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awheelywheelygoodtime · 1 year

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I spent two days writing this and I would like some recognition because I have no one else to share it with.

I would like to preface this by saying that the original film is my absolute favourite of all time. Surprisingly, I actually really liked the remake! It is not without it’s flaws, and I hope to rectify them because no one can fucking stop me and I have to do something to relax after my exam.

I always considered the franchise to be the closest thing that Disney has to true epic fantasy and the genre will serve as a source of inspiration for my amendments.

1. The Animation and Character Design:

I actually thought that the animation and character designs were brilliant. Lions are my favourite animal and I have been watching nature documentaries religiously since I was a child. The remake hit a perfect spot between realism and the aesthetics of the original characters. The landscape and such is a different matter, but I will get into that eventually.

My biggest gripe is one that is commonly shared by pretty much everyone that saw the film, the expressions or lack thereof. Real lions can squint, curl their lips, crease their brow and basically move their faces. You would be surprised by how expressive they can be.

Some people may say that it would anthropomorphise them too much and be unrealistic but we have a monarchy of talking lions, so who gives a fuck?

This is also a minor thing that only nature nuts would notice but the lions move wrong. They have this weird loping gait when they should run in what’s called a “rotary gallop” like real lions. The original film literally showed this in slow motion when Simba runs through the desert.

2. The Pridelands and Beyond:

The Pridelands need a lot of work. Everything is too beige and boring. It was as if they couldn’t decide between a golden arid savannah or a lush green one and just meshed the two into one boring mess.

Minas Tirith, Mordor and The Shire are all incredibly iconic and instantly recognisable. The same should be true for the Pridelands and the rest of the world.

Pride Rock should be an absolute monolith. A giant that looms in the background of every scene in the Pridelands and a believable capital for a kingdom (I’ll get more into this later). Not just tall but broad, a sprawling wild metropolis.

The Graveyard is an inhospitable hellhole. Always shrouded in shadow born from the ashes and noxious clouds spewed from geothermal activity. Thick clouds of mist and fog blanket the landscape, leaving bones and carcasses to loom out of the smog like giant teeth and claws.

The Gorge is a massive scar in the landscape. A Grand Canyon-esque pit that swallows light and just screams doom. The jungle that Simba winds up in needs to be more colourful and lively, a real paradise in the desert.

I think that a lot of the issues with the setting comes down to the fact that they acted as if they were on an actual set and not an animated world.

3. Ecology and Society

We need more wildlife.

More animals should have been at the presentation of Simba. Leopards and African Wild Dogs, Hippos and Crocodiles, even Gorillas and other jungle creatures should have been part of the montage of animals at the beginning. Migratory birds should have been present to bring the news back to their respective homelands (if Buckingham Palace can make international news then so can Pride Rock). Hyenas would also be part of the procession (this ties into something later).

Mufasa explaining the circle of life would include some scenes of various animals asking their king for counsel.

I would expand on the pride itself. It’s rare but some exceptionally large prides have subordinate males that can mate with the lionesses. This would avoid a lot of incestous connotations and make the pride more like a royal court (I have plans for Nala).

I would also change the wildebeest herd to a Cape buffalo herd. Cape buffalo are notorious lion killers and can live in herds up to a thousand strong. Shenzi and the gang send the calves first into the gorge and the rest of the herd would follow.

I would also pepper in references that Shenzi and her clan are mostly comprised of vagabonds, outcasts and exiles from other clans. The hyenas from the opening sequence would be some more positive examples. This may seem like “not all hyenas (tm)” but it’s better than them just being the Orcs of the savannah.

4. Characters and Characterisation

I’m not going to do everyone, just the characters that I have a firm grasp on what I would have done.

Scar: a vicious aristocrat. Really play up the gentlemanly aspects of his personality to contrast with an absolutely black heart. Like Palpatine his sole reason to live is the pursuit of power. All the brutality of Tywin Lannister with the underhanded slyness of Petyr Baelish. This makes him ambitious as hell but doesn’t translate to being a good ruler.

Shenzi: a calculated ruler that cares only for the betterment of her subjects. Queen of the Graveyard and willing to do anything to feed her clan of the lost and exiled. She and Scar were once genuine friends but now they are only using each other for their own gain.

Rafiki: kooky and mystic. They are basically Gandalf on mushrooms. Wielding a very subtle and ambiguous form of magic. I use gender neutral pronouns because I wouldn’t be opposed to making them female like in the broadway show.

Nala: a fierce huntress and the only hope for the pride during the reign of Scar. I would also make her a princess from another pride that has been betrothed to Simba. This gets rid of the incest questions and helps lay the groundwork for a sequel.

The Pride and the Subjects: I would place greater emphasis on the pride itself and the citizens of the Pridelands. Show the growing discord between the pride and the clan. The other animals are getting sick of Scar’s misrule and are either leaving or are in quiet revolt.

Mtumishi: a cape cobra and a new character. Zazu was major-domo for Mufasa, Shenzi serves the same role for Scar and Mtumishi serves his own royal. Mtumishi repeatedly visits the Pridelands under the orders of his queen, Zira. Zira rules Nala’s original pride and is a great figure of fear and conquest. She’s basically a family friendly lioness version of Vlad the Impaler.

I don’t really have anything of significance to say about everyone else. I would like to see more Sarabi but I’m happy with the other characters.

5. Plot and Story

I have already mentioned some additions that I would make in the previous sections but I’ll list a few more here. I would keep the same overall plot but with just some stuff added in.

We need to include the Hunt of the Lionesses from the broadway show. We don’t need to be too gory but I still think that it would be a brilliant addition to the film. It would give a greater emphasis to the lionesses and a short prayer after the hunt would reiterate the message of the Circle of Life.

I would expand on the meeting between Scar and the hyenas. Shenzi and her clan have just been humiliated by Mufasa. They have pushed their luck and now fear retaliation from the entire kingdom. Enter Scar with promises of food and security. He plays most of the clan like fiddles. Shenzi is wise to his schemes but doesn’t really have a choice. They have no idea no other allies and she is out options.

Scar would stop Zazu and the pride just before they got to the gorge. He would spin a few lies about no one needing to see the state of Mufasa and Simba. He would take care of everything and strongly encourage a heartbroken Sarabi to abdicate.

I would contrast Simba growing up in the jungle with Nala growing up in the Pridelands. Simba having fun with Timon and Pumbaa vs Nala cowering from a passing battalion of hyenas, Simba being desperately lonely as the only lion in the jungle vs Nala growing up in a tight knit community of older lionesses and other cubs, Simba battling leopards and other jungle hunters to protect Timon and Pumbaa vs Nala becoming a great huntress and protecting the smaller carnivores from competitive hyenas. Eventually, Sarabi and the rest of the pride scheme to send Nala to find help. The nearest pride belongs to Zira and that is a no-go. She must go further afield and eventually winds up in the jungle.

The conversation between Simba and Mufasa’s spirit is much more mystical. Rafiki leads Simba to the puddle in the thorns and his staring into the ripples of his reflection sucks him into an endless clearing beneath the night sky. He Lives in You starts crying as the stars come to land and form different animals. Not just African animals, but pretty much all of them. Bears, whales, jaguars, kangaroos, komodo Dragons, penguins and many more. This riot of life and light eventually leads to Mufasa himself. The vision ends with Simba back with Rafiki.

Mtumishi would be a reoccurring character relaying between the Pridelands and Zira. Scar’s growing madness and the disappearance of Nala bring his role to a climax when Scar sends him packing just before Simba returns. This is to help set up a possible sequel.

Everything else I would leave as-is or I need more time to figure it out.

What do you guys think?

#the lion king #tlk #disney #remakes #writing #film #first post #fuck you reddit and your karma system #worldbuilding #characterisation #this took a lot out of me #I’m going to be more proactive on here from now on

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sundownsquad · 2 years

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How do the Ottas move? Like what' do their gates look like? Like a mixture of canine/equine or something else?

Great question! The Ottas' gaits are more in line with canids, but with a couple of differences.

I originally described the Otta's movement in this post, but here's the animation from that post to give you an example:

The Ottas utilize a walk/amble/pace/(rotary) gallop gait series rather than a walk/trot/canter/gallop series. The above animation shows the pace. The Ottas are built less for flat-out speed and more for endurance, so their gaits help them conserve energy. The amble is also a very smooth gait, so it's less jarring on the rider than a trot would be and makes traveling over long distances easier.

Here's a cool animation study someone did that shows examples of each of these gaits using a dog as the model. That can give you a good visual of how the other gaits would look! The only gait in those examples the Ottas do not exhibit is the trot.

#Thanks for asking! <3 #I love talking about this stuff lol #Sundown Asks #Ottaburas

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bellygunnr · 2 years

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Downforce

CONTENTS: INITIAL D WING AU

UNFINISHED, WIP, ETC.

TW: CAR CRASH.

----

The high buzz of the rotary engine smooths the chaotic stream of Keisuke's thoughts enough to keep up with Tomiguchi as he mumbles his note-taking aloud. From the corner of his eye, he can see the laptop bleeding colors into the darkened interior, awash with ever-changing numbers and an ever-developing fuel map, but it disappears from his mind the second the long straightaway begins to bend. Suddenly, with practiced ease, he and the car are sliding, tail flicking out to take the corner on all four wheels, upon which the muttering grows to a fever pitch-- and then silence.

Screeching tires fade with the oppressive sensation of gravity. Now it is back to the engine, the car, the driver, happily galloping up the steep slopes of a mountain, their attention honed to as far as the headlights shine.

"You can take it up to 100% now," Tomiguchi says calmly. "We might adjust the tire pressure again when we finish this run."

"I was thinking the same thing," Keisuke says.

Braking force sends both of their bodies back against the bucket seats. Speed is shed, the gears are changed, and the corner is taken at another angle. Keisuke feels his chest loosen as the corner ends and his chassis straightens out.

"That corner is still screwin' with me."

"Might want to call a break after this run, then. We're heading on our twenty-first round. Headlights, twelve."

Keisuke grunts in acknowledgement. The headlights are familiar-- he already knows the exact speed and state of the car, or maybe he doesn't, because one of his hands is engaging the E-brake and arresting the FD.

His heart is in his throat, while his stomach throbs somewhere in his chest, nauseating him with the terror abruptly chilling every cell in his body. He and the FD skid for several perilous moments until it threatens to spin out, but it's nothing compared to the white blur scraping their body, rear-end tapping their bumper and sending them into the neighboring guard rail.

"That's the Eight-Six!"

No shit, Keisuke wants to say, but he's stunned in his seat, limbs gripping his car's controls until they shake. He and the Eight-Six stared at each other, twin headlights glaring in mutual befuddlement. What the hell was all of that?

Tomiguchi climbs out of the car first, abandoning the laptop and the tuning behind. Keisuke watches him detachedly give the car a distant once-over before rushing to the driver's side-- whose door opens without intervention, coughing the man inside out onto the asphalt. Only then does Keisuke gather the strength to clamber out of his car and approach the scene.

But it still feels like the crash-- or whatever that was-- is still happening. The Eight-Six is hurtling, destabilized and caught off guard around the corner, frozen in his mind's eye. In front of him, the driver is leaning against his car, heaving, ignoring Tomiguchi's desperate pleas.

With a halting sort of dread, Keisuke steps even closer, shadowing Tomiguchi's shoulder. A dent has been impressed into the Eight-Six's flank, and yellow paint mars the panda markings, but that's nothing compared to the bizarre assortment of feathers covering the ground. Keisuke stares at them, watching them flutter and waver in the dead wind, some casting off into the ether-- while others lingered, clustering around Takumi's feet like they'd always been there.

And that was the crux of it. Takumi leaned, unresponsive but heaving, against his car, head bowed low while his shoulders hunched high. And from them-- from those shoulders-- amorphous shapes flared, white-turned-yellow in the wake of the FD's headlights.

"Fujiwara, talk to me. Are you alright? What happened?"

Keisuke has to give Tomiguchi some credit. How could he remain so level-headed when the situation is this? He stares, agape, silent, and helpless, as Takumi pushes himself up on shaking arms and rubs his face.

"S- sorry about that--"

He barks a hysterical laugh.

"Um, I don't know what happened..."

No shit, but Tomiguchi pushes on, stepping into Takumi's space like nothing was wrong.

"That's alright. Can you sit down for me? Over here? There you are. Can you tell me what happened?"

Keisuke floats after them. Takumi has to grab onto Tomiguchi for support and they both nearly go down. He shores up the open side without thinking. Together, they slide to the ground, upon which those great white lumps suddenly spring out and flop, knocking against Keisuke's and Tomiguchi's shoulders.

Takumi, for his part, just groans with pain.

"It was just-- a lot of back pain. And then something hit me, and we went flying."

Funny he says that, Keisuke thinks, staring at the wing draped halfway across his head. The wing attached not to a bird but a human body.

"I see," Tomiguchi says. "Well... um..."

"What the fuck, Takumi?" Keisuke blurts out. Then, feeling like he's oversteering: "Are you okay?"

"I don't know either!" Takumi snaps. "And I'm fine-- I'm fine. Sorry about your car. Our cars."

"Don't sweat it about the cars," Tomiguchi says. "No one's been hurt."

#initial d #gunny writes #inid wingfic au #fujiwara takumi #takahashi keisuke #tomiguchi initial d

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themagicalmysticalboy · 4 years

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love your writing, darling 😍 and I love some hurt!John 😁 what about John accidentaly overdosing?

I Can’t Go Now

a/n: I’ve started like 3 other requests but this one really got me out of my writing slump. Thanks, anon.

Pairing: kinda mclennon but low key.

summary: It was an accident, really. A lesson to be learned: Not all drug dealers are to be trusted.

warnings: drug use

word count: 2,000+

There was no one with him.

John wanted to have an experience alone. Someone had told him that it’s better. That, alone, you feel one with the universe and that its secrets will be revealed in a grand gesture. And with it, you will be set free of mind and soul. That was what he wanted: To feel absolutely free of this world and all the things that have haunted and tormented him since he could bother to recall. Even if it all only lasted an hour or less, it would be worth it.

LSD had been the wonder drug that helped him achieve something like this in the past but it wasn’t enough. So, why not try something so familiar to him but just in a different way? The drug had been good to him for the past few years when he wanted an extra bit of fun at parties or with friends.

Now, alone in his house,- no Julian, no Cynthia, no Paul- he placed two tablets on his tongue. The man he got them off had said he was an old friend of George’s. Had promised him that taking two was the best way to experience the high. John didn’t question it. He had recollections of his drunken self taking three tablets before and he was fine after.

With an ease of mind and excitement for what was to come, he leaned back onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling, the little tablets dissolving on his tongue with a sharp and bitter taste. His brows furrowed at the repugnant taste.

Acid had never had a taste anytime he’d taken it and now this overpowering bitterness filled his mouth. He swallowed down the tablets before they could dissolve further and immediately regretted it as it burned all the way down his throat. It was a strange sensation, followed by the familiar tingling of his tongue. At least that was normal. But that taste, - awful, sour, and burning- what had that been?

The longer he sat and stared at the ceiling, the more his thoughts raced around his head. His mind began to buzz with what if’s that just wouldn’t leave him alone.

What if that wasn’t acid? What if it was laced? What if he took too much? What if he dies? What if he’s alone when he dies?

He couldn’t fathom dying alone at 24. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. You aren’t supposed to go out like that. But since when did the world care about what was fair and right and just?

As the seconds passed, his heartbeat rose to a gallop in his throat. His hands tingled and his breaths heaved in and out. His legs curled up close to his chest but it wasn’t close enough. He didn’t feel safe enough. Wrapping his arms around his shins, he pulled them in tight, his chest pressing hard against his thighs as he struggled to breathe right.

Tears streamed down his face as the room began to tilt and turn before his eyes. He let out a whimper and shut his eyes tightly, burying his head into his knees. Even shutting off his sight didn’t help. The room was still moving beneath him as his hot breaths were recycled in the tight cocoon he’d formed.

“H-help…” His head whipped up, eyes wide open, to find the blurry room was empty. “I can’t… I can’t. Help,” he screamed it at the top of his lungs, the sound heart-wrenching. But there was no one else to hear it. “I can’t- can’t die- die…” his words echoed in his ears, reverberating with a sinister distortion.

He fell from his couch, crawling on the floor as it moved beneath him like jello. The world swayed and danced around him, taunting him with bright and happy colors. He knew he would never be as happy as the colors when he was dead.

He groped at the side table, pulling himself up on untrustworthy legs. His hands were moving of their own accord on the rotary phone, as his eyes couldn’t clear enough to read the numbers. The lamp and phone had turned into something out of a Dalí painting but his appendages seemed to comprehend what his eyes couldn’t.

“Didn’t plan to tell me you weren’t coming ‘round? You knew Brian wanted us all here.” The voice. The voice he didn’t know he needed to hear. It was sweet and palpable on his tongue, so unlike the bitter pills that would surely kill him.

“Paulie,” his voice came out in a low cry as he crashed to the ground, his knees giving out. He held tight to the side table, rattling it with his attempt to stand again. The lamp that sat by the phone crashed and shattered on the floor beside John. The noise muffled in his ears, riding below the concerned yells of his mate.

“John? John! What’s the matter?” The sweet voice was dashed with salt.

“Come help me.” His voice caught in his throat. “I don’t… Paul. I can’t… can’t die alone.” The words choked out, mangled and raw.

“What happened? Tell me, did you take…” Paul’s words were slow and morphed and his voice didn’t sound like his voice at all until it was just noise. A blaring ring of noise.

In an instant, the noise was completely cut from John’s hearing. All noise was, now that he really listened. The receiver dropped from between his fingers. He watched it slam against the wooden leg of the table but no sound came from it. Sitting on his floor, stupefied by the deafness, his hand went to the pile of broken porcelain on the ground. He ran his open palm against it and failed to hear it’s gentle clink against one another.

He tried to speak and heard nothing. He let out his loudest scream and heard nothing. His curiosity flipped back to panic. He’d made himself deaf from drugs. He’d never hear music again. Hear his child again. Hear Paul again. His life was over if he lived at all.

The room had gone dark with blacks and deep reds running down the walls. Running down his hand? His face? His face was warm and melting and leaving and coming. Red hands went to his melting face and came away with more red. It melted his fingers like candles.

He was deaf and painted in black and red and melting into the floor.

His mouth hung open as he tried to force the sound out. Nothing and everything. He felt the vibrations in the air but nothing touched his ears.

Then it all came pouring in. Colors and sound assaulted him in an instant and his entire body trembled. No. Not trembled. His body shook. Shook violently as something unpleasant rose in the back of his throat- foam? Bitter, burning, foam. The pills were clawing their way up his throat like demons crawling from the depths of hell. He saw everything and then nothing. His eyes forced themselves up and away until there was only darkness. “Johnny!…Johnny…Johnny…”

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, when I call you Johnny boy… Paul’s voice danced in his ears. You’re all I want, you’re all I want…

Paul was left with too many questions and not enough time to process anything. He’d handed the phone off to George, with strict instructions to call an ambulance if John didn’t respond within the next five minutes.

Now, he barreled down the roads at a speed that was far above legal, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t see an ambulance when he arrived. His heart pounded against his chest as he whipped the car around the corner. John’s house was in view and no emergency lights blinked from any cars. There were no sirens to be heard.

A weight lifted off his chest, a deep breath escaping his lips. He slowed his speed to park nearby. He’d probably had a bad trip and George talked him through it. That’s all. He’d go in and see him through the rest of his high and that would be that.

That just couldn’t hold true, though. He wasn’t lucky enough. The noise came faintly at first, just as Paul put the car in park. The wailing of sirens. His heart dropped before bouncing straight back into his throat. He’d only made it here first.

Paul dashed to the door and tried to yank it open but it was locked. Cursing, he frantically searched his pockets and pulled out his key. His hands almost shook too much to undo the lock but he managed, slamming the door open. The living room was dark, the late day sun seeping in to light the room in deep oranges and purples. A scratching and gurgling sound was coming from somewhere nearby, drowned out by the ringing of a phone and the approaching sirens.

“Johnny!” Paul’s eyes scanned the room as he walked around the large couch. “John, it’s Paul, mate!” Paul’s breath caught in his throat as he saw shaking feet peeking out from behind a side table. “John!” He raced across the floor, sliding to John’s side.

He was on his back, foam bubbling from his mouth and mixing with blood that flowed freely from a cut on his forehead. Paul lifted his best friend to his side so the foamy vomit would clear from his airways. John was still shaking and jerking on the floor of broken porcelain and blood. The remnants of a lamp were pushed into a nearby corner of the room.

“Come on, Johnny. Come ‘round.” He spoke softly, patting John’s back. John went stock still then limp against Paul’s hands. “Johnny?”

The flow of sick from his mouth had stopped. Paul reached up onto the couch and pulled off a blanket, still supporting John with his other hand. He wiped away the sick from John’s lips before putting his ear up close to them. No breath sounds came. “No..no…”

“Move back, son.” Two hands grabbed his shoulder, yanking him backward. He hadn’t even heard them come in but now the two paramedics were in front of him.

The paramedics moved around John, hiding him from Paul’s view. “He’s not breathing! You have to help him, please!”

They didn’t respond, only talked amongst themselves, moving John around. One man began compressions on his chest. Paul winched at the thought of John being hurt even more by the shards of porcelain beneath him. It won’t matter if he’s dead.

The thought shook Paul to his core. John… dead. It seemed impossible and completely reasonable at the same time. Neither man was a stranger to losing someone too soon and too important to them. What would he do if these two men couldn’t get him back? Get back his best friend. His partner. His world.

Paul’s eyes stung as he watched the man push into John’s chest. He forced the tears back, steeling himself to any emotions. He had to keep his head.

“What did he take?” The parametric turned back to him as the other rushed from the house.

“Maybe LSD. But… I don’t know. He didn’t say.” He’d never seen an LSD overdose. He didn’t know if it was possible but figured it might be.

The man turned back to John, pushing down into his chest, breathing air into his mouth through a plastic mouth cover. Paul stared intently, silently pleading to the universe to give his Johnny back.

Someone must have been listening. John lurched forward with an inhuman gasp before falling back again. Paul darted forward, his hands stinging against pieces of porcelain as he maneuvered around the paramedic.

“Give him room, sir.”

Paul didn’t care to listen. He pulled John into his lap, ducking his head down low. John’s breath warmed his cheek and he could have cried. “Johnny, darling,” he looked over the lad cradled in his arms. His eyelids twitched but refused to open, an impossible frown dragging down the corners of his lips. “Can you wake up for me, love?”

“You… I’m… Dead?” The words fumbled from John’s lips.

“No, darling. You’re very alive.”

“I can’t… You can’t… can’t leave me…”

“I’m not. Swear it.”

“Sir, we need to take him to the hospital. Please, let us put him on the stretcher.”

His eyes didn’t leave John but he let up on his grip and the paramedic untangled the two with great ease. Paul was left alone on the floor, frozen in place for a moment before his senses pulled together.

He hurried from the house and down the steps as they were placing John inside the ambulance. “Could I ride with you? I can’t just leave him like this.”

The younger of the paramedics was getting John’s stretcher secured for the ride. He looked up, looked over the disheveled Paul and gave a speculative frown.

“Won’t even dream of getting in your way, sir. He’s my best friend since childhood.” Paul’s voice cracked and he swallowed back a wave of emotion. “Can’t just leave him. He hates hospitals… Please.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as he adjusted the stretcher. It rocked a bit and John softly called out, “Paulie…”

The paramedic sighed, something calculative behind his eyes, “Right then. Don’t be in the way.”

The ride was so quiet. He held John’s hand tightly in his own as the paramedic worked on the other side, clearing the head wound of excess blood and checking the extensive cuts on his other hand.

After a moment, the man sat opposite Paul, watching John’s chest move and checking his pulse in intervals. He gave quiet grunts each time as if noting something in his head. Paul didn’t care to ask what that might be, his watch keenly placed on John’s injured face. The cut across his forehead was intense and already bleeding through the white bandage.

Without all the bandaging and blood, Paul thought, he’d have looked peaceful.

“There isn’t enough…” John’s lips barely moved to let the whispered words escape. “No… No… never enough…”

“John?”

The lad’s eyes burst open as they did in the house. But now Paul saw terror and panic painted across them. “No! I can’t! Not yet! Not yet!” John thrashed about, as Paul and the paramedic held him down.

“Calm your mate or I’ll be forced to use a sedative,” The man said through gritted teeth.

“Johnny, I’m right here. I’m right with you.” He tried to push back John’s hair as his head thrashed about. “Look at me. Look at me, love!”

Panting and frantic, John’s eyes locked onto Paul. “I can’t die. I can’t. Not yet. Not yet!” He thrashed around again, shutting his eyes tightly.

Paul grabbed his mates chin, forcing his head to stay still. “You are not dying, lad!”

John’s eyes opened ever so slowly, his limbs settling in the stretcher. He gazed at Paul with huge pupils, his breaths settling into a rhythm closer to normal.

“You’re alive. Can’t you feel- feel me?”

John’s eyes moved to the hand holding his face. He could indeed feel the firm grip of Paul’s fingers loosen against his skin and drop to his shoulder. He could feel the pain aching throughout his body. He grabbed Paul’s arm with a death grip, every bit of anxiety in it, and Paul made no complaint. “I feel you.” He fell back onto the stretcher, slipping his hand down Paul’s arm until their hands interlocked. “Thank Christ.”

He wasn’t dead. He had more time. Fucking Christ. The thought of it all ending. He was convinced it was all over but here he was, holding his mates hand in his, feeling every bit of pain he had caused himself ache through his body.

part 2

#the beatles one shot #the beatles fanfiction #the beatles #paul maccartney #john lennon #mclennon #lennon mccartney #lennon and mccartney #ask request

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lianneoelke · 4 years

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The Vancouver Island & Sunshine Coast Loop: A Solo Cycle Tour of BC’s Finest Retirement Communities. Part 1

It all started with a vague feeling that I should DO something before going back to work. One last hurrah. I took a day or two to plot all the locations I wanted to hit, because when I plan our trips (and let's face it, Brian, I'm always the one doing the planning), I want to do everything. Go everywhere. Usually BB Gun is there to keep me grounded, but this time I was on my own. So why not try for it all: Vancouver to Salt Spring to Savary and back on a bicycle in just over a week. Whenever I mentioned my itinerary people would say "wow, that's gonna make for long days". And I thought, yes probably. But what am I going to do with myself all day on my own, if not bike? I had time to extend the trip if necessary, but I know myself. I don’t accomplish much without a deadline. So let's shoot for the proverbial stars. If I miss, I might hit the moon. Or a truck.

Such a keener. I zipped down the hill from our house and crossed my favourite bridge (Canada Line Bikeway: what a treasure), then navigated the chaos that is Richmond. I will always be salty at the lack of biking infrastructure in that city. After tackling the Alex Fraser bridge, which isn’t so bad after rush hour, it was a quick ride to Four Winds Brewing (closed, unfortunately), then left onto quiet, flat, rural roads, which lead me to Tsawassen.

Gavin and I took the ferry to Swartz Bay, then Salt Spring Island. The hill up from Fulford Harbour was a big wake-up call. As were the many hills leading to Ruckle Park. I did not pack light. Still, it was only the first day. Far too early to regret the book, hammock, and cans of wine stuffed into my panniers. I was slightly concerned with the many signs claiming Ruckle Park was full. That seemed odd for a Wednesday, so I carried on to the park anyway. I refilled my water and happened to meet another solo female cyclist also looking for a site. We found one, and decided to split it.

Earlier that day I realized I had put my tires on backwards. Like a ding dong. The tread should be going the OTHER WAY. But I could fix this!

So pumped right now.

After a pleasant evening of reading, wine, and conversation with my unexpected bike buddy, Lynn, I woke up to a deer roaming the campground. I had chocolate and instant coffee to get me back to Fulford Harbour, where I had proper coffee and one of the best samosas of my life. Lynn, on a day trip to Victoria, joined me. I was happy for the company. Our timing was perfect and we caught the early ferry. We took the Lochside Regional Trail from Swartz Bay to Victoria: a beautiful, mostly flat ride though rich grandparent territory. We stopped for lunch at Canoe Brewpub in downtown Victoria.

I had a top notch beet salad and a side of fries. I never regret a side of fries.

Lynn and I parted ways after lunch. I rode the Galloping Goose trail out to Langford. The trail was full of pedestrians and unnecessarily slow cyclists (if Gavin, fully loaded and shaped like a brick, passes you on a hill, he is going to JUDGE you). Eventually I left the Goose and followed Google Maps through Thetis Lake Regional Park.

I too was enchanted at first by the charming name and dappled sunlight. I quickly learned, however, that Thetis Lake Regional Park is a hellhole for cyclists. Worse than Richmond. Richmond. The path wasn’t clearly marked and I found myself stopping, checking the map, and backtracking every two minutes. The loose gravel was a pain, especially on tight corners and steep hills, which I was barely able to walk Gavin up, because the ELEVATION in Thetis Lake Regional Park is absolutely UNNECESSARY. A truly regrettable experience.

Once I finally made it out of that wretched labyrinth, I was only minutes away from Tessa’s place, which included a hot shower, Tessa, and most importantly: Sokka.

This little ragdoll kitten is a huge fan of bikes!

And walks!

And backpack rides!

I had a great time hanging out with Tessa and watching Sokka play with anything and everything. I would die for this cat.

Day 3 began with an unfortunate but necessary backtrack through the nightmare that is Thetis Lake Regional Park, where I was instantly turned around and disheartened. I eventually found my way back to the Galloping Goose, then the Interurban Rail Trail, which took me through Saanich to the Mill Bay Ferry to cross the Saanich Inlet. No way was I going to haul Gavin up the Malahat. No. NO.

I followed the Rotary Route through rural roads, some with shoulders and some without, and stopped in Cowichan Bay. I followed Tessa’s excellent recommendation and hit up the bakery, where I bought a pretzel, cinnamon bun, almond croissant, and cookie: my second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, and afternoon tea. Bakery stockpiles became a daily routine. I was LIVING for CARBS.

The plan that day was to bike from Langford to Nanaimo, which was, as they say, a “big day”. The distance didn’t bother me as I knew what 100km with a loaded bike felt like, more or less. What did bother me was the elevation. It was impossible not to be taken aback by the sheer AUDACITY of each hill standing in my way. They came. They went. They came again and again, hour after hour. I dreaded each downhill because I knew I’d have to make up the elevation.

It took half the day to realize there was nothing I could do about a climb except put Gavin into granny gear and keep going. It took as long as it took, and then it was over. There’s something wonderful in realizing that even the sweatiest hill is temporary, a blip. And every now and then I’d find an unexpectedly beautiful flat stretch and have the road to myself for a minute, and everything reset.

At Ladysmith the Rotary Route spit me out on the Trans Canada highway, which I rode for a handful of kilometers. I thought the highway would be dicey, but I was pleasantly surprised by the (mostly) wide shoulders and reasonable grade. Traffic whipped by, but I found it invigorating. The hardest part was keeping Gavin under the speed limit. I'd take the Trans Canada over Thetis Lake Regional Park any day. After the highway I hopped on some less busy roads, although the rush hour traffic picked up in the afternoon. I ended up in Nanaimo for dinner, where I found a perfect Mexican restaurant and local craft beer. After 116km, I felt surprisingly... normal.

The day wasn’t over yet, however. The last 14km were a roller coaster, and not because of the elevation. When I left downtown Nanaimo, the bright blue sky faded to dull grey and I had suddenly run out of steam. Gavin was heavy. Time slowed. Moments like these, however, are why I travel with candy, and a bag of Swedish Berries saved my life. I ended up at Dave and Ann’s place with high spirits.

I enjoyed a campfire at the lovely lake while the sugar rush faded, then fell asleep to the soft rustle-thud of ripe apples and pears falling to the grass. Tomorrow would also be a “big day”, but with more on the line: catching the 3pm ferry from Comox to Powell so I could get to Townsite Brewing before they closed.

#cycletour solocycletour cycling bicycle vancouverisland BC britishcolumbia camping canada

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everythingoesnk · 5 years

Text

Once in Rockfield Farm (2/5)

summary; just roger being a cute little shit. hang on there because things will get spicy after this one i promise

word count; 5 365

warnings; none i believe?

part 1

********

After a hideous long day dealing with a professor about why he should consider giving extra credit in the assignment you presented, you came home feeling resentful.

The only goal up your mind now was to take a hot bath and shut out the world.

Exhausted, you yawned and headed to the dining room to greet the boys with Sherlock on your heels, finding extremely satisfying to hear the flames of the fireplace rustling.

The scene you encountered filled you with tenderness: Freddie, John and Roger were sitting on the carpet, playing Scrabble already in their pyjamas devouring a huge pizza with the fire glowing in their precious sleepy faces.

"If you're gonna cheat you can leave the way you came" Freddie noted, clearly irritated.

Roger clicked his tongue, bored. He knew from experience Freddie was a sore loser.

His eyes fell on you as soon as you showed up.

You smiled timidly and looked away when you saw him roaming your figure, baffled that you liked the attention. His lack of precariousness, too absorbed in your curves to even care if you caught him, made your stomach flutteri n a sweet way.

“Oh, darling, hi. I didn’t hear you come in” Freddie was gathering the tiles up to start a new game.

“Hello, (Y/N)” John smiled and stretched his legs.

“How was your day?” Roger questioned in a throaty voice, still recovering from how your entrance got him weak in the knees.

You placed a slice of the pizza on top of a napkin, watching with desire the cheese melting.

“Awful. Where’s Brian?”

“He’s asleep” John explained.

“It’s only nine p.m.” you replied, surprised that he went to bed so soon.

“We’ve had a tough day”

Ah, you didn’t need to hear more. The last few days for them in the studio had been nothing but intense and frustrating.

Freddie offered you to join the game, but you preferred to observe. Seeing them mess with each other was much more entertaining.

You laughed till your belly and cheeks hurt when Freddie threw a pack of cigarettes at Roger’s face, accusing him of cheating again. The other became defensive pointing out how many suspicious words Freddie tried to make them believe they existed. Poor John tried to get in between the discussion to hurry things up, but knowing very damn well they wouldn’t listen, he came to sit next to you on the sofa.

The look he was giving you was nothing but perturbing.

"When are you going to perform for us?" he asked, straight down to business.

You too, John?

Sherlock jumped and plopped down on his lap.

“Roger told us you have a wonderful voice. He said more things actually, but I don’t want to embarrass him”

Aggressively, your face turned a weird shade of pink. You hid it burying your head in your hands and peeked out at him through your fingers.

“Shut up”

John cackled.

“It’s rude only Rog got to listen to you. You’re not that good at hiding your favouritism, let me tell you” Freddie taunted.

“She’s awful at hiding her favouritism, but you two need to cut it off” Roger instructed, and sent a cocky grin your way.

“Yeah, leave me— what?” his eyes sparkled with playfulness. “I never said you were my favourite, don’t flatter yourself. And for the record, you were acting the same the other day”

He licked his lower lip, a not so innocent smile plastered on them.

“It didn’t take me more than two minutes to convince you”

“Oh, shoo” you laughed, covering your mouth. “He said I sounded like an angel, did he tell you guys this?” you asked, playfully peering at Roger from the corner of your eye to confirm if he was still looking at you.

He was. He couldn’t not to when you were around.

John wanted to say that he did, repeatedly, and that when he mentioned how enchanting your voice was, Roger himself sounded so proud and utterly devoted to it.

Freddie exchanged a look with his disco friend that spoke volumes. The latter had a small smile ghosting his lips as he watched the scene develop.

“What are you trying to imply? C’mon, I see how you look at me when we’re rehearsing” Roger provokingly pointed out, emphasizing his words with the most coquettish smile, messing with his hair.

His eyes felt so heavy on you, stare loaded with… something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must be confused, I look at Brian” you assured, resting your chin on your palm, one big grin on your lips.

“Do you? Well, you leave no other option but to get rid of him. Where could I hide the body? I’m lucky you have plenty of land”

You giggled genuinely, and Roger felt the need to get up and kiss you.

“(Y/N)” John called.

You didn’t even realize he left your side until you saw him at the door.

“Someone’s asking for you” he stated, gesturing to the rotary phone in the entrance.

You stood up, and as you walked past him, a pouting Roger grabbed you by the ankle, earning a chuckle from you in return. He was upset you had to leave to answer the call. That little teasing game with you was making his day.

Boisterous chaos of voices erupted from the living room when you were gone, the boys annoying Roger with comments about his soft behaviour towards you.

Disappointment rushed over you when you heard who was on the other end of the line.

“Hi, dad”

“What kind of circus have you put up at home?” he asked in a rather unpleased tone.

You didn’t tell your parents about your decision to have a rockband move in. It had nothing to do with them anyway; it didn’t affect their day to day.

John probably had to properly introduce himself since he picked up, giving a little away about who he was and why he answered his daughter’s call. You were embarrassed about what your father could’ve said to him, knowing he could turn out to be very austere and unfriendly.

“It’s a long story, dad, but don’t worry. Everything’s fine, they’re not staying forever, y’know”

“How would I know?”

He had a point.

“We don’t want you near that kind of people, you listen?” he protested into the receiver.

You found it funny and exasperating at the same time that your father, being as clever as he was –you’d grown to know that being clever didn’t necessarily mean someone was intelligent—, heard the word "rocker" and instantly related it to a person with poor hygiene and an IQ below average. A beast whom you just aren’t able to have a normal conversation with because the only thing they know about is sex.

He probably assumed they lived half their life in prison as well, because why not.

“We’re coming over on Saturday” he continued.

“Okay”

“And they better be gone”

You had to control the urge to scream at him for being so stubborn.

“They’re staying as long as they need, period. My grades are as excellent as ever, by the way” you enunciated, hanging up on him in the middle of a word.

That hot bath was very much needed now.

Saturday came sooner than you thought.

And you were terrified.

Since it was pretty noticeable how stressed you were about the reunion with your parents, who were coming all the way from America, the boys volunteered to set the table and save you the work.

The temperature had dropped a little, but it wasn’t unpleasant either, so everyone voted democratically to eat outside next to the pool.

Brian and John were busy placing the cutlery, Freddie and Mary stayed in the kitchen keeping an eye on the chicken.

"I knew I’d meet them someday, but not so soon. I didn’t even ask you out yet" joked Roger, approaching you from behind.

He waited for a reaction to his attempt to make you laugh and hopefully go red like you always did when he made that type of comments.

A line appeared between his brows when you exhaled, your languid gaze stuck in a random spot in the distance, huddling to the door frame. Roger loomed closer to you, thoughtfully, as you two watched Sherlock chasing a rabbit from the front door.

“Are they that bad?”

“No, ‘f course not. They’re also vain, self-centred, insensitive, hostile,” you sighed in despair, “and horrible parents”

Roger opened his mouth but you weren’t done.

“Just let me do the talking. The less you interact with them, the better”

You closed the door with your foot, turned around and paced back and forth, biting your nails.

Roger couldn’t help but stare.

Despite how anxious you were and the permanent meditative expression in your face, he cocked his head as he stared at you with a teeny tiny grin on his lips.

How did you manage to look so truly gorgeous all the damn time? That question kept coming back to haunt him.

Roger got used to it, yet he didn’t found an answer. Perhaps you were just the prettiest and most stunning living creature he’d ever seen.

“Chill out, love”

You checked the clock hanging on the wall and spared Roger a glance.

He chuckled at you crossing your arms across your chest, finger tapping them nervously.

“When you meet them you’ll know what I mean”

“Everything’s ready” Brian announced, walking in. “I’ll check how’s the meal going, I don’t trust those two with anything”

John followed him, hands shoved in his pockets, and sent you the sweetest reassuring smile.

You were so glad and grateful that you had these people with you. Whenever you were alone with your parents you felt overwhelmingly depressed.

As you jerked your head in Roger’s direction for he hadn’t said a thing for a good minute, you saw him massaging his temple and eyeing you. Your heart began galloping like crazy. He looked fucking handsome like that.

Like if he were debating where to start devouring you.

“W-what?”

Roger walked up to you until he was just mere inches away.

“It’ll be alright, okay? We’re here”

A now familiar tingling feeling to your closeness invaded him when he slowly extended his hand to caress your cheek. You leaned into his touch, craving for him to don’t even considerate walking away now.

Tongue-tied, unable to produce a word, you were sure you were more than ready for him to do whatever he wanted to do with you at that very moment.

Roger rubbed his thumb against your skin, the only effective way he could think of to make you relax. What he didn’t know was that relaxing wasn’t in your dictionary at the moment, not when his docile fingertips were so incredibly soft, delicately and tenderly brushing your anxiety far away.

“How long’s it been since you last saw them?”

You sighed dramatically, disappointed when he dropped his hand to the side.

“One year, one and a half. I don’t remember”

Roger jabbed your side with his elbow.

“I don’t know if you know, but they have the most amazing daughter” he muttered, gaze fixed somewhere else, nodding to himself. “She’s about to graduate and has an enormous beautiful heart. And enough talent to end careers if she wanted to. Don’t tell her, but thank God she’s not releasing any records or we’d be screwed”

Every word he listed genuine, he expected more than anything to make you smile.

Hopeless to compliments as you were, you didn’t know what to respond. He was being so disgustingly sweet. It sent your heart rate beyond the damn Milky Way.

“‘Bottomless pit’, that’s what they said when she mentioned her intentions to become a musician”

Roger huffed.

“Fuck them, then” he spat without thinking,

Soon he regretted it, upsetting you being the last thing he wanted now, but he visibly relaxed when you snickered, making his stomach flip.

“Yeah, fuck ‘em”

Roger laughed and you laughed too.

He looked at you warmly.

“There you go. That’s what I was longing to hear, your cheeky and charming laugh”

It started to fade away moderately at his comment, and you furrowed an eyebrow.

“What?”

He grinned cheekily looking down at you.

“Nothing”

“My love, what are you doing?” Freddie asked Mary, who’d been peeking out the kitchen door for a while.

"Shh," she waved Freddie off, staring at you and Roger sharing a moment. She then returned to meet Brian, John and Freddie. "I didn't know Roger and (Y/N) were getting along this well”

A dark thought clouded her mind within milliseconds.

“You don’t look very pumped about it” Brian pointed out.

“We all know how he is”

“He won’t use her that way”

“How are you so sure?”

Brian raised an eyebrow when he found out he didn’t have a coherent answer for that. He just felt it in his guts that Roger wouldn’t treat you like one of his groupies.

“I just know”

“I second that” Freddie spoke, a little bit annoyed that Mary was so quick to jump to conclusions. “And honey, you were the first one to tell (Y/N) he’d bang her. I heard you two, you planted the seed”

“I never imagined she’d be into him, I thought she had a type. She prefers them a few years older… or used to” she added in a low voice.

“That’s just stupid, Mary” John interrupted.

The other two turned their heads and looked at him as if they were seeing John for the first time. Brian nodded; Freddie grinned.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘type’. When it comes to being attracted to another person you can never tell”

“I’m just surprised” she coughed, and grabbed a bowl to make a salad. “They do, then, like each other?”

“Roger’s into her, I think it’s obvious? I can’t read minds, so I’m-“

“Did he tell you?”

“-I’m not entirely sure about (Y/N). And no, he hasn’t. There’s really no need for him to verbalize it. One day I had to go get him because these two were arguing again,” he loitered around the door in case one of you would come, not wanting you to know they were talking about this, “and when I found him in the studio they were together”

“But that doesn’t mean anything“

“Mary, listen, if you’d seen what I saw, Roger’s face. I don’t know. I don’t know what they’d been talking about, but the way he was looking at her… I don’t know how to explain it”

“Try?” Mary glanced up at him.

He hesitated for a bit.

“Like if she were special”

Mary’s brows knitted.

The sound of the bell made your throat go dry.

You’d been listening patiently to Roger explaining that they were supposed to head to London for a meeting with Rheid the next day in the morning, hence why you didn’t hear them pull over.

“Please make sure everything’s good over there while I attend them”

Roger nodded and left, concerned on the inside when he noticed how the colour evacuated your face.

It felt like a kick in the stomach, the emptiness of where he stood seconds ago.

You needed him but you felt you couldn’t let him know, ‘cause it would be weird. Why would you need Roger for, exactly? To be by your side to welcome your parents? Stupid, right?

The relationship with them was… there wasn’t. One in which they fulfilled their function, better or worse? No. They never filled the mould.

With your father it was bad. With your mother, hard to explain.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t admire them as individuals for their accomplishments: your father was the owner of a law firm based in New York. Hadn’t lost a case in years, and that sure was the main reason behind the reputation of ‘untouchable’ he had. Your mother’d been a pilot for the USAF, but she was involved in an accident and in a wheelchair for life now, forcing her to retire earlier than suspected.

Awkwardly, you collected yourself, palms blooming with sweat as you twisted the handle.

Only your mother laid eyes on you when you starred their field of view.

“What were you up to? We’ve been waiting for a good five minutes”

Ignoring your father’s sharp comment, you tilted your body forwards for your mum to embrace you.

The thing about her was that deep down you were sure she was on your side about your inclinations concerning your future (she knew you inherited her father’s talent), but she wasn’t brave enough to let you know from her in case you’d use it in your favour against your father.

You wished the relationship with your future husband wasn’t based on the same pillars as their marriage.

“My sweet child”

Your father pushed her wheelchair inside and you hurried to close the door behind him.

"Father," you said politely, almost in a robotic manner, not really wanting to go through this.

And also because he didn't like hugs nor kisses on the cheek you kept the distance, conscious that that was what he expected from you.

“Make yourselves at home, I’ll get the others”

You turned around and quickly withdrew to the kitchen before they could say anything that challenged your nerves.

They looked at each other and you heard your mum whisper to him to “please behave”.

They seemed to loosen up a little when they recognized a familiar face, Mary’s, amongst the five people that followed you.

After introducing Queen, you offered everyone to take a seat at the table so you could start to serve lunch.

A sincere microscopic smile settled on your mother’s lips, but your father had his stern gaze upon Roger, who held his hand out to shake his.

“Hello, mister. It’s a pleasure”

With Roger’s hand still hanging in the air, your father looked at you stony eyed.

What was it about Roger that got him so creepy?

You took a fast glance at him to see what could possibly be your father’s source of irritation, and your eyes grew wider.

Father and Mother were wearing expensive, chic clothes, as per usual. Not a single wrinkle in his suit, her dress impeccable. Roger’s sense of style was everything, actually one of the many things that first attracted you to him. Regardless that, seeing him now made you close your eyes to internally pray for the ground to swallow you.

With a quick hand movement, you covertly gestured him to button up the blouse with floral motifs he was wearing, since he had his torso totally exposed.

A Mona Lisa expression was all he could pull off while working on getting it done.

At the head of the table sat your father, your mother next to him in the corner. Then Mary, Freddie and Brian, you in front of your mother, Roger on your left and John to conclude.

Uncorking the bottle of red wine, you listened as your mum and Mary established a pretty basic conversation to catch up. Luckily you had Mary to ease the mood.

You asked Freddie to help you with the starters and walked to the kitchen.

“They seem nice”

“Freddie I swear to God”

“We could always kick them out or have an orgy in front of them. Would that meet their standards of what rockstars do for a living?”

“There,” you handed him two plates, “do not drop ‘em, I plead you”

Freddie could finally settle down from going back and forth carrying things when you brought with you Roger’s and John’s food.

John muttered a ‘thank you’ and Roger scratched your back when you plopped onto the chair.

Maybe you were imagining things, but it sort of felt… different to a simply friendly rub.

You shook your head, shut up (Y/N).

“When’s the graduation ceremony?” wondered your dad before putting the first spoon of hummus in his mouth.

“The 19th”

“That’s around the corner, aren’t you excited?” your mum said.

“Very”

“I’ve already chosen my outfit. I won’t give any details away, though. Do you have yours?” Mary cheerfully interfered.

“Eh… no”

“Well, you should really go shopping with Mary. She has an eye for fashion” your mum remarked.

“Thank you. I’ve learned a lot from Freddie, I must say” she turned her head and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“M, make sure you bring the Nikon to take good photos. I don’t want them to miss a detail of such important day in my life” you sneered without mincing.

They wouldn’t make it to the ceremony and it made your blood boil that they were looking so forward to it. What for? They wouldn’t even be present to witness it themselves.

Mary’s smile turned into a grimace, and she suddenly found the bread positioned next to her fork the most interesting item her eyes ever registered.

"Shade's unnecessary, don't even begin," your dad said severely. "We won't be drinking fucking cocktails in Barbados; we've got responsibilities in the States"

“And I’m sure you tried by all efforts to make it possible” you took a sip of the wine, still not making any eye contact with them.

Instead, you looked at Mary. She was begging for you to take it easy; you knew her too well to be able to communicate without words.

“(Y/N)” your dad warned.

“No, it just shocks me that being the powerful businessman that you are you cannot pull strings out to be there”

Shit, you needed to stop. Your eyes started to water out of bitterness and that wasn’t fucking cool. You’d cried too much over the years because of them and were able to stop the tears from falling at this point, but it was infuriating.

A promise is a promise, and you promised yourself to not shed more tears when it came to them. They didn’t deserve it.

Towards the end of the meal things cooled down a bit thanks to Mary again, that kept everyone distracted talking about… you didn’t even know what the hell she was talking about, lost in your own world.

Your breaking point reached the verge when your dad came at Brian.

At motherfucking Brian. The sweetest human to walk the Earth.

“Apart from playing the guitar, is there anything else you can do? In case the band flops”

That was it. That was fucking it.

You slammed the table, palms settled down against it.

Roger wrapped his hand around your thigh below the table.

“What the heck? Who do you think you are? Do you really think you’re superior to them? To anyone sitting at this table?” you were all noisy breathing.

Shaking your head in disapproval, you were about to put him in his place, and neither your mother or Mary would make you back down.

Alongside a high chin and flaring nostrils, you dad’s eyes burned as he scrutinized you. The thing he hated the most was when someone embarrassed him in public –which didn’t happen often—, but he knew if he dared to speak now it’d only make things worse.

“Brian owns a PhD title in Astronomy, Freddie a diploma in Graphic Arts and Design, Rog a bachelor’s degree in Biology, and John a 1st Class Honours Degree in Electronics. Shut your ugly clown ass mouth for once”

“(Y/N), please…” your mum begged.

Your dad stood up, and you pulled yourself to your feet to not give him the satisfaction to appear bigger, which’d psychologically help his ego.

Roger rose from the chair and pressed his lips together at the wounded look in your face. He grabbed you by the waist instinctively and pulled you closer to him.

“Why don’t we go inside…” Mary recommended the rest in almost a whisper.

You screwed your eyes shut, and when you felt like opening them, thankfully it was only you and Roger.

"See what I've got to put up with? Fuckin' surreal. You may think I exaggerated but he's a crackhead and I wasn't going to let him say anything nasty about any of you. I'm only sorry for my mum, she doesn't deserve— I keep thinking about the what-ifs. What if they divorced. What if grandpa was still alive. Oh, Rog. You'd love him, he was a gift from heaven"

The world stopped together with your talking when you felt Roger’s arms enveloping you in a hug, drawing you into his chest.

“Shut up for a bit and breathe”

Roger’s scent induced you in a daze that wouldn’t allow you to collect your thoughts.

In hopes of helping, he stroked your hair and yet pulled you even closer to him, kissing the crown of your head.

What you didn’t know was that Roger was as stunned as you were, completely blown away by how gratifying it was to be attached to one another. You nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. The ringlets in his hair tickling your forehead.

Seconds, a minute, half an hour, a day, centuries, you didn’t know how much time you spent like this, with him leisurely clutching at your body.

Slowly, you physically distanced yourself a little from the warmth that his body irradiated. Not too far away, though, still safe in his arms.

Locking eyes was probably the worst choice for your well being you could’ve had made: he’d been searching your face for a sign that you were less anxious, but once you looked up at him through your lashes, he was entirely yours.

Foreheads quite close but still at a reasonable extent, none of you looked away.

“Hey” Roger mumbled.

"Hi," you uttered, voice barely audible.

“You okay?”

“I’ve had better days” you laughed mirthlessly.

“How can I help?”

“You’re doing enough coping with me now”

His fingers slipped around your upper arms. Roger watched you, unsure about your very questionable answer.

You flashed a tired grin but he wasn’t buying any of it.

“Rog, I’m okay. It’s not the first time I quarrel with my dad, and it won’t be the last”

“Then why don’t you talk to him and lay cards on the table?”

“Do you really think I haven’t done that already? It’s like talking to a wall. And whenever I bring up the subject, he encourages me to stop with the bullshit because ‘it’s not funny anymore’”

Roger shook his head in disgust.

“Enrolling for university was my choice, anyway” you muttered.

“They brainwashed you! Goddammit, if it wasn’t for them you’d be filling stadiums with a sea of people singing your lyrics back at you” he said, raising his voice.

Nibbling on your lower lip, you dragged your gaze back to him. Did he really mean that?

“Do you… you believe so?”

“If everything you’ve written is nearly as good as what you sang to me the other day… yes, I do. You’d be ruling the world”

“Overdoing it much, ay?” you gave him an affectionate nudge, unable to stop a large smile from appearing.

“Am I?”

“A bit”

He smirked and bit his inside cheek. You giggled watching him looking up to the clouds, pretending to think of an answer.

“I’m your number one fan, what can I say”

Looping your arm around his neck, you pulled him close to your side.

He stared meaningfully at you, watching you ran your thumb over his cheek in admiration.

At that very moment, if it weren’t for the fact that you were an insecure and doubtful human being, you’d have kissed him without a second thought. And if it weren’t for the fact that he knew you deserved better than him, he’d have crushed his mouth into yours and told you he was madly crazy about you from day one.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Rog. You’ve been nothing but supportive. It doesn’t go unnoticed” you revealed, tipping your eyes up to him.

His heart skipped a beat.

During the first weeks, he wasn’t certain about why his heart kept skipping any beats because of you. That answer he’d been searching was most likely unleashed by now.

Building the courage to suggest you to go to dinner someday, he got interrupted by Mary, who reemerged from the sliding glass door that connected the backyard to the living room.

She couldn’t manage to speak for a moment, somewhat surprised and unpleased at the sight of you and Roger so relatively close.

“Your parents are leaving”

You frowned, freeing Roger from your grasp, and then put on an “I-Don’t-Really-Care” mask on.

“Fine”

They were already at the door. You sighed.

Mother had an expression of concern, and Father didn’t even bother to cover his discomfort and willing to get the hell out of there.

The farewell with your dad was short and full of negative energy, so you were relieved when he hurried out to the car after saying that he wished you well, with the “until next time” plain line afterwards. Your mum took your hand in hers, blinking her tears back.

You whispered a low apology, but she shook her head.

Why everything had to be so difficult with them?

Tears threatening to escape your eyes at the sudden jolt of sorrowness, you wiped your nose with the back of your free hand, since the other one was still being held steady by your mother’s.

“Your boyfriend…”

“Roger?” you lifted your eyebrow, dazed. “You mean Roger? He’s not my boyfriend”

Her eyes crinkled. If he weren’t at least someone important to you beyond the friendzone, you wouldn’t have been so quick to know she was referring to him.

“How he rushed to protect you from your dad back there… I thought he was. My bad”

By the mischievous half smile she had, you could tell she was implying that whatever the situation was, it wasn’t as innocent as you thought.

“Okay…” you trailed off.

“I love you, baby. Take care of yourself, please”

A series of busy sounds awakened you.

Sullenly checking the clock on the nightstand, you swore to the angels you'd kill whoever was making so much noise so freaking early.

You snarled and covered yourself aggressively again.

Someone opened the door, and just enough to see, you stuck your head over the top of the sheet.

That person didn’t turn on the light so they wouldn’t blind you, but you immediately sat down and turned it on yourself with the switch next to the headboard, in which you subsequently supported yourself against.

When you realized it was Roger, still with a face of drowsiness and hair without combing, the upset he’d caused you decreased precipitously.

It was unfair. He was so cute it hurt.

"Rog?"

An annoying heat rose to your cheeks. You were sure your look wasn’t the most flattering.

"Sorry, sorry"

"What’s it?” you asked, worried.

"Nothing bad, sorry I woke you up like that. But I have an idea"

"An idea? At six in the morning? It better be bloody good"

He smiled, visibly thrilled, and sat at the foot of your bed.

"Remember what I told you yesterday?"

"No, I don’t. Don’t make me think now" you groaned, wishing you could go back to sleeping.

"We have a meeting in London, we’ll spend the whole day there. I want you to come with me. Us… us”

"Me?” you rubbed your eyes, tired and surreptitiously having to fight back yawn after yawn. “What for? I’d be completely out of place in a Queen meeting"

"You cannot attend it. Though I wouldn’t mind"

"So? I have finals, and—"

"Jesus, (Y/N). I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer"

"Why do you insist so much? I simply don’t understand what the purpose of me going is"

"Please, come"

The glint in his eyes was irresistible.

It’d been a while since you’d mentally agreed, but you were dying to know what he was up to. Apparently it was a surprise, and knowing Roger, he wouldn’t give anything away.

If you wanted to know, you’d just have to trust and follow him.

********

hope y’all liked it. a reblog would help me a lot <3

tagging: @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers

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whiteraven90 · 6 years

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hi! i LOVE your pegasus character - scary carnivorous equidae are always cool as heck. but as someone knowledgeable about horse anatomy, i noticed its spine is longer than most horse people consider ideal. short-backed horses are more agile, more athletic, and have less back problems (all of which seem important for aerial maneuvering). if you’re open to suggestions i’d suggest shortening the total length of your design’s spine by about the length of 3-4 of the lumbar vertebrae :-)

Thanks! I’m open to tips regarding horse anatomy because i like to delve deep into that! However the anatomy and terrestrial locomotion of Pegasus is based mainly on cheetahs and felines in general, so i’m also very open to suggestions for that. In any case i could explain why i don’t think shortening his spine is a good idea.

You’re right that his spine is longer than what a horse would find ideal. A cheetah has a different footfall(?) pattern from a horse (rotary or rotatory gallop as opposed to a horse’s transverse gallop). The cheetah runs for very short periods of time, the horse is built for long trips. The cheetah uses its long, flexible spine and beefy back muscles to increase its stride length. A horse’s back is stable, ride-able, riding a cheetah would be like riding a large caffeinated ferret. The psoas major which connects to the lumbar vertebrae plays an important role in the hindlegs’ motion - to pull back the hindlegs toward the body before they cause a slowdown by flinging out too far - and this is something a cheetah needs very much. I’m moderately sure Pegasus also has a decent caudofemoralis muscle, it plays a role in the hip’s motion (the hips rotate a bunch to further increase stride length, same reason the scapula moves a lot). I have sources but i’m not a biologist so if anyone thinks i’m misinformed please interject. D:I’m answering publicly because i’d like to share the articles i have regarding cheetahs, which some nerds might find interesting or maybe even useful?

https://sta.sh/0p164ala68g - this is an earlier version of the reference sheet that has more anatomical info than the final one but the illustrations themselves are less refined and i wouldn’t use them as reference. For reference the final version: https://whiteraven90.deviantart.com/art/Quis-ut-Dei-730025586♦ https://www.nationalgeographic.org/media/cheetah-speed/ - in this video the narrator touches on the length of the spine pretty fast.♦ https://chasingsabretooths.wordpress.com/2017/09/22/a-deeper-look-at-the-cheetah/ - there is a cheetah skeleton illustration here, i think there are better ones out there but i only found unsourced stuff on that level.♦ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cat_skeleton.jpg - a domestic cat’s skeleton but it’s close enough♦Motions of the running horse and cheetah revisited: fundamental mechanics of the transverse and rotary gallop https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2696142/

♦ High speed galloping in the cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus) and the racing greyhound (Canis familiaris): spatio-temporal and kinetic characteristics: http://jeb.biologists.org/content/215/14/2425

♦Functional anatomy of the cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus) forelimb: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3077521/

♦ Functional anatomy of the cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus) hindlimb: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3077520/

♦ Centre of mass movement and mechanical energy fluctuation during gallop locomotion in the Thoroughbred racehorse: http://jeb.biologists.org/content/209/19/3742.long

♦ Functional anatomy and muscle moment arms of the pelvic limb of an elite sprinting athlete: the racing greyhound (Canis familiaris): https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2644771/

#whiteraventxt #anatomy #Pegasus #cheetah #horse

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djpatobanksoflagos · 3 years

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New Mixtape: DJ Yomc Ft. DJ Pato Banks x Yung Effissy – Check and Balance Street Cruise Mix

#NewMixtape #DJYomc #DJPatoBanks #YungEffissy #CheckAndBalanceStreetCruiseMix

New Mixtape: DJ Yomc Ft. DJ Pato Banks x Yung Effissy – Check and Balance Street Cruise Mix Download New Mixtape: DJ Yomc Ft. DJ Pato Banks x Yung Effissy – Check and Balance Street Cruise Mix Its December time and very soon everywhere will be bombarded with amazing tunes. The Cruise Master with rotary galloping moves terms to hit the street of Africans with a remarkable of all type of musical…

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#Check and Balance Street Cruise Mix #Dj Pato Banks #DJ Yomc #New Mixtape #Yung Effissy

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reignofsiderians · 1 year

Photo

The trotting animation of my ‘average Siderian (aka µ, Mu) v1’ 3D model. See here the still renders:

https://www.tumblr.com/reignofsiderians/714802672735289344/two-final-renders-of-the-average-siderian-version?source=share

I have animated all gaits (lateral walk, diagonal walk, trot, transverse gallop and rotary gallop), but I liked trot the best so I decided to render this one with fur. I think I have a reasonably good feeling for animation and I really enjoyed it, but it was more difficult than I thought. It took me a while to get the hang of this rig and pose it the way I want it and some of the animations are still not perfect...but it's a learning process and I will try to do it better next time. Also, I’ve rendered him with a black background since he’s still just trotting on the spot – it would have looked weird if I had turned the icy background on. But in version 2, I will make him move in space and do more than just walking/trotting/running on a treadmill.

It took 3 hours to render 40 frames O.O. My computer is not that shit (I have a gaming laptop), but still – it took ages even at this crap quality. So any ideas to animate parts of the Siderian story need some serious consideration; either I go for a more 2D like style with Blender’s grease pencil or I need to upgrade mu computer/pay for a render farm. I will see about that. Also - I haven't played around with the hair dynamics settings and even though I had turned some collision setting on, the fur still goes through the ground :/. Hair dynamics and other physics settings is on the planning for model v2.

----------- DON’T COPY/USE ANYTHING OF THIS without my written permission! It’s not allowed to use my artwork for training of AIs either. Don’t use these or any other siderians as avatar/RP character in RP games. They are who they are and they CANNOT represent someone else.

#3D model #Blender #3D render #CGI #Blender render #Siderian #Bigcat #feline #big cat #FelisGlacialis #my art #Mu v1 #Demo v1 #Average siderian #trotting #trot #animation #walking cycle

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incyrayinc · 1 year

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Revisiting spacebugkitties (species name 'Pardusimia ortabastris', for now; common name... nonexistent atm), which in hindsight are more like weasel monkeys

Also, in re-examining them, I'm realizing I have accidentally created an animal with the approximate proportions of a cheetah

Certainly the shallowness of their chest and the fact that their front paws are more hand than paw would severely limit their running speed by limiting how much oxygen they can intake, and how much impact their paws can take, but this is a potentially very fast animal.

The rotary gallop on these might actually be a little insane? Might change the hunting strategy over open ground for that

For those unfamiliar, 'spacebugkitties' are a really old species of mine, one of my first speculative sophonts. They actually take their roots from when I was obsessed with Invader Zim of all things in middle school, and I wanted to create my own fucked up irken-adjacent creature. Hence the shape of the head and the feelers, and the humanoid shape. The similarities end there, though, because they have significantly warped over time and become increasingly carnivoran-shaped, and definitely don't behave anything like irkens.

'spacebugkitties' are actually a pretty friendly lot in their interplanetary community, being one of the two species who first founded the local Council of Stars and it's binding Doctrine of Utilitarian Non-Cruelty. They are however not always that liked by those outside it, as other communities tend to see the Council as a pack of zealots at times. Which is not entirely unfounded- the Doctrine is the ultimate law in their territory, and it is compulsory that all those who join or visit the Council must follow it. And the people of the Council are quite dedicated to this, with the civilization as a whole having actually mobilized to develop technology with which to alter reality itself, in service of their quasi-religious goal to make suffering itself impossible- seemingly regardless of the cost. Other communities are sometimes frightened by the lengths they're going through to do that, and feel that some things shouldn't be meddled with.

Reference Image sources:

Hairless cat /// Cat in snow /// Meerkats /// Cheetah

#spacebugkitties #Council Space setting #speculative biology #Inc's art #alien #anatomy #concept art

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ezatluba · 3 years

Photo

Dog collars hang above a tub filled with raw beef and rice as kennel owner and trainer John Farmer prepares to feed some 60 dogs. In total, they eat about 90 pounds of beef mixed with commercial dry dog food, water, electrolytes, rice or macaroni, multivitamins, and supplements to combat anemia.

The era of greyhound racing in the U.S. is coming to an end

Concerns about the dogs’ welfare and declining betting revenue have led tracks across the country to close in recent decades.

Eight greyhounds thunder around the sandy oval at Derby Lane in St. Petersburg, Fla., the oldest continuously operating dog track in the U.S. Florida voters chose to effectively ban dog racing in the state by the end of 2020, which will wipe out nearly the entire American greyhound racing industry.

BY CRAIG PITTMAN

OCTOBER 1, 2020

It’s 8:30 on a Saturday night in August. A gibbous moon hangs low in the Florida sky, its pale glow no competition for the red neon proclaiming, “GREYHOUND RACING” and “DERBY LANE.” About 300 people are scattered around grandstands that once held thousands, murmuring among themselves while the loudspeaker plays big band and rockabilly tunes.

They fall silent when it’s time for Frederick Davis to lead the parade of dogs.

“TNT Sherlock,” says the announcer, calling the names of the eight sleek animals as Davis makes them pause in front of the stands. Each dog wears a big number attached to a snugly fitted vest known as a “blanket.” “Tailspin,” the announcer calls, “…Charlotte York….”

Next, Davis, 41, and the eight handlers he supervises will put the dogs in the starter’s box. The mechanical rabbit named “Hare-son Hare” will zoom past, squeaking and shooting blue sparks. The doors will fly open, and the greyhounds will burst onto the track, their bodies a blur, their paws tossing sand in the air as they gallop around the oval for 30 seconds. They hit speeds of up to 45 miles per hour, making them second only to the cheetah, the fastest land animal on Earth.

In its glory days of the 1950s, Derby Lane attracted thousands of avid racing fans, such as Joe DiMaggio, who left Marilyn Monroe sitting in the car while he ran inside to place his bets. Now only a few hundred show up for the races, a sign of how its fan base has dwindled.

Famed sports columnist Ring Lardner called Derby Lane “the Churchill Downs of greyhound racing.” When the dogs run, you can still get a hint of its glory days. This was once a place that seemed full of glamour and excitement. The stands would be packed with men and women in suits and hats. Babe Ruth and Sophie Tucker were frequent visitors. Joe DiMaggio once left Marilyn Monroe in an idling car chatting with the valet while he ran inside to place his bets.

Derby Lane is the oldest continuously operating greyhound racetrack in the United States, but it’s headed on its last stretch. Two years ago, Florida had more greyhound tracks than any other state—11 out of 17 nationwide. Now it’s down to three, with about 1,700 dogs still racing.

In 2018, Florida’s voters had the chance to approve a constitutional amendment—Amendment 13—that would ban betting on greyhounds as of December 31, 2020. The proposal, which effectively bans greyhound racing, was brought by critics of the sport who contend dog racing is cruel and inhumane.

The racing industry bet on beating the amendment, arguing that its supporters were exaggerating stories of dogs’ mistreatment. The industry spent just a fraction of what supporters did on the campaign, believing the sport was popular enough that the majority of Floridians wouldn’t vote to ban it.

Greyhounds stretch their legs at Farmer Racing. Though generally gentle and non-aggressive, greyhounds often wear muzzles around each other because they can get competitive

They misjudged. Nearly 70 percent of voters said yes to the shutdown. Now the tracks must close by New Year’s. Derby Lane’s final race will be December 27.

Davis, a tall, slender man with dreadlocks and a quick smile, will be one of 400 Derby Lane employees out of work. He isn’t sure what he’ll do next. He’s been at the track for 14 years and considers this his ideal job.

“I love dogs,” he says, “and I love being outside.”

He might try to become a security guard, he says. That way he could work with dogs again—guard dogs, though, not greyhounds.

He’s not the only Derby Lane employee wondering about the future.

Decline of dog racing in the U.S.

Since the peak of dog racing in 1985, state laws have led to the closure of racetracks across the country. After Florida’s tracks close at the end of 2020, and Iowa and Arkansas’ by the end of 2022, only two active commercial racetracks will remain—both in West Virginia.

“It’s a shame to have to shut down after 95 years,” says Derby Lane CEO Richard Winning, 64, whose office overlooks the track. His family has owned Derby Lane since it opened in 1925. He predicts that once the Florida tracks close, the ones in other states will follow.

“In 20 years, will anyone even remember what greyhound racing was?” he asks.

This is the one thing on which he agrees with Carey Theil, whose Massachusetts-based greyhound advocacy group, Grey2K USA, spearheaded the drive for Amendment 13: Once Florida’s tracks are gone, so too is the whole industry.

“Florida really was the industry,” Theil says.

Proverbs, royalty, and bribes

Winning is a born storyteller, with a droll manner, a gray beard, and a trio of cigars tucked in the pocket of his teal fishing shirt. He started out at the track 45 years ago collecting 50-cent pieces from the turnstiles, and since then he has worked almost every other job. He remembers when the regulars included rakish gamblers called “The Flicker” and “Champagne Tony,” the track restaurant served a 37-ounce prime rib, and a live band—not recordings—played between races.

Winning says greyhounds are the only breed of dog mentioned in the Bible, which is sort of true. The King James version of Proverbs 30:31 includes them in a list of things which are “comely in going.” (Scholars say the original Hebrew refers to Afghans or Salukis).

The King James translators knew about greyhounds because, back in the early 1600s, England was enthralled by a sport called “coursing,” in which two greyhounds raced to catch a scampering rabbit. Queen Elizabeth I was a fan—hence greyhound racing’s nickname, “the Sport of Queens.”

Farmer rubs down his dog Rick Swift Creek with a muscle-soothing liniment. He also checks his dogs for ticks, looks at their nails, and massages their muscles. The dogs spend their days either waiting for the 30 seconds they’re racing or recovering afterward.

In the 18th century, an eccentric English nobleman obsessed with coursing created the modern English greyhound through selective breeding, according to Cynthia A. Branigan’s The Reign of the Greyhound. With lean, aerodynamic bodies, long legs, and shock-absorbing foot pads, greyhounds were built for speed. They have a proportionally bigger heart than other breeds, and more red blood cells and hemoglobin, which carry more oxygen to their limbs. Their sprinting gait (a “double suspension rotary gallop”) and high proportion of fast-twitch muscles power short, quick bursts of speed.

But dog racing as we know it today originated with an American inventor named Owen P. Smith who ironically wanted to be kind to animals. To him, the dying rabbits sounded like a child screaming.

The son of a Memphis undertaker, Smith was a sometime barber who loved to tinker. His brilliant idea: replace the live rabbit with a mechanical one. In 1910, he secured a patent for “the Inanimate Hare Conveyor.”

“Nobody in the history of any sport brought about a change comparable to that worked by the inventor of the device, and yet no inventor in sports history is so little known,” Sports Illustrated commented in 1973.

Smith did more than invent a humane lure. He and two partners designed the first modern greyhound track, which opened in 1919 outside Oakland, California. It failed, as did several others they opened. The tracks flopped because they didn’t allow betting. Gambling, while popular, was illegal.

The first commercially successful track was one Smith and his partners opened in 1921 in a swampy South Florida area known as “Humbuggus,” later to become the city of Hialeah. It was so close to the Everglades that the track owners hired a snake-catcher to intercept stray reptiles. Five thousand people turned out for the first race, watching a dog named Old Rosebud take the $60 purse, according to Going to the Dogs: Greyhound Racing, Animal Activism, and American Popular Culture, by Gwyneth Anne Thayer.

The key to its success: Electric lights. Running races at night meant working people could attend. With Florida’s 1920s land boom in full roar, thousands of new residents sought evening entertainment. The track ran until 1926, when a hurricane demolished it. New owners converted it to horse racing.

Flamenco Dancer, also called Bunny, was one of Farmer’s champion racing dogs. Between 2017 and her retirement in 2020, Bunny earned more than $83,000 in purses, of which Farmer got a percentage. Most racing dogs retire at about five years old, when they start to slow with age.

In 1950, thousands of fans would gather at Derby Lane to watch the races from the grandstands.

Uniformed monkeys ride greyhounds around a track in Culver City, California, in 1932.

Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, a number of tracks had monkey “jockeys.”

R.L. “Tex” Block, an owner and trainer, stands in front of the Derby Club in 1970 with seven of his dogs.

Kitty Wilkerson, the 1969 Festival of States “sungoddess,” stands with L.B.’s Dallas, the winner of the festival’s all-ages championship race.

Owner and trainer Jeanette Eagan ran dogs at Derby Lane from 1925 to 1980. She’s pictured here with Eagan’s Stephen, Eagen’s Maestro, and Rum Dum.

In 1925, on the other side of the state, Derby Lane opened under a cloud. The partners who built it ran out of money and couldn’t pay what they owed for the real estate or the lumber. That’s how T.L Weaver, Winning’s great-grandfather, took possession of the venue. He grew beans in the infield, says track historian Louise Weaver, and between regular races had monkeys in uniform ride the dogs as if they were jockeys, their outfits sewn onto the greyhounds’ blankets so they couldn’t jump off.

Although betting was illegal, tracks in the 1920s “did something sneaky,” Winning said. “They sold shares in the dogs.” The winners would get their money back plus a “dividend.” Losers would fail to recoup their “investment.” Other tracks skipped the subterfuge and ran “on the fix”—they bribed local lawmen.

In 1931, with the Depression bankrupting local governments, Florida legislators floated a bill to legalize wagering on dog and horse races and tax it. Governor Doyle Carlton, a Bible-thumping Baptist, opposed the bill. Thirty years later he contended, “interested parties were buying their way through the legislature” and claimed gamblers offered him $100,000 to sign the bill. He vetoed it instead. State senators overrode his veto, making Florida the first state to legalize betting on horse and dog races.

Once that law passed, racing took off. New greyhound tracks popped up across the state, from Tampa (1932) to Orlando and Jacksonville (1935) to Pensacola (1947) to Key West (1953).

Greyhound racing became part of Florida’s sun-and-fun image. Mickey Mantle filmed a cigarette commercial at Derby Lane. Boxing champs and movie stars hung out at the tracks. The 1959 movie A Hole in the Head shows Frank Sinatra and Keenan Wynn betting on races at Miami’s Flagler Kennel Club.

Susan Butchko, who has been fostering and adopting greyhounds since 1999, pets her newest adopted dog, a retired racing greyhound named Remy. Often described as “45-mile-per-hour couch potatoes,” greyhounds make good pets, owners say.

A newly adopted greyhound explores her new home. She was placed through GST Sun State Greyhound Adoption, which is working to find homes for the hundreds of dogs needing homes once the track closes in December.

At Dippel’s Florida home, retired racing greyhound Roxanne walks through the shallow end of the swimming pool.

‘Dachau for dogs’

Florida tends to be a sunny place full of shady people. The money involved in dog racing attracted plenty of them. Winning recalls seeing Tampa mob boss Santo Trafficante, Jr., laying down bets at Derby Lane. Some mobsters were more than customers. Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lansky had an interest in South Florida dog tracks, according to Scott Deitche, author of seven books on the Mafia.

A state racing commission was supposed to keep out unsavory elements. But in 1950, Senator Estes Kefauver’s Special Committee to Investigate Organized Crime reported that mobsters controlled the commission and made illegal campaign contributions to politicians, including then Governor Fuller Warren.

The mob’s involvement sparked frequent rumors about fixed races where dogs were overfed before the race to slow them down, or their toes cinched up with rubber bands to alter their ability to run, or they were drugged to make them faster or slower.

Dog-doping has continued to be a problem, particularly with the use of cocaine, which can grant a short-term burst of speed. In 2017, state racing officials revoked a trainer’s license because five of his greyhounds running at Derby Lane had tested positive for cocaine. Months later a trainer at a North Florida track was also suspended after a dozen of his dogs tested positive. In the three years since then, state officials say, 10 more trainers have had dogs test positive for cocaine.

The use of performance-enhancing drugs is just one of greyhound racing opponents’ concerns about the industry. Grey2K, which has spent nearly 20 years compiling reports on the welfare of racing greyhounds, says that even standard industry practices amount to mistreatment. When the dogs aren’t racing, for example, they’re often confined to small cages in warehouses. Dogs are forced to race under conditions that can cause serious injuries, too, they say. Grey2K’s website has collected documented cases of greyhounds that have broken their legs and backs, fractured their skulls and spines, and even gotten electrocuted by the lure.

The Florida Greyhound Association, an industry group, did not respond to requests for comment.

The larger concern is what happens to them when they’re not racing.

What makes greyhounds the fastest dog breed also makes them susceptible to injuries on the racetrack.

The low body fat content of about 2 percent and a thin single-layer coat reduces the ability to self-regulate temperature.

At two points during the stride all feet are free from the ground. This allows short bursts at up to 45 miles per hour but offers poor endurance.

A deep chest enables lung power and holds a very large heart that can go from 100 to over 300 beats in one minute, promoting muscle oxygenation.

Long, strong legs with a large proportion of fast-twitch muscle fibers allow sprinting but lead to fatigue fast.

In 1952, the Greyhound Racing Record said only 30 percent of greyhounds bred for racing would become competitors, leaving open the fate of the other 70 percent. Even those that do race only do so until they’re about five years old. Grey2K has compiled all the news stories over the years about greyhounds being destroyed or sold to laboratories for experimentation.

Among their evidence of cruelty: a 2010 case from a track in the Florida Panhandle town of Ebro, where a trainer left 37 dogs to starve to death after the racing season ended. He ended up pleading guilty to more than 30 counts of animal cruelty and being sentenced to five years in prison.

Possibly the worst case happened in 2002. A security guard for the Pensacola track was arrested after authorities found an Alabama junkyard where, over 10 years, he had killed and buried some 3,000 greyhounds. He said he’d been paid $10 each for shooting them when they got too old. A prosecutor called the junkyard “Dachau for dogs.” The guard died before he could be brought to trial on animal cruelty charges.

Graying greyhound fans

The scandals cut down greyhound racing’s popularity as fans were turned off by the repeated reports of mistreatment. Meanwhile, competing gambling operations—first the Seminole and Miccosukee Tribes’ casinos, then the Florida Lottery—began siphoning off the profits, Winning said.

The loyal fans tended to skew older. In 2001, when Steven Soderbergh filmed a scene at Derby Lane of George Clooney and Brad Pitt recruiting someone for their Oceans 11 robbery, their target was Carl Reiner, then 79. He fit in perfectly with the graying greyhound crowd.

Greyhounds in a daily matinee race at Derby Lane chase the mechanical lure around the oval track, a pursuit that’s over in just 30 seconds. Between races, a tractor emerges to smooth the sand down flat again to minimize injuries—a point of contention between the racing industry and critics

Photos of the finish line help Derby Lane judges determine which dogs finished in which place.

Farmer holds award plaques for “America’s Top Sprinter” in 2008 and “America’s Top Distance Dog” in 2015. He keeps his cache of awards and mementoes in an overflowing Tupperware container.

“Young people don’t like to have to handicap” the dogs’ chances, Winning grumbles, referring to the way ardent bettors carefully examine each dog and its record. “They just want to stare at their phones” and not put the time in.

Now the typical race fan is Jim Wickert, 77, a retired golf course owner who shows up at Derby Lane every Wednesday and Saturday sporting his jaunty tan Orvis fedora. A Derby Lane regular since 2003, he enjoys handicapping the dogs’ chances.

“I like trying to figure them out,” he said. “I don’t bet big, but it’s still exciting when you do figure things out and they run the way you think they should.” He said he once won $10,000 on a race.

He’s not sure where he’ll go once the track closes. Nothing else seems as exciting.

When Winning looks back at Florida’s racing heyday, in the 1980s, he remembers Keefer, the dog that won the Distance Classic in 1986. Some 12,779 people turned out that day to watch this superstar run—the largest crowd in track history. Now a Saturday crowd at Derby Lane might number 700 tops, Winning says.

The decline of U.S. dog racing is in part attributed to a drop in gambling. In turn, that has led to a reduction in greyhound breeding.

Year-to-year drop in wagers reflects the decreasing number of tracks open. As gamblers lose their favorite tracks, they tend not to migrate to others.

Over the past 10 years, the money brought in by live greyhound racing has dropped from $117 million to less than $40 million a year, state figures show. At Derby Lane alone, it dropped from about $12 million to $3.2 million in 2019.

The industry tried to adapt, winning legislative approval in 1997 to add poker rooms and simulcasting, which allows bettors at one venue to wager on races at another. Now the poker rooms are packed with younger customers, and the simulcasting has its fans too. Those will go on after dog racing ends, Winning says. But it wasn’t enough to save Florida’s racetracks.

‘45-mile-per-hour couch potatoes’

For a decade, Grey2K tried to persuade Florida legislators to ban greyhound racing, to no avail, Theil says.

Finally, they appealed to the state’s Constitutional Revision Commission, which meets every decade to update the constitution. A Tampa area state senator named Tom Lee—Winning calls him “our idiot legislator”—proposed Amendment 13. The amendment technically bans betting on live dog races, but by extension, it essentially bans the races themselves. Without betting, there is no profit, and the tracks can’t afford to stay open.

Grey2K and its allies, such as the Humane Society of the United States, spent $3 million convincing voters to pass it, Theil says. They spent almost all of it running graphic TV ads showing injured racing dogs.

The Florida Greyhound Association fought back with ads that asserted that Grey2K was exaggerating its stories of injuries and death, as well as warning that the amendment was full of “trickeration” that would somehow lead to bans on hunting and fishing. Its yard signs implied that banning racing would also ban greyhounds.

But the association couldn’t get support beyond its declining fan base. Thayer, author of Going to the Dogs, says the track owners, kennel owners, and dog trainers had been too fractured among their individual interests for too long to present a unified front.

Nearly 70 percent of the voters said yes to the amendment. Winning and others in the industry insisted the voters were confused somehow. A lawsuit to overturn the vote went nowhere.

The impending shutdown makes the future of more than 8,000 dogs associated with the Florida tracks uncertain. Greyhound adoption agencies are trying to find them homes, although not all the agencies are allowed to help. Those that supported the ban are not welcomed by track owners. Only adoption agencies that opposed the amendment can get dogs.

Track veterinarian Donald Beck and trainer Kelsie Gubbels care for BD Wells, who has a minor ligament injury. When he's healed, he’ll go to GST Sun State Adoption to find his forever family.

One of those is Tampa resident Sharon Dippel’s GST Sunstate Greyhound Adoption. She and her husband, Brian, have adopted eight former racing greyhounds themselves. They go through a couple of 44-pound bags of dog food every 10 days or so, she says.

So far, Dippel says, plenty of people have lined up to adopt the soon-to-be-unemployed dogs. She says it helps that the tracks are not all shutting down at once. Some closed shortly after the 2018 vote, while others closed in early 2020 because of the coronavirus.

Who’s adopting them? “Everyone you can think of,” says Linda Lyman of Bay Area Greyhound Adoption in Tampa, another of the organizations working to find homes for Derby Lane’s 776 dogs. “People who had greyhounds in the past or even just heard about them.”

They’re not high-strung animals, says longtime Derby Lane veterinarian Donald Beck. They’re affectionate. In his years of working at Derby Lane, he’s never been bitten—but he has been scratched a few times by excited dogs jumping on him.

As pets, greyhounds still like to run when they get outdoors, even without a mechanical device to chase, Dippel says. But when they get back indoors? “They’re a 45-mile-per-hour couch potato.”

Plenty of people got into the racing business because of their affection for greyhounds. Trainer and kennel owner John Farmer, a Klamath Tribe member from Oregon, fell in love with the breed when he was 11 and his mother let him watch races at Multnomah Greyhound Park. He’s now 55, with so many mementoes of his winning dogs that he carries them in an overflowing Tupperware container.

Once Derby Lane shuts down, he figures he’ll have to relocate to one of the few remaining states that still have greyhound racing: West Virginia, Iowa, or Arkansas—though Iowa and Arkansas’s tracks are expected to close by the end 2022. (Texas’s last track closed in June for financial reasons.)

Grey2K is working to convince those states to join Florida in outlawing the industry, just as it’s going after the other countries where it remains legal: Australia, Ireland, Mexico, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and Vietnam.

Farmer remains hopeful that he can use his Native American heritage as a way to save racing in Florida. He’s got a plan to convince either the Seminole or the Miccosukee tribes to acquire a track that would operate in conjunction with one of their casinos and thus be exempt from state or federal regulation. That would, he said, “build a tradition.” So far, though, the tribes have expressed no interest.

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430box · 3 years

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tipsycad147 · 5 years

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A HOT CUPPA TASSEOGRAPHY

Written by Algoth’s Grove

“It’s in the details my dear, the truth lies deeply ingrained in the finest of the details.”

– Anonymous

Tasseography, Tasseeomancy or Tassology is the art of divining by reading coffee grinds, tea leaves or even wine sediments left on the bottom of the cup. There are many people who believe in a small ritual before hand, but the real magick lies in the conversation whilst the cup is being held and the beverage consumed by the person in question.

Originating in the East, Turkish coffee, or Arabica coffee beans that are ground, have been used for divination since the 17th century. A dark, strong brew that left its residue all around the cup, proved excellent for divining. Meanwhile, from the distant origins of reading with wax and other liquid to solid formations, came the spice trade from the east. With it came the most exotic tea’s, and with the aroma’s came a new way to read into the past, present and future.

Both coffee and tea readings have evolved around the world in a parallel sense. Tea reading is

Acclaimed to the west, bringing out some of the most elaborate designed tea cups and saucers specifically crafted for the art of divination. Both coffee and tea leaf readings use a similar method of divining:

Pour the coffee, or tea, in both there should be no straining involved.

Ask the querent to have a seat and begin talking. The conversation does not need to be about the question in their heart but they do need to speak and hold the cup at all times.

When they are finished. Take the cup from them and lay it face down on the saucer and speak for another 10 minutes or until you feel the energy is ready to be read.

Turn the cup over and begin looking into their past, future and present.

Here are two common ways reading with Tasseography:

The cup is divided by the handle. Hold the cup with the handle between your forefinger and thumb. On the left is the negative, on the right is the positive. Towards the bottom of the cup is the distant future. Towards the rim is the present day.

Another way, which I find is a lot more sensible, is holding the cup again with the handle between your forefinger and thumb, everything located on the left is the past, everything on the right is the future. The handle itself, on the inside of the cup is the querent’s house or home, and the symbols located here influence them or their immediate family directly. Large symbols are more prevalent and hold greater importance, the smaller symbols are sometimes used together to create a story or an entire event leading up to a bigger symbol.

Again, this is an intuitive practice. Divination uses the intuition and the symbolism is dependent on the reader not on the querent. However, for example, if you are reading and a heron appears and you have no direct meaning for the heron in your mind, heart and soul, then ask the querent what the heron means to them. You will be surprised how many times it is something quite evident in their lives.

After the reading is done, wash the cup, cleanse the cup and clear it of the querent energies. In some cultures it is also custom to allow the querent to take the cup with them. However, if you’re practising with specially made tasseography cups, this could work out to be an expensive form of divination.

Last week we wrote about Pyromancy, the bottom line of all divination is intuition. It is staying calm, trusting the universe, trusting your higher self, and knowing out of confidence and divine connection that we are all connected. A former coven member asked me to teach him to see beyond the veil, and this question is something that baffles many practitioners of the craft. Many of us have seen since childhood, others have woken up one day and things just made sense. Yes, to have the gift of the sight, to be born with it, is indeed something rare, but intuition and the second sight is not something that cannot be learned or that is not available to everyone. We all have the sight. You just have to open your heart to see.

We strongly believe in personal intuitive meanings when divining but some people have requested general meanings and so with this article we are placing some well known Tasseography meanings, again, remember the crow does not mean death and disaster to everyone. Happy Divining!

Generally accepted meanings in Tasseography:

ACORN – AT THE TOP MEANS SUCCESS AND GAIN: AT THE BOTTOM MEANS GOOD HEALTH.AIRCRAFT – JOURNEY; IF BROKEN MEANS DANGER OF ACCIDENT; CAN ALSO MEAN A RISE IN POSITION ANCHOR – REST, STABILITY, CONSTANCY; AT BOTTOM MEANS CLOUDED, INCONSTANCY ANGEL – GOOD NEWS ON THE WAY, SOMEONE IS WATCHING FOR YOUR BEST INTERESTS ANT – YOU ARE IN INDUSTRIOUS PERSON, BUT THERE IS MORE WORK AHEAD APPLE – KNOWLEDGE, ACHIEVEMENT AXE – DIFFICULTIES; IF AT TOP OVERCOMING OF DIFFICULTIES; SOMEONE NEAR YOU MAY BE PLANNING TO STAB YOU IN THE BACK WITH LIES, DECEIT BABY – SOMETHING NEW, PREGNANCY, SMALL WORRIES BAG – A TRAP; IF OPEN, ESCAPE BALL – COMPLETION, VARIABLE FORTUNES BEAR – TROUBLE AHEAD BELL – HARMONICS, CREATION, SPIRITUAL, UNEXPECTED NEWS; GOOD IF NEAR THE TOP, GOOD NEWS, WEDDING TO BE SET BIRD – THERE IS A JOURNEY TO BE PLANNED SOON, WILL BE PLEASANT AND PRODUCTIVE BOAT – LIFE PATH, (NOTE SIZE AND SPEED OF BOAT), AND VISIT FROM A FRIEND, PROTECTION BOOK – YOU WILL FIND YOUR ANSWER BY SOMETHING WRITTEN, IF OPEN IT’S GOOD NEWS; IF CLOSED YOU NEED TO INVESTIGATE SOMETHING BUSH – NEW FRIENDS, OPPORTUNITIES, SOMETHING GROWING IN LIFE BUTTERFLY – TRANSITION, TRANSFORMATION, BUTTERFLY EFFECT, FICKLENESS CABBAGE – JEALOUSY; WITH DOTS, AT WORK CANDLE – SACRED LIGHT, CREATIONAL FLAME, HELP FROM OTHERS CAP – TROUBLE, TAKE CARE CAT – DECEIT, A FALSE FRIEND, CAT HEADED BEINGS, KEEP EYE ON TREACHEROUS FRIEND/RELATIVE CHAIN – DNA, ENGAGEMENT, A WEDDING, CHAIN LINK, KARMA CHAIR – A GUEST CIGAR – NEW FRIENDS CIRCLE – SUCCESS, COMPLETION; WITH A DOT, A BABY CLOCK – ALCHEMY OF TIME AND CONSCIOUSNESS, BETTER HEALTH CLOUDS – TROUBLE; WITH DOTS, MANY PROBLEMS; IF FLECKS SCATTERED, TROUBLES SOON OVER, IF SOLIDLY GROUPED, FINANCIAL WOES WILL SOON MATERIALISATION – CHANGE IN FINANCIAL STATUS, MONEY COMING COMB – AN ENEMY CROSS – PROTECTION, SACRIFICE, SACRIFICE CUP – REWARD, BLOOD LINES DAGGER – WARNING, DANGER FROM SELF OR OTHERS, POWER, BEWARE OF RECKLESSNESS DISH – TROUBLE AT HOME DOG – GOOD FRIEND, SIRIUS, CELESTIAL CONNOTATION, EGYPTIAN GOD, ANUBIS; IF AT BOTTOM, FRIEND NEEDS HELP DOOR – OPENING (TO SOMETHING NEW) OR CLOSING (OLD ISSUES AND RELATIONS), SPIRITUAL (PORTAL), ODD EVENT DUCK – MONEY COMING EGG – GOOD OMEN, CREATION, NEW BEGINNINGS, SACRED GEOMETRY ELEPHANT – WISDOM, STRENGTH, LUCK, GANESHA, TRUNK UP INDICATES OVERCOMING OBSTACLES ENVELOPE – MESSAGE COMING, POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE EYE – CREATION – OPEN (AWAKENING) – CLOSED (SOMETHING NOT SEEN)FACE – A CHANGE, MAY BE A SETBACK FAN – HAND HELD (PLEATS) – ROTARY (4, TIME DIVINATION, NUMEROLOGY), FLIRTATION FEATHER – ASCENSION, LACK OF CONCENTRATION FENCE – LIMITATIONS, MINOR SETBACKS, NOT PERMANENT FINGER – WHICH FINGER, POINTING IN WHAT DIRECTION, POINTING TO GOD; EMPHASISES WHATEVER SIGN IT POINTS AT FIRE – SACRED FLAME, AT TOP ACHIEVEMENT; AT BOTTOM DANGER OF HASTE FISH – GOOD FORTUNE FLAG – DENOTES NATIONALITY, DANGER FLOWERS – LOVE OR IMPORTANT HONOUR MAY COME TO YOU FLY – DOMESTIC ANNOYANCE, MINOR ANNOYANCE MAY BECOME MAJOR PROBLEM, IF NOT ADDRESSED IMMEDIATELY FORK – SPEAK WITH FALSE TONGUE, FALSE FLATTERY FORKED LINE – DECISION FROG – BE READY FOR DRAMATIC CHANGE IN LIFE FRUIT – FRUITFUL, PROSPERITY (DEPENDS ON THE FRUIT WHICH GOES TO SEEDS AND PLANTING SOMETHING NEW)GATE – OPPORTUNITY, FUTURE SUCCESS, ANCIENT CIVILISATION, PORTAL, DOORWAY GLASS – INTEGRITY GLOW – ENLIGHTENMENT, A CHALLENGE GOAT – BE CAREFUL OF ENEMIES GUN – ANGER, SEX, QUARRELS HAMMER – HARD WORK NEEDED, GETTING A POINT ACROSS HAND – CREATION, IF OPEN MEANS FRIENDSHIP; IF CLOSED MEANS AN ARGUMENT HARP – CREATIONAL HARMONICS, LOVE, HARMONY HAT – HEAD, CONSCIOUSNESS, IMPROVEMENT HAWK – JEALOUSY HEART – CHAKRA, PLEASURE, LOVE, TRUST, COMPASSION, SOMEONE IS THERE IN WHOM YOU MAY CONFIDE.HORSE – IF GALLOPING MEANS GOOD NEWS; IF JUST THE HEAD MEANS A LOVER OR NEBULA HORSESHOE – GOOD LUCK, ATTRACTION, EARTH’S MAGNETIC S, OMEGA OR LEO, CLOSURE, GO AHEAD WITH YOUR PLANS HOUR GLASS – TIME RUNNING OUT, NEED TO DECIDE SOMETHING, SYNCHRONICITY, ILLUSION, CREATION, TAKE MORE TIME FOR DECISION HOUSE – SECURITY, CHANGE, SUCCESS ICEBERG – DANGER, PLANETARY MELTDOWN, ICE AGE, CONSCIOUSNESS FROZEN IN TIME INSECT – DEPENDS WHICH ONE, PROBLEMS ARE MINOR AND EASY TO OVERCOME JEWELS – DNA, PEARLS, DIAMONDS, GIFTS KETTLE – ANY ILLNESS IS MINOR KITE – WISHES COMING TRUE, FLYING FREE KNIFE – BROKEN FRIENDSHIP, HIDDEN ENEMY, AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS WITH THOSE CLOSE TO YOU, MIND YOUR HEALTH, BEWARE OF POTENTIAL LAWSUIT LADDER – PROMOTION, A RISE OR FALL IN LIFE, DNA LAMP – TURNED ON MEANS ENLIGHTENMENT, AT THE TOP MEANS A FEAST; AT THE SIDE MEANS SECRETS REVEALED; AT THE BOTTOM MEANS POSTPONEMENT LEAF – NEW LIFE LETTER – NEWS LINES – IF STRAIGHT MEANS PROGRESS; IF WAVY MEANS UNCERTAIN PATH LION – LEO, OMEGA, CLOSURE, INFLUENTIAL FRIENDS, STRENGTH, ZOROASTER LOOP – LOOPS OF TIME AND CREATION, AVOID IMPULSIVE ACTIONS, SLINKY EFFECT MAN – NEAR HANDLE, A VISITOR: CLEAR AND DISTINCT, A DARK PERSON; VAGUE, A LIGHT COLOURED PERSON MASK – SOMETHING HIDDEN, EXCITEMENT, INSECURITY MOUNTAIN – OBSTACLES OR A SPECIFIC AREA, GREAT GOALS, OR DIFFICULTIES MOUSE – THEFT NAIL – INJUSTICE, UNFAIRNESS NECKLACE – COMPLETE, ADMIRERS; IF BROKEN MEANS DANGER OF LOSING A LOVER NEEDLE – RECOGNITION, ADMIRATION OAK – HEALTH, LONG LIFE, TREE OF LIFE OCTOPUS – DANGER, 8, INFINITY OSTRICH – TRAVEL, NOT SEEKING A TRUTH OWL – GOSSIP, SCANDAL, ALIENS OWL SYMBOLOGY PALM TREE – SUCCESS, HONOUR, PLACE WERE THEY GROW PARROT – REPEATING SOMETHING, A TWIN, A JOURNEY, PEOPLE TALKING AND SAYING NOTHING PIG – GREED OR PROSPERITY PISTOL – DANGER PURSE – AT TOP MEANS PROFIT; AT BOTTOM MEANS LOSS QUESTION MARK – NEED FOR CAUTION RABBIT – NEED FOR BRAVERY, TIME AND ILLUSION RAKE – WATCH DETAILS, PLANTING SEEKS, REAP WHAT YOU SOW RAVEN – BAD NEWS, DEATH THAT LEADS TO NEW BEGINNINGS RING – PHONE CALL, COMING FULL CIRCLE, NEAR THE TOP MEANS MARRIAGE OR THE OFFER OF MARRIAGE; AT BOTTOM MEANS LONG ENGAGEMENT; IF BROKEN MEANS ENGAGEMENT BROKEN OFF ROSE – ROSE BLOODLINE, CREATION, FLOWER OF LIFE, LOVE, MAY BE ACCOMPANIED BY A FRAGRANCE IN THE ROOM, POPULARITY SAW – INTERFERENCE, TEAR APART, SOMETHING VIEWED SCALE – LEGAL ISSUES; IF BALANCED MEANS JUST RESULT; IF UNBALANCED MEANS UNJUST RESULT SCISSORS – QUARRELS, POSSIBLY SEPARATION SHEEP – GOOD FORTUNE SHELL – GOOD NEWS, NAUTILUS, GOLDEN RATIO, SEA OF CREATION SHELTER – DANGER OF LOSS OR ILL-HEALTH SHIP – WORTHWHILE JOURNEY SHOE – SOLE/SOUL, CONDITION OF SHOE IS IMPORTANT, TRANSFORMATION SNAKE – DNA, WISDOM, OR IF THE SNAKE IS ATTACKING, AN ENEMY, A SMALL MISFORTUNE MAY ONLY SLIGHTLY IMPEDE YOUR PLANS FOR SUCCESS, YOU SHALL OVERCOME THE EFFECTS SPIDER – WEAVING TOGETHER, REWARD AT WORK SPOON – GENEROSITY STAR – HEALTH AND HAPPINESS, HOPE, HEAVENS, ISIS AND OTHER GODDESSES, FEMALE ENERGIES,SUN – HAPPINESS, SUCCESS, POWERS WORD – ARGUMENTS TABLE – SOCIAL GATHERINGS, OUTSIDE THE BOX TENT – TRAVEL, COVER, HIDDEN TRUTH THIMBLE – CHANGES AT HOME TORTOISE – CRITICISM, USUALLY BENEFICIAL, SLOW-MOVING, TURTLE ISLAND (EARTH)TOWER – DISAPPOINTMENTS TREE – IMPROVEMENTS, OF LIFE, CREATION, BOOK OF LIFE, YOUR LIFE PATH TRIANGLE – SOMETHING UNEXPECTED, 3 IN A RELATIONSHIP, PYRAMIDS, 3, THIRD DIMENSION UMBRELLA – ANNOYANCES URN – WEALTH AND HAPPINESS VASE – A FRIEND NEEDS HELP VIOLIN – EGOTISM VOLCANO – HARMFUL EMOTIONS WAGON – A WEDDING, WAGON WHEELS (WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS)WASP – ROMANTIC PROBLEMS WATERFALL – PROSPERITY WHEEL – IF COMPLETE MEANS GOOD FORTUNE; IF BROKEN MEANS DISAPPOINTMENT WINGS – MESSAGES WOMAN – YOUR GREAT DESIRE IS FOR LOVE AND HAPPY FAMILY LIFE WOLF – JEALOUSY YOKE – DOMINATION ZEBRA – ADVENTURE, ESPECIALLY OVERSEAS, BLACK AND WHITE

Algoth’s Grove

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