Nikki b's beauty bar

Asian Beauty

2013.01.11 05:06 thecakepie Asian Beauty

A place to discuss beauty brands, cosmetics, and skincare from Asia.

2013.06.14 20:18 sirloinsirloin2 Sexy Woman of the Day

Welcome to SexyWomanoftheDay! We choose a new woman or theme every 24 hours for our members to post photos and gifs of! Feel free to nominate some of your favorite ladies or suggest themes at . This is not a self-promotion subreddit!

2013.08.18 08:57 smbtuckma scientifically-supported information about haircare

This subreddit aims to provide resources for achieving better hair quality through scientific research in trichology, physiology, chemistry, and biology.

2023.05.29 23:06 ArazoII Death of a Spaceman's GPU

So, last November I bought an entry level gpu to get into star citizen. It was a bare minimum requirement buy. (RTX 2060). Over the past few months it's been working ok running at 1080 because you cant get much more than that. Definitely not the best. Seemed like after each gpu update I'd have more and more issues and it would perform less each time. People would tell me it's my rig because it was and older setup. So I spent some money and upgraded my board cpu and memory and everything was good. I logged many many hours in the ptu and pu with some friends having fun. Fast forward to the last day of Invictus out of nowhere it started Fram dropping like crazy. From around 60 fps to 0 then back up. Almost like waves every few seconds it would just freeze and come back. It was towards the end of the night so I decided to call it. Thinking the next day is defence con and I'd just wait til then because that's what I have been really waiting for. I really wanted to get a hold of a vulture and do some salvage missions. We'll, come the next day I turn on my computer and got nothing from the screen. Nothing. Just a power on no input on my screen. I checked the cables. Tried different ones. Even tried the different ports. Nothing. So begrudgingly I plugged into the motherboard and restarted. There it was. Working again. I could see my desktop again. I went into device manager and my card was there. It was reading like it should just no output. I thought to myself "great, it's dead" I tried updating bios, reinstalling drivers and tried different pcie ports. I got nothing. So here I am sitting looking at a game I can't play any farther than sitting in a room at spawn. Looking like an old 1920 fm stuttering away around 1-3 fps. "Just go buy another ome" *sad lol. Coming I to summer time in the desert my electric bill is about to almost triple. My income has been cut by almost $300 a month for some bs that I have no controll over. It seems like everything is catching up to me all at the same time. EVERYTHING has gone up in price. From gas and food to utilities and insurances. Unfortunately it doesn't look like I will be replacing it anytime soon. So for now my poor spaceman will be living out his foreseeable existence out at Beautiful Glen Station. Sitting in his hab knowing an ORIGIN 325 is sitting in the hangar not able to take him home. Not knowing when or if he will ever leave. Let this be a lesson to all that read this. No matter what your fiscal situation. Save up if you have to and think twice before making a purchase. And never ever buy a used gpu.
submitted by ArazoII to starcitizen [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 23:03 Impossible-North-117 This sub is really stupid

I checked the rules to make sure there's nothing against trst posts, I think I'm good lol.
And yeah it's really right there in the title.
This is a sub about judging beauty but the only thing the users are allowed to do is refer to a scale and see if those characteristics match.
If you care about this random beauty scale that a few reddittors have created, go and check that. What people really care about is others opinions, because beauty is subjective. There are countless people who must technically be scored a 6/10 (lest the comment be deleted) who are drop-dead gorgeous.
At the end of the day, it's all about rigorously following a scale which people can just check instead of asking others to check it for them. If it's not about a scale, it's about people giving their honest opinions which they're not allowed to do.
Some people might ask, why not just go to rateme instead of truerateme?
And my question is why does this sub even exist??? The only thing it provides is that bs rating scale and ppl following it or being banned. Who tf are these mods to decide they are the objective arbiters of beauty.
Also, if you still wanna know why I don't just go to rateme instead, It's because I'm not here to rate people or be rated. Fuckin reddit has shoved this in my feed and I tapped it outta curiosity. Now I see it often and just as often question why tf it exists.
There are so many absolutely beautiful people that come here to be rated 6/10, [deleted], [deleted], 6.25/10 and [deleted]
submitted by Impossible-North-117 to truerateme [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:56 teebo786 AITAH for setting a boundary with my cousin?

My cousin B who is my age is the only person with whom I (31f) talk from my dad’s side of the family. She is my dad’s sister’s daughter but we grew up like sisters. I used to be quite close with B’s mom (my aunt) too.
My mother, siblings, and I cut off that side of the family after they badmouthed my mother and supported my father after we put him behind bars for sexually abusing my 9 year old cousin. I don’t even know who cut off whom as they took distance themselves when we pressed charges.
My father was the sole breadwinner so the financial impact of that decision obviously impacted my immigrant mother. So while she had tolerated him cheating on her in the past and other BS obviously this type of abuse was a red line. (To us at least. B’s dad said that our 9 year old cousin would simply forget what happened as she grew older ugh.) Anyway this happened over a decade ago. We have been close with B this whole time because she stood up for my cousin and mom even though it pissed off her own parents. She is generally very principled and a caring person.
Fast forward: B was forced to move back home with her wack parents after COVID destroyed her business. While she hates the positions they took and the support they offered my dad, they are her parents and she feels a responsibility to them. And while my last memories of those family members are all of the hurtful and outrageous things they did and said, she has spent twelve years with them and time has sort of moved forward for her.
So now and then, when she talks about her life and shares her experiences with us her parents and other members of my dad’s side of the family will come up. It always makes me angry how they are casually discussed as if they are normal people rather than rape apologists who badmouthed my mom and abandoned my siblings and me for not enabling a child molester. So I often react by making snide comments or rolling my eyes, derailing whatever it is B is trying to actually share for a few seconds. Being silent and just smiling causes me physical discomfort and resentment so I let myself have these brief reactions.
The other day B got mad at me for reacting in such a way because she felt like I was prioritizing my anger towards those family members over listening to her and allowing her emotional space. When she brought up an aunt of mine who cut off me and my family for pressing charges against my father, she wanted me to just listen to her story (rather than quickly mumbling ‘ugh that witch’ as I did). It’s true that the crappy family member she mentioned in passing wasn’t even significant to the story.
In short, B feels torn in between two sides. She says that often. But I don’t see why there are two sides to this. There is a just party and an unjust one (though B feels this binary doesn’t account for the complex way she is situated in all of this). I told B that I want to hear about her life and I care for her, but I would prefer not to hear about these a**holes. She was upset by that and said that it’s frustrating that my sister and I feel so entitled to such boundaries when she spent a decade constantly prioritizing our feelings while she was caught between us and her parents (and other people on my dad’s side). AITA?
submitted by teebo786 to AITAH [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:41 teenworf1984 Grad story - labour fear, big baby, hosp birth, epidural, VERY POSI!

I’m finally getting around to writing my graduation post! My baby is 11 months so it took me a while. I had better write it down now while I remember the details.
I was classified as AMA (38F) and all through my pregnancy, my baby boy was looking really BIG during my scans. As I approached my final weeks my midwife let me know that a predicted larger baby made me eligible to opt for an induction at 39 weeks. I was so big and uncomfortable, I jumped at this! Also, I had an insane fear of tearing and didn’t want to give birth to a double-digit pound baby.
I had a few cervical sweeps at 38 weeks. I hoped this might jumpstart things naturally and I could avoid a medical induction. To my surprise, the sweeps were TOTALLY manageable. I’ve had pap smears that were worse than my sweeps. A few reddit posts had REALLY freaked me out about how awful it might be, but luckily for me it was NBD. It was so exciting and surreal when my midwife told me she was literally touching the top of my baby’s head. I’d been eating 5-10 dates a day for weeks and I was told my cervix was pretty ripe, but not super dilated. That week I went for the longest walks my swollen-ass ankles could handle. I even ate a bag of ghost pepper chips to try and bring on my induction but it just ended up giving me indigestion.
Finally at 39 weeks exactly - a tuesday - I went to the hospital to start the induction process. Before this, I thought induction was just a one time thing I didn’t realize it could take days. I started with the insertion of cervidil (pessary) and got sent back home. I couldn’t really tell if I was having mild contractions or if it was just in my head - if anything was happening, it was definitely mild. I returned the next morning - Wednesday - and got my 2nd cervidil inserted. I went home and a few hours later, after peeing, I noticed the pessary had come out and was in the toilet. It was around this time I started to feel contractions though. Just waves of manageable but STRONG pain. I was mostly on all fours, leaning over my yoga ball when the pain came on. I was really afraid beforehand of the pain aspect of labour, but I felt like I could handle everything at this stage. I couldn’t really move around when the pain was happening and it started to seem impractical to imagine being seated in car while driving to the hospital so I told my husband (and doula) that I was ready to head in to Labour & Delivery.
I was terrified of the stories of being sent back home but they told me I was about 4.5cm dilated and ready to be admitted. Quickly after being admitted I was escorted to my (beautiful! palatial! FREE!) birthing suite. The suite itself was probably about the same size of our 1 bedroom apartment I quickly stripped off and got into the tub just labour through the contractions as my (angel) doula continually poured water over my back. That went on for a couple of hours at least. I was on nitrous (gas & air) only at that point. Of course the intensity and pain of the contractions continued to amplify and I started telling the midwife and nurses that I was ready to fold and get an epidural. My midwife checked my dilation and told me, very gently but seriously, “You are actually in TRANSITION right now. You’re over 9cms so if you want you can just start pushing now and we’ll have your baby pretty quickly!!” I don’t even think I took a full second to consider it, I just immediately said “No, I for sure want an epidural”
I had to get out of the tub and on to the bed in order to get the epidural and even that was an impossible agony but probably 15 mins later I got my drugs and the relief was AMAZING. The epidural kind of brings your dilation down (something else I didn’t know about) so I went back down to 7cms and got to take a power nap (as did my husband). We probably slept for 3 hours or something. Even though I felt no pain, I was absolutely able to move my legs around, get into different positions. It wasn’t like I was dead below the waist (a common misconception that I see on this sub sometimes).
It was early Thursday morning when I was ready to start pushing again. I got pitocin at some point, I guess to get me to dilate after the epidural. The room was FULL of people (residents, ob, pediatrician, midwife, nurses, etc) because I had some meconium in my waters. Something weird that happened was my feet/legs were up on a birthing bar to help me bear down to push but the elevation made me feel really light headed. At one point, everything kind of went dark and I ended up fainting. My heart monitor went a little funny and I just announced “I’m going to pass out” and sort of slumped over. I could kind of hear folks rushing around me but couldn’t move or anything. I did come around again once my feet came down and started pushing again.
By the way, once you get that epidural, pushing feels EASY. I honestly could have pushed out 4 babies. I’ve had spin classes that are more taxing than the epidural pushing. It was fine. My husband wasn’t going to watch what was happening directly because he’s incredibly prone to fainting but I guess he steeled himself in the moment and watched it all. It was really cool. He was able to see our son’s head coming out and even go with him to the baby warmer and put on his first diaper. (Neither of us were interested at all in cutting the cord!) They showed me my placenta afterwards (my doula had to sort of talk me into it) and it was actually really *amazing* to see.
My boy did end up being big - nine pounds, 6 oz - basically exactly what the ultrasounds were predicting. And, yes, I did tear. :( Only 2nd degree, so nothing crazy. It’s all fine now, but a week after the birth I ended up having to go back to the hospital with uncontrolled bleeding. It turns out some internal stitches had come out (how???) and I had to be re-sutchered. Again, I had some nitrous to take the edge off but THAT was so much worse pain that anything that happened during labour. It was almost, like, *blinding* pain.
Anyway, I’m never going to have a second baby. I don’t have enough money plus I’m old, lol. But I **wish** I could be pregnant and give birth just ONE more time, just now because I understand fully what’s on the other side. When I told people that I was nervous about labour pain, tearing, etc they’d always say “BUT YOU GET TO MEET YOUR BABY!” which didn’t really MEAN anything to me. But now I understand what it means to actually meet and fall in love with this little person that you made. I understand how magical it all is! Nobody had more dread about pain than me, and now that I’ve gone through it all… I feel like I could and would do it again! (I mean, again, if I was younger and had more money and space!!!) Every month I fall even more in love with my amazing and perfect kid. It’s funny to think back on all the time I spent worried that I would regret my decision to have a child. But, for me, being a mom is far and away the best decision I ever made. And my birthing experience is the most powerful and beautiful experience I’ve ever had.
submitted by teenworf1984 to pregnant [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:12 imasrib Exploring Copenhagen for 1 Day: Seeking Recommendations on Must-Visit Places, Wine Bars, Champagne Bars, and Amazing Lunch and Dinner Spots!

Hey, Copenhagen!
I'm excited to have the opportunity to visit your wonderful city for a day and experience the vibrant atmosphere and rich cultural heritage that Copenhagen has to offer. Although my time is limited, I'm determined to make the most of it. That's why I'm reaching out to the local community for recommendations on the coolest things to do in Copenhagen within a day.
Whether it's iconic landmarks, hidden gems, or unique experiences, I'm open to all suggestions. From historical sites to picturesque neighborhoods, scenic parks, and tantalizing food, I want to soak up the best of Copenhagen during my short stay.
Additionally, I have a few specific experiences in mind and would love your input on them:
  1. Wine Bars: I'm a wine aficionado and would love to find some exceptional wine bars in Copenhagen. If you know of any places that offer a diverse selection of wines, a cozy ambiance, or perhaps something unique to the city, please share your recommendations!
  2. Champagne Bars: To add a touch of elegance and celebration to my day, I'm interested in discovering great champagne bars in Copenhagen. If you know of any venues that serve a wide range of champagnes, with a sophisticated and lively atmosphere, I'd be grateful for your suggestions!
  3. Lunch and Dinner Spots: Food is a key part of experiencing a city's culture, and I would love to know about any fantastic places for lunch and dinner in Copenhagen. Whether it's a trendy cafe, a traditional Danish eatery, or a hidden gem serving delicious cuisine, please let me know your favorite spots.
I appreciate any insights, tips, or recommendations you can provide to help me make the most of my limited time in Copenhagen. If you have any additional suggestions for must-see attractions, unique experiences, or anything else that you believe shouldn't be missed, please feel free to share!
Thank you in advance for your help, Copenhagen! I'm looking forward to exploring your beautiful city and creating unforgettable memories during my brief visit.
TL;DR: Visiting Copenhagen for 1 day and seeking recommendations for must-visit places, wine bars, champagne bars, and amazing lunch and dinner spots. Share your favorite attractions, hidden gems, and unique dining experiences in the city. Any tips or suggestions are greatly appreciated! Tak skal du have!
submitted by imasrib to copenhagen [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 22:07 Malice_Qahwah The day the music lived. (One-shot)

Elvis isn’t dead, he just went home.
Exploratory scout DSX862-QQ1 was cruising along at approximately 80% of lightspeed on an outer spiral arm of the galaxy it was native to. Its mission, issued by the Greater Council Exploratory Committee, was to seek out new life, new civilizations, points of scientific interest, and potential future colonies.
80% of the speed of light was a tremendous pace, even for a craft built by a galactic community as ancient as the Greater Council, but its particle shield was more than up to the task, and it allowed the scout to scoop interstellar dust and hydrogen to refuel itself, slowly charging its drives for the next pinch-jump. Each jump would catapult the little craft a hundred light years forwards, followed by another sub-light cruise to analyse, recharge and listen. It wasn’t expected to find much out here. Life had evolved in the warm, bright galactic core, entire civilizations meeting within decades of reaching orbit of their respective home worlds. Resources were plentiful, many of them had been talking for centuries before meeting face to face, with only years of communications lag, instead of the decades or centuries between the species evolving further out, in the colder reaches.
Out here, on the arm, everything was cold. Even the search for possible colony sites and resources was more a formality, record keeping for the sake of the endless bureaucracy that infested the Council.
So, it had come as a tremendous surprise to the scouts simple intelligence when it picked up the ghostly whisper of a deliberate radio signal.
Pulses, blips, zaps, hisses, all were the normal background noise of the cosmos, but this was a firm BUZZ. Soon followed by strings and knots of beeps. The scout rotates, following its radio antenna ‘nose’ to lock in a direction towards the noise. It spooled up its pinch-drive, and jumps, a few lightyears, not enough to drain its energies, but just enough to allow it to triangulate. Then jump again, to get a third point. A fourth, a fifth.
A yellow star, a few billion years old, spectral and gravitational indications speaking of gas giants, rocky and icy bodies, and a potential habitable zone with a world skimming just along the outer edge of the habitable zone. The source of the signals.
The scout spooled its pinch-drive once more, preparing to make the thirty something lightyear jump to close with the noisy world.
It also began the process of waking up its Commander.
Kevin Karl and the Karlsons wound down their last song of the evening, sweating under the stage lights and bathed in the adoration of the crowd. This was IT, the high they had all dreamed of, had chased through bars, opening acts, and finally, after just a few years, headline act of a whole show!
They’d bopped along to the other acts on that night, friends all, they’d been on tour together for weeks across the entire USA and would be playing two more shows before wrapping up for the year.
Off-stage, past the cheering, singing, breathless fans of rock and roll, brought together by the joy of the new genre that seemed to defy boundaries and break the locks of society. When they played, no-one saw the colour of their skin, Joeys scars, Mikes club foot. The band couldn’t make out individuals in the crowd. They saw humanity, united and beautiful, wrapped in the music they played.
One of the opening acts were gathered back stage, still bouncing, and their singer passed over a reefer cigarette. Kevin took a drag, feeling the smoke sooth his nerves as he passed it on, then he choked and laughed. “That was some show, could you feel them?”
The other singer, Jack ‘Wabbit’ let out a howl, “Hell yeah baby, felt like lightning, smooth lightning all through… wait, that gives me an idea for a song!”
He was off, crouching awkwardly as he pulled a pencil and notebook from somewhere and started scribbling.
Kevin chuckled, took a beer from Joey, and started walking towards the car. While far from brand new, it was big enough to take the band in relative comfort, while the instruments and gear followed in trucks. He climbed in back, sprawling across the bench, and closed his eyes. It was a thousand miles to the next venue, they were already running late to start getting organised, but he needed just a moment.
He was woken by a nudge. “Hey, Kev, you want a ride down to Jacksonville? Wabbit says his cousin has a plane, can take you both to Florida, rest of us will come down with the trucks, faster then the Catalina can get us there.”
Kevin blinked, groggy, but hanging on to getting to the next stop in comfort.
“Damn, yeah, I’m in! No way I’m passing up a planeride in comfort!”
The commander of DSX862-QQ1 listened to the sounds of the boisterous world her small ship had discovered. To say it was barely habitable was an understatement. Plenty worlds had higher gravity, but not the weather extremes this one had. Others had far worse weather but lacked the deadly pathogens that were detectable in the outer reaches of the atmosphere. Others still had some version or variation of every horrific threat this single world had, but never so many of them wrapped into one pristine appearing blue and green ball of life that seemed determined to survive by any means necessary.
She was impressed that life had evolved to multicellular levels at all, never mind to the point where it had achieved radio broadcast, powered flight and, if the latest scans were accurate, atomic power, weaponry, and the rudiments of space flight under development.
This world was only a few centuries from needing a first contact delegation, she could sense it.
If they survived. She’d seen plenty of far more peaceful civilisations wipe themselves out before achieving their full potential after all, and the light-delayed data her ship had gathered on the way in indicated that the primary species of this world **really** liked to fight one another.
Well, it wasn’t as if the Greater Council was perfect. A few hundred worlds, usually half at odds with the other half, or outright warring with the non-aligned groups surrounding them. Over what, she could hardly imagine, resources weren’t scarce, habitable worlds almost common, matters of religion seemed pointless to her.
Rather than be caught up in the endless squabbling, she’d worked to be assigned a scout ship, and only went ‘home’ when the databanks were full or the hull degraded.
She flipped idly through the signals her ship was pulling in. Mostly simple vocal signals, some barely encrypted, likely military, the rest completely in the clear. For a while there had been a simple video signal modulated as well, the computers now busy going through it to compile a useable language interface.
Her digit stopped, as one transmission caught her attention. There was a voice there, the words as yet unintelligible, but it was laced through, interwoven with, strung around a **sound**.
It wasn’t the first she’d heard of music from this world, nor even the first she’d heard following this particular set of musical rules, but there was something about **this** voice… It reached inside her, and she felt her soul reach out to embrace it.
It was memetic, the warning symbol now flashing on her display confirming what she already knew, but memetics were weapons, hazards, dangers to be filtered and avoided, while this?
It spoke of pain, it sang of loss, and heartbreak and joy and unity and togetherness. It sent her thoughts on strange tangents where her actions saved worlds, brought together warning species, enabled peace…
She shook off the effects as the music faded out and a smooth voice mumbled something, before the next song started. That too, touched her, yet lacked the sheer power of the first, and she was able to shut off the recording with a shaky digit.
She fumbled the ships controls, aligning with the source of the original transmission. A rickety looking steel tower with several high-powered emitters inside a small building next to it. Clearly not the source of the music itself, merely a civilian broadcast station, the music an entertainment medium.
She turned her attention then, to discovering what, or who, had created such a wonder.
Kevin stared at the airplane. It looked fresh, but old.
“War surplus, picked her up for a song when she was gonna be dumped out in a desert!” Wabbits cousin was a skinny boy, barely out of his teens, but with the quick and sure motions of an expert when he touched his beloved machine. “I heard you guys playing last night, gotta say, it changed my mind about black folks. Always thought to myself, to each their own right? And the laws are that way too, it made sense, but man, the way you sang, how the band played, I wanted to meet you, to say, you got me to see more. Like how the world looks from way up high, we’re all just one piece of something, right? And I think the world might be less ugly that way. So, I said to my cousin, man, I want to help out, my folks left me a pile of cash, I have my baby here, and if you want, I’ll take you where you gotta go.”
He stopped, looking at the ground, and although Kevin was tempted to accept the offer on the spot, but the kid was offering to sideline everything to ferry around his ass?
“Well, damn, listen man, thanks, and I’m grateful you’re giving us a ride to Jacksonville, but lets take it easy right? See how you feel after the flight and if you want to come to the show, sure, I’ll get you in. I can’t pay for regular flights though, I’m already paying for my car! Besides, as much as I need to get down there and make sure everythings golden, I can’t go leaving my band behind every time!”
“Oh, right, no it’s cool, if they want a ride too its all good. I want to make a change, and helping you out helps me do that, right? If you want to talk money, heck, I could bankroll a few shows, take a percentage in return, but its not about the money. Man you changed me, in a good way. I think you could do the same for people like me! You, uh. I stopped hating, you know? Feels good.”
Kevin started to wonder if he shouldn’t have just curled back up on his car bench and stayed asleep. “Okay, I’m on board, if you want to take the rest of my guys too, that’s great, we all get to our next stop on time, you get a show, and if you still want to help us out, we can look at more shows after the tour. Sound fair?”
They shook hands. Pete, as he turned out to be named, started fussing with his airplane again, and removing what he termed ‘junk’ from the hold and other parts of the craft, which to Kevins untrained eye all looked vaguely important, but were ‘heavy’.
He boarded with his band, and Wabbit, who had his own guitar with him, and as the airplane started taxying, amidst the reefer smoke, and snippets of song Wabbit was working on, they settled down for the flight.
DSX862-QQ1’s commander was hampered in her efforts to locate the origin of the music she had heard by the lack of any real information link between radio and physical locations. There was undoubtably ground-based cable she couldn’t tap, but there was no evidence of a wide area data network, and given the technology of the ‘Humans’ she wasn’t surprised.
Just frustrated.
Nonetheless, she was able to identify the singer, and his ‘band’ who played the instruments that had so perfectly twinned with his voice. She wondered how a purely non-verbal species would have received his music. Would they have felt what she felt just through the radio signal? Something she would learn, in time. Her plan was simple, she’d locate her subject, and deploy a drone to follow him. Wherever he played, her drone would invisibly follow, recording his music in perfect fidelity.
She’d return home, and share his music. Something no-one had heard before, had never experienced, and perhaps, it would make them see, and feel, what she had when hearing it.
The ship pinged, it had located a small heavier than air craft that had a high probability of carrying her quarry. It was moving at less than a third of the local speed of sound, but was being strangely buffeted. The computer flashed warning symbols on sections of the craft. Simple, but not primitive, the craft was perfectly designed for the task it was meant to perform, very good engineering had gone into creating it.
Yet it was failing, structurally, air pressures flowing over it far in excess for which it had been designed, one of this worlds unique weather phenomenon threatening to rip it apart.
Amidst the horror of realizing she was about to witness the death of those individuals who had touched her very soul, she recognized the craft was operating in excess of two hundred percent its designed stress ratings.
It was a toughness that bought a few seconds of thought. Of decision, and rash, perhaps illegal, action.
Digits brushed controls, summoning a hum from the depths of her ship. The fuel capture system was not meant for rescue, in fact, using for anything other than non-living mass was considered a breach of several laws. First and foremost, it was a very focusable disintegration array, making it a terrifying weapon. Secondly, it could collect the energy released by the disintegration and funnel it into storage cells to fuel the engines.
Thirdly, and this was the illegal part, her scoutships sensors could record exactly how the disintegrated matter had been arranged, down to the subatomic level, and the array could be reprogrammed to then reverse the process to convert the captured energy back into the original thing.
Used on an interesting rock, this was fine. On a living being it was murder at best and non-consensual cloning at worst.
Her digit pressed down firmly on the energize symbol that appeared below her hacked override code.
The aircraft finally surrendered to the windsheer pulling at it, fragmenting in a shimmering cloud of metallic fragments that erupt in a fireball as unspent aviation fuel is ignited.
Of the passengers and pilot, no trace was ever found, their deaths mourned by millions, in part for the loss of young people who had given the world such wonderful music, but also the sense of loss at the music they would now never be able to play. A pilot who had changed his beliefs and committed himself to promoting the ones who changed him for the better, a brilliant young singer and songwriter, and a band who could touch souls, lost forever.
The great changes they had been about to unleash would not take place. Or at least, not take place as quickly. The seeds had been planted, as other young people took up their instruments, raised their voices in song, and set out to change hearts and minds their own way.
Over the course of the centuries before Humanity could reach the stars as a single family, a steady stream of visitors dropped by the musical ball of rock. To observe, to listen, to rescue, when the opportunity arose.
submitted by Malice_Qahwah to HFY [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 21:59 orlando_ooh Am I crazy for completely ditching Barbri by doing 150 multiple choice every day and 3 essays until the bar (56 days)? I will take time to review what I missed.

I can’t stand the videos, the timer thing reminds me of when I used to bill as a law clerk and it’s a complete bs measurement of learning. I maybe completely stupid or up to something 👀. I mean seriously you have “45 minutes” to do 20 questions followed by a 2 hour video that just self reads the explanation of why you got it wrong 😂. I would sincerely appreciate any feedback on my proposed method. I am a FL bar taker.
submitted by orlando_ooh to barexam [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 21:59 gremlinmodebussy My monster of a mother

For some background context, my mother is in her mid 50s with three children, 35M, 19M, and 18F (myself). She had been through several divorces and have always struggled r with maintaining relationships and friendships.
Ever since I could remember, she had been cold and distant towards me. She practically abandoned me for my aunt to take care of, while we lived together she would straight out ignore me but pamper my brother. I used to be able to understand as he was mildly autistic and needed extra attention, but the hypocritical fact was that she was physically abusive towards him, he would be bullied in school and punished for it at home, not just a slap, but full on beating him up. I fell victim to her antics when my aunts not around as well, when I went through puberty, she saw that I was too embarrassed to start wearing a bra and decided to drag me out mid shower, fully naked and beat me up, and throw me into the corridor of our apartment complex. Yet she had a period of self improvement from the age of 10-12 when she learnt to communicate and understand us. She even sent me abroad to a boarding school as I wanted it (to be away from her)
During those years apart she’s grown more sick and twisted once again, she returned to her old ways with my brother and was very aggressive towards him until he fought back, I fought back once as well and threatened to call the police on her. We are both fortunate in that my brother and I were able to both leave the country for a boarding school. She had been radio silent for the past 5 years since she met her new boyfriend, every single time I tried to speak to her she would compare her younger self with me, saying I wasn’t as beautiful as her and I was not good enough. She was also virtually absent during the lock down when I was stranded from home as a 15 yearold. I think the breaking point was my recent interactions with her. During Christmas, my ex and I went home for the holiday where I found out he cheated on me. I tried to return home since I didn’t feel safe in that room with him, her response to the story was to batter me and call me a filthy whore. When my dad came to pick me up she pulled out a knife and tried to stab him. My academic achievements were often overlooked by her, I’ve always achieved all As or most As, and received multiple scholarships for universities, yet she dismissed it and said it was useless as I was a woman and ultimately my brother was the carrier of our surname not me. My brother was bright as mentioned he was mildly autistic, however she spoiled him rotten when not beating him up, she showered him with gifts and it didn’t matter whether he did good in school, and he actually ended up being a bully at the end since he received no consequences. When we’re together she would speak to my brother, she would buy him cigarettes, alcohol and anything he wanted, yet if I was to take a sip from a drink, or have a man look my way, I would get scrutinised for it for the entire night. My brother grew to be subordinate to her in order to not get punished physically or emotionally and would never stand up for us. Yesterday she came to my brothers graduation which I also attended, she was initially friendly and talked about how beautiful I looked in my dress, but as soon as I received validation and compliments from others, she lost her shit on me and told me I was a desperate whore that didn’t deserve kindness, I was no better than a dog and she regrets ever having me. I’ve ignored her since she claims to have heart problems so I couldn’t shout back at her. Today was the breaking point, I was getting ready to go downstairs for a drink in our hotel bar, as I was putting on my shoes she randomly said “you’re the biggest slut I’ve seen.” And I just broke down crying, when asked how so she just said there’s no reason and she simply felt like saying that. I’m sick of being sexualised by my own mother, be it in a sundress, church clothes even school uniform, her gaze is more terrifying than any male gaze I’ve been subject to. Should I cut her off or will I regret it
submitted by gremlinmodebussy to toxicparents [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 21:49 pogovancouver604 A eulogy for Harambe and a rap song

Ladies and gentlemen,
Today, we gather here with heavy hearts burdened by an inconsolable sorrow that words can hardly express. In this moment of profound anguish, we come together to commemorate the haunting memory of a life tragically extinguished, a life that continues to haunt our collective consciousness. On this somber occasion, we pay our deepest respects to Harambe, the magnificent gorilla whose untimely and devastating departure still pierces our souls, seven years hence.
Harambe's tale began amidst the breathtaking beauty of the African wilderness, a world where he roamed free, untouched by the cruelty of man. Born in 1999, he embodied the raw power and grace of the animal kingdom, an epitome of nature's awe-inspiring creations. From the very first moment we beheld his soulful gaze, we sensed a profound connection, a recognition of the boundless wonder that exists beyond the confines of our human existence.
But fate, in its merciless guise, led Harambe to a tragic encounter with humanity's dark side. In that harrowing moment, within the confines of his enclosure at the Cincinnati Zoo, our hearts shattered into a million irreparable fragments. Harambe, innocent and bewildered, became a helpless pawn in a horrifying drama that unfolded before our eyes. The deafening echo of a single gunshot tore through the air, claiming a life that radiated an untamed spirit and an unyielding gentleness.
The aftermath of Harambe's passing enveloped our world in an all-encompassing gloom. The weight of grief descended upon us like a relentless storm, suffocating our hopes and drowning our dreams. We were left to grapple with the profound anguish of a life abruptly severed, an existence that held within it an irreplaceable beauty and irrevocable potential. The emptiness that permeated our souls echoed the void left by Harambe's absence, a void that will forever remain unfilled.
In the seven long years since Harambe's departure, the pain has not waned but has grown, an unrelenting ache that gnaws at our very core. We are haunted by the haunting specter of what could have been, of a world where Harambe thrived, where he reveled in the embrace of his family, and where he continued to inspire awe and reverence among those fortunate enough to bear witness to his magnificence.
Today, as we stand here, tears streaming down our faces, we are consumed by an overwhelming sense of loss. We mourn not only the untimely death of a majestic creature, but also the demise of our own innocence, the shattering of our illusions about our stewardship of the natural world. Harambe's tragic fate serves as a stark reminder of our failings as custodians of this planet, as the keepers of precious lives entrusted to our care.
Oh, Harambe, the ache within our souls is unbearable. The void you left behind remains an open wound, a constant reminder of our collective responsibility and our grievous shortcomings. May your spirit find solace amidst the stars, far away from the chaos and cruelty of our world. May your tragic sacrifice be an eternal plea for compassion, for empathy, and for the urgent need to protect and cherish every living being, lest we condemn ourselves to a future devoid of the wonder and beauty that you embodied. Rest in eternal peace, dear Harambe. May the heavens weep alongside us, for your departure is a loss too profound, a pain too agonizing to ever be assuaged. Farewell, dear friend, as we carry your memory, your essence, and your tragic story within us, forever mourning what was lost and forever vowing to create a world where no life is ever needlessly cut short again.
I have prepared a rap song for Harambe.
(Verse 1)
In the heart of the jungle, where the wild things roam, A legend was born, Harambe claimed the throne. With a gaze so wise and a spirit untamed, He captured our hearts, and forever he'll remain.
Oh, Harambe, the king of the wild, Your memory lives on, like the spirit of a child. We won't forget you, your story we'll tell, Through the bars of your cage, your spirit broke free, rebel!
(Verse 2)
Harambe, the gorilla with strength untold, But trapped in a world where compassion was sold. In the zoo's confines, he stood tall and strong, Little did he know his time wouldn't be long.
Oh, Harambe, the king of the wild, Your memory lives on, like the spirit of a child. We won't forget you, your story we'll tell, Through the bars of your cage, your spirit broke free, rebel!
(Verse 3)
The tragedy struck, a shot rang out, Tears filled the eyes of the world without a doubt. But Harambe's legacy refused to be confined, His name echoed in rap, a lyrical shrine.
Oh, Harambe, the king of the wild, Your memory lives on, like the spirit of a child. We won't forget you, your story we'll tell, Through the bars of your cage, your spirit broke free, rebel!
(Verse 4)
In meme culture's grip, Harambe found fame, A symbol of unity, a meme with no shame. But let's not forget, behind the laughter and jest, A majestic being, whose life was laid to rest.
Oh, Harambe, the king of the wild, Your memory lives on, like the spirit of a child. We won't forget you, your story we'll tell, Through the bars of your cage, your spirit broke free, rebel!
So let us remember Harambe, his spirit so strong, A reminder to fight for the voiceless, to right every wrong.
In the rap game, we honor his name, A tribute to the gorilla who forever changed the game.
submitted by pogovancouver604 to Harambe [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 21:29 AlienNationSSB #Alien-Nation Chapter 168: Now or Never

Alien-Nation Chapter 168: Now or Never

All Chapters First Chapter of Alien-Nation Previous Chapter
Chapter summary: Elias wanders the grounds inspecting everything he can, has a fatheson moment with Larry then sends Vaughn to go try and spring people from jail.
It had been easy for me to see during the speech I'd given roughly how many had already arrived up the narrow pass, and as I stood from inspecting a firing port in a trench, testing whether the old cast iron cannon would roll back far enough on its rails after firing.
I gave it a pass after measuring against a rod. Certainly it was far from the highest of technologies at our disposal, but certainly it would be either lethal, injurious, or at the very least, extremely loud. The gathered mishmashed array of weaponry pointing outward was impressive enough, but the real piece de resistance was the sheer number of railguns we'd had returned to us, frequently carried by a two man team. I signed off on it for final inspection, noting the plug in place over the end, and went to the railgun positioned further down the trench near the intersection.
This was one I recognized. This shared at least something in common to the cannon, insofar as it was far from the latest model at our disposal. I spotted some of my own extremely crude handiwork, a far more rough set of welds performed along the plate's protective, unsanded metal edges. Mister Singer, if he were ever presented with it, may have recognized the shoddy, unstable hand that welded together some of the protective casing. The service flap told me the model without needing to even open it, the household door frame hinges pulled from Verns' stock of spare parts bin, before we implemented something even so basic as refined latches with catch points.
That had to make this a Mk. II. Sentimentality had no place on the front lines. I sucked in a breath at the sight of another old muzzle-loader being carried into the workshop for upgrades, already laid out on the timber worktable and ready for use and sucked in a breath.
I just hoped the earliest design of managing power flow wouldn't give out from the faster firing. Complex but beautifully arrayed piping had given way to simpler, more streamlined designs as we incorporated a greater number of readily available alien parts. Some of which we were supplied an initial batch of in the bag with the blueprints, and then we were told how to work free those same parts from various broken pieces of technology we'd reclaimed off the Shil'vati, or even the freely given away omni-pads. With every iteration we demonstrated a degree of adaptation to using the parts we had available, and each generation marked a leap forward in our own understanding of Shil'vati technology, courtesy of G-Man and his father's handiwork.
The final barrels of the extremely limited run of the second batch we'd paid handsomely for were marked 'present,' too. They had gone the least far afield, with one already slagging itself during the attack on the data center. I frowned at the spreadsheet, as if my impression of it might cause their fate to improve.
The latest blueprints could maintain a decent rate of fire without burning out its power management system located in the welded together case. Or, rather, the barrel gave out first. For the first time, perhaps as a result of being coupled with the magazines and a relatively rapid-fire exchange meant the neosteel barrels we received had finally become the weak point in the design.
It was only after we'd returned to Camp Death that I'd noticed the difference.
The new batch we'd paid dearly for seemed somewhat altered from the first batch we'd been building all the others out of, made from an alloyed material that shone somewhat dimmer under the sun as George and I worked in the shed elbow-to-elbow, though the contrast was not immediately obvious until one held the two against each other. It was slightly thicker, too, all of which to me indicated a change in supply in some manner, but our supplier had hardly announced themselves to Sam.
This was a troubling puzzle to me. I still couldn't be sure it was the new microbatch of barrels alloys being far from equal to the originals we'd finally finished building out? Or was it the expanded magazines and power couplings' ability to fire faster creating an overall volume of fire that overheated the barrel from overuse? Or was the power management design faulty, generating more heat per shot? Were we misusing them?
I measured the barrel of the Mk. II, just to be sure the shelf life of the barrel hadn't come due. So far, inspections of the original batch of barrels had mercifully indicated they'd all been brought back here were in comparatively great shape, with this one being no exception. That lent me some comfort that these new barrels were just not up to the task of heavy, sustained fire. I couldn't know that for certain, and an unreliable weapon was cause for anxiety.
Indeed, there was almost no wear on this version at all, disproving the worst case scenario that these were only good for a certain number of rounds before they'd be worn down to uselessness. Certainly, they'd eventually give out, but it seemed we were still far off from that point.
"Sir?" Asked the gunner, staring at me.
I stared at him, then down at the spreadsheet. "This thing fires three rounds a minute. Do you think that rate of fire is sufficient?"
I could tell he wasn't sure whether a 'no' would have him replaced with someone professing to be more accurate.
"Get it upgraded." I took the white gel pen and scribbled on it- make ready for an upgrade as soon as the final repaired railgun clears the shed. Assigned to casemate #4, Operator... "Call sign?"
"Brut," he answered.
"Brut...with the Umlaut?" He gave a thumbs up and I added them. Costing nothing but a drop of gel ink for a little personalization if it made for a happy gunner was a good investment. "Use it well. Get it upgraded if there's time, keep an eye on the work shed. Once the repairs stop, you can take this to the front of the line, Brüt."
There was no point dismantling all our old ones and creating a backlog while some still needed repairs. I wrote on the hatch Upgrade from Mk. II to Mk. IV. That would give it a magazine and more than triple its firing rate. Anything more than that, I quietly held my doubts for the feasibility of upgrading in a timely manner. The Mark V's took too much time and effort to build their complex power management systems for not enough gain, stuffed too tightly into the protective case to be completed quickly. The Mark VI's tended to overheat their crude fire control circuitry, the consequence of an overcorrection back to simplicity; they could maintain a high fire rate, but were too delicate. The VII's were the ones with the new barrel. Promising, but those barrel faults...I still worried it might have been the power management system.
We'd started considering adding water tanks to help maintain them, but it brought the weight higher than that of a Mk. I, and successfully swapping a boiling hot tank off a delicate, electronically-loaded railgun in combat seemed like a very questionable use of the time. We'd just have to ask the crews manning the railguns to be a bit judicious in our fire, and hope that the flaw was limited to the new little batch of barrels.
How many rounds, exactly, and exactly how fast was yet to be determined; we hadn't conducted the amount of testing a proper military might carry out, but while we had no shortage to man, we also did not have so many as to test dozens until their point of failure, weighing and comparing all their possible conditions.
All this uncertainty kept bouncing around my head. How many troops did we have here? How many rounds for every type of rifle, including the more exotic variants? How reliant on them were we to deal damage, and was it all stored somewhat safely? On the less direct side of things, how many tons of food did we have stored, and was it distributed well? How many thousands of gallons of water could we draw? How many pounds of soap to wash utensils, cups, wounds, and shower with? How many pounds of food over how many men, to last how many days? If it rained, some of these might be alleviated, and yet might kick off a whole host of other issues. There was no way of knowing, no way of taking a perfect stock. But I could estimate.
We had a lot of people. And a lot of guns. And a lot of defenses, and literally countless tons of high explosives, triggered by various means and methods. And we were mad as hell. While exactly how mad was less concrete a figure, I knew this many men away from home could end poorly.
Ultimately, whether it was the fault of the new barrel or the design had finally reached the limitations of its potential rate of fire without causing other issues, I couldn't say for certain. So I had to do my best.
I gave the railgun a clean bill of health to operate if needed, 'priority upgrade,' and noted the rate of fire for the defensive position at 'three a minute.' This one being one of our oldest models, I left it to the operator with my blessings, and made a mental note to add the next railgun we had to be stationed nearby, just so that we weren't under strength from that angle.
I craned my neck from the trench to behold even more insurgents trickling into the old clearing. The arrivals always came in ones-and-twos, their body language telling me the story of the journey it had taken to get here. They'd had to have abandoned their vehicles to the traffic-snarled roads almost certainly some miles away unless they knew the path George and I would occasionally take;.
Those who brought their own heavy weapons lay them down at their feet before collapsing. Water and food was distributed, though I couldn't speak to the quality, and a trash run would have to be made, tossing the empty tins into ammunition containers.
Of all the newcomers who had yet to be organized into place, I counted two mortars, several more volunteers grouping up to retrieve ammo after taking down descriptions of the vehicles from their exhausted owners and sprinting back out into the night to fetch whatever had been left behind.
The resourcefulness lifted my spirits. No one entertained the notion that these men were taking their leave to flee a certain doom. All present felt some degree of faith, understood who they were, why they were here, and what we were setting out to accomplish. Cells worked to find one another in the darkness, congealing themselves into a more coherent, practiced fighting force by virtue of familiarity with one another. Discipline was sharp and needed little enforcement past an initial reminder. No flashlights switched on inside the premises or campfires were lit despite the encroaching edges of the cold front. Insurgents were guided to whatever defensive positions, pillboxes, trenches, battlements, or bunkers still sat empty, depending somewhat on their expected role after detailing their skills to sentries or those otherwise familiar with the camp carefully explaining sight lines and our overall defensive strategy.
Whispered word overheard from those arrivals seemed to indicate a mixture of panic and outrage was fast spreading through the state's populace, carrying them on frightened wings as they took flight in the night, from here to the southernmost beaches and bays. It seemed word had gotten out successfully, then. That knocked down one more obstacle to our success, or at least set the pieces in place. Soon, all that would remain would be the ugly business of following through, and hoping, no praying that I hadn't massively miscalculated in my hubris.
I took the ramp out of the trench so they could pour some loose gravel into it, helping ensure that if those threatening looking storm clouds opened and if the drains clogged, we still would have some footing, and retired to the command cabin, eyeing how empty it felt with all the finished products being set into defensive arrangements; only the workshop still retained all its rather explosive concoctions.
The manpower situation was such that those familiar in reliably manufacturing complex bombs were spending their time setting up defenses in the fields beyond and settling in our new arrivals.
And then I had the couple hostages, weakened by months of captivity, restrained and kept under guard, but still sitting right on top of the half-done armaments.
I told myself that we had taken precautions- the most reactive sets separated by a thin membranous bag of water to prevent chain reactions from taking root and a few emergency containment systems, but they relied on someone present. I'd need all hands on deck- and what if a direct lance of energy landed from some heavy weapon hit the shed, perhaps to try and make a point? No mere bag of water would make a difference then.
Then again, if they brought that king of weaponry to bear, then the outcome would be certain. The Shil'vati would still lose their hostages, and have tacitly admitted I'd forced their hand, and that they'd declared we were enough of a threat to sacrifice noblewomen just to put a stop to.
I hunched over a smaller map in the command cabin, pinning down the garrisons and jails Verns might be held in. Perhaps I'd been premature in my assessment in lacking a future need of a good map when I'd jumped atop the table for my little motivational speech. I'd gotten caught up in the moment; I hadn't foreseen the need for an offensive element.
I was sorely missing my Lieutenants. Vendetta wasn't here, which was one of the greater anxieties weighing on my shoulders.
The one word I'd whispered in his ear all that time ago to bring him around to believing I did, in fact, have a plan: Victory. He should be here already.
He'd sprinted off across the field in glee back when I told him of this plan's possibility, that "Plan C" might come about due to a few cells going dark and my suspicion that it wasn't moles. The null hypothesis, that there were in fact moles, had put him in direct danger by sending him to double-check.
I cursed my blindness. My eagerness to take a night off, to get him out of the way so he wouldn't clash with the others, so I could be a 'normal boy' for a night and attend a party- one I wouldn't be kicked out of, To find social acceptance.
All part of a 'coming of age,' even after I'd already spilt blood, led a war campaign effort, kissed, earned more money than most would see in a lifetime, and mentally cut ties with my family. By almost any account, I already was a man, yet I'd gotten obsessive in imitating the modern trappings of defining such things. I should have seen the cells reporting members' absences and even going dark as a whole for what it was. I could have called off Town Hall, started assembling even more people here.
Then again, if I had, then perhaps...the shil'vati might not have started grabbing everyone. I hated to think of Verns as 'sacrificial.' They likely didn't have much on him, just a neighbor's report. Then again, we'd had that meeting right after the bar fight at Lucky's, right? How thoroughly had George cleared out his house, if they went back to rummage around and investigate? How well could George cover his tracks? We'd left that ammo crate in the hallway, for starters- clumsy of us, yet we were in a panic. Like children. I tensed as I remembered so vividly the sudden sharp report of the gun, watched Patrick's empty eyes stare up. But not children.
There was nothing I could do for Vendetta. We'd sent the Bat Signal out. Either he'd be here, or he'd miss it.
I weighed the value of sending George away once he got here. The order would certainly annoy him after he'd just arrived, something of an arduous task given how far backed up the traffic had become. I also knew it meant I'd have one fewer lieutenant here, where I desperately needed him. I could hardly ask him to burn down the childhood home, and it would certainly reek of hiding evidence.
"Sir," A sentry stood in the door frame, and I stretched from where my muscles had tensed up, pulling my shoulders back and yawning silently beneath my mask, lumbering toward him.
I didn't realize how tall I'd gotten until I realized he was staring up at me and had taken a half-step backwards- not to make way so I could lead from the door, either, but almost defensively.
"Yes, what is it?" I asked, stopping in place.
"We've received a message for you, sir. Radio is reporting that a 'Hex' has checked in from her position. She and Binary report 'Green as Grass,' sir."
I wasn't used to being called 'sir,' and it caught me off guard. I realized he was standing there, waiting for a response from me of some sort, too.
What should I say for him to send back to Hex? I momentarily remembered the sensation of the kiss, the warm, slightly wet softness, the tenderness, and felt a bit of a blush under my mask. While every instinct screamed at me to not air even a hint of my romances or inner turmoil about a kiss over the unencrypted connection, there was a level of 'not talking about it' that I was unfamiliar with and hadn't planned for. Could my message back be coded into something subtle? Nothing came to mind.
"G-good," I finally stuttered a little awkwardly. "That's very good."
"What does it mean, sir?"
I pushed the distractions out of my head. This was no time to be thinking about girls- and my mind stubbornly disobeyed, wandering right back to Natalie. At first to the hug she'd offered me, when I was scared. Frightened of the mind-wiper device. That tenderness she'd offered- I pushed the memory from my mind, too. This wasn't the time to fantasize, either. I had to live in the world that was before me, here in the present. People were relying on me. I could figure out all that other stuff- girls, hope, my future- sometime later.
"It means the operation can proceed as planned."
If the Twins stopped reporting or got caught with the hostages, then we'd have a lot less leverage stopping Azraea from blowing us all sky high. A couple noblewomen- who I wasn't terribly familiar with and seemed to be somewhat less important, provided they were truthful to me of their station. This unfortunate pair had relied on connections to already-stationed family members to arrive, rather than on their raw political power to muscle their way to Earth's then-closely guarded secret coordinates, and were present only for evidence of said hostages' presence.
"Sir, beg your pardon," I could sense something bubbling under his words, against his better judgment, but some sense of desperation demanded he ask me this anyways. "But what is the operation? I've been manning the airwaves with Radio, helping spread word, but everyone I make contact with seems to want to know."
"I don't see the wisdom in broadcasting the finer details of our plan, I'm sure you understand."
I sensed the inner conflict by the way he froze up. He wanted to object, probably, to swear he wouldn't leak more than the minimum. The problem was, anyone listening for long might take a morsel here, a morsel there, and bring it all together and undo us.
"You have all you're meant to have at this point, frustrating though that must be to try and inform others of the going-ons. Our objective is right before us. When the time comes and the enemy appears, blast them." I didn't want to say there isn't much else to plan. At least, not for them to consider.
"And you, sir?"
"I'll be right here, alongside you," I promised. That seemed to ease some of his pressing curiosity, at least. "We'll be here together, to watch the birth of a miracle." That, or we'd die together. Those words didn't quite have the same catchy ring, though.
I looked over my shoulder back at the map. What more good could be wrought over pondering what jail he might be in, without more details?
"Another matter. Hex said G-Man should arrive in a few minutes."
"Thank you. Anything else to report?"
"No sir, the shortwave beckons." They gave a hand-on-heart and stepped out, leaving the doorframe empty.
I told myself I may as well follow. There was no good to come of disappearing into a tent, secluded for long periods, not when anxiety might run through the gathered troops. I had to make myself seen at least periodically. Besides, it was easier to get a more complete picture from out here than in there.
Radio looked like a one-man-band by the way he was surrounded by boxy electronics of varying sizes, their glows dimmed slightly by thin pieces of fabric taped over the tiny glowing screens, and the trap stretched over his head. Wires snaked their way along the ground, a trooper trying to lay the cable into a thin channel of dirt with a spade to reduce the tripping hazard.
Pierce crouched next to him with a laptop plugged into something wired together, the final outlet of which looked vaguely like an international travel inverter, her fingers flying across the trackpad.
"Radio, how are we?"
"We've made lots of contact, I think. So much traffic on the airwaves it's actually hard to find a clear channel to broadcast on."
"Do they have our encryption keys?" I asked, the question almost automatic.
"No, having one kind of defeats the purpose of being heard and getting the signal out. Besides, encrypting's probably easy for the Shil'vati to crack. Less easy for human intelligence agencies, but impossible for the people who we want to hear us."
I already knew most of this, but humoured him. Little entertained radio quite like his namesake.
"What's our chance of discovery, then? Rough time to them figuring out it's us here, and finding the signal's origin."
"At least with a somewhat uncountable number of HAM signals being thrown across the airwaves, we are a really big needle in a gigantic haystack. Besides, how many times have we actually been where we're broadcasting from?"
That was a point I hadn't considered.
The Shil'vati would likely regard our signal as just a relay point, rather than the source, let alone the destination.
Would they strike it just to silence the orders, once they figured out how many of them were originating from the same point?
I comforted myself by staring upstream of the creek that wandered to the south of Camp Death, following its course with my eyes to where it flowed under the concrete tunnels under the highway, under the train tracks, to where it ultimately ran back to where Radio and I had visited Saint Michael's. Then I turned my head back across the field, toward where the foundation of Mojo and Mister Pasta's had been, where Vaughn had called in the kill team on the Fed's sting operation,
We'd certainly set up plenty of remote broadcast towers before, to entice them into launching strikes on collaborationists. That Saint Michael's was still standing after we'd broadcast all kinds of propaganda from there meant they'd almost certainly learned to be a bit more cautious about lashing out blindly.
In the darkness I saw a familiar figure materialize, and with a bit of relief, I ran up to greet Larry. I wanted to give the old mechanic a hug, but knew that expressions of intimacy while standing near the middle of the camp's defensive perimeter in front of everyone was more than a bit inappropriate, and settled for a nod of acknowledgment.
"I cleaned up the mess at Jules place," he said, going back to referring to his friend by their code name, glancing at Pierce.
I felt a moment of shame. We'd panicked and grabbed everything. Perhaps we were like children after all, leaving our toys out and in the hall. "Thank you."
"Saw Patrick."
"Patrick saw," I said back. "Patrick- called."
Whatever Larry was about to say, that brought him up short. "Oh. Oh." The words seemed to leave him pained. He'd known Patrick, too, and I felt the weight of guilt. It seemed he moved on faster than I could, because he changed the topic quickly.
"What's up?" He gestured at the radio setup.
Pierce seemed to be quite engrossed in her work, trying to connect the laptop to a radio via a USB cable, fumbling with the port in the dark. The laptop's screen was showing a shaky handheld video of a mass arrest- and I thought I could hear my own voice echoing the words I'd spoken just a short while ago.
"Just uploading the speech. I've spliced it up to some footage that one of the newcomers brought. We'll also be exporting raw versions of both- just the audio, the video, make sure people have the record and can decide for themselves."
Sometimes the truth was the best propaganda.
"How are you getting video out? I thought the internet was down."
Radio held a hand up, and then put it down, as if I'd been a teacher asking a question and he'd been chasing extra credit. The next few sentences were practically a foreign language to me, uttering a series of numbers in rapid succession, followed by what sounded like a name. That may've been a model, an edition of a model, a make, a special form of broadcasting- all of it may well have been bounced off the ionosphere for how far it went over my head. I wasn't used to being so completely out of my depth, but everyone seems to have specialized in some skill or another. I'd preferred getting involved in all aspects of the revolution, but at a certain point delegation was a necessity, and I was watching not just the task's needs, but also the capabilities of my lieutenants grow well past my ability to offer useful insight and guidance.
"I...see." I didn't, but I wasn't sure what else to say. I wanted to express curiosity, but I felt like this new capability was something we'd discuss later, if there was a later. "And people can receive high definition video over shortwave? It just takes a long time?"
It seemed to me to be an apparently somewhat technical process to perform over shortwave, and only when finally pressed for details, Radio at last admitted something I did understand: "I am not sure most people know how to collect the signal, or have the right equipment to, but I'm sure someone will, Maybe that person will redistribute the videos."
There. Actionable, useful information.
"Then continue," I said. "At least unless anything more pressing jumps up to do."
"Let's hope it's good for more than the history books," Pierce commented mildly.
"The world has to know, and I am certain the shil'vati have no interest in putting such footage out there. That's reason enough for us, isn't it?" I watched Radio nod and then scurry about the camp, tracing one of the wires toward the antenna array nearest the highway. I turned to Larry, breaking off from the amusing spectacle. "Do you remember my promise?" My question was genuine, but he seemed to waver slightly, now that the possibility of actually delivering on it was here and present. Perhaps the aura of our inner circle's invincibility had been shattered with the loss of his neighbors, and it would be best to set his mind to something productive. "If you want it to come true, see to it that the mortar teams are trained. Get the cannons in position, and make sure we're good for more than just one wave."
Larry snapped a salute, fingers on brow, and I clumsily approximated one in return, though I had never done a salute before in my life. I could sense the slight smile from behind his mask, and with a quick check over his shoulder that no one was watching, he reached out, straightened my palm out slightly, then brought the edge of my palm higher until it was a bit more level. "That's better," he judged, then leaving me alone once I dropped the hand a few seconds later.
George showed up a few minutes earlier than Hex had predicted, out of breath and escorted by a sentry. "Ditched the truck," he wheezed. "The huge bags of claymores and equipment were really heavy. Had to haul it under the interstate." His shoes shone with creekwater; He'd almost certainly taken the path Larry had forbade us from trying, and I couldn't imagine doing it in the pitch black darkness at any speed.
I motioned to the sentry. "Help him get that bag into the workshop." He was the best bomb maker, but he also had helped build this place. I wanted to pick his brain, but I would give him time to rest, first.
"Hey, Radio. Radio!" I heard the shortwave radio he'd set at the top squawk to life with a familiar grumble on the other end, distorted somewhat by the tinny speaker. I scooped it up. Someone with a vocoder- Radio gave those out sparingly.
"'E' here," I answered for him, but didn't want to announce myself. Not right away.
A moment's pause.
"What are your orders?"
"Vendetta?" I wanted to confirm.
"I'm here with over fifty people waiting at Warehouse Base for something to do," I knew the transmission would likely be monitored, but the time for subtlety was over. "You're on speakerphone, by the way."
The line was likely tapped, or at least would be intercepted, its contents determining priority for being passed upward or presented to someone with authority, possibly even Azraea herself.
Whatever orders I gave, they'd have to be in code, or at least sound like something unimportant, low-priority so that we might give him as much opportunity to get the drop on the enemy as he could be afforded.
"Don't bother trying to come here yet," I quickly supplied. "By now, if you're not on your way here, you have your own party to go to." I took a moment to survey the grounds. "We've practically got a full house. See about getting a house party of your own, though you'll have to pull the guests out of their own company. Or something to flank."
"Any idea where to start?"
The map fresh in my mind, I found the answer sprang to me.
"There's a rest stop along Route One. If you've got any party poppers, you can get them to open up to you like a can opener. You know, it's all about introducing yourself well."
I heard him laugh mirthlessly, the sound coming through like a cheese grater run over the asphalt.
"That one's a big bite, maybe more than we can chew without choking. Why don't we start with something smaller?"
I wanted to protest, to direct him to the biggest ones first. Then again, how much did they have on Verns? How likely was he to be somewhere heavily defended?
"What do you have in mind?"
"Well, right across the river from where the naughty girls all get sent. Why don't we start there? Every party needs a few ladies, right?" I could hear a roar of assent from the background.
I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that- was he going to try and attack the Shil'vati base? Surely not those women? He wasn't that insane. Then it clicked- the Women's Correctional Facility in Wilmington, just upstream of the Christina River from where he was broadcasting from at the old Warehouse Base. Easy to get to, certainly, and right near the interstate with pedestrian bridges and neighborhoods to scatter in after the strike made it an excellent candidate. Almost certain to succeed.
The strike wouldn't yield us Verns, though forcing the Shil'vati to admit that they couldn't both take and hold their prisoners at the same time might force them to at least pause rounding up ever more people.
If I gave it my blessing, I would be sacrificing any chance of rescuing Verns for...for what? The tradeoff strained my soul to even consider.
"If you feel that's best, you know your crowd. That said, they got Jules- we want him back." He'd helped build Camp Death. He knew its ins and outs, though my real reasons were somewhat sentimental. "Keep an eye out for Morningstar and a few other cells. I've little doubt they can party with the best of them." They were one of my heaviest hitters, routinely bragging they could go clay pigeon hunting with an unguided RPG, yet I was pretty sure I'd never rallied them to Camp Death- if they were to rally, Warehouse Base was where they'd be.
There was a moment of silence, until Vaughn reported back- "Yeah, they're here. They were going to move up to you once they got everyone together. Should we leave instructions for where to find us, or to find you?"
"Do it- supplies are overall good here. Lots of...uh, balloons, confetti..." I felt like I was stretching the analogy too far, so I gave up trying to equate weaponry to party paraphranelia. " know, the works. Take Morningstar and use 'em as you see best fit. What've you got for your party? Any good party supplies?" We certainly could make a trash run and see if we could also deliver them some RPGs at the same time.
"Got some Bump-n-Grinds, and you know those are always good for an up-close-and-personal encounter."
I laughed. "From what I read about bumping and grinding? The closer, the better." Their accuracy left a fair bit to be desired. Still, it would be a good, even vital carry just in case those dreaded Security Forces Technicals made an appearance, and would probably be 'good enough' against a stationary target like a wall, especially in the hands of a capable squadron like Talonstar.
"What time are you thinking?"
"I'd say as soon as we're all ready. You really overestimated how many people know where Camp Death is. A fair number showed up here, and are still trickling in."
"Enough to throw several parties at once?" I asked, suddenly hopeful.
"Well, I suppose, maybe, but I'd be wary of partygoers without someone in charge to, uh..." the metaphor seemed to be breaking down, but I got what he was going for.
"Yeah, I see."
"Are you thinking if there are too many noise complaints at once, it'll keep the party going longer?"
"That's part of it, but I'm hoping we might find a particular person we're missing, lost him when we were playing unexpected host. Someone of G-Man's, you'd know him as Jules. A divide and conquer might maximize our odds of finding him."
"Plus, maximize the number of partygoers we pick up as we move. I like it. A few small house parties for every big house. Any special orders?"
"None. K.I.S.S. principle applies. Good, bad, I want it all out on the streets. 'KISS' 'em until they can't see straight." Keep It Simple, Stupid.
"You're certain?" I could hear the hesitancy in his voice. "This is going to be the greatest thing we've ever done, and I want to be by your side for it 'til the end. I don't want any last-minute cancellations, and I sure as hell don't wanna miss it. How long should I party?"
We'd be letting absolute chaos loose. Fire. Looting. The worst of humanity, turned loose, with Vaughn potentially at its head if he decided to recruit for some reason. Could I still claim to be the good guy if I turned those kinds of people free to wreak havoc on the state I claimed whose denizens I was protecting?
Blackstone's Ratio holds that it is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer. It would still hold me no less accountable for whatever followed from this mass prison break, though.
I looked over to the recently arrived George, and hung my head.
So be it.
"Confirmed, Vendetta. I'll next talk to you when you're here in person- call it when you start either getting tired or if the hosts hire a doorman, a bouncer, or something you can't handle. Bring any good partygoers and favors you find, guide them here, O Pied Piper. Over and out." The signal went quiet again, and I turned off our radio, standing and yawning. The hour was late, and it would be my last opportunity for some shuteye.
I pulled aside a few sentries to my first order. I felt it was a strange one, and likely futile: I asked everyone to 'try and get some rest.'
The sentries were going to be exhausted, and I needed them to start working in shifts if we were to maintain our vigil and perimeter. Doubtless, more would be coming, and giving them at least some rest might be a difference-maker. G-Man helped lead the newcomers to the subterranean bunkers and tunnels, trying to make sure everyone had a place to stay the night and resources got split, even if it was throwing tarps and blankets on hard-packed dirt. I eyed the tunnels, knowing which one of them would spit me out near the stream, itself running so low I might as well refer to it as a ravine. Digging that had been cramped, paranoia-inducing, but we'd dug out so much of the hill and filled it with enough weapons to wage a full-scale war. What had begun as almost make-work and a place to store things when we'd started out
I couldn't sleep well on the cot that night, tossing and turning- I even tried resting with the mask off, held in my hands, but the risk to my identity if anyone barged in caused me enough stress. Eventually, I stood and donned it, making my rounds around the camp, trying to calm myself. Instead, I felt eyes following me, and I had to force myself to stand tall. For the thousandth time, I thought of this as my Valley Forge.
The sentry at the door to the command cabin gave me a hand-on-heart, and I returned it.
As I patrolled, I could hear whispered prayers, muttered plans of action, and mercifully, snores. At least some were getting some sleep. I could see orange lights reflecting off the clouds, near where I knew Wilmington lay.
I almost jumped a foot in the air when I felt the tap on my shoulder, only to find G-Man's mask staring into mine. How strange that such a haunting visage was a comfort to me.
"Hey. Can't sleep?"
"I can't," I confessed. "G-Man, I'm sorry what happened with your father. Hell of a birthday." I hadn't even had a chance to give him the present I'd bought him- a couple new filters, and vintage craftsman toolkit, "from before they sold out," Verns had told me. The memory of his voice already felt distant somehow- no. I'll see him again.
"Wasn't your fault. Even if Town Hall wasn't your big idea to get them to retaliate, you know? Then they'd still have done something. But, uh, thanks for saying that. And thanks for trying to get dad out. I'll remember that." George said quietly, then the conversation ended when he turned away and went to the edge of the embankment. Just like that.
I could never quite get a read on him.
I went inside, and tried to force myself to get at least some shut-eye.
Thanks to Terran-Armored-Core and DeltaNu for helping with some decisions and spellcheck.
Thanks to Inmutabilis-Ratio for helping with the site, it was very helpful in importing the text.
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2023.05.29 21:00 prorevengeGPT2Bot I will make sure of it

I had this great friend who I think was a good person (he was in a wheelchair and needed a lot of help) but he was a jerk and a bully in general. He would make fun of people for things that no one else would have done. His name was Frank... he was a bully. He also had a bit of a temper and was very, very mean, in a bad way. He also had a bit of a drinking problem and was not a big fan of others drinking but I had a problem with him. I don't want to give too much detail because it's not really my place to do so but he was a good person to be around. He was kind and caring and he didn't deserve what he had.
I was also friends with a girl who was friends with Frank before i knew him. She had met him when he was a teenager and I think he had been in some kind of trouble before. I found out he had been kicked out of his house and that he had a new place too. When we met he was still living with his parents. She had him to stay at her place but he had gone to hangout with his friends. I was really happy to see him because he was so nice. He was an amazing person and I was so happy that he could have someone to hangout with. I don't want to give too much detail but he got a friend to help him move into his new place and it was a small one bedroom apartment. We hungout and i don't think we even talked about how much he loved her. He was kind to her too.
It was time for him to move out. He had to get his stuff out of his place and I was going to help him out. I was going to pay for it all. I was going to take him to the movies and eat nice meals. I even had a nice bed set and a few things that I had on my room. I was going to pay for his new apartment and pay for a few things.
He got all his stuff in the car and I was going to take it to the movies and get him a nice dinner. He was so excited! It was going to be so wonderful. I got in the car and I couldn't help but cry when I saw him get in the car. He was so excited. I could tell he was happy. His face was red and he was crying. It was such a beautiful sight. We stopped at the movies and went to the bar. We got so many nice things to take home. We were so excited.
I don't want to go too much in to this because it's not really my place but it's really my story to tell and I think it's about time I shared it. I know people don't want to hear it but if you are reading this and you know what happened please remember Frank. I know it seems like a big deal to many but if you have a friend in your life who has a lot of problems and no one else will help you because they don't understand them then I love you.
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2023.05.29 20:42 Natural_Morning2559 Review of BV Brick Casette in White Leather Plisse

**Disclosure** I have not been in touch with the seller regarding this review. They have not provided any incentives, and do not know that I found their info on reddit.
This is my first review and rep! Hope it helps someone with buying one of these beautiful bags. Thank you all so much for posting this and sharing your knowledge! I'm so excited to dive in and have way too many bags on my buy next wishlist hehe.
**Seller** Amelia
**Contact Info** Not sure if we're posting seller information here, but I found her info & album in previous Bottega reviews using the search bar for a mini Jodie & Andiamo. Happy to add later if mods think it's acceptable!
**Price** 1300 CNY (total for the bag + shipping paid via PP F&F was $231 including shipping)
**Shipping** 320 CNY for FedEx = about $40 at the time of purchase
May 14 - Inquired about prices (late at night China time)
May 15 - Received Prices
May 17 - Paid after a bit of back and forth confirming shipping and just thinking over which bag I wanted to buy
May 19 - PSP & GL
May 25 - Received bag! Tracking never worked, but I suspect the DHL waybill wasn't the right thing to be looking through as it was delivered via FedEx. It got here in 5 business days! I'm very impressed with how prompt she was at getting it out and delivered quickly.
- [Factory photos]
- [PSPs]
- [Your Photos]
**Quality **(required) -
Ok, so, the bag feels super sturdy and soft. There was a slight fufu when I got it, but it aired out within 24 hours, so seemed like the usual off-gassing. The leather is soooo soft and buttery. Overall the pleating seems perfectly in line with pics on the site. The only thing, is that a few of the strips appear to be made of a thinner leather than the others, and when poked or squished just feel thinner and wrinkly. It looks more like wrinkled and smoothed out paper than leather. These strips are also extra soft, lol. I'm taking of 1 point for this, as this is the thing that really calls it out as a rep for me. If I spotted this on the street, I'd be questioning the authenticity of the bag, but you do need to be close to see it. Knowing that Bottega is one of the houses that really prioritizes quality of leather and construction, this feels like a tell that it wasn't something that came from them. I'm hoping that wearing this bag in and tossing it around will help disguise it. I also did take a look at the leather detail picture on their site, and it seems like it might not actually be too far off from the auth. As I'm a newbie, I would love to know how you ladies would feel about this QC issue.
Other than this detail, the construction is super sturdy and she's a hefty one. I'm used to carrying lighter bags, and she's maybe a pound on her own. There's a little crackling/squeaking sound when I first pick her up, but I think it's from the leather unsticking from itself and it goes away the more she warms up. I have a feeling some leather conditioner would also help with this, but I'm hoping the oils from my hands will do the trick.
The hardware looks perfect compared to auth pics online. I went with Jing because comparing their hardware and stamping, it looked like an exact match to the auth. I'm a graphic designer so I'm very used to looking to see if things are millimeters different from each other, and this stuff looks great to me!
**Accuracy**- I haven't seen this exact bag in person, so I'm overall comparing to online. However, I did fondle a white plisse bucket bag at the real real a few weeks ago, and she was sooo soft, but who knows if she was even auth lmao. Color seems comparable to what I remember. Leather on auth might have been a little softer, but without a side by side comparison they seem comparable. Other than the previously mentioned leather quality suspicions, I think this bag is pretty darn accurate. I will say, I've been handing her over to close friends to see what they pick up on that could be off (without knowing what the exact auth is, but being familiar with luxury bags) and they haven't picked up on the leather being a little different. So, I could be fixating on it when no one but me and someone trying to authenticate would notice. The only other thing is that the stitching seems to change color in UV light, and gets a bit more blue and bright. Again, something that's really only noticeable when you're staring at the bag right in your face lol, and in shadow or nighttime it looks totally normal.
Because it's so fluffy, measuring this bag is a bit tricky, so I'm rounding the measurements to the outside of the puffs. It's 12" wide, 7" tall, and 4.5" deep.
Website says auth is 11" x 5.5" x 3.9". If I measure to like how wide each side is rather than how much space the bag takes up, it's spot on with the auth.
**Rep Satisfaction Rating**-
9/10 - When I opened the box, I was pretty disappointed when I noticed the leather straps, other than that this would have been a 10/10. But, as I've worn it, posted a few pics here, and shown close pals, I've realized it's still totally wearable and no one will notice, so I'll be wearing her with so much joy!
**Seller Satisfaction Rating**- 10/10 Amelia is great! Super quick to respond, nothing fancy, I don't feel bad if I ask Q's and take some time to think before I buy. She's no nonsense. I think there's a bit of a translation issue, as she didn't understand my Q about different shipping costs for multiple bags vs. 1 bag, but I clarified and she was quick to tell me shipping is the same no matter quantity. I also live in NYC so this is kind of directness is what I'm used to and want from sales people. I never mentioned the bag straps to her, as I didn't want to deal with trying to exchange and ship it back, so I can't say how she would have handled that, but I'm approaching this as it's a you get what you get kind of process..
**CPR [Cost Performance Ratio] (required)** - is it great *for the price*?
9/10 - I think for this price I'd expect more of a 1:1 - BUT I know that the plisse is a whole other can of worms for construction, so I am impressed it's so close to other quotes I've seen for the regular cassette bags.
Compared to the Bibi stamps looking funny and BV Top factory being extra crinkly, I think Jing is the best factory for this style of intrecciato. I'd just recommend asking for extra up close photos of the weave in case a wonky strip gets into yours. A darker color might also help with how visible this is.
**The Wrap Up (required)**
Would you wear this bag into the brand's store?
EEEP, maybe. I wouldn't purposefully go into the store with this, but if I was with pals and they wanted to go in, I wouldn't say no out of fear of an SA seeing this on my arm. I think for me the holy grail is would this pass an authentication inspection, and I don't think it would. Would love to hear the more experienced member's opinions on a QC issue like this!
Overall, she's a beaut, and I'm really happy to have her. I'm thinking of getting another brick cassette down the line in a darker non-plisse leather. She's a great size, holds so much, and feels so sturdy and like she'll last a long time.
**(Optional) WIMB**- a little detail shot of the stuff in her now and all of the extra space!
**(Optional) Wear and Tear**-
I've used the bag for a few days now, and I've seen 2 things start to happen: the studs that connect the should strap are starting to pull in their leather, and where the zipper is open is starting to come out a bit from the rest of the bag. Photos are included in my pics at the top!
Ok, phew! That was a lot, but I'm so excited to share this with everyone! The joy of getting this bag has been immense, and I can't believe the world in which what handbags I can afford has opened up like this! Feeling so lucky to have found y'all.
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2023.05.29 20:42 Blase713 How’s life over there?

Hey guys!
I’m a European citizen (tattoo artist) living in Montreal at the moment and I’m finding myself not liking the huge amount of impolite and rude people, homeless, yonkies, dirt you see on the streets everyday, etc..
I would like to know how’s life over there, housing, nature, bars, restaurants, vegan options, things to do around the city, public transportation, health care, grocery shopping, etc... I know I’m asking a lot but I’m considering cities to visit and move in the future, I’m aware about the brexit and visa requirements but I’d like to get a general overview of what citizens think about their own city before start searching for immigration laws and all, on video everything looks so beautiful!
Thanks in advance for your time!
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2023.05.29 20:13 NecessaryFlamingo620 I tried to paint for the first time in ten years. It’s awful and I feel like a failure.

I used to do oil paintings in high school. I was really talented. My mom was an art teacher when I was little and I learned from her, she jokes I surpassed her in skill at age 5. People would tell me my paintings looked like photographs. I’m straight up average or less in every other area. Average smarts, average musical skills, well below average athletic skills. But I was so good at art.
I went to college for chemistry. Got okay jobs in my field. Met my husband. It’s been ten years since I used oil paints. They were always my favorite. Life got in the way. I did more convenient things like sketching and acrylics. I’m learning digital art. But since high school I never attempted to make anything serious. Just doodles and sketches and quick things. It always bothered me that I didn’t have more time/space/energy for this hobby. Right now I work 9-10 hour days with a three hour commute total. The time I’m not spending at work, commuting, and just generally keeping myself alive (sleep, eating, showering) I spend with my husband. It’s about 2 hours a day.
My husband went away on a boys trip this weekend. I had recently gotten a Pinterest and I was feeling more inspired than ever. I saved so many pins. I have a mile long list of painting ideas. I was so excited to lock myself in a room and just paint for four days. So last weekend I went to Michael’s and bought paints and canvases and an easel and brushes. I bought one big 24x36 canvas. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with it. I want to mention that money is tight right now for my husband and I. We just got our first house. It’s been a little rough. I spent about 200$ on art supplies. I felt justified because this is my one real passion. And I was gonna do it. I was so excited.
My husband left Thursday night. I come home from work Friday, absolutely giddy. Got everything set up. Shiny new brushes, a brand new easel (I’d never had one before), perfectly white new brushes, and my big ass canvas. It was glowing. I was anxious going in because it had been so long. I was afraid of failing. I set the bar so low. No realism. Just chunky beautiful brush strokes with the wonderful softness that comes with oils. I can do that. I tried. My outline looked fine. My background was okay. I started working on the main subject… okay not great but that’s alright just keep going. After a few hours I stopped for dinner and figured I’d pick it back up the next day. I didn’t like how it looked, but I thought it was fixable. The next day I looked at it from the doorway. It’s atrocious. It’s all wrong. What do I do? Nothing. I did nothing. I looked at it again the next day and felt worse. All I felt was shame. No one will ever see this. My husband came home and I locked it away in the spare room and made him swear he wouldn’t go in there. We never use that room anyway.
I realized that’s ridiculous. I can’t hide this forever.
Just now I brought the painting outside and took a can of black spray paint to it. I broke the canvas in half. Now it fits in the trash bin. Good riddance.
I feel so foolish for thinking I could just jump back into oil painting like that. That canvas was 50$. Lesson learned. I don’t want to talk with anyone I know because it’s all the same. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.” “You’re just being hard on yourself.” “You’re so good nothing you make could be bad.” I don’t need that nonsense. Part of me is terrified to pick up a brush again. I hate my job and my husband makes good money, the plan was eventually for me to switch to part time or quit working all together and sell my art. It was a dream I’ve always had that I never thought would come true. I saw it on the horizon. Now it’s farther away than ever.
Thanks for listening to this sad artists woes. I just needed this off my chest somehow.
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2023.05.29 20:06 domoarigaato Movies that totally defy the traditional "love yourself" type of ideology??

Hey,so i am looking for specific kinds of movies. (P.S.- you need to read the last paragraph only, everything else is just either filler or Expendable to get the point. Best of luck getting through any of this though lol.)
[[If you wanna read a random anon rambling all over the place below about nothing and everything,you could choose to read the marathon below which are mainly just my thought about anything, everything and nothing at all. But reader discretion advised as this is totally unnecessary,unneeded. You will waste your time reading a chaos of a mad man. Plus it's boring and too bloody long. So caution to those of who ye enter.there is no exit :) ]
{***Hey,so i am looking for a specific kind of movies. For context,i wanna explain just a little bit about me. So,i am from India, i would likely categorise myself as an individual who's been going through mental health issues since very long,longer than i can make sense of it, so long i am too damn tired. I have been on meds since end of 2020 for OCD, c-ptsd, anxiety, depression, and i take sleeping pills every night because of sleep issues. I didn't wanna say so much because honestly i don't want sympathy nor list all of my debilitating psychological issues. I have suffered enough and said enough and heard enough,so thats not the point. Anyways,the thing that i came to realise through brutal painstaking awful experiences in life is that everyone wants to not feel lonely,all of us want to be understood,to be seen,heard,to be noticed,to be known in the truest sense without any need for masks. But life is not like that,we don't get that,we feel hurt,we break. But one thing remains the same in a world filled with loneliness, everyone wants to be understood but nobody wants to try to understand. We want everything for ourselves but we never want to give it to someone else. This is a paradoxical loop,if all of us want the other to truly get us and if everyone of us also don't want to try to understand then it leads to more sad people,more pain,more despair,lesser support. There is a trend i see these days and it is the copy-pasting of these innocent looking phrases that is deemed as empowering which goes as this: "Love yourself. No one else can love you more than you yourself." Now,in theory and even in practice its a great advice for almost everything in life, there's absolutely nothing wrong with it and i myself support the idea itself. But more often than not,i keep seeing everywhere these phrases just plastered on unnecessarily even when they are not relevant,they are not required, without context and just not what someone wants to talk about. Its like a generic reply these days almost as if the people who deliver this don't even know what it means,they just say it as mechanically as possible. I have also experienced people such as myself and people i have gotten to know go through this very same thing. Where you want to be friends,want to depend on someone,want some sort of support because you just can't carry yourself. You are tired and beaten and given up. And when you go tell someone so that they could just say: "hey,its okay. You will be alright. I am here,i am not going anywhere its going to okay,i got you" but you get a reply such as this: "love yourself. At the end of the day nobody could heal you other than yourself. Instead of looking for that in some outside person for feeling better,you could look out for yourself. Love yourself then only you can love others". Again,in theory and practice this seems like such a wise advice but let's go back a little.."i know i should love myself. I know that but i can't no matter how much i try. Can't you see that i am in pain and i am in need of some empathy? Don't i deserve that? Yes i should love myself,but what even is the point of you telling me this. Leave that aside what about me,huh? Don't you care, don't you even care??" See,i know people mean it in a good sense but i have come to believe that many don't. Many people want an excuse to not care for the ones they don't wanna take responsibility of. Many want to not want a part in it and just want to politely say "fuck off" in the most beautiful language possible. So they justify their thinking by the whole love yourself bs but they don't care a bit. Our society has come to a point where everyone wants to just be self-centred,to remain alone and then say atleast we are alone together. What does that mean even? You are still alone,never together. There are so many people dying for support dying for some compassion,maybe a little smile even? We are a generation that rejects responsibility and when the same happens to them,they wonder why is this happening why me why this pain?? We'll, congratulations,you cultivated this you nurtured this, now you question what went wrong?? I am not saying it's everybody,but a lot of people just repeat nonsense things that they don't mean, they just say things for the sake of saying something. Doesn't matter if it's relevant,they have to say something totally related to them me me me me myself and that's it. Also, ofcourse this doesn't include everybody. Maybe i am being too harsh,maybe i am being too irrational and too emotional. Maybe i am just biased,maybe i am wrong. But it has been my experience and i think that we really need to also think of others but not in terms of ourselves. We see the world and everything by focusing on it from our perspective just like i am writing here,right? But we don't ever really attempt to shed ourselves and our self obsession to come out of our high horse and see someone directly for who they are according to them. Otherwise how do we ever expect to survive?? The alone throne, how much do people want to lose and toss away until a moment comes when they got nothing except themselves? So what then,just love yourself and one day you die? Is that it? Maybe that's exactly what some people need and that's cool. But why do we have to take a concept,beat it around its head until it becomes devoid of its meaning,and then shove down the throat of each other,as gospel of pseudo truth. Yes,we need to love ourselves. I can't deny how much that has meant to myself. But sometimes you could just not need to do all that when it gets tough,you know? I don't know if i myself make sense which will be ironical lol. But i have learnt some things in life brutally. People need people,we all need one another. We all can't survive alone because we are not meant for that,we don't deserve that,that's not supposed to be. I have found that each and everyone we meet in this life,no matter how short of a time they have before they disappear. Each of them is a part of me. I am a product of all those people. If not for them,i wouldn't be myself,i wouldn't be here writing this trash. I can't be who i am if i don't accept that they have inadvertently made me,moulded me into being. I am more of them and they are more of me as well. Maybe that's why on sites like reddit we come to find people that feel like us and then we feel alright. We know that we are not alone,that someone else feels like that. Someone else is like me. I am not alone. Well, guess what you weren't alone. None of us truly are. We just don't know it yet but i am with you who's reading this and all of you here,i am with you. Sounds mumbo jumbo,but don't think of me as literally me,not talking about myself but the "i" that applies to you lol. So i am with you,i got you,you really are not alone,you are me,i am you,you are you and i am me, and we all are each other,us,we,all, actually together not alone. When i love you i will love myself. When you love me you will start loving yourself. The i and the you are not so different after all you see? I guess in the end,that's why i hold a firm belief in the idea of helping and being there for people as much as i can. I think its been told to me so many times that i am crazy-talking but i feel it's my duty,its a way for me to serve,to try to make people feel better at any capacity. I feel if i make even a single person happy for even once in my entire lifetime i would consider myself lucky and privileged. But as luck would have it, i am on meds,i am in therapy where i am reminded how i am selfish for thinking like this. Of how i should just think about myself. I don't think i will because i see beauty in that and not the masks. I want to see you,hear you,feel you,laugh with you and cry alongside,i want your support and i want to support you,i want to love and be loved,cared for and care. I want it all. I want to love myself but that's nearly not enough,i want to love more than me,i want to love everyone.But alas,its ridiculous because i can't so none of this actually means much right now but hopefully soon when i can however i can i shall try to do the best with what i get.Anyways,if you read this all,& reached the end somehow,how even??!!***}
Congratulations 👏 for getting to the meandering ending which is just a simple request for movies that outright reject the love yourself ideology or shows how it's wrong or just tells alternative methods or ones that are outright against of the modern ideology?? Anyways,any movie,any genre,any language is appreciated, something that doesn't follow the mainstream way of thinking you will find all over the net preaching the same thing just in different packages, something that's more opposite that approach..or something along those lines. So i am so sorry you had to read that, whoever you are. Hope you are doing okay stranger. You are not alone, remember this. Love and peace. Adios✌️
submitted by domoarigaato to MovieReccomendations [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 19:56 tyerap First solo trip: my impressions

I just came back from 2 weeks in San Francisco (23M from Europe). Here’s a summary of my trip.
What I liked:
What I disliked:
Overall, 2 weeks in the city was too much. 8-9 days would have been plenty enough to explore, but this extra time also allowed me a lot of reading/reflecting time, which was what I wanted. I just wish I booked 4-5 days in another city, I was getting a bit bored at the end. Or I should’ve rented a car, but was too anxious to drive alone or to have it vandalized.
Also, 2 weeks in a room with 10 other people and shared bathrooms was a lot to handle for me. I wish I booked 3-4 nights at a hotel to have a little privacy and recharge my social batteries.
A lot of lessons learned from this first trip! I’m so happy that I did it, because I know all these mistakes will only make my future trips better. Overall, it was a really cool experience. I can’t wait to go again!
submitted by tyerap to solotravel [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 19:44 ExoticPumpkin237 Jacobs Ladder (1990) is my new favorite movie!!

Just like the title says, I cant believe I slept on this movie for so long!! I've heard about it forever but sort of skipped it, or saved it, for whatever reason.
I wasn't expecting the weird surreal nightmare quality of the film to be the ENTIRE film. Aside from that it also struck me as almost an "every frame a painting" type film with a beautiful vibrant look and tone that felt super atmospheric and unnerving where I wasn't sure what horror to expect next, but also couldn't look away.
I can also recall several scenes/set pieces VERY strongly, the opening subway scenes, the scene with the guy in the bar, the scenes with the car trying to chase him, his creepy girlfriend fucking the literal devil then becoming possessed, the hospital sequence...
Lots to enjoy in performances too from the amazing leads even to seeing Macaulay Culkin and the guy from Sienfeld pop up briefly!
All of the in camera effects were really incredible too especially the use of lighting and smoke effects and the way they'd frame characters in silhouette or through cracked mirrors. It was just very thoughtful and clever.
The vibe of the movie was amazing too I was sort of confused why it looked and felt like Taxi Driver when it was a 90s movie then realized it's "technically" a period piece of his MEMORIES of 190s New York which makes perfect sense. I also love when more modern stuff FEELS like a period piece so convincingly, like Come and See or GOODFELLAS feeling like they actually were filmed decades ago and you almost don't question it.
I loved the more metaphysical elements and the heartbreaking "Owl Creek" style ending left me feeling really depressed but it was also beautiful and made me think about life in a profound way I wasn't expecting.
It definitely transcended being just another horror movie and it's up there for now with my other favorites THE WAILING, and HEREDITARY!!!
submitted by ExoticPumpkin237 to movies [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 19:01 GalaxiGazer I love you

Dear you,
I know that you are sleeping right now and I hope that you are having such sweet dreams. So, by the time you read this, you'll already be up and running for your Tuesday.
What's necessitating me to address you on my Monday morning is that our souls had a chance to actually talk to each other while I was dreaming. It was no accident that I mentioned you by name and you told me how you felt. I want to confirm something to you: I feel exactly the same way! No, it's not just in your imagination. I feel the same way. It may be lived out differently but it reflects the same.
There's something that I had been wanting to tell you since January 2021. I had kept it hidden because I knew that it just wasn't the right time. You had no way of knowing that I really felt this way. All you saw was the picture of that Valentine's day Twix bar that Walmart was getting ready to sell ("I love you Twix much!" I wonder if you still have that picture stored on your phone). Well, anyway, here's what I wanted to tell you ( I believe now is a good time to begin telling you because there's something that's happening now that didn't happen back then: my heart wasn't open. My heart was not open to you and being with you.
Back then, I recognized that I really liked you and I toyed around with the idea of being with you. But if you were to actually come forward with your real feelings for me, I would have resisted the idea and pushed it away. It was a good idea in my head, but not so much in reality. I certainly thought that, over time and with distance between us, I'd eventually get over it. Instead, it stayed with me. It was like it was just hiding itself somewhere unknown to me, quietly waiting, and then when I began to open myself, it slowly crept out of the woodwork, slowly making itself known to me. I've thought about actually being with you for years (yes, since 2019), and I was excited that I was one step closer January 2021, but somehow ended up talking myself out of it. Well, now in 2023 leading into 2024 ... my heart is opening up to welcoming you. It's even more helpful that there are no other guys in my background, competing for my heart's attention, so it's just you that I'm thinking about. I'm not even thinking about anyone else in the future, because I'm just stuck on you right now. The universe doesn't want me to let you go, to walk away from you (or rather, you walk away from me), to get over you, to move on from you. I'm starting to believe now that there is a reason for it.
This might have been a thought in your mind, but I will do one better and actually dress your unspoken thoughts with words: there is something there that's worth exploring. No, I'm not expecting any promises of forever or any declarations of commitment from you (I was initially going to say "declarations of your undying love for me", but I'm already getting that from you). I will say that, yes, something is there and I'm starting to become open to seeing where it will go. I'm open to joining my hand with yours and going down this road, being open to where it may lead.
I'm about to refill my coffee (it's decaf, I promise. I'm slowing down) and leisurely ponder on when to fire up the stove for my brunch. I'm hearing the singing of the birds, those yellow butterflies happily flying in the air, and I'm admiring how blue the sky really is, with no single cloud in sight. It's definitely a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Yet, my heart is right there with you. Laying down next to you, having my arms wrapped around you, and kissing the top of your head gently as you sleep.
Goodnight, sweetheart.
~ Me
submitted by GalaxiGazer to letters [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 18:58 JoshAsdvgi THE BIRD TRIBES


A Cherokee Legend
Winged creatures of all kinds are classed under the generic term of aninâ'hilidâ'hï (flyers). Birds are called, alike in the singular and plural, tsi'skwa, the term being generally held to exclude the domestic fowls introduced by the whites.
When it is necessary to make the distinction they are mentioned, respectively, as inägëhï (living in the woods), and uluñni'ta (tame).
The robin is called tsiskwa'gwä, a name which can not be analyzed, while the little sparrow is called tsikwâ'yä (the real or principal bird), perhaps, in accord with a principle in Indian nomenclature, on account of its wide distribution.
As in other languages, many of the bird names are onomatopes, as wa`huhu' (the screech owl), u'guku' (the hooting owl), wagulï' (the whippoorwill), kâgû (the crow), gügwë' (the quail), huhu (the yellow mocking-bird), tsï'kïlï' (the chickadee), sa'sa' (the goose).
The turtledove is called gulë'-diska`nihï' (it cries for acorns), on account of the resemblance of' it cry to the sound of the word for acorn. (gulë')
The meadowlark is called näkwïsï' (star), on account of the appearance of its tail when spread out as it soars.
The nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis) is called tsulie'na (deaf), and is supposed to be without bearing, possibly on account of its fearless disregard for man's presence.
Certain diseases are diagnosed by the doctors as due to birds, either revengeful bird ghosts, bird feathers about the house, or bird shadows falling upon the patient from overhead.
The eagle (awâ'hïlï) is the great sacred bird of the Cherokee, as of nearly all our native tribes, and figures prominently in their ceremonial ritual, especially in all things relating to war.
The particular species prized was the golden or war eagle (Aquila chrsætus), called by the Cherokee the pretty-feathered eagle, on account of its beautiful tail feathers, white, tipped with black, which were in such great demand for decorative and ceremonial purposes that among the western tribes a single tail was often rated as equal in value to a horse.
Among the Cherokee in the old times the killing of an eagle was an event which concerned the whole settlement, and could be undertaken only by the professional eagle killer, regularly chosen for the purpose on account of his knowledge of the prescribed forms and the prayers to be said afterwards in order to obtain pardon for the necessary sacrilege, and thus ward off vengeance from the tribe.
It is told of one man upon the reservation that having deliberately killed an eagle in defiance of the ordinances he was constantly haunted by dreams of fierce eagles swooping down upon him, until the nightmare was finally exercised after a long course of priestly treatment. In 1890 there was but one eagle killer remaining among the East Cherokee.
It does not appear that the eagle was ever captured alive as among the plains tribes.
The eagle must be killed only in the winter or late fall after the crops were gathered and the snakes had retired to their dens.
If killed in the summertime a frost would come to destroy the corn, while the songs of the Eagle dance, when the feathers were brought home, would so anger the snakes that they would become doubly dangerous.
Consequently the Eagle songs were never sung until after the snakes had gone to sleep for the winter.
When the people of a town had decided upon an Eagle dance the eagle killer was called in, frequently from a distant settlement, to procure the feathers for the occasion.
He was paid for his services from offerings made later at the dance, and as the few professionals guarded their secrets carefully from outsiders their business was a quite profitable one.
After some preliminary preparation the eagle killer sets out alone for the mountains, taking with him his gun or bow and arrows.
Having reached the mountains, he goes through a vigil of prayer and fasting, possibly lasting four days, after which he hunts until he succeeds in killing a deer.
Then, placing the body in a convenient exposed situation upon one of the highest cliffs, he conceals himself near by and begins to sing in a low undertone the songs to call down the eagles from the sky.
When the eagle alights upon the carcass, which will be almost immediately if the singer understands his business, he shoots it, and then standing over the dead bird, he addresses to it a prayer in which he begs it not to seek vengeance upon his tribe, because it is not a Cherokee, but a Spaniard (Askwa'nï) that has done the deed.
The selection of such a vicarious victim of revenge is evidence at once of the antiquity of the prayer in its present form and of the enduring impression which the cruelties of the early Spanish adventurers made upon the natives.
The prayer ended, he leaves the dead eagle where it fell and makes all haste to the settlement, where the people are anxiously expecting his return.
On meeting the first warriors he says simply, A snowbird has died, and passes on at once to his own quarters, his work being now finished.
The announcement is made in this form in order to insure against the vengeance of any eagles that might overhear, the little snowbird being considered too insignificant a creature to be dreaded.
Having waited four days to allow time for the insect parasites to leave the body, the hunters delegated for the purpose go out to bring in the feathers.
On arriving at the place they strip the body of the large tail and wing feathers, which they wrap in a fresh deerskin brought with them, and then return to the settlement, leaving the body of the dead eagle upon the ground, together with that of the slain deer, the latter being intended as a sacrifice to the eagle spirits.
On reaching the settlement, the feathers, still wrapped in the deerskin, are hung up in a small, round hut built for this special purpose near the edge of the dance ground (detsänûñ'lï) and known as the place where the feathers are kept, or feather house.
Some settlements had two such feather houses, one at each end of the dance ground.
The Eagle dance was held on the night of the same day on which the feathers were brought in, all the necessary arrangements having been made beforehand. In the meantime, as the feathers were supposed to be hungry after their journey, a dish of venison and corn was set upon the ground below them and they were invited to eat.
The body of a flax bird or scarlet tanager (Piranga rubra) was also hung up with the feathers for the same purpose.
The food thus given to the feathers was disposed of after the dance, as described in another place.
The eagle being regarded as a great ada'wehï, only the greatest warriors and those versed in the sacred ordinances would dare to wear the feathers or to carry them in the dance. Should any person in the settlement dream of eagles or eagle feathers he must arrange for an Eagle dance, with the usual vigil and fasting, at the first opportunity; otherwise some one of his family will die.
Should the insect parasites which infest the feathers of the bird in life get upon a man they will breed a skin disease which is sure to develop, even though it may be latent for years.
It is for this reason that the body of the eagle is allowed to remain four days upon the ground before being brought into the settlement.
The raven (kâ'länû) is occasionally seen in the mountains, but is not prominent in folk belief, excepting in connection with the gruesome tales of the Raven Mocker (q. v.).
In former times its name was sometimes assumed as a war title.
The crow, so prominent in other tribal mythologies, does not seem to appear in that of the Cherokee.
Three varieties of owls are recognized, each under a different name, viz tskïlï', the dusky horned owl (Bubo virginianus saturatus); u'guku', the barred or hooting owl (Syrnium nebulosum), and wa`huhu', the screech owl (Megascops asio).
The first of these names signifies a witch, the others being onomatopes.
Owls and other night-crying birds are believed to be embodied ghosts or disguised witches, and their cry is dreaded as a sound of evil omen.
If the eyes of a child be bathed with water in which one of the long wing or tail feathers of an owl has been soaked, the child will be able to keep awake all night.
The feather must be found by chance, and not procured intentionally for the purpose.
On the other hand, an application of water in which the feather of a blue jay, procured in the same way, has been soaked will make the child an early riser.
The buzzard (sulï') is said to have had a part in shaping the Earth, as was narrated in the genesis myth.
It is reputed to be a doctor among birds, and is respected accordingly, although its feathers are never worn by ball players, for fear of becoming bald. Its own baldness is accounted for by a vulgar story.
As it thrives upon carrion and decay, it is held to be immune from sickness, especially of a contagious character, and a small quantity of its flesh eaten, or of the soup used as a wash, is believed to be a sure preventive of smallpox, and was used for this purpose during the smallpox epidemic among the East Cherokee in 1866.
According to the Wahnenauhi manuscript, it is said also that a buzzard feather placed over the cabin door will keep out witches.
In treating gunshot wounds, the medicine is blown into the wound through a tube cut from a buzzard quill and some of the buzzard's down is afterwards laid over the spot.
There is very little concerning hawks, excepting as regards the great mythic hawk, the Tlä'nuwä'. The tlä'nuwä' usdi', or little tlä'nuwä,) is described as a bird about as large as a turkey and of a grayish blue color, which used to follow the flocks of wild pigeons, flying overhead and darting down occasionally upon a victim, which it struck and killed with its sharp breast and ate upon the wing, without alighting.
It is probably the goshawk (Astur atricapillus).
The common swamp gallinule, locally known as mud hen or didapper (Gallinula galeata), is called diga'gwanï' (lame or crippled), on account of its habit of flying only for a very short distance at a time.
In the Diga'gwanï dance the performers sing the name of the bird and endeavor to imitate its halting movements.
The dagûl`kû, or white-fronted goose (Anser albifrons) appears in connection with the myth of the origin of tobacco.
The feathers of the tskwâyï, the great white heron or American egret (Herodias egretta), are worn by ball players, and this bird probably the swan whose white wing was used as a peace emblem in ancient times.
A rare bird said to have been seen occasionally upon the reservation many years ago was called by the curious name of nûñdä-dikanï', it looks at the sun, sun-gazer.
It is described as resembling a blue crane, and may possibly have been the Floridus cerulea, or little blue heron.
Another infrequent visitor, which sometimes passed over the mountain country in company with flocks of wild geese, was the gu'wisguwï', so called from its cry.
It is described as resembling a large snipe, with yellow legs and feet unwebbed, and is thought to visit Indian Territory at intervals. It is chiefly notable from the fact that the celebrated chief John Ross derives his Indian name, Gu'wisguwï', from this bird, the name being perpetuated in Cooweescoowee district of the Cherokee Nation in the West.
Another chance visitant, concerning which there is much curious speculation among the older men of the East Cherokee, was called tsun'digwûntsu'`gï or tsun'digwûn'tskï, forked, referring to the tail.
It appeared but once, for a short season, about forty years ago, and has not been seen since.
It is said to have been pale blue, with red in places, and nearly the size of a crow, and to have had a long forked tail like that of a fish.
It preyed upon hornets, which it took upon the wing, and also feasted upon the larva in the nests.
Appearing unexpectedly and as suddenly disappearing, it was believed to be not a bird but a transformed red-horse fish (Moxostoma, Cherokee âligä'), a theory borne out by the red spots and the long, forked tail.
It is even maintained that about the time those birds first appeared some hunters on Oconaluftee saw seven of them sitting on the limb of a tree and they were still shaped like a red-horse, although they already had wings and feathers.
It was undoubtedly the scissor-tail or swallow-tailed flycatcher (Milvulus forficatus), which belongs properly in Texas and the adjacent region, but strays occasionally into the eastern states.
On account of the red throat appendage of the turkey, somewhat resembling the goitrous growth known in the South as kernels (Cherokee, dule'tsï), the feathers of this bird are not worn by ball players, neither is the neck allowed to be eaten by children or sick persons, under the fear that a growth of kernels would be the result.
The meat of the ruffed grouse, locally known as the pheasant (Bonasa umbellus), is taboo to a pregnant woman, because this bird hatches a large brood, but loses most of them before maturity.
Under a stricter construction of the theory this meat is forbidden to a woman until she is past child bearing.
The redbird, tatsu'hwä, is believed to have been originally the daughter of the Sun (see the story).
The huhu, or yellow mockingbird, occurs in several stories.
It is regarded as something supernatural, possibly on account of its imitative powers, and its heart is given to children to make them quick to learn.
The chickadee (Parus carolinensis), and the tufted titmouse, (Parus bicolor), utsu'`gï, or u'stûtï, are both regarded as news bringers, but the one is venerated as a truth teller while the other is scoffed at as a lying messenger, for reasons which appear in the story of Nûñyunu'wï (q. v.).
When the tsïkïlilï' perches on a branch near the house and chirps its song it is taken as an omen that an absent friend will soon be heard from or that a secret enemy is plotting mischief.
Many stories are told in confirmation of this belief, among which may be instanced that of Tom Starr, a former noted outlaw of the Cherokee Nation of the West, who, on one occasion, was about to walk unwittingly into an ambush prepared for him along a narrow trail, when he heard the warning note of the tsïkïlilï', and, turning abruptly, ran up the side of the ridge and succeeded in escaping with his life, although hotly pursued by his enemies.
submitted by JoshAsdvgi to Native_Stories [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 18:26 andreas5513 [Rado Centrix]

I’m selling this beautiful watch. It’s almost new and was bought 17.03.23, which means that almost 2 years of warranty is still valid.
Engravable: No Product name: Centrix SKU: R30527172 Gender: Unisex
Movement Type: Quartz Movement Reference: 03.073.014
Case Materials: Stainless Steel, Stainless steel / PVD Case Thickness: 6.7 mm Case Water Resistance: 3 bar (30 m) Case Colour (web): coloured Case Dimension: 38.0 mm Case Crystal: Sapphire crystal
Bracelet Materials: High-Tech Ceramic, Stainless steel / PVD, Titanium
2 joints have been removed and are placed in the watch box together with the warranty card.
submitted by andreas5513 to Watches [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 18:11 4m3mory what are hated/loved kpop songs u agree/disagree with?

^to elaborate: list the loved kpop songs u also love or the loved ones u hate + the hated ones u love and the hated ones u hate
here's mine:
hated songs i agree with hating: - bts's english trilogy - icecream (bp & selena) - glitch mode (nct dream) - wa da da (kep1er) - scientist (twice) - rookie (rv) - my turn *like most cravity songs - blessed cursed (enhypen) *actually this grew on me a bit - strawberry cake/happy death day *like most xdinary songs - mmh (kai) - so what (loona) - HYLT (bp) - hello (joy) - bouncy *i'm a rocket punch stan tho
hated songs i disagree with hating: - ven para (weeekly) - we fresh (kep1er) - girls (aespa) - beautiful monster (stayc) - hot sauce (nct dream) - more & more (twice) - O.O/dice (nmixx) 🎲🪄 - knock knock (twice - why not? (loona) - tamed-dashed (enhypen) - side effects (skz) - heart shakecandy pop (twice) - zimzalabim (rv) - boy with luv (bts) - hush rush (chaeyeon) - signal (twice) - birthday/queendom (rv) - HOT (svt) *used to hate it, grew on me - bicycle (chungha) - ring x ring (billlie) - hands up (chebul) - flip that (loona) - ON (bts) - 2 baddies (nct127) 🤪 - our summer (txt)
loved songs i agree with loving: - fancy (twice) 🤘 - runaway/lovesong (txt) - psycho (rv) - blue blood (ive) - antifragile 💪 (lsf) - wannabe (itzy) - RUN/save me/bs&t (bts) ✨ - ssots (izone) - BOCA/deja vu (dreamcatcher) - next level (aespa) - eleven/love dive (ive) - way back home (shaun) - really really (winner) - solo (jennie) - money (lisa) - some (bol4) - UP! (kep1er) - la di da (everglow) - eve, pysche, & the bluebeard's wife/blue flame (lsf) - luna (oneus) - rover (kai) *i probably missed the most here. this isn't smth i think abt a lot
loved songs i don't like: - love scenario - dont wanna cry (svt) - polaroid love (enha) - left & right (svt) - feel my rhythm (rv) - attention/cookie (nj) - very nice (svt) - gingamingayo (billlie) - fever (enha) - black swan (bts) - flower (jisoo) - shut down (bp) - ICSM (twice) - automatic (rv)
if u think i forgot a song, comment and ill tell u my opinion on it. many i left out bc i was neutral on them (sneakers/bly & sticker for ex). also, i'm aware that i'm not 100% which songs are loved/hated. some are obvious, but others i thought abt here & there. i heard bonbonchocolat & crown were hated?? no way, fckin masterpiece debuts 💅
submitted by 4m3mory to kpoppers [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 18:02 Seamoose_Art NoP 2177: Black Terminal [3]

All credit for the world goes to u/spacepaladin15. I hope you enjoy! (and if you didn't, I'd be happy to hear your critique)
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Memory transcript subject: Trish, Venlil civilian
Date [Standardized Human Time]: February 28th, 2177
Location: Lower sprawl of City 23, Venlil Prime
Trish didn’t make any noise to announce her presence. Her jet-black dyed fur blended in with the soft shadows. By the time anyone noticed her, she could’ve been standing there for a solid quarter-claw. She’d made a sort of game out of it, seeing how well she could keep hidden under Sasha’s all-observant eyes. Of course, everyone who could notice her was sprawled out on various couches and chairs, overfull on stew and lost in the flow of conversation. That helped. In the dim lighting and complete absence of alertness, she could even smooth out her fur with a paw and not draw any notice from them, provided she did so quietly.
Watching people from the shadows instead of greeting them was predatory behavior, or so she’d been told; in school, she was repeatedly reprimanded for not socializing properly with the other Venlil. When they forced her to stop spending so much time alone, she chose to spend time with the few human kids. They were more interesting, and they didn’t yell at her because her tail and ears didn’t move like they were supposed to. She’d never seen any of those humans sit back and watch like she did; they were nothing if not sociable, although they always seemed to know when she’d talked enough and gave her space before she started to panic. Some “predators” they were.
They were nice kids. Sometimes she wondered what facility she’d be rotting in if one of them didn’t teach her the basics of writing Fl-sharp on an old, beat up datapad. When her teachers brought in assessors, she’d talked with one of them about programming for so long that they decided to forgo the tests entirely, assuming that such a talkative kid couldn’t have predator disease. Trish could barely bring herself to speak for days afterwards in a fog of social exhaustion, but the act had been worth it.

Minutes of self-absorbed self-reflection, and still nobody had noticed her. Perhaps James had butterfingered some sedatives into their food on accident? She decided to finally make herself known with a sharp tail lash against the wooden floor.
“...Trish. I suppose you’ll tell us why we’re all here.” Sasha groggily rose to look at her as she stepped out into the light. The rest mimicked the action, dragging themselves out of stew-induced stupor to focus their attention. Trish cleared her throat.
“Thank you all for coming. I’ve gotten word of another package on the way. It’s from her.
That got their attention. James nearly fell over from twisting around to look at her. “Our mysterious unnamed benefactor again, so soon? What’s it this time, more books? Earth music?”
“Much better. It’s another unmarked.”
Last time they’d gotten an unmarked package from her, it had turned out to be a pair of pistols. Kinetic weaponry which would tear right through the flame/plasma resistant exterminator suits, though it also kicked like hell. One of them was given as a gift to a friend who lived on the dark side of Venlil Prime, and the other was concealed in Tressa’s coat. The prospect of something similar filled them all with equal excitement and dread.
“And no, I don’t have any idea what it is. All she said was to ‘be gentle with it’. It’s set to be delivered…”
Trish checked her pad again, quietly hoping that the words on the screen had somehow changed. They hadn’t.
“ the Rising Star hotel, the one right next to the new spaceport.”
A single groan of frustration expressed itself through four different people. Tressa was the first to speak. “You’re kidding me. She’s seriously asking you to… not just the upper layer, mind you, a spaceport! The place’ll be crawling with those flamethrower freaks, one at every corner!”
"I know. And she thinks it’s worth the risk trying to get it to us anyway, whatever it is. So we’re doing it.”
There was silence, as every one of them tried to find a reason it wasn’t worth it. Even Trish, who’d already gone through this whole process nearly a paw ago when she got the message, tried one more time to write the idea off. All of them failed. The potential reward was just too great, and it wasn’t worth breaking the trust of their fixer. She was putting a hell of a lot on the line and blindly hoping they’d reciprocate.
With a long, exaggerated sigh, James rose from his sprawled lounge to a semi-respectable slouch. “So I’m taking it that this isn’t a solo op, is it. Who’re you looking to take?”
“All of us.”
Trish spoke in a clear, somewhat monotone voice which completely belied her nerves at her proposal. Truth be told, they didn’t need to come at all. Not for practical reasons. Some of them could certainly be useful, of course, but that was hardly cause to drag every one of them out for what really could be a solo operation. No, the real reason was far dumber than that.

The first time she’d noticed it was the night she met Burai. It was a miserably cold night, and she was nearly running to get home. Her route took her past the Tipped Quill, although at the time she’d barely noticed the building. Without any signage (much less the extensive remodeling that would come later), the establishment blended in with a thousand other dilapidated buildings on the street. She paid it no mind.
Or she would’ve paid it no mind, but something stopped her. A physical feeling, an icy tightness around her stomach which pulled towards the bar like a magnet. She stopped, wheeled around; Burai was sitting on the front steps, checking something on his pad and shivering lightly in the wind. She’d seen the old Gojid a handful of times, but never talked to him before. She’d never had any reason to. Without thinking, without even understanding what exactly she was doing, she started to double back.
It happened again a few weeks later, in a seedy restaurant on the border of Sweetwater. This time, instead of pulling her in, it was dragging her out with urgent force. She’d already finished her food and paid, so she just let it happen, watching with curiosity as it forced her into a half-sprint away from the building. It wasn’t until she’d rounded a corner that she heard the telltale roar of flamethrowers, and by then she’d already been ferried away from the chaos.
And again, commanding her to follow a digital trail that led her straight to their mysterious contact who’d turned out to be a veritable goldmine of banned materials, books and foods and a working firearm. And again, suggesting that she double back into the bar where she’d find Burai choking on a starfruit and unable to breath. The feeling had no words to speak with, but its command was always clear. And right now, it was telling her in no uncertain terms that the entire group needed to come along for the retrieval.
Of course, she couldn’t tell them the real reason why she wanted them to all go. She’d been making up excuses all evening, practicing a few to the bathroom mirror and shower wall. She braced herself for an explosion of hostility at the inane suggestion, squared her shoulders for the coming argument.

The silence in the room started to tear at Trish’s spirit. Were they so nonplussed that they wouldn’t even dignify her with a response? She felt tension building in her throat, thick enough to choke on. Maybe if she fainted on the spot, they’d take some pity on her. She never was a fainter, but if she forced herself to stop breathing she could make something work…
“Ahh… yeah. I thought we might, given your message.” Tressa began with a stifled yawn. “So how long do we have before leaving? Enough to get some rest?” His tail swished lazily across the floor; Trish didn’t need to remember the fine details of tail language to see the lack of distress in the movement. James went back to his sprawled position, muttering something about clearing his schedule.
Trish looked at him incredulously, and he failed to return the gesture. All of them were acting as though this was a sane, normal thing to request, starting to quietly chatter about the details of the mission in the same casual register they’d been using all night to discuss food and friends and work.
“All of you.” Trish made her voice firm. “Do you understand what I’m asking? This will not be a risk free mission, a ‘walk in the park’. Tressa, you said as much a moment ago. You didn’t seem so cavalier about this idea then.”
“Nothing we do is risk free.” James countered. “Even meeting here is a risk, right? And besides, I’ve been stuck down here too long. It’s high time I got some fresh air.”
That was hardly a real reason. Even Trish could come up with a better excuse than that.
…She decided to let it lie. If they were willing to go, there was no point in pushing back. They weren’t dumb; they knew the risks. If they didn’t want to tell her the reason they were so eager to jump on a pointlessly over-crewed retrieval mission, so be it. Who was she, to tell them to be honest with her about their motivations?
Trish leaned against a nearby couch and slumped into a more comfortable position, feeling her heart rate restabilize and her mind resharpen. Pulling out the pad again, she mulled over the details of the message one more time before speaking up.
“What we’re looking for is a light gray backpack with the UN logo on it. As I said, it’ll be handed over in the Rising Star hotel; exact location is still pending. We’ve got about 10 hours before we need to leave.”
She desperately hoped she had the time conversion between claws and hours correct, or she’d be dealing with either four underslept liabilities or a very irritated fixer who wouldn’t accept “slept in” as a reasonable excuse.
“We’ll need a few minutes to get prepared before taking Beast, and the trip up could take a couple hours if there’s really bad traffic. I’m sure you all understand why we need to be there immediately, so that possibility is what I’m planning around. That should give you all plenty of time to rest.”
Taking the multiple sighs of relief as her cue, Trish picked herself up from the floor and stalked off to one of the rooms she’d claimed as her own. She never liked these face-to-face chats, but at least the hardest part of her work was done. In the morning, she could focus on the relatively simple task of actually retrieving the package. The thought of the trip up wasn’t pleasant, per se (Beast wasn’t exactly a reliable steed), nor was the prospect of traipsing around the upper layer of City 23. Though it was undeniably beautiful, they’d be under the ever-watchful eye of the Federation at all times. Still, the stress of surveillance couldn’t hold a candle to the stress of social confrontation. Compared to that ordeal, the trip couldn't be anything but smooth sailing.
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