My name is Sunshine. I will mostly reblog stuff I think is important/cool/etc but sometimes I post my personal doll repaints. Thank you !!!🤗💙💓 I am not interested in any type of relationship so please don't ask. I have a YouTube @SunnySmooth If you can't find it, look up Sunny Smooth Lynel on YouTube.
I really enjoyed making her! I think she came out real nice. At first I was only going to make Julian, but I fell in love with Nadia so here we are. 😂 I'm going to be making all the LIs. Muriel's next.
There's a lot of good comments and tags in the notes, but this one is very important, I feel like it deserves some emphasis.
Part of how authoritarianism works is telling you that you can't stop it. And you can't stop it by yourself. But it wants to stop the train of thought there and let you fall into despair.
You need to remember the next part: you don't have to stop it by yourself.
You're not alone. Take care of your community and let your community take care of you. Supporting each other is so vital.
it's been very disappointing to see trans communities continue to rip themselves apart over stupid things like who really deserves support the most and who really has it the worst. I thought one of our core tenants was that it's better to uplift and help more people (even if it benefits those who "don't need" it) rather than punch down and restrict support so much that it hurts those who do need it. I'm really begging you all to just. stop and think for a second if it's really worth your time to direct your hate and negativity towards any trans person when there are people out there who are actively fighting for us to be dead.
Do yourself a favor and don't ask anything on the arcana's page. Everything they'll say will just confuse the fandom even more; nothing out of them is Canon, and for a lot of us the old "Ask Arcana" was one of the only source for canonic stuff.
"the team knows the characters like the back of our hands"
Oh yeah? Like when you mistaken the magician's pronouns? Like when you said Lucio was a saggittarious? When you mistaken Faust's gender? Or the amount of mischaracterisation the "official" tales on Dorian had, like Muriel being indirectly affectionate towards "Lucio" and Asra being completely out of place when giving affection?
Hello! Could you please write full headcanons on the M6 getting home one day to find MC dead? They're not actually dead, their body is just vacant after a spell went horribly wrong, but M6 have no way of knowing that.
Thank you!
The Arcana HCs: When M6 think MC is dead
~ @arson-the-ace oh, this. this is going to hurt, isn't it. ~
CW for descriptions of panic attacks, bodies that seem dead, references to past trauma, and your beloved in lots of pain
-- to set the scene --
It was supposed to be an experiment, to see if it was possible to put your body in a preserved or frozen state when you left it behind to visit the magical realms. You did not expect the result to be your body looking and acting like a fresh corpse, or for the spell to have a three hour cooldown time before you could reinhabit it. Your incorporeal self sighs and sits next to your body, resigned to the boredom of waiting it out.
Until, minutes later, the door opens and your beloved walks in, and you have no way of telling them what happened.
Julian
Already fears the worst as soon as he sees you sprawled on the floor - his plague doctor experience with visiting the sick has his instincts fine-tuned for recognizing an unrecoverable patient
Trips over himself in his scramble to get to you and gets a nasty bump on his knee, but doesn't register a thing because he's finally reached for you and he's looking for a sign of life
A pulse. An exhale. The twitch of your eyes moving below your eyelids, anything, anything to tell him that you can be saved
He rolls you onto your back and tries to give you CPR, but he's breaking down too much already for any of it to be effective
Chest compressions turn into him ripping his gloves off, trying to find any of the warmth you've shared with him
Mouth-to-mouth turns into a choked sob against your cold cheek
He can't bring himself to keep going. Each failed attempt at reviving you gets his hopes up only to rip them to shreds again
He doesn't want to move forward. He doesn't want to go ahead with laying you to rest. He doesn't want to leave this drafty wooden floor, without a blanket or a pillow to keep you comfortable
And he can't stand up
He sits cross-legged on the floor, lifting your head onto his lap and laying his coat over you in lieu of a quilt
You watch him droop over your body, shivering in the drafty room without his layers, voice catching and breaking on quiet sobs as he sings you the lullaby his parents sang him before the shipwreck
By the time your eyes flutter open, his voice is gone
He's happy to see you - he's so, so happy to see you, but he keeps hovering over you like he never knows if you're about to collapse for good next time
If you love him, you'll wait a long, long time to do any more magic
Asra
They thought you were playing some kind of game, at first
He walked into the upstairs apartment to see you sprawled on the floor and teasingly called out your name, playfully asking what new mischief you were up to as he hung up his coat
And then you didn't answer them
As soon as he felt that old dread seize his stomach, he was hurrying across the room and asking you what was wrong
They can feel their own body growing cold as they touch your frozen one, pressing a trembling hand to your chest in search of the heartbeat they moved heaven and hell to give you
He's panicking, breaths coming quick and short. The motions of his arms trying to pull you closer to him are far too similar to his frantic digging in the ash filled sands of the Lazaret
They don't know what's worse - the images flashing across their eyes of your charred bone fragments splintering in their bleeding fingers, or your lifeless face lying heavy against their knees
His heart can't take it. The tears give way to an ongoing numb tremor. He places a preservation spell on your body as his last conscious thought before he lies down next to you on the floor
They put their arm under your limp neck and cuddle up to you like it's just another day's end, just another snuggle before sleep while they lay their head down on your icy, silent chest
You watch him hold your body in shock. He seems like he's caught between worlds, alternating between staring at your unmoving stomach while his shaky tears land and pool on your shirt
And reflexively whispering apologies as they mop up their tears with their sleeve, asking if they're squeezing you too tightly
He's quick to check your memories when you wake up, but no matter how healthy you are, he can't leave your side for a week
Nadia
Her intuition is telling her something is wrong as soon as she's approaching her chambers. Seeing you on the ground is her worst nightmare coming true
You're cold to the touch. You don't respond to her voice. You don't respond ... at all. She needs help, you need help, you need help now, she's going to get you everything you need, just hang on
She lifts you into her bed, and the chilly deadweight of your body is more than she can take. When she throws open the door and yells for a doctor, every servant in earshot hears her panicked sobs
She hasn't had a panic attack like this in years
Servants rush in and out in a blur, hurried murmurs and muffled exclamations fading into the background. She feels like she's been plunged underwater, unable to scream as her lungs fill with salt
She sits by your side with your hand in both of hers, clinging to the only part of you she's allowed to touch while the closest physician pokes and prods at your lifeless body. She can't see you anymore
And everyone else? They can't see their Countess at all
They see a broken-hearted woman holding steadfast to her lover's limp hand, breaths jagged and unpredictable as she wails through her teeth. Mercifully, her hair comes undone and hides her wrenched face and streaming tears behind a curtain of purple
You woke her, first from her dreams, then from her apathy, and finally from her loneliness. Watching you succumb to a sleep far stronger than the one that trapped her is wretched beyond words
When you finally stir awake, she refuses to leave your side as the doctors work to ensure that your vitals are stable and to try to figure out what happened and if there are any repercussions
She's glad you're back, but she can't stop herself from waking you in the middle of the night to make sure you're just sleeping
Muriel
He's already convinced of the worst before he can prove it
He knows what a body collapsed in sudden death looks like. He's seen them countless times on the sand of the Coliseum floor, slaughtered at his own shackled hands, but now it's you
Now it's the only person he trusted to never leave his side
He can't register Inanna beginning to whine and pace, he can't register the sounds of the forest outside, he can't register the fire slowly burning down and out in the back of the hut
A lifetime of trained alertness, muted, because his subconscious has decided it can't take paying attention to a world that doesn't have you in it any more
He's finally able to move again when he takes his first shuddering breath in minutes, and he begins to walk and reach towards you in the vague hope that all is not as it seems
But that's when some small, sick part of his brain starts up its tiny chant that he deserves this, that this is the effect of giving in to your misguided desire for his touch, that this is somehow his doing
But the larger part of him, the part of him that loves you and aches for you and is dedicated to you, leans past the furious pain and lifts your head and shoulders off of the floor, enough so he can lower his head and listen for a heartbeat, feel for breath on his cheek
And there isn't any. Your body is as still and lifeless as his hope for something better, and he can't breathe. He can't breathe, and he's curled up in a ball with you in his arms, and he can't breathe
It takes a few hours before he can master his thoughts enough to think. This has happened before, and it was possible for you to come back. Asra, he has to bring you to Asra, he'll give anything
You wake up as he's carrying you through the woods, and it's the first time you've seen his body go so completely weak with relief
Portia
At first, she thinks you're feeling a little silly and sleeping on the floor just to mess with Pepi. Though the way you're lying, you almost look like you've collapsed. That can't be comfortable
It's when she crouches down to wake you up that she can tell something's wrong. Your shoulder is cold - way too cold
She's already got tears running down her face, but never in her life has she let her sadness stop her from caring for those she loves. She shakes you, back and forth, calling your name over and over
At some point she realizes that it's too late, there's nothing she can do, and that's when she starts wracking her brain for someone who can do something. Anything. She's not giving up on you
She's small, but she's strong and she's in pain. She lifts your body and begins to stumble through the Palace garden with you. She leans into the volume of her wails, using them to call for help
First through the gardens, then through the Palace halls, unable to recognize the blurry faces through her tears, but determinedly blubbering out what's happened and how she needs help for you
When someone who might have been the Countess informs her that the physician is out, she walks out the front gates of the Palace. Her ears are deaf to the offer of a carriage into town
Vesuvia still remembers its plague. It has never before heard cries as anguished as the ones Portia sent echoing down the canals as she ran and stumbled with your body to Mazelinka's house
Mazlinka will be there. Ilya will be there. They both know plenty about medicine, they should be able to help, just hang on. Hang on, she tells your cold body, hang on for me
You stir awake just as she crosses the threshold into the basement dwelling, and the emotions she feels are so overwhelming that she almost punches you for scaring her. She can't stop crying
Lucio
When he walks into the room in the inn after his trip to the outhouse, he avoids the sinking feeling in his gut by telling himself you're just napping. On the floor. Without moving
And then he can't take the way his conscience is nagging at him, so he snaps and (not unkindly, but brashly) tells you to get up and get moving already, we're wasting daylight!
But you don't move. You don't give him a disapproving look. You don't grumble when he shakes your shoulder, or open your eyes when he pats your cheek, or smile when you hear your name
He doesn't understand. You're brave, you're strong, you're loving, you're good, you're full of goodness and you're better than anything he ever deserved after what you suffered because of him
Because of ... him
This must be his fault. This must be his actions catching up with him. This must be the fallout of all those rash deals, some forgotten deity must have run out of patience and come to collect
Of course this would happen. It would take a hundred lifetimes to sift through the pile of selfish bargains, of course he missed one, of course he failed to make up for his past deeds, of course ...
Of course an oversight like that would cost him you
But he's not going to let this go. You deserve better. He hauls you into his arms, ignoring the way he chokes at your dangling limbs, and rushes out of the inn and into the deep, deep woods beyond
He screams and cries and yells and threatens and pleads and begs until his voice falls silent and he can taste blood in his throat
He calls out to any angry being listening to tell him, tell him what this is in payment for, tell him what he can put on the bargaining table that would pay back the debt that demanded your soul
You wake up before he can do anything rash, but he squeezes you in his sleep now, as if to challenge any more soul thieves
a list of factors that CAN cause poor outcomes and fatalities in blood transfusions:
being crossmatched with the wrong A/B/O, RhD/rhesus, or HLA group
Blood that isn't properly screened for blood borne disease, increasing the risk of transmission of HepC, vCJD, and HIV/AIDs
massive transfusion protocols, which have been associated with a minor increased risk in hemolytic transfusion reactions, air embolism, hyper- and hypo- kalemia (blood potassium), magnesia (blood magnesium), and calcemia (blood calcium)
Improper storage of blood and blood products like plasma/FFP and platelets
A list of factors that there have no substantial scientific proof of being linked with poor outcomes and fatalities in blood transfusion:
the sex of the donor
Currently, in the UK, there via a shortage of blood donors; in particular donors from Afro-Carribean backgrounds, whose blood is more likely to be a HLA match for transfusions for sickle cell anaemia and beta thalassaemia sufferers.
I guarantee you that if you've gone into haemorrhagic shock, or are at risk of sickle cell crisis, the absolute last thing you're going to be thinking about is the sex of your donor, because without blood — no matter who donated it — you're going to die.
Blood transfusions save lives — no matter the donor's sex — to say that donor sex is related to adverse outcomes is at best, blatant misinformation with limited if any scientific backing, and at worst, modern day phrenology that's playing dice with people's lives.
(The data Rowling uses comes from 3 trials, all of which agree that a. further studies with wider sample sizes are needed, and b. the cause is likely due to an immunological factor rather than anything to do with endocrinology. Also, bias of interpretation is A Thing, folks.)
Yo I spent a year working in the UK blood donation service and just want to add some things to reassure people.
Blood is always checked. Comprehensively. It doesn't matter if it's someones first donation or their hundredth. There are multiple checks before you even donate, and we send samples out to get them tested for any blood borne diseases long before the blood makes it's way into anyone. We sort the blood by group ourselves and it's always at least triple-checked on our end. Then it's checked again at the storage site, and once again in hospitals. We all have access to a massive, comprehensive database with every single donor. The bags are clearly labelled and barcoded.
If there was a single fatality linked to a blood donation, there'd be a massive outcry, and an even more massive internal reaction. Part of why the UK system is so careful is because of the mad cow outbreak, which was related to transfusions and honestly still gave some of my coworkers flashbacks. Everyone is constantly guarding against anything like that ever happening again.
The only significant difference between "male" and "female" blood is very slightly different haemoglobin levels. Donated blood with a different haemonglobin level will not kill you. It's meant to be higher than yours, because thats part of the fucking point of blood donations. Higher haemoglobin helps people your blood carry oxygen and helps your body with basically every vital function. Which is why we test haemoglobin levels on site and only accept donations from people with higher than average.
So yeah, one single difference. You know what this incredibly risk-averse, comprehensively research-led system said how trans people might affect that? That they don't. Our full training was literally "treat them like their identified gender"
So no, a donation from someone with the "opposite" sex won't kill you. You know what will kill you? Propaganda like this.
We have literal evidence in living memory of what happens when mass hysteria is whipped up over blood donations. My parents lost one of their best friends in Mexico during the AIDs crisis, because the media wouldn't stop screaming about contaminated blood and how it would kill you and your entire family. He died in his thirties from a fucking nosebleed.
JKR cares more about clinging to her transphobia than she does about the very real deaths that could come from this. She cares more about clinging to relevancy than she cares about the lives of the people who somehow still see her as worth listening to. Her morals are a joke on a cosmic level and I hope she rots.
im still so baffled as to how you could tell what sex the blood you got ‘actually’ was, since red blood cells DON’T HAVE DNA. of all the cells in the human body to try to ascribe the properties of a biological, intrinsic, immutable sex, the red blood cells are probably most absurd ones to pick. they have no dna! none! that’s where your chromosomes are! and your blood cells have a grand total of zero x’s or y’s! they’re physically just not built like that!!! holy shit!!!!
it really demonstrates the absurdity of terfs pretending like their cause is at all scientific, rather than a deeply superstitious and irrational misunderstanding of the human body right down to the most fundamental, basic particles. you could dissect a million blood cells for twenty years, and you won’t be able to find a scrap of gender in any of them.
To break it down further: We humans are built to be blood compatible (by type) because all of us shared blood with our mothers and half of us are potential hosts.
Because of this need to share blood, it’s pared down of information compared to other organs. To receive a piece of my liver, we’d need to be cell matched on multiple levels and you’d need to go on special anti-rejection drugs but we can share blood no problems.
Being on T changes literally ONE thing about your blood when it comes to donation, your number of red blood cells. It increases them. This CAN be an issue if you end up with too much but the solution is really easy, you just remove some (that is, you take some blood out) so arguably regular blood donation not only saves lives but is also something trans masc people on t should do anyway to keep their red cell numbers in check.
My husband has O- blood and you know what it's primarily used for? Maternity and neo natal transfusions. His blood goes into babies and women all the time becuase o- is the "oh fuck we haven't got time, emergancy blood transfusion!" stuff. We know this because the UK blood service actually texts you when they use your donation and tell you where it was used.
And this is why JK's crap is so dangerous, because if we start denying men the ability to donate blood because "ew icky man blood" then babies WILL DIE, women WILL DIE. And there's absolutely no evidence that different hormone levels in blood makes any bloody difference to outcomes. Blood is blood and if you need a transfusion all that matters is that it's a compatable type.
I nearly needed a blood transfusion after I had my second child, I lost a lot of blood in seconds. I went from fine to most definitely not fine in the snap of a finger. It's terrifying how fast that can happen. I narrowly missed needing a transfusion but had I needed it, i'm glad the NHS has a decent blood supply. When I had my eldest the woman in the bed opposite me suffered a catastrophic hemhorage 12 hours after giving birth. She was trying to a run a bath and then there was just blood... everywhere. She was in a BAD way and required multiple transfusions in the week we were hospitalised together.
Blood donation saved that woman's life. It saves a lot of women's lives.
It's frankly disgustingly irresponsible for JK to be tweeting this psudoscientific bullshit to her following and treating it like gospel truth.
Blood donation saves lives, it's a vital part of medical care. That terfs are attempting to undermine that with this bullshit is not just sickening, it's terrifying. They really are doing so much harm.
[I.D. a gif of a group if five police officers, two with riot shields, walking down a corner of a street when one they run into the tripwire. all but one of them fall flat on their faces and each other while another approaching police group stops and watches. end I.D.]
honestly what a fucking iconic response. obviously “hello my name is inigo montoya” is the fucking ultimate but we were all building up this confrontation, this fight, this moment right there alongside inigo who had been doing so for 20 (twenty) fucking years ~and in all that time did he ever think the count would just run away? ha lol no~ but then the count just fucking runs away. and yes it’s a moment of perfect comedic delivery/timing, but it’s also a classic moment of subversion in this movie that is so close to being perfect if not for westley’s shitty moustache (kudos to buttercup for still loving him even after she saw that). this film dances so delicately with fulfilling and subverting tropes and it’s moments like this that just exemplifies that
It’s also a super reasonable move. Count Rugen just watched this guy kill like four guys so fast the first hadn’t finished falling down when the last one was stabbed. This dude is no joke, and now he’s like “Oh also this isn’t about the king, I’m specifically here to kill YOU” and here the Count is in just some random hallway and Inigo has a huge guy behind him as backup and… yeah, absolutely not. Fucking run.
And I think that’s a big part of what makes it so funny, it’s not just that he’s subverting your expectations it’s that this is legitimately also the smart thing to do.
19yr She/Her @sunshine-ape-123 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
