#like who else could i use?

[averseunhinged]

it's that time again! wip wednesday, day of suffering and reluctant sharing.

this week's offering is from the soulmate au from ages ago, the middle of which is a total disaster. so, idk how much of this is going to end up in the finished product. or if there even will be a finished product. you know how it goes. i poked at it for a couple of days, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

if you want to read the previous bits, it was this and then this.

“What did the Salvatores teach you about blood sharing with another vampire?”

“The only thing I ever learned from Damon was superhuman patience," she scoffed. "Stefan got really uncomfortable and gave me some speech about urges and experimentation and being careful. And saving myself for marriage, I think? Which I still don't really get, but he's grandpa-times-five old. Maybe that sort of thing lingers. So, I gave him a pass on the unexpected abstinence-only moment.”

Elijah allowed himself a fraction of a moment to shut his eyes in pain at the sheer incompetence. “That sounds stunningly inaccurate. Though, he was correct on one point. It is not to be taken lightly."

"I," she began and twitched forward, reaching out to brush nonexistent dust from the dash. "Yes. I got that much from it. The keep your fangs to yourself lesson, not the--"

Her blush was vivid. Obvious, even in the sedan's dim interior.

“My brother made an error of judgement," Elijah continued as gently as he could manage. "He did something he should not have without your permission, counting on your ignorance. It was wrong. I will not deny that. But I hope you understand there was little chance he could have known the repercussions of his actions, and he has suffered greatly for them. We all have.”

"Explain," she ordered. If the situation had been less serious, he might have allowed himself more amusement from the liberties she took.

"When blood is shared between two vampires, it creates a sort of," he paused for a moment of thought before continuing delicately, "closeness, limited and short-term, beyond the physical. In most cases, one does not court a stranger’s fangs.”

“Most cases?”

“My father fed primarily on other vampires, not merely because he hated them, but for the perversity of the act. The violation.”

“That's--” Caroline trailed off.

“Yes. When he was human, he was a man of his time, and not a singularly bad one, at that. He loved his wife and family in the way men did--with brutality. However, he ensured we went without as little as possible and taught us the same. You might not care for his methods, but he shaped us into the people we needed to be: competent, hard-laboring survivors.”

Her mouth opened and closed again as she fought her instinct to argue, perhaps understanding he had little interest in her perspective. They may have originated from the same location, but Caroline was a staggering number of generations on from his family's origins. Mikael was a monster, there was no question. Elijah didn't need her to explain that. Mikael was also wildly successful by tenth century standards.

“And then he turned?” she finally asked, having edited out the less relevant commentary on the matter.

“And then he turned,” Elijah agreed. “It amplified an ugliness within. The raider of his youth. A marauder and a conqueror.”

“I don't think I want to know this.”

“You must.”

“Why must I? Why are you doing this? He has a baby, and a bitchy werewolf baby mama, and a whole other life, while I'm here, cleaning up the mess he left behind. Why do I have to solve his problems, too? I don't have time for this.”

Elijah smiled, a scant tilt of the mouth he tipped his chin to hide. How they snapped and snarled, she and his brother, as they tried to escape traps only they could see. He had no doubt she drew blood with her sharp tongue, vicious as Klaus with his bite.

“Yes," he agreed. "We are all running out of time, but it is important you fully understand what has occurred.”

“Why? Why now?” she begged, staring down at her hands, now tightly clasped.

“As in many areas, intent does play a role. Niklaus backed himself into a corner, magically speaking, and has been driven half-mad adhering to it, along with the numerous demands placed upon him. He made you a promise--a vow, one you reinforced upon your parting--without knowledge of the repercussions. In the time since, his mental state has deteriorated. As has yours, by your own admission, to a lesser degree."

He glanced away from the road, wanting a better gauge than his peripheral vision could provide. Eyes wide, Caroline slowly shook her head in denial, but seemed to have lost any verbal argument she might have had.

"He is an original hybrid, the only of his kind. Even he does not know the finer points of the magic from whence he was formed. Perhaps, he should have known better than to take such a risk with you, with himself, but if I have correctly parsed his explanation, the exchange of blood is not an act in which he has partaken in many centuries. Even then, it was a brief period of experimentation, given that he found the results uncomfortable. Until he a found himself desperately unhappy in New Orleans. He wished to carry a piece of you, of the contentment your presence gifted him. It was meant to be temporary. It is temporary, when the act is between vampires."

"But he's a werewolf, too."

"He is both, and neither," Elijah clarified.

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[akanemnon]

I don't like this place. It's turning everyone edgy and sad.

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[thedreadvampy]

Losing my shit about this article in which a transphobic Tory was so busy panicking about existing in the vicinity of a Trans that she almost certainly misheard "jeans" as "penis" and decided that not only was this a problem with the other woman, but also that the world must be informed of this pressing danger.

"a trans woman! I had to stand directly behind her....I thought, 'this is going well', I'm handling The Situation fine'..."

translated: I saw a tall woman with broad shoulders. How would I get out of this alive? I thought. she has a PENIS. PENIS PENIS PENIS. through some force of PENIS I mean will I managed to PENIS behave normally towards her. My hands were PENIS PENIS PENIS shaking as I tried to dry them. summoning up all my PENIS courage I said 'dryer's crap innit'. she turned to me and said " yeah I'm just goiPENIS PENIS PENIS"

It's been a week and I'm still shaking. This proves trans women are the problem and I'm not weird. I'm fine. It's fine. If you think about it I'm the hero hePENIS!!!!!

very this

[moghedien]

Minthara says “in Her name” when you first meet her and she’s following the Absolute but when you recruit her and she expresses that she no longer follows any god, but she still has an intact paladin oath, and she says “in your name” occasionally because she’s no longer Lolth’s paladin or the Absolute’s paladin, she’s your paladin

[uncanny-tranny]

I think it would really benefit people to internalize that mental illnesses are often chronic and not acute. Some of us will never be able to jump the hurdle of managing illness, much less sustaining a sense of normalcy. Many of us will never "recover," will never manage symptoms, will never even come close to appearing normal - and this is for any condition, even the ones labeled as "simple" disorders or "easy-to-manage" disorders.

It isn't a failure if you cannot manage your symptoms. It isn't a moral failure, and you aren't an awful person. You are human. There's only so much you can do before recognizing that you cannot lift the world. Give yourself the space to be ill because, functionally, you are.

[ineed-to-sleep]

Some sketches I did to try to get a feel for what I want my Rook to look like 🤔

[the-magpie-collective]

Wyll seems to be the only companion who intentionally and repeatedly uses the mindflayer tadpole to communicate. I did a quick search through the dialogue files and the only other instance I found was at the beginning of Act I, when Lae'zel is captured by the tieflings, she'll use the tadpole to demand you free her.

And yet, Wyll is one of the companions most against using the tadpole's powers. Arguably, I'd say he's more against it than anyone save for Lae'zel. Which is why I find it so interesting that out of all of companions, Wyll is the one to latch onto and make use of this facet of the tadpole's powers.

The first time Wyll can use the tadpole is when Mizora bids him to rescue Zariel's asset. If the Player succeeds on their perception check, they can bargain with Mizora to free Wyll from his pact. Wyll link his mind with the Player's Character in panic, demanding to know "What are you doing?"

Then again when Wyll is finally reunited with his father, he uses the tadpole to show his father why he pacted with Mizora. Instead of explaining in his own words, he shows him the cultists as they attempt to summon Tiamat into Baldur's Gate. He'll do the same for the Player Character if his father isn't saved, even when he is freed from his pact and could say it in his own words. If the PC refuses to let Wyll show them, he will explain it, but clearly prefers to use the tadpole.

Finally, Wyll will also use the tadpole to bid farewell if he has a falling out with the player character, telling the player "Godspeed, and may your journey be true."

For Wyll, who had spent the last seven years under a devil's thumb, this narrative choice to use the tadpoles to communicate is telling. One thing all of these scenes have in common is that they all emotionally charged moments. They are also moments in which, in my opinion, it is very important for Wyll to convey his sincerity. Wyll has spent the last seven years always dancing around the truth and now here comes along a power where not only can he tell the truth, he can show the truth as he sees it, so that there is much less risk of being misunderstood. A power like that has to be irresistible.

Just another thing I wish was explored more in depth in game.

Edit: Thank you to everyone who pointed out instances when other characters also use the tadpoles to communicate <3

Turns out Wyll/Lae'zel's writer is the only one who bothered to use proper tagging in the dialogue system ('MINDMELD' if you're curious). This is why I can never find what I'm looking for in the dialogue files smh

[anna-scribbles]

they should've been at the club(infertility treatment centers)

[claraoswalds]

It's racist, my dear, to be blunt. People come from outside, they think we're all witches and druids. For God's sake, child, you walked into a piece of string!

[miwtual]

im so fucking tired of the disrespect gifmakers get on the gifmaker website

[deoidesign]

One of my first digital pieces (2010) versus one of my recent ones (2024)

We all start somewhere!

[stars-obsession-pit]

(Another) Ghost in the Machine

DP x Hellblazer (the original John Constantine comic)

Ritchie Simpson continued to search frantically for the connection out of the computer and back to his body as he begged John to explain what he meant by saying “Goodbye.”

Had John disconnected him? He knew John’s sense of humor wasn’t the lightest, especially after Newcastle drove them all a bit insane, but that felt too far even for him. Nah, he’d probably just gotten himself a bit lost in the wave of energy he’d experienced in the Tongues of Fire network and was accidentally looking for his body in the wrong spot.

He pulled himself back and let his mental connection to the digital world expand outward, probing the rest of the machine for the connection. He knew he was in the right system, so as long as he looked thoroughly he’d definitely fi—

Everything flashed a surge of blinding white and then was replaced by pure darkness. He thought he screamed, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. Couldn’t even feel his own thoughts. Trapped in one single instant that stretched for indeterminable eons. Then, eventually (or was it immediately?), awareness began to trickle back.

He was still in the computer, though it felt… different, somehow. His thoughts still weren’t entirely in order. The first possible hints towards his location he found were the sound voices trickling through from the outside world. Voices he didn’t recognize. Young voices.

“I’m happy to help, Tuck, but I’m not really sure what you expect me to do here. You’re way better than me at this computer stuff than me.”

“By all means, feel free to keep complimenting me, but this has been frying my brain, man. I got this thing secondhand, and the system should be quite powerful, but there’s something using up a ton of its processing and I can’t figure out what. I was hoping you could do your ‘enter into the computer’ thing and see if you see anything.”

[unfinishedslurs]

The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?

“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.

He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.

She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.

Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.

She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”

“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”

“Then what is it?”

“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”

Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.

The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”

Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.

He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.

“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.

Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.

Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.

In an instant, Leia understands everything.

Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.

Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.

Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.

“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”

“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”

“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”

“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”

He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”

“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”

“Yes it is.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.

“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”

“But—“

It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.

She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?

Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.

It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.

Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“

She makes a decision then and there.

“We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.

“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”

He salutes and scurries off.

“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”

“And you trust this person because…”

“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”

It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.

He squints at her. “That’s not it.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”

“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.

“Well?”

Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.

“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”

He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”

What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.

“So there’s good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” she demands.

“They know there’s a mole.”

“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”

“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”

Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”

“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”

“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”

“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”

“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”

“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.

Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.

Unless he didn’t.

It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.

But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.

The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.

Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.

Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.

Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.

Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.

“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”

A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”

“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”

More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”

“I figured it out.”

“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.

“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”

“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.

“What?”

“Stand back. Please.”

Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.

“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.

The TIE explodes.

“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.

And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.

“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.

As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.

Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.

Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”

“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”

“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”

“Should I be offended?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”

“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right.”

[ot3]

ten years from now when we look back at the initial hysteria around ai image generation we will understand that what actually ends up protecting people will be talking realistically about the positives and negatives of generative ai as a tool, developing standards within artist communities about what respectful and productive ai use looks like in commercial pipelines, pushing for transparency about these processes, and developing strong communities with fellow artists to try and leverage what little power we have against the job insecurity that has been plaguing creative fields for decades.

regardless of whether or not you agree with them about the nature of Real Art and the idea of art style theft, the fact of the matter is the hardline no ai purists are going to fail. there is not any version of reality where generative AI is banned or canned and if that is your goal you are not going to get it. all you do by dogpiling random independent creators for the crime of expressing positive opinions about AI is show that your priorities don't lie with bettering conditions for artists as a collective, you're exclusively interested in punishing anyone who steps out of line.

[myokk]

🥺