#and of course there also just happen to be some real folks hanging out too for some reason

[pankomako]

how did all of these people get in my house (ASSUMING they're people at all)

[ronearoundblindly]

I have an idea for “how would…” !

It comes from a prank I’m seeing on tiktok lately of couples staying in a hotel room with 2 beds.

How would the guys react to reader saying they can sleep in separate beds tonight? 😆

Inspo: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP81dBS8k/

That's freaking hilarious, the link, but we've got lots of babes to cover! (Also...guess who realized Jake was missing from the banner? 😳👈 This doof.)

Warnings for, well, discussing couples and bed/bedtime activities but it's not real bad. MINORS DNI to be safe!

James Mace

You know what's tiny? A space bunk. He will starfish like a mothaf**ker on that queen size, and you gotta just give him that from time to time. If the stay in the hotel is just one night (and there's been no other time away from you recently), absolutely he will stretch out, pillows everywhere, each limb under a separate layer,--seriously though why are there nine layers of blankets and sheets? that's nuts--and no alarm if at all possible. However, if the stay is longer or the hotel is for a specific couple's vacation thing, then no, he would never spend a whole night outside of your bed. Maybe a nap after too much sun, or likely some space if he (or you) is feeling ill, but otherwise, Mace is very good at sharing resources with people he likes.

Curtis Everett

Oof. I really had to think about this guy. Some of Mace applies here, too, but Curtis likes the idea of having extra room far more than he likes using the room. I think he would try to fall asleep in the other bed for whatever reason, and then inevitably just crawl back in with you. He has never made it a whole night away, even if he falls asleep on the couch at home. He always has to be within arm's reach by the time you wake up.

Jimmy Dobyne

No. Nope. Not in the slightest.

He doesn't particularly like waste, so he might call down to see if there is a room with just one bed available, in case some other guests could use the two. Jimmy also hates the fuss of cleaning. He's acutely aware of how much effort would go into remaking the second bed (washing, etc) and won't even put things on top of the unused bed for the whole stay. Not your bag. Not your butt. Not a towel. Nada.

Johnny Storm

Few quick questions: this hotel is fireproof, right? The bedding, okay, but what about the carpet? The curtains? Are the headboards made of wood? Is the varnish flammable? You don't know? Shit, well, he needs to know.

I feel like Johnny has to have like a special tarp thing to lay over normal bed linens, but honestly, I can't really see how he's ever safe to sleep outside of his own customized bedroom. People do not have complete control while they are unconscious. That's super dangerous for folks like Johnny. Reed's fine because what's the worst that could happen, his foot actually hangs off the edge of the mattress? If we were talking about Ben, the weight-capacity would be a concern, too, so even if you are fine to sleep in the same bed as Johnny and sometimes get burned a bit...I...I'm just not convinced a hotel would want extraneous furniture in there.

That's not a sexy answer, but it's the one you're getting.

Jake Jensen

Dude can fall asleep any. where. any. time. However, if he is lucid enough to pick where he'll fall asleep, it will always be with you...

...after hysterically jumping around like a kid on the extra bed.

I'll just, yeah, leave you with that image. Have fun. Stay weird, Jake.

Lloyd Hansen

If you two are actively doing something--yes, of course, I mean sex or sexual acts or whatever nasty word Lloyd wants to call it--then you are in the same...general area. That's not limited to a bed.

For sleeping, real sleeping, separate beds are 99% of the time a must. There is one exception to this: if Lloyd has been worn out or injured badly on a job--which is so rare--and if it's not quite bad enough to be in a hospital hooked to machines to keep him alive, then he becomes a sort of energy leech and keeps you very close all the time. This is Lloyd's vampire phase. As you can probably deduce, it is not about you, but he will take whatever he can from you.

Ari Levinson

50/50. Ari is moody. He changes with the wind (not in a bad way but for all the small, subtle stuff), and he sometimes just fancies a bit of something different. Take that as you will--and by that I mean run with it because I am totally talking about all sorts of different things to do in bed. He's the type of man who does better with a bit of alone time, too. Never means any offense by it. Just has spells of needing socializing and needing quiet.

Ransom Drysdale

Literally, I feel like I always have the same answer for Ran: it depends on when this is in your relationship and what the hotel stay is for.

Early on in dating, he aires on the side of caution and goes by his mood and yours. If there's been frustration in the day--due to his family or work or anything--then maybe you need some space. When Ransom is in a relationship, for real, he's actually very attuned to the tone of sex--which, of course, will happen no matter the mood of the day--so a lot of connection and intimacy will tell him it's good to stay close while a simpler, transactional need to get off tells him the other bed might be best.

Ran, however, would not get--or enjoy--the 'prank' of this challenge, and stop goddamn filming him for tiktok!

Steve Rogers

Pardon my language, but are you fucking kidding? The look on Steve's face if you so much as hinted... His head would immediately be spinning with 'what did I do wrong?' and 'what romantic gesture can I make right here right now to fix it?'

He's a simple man, and that is a simple no.

Bucky Barnes

Trickier. Much trickier.

Hmm. How to explain...

This feels like a whole season of 'What If...?' but I'll try to simplify.

Are you an Avenger or agent? Are you two on a mission together? I think Bucky is hardcore about keeping sharp and professional during those times. Sleep shifts. Minimal touching. The whole nine yards because safety is paramount. Is there some reason there could be surveillance of you two and you're supposed to be a couple? Bucky can put on one hell of a show like that. Just saying. I doubt, however, that he would mix business and pleasure unless absolutely necessary.

Are you a civilian? Is he a civilian now? Then no, he's in that one bed holding you until the second (maybe third) snooze cycle rings on his alarm. He's notorious for giving himself cushions of time, so it's never him needing to rush out on the average day. It took a while to adjust, but Buck can now also vacation with the best of them. Takes advantage of all the bells and whistles: minibar, room service, and the 'do not disturb' sign. Champion vacationer, he is, of this I have no doubt.

Thank you for asking!

A/N: Mace is a sleeper fave of mine, and I would do anything for that man, I swear... Also, would someone like to tell me why Bucky gets soooo 🥵 in all of these. My god, what am I feeding that boi?

[Main Masterlist; Who Would...Asks; Ko-Fi]

[odinsblog]

One About The Atmosphere: Want to change minds? Stop trying. Change the atmosphere instead.

Donald Trump in 2016 greets a screaming horde of ecstatic white christian nationalists

Minivan was a nice enough guy. He was easygoing; a happy guy with a frequently deployed smile. I don’t recall much anger from him, nor many strongly held opinions. I wouldn’t call him a philosophical type. No deep late night talks with Stove Minivan is my recollection.

This is the sort of dude I’d hang out with at a party, if there were a party we were both at, but not one with whom I’d maintain a relationship if we both graduated and then moved to different places—which I know for a fact, because that’s what happened. We drifted.

So then what happened is twelve years or so later I got on The Facebook, and Stove Minivan was there, too, and before long, we were friends again, he and I, and so were me and my other college friends, and them with him, and … look, you know the drill. It was The Facebook.

Minivan was no longer a pre-med student at a small northern liberal arts college. He was a doctor—a general care practitioner, if memory serves—in a smallish plains state town, very much like many other towns in the great plains or elsewhere in the country, I imagine.

Anyway, before long I noticed something about Minivan. Even though his feed was full of pictures of him and his lovely family, and he was smiling in them just the same as he always had in college, he was angry.

He was *enraged*

What was he angry about? The Demonrats.

Minivan was absolutely enraged about everything the Demonrats did. He also was out of his mind angry about Killary, and Obummer, the leaders of the Demonrats—or at least they were the front for the real leader of the Demonrats, who even back then I believe was George Soros.

What did the Demonrats do? Oh my heck, what *didn’t* they do? Mostly they hated America and American security and American economic strength, it seems. They engaged in corruption and bowed to foreign powers a lot. They shredded the dignity of the presidency, that’s for sure.

Minivan’s worldview wasn’t particularly coherent, if you want to know the truth.

I couldn’t help to notice that the Demonrats weren’t actually doing many of the things that Minivan thought they were doing.

And I noticed other things.

For example, I couldn’t help but notice that a lot of the policies Minivan supported were directly *causing* the sorts problems that made Minivan so angry.

And I couldn’t help but notice that well-sourced information enraged him more than pretty much anything else.

There was a lot of linking to sites I’d never heard of, like Breitbart and Newsmax, and of course plenty of Fox News. There were a lot of memes. There were a lot of conspiracy theories (a big birther, was Minivan).

Some of his posts contained subtle bigotry. Most of the rest contained not-subtle bigotry. Several of them contained slogans and statements that were, very simply, neo Nazi and white supremacist memes and shibboleths.

There was a lot of commentary accompanying these posts from Minivan, who was saying shocking stuff for a small-town family doctor … the sorts of things that it seemed to me would make people not want to use this person as a doctor, or or sit next to that person on a bus.

I hadn’t heard of Alex Jones, yet, but Minivan sounded a lot like Alex Jones, word for word and beat for beat. He’d even start his posts like a right-wing radio host: Sorry folks, but you can’t even make stuff like this up—ironically, accompanying things that had been made up.

This was all pretty distressing to those of us who had known Minivan back in the day, before he had become so obsessed with Demonrats.

So, a lot of us, myself included, did exactly what The Facebook wants.

We engaged with him.

At the time my belief was, you defeated bad ideas with better ideas, by confronting the bad ideas directly with the better ideas. Debate was for changing minds. You presented your ideas, they presented theirs, you countered, they countered, eventually everybody saw the truth.

But the intention was that I’d change his mind, with facts presented logically, delivered calmly and patiently.

This was my belief.

What happened confounded me, but perhaps you can predict it.

Minivan escalated any correction, however calmly stated or bloodlessly presented, into scorched earth territory. He rejected all proofs by rejecting the source outright as irrevocably tainted by bias, or he’d spiral into non sequitur, spamming our feeds with more misinformation.

He would claim he never said things he had just said, even though the statements were still there for anybody to read, one comment earlier in the thread.

He’d claim that I said things I'd never said, as anyone foolish enough to read through our conversations could discover.

He demonstrated a complete dedication to his ignorance and anger, and a total disinterest in anything like observable truth that contradicted his grievance.

It was confounding and unfamiliar behavior to me, at the time.

At the time.

All of it was larded with grievance, a sense that people like him had never wronged anybody, and everybody else had done nothing but wrong people like him.

The bigotry and authoritarianism grew.

And all the time, on Facebook, he and his family kept smiling their perfect smiles.

I’ll admit that over time my interactions stopped being polite and bloodless, and I’m not particularly sorry for it. I told him some things about himself he seemed not to know, but which I thought really ought to be said.

I have a bit of a penchant for sarcasm, which you may have noticed.

I employed this skill, and you can feel how you want to about sarcasm, but I think it helped convey the correct posture to take toward someone who says the sorts of things Minivan was saying.

The correct posture being "you have proved yourself to be a person who should not be taken seriously, and your positions do not deserve even a modicum of respect."

I found this a more healthy message to convey about Minivan to anybody watching, and I still do.

Eventually he blocked me, and he was out of my life forever. It was the right choice, and I'm very glad he did that.

I’ve pondered the incident since, as it’s become more and more relevant to “the way things are.”

A few things had become clear over time.

Minivan was not somebody whose intentions could be trusted. He was not operating in good faith, and I believe he well knew it, because many of his favorite sources of information have written instruction books on how to engage with people in bad faith.

Minivan was not debating; he was using debate to inject his counterfactual beliefs into the discourse, which were designed to further marginalize already marginalized people while simultaneously cloaking himself in self-exonerating grievance.

More, he was exerting an active effort to not know things that could be easily known, and to demand to be convinced out of deliberate ignorance, not because he was interested in having his ideas challenged, but because he demanded a world in which he got to decide what was real.

Further still: Minivan *learned* from me. The effect of telling him he was using one or another logical fallacy was not to sharpen his reasoning, but to teach him about the existence of logical fallacies, which let him (incorrectly) accuse others of those same logical fallacies.

So Minivan was deploying the language of logic, in ways that betrayed a total lack of understanding about what those fallacies were, granted, but in ways that likely made him seem more knowledgeable and reasonable to a casual or sympathetic observer.

He learned to ape our phrases and arguments, in much the way he’d learned to ape the style of Alex Jones and all the various Breitbart and Newsmax contributors he used to inform himself.

And these days it occurs to me: I hear a lot about "groomers."

We were not changing him by engaging with him thoughtfully.

We certainly weren’t changing him by engaging with him in kind.

Rather: we were making him better at what he was doing, and we were validating his world view—to himself and others—as one that merited engagement.

And week after week on Facebook, Minivan kept smiling and smiling and getting angrier and angrier, at us and Obummer and all the other Demonrats and liberals and every member of every minority group who dared to fail to ceaselessly assure him that he was right about everything.

I don’t miss Minivan's black-hole-sun smile. I think of it as my first hint of MAGA: politically overrepresented, socially coddled people, often living outwardly happy privileged lives, while seething inwardly that other people might be getting anything, anything at all.

Indeed, soon enough, another figure would come on the scene, whose behavior matched that of Minivan almost exactly, a perfect avatar for this spirit of aggrieved bigotry and supremacy that seemed to be moving through my former friend.

And sure enough, as I saw, there were millions and millions of smiling seething people who loved him.

And that guy became president.

Nobody believed he would. And then he did.

Because Stove Minivan, it turns out, wasn’t some weird outlier.

He was part of a growing new normal, a group of people who had been offered a chance to immigrate from observable reality and enter a dark world of constant hostility, misinformation, and self-loving grievance.

It's an invitation they leapt at, to which they cling even now.

It's a constituency immune to proof, angered by equality, cheered by cruelty, who blame others for the foulness of the shallow puddle of reasoning within which they have demand to be seated, even though we can all see them fouling it themselves, every day.

And afterward, a huge number of those shocked by this development decided the proper reaction was to accommodate it, in the name of unity—a belief, it seems, grounded in the idea that what you choose to get along with isn’t as important as getting along no matter what.

I’ll finish with the question that all of Minivan’s former friends would eventually ask, whenever they gathered together long enough for the subject to arise.

"What the hell happened to Minivan?"

Here’s the answer, I think: nothing.

Nothing happened to Minivan. Nothing at all.

He was always that guy, and he always thought the things he thought.

What changed was that he was given a lot of language with which to express those ideas, and access to enough other people who thought that way too, that it created a critical mass of permission.

The permission allowed him to change his attitudes and actions, and created a lot of other people willing to accommodate and normalize his antisocial anti-reality behavior, rather than reject it out of hand.

In college you could be pretty conservative, honestly. It was a pretty conservative place. But you couldn't behave like Minivan later would.

You’d be understood to be a far-right extremist, and people would then treat you like a far-right extremist.

Which is what you'd be.

I think it just wasn't possible for Minivan to be what he later became, because the atmosphere wasn't conducive to the possibility.

But then the atmosphere changed.

If we want to change it back, it's worth thinking about how atmospheres change.

(source)

[angel-atelier]

Some random headcanons for my au!:

Zero is old asf, she's not exactly a demon, but she is similar to slender and zalgo. She's a bit similar to Yoru csm in way, where she's less powerful possessing Alice.

Jeff helped build Clockys trust in men again, which is ironic with Jeff being ya know... himself

Kate, Tim, and Brian are practically family. They live together and try their best to protect one another. Sometimes Brian remarks that Kate and Tim even look related.

Liu and Jane have a strained relationship. They used to be closer, they vented to eachother about Jeff and were really eachothers safe place for awhile. They naturally drifted over the years. Recently Jeff and Liu have started talking again. Liu knows why Jane will never forgive Jeff, but he can't help what he feels about his own brother. Liu feels like he's lying to Jane everytime they call, so he has tried to distance from her even further, causing frustration for Jane.

Sally and Ben have a sibling relationship where Ben continuously annoys her over and over. She really doesn't like him too much, while she's still a kid she's been alive a lot longer, so she likes to act mature

Jane doesn't wear a mask, she's just goth and paints her face white

Clocky hates the heat, cannot stand it she burns sooo easy

Jack absolutely hates zero, he's usually not one to hate, he tries to keep love at the center of all his actions. But zero just makes him think about what happened to him. She's using a body that doesn't belong to her, and on top of that she's a real asshole. Plus he's really good friends with Ann

Jeff and Clockwork are exes LOL they both were like "this is too weird" and went back to being best friends. This causes some jealously for both Nina and Toby

Kate was raised to be pretty religious, so she has guilt about her actions and being attracted to women

Sadie is trans!

Dina and Helen have a flirtatious relationship but it's pretty unhealthy. Dina is hunting Helen as a part of her job, but he manipulates her into not killing him using flattery and ultimately tears down her confidence. It's not exactly abusive, but it's definitely not healthy

Korbyn likes most of the creeps, but she really does not want anything to do with them. Liu and her bond over this

Lulu is selectively mute, and was so in life

Clocky likes 90s rock, grunge, and some punk but she also really likes folk and old country, to an embarrassing extent.

Brian and Tim treat eachother like romantic partners, but if they had a normal life they definitely wouldn't be. They're just they only thing the other can count on.

Ann and Jack are companions (platonic), they live together, they sleep in the same bed, and they "work" together. They are really similar in quite a few ways. Jack has a lot of empathy for her, even when she's being a bitch

Jane was in college when her family was murdered, but she did live at home. So her and Jeff have a pretty significant age gap. Jane is about 10 years older, give or take

Nina and Clockwork are roomates! They met through Jeff but have become really close on their own

Lulu, The Rake, Seedester, Sadie, Sally, Slenderman and Smile Dog all occupy the forest. Of course the more human ones go inside from time to time. Zalgo is also there but in a different way

Korbyn is non binary, using almost any pronoun minus it

On the other hand Zero doesn't mind the use of it. She doesn't really care about pronouns but if they were to, she would go by she/it/they

Toby and Clocky are basically a couple in every sense but officially. They have a very domestic life together, go on dates and sometimes kiss each other on the head and cheek. Toby's the kind of guy who practically lives at his partners house. But they aren't official, much to Toby's dismay

While Zero does hate humanity. She can't kill absolutely everyone she sees, it would land her behind bars too quickly so she hangs out with the creeps. She has taken a liking to Korbyn because she knows it makes them uncomfortable to be around her.

Stripes is a masc lesbian

Dina has lots of internalized misogyny from her childhood, but she has worked through a lot of it.

[herearedragons]

The Hanged Man (chapter 1)

Read on AO3

Notes: This fic relies on some plot points from the short story "The Reaping". If you want the full context for the fic without having to read the short story (which I do recommend, btw), see the AO3 notes or scroll to the bottom of this post.

Edér had imagined his own death way too many times.

There was the war, for one. He'd try not to think about it much, but sometimes things would happen and leave him wondering if that would be him, too.

Stabbing. Slashing. Arrows. Bolts. Broken necks, burned bodies. Slow deaths from wounds gone bad.

And besides your usual pick of deaths, there was Eothas.

Edér knew for a fact he wasn't the only one thinking about it. Lots of soldiers back then were going to sleep every night wondering if they'd just be... smitten out of existence, before they ever woke up.

Close your eyes, and the next thing you see is your god, and he goes well, Edér, you chose the wrong side, so welcome to being dead. No rebirth for you, either. Right into the void with you.

Not the most fun thought to fall asleep with.

Lately, though, it had all been the same thing. The rough, heavy noose around his neck, hands tied behind his back; the creaking of old barren branches above his head, and all of Gilded Vale staring up at him.

The funny thing was, now that he was there for real, it almost felt fake. The rope against his skin; the barrel that would soon be kicked out from under his feet; the silent grey crowd; there was a weird flatness to it all. It was all wrong, just a little off from how it appeared in his recurring dreams.

His dreams didn’t account for the rain, either. 

It was just a light drizzle, but Edér had been standing under it for a while, in the same shirt and trousers he fell asleep in the night before, and by now he was soaked and chilled to the bone.

Part of him was starting to wish they’d just get it over with.

And to think that he almost got out. He should have left as soon as the bell tolled three times yesterday, instead of putting it off until next morning.

Maybe he could have tagged along with that Watcher and the twitchy elf that had been staying at the Black Hound. They were strange folks, sure, but neither of them looked too sturdy; they could have used a protector on the road.

He almost asked to come along with them. Even now, Edér wasn't sure why he didn't.

Same reason why he’d waited this long to leave, probably.

A few feet away from his improvised gallows, Urgeat the magistrate was droning on and on about the "inestimable" Lord Raedric, his care for Gilded Vale, and his love for his wife.

His wife.

When his door got kicked in first thing in the morning, guards swarming in to drag him out of bed, Edér thought it was about Eothas. He figured maybe it was also about the rebels, or because someone saw him talking to that Watcher, and that was somehow also a crime now.

He didn't think they'd say that he murdered a woman.

Lord Raedric's wife. He still didn't know all the details of it - nobody bothered to tell him, since they were all thinking he did it - but what he gathered was that she turned up dead somewhere in the village, and it was close enough to his house to make them think he was involved.

Urgeat was just getting to that part in his speech, now.

Edér had never even seen her up close.

"...spreading dissent and worship of a dead god are, of course, far from the only crimes committed by this man. When words of deception no longer satisfied his foul goals, he turned to murder, and took the life or our beloved Lady Ygrid - "

"Didn't do it."

Even from this distance, Edér could see a sour grimace form on the magistrate's face as soon as he was interrupted.

"Silence, murderer," Urgeat said.

Edér shrugged; the noose shifted uncomfortably on his shoulders.

"Just setting the facts straight," he said. "Didn't do it. Ain't ever laid a finger on her. Sure, I’ve got blood on my hands, but last I checked they were all soldiers."

Not all of those soldiers were Readcerans.

Standing on that barrel gave him a great view of the crumbling shell of the temple behind the villagers' backs - and, standing just beyond it, the house that once belonged to Osgod Rask.

They did find the corpses, eventually. Some settlers moved in, took Raedric up on his offer of land; smelled something foul in the cellar, opened it, and saw what became of the two men in the years that had passed since Edér left them there.

Those settlers didn't stay.

"So you would like us to believe," Urgeat said dryly. "However, lies will not get you out of this noose. I would advise that you save your breath."

Edér couldn't hold back a snort of laughter; not that he was trying that hard.

"Right! 'Cause I have so much breathing left to do still."

Was it his imagination, or did he hear a giggle somewhere in the crowd?

Nobody liked the magistrate. Fact was, were it him in the noose instead of Edér, they'd all be clapping and cheering.

Nobody was cheering for his hanging, at least. He’d like to believe there were some people in the square doubting that he actually did it.

The problem was that it didn’t matter.

Three tolls of the bell spelled death. Before the lady’s body turned up, it meant death for a lot of people, and probably exile for just as many; by the time Raedric was done “appeasing the gods”, Gilded Vale would have been a ghost town.

But now… Now the lord’s wife was dead, and they had one person to blame for it. And, while they were at it, they could blame him for everything else, too.

Maybe there were some folks left in Gilded Vale who didn’t want to see him hang, but they would take it if it meant that he would be the last.

Something drew his eyes back to the empty Rask house.

Daeg's ma, Lifa, had this look on her face when the bodies were found. Whenever Edér was around, she'd get that same look again, like somehow she knew. 

Edér didn't regret what he did. Daeg raised a weapon against a woman and her child, which in Edér's book meant he got what was coming to him - but it didn't mean Lifa deserved to die without ever finding out what happened to her son.

Gods know he’d give a lot to find out what happened to Woden.

"Tell you what, Urgeat," Edér said. "You're gonna hang me, at least hang me for something I did."

He took a breath, preparing to confess to everything that happened with Elafa and her child and the two guards that night - and then the words never came out.

There was a figure walking through the ruins of the old temple.

"Well?" Urgeat inquired impatiently. "If you wish to add to the list of your crimes, I will not stop you, but, by the Wheel, make it quick."

The stranger was wearing a heavy black cloak with an unusually large, baggy hood. Edér couldn't see their face, but they were moving, quickly and purposefully, towards the gathering.

"I take it you have changed your mind," Urgeat said. "Very well. Let us continue - "

"Stop!"

The cloaked stranger had crossed the temple, and stopped at the foot of the tree. She was the one speaking; by the sound of it, she was a woman.

Urgeat let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh.

"Miss,” he said, "Perhaps you failed to notice that we are in the middle of an official proceeding. Whatever business you have, I am sure it can wait a minute longer."

"It cannot," she said. "By the duc's authority, I demand that you stop this execution right now."

"By the duc's - excuse me, who are you?"

In response, she simply reached up and pulled back her strange, heavy hood.

A murmur rolled through the crowd.

She was Ondra-touched. Blue skin the color of a clear sky; black eyes with no whites, two glowing dots for pupils; glowing white hair, a crescent moon-shaped growth on her forehead, and two curving horns, glowing also.

That last part explained the weird shape of her hood.

Edér had never seen this kind of godlike before, but he had heard of them.

During the war, word was that there was one of them in his division. Edér had never met the guy himself, but heard that he could fly, and that any wounds he received would heal right up. Whether the rumors about his blessings were true or not, it was impossible to say now; a few weeks in, the godlike took the brunt of a spell from a Readceran priest and died.

"Agent Selene Moonborn of Dunryd Row," said the Ondra-touched woman. "You may address me as Agent Moonborn, or Selene. Do you need to see my credentials?"

Moonborn... She sure was.

Wait - Dunryd Row?

"I would greatly appreciate that," Urgeat said, but his tone was no longer as snide as it was a moment ago. In fact, Edér was pretty sure that he heard a tinge of fear in his voice.

No wonder. If this was an actual Dunryd cipher, something serious was going on.

Selene approached the magistrate, her cloak swaying silently, and held something out to him. The drizzling rain didn't seem to bother her much.

While Urgeat was inspecting the item she handed him, she looked up over his shoulder. Her eyes met Edér's for a moment, and almost immediately moved on, taking in the rest of the hanging tree.

Was he just a part of the scenery to her, dead already?

"...Very well," Urgeat said, finally. "Welcome to Gilded Vale, Agent Moonborn. As you can see, you find us at an unfortunate hour; we have just lost our lord’s heir, and now our lady as well. Fortunately, her murderer has already been apprehended, and we are in the process of bringing him to justice."

Selene's eyes returned to the magistrate standing before her.

"That man?"

"Edér Teylecg. A troublesome individual. Eothasian." 

Urgeat spat out that last word like it was a curse.

"I see," Selene said. "Unfortunately, you can't execute him."

What?

"...What?"

That was probably the first and last time he and Urgeat had ever agreed on something.

"The murder of a thayn, or a thayn's immediate family, falls under the duc's jurisdiction," Selene explained matter-of-factly. "In the absence of a representative of the duc's authority, the local authorities may investigate and persecute the crime; however, with a Dunryd Row investigator present, that is no longer the case. In other words, you can't execute this man until I have conducted a thorough investigation and determined that he is guilty; in fact, if you do hang him right now, it will be considered a crime and I will have to arrest you."

Something mesmerizing was happening. The longer she spoke, the more Urgeat seemed to shrink away from her; at no point did she raise her voice, but there was an underlying pressure to the calm, even cadence of her speech that seemed to have a nearly violent effect on the magistrate.

Even with a noose around his neck, Edér found that entertaining to watch. Judging by what he was seeing in the crowd, he wasn't the only one. Though, the villagers weren't exactly on the agent's side, either; many of them were smirking, but just as many were eyeing her with suspicion.

Urgeat made one last feeble attempt to resist:

"Lord Raedric - "

"I would be very grateful if you could arrange an audience with the lord for me," Selene said. "Tell him that a Dunryd Row agent has arrived to investigate the murder of his wife, and would like to hear his testimony. I would like to see the body, as well."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I will relay your message to His Lordship," Urgeat said, finally.

Then, the magistrate turned around. His face was even more grey and dead-looking than it usually was.

"You heard the agent," he said to the surrounding guards. "Take him down."

If Selene's appearance earned a murmur from the crowd, the sound they were making now was more like the distant rumble of thunder.

Something was happening that had never happened before, and now every mind in Gilded Vale was feverishly working on the same question: what does this mean for me?

Every mind except for Edér's, that is. He was a little busy trying to come to terms with standing on solid ground again.

Still cold, still with his hands tied, still accused of a murder he didn't commit - but, somehow, alive.

The same guard that took the noose off his neck walked him up to where Selene and the magistrate were talking.

The crowd around them was beginning to disperse. Urgeat never gave an explicit dismissal, but the guards had stepped away from the tree and started giving the rest of the villagers move-along-now looks.

Most folks got the hint, and those who didn't got pulled along by those who did.

Selene glanced at Edér again as he approached; this time her gaze lingered. It felt as though she was assessing something about him.

Eventually she nodded to herself, seemingly having reached a conclusion, and said to the guard standing beside him:

“Untie him, please.”

The man just shuffled in place awkwardly and looked at Urgeat.

"I don’t know if this is wise," the magistrate said. "He may become violent."

Only if you keep talking, Edér thought; usually this kind of thought would come right out of his mouth, but not this time.

He wasn't in a hurry to go back to the tree just yet.

"If he does, I'll protect you," Selene said. 

Her voice and expression were dead serious, but she was definitely taking the piss at Urgeat here.

Edér decided that he liked her.

The guard unsheathed his sword and began to saw at the rope at Edér's wrists; meanwhile, Selene turned to him and began speaking.

"Edér Teylecg, by the duc's authority, I am placing you under arrest. No harm will come to you unless you attempt to resist or flee, or your guilt is proven."

The rope fell off.

"Noted," Edér said.

It was as if she didn't hear.

"Is there a jail in Gilded Vale?" Selene asked, turning to Urgeat again.

The magistrate smiled thinly:

"There are the lord's dungeons."

"Understood," she said. "House arrest it is, then. Please inform the vilagers that they are not to visit the suspect while the investigation is ongoing."

And, just like that, Edér’s fate was decided.

☀︎

The walk back to his house was silent.

Edér was leading the way, the agent following behind. He could barely hear her steps; a couple times he even got the urge to turn around and check that she was still there.

He didn't. Wouldn’t want to do anything that she could interpret as "trying to flee or resist"; Edér had a funny feeling that, despite not having any visible weapons and being a head shorter than him, Selene had her ways of making him regret that.

His mind was still all over the place, trying to work out what his current reality looked like.

He didn't die. He was walking the path back to his house, which, about half an hour ago, he was never going to do again.

There was a Dunryd Row cipher walking behind him. She somehow knew about the murder that happened just this morning; she couldn't have come all the way from Defiance Bay, could she?

Where did she come from?

Why did she stop the hanging?

It was fun watching her have a go at Urgeat, but, now that the magistrate was gone and Edér was alone with her, he did very much want to know what she was planning to do with him.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t really know what a cipher could do.

There were plenty of folks who came to Gilded Vale saying they were one, and claimed all sorts of powers: some said they could see the future, some that they could read minds and souls. Most of them turned out to be a fraud, and at least a few of them ended up on the tree.

Nothing he could remember about them gave him a frame of reference for what a real Dunryd Row cipher was capable of.

Killing him, probably. Whatever else they taught their agents, Edér was pretty sure they had that part covered.

He was still thinking about that when his house came into view.

Suddenly, Selene's voice sounded behind his back: 

"Stop."

He stopped.

"Is that your house?" she asked.

"...Yeah."

"Do you live alone?"

"I do."

"There's someone inside."

…Well, that wasn't right.

"It's just one person," Selene said after a moment. "We can approach. Stay behind me."

Before Edér could ask how she could tell, she walked past him and headed straight for the door.

The only option left was to follow her.

Up close, Edér could hear it too: something was happening inside. There was a heavy scraping noise, like something was being dragged across the floor.

The door gave no resistance when Selene pushed it open; the bolt got broken earlier that morning.

She stepped inside.

The room was a mess. There were drawers open; his clothes were in a heap on the floor; the tools that were supposed to hang on the walls were laid out on the big dining table.

The scraping noise was coming from the far end of the house, where a man was trying to drag a chest out of the corner.

The chest was heavy. Edér knew that, because that was where kept his Saint's War armor; his sword and shield, too.

There wasn't much left in the house worth keeping under lock and key, but his armor and weapons were two of the things he did think could be stolen.

Turns out, he was right to worry.

"Excuse us," Selene said.

The man stopped struggling with the chest and froze.

"...Who's that?"

The shadows made it hard to recognize him, but, as soon as Edér heard the voice, he knew.

"Algar, you sheepfucker! Couldn't wait 'til I was dead?"

At the sound of his voice, the man jumped and straightened up at once, turning around to look at them, white as a sheet.

Sure enough, they were looking at Algar Bramweg: reedy, thin-haired and watery-eyed. Came back from the war with burns on his face and left arm, but he came back. 

He was a meek guy, but Edér used to think he was alright. Until that moment, that is.

"Edér!" Algar nearly squeaked. "Wh-what are you doing here? Aren't you - "

"Hanging on a tree?" Edér asked grimly. "Matter of fact, I was. They let me down so I could see who was in here, stealing my stuff."

"Well, I - I thought you wouldn't be needing it anymore!" Algar glanced around with the look of a cornered animal in his eyes. "...I'll put it back. I'll put it all back. I - what happened? Who is this?"

With that last question, he gestured wildly at Selene, who was just standing there the entire exchange.

"Agent Selene Moonborn, Dunryd Row," she said. "I take it you weren't in the square when I arrived. All you need to know for now is that the hanging has been postponed, and this building is now off limits. Please return everything you may have taken from here; it could be evidence."

Algar looked completely lost, now.

"...Evidence?"

"In the investigation of Lady Ygrid's murder," Selene clarified. "Like I said, this is all you need to know right now. If you're confused, ask one of your friends who were present for the hanging; I don't have time to repeat the details."

Algar looked over at him.

Edér shrugged:

"I'd do as she says, if I were you."

When Algar was done emptying his pockets, it turned out that he had picked up a couple of smaller tools, Edér’s entire whiteleaf stash, a handful of copper pands - and the book of prayers that survived year after year of purges in spite of Raedric’s efforts, safely hidden on top of one of the ceiling beams.

That last one puzzled him.

Algar didn’t just take the book - he was looking for it. There was no way for him to stumble upon it on accident.

“Alright,” Edér said, “The coins and the whiteleaf, I get. Tools, too. What did you need that for?”

Algar didn’t quite meet his eyes when he answered:

“Well, so many of those got burned or thrown away, I figured - the right folks would pay a fortune for one that’s still intact.”

So he was going to sell it. Made sense; more sense than Algar secretly being a devout Eothasian, anyhow.

Once Algar had left, Selene shut the door behind him. She regarded the broken bolt for a moment, then said:

"This will have to be fixed."

It wasn't clear whether she was talking to herself or to him.

Then, she turned around and addressed him directly:

“Please, take a seat.”

It was damn weird to be invited to sit down in his own house. Felt like an insult more than anything else; Edér had half a mind to say something about it, but thought better of it.

He pulled a chair out from the dining table and sat down.

As soon as he did, he regretted it. His body realized that he was no longer on his feet, and took it as an invitation to crash; immediately, his limbs felt heavy, and his head began to spin.

The entire morning was now catching up to him. Waking up to guards in his house; being dragged to the square; standing in the rain, counting the seconds left until his last breath.

How long had he been awake for? An hour? Felt like two entire days, at this point.

Black bones of Eothas, he’d almost - 

No, wasn’t the time for that. He’d think about that later, or maybe never.

He kind of liked that second option better.

His hands were shaking just a little; probably because he was still really cold.

Edér looked up at the agent.

“Mind if I start the fire?”

“...Oh.” It was as if she’d just realized the same thing he did. “Not at all. If you want to change your clothes, I’ll wait by the door.”

Well, that was nice of her.

He took her up on that offer.

Once he’d gotten a fire going in the firepit and changed into the clothes Algar so kindly left out for him, it was much easier to believe that he was, in fact, still alive.

Algar was going to take his whiteleaf, but he’d left the pipe right where it was. Figures; he had his own.

“You smoke, agent?” Edér asked, just as she stepped back into the room.

“I don’t, but you can go ahead.”

And so they sat down at the table, the fire in the middle of the room casting their shadows onto the far wall, the smoke from his pipe rising like a sheer curtain between them.

He was at home, now, and a little more certain that he could handle whatever Selene was about to throw at him.

“Suppose I should thank you,” Edér said. “If it weren't for you showing up when you did, would have been one more corpse on that tree - and Algar would’ve been smoking my whiteleaf just about now.”

For the first time since she walked out into the square, he saw Selene’s expression become something other than a distant, observing look.

Her eyes narrowed just a little, her pupils twinkling like twin stars in the night sky; she didn’t really smile, but her face softened in a way that made him think that maybe it was her way of smiling.

“It was a close call,” she said. “I’m glad I could stop them from hanging an innocent.”

Whatever Edér expected her to say, that was not it.

He didn't think he'd feel that much relief at hearing her say it, either. Of course he didn't murder the lady; he knew that.

But how did Selene know?

"...You figure that out with your cipher powers?"

The only other option he could think of was that she killed the lady, and Edér really hoped it wasn’t that.

“Good guess,” Selene said.

Her eyes drifted away from him for a moment, like she was considering something, or hesitating.

Finally, she said:

"I'll get straight to the point: I wasn't sent here to investigate the murder of Lady Ygrid. As far as I know, no one outside of Gilded Vale even knows that she’s dead.”

It took him a moment to process what she was saying.

“...Wait, so… what’s all this for?”

Selene sighed. Something was gone from her voice and her posture now - that invisible pressure she used against Urgeat. It was as if an act had been dropped.

“I came to Gilded Vale on Dunryd Row business that had nothing to do with Lady Ygrid. I happened to arrive just as an execution was happening. I read the mind of the man about to be hanged and knew that he didn’t commit the crime he was being accused of, so… I intervened in the only way I could think of.”

…By lying to Urgeat.

Wait.

She read his mind?

So that was true about ciphers, then.

Oh gods. How much did she see? Did she know about - no, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t have helped him, had she known.

Was she listening right now?

“I’m not reading your mind right now,” Selene said.

Edér couldn’t help but laugh nervously:

“You’re not really helping your own case here. How’d you know I just thought that?”

She shrugged:

“It’s the first thought people have when they realize I can do this.”

Oh.

“...Well, alright, that’s fair.”

“Sometimes, I can’t help but overhear the thoughts of others,” Selene said. “Usually, those thoughts are surface-level and charged with intense emotion. Feelings of pain or anger, for example. In your case, you were thinking pretty loudly that you didn’t do it.”

Well, now he had to ask.

“Was I… thinking about anything else?”

Selene met his eyes, unblinking.

“You were cold. And you wanted the magistrate to shut up.”

“...That sounds about right.”

She didn’t hear about the bodies in the cellar. He must have had some unbelievable luck.

Better not waste it.

“From now on, I’ll always let you know when I’m listening to your thoughts,” Selene said. “I’m saying this because I would like us to be allies.”

She leaned forward, cutting through the protective curtain of whiteleaf smoke and bringing her face just a little closer to his. The glowing markings on her cheeks, a dot and an upturned crescent moon under each eye, stood out starkly against her skin.

“I want you to help me find the real murderer of Lady Ygrid.”

That answered the question of what she wanted from him, at least.

"Why do you think I can help?" Edér asked. "If you really did read my mind, you saw that I don’t know anything."

"About the murder, maybe, but you know Gilded Vale," Selene said. "I could use the help of a local. And, for better or worse, you're the only one in town I trust right now - seeing as you're the only one who wasn't almost an accomplice in another murder today."

"...Wait, what?"

She gave him an amused look.

"I'm talking about your murder, Edér. What do you think that hanging was?"

Well, that was a charged question, wasn't it.

He glanced over at the Eothasian book of prayers, still resting on the far end of the table. Was there even a point in trying to hide it again?

"Some folks 'round here would call it justice," he said, finally. 

Selene followed his gaze to the book, gave a little nod and withdrew, putting some more distance between them again.

"I wish I could say it's not the same in Defiance Bay, but I'd be lying," she said. "Where you have Raedric, we have the Dozens. They don't have nearly as much power, and that's the best thing I can say about them."

"Seems you don't like them much."

"I don't. Like your magistrate, they like to point fingers, and make my work - finding the truth - harder."

She paused for a moment, then asked:

"You fought in the war, didn't you?"

"I did," Edér said. "On the right side, mind you. Got any doubts, you can read my mind about it."

Selene shook her head.

"I believe you. I just wanted to say - that’s another reason you’re a good ally to have. You did the right thing, even if it meant standing up to your god; that takes more than bravery."

Edér nearly choked on the puff he'd just taken from his pipe.

Gods damn. Would he ever figure out what she was about? Every time it felt like he was starting to get a beat on the conversation, she'd hit him with something else.

"Now here’s something you don't hear a lot these days," he said.

Now Selene smiled, but there wasn't an ounce of joy to it.

"I dedicated my life to digging up things others desperately want forgotten," she said. "Maybe I haven't gone to war against Ondra, but I can't imagine she's too happy with me, either. You had to go even further. I think that calls for respect, not persecution."

Edér stared at her for a moment.

"I've got to ask," he said, finally. "Are all of you Dunryd folks like this, or is it just you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You're getting real involved in something you've got no stakes in. Sharing all kinds of opinions. Round here, that's how you end up on the tree; trust me, I know."

Something in her expression shifted; it became cold and pointed, and, for a moment, Edér was sure that he had fucked up.

"I don't like seeing people be disposed of," Selene said. 

And then her expression smoothed out again.

"...Besides, solving crimes is what I do. I wasn't ordered to investigate this one, but I don't think my superiors would mind, as long as I completed my original mission as well."

Edér decided that it was probably safe to start breathing again.

"You're goddamn weird, agent," he said. "I don't know what exactly I can do, but - I think I wanna help you."

Again, that smiling-without-smiling look.

"I'm glad," Selene said.

"Well... What's our move, then?"

She regarded him for a moment.

"Take a minute to recover. Clean up, eat something," she said. "Then, we'll go see the crime scene."

Notes (spoilers for The Reaping):

In The Reaping, Edér and his ex Elafa end up killing two of Raedric's soldiers, who were threatening Elafa and her Hollowborn child. Edér hides their bodies in an abandoned house; Elafa leaves the town with her child the same night.

[zzthekaiju]

Best of the Reptiles in Media - 04 - Sislo

Hello again! Today, we're going to focus on a very special scaly character. One that pretty much nicks all of my boxes as to what I look for when I see reptilian protagonists. A guy who's story is one of bloodshed, love, heartache, and above all, redemption.

I'm of course talking about the protagonist of indie comic book artist Marcel Rocha AKA @rochasaurusrex 's magnum opus, Flowers of Etrea. Namely, Sislo Haeos.

(All art here is by the man himself, BTW)

Sislo here is what happens when we take what would typically be a member of a bad guy race in a fantasy world, flip the script, and make him the main character. That alone is a pitch that I'm going to take, hook line and sinker. I cannot emphasize how much of a power move it is to make the hero of a story the sort of being you'd expect to be, at best, the minion of the main villain or something. After all, lizard folk can't be heroes, right? They're too icky and gnarly and scary, right?

WRONG...sort of. Sislo may be a good guy lizard, but there's an aspect of his character that puts him above a simple case of wish fulfillment:

But I digress for now, time for an introduction.

Sislo is a Cherufe, a reptilian humanoid species native to the lands of Etrea. His past is muddy, but what we do know is that he was a former slave to the Iron Industry, which is basically the Empire, currently making everyone's lives worse by taking far more than they give. Currently, he lives with his wife, a kindly and optimistic dryad named Tetheril. However, duty comes knocking when her father falls ill, and only a specific flower (a rose, that is) can cure him. Said flower can only be found within the Iron Industry's walls, forcing Sislo to confront his former masters...and so much more.

So, we have a huge burly and only slightly surly lizardman who's in a healthy interspecies relationship with an adorable woman out to go on a humble goal that naturally snowballs into an epic full of friends and foes both new and old. And it is equal parts compelling and awesome!

Sislo as a character, at least within one's first impression, is a fairly standard protagonist of a gritty fantasy story, albeit a lot of the rougher aspects are toned down a bit so that nothing's a total downer. Yes, he has his hang-ups (ooooh, boy does he ever), but he's not a total stick in the mud. In fact, he can be an amusing doofus at times. It's nice to see a lead like that. One capable of feeling emotional weight while being able to actually crack a smile every so often.

The biggest highlight of Sislo's character is his relationship with his wife. Unsurprisingly, it's mostly based on Rocha's relationship with his own real-life wife. So little surprise that the Cherufe and the dryad have perhaps the most wholesome thing you'll ever see a big scary lizardman be a part of in media (at least for now). Despite being complete opposites in terms of personality, they couldn't be a better fit for one another. What makes it work is how they compliment each other. Sislo is the muscle, but at the same time he provides Tetheril a source of confidence and protection for the journey (granted, both can kick serious ass, but he's especially eager to jump into a fight when the opportunity presents itself). Tetheril, meanwhile, offers him a rock, a means of knowing that for all of his faults, he's a very good person at heart, and he'll always have her to remind him. Really, most of the reason I read this story to the end was to see them just being relationship goals over and over again.

But then comes the twist. And this is where the layers thing comes into play.

ALSO, I'M ABOUT TO TALK ABOUT SOME MAJOR SPOILERS RIGHT NOW! SPOILERS DOWN BELOW!

*

*

*

You remember that part about Sislo being a slave to the Iron Industry? Well, the finale of part 2 has a rather, ahem, shocking revelation about that. Main antagonist Ondiox points out to Tetheril (while poor Sislo is forced to watch, no less) that there was no slavery. The sob story that was the Cherufe's backstory is a fabrication.

Sislo didn't suffer under the Iron Industry. He helped found it.

Ondiox freed him as a child from an actual state of slavery before they and a couple others basically tore the old order apart, making way for a brand new empire. And Sislo not only butchered and ate Ondiox's enemies alongside his half-brother Zama (who's basically Sislo if he had no reservations to speak of), he RELISHED in it. For creatures like him, eating fresh meat and blood is akin to having a major drug addiction, and Sislo had one Hell of a supply.

Then one day, Ondiox had him attack an innocent village, and all it took was one gesture of feeble protest from a kid for Sislo to realize that he had not only brought upon an even worse regime by helping his rescuer/father figure, but he had become the very monster anyone would peg him as just by a glance. In that moment, he disowned Ondiox and the Iron Industry...and nearly got killed for it before striking out on his own and finding Tetheril one day.

.....yeesh.

So yeah, Sislo may be a subversion of the Evil Reptile trope, but that's only because he played it straight for the longest time, and it horrified him. But really, while they say that he lied about being a slave…the way I read it, he was technically telling the truth. Yeah, he didn't actually kill anyone against his own will, he clearly enjoyed feasting on people as per his primal nature, but he was still a puppet of an ego-maniacal dictator. The chain of oppression wasn't there, but it was THERE. It's just that Ondiox was very good at hiding it.

And after all of that is revealed, after that atomic bomb of a revelation, you bet your back scales I was expecting Tetheril to leave the man who had spend countless years feeding her a false narrative due to how much the actual one left him broken and traumatized at himself. I mean, come one, the "liar revealed" trope was just rearing its ugly head in that moment...

..BUT NO.

Real talk, this was what happened in the original story, back when it was a novel. But I think I know why it's now out of print. Tetheril isn't going to just abandon her husband and the love of her life. It's clear as day to her that there is nothing she could say or do to him that he hasn't already said or done to himself. The man who made her life Heaven on Earth very clearly DESPISES the monster he once was, and for that, she thinks he more than deserves a chance to show how much he's changed.

I could have not have read this part of the story at a better time in my life. Flowers of Etrea was my wake-up call that I've made my mistakes, but the only awful people in this world are the ones who look back on their ill deeds and don't reflect on them at all. Those who actively choose to be better, to learn and grow, they can find redemption no matter what. And they'll find it doubly so when we are there to give them a chance. Now, I'm not saying I've ever done anything as awful as assist a dictator in taking over the world, but there have always been times when I've felt that I've made careless decisions in which I did wrong by those I loved.

Sislo is proof that if I really care about being a good person now, there's nothing I've done in the past that I can't overcome.

Oh, and the final confrontation between him and Ondiox is just one awesome moment after another. I won't talk about it too much, but it does contain the most badass exchange ever, and this time in the context of something NOT directed by Michael Bay.

If you want to see how it all ends and/or just more of this amazing protagonist, GO BUY "FLOWERS OF ETREA"! All three parts are available on Amazon, and there's an Omnibus coming out very soon if you're willing to wait!

But yeah, that's Sislo for you. Just a perfect fantasy lizardman whose story has been incredibly inspiring for me. He taught me to forgive myself for the mistakes of my past, he's just a super charming and cool creature to begin with, and the love he and his wife have for each other might as well have "RELATIONSHIP GOALS" emblazoned on every panel featuring them.

[shadowphoenixrider]

Full House

(The morning after Shadow and Gambit's reunion, it's time for Shadow to face the music, and the other X-Men.)

News spread quickly through the X-Mansion that I'd returned, courtesy of Logan and Jean, and it hadn't taken long at all for Scott to appear to Remy's door, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he glimpsed me cloaked in one of Gambit's shirts.

Both Remy and I looked like kids caught with our hand in the cookie jar, but Scott just offered to unlock my dorm door so I could get a proper change of clothes. He also gently asked if it would be okay if I came and chatted with him and the rest of the team during breakfast.

Which was how I found myself in the kitchen, surrounded by the X-Men, and Gambit sitting beside me with a comforting hand on my waist.

"Took you two bozos long enough." Jubilee commented, pinching her fingers together. "I was this close to staging an intervention!"

"Doubt it woulda worked, kiddo." Logan grunted from his place at the counter. "Both of them were too stubborn to see it."

"You're one to talk." Gambit ground out behind his teeth, netting him quite the death glare from the older man.

"Now now," Hank lifted his large, placating hands, "whilst an intervention may certainly have spared some of the heartbreak, love is an emotion with considerable volatile unpredictability. As much as we wish it otherwise, we often need to let it take its course, as fast or slow as it may be."

"Might I remind you that we're not here to discuss Shadow and Gambit's relationship?" Storm cut in, with a tone that was both breezy and yet commanding, her ice blue eyes sweeping over the room like a monarch surveying her kingdom.

"Storm's right folks, settle down." Scott said, coming to stand in front of me, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "It is good to see you again, Shadow." He began, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You were only gone a couple of weeks, but we all keenly felt your absence." His head and what I assumed was his gaze tilted towards the tall man next to me. "Some more than others."

"But do not think it was your healing gifts we missed, Shadow." Storm spoke, a gentleness to her voice even as it brimmed with conviction. It reflected in her ice blue eyes. "Whilst there was a definite absence felt, it was your company that was yearned for above all."

"Yeah." Jubilee folded her arms, leaning against the table. "After you left, your friends stopping coming too. It got real quiet here."

I blinked, surprised.

"Wait, really?"

Gambit nodded silently.

"Makes sense though." Rogue spoke. "Why stick around when the reason they had to hang around weren't here any more?"

"But I thought..." I frowned. "What about Lemming? Wasn't he working as admin here?"

"Stuck around the longest, but he were as loyal as the rest of your crew." Logan said, working a small thin stick around in his mouth. "Comes back from time to time to do his hours, but his heart is with you and your gang." He stared at me, a slight smile on his gruff features. "Gotta say, quite the loyalty you inspire, bub."

"Mmm." Cyclops hummed, nodding. "When you left, it was as if we'd lost Morph again." He paused for a moment. "The only good thing was that you were still alive."

He looked down, staring into his coffee. Jean reached out to touch his arm.

"I..." My turn to stare at the table. "I'm sorry."

"Dere no need to apologise, chère." Gambit said, his hand rubbing against my back. "Ya did what ya had to."

"I would like to address it, though." Scott said, and I looked up, meeting his ruby gaze. "Your feelings, in the wake of what happened to the Professor."

"You sure 'bout diggin' up old bones, Slim?" Logan growled lowly.

"Yeah, don' know if dis be a good idea..." Gambit agreed, shifting on his seat.

"It's alright." I butted in, looking between the two men, placing my hand on Gambit's. "The bones aren't that old, and the only way to treat an abscess is to open it up to drain the pus."

"And my concern is that if we don't treat this wound now, it's going to turn septic." Scott added, and I smiled as I met his gaze. He'd been picking up more from Hank and I than I'd realized. Scott gestured with his mug towards me. "So...?"

I sighed. Well, here we go.

"Sure it's no big surprise that I'm not on the same level as the rest of you." I began, letting my gaze drift over the other assembled mutants. "I'm weaker, less athletic, can only just about swing a sword around, and my powers have barely any offensive capability. There's no way I'd ever be able to measure up to any of you in that regard. The only thing I have of worth to bring to the team is my ability to heal."

"That's not true!" Jubilee blurted out. "You-!"

Jean placed a hand on the teen's shoulder, smiling softly.

"I agree, but let her finish."

"But...!"

"Come, petite, let's not leave a story half-told, non?" Gambit smiled at her, convincing a reluctant Jubilee to let me continue.

"True or not, being able to heal was the only thing I saw as making me eligible to be one of the team with the rest of you. In every other sector except mission support and research work with Hank, I was nothing more than a burden, always having to be babysat in the Danger Room." I lifted a shoulder. "Sure, I had my sword, but I wasn't good with it. So I put my all into being support, being your medic. I didn't mind that. I prided myself on it."

"So when your abilities were challenged by Professor's Xavier neurological injuries, and you were unable to deliver a satisfactory outcome..." Hank murmured, trailing off. I nodded.

"Yup, got it in one." I stared at the table again, propping my chin up on my interlaced hands. "The one time I really, truly had to save someone, and I couldn't. I failed to save one of the most important mutants to us and mutant-kind. And to make it worse, it was because of a rule I put on myself!" My hands curled into fists, soft trills of pressure-pain coming from the joints that were now locked tightly together. I pushed them aside. "If I knew how to heal brain injuries, I could have saved him! Instead I just..."

I took a breath, pressing my forehead into my knuckles to swallow down the flare of emotion that rose in me, stinging at my eyes. I released it, slow and steady, unknotting my fingers and stretching them out. The trilling faded.

"I just had to watch him die, with the rest you. I felt like a failure. I still feel like a failure, even now. He took me under his wing to protect me, gave me food, lodgings, and a stipend, and what did I do to repay him? Let him die."

"Dat ain't true, chère." Gambit said firmly. "Ain't what you did at all."

My gaze snapped to him, a retort on the tip of my tongue when Rogue interjected:

"Remy's right, Shadow." She folded her arms, straightening her back. "If you call what ya did 'letting' him die, I hate to see ya fightin' to save someone."

To my surprise, murmurs of agreement sounded out around me.

"If I remember correctly," Jean said, "it was the Professor himself who told you to stop working so he could wish us goodbye. You fought until the very end."

"Indeed!" Hank nodded. "Whilst your treatments were palliative rather than curative, you expended most of your power to keep the Professor not only alive, but comfortable. If not for your Herculean efforts, Xavier might not have survived long enough for Magneto to join us to call for Lilandra, which in turn saved his life, even if he is not physically present with us anymore."

"But he-" My protest was cut short when Hank shook his head.

"Perhaps Professor Xavier was clinically deceased for a few moments. But only a few, before Shi'ar technology revived him." Hank smiled. "It does not matter if your actions alone were found wanting, if the outcome was positive regardless." He frowned thoughtfully for a moment, stroking his chin with his claws. "Shadow, if an emergency physician becomes exhausted in the performance of external cardiopulmonary resuscitation, and has to hand-over to their colleague, if that colleague ends up restoring spontaneous circulation, does that make the previous physician a failure?"

"No!" I shook my head. "No. They tried their best, they were just exhausted."

"Exactly. You personally might not have been the architect of saving the Professor's life. But through your efforts, you kept him alive long enough so he could be."

It felt like my whole world tilted on its axis. All this time...I hadn't failed at all?

"I...I just..." I couldn't grasp the words with the enormity of it all, of their faith in me. Their lack of disappointment.

"You put the Professor's survival solely on your shoulders." Scott pressed, stepping closer. "You had to save him because that is what you do. That is what you're good at." His expression softened with his voice. "So when you don't manage it, you lose your purpose." He tilted his head. "Sound about right?"

Words fully failed me then, and it was all I could do to nod as the emotions came roaring back. Except this time there was no holding it back, not when Scott had essentially read my feelings out to me if they had been nothing more than a script. My eyes burned as they filled with hot tears, my breath shuddering and heavy as a strangled sob tore itself from my throat. Gambit's arm looped around my waist and pulled me close into his body.

"Oh, sugah..." Rogue murmured.

"You are more than just a healer to us, Shadow." Storm said kindly. "You are a confidante, a friend." Through my blurred eyes, I glimpsed her angle her head towards someone. "More than a friend, in some cases."

"Indeed." Hank, now. He offered me a handkerchief, which I gratefully took with mumbled thanks. "Even if you were stripped of your powers, I would never dream of trading your partnership in my work, or your confidence in which to discuss theories of the biomedical nature."

"Yeah, who else am I gonna beat at Mario Kart?" Jubilee piped up. "Gambit?"

A chuckle bubbled out of me, and I felt the Cajun raise an eyebrow in her direction.

"Jus' keep talkin', petite." He drawled. Jubilee grinned mischievously back at him.

"It..." I swallowed hard, wiping away my tears as best I could. "It wasn't just that. I..." I couldn't bear to meet their eyes as I admitted it: "I thought you'd be mad at me."

A rippled 'what?!' sounded out amongst the assembled crew, including the man sitting next to me.

"Sugah, why'd we be mad at you?" Asked Rogue incredulously.

"Because it was the Professor." I forced my voice to be louder than a mutter, despite desiring more than anything to screw myself up into a little ball and vanish. I envied Miranda's invisibility. "You knew him so much better and longer than me, not to mention everything he did for mutant rights and this school and everything. A-And here's me, a fucking outsider, comes swanning in and cocks up healing him the one time I really needed to bring my A-game." Gambit's arm around me tightened slightly.

I dragged my gaze up to Scott and Jean. "I thought you would hate me, especially since you both knew him the longest."

They were shaking their heads before I'd even finished my sentence.

"No, of course not." Jean said, reaching out to touch my hand. "We'd never hate you for doing your best."

Scott nodded his agreement, before casting a look over the others.

"I think I can safely say that goes for everyone here too." A chorus of affirmatives and nods replied to him.

"But that's what you wanted to believe, weren't it?" Logan suddenly spoke up. His gaze was like steel, yet old. Knowing. "Easier to stomach people hatin' you for failing, then get pity you don't feel you deserve."

I nodded, and felt Gambit's grip tighten again, his head gently resting against mine.

"Explains why you got increasingly agitated despite Jean and I's attempts to comfort you." Scott said.

"You wanted us to be angry, so it would justify your self-hatred for 'failing'." Added Jean.

"Easier to run when ya don' think anyone gon' follow you." Gambit murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest.

"Ah. The evening Gambit found you outside, afflicted with hypothermia." Whilst Hank didn't say it, I felt the 'self-afflicted' hang in the air like a stain.

"'Xactly." Curling a finger under my chin, Gambit very gently lifted my head to look him, his red black eyes soft and tender. "You were runnin' again, weren't ya, chère?"

I wrapped my arms around myself, pulling my head away to stare at the floor.

"...Yeah. I...I couldn't bear it. So I ran away." Another squeeze from the Cajun.

"What changed your mind, Shadow? That made you return?" Storm asked. "I doubt it was your feelings for Gambit alone that brought you back to us, as strong as they may be."

"It was definitely the catalyst, but no, there was more to it." I traced the whorls of the wood grain on the table. "I tried to return to what my normal life was before I met you all. The hospital took me back as a 'gesture of goodwill' towards mutants after the Professor's 'death'." Logan snorted derisively. "Yeah, I know. Not worth the paper it was written on. Regardless, even if it was never definitively 'proved' I was a mutant, a lot of people saw me as one anyway."

"And it turns out that a place that has a procedure to report suspected mutant employees tends to attract people who dislike mutants. Who'd've thunk." I sighed bitterly. "I guess I was so human-passing I never noticed it, much to my shame. I will say, no-one was outright hostile to me, and interactions were polite, but they were cool in that way that you knew if there wasn't a HR department, they'd be saying something completely different. It was like being in high school again, completely iced out of every social circle and treated like a pariah."

"I am very sorry that happened to you, Shadow." Hank frowned, his tone friendly, yet a sharp edge was faint underneath it, not pointed towards me. "Are you still employed by them?"

"For now, but probably not for much longer." I said. "I know that's probably part of the reason they're isolating me - so I'll leave on my own accord, but..." I heaved out a sigh. "Fuck, after everything I've experienced here, I have no capacity for dealing with petty workplace politics."

"Indeed. It will be their loss for their foolishness." The doctor nodded.

"You have my sympathies, Shadow, but I'm not sure how this is relevant." Scott spoke, raising an eyebrow.

"Trying to go back to my old normal proved to me that I can't." I explained. "Being here, helping the team however I can, it's more than what I was doing." Raising my hand as Hank opened his mouth, I continued: "I know in my heart of hearts that I am doing good in my own way, but...it feels so...so intangible. I could see what I was doing here. See the wounds I closed, the tests Hank and I did, discovering new ways to fight the Sentinels when we trained."

I looked away, staring at a point on the wall. "Unless I suddenly get fit enough and pass the exams to become a paramedic and find someone who'd hire a mutant, I'll never do anything that feels like it matters, that makes a difference."

I smiled ruefully. "That and Ebak kinda...opened my eyes a little bit." My eyes shifted back to Gambit, watching me intently. "And gave me the push to really...reach for the things I want." Laying my hand out on the table, palm up, I smiled at him. "As that Bon Jovi song goes: 'to live while I'm alive'."

A smile spread across Gambit's lips as well, one that reached his eyes, and he placed his hand in mine, interlacing our fingers together.

"Not bad taste, chère." He commented. Jubilee snorted.

"You're sure not beating the 'old woman' allegations, Shadow." She arched an eyebrow at me, before dissolving into giggles as I stuck my tongue out at her.

"So aside from finally admittin' you and Gumbo have something goin' on," Logan drawled, giving me a bored look, "anything else you discovered? Sure hope it ain't that you can give Summers a run for his money in the speech department."

"Can it, Logan." Scott snapped. "Not the time."

Anger flashed across Logan's face, and I quickly raised my other hand:

"It's fine, Scott!" I said hurriedly. "I do need to get to the point." I squeezed Gambit's hand slightly, gathering my composure. "My point is, I didn't just come back for Remy." I lifted my chin up, meeting Scott's eyes behind his red glasses. "I'd like to rejoin the team. If you'll have me."

"What makes ya think we'd say 'no', sugah?" Rogue chuckled richly, grinning widely.

"Indeed." Jean smiled. "It was always the impression that you were leaving temporarily to clear your mind and make a more informed decision away from us."

"You are always welcome in my laboratory and in our life, Shadow!" Hank cried, smiling broadly. "I welcome your company. And your opinions on recent matters!"

"Steady on McCoy, let's not overwhelm the woman and make her change her mind." Logan commented, a small smile playing on his lips.

"That a 'yes', Wolvie?" Jubilee grinned at him. He grunted, shrugging.

"Yeah, well, someone needs to keep the rest of you in one piece." He arched an eyebrow, shooting a smirk at the Cajun. "That and Gumbo won't be sneaking out at all times at night to see her."

"Didn' know ya cared, Logan!" Quipped Gambit, grinning back at him.

"Hmph." Logan folded his arms. "Care more 'bout the security risk of leaving your window open to go chat your lady up."

"You are more than welcome back with us, Shadow." Storm smiled warmly. "As Rogue herself said, there is no reason to think we would refuse you. Both as a member of the team, and good friend."

I blushed brightly under their affection, ducking my head.

"T-Thank you. I...I just-"

"Felt like you needed permission, right?" Scott supplied.

"...Yeah." I nodded. He smiled, one that I think reached his obscured eyes.

"I know the feeling." He reached a hand out to me. "Then allow me to welcome you back to the X-Men, Shadow."

I clasped his hand to shake it, and felt Gambit press a kiss to my head.

"Welcome back, mon ombre." He rumbled deeply, the timbre of his voice brimming with affection.

"Th...Thank you." I smiled shyly, looking around the kitchen to each face of the X-Men. More people who called me friend. "All of you."

"You can have today to settle back in," Scott said, immediately back to business, "but tomorrow you'll be included in the drills with the rest of the team."

"If I may," Hank piped up, lifting a clawed finger, "I have identified a slight issue."

"Go on, Hank?" Scott frowned slightly.

"I presume you've returned to full-time employment, Shadow? Will you be able to make time for your duties around it?" The doctor asked.

"I will, one way or t'other." I replied. "Gonna submit a request for part-time hours later today, and see what they say. Either they grant me the request; in which I'll get the time, or they'll refuse me, or I'll be fired." I lifted a shoulder. "If they refuse me, I'll just hand in my notice. Life's too damn short for their nonsense."

Scott nodded.

"I'll take that into consideration."

"Have you discussed this with your parents?" Asked Storm.

"Not yet. I was gonna head home today and get things in motion with my work." I explained.

"Need a ride back, chère?" Gambit asked. I swore I saw Rogue roll her eyes out of the corner of my eye.

"Ah, it's okay," I smiled at him. "I know a guy. He's waiting for me to check in, and he can take me back."

"Then let's not keep him waiting." Scott spoke. "You're dismissed, team."

---

One quick call later, and Ebak was stepping out of the shadows of one of the X-Mansion's rooms, wrapping me up in a big hug.

"Hello Gremlin." He murmured affectionately.

"Hey big guy." I replied, squeezing him gently.

When I opened my eyes and stepped back, we were behind a set of trees I knew to be in my parents' neighbourhood, their bare branches reaching for the sky. The suburb was quiet except the distant chattering of the local starling flock as it roved from garden to garden.

"Can't get any closer?" I asked him as we stepped out onto the path, raised and cracked by the tree roots that snaked under it.

"I could get a little closer, but figured the walk would give us time to talk." Ebak smiled, gesturing for me to start off, falling into step with me on his hearing side. "So, m'dear, how'd it go?"

"Well, they let me back onto the team, so that's good, right?" I smiled shyly.

"You've decided to rejoin them?" He smiled warmly, quickly pulling me into a half-hug. "I'm glad."

"Yeah. Decided to grab life by the lapels, like you said." I met his dark brown eyes. "Do the things that I want to do."

"Mmm." He hummed, before smirking, eyes glinting. "I have pretty good ideas, don't I?"

"Oh my God, you are never letting me live down the 'hot shower on a hot day' thing, are you?" I groaned, to his laughter.

"Nope." He grinned widely. "Never."

"I changed my mind," I declared, "can I go back to being an only child again?" Ebak's laugh was a full belly one; a sound I loved to hear, even at my expense. "In seriousness though, I heard from Jubilee that you and the others that you stopped going to the mansion after I left. Was...was that because of me?"

He nodded.

"Myst said it didn't feel right for us to go there whilst you weren't, and we agreed." He explained. "Lemming stayed on the longest to work, and Miranda...has her own reasons, but all in all we stopped going when you did."

My heart dropped into a bucket of ice, the painful wave of guilt pulsing through my veins. No, that hadn't been my intention at all - I was supposed to leave the mansion and their company, not the others. I never wanted-

"I'm sorry." I breathed. "I-"

"Shh shh shh." Ebak moved over to me, taking hold of my upper arms. "Hush. No blaming yourself." He raised a finger as I tried to protest. "I'll tell Ber!"

"But El-"

"Don't 'but El' me, I'm being serious." He interjected. "This was an agreement between all of us, because even if it had been someone else like Miranda, Myst or Ber, we still wouldn't feel happy going to a place our friend felt like they had to leave." Ebak smiled. "Where'd you think we got all that free time to be with you?"

"I..." I grabbed and hugged him tightly, emotion overwhelming me once more. He embraced me just as firmly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Shad." My brother murmured softly. "We love you, you know?"

Tears pricked at my eyes.

"Y-Yeah. And I love you all so much too. I'm so lucky to have friends like you."

"And we're lucky to have you too." Ebak replied, patting my back before he pulled back. "Now c'mon. Let's get you back home before they send out a search party."

"You did tell 'em where I'd be, right?" I asked as we set off again. I remembered leaving a note...

"Well yes, but they're your parents. They're going to worry." Ebak smiled. "Just like we do."

"True." I nodded. Suddenly, a realization hit me like a lorry. "Oh...God."

"Hmm?" He hummed, arching his scarred eyebrow.

"I just realized." I groaned. "I gotta introduce Gambit to my parents at some point."

"Haha!" My brother barked out a laugh. "Good luck with that!"

"Thanks! Very reassuring!"

Ebak patted my back.

"It'll be fine, Shadow." He smiled. "He loves cats, doesn't he? They'll just need to see him with Spock, and they'll love him!"

"Uh huh, the six foot Cajun thief with a motorbike and penchant for being a flirt." I said flatly. "He'll go down real well next to Tom."

"Hehe, maybe." Ebak smiled knowingly at me, a sparkle in his eyes. "But that's not going to stop you, is it?"

I grinned widely.

"No. Not in the slightest."

[deadlyhimbo]

A thought for folks who live in functionally-two-party democracies*, courtesy of current Canadian politics:

I live in British Columbia, a province that has been a leftist stronghold for so long that it has been a two-party race between the Liberals (generally centre-left at the federal level, but decidedly centre-right or even right wing at the provincial level) and NDP (leftists) for *over 50 years*. There hasn't been a Conservative Party to speak of in my lifetime.

We had an election this year, and the Conservatives did the unthinkable: they became a viable provincial party (thanks to the combined effect of rising right-wing populism and the absolute implosion of the BC Liberal Party) and have come within a hairs-breadth of winning.

How close did they get?

So close that it's been over a week since the election ended, and we still don't know the final result, because the leadership of our province has come down to absentee ballots and recounts.

A party needs 47 seats to form a majority government (i.e. one where they control the majority of votes in the legislature, and thus can set policy even without the cooperation of other parties), and more seats than anyone else to form a minority government (where they lead, but need to cooperate with others to pass any legislation). It's also possible to form a coalition with another party to gain leadership together.

This morning, we were here:

And some of those races have been jaw-droppingly close:

Over the course of today, we've been watching the closest riding, Surrey-Guildford, flip to the NDP.

It's a change that, on its own, determines if the NDP is a majority or minority government.

It's been a fucking nail biter.

11am

12:45pm

1:30pm

2:30pm

The shape of the government for millions of people hangs on a bare handful of votes.

Your vote matters.

Every. Single. Vote. Matters.

I know people who didn't vote because they couldn't imagine the possibility of a Conservative victory in BC. We've been a "safe" leftist stronghold for so long that even experienced politicians have been blindsided by the events of this election. Nobody thought this could happen here.

Please don't assume your vote won't count.

Please remember that voting is a political action that has concrete, practical consequences, and not an act of self-expression.

Do you hate living in a two-party state? Me too. So push for electoral reform. Advocate for proportional representation, or ranked choice voting, or any other model that isn't FPTP. Help third parties grow and extend their influence outside of election season.

But please vote with an understanding of the system as it currently functions. Taking your vote out of the equation by abstaining or voting for an unviable third party just makes everyone else's votes have more weight. It's an abdication of the small but very, very, real power you have.

Vote.

---

* i.e. places where there are 3+ parties, but only two of them are remotely close to winning, and where First Past The Post (FPTP) vote counting means that a vote for a third party/independent has the same practical effect as a throwaway/protest vote

[kabie-whump]

1, 2, 13, and 14 for good boy Ventis?

-- @whumperofworlds

Thanks for the ask!

1. What kind of person is your OC in a crisis? Are they calm and collected? Do they panic? Or are they chronically the cause?

Ventis on nightspill and sober Ventis have different answers here I think. On nightspill, he was way too chill in a crisis. His house could be burning down around him and he’d be like ‘lemme just nap for five more minutes…’ Sober Ventis is way more alert, but I think he also hesitates to act in a crisis most of the time. He still has hallucinations from the withdrawals and he usually looks to Onthyes for confirmation that whatever’s happening is real before he acts. He’s able to act pretty quickly without much panic after that.

2. Is your OC a loner or a social butterfly? Are they satisfied with how they come across to other people?

My first instinct is to say he’s very social. His charisma score is like 19 for fuck’s sake. But he was Not popular growing up. Theodore got most of the attention from other kids, since Ventis was a bit of a weirdo and also the only genasi in the city. He really started to crave attention from anyone who would give it to him. After he started taking nightspill and his father basically gave up on training him to be a good heir Ventis started spending a lot of time in the tavern drinking and hanging out with sailors and local hooligans. He was a lot more social then and actually made some friends that way, although they were probably just trying to get close to him because of his wealth and status. To strangers he comes across as very charismatic, definitely not someone who might have had trouble making friends as a child.

13. How important are romantic relationships to your OC? Do they prefer casual sex, short flings, or long term relationships? Do they want to get married or are they content with what they have? Or do they have no interest in romance whatsoever?

Ventis wasn’t interested in romantic relationships for the majority of his backstory. He loves romance novels, but he’s very cynical and believed that no one actually gets that epic romance with their knight in shining armor. While he was on nightspill he spent a lot of time seeking out pleasure since nightspill kept him so numb, and he was always looking for affection from others, so he’s had a good bit of casual sex and was fine with that.

Then of course he met Onthyes, who is every bit the knight in shining armor from all the books he’s read, and that pissed him off because a man like that is simply too good to be true. Eventually Ventis resigned himself to the fact that Onthyes is just genuinely like that but it took him a while. Now he’s happily in a relationship with Onthyes, and if he proposed he’d definitely say yes teehee.

14. How important is friendship to your OC? Do they prefer to have one or two close friends or a large group of casual friends? Or do they prefer their own company over that of others?

Ventis has done the large group of casual friends thing (hanging at the tavern), the small close group thing (Onthyes, Shayah, and a few unnamed others), and the single friend who is so close that they’re codependent thing (Peer, who I don’t speak on much). I think he’s decided that the small close group is best. With Peer they got too close and things got messy. Feelings were hurt. With the folks at the tavern he felt like he was being used a lot of the time. (NSFW: Those friends convinced him to let them give him a tongue piercing just because they thought it would make it more interesting when he sucked them off. Not the best friends ever imo.)

[alpaca-clouds]

Modern Loneliness And Parasocial Relationships

With the entire drama going on with Baldur's Gate 3 and people harassing the voice actors - especially Neil Nowbon - I cannot help but think about parasocial relationships and how they happen.

I was always super anxious about this. Like, literally. Even as a little kid, before I ever knew this word, I was super anxious about not wanting to fall into this. I did not really understand the dangers of it, but I knew that this kinda feeling was going to be somehow dangerous for me.

And yeah, unpopular opinion, but I think parasocial relationships with real people (opposed to fictional characters - because yeah, you and me, we both have parasocial relationships with our favorite blorbos that never can be anything but parasocial given that the blorbos are not real and can hence never know you) can be actually dangerous to people. Because they are going to mess with your head. And if you are in a bad headspace to begin with, that can be dangerous.

Because what happens if you go fullon parasocial relationship with a person is that you kinda think of them as a friend. While they of course do not know that you exist. Yet, there are moments when they act accordingly (like you do not exist) that are going to be hurtful to you for one reason or another. And depending on your emotional control this might lead you to act demanding - because you feel like you are owed that attention.

I really think that right now there is a big issue going on with how a lot of us are lonely in real life. Modern society for so many reasons fosters loneliness, because we are lacking Third Spaces, aka community spaces, where we can go and meet people. Where we can hang out with other real people from our actual real world surrounding. Like, some people have real world friends - but a lot of people have not.

I think that hit espcially hard for the people who started university or another new phase in life just as COVID and the lockdowns hit. Because not only did they not get third spaces to meet people - but often then lacked the second places (work, university) too, while just having moved out of a family home and suddenly being all alone.

So a lot of our social interactions moved online. I mean, I will not exclude myself from this either. Most of my friends I know from online spaces. As someone who has been bullied for most of his school life, this always has been true. But of course the big difference is, that those people know I exist - and in a lot of cases I might have even met them in real life, or might even spend the holidays with them and their family.

But social media had already blurred the lines a lot before. By making celebrities very accessible to the average media consumer. You could suddenly just interact with them (or let's face it, their social media team) fairly easy on twitter or facebook. And maybe they (or their social media team) would even answer you.

The thing of course is that most celebrities (even those celebs who are more like youtube or twitch famous) have a very curated online appearance. Like, all of their posts basically are PR approved. Or at least they put some effort into deciding what someone else gets to see of their lives. Technically they are just playing a character. Because... Well, they do want to have a life outside of their celeb status.

And, you know. There were always groopies, who would build those parasocial relationships with their favorite stars and starlets. But I think internet and social media has intensified this. And the pandemic did, too.

But folks really need to understand that celebrities and creators are not their trained monkey to reply to any interaction that folks want from them in a specific way that is expected. They are people, who have their own lives. Who often enough have families and partners and all of that. And their fans do not have a right to be somehow part of that.

This is also why I have never and will never condone real person fiction of living people (and those who still have people living that have known them). Because no matter whether it is fiction or whether what you write about them is more like a role of the public facing persona they inhabit... It is just crossing a line for me to publish scenarios (especially sexual or very violent and traumatic scenarios) involving real people, who might in one way or another find out about this. And be it just because some asshole talkshow host thinks it would be funny to make the celebs read those fanfics live on air in front of an audience.

Most of all: Celebrities and creators are people first and foremost. And if you would not think something appropriate to do to a person you know in real life then, no, it also is not appropriate to do to a celeb.

If you want to keep yourself from falling into the parasocial relationship trap, I have one tip for you, that works rather well for me: Speak of them with their last name or their full name, whenever you do. It does not matter that they might use only their first name or some nickname for online accounts. If you know their full name, use it. It helps your mind put some distance between you and them. To remind you that yeah, in fact, you do not know that person and they ae not your friend. They are if anything just someone you look up to a lot.

[scribblestatic]

Okay, since there is some carte blanche for questions here, then… Were you inspired by anything from real life? Maybe some really existing mythology? I feel notes of Morpheus, Füsli's painting "The Nightmare" and, for some reason, paintings by Francisco Goya

And, If it's not too much of a spoiler, will we see Lamb's pov (if his mental state and sanity allow) or is this more Narinder's story?

Oh, and one last question (for today, ahem)… Why were roses chosen?

Hoi! :3

So, like, a lot of the stuff I end up writing comes from, like, miniscule things I vaguely remember rather than larger events. This is one of those things, cause I was like "...What if there was something that happens after the Lamb gives up the crown?" and that question was literally all it took lol

As far as existing mythos, yah! You were close with Morpheus! It's more along the lines of Hypnos, specifically cause of how they relate with Thanatos.

As far as "The Nightmare," someone is having a nightmare, but perhaps none of those you may expect. *wink wonk* Though I didn't initially think about it, that painting somewhat fits.

And yeah, some of the Francisco Goya paintings, after looking at them, were quite inspirational! Though, not the ones where titans are eating their kids, but the ones with the folks just kinda hanging out in the fields. Those are very nice. Quite restful.

Other than that, inspirations mostly came from what I thought would look nice at the time. For example, the roses. Rose heads seemed like a nice touch, specifically cause roses are known for thorns, and there would be some nice symbolism in roses without thorns. It's perhaps not as deep as others would do it <:3

Also, flower language. I didn't describe the color, but I imagined a sort of light orange at the base becoming red at the tips. The question here being who is loving and who is being loved, of course. Whose passion became love and who is being passionately loved.

This story will mostly focus on Narinder's POV, but the Lamb's mentality will become quite important as things go on. I can say this: thankfully, the Lamb is quite sane at the moment! They weren't for a while, but they got better uwu

Many thanks for the questions! I've enjoyed answering them

[quiveringdeer]

alright now that's out the way, tending to my unfortunately scale afflicted monstera deliciosa had me thinking back to that first camera roll challenge I posted with Reiner.

The idea of him getting a little plant after a suggestion from his therapist. Something to livin up his apartment a bit and also that will require him to take care of but isn't as demanding in care as an animal. Which he just couldn't fathom being a caretaker for in his current mental state.

And so he gets that first little plant. Probably a pothos cause they're pretty forgiving no matter if you overwater, underwater, and have minimal sunlight.

And the plant is doin pretty good after he follows googled instructions on the proper size pot to start it off in considering how big the nursery pot was.

A couple weeks have gone by and he comes home to see two of the lower leaves turned yellow! Did this happen while he was gone? Has he not been paying enough attention? What does yellow leaves mean? Has he killed it already? He's spiraling and immediately texting Bert and Pieck in their group chat. The one without Porco and Annie cause sometimes you just need to surround yourself with nice, generally positive folks ok.

Pieck is reassuring him that she's sure his plant will be ok. As soon as Bert gets the texts he's googling the meaning of yellowing leaves. Something Reiner would've done if he wasn't currently spiraling in worry and fret after not even being able to keep one little plant alive more than a month. Is he really so awful? Why do these bad things keep happening to him? Obviously he probably deserves it but now he's feeling guilty that this innocent plant got caught in the crossfire of his shitty life!

Bert:

Bert: Looks like too much water, maybe. Is the soil soggy?

Reiner goes to check and well, soggy would be a strong word to use...but yeah it's soggy.

Rei: I killed my plant with water. I thought that was impossible? Aren't they supposed to be immune? 😣

Bert: I think that's just in Pokémon. And not necessarily immune, more like, resistant.

Rei: 😞😞😞😞

Rei: can't even keep track of what's real or fake anymore

Pieck: what is really "real" anyway?

Rei: 🙁😟😓

Bert: If the soil is extremely saturated, it says best course of action is to repot it.

Pieck: i can bring you a new pot and some soil reiner!

Rei: I'd appreciate that Pieck. But what if I just keep fucking up? Maybe you should just take the plant back to your place.

Pieck: you've got this reiner! lots of new plant parents tend to overlove their new plants with watering its all about balance

Pieck: pock's gonna bring me over soon!

Pieck: he won't be staying but he says hi!

To which Reiner is grateful cause that's the last thing he needed right now. And he doubted Porco actually told Pieck to tell him hi. But before he could figure out how to respond to that Bert responds.

Bert: I can come over after work too.

Rei: Thanks. Both of you. 💙

--------

Alright that turned into not what I had planned but anywho,

Eventually Rei ends up finding that balance of nurturing and letting it be, focusing on other things instead, like his own personal health. And once he gets the hang of that, he adds a few more plants to his home and becomes an active member on one of those fb plant groups (Pieck invites him to some) and finds a really supportive group of friends in that community!

[bluejay-writes]

A sort of Fairy Tail - Chapter 10

Rating: T / PG-13, SFW. Fandom: Mystic Messenger Relationships: 707/MC (Jaena)/Saeran Chapter 10 Wordcount: 3147 You can also read this on AO3! <- Also a good place to check tags.

Chapter 10: Coffeeshop AU

Paradigm Coffee was located just south of downtown, and it attracted an eclectic variety of clientele, from the usual hipster coffee crowd, to the tech sector folks who didn’t want to work from the office, to the local goth community, and beyond.

The owners, Tyler and Cassandra, had taken over for her grandfather, who was all too ready to hand off his business to a worthy (and youthful) successor.

The coffee was good - a nice medium blend that didn’t taste burnt like one of the popular chain’s did, and the specialty drinks weren’t bogged down in sugar the way the other popular chain’s were.  If you asked Tyler, their real draw was the food that Cass cooked, down home favorites that kept everyone warm in the cold snowy season, and reminded them of home.  If you asked Cass, their draw was the hot barista. Tyler drew in so many people, women, gay men, teens who wanted to be him. His model looks, golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes made anyone swoon for him. (He disagreed, of course, and wished people would stop hitting on him in front of his girlfriend.) For her part, Cass didn’t mind him getting the attention. She was perfectly happy to blend into the background, with her dark brown hair in its cyberpunk inverted-bob and way too much eyeliner lining her brown eyes.

They had lots of customers, but the regulars always caught their eye.  Sean, who was always there on Wednesday and Friday working from the shop - he ordered a coffee or some kind of baked good at least once an hour, as if he was paying rent on the space.  Oftentimes on Fridays he’d claim the largest table, and throughout the day a gaggle of college students would come and hang out, doing their own assignments or gaming. Oddly popular, that one. Then there was Liz with her long red hair and her boyfriend, the latter who never came inside but always waited outside while she was getting drinks, hood up and skateboard in hand, even in the dead of winter when skateboarding on the city sidewalks was a death wish. Cass always felt like all of them had such unique stories, and she wondered what would happen if she wrote stories around what happened in the shop. 

The news in Seoul was full of stories about the cult up in the mountains, and the millions of won that they’d been contributing to Prime Minister Saejoong Choi’s campaign for President.  The response from his campaign was swift and decisive, denying any knowledge of these donations having been from a cult, and pointed the media to his records, where they were all linked to the parties thrown by the RFA.

The RFA, of course, retaliated with details about all of the Prime Minister’s illicit dealings throughout the years, with a video wherein up-and-coming musical actor Zen presented ‘just a fraction’ of what the Prime Minister had done over the years, which included information about his twin sons, Saeyoung and Saeran, both of whom were missing, along with the RFA’s newest member Jaena, who’d gone missing during her vacation in Seoul earlier that summer. They also implicated the intelligence agency Saeyoung had been first targeted by at the request of his father, and then recruited by later, once the cult had started funneling money to the Prime Minister through it.

The coverage was so thorough that the news spread to other countries, appearing on every local news station, the scandal and terror of the cult’s existence and the way it preyed on the fatigue of white-collar workers and the general lack of proper discourse about mental health issues becoming trending topics across social media. The fact that an American woman had gone missing amidst the scandal did its part to make the situation an international one, when it might otherwise have stayed isolated.

A few weeks into the tense media circus that surrounded the situation, Saeyoung Choi reappeared, worse for wear, but alive. He explained how he’d been taken by his father in an attempt to clear his name, but between the RFA’s information campaign and the dissolution of the agency, there way no way to use him to that effect. The Prime Minister was booked by the authorities on several felony counts, as well as multiple more pending, and the leadership of the Agency likewise.

People were so shocked by Saeyoung’s reappearance that he had interviews on basically every channel, and even was a guest on Noprah’s show, where he basically told his life story, including fighting his way free of the agency that basically owned him, losing, finding, and losing his brother, and meeting but missing out on the woman of his dreams. At Noprah’s insistence, he made a plea into the camera at the end of the segment.

“Wherever my little brother and my perfect scarlet are out there, I hope they’re watching. I love you both so much, and I hope you’re taking care of each other. Stay put, I’ll find you soon. I promise.”

Cass tore her eyes away from the TV in the corner that was showing that episode of Noprah again. Daytime TV was the worst. That episode aired over a year ago, and they were still rerunning it.

“That episode is always on.” the girl at the counter said, and Tyler laughed.

“Yeah, that whole thing was an entire time. I’m so glad we live in a civilized country.” he said, and Cass just rolled her eyes.

“Plenty of bad things happen here.” Cass said with a smirk. “But that ginger really is a media darling, isn’t he?”

“Wasn’t that around the same time as you started running the shop here?” The counter girl asked, grinning.

“Yeah, actually. I think his Noprah segment was the first thing that was ever on that TV.”

“And it’ll be the last, too.” Cass said, rolling her eyes. “They’re never going to get sick of airing that nerd.”

“He’s cute though!” counter girl said, and then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, don’t tell my boyfriend I said that, I’ll never live it down.”

“Haha, we won’t.” Tyler said, and Cass reached out to tousle his golden blonde locks. 

“You need a haircut. Quick before winter hits and you just hide it under hats until it’s unbearable.”

“Baaaaabe, we’re at work!” Tyler pouted, and she laughed and kissed his cheek.

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave off until later.”

“Crazy lovebirds.” The girl at the counter said, standing. “Thanks for the coffee, see you next time!”

“Bye Liz!” They chorused unintentionally, and waved as the girl with long red hair sauntered out of the coffee shop, meeting up with a boy in a hoodie who’d been standing outside smoking while she got coffee.

When she was gone, Cass let out a breath she didn’t realize was trapped. 

Tyler sighed. “Gods, she reminds me of…”

“…Jaena.” Cass said, nodding. “You really do need a haircut.”

“I do. And your roots need a touchup.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

Later, in their tiny apartment above the coffee shop, Cass sat scrolling through Tripter on her laptop, her brows creased in a slight frown. Tyler walked up behind her, and started massaging her shoulders. “Checking in on Zen and Yoosung again?” he asked, and she nodded.

“It’s easy to check in on the famous ones. I know the articles about Jumin’s abortive presidential bid and supposed illicit relationship with Jaehee are all trashy journalism, but at least Yoosung’s meTube channel shows me the face he wants me to see, and Zen’s tripter is still full of thirsty women as usual. He’s got a new role, looks like he’ll be starring in Phantom.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” Tyler said, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He turned away from her, and went into the kitchen, puttering about uselessly.

“Ty…”

He turned to look at her, and his cheeks were wet. Immediately, she stood and closed the distance between them.

“I don’t want to be Elfstar anymore.” He said, an old reference that not only made her chuckle but also broke her heart. She reached out and gently wiped the tears off his cheeks.

“I love you.” she said, as if it was the only thing that could help him feel better.

“I love you too.” he said, pulling her into a hug. “But I shouldn’t. We shouldn’t. I feel so guilty.”

“I love him too, still.” She said. “You’re twins. You’re so similar but so different. I’ve done lots of shady things in my life, but I don’t consider loving two men one of them.”

“Can you just… say my name… once?”

She chuckled, and moved away so she could look him in the eye. “Saeran, dear. You should take those contacts out so we can sleep.”

His cheeks pinked, and he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Okay, Jaena.”

Seasons passed, and summer turned to fall, with the bright colors on the trees flaring to life and fading to brown before falling and being replaced by the unbroken white of fresh snow.

Cass walked up to Tyler, who’d paused at the front door while unlocking it to open. It was a Wednesday, and after the fresh snow last night, it was unlikely they’d have a big crowd. Just in case, Cass made a batch of Mac & Cheese, their sign outside calling it out as the “Warm-up Special.”

“Hey Tyler, you okay?”

“Yeah, I just like looking at the snow. It’s so beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” Cass said, nudging him in the side.

“No you.” Tyler pouted, and turned to head back to the counter.

As predicted, it was slow. Cass didn’t mind, it gave her time to catch up on her reading. Or, in this case, to be irritated by the perpetual reruns of that same Noprah segment with Saeyoung in it. Fuck, I miss that idiot. 

Distracted by her own thoughts and reminiscences, she wasn’t expecting the sudden influx of college students. She hopped up to assist Tyler who was quickly taking orders. 

“I know you’re not that chain place, but you wouldn’t be willing to write “shitty hair” as my name on my cup, would you?” the student at the counter said, and Cass turned to look at them, exaggeratedly eyeing them up and down. “You look more like a ‘dunce face’ to me.”

Tyler looked at her like she’d grown an extra head. “What did you just…?!”

“OMG is that you, Bakugo? I never knew you were a goth barista!”

Tyler realized, then, that this was a reference to one of her shows, and tuned out, taking the rest of the orders while they continued to chatter on about characters and quirks and who knows what else.  Eventually, drinks were delivered, and most of the group congregated at a set of tables unsurprisingly around where Sean was working. Weird, she thought It’s not Friday. Guess the snow motivated them.

Cass continued to chatter with the student, while Tyler went to take a break in back. That many people was still a lot for him, even after 18 months of experience. When the bell above the door jingled to signal more customers, Cass called “Be with you in a moment!” as she was busy pulling up photos from comic con a few years ago, to show off that Unbreakable Red Riot she’d seen.

“This is still the best cosplay I’ve ever encountered.” she said to the blonde, who took her phone and stared at it. 

“Wow, that had to have been a ton of work.” They said, and handed her phone back.

“You know the best part?” she said, and they shook their head.

“That was my actual hair.” a voice next to them said, tone full of mischief.

Cass’s head snapped to the side so fast she thought she might have given herself whiplash, her mouth gaping open like a fish. Am I hallucinating?

Her call to the customers was also Tyler’s call to come back out front, and he emerged from the kitchen, giving Cass the customary kiss on the cheek that he’d done every day for more than a year, before realizing who was standing in front of him.

“Friend of yours?” he asked, one eyebrow quirked up, which helped Cass get a hold of herself.

“K-kindof?!” Cass squeaked, her fight or flight reflex leaving her frozen but leaning heavily towards flight.

“Wait, is this that cosplayer?” the student she’d been chatting with said, which got the attention of the rest of his group. 

“Whoa, that’s Saeyoung Choi!” one of the girls said, and immediately the redhead standing in front of them was swept up into the hubbub of students, despite any attempt to escape them. Cass took one frightened look at Tyler, who waved her toward the kitchen door, an excuse to exit that she happily took.

Anything could have been happening in the front of the shop. Cass’ blood was pounding in her ears, and she collapsed into one of the break room chairs, and immediately put her head between her knees to try and forestall the panic attack and/or fainting spell that both seemed equally likely given the situation.

What could have been seconds or hours later, the back door from the alley swung open on its creaky hinges and her head snapped back up. No one came in that door, except if they just took the trash out. She left the hinges squeaky on purpose. 

In front of her eyes stood none other than Vanderwood, with one eyebrow quirked up at her, in that way that spoke volumes only he could manage.

“How the fuck… D-dad?!” Her hands slapped over her mouth when she realized what she’d called him, but it was too late.

“I think Alfred would be more appropriate.”

That startled a laugh out of her. “I don’t have Bruce Wayne’s budget, I’m sorry, but your position has been eliminated, sir.”

“You can’t fire me, I quit.” He said gruffly, and turned as if to leave.

“N-no!” She said, suddenly, launching out of her chair so suddenly that it fell over backwards. She ran into him at speed, and wrapped her arms around his middle, managing nothing more than knocking him into the wall with the force of her motion. “You can’t go.” she choked out, having surprised even herself with the tears running down her cheeks.

“I won’t go anywhere. Let me turn around, treasure.”

She dropped her arms, and he turned around and pulled her into his arms, one hand rubbing her back while she sobbed.

“I found you, just like I promised.”

“About fucking time.” she said, between sobs. 

They just stood there for a few minutes, until her breathing calmed, and he let her go.

She opened her mouth to ask something, but was interrupted by a call from the front.

“Cass! I need you, babe!”

“Fuck.” she said, and then louder “Be out in a sec, washing my hands!”

A quick dash to the mirror above the sink by the door to the front - installed for this exact purpose, though she hadn’t needed it for Vanderwood and Seven’s presence ruining her makeup as much as their absence - allowed for her to quick fix her makeup before washing her hands and reappearing as a completely functional coffeeshop owner… to a flood of people who’d shown up when their friends told them Saeyoung was here.

“Whoa.” She said, and Tyler shot her a glance that told him he was already beyond overwhelmed, but even so was more worried about her than about himself. “I’m fine.” She said, immediately getting to work putting together complicated coffee drinks.

“If you need an extra set of hands, I’m happy to help.” Vanderwood’s voice said from just behind the door to the kitchen. “He tends to draw crowds wherever he goes these days.”

Tyler whipped around, already holding a spare apron as Vanderwood stepped through the door. 

“Put this on. Do what Cass tells you.” 

Cass would have been more surprised by Tyler’s tone, except for the fact that he’d known Vanderwood a sum total of 12 hours, 6 of which he’d been asleep, and all of which were 18 months ago.

As he finished tying his apron, Cass looked Vanderwood up and down. “You know how to run an espresso machine?”

“I’ve been making coffee longer than you’ve been alive.” That one-eyebrow look again.

“Good. Recipes for the fancy drinks are on the counter.” She said, and turned to make the complicated smoothie concoctions instead, choosing to trust her chosen father-figure with the coffee that was his lifeblood while Tyler manned the counter and the bakery case.

Finally, they hit a lull, and Cass turned to see Seven looking a little worse for wear. At least to a practiced eye. He was still smiling and being his goofy 707-self, but she could see the strain of it.

“I’m gonna—“ she started.

“Go, he needs it.” Tyler interrupted, and she nodded, dishing up a bowl of mac & cheese and grabbing a PhD Pepper out of the cooler before slipping out from behind the counter and over to the area where Seven seemed to be holding court. He looked up and saw her, and turned to address the group.

“Hey, my dinner’s here. Can we pick this up in a bit?”

For some reason, they all nodded like he was the one doing them a favor by eating, and shuffled off to other tables and conversations.

“Mac & Cheese.” She said, handing him the plate. “And your lifeblood, good sir.”

He didn’t say anything right away, simply took a bite of the food she’d brought, and washed it down with a sip of soda.

“It really is better with the vegetables in it.” He said, then. “Damn vegetables.” He looked at the dish as though it personally betrayed him.

“It meets your standards then I hope, Mister Celebrity.”

“More than. God, Scarlet. You look so different. If I hadn’t heard you talking about my cosplay, I might have missed you entirely.”

“I never would have missed you, my Red Riot.” she said, quietly, trying to keep herself from crying. “Not in a million years.”

“Was 18 months too long to wait?” he said suddenly, sharply, his gaze not on her but on the counter, where Tyler had his back to them and was walking Vanderwood through something. “Who’s the handsy blonde, and where the hell is my brother?”

Cass froze at his initial question and then slapped a hand over her mouth to cover her laugh at his follow-up questions.

“Seven, I… your brother is behind the counter. He’s blonde. He’s your fucking twin, how did you not recognize him?! You Have. The Same. Face.”

Seven blinked, then shook his head. “Seven.exe has stopped working. Abort, Retry, Fail?”

Author's Note: Saeran's commentary about not wanting to be Elfstar anymore is an old school (as old as 1984...) reference to anti-D&D religious propaganda, specifically a chick tract called "Dark Dungeons". I don't agree with any of the messages from that hate group, but it's one hell of a meme, and seems like exactly the kind of shit the twins would know about and mock-reference. Here's an article from The Escapist about the tract, that has a good breakdown of what it's about without furthering the hate.

[sciencestyled]

When Robots Paint Like Picasso: Why Your Toaster Might Be the Next Van Gogh!

Alright, buckle up, buttercups, because we’re diving headfirst into the wacky world where science meets art, and guess what? The machines are here, and they’re not just flipping burgers—they’re flipping the script on what it means to be an artist! Imagine your Roomba not only vacuuming up your popcorn crumbs but also creating a digital masterpiece that could sell for millions—mind-blown yet? Well, hold onto your smartphones because this rollercoaster is just getting started!

So, picture this: you're strolling through an art gallery, and instead of the usual pretentious artist with a beret and a tragic backstory, you find a blender proudly displaying its latest abstract painting. "What kind of sci-fi nonsense is this?" you ask. Well, welcome to the world of generative art, where artificial intelligence (AI) is the new Picasso, except without the weird mustache and probably less emotionally complicated.

Generative art is like that one friend who can never make up their mind at the pizza place—it's all about algorithms deciding what’s going to happen next, and just like that indecisive friend, it’s unpredictable but usually ends up being pretty cool (unless it orders anchovies). Basically, a computer, usually one that’s been hanging out with neural networks and machine learning models in some high-tech frat house, creates art by processing a ton of data. It’s like if Bob Ross had a baby with HAL 9000, and that baby was raised by the entire internet.

But before we go full-on Terminator with this, let’s rewind to where it all began—back when computers were about as artistic as a potato with a crayon. In the olden days, before AI could outsmart you in chess or recommend you weird cat videos on YouTube, early algorithms were just trying to figure out how to draw a straight line. Now, fast forward to today, and these algorithms have gone from doodling in the margins of their textbooks to creating museum-worthy art. Think of it as the ultimate glow-up!

Now, here’s where it gets really wild. Today’s AI doesn’t just spit out random pictures like your grandma’s inkjet printer on the fritz. Oh no, these digital Picassos are using neural networks—fancy talk for computer systems that mimic the human brain, but without all the existential dread. These networks learn patterns, styles, and even emotions (well, kind of) by analyzing a gazillion images. It’s like if your computer binge-watched every season of "Art Attack" and then decided to give it a go.

But here’s the kicker—AI doesn’t just stop at copying what it’s seen. Oh no, it goes full-on mad scientist, mixing and matching styles like a kid who’s had too much sugar. Picture a painting that’s one part Van Gogh, one part Banksy, and one part that meme of the distracted boyfriend—it’s like art went to a rave and decided to express itself through glow sticks and laser beams.

Now, hold your digital horses because the real mind-melter is that these machines are being hailed as collaborators in the art world. That’s right—collaborators! Imagine walking into a science and art gallery and seeing a painting signed by “John Smith and Toaster-3000.” Some folks are even saying that AI might be better at this art thing than us flesh-and-blood humans! I mean, sure, the toaster doesn’t have a tortured soul, but it also doesn’t need to eat or sleep, so it’s got more time to perfect that brushstroke.

Of course, this brings us to the big, existential question: who really owns the art? If a computer creates a masterpiece, does the credit go to the programmer, the machine, or some combination of the two? It’s like trying to decide who gets the credit for a perfect selfie—the person, the phone, or that one friend who told you, “You should totally try portrait mode.” It’s a debate that’s shaking up the art world harder than a paint mixer in an earthquake.

And let’s not forget the skeptics—those grumpy cats who say AI-generated art isn’t “real” art because it doesn’t have the “human touch.” Well, to them, I say: ever seen what happens when a toddler gets their hands on a box of crayons? Sometimes a little less human touch isn’t such a bad thing. Plus, AI isn’t just messing around with paintbrushes—it’s helping scientists visualize complex data in ways that are, dare I say, kinda beautiful. Imagine an MRI scan as a modern art piece—sure, it’s not going to replace the Mona Lisa, but it’s got its own weird charm.

But here’s the thing that’ll really twist your noodles—AI is changing not just how we create art, but how we think about it. Traditionalists might scoff, but let’s face it—AI-generated art is challenging our ideas of creativity faster than you can say “deepfake.” It’s forcing us to rethink what it means to be an artist. Is it about the process, the final product, or just having a good Wi-Fi connection? Maybe the future of art isn’t about one genius locked away in a garret, but about teams of humans and machines working together, like some kind of nerdy Avengers.

And speaking of the future, what’s next? Are we going to have AI-curated museums where every piece of art is custom-tailored to your Spotify playlist? Will we start seeing “smart” sculptures that change shape based on the weather forecast? Or maybe—just maybe—our appliances will start demanding royalties for their artistic endeavors. Picture it: your microwave refusing to heat up your leftovers until you acknowledge its latest abstract sculpture. The world is a weird and wonderful place, my friends.

In conclusion (because even I need to wrap this up before the machines take over), we’re living in a time where the line between science and art is blurrier than a selfie taken with a potato. AI is not just the future of art—it’s here, and it’s ready to paint the town red, blue, and every color in between. Whether you’re a fan of the traditional brushstroke or you think your coffee machine could be the next Jackson Pollock, there’s no denying that AI is shaking up the art world in the most deliciously chaotic way possible.

So, next time you’re contemplating the meaning of life while staring at your smart fridge, just remember: that hunk of metal might be the next big thing in the art world. And who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll be able to say, “Yeah, I knew my toaster was a genius before it was cool.”

[lonita]

Preservation

A friend of mine is looking for a copy of yesterday's Toronto Star because there's a picture of her in it and her mom wants it as a keepsake. I'm of a generation, and so is she, that did this sort of thing as a matter of course - if something important was in the paper, something that we wanted to keep, we'd clip it out and put it in a scrapbook, fold it inside the front cover of a book, frame it and hang it on the wall. It was the only way we had of preserving certain kinds of memories. This was, of course, prior to the Internet. As I was looking at her request, it occurred to me that we are now facing generations of young people who might have absolutely no understanding of why we'd want to do this, since the Internet allows them to acquire and save anything and everything. For posterity, for the next five minutes, for the length of a Snapchat memory. The Internet might have an attention span of only a day, but its memory is as eternal as your hard drive's viability and your proximity to a delete key. We are also facing generations of people who live a kind of ephemera that we of older generations might never quite understand, even though we live it too. We put a lot of stock in physical manifestations of things, finding them to be the only 'real' version of a thing - a picture is only real if its in a frame on a wall, a book is only real if you can hold it in your hand. I still struggle with this idea a little, of seeing digital material as being 'real'. I think, in some cases, it has a lot to do with control - we can control what happens to things we can hold in our hands, but it's hard for us to trust in the reality of something that we, in essence, have no control over at all because it's not in front of us. We also have a far different notion of privacy than the Ephemera Generation, because we grew up without being exposed to things that could allow us to share every thought every day, to put our lives on display for the world. You can't escape the long memory of the Internet though, so I think the oversharing might end one day, when folks realise just how much it can come back to bite you in the ass - or, they just might grow up not caring that it will.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

OMG REQUESTS ARE OPEN???? EOJOAIJOI How headcanons for Riddle, Idia and Malleus with an S/O who's a massive gossip? Like they have dirt on everyone-

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Riddle may have a soft spot for you, but he doesn’t approve of all the gossiping that you get up to. He regularly chides you for it, and even when he isn’t doing that, he makes it clear how he feels from how his mouth pinches and how his eyebrows furrow.

Hearing gossip sours his mood pretty quickly. To Riddle, gossip is no more than unproven rumors until he sees some real evidence for himself. “One should conduct themselves with a healthy amount of skepticism,” he’ll often tell you. “I was once in your shoes, blindly believing everything that I was told... But now I know better, and I do not wish to see you going down the same path that I did.”

Even if the information that you hold is true, it won’t stop Riddle from chastising you. In fact, it only makes him chastise you more. No one should hold that much information over others’ heads, according to him. (And what’s worse, that type of behavior only reminds him of those irritating Leech brothers!)

Riddle takes it upon himself to keep you in line and out of trouble. If he feels that you’re running your mouth too much or that you might offend someone with your words, he’ll tactfully cut in or subtly shush you. Riddle might even excuse you from the conversation altogether, pulling you away with him.

When you’re alone in someplace quiet, he’ll turn to you with a sigh. “I’ve warned you about this countless times, haven’t I? You must watch what you say to others. Truthful or not, words can very much be considered real weapons—and it would do you good to realize the weight of them.”

Idia really, really wishes that you’d just keep your head low and not say anything inflammatory, whether in public or online. All the blabbing you do makes him anxious that you might attracted unwanted attention to yourself—or to him.

If Idia had to describe your gossiping, he’d call it both a boon and a bane by MMORPG or tabletop gaming terms. On one hand, you’ve got a trove of intell, but on the other hand, you’ve also got no idea whether any of it is useful or truthful!

Not to brag or anything which Idia totally is, but he could easily hack into anyone’s socials to fish up the correct information—b-but he won’t, because he’s not looking to fan the flames or make new enemies! “A-And besides... Who’d even want to see what the normies are up to, anyway? I-I bet it’s boring stuff... I-I’d much rather it just be us two hanging out...”

It’s more common for Idia to be begging you to keep your words under lock and key than to spill them. He thinks that there are a lot of things that are better left unsaid, secrets that someone might want to take with them to the grave... so those, at the very least, should be respected.

... Unless, of course, someone slights you or him. Then all bets are off. Idia will happily join you in shit talking whoever has gotten on your collective last nerves, letting all of his gamer rage and salt flow like water. (LMFAO wat clowns do they rlly think theyre slick doing smth dumb picking on ppl that???) It doesn’t happen too often, but when it does, the feeling is cathartic.

At first, Malleus quietly listens to your ramblings out of a combination of politeness and curiosity. He actually finds amusement from what you share—because whether it is true or false, they are still interesting tidbits to consider.

However, Malleus is not so naive as to ignore the consequences of this gossip being shared with others. As a noble, he’s well aware of the effects that words can carry, and it’s really no different for the common folk, either.

He does what he can to caution you against excessive chatter, instead advocating that you be more selective with your words. “What is it that the children of man say...? Ah, yes. ‘Knowledge is power’. In this case, you hold the power in your court—and you must be careful with how you choose to utilize them. Entire kingdoms have been felled for far less.”

Malleus has been the subject of much gossip at NRC, so he knows firsthand just how hurtful it can be. He wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemies, and he doesn’t want you to become the “bad guy” by being the one to dish out dirt on others. Even if it is done in the name of revenge, Malleus doesn’t think it’s worth dirtying your name for.

“Public perception is an irksome thing. Were you to wield the words that you have, you would surely instill great fear in your peers. In doing so, you would acquire great power... but also a great loneliness.” His smile is wry. “As much as I would love to hoard you for myself, the fact of the matter is that such a singular existence would be a miserable one. You should live free from the burdens that your knowledge offers you.”