#tethered balloon

[tasteracha]

His thigh might be better. Thicker. Sturdier.

oh. OH. you make good points. just tie me to his thigh. nice and tight. let my string feel him flex. then my balloon head will be level with his head and the static electricity will make his hair all fluffy. and he won’t let me pop bc noise so i know he’ll keep me safe.

[thethirdbear]

[dwuerch-blog]

Ring of Fire

As I sit here humming Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire,” I can’t help but think about the many rings of fire that touch our lives. Johnny sang of a love so fierce it felt like flames. Couples wear rings that symbolize their promises to forever love each other through all of life’s seasons. A few months ago, we looked up and witnessed a different kind of fire – a solar eclipse creating a celestial…

[dailyoverview]

The Olympic Cauldron, tethered to a massive hot-air balloon, rises 200 feet above Paris each evening of the Olympic Games. First “lit” by torch bearers during the Opening Ceremony last Friday, the cauldron’s “flame” is comprised of 40 LED spotlights and hundreds of nozzles to produce a smoke-like mist. Its design pays homage to France’s Montgolfier brothers, who in 1783 invented the first hot-air balloon to carry people up for an elevated, overview perspective.

48.862630°, 2.329427°

Source imagery: DD News / AFPpix / 2024 International Olympic Committee

[chichikoi]

hiraeth.

part II. synopsis: she watches as cassian falls for another, grappling with her own hidden affections and their newly snapped mating bond in the process. pairing: cassian x fem!reader fandom: a court of thorns and roses (book series by sarah j maas) genre: angst warnings: none a/n: house of balloons/glass table girls, this is his song... i love him. fluff part two coming up OBVIOUSLY, im not fucking ending it like this i cant do this to my #1 loverboy babygirl kitty princess beloved. @joyseuphoria hi <3

Cassian had always been the beacon of power and resolve, with a demeanor rugged and unyielding. But beneath the surface was vulnerability, and she knew that it was written in the stars for her to remain by his side as his closest friend and confidante, never to become one to uncover that side of him.

But it didn’t make it easier. Watching him as he fell for Nesta’s every glance, every touch, every word that escaped her mouth seemed to throw him deeper and deeper into a trance. And she was fine with that, and accepted it. Accepted that she would never be the object of his softened glances, his featherlight touches, his-

Her thoughts halted as Cassian stormed into the room, frustration radiating off him in waves. She glanced up from her book, her eyes immediately catching the tension etched onto his features. Without a word, she closed her book and shifted, making room for him on the couch.

Cassian collapsed beside her, his movements rough yet familiar. He stretched out, his feet finding their place on her lap almost instinctively. Y/N didn't flinch; instead, she settled into the comfortable silence, waiting for Cassian to speak.

"It's Nesta," he finally muttered, his voice heavy with frustration. "Training with her…it was like walking on eggshells. One wrong move, and she was tearing into me with those ice-cold eyes."

She listened attentively, her gaze soft as she absorbed his words. "It was like she was always testing me," Cassian continued, his voice growing softer with each word. "Pushing me to my limits, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself."

Her fingers instinctively started to massage his feet as he spoke. It was a small gesture, one born out of years of friendship and trust. Cassian didn't protest; instead, he leaned back against the cushions, allowing the soothing touch to ease the tension from his muscles.

As the minutes stretched on, their conversation ebbed and flowed, the weight of Cassian's burdens slowly lifting with each passing moment. Y/N listened, offering words of comfort when needed, but mostly content to provide silent support.

Cassian's breathing eventually evened out, his body relaxing against the cushions. Y/N glanced down to find him fast asleep, his features softened by the serenity of slumber. She smiled softly, her heart swelling with affection.

Suddenly, chains, bolts, and locks shifted, loosening, their weight growing just a little more tolerable. A soul peeked through. Broken, scarred, and trembling — with fear, she realized, but it stretched further and further. Yearning, searching.

It was as though a tether had snapped into place, an invisible thread binding her to Cassian in a way she had never felt before. Confusion flickered as she processed the intensity of the connection, the undeniable pull drawing her closer to him.

She was aware that this was not happening in the slightest. A mind trick. A dream, she thought. betraying once, the jolt of real-time that pushed through her. Burning her cheeks and stealing her breath. How the waking world slipped past the knobby parts of her fingers like a whisper, barely there, because dreaming was just a fancier word for getting lost. It held her there, suspended in imagination and for every second, it felt real. Like she could grasp the outlines and the textures. Like she could touch the weather, drink the clouds, and taste the sunlight.

The gods who had her in a chokehold withdrew.

Death feared her too, it seemed.

He was soaring in the air, and she was on the ground. She tried to reach him but he was far, far out of her reach. Seconds ticked by, and then minutes, and every thought that tried to sneak its way in, through this thick veil, bounced off and dissipated into thin air.

Because she then remembered… that beautiful things shouldn’t be broken. And she had a knack for breaking things.

The soft rays of dawn streamed through the windows of the House of Wind, casting a warm glow over the sitting room where she and Cassian had fallen asleep. As she stirred from her slumber, she found herself alone on the couch, the imprint of Cassian's presence still lingering in the air. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her mind foggy with the remnants of… dreams? Visions? She felt as though the very fabric of her existence had been torn asunder, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty, but when has that ever stopped her?

So she stood on the ground and longed.

part II here >>

[daytaker]

Hello! I’ve viewed your blog a few times and i really really like the way that you write, so when I learned that asks were i couldn’t help but make a request. Can we get some headcaons of the brothers meeting MC’s family for the first time and already Mama MC doesn’t like any of them because “they took away her baby.” Sorry if this is a little cringe.

But of course!

(Part 2: The Dateables + Luke)

"Mom, Dad, meet seven of my boyfriends."

...is what you want to say, but you know better than to panic your parents and fluster your totally platonic demon friends at a time like this.

And what a time it is. Here you are, surrounded by your parents, an aunt, your grandpa, and your sister, trying to calm your mother down from yet another diatribe about how you can't just get up and leave for a year---I mean, God, the police were looking for you! The police! You realize we thought they'd find your body in the woods somewhere? How could you do this to us?!---when suddenly:

Knock, knock. Knock knock knock knock knock knock. Thud. Thud. Thud.

"MC! Hey MC!"

"Mammon, if they hear you, you'll ruin the surprise!"

You and your relatives stare at the door. Then they all look at you. You give an awkward smile.

"Just give me a minute... I think those are some friends of mine..."

You really wish you lived somewhere besides a one bedroom apartment, but honestly, impossible in this economy. So you don't have anywhere remotely private to tell the brothers to scatter until the dust clears. In fact, the instant you open the door, Asmodeus flings his arms around you and kisses you on the cheek---in full view of your family, mind you!---and Beel shoves a box of half-eaten chocolates into your hand. Then seven voices are all clamoring for your attention at once on one end, and another five behind you. There are thirteen individuals in this tiny apartment, you realize, and you don't even have enough seats for your family to all sit. Your sister's seated on the floor.

"Heyyyyy guys, now's....not a great time...." A smile is plastered to your face as you tip your head in the direction of your extremely concerned parents. "And...seriously? It hasn't been two weeks yet."

Mammon looks confused, then indignant. "What? ...Hey, what the hell? You're already makin' new friends?! We really that replaceable?!"

Lucifer, who stands in the back holding a balloon bouquet with a jarringly serious expression on his face, speaks up. "I believe those are MC's relatives, Mammon. It seems we came at an inopportune time after all."

"Relatives?!" Asmo and Mammon hurry on over to give them all a good look-over, the others curiously observing.

"You're MC's mom, aren't you! Oh, MC! I see where you get your cheekbones!" Asmo gushes as your mother stares at him like he's from another planet. Which he sort of is, in a sense.

"MC? Who are these people?" your grandpa asks with bewilderment and not a small amount of concern.

"They're, um..."

"They're hot." Your sister waves her fingers at the group, and you wish you had perma-died in that attic.

You need to explain yourself quickly. On the spot. You'd already told your family you'd had a bit of a quarter-life crisis and gone backpacking across the country for the year, working through the mental collapse that living in the 21st century inevitably caused, so you ride off of that. These are a ragtag bunch you met on the road, you explain. You'd spent the better part of last year roughing it from the hills of Kentucky to the forests of Washington with these guys, and you'd become incredibly close as a result. You'd lived together, laughed together, loved together, and some of them even tried to kill you on a few occasions.

("'Tried'?" mutters Satan, and Belphie gives him a death glare.)

Under the leadership of the charismatic eldest brother, Lucifer, you'd become so close that it felt as if your very souls were somehow tethered---

"I'm sorry, 'Lucifer'?" Your mom has had just about enough of this. She approaches you with a look of heartbreaking concern in her eyes and cups your face. "....Baby, did you join a cult?"

"Who does she think she is, callin' 'em that?" seethes Mammon under his breath.

"Mammon, she's my MOM."

"Alright, I think I've seen enough." Dad gets up and eyes the boys sternly. "I dunno what you've been doing with my child, but it's gonna stop, you understand? I've got a homicide detective on speed dial because of you clowns."

"Is this where they get their assertiveness from?" speculated Levi to Beel, who simply shrugged.

"Listen, I think you're all just...misunderstanding each other!" Son of Gardonus, where are you even supposed to start? You grab the nearest demon---

(Individual brothers are below the cut!)

Lucifer

"This is Lucifer."

He gives you a look that says 'you really are as stupid as I've sometimes feared'. Why didn't you come up with a fake name?

"That was a joke."

Good, things are still salvageable.

"Because following his instructions is a lot like being in Hell."

He hates you.

"If that's the devil, then call me a sinner," your aunt says, sipping her third glass of wine.

"His real name is Boris."

He hates you so much.

"Pretty well-dressed for a man who spent a year on the road," observes your Mom with undisguised distrust. "Let me guess: while you were out gathering food and panhandling to survive, he stayed indoors doing whatever the hell he felt like doing, and at the end of the day, you'd take everything you'd earned and hand it over to him, and he'd toss you some pittance in return."

"How does she know that?!" Mammon gasps.

You try explaining to your mom that there was no cult, but she hushes you remorselessly.

You beg Lucifer with your eyes not to kill your entire family please. It seems to work.

Mammon

"Mammon, these are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is Mammon. Mammon, say hello."

"Hello. Agh! Dammit! You're really gonna use that now?!"

Oops. Pact magic. It can be a little unpredictable at times. You ruffle his hair apologetically.

The two of you were pretty much inseparable over the last year, you explain. "Best buds, pretty much." He was the first of the group you got close with. Mammon seems extremely proud of this.

"Please tell me 'best bud' isn't a euphemism, MC." Your dad gives you a pleading look. "I don't know how many more surprises I can take today." You two seem far too affectionate and touchy-feely for his liking.

Your sister grins at him from her seat on the floor, which seems to embarrass and confuse him tremendously. He's refusing to look at her. Poor guy. The two of you do look a lot alike...

Levi

"This is Levi."

"Ah, that almost sounds like a normal name. Why Leh-vee, though? Why don't you pronounce it LEE-vie?

"It's short for Leviathan," he says before you can stop him.

Your sister starts cackling and Levi is very embarrassed and indignant but mostly confused.

"Is this like a cult thing?" your aunt asks. "Naming everyone after biblical demons?" She nods and raises her eyebrows, impressed, and lifts her glass in Lucifer's direction.

"And you've been out roughing it in the great outdoors?" your grandpa asks.

"Errrr..."

"Yes, he has."

"Hmm...." Grandpa stares at Levi without a word, and your sister cackles again, and Levi looks like he'll either start bawling or go full demon and kill everybody in a sort of panicked rage. You return him to his brothers.

Satan

"This is---"

"I'm Derek. Nice to meet you."

You side-eye Satan. Apparently he was not taking any risks of you straight up calling him 'Satan' in front of everyone.

Your sister and aunt both look disappointed by this name, which seems to please Satan a whole lot.

"So," your mom says, thinking this little introduction has gotten off to way too friendly a start, "you're another one of MC's... 'friends', are you?"

"Yep," you say, refusing to acknowledge that there was any innuendo to read into.

"How the hell did you get wrapped up in a cult, Derek?" your aunt asks incredulously. "You look like you came straight from a prep school... Or the Ivies, or something. Kid, let me tell you what." She points a finger at Satan without giving him an opportunity to respond. "Let me tell you, you're gonna kick yourself when you're old and ugly and you realize you wasted your time in a cult looking like you were headed to a game of polo."

"You should've given yourself a cool name like those other guys," your sister throws in.

"Guys, please."

"What? At least the other guys had character. Lucifer, the sexy vampire prince, or something. Mammon, the... Is he a himbo or a bad boy?" ("A himbo," you confirm.) "Mammon, the hellish himbo! Leviathan, a literal fish out of water! But him? This guy's just Derek from IT." Your sister blows a raspberry and gives a thumb down. "Next."

Behind you, you hear Lucifer mutter, "Mammon. Levi. Hold Satan back."

Asmo

"This is Asmo. Please don't tear him a new one, he's---"

Your sister shakes her head. "I would NEVER. This guy looks like so much fun. Like, I'm getting shopping all day, clubbing all night vibes, am I right?"

Asmo winks at your sister, and she blushes. She blushes. You're in awe.

"Hellooooo~! I'm Asmodeus, and it's wonderful to meet you all!"

"You're the one that kissed my grandchild," Grandpa recalls, raising an accusatory finger at him.

"But MC loves when I give them kisses! Surely you all understand, right?"

....

"Right..."

....

Motherfucker, Asmo just charmed your family.

Beel

"This is Beel. Beel, this is...everyone."

"Hi. Good to meet you." Beel is very polite, if a bit uncomfortable.

"Well aren't you a drink of water and a half." You hate your aunt so much sometimes.

Beel frowns. "I'd rather have something a little more filling than water."

You see a look in your aunt's eyes and you jump before she has the chance to strike.

"If you say you're on the menu, Aunt Gina, I swear--"

"What's 'Beel' short for?" your mom asks sternly.

"Beelzebub," Beel answers with an adorable but also infuriating level of innocence.

Your sister is cackling again.

Belphie

Hey, where'd Belphie go?

You look around, confused.

Oh. He wandered to your room while everyone was distracted.

He's sleeping on your bed, hugging your pillow. And drooling on it.

Your relatives stand behind you, observing the scene somberly.

"What's he on?" asks your sister in a whisper. "Like... he's definitely on something, right?"

"Freeloader. That goes for the whole lot of 'em. At least this one is honest about it. Just walks in and treats the place like it's his." Your dad is very annoyed.

"He's got narcolepsy," you insist. You don't know enough about narcolepsy to be sure if that seems like a reasonable excuse, but you're counting on your family not knowing either.

"How the hell did you all get around with a narcoleptic?" your aunt asks, elbowing Lucifer in the ribs. "Hah! Oh, MC, sweetie, I need a refill."

When you manage to get the brothers out of your apartment, you turn around and face your family. They're staring at you.

Your sister breaks the silence. "So like... how many of them have you--?"

[reasonsforhope]

"Construction of a massive municipal park—over 20 years in the making, is finally underway in the city of Irvine.

They say if California became its own country, it would have one of the world’s largest economies. The new Great Park of Irvine is a reflection of the always lofty ambitions of the state, and is expected to dwarf Central Park by more than 500 acres.

It was on May 23rd this year that the “Great Park Project” broke ground on the long-derelict El Toro Marine Corps Base, 21 years after voters approved a ballot measure ordering the state to create a park on the site.

Expected to take another 10 years to complete, the park will span 1,300 acres and include several museums, an amphitheater, a veterans memorial garden, an aquatics center, a sports complex, and not one but two lakes.

“After many years of community input and after the last year of intensive planning and design, we are excited to be launching what is a $1 billion investment to establish the world’s next great metropolitan park,” said Irvine City Councilman Michael Carroll who serves as Chairman of the Great Park Board...

First item of work on the agenda is to demolish and clear away 77 old military buildings while leaving the El Toro air traffic control tower which will be leased by the FAA. However a portion of the Irvine Great Park, as it’s being called, is already open to visitors and includes a soccer pitch and some other amenities including tethered balloons to take visitors up into the sky."

-via Good News Network, July 12, 2023

--

More of this, please!!!

Also, I checked, and somehow the tethered balloon thing is not only real it's actually free. They go up 400 ft in the air

[jamie-leah]

Lifeline Pt 2

Bucky x Reader

Series

Summary: You have a past that you're running from and maybe Bucky can be the lifeline you had no idea you were searching for.

Word Count: 1,690

Warnings: Injury descriptions, Hints to domestic abuse, rusty writing

A/N: Looks like I'm turning this into a series? Not sure how long it'll be but hope you enjoy either way!

<---- Previous part Next Part --->

Masterlist of Masterlists

Every night that Bucky was gone you dreamt of him. It was a welcome change to the nightmares that usually plagued you. But ever since he asked you out and you saw that smile as the elevator doors closed, you could not get him out of your mind.  

It was dangerous, of course. You knew this. If Andrew cropped up, you knew you’d have to up and leave all over again and that would mean leaving Bucky behind too. Your heart doesn’t care. It still flutters at the just the thought of him.  

The next three days were pure torture. The bell would ring, and you would glance with a hopefulness that you hadn’t felt since you were a kid.  

At the end of the fourth day, that hope had very quickly faded, and you started to wonder if Bucky had changed his mind and just didn’t know how to tell you or even face you again. You knew you should never have gotten your hopes up. No one had looked twice at you since you ran from Andrew and that was the way it had to be.  

You jab the key into the lock and twist with a little more force than necessary. Yanking the metal out and turning as you hear a deep voice, “hey you”. 

A scream tears from your throat unbidden. You throw the keys at the dark shape in front of you, but your feet are frozen in place. Your heart knocks so hard against your ribs you’re afraid they may crack.  

“Hey, hey, it's just me, Bucky. I thought you would have heard me coming. I’m sorry.” Your eyes focus, zeroing in on the hands lifted in surrender. They travel up black clothes to the eyes you’ve been dreaming about every night since he left.  

You sigh in relief and gasp in quick succession as you spot the split lip and blood dribbling down the side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow.  

You rush over to him, gripping his face gently, “what the hell happened? Are you okay? Do you know you’re bleeding?” The words all come out in a rush.  

You stop your examination of his face when Bucky doesn’t speak. Finding his eyes once more, wide and looking at you. You’re not sure what emotion you’re seeing taking shape across his features but you’re suddenly aware that you’re still holding Bucky’s face.  

You pull them away like you were just burnt by fire, mumbling a quick “sorry”.  

Bucky visibly swallows, “don’t be.”  

The silence that follows is thick with so many emotions that are too hard to decipher, you’re grateful when Bucky clears his throat, “I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m also sorry for coming here looking like this. I just- I thought- I just had to see you.”  

You watch the blood trickle slowly down his sharp face, “when did you get back?”  

Bucky shrugs, “about twenty minutes ago.”  

You shake your head, “I thought you had a medical bay in the tower?” 

“I had to get out of there”, his voice as soft as the wind swirling in the air. You see the pain. The darkness the same shade as yours behind his eyes.  

You take his hand and grip it tight, tethering him to you like he’s a balloon that might disappear into the atmosphere without you. “Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”  

He follows without complaint, your steps falling into the synch around the bustle of night life starting to rage in the city.  

When you make it to your building neither of you say anything. When you step into the lift, neither of you say anything. And as you let go of Bucky’s hand to fish the keys out of your pocket to open the front door, you still say nothing.  

You walk in, leaving the door open as a silent invitation heading straight for the coffee machine. You grab two mugs out of the cupboard in the kitchen and place them ready as you march into the bathroom for your first aid kit.  

When you arrive back in the kitchen, you find Bucky at the table staring at his hands. He doesn’t look up.  

You pour the coffee into the mugs and set them down on the table along with the first aid kit. Rounding the side to stand next to Bucky, you wait. You wait for him to notice that you’re waiting for him to turn to you. When he finally does, he looks almost lost.  

You think you hear him mumble an apology, but you ignore it and instead nudge his knees. He opens his legs wider for you to step into closer. Despite the reason you’re so close to him, you can’t help but think about how good he smells.  

You get to work, keeping your movements light and gentle as you clean and dress his wounds as best as you can.  

“You look like you know your way around a first aid kit.” Bucky whispers the words, but they ring in your ears.  

You can hear what he’s implying or trying to dig for. It’s as close to saying it as either of you have come over the last few weeks. But now isn’t the time to confess to the darkness inside you or show Bucky just how broken you are.  

“Lucky for you”, you chuckle and brush the comment off.  

You finish up, closing the box up and gathering the used materials in one stop to throw away. You reluctantly step backwards just as Bucky grips your hands in his, “thank you for...”, he trails off not knowing how to tell you all he’s grateful for.  

You squeeze his hands, “anytime. Now don’t let your coffee go cold.”  

Bucky’s mouth quirks, letting you go to reach for his mug. You clear the table and sit opposite him, sipping from your own, “do you want to talk about it?”, you ask.  

“I’m afraid.” He replies.  

You frown at the man in front of you. The type of man that doesn’t seem to be afraid of much but maybe himself. You wonder what possibly could have happened on this mission to put him all out of sorts.  

“Why are you afraid?” 

Bucky’s eyes eventually find yours, almost hooded from their position, guarded, “I’m afraid to tell you about this part of my life. I’m afraid to show you how violent I can be. I’m afraid that once you know how much of a monster I am, you’ll disappear.”  

Your breath stutters. You could never see Bucky as a violent man. He was always too aware of himself and others to be violent. His natural instinct is to protect, you’ve seen it. Violence was not his choice; it has always been thrust upon him.  

Of course, you did your research after you knew who he was. You had to. That was called being smart in the position you found yourself him. You did not have the luxury to trust people and the masks they show you. And despite reading Bucky’s crimes, they were committed by someone that seems separate to the man sat at your kitchen table.  

He was tortured and manipulated for decades. In fact, you understood in your own way. Andrew manipulated you; he used tactics straight out of the 101 guides to being an abuser book to get you to do what he wanted. You cut off friends and family, you gave him nearly every penny and eventually every inch of yourself to him. And while it is nowhere near on the same scale as Bucky, you understand in a twisted sense.  

You shake your head, “I don’t think you could ever scare me, Bucky. I’ve seen monsters inside the suits of men. I know the difference between necessary violence and violence born from pleasure. You could never be anyone but the man that buys fries only to make sure that I’ve eaten something that day. The man that turns into a waiter when I’m too busy having a meltdown. The man that walks me home to make sure I’m safe. So, tell me or don’t tell me but it’ll never change my opinion of the man that you are.”  

You reach across the table and take one of his hands in yours. He grips you, bringing your hand up, up, up to his lips. He places a gentle kiss on your knuckles before letting your intertwined fingers fall back to the table, “whenever we go on missions, we always try to keep the damage to a minimum. That includes the bad guys. None of us want to kill anyone, not really.”  

Bucky takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes boring a hole in your joined hands, “but sometimes we don’t have a choice. He was about to kill Sam. He didn’t even see it coming and I could see it all unfold right in front of me like it was in slow motion and I... I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t hesitate. I killed him. Like it was nothing. I didn’t hesitate.”  

You can see the moment the fear takes ahold of him. He pulls his hand from yours and stares at them like they can’t possibly belong to him. He gets lost in events that have passed and you can’t see. And instead of watching him drown, you round the table again.  

You crush him to you. Arms tightly wrapped around him, trying to tether him to the here and now. He eventually grips you back just as tightly. His head resting on your chest, his fingers getting lost in the material of your shirt. Your heart hammers but his breathing evens out the longer he listens to your heartbeat.  

You’re not sure how long you stand there like that for, but the coffees go cold, and the night brings out more stars when Bucky murmurs against you, “and I would do it again. I would kill anyone that threatens the people I love. And I think that’s what really scares me.”  

You lay your head on top of his and just hold him tighter.  

[fatehbaz]

The link between warfare and technological innovation has been well documented [...]. World War II was a particularly intense crucible of technological change, and the repurposing of military technologies and industries in the forging of a new post-war consumer [economy] is crucial [...]. Processes of technological bricolage turned the machines of war onto the natural world as global powers competed to cement their economic and imperial hegemony. In Great Britain’s post-war “groundnut scheme” in its East African territories (1946-51), this collision of nature, military hardware, and technical expertise was part of efforts to both produce more fats for the British diet and to demonstrate to the world (most importantly the United States) that, through a newly energized science-led developmentalism, British colonialism still had a “progressive” role to play in the postwar world.

The aim was to produce millions of tons of peanuts across Tanganyika using the latest methods of advanced scientific agriculture. The environmental conditions in the north, where the scheme was to begin, were known to be especially trying, not least the dry climate [...]. But faith in the power of mechanized agriculture was such that any natural limits were thought to be readily surmountable.

The groundnut scheme was to be, as its Director put it in an interview with the Tanganyika Standard, a “war” with nature, and an “economic Battle of Alamein” waged over some three million acres by an army of colonial technicians - many recruited from military ranks - and local laborers, for many of whom the scheme represented their first entry into the wage labor market.

But it wasn’t just the rhetoric of war that was repurposed.

Lancaster bombers were kitted out to survey and discover “new country” in East Africa for agricultural development. [...] [T]ractors and bulldozers from military surplus stores in Egypt proved unable to tackle the hard ground and tough vegetation, so the planners turned to a novel solution: repurposing surplus Sherman M4A2 tanks. The Vickers-Armstrong factory in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne set about rearranging key elements of the tanks’ construction [...]. The tractors, christened “Shervicks” for their hybrid origins, were [...] thought to be particularly suited to large-scale earth-moving and to the kind of heavy duty “bush clearing” that was required in Tanganyika.

Officials sought to dismiss concerns that large-scale bush clearing would have wider environmental consequences, using the well-worn colonial trope that any observed changes in local climate or erosion patterns were due to the “primitive” agricultural practices of the locals, not to the earth-moving practices of the colonists.  [...] As the plants continued to wilt in the sun, [...] [t]he stakes were high. As [J.R.] of the Colonial Development Corporation put it in a letter: “Our standing as an Imperial power in Africa is to a substantial extent bound up with the future of this scheme. To abandon it would be a humiliating blow to our prestige everywhere.” The only option left was to try and bend the weather itself to the scheme’s will, by seeding the clouds for rain. [...] “Balloon bombs” (photographic film canisters tethered to weather balloons) and a repurposed Royal Navy flare gun were used to target individual clouds [...]. The scheme itself has survived as a cautionary tale of governmental hubris, but it is instructive too as a case study of how technologies of war have been turned against other foes.

---

All text above by: Martin Mahony. “The Enemy is Nature: Military Machines and Technological Bricolage in Britain’s ‘Great Agricultural Experiment.’“ Environment and Society Portal, Arcadia (Spring 2021), no. 11. Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society. doi:10.5282/rcc/9191. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Images and their captions are shown unaltered as they originally appear in Mahony's article. Public Domain Mark 1.0 License for images: creativecommons dot org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/]

[bisexualvampires]

Live Laugh Leather

happy 3rd wedding anniversary to these idiots :)

(846 words) Also on AO3

Dean knew the rhythm of Cas’ footsteps from the kitchen all the way to their bedroom. Knew it better than the pulse of his own heart; as familiar to him as the scent of the warm coffee that carried with his husband every morning like clockwork. He found himself smiling against his pillow, feeling the early sunshine through the lake house window heat the frosty February air.

So the routine goes; any minute now Cas would pause to bump the door open with his pajama-clad butt, scooting backward into their bedroom, two coffees in hand. Dean would fake the grouchy attitude as if the gentle interruption had pulled him from sleep. As if, minutes earlier, Cas hadn’t waited until his spidey senses told him Dean’s REM sleep was done and he was ready for his daily stubbled kiss at the back of his neck. For the arm that tightened around his waist, sinking suggestively lower until Dean cracked open an eyelid. Falling for the same old trick every day, before Cas would rise his heavenly ass out of bed to start on coffee. Leaving Dean tethered between the land of sleep and this world of dreams.

Same old, same old.

And wasn’t that a hell of a thing.

Dean scooched over to Cas’ side of the bed. The warmth had faded but it was the scent he chased; like rich earth pounded by the heavy rain of a thunderstorm, the charged promise of lightning still to come. Like honey and ether and so like home, Dean could drown himself in it. Smother himself in his husband’s pillow with a smile on his face and a bulge in his pants.

And so, it began.

The gentle clink of the spoon dropped into the sink. The ceramic scuffling on the kitchen countertop. The first bare footstep on the warm wooden floor.

Three years of this, Dean thought, and he knew he could go a thousand more.

A squeaking sound broke the routine, and Dean perked up his bedhead to listen to the audible eye roll and soft sigh that accompanied it. The footsteps and squeaking drew nearer, and Dean propped himself up on an arm to watch the regularly scheduled show.

The ass that greeted him was familiar, but Dean’s eyes bulged out of his head like Donald Duck at the first sight of Daisy. Cas backed into the room, letting the door swing softly shut behind him.

Dean’s husband paused, breakfast tray in hand and a look of genuine surprise on his face that quickly morphed into a feigned innocence.

“Sweetheart,” Dean managed to say with a tongue that now weighed an ACME ton. “Are you wearing leather pants?” He was dreaming, right? Had to be. If the next words out of Cas' mouth were "tell me about it, stud" in Olivia Newton-John's voice that would surely confirm it. A laugh threatened to burst all the way from his belly, born of shock more than anything, because this was Cas. His Cas. In tight leather pants. Like he was Jon Bon fucking Jovi and Dean was eighteen, alone in his motel room and realising some shit. 

But Cas ignored the question, setting the breakfast tray safely on the bedside table. When he turned to find Dean’s gaze still locked on his broad thighs, mouth hanging open like it didn’t know where to start, he placed his hands on his hips.

“The third wedding anniversary gift is leather, is it not?”

Dean glanced up from his stupor, feeling his heart swell like a damn balloon at his husband’s words.

Leather. Anniversary. Right.

How Cas heard "leather" and thought "pants"... actually, he didn't need to know how or why, because this was happening. Somehow this was real life.

Dean licked his lips. Didn’t mean to, but he did.

He’d tell Cas about the new leather couch he’d secretly set up in the Cas Cave later. Right now…

“The salesperson insisted this was the perfect gift,” Cas frowned down at himself. “Perhaps this was a mistake.”

“Whuaa-“ Dean started, tangling in the sheets as he struggled to sit upright. “No, no, they’re – hell of a – gotta tip the guy… god, Cas.” Only the need to defend these pants with his life gave Dean the strength to tear his gaze from them a second time.

He’d expected to find that frown he loved so much – the one that crinkled Cas’ brow, and tugged his soft lips into a flat line. Instead, his husband grinned at him, eyes blazing with that smugness that was the bane of Dean’s life.

Son of a bitch. He played him.

“Happy anniversary, Dean,” Cas said, stepping forward to crawl on his knees across the mattress, caging Dean in between his thighs.

Dean pulled him closer, sunlight glinting on the band of his wedding ring as he ran a hand through Cas’ hair. Three years of this. Already three. Only three.

And he could never have enough.

“Happy anniversary, Cas.” The words were a whisper against his husband’s lips.

The rest, he already knew. They both did.

[ranticore]

pelagic spiral villages

It's not the prettiest diagram and might be hard to follow. First off, the spiral is a region in the south of the western continent of Siren

the spiral region is not limited to the actual physical structure of the land, where the characteristic ridges and valleys of Siren crumple up into a twisted shape, but also extends south as far as the icecaps, with the ridges continuing their spiral but underwater (on the map above, the visible spiral is only what extends above water)

It comprises all of the pale blue water in this map area, bordered by the darker deeper water and what is known as the Ice Wall in the south.

The most densely settled areas are within the tallest ridges at the middle of the spiral, as these ridges form physical walls and barriers which prevent many of the dangers of the open sea from entering villages without having to traverse what is quite frankly a labyrinth of narrow valleys beforehand. But at the edges of the spiral, nearer to the ice wall, lies the pelagic village of !uamaa. This is where Huarva comes from and what's pictured at the top.

it is populated by phocids and some selkies underwater and Ice Wall shortwings above water (they are similar to penguins). It consists of a huge three-tiered underwater hall with an air pocket trapped by a tethered tent-like cap made of transparent material derived from sipho scales. The bottom tier is stocked with oxygenating plants (i can only assume they are VERY productive). The middle tier is submerged and where the in habitants enter the hall (through the round openings pictured). Shelf-like beds attached to the sturdy woven walls provide platforms where a phocid can sit with their body submerged but their head out of the water, which is the most comfortable position for them as they do like to have water supporting their weight as much as possible.

The hall was built over a hot water vent in the seafloor. The vent water is directed up through a stone s-duct, which leaves a flat surface above the water which is constantly heated. This is used as a cooking stone; there is a pot of perpetual stew always bubbling here and every villager is expected to contribute something to it every day in return for being allowed to take as much stew as they like.

The other buildings are these balloon type structures which are anchored both to the sea floor and to the floating pontoons above. The balloons do not have oxygen generating plants, but must be manually raised and lowered to the surface to trap more air every day. The colour palette is overall a strongly contrasting black and white (fun fact, pelagic people are hypersensitive to the colour red out of the water, to the point where it might cause headaches)

What's life like in the village? Huarva is often asked this but he cannot truly answer, because he was never a villager. Living out here is extremely tough and demanding, and experience is valued above all else. The eldest and most experienced person in the village is called the All-Bearer and their word is law. The All-Bearer is a matchmaker among villagers, pairing those who are thought to work harmoniously together in arranged partnerships, similar to marriage. Huarva's parents were not arranged; in fact they were strictly forbidden from reproducing because they did not work harmoniously together. They fought and argued and struck sparks off one another, but were inseparable. The All-Bearer gave no blessing for them to have a child.

^the All-Bearer.

In these cases it's not uncommon for the pregnant parent to find a matched pair and attempt to convince them to claim the child. That way nobody is harmed. But it didn't work out in time, on this occasion, so the child - Huarva - was born and immediately outcast from the village as a potential troublemaker. A pretty rough start all things considered. Huarva was an outsider, not a villager. they could hang around the place, beg, speak to people, but never be granted the elders' wisdom lest it be misused by a child of intrinsically bad character. They basically grew up homeless and uneducated in their village.

And this is a major handicap because of how dangerous this region is. Children are sorted into same-age 'generations' which go through a strict and standardised education before being unleashed as leviathan hunters. A couple years of that, and (assuming they survive), that generation moves on to the next-most dangerous job, replaced by the generation below them. And so on and so forth until what remains is the oldest generation, who are finally granted a safe and comfortable life in return for sharing all the wisdom gathered over the years working different professions. Few will remain by then.

The culture is cold. Repressed. Quiet. Fighting is an exile-worthy offense and disagreements are stifled. The All-Bearer makes every final decision and you cannot question them because you do not have the requisite experience to contradict anything they say. If you must be upset, do it where nobody can see, and never openly express discontent.

Huarva survived to adulthood by choosing to stick around the shallows on top of the underwater ridges. They tried many times to earn the All-Bearer's favour enough to earn a place in the village to no avail. Until the All-Bearer finally had enough of them and sent them away on a fetch quest doomed to fail, because Huarva did not have the education to know how to spot the warning signs of a flow of aerated water. Finding themself trapped under it, they panicked, never having learned any methods to slow their heart and extend their usable breath, and almost drowned. Sheer luck saved them; a leviathan-sized giant sipho flying for the surface caught them between its scale plates. It didn't notice its new passenger and ended up dragging Huarva almost the entire way across the dark and to the spire before they got free.

[sanctus-ingenium]

Leun weapon asker anon here, I’m really curious now: How does Gryphon’s harpoon work?

It's the single most powerful weapon in the Mezian empire but it comes with a lot of conditions. It can swivel to fire in a wide arc but is most stable firing at about a 45 degree angle. For this one I've had to just be like "yeah it's magic" because well what can ya do. But essentially there's an inlet hose that connects to the fuel tank in the pelvis. Normally the fuel goes into the belly furnace, so for this there has to be a backflow from the furnace, through the fuel tank, and out to the cannon. Normally this backwards flow is lethal because it causes the entire tank to flash over, since the fuel is ignited in the furnace and not in the tank, and introducing a backflow of already-ignited fuel into the tank would be bad. But in this case it's desirable because the explosion is directed out through the cannon. It launches a barbed 100ft harpoon (as long as Gryfon is tall) at the target with extreme force, so much so that Gryfon requires a full repair cycle after every shot. And because the shot itself is a venting of all fuel on-board, he only gets one shot per hunt and once it's out there, he does not move, potentially for weeks.

Because of this it has to be planned carefully. The purpose of this shot is to tether a dragon in place so that it does not escape. It's like tying a thousand ton weight to a hot air balloon. The chain is actually winched in by hand - by the ground crews, usually, a couple of days after the initial shot. This is to give the ground crews and other beasts the requisite time to prepare a battle stage. The ground crews then pull the chain using horse teams. The dragon will have deflated slightly due to the spear (it contains air holes so that it doesn't plug the wound), but the effects of inertia and wind resistance can play havoc on the crews and often another beast has to grab the chain to get it going.

Missing the shot would consume weeks of valuable time, repair hours, and fuel, but it is rare to miss. Dragons are just so big. What takes actual care is not hitting one of the ichor wells inside the dragon, which would cause ichor fuel to start raining down on the battle stage. Part of the reason the harpoon is so long is so that the blunt end, which is heated red-hot by the explosive launch, doesn't penetrate the dragon and cause a mid-air flash over of the ichor within the dragon. We really don't want that to happen.

Most hunts are structured around delivering Gryfon to the scene and then guarding him for the duration of the battle. On the rare occasion he has to hit a target straight ahead of him he can do it, but the closer the object the more likely he is to miss. Lucky for Pantera.

[porterprophet]

i am forever surprised that we’ve had laudna flying paté like a kite and fly-girl imogen calling her her tether and yet i’ve never seen art of laudna holding onto imogen like a helium balloon

like. what a missed opportunity

[poniko-w]

*thinking again* you know i think that even if fusakin lived i dont think he'd ever be as happy as he was before ever again. even if they all managed to defeat gou & move on. he lost the body he did so much to have & keep... he was tethered to a mausoleum and none of his friends even really realized he was gone... and when they finally did go visit him they didn't like the new him. and then as soon as he broke the curse he went through the worst experience of his entire life and died as a balloon despite all his effort. just because he wanted to be happy with who he was. 🏳️‍⚧️❓

[dirtgrubber]

me: i’m getting this sudden sensation that i am tethered to this reality and not just a free floating balloon drifting into the abyss

me: *looks down and see’s that the draw string of my pants is hooked on a low cabinet knob*

[cattimeswithjellie]

Liveblogging Scar Stream, 6/8/24, Part 1

I missed the first 15 minutes, I'll backfill it later.

16:00 Visit to the train, Scar explains the change in design of his train. His previous caboose idea wasn’t working, so he came up with the “villains” (hostile mobs) car. We get a look at Frank, who is having about as good a time as the hanging blue bird in the garden car. Scar says that the new design for the caboose will be with the caboose tethered to the train but floating in on balloons.

18:00 Scar finds Tango’s copper farm and “helps” with the redstone. He then goes to visit Tango at his factory. Tango admires the on/off light Scar has added, and they discuss The Emperor’s New Groove and the fact that Scar’s headphones are very broken.

22:00 Tango shows Scar how the drowned farm works, Scar is unable to escape the water current and dies in the farm while Tango watches in bemused disbelief from two blocks away. He respawns at his chest monster and returns to the farm. Chat asks whether he produced copper. Scar asks if that was on purpose and Tango said he assumed a human would simply walk out of the farm. Cub shows up and presents Scar with a water breathing potion. Tango retrieves and returns Scar’s things. Tango makes a joke about Scar’s ability to escape the water, Scar jokes that he must be losing the ability to walk in Minecraft as well. Tango has no response to that and Scar, triumphant, returns to his train.

26:30 Scar catches up with donos, a chatter makes a donation to “wheelchair fund” and Scar says he has so many wheelchair rants stored up that he is dangerously close to a mega-rant. He takes Chat to the villain car to get critique about whether the dragon actually looks like a dragon. Chat is generally encouraging. Tango (in game chat) says it looks like a dragon who went through a blender.

29:45 Scar wants to put a ravager in the villain car, but eventually turn the car into a mob farm. He says he has been relying on guilt-tripping the Maple Prince (Etho) into giving him gunpowder by sending him requests in the mail, but he can’t do that forever.

30:00 A chatter encourages Scar to leave Ore Mountain in place as a monument to Scar’s dedication. Scar still has not decided whether to keep it. He begins hunting for witches in the dark part of the train tunnel. A chatter suggests asking Doc to catch a dragon for the zoo, Scar is worried about the level of maintenance a captive dragon requires.