#last opened april 2017

[zmediaoutlet]

Hello, I'm a big fan of your insights and everything about the way you approach writing ❤️ if it's not too late for the meme, the APC coda? I love somno hehehe. Have a wonderful evening ❤️❤️

[finally back a day later...]

man this one is *barely* started, mostly just notes -- but it's an idea stemming off the 'a perfect circle' series I did -- specifically the Sam & Dean who are in that series -- where Sam was just a teeny bit more manipulative as a kid and John was more absent and they do still get to the peaceful great thanks-canony place of s11 but it's bumpy, to get there. I think the idea was Dean finding the idea of somnophilia hot, and it's soulless!Sam who finally does it, that year -- and it *was* hot in a lizard way but Dean's actually fairly freaked out by it. And so, later, s11ish whole!Sam thinks, hey, I remember Dean fantasized about that way back, maybe I'll introduce that again, and Dean half wakes up and socks Sam in the stomach, lol.

A little melodramatic, in the idea's conception. But playing with that idea of what's good and what's not, and why it's good. And actually Dean is still quite into the idea, but in the half-dreaming space he made the connection to that other Sam and... no.

tbh I'm pretty sure this one won't end up getting written. I already did somnophilia once (...or twice?), even if it's not the "asleep the whole time" variety. (I find that version... unlikely.) So, the little melodrama angle doesn't sound that great. But here, some badly-written dialogue from the notes bit:

"Sam." // "What?" // "What--earlier. I... Don't do that again." // "What, the--? But you like that. I remember. And you came, twice, so what's the problem? Anyway, I'm bored, you sleep too much. I've got too much time to kill, and you don't want me out fucking other people, so what am I supposed to do?" // "Whatever--work out, robocop, I don't care. Just--not when I'm asleep. Wake me up if you absolute have to, just--not that." // "...Fine."

[reasonsforhope]

"At HarperCollins, a lot of attention and thought is given to deciding exactly what combinations of margin measurements, font, and layout feel most appropriate for the genre, and writing style.

But in a case of do-your-part environmentalism, designers at the publishing house have now standardized a series of subtle and imperceptible alterations to normal font style, layouts, and ink that have so far removed the need for 245 million book pages, totaling 5,618 trees.

Telling the story in Fast Company, representatives from HarperCollins, one of the four largest publishing houses in the world, explained that the idea first arose in Zondervan Bibles, HarperCollins’ Christian publishing division. Being that the Bible is 2,500 pages or sometimes more, saving ink and pages was not just an environmental consideration, but one of production costs.

A new typeface called NIV Comfort Print allowed Zondervan to shave 350 pages off of every Bible, which by 2017 had amounted to 100 million pages, and which, as Fast Company points out, would be four times higher than the Empire State Building if stacked.

The production and design teams then wondered how much they could save if they applied the same concepts to other genres like romance and fiction. Aside from the invention of the eBook, publishing hasn’t changed much in the last 100 years, and the challenge was a totally novel one for the teams—to alter all their preconceived ideas and try and find a font and typeface that resulted in fewer pages without being harder to read.

They eventually standardized 14 different combinations their tests determined were the most environmentally friendly, and which delivered an unchanged reading experience.

But the challenge didn’t stop there. Printed books, one might not know, are printed in large sheets which are then folded into sections of sixteen pages, meaning that Leah Carlson-Stanisic, associate director of design at HarperCollins, has to calculate the savings of space, words, and ultimately pages with the help of her team to fall in multiples of sixteen.

Nevertheless, they have been successful with it so far, and in the recent print run of one popular book, 1 million pages (or a number near 1 million that coincides with the 16 times tables) were saved.

“We want to make sure our big titles, by prominent authors, are using these eco-fonts,” Carlson-Stanisic said. “It adds up a little bit at a time, saving more and more trees.”"

-via Good News Network, April 4, 2024

--

Note: Great! Waiting to see this on the rest of their books and at the other big publishers!

Actually, though, it's worth noting that this may not come quickly to the other large publishers, because Harper Collins almost certainly owns that font - meaning that other publishers would have to pay HarperCollins in order to use it, on an ongoing basis.

More on publishing shit and more realistic solutions here below the cut!

What I'm hoping for and think is more likely is that this will inspire the development of open source eco-friendly fonts, which would be free for anyone to use. That would make it far more likely other publishers would adopt eco-friendly fonts.

I'm also hoping it would inspire other publishers to create similar eco-friendly fonts of their own.

Ideally, there would be a whole new landscape of (hopefully mostly open source) eco-friendly fonts. And/or to see calculations of the eco-friendliness of popular existing fonts, compared to each other.

If we could have a publicly accessible list of calculations for different fonts, including fonts designed to maximize eco-friendliness, I really do think that it would affect which fonts publishers choose to use. Here's why:

Most people in publishing are on the left (notoriously, actually) and really do care about the environment

People in publishing are plenty aware of these issues re: paper and trees, I promise

Shorter books means smaller production costs - and possibly smaller shipping costs as well, over time! So it would save them money too.

Eco-friendly fonts could also be combined with other measures for greater effect, such as bamboo paper (already in use for a lot of projects where page color/quality is more flexible) and thinner paper (aka paper with a lower weight) that uses less trees.

Don't expect books to all move to just one or two different fonts, though. Publishers and typesetters and font designers will innovate to create more options instead, though it will take longer. This is because different books really do use different fonts for various different reasons - one new font to rule them all isn't really a solution here.

"Every book is in the same font" may sound like a "whatever" deal to a lot of people, but as someone who works in publishing - trust me, it would actually make your reading experience worse, even if you could never quite put your finger on why.

[lostwords-found]

So that last post by Alesis Newman, the one that was locked by "BetterTheNew", was dated January 3 2018. Eight months before her previous post.

The police files on Dr Samuel Webber were dated April 3 2009. Eight months before the date in his journal.

Dr Samuel Webber murdered his ex and then was turned into a tree. We don't know what happened to Alesis Newman's ex before she turned herself into some kind of coral creature, but she was taking bereavement leave at the end. Out of death, something is trying to be born. Or reborn...

...Oh yeah, and let's not even go near this other (lonely, eye-encrusted) rabbithole, let alone down it:

Norris read Dr. Webber's case, about a man who murdered his lover rather than lose her and then was trapped alone in a walled garden, in denial about what he had done and eternally haunted by her voice, with only a small piece of himself remaining aware and perpetually terrified but unable to voice its fear. Cool! Yeah. That's definitely... that's definitely not significant or deeply upsetting in any way.

But Chester... Chester read Alesis Newman's case, about a woman who intentionally destroyed herself in the wake of a lover whom she saw as trying to change her into the person he wanted her to be--and replaced herself with something new and inhuman. Something that has her eyes.

And by post 13, using her paralysis computer, Alesis is writing with her eyes. So is that actually her writing? If it's not, when in that sequence of posts did it stop being her? What does "no longer her" actually mean in this context? Certainly, she's becoming something that the Alesis of eight months earlier, the Alesis of the immediately-deleted fourteenth post, would no longer identify with--if some part of her still existed.

Cool. Yeah. That's definitely not significant... or deeply upsetting... in any way.

OK but I said let's not go down that rabbithole, so let's forget I just said any of that and go back to talking about the post dates, yeah?

Yeah.

So, sometimes some of these cases have some interesting correspondences with TMA statements, so there might be something there. Alesis started that thread, opening up to everyone about her journey to creating a better her, on June 20, 2018. I wonder if there were any TMA statements dated June of 2018?

Case #0181206 (June 12, 2018)

Statement of unknown bystander regarding an encounter with The Archivist.

...Oh.

Okay, well, that's... interesting, but not necessarily meaningful. Let's try this: the last date in her transformation/replacement, the last point where maybe there was still something left of the original "her," was September 3, 2018. Anything interesting happen in TMA in September of 2018?

Case #0182509-A (September 25, 2018)

Original recording of events leading to the disappearances of Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Alice Tonner and Peter Lukas.

...Ah. Ha. Um. Well, that could also be an interesting coincidence. What about that deleted 14th post that was somehow eight months earlier, back in January? The one with an Alesis who still tried to cry out against the thing she was becoming?

There's nothing in January, but... oh... right.

Case #0170908 (August 7, 2017 )

Statement of Elias Bouchard, regarding the dreams of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, currently unresponsive.

...

Case #0181502 (February 15, 2018)

Statement of Oliver Banks, regarding his dreams and trying to run away. Statement given directly to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, currently unresponsive.

...January of 2018, Jonathan Sims was in a coma. September of 2018, the Archivist received the final mark that would enable Jonah's ritual.

January through September of 2018 in the world of Protocol, something was trying to be born into a physical form, replacing Alesis Newman.

Cool, I say through gritted teeth. Yeah. That's definitely not significant, or deeply upsetting, in. any. way.

[stariiesz]

୨⎯𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝙰𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ⎯୧

May 28th, 2017

“I… I like you Satoru.” The words fell out of your mouth suddenly.

It was the last day of high school. A bittersweet chapter in your life. Satoru, who had been your long-time crush, was perfect. Everybody loved him, and could you blame them? After all, He was popular, attractive, athletic, and very extroverted. He was everything you weren’t. You weren’t exactly popular, you were bad at sports, and you were very introverted.

He was so nice to everyone. Everyone that is but you. And you're not sure why he seems to hate you, he just does. Every time he sees you in the hallway he scoffs and rolls his eyes as if you're the bane of his existence. And because of Satoru’s open dislike for you, it influenced others to not like you too.

Not many people wanted to talk to you or hang out. The few times you had interaction with other class mates was for cheating of you or for school projects, not that they wanted to partner with you by choice. Sure you were kind of an outcast but it never really bothered you. You could care less what your other low-life classmates thought. Only one opinion mattered, and that was Satoru’s of course. Though, you were quite sure that man could care less about you.

So why were you now confessing such feelings to Satoru? You knew you weren’t going to see him again after high school, and you didn’t want to keep these feelings hidden away forever, so you devised a plan. You were going to walk up to him, confess, then bail before he could laugh at your pathetic feelings for him. It did take a lot of courage as you were stepping out of your comfort zone, but you needed him to know how you felt even if he didn’t feel the same which he probably wouldn’t. Even though he and his friends would laugh every time you walked by, and even though you were nowhere near his league, you still liked him. So you would give it a chance.

April 12th, 2017

You applied for a bunch of colleges in Japan and got in a few. However, Kyoto University is the one that you want to go to most. You were very excited to go because that was the college Satoru was going to, meaning you had a chance of running into him from time to time! You were feeding into your own delusions because if that ever did happen, Satoru wouldn’t have a change of heart and start liking you. He’d be just as rude and probably ignore you too. But a girl can dream, right?

While walking through the halls of the dreaded place called school, you happen to overhear a conversation between Satoru and some of his friends which completely change the plans you had made.

“Yeah, I got into a bunch!” Satoru said to his friends. “I really wanted to go to Kyoto and all but now I think I wanna go to the University of Tokyo!” Satoru said.

Your heart dropped. If he wasn’t going to Kyoto that meant you had no chance of seeing him in college. So these could be the last few weeks you could see him. Even though he despises you, being at the same college gave you a chance to at least see him. But now that was ruined.

“Oh Satoru, you’re going to the University of Tokyo too?” Adina asked as she put her hands on his broad shoulders. Adina was not very fond of you at all. She would even take it as far as to purposely bump into you just to humiliate you, but once again, it really didn’t bother you.

Adina turned to give you the nastiest look. “Uhh can we help you?” She asked you with an annoyed tone. At this point, Satoru was also staring at you. You ignored her comment and continued walking along.

As you walked the cold realization of him not going to the same college set in. This made you think of some way to see him after school ended. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. So if you weren’t gonna see him after school ended the least you could do was confess and get these feelings you’ve had since freshman year out, right?

May 28th, 2017

Satoru was cleaning out his locker and signing the yearbooks of the usual classmate. You waited for the small crowd by him to die down so you could talk to him. When he noticed you come up. He rolled his eyes and scoffed upon seeing you. “What do you want?” He sighed as he put another textbook in a bag and eyed your figure.

You ignored his attitude as you were used to it and cleared your throat as you gathered up all the courage you had to confess. It was now or never. This could, no it probably would be the last time you had a chance to talk to Satoru. So you had to do it.

“I… I like you Satoru..” You said, feeling the relief after getting the confession of your chest. “And I know.. I know you don’t feel the same, I know I annoy you for some reason but I just..I needed to tell you before we go our separate ways.”

He was caught off guard when you confessed. He stopped mid-action turning over to you with a confused look on his face. His eyes widened upon hearing your confession. He opened his mouth to speak but you ran off before he could reject you, or so you thought. Unbunonnced to you he tried to run after you.

“Hey wait up!” He called after you before he ran into his friend group.

“Hey man, where are you speeding off to?” His friend asked. “Come on, let's go get something to eat to celebrate!”

Satoru looked back to see if you were there but you were gone. He sighed and then turned back to his friends with a small smile.

“Sure.” He replied walking off with them.

May 29th, 2017

Graduation day.

It was awkward when you and Satoru met eyes during the ceremony. You quickly looked away but he kept staring which you weren’t aware of. After the ceremony, you met up with your family and tried to leave as quickly as possible as you didn’t want to run into Satoru. There was a party being hosted by one of the popular boys which a lot of people were attending, including Satoru, but you weren’t invited so you really had nothing more to stay for.

You glanced at him one more time before leaving. There he was, as beautiful as always. He was laughing with a group of friends and seeing that made you smile. He was happy and that was all that mattered in the end. You savored the moment as it would be the last time you would see Satoru Gojo in all his glory… right?

Master list Next chapter->

1.1k words

Banner creds: @cafekitsune

Next chapter coming soon!

[ot3]

Hey! The link to your FAQ wasn't working for me so I don't know if this question has been asked before. I really appreciate your perspectives on AI art. Do you happen to have any resources that you read/listened to on intellectual property rights and the issues with it? I just don't really know where to start with it.

[heres where i cut out a big paragraph of me, once again, bitching about how blog pages don't work on the tumblr app and i think that's fucking stupid]

anyway i dont have any generalized sources on the subject but the tl;dr of it is: intellectual property rights exclusively benefit people who have the resources to pursue sustained litigation. 99% of the time, what IP law is being used for is to reinforce corporate ownership of work that was done by their employees.

the whole disco elysium debacle is a great case study.

The shareholders of ZA/UM accused the trio of, among other things, intending to steal intellectual property (IP) from the company — a curious accusation, considering that the world of the game is based off of a novel written by Kurvitz himself. The case of Disco Elysium illustrates the shortcomings of IP rights as protection for artists. Consequently, it contains a lot of lessons for the labor movement when it comes to the arts, and serves as a reminder that creative workers are, at the end of the day, workers. But this is not just an academic exercise. It’s a human story about the intimate consequences of capitalist exploitation. “I got my soul ripped out of me,” Kurvitz told me over Zoom in April of 2023. “I got my skull cracked open and my brain lifted out of it by a fifty-five-year-old financial criminal.”

another example: alex norris of webcomic name, which you will probably recognize when you see it, has been raising hundreds of thousands of dollars over the past several years to try and keep up with the protracted legal battle over maintaining ownership of his own work.

I have been fighting this case since 2019. It arose out of an agreement to make a boardgame based on my webcomic in 2017 but the publishing company has used this as an opportunity to take all of my intellectual property, and has even claimed ownership of Webcomic Name as a whole. I can't go into more detail here, but the details of the case are publicly available to read online.

Then, in a 2024 update:

I have essentially won the main case based on the decisions made last summer. The Judge has clearly stated that I own my comics, and that the other party has infringed on my copyright. It is not over yet, as there are still a few things that need to happen. Hopefully things will all be wrapped up this year. After 6 years of legal battling, I can’t wait to be free of all of this. Hopefully, this second case will backfire, and they will be sanctioned for filing it. But to get to that point requires a frustratingly large amount of work, time and money.

An interesting thing about both of these two specific instances is that they involve creators who had entire bodies of work produced around the specific IPs that were stolen from them before they even began partnering with corporate entities to produce works. which is insane! you can spend years writing novels, drawing comics, and if a company comes in with enough lawyers they can own those ideas.

this is pretty distinctly different to me than instances of work you do while being employed by a corporate entity being owned by that corporate entity, because at least you know what you're getting into there to some degree, but i still think that's bad too. consider stuff like the owl house and gravity falls, two disney shows made by people who very very clearly did not like working for disney. disney owns their ideas, their characters, their worlds, because that's the price you pay for having an animated show produced.

essentially it's very very clear upon even the slightest examination that intellectual property in no way exists to codify who the creator responsible for specific creative concepts or works is. it exists to turn nebulous things like 'ideas' into market commodities, and to funnel the profits made by the labor of individual artists and writers into corporate bank accounts.

the only person who has ever really benefited from IP law as an individual trying to lay claim to their own work is ken penders, who notoriously won his suit to have ownership of characters and storylines he created. heartbreaking: Worst Person You Know Gets An Unequivocally Deserved Legal W.

The comics continued under Flynn’s direction as if nothing happened, but things started looking grim in late 2012, when Archie suddenly fired its entire legal team. The company had been unable to produce Penders’ work-for-hire contract, which would have given control of his creations to Sega. Penders claimed the contract had never existed. A heavily circulated Tumblr post outlining the case (which has been corroborated as a reliable source by Penders) explains that while Archie did provide a photocopy of a contract allegedly signed by Penders in 1996, Penders claimed that the document was a forgery. That it was neither an original copy nor a contract from the beginning of the writer’s tenure at Archie meant that its validity was questionable. Making things worse, Archie couldn’t produce an original copy of any previous contributor’s contract, meaning that any writer or artist who had worked on the Archie Sonic line could potentially follow in Penders’s footsteps and reclaim their work. “So are you saying prior counsel blew it?” the presiding judge asked Archie counsel Joshua Paul in a May 2013 court session. His reply was unequivocal: “Absolutely, your Honor.”

So yeah. Owning the work you do as an artist is only something that happens when the people trying to profit off of it show unprecedented and staggering level of incompetence in their legal teams.

Then, alongside not owning the concepts and ideas you produce while working with corporate entities, there's the issue of NDA regarding specific pieces you've produced. This causes a LOT of trouble for freelance illustrators/character designers/concept artists, etc. Looking for work is very hard when the past three years of pieces you've drawn can't be added to your portfolio. Some people have password protected pages on their portfolios that they use for NDA work, but I believe the right to do this varies depending on your contract. I'm not 100% sure. In cases where the project you worked on eventually comes out, that's one thing, but there will be instances where the entire project gets canned after all the work is done, but is still under NDA so essentially all of your work has been taken from you, crumpled up into a ball by a studio executive, thrown in the trash can, and legally you are not allowed to go pick it out of the bin and try and flatten it out again.

This has all been pretty art-focused because that's the kind of circles I run in and where a lot of my interests lie but the truth is none of this is even remotely close to as evil IP law gets. I've saved the most egregious for last: The Lakota Language Consortium

The Lakota Language Consortium had promised to preserve the tribe’s native language and had spent years gathering recordings of elders, including Taken Alive’s grandmother, to create a new, standardized Lakota dictionary and textbooks.  But when Taken Alive, 35, asked for copies, he was shocked to learn that the consortium, run by a white man, had copyrighted the language materials, which were based on generations of Lakota tradition. The traditional knowledge gathered from the tribe was now being sold back to it in the form of textbooks.

When you're in defense of IP law, this is what you're siding with. This is the rational endpoint of IP and it is neither a fluke nor an example of the concept being twisted against its original design. Art, culture, language, it belongs to whoever is most capable of turning it into a product. The economic incentives of producing and distributing arts and culture demand this is how things be.

Meya says his work is a vital tool in preserving the Lakota language, which did not previously have a standardized written form. He estimated that there are fewer than 1,500 fluent Lakota speakers left and that over the last decade and a half, the organization has helped add 50 to 100 more. “Just because money is involved in it does not inherently make it an evil thing,” Meya said in a recent interview with NBC News. Most of the products his organizations make are free, he said, but the cost of printing textbooks has to come from somewhere. “That tends to be sometimes part of the rhetoric, ‘Oh, there’s money involved. It must be, you know, part of the overall colonization effort.’ Well, you know, that’s just not realistic.”

Artists looking to force their way into the class of people who gets protected by these laws are not looking out for their community. They are not protecting anything but their own perceived financial interests. Intellectual property will never, ever benefit the most marginalized members of creative communities and anyone who tries to convince you otherwise is huffing some serious copium.

Frankly, I don't believe anyone can or should 'own' things like Ideas or Specific Aesthetic Flairs. But even if you do believe in that, IP law isn't the framework for handling it.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

What do you make of the moment when Kate shrugged William's hand on a Christmas show in 2019? The sugars use this to show how they actually hate each other, but I've always thought Kate just reacted immediately because they never did PDA and she was caught by surprise, as in to say "what are you doing? we're working"

I've been following the BRF since the Sussex drama, so I don't have decades the reflect on, but from what I've seen, it really seemed there was a no PDA rule. They also appeared much stuffy, even towards each other, with Kate standing straighter, making sure she was walking behind William, often keeping her hands in front of her as if to protect herself. But the last years, the seem more at ease in public, allowing some hands on the back here and there. And I've actually been wondering if H&M overdoing it with the PDA meant the BRF could actually relax a bit and allow some touching without looking unprofessional.

There isn’t a “no PDA” rule. The rule is that everyone is expected to be professional at work. And PDA - over the top PDA like the Sussexes - is not professional behavior in any industry, in any profession, in any country in the world.

William and Kate are affectionate and playful with each other. They always have been, long before Meghan had Harry in her claws:

Before their engagement: L - Graduating St. Andrews in 2005 C - Saying hello at polo in 2006 R - Paparazzi catching them making out. Date unknown, suspected sometime 2009 (based on William's hair).

Newlyweds: L - Canada, July 2011 C - Edinburgh, July 2011 R - London Olympics 2012

Early Parenthood: L - Christmas Walk, December 2013 C - Commonwealth Games in Glasgow, July 2014 R - Rugby World Cup, September 2015

Before the Love Bomb: L - Hiking in India, April 2016 (there's a well-known story from royal reporters on the India trip that William and Kate were close and affectionate until they spotted the reporters and photographers. Once they saw the royal rota, they immediately separated and became more formal/professional.) C - Private family ski trip, February 2016 R - Canada, September 2016

Before Meghan made her official debut with Harry and the BRF: L - Heads Together awareness event, February 2017 R - Wimbledon Men's Final, July 2017

And no, I didn't see "the incident" as Kate shrugging off William's hand because it was PDA. I see that moment as Kate adjusting her position in her seat and William briefly touching her. If you watch the clip, you'll notice that Kate's whole body wiggles; her shoulders, her trunk, and her legs. William just happened to touch her in that same moment. If she was shrugging him off, if she was recoiling from his touch, only her shoulder would have moved. It was a harmless, normal moment that happens to everyone.

Others may see it differently, and that's fine.

Harry and Meghan overdoing it with the PDA didn't open any doors for anyone to be more affectionate or show more affection. All they did was highlight the difference between working professionals who a) know they're on the job, b) know their roles for the job, and c) know that their job is bigger than their individual needs and people who think their love and togetherness is more important than the job.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Larghetto

Chapter Thirty

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Gibson child OMC, Lee, Sam, Pamela

Word Count: 3310

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, angsty af flashback, Dean does Uncle things, apologizes, and makes up his mind-ish, still unbeta'd

Shout out to @lastactiontricia for her help talking me through this one

Series Masterlist

The moment Dean's ass hit his seat on the Proud Mary the following afternoon, it all clicked into place. They were back on the road. The apology tour was in full swing. Okay, no one actually called it that, but it was essentially that. Something settled inside him with the realization, his ribcage was suddenly spacious from the lack of shrapnel. Dean took a deep breath to adjust for the extra room.

Huh.

The rest of the band found their usual books and Kevin waited patiently until everyone seemed settled before he plopped down on the aisle seat a row ahead of Dean. 

The last ones on the bus were Gibson and Bobby, who no doubt was running the kid around the venue to burn off some of that unquenchable energy only children possess. 

“Alright, Gibby go find your daddy! I've got a bus to steer,” Bobby sent him off simply, before turning to the rest of them. “Everybody ready?”

“Sound off,” Pamela bellowed to make sure everyone who had to be there was there.

“Gibson?”

The little dude giggled at being first. “Here!”

Bobby smiled as much as he ever did and turned to the other side of the bus.

“Kid?”

“Present!” Kevin replied.

“And Dean's here I made sure of that already,” Bobby muttered, not letting Dean off the hook for yesterday so soon. Dean tried not to look too put out by it; he deserved worse. Everyone else sniggered and oo’ed at the burn. 

Bobby’s attention slid further back, eyeing people as he said their names. “Sam?”

He didn’t say anything, but Dean was pretty sure he caught Sam raising his hand in his periphery.

“Pam’s got her ducks in a row, I see. Trouble, you good, darlin’?”

“All good, Bobby,” you said somewhere in the back.

Dean tuned out the rest of the roll call, knowing between both buses everyone would be accounted for, scratch that the three buses now with Jodi and Donna’s crew. Hearing your voice reminded Dean that he still owed you an apology for his disappearing act. And to say he was nervous about it was an understatement, because he didn’t think he could tell you what actually set him off, not outright.

It wasn’t your fault, or Victor’s for that matter. But there was no way it came out without sounding like he was placing the blame elsewhere. No, it would be better to keep it short and cut his losses. Less is more and all that.

By the time he made up his mind to get it over with, the bus lurched forward into traffic and Dean knew better than to go walking around until they were on the interstate. As big as the thing was, standing while it kept stopping and starting could make even the most seasoned traveler queasy. So he stayed put and put on his headphones to let the familiar sensations distract him as he waited.

Before he knew it, Dean had nodded off.

April 2017

The curtains of his hotel room were pulled open and Dean groaned against the assault of daylight against his hangover.

“Bus is leaving in a half-hour. Get in the shower or I’ll get Sam to make you,” you didn’t beat around the bush.

Dean didn’t open his eyes. He felt you moving around the room, tidying while he stretched, yet remained stubbornly in bed. He had never had a handler, except for major events like public album releases. Your dotting made him feel important. Like he was above you, higher up than just from being part of the band that employed you. His festering ego drank in the servitude. 

His knuckles popped as he flexed his fingers, broken skin stinging as it stretched wide. He did not want to move. He wanted to see how far his skin could split and still stitch itself back together.

“I don’t know how you managed to make a hotel room smell so bad in less than two days, but I do not envy the cleaning crew,” you muttered as you shoved his dirty clothes into his duffel. “Dean!”

“What?!”

“Get up!”

“Fuck off.” Dean rolled over and cradled a pillow under his aching head.

Suddenly he was dragged down the bed, the comforter pulling him with it until he rocked onto his side and all of the bedding slid off his naked body and onto the floor.

A strangled sound came out of your mouth, an angry cousin of a gasp. “What the—- where did all those bruises come from?”

“Yeah, cuz that’s what you’re looking at,” Dean snipped, hauling himself upright, unfazed by the horror on your face. After a few moments of not meeting your eye, he couldn’t take your gawking sympathy any longer. It all made his skin itch. “I’m up! That’s what you wanted, right? Now you can go.”

Immediately he saw you fold, tuck away all that natural concern, and put on your business face. “If you’re not downstairs in fifteen minutes, I’m sending Sam AND Bobby to get you. And if that doesn’t work? I’m sending Pamela.”

Dean rolled his eyes and dragged his ass to sit on the edge of the bed.

“How’d you even get in? Jesus!”

That was the wrong question to ask. You stomped past him and made a show of swinging a very broken hotel room door back and forth. “How do you think I got in?! How’d the lock break, Dean? Hmm? Was it the cops or just security crashing the little mosh-pit-orgy combo you had up here last night?”

It was him. He kicked in the door because he couldn’t find his key. The girls he had picked up from the afterparty were starting to whine. And he really just needed the night to be over, but his damn thoughts wouldn’t shut up. So, he figured if he got his dick wet enough his downstairs brain would override all of that.

He told you none of this.

But by the smell, the mess, and the used condoms, you had figured out enough.

Oh, and by his bare ass, that too.

Dean stood up and blocked you from getting further into the suite again.

“Get out of my fucking room you fucking groupie! I swear to god I’ll call security. Send Sam, hell, send Bobby! I fucking dare you! They won’t care what you say. You little narc. I know how to do my job, maybe you should remember what yours is and stop shoving your nose in everybody else’s business. Christ!”

Dean had never seen hurt like that flash in your eyes, but it only added to his twisted vindictiveness. The rotten truth that he didn’t deserve you looking after him paired with the insurmountable belief that he could do it all on his own anyway had him continuing to push you away.

“Why don’t you go find somebody who gives a damn, huh? Cuz none of us need your sorry ass around, Trouble. I mean it. You're just a charity case for the band. Even Cas.”

You inhaled through your nose. Dean watched you darkly, waiting for the waterworks. You didn’t give him the satisfaction.

You plastered on a company smile. “Now you’ve only got ten minutes, Mr. Winchester. It’s a good thing you’re already undressed for that shower, isn’t it?” 

Dean watched as you stormed down the hall and jabbed the call button for the elevator. Before you could look back to see if he was doing what he was told, Dean slammed the broken door closed, forgetting the jagged frame, and watched helplessly as it simply bounced back at him.

Thankfully, the bathroom door still worked.

Dean’s nap was short lived. Instead, he silently berated himself for saving your apology for last. Though to keep from putting it off, he told himself it would only get better once he actually got it over with. Call that progress. He stared at the seat back in front of him and willed himself to move.

The thing about going to therapy and putting in the work, Dean now knew why he did a lot of the things he did. But that didn’t make any of the accountability easier.

   Dean hauled himself up and waited a beat for his bus legs to come back to him. He grunted as he stretched and glanced around the bus. Kevin had his head down and his arms crossed over his chest, while his massive headphones kept Dean from knowing if he was sleeping or just lost in sound. Annie was dozing draped over two seats on the other side of the space that was far too wide to be considered an aisle.

Dean leaned over and flicked Sam’s topknot because he could. Which earned him the finger, but the easy annoyance supplied him with just enough ease to let a grin slip onto his face. He spotted Lee and Gibson at the kitchen table playing cards.

“Playing Kings on the Corner if you’re up for it?” Lee mentioned as he shuffled. 

“Pssh! Gibson, I would have thought you’d be running a Blackjack table by now. Let’s put some money down,” Dean teased as he approached. That was when he spotted you with your nose in a paperback, sharing a row with an eye masked Pamela. 

“Trouble! Why don’t you get in on this game, huh? I’m sure—.” Dean bent over to read the cover. “I’m sure Hoover, the writer, not the vacuum, wouldn’t mind if you took a breather. It’s for a good cause! That being Gibson’s college fund,” he trailed off.

Lee just smirked at him.

God, he felt so obvious.

“Does Gibson even want me to play?” you said knowingly.

“Sure does, don’cha, buddy?!” Lee swooped in and helped Dean save face.

Gibson knew when to lay it on thick. “Please?! It’s better with four people!” 

Dean’s chest thrummed with the look you gave his surrogate nephew, equally attentive, exasperated, and amused. 

“Is that so?” you asked, waiting to hear out a six-year-old’s reasons.

“Yeah, cuz it’s Kings on the Corner. And there’s four corners,” Gibson summarized beautifully, pointing to each spot someone could fit around the table.

Dean looked at you and shrugged. Who could argue with that logic? You held Dean’s gaze and smiled secretly, so as not to let Gibson think you were laughing at him. Which made Dean feel warm, and so very grateful that he could still share that kind of smile with you. 

You set your book down and Dean eased into the bench seat to make room for you. “And how is this helping Gibson’s college fund exactly?”

Dean ducked his head. “Well, not THIS game, but I was thinking, uh, maybe after a few rounds we put a little cash on the table. A little five card stud or blackjack maybe?”

Lee chuckled. “Gonna let him have the real tour bus experience?”

Gibson worked on shuffling the cards as the adults held their breaths over that clearly downplayed idea of what goes on on tour, especially on the bus in question. God, Dean was gonna crack at any moment, between the warning in Lee’s eyes and the mischief in yours.

You rolled your eyes and cleared your throat. “Need help?” you asked the now struggling child with hands too small for a proper bridge shuffle.

“Eh, he’s doing alright.” Dean exhaled, letting the adult humor fade out of the conversation naturally.

“Yeah, I got it,” Gibson agreed, tapping the edges to get the cards to line up smoothly.

You all made it through three hands of Kings on the Corner before switching to a very mild game of BlackJack. Dean took the pot of a cool fifty bucks from Lee just as Bobby pulled up to their next hotel. He helped Gibson clean up and put the deck of cards back in a basket the band kept underneath the bench seat along with a few other games and puzzle books.

Pamela, still groggy from her nap, called Gibson over to grab his backpack as everyone started gathering their things to check in. Dean ruffled his dark hair and thanked him for a good game as he passed by you both.

“That was fun— he’s such a trip,” you said fondly.

“Yeah, ‘s probably my favorite kid ever. Way less of a whiner than Sam ever was,” Dean agreed. 

“I should probably get my shit together,” you said, clearly not in a rush to move.

“Yeah— it’s not like the hotel is going anywhere.” Dean just needed to get this over with. “Hey, listen, about yesterday—.”

“Yeah what was that, mister?!” you tried to keep it light, but something in the tone of your voice told him it was a bigger deal than you were putting on.

“I’m sorry. I just—.” Dean wiped his hand down his mouth and thought about how he was going to explain himself. “I had to work through some negative energy. I should have told somebody where I was going and that I was okay— I just saw red and needed to move before I did something stupid.”

You listened, clearly worried, but didn’t press him for more than he wanted to give. “Is everything alright now? I mean, the show was great— nobody would have known.”

Dean thought back to the show the night before, so much came to mind, but also hundreds of shows before it filtered in to muddle the fresh memories. “I’m good. And next time I need to take a breather I’ll let somebody know so I don’t freak anybody out. I know better— that was all on me.”

“If you’re sure—”

Dean knocked your shoulder with his. “I’m sure. Thanks for lookin’ out. It means a lot.”

“Of course!” Your brow furled like he was an idiot to expect otherwise. 

Maybe he was.

He definitely didn’t want you asking more into it. He glanced around the bus, half the band had already cleared out, but Bobby was still helping Annie get her bags together before they’d head inside to confirm all of the reservations.

“I guess we better scoot before they lock up.” Dean stood hunched over, waiting for you to let him out of his spot.

“Yeah, god I hope I’m by the elevator this time. My legs feel like cement blocks today,” you confided, slowly getting up and letting Dean stand to his full height.

“You were rocking some serious heels last night—- your knee isn’t acting up is it?”

You glanced at him with a curious tilt to your head, walking back to tuck your book in your messenger bag. “You saw my boots? Why— Um, no, knee’s fine. Well, as good as it ever is.”

Dean burned as he realized he had admitted to checking out your legs, which really was the least of his recent sins, but still shouldn’t have slipped out. “Oh, okay— that’s good. I just know some docs in Vegas if you needed some pain relief or needed it looked at—- or anything.”

 You shrugged your bag onto your shoulder and grabbed your phone from the ledge by the window. “I’ll keep that in mind. Hopefully I won’t need it though.”

“Right.” Dean exhaled and stepped back to let you head to the bus doors.

Before Dean could even remember to grab his own stuff, a gruff voice broke through his brain fog. “Real smooth.”

He spun to see Sam smirking at him beneath his stupid hair and oversized headphones. “Shut up, bitch.”

“After you, jerk.”

The next afternoon, Dean had Gibson on his back as they made a mad dash for the bathroom in the Children’s Zoo area at the San Diego Zoo.

“Excuse us, emergency,” Dean said as he dodged through the crowd of strangers and more strollers than he could count. Didn’t these people have something better to do on a work day?!

“Uncle Dean?” Gibson sounded worried.

“Almost there, little man,” Dean reassured. He was the one who had stuffed the kid full of slushies and cotton candy, so he said he’d be the one to make sure he didn’t have any accidents or stains on his clothes.

He might live to regret that promise.

Finally they rounded a corner and Dean spotted the little peg people and an arrow towards a set of doors. The family bathroom was locked when he tried to yank it open. He grunted and bent down to set Gibson down.

“Alright men’s room, this way—- told ya we’d make it,” Dean ushered Gibson inside and followed to guard him while he did his business and make sure he washed his damn hands. They were heading to the Safari park next and he didn’t not want to worry about letting the little gremlin sit on his lap with bathroom germs all over him.

“Okay! Let’s go find Uncle Sam and your mom, huh?”

“Do we have to?” Gibson whined.

Dean chuckled. “Come on, they’re not that bad!”

“Uncle Sam keeps reading to me about the animals and Mom just wants to pose for selfies with the mama and baby animals.”

“So?! At least they like hanging out with you! Could be a lot worse,” Dean suggested, directing Gibson through the crowd with a hand between his little shoulder blades. He tried to remember if his dad had ever taken him or Sam to a zoo, but all that came to mind was his mother chaperoning a field trip to a pumpkin farm once upon a time before Bush Sr. had taken office.

The Safari Park was pretty cool. Dean got stopped by a couple of employees for selfies before they were through the line for the jeeps. But they made up for it with letting them skip to the front. There was also the few minutes he had to hold Gibson’s head away when they happened upon a rhino trying to mount a female. The thing’s dick was longer than Dean’s arm.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean placated. “Anybody’s gonna have an inferiority complex compared to that. Not me, but anybody else.”

“Bite me, Dean,” Sam muttered, remembering not to swear in front of the kid.

Dean cackled as Gibson huffed in boredom.

The day was just what Dean needed after the extreme highs and lows of the weekend, relaxing with low stakes. They grabbed a late lunch at a deli down the street from the hotel and made plans for the Midway Museum the following day, after Dean’s therapy call. He wondered if you’d be able to join in on the fun. Bobby had gotten the tickets, so Dean guessed you wouldn’t have any conference calls either. Or he hoped.

Dean really didn’t know what to say to that. Bela had been prickly early on during the last afterparty, but neither you nor she had said anything that gave him any idea what was going on between you two.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to get in the middle now.

But Bela wouldn’t have said something unless she was genuinely worried about you. Or about your friendship at least. Dean sighed and said he would tell you to call her. He just didn’t specify WHEN was all.

He got a couple of hearts and a ‘thank you’ text back.

Dean couldn’t help but feel like this was backwards. His loyalty wasn’t with Bela, especially not when it came to you versus her. And unless the next few shows bombed, he didn’t think there was any reason to keep playing pretend. He was back. The band was thriving, as the kids said, and he was completely in love with someone else.

So, yeah, Dean might check in and see if you were pissed at Bela. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to do anything more than that. Unless you needed him to.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

@beautiful-places-blog

@n-o-p-e-never

Chapter 31: Ziehen

[transgenderer]

Peanut was an eastern gray squirrel found and rescued in 2017 by Mark Longo after the squirrel's mother was killed by a car in New York City. Longo sought a shelter for Peanut but was unsuccessful, and he bottle-fed the squirrel for the next eight months before deciding that Peanut should be returned to the wild. Longo released the animal into his backyard, but about a day later, he found Peanut on his porch with half of its tail missing. Longo said he "opened the door, [Peanut] ran inside, and that was the last of Peanut's wildlife career." It is illegal to keep squirrels as pets in the state of New York, and in the seven years spent in Longo's care in his hometown of Norwalk, Connecticut, no license was obtained to legally keep Peanut. Longo has stated that he was in the process of filing paperwork to have Peanut certified as an educational animal at the time of the seizure, however, he has not explained why he did not pursue a license in the preceding seven years.

While in his care, Longo created an Instagram account sharing videos of Peanut, and by October 2024 the account had amassed 534,000 followers. Peanut's social media following also helped steer viewers to Longo's OnlyFans account, where he called himself "Peanut's dad" and produced pornography, drawing in $800,000 over one month. In April 2023, Longo and his wife moved from Norwalk to upstate New York to found the P'Nuts Freedom Farm Animal Sanctuary. They contributed to half of the sanctuary's expenses, most of which was raised through Peanut's social media presence. According to them, the sanctuary had rescued over 300 animals by November 2024, however, Longo was not licensed as a wildlife rehabilitator.

The New York State Department of Environmental Conservation (NYSDEC) began investigating Mark Longo in January 2024 after complaints were received alleging that Longo was keeping wildlife illegally. In an interview with the New York Post, Longo speculated that the anonymous complaints were motivated by jealousy due to the success of his OnlyFans account.

On October 30, 2024, the NYSDEC took Peanut, along with a pet raccoon named Fred, from Longo's home in Pine City, New York. Two days later, government officials alleged that after his seizure, Peanut had bitten one of the personnel involved, and the pets were euthanized to test for rabies, as there are no ante-mortem rabies testing methods for animals approved by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Longo stated that the decision to euthanize the squirrel "won't go unheard". The incident has been widely criticized as an example of excessive government intrusion into personal lives and pet ownership rights. Longo claimed that the NYSDEC used excessive force during the raid, which, according to Longo, lasted five hours.

Peanut's death triggered widespread public backlash, social media outcry, condemnation from several lawmakers, and a proposed bill aimed at preventing similar incidents in the future.

The death of Peanut was used as a cause célèbre by the MAGA movement, who blamed it on Democrats. Several prominent Republican figures complained about the killing of the squirrel, with some Trump campaign supporters claiming that the Biden-Harris administration was too firm regarding licenses for owning wild animals like squirrels as pets. Both New York governor Kathy Hochul and Vice President Kamala Harris turned down a request to comment on the incident. The Republican vice presidential candidate of the 2024 U.S. election, JD Vance, posted on X that "Don is fired up about P'Nut the squirrel"; the official Trump campaign TikTok account also condemned Peanut's death. Nick Langworthy stated his irritation with the NYS DEC, saying that "instead of focusing on critical needs like flood mitigation in places like Steuben County, where local officials have to struggle just to get permits from the DEC to clear debris-filled waterways, they're out seizing pet squirrels." Former New York governor Andrew Cuomo of the Democratic Party also criticized the DEC, as did actor William Shatner. On X (Twitter), Elon Musk commented that "Government overreach kidnapped an orphan squirrel and executed him."

Jake Blumencranz, a NYS Assemblyman from Long Island's 15th Assembly District, has proposed a bill called "Peanut's Law: Humane Animal Protection Act", an amendment to the New York State Environmental Conservation Law limiting government animal seizures

Really an incredible tale

[dragonagefanevents]

Dragon Age Fan Event Listings

The beauty of fan events is that they are run by fans.

Including you.

▸What are the types of fan events? - #education

▸Start a new event! - #how tos (coming soon)

▸Ask Box - send us advice, or ask for it!

▸Blog Tag List

Below is a list of all Dragon Age fan-run events we can find. The links should bring you to the most recent iteration of the event. Where possible, the time period the event covers is listed next to the event.

Want to get an event listed? Check out the link and submit. Look here for multi-fandom events, or more events in general.

Event Masterlist - #compendium

Bangs

25k Big Bang (July - November)

10k Big Bang (March - April)

Dragon Age Reverse Bang

Exchanges

Arlathan Exchange (April - June)

DA Polyshipping (August - November)

Handers Exchange (March - May)

Templartations Exchange (March - May)

Black Emporium Rare Pair Exchange (June - September)

Platonic Ideal Gen Fic Exchange (December - February)

Smutquisition (January - March)

Theme Weeks/Months

Krem Week 2024 (July 22 - 28)

City Elf Week (August 5 - August 11)

Zevwarden Week (2024 dates TBD)

Tranquil Week (August 25 - 31)

Sera Appreciation Week (Oct 13 - 19)

Kink Memes

Dragon Age Kink Meme (Dreamwidth) | DAO | DA2 | DAI

Zines

Dragon Age Flower Zine (Creation Period)

Wanderers Zine (Creation Period)

Dragon Age OC Zine (Mod Apps Open)

Alistair Zine (Creation Period)

Special Events

Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle

Dragon Age Annual (2025 Production Period)

Dragon Age Create-A-Thon (Begins Sept 15 2024)

Reddit Weekly Dragon Age Writing Prompts

Unofficial Dragon Age Day (Dec 4)

Solavellan Day (April 11)

Past Events

Retired Bangs

DragonAgeBB (last: 2015; formerly on LJ and elsewhere)

Retired Exchanges

Demands of the Qun (Qunari)

A Paragon of Their Kind (DA Dwarves)

Solas Lovers

Hightown Funk (Varric/Hawke)

Retired Theme Weeks/Months

Autumn of Anders (Anders Appreciation Event)

Dalish Week

30 Days of Dorian (Dorian Appreciation Event)

Dragon Age Fan Week (2013)

Cullen Appreciation Week (2019)

Cullen Week (2021)

14 Days of DA Lovers

Fenris Appreciation Month (2017)

Rylen Appreciation Week (2018)

Sera Appreciation Week (2019)

Sub!Solas Week (2016)

Past Zines

Adoribull Fairytales

Age of Romance Zine (Incomplete)

ApprovesGreatly (Incomplete)

Andoralis Zine

Arcana: A Dragon Age Zine

Arlathvhen Zine (Incomplete)

Beyond the Veil Zine (Zine)

Bring Down the Sky Bioware Fanzine

Dragon Age 2 10th Anniversary Zine (Zine)

Dragon Age Codex Zine & Myths and Legends Zine

Fortitudo Dorian Artbook

Good for Each Other (Adoribull Zine)

In Peace, Vigilance Zine

Insufficient Skill Fanzine

Legend Mark Zine

Lotus and Root OC Zine

Love Across Thedas Zine (Zine)

Na Via Lerno Victoria (Fenris Zine)

Patron of the Arts Zine

Rebel Hearts Handers Zine (Zine)

Road to the Imperium Zine

Solasmancy Zine

Sunlight (Anders Zine)

The Coming Storm Zine (Ukrainian Zine)

The Dragon Age Zine (Russian Zine)

The Keeper's Codex Fairy Tale Zine

The Unsung Dragon Age Zine

The Zevran Zine (incomplete)

Thedosian Archives (incomplete)

to be happy (FenHawke Zine)

Wicked Eyes: A Dragon Age Finery Zine

Year of the Mabari (Incomplete)

Other Past Events

Dragon Age Calendar 2018

Dragon Age Calendar 2021

For Fans by Fans - Fan Forge

[new-holocene]

ode to abandoned projects

normally i dedicate my public facing social media accounts solely to sharing my finished artwork, but I figure some reflection on the past few years of my development as an artist would be worthwhile. I was initially trying to find an old gmod map I made (I didn't find it), and in the process I found a number of screenshots of WIPs spanning the past 7 years. for many of these projects, they were abandoned because I got too busy with school/university.

from march 2017. made in unity. I don't remember the specifics of this project. I think I was trying to make a short narrative walking sim.

from december 2017. I wanted to make a short smw romhack. I remember drawing level designs on a spare piece of paper after finishing a secondary school exam early. one day I'll make a romhack, one day...

from may 2018. I had just replayed marble blast ultra after finding it had a PC port. shortly after I found all the textures were just in the game files and could be modified easily. myself and an old friend wanted to make a 'games repainted'-esque mod. I claim full credit for every marble game since that's included a 🤔marble skin.

from march 2020. a mockup of a piece I was calling 'alignment chart' for the first time I had ever applied for a bursary. this used a mixture of generative art pieces i made in processing and graphic design. this piece is interesting to look back on because it marked the development of my art style for the first time, and the psuedo-cuneiform generator ended up being a recurring feature of my art. my application was rejected because i did not read the terms and conditions to realise it wasn't open to university students - and I was still studying computer science at the time.

from may 2020. I was aiming to participate in the low res game jam but never got to finish due to university work taking up my time. I never fleshed out the mechanics of the game, but the goal was to take care of the tree in the center of the map. it doesn't look like much, but I really pushed myself (or rather, tortured myself) by not using a game engine and writing this in C++ with raylib instead.

from april 2020. this was going to be a browser based demake of five nights at freddy's (a game I've never played and have no interest in) titled "five years at yanderedev's". I figured that it felt too close to participating in lolcowing someone and that it was in bad spirits, so I scrapped it.

from september 2020. a mockup of my homepage sharpfourth.net. I kept the logo and general layout for whats on the site currently, but didn't include the scanner warped images.

from october 2020. I wanted to make a walking sim in the quake engine, but once again, university work got in the way. however, this got me familiar with the basics of using trenchbroom (a map editor for quake), which came in very, very handy for later projects.

from october 2021. myself and some close friends had planned to make a zine detailing how to do DIY feminising HRT in Ireland (and maybe the UK). we never got around to writing it (partly because we feared potential legal repercussions for disseminating medical advice lol), but this marked a further development of my art style.

from october 2021. I had hoped to make a first person RPG in godot. once again scrapped because I got too busy with uni. I spent ages trying to implement a wonky movement system that could be exploited, being inspired by bhopping from source or strafe jumping from quake. the dialogue system was the last thing I worked on. I used trenchbroom again - this time with qodot - for making the prototype map. while making this demo, I realised the potential use of godot and trenchbroom in visual art, something i would revisit during my first gallery residency.

from march 2022. this might be the most unassuming piece in this collection, but it marks a significant turning point in my life. I was tasked with making diagrams for a group project in uni, but given that I was facing extreme burnout and apathy towards the course, I instead "doodled" with the elements of the diagram. this spiraled into me writing my zine/short-story EATARTHU, which I then used to apply for a gallery residency. I was fortunate enough to get the residency, and I dropped out of college to pursue art.

as discouraging as it might be to constantly start and abandon projects, it's important to stop and remember that ever single abandoned game or drawing or album or whatever marked a chance for you to learn and develop as an artist. one day you might very well finish a project, and it'll reflect a bit of every single abandoned one of its precursors.

[7grandmel]

Rip of the week: 25/07/2024

The End of HHGregg

Season 6 Featured on: Transmission Archive ~ The SiIvaGunner All-Star Nuclear Winter Festival Collection

Ripped by The Green Spy, CaptainComedy Visuals by Galacksy

(Note: MP3 embed is trimmed at the beginning as to allow it to be posted within Tumblr's file size limits)

I'm sure some of you were worried about where this week's post had gone. Worry not - I was simply biding my time for the day to arrive. Indeed, we have reached the 25th of July, a Thursday for some, and a national holiday for others. For today, we celebrate, grieve and toast to our dearly beloved, HHGregg. Today, it is Christmas in July, and time to at last cover The End of HHGregg.

For being one of my all-time favorite SiIvaGunner channel memes, I'm shocked at myself in how restrained I've been in covering rips using HHGregg's infamous red-tag-sale commercial. Sure, I spilled my soul out for the joke back with Nostalgic Blood of the Gregg ~ Old Source, and Everything Circus remains an all-time classic, yet there's still so much more to cover. In terms of jokes on the SiIvaGunner channel, I feel like HHGregg is one of the most developed ones, one with a legacy cherished by so many people on the team and off - and even a bit of a story to it that's been captured in full glory with today's rip.

Like sure, there's the obvious quirk that makes HHGregg stand out more than many other channel memes - the guy has an outright day-of-the-year holiday dedicated to him. As the infamous Christmas in July ad was what propelled HHGregg's moderately-annoying mascot into becoming a YTPMV star, July 25th on SiIvaGunner has become a sort of understated annual event for fans like myself, much in the same way that April 30th was with It's Gonna Be Me and guess what​?​?​?​?​?​?​?​?. Yet, of course, there's an underlying sort of sadness to HHGregg rips in particular due to the brand its attached to: the company that the ad's many YTPMVs are riffing on filed for bankrupcy in 2017, midway through Season 2 of SiIvaGunner. The store still exists now, bought by a parental company and turned all-digital, but the franchise as it was once known is all gone, with it's ill-fated mascot going down with it.

Of course, we don't really need to feel much remorse for the fall of an electronics boutique - but given the SiIvaGunner channel's way of personifying and giving life to in-jokes and gags the world over, it informs rips using HHGregg in a pretty different way. HHGregg rips on the channel had their biggest stride during the very same year that the chain went bankrupt, as if to suggest that the mascot was desperate to prove his own worth on the one place that still remembered him fondly. In the years since, we got sporadic shots of the guy here and there - and in my eyes, it at one point felt as if it all culminated with the rip エイチエイチグレッグ ホ���イトハウスでチョー大変!, a fully-featured edit of Neon Genesis Evangelion's iconic A Cruel Angel's Thesis opening now starring HHGregg himself.

Yet, of course, as I've harped on about with rips like Shiny Smily TALE, Violet Snow Memories and Our Sweet Parsley, one of the most rewarding parts of following the SiIvaGunner channel lies in how the team never seems to forget about any of its zillions of uploads. No matter how much time passes, rippers love one another, the ideas they come up with, and the potential to build further on one another's ideas - it is a core part of YTP and YTPMV culture that's remained strong on SiIvaGunner since its very inception. The A Cruel Angel's Thesis rip above, by excellent rippers Ashley and GramBam36 of The Legend of Cage: Staff Roll fame, was a joyous celebration - a year later, as Season 6's sombre mood results in the Nuclear Winter Festival rolling around, a trio of rippers sees the perfect opportunity to finally put HHGregg to some form of rest. The meme's far from dead today, of course (check the channel right now) - yet, at last, with The End of HHGregg, it felt as if the funny paper roll man was finally ready to accept his fate.

The End of HHGregg, silly of a concept as it may be, executes that concept to a degree I don't think anyone was expecting. Second only to A Cruel Angel's Thesis, Komm, süsser Tod is an iconic piece that serves as the ending theme to the original NGE anime, one tied to feelings of bittersweet-ness, finality - at once able to reference one of the most classic HHGregg rips on SiIva, acknowledging HHGregg's bankruptcy, whilst tying itself directly to the ongoing Nuclear Winter Festival of Season 6. And that's not even getting into the rip itself!

The YTPMV work done here to sentence-mix and pitch-shift HH's various vocals to fit the melody of Komm, süsser Tod is, for lack of a better way to put it, downright remarkable. Despite a seemingly limited pool of voice lines to work with and a rigid framework of a melody, the guy only ever "sings" in complete sentences, with pitch shifting that manages to sound shockingly natural, still as gratingly chipper as HH tends to sound but still seeped in that vibe of bittersweet-ness that I discussed before. It goes through every beat and phase of Komm, süsser Tod without ever having the vocal samples sound forced, including the deeply inspired use of a layered, choir-like HH performance on several segments. Althewhile never forgetting the classic HH lines, the red-tag sales, the HD-TV and Whirlpool appliances, and of course, the Christmas in July. The cherry on top of it all is the intro to the song, before the main melody truly kicks in, as this little interlude sneakily includes a guitar now playing Deck the Halls just as featured in the most infamous Christmas in July ad - a sombre reminder of where it all began.

That aforementioned vibe is, of course, emphasized greatly by Galacksy's incredible illustration for the rip, the literal End of Evangelion depicted as being the fall of HHGregg as a whole, in absolutely spectacular fashion. Like with i love(d) you and so so many other rips, it's so often these seemingly small touches that end up elevating rips to all-time classics for me, and it's a trait that The End of HHGregg's audio also eventually contributes to, in a way I truly don't wish to spoil for you all. Nevertheless, the key takeaway here is one that's evident right upon first listen: This is a DAMN impressive YTPMV effort that at once celebrates and mourns one of the YTPMV world's most cherished sources, yet pulling it off as if it were effortless. In celebration of YTPMV, of SiIvaGunner, of one of the channel's most immaculate of somewhat-too-hidden gems from Season 5, and of the very state of memes coming to an end - The End of HHGregg is everything one could ask for.

Godspeed, you rolled-up brochure cretin. And happy Christmas in July to you.

[zathechaosgod]

How Boeing's doing

If anyone has sort of lost the oversight of the soap opera of a scandal is going with the whole Boeing thing:

Jan 5th: Alaska Airlines flightusing a boeing 737 max 9 loses a door, turns out to have literally screws missing leading to the failure of the door plug

Boeing is logically being sued/audited over safety concerns and "can't locate any documents about the opening and closing of the door plug" on march 8th

March 9th: A whistleblower involved in the process since 2017, John Barnett, is found dead in his car "from a self-inflicted gunshot wound" after being asked by Boeing's lawyers to stay on site for the ongoing trial one more night instead of going home to his family, and despite making it clear to his family beforehand that he had no plans of ending his life and was actually looking forward to making it into court.

April 30th, a second whistleblower has died, this time Joshua Dean who used to work as a quality auditor at a Boeing supplier. In only two weeks time he went from completely healthy to hospitalized from a whole Bunch of viruses including influenza B, MRSA (which is resistant against basic antibiotics), and pneumonia, to a degree that basically stunned his doctors with how much his lungs were filled.

Both whisteblowers were being represented by the same lawyer, Brian Knowles

Ironically, less than a day later on may 1st, the emergency slide that a delta flight lost last friday got washed up in the backyard of one of the lawyers suing Boeing in a coincidence that nearly feels like a targeted threat

Sources i used under the readmore:

[edai-crplpnk]

Temari was pregnant on her wedding day: A Naruto Timeline analysis

[usual disclaimer: I love studying canon timeline but no one's headcanons have to be bound to it just do what you like bye]

Note: for simplicity, I gave years numbers, the Kyuubi attack/Naruto's birth are in 2000 and the other dates are based on that

Fact 1: Gaara is at least 20

In Gaara Hidden, one of the councilmen tells Gaara "You've steadily grown, and reached the age of twenty" and Temari and Shikamaru are in the process of choosing their wedding date in this novel as well, so the Wedding has to happen later than that.

We know from the data book that Gaara is from the same school year as Naruto, and born in January, so he is born in January 2001. (In Japan, the school year is from April to March of the next year and the children in the same class are the ones born during the same school year, not civil year. If you want to know why I say that data books are based on school years, not civil years, flick me a request and I will happily do so! Just not here because it'd be too long.)

We can conclude that the wedding is in February 2021 or later.

Fact 2: Shikadai graduates 15 years after the 4th war

There is no indication that I've found in canon material about when the Boruto events happen, but we can read in this interview that Naruto Gaiden happens 15 years after the last chapter of Naruto. (We will have to assume that "last chapter" here means chapter 699, not 700, or else all the new gen has spent 15 years being teenagers at the academy.) Naruto Gaiden opens with Shino telling the class (Shikadai is there) that the graduation exam will be in a week.

The issue here is that chapter 699 happens in October (Minato says happy birthday to Naruto in chapter 691 the same day, and we know from the data books he was born in October) and the graduation is presumably in March (again, that's one the school year ends, and Itachi is also said to graduate "in the springtime" in Itachi Shinden). So it could mean either 15,5 years later, or 14,5 years later.

The 4th War happens in October 2017 (Naruto turns 17 during it, that's the age the data book gives us).

We can conclude that Shikadai graduates either in March 2032 or 2033.

Fact 3: Shikadai graduates at 11

It is the minimum age as per the law (it is said in Itachi Shinden, this law is made shortly before the Rookie 9 graduate: “now that it was a time of peace [...] it was no longer possible to graduate in a short time [...] no matter how talented Sasuke was, he couldn't become a ninja until he was eleven years old”).

It is the age at which all the Rookie 9 graduate (they are said to turn 12 during the first year of naruto and 13 during the second, again, I can give more details about data book ages in another post if needed).

The naruto wiki tells me that the Naruto data book says he is 12 for the Chuunin Exam, but the scan I have of the data book do not seem to indicate any age that I can find?

So this is not 100% a fact that I have found a canon material number about, but it's the most logical possibility (he's not allowed to graduate younger, there's no reason he would graduate older, this is what happened to the previous gen, and this is what the whole fandom seems to believe, so, yeah).

Similarly, everyone seems to agree that his birthday is September 23, I have not found where that comes from yet, but I have to assume it does come from somewhere. If you know please tell me!

[Edit: apparently it comes from a bonus calendar in the Shounen Jump issue 6-7 of 2019 but I haven't found a scan yet.]

We can conclude that Shikadai was born in either September 2020 or 2021, depending on the graduation date.

Conclusion

If Gaara Hiden and the wedding were in 2021, Shikadai cannot have been born in 2020, so he has to be born in September 2021. If we imagine that Gaara Hiden takes place right after Gaara's birthday (the earliest date) and then Temari and Shikamaru got married on the month that followed, Temari would have been 2 months pregnant, and this is the minimum she could have been.

Your honour, they have sinned.

[1dficfests]

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Last updated: 27th October 2023

Please let me know if I’m missing something!

[kbspangler]

ISSUES - Coping Strategies

Remembered this old story of mine that I had posted on my Patreon in 2017. In April of 2016, I donated an AGAHF story to Geeky Giving, an organization raising funds " to help advance research on Parkinson’s, ALS, traumatic brain injuries, brain tumors, Alzheimer’s and more. " At the time of writing, Geeky Giving was working with the  Barrow Neurological Institute to determine the causes and progression of these conditions. 

Alzheimer's took my grandmother; it took my husband's grandmother. Both of us watch our parents like hawks: both of us wonder what's going to happen to us in 50 years.  So I approached Geeky Giving and offered to donate a story to them. They said sure, and yes, it could be an in-universe AGAHF story as long as it touched on the importance of neurological research. 

I have a series of short stories called "Issues," mainly for topics which don't get a lot of on-panel discovery. This is the story of the brilliant oncologist who had to shift her specialty to cyborg research, and the damaged forensic artist who is slowly putting himself back together. AKA: How Jenny and Shawn fell in love.

Please be kind: this was written in 2015-16 and language changes.

The man on the other side of the bed was sweet and kind and completely insane.

She didn’t know how to feel about that. This uncertainty bothered her more than the act of sleeping with a crazed man. Five years ago, she would have been mortified with herself, with the idea of intimacy with someone such as Shawn. Even if he wasn’t her patient. Even if he was more than a friend. Today, he was just…Shawn.

She didn’t let herself think about it—she’d find fear down there, and maybe something else, something that could chase the fear away but leave them both forever changed.

Instead, she stared at the ceiling and pretended she couldn’t hear her machines call to her.

Shawn’s mental voice was strong, and ran as crisp as a winter river through her mind. “Go,” he said.

 “I thought you were asleep,” she whispered aloud.

“You’re too noisy. You should go. Go be with them.”

She rolled over to face him. He had cut his hair himself last week and had done an awkward job of it. Someone had given him a buzz cut to tidy him up, but aggressive neurosurgery and skull-shorn hair paired poorly. She traced his scars with her fingertips, feeling the bumps and twists of the ridges of his scar tissue, and beneath that, his drowsy tangle of emotions.

“They miss you,” he said in her mind. He reached out and traced her own scars, hidden beneath her short brown hair. “I’ll miss you, too, but I want to sleep.”

“All right.” She kissed him on his shoulder, and felt him drop out of her senses as his implant went into passive mode. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” he muttered into his pillow, his voice cut down to nothing from lack of use. “I remember having more energy after sex.”

“You remember sex when you were twenty,” she said. Their clothes were a single knot on the floor; she yanked on loose ends until she had reclaimed her pants. “We’re getting old.”

Gentle snoring.

The other members of the collective slept around them, rooms and buildings and miles away. She felt them around her, off-line but still present in the back of her head, four hundred souls who shared their thoughts with her during the day but kept their dreams to themselves.

She opened the door to the crash room and stepped into her lab. It was a medical suite in name only, stuck beneath a crumbling mansion in what once had been a wine cellar. Federal funding only went so far: the government could front the costs for the cutting-edge technology that had gone into their heads, but resources for infrastructure and development? Please.

She didn’t mind. She had built her own diagnostic laboratory by scavenging equipment from storage, or buying what she couldn’t borrow. The room served double-duty as an emergency ward, but the worst injuries she saw tended to be exercise-induced, and not too many of those.

It left her plenty of time for her own projects.

Her computers whirred to life around her. There was no need for clunky access codes; they recognized her and welcomed her home.

“HELLO, JENNY.”

Theirs was a woman’s voice, false and mechanical. Most days, she told herself that they couldn’t feel, that she was projecting her own eagerness to get back to work on her machines.

On nights like this, when the rest of the collective was sleeping and she was nearly alone in her own head, Jenny wasn’t so sure.

“Hello, ladies,” she said. “Ready to play?”

A human brain sprung up around her in reply.

It was lovingly rendered in greens, and enlarged ten times life-size for clarity; if she looked closely, she could see the bright flashes of synapses.

(Which was something of a comfort—it was her own brain, scanned and digitized, and independent confirmation that your own brain is active is always welcome.)

 The implant rested against her parietal lobe, a small metallic sliver smaller than the head of a nail. At this resolution, she could make out the microscopic filaments connected to it; these ran throughout her brain, the majority twining into her brain stem. Heat regulation had been front and center on the developers’ own minds; without it, the cyborgs would have cooked themselves within their own skulls.

She ran her fingers through the hologram. The silvery filaments covered her holographic brain like cobwebs, shining brightly against the green.

“Ladies, overlay image JED-1 over master.”

A second brain appeared, the same general size and shape as the first but made from blues instead of greens. The opacity of the green brain diminished as the blue brain was positioned over it.

“File: Jenny Davis, late night ramblings,” she said aloud. Talking helped. Speaking directly to her computers through her implant was good for clinical analysis, but it was late, and she was tired, and it was time to purge her thoughts so she could, maybe, get some sleep.

“RECORDING.”

“Thank you, ladies. Subfile: Background, general.” She began to pace around and through the hologram, checking for oddities. The blue brain was hers, too—had been hers, once, nearly seven years and an entire lifetime ago. Before the surgery, and the collective, and the alien oddness of hiveminds had all had their way with it. “Image JED-1, brain of a healthy 22-year-old Caucasian female. Ladies, highlight parietal lobe.”

 A section of the hologram began to glow.

“Side by side, magnify, compare and contrast.”

The hologram divided itself again, blue and green enlarging to fill the room. She wandered through the colors, talking to her machines as she went, tracing lines and shapes and twisting flashes of—

“What’s this?”

Jenny swore aloud as her concentration shattered. Shawn flinched away from her sudden frustration and dropped to his knees.

“Oh, honey!” She knelt beside him and reached out through the link. His consciousness scurried away from hers, looking for an escape but unable to find it. “I didn’t know you were there. I’m so sorry.”

She pressed her bare hands against his bare shoulders: she pushed positive emotions—calm, peace, belonging—across the bridge of their skin until he believed it.

He uncurled, looking up at her like a lost lamb.

“I thought you were asleep,” she explained. “You scared me.”

 Shawn laughed at that.

She managed to coax him off of the ground, one arm around him to keep him steady. “Here,” she said aloud. “Look. Want to see something amazing?

“This is me,” she continued, pointing to the blue hologram. “You know those tests you hate so much?”

“The brain scans?” He shuddered, and the sensation of being trapped in a tight white chamber crushed against her. Of lying as still as death, of knowing the person on the other end of the monitor was looking for what was wrong about what the core of you…

“Easy,” she whispered. “Please.”

His fear let her go, slowly. It had managed to find the cracks in her own psyche and had set itself deep—What if these brain implants stimulate tumorigenesis? Or neurodegeneration, or arteriovenous malformation, or… An almost endless list of what could go wrong…

 But there was the green hologram, brand-new and still perfect, and she told herself to put those fears aside.

“Well…” she began, “you remember during orientation, when we all had full medical diagnostics done? This is a composite image from my first MRI and CT scans.”

He stretched out a hand; it passed through the hologram, layering him in a blue the color of a summer sky.

“And this is me, too,” she said, pulling the green parietal lobe towards them. “From last week. Notice the differences?”

“This,” he said, as he pointed to the bright sliver of light on the green lobe. “Obviously.”

“What else?”

He grinned at her. A sense of pleasure at the challenge came back to her over their link, and she turned away on the pretense of gathering up some fallen papers. Too easy to forget that Shawn had once been in the FBI, that he had once been a brilliant up-and-coming forensic artist.

That experimenting with the human mind could have consequences.

Shawn didn’t seem to notice. He moved between the holograms, sorting and poking. His own digital renders began to appear as he worked; the holograms he created were more stylized than her own, freehand sketches hanging in the air beside her still images.

“Here,” he said, once done.

She wrapped her arms around him and stood on her toes so she could rest her chin on his shoulder. His sketches were playful, with arcs of white light moving across the lobes in quick streams. In some places, they caught what she hadn’t: Shawn’s sketches moved across regions that seemed no different than the others, with—

Jenny squinted, hard. “Are those bunnies?”

She stepped away from Shawn and moved into the holograms. A tiny cartoon rabbit popped out of a fold in her green parietal lobe and scampered across her brain. That first rabbit was followed by a second, then a third…more rabbits, an infinite number of rabbits, each scurrying with purpose towards different destinations.

Not just arcs of light, then.

“There are cheetahs somewhere,” he said. “And horses, too. They don’t show up as often. I used rabbits to show the most frequent movement.”

Sure enough, a streak of light emerged across the green expanse before her. A herd of wild mustangs, manes and tails flowing together as they ran, moved in a single stream.

“Damn,” she said softly. “Baby, this is really beautiful.”

She felt his cheeks flush. “It’s just a clip from a YouTube video,” he replied. “I didn’t have time to render each horse.”

“But you drew the bunnies?”

“One of them. The rest are a copy-paste job.”

“These are neural networks,” she said, reaching out to touch the mustangs with her mind. They blurred beneath her thoughts: she hastily moved her mind away, scared she had damaged them. The herd reformed and continued its journey. “Your bunnies are action potentials. The horses—” Out of the corner of her eye, a tiny feline body bunched and shot across the hologram at an incredible speed. “—and the cheetahs are electrochemical neurotransmissions.”

He laughed aloud, a wild, coughing sound. “I can’t remember freshman biology,” he said. “All I know is that the green brain has more wildlife than the blue one. A lot more wildlife.”

“That’s because the implant’s been changing us.”

White light in her head, so bright and sudden it took her a moment to realize her words had stunned him. Shawn stood, motionless, before he turned and fled to the comfortable darkness of the crash room.

“Oh, no, no, Shawn honey…” Jenny hurried after him. If he managed to make it under the bed, he’d be there for the rest of the week. She reached him in time to lay both hands flat on his back and pushed calm, belonging, peace across their joined skin.

He let her pull him away from the bed, but no further. They huddled on the floor in a sad, uncomfortable pile, and she felt a spot on the knee of her jeans grow damp.

Shawn was crying.

“There’s always some good that comes with change,” she said gently.

He looked up at her, eyes wide and desperate, before curling in on himself again.

“You didn’t break. You got a little bent, but… Here,” she said. “Come back to the lab. I want to show you something.”

Bad days turned him mulish, but this was a good day: she was able to coax him off the floor and as far as the doorway. They stood in the void between rooms, cold tile beneath their toes and warm carpet under their heels, as the holograms spun before them.

Jenny pointed. “You said you noticed how there was more wildlife in the green brain?”

“…yes…”

“That’s because our brains—this part of our brains, anyhow—is more active than it was before we got the implant. No, not just active—it’s thriving! Want to guess why?”

His attention was fixed on the holograms, but the easy scorn of an eyeroll passed between them.

“Humor me,” she said. “I’m going to have to explain this to people who aren’t in the collective at some point. Help me find the right words for this.”

“Because we’re using our brains in new ways,” Shawn replied, his mood pulling itself a little higher. “Talking via a link, or this—” he said, and pushed sensations at her.

Unseen fur, coarse but soft, surrounded her hands. Beneath that was the heat from a living body. With these came the memory of a beloved family dog, long dead but not forgotten.

“Exactly,” she said, blinking back her own tears at the loss of a pet she had never met. “We’re the first humans to have been augmented in this way. It’s causing us to think and act differently. We’ve got these new skills that we’re just beginning to put to use. We’re barely seven years into this experiment, and there’s already observable growth in the parietal lobe. Can you imagine what we’ll be able to do after—”

 “Wait, Jenny, wait. Brains grow? Don’t we… I thought we started shedding brain mass once we turned eighteen.”

“That’s Hollywood science,” she said. “Outdated and chock full of errors, but it still fits the script. The reality is…”

—rabbits, horses, and giant cats, speeding over an expanse of green in endless knots of light—

“The reality is, we’re miracles,” she said to him. “Human beings weren’t meant to be networked together. We shouldn’t have the ability to survive as part of a collective, but we do. We change—we grow. We’ve barely begun to understand how we can do any of this, but the more we learn, the more we can use that to grow.”

Shawn broke away from her and stepped into the lab. Greens and blues moved around him, coloring him in a digital sea. He was still naked; the scars across his wrists were nearly as white as the glowing animals.

“What about me?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not…” Shawn’s hands clenched uselessly. “I’m not who I used to be. Does this mean I can go back to how I was, or will I…”

He opened his hands and let his mind pour into hers.

Memories. All of them, from the moment that his own mind broke under the weight of a new reality to living in the fear of staying as he was, unable to change, unable to grow, a roller coaster of emotions that threatened to tip off of the rails—

Too much: she cried out. Shawn lost focus: the memories faded.

Her world rebuilt itself in pieces. The floor came first: she had fallen to her knees. She concentrated on the patterns in the tile until she found the walls. Where there was a floor and walls, there was a ceiling…

She stood.

Shawn hadn’t noticed. “Is this me?” he asked. “This?! From now on?”

She closed her eyes and thought about impossible conversations. Then: “Ladies?”

The holograms stopped spinning.

“Replace current images with new holographic display. Show SEF-1 and SEF-46, parietal lobes only. Side-by-side comparisons.”

Blues and greens vanished; blues and greens returned. To the untrained eye, nothing had changed; the wildlife was gone, but the silvery rectangle was still there on the green brain, and the same flashes of light chased itself in purposeful patterns across both.

“Here,” she said, as she joined Shawn in the center of the room. “This is you. Your earliest scans are blue, and the most recent scans are green.”

He stared up at the twisting holograms. She felt his attention dart across the details, focusing like a laser on anything distinctive or different…

“They look just like yours,” he finally admitted.

“That’s the problem, baby.” Jenny pulled him close. “If you had typical neurological damage, it’d show up on the scans. Whatever happened to you, it’s…harder to find.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Mental illness can be caused by emotional, psychological, or physiological events, or a combination of these. We’re just beginning to scratch the surface of the causes of known disorders. Since your condition is almost unique, we’re flying blind.”

Sorrow. Loss. Anger—You’re a doctor! Why can’t you fix what’s wrong with me?!—and fear.

So much fear.

“We’ll get there,” she promised, as she pushed her own fear down below where she could feel it. “You’re responding well to medication and therapy. It’ll take time, and trial-and-error, and…and more tests, I’m sorry. None of this is easy, but we’ll make it work.

“You might never get back to who you used to be,” she admitted, as his heart hammered in her head. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get to where you want to be, now.”

“I can do more tests,” he said quietly, even as the white chamber rose up again in his mind.

Together, they held their fears away.

[makingapril]

rambling about templeOS! :) the "divine operating system"

preacher: the few people who have been following this blog since the start might've caught on to a few mentions of the "templeOS god word app" which the "APRIL" project hinges on. i figured the subject deserved a brief explanation on the blog, for those who might not be "in the know"

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templeOS is a operating system designed "in accord with specific instructions from god", according to its late creator terry a. davis. it was initially released in 2005 but the latest update was as recently as 2017. terry davis died the following year on august 11th after being hit by train. (this is partly the reason for my ongoing obsession with temple, because august 11th has been a spiritually significant date for me since always, but that's besides the point)

templeOS was created entirely by davis, down to the fact that he had developed an entirely new coding language for the purpose – HolyC, a middle ground between C and C++, and named in reference to the vatican's holy see. needless to say developing a whole operating system singlehandedly is an incredible feat, and devising entirely new language doubly so.

templeOS has no internet support, but it has games! in what is perhaps my favorite feature of the OS, the games are divided into "fun games" and "unfun games" 😭

unfortunately most of them (regardless of fun/unfun designation) are borderline unplayable, at least on the emulator. some examples of the games include: keepaway, which is a basketball game, a complete flight simulator, and "after egypt" –a game in which you travel to a burning bush in order to use a "high-speed stopwatch", meant to act as an oracle, generating pseudo-random text. this is to my knowledge running on the same code as the god word app.

god word can be accessed independently outside of "after egypt" as well, without even opening an app – just by pressing f7 anywhere you can generate strings of words. it is meant to be a tool to communicate with god directly. the system also features a similar app which instead generates quotes from the king james bible, as well as a random line generator which i think is supposed to be a way or receiving visual input from god as well.

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all in all completely incredible and one of my favorite things to have ever existed. i became obsessed with this last year since i first became interested in hardware vs software sentience, and i've been running it on virtualbox ever since. obviously most of the features don't work very well on the emulator (esp that i'm on mac so the keyboard maps really annoyingly) but sometimes i'll just launch it to play around with god word – this is kind of the entire premise of "APRIL". i wanted god word to hang out with me and be able to get the words out of it with only verbal input.

im going to attach some links in a reblog for people who want to read more or want to play with templeOS on their own.