#enrichment for who? well primarily me

[mamawasatesttube]

we have got to get kon impaled in 7 different places again. as enrichment

[insanelyadd]

#LetSansRest Day!

Hello everyone and welcome to year two of Let Sans Rest Day! Same as last year it's August 9th.

Before we get into some prompts, a little bit of a mission statement. Last year I said this day was for everyone who's a fan of Sans Undertale or anyone who's tired of every image they see of him being him Suffering. This is still true, but I do want to additionally address something I saw a few different people mention.

I have actually received criticism for daring to suggest that Sans not be tormented to the point of insanity, and that this day where I implore people to make realities where Sans doesn't become a creepypasta insane murderer man from the agony he is subjected to, isn't a stand against ableism like Let Papyrus Say Fuck Day is. *stares in bipolar psychosis and PTSD directly into your eyes* Obviously that's a load of shit, and even though Sans is more popular than Papyrus (I say, as a Papyrus Enjoyer) a lot of the content around Sans is very specifically about him suffering. So simply out of spite for these comments (including someone who saw last year's announcement and directly commented "No <3" on the post) I will be continuing this holiday indefinitely, just like LetPapyrusSayFuck Day. Die mad about it.

Just like how I have ADHD and relate to Papyrus and see the way the fandom treats him as the infantilization of neurodivergency like autism and ADHD, I can look at works in this fandom of Sans that demonize traits of mental illness like trauma, hallucinations, delusions, and mania. And I can say these are both bad actually. Not going to call anyone a bad person for engaging in these things, of course, that would be a bit goofy of me, I'm just saying the imagery used for these things is Very Loaded and a lot of people are mishandling them.

So anyways August 9th is the day we let Sans Undertale out of his Torment Nexus so he can:

Have lemonade at the beach or pool

Go stargazing while camping out in the woods with friends and family

Get smothered in cute baby kittens and puppies

Go to therapy and play with one of those magnetic sculptures all therapists seem to own

Take a nap on an inner-tube on a lazy river

Get to see the leaves change color for the first time

Play basketball with Papyrus

Fall asleep in a basket of freshly dried clothes

Go to a public greenhouse to look at all the different flowers on the surface

Perform stand-up for humans who all love his terrible puns

Please tag the post with #LetSansRest, #Sans, and #undertale as well as any other applicable tags for characters, relationships, etc. This day is primarily for classic Sans but it's not like I can stop you from drawing Fell Sans not being subjected to his own, personal, goth-themed Torment Nexus.

This is meant to be a day for everyone who wants Sans Undertale to go to therapy and feel better. People who want to put him in a hamster cage with plenty of things to prank for enrichment. People who want to win him one of those massive stuffed animals at the county fair.

If you want to participate please be mindful of some things:

I will be monitoring the tag to reblog things! I have ptsd and would appreciate if ships involving Papyrus or Frisk (and similar) with Sans are avoided. This is simply for my mental health and I greatly appreciate it. <3

Do Not post angst to the #LetSansRest tag. It is meant to be an angst free tag for him.

Don't worry if you can't participate on the exact day! Just like with #LetPapyrusSayFuck Day you can use the tag and post to it any day! :>

Hope you're able to participate and have fun! <3

[bowtiepastabitch]

Deeply Transgender and Vividly Pornographic: a deep dive into what makes a fic queer

This is a response to the wonderful @ineffabildaddy making this post, which it was originally going to just be a reblog to but once I started approaching a thousand words it was a bit unwieldy so we're just going all the way. If second base is reading their fics and third base is actually talking to your mutuals, I have no clue what this is.

Here's the prompt text that started it all:

Alright, well I am nothing if not a scientist (narrator voice: they were, in fact, a humanities major), so I spent several hours of my weekend putting this together because I'm a burnt out academic and this is the enrichment in my enclosure. Readers, this is going to contain experpts of some very spicy stuff, so stop here if you're not interested. Me bringing porn? To your tumblr dash? It's more likely than you think.

All fics and such referenced will be linked at the bottom of the page.

~~~

Heteronormativity and cisnormativity, while unfortunately the dominant norm for mainstream pornography, make little appearance within the fandom writing spaces I myself spend time in. That's not to say I haven't read my fair shair of painfully straight smut in my lifetime, but simply that I have taste and am lucky to be neck deep in a fandom with very little of it. Nonetheless, as a card-carrying queer and writer myself, I consider myself quite familiar with the distinctive traits and patterns of queer and cishet pornographic writing. Beyond merely a focus on non-male pleasure or the subtle presence of queer or trans characters, the characterization of queer fanfiction is distinct and has entirely different mannerisms in dealing with conceptions of the body and pleasure. I'll primarily be citing Ineffabildaddy's work, for the sake of a focused analysis, who I will henceforth be referring to as Sam for the sake of pseudo-academic flow.

There are certain linguistic patterns that tend to distinguish heterosexual and heteronormative depictions of sex from queer ones. For instance, "cunt" is utilized sparingly within heteronormative contexts for its vulgarity and added obscenity, whilst queer writers use it pretty universally and without the same subtext. Throughout his writing, Sam works with this queer-coded vocabulary pretty consistently. In "Strawberry Scripture" (F/M), he describes how "Crowley's cunt... was damn-near swollen" and how Aziraphale has to resist "Bury[ing] his face in it immediately." No cis-het man has ever thought about eating pussy that way, and if you find one I'll eat my fucking hat. Likewise, vocabulary for the phallic tends to veer in the direction of "cock" over anything else. Interestingly, this creates a set of contrasting pairings. Heteronormative slang, from my obvervation, is more likely to use 'dick' and 'pussy', and, especially in conjunction, it creates a very distinctive mouthfeel that separates the two and poses them as opposites. 'Pussy', in particular, has a much more feminized feel when juxtaposed against 'dick', favoring much softer consonants and the english diminutive 'y' ending. 'Cock' and 'cunt', in comparison, have a very similar sound and feeling to them, distancing itself from hetero-cis-normative gender dualism of the language. There is, of course, plenty of nuance to this and the use of a variety of language in subverting cisnormative ideas about the sexed body as well, with phrases like 'boypussy' and 'girldick' being rather essential to the way many trans people describe their own bodies. "Fandom's Pornagraphic Subset," (yes I'm stealing sources from my research paper on monsterfucking, suck my dick) an article published in 2021 by Silja Kukka, describes how the "fleshy, hyperbolic descriptions of sex" that characterize this kind of writing are essential to what she dubs the "[creation of] a new genderqueer place outside of the gender dichotomy"(57). If you read enough smut, you know exactly what this is talking about. For example, in "Despite Knowing Better,"(F/M) we get vivid imagery to describe the way "streaks of her spit oozed from her mouth even as Aziraphale fucked it"(Ch5) and of "her walls quivering and clenching around him."(Ch3) This level of graphic sexual depiction goes beyond what would be considered 'tasteful' or 'sexy' in a heteronormative concept of pornography.

In terms of tropes, let's do a deep dive into "Strawberry Scripture"(F/M) to find what makes it queer beyond it's apparently straight pairing. To preface, this fic involves both foodplay and monsterfucking, but we're only gonna analyze one. The inherent queerness of monsterfucking is actually something I've written an entire academic paper on, so I suppose I'll start there. There's something very queer and often very trans about subverting the standard playbook of sexual acts, and while kink itself can easily be heterosexual, most monsterfucking falls far outside that category no matter what genital configuration those involved have. Monsterfucking tends to reject the phallocentrism of heteronormativity and mainstream kink by subverting the concept of the human body itself, giving inhuman and monstrous qualities to characters usually for sex appeal or general kinky shenanigans. While there's an argument to be made for heteronormativity still being able to creep into certain spaces, that certainly isn't true for this fic. There's something intrinsically transgressive about creating an erogenous zone out of a feature that would largely be considered horror or 'gross' in any other form of media, which is exactly what Sam does here as he describes the "cool, satiny sensation that the plates of her scales against his tip engendered." The scales are not merely called apon for their invocation of the unusual but to give them an eroticism in and of themselves, with Crowley reaching orgasm through their stimulation. We also slide gently into Monsterfucker territory in "Close (well you couldn't get much closer)" (M/M), where an argument could be made that the most trans-coded element isn't even Crowley's T-dick but instead the presence of a magic angel dildo. (sentences I never thought I'd fucking say but here we are.) There's something deeply transgender about the deconstruction of genital purpose in sex that recontextualizes the gendered body's role in pleasure. It falls into the same semiotic revolution and reclaiming of the body as the changes in language used by trans folks to rename and reidentify the literal physicality of the body by ones own standards (ie T-dick).

Another major trademark in departing from heteronormatized porn is the shift in narrative focus away from penetrative sex. That is, even in paragraphs where the main sex event is penetration, it rarely takes up even half the prose. The majority of narration is focused on surrounding or tangential actions: "the flowing movement of ... hips was sedate and wanton and lusciously provocative,"(1) "watching the muscles which resided there tense and relax alternately with pleasure,"(2) "his tongue stole past his teeth and slid over them,"(3) and "he whispered, his voice aching and curling and stretching for her"(4); all excerpts pulled from moments in which penetration is taking place, yet the concentration is anywhere but. Likewise, the act of penetration itself only takes up a small portion of physical sex acts in the grander scheme of Sam's writing. Instead, we as readers are presented with a vast spread of cock-sucking, pussy-eating, fingering, teasing, frottage, kissing, and more. Contrast this with the cis-hetero norm, where penetrative sex is the endgoal, and any other action is shucked aside to play second fiddle as mere foreplay. It's the reason virginity as a concept is directly tied to the mystical hymen and one's experience with penetration; a straight girl can suck dick a thousand times and still consider herself a virgin. As such, in a piece of pornographic writing where I have significant trouble finding lines to pull specifically and exclusively describing penetration (seriously, try it out yourself), the heterosexual influence is negligible. And yes, I'm talking about all of them. I had to restructure an entire argument that focused on comparing lines from different works because it was so difficult to find them.

So, in conclusion, Sam, love, there is not an ounce of heteronormativity in even the "straightest" of your writing. Congratulations.

Links, in order of reference:

Strawberry Scripture (3)

Fandom's Pornographic Subset, article by Silja Kukka and a great read

Despite Knowing Better... (4)

Close (you couldn't be much closer)

Many Different Ways to Eat an Oyster (1)

I'm Beginning to See the Light (2)

Author's notes, and then I promise I'll leave y'all alone: Hi! This started as a short analysis but quickly became a three(?)(maybe more?) hour labor of love analyzing the things I love most about both Sam's writing and the writing in this community as a whole. Please please please ask me questions, I'm an autistic little bitch and I like knowing things. My ask box? Open. Comments? Open. Reblogs? Open. If you've read this far, I fucking love you and I am kissing you on the mouth right now. Don't worry, my gender is just queer so it's gay no matter what. <3<3<3

[bestworstcase]

Quick question: When and how did you start realizing that fandom tends to be hostile or anti-analysis? Was it just something that happened overtime?

i mean. have you ever made a textually-supported point contradicted by popular fanon? people seethe

but it’s also just sort of baked into what fandom is. the whole concept of ‘headcanon’ is inherently antitextual—things held to be true irrespective of the text—and the whole point of fanworks is to engage transformatively with the text. fandom is explicitly not a community oriented around textual analysis, and while analytical readings can (and do) support and enrich transformative works, they are also just not what fandom is about.

so within fandom receptivity to textual analysis is generally lukewarm and varies widely depending on how closely it happens to align with the fanon, and in my experience fandom has a particular difficulty parsing character analysis outside the blorbo framework (ie liking / disliking / personally identifying with a character).

there is in particular a tendency for analytical readings to get parsed in fandom spaces as critical of the story or the characters being discussed; for example i’ve had explicitly positive character analysis of mine (as in, posts where i directly state my appreciation for or enjoyment of the thing i’m talking about) get reblogged and tagged ‘anti-whatever’ because the thing i’m talking about is, like, a character flaw. or something bad that a character did that caused conflict in the narrative.

and i think that really gets to the heart of the, like, cultural divide between transformative fandom and analytical engagement, because in fandom spaces if you say, for instance, “yang has a hot temper she works hard to keep in check” that is generally going to be understood as a value judgment (either a positive remark on her maturity and emotional discipline or a complaint about her expressions of anger) whereas in an analytical context it’s just an observation that needs to be evaluated in terms of whether the text supports it or not.

the consequence of that is that if i write analytically about the role of anger in yang’s character arc—which is a facet of her that i personally really enjoy and think is done quite well—and if that breaks containment and travels outside of my immediate circle of followers (who presumably follow me because they like reading my analysis and who obv know what i’m about) then odds are it’ll land in front of someone who goes “UGH not ANOTHER person picking on yang for bEiNg AnGrY, she’s got good reasons to be mad when she gets mad and also she doesn’t get mad NEARLY as often as these assholes think” (which is true) (yang almost never loses her temper and she’s very quick to check herself on those occasions; and when she chooses to let it out she’s always justified)—because anger is culturally perceived as bad and the social norm in most fan spaces is that you don’t write lengthy posts focused on a character’s flaws (or ‘flaws’) unless you just think they suck.

(<- this isn’t a hypothetical btw. like i’ve gotten blocked over my yangposting being interpreted in exactly this way grbfksj)

the funny part is that while my analysis intermittently makes people SPITTING MAD, the fanfic i write (which follows from my analysis!) doesn’t. i’m sure there’s plenty of people who don’t like my fanfic, but if i write a character in a way that contradicts the popular fanon what happens is folks will comment stuff like “this is such a cool unique take on this character” brfhkg. and that’s primarily why i think it’s a cultural thing, where textual analysis—with its strict grounding in textual evidence and dismissal of ideas that can’t be supported by the text—gets people’s hackles up bc it’s a) examining the text at an emotional remove and thus hard to parse in a social environment where the primary mode of engagement is driven by emotional attachment to specific characters, and b) often perceived as telling people their headcanons are wrong, which is rude.

(sometimes headcanons ARE wrong, in the sense of being textually refuted. that is the entire point of headcanon. i think the experience of fandom is much improved by keeping this in mind. analysis is never a threat to headcanon because headcanon is supposed to be transformative. equally, headcanon is irrelevant to analysis because analysis is strictly concerned with the text.)

more broadly i just find fandom culture to be interesting in and of itself. so in addition to participating in fandom directly i also lurk a lot and pay attention to cross-fandom phenomena (e.g. migratory sapphic and slash shippers) and read discussions about fandom and that sort of thing. and i think approaching fandom from that perspective, it’s sort of a what it says on the tin situation; fandom is transformative by definition, ‘fuck canon’ is an ubiquitous meme, fanon… exists at all as a concept and is widely celebrated as superior to canon, AUs are terrifically popular, “fix-it” fics are terrifically popular, etc etc.

so i don’t think my view here is even unusual necessarily except insofar as i articulate it in a very precise (and perhaps pedantic) way. like the average person in fandom is probably aware that playing in the sandbox is different from constructing a lego set and that people in the sandbox are, as a general rule, not all that keen to make sand castles in strict accordance with the lego instructions. because it’s sand. lmao

[usmsgutterson]

Achilles Heel - Givenson

oooookay!! This is the second chapter of this work. If you missed the first chapter, this chapter probably won't make sense, and if you'd prefer to read it on ao3 here's the link!

fic type - this is, once again, like if hurt/comfort and fluff had a weird child of neutrality

warnings - just like the last chapter--alcoholism and it's adverse effects are discussed (heart attack is mentioned a lot in this one and once is used for a dark humour-y kind of joke, the root cause for it is revealed and specified a bit more, and the seizure is mentioned at least once) tims time in the military is discussed a little, PTSD manifests as an anxiety attack and a bit like a flashback at the same time. Tims childhood trauma is discussed so physical abuse, as well as mental and verbal abuse are mentioned. There are a few mentions of guns in correlation to said trauma and a lot of talk about booze in the general sense.

“Well,” Rachel says as she enters Tims apartment a week later, having gotten in using the spare key he’d surrendered to her seven weeks beforehand. “That explains the kitten formula in your truck.”  

He’s lounging on his couch wearing an old pair of cargo pants and a shirt that he’d gotten when he first joined infantry two and a half decades back—it's one with the military logo on it as well as his unit number from those days. It's one of the only things he got from his military days apart from the PTSD and it's only something he wears when there's just about nothing else, but it's laundry day in the Gutterson manor so he's decided to give himself a pass.

“Found her in the engine of my truck,” Tim says. “After my last appointment with Alexander. Any new leads?”  

“WIth the Boyd case? Nah,” she says, objecting to sit on the floor in the space between Tims couch and his coffee table because Tim has sprawled out over his couch and has the kitten on his chest. “Figured I’d get Raylan’n we’d come and bug you for a while, try to get inside Boyds head a little bit.”  

“There in lies the reason you left the door unlocked,” Tim nods, having noticed she left it unlocked after she came in. “Are Dunlop, Stevens and Marino invited to this meetin’ of ours?”  

“They don’t know Boyd as well as we do,” Rachel shrugs. “What’s the furballs name?”  

“Her name is Roulette,” Tim answers. “Found her in the engine of my truck so I figured it would be funny if I named her after a transformer, and she was almost named Megatron, so I feel like I could’ve done worse.”  

Roulette is a cat of five weeks old who’s got a calico pattern of primarily orange and black with some white on her chin, stomach, and paws. She meows at pretty much all hours of the day and has given Tim’s heart a few jumpstarts since he’d found her in the engine of his truck, as well as having costed him nearly $600 in vet bills across four appointments.  

“You could’ve,” Rachel shrugs again. “She’s cute, for what it’s worth.”  

“Yeah, and she keeps me off the booze,” he says. “You told Raylan the full story yet?”  

“No,” she says. “Figured I’d leave that to you. Has he stopped trying to get details?”  

“Mostly,” Tim shrugs, rapidly opening and closing his fist in lieu of enrichment for Roulette so that he doesn’t have to think about Raylan more than he already has been.  

“You gonna tell him anything, ever?”  

“The way I see it, he doesn’t know right now and he can go on blissful in his ignorance. If I tell him, he’ll just get mad nobody told him when it happened. Act like he woulda been on a plane down here with the drop of that stupid fuckin’ stetson had you or anyone else called.”  

“You don’t think he woulda meant it, had he said it?”  

“Not really, no,” it kind of hurts to admit, but it’s the truth. Tim doubts that Raylan would’ve been at his bedside had Rachel called him, doesn’t even think he’d pick up the damn phone had Rachel gone against Tims wish and called him anyway. “I think that he’d say he would’ve, but I also think that if I looked him in the eye when he spoke, I’d see that he wouldn’t mean it.”  

“You’re only sayin’ that because of that weird little affair you two had goin’ on on and off while he was around,” Rachel says. “I notice things, Tim, and it was damn near impossible not to notice that.”  

Tim smiles, his chest slightly aching. “Careful, Rachel,” he says cautiously. “Don’t need my heart givin’ out at the reminder of that whole mess.” He says it with a clear intent in his head—get Rachel the fuck away from talking about their relationship, even if it means they talk about The Incident again,  

“Don’t make jokes like that,” Rachel says. She grabs one of the stupid decorative magazines Tim keeps on his coffee table for appearances sake and thwacks him over the head with it before she sets it back down and Tim finds himself celebrating it silently. Talking about the attack and the seizure is, for some reason, better than talking about Raylan. “Your heart attack wasn’t funny, neither was seein’ you in the middle of a damn seizure covered in your own fuckin’ vomit. I know you like a bit of dark humour, but—you gotta understand my perspective. You lived, sure, but when I walked into that bathroom, I thought you were gonna die on me. I can’t have that.”  

“I know,” he says, letting his voice take on a gentle tone as Roulette the kitten bites his finger. It’s a tone reserved for Rachel and Roulette alike, something that Raylan Givens has never heard a day in his life. “I’m sorry.”  

Waking up from the heart attack was scary enough—he couldn’t remember much about before he’d passed out apart from the drinking and the chest pain he’d thought nothing of, figuring it was a harmless side effect of the booze. Then he turned his head to the right and saw Rachel and guilt opened it’s gnarly mouth and damn near swallowed him whole.  

He doesn’t think about it much—can't unless he wants to go down a spiral that'll induce a second heart attack—but Rachels perspective of the events of that night were chronicalized so that Tim could try and jog his memory and try as he might, seven weeks gone from the day he woke up in the hospital and he has yet to forget the words she wrote on that piece of paper.  

He remembers the way her hand shook as she wrote in the notepad, remembers the steeled, determined expression on her face, completely and totally determined not to show weakness despite it all.  

“It was terrifying,” Rachel says. “Don’t you ever put me through that again.”  

Roulette the cat curls up on his chest and starts purring up a storm, and Tim reaches out, gives Rachels shoulder a squeeze.  

“You and I have spent the last eleven years since Raylan left saying that the only way we’d ever leave Kentucky was if we were transferred out by force, or we were shufflin’ out the same way we’d shuffle off’a this mortal coil, in a body bag,” Rachel says. “You promised me that once, that you’d stop being reckless.”  

“I didn’t keep that promise,” Tim says. “I know. I’m an ass at my best, Rachel. You know that.”  

“I like that about you, usually,” Rachel shrugs. “I can’t shake it, though. Every time I walk in here I get scared I’m gonna see you in the bathtub again, vomit all over your chin and your heart having gave out. I’m sorry to be a burdensome chief and friend, but I can’t deal with that alone anymore.”  

“You’re not burdensome,” Tim says. “Do you—would it—you need me to tell Raylan, for your sake, don’t you?”  

Rachel smiles. “If you wanna tell him, you can.”  

“If he wants to tell me what?” Rachel and Tim both flinch at the sound of his voice, and the sound of the door closing behind him wakes up Roulette, who protests the sleep disruption by getting on her feet and meowing as loud as her little lungs will let her.  

Tim sits up. Raylan sits across from Rachel, his gorgeous brown eyes piercing Tims in a way that makes the ache in his chest intensify.  

Tim looks at Rachel silently. Please don’t make me tell him.  

Rachel looks back at Tim. I don't think you have another option.

Tim takes a deep breath in, tries to will himself into some version of less irritated.

“You need to do a better job of making your presence known when you’re entering someones goddamn home,” Tim says, tone a bit angrier than he means for it to be. “You--it’s not—you are not allowed to freak out. No yelling, no glaring—if I see your nostrils flare or one hand gesture while you talk at me, you are picking your ass up off my floor and getting the fuck out of my apartment.”  

Roulette settles in Tims lap. Tim takes a breath in, and Raylan nods.  

“Must be serious,” Raylan says. “You have a deal.”  

“Seven weeks ago I had a heart attack,” Tim says. He watches Raylans face contort in shock, then disbelief, then anger all the space of thirty total seconds. “Rachels the one that found me, and if it weren’t for her, I’d probably be dead.”  

“And--what--” Raylans lips form an angry line and he directs the anger at Rachel first. “He had a heart attack and—seven weeks! Seven weeks and neither of you called?”  

Tim immediately takes the defense. “Hey! Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t. If you’re gonna be angry at anyone, be angry at me. Rachel isn’t the one at fault here, and neither of us called because we didn’t see the point. You have a life in Miami, Raylan, forgive me for not calling because you have a kid and a job and a thousand different reasons as to why you wouldn’t’ve been able to drop everything and visit a coworker you haven’t worked with in more than a decade.” By the time Tim finishes, he’s out of breath but he decides it’s worth it.

He can see that his words touch a nerve, too. “You know that’s bullshit,” Raylan says. “I would’ve come running the minute Rachel asked, or the minute you did. You had a heart attack, Tim. That’s not just anything. You could’ve died.”  

“He didn’t,” Rachel says. “Calm your ass down, Raylan. I need you to focus on Boyd right now—he could be headin’ this way and we need at least an outline of a game plan to take to Mariano, Stevens and Dunlop in the morning. You know him best, so you’re at least in charge of ideas.”  

Raylan turns his glare to Tim. "I want details about this, the second you get a chance," he says. "You don't get to tell me you had a heart attack like it's as simple as asking me about the damn weather."

Tims lips form a line. He bites the inside corner of his mouth in silent protest and hates how every single emotion Raylan feels or has ever felt is displayed in his eyes. As he gives a begrudging, mildly aggressive, singular nod, he sees care that goes back a decade and anguish lingering somewhere in Raylans eyes and almost hates him for still caring after so long.  

“Fine,” he says. “Now--let’s do our jobs for an hour or two, why don’t we?”  

Rachel reaches up, scoops Roulette out from Tims lap and tucks her into the space under her chin. “I like that idea,” she intones, looking pointedly at Raylan.  

- 

That night, they do manage to get somewhere and the following day, Tim wakes up feeling refreshed and optimistic.  

Rachel does the mean thing, though. She sends him and Raylan down to Harlan to interrogate witnesses as a few have come forward with having seen Boyd down at what used to be Johnny Crowders bar, before Boyd had him killed across state lines.  

The drive to Harlan starts out silent, but Tim can tell Raylan has things he wants or needs to say, so half an hour in, he breaks the silence of his own volition.  

“All right,” he says, putting his hands up in mock surrender and glancing at Raylan, who’s sitting in the drivers seat. “That’s it—I'm done dealin’ with this. You say what you need to say to me while we’re in this damn car, and when we get to Harlan and have to step out, we get real civil with each other real quick because I spent a decade in the damn military. I can handle silences, Raylan, just as well as I can handle havin’ to sleep on a freezin’ mountain in Afghanistan or sitting in the scorching heat in Iraq, but I can’t handle ‘em when it’s clear you have shit to say and you expect me to listen but you ain’t sayin’ none of it.”  

“Why didn’t you call?” Raylan asks.  

“I didn’t think you’d come if I did,” he answers. “You say that you woulda but—it's like I said last night. You have a job, a kid, and a thousand other things keepin’ you in Miami. I didn’t think you’d come, didn’t wanna risk gettin’ my heart broken again, and didn’t wanna waste your time when I came out the other end just fine.”  

“What triggered it?”  

“Got home at midnight, drank my way through three entire bottles of Jack Daniels, a sixer of beer and an entire bottle of peach wine that my sister had sent along last Christmas,” he answers. “Guessin’ that was too much. My BAC was 0.38.”  

Raylan glances at Tim. Tim returns the gesture and their gazes meet.  

“You should’ve called,” he says. “Knowing you how I do--”  

“How you used to,” Tim cuts. “Knowing me how you used to know me—what? What are you gonna say, Raylan. You best make it believable because if you know me as well as you think you do, you know I’m gonna be able to see right through it if you’re lyin’ to me. Don’t do that.”  

“Knowin’ you how I used to to—the Tim that I knew woulda called in a heartbeat,” Raylan says. “That guy—he knew I’d drop everythin’ to get to him, no matter how far away I was.”  

Tim leans back in his seat, looks at Raylan through a lense more skeptical than he ever thought himself capable.  

“Yeah?” He asks, voice even, tone practically showing off the fact that he’s looking for a fight. “I don’t think you knew the guy I was back then, either. If you think I thought that way for longer than half a second before I came to my senses, you’re as dumb as I was goin’ into the fuckin’ military thinking it’d fix all of my issues instead of load me up with more of ‘em. I was eighteen then, Raylan. I have an excuse. What excuse do you have at 56?”  

It’s a low blow, and Tim knows that. It hurting as much as it does is the intention, and the hurt is, just like all of his other emotions, clearest in Raylans eyes. 

“That’s hardly fair,” Raylan says. “I would’ve--”  

“You keep saying that,” Tim cuts. “You’re saying it like you’re trying to make yourself believe it. I’ve got a decade of military experience under my belt and sixteen years total with the Marshals, Raylan. I pick up on that shit. Half of the sentences you’ve spoken have begun with ‘I would’ve’ like this is some sort of hypothetical. It’s not.”  

Raylan goes to defend himself, but Tim cuts him off again.  

“It’s not a hypothetical. I drank myself into a heart attack, had a seizure amidst that mess, and then when I woke up in the hospital after almost dying with Rachel sitting at my bedside as the one and only person who has consistently stuck by me whether or not I wanted her to, I told her not to call,” he says. “That--that is the reality. I don’t give a damn what you think you would’ve done had I called, whether you’re telling me that you would’ve dropped everything so that you can eventually get to a point where you believe the shit you’re spewin’ or if you actually mean it. I’m done with this conversation, Raylan. I had a heart attack, I didn’t want you there, and that’s that.”  

He’s lying, but at least he acknowledges that with himself.  

He’d told Rachel not to call Raylan and when she could see that Tim wanted him there, she offered to do it anyway. He said no again, insisted that she go home so she didn’t have to deal with the mess he’d made of himself by drinking himself into heart failure. When she refused and pretty much put her foot down, Tim had known he had no choice. He was in bed for the following few days recovering, a big part of him yearning for Raylan more than he’d ever admit to anyone, let alone Raylan himself.  

“Just--let me have this one thing,” Raylan says. “If you’d called, or if you asked Rachel to, what do you think would’ve happened?”  

Tim glares at Raylan for a second but gives in nonetheless. “All right,” he says. “Fine. I’ll play your game, but we’re doing this my way. Had Rachel been the one to call you after the ambulance had carted me off, she’d’ve called you at about quarter to seven in the morning. It’s pretty much obligation to have your ringer on in our line of work, but would you have picked up the phone that early?”  

“Yep,” Raylan says. Tim searches his face and finds he’s telling the truth.  

“All right,” he shrugs. “Would you have, our history with or notwithstanding, called Dan to tell him you wouldn’t be able to make it to work that day and gotten on the earliest flight you could get?”  

“Absolutely,” Raylan says, even nodding that time. If he’s trying to convince Tim, he’s doing too good a job at it. “Without hesitation.” 

“And--would you have stayed for at least a week, if not two, had I asked?”  

“Yeah,” Raylan gets this really sincere look in his eye when he meets Tims gaze again, and Tim swallows thickly. It’s shit like that that got his heart broken a decade past, and he’s not about to let anything like that go down again, especially not when Raylans only in Kentucky because of Boyd and would otherwise be content in avoiding it for the rest of his life. “You done?”  

“Yeah,” he says. “All right—let's play it your way. Ask me your question again.”  

“If you’d called or asked Rachel to do it, what do you think would’ve happened?”  

“Well--the Raylan I knew a decade ago would probably take at least a few minutes to answer the phone especially if he were asleep and even more so if he’d taken the day off,” Tim answers. “I don’t think you woulda picked up and I think Rachel would get tired of dialin’ your number after the fourth time, which is being generous as to her patience as I know it. I think, despite the fact that I’d had a heart attack and wasn’t picked up til about quarter to seven, even if Rachel called, when you missed the call and woke up about two hours later, you’d be in my hospital room for four thirty just like she was.”  

“Four-thirty ain’t bad.”  

“I had a heart attack and was carried away at almost seven. Had Rachel called when the ambulance came and you failed to call her back until about nine then you didn’t get into Kentucky til 4:30, it’s still bullshit. Gate to gate, Miami to Lexington is two and a half hours. What exactly coulda been more important than flyin’ in to see me that leads you to wait about four hours to catch a plane?”  

“Callin’ Dan, first off,”  

“Takes fifteen, tops. Provided you don’t shower, you can do it while you get dressed.”  

“Then Winona--”  

“That is another fifteen minutes,” Tim says. “Half an hour if it’s your week with Willa. Adding in that time, ten to two o’clock is still three hours.”  

“You’re being pedantic,” Raylan says, exasperated.  

“You used to love that about me,” Tim says, and he knows it’s the truth. Raylan had said it a few times back in the day and it's because of how odd it was that the compliment had stuck with him.

“Didn’t particularly like being your partner for a year and a half, then two years later being the rebound to your rebound.”  

“Our--” love affair? Relationship? Those words to describe it feel juvenile because he knows it was more but can’t find the word to describe ir, and partner doesn’t feel right, either. “--Thing had ended eight months before I even so much as thought about Mark like that. Do me a favour and either shut up or avoid making this into something it’s not.” 

“I’m not--” Raylan shrugs. “I just—you shot Colt over it, Tim.”  

“My motivations for shooting someone who was pointin’ a gun at me are absolutely none of your concern,” Tim rebuts. “And--it wasn’t like that.”  

“What was it like, then?”  

“It was—damnit, Raylan,” Tim laughs. He and Raylan began a weird friends-with-benefits type deal around the tail end of his first year in the Marshals service. That lasted all of a year and a half, give or take, and eight months later after they'd stopped, into his fourth year, Mark had called him for something unrelated to the debts he owed from his days of active addiction.  

He and Mark had only really fooled around a bit but in true Tim Gutterson, unwaiveringly loyal to anyone who he thinks deserves it style, he felt something real and true. It was there, and it lingered for far longer than Tim was comfortable with, and when Tim had shown up to the scene where Mark and his dealers body were both dead, that feeling evaporated without choice but simultaneously without incident.  

“How long after you shot him were you on my doorstep, just barely sober enough to make the drive over?”  

“Almost eight months,” Tim grits his teeth.  

“And--what you two had—the grief you felt, it was gone by then?”  

“You and Mark are two different people,” Tim says. “I’ve never spent much time on grief, Raylan, so yeah.”  

“Did the military teach you that?”  

“Bein’ raised in southern Indiana with siblings who ain’t spent a day in their lives worth their salt and parents who are somehow worse taught me that,” Tim rebuts. “I grieved Mark once, now shut up before I shoot you and have to grieve you twice.”  

Raylan, at least, does as Tim asks. He stops talking and the car stays quiet for the rest of the trip down to Harlan.  

- 

Raylan does the nice thing and lets Tim deliver the news, citing a need for coffee and telling him he’d bring one back around for Tims sake because they’ve finally gotten somewhere.  

Tim knocks on Rachels door with a big, stupid smile, and when she lets him come in, her expression remains neutral.  

“You get a lead?” She asks.  

“We did,” Tim nods. “A few, actually. Locals at what used to Johnnys Bar but is now a veterans bar named Kingstons gave us leads that put Boyd near Louisville but comin’ in hot.”  

“You said you had a few,” she says. “Please tell me you got one better than that or that someone elaborated with specifics as to Boyds current whereabouts even though the initial lead already put him in Harlan?”  

Tim sits down in the chair opposite her desk, grin big and wide and stupid—he's gotten himself a victory. It’ll be something positive to bring up with Alexander, who asks him for something positive at the beginning of every single Friday session.  

“Other lead puts Boyd a little more’n four hours outta Harlan,” Tim says. “Holed up in a pay-by-the-hour style motel called Charlies out in an Indiana spot called Crawford. The first lead I gave you was elaborated by someone—that lead says Boyds in Louisville but will be sniffin’ around Lexington in a couple’a days, when it becomes safer to do so, and he’ll only stay around Lexington for half a day before he heads down to Harlan, gets in touch with a few old contacts he used to have and waits it out.”  

“What’s Crowder got to wait for?”  

“More’n a decade gone and he still wants Raylan dead,” Tim shrugs. “Says the good patrons at Kingstons, anyway. Raylan and Ava are his biggest targets and try as he might, he apparently can’t find any leads as to Avas whereabouts. I say we put Nelson, Marino and Stevens on the Crawford lead.”  

“’N you, Raylan and I go check out Louisville? I like that brain of yours even when I know it’s primary objective is avoiding Indiana in it’s entire,” Rachel laughs. “Only took two weeks’n we managed to get somewheres good. Did the Louisville lead get you anywhere else?”  

“A few of his local haunts, all of which are primarily way out in the country,” Tim says. “It’s not a lot, but it’s good. More than we’ve had the last two weeks, at least.”  

Rachel nods. “You’n Raylan managed not to kill each other,” she says. “That’s good too. You two have it out?”  

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “We did, kind of.”  

“Kind of?”  

“He said his piece, I said mine,” Tim shrugs. “It’s not—we're not—it's not like it was. No hard feelings or let downs or—well—I fuckin’ hate it when you put me on the spot.”  

“Yeah, you do,” Rachel nods. “But Raylan texted asking me to make sure you don’t leave til he comes back with your coffee, so I’m doin’ it for his sake. You got an appointment with Alexander tonight?”  

“Eight through nine,” Tim says. “Or nine thirty, or ten, depending on how long I need to talk for. Raylans gonna come over once I’m done with it, and we’re going do the thing we would’ve done had the—thing—never happened. We’re gonna catch up for a bit, and the only Corona I’m having tonight is nonalcoholic.”  

“Nonalcoholic booze and pizza from—let me guess—Antonios? You lucky, lucky bastard,” Rachel smiles.  

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “How much longer do you think Raylan is going to take?”  

“The VFW is like—it's closer to the office than your apartment is,” Rachel says, tone skeptical. “What is it? Does coffee still make your chest hurt?”  

“Only if I drink it right after a run or right before or right after I’ve eaten,” Tim says. “Or if I drink too much. Just kind of—wantin' to get there, you know? They do have free decaf.”  

Rachel laughs. “What is it, really? Don’t lie to me and tell me you miss Roulette.”  

“Is a guy not allowed to miss the kitten he finds in the engine of his truck?”  

“Who, Roulette?” Raylans voice comes through the room as he enters and Tim jumps.  

“Damn it, Raylan!” He curses. “I had a heart attack seven weeks ago. You are not allowed to do that to me.”  

“Yeah,” Rachel says. “Roulette the kitten.”  

“She’s cute,” Raylan smiles. “Was always more of a dog person, but cats are the self sufficent type so I always debated gettin’ one.” 

“I didn’t pick her,” Tim says. “Found her in the engine of my truck after therapy.”  

Raylan sets down a drink tray and passes them out accordingly, giving Rachel hers first and then passing Tims to him.  

“You said coffee makes your chest hurt—I did decaf,” Raylan says. “Dunno if it’ll make much of a difference, but I figured I’d try anyway.”  

“What would—what would thirty-four year old Tim Gutterson say if he learned that forty-five year old Tim Gutterson couldn’t drink coffee without chest pain?” Rachel asks, tone teasing.  

“He’d make fun of me, no doubt,” Tim shakes his head. “Probably do the smart thing’n assume it wasn’t just age and then lose his shit at me upon learnin’ I drank us into a heart attack at forty-five years old. Then again—that dumbass has still been out of the military less time than he was in it for and he has no fuckin’ clue what’s comin’.”  

Raylan laughs and sits down to Tims right. Tim takes a sip of his coffee and hates how perfect it is. 

“Time check?” Tim asks. Raylan glances at the clock.  

“Quarter to eight,” he says. “We’ve got you for what—five more minutes, if not eight, am I right?”  

“I never went to the VFW while you were kickin’ shit up here through the beginning to the middle of the twenty-fuckin'-tens, how the fuck do you know that?”  

Raylan shrugs, smirking gently. “Guessed,” he says. “Not my fault I got it right.”  

“Bullshit,” Tim sing-songs. “Nope. No way. Did Art call? He knows I’ve been goin’.”  

“You still talk to Art?” Rachel asks. “I mean—more than once or twice very few months?”  

“He calls me every other week,” Tim shrugs. “Found out I was booze free and just about demanded he be my sponsor. I think he’s discovered how boring retirement is in the last decade since his age forced him out of the service, and now he’s projecting that onto me.”  

“You tell him about ‘The Incident’?” Raylan asks.  

“No,” Tim answers. “With how big your goddamned mouth is, I was hopin’ you’d do it.”  

“Whys he think you’re sober, then?”  

“I dunno,” Tim shrugs again. “Haven’t asked and don’t intend to.”  

Rachel laughs. “What’re you gonna do, if Raylan does tell him? Say Raylan assumes your accusation and insult are open season on tellin’ Art everything he knows, and then Art calls you all pissed off?”  

“I’m going to be dodgin’ those calls like Avas managed to dodge the US Marshals service’ locatin’ her for the past eleven goddamned years,” Tim says. “Not for eleven years, though. Eleven days, at most.”  

Rachel laughs a bit more, and Tim checks the clock before getting up in a manner that’s almost too excited.  

“Ah, it would be time,” Rachel says. “You meet Raylan and I back here for seven, all right? Louisville is only an hour and some change away, but we need as much daylight as we can get if we wanna get Boyd before he does some serious damage.”  

Tim smiles, nods, grips his to-go cup of coffee just a tad tighter than usual, and heads out.  

He makes it to the VFW with a minute to spare, is walking through Alexanders open door for eight on the dot.  

“Something positive,” Alexander says in a voice that’s almost singsonging it but not quite there.  

“We got a break in the case we’ve been workin’,” Tim says, closing the door behind him before he plops down onto Alexanders couch. “Two weeks of nothin’ and finally—we got somewhere! I’m so happy right now I could just—I could pour all of the booze in my fridge out like I’ve been meaning to do for seven weeks now.”  

“I really hope you’ll do that once you get home,” Alexander says. “Now for the heavy stuff. You been thinkin’ much about your time in the military in recent?”  

“Not since Wednesday,” Tim smiles, tight lipped, and moves into a laying down position so he can stare at the ceiling because doing that, oddly, always helps. “Bet I’m about to start, though, aren’t I?”  

Alexander gives a hearty laugh. “Monday and Wednesday we focused on your time in the infantry,” he says. “We’re not doing this structured in any particular way and you’ve had a rough few weeks and I thought we’d hit infantry first, child and teenhood trauma second, then rangers trauma last. Today is child and teenhood trauma day, likely much to your chagrin.”  

Tim takes a deep breath in. A full hour spent talking about all the ways in which his father failed him? He can handle that. Totally.  

“Okay,” Tim nods.  

“All right,” Alexander says. “First and foremost, when did you get the idea to take the ASVAB?”  

“I was—it was January of my senior year,” Tim says. “I’d grown up in an awful environment and joinin’ the military seemed like the only way out. I figured I’d take the test, join on the day I hit eighteen and then be set to go from there.”  

“How bad was your life at home?”  

“My father drank almost all the time,” Tim says. “Every single day, unless my grandparents came around.”  

“How did your mother feel about the drinking?”  

“She hated it,” Tim says it earnestly, almost hates admitting that he’d been around his family long enough to make that observation because that—by default, that means the eighteen years he’d spent under their roof were absolute shit instead of just inherently bad or difficult. “She and my old man used to get into fights over it all the time.”  

“Did those fights ever become physical?”  

“No--my father always told my brother and I traditional shit like ‘boys don’t cry’ and ‘don’t ever hit a woman!’,” Tim sighs. “My brother turned out to be worse about the alcohol than my father was, and I turned out gay, so my hitting a woman has become something of very little concern over the years, but that’s besides the point. My father never laid a hand on her; verbal and psychological abuse suited his needs just fine.”  

“And you thought that joining the military was your golden ticket?”  

“Yeah,” Tim nods. He clenches and unclenches his fists, needing something to do to distract his mind, even if that distraction is momentary. “I did. I was seventeen when I took the test, barely more than eighteen when I joined up.”  

He’d joined the week after he’d graduated, four days after his birthday. He could operate a gun and knew the precise mechanisms and tools required for cleaning one before he could legally drink in the very USA that he spent a decade serving.  

“How did your family feel about it?”  

“I left my childhood home the night before I was due in Georgia for basic,” Tim answers. “I’d told my mother—she was scared shitless but she knew there was nothing that’d stop me. My father tried by attempting to barricade me into my bedroom from the outside in, but I just climbed out the window. Neither of them liked it, but they had different reasons.” 

“What are those reasons?”  

“My mother didn’t want me to go because the idea of me dyin' scared her shitless,” Tim laughs. “She didn’t wanna lose me to the military, and no matter how much I reassured her, nothing did the trick.”  

He sits up, slides his hands down his face and plants his elbows on his knees.

“My father hated it because it meant he couldn’t control me anymore, and he didn’t realize that until he saw what little of my life I cared to bring along tucked into a suitcase, the rest of it sold or donated.”  

“Did you ever see your dad again after you left?”  

“He died before I got back from Basic,” Tim shrugs, leans back, tries to force himself to relax even though nothing does the trick. “I wasn’t even there for the funeral.”  

“Do you wish you had been?”  

“Not even a little,” Tim admits, laughing a bit, fighting the anxiety that’s creeping up on him just like it always does when he talks about his childhood or his parents, or those last very tepid few days before he joined the military. “My mother played the grieving widow and my siblings and I grieved in our own ways—Keith took to the very menial amount of booze that my father had left behind, I went to the shooting range everyday until my anger subsided and Lisa poured herself into her degree. My mother inherited the house, I inherited a few of the guns he’d wave around to scare us as kids, my brother claimed his booze collection and my sister claimed the law school textbooks he kept in his study.”  

“All right,” Alexander smiles. “Seems like we’re getting somewhere and we’ve barely been here fifteen minutes! Nice.”  

Tim knows it’s a ploy to get him to relax—he can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way that his teeth are clenched and his jaw is set.  

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “I don’t wanna lose momentum and I’d rather just get this out in the open so I don’t have to think about it—so—next thing.”  

“Tell me more about your families structure,” Alexander says. “As a start.”  

“Lisas the oldest—she's five years older than I am so she’d be fifty by now, if not close to it,” Tim says. “She sends booze at Christmas in a bid to win me over so I give her the house but we don’t talk so I can’t really remember her birthday anymore. Keith is forty-seven.”  

“Do you and Keith talk?”  

“He calls me once every few months,” Tim shrugs. “I should really stop pickin’ up the phone, but—he's my brother, you know?”  

“It can be hard to let go of family ties,” Alexander nods. “How did your siblings feel about you bein’ in the military?”  

“Keith thought it was cool. He joked a few times that I’d be the only one in our family to ever make it out of Indiana. He was right and sometimes I hate him for it a little bit, you know?” Tim says. “If Lisa felt anything, she didn’t show it—the opposite of love is indifference, and sometimes I think that's all she's ever felt."

Alexander laughs a little. Tim, absently, finds that he'd rather shrivel up and die than divulge more of his childhood or teenage years, but he does it anyway for his own sake.

Alexander asks him more about his family, and Tim tells him everything he wants to know, dissociating his way through the process because of how mentally draining it gets.  

He talks about his first ever time seeing a gun—he was seven, his father was pissed, and he was threatening to kill everyone in the kitchen a la murder suicide—and then the first time he ever watched his father get so angry over something he felt the need to scream—he'd been nine, it was because a candle his mother had lit had been left to burn til the wick was put out by being submerged under the wax—and then went on further to talk about the explosive reactions his father had to every academic failing during his middle and high school years, the way that his father used to smile when Tim would flinch and how by the time he was seventeen, he stopped flinching and learned that just staring straight ahead was the best option because eventually, his father would get bored of his torments and either go locate his mother or go to his study.  

When he’s done, it’s 9:30 and he’s drank the coffee Raylan had gotten him in it’s entire. He leaves the VFW with a certain kind of weight in his chest, the kind he’d’ve drank away if he could still drink without fearing one sip would send his heart into overdrive.  

- 

Fourteen hours later, they have a lead at last. Raylan and Tim are cooperating with each other and despite the fact that Raylan, ever one to enjoy the front passengers seat, has been booted to the middle back seat of Tims truck, things are going decently.  

After spending a good three or so hours in Louisville, they have a concrete lead that will place Boyd in or around Harlan come nightfall. He’ll be at Kingstons bar and Rachel has decided to have Tim and Raylan there while she waits posted with Dunlop, Stevens and Marino just down the road from Avas old place, just in case Boyd swings by on the off chance the lead was wrong.  

What used to be known as Johnny Crowders bar among the locals is now Kingstons, a spot not too unlike the VFW: only vets and their guests are permitted entry.  

He and Raylan linger at a table near the back, Tim nursing a nonalcoholic modelo—which, having drank the alcoholic version of the same, he will never understand Rachels preference for Modelo over Corona or just about any other beer on the market—and Raylan is drinking a bourbon.  

They’re in a spot just hidden enough to not be visible from the door but visible if you take a seat at the bar and decide to look around a little bit. Raylan isn’t wearing his hat, thankfully, and Tim is dressed as nondescript as he can be, wearing a pair of black jeans, the same green carhartt he’d decided to wear upon going back to the VFW for therapy, and a black leather jacket because it’s fuckin’ mid-October in Kentucky and therefore, cold.  

He’s deep in thought like he always is whenever he’s surrounded by people who’ve had experiences similar to his own, and Raylan is quick to pick up on that.  

“Relax,” Raylan says, his voice gentle. “I can see the cogs turning in your fried veteran brain.”  

“My brain’s not fried, my heart is,” Tim rebuts. “And--there are no cogs to turn anyway. I’m fine.”  

“Are you?” He’s thinking about his time in the rangers after hearing a few guys his age talk about their time only a table or two away, so he’s not, but he’s not going to tell Raylan that.  

“Yes,” Tim says, albeit a little forcefully. “I’m good. You don’t need to worry about me—I'm asking you not to worry about me.” 

In truth, his mind is on his second tour in Afghanistan and his second-last tour with the military as a whole. He’s somewhere between the glint of the scope on his rifle and laughing with Mark on base, feeling his shoulder touch Marks as he finally eases up enough to be capable of sleeping through the night.  

Raylan shrugs. “You seem jumpy,” he says. Tim picks up the Modelo, takes a sip and fights his grimace. He’s going to finish it no matter how much he dislikes the damn thing—it costed him too much not to drink it entire.  

“I’m not,” Tim denies. He has half a mind to tell Raylan the truth but he doesn’t. Raylans not a vet, he wouldn’t understand, he works in law enforcement. but he’s always lived a civilian lifestyle--or at least these are the excuses Tim uses to justify it. Raylan has spent his entire life a civilian, never gone a decade without it like Tim had done willingly when he thought the military was his only way out of a crappy home and a crappy city in Indiana.  

“Okay,” Raylan says. “Just--talk. You look to me like you’re three seconds away from wanderin’ off on me entirely and I would really rather not have that happen. We’re going to talk about The Incident.”  

“I thought we were done with that,” Tim realises that Raylans doing this because he can sense that something is off, and even as his mind runs through active zones of combat from his days working infantry, he’s grateful for it.  

“I told Art,” Raylan confesses, the words whispered and the guilt evident in his tone.  

“Well,” Tim laughs, grips the Modelo like his life depends on it as he tries to remember what Alexander had told him to do when his trauma was manifesting in the form of brutal flashbacks and anxiety. "I’ll be avoiding his calls for the next several days.”  

“Are you havin’ a panic attack?” Raylan asks, voice calm and even. “It looks to me like you’re havin’ a panic attack.”  

He takes a deep breath in, his mind somehow trapped in three separate places all at once.  

“I dunno,” Tim says. He takes another sip of the Modelo, tries to calm his mind again, only to find it doesn’t work. He takes in another deep breath, and then he feels the rough but still sort of soft skin of Raylans palm against the top of his left hand, and that—it just—fuck.  

It snaps him right back to reality, works better than any deep breathing ever has, and he snaps his hand away despite wanting that contact. Raylan, he decides, does not get to touch him like that. Not given their history coupled with the fact that he'd never have come back to Kentucky if not for a case or the fact that it'd been Rachel who'd asked him back around.

“Okay,” Raylan says. “I told Art about the heart attack.”  

“How’d he react?”  

“He was angry you hadn’t told him,” Raylan says. “He said he’d mention it eventually, but only if you didn’t first and he got sick of waitin’. He was shocked Rachel didn’t call either, but that doesn’t surprise me at all. I suspect she ran the necessary channels by you, and you vetoed everyone except her and maybe Dunlops presence in the—what, three, four days you spent in the hospital recoverin’?”  

Tim takes his lip between his teeth, the sound of Marks laughter and the smell of gunpowder fading just to a point where they’re tolerable.  

“Just Rachel,” he says. “No Dunlop. Just her.”  

“You two have been workin’ together since—well, forever,” Raylan snorts. “And neither of you have transferred out?”  

“Contrary to what you believe, Kentucky is not a universally hated state,” Tim laughs. “I’ve lived here for sixteen years and I like it just as much as I did my first week. Rachel and I have had a running joke since before you came around—only way either of us is leavin’ Kentucky is if we’re transferred out and forced, or if we go at the same time we shuffle off this side of the ground.”  

Raylan laughs in turn, and Tim sighs. It, really, doesn’t feel like Boyd’s gonna come in. Maybe the lead they had had fed them bullshit?  

“Where abouts did you grow up, anyhow?” Raylan asks.  

“Indiana,” Tim shrugs. “Small town about ninety miles outside of Corydon. Smaller than Corydon, too.”  

“How much smaller?”  

“Corydon has more than three thousand people,” Tim says. “My town has barely enough to breakeven with 1000, and that’s on a good day.”  

Raylan snorts, and of course, their conversation somewhat slows. Raylan gets up to piss and Tim heads out to smoke the last cigarette in his pack, sticks close to his truck in the process. He idly checks his phone, sees that Rachels found nothing while waiting at Avas. He reports back that he and Raylan have yet to hit the jackpot, finishes his smoke down to the last puff and puts it out with his foot.  

Instead of going back in, searching for a trashcan, he objects to put the empty cigarette carton back in his truck. He stores it in the center console, figuring he’ll just throw it out once he’s home and the only person who can judge him for smoking at all is himself.  

As soon as he closes the door of his truck, he’s knocked out cold.

[cherivinca]

Since the year is almost over, I wanted to make a small 2023 introspection (as well as talk about 2024 plans...)!

First of all, I hope everyone had a decent year! Mine was... okay. Better than 2022, and I've been feeling better in the latter half, I think, keeping myself busy and studying languages, writing, etc. But basically since graduating back in 2020 I've felt pretty lost (not helped by the pandemic, and the subsequent cost of living...)

In the past year I haven't been posting as much. There's a lot of art I kept to myself this year, and others I've posted on my (very small) personal tumblr blog. It's been harder to feel like it's "worth" posting here, though I hope I can change that

The art industry has felt tremendously shaky this year, and it feels even more bleak for someone who hasn't managed to break in <:( I've been working on my portfolio, and there's still more work to do, but I'm applying for schools this fall; if nothing job-wise comes up, then I will probably go back >< I'm already at a slight disadvantage since I don't live in the provinces that have studios, but I can't afford to move unless I have a job... haha (pain). I don't want to call it giving up, but gaining new skills might be helpful regardless. Even if it becomes a hobby, it might make me feel better 🥲 I never planned to be commission-dependent for so long

Anyway, I booked my first international trip (to Europe!!) this coming March, because I told myself I'd finally do it after getting my passport back in 2019 (expecting to travel after uni.....lol) so I'll be taking on comms primarily to help fund that in the next few months. I need enrichment in my enclosure, badly

I've been writing this year too. I don't know when/if I'll share my story stuff here (maybe related art...?) or not, but we'll see if I ever do anything with it. (It's wlw/fantasy hehe). In general, I hope to feel better about posting here, and maybe start making a small amount of merch!! I've always wanted to try :) And stream more, if I can!

Thank you to everyone who has supported my art this year, whether it's been through likes, rbs, following me, or commissioning me. :* Especially in this past year. I can tell that a lot of people have less disposable income, but I really appreciate people who have commissioned me regardless (which is another reason I worry for the future...)

Here's to more art & cool things in 2024!! And hopefully better times!!

[bathroomtrapped]

ohmygod i literally just made an account on letterboxd bc i watched saw (2004) and loved it so much and ur interview was so inspiring to me and ive been on an absolute craze trying to reblog like every single saw post on tumblr and i somehow found your account what the heck?!!?!?! ur art is AMAZING and i absolutely love ur takes on saw as a franchise and its significance to the queer community. i hope to be as knowledgeable of this franchise as you are one day despite me only being a baby saw fan!!

i had a quick question; i found on the saw heritage post blog that they thought leigh/james/someone else confirmed that saw (2004) did not actually occur the day before 9/11 despite the phone given to them being set to that date. however, when i asked them if they knew where this source was from (bc im so curious!!! i want to know everything!!!!!!) but neither they nor i could find the actual source for that so i was wondering if maybe u knew??? just curious :3

regardless ty for taking the time to read this and dedicating so much time to this fandom!! i love that horror fans like you exist in a fandom that i previously thought would be weird and slightly disturbed film bros (i had a lot of incorrect preconceived notions about saw that have been quickly resolved i promise)

thank you!! im glad that people feel the same way about it as i do but even if people thought i was some crazy transexual making everyone else woke and pronouns, i wouldnt care. the story, especially lawrences but adams as well, really resonates with me as a trans person for so so many reasons, more than i listed in the interview. to me, i cant read his character without filling in the gaps with trans subtext. it not only explains but also enriches the personal experiences of these characters as well as their dynamics with each other. theyre both characters that are defined primarily by how theyre seen by other people, themselves, and eventually each other. the narrative is soooo focused on perception and masks and who u truly are, i find it hard to separate any kind of queer theory from that.

as for the 9/11 question thats such a dumbass pet peeve of mine. its one of the things that makes me shout UMMMM ACTUALLY at the top of my lungs. my blood pressure sours to inhuman levels when someone confidently says the movie takes place not just in 2001 but the day before 9/11. not because of some interview or confirmation from any of the crew because my knowledge of old fandom history is incredibly spotty. old sites and interviews r a mystery to me for the most part BUT! the reason it is for sure not before 9/11 is because during the flashback of pauls trap (during lawrences monologue about jigsaw) kerry tapp and sing are all at the scene with other officers and i believe its kerry who holds up an evidence bag thats labeled 2004. the scene takes place 5 months before the events of saw 1 so its not possible that it takes place 3 years before that. it just seemed like a funny (but insanely bold considering how 9/11 was only 3 years before) joke and easter egg for people to catch on to, not actual lore meant to be taken seriously.

if u want to look for the interview, i would honestly just listen to the commentary tracks bc it mightve been said there. i know in the one with leigh, james, and cary they discuss plot holes fans complained about, questions fans had online, the fanfic they read (briefly LOL). ive only seen that one (and once) but theres at least 2 other commentary tracks with different people that i havent gotten around to for fear of like. completing saw? idk i cant bring myself to watch all of the commentary tracks but theres a chance they discuss it there! i can only speculate on the reason, all i know is that saw 2004 takes place in 2004 based on actual evidence from the media itself

if u have any other questions let me know. i still have the original draft of the interview which had more questions and longer responses bc i couldve gone on for days abt the lore and saw queer theory and ill never shut up about it

[dykedalecooper]

the tie between schlatt and pearl in the @mcytblrcringefail semifinals inspired. in true gay castle fashion. the crackship of schlearl. which is now my baby girl. i understand her like no one else does. with the help of assorted gay castle commentators and most especially @minecrois i bring to you. an unedited bullet point list mostly copy pasted from discord of my most central thoughts on schlearl. it's a truly awful name i love it so much

they're dating but they're not dating.  they live together in a shitty third floor apartment.  pearl started smoking different worse cigarettes so that schlatt wouldn't steal hers anymore.  everyone hates that they're dating and none of pearl's friends know schlatt except as here weird asshole roommate boyfriend and they're always like "you know we would support  you if you guys broke up you could always move in with us". like all of her friends are like "pearl come on move back in with us like pick a house and we'll make space for you we miss you you don't seem happy in your shitty apartment with your... boyfriend" and she's like.  "no i am i really like living here"  and no one really accepts it

there's totally a scene were like grian is like.  "you SMOKE" and she's like.  "uhm.  yeah" and he's like "is this about him.  is this why you smoke did he get you into it" and she's like "i have smoked on and off for like 5 years and i have known schlatt for like 3 how would he have "gotten me in" to smoking.  also you literally have a dedicated weed smoking room in your house what are you trying to say to me"

people are like "oh well why don't you guys just break up you seem really miserable" and they turn in unison and go "well we're not miserable thank you very much.  we quite like this actually.  go away.  why don't you tell that to etho and bdubs, hm?  didn't someone throw a printer at someone there? hm?"

pearl works at a gas station but she takes the night shifts.  schlatt works at a walmart but he wont let anyone know where he works

  "no you don't get to know where i work that's between me and god" "and your employer" "and my employer"  "what if it's an emergency" "idk work it out you don't get to know where i work"  "WE LIVE TOGETHER how can you think i wont figure out somehow"  "you won't though". 

they barely see each other because they have opposite shifts.  they yell at each other all the time and its really entertaining and enriching for both of them. 

this is a pearl who gets to be mean, she gets to be dirty and gross and have fun. they're very 25 in a very real and normal way, sort of in contrast to the rest of the hermits and friends inhabiting this modern au, who are relatively well put together even in their dysfunction

pearl is like "well maybe if you let me decorate the apartment" and schlatt is like "the furniture provided is FINE we're NOT going to ikea" and she's like "i was going to go to flea markets and look around but fine" and he's like "we're on the 3rd floor how would you even get flea market furniture up here" and she's like "well fine.  i guess ill go to ikea do you want meatballs" and he's like "why would i want meatballs i hate ikea" and she's like "you like their meatballs you're just hungover go barf and you'll feel better.  bye".  she's also hungover she's just dealing with it better than him

pearl has one of those cute little pet cactus that grian gave her that she repotted because the old pot broke and now its like a medium sized cactus that's too big to be cute and fashionable and it lives on their shitty balcony that's primarily just used for them to smoke at and they have shitty plastic lawn chairs.  you know the ones.  that squeak every time that you reposition them

schlatt and pearl smell like the exact same person and everyone notices and is like "wow they're really close" and like they are but not in the way everyone thinks of, they're close in a secret special way that can only be achieved by dating-not-dating your roommate who you have really weird tension and are weirdly close with. its very very important to understand that they're not actually dating. everyone just thinks they are and they kind of are, but they're not

90% of their clothes are communal and they're all really worn in.  they still get mad at each other for taking "their clothes" but they haven't known who the clothes actually belong to for a really long time

schlatt ingratiates himself.  not on purpose.  to the hermits et al because pearl shares a costco membership with them and so he will often have to drive over and pick up groceries because pearl is asleep or getting ready for work or something

via either @twinprimeconjecture or @faghypnotizd or maybe probably both on the potential for schleralis: it would be a one night stand thing and for some reason schlatt would actually come to a thing with pearl and the rest of the hermits would be there and it would be a very awkward realization and then conversation of schlatt going "wait.  i recognize you [keralis] because we slept together for a brief period like 3 years ago.  and now i'm your friend's friend's roommate boyfriend guy.  and also all of you guys dont like me at all"

[earlgraytay]

so @dagny-hashtaggart made a really interesting post about how Japanese Pop Culture Stories About War are often about Japan's position vis a vis the world during the Cold War more than about WWII.

They're heavily informed by WWII, don't get me wrong. But let's be honest- it's easier to get your audience to identify with a plucky underdog than the agent of a fascist regime. Post-WWII Japan is much easier to spin into an underdog than WWII Imperial Japan.

And that got me thinking about the Fire Emblem Tellius games- y'know, the ones with Ike- because holy shit, looking at it with that interpretation in mind opens up a whole new avenue for analysis.

Spoilers for the whole subseries under the cut.

Fire Emblem games are not, as a rule, subtle. They might be nuanced. They might be willing to look at the humanity of awful people, acknowledge that everyone is the protagonist of their own story, and so on. But they're not subtle, and you can generally get the point that the writers are trying to make on a casual first playthrough.

....so the Tellius games are about the small nation of Crimea being attacked by an evil empire called Daein. The heroes have to beg for help from the surrounding nations- primarily a large theocratic empire called Beignon. They also have to convince the nations of laguz- shapeshifting furries that most Crimeans are horribly racist against- that if Daein comes for Crimea they'll come for the laguz next. A wrinkle in all of this is that Beignon has traditionally kept laguz as slaves (though the current empress is trying to change that) and so getting all of these nations to coordinate a defense is difficult, to say the least.

Our plucky heroes manage to get help and save the day, but the story doesn't end there.

It turns out that Beignon, as an occupying force, is tyrannical and cruel. Beignon occupies Daein after the war, and a group of freedom fighters rise up to kick out the occupiers and take back their home. These freedom fighters wind up taking over the government of Daein, and - thanks to some Plot we won't go into - are forced to go to war with Beignon, despite that being a terrible idea.

The people behind this war are the senators who rule Beignon. Some of them are trying to enrich themselves and bring back slavery, while others are, essentially, trying to bring about the end of the world on their Goddess' behalf. (Long story.)

It takes a literal deus ex machina to get this war to stop, and Our Heroes- both the group from the original game and the freedom fighters from Daein- band together to take on the goddess that Beignon worships and save the world from being eternally frozen in time. (Again, long story.)

The stated theme of the game is "the human urge to fight isn't a bad one- it's the urge to protect what you love and stand up for what's right, and without it, you might as well be a statue. But war is stupid, pointless, and started by people with power to forward their own agendas. If ordinary people use that urge to fight for what's right to get past their racism and other differences, the world is a much better place than if they put it into fighting wars that don't matter."

And like, the connection I didn't make until seeing that post... reading this game with the Cold War in mind makes some very interesting (and honestly, sardonic) political points about the real world!

I know I sound a bit Vriska (Vriska) here, but consider that storyline in this light:

Crimea is postwar Japan, complete with a tiny military that's spread too thin and Horrible Retrograde Politicians who want to bring the country back to its Glory Days.

Beignon is the First World, and more specifically, the United States. A large, seemingly-benevolent country with a slavery-filled past, a borderline theocratic democratic oligarchy, and a willingness to help smaller nations? Yeah. Also, the Beignon senators have some of the more Stereotypical Westerner features that you see in the game.

Daein is the Second World. Calling the Plucky Tiny Player Country Crimea is probably meant to call the USSR to mind. They're a bit Generically Evil and honestly this is the weakest part of the analysis.

The various Laguz nations are the Third World. They're politically divided, often isolationist, and have historically been the victims of racism from the other nations on the map. They've also often got... unfortunate tribal aesthetics and many are noticeably darker-skinned than the main cast. (Is this problematic? Oh yeah. But in the analysis? I think it's worth bringing up.)

The political subtext of the game thus becomes "Japan needs to shake off its racism and its dependence on the American military. We need to make allegiances with other small, struggling nations, while trying to avoid going to war because see above."

You can see why I'm going feral over this, because it is a much more blatantly political statement than I recognized as a kid- while simultaneously being a nuanced, interesting take that you don't often see out of Japanese media. (At least, not the stuff that gets localized for the benefit of the USA.)

[taralen]

Information

𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘!

I am a fantasy artist and writer based in the USA. This blog is mostly for my art and for sharing others' art. Sometimes, I'll post writings, musings, or theories about a work of fiction that I think warrants some in-depth analysis. I don't have any separate blogs, as I don't see the point in making them. I struggle with a lot of mental health conditions, so I'm really unstable but congenial. Hope you don't mind! Trust me, I am no threat to the public at large! I love making others laugh and smile, so why not just laugh at me, with me? The subject of this blog is primarily art and writing. I do not repost memes if they have nothing to do with either of these two categories.

If you're looking for specific tags, please use this guide:

#my art - Use this tag to filter posts showing only stuff drawn by me

#my writing - Similar to the above but just for writing I've done.

#musings - Random thoughts, journal posts, or ramblings, aka actual "blog" posts.

#merch haul - Posts related to collectibles I've obtained that I want to share with others.

#not my art - Filter posts to only show art I've reblogged by other people.

You can find me in a few other locations, but I'm only going to list my active ones here.

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/taralen For most of my completed pieces. The only sketches you'll find here are for clients who commissioned sketchy pieces.

Myfigurecollection: https://myfigurecollection.net/profile/Taralen For my figure and hobby-related stuff (doujin, merch, etc.) I sometimes build my own figures (aka Garage Kits.) I've been collecting valuables since I was a kid, so you can consider me an experienced collector. Have questions to avoid getting scammed? I'm the one to poke!

Pixiv: https://www.pixiv.net/en/users/3540237 [[JP Only. Also 18+ but censored.]]

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/taralen Uncensored 18+ options, Hi-res versions, process compilations, and original pieces (usually concept art) I don't upload publicly.

Discord: [[Private]] I love meeting new people, but I would rather speak to someone privately on here first before I share this. I'm extremely chatty, so be warned!

Twitter/X: https://twitter.com/Taralen I'm the least active on here, but I might as well include it.

DNI IF YOU: Nothing offends me. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) JK I am a very curious and open-minded person. If you have views that don't align with mine, we might not have the best conversation, but it can certainly be an enlightening or interesting one! What are my views? Well, we learn these things from each other through polite conversation. Exposing myself to different lifestyles and opinions is enriching. Who knows? Even a hateful individual might change their mind when speaking to someone with kindness and understanding. I'm open to being followed, messaged, etc., by just about anyone, even people who I vehemently disagree with, UNLESS: ❎ You've committed or condoned acts of animal, child, elderly, or disabled person abuse/assault. We don't need slimes like that anywhere. Anyone that harms real innocents is a piece of human scum, regardless of whether or not they fit the categories I listed. ❎ You're just trying to sell some sex service to me. Sorry, but I am not interested. ❎ Condone or committed acts of necrophilia on deceased humans or animals. Seriously, what the $%^& is wrong with you? ❎ You are a stalker. Kind of obvious, but I had one in the past, so don't act like I forgot. 8^)

If you have similar interests, feel free to message me or ask me questions. I am lonely, so it's nice to talk to new people now and then. If you think my ideas, "headcanons," or interpretations are stupid, then that's fine. I don't expect everyone to like them. It is what it is.

Any and all reblogs are appreciated. If you repost my stuff like, say, on Reddit, please give credit and link back to the source, whether it be here or somewhere else. I always like seeing my work shared.

[universitypenguin]

when you are writing a fic do you have most of it planned out beforehand or do you kind of make it up as you go along?

In the past, I've mainly identified as a plotter.

My typical approach to a story was to use Google sheets and write out mini summaries of each chapter. I used Blake Snyder’s story beats, the 27 chapter method, Dan Wells’ seven point story structure, the Highway and Service Road method from Jane Cleland’s book, “Mastering Plot Twists” and everything in between.

However, after composing the blueprint for a story I’d often be bored and struggle to write the actual novel. Knowing what happened next killed the vibe. Another issue that I saw in my writing was that my character development and their growth cycles sometimes felt stilted and forced. Whether or not I could capture the essence of a character was a roulette of hit or miss.

Because of that, I approached TPATL in a different manner. I felt like I finally knew structure well enough that I could pull off a character driven story - I’d attempted it before, around 2018, and it ended disastrously. TPATL exists primarily because Lloyd was the perfect character with enough conflict and personality drama to keep pushing the story forward. The tension between him making a conscious choice to be good, when his natural instinct is to be bad, and the effect that Princess has on him in suppressing a lot of those urges, makes a character driven story about him much easier to develop.

I do still use plotting and structure to set overarching plot goals, but the finer details of the story are left open for spontaneous creation. For example, I knew I wanted to write the scene where the stalker enters Lloyd’s backyard and attacks Princess by the swimming pool from the start. The identity of the stalker though, was up for debate until this morning when I officially decided who it was. I really enjoyed writing this way. Using structure when I needed it to figure out where I was going and letting the rest unfurl organically was fun and frustrating. There have been several points where I’d painted myself into a corner and didn’t know how to get out. But something always came together in the end - albeit to varying degrees of success and gracefulness. (Ahem… subplot with Lloyd and Sheriff Holbrook, I’m looking at you. That ended up taking so long that I just decided to cut it short. I deleted a bunch of content that would’ve rounded it out, and yes, I do mean deleted as in permanently deleting those chapters from my hard drive/cloud.)

Writing TPATL as a character driven story has enriched my ability to think on my feet, solve plot holes as they crop up, and write characters with richer internal conflicts. Even Princess has become more complex to the point where she’s less of a reader insert and more of a real character. Her behavior is fairly consistent and there’s an identifiable personality with its own unique thought patterns.

I even dove into Lloyd’s childhood with the Idaho subplot. Unfortunately, this had the side effect of turning the story into a massive plot sprawl. I needed to wrap things up and tie off loose ends to get back to the main storyline. In hindsight, had I planned this out architect style, the narrative would have flowed smoother, culminating in a more logical conclusion.

As I approach the climax of TPATL, I’ve found myself grappling with a number of challenges because of my lack of planning. At this point, the whole thing is a maze. It’s irritating, especially for someone averse to revisiting their past work, but it’s forced me to think creatively and find innovative solutions when I’ve written myself into a corner.

So, to answer your question: usually I’m a plotter. My natural inclination is towards plotting, but TPATL has been an exercise in flying by the seat of my pants. I’d say that this current story has been 85% improvised and 15% planned.

[gibbycat]

saw an anon ask on @/zilodaks blog that asked for advice on how to write ai characters. as someone who is drawn to and likes analyzing these types of characters, i offer some advice below (read more; note there are discussions of portal characters that aren't spoiler-free so be wary):

for the sake of making myself clear, i'm going to use GLADoS and wheatley from the Portal series since they're a) very familiar to people and b) they're relatively easy to understand character-wise. i'm only going to discuss them as it pertains to the points i'm making. i encourage you to research some popular ai characters and take the time to deconstruct their character to figure out why and how they work (you can also figure out why they're popular too!). with that out of the way, let's get into it.

when i interact with ai characters, i've noticed that most (if not all) share three things in common that makes them compelling to people:

their original purpose (why they were created)

the "rules" they must follow (which, to me, is their motivation)

a development of sentience

purpose

all ai are created with a purpose in mind. if you look into some popular ai, most of them were originally developed to fulfill some need/want that their creator wanted to see fulfilled. they can be simple, such as running simple equations, or complex such as overseeing an entire community of people. GLADoS and wheatley are similar in that they're both personality cores, little spheres of ai that are noted for their ability to express emotions. but they serve different purposes.

in GLADoS' case, she was created to oversee and maintain the enrichment center on behalf of aperture science. wheatley, on the other hand, was made with the sole purpose of inhibiting GLADoS' intelligence so that she is easier for the scientists to manage.

when creating an ai character, it helps to figure out what they are originally created for (as well as *who* created them) to get a good start on fleshing them out. which brings me to my next point:

2. "rules"

ai are machines first and foremost, programmed by their creators to fulfill a purpose. as a result, theyre bound to a set of "rules" within their programming that helps to fulfill their purpose in an efficient and successful way. as the central core of the center, GLADoS (and later wheatley) have a strong desire to conduct tests and maintain the center to the best of their ability. since GLADoS was intentionally created for this purpose, the center has a clean look and smooth operation under her guidance.

wheatley, however, does a terrible job which is (primarily) because of his original purpose as an "intelligence dampening sphere". as a result, the center becomes messy and rocky in terms of operation. though GLADoS and wheatley are both personality cores, their differences in their purpose and "rules" overall dictate the condition of the center beneath them.

after deciding on the ai character's purpose, you can then move onto figuring out the "rules" included in their programming since that can influence their behavior. to me, the main rule that GLADoS must follow is the rule of "maintain the testing facility and continue testing on behalf of aperture science". she does follow this rule faithfully to a t, even if she has the habit of harming the test subjects involved. which brings me to my last point:

3. the issue of sentience and morality

a lot of popular ai characters have some level of sentience to them. sentience, in layman's terms, is the base level of consciousness that allows organisms to feel things and recognize that feeling. in my opinion, a lot of sci-fi writers and creators play with sentience in ai characters because it makes them more compelling/interesting to their audience (giving human traits to nonhuman beings). this also allows them to explore the potential consequences of allowing ai to gain sentience.

with GLADoS, wheatley, and others within the enrichment center, they all have some level of sentience that allows them to experience pain and emotions. to me, this makes them more approachable to the audience since they aren't unfamiliar (the use of human traits makes them more palatable).

but at the end of the day, ai will fall back on logic/reason in order to solve all potential problems. inevitably this often leads into morally grey territory where they may cause harm in the pursuit of fulfilling their goals. even a "good" ai may be so tightly bound by the "rules" that it pushes them towards harming humans in order to adhere to them (a famous example of this is HAL 9000).

both GLADoS and wheatley have done actions that have harmed chell, even though wheatley was the friendlier one towards her throughout the portal 2 campaign (though it is mentioned in portal 2 that him dropping chell into the pit was an accident).

keep in mind that an ai gaining sentience does not mean that they will develop a good moral character. again, ai are machines and will act according to what is programmed in them. while that doesn't mean it's impossible for them to change, they are incredibly resistant towards it.

a good way to tackle ai characters in this regard is to decide on two things:

whether they gain sentience (and if it evolves into a more "human-like" consciousness)

what they do as a result of sentience

these questions are broad because there isn't an exact answer i can give. there are many ai characters across the spectrum of "good" and "evil", with a good amount of them falling in the morally grey area. to me, the matter of sentience is fully dependent on their purpose for creation and the circumstances surrounding it. similar to how humans raise children, ai are molded by their creators into what makes them unique.

ai, as a concept, is a fun one to explore. but it can be difficult to figure out where to even start since they come in so many shapes and forms (literally). to summarize, consider the following factors when writing an ai character:

research some popular ai, take some time to deconstruct their character and figure out why they work within the narrative. as much as research sucks, you can't make an ai from scratch without some background knowledge.

once you do the research, you can then:

figure out their purpose: who created them, and what they were created for

figure out the "rules" they follow. this can relate to their purpose or, if they are sentient enough, can be a honor code that they adhere to.

determine the level of sentience that the character has, and what they do with that.

[drdemonprince]

(prev anon) I do want to read that tweet in good faith and be open to the idea that I'm misinterpreting it. But as I understand it, the op seems to be saying that "this allistic trans woman disagrees on neurodivergence theory with this autistic terf, when she should be trying to synthesize their two perspectives instead" - with the idea that Walker isn't autistic, and is therefore is "talking over"/too simplistic in her rejection of the autistic terf. And then the op responds to the "actually they're both autistic" correction with a link to a description of synesthesia (which Walker also has). Which reads to me like an implication that Walker "just" has synesthesia, and (as a writer primarily known for her work on autism) is either confused or lying about being autistic. Again, I would love to be wrong, but there are some concerning transmisogynistic & anti-self-diagnosis signals here as I read it

The OP is someone I have known fairly well for years, and is themselves trans femme and definitely not aligned with TERF values, I can tell you that much.

I disagree with their thinking and writing on synesthesia. I don't feel that their writing on that particular subject is well-supported enough. But last I read (in an essay of theirs on Medium from like a month ago) they claimed every synesthetic person is Autistic. (I do not personally agree with that, again I don't find their writing on synesthesia persuasive at the moment). So I don't see how that perspective could be reconciled with implying another trans femme person is "just" synesthetic, not Autistic. I don't think that's what they're getting at at all.

This person is also vigorously pro self-diagnosis, they read an early draft of Unmasking Autism's proposal for me and explicitly encouraged me to write more about how necessary self-dx is for Black Autistics in particular. I don't agree with everything they write, but there's nothing nefarious behind it.

Their take on neurodiversity is that even some of Judy Singer's own scholarship lays the groundwork for neurodiversity to be an ever-evolving, self-revising concept, and that other people have already improved upon it, including Walker. They sent me Walker's writing privately at around the same time with an active endorsement of it. Thinking Walker was allistic was not an attack -- it was a compliment that someone they believed to not be Autistic but who is trans femme had already enriched and improved upon an idea that came from a TERF.

[loadednachosao3]

I personally can't read fluff... Rn I'm at the moment in lanmap where everything is going great, and I do need long breaks from it because it's too sweet! So hell yea, hit me, daddy!!

see THIS is why I fire fluff-lowering gunshots into LANMAP periodically, for people like you (but primarily for my own enrichment, as I am naught but a little gremlin man who needs conflict to survive)

I will hit u with plenty of other stuff as well tho for sure

[tsunflowers]

I did end up writing an scp wiki style description of the mushroom lady I drew the other day if you want to read that

Item: SCP-FLZ

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-FLZ is secured in a standard humanoid containment cell outfitted with dimmed lights, several potted trees, and an assortment of enrichment materials requested by the entity. Of note among these is a White’s tree frog in a 20 gallon tank. UPDATE: As of 11/17/20XX human interaction with SCP-FLZ is forbidden.

SCP-FLZ-1 was blocked by intentionally placed boulders and the staff of [REDACTED] National Park were led to believe that frequent rockslides in the area would make the terrain too dangerous for even experienced hikers.

Description: SCP-FLZ is the corpse of a human woman animated by a sapient fungal colony. Shelf mushrooms resembling Laetiporus sulphureus erupt from the entity’s left shoulder and both eye sockets, as well as growing over the majority of the right leg. Skin and flesh are missing from around 15% of the body, primarily the right arm, left torso, and lower jaw. A web of mycelium covers these injuries as well as an additional 75% of the body. The mycelium demonstrates an abnormal strength and speed and can be manipulated at will by the entity. 

The appearance of the corpse matches that of Alice Gow, a woman declared missing in 20XX after failing to return from a hiking trip in [REDACTED] National Park. A search and rescue team was unable to find a body after several months. As Gow's friends and family believe her dead, there is no need to provide a cover story.

SCP-FLZ-1 is a shallow cave containing a pool of water located within [REDACTED] National Park which exhibits a mild compulsive effect and has the ability to transform humans into instances of SCP-FLZ.

Interview log:

SCP-FLZ obeyed several basic commands during its initial containment and consistently turned its head towards people who were speaking. Dr. Marisol Flores chose to undertake an interview in order to establish if the entity was truly capable of understanding speech and communicating. Due to the entity’s apparent docile nature, the interview was conducted in a standard interview room, with one guard present in addition to Dr. Flores. Both Dr. Flores and the guard wore full PPE for the duration of the interview in case of airborne contamination of spores.

FLORES: I’m Dr. Marisol Flores of the SCP Foundation. Can you understand me?

SCP-FLZ nods.

FLORES: Can you speak?

SCP-FLZ opens and closes its mouth for a period of several seconds. Its lips move and its mandible is visible moving beneath the web of mycelium but no vocalizations are heard. SCP-FLZ shakes its head.

FLORES: Can you write?

SCP-FLZ lifts its hands and makes grasping gestures before settling into loose fists. It nods. After pencil and paper are provided, it is able to grip the pencil in a closed fist and write in a shaky hand.

SCP-FLZ: HI

FLORES: Hello. Are you Alice Gow?

SCP-FLZ: WAS

FLORES: Who or what are you now?

SCP-FLZ: ?

FLORES: Are you aware of yourself as an entity separate from Alice Gow? How do you see yourself?

SCP-FLZ: YES. MUSHROOM

FLORES: Noted. Are you aware of any of the events leading up to Ms. Gow’s death?

SCP-FLZ: SOME

FLORES: Please explain to the best of your ability.

SCP-FLZ: HIKING. CAVE. INSIDE… BEAUTIFUL. BEAUTIFUL. MUSHROOMS. POOL. WANTED. WENT IN. … ALIVE!

FLORES: So, to summarize: Ms. Gow entered an apparently very beautiful cave containing mushrooms and a pool of water, which she felt a desire to enter. Her entry into the pool in some way killed her and triggered your birth.

SCP-FLZ nods.

FLORES: Can you provide any details on the location of this cave?

SCP-FLZ tilts its head to the side. After a period of consideration it shrugs.

Note: After some discussion and the use of a park map SCP-FLZ and Dr. Flores were able to narrow down a square mile range within [REDACTED] National Park, which Mobile Task Force Zeta Three (“Fun Guys”) used to locate and contain the anomaly. The cave and pool were collectively designated SCP-FLZ-1.

FLORES: Is there anything else you’d like to say to me before we wrap this up?

SCP-FLZ: HUNGRY

FLORES: Hungry? For what?

SCP-FLZ: TREE

SCP-FLZ was provided several potted trees from species present in [REDACTED] National Park. The entity leans against these trees several times a day and allows its mycelium to penetrate the bark.

Request log:

Request: FROG Given an illustrated encyclopedia of frogs. It is still unclear how the entity “sees,” but it is observed to trace images and lines of text with a finger and later repeats information from the encyclopedia to staff.

Request: REAL FROG ? Given a White’s tree frog along with basic care instructions and supplies. The entity has successfully kept the frog alive for the duration of its containment and is often seen to remove the frog from the tank to place it on its body. 

Request: FASHION MAGAZINES Given a selection of fashion magazines, updated monthly. As with the encyclopedia, it is able to absorb and retain the contents.

Request: WATER POOL As SCP-FLZ’s host body is already deceased, it was determined that drowning risk was low. Entity was given a child’s inflatable swimming pool and allowed to fill it.

Addendum 11/17/20XX: During routine maintenance of SCP-FLZ’s cell, a staff member reported feeling a compulsion to touch the liquid in the swimming pool. They had previously interacted with and even scrubbed the pool without experiencing this effect. Once removed from the cell, the compulsive effect faded within 24 hours. Discussion into providing SCP-FLZ with a new source of water for further study was underway when the staff member discovered a single mushroom growing from their chest above their heart. Surgical intervention was successful and the staff member suffers no lasting trauma. However, human interaction is suspended indefinitely.

Research into SCP-FLZ’s ability to infect others is ongoing.

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UH OH!!!! this is not a very scary or interesting scp article but I just wanted to give an idea of this character using the scp format bc that was part of the inspiration. I like when people explain their articles in case the readers are stupid so here’s the twist laid out. everyone including the mushroom itself figured the pool of water in the cave was the point of infection and could be contained by sealing it but the mushrooms can actually turn any body of water into a vector for infection. our shroomie didn’t mean to do that but who knows if there are other more aggressive shrooms still out there…

also if this was really on the site shroomie would be designated SCP-FLZ-1 and the cave pool would be SCP-FLZ and they would have to frantically reclassify at the end. but the cave pool gets mentioned like twice so I saddled it with -1

[paldean-ranger-brandy]

Hello! I don’t believe we’ve ever spoken but I’ve seen you around a lot and I believe you’re a good person to ask this sort of question too. Could you tell me some information about Poocheyena? Things like diet and care tips. I might be helping care for one soon and I want to be prepared.

[@office-clerk-wade]

You came to the right place pal. Idk if you're just helping take care of someone else's or if you see yourself raising a poochyena in the future, so I'm gonna approach this assuming you have nothing.

First up, these babies bite. They bite to tell you to stop, they bite to play, the bite to get your attention, they bite when they're curious about something, they bite when they're bored. They Bite Big Time. Training a poochyena not to bite is like training a chatot not to talk - you can do it, but it is exceptionally detrimental to the mons health and happiness. You wanna teach them where your limit it as soon as possible. If they bite you a little too hard, make a high pitched yelp and stop engaging with them. That will teach them that they bit you too hard and you don't want to play anymore.

Biting when bored is also a big thing. Yenas are smart, and operate as a pack. They don't do well when left alone with nothing to do. Keep them with you, teach them tricks (they are VERY food motivated so it shouldn't be hard), and keep plenty of chew toys around for them to gnaw on when you can't give them your undivided attention. I recommend the thick rubber Kong toys if you can get em - they're durable enough to actually last more than a few days. Put some peanut butter in there and you got hours of entertainment.

In terms of diet, yenas are hunter-scavengers in the wild, and eat primarily prey pokemon, though will also sometimes snack on berries and the like. The biggest difference in a yenas diet when compared to other dog mons is that yenas adapted to eat ENTIRE carcasses, bones included. They have powerful jaws, and require a higher calcium content than most mons. I assume you aren't a hunter, but you can typically pick up bones for pretty cheap at a local butcher. Or you can add calcium supplements to regular canine chow, but they won't be getting much of a jaw work out that way.

Enrichment needs are wildly different among individuals, but like I said they are clever and they like to work in a pack. Some of em find a lot of joy in battling, some like having specific jobs (like my Michael), some love doing shows, and some really just wanna steal shit. Females do tend to be more aggressive and harder to manage, but again it really just depends on the yena. The most important thing is to form a close bond with the yena - they aren't gonna listen to shit if they don't see you as at least a buddy.

Hopefully this isn't an overwhelming amount of information. I'll end by saying that while yenas are quite a common partner, they aren't really well suited to life with humans as is. They have high care needs, and with all the biting and cunning can be pretty incompatible with a lot of people. That said, they are incredible mons who live and love with everything they have. Good luck with the poochyena! I hope you two have fun 🖤