#short storries

[rotten-whispers]

They Run in Circles

The lab mice have begun to show unusual behaviors...

TW for mouse body horror and light gore

Rodents love to run in wheels.

Laboratories around the world have established that they prefer the little contraptions over almost all else. Some never stop running, at the expense of sleep, food, self-preservation… One might call it an addiction.

Nobody quite understands why animals love to run in wheels. I’ve seen cat-wheels in my local cat-cafes, trending videos of armadillos running on wheels. One researcher even left a wheel outside and videotaped wild mice and even slugs using it. Animals seem to be obsessed with the idea of running and running but never quite getting anywhere. Chasing an endless circle.

Human hamster wheels haven’t quite taken off yet, but I’m sure we are approaching that point. Treadmills just aren’t the same, because they give the illusion that you might end up somewhere. If you’re running in a circle, then you should understand that you’ll never reach anything. Surely even animals would be smart enough to understand this.

I study the neurological condition of laboratory mice. Because they are nocturnal, I am often watching them for long hours in the night, running on their little wheels. They are docile, chubby things. With an endless supply of food and water and wheel-based entertainment. Nothing at all in their eyes other than the comfort of a worriless existence.

Most of them love to run. They will sleep, run, sleep, eat, run, repeat. For hours upon hours. It can get a little unsettling, trying to make out their little white bodies in the dark, under a red-light headlamp, to avoid disturbing their circadian rhythm with white light.

Sometimes my eyes play tricks on me in the dark, wandering to a corner of the pitch-black room, as a white creature rushes past. Always in the corner of my eye, like an escaped mouse, like a ghost.

I have an overactive imagination. It does give me trouble on these long nights, but my quick grasp of my surroundings has allowed me to capture many a-runaway mouse. Usually the little creatures will just sit outside their cage once they escape. Dumbly surveying the environment without a care in the world, as though uncertain of why they chose to leave, or how they can return to the only life that they have ever known.

Of course, some of the little bastards bite you and immediately scurry under the door and into the hallway, but those are not the ones that I like to think about.

My mind often returns to why they run.

Sometimes a mouse will find that its wheel is stuck and doesn’t spin. Sometimes those mice will gnaw at the wheel, as though somehow instinctively knowing that it should spin, chasing the allure of the circle without even knowing that it exists.

Of course, this is ridiculous and would get me kicked out of a scientific conference, but I sometimes find myself wondering if there is something more to the mice than what we can see. Or can even comprehend.

Some of them don’t run in the wheels at all.

These are the odder cases. Sure, some of them don’t run very often, or avoid what they perceive as a threatening object. But these aren’t the… mice that I am talking about.

They run in circles.

The first time that I saw it, I thought that I was tired, or that there was something wrong with the wheel. But everything – the mouse, the wheel, the food – everything was fine. With the exception of this new, odd behavior.

They would run in a perfect circle, as though chasing their tail, like a dog. Wearing little circles into the bedding. Some of them would run in circles on the wheels, perfect circles that didn’t actually move the wheel. Loose circles, encompassing the entirety of their cage, or tight circles that barely allowed the mouse the opportunity to turn its entire body. Some of them even climbed their cage and moved in little circles on the lids.

It was… definitely odd. Unnatural.

When animals do behaviors that are “unnatural” or not displayed in the wild, they’re called “stereotypic behaviors”. Some view them as a sign of stress, like a tiger pacing in the zoo. Others view them as a sign that the environment needs to be changed, or an artifact of domestication. Most don’t understand them at all.

But why circles? Why the dog chasing its tail, around and around and around in an endless circle?

The mice that run in circles don’t run on the wheels, I noticed one day. They seem to have gotten over this addiction to spinning, replacing it with the more thrilling urge to transform their own bodies into circles. To scratch the same itch, the same desire.

Is it the running? Or is it the circle?

I became a bit obsessed with the question. It was the long hours, the late nights. The mice spinning in little circles on their wheels.

Out of 200 mice, maybe only half a dozen would even do the circles. It was a rare occurrence, enough to make me wonder if it was a sign of mental illness. Stimming, like in a human with Autism? An Obsessive Compulsive tic? But the mice showed no signs of any human mental health disorders. They just ran in circles.

An inner ear problem, a colleague offered. Something wrong with their balance.

No dice there either. It remained a mystery.

Are the wheels causing the circling? I wondered. Or are the wheels just satisfying a primal urge to run in circles?

How ridiculous. Why would an animal want to run in a circle?

So my brain went, over and over in circles.

I watched the circling mice. Their eyes completely blank, their mouths unmoving. Like little glass toys, scrabbling against the floors of their cages, the bedding worn away in little mouse crop-circles. Unblinking, hardly seeming alive.

What is the point of a circle?

To humans, circles are often used to create protective barriers in rituals. A wall that an evil spirit, demon, or entity cannot cross. Ancient Sumerians drew circles with flour to purify and repel evil in sacred spaces. Pentagrams are done inside a circle. Signs of aliens are often attributed to strange markings or behaviors, such as the questionably legitimate crop circles.

Circles also don’t make sense, logically. The circumference of a circle is two multiplied by the diameter, multiplied by an endless number. Pi – often shortened to 3.14 – has been calculated to 105 trillion decimal places by a supercomputer. But likely contains an infinite number.

The rationality of math often escapes me, but the idea of a tangible object being determined by a number that doesn’t really end is a baffling concept. Like the reality of your life being determined by a fleeting dream.

The Fibonacci sequence, another baffling concept in math, forms a never-ending spiral. Such a spiral outlines a circle, does it not? A circle disappearing endlessly into the distance, or even into itself, like Ouroboros, the snake devouring its own tail. Endless destruction and rebirth. Even our own universe is a spiral, our own world a circle.

Essentially circles represent life and death. Likely due to the shape of the sun, burning its place in human society, life, religion, and natural world. Circles are organic, despite their odd, smooth appearance. Uranus is a real planet, although it looks as though it were rendered in Blender.

But the mice know none of this. They just know that they have to circle.

Some runners prefer to run in circles because it completely blanks out the mind, creating a dull, monotonous state. A paranoid person could argue that such a blank slate is prime for possession by something else, an easy target for something that could be summoned – say, by the creation of a ritualistic circle.

My evening has gone on too long, I’m becoming ridiculous.

With a sigh, I pull myself away from the circles in my mind, to focus on the mice. Mouse #602 is eating, check. Mouse #603 is sleeping, check. Mouse #604 is running in circles.

Hmm… This is odd.

Sometimes the mice that circle do so since birth, genetically predisposed to whatever behavior, defect, stressor, or mental condition is causing the circling. But this mouse showed no odd behavior until tonight.

“Are you alright, little buddy?” I murmur, crouching in front of his cage and peering inside. Tapping his water first and checking that he still has food. “Did you hurt your head?”

The mouse is fine – nothing at all wrong, save for the strange circling behavior. I head home for a night of fretful rest, but return bright and early for my morning shift, of more clipboards and more circling mice.

More of my tired eyes scanning the mice.

#602, sleeping. #603, drinking water. #604, running circles.

My stomach drops.

The same mouse from last night is still running. He hasn’t stopped, while most of the other mice have bedded down for the day.

“…Buddy?”

There is red on the cage.

I crouch down again, my heart thudding desperately in my chest.

The mouse skitters in those tight, tight circles. His feet are red, raw. His eyes are empty, cavernous holes, leaking candy-red blood almost too bright to be real. And still he runs, over and over and over and over again.

.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. My mind – brain – heart beating in an endless circle of panic.

We had to euthanize the mouse. An infectious eye disease, the vivarium veterinarian said. Likely the same one that has been going around the lab. The mouse scratched its eyes out.

It’s odd how much the eye can bleed. But orbital blood collection is common with mice, when large quantities of the fluid are needed. The eye is a circle of blood, after all.

Our lab spent the remainder of the day disinfecting and treating the other mice, to ensure that none of them caught the same affliction. However, the following day, the mice were declared disease-free, and yet they continued to run. Some normally, some in circles.

How simple an infection would have been. A disease, a parasite.

The world’s smallest animals are parasites. Of the Myxozoans, Myxobolus cerebralis is a parasite that causes whirling disease in freshwater salmonids. A terrifying sight to any fish farmer or hobby aquarist, due to its horrifically infectious manner, with the end result almost always leading to death. Even a surviving fish would continue to spread the disease.

A fish infected by the parasite will gain neurological damage and physical deformities, causing it to spin like a whirling torpedo through the water. The infection is spread through consumption of dead fish, but if spores are released into the water, even a single drop can infect equipment, destroying tanks and causing horrific financial ruin to fish farmers.

An endless cycle of spinning fish.

Brainworm, or moose sickness (Parelaphostrongylus tenuis),is a parasitic nematode of moose that causes them to pace in circles, unable to rip themselves out of the cycle. It too, is almost entirely fatal.

I wished that this mouse disease could be explained away as a parasite. At least then, I would have a rational explanation for why they were running in circles.

But there was no rationale that made sense.

“Hey,” My coworker nudges me. “Did we forget to put bedding in #46’s cage?”

“What?” I barely notice that she spoke, lost in thought under the cacophony of squeaking wheels.

“Look, there’s no bedding in the cage.”

I glance over at wheel 46. The mouse’s home cage is indeed bare, the creature running circles on the empty plastic.

“No, there was bedding in there this morning. Where did it go?”

Frantic with confusion, I search around the wheel.

“Wait, there’s a lot of bedding by the cage. Did the mouse move the bedding?”

We glance at each other. This is nonsensical – the mouse would have needed to carry every tiny piece of bedding to the side of the cage and push it through the bars. Repeat a million times, ad infinitum. Until the cage was completely bare and prepped for – more running in circles?

“Why would he do that?” I ask, hoping that my coworker has an answer that I cannot think of.

But she looks as puzzled as I am. “I have no idea. It’s like the bedding teleported out of the cage.”

The mouse’s dark eyes continue to stare at nothing – or perhaps, something that we cannot see. An elusive goal that it desperately, frantically is trying to reach, as it increases speed and tightens the circle into a vice.

And, although it may have been my imagination, the squeaking suddenly seems to have stopped altogether. I glance around the room, quickly, and notice that all the other mice have stopped running on their wheels.

“Bedtime, I guess.” My coworker grabs her clipboard. “Let’s go upstairs, I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” I murmur. But something feels very, very wrong about the sudden silence, like an impossible coincidence.

On the way out, I scan the room again just to make sure that I am not losing my mind, and that’s when I notice that none of the mice were running on their wheels. Instead, they  are all watching the spinning mouse.

Two hundred pairs of unblinking eyes, united in one pure moment of silent concentration.

Ad then – a second later – the moment is gone, buried amidst squeaking wheels and the pitter patter of little feet once more.

.

The situation is getting worse. As though learning from each other, the behavior increases. Every day that they spend on the wheels, the circling becomes faster, more frantic, more often.

Some scientists claim that wheel access causes an increase in circling behavior once the wheels are removed. But why then, do they circle instead of run? An arcane ritual that only the mice understand, conducted alone in the darkness.

I think about more circles, what the shape means. Why does such a simple shape have so many meanings? Protections, rituals, doors to and from other worlds. Life, death, neurological decay. Impossible mathematical principles and alien hoaxes. All the same simple shape – a perfect sphere made of an infinite array of points, each themselves a circle.

Fairy rings are an entrance to the world of the Fae. You’re not supposed to step into them – those rings of mushrooms that sometimes appear, in marshes and forests. Supposedly due to nutrient allocation in the soil, but still not properly understood. Stepping into a fairy ring invites the Fae. Leaving something in a fairy ring tempts the Fae, and the Fae are unpredictable, temperamental creatures.

Obviously, the mice are not trying to summon aliens, and I doubt that their circling is the result of a ritualistic barrier to the supernatural, but what does it all have in common? That damnable shape.

With no beginning and no end.

Except there will be an end, I think, because the wheels are being removed tomorrow. They can circle all they want, but without the stimulus of a wheel, I expected their behavior to cease. No more exploding eyes, no more impossibly empty cages, no more horrific silences – this would all be over.

Just have to hold out until tomorrow.

Just have to hold out until midnight, actually.

I was teetering outside the door, clipboard in hand, terrified to return and complete my last shift of observations. Would they all be waiting, staring at me the moment that I opened the door? And why did nobody else ever seem to notice that something was wrong?

Was I just going crazy?

Obviously, everybody has the urge to run in a circle now and then, right? Give a strange little turn, do a little pace, rub circles on an object for comfort. That doesn’t make you crazy, of course not. Tics, stimming – these are fine and normal behaviors.

I affix the red headlight and suck in a breath.

The room is normal. Dark, except for the grim shadow of red, barely casting enough light to see the clipboard and the little white creatures running. Their eyes gleaming in the darkness, the room silent except for the squeaking wheels and scrabbling of dozens of paws.

But all of them are behaving normally.

I breath in a sigh of relief.

You’re overthinking it. Lab mice enact stereotypic behaviors all the time. Some of those are weird, like removing bedding. But it could happen, the mouse could have moved all the pieces, one by one, in its mouth. Not impossible. And eyes explode sometimes, it happens. Just a disease, nothing more.

The minutes tick closer to midnight.

I think about minutes all the time, actually. If decimal points are endless, then time cannot really exist. Think about it – 11:59pm and one millisecond. 1.1. 1.1111111111111111 – when does 12pm ever actually begin? Are you trapped in a forever number like Pi, the clock frozen in its impossible existence?

11:55pm. Just a few more minutes.

A mouse does acrobatics on its wheel, another climbs into its food hopper and makes a nest out of its crumbs. Cute.

11:58pm. A mouse sleeps, lazy for a nocturnal creature. Another runs so quickly that its body becomes a white blur on the wheel.

All normal and good behaviors.

11:59pm. A mouse circles. I give it a cursory glance and turn away, not wanting to spend the last minute of my shift running around in my own thoughts. Just, for once, I want a break from the circle of dread.

Its footsteps scrabble, like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Quiet? When did the room become quiet? The squeaking of wheels has once again ceased.

No, I’m not turning around, I think. Just one more minute.

The mice are looking at me again. Unnerving, their eyes trained in an unblinking, glassy stare.

I finish my rounds and am forced to return to the other side of the room, where the circling mouse scrabbles in the darkness. Its body is a perfect sphere, tail to mouth like Ouroboros. Almost as though trying to bite its tail, a Sisyphean task in the darkness.

11:59pm. The last minute is dragging by, as it always does. Just when you want to go home the most.

I try not to watch the time, instead training on the mouse. Running, circles, circles, circles. Everything seems to disappear, blur away in the silent, dark room.

I don’t know how long it is until I snap out of my trance, but my legs are suddenly aching, my mouth and eyes painfully dry. Trapped by the mesmerizing, rodentine cycle.

Hypnosis can be a circle, I think. How much time did I lose?

The blood drains from my face when I glance at the time.

11:59pm.

This is insane. My watch must be broken, there is no other explanation. In any case, taking off one minute early is not going to get me fired. At the very least, the mice won’t tell.

So I stand up and get ready to leave.

-Except my legs don’t move. They are leaden, as though molded into the concrete floor. Stiffly upright, my body won’t turn away from the spinning mouse.

Terror crawls at the corner of my mind, threatening to encompass me in panic.

11:59pm.

The mouse isn’t strewn in darkness anymore. A strange white glow is emanating from beside the cage, like the dim remnants of a star in the back of your eyes.

11:59pm.

A loud cacophony of noise brews in my head – seemingly coming from nowhere at all. A horrifically violent explosion, like an aneurism, like planetary destruction. I cannot move, I cannot breathe.

11:59pm.

The mouse continues to run amidst the eternally loud interference.

Belly-up, unblinking, with foggy white eyes like a dead fish. The corpse-like creature runs upside down, as though his abdomen had been broken and removed, legs glued onto a rotting back. Legs that glide the corpse through the darkness, in circles and circles and circles.

The terror and noise are greater than anything that I have ever heard.

Beside the cage, the white dust no longer resembles a distant star – it is bright, bright enough to hurt, swelling spirals in the back of my unblinking eyes. Figures, symbols that I don’t understand, sequences that make no sense.

11:59pm.

The  mouse continues to run – a fixed action pattern with no beginning or end, and no purpose in sight. Except there is a purpose, I realize, as the white circle continues to envelop the cage.

I can see everything, and this is not the work of a demon. No alien or otherworldly creature has come to play, nothing monstrous has risen from the darkness.

11:59999999999999pm

No, this is the work of our world, unveiled and bare to the eye. The coding of a biological machine, encased by atomic 1’s and 0’s, golden numbers and impossible sequences in twain.

This is reality skinned, reflected in the last moments of every dying being, etched into the DNA of every beating organism.

This is Us.

This Is Me.

The explosion of noise reaches a crescendo. A lightning-clap, and everything falls silent in my head. My body clatters to the floor, inoperable and limp. The light is fading, disappearing back into the ether.

The last remnants of my own vision are fading, disappearing.

12:00am.

Everything is gone.

.

In the room, the mouse continues to run.

[ramblin-tiger]

I woke up in the woods today.

Now, this is nothing new as I live in the woods of course. What was new was how I woke up in the woods.

I woke up to silence, standing there in the fog. I did not wake up laying in the warmth of my bed. I did not look out into the woods and admire the trees. I was simply standing there. Waiting. I almost felt like I was waiting for something specific. Maybe even someone.

The silence did not last long as a sharp crack of a branch had shattered the silence. I twisted my head in the direction of the sound and saw a small group of people making their way through the woods. There couldn't be more than four of them, and they seemed to be arguing about some of their equipment not working and being lost. A smile crept upon my face as I began to follow them, keeping behind trees so as to not be seen. It had been a few years since humans had entered my forest.

I would eat well tonight.

Moody woods

[gayrob0t]

I ordered a pizza earlier tonight, forgot about it, then woke up to the delivery guy and completely obliterated half a stuff crust super supreme pizza

[the-royal-blue-network]

Beverly Marshal

Beverly Marshal never thought she’d one day be in an abusive relationship; but then again, who does? Beverly’s relationship with her wife, Kiara, started like a fairytale; woman meets another woman, and the two fall madly in love, get married and live happily ever after. But unlike in the fairytales, Beverly and Kiara’s story didn’t end with the wedding. Instead, their ‘happily ever after’ was the beginning of a new story, a story of control, possession, and toxicity. Fast-forward a few years, and now for Beverly, hell is the place which she calls home. Slaps, broken dishes, and shouting is her new normal. But when a couple moves in next door to Beverly and her wife, Beverly soon realizes that she isn’t the only one living in a personal hell. Despite never meeting her next-door neighbors, the shouting, breaking of glass, and the sounds of slaps, are enough to paint a crystal clear picture of what goes on behind closed doors. But when the shouting stops, and a body is carried out of the apartment in a black bag, Beverly realizes, that if she allows her own life to continue on the path that it’s on, then she’ll be the next one in that black bag. But now the question remains, how will Beverly escape?

CLICK THE TITLE AND READ THIS STORY TODAY!

[usafphantom2]

Why was the SR-71 Blackbird chosen over the A-12 Oxcart?

There was a flying competition how epic would it be to be able to witness a fly off between the A-12 and the SR 71!

The iconic SR-71 Blackbird spy plane is known for being the official record holder for the fastest jet-powered, piloted aircraft of all time.

The SR-71 was based on another Mach 3, high altitude reconnaissance aircraft, the A-12 Oxcart.

The A-12 was operated by CIA but its operational lifetime was short-lived because the CORONA reconnaissance satellite, which was first launched in June 1959, began providing worldwide imagery without much of the risk associated with airborne reconnaissance. At the same time, the SR-71 began operations with the US Air Force (USAF), leading to the A-12’s retirement in 1968.

Why was the SR-71 Blackbird chosen over the A-12 Oxcart?

From Oct. 20 to Nov. 3, 1967 the A-12 and the SR-71 were pitted against each other in a recon fly off, code named “Nice Girl” over the US that included refueling, flying identical routes 1 hour apart on three different days and both would complete the full sortie with collection sensors operational. On the first attempt, the SR-71 was OK but the A-12 had a problem. On the 2nd day, the reverse was the case. On day 3, both aircraft successfully flew the route. On that day, it was under-cast for the northern part (from California to Kentucky) and the A-12 could only photograph clouds while the SR-71 was able to collect ELINT and SLR data. After air refueling, both accelerated and climbed over the Gulf of Mexico. From New Orleans to the San Francisco area, the weather was CAVU and both aircraft were able to provide their full collection capability/data for the evaluation.

•Lt. Col. Al Hichew and I, Maj. Tom Schmittou flew mission #1.

•Maj. John Storrie and Maj. Coz Mallozzi flew mission #2 Maj.

•Bill Campbell and Capt. Al Pennington flew mission #3.

•Jack Weeks flew all three A-12 missions.

The first two flight days were inconclusive. After the third day of flights, it was determined by Intelligence evaluators that the SR-71 was a better overall investment. A-12s had much better cameras – wider swath and higher resolution but the SR-71 collected more types of intelligence than the CIA aircraft could. These other sensors were infrared detectors, side looking airborne radar, and ELINT-collection devices needed for the SR-71 mission of post-nuclear-strike reconnaissance.

The conclusion was they picked the SR-71 to continue flying. The A-12s were retired. The A-12s were put in hangars until 1984. (They might’ve been taken out and used again. Only the CIA knows the answer to that as it should be.)

Written by Linda Sheffield Miller this was shared in aviation geekclub, two years ago.

@Habubrats71 via X

[bigmack2go]

So you finished your outline kr even your entire story? And now yove gotta come up with a title but you don’t wanna be as boring as using the main characters full name? LET ME HELP YOU!

Idk how to make a good intro to this but i’ll just try by starting with: theres a difference between fanfics and books

For fanfics it’s okay to have a shitty title, a song related title or just a whole ass quote(all tho that last ones debatable) theres still a lot of fanfics with great titles though.

This one seems obvious but please at least make your book SEEM interesting

But if you do want or need a good title let me help. I have no idea where to start so jm just gonna give u a couple of things to keep in mind withoutany particular order.

Okay so idk how to start this but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE keep your title at two words or less. If you have three… fine i guess but thats the absolute limit. Also absolutely avoid going over four syllables! That also in most cases means: no quotes, not songs etc unless theyre short enough. This is not optional! There’s nothing that i hate more than a name that takes ages to say when i try to recommend a book or show or movie which is why i simply dont do it. And you don’t want that. You want your storry to be recommended. Like the summer i turned pretty. Great book. Great plot. The title almost made me not read it.

Talking about at one. The summer i turned pretty also made no sense what so ever! Especially with the sequels??? Please make your titles make sense for the story! And if you wanna do sequels i’m BEGGING you to keep that in mind for the title.

Dont spoiler anything but for fucks sake make it make sense

Also pls dont start it with “the” cuz thats bad enough as it is but thats not even my point: if you dont want something boring as the MC’s full name, you also dont want something like the important object or just some random noun i promise. It CAN work if its like a name for a group of people like the outsiders or a gang name or smt but its like that it won’t so just… dont

I’d also avoid using original words that u amde up for the story. This isn’t necessarily smt that makes the title bad but it automatically means that it’s harder to remember so if you wanna be recomended thats probably a No. Unless its super easy to remember foe whatever reason.

So now that ive told you what NOT to do, let me give you some ‘DOs’

So theres several kinds of titles.

My personal favourite are like word plays. Not necessarily puns bc they often create new words which are as we’ve established hard to remember. But just something with a double meaning or something like that… i love that

Something else that always works are inconsistencys. Nothing like titles that contradicts itself! It sparks confusion and most importantly: INTEREST. People wanna know what the fuck is up with that. And it can alsk be rly soothing (for some reason)

References and innuendos are smt else i’ll never say no to if they’re used right. This can also overlap with wordplays. Famous (short) quotes or sayings, places or names are never not it

Smt else that slaps is good ol’ simplicity. Be bold. This👏does👏not👏have👏to👏be👏a👏spoiler! I promise you that just because you make it obvious what’s the book about that won’t spoiler shit.

Talking about: i love a good On-The-Nose title especially because most people expect nothing less than the exact opposite of it. Dont get me started on how banger of a title “They Both Die At The End” would be if it were just a little shorter!

And lastly even tho fullnames are an absolute turn-off last names can be sooo good. Especially when they’re about the whole family and especially when they’re in singular

Ofc these rules don’t always apply. Here are some examples of when they didnt

Fifty shades of gray (not defending the book itself, im just saying: the title is awesome)

Ansalom

The guy who didnt like musicals

Pride and prejudice

The kangaroo chronicles

Dracula

Alice in wonderland

That nineties show

Lollita

Bonny and clyde

Out of africa

Come from away

The never ending story

But trust me they usually do apply and just because a book is doing well it doesn’t mean the title had any part in it! Here are some books that should not have done so well and wouldn’t if it were for the title

Harry Potter

Percy Jackson

Mathilda

Birth Control is Sinful in the Christian Marriages and also Robbing God of Priesthood Children!! (Like holy shit dude wtf u literally have not one but TWO exclamation marks in there and take up TWO lines)

The little shop of horrors

Here are some really good titles

Red clocks

Hamlet

Star Wars

Maze Runner

Qualityland

Hamilton

Let’s win

Newsies

Half bad

Blackbird

Avatar

Chrimson rivers

Fight or flight

Young royals

Bridgerton

Titanic

Here are some titles that could have been soooo good if they just… (and what i would change them too

How to get away with murder its so long (sort of wordplay?, interesting)

The fifth season- season five its too long sry (interesting)

Maze Runner-*not having sequels* it just doesn’t make sense for the sequels (simple and interesting)

Just lovers (like we’re suposed to be)- just lovers (contradiction, interesting)

History is all you left me-simply history (?) (contratdiction) too long

More happy than not (interesting) too lonh

They both die at the end (on the nose) too long

Half bad: the bastard son of the devil himself- half bad (interesting) too fucking long dudeee

Also some that DID folow the rules but are still… not so good for some reason? (This is only about the titles not the works!!!!!)

Best friends brother

Choices

Girl in pieces

Boy meets world

No one saw

That nineties show

Lalaland

Im also maybe gonna do some of these on covers and genrally viduals

[deadlifeseries]

Ok Prowlbulk nation i currently have three(3) short storries brewing in my deafts and i will let you, yes YOU pick which one you want first. They will all be posted but you get to choose which one goes up first

[druidx]

WIP Intro - Her Countenance was Light

~SYNOPSIS~

The 1970s, twenty years after the rebuilding of Toreguard, semi-retired Sergeant Elowyn O'Toreguarde is called in for a new case - the murder of her childhood best friend, Evelyn Strucker. When the King of estranged Iceland turns up for an unexpected visit, the Triumvirate Council force O'Toreguarde to play tour guide, passing the murder case to her subordinates. But it doesn't completely leave her hands. A strange set of circumstances reveals an ethereal side to the City, filled with secrets. Secrets which may hold the key to Evelyn's murder.

~DETAILS~

Genre: Crime/ Urban Fantasy Type: Novel POV: Third person limited, predominantly Present tense Themes: Grief/ mourning, Change is neutral, Accepting who you are, Mercy is the preferred choice Aesthetic: Dieselpunk, Detective Noir, Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales Status: Technical editing. Posting weekly on Archive of Our Own and Tumblr. Tags: #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light' (All posts inc. meta info); #HCWL Chapters Only (Follow this tag for only the chapters in posting order)

~MAIN CHARACTERS~

Elowyn O'Toreguarde - F, Sergeant-Detective, Freeman of the City

Johan Strucker - M, Evelyn's Father, General, 1/3rd of the Triumvirate Council

Storri Nargondsson - M, King of Iceland

Lerrald Brauma - M, Master of the Exchequer, 1/3rd of the Triumvirate Council

~MINOR CHARACTERS~

Farren Breakwood - M, Constable-Detective, Elo's Police partner

Thazaar Clayrmantle - M, Acting Magister, 1/3rd of the Triumvirate Council

Snotgrut - M, Unusual fellow. Curiosity. Shouldn't exist. ???

Meredith Gruksdottir - F, Bodyguard of K. Storri, Old friend of Elo's

Yoruk Copperheart - M, Bodyguard of K. Storri, Husband of Merri

Irvine Cobbleskater - M, Constable, subordinate of Elo

~OTHER STUFF~

Written for NaNoWriMo 2017. Technically a Modern, Mundane-ish AU of a TTRPG set in the Fighting Fantasy World of Titan. Formerly known as "FF/T Modern-Ish AU".

The plot is... not something I would normally write, and for a long while I hated it. Then I thought it was a too cringy, and tried to 'fix' it, only to give up. Now, on a recent re-read, I think this is the shape this story has always had to have. So I've decided to suck it up and get it ready for posting, so at least it's out there and not loitering on my hard drive.

Title is from a traditional song, Besse Bunting, arranged by Mediæval Bæbes.

~EXCERPT~

She cuts through a narrow alley of dark soot-stained brick, trots down a short set of steps and onto the flagged towpath next to the canal. There is an improvised bridge up ahead that will allow her to pass over the canal closer to where the station lies. She has run this route a hundred times, she knows every nook and cranny along this path, so when she reaches where the bridge should be, and finds it missing, she is perturbed, but not worried. Maybe someone finally reported the ramshackle thing, made of old boards and stolen scaffolding.

It was quick work though, she thinks as she back-tracks to where a tree clings to the bank. The bridge was still there when she came home in the early evening. She shakes the thought aside as she unhooks a rope swing from the tree. It's been a while since she had to use it, but she's in a hurry and has no time for the uncertainty that tries to drape over her like a cloak. With a running start, she jumps. It is only as she enters the apex of the swing that she realises something is wrong. The weight of the rope is too heavy, it shifts alarmingly as she reaches the apex of the swing. Then it has snapped, and she is falling, and she cannot remove her hands from the tacky surface of the rope, and the water is closing in over her head, and she thinks she sees the blaze of red eyes on the bank as she sinks through the darkness.

[aquadestinyswriting]

By Any Other Name

Summary: Meredith finally loses her temper after a Lord on the Fangthane Council continues to us a name and title she is deeply uncomfortable with after being told not to

Words: 624

Tags: @druidx @homesteadchronicles @sparrow-orion-writes-orion-writes,@warriorbookworm, @odysseywritings, @blind-the-winds , @thesorcerersapprentice ,@writeblrcafe , @ashirisu, @flashfictionfridayofficial

Warnings: None.

Notes: this is more or less directly followed by 'What's in a Name?'. This just gives more context as to what Yoruk is despairing about there.

"Lady Copperheart!" I freeze and glance around for the tell-tale jangle of jewellery or a snide remark from somewhere nearby before I finally realise that the call was, in fact, meant for me. I take a breath to calm the flare of annoyed anger in my heart before turning in the direction the voice had come from. 

The middle-aged dwarven merchant now standing before me is gazing at me with a befuddled confusion. I take another moment to school my expression, lifting the glare from my face a little. Despite my repeated requests not to call me by that accursed name, several members refuse to discontinue old habits. Actually, I'm fairly certain the man now asking me some inane question about the budgetary report for the Church Inquisition is one of those who take great delight in deliberately ignoring such requests. I listen, politely, and answer his question in the same manner. I'm just about to take my leave, when he decides to make one last comment;

"In future, High Inquisitor, you would do well to acknowledge the other members of the Council the moment they call for you." He remarks, "I'd also advise you to refrain from glaring at them as though they've done wrong." He adds with an imperious sniff.

It takes all the willpower I have not to punch him, never mind keeping my expression as neutral as possible. I manage a tight smile,

"My apologies, Lord Stenskärare, but I am quite sure I have previously requested that the Council refer to me by Gruksdottir where possible." I tell him. The nobleman scoffs and shakes his head, sneering at me,

"Refusing to acknowledge the prestige of a House you now belong to is a dishonour to your husband." He snaps, "Then again, I wouldn't expect a peasant girl like you to know anything about that." 

It's a very good thing for Lord Stenskärare that we weren't the only people still in the antechamber of the meeting room. I dread to think of what might have occurred were we alone. As it is, I do finally lose my temper. I’m not really all that aware of what I yell at him, I only know that I’m swearing in at least four different languages and he doesn’t understand the majority of them. I only stop when Captain Bloodvein finally shoves me out one door and gets one of his guard to shove Lord Stenskärare through another. I’m still fuming even as I apologise to His Majesty, Her Highness and Captain Bloodvein and storm out of the palace.

It's not that I don't want to acknowledge the honour and legacy of the Copperheart name – by all accounts, the late Captain Copperheart was a highly regarded Kingsguard – but I cannot rid myself of the memory of her every time I hear that name and title in combination with one another. There are just too many bad memories associated with it. Especially given everything she did during her relatively short reign of terror, which the entire Council are aware of. I did go into great detail in my report to King Storri once all was said and done. It's ridiculous, she's gone for good, locked in the deepest recesses of the Pit for the rest of eternity. By all rights I should be glad to reclaim the honour that the title deserved this whole time. And yet.

It's no good. I'll either have to talk to Yoruk about changing the name, or just learn to live with the dread that climbs up my spine every time I'm in a damned Council Session. In the meantime I think Uncle Snorri's boiler needs bashing back into shape, I can practically hear the thing chugging and sputtering from here.

[whatifwekilledgodandwebothgirls]

Personally I hate when they refer to sex as an "adult" activity. Like you don't think minors get horny?? People are out here going through puberty at 8-12 years old man

Im gonna ramble for a bit about this so yeah sorry its just a great question and what age should people have sex is a very hot topic in ky life rn so ill ramble about it .Yeah actually the peak time to have sex is 14-15 , right when your beginning to become actually sentient and have actual feeling but youre still young enought to be short of lost and for it to be explorative and for ypu to not totally know what ypure doing . The way i see it peoples teenage years are their free trial of adulthood , so they should try all things that are typical for adulthood, yk like getting more responsibility , being more independent, falling in love , having sex , really agressively hating people , having rivalries , making decisions, while still being free to do it wrong and fuck it up . Its the time when youre supposed to reaserce and figure out what you like and how you like it , so youll be ready to be a part of society and short of know what type of person you want to be . Its like the fucking demo or the tutorial before the real game . Youre not supposed to go into adulhood fully realised without putting the work in to find yourself . Well teenagehood is when you find yourself . Some fucking philosopher wrote about this but i forgot . He said that the youth are like bees , collecting nectar from all the flowers so that latter when its time to get the nectar back to their hive theyll know which is sweetest or something like that .

That being said , when youre still young youre very very very stupid , so when young people try to have sex it goes BADLY especially when their having sex with someone older . People are so shitty and so fucking mean and cruel and when your still a kid and dont have the coping mechanisms to deal with it you tend to get fucked up mentally . I cannot begin to describe just how many horror storries ive heard of girls saying that their boyfriend did awful and cruel things to them and because it was their first relationship or because the were to young to know its not normal they went with it . Girls being to young and insecure LIKE ALL TEENS ARE and letting people use them simply because their either too shy and unsure and frightened to say no , not old enough to have learned about feminsm and about supporting their rights and sticking up for themselves, or just so desperate to have their body validated because again , they are unstable teenagers that hatethemselves like all teenagers do . On the other hand , ive heard of so many girls and guys and people , myself included , being fucking detestable and downright hurtfull because all our fucking hormones arent stablied and we have moodswings all the time and all our emotions are dialed up too 10000 .

Anyway , teenagers and kid are gonna have sex because its biologically natural . In theory its a good idea but in practice it litterally never goes well . I PERSONALY think that in a perfect world people would have sex at 15 , but its not a perfect world and people are fucking terrible so again in my PERSONAL opinion its best to wait till your somewhat resposible for yourself . Did i wait till i was responsible for myself fuck no but i mean i probably should have

[gleamingsilence]

GET TO KNOW ME (hi! 👋)

thank you @galateaencore  🥰

Favorite color: green

Currently reading: 

- Müller: Der sammelnde Professor. Wissensdinge an Universitäten des Alten Reichs im 18. Jahrhundert (work)

- Sapkowski: The Last Wish (first time)

- Irving: For Lust of Knowing. The Orientalists and their Enemies (personal)

- Yoshimoto: Mein Körper weiß alles (short storries)

Last song: Toto-mixtape (St. George and the Dragon)  📼

Last movie: Colossus (1970)

Last series: Derry Girls  ❤️

Sweet, Savoury, Spicy: savoury!!

Craving: a much needed vacation

Tea or Coffee: just and only tea 🙃

Currently working on: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #073  💪

I hope non of you got this before 😊 @the-butch-of-blaviken @windflowerofskellige @limerental @she-who-drank-vodka-with-cats

[tempa11]

So I was reading skulduggery pleasant Apokalypse kings

( its good well the first quarter I can atest for till now is good, you all should read it)

And I come across a passage and think

Is that a doctor who reference???

(And I love doctor who, and some of the interacting fandom between DW and SP pointed out lately that the doctor and skulduggery are basically the same person)

So I keep reading and Skulduggery pops out the most Doctor speach to ever Doctor

These passages are from the same scene by the way

And for context they are under cover in a school for mortals, and Skulduggery is trying to pass as a human that teaches history as a substitute

Also Ive seen the critic of the new books ( of phase 2)

And that they dont feel or read like the phase 1 books

This short storry Apokalypse Kings is like phase 1 ( well it also takes place in phase 1, Valkyrie is like 15 or 16 years old or something in it)

But the book is from 2021

.

The next part is a personal question for the author so if you're not Derek Landy, you may go now or stay thats your decision:

So Derek if you still can write them like that why dont you do that in the phase 2 books, why not give the fans what they want?

.

Edit

.

I finished reading the last few pages

If you liked phase 1 over the new books I recomend this one ;)

[harvardwang]

珍妮·戈德利

H：生命的奮戰，輸赢不是重點，精神毅力才感人。20241105W2

維基百科：

珍妮·戈德利是一位蘇格蘭單口喜劇演員、演員、作家和政治活動家。她於1994年開始她的單口喜劇生涯，並在2000年代憑藉喜劇贏得了各種獎項。 在 COVID-19 大流行期間，她為政客和其他知名人士製作了一系列配音剪輯。第二年，在一系列有爭議的歷史推文出現後，她被從《美女與野獸》的啞劇表演中除名，戈德利後來為此道歉。

簡介

珍妮·戈德利

janey godley

出生資訊： 1961 年 1 月 20 日，英國格拉斯哥

逝世： 2024 年 11 月 2 日，英國格拉斯哥

子女： 阿什利·史托瑞

身高： 168 公分

父母： 安妮·庫里、 吉姆·庫里

配偶： 西恩·史托瑞 (結婚於 1980 年)

綜合外媒報導，潔妮戈德利2021年發現罹患卵巢癌後，於2022年6月將子宮摘除，沒想到同年2022年12月就復發。如今她的女兒阿什利斯托里（Ashley Storrie）透過社群證實母親已經在2日過世，表示媽媽是在睡夢中離開，而當時家人們也都陪伴在她身邊。

Janey Godley

Scottish actor, writer and comedian (1961–2024)

Janey Godley (born Jane Godley Currie; 20 January 1961 – 2 November 2024) was a Scottish stand-up comedian, actress, writer and political activist. She began her stand-up career in 1994, and won various awards for her comedy in the 2000s.

Quick Facts Born, Died ...

During the COVID-19 pandemic, she made a series of voice over clips of politicians and other well known personalities. The following year, she was dropped from a pantomime performance of Beauty and the Beast after a series of controversial historical tweets emerged, for which Godley later apologised. She was later diagnosed with ovarian cancer, from which she died in 2024.

Early life

Godley was born in Campsie, East Dunbartonshire, on 20 January 1961. The youngest of four children born to Annie and Jim Currie, she was raised on Kenmore Street in Shettleston, a district in the East End of Glasgow, and attended Eastbank Academy. Living in poverty, which was rife in the East End during that time, Godley left school at 16 with no qualifications. Her parents were alcoholics and her mother was also addicted to tranquilisers. Her uncle molested her and her sister for a number of years during their childhoods, crimes for which he was charged in 1993, being sentenced to two years in prison in 1996.

Career

Godley began her stand-up career in 1994 using her middle name as both the Storrie and Currie families had disappointed her and changed her name from Jane Godley Storrie to Janey Godley the following year. She won an award for the "Best Show Concept" at the New Zealand International Comedy Festival in 2002 and the "Spirit of the Festival" in 2006. She published her autobiography Handstands in the Dark in 2005. In 2006, she was a finalist for the Edinburgh Evening Times' "Scotswoman of the Year" award. In 2002, 2006, 2008, and 2009, she was nominated as "Best International Guest" by the New Zealand Comedy Guild. Her TV appearances include River City, Sam Delaney's News Thing, The Alex Salmond Show, Have I Got News for You, and Traces, and she appeared in the film Wild Rose. Godley often made spoof voice-overs of videos.

In 2020, Godley wrote and starred in a series of short films titled Alone, about a recently widowed housewife whose abusive husband has died of COVID-19, as part of the National Theatre of Scotland's Scenes for Survival webseries. In December 2020, the Royal Society of Edinburgh commended Godley's voice-overs of First Minister Nicola Sturgeon's COVID-19 briefings for helping engage the public with the warnings. That year, she won the Scots Language Award's Speaker of the Year Award. In September 2021, tweets Godley had sent in 2011 were publicised by The Daily Beast, leading MSP Douglas Lumsden to question the decision to cast her in a pantomime performance of Beauty and the Beast. Some of these tweets included insults based on the Chernobyl disaster and disabilities, and racial insults towards African American musicians Kelly Rowland, 50 Cent and Snoop Dogg in 2011. Godley apologised for the tweets and Public Health Scotland dropped her from a campaign.

Political activism

Godley was a strong advocate for the transgender rights movement, actively supporting protections for the international transgender community, a stance that had led to her receiving death threats. She was also a supporter of Scottish independence. Initially a supporter of the Conservatives in her youth, once going so far as to meet Margaret Thatcher at a Scottish Conservative Party Conference in Perth, she later became a supporter of the Scottish National Party and toured the UK in February 2016 in support of Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn.

Godley went viral that year after being pictured standing outside Donald Trump's Turnberry Golf resort holding a sign stating "Trump is a Cunt", having been prevented from approaching her subject by Police Scotland (who did not, however, stop her displaying the sign), and organised a protest in Glasgow just prior to the election of Trump as president, for which she received rape threats through Twitter.

Personal life

Godley married Sean Storrie in 1980. Storrie, who is on the autistic spectrum, was born into a Glasgow gangster family. Their daughter, Ashley Storrie (born 1986), who also has autism spectrum disorder, is a stand-up comedian and BBC Radio Scotland presenter.

Godley ran a public house in Calton, Glasgow, with her husband and his family for 14 years during the 1980s and 1990s. In 1982, when Godley was 21, her mother died after drowning in the River Clyde. Godley believed that her mother was murdered by her mother's boyfriend, who she claimed was violent. He was never charged by police for Annie Currie's death despite calls from her family for an investigation. On 31 December 2010, her brother Mij Currie died from a drug-related illness.

Illness and death

In November 2021, Godley announced via Twitter the cancellation of the last weekend of her tour, explaining that she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer and was being treated in hospital, and underwent a full hysterectomy in January 2022. In June that year, she announced that she was cancer-free. In December, she announced that her cancer had returned and that she would need further chemotherapy. After her cancer spread, she began to receive palliative care and moved into a hospice in September 2024. She was awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of Glasgow on 31 October 2024.

Godley died at the Prince and Princess of Wales Hospice in Glasgow, on 2 November 2024, aged 63. Former Scottish First Minister Nicola Sturgeon paid tribute to her.

Books

Godley, Janey (2005). Handstands in the Dark. London: Ebury Press. ISBN 978-0-09-190877-5. OCLC 61175808.

Godley, Janey (2020). Frank Get the Door!. Illustrated by Christina Connelly. Edinburgh: Luath Press. ISBN 978-1-910022-14-6. OCLC 1198558126.

Godley, Janey (2022). Nothing Left Unsaid. London: Hodder & Stoughton. ISBN 978-1-5293-5712-7. OCLC 1308460883.

[kornstreifs-storys]

Announcement (Change)

Happy new year everyone. I hope you had a good day so far.

With 2024 starting, I wanted to address some things about how this blog has been going.

You might be aware that beside my main Story Ages of Ruin, I tried running a second story Birth of a Goddess, in form of an ask blog. Unfortunaty this blog just doesn't seem big enough to support such an endevor, as in all the time I've had the story running not a single ask was send.

Now, Birth of a Goddess was ment to be a prequel story running parallel to Ages of Ruin and I planed to reviel some information about the my AU's rules through that medium. Obviously that didn't happen.

So I'm going to close the ask blog and instead tell the Story I planed through a bunch of short storries instead. I am a bit sad that I couldn't run the askblog I wanted but I don't want to drop Birth of a Goddess either and if I wait any longer I might just loose interest in the story alltogether. So I'll change my approach to the stories at hand. I hope you'll stick around regardless.

Additionally, I recantly created a Deviant Art and started Posting the Story over there as well. So If you want to check that out, the link to that is here: https://www.deviantart.com/kornstreifs-stories

Well that is all, have a good year everybody.

[usafphantom2]

The SR-71 was based on another Mach 3 high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft, the A-12 Oxcart.

CIA operated the A-12, but its operational lifetime was short-lived because the CORONA reconnaissance satellite, first launched in June 1959, began providing worldwide imagery without much of the risk associated with airborne reconnaissance. At the same time, the SR-71 began operations with the US Air Force (USAF), leading to the A-12’s retirement in 1968. Department of Defense decided they couldn’t have both A- 12s and SR 71s.

Why was the SR-71 Blackbird chosen over the A-12 Oxcart?

From Oct. 20 to Nov. 3, 1967, the A-12 and the SR-71 were pitted against each other in a recon fly-off, code-named “Nice Girl,” over the US that included refueling, flying identical routes 1 hour apart on three different days and both would complete the full sortie with collection sensors operational.

On the first attempt, the SR-71 flew perfectly, but the A-12 had some problems. On the 2nd day, the reverse was the case. On day 3, both aircraft successfully flew the route. On that day, it was under-cast for the northern part (from California to Kentucky), and the A-12 could only photograph clouds while the SR-71 could collect ELINT and SLR data. After air refueling, both accelerated and climbed over the Gulf of Mexico. From New Orleans to the San Francisco area, the weather was CAVU, and both aircraft were able to provide their complete collection capability/data for the evaluation.

The aircrews that took part in the program were:•Lt. Col. Al Hichew and I, Maj. Tom Schmittou flew mission #1.

•Maj. John Storrie and Maj. Coz Mallozzi flew mission #2 Maj.

•Bill Campbell and Capt. Al Pennington flew mission #3.

•Jack Weeks flew all three A-12 missions.

After the third day of flights, it was determined by Intelligence evaluators that the SR-71 was a better overall investment. A-12s had much better cameras – wider swath and higher resolution but the SR-71 collected more types of intelligence than the CIA aircraft could. These other sensors were infrared detectors, side-looking airborne radar, and ELINT-collection devices needed for the SR-71 mission of post-nuclear-strike reconnaissance.

Written by: Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[sheenoffeen]

This is short storry