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[vmantras]

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[demoralised]

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Treatment Plan

Last night was supposed to be harmless New Year’s Eve fun, partying with friends, dancing with strangers, and maybe finding someone to ring in the new year with. I remember dancing and taking shots with a really hot guy at some club where we'd shared a new year kiss. There's nothing else in my memory and I don’t remember when I passed out but I wake up alone in a medical examination room, naked, gagged, and strapped down to a bed with my arms above my head and legs spread wide.

The door opens and four men walk in. The first one I recognize is the hot guy I'd made out with. Except now, he has the look of a doctor, dressed in a white coat, wearing a stethoscope and holding a clipboard. The other three men are wearing nurses scrubs and not a single one acknowledges me as they step into the room and close the door behind them.

The doctor glances down at his clipboard and looks at me, smirking slightly. “It says here you’ve been admitted due to your issues with obedience and self-control. I promise we deliver the best results here, so you, darling, will be in tip-top shape in no time,” his voice is tinged with mockery and I try to shake my head and explain that this is all a mistake, that I have no idea what is going on, and I’m not supposed to be here.

“Day one of this treatment regimen helps us establish a baseline of what we’re working with and involves some sensory deprivation just to enhance the effectiveness but I promise, you’ll enjoy it,” he purrs, coming to stand next to my head before sliding a piece of fabric over my eyes. I struggle uselessly against the bindings, trying to dislodge the blindfold but it’s too secure to move. I feel hands hold my head in place before someone else slides headphones over my ears and suddenly, I’m blind and deaf to the world.

There is nothing to prepare me for what comes next, and no way that I can have any ability to sense what they plan to do to me. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes, absorbing into the blindfold when suddenly, I feel fingers trail along my ribs.

I let out a muted whimper, my body instinctively lurching in response. The feeling is so overwhelming and I’m absolutely senseless and helpless. The fingers linger around my hips and dig in gently, making me jerk uselessly in my bindings. It’s almost too much for my body to handle, the unknown touches, the horrible anticipation and suspense of not knowing anything at all.

Without warning, the fingers dig harder into my ribs, tickling me harshly and mercilessly. I wail behind the gag and thrash desperately, begging for it to stop to no avail. The fingers don’t let up and my entire world has narrowed to the unbearable sensations those fingers are drawing out of my bound body. There’s nothing I can do except endure it.

My wails have died down to little mindless whimpers as the tickling continues to ravage my ribs and hips when I feel the fingers pull away finally. I gasp for air, hoping that this torture is finally going to be over. Suddenly, I feel fingers brush against my underarms and I scream so hard my throat feels raw. I’m yanking and pulling at the straps holding me down but I’m bound too tightly. Tears are flowing freely into the blindfold as my body jerks. The fingers dig devastatingly into my underarms and I’m inconsolable. The tickling feels like electricity going straight into my nerves and it makes my mind hazy.

There’s no mercy and no stopping. The fingers find every vulnerable spot on my body and there’s nothing to stop the wretched tickling that’s making me want to curl into myself and disappear. There’s no acclimation to the feeling or becoming desensitized to it all. Every single movement feels like my body is dancing on a live wire and I have no choice but to experience every devastating feeling.

Another set of fingers finds their way to my hard nipples and I can barely draw in enough air to scream as the stimulation adds to the overwhelming feelings crashing through my body. Flicks against my nipples make me squirm and moan.

Then, my world lights up behind my blindfold when I feel fingers on my clit.

The combination of tickling at every sensitive spot on my body and the focus on my clit shatters me. Every single nerve is pulled open and vulnerable to unforgiving, relentless stimulation and I know I’m dripping wet onto the bed under me. It’s all too much for my brain to process. Every force on my body pushes me closer and closer to an orgasm and it’s unbearable.

A sudden flash of pain hits my clit as someone’s fingers sharply pinch my throbbing button and I wail as my orgasm barrels through my body. None of the stimulation lets up and the fingers on my clit continue to force waves of pleasure through my body while fingers everywhere else drive my orgasm even higher. I’m delirious and barely coherent between all of the different assaults of stimulation that wrack my body.

I feel the fingers on my clit pull away and I’m gasping and shaking. The tickling at my ribs and underarms doesn’t relent and I can barely catch my breath enough to sustain my sobs. Fingers brush against my inner thighs and I can’t help but whine, hearing only my wild heartbeat thudding in my ears.

Suddenly, there’s a vibrator slammed against my clit and my mind breaks. There are too many things going on but my whole being is driven to focus on the horrible vibrator pillaging my clit with no mercy. My next orgasm shoots through me with no warning, no build up, no gentle waves of pleasure. Just pure ecstasy shooting deep through my body, so hard that I can feel it in my bones and it renders me completely broken.

I have no concept of time or place as the torture continues. My body moves on its own accord as it struggles and trembles, futilely trying to avoid every touch. It could have been ten minutes or ten hours when everything finally fades away and all of the hands touching me are gone. I lie there, limp, unmoving, unthinking, barely conscious. It takes me an immeasurable amount of time to catch my breath, my body still feeling phantom aftershocks of pleasure and torment. I vaguely register the feeling of someone pulling the headphones off of my head and I’m able to hear again.

“Oh darling,” his voice is the first thing I recognize, “I suppose I forgot to mention, this treatment regimen has ten levels. And we can’t move on from level one until you learn to control your body and keep still during your treatments. Clearly we’re not going to get there today, but perhaps you’ll do better tomorrow. Otherwise, you’re in for a very long stay here…”

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

(Recommended to read this fic first, if you haven't already!)

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A year in illustration (2024), Part four

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/2024/12/07/great-kepplers-ghost/art-adjacent

Part one

Part two

Part three

The US Copyright Office frees the McFlurry

Figuring out how to illustrate the problems of DRM in McFlurry machines took some doing, but I'm super happy with how the HAL 9000-eyed poop emoji inside a spattered McFlurry cup (fair use of a McDonald's promo image) worked out.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

Keeping a suspense file gives you superpowers

Another Keppler classic: originally, this was FDR being offered a helping hand to cut through his paperwork. I added in one of the elephant heads I'd cropped out for election illustrations, and used it to represent "not forgetting."

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

The housing crisis considered as an income crisis

The underlying image is another Keppler, showing death flamboyantly dicing with a millionaire. I added in an official (hence public domain) Reagan portrait, some monopoly houses, and a vintage aerial photo of Levittown, halftoned to disguise scaling artifacts.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/24/i-dream-of-gini/#mean-ole-mr-median

Retiring the US debt would retire the US dollar

More of Keppler's outstanding Uncle Sams! Add in a super-rezzed-up US $100 (all that intanglio looks great at high mag) and you've got an instantly arresting image.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/21/we-can-have-nice-things/#public-funds-not-taxpayer-dollars

Penguin Random House, AI, and writers' rights

The impatient guy makes another appearance in this WPA image of an adult literacy class; he's joined by another "business man" type, this one from a midcentury ad for a multi-level marketing scheme selling…business suits! The pupils' heads are all HAL 9000 eyes, natch, but don't miss all the little Easter Eggs, like the reeve and peasants in the frames on the walls.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/19/gander-sauce/#just-because-youre-on-their-side-it-doesnt-mean-theyre-on-your-side

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

You should be using an RSS reader

The guerrilla fighter is back, this time standing atop some mainframe equipment ganked from a Univac ad. The halftoned RSS logo in the background really works, especially with a partially blended GIMP "supernova" effect behind the rebel.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

Dirty words are politically potent

I spent a bunch of time experimenting with different ways of making emphatic speech bubbles and it paid off here; that poop emoji's gawlix is in a good home. Halftoning the foreground element (the poop) works surprising well here. I should do more of that.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/14/pearl-clutching/#this-toilet-has-no-central-nervous-system

Lina Khan's future is the future of the Democratic Party – and America

Keppler's Uncle Sam Cop is back, along with another Keppler – a carpetbagger flying through the air after getting a kick in the pants. I got good use out of one of my Democratic Party donkeys here. The background is a half-tones WPA travel poster for Montana.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/11/democracys-antitrust-paradox/#there-will-be-an-out-and-out-brawl

Cars bricked by bankrupt EV company will stay bricked

I actually made this brick by hand: first I rescaled a box image until it had the right proportions, then I found a public domain texture that was the right kind of brick and used the perspective tool to put it over each face of the box. I told you public domain bricks are hard to find.

It was very satisfying overlaying all the elements of the Fisker car I cropped out onto the brick.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/10/software-based-car/#based

Prime's enshittified advertising

Nothing exceeds like excess! The flayed face with eyeballs comes from a 19th century book of French anatomical drawings. The calipers' handles just didn't look right (I referred to stills from Clockwork Orange to try and get 'em to work), but then I hit on the idea of using the "As Seen on TV" logo, which worked perfectly. The halftoned K-Tel ad-card background doesn't quite work, I think.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/03/mother-may-i/#minmax

"That Makes Me Smart"

This is actually two Kepplers; the original guy in the leg-hold trap is some lost-to-history politician embroiled in a lost-to-history scandal. But once I added (yet another!) of Keppler's Uncle Sam heads to his body (recoloring his coat and converting his trousers to red stripes), it became a perfect visual representation of America, trapped. The halftoned US flag is my favorite background yet.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/04/its-not-a-lie/#its-a-premature-truth

The far right grows through "disaster fantasies"

When it came to finding heavily armored and armed weirdos, I was spoilt for choice; same goes for grainy photos of vintage malls that look good after halftoning. Add in the goofy, grinning newsie's head and overlay his hat in camou, and it's perfect.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/24/mall-ninja-prophecy/#mano-a-mano

Boss politics antitrust

Finally, I got a chance to use Keppler's "Capital Controls the Senate!" I agonized over which corporate logos to use. Boss Tweed is back, with a Trump wig and MAGA hat.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/12/the-enemy-of-your-enemy/#is-your-enemy

Antiusurpation and the road to disenshittification

A diptych! Both sides' backgrounds come from Bosch's "Garden of Earthly Delights" – hell on the left, heaven on the right. The happy gas-jockey's old-fashioned ethyl pump divides the scene. The head-devouring dragon (with HAL 9000's eye) is a delightfully gory detail from Goltzius's 1183 painting of a couple guys having a hard time indeed.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/07/usurpers-helpmeets/#disreintermediation

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

Bluesky and enshittification

I know, canonically the sirens who tempted Ulysses were merfolk, not half-woman/half-birds, but all the merwoman versions have a ton of naked breasts in them, and frankly, Waterhouses's 1891 "Ulysses and the Sirens" just rips. It took a lot of fiddling with the perspective tool and the clone brush to swap their bodies for the Bluesky butterfly wings, but it still looked weird until I mapped in a kind of scaly, butterfly wing texture.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/02/ulysses-pact/#tie-yourself-to-a-federated-mast

Shifting $677m from the banks to the people, every year, forever

I replaced Moses parting the Red Sea with Keppler's Uncle Sam Cop, but something still wasn't right. Then I figured out how to turn the Red Sea into a giant, aquatic US $100 bill (loooove that intaglio!) and it was awesome.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/01/bankshot/#personal-financial-data-rights

[rreidsdream]

Halloween surprise

Summary: Spencer loves Halloween and today on Halloweens eve you decided to finally tell him about your pregnancy and make this a special Halloween.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

CW/Tags: pregnancy, just fluff, Spencer is your bf

WC: 1k

The crisp autumn air swirled around outside, rustling the golden and crimson leaves that had fallen in the yard. Inside, everything was cozy and warm. You and Spencer had spent most of the afternoon carving pumpkins, each of you trying to outdo the other with creative designs. His intricate patterns were, unsurprisingly, more geometric and scientific, while yours were playful and spontaneous. Laughter filled the air as Spencer’s focused expression broke into a grin when he finally finished his masterpiece.

“Okay, okay, yours wins,” you said, playfully nudging him.

He smiled softly, his hazel eyes lighting up as they always did when he looked at you. “I don’t know, I think yours has more… charm,” he teased.

You both stepped back to admire the glowing pumpkins that now sat on the porch, the flickering candlelight giving them an eerie yet festive vibe. The evening sky was deepening, the stars beginning to dot the darkening canvas overhead. Spencer pulled you close, wrapping his long arms around your waist as you leaned into his warmth.

“I love this time of year,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I know,” you whispered, feeling the flutter in your chest, knowing tonight was going to be special.

After a few more moments outside, you both retreated into the house, the cozy atmosphere welcoming you. The living room was bathed in the warm glow of candles, their orange light flickering against the walls. The scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spice lingered in the air, mixing with the slight chill that clung to your sweaters from being outside. Spencer had already set up your favorite Halloween horror movies, and as you both nestled on the couch, he pulled a blanket over the two of you.

You leaned into his embrace, feeling his steady heartbeat against your cheek as you rested your head on his chest. His arm tightened around you, and every now and then, he pressed soft kisses to your forehead or your temple, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your shoulder.

“I don’t know how you can enjoy these movies,” he said, as the opening scenes of a particularly suspenseful horror flick began.

“You don’t?” you teased, turning to catch his gaze, your eyes twinkling. “I seem to recall someone rambling about the statistical improbabilities of supernatural events last year while we watched this exact movie.”

He chuckled, his hand sliding down to intertwine with yours. “I just like watching them with you.”

You smiled, a surge of warmth filling your chest. You knew he wasn’t usually a fan of horror, but he always made an effort because he knew how much you loved it. It was one of the many things that made him so special to you.

As the movie progressed, the room felt even cozier. You both cuddled closer, sharing quiet laughter, stolen kisses, and little whispered comments about the ridiculousness of the characters’ decisions. His laughter would rumble in his chest, vibrating softly against you, and each time you looked up at him, his eyes were filled with such tenderness, it made your heart ache in the best way.

But through all of this, you were waiting for the perfect moment. The surprise.

You’d been holding this secret for a few weeks now, waiting for the right time to tell him. And as the candles flickered and you sat in the comfort of his arms, you realized that this—right here, right now—was the moment.

During a quieter part of the movie, you shifted slightly, sitting up so you could face him. Spencer immediately noticed the change in your expression, his brow furrowing slightly with concern.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked softly, his hand still resting on yours.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your chest. “I have something I want to tell you,” you said, your voice quieter than usual, almost shaky.

His eyes softened as he looked at you, his concern quickly replaced by curiosity. “What is it?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You took a deep breath, your heart racing in your chest. “Spencer…” you began, feeling the words stick to your throat for a moment. But then you smiled, unable to contain the joy that bubbled up inside you. “I’m pregnant.”

For a second, the room seemed to freeze. His eyes widened slightly, and you could see the gears turning in his mind as he processed the news. Then, slowly, his face broke into the most genuine, radiant smile you’d ever seen.

“You’re… pregnant?” he repeated, his voice filled with awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You nodded, feeling tears of happiness well up in your eyes. “Yes,” you whispered, your hand instinctively moving to your stomach.

Without hesitation, Spencer leaned in, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you deeply, softly. It was as though all the love he’d ever felt for you was pouring into that single kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“I… I can’t believe it,” he said, his voice shaky with emotion. “We’re going to be parents?”

You nodded again, your heart soaring. “We are.”

Spencer laughed softly, a sound of pure joy, and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it felt like he’d never let go. He kissed the top of your head, your forehead, your cheeks, before finally meeting your lips again in another tender kiss. “I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, resting your forehead against his.

The movie forgotten, the two of you spent the rest of the evening cuddling on the couch, talking about the future, about the baby, and about how perfect this moment was. Spencer kept his hand on your stomach, as if trying to feel some connection already, his thumb gently tracing circles there. The excitement in his eyes never faded, and you could see the wonder in his expression every time he looked at you.

Candles flickered softly, the warmth of the room wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The night was filled with love, happiness, and the promise of an incredible new chapter together. Spencer kissed you again, a smile lingering on his lips as he whispered, “This is the best Halloween ever.”

[sparkleswap]

Well, it would seem the time of reckoning is finally upon us!

I will say, it’s almost unfair that the question falls to me, I just know so much already, that the question will obviously be regarding something I don’t know, rather than something I do that everyone else wants to know as well.

But alas, there’s no time for rumination on such a joyous day! The time of All Hallow’s Eve is nearly upon us, and I’d hate to keep you waiting any longer than I already have. (Still, I can’t say I’m too regretful— the suspense is what makes the payoff all the sweeter, no? Is what makes the horror all the more terrifying.)

I’m sure you already know who I want to ask about. Even after all my theories, even after all my guesses, there is one character in particular who you have been so reluctant to talk about. Really, my friend, you should almost feel ashamed— that kind of secret will drive one insane!

But, no more distractions.

On this blessed day of fear and fright, I ask to you—

What happened to Puppy.

as i devour the sweet treat with fevor, i find my mouth bound to speak.

this is the truth i have, even if it is not the truth you seek...

as simply as is possible from me, this is the answer i keep;

Lovella Puppy has had two very terrible things happen to her medically.

In an attempt to make her holy like the rest of her community, they began injecting unicorn blood into her body. First by feeding, then other means.

When she grew ill from this invasive procedure, her parents realized the obvious solution.

How could a dog's heart process unicorn blood?

...It was not a very professional procedure. They were not skilled. Instead of accepting this failure, as Puppy writhed and gasped for air, they blamed her for not being holy enough to accept this divine gift.

They dragged her to Sparklecare. Gave no explanation. And left, never to return.

(and that, my friend, is how you get a ritual done! i hope you are satisfied with what you got~)

[stormyjane7]

A Hope For Tomorrow: Ch 6 Tomorrow Starts Today

Summary: The future calls with wedding bells.

Pairing: Astarion x AFAB Reader,

Warnings: Sex. 18+ only readers

Word Count: 911

Rating: If you are under 18, please do not read.

Read on Ao3 Final chapter guys! i really hope you've enjoyed reading. Going to start doing some one shots now. <3

Time felt it had finally sped up as you and your vampire lover were putting the final touches to your outdoor wedding. You had made it back to Baldur’s Gate about a month ago after spending time with Gale in Waterdeep to rest. The adventure of finding the ring had exhausted both of you and definitely needed the respite. 

As soon as you landed in Baldur’s Gate, you and your lover went straight to work. Astarion focused on selling the rest of the Szarr estate and lands. It thankfully brought in so much gold you wouldn’t have to worry for a long long time. You went around finding a nice cottage just outside the Gate to use as a new home. 

Between all that you also both worked to get your outfits ready and let your friends know where to come for the nuptials. And as the eve approached, your friends started to show up with much merriment in their hearts. 

Gale was one of the first to arrive. Being able to teleport anywhere had its advantages. He hugged and spoke briefly to both of you before excusing himself and Astarion off to the side. You didn’t have time to listen in as Shadowheart showed up next and was wrapping you in a big hug. She was starting to go over the details of what she was going to do as officiant when you notice Astarion being super excited over a box Gale was handing him. You were sure you’d find out later what it was. 

The rest of your guests arrived and the feast you were having catered was ready. Everyone sat down to enjoy the night before the wedding and each other’s presence. Stories from everyone’s time since the Nether brain filled the air with much laughter and praise. You ended the night giving a toast to your friends and to your vampire lover. You ushered everyone in so they could rest for the next day.

*************************

“Beloved friends who are more like family now, we are gathered here to celebrate a part of this family tying their lives together forevermore.” Shadowheart spoke softly but loud for everyone to hear. “The battles of the past were hard fought, but nothing compares to the fight to live a good marriage.”

She turned towards Astarion as she continued speaking, “While most brides and grooms exchange rings, our friends have decided to use the Sunwalker’s ring for Astarion’s band. I think you can all understand why he won’t remove it during such a strong sunlit day.” A few chuckles were had between the group.

“I do have a ring, however, for my love to wear and I hope she appreciates it as much as I do.” You see him pull the box out that Gale gave him yesterday. He opens it before you, and in the box was a ring with a stone matching his Sunwalker ring. Your face lit up at how the thought behind this was so lovely and special. He takes it out and slides it onto your ring finger. A sudden magical shift in your body takes place, one that normally happens when you attune to a new magical item. You look at your love with a surprised and confused look on your face. He leans in closer to you. 

“Don’t worry about that right now, darling. I’ll tell you everything once we are alone tonight.” You smile and nod.

“And with the rings exchanged, the vows said, you may now kiss your bride!” Shadowheart said with much love.

Everyone stood up and cheered as Astarion dipped you into a kiss. You were fully flushed by the time he stood you back up straight. 

*******************************

It was a day or so before the last of your friends left and you were finally alone with your now husband. You were both sitting on the couch curled up together. 

“Now that we are finally alone dear husband, I cannot take the suspense any longer! Please tell me what this ring does before I use one of our last detect items on it.”  He chuckles at your aggressive nature. 

He puts his hand under your chin and turns you to face him. He plants a small kiss to your lips. 

“Well, my dearest wife, I found this ring while we were in Waterdeep. Besides us only Gale will know it’s power as I do not wish anyone to hunt us down for it. Gale called in a favor to get a wish scroll to use for you.”

“This is not helping me feel any better about this…dearest.”

“While you wear this ring, you will never age nor die to old age. You are as eternal as I am. Just without the vampire nature.”

Your eyes switch between looking at your love and at the ring. 

“What an amazing gift you have given me Astarion!”

“Now we should generally not worry about losing one another. And should we tire of this world, all we have to do is have you take your ring off and let time start again for you. Whenever you go I’ll be right behind. We can leave the rings for another besotted vampire and mortal.”

“You don’t think you’ll tire of me? We could live for eons!”

“That sounds delightful, darling. Till the world falls down around us!” He brings you in to a deep kiss and you feel the truth of his words. Till the world falls down indeed. 

[forgedroyalseal]

Song Fic Drabbles Part 4

When all you wanted was to be wanted

Will had always known he wasn’t enough. He wasn’t smart enough to be a diplomat or disciplined enough to be a scribe. And despite it being his one goal in life, the thing that kept him going through the cold, lonely years in the ward, he wasn’t tall or strong enough for battleschool. Will remembered the way his heart sank on his choosing day. How he was forced to stand in front of his peers, the Baron, the craft masters, and be told he wasn’t good enough. That he wasn’t wanted. That he was destined to a pitiful and meaningless life. But then, like a miracle from the heavens, Halt found him. He told him he could be enough, that he was wanted. So Will worked and trained harder then he thought possible, determined to prove to Halt he was enough, that he deserved to be wanted. And it worked. He was able to overcome every test and trial thrown his way. He made a name for himself. He had the potential to go down in history. He was enough. He was wanted.

Until he wasn’t.

“How could you be so stupid? So selfish? Do you have any idea what a disaster you’ve made Will?”

Will didn’t know how Halt still had the energy or the voice to continue yelling at him. He and Crowley had been at it for over an hour and were showing no signs of stopping.

“I know, I’m sorry. If you’d just let me explain-“ Will repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, and just like every time before, he was shot down.

Crowley huffed out a mocking laugh. “We don’t want your apologies or excuses Will! We want you to-“

“Leave.” Halt was no longer shouting and Will would have done anything to go back to being yelled at. Because that single, cold, level word cut Will deeper than any amount of yelling could do.

“What?” He whispered.

“We want you to leave. Now.”

“But, Halt please-“

“Get out of here Will. Crowley and I need to clean up your mess. As of now, you are on suspension. Once we get this sorted, we’ll figure out what to do with you.”

Will nodded slowly, blinking back the stinging behind his eyes. Just as he had one foot out of the door, Crowley called out to him. For a moment, his hope flickered. But then it was blown out just as quickly.

“Will, we’ll need to hang on to your oak leaf for the time being.”

When Will dropped the chain and pendent into Crowley’s open palm, he felt as though he was leaving his entire heart behind.

On shaking legs he made his way back to the guest room he was staying in. He tried not to cry. He did anyways. He fell to his knees and sobbed, body curling into itself. His chest burned and his head ached and he felt as if he was coming apart at the seams. Everything he had done, had worked for, was going to be torn away from him because of one stupid, selfish mistake. He hadn’t done enough and soon everyone would know and no one would want him. Will groped around his neck for his pendent, the one thing that could ground him in moments like these, but then he remembered that it was gone, discarded on Crowley’s desk as if it wasn’t the one thing, the only thing, that proved Will had been wanted. That someone had decided he was good enough. As he spiraled, his nails dug into his arms, clawing at his biceps until hot pools of blood bubbled up. A sob got caught in his throat and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The knot in his chest was being pulled tighter and tighter and-

“Will! Will it’s ok, please just breathe.” A faceless voice called out but Will couldn’t make sense of the words.

Warm hands fell on his, gently guiding them away from his torn skin and onto a steady beating heart. “Breathe Will, just like me. Follow my breath.” Will tried, and after every failed attempt, the voice reassured him then asked him again. “Just keep trying Will. It’s going to be ok. Just keep trying.”

Will wanted to scream that all he ever did was try, but he didn’t have the air or the strength so instead he just let out a pathetic whimper. “I know it’s hard, I’m sorry. You’re doing so good.”

Eventually, slowly, oxygen found its way back into Will’s lungs. Will inhaled greedily, desperately trying to fill his burning lungs.

“There you go, deep breaths, it’s ok. You’re ok.” The oxygen made its way up to his head and he was finally able to place the comforting voice and steady hands.

“Gil.” He gasped.

“I’m right here Will.” One of his hands came around to Will’s back and began rubbing circles between his shoulders. “What happened? Tell me who I need to go beat up?”

“They don’t want me. It’s all gonna go away.” Will cried as he buried his face into Gilan’s chest.

“Who? What’s going away?”

“The Corps. What am I if not a ranger? I can’t do anything else. No one will want me.”

“Ok, I don’t know what happened, but I promise you, the Corps want you. They need you.”

“Not after this.”

Gilan pulled back just enough to look Will in the eye. “Tell what happened.”

[vmantras]

Lotus Eletre S: The Ultimate Luxury Electric SUV

₹2.75 Cr Design and Styling The Eletre S stands out with its futuristic and aerodynamic design. Exterior: The flush illuminated door handles, frameless doors, and gloss black aluminum roof give the SUV a sleek, minimalist look. The LED headlamps with high beam assist and sharp daytime running lights (DRLs) enhance visibility and style. With features like a touch-activated electric charging…

[spicywarl0ck]

hello and happy friday! maybe "it seems like the end of the world right now, I know," for solas/male lavellan if that picques your interest. 💖

Happy Friday! Thank you for this prompt, took me a while for inspiration to hit, but here we are <3 (Also I received this prompt multiple times, and I can only say to the others: I will do the others too x3 You just have to be a bit patient) I might have made myself cry a bit with this, anyway: @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Solas/mLavellan Length: 689 Rating: G The world was a whirl of green and grey, the air filled with pure electricity.

It was the stillness before the storm and the last night before the biggest battle he’d ever fought. He felt the quietness of the Keep as everyone kept talking in hushed whispers, each of them under suspense, holding the one hope that he might be able to save them all.

It made the pressure on his shoulders almost unbearable. 

Revassan had never been a leader before. He had been a capable hunter under the Dalish maybe, resourceful enough to be sent as a spy to the conclave. But he’d never been more than that before the fateful events at the temple of sacred ashes and he never wanted to be.

He hadn’t asked to become the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor, but here he was, preparing to lead them all to battle.

Revassan wasn’t ready for this and he probably never would be. He’d lived a quiet life with the Dalish; his sister had been the magical prodigy and his father’s pride. All that had been left for him was to make himself useful somehow.

It hadn’t been her fault and he never blamed her for it. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if their interactions would have been different if things had been different.

Well, it was too late for that now, he supposed as he took a deep breath. Even that was hard with the heaviness of the air that left a bitter taste on his tongue. He could just hope they succeeded; That he succeeded.

“Ah, there you are. I was searching for you.” Solas’s voice made his lips twitch into a half-smile. 

Revassan might have had a few regrets and saw some unpleasant things during his time in the Inquisition, but Solas had made it worthwhile. He wouldn’t miss the man in his life for anything, in the world.

“I just needed fresh air.” His forest green eyes looked tired as they looked at the mage approaching him, his grey eyes expressing sadness and compassion.

“It seems like the end of the world right now, I know.” His hand cupped Revassan’s cheek, making him feel the warmth of it pressing against his skin. He could have melted into the touch right away, the fear in his heart eased just for a few seconds.

“But, I have seen many endings, and the world is still there, as it will be for a while.” 

There was something unreadable in Solas’s expression when he said those words, his hand swiftly retreating so he could clasp them behind his back in thought. His gaze wandered to the Breach, watching the whirling and brewing storm with an almost unsettling calmness.

And all of a sudden, he seemed to be very far away until he pulled back.

“It’s so quiet.” Revassan pointed out as he kept one ear listening for any movement in Skyhold.

“Not all of them. Can you hear the Chargers drink and celebrate?” Solas asked, giving him a moment to listen to the distant chatter echoing from the Herald’s rest and reaching his balcony. 

“They have seen many battles and drink to the next. Determined to emerge victorious.” 

“Will they though?” The younger elf asked quietly. He sometimes felt there was something Solas wasn’t telling him but he also couldn’t say what. But ever since the Well of Sorrow, he felt Solas might have been older than he let on, just like the sentinels they met.

“Who knows.” Solas’s eyes were still focused on the distance before he looked away, the dimples showing when he smiled patiently. “I’m afraid that’s not for me or you to know,” he added quietly. “But, I am content that you will succeed. You might not see it yourself, but you have become a leader everyone looks up to. And quite a capable one.”

His hand moved to tilt his chin softly as he locked eyes with him before he continued in elven.

“Do not worry, Vhenan. You are a stronger force than you think. And no matter what will come. Don’t forget that I love you.” 

[ere-the-sun-rises]

TL; DR: He bricked the Cybertruck but the F-150 lived

I saw an edit of this video on here earlier and immediately had to go watch it for myself. It's a pretty good video and this guy has enough wild-eyed crazy in him that watching him destroy a vehicle is very entertaining.

The gist of the video is that he pits the Cybertruck against an F-150 in an extreme durability test. Obviously, this is for entertainment mostly and not necessarily a product review, so I felt compelled to add come context to the "flaws" and flaws the vehicles demonstrate.

Disclaimer: I am not a mechanic or an automotive engineer. I do have enough knowledge, however, to add some information to what the video shows. That said, let's go.

Rolling off the flatbed truck without ramps.

The major difference between combustion/"regular" and electric vehicles is not necessarily what fuel they use, but how the engine is composed.

Combustion engines feed fuel into into pistons which allow in a small amount of air in to combine with the ignition flame to begin and maintain the combustion process. These pistons then compress, driving the pressure into the rest of the engine and using the force to create motion. This is why a vehicle, if left in neutral with the brakes off, will drift forward - if the engine is running, combustion is taking place and that forward momentum will be used. These pistons are what mark out a vehicle's V classication - eg. V-4, V-6 and V-8. This V number represents how many of these pistons there are and therefore how much power they can output. V-4s are usually economy cars, mini vans or very small SUVs (think a Ford Fiesta, a Honda Odyssey or a Honda CR-V). V-6s are for more robust cars, SUVs, and light pickup trucks (think a Chrysler 300, a Kia Sorento or a Toyota Tundra). V-8s are the strongest type, and can be put towards speed or hauling, depending on thr design of the vehicle. A Ford Escape, for example, is very fast for an SUV because it is built light and spacious - intended to carry its load inside the body of the vehicle. A Chevrolet Silverado, by comparison, is meant to haul and puts its strength into pulling and torque instead of speed.

Due to the fact that combustion engines have to generate their own energy through the combustion process, these engines are very reliant on "hardware" - ei. physical parts that operate based on physical imput and interaction. The gearbox in your transmission, for example, is made up of actual gears that have to turn and lock into place for the transmission to turn and thus power the axels which spin the wheels.

Electric vehicles have none of this. Since they have no power generation requirement, that space is taken up by batteries and motherboards which fulfil all the roles of various hardware. Why would you need a transmission to turn when the motherboard can command the axels to turn on its own? The trade off is that EVs almost exclusively run on "software" - ei. the onboard computer. This means that their undercarriage has no dangling parts to get snagged or damaged like a CV.

Neither of these things are inherently bad. On one hand, EVs have nothing down there to snag when it rolls off the back of the flatbed. Downside, the high toxic, flammable and delicate batteries are in the undercarriage. Damaged motherboards are also much harder and trickier to replace and repair. CVs have a vulnerable undercarriage, but they're easy parts to replace or can be fixed quickly. Most of the undercarriage of a CV is also not flammable - it's just running hardware and exhaust.

Suspension and ride comfortability.

Suspension refers to the metal coils and hydraulics that take and displace the impact from tires hitting and running over things. Suspension exists on a spectrum from "soft" to "hard", and most vehicles fall somewhere in the middle.

"Soft" suspension is meant for ride comfort - the suspension coil is kept less tense and absorbs more impact, keeping the ride more level and smooth. This is common in luxury cars or brands like Cadillac or Lexus. The downside of this is that it wears your suspension down much faster. They need to be replaced more frequently and it can also be harder on the axels, depending on what you do with it. Speed bumps, if taken unevenly, really fuck soft suspension.

"Hard" suspension is meant for durability - the suspension coil is kept very tense and rigid, displacing the impact more into the body of the vehicle and back into the ground. This makes the ride a lot rockier, but the vehicle itself a lot more stable. Most vehicles with 4 Wheel Drive or offroading capability lean towards hard suspension to preserve the vehicle's integrity and power output.

In the video, the Cybertruck clearly has softer suspension than the hard suspension F-150. This is why the Ford had a rockier ride but the phone didn't go flying when they landed. The Ford is much more resistant to hard impact than the Cybertruck.

Towing and frame construction.

Towing capacity is in part from the horsepower put out by the engine, but also by the integrity of the frame.

Most vehicle's frames are one solid aluminum skeleton, sometimes welded in places but often cast all at once. Trucks, specifically, usually use the "unibody" design with a built-in trailer hitch. This allows the entirety of the frame to carry the weight of the towed object as it would if it were in the bed of the truck. This is what the Ford is doing when it pulls the Cybertruck out of the mud - the entirety of the body is being used to pull.

The Cybertruck's hitch, in contrast, is attached only to the bumpers and not the frame of the vehicle. The bumper was attached to the frame, however, and when it tore off, it caused structural damage to the frame.

Frame damage is critical damage. It destabilizes the entire structure and can actually tear the vehicle apart from within. That metal needs to be reinforced or wholly replaced to be servicable again.

Aluminum vs steel frame.

Most trucks have aluminum frames ans for good reason.

Aluminum has the highest strength to weight ratio second only to titanium, meaning that for how light it is, it is incredibly strong. An F-150 made of aluminum is thousands of pounds lighter than one made of steel and is more durable.

Steel also goes brittle in the cold faster than aluminum, meaning it is more prone to tearing or rending under force when its's cold. (There's a test to determine this called the Charpy Test - go look them up, they're really cool.) Aluminum also rusts slower and less catastrophically than steel. You can see how this would be in issue in the cold or if your vehicle is left outside regularly.

Fibre glass vs steel body.

In the C-4 test, it blew a hole right through the F-150, because obviously. The Cybertruck remained intact, but jammed the door. This is more damning for the Cybertruck than the Ford.

The Ford is designed with safety in mind. The body of the truck is meant to take the impact in the event of a crash instead if the occupants. These manifest as "crumple zones", where the vehicle will let itself be crushed instead of the passengers. Fibre glass is very good at that, so that's what most exterior bodies are made from.

Crucially, they are also intended to be destroyable by first responders. A firefighter responding to a crash can cut through the door of that Ford with a saw pretty easily and extract the occupants. Alternatively, an occupant can force the doors open from the inside too, if necessary.

The Cybertruck is made of sheet steel and therefore much harder to cut through than fibre glass. The impact also jams the door lock, making it impossible to open from the inside. If your truck is on fire after an accident, you better hope the other door still works or you're dying in there. On that note ...

Slamming the doors and breakable windows.

The integrity of the Cybertruck's interior is a joke. What the actual fuck is that. Granted, neither of these vehicles are meant to be slammed like that, but the Ford's doors held together very well in comparison.

That means that even small impacts like slamming the door are being transferred into all the soft, squishy parts of the inside of the Cybertruck whereas the Ford is dispersing it immediately.

He calls out Ford's windows for cracking during this test, but again, that's an intentional design.

You'll notice he was able to grab and wiggle the glass without it breaking apart. That's because the glass is also, like the crumple zones, intended to take an impact on behalf of the occupant. It is designed to crack and spiderweb out BUT NOT shatter. Shattering glass can cause a lot of harm, especially to the eyes and face. Instead, even if it does break apart, it stays in larger chunks.

The Cybertruck, by contrast, does not spiderweb nearly as efficiently as the Ford and does, in fact, shatter in the driver's side window when they're throwing weights at it. It doesn't disperse the impact, it shatters under pressure (despite putting up with a lot of abuse) and it loses integrity in localized spots quite quickly.

If you're in a crash, the Ford's windows won't rupture your eyes with tiny razors.

Pulling strips off the Cybertruck.

This got me. This was the worst part.

When he pulls the strips off the top edge of the body, over the doors, you'll notice that it was glued on.

GLUED.

You do not glue metal together. You weld, rivet or bracket metal to itself (preferably like metal to like metal). Metal is usually not a porous surface, meaning it has nothing for the glue to hold onto. Do you have any idea how dangerous this barely-adhered strip of sheet metal would be if it flew off in a car crash? It's a huge metal boomerang - it's gonna kill someone. Temu-ass materials indeed.

How the fuck do you half-ass something so hard that you start whole-ass fucking it up? Lawnmowers have better structural and safety integrity.

The uh, the Ford doesn't have glued on body parts. If you were wondering.

Drive by wire and bricking.

Drive by wire is a cool invention and I'm sure it's pretty useful. In EVs, it cuts further down on weight and mades the steering more responsive.

In my opinion, though, it's a hazard on its own.

In CVs, the wheels are controlled by your steering column, which is attached to your wheel. The operation of the wheel is aided by hydraulic systems which assist you in the actual effort of turning the wheels. When your engine dies or the steering assistants take a hit, you can still control the vehicle directly (though it is much harder).

Drive by wire without a backup steering column (like the Cybertruck has) means that if the vehicle dies while you're in motion, you have no control over the vehicle at all anymore. You're fucked. God forbid your truck bricks because you drove though a puddle on the highway and you lose control entirely.

On that note too, I am firmly of the belief that none of your driving essentials should be controlled via screen. Physical buttons and shifters allow physical feedback, letting the driver keep their eyes on the road and move by muscle memory and touch alone. Touch screens are hazardous to the driver and those around them by forcing them to look at what they're pressing as opposed to the road. The Cybertruck's control screen being in the centre console also cuts down the driver's capability to use peripheral vision to monitor the traffic around them.

Now, most EVs put out by real companies do have a steering column and manual sticks still in place for these reasons, so it's not an EV problem, it's a Tesla one.

Driving off the lot.

I don't give a shit. Every vehicle you buy should come as advertised and drivable off the lot. You shouldn't have to get an app, set up an account and register your vehicle in order to charge the damn thing.

No one should be able to steal my car by stealing my phone. I draw the line. Fuck off.

So, yeah. The Cybertruck sucks even worse than we already thought it did. If you want an EV, buy it from a company that actually makes vehicles and not a billionaire's vanity toy company.

[e-carlease]

For purveyors of the fine small electric cars, there will be 3 options in the Alpine hatch including:  

GT - this will include a F1 steering wheel, 10” touchscreen, sports suspension, heated seats, 19” alloys and automatic air conditioning;

GTS - this will include Nappa 2-tone leather, premium audio, sports tyres, black monograms, lumbar adjust for the driver seat and telemetric; and

Premiere Edition - this will include a numbered plate, distinct floor mats, safety pack and driving pack.

This FWD hatchback supermini  will have a 52 kWh usable battery which will offer 0 – 62 times of 6.4 seconds, 106 mph top speeds and 160kW (or 215hp). Expect a combined winter range of 155 miles with warmer weather allowing for 215 miles – a 185 mile combined. On charging, the 11 kW AC max will allow 5 hour and 45 min 0 – 100% charging times with the 100 kW DC maximum allowing 33 minute 10 – 80% times. A cargo volume of 326L is available with this car. It has a vehicle fuel equivalent of 144 mpg. You can tow with this EV – 500kg (Unbraked) and 500kg (Braked). It also has Bidirectional Charging - V2L via an exterior outlet capable of 3.7kW AC plus V2H and V2G functionality. The Heat Pump is standard

[hamdank77]

The Ultimate Guide to Electric Cars: Best Choices, Affordable Options, and Everything You Need to Know

Top Picks for Electric Vehicles in 2024

A number of variables need to be taken into account while selecting the best electric car, including performance, design, technology, and range. Here are some of the standout models for 2024:

1. Tesla Model S Plaid

The Tesla Model S Plaid is a benchmark in the electric car market. With a range of over 390 miles and a 0-60 mph time of just 1.99 seconds, it sets the standard for luxury and performance in the EV segment.

Range: 390+ miles

Top Speed: 200 mph

Key Features: Autopilot, Full Self-Driving capability, 1,020 horsepower

2. Lucid Air

The Lucid Air is a luxury electric sedan that combines futuristic design with remarkable performance. With a range of up to 520 miles, it currently offers the longest range of any EV on the market.

Range: Up to 520 miles

Top Speed: 168 mph

Key Features: Lucid DreamDrive, spacious interior, 1,111 horsepower in the Dream Edition

3. Porsche Taycan

For those seeking a sports car experience, the Porsche Taycan delivers with its iconic handling and design. Available in several variants, the Taycan offers an exhilarating driving experience with rapid acceleration.

Range: Up to 256 miles

Top Speed: 161 mph

Key Features: Porsche Electric Sport Sound, 800-volt architecture, advanced regenerative braking

Cheapest Electric Cars: Affordable EV Options

Electric cars are becoming increasingly affordable, making them accessible to a broader audience. Here are some of the best budget-friendly electric cars:

1. Nissan Leaf

The Nissan Leaf is one of the most popular and affordable electric cars on the market. It’s ideal for city driving and offers a solid range for daily commutes.

Range: Up to 149 miles

Starting Price: ,800

Key Features: ProPILOT Assist, e-Pedal, affordable maintenance costs

2. Chevrolet Bolt EV

The Chevrolet Bolt EV is a compact electric car that offers a surprising amount of range and features for its price point.

Range: Up to 259 miles

Starting Price: ,000

Key Features: DC fast charging capability, roomy interior, high safety ratings

3. Hyundai Kona Electric

The Hyundai Kona Electric is a subcompact SUV that blends affordability with functionality, offering an impressive range for its class.

Range: Up to 258 miles

Starting Price: ,000

Key Features: 8-inch touchscreen, regenerative braking, adaptive cruise control

Best Electric SUVs: Top Performers in the SUV Segment

SUVs remain one of the most popular vehicle types, and the electric SUV segment is growing rapidly. Here are the best electric SUVs to consider:

1. Tesla Model Y

The Tesla Model Y is a versatile electric SUV that combines the performance and technology of the Model 3 with more cargo space and an elevated driving position.

Range: Up to 330 miles

Top Speed: 135 mph

Key Features: Dual motor all-wheel drive, panoramic glass roof, Autopilot

2. Ford Mustang Mach-E

The Ford Mustang Mach-E is a bold new entry into the electric SUV market, blending the iconic Mustang design with modern electric performance.

Range: Up to 300 miles

Top Speed: 124 mph

Key Features: Ford Co-Pilot360, 15.5-inch touchscreen, Mustang-inspired design

3. Audi e-tron

The Audi e-tron is a premium electric SUV that offers a luxurious interior and smooth, quiet driving experience.

Range: Up to 222 miles

Top Speed: 124 mph

Key Features: Quattro all-wheel drive, Virtual Cockpit, adaptive air suspension

Electric Cars for Sale: Where to Find the Best Deals

Finding the right electric car at the best price requires a bit of research. Here are some top places to look for electric cars for sale:

1. Certified Pre-Owned (CPO) Programs

Many automakers offer certified pre-owned programs for their electric vehicles. These programs typically include a thorough inspection and warranty coverage, making them an excellent choice for budget-conscious buyers.

2. Online Marketplaces

Websites like Autotrader, Cars.com, and Carvana offer a wide selection of new and used electric vehicles. These platforms allow you to compare prices, read reviews, and even purchase vehicles online.

3. Dealerships

Local dealerships often have a selection of electric cars, especially in areas where EVs are more popular. Visiting a dealership allows you to test drive the vehicle and speak with a salesperson about available incentives.

Electric Vehicle Charging Stations: Powering Your EV

One of the most critical aspects of owning an electric car is understanding how and where to charge it. Electric vehicle charging stations are becoming more prevalent, but it’s essential to know the types and locations of these stations.

1. Types of Charging Stations

Level 1 Charging: Uses a standard 120-volt outlet. It’s the slowest option, providing about 2-5 miles of range per hour of charging.

Level 2 Charging: Requires a 240-volt outlet, similar to what is used for large appliances like dryers. It provides about 10-60 miles of range per hour.

DC Fast Charging: These stations provide the fastest charge, delivering 60-100 miles of range in about 20 minutes.

2. Finding Charging Stations

Apps like PlugShare, ChargePoint, and Tesla’s own Supercharger network can help you locate charging stations near you. Many modern EVs also have built-in navigation systems that display nearby charging stations.

3. Home Charging Solutions

Installing a home charging station is a convenient option for many EV owners. Level 2 home chargers are the most popular and can be installed in your garage or driveway, allowing you to charge your vehicle overnight.

Electric Vehicles' Future

With developments in battery technology, autonomous driving features, and sustainable materials, the electric vehicle market is growing quickly.

1. Technology of Batteries

Electric vehicle (EV) range, charging times, and overall efficiency may all be significantly increased by further research into solid-state batteries and other cutting-edge technology.

2. Self-Driving Cars

Automakers are making significant investments in autonomous driving technology. The prospect of autonomous vehicles is growing because to initiatives like Tesla's Full Self-Driving Package and other comparable technologies.

3. Ecological viability

There is a growing emphasis on recycling materials and lowering the carbon footprint of manufacturing processes in the creation of electric vehicles, making the process more sustainable. Manufacturers who are spearheading the development of more environmentally friendly production techniques are Tesla and Rivian.

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 01/12/2023

Patched Plains Fusion Collab

Season 2 Featured on: Rips of Christmas Past Also on: SiIvaGunner: Starter Kit & Essentials

Ripped by MtH, dante, turdl3, Charles Ritz, TylerNJazz, toonlink, trivial171, wolfman1405, Chaze the Chat, Princess Sylvysprit, beat_shobon, Can of Nothing

December!! Christmas times!! The holidays!! Wahoo!!

There's of course always a lot of excitement in the air during December, even if its...largely manufactured by big companies. Yet ever since 2016, I've had far more of a personal attachment to the month - the end of SiIvaGunner Season 1, and the beginning of Season 2, was some of the most engrossed I've ever been engrossed with a piece of media - and it was all punctuated with the Patched Plains Fusion Collab.

It may be hard to truly convey to newer SiIva viewers just how suspenseful and strange the month of October was during 2016. For all intents and purposes, the channel appeared to have truly ENDED with Epic Flintstones, and everything that led up to its release just further cemented that. We'd gotten behind-the-scenes reveals of unresolved content, some of the channel's biggest projects and collaborations up to that point, a huge amount of new albums within such a short amount of time...there was very little to suggest that SiIva wouldn't actually be ending. Yet viewers paying attention would be able to connect the dots, these small little hints dropped during the finale, all connected to "Wood Man" - and mind you, this was before he was even established as a character on the channel!

Just a few days after the official ending, as SiIva had gone to sleep and the channel had been avoiding uploads for so long - uploads suddenly returned, as this "Wood Man" character became the new host at the start of November. This wasn't the first time a story event had been happening on SiIva, yet it was one that left us as viewers confused and in the dark of what was truly happening, due to the lack of a proper narrator. After just two weeks and an album release, halfway through the month, uploads suddenly ceased and the channel went dark. So...was the channel actually dead? Was this just a little bonus Halloween thing, to let the team play around with Wood Man as a character in an epilogue to the actual channel?

Turns out, it was all build-up to December - to the Christmas Comeback Crisis. The channel ending, the virus in his computer, the Voice Inside Your Head, Wood Man - it was all revealed to be part of this all new ongoing storyline, presented to us in full-on episodes during the month of December. Like a light switch turned on, the confusion and uncertainty of November turned into full-on celebration of SiIva's seemingly-now-confirmed return to regular uploading. This was the start of Season 2 - and it was, in my eyes, an absolutely perfect premiere.

I really want to go more in-depth on this someday, but I'll circle back to Patched Plains Fusion Collab to round the story out - because really, it was this rip that really cemented Season 2 as having officially begun, halfway through December 2016. It had been a month since Wood Man's sudden leave from the channel, and out of nowhere we're given an animated prologue to this all-new Christmas-themed storyline, directly based on Kirby: Planet Robobot from earlier that year. And after that sudden gut punch, we're treated to an absolute feast for the ears - a red-carpet introduction to the sort of quality we were about to experience. Kirby: Planet Robobot already had a heavy presence on SiIva due to The Reboot, and so starting this big new story event off with another rip from that same game felt like a sort of reassurance - this wasn't a bit, or a side story, or anything of the sort, but the full next step of the SiIvaGunner channel.

As a rip, it's frankly excellent - it has all the quality of the average Fusion Collab on the channel condensed down to just two minutes, covering everything from different genres of music, different games, different time signatures, and everything inbetween - a remix collaboration in the purest sense of the word, and an absolute treat to listen to. A big benefit to fusion collabs of this nature is that you're able to very clearly identify who is responsible for what parts of the rip - Princess Sylvyspirit's involvement is immediately noticeable as soon as the Touhou segment begins, Chaze's affection for MOTHER 3 is expressed through his part in the collaboration, and so on!

Despite the song only having a brief segment on Christmas near the beginning, the spirit is absolutely there throughout all of Patched Plains Fusion Collab - its a celebration of what was to come, a joyous theme that let all of its collaborators truly show their stuff at the start of this new age for the channel. And its a rip that I often come back to just for that sheer nostalgia alone.

[mylifeinfiction]

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami

My First Book of 2023!!

My brother lent this to me on New Year's Eve, and I decided to squeeze it in as my first book of the year so that it didn't get lost in the mix among my planned 2023 reading.

Ryū Murakami's  In the Miso Soup is a peculiar, perverse little thriller about loneliness and the desperate urge to connect with someone else; the need for something outside yourself to remind you this is all real. Its first act is a journey through the seedy side of Tokyo nightlife filled with as much unsure dread as it is a grungy air of authenticity. The second act is an awkward depiction of the masks we wear and the parts of us we’re willing to bare to those around us that comes to a head in a brutally violent, grotesquely surreal manner that hits like a brick. From that brilliantly visceral, over-the-top, desperate moment, the final act takes an unexpected/interesting turn, sacrificing any traditionally suspenseful climax for an exploration of a sick psyche and the world in which it was incubated. The ending leaves a bit to be desired structurally, but is perfectly ambiguous for the themes, characters, and the book they inhabit.

7/10

-Timothy Patrick Boyer.