Second verse: same as the first

"Because we just don't do things well here"

[tomhollandswebshooter-deactivat]

[sockdreams]

'Kay, can we all take a moment to gush over how aesthetic these AroAce Pride Stripes are in their unpackaged raw form?

Any guesses how many pairs there are?

Pride Stripes Extraordinary Thigh High Socks

Our Original Pride Stripes, now in cotton blend yarns! All the same Pride flags as their acrylic counterparts, but it an earthier, less neon

[edit to add alt image text]

[moringmark]

[danydarkly]

Heidi (2017) - Storyboard vs “final”    The one aspect of this film I wish I had done better was cleaning up and colouring the lineart.    I had a specific visual style I was going for, and sort of pulled it off. However, if you look closely, some scenes seem more polished than others (the screenshots in rows 1 and 3 had what was closest to the visual style I was going for).    I also would have liked for the animation to be smoother, some scenes needed much more inbetweening, but I digress.    I think, going forward, I’m definitely going to practice my animation more. And maybe I’ll practice by re-animating some of these shots. Working on Heidi definitely taught me a valuable lesson on priorities and production management. Before worrying about style, make sure your animation is good, haha

[doinggreat]

Bad Bunny - Super Bowl LX Halftime Show (February 8th, 2026)

[natequarter]

"christianity—" stop. what you just said only applies to american evangelical protestantism.

[natequarter]

"religion—" Stop. What You Just Said Only Applies To American Evangelical Protestantism.

[marzipanandminutiae]

What's with this whole weird "only autistic people have passions, so if someone is passionate about something, they must be autistic" attitude that seems to be increasingly popular on here in recent years?

I guess I can understand it with fictional characters, because people want to see themselves in their favorite media and since none of that is real, everybody can headcanon whatever they want

But it's gotten to the point of armchair diagnosing real people, usually strangers, and that's just bizarre to me. Like. You guys do know that allistic people aren't just going through life having only bland and surface level interests, right? And that there's more to an autism diagnosis than just "person is passionate about something," right?

[mortalityplays]

I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter was one of the best works of sci-fi of our generation and one of the best works of transgender fiction ever written, and there are world renowned authors who still have successful careers after they publicly assassinated the nascent woman who wrote it. I don't think they should ever know peace.

[mortalityplays]

Isabel Fall is the patron saint of works unwritten and art unmade by a culture that cannot tolerate trans women

[mortalityplays]

I think this constantly and then I get angry for thinking it, because trans women should not have to be martyrs or saints to animate our politics and our art. that work should have been her debut, not her epitaph. I should be moved by her career, not her absence. I could spit.

[mortalityplays]

read it again

[tilthat]

TIL in 1915, San Diego hired a “rain maker” who used a secret mix of chemicals to “attract rain” for $10,000, payable if he filled their reservoir. It rained for most of January, destroying bridges, dams, and causing 20 deaths.

via reddit.com

[armedandgayngerous]

that was the Devil

[general-thinks]

I mean they wanted rain

[northerlygale-deactivated202307]

His name was Charles Hatfield and I’m not saying that you shouldn’t make a deal with him, but I am saying that you should be very clear about the terms and conditions

[prokopetz]

I think we need to fully appreciate the fact that the reason he “looks like the Devil” is that many depictions of the Devil in American popular media are specifically caricatures of this guy. Like, imagine being a con man and fucking up your hustle so badly that for more than a century afterwards people start drawing the Devil to look like you.

[kyraneko]

I think you mean imagine being a con man and succeeding so badly that for more than a century afterwards people are drawing the Devil to look like you.

Admittedly completely by accident, but still.

Dude freakin’ monkey paw’d the city of San Diego with that shit.

[andhumanslovedstories]

I’m literally on shift as a nurse at the hospital (but also on my 15 min break #responsibleblogger) rotating a post in my head I’ve been thinking about for a while entitled “Okay But Like IS Marta From Knives Out A Good Nurse??” And i really do hope that post finds its way out of me and onto the page, but christ the mental draft of it is so long. Maybe I can just get away with posting the conclusion: no she’s not, and yes she is, and also it’s complicated in ways that have almost no real life parallels. Surely no supporting evidence necessary.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Because while there is overlap between the definition of Good Nurse vs Good Person, nursing has a professional code of conduct. There’s patient autonomy and safety, there’s duty of care, there’s equitable and impartial treatment, etc. So the question is: by the yardstick of our profession is she upholding the standard of care?

(And lemme sneak back here and add this to provide some context for the rest of this post. Marta’s situation is affected by class, money, power, immigration, concern for loved ones, character dynamics, the concerns of the plot, Benoit Blanc’s whole deal—but this post isn’t about any of that. This post is just about the theoretical Best Nursing Action. This post is a case study in your third semester Patient Safety class. This post exists in the same perfect world that NCLEX questions exist in.)

By the professional standards of nursing, when she gives the medication without checking the label, she fails at doing a universal safety check that can have catastrophic consequences. Let’s ignore the fact that the meds were maliciously switched (we’ll get to that, it’s a real fuckin wrench in everything). The fact is that she should have verified that she had the right medication rather than go by routine. Med error is so so easy in part because passing meds can become so routine. Especially in home health. You lose the fear of fucking up, you don’t check something bc you’ve done it a hundred times before, oops something goes wrong.

Additionally, she fails to assess her patient. Harlan is not showing any signs of morphine overdose. (I also want to be clear as I’m saying all this: if I thought I had given someone 100x their morphine dose and then lost the narcan, my asshole would have fallen out so hard you would have heard a clunk when it hit the floor. I like to think I wouldn’t let the dramatic old man rope me into an elaborate coverup, but like. He was very convincing. Anyway—)

Most importantly, she does not admit her error. Every single person in healthcare will make a mistake. If you are lucky, it doesn’t cause any harm. If you aren’t lucky, you think about what you did for the rest of your life. Sometimes you’re lucky and you still think of what you did for the rest of your life. What’s important is not keeping mistakes secret. It doesn’t help the patient harmed by the mistake to pretend there isn’t a problem or that you don’t know what the problem is. And on a larger scale, it doesn’t let the system know what happened, how the mistake happened, and what we can do to stop it. Marta doesn’t tell anyone what happened, largely in part bc Harlan is fucking wild and so hyped to die dramatically, but still for the point of nursing argument: she conceals her mistake.

And that causes about every problem in the film. Because if she’d been like “Harlan, this is insane, I am calling an ambulance” (and to her credit—she did try to call an ambulance. That crazy bitch Harlan ruined that plan) then the med switch up would have been caught because he would have been fine. So much of the situation was out of Marta’s control—literally, malicious interference with the medication and hiding the reversal agent, like what’s she supposed to do about that—but after the error happened, she engaged in a cover up.

And the moment in which Marta is a by the books Good Nurse is when she performs CPR and calls 911 to save someone she believes is blackmailing her and is the only person who knows Harlan’s death is her fault. She is providing care to someone in need regardless of her personal situation. She is owning up to what she did to prevent further harm. In a world in which Harlan was dying from a med error, she provides the family closure regarding his traumatic suicide. Being a Good Nurse means owning up to your mistakes, even if it is too late to save the patient, because we can’t find ways to address problems we don’t know exist.

But like to get back to the murder of it all, her failure to check the medication DID prevent a catastrophic med error. Like yeah she fuckin t gave the right med! She did know it by touch! And on one hand, that’s kinda bullshit, but on the other hand, I know what dilaudid feels like when I draw it up. I know what Ativan looks like in a syringe. And to be clear I would not give anything on a purely vibes based premise, but with experience you do get a nursing sense that’s difficult to articulate. It’s knowing someone has a fever from the doorway of their room, or that someone has a GI bleed from the faint smell of their poop, or that someone is in the early stages of sepsis from a glance at their respirations, or that someone’s getting delirious from just a passing comment they make. Intuition is not a consistent safety system, and also it is an invaluable asset. Sometimes you just know something isn’t right. That cannot be the entire basis of your practice. But it helps!

Marta knew the med was right because she’d drawn it up a hundred times before. That’s horrible safety practices, but also she was right. If she’d done the med check correctly by verifying the label on the vial, then she would have killed Harlan. So in this sense, ignoring protocol and going by pure intuition resulted in the correct decision in the context of unknown but extraordinary circumstances (Chris Evans). So like. Not sure exactly what the takeaway there is. I think mainly just murder is wrong.

And also just generally speaking—stepping back from the murder of it all once again—Harlan clearly liked her. Marta and Harlan had good therapeutic rapport, by which I mean they enjoyed each other’s company which was probably Harlan’s chief need. Like medications, treatments, those are all good, but so is talking to patients like they’re people and making them feel comfortable. I mean, she did that so good she got millions of dollars and a mansion. Girl knocked it out of the park.

So is she a Good Nurse? I’d say overall yeah. While at times throughout the movie, she is more concerned with being a Good Daughter or a Person Who Isn’t In Jail, the overall impression is a compassionate person who is normally competent at her job, tries to save others despite her personal situation, and takes responsibility for her mistakes. I think that’s why she rings true as a character who is a nurse, even if you could quibble with the exact medical details.

But like. To be clear. 1) Holy shit you should read the labels on your drugs. And 2) do not let a man with a knife throne take charge of your emergency response.

[jabberwockypie]

HELP. I'M DOOMED.

[jabberwockypie]

Because Arin wanted to know about assorted drama and Discourse related to these:

People complaining "but they're not American", which I think is annoyingly pedantic and in this case probably kind of racist. "American Girl" was a name that sounded good in the 80s. The company has expanded since then - and has had various character dolls who weren't American or whose stories took place outside the US entirely for more than 20 years - and it's FINE. (It's actually kind of been a problem with their ability to expand outside the US, which I think a lot of non-US collectors find Very Annoying.)

As expected, people who are Very Mad that the children like this, and not playing with tiny historical accessories. (My sister and I were very into Sailor Moon at the same time we were both into the historical AG dolls, so I don't think it's weird that people would like both.)

People who hate all of the licensed character dolls anyway

People who complain every single time there's a licensed character doll because American Girl is Ruined Forever and they don't like it anyway and haven't bought anything in six years anyway

(I'm going to point out here if you've made it clear you hate everything they release and refuse to buy any of it for years, you are no longer a customer they're trying to please?)

People who are really mad that they're doing something that's definitely going to be super profitable

Several people who don't understand how preorders work

People throwing a fit because "It's the 40th anniversary and they release THIS instead of stuff for the historical dolls!? >:(" . Madam, we are ONE MONTH into the year, and they release the historical stuff in spring. Chill.

One lady who I DID stop arguing with but whose approach seems to be "how to be on the luxury collector doll site in a marx-honoring way", which I thought was very silly.

[jabberwockypie]

The thing is, I, too, would enjoy it if they released more tiny historical accessories and outfits. However, they need people to actually buy those when they do release them! And a lot of people don't do that, they just kind of want them to EXIST, generally.

[jabberwockypie]

Also several of those people think they should have made a Japanese-American Internment Camp historical doll instead of KPop Demon Hunters, and I can not adequately stress how much I DO NOT think that a toy company should be selling profiting off an ethnic cleansing.

[lectorel]

Counterpoint: the historical line has always dealt with prejudice and awful events in history.

Addie is an escaped slave with family that she and her mother had to leave behind. Rebecca faces antisemitism. Kit is living through the great depression, Molly through WWII. Melody's story kicks off in the aftermath of the Birmingham church bombing.

Introducing history in a softer, child-friendly manner is the purpose of the historical line. A lot of history is tragic, and unfair, and ugly, and the historical line often covers those periods. It's contradictory to want more historical accessories while also saying you don't want the company to profit off of historical tragedies.

[solavei]

a summary of the consequences of my life because I read percy jackson

[solavei]

1. I steal my older brother’s PJO books, read them, and download Pinterest on my Kindle to get my first taste of fandom 

2. I spend a lot of time online, secretly, and am exposed–for the first time–to the fact that it’s weird that I share a room and bed with my dad and am not allowed anywhere else 

3. My dad brings me to a corn field and tells me obama is the anti-christ who’s been sent by god to end the world, as foretold by the bible. I believe this and cry when he’s elected because i don’t want to die 

4. I begin googling and discover that my situation is not great. I begin a careful attempt to ~distance~ myself from my father by sleeping anywhere else through any means possible. Eventually, I’m allowed to sleep in my own room

5. Now that I’ve been exposed to the real world and the fact that I’ve been groomed, I’m not ~obedient~ anymore and my dad Dips(™) to find a new kid. We lose our house and have to move to government housing in a new city 

6. Eventually my parents divorce because of this. My dad moves to a horse ranch. I visit him on the horse ranch, think it’s cool, and invite my friends over for a sleepover. I have my first gay kiss with a girl in a tent. The next day my father tries to ~kill~ me on the horse ranch(™) with a golf cart

7.My dad disappears from the face of the earth. He forgets his phone is connected to the family iMac. We know all about the crimes he is committing. He fakes a heart attack in a Wal-Mart at some point, idk

8. The FBI is onto his life of crime. He flees to Romania to escape them and lives with a millionaire Romanian woman. She’s suspicious of him after a while. She hires a private investigator and unearths his life of lies and crime. He flees to Alaska. He gets a roommate in Alaska. The roommate goes to federal prison. We never hear from my father again. He is, perhaps, dead.

9. It’s revealed to us that my grandmother is also involved. She’s been smuggling drugs from the hospital. She also goes to federal prison. Also apparently my older brother and I aren’t related. This was another scam from my father

[solavei]

Understandable response

[jem-jam]

uhhhh hh hh hhh

[doc-notreally-salas]

Me reading from point 2 to point 3:

[greater-than-the-sword]

Sending my most reliable corporate staffer to Connecticut to shut down a Christmas tree farm. Wish me luck

[greater-than-the-sword]

I keep sending them, but they don't come back. I really just need to shut down this farm. Do you think I should go check it out

[logisticbumm]

Can I go with? My fiancé, one of your reliable corporate staffers, who I was supposed to marry January 1st hasn’t been answering my calls either

[greater-than-the-sword]

Good idea. I'm sure if you remind her of your lucrative upcoming business deal she'll come back.

[jeneralization]

#it turns out that there's only a fine line between a hallmark special and a horror film

[inkskinned]

i haven't been back to CT since the accident.

which is to say I hate driving in CT, every time i have to go through it to get to NYC i spend the whole time holding my breath and hoping nobody acts stupid. there are exactly 2 things in CT worth preserving: rein's deli and the mystic seaport museum - and that second one only because my grandpa loved that shit.

now, i am not particularly familiar with the specifics but it just feels like CT is not an appropriate place for a christmas tree farm. when i got The Call, Roger on the other line called it "your standard CTF" and i had to say my what and he said "you've never heard that? CTF? christmas tree farm? CTF? - or haha, if you're woke, maybe holiday farm? haha".

i hung up after that for like 12 minutes just to take a deep breath and do a 10-minute meditation so i don't peak my blood pressure. and then i said sorry my phone died and ignored him talking while i googled. oregon has the highest number of CTFs per state. most firs and standard christmas trees are in zones 4-7 and CT is mostly a 6 state, so actually maybe i was just being biased against CT when i assumed you simply can't grow the spirit of christmas down there.

i like the name balsam fir and i keep repeating it to myself. i didn't know there were so many species of christmas trees. meanwhile Roger is still talking a mile a minute. "you don't gotta come in with force but really stick it to 'em. that's what Kevin and Herb taught me - none of that nice-guy stuff, okay? we're talking quick-and-easy. get in, hand 'em the folder, get out. it's efficiency that's the matter here."

i tune him out and then eventually get the pleasure of hanging up.

I only really work for this stupid place because i need insurance for my fucking laundry list of chronic "hysterical woman" issues (EDS, POTS, PCOS. probably something else with a fun acronym, why not). i fucking hate it here, except that it's actually been, like... fine? since the top 6 account managers kind of (i guess) disappeared - including my 2 bosses, Kevin and Herb.

most of us are just like, still doing our job. we still have meetings. there's less weird jokes. the meetings are much shorter. we just present our stuff and go home. so imagine how i fucking feel getting in my stupid honda civic and driving the 3 hours down from boston to bum-fuck just to... check on the boys.

i grew up on a farm, so im not too surprised when the road suddenly turns from "gravel" to "makeshift" to "shut the gps off, it's just confused at this point." no worries. a guy in a torn flannel drew a picture for me at the last gas station. he had leaned over and sniffed a little while sipping his Dunks. they got good trees.

they do. after a little white picket fence, suddenly the entire road is swarmed by them. firs on all sides like a coat. red twine marks off alleys of pine; cute little bows shine on the top of many. bells and white plastic deer and each branch dusted with glittering pristine snow. ornaments and little santas peeking out of present boxes.

i lean over the steering wheel and glance upwards. "aw shit. it's fucking cute here." in my passenger's seat, TERMINATION OF ACCOUNT is a red folder. i don't feel fucking good about this. i don't want to fucking do this. there's a freaking hand-painted sign saying family-owned! with handprints on it and tiny little names scrawled under it. jesus christ(mas). i'm 1000% going to hell for doing this.

on the other hand, Jen was one of the 6. like, losing the men was fine. but it is weird that jen never came back last month. i'm like, too feminist to feel okay with that. obviously yes quit your job and walk out but like - she had a life before she left. apartment and everything it sounds like.

i give up trying to bump my car over the potholes and end up walking the last 1.2 miles. it's been getting warmer these years, which i hate - but it's a lot colder here than i expected. the weather app said 54F. it feels maybe 21. the smell of snow warns me before i glance upwards - sure enough, decadent fresh flakes come tumbling down.

aw fuck. if it was gonna snow i should have put my windshield wipers up. i nestle closer into my jacket and pointlessly check my out-of-service phone for the 125th time. i realize only now i fucking forgot the folder in the fucking car.

the little house-barn-store is too close and i'm too cold at this point, so fine. the whole thing is covered in warm white lights and cute decorations. old christmas music is coming out of speakers placed at the end of the tree aisles.

i practice what i'm going to say. hi. i'm with Herrington Asset Management. we have sent, like. a lot of representatives. what did you do with the 6 entire human beings that came down here.

wait, why am i just now realizing our acronym is HAM? okay, so i'm going to say -

a man with a bright smile and a red flannel comes out from behind a work shed, wiping his hands on a rag. he's pretty, the way men can be pretty sometimes: rugged and approachable, blue eyes, 5'oclock shadow. he fills out that flannel well. "didn't hear ya come in, my apologies! what can i do ya for?"

i'm with HAM and I'm here to shut down your CTF. "hi."

"hi." he smiles wider. "welcome."

"um..." i sniff a little, feeling stupid. i keep thinking about my parents and how fucking hard it actually is to keep a farm. like, they say it a lot in movies, but it's genuinely like really very hard. fucking A, man. I don't want to do this.

he squints at me. "you from around here?"

i try not to bristle - is that because i'm fucking hispanic and allowed outdoors in CT - and suck in a breath. "no, i, um..." i decide to tell the truth. "a guy at cumby's told me where to find ya."

he laughs, and the sound is a sonic boom in the stillness. "that'd be Ron. he's a looker, huh? no, i recognize all our regulars, is all. don't recognize you."

HAM is located in Jersey and i work remote, so i take a second pass at radical honesty. my yoga teacher would be so proud. "i'm from boston, actually. just swinging through."

"oh? for real? laurel's from boston - she's my fiancée. how 'bout that. small world. can you believe - she left the big city for a dunce like me and now i get to marry the best lady around."

i do the little appropriate chuckle you are supposed to do when someone you don't know is also from the same major metropolitan area that you are from. also, that's extremely sweet to say about his partner. i am a sucker for wife-guys. "no kidding?"

"how are you liking conneticut? it's beautiful this time of year."

"it's..." fine? "more snow than i expected. weather said clear through 'til like thursday."

he offers me a warm hand. "i'm nick. what brings ya down here?"

i can't remember the name on the account. maybe it's in her name. and didn't i just say i was passing through? i flash him a smile while i think of the easiest way to warm him into the idea of shutting down his personal business. fuck. "um, just had some stuff to handle."

"that time of year, huh?" at my noncommittal smile, he waves a big, meaty paw. "come inside, i'll getcha some hot chocolate. laurel just made cookies."

he leads me into the store part of the building, and i stop for a second to pick up a tiny ornament shaped like a cottage. okay, this shit really is very cute.

"christmas really is the best holiday of all of 'em," he sighs. "wouldn't you agree?"

no, that's halloween. "sure," i say. i hold up the ornament. "this is nice." i glance around. "this is all... very rustic."

"sometimes you gotta just hit the brakes and slow down. this town is so perfect for that. places like this are so rare, ya know?"

oh i really fucking hope he doesn't know i'm from HAM. literally that would be such a vibe killer. "very rare," i agree.

i follow him into the back. i pause at the green velvet-rope stanchion that blocks off a hallway presumably leading into the "house" portion of the building. "oh. i can stay out here...?" because i am not going into this man's house. alone.

"don't be silly." he wraps his arm around mine like a gentleman and i almost scratch his damn eyes out, except i'm genuinely so fucking shocked by the boldness of the action that i just sort of follow him down the hallway. "i won't letcha leave without a cookie."

he walks me into a simply stunning kitchen. the ceiling skyrockets into a beautiful, tinseled roof. the living room folds out to the left of the kitchen island. a fire is roaring, and a massive christmas tree winks cheerily at me. outside the huge windows, the snow peacefully rests in perfect layers.

well, there's part of their money problems. they need better insulation because paying for heat in a building with this many windows has got to cost an arm and a leg. nevermind how much dust must collect on those exposed beams. why do people design houses like this - have they never cleaned?

also, they need to stop spending half their budget on christmas decorations. surely not every surface needs to be frosted with pottery barn items. it is dangerously close to a modernized cracker barrel in here. i wander into the living room, trying not to be jealous of the casual wealth.

nick stands next to me and chuckles. "this kinda weather always makes me want cookies. but that's what laurel's here for, i guess."

"you have a pretty place," i say, because i am clearly staring.

"oh, i don't know. needed a woman's touch." he winks at me and goes behind the granite kitchen island to wash his hands. "you shoulda seen it before laurel."

"oh yeah?"

he nods. "had some money troubles. 'course, she is an angel and organized a whole fundraiser. mind you - she's only been here but a second when she does. i proposed to her right then and there."

i can't help it. i genuinely fucking love that. "that is incredible," i say. "how precious to find love like that."

"she's my answer to all life's problems. truly."

"honey?" a warm voice greets us and a lady comes around the corner, one hand in an oven mitt. "do we have a customer?"

i stop moving.

her hair is darker now. her smile is wider. something opens a pit in my stomach and i fall through myself. i put my hand on my stupid useless phone and take a step backwards.

"oh!" her white teeth shine. "hi there. you're not from around here, are you?" she picks up a tray of cookies. "i recognize all our regulars."

the man laughs. "rob is tellin' on us again." she laughs too, tinkly and high and beautiful.

of course she doesn't recognize me, we're remote and don't work on the same accounts, i was never high up enough -

nick gives her a little slap on the back that makes her stumble. she laughs and wipes a little bit of flour on his nose affectionately.

maybe i'm not being fair. she could have legitimately found love and dropped out of our shitty job. he wraps his arms all the way around her and buries his nose in her hair. "my girl," he says.

"i'm laurel," she smiles at me. "i'm his fiancee. come inside, let me getcha some hot chocolate."

he picks up a cookie from the counter and waves at me. "i'm gonna go whack on a tractor for a few minutes, but i'll leave you in the capable hands of my beautiful christmas girl," he promises. "warm up, and then let's go back out there and pick you out something nice."

i force a smile at him and at her and watch him leave. i do not move. i stay perfectly still, like an animal. because here's the thing: her name isn't laurel.

maybe she's conning him?

i stare at her. she doesn't seem to notice, instead taking a bag of white icing out of the large, beautiful fridge. "how are you liking conneticut? isn't it beautiful this time of year?"

"jen, what the fuck is happening."

she arranges a single gingerbread man on her countertop and starts icing him. "how are you liking conneticut?" she repeats. "isn't it -"

"it's beautiful this time of year," i say.

"christmas is the best holiday of all," she sighs, "wouldn't you agree?"

"sure," i say. i put the phone in my pocket. i stand up straighter. "i am really just..." going to leave now. maybe i should try subtlety. "don't i know you from somewhere?" like, ya know, work?

the cookie is too hot and the icing is melting as she draws the outlines on the gingerbread. a bead of sweat trickles down her nose. "i'm from the big city," she says. "but now i am going to be married to the best man around. i'm his beautiful christmas girl."

"right, but which big city?"

"i'm from the big city. how are you liking conneticut?"

there is ice in my gut. i am getting the pure, foreboding sense of fuck that which i am pretty sure is genetically engineered in me. in spanish we call it espookies. i try to make it look casual while i walk closer and closer to the exit. i pretend to look at the decorations closely. "i'm just wondering because your partner said you're from boston?"

she laughs. the cookie icing is pooling on the counter. "sometimes you gotta just hit the brakes and slow down. this town is so perfect for that. places like this are so rare, wouldn't you agree?" she pushes the gingerbread to the side and starts working on the next one.

it's hot in here, i realize. too-hot. sweat licks down my back. i watch it slide down her neck, down her arms.

she outlines a melting gingerbread man. "what brings you down here?"

"i had..." i feel my voice crack. the hallway back into the store is within a few steps at this point. "...some stuff to handle."

"that t-"

"that time of year," i finish for her.

she stares at me. the icing has burst out of the bag and is melting down her wrists and over her apron. "doesn't this weather make you want cookies?"

i put one heel into the hallway, trying to back up as subtly as possible.

she looks up at me. icing melts over the counter. "doesn't the weather make you want cookies?"

i'm so close to making a bolt for it. but when i look at her and the icing and her perfectly applied lipstick i just fucking can't. my heart breaks for her. i need to at least fucking try.

"jen - laurel - whatever," i hiss. "i don't know what fucking happened but - we need to fucking leave." i glance behind me. "jen, this isn't fucking okay. whatever he's doing to you - we can get out of here. call the cops. something."

"it's beautiful this time of year."

"jen. come on girl, i will put you in my fucking car. but we got to go. i don't know if it's like a cult thing or -" i hork down a breath and feel dangerously close to crying. "please."

"doesn't the weather make you want cookies? that's what i'm here for!"

i take another step backwards and a hand comes down on my shoulder. when i jump, nick is back, and laughing.

"sorry about that." tucked under one arm is a huge ax. nick wipes his hands on a rag. "low on oil. you get a cookie from the missus? that's what she's -"

"balsam fir," i blurt. "i'm looking for a balsam fir."

he puts the axe over one shoulder. "oh? i love balsam. good choice. didn't expect a city slicker like you to know much about christmas trees." he lets out a laugh and so does she.

sweat is beading down my back. "i grew up on a farm," i feel my voice come out creaky and high.

he laughs again. "when you came in, i thought - this lady is corporate. you know how we take to that."

"money troubles," jen says from the kitchen. "we had money troubles."

my lips feel dry. i manage to slide by him, closer to the store. i force a watery smile. "oh. no, sir."

"they come in with a folder, talking about our CTF. i said i've been doing this for years."

my heart is slamming against my chest. i take another step down the hallway. i throw a look to jen.

she opens the oven and sticks her head inside.

"you know," nick says. "the firs are out by where you left your car."

i didn't tell him where i left my car. "oh, great." i say. "must be a sign." i take another step. and then another. i feel the weight of the velvet rope behind me and jump a second time.

"from the big city" jen says, her voice muffled by the oven. "how are you liking conneticut? this place needed a woman's touch."

at the other end of the long hallway, Nick swings the axe to come home in his hands. "it needs a woman's touch," he says.

yeah, absofuckinglutely not.

i turn and bolt, wiggling past the rope, stumbling into the many, many ornament displays. above me, white christmas rings out while i run-walk through wreaths and bobbles and reindeer. tears prick at the side of my eyes but being raised on a farm teaches you the professional art of being incredibly good at a panicked run-walk.

behind me, i hear nick pacing the store. the rope must have slowed him down. he's bigger than i am - he doesn't weave through things as easily. thank god.

i throw myself against the front doors and burst out into the chill and immediately feel a cough in my chest. the snow whips through the air. i dash past handmade right this way to holiday cheer! signs and tinsel. behind me, like a ghost, nick stomps his way ever-closer. i dart into the thickest part of the trees, hoping he will lose me in the snow and branches.

"you're from boston, right?" he shouts. "my ex was from boston. small world."

i dart across the wet snow and almost slide on the black ice underfoot. fuck fuck fuck fuck i cannot run a fucking mile in the cold. see above multiple chronic reasons for this. my bones and joints are already fucking hurting as i try to shimmy my way through the boughs, alternatively running and hiding. if i survive this, i wont be able to move for like a week.

if. good fucking lord. if.

"it's a nice place," he calls. i can't locate him in the whip of the snow. "it just needs a woman's touch."

thankfuckinggod im used to snow and blizzards because otherwise i would be utterly fucked. i try to keep any amount of calm in my body while i manage the slide-waddle of running on black ice - the backwards lean and body-tilt that i've practiced many times over farmland. the kind of tilt-run that is only possible if you've done it before. thankfuckinggod i'm not a city slicker - the trick isn't to rush.

but fuck it would be nice to rush right now!

over the speakers, white christmas restarts. i fork my keys through my fingers into a sharpened fist. i pause only for a second to pick up a particularly swingable gnome and then i keep fucking running. my chest feels like liquid fire. i can't stop coughing. christmas trees rise up on all sides of me. i can't get a breath down. the air feels like a fire hose. every step i take fucking echoes. go go go go go go.

i dart, he laughs, i freeze. i dash my way forwards. a branch cuts into my cheek. my nose is full of the smell of pine. my hands are sticky with sap and i'm covered in green needles.

i keep going. if i fucking die on a christmas tree farm i hope i poison all of the trees and end christmas. i run and hide and run and hide. i have no idea where that fucker is but i am not going to be caught relaxing for a moment.

my knee makes a particularly sharp turn and i know for a fact i've just done some serious damage. i slap my hand down onto it and hide inside the branches a particularly thick tree, trying to catch my breath for a second.

a family owned! sign winks up at me. the little handprints are the names of children, but the big ones say Steve and Piper. the date on it is from this year.

i simply do not have the time to care about that. i shiver through several calming breaths, trying to force my body back into running. i stumble into a clearing and recognize it as the road i took in.

something loud and banging starts and i know in my bones it's the sounds of a tractor starting up.

my heart drops and i seriously think about just laying down on the ground and letting him run me over.

except there is my car, blanketed peacefully in a white layer. i should have put the fucking windshield wipers up.

what-the-fuck-ever. my hands are shaking too much. i just need to get inside the fucking thing and go. i will ruin my suspension but i will take every pothole dead on if i must.

the tractor lights slice through the blizzard, heading right towards my car. it bounces jovially over the snow and potholes, unhindered.

nick is on the back of it, swinging his axe, laughing.

over the hum of his engine he calls: "how are you liking conneticut?"

[sesamie]

learning that addiction is a progressive narrowing of the range of things that make one happy was kinda life changing for me. i apply it to everything not even just addiction i am always checking to ask if i am narrowing my range of happiness or widening it

[argumate]

always good to check whether your coping strategy has become something that needs its own coping strategies

[anxietyproblem]

[pixiecaps]

so much content on twitter is ai generated nowadays im like so grateful they still have the community notes feature to directly call it out cause so maaanny people fall for it

[pixiecaps]

this is a random more “innocent” example

its shit like this where im just concerned. 9.7k retweets. 129k likes. 1.5 MILLION VIEWS.

[pixiecaps]

whats wrong with this here is that you go into the comments and 1. people are believing it 2. people are forming opinions on something that isnt real!!!

the gap here is what concerns me because how far until the majority of people genuinely cannot tell ai generated from real news apart? when do we reach the part where all people retain is ai generated content that holds no ground? the answer is right now

[pixiecaps]

the reason why i bring this up is, for the average person who may not be as tech savvy or aware of these sort of developments on the internet. people like your family members, older people in society, or even impressionable young people. how do you expect people to not fall onto the other side of this gap?

my mom the other day sent me a two minute long news reporting using a scientist from yale being interviewed as a source in the video. the entire video was ai generated. not a second of it was a real person. i had to tell her this. she was completely blown away.

my friend who is 25 was talking to me the other day and sharing some crazy celebrity news they read the other day. they didn’t seem as fond of this celebrity after reading this news. i thought it was oddly strange and looked into it with them. to their surprise it was entirely ai.

it doesnt matter who you are. look out for the people around you, look out for where the information theyre getting is coming from, and look out for yourself and where you’re getting your information from.

no one is immune to this so don’t feel bad if you fall for ai generated content.

instead what you can do is keep your due diligence and research. learn. stay educated.

[nightvaleofficial]