#or else this site would be unusable

[awakefor48hours]

Who okayed the Joker to look like this 💯💯🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥

[pikachugirltits]

I keep on trying to make this post and keep on erasing it but I think I need to take a break from Tumblr.

[tenpintsofsundrop]

The horror of Tumblr Live has finally breached containment and it's available outside of the US now. (Tbh I thought the third party hosting app that they are using for it was illegal in other places, but oh well.)

Friendly reminder that you can turn it off in content settings - but it only "snoozes" for a week and you can't permanently turn it off.

I have always said that I will go down with this ship and I will stick around tumblr forever, but like damn. They are making it really difficult to want to

[evanbi-ckley]

Buck walks through the automatic doors on autopilot and freezes. It hits him then that the last time he stood here, he was meeting Tommy for Maddie and Chim’s wedding. He had stood almost in this very spot and kissed his boyfriend who was covered in soot after fighting a wildfire all night and most of the day.

Now his boyfriend is somewhere else in the hospital, and Buck can’t kiss him or touch him, and his hands are shaking, and he thinks he’s going to be sick.

He turns toward the nearest bathroom and makes it into the stall just in time. He hasn’t eaten yet today, so he’s only throwing up bile mixed with panic and regret, but it’s just as bad.

It’s Hen who finds him, which -

“Why are you in the men’s room?” he asks, his voice weak and still creaky.

“I thought you might need a medical professional.” When Buck just looks at her, she continues with a sigh, “We could hear you in the waiting room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh.” That’s a little embarrassing. “Sorry. And thanks.”

He gratefully accepts the wet paper towel she hands him to wipe his face.

“Any news yet?”

“Not yet. They took him back for surgery, and it’ll probably be a few more hours before we hear. Bobby and Eddie are in the waiting room if there’s an update. Chim went to pick up Jee from daycare, but he’ll be back later with Maddie.”

Then she produces a water bottle from somewhere behind her.

“How long have I been in here?” Buck asks. Hen seems way too prepared for it to have been just a few minutes.

“About half an hour,” she says. “Actually closer to 45 minutes now.”

“Right.”

So time is still moving awkwardly. He can’t get his bearings. He feels untethered, like he’ll never be on solid ground again.

“Why don’t we get you up and out to a chair?” Hen asks gently. She’s not treating him with kid gloves, but she is being more careful than necessary.

He decides to accept it for the time being. Maybe he does need the softness in her voice and the kindness in her eyes right now.

“Yeah - yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks, Hen.”

She smiles with something like relief and then stands, offering Buck a hand up.

The waiting room is blessedly empty save for their morose party. Buck tries to sit down, but before he can, Hen is pulling at his turnout coat, trying to yank it off his shoulders. She manhandles the coat off and tosses it to Eddie who adds it to the growing pile of coats on an unused chair in the corner. He’s too tired to fight it or question it, plus it was getting heavy with all of the rain still soaked into the fabric. 

After that, Hen leaves to call Karen, and Ravi goes to get food for them all at a little cafe just up the road that they’ve come to know well. 

Buck sits between Bobby and Eddie, almost a mockery of them standing at the crash site, holding him up. Best not to think about it.

Eddie holds a phone in his hands that Buck recognizes, but it’s not Eddie’s phone. The screen is cracked at the upper corner, spider-webbing its way diagonally down the length of the glass.

“Is that -?” He can’t even bring himself to ask.

“It’s Tommy’s, yeah. A nurse brought out the personal items he had on him a while ago. I was going to see if he has any family in his contacts, but I don’t know his passcode.”

“Oh,” Buck swallows roughly, “it’s um - it’s my birthday. But,” he continues before Eddie types the digits, “he doesn’t have any family in his contacts. At least, not anyone he would want here.”

“Ah,” is all Eddie says before handing the phone over to Buck. He pockets it and tries to think about anything other than his boyfriend a few rooms away getting his arm put back together.

He spends the next few minutes staring off into space thinking of nothing other than his boyfriend a few rooms away getting his arm put back together.

“He’s gonna be okay, Buck,” Eddie says into the heavy silence.

“Eddie’s right,” Bobby adds. “His arm will be fine, and the cuts and scrapes will heal. He’ll be back up in the sky before you know it.”

Buck feels his stomach churn threateningly at the thought, but he does his best to nod and smile. 

When Ravi returns with food, Buck can’t handle the smell, let alone eating anything. But he tries. He can hear Tommy’s low voice in his head warning, “Evan, you need to eat something,” and that convinces him more than Eddie’s prodding.

When Karen shows up along with Chimney and Maddie, Buck feels the need to pull her and his sister off to the side.

He tries to keep his voice steady as he says, “I didn’t get it. Before, I mean. I didn’t get what it felt like to be on this side.” He’s oddly proud his voice only cracked once.

Maddie grabs his hand. “Buck, you’ve been on this side a lot of times. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the 118 isn’t very good at staying out of the hospital.”

He lets out a wet laugh.

“I think he means on the worried partner side of things,” Karen says. “You’ve never had someone you’re in a relationship with get injured like this before. Is that right?”

“Y-yeah.” He chuckles sardonically. “When I saw the helicopter - and his - his hand hanging out the window - I thought - he wasn’t moving, y’know? It took us so long to find him. We were too late. I thought -”

“You thought you’d lost him,” Maddie supplies. He can only nod. “Yep, welcome to the Worried Partners Club.”

“It sucks, but it’s worth it,” Karen adds.

Later, when Athena gets off shift, she arrives at the hospital bearing coffee for everyone. Buck nods gratefully when she hands him one, and the understanding look in her eyes nearly sets him off again. Although, he thinks he might be too dehydrated for tears by now.

“Family of Thomas Kinard?” a voice calls from the doors leading to the OR.

Everyone looks up, but Buck is on his feet before the nurse finishes saying Tommy’s name. He feels people behind him, and the nurse’s eyes widen a bit at everyone gathering around, but Buck’s glad for them.

“He’s out of surgery. Everything went well. He’ll be in recovery for about an hour, but as soon as we get him in a room, you can see him.” 

The last part is directed toward Buck. Maybe he now looks like he’s part of the Worried Partners Club, but that’s fine. He’ll see Tommy soon. That’s what matters.

He catches the end of the nurse’s spiel as he says, “...still be under some sedation, so don’t expect much conversation.”

Buck nods, and the nurse leaves, and then Maddie is dragging him back to their chairs, handing him his coffee, and plopping down next to him to wait until they can see Tommy.

“He’s going to be insufferable,” Eddie says suddenly. He looks at Buck and says, “Remember that time he sprained his ankle while we were sparring? God, he was the worst patient.”

Buck genuinely laughs for the first time since they got the call. “He’s so stubborn, he wouldn’t even let me open doors for him. He just struggled to balance on his crutches so he could do it himself. He almost fell into the bushes twice outside the physical therapist’s office.”

Then everyone is laughing, a sense of lightness settling over Buck. He still doesn’t feel grounded or right necessarily, but laughing with his family helps.

They keep telling stories after that. Most of them are about Tommy, but some are stories or updates about kids or parents or a new recipe gone wrong. They all avoid the topic of work.

“Family of Thomas Kinard?” It’s a different nurse this time, but she doesn’t blink an eye at the number of family Tommy has. “He’s resting in his room. You can go back to see him, but we ask that you keep it to 4 or 5 people at a time. He’s still pretty groggy and probably won’t remember what happened right away, so keep conversation simple.” Then she turns and starts walking down the hallway, not waiting or looking back to see if anyone follows.

Buck grabs Chim and Eddie and gestures at Bobby to come, too. At the last second he grabs Hen’s hand, and the five of them hurry to catch up with the nurse together.

“Breathe, Buck,” Hen whispers.

He can’t. Not yet.

part 1

part 2

part 4

[ranticore]

visored longwing harpies & the hall of faces

I did say there was no exclusive global culture on Siren shared by humans of a certain body type, and I lied, because there is One.

The early settlers on Siren were the unaltered human workforce of a certain megacorporation. While an almost unlimited budget was poured into the dodgy gene programs, since that was why they chose to settle a planet so far out of the reach of The Authorities, everything else was done pretty cheaply, including the settling itself. In order to map out their new home planet, incredibly cheap mass-produced aircraft were used by pilots. These aircraft could be made quickly and easily at the settlement site because they lacked a flight computer or any real sensors - or any equipment at all in the cockpit. Rather than a multitude of different equipment loadouts on an aircraft that would take time and effort to swap out or maintain, the pilots instead used these visors which were universally compatible with the one-size-fits-all aircraft. It's kind of like how it's easier to just carry a phone around with a calculator app than it is to carry a phone and a calculator, even if the phone app calculator experience sucks by comparison.

The visors were the real expensive kit, each custom built to a pilot's exact needs and flight style, and they were built to last. the aircraft fell apart in the following centuries but the visors remained, hyperlight plastic powered by the planet's native star, and something interesting happened. The remains of the first settlement were largely inaccessible to anyone but longwing harpies, and these harpies had the right head shape to fit the visors. Many of the pilots had filled their visors with video and photo files from home, from Earth, like a worker decorating his cubicle with photos of his family. Some had been decorated on the outside, as well, resembling birds. The harpies that found the visors obviously tried to use them. They found themselves experiencing visions of strange worlds, recordings of long-dead pilots and ATC, and found that each visor can interface with every other one, no matter how far apart. Each visor came with its own callsign, its own name, which has remained for thousands of years - and because of this, each visor is considered by the cultures of Siren to be a named character with a distinct personality (eg. the swan visor was cygnus2, it is known now as Signastoo)

I keep posting the map and it needs to be redrawn but essentially every red triangle is an ancient telecomm tower. These became the only remaining waypoints on the visors' HUD and mapping software, meaning that 1. a true global culture could emerge, with longwings gathering at these sites, and 2. visored longwings became the gold standard for navigation on Siren. In a world that is basically just water, that's a big deal.

There exist only a few thousand visors (about 3k I'd say). The unused visors are kept in the Hall of Faces, the ancient aviation bay at the first settlement in West. Because of how water levels and land structures have changed over the years, this building exists on a mesa that rises another few thousand feet out of the water, with sheer sides, and is utterly inaccessible to anyone but a longwing harpy. When a visored harpy dies, the visor is returned here. If you want to claim a visor, you need to hold an interview with one of the elders at the site, who will test you rigorously to see if you can inhabit the character of one of the visors. If not, too bad. If you do get it, it's yours until either you die or you do something considered 'out of character' for the wearer of that particular visor. It is DEEPLY discouraged to steal a visor off anyone because it would be largely impossible, given how they all can communicate (imagine a gigantic worldwide discord server where the location & name of every person is known at all times... the drama is likely insane but at least if someone steals a visor, everyone will know about it)

not every longwing desires a visor because it comes with a lot of responsibility alongside its automatic prestige, and you can't really give it up once you have it. also there's always the possibility of being diagnosed with a super annoying, glitchy, or hated visor character lol. but among the roughly 2700 visored harpies on Siren there does exist a global culture exclusive to them. they chat to one another long-distance, engage in closed-practice ceremonies where they all get high and look at videos of Earth, and essentially become a class outside the mundanity of normal life on Siren. to the rest of the population, they basically become telepathic wizards

Terwyef's visor (first pic) is called Scrappercharlee and is one of the more common models, tho it has been decorated over the years with extra bits. Scrappercharlee is a bit busted and half the HUD is missing. Miakef's visor (second pic) Signastoo is one of the very fancy and well-known ones, it's shaped like a swan's head and likely belonged to a high-ranking pilot who could afford a bit of frippery and showmanship back in the day. Birds do not exist on Siren and harpies are mammals so the swan itself is symbolically meaningless, but the bird-style visors introduce the idea of 'a bird' in the abstract, and this has been imbued with its own form of meaning by harpies.

[koolades-world]

one bed troupe w/ Beel

a/n if this makes little to no sense it's because i'm writing this while tired lol

It was yet another day of fun. Everything had been perfect up until the end of that day. After hearing you’d never been before, Beel immediately vowed to take you camping. Like the real deal camping. He spent at least an hour trying to pick the best spot to take you, and while he was usually very willing to take others with him on these kinds of expeditions, he didn't allow anyone else except his twin to come along, who surprisingly said no. Usually, he would say yes, to get away from Lucifer and to enjoy the night sky, but it appeared as if he had something up his sleeve. Strange, but not too out of character for him. You left for your trip shortly after, and most everything had gone smoothly.

That morning, you’d awoken to the sound of Beel’s stomach from outside your tent, signaling it was time to make breakfast. After a simple breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, Beel decided it was finally time to take you kayaking on the nearby river. You opted to spend a little time enjoying the nature in a hammock he’d set up while he got everything you needed and mapped your route and fell asleep in it. When he came back from getting the two kayaks, he accidentally hit your and flipped you out of the hammock. After the initial confusion had ended, you both got a laugh out of it.

The kayaking down the river was also loads of fun. The scenery was very pretty and you saw several kinds of birds that you hadn’t seen from your camp site. Since you were each in your own vessel, once you got tired, all you had to do was tether yourself to Beel’s, and he towed you along behind him. Originally, you’d planned to have just one tandem for the both of you, but you figured you’d be basically up in the air with how uneven then weight distribution would be. So, he packed a length of rope to tether you to him if you needed a break, which you did. The scenery was very pretty, and just laying back and enjoying the tree coverage was enough for you.

However, upon arriving back, you discovered something had happened to your campsite. Your tent, and a couple things near it had been basically crushed by a large branch you'd set up under on purpose. You had both just been sitting in that very branch yesterday, and it seemed fine. The things outside the tent were alright, and so were a couple things inside. But unfortunately the two most important things were damaged: your tent itself, and your sleeping bag. An offshoot of the large branch had punctured both of your things, making them unusable until you could get them fixed, if possible. You shuddered thinking about what may have happened to you if you were inside the tent when that fell. Beel seemed to have the same thought, as he immediately proposed moving his tent to a space with no tree coverage, and that he'd share it with you.

After working together to move the remaining intact tent and packing up yours as best as possible, you spent the rest of the day as normal. You did another hike that afternoon, and enjoyed dinner together, before having to revisit the sleeping situation.

"You can change inside the tent. I'll turn around." Beel already had his back to you as he began packing up your things from your meal. Thankfully, your bag of things, including your clothes was alright, albeit a little dirty.

"Thanks, Beel." You made your way into his tent, where he'd set it back up the way he had it before you'd moved it together. It was pretty tidy. You had already placed your bag next to his. You opened it and quickly changed into your sleep clothing. For a moment, you lingered in the tent. While you'd only given it a little thought, now the idea was really sinking in: you'd have to share that sleeping bag with Beel. Not that you were opposed to the idea, as the two of you had slept in the same room before, and he only snored a little. The mere thought of being that close to him for that amount of time flustered you. After all, you'd been given a few piggyback rides over the course of your trip together, and that was more than enough proof that he felt as chiseled as he looked. Knowing he needed your help cleaning up for the night, you abandoned that thought temporarily.

"I'm done. Feel free to head in. I can finish putting out the fire." You smiled at him.

"Thanks. I'll be quick." He ducked into the tent you'd just felt, leaving you alone in the night to contemplate the day, and how misfortunate you'd been. As unlucky as that fallen branch may had been, maybe it was your blessing in disguise. While you now needed some way to get it repaired, you now got to spend the rest of the trip snuggled up with the best hugger you'd ever met nightly. Looking on the bright side was all you could do.

Soon enough, it was time to head to bed. You headed into the tent, zipping it shut. It felt much smaller when the both of you were in it at the same time. You weren't really sure what to do, so you just hovered by the exit, looking anywhere but the sleeping bag. Beel seemed to have no problem, and headed right over to it. After sliding it, he held it open with one arm.

"Here, Mc. Are you coming?" After he said this to you, you snapped out of your daze, and, while a little apprehensive, you got in with him. Your bodies were flush to each other, being forced to make eye contact the way you were laying. The sleeping bag was made for his height, so your feet didn't reach the bottom like he did. You stared at each other in silence for a moment. Not really knowing what to do with your arms, you tucked both of them under your head to act as a pillow. You were kind of afraid you'd start snuggling him in the middle of the night. Beel, on the other hand, seemed like he had no such fear, and put both of his arms around you.

"So, anything you have planned for tomorrow for us?" You tried your best to break the silence and to make things less awkward. That effort was mostly for you, since Beel seemed totally comfortable. It was like, to him, this was normal.

"Well, since we've done a few hikes already, and you seemed fine, I figured we could hike one of the harder trails up the nearby mountain. We have to pass through a small town on the way there, so we can stop at a restaurant." You began to laugh as you felt his stomach grumble. Your laughing made him smile. In that moment, the entire situation seemed like something that happened before a million times, and this was part of your nightly routine.

"Alright. Sounds good to me. Well, good night. Thanks for letting me share with you." You deemed going to sleep would help you escape the initial awkwardness of this situation, so you shut your eyes. You were pretty tired anyways. Soon enough, the both of you were asleep.

As he usually did, Beel awoke in the middle of the night, hungry. However, he remembered pretty quickly he wasn't alone that night. Sometimes, he wandered into your room after he was finished raiding the fridge, but it felt so much more warm and welcoming to wake up in a warm bed. Well, sleeping bag. Despite initially laying on your arms, they had found their way onto him and had intertwined your legs together. Your head was pressed into his neck, one arm wrapped around his torso, one underneath him somehow. He rolled the both of you over so you were on top of him to take any pressure off of your limbs. The way you shifted after he rolled caused you to snuggle him more.

Suddenly, he didn't feel so hungry anymore. It was like his hunger had finally been satiated for once in his life. He hardly remembered the feeling it'd been that long. The sight of you fast sleep, slightly smiling against his skin was more than enough for him and filled him with something he couldn't quite explain.

With the warm, fuzzy feeling in mind, he was able to drift back to sleep. Maybe he needed to start doing this more often.

[banrionceallach]

Hey EU tumblr, there's some other elections pretty soon

I know that the EU MEP elections probably seem boring in comparison to 'gestures to US/UK/etc' All That, but please do vote in them if you're eligible.

It's really important right now to make sure the right-wing fascist leaning bastards get the smallest percentage of the vote possible. The EU has problems, but a lot of genuinely good legislation comes out of it and we need to protect that.

There's not going to be a perfect candidate, so just go the harm reduction route. i.e. find the least worst and vote for them, to cancel out your racist Insert-Relative-Here's vote for the MEP's who are busy being openly fascist.

The EU elections are from taking place from 6th- 9th June, and I cannot stress enough that it really is important to vote. Again, a vote for Candidate Meh Boring is not approval of their policies, it is a vote against Candidate Racist Homophobe.

Remember every time the US users in particular on this site talk about something horrifying that is a fact of daily life in the USA and then end the post with some version of 'But they don't have to put up with that in Europe because of some Recent Vaguely Sensible Legislation by the EU parliament'?

Right.

That's why you're voting. It's a civic duty. Part of living in a society. Look on it the way you would basic housekeeping.

From 6th - 9th June we are all helping to do a metaphorical deep-clean of the bathroom. It won't produce spectacular immediate changes in our lives, but it will help stop a potentially dangerous mold infestation.

Voting is one tool in the box of democracy. Don't let it sit unused, The people who vote for Candidate Racist Homophobe won't.

Bloody well vote.

EU Voting Dates:

Netherlands votes on 6th June

Ireland votes on 7th June

Czech Republic votes 7th/8th June

Everyone else in the EU votes on the 9th June.

[reasonsforhope]

Hi, where would you go tumblr does go (I doubt it will, the same has been said about twitter)? I mean, I have bluesky, but it gets too defeatist for me to check out often.

Hey!

If tumblr collapses or becomes too unusable, I'll be moving to either Mastodon or Cohost, barring some kind of big change in the social media landscape.

Why those two? Because they're the only other (afaik) social media sites of any prominence that don't have an algorithm. And algorithms on social media sites, as it currently stands, have a strong tendency to suppress good news and push bad news (because anger and sadness get higher engagement), so as a good news blog, I don't think I'd do very well anywhere else!

(Also because the big social media sites routinely hide users' posts from said users own followers to try to force people to buy ads, and I would like people to actually see my good news posts, weirdly enough!)

Sources on the social media bs things: x, x, and I can't find verification of the hiding posts from your followers bit, but I promise it's a thing - it's one of the reasons I stopped running a page for my business on facebook a year or so ago

[talisidekick]

This blog is not participating in the Tumblr "Blackout"

Why? It's the start of Disability Pride month. Much of the systems in society are deliberately hostile to disabled folk, even the ones that are supposed to "help" them. Pride last month around the world held events that weren't accessible for disabled queers. These people are routinely cut out from society, assaulted, harrassed, and treated less than second class. People will physically move people in wheelchairs out of their way, cut them off, and stand in front of them as they try to move. They're shamed, insulted, laughed at, and mocked.

I know many are upset about Tumblrs recent changes, but if you truly want to help increase the accessibility of this site, especially for the sight or hearing impared or those who need to use third party applications to help them navigate the site, then a blackout isn't the way to do it. What you can do is add disability tags to your liked tags, or search up disability tags and see what disabled folk are saying they need from the site and either pay to blaze or come together as a community to amplify their voices and drown out ableists that constantly put them down. Disabled people face unique bigotry and deserve to have their needs blasted to the crowd and actions taken by abled folk to help them in the way they ask to be helped. One of the biggest issues I commonly see is abled folk assuming they know whats best for someone with a disability. If you're not disabled in the way someone else is, never assume you know what their needs are; always ask and listen closely.

This is a link to the proposed blackout and further reasons at the bottom why you shouldn't join this attempt, largely because Tumblr is set up in such a way that a blackout would do nothing but silence disabled voices:

Do not join the blackout. Go support disabled folk instead. Sit down and listen to them. They've a lot to be angry about, and it's damn time people listened.

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two: Triage

Notes: Don't believe anything I say about medicine, politics, or the workings of government agencies.

Belleview: Chapter 1

TW: Institutionalized slavery, a little tiny bit heavy on the exposition

✥ ✥ ✥

As far as ‘day one’s go, Lincoln thinks, it could have been worse. That is the best he can offer himself now. He looks down at his hands, which feel, no matter how many times he scrubs them, as if they are still covered in the blood, both metaphorical and physical, of the residents. They did not ask for his help, and by most metrics do not seem to want his help, and yet still, he is here. Helping? It weighs heavily on him. His hands shake, a product of adrenaline and exhaustion and, maybe, partly of desperation for some kind of emotional release.

Organizing the volunteers had gone smoothly enough. He had four doctors, eight nurses, and fifteen good samaritans (and a list of hundreds of others who were ready to step in if more help was needed), all eager to find their place in this beautiful hellscape.

After the former handler, Jared, was escorted to a waiting police car, Lincoln took a deep breath and rounded up the crew. The de facto Commissioner for the splintered Department of Labor Services in Florida, once responsible for the privatization and trafficking of low-level criminals and now responsible for sorting out the undoing of that system itself, estimated that there would be additional guidance available within two weeks and, between him and Lincoln, suspected that ultimately the residents would be placed in a sort of ‘foster’ situation, where they would be pseudo-adopted into the homes of long time opposers of the system while they accessed medical care and were slowly reintegrated. It was all a lot to stomach, and for his part, Lincoln tried not to look too closely. It was clear that the residents here all, at minimum, required some degree of inpatient medical treatment, and he was qualified to provide that, if nothing else. 

Lincoln had been contracted for four weeks, with the soft warning that it would likely extend beyond that, and the sincere gratitude of the Commissioner as well as a slew of other high ranking officials. His work is important, he was told countless times. It’ll be a hard job, but they can think of no better hands than his to leave the care of these men in. 

After accepting the position, Lincoln began forming something of a plan. He was given a budget and a list of items already at the site. He was sent lists of hundreds and hundreds of doctors, nurses, cooks, mechanics, police officers, former handlers, teachers… anything he could think of, he had available to him. People from across the country offered their support in any way they could. He selected his team, his backup team, and held a list of other local residents that he could rely on for support.

The initial team was small but mighty, fierce in their dedication to help. Four doctors. Five, including him. Twenty-one residents (with only twenty files, but that was for another day). Eight nurses. Fifteen volunteers. Enough for every resident to receive medical attention, with extra volunteers to sort out groceries and clothing and removal of the evidence of what had happened here, with extras to help keep everything flowing.

It was experimental, and no one knew exactly what it would look like. But this team was ready to throw themselves wholly into early recompense and that was all he needed. They would work the rest out as they went.

✥ ✥ ✥

The volunteers look to him for guidance as he enters the conference room and, given that he has run through his plan a hundred times in his head by now, he wastes no time in laying out the loose threads of what he is calling the ‘plan.’ There are people working throughout the building, sealing off some unused wings, repurposing others. They are irrelevant to what Lincoln is doing and have no impact on the residents he now oversees. They will not enter this unit, and his group will not be asked to leave. It does not matter what happens beyond the walls of C-wing anymore. 

There are two empty rooms at the end of the longest, main corridor, that were previously used for something adjacent to medical exams. This is not exactly the highest priority, but the easiest to get started. 

“Yang, Richmond, Jacoby, and Gilman,” Lincoln says, scanning the volunteers as people identify themselves. He hands them each a sheet of paper with a list of items that each room should have. “A truck should be arriving within the next thirty minutes,” he continues. “Start clearing out the exam rooms of anything not on this list, sanitize the hell out of them, and then work with the delivery people to get them set up. Use the south entrance so no one is wandering the halls. They’ll need to be fully functional by tomorrow at the latest.” The volunteers take to task quickly, and Lincoln moves to the next on his list.

“DeLuca and Dhar,” he says next. “Groceries were delivered earlier, let’s get everything put away. There was a large break room for the handlers here,” he says, as he points to the map on the tablet, “but no cafeteria. To the extent possible, clear it out. There are bins for anything that you find that looks remotely criminal. We’ve been asked to refrain from discarding the personal effects of the handlers or anything that might need to be reviewed down the line. Everything can go into storage, someone will come pick it up at some point this evening.”

They exit, and Lincoln is left standing with the medical staff and a small handful of remaining volunteers. He assigns four to scrubbing the common areas of all traces of abuse, the hope being that the residents can eventually comfortably navigate the wing without fear of encountering excessive reminders of their own suffering.  

“We’re going to start triaging,” he says to the medical team. “We have more volunteers ready if we need them, but I am concerned about overwhelming the residents with too much…” He gestures, and is met with nods and muted agreements. “Just, with too much.”

The residents are all, as of this moment, still locked in their rooms. Every doctor has already been assigned a caseload, the files sent out the day before, with each resident grouped first based on the severity of their need for medical attention, and second on their proximity to one another. The most severe cases get seen by the doctors first, with the nurses doing preliminary exams on the less severe cases and making modifications to the plan as needed. 

Lincoln expects four residents to require the most substantial medical support. The local hospital is prepared to provide aid in diagnostic testing, scans, or large scale inpatient procedures in the event that those needed, but all units are overwhelmed by the sudden influx of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of people who require care and are in the first wave of full release.

Triage first, he reminds himself. Each of them has four or five men total to see, and he watches as they make their own plans with the nurses on their team. 

Lincoln has one file and two patients. River London, a twenty-four year old man who has been in the system for three years and in Belleview for two of those, and “Felix,” whose file is uniquely absent. The handler told him that Felix had come to Belleview a year prior, and that he wasn’t sure if the handlers were ever told his real name, but if they were, no one remembered it. They estimated his age to be around twenty-two, and the information available was all from the past year. The DOH was working to trace his origins but, to Lincoln’s understanding, his file had been sealed when he was assigned to Belleview, and unsealing it was low in the list of priorities.

“I’m Philip,” the nurse who stands next to him says, holding out his hand. “Reed. I came down from Maryland, I’ve been working with the DoLS there to help organize and staff pop-up clinics in underdeveloped cities with heavy influxes of former workers for the last couple years.”

Lincoln nods and shakes his hand. “Lincoln Prescott,” he says. He doesn’t offer any details beyond that, although Philip’s expectant gaze lingers for a moment too long.

“Did you pick the short straw or volunteer for this?” he asks as Lincoln grabs the lone file from the table.

“A little of both, I guess,” Lincoln responds, flipping open River’s file.

The good news, he thinks, is that there are ample state of the art medical supplies littered throughout the unit already. All of the volunteers brought their own supplies as well, but there is a fully stocked pharmacy and most basic supplies already in house. The bad news is that he is not one hundred percent sure where the volunteers are at with sorting through everything, and if he has to wade through sixty years worth of whips, chains, shock collars, restraints, or whatever other torture devices live within these walls, he might have a nervous breakdown before he even gets started.

The volunteers disperse, the remaining extras assigned out to sorting deliveries and, hopefully, removing any obvious remnants of what this building used to stand for.

Lincoln closes his eyes and talks himself through what the next hour will look like. Minimally, he reassures himself, he has an amazing team and the residents are in good hands. They will be given food, blankets, phones or tablets, books. They will be treated with kindness. They did not ask for their help and he will likely be met with resistance, but it is a consequence of years or abuse, and his intent here is to help. There is a voice, soft but persistent in the back of his mind, that keeps him grounded in the reality that, at least on some level, he will be acting as a captor in a new kind of prison for these men.

If he is met with resistance, he reminds himself now, he will modify his course. He will act as a stepping stone toward freedom and that is all he can do right now. His job today, within the walls of the workers’ rooms, is straightforward. When he’s done talking himself down, he stands straighter, shoves the file into his bag, and makes way to 19-C.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

[fagrance]

Dragon Quest IX Gadabout?

I was checking out the Dragon Quest Island website because I'd love to visit irl someday when I scrolled down and came across the following image on the site:

The art here represents vocations you and your party can choose from for the theme park activities (left to right); warrior, martial artist, thief, mage, and 'the newly introduced' "playboy" in the bottom right (I believe "playboy" is the same as jesters/gadabouts, the jokester-clown vocation from DQIII).

This art specifically was made for Dragon Quest IX. The art of the warriors, martial artists, thieves and mages all represent the in-game vocation-specific outfits, and to date is some of the highest-quality images of Dragon Quest vocations. These first four classes were available to play as in Dragon Quest IX and their artwork was featured in the 25th Anniversary Dragon Quest Illustrations, but the artwork of the 'playboy' is nowhere to be seen, including online besides the DQ Island website.

Thing is, the DQIX section of the art book has a couple mistakes, and some pieces of promotional material are left out. Not many, but enough that I noticed. It seemed neither Square Enix nor Akira Toriyama could remember much about DQIX when this book was made. The book even had a few designs for unused vocation-specific outfits. It got me wondering if these 'playboy' outfits were ever designed before DQ Island introduced them, or if they were originally a rejected concept from before. If they *were* made for DQIX originally, why wouldn't they be mentioned literally anywhere else? And if they weren't, why did they use the DQIX model/style? Because the other four classes were already designed? (probably)

I can't find anything that would imply DQIX was supposed to have more vacations or Gadabouts at all, so I have no clue. Have you guys come across anything that could prove or disprove my theory?

[rhamrhanch]

Shepherd of Death, Don't Herd Me

Part One: Humble Awakening

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (gender-neutral pronouns)

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort

Next Chapter

Summary: You were just an engineer. That's all you ever wanted to be. But after a chance encounter with the leader of Null Sector, you soon find your simple life crumbling to ash.

A/N: started writing a Ramattra fic and thought I should post it here as well. hope you enjoy!

chapter under the cut ↓

---

You crouch down slowly until you're eye level with the dilapidated omnic slouched against the wall. The room is too quiet—it's eerie. With omnics, there was always sound; the gentle hum of their processors, as much proof of life as a human's heartbeat. No such sound could be heard now.

By all accounts, you should be safe; the pistol at your hip was extra assurance of that. Still, you resist the urge to stroke his crumpled exoskeleton. You've never tinkered with this model before; part of you worries that even the slightest movement might wake him. But as you look over his body, that feeling dwindles more and more.

Half of his face plate is missing, jagged edges rippling down to his chin and revealing a camera-like eye. It stares through you, unfocused. Where a right arm should be, there is only an empty socket. You reach out to his thigh, fingers meeting rough leather, ridges of crushed metal underneath.

The reports you received after debriefings had few pictures, but there was one that always stood out to you. He was standing tall, cables fanning out behind him like a mane. His arms spread wide, crook in hand, like a shepherd beckoning to his flock. He cut an imposing figure. Seeing him like this felt… strange.

Your nails catch on a spot on his hip—his manufacturing date. It's been scratched out, something else carved beneath it.

You test the name in your mouth, letting it roll over your tongue.

Ramattra.

---

It was supposed to be a simple mission—well, as simple as Overwatch missions could go. Remnants of Null Sector's presence lingered after its attempted invasion in Gothenburg, so a small team was dispatched to "clean up", so to speak. After a few days, you'd received word that they would be returning soon.

A week had passed since then in radio silence. You could tell it worried Winston; the banana peels that littered his office indicated as much. But then, suddenly, the team returned—battered, but alive. All was well, you thought, until Reinhardt dropped a massive hunk of metal at your feet, and you realized it was a miracle they returned at all.

"An R-7000!"

For your entire career as an engineer, just seeing an R-7000 was a dream come true. They were so scarce these days, nearly hunted to extinction. Killed at the hands of humans in retribution for the war. You had no memories of the Omnic Crisis, born at the tail end of the war and left to clean up the pieces. Even so, you knew the stories.

R-7000s.

Ravagers.

Squad killers.

A rare class of omnics designed by an artificial mind; its first act of creation. You wanted to understand it, to see how a machine engineered itself. An ouroboros of invention. To reach that level of efficiency, no material wasted, no part unnecessary or unused. Something created with a single purpose—you had no choice but to admire it.

"Impressive, ja?"

You craned your neck up at Reinhardt. There was a fresh gash on his forehead, dried blood painting a red stripe down to his chin. He grinned proudly at you nonetheless.

“What happened?”

Winston shuffled over, straightening his glasses. “I'm just hearing the details now. It seems they ran into him while en route to the pickup site.”

"'Him'?" You looked back at the omnic on the ground. "Who is he?"

A pause. "The leader of Null Sector."

Your head darted back to where the omnic laid. You hardly even recognized him in this state.

The shock is evident in your voice. “What? Why would you bring him here?"

Winston cleared his throat. “As you can see, the encounter has left him quite… damaged.”

'Damaged' was one hell of an understatement. Your eyes roamed the omnic's body, taking inventory—what needed to be replaced, what didn't. After a beat of silence, you realized the not-so-subtle request in Winston's words.

“You want me to fix him?" There was an unspoken question in your tone: why? But Winston only nodded. You didn't press any further; his lack of an answer was answer enough.

"It might take a while. He is missing an arm.”

“Take your time—he won't be going anywhere anytime soon.” Winston’s expression turned stern then, and you straightened up. “I know this is a lot to ask, but we can't lose this opportunity. Let me know as soon as he wakes up.”

You nodded slowly. With a parting wish of good luck, Winston turned to help unload the ship. You waved over Reinhardt, who slung the omnic over his shoulder with ease and followed you out of the hangar. Danger or no, you would not let it deter you. This was your only opportunity to work on a Ravager—you refused to waste it.

---

Now alone in your workshop, you could admit the truth—you hadn't the faintest idea where to start.

You knew just from a glance it would be a difficult fix-up job, and that was assuming you had materials at your disposal. Reality was much more sobering. Ever since the recall, a free-flowing wave of supplies was a fool’s wish. You would simply have to make do.

While the rest of the damage would be no easy feat, most concerning was the state of the Ravager's—Ramattra's—chest plate. The metal exoskeleton was completely caved in, likely the result of a blow from Reinhardt’s hammer. Repairing it would be invasive—you might even have to separate the cage from his body entirely.

Slowly, you place your palm against the center of his chest. Looking at it now, it almost resembled a sternum. It's fascinating to you, how similar the design of Ramattra’s body was to your own. Your hand travels across his upper chest, mapping the parts you recognized.

Sternum, collar bone, shoulder…

You let out a quiet breath. Looking at him now, it’s no wonder Ravagers were so terrifying during the Crisis. But as you gaze at his face plate, caressing the ridge where it splinters, you can't help the gradual sorrow that tightens in your chest. How many of his model had been destroyed since then? Were there even others left?

You search through the mess on your workshop table. During your exam, you noticed that his chest plate had multiple layers. External armor secured at a metal "sternum", four steel rods extending outward from the top, while a metal rib cage curled from the bottom. To assess the extent of the damage, you would need to go through the tedious effort of removing all the parts.

Crowbar in hand, you return to the omnic. You slot the tool into the gap between his sternum and the rod that protects his upper chest, pressing down firmly. The plate gives slightly—you push harder. There’s a click as the piece loosens, and you smile to yourself. Brute force was always reliable. Perhaps not the most elegant approach, but effective nonetheless.

You work at a moderate pace, the palm of your hand aching from where the crowbar pushed against it. It’s not long before the last rib releases, and you can finally access his chest plate. You set about loosening the screws that hold it closed. By the end of the entire process, a thin sheen of sweat has formed on the nape of your neck. Finally, the panel opens, fanning outward from the middle.

The inside walls of his chest are a map of circuits. Wires snake in and out of his machinery, threaded through actuators and sensors. Hydraulic cooling fans sit below a row of black cubes; multiple power units, you realize. There are so many more parts, some you don't even recognize, and you want nothing more than to stay here all day and analyze each one. But then your eyes fall on a cylinder nestled in the center of his chest, and you realize you've made a horrible mistake.

Ravagers were of the commander class of omnics, designed with physical combat in mind. This much you knew. Omnics that were humanoid in shape had their central processors in their heads, but a location like that in an omnic crafted for battle was dangerous. Those kinds of omnics would house their central processor where it could be well protected—a place with fortified shielding and a large surface area to disperse force. And if you were an intelligent AI focused on maximizing utility, you would have programmed these omnics with a failsafe—some method to protect the most vulnerable part of their body, should their mind become compromised.

A hand shoots out and grips your throat. You're dragged to the ground—you can't speak, can't breathe. The once-sleeping omnic now rises, hauling you up with him. But before he can reach his full height, his legs falter, forcing him to sag against your workbench. The tips of your boots scrape the ground, searching for purchase.

“What…” Ramattra's speech comes out slightly garbled, “have you done to me?”

Your hands desperately scratch against his hold, attempting to pry his fingers away from your throat. Fuck, he was strong. It's completely inappropriate for the situation, you know it is, but in that moment the gearhead inside of you wonders how many kilograms of force his grip strength has. 100, maybe 125? It's hard to tell as you lose sensation from the lack of oxygen to your brain.

He seems to realize you're suffocating, so he drags his thumb up under your chin, forcing your head to the side. You gasp raggedly, air scraping into your lungs and making you cough. At least you can finally breathe—all you needed to do now was grab your gun. But it's as if he's read your mind, knows what you're about to do before you do. Before the synapses can fire for you to even think about moving your hand, he digs his thumb under your jaw, hard, and you yelp in pain.

“Answer me, now.”

“Repairing… you,” you choke out. “I’m… an engineer—”

“Lies!” he hisses. His hand is a vice grip now. The restricted bloodflow makes your pulse pound in your ears. “My chest is flayed open by your hands. Tell me the truth, human!” He practically spits the last word, yanking you closer. It forces your neck to crane up at him. Your vision goes fuzzy at the edges; you aren't sure how much longer you can stay conscious. A frightening thought runs through your mind.

I'm going to die here.

With the last breath you can manage, you mutter, “Taken by… Overwatch.”

His hand loosens. You slip from his grasp, collapsing on the floor in a fit of hacking coughs. Arms trembling like jelly, you weakly push yourself up. Your chest is heaving, desperate to make up for lost air. You've barely caught your breath when he grabs you by the front of your coveralls, pulling you face-to-face.

“Where am I?”

“Gibraltar," you cough.

He's silent. His exposed eye dilates and contracts, studying your face intently. You're not sure what it is that pushes you to speak again. A desperate last attempt for your life, maybe?

“Your voice box,” you whisper. His eye stops. “I can fix it.”

A sardonic chuckle rumbles from his chest, scratching against your eardrum. “Do you really think I would let you anywhere near me?”

You clear your throat, trying to maintain an air of authority and pretend that your offer was not made on a whim. “I specialize in omnics—I can help you.”

“All the more reason not to trust you.” His harsh rebuff comes out a growl. “You know better than anyone how to kill me.”

“But I haven’t.” Well, you'd thought about it. But he didn't know that.

For a moment, there's only the hum of his auxiliary vents—a death knell you're sure you aren't the first to witness. You brace yourself, waiting for him to crush your skull like a walnut.

To your surprise, he abruptly releases you, and you fall clumsily on your hands.

“Fine, human. Let us see if your words match your will.”

[imptwins]

ALRIGHT, no more messing around I suppose.

Over the last twelve months my close friend @kimberlyeab and myself have been the targets of sustained harassment by a series of "anti-ship" accounts, that may or may not be the same person, that I am not going to name up here because I do not want to give them any more traffic than necessary. This is over some of the content we make, 18+ fiction revolving around Undertale and Deltarune, and sometimes involving dark kinks. I'm going to ask you to put aside whether you think this is immoral for the moment.

Under the break below is what I wrote a few hours ago. Things have since escalated. Both myself and Kim have been targeted by email bombs on our business emails, services/bots that spam your email address with garbage signups, rendering your email address completely unusable. At worst, this can overwhelm your email service so much that your account is unable to process new emails and is eventually disabled by the provider. I'm still getting bursts of activity after over 200 emails, so I'm not sure if it's dying down, or if it's so backlogged that this is what's happening.

This is literally a crime, by the way. It's classified as cyber abuse.

On top of this, whoever has done this has access to personal information. A full legal name, first and last, was used in several of the signups, so they are either implicitly threatening to doxx us, or simply flexing that they could. Likewise a crime.

Additionally, this seems well coordinated, but there are no suspicious recent results for us in The Usual Places. This makes me believe this person is probably using some foul back-alley site like KF to organize this. I don't think the legal name in question could have been acquired by one person, it's extremely difficult to trace back.

tl;dr: whoever is doing this knows their way around the internet and is actively dangerous, they are severely impeding our lives and have the potential to become incredibly, incredibly dangerous.

Why am I posting this? Not really to get those accounts in trouble (although you should absolutely stay the hell away from them, and severely scrutinize anything they leave a mark on). I don't think they'll be punished, nor would it help since they constantly block evade, and at this point I don't think this recent online abuse crap is actually them, just someone attaching themself to their crusade. Though I'm not sure.

What I want to illustrate is how these kind of callout posts feed into targeted harassment of minorities. This is just another reason why things that make you uncomfortable should be dealt with by curating your experience using tags and blacklists and blocks, rather than trying to assign moral value to what people make. If my content makes you that uncomfortable I *actively encourage* you to block me.

It doesn't matter whether you personally dislike minorities or not, or whether you're subconsciously targeting them, or whatever. Someone else who does will latch on. That person who writes nothing but callout posts, yet they're always for small trans creators who make some 'icky stuff' and never for big-name bigots who parade their bigotry out in the open; is it because they're a sock puppet of an overt reactionary, or just because they want to feel some control over their life so they subconsciously focus on vulnerable people?

Simple: you can't know.

These people are the dangerous ones. Not people who just make content, properly tag it, and mind their own business. But these people, obsessed with ruining other people, with finding 'evil' in the world so that they can purge it? You can find their name below if you really want, and literally their entire blog is just constant callouts, broadcasting people doing callouts, trying to network with other people who do callouts. This is why these people were originally called 'antifans', their entire fandom presence is centered around tearing other people to shreds.

Do your due diligence and fact-check, before you broadcast that someone in your fandom did something awful. Make sure they actually hurt someone. I know mega-bastards will use 'you can't prove it' as an excuse, but actually analyze it a bit. It's almost always painfully obvious, I know, I spent years doing antifascism. And more than anything else, neither entertain, nor broadcast, nor embolden the kind of people who dedicate their entire existences on the internet to lateral abuse. Not just these particular ones, but ANYONE who dedicates their life to this online torch-waving garbage over fictional content. Whether they're a reactionary or just projecting trauma, whether they actually hate x y or z minority or they just happen to always go for the most vulnerable people, whether the person they're targeting makes content that makes you feel very icky and gross or not, these self-ordained Crusaders are consistently, unquestionably, dangerous.

That's one page out of 4. Also some of them have between 10 and 80 updates in the one email from the same address. There's about 300 emails all up. And there's zero reason they can't do this again.

===

Anyway. The accounts in question are @snowcollecter/@brieffamilycat/@krispy-chicken-shipping/@bonniehbunny. First two are definitely them, I highly suspect the latter two are their main, or at the very least someone who constantly signal boosts them. We have endured over 12 months of:

calling for brigades against us, and at least 4 other people

block dodging to constantly screenshot and reference our posts

literal libel by accusing us of grooming a child despite screenshots, as well as both statements and direct requests to stop by both the supposed groomed child and their actual friends who witnessed all interactions we had

spamming anon asks to literally every single person that they can find who we ever interact with

using tiktok cen)sor)ship nonsense to get past peoples' blacklists and force this stuff in front of them

using no less than 3 confirmed alts with about 5 more extremely suspicious accounts in attempts to artificially broadcast themself and again evade blocks (when the original account itself is transparently an alt too)

joining multiple random discords to try to shove this stuff in peoples' faces

now spamming Kim's business email at signup services

probably being behind the attempts to doxx and raid us last year on a certain hate-monger website, since the signup spam demonstrates they're cool with bog standard channer troll tactics

They also pretty tellingly refused to even talk to this minor we supposedly groomed, who attempted to tell them personally that we hadn't done the shit they claim we did. You'd think someone who is this caught up about the safety of minors in fandom spaces would jump at the chance to help this kid, to tell them not to talk to us and get them away from us, to convince them to stay away? No, they said 'I don't talk to minors' (this is demonstrably untrue: their discord accounts are in many all-ages spaces) and immediately blocked them.

Of course. Because this was never about the safety of minors. Flip a coin; if it's heads, they're a far-right sock puppet who just knows they can use the 'think of the children' angle to drive a wedge into queer communities. If it's tails, they're just a routine runt who's projecting their lack of ability to do anything about the ACTUAL assholes of this world onto other queer people, wailing and flailing and doing anything they can to have some influence despite getting 3 notes on almost everything they ever post. Hence the anon asks, and Discord spam, and blacklist/block evading. If they can't have a platform - because anyone who looks at their garbage for more than a month at most sees how absolutely deranged they are - they'll just force people to see it.

Do they ever attack actual transphobes, which this fandom is not at all short on? Well, sort of! They did one or two callout posts about a TERF who used to run in these spaces... But didn't say anything about the TERF shit. Just the porn. The porn constantly put behind age confirmations and thorough tags/content warnings. This person spouted generic 'all-powerful trans lobby' 'social contagion' 'please look at this study about desistance I found on a hard-right website' bullshit, but no, it was them drawing aged-up highschoolers (REMINDER: NOT EVEN CANONICALLY UNDERAGE, JUST VAGUE HIGHSCHOOLERS, *AND* THEY WERE EXPLICITLY OLDER IN THEIR CONTENT!) that was apparently the greater evil.

I'm not even really sharing this to call them specifically out or draw attention to them. Regardless of whether they're a chud in a mask or just someone who severely, *severely* needs psychological help about their obsession, they're not going to stop. They've made that plainly obvious. At this point I've basically just accepted I'm going to have this deranged stalker until I leave the fandom, which I don't plan to do anytime soon so buckle up I guess.

No, I just want people to see what these people are like. How they ignore the people they claim are victims. How they employ the same tactics as doxxing websites and old channer trolls, or even outright enlist them. How they only EVER put sustained effort into taking down queer people with small platforms because going after the in-plain-sight actual bigots and scumbags would just be too much effort, a reflection of how this is about feeling righteous and powerful, not actually making the world better. They create nothing, they contribute nothing, they bring nothing but arguing and drama and isolation to the spaces they inhabit.

These kind of people are blights on the fandoms they cling to. And any time you act like their *miserable* Hays Code, Jack Thompson With A Rainbow Flag, no kink at pride, BDSM is abuse, drag queens are indecent, cover those ankles *garbage* warrants any notice at all, you deal another blow to the fandom you are in, because nobody wants to be around these little goddamn nightmares. edit: I know how red-flag any grooming allegations are, if you want the full story to that I already addressed it here. tl;dr, no, we did not let a child look at our porn let alone show it to them, we in fact stopped them from doing so. We are not in some secret private 18+ server with them, we actively ensured they STOPPED making themself unsafe, and have strained extremely, extremely hard to keep our very limited interactions with them transparent, scrutinizable, and appropriate. The only reason we even stuck around was because it became rapidly apparent they were in an abusive living situation which we occasionally gave them advice to manage, eg helping them look up boarding options, unlike the torch-waving dipshits who did NOTHING to reach out to them or help them in any way. They're doing much better, both in their home life and in terms of not following or privately palling around with 18+ creators anymore, thanks to us, and at the expense of both our mental health and reputations. You're fucken' welcome.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

So... Where You Going?

For those not in the know, tumblr's doing its swan song and is going down to a skeleton crew for running the site. The site won't be gone immediately, but given how things run on tumblr now (will sometimes be totally unusable, I've had my blog automatically killed for nonsense reasons, held together with duct tape and glue) I'm going to treat this as if it could go down tomorrow or else that it will probably collapse by Christmas.

I'll probably be here until it's no longer usable but I'm not going to hold my breath that that's going to be any significant amount of time.

So, there comes the question of where I am going to go.

@therealvinelle and I have been discussing that and what we're likely to do is pivot what would be text meta into @rankheresy content. Things that would have been long text answers to questions will become episodes (note this is what the episodes essentially are already). We're also looking into doing Q&A style streams/videos where we'd answer questions from the audience to get to what would have been the short/more ridiculous 'what if' kind of things we usually do.

Of course, if people want us to run certain episodes/do certain content, we're open to suggestions and feedback.

As for Ao3, I'm not going anywhere on there, because if I could have shaken the fanfiction habit, I would have years ago. I'm in this for life, baby.

Neither of us have any plans to move all the blog content somewhere else in part because a) nobody seems to know where they want to land yet b) all the existing options are collapsing or else are terrible and I hate them. As much as this place is a hellsite, there's nothing quite like it. This could change but, for now, them's the breaks.

Also, since I've now published things, I can't disappear from online entirely.

So, here's the places you can find me.

Me, Myself, and I

The_Carnivorous_Muffin on Ao3

Amazon Author Page

If you're interested at all in my venturing into original things/what's been going in there, follow the Amazon author page as that will for sure alert you when new things come out, I'll make announcements other places (e.g. discord) but of course that depends on other places existing which who even knows at this point.

Rank Heresy (@rankheresy i.e. me and @therealvinelle meta stuff)

Rank Heresy Spotify

Rank Heresy Podcastaddict

Rank Heresy Apple Podcasts

Rank Heresy Amazon Music

Rank Heresy Player FM

Rank Heresy Google Podcasts

Rank Heresy Patreon

Rank Heresy Kofi

Rank Heresy Discord

Rank Heresy discord will probably become the best place to catch me or @therealvinelle as well as catch any announcements we make. In #announcements we drop anything we update (either the podcast or fics) and #notice-me-senpai channel can be used when you really want to get our attention/have us answer a question (we do lurk there but as of right now it's not a super active server).

Podfic (me and @therealvinelle podfic stuff)

Podfics on Spotify

Podfics on Amazon Music

Podfics on Podcastaddict

Podfics on PlayerFM

Podfics are what it says on the tin, it's me and @therealvinelle podficcing only our own material (which so far is just partway through For The Love of a Woman)

It's been a wild time, friends, hope to see you all in the future.

[underspacegame]

We are less than a month out from our Early Access launch. Excited? Sleepless? Suffering from splitting migraines as you try to parse documentation that’s useless to you because Google’s search capabilities have been gutted by corporate ineptitude and your previous talents of being able to figure out solutions and leverage online resources are now useless in the vast overwhelming face of tools that have become completely mediocre in their relentless idiotic pursuit of profits via the lowest common denominator that have degraded any utility to the point of unusability and it’s 3AM and your cat is screaming at you because she wants you to play with a plastic fish she brought you and you’re not supposed to be up this late and you accidentally dropped your last pain medication pill that might have made you at least capable of falling asleep down the drain?

No? Well then, good. Yeah. Let’s talk Early Access and what to expect, to better set your expectations and illuminate what’ll be in and what’ll be not-in.

The thing I want to emphasize over everything else is that we are a very small and overly ambitious team working on a VERY large game with a scope that dwarves even many AAA releases. As it stands and when it launches the amount of content that will be in, at launch, is massive. I have no doubt that many of you will be spending hundreds of hours dredging up every perverse secret the galaxy’s hidden away.

At the same time, we’re a VERY small team. Outside of our asset creators, the only person doing coding, bugfixing, UX, QA response, server integrity, mod support, etc, is me. And just me. This isn’t so much a single developer spinning multiple plates as it is a human trainwreck trying to twirl an entire restaurant, to the severe detriment of his health and sanity.

With all this in mind, our Early Access launch will not launch with the full scope of features and content planned for Underspace. Significantly, multiplayer will launch in a very early state that does not include NPCs, bosses, or the multiplayer campaign. On the singleplayer side, several questlines, extended ship customization and cockpit textures, and many planetside and station interiors will not be included in launch.

These features or content exist or are implemented in a working state, but are often heavily, HEAVILY untested or unpolished, to the point where keeping in game before they’re at least in a state I'd be comfortable with is not something I’m comfortable with.

Before you go off creating posts on various imageboards and badly rebranded social media sites decrying the Underspace apocalypse, keep two things in mind: these features are not gone or cut from the game. It’s much like Todd Howard’s kind smiling visage: even if you can’t see it it’s still there. Watching and waiting. When Early Access releases in April, we will be putting out a nice big roadmap showing a huge amount of upcoming updates to the game. These updates will be staggered out as major releases, which will include these missing pieces of content.

This also includes features or elements such as voice acting, bugfixes (as Early Access is always buggy), and further mod support.

The second thing to keep in mind is that Underspace, when it launches, will still launch with the majority of its content and the vast majority of its game features implemented. This includes the singleplayer main campaign, over 40 quests, all bosses, all points of interest, all factions, star systems, random missions, storm hazards, equipment, flyable ships, and probably many more things I’ve lost in the hazy maze that is my fried brain currently.

It has been a long long time coming, almost seven years in constant development. None of this would have been possible with the support of our backers and community, but there’s still more to go. Contributions, supporting us during the Early Access period, and of course relentlessly shilling it your friends will all help us massively, in no small part because this will also let us dedicate more resources to improving the game and getting it out in a reasonable timeframe that also, coincidentally, doesn’t overwork me to death.

And… that’s about it! If I survive, I hope to see you out in the stormy skies on April 10th!

[nellie-frogblanket]

pictures of bear point, epona

what ive noticed:

it truly is nothing but dirt, some brambles and lots of construction machinery

there are a few recyclables but i think these randomly generate all over the map

there are no GED workers on the island, apart from the one guarding the gate

there is no sound of machinery

there is no black bubbling toxic liquid/tar that is seen on the moorland GED site (last time i checked). i guessed it would be present, especially as bear point is described as being 'highly toxic and unusable'

this makes me wonder, is it because bear point is technically inaccessible or is GED doing something else ?? i know its probably the former but let a girl dream