don’t know if he had SARS specifically, but the timeline was right for it (mid/late 2000s when he had been living with CFS for a few years). So anyway, that came up in one of the studies, too.

Study with the 6MWD and other lung/oxygen issues: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7192220/

Study including mental issues and CFS: https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jamainternalmedicine/fullarticle/415378

Just mental issues in relation to stress: https://ravikollimd.com/resources/COVID/070674370705200405.pdf

Study including mental issues and lung issues, studying survivors of SARS and MERS: https://www.medicaljournals.se/jrm/content/abstract/10.2340/16501977-2694

Longest study I found, this was a 12-year follow-up study. Some impairments in lung function still existed, but general quality of life was similar to control groups. Additionally, no cardio-pulmonary disease showed: www.ijcem.com/files/ijcem0074733.pdf