#long post this time

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

Heretic Hunter

Alta Torrezon, four weeks ago

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Lazaro's study. A rarity for the city, and one that had uplifted its people. After almost a full week of overcasted storms, sunlight was more than welcome. The cleric took it as a promising sign, though he was never quite the type to fully believe in omens.

At present, he was preparing to assist in overseeing the trial for one of the lower-ranking priests within the Church. Apparently she had turned upon her mortal flock and exsanguinated eight of them. He had been there when she was first being brought in, listening to her rant and rave about the promised Age to come. The trial would not be very long. All that was left, really, was the documentation.

He was interrupted by the door being thrown open and a youth -- Lectitia, an aspirant of the Church who had been studying under him -- barged in.

"Condemner Ayere," she said, breathless. Lazaro stood from where he was seated.

"What is it? What's happened?" he asked.

"It's Marshal Vazante," the girl said between gasps for air. "He's in chains, they're taking him to the prisons, I don't know what's going on, I was just told by Matteo to come fetch you."

"Arturo?" Lazaro asked, his brows drawing together. "Take me there at once."

---

"Stand down, you bastards!" Arturo growled. He swung out wildly, shaking off two of his captors. Getting the bindings on him had taken a bishop and three paladins, and he was dangerously close to freeing himself. A thick iron collar had been placed around his neck, as well as heavy manacles around his arms and legs. Currently, he was being marched, little by little, through the streets of Alta Torrezon towards the looming fastness of its prisons. Alta Torrezon kept its prisons on the outskirts of the city, but marches such as this were common. People watched with fear and intrigue at the disgraced marshal. Many flinched each time he fought to loose himself from the ones keeping him bound. "I have done nothing wrong!"

"Nothing?" asked a languid voice. Arturo turned to the source of the voice, seeing a decadently dressed cardinal watching from the steps of one of the smaller cathedrals. "I do not think killing a hierophant is nothing, Vazante."

"You," Arturo said with clenched teeth. The cardinal held out a hand, and his captors halted, bowing their heads in supplication as he approached.

"You are very lucky, you know. If you were not a Marshal in good standing, you very easily would have been already executed for this heresy."

"It was either him or me, and I did what I had to do. He is the heretic, not me!" Arturo raged, rattling the chains that bound him. "I had been telling you for weeks, Herrere, he was consorting with the likes of the Antifex. I caught him just as he was about to engage in some sort of blasphemous blood ritual, and he was the one who tried to kill me first."

"A likely story," the cardinal said, almost sounding bored. "But at least it's a better defense than 'the enemy turned me mad'."

"It is true!" the paladin roared. "Get Lazaro out here. He knows me better than you ever did, he will know I speak the truth!"

"What is the meaning of this?" a familiar voice called, echoing off the stone of the high spires above. The cardinal and Arturo turned in the direction of the newcomer, watching as a cleric jogged over to the scene. A young lady was with him, but Arturo did not immediately recognize her.

"Condemner Ayere, so wonderful for you to join us," the cardinal said with a sigh. "It seems your dog has gotten loose."

"Cardinal Herrere," Lazaro said, giving a brief bow with both of his hands clasped before him. "I beg your pardon, but why is Marshal Vazante in chains?"

"Murdering a superior," Herrere answered. "Paladin Vazante murdered Hierophant Thiago."

"You do not have the authority to-"

"Your High Marshal has already approved of the demotion, Vazante," Herrere said placidly. Arturo grit his teeth, wishing he could bite his throat out.

"Arturo would never kill one of his own without reason," Lazaro said, looking anxiously to Arturo. Arturo's face was a mask of fury, his teeth bared and eyes filled with hatred. The girl who had accompanied the cleric stepped back, a bit startled by the look in his eyes. Even Lazaro looked scared.

"Neizan Thiago was a conspirator against the Church, Legion, and Crown. I have been reporting my suspicions for weeks," Arturo spat.

"And I had already ascertained that they were nothing more than suspicions made by someone who was obviously languishing because he was not out on the killing fields and inventing stories," Cardinal Herrere said with a very deep and dramatic sigh. "You have no ground here."

"This is the first I am hearing of such reports," Lazaro said, looking to the cardinal. "Why did you never share them with me?"

"Because of the reasons I already stated." The cardinal rolled his eyes. "Besides, not everything is for your eyes, Ayere."

"I am a condemner of the Church. In matters of accusations of heresy or conspiracy against us, I am one of the first who should be informed," the cleric said, his voice sounding steely. Arturo had hardly heard Lazaro angry. Exasperated, annoyed, irritated, sure, but never angry.

"And as a cardinal of the Church, I outrank you. I am the one with seniority, Ayere." Herrere crossed his arms over his large chest. "Vazante will be brought to our holding cells and we will have him exsanguinated by dusk tomorrow." Lazaro's mouth opened and his eyes widened in shock. Then he grit his teeth in a snarl, clenching his fists. Arturo noticed light beginning to build around his hands.

"You have no right-"

"Careful. You do not wish to act against a cardinal, would you?" Herrere asked. "That would be an act of heresy."

"To sentence Arturo without a proper trial and neglecting to share reports of conspiracy against Torrezon are grounds for heresy if not outright treason. You outrank me in many things, Herrere, but you do not have authority here." Resolve and determination punctuated each word Lazaro spoke. "Unhand Marshal Vazante at once, else I will charge you with heresy and treason."

"You would refuse to condemn a murderer?"

"I will condemn Arturo for his sins, but I will not do so without understanding the full story," Lazaro answered. "Not only will you not be sentencing him, but you will surrender the reports immediately. I say this with all of the authority invested in me as a Condemner of the Church of Dusk. I will accompany you to where you have kept them. If you have not retained personal copies, then I shall go to your archivist and ensure these reports are in my hands." Light flared, blindingly bright, causing Arturo to flinch away, hissing. There was weight and authority behind his pronouncements; this was a display of power the paladin had seen only twice before.

Blinking away bright spots in his vision, Arturo watched as the cardinal glared hatefully at Lazaro. But he inclined his head.

"Very well, Ayere," Herrere said with a sigh.

"Marshal Vazante will be held in the holding cells beneath the Cathedral of Dusk," Lazaro continued. "He will be in my custody as I question him."

"I hardly think that is fair. Is that not a conflict of interest?" Herrere asked, raising a thin brow. "You obviously have some personal stake in the man."

"Then I will have him questioned by Condemner Siurana if it so pleases you. But I am not sending him to the prisons for exsanguination until I understand what is happening."

"Fine. Rayan is competent enough," the cardinal said with a dismissive gesture. "I will be informing the Pontifex of your insubordination, Ayere."

"So be it. I will gladly explain the blatant abuse of power I see before me," Lazaro spat back. "Now show me these reports. And if they are even remotely credible, cardinal, I will be condemning you."

The cardinal flashed his teeth but said nothing, turning on his heel without another word. Lazaro looked to the ones holding Arturo's chains.

"Lectitia will accompany you back to the cathedral," he said, gesturing to the young woman standing behind him. "Once you are there, ask for Rayan Siurana, and tell him I will explain everything once I have returned. I should not be long."

"What of the condemnation in an hour?" Lectitia asked.

"If I am not back in time, then apologize in my stead and have them go on with the trial," Lazaro answered. He looked at Arturo, and Arturo tried looking as apologetic as he could. Lazaro just shook his head and followed the cardinal. Arturo watched him go until he felt someone tug at his chains and urge him forward yet again.

---

Innistrad, present day

A scream tore through the night. Arturo's head snapped up. He had been inspecting his newest weapon closely, trying to hone in on the strange... silence that was somewhere within it. He moved over to the window of the small inn room he and Lazaro occupied, pushing it open and staring out into the dark. The wind stirred, carrying the familiar scent of blood to his nose.

Trouble, he thought to himself. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Lazaro fast asleep. He needed to act, and he needed to act fast. Part of him wanted to wake the cleric, but he was utterly exhausted. He deserved his sleep. Arturo looked at the spear still in his hand, and after a brief moment of contemplation, he muttered a soft apology to Lazaro and went out into the night.

---

Following the source of the blood was the easy part. The victim had fought off their attacker successfully the first time, but obviously not the second. Blood was streaked alongside the walls of a nearby homestead and it was imprinted into the fleeing footsteps in the mud.

The culprit was also far easier to find. A vampire, dressed in... very angular clothing, was licking the blood from their fingers by the time Arturo arrived. The victim was, unfortunately, already mangled on the ground. The paladin grit his teeth and readied his weapon.

"What do we have here?" the vampire asked. "You don't look like a cathar."

"I am a paladin of the Legion of Dusk," Arturo said. "A culler of heretics and sinners."

"Legion of Dusk... ah, so you're the sanctimonious little bastards that have been trying to pretend you're better than us!" the vampire said with a laugh. "Oh, that's cute."

"No need to pretend when you obviously cannot help yourself, murderer," Arturo growled.

"Oh, please, little paladin," the vampire chuckled. "All of our kin must murder to survive. It isn't my fault that you and yours spend so much time moralizing about it." A smile grew across their face. "Tell you what. How about you just run along and go pray for my salvation, hm? I'm sure that will be very-"

The spear struck them right in the stomach. Arturo was on them but a heartbeat later, snarling as the other vampire crashed to the ground. The vampire screamed and wailed in agony, the smell of burnt flesh rising from the wound from the spear. The paladin tore it out, kneeling right on top of the vampire's chest, grabbing their throat with his free hand. The vampire placed their own hands over Arturo's, trying to claw free. Arturo did not budge.

Arturo looked down at them with undisguised contempt and hatred.

"In the name of the Saint and Church, I name you a heretic," he growled.

"How... could I... be a heretic..." the vampire croaked, "if I... do not believe... in your faith?"

"Shut up," Arturo snarled, squeezing tighter around their throat. "For the senseless death of innocents, for the depravity of your practices, I sentence you to death."

"So noble..." the vampire said with a wheeze. "Pretend... all... you... like... You are... no better... than us..."

The paladin leaned in close, his dark hair framing them both, his own face but inches from the upstart's.

"You're right," he said. "I am superior." He bared his teeth then swiftly forced the other's head to one side, sinking his teeth deep into their throat, and tearing it out with a savage twist. Blood sprayed and the vampire clawed at him, but it was useless. He thrashed and thrashed. Arturo stood, raised the spear, and in a practiced motion, used it to sever the head from the body. It rolled into the mud, the eyes glazing over and mouth agape in its final death throes. Pain throbbed in his skull, feeling as though something was slithering through his brain.

The paladin stood over the corpse, mulling over what to do with it, when he heard someone shout something indistinct over his shoulder. He turned and saw one of the townsfolk pointing at him and calling something to the rest of the town.

Damn, Arturo thought, realizing with alacrity how bad this looked.

"Wait," he called out, "this is not what you think. I killed the one responsible."

The person said something back, and Arturo growled internally in frustration. Of course, the one time he thinks he can handle himself...

"Get Lazaro," he said, hoping they would at least understand the cleric's name. "He will explain for me."

They seemed to understand that, at least. They dashed off as several others, brandishing a wide array of improvised weapons, began to form a mob.

---

The door to the inn room was pounded on with urgency. Lazaro stirred softly.

"Arturo, can you get that please?" he muttered tiredly. Again, the knocks came. He heard no response from his paladin. "Arturo?" he asked. Again, no response. Lazaro's brows furrowed and he sat up, realizing Arturo was gone. He then jumped up and answered the door, surprised to see one of the local preachers standing before him, holding a lantern.

"Urwin?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"One of your paladins has been found murdering another," the preacher said in the local dialect. "I caught him myself."

That woke Lazaro up. By all that is holy, Arturo...

"Show me to him. Quickly."

---

Arturo was keeping the crowds at bay, brandishing his spear but only using it defensively.

"My cleric will explain for me," he said, though the words felt useless. "It is not what you think it is." The looks on the faces of the villagers showed nothing but distrust and hatred. A heavy weight settled within Arturo's chest. They think I am proving them right.

"Arturo Vazante, this is the second time you go killing on your own and I have to save you," said Lazaro, returning with the human who had initially caught him. The people turned towards Lazaro, initally with malice, though the human next to him ordered them away. The people parted so Lazaro could get through. The moment he saw the scene, his eyes widened. "Explain yourself."

"I caught this one right after he was done toying with and killing that human," Arturo said, gesturing to the bodies with his spear. "I confronted them. I executed them."

Lazaro knelt beside the human's corpse, gently placing a hand on their chest. One of the humans stepped forward, grip tightening on a butcher's knife.

"What are you-"

"I am preserving the corpse so that it cannot be raised," Lazaro answered. He closed the eyes of the victim with his other hand as he spoke a soft prayer. Light shone from beneath his fingers and suffused itself into the flesh of the victim.

He then stood smoothly, looking to the human who had accompanied him. "That should keep them from your ghoulcallers. You may observe whatever burial rites you deem sufficient." The human nodded and came forward, gently taking the body. That was when he saw the body of the vampire, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Falkenrath." He said it with a mixture of fear and awe.

"Falkenrath?" Arturo asked, looking down at the corpse. "Like the murderer we were told about?"

"You killed a Falkenrath?" Lazaro asked, raising a brow. He looked back to the people. "Are there any among you who have seen the one victimizing you in your homes?"

Two people came forward. Lazaro gestured to the corpse, stepping aside to allow them to inspect it. One of them pressed a hand to their mouth in shock and nodded quickly.

"Congratulations, Arturo," Lazaro said, crossing his arms. "You found our murderer." He then cleared his throat, turning back to the crowd, and spoke.

"My paladin has done his duty," he told them. "He has found the one terrorizing your homes and committing the sin of senseless murder. Paladin Vazante is not the one who has murdered your folk, but rather liberated them."

The people murmured among themselves, and one of them spoke up.

"How do we know that he didn't kill both of them?"

"Do you think someone like me would be able to wield moonsilver like this if I was so infested with depraved sin?" Arturo responded, gesturing with the spear. "It would disgrace my people and my very oaths as a paladin of the Legion to do so."

That caused another ripple of murmurs. "No vampire can wield moonsilver!" One called.

"And yet, here I stand!" Arturo proclaimed, planting the end of the spear in the ground with his pronouncement. The people eyed him warily, still suspicious.

"He has blood on his mouth!"

"I tore out the bastard's throat, if you'd like to see for yourself," Arturo answered. "Right before I cut their head off. A fitting end, no?"

"He's right," said one of the humans who identified the corpse of the vampire. "That throat was torn first."

"I am not what you think me to be," Arturo said, lowering the spear. "We have been sent as emissaries of Torrezon. We have been sent to deal with upstarts like these."

"What Arturo says is true," Lazaro said. "My paladins are not senseless murderers. They kill only when necessary and only when it is the most just."

At least, we strive to now, Arturo thought internally, knowing damn well that framework of morality hadn't held in the last decade or so.

"I know that Condemner Lazaro is a good man," said the human who had fetched him. "We have shared many long talks these past few nights. On my very soul, if this is some grand deception, then may I never be welcomed into the Blessed Sleep."

This seemed to have a more positive affect on the townspeople. Weapons were lowered, faces and postures became less hostile.

"Return to your homes and rest," Arturo said. "There is one less beast in the night that you must fear."

There was some murmuring among the people, but the crowd did slowly disperse. Lazaro inhaled and exhaled shortly.

"What was that about working on your impulses?" he hissed.

"I heard someone screaming, I had to try and save them," Arturo said, putting his hands up. "I did not want to wake you, you've been running yourself ragged lately."

"By all that is holy." Lazaro pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is the second time I've had to save you from something like this."

"I know," Arturo said, his voice sounding weak and subdued. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"Arturo..." The cleric sighed.

"... are you mad?"

"No," Lazaro answered after a moment. "Just... tired. You did a good thing here. It is not your fault these people jumped to conclusions." He ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm... sorry for jeopardizing your reputation with them," Arturo said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I don't think you did. They will still be suspicious, but hopefully this delegation from the Order of Saint Traft will put them at ease. They should arrive within a few days." The cleric yawned. "I want you on your best behavior when they do arrive. No vigilante justice."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." Arturo fiddled with the spear. "... it did burn the Falkenrath when I stabbed them, though. Why it isn't harming us I can't quite tell."

"An experiment for another day." Lazaro looked at the corpse on the ground, conjuring some light around him, but Arturo spoke up.

"Keeping it around may actually be useful. Proof for the commander," he said. Lazaro gave him a look, but reconsidered incinerating the corpse.

"You have a point." He loosed the magic coiled around him. "You are carrying that back, though."

"Me?"

"You killed it, you carry it. Let's go. And you owe me, Vazante," Lazaro said, turning and walking in the direction of the inn. Arturo looked down at the vampire, scooped the body from the mud and setting it over a shoulder, carrying the head in his other hand. Again, he felt something slithering in the back of his skull. He shivered but shook it off.

Probably just the first signs of a Fast. He should consider finding a way to feed soon.

He followed Lazaro back to the inn, spear in hand, not noticing how unnaturally it caught the light of the moon above.

[climbingthefloors]

obsessed with this baby hippo from thailand's khao khew zoo.. she has been so utterly betrayed by the world

[artsymeeshee]

Haven’t collabed with @renconner in a long while for a mini comic (minus our big one, Instinct). We were talking about one of Stan’s lowest moments involving being outside with that damn sign, so we decided to make a comic with Stan remembering it. I’ve also kinda of assumed Filbrick would lie to Ford about what’s going on with Stan (Stan probably did too to some extent).

[stealingpotatoes]

tried to tell my faithful eunuch Tucker that he was basically tumblr famous, but he was too focused on defending the homestead to care

[gongyussy]

MONKEY MAN (2024)

[humming-fly]

I love how Gerald was trying to keep Shadow from spoiling anything about the future meanwhile literally everything Shadow says and does around Maria is the biggest death flag ever

[crystaleevee4]

i am going to start a collection

if you have any other posts of this kind please send them to me

update: this one thanks to @iputmcytsintohydraulicpress (great url, by the way)

this one courtesy of @catamaurrr-star

So I didn’t want to separate it into two images, this was the best I could do- thanks to @blocky-tides! also art is by @/cheeryfairies

thanks @o0recipme0o

hey @igotthisaccountunderduress. less mcyt related but thanks anyways :D

heheh

found another one from my favorite game in stars and time go play it

WE'VE GOT A BIG ONE TO ADD TO THE LIST TODAY. EVERYONE SAY HI XKCD. it's my favorite guy ever... skizzleman mention!

...so anyways here's my self-promotion now that this has almost 15,000 notes and you guys sure as hell won't see it if i reblog

My AO3! Not much there right now besides OC stuff, but more to come!

Situations ask game! pleasepleaseplease send me hc/life series stuff here i need enrichment (some of these are shorter, but i can promise you i will deliver!)

@traffic-smp-headcannons! me and mod tides like seeing your ideas :)

(of note: i also take art requests, but only traditional)

[lokh]

communication is key 💪

[happyroadkillart]

[gallusrostromegalus]

Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God.  He taught himself how to use his smartphone.  Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity. 

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.”  Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid.  My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution:  He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose.  While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada.  He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her. 

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System.  It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”.  He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room.  It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds.  Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled. 

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan.  With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted.  The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone. 

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.  

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape.  She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times.  Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System.  It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy!  My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year.  I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image.  A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair.  Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing). 

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked  car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

[thelostmoongazer]

gonna keep it real with you all i mainly got into cotl so i could have better context to read the TROD fic .......

The Rehabilitation Of Death AU belongs to @bamsara the comic scene is from chapter 16 lol

[lesbianweed]

Izutsumi || Dungeon Meshi 1x19

[hotdogmchiggin]

Company Mandated Fancy Fits on the Tulpar 😏

Also had to include the REAL star of the show (and a bonus)

Based off of this and this. Thank you very much joetastic for being inspirational 👍

The REAL reason this is late

[wizard-loving-wizard]

you don't even have to ask. i'll beg.

Brennan Lee Mulligan / Anne Carson / Emily Wilson / Jaelyn Dennis / Anne Carson / Mitski / inanotherunivrse / Alicia Ostriker / Clarice Lispector / Source Unknown / souldistracted / @kermit-coded / Source Unknown / @professor-pants / souldistracted / Ricardo Martinez / Anne Carson / Phoebe Bridgers / @thegirlhoodtheory / Silas Denver Melvin / Mary Oliver / Bombay Bicycle Club / @autopsytableromance / Margaret Atwood

[gongyussy]

me and senshi: i've only had izutsumi for one day but if anything happened to her...

also.... she has nekojita (cat tongue) ;___;

[bethanydelleman]

One of the things I loved about The Wild Robot from a writing/world-building perspective was that it was clearly set in a post-apocalyptic world, but the details were very vague, and you don't even know until about an hour in:

"Beautiful shot," you think, and then it hits you that the whales are swimming over the Golden Gate Bridge.

Abandoned, crumbling satellites and a sunken city. And then when we do see the human city, they freak out at the sight of geese:

Animal-derived plague? Global warming? We don't know. We only know that something has happened. But like the general theme, whatever bad has occurred, the natural world is thriving. An unexpected positive from a history of tragedy.