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bli-o · 2 months

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ITAFUSHI NATION IM HAVING AN EPIPHANY LISTEN TO ME

ok so my wonderful partner @mawce444 pointed out that Will Wood’s Against The Kitchen Floor is a really good fit for Yuji and i agreed but while listening in the shower(where my brain comes up with most things) i realized it’s honestly really fitting for Megumi and then i realized it really fits both of them and then i realized it’s like a perfect duet for the two and puts the parallels between them I’ve been admiring into words perfectly. These characters are known as the Sunshine x Raincloud duo but honestly my favorite thing about them is the fact that despite being polar opposites on a surface they are fundamentally similar.

On with my ramblings about jjk characters being will wood songs under the cut—

I could go on about these lyrics for ages but I’ll give you some of my favorite outtakes. Listen to the song and see for yourself as well.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I promise, I’m doing my best. I just haven’t learned how to be human as you are yet.”

Ok, starting out with one of my favorites. This from Yuji’s perspective reminds me of how all throughout the series curses and humans alike have referred to Yuji as “Sukuna’s vessel” and denied him the right to be anything more than that. It’s also similar to Megumi’s closed off and secretive personality which only people like Yuji and Nobara have managed to crack open. I really. Really. Like the idea of him saying this to yuji in a duet cuz like… this is headcanon and projection talking, but megumi being one of the few to not only see Yuji as himself but wishing he could be as open and vulnerable—in a way more human—than him,,., this targeted me specifically oh my god

“I still don’t know who you are, I only know that I’m still lonely; that morbid sort where even company can’t cure me and the more you reassure the less I trust.”

this!!! this!!! perfect blend of yuji feeling isolated due to being a vessel and megumi’s isolation because of his closed off personality distant or lost family. Well. His family’s like entirely gone now + his only remaining father figure so like even more so now.

“I’m catatonic in your arms, crying ‘How did I cause so much harm?’ I’m down pounding my head against the kitchen floor, apologizing for my life and ever entering yours.”

IM!!! Its over for me itafushi nation. leave me. go on without me. Its literally. Perfect imagery of the shibuya incident and chapter 251. Yuji blaming himself for the deaths of the people in shibuya. Megumi blaming himself for the deaths of his only remaining family??? chat im through. don’t think i forgot about you yuji “don’t you dare tell fushiguro” itadori!!!! i know you still have a guilt complex bc you think megumi will regret having saved you.

“Don’t say ‘I’m sorry, but this can’t go on’, I know you’ve got scars of your own, but hide my knives before you go, I’ll either live or die alone.”

honestly??? feels like the parallel scenes between 251 and Yuji and Todo’s in shibuya. And the “I’ll either live or die alone” because of yuji and megumi’s respective isolations???? oh my god

I’ve gotten through the most major parallels time to move on to the more individual lyrics???

“I’ve lived more lives than enough; I havent died quite as much, but I’m not a real person, just the shit you cant make up, and…”

yuji’s lives before and after entering the jujutsu world??? the quite literal amount of times he’s died??? his role as an inhuman “vessel” or “time-bomb” or “half-curse monster”???? ugh. ugggggh. my son….

“I keep a locket with a picture on the back of my head, oh, monkey-wrench my side-view mirrors, ghost my friends.”

Megumi??? not being vulnerable and never revealing much about himself, even to the people who care about him, instead choosing to suffer alone???

ok yall. I’ve removed most of the worms from my brain with this post but you really just gotta listen to it yourself. More will wood-jjk parallels include:

Laplace’s Angel-Mahito

Outliars and Hyppocrates-Sukuna(especially in regards to yuji)

The Main Character - Gojo(Kinda? i’d have to explain.)

not to mention suburbia overture putting an au idea in my head,,,, i’ll hold my tongue because ive never kept my word on completing any large-scale writing project before but the itch to remove more of the worms from my brain is there,,,,

Anyways thank you guys for listening to my deranged ramblings. Here’s a gold star for helping with my brain eating amoeba treatment⭐️

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heart-of-a-rebel16 · 9 months

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Buckle up lads, I’m about to have what I can only describe as a category 5 autism event.

(long post incoming)

so there’s this song by Will Wood called Against the Kitchen Floor, and besides the fact that it slaps hard, it reminded me way, way too much of what I view Kallus’ and Zeb’s relationships to be like (at least from Kallus’ point of view)

There’s several lines I really want to highlight, but on the whole the song fits excellently. Long analysis of lyrics and heavy conjecture under the cut!

Lord knows I owe you more Than I'm pretty sure I ever could give anybody But I can't pin down what normal people want from foreign objects Bottom shelf erotic products like me

I like to think that Kallus probably has little to no idea how being a normal human being works because he was with the Empire so long. He and others have been used as tools for so long that their sense of self worth is highly diminished. As such, when he enters a relationship with Zeb, Kallus doesn’t know what to do or even if Zeb truly wants him because he’s himself. That’s also reflected in the next line ‘So I could hold your hand but, keep you at arms length’

I swear, I'm really trying It just don't come natural to me to think that you'd want me for me I swear, I'm really trying Oh, I'm sorry, I promise, I'm doing my best I just haven't learned how to be human as you are yet

This line also fits really well with what I was taking about above. Kallus wants to love Zeb, but he doesn’t think that he’s human enough or deserves it.

…I only know that I'm still lonely That morbid sort where even company can't cure me And the more you reassure, the less I trust

This one is a bit self explanatory, but I’ll do it anyways :). The more Zeb assures Kallus that he loves him, the less he believes it, because he views himself as a charity case. He’s incredibly lonely, but he can’t bring himself to love the one person that truly loves him back.

The vertex of my redemption arc The searching on that virgin heart I'm catatonic in your arms Crying, "How did I cause so much harm?"

This is one of The Big Ones. Besides the point that one of the lyrics is literally ‘redemption arc’, the last part fits almost too well with the Purge of Lasan and Kallus’ role. Yet, Zeb is literally the vertex of his redemption arc; he’s the one that pushed Kallus to ask questions about the system he was a part of.

I'm down pounding my head against the kitchen floor Apologizing for my life and ever entering yours Don't say "I'm sorry, but this can't go on" I know you've got scars of your own But hide my knives before you go I'll either live or die alone

This is the second Big One. Zeb is just as scarred as Kallus is (maybe even more so) and Kallus helped create some of those scars. The guilt he feels is immense, and the line ‘Apologizing for my life and ever entering yours’ fits so well it makes my chest ache.

I'm still in the process, but I'm making progress I promise, I honestly wanna prove improvement's possible I swear, I'm so fucking sorry I'm not a good person, I'm barely a person at all But someday I'll be perfect, and I'll make up for it all

Again, Kallus wants so badly to love Zeb, and he wants to prove that he can be human enough to return Zeb’s affection, but he doesn’t believe that he is or can be a good person after everything he’s done. Nevertheless, he still decides to try his best

(@seth-silver-ink)

#This was the thing I was talking about yesterday #Now that I’ve sufficiently embarrassed myself I’ll take my leave #star wars rebels #sw rebels #swr #agent kallus #alexsandr kallus #garazeb orrelios #zeb orrelios #kalluzeb #will wood #against the kitchen floor #character analysis #I might make art for this sometime idk #Also I welcome other analysis of lyrics! I like hearing what y’all have to say

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bethiewhimsy · 1 year

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when will wood said i don’t know who you are, all i know is that i’m still lonely. the morbid sort where even company can’t cure me and the more you reassure the less i trust. yeah… yeah… i um think about that a lot….

#IT DESCRIBES IT SO PERFECTLY #THATS ONE OF MY FAVORITE LYRICS LITERALLY EVER #i cried so hard to it because i understood it so well #i feel that lyric on a spiritual level #ugh omg will #will wood

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weezeryuri · 6 months

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oh i’m sorry i promise i’m doing my best i just haven’t learned to be human as you are yet i still don’t know who you are i only know that i’m still lonely that morbid sort where even company can’t cure me and the more you reassure the less i trust

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starcunin · 3 months

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𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑰 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝒀𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 !!

SHARE AT LEAST FIVE SONGS THAT REMIND YOU OF YOUR MUSE , OR THAT YOU ASSOCIATE WITH YOUR MUSE’S CHARACTER ARC. including lyrics is optional.

❛ 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒅 .

i still don’t know who you are / i only know that i’m still lonely / that morbid sort where even company can’t cure me / and the more you reassure , the less i trust / but still you gave me your heart / i only gave you my body / honestly thought nobody’d want it , let alone notice it’s gone / and so i left it home but now , now , now , now / i keep a locket with picture of the back of my head / oh , monkey - wrench my side view mirrors , ghost my friends / i’ve lived more lives than enough , i haven’t died quite as much / but i’m not a real person , just the shit you can’t make up , and / i swear , i’m really trying / i’m just as exposed if i take off my clothes / when we make the closest thing to love that i’m capable of.

❛ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒂 .

if you see the boy i used to be / could you tell him that i’d like to find him ? / and if you see the shell that’s left of me / could you spare him a little kindness ? / ‘cause i’ve been high and i’ve been low / i’ve spent a thousand nights alone / tryna hold on tight / and feelings come , but they won’t go / please won’t someone take me home before i lose my mind ? / am i broken ? / am i flawed ? / do i deserve a shred of worth / or am i just another fake , fucked up , lost cause ? / and am i human ? / or am i something else ? / ‘cause i’m so scared there’s no one there / to save me from the nightmare that i call myself.

❛ 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 .

on some level , i think i always understood / that a ship could never really love an anchor / so , i did the only thing that i could / and severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbor / there are times when i still wonder about you / you are someone i have loved , but never known / and you’ll never see the reasons i had / for keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you / i am selfish , i am broken , i am cruel / i am all the things they might have said to you / do you ever think of me and my two hands ? / and wonder why they never soothed your fevers ?

❛ 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 .

you probably thought i wouldn’t get this far / you thought i’d end up in the back of a car / you probably thought that i’d never escape / i’d be a rat in a cage , i’d be a slave to this place / you don’t know how hard i fought to survive / waking up all alone , when i was left to die / you don’t know about this life i’ve led / all these roads i’ve walked / all these tears i’ve bled / so , how can this be ? / you’re praying to me / there’s a look in your eyes / i know just what that means / i can be , i can be your everything / i can be your whore / i am the dirt you created / i am your sinner / i am your whore / but let me tell you something , baby / you love me for everything you hate me for.

❛ 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒇𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒆𝒚 .

i’ve been searchin’ for a fortified defense / four to five reasons / but jesus , you’ve got better lips than judas / i could keep your bed warm , otherwise i’m useless / i don’t really mean that / ‘cause who the fuck would choose this ? / well , maybe i could hold you in the dark / you won’t even notice me depart / secondhand thread in a secondhand bed with a second man’s head / leavin’ through the door without a word / you won’t even notice , little bird / better off dead , so i reckon i’m headed to hell instead / so don’t wait for me / i’m not a happy ending.

tagged by : @softersinned

tagging : @weaverots and anyone else who wants to do the thing <3

#how delicious : headcanons.#these songs give me such intense astarion feels :’)))

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marcellleigh · 4 months

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Why is against the kitchen floor so aroace. “I don’t owe you my heart, and I don’t owe you my body.” “I owe you more than im pretty sure I ever could give anybody.” “It just don’t come natural to me to think that you’d want me for me” “that morbid sort where even company can’t cure me and the more you reassure the less I trust.” “Honestly thought nobody’d want it let alone notice it’s gone but now,” “im just as exposed if I take off my clothes as we make the closest thing to love that im capable of.” “I’m down pounding my head against the kitchen floor, apologizing for my life and never entering yours don’t say im sorry but this can’t go on.” “I’m not a good person im barely a person at all but someday I’ll be perfect and I’ll make up for it all.”

#willwoodmybeloved

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 3 years

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"Explorers raided tombs and paraded the remains of ancient monarchs and dynasties to their homes. Mummies were unwrapped at social affairs and examined—and it was such a popular pastime that tourism companies in Egypt sent such delights to European countries to satisfy their morbid curiosities and struggled to fuel the growing trend."

“So you see,” Sebastian continued, “There is a historical precedent for this sort of thing. I’m hardly the first businessman to notice the wasted resources just rotting away underground. Or stuffed into an urn, depending on customs and family sentiment.”

“There’s historical precedent for a lot of fucked up shit, Shaw. That doesn’t make it okay!” Pyro stared, aghast, at the website. “Does the Council know you’re doing this? They can’t possibly approve!”

“Are you going to run and tattle on me?” Sebastian sneered. “That doesn’t seem like you, Allerdyce, but you have become more of a conformist rule-follower in Krakoa, it seems. At any rate, some of the Council are aware of my side business. They have elected not to bring it to a vote in meetings, so presumably I am breaking no law of the island.”

“But….it’s wrong. It’s bloody grotesque is what it is!” Pyro exclaimed.

“Is it better or worse than burning people to death during a bank robbery, or as part of some half-baked political protest?”

“Oh, give me a fucking break, Shaw!” Pyro snapped. “I know I’ve done some bad things – “

“Some bad things. What an adorable generalization, ducking out of all serious responsibility – “

“I know I’ve killed people, okay?” Not quite as many as some X-Men wanted to pretend, though. He mostly went for guards, police officers and soldiers, who, as far as Pyro was concerned, had it fucking coming. He hadn’t wanted to kill people to rob a bank, and there was never a need to if the civilians were smart enough to stay well back.

“But killing people doesn’t mean I can’t draw any moral lines, ever,” Pyro continued. “And I’m drawin’ a line right here. This is not okay.”

“Why not? Who does it hurt, really?”

“Well, surely the people whose bodies are getting rented out to sickos! No one would want that.” Pyro wasn’t sure he could articulate the sick churning in the pit of his stomach. It was something that went beyond logic, just a deep sense of disgust that seemed to well up from the center of his being. He was an open-minded fellow, he was willing to play fast and loose with a few morals, but surely some things were just….wrong. Right?

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Sebastian said, waving a hand dismissively. “And apparently X-Factor is running some very interesting experiments with discarded mutant corpses over in their appropriately named “Boneyard.” And I’m quite confident that Sinister is probably churning out clones in his little lab, no matter how he might deny it. So whats the harm in my business?”

“Just because other people are doing it doesn’t make it okay! It’s like a….desecration, isn’t it?” Perhaps there was some of his Gran’s staunch Catholicism lurking under the surface, despite Pyro’s current status as…well, not an atheist, exactly, more like an agnostic who didn’t want to think about things too hard. He had to admit, a childhood of Mass and Confession and Hail Marys really got under your skin, no matter how long ago you walked away from the church.

“All this fuss over discarded meat,” Sebastian shrugged. “That’s all it really is when you remove religion and sentiment from the equation. Really, Allerdyce, I’m surprised at your squeamishness.”

“Are you really okay with it, then?” Pyro asked. “Letting some human fuck a mutant corpse? That’s what they’re doing it, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. I believe that’s the most common activity, but a few people want to cook and eat choice pieces.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly all right, then.” Pyro’s words were so heavy with sarcasm, they practically thudded onto the floor.

“Understand, Allerdyce, I find all this personally distasteful. I am disgusted by the idea of necrophilia, and even cannabalsim. But I see no reason to deny others, if there is money to be made. The ‘sickos’ will pay top dollar for discrete fulfillment of their taboo desires.”

“But do you really want to be putting mutant corpses in human hands? Haven’t they got scientists trying to study us or clone us or whatever? Put our DNA in Sentinels to make super-weapons?”

Sebastian laughed heartily. “Really, I didn’t think you were so naïve. Mutants have been in the public eye for several decades. The various governments of the world have been capturing mutant test subjects for a very long time. There are hundreds of mutants buried in graveyards and millions in the heavy layer of ash that still covers Genosha. If some enterprising human scientist wants mutant DNA, it would be very, very easy to lay hands on it. In fact, your own corpse is probably preserved in a government lab somewhere. In other words, there’s no point in closing the barn door at this point. The horses are long gone.”

Pyro couldn’t resist a full-body shudder at the thought. He knew, deep down, that his body was probably stuck in a metal drawer somewhere, or cut into chunks sitting in labelled glass jars. The US government had probably been interested in him as a Legacy Virus victim, back before the cure. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow, it did.

“And the bodies are only available for a limited amount of time, at any rate,” Sebastian continued. “Aside from the obvious natural impermanence of a corpse, I’ve had Sinister inject the bodies with a kind of “kill switch.” After five days, the corpse will dissolve, leaving no trace behind. The humans are only paying to rent, after all.”

“But wait…..” Pyro ventured. “What gives you the right to sell other people’s bodies? Shouldn’t they be the ones to profit off that?”

“What gives people the right to collect discarded trash?” Sebastian said, spreading his arms wide. “Would you begrudge the little old lady collecting aluminum cans for a few pennies from a recycling center? Or the struggling student who takes a sofa from the side of the road? That’s all these corpses are. Trash. Their previous owners have shiny new bodies – bodies gifted to them by Krakoa and the Five, by the way – and left no instructions as to disposal. I don’t use bodies from people who requested to be cremated, or some kind of ritual burial. Just bodies have have been carelessly tossed aside, by people who clearly don’t care.”

“Oh, well I’m sure you’ll be happy to explain that to everyone else, then,” Pyro said. “I’m sure they’ll all be totally understanding.” He realized a moment later, with a nervous twinge, that threatening to tell on the unscrupulous businessman while you were sitting alone in his massive castle and no one else knew where you were was a very stupid thing to do. Fuck. He should have at least claimed to have evidence left with a trusted friend or something, but he’d only just stumbled across this, while exploring the so-called “dark web.” Maybe he could bluff his way out of this.

“I told you, some Council members are already well aware,” Sebastian said, sitting back and regarding Pyro across steepled fingers. “I don’t think you’d find those in authority quite as willing to turn on me as you imagine, Allerdyce. In fact, it’s entirely possible that any attempt to inform the public will lead to a hasty mind-wipe for you.”

“I’ve got proof. I left it all on a flash drive with……” Freddy? Dominic? Mystique? “….a friend,” he finished, not wanting to actually put anyone else in the crosshairs. Hell, Mystique might even know about this. He’d like to think better of her, but she always had schemes within schemes going. He wondered which telepath on the Council might be in on this. Was Sinister a telepath? That arrogant piece of shit Exodus? He seemed too high-minded to approve, but that mission in the Savage Land had shown Pyro that Exodus did not give a single fuck about mutants that he considered weak or “unworthy.” Frost? Even Xavier? Pyro had never trusted that creepy bastard. Something about him had always seemed too good to be true.

Sebastian laughed again. “Oh, you think I’m going to kill you? That’s cute. Allerdyce, you are not in some ridiculous detective story. I am a practical man, and despite your bleating about morals, I know you are, too. I am willing to make you an offer. It’s an easy job. All you have to do is ‘keep mum,’ as they say.” Sebastian wrote a number down on a piece of paper, and slid it across the table.

It was, in fact, a very nice number. Enough to make some of Pyro’s disgust quickly fall away.

“After all, why shouldn’t you enjoy the same kind of luxury experienced by Krakoa’s elite? You serve aboard the Marauder, and you’re obviously on the lowest rung of the crew. None of the power and privilege weilded by the X-Men, none of the wealth bestowed by birth on Christian Frost, my own son, and the Von Struckers. And you do significantly more work than for the Hellfire Trading Company than those spoiled idiots. Why not take a little something for yourself?”

Pyro’s mind whirled. Of course, taking the money now would mean he was “in it,” so to speak. And if the secret got out, he’d probably be implicated along with Shaw, at least in the eys of his fellow mutants. Which would hurt a bit, after all his heroics with the Marauders. He was starting to feel, at least a little bit, like a good guy.

But on the other hand, if Sebastian was telling the truth, and some of the Council already knew, trying to tattle would just get him in the shit. It was all well and good to have movies about heroic whistle-blowers, but in the real world, they got slandered, ruined, and sometimes murdered. No one would stand up for a relative nobody like Pyro, especially if Frost and Mystique already knew. At best he’d just get mind-wiped.

It would be safer to just walk away and keep his mouth shut. And if he was going to walk away anyhow, why not pick up a paycheck for it?

They were just corpses, right? What a resurrected mutant didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

And it didn’t seem to actually be breaking any Krakoan laws.

And it was a lot of money.

And Pyro really did like money.

It wasn’t like he was a proper journo anymore, was he? No need for integrity.

Pyro pushed the paper back across the table.

“You’ll need to add a zero to that number before I’ll even consider it,” he said. “And this is just for silence, understand? I’m not gonna be your employee, don’t start expecting me to fetch and carry.”

Sebastian grinned, making a mark on the paper, and held it his hand to shake.

“I knew you’d see sense. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Allerdyce.”

OOC: I was going to make that sillier, but the more I thought about it…..Sebastian probably would bribe Pyro to shut up, and Pyro would probably just take the money. He’s trying to be “good,” but not that good. Also, no offense intended to Exodus. After the story in the Quicksilver min-series, when Pyro is working with Acolytes on a mission for a supposed Legacy Virus cure (which doesn’t exist), Pyro probably holds a serious grudge against him.

#sebastian shaw #pyro #st john allerdyce

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donnerpartyofone · 5 years

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TL;DR - i finally got an MRI for my ear, which has been fucked up and constantly clogged since september and developed tinnitus in february, and apparently, supposedly, there is nothing wrong with it. so there’s nothing to do about it. so just like with my eye and my skin and my lung and my etc, i have a problem that i can’t do anything about, that i can’t even get the satisfaction of a diagnosis for, and i’m so pissed off about how much time and energy i’ve spent trying to improve things for myself when there was absolutely no point in doing so, that i just want to set my body on fire to really show it what i think of it.

i’m so, so mad. the last couple of months have been almost nothing but wall to wall doctor’s appointments, and with zero exception, they have all been a complete waste of time. it hurts because my body tortures me, of course, but it hurts worse than that because i convinced myself that i HAD to do this, that it was Mature to face my fear of doctors and generally the Right Thing to Do, when i absolutely didn’t want to do any of this at all.

i suffer a lot from an internalized impression of myself as being lazy, defeatist, and dramatic. it comes from a lot of places. i grew up in an environment where i was the only open depression sufferer, under one parent who definitely considered depression to be an antisocial behavioral problem, to be treated like any other shallow cry for attention. i also grew up in an environment full of obvious talents, all of whom would go on to be published, or even public figures, and not to be a complete asshole, but the idea that “you can do anything you put your mind to” is kept alive by people who have the baseline talent necessary to succeed at things they put their minds to. if you subscribe to the idea that success requires nothing other than commitment, then the implication is that all failure is a matter of laziness, petulance, and defeatism--never lack, never inferiority, never ordinariness. on top of all this, my personal interests--horror, sexually graphic media, comics, underground music movements, the usual roundup of morbid or antisocial cultural items--were considered pretty much...well, not very adult. so what i’m coming to is that if i can’t prove my adulthood in any way that has to do with who i am or what i’m capable of, then the very least i can do is Be Responsible. (and of course i get made fun of all the time for being an uptight rule follower but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, LITERALLY WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO)

one of the main ways you can Be Responsible, if you have the means that is, is to look after your health. the world is full of icky, boring, degrading, depersonalizing, and occasionally painful tasks that are necessary to keep the societal cogs turning. if you can’t make art or have ideas or be beautiful or become an athlete or whatever, you can still show that you’re alive and generally hygienic by going to the dmv, voting, showing up for jury selection, or going to the doctor. you can still grasp the final shred of integrity offered to you by doing things no one wants to do, but that we know are necessary for the vitality of self and society. so i’m extra good at doing stuff that people my age frequently shirk--the dentist appointments, the doing your taxes the second the forms come in, etc--because they’re sort of the only things i can do that prove that i’m not, you know, a complete piece of shit.

so this year, at the start of february, i decided i was going to get a real handle on my health. i’d been going to doctors for various things already, of course, even though it was pretty much never satisfying; the only thing i can think of that ever got fixed or explained was the pathological growth of scar tissue over my eyeballs, which required some pretty fucked up surgery. but at this time, i had a lot of problems building up. my left eye developed a small spot, and a constant glare that borders on having double vision. my right ear remained completely stuffed up since i had a cold last fall, and began to ring constantly at the end of the winter. my right lung has felt alarmingly tight and weak for...years actually. the right side of my face is constantly beet red, like i go fresh with somebody’s wife, and i can see how it’s thickening and bending my flesh all out of shape, which rosacea will do progressively and incurably throughout your entire life. i decided that instead of quaking in fear of doctors, and also in fear of wasted time, i was going to straighten my back and go nip this shit in the bud. after all, when you’re miserable but not doing anything about it, people kind of hate you, and then you have THAT problem on top of all your real problems. sometimes you gotta give the people what they want.

so how did it all go?

my skin: since no insurance company considers rosacea a medical problem, which is actually complete fucking bullshit, i decided to take matters into my own hands. i researched what rich people do for their uninsurable problem, and decided to use my recent (traumatic) inheritance to take care of myself. i tried three different preposterously expensive topical treatments that i was told are a “magic bullet” for rosacea, and all of them made my face blow up like a fucking macy’s day balloon. then, after four rounds of extremely expensive, painful and scary laser treatments, i had absolutely no results other than that my face was actually MORE reactive for about a month after the last one. i’m fucked.

my eye: according to my optometrist and ophthalmologist and corneal specialist it’s “just” regular scar tissue from my terrifying surgeries, not the pathological scar tissue that i had to have removed via terrifying surgery and localized chemotherapy. this kind of sucks because it means i can’t just get it removed again, but at least there is a slight chance that my body will reabsorb it like regular scar tissue. (oh yeah? and what’s my luck USUALLY like?) my only “treatment option” is to use eyedrops four times a day, which is actually extremely uncomfortable, and which pretty much means i’m just not allowed to wear makeup ever again.

my lung: after two rounds of clear x-rays and a breathing test that only detected slight asthma, through two GPs and a pulmonologist, nobody has anything to say about why i have this chronic breathing problem. there’s some indication that it might be a “muscular-skeletal problem” that’s putting pressure on the one lung, so i guess i need to add a physical therapist or something to my endless list of specialists.

my ear: two or three trips to urgent care (i forget how many now), two GPs, an ENT, a fucking weird hearing test, and an MRI have done absolutely nothing for me. after a cold with a sinus/ear infection last fall, my right ear remained permanently slammed shut; if i pop it, it closes back up in seconds. i do not have the same problem with the other ear, it is clearly a physical problem. in february, my ear began to ring agonizingly and has not stopped for a second. in all this time, i went through round after round of antibiotics, antihistamines, anti-inflammatories, steroids, etc. nothing works. no one can see any type of problem. apparently i have the option of electing to have a tube surgically inserted into my ear, although i can’t quite figure out what the risk factor is, both for my tinnitus, and for my hearing in general.

and OF COURSE, depression: part of the stigma against depression is that it’s a choice, somehow. like fresh air and exercise and looking on the bright side are so effective that if you’re depressed, it must be because you LIKE IT THAT WAY, because otherwise you would use these simple and free cures for your so-called illness and it would be all over, right? anyway i kind of hate being depressed, and i’ve been working my fucking ass off trying to deal with it. i see a nutritional therapist (a licensed psychiatrist) who prescribed me a number of nutritional supplements that i do think help, but they are unthinkably hard on my stomach. i tried lexapro, and it made me feel so abnormal, and cut into my general quality of life so badly, that i didn’t keep it up. i tried a generic version of wellbutrin, and it made me violently sick to my stomach, and caused my ringing ear to ring deafeningly for days after a single dose. the brand name version wasn’t much better. then i tried lamictal, and felt totally great AND NORMAL for like a week, and then i got the rare and potentially deadly lamictal rash. sometimes this just indicates a basic allergy, and sometimes it indicates Stevens-Johnson Syndrome which causes something called TOXIC EPIDERMAL NECROLYSIS WHICH REQUIRES LONG TERM HOSPITALIZATION TO GROW YOUR SKIN BACK. i had to deal with this on the day of mandatory final exam presentations in a class where i was already struggling, and this was one of the darkest days i can recently remember. after this, my psychiatrist tried to prescribe me abilify, but after i started to hear about the side effects and personal testimony of certain friends, i decided i couldn’t handle it. very possibly, i just cannot be medicated for depression, unless i’m willing to sacrifice everything else around the depression too.

...this is all pretty much a retread of an experience i had for a few years, a few years ago, where i was having these abnormal paps, so they constantly had to drill painful core samples out of my cervix to keep checking up on the NOTHING that was going on in there, until one day they were just like...uh your tests are coming back fine now, and we don’t know why they didn’t before, and it just doesn’t matter, you don’t have to do this anymore PLUS you could have just been sitting on your couch jerking off this entire time and it would have done exactly as much good as this cycle of being humiliated and tortured by doctors in a while that leaves you curled up in a ball sobbing every time. i’m still pretty pissed off about it, if you can’t tell.

so like i don’t know why the fuck i’m doing all this. i don’t know why i do anything. nothing fucking comes from even my most herculean effort except a relentless sense of mystery that is starting to border on satire. i don’t know why i have so many problems. i’m 38 years old and i’m in ok shape. i don’t have generalized immune issues or anything. my doctor said i have some of the best lab work she’s ever seen. why the fuck does all this shit happen to me. i’m trying so fucking hard to enjoy my life. it’s hard to be in mental and physical pain all the time, the latter for absolutely no coherent reason. i mean i’d rather have a bunch of random problems than like, lupus or MS or something, for sure, but everything that happens to me is so meaningless and arbitrary, i’m starting to get that feeling like god hates me. it’s also hard to have the constant feeling that so many people think that failure to enjoy life is exclusively a matter of “not trying hard enough”, being a pill, looking for attention. i don’t know what to do anymore. i’m real pissed. i think what i need is a change of philosophy, which will be a long hard road. at least i know it’s the one and only area where i, and only i, have some level of control. wish me luck.

#long post

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pendragonfics · 7 years

Text

Partners In Halloween

Paring: Antoine Triplett/Reader

Tags: female reader, Halloween, Halloween costumes, undercover missions, fake/pretend relationship, 5 times, Antoine Triplett lives, fandom allusions & cliches & references, fluff, humor

Summary: Five times Trip and Reader were together for Halloween, and the one time they weren't.

Word Count: 2,352

Current Date: 2017-10-29

When you first heard of the assignment, you had been a little miffed, but didn’t argue it. Not that you had any social life around being on Coulson’s Team and your hardcore Netflix bingeing around your work as a sharpshooting spy. And not that it was just a Halloween outing – there were bad guys out, and you were dressed to impress your friends and distress your enemies. Well, not quite yet. Here you were, trying to fit as many microphones, trackers, guns, and grenades under a Wonder Woman costume. Thankfully, it wasn’t the skimpy old one from the comics, but the radical one from the recent movie, with that fantastic skirt. Because of Coulson’s awesomeness, or perhaps unlimited resources, you had a near-replica of the outfit.

“Wow,” you heard from the doorway. “I had no idea it was a couple’s costume.”

Standing there, was Antoine Triplett, decked to the gills in his Cyborg outfit, all the pieces of it right, down to the last plate of armour. From what you could tell, Skye had even rigged up a sort of contact lens that glowed red, and, knowing the resident Hacktivist, it probably had a camera on too.

“When did Wonder Woman ever get with Cyborg?” You huff, trying your best to attach a tracker to your midthigh. It hid nicely under the skirt, but it was that damn lasso of truth that had you working harder to clip it on. “C’mon…can you spare me a hand?”

He chuckles, and makes his way over to you, bending to attach the pieces together. “Hope we don’t have this much trouble on the mission as you are with that tracker,” he comments, looking up from where he’s kneeled beside you. “There,” he grinned, and standing, added, “Coulson sent me to say we’re out five. See you there, partner.”

It’s all over and done in five hours, but in that time, you’ve hijacked two cars, crashed one party, ran away from the Canadian federal police, and somehow managed to expose the fraud and money-laundering through a HYDRA associated front to the world, where they used alien lifeforms to create priceless items to sell against international law.

But yes, when it’s all over five hours later, and Trip and yourself are both standing sweaty in the middle of the bust, covered head to toe in a mixture of fake snow, fire-extinguisher fluid, and alien-sourced mucus, your heart starts to slow, adrenaline fading.

He looks at you with a grin, the bad guys being carted into the Bus. “Great working with you, partner.” He beams. “It’s been one hell of a day.”

---

“Okay, I’m Sherlock, you’re H-Holmes…” a drunken guy shouted from a street party, dressed up in a ratty black jacket and a tilting wig.

“Asshole!” another guy yelled out, shouting at a brick wall.

Beside you, Trip laughed into his Ghostbusters collar, where the microphone chip was hidden. “Please tell me I wasn’t the only one hearing those boozers go off.” He chuckled, glancing to you with the biggest smile on his face. “Anyone?”

From your coms unit, you heard Simmons snicker, and what sounded like a small whack. “You can find anyone like that anywhere when they’ve had a whole day to down that much.” May intoned on the line, serious as ever. “Just find the idiot we’re after and let’s get home.” She huffed, and then in a lower voice, “I hate Halloween.”

“What even?” You exclaimed, aghast.

“You heard me, Agent _______.” May grunted.

From the corner of your eye on the street you see the target for the mission, dressed as Stay Puft. “I have a visual, 10-32, about to engage.” You spoke into your own beige Ghostbusters collar. No way you’d let Trip get all the fun dressed up as Spengler when you could be as Holtzman. “Ready, Agent Triplett?”

He grins, raising the proton pack in his hands, where there’s a I.C.E.R. tucked inside to incapacitate the target. “Hell yeah, I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.” He grins. “Willis Peregrine, you are under arrest for breaking the peace on five counts of international law.” Trip announces, probably scaring the marshmallow man before you both half to death.

From his pupils, you’d say he’d been drinking. Trip glanced to you, and raising your own proton pack, you said, “Mr. Peregrine, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...”

By the time you’re shrugging off the stress of the day when your guy is handed over to the correct authorities, it’s way past your usual sleep schedule’s time to crash. Grabbing a cup of tea, you find another person in the Bus’s kitchen – none other than your partner, Agent Triplett. He’s leaning against the bench, waiting for the microwave to count down to zero as a cup spins around inside.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks.

You nod. “You too?”

He hums, stopping the microwave a couple of seconds early. Pulling out the mug, the aroma of sweet hot chocolate fills the room like a miracle, and humming once again, he takes a sip. “Grandma always made hot chocolate for us when we couldn’t sleep,” he tells you, taking another long drag of his mug. “Only cure I know.”

You smile. “I’m just a boring old cup of tea kind of person,” you tell him, warming the kettle. “But then again, my grandparents weren’t fantastic heroes.”

---

You’ve been stuck in the underground bunker for hours, awaiting rescue from the team. The lighter you had in your pocket to see is losing its fuel. It’s starting to get cold, and in the tactical gear, it’s not exactly warm, and comfortable. Beside you, in the box is Trip, also in tactical gear, also losing hope, also starting to cool down like you’re two popsicles.

“How long have we been here?” you ask him, doing all you can to stop your teeth from chattering.

He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s asleep, or worse, knocked out. But when you glance to him, you see Trip sigh heavily, looking anywhere but where you are. “Five hours.”

You bite your lip. “I can’t die in here.” You whisper, pulling your knees in tight, trying to keep warm. “I had it all planned out.” He raises a brow, scooting closer to you, and you add, “I was going to donate my organs, and then have my ashes sent in little parcels to the countries I’ve never been to, so I could finally have a trip around the world.”

He chuckles. “Morbid, much?”

You shrug. “It’s better than dying in a concrete box under a mountain on Halloween night with a fellow agent, doomed to haunt anyone who spoke ill of El from Stranger Things.”

Once again, Trip chuckles. “Why don’t you tell me about that show. I haven’t seen it yet.”

For the next three hours until you’re rescued, you tell him the story of a small town in Indiana in which four children stumble into something much bigger than themselves. After the light disappears from the lighter, you can’t see one another, but if you had x-ray vision, you’d notice that there was a sweet smile upon his lips when you described the show which you’d probably sell your soul to be a part of.

---

A whole year later and you find yourself approached by Coulson. For the last six months, you’ve been assigned desk work due to an infraction of a teeny-tiny rule, and have been consequently stuck punching papers and approving things. Meaning: you’re bored permanently, and absolutely to death. But when Coulson appears at your desk, manila folder in his hand, you know you’re off the hook.

“There’s a case I need you on. You will be Thelma Mayberry, twenty-five. Married to husband –,” Coulson began reciting, but before he could finish, you took the folder from his grasp. “Thought you’d be interested.”

“Interested?” you laugh like a maniac, “Count me in.”

Fourteen hours later, you come out of the intensive undercover artists’ warehouse. Somehow, they’ve managed to give you a nose that’s slightly larger, and attach a wig to your head that looks nicer than your hair, given you glasses, prosthetics in your mouth to make your lips bulge a little. It’s not beauty school, but you’re into it. Anything’s better than paperwork.

“Hey there, I don’t think we’ve met…” Agent Triplett goes up to you, holding his hand out kindly.

In that second, you forget you’re in costume, and sigh. “It’s only been six months, Trip, it’s not like I’m that forgettable.” You huff, clicking your tongue. “Dude, it’s _______.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What? No way.” He grins, really looking at what they’ve done to you. “Oh my god, I couldn’t tell, it’s so great!” He beams. “I’m just about to go in, I’m on the case too.”

You’re on a blank, and then remember the rest of the file that you promised to read later. “Wait, we’re –,” You grinned, “We’re undercover, in a pretend relationship, and it’s Halloween? No freakin’ way.”

You raised a hand up, and high-fived him. “Hell yeah,” he beamed. “Let’s catch some bad guys.”

---

You’re sick on Halloween, stuck in your bed with a nasty cold. Or, you hope it’s a cold, and not something Fitzsimmons have cooked up in their lab and not told you about. You’re bedridden with endless boxes of tissues, and a marathon of all the spooky movies you can find on Netflix, from terrible movie effects to slasher flicks, to childhood favourites. Your room has become your decontamination unit, with nobody daring to step foot near it since you first sneezed in the common area in the debriefing for the next mission, which was supposed to be today. Instead, Skye and May are on it, and you’re not working Halloween for a change.

On your phone, Trip sits beside you on FaceTime, also not on mission. He’s half watching the movies through the phone onto your laptop, half keeping you company with half-assed horrible jokes and funny lines that keep you from wallowing too deep with your sick sadness.

“Okay, I have a funny joke.” He grins, just as the credits for Hocus Pocus appear on screen. “Why did the ghost go into the bar?” You don’t say anything, having been told these terrible Halloween jokes all day so far. But you also don’t stop him from saying, “For boos!”

Despite hating the joke, you crack a small smile.

“There she is! There’s the _______ I know!” He beams.

You wave it off, glancing to your laptop screen. “What should I play next? Halloweentown, or The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

He doesn’t even take a moment to consider, “Both!”

---

Scrolling through your phone, you found yourself staring at a thread from your boyfriend, and long-time friend and work partner, Antoine Triplett. He wasn’t big on texting, but rather, making sure what he said was either heard aloud between the two of you, or when that wasn’t an option, via letters. It wasn’t like it was the digital revolution or anything, and holograms existed. But then again, it wasn’t like you minded. His handwriting made you feel like you were caught up in a Jane Austen novel way back when penmanship meant the world.

HIM: I need some time.

YOU: Is something wrong, baby?

Read: 9:45 PM

You stared at that text the longest, wanting to know what it meant. All you’d spoken about that day was how it was going to be a long haul writing up paperwork, and that you wouldn’t be back to your shared apartment in Washington until it was early enough for the sun to rise. All because of a stupid mistake a newcomer made on the field, and as the most senior officer who was a part of Coulson’s team with office experience, you were left to clean up the mess. You know the S. H. I. E. L. D. facility you’re in has security cameras to the nines, and they probably know already you’re slacking off, but you don’t care.

What if this was the end?

You loved Trip, more than you probably let on, at the best of times. He made you less tense, brought out the dormant smile in you that was always for him. You’d been together for almost a year, now, next month, and to be fair, you’d have to say that you’d never felt this way for anyone before when you had been dating. You’d even go as far as to say he was the one.

But what if he wasn’t –

You clicked your phone closed, sliding it into the desk draw beside you, and buckled down for the rest of the night’s paperwork. Your laptop played a mixture of Enya playlists and the soundtracks from Studio Ghibli movies, and with a nearby coffee machine, you managed to get through nearly all the files of folders by midnight, the clock only just ticking over to say the date for the next day.

“_______?”

Glancing up, you see Antoine in the doorway to your cubical, small smile on his face. In his arms is a small picnic basket, a bottle of wine poking out the top, the smell of apple pie and cookies and cream ice-cream wafting from him.

“Baby?” you frown. “What – I thought you were mad with me.”

He places the picnic basket beside him on the floor, and slowly, goes down on one knee. “The only mad I am for you is madly in love,” he says, your brain not computing what’s happening until he pulls a small velvet box from his pocket. “…and I’ll always be in love with you.”

You feel the blood rush into your head, a blush roar upon your cheeks. “Trip –,”

“_______, will you marry me?”

There’s tears going down your face, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re tired as hell, are completely shocked by the current events, or if it’s because you really want some of that ice-cream.

“Yes!”

#antoine triplett #trip aos #antoine triplett aos #antoine triplett x reader #antoine triplett/reader #trip x reader #agents of shield x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #Female reader

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itsiotrecords-blog · 7 years

Link

http://ift.tt/2vjxsVL

Modern western society tends to view shed hair with all the tolerance it affords a dead rodent, as you may know if you’ve ever heard your mother shouting, “Why is there a capybara in my shower drain?” But some shrewd thinkers have started to see the hidden merits of human hair. They view it as a viable resource and look for practical ways to use it. And some of their best (and oddest) ideas come straight from the pages of history.

#1 Holy Relics One of the first get-rich-quick schemes was the sale of fake “holy relics.” Relics could include morbid keepsakes like a tooth, scrap of clothing, finger or lock of hair from a saint. In the Middle Ages, these grisly tokens were in great demand but were often fake. The macabre highlight of this scheme is that fake relics were sometimes from real people. No one but the con man who sold them will ever know who the mummified fingers and severed curls really belonged to! Some religious groups still use relics, but fact-checking is a lot easier today. However, some religious leaders don’t really seem to care whether relics are authentic or not. Religious feeling, they reason, is more important. It sounds like the fake-relic scam is due for a revival! A modern version is the sale of celebrity hair. You can buy “authentic hair” online that’s said to come from figures like Neil Armstrong, George Washington, Paul McCartney, Marilyn Monroe, JFK, Justin Bieber, and even the King himself, Elvis Presley. Is it for real? Well, there’s only one way to find out: let’s ask Paul and Justin if they have anything to do with this nonsense.

#2 Incense Anyone who’s leaned too close to a lit birthday cake will recall the acrid stink of singed hair. What sort of masochist would want to smell that stench in incense? Well, in India, incense was historically of two kinds. One was as pleasantly aromatic as you’d expect. Lovely plants like ginger, fragrant leaves and gums were used for this type. It was meant to appease demons or spirits. If the spirits were doing something you didn’t like, you’d try this first. The other sort was meant to repel spirits. It was often made of not just human hair, but other nasty things like pig manure and horse hair. If a spirit or demon couldn’t be appeased, this was the next line of defense. It was hoped that any self-respecting demon would flee in terror from the smell, much like any self-respecting human. Similar mixtures were also used as a remedy for fainting. This may be a case where the cure is worse than the affliction.

#3 Fertilizer Feeding your crops with human hair and excrement may sound like an extreme survival story, but it was standard in ancient Chinese farming. It sounds unsafe, but hair is relatively harmless and full of nutrients. It contains 15% nitrogen (compared to chicken manure at 4.6%) but doesn’t burn plants. In some situations, hair fertilizer is comparable to chemical fertilizer. It works best as a long-release treatment though, because your ponytail can take years to compost. If you want to feed your hair to a house plant, chop it finely first. That will help it break down faster.

#4 Family “Hairlooms” One tiny tribe in China came up with the world’s most creative hand-me-down: their great- grandmothers’ hair. Each woman of the Longhorn Miao tribe combines the lengthy locks of her ancestors with other natural fibers to form a huge, ropelike mass. This is then wrapped in a figure-eight shape around a pair of “horns” worn on her head. Real animal horns were once used, but now pieces of wood in the same shape take their place. Wrapping 10 pounds of hair onto them can be a nearly hour-long process. Such an extreme hairstyle is usually worn on holidays, but it’s sometimes shown to curious visitors as well. Their ancestor’s hair is often the most precious object these women own, valued even above their detailed and colorful embroidery. The tribe, isolated for hundreds if not thousands of years, continues its hand-me-down custom to this day.

#5 Embroidery Dongtai hair embroidery is another old Chinese custom. In contrast to the Longhorn tribe’s colorful handiwork, this art started out black-and-white. It began over a thousand years ago with a purist form that uses only naturally colored black human hair to stitch designs onto white silk. At first these creations only featured pictures of Buddha, which young girls would stitch with care to show their devotion. More recent pieces show scenes full of ancient Chinese symbolism. Over time, a colored variation developed as well. Both branches of the neglected art form nearly faded to oblivion in the past century, but a few artists are trying to revive it. With around 30 companies marketing the craft in its home province of Jiangsu, hair embroidery has a chance at a comeback.

#6 Medical Sutures From the Mayans and the ancient Romans to the present day, human hair has a long history in the field of suturing. It’s fallen out of favor in modern Western practice, but at the turn of the twentieth century it was still in use by some American doctors. It allegedly worked quite well, and didn’t cause infections. Despite its history, hair suturing probably doesn’t have a future in developed countries. It shows promise, though, as a solution for those with less access to healthcare. An Indian medical college has performed tests on human hair to see if it’s practical and effective as suture material for developing countries, and so far the results are optimistic.

#7 Music The Mangyans live on an island in the Phillipines called Mindoro. Their folk music tradition birthed the git-git, a bowed instrument strung with human hair. It compares to the violin in both function and looks. The git-git was only used by young men when they went courting. Serenading was an important part of courtship; young men had to both sing and play musical instruments during the process. In addition to the git-git, the young men would sometimes also play the kudyapi’, which is basically a six-stringed guitar. In Western society, both violins and violin bows have sometimes been strung with human hair as well. This is usually more of a publicity stunt than a practical means of making music, though. Hair isn’t as strong as the steel-core violin strings usually used. Because of this, human hair works better for folk music than orchestral music, which calls for more sound.

#8 Pest Control Human hair has been used for centuries to repel animals and control pests. It’s used differently on different kinds of animals. It works on moles by annoying them enough to drive them away. To deer, just the scent of humans is alarming. Rhinoceros beetles in India can be trapped by a simple ball of human hair. Farmers place it at strategic points on the tree, the beetles try to walk over the hairball to get at the crop, their spiky legs get tangled up and they can’t move! The Old Farmer’s Almanac even cites a strategy to repel rabbits by encircling a garden with human hair. The rabbits, like deer, will only be scared off if they’re wild. In the suburbs, where the smell of humans is everywhere, rabbits and deer will adapt to its presence. So if you’re thinking of making a rabbit-repelling hair fence, only bother if you’re out in the country.

#9 Clothing Using human hair in fabric is traditional in both India and China. Knowing that pure hair fabric would be too rough, they blend it with softer animal hair and wool. The reason it’s so rough is that human hair is thicker than other fibers used in clothing. Spinning it into thread makes some of the coarse, stiff ends stick straight out. The high prickle factor that results is not ideal for clothing. Imagine a pair of shorts made of the stubble of a three-day-old beard! It’s not exactly what you want rubbing against your sensitive skin, is it? In modern Western society, clothing made of human hair is quite a novelty. It’s usually used in cutting-edge or alternative designs. But during World War II, human hair was seen as a viable substitute for other fibers in short supply. The bolts of cloth on display at Auschwitz are a grisly woven memorial to the horrors of the Holocaust. The cloth didn’t originate as a memorial, but was created as part of everyday trade agreements by the Nazis. The Nazis traded their prisoners’ hair to German factories, which mixed it with various fibers to make fabric.

#10 Jewelry Human hair was one of the oddest passions of the Victorian age. People gave each other locks of hair to show affection. They made accessories of it and even sent bits of their hair to one another on postcards. It must have been a bad time to live if your hair was already thin! Hair work was just as popular as knitting and crocheting. Several different techniques were used, such as table braiding and arranging individual strands into “paintings” on ivory brooches. Incredibly fine and detailed work was the result of this obsession. Pieces such as bracelets, rings, earrings, necklaces, brooches, chains and shawl pins were made of hair, as well as accent pieces like handbags and bookmarks. Many of these are now on display in a hair museum, which looks as creepy as it sounds. The Victorians sometimes embroidered with hair too, but they weren’t as fond of it as the ancient Chinese were. They would rather stitch with normal thread. Considering all the things they made out of hair, they wouldn’t have had much extra to fuel their cross-stitching!

#IoTRecords

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