#���.the peddler answers

[solas-backpack-mug]

a collection of some rauatai and hazanui karu lore i found interesting because it's relevant to rangi <3

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

PATCHY YOUR MAN

👀👀

I suppose that is my hubby huh?? How did I manage to get a man so fine is the question

[bloodyarn]

anonymous sent

The smut peddler has brought in a new book, it is titled The Legend of Jizzt Dong'Urden: the Diphallic Drow

   𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝 𝙿𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚗 .   unprompted interactions

────────────────────────

     Ah, so it was a repeat offender.     Already acknowledging the book   —   a good portion larger than the last   —   she nodded, waving them goodbye, probably delivering some copies to the other companions next. Would this one cause as much turmoil as the one from last week   ?   A shudder ran down her back, remembering the various embarrassing moments between herself  &  her friends.

So glad nobody was in sight (yet), the seamstress lowered herself down to her tent's blanket on the ground, beginning to read. Diphallic. What a strange word. Maybe an illness.

 . . .

   [ . . . ]   Oh deary.

That woman was invested, unfortunately so. All the smut peddler ever brought were some cheap, quick romance novels meant to read by adults. Nothing so catching, nothing that kept her hooked like this. She winced when her eyes swept over the clumsy soup scene. Then, closing the book, placing a tiny flower between pages   —   She better continued later. With a glass of wine.

What was obvious by now   —   The Legend of Jizzt Dong'Urden had a new fan. She should definitely tell Crabby about this. He loves fighting scenes, Babette heard.

[vonpharma]

“handwaving genuine, good-hearted concrit, to refusing to even engage in the conversation at all, to constant changes that make the event less fun for a huge chunk of us”

Do you mind if I ask more about this? I’ve also participated in sicktember (casually) and I haven’t really noticed anything that fit this, so I just wanted to ask more about your experiences if you were comfortable elaborating. I’m mostly curious what changes were made that made the event less fun (other than delay in prompts released I heard about that)

yeah sure! right off the bat i wanna say that this is not something i was like. PISSED OFF or intending to start any drama about, just some stuff that made the event less enjoyable for me.

i also wanna say that you haven't noticed it because sicktember is very very careful to not publish anything that makes them look bad. they do not engage with any of their replies or asks unless they can spin it in a very sanitized, pr-friendly manner. try creeping through the tags and replies on some of their posts, and while a lot of shit is deleted or lost, you can still see traces of it, some of which i will link to here.

the prompts becoming more delayed. i wasn't here in 2021 (when they dropped in early march), but in 2022 they dropped in mid may. that was awesome because it gave us all lots of time to prep--my favourite thing about sicktember is how accessible of a prompt event it is! the prompts don't all drop like a week before the event starts, you have all summer to write so if you have a full time job or responsibilities you can still participate. this year they made it very clear the prompts were ready to go in may but didn't drop them until mid-june.

when people started sending asks about this, they responded thusly. they maintain this weird kinda... pr-friendly, stepford smiley vibe whenever anyone tries to open a dialogue with them? and it just comes across as so dismissive of anyone trying to make genuine points.

here they say that "many things go into planning prompts" but don't elaborate on that at all. for context, the night before this ask, they had made it clear that the prompts were all ready to go. the hand-waving comes in the form of all the "suggestions" they offer here--"well, you don't have to do every prompt!" (but i want to. it's fun. it feels good. and that's what i've done in the past) "you can write after september!" (i did that last year. it was kind of miserable. i like posting with everyone, it feels like a big celebration!) "we give you like 100 days!" (that's cool. but you could give us more at no detriment to yourself. a lot of us didn't make the deadline last year.)

check the notes on this post and you'll see several disappointed contributors/fans who are trying to open a dialogue with the event runners, all of whom were ignored. several people have reached out to me saying that their asks about this were ignored.

2. last year, they said they would only be accepting fills on the sicktember blog through submissions, and only posting 10 random ones a day. in the past, sicktember has reblogged every single fill directly from the writers.

here's why this is shitty:

when you submit something to a blog, the blog owner then becomes the one who effectively "owns" its engagement. that means any notes, reblogs, comments, follows, etc. all go to sicktember. they do not go to the person who MADE THE STORY. if you, the author, want to see what people are saying about your work, you have to pull up the sicktember window and obsessively check it. if you want to respond to any comments, you give sicktember more notes.

this is just more work, especially if you still want those notes. you would then have to make TWO posts, one on your personal blog and one on sicktember's. and people are probably disinclined to reblog a story twice. it is not exposure or engagement to do this, it actively robs authors of engagement.

sicktember might not even post your fill. they pick ten random ones a day. this is because...

they literally admitted that they lose followers when they reblog every fill. they said aloud that it is all about engagement for them. maintaining followers means more to them than highlighting the contributions of all the people who are making their event what it is. they are quite literally trying to maximize followers and stealing engagement from their contributors. it's kind of fucking insidious.

the only valid point here is the thing about reducing mod workload. still, they could've just... opened apps for another mod? inquired for some extra help? lord knows i would've jumped at the opportunity to curate! i'm sure others would've too.

contrast this to whumptober, who religiously reblog every single fill despite being a much longer running event than sicktember.

this is why i started @sicktemberfeed. with permission, but the mods were even weird about THAT... i asked if it would be ok to make, and they said "well, it's not like we could stop you." weird fucking answer. it's fine to say no.

3. i didn't speak out about point 2, but did speak out a little bit on this blog about point 1. @yes-i-am-happyaspie's husband (@spaceninjas42) dug through my blog, somehow found my untagged critique (it was not vitriolic or cruel, just a plea for an open discussion) and started getting on my case for talking about it on my personal blog. there was a second, much more vitriolic reply that he left but i was a dingus and blocked him as soon as i saw it, which means it's now marked deleted and i have no way of getting it back or proving it. that's kind of a "just trust me bro" situation.

4. the prompts this year were not very good. that is a purely subjective opinion i have, but a lot of us agree that they really stray from the concept of sickfic. we have a lot of heavier whump events floating around and the appeal of sicktember is that it is for fluffier, more low stakes stuff. seeing "cardiac arrest" and "anaphylaxis" and "medieval treatment" on there had me and a lot of others scratching our heads. their response to this is always "just sub it out!" but when we start running out of alt prompts because so many of the main ones are not what the audience is vibing with... there is room for critique there. there is room for a discussion.

i can't stress enough that the problem isn't necessarily these changes--they are not dealbreakers! the problem was sicktember's attitude. every single time anyone in the community tried to say 'hey, i think this idea could use work/tweaking' the response was basically just, again, the happy-go-lucky stepford smiler pr voice "we'd like to remind you that blah blah blah! happy writing, authors!" and absolute refusal to talk to their community at all. as i've said many times, this is not a dichotomy--where one side is "we fold to any criticism! our fans control us!" and the other side is "you're not entitled to anything! we run this event for free despite our busy lives!" like you can very much find a happy medium there but they just. do not.

none of that is a deal breaker, genuinely. i was still planning on participating up until the very end, and i obviously am now.

what was a deal breaker was them posting harry potter shit.

[howlingday]

I was asking about the side guys. Like the Prince,Herbalist, or Jinxy(The Racoon). I didn't need anything deep just who was the best side character.

I guess Jinxy since I like raccoons.

[astramachina]

I think I asked originally on your old sideblog, but you said to check back in february if you would open writing or fanfic commissions. I'm checking back if youre open to doing commissions.

Ah yes, my old sideblog which tumblr nuked and I'm still fighting to get back. But I am, yes! I have a commission segment over on KO-FI that covers some general information regarding pricing and stuff, if you want to check it out and are still interested.

Although, as a heads up, KO-FI is cracking down on NSFW content, even the written kind, so if that's what you're aiming for your best bet would be to message me off anon to talk shop. (Unless we're moots on discord or smth, in which case, you could just hmu over there.)

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

So uhhhhh given certain fics of yours, when I saw that totally innocent donut post then scrolled further and saw what was clearly a buddie post, I was absolutely expecting something different on that buddie post. Thought you'd like to know

I am APPALLED, APPALLED I tell you, that you thought there might be something not safe for work going on there. What kind of person do you take me for!?

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Expert agencies and elected legislatures

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/21/policy-based-evidence/#decisions-decisions

Since Trump hijacked the Supreme Court, his backers have achieved many of their policy priorities: legalizing bribery, formalizing forced birth, and – with the Loper Bright case, neutering the expert agencies that regulate business:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/scotus-decisions-chevron-immunity-loper

What the Supreme Court began, Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy are now poised to finish, through the "Department of Government Efficiency," a fake agency whose acronym ("DOGE") continues Musk's long-running cryptocurrency memecoin pump-and-dump. The new department is absurd – imagine a department devoted to "efficiency" with two co-equal leaders who are both famously incapable of getting along with anyone – but that doesn't make it any less dangerous.

Expert agencies are often all that stands between us and extreme misadventure, even death. The modern world is full of modern questions, the kinds of questions that require a high degree of expert knowledge to answer, but also the kinds of questions whose answers you'd better get right.

You're not stupid, nor are you foolish. You could go and learn everything you need to know to evaluate the firmware on your antilock brakes and decide whether to trust them. You could figure out how to assess the Common Core curriculum for pedagogical soundness. You could learn the material science needed to evaluate the soundness of the joists that hold the roof up over your head. You could acquire the biology and chemistry chops to decide whether you want to trust produce that's been treated with Monsanto's Roundup pesticides. You could do the same for cell biology, virology, and epidemiology and decide whether to wear a mask and/or get an MRNA vaccine and/or buy a HEPA filter.

You could do any of these. You might even be able to do two or three of them. But you can't do all of them, and that list is just a small slice of all the highly technical questions that stand between you and misery or an early grave. Practically speaking, you aren't going to develop your own robust meatpacking hygiene standards, nor your own water treatment program, nor your own Boeing 737 MAX inspection protocol.

Markets don't solve this either. If they did, we wouldn't have to worry about chunks of Boeing jets falling on our heads. The reason we have agencies like the FDA (and enabling legislation like the Pure Food and Drug Act) is that markets failed to keep people from being murdered by profit-seeking snake-oil salesmen and radium suppository peddlers.

These vital questions need to be answered by experts, but that's easier said than done. After all, experts disagree about this stuff. Shortcuts for evaluating these disagreements ("distrust any expert whose employer has a stake in a technical question") are crude and often lead you astray. If you dismiss any expert employed by a firm that wants to bring a new product to market, you will lose out on the expertise of people who are so legitimately excited about the potential improvements of an idea that they quit their jobs and go to work for whomever has the best chance of realizing a product based on it. Sure, that doctor who works for a company with a new cancer cure might just be shilling for a big bonus – but maybe they joined the company because they have an informed, truthful belief that the new drug might really cure cancer.

What's more, the scientific method itself speaks against the idea of there being one, permanent answer to any big question. The method is designed as a process of continual refinement, where new evidence is continuously brought forward and evaluated, and where cherished ideas that are invalidated by new evidence are discarded and replaced with new ideas.

So how are we to survive and thrive in a world of questions we ourselves can't answer, that experts disagree about, and whose answers are only ever provisional?

The scientific method has an answer for this, too: refereed, adversarial peer review. The editors of major journals act as umpires in disputes among experts, exercising their editorial discernment to decide which questions are sufficiently in flux as to warrant taking up, then asking parties who disagree with a novel idea to do their damndest to punch holes in it. This process is by no means perfect, but, like democracy, it's the worst form of knowledge creation except for all others which have been tried.

Expert regulators bring this method to governance. They seek comment on technical matters of public concern, propose regulations based on them, invite all parties to comment on these regulations, weigh the evidence, and then pass a rule. This doesn't always get it right, but when it does work, your medicine doesn't poison you, the bridge doesn't collapse as you drive over it, and your airplane doesn't fall out of the sky.

Expert regulators work with legislators to provide an empirical basis for turning political choices into empirically grounded policies. Think of all the times you've heard about how the gerontocracy that dominates the House and the Senate is incapable of making good internet policy because "they're out of touch and don't understand technology." Even if this is true (and sometimes it is, as when Sen Ted Stevens ranted about the internet being "a series of tubes," not "a dump truck"), that doesn't mean that Congress can't make good internet policy.

After all, most Americans can safely drink their tap water, a novelty in human civilization, whose history amounts to short periods of thriving shattered at regular intervals by water-borne plagues. The fact that most of us can safely drink our water, but people who live in Flint (or remote indigenous reservations, or Louisiana's Cancer Alley) can't tells you that these neighbors of ours are being deliberately poisoned, as we know precisely how not to poison them.

How did we (most of us) get to the point where we can drink the water without shitting our guts out? It wasn't because we elected a bunch of water scientists! I don't know the precise number of microbiologists and water experts who've been elected to either house, but it's very small, and their contribution to good sanitation policy is negligible.

We got there by delegating these decisions to expert agencies. Congress formulates a political policy ("make the water safe") and the expert agency turns that policy into a technical program of regulation and enforcement, and your children live to drink another glass of water tomorrow.

Musk and Ramaswamy have set out to destroy this process. In their Wall Street Journal editorial, they explain that expert regulation is "undemocratic" because experts aren't elected:

https://www.wsj.com/opinion/musk-and-ramaswamy-the-doge-plan-to-reform-government-supreme-court-guidance-end-executive-power-grab-fa51c020

They've vowed to remove "thousands" of regulations, and to fire swathes of federal employees who are in charge of enforcing whatever remains:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/11/20/24301975/elon-musk-vivek-ramaswamy-doge-plan

And all this is meant to take place on an accelerated timeline, between now and July 4, 2026 – a timeline that precludes any meaningful assessment of the likely consequences of abolishing the regulations they'll get rid of.

"Chesterton's Fence" – a thought experiment from the novelist GK Chesterton – is instructive here:

There exists in such a case a certain institution or law; let us say, for the sake of simplicity, a fence or gate erected across a road. The more modern type of reformer goes gaily up to it and says, "I don't see the use of this; let us clear it away." To which the more intelligent type of reformer will do well to answer: "If you don't see the use of it, I certainly won't let you clear it away. Go away and think. Then, when you can come back and tell me that you do see the use of it, I may allow you to destroy it.

A regulation that works might well produce no visible sign that it's working. If your water purification system works, everything is fine. It's only when you get rid of the sanitation system that you discover why it was there in the first place, a realization that might well arrive as you expire in a slick of watery stool with a rectum so prolapsed the survivors can use it as a handle when they drag your corpse to the mass burial pits.

When Musk and Ramaswamy decry the influence of "unelected bureaucrats" on your life as "undemocratic," they sound reasonable. If unelected bureaucrats were permitted to set policy without democratic instruction or oversight, that would be autocracy.

Indeed, it would resemble life on the Tesla factory floor: that most autocratic of institutions, where you are at the mercy of the unelected and unqualified CEO of Tesla, who holds the purely ceremonial title of "Chief Engineer" and who paid the company's true founders to falsely describe him as its founder.

But that's not how it works! At its best, expert regulations turns political choices in to policy that reflects the will of democratically accountable, elected representatives. Sometimes this fails, and when it does, the answer is to fix the system – not abolish it.

I have a favorite example of this politics/empiricism fusion. It comes from the UK, where, in 2008, the eminent psychopharmacologist David Nutt was appointed as the "drug czar" to the government. Parliament had determined to overhaul its system of drug classification, and they wanted expert advice:

https://locusmag.com/2021/05/cory-doctorow-qualia/

To provide this advice, Nutt convened a panel of drug experts from different disciplines and asked them to rate each drug in question on how dangerous it was for its user; for its user's family; and for broader society. These rankings were averaged, and then a statistical model was used to determine which drugs were always very dangerous, no matter which group's safety you prioritized, and which drugs were never very dangerous, no matter which group you prioritized.

Empirically, the "always dangerous" drugs should be in the most restricted category. The "never very dangerous" drugs should be at the other end of the scale. Parliament had asked how to rank drugs by their danger, and for these categories, there were clear, factual answers to Parliament's question.

But there were many drugs that didn't always belong in either category: drugs whose danger score changed dramatically based on whether you were more concerned about individual harms, familial harms, or societal harms. This prioritization has no empirical basis: it's a purely political question.

So Nutt and his panel said to Parliament, "Tell us which of these priorities matter the most to you, and we will tell you where these changeable drugs belong in your schedule of restricted substances." In other words, politicians make political determinations, and then experts turn those choices into empirically supported policies.

This is how policy by "unelected bureaucrats" can still be "democratic."

But the Nutt story doesn't end there. Nutt butted heads with politicians, who kept insisting that he retract factual, evidence-supported statements (like "alcohol is more harmful than cannabis"). Nutt refused to do so. It wasn't that he was telling politicians which decisions to make, but he took it as his duty to point out when those decisions did not reflect the policies they were said to be in support of. Eventually, Nutt was fired for his commitment to empirical truth. The UK press dubbed this "The Nutt Sack Affair" and you can read all about it in Nutt's superb book Drugs Without the Hot Air, an indispensable primer on the drug war and its many harms:

https://www.bloomsbury.com/us/drugs-without-the-hot-air-9780857844989/

Congress can't make these decisions. We don't elect enough water experts, virologists, geologists, oncology researchers, structural engineers, aerospace safety experts, pedagogists, gerontoloists, physicists and other experts for Congress to turn its political choices into policy. Mostly, we elect lawyers. Lawyers can do many things, but if you ask a lawyer to tell you how to make your drinking water safe, you will likely die a horrible death.

That's the point. The idea that we should just trust the market to figure this out, or that all regulation should be expressly written into law, is just a way of saying, "you will likely die a horrible death."

Trump – and his hatchet men Musk and Ramaswamy – are not setting out to create evidence-based policy. They are pursuing policy-based evidence, firing everyone capable of telling them how to turn the values espouse (prosperity and safety for all Americans) into policy.

They dress this up in the language of democracy, but the destruction of the expert agencies that turn the political will of our representatives into our daily lives is anything but democratic. It's a prelude to transforming the nation into a land of epistemological chaos, where you never know what's coming out of your faucet.

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

I love that you added Sero for my sake, like god bless you Jo. But I do agree, most will struggle, but Kirishima is so down bad that he just can't help himself - he's weak and he knows it as he whimpers into your neck how sorry he is after yet ANOTHER load of his cum fills you up (smh 😤)

Much like you, I would bear the burden of having self-ships that could not resist their urges. Sero, as you said, COULD do it but it would be such a waste! And lord knows how unfair it would be to miss out on such a pretty sight like his cum slowly leaking from your abused cunt.

Meanwhile everything in his mind is screaming at him to NOT do what he's about to do, but Rengoku can't help but fill you to the brim over and over again! Its in his blood, after all. That fiery passion that goes into everything he does; he can't stop now when you're legs are trembling in such a way and your whimpers grow louder! Besides, he needs an heir, and what better mother to raise his kids than you??

Shinso is similar to Sero where he could do it, but its far easier to just stay buried deep within your warm walls. The only way he says he can pull out is if you do it for him, and yet when you're riding him he still finds a way to hold you down against as he ruts into without abandon. Sometimes he'll slip out and fulfill his promise. Other times he'll just apologize with that lazy smirk as he feels his cum drip down his balls and onto the sheets.

And well.... Bokuto is Bokuto. I doubt I need to say more.

Well, now I gotta ask!! Which faves have a harder time then most when it comes to pulling out, or do they all easily succumb to just filling you up??

For one, Sero 100% isn’t pulling out. Don’t believe his promises because they are ALL lies. He has the audacity to tell you after that it’s your fault for having such a pretty pussy he couldn’t do her the injustice of pulling out.

Bakugou definitely tries the hardest, his jaw clenched and his muscles tense as he tries to ease his hips back. It’s worse knowing that this man could easily overpower you and pull out, but he doesn’t. Because that sick and twisted part of him is already picturing how pretty you’d look if he fucked a baby into you. And when he finally does pull out after filling you up, he’s the first to push the cum leaking out of you back inside you for good measure.

Poor Sanemi tries so hard too. He’s very much like Bakugou, as in this was discussed beforehand and he wants to respect your decision for him to pull out. He has a really hard time ignoring your pleas when he’s balls deep though, and he’s the one reminding you what you said to him before you were delirious with pleasure. And honestly, Sanemi virtually does manage to pull out, but it’s still not enough when his tip is still nestled perfectly inside your walls as he wraps himself in a fist and jerks his load into you anyway.

Kunigami is ever a stickler for the rules, and has to ignore your pouty face when he does obey your instructions and manages to unravel himself from your iron-clad grip barely in time to spill his cum all over your pelvis. Panting and chastising you that “that was too close.” And “You shouldn’t do that, sweetheart.” But yet he doesn’t stop you when he watches your fingers gather his cum from your pelvis to push it inside your fluttering walls yourself— his own fingers even join yours to help. Yeah he’s down bad.

And Kirishima is worst of all— because the whole, entire time he’s vocal. Telling you that he’s close and that he’s gonna pull out at any second, because he’s kind and respectful. But then of course your walls clench around him and he’s gone, hips jerking sloppily as he cums inside you balls deep. Still whispering apologies into your neck, even though he’s still buried deep inside you, with NO intention of pulling out anytime soon.

[fanfictionstuff]

Medicine seller smut please <3

Here it is. Finally. I guess. Lmao

Medicine seller from the 2024 movie.

“Marriage?” You sit respectfully across from your parents, your eyes wide in disbelief at their words. “You want me to get married?” In this moment, you feel dwarfed by their presence, even though you are all sitting in the same manner, legs tucked beneath you. It’s as if you’re standing before two imposing figures. Your father averts his gaze, unwilling to look in your eyes. “______,” your mother begins, noticing that your father won’t carry on with the conversation. “There have been rumors about you and a peddler. Of course, we know they aren’t true, but it’s starting to tarnish our family’s reputation.”

“Peddler?”

She nods. “Yes, he’s an odd man with peculiar clothing; some even say he’s a demon. Do you know who I’m referring to?"

A medicine seller with golden eyes flashes through your mind. “I don’t.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way; we’ll announce your marriage by the end of the month.”

“And who will the groom be?”

Your mother furrows her brow. “We haven’t gotten that far yet,” she admits. “Just follow our lead; we’ll announce that you are engaged to be married. Once that peddler leaves, we can figure out the rest.”

The answer takes you by surprise. "Once the peddler is gone, what does he have to do with anything? Do you really expect me to be engaged to someone?”

Your parents turn to look at each other, a bit thrown off by your question. You weren’t supposed to catch that. Your mother whispers your father’s name, but he looks just as confused about what to say. “Mom, Dad, what are you doing?”

“The peddler needs to know you aren’t available.”

“Huh?”

“Please, just trust me,” your mother implores. “If you encounter a peddler dressed in peculiar clothing carrying a large box, tell him you’re engaged to be married.”

You raise an eyebrow. "Alright, here’s an idea: there’s no need for an announcement. I don’t even know who you’re referring to. A peddler? So he won’t be around much longer? Describe what he looks like, and I’ll make sure to steer clear of him. Do you really want me to get married?” 

“We’ve actually chosen a few different men you could look into…”

 ———————————

“He wears an odd bright kimono and carries a large box on his back.”

After having dinner with your parents, you decide to leave the house. It’s getting late, and more intoxicated individuals are beginning to appear on the streets, with the worst of them already stumbling about. They’ve likely been drinking since they woke up this morning. You ignore them; they are relatively harmless at this time. Your eyes travel across the various shops, where young women beam at passersby, trying to allure potential customers. You give a wave of disinterest when one of them tries to catch your attention. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice an oddly dressed figure carrying a large box.

“He has strange light blue hair with pink tips. Around this long.”

You pivot to catch a better view of the man, but his light blue and pink hair obscures his face as he strides past you. He veers into an alley that leads to the riverbank. You follow. He walks towards a large tree, where he drops the box on his back before turning to face you.

“He has an extremely pale complexion with unusual blue and red markings on his face.”

Your mother described him quite well, but she overlooked one detail—the one that struck you most when you first laid eyes on him. His golden eyes lock onto yours. “You shouldn’t be out so late, Miss ______.”

“I’m engaged.”

“Oh?”

You nod. “Yes, I’m supposed to say this if I ever meet you. There have been rumors about us, and I need to clarify that if we do meet, I’m engaged.”

“Interesting, and who is the lucky man?”

“That’s yet to be decided.”

The man across from you smirks. "So, it’s still undecided? Does that mean there’s a chance I could be a possibility?”

“My parents want you to lose interest. If you learn I’m engaged, you'll move on without causing any trouble. Is it working?”

Kusuriuri shakes his head. “Unfortunately for your parents, it’s too late for that; there’s no losing interest in you now."

"You're quite persistent, aren't you?" you tease playfully, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you engage in banter with Kusuriuri. His smirk broadens as he steps closer to you, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow around him. It’s difficult to resist the allure of his mysterious demeanor and captivating presence, even as you attempt to keep a semblance of distance. “A woman of my stature certainly has no difficulty moving on from a mere medicine peddler like you," you quip, attempting to conceal the fondness that lingers in your tone. 

His golden eyes glimmer with mischief as he leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin. "Ah, but it seems you cannot resist the allure of a humble medicine peddler like me," he says, his voice low and teasing.

You raise a brow. “Did you use a love potion on me? Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense, right?” 

He chuckles softly. "It seems so. A woman of your intellect and grace falling for a humble medicine peddler like me—surely, it's the result of a love potion." He gently cups your cheek, drawing you in for a tender kiss.

As he pulls away, the mischievous glint in his golden eyes shifts into something more tender. "But jokes aside, my dear ______, do you want to move on from me?"

You reach up to gently trace the intricate markings on his face. “Never.”

“I can’t provide you with the lavish life you’re accustomed to,” he admits. On the night he met you, he hadn’t expected someone like you to take an interest in him; usually, someone of your stature wouldn’t engage with someone like him. Then, just a few nights later, he believed it would be a one-time encounter, that he would only get to be that close to you once. He thought he’d leave and never find himself in your bed again. 

You draw him into another kiss, taking charge as your tongue glides along his bottom lip. A smirk crosses his face at your boldness, and he parts his lips for you. As you navigate mouth, he encourages you to deepen the kiss. “Will you marry me?” you whisper as you pull away. “I can tell my parents I’m engaged.” 

Kusuriuri pulls back, his golden eyes wide with surprise. “Are you asking me because you truly want to be with me or because you want to avoid an arranged marriage?” 

“Can it be both?” You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “I may have initially decided to get to know you out of curiosity or boredom, but the connection we have... can't you feel it, too?” 

He sighs deeply, leaning into your touch. “I can feel it, ______,” he admits. “But an engagement... marriage?” He hesitates for a moment before adding. “I’m not sure if it’s commitment you’re ready to make.” 

You pause for a moment, looking down at your intertwined hands. “But I’ve thought it through, and I’m sure about this. You’re the one I want to be with. You know, all my friends who’ve married tell me of their lives with their husbands. It sounds awful. Their husbands show them no respect and take on many lovers. They’re left unsatisfied in many ways.” 

You watch as Kusuriuri considers your words, his gaze thoughtful as he looks out over the riverbank. You can see so much in his eyes—years of wisdom and experience, but also a hint of vulnerability. Seeing him like this is strange, with his guard lowered and his emotions laid bare. But it also makes your heart flutter, because it means he's letting you in. 

“Alright,” he finally says, turning back to look at you. His golden eyes are warm and sincere, and the sight of it sends a shiver down your spine. 

"Really?" Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for his confirmation. 

"Yes," he assures you, his voice soft yet firm. "If you truly wish to stay by my side and can accept a new lifestyle." 

You launch yourself at him then, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace. He stumbles slightly but quickly regains his footing, wrapping a strong arm around your waist to keep you steady. 

"I love you," you whisper against his ear. 

“I love you too.” 

—————--------------------------------------

You grin, nearly bouncing in your seat as you stare at your parents. You aren’t sure how they’ll take it, but you’re excited and if they don’t agree, you’ll leave either way. “So, you know how you want me to be engaged? Right? I found a fiance.” 

Both your mother and father blink in confusion, your father using your nickname. “We weren’t really expecting you to go out and find a fiance, you weirdo.” 

Your mother groans, covering her face. “How do you already have a fiance? You aren’t even dating anyone. You can not find someone to marry within twenty-four hours.”

“Right, we’ve been together for months.” It’s true. He’d leave to exorcise Mononoke but always returns to you. “When you mentioned getting married, he was the first person who popped into my mind, and I couldn’t picture myself with anyone else.” You admit.

“Months?” They both yell in disbelief. 

“…yeah.” 

Your mother stares at you as if you have two heads. “Who is he? I want to meet him.” 

“Right, he’s in the next room. I’ll get him.”

Quickly, you open the spare bedroom, grabbing Kusururi by the hand and pulling him into the living room where your parents are waiting. 

As the eccentric man stands before them, your mother’s mouth drops in surprise, while your father stares wide-eyed, confusion filling his features as he looks between the two of you. “I’m sorry," he laughs at the irony before pointing at Kusuriuri. "We mentioned that you should say you’re engaged to avoid the medicine seller, yet he’s the fiancé you brought to us. How did this happen?”

Your mom nods and says, “We wanted you to tell him you’re engaged because we thought he might be bothering you; we heard he’s been watching you.” 

You glance from your parents to Kusuriuri and back again. “So, it’s okay if I marry him?” 

Your dad answers. “No.” 

“Huh?”

“Can you provide for ______? Say you can provide for _____ and yourself. What about children?” 

“Dad, nobody has mentioned children.” 

“Well, if you’re getting married, you better mention it. You want kids, does he? Can he provide for a family?” 

Kusuriuri, who had been silent throughout the conversation, finally speaks up.

"I can assure you," he says, his gaze meeting your father's, "I would do everything in my power to provide for ______ and any children we may have. I may not have a traditional occupation or guarantee of a consistent income, but I am resourceful and skilled at what I do."

"And what exactly do you do?" your mother asked, her tone filled with suspicion.

"I am a medicine seller by trade," he answers respectfully. 

Kusuriuri maintains his calm demeanor, meeting your father's gaze without hesitation. "I assure you, my trade is not as simple or mundane as it sounds. I deal with more than just mere pills and ointments. I provide remedies for ailments that common medicine cannot touch."

"And how do you propose to support a family with such an inconsistent income?" Your mother interjects, her tone laced with skepticism.

"I have managed to sustain myself thus far," Kusuriuri replies coolly, "and I have every intention of securing a stable future for ______ and our possible children. You have my word."

Your dad shakes his head. “Sustaining yourself is completely different than a wife and kids. Women are more complicated than men; they need more than we do, plus when children come.”

Kusuriuri nods at your father's words, understanding the gravitas of the situation. "I am not naive to the responsibilities that come with a wife and children. I understand they will require more than my current lifestyle can provide. I am prepared to make adjustments as necessary for our future family." 

Your mother lifts a hand, tapping her fingers against her lips as she eyes Kusuriuri critically. "What are these 'adjustments' you speak of?" 

Kusuriuri, unflustered by the scrutiny, responds confidently. "Whatever is required of me. The specifics can be determined as we move forward, whether it means expanding my trade, taking on additional work, or finding new ways to secure income." 

"But how?" your father persists. "You're a wanderer, aren't you? You move from town to town, selling your wares. It's no life for a wife or children."

"Perhaps," Kusuriuri concedes, "but there are many ways to provide for a family beyond mere physical sustenance. Emotional support, care, love – these are all things I can provide in abundance."

"And yet they don't put food on the table," your mother points out.

"No, they do not," Kusuriuri agrees. "But my trade is more lucrative than you might think. I have been able to save a considerable sum over the years."

Your parents exchange a look, their expressions still wary and doubtful. "And what about a place to live?" Your mother asks, her voice softening slightly.

"That is something we can discuss," Kusuriuri replies smoothly. "I have no qualms with settling down in one town if it means providing stability for my family."

There is a moment of silence as your parents mull over Kusuriuri's words. You can see the conflict in their eyes – on one hand, they want to protect you and ensure your future is secure. On the other hand, they can see the genuine sincerity in Kusuriuri's words and his determination to make things work.

Finally, your father lets out a sigh. "I suppose we will trust your judgment, _____." He turns to Kusuriuri and nods. "We will give our blessing for this marriage on one condition – that you both have a solid plan for the future."

Kusuriuri bows deeply in gratitude. "Thank you. I assure you, I will not disappoint."

——————————————————-

You’re sitting with Kusuriuri in your bedroom as he goes through different items in his box. “I’m surprised they accepted you.” 

“They still haven't accepted me. I need to prove that I can provide for you and any future children.” He reminds you as he stands up. “Also, there’s the fact that we can’t settle in one place.” 

“We can make it work. Do you really want children?”

“Maybe. Do you?” 

You frown and pull him closer to you. “Don’t throw an important question like that back at me, I asked you first. But if you don’t want children, that’s fine, you've been providing the best for me in every way that truly matters.” You grin, pulling him into a kiss. “Apparently, including sex.” You comment, thinking back to a recent conversation with some friends.

Kusururi smirks. “Well, I am the only person you’ve been intimate with.” You nod in agreement. “True, but I've heard my friends complain about their experiences. It’s awful for them. They just lay there, and it’s over; they get nothing from it. I'm lucky to have found someone who values my satisfaction.” 

Kusuriuri raises an inquisitive brow at your admittance, a playful smirk playing on his exotic lips. "Is that so?" he muses, sliding closer to you on the bedsheets. His golden eyes, a striking contrast against his pale skin, shine with interest. "Then I would hate to disappoint." 

His fingers ghost over your clothed form, tracing patterns akin to the vibrant designs on his own kimono. A tingle of anticipation courses through you as Kusuriuri's touch slowly undoes the ties of your clothing, revealing the skin beneath, before removing the clothing altogether.

Your breath hitches as Kusuriuri leans down, his mouth mere inches away from yours. But instead of claiming your lips for a passionate kiss like you expect him to, he instead presses soft kisses along your jawline and down your neck. 

A gasp escapes your lips at the unexpected intimacy of his actions. You reach out blindly for something to hold onto, finding purchase in the material of Kusuriuri's kimono. Your fingers clench reflexively around the fabric as his lips and tongue continue their tantalizing journey down your body. 

Kusuriuri maintains eye contact, his golden gaze searching yours for signs of discomfort or displeasure. When he finds none, he continues his descent, his long hair brushing against your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

The world around you seems to fade away, leaving only the sensation of Kusuriuri’s mouth on your skin. His touch is as tender as it is skilled, a testament to his desire to please you. You can’t help but let out a sigh of contentment, lost in the pleasure he is providing. 

Eventually, Kusuriuri reaches the apex of your thighs, looking up at you with an air of mischief in his eyes. He doesn’t rush into this next act, instead taking time to appreciate every inch of you with his hands and mouth. His careful attention leaves you aching with desire, your hips rising off the bed in an unspoken plea for more. He chuckles lowly at your response, but he doesn't tease you with denial; he knows when to play and when to satisfy. 

He dips his head down, mouth meeting the warm center of your body. The sensation of his tongue against your sensitive flesh sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you gasp and arch your back off the bed. Kusuriuri presses a hand to your hipbone to steady you, his other one continuing its journey on your bare skin, keeping you grounded as he explores you further. 

His movements are deliberate and calculated - a testament to his observant nature. He knows how to read you, how to interpret the signs your body gives him. Every twitch of your muscles, every hitch in your breathing... he takes note of them all and adjusts his actions accordingly. 

You can feel the coil of heat in your lower abdomen tightening with every stroke of his tongue, every press of his fingers. It's a slow build, but Kusuriuri is patient. He knows the value of taking his time, of making you feel every sensation in its fullest intensity. His focus never wavers, those vibrant eyes of his intently watching your reactions as he continues to bring you pleasure. 

His name falls from your lips in a breathless plea, the sound echoing around the room. It’s a call to which Kusuriuri responds with a hum of acknowledgment against your sensitive skin, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. He increases his pace ever so slightly, enough to make you gasp and dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you. 

The world narrows down to the feeling of Kusuriuri's mouth on you, his tongue methodically working circles that have you writhing beneath him. He slides his free hand down to push two fingers into you as he focuses on your clit with his mouth.

The sudden feeling of his fingers inside you evokes a strangled moan from your lips. Kusuriuri’s eyes flicker up to meet yours, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes with an inscrutable look. He lets out another low chuckle, the sound rumbling against your skin and sending shivers down your spine.

Your senses are overwhelmed by the sensation of his mouth on you, the steady rhythm of his fingers moving inside you. Each movement is expertly calculated to draw out your pleasure, brushing against that one spot inside you that only he knows how to reach. A whimper escapes you as he curls his fingers, hitting that spot just right and making stars burst behind your closed eyes. 

The coil in your belly tightens further, spiraling towards a peak that threatens to consume you completely. You’re panting now, body taut beneath him, hands clutching at the sheets around you as if they were a lifeline. Your voice is a ragged whisper as you plead, “Kusuriuri…” 

His response is immediate, his pace quickening in response to your plea. The sensation of his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside you growing more intense, driving you towards the edge with a relentless rhythm. His name spills from your lips again and again, each utterance growing louder and more desperate as you teeter on the brink. 

He doesn’t let up, pressing harder against you with each stroke of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers. Your body is a live wire under him, thrumming with anticipation. You can feel yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge, pushed by Kusuriuri’s skilled ministrations. 

And then suddenly, you’re there. You feel the world tilt beneath you as the pleasure coursing through your veins explodes into a fiery inferno that consumes every part of your being. He continues his ministrations, drawing out your climax until you're left gasping for breath, your body convulsing beneath him in waves of pleasure. You cling on to Kusuriuri as if he’s the only real thing in this world, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

He doesn't stop until he's sure you've ridden out every tremor of your climax, each flick of his tongue and press of his fingers calculated to enhance the aftershocks that ripple through your body. Your gasps turn into sighs, and you relax back onto the bed with a contented exhale. 

When he finally pulls away, his gaze is intense but satisfied as he takes in your flushed face and glazed eyes. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead, a simple gesture that sends warmth spreading through your chest. 

"You're beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his tone laced with affection. 

“You did it again.” 

“Did what?” 

“Stripped me from my clothes, made me cum, yet you’re still fully dressed.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, a glint of mischief dancing in his golden eyes. "Hmm, it appears I have. My apologies." He murmurs in a tone that suggests he is anything but apologetic. 

He pulls away from you slightly, sitting back on his heels as his hands begin to work on the intricate ties of his kimono. His movements are slow and controlled, clearly intended to tease and keep your attention as he gradually reveals more of his skin. His dark purple kimono joins your discarded clothes on the floor, revealing black leggings that clung to his legs and a red nagajuban that hinted at the toned physique hidden beneath. 

His gaze holds yours, an unspoken challenge in his golden eyes as his light-blue locks fall around his shoulders in a cascade of color that catches the dim light around you. 

With an almost casual grace, Kusuriuri moved his hands to the sash around his waist, undoing the knot and letting it fall to the floor. The rest of his clothes soon followed, leaving him in nothing but his skin. He was beautiful in a way that took your breath away, his pale skin glowing in the dim light.

He chuckled lowly at your awed expression, crawling back onto the bed and looming over you. His body is a tantalizing promise against yours, every touch sending sparks through your veins. He brushes a few strands of hair off your face as he leans down to press a kiss against your lips, effectively stealing your breath away. 

You reach up to weave your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as you revel in the feel of him. His kisses are intoxicating, filling you with a warmth that spreads through your entire body. 

"I believe it's your turn to be pleased," you whisper against his lips. 

He returns your smile with a smirk of his own, the light from the candles dancing in his golden eyes. "And what makes you think I haven’t been pleased simply by making you feel good?" His voice was low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. 

But before you can answer, he presses his lips against yours once more, effectively silencing any retort you might have. His kisses are intoxicating, drawing you in and making the world outside fade away until there is nothing left but the two of you. 

He leans back on his heels, admiring the view before him. You are sprawled out beneath him, completely at his mercy, and he loves it. 

Your eyes flutter open to find his gaze locked onto yours, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he trails his fingers along your bare skin. His touch is feather-light, barely there, but even the slightest contact ignites a spark of desire in your veins. His eyes travel the length of your body, taking in every detail as if it is a work of art. And then slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers move to touch you. 

His hands were everywhere – exploring, touching, teasing – making you writhe beneath him with each caress. His fingers were just as skilled as his mouth had been – perhaps even more so. Each touch is calculated to enhance your pleasure, to draw whimpers and cries from your lips that echo through the room. 

Gently, Kusuriuri spreads your legs and positions himself between them, his golden eyes never leaving yours. You feel a surge of desire as he lines himself up at your entrance, the tip of him nudging against you in a tantalizing promise of what's to come. 

He thrusts into you – slowly, agonizingly so. A choked gasp slips from your lips as your body adjusts to his size. His name falls from your lips like a sweet plea, and he obliges, setting up a slow rhythm that has you writhing beneath him. 

His strokes become quicker and harder, each thrust driving him deeper inside you. As each moment passes, his control wanes, and his thrusts become erratic, filling the room with the sounds of your combined pleasure. His hands grip your hips firmly, anchoring you to him as he drives inside you relentlessly. 

His name rips from your throat over and over again, echoed by the fervent groan that shakes his own chest. His eyes are locked onto yours, a mixture of lust and adoration shimmering within their golden depths. He leans down to press a kiss against your lips, swallowing the moan you let out when he hits that spot inside you. 

"Look at me," he murmurs against your lips, his voice strained with his own pleasure. His eyes flutter open to meet yours once more; determination etched on his features. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you lock gazes with him, a silent affirmation of your connection. 

Driven by your reactions and the desperate plea in his name that rolls off your tongue, Kusuriuri changes the angle of his movements, hitting deeper within you with every thrust. The change sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins as you near your release. 

"Kusuriuri," you gasp out breathlessly, the world around you narrowing down to just him - his touch, his scent, the feeling of him moving within you. "I'm close..." 

"Then let go," he whispers the encouragement into your ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin there. 

You nod frantically, words lost in the tidal wave building within you. Your vision blurs at the edges as your release crashes into you, a scream tearing itself from your throat as your body convulses in pleasure. 

With a few more thrusts, Kusuriuri joins you; his gaze locked onto yours as he reaches his own climax. His body stiffens above you, a low growl rumbling in his chest as waves of pleasure wrack his body. His golden eyes are brighter than ever, a burning intensity to them that leaves you breathless once more. 

After what feels like an eternity, he gradually eases his hold on you, finally releasing a breath he'd been holding in. He collapses next to you on the bed, his arms wrapping around you instinctively. 

His breathing eventually slows, matching the relaxed rhythm of yours as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

"I do hope that was satisfactory," he murmurs after a few long moments of silence, smirking at you from beneath heavy eyelashes. 

"More than satisfactory," you chuckle in response, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder, your lips curving at the satisfied hum that vibrates from within his chest. 

"Good," he says simply, with a content sigh. His golden eyes close gently, his features relaxing in peaceful satisfaction. For a moment, you savor the silence, letting the calmness envelop you in its warm embrace. 

Kusuriuri's fingers trace absent circles on your skin, lulling you into a peaceful stupor. You lose yourself in the sensation of his touch and briefly wonder if this is what it feels like to be wholly adored by someone. From his languid movements and steady breathing, you can tell he's nearing sleep. 

He looks serene: every sharp line and angle softened by the fading candlelight. 

However, sleep doesn’t claim Kusuriuri so easily; he’s always half-awake, forever alert to any possible threats. It’s one of the things you’ve come to understand about him: despite the calm exterior, there’s always an undercurrent of readiness that seldom fades away. 

Breaking through your thoughts, Kusuriuri adjusts himself slightly on the bed. He pulls you closer until your back is against his chest, wrapping an arm around you securely. His body is warm against yours, providing a comforting presence that helps your weary eyes to drift close.

[transmutationisms]

Feel free not to answer this ask so you dont have to step into this particular hornet's nest but do you have any thoughts about people sharing inaccurate science about COVID in order to push for more COVID regulations? I agree that COVID is being neglected and we need better policies but I'm also a biochemist so it pisses me off to see people cite research in a way that makes exaggerated and terrifying claims. Two years ago, I was warning my colleagues against this condescending "just trust the science" approach but now the same crowd pushing that has shifted to pushing "don't trust any of the positive science, only my catastrophic interpretations of it". Can't we mask without also trying to convince each other that COVID is a guaranteed one way ticket to death and permanent disability?

you must be new here haha i swing bats at this hornet's nest like once a month. yeah i think the current state of covid communication sucks a lot. i mean the truth is that "follow the science" is always a disingenuous sentiment; Science doesn't speak, and scientists disagree with one another. and it's naïve to pretend majority consensus is a reliable mechanism to identify truth—anyone who has followed the covid aerosolisation about-face will recall that although linsey marr was not the first researcher to challenge medical orthodoxy on airborne disease transmission, even well into the covid pandemic the idea of aerosol transmission was marginalised by global health authorities because it was politically inconvenient, out of favour with powerful established academics, and reminiscent to some of pre-pasteurian miasma theories of disease. those who would "follow the science" were not presented with a convenient dichotomy between reasonable evidence-backed expert consensus and fringe peddlers of heterodoxy; to evaluate these positions required actually, yknow, reading and evaluating the arguments and evidence from multiple competing positions, and deciding which had the greater explanatory power. which is good epistemological advice only insofar as it's so obvious as to be trite.

fundamentally a huge driving force of this situation is the social, political, and institutional forces that make expert knowledge (a generally good thing) all too often synonymous with inaccessible knowledge. i don't mean inaccessibility caused by knowledge being specialised; obviously this is inevitable to some extent simply as a result of the fact that no one person will grasp the entirety of human knowledge. but the fact that knowledge is specialised, specific, highly technical, and so forth doesn't automatically mean, for example, that it has to be monetarily gatekept from all but a select few with the resources to persevere through a highly punishing, nepotistic, hegemonic university system; this is a political problem, and one that additionally has the effect of enabling and sheltering low-quality work (see: replication crisis) behind the opaque walls of university bureaucracy and the imprimateur of the credentials it grants. in lieu of an ability to actually engage with, read, or challenge much of the academic research being generated on any given topic, the lay public is supposed to rely on signs of reliability like possession of a degree, or institutional reputation. what we in fact see again and again, and with particularly high stakes in the case of something like a pandemic, is that these measures are instruments of class stratification and professional jockeying that don't inherently ensure quality information: MDs can and do peddle anti-vaxx lies and covid / long-covid denialism; the CDC and WHO can and do perpetrate bad and outdated scientific advice, like that masks are unnecessary and isolation periods can be shortened for convenience. many of these are just blatant cases of kowtowing to political pressure, which arises from the capitalist logic that counterposes disease prevention to economic growth.

this all leaves us in a position where it is, in fact, smart and correct to evaluate the information coming from 'official' and credentialled sources with scepticism. the problem is that in its place, we get information coming out of the same capitalist state-sponsored scientific institutions, and the same colonialist universities; the idea that some chucklefuck on twitter is telling you the secret truth just because they correctly identified that the government sucks is plainly absurd. where covid specifically is concerned, the liberalism of academic and scientific institutions is on display in numerous ways, including the idealist assumption, which many 'covid communicators' make, that public health policy is primarily a matter of swaying public opinion, and therefore that it is always morally imperative to form and propagate the most alarmist possible interpretation of any study or empirical observation. this is not an attitude that encourages thoughtful or measured evaluation of The Science (eg, study methodology), nor is it one that actually produces the kind of political change that would be required to protect the populace writ large from what is, indeed, a dangerous and still rampant virus. instead, this form of communication mostly winds up generating social media Engagement and screenshots of headlines of summaries of studies.

meanwhile, actual public health policy (which is by and large determined at the mercy of capitalist state interests, and which by and large shapes public opinion of what mitigation measures are 'reasonable', despite the CDC repeatedly pretending this works the other way round), remains on its trajectory toward lax, open exposure of anyone and everyone to each new strain of covid, perpetuating a society that is profoundly hostile to disabled people and careless with everyone's life and health. this fucking sucks. it sucked that we have treated the flu like this for years, and it sucks that we are now doing it with a virus that we are still relatively immunologically naïve to, and that produces, statistically, even more death and disability than the flu. and it sucks that the predominating explanations of this state of affairs from the 'cautious' emphasise not the structural forces that shape knowledge production under capitalism, but instead invoke a psychological narrative whereby individuals simply need to be sufficiently terrified into producing mass action.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Yang: This reminds me of the Time we learned about the decision making Framework of the Sugondeez.

Jaune: Who are the Sugondeez?

Yang: Sugondeez Nuts.

Jaune: GOD DAMN IT!

~~~~~

The Jinxy Peddler: It you want that, All I need is your greatest joke. I already have one in mind.

Yang: Oh? Which one?

Weiss: The one the gods hate the most...

Yang: But I was saving for the Grand Finale!

~~~~~

RK!Jaune: So you had to get stuff from Jinx? What'd it cost?

Yang: Well, the price wasn't too bad. For a moment I was worried he'd turn me into a Mind Goblin.

RK!Jaune: What's a Mind Goblin?

Yang: *Opens mouth to speak, no words come out*

RK!Jaune: Yang, What's a Mind Goblin? Help me out! I've never heard of one!

Yang: It's- It's a psychic-

RK!Jaune: I don't understand, like, Finish the thought, why would you open your mouth to answer if you can't articulate what's a Mind Goblin? Didi you run into one? Is there something I haven't seen yet?

Yang: *A Single tear running down her cheek* Yeah, Yeah it's something you haven't seen yet.

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

sero taping mistletoe all over your office door and waiting for you to walk through like 🧍🏻

Jokes on him, my office is like s revolving door! So unless he wants EVERYONE (his friends, my coworkers, our higher ups) having the chance to kiss me he better just carry one around~

Im sure you'll be mistletoe harassed as well ehehe 💛💛

[glutko]

Today, on Echoes of Wisdom's release day, I'd like to talk about THE most obscure place in the Zelda series.

It's Durod.

...What? You don't know Durod?

Hm. I don't blame you...

It was only mentioned in a character's name in an official Dutch guide of Zelda's Adventure that was only published in its entirety across the last three 1999 issues of the CD-i magazine CD-interactief, which itself was reduced to a section in a different magazine.

Okay, let's sort this information out.

Like many other CD-i games, Zelda's Adventure had a guide that named a bunch of characters and enemies, and - at the very least - was based off official material. Characters such as Alice and Kron the Peddler have unused voice lines where they say their names, and these names are used in the guide. (A similar thing happened with Kulvan, the blacksmith from TFoE).

Due to the late release of Zelda's Adventure (1996) in the CD-i's lifespan, there were almost no publications that published the guide... apart from the Dutch CD-interactief magazine. It posted small tidbits from the guide in its tips and tricks section until, by 1998, it was reduced to a section in the Oog & Oor magazine. There, it started posting full guides of CD-i games, including Zelda's Adventure.

This was one of the last guides they published before ending, and this is where Durod comes in. According to the guide, one of the White Steed Lodge patrons sitting around the table is named Debblin van Durod - in a Dutch name, "van" indicates a person's place of origin:

Another character has a partially translated Dutch name; Bitterbeck de Bergman.

So we have Debblin, a person from Durod. Cool! The guide might also say they're a deerhunter, but it's hard to tell as I don't know Dutch and had to machine translate it.

And that's, um... literally all we know about Debblin and/or Durod. No other NPC mentions Durod, not even in unused dialogue. The lone person at the table you can talk to (the brown-clad man who I'm assuming is Debblin) reuses the owner's dialogue line, even though there appears to be dialogue for him in the game files:

And, as far as we know, no other place in Tolemac is called Durod, not even in the guide or the known development assets.

This person and the land they hail from are complete mysteries, even within the absolutely anomalous series entry that is Zelda's Adventure.

Who in the world is Debblin from Durod?!

Maybe we'll find out some answers if more Zelda's Adventure pre-release stuff gets released. But until then...

[jiubilant]

cw: blood

“Do you love your brothers?” asks the priestess of the god Ofaanruvaak.

The god, licking the gore from his great maw, grants her a burning look. He’d caught the god of the hillmen, his brother, winging over his land without tribute or tinvaak—and had named him anew for this insolence, that Ahrolmal who had been Ahrolmul would not again forget who was thur from pines to fens. Nor would the hillmen forget. The priestess, before sending her marshmen to make thralls and crowfood of Ahrolmal’s folk, had painted their faces herself.

Now she stands at the foot of the godsroost as Ofaanruvaak Raven-Gift clambers down. Stones skitter down the slope. The ground trembles like a supplicant. A tree trodden beneath the god’s foot groans, prostrates itself, and snaps like a twig.

“Tell me a riddle,” he croaks, his voice still hoarse with flame. He bends his head. Smoke vents from teeth longer than seaxes. In the gilded hall of Konahrik Jun, hung above the pelt-strewn throne, the priestess had once seen a god’s fang taller than herself.

“My beak is bent to the base of things,” she murmurs, her face as still and wooden as her mask. The answers of her god are often as circular as his paths in flight; she spends her days treading patiently after the shadow of his wisdom, which seldom eclipses her whole. “I go grave along the ground. My going-forth is green on one side, and my track is black—”

“Do they love one another, these words that you speak?” The vast neck coils around her. A breath, or perhaps the heat of the huge eye, scorches her back. “The parts of the lawspeaker’s speech—proposition, examination, refutation—do these love one another, sonaaki?”

“If the speech is wise,” the priestess suggests. Her hand drips with the blood of Ahrolmal, which she had daubed on her warriors’ brows. “If the riddle is glib.”

Her god snorts. A pillar of smoke swirls from his jaws and dissolves in the mist of the night.

“It is a plough,” he says. Like a child studying an ant, he rests his chin on the ground to look the priestess in the face. “Tell another.”

“I have one single eye,” says the priestess, her voice dry. The riddle is one of Konahrik’s. “And two ears, and two hands, and two feet. And twelve hundred heads.”

A pause.

“I do not know this riddle,” says the god.

“A half-blind onion-peddler.”

Ofaanruvaak’s huff of laughter ripples the priestess’s robes. He straightens. He’s not as large as the World-Eater, her god—but his scales, as slick with blood as her sticky hand, are almost as black.

“I love my brothers,” he says, lifting his head higher than the trees, “as you love yours.”

He nods to the western hills. A glow like sunrise crests them: the burning houses of the hillmen, abandoned by their god.

[copperbadge]

lightwit

I love your mindfulness posts. I personally hate the concept of mindfulness with a passion because to me that's just normal being human and using your effing brain properly, but as an educator I have had to accept the fact that manymany people do not in fact have much self awareness and actually do benefit from this mumbojumbo. So, I am so glad I am not the only one struggling out here. 😜

I hope it's okay if I pop this into its own post because it actually gets at something I'm contending with. So, in order to get my research lined up and my thoughts in a row for therapy I turned all this research into a powerpoint called "Doing A Stupid Powerpoint For My Stupid Mental Health". And one of the slides in it is titled "Mindfulness: Petition To Rename It".

Mindfulness, as a term, is uselessly broad; it's such a bad way to identify a category of treatment/behavior that there appears to be an entire subgenre of scientific papers that work to create a framework of what Mindfulness actually is -- I read at least three papers, all published in the last ten years, that are like "What is Mindfulness in a useful sense?" and all of them had different answers. And because Mindfulness is now a buzzword, if you're researching it then you're likely to run into everything from scholarly articles to pop journalism to clickbait, to both harmless and genuinely dangerous peddlers of quack science. And sometimes the quack scientists are also publishing scholarly articles where they've just been p-hacking.

So I'm inclined to agree that mindfulness is mostly nonsense, but that's a problem with the term, not what falls underneath it. There are therapeutic modes that call themselves mindfulness that actually are rooted in real science. I think these should probably have a new name, like Therapeutic Awareness or something, but it'd just get co-opted back into the woo, I have a feeling.

So there's a lot of nonsense, but the goal of being present in the moment and self-aware isn't an idle one; there's an increasing body of knowledge suggesting that it's a foundational skill for emotional regulation and healthy coping. The scholarship goes way beyond "mindfulness arises from Buddhist practice" which if I have to read one more time I'm gonna throw stuff. Clinical testing is looking at things like physiological responses to mindfulness behaviors that have nothing to do with what's going on in your conscious mind. There's some woo surrounding "Coherent Breathing" and I don't trust the foremost proponent of it as far as I can throw him, but he didn't invent it, and testing shows that people trained in and practicing Coherent Breathing have better focus and can, to an extent, lower the level of stress hormone in their body. "Positive affect" (happy emotions) didn't rise, but "Negative affect" (sadness, anger, stress etc) was lowered.

A lot of what's being studied on a clinical level involves us as humans somehow activating shit in our nervous system that we have no conscious control over, the same way we develop muscle memory by doing a task repeatedly. That has measurable value for the issues I'm trying to solve, but it's not universally applicable, which is another reason so much of mindfulness comes across as junk science, because it tries to tell us that it's a cure-all when it isn't.

But there's reason to believe that if you can reroute your nervous system when you're starting to become upset, you can short-circuit maladaptive reactions and prevent it from causing a spiral or an over-reaction or similar, and some practices called mindfulness can train for that. And that's my goal, so I'm willing to rummage in the garbage for the gold.