#fading out treats

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

DRDT takes another W for actually making me give a shit about its mascot character as apposed to other fangans that make me forget that its ever there

[skunkes]

I might be stupid but is Al, Smunker, and Talon togetherrrr. Like a polycule or are they having a secret 3rd thing? Sorry if the answer is obvious jdjdj

theyre together! au (?) for cheye's survival

(general info doodle i made a few months ago) (i say au but idk it could become permanent in my daydream zone, Talon is meant to have his own canon but I like him too much and am bad at writing plots)

This is still a fairly recent development so the current needed-SOME-foundation lore is:

talon and al were as together as talon would allow at the time (so not really) but he liked Al most even amidst his anxieties about men. He leaves for a long while with no contact once he realizes he's getting toooooo comfortable with al, comes back for another round of comfort and gets attached again to both the guy he knew AND the guy's boyfriend

I dont think Talon actually likes being referred to as boyfriend by either of them, nor would he refer to them as his boyfriends, but the attachment and "role" is still there and that's what they loosely consider him (i have to explore this further, theres still a lot i dont know abt him) while also knowing he could just decide to leave again if he so wishes

[gynandromorph]

hey if you see a dog in a video like lick its lips or swallow extra saliva before it does something or while it's doing it, it's almost certainly trained to do that thing... it's expecting a treat for doing the thing and its mouth is salivating from this. there's nothing bad about training a dog but a lot of people seem to not notice this cue that i consider very obvious and believe that a dog is doing something spontaneously in a staged video. no, your dog probably won't do it when you try with them randomly. but you, too, can Bond With Your Dog anyway by training them to do the thing

[naty-the-weirdy]

girly wake up

[amarmeme]

Hiii! I don't really know why I wasn't following you sooner here on tumblr! I remember reading your fic with Verita and Michel a while back, it must have been a few years actually and I was so in love with your writing and characterisation, now I see that you're writing Rook/Illario fics, and honestly, I'm so here for that pairing!! Anyway, this is a long-winded way of me saying that I love your writing and I'm glad I'm finally following you here!

This is the nicest message. 🤗 I'm so flattered and yeah, hello new friend! And if DATV has given me anything it is the will to finish all these Dragon Age stories that never got finalized, Verita's included!

Honestly, I can't even bring myself to make her the Inquisitor in any of the Veilguard save files. I just think she'd be sooo torn over Solas (but she ultimately wouldn't go with him because Michel). 😭 Like, she's not going to go but she's going to knoooow what she ultimately meant to him and ach, nope. Nope. Maybe he can get trapped in the fade with an angry Rook in that universe.

[abirddogmoment]

An excerpt from training for directed retrieves during my coffee break!

Directed retrieves are a really fun gundog exercise where a dog fetches multiple birds or bumpers in a sequence that you (the handler) ask. They can be marked retrieves (where the dog sees where the bumper fell) or blind retrieves (where the dog doesn't see the fall and you have to guide them with your voice and hands). I'm teaching this mostly as an enrichment activity, but it's an important piece for irl hunting retrievers to ensure birds aren't wasted in the field. I started teaching this exercise by throwing kibble in two different directions while she stood in a heel and then releasing her to them one at a time. This was our first try with directed retrieving of bumpers!

In this video I'm asking Rory to get into heel position (and rewarding that heavily because heel position = best place to be), asking her to stand steady while I throw two bumpers, and then directing her to pick up the first bumper I threw.

The duck bumper (the second one) is her preferred bumper so I chose to throw the paint roller to my left - when I put my hand out to line her up, it sort of blocks her view of the duck bumper so she's more likely to go to the one I want even though she likes the other one better.

Because this was the first time we practiced this exercise with bumpers, I wasn't looking for a perfect retrieve to hand - when I sent her to the duck bumper (not in the video), she dropped it at my feet instead of waiting for me to take it. That's no big deal, we can work towards a tighter retrieve after she gets more confident with the game.

We're going to keep practicing indoors for a while and once she's looking confident (and assuming things don't get too icy) we'll start working outside so we can build distance and speed.

I will also keep practicing lining her up (using my hand to guide her line) so we can start working on send-outs for blind retrieves and commitment to running out in a straight line! I have some ideas on how to use very small pieces of food to start this indoors and then we can move it outdoors in the spring.

She's doing awesome though! I'm really happy with her steadiness and her ability to think through puzzles. It's gonna be a fun winter working on these skills!

[ebitenpura]

Long time no swtor thinkpiece, but.

Thinking about Eight in the IA class story and then who he is post-Alliance; going from a bold, daring and casually ambitious wildcard to someone who feels as if he's lost most of his zeal to become rather...listless. Empty. Not to say that he isn't fulfilled by his work in the Alliance (who all make exceptions to have him do anything but murder all day) but he starts picking up more mundane activities like, peeling potatoes for the Alliance cantina, or doing minor tasks that don't involve much thought on his own volition-- a stark change from a man who only cared about his blade and who it fell on. It's like he's been soundly defeated by the circumstances surrounding him.

Then there's the issue of his companions, who only knew him as their cunning leader who stopped at nothing to achieve his goals, even using some of them in the process, who now appears to be an entirely different person. One who quietly fades into the background, instead of being in the thick of it. He's changed.

His skills haven't waned, but his voice is flat, his eyes without gleam, his all consuming desire that drove him to accomplish the impossible by the day naught but simmering ashes by the time they reunite with him in KOTXX. He even apologizes to some, without explanation. This distresses Vector, in particular, who witnessed the worst of his sides way back in the day. "It's not me you should apologize to, Agent." Vector can only quietly say, "I have never held you in ill regard for the choices you've made, anathema as they were to my principles." It's a conversation that peters off, but one that Eight never had, never had soon enough --his firm refusal to rectify or acknowledge that Vector could choose him over his own ideals is one that gnaws at him on the inside for years, on his own belief that people cannot change what they truly believe in, and so there is no point in trying to make amends for what bridges he burns in the pursuit of his own wishes. This, and many other denials, compound over the years into a rather hurtful self-made solitude that follows him long into the Alliance. (A mother will never give up her son. There is no other way. I cannot change my nature as a weapon. Their rejection of me is something I must accept.) A punishment, but for who?

Perhaps he still feels he's failed the last mission Keeper entrusted to him. The one that asked him to become a real, living person, and not just a sword dressed in imperial colors.

Eight spirals during the events of the Eternal Empire. He watches his downfall happen in real time. There's little he does about it. His home is gone, as are the people he fought for--Keeper, Watcher 2, Intelligence--and this new age is only filled with allies he cuts down faster than he can imprint their names into his memory. He's alone in this fight at the behest of others who do choose their ideals over him, who, in the end, turn away in fear and disgust when he bloodies his blade in their name. He makes no effort afterwards to right his image in their minds. He plays the villain, if others will not. For the first time, he tires of killing.

This leaves him alone, an outcast even among friends. Eventually, amongst the ruin their failed Alliance leaves in its wake, someone asks why things turned out this way; his lack of a will in the greater fight comes to light and sets several alarm bells off. Lana reduces his duties on the battlefield. Others, out of shared guilt and a fear of the bloodshed he wreaked on their orders, give him a wide berth to live normally for a while. It's not much and does little to his disillusionment and estrangement with his allies, but...it's a start.

Eight the Assassin turns into just Eight. And Eight the former agent, ex-Cipher, killer extraordinaire who never once dreamed of the stars, turns into someone who quietly watches the sun set on a world he barely recognizes,l but still stays up to see it, potato peeler in hand.

[nyatbinary-81]

i feel like im going insane has anyone else noticed the sheer amount of times faded is associated with the puppet in the logbook. or asked how faded knows cc well enough to ask such specific questions if theyre supposedly a stranger who shares an animatronic with cc. does anyone question why the vengeful spirit is a random kid.

[giddydelphiresearcher]

Syringe! All 8 tools, fully functional! There's still some polish to be done, grading sutures for example, but they all work! Trivia, each medicine is defined solely by its color: Any blue medicine vial will work on inflammations, anything pure green will act as stabilizer, etc. Forget all that chemistry nonsense, medicine is just colors lol

[ragingbullmode]

anyway. pride hair lmfao

(they/them only)

[mstopportunity]

Very frustrating: An otherwise good fic grossly misunderstands the canon motivation of the character it's trying to fix.

[scribbledquillz]

Micro Story Meme #16: In Dreams for the fabulous @jinakadaisy - thank you so much for the extra prompt, I hope you enjoy this!

I will continue to poke away at the others I have as I have time, thank you guys! Feel free to shoot one over if you'd like, the more the merrier! 😊

It was not the distance which proved challenging - a thousand miles meant nothing in dreams, their space in the Fade pliant as folded parchment - but the eyes their journeys drew. In all their eons they had not seen the Veil this thin, sheer and fine as the delicate silks their Boy's sister used in her old trade, and just as delicate. Even the most careful, deliberate steps would send ripples through the Fade now, and to risk frequent travels meant to risk the notice of beings incapable of benevolence.

But Love was patient, and could withstand far more than any of the errant Sorrows, Despairs and Desires that caught wind of their trail. And when that interest had sufficiently waned, Love appeared before both of them as they slept. To the sister they were a glossy black crow with golden eyes, making a perch of the sill at the kitchen window of her little cabin in the Hinterlands; to the man a lithe tabby cat with a tatty ear, lounging in the salted air and sun on the balcony of his once-master's estate.

They would lead and both would follow, recognition greater than any wariness they might hold. Each time they brought them somewhere new, yet familiar, places tied to the memories carried closest to their hearts. A woodland pool surrounded by lush moss and dappled sunlight, a sturdy log cast in shadows by the glow of a campfire, a bedchamber built of heavy timber and stone, watched over by the crest of a silver griffin while a grey sea churned beyond its windows.

Then Love would leave them there, content to gift them these stolen moments of quiet peace and tenderness in a world which had stolen away both.

And when they woke it would be with renewed courage to face the coming days, knowing somewhere in a dream that was not quite a dream, their Love waited for their return.

[tekablade-chronicles-3]

Can ANYONE at all on this platform PLEASE be normal about Rogu ??

Posts that even do so much as mention the poor guy are scarce as is, but ALL OF THEM that i've seen treat him like he's some kind of shiny new boytoy for gay people or something !! Y'all ?? Does this make NO ONE ELSE uncomfortable ?? How ? The fact that I'm seeing this from the Yujikiri crowd of all people makes me supremely uncomfortable...

He's a child. He acts like a child. He's clearly stated to be the little sibling of the Rulid Trio. His main trauma is shown to be tied to strong abandonment, loneliness and self-worth issues, which he is seeking to heal by forging familial bonds with our main characters, which ends up putting him in the role of a little kid brother.

And people are seeing this character and thinking about how hot he is and the myriad kinks they can associate with him ?? I'm sorry, but what...? The same people who rave about Eugeo being such a beautiful tragic character and how precious his relationship with Kirito is ? Those people ?

Honestly I feel like I just lost a mildly safe space here ( and I say only mildly because some of the shit some people say is extremely alienating to me as an aro person who yes, loves Eugeo and Kirito's non-platonic relationship. but seriously, how do you gayasses manage to uphold the rules of heteronormativity in your gay ship posts ? there's myriads of types of love and attraction that aren't romance ! you can do better at inclusivity ). Even just for browsing around, let alone interacting.

Truly I chose the wrong character to become attached to after my Lycoris binge.

[taoofshigeru]

What the Notes Didn't Say (Partitio Yellowil x Ori)

Partitio and Ori spend time in a room at Papp's house. (1100 words)

Giga-turbo Octopath Traveler 2 endgame spoilers ahead!

-----

Ochette had been nice enough to delay her journey home from Toto'haha for another week when Partitio came to her with the request.

"I need yer help to track someone down. Last anybody saw of them was the apothecary's hut in Crackridge."

She'd also been nice enough not to ask too many questions. Even though she knew.

He'd also been lucky enough to catch Castti before she she boarded her ship back to the Eastern Continent. And a good thing. The hunch that the person he was looking for would need treatment proved to be right on the money.

Papp, thankfully, had been willing to let him and the apothecary in carrying a girl in a bloodied shirt and scrivener's cap without asking questions. His dad knew enough to trust him.

And that's where he had been for the past four days, by her bedside whenever Castti wasn't seeing to her treatment. "The desert climate can be especially harsh for those with wounds that severe. We're lucky Ochette found her when she did."

"But she's not dyin', is she?" Partitio chewed on a stick of cinnamon, a nervous habit he had picked up lately.

"I've done what I can, and the apothecary who treated the initial knife wound was skilled." Castti's expression was neutral. "It was a deep wound and a near-fatal amount of blood loss. If all goes well, she'll wake up and be fine. However, I do insist she be watched at all times. The commotion from the other day has settled down, but there's still no telling how she'll react to the situation when she wakes up. And stable condition doesn't mean she can just walk right out of here. She'll need to get plenty of bed rest."

"Thank ye, Castti." Partito scratched his chin, staring down at Ori's unconscious body on the bed. "I know yer best is the best there is. Nothin' left to do now but wait."

Castti was out shopping for herbs when her patient first showed signs of stirring.

…

Ori's eyelids began to flutter. Which was weird, since she was deceased. Why was the cold, nocturnal abyss of death so dazzlingly bright? And scorchingly, sizzlingly hot and tingly? The first thing she saw was a familiar face, a man in a wide-brimmed hat with a smile. That uniquely warm, special, one-of-a-kind smile that always seemed to buzz around in the back of her head like a mosquito with a drum set.

At least, it had before she had spilled her own blood to extinguish the sacred flame. She had been supposed to spill all of it. So why was it daytime. Unless…

"Ah… Partitio…?" This was bad. An atrocious, abominable turn of events!

Her attempts to leap backwards and out of bed were thwarted by the fact that every muscle below her neck didn't seem to want to do more than continue resting on the creaky box-spring mattress.

"Heheh, mornin' Ori." He clasped his hands together. "Gonna want to settle down, though. Castti says ya shouldn't be walkin' around for another week or three."

She blushed, not knowing how to respond. "Oh, gods, this is embarrassing. Am I going to have to write my own headline? 'Wayward Scrivener Waylaid in Desert'? Oh, no, that'll never sell. Maybe if-"

"-Whoa there, newsie." The smile went off his face. Which meant the honest merchant was about to hit on a less chipper topic. "Let's lay that actin' aside here." He pulled out a sheaf of papers from the pocket of his worn yellow overcoat. Even old and battle-worn as it was, it still looked drastically dashing on the dapper deal-maker. "Good to see yer still with us. You should know, I've read yer notes. Didn't try to, but they were lyin' all over the place and somebody had to put 'em back in order."

"Or no, shoot. That's a lie." He lifted up his hat and sheepishly scratched the back of his head. This man had access to a naturally adorable depth of charm, a level of which Ori's fake plucky scrivener persona had only scratched the surface of. "I wanted to know why."

"Partitio…" She had been afraid, terrified before. When watching her village be slaughtered before her eyes. When Harvey's arrogance had threatened their whole gods-damned plan. When the point of her knife had first pierced her own stomach. "You read… You read my notes?" This was different. And somehow substantially worse.

"Yeah. Thing is, they didn't tell me why. Not really." He stared her in the eye. Face close, intense. "You see, I have a talent for judgin' people. Seein' what they're all about. I feel like I know you. These notes tell me what you did. But they don't tell me why you tore 'em out of yer notebook, scattered in a trail on the way to that extinguished brazier. Osvald went through 'em right quick and they helped him put a lotta stuff together. Why would someone who spent years working for that and guardin' information tighter'n any lockbox give up the game like that?"

"They don't tell me why ya helped me out when I was tryin' to get that mall up and runnin'. And they sure as gods don't tell me what you're feeling now." His eyes were pure, shining beads. An ocean of sympathy she had no right to be swimming in. "Can I ask ya that?"

She was frozen. This was utterly, unconditionally unexpected. "I… I…" Her voice cracked. "I'm so scared." Why was she crying? She'd been in scuffles, had interviews that went way worse than this. What did she have to cry over?

"I see." He nodded slightly. "I don't understand what you did. I don't. But I want to know. But more'n any of that, I wanna forgive ya'. Now, ya lil' pen wizard, what is it you want?"

"I… sob" She was breaking. She had already perished, once, but now the walls inside her, walls she had built up for decades, walls her brother had taught her to keep perfectly maintained, were crumbling. She wanted, she really wanted, "I want to…live. I want to be alive, but… But I've done a terrible thing. So many horrible things so many people. Is, is it okay for me to want that?" It was wrong, she had to be wrong. And he was going to laugh at her. But she had about as much luck stopping as she would have had catching a greased octopuff with her bare hands. "I wanna LIVE! WhaaaAHHH!!" Bawling was something she could never recall doing before today. Odd.

"That's it. That's all right, now." And then he was putting his arms around her, lifting her up slightly. "So long as you wanna live, I'm in yer corner."

She cried, screamed it out in his arms until her throat was sore, until there were no more words. At some point, she fell back to sleep, and could dimly feel him lowering her back down onto the creaky old mattress. The last thing she felt before drifting off, exhausted but very much alive, was the grip of his palm on hers.

~End~

Part 2 here

[autism-corner]

big day for jace 6=w=9

[radmista]

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