Like someone with a stool sample and no object permanence, I just know I'm about to lose my shit.
d e v o n
taylor price

tannertan36
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
Today's Document
sheepfilms
Jules of Nature
hello vonnie
Xuebing Du
Keni
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
occasionally subtle

if i look back, i am lost
RMH

blake kathryn

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Stranger Things
The Bowery Presents
seen from United States
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seen from Lebanon
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@cargopockethobbitcore
Like someone with a stool sample and no object permanence, I just know I'm about to lose my shit.
The blackness didn’t just cloud my vision, it was over my whole body. I’d been under anesthesia before, but this was different. Like my soul had been put under.
And then I got hit with a table.
I groaned, rolled over, and after a brief moment got hit with a floor.
Stand. I had to stand and figure out what was happening. I could roll over and out of… Off of… Whatever. I wasn’t at home. This didn’t smell like home. That person screaming didn’t sound like anyone I knew. Terrific. Was I being robbed? Why would a robber be screaming?
“Wghflzl” I managed, one of my hands pushing me up with what felt like a few dozen lead weights in my pockets. Where were my friends? Last I remembered we were at my place, and-
Another scream, this one deeper, a man’s maybe. Why couldn’t I see? Reaching up to check my eyes, I found… a hat? When the hell did I put on a hat?
“Lukas.” I managed to croak. “Jon, Kendra, Sophie. Where are you?” I finally managed to figure out how to get my hat off my eyes and found we had somehow wound up in a Renn Faire? Someone kinda greenish looked blearily down at me. Not greenish like sea-sickness, but more like they’d decided to take up chlorophyll as a secondary nutrition source. Looked a bit like Lukas. “Nice costume dude” I managed, shakily climbing to my feet. My voice was six kinds of fucked up. I wouldn’t call myself a bass, but damn, I sounded more like my voice was made of bubble gum and homecoming cheers than anything.
“I, uh, I could say the same?” he replied before looking down at some kind of tool bag in his hand. I looked down at it and then looked down at myself.
“Huhn,” was all I could say. My shirt was incredibly loose. And maybe padded like armor, like I was gonna teach a boxer how to do chest shots? Sure. I’ll think about that one… later. Yup. Definitely have to think a lot about that one later. Or maybe not at all. Meantime. “Soph? Hey, where the fuck are you gu- aaaaAAAHH!” Yup, definitely my turn to scream as a bearded, not exactly clean guy in a very medieval getup came through the door with a massive club and started towards me.
In a flash, I had a cutlass out. That at least gave him pause as Probably Lukas and I shuffled back towards where I really hoped there was a back door, or at least a window we could scramble out of. “Jon, Kendra, Sophie, we’re getting the fuck out of here! Lukas, I hope to God that’s you, can you see who screamed?”
I jumped out of the way of the angry gentleman’s swing. The suspiciously worse-for-wear counter next to me wasn’t quite so mobile and splintered with a loud crack, which covered up his answer. Fortunately for me, an arrow lodged itself in the wall and pointed the way back to the person I was now assuming had screamed. No, it wasn’t an arrow. Too short and thick for an arrow. It was a bolt. Which meant it belonged to… A quick glance to the side, my long hair swishing (when did I get long hair?) showed a short-ish younger woman holding a crossbow and staring wide-eyed at me and my companion. And also at the guy trying to murder me.
Speaking of. He was clearly a little stunned at the damage he’d caused to the shop. I took the opportunity to punch him in the throat with the guard of my sword. He dropped the tree limb he had been holding so he could grab his throat, but based on the look in his eyes as he sank to his knees, that was a temporary state of affairs. I made it slightly less temporary by kicking his weapon away out of his reach and then stepping back. “Lukas! That is you, right?” I demanded, not looking around for him.
“Uh, yeah, I’m still me.”
“Great, find us a back door. And our friends if you have a spare moment.”
“That won’t be a problem,” said a double-bass voice coming from, yes, the back room. It looked like Jon. Well, more like Jon’s uncle probably. The foot-long beard was new. And the additional couple-three decades of age. The robes and book definitely weren’t his usual look either. But hey, the sartorial choices were just about normal right now.
“Great, you got Kendra and Sophie?”
“Yes, although there are some issues.”
“I bet. Out the back, then we’ll sort things out. Go!” Jon opened his mouth to say something when, of course, the other two entered from the back room at speed. Kendra I guessed was now about four feet tall and rail thin but still had the same manically dyed hair. She stumbled in, practically thrown judging from the landing, and then collapsed on the floor with a rapidly spreading stain on her vest. Funny thing about blood, the color is incredibly easy to pick out, and there was more of it to pick out on her than I was happy about.
The last of my friends I remembered being near entered quickly but, well, almost like she just happened to be moving quickly because that’s how things were, not like she was doing anything as gauche as hurrying. And she was doing it backwards. Her sword, held in both hands, made soft whooshing noises as it blocked several rocks flung at or past her and what looked like a couple of knives. The pattern changed as she stepped fully through the door, making sure she didn’t stop her movements by striking the door frame. Someone stumbled towards her and I saw the sword change angles to give him a rather permanent haircut and then… he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even hurt that I could see, just stumbling backwards over his own feet.
“Sophie!” I shouted, and her head turned slightly, incredibly large and pointed ears now readily apparent. “How many?” I asked.
The wind was knocked out of me and I crashed to the floor again. Someone was on top of me. Not the last guy. Not the shopkeep. Someone new. Stupid, I hadn’t been paying attention to the front door and now someone was trying to beat my head into the floorboards. And had a grip on my sword arm. Well. That was just ducky.
I tried once or twice to yank my arm free. No dice. The panic was starting to rise in me, because this dude was strong and was rearing back for an overhand smash. Looked like a farmhand and absolutely smelled like one. Especially down here where I was.
Fortunately, it was right about then that I realized my other hand was free. Well, kind of free. This ox was straddling my waist and my other arm was basically pinned under his legs next to mine. Right near where I kept my dagger. If I pulled it out, I couldn’t stab him in the chest with it, not the way we were positioned, but he had plenty of tender flesh at hand. I decided to point this out to him.
After a brief moment, he had eagerly rolled off of me and was laying curled up on his side, gripping his red badge of courage and swearing rather voluminously. A quick glance back, and Sophie was still holding the doorway. It looked like a couple more had joined the crowd on the other side. They’d start around the front of the building before too long, and then we’d be hemmed in and cut down. Lukas had pulled Kendra to the side and seemed to be having a hard time choosing between weeping and a Hulk-level rage. “Lukas!” I managed to shout through a throat lined with sandpaper, keeping an eye on the front door. “Stabilize her if you can! Bind her wound and get ready to carry her. We’re leaving! Front door!”
Jon’s book closed with a clap that echoed like thunder in a valley. He said one word that sounded like a Klingon speaking Latin, and there were a half-dozen growls outside the front door. “Jon…” I said remarkably flatly, staring out the door. “What did you do?”
“Provided a distraction,” he rumbled. The growls grew to snarls, followed by very human screams. I shuffled over to the door and peeked out. A handful of wolves were taking off down the street, jumping on more than a few fleeing townsfolk. The wolves disappeared one by one. Not like they were magical, they just… stepped behind a box or down an alley and didn’t step back out. Were they still there? Who knew! This place was just full of adventure!
“Right, I think that’s our cue to exit. Jon, you and Lukas first with Kendra. Sophie. Sophie!” She winced at my shout. Right, right, not sure how I could have forgotten the hearing that would come with those ears. “Come on!”
Lukas was closing his toolbag. Box. Thing. I think I saw a hypodermic needle being slipped back in? Kendra was staring around wide-eyed as Lukas picked her up by her shirt and just carried her. Her hand went to her wound, pressed it, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Yeah, it probably hurt like hell. I hoped maybe Lukas had given her morphine as well as whatever stimulant had been loaded. You know, like a responsible medic. Instead, she also spoke what sounded like a single word and then… relaxed with a faint smile. While being football carried.
Jon went with them and I saw them head to the right. Awesome. Time to follow suit. “Sophie, book it!” And on the word, she spun on one toe like a dancer and sprinted out the door, heading right after only a moment’s glance. Two down on the floor. The first guy seemed to be recovering a little. Couldn’t have him following us up. I introduced his ribs to my boot, while my skirt, which I was definitely not going to freak out about right now, definitely not a, a, a, a guy wearing a skirt, flowing a little. I turned to the shopkeep and realized I was holding my cutlass and a lightly bloodied knife. She seemed distressed for some reason. “Um. Sorry about the mess,” I said, then followed my friends out of the shop at a dead run since the folks streaming in the back door seemed to have twigged to Sophie being actually gone and were starting to clog the doorway again in their haste to try and hurt us.
The town wasn’t that big, maybe a couple hundred people at most, and we seemed to be near a gate. And since it was day time, the gate was open, so we ran through it out into the woods and kept running. Why? Well, there was what used to be called “a bit of a hue and cry” behind us. I started to understand how foxes felt. So we ran. At first on the road and then when the first of us, who shall remain totally nameless, started to flag we headed off the road until we were all exhausted.
Five minutes we were leaning against trees and looking back the way we had come, hands on weapons, sweat pouring down our bodies. It felt like we had run for a half hour. Knowing my general fitness, it was probably closer to ten, and on the lower side at that. But still. We were out of sight of the town. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Maybe. Probably. Almost definitely. I felt like I could talk without gasping at least. Turning around to look at everyone, I saw Jon and Sophie. No Lukas. No Kendra. I blinked a few times. I remembered them ahead of me when we turned off the path. “Where-” I began, before Jon replied “They’re comforting each other. About a hundred yards that way,” he said, gesturing towards a dip in the ground. Sophie was clearly blushing. “They’re spending time, um, agreeing with each other. A lot,” she added, running a finger along her eartip. Fan-fucking-tastic. Literally, it seemed.
“Well, we need to keep going a little, but I think we can walk. Let’s head further away and… and… and-” I crossed my legs and sneezed. Fucking pollen. I guess some things didn’t change. “And find a safe place to build a fire and spend the night. Somewhere hidden. We’ll regroup and figure out what’s going on from there.” The two of them nodded and we were just about to start walking before Sophie put a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s, um…” Right. Right.
“Alright, five minutes. Then I start tossing pebbles at them. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, I guess.” To my mild surprise, Jon produced a short pipe, packed it, muttered something that had more echo than was right, and a little fire appeared momentarily in the bowl. He puffed a little, gave a grunt of satisfaction, and sat down watching the way we’d come. Fine. If he was going to watch, I could check out my pack and see what I had. A polished steel mirror was in there along with a bunch of other stuff. Alright. Time to bite the bullet. I looked at myself. Long curly brown-red hair, maybe a little grey? I pulled some around to look at it. Alright, definitely some grey. Back to the mirror. Now look at my sword. Back to the mirror. Nope, still the same face looking back at me. The commercials had lied to me, then. Still. A few wrinkles, mainly crows feet. Shock. Looking down and… Yeah, that was definitely more of a shock. Those were, um, yeah, those were me. A brief and surreptitious examination and, yeah, it was time for us to get going and not think about that other thing, wasn’t it? One last glance at the mirror. Not an unattractive face looking back at me, especially when I wiped the shock off. One more glance. Alright alright alright, I can’t stare at myself in the mirror all day. Five minutes was up, even if it wasn’t. I stood and placed things back more or less where I’d found them and reslung my pack across my shoulders. Kendra and Lukas were just walking back to us, grinning and absolutely definitely not looking at each other. Sure, they’d been dating before, they could keep dating now, didn’t affect me.
We struck off further into the woods as the sun sank in what I really hoped was the west, made a small camp fire in a depression where it would hopefully be kind of hidden a bit better, unpacked our bed rolls, ate a little bit of hard tack and dried fruits and nuts, drank some water from water skins, and settled in for a night. I set the watch and tried to sleep for a little bit before giving up on that.
Now that things had stopped being quite so immediately life-threatening, I had a few things to think through.
Male writers writing female characters:
“Cassandra woke up to the rays of the sun streaming through the slats on her blinds, cascading over her naked chest. She stretched, her breasts lifting with her arms as she greeted the sun. She rolled out of bed and put on a shirt, her nipples prominently showing through the thin fabric. She breasted boobily to the stairs, and titted downwards.”
‘ She breasted boobily to the stairs, and titted downwards’ is the greatest fucking sentence I have ever read.
THE ORIGINAL??
(smh) Never thought I’d see it in the wild. Yet here it is. :)
always gotta reblog the ‘breasted boobily’ post
I gotta say, after my augmentation? I can't say this post is *wrong* because I've absolutely breasted boobily down the stairs. And don't get me started on playing roller derby.
jesus loves me, this i know
his house is in the village, though
he will not see me stopping here,
while these visions did appear.
and this weak and idle theme,
i have no mouth? and i must scream.
and as in uffish thought he stood,
and Barrows did the same,
came whiffing through the tulgey wood
the patrons of the game.
the bridegroom's doors are open'd wide
and i am next of kin
the white eyes writhing in his face
like a devil's, sick of sin.
the woods are lovely, dark and deep
such a blaze you seldom see!
the carriage held but just ourselves
and immortality.
i have a prize for whoever can correctly source every line first
Line 1: Jesus Loves Me, Anna Warner
Lines 2-3: Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
Lines 4-5: A Midsummer Night's Dream, Shakespeare
Line 6: I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, Harlan Ellison
Line 7: Jabberwocky by Lewis Carrol
Line 8: Casey at the Bat, Ernest Lawrence Thayer
Line 9: Jabberwocky again
Line 10: Casey at the Bat again
Lines 11-12: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Coleridge
Lines 13-14: Dulce et Decorum Est, Wilfred Owen
Line 15: Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening again
Line 16: The Cremation of Sam McGee, Robert W. Service
Lines 17-18: Because I could not Stop for Death, Emily Carroll
congratulations!!!!!! for the next 36 months all vegetables you eat will taste 0.001% sweeter
thank you for playing!
this is the best day of my life
It is the My Bloody Valentine bout. My team has been behind by 20, 30 points through the first half, and even into the second. Back of the second half, in the last fifteen minutes of the bout, we start *clawing* it back.
My line is up. I've told my line up manager, "Give me one of the hats" (make me the jammer (points scorer) or the pivot (backup)). She hands me the pivot, then says, "No, wait" and swaps it.
There is a minute and a half to go, we are down 145 to 130, and I've been told I'm responsible for scoring the points in what is likely the last jam of the game.
Two of the four opposing blockers are in the penalty box at the start of the jam. So it's two of their blockers and their jammer versus me and my full four. On the way out to the start, I told my blockers "Just sit on that jammer. Don't let them score. I'll take care of myself."
Whistle blows the start.
I *blitz* the two opposing blockers and make it out. Sprint a lap. Four points. Another lap, the blockers are back from the penalty box. I still manage to grab all four points and break out, sprinting around the track to get back.
Halfway through the next run, I get called on a forearm penalty and have to go to the box for thirty seconds, having only grabbed two points.
My time starts with 45 seconds to go in the game.
Seven seconds later, with 38 seconds left, the opposing jammer picks up their seventh and final penalty and must immediately stop playing. With me in the box, the entire jam is called dead.
The score is 145 to 140. A quick officials conference is called and they decide. One more jam. One more jam, and then the game is done. And my team's jammer is in the penalty box.
Whistle blows, and the pack of blockers *brawls*. They work their way down the track, almost up to where I am before I'm released. I re-enter behind the pack and immediately bust through. Sprint like my life depends on it and get back, grab four points. I can do this. I can do this. Sprint again while my blockers desperately keep the other jammer penned up.
And then I get *locked* inside the pack of opposing blockers. They have me *dead* to rights, and I need one point to tie and two to win. I score a point if my hips pass a blocker's hips.
And I *throw*. I juke. I dodge. I push like my life depends on it. Looking at my coaches, maybe they've seen that I got enough points and can call the jam off. Maybe. Please. One of them shouts "Keep going, you've got this".
Fuck. My. Lungs.
Drop a shoulder and try to lever past a blocker. The whistles eventually blow. Jam called for hitting the two minute time limit.
I look at the scoreboard.
145 - 147.
I managed to pick up 17 unanswered points in spite of a trip to the penalty box.
This was one of the best games of derby I've ever played in. Would have been even if we'd lost the last jam and thus the game.
I don't have words for how much I love this sport.
Love to both my team and the opposing team for a truly wonderful game. Extra love to my blockers on those last two jams: Byers Remorse, Slaughtermelon, Mazel Tough, and Baddy Long Legs for the first; Loose Cannon, Tricky Nicky, Wrecka Rinka (also an amazing captain!), and Slaughtermelon for a second time!
(Pics by the inestimable Leroy Armistead, and are from the entire bout not just the final couple jams)
everyone on the same page today i see
This Black History Month, reflect for a moment on the fact that George Washington Carver, famously "the inventor of peanut butter and more than 100 industrial uses for peanuts" wasn't, like, Doc Brown fucking around in his garage because he really liked peanuts but was specifically trying to introduce larger use of a nitrogen fixing legume into crop rotations against cotton monoculture which was destroying yields, livelihoods and the biosphere, and how most agribusiness farming now just destroys that topsoil on purpose and continues to grow a cotton monoculture (or soy or corn or whichever local monoculture is profitable) using petrochemical derived fertilizer, which is one element driving climate change
Daniel Hale Williams performed the first successful heart surgery. He also founded the first nonsegregated hospital in America because he was keenly aware of disparate health outcomes by race which is still a problem today.
WEB Dubois was a part of the delegations for the birth of the UN. His proposal to include in the charter that "the colonial system of government … is undemocratic, socially dangerous and a main cause of wars" was not adapted for the final draft. We might see inaction against colonial violence to this day as part of the failure of others to heed his warnings there.
I feel like so often when we look at Black History Month so much of it is driven by factoids but when taken as history in context its about a direct line from decades and centuries to what is happening right now.
Black History Month stands out pretty well above the pack when you're comparing "educational time spent on" to "useful stuff learned", but this is also a symptom of how we teach history as a whole.
History isn't just a list of dates and stuff. Everything is interconnected to everything else and has reverberations through today! All of these above examples are just the tip of the iceberg! Fuck, I consider myself a fan of history and I'd never *heard* Dubois was part of the original UN delegation, nevermind his proposed wording.
Nothing happens in a vacuum. Revolutions don't just happen. Authoritarianism isn't some aberration. This shit keeps coming up and until we learn to inspect root causes of things like colonialism and environmental destruction, it's never going to change.
My brain decided to wake me for a lovely rendition of "You'll never experience emotional safety (and I'm the reason why)" by Fallout Boy.
Night Watch is a masterpiece and Hogfather will always be a personal favourite, but to me, to me, Going Postal will always be as close to perfect as a Discworld book can be. It introduces a new protagonist who immediately knocks it out of the park and establishes himself as one of the most iconic and fantastic Discworld protagonists in a pantheon of heavy hitters. He's a weasel. He's touched by divinity. He keeps getting himself into trouble because he has an unshakeable need to escalate. He's killed 2.338 people. He's apparently very attracted to women who smoke.
He's paired off against the perfect villain, his equal and opposite who has learned to cheat and swindle and con behind the language of corporate speak, "we hope and trust that our valued and loyal customers will bear with us over the coming months as we interact synergistically with changed management and our striving for excellence." It's a story about the capital-fuelled enshittification of a technology that can be good and improve the lives of thousands and how monopolies will literally strangle innovation.
It's a story about delivering a message from the dead.
REBLOG IF YOU HAVE STRETCHMARKS
This way people can see they’re not alone. I have them and this would help me see that.
I love it when conservative rock fans find out Kurt Cobain was woketron 5000
Showing a bigoted 56 year old Nirvana fan these pictures to watch them disintegrate
Estrogen really would have saved her
Really wish someone had suggested Kurt try estradiol "recreationally". Talk up the peace of mind and calmness it brings, especially if taken on a schedule
AU where Luke is an egg, Han figures it out instantly, and slips up by telling Luke, "Great shot, kid, don't get gocky!"
I've seen here and there concepts of roller derby rivalry/enemies to lovers set ups, but most of them are jammer vs jammer and I wanted to throw a few other ideas out there:
-star jammer vs the one blocker they can't get past
-defensive blocker vs offensive blocker
-lead jammer vs pivot with star pass
-skater who constantly gets penalties vs referee/nso who's strict with the rules
-experienced coach vs talented skater that doesn't watch the bench
-veteran vs rookie
-jammer with tunnel vision vs pivot who constantly begs them to pass the star
Okay, so as a skater whose motto is "just tell me where to go", the idea of people being only jammers (or whatever) is a little foreign to me. However, yes, I know that folks who love blocking (or hate jamming) definitely need more recognition. I got MVJ one bout and every time I told folks (including my coach) "I couldn't have done it without my blockers", I got a weird amount of pushback.
That said! Other possibilities:
Trans skater and "*real* women only" skater who eventually learns a valuable lesson and asks forgiveness
Queer skater and sexual-awakening skater
Shy skater and RBF skater who both think the other doesn't like them.
Any of these would also work with refs or NSOs in any combination, and also with OPs ideas!
You’re forced to fight your fav/most drawn oc, how cooked are you
I WIPE THEM FROM THE FACE OF THE EARTH
I win but take a few hits, maybe a break a bone
I win but loose a limb
50/50
REALLY CLOSE, but they take the win
I get in a bit or two before going down
I get absolutely CRACKED by them
For someone who is putting their toe into 40K content on youtube after 20 odd years in the hobby, are there any channels you recommend avoid watching?
Arch/Archcast. Janovich. A Border Prince. Gamza. Majorkill. They range from chud-pandering dickheads to straight up neo nazis. Also just avoid anything with AI art/voices, of course.
As for channels I recommend, Oculus Imperia is my favourite loretuber. PancreasNoWork is a funny loretuber that also branches into other IPs now and then. Rogue Hobbies, Snipe and Wib, Billion Dollar Clown Farm and Auspex Tactics are good/fun for the hobby side of things.
Janovich? whats up with him?
He's a drama farmer who alternates between making shit up and pandering to chuds and doomers. Also he was a guest on Arch's podcast. Dude is a sleaze.
Arbitor Ian also does amazing content and definitely recommend looking him up.
Well There's Your Problem: Interoceanico Derailment episode. Cum for the intro about the NHS Wanking Bunker, stay to see where it goes from there!