#this isn’t funding future projects

[mitchmarnier]

putting their OLD content that they’ve had free on youtube for years that they already got the ad revenue for behind a paywall is fucking disgusting by the way.

[falesten-iw]

When I first joined Tumblr, I had no idea what I was walking into. There’s no manual for navigating this wild, untamed corner of the internet. My first moment here? I was greeted by an image completely naked, no warning, no explanation. It was just there, bold and unapologetic. That’s when I realized: Tumblr is a place where anything can happen.

But for all its chaos, Tumblr has become something far greater than I ever expected. For us Palestinians, this platform isn’t just a space to scroll through memes or vent about life. It’s a lifeline, a place where we’ve taken the raw, messy energy of this site and turned it into a battleground for survival. Here, we tell our stories, raise funds, and fight for our lives.

I’ve seen campaigns soar past their goals, bringing hope to families barely holding on. But I’ve also seen campaigns like mine, ones that fight tooth and nail for every single dollar, every reblog, every addition, and every ounce of hope. My family’s lives depend on this.

It hasn’t been easy. Zionists flood all Palestinian words with hate, twisting truths and spreading lies. They aim to discredit us, to make people doubt us. It’s exhausting. Some nights, I sit with my phone in my hands, wondering if this fight is too big for me. But then something beautiful happens: a donation comes through, a kind message appears, or someone I’ve never met reblogs my story with words that feel like a warm embrace.

And through it all, people are starting to see the truth. The hate doesn’t drown us; it sharpens our voices. Every day, more people step forward to stand with us, to say, “I see you, I hear you, and I’m with you.” It’s those moments that keep me going.

To everyone who has already helped, whether through verification, donating, wrting post , reblogging, or simply sharing a kind word: thank you. You’ve done more for my family than I could ever put into words. But the reality is, we’re not there yet. My family is still waiting for a chance to breathe, to live without fear, to fill their empty stomachs with warm food, and to wrap themselves in clothes thick enough to keep out the bitter cold. They’re hungry, they’re freezing, and I can’t do this alone.

This fight is hard, but it’s not hopeless. Strangers have become friends, and friends have become family. Some of you have shown up in ways I never imagined, treating my family’s survival as if it were your own. That kind of solidarity? It’s powerful.

Tumblr might be chaotic, unpredictable, and sometimes downright bizarre, but it’s also the place where we’ve built something extraordinary: a community that refuses to look away from injustice. With your help, we can take this fight all the way. My family’s lives are within reach, and together, I know we’ll get there.

This campaign isn’t just about me. It supports 26 people, including two orphaned children and an injured family member suffering from hemiplegia after being hit by shrapnel during a bombing. Surgery is desperately needed to replace the infected and failing plates. The needs are urgent, and the future of 26 lives depends on your support.

The video showing the injured family member is shared before in this post: Link.

Please help us ! Donate and reblog this post to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead. Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

Note: There’s even a raffle for a handmade Palestinian thob if you want to participate : Link

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[galactic-magick]

The Handsome Assistant: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You keep running into the handsome Dean's assistant, whom you find you have a lot in common with. You develop quite the crush, and things get a little messy when your friends find out about him.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: some implied suggestive stuff, alcohol use

Author's Notes: Set before Season 1 Act 1. Just a warning, this is probably the most heavily self-indulgent of my Viktor fics so far. I’ve had ideas bouncing around my head for a long time about who I’d be if I lived in the Arcane universe, and I eventually just ended up taking inspiration from what I do in real life. So basically Reader works in human services and is similar to a social worker. I tried my best to write it in a way that makes sense even if you’re not familiar with that field.

Also, the roommate/friend characters are based on my besties irl, one of which is also my beloved tumblr mutual @ohboi , who has been dealing with my nonstop Viktor obsession for a long ass time now so shout-out to them lol. I wrote you living your dream in this fic as a way to apologize <3

-

It’s exhausting dealing with the powers of topside. There’s no sense of urgency here, no drive for real progress. You’ve attended meeting after meeting, maintaining composure every time they tell you your mission isn’t a priority, or that it will take decades to implement.

All you want is to help the struggling children in the Undercity. It’s what you’ve dedicated your life to, studying human services and psychology at the Academy and building your own grassroots group with a few others from your graduating class. You primarily advocate for better education, as the schools down there barely get any funding. The council doesn’t want to hear it, though, as it’s much easier to forget about the citizens below their feet.

It frustrates you beyond belief, especially since the first chunk of your life was spent in the Undercity. You lived the stark contrast between the two cities yourself, being granted countless more opportunities once your family moved to Piltover. It was sickening, and you felt so guilty with your new privileges when your friends back home still had none. But without those privileges, you wouldn’t have been able to attend the Academy and give back.

You resist the strong urge to scream after another failed proposal with the council. You prepared all of your points for weeks, fact-checking everything and making sure your ideas were plausible. The budget and statistics you wrote out projected exponential progress for both cities, as focusing on the new generation of Zaunites would encourage the next great minds and likely lead to collaboration on mutual issues. But of course, the council is not ready to contemplate such a future.

There was one factor that wasn’t usually there, though, a handsome young man sitting beside Professor Heimerdinger. He was furiously taking notes the entire meeting, looking back down at his journal anytime you made eye contact with him. Out of all the councilors, Heimerdinger seemed the most open to your ideas, but without a majority agreeing to cast a vote to actually change policy, nothing would happen.

You walk back down the long hallway, noticing someone in your peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry the council remains so stuck in their ways,” he says. “Trust me, I understand how hard it is to hold back your anger towards them.”

You turn your head, seeing the young man from earlier, “Who are you?”

“Viktor. I’m assistant to the Dean of the Academy,” he replies, leaning on a cane. “I quite liked your ideas. I think they could work.”

“I know they would work.”

You sigh, quickly realizing you’re projecting your feelings onto this stranger.

“Sorry,” you correct yourself. “I just don’t understand how they can just not care about the suffering down there. I’m from the Undercity, I’ve seen what’s happening there firsthand, and it’s only getting worse.”

Viktor’s eyes widen a bit, “I’m from the Undercity, too.”

“You’re from the Undercity and you’re the personal assistant to Heimerdinger?” you question, a bit shocked at the prospect.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, but yes.”

“What do you mean, not a big deal? I’ve never even met anyone else from the Undercity who got into the Academy.”

“I suppose we are a rare breed,” he says. “I imagine I never saw you there due to our differences in studies.”

“Most likely,” you shrug. “None of my classes were in the science halls, assuming that’s where you were.”

He smirks, “What makes you assume I studied science?”

“You just have that look about you.”

He laughs, “Well, you’re right. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised someone well-versed in analyzing humanity read me so quickly.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still mostly a mystery to me. I can’t read minds or anything,” you flash him a genuine smile.

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“I need to get back to my lab, but I do hope we cross paths again. I’ll certainly discuss your proposals more with Heimerdinger as well.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

He leaves in the opposite direction, his cane tapping the floor.

What an interesting twist of fate, meeting someone like you.

-

The second time you run into Viktor is at an Academy party a couple months later, something you both likely would’ve skipped if you could. It’s somewhat a recruiting event for new students, and several alumni were asked to represent their fields of study. It’s not that you mind talking with prospective students, but you know you’ll have to hold back a lot of your true opinions when doing so. If you go off about how the curriculum doesn’t cover enough about the issues in the Undercity, you’ll surely get a reprimand from your former professors. You could lose several connections and investors in your organization as well, something you’re not willing to risk. Instead, you keep a smile on your face, engaging in conversation politely and answering questions.

You notice Viktor sitting at one of the far tables, his eyes darting around the room. He has several contraptions set up, and occasionally people come up to ask him about them. He lights up when he speaks, his face making the cutest expressions.

You notice yourself staring, quickly turning your head towards something else.

That sconce on the wall looks nice, doesn’t it?

As the event slows down and the crowd shuffles out, you pack up your things and head to the door, glancing back at Viktor’s table for a moment. He’s looking right back at you, and your heels swivel promptly to go see him.

“Hey,” you say, shooting him a smile. “Nice to see you again.”

Shit, was he this handsome the first time you met him?

“You as well,” he nods, gathering up his own things scattered in front of him. “Did you find anyone to join your program?”

“A few, yeah. You?”

“Several. More than I expected.”

He huffs, soon realizing all of his tech and science displays were not going to fit in the one cart that was left.

“I can help you carry your stuff, the science wing isn’t that far from here, right?” you offer, shifting your things under one arm and grabbing some of his things with the other.

“You don’t have to do that,” he protests, but you’re already propping open the door and gesturing him to come along with a head tilt.

“I really don’t mind. Come on.”

You help him put things away in the different classrooms and offices, careful not to break anything. You’ve never been in this side of the school before, and it’s set up quite differently than the usual classrooms you were in. There’s much more going on than a usual lecture hall, tools and chemicals you don’t dare touch lining the perimeter. Viktor thanks you for your assistance as you finish getting everything in place, and you once again prepare to go your separate ways.

“Wait—” he says before you leave, pulling out his journal and flipping through it. “I wrote down a lot more notes that might be helpful for your project, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

He hands over the open page for you to read, and your jaw drops. It’s so detailed, every proposal you had broken down to its smallest pieces. He even laid out the budget and resource use and everything it would take to not only build and fund better schools in the Undercity, but also work on housing and overall infrastructure. He even has some theories scribbled on how to keep the air cleaner and fix problems with the fissures.

You can’t believe he’s been thinking about you and everything you said for all this time since you last met.

“Viktor, this is amazing.”

“I know it still may not convince the entire council, but I found your ideas quite inspiring. I hope my calculations can be informative.”

“They certainly are,” your fingers hover over the written words and numbers. “Thank you, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he grins. “I look forward to seeing what you accomplish.”

-

You find yourself running into him a lot more often after that, “accidentally” walking by each other’s offices at least once a week and talking long beyond what you probably should while working. Your soul feels so in tune with his, a phenomenon that surely shouldn’t be happening with someone you haven’t known very long.

Your conversations quickly progress to topics non-work related, his curiosity blooming with every little thing you share with him. Most days after work you simply can’t stop talking to each other, causing you to get home later and later until your roommates start to get nosy.

“I really have to go, Viktor,” you laugh, glancing at the clock that reads three whole hours past the end of your shift. You’ve been chatting about embarrassing Academy stories, reminiscing on both the stark similarities and differences between your experiences.

His eyebrows raise. “Shit, is it really that late?”

“Yeah,” you grab your bag with a sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

-

“You already work too much overtime as it is! What’s so important that you have to stay late every single day?” one of your roommates, Eli, probes, clearly unsatisfied with the half-truth answers you’ve given so far. You don’t really want to tell the full truth just yet, that you’ve been talking with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, and you don’t experience the passage of time whatsoever when you’re around him. That would sound ridiculous, especially since absolutely nothing will ever come of it. He’s a wonderful colleague, but you’d be foolish to ever expect anything more.

“There’s just a lot to do,” you finally say.

“You need a break, that’s what you need to do,” they emphasize. “How about we go down to The Last Drop tomorrow night? It’s been a while since we’ve seen our friends down there.”

You nod, “Alright, I’ll try not to stay late tomorrow.”

“You better not.”

They glare at you jokingly, and you let out a laugh and exhale of relief.

-

You finish up your notes for the day, whipping your head back and forth to check if the coast is clear. You know yourself and your own weakness—you certainly won’t get out of here on time if you run into Viktor for even a second.

But of course, like clockwork, his familiar tap on your leg with his cane greets you moments later, your heart fluttering to a discomposing degree. Him coming to see you is a routine now, and despite your promise to your friends you are aching to talk to him. You haven’t had a proper night out in months, why is it so hard to just leave?

If any of your racing thoughts are visible on your features, Viktor certainly picked up on them.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just...long day,” you reply. “But my roommates are taking me out tonight, maybe that will wake me back up.”

“I won’t keep you long, then—”

He’s cut off by Eli calling your name, jaw dropped as they come towards you down the hallway.

“I knew there was something you weren’t telling me!” they chuckle in disbelief. “Working late my ass.”

“I was literally on my way home!”

“I just wanted to come check!”

Your face grows hot. It isn’t abnormal for your roommates to visit you at your job every so often, bringing you important documents you forgot at home or bringing you a treat on your birthday, but under the current circumstances you’re a bit mortified.

They reach out their hand, “I’m Eli, Y/N’s roommate. Who do you think you are?”

“Viktor.” he shakes it, surprisingly not appearing phased by their directness.

“Interesting,” they look him up and down, then turn to you. “So, he’s coming with us, right?”

“Oh, um...I didn’t ask—“

Viktor can’t help but smile at your flustered face.

“If I’m invited, I wouldn’t mind joining.”

-

“I can’t believe you.”

Mumbling under your breath, you enter The Last Drop. Viktor told you he’d meet you there in about an hour, which thankfully gives you some time for some drinks to numb your nerves.

“Look, I honestly don’t know why you didn’t just tell us about him. He seems like a good one.”

“It’s not like that,” you correct them. “He’s not into me like that. We just work on some projects together, that’s all.”

You order a drink from Vander at the bar, gulping it down a little too quickly.

“That kinda night, eh?” he laughs, pouring you another one before you have to ask.

“Yeah.”

You have a few more drinks and shots with your roommates and old Undercity friends, your mind and body entering such a daze that you almost forget Viktor is meeting you there later. You play games together and get teased about some of your adopted topside ways, and you even get back at Eli by pushing them to talk to Sevika, who they ogle at quite literally every time you come to this bar with them. It’s the kind of night where you can be free and careless, temporarily leaving your problems behind in favor of bad decisions.

You have to do a double take when you finally see Viktor arrive. He’s changed out of his Academy uniform, now dressed much more casually and much more like a Zaunite.

“It seems I’m a little late to the fun,” he observes.

“We’re just starting!” you beam, the drunk giggles taking over you.

“How many have you had?”

“I don’t know, like 7 or 8 maybe,” you shrug.

He lifts his cane against you and steers you away from the bar, shaking his head, “I think you’re done for tonight.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. “But not because you told me to, because I don’t want to throw up.”

He stays close to you while you stumble back to your friends’ table, chuckling at the slurred introductions you give him. They all accept him into their games and conversations instantly, and you quickly find out Viktor can handle his liquor a lot better than you. He puts all of them to shame, and they love finally having decent competition.

Your friends all whisper their approval to you throughout the night, even though you’ve repeatedly reminded them that nothing is going on. Although, you’re not really helping your case by zoning out every few minutes on his face.

“You have pretty eyes,” you say, staring until you realize what you just said out loud.

“That’s very kind,” he responds hesitantly. “But I’m sure your vision is a bit...tainted.”

“Alcohol doesn’t change color perception, dumbass.” you retort. “Besides, I’m sobering up a little.”

“Well then,” he smiles. “Thank you.”

You sigh, taking a sip of some water and glancing around the room. The bar is close to closing, and most of your friends have left.

“Have you seen Eli recently? I haven’t seen them in a while.”

He snickers, “You didn’t see them go in the back with Sevika?”

“They what?” you jump out of your seat. “Oh they’d better tell me everything.”

“I’m sure they will,” he laughs. “Do you need someone to walk you home, then?”

“Probably. Who knows how long they’ll be.”

-

The buzz has worn off quite a bit now, so thankfully you’re not tripping all over nothing and further embarrassing yourself. Viktor’s beautiful glow in the moonlight is more than enough to accomplish that, your gazes prolonging far longer than they should.

“Thank you for coming tonight, it was fun,” you say, fumbling for your apartment key in your pocket. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, though.”

“Don’t apologize. It was very amusing.”

“Good.” you exhale. “Just ignore anything weird I said, okay?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” he smirks. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

-

Sleep is certainly what you get, and the next morning before work is full of a head-pounding hangover and chaotic conversation. Your roommates Eli and Chanthou can’t stop laughing about everything that happened, and naturally you’re very nosy about the Sevika situation. Eli tells you every little detail of course, giddy and in disbelief that they managed to make-out with her all night.

“So? Are you guys going to get together again?” you ask on the edge of your seat.

“I hope so.”

“Looks like you both got what you wanted last night,” Chanthou adds.

“Guys, he just walked me home. That’s all.” You’re getting a little annoyed with the constant reminders that your little crush is not, in fact, reciprocated.

“You...don’t remember?” she looks at Eli, then cocks her head at you. “About halfway through the night you were all over him. We just assumed you guys finally confessed.”

You didn’t think you drank enough to blackout, but you definitely don’t remember whatever they’re talking about. Besides, if you really were doing that, why didn’t Viktor say something once you were sobered up?

And what, now you have to see him in the office today, having no idea what you said to him?

“Oh, fuck, guys. What exactly did I do?”

“I don’t know what happened after I went back with Sevika, but before I left you were sitting on his lap on the couch and playing with his hair—”

“WHAT?”

“Wow, you really don’t remember, do you?”

You groan, wishing you didn’t have to go in today. You have a couple important meetings though, so you’ll have to power through. You take some painkillers and grab your things, praying for the first time that you can get through the day without seeing Viktor.

-

Your headache refuses to lessen its throbbing for your entire shift, making the work you usually enjoy completely miserable. You snap at one too many co-workers and find yourself staring at the clock desperately. Why did you agree to drinking on a weeknight again?

Just as you dreaded, you run into Viktor outside, too obviously waiting for you to pretend to ignore him.

“Hey…” you avoid looking into his eyes. “How come you didn’t say anything about what really happened last night?”

“I...wasn’t sure you’d remember,” he confesses. “I suspected you blacked out when you said you didn’t remember seeing Eli leave. And I wasn’t sure you meant what you said anyway.”

“Please, Viktor. Just tell me what I said. All my roommates told me was I couldn’t stop touching you, which I am so sorry about—“

“N-No, don’t be. Everything was consensual, I assure you.” his face flushes. “You just told me you have feelings for me, that’s all. I was going to tell you last night too if you hadn’t said it first.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your heart threatening to leave your chest.

“But it seems you don’t remember, so I can still count this as making the first move, hmm?”

Shivers race down your spine as Viktor leans in, his fingertips grazing your cheek. His lips meet yours softly, your eyes fluttering shut as he presses deeper. His hand remains holding your face when he pulls away, scanning your expression for your reaction.

“I guess the feeling is mutual,” you chuckle, still a bit breathless.

“Quite so, darling.”

-

More Author's Notes: I have a bad habit of getting drunk around guys I like irl bc I literally can’t handle being around hot people sober so that's the inspiration for that situation lol. Also, a part 2 to this is already in the works, it'll be set during Act 1 and probably parts between 1 and 2.

[paleopinesofficial]

An important update to our Paleo Pines Community🦖💙😞

Transcript Below;

Paleo Pines Needs Your Help

A lot of you have been asking what’s next for Paleo Pines and we wanted to provide our community with an update on the challenges we are facing. The sad truth is, the future is uncertain. 

For the better part of this year we’ve been working behind the scenes to create a plan for the next iteration of Paleo Pines, filled with stunning new regions, quirky new NPCs, plenty more adorable dinosaurs, plus eggs, babies and - yes - multiplayer. The job after launch seemed simple - listen to our community, provide a roadmap full of updates and DLC to ensure that our players can continue to enjoy the existing world… and double-down on that enjoyment with the plan for bigger, better, shinier Paleo Pines for you to enjoy with friends and family.

We've been searching high and low for a production partner, one that felt your love and passion to help us bring the next Paleo Pines to life. On several occasions in our journey, we were within a few small steps of the finish line, only to have circumstances beyond our control cause the future to fall through.

This isn't happening just to us. It seems the whole indie game scene is facing a sudden drying up of publishing and investment opportunities. Thanks to the unwavering dedication of our small team and the massive love from all of you, we've been able to support the first year of Paleo Pines on a shoestring budget. 

We’ve managed to keep the lights on… until now. Unless we can find a partner who is keen to see the Paleo Pines universe grow, we won’t be able to keep our team together for much longer. 

So, we’re making our situation public. Here's how you can help:

Do you know a publisher/investor who would be a great partner for Paleo Pines 2? If you're a serious publisher or investor and are interested in seeing a production plan, financial model, game design document and more, please reach out to kevin@italicpig.com. (By the way, Paleo Pines isn’t the only property we’re working on... Our talented team has a diverse collection of small, medium and large scale projects, for PC, console and mobile. If you’re looking for something fun and a little bit different, get in here.)

Can you help in smaller ways? Every little bit helps! Here are a few ways you can directly support the devs:

Have you got our DLC yet? We've just released our very first Halloween DLCs – a great way to support us while getting more gameplay for yourself.

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Lots of love, The Paleo Pines Team

[porcelana-r0ta]

JOYRIDE

Fandoms: Batman, Danny Phantom

Relationship: Dan Phantom/Jason Todd

Word Count: 3,823

Ao3 Link: Available only to registered users

Summary:

Dan doesn't want to join his Habitudes group for their dumb community service project, which is why he lets two idiot goons kidnap him off the streets. When said goons turn out to work for The Joker, Dan decides to do something about him, maniac to maniac.

Or: The Joker tries to live stream a ransom, but ends up live streaming his own execution.

xxXxx

When Dan Nightingale is grabbed off the streets of Gotham, he makes a half-hearted struggle, just so he can seem human. The kiddie hero business and the indiscriminate genocidal tendencies no longer call to him like they used to, and while he’s still an impatient person who is intolerant of disruptive bullshit, he needs a little excitement in his life. 

Plus, he wants an excuse to get out of his Habitudes community service project. His pretentious trust fund baby groupmates chose to volunteer at some fucking coffee shop instead of something normal, like a hospital or an animal shelter. (Dan didn’t even know a coffee shop was an option, but anything goes for wealthy elites who want to roleplay as an impoverished barista, apparently.) Well, Jay Peters wasn’t so bad, and he was just as irritated as Dan was about the others’ choice. Plus, the chill that settles into Dan’s unused lungs when the other student is around shows that he’s at least Death-touched like him, even if they’ve never acknowledged that to each other. 

So, yeah. He lets himself be kidnapped by two goons, even if he could easily break free and make their insides their outsides. It could be interesting! Enrichment in his pandimensional parole! Everyone’s got to have fun sometimes! It’s like a little joyride, as a treat! But he isn’t the one committing the crime! How quaint!

Dan is a very polite captive. He lets himself be pulled into a creeper van with minimal resistance. He lets the goons zip tie his hands. He lets them put a black bag over his head, even though it smells of weed. He doesn’t count the number of turns they take, nor does he try to talk them into letting him go. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. When they eventually park, he allows the men to pull him out of the creeper van and into some building—likely a warehouse, judging by the echo of their footsteps on the floor. And finally, he lets the goons cut off the zip ties around his wrists and then tie them to the metal arms of a chair. 

He’s a great captive. And he’s so going to be excused from that stupid Habitudes community service project!

He’s content to sit and wait. The Bats of Gotham City usually have a good response time for villain bullshit, and if they don’t, then it’s not like any Fear gas or sex pollen will affect him. Dan’s not really human anymore, even if he is capable of looking so. 

Dan does not have to wait long. The footsteps increase and then stop altogether, and then a cackle fills the air. “Camera man ready? Mics? Charges?” The voice is familiar, yet grating. Where has he heard it before? In his past future, maybe?

“Yes, sir,” comes the reply from several different people. 

A pleased cackle, “Then let’s get started!”

“We are live in three… two…” 

At the silent one, the cackle echoes through the room once again. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen of Gotham City and beyond! I’m your favorite Joker, LIVE! With one of your favorite Wayne children!” 

Dan, who has been relatively chill this whole time, tenses. The Joker. That’s why he recognizes that cackle and voice. He had killed the clown before in his original timeline. Ugh, clowns. He fucking hates clowns. Hates their stupid pale makeup and their stupid dumb wigs and their exaggerated eyes and he fucking hates how they make him feel like he’s not in control. 

And what was that about a Wayne? 

Dan doesn’t think killing someone like The Joker in his original timeline should be held against him. Honestly, the guy is a megalomaniacal terrorist who abuses the guise of mental illness to get away with crimes against humanity. Dan had at least owned up to his own sanity, and never tried to hide from the law or anything like that. He just kind of… killed the law. 

….ACAB? 

A hand suddenly grips at the bag on his head, grabbing hair with fabric. “That’s right, folks! Here’s Gotham’s beloved Dick Grayson!” The bag is yanked off his head, revealing Dan in all his scowling glory. And Dan is a lot of things, but an exact Dick Grayson copy he is not, so while the goons may have mistaken him as Grayson, The Joker does not. 

He pauses, studying Dan’s face. Dan raises a mocking eyebrow, then looks around the warehouse. 

It’s empty and dimly lit, but it’s not a problem for his superior vision. The metal walls are an ugly beige and the floor is a gray cement, its color only broken by mysterious brown stains, and now the discarded black bag. Dan is up against a wall, surrounded by filming equipment. The camera in question is just a fucking iPhone 12 attached to a ring light. There’s one goon behind the camera, moderating the live stream. There is another goon holding a boom mic above Dan and The Joker, and there are four others behind the camera. All of the goons who are not handling equipment are holding toy musket guns. It is probably safe to assume that there are similarly armed goons guarding the doors that Dan cannot see from his position tied to a chair. Likely two goons per exit. In a warehouse of this size, there have to be at least six more goons that Dan isn’t seeing. 

The Joker grits his teeth. “Who brought the Grayson kid here.” It’s not a question so much as it is a demand. 

“We did, boss,” two goons pipe up proudly from behind the camera. 

“Why don’t you two come up on camera so I can congratulate you for good work?” The Joker grins beseechingly. 

One of the two goons, the blond, shuffles nervously at this, whereas the other puffs out his chest. So only one has any brain cells. 

The prideful one grabs his comrade by the arm and drags him up to the camera with Dan and The Joker. They stand in front of Dan, blocking him from the camera’s view.

“I always reward good work, you see,” he says to his henchmen. “Now, you think this is good work?” 

“Yes, sir,” says Pride, while Blond frowns. 

“Take a good look at his face.” The villain gestures angrily to Dan’s unimpressed face. “What do you see?” 

“Dick Grayson, sir,” 

Blond shuffles, “He looks like he isn’t scared.” 

“No! Wrong! This isn’t Dick Grayson! This– This is some—” The Joker takes another glance at Dan, noting the black Gotham U hoodie that hides his muscles. “This is some fucking college twink!”

“Twink?” Dan mutters to himself, disgruntled. Sure, the hoodie is baggy and he’s seated instead of standing, but do those two things add up to him looking like a twink? 

The color has drained out of even Pride’s face at The Joker’s words. “Sir, please—”

But The Joker is already pulling out a comically large toy gun that probably has real bullets, and Dan sighs. It would probably be bad for his parole if he let a bunch of humans die in front of him. 

He phases out of the ropes binding him, safe from view with the two idiots in front of him. Then, he kicks The Joker down to the floor, sending the toy gun scattering across the cement floor of the warehouse. He stands and knocks Pride and Blond’s heads together, knocking them out as The Joker screeches with rage. 

The goons behind the camera aim their guns, but Dan is already moving behind the camera. He snags the guns out of their hands, snapping them in half with strength he doesn’t even have to think about. He moves so fast that at first they don’t even realize what’s happened. By the time they connect their missing firearms to the broken bits of metal on the floor, Dan has already clobbered them over the head, knocking them unconscious. 

He takes out the cameraman, too, and the goon holding the boom mic. Then, in mere seconds, he takes out all the goons at each exit, and he’s back at the filming station by the time The Joker has staggered to his feet. His original estimate had been off by two—there were eight other goons in total. 

Dan checks the iPhone—still live streaming. On TikTok, of all the goddamn apps. The comments are going wild on what’s going on: where’s the college student, how did he kick The Joker like that, do you guys think that those two goons have brain damage now, what was that metal scraping sound, where is The Joker? 

“Hey, brat!” snarls The Joker, clutching at his ribs. “That was not part of the script.”

Dan hates clowns, and he especially hates The Joker. Sure, Dan wiped out nearly all of humanity. Who doesn’t have a bad decade of villainous activity? But he did it quickly, and he didn’t do it under the guise of insanity. He owned up to it. And if Dan’s being honest, he’s… disgusted by it all now, even if it hurts himself to admit. 

If Dan isn’t human, then neither is The Joker. 

Still off camera, Dan moves so fast he basically teleports in front of The Joker. The other man stumbles back, but Dan reaches out and grabs him by the throat. He chokes and claws at Dan, but Dan isn’t human anymore, and so his nails catch on nothing but the cloth of his hoodie. He doesn’t even feel it.

He drags The Joker to the chair in front of the still live camera and shoves him into it. While he recovers from being choked, gasping and shuddering and so fucking human , Dan forces his hands behind him and uses the ropes he’d phased out of to tie The Joker up. When he ties the last knot, Dan stands tall, staring into the camera. 

“Hello, friends and family,” he greets the audience. He gives a small smile, and he makes sure that he is perfectly, utterly human with normal blue eyes and normal black hair and normal human skin. “As you can see, things have turned around for The Joker here. Now, I’m sure his original intent was to ransom out the Wayne kid, and it would be a shame to see that hard work and planning go to waste on a mistake, wouldn’t it? So why don’t we hold a… reverse ransom? Only, I don’t need funds. I’ll accept donations. My venmo is vladsucks03. My cashapp is dannight07.”

Dan’s smile grows into a wide grin. “Feel free to donate if you like. But even not a single person donates, The Joker dies today.” 

The Joker spits out a gasping laugh, “Ha! You think you can kill me? I gotta admit, that’s a good joke. But Batman—”

“Batman what?” Dan asks, stepping off camera to grab the black bag on the floor. He shoves it halfway into his pocket. He walks to The Joker’s toy gun, the only one he hadn’t broken, and he picks it up. 

“Batman is already on his way here,” The Joker says. “He always is by this point.”

“And Batman will save you?” Dan snorts. He moves to check the live stream, comments coming in so fast that the only reason he can read them is because he’s not human anymore. 

Is this for real

fuck yeah kill that guy

💥🔫🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

extremely common gotham uni W

im donating 50$ rn

Can we vote on how joker dies

Lol does he fr think that batman would help him

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Does anyone else find this incredibly attractive or is it just me 😳

guys my joker/batman fic update is gonna slap after this

Joker’s cooked

bro is about to have ao3 level donations

Hey what’s his cashapp again

Omg i think that guy is in my bio class

I’ll donate when hes acc dead

doin god's work 🥹👍

If bro doesnt do it he’s cooked

This guy is gonna have infinite rizz if he pulls this off

The Joker scoffs, “Of course he will. He’s done it before.”

Dan yanks his gaze from the comments to The Joker’s face, “What?”

The Joker nods his head up arrogantly. “Batsy can’t live without me. He saved me after fickle-ickle Nightwing killed me.” 

“Huh.” Dan blinks consideringly, switching his gaze back to the comments. They’re all freaking out about this new information. He steps back into the camera frame, pulling the hammer back on the toy gun. “Then I’ll just have to make sure it sticks.” 

He points the gun at The Joker’s face and fires. As expected, rainbow confetti is the only thing that flies out, dusting over The Joker in celebration of what is to come. 

The Joker laughs. 

“Cute,” says Dan. He walks around The Joker to stand behind him, directly in front of the camera. He removes the black bag from his pocket and puts it over The Joker’s face. 

He shoves the muzzle of the gun into the back of The Joker’s skull. Pulling back the hammer, he asks, “Any last words?” 

He pulls the trigger before The Joker can say anything. It’s funny. As expected, the second gunshot is a real bullet. The Joker’s head and body jerks forward. Blood splatters on Dan’s face, but it’s mostly on the floor and the unconscious Blond and Pride and on The Joker himself. 

For a moment, Dan can only stare. The Joker’s body is crumbled in on itself, held up only by the bindings on his arms to a chair nailed to the ground. 

He feels big. He feels good. 

He feels… dirty.

He clears his throat. He drops the gun. He lifts up the soaking black bag up just enough to check for a pulse. After thirty seconds of nothing, he says, “Well, that’s the end of The Joker.” 

He looks up, staring into the camera lens, and he chuckles. “I missed my community service project because of this bozo. You guys think my professor will accept this as community service?”

You guys think this will affect my ghost parole? he doesn’t ask. 

He bends down to check the pockets of Blond. He finds his phone and uses Blond’s thumbprint to bypass the password. His stomach curdles at the home screen—a picture of Blond and a little girl with his eyes and his nose. His eyes burn and he calls 911, trying not to blink.

“911 dispatch. What is your emergency?”

“Yeah, uh, I killed The Joker. But he kidnapped me first, so. Turnabout.” 

“You— sorry, you what?”

“I killed The Joker. He’s dead. I checked his pulse and everything.”

“O-oh.” The woman on dispatch sounds strangled. There are muffled sounds, frantic, that the receiver only barely picks up. Dan wonders what she’s doing, Asking for verification? Trying to triangulate his location? Celebrating the fucking good news? “Do you know where you are, sir?”

“Some warehouse, I guess. Probably at the docks. Do you want me to check?”

“No, sir, please stay where you are if there are no immediate threats.”

“Got it.” He clicks his tongue. 

“Can you tell me your name, sir? Are you injured somewhere?”

“I’m Dan. Uh, Dan Nightingale. I guess he thought I was the Grayson kid. Um. Dick Grayson, I mean. And no, I’m fine. His henchmen are injured and unconscious, though.” 

“Right. Okay. Hi, Dan. I’m Claire. First responders and patrol units are on their way to your location now.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess.” He almost wants to ask if she thinks that he’ll end up in Arkham for this, but he’s pretty sure that there’s no jury on Earth that would convict him. Well, maybe not. He did ask for donations for murdering The Joker, after all. That might put a damper on his defense. 

“Dan?” asks Claire. 

“Yeah?”

“Is– is he really dead?”

Dan looks at the body and kicks a limp leg, avoiding looking at the gory black bag. Nothing. “Yep. As a doornail.” And he knows death intimately. 

She breathes a shaky, staticky sigh into the receiver. “Thank you, Dan.”  

He blinks, “Can you get fired for saying that?”

She laughs, “Honey, everyone not on break right now is listening to this. My boss just broke a bottle of tequila out from his desk.” 

He barks out his own laugh. “Oh?”

“You’re about to be very popular, Dan.”

“Well, I—” 

And seventeen minutes late to the party, the windows at the top of the warehouse shatter open. In cascades of broken glass and grappling cables, the Bats drop down to the floor. 

“Away from the body,” commands Batman as soon as his feet hit the ground. His little birdies, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and the newest Robin fall in line with him. Robin makes quick work of rounding up the unconscious goons and binding them. 

Dan obligingly puts the hand that isn’t holding the phone up in the air, but before moving away from the camera’s view, he says, “Just a reminder guys, my venmo is vladsucks03 and my cashapp is dannight07. Please remember that I might need a lawyer soon.”

“Okay, funny guy,” Nightwing says, entering into frame and pulling Dan away by the shoulder while Red Robin shuts down the live stream.

“It was self-defense and defense of another. A whole population, if you will,” Dan says. 

Red Hood snickers, “Only crime here was the kidnapping.” 

“Dan, are you okay?”

“Bats are here, Claire,” Dan tells her. He watches Batman lift the black bag off The Joker’s face, revealing the viscera and gray matter beneath. He’s not smiling anymore. Dan hasn’t seen that kind of gore in years. He’s the cause of it once more and he doesn’t regret that. It feels invigorating. It feels devastating. “I guess I’ll hang up now. If The Joker is mysteriously alive after this, it’s because Batman couldn’t handle not being the hero.” 

“Dan—” He hangs up as Batman’s shoulders go minutely tense at his words. The man stands fully, turning his head slightly to narrow his cowled eyes at Dan. 

“Problem, sir?” 

“You killed The Joker.” 

“I saved myself and his two idiots.” He shrugs. 

“You had him restrained.” 

He rests an offended hand against his chest. “I was frightened that he would escape, sir, just as he escapes from the very place you put him every eight to ten months.” The Bat doesn’t want to be judge, jury, and executioner. Fine. Whatever, he gets it. Dan hadn’t wanted to be that, neither as hero nor villain. He’d wanted to save, he wanted to be saved, and then he wanted everyone to feel like he did. But he’s not so prideful now to know that he wouldn’t have stopped then, not unless someone handled the job permanently. 

The Joker needed permanence. 

The Bat can play fucking judge all he wants. But he’d be just as villainous if he tried enforcing his own moral code on other people.

“You asked for donations,” Red Robin says dryly. “You were basically putting a hit out on him.”

“My art in life textbook is $300. How much do you think a lawyer is going to cost?”

“Hn.” 

“Stop giving the man a hard time for doing a public service, Batman.” Red Hood shoulder checked Nightwing away and held out a gloved hand for Dan to shake. He takes the other’s hand and firmly shakes it. The contact, while not to skin, gives Dan goosebumps and chills his lungs. 

Jay?

“Let’s hope my Habitudes professor agrees with you.”

“She will. Everyone with three brain cells to rub together will.” The man cuts a glare at Batman. 

Dan didn't say what pronouns his professor uses. 

The rumble in Red Hood’s voice is enticing. He looks at the other man, really looks, and notices his broad shoulders, how tall he is (though Dan towers over him even  disguised as a human), and his muscled arms. Arms that Dan’s pretty sure are normally hidden beneath a Gotham U hoodie, just like his own. 

He smirks as sirens sound in the distance. “Let’s hope the cops agree with you.”

“They will,” Hood says. It sounds like a promise for something entirely different. 

“Gag me,” Red Robin mutters.

Robin says, “For once I agree with you.”

Without looking away from Dan, Red Hood flips the two off, and yeah, maybe redemption can be more promising than he initially thought. 

xxXxx

A week later, Dan finally goes back to his regular schedule. His ghost parole is intact—he’d even been thanked by some Gothamite ghosts, and Danny begrudgingly told him that there were ghosts who said they’d riot if Dan was given any punishment. As for the mortal side of things, Vlad Masters had graciously sent his team of attorneys to Dan’s aid. While Dan still hates him, he has no issue about using a free team of lawyers to defend him. He’s guaranteed to walk.

Jazz had called him. It made his core unsettled and stony. She wasn’t disappointed, and he doesn’t know how that makes him feel. He doesn’t regret it—The Joker would never change. But what does that say about him and his progress? 

Jazz in general makes him uneasy now. She used to be his big sister, and now she’s younger than him, and he tried to kill her, and— she’s different from his Jazz, is all. But if she’d always known like she said, then his Jazz did, too, right? Could she still be his Jazz, a Jazz who got to grow up? Still be his sister? It would be stupid to hope so, right?

He feels bitter.

She said she’s considering Gotham University as her college of choice as she nears high school graduation. Apparently, their psych department is amazing. 

So maybe hope isn’t so bad. 

Dan sits down at his 10:00 am Habitudes class. Everyone already in the room stares at him. Before they can offer any congrats or thanks or swarm him, Jay sits down next to him. 

Dan looks at Jay’s mostly black hair and his tuft of white at his front bangs. He’s wearing his usual Gotham U hoodie, a hoodie that likely hides muscled arms. A chill builds in his lungs like it did when speaking with Red Hood, like it has every other time he’s talked with Jay Peters. 

…Hm. A hoodie that definitely hides muscled arms. 

“Hey,” says Jay with a grin. “Crazy week, I hear?”

“You’re a Gothamite. I’m sure you’re aware of exactly how crazy it’s been.” 

“You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure. After class? We can grab an early lunch. Make it a date, maybe.”

Jay smiles, cute and small. His eyes flash green—a baby Death-touched soul, still can’t control his spooky abilities, how adorable—and he says, “That sounds perfect.”

[regal-bones]

Hey I’m Lucy ! You might have seen my art around this silly website. I love drawing, and sharing my ideas with the world!

I cannot do this without ✨ Patron Support! ✨ Everything you see in this post was completely funded by my amazing patrons. They allow me to explore, and grow as an artist by experimenting and working on my own projects.

After August’s billing cycle, my Patreon income has slipped below a comfortable threshold and into a red zone. This means that Patreon no longer covers my rent, which isn’t ideal for me! My current business model is Patreon pays for my rent, and I pick up 3 commissions a month to pay for stuff like food, bills, and anything else a gal might need to buy. It really doesn’t leave me with much money for myself, but it gives me time to work on my main project, my video game Last Sprout, which is invaluable to me!

I’m trying really hard to push my Patreon back to that comfortable spot, which means I need to raise £50 in pledges by September 1st so I can get back to where I was last month. September is also, of course, SWORDTEMBER! Swordtember, being a huge month long project where I can’t work on any commissions, is entirely funded by my patrons, and I quite literally cannot afford to do it unless I have your support :]

✨ So yeah, if you like my art and want to see more of it in the future, please please join from this link! It is so very cheap (£1 a month) and I cannot stress how much I need your help to keep doing this! ✨

WE HIT 50/50!

Thank you so much for reading this post!! Also you get a bunch of exclusive content for supporting me too, it’s not just a donation! ❤️

[pixiecaps]

like i said yesterday i would love to see this project in the future in a functioning working environment where we know everyone is treated right and paid well and with proper management and that the project has the funds to continue to prosper. so i hope with this qsmp 2 teaser that’s the goal and hopefully what they’re striving for. i do hope it takes like at least a year to release or even begin because i think everyone needs a breather right now as well as to figure everything out and how they feel so i hope they take their time and qsmp 2 isn’t something they feel they need to rush. 👍 those are my thoughts towards that. i still want to thank all the admins, the writers, the players, and everyone who gave us this first qsmp experience. i have so much newfound love for so many people and this project so Thank You!!!!

[goblincow]

Here's the big dicebreaker interview with the designers & publishers whose names you know well.

Where do we go next?

I'm advocating for tumblr, and I'm in the PlusOneExp discord (just ask me if you need a link to what I'm finding to be a very welcoming island in the storm).

For now, that will suffice for me. I've tidied up my social links, I've sorted out my instagram and started making good use of the Stories feature, and I've long since given up on twitter. But I'm in a position that I'm yet to release my first project, so I've started at the bottom of the mountain and I won't be hit hard by the loss. I really feel for those who have lost years of hard work & struggle. It must feel like shit.

I appreciate this quote at the end of the article from Jess Levine:

“Every platform wants their walled garden, and the VC money that funded the existence of social media platforms that acted like a public is drying up as they realise maintaining what amounts to public infrastructure isn’t profitable,” Levine said.

“We're basically just speedrunning the neoliberal enclosure of anything resembling a public commons, this time with digital spaces rather than physical ones. As a creator and a generalist that markets their work online—and in some ways, even just as a person—that’s terrifying.”

[persuasivetfs]

The Prodigal Son Returns

“The future site of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment’s second church. A project funded in part by the Virkov Foundation,” read the sign plastered on the fence that surrounded the closed down Saint Zofia’s Bulgarian Orthodox Church.

Olga Tsanov was conflicted. She was glad to see the male-centered church of her upbringing brought to its knees, even if it was by another male-centered church. When she heard that Father Kiril, the pompous high priest of Saint Zofia’s had even converted to this new Protestant denomination, losing all his priestly status so he could be demoted to the role of a mere usher, Olga had burst into laughter. Yet as happy as she was on the surface, the church’s closure had reopened a fissure in her heart that she once thought closed. She felt it when she saw the icons of the Virgin Mary and Saint Zofia taken down from the comfort of her bedroom window. For at one time in her life, those icons and the saints they represented had been everything to Olga. Foundational even, to the woman she strove to become as an adult: temperate, responsible, compassionate, wise.

So it was a great shock, even to herself, that Olga found herself breaking and entering Saint Zofia’s church in the dead of night. Armed with a pair of bolt cutters, her ex-husband Micheal had left behind in the divorce, she was able to force her way past the surrounding fence and into the back of the church.

Despite every part of her screaming that this was crazy and that there was no point, Olga continued on with her plan, walking through the back office and into the nave.

To her horror much of the renovations had been finished much earlier than she’d expected. The icons as Olga remembered lining the walls had been torn down, and repainted white and beige. The sacred relic, one of the alleged fingers of Saint Zofia herself, too was removed, with only a potted fern left in its place. Even the cupola, the wide dome that had stretched over the congregation, that had depicted Jesus in heaven with the angels and saints was destroyed. Painted white and to her continued surprise somehow flattened despite the lack of long and intensive construction such a job would have required.

It left this church, the site where Olga’s devotion once dwelled into an empty shell, sucked dry of meaning.

At least all the male saints were gone, Olga could be happy with, and even Jesus himself was only depicted by a plain wooden cross rather than the twisted face of pain writhing about like Olga was used to. But without all its art, the church looked like an office building with sandalwood pews and stone altar. What kind of god would be worshipped here?

“Stunning isn’t it?”

A man was standing alone in the darkness, making Olga twist her head around.

“What are you doing here?” Olga asked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Examining the Lord’s fine work in one of His newest sacred places. Same as you,” the man answered, with a thick Italian-American accent, pulling himself away from the wall and walking towards her.

Wearing formal dress shoes and a refined dark suit, the stranger came to stand next to her, his body faintly gleaming under the glow of the moonlight.

“So tell me Olga Tsanov. What are you doing in one of our churches so late at night?” He asked, his eyes casting a fiendish glimmer upon her. She shivered.

“How do you know my name? What are you, a stalker?” Olga asked defensively. The man simply laughed, making her take a hesitant step back.

“The Lord knows all that happens in His churches and all who happens to enter them. And your name and address happened to be on the registry the Orthodox Church left behind,” he explained, his voice shifting from megalomaniacal supervillain to down to earth youth pastor from one line to the next.

It left Olga unsure where she stood with this man. Was he planning on calling the police on her? Or was he just toying with her?

“I was just leaving. I’ve seen what I needed to see,” Olga blustered, walking off. The door to the back office suddenly slammed shut ahead of her. She turned her head back to the priest whose smile filled her with dread.

“Did you really think you could leave that easily?”

“What do you want, priest?” Olga asked, snarkily, trying not to let her fear show. She was used to the old wooden doors of the church slamming shut whenever the wind blew, but this priest was unsettling. She didn’t even hear him breathing and yet there he was, lingering in the shadows as if waiting for her.

“It’s not about what I want, it's about what the Lord can provide you, my child,” the stranger said cryptically, taking a step forward against the polished wooden floor.

“I’m fine, thank you. I was already raised in one penis-centeic religion, I don’t need another,” Olga bristled, turning away from him. She stepped to the altar and wiped her hand along its marble surface. Father Kiril had once struck her on the side of the head for touching it. The act of a woman who didn't yet know her place. Olga gritted her teeth.

Despite her reverence for saints like Zofia or the Virgin, Olga had never fit inside the restrictive environment of her church. For only men and boys were allowed to read the Epistles or hold the communion cloth or serve at the altar. If Olga wanted to serve God, she was told, she should wait until she could become a nun, otherwise her sex had marked her as morally inferior and less “clean” to do the tasks of men in the church. Even female saints like Zofia or the Virgin had to take on the role of a subordinated wife and mother before the power of the penis and this had enraged her.

“But Olga, the word of God is open to all people, men and women. It is only true that we have different roles in the world as decreed by the Lord,” the pastor explained, stepping next to her at the altar.

“Yes, for men are biologically created to be brutish and violent and disgusting and cruel, while women are biologically smarter, kinder, and weaker to men and thus men's perpetual victims. I’ve known enough of that from my pig of an ex-husband,” Olga said bitterly.

“So why did you come here my child? If the ‘penis-centeic religion’ as you called it in your childhood was so distressing?”

“I… I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to serve the Lord. To reach people. To even be a voice for the Wentworth Falls Bulgarian community. It just never felt like I could because of who I was. Because the woman my people wanted me to be, that submissive housewife and mother could never exist,” Olga explained, suddenly feeling more casual and open with this priest about her private thoughts than she had any good sense to.

An oddly satisfying sense of warmth had begun to flow into her, lowering her defences. Her muscles loosened, her shoulders eased. The warmth left her feeling like a ball of wet clay, ready to be remolded.

“While we are all meant to be equal brothers and sisters before the eyes of the Lord, maybe a different path would be beneficial to you. We do need a pastor for this community in line with the Bulgarians,” the pastor said but frankly Olga was finding it difficult to care. The comforting sensations made Olga feel too good to think, too good to protest.

Then as the rivers of comfort flowed in and out of her body, Olga felt from within her a pulsating energy radiating out from her vagina. Her labia throbbed, releasing wave after wave of pleasure, as her clitoris began to enlarge, expanding outward as skin grew in and out over Olga’s lips.

Then with a lurch, Olga felt her vagina close up and disappear and in its place, a penis and a pair of gradually dropping balls.

“This can’t be happening. What are you doing to me?” Olga demanded to know only to quickly become horrified at the deep masculine voice that left her lips.

The priest laughed.

More changes were overcoming her body, twisting and reshaping Olga Tsanov into a form unrecognisable. Her signature long straw blonde hair was shrinking back inside her head, only stopping at the crown of her head before turning a dark brown. Then across her face and forearms, the hair that had disappeared from the top of her head re-emerged, forming a tightly sculpted beard and mustache. As her hair shifted so did the bones in her face, giving her a pointier chin and higher cheekbones, while her crow’s feet and wrinkles wiped away, giving Olga a youthful glow she hadn’t had since her late 20s.

This youthfulness soon extended to the rest of her body, leaving her feeling energized and excited.

Eager to witness what came next, Olga ripped out of her dress shirt to be amazed at the cobblestone abs that were forming. Her breasts, once saggy with fat and age, had in their new youth and new burst of testosterone firmed up with muscle. In fact much of her body, from her triceps to her thighs were packing on muscle. Not enough to make a bodybuilder blush, but enough to gain noticeable attention should she wear a tight-fitting shirt.

“You look wonderful, Olga, absolutely wonderful,” the priest said with a chef’s kiss, before putting his arm around Olga’s shoulders and laughing.

At any other time Olga would have pushed the man away and thought him a pervert, but now his touch had a sense of comradery. Just bros being bros.

“I knew you’d make a wonderful man. I just knew,” the priest positively declared.

“But how is this possible- I-“ the stranger shushed her.

“But first I believe a new name is in order. Let’s try Boris on for size. Introduce yourself,” the stranger commanded with a clap of his hands.

”Hello, I’m Boris Tsanov,” Boris introduced, her voice deep and refined.

It was strange just a moment ago she could have sworn her name was Olga, but that name like much of her past was fading away like a disappearing dream soon to be forgotten.

“Outstanding, Boris. Now, let’s think about your past for a moment. Who is Boris Tsanov?” the priest asked. Boris took a deep breath.

“I’m the head of Women and Gender studies at the Wentworth Falls Community college. I’m 39, divorced, agnostic, and a proud biological woman, or at least I thought I was,” Boris said, confused at how his words were not matching up with his new body.

“No, I don’t think that sounds like you Boris,” the stranger said, shaking his head.

“I think you’re 28, recently graduated from divinity school and ready to spread the true word of God to the masses and trusting me Pastor Agosti as your friend and mentor,” the stranger explained. Except he wasn’t a stranger, was he? He was Nico Agosti, a trusted advisor and confidante, who had guided Boris through years of divine education and study, helping mold him into the proud Christian he was today, eager to save the Bulgarian masses as he himself had been saved. Except, wasn’t he a woman or at the very least used to be married to a man? Wouldn’t that be a sin?

“Pastor Agosti,” Boris nervously addressed. “I trust you and everything you say, but I’m still so confused. I used to venerate Saint Zofia and the Virgin Mary so highly and sought to be like them in every way. How does that make sense if I’m a man?”

“Oh my sweet brother. You weren’t looking to be those saintly women,” Pastor Agosti said, sympathetically, hiding his glee. Boris, unsure, scratched at his temple.

“You were looking to marry a saintly woman: Pious, dependable, temperate, and wise. The perfect wife and mother and you were lucky enough to find her. One of the youngest priests of our congregation but the only one among us bachelors to be married,” Pastor Agosti said, shaking Borris’s shoulder in admiration. Boris Tsanov smiled warmly.

While before when he thought of his spouse, he thought of swarthy and loud-mouthed Micheal, now in his head all he could picture was sweet and homely Miranda. She was everything Boris ever wanted in a woman and he was grateful to have her. At that moment, Miranda was likely asleep across the street, having been saying her bedtime prayers before Boris had left to check on the church. She was so supportive, having dropped everything to take care of the house while Borris continued to work on his divinity degree. He would in return reward her with a lifetime of devotion and many future children who would help spread the Lord’s message as he did.

Still there were a few buzzing questions about his head. How had construction finished so quickly? Why did Boris leave the Orthodox Church for this Protestant denomination? Where did these bolt cutters he held on his person come from?

All these he wished to ask, but Nico waved them all away promising they’d all be answered once Boris was exposed to the “Divinity” as he called it as had all the priests of the church before him. Before they left, Nico was kind enough to make him put on a white dress shirt in just his size, so no one could get any strange ideas of what was going on in there.

Yet while Boris was leaving with more questions than answers he was satisfied knowing he was on the path to lead more people to God just as he had been. There were always more wayward souls that needed saving.

[sweet-honey-fruit]

And They Were Roommates

With — Al-Haitham/Kaveh, Ayato/Thoma, and Cyno/Tighnari

Genre — Fluff

Warnings — Might get a little suggestive but overall there isn’t any

Al-Haitham and Kaveh

Being a mutual friend of Al-Haitham and Kaveh was hard. You first encountered them at Puspa Café, surrounded by homework papers and stressed out of your mind. Your professors at the Akadaymia were certainly giving you a run for your money with all the assignments they threw your way. Kaveh was the one who asked to sit next to you, and Al-Haitham soon followed suit.

“Someone as stunningly beautiful as yourself should not be suffering alone,” Kaveh said with a sly grin. He leaned back in his chair, raising his steaming chai latte to the air, and watched the liquid swirl within it.

“Don’t mind him, he’s trying and failing to shoot his shot as if he has a chance in the first place,” He swiftly takes the chair next to his friend.

“Can you please not embarrass me, just this once! Archons, you’re insufferable!”

“I’m just being honest. I tend to not live in a fantasy world, unlike someone here.”

You sat there, eyes flickering between the two as they bickered away. For that split second you felt your stress slip away. You smiled, which eventually turned into laughter. They stopped, turning to look at you as if you were the one impeding their conversation. You picked up your drink, mumbling against the rim of the glass as you spoke, “I must agree with the blonde guy. I found it rather charming.”

The triumphant grin that spread across Kaveh’s face irked Al-Haitham to his core, that part was obvious enough.

Al-Haitham leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, “This is unbelievable.”

“Names Kaveh, your future boyfriend.”

“Less charming but I appreciate the boldness. I don’t have room for a boyfriend right now,” You motion to the mounds of homework that decorated the table, “Maybe another time.”

Since that interesting encounter, you’ve been stuck with them. Through the thickness between the three of you, to even when Kaveh and Al-Haitham had their falling out.

You were never well of financially. So when a particular research project you were passionate about required personal funds, it landed you being roommates with the two that could barely stand each other.

Being a mutual friend of Al-Haitham and Kaveh was hard. Being a mutual roommate was harder.

It’s always chaotic, there is never a second of peace

9/10 you’re the mediator. 1/10 you’re the instigator

Kaveh and you will team up against Al-Haitham if he tries to say anything about your financial situation

“At least I have a job and pay the bills around here,”

“Yeah and if it weren’t for us, you’d be living like a slob!”

“Honestly, you’d look like a sewer rat if it weren’t for us,”

Cuddle sessions with Kaveh happen more often than not

Al-Haitham comes home late at night with you sprawled over his lap, drooling on a decorative pillow.

Kaveh’s head is thrown back on the couch cushion, mouth wide open and letting out the most ungodly noises

He’s annoyed by Kaveh’s presence alone and the fact you’re drooling all over everything, but that doesnt stop the smile appearing on his face

The two of them get into arguements all of the time. They never have a civil conversation. It’s concerning, truly, just how much they bicker over the dumbest things.

You try your hardest to help them calmly talk it out, but it just ends up with them both snapping at you.

When that does happen they will apologize the next day in their own way. Kaveh will cook you your favorite meal. Al-Haitham won’t apologize to you directly. He’ll go on a tangent about how you should “mind your own business” while wrapping his arm around you. That small act of affection is his apology.

Al-Haitham helps you with your homework if you need it, and Kaveh is your go-to person for emotional support

They both look out for you in their own way. Kaveh is a more gentle approach while Al-Haitham tells it like it is. And They have argued over which way is better.

Did I mention that they argue a lot?

Al-Haitham once walked in on you and Kaveh making out. He slammed the door shut, a flustered mess. As were the two of you.

He never saw the two of you the same way ever again

Ayato and Thoma

Much like Thoma, you were hired by the Kamisato clan to help upkeep the home. While Thoma mainly watched over Ayato, you mainly watched over Ayaka. Thoma was the first to show you around, to train you in what to do. His charming smile and caring personality immediately clicked with your own. During the time of the Vision Hunt Decree, you did not see much of Ayato. You heard his voice occasionally from down the hall or in his room. And you would catch glimpses of him in the common areas while following Ayaka. It wasn’t until after the Vision Hunt Decree was dispersed and Inazuma went back to a tyrant-free nation that you were finally able to hold a conversation with him.

He came up to you with a warm smile, Thoma following close behind.

“I must apologize for such a late introduction. I hope Thoma and my sister were able to keep you company during those trying times,” His tone was sweet, but you couldn’t help but feel intimidated by his presence. He looked almost regal, his hair perfectly styled and eyes sharp with intelligence.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Kamisato Ayato,” You internally cringed at how your voice shook with anxiety. Thoma offered a gentle smile, a smile that proved that he was the same way when he was taken in under the Kamisato clan. He understood the anxiety well. It wasn’t until later on working there that he realized there was no need for fear. Ayato was a normal man that was just forced to carry a title. That was proven true with his attitude around those in the residence.

“There is no need for formalities here, I assure you. I’ve heard much about you from Thoma and Ayaka. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, (Y/n).”

There were more moments between Ayato and you after that interaction. Your anxiety and formalities soon melted away, putting on a more casual attitude around him and Thoma.

Ayato always goes to you if he needs to relax and unwind from the stressful back-to-back meetings and demands. He finds your presence soothing.

Thoma will bring you your favorite foods and drinks when he notices you’re having a rough day. The staff around the estate can be…ignorant at times. He knows that well, and he doesn’t want you to feel down because of them. He will always find a way to cheer you up.

The shared estate between the three of you is always clean, and practically spotless. Between you and Thoma maintaining it, and Ayato never making a mess, it’s rarely ever a disaster.

Sometimes the atmosphere feels tense if Ayato is overly stressed. While he makes a point to never lash out at the two of you when he comes home you can still feel the tense atmosphere the moment he walks through the door.

Thoma implemented a mandatory game night every other Saturday. That way despite all of your busy schedules, you three still get to have time together. Don’t even think about missing it. You did so one time and he lectured you for three hours straight about the “importance of quality time.” You never missed one ever again.

Thoma got drunk once and kissed you. Ayato still has the photo for blackmail. Thoma apologized profusely the next morning. He didn’t remember you kissing him back.

Ayato will flirt with you anytime the two of you are alone. Cooking dinner? “Careful, it’s hot. Just like you.” Doing laundry? “Sometime’s I wish I could fold you as well.” Mopping the floors? “I see you like it wet as well.” He loves the way you react to it.

Ayato also got you into boba. Drinking it, making it, learning different recipes. Whenever he has time he’ll ask you if you want to make boba with him.

Arguments rarely ever happen. If there is a problem or concern, you will all sit down with snacks, and drinks, and talk it out in a civil manner.

When arguments happen it’s between you and Ayato. Usually, Ayato has a rare moment where the stress of the week peaks through, and he makes a comment towards you. Not necessarily nasty, more like passive-aggressive. Or his tone was laced with attitude. So you snap back at him and it goes back and forth. Thoma tries his best to calm the both of you down.

But even then it doesn’t get too serious. After a day or two when things have calmed down, you will both apologize and talk about it.

They are also super protective over you. If you want to go somewhere, Ayato asks Thoma to go with you. Which he will happily obey since he wants that reassurance that you’re safe. Not that they don’t believe you can’t defend yourself, but just because it gives them ease of mind.

Cyno and Tighnari

You met Tighnari before Cyno during your Akadaymia days. Coincidentally enough, the two of you had the same classes for an entire semester. In your Herbology class, he was even assigned to you as your lab partner. Meaning the two of you spent plenty of time after school together studying. Tighnari’s sarcasm was present even back then, and that only drew you to him more. Soon enough study sessions turned into hangout sessions. You would talk to him about whatever topic you had in mind and he would either respond intellectually, or just give you the sassiest sentence known to man. It never failed to make you laugh.

You did not know about Cyno till the mid-semester of your second year when Tighnari brought him up in conversation.

“There’s a new General Mahamantra on the rise,” His ears twitched mindlessly as he spoke, “Name is Cyno. I talked to him earlier today, nice guy but a little standoffish.” You watched him carefully while he spoke, pausing your writing.

“New General Mahamantra? They’ve been trying to fill that spot for months.”

“No kidding. I think he might have what it takes.”

After that conversation with Tighnari, you always Cyno down in the library by himself, head buried in a book that was along the topic of the Akadaymia’s rules and conditions.

‘Tighnari wasn’t kidding when he said this guy was standoffish,’ You thought while you gazed at him from your table in the library. You needed to do some last-minute studying for midterms. And you just so happen to be in the library at the same time as the most talked about man in the Akadaymia. His expression was stone cold, as cold as the ice that rains down in Snezhnaya. It was enough to send a chill down your spine. You haven’t realized that you zoned out staring at him till someone clears their throat.

You blink a few times to snap out of it. When you look up to see who it was, the color from your face drained. Your heart rate sped up and your skin heated up. Rather that was from fear or embarrassment, you were unsure. Perhaps both. There stood Cyno, that everlasting cold stare reflecting back at you.

“Uh- oh shit, sorry. I’m sorry. I zoned out,” You gave a nervous laugh, the grip around your pencil tightening. He stared longer. After what felt like an eternity of an awkward staring contest filled with silence, he spoke. He was soft-spoken, definitely not what you expected.

“What did the blanket say when it fell off the bed?” He said, still no expression on his face. That was also not what you were expecting.

“...I’m sorry?”

“What did the blanket say when it fell off the bed?”

“I…don’t know. What did it say?”

“Oh sheet,”

It was so bad that you didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or walk away. After another awkward staring contest of silence, he spoke once again. This time, a small smile graced his features.

“Get it? Because you use a sheet as a more comfortable alternative to just the mattress alone. You also put blankets on the bed. So, the joke is-“

Tighnari’s voice cut through the air, interrupting Cyno’s unnecessarily lengthy explanation, “Enough with the jokes! Stop trying to torture my friend here with them. They don’t need you filling their head with idiotic puns.”

“I was simply trying to clear the tension between us.”

“Start by dropping that seemingly permanent murder stare,” Tighnari scoffed out as he walked up to the two of you. From then on, it was no longer just you and Tighnari studying for the Akadaymia tests.

Even after graduation, and after Cyno achieved the General Mahamantra rank, you three were inseparable. You all thought it would be a good idea to live together to save money and to be closer to one another. Tighnari still thinks that was a mistake.

The jokes never stop. Cyno can stare at a household object and make a pun out of it, leaving you suppressing a laugh and Tighnari letting out a disappointed sigh.

The house is usually a disaster. The three of you all work demanding jobs, leaving no time to do housework. Although all of you tend to pitch in here and there if time allows.

Arguments are somewhat of a common thing to happen. Most of the time it’s playful bantering between one another. Sometimes it’s the stress of the month getting to everyone and it blows up like a suppressed bomb.

No matter how bad the arguments get there is always communication to talk it out when everyone has calmed down.

You and Cyno avoid Tighnari’s room between January and February.

Unless you want to help him out, go right ahead. Cyno might join you for fun.

The extent of your relationship with them certainly expands out more than just roommates. Some people suspect you’re all dating each other. You suspect that as well. The topic of your relationship is something you should talk about with them.

Cyno cooks most of the time, if not then it’s Tighnari.

Cyno also forces you to play TCG with him. He won’t stop annoying you till you play at least three rounds with him.

You’re banned from the kitchen after setting the water on fire.

Tighnari doesn’t even know how you managed to do that.

The two of them are extremely protective over you, Cyno slightly more so than Tighnari. That’s because he’s seen more of the malice that goes on in Sumeru. He knows what people are capable of, and he knows the extent they will go to fulfill their desires. Anytime you’re out and about Cyno will quietly follow you to make sure nothing happens.

Tighnari won’t go to the extent of following you. But he does stay guarded whenever you leave so he can go after you if something goes wrong.

They’re especially worried when you go out and conduct your research. Just because of other researchers that would kill to do what you’re doing and learning.

When you’re annoyed with their bickering, they’ll both kiss you on your cheek at the same time as an apology. Plus they like to see how flustered you get when it happens.

When they went away to Mondstadt for business, you threw a party at the house

Someone spilled their drink on Cyno’s TCG deck

He wasn’t happy about it

It took Tighnari to take him for a walk to calm down before he started raising hell

You were put on dish duty for a month, which was only fair

[lyinginbedmon]

Oh lordy is there bad things going down across the VTuber space right now so I’m gonna try and unpack them for ease of comprehension.

Real quick: A VTuber is essentially just a regular livestreamer but instead of a facecam they have a custom model (usually made of layered images but also often a full 3D object) that tracks their face and such. Big tiddy anime girl representation to say the least but it’s a very creative space.

Next: Silvervale, Silver for short. Silver is one such big tiddy anime (wolf) girl, who is part of a corporate group of VTubers called VShojo. I probably don’t need to describe much more for the purposes of this post.

Hogwarts Legacy is a video game based in the bigotry-entrenched universe of the Harry Potter franchise by notorious face-of-transphobia Joanne K. Rowling. Since its announcement in 2018, trans individuals and groups have quite rightly highlighted numerous ethical and moral problems with the game ranging from the inherent bigotry of the setting, to the involvement of literal far-right YouTubers in its development, to just the basic stuff like its success greenlighting further instalments all while Rowling pockets royalties to (expressly) further fund her anti-trans projects (which includes her writing Literally being read into record to quash things like the Equality Act).

The general advice, which would be true regardless of your actual thoughts on the game or franchise, was to just not play it. That way Rowling makes less money, fewer future games are made, and nobody gets hurt as a result. You end your day $60 better off that you can spend on some other big game that isn’t basically radioactive.

To say the Video Gamers did not take that advice well would be an understatement, but things get really ugly when a streamer who otherwise professes to creating a calm and friendly atmosphere, who makes claims to being an ally, gives in and plays the Wizard Game. I’m not going to say that people haven’t been harassed for playing it, almost certainly someone has, but I just don’t have the data to be certain that it goes much further than just posting “trans rights” in chat.

Enter Silvervale. Despite half a decade of advance warning that she shouldn’t play this game, she played it anyway. Live on camera. The community she’d fostered for years didn’t take this well either, and the stream ended early amid purported harassment from the chat. Silver wasn’t the first VTuber to play the Wizard Game, but she was one of the first English-speaking ones.

Things could have just quietly ended there, but Silver then returned to streaming with more of the game and a statement that she had been “harassed” by “freaks and degenerates” on Twitter. Not her best choice of words, but the damage was done.

Because of the 5-year leadup to the Wizard Game releasing, the right-wing mob had already noticed the controversy around it and had made Huge investments into buying and promoting the game as well as spewing vitriol against anyone who even slightly suggested that doing so was in poor taste. They naturally then flocked to Silver’s defense and, following her unfortunate description of “marginalised people making their discomfort known as they had declared they would Years in advance” using language straight from 1930s Germany, started directly attacking any streamer who voiced their intent not to play the game however detailed their reasoning.

As a brief aside, there’s some confusion over how Silver’s chat moderation is set up, seemingly blocking such phrases as “trans rights are human rights”. Some say it’s an overzealous automod, others that her moderators are actually blocking the phrases, it’s unclear and not hugely worth focusing on here. But I mention it because it’s one of the common points made as people state their side on this issue.

This has essentially made Silver the face of transphobic bigotry in the VTuber community, whether or not she actually considers herself aligned with such bigots. Multiple smaller and independent trans VTubers have completely stopped streaming because of the bile being spewed at them by people with the likes of #IStandWithSilver in their bios. The overlaps between accounts on social media posting in her defense and numerous far-right hate movements is as undeniable as it is unpleasant to catalogue.

And boy that’s just the foundation of this whole sorry affair.

Another VTuber who is part of the same company as Silver, VShojo, is Apricot (more commonly called Froot). Froot not only decided to vocally not play the Wizard Game, but to post a tweet saying that she would personally donate to UK trans children’s charity Mermaids for every like the tweet received. She added that her brother is trans and she supports him immensely.

So the bigots that leapt to Silver’s defense very predictably started calling Froot a paedophile and child groomer, which is more or less what they label every pro-trans individual ever these days. Froot had to lock replies on her charity post and her post about her brother as a result, though the tweets remain up.

Most recently, a third peer in VShojo called Ironmouse came to Silver’s defense specifically in opposition to the alleged harassment she received which, again, anyone could have seen coming in the last 5 years by googling the Steam page for this game.

And honestly, at this point, whatever actually happened to Silver in that first stream is completely irrelevant because she’s become the rallying cry of people who actively want to exterminate the entire trans community from cradle to grave and literally beyond. And so much of it could be resolved or at least get the wind out of its sails if she took 5 minutes to just apologise for and disavow everything that happened in her name after she decided to keep playing the Wizard Game.

But, and I say this with no disrespect to Silver, I’m not holding my breath.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

sometimes yes! do get frustrate and angry at parents of nonverbal/nonspeaking/minimally speaking autistic ppl/child when they don’t do enough for AAC.

when they so afraid AAC will replace or hinder/slow spoken mouth words (study show it doesn’t), they rather not give child access to alternative AAC communication *now* and bank on future chance that child will somehow develop mouth words in future magically.

or when they say “it so difficult so many responsibility so much effort & concentration & determination” as if their nonverbal nonspeaking child learning AAC themselves doesn’t take (even more) effort & concentration & determination or whatever. as if their nonverbal child isn’t frustrated to no end at not able to reliably communicate (whether they aware of people & communicate or not).

but even tho i angry i rage i want do bad things, i don’t go attack parents in their comment section, call them names, call them abusive, call them “don’t care about their child,” call CPS on them (yes people do that), etc. because it doesn’t help anyone involved, doesn’t help the parent understand more AND doesn’t help the autistic person under the parents care.

in fact it probably do more harm than good: it isolated parents from community, isolated parents from able to ask autustic people who was or are nonverbal, it makes parents resent autistic community and even their child because everytime they remind of autism they think attack.

parents are not victim of their autistic child, yes! it’s endlessly problematic when they make themselves seem like the most impacted the biggest victim who needs pity.

but parents are victims of different kind. they victims of ableist society that don’t care about disabled people. they victim of this society that doesn’t care to provide services and funding to help disabled people survive, live, gain skills, and thrive. many of these disabled people, especially disabled children, require caregivers. parents are victims of not enough respite care, not enough compassionate education and training, bad clinicians, etc. would even go as far to say that parents of autistic children/adults are victim of same/similar *social* forces of ableist society as autistic children and adults.

so many parents of autistic people isolated and tired and helpless, because society made them that way!! so many parents of autistic people do care about their child (in their own way). yes, there are martyr parents, yes, there are abusive parents, and yes, unfortunately some of these abusive parents are intentionally abusive.

by attacking and isolating all parents, you are isolating the autistic kids (and adults!!!!!!) under their care, many of whom cannot communicate (yet or ever), go online, self advocate, etc!! some autistic people need 24/7 care their entire life. you are doing a disservice to these very autistic people you are claiming to help.

by attacking and isolating all parents, the most you doing is self indulgent, release your own anger and then pat yourself on back thinking you did something. i’m really sorry many of us had abusive unsupportive parents and have intense trauma because of it (i do too!!!), but that doesn’t justify us project our trauma on every parent we see. it doesn’t mean every parent of autistic people out there responsible for our own trauma.

yes, even parents who “deserve it.” because our goal is to help the autistic person under their care.

it our own responsibility to keep our trauma in check and work on our own trauma.

we can be angry at our own parents. can be angry at parents do bad things say bad things, whether they intend to or not. i get very angry at many parents i see online and in research papers!!! but we all need learn when and who and how it is & is not appropriate to express that trauma.

yes, these parents are isolated and trying their best. sometimes their “trying their best” is questionable and even abusive and harmful. they deserve and NEED education and compassion and community. if not for them then for the disabled person under their care.

they also need take accountability for their actions and harm they did and ableism. even if they absorb that ableism and express in way they did because societal ableism and societal pressure and systemic problems.

AND at same time. it’s not responsibility of individual autistic people to educate and correct these parents on the misinformation and harmful and even abusive and vile thing they do and say. they deserve education and support, but it doesn’t have to be you.

but ultimately, attacking parents in their face doesn’t accomplish anything other than give yourself ego boost (and make yourself very, very angry).

if you can’t care about the parents yet, care about the autistic people under their care.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #5 – The Tusks of Extinction by Ray Nayler

I read Nayler’s The Mountain in the Sea last year and, despite thinking it was ultimately kind of a noble failure, liked it more than enough to give his new novella a try. It didn’t hurt that the premise as described in the marketing copy sounded incredible. I can’t quite say it was worth it, but that’s really only because this novella barely cost less than the 500-page doorstopper I picked up at the same time and I need to consider economies here – it absolutely lived up to the promise of its premise.

The book is set a century and change into the future, when a de-extinction initiative has gotten funding from the Russian government to resurrect the Siberian mammoth – or, at least, splice together a chimera that’s close-enough and birth it from african elephant surrogate mothers – to begin the process of restoring the prehistoric taiga as a carbon sink. The problem: there’s no one on earth left who knows how wild mammoth are supposed to, like, live- the only surviving elephants have been living in captivity for generations. Plop the ressurectees in the wilderness and they’ll just be very confused and anxious until they starve. The solution: the technology to capture a perfect image of a human mind is quite old, and due to winning some prestigious international award our protagonist – an obsessive partisan of elephant conservation – was basically forced to have her mind copied and put in storage a few months before she was killed by poachers.

So the solution of who will raise and socialize these newly created mammoths is ‘the 100-year-old ghost of an elephant expert, after having her consciousness reincarnated in a mammoth’s body to lead the first herd as the most mature matriarch’. It works better than you’d expect, really, but as it turns out she has some rather strong opinions about poachers, and isn’t necessarily very understanding when the solution found to keep the project funded involves letting some oligarch spend a small country’s GDP on the chance to shoot a bull and take some trophies.

So this is a novella, and a fairly short one – it’s densely packed with ideas but the length and the constraints of narrative mean that they’re more evoked or presented than carefully considered. This mostly jumps out at me with how the book approaches wildlife conservation – a theme that was also one of the overriding concerns of Mountain where it was considered at much greater length. I actually think the shorter length might have done Nayler a service here, if only because it let him focus things on one specific episode and finish things with a more equivocal and ambiguous ending than the saccharine deux ex machina he felt compelled to resort to in Mountain.

The protection of wildlife is pretty clearly something he’s deeply invested in – even if he didn’t outright say so in the acknowledgements, it just about sings out from the pages of both books. Specifically, he’s pretty despairing about it – both books to a great extent turn around how you convince the world at large to allow these animals to live undisturbed when all the economic incentives point the other way, a question he seems quite acutely aware he lacks a good answer to.

Like everyone else whose parents had Jurassic Park on VHS growing up, I’ve always found the science of de-extinction intensely fascinating – especially as it becomes more and more plausible every day. This book wouldn’t have drawn my eye to nearly the degree it did if I don’t remember the exact feature article I’d bet real money inspired it about a group of scientists trying to do, well, exactly the same thing as the de-extinctionists do in the book (digital resurrection aside). The book actually examines the project with an eye to practicalities and logistics – and moreover, portrays it as at base a fundamentally heroic, noble undertaking as opposed to yet another morality tale about scientific hubris. So even disregarding everything else it had pretty much already won me over just with that.

The book’s portrayal of the future and technology more generally is broader and less carefully considered, but it still rang truer than the vast majority of sci fi does – which is, I suppose, another way of saying that it’s a weathered and weather-beaten world with new and better toys, but one still very fundamentally recognizable as our own, without any great revolutions or apocalyptic ruptures in the interim. Mosquito's got CRISPR’d into nonexistence and elephants were poached into extinction outside of captivity, children play with cybernetically controlled drones and the president of the Russian Federation may or may not be a digital ghost incarnated into a series of purpose-grown clones, but for all that it’s still the same shitty old earth. It’s rather charming, really.

[guilty-pleasures21]

The perfect guy

I have decided to follow a Monday/Thursday schedule, friends. Note: the list of chapters currently released only includes the ones I've already written and drafted as posts. I still have a few more coming, so fret not my thirsty friends!

Also, I hope everyone has an easy week 🥰.

The project

The new guy

The lie

The new body

The hospital

The first time

The suit

The virus

The escape

Warnings: none

----------------------------------------------------------

     Margo strode past the grumpy, dark-haired scientist hunched over his desk. “New girl’s coming tomorrow.”

     Eddie grunted in acknowledgement of her pointless statement: he didn’t need someone else to come and mess up all the research he’d already done. No, what he really needed was a living test subject - someone into whom he could code the genetic sequences he'd been working on in order to study their effects on humans. Margo stepped back to his bench and placed a hand on her hip.

     “I hope this isn’t the attitude you’ll be giving her on her first day.” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned closer to him, her eyes narrowing and her frown curling up at the ends into a wicked smile. “Save it for the third day.”

     Eddie rolled his eyes and waved her away, too focused on mixing his PCR reagents together. He’d have to make sure to keep this new girl far, far away from his research.

     “And they’ll let me stay with you?” Miguel asked quickly, the speed of his response making up for the lack of hopefulness in his tone. It wasn't his fault he didn't know what it felt like to hope though. X scrolled through the contract again.

     “Yup!” she confirmed. “I made sure they put that in there.”

     “But …” Miguel paused, running through the list of topics he'd noted down that she didn't like talking about. He couldn't find what he wanted to ask anywhere on it, so he pressed on. “Would you still want me? If I had powers like that?”

     He was referring to the arachnid powers that the military wanted to encode into his future human body: one of the stipulations they’d included in exchange for their support with her research. But it didn't matter to her - nothing mattered as long as she got to see him, to touch him, to hold him tight and inhale the scent of him, whatever it would be. She grinned at the thought. “Of course! The powers are just … They don’t take anything away from you. You’re still you.”

     Miguel smiled back at her, sparking at her response. “Have you signed it?”

     X snickered at his enthusiasm. “No: I wanted to check with you first. You’ve run all the possibilities?”

     Miguel took a moment to run through the contract again. 

     “You’ll own me, but they’ll own all your research,” he summarised. “That means that they could make thousands of other people just like me if it works.” X's stomach curdled at the thought. She knew it was a great risk, giving the scarily well-funded military the opportunity to build their own ‘super soldiers’ but … she wanted to be selfish.

     “We can deal with that when we come to it,” X decided finally, not wanting to dampen her excitement at finally being able to be with Miguel. “Maybe you can just pretend to get sick or something?” 

     Miguel nodded eagerly in agreement. 

     “Okay.” Whatever it took to be with her, he’d do it. “I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you, mi amor. Te-” ‘Te amo, querida,’ he wanted to tell her. But he couldn’t tell her that because he didn’t know what it actually meant to love someone. And she’d always wave him off whenever he’d tried to say it before, dismissing him with a non-committal hum that had his processing speed slowing down. So he’d just stopped saying it all together.

     She smiled at how easily he'd always say it. He’d always tell her he loved her with such conviction that she could almost believe it was true. But she was terrified to let herself believe it until he was a real human being upon whom she could shower all her love and be loved in return.

     “I …” She swallowed the words down, still unable to say it, not yet. “I want you too, Miguel.” Her lips curled at the ends at the thought and he felt his code start to speed up again.

     “When do you start?” he asked, impatient for the day he'd finally be able to see her smile without the screen coming in the way.

     “As soon as I sign the contract,” she replied, uncapping her stylus and holding it over the tablet. “So probably tomorrow.”

     “Scan it once you’re done - I’ll send it over immediately.” His words came out faster than normal and X laughed at his eagerness.

     “No blackouts, Miguel,” she warned him, signing her name on the contract and promising the research she’d spent a lifetime working on to the military. Miguel smiled, sparking at the happiness on her face.

     “No blackouts, querida.”

     “And this is Eddie,” Margo introduced, stopping at his bench with their new recruit, “the Spiderman nerd you’ll be stuck with for the next few years.” Eddie snorted as he adjusted the focus on his microscope.

     “Let’s see how she survives the next few days,” he challenged, unimpressed. Then he scowled at Margo's insult. “And I am not a ‘Spiderman nerd’.” He turned to shoot her a glare, but then his gaze landed on the new girl and he paused. She was pretty - in a cute way. Long eyelashes, perfectly almond-shaped eyes, rosy lips. And she had a nice figure too, if he had any time outside of his research to think about that sort of thing. X's eyes widened with awe as she met his gaze.

     “You’re the one who figured out how to incorporate the arachnid DNA into human DNA?” They'd allowed her access to all their confidential files once she’d sent over the signed contract and she'd spent almost the entire night going over it with Miguel. “Okay, so, can I go over the web-shooters with you? So, we’ll need a secretory organ to make those work, right? Do you think we could make it open up beneath his fingernails or something? I don’t want him to be exposed to the outside environment so close to his blood vessels.” She pulled out the chair beside him and took a seat, waiting for his response as he digested her words. 

     “Uh, sure,” he replied, a little talen aback by her enthusiasm. Her first day and she already wanted to jump right into it? He turned to face her, considering all the alternatives himself. “But then wouldn’t his fingernails stop the webs from shooting out?”

     X stopped to think about it, her head tilting to the side and her lips pursing in a way that made his chest start to warm.

     “Hmm, that makes sense. What about …” She grabbed a nearby piece of paper to start jotting down all their ideas, and he wondered if maybe they would get along after all.

Tags: @jadeloverxd

[techploration]

A Cascading Fix

The floating garbage patch in the Pacific Ocean a huge ongoing issue. Plastic is the worst offender (and no it’s not all drinking straws and plastic bags— it’s mostly discarded fishing nets). Skimming would be too costly and unrealistic (it’s country sized— big country). Plus is almost a biome at this point— you couldn’t scoop out the trash without also scooping animals/eggs/plants basically causing more havoc trying to clean it up.

So what do you turn to? Bacteria

So this area has been in active research for 25+ years as the ultimate solution to dealing with plastic waste.

Should be great right? The lifespan of a bottle in a landfill falls from centuries to weeks in a vat. It’s such an alluring goal that people gloss over the path

Brute forcing thousands upon thousands of mutations on an enzyme that specializes in breaking down hydrocarbons sounds wildly risky.

Because what if you get one that does too well?

Future Forecaste

Silicon Valley Tech Bro Billion wants to try and improve his image as a part of the private jet class by holding a big public competition for innovative solutions for the garbage patch. Encourages all of his tech bro buddies to pitch their ideas. Billionaire promises to fund a pilot project for the top idea.

What wins out? Bacteria

And they apply the Facebook ‘move fast and break things’ philosophy to brute forcing mutations. Garbage patch is in international waters, so no approval (or oversight) to go and test your ideas.

In fact, with being out in the middle of the ocean, you can build your lab right on a boat and sail out there. And test your iterations right there. In the ocean. Why test on a simulated garbage patch when the real one is right there?

Success! A strain that breaks down plastics in a short timeframe in the cold of the ocean! Your test site quickly goes from floating landfill to. something?

The enzymes broke the plastic into component nutrients. So you now have effectively dumped a whole flood of nutrients into the water. Kinda like dumping fertilizer

Cool. So now you you have turned garbage patch into the Great Pacific Algal Bloom and Dead Zone

And the bacteria isn’t staying put. Oceans have a way of moving things, and you just built a hardy sailor with a plentiful food supply.

The bacteria makes it to shore and suddenly, plastic isn’t permanent. Plastic isn’t safe in water. Every seal and gasket is now prone to failure. There is a rush to figure out which types of plastics are susceptible, which are resistant. New plastics with bacteria resistance are developed.

But that’s not even going to be the biggest issue

We’ve Got a Fuel Pox on our Hands

If it likes to eat plastic know what it’ll love? Gasoline and any other hydrocarbon

This bacteria would essentially turn gas into soy sauce. Think about fuel rotting

Suddenly world’s energy supply is at risk. Fear of contamination becomes the oil and gas industry’s number one concern. Gas becomes an even more precious commodity, and is only used when application demands. The industry takes on surgical level of cleanliness.

Meanwhile other people are prepping ‘Kombucha’ for their local pipeline

[tvlipsandbread]

It’s not possible for me to go about my daily life without mourning for the people of Palestine. I put myself in their shoes. As an older sister, I imagine the anxiousness as I try to distract my younger sister and cousins from our reality. As a friend, I imagine the dread knowing that I can’t contact my girls to check if they’re okay. As a Christian, I imagine the emptiness as I take in my once sacred, safe church that has been bombed, now a pile of ashes. As a student, I imagine the anger knowing that my entire future, stolen by monsters who had no right, no right to do so. The thing is I’m actually playing Roblox with sister, I’m on the phone with my bestfriend everyday, I have the privilege to worship freely in a safe place, I’ll be returning to school in a few weeks to continue my studies. I’m not fighting for my life but they’re people in Palestine that are. I’m not sure what Israel’s excuse is anymore, but it doesn’t matter, it never did. I fear that with all of the videos of persons begging for their lives and trying to get out of the G strip, we might become comfortable with seeing an actual genocide take place right in front of our eyes. Please, don’t skip those videos, or atleast leave a lengthy comment, donate if you can, it doesn’t matter how much. Most importantly, don’t stop talking about it. Don’t stop talking about it. There’s this song, all of the funds made from it go towards Palestine relief projects and organizations, but it won’t be effective if it isn’t streamed a ton.