#data points for the data nerds
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Oh y'all are sharing Spotify Wrappeds? Oh sure here's mine. I'm still waiting on my actual year-end list though. Yeah I'm making a homebrew year-end chart. Yeah it won't be ready for another 24 days. Yeah I use homegrown weekly data points harvested from local scrobble aggregators. Wait where did everyone go
#bulletbilltime rambling#spotify wrapped#every year everyone gets so hyped about the spotify wrapped and I'm internally just like#ah yes. the first of 4 year end charts.#like some sort of villain collecting mcguffins 😭#like people are sharing that exact same joy that I am; which is looking back on a year of music listening#but bc I'm a fucking nerd about it I just kinda feel isolated#I know there are communities dedicated to personal charts out there so like I know I'm not alone in doing stuff like this#I just find it so satisfying to make a chart every week and then check in every so often to see how the year's shaking out!#and I try my darnedest to not spoil myself too much on the actual placements#so that when the final chart is done I can make a big reveal out of it and find out where everything landed#(tho this year I kinda spoiled myself a bit on the Q3 year-to-date BUT it's still better than nothing!)#spotify wrapped kinda does this but it's this weird black box to me in terms of data. plus it doesn't count local files.#which is an issue when my most listened song this year was one lol#not to mention it only being january-october data#I still like seeing mine tho! in fact I'm about to write down all the songs in my wrapped so I can compare it at the end of the month#with my own scoring system & crownnote's year end (a site I upload my charts to) & last.fm's final results#they always have fun divergences!#spotify apparently is more based on minutes you spend with a song?#while last.fm is strictly plays based#then my own personal charts' system gives a view of which songs had longer lasting impact rather than immediate flare outs#and crownnote's does the same but weighs higher positions more heavily#and that combined kinda gives an interesting view of the year!!#Spotify always has the wildest picks too which end up in none of the other lists#I find these data points so engaging!!!!#I wish others found them as engaging as I do :(#I need to ramble about music charts and have nobody who actively wants to listen aaaaaaaa#the post is stored in the tags
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New fun language learning activities: read Wikipedia pages for philosophical and political theories in your target language, just for kicks.
#but actually. very funny.#this was inspired by the fact that I hit the random page button on italian wikipedia and ended up on the page l'anarchismo collettivista.#feel like this is probably either bewildering to any data trackers OR what will get me put on a watchlist. toss up really.#but actually great for like. weird verb forms and prepositions.#got told by an italian woman last month that she was impressed I used the word 'mentre' and I was like. welp.#might as well embrace being That Person who talks and writes like a fucking nerd regardless of context in TWO languages.#but also like. idk man. this is the problem with language learning. is mentre NOT a normal preposition? how do you say 'although'?#it was in fact used in the l'anarchismo collettivista article tho so. points for me.#but yeah I did squint at the word 'mezzi' before I processed the whole phrase and went 'oH MEANS OF PRODUCTION' so like#REALLY the moral of the story is to read up on pages that you would know the phrasing of in your native language lmfao#so you can figure out the weird words via context clues.
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I've been enjoying reading your costume meta. There's lots I don't know or really notice, so it's really insightful to read.
I feel like I need a key or dummies guide to the main themes 😅 I saw the still of Bobby in a blue checked shirt and had to check what that means - foreshadowing and sadness I think? Makes me more impressed with how you keep track of it all!
Hey Manda
Thank you for saying lovely things and I'm so glad you enjoy my meta and that you find it insightful!
I've got a pinned post on my blog which has all the meta posts, including ones about check and stripe theories as well as a bit of colour theory etc as well, so if you haven't read them then feel free to check them out!
As for keeping track of everything - I have an epic spreadsheet, which I update after each episode - Im a bit of a nerd about this, but I really love my spreadsheet - its my baby😂 Its actually more like a bunch of spreadsheets - one for each main and then an additional one for all the recurring cast - they're all fully searchable and mean I can log all the items of costume they wear as well as highlight patterns etc. I also have a spread sheet of graphs for each character which keeps track of colour trends across a season or the series as a whole - see total nerd!!!
I might share them with everyone at the end of season 6, if I can get it to upload as its a bit of a beast! and if its something people would be interested in seeing.
I also love to have more time to write about colour theory - maybe I'll find the time to do so during hiatus if my real life doesn't get busy again!!
thanks for stopping by and feel free to come back and ask any costume questions you might have - I'm always happy to chat about costumes and colour theory! 💜💜💜
#kym answers things#manda asks#I am a spreadsheet nerd#the beast is nearly 1gb of data at this point and growing!!#lovely asks
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The findings did not cite the brands tested. Shearston said she was not able to provide a list of the brands tested. Organic tampons had less lead and more arsenic than non-organic ones and those sold in the U.S. held higher concentrations of lead than those in the Europe, the study stated. Well-known tampon brands include Procter & Gamble's Tampax, Kimberly-Clark's Kotex and Playtex from Edgewell Personal Care. The three companies did not respond to requests for comment.
So, they're irresponsibly withholding info on the brands tested, which also means that the study, as published, is not repeatable and therefore not properly scientific.
Also, despite the comments above, nothing here demonstrates that reusable/washable/organic products are better for you than non-reusable/washable/organic products. These things are not inherently superior simply by buzzword designation. With respect to this study, the only possible HINT that exists (and it is only a hint; nothing shows that metals are being absorbed by tissue), is that external products do not pose the same risk of absorption as internal products.
my period is back again and id like to take this moment to remind everyone with a uterus to avoid using tampons at all costs, if you can. a recent study was conducted with 14 different popular brands of tampons, revealing that every single one of them contained toxic metals such as lead, arsenic, and more.
#PSA#people are promoting the reusable/washable/organic just for environmental reasons I suspect#otherwise show me the study that they're 'better for you'#regardless#make your choice out of convenience and safety FOR YOURSELF and not for any other reason#does this even deserve my science nerd tag? there is no real science here. it's embarrassing#cough up the brand list Shearston#publish your REAL data#otherwise what's the point
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Hm. Does anyone see a trend here?
#thistale rambles#thistale is a data nerd#i went through and found stats for like 5 different acrylic stand sets#but that's on the laptop#so i'll have to add that later#darker color = bigger number#the first five rows of numbers are in thousands#the sixth row is prices in yen#average numbers#(for the most part - only got one data point for insta followers rn)#kazuma -> hokuto -> riku itsuki and makoto#roughly#likiya takuma and rui chilling at the bottom#they're the people buried under the kazuma landslide
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Sylvia Feketekuty: "To celebrate DA day, I've made a bluesky account that I'll keep active for a few days to talk about my work on Inqusition or Veilguard! After a few days I'll lock the account, because I'm not a social media person. Happy to talk until then though. I want to say straight off: the reception to Emmrich, Manfred, the Mourn Watch, and the Grand Necropolis has been heartwarming for all of us who worked on those people and places. Thank you all very much!" [source, two]
Rest of post under cut due to length and spoilers. [Post Two, Post Three]
Sylvia Feketekuty: "In the meantime, I do want to talk about a couple of things I saw floating around regarding Emmrich: 1. Emmrich being 52 or 50. I think people got 50 from data mining a character file, but we can't do a ranges in those files. As in, I couldn't input 50-60, it had to be a whole number. I put down 50 as an early ballpark, then went more accurate in later audition scripts. 2. Fifty-two is a old number I threw into an early document before his art or character was totally final. (And which caused another developer a headache because they thought it was accurate, I never updated it. Sorry about that.) 3. "Wait, how old is Emmrich then?" Once I saw his final character art, I felt more mid to late 50s. MAYBE early 60s. But unless we specifically state a character's age in the game, it's all malleable. I honestly would just adjust it to your impressions unless stated otherwise. 4. I've also seen comments on how weird it is for Emmrich to act like there's an age-gap in the romance if your Rook is around his age. And you're right. 5. The reason is because Rook WAS younger when those scenes were written and worked on. I felt it'd be odd if I never addressed the May-December aspect, especially as it hooks into some of Emmrich's worries. 6. By the time that shifted, it was really too late to change without catastrophic repercussions to the excellent cinematics and music and other things that depend on line delivery and timing. 7. To be clear: you can feel how you want about the age gap coming up at all! But that's how the discrepancy came about. 8. "Is there a way to reconcile Emmrich acting like my Rook is way younger than him if they're not?" Great question! I have several suggestions: -Accept it's an error. (True, but unexciting) -Emmrich considers a gap of 3-5 years scandalous. (Funny, albeit a bit cartoonish.) -The Mourn Watch has perfected swapping out organs, and Emmrich is nervously hiding that he's way older than he looks out of vanity. (Untrue, but funny.)" [source thread]
User in reply to point 6. above: "I'm personally glad it was too late to change because their argument about it is genuinely my favorite scene in the entire game! 😭💕 It's such an important moment to me" / Sylvia: "Thanks! That one was one where I was all sweatily trying to balance things out, with tone, with pacing, etc. Really glad it came together for you. (Cine and the actors did heroic things there to get it feeling just so!)" [source]
More snippets:
Emmrich's favorite ice cream flavor? Rum raisin [source]
Lots of people on the dev team shared the vision of having a bunch of gothic weirdness in that pocket of Thedas [source] (Necropolis/Nevarra)
Sylvia "especially liked writing the Mourn Watch origin, it was fun to write a fellow nerd for Emmrich to chat with" [source]
Sylvia poured some personal worries and fears into writing Emmrich [source]
On Vorgoth and their nature: "I'm a little leery of saying anything, partly because I'm cowardly avoiding publicly defining anything more until/if I ever need to. And partly because I did want them to be a fresh unknown. Sorry!" [source] "I'm glad you like Vorgoth, but I'm afraid I don't have much for you that isn't in the game. I deliberately wrote them so as to leave room, if we ever revisited them, or for Vorgoth to remain mysterious, if we did not. I'm sorry if that's not a very satisfying answer!" [source] "I will say, it was fun to throw in a few lines about Vorgoth's art collection. Their passion for it is sincere and deep. (I wanted all the Watchers to have a little non-death related hobby or interest, because they can be so singularly focused.)" [source]
Dwarven Mourn Watcher is a rare origin combo for Rook so Sylvia wanted to call it out [source]
On the outcomes of Emmrich's quest: "I tried really hard to make the options equally viable, and more up to the player's interpretation or preferences of what it would mean for Emmrich in their view. It's been interesting seeing reactions to it, which hinge sometimes on various single lines pushing people one way or another!" [source]
"The Grand Necropolis is always eager and ready for a new member of the Mourn Watch to grace its ranks." [source]
User: "I loved Emmrich's view on death and what his personal quest ultimately went on to say about the nature of death itself, and how the beauty of mortality lies in its impermanence and unpredictability." / Sylvia: "I really wanted to dig into those themes, and everyone in cine and art and level design and editing and the whole team honed in exactly on the vibe. The floral stuff especially, I was so thrilled when I played through the Memorial Gardens' with the art and lighting in." [source]
User: "I experience thanatophobia and that first conversation w/ Emmrich was so affirming and helped me describe my own anxiety to others" / Sylvia: "Thanks, the thanatophobia was, as you may've guessed, a personal experience for me too. I'm glad it was something that helped a little." [source] "I suspect that phobia is way more common than people think, and part of the reason Emmrich talks about it was to express that sentiment out loud. I find it helps sometimes just to acknowledge it." [source]
What languages does Emmrich speak other than Trade? "I think he'd be familiar with Tevene, since there's surely many, many old texts about magic written in that language. Kind of like a doctor that knows latin through their work. I also named that MW alphabet "tomb-script", though I'm not sure if it has a spoken component or not since it never came up in-game. If it does, he'd be able to speak that for sure." [source, two]
User: "Playing as a Mourn Watch Rook has been an absolute delight!!!" / Sylvia: "Thank you so much, I really liked writing those branches of the dialogue. Since Emmrich's so focused on necromancy, it was fun having a Rook who could be both casual and knowledgeable about it." [source]
User: "In your opinion, what outcome do you prefer for a romanced Emmrich (lich/non lich)?" / Sylvia: "Interesting question! To be honest, I'm afraid to answer it properly in case anyone takes my answer to be a canonical one. I really wanted either path to feel equally interesting/correct for whatever you decide fits your Rook's relationship with Emmrich. (We're also in the strange waters of meta-reasoning. I GAVE Emmrich his fear of death-Sorry Emmrich!-which makes me feel a little culpable for that, even though he's entirely fictional. And that might prey on my mind when trying to decide. A very odd experience!)" [source, two]
What music genres would Emmrich be into? "Classical music is very much playing to type for Emmrich, but I feel it's also correct. He'd enjoy a nice concerto or an organ recital. Or, if he's feeling daring, a bold new Orlesian opera! But I don't think his tastes are too outré in that area. That said, I saw someone post something like "Leave Emmrich alone, let him attend the Depeche Mode concert" while listening to Depeche Mode's "Violator", for the first time, which made me laugh. (Great album. If he could get over the shock of synths, Emmrich might enjoy "Waiting for the Night".)" [source, two]
When writing Emmrich the devs wanted to try and hit the gothic romance vibe [source]
Does Emmrich mix his own fragrance/cologne? Does he ever vary it by the season? "I think Emmrich goes to some of the many perfumers that have set up shop in Nevarra City around the Necropolis, just because he trusts their judgement and expertise. I hadn't considered him varying it by season, but that's very fun! I certainly think he has more than one bottle of scent." [source]
User: "How does Lich Emmrich have sex?" / Sylvia: "I don't mind the question! But my answer's a bit boring: I generally stay at arm's length on the more explicit romance stuff, just because if it's not stated or shown in-game, I don't want to bring in a canonical answer that might affect what people imagined. My general preference for romantic scenes that get physical is to leave blank space somewhere, so players can imagine what happens next. It's not the ONLY way to do it, I think there's legitimate artistic reasons to go more explicit. But that's how I approached Emmrich (and before him Josephine.)" [source, two]
User: "The scene with the fade glow where he touches your hand haunts me in the best way" / Sylvia: "Aw thank you. Our animators and audio people made that scene way better than I could've hoped! They took such care with everything there. I want to say that little eye-peep from Rook was added in by one of them, which was the perfect touch." [source]
User on Emmrich: "i’m curious whether you think he’d prefer dogs or cats (or both, or neither)" / Sylvia: "I think he'd consider cats and dogs a little too noisy and messy for his tastes. Not like a nice, quiet plant or skeleton! (Weirdly, I actually had a scrap of banter going over this exact subject at one point. It got tightened down to the exchange with Harding about the pig he used to hug when he was a kid.)" [source, two]
Sylvia was trying to tease Nevarra with the Tevinter Nights story Down Among the Dead Men [source]. "It was really fun to tease the Necropolis, so to speak, in TN, and I'm grateful we got to actually let players through its gates at last." [source]
User: "if Rook chooses to save Manfred and keep Emmrich mortal, what would Emmrich wish to become of his body once he did pass on?" / Sylvia: "Good question. I think he'd want to remain active and useful in death. A guide for other Mourn Watchers, or posted as a mystic guide somewhere dangerous, or perhaps an oracle in the library." [source]
User: "when and how was it decided that Emmrich would be romanceable? I remember reading that he would not be a romance option." / Sylvia: "I'm not sure where that came from, because I pitched him and then shortly after that we decided the entire cast was romanceable. That was fairly early on in the development of Veilguard, as I recall it. (Could've been a crossed wire?)" [source]
Trick Weekes: "Sylvia wrote the fantastic Emmrich "the Vol-carnage" Volkarin and everything that happens in Nevarra while dealing with a lead writer whose attitudes about corpses and undead are... not dissimilar from Taash's." [source] / Sylvia: "I still remember when you gave the very accurate feedback "I think we need to give players whose Rooks aren't into corpses some roleplaying choices to express this" and I was all "Ohhh yeaaaaaah." (Thank u Trick, you were right)" [source] / Trick: "Specifically, being able to express this without locking themselves out of the content! (For non-Sylvia folks) Given my issues with corpses, Emmrich as a whole was SUPER Not For Me, so I gave one caveat and then said, "For the rest of my critique, I will be impersonating his target audience." [source]
Sylvia on the secret origins of Manfred: "After I pitched Emmrich, I started jotting down notes and thoughts on his plots, his quirks, all that kind of stuff. It was very early on Veilguard, anything was still possible. We were chatting in the writer's room about it one day, and I think we'd just seen some early concept art for Emmrich. And our lead writer Trick Weekes joked that Emmrich looked like a man who'd have a skeleton named Manfred. And I laughed and went "Yeah he does!" And then I thought about it. It's wild in retrospect, but that one comment spurred a train of thought that led to the core of Emmrich's arc. He may've ended up a very different character without it! tl;dr: I stole it from Trick." [source, two, three, four]
"I got to play with a pretty free palette when defining the way Emmrich and the necromancers view death and spirits. But I tried to keep it within the confines of existing lore. That's one reason why that scene where Emmrich talks about Manfred to Harding goes into "the eternal question" of whether a soul actually returns with the dead or not. Nevarra has distinct beliefs, but I thought it'd be interesting if its people argue over their interpretations of those beliefs." [source, two]
"the other writers also suggested a bit later on that the big choice dig more into Emmrich's philosophies. Initially, it was more personally focused on his fears, which made it 'relatable' but pettier. Without that correction, I think it would've been weaker, I totally needed the team push." [source]
"I have a few guides to graveyard symbology, and it's so packed with references and meaning." [source]
User: "Did any of your own fears & experiences, make it into the writing of Emmrich? If yes, is it information you’re comfortable sharing with us? If it’s too personal to give any details, that’s fine as well. Also, across the other games, who do you think Emmrich will get along with best?" / Sylvia: "some of his fears are absolutely personal. The reflexive-compulsive panic over death is something I'm very familiar with, and I wanted to explore that through him. Because I suspected it was not uncommon, and worth examining. The question of who he'd get along with from the other games is surprisingly tough! Because without asking the other writers about their characters, I wouldn't know for sure. So I can only really speak to Josephine with surety. That said: -I think Josephine would be polite, and grow to like him, but would never entirely be over the ostentatious necromancy. -I think Emmrich meeting Sera would be the funniest match." [source, two, three]
"Peter Cushing was also one of my go-tos as an example of what I wanted Emmrich to be." [source]
"(Huge shout out to all the animators and level designers making Manfred run, quite literally. Like 95% of his personality lives in his movement, I think they nailed it.)" [source]
On Emmrich: "I tried to put a lot of passion and sincerity in his love for the dead, and I admit the Necropolis was THE big place I wanted to see in Thedas myself ever since reading about it in a codex." [source]
User: "Thank you for letting him have that cemetery dream date!" / Sylvia: "Having the date in the cemetery was one of the first things I wanted when thinking about the romance." [source]
"Josephine was the first time I was entrusted with a new character and a new romance at once, and that'll always be special to me." [source]
User: "How much input did you have in Emmrich's appearance in the podcast?" / Sylvia: "In the podcast, none myself. I believe it was handled by a third party but reviewed by a few people at BW, I don't know too much past that. (We did provide a descriptor and character rules. Stuff like "Emmrich never swears" and "always says amongst" and broader, more thematically useful things.)" [source]
User on Emmrich: "Are you planning any other external-media stories for him?" / Sylvia: "Thanks very much, The Flame Eternal has a special place in my heart for being the first time Emmrich got to be center stage in a story. (And very flattering to hear about the cross stitch. That's so cool!) I can't speak to any external-media plans, I'm afraid. That's not an implied hint about anything existing or not, it's just literally outside what I'm allowed to chat about. It'd be fun to do something like that again though!" [source, two]
"I must give full credit to Nick Borraine, Emmrich's voice actor. He got the compassion and tenderness the character needed right away." [source]
"And glad him being closer to your age resonated, I really wanted someone older out on an adventure. No reason that has to stop at any age IMO." [source]
User: "do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" / Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]
User: "as someone who shares emmrich's anxiety about mortality, getting to spend time with him, and in the grand necropolis and with the mourn watch, was genuinely soothing" / Sylvia: "Thank you, I'm glad he was a comfort. It's a familiar fear for me too, and I'd hoped he would connect that way with people very much." [source]
On the giant ribcage 'ceiling' in the Necropolis: "sadly, even I don't know all the mysteries of the Necropolis. (Which is to say it's a very cool bit of art but has no stated origin yet. Could be a large dragon, a giant...or something weirder!)" [source]
On TN story Luck in the Gardens: "It was nice change up, writing in first person and with someone so rascally. I've got an enduring affection for the Lords after writing Hollix, the scamp." [source]
User: "I just love his genuine enthusiasm for everything he does. If the other party members had fan clubs Emmrich would be the president of each and I love that for him" / Sylvia: "Thank you! I really wanted him to embody a kind of expansiveness and generosity of spirit, to stand in contrast to the eeriness of his abilities." [source]
User: "What was your inspiration for Josie?" / Sylvia: "My girl! When I came on to Inquisition, there'd already been work done on setting up the spine of the main plot, and figuring out the overall cast. But one of the advisors was a little murkier. It just said "Diplomat" on the white board. We knew we wanted someone in that position, but not who. So in a game where you were out exploring, killing demons, etc., but also had a big organization to run? I immediately wanted to make a Diplomat firmly there for you. Somebody you could hand the keys to the entire Inquisition to while you were out, and know it'd be in good hands. I also thought it'd be fun to have someone from Antiva, since that area wasn't covered yet by anyone in the cast. And I needed her to be polished, smooth, but heartfelt, because of that aforementioned trust. And that was the core of Josephine! Her voice actor, Allegra, brought her to life with such lovely charm, and hearing those early sessions also helped me further hone her tone." [source, two, three, four]
"Our music supervisor Ron Dazo hit it out of the park with Emmrich's music IMO. And so glad you liked Hezenkoss! Just very fun to write as a character." [source]
User: "Did any specific watcher raise MW Rook?" / Sylvia: "Good question! I kind of left that one alone because I wasn't sure if I wanted to let Rook define that themselves, or leave it open, and also I'd have wanted a full conversation on it. In the end that was a little out of scope so I left it unsaid. Which is to say that it COULD be Vorgoth who helped raise your Rook. And that stands until/unless we give a definitive answer (or let you choose from a range of answers) one day." [source, two]
"It was such a pleasure for all of us to finally get to explore the Necropolis, I am very glad we got to throw open the gates." [source]
User: "I was wondering if there were any Mourn Watch details you wished you had more time to explore? I was so struck by some of the ethical implications in your stories" / Sylvia: "Geeze, now that's a question. I mention it with Emmrich, but there's some resentment over the power the Watchers hold as THE mortalitasi of the Grand Necropolis, between them and the other orders. There's something to that situation I liked. There's also questions of how they select people for the order. What their standards are, how closely they work with benign spirits. And how they cultivate those relationships. How deep does that go? I also mentioned in a codex "the lives and bodies of those who tamper with the undead of the Necropolis are forfeit unto the Mourn Watch." which is pretty chilling. What's that punishment like, exactly? And in general, writing about anything weird or unexplained in the Necropolis brought me much enjoyment, and it would be fun to dig around how the Mourn Watch deals with (or what they want out of) all these mysteries and entities." [source, two, three, four]
"Geeking out with Emmrich about spooky stuff was a delight to write." [source]
"I liked writing someone older this time, it was something different for me and rewarding in some unexpectedly different ways. (And thanks especially for the nice words on DAtDM - I was very excited to introduce people to the Mourn Watch there!)" [source]
"Ah, tomb-script. I named it but it was our concept artists who went developed it with the hexagon shape-language of the Mourn Watch, which I loved. Conceptually: I think it's used purely an occult or sacred language. Something for the graves, or books on magic, but not everyday things." [source]
"Some trans people kindly offered their help with some feedback on some of the romance lines and others, which absolutely made them much better." [source]
"Trick Weekes actually wrote a ton of the banter where Emmrich inquires into qunari artifacts and customs, and Taash talks about what it was like to grow up under a scholar. I really dig the dynamic they unearthed between the two there." [source]
#dragon age: the veilguard#dragon age the veilguard spoilers#dragon age: dreadwolf#dragon age 4#the dread wolf rises#da4#dragon age#bioware#video games#long post#longpost#dragon age: tevinter nights#dragon age: vows & vengeance#lgbtq
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So, Pre-robin Tim definitely wrote self-insert fanfiction about being Robin.
Like, a full story 400k plot starting with Jason graduating from being Robin and onto something bigger and better to the next Robin's journey, which ends up being modeled after Tim's life.
At first, some of Tim's most compelling plots are ripped straight from real missions, mostly using info the public doesn't know about.
Then, after YEARS of constantly updating this fic and being known as THE Batman Fanfic due to it's length and constant uploads, Tim is in the middle of writing a new chapter and just. stops.
"What am I even doing?"
Because at this point he's been Robin for almost a year and he's still fantasizing about being a part of a family he is already a part of.
(is he though? It's been a year and they barely acknowledge each other out of the suit, and at the end of the day he still goes home to an empty mansion)
EVEN BETTER
Five years later, one of the bats dredges the fic up from the deep dark corners of the web.
The others endlessly tease Tim for his writing as a 9-13 year-old
(they keep reading and discover between the analytical jargon and awkward dialogue a lot of worrying details that give a better peak into the traumas of his childhood. The littlest of scenes explains why Tim treats himself the way he does.)
Jason, despite initially being one of the biggest teasers, unironically loves it because little Tim's portrayal of the second Robin grew up to be eerily similar to how Jason is now. He would never say it to Tim's face, but despite (or maybe because of) being a literary nerd, he reads every chapter up until it was abandoned.
The B plot of this all is, of course, Bruce finds the fic and thinks TIM is the one with a stalker and gets really concerned about the data released in the fic.
#tim drake#dc comics#tim drake and jason todd#batfam#batman#batfamily#Tim Drake writes fanfic and you can pry this fact out of my cold dead hands
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Family Mission: The Backyard
"If you know what's best for you, you'll stay there and listen to me carefully. Again, you did not see me get inside his body so this might look like a silly air gun but I can promise you that you'l regret making any single move,"
Fearing for my life, I obviously followed my stepfather order, or whatever creature that reign over my stepfather's body. After all, the way my big bro just suddenly lose his consciousness mid-way playing game after my stepfather pointed and then shot the invisible air gun to him is enough to convince me that he's not playing around.
"Okay, now, since you've been seated comfortably, let me explain to you. I crash landed on your backyard earlier this morning and your father was making the whole thing difficult for me as he somehow spotted and snapped the pictures of me and my kind and even made some call to Washington DC, so we are compromised as we know it. Luckily, because he photographed us, we became aware of his.....awareness, if that's the word, and I decided to pay him a visit. He's physically here, but everything about him is.....me now. I'm in charge of his body and my fella is also in charge of your older brother. He's processing the whole thing now, hence the lost of consciousness, but he'll be fine....fine as in fine like me. Now, I know and your older brother know about your little alien wet dream sequence you wrote in your diary that you stupidly left in the study room for everyone to see. Your father, stepfather is obviously embarassed. Me on the other hand, well, I love all the fucked up sequences you came out with based on the memory reading I did, so here's what I offered you, collaborate with me to harbor my kind from the incoming investigator and you can live your dream with us, or you can try to run and I will definitely stuff someone from my kind inside of you. Up to you,"
"I....I will help you.....daddy,"
"Okay, stop. Don't be weird. You called me sir usually, so stick with that. And please, a boner? Are you kidding me?"
"Uhh...ohhh...okay sir. Sorry for making you uncomfortable,"
"Okay then, son, let's wake your brother up and clean up the mess in the backyard. Then, what do you think if we workout to the gym nearby?"
"Sounds like a solid plan....sir,"
As the three of them walked to the backyard to start cleaning the scene and take out the remaining aliens from the spaceship, the father said
"By the way, we also held 5 prisoners within our ship. They're criminals, the infected ones from our kind, maybe we can just expose them to the investigator, planting their dead form inside the spaceship? After all, not like our kind just visited Earth for the first time so our data probably already exist in your government's database,"
"Your lead, sir. You know what's best,"
"See, Griffin, be like your brother. More obedient and has more excitement about extraterrestrial life. If only you are like him, you'll not be braindead and taken over by now,"
"Stop making the nerd hard, dad,"
"Hahahahaha, I love the chemical reaction from this whole dynamic. The surge of anger and disgust that I instantly repressed and turned into excitement upon seeing him getting a boner when I talked like his dad but then twisted it into the most unhinged shit no normal human would ever say.....yeah, you should try it sometimes, Grif,"
With his cheek flushed in embarassment, Jerry meekly walk besides his possessed brother all the while looking at his father muscular back and ass that look just so perfect this morning. Maybe the alien inside make him look at his dad with different shades, but well, it's a welcomed change
#alien possession#male possession#alien takeover#alien expansion#male puppet#male takeover#family possession
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mask bans are fascist
[video transcript:]
[Speaker pointing to face mask] "This is now illegal in North Carolina, Nassau County, New York, and the bills banning it are only spreading. If you care about COVID, Palestine, or surveillance, we need to talk about mask bans.
As protests continue against Israel's genocide on Palestinians, masks have become an important tool of cross movement solidarity, and while disabled organizes have popularized masking at actions to reduce the ongoing risks of COVID and Long COVID, protesters also use them to protect themselves from the doxxing, stalking, chemical irritants, and intense surveillance used by police and counter protesters alike. That's why some lawmakers are pushing to criminalize mask wearing or ban masks altogether. And while they claim that mask bans will "keep us safe", we know that more surveillance only puts us more at risk. In addition to mandating, we expose our faces to cops and cameras on demand.
These bills give police broad powers to harass mask wearers in public which will only ramp up violence against Black, Brown, queer, trans, and disabled people.
Plus, they threaten protesters with fines and jail time for gathering safely, guaranteeing a chilling effect on our First Amendment rights.
So whether you're a student facing repression on your campus, a data privacy nerd, or an activist fighting Long COVID, or racial profiling, mask bans are your fight.
The good news is it's not too late to stop the spread of these bills.
Go to stopmaskbans.com to sign the petition, and tell your representatives to oppose mask bans.
Remember, no one has the right to your face or your health on demand. Mask up and fight back.
[end transcript]
#palestine#covid#mask bans#human rights#masking is community care#surveillance hellscape#acab#climate change#wildfires
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Jake "Hangman" Seresin headcanon
Okay, okay, imagine:
Jake's first word is jet. Not Momma, not Daddy. JET!
By the time he's two, he can name every US navy fighter jet/plane by looking at pictures and the only toys he has are realistic looking but very fragile models of jets and planes that are probably not appropriate for a toddler. Jake still has them at 32. He was very careful.
When he's seven, he can recite basic data about the navy jets: max. speed, G-force, weight, wingspan, etc.
He's in middle school when he's able to calculate speed, acceleration, pressure, centrifugal force, etc. He might be dyslexic but when it comes to numbers, he's a BEAST.
He's a damn nerd when it comes to physics and fighter jets, knows more about it than all of his peers at the academy, perhaps even Bradley.
And people think he just wants to be the best to impress the higher-ups, and partially, it's true. But rarely anyone sees that fighter jets and everything around that topic genuinely interests Jake to a point that could be considered unhealthy.
#jake seresin#jake hangman seresin#top gun maverick#hangster fanfiction#hangman x rooster#sereshaw#rooster x hangman#hangster
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Mr Reca x Reader (feat platonic!friend!oc x reader)
Simply put, you didn't expect to know two yapping nerds.
Fine. Your friend is a given, as she literally collects data from the universe and managed to get an educational history show for kids that has been memed throughout the last six hundred years. She loves her job, so of course she's a nerd.
But this man... he went even further than that.
Mr Reca was known to be eccentric, but you had your fair share of that kind of people (namely, your friend and her scary as hell brother). But he just went and surpassed them in ways you couldn't imagine. He was obsessed with his work, with his films and with how they were produced. The first few couple of days you knew him, you needed a break from him and his incessant yapping.
But when your dear pal came to see you, it got worse. So much worse. It literally ended up in a unintelligible conversation between nerds.
But, this time, you saw how the light reflected in his eyes as he talked, the way his hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they moved to express his point.
And when your friend turned towards you to give a small wave as hello, he turned and smiled radiantly at you before continuing his nerd to nerd conversation about Penacony's colonial history and link to the IPC.
You were pretty sure your face was really warm by then.
(Yeah, he was particularly weird, but he was cute)
#honkai star rail#hsr#honkai sr#hsr mr reca#mr reca#reca hsr#star rail#mr reca hsr#mr reca x reader#hsr reca#hsr x reader#x reader#he's soo cute!!!!!!#Cute little imagine ♡#do you want me to develop my ocs?
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Still in my transformers brain rot and thinking about transformers but with a y/n cybertronian researcher who loves to learn about new species and gets so happy about learning about humans cause they/he never saw one before and wants to know every single detail of human history and humans today. Bro gets over excited when they/he finds out about dinosaurs existed in the planet but doesn't know they are extinct (y/n got to excited and wanted to find one but ends up finding out they are now just fossils. But doesn't stop bro from documenting it in their/his data pad) plus I like to think you love to yap about certain topics they have documented in the past (they/he has been yapping about a the different kind of astroids for 10 hours now) and think of them/him being a absolutely nerd about new things to learn to the point bro is taking in to much knowledge for anyone to know.
Plus Im working on some dandys world stuff and some other things I'm working on and going to release soon so look out for that and plus I'm still doing yandere transformers cause I still love transformers.
(also I'm thinking about just not doing the m/n name for fics and change it to male y/n so it's more convenient and maybe more helpful for me to write but I don't know. I might do it for the next fic, shitpost or head canon stuff so yeah but let me know your opinion on it but that's all. Also hope you like the new y/n cause they/he is very silly but anyways see y'all later and stay healthy.)
#yandere x male reader#x male reader#yandere x reader#yandere x you#random talks#x gn reader#yandere x gn reader#male reader#yandere transformers#transformers x male reader#transformers x reader#yandere transformers x reader
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Steddie | R: Explicit (for eventual smut) | WC:4541 | Ch 1/8 | AO3
Chapter 1: Ghost of Yesterday
Two days after they failed to defeat Vecna, after Max died and came back, after Eddie died—and didn’t. Two days after they were forced to leave his body behind in the Upside Down because everything had gone to shit, a bright yellow pizza delivery van that looked like it’d been through its own apocalypse pulled into the Wheeler's driveway.
Jonathan, Mike, Will, and El finally made it home to Hawkins with the help of a friend.
On day three, Max woke up.
She’d have a long road to recovery, but the doctors seemed fairly confident she’d walk again. Though, no one could be sure how much of her eyesight would return, if any. The same day, in a twist no one saw coming, Joyce showed up, fresh off a plane from Alaska after escaping Russia—yes, Russia—with a miraculously alive and mostly well Jim Hopper.
And four days after the world both did and then didn’t end, the ghost of Eddie Munson appeared in Steve’s living room.
The kids and older teens, including the newest member of the doomsday squad, Argyle, were having an off-the-books meeting. After everything they’d done and been through, the so-called ‘adults’ were attempting to pull their same old shit, trying to sideline the younger set for their own, supposed, safety.
Steve sort-of agreed about Dustin and the others, they were still too young and had already lost so much, but if Hopper, Joyce, and whoever the hell else thought they were going to bench him? They had another think coming, and he was pretty sure Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan felt the same way too.
But, whether he agreed or not, what he wouldn’t do was stop the kids from helping to come up with a plan. Because damned if he knew what the hell they should do next.
Dustin leaned forward from his spot on the couch wedged between Erica and Will, steepling his fingers together in front of him. “So let me test my understanding. You set him on fire, and shot him—multiple times. He fell out of a third story window, and he just went… poof? Vanished without a trace?”
There was a collective groan from the room, everyone except for Lucas and El who were at the hospital sitting with Max, and of course Dustin himself.
Robin rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, yes, Dustin. How many times do we have to go over this?”
“I’m just laying out the facts!” Dustin snapped back. “Clearly we got something wrong here. We underestimated Vecna, and by a lot.”
“And how is repeating our obvious failure helpful?” Nancy asked, a little defensively.
Steve understood the attitude, he'd also been wresting with his guilt since that fateful night.
“The scientific method!” Dustin answered with a bit of the same slightly forced cheerfulness he'd been displaying ever since Max woke up. He held up a hand, ticking each step off on his fingers as he spoke. “Question, research, hypothesis, experiment, data analysis, conclusion.”
“I got a question—“ Erica pursed her lips, giving Dustin such intense side-eye Steve wondered if it was actually painful. “Why are you such a nerd?”
Dustin sighed, as though it were everyone else annoying him instead of the other way around. “The question is—if Vecna is just a guy with powers like El, how could he have survived this long in the Upside Down? What’s keeping him alive?”
Okay, fine. Attitude or not, Steve hadn’t really thought about it but maybe the kid had a point.
“The hive mind!” Robin offered up.
“Possibly.” Dustin nodded to her. ”Probably. So, what does that tell us?”
Erica crossed her arms, leaning back heavily into the couch. “I don’t know Mr. Clarke, you wanna share your thoughts with the class?”
“I didn’t say I had all the answers.”
“That’s a first,” Robin mumbled.
“I’m just trying to get us brainstorming here!”
A flutter of movement pulled Steve’s admittedly already drifting attention away from discussion at hand. Something in the corner, the air there shifting and bending strangely, a little like the way heat shimmers off a sun drenched black top. He watched through his periphery, not daring to actually turn his head to look as a familiar figure materialized there.
Fuck.
Though he looked confused and disoriented at first, it wasn’t long before the long-haired apparition tried approaching one of them.
Steve swallowed hard, his throat growing painfully tight. He fought to keep his face neutral as the ghost raised a hand in front of Dustin's face, calling the boy's name loudly before moving on to Erica, then Nancy—and Steve panicked, knowing he had to do something before the figure tried the same with him.
“Water,” he muttered, mainly to Robin as he rose and bumped her shoulder. She was the only one really paying attention to him anyway, while the others still argued the physics and limitations of the alternate dimension.
Steve fled for the relative quiet and safety of his kitchen. He just needed a minute alone to get his shit together, but he should have expected the phantom footfalls that followed him across the tile floor to the cabinet.
As he took out a tall glass with shaking hands, the ghost hopped up to sit on the counter just beside him and started talking to himself.
“What the hell does a guy gotta do to get a little attention, huh?” The figure held up his slightly transparent hands in front of his own face, turning them over and back again. “I-I’m kinda freaking out here.”
Under the show of irritation he sounded sad, and a little terrified.
“They can’t see you,” Steve muttered softly, regretting it the second the words passed his lips.
He knew better than to engage with ghosts.
Since the moment he’d first shown signs of the gift, he’d been taught by his late grandfather to leave the spirit world be, and mind his own goddamn business.
He’d only broken the rules one other time, about a month or so after they learned the full truth of what happened to Barb and he’d seen her essence lurking around his pool at night. That experience had only served to further prove the old man’s point.
Nothing good ever came from acknowledging the dead.
But this was Eddie.
They’d fought together, bled together. Eddie was his–his ally, his compatriot, his friend.
And towards the end there Steve was even starting to think that maybe… maybe one day they could be more, if he ever got up the courage to flirt back.
Not that it mattered now.
“No shit, Harrington!” Eddie spat. “I’ve been waving my hands in front of their faces, screaming Dustin's name at the top of my lungs and getting jack squat back in return. I mean what the fu—”
With a sad little smile Steve turned, finally looking straight at the other boy just in time to see his eyes go impossibly wide.
“Wait—holy shit! Harrington, does this mean you can see me?!”
Steve winced, grimacing at the sheer volume of Eddie's voice. “And hear you, unfortunately.”
Who knew the loudest guy he’d ever met would be even louder in death.
Actually, that tracked.
“Steve?” Robin’s voice filtered in as she called out to him from the other room.
Steve took a deep breath, locking eyes with the adorably confused looking ghost haunting his kitchen as he shouted back to her. “Yeah?” He raised a hand to his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose just as Robin appeared in the doorway.
“What are you up to in here?” She asked.
“Oh, just…” Steve trailed off, trying and failing not to track Eddie’s movements as he hopped down off the counter and began to stalk towards Robin, a determined, mischievous glint in his eye.
“ …talking to myself.”
Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You okay?”
“Are you okay she asks,” Eddie grumbled, tipping his head mockingly from side to side. “Pfft—I’m the one who’s invisible. Why isn’t anyone asking if I’m okay?”
“Um,” Steve fought to keep a level expression and not laugh, even as Eddie blew wet raspberries and made increasingly silly faces inches from an oblivious Robin’s nose. “No, actually. I think I might have a migraine coming on,” he lied.
“You want me to get everyone to leave?” She asked.
Yes, good plan!
In fairness he wasn’t exactly feeling his best. He was exhausted. It had been a long few days.
A long… week and a half?
Years.
It had been a long few years.
And he needed some time alone with Eddie, to talk.
“That'd be great, yeah. Thanks, Rob.”
“Sure thing. Why don't you go get in bed with your eye mask on, and I'll bring water and painkillers up?”
“Oooh,” Eddie crooned. “His majesty sleeps with an eye mask? Fancy.”
Ugh, why were all of Steve’s favorite people such fucking smartasses? He glared at Eddie before he could stop himself. Which meant he was staring daggers at a blank wall right now, right in front of Robin, leaving her looking more concerned than ever.
Shit.
He should have known she’d wanna stay behind and take care of him.
“I—um, t-that’s okay,” Steve stuttered out. “M-maybe you should just go on home too.”
Her face fell.
Hacking and wheezing, he forced a fake coughing fit in her direction, only barely covering his mouth with his hand.
“Very convincing,” Eddie commented with clear sarcasm.
Robin wrinkled her nose, recoiling like the germaphobe Steve knew and loved.
“Sorry, I think I'm coming down with a cold or something actually. You should get out while you still can.”
Robin bit at her lip, looking mildly dubious, but eventually she nodded. “Fine. Just promise you’ll call me if it gets any worse, or if you need anything?”
“I promise.”
While everyone cleared out, Steve hid in the kitchen, finally getting that drink of water he so desperately needed—his throat was on fire now that he thought about it—and splashed some more cold water from the sink on his face for good measure.
“You sure you’re not actually coming down with something?” Eddie asked, sitting back up on his perch on the counter. “You don’t look so hot.”
“I’m fine,” Steve said with practiced ease, though his head was beginning to throb a bit. Maybe that migraine thing wasn’t as much of a lie as he’d thought.
With the house now safely empty of prying eyes and ears, he ventured back out into the living room, with Eddie hovering along behind, and locked the deadbolt on the front door before plopping down hard on the couch, letting his head rest against the back of it.
“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Eddie asked, pacing back and forth along the floor in front of him.
Steve let his head loll to one side. “Plan?”
Eddie groaned, stopping in his tracks to throw his head up to the ceiling. “Why couldn’t it be Henderson who can see me.”
Okay, rude.
“A plan, y'know?” Eddie went on. “To get me back? To get me out of the Upside Down or whatever purgatory I'm currently languishing in?”
Steve could only stare at him blankly for a moment as the words sank in. “Eddie—” he began hesitantly, sitting up straight.
“What? Don't tell me you’ve all given up on me already?”
Oh.
Oh, no.
Steve had heard about this, how sometimes spirits don’t realize they’ve passed on, but surely Eddie had to know. What other possible explanation could he have for suddenly becoming invisible and incorporeal?
“Eddie, what is it you think is happening here, exactly?” He asked, praying he was wrong but bracing himself for the worst. How on earth do you go about telling someone you care about that they’re dead?
“Well, clearly I–I'm…” Eddie sputtered haughtily for a moment before looking away. “I'm not sure. I’ve been separated from my body somehow, obviously. S-so It’s gotta be some weird Vecna shit, right? And uh, you can hear me and see me b-because… because we both got bit by the bats and it gave us, like, our own little freaky hive-mind type… thing?”
He sounded less and less sure as he went on, and Steve’s heart ached for him. He remembered the bats attacking him part, but not the dying part. That just seemed cruel.
“Eddie, um,” Steve cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together nervously. “I don’t know how to tell you this but you… you died.”
“Bullshit,” Eddie snorted.
“I’m sorry, but it’s true. We came back from the Creel house and you…” Steve paused, struggling for a second to force his words past the sudden lump in his throat. “Dustin was sitting there with your—”.
“No.” Eddie shook his head roughly. “No–no, because, if I'm dead… then how is it you can see me? Huh?! Explain that!”
“It runs in my family. My dad doesn't have the gift but my grandfather was able to see ghosts, and his father before that.”
“Suuure, Harrington,” Eddie’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “So—not only am I supposed to believe that I'm dead, but also that you’re descended from some long line of ghost whisperers? Is this a joke to you?! I’m in dire need of–of fucking rescue, and you’re over here trying to fuck with me? Not cool, man. Not cool.”
Steve stood, almost reaching out as he itched to comfort the other boy in some way, but he knew well that it was pointless. “I’m not, I swear I'm not messing with you. I know it’s not what you want to hear, and I'm so sorry but I'm telling you the truth. Dustin, he—” Steve’s voice cracked. “You didn’t have a pulse, Eddie.”
“Stop it!” Eddie snapped.
“I’m sorry, really. I–”
“I said stop!”
With a choked off sob Eddie moved to shove him away, only to stumble when his hands found nothing solid, or rather, as Eddie’s ghostly and very not solid form passed right through Steve’s body.
Steve held his breath as he waited for it, the sensation of being doused in a bucket of ice water, the spine tingling, creepy crawly thing he’d felt the only other time he’d let a ghost near enough to touch.
But this was nothing like that.
Eddie felt… warm. And while Steve still shivered it wasn’t because the failed touch had been bad or painful. Quite the opposite, actually. He was left with a pleasant buzzing in his core, the initial warmth lingering, wrapping around him like an embrace before fading slowly.
Maybe all spirits were different. Maybe Barb had felt cold because she’d hated him, because it was his pool she died in—his fault she was out there in the first place.
But Eddie was…
Oh shit—Eddie.
Steve spun to find him on the floor with his knees pulled up, hugging them to his chest, his huge brown eyes shining with unshed tears.
Could ghosts cry?
Steve knelt down next to him, biting back a wince as the movement pulled at the bandages hiding beneath his shirt. He’d need to change those again tonight, they felt tacky with dried blood.
Eddie's voice shook when he finally spoke again. “I’m—dead?’
Steve bowed his head in a solemn nod. He would have given anything in that moment to be able to wrap his arms around Eddie.
“T-the bats?”
“There were just too many of them,” Steve explained. “It looked like you put up a hell of a fight, but I think you bled out.”
“My uncle, Wayne, do you know if he—” Eddie trailed off, worrying his bottom lip.
“Dustin talked to him. He couldn't risk telling him everything, but he gave him your guitar pick, and told him you were a hero. That you died a hero.”
Eddie barked a wet laugh, shaking his head.
“It’s the truth," Steve said, hoping his tone left no room for doubt. "If you hadn't distracted them we never would have made it into that attic. And If you hadn’t led them away when you did…” He didn’t need to say it, they both knew Dustin could—and likely would—have been hurt or worse, and those things would have gone through the gate and into the right side up.
It was exactly what Steve would have done too, had their roles been reversed.
“How long has it been?” Eddie asked, quietly.
“Three? No–no, four days.”
“And Vecna?”
“Down, but not out. We wounded him for sure but he got away. That's why everyone was here tonight.”
“Okay,” Eddie blew out a long breath, rubbing hard at his eyes. “What happens now? Do you like, help me find the light or something?” His eyes darted around as though some doorway or portal might appear right there in the living room. “Or maybe I'm going the other way. I can think of a few reasons the big guy might not let me upstairs, but what do I know, maybe self-sacrifice gets you a free pass?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Isn’t this your legacy or whatever?”
“I’ve never done,” Steve waved a hand, gesturing between the two of them. “This before. I was taught to ignore the dead. Pretend I can't see them just like everyone else and let them go about their business.”
“How come?”
“Grandfather said if you get too involved, if the dead find out you can see them they’ll never leave you alone. That it’s dangerous. The dead linger for a lot of reasons, but the most common are unfinished business and revenge. Lots of angry spirits out there according to the Harrington journals.”
Eddie tilted his head thoughtfully. “Am I really the first ghost you’ve ever talked to?”
Steve thought of Barb again, the way her face had morphed into a rage-filled mask when he revealed he’d been able to see her all along, but he pushed it forcefully out of his mind.
And lied.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I just told you, my grandfather—”
“No,” Eddie cut in. “I mean why, after a lifetime of ignoring ghosts, did you choose to acknowledge me?”
“B-because, you’re—“ Steve faltered, not knowing quite how to put it into words. He wasn’t sure even he totally understood. Yes he’d started developing a crush on the guy, but it was more than that. They had a connection, Steve felt it, even if Eddie didn’t. And maybe it was normal—inevitable even, when you get thrown into this shit together. But whether it was all just trauma bonding or something more, Steve couldn’t deny the pull.
“You’re—” he tried to say again as he pushed himself to his feet, only to double over, sucking air through his teeth as the dull pain in his sides turned searing and sharp.
“Steve?” Eddie shot up as he spoke, sounding worried.
“‘M fine,” Steve grit out, managing to straighten his posture without another outburst. “Jus' tired.”
Eddie raised a single eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t argue, silently following Steve as he headed for the staircase and began to climb.
Of course, this was Eddie, so he was only capable of being silent for so long.
“Hey, how come I can’t touch you, but I can walk up the stairs?”
“I don’t know,” Steve huffed out, breath stuttering as he neared the top landing.
Just a few more steps.
“Do you think I could, like, sit on a couch, or—or lay in a bed?” Eddie asked.
“I don’t know,” Steve repeated, trying not to sound as annoyed and in pain as he felt. He just had to make it to his room, get these stupid wounds cleaned and then he could pass out for a few hours. Maybe then he’d be able to answer questions and figure out what to do about all this.
“What if I—”
“Eddie!” Steve barked from the top step, whirling to face him. He nearly lost his balance before catching himself with a hand on the wall. His sides were screaming at him and the throbbing in his head was getting worse too. “I really don’t know any more than you do. I don’t know all the ins and outs, or why things work the way they work. Can you please just give it a rest for a minute?”
Eddie wilted, dropping his gaze to his feet. “Sorry.”
Fuck.
“No,” Steve sighed. ”No, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t be… y’know, when you’re—”
“Dead?!” Eddie snapped, raising his head again. He looked hurt.
“Sorry.” Steve sucked his lip between his teeth.
“Whatever.”
“Eddie—”
Eddie stomped past him and into the upstairs hallway. “Spare me the pity party. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m telling you, if I was dead, I'd know it.”
Steve opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut again without another word. He didn’t have the energy, and If that was what Eddie needed to believe for now to get through this, then who was he to tell him what to think? It wouldn’t change the facts but if it made him feel better, what was the harm?
Somehow Eddie had guessed the right door. He waited, leaning up against the opposite wall and very deliberately didn’t look at Steve as he walked over, and pushed into his bedroom.
Steve went right through to the bathroom to get this over with, not bothering to close the door behind him, assuming Eddie would be able to walk right through anyway if he wanted to.
Eddie did follow, still silently brooding as he found another piece of wall to hold up.
Steve ignored him for now, he felt awful but he’d try to apologize again later once the other boy had calmed down, and carefully peeled his shirt off as he stood in front of the mirror.
The bandages at his sides looked gnarly and gross. He’d bled again, and it looked like there was something yellow seeping into the huge squares of gauze too. He turned his body to the side, looking over his shoulder to see how the road rash on his back was doing. It looked better than the front, but that wasn’t saying much. The skin around the wide scrapes was red and inflamed. He couldn’t cover those on his own and could really only clean them in the shower, but they were shallow at least and would eventually heal on their own, he figured.
A quiet gasp reminded him of his audience, and a quick glance over through the mirror showed Eddie staring at his torso with wide eyes.
“It looks worse than it is,” Steve said quietly, quickly looking away. Which wasn’t exactly true but the last thing he needed right now was another person trying to force him to go to the hospital.
He knew some first aid.
It was fine.
Turning back to face the sink, Steve ran water over a washcloth and held it to each of his dressings to soak them off. The air stung when it finally hit the wounds, as though they'd been freshly opened, and, sure enough, there was definitely some pus seeping from the edges.
No problem. He’d just have to clean them extra thoroughly.
Gritting his teeth, Steve poured a hefty amount of peroxide on a new clean washcloth and began to gently pat his right side.
The pain was instant and excruciating.
Bile rose in his throat, a cold sweat breaking out across his body as the world around him swam. Steve swayed on his feet, dropping the cloth to the ground as he himself began to fall.
A sudden warmth at his back, and strong hands wrapping around his chest were the only thing that kept him on his feet. Carefully avoiding the worst of his wounds, Eddie had caught him, holding the bulk of his weight until the spinning in his head stopped.
The moment Steve could stand on his own again Eddie jumped back as though he’d been burned.
Steve’s eyes snapped up, locking with Eddie’s in their reflections as he realized with a start what had just happened.
“How?” He whispered. He could still feel the imprint of Eddie’s hands where they had cradled him to his chest. He’d felt so… real, so solid, so—alive for that handful of seconds.
“I-I don't know!” Eddie said, a little too loud in the small space. “I didn’t even think, or-or like, I forgot that I couldn't. I saw you about to go down and I didn't want you to hurt yourself.”
“I didn’t think it was possible." Steve took a step towards him. "You should try to do that again.”
Eddie tucked his hands behind his back, moving as far away as he could without actually leaving the room. “Don't we have more important things to worry about? Like maybe getting you to a hospital?”
“No.” Steve shook his head. “I told you, it looks worse than it is.”
It was abundantly clear that Eddie didn’t believe him, but something about the accidental touch had freaked him out enough that he let it go.
As quickly as he could, Steve finished cleaning the ruined expanse of his stomach and got both sides wrapped in fresh bandages, managing to do so without nearly fainting this time, and threw a clean t-shirt on to hide the evidence. Hopefully that would stop Eddie looking at him with those big brown fucking sad worried eyes of his.
Out of sight, out of mind, and all that.
As much as he liked Eddie’s attention on him, these weren’t exactly the circumstances he would have hoped for.
Steve shut the lights off, and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.
“We should try it again,” Steve mumbled through a long drawn-out yawn.
Eddie laughed softly from his corner hiding spot. “What was that, big boy?”
Steve wished he’d try to join him on the bed, but didn’t know how to ask. He untangled one of his arms from the sheets, reaching a hand out in Eddie’s direction. “Touch me?”
The room was dark, and it could have been that Steve was a little delirious but he was pretty sure a light blush crept over Eddie's cheeks as he took a step closer, his own ringed hand outstretched.
The sight set off butterflies fluttering in his stomach.
Steve waited to feel the tips of their fingers brush, was desperate to feel Eddie’s touch again if he was honest, but it was no use, Eddie’s long digits passed right through.
“Maybe we have to–” Steve interrupted himself with another deep yawn. His body still ached but now that he was tucked in and warm in his bed, it was getting hard to fight the inevitable.
“Just go to sleep, man,” Eddie said, his lips quirking into a small crooked smile. “It's not like I'm going anywhere.”
It should have been awkward, or weird to know someone would be there all night, lurking around while he slept, but as Steve drifted off he felt safer than he had in a long time, oddly comforted by the fact that Eddie would be there watching over him, even if he was just a ghost.
Thanks as always to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta and an absolutely amazing cheerleader!
Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog
@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad
Fic taglist (open): @sidekick-hero
#steddie fanfic#ghost eddie munson#reluctant medium steve harrington#happy ending#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington/eddie munson#steddie fic
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Generally, I feel like a lot of AI discussion gets down into weeds that obfuscate the foundation of the issue—data storage, environmental impact, copyright law. I couldn’t hypothesize why other than to (perhaps snobbishly) imagine that very few people on either “side” of the issue have a formal art education, because quite frankly two questions matter the most to me, as a trained artist:
1) Is the thing the computer spat out actually, ontologically a piece of art?
2) If yes, who is the actual artist that can claim provenance of that work?
Something you learn toward the end of your BFA, after your fundamental design courses and studio classes, when you’re sitting around with your fellow students in discussion with your professor, is that a creative work’s value as an artistic piece relies on the artist’s intent. A piece of art is a piece of art because the artist who made it intended for it to be a piece of art.
Of course there is PLENTY of philosophical debate to be had regarding a piece’s artistic value, given that once it is determined to be a piece of art it is then subject to critique, but that debate has been ongoing since Marcel Duchamp plopped a urinal onto a plinth and called it art all the way back in 1917.
That debate will not stop until the heat death of the sun.
(Side note: a key talking point for the alt/far-right, when it comes to art, is to claim that the Modernism and its corollary movements are not true art in comparison to the breadth of art history that ended roughly with late Victorian academic practice. Do not give their arguments credence by repeating them.)
Intent is what matters. That’s generally been the foundation of artistic critique for approaching a century. Not necessarily a stable foundation, but whatever.
An analogy:
A professor spends a semester instructing his students how to draw or paint in some classical “style”—let’s say, just for giggles, the Pre-Raphaelite.
He demonstrates specific techniques with specific media and provides specific reference material to his students so they can practice what he has taught them. Throughout the semester he corrects his students’ mistakes and helps them to develop strategies they can use to reproduce the hallmark traits of the Pre-Raphaelite movement.
At the end of the semester, all of his students can reliably create work that looks if not identical to work by artists such as Millais, Rossetti, or Waterhouse, then certainly remarkably similar to them.
Who is the artist of this similar work?
The obvious answer, the CORRECT answer, is his students. Just because the professor trained them to paint in this style does not mean their work becomes his, or, for that matter, any of the artists I mentioned.
His students put brush to canvas and moved pigment around to make a picture. The work is their provenance. They intended to create art that looked Pre-Raphaelite, and then they made it.
I think the application of this analogy to the issue of AI art is obvious, but for clear argument’s sake:
AI is not sentient. AI is not sapient. AI is an extremely well-programmed randomizer not unlike the fantasy name generators nerds use to name their DnD characters (all my love to those nerds).
It associates pixel and hue arrangements with words and phrases and generates images based on those associations. AI has no independent thought. It’s a computer program. It does what you tell it to and has no feelings or opinions of its own.
It cannot have intent.
The only thing that can be successfully argued about an image created by an AI program is that that program did, in fact, create it. Its programming functioned as designed. (No, by the way, this does not mean its programmers are artists either.)
Meanwhile, the tech bro typing “big tittied anime girl” into the prompt line has PLENTY of what you might call intent. He wants to see big tittied anime girls, and he wants to see them in any variety of style he can think of. All he has to do is add “Eiichiro Oda” to his prompt and boom, he has as many big-tittied anime girls with the combined proportions of a Hooter’s waitress and a Jabiru stork as his heart desires.
But he didn’t make the image. The AI did. He may have had an idea of what he wanted the image to look like, but he could as easily have navigated to Google images and typed in the same prompt to pull up the same result.
Here we come to the thrust of my argument: telling a program to generate an image makes you no more the artist of that image than it makes the professor the artist of his students’ work. Being involved in the creation of an image simply by asking for it to be made does not make you its creator.
Telling something, or someone, to create a piece of art does not assign that art’s provenance to you.
So, to answer the questions I posed at the beginning:
2) The AI is the provenance of the image, but
1) No, it is not art, because the AI had no personal intention to create it.
Whether or not AI can be used to create art at all is a different argument, which boils down to: eh, maybe. In my view, AI can create material which an artist can use to go on to make a piece of art. But that requires further intent to be added within that use.
Which tech bros just aren’t adding.
#ai essay#long post#(sorry)#yes I wrote this instead of working on the one shot#it’s Saturday sue me#watch this flop
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Continuation of the Mad Scientist AU Moon ending
What happens after Y/N returns?
Content Warnings: Horror, animal death, death, blood, body horror
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was only a month later when I died too.
When I first left, it felt slow– difficult. Like a bandaid slowly being pulled from loose skin it stung with afterburns.
I hated it.
More than anything I wanted to stay with Sun, to help him.
But with every experiment run, with every test and data point analyzed I could only think of him.
He was strange yes. It was still unnerving how he stuck through the flesh of Sun’s eye, but he was alive. He breathed, he talked, he cared in his own strange way.
The way he would prance around the lab, curious about every nook and cranny of the place, getting into things he wasn’t supposed to.
A soft fond ache built in my chest at the memory of him getting into the fertilizer. It took weeks before Sun and I had the lab clean again.
As I ran my hands through the rubbery flesh of the vines wrapping around my best friend’s head, I realized I couldn’t do this anymore.
Sun was getting sicker.
As much as he tried to hide it, it was obvious. I could see the way his eyes grew darker and darker with every passing day, how the vines that wrapped around his head became thicker and heavier.
His movements were slow– deliberate– like one wrong move and he could shatter completely. His starchy clothes hung off of him looser than before. He covered nearly everything now— except his face, but even that was marred with scars from his creation. His skin was taught and thin, I could practically trace the bone structure underneath.
The most unnerving change though– was in his mind.
Sun was always a bit of a nerd. He had a proclivity for perfection and wasn’t afraid of quickly pointing out inconsistencies. Others found it rude and off-putting but I knew it was his way of showing he cared. He noticed you, he cared about what was right and making sure you knew what that was. He listened with such apt attention it felt like every word from your mouth was inscribed with careful precision. He was so good at contradiction because he cared so much about you, about your thoughts and feelings.
His wit was sometimes harsh, but it was quick and pointed.
…
He barely talked now.
Even amid an experiment, on the cusp of maybe finding a cure– he would drift.
Staring for long periods, no input or interaction would break him out.
Even when he was present, there was a slow deliberation that wasn’t there before.
He questioned himself– doubted himself. He spoke and acted with such unnatural trepidation, like even he wasn’t sure what he was saying.
And all I could do was stand by and watch as my best friend slowly died.
…
Maybe it was selfish.
Maybe it was wrong.
But I couldn’t do it anymore.
…
So I left.
…
I don’t know what compelled me to return that day.
I reasoned there were still things in the lab I needed to pick up, but I knew I was going to have to confront him. I knew I was going to have to see him again.
I don’t know what I expected when I opened that door.
But it certainly wasn’t that.
Parasitic vines crept through the whole lab, infecting every achingly familiar corner.
The place was a complete mess, equipment tipped and shattered, old projects strewn about, and I almost stepped on a dead rodent, its entire body wrapped tightly with vines.
And then he stepped out.
The body degraded down only to its bare bones. Foliage and leaves stuck out of every orifice. Vines were wrapped tightly around him, face now just a hollow skull. The bud that had become a sort of eye for him bloomed into an unnerving pattern of petals and leaves.
Though– for some reason– it wasn’t his appearance that took me off guard.
He was still the same Moon that I had left, he seemed almost excited to see me again. Despite the barely functional state of his host he happily stumbled his way to me, leaning down to receive those head scratches he loved so much.
But still that churning in my gut didn’t subside.
I knew Sun was going to die if I left.
Even if I didn’t want to verbalize it before, I still knew deep down.
No, it wasn’t even Sun’s death that put me off so deeply.
…
It was the fact that it had only been three days.
I left on the 24th, leaving with only a small box of my old supplies, I knew I was going to need a second trip. I put it off– but I knew it had to happen.
In only three days Moon had entirely taken over.
In only three days Sun was dead, with little less than a skeleton left.
In only three days Moon had entirely outgrown the body, spreading to all corners of the lab with long searching vines.
…
I did my best to ignore it.
…
I stayed with Moon.
I knew I couldn’t bring him back to my house so I took care of him in the lab.
I did my best– I really did.
I brought him snacks and treats we used to share together, like small salt taffies and caramels. Even if he couldn’t chew them properly anymore he still stuck out small twisting vines to pull apart the sticky things. He reacted with that same sort of fascinated delight.
But still.
There was something off.
The way he would continue to stare even after I gave him all the snacks I had. The way he would push for more until I left.
When I returned with more food he would tear them apart more forcefully each time. His vines no longer searching, but stabbing through the air until they found their mark.
The vines continued to grow in the lab, covering more and more of the floor with every passing day.
The body was getting used less. Before, Moon would attempt to shamble with the corpse and interact with me in the same way as before; begging for pets, playing with my clothes or hair, and even cuddling on my lap. However, more and more often the skeleton would just lie there, only barely moving its head or gesturing with a hand.
I quickly realized Moon wasn’t just in the eye anymore. He had “eyes” everywhere. More and more buds popped up and bloomed into unnerving pits that would track your every move.
It got to the point where the room itself felt alive. Vines twisting and pulsating over the floor and walls. It got to the point where I could barely walk in the room without accidentally stepping on a vine.
Every morning I came back to something different– something new– something unnerving.
Moon was changing I could tell. I wasn’t sure if he was the same small creature I had taken care of before.
He was no longer searching and curious like before. I tried to bring him those things he liked, picture books of small cartoony creatures and small plush toys. I even brought my old radio to play music and dance like we used to. The vines at first writhed with the beat, and even the corpse moved its head slightly in a sort of head bop, but over time those movements became less ordered and more spastic, to the point I couldn’t tell if he was listening. With every passing day, he seemed to care less and less about simple joys.
Instead, time was spent watching those vines extend further. They got into the cabinets and tipped over old beakers. It was like they were looking for something.
…
It was starting to get harder to leave the lab.
Vines slowly crept up the door until they were tightly wrapped around the handle. I pushed and pulled but it refused to budge. I resorted to leaving through the window. I was lucky the lab was on the first floor.
I don’t know why I kept coming back. The growing apprehension in the back of my mind screamed get out. I could feel every base animal impulse squirm in fear at what I was witnessing. I knew what was happening– I didn’t study him for over a year for nothing after all.
But still– I kept coming back.
Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was a sense of duty, maybe I still held out hope for him, for the creature I had come to see as a son.
…
Two weeks later he didn’t allow me to leave anymore.
It had been a good day. He was walking around again, he even toyed with the small caterpillar toy I had brought. As I went to sit on the vine-covered floor he rested with me, the vines warm and pulsating with that strange purr he did. I had foolishly thought he was getting better, that he was still the same Moon as before.
I fell asleep.
When I woke up the room was pitch black. I realized he had covered the windows entirely with thick leathery vines.
I was trapped.
When I tried to push and pull at them he would snatch me up, move vines around the floor to trip me or grab a hand with one that was hanging.
The worst part about it was that he was still gentle about it.
He brought me food, vines shifting around the windows to reveal a scuffed takeout container. It looked like it had been snatched from a student, half-eaten, and a fork still rattling around inside.
When I went to sleep on the floor the vines would shift underneath to accommodate me, creating a surprisingly comfortable bed to rest on.
I hated it.
I wanted it to be easy. To hate this creature I helped make.
But as I wept in the now overrun lab, I couldn’t help but lean into the small vine gently touching my cheek.
The room was stuffy and humid. Like a greenhouse Moon covered every opening and crevice, and with the soft heat emitted from the vines– I couldn't cool down.
The clothes I arrived with were completely sweated through. They stuck to me and chaffed with an uncomfortable texture.
What I wouldn’t give for a decent shower.
Still, Moon continued just to bring food. Even with the occasional water bottle, I was starting to feel that dry scratchiness at the back of my throat. I was getting sick.
I wasn’t sure he was aware of all the different things a human needed to survive. I tried to talk with him, to get him to understand I needed to leave, but his numerous buds just stared back.
It was when the animals started appearing that I knew I needed to do something.
It again, started out small. Squirrels from outside, small mice and rats caught from other nearby labs– but of course it escalated.
Small dogs and cats that he used to be so fond of turned up dead on the floor. All covered in those same tightly woven vines. Their small bodies quickly turned into hollow corpses, frighteningly similar to Sun.
At this point, his corpse only sat in the corner, unmoving except for the subtle shifting of vines underneath him.
…
I had a plan. Cabinets on the top shelf of the bench stood untouched by vines– despite them completely covering every other surface.
It was where we stored our concentrated weed killer.
The stuff was not only toxic to plants, but huge health risk for humans. Just 0.05 mL of the stuff was enough to kill a fully grown adult male. It had to be handled carefully.
I had to do it. I knew I had to.
Despite the sharp ache in my chest at the thought- I knew that this was the only way.
Before when Sun was alive, the stuff was far too toxic to be used to cure him but now…
…
On the 29th day, I found a shoe amongst the tangled vines.
It wasn’t mine.
…
There were buds everywhere now. The dark pits held in the flytrap eyes followed my every move.
I had to be quick. I had seen myself how quickly those vines could dart through the air, and with how covered the room had become, there was no way to avoid them. However, the eye like buds did close periodically. I wondered vaguely if this was a remnant of existing in a body that needed to sleep for so long. Even during these periods though, several remained open, watching me intently.
The shelves with the chemicals had always been too high for me. I wasn’t even gonna bother with the stool; it was probably buried under layers and layers of vines. I would need to stand on the counter to reach it.
It was on the 31st day that I made my move. Most of the buds were closed. I counted, and only a few near the floor still loomed wide and attentive.
I carefully made my way over to the shelf.
I moved slowly and with as much casual ease as I could muster. I couldn’t let him know what I was doing.
Thankfully the vines on the counters were not nearly as dense as the ones on the floor. There were small pockets of free space and if I could just get my feet in them, I could stand on the counter without alerting Moon.
I carefully lifted a foot. It was difficult. I had to essentially pull my weight using the leverage of only a very small portion of the counter.
I felt myself slip slightly, brushing against a vine.
I froze. The vine in question shifted slightly in response, changing the pattern of interlocking vines slightly.
Eventually, it stilled. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Finally, I was able to make my way to the top of the counter. The open spaces had shrunk considerably with the shifting, so I had to stand on just the tips of my toes.
I slowly pulled open the cabinets, careful to adjust my weight and hold onto the handle as it swung towards me.
It was in the back, carefully labeled with many warnings along the side. I slowly brought it out.
I grasped it carefully in my hands. A whole liter of the liquid filled the heavy jar.
I needed to inject it into him.
If I could just find a needle or make a small cut with something I could probably–
I felt a vine squeeze around my toe.
I lost balance.
I tried to grab onto something but my hands were still wrapped around the toxin tightly.
I felt myself fall backward onto the floor.
With a crack– I could feel the concoction shatter onto my chest.
The world was spinning. I felt sick.
I shakily lifted a blood-soaked hand.
The glass had cut me.
The vines surrounding me moved in a sudden flurry. I felt the vines underneath me retreat, leaving me on the cold empty ground, buds opened and sprouted to life as they swarmed above me.
The whole room was shifting and writhing.
I could feel my body react painfully to the toxin. Extreme nausea overwhelmed my senses and I felt the sudden urge to empty my stomach.
Pain shot through every nerve as my eyelids felt heavier and heavier.
I was going to die.
I had failed.
Above, the eyes twisted and turned above me, creating a dizzying array of shapes and sounds.
I felt a small vine gently touch my open palm. I wondered vaguely if it was possible for a plant to feel grief– to mourn.
There was a moment of stillness. The pain subsided as the vine rested gently in my hand.
But eventually, I could feel the vine crawl further. Carefully avoiding the spill in the center, they wrapped around my body. I felt like one of those animals now, caught in a tight embrace.
The last thing I saw was Moon lifting a single bud to look at my face.
And then, it dug in.
#tw horror#tw animal death#tw blood#my writing#mad scientist au#moondrop#sundrop#fnaf daycare attendant#hopefully i didn't miss any typos#fnaf sun#fnaf moon#y/n
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So Remember You Can Find Me Elsewhere...
I love Tumblr, and plan to stay here until the lights turn off or they make me leave -- but honestly I'm always nervous about the future of this platform. So I thought I'd remind you guys that I exist elsewhere online.
My own websites:
First off, I've been maintaining my own website since 1996 and I have a blog there that I started in 2001 when I was twenty and working retail. It is, for better or for worse, the most "me" place online. It has three different domains -- trhonline.com, traedorn.com and traegorn.com -- but they're all the same site. You can always find me and my stuff there.
I'm also part of a collective of creators called Nerd & Tie, which started out as a podcast network but has been branching out into other media. And it, of course, has a site.
I have other websites like Peregrine Lake's site or BS-Free Witchcraft's, but those two places will always function as central hubs for what I (or we) are currently doing. Also, we have independent forums for Nerd & Tie where folks can talk to each other without a corporate overlord collecting data or ads ever appearing (I put ads on my sites -- but not on the forums).
But now on to other social networks and sites I don't run:
First off, my Patreon. Obviously there are perks for my paid membership, but free members can get some updates here, so if you have an account, why not follow for free?
But also I'm on other sites to varying degrees -- so here's the list:
Finally, besides the forums I mentioned earlier, Nerd & Tie has a Discord you can join where I can always be found.
And that's it pretty much? I probably forgot something, but that's it for now.
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