like ichor in our veins

Them: Why should I watch Stargate? What's so special about it? Me:

Calisthenics for Beginners (2023)

You can learn almost any exercise by building up with easier variations! Here are some examples.

Note: this is a short version of a 26-minute long video called "Home Workout for Beginners (2023)" on our YouTube channel. If you want more details, please check out that video or the Hybrid Routine page: https://www.hybridcalisthenics.com/routine I tried to fit what I can into a short video.

Also, yes my knees go in a bit more than I'd like during my intro jump when I stand up 😅. The one later is better.

We're going to try to schedule a large backlog of videos to post daily for a while! If anything seems out of order, that might be why. Follow for more - have a wonderful day!

Free Hybrid Calisthenics Fitness App (beta) - based on this video's philosophy

I recommend this workout to my clients on a pretty regular basis. Hampton is a trainer who ACTUALLY understands what "no really I'm a total beginner" means. 10/10 use myself, send to others, recommend this workout. -your neighborhood medical massage therapist.

"for this Historical Lesbian look, I went with inspiration from Tomboy styles like cycling bloomers and riding habits! masculine inspiration! because that's what Looking Gay is! I'll try to Look Gayer next time!"

meanwhile, this is Isabella, Archduchess of Parma (1741-1763), who fell for her sister-in-law instead of her alliance-marriage husband:

and this is Angelina Weld Grimke (1880-1958), a gay playwright:

and this is Loie Fuller (1862-1928), an equally gay dancer and lighting designer wearing a stage costume she created and voluntarily wore often:

and this is Anne Lister's first wife, Mariana Belcombe Lawton (1788-1868), who may have been bisexual but who was indisputably Queer:

this is Alice Longfellow (1850-1928), Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's daughter, a very gay writer and preservationist:

and Edmonia Lewis, world-famous (probably) gay sculptor:

guys. there's no single way to Look Gay, nor has there been throughout history. stop it

I haven't purchased a HP item in close to a decade - I use the books I already had as doorstops or to prop a laptop up for meetings nowadays.

There is NO "death of the author" with JK Rowling - she controls and continues to profit from her IP, and uses that money to fund hate groups.

Here's your periodic reminder of why it's so important not to buy any Harry Potter merch or watch anything JKR profits from.

It isn't about cancelling problematic media, idgaf. We're capable of reading books we already own with a critical eye.

It's about not giving more power to someone who is using it to materially harm our community.

And yes that includes that shitty video game, yes that includes the Lego sets, yes it includes visiting the theme park. Stop giving Transphobia Georg money.

ohhh… you guys are like… STUPID stupid

for reference this is the warning that was too hard to navigate, apparently

just looked over to find my cat had somehow crawled into the sleeve of my jacket ???? fucking wheezing. the baleful worm

help me mother

AU: Realizing that Chakote's choice to leave the lizard babies was an illogical manifestation of anti-Cardassian bias, Tuvok smuggles them onto Voyager. Upon return to the Alpha Quadrant, he learns of a tailor making discreet inquiries regarding children in need of loving lizard and human fathers. So Tuvok places the lizard babies with their new dads on DS9.

🦎 🦎 🦎 

Btw, this is how conservatives keep getting to claim that trans people are a new thing no one has ever heard, because our history and existences have continually been erased or obscured systematically through out history.

The most famous example was 92 years when the Nazis raided the library of the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, the medical practice where the term transsexual was first coined and the first gender affirming surgery was performed in in 1931.

What did the Nazis do after raiding the library on May 6th, 1933? You may be familiar with these images

It is happening again.

crazy face to make at one half of the couple you’re impromptu divorce lawyering for after you’ve just exposed seventy years worth of his lies including but not limited to aiding abetting and directing the death of two beautiful lesbians one of which was sort of his stepdaughter also btw this couple is comprised of nuclear warheads in the shape of beautiful men and you sort of had a thing with both of them that one time in the seventies when you thought you were going to get high and your dick sucked but instead got saw-trapped by a renegade botticelli angel with all mental illnesses in the dsm-5 and a couple others we haven’t categorized yet. daniel molloy you will live forever

im a bit of a pointless hater about certain usages of the term “monsterfucker” bc i think it’s often one of those things people say but don’t believe with their whole chest. like if all the “monsters” you like are vampires and similar mopey human-looking folks it’s possible you are actually just into goths. Let’s not dilute the beautiful world of teratophilia for our bloodborne sex soldiers out there fucking and sucking in yharnam or whatever. Anyone on earth would fuck a vampire. that’s vanilla

Don't you DARE gatekeep monsterfucking OP, all fuckers of all monsters are valid. If one person mostly prefers the twink bodytype and another prefers the bear bodytype, they're both still attracted to men. Some people fuck monsters because of the taboo of finding something dangerous or other than "human" attractive and some people fuck monsters because they want to feel a tentacle force their butthole open like an anteater snout into a termite mound. All of us are nasty freaks and there's no need to create unneeded barriers between us.

if we’re considering essentially cannibalistic human people with bad teeth to be monsters we must include those who are attracted to British people under the banner of monsterfucking lest someone feel invalidated

So I have a theory about this:

The "attraction to vampires and other mostly-human monsters" end of the spectrum gets debated like this because it is both monsterfucking AND normie at the same time. It also has its equal and opposite twin in wanting to fuck a person so idealized they no longer resemble a human.

Hear me out. (Long post under the cut)

my favorite bit of "rich people are Like That" ephemera that I picked up from my Russian literature binge was from a noble character who was complaining about his serfs neglecting their duties, specifically the duty of staying up all night long slapping the pond water in order to prevent the frogs from croaking so that the nobleman could enjoy his sleep at his country estate with its adorable pond. whenever I hear wealthy people's complaints in this day and age the majority of it automatically filters to "the fucking serfs won't slap the pond anymore and it's honestly so destructive and cruel of them to deny me my beauty sleep like this" type statements

i was jumanji’d too when i was a kid but no one cared

i was also zathura’d. i got both jumanji’d and zathura’d. Statistical impossibility but sad and true

Can we not victim blame

I found this youtube comment and honestly,,,, true

 Underworld Duet

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“She will follow you, if you remain true to your purpose,” Persephone said, icy and beautiful, with asphodel in her hair, and embroidered on her dress. She sat beside her husband, Hades, and looked down on Orpheus, her face utterly unreadable, “But if you cast a single gaze upon her before she leaves the Underworld, she will be lost to you until time ends.”

“Thank you,” Orpheus said, desperately grateful. His fingertips ached, blistered and bleeding as he played his plea to the gods who had no reason to give him what he requested of them. The return of his beloved wife, who had fled for her life, and lost it trying to escape. “Your Majesties, thank you. I will write a thousand songs in your honor.”

“You had best go,” Hades said, the first words he had spoken since Orpheus arrived. “The journey is long, and fraught with danger. It will not be easy.”

Orpheus took the dismissal for what it was, bowed again, and made his way out of the grand, dark, pillar-lined hall. Here and there, flowers sprouted up through cracks in the stone, the mark of the queen who was only here half the year, and must be dearly missed when she was gone.

Maybe his plea, and the mercy he received in return, made more sense than he thought. Surely there were none who understood the longing for a beloved spouse better than the king and queen of the underworld.

Hades’ warning struck him, and Orpheus fought with himself, with the urge to look back and make sure Eurydice was there, following behind him. The gods were fond of their tricks and traps, but they rarely lied outright.

Well, he hoped they didn’t, anyway.

On and on he went, out of the grand, black-stone palace, into the sprawling, twilight orchards beyond. It was beautiful and peaceful. Sprawling gardens filled the warm air with the scent of citrus flowers and herbs. Fireflies winked their green-gold lights everywhere, and danced in clouds around the hazy ghosts who walked and laughed together. Off in the distance, he heard music and longed to join.

But no. He was here with a goal, and everything here would tempt him, or frighten him, or try to distract him from his purpose.

And he had to have faith in Euridice. She was behind him. Persephone said she would be, and he could only trust, because to look back for her would be to lose her.

When they came to the River Lethe, Orpheus began to fear. After all, the River of Forgetfulness was no small challenge, and he wasn’t fool enough to think that it would not test him, although he would, at least, not have to ford it. There was a bridge, although it was not what Orpheus might call ideal. A rickety thing of woven branches and rough wood, it cracked under his feet, but it held.

It wasn’t until he made it across, that Orpheus heard a faint sound. The sound of a foot on the bridge, barely there, as if from far away, but only a step behind him.

That sound, that faint sound, gave him hope. Euridice was there. She was with him. The gods had not lied, or broken their bargain.

It also gave him an idea.

Music had gotten him this far. Perhaps it would take them just a few steps further.

His fingers ere too damaged to keep playing, but there was nothing wrong with his voice, and so, hopefully, he started on a song he wrote long ago, when he first fell in love with his wife, and heard her lovely voice.

It was a song for two, and he would be lying if he didn’t admit how frightened he was, how his heart caught, when he came to the end of his verse, and hers began.

For a heartbeat, a single heartbeat, he thought she would not, could not reply, but then her sweet, warm alto filled the air, a little tense, a little afraid, but as true as ever.

Orpheus would have wept at the sound.

The song wasn’t a long one, but he started another as soon as it ended, and another, and another. Together, they sang their way through Tartarus. Through the tortured, evil dead who howled around them and tried to drag him off the narrow path that sometimes faded to almost nothing under his feet. The gods had not told him what had happened if he left the path, but then, they didn’t have to. He knew the legends of those who left the path.

The path turn back to a road until the sky light with flame and they came to another river, this one deep, and angry, and blazing with fire.

The River Phlegethon. The river if fire, that bordered Tartarus, and imprisoned the lost souls within.

Orpheus was glad that Euridice had started them on battle songs of coming home almost an hour before, or his courage, shaken form hours of walking through the tortured dead, might have failed him. The bridge here was stone, but as fragile, as frail, and as frightening. Pebbles rolled off the sides when Orpheus stepped onto the thin stone, and his voice broke as he stumbled to his knees. In harmony with him, Euridice gasped, but she didn’t stop singing. Didn’t stop promising she was there.

Together, they made it across, into the slums of the undistinguished dead.

Here, they were followed, although not closely. The dead could not touch them. Not marked as they were by Cause under the authority of the queen herself, but they gathered near, listening to the songs, and whispering amongst themselves. Orpheus raised his voice louder, afraid to lose Euridice in the crowd. She answered him, strong and clear, and only a step behind him, always.

After what seems like hours more, Orpheus found his voice beginning to give out, but he sang on determinedly, unwilling to give up when victory was so close to hand.

At last, finally, they came to the last river in their journey.

So wide he could not see the other side, the Styx spread out like an ocean, and on the shore, the sandy shore, was a single boat.

“I wondered if you would make it back this way,” Chiron greeted Orpheus with a cackling laugh that was mostly hidden by his thick beard and hood. He had ferried Orpheus across only a day before, paid with one of the three gold coins Orpheus brought with him. “The ferry is not free, Bard.”

“I know,” Orpheus said hoarsely, his first spoken words since he left the palace. He dug in his purse and pulled out the coins he kept, carefully packed with the thinnest hope, and how proffered with more of the same. “A coin for each of us, to see us back to the land of the living.”

“Nice to see one of you heroes has the sense to pack for the trip,” Chiron said, begrudgingly impressed. He took the coins and nodded to the boat. “You’re not out, yet.”

“I know,” Orpheus agreed. It was a warning, he knew. They weren’t out, and until they were, he did not dare look back. Could not make sure that Eurydice made it into the boat as well. “Thank you, Ferryman.”

“Get in the boat, boy.”

He got in the boat.

On through the unmarked grey waters they sailed, with barely the lap of waves against the side of the narrow boat to show their passing.

With nothing to do but wait, Orpheus cast his mind over the many sailing songs he knew, chose Eurydice’s favorite, another duet, and started to sing.

Chiron’s laughter punctuated Eurydice’s voice when she joined. In, on time and on key as ever.

Hours passed, as they passed songs back and forth, flirting and joking as they sang silly songs, and bawdy ones, and ones of coming home after a long time at sea.

Through it all, the Ferryman behind him never stopped chuckling. It might have been frightening, but Orpheus thought that maybe it was a compliment too. That his laughter was in celebration of cleverness that rarely crossed his path.

When they came to the far shore, the boat nudged into the sand, and Orpheus caught himself, right before he looked back to thank Chiron for his service.

“You paid me, boy,” the Ferryman said from somewhere behind him. “don’t spoil it with thanks. Go on.”

Orpheus went.

The air was fresher, here. They were close, and now the songs shifted to those of love newly discovered. Not all were duets, but any song would be sung in harmony, and so they tangled their voices together and kept walking.

It wasn’t until Orpheus felt sunlight on his face that he realized, he was out. Out of the Underworld and back where he started this daring, foolish, hopeful journey.

He went to turn, but Euridice’s voice raised sharply, and she cut her loving song off for one of warning, a song for children, to teach them not to trust all they saw.

And Orpheus remembered.

The game was not done. Not until she took her final step into the weak, late winter sunshine.

So he kept walking. Kept singing. Kept hoping.

Until at last, the song faded, and a voice he mourned for, as hoarse as his own, spoke from just behind him.

“We’ll have to write a duet about this.”

And all Orpheus could do was laugh as he turned around, at last, to see his wife standing there, just a single step out of the Underworld, and smiling with tears of joy in her eyes.

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More Stories!

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vampire hunter? no i said vampire HAUNTER. this jerk sucked all my blood out so now i spend my afterlife knocking over shelves and scaring off potential victims and just making the castle generally pretty cold

it's always 'bleh why are the plates floating', 'gah who knocked over my blood goblet' and never 'sorry for killing you' ok starve then!

and what are you going to do about it? have a priest exorcise the place? yeah good luck with all the crosses and holy water you piece of shit

You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand.

The hardest part was, you thought, picking what kind of soup. A cold soup, obviously. You were going to be standing at the impact site, and there wasn't a bowl big enough to carry all of that soup. Or at least, none you had in your cupboard. It was going to be hot enough as it was, you didn't need soup burns on top of it.

You had tried to get someone to listen to you. To maybe take you closer, so there was less atmosphere compression. You'd heard that was an issue, that the atmosphere in front of the meteor would compress and the heat and friction was what caused other meteors to flash through the sky. Something like that.

Skyman would have been perfect to bring you up. He could create atmospheric bubbles. And fly. Perfect for creating oxygen voids to knock out villains. He'd used it on you, back in high school, enough to give you a reputation for low blood pressure, but never enough to get caught. It had been funny, to bully Soupy.

But Skyman wouldn't listen. He didn't even pick up his phone. You'd gotten his number at the field trip to Hero Quarters, and you'd been put in a group together. The whole group had been instructed to share numbers, so no one would get lost. You'd gotten lost anyways. You'd never used the number, until last week when the meteor was first detected.

You could see him, kinda. He was up there, doing his best to slow the meteor. Him and the others And it was working well enough that you could see the meteor approach, rather than just a flash and instant death. That would be Inertia, probably. She could slow an object, but it would keep it's momentum. Useful for pulling civilians out of the way of a bullet. Less useful when the Earth itself couldn't be moved.

At least the atmosphere had some time to move away. It was starting to get hot, but you weren't roasted.

It had been a stupid idea, probably. To do this. To stand and stare at certain death. But you thought, hey. At least if I stand at the impact site, I'll die first. You would probably rather do that, having tried, than not try and deal with the predicted century of winter. You've never done well with the cold.

The meteor was closer now. Close enough that Magma was the first to spot you. She was trying to melt the meteor, but wasn't having much luck. Something that an entire atmosphere couldn't vaporize wasn't going to be overly fussed about a little stream of fire.

She was shouting at you. You couldn't hear, probably because of the atmospheric compression. You could guess what she was saying though, and you didn't know why she thought that moving now would help. At all. Even if you ran, you wouldn't make it.

Closer and closer. The bowl was pointless, maybe. Again, you didn't own a bowl big enough to contain the entire meteor. But at the end of this, the least you deserved was a bowl of soup.

Which brought you again to what kind. Gazpacho? Or maybe borscht? You've never tried a fruit soup, although you've heard they were very good. But, hm, you weren't sure you were feeling like a dessert. Something savoury. The place near your house made a delicious naengmyeon. Hopefully you'd be able catch the noodles alright.

A streak of light to your left caught your eye. You recognized that blue of colour. It was heading directly at you. Hurriedly, you turned the ground in front of The Zap into avocado soup. Hopefully the creaminess would slow him down.

It was starting to get very very hot, even with Inertia slowing things down. You tried turning the atmosphere into cold peach soup, which worked? Somehow? It was cooler now at least. More sticky though.

Almost in range. Two hundred meters, you just needed it to get to two hundred meters away.

Or a bit closer. You did want to be able to catch your noodles.

At fifty meters, the meteor vanished with a GLOOP.

Starman, Inertia, Magma and the others weren't able to stop in time, but their crash landings were cushioned by the noodles and the beef. They went to the hospital, but none of them died.

You ended up with a nice bowl of naengmyeon and accolades. Every country wanted to give you a medal. You travelled for a while, and tried as much soup as you could, so you could make your favourites again later. Hilariously, and somewhat uselessly, you were given a soup bowl large enough to bathe in by three different countries. You weren't sure what you'd use it for, now that the meteor was gone. Maybe you could donate it to a soup kitchen.

Maybe you could start a soup kitchen.

Starman never apologized. It was likely he didn't remember you. But that was alright. You would forever treasure the look on his face when the meteor exploded into broth and noodles. And also the photo that some idiot war journalist had taken of you, holding out your soup bowl, while all the other heroes face planted around you. They'd given you a framed copy.

Legolas/Gimli sketch…

#op you can’t make me pick up the series cuz of this I’m not strong enough

they're worth reading for I swear