#data points for the data nerds

[scorchieart]

I posted 1,044 times in 2022

That's 1,042 more posts than 2021!

Pffft! No kidding 😅

153 posts created (15%)

891 posts reblogged (85%)

Wow! I really just guestimated that my originals were 15% but... whoo I got it right! Guess this means I need to make more of my own stuff next year, idk.

Blogs I reblogged the most:

atelieredux

aquagirl1978

violettduchess

venulus

scorchieart

*gently places a flower crown on each of your heads*

*patiently waits for Swablu to land on mine*

I tagged 946 of my posts in 2022

Only 9% of my posts had no tags

#ikemen prince - 261 posts

#ikepri - 170 posts

#ikepri clavis - 100 posts

#awesome art - 85 posts

#fic - 83 posts

#ikepri chevalier - 74 posts

#ask scorchie - 72 posts

#top tier comedy - 48 posts

#ikepri leon - 43 posts

#ikepri gilbert - 42 posts

How could Gilbert beat out Evie??

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#i need a scene where one of them actually is about to get sucked into the cold vacuum of space and the other holds onto him for dear life

Aww no, I remember this...

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I'll tell you what stands out, these 2 next to each other.

They look the most like bros out of the lot (aside from the twins, of course). Just think of the shenanigans they'd get up to together.

Unfortunately, all I can think of is them walking through town with sunglasses on while the crowd stops and stares and they go, "Look. Don't touch."

169 notes - Posted October 23, 2022

#4

His Desire, His Fear, His Misbelief.

A Character Study - Part I: Jin, Chevalier, Clavis, Leon

A brief character study of the IkePrinces on the basis of their internal conflicts pushing their journeys forward.

Based on the "Desire, Fear, Misbelief" character template detailed by Abbie Emmons. In short, identifying a character's potential growth in their story arc by defining the key driving forces at the start of their journey in terms of:

Their desire, or the nonnegotiable goal they are trying to accomplish.

Their fear, or the person/thing/idea that's preventing them from achieving their goal.

Their misbelief, or the "bubble" they crafted around their world for the purpose of achieving their goal while avoiding their fear at all costs.

The life-changing event that lined these three up, typically occurring in childhood.

**Disclaimer: I am not a professional writer nor a literary analyst. I have also not read all of the content for these characters in either the English or Japanese versions. I am mostly going off of what we learn from the main story routes and some events. This is merely an exercise in character study that I thought some of you might find interesting ^^

**Also, obvious SPOILER WARNING for pretty much all the Rhodolitian princes' routes, and all the trigger warnings that come with them. Ok, let's begin!

See the full post

249 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

#3

Leon: You're not a very good leader, are you?

Chev: Take that back, Black.

Leon: Name one of your faction members.

Chev: That's easy. Clavis.

Leon: Okay, name another.

Chev: ...

Nokto & Luke: ...

Chev: ...Chevalier Michel

274 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

#2

Silly Headcanons About the Princes as Children

Because I had a long weekend but didn't feel like going to the beach. Daydreaming about mini prince shenanigans is just as fun.

Jin Grandet

Was extremely frugal when he first arrived at the palace, opting out on extravagant apparel and accessories in favor of more drab and practical outfits.  And he only ate the bare minimum during meals to satisfy his hunger.

Everything changed when his first sugar rush attacked. There was a ball at the palace, and Jin laid his eyes on a marvelous 5-tiered buttercream beauty of a cake. It was love at first sight.

It took three servants, two attempts, and one tall glass of warm milk to knock him out and carry him off to bed. By that point, the top four tiers were demolished and nearby mini desserts gobbled up, and everyone went home that night splattered with bits of frosting and cake crumbles. No one likes to remember that evening.

Chevalier Michel

Started his nickname game when he was first learning to speak and couldn’t properly pronounce all the convoluted extended names of the nobility yet. Who has the lung capacity to say “Duke of Over-the-hill, Earl of Just-By-Yonder, Knight of the Square Table, Personal Aide-de-Camp to the Late-Late King, Stuffy McFeatherPants the Third” anyways? 

“Baldy Big Nose” is much more elegant and to the point.

To this day, the nobles make crucially sure to keep track of their nicknames and how they change over the years. It’s a good indication of whether they have fallen out of the prince’s favor.

For example: “Padded Shoulders” probably means you’re safe for now. “Pesky Pupils” means you should consider sending him an expensive gift. “Slithering Maggot” means you need to pack your family and move to Benitoite yesterday.

Clavis Lelouch

Has a soft spot for small animals, so when one unwittingly ends up in one of his traps he does his best to calm it down before releasing it.

If the animal ends up injured, he nurses it back to health before setting it free (or on someone else as another prank). This usually results with him naming the animal and growing attached to it. They become his partners in crime and he relays his grand plans out loud to them like a master and apprentice. These included maps, diagrams, test runs, code names… the whole shebang. 

He also liked to sew tiny matching bandanas to tie around his wrist and his animal companion to signal the mission was go!

Usually kept the animal for much longer after it healed. Sariel makes it a point to do routine sweeps of his room and extract any freeloaders.

Leon Dompteur

Found it much easier to stay awake when someone read to him (I think this is actually canon).

Bonus points if they do voices for the characters. That’s a guaranteed spot on the future domestic faction leader’s friend-list.

Used his princely charms to convince people around him to read history books and old memos and other study material to him. Sariel put an end to this when he saw Leon using his puppy dog eyes to pull ministers out of meetings to read to him.

Would seek out Chevalier to read him stories before bed. Had a 50% success rate getting through the door and a 1% chance of voicing the characters.

Yves Kloss

Used to be the pickiest eater, only preferring foods his wet nurse prepared, until he saw Licht and Nokto struggling with their own meals.

Vowed to create a dish that incorporates carrots that the twins would enjoy.  Tried sneaking it into soups, purees, sauces, gravies, juices, and even desserts. Has not yet found success. 

Through his quest, the doors to Rhodolite’s exquisite culinary history opened to him and he’s been hooked ever since. Is now the first of the brothers to volunteer to try new dishes.

Needless to say, he spent a lot of time in the palace kitchens. Ended up making friends with the stray cats that frequented the back door and the windowsills, and would feed them exorbitantly. Everyday. And on schedule. Well, you try saying no to those cute hungry faces!

Licht Klein

Liked to pretend he was Nokto to get out of dance practice.

Learned to walk before Nokto, and boy did that make him feel on top of the world. He ran (wobbled) circles around his stationary twin, showed off that he could hop, and even managed to stand on one foot for a solid 4 seconds! This lasted a whole 2 days before Nokto caught up.

Once tried to repay Yves for putting so much effort into cooking foods he’d like. He asked Chevalier for an easy-to-follow cookbook, woke up before the cooks and servants, and holed himself up in the kitchen. By the time preparations for breakfast needed to begin, the cooks walked into a war zone. Broken eggshells and yolks littered the floor, flour and cornmeal and different-colored spices coated all the counters and cabinets, and Licht sat in the middle of the kitchen rocking in place, anxiously flipping through the cookbook. Oh yeah, and the oven was on fire. 

See the full post

291 notes - Posted July 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Chevalier's Ambition

What it sounds like on paper:

What it actually is:

See the full post

338 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[anuntamedornitho1d]

i think ianto may have been on to something. i want a stopwatch with a button at the top. imagine needing to time a reflux or something and whipping a literal metal stopwatch out of your lab coat pocket

[essektheylyss]

New fun language learning activities: read Wikipedia pages for philosophical and political theories in your target language, just for kicks.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

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! 💜💜💜

[askshivanulegacy]

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.

[thistaleisabloodyone]

Hm. Does anyone see a trend here?

[saltymarshmall0w]

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.

[liminalweirdo]

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]

[serial-unaliver]

ok this has been bothering my inner loser nerd senses for a while so i'm gonna say it, generative ai does not actually mash peoples content together like a collage. it recognizes patterns in data and generates original content using neural network techniques.

for example, let's say you did actually make an ai based off ao3 fanfics. what the ai would learn to do is not copy and paste your fanfic, but learn to form its own sentences that are coherent in the english language (or whatever language said fics are in). it's essentially like a child learning a language but the child is a robot...a robot who now knows the word "omegaverse" in this specific scenario.

there's genuine concerns to have about generative ai, but it bothers me when people start with inaccurate claims about the technology itself, because like...why? what's the point in the misinformation other than making people more paranoid?

[duelbraids]

a question for fanfic readers

What is the longest you think an individual chapter of a longfic should be, ie, at what point would you balk and not read?

edit: what i've learned from this is that: - my anxiety of long chapters being disliked was unfounded, and i'm fine actually, lol. - my data is likely skewed by virtue of being on the 'hyperliterate nerds' website - people love talking about the long fics they adore and its honestly so sweet <3

edit 2: no one gets to reblog this anymore because people started being fucking mean <3

[mrrecaswife]

Ophelia by Heyser

Late afternoons/evenings with Mr Reca where you two sit down on the couch and watch a movie.

Or more like, you trying to watch a movie while he points out all the flaws in it (or praises it if it's one of his works to flatter his ego, the little shit)

Then, one day, you manage to get an obscure, one of a kind, old series that is set in an ancient period in a blue planet that will not be named for legal reasons.

The story is kind of predictable, or so your lovely director points out. It's some kind of long, 45 minutes to one hour long episodes with a noble vibe that you can't quite shake off. The decors are beautiful, the clothing looks fancy, the plot has a good balance of plot and romance, and the characters are just dreamy, especially the male ones.

You quickly discover after talking to your data obsessed friend that it is a 'regency' style work of art, and you quickly search to get more of it on the net. You dreamed of being in there, with the characters and the landscape, living out an innocent historical fantasy in such a romantic place.

Meanwhile, the gears in the director's head are turning.

If you managed to get into such a setting, for real this time, you would probably swoon all over him like you do with the characters on-screen, right?

So, (after a lot of teasing from your friend, who did help him out of what seems to be pity) after a while, he manages to get a set just like the one on television.

He's practically vibrating with excitement at how this is going to turn out and his imagination is running wild. You will surely love this. As the last preparations are made, he sends you a quick text to meet him at his location.

(the data collector that is your friend is snickering slightly behind her hand. He really is jealous of a mere show, it's so pathetic of him, how cute!)

(when you discover this, you do admittedly end up giving him kisses and swoon all over him. He did work hard for your little daydream to happen, after all.

Mr Reca ends up being very happy and even more excited to start his own movie of this kind with the both of you as the main actors. As glad as you are that there is a new project that interests him, you might have to calm him down a little before he starts harassing your history nerd of a friend (who actually needs to work and not procrastinate for her own sake) to get more info on that period.)

[hbyrde36]

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

[eowynstwin]

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.

[airas-story]

Nerds flirting nerdily: Ironstrange

(and I promise not to point out what I'd do differently this time)

(I know I prompt a lot but I love your writing)

Also Ironstrange flirting but noone else knows it's actually flirting

I TRIED, okay. Science isn't my thing. Flirting is REALLY not my thing. Using science talk to flirt is SO FAR from my thing... Having said that, this made me laugh, so maybe that makes it okay?

“I apologize, Captain Rogers, but the likelihood of me agreeing to that ranks within the infinitesimals.”

Tony leaned back in his chair, glancing at Stephen where he sat two seats down from him, Natasha and Clint between them.

“Seriously, Strange?” Was he seriously using math talk on Steve? Steve would hardly appreciate the answer for the clever line it was. Nothing against Steve, but he lacked knowledge of the finer intricacies.

Stephen arched an eyebrow. “My knowledge of dimensional matters goes beyond the mystic arts, Stark.” There was a look in his eyes, taunting Tony to respond.

Oh god, Stephen was flirting with him.

Tony smirked. “How’s your metallurgy?” he asked. “Because that’s some copper and tellurium math talk you’re using there, but not really up to standard.”

“Tony,” Steve sighed. “Please don’t start this again.”

Stephen’s expression remained neutral, but Tony could see the smile in his eyes. “I do appreciate some good chemistry,” he said. “Exothermic reactions in particular are fascinating.”

“Try Uranium and Iodine,” Tony said promptly. “They’re covalent.”

“Really,” Stephen said, he smirked. “A fascinating hypothesis, Stark. Care to plot some data points on the subject?”

“Is glass liquid?”

Stephen smirked. “Excellent, I’ll see you tonight.”

[ohno-the-sun]

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 those movements became less ordered and more spastic, to the point I couldn’t tell if he was even listening. With every passing day, he seemed to care less and less about those 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 to get out. I could feel every base animal impulse squirm and scream in fear at what I was witnessing. I think I knew exactly 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. 

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-like 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, they 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 buds 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 had 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.

[traegorn]

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.