#Braves System Depth

[ohnoitstbskyen]

re: Somerton

Not for nothing, but I think we should remember that James Somerton's fans and subscribers are normal people, just like you. They are people who received his output in good faith, and extended to him a normal amount of grace and benefit of the doubt, which he took advantage of.

I don't think it's helpful to respond to the exposé on Somerton with sentiments along the lines of "wow, how could anyone ever think THIS GUY'S videos were any good, ha ha ha, how did he ever get subscribers?" because 1) you have the substantial benefit of hindsight and a disengaged outsider perspective, and 2) it's a rhetoric that creates a divide between you (refined, savvy, smart, sophisticated) and Somerton's audience (gullible, unrefined, easily taken advantage of, terrible taste), which is a false divide, with a false sense of security.

Somerton's success happened because he stole good writing. He found interesting, insightful, in-depth work done by other people, applied the one skill he actually has which is marketing, and re-packaged it as his own. He targeted a market which is starving for the exact kind of writing he was stealing, and pushed his audience to disengage from sources that conflicted with him.

Hbomberguy makes this point in his exposé video: good queer writing is hard to find and incredibly easy to lose. The writers Somerton stole from were often poor or precarious, writing freelance work for small circles under shitty conditions, without the means or the reach or the privileges necessary to find bigger markets. And, as Hbomb demonstrated, when people did discover Somerton's plagiarism, he used his substantial audience to hound them away and dissuade anyone else from trying to hold him accountable.

He stole queer writing by marginalized people, about experiences and perspectives that people are desperate to hear more about, and even if his delivery and aesthetics were naff, his words resonated with people because the original writers who actually wrote them poured their goddamn hearts and souls into it.

Somerton also maintained a consistent narrative of persecution and marginalization about himself. He took the plain truth, which is that queer people and perspectives are discriminated against, and worked that into a story about himself as a lone, brave truth-teller, daring to voice an authentic queer perspective, constantly beset by bigots and adversaries who sought to tear him down. As @aranock, who works with some of the people he targeted, writes in this post, Somerton weaponized whatever casual bias and bigotry he could find in his audience to reinforce his me vs them narrative (usually misogyny and various forms of transphobia), which is what grifters do. They find a vulnerable thread in a community and pull on it. And while you may not have the particular vulnerability that he exploited, you do have vulnerabilities, and they can be exploited too.

People felt compelled to support him, even if his work was sometimes shoddy, because he presented himself as a vulnerable, marginalized person in need of help, he pulled on that vulnerable thread.

Again, he has a degree in marketing, and just like propaganda, nobody is immune to marketing.

YouTube as a system is set up to push for more, constantly more. More content, more videos, more output, more more more more, and part of Somerton and Illuminaughty's success was their ability to push out large amounts of content to the hungry algorithm, even if it was of inferior quality. The algorithm rewarded their volume of output with more eyeballs and attention, and therefore more opportunities to find people who were vulnerable to their grift.

It is a system which quite literally rewards the exact kind of plagiarism that they do, because watch-time and engagement are easily measurable metrics for a corporation, and academic rigor is not. There is pressure to deliver, and a lot of rewards to gain from cutting corners to do it.

Somerton and Illuminaughty and Internet Historian are extreme and very obvious cases, so blatant that you can make a four hour video essay exposing what they've done, but the vast majority of this kind of plagiarism isn't going to be obvious - sometimes it might not even be obvious to the people who are doing it. Casual plagiarism is endemic to the modern internet, and most people don't get educated on what the exact boundaries are between proper sourcing and quoting vs plagiarizing. We had an entire course module at my university aimed at teaching students the exact differences and definitions, and people still made good faith mistakes in their essays and papers that they had to learn to correct during their education.

All of this to say: it is extremely easy in hindsight to call Somerton's work shitty and shoddy, his aesthetics flat and uninspired, and to imagine that as a sophisticated person with good taste and critical faculties, you would never be taken in by this kind of grifter. It is extremely easy to distance yourself from the people he preyed on, and imagine that you will never have to worry about your fave doing your dirty like that.

But part of the point of Hbomberguy's video is that plagiarism is extremely easy to get away with, and often difficult for the average person to spot and call out, and with the rise of AI tools blurring the lines even further, it is not going to get any easier.

So I think we should resist the temptation to think of Somerton's audience as people with bad taste and poor faculties. We should resist the temptation to distance ourselves from the perfectly normal people he preyed on. Many times in your life, a modestly clever man with a marketing degree has fooled you too.

On a personal note, by the same token, I am resisting the temptation to assume that I am too good to be vulnerable to the systemic pressures that produced Somerton and Illuminaughty. No, I've never made a video by word-for-word reciting someone else's work, but I know for a fact that I could do a better job of double-checking my work and citing my sources. I feel the exact same pressure to get a video out as fast as possible, I have the exact same rewards dangled in front of me by YouTube as a platform, and I can't pretend it doesn't affect my work. To me, Hbomb's video felt like a wake-up call to do better.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A fun question your opinion: In each arc, what do you think is the theme of each arc? ( It can be a motif, messages, subject)

These are a mix of jokes and serious thoughts ^^ just to avoid the post from being too heavy overall!

The Rose-Red Tyrant:

Breaking free from perpetuating a cycle of abuse

You are your own person, not a puppet controlled by your parent/guardian

At the same time, you have to take accountability for your own actions (your background can explain your poor behavior toward others but it does not excuse that behavior)

Control that is too constrictive will only push away potential connections and experiences, keeping you isolated and complacent

Anger management classes are good for you, guys

The Usurper from the Wilds:

Let’s play fairly and be good sports!

Judging people for their merits rather than by titles or birth

What makes someone worthy to lead is noble behavior and attiude

Standing up for what’s morally right, even if everyone else seems to be against you

You have value, worth, and hope in spite of what others may tell you and put you down for

It’s totally okay to get revenge on the asshole that tripped you that one time/j

It’s technically not a crime if you don’t get caught (except Leona did, in fact, get caught)

The Merchant from the Depths:

Don’t be ashamed of your past self—embrace it, accept it, and use it as a point of reference for self growth

Be the bigger person rather than becoming a bully yourself

Let your accomplishments speak for themselves

There is no “easy way out” or shortcut; be prepared to face the consequences of your actions

Not everything is as it may seem (think about the “trick” with Azul’s contracts)

… Read the terms and conditions very carefully and think things over before you sign a contract 💀

Schemer of the Scalding Sands:

Wow, this baby can fit so much generational trauma!!

Sometimes you just miss each other’s messages or greatly misinterpret the other’s intentions (Kalim giving Jamil the benefit of the doubt, Jamil obviously being the Bad Guy and everyone else has to point that out to Kalim)

There’s a very complicated relationship between those in power and those without power; this can breed hatred for those at the top

Talent and skill left unacknowledged can fester into resentment

Institutions of higher education can and will accept monetary bribes, what are you gonna do about it?

Not everyone wants to reconcile and make friends; this is okay and should be more normalized

A Beautiful Tyrant:

You can try your best and work hard, but life doesn’t owe you anything (depressing thought, but unfortunately true)

Beauty is not limited to just one’s looks; beauty can also extend to one’s character and actions

Your worth shouldn’t come from external forces; if you are satisfied with yourself, you will always be “beautiful” no matter how you look or what losses you may experience

Public opinion and the entertainment industry are brutal af

Screw gender norms 😤

The Watchman of the Underworld:

The grieving process in general

Moving on from the past instead of fixating on it and letting the past consume your present and hold you back from a future

Learning to forgive yourself

Reaching out and making new support systems/opening up to others to help you cope

Bearing the sins of your ancestors (Shroud family curse)

The Lord of Malevolence:

Change is inevitable, all good things must come to an end; we must learn to accept them and bravely move toward the future

Love endures, transcending race (Sebek), blood (Silver), and time (Lilia)

Self-sacrificial love (Maleanor for Malleus, Lilia for the other Diasomnia boys, Dawn Knight for his own family, etc.)

Is it “true” happiness if it is a fake reality, a convenient dream?

We hate and fear what we do not understand, even though we have the capacity to

You cannot live forever in a happy fantasy world where none of your loved ones/favorite characters leave you, your trauma doesn’t exist, and everything conveniently pans out how you want it to; sooner or later, you must “wake up” and face reality (this point is particularly meta; it applies both in-game and in the real world, speaking to us players and our relationship with the escapist fictional content we consume)

Prologue: Welcome to the Villains’ World and Overall Main Story:

The power of friendship :))

Revisionist history (cuz… y’know… Great Seven and all)

We’re stronger together than alone

It’s okay to rely on others

We may be very different people from very different backgrounds, but it is still possible for us to understand one another

[cheolism-archive]

classroom etiquette 

✰ — kim hongjoong x f!reader ✷ — summary: you and kim hongjoong are: members of the university english department; writing rivals; great enemies. and you meet in an abandoned classroom. ✰ — wc is approx. 2.5k ✷ — genre: rivals and lovers, smut ✰ — warnings: dom!hongjoong x sub!reader. degradation (brat, slut) and praise kinks, pet names (princess, good girl, etc.). slight exhibitionism. oral (m! receiving) and cum swallowing. dumbification of reader. ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: for @lovetaroandtaemin !! requested as part of my follower celebration! i hope this is what u wanted! ty for requesting <3 i can't wait to get to know you more <33

in short, yet again mr. kim has proved himself incapable of writing anything where a character has depth. he is so preoccupied with creating a story filled with dragons and intricate government systems that his characters fall remarkably behind. there is no substance to what he writes. he writes purely as an act of god: to create a world that inspires awe. he does not write for the art of it; for the humanity of it.

you grin to yourself, triumphant, as you publish the review to the lit magazine site. kim hongjoong's short story was littered with positive reviews, readers and fellow authors alike praising his elaborate world-building.

they weren't wrong to praise his world-building. you may not like the man and firmly believe he is a stain upon the university's english department, but you wouldn't lie and say he half-assed his world-building.

but, like you said: where he excelled in world-building building he failed in character-building.

each main character was like the next: brave and with a firm moral compass, a yearning to do the right thing. there was no depth. they felt as artificial as his nose ring, which you saw him pull off one time.

and yet, as you navigate to the home page of the literary magazine and look upon the monthly winners, as voted upon by fellow authors and readers, people just eat it up. they eager await everything kim hongjoong puts out.

as evidenced by the shining number one next to his story link.

with yours immediately beneath it.

well, you think to yourself, you did win last month.

still, you feel slighted; wronged. this month's work had been a masterpiece, in your opinion. a careful character study of a widow reminiscing of her life as she looks out the window, watching the sun rise and set and relating it to her life.

it was thoughtful. more importantly, it was human. it was everything kim hongjoong's story lacked.

your laptop chimes, breaking the near-silence of the lounge. you hurry to silence it, finger jamming on the mute button on your keyboard.

you got a new review on your story.

you click on it.

kim hongjoong (@no1likeme): another perfectly boring character study of someone the audience has no care for. every single word of this story reads as if someone was watching paint dry. no action. no plot. it's a poor imitation of a chekhov story, and a million times more boring. it's an insult to the genre. if i wanted to contemplate the meaning of life, i'd take a philosophy class. i wouldn't spend my precious time writing something as cheesy and trashy as this.

immediately, and predictably, you feel your temper rise.

who was he, you think, closing the screen of your laptop with a sharp movement, to judge your story?

just because he needed to fill his stories to the brim with gunfights and far-away dystopias didn't mean everyone else in the world was ignorant of the wisdom and humanity of character studies.

you shove your laptop into your bag, zipping it up angrily.

every story you put out, kim hongjoong leaves a comment on. it's like he's obsessed with you.

(nothing is to be said about the fact you wait for the moment he uploads a story to read it. you shimmer in your thoughts for a week, rereading and deciding the perfect way to weave your thoughts over his latest work. you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting a review immediately; wouldn't let him know that you were so eager to read what trash he put out.)

you stepped from the lounge, making your way down the metal staircase.

your work, you knew, was perfect. it was intricate and prompted thought.

just because he didn't understand --

you walked down two flights before stepping off of the staircase. hefting your backpack back onto your shoulder, from where it had been slipping, you make your way down the hall. the english building is nearly abandoned at this hour, a few students littering the hallways, cramming in assignments before they inevitably take the last bus back to their cramped apartment.

you go to the very last classroom on the third floor.

you switch on the lights for the front of the room, the section that is impossible to see by someone walking by and giving a cursory look through the door window.

you settle at the front of the room. the chairs are all on wheels for safety, and it slides gently as you recline into it. you pull out your laptop and boot it back up. kim hongjoong's review tauntingly stares at you.

you screenshot it and then add it to a folder labeled kim hongjoong reviews. there's 30 other reviews within, one for each story you've uploaded to the university literary magazine.

and kim hongjoong had to comment on each one of them.

he's obsessed.

the door to the classroom opens.

in steps kim hongjoong.

he is, naturally, fashionably dressed. black jeans and a black leather jacket, a striped cardigan udnerneath. hongjoong's wearing those stupid black-framed glasses of his, the ones that only seem to highlight the dark arches of his brows and show off his undercut. he's wearing his silver rings, of course, and when he lifts his hand to run his fingers through his black hair, you catch a glimpse of a brown leather watch.

hongjoong looks like he's walked out of a freshman student's fantasy concerning their literary teaching assistant.

you scoff at him. "if you gave your writing half as much attention as you did your clothes, you'd finally have something worth reading."

hongjoong scowls at you, eyes severe. "you really think you know everything, don't you?"

you smirk at him, looking back at your computer. hongjoong comes to the front of the room. he sets his leather back on the ground next to the leg of the table, beginning to pull at the sleeves of his leather jacket.

"leave it on," you demand.

he rolls his eyes. hongjoong continues to take off the leather jacket. beneath it is his striped cardigan, and it's horribly contrasting the undercut and overall sleek look he was going for.

you click your tongue. "shame. i would've said you looked hot had you left it on."

"you're such a fucking brat," hongjoong admonishes. he pulls at the armrests of the chair. it rolls easily in his grasp, and he twists it so you're craning your neck to look up at him.

hongjoong exudes power like this. staring down at you, eyes dark and serious. he's all dominance and imposing, and you can feel something twisting in your gut.

"am i?" you say, eyes glancing down at his mouth.

"you're fucking ridiculous," hongjoong scoffs. then he's swooping down and mashing his mouth against yours.

his hand finds the back of your neck, holding you firm. hongjoong's mouth is demanding, pressing against yours relentlessly, laying claim. he shoves his tongue in, dominant and not wasting a single moment.

hongjoong kisses passionately; he kisses like he's pressing forth all his anger and frustration with you.

you pull back, lips making a soft smacking noise as you separate. hongjoong's mouth is wet with spit from having stuck his tongue in your mouth, and you know your mouth isn't much better.

"seriously," you say, "you write like you're trying to fuck tolkien."

hongjoong gapes at you. and then, "get on your fucking knees, you chekhov-wannabe."

you pout for a moment, putting up a front.

then his hand is slipping up from your neck and into your hair. he guides you onto the floor, taking your spot on the chair.

the floor is cold as you kneel on it, the temperature seeping through the fabric of your jeans. you pay it no mind. instead you watch as hongjoong undoes his belt with a single hand, pushing down at his pants.

"you act like a little know-it-all," hongjoong murmurs. he pushes his jeans down to his ankles, sitting at the edge of the chair. his underwear, naturally, matches the rest of his outfit, black and tight around him.

"well," you say, looking at his bulge. you know hongjoong isn't particularly big, but you know how he fits so perfectly in your mouth. you've gotten wet more than a few times reading one of his stories, imagining him sitting down and writing, dick stuffed in your mouth. "i do know everything."

hongjoong takes out his dick. it's just — perfect. not too thick but still enough to stretch out your pussy deliciously, not too long to where it triggered your gag reflux when he kept it resting in your mouth. it isn't the prettiest dick you've sucked, but it's absolutely the best dick. it curves naturally towards him, ensuring he presses against your g-spot whenever he sticks it in your pussy.

it's just —

you never thought yourself particularly wanton; particularly vulgar or sexual. but fuck, hongjoong's dick —

he runs his hand over his dick. it's flushed from erection, and you watch, transfixed, as he delicately fingers his head and rubs his thumb against the slit, the angle of his hand showing off the watch on his wrist.

"what a little slut," hongjoong laughs. "running your mouth until you get a dick in your face. is that how i gotta shut you up? just get my dick out?"

you flick your eyes up at him. you can feel blood flush to your cheeks. it always feels demeaning to be on your knees in front of hongjoong, letting him bully you.

but you can't deny how drenched his bullying makes your cunt; how it always makes your pussy throb, desperate for him. and you just fucking love playing into it, especially when you know how fucking hard it makes him.

hongjoong slides his fist down his dick, settling it around the root of it. he presses his thumb against the head, pulling back his foreskin. "well? come on, princess. wanted a dick in your mouth so bad, didn't you?"

horribly obedient, you shuffle forward. you place your hands on his knees. hongjoong chuckles, raising his brows over the rim of his glasses. "should make you do it without your hands."

you pout up at him. "joong. . ."

"don't worry princess," he says. "not this time. but —"

you whine.

"don't be a baby," hongjoong admonishes you, though he's lost that severe look. instead he's grinning, pleased with how cock-stupid you are. "i know you just run your mouth and act out because you want my cock in your cunt. say it, baby. say you're sorry for acting out; that you want my dick."

you whine again, nails gently scraping against his thighs. it's always embarrassing how he makes you say such things. it's mortifying how they make your panties stick to your cunt with juices.

"what was it you said? 'no substance to what he writes?'"

"'m sorry," you whimper out. you settle, resting your chin on his knee. you peer up at him, pushing stray strands of hair from your face. "just wanted you, joong."

hongjoong hums, his hand once again delicately moving up his dick. "pretty shitty apology. but i guess it'll do for now."

hongjoong spread out his knees, tilting his dick towards you.

eagerly, like a puppy given the signal to pursue a treat, you lurch forward for his cock.

hongjoong held his dick still for you to press your lips to the tip. immediately you are met with the bitter taste of his precum, the taste of his skin. you slowly, gently, began to lower your mouth around the head of his dick.

"that's a good girl," hongjoong hisses out, hips lightly canting into your mouth. "such a good girl."

you can't help but preen under his praise. this part, where he rambles about how good you are, how you're a princess, you adore too. you love how the words make you heart and pussy flutter, how they smooth the sharp sting of his bullying tongue.

hongjoong glides his dick into your mouth slowly. he savors in the sweet glide of it, in his dick sliding along your tongue, your spit coating it.

you love the weight of his cock in your mouth. whenever his dick is in your mouth you can feel it dull down the sharp edges of your mind. your being becomes centered around his dick, how it feels against your tongue, how little pearls of precum mixes with your spit.

you're usually not crude, but fuck if hongjoong's dick in your mouth isn't the best part of your week.

hongjoong doesn't make you to take his entire dick. he isn't in a particularly mean mood, then. instead he slides his dick until the tip of it is on the back of your tongue, knowing just how much of it you can take after who knows how many sessions you've spent with his dick in your mouth.

"swallow," he commands. you swallow, mouth constricting around his cock. "good girl. good, princess."

one of his hands went to your hair. he guided your head back, his dick sliding around your tongue. drool fell from your mouth as hongjoong withdrew his dick, and you couldn't help but look down and watch his dick, how your spit glistens along his dick.

"good," he says, and then he's fucking back into your mouth.

hongjoong fucks your mouth slowly, his hips gently rolling into your mouth. he fucks your mouth like he's making love to it. endless praise pours from his mouth. "perfect," he sighs, "perfect fucking slutty little princess.

"gonna swallow?" he slows his thrusts even more, languid, biting down on his lip. his glasses have slid down his nose, bangs in his eyes. "gonna swallow my cum, princess?"

you nod, and he groans.

you shift forward. you move your hands up his thighs and slide them around the base of his dick, rising to your knees. hongjoong moves both his hands to your hair, fingernails scraping against your scalp.

you place your lips against the tip of his dick. slowly you take it back into your mouth. hongjoong's grip on your hair tightens as you take his dick further and further into your mouth. you go until the tip of it is hitting the back of your mouth, and then you still.

hongjoong's dick twitches in your mouth.

the need to please him endures, and so you begin fucking his dick with your mouth. you pull off of his dick until it's just your lips wrapped around his tip. then back down to the tip you go, swallowing once your lips are snug around his base. you begin to shallowly bob around his dick, hongjoong's pants, quiet and sweet, coupled with the slick sounds of your mouth around his dick.

when he cums, you can't help but choke. this part of giving head always catches you off guard, no matter how many times you swallow around his dick. you sputter around his cock, only pulling off once you begin to cough.

"good," he murmurs, voice tight. he cradles your face, his hand going to wipe at the cum that splattered on your chin. "good girl."

[dragoncommunion]

yo mama so heavy aquifer that it took an elaborate system of pumps and drainage channels to navigate her depths and several dwarves died bravely.

[nanistar]

SERPENTINE PROMISE | Hidden in Plain Sight.

Serpentine Promise is a 16+ literate Horror / Slasher Warriors RP set on the coast of Belize in the heart of a meteor crater called the Cardinal. This RP takes heavy inspiration from the beautiful indigenous Mayan cultures of Belize for its worldbuilding.

You are part of three groups known as Arrows. You live in relative peace, guided by your Celestial Leaders in the skies above - the Jade Tiger, the Red Tiger, and the Gold Tiger. Centuries prior, these three leaders created the Arrows, but in doing so created something worse. The North Serpent wanted the crater for itself, and would only be satisfied when it ate the sun. The three tigers fought together against the serpent to the death.

In modern times, these Celestial Leaders are growing increasingly distraught, until they disappear one night and leave you with nothing but an omen … Cats around you begin to drop dead soon after. Your objective? Survive. Keep one eye open. Figure out which one of you is slaughtering cats by the dozen, or die trying.

𓆙 ━─┈

🌊THE EAST WAVES Living on the sandy coasts of the Cardinal, the cats of the East Waves are weathered, brave, regal, and know their way around the barrier reef, and the raging seas. 🌴THE SOUTH RAINS Nestled in the dense, lush rainforest of the crater, the cats of the South Rains are intelligent, agile, gifted and flighty. They know how to traverse the land without ever placing a paw on the dangerous jungle floor.

⛰️THE WEST PEAKS Settled in the mountains along the edge of the crater, living within caverns and along cliff faces, cats in the West Peaks are hardy, strong, tough and independent, battling the biggest threats of all — Harpy eagles, amongst other dangerous raptors. 𓆙 ━─┈ WHAT WE OFFER🐍

A safe, secure environment for all with safety nets in place for any incident that would otherwise occur in a large space.

A server open to writers of any experience.

An extremely large expanse of lore and world-building including a glossary of brand new terms, in-depth lore and history inspired by Mayan cultures, unique ranks and roles to each Arrow, and an entirely new herb and medicine system created entirely for the RP, amongst a dozen other additions!

A server run by BIPOC and LGBT+ moderators, including a Belizean admin and consultant.

High Ranks and Roles open for application for writers of any experience and skill level!

RP affiliation / partnership — advertise your RP server in ours!

EXPLORE THE WORLD & APPLY NOW! >> https://serpentinepromise.carrd.co/ << =

(please note that i, nanistar, am NOT the host of this RP. i am merely a moderator and the tumblr liaison. i can answer some basic questions, but for anything more in-depth else please contact BADMIRACLE on tumblr. he is an amazing rp host and has spent months bringing this together and developing this rp.)

[comicaurora]

In your asks and other outside-of-comic statements, you seem to draw on parallels to programming a lot when talking about lacrimas.

And this makes me think as a programmer: the primordial rules that are used in Auroras to do magic and lacrimas are part of the primordial language. You are literally telling the primordial's dead bodies what to do, and they obey.

Yet, the difference that comes to my mind is that Primordial was at one point a language actually spoken. Used to communicate in day-to-day life by normal sentient beings. That's quite different from programming languages, which aren't meant to be talked in at all, and are built from the ground up purely to convey a series of precise instructions. They're very formalised and structured. There are no synonyms, no double meanings, no altering of word order, no redundant information etc. It's extremely rigid, much unlike languages people actually talk in, for which a degree of fluidity and ambiguity is essential.

And in Aurora it would seem the latter is being used as the former.

Have you ever thought about this tension/contradiction/conflict? How it affects the world, how it affects your writing, etc?

Or has this distinction never crossed your mind?

Or was this something you have noticed, but never really had the right knowledge to engage with much?

Or any other thoughts on the subject, really

So! This is an interesting thing I have actually thought about.

When the Elder Races were first created, they were born knowing and speaking a language innovatively called the First Language. Every new Young Race is also initially created speaking this language. The language then drifts over the generations, developing into regional dialects and then into separate linguistic descendants if given enough time.

The Ancients spoke a close descendent of the First Language for most of their time in existence, and made a writing system of their own very early on, which has no innate power. But in the early days of the world, the generally accepted story is that a god granted the three elder races knowledge of the written Runic language, which could command the elements. The Ancients acquired it late and used it very sparingly, only for the programming of lacrimas, but for the Elves and Humans living in the depths of the Caves, this was their first and primary writing system. It's even possible that a rare cave-dweller brave enough to venture to the surface was the one who taught the Ancients these runes in the first place.

It's posed an obvious question, of course. Why does this one specific form of writing manifest as a language of magic? Why can it command the dead Primordials? Why is it so well-suited to the phonemes of the First Language that every child of this world is created speaking?

The predominant theory - and, with two living primordials to check with, one which is potentially on the cusp of being proven - is that the First Language and its runic writing system are the language that the Primordials spoke. Its words, written or spoken, can be understood by the remnants of thought that still linger in the sleeping, dead-but-not-entirely-gone primordials that make up the world.

Primordial magic is different from programming in one key way: real computers are entirely unthinking entities. They are not in any way smart - not even smart enough to be stupid. A computer parsing a program cannot observe a missing parentheses and compensate like a human could do in their sleep - it simply fails to parse, because the mathematics don't work out.

Magic in this world is like what every programmer wishes programming could be. Tell the computer what to do, and it might be a little confused, but it'll get the gist. Tell Fire to burn in this direction - Fire, even if it's just running on an echo of a seven-thousand-year-old memory, knows what that means. Tell the wind to printf this statement to this recipient, it'll try to find them and send the message. Tell Life to make this body do what it's doing faster, it can do that. It's simple executions of simple commands, almost reflexive - things that require no complex higher thought from a being that is no longer alive enough to have them. They're not as unthinking as computers, and that means the nuances of language can actually have an effect on them. Some mages think more poetic and emotionally-charged spell invocations can lead to better, more efficient results - an appeal to a long-dead emotion might be easier for the Primordial to execute than an appeal to a half-forgotten complex thought.

When a mage takes direct control of a magical energy and funnels it into an elemental effect, their own higher thought allows the element to do more complicated things - Fire can't transmute on its own like it could when it was alive, but it can when bent to a mortal will. No need to translate a spell into the language of magic when the mage can simply use their own mind to shape the effect. This is the primary advantage mages have over lacrima-users - flexibility, complexity, and speed.

Another interesting factor. Alinua's dynamic with Life demonstrates what a living Primordial's living thought can do when in the hands of a mortal. A normal, simple healing spell cast by anybody but her just accelerates a body's own healing, but with Alinua's guidance steadying Life's hand, they can do much more complicated things of her own free will - things Life knows how to do that no mage knows how to command her to do.

[clairescotcoutts]

So, about The Veilguard.

This post is:

Long.

Spoiler full.

Read at your peril.

So.

The fact that I devoured the game in virtually less than three days should speak for itself; I was worried about the playing style, I was unsure about the combo system, and having only two companions travel alongside the MC felt a little alien to me and also added to my anxiety. (Yes, I’ve played Mass Effect, yes, I’ve been in a fighting trio before, but never in Dragon Age.) I thought, “There’s only three of us?! We’re gonna die so much and so hard.”

Turns out I didn’t die so many times as I’d expected, so yay me.

I had refused to watch anything that had to do with the plot, with the exception of the trailers, because I wanted my experience to be fresh and untainted by expectations. Of course, I had hopes — but other than that, I dove in blind and without any sense of direction.

As you know, the depths of the ocean hold both horror and beauty, so here are mine; I shall start with the horrors so all the bad air is cleared out first.

My primary horror is that, save a few points, the game very clearly follows BioWare’s own canon, in which the Hero of Ferelden must have died to stop the Fifth Blight, and thus there is no Kieran. Morrigan plays a pivotal role yet again, but her presence implies that the decisions made in previous games are… well, your own, but not the world’s own. So, no Kieran, and it is heavily suggested that it was Morrigan who drank from the Vir’Abelasan. Even if she hadn’t, turns out she ends up with a piece of Mythal inside her anyway, granted by a regretful (and finally gone) Flemeth.

Story-telling wise, well, I don’t know if it was the best choice— I just know it bummed me out a bit to find some of my decisions discarded, not considered at all.

My second horror is the absence of either Hawke or Stroud. The events at Amaranthine are mentioned, but (unless I missed a codex entry) there’s no word on what happened to the brave soul left in the Fade to fight that giant monster demon. Since I always leave Stroud behind (because Alistair is and always will be a king to me), I can’t say I’m suffering to know his fate, but it would’ve been nice to confirm something. 

At the end of Inquisition, Morrigan narrates that should Hawke live, they go to Weisshaupt, but soon all news from there ends. What happened?! Am I missing something found only in the comics or books?

Also what happened to the rest of the companions? What about the woman made Divine in Inquisition? Whether it’s Leliana, Cassandra or Vivienne, you’d think the Divine would have something to say about two ancient elven gods turning the world tits up.

What about the Qunari who are not part of the Antaam? Are they in agreement with Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain? Is Seheron torn asunder like Minrathous?

Why is nobody remarking on the fact that the Crows buy (or used to buy) people?! I love the Antivan Crows, I do, but one cannot forget Zevran and all he told us about them.

Those are my particular points of horror. 

Now, to the rest.

Veilguard is a game that doesn’t hold back. It’s out to punch you in the guts and kick you in the feelings, and boy does it do it brilliantly. The sacrifices are real. The choices are heavy and carry weight on them that slumps you down (especially if you’re extra sensitive, like me) throughout the game. The dilemma and problems your companions face are heart wrenching, and you want them all to thrive. Yes, even the one who was hardened because you can’t bloody be in two places at once. These companions are well fleshed-out, they’re alive, they’re complex and they are so beautiful to live and travel with. The emotional moments they have, I felt them, I suffered with them, I cried. I /cried/, which had never happened to me with a videogame before. And not just because this companion is my favourite or that topic hits a bit close to home— not just that. It’s because they’re amazingly written and acted out. They feel so real.

The locations are gorgeous (I especially fell in love with Treviso), and I love how much you’re able to explore. I love that you can pet animals. I love that you can interact with the world in front of you. I /love/ that you don't miss dialogue even if you get into a fight because the companions re-start conversations now.

The NPCs? My children. Isabela is fire, as always; Antoine, Evka, Viago and Teia have my whole heart. The Mourn Watch is fascinating and the Shadow Dragons are bold, united and righteous. I really like that the Veil Jumpers don’t diss on the Dalish just because they know more— they understand that, as a people, they are one. And they’re accepting of everyone, not just elves!

I simply adore Rook as a protagonist. Not just because they give purple Hawke, and I love Hawke, but because again, they feel human and real. They know this is well above their paygrade, and they’re in way over their heads, but they still step up and lead because damn, someone has to. Iron Bull would be so proud. They are fun, they are caring, they are talkative and they know they’re drowning, but can’t afford to stop swimming.

Both in Origins and Inquisition it felt as though we were The Chosen One, even if in the latter one tried to swear it off and deny any possible divine intervention, but in DA: 2 and here, we are just people trying their best with the worst circumstances, and to me, that’s beautiful. Rook is a delightful protagonist.

The game allows you to choose who you’re going to be and /how/ you’re going to be thus. You can be cis, you can be trans, you can be neither and you can be both. No limits now.

Which leads me to another point I simply adored: how the questions of gender are treated. It’s really big to have an NB character go through their own acceptance process before our very eyes. While in Origins (and a bit in Inquisition too) you have the choice to be shocked that there are people who like their same gender, this game is Thedas saying “The world is big, the world is complex, and people everywhere are not defined by your expectations or rules. It’s not even an option. Deal with it.”

Regarding the magic, I’m not even mad it looks and feels different. After all, Dorian used to say that “the South is so charming and rustic”, and now I see that’s because what he saw in Ferelden and Orlais was not what he is used to. Even in Absolution we see that the way Tevinter used magic is distinctly unique and not how it is done south of Arlathan. I understand it. I like it. It’s not as if there had been no changes in the designs of demons and darkspawn before, and now that’s what they look like. It’s fine. Time has passed and people are allowed to make different creative choices.

Now, to Solas… Solas. Oh, Solas. I understand you so much better now.

Veilguard really helps put into perspective some bits of dialogue from previous games. Why does this 8-ball care so much about spirits and the Fade? Gods, because he /is/ them, and the Fade used to be his home. Every time he has to hear that spirits are monsters or unreal he takes it personally, and how could he not? People are saying he’s a monster, he’s not real, and nobody knows any better because they wouldn’t believe him anyway. Now I understand why he gets so worked up if you make Cole more human—you’re doing to him what Mythal did to Solas himself. You’re forcing him to be something else and Solas knows it hurts. (Also, Cole is happier as a spirit— “Thank you for helping me find this again. For believing in me. You don't know what it means”, he says, and now it hits so differently.)

I have to remark on some things I’ve read that have shocked me— first of all being the interpretation of Solas and Mythal’s relationship. Like Taash, you can assume “they were doing it”, however, I don’t think they ever loved each other like that. Their bond, to me, is that of a queen and her most loyal knight, a “king and lionheart” sort of situation if you will. Solas knows her better than anyone else, certainly, but the way I see it, that right there is his commander, inspiration and also, his heaviest shackle.

Their relationship merits another post altogether, I believe, as does Solas and Lavellan’s.

All in all, the good, to me, far outweights the bad.

Give the Veilguard a chance before you discard them, enjoy the appearance of some of the characters you love, enjoy getting to know the new heroes. Give yourself the option of having an informed opinion before you love or hate.

Also, petition for Solas to let his hair grow out again.

That's it, for now.

[its-not-a-pen]

-Biblically accurate Early-Third-Century Warlord (Cao Cao), with Loser Liege Lord (Liu Bei) for scale-

So Cao Cao’s tomb has (allegedly) been found, and apparently he was this tiny little guy (1.55 m), for reference, the average height was about 1.7m. I was so delighted by the news I immediately went and drew this. The stories of xu chu picking him up under one arm are so much more plausible now!  I think his victories are even more impressive in hindsight, given that he could’ve been carried off by a hawk at any time.

I decided to show the two of them displaying their greatest strengths:

lui bei was the populist, who was beloved by the poor and downtrodden, despite having very little to show for it for the first 3/4s of his life. Historically, he was both a coarse, hot-tempered con-man who seem to be primarily motivated by fame and frivolity, and a tremendously kindhearted and brave defender of the common people. I’ve drawn him holding out a peach (and allusion to the fictional peach garden oath). he’s wearing straw sandals he made himself, a nod to his humble beginnings, and an incongruously fine robe with the sleeves rolled up, like he’s been working in a field… or preparing for a fight. One fist is tightly clenched and held stiffly by his side, even as he smiles warmly. Just like his namesake, he is both prepared 备and has hidden depths 玄. (I’ve seen the robe tucked into the belt in multiple places, I assume it’s just for ease of motion, but it’s also occurred to me it would be a good “pocket”.)

cao cao is well known for being a brutal and brilliant man, the phrase ‘ speak of cao cao and he shall appear’ is synonymous with the English phase, ‘speak of the devil.” What is less well known is that he was actually a very reasonable and respected leader, who often brought talented men into his fold, regardless of background or previous allegiance. This meritocratic system was one of the reasons for his success. I drew cao cao wearing fine, but understated clothes, with a full set of armour, as he was well known for personally leading his forces on campaigns. With one hand, he points to the ground before him, commanding you to kneel down and swear your allegiance to him. His sword is sheathed, but displayed prominently. He can be very merciful, but only once.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

It’s incredibly brave of Blake to take a stand and make all this public. Or rather, that she bided her time, let the process do its thing, and seemingly compiled such a strong case against Justin Baldoni and basically let him and his team hang themselves with their own hubris. And like many others have said, the fact that she was arguably the most powerful person in that production and he and his team thought they could treat her the way they did and subsequently handily “bury her” speaks volumes on the rampant misogyny in the industry, and about how if it was this bad *for her*, imagine how bad is must be for people who don’t have the protection of her level of fame and wealth and privilege.

It’s so weird because obviously I like I think many of us knew things were bad during the movie’s press tour; with the whole cast unfollowing him, everyone distancing themselves from him, the comments, etc., I figured something happened along “creative differences” and that he was evidently not well-liked, but I never imagined it was this insidious or conspiratorial. How could one B-list one-time CW actor cause that much damage on a set? Well, it turns out, extremely easily. Because systems are in place to protect these men, no matter how privileged on paper the women around them are. The depths to which this team sought to ruin her, as an assault on all fronts, is truly Machiavellian.

Blake was “lucky” because she had people who believed her and had the resources and access to protect herself and advocate for change on her set, but she should never have had to protect herself like this in the first place. She went through traumatic incidents at the hands of these men, ones that had tangible consequences on both her mental and physical health and that of her child. And again: if this is how awful the experience was for her at the top of the call sheet, how many other people on this set and others suffer in silence too? How much do these ill-intended people in positions of power get away with that never get brought to light?

I find myself so rattled by this, even though on paper, I shouldn’t be. But it’s just like… We hear about the Harvey Weinsteins and Johnny Depps of the world, the industry titans who prey on people with less power all over the place. Yet for every Harvey Weinstein there’s a Justin Baldoni, just Some Dude who thinks by virtue of their privilege can act with impunity. (And yes, I know the man was a “successful” actor, but he wasn’t Ryan Reynolds-level successful. And I’m not saying success = permission to act this way, I’m saying the abusers are painted as these nearly godlike levels of fame and power, and the reality is that literally anyone can be an abuser and turn a situation into an unsafe power dynamic.)

And not to bring Taylor into it and make everything about her, but I also can’t help but think about the 2016 of it all, let alone situations she’d been in long before that. And how so many things happened to her: the revenge porn music video, the phone call, the smear campaign deliberately orchestrated by the Kardashians, Kanye’s link to Scooter, the internet harassment, etc. The difference was that everything was an onslaught, and Taylor didn’t have the public support or sadly, the evidence, to back up her experience. How different could things have gone if she’d been able to speak up? If she’d been able to counteract the obvious lies? Been able to call out the music video for what it was? She couldn’t for a million reasons, and we now have a glimpse into how traumatic that forced silence was for her. One of the differences between Taylor’s experience then and Blake’s now is that in some ways, folks are smarter about how social media is manipulated (but in others, they’re also much, much more gullible). Taylor had the entire media it seemed out to get her; Blake seemed to be following suit, until her own actions proved the lies incontrovertible so that she couldn’t be silenced.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, except: it doesn’t matter if you’re one of the most famous people in the world, like Taylor was then and exponentially more so now. It doesn’t matter if you’re an industry veteran like Blake, with a husband who’s one of the most recognizable and powerful figures in the industry himself. Predators will prey on people they want to conquer and put in their place, and they will think they can do so without consequence. The cruelty, as always, is the point.

[worrywrite]

My locked tomb fan theories:

+ Harrow as the antichrist: she is doomed to kill John and cause immeasurable despair. She will be universally hated and despised. She dies at the end.

+ Mercy is alive: she atomized a man. She knew what she was doing. Her mastery of flesh was such that she could atomize God. Would ripping out her heart and breaking her body really stop her? At the very least her ghost is out there, doing who knows what. She's probably, reluctantly, working for Abigail now.

+ What the hell is under the river?: (that was a pun there), but seriously. Augustine is sending souls out from the depths of hell to zombify people just so he can piss of John and it's working.

+ Alecto is barbie: she has no genitals (or other sexual indicators and is basically smooth from the neck down) and she must scream. This is the whole theory.

+ Gideon has necromancy: she does. She just has no idea how to use it and her brain isn't wired like that because she has too much Wake in her. That, or...

+ Harrow doesn't actually have necromancy: she's just been stealing Gideon's this whole time because of the circumstances surrounding her birth (i.e., the neurotoxin incident).

+ what's a god to a non-believer: there's a second, slightly stronger god beyond John and he probably looks like a weird bug monster or something. I have no evidence for this. This is an entirely vibes based theory.

+ brave new world: Alecto ends with the creation of a new solar system or something. Or, more likely, a second resurrection level event occurs. This time with Gideon or Harrow in control.

+ Ianthe doesn't do squat: for whatever reason Ianthe just stops being important for the rest of the series. Not in a bad way, per se, but more of a "I've gotten everything I wanted now I need to get out while the getting is good" kind of way. Though this probably leads to her tragic death.

+ More Homestuck: the Homestuck references become more overt. The midnight crew shows up, somehow; someone pilots Canaan house into the sun; someone gets morphed into a dog girl (this means Noodle dies heroically); Paul becomes mayor of Can Town.

[soon-palestine]

To Minister of International Development Ahmed Hussen,

Ahmed,

Our Dear Cousin

We cheered for you when you passed your bar exam. We cheered for you at your beautiful wedding. We cheered for you when you had your first child, your beloved son. We cheered for you when you were elected as a Member of Parliament, and finally a Minister. We were so excited to see you represent Canada on a global stage. The New York Times wrote a historic piece on you titled "In Canada, an Immigration Minister Who Himself is a Refugee" - we could not have been more proud. When you shared your experience with systemic racism but highlighted how Canadian generosity changed your outlook on life through your TEDx talk we were delighted to see you share a piece of yourself with the world. We shared your work all over our social medias, we proudly announced your accolades, we celebrated you with full belief that you would be the change maker Canadians needed and deserved. Sadly, our hopes have been met with a different reality. Once, we were blinded by our admiration of watching you turn nothing into something, but today we are seeing a sobering truth.

Since you have been appointed as a Minister, hundreds of thousands of Muslims have been killed around the world with impunity. Now, we don't fault you for those crimes, but your consistent silence has been deafening. Although your role is to represent the interests of all Canadians while remaining secular, you have proudly shared that your faith and identity has undoubtedly played a part in bringing you to where you are today. With this in mind, we see clearly that you have failed in your role as Minister of International Development. You stood firmly beside Ukrainian people and supported their refugees when they were resisting an oppressive force, but when it comes to Palestine and it's people today, your recent statement lacked the condemnation and passionate stance we have seen you are capable of taking. Your statement minimized the plight and struggle of your Palestinian brothers and sisters, lacked depth and clarity, and did not name today's current situation in the most accurate terms an actively occurring genocide. Although we will never minimize the pain of any civilian or refugee, we are compelled to clearly state the stark difference between your statements for Ukraine and Palestine. With Ukraine you said "Canada stands united with Ukraine and all those around the world, fighting for democracy, human rights, and justice" but when it comes to the struggle of Palestinian people, you fell flat.

Our hearts were broken at your lackluster words when referring to a historically oppressed people. Sadly, we have realized that you won't live up to our expectations and your own promises to be a change- maker and leader. Where is your condemnation of the Israeli occupying forces murdering thousands of children? Where is your condemnation of the genocidal language and unfounded aggression of Benjamin Netanyahu?

As a refugee, how can you ignore the ethnic cleansing Palestinians have suffered for over 75 years? Why have you let your position of power stop you from using clear language to stand with the oppressed people caged in a concentration camp being carpet bombed daily? Children the same age as our own are being blown to shreds or left as traumatized and injured orphans, does your blood not move?

The world is changed through the words of brave people who stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves. Decades of unprincipled statements that shy away from addressing the root cause of Gaza and Palestine from politicians like you is the reason why this genocide has continued, claiming the lives and livelihoods of well over 1 million people.

Page two. We write to you this open letter today as your family to simply say -wake up! Open your art and recognize this horrific illegal occupation for what it is, A GENOCIDE. Do not let personal gain, a reputation, and a seat at a colonial nation's table make you complicit to this inhumanity. Announcing Canada's aid commitments without addressing the root cause of this genocide does nothing to recognize the dignity and humanity of Palestinian people. It is a slap in the face to see you announcing humanitarian aid to Palestine when you haven't taken a clear stance against the use of our taxpayer dollars funding weaponry being used to kill innocent Palestinians. We don't need band aid solutions, we need this genocide to be recognized. We need you to speak to the liberation of the indigenous people of Palestine. Your party leader has failed Canada in many ways, the average Canadian's quality of life has tanked according to our shrinking GDP.

There is no re-election in sight for the Liberal party. Is this how you want your legacy to end? With a stain of genocide complicity? You won't have the golden opportunity of standing on the right side of history if you choose not to make yourself clear. We are devastated that today we as a family can no longer cheer for you, you no longer have our respect or admiration. For the sake of saving your legacy and preserving the principles we expect all of our family members to uphold, we ask you to please wake up, take a clear stance, and step down as a Minister to side with the oppressed! You are a humanitarian lawyer, fight for the oppressed! Leave your mark politically to restore our faith on who we know you to be, and hoped you to be. One day your children will see your work as a Minister and they will question you, how will you explain your complacency with a population of indigenous people being massacred?

We leave you with one final note, when we all depart this world we will take nothing with us. Rich or poor, educated or not, we will all be wrapped in a white cloth and placed in the dirt left to answer for all of our worldly actions. So we ask you: Do you fear your maker that you are returning to? We pray and hope you will come to your senses before it's too late. Your role in this government no longer serves you in this life or the next.

#FreePalestine

#EndTheOccupation

#CeasefireNow

[eustasskiddsprosthetic]

Hey, remember when I said I shipped Lawlulaw? Yeah, I finally have an idea for them!

As I was fleshing this out, I suddenly felt the need to shove in Acelaw and Sabolaw in there so uh that's fun. I wanted this to be Lulaw centered but the moments of Ace and Sabo can be very easily spun into a romantic direction if I wanted and I wanted to be open to having a Law harem!

Welp, anyways, onto the plot I cooked. Edit: I elaborated more on this au here (x)!

I'm thinking of Law as a scientist who studies marine life. He has a huge lab where he collects specimens and spends a lot of time sketching out the intricate details and labelling them. He loves drawing these because it helps him get a clear, objective view of the world. His ultimate goal is to know just what makes the world tick.

He wants to know the inner workings of everything, kind of to compensate for how he barely knows himself and the depths of his subconscious nature. He believes everything has a place. A creature's ever part, every organ, every component is like a gear that keeps the whole system running and Law loves analysing them.

It may or may not be surprising but he actually believes in things like monsters, aliens and cryptids. From his experience, there's so many interesting sea creatures within the realm of science. It seemed a bit rude to dismiss the possibility. You never fucking know.

So that means when he sees a merman washed up one day in front of the beach near his home. He shrugs and says, "Well, he looks better than a drunk Bepo."

From indifference turned curiosity, Law squats down and starts poking this merman with a bit too much force and said merman jolts awake. Law notices how sharp his teeth and claws were. Law knew he would die if he did not approach him correctly.

"H-hello. I'm Law. Are you okay?"

The merman was visibly confused. Law realised he seemed a bit dehydrated and realised his gills on his neck looked uncomfortable. Law understood. He pointed to the ocean behind the merman.

"I'll take you back," Law said. He did not know how to approach the situation beyond rolling up his sleeves just in case the merman had an allergic reaction to his shirt and very gently trying to carry the creature princess-style.

Law was horrified to feel that this creature was heavy and struggled with carrying him. So much for wanting to be brave. The merman did not do anything to make things difficult—Law just was not the strongest out there. He just stared at Law with literal stars in his eyes. He made a cheerful little sound that was admittedly quite cute.

Law let the merman go when he was just around waist-deep in the ocean. He gently poured some water over his gills, which elicited even more happy sounds. When Law let go, the merman suddenly looked sad and Law felt like a horrible human being.

"Good bye. Take care"

The merman was swimming rather freely in the ocean now and he circled around Law. Law felt anxious. Did he walk into a trap? Was the merman going to attack? The merman did not seem hostile but you never know what these creatures were thinking especially when they were alive.

When the merman stopped swimming, Law took a good look at his features. He was quite cute in the face with large round eyes and an equally large mouth that occasionally broke into a large smile. If he were human, Law would've fallen in love.

"Good bye, it was nice meeting you-"

The next thing Law knew, he was immediately submerged underwater. He could barely breathe and felt himself choke. Meanwhile the merman was giggling like this was all very amusing. Law was knew he would die, if not for something rapidly swimming up and forcibly dragging the merman away.

Of course it was another muscular merman. He looked older than Law's murderer and had dark red accents on his hands and neck. There were spots on his face that looked like freckles. Now this one looked predatory. In human terms, he looked like he was nagging the other merman. Irritated, Law stood up as best he could and punched them both on the head.

Law's murderer seemed annoyed and sad at the violence, while the other one looked mildly impressed. He whistled through his gills. At least Law knew what that meant—it was a fucking mating call.

"Shut the fuck up! You're both annoying me! Go away!"

The black-haired mermen tilted their head to the side at the same time. In the distance, a pale, almost albino merman swam closer. Unlike the other two, he seemed friendlier even with a heavily disfigured face. He laughed as he happily said, "I'm sorry for my brothers, bastard!"

Law was flabbergasted. This was not his day.

"You can talk?"

The blonde merman seemed more surprised than Law. Law would punch him too but he was much faster than the other two in grabbing them by the shoulders and swimming some distance away so they would have to shout at each other. Law's murderer seemed sad that they were separated.

"You can talk, human?" The merman replied. He laughed. "Bitch!" He seemed to say those vulgarities with great childlike amusement. Though, Law would not be surprised to hear that he knew what those words meant and meant them sincerely. He seemed cunning.

Law felt wet, disgusting and thoroughly upset that he did not die. "Why, yes I fucking can! Piss off!"

As Law made his way back to the base, he suddenly heard the blonde merman tell the pervert and his murderer something. They went silent when Law looked back. Three seconds later, they started making loud, hysterical noises.

For God's sake, Law walked away with a ruined morning, wet clothes and the horrible memory of nearly dying. That was annoying, as he walked up the ocean where he was comfortably knee-length. He felt something gently grab his foot.

"What do you want, murderer?"

The merman pouted slightly and fuck isn't that just the cutest thing? He tried to pull Law back but gently this time. Law realised this was kind of like a child trying to make friends. He sighed and squatted down again to meet this creature at eye-level.

"I won't go with you but I'll come back tomorrow morning. Don't pull that shit again, or I'll kill all three of you. Understood?"

That seemed to be what the merman wanted for he smiled brightly and made those happy clicking noises again. He hugged Law's shoulders, licked his cheek quickly, jumped off and swam off with his brothers who seemed more interested in this little guy more than anyone else.

The sight was sweet. Maybe tomorrow morning would be better...

(Also, Law read up on Merfolk. Apparently, they were acknowledged to be legitimate sea creatures only three years ago and there were proper laws to forbid the act of hunting and killing them. Law found it strange that policies viewed them more like an endangered species than human beings.)

(More importantly, Law found out that there were some highly intelligent merfolk could learn human languages. And even more importantly, merfolk use their saliva to mark their territory... Including their mates, whom they usually commit to for life... Huh.)

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM RED, WHITE & ROYAL BLUE *  assorted (and slightly adapted to suit this meme format) dialogue from the book by casey mcquiston, adjust as necessary

on purpose. i love him on purpose.

i've always thought of myself as a problem that deserved to stay hidden.

i'm going to have you offed. you'll never see it coming.

take anything you want and know you deserve to have it.

get in there.

you're literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state.

before you, i was all right letting everything happen to me.

i can't believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.

sorry, are we not? did i skip ahead again?

you've been warned.

he died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.

my life is a cosmic joke and you're not a real person.

hey, have i told you lately that you're brave?

i honestly have never thought i deserved to choose.

we're gonna make it work. you and me and history, remember?

if you finish that sentence, i'm gonna spend tonight in jail.

but the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable.

i actively wish for the sweet release of death.

yes, good, carry on.

i won't hear a word against it.

we're gonna do it together.

i said you look great, baby!

i meet you in every dream, and when i wake i cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness.

i'm so in love i could die.

you can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse.

i wonder if it's too late to swan dive off the roof.

i'm learning all your hidden depths today, sweetheart.

you must invent an entirely new system.

a curious thing about grief is the way it takes your entire life, all those foundational years that made you who you are, and makes them so painful to look back on.

he's proof that it doesn't matter where you come from or who your family is.

i've bloody well had it!

we can unpack the ironic symbolism later.

that's beyond our sense of decorum!

i'm not afraid of anything i feel. i'm afraid of saying it. i'm only afraid of what happens when i do.

aw, you do care.

if there's any legacy for me on this earth, i want it to be true.

straight people probably don't spend this much time convincing themselves that they're straight.

the moment you first called me a prick, my fate was sealed.

you are the absolute worst idea i've ever had.

should i tell you that when we're apart, your body comes back to me in dreams?

can you perhaps stop putting your sodding life in danger now?

what are we even defending here?

history will remember us.

when i sleep, i see you.

i hate this so much.

every person who bears a legacy makes the choice of a partner with whom they will share it with.

we're just gonna fucking fight.

he is my choice.

i can appreciate that maybe this isn't your fault.

i've been gay as a maypole since the day i came out of mom.

when i wake up in the morning, it feels like i've just been with you.

i can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache.

your spine's a ridge i'd die climbing.

for a few moments, i can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all.

the phrase 'see attached bibliography' is the single sexiest thing you have ever written me.

i promise you, one day we'll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else.

give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. there's so much of you.

i want to set myself on fire, but i can't afford for anyone to see me burn.

you see, for me, memories are difficult.

never tell me the odds.

i wish there weren't a wall.

jesus christ, it's like they can see into your soul.

you're it, okay? i'm never gonna love anybody in the world like i love you.

i'm finished. i don't care.

god, i want to fight everyone who's ever hurt you.

the whole world watched, and history remembered.

are you quite finished?

just so we're clear. i'm about to have sex with you in this storage closet to spite your family.

you insane, hopeless romantic little shit.

[darkdemeter]

Dem!!!demy!!! My bestie

This idea has been going around the ol' nogging for a little. But part 2 of A Warriors Armor (punk!human) where the human has been making the horsemen their own punk vests as a way to Keep themself sane. (I imagine this especially applies to death's human after he yeets himself to the well of souls).

I Also imagine that their human takes their measurements with like...a maker measuring tape/hj(everything's easier when you use the maker measurement system,aka: everything is "fuck you" big)

And the horsemen's reactions are priceless. Their little human adopted them into their punk pack??(and maybe its about time they confess)

As always take ur time,Im sure you have a lot on your hands!!

(Pd: looking forward to dark feathers SO MUCH. but take as long as you need!!!/gen)

-Jeri🧡

・issue #2・ STYLE OF WARRIOR II

⚤ Death/Strife/Fury/War x GN Punk!Reader just fluffy content with some angst ✎ 2.6k

✎ a note from the author, Death: throws himself in the well of souls Me, remembering your fic: T R I G G E R E D hahahahha! yes I still get all emotional and upset when I even think about that fic! I gotta read it again.... 😂 here you go, Jer, part 2 for your punk request!

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

For your dearest Horseman, you'd do all you humanely could to achieve what they asked of you. You'd brave the depths of hell, you'd face off the vanguards of the White City in protest of their declared 'holiness'.

But you never expected this.

DEATH

Having finally taken his measurements, it's all about fitting it to him nicely. precisely... no nasty points--

"Human," Death snarls after you jab him with the needle for the fourth time in a span of 30 seconds. It's not your fault that every time your fingers linger so close it's like his presence possesses them to tremble with violent impulse. And every time you do accidently poke him, you wince and apologise, but at this point, you may as well just stab him with the damn thing if he's going to keep carrying on like a ragged animal being prodded at intentionally.

"Then stay still," you breath back easily and roll your eyes. The insufferable nature of this reaper sometimes. Alright, you may have had to convince him a little but overall, this was his idea - his request. You're just being a good companion.

Placing the needle between your lips, you say, "I'm almost done. Back a little straighter." Your words are muffled but he overhears the tone of it and its enough for him to suffer through the remainder of his fitting in relative, blessed silence; just the way you both like it. Your eyes occasionally lift up to try and capture his expression, no matter how pointless it is with that mask, you can read the eyes at least. His gaze is elsewhere and you decide not to intrude on his thoughts.

You work better when he's not watching you with the eyes of a looming hawk anyway. You weave the last thread through the tiny hole and begin to stitch the final adjustments of his vest, but that's putting a fashion term nicely and you humour him just this once. He didn't exactly want a tradition vest like you due to the nature of his skill set and you obliged in his request, but you still kept some semblance of a vest-like quality to your craftmanship. The design ended up being a sort of an additional shawl that draped over his shoulder, but with a little artistic flare, you made the shoulder portion imitate torn sleeves.

"Are you almost finished?" he asks, almost causing you to flinch and lose control of the needle's point again. With a sigh, you nod. "Almost. Just a little stitch here... and a bit there-- and done!"

You step down off the stool because yes, he refused to crouch down to your level. Stubborn old bastard but you care about him nevertheless. You balance on the heel of your foot, nervousness flickering through the fluster of your beating lashes and the way you awkwardly angle your head down.

"What'cha think?" You suddenly take an interest in the very long, sturdy leather strip you used as a measuring tape. Alya's measuring tape.

"Hmm... I like it."

His confession could have come in an assortment of ways, and you're kind of confused by it still, but his embrace was comforting. "And I like you too."

You've never forgotten that compliment or that confession. The way it brightened your mood and turned your lips into a large smile. You'll always remember the way his eyes smiled down at you, applauding your work in the new addition of his attire.

That's what you think about as you stitch up the patches and sew new relics and decorations into the black fabric. Tears in your eyes, you find it hard to not jab your own fingers, wincing every few seconds when the sharp sting of your needle bites venomously. Now you know just how poor Death felt being pricked by you. Fond memories that now turn dark in this hour.

He's gone now. Sacrificed his very being to revive your species and to spare War a punishment to a crime he did not commit. He gave it back to you before his encounter with the avatar of corruption - his once brother, Absalom. By the time you managed to pry open the doors of the chamber, all that remained on the ground was the placid face of bone, sockets void of that vibrant amber you adored with secret fondness.

You're not sure if he will ever come back or the fate of War for that matter. The tears blanket your vision with a thickness that hinders your work, forcing you to stop. At this point, you're needlessly sewing and threat into it, reminiscing in every little detail and every tiny sensation that travels through your fingers. You begin to wonder as you lower the garb into your lap, haunted by a loud, audible sniffle, if Death knew what his fate was and that's why he finally indulged in your little scattered hints.

You'll wait for him. You'll keep adding these stitches and touch ups until the reaper returns. However long he may find rest in the well, you will wait for him.

STRIFE

The gunslinging Horsemen truly was a marvel at times. Not only did it take him exactly 48 hours to ask you if you would perhaps consider making him a punk vest. Suffice to say, your affirmative answer earned you a bone-crushing hug and a plethora of 'thank you's thereafter. Strife was excited right from the get go and eager to help you find the perfect material that was both strong and big enough to make a vest made for his size. Now to get a form of measurement...

"Alright, arms out, chest out and shoulders back."

He does exactly as you say and maybe a little too well. You take a rough estimate of his limbs and body proportions and when you ask, "Do you want me to make any alterations so it's more... suited for... y'know, your work?"

He shakes his head and his golden eyes flare with a giddiness. "Nope. Just like your one."

Eyes blinking rapidly, you take a short moment to compose your surprise. "Right. Okay then, let's see what we can do about that."

It takes a considerable amount of days but you finally get your hands on the perfect fabric and thankfully, you find some other suitable patterns and clothing to add to it and give it that punk flare. Strife particularly adores this one stripe of pattern that decorates the hem of your vest and so you do your best to replicate it, even going the extra mile in finding a similar pattern to it.

During your small sessions of camp and in your adventurous search for a measuring tape suited for his size, he watches you with that same excitement, almost fawning over your work right there and then, eyes blending to the fire's glow.

"Uh, hello? Earth to Strife." The Nephilim with spiked hair finally awakens from his dreaming stupor and addresses you. You can sense the sheepish smirk behind his mask. "Sorry, where you saying something?"

Your lips fold back into a slight grin as you shake your head. "Nah. Nothing important."

He's in awe of the delicate handle you have with the needle but fucking hell, does he whine when you so much as graze him with the needle point.

"Ow!"

"Quit your whining, I barely pricked you."

"Still... that hurt," he grumbles and you snort a little at that. His visor set aside, you're given full view of his expression which is both a good and bad thing. For one thing you can admire his handsome features, but the other means you can tell exactly what he's thinking. From the slack and slight of his brows and to the bevel between, all the way down to the small dimples that form in his cheeks with a deepened smirk.

"It's good you found a measuring tape for me," you say behind a chuckle, actually taking in just how long it was... "Where did you say you got it from?"

"I, er... found it." His reasoning doesn't add up and his eyes avoid yours.

"Yeah, that's a way to not sound suspicious, Strife." You continue to press the needlework into the craft, adding unique little strips of stitches and filling in any alterations and requests on the way. When you want him to be still, he's like a statue. Which is every tailor's dream client. You remember the countless times your mother complained about her clients being unable to stop fidgeting. Of course, Strife has his moments where he can't help it, but with a warning glare and threatening poise of the needle, he's on his best behaviour until you're done.

Indeed a very traditional vest and to say he wears it well is an understatement. It's like he was meant to be a punk. All he was missing was the vest. With a grin, you take a step back and allow him his space to take in the garment, waiting with batted breath.

"So?" you finally press to ask. He twirls around before stopping hot on his heels with a loud skrrt, flashing you with his signature finger guns and winks.

"It rocks! By the way, you know we're a couple now, right?"

Your jaw goes slack and your eyes increase tenfold in their blatant stare up at him, your face becoming flushed with a certain heat. "W-what?!"

FURY

"You know, you'd probably make a really kickass punk queen - if that was in our culture."

Could you have flattered her more? Here you go again, yapping on about how well her hair suits the culture and how she should think on it at least. It does get a bit boring sometimes when you're the only punk left in the world. After a few nights of noticing your considerable moping, she bit the bullet and upon preparing to leave the next morning, she caves in.

"Would you... like to make me a punk vest?"

With a gasp, you turn towards her in a way that causes her to flinch out of instinct when something moves that fast. "Yes!"

The task now at hand of making Fury's vest is a memorable one. Whilst she slays the hordes of hell, the seven deadly sins and gains mutual alliances, there you are in the background of it all; collecting whatever cool scraps you can fashion together. It's not like she held the jaws of gluttony apart for you just so that you could get that piece of textured fabric. It's a very beautiful piece of studded leather.

Back in the safety of Haven, Ulthan happily allows you to use the maker's measuring tape to your heart's content. Not that he really uses it much, rather knowing his know-how off the tip of his experience but to the younger maker, it could be more useful.

"Ugh, this is taking too long," Fury sighs.

With a raise of your brow, you huff in reply, "It's only been twenty minutes."

Fury only rolls her eyes but she lets you continue. You do well not to get her with the needle, only having done it once and she threatened that it'd be the last if you did it again. And so you go about her vest with the utmost care, cautious about how far your depth goes and where your needle point is aimed at all times.

"Look at you!" Jones taunts from the other side of Haven with a wicked waggle of his fingers, mimicking a playful, mischievous wave. In return, you do the same such to Fury's dismay. It says as much by the slow turn of her head in your direction, the milky whites of her glowing, Nephilim eyes glaring down on you.

Your lips pull into a thinned line and you continue your work in silence, carried on only by the sternness of her gaze that occasionally swept over you. When you finally finish her vest off, you feel a sense of relief that it's finished. Sighing, you gesture for her to have a move about in her new vest, to take it in.

"Ey? Ey?" you hum. It's not your fault that with each passing second you become more consumed by the thought of seeking her approval. Not very punk of you but for the longest time now -- and maybe because of your crush on the female Horseman -- but you have become obsessed with her opinion and moreso, her approval of the punk culture.

"Humans and their pathetic utility to craft such--" she pauses, and then slowly turns. She's observing the vest, now she's look at it closer... and she smiles!

Victory!

"This is actually... rather well made," she says, voice soothing and laced with an impressed purr. Then her eyes meet yours and you feel your heart melt, your chest swelling as the heat in your face surfaces. "I love what you did. I think you were right, I would make an excellent punk."

WAR

To make a vest for War would be putting an extreme limit on his capabilities. Besides, you'd be stitching that thing together for the remainder of your days with the way he throws himself into harm's way and dashes right towards it like a beast on the loose.

So you have to improvise. You decide to pin it here, cinch it there and around the shoulder to connect to the pauldrons and there you have it: a shawl that he can add over the top of his red one. It took many days and many sleepless nights by the fire's light to see what you were doing and your fingers are covered in tiny dots and a few makeshift bandages. But to you, it was worth it. It kept your spirits up and it made dealing with the whole end of the world thing easier to cope with when you have a personal project to work on. And War would watch you, observant but distant.

And finally, time for the final adjustments. When you first measured War, you'll admit - it was a very big undertaking to make him a punk vest. But the way his eyes looked at you like a shy puppy as he softly asked, almost mumbling his words as if unsure of how to present such a question.

You couldn't say no! So you pushed that overwhelming sense of dread when you realised just how big of a canvas you were working with. You would do this for him, to let him have his own piece of the culture and allow him to be a part of it.

By no means did he become impatient. Or at least he didn't show that side of him, but every now and then he'd check in and finally when it came time for his final fitting, you caught the slight blush on his cheeks as he stood still for you.

For the few times you accidently poked him with the needle, apologies poured out of your mouth as if you injured the most precious thing in the world, only for him to brush aside your doting concern. You'd shake and tremble a little out of worry that you'd hurt him.

"There! all done," you announce and brush a hand over your brow as you take a step back to analyse your work. "You look amazing, War!"

"You truly think so?" he asks, his voice unsure. He looks at himself however much he's able to. It's not until you direct him over to an old store window, allowing him to gauge his reflection in the splintered window.

"See?"

"Your craftsmanship is one of a kind."

You stumble over a sentence of half stringed words. Even to you they were unintelligible and so you sweep some hair that fell over your eyes away with a sheepish smile. "Thank you. Do you like it? I know it's not a traditional vest like mine, but I tried my best to keep in theme. I didn't wanna comp---"

His lips caress the delicate space between your hairline and your words immediately cease.

"I adore it. Thank you."

[mysticstronomy]

JUPITER HAS A LARGE MAGNETIC FIELD THAN PREVIOUSLY EXPECTED??

Blog#366

Saturday, January 13th, 2024.

Welcome back,

NASA's Juno spacecraft has mapped the strong magnetic field at Jupiter, revealing a surprising asymmetry between the northern and southern hemispheres that could lend insight into what's going on within the gas giant.

Jupiter hosts the most powerful magnetic field of all the planets in our solar system, cranking out a field close to 20,000 times stronger than Earth's.

Juno has braved that magnetic field during the probe's close approaches to the planet since arriving in July 2016; it skims about 2,500 miles (4,000 kilometers) above the planet every 53 days over the course of elongated orbits.

A new paper, published on (Sept. 5) in the journal Nature, pulls together Juno's measurements to create the most detailed map yet of the Jovian magnetic field at different depths, painting a complex picture.

"We find that Jupiter's magnetic field is different from all other known planetary magnetic fields," the authors, led by Kimberly Moore of Harvard University, wrote in the paper. Like Earth, Jupiter's magnetic field has a primary north and south pole, close to the planet's actual poles as it rotates. But while the gas giant's south pole is relatively orderly, the planet's north pole has one narrow magnetic hotspot amid more chaotic patches of magnetic field, where positive and negative sections don't have concrete counterparts."

"And the planet has another big magnetic "south pole" close to the equator the researchers refer to this equatorial patch as a "great blue spot" in their paper, in contrast to the planet's swirling Great Red Spot storm. (Blue is often used in diagrams to indicate the negative part of a magnetic field.)

According to a News and Views column accompanying the article, Jupiter's magnetic field is likely generated by a swirling mass of hydrogen deep within the planet.

Crushed to incredible pressure, this material becomes a metallic liquid that can conduct electricity and generate a magnetic field when stirred. The heat within the planet, left over from Jupiter's formation early in the solar system's history, creates convection currents that get the liquid moving — not to mention the gases on top, leading to the planet's roiling clouds and storms.

Convection within Earth's iron core also generates our planet's magnetic field, but Earth's field is much more straightforward: mostly positive at one pole, mostly negative at the other, with no particular pattern to the parts that diverge from that.

This strange magnetic field on Jupiter is a hint to what's going on inside the planet. The researchers suggest the Jovian core could be larger and more dilute than previously thought, or the stable layers of fluid within Jupiter could partition off parts of the planet's interior, altering the flow, according to the News and Views story. The state of the planet's field could even — although the paper's researchers suggest this is unlikely — mark the middle of a magnetic field reversal process.

Originally published www.space.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, January 17th, 2024)

"CAN HUMANS SURVIVE ON MARS??"

[level1cleric]

i'm loving bravely default.

i have a hard time recommending bravely default

it is a jrpg designed to be a love letter to final fantasy: 4 heroes of light. each of your main characters could protag in their own game (a boy who lost his home to supernatural causes, an amnesiac with a book of prophecy, a priestess with an atlas complex, and a traitor to the empire whose father is the grand marshall)

its a game stuck on the 3ds

it has a fully developed job/class system that allows for crazy builds and optimization

unlocking all of them takes 60+ hours, most of which are optional and you will have to go out of your way to get

the final release has difficulty options like easy and hard modes and encounter chance modification

a major system of the game requires Streetpass (easier now thanks to modifications like pretendo but still)(save editing can also be done)

the cast of characters and world are well developed and deeply interesting

seeing everything the game has to offer will take over 100 hours

the depth of the game may make you want to spend over 100 hours on this game

i'm like 90-ish hours in, about 10% was grinding for levels and money (which the game def makes easier for you) and it really is fun. its a jrpg, though, and i know that not everyone has the time to spend on it

but if have time and like final fantasy, please give a look at bravely default