#sorry if this is a bit morbid

[doggirlnarcolepsy]

Watching Stalker (1979) today is such a surreal experience. The absolutely breathtaking cinematography and thought provoking philosophy are viciously contrasted with some of the worst OSHA violations you'll ever see on film.

Anytime they're wading through contaminated, toxic and stagnant water you're just instantly reminded about the fact that the vast majority of the crew suffered completely preventable deaths less than 10 years later, and you're watching them essentially doom themselves to horrible cancerous fates live on tape.

The dude playing the insecure snarky writer literally died of lung cancer 3 years after they wrapped filming, likely because they were just walking around in toxic sludge for half the film, and the other half inhaling undiluted chemical plant smog straight into their lungs.

Like this shit doesn't look kosher at all and he's fucking just lying in it, completely drenched. Not to mention the VERY visibly crumbling asbestos construction in the background and all throughout the entire film probably didn't do them any favors either.

Or this scene literally just before the scene above. Where all 3 protagonists take turns to walk through this room flooded with foamy contaminated water with chemicals clearly floating on top. AFTER just spending 10 minutes walking through a sewer tunnel with even more water dripping down on them from above and stalactites growing from the inlets.

The filming of this movie was fucking lethal.

[naturalhawktuah]

[leadandblood]

Each time i watch Goodsir do the autopsy, it's worse. It really makes you realise that no. He is not in fact a doctor. I present to you my inner monologue:

Starting good. There's nothing you can really fuck up here! *remembers the Jartnell scene from the pilot script* *dies a little* ............... you're doing GREAT buddy!!!

oh god that's nasty why'd you do that-

THAT'S NOT WHAT THAT'S FOR

this would be so much easier if you switched instruments... my good sir (badum tss), why do you not have rib shears...?

HANG ON NO NO NO NO NO YOU'RE GONNA HURT YOURSELF THIS IS SO UNSAFE STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING STOP IT STOP

CAREFUL WITH THE SCALPEL

*yeets liver* are you gonna... look inside or....?

[cillyscribbles]

think as mild or as severe as you want, i'm just curious about the general inclination! no nuance, go with vibes.

[meow-parties]

I've got my eye on the prize,

My beady eyes are alight!

(Please, no tags implying ship.)

[fashionredalert]

Head empty except for thoughts of a feral Madara and Tobirama covered in dirt and blood, guarding their baby, teeth bared and snarling in the face of enemies that attacked. Tobirama with a kunai in hand, clutching the baby close while the forest looms dark and dangerous- teeming with man eating trees that are ravenous for those who dared to attack. Madaras face a bloody mess because he just ripped someone's throat out with his teeth.

[shima-draws]

This whole thing with the Titan submersible has revived my morbid childhood fascination with the Titanic story. Actually no I wouldn’t call it a fascination I’d probably call it an unhealthy obsession. Listen to me,

I saw the Titanic movie for the first time when I was 7. Do not ask me why my mom allowed me to watch it at that age. But from that point on my life changed FOREVER, dude. I’d watch Titanic on repeat. I had my grandmother sew me a dress like Rose’s (and I still fucking have it!! It is literally sitting in my closet). I made my parents take me to the Titanic museum in Florida. They got me Rose’s diamond necklace. I wore that and the dress to my second grade pictures. I have a school photo of me dressed up like Rose fucking Dawson from the 1997 film Titanic. I can literally grab this out of my closet right now bc fun fact I still have that photo too!! I tried to grow out my hair really long like Rose’s. My mom rescued a pregnant cat that was living in a pipe on our street, and when she had kittens I literally named two of them Jack and Rose. I think even at one point I tried imitating the scene where Jack drew Rose and tried drawing her myself (with her titties out and everything! At the tender young age of 7). Rose might have been my very first bisexual awakening but let’s not dwell on that. Anyway I had a Problem.

Flash forward to now. Some 20-ish years later. I hear about the Titan submersible. Before I know it I’m absorbing every single news article I can find. I am drowning in tumblr memes. I rewatched the Titanic movie today (and holy fuck it’s SO much darker than I remember??? WHY did my mom let me watch it at that age holy shit). I am being dragged kicking and screaming back into a hyperfixation I didn’t even realize I HAD. And it’s not even a good hyperfixation. I hate it here. Why was 7 year old me so invested in a movie that isn’t even accurate to the real historical event. My media obsession started with Titanic. Will it end with Titanic? Is this meant to haunt me forever?? Will I be on my deathbed thinking about Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio?? Who knows! I sure fucking don’t!!

[wolfythewitch]

If there was a real zombie apocalypse what would you do and would you survive?

I would die. Like immediately. There is no chance of me surviving I would not even try

Like genuinely? I've thought about this and I have very little will to live, I would rather just get it over with.

[57sfinest]

actually i do want to make this a post. it’s so interesting to think about harry from other people’s perspectives, especially if they’re people who were around him before martinaise. because the thing about harry is: he’s a spectacle. there is not a single person left to him who genuinely *cares*. but there are people who take an interest for interest’s sake. harry is the car crash that people can’t look away from, and it’s such a rich lens to view him through.

let’s exclude jean, judit and trant because there’s already enough you can say about them as the sole remaining members of the major crimes unit. think of the other officers who worked at the 41st. whether they worked in c-wing with him or not, they were exposed to him. they had to be around him in some capacity. as a lieutenant, he was “responsible” (i use that term loosely) for overseeing a number of subordinates under the rank system. 

like put yourself in the shoes of a patrol officer at the 41st. you know harry as, in a word, unstable. a deeply unreliable man of extremes with alarmingly few personal attachments to keep him in check. he’s also practically untouchable as long as he keeps getting results, which he does, at a cost. so there’s never any point in formally complaining about him- he’s never going to be corrected or fired, so you just do one of the following: 1) keep your mouth shut (if you’re polite or playing it safe), 2) only bitch about him out of earshot (if you’ve got something to say but you’re nonconfrontational), 3) start shit with him but in a “playful” way that is secretly sincere (if you’re ballsy/have known him long enough), 4) or start shit with him for real (if you’re jean, or have a death wish). 

and the thing about the last two of those options- *especially the 3rd, which seems to be the favorite of his fellow C-wingers*- you have to know him VERY WELL to pull it off without ostensibly getting your nose broken (or worse). you have to know his moods and his triggers and what exact cocktail of bullshit he’s displaying that day so you know where the line is for this particular shift. whoever figures it out first passes it along to everyone else- hey, you can fuck with him about dating today, but don’t bring up the drinking or last week’s case or he’ll go ballistic. and it’s just like... he’s a specimen. you may not know him on a personal heart-to-heart level, but you know him the way a zookeeper knows their tigers, or the way the falconer knows their hawk. you know when to feed and when to back away with your arms up. it doesn’t make things better, but it stops them getting worse. (for you, anyway).

then martinaise happens and if he comes back- his instability is still there, but it’s not the same. you don’t recognize the way he’s acting. maybe some things are not as bad as before, but all of it is different and it’s impossible to get a read on it. you have no idea how to approach him now, or if you should approach him at all. there’s a new layer to his unreliability and it’s somehow even scarier than before. there’s a tiny tiny calm in his storm, finally, and you don’t know when it’s going to break or what’s going to break it. you hear he’s finally actually kicking the booze and maybe you just scoff and move on, or maybe you let yourself root for him. really it all depends on how long you’ve known him, how many times you’ve seen him *try*. how sympathetic you are to his conditions and how patient of a person you are. how many times he’s hurt you (because that number is rarely going to be zero). no matter what, you’re going to be left wondering. you don’t know how much of him is gone. you don’t know how much is going to come back. you’re not sure how much of each you *want*.

[centaurianthropology]

On Faceless Death, From the Perspective of Someone Who Deals with Death Every Day

This is a post I’ve toyed with writing for a while, and I keep thinking about writing it every few months when a new tragedy or accident or some other event that leads to loss of life comes up, and I see the inevitable deluge of people celebrating the deaths.  And these are very rarely the deaths of known actors, those whose actions, both good and bad, are public record.

These are, for lack of a better term, the unknown and faceless.  The “Ten People Die in Such-and-Such a Circumstance” people.  What is known about them is usually that they were in a place when an event occurred, be it a concert, a festival, a town, whatever.  But there are assumptions made about them because of where they were and what they might have been doing.  People claim that “everyone” doing a specific thing or being in a specific place was a member of XYZ group, and that’s why it’s fine to laugh and celebrate the deaths of these very ordinary people.

And I call them ordinary because they are.  Because all death is ordinary, because everyone is equalized in that.  Because these are not known actors, but those people who simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and their names, their faces, their stories are likely known only to those they left behind. 

I am a medical examiner.  Every day I go to work and I’m greeted by photos and stories of the dead.  These are also often people who were in a certain place at a certain time, who have judgment passed on them.  These are the woman found in a cheap motel room with a syringe floating next to her in a moldy bathtub.  These are the tatted-up uncle walking his nephew home when he’s caught in a drive-by.  This is the wealthy man who is bludgeoned to death while out walking on a secluded trail.  These are the kids caught in cross-fire as their older siblings shoot out their disputes.  These are an old woman dying alone at home and not being found for weeks because no one thought to check on her.  These are young college students driving home from a party when they roll over and get ejected through a windshield.  These are the rich, the poor, the addicted, the previously-sick, the expected-right-up-until-it-wasn’t.  These are those who at least someone will claim weren’t “innocent” victims.  These are people of unknown pasts and stories found dead far from home, whose stories and even identities may never be known.  Sometimes it’s natural, sometimes accidental, sometimes they kill themselves or someone else kills them.  Sometimes we just can’t tell because they’re so decomposed by the time they’re found that all we can say is that there’s no obvious trauma and no retained bullets. 

And the thing that unites all these cases, from the mundane to the photos that still haunt me, is that they’ve almost all left people behind.  These are the people who death truly hurts, because for the dead there is no more hurt, but for those that remain there is nothing but hurt.  The woman who overdoses in the tub is found by her boyfriend.  The old woman finally has a daughter who comes from hours away to crawl through a window and find her.  The nephew sees his uncle gunned down.  The siblings realize exactly the cost of their war when their baby siblings are bleeding out.  They are the ones left behind.  They are the ones who feel the guilt and the grief and the hole in the world where their loved ones used to be. 

And every time I see people celebrating the death of some stranger whose name and life is unknown to them, purely because they were at a certain place at a certain time, or they are assumed to be “one of those sorts of people”, I think about these deaths: lonely or in public, in fear or shock or the simple and chill acceptance that comes with realizing they will die.  I think about the conversations a medical examiner or a paramedic or a scene investigator has with those left behind.  I think about these lives, each unique, intricate, and gone.  I think about the tattoos that tell a story.  I think about the color of clouded-over eyes.  I think about the clothing they or someone else chose for them.  I think about text conversations, about emails and scribbled-down notes in handwriting so bad I can only make out a few words.  I think about all the things that they have done or could have done, all the paths they have walked and will never walk.

Working with death on such an intimate level is an incredibly humbling experience.  It makes me realize how small we all are, and yet also how vast.  How our lives and deaths spread out to touch so many others.   It’s why, with very few exceptions, I view all deaths as tragedies.  Yes, including the death of that nameless, faceless person you’re thinking about right now who was probably a member of some group you think deserves it.  Because lives can change.  Paths can change.  People can change, right up until everything stops.  Death is the one thing that guarantees a person will never change.  Maybe you think that because they might have been a part of a certain group, they are purely and simply Bad People, or that they must have done terrible things and their death is therefore somehow a good thing.  In your hypothetical world where this very real death can be used for moral clout and grandstanding.

But you don’t know who they were.  You don’t know what they did or who they left behind.  Death is never clean.  It is a fracture that goes through so many lives.  There are so few people in the world whose loss is a genuine net good.  Of course they exist, but I find that they are rare.  And I certainly can never assume that someone I don’t know, who was simply in a place at a time and may or may not be “one of those people”, whichever people are being discussed, would be so bad that their death should be celebrated, and that the pain of those left behind should, in turn, also be celebrated.  I think the world has more than enough casual cruelty without adding to it in that way. 

[icanbeyourgenie]

“ You're a very good fighter. Usually I win quite easily but you really put a fight. I needed it. ” – a breathless Malachai to Yasmeen while he has his sword under her throat but didn't notice that she has one of her knives right on his ribs too

Yasmeen raised an eyebrow. “Why are you talking like you just won?”

“Because I-”

She pressed her knife a little bit tighter on Malachai's ribs, making him noticing it. He seemed surprised at first, and for a second she wondered if he would be mad. But then he truly laughed, and she relaxed a bit.

They were both breathless. It was their first training session together, since Malachai was due to leave for his battle in three days. It was still early, too early for faes to be up - they always started their day late. But they both woke up at dawn to train.

“As I said, you put a really good fight. But I had my sword under your throat first.”

“How would you know? You didn't even notice my knife. In a real fight you'd be dead already.”

He looked outraged, but not the scary type. “I would not!”

“I'm in the perfect position for my knife to go straight to your heart.” She stated.

“I would've sliced your throat before you could do that. A sliced artery is a quicker death.”

“Not if I puncture your lung first and you can't breathe.”

“You wouldn't have time to do that.”

“Oh I would. I'm very quick.”

“You know what? Let's agree on the fact that we'd both die in this situation.”

“Okay. But you first.”

“Absolutely not!”

They were about to keep arguing when they suddenly realized that they hadn't move. Malachai's sword was still on Yasmeen's throat, and her knife still on his rib. Like none of them wanted to admit defeat. Yasmeen didn't consider herself a particularly competitive person, except when it came to fighting. At this very moment, they looked at each other's eyes, and they were very close, but she wasn't scared.

She couldn't point out what exactly made them burst into laughing eventually. Maybe their own pride. But it was only then that they both retracted their weapons and caught their breathes. Malachai took a step back and went to drink a bit of water. Yasmeen declined the offer when he handed some to her.

“When did you learn to fight like that?” He finally asked. “I mean. I know I had tutors, I was trained to fight since I was old enough to carry a fake sword. But I guess it's not the case for you.”

“Not, it's not.” She couldn't say the full truth yet, so she settled on half of it. “I taught myself. I'm very skilled at observing people fighting and then learning the same moves.”

“I can see that. Thank you for your offer. It was exactly what I needed to clear my mind.”

“Of the fact that you're leaving in three days for a very dangerous battle you might not come back from?” She hated these words as she said them.

“I fought worse battles.” He answered, but he did look tense. It was his homeland he was fighting for, after all.

“Let's do another round. We still have hours before anyone gets up.”

Yasmeen tried to clear his mind again and it seemed to work, based on his smile. But it wasn't a pure smile. More of a smirk.

“Let's spice it up a bit.” He said.

“How?”

“With bets. If I win, you have to..... find a way to distract the lady Euphemia the next time she tries to talk to me. She's really becoming creepy lately.”

Yasmeen laughed freely. “She wants to be queen, she won't be so easily distracted. But fine, I will try. Once. The rest, you'll be on your own.”

“Deal. At least one reception when she isn't trying to talk to me will be peaceful enough. What's your price if you win.”

Yasmeen thought this through for a second. There was many things she could ask from Malachai. After all, he was a prince, and an heir. He could get away with a lot of things. Maybe she could ask him to punch Aeron, or Rhysand, or better - Aldris. That psychopath wouldn't be able to fight back, it would get his ego in check. But it's not what she asked.

“If I win,” She said after a time. “I want you to come back. In one piece.”

He looked at her with an intensity that she couldn't decipher, but she didn't look away. They stayed silent for a while. They often did that, the silent didn't scare them. Yasmeen knew he couldn't truly promise that. It wasn't entirely up to him. But when he nodded and whispered “Deal.”, she believed him. And so she picked up her knives, ready to win the other round.

[abbaswift]

here’s a reminder that you should be thinking about making a will no matter how young

[nyctas-cliff]

Okay had a few memories last night (very weird experience when you’re like... trying to sleep and tired of Experiencing the Horrors) 

Doodle is related, it’s like... this thing that jumped out at me? A thought that hit me suddenly and therefore I couldn’t exactly figure out the colors and stuff. The face was obscured. So yeah? Keira? I don’t remember the context, I was a little freaked out at the time. Was it before the bad times? I dunno. 

Other things! Owen has long hair and bangs, they covered his eyes. Did he fly with those? Heck if I know. Also for some reason I saw Keira as a more motherly figure, I think. Also I think I remembered something else but I can’t recall it rn. 

In essence:

[inkykeiji]

i was just completely blown away by your post about agnes and what you said, it really really really resonated with me. i relate to everything you said and i remember reading in a post a while back that he was in the hospital and you felt conflicted about seeing him. i understand that. i also have a complicated relationship with my dad and i just love him so much but i could also be so upset with him because of the things he's done to me and my sister and my mom. oo i can't type too much!! -🧁

oh wow cupcake, thank you so much for this!!! i really appreciate hearing your thoughts, and it’s once again super comforting to hear that there’s someone else who can relate to it as well <33

tw: mentions of drugs + abuse

family in and of itself as a concept can be and often is so incredibly complex, especially when there’s something like drugs and/or abuse thrown into the mix. a lot of people (esp people online, i find) like to act as if these relationships are black and white, as if these feelings and these experiences can be easily and neatly sorted into defined categories when the fact of the matter is, they aren’t, and they can’t. obviously, abuse is bad—this is an objective fact we can all agree on. but when that abuse comes from a family member, a parent, someone who was supposed to be there for you and raise you and love you, it really muddies things.

i love my father, but i do not like him. i am hoping i can find it in me to forgive him for what he’s done to us before he dies, but i’m not sure it’ll happen. i still hold so much anger and bitterness and just generally negative feelings towards him, and in my twenty-something years on this earth i have only JUST begun to work through this shit. and he doesn’t have much time left.

[oneluckygoose]

ABSOLUTELY!!!

This got me thinking so like a lot of headcannons under cut

Most of their more public pranks are attributed to the Marauders until Mc. Gonoggle steps in and is like “Pardon? My children don’t do THAT.” And so everyone thinks there’s this strange group going around and pulling things so discretely (which is the truth) but others still think it’s either the Marauders or Peeves.

The Maraurders find out when Sirius and Reggie reconcile and they become partners in crime IMMEDIATELY, but as it turns out most of the Skittles’ pranks are COMPLETE accidents so the Marauders take them under their wing to train them in the ways of intentional chaos.

This proves very detrimental to people trying to figure out who did what because the pranks get more and more elaborate while also more carefully planed and it’s just beautifully disastrous.

It also becomes a mix of intentional pranks with chaotic accidents (like the time they accidentally started the ghosts of Hogwarts meetings in the dungeons, they’re not sure how that happened either), and like an accident will lead to a prank and vice versa.

The skittles try and convince the Marauders to do stuff to the shrieking shack at one point, and the Marauders are like “uhhhhhh might not be the best ideaaaa” and the skittles are confused but oblige, and when Remus eventually tells Reg, Regulus also shuts down (typically Evan’s) Shack ideas.

The Skittles end up absolutely RELYING on the map when they get their hands on it and tremendously adding to it, especially in the dungeons and Slytherin common room. The Marauders also hand down the map to them when they leave and the skittles eventually hide it in the Gryffindor wing when they are forced to get their marks because the map won’t talk to them anymore, so they figure it should go back to where it belonged with the Gryffindors, which is where Fred and George find it.

One time Snape tries to join in on their shenanigans and the Marauders are like “Absolutely not” and the Skittles realize quickly that Snape will turn everything they do into either something boring or extremely cruel, Barty was the last one to agree to not include Snape (because he honestly kinda liked the idea of turning the Hufflepuffs food into rats for a week, but Evan, Pandora, and Reg (who have been starved by their family as punishment) were completely not on board so that didn’t happen), though eventually he sees Snape talking shit about Evan being Gay and that doesn’t Fucking fly so Snape is gone right after.

One day when Remus and Evan team up for something, Remus notices Evan and Barty doing something and goes “mmmm, that’s what I did with Sirius before we got together” and he and Evan eventually end up talking (also discovering the chamber of secrets simultaneously but they couldn’t get past the parsletounge door) and Evan confesses about being fully in love with Barty and Remus is like “my man go tell him” and now rosekiller is a thing and Remus is very proud. (About the same thing happens with Sirius and Barty after the same exact interaction)

Also Remus and Even are a surprisingly good team??? Remus’s planning and wit with Evan’s psychotic but brilliant ideas make the best pranks and they NEVER get caught. On the other hand; Sirius and Barty also make an amazing team because Barty is insane and Sirius is fully down and is the best one to get them out of it (Sirius also is Barty’s Moral checker) but they get caught way too much for it to be safe. James and Regulus obviously hit it off but their main job is to make sure everything is happening the way it’s supposed to, even if they get distracted here or there [ ;) ;) ]. Pandora and Peter also match up, but they mainly do the material gathering and set up for the pranks rather than carrying them out, which they seem to enjoy more (it gives them a chance to actually talk about potions and herbology with someone for a while).

All in all they’re a horrifically perfect prank team that pulls LEGENDARY pranks, a lot of which are completely unnoticed or not discovered until 20 years later. (Looking back on it, they’re Pretty sure they found a horcrux at one point and threw it into the Room of Requirement not knowing what it was, they found it while trying to draw the Ravenclaw ghost into the Great Hall which WORKED ACTUALLY)

The skittles did their kept their pranks going in the last year they had without the Marauders, but everyone there could tell there was something different about it from the last two years of pranks. The Skittle’s style reverted back to what it had been their fourth year, mainly accidental and a touch too insane for it to be an actual prank, and they realized that the Marauders had probably been the best thing to happen to their schemes. It was a little bit heartbreaking, to say the least.

Evan was shocked in their 7th year because when in DADA they finally covered dementors, it was a memory of their entire group that he conjured to produce his patronus (which was a hawk). He supposed it was the way they all worked together, the way they helped each other, the way it filled him with adrenaline fueled joy. He never told anyone but Barty, and he only told him after October of 1981.

The Marauders were a shockingly bright spot in the Skittle’s Hogwarts career, and together as a team they likely changed Hogwarts. Whether or not either group would admit it after the Skittles got their marks, they were a wonderful team who could do incredible things if they worked together.

i love the idea that the skittles had their own adventures at hogwarts that were more chaotic than the marauders' but they're lowkey about it. like oh, you guys were the ones who put that giant squid in the lake? cool. barty is currently possessed by a 16th century demon pandora accidentally released. it hasn't done anything yet and he seems fine and we're late to potions so we'll deal with that when he starts levitating while speaking in a dead language.

[despa1rdespa1rdespa1r69]

kinda hate how grief works sometimes cause I was thinking about how when my grand uncle's wife died he really mourned her and never really recovered from it and then it was like "oh SHIT he's ALSO DEAD and HAS BEEN FOR MONTHS NOW and you will FOREVER HAVE MEMORIES OF HIM and WHAT HE SMELLS LIKE and HIS VOICE but NEVER BE ABLE TO SEE HIM AGAIN" and like wow thanks bro