#like i understand that it needs to Know What's In The Document To Convert It

[troglobite]

if you tell microsoft office to stop stealing and analyzing your data without consent, even when it's saved locally to your computer--

it won't let you export word docs to fucking pdfs anymore 🙃

IN WHAT FUCKING UNIVERSE

[xclowniex]

from a realistic point of view, i dont see how zionism doesnt lead to non-jewish palestinian death or at least repression. if you have a state which has it enshrined in its founding documentation that it is For "Jewish People" (israel has been carefree about fucking over people they dont consider to be Jewish in the right way). two state solution doesnt even solve it since the assumption is just to have another israel and shove all the people they dont think count as jews over to palestinian state and pretend like they didnt just make an ethnostate

The reason you do not see how it doesn't lead to palestinian death is because on a fundamental level, you do not understand zionism from a jewish perspective.

Jews can and have, taken DNA tests and proved that we are descdant from cannanites who lived in Southern Levant. There is history too proving our orign from the region. A lot of jews were forced out due to various empires wanting to kill us, however some jews remained in the region.

Zionism is simply about self determination for jews as one of the indigenous peoples to the region. It does not inherently imply that palestinians are not indigenous as you can very much have two indigenous groups in a region, eg Moriori and Maori for example, both are indigenous to land which is part of New Zealand, but are two different groups.

I'm not going to say that no zionist ever wants harm to palestinians as there are, however the majority of zionists want a two state solution or a land for all solution (which is different to a one state solution of israel or palestine).

Indigenous groups do deserve self determination. This applies to all indigenous groups world wide. One indigenous group gaining self determination does not inherently harm another group of people, indigenous or not.

Ideologies can be implemented badly and not mean that the inherent concept is bad. For example, communism. No country has ever sucessfully implemented communism as they never leave the transition phase without something going wrong. Saying that zionism always hurts palestinians is like saying that communism is inherently genocidal because of China and Russia.

There are plenty of zionist solutions which does not harm palestinians which are deemed as ideal solutions by zionists, such as versions of a two state solution and land for all solutions.

Israel is also not an ethnostate. The percentage of israeli jews is almost equal to those who are New Zealand European in NZ, yet no one calls NZ an ethnostate. There are plenty of other countries whose majority population is around a similar percentage of 70% - 75% of a country and that country does not get called an ethnostate. Either, all countries with the majority ethnicity percentage above are ethnostates, or the threshold percentage needs to be higher for a country to be an ethno state, or if its only Israel who is an ethnostate and other countries with similar percentage are not, then you hold an antisemitic belief as the only jewish state should not be an exception for purely being a jewish state.

I would also like to touch on yoru usage of "non-jewish palestinian".

Whilst palestinian jews do exist (and I do know one personally), they are a very small minority of palestinians. It is illegal to be jewish in Gaza and the West Bank, so there are no rabbi's there for palestinians to convert. So I am very confused as to what you mean as there are no palestinian jews in palestine, and those that exist in the diaspora are a minority in both aspects, so whilst they deserve recognising and care, your wording is very strange and dogwhistle like. The reason I say dog whistle like, is because it is a common dog whistle for people to say that palestinians are the real jews and who we refer to as jews today are fake jews, which is obviously antisemitic.

[sophieinwonderland]

An Anti-Endo's Playbook

Hello! Are you an anti-endo looking to convert people to your cause? Well you're in luck because I have the guide for you!

As more studies come out supporting endogenic systems, arguing against pro-endos is becoming harder every day. But let me tell you a secret, people aren't perfectly logical machines. We're emotional and irrational. You don't need science or logic on your side. Instead, your job is to exploit that irrationality.

Let's start with something simple.

Argument by Assertion "Endos Aren't Scientifically Possible."

This is your opening and is possibly the most effective tool in your toolbox. Just say something and repeat it ad nauseum.

See, you don't need to be right. You just need to be confident and state what you want people to believe as a fact. Then repeat it again and again.

Propaganda experts might also call this The Big Lie.

People are social creatures and naturally trusting, so if you say something bold and confidently, they're going to be inclined to believe you. You don't actually need to provide any scientific evidence to support your case, or quotes from doctors, or anything else. Just keep repeating that endos aren't scientifically possible over and over again.

This might not sound effective, but there's a reason a third of the United States still thinks the 2020 election was rigged. If you're confident and don't waver for a moment, and keep repeating the lie, people will believe you.

But... what about the people that don't? What if an endo starts citing actual sources that contradict your claims. Normally, I might suggest finding sources of your own, but given the complete lack of support anti-endos have in academic papers, this may prove impossible. Luckily, we have more tricks up our sleeves.

Appeal to the Masses "Everyone Agrees That Endos Aren't Real."

As we all know, science isn't determined by scientists. Science is a democracy where anyone can vote. That's why even though scientists say we use all of our brains, we can know that the truth is that we only use 10% of our brains, because that's what most people believe and there have even been movies about it and stuff.

This is an the appeal to the masses.

Likewise, most people don't believe in endos. Or at least, that's what you say. See, you probably don't have any reliable polls on hand to back up that assertion, so we're kind of combining techniques here. We're appealing to the masses, but without evidence the masses agree with us, we just kind of have to assert it. As long as it sounds true, then people will believe it.

Like how I bet most people believed me when I said "most" people think we only use 10% of our brain. It SOUNDS like it could be true, and confirms our pre-existing biases that humans are kind of stupid, and that's really good enough isn't it?

What if this still doesn't work though? What if the endos keep demanding evidence?

Well, you can just give them too much of it.

The Gish Gallop: Source Overload

(Example)

You may be wondering, since I mentioned that there aren't any sources that support anti-endos, how this will work.

First, let's take a moment to understand the Gish Gallop. This debating tactic is most commonly associated with live debates where you throw out a bunch of nonsense claims that your opponent doesn't have time to answer because refuting them would take more time than you're allotted. Then when your claims go unanswered, it tricks spectators into thinking the claims are true.

This isn't generally as effective online where people can take hours to compose a response if they want... except...

The online equivalent of this is to overload your opponent with too many junk sources so that they can't debunk them all.

These do not need to support your point in any way. And you should NEVER screenshot them. Remember, your goal isn't to make the information accessible to your opponent. It's to keep the pro-endo occupied reading a 30-page document to try to figure out what it means and how it relates to what you're saying.

If the pro-endo does debunk your first paper, call them out for not addressing your other 20 articles too. Make them out to be ignoring evidence.

If they do call out this tactic and ask for a screenshot or quote of specific lines that back up your argument, respond by self-righteously telling the endo that it's not your job to educate them.

Speaking of education, what do we do about the endo sources?

Ad Hominems: Attacking the Researchers

Ad hominems are great for combating sources.

At the most basic level, you can get a lot of mileage out of throwing around the word "quack" a lot without finding any dirt on the researchers.

You might want to also claim the research is biased in some way. Say for example that a researcher has a hypothesis and they conducted an experiment to test that hypothesis. You can say that this makes the whole experiment biased and therefore should be dismissed because the research already had an expected outcome. Someone might counter and say that most scientists start with a hypothesis. But luckily, a lot of lay people won't realize that.

Let's say, for instance, that someone cites this paper on Vineyard Evangelicals who hear the voice of God as an example of non-traumagenic plural-like experiences.

Instead of addressing the merits of this paper or discussing whether hearing an autonomous and seemingly self-conscious voice identifying itself as God is plural or plural-like, you can look up to see if any of the 200,000 members of the Vineyard Church have ever reported negative experiences. Get one article with people calling it cult-like, and then accuse the endo of using "abusive sources."

Other Strategies For Dismissing Papers: Just Make Up Reasons Why Studies Are Invalid

For these, we're going to rely again on our argument by assertion, and assert some qualifiers for why a study should be dismissed.

First, accuse a study of being outdated.

Now, science doesn't actually have an expiration date. There is some research out there that may be outdated in the way that newer research comes out that disproves it. But in the absence of further research, old papers are generally considered useful, and it's not uncommon to see professionals today still cite sources dating back to the 80s or earlier.

But if you just throw out a number of years for research to expire, you can be sure that many people will take it at face value. But be careful with this. People might believe that 20-year-old research is too old. But it will be harder to sell them on something like "any research older than 5 years is outdated." That's going to be a problem when a lot of endogenic research is actually pretty recent, coming out within the last decade.

Another tactic you can try is to Attack the Domain.

As we're all taught in middle school in the US, only .gov and .edu sources are valid.

This is an oversimplification and is no longer applicable in higher education. But luckily, you're not targeting educated individuals. If you're making this argument, the ones you're probably trying to convince will be traumatized children between the ages of 14 and 17. And for this demographic, this argument is perfect. Not only have they never been to college themselves but neither have anyone in their friendgroup.

They have no concept of what counts as valid source in academic settings, and it's your job to keep it that way. Indoctrinate them young, and they'll stay yours forever.

Demonizing The Enemy: "Endos are Harming Real Systems"

This can take many forms.

At the basic level, you can do the anecdotal "endos are bad because they said mean things about me once." (Be sure to remove any context of things you may have said or did to them first.) There are plenty of endogenic systems out there in the world, and some are going to be cruel and abusive. Just like any other group.

These people are useful to your cause. If you ever had contact with abusive endos or pro-endos before, make sure that you write in detail about your bad experiences and specifically make it clear that they weren't an endogenic system who happened to be bad, but they're bad because they're endogenic. Also, if they're a traumagenic pro-endo, be sure that in your post you just refer to them as an "endo." The goal is smearing the entire endogenic community, and differentiating between abusive endos and traumagenic pro-endos will detract from that goal.

A well known example is the term "traumascum." Despite the fact that its coiner is traumagenic and most of the endogenic community dislikes it, it's important that when you make your emotional arguments to show why endos are bad, you only refer to it as being created and used by "endos."

If you really want to go all-in on this, something else you can do is...

Blame Endos For All Ableism

For this part, you want to try to convince people that any fakeclaiming or ableism they've ever experienced is because of this small niche group of systems on the internet.

In actuality, fakeclaiming DID systems has happened for a long time. The Imitated DID narrative was heavily pushed in all the way back in the 90s. And many of the people fakeclaimed today are TikTokers who are IDing as traumagenic DID systems.

Don't let these facts stop you though.

For the first part, the good thing is that, as I said before, many of the people you're trying to convince are children. If you tell them that fakeclaiming is worse today than ever before, who are they to argue? They have no frame of reference. They're usually younger systems who have only known that they're systems for a few years.

For the second, you can just ignore it. Or better yet, just label all the "cringe" systems as endos, regardless of whether they are or not.

Is calling traumagenic systems "endos" fakeclaiming their trauma? Sure.

But really, you fakeclaiming their trauma is really the endos' fault. If they didn't exist, then you wouldn't be able to call people endos, now would you?

See how smoothly that works?

All Anecdotes of People Who Thought They Were Endogenic Are Proof Endos Don't Exist

Anecdotes are your best friend. If you can find a small handful of people who previously thought they were endogenic and turned out to be wrong, you can weaponize this against all endos.

You can use these anecdotes as both proof that endos don't exist AND that they're harmful to real systems at the same time.

This particular tactic has also been used to great effect by anti-transgender groups, using a small handful of detrans people as proof that transitioning doesn't work and as a means of limiting trans rights. The success of these groups at spinning that narrative is how you can know that this tactic is effective!

More Ad Hominems: Attacking the Opposition

Yup. We're bringing in more ad hominems. This is one of the most important tools in your belt. If you feel like you're losing an argument, you can just attack the person you're arguing with. Actually, you should do this before the argument even starts.

Discrediting your enemy right at the beginning, making people see them as a bad person, will immediately make people not want to associate with them and even make them inclined to disagree with whatever they say.

So try to dredge up anything you can on them to weaponize. Or just casually accuse them of being something-phobic or something-ist.

Calling them ableist is easy. You can shout out ableism accusations right from the start just on the merits of being pro-endo.

If they're a spiritual plural, you can call them racist. This works easiest with tulpamancers since tulpa has a Tibetan etymology. (And don't worry; you won't need to pretend to care about appropriation outside of this context, such as the tulpa appearing in creepypastas or media like Supernatural or X-Files, or Genshin Impact's Hydro Tulpa boss. This is about winning an argument, not being morally consistent.) But it can work with any sort of spiritual system. If you're feeling particularly bold, you can actually claim that all possession states around the world are closed practices and anyone who claims spiritual plurality is appropriating these cultures.

Also, if they use the word "sysmed," because this is derived from transmed, be sure to call them transphobic because they're appropriating trans words. Pay no mind to if they're transgender themselves, or how little sense it would make to appropriate their own language.

Bully into Submission

If simple ad hominems don't work, dogpile and bully them into silence. Invite your friends to join in. Bombard them with constant hate posts and harassment.

The goal here is not to convert people to your side, but to remove them from the conversation. Keep the accusations going. Make up rumors about them. Try to falsely report them to get them banned. You want to make them suffer so much that they never want to post again. To ensure, one way or another, that there is one less pro-endo in the world.

This will work best on people who themselves are traumatized and vulnerable. Luckily, there are a lot of people like that in the pro-endo community you can silence this way.

Be warned though of the emotional tank.

These people have personalities that can tank a shocking amount of abuse and emotional damage, and even turn abuse they receive around and use it as a talking point against your side. They take the old adage of "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" to heart.

If you try to harass an emotional tank, rather than silencing them, you're likely to only make them stronger and more determined.

Speaking of traumatized people...

Try To Make People Associate Endos With Trauma

Remember to know your audience. And your audience is a group of trauma survivors.

If you really, really want to ensnare them, play on that.

Use it to your advantage. One super simple way to do this is to throw around cult accusations. Just saying endos are a cult will immediately trigger cult survivors and make them want to avoid the pro-endo community.

A more complicated version of this can be done if an endo mentions that we don't have proof that DID or OSDD forms from trauma 100% of the time.

What you want to say in this situation is that "to prove all cases of DID come from trauma, you would need to traumatize children."

You can add a line specifically accusing the endo of wanting to traumatize children, or just let the implication hang in the air.

Now, someone paying attention might recognize that such a study couldn't prove what it claims to. Just like if you did a study where you hit a bunch of people in the arm with a hammer and broke their arms, you couldn't prove that 'all broken arms are caused by hammers.'

But you aren't saying this because you think it's logical. You're saying this because you're trying to get your audience of survivors of childhood trauma to think of endos as people who want to traumatize children.

If you can properly trigger them, then that rational part of their brain will just shutoff and they won't question your premise or logic too much.

How to Keep People Once Indoctrinated

Remember, the conversion process is only the beginning. After that, you want to make sure that they stay anti-endo. A good place to start is to...

Make Sure Friendship is Contingent on Them Being Anti-Endo

Pull people into anti-endo servers that have strict rules against pro-endos and even neutrals. Post "pro-endos" in your DNI to make it known that you don't ever want to interact with any pro-endos.

At the same time, encourage them to cutoff pro-endo friends and avoid pro-endo spaces. Ideally, you want the convert isolated from anyone who might be able to change their minds in the future.

Once you've cut them off from all pro-endos, their only system friends will be in the anti-endo community. And if they ever step outside of that box, they'll be instantly banned from their anti-endo servers and blocked by their anti-endo "friends."

With this, not only have you converted them, but you can reliably keep them on your side forever. Or at least, until they're willing to destroy all their relationships with other systems online in order to get out.

Just Let The Endos Do It For You

Endos thesmelves will actually be your secret weapon in this endeavor.

It's a well-known fact that hate breeds more hate. If you fakeclaim someone, they're going to be angry, and will likely resort to personal attacks. Once your newly-converted anti-endo has been successfully indoctrinated, get them to make some public anti-endo posts. The more hateful and invalidating, the better. Preferably where pro-endos can see.

When endos respond respond to the convert's hate post by sending hate of their own, it will only confirm that endos are actually hateful. It doesn't matter who started it. It only matters that you get an angry reaction out of the endos.

And the more the endos react to hate with more hate, the more the convert will double down.

The absolute worst thing for you as an anti-endo would be if endos stopped responding to hate with more hate of their own, and took a moment to consider if how they're reacting is actually in the best interest of their cause, of if they're just being baited into lashing out from hurt and anger themselves.

[half-dead-ham]

Tim Drake's I.E.F Chap 5

[Previous chap][Ao3 chap][Masterlist][next chap]

Mmmmm this is probably gonna be the last chapter I link to Tumblr tonight. It's like, 2am? Yea I deserve some sleep. I'll hopefully get some more out tmrr. But who knows? Certainly not me.

Also. I have never pulled a prank on my sib and this chapter displays that fully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking over the plans on his laptop, Tim can't help but smile. It may be slightly maniacal, but with the plans he has, he couldn't help it.

Only a day has passed since Jason came to check on Tim, and since then he's been putting together a series of plans for his siblings. We're they good plans? No, not at all.

Tim, with the ready help of his new friend that could go both invisible and intangible had prepared a set of pranks specifically for each family member -minus Bruce and Alfred- in order of who needs it most. A few times while writing in the document he titled 'the shit list' he could hear his friend giggling from over his shoulder, the soft reverb sending chills down his spine that had nothing to do with the familiar cold his friend gave off. It was distracting, but it showed that Tim had gotten a bit closer with Arcturus, even if just a little bit.

"Alright," he nodded, giving the list one last look over before turning to where he could feel the epicentre of the cold.

"I have one last thing that'll make this perfect." Tim turned to rummage in his bedside table, absently noting the lack of strain such a movement had on his wounds. His hand brushed what he was looking for, and he pulled it out to show to Arct, laying the object on the palm of his hand. A compact surveillance camera sat neatly on his palm, perfect for watching the chaos unfold from the safety of his hospital bed in the medbay while his friend enacted righteous vengeance.

Arcturus must have grabbed the camera because it floated off his palm over to the bedside chair, turning every so often for his friend to get a better view of the device.

"Cool isn't it? We use these to keep tabs on some of the regular rogue hideouts, and sometimes infiltrations if we need a wire." Tapping a few things on his keyboard he brought up the camera's feed. A grainy image appeared, jumping and lagging every few seconds. Odd, this was supposed to be a newer model, there shouldn't be any interference with the signal, especially this close to the cam itself.

To his left Arct made a trill that sounded like clinking icicles and a feeling of understanding that wasn't his own washed over Tim. Frowning and looking over he watched his friend bring up the camera to what Tim thought would be about chest level, and just to its left sparked to life a green flame.

No, that wasn't quite right, the green pulsed and warbled, but it stayed mostly circular, not pointed like a candle's flame. The light moved closer to the camera and Tim could just make out the silhouette of his friend's pointed claw before it made contact. Touching the light to the camera seemed to affect it somehow, as he watched the camera absorb the light fully, glowing slightly before that too faded into the device.

Tim wondered just what Arct had done to the device until the laptop in front of him notified him with a ding! 

'New power source detected, convert?' He'd never seen that pop-up before. Cautiously glancing back over to the chair, he clicked the 'accept' button and watched as the program closed, then opened back up a second later. The camera feed now had a slight green tint to it, but the glitching and static had stopped. 'Whatever Arct had done to the camera probably counteracted the interference his aura gave off,' Tim figured.

He turned to his friend to give his thanks, but the words died on his lips as he watched the small figure of the camera flicker and disappear. Trying to find them was useless, his friend could obscure the cold feeling he gave off when he wanted, even Tim couldn't find him. Tim turned back to the footage on his laptop only to get jumpscared by a closeup of his own face.

A ghostly giggle echoed in front of him as Tim groaned. Arcturus really did fit perfectly in this family if he was already scaring him like that for no reason.

"Okay, okay, enough playing around. Ready to start a war?" He grinned, sharp and feral. He could only imagine Arct was doing the same as the camera came back into view to bob up and down rapidly.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny first tracks down Stephanie in the library. The blond Danny's come to know as Spoiler is lounging on one of the many couches in the large room with a book in hand and a glass of water on the small table next to her. Too focused on her book, she reaches over to get her drink without looking. She frowns, she knew she put her glass close by, but she can't find it by touch alone.

Frowning, she finally tears her gaze from her book to the end table beside her, only to find her water, sitting innocently where she had left it. Taking and inspecting it reveals nothing out of place with the glass or the table. Stephanie says nothing as she looks out to the rows of bookshelves, then behind her and the couch, trying to find anyone to place blame, but she was alone. Or so she thought.

Turning back, she shrugs to herself and tips the glass to take a sip, only to yelp as a large ice cube slid out of the cup and onto her nose. She jumps back in her seat, startled, at the solid chunk of what used to be her drinking water now sitting in her lap. Hesitantly, she pokes at it, expecting it to seemingly explode. Once, twice, three times all come up with something cold but solid. The fourth time her nail lightly grazes the side and suddenly she's drenched from the waist down in room temperature water.

She rushes to her feet, pants soaked and dripping onto the carpet. Again, she looks around for anyone in the room, even glaring at the high tops of the bookshelves, expecting one of her family members to jump out and tell her she just got pranked. But again, she's alone in the library. Danny lets a breathy chuckle escape him as he watches Stephanie glare accusingly at nothing, then her soiled pants, and finally storming out of the library, book now forgotten. He makes sure the book is left on another couch in case she comes back. Then floats off to find his next target.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian is in his room working on that day's portion of homework when he feels a presence. An all too familiar presence that reminds him of a time before he lived in the manor.

A dangerous presence.

He spins around in his chair, previously concealed dagger now in hand. The room hasn't changed, his weapons are still perched in their displays on his wall, the curtains sway lightly in the mid afternoon breeze. Paranoia runs through him like electricity as he crosses the room to close the window, certain of what he felt. Pit demons could not be seen by normal men, they were monsters spawned by the Lazarus pits to bring chaos and madness for all those trying to use their powers. If there were a pit demon in the manor, they would all be dead before long.

Moving back to his desk in slow movements, Damian tried to pick up on that familiar feeling. The feeling of unchecked desire and death. He found an empty room.

This did not comfort him.

Damian took another dagger out of its hiding place just as he heard the door handle rattle. Tearing the door almost off its hinges he raced after that presence through the house, down corridors and ballrooms, stairways and secret passageways. The presence finally stopped in the main foyer. Damian scanned the entrance room with daggers drawn, trying to sense where the thing had disappeared to.

Just as the tension started to leave his shoulders with the thought of 'needing more sleep, lest he end up like Drake' a snowflake landed on his nose. He looked up just in time to see a mound of snow fall on him in a whump! leaving only his head and neck exposed. With his body restrained, Damian could do nothing as the pit demon's presence glides back up the main staircase and disappears down a corridor, static hissing conveying its glee in its wake.

-

Damian returns to his room cold and damp, a blanket on his shoulders and mug of warm cardamom milk in his hand. Swinging the door open Damian is outraged to see all his weapons, hidden ones included, painted and arranged on his floor in the forms of several different flowers. He growls and glowers at nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim made sure to save Duke for last, as his powers might give Arct some trouble. Danny doesn't know exactly why a guy like Duke is on 'the shit list' but doesn't question it if it means getting to prank someone.

The meta is currently using the training space in the cave to practice grapples and throws in a simulation.

A cold chill runs up his spine and he blocks a punch. Duke knows no one besides Tim is in the cave, and he shouldn't be up and running around yet, so otherwise Duke is alone. The simulation ends, Duke bent over with hands on his knees as he tries to steady his breathing. Something passes behind him, cold and charged, like a broken power line in the middle of winter. He glanced behind him, breathing having levelled out some, but sees nothing. Looking over his other shoulder provides similar results.

Suspicious, Duke calls out to the empty room.

"Hello?" His voice echoes in the silence of the cavernous room. Something else replies, a cold haunting whisper of a laugh. It has no source that he could see, bouncing off the stone walls and seemingly coming from every direction. The black and white streak from the corner of his vision is the final straw, he needs to nope the heck out of here.

Taking quick strides out of the training room, he only makes it past the threshold when something grabs his ankle. He tries to jerk away but the thing's grip is strong, keeping him bound to that spot on the floor even as he's leaning back with his full weight. It's grip on his ankle loosens ever so slightly after a moment, and Duke hopes he's able to get away with that smidge more wiggle room.

His heart plummets as a sensation radiates out from the grip, cold like spearmint and chilled water. It envelops him, and for a second Duke feels weightless.

Then, the thing pulls.

Duke is pulled through the floor, scream caught in his throat as stone and dirt pass through him and the unseen being. He tries to see what has him, but this darkness doesn't respond as it would normally. His X-ray vision doesn't help either, as it just shows him more earth and the sewers below Gotham.

A sinking feeling slips into the pit of his stomach as he wonders if he'll be left down here, were the thing that has him let go. That thought was jerked away with him as the being dragged him up up up and breaches land. It was all he could do to not cry from relief at seeing the late Gotham sky when gravity reasserted itself and the pressure on his ankle vanished. He dropped face first into the grass.

"Owww…" Duke groans. Laying there seems like the better option as he tries to get his heart rate under control for a different reason than before. Rolling over takes more energy than he'd like, but it's worth it if it means he's not inhaling grass. Cracking one eye open he does not expect to see a shadowy figure leaning over him, it's green eyes peering at him, inspecting him like a specimen. He lays as still as he can, not wanting to breathe as this creature's eyes wash over him like a tiger watching an antelope.

The things eyes travel up to his face, and a cheshire grin manifests itself in the roiling black of its face, stark white in contrast and with too many teeth. 'Ah, I'm going to die' was all Duke could think before the thing lunges. Screwing his eyes shut might have been the last thing he ever does…

A few minutes pass and nothing happens. No pain or cold could be felt anywhere on his body, so he cautiously cracks an eye open. Blue sky overhead, trees and the manor in the distance, but no sight of the black thing that literally dragged him here. Duke sits up slowly, turning his head to try and see the thing.

It's gone.

He could almost think it was a dream if he didn't have to walk all the way back to the manor in his workout gear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The prank war—more of a slaughter really—went on for the next two days. At random hours strange things will go on around the three siblings still in the manor, things disappearing and reappearing in other locations, water turning to ice when they blink and back again, strange noises or cold spots in empty rooms. It all leads up to dinner.

Tim had been given the okay from Alfred to exit medbay and eat solid food. Alfred had marvelled at Tim's speedy recovery—no one heals from a bullet to the lung in a week and a half—but made sure to drill into him that he wouldn't be doing any strenuous work, during the day or night.

Tim was okay with that, he thought as he sat down and watched as the others set the table around him. The three targets were haggard and paranoid, jumping at shadows (in Duke's case literally.) Arcturus was around somewhere close, he had hidden his presence as Tim hobbled up the stairs with Alfred's help, and Tim wondered if he'd be able to get away with anymore pranking today.

With the table set, the three sat across from Tim, stiff and uncomfortable. Tonight's dinner would be soup, mainly because Tim still had to recover, but there was a side of steamed vegetables and buttered bread to be dipped if preferred.

They sat in tense silence, Bruce late again, as always. Smirking, Tim tried to make conversation with his three siblings.

"So, anything interesting happen around here while I was rotting in bed?"

Damian scowled and glanced to his left, towards Bruce's chair. Duke paled by at least two shades, and Stephanie's eye twitched.

"Nothing happened Timmy, we're all just peachy." Steph ground out. Man she was really on her last straw.

Good.

He watched absently as a piece of steamed broccoli dropped into the plate. 'So Arct was hiding under the table' he thought as he tried making more small talk with his siblings.

"Y'know I've been hearing some strange things down in the cave, I'm almost starting to believe it's haunted." He says with a chuckle. Not like he was wrong.

The elbow to the shin both confirms where Arct is and tells him maybe that joke was in bad taste if the ghost doesn't want to be noticed.

Damian's glare told him he didn't miss the minute flinch he gave at that. Neither did Duke apparently, as his brow furrows. Damn detective training. Luckily Steph is still trying to burn a hole through her bowl with her eyes like Superman.

After that they eat in silence. The sound of clinking cutlery and shuffling in seats fills the room. At one point Duke seems to notice Tim's disappearing veggies, despite Tim not eating them. He drops his spoon, and it clatters off the table with a sound that could have been a gunshot in the quiet dining room.

"Ope, sorry,'' he mutters sheepishly as he scoots his chair back enough to bend down and get it.

As he's bent over, Duke looks over to Tim's side of the table. He nearly jumps out of his skin as he watches the thing, just sitting against his brother's legs, pulling a carrot through the table and putting it in its mouth. He must've made a noise or something, because the thing snaps to look at him with those toxic green eyes. A black appendage lifts for it to wave at him, that Cheshire grin curling out of its face with too many teeth.

Duke jumps back, hitting his head on the underside of the table and falling out of his seat. He scrambles out from under the table to see his three siblings staring at him. Pointing a shaking hand at the thing at Tim's feet he croaked, his voice cracking in fear.

"Something-" He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, "-Something's under the table."

Damian shoots to his feet, newly revealed dagger in hand. Stephanie bolts up too, backing away slowly from the table like it might eat her if she moves too quickly.

Yeah, Tim might have just screwed up.

The frosty sensation pressing against his leg vanishes and he could see Duke gaping at him from the floor. Right, Intangibly, Arcturus probably went through the floor and is gonna hide out in the cave for a while until dinner is over. Tim inwardly let out a sigh of relief. Time to cover his ass.

"What's wrong Duke? Saw a spider or something?" Tim grins down at the other boy from his seat.

"What? No! I saw this, this thing! It was this smokey black thing with green eyes and way too many teeth!" Duke is still pointing at his legs under the table, like Arct will just come back for funsies.

Tim absently wondered if that's what Jason saw, looking at Arcturus. He never gave a description of his friend, even though he came back a few days later. Though he did get pranked by them. They got found out pretty quickly and started talking about other ways to mess with the family after that.

"Tt, so you can see the pit demon then, unsurprising." Damian scowled in Tim's direction, was he taking his anger out on Tim like that? Maybe.

"Wait, hold on-" Steph points at Damian. "-You know what this thing is? And you haven't told us?" She accused.

"I had it under control, it did not seem important as it had not yet tried to harm anyone as of yet." Damian retorted.

"Harm anyone? That thing is violent?!"

"Normally, those of its species are, yes."

Their shouting soon devolved into bickering, their feelings of suspicion and paranoia finally being released in the form of a shouting match as Duke remained frozen on the floor staring at Tim from under the table.

Tim propped his chin on his fist, elbow on the table as the show went on. Honestly this could use some popcorn.

Just as he was getting comfortable Duke squinted at him.

"You knew about that thing, didn't you?" The suspicion was palpable in his voice.

"Knew about what?" He asked innocently.

"The thing! It was up against your legs, you would either have noticed it and tried to get away or you already knew about it!"

Oh, shit. The other two had died down in their shouting match to look at him now. Not good.

Tim tries deflecting, "Duke, I've been tired and sore for a week and a half, you really think I'd be noticing if my legs felt a little chilly?"

The arguing turned into a four-way match. He tried valiantly to deny all accusations thrown at him, but he was up against three other bat-trained detectives, he was bound to let something slip.

"Are you telling us," Damian ground out, "that you just let a dangerous supernatural creature follow you to the manor? Not only are you an imbecile, but you are suicidal as well."

"I didn't let it follow me, I was unconscious. Dick let it follow him." He countered, full face in his hands. This really did not turn out the way he wanted it to.

"And so, what? You just decided 'well they didn't believe me about this, so let's get back at them a little?'" Stephanie had stopped shouting, but the anger was still hot in her voice.

"Basically," he shrugged.

The three across from Tim were about to start berating him, again, when Bruce finally showed up. He looked at the three angry teenagers on one side of the table, then Tim trying to disappear into the chair cushions on the other.

"Did I miss something?" He asked.

His siblings wanted to regale Bruce with his stupidity, but Tim cut them off before they could start.

"They were just telling me how stupid it was of me to try and have coffee with dinner so soon into my recovery." He lied.

Bruce shot a stern look at Tim as he sat down. "And they're right, you're barely out of medbay Tim, coffee won't do you any good right now."

Tim gave a noncommittal hum at that.

The dinner moved quickly after that. Glares were not so subtly shot his way and he no longer felt the same joy he did at the beginning. He decided to cut his losses and retire to his room early.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'This did not go how I thought it would,' Tim thought as he not so gently shut his door and flopped onto his bed. At least he could hole himself up in his room now, so that's a positive.

A cold presence nears his right and gives a small hum, the noise conveyed concern and regret. Arct felt sorry for leaving him? It was his own fault he got himself into that mess. He turned his head from where it was smashed into the mattress to look at where his friend sat, the bed dipping slightly at the invisible weight.

"Not your fault," Tim mumbled through the sheets. "I thought of the pranks, you just did them for me. You still don't trust me enough to even show yourself, and I put you in a dangerous spot for some fun."

He glumly turned his head back into the sheets. He knew his friend didn't trust the bats, he knew Damian knew about pit demons from Jason, yet he still thought using his friend and possibly outing him to his family was a good idea. Stupid, stupid! Tim let out an anguished groan, wallowing and repeating depressing thoughts like a mantra in his head.

All thoughts screeched to a halt when something ran over his scalp. He looked up, expecting not to see anything but instead found a floating white glove carding its fingers soothingly through his hair. Tim felt his eyes flutter as he practically melted into the mattress, his previous thought spiral completely forgotten.

A Trilling chirp sounding of a connecting audio jack moved a question through the air, one simple enough Tim could decipher clearly; better? Leaning into his friend's touch he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Thanks for helping me get out of my head. Sorry I had to tell them some things about you, Dami will probably try and stick around me now to make sure you aren't going to hurt anyone."

The fingers continued their paths through his hair as a trill of understanding filled him. Man, he'd made a great friend.

They continued like that in silence for a while, a floating white glove carding through Tim's hair, and Tim condensing into a puddle on the sheets from the comforting ministrations.

At Tim's yawn, the fingers stopped. Tim groaned at the loss. He looked hazily to his friend, silently urging him to continue. His friend responded with a cold wind rustling branches, the meaning of rest drew another groan from the puddle of teen. Ever so slowly he got up to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed, swaying slightly on his feet occasionally. Arcturus was still there when he got back, with clean pyjamas and a washed face. Tim crawled back into bead and was delighted when the fingers returned to his hair, accompanied by the purr he'd heard on the first night he'd met Arcturus, promising safety and sleep. The petting didn't stop until soft snores could be heard in the dark bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny was feeling hungry. His stomach had been roaring since he smelled dinner and it only got worse since stealing the veggies off Tim's plate. Maybe not attending to his human needs for a week and a half wasn't the greatest idea in retrospect, but the need for safety came first. He was currently in a house filled with highly trained and suspicious heroes and hero adjacents, he needed to be more than careful here, or he'd get caught by someone less friendly than Tim and Jason.

Still, he was hungry, and he probably needed a shower. After making sure all the vigilantes' returned from their patrols and tucked themselves safely in their beds, Danny used one of the furthest of the many spare bedroom ensuites (seriously how many rooms does this mansion have?) to scrub all his built up grime away. Not that he sweat or got dirty in ghost form, really, he just phases all the dirt off him, but nothing felt better after a week of stress than a shower.

It was heavenly.

Phasing the water off while in the tub would save the suspicion of a damp towel in an unused bedroom. He got dressed in his most recently washed clothes, thanking his past self for going to the laundromat before all this went down as he stuck his stuff back in the wall.

Danny crept down the winding halls of the manor towards the kitchen, remembering each turn from when he'd explore invisibly while Tim was asleep. Adding a little ghost power aided his steps to be deathly silent.

The kitchen was dark, not that it bothered Danny, as he made a B-line for the fridge. Opening it revealed a treasure trove of ingredients, fruits and veggies, meats and cheese, truly a fridge fit to serve five to twenty people at a time.

He grabbed a carrot and shoved it in his mouth, satisfied he had that to munch on. Danny started cherry picking other snacks, trying to make sure he could get somewhat of a balanced meal out of his pilfering.

The slight rustling of fabric made him stiffen, then a voice behind him had his core sink to his stomach.

"Master Jason, I do believe I have told you to send an advanced notice before you decide to come for a late-night snack," Alfred scolded the large silhouetted form.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Danny didn't move from his hunched position, unsure of what to do. He couldn't lie to the butler, he knew Jason much better than Danny did and would be able to smell the lie as soon as he turned around. Running wouldn't help either, Alfred had seen him. In human form. He'd tell Bruce as soon as he could. 'A mysterious man had bypassed all the detection alarms and raided the fridge early this morning' would send the bat on a search of the manor, top to bottom.

"Master Jason? Are you alright?"

Ah, he'd stayed quiet too long, shit.

The rustling of cloth came closer and in a panic Danny went invisible. A sharp inhale was the only indication of Alfred's surprise, and turning showed the man searching the room with eyebrows raised. Slowly the butler walked to the fridge, taking graceful, sturdy steps as he glided across the kitchen, expecting an attack. As he grabbed the handle of the open fridge door Danny turned intangible to let the door pass through him.

Alfred jerked his hand back as it went through Danny's chest, feeling as though he'd just stuck it in a bucket of dry ice. He'd tried to find the cold spot again, but by then Danny had already flown through the ceiling to Tim's room, the food in his arms forgotten.

Dropping his snacks to the floor as he made it to the correct bedroom Danny rushed to the sleeping form before him and shook him.

"Tim, Tim wake up!" He whisper-shouted, not caring if he was speaking English instead of ghost speak. "Tim, I need your help!"

Tim rolled over, groggy and half asleep.

"Whazzap?" He slurred before yawning.

"Your butler saw me."

"What?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Ao3][Prev][Next]

[stupidfateheadcanons]

oh i 100% want to know who you think would unironically wear christmas sweaters/and or ugly non denominational ones (and who is easily bullied into wearing them)

Karna

is canonically autistic about crabs due to their warrior prowess and ability to face their enemies head-on, making a santa-crab sweater the perfect choice as he tries to fit in with chaldea for the holidays.

does not understand why Ganesha makes that Face about it, and later asks his master if they're aware of the significance of the number 420.

Santa Karna

Has learned how to be more properly Festive, in his perception of the word festive, so his wardrobe gets an upgrade. Also, he's told he's not allowed to attend the Chaldea Holiday Party in his normal Santa Getup. Da Vinci said something about how 'even Santas deserve a day off during the holidays', but she really just wanted him to not get Into It with Santa Quetz.

It fails.

Percival

Nice, tight fabric that fits snugly over his abs.

Food-themed to delight him as a provider of delicious meals and protection.

Really, just imagine that hunk of man-meat coming up to you with a plate of biscuits and gravy while wearing this. Wouldn't it be heaven?

Vlad (Berserker)

Would not wear something joke-themed or silly -- at least in his perception. This garment is obviously ridiculous, but he perceives it as proper holiday cheer and a work of art that he crafted himself.

Vlad (Lancer) would also wear ugly Christmas sweaters, but that's more dependent on the vibes of his Master, imo.

Blackbeard

He's been waiting all year to bust this baby out.

Like really, look at him. He's so happy and enriched.

Elizabeth Bathory

More like a sweater-dress than a Christmas sweater, but she'd wear it to the holiday party with a cute pair of tights, chunky shoes, and little candy and present decorations in her hair. Glitter would be everywhere.

Believes caroling is something like a 'mobile idol concert.'

Emiya

Someone in the extended Emiyaverse makes him wear it, and he puts up with it with a little grumbling. Particularly if it makes his Master and the kids happy.

Kijyo Koyo

She thinks she looks VERY hip and cool.

Koyanskaya

Dobrynya makes her wear it.

Himiko

Enjoys that the little balls bob and shine in the light when she sparkles. Keeps feeling the tinsel and laughing to herself.

Converts her Himiko, himiko, himi-himi-ko to the tune of jingle bells to amuse herself.

Fergus

Do I really even need to say anything here?

Gilles de Rais (Saber)

Okay I'm gonna be real, I woke up and this was on the document, so I was like, 'okay, I GUESS this is what Gilles rolls up to the Chaldea Holiday party wearing????'

Seriously. I don't even remember who to blame for this. Did I do it?

Jalter

Okay, I don't really actually see her wearing this, but it'd be REALLY funny if she did.

Honorable Mentions

Castoria

Wears ugly christmas sweaters every day but christmas because they're cheap and warm. does not know who jesus is.

David and Romani

Much to Romani's chagrin, it is apparently a family commonality to wear stupid Hannukah sweaters (which I am told exist at Target, even if I've never seen one in the wild.) Romani also acquires/makes one for Mash, which she is very happy about because it makes her feel like she fits in. :)

Martha

Has a custom red, white, and green Happy Birthday Sweater. She makes Tarasque wear one too. :)

Rin

Kirei buys her ugly christmas sweaters. rin does not wear them.

[stellae-de-baphometis]

The Bastardised Interpretations Of Daemons (And Other Spirits) Within The Dictionnaire Infernal

+. GIF Credit .+

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So I got the idea for this post from my best friend @sortiarus-de--naturas--daemonum, and we both agreed that this was something that needed addressing; Especially in regards to Daemonolatry.

The Dictionnaire Infernal is one of the most widely known grimoires on demonology and all things occult. But what a lot of practitioners might not know is that it's actually quite a problematic resource for Daemonolatry and occult practices, and for several reasons. In fact, I personally don't think it's a reputable source in general, and this post is going to be detailing exactly why that is.

So without further ado, here's why the Dictionnaire Infernal might not be the greatest resource for Daemonolatrists, and why it's much more problematic than you think!

Full post under the cut. ↓

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So, why is the Dictionnaire Infernal a bad resource for Daemonolatry and daemons in general? Well...

For starters, the book was written by someone who had very, very problematic views on other religions and belief systems... As in, racism, xenophobia, and religiophobia kind of problematic.

On top of that, Jacques Collin De Plancy (the author) had converted to Catholicism by the time he had started writing the Dictionnaire Infernal. So at this point, he was already going to have a biased interpretation of the Daemonic Divine, as he was interpreting them through a Christian-tainted lens; That is, in comparison to someone who seeks to learn about and venerate them. As a result, the entries on the daemons within his book were evidently written to play into the vilifying and denigration of daemons in general.

And to add insult to injury, a later edition was published with added illustrations, likely commissioned by De Plancy and drawn by Louis Le Breton, showcasing bastardised interpretations of daemons and demonised deities, interpreting them to look as monstrous and hideous as possible.

All around, it seems that both the spirits' entries and their illustrations were made with the main intent to mock and degrade them, as well as to portray them as being mere dirt beneath the feet of the Christian God. Obviously, a book portraying daemons in such a way is not going to be very helpful to a Daemonolatrist. If one wants to honour and work with daemons, what use is such a book that primarily mocks their very existence going to be?

Don't get me wrong; I think it's okay to go to the Dictionnaire Infernal for research, but only with the foreknowledge and understanding that the lore and mythology of the daemons and other spirits listed therein runs much deeper than the mere entries within the book, and that you shouldn't rely on it as your sole source of information on the Daemonic Divine.

But aside from these glaring issues, the Dictionnaire Infernal is just iniquitous and amoral in general; Which is no surprise, given that it was written in the 19th century and people back then held some very problematic beliefs... But that doesn't make any of it okay.

So, what other issues lie within the pages of the Dictionnaire Infernal? Let's delve into them...

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◦──⋆ I ⋆──◦

~ Demonising Deities Of Other Religions ~

Something I noticed from the get-go was the fact that De Plancy is very quick to declare deities from other belief systems as Christian demons who oppose God, when they're historically not documented as such. He did this with several Hindu deities such as Bhairava, Ganga, Kali, Durga (a.k.a. Deumus), Kateri, and Garuda. The illustrations of these deities drawn by Le Breton seem to be quite shocking and possibly kind of racist as well.

I mean, take these depictions of Bhairava (left) and Kali (right) for example, and they seem to speak for themselves. I don't know for sure if these depictions are racist or not, but they definitely feel like they might be...

At the very least, they seem to be extremely bastardised and monstrously grotesque misrepresentations of these deities. See these more historically accurate depictions below for comparison:

De Plancy also included entries on deities and entities such as Abraxas, Adrammelech, Alastor, Astarte, Chemosh (Chamos), Dagon, Dumuzid (Tammuz), Flaga, Guayota, Hadad (Rimmon), Milcom, Moloch, Nergal, Nibhaz (Nybbas), Nisroch, Pan, Peckols (Picollus), Pluton, Proserpina, Pucks, Rubezahl (Ribesal), Succoth-benoth, Torngarsuk, and many others that were criminally misrepresented and twisted into something they weren't.

It likely only reinforced the idea of deities such as Moloch, Chemosh, Dagan, Adrammelech, and Abraxas being considered Christianised "demons" rather than simply just deities pertaining to other religions and belief systems. Even mere underworld deities tasked with watching over the dead in the afterlife (e.g. Peckols, Pluton, Proserpina, Nergal, Dumuzid) were tainted with the stereotypical Christian idea of Hell; Fire, brimstone, pain, torment, and suffering for all of eternity.

And while some forgotten gods of dying religions might take a liking to being embraced as daemons or daemonic deities worthy of veneration in the context of Daemonolatry (as long as it's done in a respectful manner of course), these deities have still been obscenely misrepresented through the distorted perception of De Plancy's problematic views on other religions.

And that leads us into his similarly skewed views on the Daemonic Divine themselves, which isn't any better...

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◦──⋆ II ⋆──◦

~ The Monstrous Misrepresentation Of Spirits ~

So not only was De Plancy a racist religiophobe (which was already rather obvious lol), but he was also quite uneducated on daemons as a whole; That is my personal opinion as both a Daemonolatrist and a Daemonologist. Having converted to Catholicism, this likely made his perception and interpretation of daemons extremely biased, because it's quite commonplace for Christianity to depict daemons in a grossly negative light.

They're basically viewed and treated like they're evil incarnate and are frequently scapegoated for most of the world's problems by religious extremists, even in the modern day. As someone who has a lot of love and respect for the Daemonic Divine, these ideas criminally misrepresent the daemons I know and love; And that goes for how they're portrayed in the Dictionnaire Infernal as well.

On top of De Plancy having a warped perception of daemons, he also seemed to have limited knowledge of the Daemonic Divine beyond their grimoire appearances; He didn't seem to have much of a UPG on them (other than the fact that he believed they were literal fallen angels who disobeyed god and were cast out of Heaven as a result), which is probably because he was biased, and didn't care to see daemons in a different perception beyond the Christian interpretation of them being the "villains".

From the thorough research I've done, it seems much more likely that daemons originate from deities pertaining to pantheons of other religions and belief systems, rather than being literal fallen angels. But that's for a whole other post in and of itself.

Aside from deities such as Baal and Astarte already being bastardised into the daemons Bael and Astaroth, as well as being depicted as such in the Dictionnaire Infernal, De Plancy himself also misinterpreted and misrepresented several deities and spirits of other folkloric backgrounds. This is very evident in his "hellish hierarchy" of spirits he considers demons included within his book. He also assigns absurdly inaccurate roles to them too. Here are just a few examples:

Kobal - This is likely a demonisation of both the Kobold sprites of Germanic mythology and the Kobaloi sprites of Greek mythology. Kobolds were commonly considered household spirits who stirred up mischief around the home. In some accounts, they were also known to do chores at night that humans neglected to finish during the day. Kobaloi were said to be impudent and mischievous spirits that were fond of tricking and frightening mortals. They were companions of Dionysus and also had the ability to shape-shift. De Plancy represented these sprites as a singular demon and assigned him with directing theatres and being somewhat of a "stage manager" in Hell.

Nybbas - This is a demonisation of a supposed deity of the Avim called Nibhaz, worshipped during the reigning of Shalmaneser I, mentioned in 2 Kings 17:31 of the Bible. Nibhaz is a rather obscure Mesopotamian deity mentioned in the Bible who was either 1) A deity whose history and mythos has been lost to time, or 2) A deity that likely never even existed in the first place. Thus, there's barely any information on Nibhaz, other than the fact that they apparently appeared in the form of a dog. De Plancy portrayed this deity as a demon under the name of Nybbas, who was in charge of managing the visions and dreams of mortals. He was said to be treated with little respect, and was regarded a "buffoon" and "charlatan".

Nergal - Here's another Mesopotamian deity that was mentioned in 2 Kings 17:31 and later demonised by De Plancy, though, Nergal seems to have a much more pronounced mythos. Nergal was a chthonic god associated with plagues, war, pestilence, death, and devastation. However, he was also said to be a benefactor to mortals; Hearing their prayers, reviving the dead, and protecting agriculture and flocks. He was equated with Irra, a god of war and scorched earth. This is probably why Nergal was later regarded as a "destroying flame" and described as "scorching". De Plancy assigned him with the role of being chief of Hell's "secret police". He is also listed as the first spy under Beelzebub's command who, in turn, is under the surveillance of "the great vigilante" Lucifer. I have absolutely no idea why Hell would even need secret police or where he even got that idea in the first place, but go figure lol. That's De Plancy for ya.

Proserpina - As far as I know, I don't think Proserpina was actually demonised prior to her appearance in the Dictionnaire Infernal. It seems that her entry within the book is the first time she was ever demonised. Proserpina is a Roman goddess (Greek equivalent: Persephone) of fertility, nature, agriculture, vegetative growth, the underworld, and the season of Spring. She is best-known for the myth of her abduction to the Underworld by the chthonic god Hades (Roman equivalent: Pluto). De Plancy includes her in his "hellish hierarchy" where he regards her as an archdiablesse (French for "archdemoness" or "arch-she-devil") and princess of evil spirits. In her grimoire entry within the Dictionnaire Infernal, she is described as being queen of the infernal empire and is associated with serpents and snakes.

Hutgin - This is another case of De Plancy demonising sprites and faeries. Hutgin is likely a demonisation of Hodekin, a kobold or sprite of Germanic folklore. Hodekin was said to be a helpful sprite and somewhat of a familiar spirit who lived with the Bishop Of Hildesheim. Hodekin was said to mainly be a nocturnal spirit and only active at night. He could see into the future and could warn one of problems to come. One of the myths surrounding Hodekin is that he was tasked with watching over the bishop's wife to make sure she remained faithful while he was away. Whenever she tried to cheat on the bishop, Hodekin would step in and assume frightening shapes, scaring the paramours away before the wife could be unfaithful. De Plancy assigns Hutgin with the role of being Hell's ambassador to the country of Turkey (for whatever reason lmao).

I don't really know how De Plancy came to such conclusions regarding daemons, deities, and other spirits; But clearly, a lot of these depictions are not very historically accurate lol. And that leads us into the next section of this post, where the depictions of the Daemonic Divine in particular weren't exactly without error in comparison to their other grimoire appearances.

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◦──⋆ III ⋆──◦

~ The Inaccurate Depictions Of Daemons ~

A lot of people in occult spaces are likely familiar with Le Breton's illustrations within the Dictionnaire Infernal. However, what a lot of people don't know is that the illustrations and grimoire entries aren't very historically accurate depictions of the Daemonic Divine; That is, when you compare them to the daemons' original grimoire appearances in books such as the Livre Des Esperitz, Fasciculus Rerum Geomanticarum, Liber Officiorum Spirituum, and the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum. From the disparaging illustrated depictions to the bastardised lore, the Daemonic Divine aren't exactly documented so accurately within the Dictionnaire Infernal. Let's delve into some examples:

- - - - - - - - - -

Pruflas (also called Bufas, Suffales, Bulfas, Pruslas, and Busas) is a daemon that appears in the Livre Des Esperitz, Liber Officiorum Spirituum, Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, and the Dictionnaire Infernal.

In the Dictionnaire Infernal, Pruflas is depicted as a man with the head of an owl. But for some reason, his illustration depicts Purson rather than Pruflas (Purson is described as a lion-headed man riding a bear, also being associated with trumpets). Perhaps this was either some sort of error, or De Plancy and/or Le Breton considered Pruflas and Purson to be the same daemon, even though this is not stated anywhere in the Dictionnaire Infernal.

In the Livre Des Esperitz, Pruflas's appearance is not described. In the Liber Officiorum Spirituum, he is said to appear as a spark of fire. In the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, he is said to appear with the body of a fiery flame and the head of a nighthawk or nightjar (described as "nycticoraci" in the original Latin version).

The term "nycticoraci" or "nycticorax" is translated to "night raven" in English. This term likely originates from Leviticus 11:16 of the Bible, which regards the "night raven" as any bird of ill omen. The specific birds regarded as night ravens mentioned in Leviticus 11 are; Eagles, vultures, black vultures, red kites, black kites, ravens, horned owls, screech owls, gulls, hawks, little owls, cormorants, great owls, white owls, desert owls, ospreys, storks, herons, hoopoes, and bats (even though bats aren't birds lol).

Later, the term "nycticorax" was used to name a specific genus of night herons. It was specifically also used to refer to the best known species, the black-crowned night heron. Given that the term "night raven" can refer to any bird of ill omen in Christianity, this may explain why daemons such as Stolas, Andras, and Aamon are depicted as either being owl-headed or taking on the appearance of an owl.

- - - - - - - - - -

Buer (also called Gemer) is a daemon that appears in the Livre Des Esperitz, Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, Ars Goetia, and the Dictionnaire Infernal.

In the Dictionnaire Infernal, Buer is depicted as appearing in the form of a star or five-pointed wheel. Le Breton's illustration depicts him as a disembodied lion's head with five goat legs, giving him the ability to "walk" or roll in all directions. This is a historically inaccurate depiction of how Buer appears, because he isn't depicted as a quintuple-goat-legged lion head in any of his grimoire appearances whatsoever.

In the Livre Des Esperitz, Buer's appearance is not described. In the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, he is said to appear in the form of a star. In the Ars Goetia, he is said to appear in the form of a "sagittary" or centaur, specifically when the Sun is in Sagittarius.

Buer is likely a demonisation of Chiron, a superlative centaur from Greek mythology who specialised in healing, medicine, and astrology; Which explains Buer's similar functions and the account of him appearing in the form of a "sagittary" in the Ars Goetia.

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Barbatos (also called Barbates, Barbares, Barbais, Barbas, and Barbarus) is a daemon that appears in the Livre Des Esperitz, Munich Manual Of Demonic Magic, Liber Officiorum Spirituum, Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, Ars Goetia, and the Dictionnaire Infernal.

In his Dictionnaire Infernal illustration, Barbatos is depicted as a bearded hunter wielding a hunting rifle, and he is said to inhabit the forests. In his grimoire entry, he is alternatively said to appear as an archer. He is also compared to Robin Of The Woods (a.k.a. Robin Hood) and Jack In The Green.

In the Livre Des Esperitz, Barbatos's appearance is not described. In the Munich Manual Of Demonic Magic, he is said to appear as a forest archer who is accompanied by four kings carrying trumpets. In the Liber Officiorum Spirituum, he is said to appear in the form of a shouter, forest man, or wild archer. Alternatively, he is also said to appear as a centaur or "sagittary" that is described as being "half-man and half-beast". In the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, he is said to appear in the form of a woodland archer. In the Ars Goetia, he is said to appear in the form of a "sagittary" or centaur, specifically when the Sun is in Sagittarius; Similarly to Buer.

While his form described in the Ars Goetia is said to be a mistranslation, it's not technically an inaccurate depiction. He appears as a centaur in the Liber Officiorum Spirituum, after all. His depiction as a forest man isn't too inaccurate either, given that Barbatos is possibly tied to the mythical figure Woodwose originating in medieval Europe, and functions similarly.

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Gaap (also called Tap, Goap, Coap, Taob, Ducay, and Balath) is a daemon that appears in the Livre Des Esperitz, Munich Manual Of Demonic Magic, Liber Officiorum Spirituum, Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, Ars Goetia, and the Dictionnaire Infernal.

In the Dictionnaire Infernal, Gaap is said to appear at noon in human form. But in his illustration, he is depicted as a devil-like figure, or more plausibly, as a man riding upon the shoulders of a devil-like figure. Many people have interpreted this illustration as the demon figure being Gaap himself. But given his Dictionnaire Infernal entry, it's probably more likely that Gaap is the human mounted on the shoulders of the demon-like figure.

In the Livre Des Esperitz, Gaap's appearance is said to appear "very benignly". In the Munich Manual Of Demonic Magic, he is said to appear as a healer that assumes human form, and is also regarded as a doctor. In the Liber Officiorum Spirituum, he is said to appear as a misshapen image. In the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, he is said to appear in a "meridional sign". In the Ars Goetia, he is said to appear in human form when the Sun is in the Southern signs.

As previously stated, it's likely that many people have interpreted Gaap's illustration as him being depicted as the devil-like figure, instead of the man that is mounted on him. Looking at his other grimoire appearances, it's likely that the illustration was meant to depict Gaap as taking the form of a human mounted on the shoulders of a devil-like being.

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Beleth (also called Bileth, Bilet, and Byleth) is a daemon that appears in the Liber Officiorum Spirituum, Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, Ars Goetia, and the Dictionnaire Infernal.

In the Dictionnaire Infernal, she is said to appear as a "terrible" king riding a white horse, preceded by cats blowing horns and trumpets. However, her illustration seems to depict her as cat-headed person playing a horn, surrounded by dancing mice. Perhaps this illustration was meant to depict one of the horn-blowing cats that precede Beleth? I'm not sure.

In the Liber Officiorum Spirituum, Beleth's appearance is not described. In the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, she is said to appear furiously, riding upon a pale horse; The sounding of trumpets and the playing of all sorts of other musical instruments are heard before her. In the Ars Goetia, she appears pretty much in the same way as described within the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum.

It's also just my personal UPG that Beleth is a girl lol, as I believe she likely originated from the Mesopotamian goddess Belet-ili. As far as I know, I don't think Beleth is depicted as a woman in any of her grimoire appearances. Her Dictionnaire Infernal entry and illustration don't seem to align either, so it's likely that the trumpet-blowing cat drawing was meant to depict the cats that precede Beleth, rather than Beleth herself.

- - - - - - - - - -

These are just a handful of the inaccurate depictions of the Daemonic Divine and other spirits within the Dictionnaire Infernal. If I were to delve into all of them in great detail, this post would be far too long... So I'm gonna end it there lol.

•──────⋆༺🕸༻⋆──────•

In conclusion, I personally don't advise going to the Dictionnaire Infernal as your sole source of research on daemons; Especially if you're a daemonolatrist. I'd instead recommend looking at their other grimoire appearances, especially the earlier ones. The grimoires I recommend looking into are:

Livre Des Esperitz

Fasciculus Rerum Geomanticarum

Liber Officiorum Spirituum

Pseudomonarchia Daemonum

Ars Goetia

I hope you find this post helpful! And as always, I wish you well on your spiritual path. Also, a big thanks to my friend @sortiarus-de--naturas--daemonum for helping me out with this post! I could not have written this without her. 💜

•──────⋆༺🕸༻⋆──────•

❀༻ Ave Satanas ༺❀

+. Image Sources .+ ... Nightjar Photo ... Centaur Image V1 ... Centaur Image V2 ... Flower Petals Image ... Horse Rider Image ...

[arcandoria]

In light of the last bit of Nexus User Entitlement and me still being miffed about it, let's try to make something positive out of it and shed some clarity why certain private mods cannot simply be made public (aside from, obviously, one not wanting them to be public in the first place):

Not always you can just yeet a .archive into the big world wide web. Some mods require frameworks, some mods require specific structures, some mods need to function in specific ways in order for them to be available universally. These same mods can work perfectly fine in the modder's game because it's held by duct tape and glue as the modder knows they won't put anything in their game that will break it, or they've made it using a framework that is not ideal for public release, but works just fine for their own needs, etc. 90% of my OCs are NPVs. Their mods are not made in a way I can load on PlayerV. I'd have to convert them into something else or put them in a framework. Some of my NPV clothes are badly chopped at the edge because it's going inside a specific pants or boots and I don't need to worry about that edge showing. It's just not fit for release because I didn't make it thinking about release. This is true for many, many modmakers.

A modmaker with an ounce of responsibility will want to publish a mod with a degree of proper documentation, showcase what it does / what it looks like, and offer said mod support and troubleshooting after it's released. This is a lot of work, even if you do it lazily.

There are dozens of body mods available for Cyberpunk currently. The ideal way of working for a mod that you intend to publicly release is to fit it for the vanilla/default bodies first, and adapt to the others later. Doing the inverse process is definitely doable but extremely counterproductive. So just because someone has a mod currently working on their OC, it does not mean it'll even fit another if their body types don't match. This is also true for hairs or jewelry or other accessories.

There are many ways of making certain things, and more often than not, these conflict with each other. Some body mods cannot be used alongside certain frameworks, which means a modmaker would have to either learn a new system and convert to it, or make their mod compatible to multiple options. This has to be a conscious choice from the start, or the modder has to actively decide to do all of this conversion after something is already done (which isn't necessarily hard, but still, extra work).

Feeling frustrated or upset that you cannot have a certain mod is fair. It's a human response and it's understandable. But popping a private mod into the world isn't as deal and done it might seem from a technical level - and even if it is easy, people who pour their time into a creative outlet are allowed to keep things for themselves!

I am thoroughly against refusing to help people to achieve the same/similar result of something you worked on. We are a community and helping each other is paramount to keep modding going and improving. Don't ever uphold knowledge from others, but do not feel pressured into sharing the results of your labor either.

My Cyberpunk Modding Tutorials Cyberpunk Modding Wiki Cyberpunk Modding Discord

[whoisstillawake]

Miles To Go

Word count - 6.9k

My name is Andrew Silvea. I am a doctor at St. Peter’s Hospital here in Philadelphia, and I knew Adaius Warner. At this time, I don’t think that’s a good thing, but it’s the truth. He practiced here at the hospital with me for many years. I’d even consider us decently good friends, though I doubt we were more than coworkers in his eyes. He was an incredible psychologist and psychiatrist. That all changed a few weeks ago. He got a new patient, a young woman, and unfortunately, and possibly by his hand, she has passed away. I was the man who called her time of death. But she isn’t my reason for concern. 

Before she died, I was given her computer, and was told by her, albeit cryptically, that I needed to get it to Warner. I held it in my office for a while, not sure what to do, as such a request from a patient in that state should be discussed. Then, I overheard some very distressing information by a few of the higher ups. Warner had induced “a confession” from the girl through pharmaceutical means, causing a mental collapse that resulted in her death, and the patient’s mother was enraged. Warner was at risk of losing his job, his license, and could possibly be sent to prison for medical malpractice. It was unlike anything I’d ever heard, and didn’t line up with anything I knew about my friend. A week ago, I gave Warner the laptop, and the story I’d heard. He actually listened to me, and took the warning seriously. I have not seen him since. He has disappeared. His office is just as he left it, as with his house. He vanished, and I worry it’s because of that laptop. He’s gone.

This morning, while checking my email, I was shocked to see one from Warner. It had no subject, no body text, only a link to a document. 

I don’t know what to do. I can’t show this to my superiors, something tells me that isn’t going to do anything. I’ve converted it from its original state so others can read it. Maybe there’s someone else who can read this and help me. I don’t know why Warner sent me this. If you know anything about anything in this file, please let me know. Dr. Warner’s life may hang in the balance.

File #59601 - Rose H. Thompson

As called for by my superiors, I am obligated to thoroughly document each of my patients' cases. These logs are used during everything from court cases, transfer of care processes, postmortems, and so on. More often than not, my patients are well to do, and suffer from early onset dementia or, more commonly post traumatic stress disorder, and so these logs do little but warn the future caretakers what they’re getting themselves into. It was with this case that I realized how important the documentation of patient 59601 would be. I present this now as a case file for perhaps a different organization, if there is one that understands the gravity of the scenario. All names (of both people and places) have been altered as much as possible for the privacy of families and individuals. 

I have included transcripts of audio recordings and other such documentation pertaining directly to this case. 

GENERAL LOG 1 - 10/15/2018

Her size caught my eye first. I remember how small she looked in her hospital gown. Sunken cheeks, grey skin, thin hair, thinner limbs. Yet when I sat across from her, I watched that sallow face light up with a generous smile. She introduced herself and I sat across from her, arranging my things. I had with me a large legal pad, her file, a small recording device, and my laptop. Introducing myself as Dr. Warner, I said all the customary and needed information her patient status warranted her before pushing record. 

[AUDIO RECORDING - 10/15/2018]

Dr. Warner - Dr. Warner, MD. Recording taken October 15th, 2018 at St. Peter’s Hospital. Would you mind stating your name?

Rosie - …me? Oh! Rosie. Rose Hope Thompson. (a pause) It’s always funny saying the full name, sounds goofy. Especially when it’s a serious, like, setting.

Dr. Warner - Rose Hope Thompson?

Rosie - Yes. 

Dr. Warner - It’s a very pretty name. And you go by Rosie?

Rosie - Yeah, it’s been a borderline nickname for so long, and Rose sounds too official. 

Dr. Warner - Understandable. Now… (a shuffling sound is heard) … as you’re probably used to this, I won’t sugarcoat it or add any fat to this meeting. And as this is our first meeting, how about you tell me about- (the sound of typing, a paper flips) well, the accident.

Rosie - Always sounds dark.

Dr. Warner - In what way? 

Rosie - Just…”the accident”.

Dr. Warner - Would you refer to it as something else?

Rosie - I just…if anything it’s embarrassing. We don’t really need to.

Dr. Warner - That’s alright. I think it’d be best to start at the beginning.

[TRANSCRIPTION NOTE: Patient becomes extremely serious.]

Rosie - Dr. Warner, I- I need to warn you now. If I tell you this there is a very real chance that it will be the first and last time you hear it, or anyone hears it. 

Dr. Warner - You mean, the details of the crash?

Rosie - The crash, certainly. If that gate opens, I fear I’ll die before anyone hears about the first instance. What started it all. 

Dr. Warner - I don’t think I understand.

Rosie - That’s what it tells me. You’ve read the reports? Well, god, I’m sure you have. I’ve done my research as well. You’re very successful, you’ve got all these awards and certificates and diplomas up and down the walls. Yeah, they’re tucked into shelves and displayed privately because you can’t seem overly confident, but there they are. And to top it off, you obviously have my file right next to you. What doctor worth their salt wouldn’t identify who exactly they’re talking to? Not you. So I’ll hazard a guess that you know exactly how many doctors I’ve spoken with.

Dr. Warner - (a pause) Eight. 

Rosie - Bingo. I don’t want to sound overbearing or rude, but you’re exactly right. And how many of your colleagues have heard my story? Not from the analyses or the police reports, but the way I tell it?

Dr. Warner - Well, since you’re here, I’d assume none.

Rosie - Do you really have to assume? 

Dr. Warner - No. (silence) Will it be the same for me? 

[TRANSCRIPTION NOTE: An overwhelming tension filled the room. The time between my question and the patient’s answer couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds, but the way she studied my face, staring into my eyes. I could have sworn it was years until she spoke again.]

Rosie - I don’t know yet. But I’m getting tired. I don’t know how much longer I can hold off telling the story before…um. Before I just can’t anymore.

Dr. Warner - We’ll move at the pace you set, Rosie. I will not push you to tell me. I’m not interrogating you, I’m allowing you to come to terms with any traumatic experiences you might  have had in the past. It’s my job.

GENERAL LOG 2 - 12/28/2018

Patient 59601 begins to open up, slowly. Over the course of several meetings (see logs 2-8), her borderline cold exterior slips away into something else. She’s a college student, studying English. She says she’s working on a Theatre minor, and if she doesn’t win an Oscar, being an English teacher will suffice. There are other details. Her parents and five other siblings live several hours away. She’s moved all over the US. This is where the first taste of her story comes in.

[AUDIO RECORDING TRIM - PULLED FROM LOG 6 - (10/20/2018)]

Rosie - ~~Helena. Well, not exactly Helena. A house in town for the last five years, and a house 15 minutes out of town for the other five. Unionville Court. That was when we were little. 

Dr. Warner - How young? 

Rosie - I think we moved there when I was three, and then we moved in town halfway through second grade. 

[AUDIO RECORDING TRIM ENDS]

I find Unionville Ct. on Google Maps. It’s a small suburb, if you can call it that. It looks like the road carving up the mountain stopped off to the side, threw down a few duplexes, and then continued on its way. Houses, just in the middle of nowhere.

Weeks went by (see logs 9-28). I was getting crumbs of information, but at the rate we were going, it was doing nothing for the case. Patient 59601’s opening speech rang in my head. Was she ever going to tell me? Was she trying to rule my years of successes as obsolete? I hadn’t slept well in a while. I needed a win. 

Sodium thiopental is a drug that is used in some cases to make patients more compliant. If I could get a dose into the patient, not only would she tell me the story, but maybe it would prove to her that there was nothing at risk. If anything, with the acceptance that all she did was wander drunkenly into the woods, perhaps she’d be able to leave the hospital’s care sooner. I brought it up with her nurses, and through some coercion, they complied. The morning the drug was administered, Patient 59601 was immediately brought to my room. She knew something was wrong, and the glare I received as the last of her reservations slipped away was that of a cornered animal, nothing like the girl I had come to know. She sat silently for a moment, before sitting up and looking back at me.

[AUDIO RECORDING - PULLED FROM LOG 29 - (12/28/2018)]

Dr. Warner - Rosie, I want you to tell me about the car accident. 

Rosie - No one wants to admit making bad choices in college, its just “living” or “having a good weekend”. Um, anyway… This isn’t going to be shown to my parents, right? (a pause) You’ll hear about it in court. 

Dr. Warner - Well, nothing we talk about here will be shared without your explicit permission. The only people privy to this recording or this file are your solicitor, you, and me, obviously. 

Rosie - Then I’ll tell you I’d been drinking a little. We all had. 

Dr. Warner - The driver’s postmortem confirmed that, so did your physicals.

[TRANSCRIPTION NOTE : As the patient continues to tell the story, her attention shifts from me to the wall behind me. I don’t pressure her to keep eye contact, I let her talk. All my work for the past weeks is finally coming to bear fruit.]

Rosie - I remember the car hitting the guardrail. I had buckled myself in, tried to get Liz to do the same, but she was all over one of the guys. Kaleil? I don’t remember who. The car was moving and my head was kind of swimmy. When we hit the bar, I jerked forward so hard I thought I’d throw up my…lungs or something. My eyes had to have closed before then, because I opened them and my hands were all wet and hot. I didn’t unbuckle, just kind of pulled myself through the loops. The worst parts of crashes that no one tells you about is the radio. It just keeps playing. The pregame music we had in the queue on Liz’s spotify was still blasting. I kicked the door open and rolled out into the leaves. No one else moved. Nobody else was moving.

I needed to get away from the car. I guess I was sobering up pretty quickly. I can’t remember if the hood was on fire. I think in my mind it was. The trees I was looking at with the wreck behind me were flickering, but I don’t know if that was because I had been tipsy or if the car was actually burning.

Dr. Warner - You said your hands were hot?

Rosie - They were sticky and warm. The paramedics wiped them off later, said they didn’t know whos blood it was; mine or the kid in the passenger seat. He’d been, god, he’d been fucking crushed. I never saw pictures of the wreckage, but I remember when I climbed out, that side of the car was dark.

Dr. Warner - From the blood.

Rosie - Not just from that. The corner just felt…dark. Anyway, I got out of the car, had to get away from the dark. I looked at the trees and walked towards them. Like I said.

Dr. Warner - Why do you think you did that? What’s the first thing that comes to mind? You think through your answers too much, there aren’t any wrong answers, I promise.

Rosie - (silence) The car…was safe. Safer than the woods, obviously. But something was there, something was just behind that tree. Now that one. Now that one. Deeper and deeper. So I followed it. It felt natural or…like…needed? I needed to go.  So I walked past the trees and over the wettish groundcover. (a pause, then quiet laughter)

[TRANSCRIPTION NOTE - The laughter of Patient 59601 began to change here. Having worked with her for a relatively decent while, I could be completely incorrect in my observation. In a change from her usual laugh, this was breathier, yet far more boisterous, as though she wasn’t concerned with the demeanor she had been painting for herself. Though she wasn’t looking at me, and rarely answering my questions, she sat in the seat with her feet drawn under her, sometimes holding the arms of the seat and bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet every so often.]

Dr. Warner - Rosie?

Rosie - That part of the story is always funny to me. (more laughter) The trees didn’t match.

Dr. Warner - Didn’t…match?

Rosie - My dad went to forestry school. He loves the woods. He taught me everything about trees and like camping and hunting safety. The ground was all pine needles, even though it was a roadside in ToonTown, USA. There should have been dead leaves and wet mossy spots, not cold soil and pine needles. And they were old. Like old old. They kept snapping and shattering under my feet and getting stuck in the eyelets of my shoes. (more laughter)

Further and further. At first I could see, from the car lights or the hood or whatever, but after a while it was all grey. Grey light, like the moon was shining through the trees. It was too cloudy for the moon though, I think it was just my eyes getting used to no light. I couldn’t hear the radio playing as loud anymore, just faint behind me. I was completely alone.

And then it was there. No noise, no warning. I looked up and it was there, looking right at me, just like in Montana. It could see me and I was too close this time. I was too close. I had a chance last time. I didn’t now.

Dr. Warner (overlapping) - Rosie? Rosie. Rose, slow down.

Rosie - Not a chance, not this time. I don’t want to die. What’s it going to do to me? What would be the worst thing it would do? I can’t find the worst one- it’s going to be so bad. I want my mom. Mom? Mom?? MOM!

[AUDIO RECORDING ENDS] 

Rose Thompson was administered a sedative as her behavior became uncontrollable. Her heart rate had skyrocketed and her speech was no longer making sense. According to the police report, Thompson had drunkenly stumbled away from a crash site that housed the bodies of Elizabeth Green, Jakob Brune, Adam Kaleil, and Seth Manzar. Thompson was the only survivor, as the rest of the car’s occupants were killed on impact. None of them were wearing seatbelts. Manzar’s torso had been caught between his seat and the dashboard, severing the body at the waist. It is difficult to say how this occurred, as tests in recent years with crash dummies and scene reconstruction cannot identify how the injury was induced. 

GENERAL LOG 3 - 01/04/2019

Patient 59601 was housed in intensive care following our final meeting. I visited her only once, I regret to admit, on the third. I wasn’t sure how she’d react to seeing me. I entered the white room and saw her lying on the hospital bed. She was barely breathing, so thin I could see her heart beating from where I stood in the doorway. 

I did not record our final meeting. The patient didn’t say anything, and hardly responded to stimuli. When asked to blink for question responses, she affirmed the two choices (once for yes, two for no), but responded to nothing else. I left the room darker than when I had entered, and I could have sworn the other nurses glared as I left. I had failed.  Court? What did she mean? The patient’s parents were contacted, and though devastated, I hadn’t been called in to stand trial. She only mentioned it once, but it had stuck with me. Rosie had been so oddly direct about court.

A week later, it happened. Dr. Silvea, the one who had called Patient 59601’s time of death, called me into his office and informed me privately that word had gotten out about the Sodium thiopental dosage. It turned out that Rosie’s mother was less than pleased that I’d used a “truth serum” on her daughter, and the procedure had resulted in her death. A bit of a roundabout way of getting to the conclusion. He told me she’d be arriving by tomorrow to either get the full story or press charges. 

Silvea handed me a cardboard box as he said this. Initially assuming he was telling me to clear my desk in a backhanded way, I realized there was something inside. Opening it, I saw a laptop, the cover decorated with stickers. I took it out, opening the screen. Password protected.

“It’s the patient’s. Before she went into cardiac arrest, she had me take this. All she said was “Warner”. For obvious reasons, I’m giving it to you.”

It’s been several hours since then, and I have tried one password. I don’t know how many attempts I’ll have before the computer locks down, possibly erasing information on it I needed to see. I’ve combed through all our conversations, re-read her files until I can quote them. Nothing. No mention of her mother’s maiden name, her elementary school, her first pet’s name. It wouldn’t be her birthday. There’s no shapes, no superheroes she likes enough to make the password. I don’t know how much longer I can continue this.

The fear I felt hearing of Mrs. Thompson’s impending arrival and her expectations pertaining to it was surprising. I can’t explain it, I can’t have that. The outcome of the story being relayed had killed the storyteller. What will happen to me? 

Addendum - Unionville. Unionville Court. The password is Unionville. There’s one file. A Word document saved in the middle of the screen. She deleted all other files and shortcuts, I need to open this one.

~

To Dr. Adaius Warner, in the event of the discovery of this device following my death

I know why you had to. Who wouldn’t think I was just being overly afraid of or dramatic over a traumatic event? You were doing your job. 

It’s closer now. It used to hide in the dark or stand far away, at the edge of the road across the way from my window. Last night it was behind the nurse. Maybe it’s been getting closer and I just haven't noticed. I’m writing this while I still have time. If I look up, it has every reason to be in the bathroom doorway. So, I’m keeping my head down and working until the story is out and you can find this. I think it will allow me at least that.

From the age of three until almost all the way to eleven, I lived in the Rocky Mountains. As anyone who has lived in a wooded area, from Appalachia to the Tongass to a thicker patch of woods at the edge of a small town, there are unspoken rules. Leave no trace, have the necessary supplies for outings (whether that’s bear spray or dog bags), and things of the like. One of the major ones, and the easiest ones to remember in my case, is to have your whereabouts known. Text a friend, call your brother, “I’m going for a hike on the trail we took last weekend” is brief enough to save your life. Never enter the woods alone, either metaphorically or literally.

From our house, there was a small town down the hill, like I told you. Helena was decent sized, plenty of stores, barbershops, a library, a run down  but that was fifteen minutes away, an eternity for a child. The house we lived in was small, but Mom and Dad used to joke that our yard was massive. They meant the woods. We had a really large front yard with an old, yellow and blue plastic swing set with a slide, a carousel horse that would play music when you rode it, and a little plastic house with shuttered windows, a yellow play phone, and a swinging door. 

The manufactured aspects of these little sculptures in the yard appeared to clash with the wildness of their surroundings. I never saw it this way, probably because that yard was my childhood. There’s a lot you can learn from the woods. I learned about deer and antler sheds, what not to do when coming across a bobcat, and a rabbit’s predators. 

That last one really stuck with me. I remember seeing one running around our yard in tight circles on a cold morning. I thought the little animal was playing, until I saw movement in the bushes. Dad told me later what the name of the animal was, stalking slowly towards the frantic bunny; a lynx. When the lynx was close, about three feet from its target, the rabbit stopped. I watched it lay in the snow, breathing fast. I pulled the shades closed quickly, hoping not to see that ending, but I knew what happened when I went out to play the next morning and saw a rusty spot in the snow. Being younger, I didn’t know about giving up like that, so desperately. The memory stayed with me for a long time. 

My sister, my brother, and I were told extensively that we were to stay in the yard. There was lots of grass around the house and things to do inside, Mom would say, but do not go past the gravel driveway and into the woods. We never wanted to, most times the shoots of trees were so thick it was difficult to see past them, and the swings always seemed more alluring than what lay behind them. 

Every time mom would send us outside with the familiar call “Stay in the yard!” either David or May would turn to me without fail and ask “Why?” in their little hushed toddler voices.

I was the oldest, and so I knew everything. I’d make up stories about the three of us running from the White Witch, legends about bog monsters hidden behind sheets of rain, and the occasional look to the trees behind them, punctuated with a dramatic gasp to scare them. 

I always had too much of an imagination.

And then, one spring, when the days were still short but not nearly as cold, my family got the flu. Dad probably brought it home from work, so we were all bedridden for a week. It was the worst sickness I can remember, stomach cramps and fatigue for days, heavy air in the house from a lack of common movement, all capped off with a final night of shocking cold as the fever broke.

I woke up on my first day without an upset stomach, and went to my mom’s room to ask to go outside. The air in my parent’s room was heavy, like a tomb. I have a vivid memory of the tan curtains not letting any light in, except around the very edges.

“Mom?”

No answer.

“Mom?” 

She gave a gasp, shooting up and away from her sheets. My shoulders rose in panic, and I tried to calm her down. “Just me, Mom!”

Then she groaned and sank back onto the mattress.

“What is it, baby?” her voice came pressed from her pillow.

“Can I go outside and play? Please?” She muttered something, the cadence of the sounds leaving her mouth so familiar from the thousands of times I had heard it. I rubbed her shoulder and left the room, making sure to close the door quietly behind me.

Stay in the yard.

I looked for my shoes. Then I looked outside and saw how wet the ground really was, so I dug through the hall closet until I found my yellow raincoat and my frog rain boots. I had gotten them both for my seventh birthday and hadn’t had a chance to wear them out yet. What a great reason to christen them. I pulled open the door and stepped out onto the porch.

The air was clean, and I breathed in big gulps of it, of oxygen that wasn’t recycled through sick lungs. It tasted like wet grass and heavy pine needles.  

I jumped off the porch and made quick work of the rocks and railroad ties that functioned as makeshift parking bumpers, flipping them up and catching the massive nightcrawlers in my quick hands. The worms always seemed so much bigger than they were when I think back now, but maybe I was just little. 

When I had enough of them, I put the worms in the compost pile, like how my dad showed me. I briskly wiped my hands on my coat and looked around the quiet yard, slightly grainy because of the light rain. There just wasn’t anything to do without my siblings. I tried to make something up, a reason to have to charge into battle, a princess who needed saving, anything, but nothing stuck. Eventually, to blow off energy, I sprinted around the yard in big circles, and flopped into the grass when my breath was gone. The sky was just as grey as before and I found myself missing May and David. 

I considered going back inside to read, or maybe fall asleep again. This wasn’t fun anymore.

Then something fell, snapped, to my left. I sat up and looked, just in time to see a white tailed deer rising from the brush in the woods. I quietly pivoted, getting my feet under myself, and I watched as she shook her head free of rain and dew. She was beautiful. 

I felt like I was in church, like I had to quietly watch this go on. The doe leaned down and nosed something in the grass where she had just been and an even smaller head popped up from the grass. The little fawn got up on “unsteady legs”. My parents would be impressed with those words, the ones from Beatrix Potter and James Herriot. 

I wondered if I had unsteady legs, and I tried to stand up from the strange squatting position I was in, promptly falling on my face.

The white underside of the two animals’ tails whipped up and their heads aimed at me for a moment, the fragile silence so swiftly broken. They looked for only a second and bolted. I wasn’t hurt, and really had no reason to cry, but there I was, feeling foolish as my lip trembled. I had scared the deer, and I was alone again. 

Before I could stop myself, I was up, crossing the gravel driveway, and moving the shoots from the trees to the side, natural as anything. The old leaves from last fall still carpeted the ground in a damp way. I pushed branches out of my face, and only when I had walked a good bit from the driveway did I turn around. There was a moment of quiet, and I felt like even if I hollered, the silence would persist. I looked right at that driveway. 

And slowly, I turned and went further into the woods. 

There was no reason for it. I didn’t need to go, but I went anyway. There was no path, I was making my own. Eventually I found familiar traces of animals. I saw a tree’s trunk entirely shredded, and saw the antlers of the buck who had done it a few feet away. I propped them up under the tree gently. “Maybe the buck will want them back.” I saw tangled squirrel nests perched high in the skeleton fingered trees, and heard little animals rustle away under the leaves.

I must have walked forever. In hindsight, it was only fifteen minutes. The woods were quiet, and I looked up at the cement sky, craning my neck backwards and holding my hands out straight in front to catch myself if I stumbled. I wondered if the tree limbs were cold up there. My boots splashed through low puddles hidden under the leaves. 

All at once, the steady push of tree shoots and long branches gave way, and I broke out of the dense trees into a little clearing. It couldn’t have been bigger than my living room and kitchen, but little me thought this wide swatch of free space was glorious after so many close trees. There were large tables of wood hidden in the tall grass, old stumps from a logger’s work long ago. I pulled myself up onto one. Dad and I would count rings on trees when we hiked. Normally I would lose interest after a little while and let him keep counting, his strong hands and tough fingertips tracking sickness, fire, drought, and good summers. 

Those stumps in the clearing were huge. I tried to count some of the rings, and when I got up to thirty seven (after messing up four times) I gave up. I didn’t know how old those stumps were, but they were way older than me. Probably older than Mom and Dad too. 

Though I couldn’t count the rings, I could still admire the wood. Long fingers of lichen and beds of moss carpeted the whole outside of the stump. The wood was so wet and mottled that it looked grey when I first laid eyes on it. The way the wood bowed in the center of the stump made a perfect circular pool to collect water, and I looked at my face in the dancing reflection. 

I don’t know how I didn’t see it immediately, the moment I entered the clearing. Maybe if I had, I would have left sooner, been safer.

I have to consider, though, what could have happened if I had never seen it at all. Would my life have gone on normally? Would I have been safer, had no cloud of panic over me? Gotten to live more? Or would I have ended up in the same predicament I am now, skipping the middleman?

Everything up to that point is so clear in my mind. I can tell you exactly how many stumps were in the clearing (twelve), what bird was calling in a tree above me (my favorite, a western meadowlark), even that my left shoe had a scuff mark up the side from a rock that I had scraped against. It was in the shape of Iceland.

But I couldn’t tell you how I saw it, just that my eyes traveled and locked on it, after I had looked up from the puddle. 

The thing, perched a few stumps over, was a little bigger than my head. It was pressed into the wet wood, and was soaked through with rain. I began, without thinking, to walk over to it.

The birds had grown quiet. They hadn’t shut down entirely, but they were muted, muffled. I felt the wet grass leave slim trails of dew on my exposed hands and on the fabric of my jeans. When I made it to the stump, almost directly in the center of the clearing, I stopped in front of it. 

The thing was a bear, a stuffed teddy bear. The fur’s original color was completely unrecognizable; it was too wet, so it was very dark. It must have been there for weeks. Some of the stitching on the nose was loose and waving in a slight breeze.

What caught my attention most wasn’t the loose thread. It wasn’t the fur, or the shape, or the murky glass eyes staring off into the woods behind me.

It was the bright yellow ribbon tied in a neat bow around the stuffed animal’s neck. The ribbon was silky, light. And it was clean. Among the mud and water and age of this clearing, the ribbon was bright and clean. 

In my juvenile mind, I wasn’t afraid of the presence of the bear. But a feeling came over me in that moment. Never in any scenario since have I ever felt the way I did then, alone, in that clearing, looking at that bear. 

And something was telling me to leave. A little voice in my head was screaming at me, telling me if I didn’t get away from the woods, the clearing, the stumps, the bear, all of it, right now, I would die. It was such a powerful feeling, I heard myself confirm it.

“I’m gonna die.” 

It was whispered, breathed. I know I didn’t say it loud enough for anyone to hear it. But the second the words left my mouth, I heard something, almost react, in the woods directly in front of me. My knees buckled, and I stared into the trees. 

Like an idiot, I looked directly at it.

Too small, too small. The clearing was no longer big enough, and it felt like the trees were closing in. 

Running. I was running now, twigs cracking like fireworks under my feet. I could see where light pushed at the edge of the woods, and I raced towards it, praying that when I crashed through the brush, the noise of movement in the old dry leaves would stop as well. The sounds weren’t just coming from me, but God help me if I was foolish enough to look back. 

The gravel driveway was sharp as the heels of my hands scraped into it, my feet in the air, the water-filled ditch I had jumped trembling with miniscule, falling grit. I don’t remember when I had started to cry, only that I touched my face and my hand came away wet. I scrambled towards the safe picture of my house and jumped through the door. 

The moments of silence as the door slammed shut was punctuated only with Dad’s snort, a snore saved for “almost waking up”, and then the air was quiet again. I took in big gulps of air, the adrenaline wearing off.

I don’t really remember moving to the couch, but I remember leaning over it, not all the way on, not off it either. I could see my breath fogging slightly on the window. I was stood like a little statue, staring at the edge of the trees I had jumped from. 

There was something there. Something big. I could only see the idea of it, it was still at least fifteen feet from the driveway, and there were plenty of trees between it and the gravel. 

I stood there. I stood and I watched the trees move. Not the brush under the trees, but the trees themselves, tilting from beyond the visible treeline. 

An awfully white face came into view from behind the branches. Its eyes were too big for a person, yet its face too human to be an animal’s. It was massive, it had to be, how on earth would the tops of the trees be moving if it wasn’t? I was petrified. And all I could do was stare back into its face. 

I couldn’t stop looking at it, it’s shape and size, just as I do now, when I catch it standing at a corner when I drive by. When I wake up at night and look out my dorm room window that faces the baseball diamonds, catching that sickly white moving behind the bleachers. When I take the final bow with my castmates and see it up on the catwalks or crammed almost comically into box five. 

I wasn’t thinking this while gazing, horror-struck at it, but having to recall this now, a chill finds me. I was not a good runner, not a tall kid. I find myself now looking at this sin of creation and wondering how I had managed to do it, to escape. I hadn’t. This thing had followed me home, had ambled behind me, only moving at speed enough to keep me in sight. And now it knew where I was, it was looking directly at our front door, swaying softly with the movement of the branches around it.

I was behind a wall, behind a locked door, safe from its sight. But in my state, I had a realization that this was how the rabbit must’ve felt. I had run and run, I still felt it in my throat. And yet the animal hadn’t rushed, didn’t need to. It moved how it wanted to, and it could have got to me easily all the way back in the clearing if it so desired. If that had been the case, what would I have done? Would I have laid down like that little animal I had seen that winter, curled up against a dilapidated memory of a teddy bear? 

I had been peering through the window at this thing, thinking it had lost me, but it finally turned its head, slowly, slowly, and had begun to look back. I tried to tear my eyes away, but the sight of whatever had been hunting me kept me facing it. Tears streamed down my face and I wanted to scream, hide in my parents room, like I would run from a nightmare. 

But this was no nightmare. I had blood on my face from whipping branches and cuts on my legs from thistles. This was real. I was in my house, looking into the dead, wide eyes of something I couldn’t and still struggle to comprehend. In any case, in any sense of the situation, I was facing it alone. 

I’ve never seen eyes as horrifying as the ones I saw that day. There were moments where they seemed to be all white, with a single pinprick of a pupil, and then the wind would blow, moving the trees and the clouds, changing the view, and they’d be an endless, empty black. One thing stayed consistent, however. The mouth of this thing was pulled tight at the corners, the pale skin stretching sickly over razor-like teeth, broken and stained; a sick caricature of a smile. 

Through these realizations, no noises were apparent to me. The room was drained of sound, and the raindrops on the window made no noise. I couldn’t even hear myself breathing, and yet I could hear it breathing out there. Long, relaxed, passive breaths, like it was simply admiring the view of my safehouse with its horrible face and horrible body, like someone gazing at a soon-to-be-consumed gingerbread house. That’s all I was, a treat for a…a thing.

And then it left. That was the worst part. It didn’t break our toys in the yard, didn’t dent the neighbor’s car, didn’t knock over the trash bins. The thing turned around, achingly slowly, and began going back the way it came. I watched it leave. Even from behind the window, I could hear trees groaning, branches bending to make way for the creature’s figure. And I realized that we never broke eye contact, my stomach cramping at the sight of its grotesque neck twisting to keep its wide, white face towards me. That image haunts my nights, a thing, not a person, who knew more than I did, who had me under its thumb, and who knew I had seen it.

Fuck, I had seen it. 

I’m there now, looking through that window. The scratches on my face burn with the salty tears that I spread trying to wipe them away. Pain was far from my mind, my young eyes glued to the now too empty trees. I hear those childish thoughts, semblances of plans.

I never told my mom. Not because I was scared she’d be mad, but because I knew she wouldn't believe me. She’d think I was just telling more stories. 

But now I have nowhere else to hide. Nothing I can do to warrant getting away from something that’s chased me for this long. I’m lying in this hospital bed and feeling it breathe over my shoulder.

I hope it approves of this retelling.

~

If you’ve read all of this file, you’ve caught up with me. 

I don’t know what to say. I’ve started typing, writing pages and pages of excuses for a lost mind, a girl who suffered intense trauma from a) a car wreck and survivor’s guilt and b) a childhood fever dream at the most. And yet, each time, I delete it all. There is something here that cannot be explained away. I have no credibility with this creature, this entity. What can you say to an idea? Disregard its existence? It stands in front of me, plain as the words on the page.

If I was to read this without the prior knowledge of those meetings, if I had never read the file, if I was simply handed that story, I would have called it fanciful. I would have said the writer had a future in sci-fi, maybe as a novelist. I would have wished them the best.

I do not have that luxury. Rose Thompson was a very real girl. She had a very real reason to be afraid. 

I pulled some strings and got CCTV footage from her room. I watched weeks of myself walking in and out, watched her family visit, watched her sleep. I sat up straighter when last Monday began playing. She’s lying on the bed. I can see her face illuminated by the laptop screen that now sits on my desk. I can see her type each word with her pointer finger. She does this for hours. I realize how difficult it must have been for her to write the story, let alone the mental strain she was put through in its creation.

I found myself drawing the thing days later. I can’t explain how, it simply would manifest beneath my pen or pencil. The worst part? I couldn't get it the way my mind’s eye imagined it. It’s ever changing. I needed to know exactly what Rosie saw. A voice in me screams what a morbidly curious thought this is. She gave up everything to satiate me, and I crave more. I need to know it all.  

I’m standing at the edge of the woods. The swing set is gone, so is the plastic house. I can see the front window, though. It’s just as she said, facing the woods. I don’t know what I want. The plane ride away from the hospital and Mrs. Thompson was something I never saw a professional like myself doing, but if I don’t find the clearing or this thing, what will my job be worth?

If not for that, what will this life be worth? I have to know. That’s my job.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep

And miles to go before I sleep

[themosleyreview]

The Mosley Review: The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare

Do you wanna know why we constantly revisit World War II in film? It isn't because it was the greatest war. It isn't because of the enginuity that came from it. Its because it features the most robust stories ever to be told or discovered whether its from the American or the European campaign. There are probably hundreds of classified documents that are still sealed to this day and it is always fascinating to see them revealed. Yes, we love the heroism in the stories about the front lines, but what's more interesting to see is the internal planning of all Allied Forces and how they're plans get executed. Whether they succeed or fail is the real drama and the stuff of legend that ends up inspiring fictional characters we all know and love. That is what this film lovingly highlights and I have to say it was a smooth and joyful ride has good suspense with great action and comedy. The tone was a bit off at times as it would struggle with wanting to be a smart espionage driven story and a adventure film with little consequence for the heroes in the story.

Henry Cavill truly charms every moment he's on screen as Gus March-Phillipps. He was a fun leader of the ragtag team of mercenaries and I liked his controlled nature. He never really seemed to have doubts, but he did have a moment or too that he felt challenged. The amount of glee and calm he has in this film was cool in the more action driven scenes. The most standout moment of the film truly comes from his introductive scene as within in five minutes, you understand the man and his motivation. Alan Ritchson was good and brutal as his fellow merc, Anders Lassen. I liked the banter he had with Gus as the film went along and how eager and efficient of a Nazi killer he was. Henry Golding was fun and smart as the explosive expert of the team, Freddy Alvarez. The banter between him and Anders was fun as they would tease each other often. Hero Fiennes Tiffin was good as Henry Hayes and even though he didn't have that much depth, he was effective and a valued navigator in the war occupied Atlantic Ocean. Alex Pettyfer was cool and collected as Gus's oldest friend, Geoffrey Appleyard. You really felt the bond and history between them in the scenes that they had together. Cary Elwes is always a joy to see on screen and as Brigadier Gubbins 'M', he was perfectly royal and commanding as the leader of the secret operation the team is recruited for. Freddie Fox was good as the iconic Ian Fleming and I loved that he was apart of the operation from beginning to end. He wasn't a forgotten character and I liked that he seemed to plotting out his soon to be famous character. Rory Kinnear was fantastic and steadfast as Winston Churchill. He had a dominating presence and sense of urgency that is needed for the legendary Prime Minister. Eiza González and Babs Olusanmokun were fantastic as Marjorie Stewart and Mr. Heron. Their chemistry together was great and I enjoyed their convert planning and business deals. Eiza charms the screen with such control in her more tense dialogue scenes and Babs was that quiet type of dangerous that you never saw coming. Til Schweiger is always intense as a hero or villain and as Heinrich Luhr, there is an amount of sinister motivation in his eyes that made him the marquee antagonist.

The score by the director's frequent collaborator, Christopher Benstead, was good, quirkie and epic toward the end of the film. I felt the tension in the finale the most thanks to his score as the action kicks off and the plan doesn't go as smooth. Like I said before, the tone was a little all over the place at times since you have so many parts moving at once. Director Guy Ritchie's flair for elaborate planning was on display, but it felt a little rusty in its execution. Its a massive cast so not everyone has a chance to have a moment to shine outside of the action. Maybe some of them didn't really have much to work with or the real people in the true story the film was based on weren't that deep. Either way, I still had fun with the film and I enjoyed the action. Is it gonna be one of the most memorable films of Guy Ritchie's filmography, no, but it'll be a fun one to view once in awhile. Let me know what you thought of the film or my review in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

[chaoticproductivity]

Love in 3 A.U. - ... end.

[2/5]

이음악을빌려너에게나전할게 I’ll borrow this music and tell you 사람들은말해세상이다변했대 People say the world has changed 다행히도우리사이는아직여태안변했네 Thankfully, between you and I, it’s still the same

The sound of falling boxes, shattering glass, and the grunt of an old ninja made Hinata pause in the doorway of Naruto’s office, trying to understand whether the Sasuke buried under her late husband’s belongings needed any help—or maybe a trip to the hospital—but she dismissed the idea as soon as he merely sat up, rubbing his lower back. Despite his age, he was still the strongest shinobi alive; he would be fine.

At least physically.

She placed a tray with steaming teacups where she could on the cluttered table, cleared what she could from a chair, and sat down as the Uchiha stood and walked across the small office to approach her.

'Any progress?'

'None,' Sasuke said, sitting on a stack of books that Naruto likely kept only as decoration since their spines were intact and the edges of the pages were stained from disuse. 'That idiot never understood the need for an organization system.'

Hinata laughed, knowing the truth of those words.

'Do you think we’ll manage to finish organizing everything by the end of the season?'

'If the season is summer, it’s possible.'

They left the office, teacups in hand, and went to the winter garden, where Hinata had set the teapot and some snacks for their break.

The glass doors and walls let them see the beauty of the snow falling in the backyard of the Uzumaki residence, all from the warmth of the insulated room. In one corner stood a modest cabinet where Hinata kept her gardening supplies, craft materials, and personal and family documents.

While Naruto’s office was a proper room—in reality, it was used as a storage space, as the Hokage rarely worked from home—Hinata had converted the space she had, working as best she could.

'Did you finish sorting out the clothes?'

'Yes, they’re in the genkan .'

'Are you sure you don’t want to keep anything?'

Hinata nodded, lowering her gaze. Her hair, long as it had been in her youth, was braided, with a few strands falling across her face. She looked exactly her age and bore all the grief she was going through.

'The history department at the Fire University requested some of the clothes to be preserved in their archives. The Hokage hat and cloak, the orange jackets that are more patches than proper fabric by now, his headband…' Hinata set her teacup down. She’d managed to eat half of a mochi stuffed with azuki beans. 'I have no reason to keep his clothes. The smell of him has already faded from our bed… The same will happen with the clothes.'

Sasuke nodded, understanding how she felt. He had Naruto’s memories stored in his Sharingan as well as in his heart and could relive them anytime he wanted—the gestures, the mannerisms, the voice, the expressions, the words, the emotions—but even his powerful bloodline had no way to preserve scents.

'There’s all sorts of junk kept in that office,' Sasuke commented after they had spent a few minutes in silence, just watching the snow and sipping their tea.

'I wouldn’t be surprised if you found something alive in there, Sasuke-kun,' she replied. 'Or something rotting.'

Sasuke half-snorted, half-grunted, which Hinata recognized as one of the few ways he knew how to show amusement.

When she married Naruto 47 years ago, she didn’t know Sasuke would come as part of the deal. At least, given the Uchiha’s personality and his wandering spirit—‘itinerant’ or even ‘nomadic’ might be better words—she hadn’t expected him to be a constant presence in her home and in her life.

She had been wrong.

She suspected even Sasuke himself wasn’t sure how that had happened.

Appropriately, Uzumaki Naruto attracted people to him like a powerful whirlpool.

'I’ll make spaghetti for dinner.'

'Is the curry gone already?' Hinata nodded.

'We’ll need to go to the market soon,' Sasuke nodded back.

'We haven’t left the house in five days.'

'It’s cold.'

'Winter is your favorite season.'

'It used to be,' Hinata replied, pulling her cardigan closed and rubbing her aged hands along her arms. 'These days, I feel the cold down to my bones.'

'With that water chakra of yours...' Sasuke stood up, his knee popping audibly as he headed back into the house, his slippers shuffling across the polished floor. Hinata smiled to herself at the remark she had heard a thousand times. She got up and headed to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

When Sasuke returned, finding her with water already boiling on the stove, the portion of pasta separated for cooking, and the sauce halfway done, he made her set down the heavy knives she was using to mince the meat.

'Go soak in the ofuro before the water cools—it’ll warm up those old bones of yours.' He nudged her toward the upstairs bathroom by the shoulders. 'I’ll finish up dinner,' he added before she could protest.

'Don’t you want to join me? We can save water.'

'I’m not falling for that again tonight.' Because he had given in to that suggestion the night before.

Hinata didn’t insist. She knew he would give in easily if she pressed, but she didn’t. They had bathed together the previous night—and many, many nights before that, with Naruto and without him—but there were different kinds of peace in shared intimacy and in solitary intimacy, and tonight, Hinata wanted to feel a bit of the latter.

Sasuke left, closing the sliding door behind him. Hinata didn’t lock it; she hadn’t needed to lock doors since the children had left home, and at her age, it had even become a bit of a hazard despite her still-active ninja status.

She leaned on the sink as she undressed in the ‘anteroom’ they had set up to disrobe before entering the bathing room proper, and she caught sight of Naruto’s orange toothbrush, which she hadn’t yet managed to touch. It looked like a child’s toothbrush, with the bristles slightly worn. She had managed to talk Naruto out of buying children’s toothbrushes, but never out of buying the five-color multipacks. It worked for them, since the other colors were purple, blue, red, and pink, which ended up for the other family members. Now only the purple and blue ones were still in use, slightly damp from the last time Hinata and Sasuke brushed their teeth.

She kept the orange one there, as if Naruto still needed it. Every morning, she thought of throwing it away and changed her mind.

Apparently, Sasuke couldn't get himself to do it either.

[florasstudyjournal]

got a new notes structure and its similar to the cornell notes, except it doesnt have the summary(?) at the end

ill explain what im doing better under the cut, because i find that finding new notes structures can be helpful! its actually how i started this one!

‼️‼️DESCRIPTION‼️‼️

these are handwritten, can probably be converted to online if you know how to structure documents

for lecture/module content its the name of the lecture or the module. just as a starting point.

for reading notes; its the author/institution, the year, and name of the chapter/article (this can apply to videos/docos/movies/etc.) i do this so that referencing can be a little easier lol

the page set up is as below (wide margin, lined)

notes go in the main part of the page, and in the margin is the general topic of what is beside it.

looks something like this

(these notes are for a intro to lit btw)

the margins could also include dates for history, along with the general event if need be

i’m not sure how to convert this to work with the sciences/mathematics, as ive never really done science beyond a middle school level (apart from developmental psych) only way i can understand is the theory/application in the margin, and a description in the notes, or the formula in the margin, and practice equations in the notes. but as i said above, i dont know much about how science/maths notes are to be taken, so there may be a better way (are a different structure) that suits

@bloodcicada (i said i’d tag you, so here is the description i could best give in written form)

[leftistfeminista]

“Love and solidarity between women was key to survival”

In the commune of Macul in the city of Santiago de Chile, on the corner of Iran Street and Los Plátanos, is one of the 1,168 detention and torture spaces used during the civil-military dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet . Popularly known as La Discotéque, due to the high volume of the music that covered the screams of the detainees, or La Venda Sexy, due to the sexual nature of the torture, it was not until last September 1 that, after the permanent struggle of survivors and human rights organizations, the State recovered the property to convert it into the Iran 3037 Memorial Site.

In 2014, Holzapfel presented, together with a group of former political prisoners, a complaint against the State focused on the recognition of political sexual violence as a specific type of torture . The objective was to differentiate sexual violence from the generalized definition of torture. “We need to emphasize the gender character that the repression towards women assumed, the torture that was generally different from that of male prisoners, even though many of them also suffered political-sexual violence. We face denialist statements that try to make these types of practices invisible, some of them present to this day ,” she says.

Holzapfel was 19 years old when she was detained by the National Intelligence Directorate (DINA), the secret police of the dictatorship. It was December 1974. She was studying her second year of Veterinary Medicine and was a member of the Revolutionary Left Movement (MIR). At dawn, some men went to look for her at her house just the same night that Beatriz Bataszew , a fellow militancy member, asked her to take refuge there. “The soldiers told my mother to have breakfast prepared for me. That she would return at 7 in the morning,” she remembers.

Those men put her in a truck and blindfolded her. She tried to count the blocks, but she lost count. First they took her to Villa Grimaldi, where she became number 617. “There she was no longer a person.” They stripped her naked and searched all parts of her body in search of any documents. “They sought to completely degrade you as a human being.” She was there five days.

In front of groups of visitors to Iran 3037, the activist always omits the details of the torture; “That side hurts me. You already know everything that happened.” For her, the important thing is what came after her, when she returned from the interrogation room: “Love and solidarity between women was the key to survival. It was so important to love each other, that our colleagues received us with love and affection… With all those women, to this day, we are like sisters . ”

Of her time in Iran 3037, where she estimates she spent about 11 days, Holzapfel also highlights that solidarity and love between colleagues. Since they knew that the torturers did not approach a woman if she had her period, when one of them had her period she left blood-stained papers in the bathroom for the others to put on . “We women were told that our role was to wash, cook and take care of our husbands, not to soldier on the street. And that's why we deserved all that punishment. We were just young people who wanted a better world,” she emphasizes.

Holzapfel was betrayed by her political education professor and member of the MIR central committee, who after suffering continuous torture began to collaborate. “I was on the other side defending him and he was tremendously disappointing, because he idealized him. It took me many years to understand why he had collaborated in that way and I, who was just a militant , was being careful with my colleagues,” she says. The activist still remembers one of the phrases she responded to her torturers when they asked her for information: “Even if there is one companion left, we will be thousands again.”

[badstargateimagines]

Save, be saved, couch: Daniel, Jonas, Teal'c

Save: Jonas. Okay so I think we all know that Daniel and Jonas regularly need to be saved because they are both in constant peril. However, out of these two Damsels in Distress, I feel like I would go into an absolute Maternal Rage to save Jonas whereas saving Daniel would be more of a grudgingly helping a coworker convert a document into PDF format. I would full on lift a fucking mid-size sedan to save Jonas and then take him out for ice cream. I would throw myself between him and a grizzly bear if it meant my Beloved Son got to live.

Be Saved: Teal’c. With the amount of peril that I am constantly in, I would need Teal’c. Teal’c could sling me over his shoulder the same way you and I sling a backpack over ours. I understand that Daniel got ripped but his face would not bring me comfort in that moment, it would concern me more because why the FUCK is the archaeologist rescuing me? What happened to the others? Clearly they are not okay. Teal’c though? Not only does he bring me comfort but I know he will fuck up anyone who tries to do me anymore harm.

Couch: Daniel. I just feel like he’d be a mildly respectful houseguest who actually sleeps. Absolutely no hate to Teal’c but Kel’no’reem is a bit of a production and I don’t trust my cat around open flame. Jonas is too fun I would call in to work so we could go to the beach or play Nintendo. I think it would just be an endless sleepover that would land me in hot water financially. Daniel though? That sounds almost functional. I know he’d hate sleeping on my couch as much as I hate having him there so I know he’d be looking for his own place. I also think he would buy his own groceries and yell at me to go to bed when he gets home from work and finds me asleep on the couch (his bed) with Internet Historian blaring on the TV. I also think I’d enjoy having my morning coffee with him after I wake him up by blasting music while I make my breakfast. I’d enjoy listening to him about ancient Egypt but I wouldn’t tell him until just before he moves out that it was the only thing I gave a fuck about from ages 4-13.

[wanderer-on-the-steppe]

Katarzyna Simcha notes? 💕

Thank you! :)

This is really just some notes so far, though at least the basics of the plot are more or less thought out.

It’s about a Jewish teenager (grown up as Rifka, but very much preferring Simcha now) trying to become a Cossack. Partly because he has a somewhat tumultuous temperament, so Cossack life (or what he imagines of it) appeals to him, partly because he’s rebelling against his family and community (who are haunted by a whole lot of trauma because of Cossacks, and he doesn’t have the empathy and life experience yet to understand it, it just feels stifling to him, and they don’t have the ability to react to a youth like him without making the estrangement worse), and then… there’s Katarzyna. Who once was called Beyle. And they had been so very close, before she left and converted for the sake of that insufferably smug Polish nobleman…

Will anyone believe me I did not intentionally make the character constellation look like Jurko, Helena, and Jan? :D Nevertheless, since I realized how much it looks like them, I’ve been thinking: Why not emphasise it even more and make Bohun (the historical person in that case, of course) Simcha’s personal role model whom he admires since he heard songs about him in the market place?

Also – because it’s one of my stories ;) – the attempt to disguise as some (non-Jewish) street urchin and join the Cossacks goes really wrong really quickly, he gets suspected of being a spy, and the only thing he comes up with to save himself is to insist that he could be a spy – but for them, and he demands to be taken to the hetman himself to make him an offer…

(As one can imagine, he’ll be taken to the polkovnyk at the most, but as he’s a master of bragging and romantic delusions – if not necessarily of spying… – he’ll stubbornly claim it was the hetman!)

“Don’t run away to the steppe... Don’t run away to the steppe... There were three places that Rifka didn’t belong: in the rebbe’s house, together with the other boys (though, upon considering the cramming, it wasn’t that much of a loss…), in the steppe – and in the church of the Christians, with Katarzyna, for taking their marriage vows.

The first one could be redressed by calling oneself Simcha and putting on trousers and a hat. The other two, however… these needed more skill. One had to steal a horse and also some sort of knife. And a name that made one’s own grandparents shiver with fear. Bohdan, for example. Bohdan was terrifying – Bohdan was great.”

Maybe that quote is a good example of why I don’t know if this ever gets written, and if so, if I'll dare post it. It’s Simcha, of course, who talks about his religion and his family like that – because he’s a rebellious teenager, and angry, and quick-tempered, everything he wants in life seems out of reach. But me writing it? Could end just about as disastrously as Simcha’s plan to convince Katarzyna to run away with him by appearing at her door as a dashing Cossack amidst a full-fledged raid... (But, just like Simcha, I also keep thinking that it might be a good plan, so the idea keeps living in my head, and that document on my computer.)

By the way: The most interesting bit of information I’ve learned since this idea first came up is that there seem to have been some Cossacks who were hired as guards by Jewish communities to protect them against the not so honourable among their comrades. And I can’t stop thinking: Simcha – if only you were someone to make good choices in life, this would have been the way to go. But alas, Simcha doesn’t make good choices (and he probably doesn't even know that this kind of arrangement exists somewhere), and if he did, the whole plot wouldn’t work. But… it’s really the way my young wannabe-Bohun should have joined the Cossacks.

[proteustechnologies]

What should I look for in an ERP solution

Everyone says that they have an ERP solution at a wide range of price points. How do I choose one for my SME

Longevity

Check if the ERP solution would meet your requirement 5 years from now when you grow say 5X, add new manufacturing locations, add different lines of business. ERPs not only need to address the growth volume of your business but need to adapt to the business process changes required as you grow.

How easy it is to use

Can your average user learn and adapt easily, this is more relevant for SME organizations trying to embrace ERPs , as they are not in a position to employ specially trained skills for ERP implementation or operations. Your cloud ERP should be intuitive to use and as simple and easy as an e-commerce website. Make sure that the user experience is simple and follows the typical standards of any web application.

A SaaS model helps

A SaaS based ERP allows you to start with very low opex costs and minimal investment. Your opex increases as your business grows and you have a more rational approach towards investment in technology.

What about open source

One major advantage of open source solutions is that there is no license cost to acquire it. Other than that, open source solutions really don't provide any additional benefits to the end customer, most of whom would like to concentrate on their business, rather than trying to change or modify the source code. Secondly since it is open source, support and feature enhancements are driven by the community and the community should be as eager as you to add a feature .

Check the total cost of ownership of open source solutions.

1.Requirement understanding costs

2.License costs

3.Hosting or cloud costs and all the licenses required to run the open source

4.Support costs

5.Cost and reliability of making changes in the solution

The connected EcoSystem

Organizations need to leverage on the connected ecosystem. Does your ERP provide open and easy connectivity to marketplaces, statutory bodies, vendor and customer systems, banks and financial intermediaries. Does it have the capability to provide APIs for easy and quick integration and implementation.

What about AI in ERP?

A number of ERP vendors have started incorporating AI in their ERP solutions, and most of them are Cloud ERP providers. It is impossible to incorporate the infrastructure required for AI on an stand alone ERP system, the costs become prohibitive. Cloud ERPs can build AI capabilities leveraging the cloud infrastructure and share the same infrastructure with all the users.

There are already a number of use cases where AI can be used in an ERP, for instance read unstructured documents / emails using AI and convert them to Sales orders, Expenses, GRN in the ERP. Flag transactions which seem irregular by nature, detect fraud or suspicious transaction, increase planning accuracy using AI, continuous auditing, realtime evaluation of your business partners and Ai driven business analytics and Insights

To conclude

Though most ERP vendors will try and match your requirement document either "out of the box" or by so called "minor" customisation, you need to look beyond the current requirements and ensure that your ERP vendor has a track record of adapting and leveraging trends in technology so that you will be able to stay ahead in the future.

Visit Our Site To Know More :-https://proteustech.in/

[lyonface]

OP's description of how to walk a teenager through using a computer sounds shockingly similar to when I have to walkthrough or explain almost anything on a computer to my elderly boss or his wife, which is crazy because they're coming from the opposite end of the experience spectrum. Kids right now are growing up on a very different sort of system that they can use to interface with the internet, while the elderly have had to scramble to keep up with home computing for the last few decades, and many simply do not care to know how to use it.

The business we run is in real estate (and taxes on the side,) which is ever increasingly being moved online and out of paper and hardcopy documents. He can navigate his email and if something is a hyperlink and straightforward he can mostly figure it out, like podcast pages, but that's about it. His knowledge of how to operate a computer has not caught up to using tabs in a browser, for instance, which converted over in like, the early-mid aughts, because no matter how many times I tell him he can close out a tab, he closes the entire window. He knows I can login to the email when he does, but he doesn't really know what that means, because originally you needed software like Outlook to access email. "On the internet" and "on the computer" crisscross often in how he thinks file access works. If I'm at home, I can access a document he saw on an email but I can't access a file on the work computer, and sometimes he remembers that and other times he doesn't. He doesn't know how to navigate a file system afaik or operate a search engine because he's never, presumably, had to before with any regularity. He types on his keyboard like he's typing on a typewriter, a typewriter he still uses to fill out W2s and 1099 MISC forms.

It know it sounds like I'm just picking on a tech-illiterate old man, but to hear that OP has to tell 15 year olds the same sorts of things that you would hear from IT help calls when I was in highschool is completely culture shock to me. I always had this conception about computers that it was like the shore to the ocean and we were moving in one direction, from the shore of no common knowledge of personal computing out into the ocean of further diversified and growing computing tech and the bar of understanding continuing to increase along with it, but now I'm learning there's MORE SHORE on the other side??? I don't know maybe I'm just crazy out of touch or something.

So this was originally a response to this post:

****

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Which is about people wanting an AO3 app, but then it became large and way off topic, so here you go.

Nobody under the age of 20 knows how to use a computer or the internet. At all. They only know how to use apps. Their whole lives are in their phones or *maybe* a tablet/iPad if they're an artist. This is becoming a huge concern.

I'm a private tutor for middle- and high-school students, and since 2020 my business has been 100% virtual. Either the student's on a tablet, which comes with its own series of problems for screen-sharing and file access, or they're on mom's or dad's computer, and they have zero understanding of it.

They also don't know what the internet is, or even the absolute basics of how it works. You might not think that's an important thing to know, but stick with me.

Last week I accepted a new student. The first session is always about the tech -- I tell them this in advance, that they'll have to set up a few things, but once we're set up, we'll be good to go. They all say the same thing -- it won't be a problem because they're so "online" that they get technology easily.

I never laugh in their faces, but it's always a close thing. Because they are expecting an app. They are not expecting to be shown how little they actually know about tech.

I must say up front: this story is not an outlier. This is *every* student during their first session with me. Every single one. I go through this with each of them because most of them learn more, and more solidly, via discussion and discovery rather than direct instruction.

Once she logged in, I asked her to click on the icon for screen-sharing. I described the icon, then started with "Okay, move your mouse to the bottom right corner of the screen." She did the thing that those of us who are old enough to remember the beginnings of widespread home computers remember - picked up the mouse and moved it and then put it down. I explained she had to pull the mouse along the surface, and then click on the icon. She found this cumbersome. I asked if she was on a laptop or desktop computer. She didn't know what I meant. I asked if the computer screen was connected to the keyboard as one piece of machinery that you can open and close, or if there was a monitor - like a TV - and the keyboard was connected to another machine either by cord or by Bluetooth. Once we figured it out was a laptop, I asked her if she could use the touchpad, because it's similar (though not equivalent) to a phone screen in terms of touching clicking and dragging.

Once we got her using the touchpad, we tried screen-sharing again. We got it working, to an extent, but she was having trouble with... lots of things. I asked if she could email me a download or a photo of her homework instead, and we could both have a copy, and talk through it rather than put it on the screen, and we'd worry about learning more tech another day. She said she tried, but her email blocked her from sending anything to me.

This is because the only email address she has is for school, and she never uses email for any other purpose. I asked if her mom or dad could email it to me. They weren't home.

(Re: school email that blocks any emails not whitelisted by the school: that's great for kids as are all parental controls for young ones, but 16-year-olds really should be getting used to using an email that belongs to them, not an institution.)

I asked if the homework was on a paper handout, or in a book, or on the computer. She said it was on the computer. Great! I asked her where it was saved. She didn't know. I asked her to search for the name of the file. She said she already did that and now it was on her screen. Then, she said to me: "You can just search for it yourself - it's Chapter 5, page 11."

This is because homework is on the school's website, in her math class's homework section, which is where she searched. For her, that was "searching the internet."

Her concepts of "on my computer" "on the internet" or "on my school's website" are all the same thing. If something is displayed on the monitor, it's "on the internet" and "on my phone/tablet/computer" and "on the school's website."

She doesn't understand "upload" or "download," because she does her homework on the school's website and hits a "submit" button when she's done. I asked her how she shares photos and stuff with friends; she said she posts to Snapchat or TikTok, or she AirDrops. (She said she sometimes uses Insta, though she said Insta is more "for old people"). So in her world, there's a button for "post" or "share," and that's how you put things on "the internet".

She doesn't know how it works. None of it. And she doesn't know how to use it, either.

Also, none of them can type. Not a one. They don't want to learn how, because "everything is on my phone."

And you know, maybe that's where we're headed. Maybe one day, everything will be on "my phone" and computers as we know them will be a thing of the past. But for the time being, they're not. Students need to learn how to use computers. They need to learn how to type. No one is telling them this, because people think teenagers are "digital natives." And to an extent, they are, but the definition of that has changed radically in the last 20-30 years. Today it means "everything is on my phone."