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uzurimisery · 5 months

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chapter 1: a bet. / gojo satoru

gojo in a suit wearing nice perfume yes please

wc: 2,194

Being a legal secretary was far from a straightforward job. You need to be smart, but not too much, otherwise the insecure old men might lose their minds. You needed to draft and proofread legal documents and thus understand legal ongoings, on top of ensuring important court filings were submitted on time. But being a great legal secretary meant doing so much more, and being a great legal secretary at one of the top firms in Los Angeles? God, did you deserve a medal for doing all the heavy lifting while wearing heels!

Suguru would be lost without you truly, and that’s something the whole firm knew. Your researching abilities gave him a step ahead of the opposing party, and the critical details you had uncovered had saved more than a few cases from being lost. Add to that your legal strategy you were more of an associate than the third years. Which is why for the past six years, you’ve been Suguru Getou’s secretary.

You were friends first, having met at a shitty dive bar near Harvard’s campus in your final years. (He in law school and your undergrad) You didn’t run in the same circles, but it was thanks to an internship you had landed at a third rate law firm near campus, which Suguru also had an internship at, you two bonded. Perhaps over one too many jager-bombs, but what university without those regrets?

Besides those regrets, you got your job now at Masamichi & Associates Los Angeles Branch, which you loved. Minus the 80 work weeks, ass kissing to rich clients, dealing with the first year associates, and the — well, there’s a lot you could say you disliked about the job, but truly you love it. Even if you had to miss out on your friend’s bachelorette party. It was her second marriage to be fair, so you didn’t feel as bad. But yes, you loved your job. Except for right now.

You stood in front of Suguru’s desk, seething with anger. “You used me as a bet?!”

“Y/n, listen,” Suguru said, holding up his hands in defence. “I was certain I was going to win!”

“Oh my god,” you said, shaking your head. “I should throttle you! I mean, what the hell, Suguru? You didn’t even ask me if I was fine with being bet on.”

“I knew you would say no,” Suguru admitted.

“No shit, I’d say no!” you exclaimed.

“Y/n,” Suguru said, standing up from his chair and motioning for you to sit down in his place. “I truly thought he wouldn’t win the case and that I’d actually have to pay up.”

You sat down, plopping down into the chair rather than sitting gracefully. Suguru stood behind you and rubbed your shoulders.

“I can’t believe you,” you said. “After all that we have been through, you threw me away to a half-rate lawyer.”

“Okay, harsh,” Suguru said. “He’s not a half-rate lawyer-“

“You’re the one who called him that,” you pointed out.

Suguru sighed. “Yes, I did,” he said. “But I was just being facetious. I know he’s a talented lawyer.”

“Then why did you bet me on him?” you asked.

“Because I was confident that I was going to win,” Suguru said again. “I thought it would be a funny bet, you know? A little friendly wager.”

“It wasn’t funny,” you said. “It is humiliating. I feel like a prize to be won, not a person.”

“You’re the best person and he’s actually a wonderful lawyer, the best at the branch in Japan, which is why he’s coming to the New York branch. Plus, Satoru is a friend of mine from my undergraduate and law school days, which I still don’t know how you never met him, or Shoko.”

“I was antisocial, Suguru. It’s a miracle I even knew you.” A huff escaped you. “What’s he like?”

“He’s annoying, a bit of a narcissist-”

“Just like you then.” Getou made a face at you, leaning over you so you could see his face.

“He’s good at his job. Smart. Like freakishly so. He likes answering questions too, used to be a TA when we were in high school, so he’ll put up with all yours. You’re gonna love it with him, I promise! And if you don’t, then give it three months and I’ll pay him the 300k instead.”

“Fine…” the dollar amount clicked in your brain. “YOU BET ME FOR 300 THOUSAND DOLLARS?!”

__________

Your heels clicked against the polished wood flooring as you made your way from the Northwest corner office to Suguru’s office on the Southeastern side of the floor. Luckily, you wouldn’t be stuck down on the 53rd floor, where they put transfers. Gojo was clearly one of the best lawyers at the firm if he was taking a corner office, too.

It took you a few hours to get everything set up at your new desk and for IT to move your computer over. Truthfully, you could have done it faster without them, but rules and procedures were rules and procedures. The nice thing was that your desk was bigger now, with an elevated spot for your monitor and phone. Getou would be hearing from you after all of this to upgrade your desk with him.

Gojo wasn’t due to be back from a meeting with Mr. Trent Chow, an investment banker at a hedge fund the firm had been trying to get on the books for a few weeks now, until after lunch, which gave you enough time to go hear all the gossip from the other secretaries about him.

Gojo had worked in the States before, as well as in the UK. He was known for closing deals and was a self-described “winner.” He drank fine scotch and dated even finer women. Apparently, there was an issue in the Japanese branch, with a few ex-clients being barred from the premises after Gojo may or may not have slept with their wives. He was an excellent lawyer, but an egotistical person.

Halfway through your second coffee of the day, expertly crafted by the barista at the Cafe at the ground floor of the building who was hopelessly into you, a body leaned up against the top of your desk.

A tailored pinstripe navy suit by Brioni, a name-brand Italian leather watch by Patek Philippe, and a class ring with the same graduation year as Getou—it wasn’t hard to tell that it was an attorney leaning on your desk.

“So you’re the unlucky secretary sacrificed to Gojo,” she said in a raspy, low-toned voice.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is he that bad?”

“Oh, he’s not bad,” Shoko said with a smile. “He’s just... a lot.”

“How so?”

“He’s arrogant, obnoxious, and he has a terrible habit of flirting with every woman he meets,” Shoko said. “But he’s also one of the best attorneys I know. He’s brilliant, and he’s always prepared. So if you can handle his ego, you’ll be fine.”

“I think I can handle it,” you said with a smirk.

Shoko laughed. “I knew I was going to like you,” she said. “Shoko Ieri, senior partner.” She extended her hand.

You shook her hand. “Y/N,” you said. “Secretary extraordinaire.”

Shoko held your gaze for a moment. “I think we’re going to be a great team,” she said.

“How long have you been at the firm?” You asked her.

“Same amount of time as Getou and Gojo. We all graduated together and got put in the bullpen together, too. Gojo and I ended up back in Japan to help the transition after Masamishi became named partner.”

“Oh, so you went to Harvard as well?”

“Guilty. Still don’t know if it was worth it. You?”

“Harvard too. I was two years under your class and in the undergrad program.”

The chatter between you and Shoko continued for a while, only stopping as Gojo rounded the corner.

6’3” with platinum blonde hair, more akin to white, swept back and styled, only disrupted by a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head, that was perfectly coiffed, without a single strand out of place. His skin was pale and flawless, and his cheekbones were sharp and defined. His nose was straight and angular, and his lips were full and sensual.

He wore a tailored three-piece black suit with a maroon tie hanging undone, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest. The top two buttons of his white button-down shirt were undone, showcasing his strong jawline.

His gait was confident and unhurried. He walked like he owned the place, with his head held high and his shoulders back. His demeanour was polished and sophisticated, and he had a natural elegance that seemed effortless. There was an air of authority about him, a sense that he was accustomed to being in charge. He came from a long line of judges, attorneys, and government officials both in the USA and Japan, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he actually felt that way. He was born into it all.

When he reached your desk, he placed a few manilla folders on top of it. Given his reputation, it was easy to guess it was Trent Chow signing on to the firm. You could smell him now that he was closer, and he smelt good. Clary sage wrapped up with pear and bergamot, cushioned by amber and patchouli. He smelt as expensive as he dressed.

“You must be my new secretary.” He smiled, one side going up higher than the other revealing a sharp canine. “Gojo Satoru, best closer in the city and your new boss, though I guess it’s the other way around here. Anyway! Come into my office, let’s talk.”

To say his office was impressive was an understatement. It was a corner facing unit overlooking the expanse of the city. The interior was well decorated, but stilly minimal. A wall of records and books filled with a range of media and titles from the early 1900s to now. His desk was sleek, ornate but not overstated, with the latest generation MacBook idling on it. Two tub chairs sat facing the desk, both at an angle so that the person sitting in it would have to look at Gojo.

Towards the south-facing window was a more expensive version of an IKEA Kallax unit, lined with sport memorabilia and signed basketballs. A few feet away from it was a sitting area. A brown leather couch draped with throw facing a metal and glass coffee table flanked by two dark grey Herman Miller Chadwick modular chairs. On the table was a neatly organised stack of the times layered between sport magazines, and a lit candle filling the room with a rainy cedar smell like a mountain forest in spring.

The most impressive thing might have been that he had the entire office set up for his first day.

Gojo sat down in his office chair and gave a full 360 spin before facing you, propping his chin on his left hand and he leaned forward against the desk and the right removed the sunglasses from his head and placed them down neatly.

Being this close, you could see his eyes for all that they were. They were strangely unnerving, an endless expanse that felt like he wasn’t seeing you, but through you instead. As if under his gaze, lay all your little habits and transgressions bare for him to observe.

He stared at you for what felt like an hour before speaking.

“Sugu told me you were the best. Kept him organised. Helped him manage the litigation of 405 Holdings, created curated lists of clients with detailed information on their likes and dislikes for him to improve relationships with them, and said your view on legal proceedings was better than a fifth year associate,” He dropped his hand and leaned back in his chair “but he didn’t tell me you were gorgeous.”

There was the notorious flirting they had warned you of.

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Please, Satoru’s fine.”

“Satoru,” you corrected, leaning against the armrest of the chair “You’ve got a meeting with Orlando Smitt from Smitt & Sons Petroleum at 2:00 at Le Pavillion, expect for it to take two and half hours as he likes to chat. After that you’ve got a meeting on the Park Holdings case with Suguru, followed by a dinner with Laurence Hill, a potential client in the automotive manufacturing industry with an estimated company value of $1.7 billion, and I’m to remind you that Masamichi wants a copy of your brief on the Trust Development case on his desk by nine tomorrow or your on the next pro Bono case which, I’ve been told, is housing court.”

You rose, leaning over his desk with a hand spread across it “And yes, I am gorgeous, but you think a little sweet talk is all it’s going to take to get me to even have the slightest amount of interest in you?”

Spinning on your heel, you sauntered towards the door, opening it while looking over your shoulder at him

“Oh, and Mr. Smitt is allergic to shellfish.”

Series masterlist: here

#uzuri writes #gojo imagine #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk imagine #jjk imagines

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jgmartin · 4 months

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THE SLEIGH FATHER

[Short Horror]

I need to talk. Like, I really need to talk.

The trouble is, I don’t have anybody I can talk to. My family’s estranged, my friends are all gone, and the authorities think I’m a lunatic.

It's just five days from Christmas, and I’m alone. Isolated. If I don’t get this off my chest though, I’m afraid it’s going to start festering in my mind like a decaying carcass; I’m afraid it’s going to sink its teeth in.

So I’ll talk to you. All of you. It’s not perfect, but it will do.

My name's Terrance Sims. I’m sitting in my rocking chair, rifle draped across my lap, in bloodstained pyjamas that still reek with last night’s piss. I haven’t slept in two days, and I might not sleep for two more. Last night something came down my chimney, and I think it’s coming back.

I’m getting ahead of myself, so let me paint you a picture. I live alone, up in the mountains where the pine trees are draped in snow, and the rivers are an icy blue. I could be a bit more specific, but I don’t think it’s warranted. Besides that, I like my privacy.

All of this to say, where I am isn’t important. What matters is what I have to say.

I’m a researcher. Or at least, I was once upon a time. My funding has long been cut, and my job along with it, but I've stayed out here because I believed in the research my team was undertaking. It was revolutionary. It meant the possibility of bridging worlds, of seeing new forms of life.

Now I’m terrified that research has found me.

You’ve probably heard of monsters, or urban legends, of things that claw at our imaginations and lurk in the dark recesses of our minds. Perhaps you’ve even felt one. They wait there sometimes, prowling just beyond our vision, tearing at the fabric that holds our realities together. Desperate. Hungry.

My job was to study these beings. I was tasked with developing an understanding of not only what they wanted from us but how to gain access to their world: the place Beyond the Veil.

Needless to say, I wasn’t successful. The organization I worked for, the Facility, poured millions into my ideas and wasn’t forgiving of my failures. When my theories came up short, they cut ties with me– he cut ties with me.

“It’s unfortunate, but it’s business,” Mr. Reid had said, feet on his desk, long hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Your failures reflect on me, Terrance, and they’ve become an accounting nightmare.”

I had begged him. Groveled. It didn’t matter. I was terminated along with my research, and when you’re studying the kind of things I am, they don’t want that information leaking out into the world. It’s what they call a liability.

So I was blacklisted. Facility teams picked away at my reputation, whispering in the back corners of universities and at the water coolers of laboratories. My name became synonymous with paranoia and madness. I was a laughing stock among my peers. A joke.

It was the end of my life.

Only one person cared to associate with me afterwards, a junior colleague and a brilliant young man named Alexi Azimov. He believed in the research nearly as much as I did, and luckily for him, his name wasn’t attached to the project.

When the Facility pulled the plug and dragged my name through the dirt, they simply moved him to a new department, and that was that. Despite it, he spent his vacation days returning to the mountain, assisting me with further study whenever he could.

Until last year, when even he abandoned me.

But now I’ve shown all of them. I’ve proven they were wrong -- dead wrong. It’s here. He’s here. I always suspected he lived among these mountains, or at least that his Bridge was located within them, but I had given up hope for so long. It had been years, after all -- damn near a decade. They called me absurd. Insane.

Then, last night everything changed.

I was lying in bed, winding down after logging the readings on the temporal measurement equipment, when the cabin shook. At first, I thought an avalanche had struck it, but then I heard it: a clatter of hooves upon the roof.

I shot out of bed, my breath trapped in my chest and my body cold with sweat. I sprinted to the closet and pulled out my hunting rifle. Outside, a blizzard howled, but all I heard was the voice, a menagerie of tone and emotion, high and low, guttural and smooth. It rang out from above me.

Ho ho hO.

My first thought was to contact the Facility, but my satellite internet wasn’t functioning in the storm. Even if it were, I knew better. I was too far. Too isolated for help.

The mountains I study in are remote, and the cabin even more so. It was chosen for its seclusion as a means of observing the being known as the Sleigh Father, but the circumstances were meant to be different.

Much different.

Above me, the ceiling creaked, and dust drifted down from the rafters. Boots crunched upon the snow-caked roof. You always think you’ll know what to do when the moment comes, that your training will kick in, and you’ll just go through the motions like some kind of pre-programmed robot. I wish that were true. I really do.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

I’d spent the better part of my career chasing that monster, and now that it’d found me, I was lost. My fingers played against the trigger of my rifle, my mouth dry, and my eyes latched open. Inside of me, my body thrummed with terror. My fight or flight response oscillated between cowardice and impulsive foolishness. I was paralyzed. Alone.

A chorus of chattering pierced the screaming wind. It came fast and jittery, like a ticking clock marking time in microseconds. I knew what it was before the hoofbeats followed. It was them, the creatures the Sleigh Father commissioned in the First Days when people still feared the night and all the horrors within. Eight abominations, stitched together by the innards of mutilated children.

Their agony acted as his gateway– his Bridge between worlds. The souls of the children lived on in the beasts, while their vacant spirits stalked the earth, lost and hopeless, seeking the missing piece that would finally grant them rest. Their tortured existence was his Link to our reality. The sleigh the abominations drew, his Bridge.

The thought shook me from my trance. I’d spent years waiting for this—a chance to see the other side, to see other worlds.

I had to act, so I lurched forward, moving through the lonely cabin while the Sleigh Father’s footsteps creaked above me. HO hO ho. He lumbered toward the chimney while I shivered down the cold hallway, rifle trembling in my skinny arms.

It took me only a few moments to reach the living area, and when I did, I settled there, just behind the corner of the wall. I kept my gun leveled at the fireplace, and my eyes plastered open. A crackling blaze danced in the hearth. It cast the sparse furnishings in an orange glow, throwing shadows across the loveseat and the messy desks.

The night became still.

The snowstorm quieted. The hoofbeats vanished. There was no sound of boots, no sound of laughter, only the snapping flames and my heart pounding blood through my skull. My mouth moved, and words spilled out. Affirmations. Come on, I muttered. Slide down the chimney, you beast. The fire’s waiting for you.

I knew better. Of course I did. I’d spent years researching the Sleigh Father, consuming tireless hours reading into his history. Of all the monsters the Facility had dealt with, the terrors that haunted old email chains and the urban legends that spread through panicked breaths, he was the anomaly. He was celebrated.

Santa Claus, they called him.

It was an error I traced back to centuries ago when a young girl witnessed her abusive father taken by the Sleigh Father. The creature devoured him and left the man’s skull as a parting gift, having taken what he came for: a human soul. To the girl, the beast was a savior.

A saint.

The words she spoke in the following weeks, months, and years became immortalized. They became history, and then they became legend. A jolly being, laughing and hungry, coming down the chimney and leaving gifts in its wake. It was as tantalizing a tale as they come, especially to young children, eager to be appeased in their search for comfort and joy.

Now he was here with me, looking for another soul to add to his collection.

Seconds stretched into minutes as I waited, tucked quietly behind the corner of the wall, rifle in my arms, elbow steadied upon my knee. Once, we had contingencies for this. Plans in place that provided the means to incapacitate the Sleigh Father should he pay us a visit, but those plans involved government agents no longer in my employ. They involved expensive technology and complex spells. They were a last resort.

A clump of snow fell down the chimney, and the fire responded with a hiss of steam. Its flame retreated for a moment, flickering, before lashing back in anger. Something heavy shuffled above– the Sleigh Father.

Emotions swam inside of me. Regret. Anger. Fear. Why had I stayed out here? How could I have been so stubborn, so goddamn arrogant?

The answer was obvious: my old boss, Donovan Reid. His mockery, his wanton destruction of my life. It left me with no other option. Either I remained on this mountain, burning through my life’s savings and hunting wayward game, or I returned home. One meant a chance at redemption, the other guaranteed humiliation and disgrace.

I hated Mr. Reid more than words could say. Alexi had seen it. He’d seen how much my loathing distracted me, and so he recommended methods to help get the snake off my mind. A list, he’d said in an email last month. Write a list of all the ways you want to hurt him. Write a list of all the horrible things you want to happen to him. I think it could help you get him out of your head and free up your attention.

It helped– a little.

hO ho HO.

The laugh came high and low, husky and slick. A crunch followed it, like something digging into brick, and panic found its way into my bones. Dust and debris fell into the flames. The Sleigh Father's legend was explicit in his form of entry: if possible, it was always the chimney.

A grunt came down the flue, followed by more pebbles and stones. Then, the cabin shook. It was as if something heavy had jumped from the roof -- and what comes up must come down.

A pulverizing cacophony filled the night like cannon fire. Rubble tumbled into the blazing hearth while the bricks of the chimney bulged outwards, crumbling as something massive shot down it. I barely brought my rifle on aim before a figure crashed into the flames.

Burning logs shattered with a thunderous crack, plunging the cabin into inky darkness. Wooden splinters ricocheted around the room like blazing shrapnel, their slivers slashing at my face and tracing my skin in searing agony. I swung back behind the protection of the hallway wall, rifle clutched to my chest.

My thoughts raced. This couldn’t be happening, I said to myself. It couldn’t. I slammed my eyes shut, trying to get my out-of-control breathing back in line. I was hyperventilating. Panicking. I had to calm down because if I didn’t, I would start making impulsive decisions, and impulsive decisions were a good way to die.

I opened my eyes.

The fire was gone. I could barely see a thing. A short distance away, boots groaned against hardwood, kicking past broken logs in the hearth. My finger quivered against the cold steel of the rifle’s trigger, and I desperately wanted to pull it, but I knew that if I did, then it was over. Either the Sleigh Father would die, or I would. The odds, I decided, were not in my favor.

So I waited.

A piece of me, infinitesimally small, wanted to see him, wanted to flick on a light or blindly fire into the darkness. I wanted to witness the monster that possessed my life for so long– if only for a second. But I didn’t. It’s not worth it, I told myself. It’s not worth it.

The footsteps stalked to the window, dragging something heavy behind them. Against the faint light of the moon, I made out the Sleigh Father’s silhouette. He was tall, inhumanly so. His neck craned forward, pressed against the top of the high cabin ceiling. A cloak was draped across his broad shoulders, and from his head slumped the pom of a stocking cap. Beside him sat a large sack.

“NaUghty oR niCe?” his voice hummed, in a discordant melody.

I didn’t reply. It seemed impossible, but a part of me held onto the belief that maybe he wasn’t speaking to me. Maybe he didn’t know I was there. It was just a monologue, perhaps– words for the night.

I raised the rifle, aiming it toward his massive figure. I could do it now, I reasoned. I could pull the trigger and hopefully make this nightmare disappear.

Ho HO hO.

The silhouette turned, its face masked in shadow, save for a single glint of bobbing light. “CaReFuL wiTh tHaT,” it said.

A cold breeze swept across me, and suddenly my fingers burned with agonizing frostbite. My rifle clattered to the floor while my hands trembled in pain. “YoU’ll TaKe yOur eYe OuT.”

“W-what do you want?” I stuttered, stumbling backward. My feet croaked on the floorboards as I came up against the back of the hallway. My heart hammered. Tears filled my vision as I cradled my cold hands against my stomach. “Please,” I whimpered.

“NaUgHty?” he sang. “Or NiCe?”

“Nice!” I said. “I’m a good man. I just wanted to l-learn about you.” The words stumbled out of my mouth like lemmings falling to their death. “I don’t mean any harm. I swear!”

The footsteps creaked closer, and as they did, the silhouette vanished from the window's moonlight. All that remained of it now were the sounds that it made. I listened intently to the burdensome echoes of boots on hardwood and the heavy scratching of coarse fabric being dragged across the floor.

ho Ho hO.

He was close. So close. I screwed my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable, waiting to die. Warm piss spilled down my leg, and my face screwed up as I fell to my knees, bawling on the floor. “Please,” I begged. “I'm a good man! I told you– please!”

The rumble of footfalls stopped, and in their place came the sound of rustling fabric, like somebody opening a sack.

“NiCe, yOu sAy?”

A dim light formed, radiating out of a burlap bag some five feet away. Behind its glow, I could make out a white, singed beard hanging over a red suit. The Sleigh Father’s face was otherwise indiscernible amidst the suffocating shadow, save for one dancing speck of light.

“WoULd yOu LiKe a GiFt?” he asked.

My mind raced. Was there anything in the mythology that warned against accepting gifts? I couldn’t recall. “Yes,” I hazarded, in a small voice. "Yes, please." It seemed unwise to refuse the creature.

hO ho Ho.

A massive, red-jacketed arm reached into the burlap sack. My eyes widened in horror as I realized the sack was moving. Kicking. Like there was something alive inside of it. Muffled screams followed, and the great arm pulled back, clutching a man by his long, blonde hair. The man thrashed and whimpered. Tears soaked his pale face.

Our eyes connected, mine and the man’s, and something ran through me. It was a feeling I’d never experienced before, a mixture of dark excitement and absolute loathing.

“You,” I said slowly.

The light from the sack was dim, but to the man, it was all he had known. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the heavy darkness of the cabin, and as they did, he peered toward me, eyelids pinched together to discern the voice speaking to him.

“Who’s there?” he whimpered.

I gazed forward in stunned silence. Was this real? There was no way. He dangled in the Sleigh Father's grasp like the finest Christmas present I'd ever seen.

“Hello?” his voice called. “Please, I have resources -- more than you could imagine! I’m a powerful man in government! Just get me the hell out of here, and I’ll give you whatever you want.” His voice turned weak, broken. “Please… please get me out of here. I have a family.”

I opened my mouth, but if words were there, I didn’t speak them. No. It seemed wasteful, at this moment, to reply so thoughtlessly. This moment necessitated careful words and a measured tone. It required my best.

“NauGhtY,” the Sleigh Father hummed. “So, sO NaUgHty.”

I found myself nodding along. Yes, the man was naughty. The worst. He was an abomination, fit for disposal. He’d doubted me– made a mockery of me, and torn apart the life I’d so carefully built.

“Donovan,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice level. “Donovan Reid, isn't it?”

The light was faint. So faint. In spite of it though, I could see Mr. Reid had finally realized who I was, whether because his eyes had adjusted or he recognized my voice. Perhaps a combination of the two. His expression fell.

“That voice…You used to work for me,” he choked out. “Didn’t you?”

I gazed at him, something horrible growing inside of me. It ate up all of my fear, my regret, my rage and it left only hunger in their wake—a desperate desire for retribution.

“I did.”

A pause. He sensed it there, in my reply. He sensed the disdain– the hatred. “I’m so sorry,” he said at length. “You were right. You were right about everything!”

“That's true,” I said. “And you were wrong.”

“Yes, I was.” He winced in agony as the Sleigh Father lifted him higher by his tangled hair, then gently nudged him with a giant, clawed hand. Mr. Reid swung like a pendulum. “You were right,” he continued, weeping. “He’s real. Of fucking course he is! Are you–”

“– am I what?” I interjected. My hands, still burning with frostbite, became an afterthought in my mind. The warm piss in my pants hardly registered to me. I was beginning to build the puzzle. I was beginning to understand what this was. “Are you asking me if I’m going to help you?”

Silence.

“Of course I’ll help you,” I said. “I’m not a monster. Why would I ruin your life, all because you made a simple mistake?”

In the quiet of the cabin, Mr. Reid's shuddering tears struck the floorboards like gunshots. “T-thank you so much.” He hardly sounded like the man I knew. If he weren’t swinging in front of me, with his obnoxiously long hair and his fitted suit, I’d almost have doubted my own ears. He sounded weak. Cowardly.

“I’ll ask the Sleigh Father to release you if you can do one thing for me.”

hO ho HO.

“What is it? Anything! Your research is back on the table– of course, it is, you’re brilliant! Look at you. You saw this before any of us. You knew it was out there and–”

“What’s my name?”

“I’m sorry?” His words, once thundering along like a rollercoaster, crumpled into a heap. “Look, I’m not in a position to remember every fucking employee’s name. That was years ago! You need to be reasonable!”

I took a step forward, and the floorboards creaked. I understood what the situation was now. It was written in the subtext of the legend, the unspoken and unwritten words that undercut everything about the Sleigh Father. A singular concept, one still celebrated to this day.

Holiday cheer.

I reached out a hand, gripping Mr. Reid by his silky black tie. His swinging stopped, and I pulled at the accessory, making him choke and gag.

“Are you fucking…” he sputtered, “...crazy?” His face had lost the fear, the concern, the false remorse. In its place was something much more familiar.

Malice.

I let him go, and he gasped as his breath returned to him. My eyes shifted to the being behind him– the instrument of his destruction. The Sleigh Father remained still, clouded by darkness, with only his massive arm and singed white beard illuminated by the dim light spilling from his bag.

“NaUgHtY oR niCe?” the monster repeated, in that discordant voice masquerading as song.

My eyes connected with Mr. Reid's, and an irresistible smile crept along my lips. To see him there, helplessly hanging by his hair and a slave to my whims, filled something inside of me I didn’t realize I was missing. It filled a need for power– a need to be respected.

“Naughty,” I said, surprising myself with the tone of authority. “Donovan Reid is a terrible man.”

Ho ho Oh.

“No!” Mr. Reid screamed, even as the great red arm lifted him up to the rafters of the ceiling. His face screwed up in agony as the Sleigh Father gripped his legs with his other hand. “Please!” he shrieked, horizontal in the air. “Please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorr–”

His words were interrupted by the wet splatter of his intestines striking the cabin floor. It was hard to see in the darkness but easy to hear. I listened as the Sleigh Father pulled Donovan Reid apart, one end from the other, his innards slapping against the ground like spoiled fruit.

“Why…” Mr. Reid's last word died on his lips as the Sleigh Father slammed both pieces of him against the cabin floor, drenching me in an explosion of blood and bone.

When it was finished, I sat in warm, wet silence. Donovan Reid's blood dripped from my mess of hair and soaked through my thermal pajamas. Something akin to a near-death experience flashed before my eyes, except it was aspects of my life and my research.

I always believed the Sleigh Father to have been little more than a simple reaper. A monster hungry for souls, or other forms of mortal sustenance, piecing the veil once a year when its hunger grew too insatiable to ignore.

I had been wrong.

Much of the Santa Clause mythology fitted the Sleigh Father. More than I or Alexi ever expected. He didn’t just feed on souls. He fed on people’s joy. Their mirth. It appeared as though he required both pieces to be fully satiated, and such a phenomenon provided much more context to the original myth.

That girl, centuries ago, had been joyous when the Sleigh Father devoured her father, hadn’t she? And now I had been joyous when he’d gifted me my revenge. I’d felt ecstatic watching Mr. Reid die.

Ho ho HO.

The cabin began to tremble, and soon the very floorboards snapped, and the windows rattled. It felt like it was being torn from its foundations. I steadied myself against the wall as a blinding light exploded from Donovan Reid's skull before quelling to a gentle gleam. It snaked around the cabin, revealing the full extent of the building’s disarray.

Tables had been upturned, documents littered the floor, and the fireplace had become little more than a pile of bricks and a frigid breeze. Shafts of moonlight pierced through the hole in the ceiling the chimney once occupied, revealing Mr. Reid's blood and bones scattered all over. The cabin was soaked in his blood.

Then, the floating light passed across the Sleigh Father.

It revealed a behemoth, clad in crimson cotton with white trim. Two legs burst from the long red jacket, coated in coarse, black fur that ended in leather boots. As the light swam upwards, I caught sight of the creature’s arm scratching at its barrel chest. Its fingers were thick, human, but decaying. What I had earlier mistaken for claws were actually long, curled fingernails.

“Thank you,” I breathed, my heart thundering. “Thank you for this.”

“TiS tHe SeaSon,” it sang with a laugh.

The orb of light ascended towards its mouth, and for the first time, I saw the monster’s face. It was human but mangled. Above its white shock of beard were two pieces of coal, seared into its eye sockets. The skin of its face was discolored, a pock-marked mess of swollen, blistered flesh that sagged around its skull, and its nose was little more than two slits, with the faintest impression of bone jutting from beneath.

Burns, I realized. His face had been burned beyond recognition.

As the tiny orb of light finished its ascent, it revealed the Sleigh Father’s red stocking cap. At the end of it was a white pom, and it blinked. It was looking at me. An eyeball twinkled where the pom should have been, glimmering like a star in the night.

It seemed clear to me the creature meant me no harm, and so the researcher inside of me took over. “Can I ask you–” I began, before being cut off by a roaring sound of wind.

The Sleigh Father had opened its mouth, and within its jaws, a blizzard roared, frigid and horrible. My hands, anguished with frostbite, became numb and unresponsive. My ears screamed, and my nose throbbed. My entire body ached with the stabbing sensation of absolute winter.

Then, the light orb vanished, sucked up inside the Sleigh Father’s mouth, and so too did the cold. I heard what sounded like a gulp and a swallow, and then another discordant, tuneless round of hO HO Ho.

Darkness returned.

The Sleigh Father turned, his twinkling eye vanishing as he did, and began walking away from me. His lumbering footfalls crunched along the cabin floor, snapping pieces of Mr. Reid's bones as he made his way back to the demolished chimney. “MeRrY cHRiStMaS tO aLL,” the Sleigh Father sang.

I heaved a breath, warmth returning to my extremities. I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in decades, I felt full of Christmas cheer, so much so that I even finished the rhyme for him. “And to all a good night!”

His boots stopped, and the floor groaned as he turned back to me, that bouncing eye gleaming in the night. “MErRy cHriStMaS tO aLL,” he repeated, though his voice had lost its whimsy. “I’LL sEe YoU iN tWo NiGhTs.”

My jaw fell open, the smile dying on my lips. No, that wasn’t right. Why would he come back? I already had what I wanted. Mr. Reid was dead. The Sleigh Father turned around toward the chimney, chuckling to himself.

“Hang on!” I spat, my voice cracking. “You don’t have to come back. It’s fine! Seeing you was enough! I just needed to know I wasn’t crazy– that I was right!”

“NAuGhTy,” he hummed, “Or RiGhT?”

I blinked, not understanding. That wasn’t the rhyme. “Nice,” I said. “I’m not naughty– I’m nice! I’m a good person that was abused and taken advantage of, just like that girl you saved. Remember?”

hO ho Ho.

His laughter echoed around the ruined cabin. “NAuGhTy aNd RiGhT. i’LL sEe YoU iN tWo NiGhTs.”

He stepped into the remains of the ruined chimney, and shafts of moonlight framed him through the broken ceiling. His beard upturned with a smile, and then he bent his great legs and leapt upward with a grunt.

A moment later, the ceiling trembled, and pieces of rafter crashed down around me. Above, I heard the Sleigh Father’s chorus of Ho ho Oh, and his heavy boots crunching on snow. Then came the whip of reins and the rapid chatter of eight abominations preparing to take flight.

Their hooves pounded against the roof in anticipation. Two more whip cracks and the cabin rafters whined as the sleigh began to move, slowly at first, before the monsters broke off into a rumbling gallop.

Through the shattered ceiling, I caught sight of the godless creatures taking flight. They were monsters in the truest sense of the word; pieces of children chopped up and reassembled into beasts of burden. Some had six legs and one arm, others three heads and four feet upon two legs. As the last remnants of the Sleigh Father’s laughter faded in the distance, I idly wondered if he purposefully designed the beasts to be more hideous than himself.

I chewed on the thought as I stumbled toward the kitchen, grabbing a flashlight from the drawer and flicking it on as I went. I used it to locate a blanket and a laptop, and then took a seat in the old rocking chair.

With the blizzard gone, the night was uncharacteristically warm. Whether or not that was a consequence of the Sleigh Father's visit, I couldn’t say, but I was thankful for it. It made thinking easier.

I flipped the computer open, and my face was bathed in a blue glow. I noted the satellite connection was back online. Good. My fingers rocketed across the keyboard, sending out multiple emails to my contacts at the Facility.

I’ve done it, I told them. I’ve proven the existence of the Sleigh Father. Not only that, I added, but he told me he’s returning in two days’ time. We can acquire his sleigh. His Bridge.

I hit send, exhaling a sigh of relief. I truly had done it. I’d redeemed my name. I’d resurrected my reputation and executed the monster that murdered it in the first place. It had been a busy night. An important night.

I fully believed the Sleigh Father would return for me, but with the Facility’s resources, I suspected we could handle him. Their warlocks could do wonderful things with spells.

My computer pinged with the first email alert, a reply from the Facility's hiring manager. I figured why wait? I had a job to return to. The sooner I got paid for my work again, the better.

“Good evening, Dr. Sims," it read.

"Your work for the Facility has been greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, we have located another talent that has proven more reliable. Your contract will not be reinstated.”

I stared at the screen in confusion. Had they even read my email? I just told them I located the damn Sleigh Father! I just explained how I found the Bridge between worlds!

Cursing, I began typing my response. Two more email alerts pinged in the corner of my screen, distracting me.

No matter, I thought to myself. The hiring manager could wait. I clicked on the first new email. It was from an old colleague of mine, Anna Ling, a former team member on the Sleigh Father research project, and one with high-level security access.

“I am so sorry,” it read. “Take care, Terry.”

Sorry? Did she think I was insane? I clenched my fist, my frustration mounting at the thick-headedness of these idiots. I was sitting on possibly the most significant discovery in the history of mankind, and they were brushing me off like a common madman.

Bitterly, I clicked on the third email. It was from the Director of Research and Development– Mr. Reid's boss.

Good to hear from you, Terrance!

First off, I’d like to say we’re recommending you for the Medal of Merit. Your work has been incredible, and dare I say, worthy of certain additional awards down the line. Can you say Nobel prize?

I paused, a smile forming on my lips. This was more like it. I always found the Director of R&D to be a shrewd and clever woman. It was little wonder she saw the potential of this opportunity as soon as I presented it.

I continued reading.

Of course, public awards are off the table until the Bridge has been put to proper use. We’ll have to deal with the upcoming conflict first before spilling the beans on this new technology, but trust me, once we can, your name is going in the hat. I’ll be personally recommending you! I imagine you’re probably a little upset. It’s a terrifying prospect, what’s to come, but…

I blinked, shaking my head in confusion. Terrifying? That’s an odd way to describe a Nobel prize. No matter. I continued reading.

... unfortunately, it was the only option we saw available. Dr. Azimov has been a huge help in getting all of this setup, and we’re genuinely thankful for your cooperation in the matter. What’s losing another thirty years of life when you’ll be immortalized in history, eh?

Dr. Azimov? Alexi Azimov? What the hell, that couldn’t be right. Alexi abandoned the project a year ago. Sure, he’d occasionally kept up with me via email– more for my sanity than anything, but he had nothing to do with this. His mental exercise of listing my intrusive thoughts helped clear my head some, but that didn’t warrant such accolades. I did this. Me.

Furious, I clicked reply. Before I could finish the first word of my response, my computer pinged with another email. It was the last contact I’d messaged: Alexi.

Terrance,

I hope you’re well. In fact, I suspect you’re feeling quite good, if not a little confused. I know how much the Sleigh Father project meant to you. To be frank, your obsession with it has concerned me. It isn’t healthy. It’s damaging.

Before I go any further, I’d like to assure you that the Facility will be arriving at the mountain later this evening. They’ll be monitoring you from a safe distance, and when the Sleigh Father returns in two nights’ time, they’ll attempt to apprehend his Bridge.

I let loose a sigh of relief. Good. I knew I could count on Alexi -- even if he was trying to steal some credit for this. I cracked an exasperated smile and kept reading. It was probably a misunderstanding.

Earlier this year, I discovered some lore. I thought it might help both of us. You and I. You see, old friend, I have come to realize that the Sleigh Father shares more in common with the Santa Claus myth than either of us recognized. All those weeks, months, and years of study and failed attempts to locate the monster were rooted in a singular problem: we were too focused on the science of it all.

The Sleigh Father is a being that transcends science, of course. An anomaly. A myth. So it was to that mythology I returned. Within it, I found the means to quell some of your suffering and offer you an opportunity to have a merry Christmas before you pass from this world.

My fingers ached. I realized I was clutching the sides of the laptop hard enough that the plastic shell began to crack. I reread Alexi’s words. Before I pass from this world? What kind of phrasing is that?

Trust me, Terrance. It will be better for you this way. Easier. I know you're probably wondering what I'm talking about, so let me provide you with some background details.

I discovered that lists have the power to summon the Sleigh Father. They act as a sort of ritual or an offering to it. When one creates a list, the creature will sometimes deign them with their request -- providing they want it desperately enough. It is our emotional energy that calls to the Sleigh Father. It feeds upon our joy and our sorrow, our wishes and fears.

Your list to Donovan Reid was drenched in emotion. I suspected that if my theory was correct, given your relative proximity to the Sleigh Father’s Bridge and your hatred for Mr. Reid, you could provoke an encounter with the being. I’m happy to hear I was correct in that regard!

My eyes scanned his words, and my teeth dug into my lip. That son of a bitch. That absolute piece of shit. I made to get up and grab a new piece of paper, one I could use to write Alexi’s name on. I'd list it a thousand times, with a thousand different ways I wanted him dead.

But the email wasn’t finished.

Of course, there’s more to the Santa Claus mythology than simple lists. There are consequences. One such consequence is when somebody requests something selfish or sufficiently deplorable. It is the Naughty or Nice paradigm, and we see it reflected heavily in the mythology. It’s what I was counting on tonight.

Your desire for Mr. Reid’s death was selfish and, frankly, monstrous. You'll excuse my dry sense of humor, but it really was a Naughty sort of thing. I’m genuinely sad to know Mr. Reid passed with such brutality, but I’m happy to know it will pave the way to ending the coming war and saving billions of lives.

When the Sleigh Father returns to claim your deplorable soul, please know that it was never something I wanted. If you could have lived, I would have preferred that. Same too with Mr. Reid.

Unfortunately, we’re running out of time, and sacrifices must be made. The Eldritch horrors are knocking on our front door, Terrance. You know that. You know I had no choice.

Just know that you and Mr. Reid will be remembered for what you gave. Carpe diem, old friend.

P.S.

If at all possible, please draw the Sleigh Father as far from his Bridge as you can. Our team will have an easier time retrieving the sleigh that way.

Happy Holidays,

Alexi.

I closed the laptop. I didn’t even bother writing a reply. What was there left to say? ‘Fuck you, asshole?’ No, it wasn’t worth the energy. I doubted he’d even care to read it. He already got everything he wanted, after all. He had me right where he wanted me, and now he would get all of the credit.

That son of a bitch.

I stewed in my rage for a long time. Long enough that birds chirped overhead, and the golden light of dawn seeped in through the cabin window. Eventually, I decided what would happen next.

You would– all of you.

See, the Sleigh Father might be coming for me tonight, and it might be true that I don’t have a way out of here. The Facility is too powerful. Too all-reaching. But not even they can stop the wildfire of public outrage. So here it is, my testament, the true account of the final days of my life, and the research that led to them.

I’m not asking to be deified. I’m not even asking for a street in my name. I just want people to know the real story about what happened out here, on this snowy mountain. You’ll forgive me for not trusting the Facility to represent my contributions to this project properly. They’ve already spoiled my name once. Who’s to say they won’t keep dragging it through the dirt after I’m dead?

Words are cheap, and I know better than to trust emails from suits. So I’m begging you to spread this, far and wide. Tell my story the way it truly happened, warts and all. I’m not a perfect person, but I’m not a madman either. The Sleigh Father came to me. I witnessed him, not Alexi– me.

Tonight, when the creature returns, I won’t even run from my death. I’ll lead the bastard away, just like that snake Alexi asked. It’ll be my final contribution to my life’s research. A contribution I hope might lead to a better world someday. If they manage to steal the sleigh, then it’ll be a colossal boon in the war to come. If they don’t…

Well, just be careful what you wish for this Christmas.

Some gifts aren’t worth the price.

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man-monsters-and-aliens · 10 months

Text

the aliens from the show are difficult, I have a reboot in my head but I'll separate them for hopefully a more digestible read I also haven't seen the show in a long time so my memory is blahhh

General Headcanons

Coverton gives me amphibious vibes, tho I do think those cheek "flaps" are like. gills or something, not exactly. his chrysalis rejuvenation molting whatever is ?? helps keep his skin squishy soft and get rid of skin disease. human equivalent of a "birthday" but he only does it every 6¾ (earth) years, he's also 180 so you do the math for his human age

"Coverton" is not his real name, that's a title, as is "Coverlord" for leader of the interstellar conquering empire

loves a good mocha, I also think he would like boba tea. idk I like to imagine the aliens just trying earth drinks, I'm gonna project more and say he doesn't like soda, or champagne but does appreciate wine. the lemonade he had from the pilot was meh, whatever

from what I understand Sta'abi doesn't have a home anymore? she's a survivor of some horrid giant beast's rampage. at some point she left her planet to join an interspecies group of warriors that travel the stars, which has some association to the Coverlord Empire. so her position under this council of warriors is.. a monster hunter

her favourite kind of food is from the sea, enjoys shellfish & cephalopods the most (because her usual hunt is on land, seafood is fancy). she likes to dance despite not being very elegant, but her priority is "the mission" which excludes "having fun" (tho her idea of fun is tag)

Sqweep's skin is like. dry slime. or putty texture. she is like a sterilised marshmallow if that makes any sense. smells like roasted walnuts or a burnt almond cookie

Reboot Headcanons

concept art I love better than the og + sketches of inspired slight redesign from my ig (and a drawing I forgor)

Coverton's legs are pretty weak compared to even the average of his species, Earth's atmosphere & gravity doesn't help either. so while he can stand, it's only for a brief time, it also fluctuates how long depending on the weather. he'd use his hoverchair or just put the spacesuit on, especially for going outdoors

‌can't stand saltwater, lousy swimmer, afraid of Earth's ocean & easily seasick

‌unlike show canon, his telekinesis is artificial & enhanced with technology

weighs like a bunch of grapes, flexible & hypermobile, near-sighted so he may wear contact lense

he carries out his rejuvenation cycle in a secure chamber, symptoms include excessive sliming ("sweat"), bubbling skin (boils), and flaking (desquamation is just the beginning). like the rest of his species, he was grown in a lab

I honestly have no idea if that's natural hair or a wig lmao

concept art where I'd just combine the best ones imo

Sqweep is a nickname! she gets it from the "eep" sounds she makes when excited or surprised

idk why I feel like she has a hundred or more siblings, not many are close to each other. perhaps several parents too, at least 5

like her parents and grandparents and great grandparents she's a super rich adult scientist that works as part of an interstellar organisation dedicated to protecting life harbouring star systems

a field researcher therefore planetary explorer, her job is to document & study life on Earth

likes romantic comedies, and loves all animals on Earth, but she's allergic to fur, which is devastating

since she does have a face and therefore is able to emote, I think the antenna colour coded light emoting is unnecessary. I'd like to find another place for it in relation to her but not her biology itself. she sparkles instead

pretty sure no bones (therefore no teeth), light as a cloud so a gust of wind could send her off like a tumbleweed, but I feel the density of her own body can regulate itself, depending on certain conditions? covered in fine fuzz, her nubby hands (tentacles?) hold things like itty bitty hooks

can't digest foods unless in the form of fluids, probably likes bland foods tbh. anything too flavorful would make her head explode

y'know maybe her species is. delicious. their "flesh" tastes like space mango, but cotton candy weight & texture 💀

some of the concepts I refer to for the most challenging and frustrating of the alien bunch, and today's look of her as I also went through & played with various designs

this version of Sta'abi is dropped on Earth to manage her "anger issues". her peers decided she needed to chill out, which is coincidentally the same day a vornicarn is brought into the world. as a hunter, she would've killed on sight, but after helping to capture it and being held captive by Area 5X herself, she starts to empathize with and eventually befriend the creature

Coverton eventually gets her to somewhat roam free in the facility and offers her a way off world but only if she helps him with his plans. he's not completely transparent about them and Sta'abi just wants to leave, she's already familiar with the empire he works for so there's some trust in his word

the males of her species have wings? is that canon? I feel like it's canon.. but in modern days they're just for show, can't fly but can glide and catch wind to hover, though only for so long as they're mostly small

none of these concept art belong to me btw if that wasn't obvious I just took them from the wiki

came from the only egg that survived the initial meteor crash & wasn't frozen to death, laid dormant and got covered in the antartic ice until global warming exposed it millions of years later (which scientists soon discover but let the monster agents investigate as they have alien consultants)

instead of Link's nose I really hammed up the alien parody for my own indulgence haha (blood cw; initial drawings + non-canon chest bursting)

steals coverton's chocolate either when he's not looking or right in his face, probably doesn't like baths, loves chin/neck scratches & belly rubs (only from Sta'abi)

smells with the tip of his tongue, bipedal & quadrupedal, not great at hearing

skin is scaly like a snake, full of muscle

can and will survive in all extreme environments except the desert? for heat & hydration reasons mayhaps as he can't withstand both at once

some of these may change with time and I'd love to read everyone else's hcs! or how you'd rewrite them perhaps :]

since you made it to the very end you're obligated to tell me your favourite alien 🫵

#monsters vs aliens #mva headcanons #mva series #mva show #coverton monsters vs aliens #sta'abi monsters vs aliens #sqweep monsters vs aliens #vornicarn #yeah safe draws stuff #yeah safe answers stuff #mva reboot #this is for you anon i had much to think and scratch my head about!!#sorry it took so long 😭

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essayofthoughts · 11 months

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If Percy spent one year on a fishing boat, what do you think he did for the other four prior to being sprung from jail? How long do you think he spent in certain areas for odd jobs; how long do you think it took him to construct the pepperbox? How long do you think it took him to track down Ripley?

I also forgot to add to the previous ask that I am trying to work out a timeline in my head, as the art book states that almost nothing is known to the public about those five years of Percy’s life.

I already semi-answered this in the first Arc of Ghost Cass, for which I cross-referenced as many canon sources as I could. There's a lot of snippets given throughout the Campaign - hells, we get some specifics in Percy's recounting of events to VM at the start of the Briarwood Arc, and from Taliesin in the Campaign Wrap-Up Talks Machina, and even in a few Q&A's! I know not everyone is as insane as I am about hunting down canon details and cross referencing it all but...

You can do your own research Nonny. Just because "the art book states that almost nothing is known to the public" doesn't mean there's nothing to go on - it means that in the world of Exandria people have little to go on. We have quite a bit!

General thoughts on timeline below the cut.

The Briarwoods attacked five years before the Briarwood Arc. Roughly one year before that, Vox Machina formed, and at some point within the first few months after forming, they found and rescued Percy from a cell. So we have four years to work with, roughly.

From Percy recounting his story to VM in the Briarwood Arc it seems he spent the first two years in a dissociated state because, y'know trauma and grief and shock, and didn't emerge from it until he had the dream of Orthax, at which point he was inspired to make the Pepperbox. It is recounted... somewhere on tumblr, I do not have the link handy right now - that Percy spent some time, as well as on a fishing boat, working as a saddler, which makes sense given he made a leather plague doctor mask, which would require leatherworking skill.

So that fills two years of time, plus however long it took him to accumulate the funds for and properly make the Pepperbox. We know how easy it is for Percy's inventions to go awry and the kind of tinkering checks Matt has Taliesin make, so it may well have taken him six months to a year to draw up plans, get the materials to make it, get the enchantments on the metal, rent time at a forge, make it correctly without fucking up any part of the mechanism, and obtain or make the black powder required, and make the shot himself. He apparently worked on it in kind of a fugue state, so lets go with about three years in before he gets all that done.

I personally think he stalled a bit there, given if I recall correctly, he was hoping to find people associated with the Briarwoods but, notably, was too afraid to go back to Whitestone himself. I imagine him running across Ripley as he did was pure chance. Consequently, I imagine that while he searched and kept an eye and ear out for information, he spent most of a year keeping himself occupied - he needs to pay for food and board after all - until he encountered Ripley again, at which point he went after her.

He tried to attack her, had no luck, didn't even see her face, and was hauled off to Jorenn jail where he was left to rot and die. Given the response of Vex specifically to seeing the prisoner on the pirate boat on the way to Vesrah, comparing him to how they found Percy this causes me to utterly dismiss the comics' version of events here - Vex was there for finding Percy, and Percy was in an extremely bad state by the time they found him. Taliesin himself has said that Percy was near death and thought Vox Machina was a near-death induced fever dream. Given that, he may well have been starving for some time and on minimal water rations.

These are the few anchor points we have. You can work around this to plot events as plausibly as you see fit. Because of the vagueness there's a lot of space to fudge specific dates and that is great for fic - see also me writing Ghost Cass of which a good chunk of the first Arc is all about Percy's time on his own!

#percy de rolo #vox machina #ask #anonymous

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20dollarlolita · 2 years

Text

Okay, so the "chokers in lolita" discussion has gotten bigger than I thought a throwaway comment would be.

So I went through an unspeakable google search to try to get some ideas of what makes a choker usable and non-usable in lolita. Thankfully, if you just want good examples, Lolibrary has your back.

First of all, I want to say that a good coord can be completely necessary for the necklace to work. If you just look at some chokers on this list, they don't inherently read as lolita. However, a terrible choker necklace can also pull a good coordinate down and make it stop reading as lolita. It's important, when studying lolita pieces, to remember that they're worn in the context of complete outfits. There's many things that need the coord to read as fully lolita, but there's also things that will never read as lolita, no matter how good the coord.

So, let's start with the good option. This is pictures of pieces from lolibrary, as well as things with a style that I've seen working in lolita pieces. It's not fully representative of everything you can wear in lolita:

One thing I want you to note here is that there's a feeling of quality. These are pieces of jewelry, with high-quality thick and textured lace.

And here's the board where I had to search up terms that will require me to throw away this laptop and start a new one because I"m pretty sure it's going to be in my browser history making a smell like when a bird dies under your house:

Now, let's be clear on something: I don't make these boards just to demonstrate a concept. I also make them as research so that I personally can understand the concept better. I knew there were things that lolita fashion didn't want to be associated with (which included anime and catgirl; not all of it was generally accepted as mainstream bad), so I collected images of <x> choker necklace. Then, I did another mood board with the results of things that I knew were properly associated with lolita. I was not actually searching out things that proved my point. I was forming my point as I did the research.

But, with this information, I'm going to draw some conclusions:

Good (for our purposes) choker necklaces have ruffled and detail that goes down. Bad (for our purposes) are more likely to have large ruffles on the top.

Quality really, really matters here. This is an item that's close to your face, and so will be seen close up. You can compare the apparent quality of the two boards and see. Raschel lace and tulle ruffles both read as not good, while embroidered mesh lace and venise lace both read

The level of detail is important. You want your accessory to feel like if it was a picture that you could keep zooming in on, you'd find more details revealed the closer you get.

Just don't put text on your choker. I've had to look at and censor a ton of these and there's just no way you can put text on your choker that doesn't lead to it resonating as...something not lolita.

Anyway, why are chokers really great in lolita, when they're done right?

It's because they do a really good job of filling an additional detail into your coordinate, especially near your face. You can wear one and still have space for other longer necklaces. We don't wear v-neck necklines in lolita fashion, so a lot of mid-length necklaces (standard length for a lot of normal people) have the focal point of the necklace hit right at the top of the dress, which hides it. So yes, they're great.

However, lolita fashion does a lot of work to separate itself from various kinks, from looking cheap, and from looking like anime cosplay. So, when picking your accessories, those are connotations to avoid. I tried to make a compilation of what that looks like, so you don't have to google it. I did it so you don't have to.

Now I'm going to go burn my browser history.

#lolita fashion #lolita jewelry #20dollarlolita #this is just my opinion #feel free to correct me #handmade lolita

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canesvenatici-ribbons · 2 months

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Hello it is me again!! I have looked into the natures of my pokemon and my Girafarig is considered Timid but my Gengar is Relaxed and my Luxray is Lax. The Emboar, Cubone, and Cranidos are very close to me but they are more useful for my job so when looking at their natures (Bashful, Adamant, and Timid respectively) I decided it was best to keep them as my work buddies.

I’m considering heavily with my Gengar or Luxray but don’t know the first steps of training either to help with my anxiety. Do you have any recommendations on tasks I can try to teach her for it?

-💜

Hello again! I would definitely be considering the Gengar or Luxray then, as service mons.

INFO UNDER THE CUT THIS POST IS SO SO LONG...

Many people already use Gengars to eat nightmares as PTSD survivors and the like! Luxrays can be used for medical alert as well as anxiety, since their eyes can sense nerve impulses and electrical signals. (Most electric types have a sensory organ for sensing electricity, very cool stuff!)

Gengars can hide in your shadow if size might be an issue, but I definitely recommend the Luxray, since they can learn to associate heightened electrical impulses near your heart or even smell heightened levels of cortisol. (Most pokemon tend to have a heightened sense of smell compared to humans, but it probably depends also on sapiency honestly? Don't need to worry about getting food chained if you're able to communicate through spoken language rather than behavioral and auditory cues).

Whichever your choice, most methods to training a service mon are pretty simple; you have to rely on whatever is most reinforcing to the Pokemon!

Some researchers have found that Pokemon with certain natures tend to prefer certain types of flavors and berries, even! I've read up a couple studies on this- [here] and [here] are some cool ones that translate a lot of behaviorist jargon into laymonds terms c: If your pokemon doesn't eat meaty treats or other treats you could always try the berries!

Quick breakdown of behavioral terms real quick- reinforcing means increasing the behavior, punishment means decreasing the behavior. Both are forms of consequences- neither have bad connotations in the field of behavioral science!

Positive means adding something, negative means removing something- pretty easy to get a hang of once you're familar with the terms.

For example, if you want your Luxray to nose or paw at you as an alert for anxiety, you would give it something it likes as positive reinforcement. This is encouraging the behavior to continue!

There's also extinction, which is when you completely ignore a behavior to get it to stop, like ignoring vocalizations to get it to stop. I could go into HEAVY detail but unless you end up having issues with training and behavioral issues, I won't, haha.

I think with anxiety it might be easiest to start with DPT, depending on the mon. With how heavy fully-evolved pokemon tend to be, it might benefit you to train them to only lay part of themselves on you, like head and front paws, or your Gengar to lean on you. You can read a little bit about my process for training DPT for service mon on my last answer related to this [here]!

Eventually, your pokemon will begin to recognize your DPT command and start alerting, when it senses your tells. You can reinforce this behavior as well, and teach them how to properly alert (sometimes they can get overexcited when alerting because a lot of service mon love working). It can be a little hard to catch when they're trying to tell you at first but when you notice the tells you can redirect the behavior into something different.

You can also train behavior interruption if you have any behaviors that go along with your anxiety, like leg bouncing, nail picking, hair pulling, skin picking, etc. the list goes on. This can be really similar to alerting behavior! However, alerting is often meant to be unobtrusive like nudging you or pulling on your clothes, behavior interruption involves pawing, licking, or attempting to make you stop the behavior. This works for panic attacks especially well, when you train the signal for the task properly (you'll probably feel silly acting out a panic attack for your mon but its all apart of learning! I know I did, haha. Fake crying as well feels silly). I'm not sure if you want a gengar licking you though. Huge tongues lol.

Lots of rewards, lots of reinforcement, lots of treats. Keep training sessions on the shorter side so your pokemon doesn't get bored and make sure to train after they've been well-exercised, that's the best way to get them to focus.

Tl;Dr:

Train the behavior first to make sure they understand what to do, then train the cue for them to perform the behavior (again, unless its DPT, you can just have that as a command for them to do that), reward them for recognizing the cue and performing the behavior. If they start to get confused it'll benefit to take a break from harder commands and do a couple easier ones or tricks. Something I learned when having difficulty with a command is working through it backwards as long as they already know the behavior.

SORRY THIS WAS SUPER LONG BUT I HOPE IT HELPS AND WAS VERY INFORMATIVE!!

#rotomblr #pokeblogging #pokeblr #pokemon irl #pokeirl #pokeblog rp #ask answer #Purple Heart Anon #Canes Training Tag

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cinnamonsikwate · 1 year

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ah-HA finally I see someone talking about the Talokan world building! One thing that I haven't seen anyone mention is the specific shade of blue the Talokanil turn into on the surface, but I think it's supposed to invoke Mayan Blue! The wiki article on it is (in my uneducated opinion) pretty good, but one thing that stood out is that human sacrifices to Chaac were painted that color, which is just, so profound. The detail of this film, ugh!

I discovered this when I was trying to find symbolic colors that other people would turn into if they joined the Talokanil. It was for a plot bunny that I will likely never catch, but a pre-Black Panther K'uk'ulkan saves a dying N'Jadaka by giving him the Talokanil Herb after mistakingly thinking N'Jadaka was the son of a Talokanil. I thought Haint Blue (a Gullah shade believed to ward off ghosts) would be a good ironic choice for N'Jadaka, but I'm not sure if a color so heavily associated with the American diaspora would be a good choice for a Wakandan like Shuri ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Yes, I partially made this ask to plug my prompt lol. I'm disappointed that not many fanfics are doing the world building that the Talokanil deserve! Instead they're just being treated as people who sometimes go in the water at best, or invoking racist Native tropes as worst. But I loved your detailed post about their clothing! You did an amazing job at researching! Now, if only Ryan Coolger and the crew would release the 200-page bible they wrote about Talokan...

hello and thank you for this ask!

tbh i didn't look up much regarding maya blue when i wrote the clothing analysis posts, but after doing some reading, i definitely agree! many of the scholarly articles on maya blue focus on its chemistry rather than its cultural significance, but the reason researchers find it so intriguing is its near-indestructibility (sánchez del rio et al. 2011, 453-481), which i think ties in neatly to the talokanil ability to self-regenerate.

this passage from arnold et al. (2008, 151-164) is particularly interesting:

when the shaman was trying to convince fen to drink the liquid, we see someone holding what looks like an incense burner in the background. we can take the talokan plant to be a stand-in for the indigo plant, and the vibranium that it contains as a stand-in for palygorskite (a clay mineral). so all three together = maya blue.

the idea that the zamá people were sacrificing themselves for chaac's protection? damn???

anyway. i LOVE your prompt! it's very thought-provoking. i have had somewhat related idle musings, mostly because i'm not sure how realistic it is for the talokanil population to have ballooned to beyond-the-grass-of-wakanda numbers from only a handful of founders in a span of less than five centuries. i like to think that at some point they were regularly rescuing people from the surface, adding to the diversity of their gene pool and also bringing in new customs and technology.

several questions arise though: how long were they doing this, who did they rescue, and how wide was their geographic scope? we know at least one talokanil extra is afro-indigenous; the kids shuri meets in talokan aren't credited on imdb but they looked a lot whiter to me than the other talokanil, so the actors may be mixed. aside from razing haciendas and plantations on the mainland after that first time, would they also have rescued people from the trans-atlantic slave trade? would they have swum around to the pacific and rescued people from the manila-acapulco galleon trade?

which brings me back to your prompt and has me asking more questions - would chaac's blessing cover someone who is not one of his people? is conversion a prerequisite? although the idea that anyone — from indigenous americans to africans to filipinos — can become talokanil is interesting, because would that mean they'd have communities within talokan where they continue to practice their cultures? how would their different worldviews affect how they see and treat k'uk'ulkan? and — would they still be maya blue or would they take on a color more connected to their original culture? if they do take on different colors, haint blue for n'jadaka does sound pretty fitting (especially since it also uses indigo). as for shuri though, since she didn't take the unmodified talokan plant, should her skin color still change?

if i had the stamina to write fic, i'd have run away with this prompt, but unfortunately i don't, so let's put this out there and hope someone takes the bait! (fish pun intended)

i do occasionally come across fics (usually of the shipping variety) that i think do a pretty decent job of world-building, but they tend to focus on the present-day customs of the talokanil and less so on their early years (which is what i'm more interested in). i do dearly wish we get to see more canon talokan lore soon, but if ryan coogler is not involved somehow, idk if i can take it lol.

again, thank you so much for taking the time to read my meta, and i appreciate your engaging with me!

p.s. according to hannah beachler, the talokan guide is 400 pages!

#black panther: wakanda forever #bpwf #wakanda forever #namor #talokan #erik killmonger #n'jadaka #shuri #namora #attuma #mcu meta #maya blue #mcu k'uk'ulkan #mcu namor #mcu talokan #calemonsito answers #calemonsito notes #long post

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potentiallypolyglot · 1 year

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Plans for Career Change

Alright guys. I have a decent job in management and sales right now. And you know what, its a decent job, but I really have no passionate for it. The days are repetitive and I spend a lot of time saying and doing the exact same things day in and day out. Having little to no underlying passion for what I do takes a toll and I don’t want to do this forever. I’ve been with the company for 5 and a half years and in my current position for a year and a half. Really the only things keeping me here is fear of change, lack of a standing alternate job offer, and (the big one) not wanting to feel guilty for “abandoning” my team/the company. Which are not reasons that I can justify forever.

Lately, I’ve been contemplating what I really want and what I would actually enjoy. What can I do that won’t just feel like tomorrow and tomorrow creeping in a petty pace from day to day? The one thing that has been a consistent passion of mine is languages. I always took it up from time to time and it was the constant I returned to. At this point, all I have to show for my hobby of an effort is a fading B1 certification in Spanish, scraps of phrases in languages I abandoned, and over 300 days on Duolingo in Chinese (more substantial is the progress I have made from watching cdramas and extrapolating phrases).

That being said, I’ve decided to pursue a career in Chinese translation. I’m obviously far from qualified, so for the first time, I’m decided to dedicate a concentrated effort to actually learning Chinese (Mandarin) and being able to read, write, listen, and speak it effectively. So I am making this announcement here to hold myself to some standard of accountability. I will make clear and measureable goals in the near future and also post my progress and what I am learning. I don’t feel that I can share with the people around me bc it is such a distant thing at this point and I don’t want threats of desertion to get back to my current job. But I want to stick to it and I know the first step is to share one’s goals. Last night I did research and began my journey. Today is Day 1.

My big, long-term goal as of now is to get certified by the American Translator’s Association since this will lend me credibility considering my lack of formal education in this area. (Going back to college is not an option for several reasons at this point). I would like to achieve this by Fall 2024. I understand that for all intents and purposes, this goal is lofty and unrealistic, but I’m excited about it and will be satisfied with a shoot for the moon, land among the stars approach.

Final word, if anyone works in Chinese->English translation or a related field or is pursuing this career or field and has any words of advice, I’m more than open to hearing it! Thanks!

#translator #chinese translator #personal #advice #chinese #chinese langblr #career change #Day 1

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gfdgrggs · 6 months

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Commercial Roof Repair

youtube

Commercial Metal Roof Repair: What You Need to Know Metal roofing is not only durable but also aesthetically pleasing, making it an ideal choice for many commercial properties. However, like any material, it can degrade over time and may require repairs. In this article, we'll delve into the nuances of commercial metal roof repair and help you make informed decisions regarding maintenance, costs, and choosing the right professionals for the job. Understanding Commercial Metal Roof Repair Costs Costs associated with commercial metal roof repair can vary based on several factors. These may include the size of the damage, type of metal used, and the labor rates of the professionals hired. It's always advisable to seek opinions from multiple contractors to ensure you're getting the best value for your money. Why Choose Professional Commercial Metal Roof Repair Services? When it comes to roof repair, it's always best to rely on professional commercial metal roof repair services. Experts in the field have the skills and equipment to diagnose issues accurately and provide the most effective solutions. Furthermore, attempting to repair a roof on your own without the necessary expertise can lead to increased costs. Finding Expert Roofers for Commercial Metal Roof Repair The key to a long-lasting metal roof is ensuring that repairs are carried out by expert roofers. These professionals have extensive training and are well-versed with the nuances of metal roofing. By choosing expert roofers, you not only ensure quality work but also prolong the life of your roof. Searching for Commercial Metal Roofing Contractors Near Me? If you're on the hunt for reliable commercial metal roofing contractors near you, it's essential to do thorough research. Look for contractors with positive reviews, relevant certifications, and a proven track record in commercial metal roof repairs. Emergency Situations: Commercial Metal Roof Repair Services Sometimes, damage to your roof may require immediate attention. Whether it's due to severe weather conditions or unexpected incidents, emergency metal roof repair services can come to your rescue. It's always good to have a reliable service provider in mind for such unforeseen circumstances. In conclusion, while metal roofs are robust, they aren't immune to wear and tear. Regular maintenance and timely repairs by professionals can ensure that your commercial metal roof remains in prime condition for years to come. Always prioritize quality and expertise when choosing services, and don't hesitate to invest in the best for your property. https://commercialroofrepair495.blogspot.com/2023/10/commercial-roof-repair.html commercial roof repair services commercial roof repair near me commercial roof replacement https://commercialroofrepair813.blogspot.com/ https://commercialroofrepair813.blogspot.com/2023/10/commercial-roof-repair.html https://www.tumblr.com/drtgdsw/730937189866848256 https://commercialmetalroofrepair231.blogspot.com/2023/10/commercial-roof-repair.html https://www.tumblr.com/cfhrbse/730930984569192448

#Youtube

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sciencespies · 1 year

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Bat diversity and abundance are highest in old deciduous forest stands on the river banks in Eastern Ukraine

https://sciencespies.com/nature/bat-diversity-and-abundance-are-highest-in-old-deciduous-forest-stands-on-the-river-banks-in-eastern-ukraine/

Bat diversity and abundance are highest in old deciduous forest stands on the river banks in Eastern Ukraine

European forest-dwelling bats require complex woodland structures at both the micro-habitat and the landscape level for successful breeding in summer. Particularly, the results from Kharkiv region (Eastern Ukraine) demonstrate that large stands of mature forests older than 90 years improved the breeding activity of bats, their abundance and overall species richness. Abundance and species richness increased from upland plots surrounded by agricultural lands to riverine or waterside plots with high forest cover. These are the results of a newly published paper in the scientific journal “Forests” by an international team of authors from the Ukrainian Bat Rehabilitation Center (UBRC) and the Leibniz Institute for Zoo and Wildlife Research (Leibniz-IZW).

Mature deciduous forests are the most targeted forest type for logging because of the high potential revenues from selling timber on international markets. Biodiversity associated with these forest stands is therefore threatened worldwide. One group of species that is a key conservation target are bats. In their investigation the scientific team around first author Dr Anton Vlaschenko from UBRC and Dr Viktoriia Radchuk from Leibniz-IZW asked how bat diversity is affected by land cover types and the age of forest stands in the Kharkiv region in northeastern Ukraine, in an area on the border between forest-steppe and the steppe zone. The fragmented broadleaved forests typical for this region are common for temperate regions, but the relationships between bat diversity, land cover and forest structure remain largely understudied. Yet, understanding such relationships is of key importance for designing efficient conservation measures.

The results showed that logging intensity in the study region differed between districts and was not related to the amount of mature forests. This allowed the scientists to study how bat assemblages were influenced by the share of clear-cuts and mature forests in the landscape. “The most conspicuous result was a clear increase of bat diversity close to riverine habitats, further enhanced by the presence of mature forests with a mean age more than 90 years,” says co-author Dr Yehor Yatsiuk from the University of Tartu (Estonia). “Although old forests represent 22% of all forests in the Kharkiv region, the combination of mature oak forests and riverine habitats covers much smaller areas, considerably limiting areas suitable for bats.”

First author Anton Vlaschenko, Co-Head of UBRC, says: “The field data used in this study were collected over a long period, in more than ten years of summer field expeditions. It was a continuous effort and hard job. We camped in tents and spent hundreds of sleepless nights near mist-nets. Later on, we also had some challenges when analysing these data. We were close to wrapping up the manuscript at the end of 2021. The collaboration with Leibniz-IZW scientists and, after February 24, 2022, the three-months scholarship for me and our team members offered by Leibniz-IZW meant that we could finish this paper.”

“The first time I participated to the field research studying bats in 2009, as an undergraduate student. The data collected back then contributed to the current paper. Since then, bats have become my big passion and focus group for my current research. By investigating the ecological requirements of such enigmatic animals, we better understand ecological leverages of the natural world,” adds co-author Dr Kseniia Kravchenko from UBRC and Leibniz-IZW. Dr Yehor Yatsiuk continues: “My research is focused on associations between historical distribution of forests and management of animal species in eastern Ukraine. Over recent decades we observed an increase in clear-cutting intensity in this region. Our aim is to ensure protection of forest biodiversity here. Ten years ago, we initiated a series of projects aimed to survey the oldest and the largest forests here with the main focus on several groups of vulnerable species from land snails to birds of prey and bats.”

“Our study shows that old forests and riverine habitats are beneficial for breeding activity of bats, for abundance of single bat species and for the overall community composition. The fact that we see the same response to landscape structure across levels of ecological organisation underlines the importance of preserving mature oak stands and riverine habitats for conservation of bat diversity in the region. I enjoyed working with Kharkiv bat researchers a lot, their enthusiasm and group spirit inspired me,” adds senior author Dr Viktoriia Radchuk, scientist at the Leibniz-IZW Department of Ecological Dynamics.

Story Source:

Materials provided by Leibniz Institute for Zoo and Wildlife Research (IZW). Note: Content may be edited for style and length.

#Nature

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mariacallous · 1 year

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Fifty years ago, when racists called and wrote daily letters to ITV’s Today programme in 1968 telling the corporation “Get that nigger off our screens”, they were speaking about me, the first visibly Black TV journalist in Britain.

It resulted in me losing my job, having been in post just nine months. The official excuse at the time was, “She didn’t fit in with the programme.” But this was not what I was told when the producer showed me the complaint letters, and then the door.

It hurt. Not least because, only a few weeks prior to that, the British government had passed the Race Relations Act, making it illegal to discriminate against people in housing, education or jobs based on their race or religion. I had even attended parliament to hear the debate. My employers, Thames Television, could have told the racists they they would have been breaking the law by terminating my job. They didn’t: they sided with the racists instead.

It hurt even more 50 years later, in 2021, when I learned from research published in the Guardian that that same year, the Queen’s courtiers had banned “coloured immigrants or foreigners from serving in clerical roles in the royal household”. No wonder Thames Television felt able to stop me contaminating their black-and-white TV screens. If the Queen did it, why not them?

Yes, TV was black and white then, which is probably why Eric Anthony Abrahams, a Jamaican journalist at the BBC a few years before I got my job, escaped the same fate as me. His paler skin had not appeared dark enough on TV screens to receive the same racism that mine inspired. Skin tone mattered. It always has.

There is a startling illustration in the Jamaican National Library showing three slave women washing clothes in a river. One is a beautiful, near-white woman with Caucasian facial features. The fact that she is a slave is clear because of the work all three women are doing. Those light-coloured “mulatto” and “quadroon” slaves were born from the unions of Caribbean slave owners, who were all white men, with the African women they had enslaved. This miscegenation produced many children living with the disadvantage of their “one drop” of African blood. Still, some slave owners were fond of their mixed-race children, paying for the manumission of their mothers, sending them to be educated in Britain and leaving them property, money and slaves in their wills.

There is no escape from the negative association of having that “one drop”, no matter how light-skinned the person is, as Meghan Markle has discovered. The word black with a “b” is first associated with the spectrum colour, but also with black magic, blackmail, blackboard, evil, darkness, despair. It is not just the negative connotations of the word black, but how confusing it is when used to describe the many hues of the African race – from milk chocolate to ebony. For this reason, calling Black people Black with a “B” needs to become universally adopted by the print media, for clarity and understanding when a person’s race is referred to.

Looking now from Jamaica, where I live, I know that Britain – and Black Britain – is a different place, but still I find it hard to be too optimistic. The attitudes of racism seem embedded, with violations by the police of basic human rights. All signs of a rush to Black Lives Matter-style action after George Floyd’s death have disappeared. The Barbara Blake-Hannah Press Gazette award, which was created for up-and-coming Black and minority ethnic journalists in the wake of the BLM protests in 2020 and named after me, was cancelled after just two years. The excuse the awards organisers gave was that they wanted to “ensure a diverse range of people are recognised across the awards, not focused on one category”. The “one category” being Black journalists. It’s dispiriting, but all I can do is fight on.

As Emperor Haile Selassie said: “Until the philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior is finally and permanently discredited … until the colour of man’s skin is of no more significance than the colour of his eyes … the dream of lasting peace, world citizenship and the rule of international morality will remain but a fleeting illusion to be pursued, but never

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conebamboo89 · 2 years

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Choosing An Individual Bankruptcy Lawyer

When you say expertise, this does not only focused on the way the lawyer defend his or her client inside the court. This has also something to do with knowledge about DUI laws and regulations especially in the state where he is currently practising his career. Well, you have to ask the lawyer about the effect of DUI charges to you. And if you feel that he couldn't able to answer consistent, it is time ti you to think again if you want to get his service or not. Do they specialize in real estate law? personal injury lawyers is essential to learn because it is important to ensure that you hire an attorney that has experience in real estate so they can provide the best help possible. In my opinion, this temptation of hourly billing presents a potential conflict of interest between the attorney and the client, and the attorney must be honest to avoid the temptation presented by this conflict. If it is money to pay off bills or get caught up on your mortgage perhaps you can meditation upon checks coming in your mailbox every day. You could work on visualizing money coming from a hidden talent that you had never thought of using to make extra money. Don't be surprised if you do have some sort of breakthrough such as that and wind up starting a successful little business based upon your hobby or interest such as dog walking or stamping, like one woman I know! Look for business experience. If your business lawyer is going to advise you on your business, it is trite to say that having business experience is a must. Again it goes to the difference between dealing with a junior associate just out of school and someone who has real practical hands on business experience. The courses you will take will be on basic legal research and also on how to brief a legal case. The course will also have the basics on how a law office runs. You will need to have the basic computer skills you will need to have for any office job. But you will also need to do computer research. The Marketing Mix-The plan should be diverse. The more diverse it is the better it gets. The lawyer should advocate different methods instead of sticking to one in his lawyer marketing plan. An attorney may have been practicing for forty years, but if he or she doesn't have experience handling driving under the influence cases, then it almost becomes the case of the pro bono lawyers near me family law who just passed the bar. It is imperative that you find an attorney who is experienced in and dedicated to DUI cases. Unfortunately, when people see "cheap" they think "bad". Well, there's plenty of people out there who paid a high fee and were still stuck with a bad lawyer, so we'll look beyond CHEAP and focus on GREAT divorce lawyer, and still have a fast cheap divorce!

#lawyer #attorney #accident #personal #injury #car #auto #pedestrian #motorcycle #bicycle #truck

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mysticdoodles · 2 years

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hello!! as a high school student who wants to go into marine biology (or a related field) as a career, do you have any tips on how to get started? what approach should i take for college/what are some useful skills to practice and keep in mind?

Oh boy, I've never been asked this before! Bear in mind it's been a while since I did the high school-to-college song and dance, but I will do my absolute best c: I will also be answering this based on MY experience of what worked best for ME and experiences my colleagues went through to get to the same place, but you may want to try a different approach, and that's totally fine! I'm not necessarily an authority on this, and I am human, so bear with me mgfhmkdf

To start off with, having a college degree is technically not necessary, but it IS incredibly helpful and a lot of jobs in the field will require you to have at least a Bachelor's. What ultimately matters is that you have the experience the job you're gunning for requires you to have learned - college is simply a fast-track to getting that experience in a controlled environment, and an easy way to link you with internships and networking opportunities that can do the same thing outside of a school environment. A college degree also just sounds fancy on a resume, so there's that. Here's my advice, based on MY particular path, bearing in mind that you want to go through the college route (NOTE: AGAIN, this is ONE method of approach, not the be-all-end-all). This will also be dependent on whether or not you want to work WITH animals, like I did- you may want to do remote research or go on a vessel for on-water studies! Those options will also be available to you and I strongly recommend you look into them if that's your desire cx It went a bit long, so I'm putting it under a readmore to save your dashboards |D

If you can help it, don't put all your eggs in one basket. Powering through the courses you need in order to get the degree you want can certainly build your portfolio. But oddly enough, the thing that got noticed on my resume the most wasn't the course selection I took in order to be skilled with different animal clades- it was my second degree in art that made me stand out, made application reviews pause and go 'huh that's new!' and offer me interviews. So don't sweat having the perfect selection of courses under your belt! Focus on taking the ones YOU want to learn about, and they don't all have to be biology related! Pad out the rest of your electives in order to fulfill the requirements you need for the degree you want while also being something you would enjoy learning. Hell, I took a course on classical fairy tales in order to fulfill an elective (and stay sane), and I still look back on it fondly.

Do research on the colleges you want, and trust your gut feeling on which one you would be happy to join. The location and facilities of the college itself can be important. Scout out which colleges are equipped properly for the particular field you want to partake in. Some colleges have facilities with direct access to a beach for samples and providing fresh water sources for enclosures that have study animals. Some colleges are nearby to NOAA or AZA accredited facilities that would love to have extra hands assisting with their research while also providing you with valuable hands-on experience. Some facilities will be nowhere near the ocean itself and entirely remote. Take into account how each college can help you, and whether or not you'll be comfortable associating with or living nearby on-campus. One of the biggest reasons I didn't attend a particular college that accepted me was their lackluster response to my questions - when I asked if I could pursue a certain path of study, they were very wishy-washy and vague, so I ultimately chose to go elsewhere.

Do internships! Internships are INCREDIBLY valuable for both your resume and your practical experience in the field. Studying animal skeletons in class and doing simulated pattern studies on algae growth in tide pools or calculating bio-accumulation of mercury in sport fish will do nothing to prepare you for what it's like to work in an actual husbandry environment. It can be dirty, hot, humid, and no matter what you will be getting wet. Equipment can be the highest top of the line sand filter, or a sieve someone cut out of an old ice cream tub. Internships also strongly encourage team-building skills, because marine animals are very high maintenance, and the simple reality is that it's just so much easier when you have colleagues helping you. This is another time to focus on learning! And don't worry too much about WHERE necessarily you take these internships- the location doesn't matter so much as WHAT you learned while you were there. Did you learn water quality control? System maintenance? Quarantine procedures? Husbandry basics? Take notes!

Get PAID experience in animal care of some form if you want to go into a field that involves husbandry. This is something that personally tripped me up because only ONE job I ever applied for told me that this was something heavily desired. Internships are crucial, but some jobs in marine biology will specifically require you to have been paid in a position of animal care at some point or another. It's a stupid obstacle, I know- what should it matter whether or not you got paid as long as you learned what was important? This can be anything from working as a contracted aquarium maintenance worker for folks who own saltwater tanks (usually rich people lmao), to a paid internship with NOAA hatcheries, to working at Petsmart in the fish section. It really doesn't matter where, as long as you did work involving animal husbandry and maintenance, and were paid for your time.

If you are not already, GET. SCUBA. CERTIFIED. I cannot emphasize enough how HUGE scuba certification can be on your resume going forward.

Had to add this after due to text block limits (boooo): In college, you'll have to get through the weeds of introductory courses before you actually get to the good stuff. Nearly every science major requires you to go through a certain number of math, chemistry, and other universally applicable "weed-out" subjects, and you have no choice but to power through those to get to specialized instruction like vertebrate anatomy or marine mammal studies. As someone with ADHD who hates the tedious nonsense, this was rough for me xD Don't get discouraged if those first courses are a slog, they're kind of designed to be that way. If you decide the path ultimately isn't the one you want to follow, you have time! You are welcome to switch to another and try something else you think you'd enjoy studying, there's absolutely no shame in it :)

When you transfer from college to research/employment, don't worry about getting a job in the field right out of the gate- it's extremely competitive right now, and opening that door can be a challenge. Get a foothold in other ways! Assist with student research, get entry level jobs in another department at the same facility or similar, or even get another unrelated job to pay the bills while you build up your skills. You'd be surprised how much any sort of job can add to your portfolio! A lot of my colleagues had retail jobs before they joined us.

As for useful skills, as a baseline you need to learn proper water quality maintenance for enclosures - no matter where you work, marine animals require extremely specific parameters for their living situations. And they'll vary by the animal! Be it a five-gallon quarantine tank for an anemone or a multi-thousand-gallon enclosure for a sea lion in rehab. Some animals do better in schools, and some are better in less crowded environments or can be the only individual of that family present without there being inter-species conflict. Understand the nitrogen cycle, and how to properly do a water change without endangering the animals if they're still present in the environment. You WILL be doing this at every facility, and that is a promise. It's also very good to be adaptable, and respond to change, because the animals' needs can shift on a dime- for example, you might get called for a crisis that sprung up in the middle of feeding (or even the middle of the night!), like a leak sprung on the side of a holding environment and someone needs to manage an emergency dive while someone seals the breach. Do what needs to be done for the sake of protecting the animals, because they're YOUR animals now. And as a final note, try to learn the scientific names for the animals in particular that you'd like to study and work with- it's not imperative, but in my experience it helps to communicate with a lot of the Old Salt professionals and tracking system oriented guys, since they usually use the abbreviated scientific names over the common name (Like Boops boops would be Bboo). Very few facilities, but SOME, may require you to know at least a few scientific names of animals on site after a certain time period working for them.

That's all I can think of at the moment, but hopefully this helps at least somewhat!

I need to finish my laundry ||D

#Sorry if this doesn't answer your question! I tried my best ;u;#long post #marine biology #advice

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