#Chaff Material

[mikkeneko]

So here's my beef with ChatGPT. Even aside from the issues with plagiarism, cheating, people using it to fake the work that they absolutely need to be actually doing, &etc.

With the advent of the internet we've been in a situation where all the knowledge available to humanity could, conceivably, be made available to everyone at all times. We've had enormous public works built towards that purpose -- libraries, Wikipedia, archives, everything. But an increasing problem as the years have gone by has been the problem of sorting out the signal from the noise. Sorting out real, helpful advice from scams and snake-oil. Paths that lead to dead-ends as sources of information go down and don't come back up. Trying to figure out who's a real expert, who's even a real person in a sea of fake generated avatars. Distinguishing wheat from chaff, usable material from trash.

And the makers of ChatGPT -- and every other AI programmer who's now trying to jump on the bandwagon -- is looking at this problem and saying "You know what this situation needs? More noise. More fakes. More chaff. More dead-ends and empty shells. I think we have TOO MUCH useful information and real expertise. I think we should shake things up by adding more utterly contentless garbage to the mix." And they created an automated noise generator.

Just imagine being on the bank of a pond and saying "ah, this is a lovely pond, the fish and plants are so beautiful, I'm just having trouble seeing them through the silt in the water" and the person next to you says "I'm going to build a factory on the bank of this pond that does nothing but pour more dirt into it. All day. Every day. Nonstop." And then everyone else overhears them and says "Oh, what a fantastic idea! I'm going to create my OWN sludge-factory to get in on this action!"

[headspace-hotel]

@that-gay-jedi requested that i talk some about material conditions and their effect on worldbuilding so here's something I'm thinking about

One area where the conditions of day to day life never seem to be fully considered in their impacts on the worldbuilding: magic systems.

I'd have to do more research to support this theory, but I think that this is one of the major ways that D&D has shaped how we Do Worldbuilding in fantasy. Most magic systems, in the way they are shown to us, have a lot of very combat-focused applications. Even if it's not all fireballs, lightning bolts, and more classic D&D wizard type stuff, physical/elemental type magic is explored from the angle of "how do I hurt/kill people with this" or "how do I destroy things with this"

But. If you're in a roughly pre-industrial fantasy world, and a portion of the population that's at all significant has magic, or can learn magic, that affects the natural world, the oldest and most widespread type of magic or method of using magic likely isn't going to be for warfare, and even when writers question the combat-centered magic, they usually go for like, exploring how magic is incorporated into the arts or something

Which is great. But in most pre-industrial societies, like 90% of the population is rural farmers. What I'm saying is, where is the farm magic.

The first spells to be developed, the oldest and most well-known spells, should really be like this:

banish slug

repel frost

corral

loosen dirt

uproot

magic scythe

separate chaff

repair horse

castrate bull

deworm

summon scarecrow

peel sheep

direct moisture

What farmer even today wouldn't find loads of uses for magic? Charms that keep patches of ground above freezing. Magical explosions that disseminate seeds instantly all over your fields. Shade spells to protect your plants from beating sun.

If magic can summon demons or familiars or make constructs to do stuff for you, you bet your ass that stuff was used by farmers long before it was ever used for fighting. The most culturally important use of necromancers isn't creating soldiers to form undead armies, it's reanimating your dead mule so he can still pull your plow. Farmer warlocks will summon demons from hell to haul manure for them.

If you have wizards in a fancy wizard private school learning how to create a shield of frost, that knowledge had to come from somewhere, and the answer is probably thousands of years of farmer wizards learning how to magically protect their crops from extreme heat and cold.

I want to see side notes in worldbuilding about how every spell used for combat is basically a repurposed farming spell.

This spell for summoning a magical suit of spectral armor that shatters weapons? Yeah, that was originally developed for chickens so foxes would shatter their teeth when they tried to bite them. It was used for centuries before someone thought of trying it on a person.

#worldbuilding #magic #writing #magic systems

[apas-95]

Are you actually a Stalinist? What the hell

'Stalinism' isn't an ideology.

I'm a Marxist, given the proven correctness of Marx's scientific analysis of society - which is to say dialectical, historical materialism. Further, a Marxist-Leninist, given Lenin's contributions to socialist theory in the age of imperialism - contributions proven valid in practice by the formation of the first socialist state. In analysing said socialist state, it's apparent that it vastly improved the quality of life - the longevity, nutrition, and education - of millions upon millions of people. It was instrumental in the defeat of fascism in Europe, and its eventual destruction brought about mass starvation, impoverishment, and brutal wars between formerly fraternal nations.

It wasn't perfect - because it was a real, historical thing made up of real people in a real environment, not some utopian thought experiment. It had errors in its handling of some issues, and in its entire conception of others. But it was vastly better than the foundation it was building off, and a massive improvement over its surroundings. None of the contenders to 'Stalinism' have done so. Trotskyism and its ilk managed to produce only millions of newspapers, and promptly disappears from relevancy once its job, of establishing 'left' support for the impoverishment and exploitation of post-socialist peoples, is completed. Various anarchisms have failed to maintain themselves for any longer than a couple years, even with outside support, and still managed to commit the very atrocities and banditry they claimed to prevent.

This isn't really a question anywhere else in the world but the imperial core. Being a communist means being a Marxist-Leninist and appreciating the successes of the Soviet Union, which were primary, along with its errors, which were secondary. It's perfectly common to despise that, but I'd implore you just accurately accept yourself as being an anti-communist, rather than couching your opposition around some nonexistent strain of communism you posit as opposed to true leftism.

But, hey, if it separates the wheat from the chaff, then sure, I'm a 'Stalinist', whatever that means.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

| DREAM WITHIN A DREAM | main masterlist | PAIRING(s): incubus!Ezra x virgin!fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT:  4.1k | CONTENT: dream fucking, loss of virginity, depictions and deviations of supernatural lore, erotic gore

| SYNOPSIS: Your dreams have become the escape from your draining life. When you discover you are not alone in your dreamworld, will all the aspects lacking in your waking life be fulfilled by your handsome companion?

Dreams seemed to be the only place you wanted to stay as of late. If you could somehow capture those endless hours that felt timeless as you drifted between the waking world and the lulling comfort of unconsciousness, you’d prolong your stay until you took your last breath. Each morning when you left that nebulous world, everything seemed duller. It was as though your senses weren’t meant to properly function if you were awake. Although, given the state of your life, you suppose it should be considered a small grace that your senses weren’t  tethered to the waking world.

Long hours on your feet in the diner. Busy patrons who provided you with neither conversation nor gratuity. The expense of the bare minimum just to exist, drowning out any notion that you’d have the time or the funds to indulge in luxuries such as hobbies or friends. It was only survival, making enough to pay rent and, on a good month, afford two square meals a day. But, it hadn’t been a good month in many, many turns of a calendar page.

You were exhausted by the day’s end, worn down with the borrowed worry of tomorrow. A tomorrow in which you would repeat the same exact motions. A tomorrow in which you found no happiness or meaning. A tomorrow that could’ve been a today or a yesterday: they were all the same.

The exhaustion may have been a silver lining of your wearying, wasted life as it meant you required hardly any effort to fall asleep every night. Your dreams were the only thing you looked forward to. The excitement of it - the anticipation of something fulfilling even if it wasn’t real - would no doubt be enough to keep you too worked up to sleep if you weren’t already bone tired by the time your head hit the pillow.

Once you crossed over into that peaceful trance, your nerves came alive. You were energized, ready to drink in the beauty of your fabricated world. You aren’t sure when this mind palace had come to fruition. Your dreams hadn’t always been this way. Still, you cannot pinpoint exactly when it all started. The beautiful landscapes with intoxicating atmospheres. 

Sometimes the sky was a blush pink with whispers of green and blue duochromatic speckles that twinkled in the sky. The closest thing in your waking life that you could compare them to would be the stars in the heavens, but these speckles ebbed and flowed in size and light. They moved and swirled wherever you went as though they were formed to merely accompany you wherever your feet carried you.

At times when you walked through a field of wheatgrass, the tips of your fingers brushing against the chaff would produce a serenading hum that spread from your fingertip to the rest of your body. It was as though a song itself was being piped into your veins, whirring into the chasm of your pseudo-corporeal form.

There were glimpses of familiar things from your past, but never the hurtful ones. Never the sad ones. The color of a tree would be the exact match of the patch of paint from your childhood bedroom ceiling that hadn’t crumpled and dry rotted away with the rest of it. You’d stare up at it each night with unabashed fondness. It was your patch of color, only to be drunk in by your eyes. You’d never mentioned it to your parents for fear that they’d scrape it away so it wouldn’t inevitably disintegrate onto your face as you slept.

Your parents were never in your dreams. Part of you wishes they were, but you know it’s for the best that they remain absent. You still missed them terribly even though it had been years since their passing. Seeing them would be a bittersweet reunion, a reminder of the good times but also a reminder of all the despair and hardship their deaths had brought. You were still a child when they’d died. Life had never been easy, but you’d grown up fast after their passing. Lying about your age, dressing older so that you might con your way into a paying gig. Even when you came into legal working age, you started back at square one. Your resume and their referrals were extensive but ultimately useless as it detailed your years of unlawful labor.

But here, in this dreamscape, none of that mattered. This was a place of tranquil solitude with nothing taking place that you hadn’t called upon, although you often felt the pressing  watch of an unseen counterpart. You only felt certain it was there because it always came with a persistent, clutching  sensation on top of your chest, even if you were upright. Something weighty and claiming pushing against your breaths. It wasn’t a foreboding presence, but you didn’t like the knowledge that you didn’t beckon or control it. It had always been there, perhaps even before you’d come to discover this place in your mind. Whatever the presence was, it had never revealed itself, and you felt it best to not ask it to do so.

When it finally emerged, you couldn’t have been prepared for such a companion. It appeared as a hazy apparition at first, and you could feel that this was for your benefit. Not wholly unmasking itself quite yet until you had come to terms with the fact that you were not alone here. When your nerves had settled, it seemed to know and came into its form. It appeared to you as a handsome, roguish man, but you knew he was no such thing.

He stood with a casual but upright posture, sure of himself and at ease in your dream world. His attire was unusual for your times, but you couldn’t place it at any point in the past, either. It was an organic, timeless style of dress, one appropriately bespoke for its wearer. The texture of the loose fitting black top was something raw and untreated. It hit at the top of his thighs, the front lower half opening up into a V shape before disappearing into a closure near his navel that you couldn’t see except for the line of a seam running up the center of his torso. A thick, oil slick sheen black belt cinched his middle, accentuating the tapered waist that sloped into broad, thick shoulders. The sleeves fell just to his elbows where something fastened them tighter than the rest of the garment. 

His forearms had the sinewy musculature of a man who worked with his hands, and yet his hands appeared smooth with neatly trimmed nails. The pad of muscle beneath his thumb was prominent, and when his wrist turned you could see the spring of his veins gliding over bone and ligament. He exuded a  picture of vitality and strength, although you instinctively knew it was not limited to your human boundaries of such things. He possessed powers and gifts unimagined by even the greatest philosophers and visionaries. He was something else, something greater than what you’d ever known.

He commanded the space with no discernible effort, and his demeanor was only partially responsible. His formidable body projected strength and finesse all in one. His large hands wouldn’t be out of place fine tuning the most delicate of instruments or squeezing the last gasps of air from someone’s throat. You knew you should fear those hands on you, but you only felt a burning need for them to know your flesh.

He stood firmly in loose fitting black trousers and soft leather boots. He appeared sunk to the earth and floating alight all at once. Even in this spellbinding dreamworld of yours, he stuck out as magnificent and awe inspiring. His smile was gentle but knowing. You can’t conceive what in your waking life would’ve lent itself to this creature before you. What had you ever encountered that could trickle into your subconscious and form such a beautiful thing?

Perhaps you must accept that he was no amalgamation of hypnotic, mesmerizing facets of your subconscious. Perhaps you must accept that he truly was something else from somewhere else. His dark eyes were trained on you – watching, waiting. A flash of white blond jutted at the front of his hairline. His curved, prominent nose ran fluidly to the bow of his top lip. Plush, pink. They looked softer than any pillow you’d ever laid your head on.

“Do you wish to comprehend my true nature, Little One?” he calmly asks. His deep voice carried a dulcet cadence, soothing immediately to your ears and thoughts.

“You’re no man,” you assert carefully.

“Does that unsettle you?” he returns.

You think for a moment then shake your head. “No.”

A tiny pull at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you wonder with the smallest tremble in your voice.

“Only when you beg me to,” he replies coolly with a flippant, knowing smirk.

Your cheeks warm at his suggestive remark. He watches you with an unmoving patience, as though he has all the time in the world. Then you remember, in this place he does. You both do.

“Do you wish to comprehend my true nature, Little One?” he asks once more.

The smooth lilt of every syllable he spoke made you feel like you were in a daze. “What’s your name?” you manage.

He smiles again, softer. “As profound my desire is to hear my given name spill from you tongue, it is beyond what your lingual tissue is able to form. You may call me Ezra, Little One.”

“Ezra,” you repeat.

He breathes in deeply as though he’s been waiting to hear you say it for infinity upon infinity. His exhale feels intoxicating. You feel as though you have released all the captive breath in your lungs, flesh and blood unearthed and eager for fresh air. You consider telling him your name, but you realize he already knows it. Whether your shared subconscious in this dream state or the otherworldly capabilities of an omniscient, magical being.

“Did you make this place? Did you bring me here?” you ask.

“It has always been, as has the inevitability of you and I,” he answers.

“What are we meant to do?” You question him even though you know the answer. Your body and blood sings for him already. You feel the urge, the pull of him. You are meant to be his.

“You wonder why I don’t simply divest you of your essence when I am more than capable of doing so?” His breathy laugh softens the implications of his words.

“I know you could take it. Why don’t you?”

He tilts his head in consideration. How much to tell you. How soon to tell you. “It is true that my survival necessitates the procurement of human essence. Whether that is relented or seized, well, that depends upon the person, I suppose.”

“So why wait for them to give it?” you wonder.

“When essence is freely given, it conveys more power to the recipient,” he explains as though it’s the most logical, simple thing to understand.

“I don’t know how to give it. I’ve never.. given my essence or... my anything. To anyone,” you shyly confess.

“But that is what makes it all the more precious, Little One,” he contends. “An untouched, undisturbed essence. The highest echelon one may ascend to.”

“It’s better than I’ve never been with someone?” you clarify.

“It is one of the things that makes you so special to me, Little One,” he affirms. “For you to give me your essence, the purity of your essence, it will afford me many moons of life. Your gift will sustain me.”

You shift, uncertain about consenting to such a massive commitment. You know you won’t survive when Ezra absorbs your essence, but the alternative of going back to the waking world and wasting whatever you have left of that existence feels wrong. If you aren’t going to make any use of it, why not gift it to a creature like Ezra? Why not give it to someone – or something – that will use its full potential?

“Will you do that for me? Will you freely give your essence to me, Little One?” he presses.

“Will it hurt?” you worry.

He offers a reassuring grin. “Only in the way that a circle comes back upon itself.”

You aren’t sure you understand what he means, but he says it so soothingly that you feel safe anyway. “Yes. I want you to have me, Ezra. I want you to have my essence.”

In the blink of an eye, Ezra is before you. There’s a floral earthy smell in the air as it moves around him in swirling, lazy currents. His hands brace your face. He leans in and presses his lips against yours. Your eyes flutter closed, and you feel the wind whip through your hair. When you open them, you are looking up into the sky with Ezra above you. 

“Just as I said, gentle - until you beseech me for devastation.” His thumbs grazes over your temple and down your jawline. Your back relaxes into the soft earth below. “Won’t heed your own destruction when the ruination is so rewarding,” he laughs low, almost to himself.

His tongue slithers against your neck. “Won’t refuse to imbibe the poison if it tastes of honey on the tongue.”

“Won’t mourn the expiry of your existence when it is surrendered to serve a higher purpose,” he whispers into your sternum. His hands snake under your clothing and stop when they rest atop your chest. Your breathing has picked up significantly even though barely anything has happened.

“So trusting,” he continues as he gently pinches your pert nipples between his fingers. You whimper as your body arcs to his touch. “Had I met you a few hundred years ago, I would have relished in the spoilage of your untouched womb. Would have wittingly inflicted myself upon you until I could drink your tears and your blood alike.”

You begin to tremble - with anticipation or with fear, you’re not sure. “Are you g-going to drink my blood? And tears?” you shakily breathe.

“I have never been one to fester in nostalgia, Little One,” he replies curtly.

You sigh in relief and pleasure. Ezra pinches your nipples harder than is comfortable, and you wince.

“However, it would be insincere of me to claim the idea of ruining you – spoiling you for all others, unfit to be had by any other lover –  had no appeal to my desires,” he adds in a grunt. His eyes flicker black and speckles of silver for a moment before returning to a deep honeyed brown.

You shrink into yourself slightly, but there’s nowhere to go with Ezra on top of you and the ground beneath you. You feel your pulse between your thighs.

“What’s more,” he continues in a breathy gruff, “is I know you’d let me. You’d let me take all of you, break all of you, and when I was finished destroying you, you’d offer your undying thanks to me for having done it.”

His laugh is derisive and soft. It makes your belly tingle with shame and arousal. “Why is it such a bad thing to be willing to give yourself to somebody?” you ask quietly.

Ezra tilts his head in consideration as he kneads your breasts. “For you to give yourself to me is nothing more than kismet, Little One.”

“Then there’s no reason to be ashamed of it,” you weakly protest.

His smirk makes your breath catch. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Place all contemplation and reflection upon me and allow yourself to feel the pleasure I offer,” he suggests.

Your clothes are gone in a blink, and you openly stare at Ezra’s naked body. He’s muscular but not too lean. There’s still the curve of flesh amidst the jut of bone. You quietly suck in a harsh breath when your eyes travel downward. Your eyes widen and you gulp as you take in the size of him, already hard a weeping at the tip for you.

“C-Can you make that smaller?” you ask. “I’ve never— That won’t fit inside m—”

Your words cut off with a melting, cloudy feeling draping over your body. A sense of calm envelops you.

“Ease your mind. You will discover pleasure in the agony, Little One,” he reassures you.

He creeps down to your dripping folds and smiles to himself. He barely presses the tip of his finger between your folds when you jolt and cry out in pleasure. Your breathing sounds as though you’ve been running down a long path with an animal nearly successful in nipping your heels.

“Your own innocence and lechery have culminated in the sweet slip of your sex,” he hums in amusement. “I could take you right now with little resistance if I weren’t so parched for the ambrosia of your womanhood.”

You feel like a caged animal that’s been given a sedative, fangs and claws no more useful than a blunt knife. Your entire body is warm and lulled. Ezra’s wide tongue laps between your folds in one long, lazy trip. He groans into your wetness.

“Upon your nectar I slake my thirst,” he groans before lapping repeatedly and more vigorously with each pass.

You squirm at the explosion of sensation his mouth renders on you. “Ezra,” you breathe low. “Ezra, this feels so good. Why do I feel so good?” You’re aware enough of the peculiar sense of calm you feel, even as your chest begins to feel heavy and tighter.

“When my words and touch aren’t enough to pacify that errant storm of worry – or perhaps when I am much too distracted to attend to it as I should–” he takes a dive with his tongue into your entrance and slurps loudly at the glistening wet that drools out in response, groaning and grinding in between your thighs “—I concoct something of a transmutable ease, a soothing balm for your mind.”

You whine and buck into his mouth, surprised at your body for knowing exactly how to respond to a man’s attention even though you have never been acquainted with it prior. “I– you.. Ezra, oh,” you pant. “S’your..you.. have me under some sort —aaahhh— of spell?”

“I require no tricks or slight to have you, Little One,” he chides. “It is simply a nicety, an augmentation of your existing pacificity.”

You roll your hips to meet his mouth and feel your core tightening. Your legs begin to shake as much as your voice when you try to verbalize the impending feeling. “I know, Little One,” he groans. “I know you are moments away from coming undone for me. So, come undone. Let me watch the fruits of my labor. Come.”

With a harsh jerk of your entire body, your climax takes hold. You let out a pained sort of cry, overwhelmed despite the hypnotic calm that Ezra has bestowed upon you with his powers. The back of your eyes pinch with the profuse bliss you feel. You flinch when you feel cool teeth nipping at your folds and flesh of your buttocks. Your chest feels tighter still.

“Shall I let the calmative trance dissipate? Do you wish to feel all of me when I take you?” he grunts into your ear.

You feel as though many, many hands are covering your body, sliding up and down. Caressing each inch of you. It will be too much if Ezra allows his powers to ebb. You want to know all of this if it is to be your first and only time. If there is absolute pleasure, you also wish to know divine pain.

“I want to feel it all,” you whisper.

Ezra’s eyes flicker black and silver again at your words. “Begging for pain and your own ruination. Just as I predicted.” 

His devious smile fills you with dread and want. He quickly lines himself up at your entrance. He raises a hand to your parted lips. The tips of his fingers have extended into points, like blunted claws. The tips of them seep black towards his hand like a dark cloud extending towards his center.

“Will you spill crimson for me, Little One?” he grits out. He sounds like he’s barely holding back a beastly growl.

“Take me, Ezra,” you plead desperately.

His face looks pained as he drives himself into you with one fell swoop. You scream at the burning and splitting. You must be cleaved in two, the searing pain is so strong. Ezra is grunting and panting, sounding like an animal that has finally chased and killed its meal. A man who is prepared to feast upon you – all of you.

You begin sobbing at the pain of him driving his fat tip into your cervix. “Such a beautiful thing, desperate for the agony of me,” Ezra rasps with a dark laugh.

“Don’t stop,” you beg as tears stream down your face. You’ve never felt more alive than in this moment. Each breath becomes harder to take, your ribcage must be crushing in on itself. 

“So utterly divine,” he quips with a cheeky, wry smile. When you tilt your hips for him to take you deeper, he thrusts harder, meeting your unspoken needs. His eyes roll back for a moment, his head tilting back in raptured bliss. You watch the thrum of the veins in his neck and shoulders, the way his muscles tense and flex as he slams into you.

He pulls and pushes out of you with no resistance now. The wet squelch of your cunt is reminiscent to the sound of boots sticking into the mud. You feel yourself taking Ezra and clenching to keep him inside you, mud to the boot, gripping him to keep him situated inside you. You smell copper when he drives himself hard and deep enough.

Your lips tingle. Your vision is darkening along the edges. Your breaths are stifled. The new favorite sensation of yours, that tight tight tightening coil in the pit of your belly, grabs hold of your lower half. Ezra’s teeth have elongated and sharpened. The black that once graced the tips of his fingers has now traveled up his arms. You feel sets of hands all over you, poking and prodding and smoothing and groping. Ezra grips his hand into your mouth, holding your tongue and bottom teeth down with four fingers, his thumb pushing underneath your chin for counter strength. You let your jaw hang limp for him. You have no power to resist anyway. Your chest is constricted. You aren’t sure you feel breaths any longer.

You feel Ezra pry two fingers into your other hole as he mercilessly drives himself into your cunt. All you know is Ezra. All your body knows is being dismantled and torn apart by him. You’ve never felt happier.

“I can feel you, Little One,” Ezra says in a deeper, distorted voice than before. 

Your vision blurs as your climax crests.

“I can feel the final slips of your essence. Feed me, Little One,” he growls. “You’ve fed me the blood of your hymen. You’ve fed me the nectar of your womb. Feed me. Let me feast upon you. Let me devour you. Let me take all of you.”

Your eyes slide back into your skull as you come. Each clench of your core coincides with the clenching, strangling sensation of your chest. It’s as though each seizing of muscle as your orgasm barrels through you also wrings the breath of life from you.

Ezra howls as he empties himself inside you. You feel a ripping, clawing sensation in your chest. When you blink, you see the mottled, blackened face of Ezra dripping with blood. Sinew and cord of vessels dangle from his sharp teeth. He chews through the gristle of your flesh and muscle  and dives back into the gash he created in  your chest cavity where he feasts upon your heart. He is willing your last few moments of consciousness. He wishes for you to watch him ruin you, take you, devour you.

“My perfect creature. My Little One,” he says with contrasting tenderness to the vision of him soaked in your arousal and blood.

He dips his head and grabs either side of your face with huge black hands and claws. He captures your mouth in a hungry kiss, sharing the taste of your own blood and death. You return it with your last fleeting seconds of life. You kiss your demon lover until everything fades into nothingness.

ty to Han @swiftispunk for listening to me ramble endlessly about this and encouraging all my freaky Ezra vibes

I really loved exploring this idea. I don't usually write things like this, so it was a fun exercise in creativity for me for sure! I wrote this for the PPCU Discord Fic Event, and you can find a bunch of other lovely stories from it in this masterlist post.

Art in graphic is a transformed work of Jessica Cioffi's (socials: loputyn).

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

tagging a few people who requested to be tagged:

@patti7dc @jupiter-soups @psychedelic-ink @morallyinept @wannab-urs @chronically-ghosted @bonezone44 @iamasaddie @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

#ezra prospect #ezra #incubus!ezra #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

[mystra-midnight]

Leash

summary: in which eddie gives you a gift

warnings: mostly fluff. nothing explicit is described in great detail. mostly sfw.

words: 1k

notes: inspired by this post by @inklore and also by the party dialogue between ironbull and vivienne in dragon age: inquisition.

You're sitting on the bed in his trailer, feet tucked under yourself, as you look in the little compact mirror you'd fished out of your purse. The light of the van was dim, washing the room in an orangey-yellow glow, but it hadn't hindered your vision as you examined your reflection.

There was a lingering bruise on the side of your neck, just below your ear. It was fresh, only a day or so old. Eddie had sucked, licked, and nibbled your neck while you came on his cock so hard that your bones turned to jelly. Even now, your stomach did a funny little spin at the thought of it. Butterflies winged wildly through your veins as moisture pooled at the apex of your thighs.

And he hadn't touched you since.

You tried not to worry about it, but you always did. Sometimes you worried that Eddie would wake up one day and realise how incompatible the two of you were with your polar-opposite lifestyles and upbringings. You'd been born into the upper class—the latest phone and brand new car for your seventeenth birthday kind of upper class.

Eddie had been born into the lower class—the work for a living, calloused hands, and struggling to make ends meet lower class. He fought through his life, in school and out of it, for the things he had.

That was what made this so special.

He'd bought you a present; he actually bought it for you, he hadn't not stolen it, and he bought it with real money. Although that money wasn't exactly legally obtained, he even had the receipt to prove it.

You stroked your fingers along the choker that was now settled around your throat. It was made of leather, double-lined, and double-layered. The first layer was at least an inch and a half, maybe two, thick and lined with soft padding so that it didn't chaff. It overlapped over your trachea. The second layer was smaller but overlapped at the same point with a buckle, keeping it snug and secure around your neck. And there in the centre, dangling at the hollow of your throat, was a round steel ring.

You dragged your lower lip between your teeth as you caught his eye. Eddie was standing in front of you with those big brown eyes that made your heart do summersaults in your chest. You swallowed, feeling the choker tighten briefly from the motion.

Your nails caught at the choker as you let your hand fall into your lap, along with the other one and that now-closed compact mirror. He was looking at you like a lost puppy, like you'd hung the stars in the sky. You smiled up at him, your sweet metalhead.

"Do you like it?"

"It looks like a collar," you said softly, fingers rising once again to stroke at the stiff material. You almost regretted the words the moment they slipped past your lips, afraid they might upset him or insult the gift he’d given you.

It had only been a few months since the first time you’d been in detention together. That was the day Mr. Henderson slipped out to speak with the principal for a few moments. You’re not sure exactly how it happened; one moment you’d both been silent, then you’d been slipping him money and he’d been slipping you an overstuffed bag, and then he’d been slipping you tongue, and you’d been moaning.

You’d separated before Mr. Henderson returned and were back in your respective seats. You’d rubbed your thighs together to stifle the damp heat between them, and you had ducked your head to hide the kiss-swollen lips.

The rest was history.

"It’s a choker, sweetheart," Eddie explained, stepping close to you so that your knees brushed against his. He captured your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping your face up to look at him.

You squirmed in your seat on the bed beneath the intensity of his stare. "I know, it just looks like one," you said, your voice failing you as he slid his fingers across the curve of your jaw and then down your neck. Eddie rubbed his thumb over the dark bruise he'd sucked into your neck softly and tenderly, then found the ring of your choker.

The bed dipped with his weight as he placed a knee on the outside of your thigh. He hooked his finger through the loop as he placed the other knee on the bed, straddling your lap.

He tugged gently on the ring, pulling you against his chest. Your hands settled on his hips, nails scraping against the denim, and then pushed up beneath his shirt. "Eddie," you said his name in a whisper, a little breathlessly, inwardly cringing at how desperate you sounded. He forced you to look at him, holding your gaze with his own dark hues when you tried to look away in embarrassment.

And try as you might not too fall, you fell into the depths of them as though you were falling from the sky, tumbling through stars and galaxies until there was only him and you.

And his lips caught you before you could hit the ground. Eddie kissed you soundly, without urgency, as though he had all the time in the world for you. He cupped your cheek with his other hand, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone, keeping your face turned up to him in his elevated position.

When he drew back, your eyes were glossy, and your lash line was shining with tears. He gave the ring of the choker a rough tug, making you swallow. "You don't need to worry, sweetheart. I have no intention of trying to leash anyone." He joked, though even after only a few months, you knew that was something his kinky brain would probably enjoy: you on your knees, a leash in his hand to bridge you together.

You blinked up at him with a blissed smile. "I never worry, Eddie." You encircled his wrist with your own trembling fingers, not letting him remove his finger from the ring. You gave him a rough pull, dragging him down atop you as you lay sprawled on the bed, feet now dangling off the edge.

He reached out with a hand, ring-clad fingers spread wide on the bed, to support himself and keep most of his weight from settling on you. "A leash can be pulled from either end."

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x reader

[aceofcupsbiggestfan]

Herakles Rituals

Taking place as the purifying ritual of Lesser Mysteries. Purifications varied from region in looks, though most took place by a stream in the spring. Many would give offerings to purify, most commonly water or blood. Purification was integral for anyone not born into the cult (Or Greek for that matter). Anyone was welcomed to participate in the Mysteries, but only if they were purified.

A repeating purification was also done a month before Greater Mysteries, the journey to Eleusis or Athens.

Another large part of Lesser Mysteries was learning the theology of Demeter and Persephone (Kore). Members took the week to learn of Myths and rituals of the Two Goddeses.

Taking the week to purify and learn, many cult members would end their week with a vision from Kore. Preparation was a large portion of Lesser Mysteries.

During the Greater Mysteries initiates were vowed to silence. What we do know is due to remaining artwork and Myths, specifically surrounding initiation of Herakles.

One of Herakles' Twelve Trials was th fide Kerberos, during which he met permite him who and within the Mysteries.

According to Myth, the Lesser Mysteries were created for Herakles. One could not join the Mysteries if stained with Miasma. Herakles had Miasma due to murder. So Lesser Mysteries was created, so it goes.

In a carving we can see Herakles holding a pig over an eskhara, a chthonic altar. Depicted held by Herakles is also pelanoi, a type of round cake. A priest is seen holding an offering tray. of what might be poppies, and pouring libation.

Poppies were known be money ation to abduction. They related to both Goddess's, though the altar is purely for Persephone.

After offering initiates were told certain myths that were “inappropriate to tell before children" in the eyes of Socrates.

Next we see Herakles sitting upon a rams fleece, known as the ‘fleece of Zeus' which is also related to the Abduction Myth of Persephone, as her mother, Demeter, sat on a similar fleece after her capture. Herakles is also sechoveiled, with ankles.

Herakles is seen his eyes and bạck covered, suggesting blindness. Commonly, historians believe that the darkness was to purify the initiate back to their own suffering and motherliness.

A priestess can be seen holding a liknon, abasket related to Persephone and Demeter as it is used to separate wheat from chaff. The liknon is also seen as a symbol for the Cult of Dionysus, visualizing the soul separating from the body. Though this thought is more Orphic than Eleusisian.

Water, Fire and Air were also common forms of purification. Water from libations, fire from torches and air from the liknon. Now pure, the initiate may approach the Demeter. This can be seen in the final artwork.

Demeter is seen on a kiste surrounded by the materials for Greater Mysteries, snakes wrapped around her knees. She is touching them softly showing her transcended human anxiety. She does not hold the snake, who represents the Mysteries, to Herakles. She turns and waits for Persephone to approach, showing that the initiation is not complete.

These rituals are shown in a separate artwork than the Initiation of Herakles Urn, meaning these rituals must have been preformed during Lesser Mysteries.

Many also like to celebrate Lesser Mysteries as the returning of Persephone to Kore as she returns to her mother. It is shown, as during this time the weather gets warmer, sprigs of flowers begin to pop up.

Another large part of Lesser Mysteries was the idea of separation of the body and spirit, and to return oneself to the principles we descended from--"perfect enjoyment of intellectual (spiritual) good"--as sccording to Plato.

This was achieved through purification and rituals to acceptance to the cult.

You can find a Modern Version of Herakles’ Purification here.

#hellenic polytheism #hellenic witch #hellenism #hellenic deities #hellenic polytheistic #hellenic worship #hellenistic #theoi #lady persephone #persephone #lady demeter #demeter #herakles

[ravenkings]

Just what is reading, anyway? What is it for? Why is it something to argue and worry about? Reading isn’t synonymous with literacy, which is one of the necessary skills of contemporary existence. Nor is it identical with literature, which designates a body of written work endowed with a special if sometimes elusive prestige.

Reading is something else: an activity whose value, while broadly proclaimed, is hard to specify. Is any other common human undertaking so riddled with contradiction? Reading is supposed to teach us who we are and help us forget ourselves, to enchant and disenchant, to make us more worldly, more introspective, more empathetic and more intelligent. It’s a private, even intimate act, swathed in silence and solitude, and at the same time a social undertaking. It’s democratic and elitist, soothing and challenging, something we do for its own sake and as a means to various cultural, material and moral ends.

When I was a child, Saturday morning cartoons were sometimes interrupted by public service announcements from Reading Is Fundamental, an organization dedicated to putting books in the hands of underprivileged children. The group’s slogan was “Reading Is Fun!” Fun and fundamental: Together, those words express a familiar utilitarian, utopian promise — the faith that what we enjoy doing will turn out to be what we need to do, that our pleasures and our responsibilities will turn out to be one and the same. It’s not only good; it’s good for you.

But nothing is ever so simple. Reading is, fundamentally, both a tool and a toy. It’s essential to social progress, democratic citizenship, good government and general enlightenment. It’s also the most fantastically, sublimely, prodigiously useless pastime ever invented. Teachers, politicians, literary critics and other vested authorities labor mightily to separate the edifying wheat from the distracting chaff, to control, police, correct and corral the transgressive energies that propel the turning of pages. The crisis is what happens either when those efforts succeed or when they fail. Everyone likes reading, and everyone is afraid of it.

–A.O. Scott, “Everyone Likes Reading. Why Are We So Afraid of It?” The New York Times, June 21, 2023

#a.o. scott #education #article #quote

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for Saturday, April 27, 2024

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 15:6-7(KJV): 6 In the house of the righteous is much treasure: but in the revenues of the wicked is trouble. 7 The lips of the wise disperse knowledge: but the heart of the foolish doeth not so. Proverbs 15:6-7(Amp): 6 In the house of the (uncompromisingly) righteous is great (priceless) treasure, but with the income of the wicked is trouble and vexation. 7 The lips of the wise disperse knowledge (sifting it as chaff from the grain); not so the mind of the self-confident and foolish.

Thought for the Day

Verse 6 - The income of the wicked comes with trouble, while the righteous have "much treasure." Some people have a hard time believing this is true because they know righteous Christians who are struggling with finances. To understand the meaning of this verse, we must first understand what the Bible means by "treasures" and "true riches."

Money cannot buy health or save someone's life. The Bible says that we are to seek God's true riches, not this world's riches. His riches are things that money cannot buy. How can money deliver a wayward teenager from drugs and sin? How can money buy peace in our souls in the face of fear all around us? How can money save a soul from hell? Only God's riches are available to do these things. We are truly rich when we have faith in God.

Certainly, God does want to bless us with material things, but it will be Him that we are seeking when these things come, not the things themselves. Many today are seeking God for what He can do for them, instead of asking God how they can serve Him. We cannot seek mammon and God at the same time.

"If you have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will commit to your trust in the true riches? And if ye have not been faithful in that which is another man's, who shall give you that which is your own? No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other, or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon" (Luke 16:11-13).

"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also" (Matthew 6:19-21).

"Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye need all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you" (Matthew 6:31-33).

Verse 7 – The lips of the wise share godly knowledge, claiming the promises of God. However, claiming only material things is foolish. Many today are heard claiming cars and houses but seldom heard claiming souls. Our priorities should be right when claiming and confessing. The Lord's greatest desire is for us to grow in Him and to bring others to the knowledge of His love. He will take care of our needs if we seek Him first.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Father, we come to You in Jesus' most precious name, thanking You for Your love for us. Lord, You see the areas in our lives that are not in balance in the area of material things. We ask that You reveal those to us and help us to walk in the path of righteousness and Your holy balance in these areas. Deliver us from any lust for the things of this world, and give us a vision of the rewards that await us in the world to come when we do Your will. Let us not worry about finances, but rather cast all of our cares upon You, for You care for us. Heal us today spirit, soul, and body so that we might serve You by walking in a victorious Christian life. Let our lights shine so that truly others might see Your love in us. In Jesus' name, we pray, Amen. From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ,  gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups, Saturday, April 27, 2024, Jacksonville, Florida., USA.  X ... @ParkermillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981 GROUP: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA

[the-trans-folk-witch]

Post Herbalist, Pre Pre-Medical traditional Witchcraft: a Joke but a reality.

Before I hand feed you my BITTER solar-infused coffee-induced rant, let me give a few ( comically self made) definitions: *see notes

Post Herbalist witchcraft: "energy work**" and magics that are performed by peoples with no means, funds, or ability to obtain herbs and knowledge of herbal medicine for magic and health. This loss of knowledge is due to colonization, fear of herbalisms ties to witchcraft, and the push for modern"white medicine. Note*- I fucking hate the term energy work, yet the magic itself is very very real and used by me.

Pre Pre-Medical witchcraft: -Not to be confused with Pre-med schooling in preparation for grad school.- Pre Pre-medical is what I call the average knowledge of modern medicine that the average person can obtain by ways of public K-12 schooling and the internet. Its place in witchcraft is the knowledge of medicine and the dangers of herbs and or anti-vaxx/med dangers within magical communities. In essence, Pre Pre-medical witchcraft is the belief in modern medicine as well as magical healing methods. Not to be confused with holistic healing which is utter bullshit when taught as completely factual in organized religious spaces.

With these definitions explained less blurred in the mind of the greater trad witch community, and ignorant tumblr onlookers, I move on to my spiel.

As a professional witch, conjurer, seer, and drama queen, I struggle to find a home amongst communities that have watered down witchcraft for a younger, whiter, and less informed audience. Gone are the days of nuance and professionalism. Today is now ruled by forever-beginners, eternal-newbs, and influencers turned teachers. With this post I hope to separate the wheat from the chaff and find the cream of the crop.

To practice witchcraft in a time where herbs are expensive yet taught as the only means to perform spells; and at a time when cities and suburbs have ruined free access to native plants; I find myself performing more prayer and power based magics. No longer do i spend money on herbs, candles and the like. Nor do I plan to purchase the land required to grow my own. I invest in verbal charms, prayer, writing, movement, and my own bodily secretions. I jokingly call this "Post herbalist Pre Pre-Medical witchcraft."It is more informed and rooted in history than generic "energy work". And is less concerned with the consumerism that is forced upon modern witches via herbs and more. The joke is the name is so humorously long and ignorant that it kind of works. I expect the internet will love it considering you folks love putting every adjective before "witch" such as "solar witches" and "crystal witches". Although I suspect people looking for such titles do not have the attention span to read this wordy blog post.

In 2020 I challenged myself to go a year without spending a dollar on my magic. Here we are in 2024 and I'm still going. Yes I use plant materials. Yes I buy things for spirit offerings. But no. I don't have a huge cabinet of herbs and candles. I fully rely on my spirits, my witchflame, the land, and my body to produce magic. No money required. I could spend another fifteen paragraphs explaining how to do so. But alas, i don't care to share. As I said, I am done engaging with forever-newbs who are at the same place they started in witchcraft ten years ago.

I hope my short yet long* rant leads you to... something useful

*note: this is actually a very short read. But in the modern internet sphere we are all unable to process information that's not in video format consisting of no more than 2 minutes. so this is a long post nowadays. hehe im really on a soap box today. sorry im so bitter.

#folk witchcraft #traditional witchcraft #transgender witches #beginner witch #folk catholicism #ozark magic #animism #santa muerte #folkloric witchcraft #witchcraft #the trans folk witch #ozark witchcraft #ozark mountains #ozark howler #ozark folk magic

[rbdmachine]

RBD chaff cutter all over india delivery

Yes, RBD Chaff Cutter machines can be delivered all over India1. You can purchase them from various online platforms23.

Here are some key features of RBD Chaff Cutter:

Cutting Efficiency: Equipped with a powerful motor and sharp blades, it can effectively cut various types of fodder into small pieces2. Adjustable Cutting Length: Allows you to adjust the cutting length according to your specific needs2. Durable Construction: Constructed with high-quality materials, ensuring its durability even in demanding agricultural environments2. Safety Features: Incorporates safety features such as protective guards and emergency stop buttons2. Easy Operation and Maintenance: Designed for easy operation, with intuitive controls and clear instructions2. Versatility: Can be used for various applications and is suitable for feeding cattle, horses, goats, and other livestock2. Efficient Power Consumption: Designed to consume minimal power while delivering optimal performance2. Please check the respective websites for the latest prices and availability23.

RBD Machine Tools Pvt. Ltd. - INDIA Contact Details 📞📞 [phone] 📞📞 [phone] website - www.rbdmachine.com

#kuttimachine #Chaffcutter #grasscuttingmachine #rbd chaff cuuter machine #Youtube

[transmasc-wizard]

I am here to yell about my interests!!!!! Mainly in fiber arts and textiles

I spin yarn on a wheel and drop spindles and I’m excited about any opportunity to demonstrate them. In college there was a German professor who saw me spinning at one point and asked me to do a demonstration for her German fairy tales class and it was so much fun

Flax is a really cool fiber but is a bitch to grow & it can only really be spun wet or with wet fingers so most spinners I know spin it outside in the summer bc that can get messy. I read a thinkpiece a while back about flax spinning having been part of the inspiration for sleeping beauty. Not only does flax look straw-like before spinning, but it can naturally be a golden color. Additionally, there’s speculation that instead of pricking her finger on the ‘spindle’ of a wheel (more than likely a quill or distaff, if we’re going with that), it may be that she pricked her finger on a thorn and contracted tetanus from the soil.

Wool is a ridiculously cool fiber bc it keeps you warm even if it’s wet! A lot of fishermen wear wool for that reason. The reason wool felts (and alpaca/llama, among other protein fibers from fur/hair) is bc the surface of the fibers have scales and when they’re in hot water they kinda bloom open like a pine cone; then if you agitate it, the scales get stuck together tight and it’s almost impossible to get it un-felted. It makes for stronger and more water resistant pieces.

Sometimes people use wool’s natural tendency to felt to their advantage. There’s a technique called thrumming where you knit a piece and as you’re knitting, you use a pencil-thin strand of roving for some of the stitches. It leaves a really fluffy interior of the garment (usually mittens) and as they’re worn over time the thrums get felted and your mittens get super cozy!!!

Alpaca and llama fibers are almost identical if you don’t know which is which. They’re both super warm (more so than wool) because the fibers are hollow and trap heat more easily than wool. Both drape beautifully too. The fibers don’t have the same level of elasticity compared to wool though, so often people will blend the two together to get the best of both worlds.

Silk is one of the coolest fibers imo bc it is an incredible insulator, and when it was first used in textiles (in China thousands of years ago iirc), the source of the fiber - silk worms - was a nation secret and kept super super under wraps. Most silk these days comes from India I think, and the vast majority of consumer silk is from mulberry silkworms (it has the longest strand length) but there’s at least three other types of silkworms that can be used. Also silk doesn’t just come in white - it can be green, yellow, copper, all sorts of colors. I actually have some Eri silk in a coppery color I need to spin up at some point!

Cotton can also naturally be different colors - often in greens, yellows, taupes and tans. And the cool thing about that is that it’s not dye, so the color never fades - in fact over time, the color deepens.

A lot of fibers from “plant sources” are also just…semi-synthetic. They’re basically rayon. Bamboo fiber, tencel, etc, are mostly just processed plant material that’s chemically extruded into rayon. Flax and cotton are not; flax fiber is taken from inside the chaff of the flax plant and combed down before spinning, and cotton naturally grows super fluffy, so you just need to remove the seeds before spinning. Much more environmentally friendly, and much safer to process.

There’s a type of fiber called Sea Silk that’s one of the rarest fibers in the world. It’s processed from the beards of a specific type of mussel in the Mediterranean Sea. It looks like gold, and is thought to be the inspiration for the myth of the Golden Fleece in Greek mythology. There’s only one or two people who know how to harvest and process the fiber, and because of climate change, the mussels that provide the fiber are dying out. Last I heard the elder woman who knows this cultural craft has chosen to be the last one to know it.

Hope u like fiber arts!!!!!!!

THIS IS SO COOL

i know very little about fiber arts (ive always had the vague wish to maybe try it out one day but it seems very complicated) but this is really interesting!!!!!!!! all the different fibers and textiles r so wild to me. there's so MANY of them and they are all so different from one another

#asks #dancingalongthestars

[yieldfruit]

is there any way Christians can justify watching game of thrones? i know far too many that watch and act like nothing is wrong with it… single and/or married

I tried years ago and I couldn't- it had nudity/pornography/incest, etc. in the first or second episode if I recall correctly. I don't think we can justify being entertained by that, it should bother us to want to be entertained by things that grieve the heart of God. I found this online tonight and perhaps it is helpful with whatever we may watch on television or movies:

A discerning Christian television viewer will ask some questions and prayerfully answer them:

– What is my motive for watching this TV show? (See 1 Corinthians 10:31.) – Does this television show contain material that, as a Christian, I cannot hear or view with a pure mind? (See Psalm 101:3.) – Will watching this TV show further my understanding of my culture and therefore help me communicate Christ more effectively? Or am I seeking a thrill and secretly relishing scenes of evil? – Am I committed to obtaining truth from the Word of God rather than from powerful media forms such as television? – Can I separate the wheat from the chaff? Can I rejoice in biblical themes a TV show might present while rejecting its ungodly elements? Or do the ungodly elements overwhelm any good contained in the show? – Is there a better use of my time?

Christians considering the issue of television should examine the Word, pray about it, listen to their conscience, and follow the Spirit’s leading.

Here are some verses that may help in discerning what is appropriate TV viewing for a Christian:

Matthew 5:28: “But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”

Matthew 6:22–23: “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!”

Romans 12:2: “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—His good, pleasing and perfect will.”

Romans 13:13–14: “Let us behave decently, as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in dissension and jealousy. Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature.”

Philippians 4:8: “Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

1 Thessalonians 5:21–22: “Test everything. Hold on to the good. Avoid every kind of evil.”

Source: https://www.gotquestions.org/Christian-TV-television.html

[philosophicalparadox]

I wanted to ask a question, usually you know a lot of information. If you don't know, you can ignore. Landsknechts did not have one leg covered and in one post I read that "it was so pike drills could be carried out with greater dexterity." How is this related? Can I have more details? Thank you in advance <3<3

To put it simply: because clothes get in the way of movement.

There are actually two parts to this answer - one a matter of comfort and the other a matter of practicality.

You have to remember that the types of textiles available in the 16th and 17th centuries, while more expansive than before, were still basically linen. This was especially true of fighting attire, because linen is tough and durable and actually quite sword-proof if you weave it right. It also takes up dyes better than cotton, which had its uses, but was not the most common crop at the time courtesy the fact only Spain was producing it in any measurable quantity because they could use New World species with higher yields right at home and abroad and were the first to discover them.

Point is, while linen is fairly flexible, it’s a lot stiffer than cotton. Think pure polyester fabric but a little bit softer, or like a course denim weave. It has very little elasticity, which makes it very sturdy stuff, but not always the most comfortable material to do intense, fast physical labor in, because it chaffes.

In fact, chaffing was a pretty big problem for military attire, to such a degree that all sorts of remedies and solutions were tried, with talc (powdered gypsum or marble) or straight up chalk being the most common. But it doesn’t take long to note that talc becomes almost useless once it’s wet, and whether doing drills or battle, you’re gonna sweat.

So, one way around that was just, not to put fabric around the joints. Problem with that is that joints are vulnerable in battle, and every man fighting you has been trained from the ages of six to eight to specifically target your joints with deadly accuracy.

But, 99% of the time you’re not going to be in battle, but you ARE going to be doing drills. Lots and lots and lots and lots of drills. Every day, up to five times a day and maybe once in the middle of the night. As a mercenary you live, breathe, eat and sleep war as your profession. It was not just a job, it was their LIFE. All the more so for Landsknecht, who had been doing war and killing as their primary profession for anywhere from thirty to forty years, being mostly retired knights.

Point is, when you start out as a Page, age ten, up through your Squire years as a tween, you’ve got no choice but to wear full attire when you train, because you’ve got to get used to it. The chaffing, the sweating, the awkward way fabric buckles around the knees when you crouch, the irritation of the neck seam soaked in salty, itchy sweat; you just gotta power through it and let your skin adapt.

But when you’ve been doing daily drills in those clothes for forty years, at some point you just go “you know, I’m not as agile as I used to be, and that’s more important right now” and just ditch the clothes that are in your way unless you really need them in favor of moving more comfortably and therefore more confidently. Yes, they’d been drilling for forty years, but they were not immune to aging and it was easy to feel like they were losing condition since there was a huge bias against age related deterioration, so if anything those forty, fifty, sometimes sixty year old men did more drills and more intense work than when they were twenty and just entering knighthood. They had to, or their bodies would cripple.

After all it wasn’t like they weren’t accustomed to the clothing being in their way, so if they needed it it wasn’t going to be a hurdle.

But, also, oddly, the clothing was not always seen as necessary. There are trade offs in battle; either you’re wearing very little and have greater dexterity, or you’re wearing a lot and can tank a hit.

Landsknecht had an advantage in this trade off - they were pikemen and lancemen. Pikes, in case you don’t know, are about twenty feet/five meters long - pleeeeenty long enough to keep your enemy safely away from your tender bits if you know what you are doing. Situated in front of these pikes in formation there were lances, which are about ten feet /three meters long, also plenty long enough, and sufficient to cover the distance between pikeman and spearhead in case anyone did come that close.

And they definitely knew their stuff. All knights were trained to a spear-like weapon, regardless of their preferred speciality, at some point in their training, because spears, pikes, estocs and halberds all are A) really really common, and often something that can be reached for if all else fails and B) extremely good at keeping a guy with a sword or bludgeon far enough away from you that he can’t kill you, while also giving you a literal edge. Plus spears specifically (which are four to six feet long) require the least amount of specified training.

Pikes are a little more unwieldy, as are lances, and require a lot of dexterity and stamina to use. So Landsknecht were never going to be able to wear heavy armor or clothing anyway, and, being specialists with sufficient confidence in their ability not to get in range of an opponent, having been doing this type of stuff for decades, some just decided to forego some of the stiff fabric in favor of being just that much more able to move quickly to or fro; after all, the better part of the dexterity needed to use a pike or lance was in the legs, since thrusting with those weapons uses the entire body.

Hope that answers your question!

#renaissance history #history #landsknecht #asks

[what-if-nct]

random discussion: do you think companies such as shein, aliexpress, etc should tell buyers in their products that their skirts have shorts underneath, and especially the fabric used?

my answer: yes- it’s so damn annoying when i see that there’s shorts in skirts, especially in clothes that just about fit my waist. plus, not knowing if the shorts are made out of stretchy material will make me feel the skirt go from waist 92cm to thigh has to be 73cm or smaller 😭

plus, it might just be me, but i like the feeling of being exposed, ESPECIALLY if the skirt is as short as a belt. however, my ass is big, so i’m obviously setting myself up for something i know i’m going to get into. no, i meant my ass being exposed, not the other thing. we do not shame victims here (including myself) and it is a safe space for all.

plus, my thigh chaffs, so i only wear skirts for show, not really for walking. i’m doing ph now, and guys love it when i wear tiny skirts that you could see underneath it. anything that gets the bag… i guess… basically saying, it’s perfect for my little shows, and i will not send you the link try and find it lol- (hint, jk i just wanted to say good luckkkk)

I also think they should cause if the shorts aren't stretchy I always end up cutting them out. Cause the skirt will fit but the shorts just get in the way. Now I am a current skort lover I have three, one I did take the shorts out and just make the skirt longer cause the skirt part was just so much shorter than the shorts it just looked ridiculous. But the fabric needs the shorts to stay down so I had to sew in a new pair of shorts. So yeah these companies really need to disclose everything about the garment otherwise it's a headache but I am not afraid to take scissors and needle and thread to make things work.

I did it to a new skirt I sized down to make it not as poofy but it was still too poofy cause it's thick fabric and had pockets this might be offensive to some but I cut the pockets out and took the side in a bit and it fits perfect I just have to roll up the waistband to make it a little shorter. Short skirts just look better on me. I got the cutest suspender dress it fits more like a dirndl on me cause I probably hike it more than I should also it's kinda cut like one. But I look like an English teacher on maternity leave if I don't hike it up. It's floral and has Marie from the aristocats on it. It's just above knee length but it needs to be at or slightly above my fingertips. I have short arms.

Also I have a huge grievance with the term fit and flare. Flare is a gentle flare out. Or A-line it's shaped like an A, Not a circle skirt!! This is something that's annoyed me since 2014. I hate circle skirts. Stop renaming them A-line or fit and flare. Those are different. I am pear shaped circle skirts look horrible on me but true A-line is perfect. Had to get that out.

Anyway Like the placement of shorts in skirts are a nice idea but only if done the right way. And super stretchy. Since my waist and hips have a 20in difference if I want it to fit my waist tight I have to hope everything else will fit my hips. I've had pretty good luck but companies should put the fabric details of the shorts as well. Also a tip I only wear skirts and have never had a problem with chaffing because I use half a gallon of lotion on my body. I swear using a ton of lotion makes my thighs super slippery and I never chafe and I have big corn fed thighs. I have to buy a big bottle of lotion once a month but I'm so smooth and soft and fiction can't win. I promise it works.

[roseslaces]

8. Of the advantages and disadvantages which often indiscriminately accrue to good and wicked men.

Will some one say, Why, then, was this divine compassion extended even to the ungodly and ungrateful? Why, but because it was the mercy of Him who daily "maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." For though some of these men, taking thought of this, repent of their wickedness and reform, some, as the apostle says, "despising the riches of His goodness and long-suffering, after their hardness and impenitent heart, treasure up unto themselves wrath against the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God, who will render to every man according to his deeds:" nevertheless does the patience of God still invite the wicked to repentance, even as the scourge of God educates the good to patience. And so, too, does the mercy of God embrace the good that it may cherish them, as the severity of God arrests the wicked to punish them. To the divine providence it has seemed good to prepare in the world to come for the righteous good things, which the unrighteous shall not enjoy; and for the wicked evil things, by which the good shall not be tormented. But as for the good things of this life, and its ills, God has willed that these should be common to both; that we might not too eagerly covet the things which wicked men are seen equally to enjoy, nor shrink with an unseemly fear from the ills which even good men often suffer.

There is, too, a very great difference in the purpose served both by those events which we call adverse and those called prosperous. For the good man is neither uplifted with the good things of time, nor broken by its ills; but the wicked man, because he is corrupted by this world's happiness, feels himself punished by its unhappiness. Yet often, even in the present distribution of temporal things, does God plainly evince His own interference. For if every sin were now visited with manifest punishment, nothing would seem to be reserved for the final judgment; on the other hand, if no sin received now a plainly divine punishment, it would be concluded that there is no divine providence at all. And so of the good things of this life: if God did not by a very visible liberality confer these on some of those persons who ask for them, we should say that these good things were not at His disposal; and if He gave them to all who sought them, we should suppose that such were the only rewards of His service; and such a service would make us not godly, but greedy rather, and covetous. Wherefore, though good and bad men suffer alike, we must not suppose that there is no difference between the men themselves, because there is no difference in what they both suffer. For even in the likeness of the sufferings, there remains an unlikeness in the sufferers; and though exposed to the same anguish, virtue and vice are not the same thing. For as the same fire causes gold to glow brightly, and chaff to smoke; and under the same flail the straw is beaten small, while the grain is cleansed; and as the lees are not mixed with the oil, though squeezed out of the vat by the same pressure, so the same violence of affliction proves, purges, clarifies the good, but damns, ruins, exterminates the wicked. And thus it is that in the same affliction the wicked detest God and blaspheme, while the good pray and praise. So material a difference does it make, not what ills are suffered, but what kind of man suffers them. For, stirred up with the same movement, mud exhales a horrible stench, and ointment emits a fragrant odour.

#St Augustine #The City of God #Christianity #paganism

[thesaltlick]

10/07/2022 “Paladin Equestrian Review”  Author: Annalise Wagner 

The equestrian market is oversaturated with saddle pad small businesses trying to make a name for themselves. Whilst it’s lovely to support small businesses, a decent amount of the saddle pads produced by these businesses seem to be from the same manufacturers overseas ultimately causing many repeat designs of the same cheaply made pad. 

This is why when something unique like the brand Paladin Equestrian appears on the market, these saddle pads turn heads. 

But who is Paladin Equestrian and are their saddle pads really that great? 

Who is Paladin Equestrian? 

Based out of Singapore and the UK, Paladin Equestrian is run by the beautiful Ginny Braynsmith. Paladin, named after Ginny’s childhood horse began as a ‘Kickstarter’ at the height of the pandemic in 2020. After taking off, Paladin now offers AP and Dressage pads and matching accessories in unique, yet elegant prints such as the peacock and flamingo. 

Eco Friendly: 

Paladin Equestrian eco sources the materials used for their products. The outer material of the saddle pad is crafted with a recycled polyester material- meaning each saddle pad = 15 1 litre recycled plastic bottles. The filling of the saddle pad is bamboo fibre, a naturally vast growing source that has little to no harm to the environment. Finally the lining is a soft cotton, a safe material to be resting on your horses back. This approach to crafting equestrian gear offers a solution to the issues of pollution and global warming on earth, and allows us to do our part whilst still looking great. 

Review: 

Upon arrival of my Paladin Equestrian saddle pads and matching accessories there was no question in my mind that these products are made to a good quality. 

The saddle pad itself feels sturdy but not stiff and the stitching and material does not feel flimsy like some cheaper pads do. Sometimes printed saddle pads can clearly look grainy on the image but you wouldn’t be able to tell that these designs were printed on at all, they’re incredibly clear. 

The pads cost just over $100 AUD. This is a little more than your average Weatherbeeta, Horze or HKM pad, but still significantly under the cost of more luxury brands like PS of Sweden, Animo, Equestrian Stockholm and Cavallaria Toscana. For a small business, it would be harder to price pads at a competitive price point like the larger companies are able to do. Additionally, the materials sourced for the Paladin pads I can imagine would be more expensive than your average polyester / satin pad that you can buy at the shops. For these reasons i’d say the cost of the pad is fairly reasonable given the quality, materials and brand. 

The quality of the Paladin gear is far more noticeable once being used. After using both my Peacock and Flamingo pads on numerous occasions I’ve noticed that there is very little evidence of use, and little to no wear and tear. These pads are easy to wash, the dye doesn't leak / stain during the washing process and they dry easily due to the bamboo fibre. 

I could easily see myself using more Paladin Equestrian pads in the future. I’d love to see them make more pads with different base colours like a light corn/steel blue and a bright pink. 

I could easily recommend these pads to any equestrian who wants to support a smaller business and ideally would like something that will stand out and turn heads. 

You can pick these pads up from: 

Paladin Equestrian directly: 

https://www.paladin-equestrian.com/en-au

Or in Australia at Oakbank Chaff and Fodder:

https://www.facebook.com/oakbankchaffandfodder

#horse #equestrian #saddle pad #jump saddle pad #saddle cloth #ps of sweden #ps of sweden pacific ocean #ps of sweden azalea #lemieux #lemieux saddle pad #ps of sweden saddle pad #paladin equestrian #paladin #paladin saddle pad #saddle pads anonymous #saddlery #dover saddlery #horseland saddlery #eq saddlery #smartpak saddlery #prestige passion saddle #neue schule #free jump stirrups #d'yon bridle #the eventers boutique #oakbank chaff and fodder #oakbank #equestrian sa #ea equestrian #equestrian australia