#which i mean yes is /partly/ a factor for us

[brekwrites]

In Defense of Sun: Addressing the Bald Issue

So, we all know that Sun adamantly insists he is not bald and his rays are hair, despite contrary opinions from literally every other character. While this is technically true, I personally believe that the nuance of the situation is being overlooked, and that Sun DOES, in fact, have the right to call Moon bald.

Let me explain.

So, to start off, let’s take a look at Sun’s claims:

1. He is not bald

2. His rays are hair

I’ll be analyzing both separately, but before we get into specifics, let’s define our terms.

Who is bald?

The dictionary definition of bald, according to google, is: having a scalp wholly or partly lacking hair.

To meet this definition, a person must be lack hair on their scalp, meaning there is no hair there AT ALL. This is the official definition, which I will refer to as Bald (with a capital B), or True Baldness.

Two famous people that meet this standard are Mr. Clean (left), and Saitama (right) from One Punch Man.

These two individuals are Bald. This is the standard of True Baldness.

However, I would argue that there is, in fact, another definition of bald that is commonly accepted by society. To differentiate the two, I will refer to this secondary category as bald, with a lowercase b, or apparent baldness.

So, what is apparent baldness? I think the best example of apparent baldness is Seth Everman.

Seth is widely known for being bald (among other things, but I’m focusing on his baldness here). However, upon closer inspection, we can see that he does actually have hair in his scalp, he’s just shaved his head.

Thus, Seth does not meet the standards for True Baldness. He is, however, still widely accepted to be bald, as seen in his notorious youtube comment:

1.6 million people agreed with this, so it must have some merit, but Seth is not Truly Bald, so what is he? I would argue that Seth fits into the secondary category: he is bald, but not Bald.

What this means is that Seth appears to be bald, but is not truly Bald. THIS is apparent baldness.

I think the biggest factor in apparent baldness is the smooth silhouette, which I’ve highlighted here.

Seth shares this shape with Saitama. Both are bald, but only Saitama is Truly Bald. Do you feel me?

So now we have:

Bald: lacking hair on the scalp

and

bald: sharing the smooth silhouette commonly seen in Bald people; widely accepted and labeled as bald

By this definition, Saitama is both Bald and bald, and Seth is bald but not Bald. Finally, if someone who is Truly Bald wore a wig, they would be Bald, but NOT bald, since they lack the appearance of baldness.

Now we can examine Sun’s arguments.

Claim #1: Sun is not bald.

When you go by the traditional definition, Sun is Bald. He lacks hair, plain and simple. However, I would argue that his silhouette does not have the appearance of baldness.

Thus, he is not bald.

Moon, on the other hand…

Is very much apparently bald. And even if you argue that his hat disrupts the silhouette, let’s look at Pitbull, another famous bald individual.

Here we see Pitbull performing in a hat. Though the hat disrupts his smooth silhouette, we all know the truth: he is bald beneath it. Thus, Sun is Bald, but not bald, but MOON is Bald AND bald.

Whether or not the statement is true depends on the definition of bald you are using, and Sun could technically argue that he is not bald. Additionally, I don’t believe he is in the wrong for calling Moon bald either, because of relative baldness.

Relative baldness

Can Sun joke that Moon is bald? I say yes. Here’s why.

Let’s say I’m 5’5” tall, and I have a friend who is 5 feet even and one who is 6 feet even. The national height average is 5’4”. Thus, by technical definition, I am not short.

However, I would argue that my 6 foot tall friend could still call me “shorty” as a joke and get away with it. When standing next to them, I do appear short, even if I’m not technically Short in the official sense.

I can also turn around and call my 5 foot tall friend short, and I would be within my rights to so so as they would be both apparently short and Truly Short by definition. Finally, someone who is 5’2” (True Shortness) could probably still get away with calling my 5 foot tall friend short.

By these standards, I would argue that Sun has a right to jokingly call Moon bald, since Moon is relatively balder than him. This does, however, mean that the animatronics with synthetic hair, who are still technically Bald, are within their rights to joke that Sun is bald in comparison to them.

As an aside, you could also argue that one requires a scalp to be Truly Bald, since that is included in the definition. This would mean that technically none of the animatronics are Truly Bald, but the rights for who can call who bald would still default to relative baldness in this case, so the outcome would be the same.

So, to summarize: Sun is either Bald but not bald OR neither Bald nor bald, and either way you swing it, he’s still LESS BALD than Moon. On to the final claim.

Claim #2: Sun’s rays are hair.

Again, the technical answer is no. None of them have real hair that they grew from their head, but there are some technicalities here based on the same relativity theory.

No animatronic truly has hair, but if you want to define an animatronic equivalent to hair, it would probably be ‘something that is attached to or comes out of the top of one’s head.’

If we go by the attachment theory, animatronics like Monty and Puppet can be considered to have more hair relative to Sun and Moon. But is a wig truly hair?

Depending on how their synthetic hair is attached (is it a wig glued down to their head or threaded through the exoskeleton like a barbie?), it’s possible that what Sun has is actually the closest thing to hair, since his rays clearly originate from his head and are extending out from it, not just glued on top. Would you say that someone who is Truly Bald and wears a wig ‘has hair?’ They certainly appear to, but it’s not a part of them, so maybe you could argue that they don’t.

So, if Sun has the closest thing to hair, relatively, then I think he at least has more of a right to call his rays hair than is being let on, especially if we consider that he’s not apparently bald. And if Monty and Puppet’s hair is glued on, like a wig, then I would argue Sun has more relative hair privileges than them, since they are an actual part of him that extends from his head. Thus, the argument is not QUITE as ridiculous as it sounds, even if Sun’s rays are not truly hair by definition.

As another side note, you could maybe argue that Sun’s rays are closer to horns or even antennae? But I think that since they aren’t clearly defined as anything, it can go either way.

In Conclusion

Tldr: Sun is Truly Bald, but not apparently bald, and thus has the right to call Moon bald as a joke. He is less bald than Moon. Additionally, there is an argument that his rays could be considered at least the closest thing an animatronic has to hair, depending on your qualifications for animatronic hair and how Monty and Puppet’s wigs work.

[i-heart-hxh]

Does killua know gon loves him?

Hi anon! This is such a simple question, but not a simple one to answer. I'll do my best, though!

So, I think the answer is both yes and no, in different ways.

Yes, in the sense that Gon has directly expressed his appreciation of and admiration towards Killua multiple times, said he enjoys being with him and wants to stay with him, and even called him his best friend at the end of Greed Island (really BEST friend, 最高の友達, saikou no tomodachi--I think the translation of "best friend in the whole world" gets the emphasis of this phrase across pretty well).

He said it "Has to be Killua," (キルアじゃなきゃダメなんだ, Killua ja nakya dame nanda) in the dodgeball match, which has implications both during the match and outside of it, that Killua is the only one he fully trusts and the only one who can be by his side for something this pivotal. This phrase has romantic implications, essentially the subtextual meaning is "Killua is the only one for me," hence why Killua reacts as strongly as he does to it. Notice how much he hides his face on this page.

So, I think it's silly to say Killua has no idea Gon cares about him deeply and values him. There are so many moments where Gon says things like this. It's partly why Killua loves Gon so much, because Gon isn't afraid to express that level of love and care and appreciation towards him, as uncomfortable as he acts about it. He's just unused to that receiving kind of praise and attention simply for being himself, rather than being praised for his abilities.

With Killua's views of himself, it's hard for him to fully accept Gon's affection and take it to heart, but luckily Gon is straightforward and doesn't hold back, and keeps repeatedly telling Killua how much he means to him. As the series goes, they form a strong mutual bond and relatively good understanding of each other.

The problem is that multiple things happen in Chimera Ant Arc to disrupt Killua's sense of where he belongs in Gon's life.

He "fails" by fleeing from Pitou with Gon and "leaving Kite to die." While Gon doesn't blame Killua for the decision he made and neither does Kite, Killua nonetheless certainly blames himself for this to a degree. (Remember the scene with Morel and Knov mocking him?) It doesn't help that Bisky tells him that because of his inability to face opponents he sees as stronger than him, he'll eventually leave Gon to die. Then he watches the awful ramifications of what Kite's death does to Gon, knowing he had a role in what happened.

Gon goes on the date with Palm, and Killua variously misinterprets this whole situation to mean that Gon has been on real dates with women previously (I do not think he had been on any dates in an actual romantic sense), Gon actually might have romantic feelings towards Palm, and that they're in some degree of a relationship even after Gon tells her they can't be together and Palm quietly dumps Gon in favor of Knov after the date. This sends Killua spiraling into his whole "Are we friends? Or are we teammates?" concerns, in conjunction with the next factor.

Gon's "I swear... I'll take on that bastard myself," about Pitou, and the later "This has nothing to do with you," line. Remember how much Gon relied on Killua in the dodgeball match, and how much that meant to Killua? Remember how Killua very nearly died and his last thoughts were apologizing that he wasn't more useful to Gon? Killua stakes his whole sense of self on being useful to Gon, so when Gon makes taking down Pitou a solo mission, Killua doesn't know what role he has at Gon's side any more.

I'm sure there are plenty more factors I'm leaving out, but these are the main issues that lead to the gulf that develops between them during the course of Chimera Ant Arc.

Ever after all of this, they're still friends, they're on reasonably good terms when they part even though it's complex and fraught, but there's just so much they're not saying to each other about how they really feel.

I think Killua still knows Gon cares about him with the way they leave off--they agree to stay in touch, say they'll meet again, Killua even teases Gon about the way he treated him a few times and sees that Gon feels awful when he brings it up. I'm sure Gon apologized to Killua when they first saw each other again after all of that, no matter how non-comprehensive that apology may have been.

But, I do think Killua sees his feelings towards Gon as deeper and of a different nature than how he assumes Gon feels towards him. He may even feel a degree of guilt about the extent and nature of his feelings, with an assumption that, as much as Gon cares about him, Gon doesn't reciprocate Killua's romantic feelings. It may be one of many puzzle pieces contributing to the separation.

I think Killua has strong beliefs about Gon not returning his feelings in a romantic sense, which is part of what leads to how much pain he goes through in Chimera Ant Arc and beyond. But these beliefs are less about what Gon does or doesn't do--because *I* believe Gon has romantic feelings for Killua, even though he likely doesn't recognize them as such yet, and obviously in CAA his relationship with Killua is not at the forefront of his mind--but more about how Killua sees himself and how he projects that self-perception on Gon.

The thing is, Killua hasn't directly expressed his feelings (even on a friendship level) towards Gon either. and even hides how much he does for Gon, so Gon also doesn't fully understand the weight and degree of Killua's feelings for him either. He sees what Killua does for him and I'm sure he knows that's a way Killua expresses friendship to him, but at the same time, the reasons or feelings or depth behind those actions remain unspoken, so how is Gon supposed to know fully where Killua is coming from?

As much as he may have some inklings of Killua's feelings from reading his body language and all the time they spent together, it's not something that has been confirmed or stated the way Gon has expressed his feelings. So, it makes sense that these two boys might assume the other doesn't love them back the same way they love each other, because their own self-esteem is so low and they don't see themselves as deserving of the kind of love they have for each other.

So, in response to your question, both yes and no, and "It's complicated," too.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Raven!

I’ve read your recent writings for the Fellow blog event (the one where Fellow meets Jamil and the one where Fellow is informed of who exactly was in the NRC Playful Land group) and that’s got me curious.

I know this is mostly speculation, but who do you imagine Fellow’s ex-employer to be such that he would be so casual about the identities of his marks? People like Jack, Ace, and Trey are ordinary and come from ordinary families. I would understand for the likes of Vil and if you stretch it, Cater, who while rich and/or influential (or are the children of such people) can still be considered ‘regular’ rich kids. My point is that sadly I feel it wouldn’t be hard for their kidnapping to be labelled as a tragic disappearance and swept under the rug.

But then concerning others such as Kalim, Leona, the Tweels, Ortho, and such, it would spell much trouble for the kidnappers? As Jamil put it to Fellow, them disappearing isn’t a matter that can simply be hand waved away. I have no doubt that Fellow’s ex-employers aren’t small time crooks and actually have power, but surely that power has its limits in the face of what they would have to deal with. They wouldn’t be incurring the wrath of one force, it would be many. Many forces, I might add, with the power and resources to track them down even through unofficial means. As a side note, Book 6 showed us how Idia was willing to destroy the world for Ortho.

Then again, it could just be Fellow’s hubris getting the better of him such that he has vastly overestimated the capabilities of his ex-employers? He seems to me like someone on the lower rungs (sorry Fellow) of the Playful Land criminal endeavor and wouldn’t be privy to the details or who exactly is involved. I dunno, maybe I’m thinking too much into this. But it would be nice to hear your thoughts on the matter!

[Referencing this post and this post!]

Yes, Fellow is very small fish to fry compared to his employers. We learn in his Playful Dress vignettes that Fellow only took up the Playful Land gig because he happened to find a job posting for it that pays well. It's not likely that he has a lot of say in what goes on if they were looking to hire just about anyone willing to do the dirty work, despite claiming to be the park manager.

While he doesn't seem to know the exact details of who the more influential boys of the group are, he at least knows about their affiliation with THE prestigious Night Raven College (which is partly why he targets them in the first place). However, Fellow does still demonstrate complete assurance that they can get away with their entire operation. I think this is the result of two factors. One is, as you may have suggested, Fellow not knowing much about the inner workings of the organization (and thus having no knowledge of its limits). The other is far scarier (and seems to be more likely to me due to the evidence we have on hand), which hints at a criminal underbelly in Twisted Wonderland that holds even more money and influence than even the Asim family has. The latter is implied, as Fellow brags quite often about his benefactors and even discusses the construction of the park as being the result of many powerful mages. Cater also mentions early in the event that Playful Land has been trending on socials lately, but this also implies that NONE of the people that went missing after going to the park made headlines or drew suspicion to Playful Land. This means that not only do the people behind the park have money, but somehow also the far-reaching power to control literally every bit of information on the web about them. Let's not forget too that they SOMEHOW have the technological capabilities to jam and limit Ortho's capabilities, even though this guy was made by a genius inventor.

Now look, I'm not saying that frightening organizations like this don't exist in real life. To deny that is to be ignorant. What I am saying is that for game like Twst (where several of the main characters are from very crazy wealthy families), it's asking us to do a LOT of suspension of disbelief in order to sell the story. This is just the beginning of my list of gripes with the logic of Playful Land. If you want to read more of my thoughts on the subject, you can check out this post!

[glitterslag]

Questions for your train journey four days ago lol (I missed it)-

About BOJ, was I imagining this or did you sprinkle some sydrichie crumbs in there for us ?👀

Also, this is totally a no pressure/ expectations ask, just curious... do you think you'd ever write a sydrichie fic ? / have you been tempted to write for them ? I know they would be so delish in your style <3

Hope your journey was a nice one :)

hehe, you weren't imagining it!! There are sydrichie crumbs everywhere for those who have eyes to see........🌝

Nah but fr, I do p. much write everything sydcarmy from the view that Richie would jump at the chance to lick Syd's crumbs off the floor. Sometimes I think he's fully aware of it, sometimes I think he's in denial.

Tbh, while I do enjoy reading sydrichie fics, i think if i were ever to write anything it'd more like a love triangle or unrequited sydrichie from richie's pov, like having richie pining for syd while syd was pining for carmy. I find the whole richie carmy love-hate-jealousy-bitterness-resentment-brothers-lovers-rivals continuum really really interesting to think and write about (it might be my favourite dynamic on the show), and the way the syd of it all would factor into that could just be soooo juicy.

i actually made a good start on a more richie centric fic a while back, which was very AU-ish and had richie running a chippy in Scotland. It's very much shelved and never gonna be unshelved, but here's an extract if anyone cares cause I do really really like it:

“S’appenin’, big man?” Ebra pokes his navy blue beanie through the back kitchen entrance, dragging his cold trolley behind him. “Whit ye got for me today?” 

“Hello, Richie.” 

Cousin still won't deliver the bycatch himself, the shitebag, won’t even set foot over the threshold of this place. Sends his deckboss down here to do his dirty work now instead. Wanker. 

“How’s the prawns?” he asks Ebra, inspecting the stacked trays of lifeless, milky white fish with the tip of a HB pencil. “Good catch, was it?” 

Cod and haddock Ebra brings him — big ones today at that. FAS, but who cares about that, this isnae The Ivy. 

“Not bad, not bad.” 

“Fetch a good price, did they?” Ebra shrugs.

“Eh, you know. Could always be better.” 

Richie grins, gives the man a clap on the shoulder. 

“Wahey, that’s the attitude.”

“Busy day coming?” Richie nods. 

“With any luck, aye.” 

It’s Wednesday, so there’s not much chance of that if he’s being honest, but hey. 

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, pal. Hey, how’s it wi’ that bawbag?” 

Carmy, that means. And Richie doesn’t want to know, not really — but somehow he keeps finding himself asking after the kid anyways. 

Ebra looks grave.

“Always shenanigans, Richie. Yesterday, Norwegian coast guard, they came on board–” 

“Oh, shit!” Richie interjects. “The fuckin’ polis?” Ebra nods darkly.

“Fucking fish police, Richie. We barely hang on by a thread yesterday. You’re lucky you get any,” he says, slapping the top pallet, making the cods jiggle on the ice. “Carmen, he was huffing and puffing, smoking many cigarettes.” 

Richie chokes on a laugh. 

“Fucking fish police,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Aw fuck, whit’s he like, eh? I don't know. Rather you than me, pal.”

~~~

Richie used to go away on the boats, too, but now he works in the chippy. 

He quit once he hit forty — mostly because of all the time spent away from his wee girl, but partly because after Mike went Richie just couldnae stomach it nae mair. Literally. He can’t eat fish at all now. Always makes him spew, as if his body just rejects the stuff. 

Fak won’t eat fish either, that fucking numpty. Claims he’s never even tried it, not even fish fingers. Says it’s boggin’. To be fair, at the end of the night when they all come away stinking of it, Richie can’t say he entirely disagrees. 

Fry Life, the chip shop’s called. 

The walls are covered in a mix of Celtic and film memorabilia. Scarves and posters and t-shirts, some of them signed or limited edition. Stuff salvaged from Mikey’s old place, mostly, some of Richie’s own, some of Fak’s, all of it encased in glass in an attempt to combat the ravages of time and chip grease. 

There’s a big fuck-off Jaws poster on one wall, and a framed black and white photo of Billy MacNeill holding up the European Cup on another. The creature from Creature from the Black Lagoon is coming out from the ceiling above the counter, above Richie’s head. It’s the only thing not in glass, so when he’s standing behind the till it looks like he’s about to be ripped to shreds. Then there’s the Funko Pop! shelf, over by the window. Proper nerd shit. 

They’ve even got a couple of vintage arcade games. As in coin-ops, wee honey traps so they are. Thursday nights they do ‘Haddock-en’ — Street Fighter tournaments with deals on the food, and they get neckbeard-looking types busing up from the uni, GAMESOC or whatever it is, to play the machines. They act so fucking weird, but it’s bums on seats isn’t it, so Richie can’t really complain. 

Yeah, Richie can just about cope with the video game crowd. What he can’t stand are the tourists — they actually get those here now. Fringe festival overspill, mostly. Seems like every year it creeps further and futher up the coast, Airbnbs springing up everywhere in the wake of it. Fucking disgusting. Pretty lucrative business, too, or so Richie’s heard. Ask Jimmy. That fucking parasite. 

Yeah, the shop managed to get featured on some food Instagram account and now they sometimes get posh folk coming in on their working class safaris, taking photos and talking in their grating English voices. The caffs-not-cafés crowd. People who’re used to paying like nine quid for a pint and a packet of scampi fries. 

Yeah, tourists are the worst, especially the ones fae Edinburgh. Dunediners, that’s their proper name — Richie’s maw always insisted on calling them that. Carmy went down there for uni and now he’s the worst too. 

Came back prissy and up his own arse — worse than before — and bisexual. And hey, Richie got off with a drag queen once in CC Blooms, so you know, it’s whatever. He’s all for it. It’s just, of course Carmy would be bisexual. Art school prat. Summers were the worst — Carmy’d come out on the boats, spew his guts up for the first week straight every time, guaranteed. Never was built for it. 

Nah, Edinburgh’s nice, though. Him and Mikey lived down there for a while when they were both young, worked in bars and whitnot. It was before the fishing, before duty pulled them back. Shit, they used to have fun. Hive till five, or end up in a casino or a random gaff or some seedy spot in The Pubic Triangle. 

Once, they’d been so fucked they’d both ended up shagging a bird each in the same hotel room, Mikey and some girl on the bathroom counter and Richie and some ginger bird on one of the twin beds, and then afterwards they’d all jumped in the shower together and smoked a joint in the steam, laughing hysterically. 

It wasn't always like that, though. One night, they’d climbed up Arthur’s Seat in the dark and sat waiting for sunrise, passing a bottle of whisky back and forth and talking about their future, what they’d be. 

“Hello? Hello?”

Richie’s head snaps up. There’s an old guy in a blue Berghaus puffer standing at the counter, looking impatient. 

“Sorry pal, I was miles away.”

Richie sniffs, gets to plugging in the man’s sausage supper on the till. 

“You said large, yeah?”

“Aye, please.”

“Nine-twenty, pal.”

The guy sucks his teeth, fishing in his pocket. 

“Christ, that’s gone up.”

“S’all gone up,” Richie says, tapping at the sign behind him when the guy tries sticking a blue RBS debit through the glass. CASH ONELY. Fucking Fak spelt it wrong and Richie still can’t be fucked to change it. “Fuckin’ Brexit, eh?”

“S’at right?” the guy says, jangling for change in his wallet. “Thought it was s’posed to be good for the fishing? Nae mair foreign boats in our waters, and all that.”

Richie shrugs. 

“You tell me, pal.” 

He slams the till and turns away to chuck a large chips in the fryer. 

“I’ve never had a problem with you Polish,” the guy says then, hanging over the counter to call after him across the spit of the oil and the hum of the fridge. “Hard workers.” 

Ah, Christ, here we go. Richie forces a smile over one shoulder. 

“Ha, aye yeah, we are.”

“I never voted for it, like,” he adds quickly. 

Hot oil licks at Richie’s forearms, just an annoyance by now. He sneaks another glance behind him. The guy’s jacket is ugly. It’s that petrolly-navy colour every da wears, the padding synthetic with its quilt lines unfashionably thin. 

“D’you hear about that one they found down on the beach?” he’s saying now. 

“What’s that, pal?” Richie says, wearily.  

“Some young lassie, apparently. Come off a lifeboat they reckon it was.”

“Havnae heard anyhin’ aboot that.”

Richie’s keen to shut this conversation down, but apparently yer man’s not quite finished waxing poetic about immigration, because he says, “I’ll tell you who it is always causin’ trouble.”

Fuck me. 

Just in time, he shovels the chips into a fresh polystyrene tray and tongs two battered sausage out the warmer. 

“It’s never your lot. It’s them damn p-” 

“Salt and vinegar, pal?” Richie interrupts, loudly, shooting the guy a stern look. The guy nods, sheepish. 

“Aye, yeah, go on.” 

Richie wraps his food in silence, thrusts it at him without so much as a thanks. He takes it with a curt nod, pops a guilty 50p in their tip jar before he scarpers. 

Richie blows a big raspberry up at the browning drop tile, eyeing the grease-spotted flaga Polski that’s currently tacked there to hide a missing bit. Fortunately and unfortunately, it’s been quite the twat barometer. 

He scoffs, fishing the 50p back out. As if he’s taking a penny of that degenerate’s money. Blood money. 

“Neil Geoff,” he yells through the back, where dickhead in question is cleaning the rumbler. “You want half a quid?”

“Eh?”

Fak pokes his fat head through the strip curtain. 

“Here,” he says, handing him the silver coin with no explanation, and Fak’s face lights up like the fucking castle at Christmas. Richie ruffles Fak’s hair under his greasy cap. “Don’t spend it all at once, ye dafty.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Sleep and Spacetime Don't Mix

Tis the end of the year and finals are making me feel like shit, may I please request a Logan-centric h/c? – anon

Could you maybe write a TSS fic involving burnout? – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: burn out, stress, overwhelmed/overstimulated

Pairings: roloceit

Word Count: 3193

Logan has a terrible habit of overworking himself. Luckily, he has two partners to help pull him out of the work spirals.

The relationship of the the two events is light-like, because the path of the object relative to the observer is parallel to the line representing c, the speed of light. The vertical axis, ct, represents the observer’s path relative to itself as it moves through time, so of course it is at rest as the observer must be at rest when observed from its own point of view.

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, massaging a bit as if it would relieve the strain. It won’t, he knows it won’t, but this late into the night it’s just about all he has left. The bulb in the rickety lamp flickers and he reaches out without opening his eyes to swat at the fixture until it buzzes steadily again. A slight wave of nausea rises up the back of his throat and he swallows it down. There’s no time for this.

He looks back at the diagram. The next thing he needs to do is create the set of axes from the other observer’s perspective, ct’ and x’, but he needs to calculate the difference using the Lorentz factor first. Which means he needs to remember the equation for doing that to get the angle right. He should be able to do that, because he’s been doing it all day and the proof he wrote up for it is beneath his left elbow, but that involves taking his eyes off the horribly rigid lines of the diagram and if he does that, he might just start crying. He shuts his eyes again and takes several deep breaths.

In, out.

In, out.

In…out.

He opens his eyes again and the lines blur and swim until he couldn’t make out an axis from a plotted line from the lines on the graph paper itself. With a groan, he shoves the notebook away, sending his pencil skittering across the desk. It clatters to the floor. He flinches. The lamp flickers again. He swats it until it buzzes. His shoulder protests the sudden movement and he tries leaning his neck to the side, wincing at the depth of the stretch. It shouldn’t hurt this much; he should be getting up regularly to take breaks, as he’s always telling Roman to do. He tries to lean to the other side and barely gets his head off of the vertical before he has to stop, hissing through his teeth. He leans back in the chair, chin tipped back toward the ceiling. The imprint of the spacetime diagram burns through his mind until he swears he can see it in the cracks in the wood beams over his head. If he lifted his hand to follow them—yes, there’s the axes, there’s his plotted paths, now if only the beams could somehow predict and plot the prime set of axes, he would be forever grateful.

But the ceiling is only a ceiling and any mathematical revelations will have to come from his own tired, overworked, overwrung brain.

The chair creaks and the lamp buzzes again as he slumps forward. His forehead hits the desk and his glasses smush against his cheekbones. He turns his head at the last moment so as not to risk bending the frame or damaging a lens, but the metal digs into the side of his face and pinches a piece of hair in the hinge. He fumbles for the lamp again, only just managing to find it in time for the bulb to splutter and properly die, leaving him in the half-dark of the partly-drawn windows and the various applicable lights from the kitchen. A few bits of paper crinkle under his weight as he shifts around on the table.

He can’t afford to lie here, he knows. He has to do things. If not continue to work on the problem that plagued him all afternoon, then to get himself ready for bed so he might have a chance at being awake enough tomorrow to do it. He shouldn’t be lying on the table anyway; it’s not quite sturdy enough to bear the brunt of his weight and the last thing he needs is to give himself a worse crick in his neck than he already has. He needs to pick his pencil up off t he floor before someone steps on it again and breaks the lead. He can’t afford to have to stop halfway through the exam to get up and sharpen his pencil, that could break his concentration, or worse, make him lose valuable time. He’s already had to replace his pencil three times. He can’t do that again without dipping into his emergency back up supply and there’s too much time left in the month for that. His notebook isn’t going to be any clearer if there are massive folds and wrinkles int he pages that could be confused for axes or plotted lines or any matter of things when cleanliness and orderliness within his calculations are of the utmost importance. It certainly isn’t going to make reading and re-deciphering his notes any easier, and if he needs to erase something it will make the page all the more likely to tear. Then he’ll have to copy it down onto a whole new sheet and that will take even more time that he does not have.

Suffice to say, he cannot afford to lie here on this table.

And yet.

And yet.

He loses track of time as he stares at the blurred edge of the windowpane. The curtain wafts back and forth when the air conditioner kicks on and turns off again. In the muddled reflection, he sees the clock on the microwave tick one minute to the next, neon green light changing shape ever so slightly as the lines move about on their preprogrammed grid. The room hums with the sound of too many appliances and oozes with a silence that he couldn’t hope to fill with anything but the mutterings of his own head about how much he still has to do.

“You,” he hears softly as a faint silhouette approaches him from the side, “are far too lovely to lie here as though you’ve got no one to come and cuddle you.”

His eyes fall closed upon hearing the voice; the memory of it alone is enough to break through some emotional pane of glass and he slumps a little more into the table. The quiet footsteps belie the gloved hand coming to rest lightly on top of his shoulder, before another carefully shifts his head enough to remove his glasses. He opens his eyes to see a blurred, shadowed face leaning over him, faint light glinting off of teeth as a smile forms on the mouth.

“Hello, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “what are you doing out here all on your own?”

“I was working.”

“Is this a new studying technique I’m not aware of,” he asks, the gentle tone and the softness of the hand now cradling his cheek undoing the bite before it could land, “lying across the table in the dark?”

“I’m not working anymore.”

“I can see that. Was it giving you trouble?”

“I…I believe I’m too tired to do anything else.”

Janus hums, his fingers idly toying with the tuft of hair just above Logan’s forehead. “Does that include you getting yourself ready for bed?”

“…perhaps. I’m sorry, I—“

“No, no, no, none of that. We’ve all been there, you know you needn’t apologize for it. Will you let me help you?”

“I would appreciate that a lot, yes.”

Janus smiles again and carefully takes Logan’s arms to slip them around his neck. He lifts his head enough to help Janus pull him into a seated position, leaning against his chest with a sigh. The scent of jasmine tea lingers around his scarf. Fingers card through the hair at the nape of his neck, an idle hum working its way through the air while Logan regains his bearings. Truly he must have overestimated how much work he could do in a state like this; he’s nearly ready to fall asleep in this very chair just from Janus holding him.

“Come on,” comes the gentle prompt a few moments later, “let’s get a little something into you before we get you to bed.”

Against his baser instincts, Logan rouses himself and fumbles for his glasses, sliding them onto his nose as Janus moves to the kitchen. He clicks on another one of their little lamps, this one in the shape of a squat bluebird, and sets about gathering a few snacks. Logan ambles over to the counter, leaning against it as Janus slides him a glass of water.

“Do you think you could handle an English Muffin?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. Have a munch on those while I make it.”

Logan eats the nuts and pretzels while Janus sticks the English Muffin in the toaster. Gloved fingers tap along the counter before he huffs and reaches up to fuss with Logan’s hair.

“It’s all sticking up on this side. How long were you lying like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you manage to get some work done at least?”

“Yes. Just…not as much as I wanted.”

“Well, Mr. ‘I Can Read an Entire Academic Thesis in Half an Hour,’ I’m sure that the amount of work you’ve done is perfectly acceptable.”

“What’s going on out here?” They turn to see Roman emerging from the other bedroom. “Are you guys having a party without me?”

“I thought I told you to stop working an hour ago.”

“You told me to start wrapping it up an hour ago, I have been doing so.” Roman stifles a yawn and comes over to sling his arms around Logan’s waist. “You staying up late working too?”

“Too late.”

“Mm. I actually have wrapped up and was just on my way to the bathroom, but it looks like you need a bit more help, yeah?” Logan nods and Roman leans in to kiss his cheek. “You wanna come spend the night with us?”

“…can I?”

“I’ll move the beds.”

Roman ducks around to kiss Janus’s cheek too before heading to the bathroom. After a few moments the sink turns on.

“Here,” Janus says, sliding the English Muffin over to him, “eat, sweetie. Do you feel any better?”

“A little bit.”

“Can I go and tidy up your work stuff?”

“There’s a pencil on the floor, please—“

“I’ll be very careful, I promise. Which side of the table?”

“Near the closet door.”

“Got it.”

True to his word, Janus walks over and carefully straightens and flattens his notebook, turning off his calculator and stacking his loose pages to the side. He picks the pencil up off the ground and puts it next to the calculator, just so. He even goes and makes sure the textbook bookmark is there in the right page before he closes it with a thud and pats it like it’s going to sleep too.

“There, all done.” He comes back over and ruffles his hair. “Have you had as much as you’re going to be able to?”

”I think so. There’s still half left, though. I can have it tomorrow.”

“It’s half of an English Muffin, Logan, it’s not the most important thing in the world to save.”

“Here,” Roman says, coming up, “give it to me, I’ll eat it.”

“Didn’t you just brush your teeth?”

“Listen, I won’t tell my dentist if you won’t.”

Logan hands it over and Roman stuffs it in his mouth, winking as he goes back into their bedroom. Janus rolls his eyes fondly and gives Logan a little nudge toward the bathroom. He goes, setting his glasses on the rim of the sink to wash his face. The cool water is a mercy on his hot and overworked skin, the soft towel that follows it even more so. He changes into the soft sleep shirt and shorts that he set in there this morning and brushes his teeth.

When he knocks on the doorframe to Roman and Janus’s room, Roman pokes his head up from the other side of the newly-assembled big bed. All of their rooms technically come fit with twins, but as the two of them are wont to cuddle in the winter—and drag Logan into cuddle piles whenever it’s deemed necessary—they have a habit of pushing the two together to create a mattress big enough to hold all three of them.

”Hey, honey,” Roman murmurs, coming around and holding his hands out, “you wanna come cuddle? You look like you need it.”

Logan fits his hands into Roman’s and lets him pull him across their room to the bed. He’s sat down on the edge and rolls toward the middle. They’d learned after some trial and error to keep a king-sized fitted sheet for when they did this to keep the beds from accidentally separating in the night. No sooner has he lied down does Janus slip in on his other side, yawning and rolling onto his side to put his phone on the nearby nightstand. The left mattress dips as Roman gets in too, pulling the big comforter over them and settling onto his pillow with a sigh. The combined warmth of the two of them makes Logan’s hands tremble ever so slightly.

“Hey,” Roman says softly, his voice beginning to go slack with sleep even as his eyes remain as bright and alert as ever, “what do you need, Specs?”

His hands are still shaking. A soft rustle of the blankets form his other side signals Janus moving to take one in his, bringing it up to his mouth for a soft kiss. Logan’s head whips around, staring at him with wide eyes, his heart hammering away between his ribs the way it always does when he’s worked himself too late and he finds himself trapped between the two of them. Janus’s eyes soften, as they always do, and he only has a moment to register the soft trace of his thumb over his knuckles before Roman is on him.

Strong arms move him a little further away from Janus, a leg coming up to swing over his as Roman lowers himself to an elbow, leaning up and over him. His weight presses down, thigh to hip to chest, soft words and even softer touches trailing along Logan’s cheek, his neck, his arm, his hand.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’m right here. Janus has you too. You’re gonna be okay, you’re safe with us.” He kisses Logan’s temple and moves Logan’s hand up to tangle in his hair. “See? Feel me? That’s real, baby, it’s all okay. You’re safe, you’re here with us, you’re gonna be just fine.”

A muffled sob leaves his throat and he tries to bury it in the hollow of Roman’s. Janus keeps squeezing his hand, brushing his lips against his knuckles as he murmurs soothing nonsense. Roman’s weight grounds him, his voice a steady constant in his other ear, not protesting once when Logan’s hand twitches and he accidentally pulls his hair. The rational part of his brain keeps whispering that this happens every time he gets overwhelmed, that eventually it will subside and everything will feel okay again, and yet it is impossible to think your way out of being in pain.

Roman’s got his face pressed against the crook of Logan’s now, every so often kissing whatever part of him he can reach. In contrast to the grip Logan’s got twisted into his hair, he cards his fingers lightly and almost lazily against the grain of Logan’s scalp. The faint tingling sensation overrides the worst of the nightmarish wriggling in his chest and stomach, giving him something to focus on along with the steady press of Roman’s weight on top of him and the grip Janus has on his other hand. Slowly, slowly, under their gentle attention, he manages to calm the swell of emotion in his chest and breathe a little bit easier. Roman kisses the curve of his jaw in encouragement as his breathing evens out, Janus holding his hand to his own chest so he can feel the steady heartbeat.

“Hey, baby,” Roman whispers when Logan finally sags into the mattress under him, “you did so good. So good.”

Janus hums in agreement. “Do you think that’s the last of it for now?”

“Yes.”

“You want to try and get some sleep?”

“Can we…stay like this for a little longer?”

“Don’t tempt him,” he chuckles, “Roman’ll fall asleep on top of you if you let him.”

“It was one time.”

“And I regained feeling in my hand about halfway through the afternoon, you’re right.”

“I’m no doctor but that seems like it’s more of a you problem than a me problem.” Roman snuffles playfully into Logan’s shoulder. “Besides, Logan’s comfier than you are.”

Janus makes a fake-affronted sound. “How dare you?”

“He’s all warm and soft,” Roman continues, leaving little kisses along the curve of his neck, “and he smells like bergamot even though he ran out of tea a few days ago…”

He feels a flush following Roman’s words—and mouth, his grip tightening in his hair again. Roman just chuckles and moves to mutter against the underside of his jaw.

“And it’s so much easier to make him blush. It’s like sleeping on my own little space heater.”

“Roman!”

“What? It is! See, look at you, your little nose is going all pink.”

”We’re supposed to be helping him sleep,” Janus points out, though he sounds far too amused, “not winding him up again. You’re gonna make him get worked up and not in the fun way.”

“Am I being too much, baby?” It’s whispered gently into his ear, all traces of play gone from his voice. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and nods and Roman backs off immediately, a firmer kiss and a proper cuddle as he lies back down. “Okay. I’m all done, Specs, I swear.”

“Shame on you,” Janus scolds as sleep laces through his words, “at such a late hour. Let’s all just go to sleep like reasonable people.”

“You okay to sleep now? Yeah? Okay.” Roman cups his cheek and give shim a kiss on the forehead. “If you need anything, you wake one of us up, okay?”

Logan nods, sleep already tugging at his eyes too. As his lids droop further and further, he’s just able to make out the way Roman settles himself down with a satisfied sigh, one hand still left out within reach if Logan so wished. On his other side, Janus snuffles into the pillow, turning over to face the wall. He looks up at the ceiling, the faint glow-in-the-dark stars shining against the darkness of the wood.

He falls asleep and dreams of traveling through the galaxy on a ship capable of faster-than-light travel, a notebook at his elbow and a smile on his face.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[infiniteeight8]

May I submit a request for Tony and Soul? 👀👀👀

Thank you for the prompt! 😀 I’ve been wanting to get the next installment of this out there!

Previous instalments of Tony & Soul can be found here.

Behind a cut for length.

-

When all is said and done with Pepper, Tony goes to see Stephen.

Rhodey is his best friend, always will be, but Rhodey has also always been the number one cheerleader for Tony’s relationship with Pepper. It’s not that commiserating isn’t in his playbook at all, it’s just that it’d only come after a lot of talking and a lot of encouraging Tony to stick with the relationship, especially since Tony was the one to do the breaking up. Especially since Tony can’t tell him half the reason the breaking up happened at all.

Tony checked his bond with Pepper as soon as he was alone. It doesn’t look at all different. 

Soul doesn’t say anything about that. Maybe the stone is learning when Tony really doesn’t want to hear from them, or maybe they’re just satisfied with his actions and feel no need to jump in. 

Stephen opens the door to the Sanctum just as Tony jogs up the steps. Time is playing favorites again, Tony assumes. He wonders how much of this conversation Stephen has already seen. Time may show him Tony arriving, but that doesn’t mean it shows him everything.

They settle in the kitchen with tea for Stehen and coffee for Tony. For a few minutes, it’s just quiet. 

“Do you ever feel… wrong for using the knowledge the stone gives you?” Tony asks eventually. ‘Wrong’ doesn’t feel like quite the right word, but it’s the closest he can get right now.

“Oh, yes,” Stephen says, and chuckles at Tony’s surprised look. “Humanity isn’t meant to know the future, Tony. Before Time chose me as their bearer they had been used only a handful of times in the past thousand years. And now I get pings from the future when a friend is coming over. It's unnatural in the most literal sense of the word.”

Tony turns his coffee cup in slow circles. “And yet you don’t set it aside the way your predecessor did.” 

“I actually did, for a time,” Stephen says, and falls silent, radiating pain in a dark purple throb, like a bruise.

Tony knows that silence. “You don’t have to go into detail.”

Stephen relaxes slightly and gives him a nod. After a moment, the pain fades. “In any case, I had only taken up the Eye again a month or two before Thanos. It called to me then in a way it hadn’t even when I used it before.”

“Time new Thanos was coming,” Tony surmises, and Stephen nods. Tony snorts. “Wish it had given us that month or two heads up.”

“The result wouldn’t have been any better,” Stephen says, and his voice and emotions are both suffused with the certainty of Time.

Tony takes a long drink from his coffee while he absorbs that. Part of him wants to argue the point—he could have done so much more with a months’ warning—but if anyone would know, it’s Stephen and Time. “You never considered setting Time aside after Thanos?” Stephen shakes his head. “Because of me?” 

“No,” Stephen says. He takes a long sip of his tea. “Soul didn’t factor into the fourteen million futures I viewed,” he goes on. “They never spoke up in any of them. But by the time you broke me from that trance, I knew that I would never set Time aside again.” He covers the Eye with one hand and the soft blanket of his affection swells briefly.

“So how do you deal with it?” Tony asks. “Having that knowledge and feeling like you shouldn’t have it and knowing that you’re going to keep having it?”

“Practice. And time,” Stephen says dryly, and smiles when Tony groans. “Don’t forget I have a 14 million future head start on acceptance.”

“Cheater,” Tony accuses, sipping his coffee. Stephen just laughs. Tony smiles back at him for a moment before it fades. “I broke up with Pepper.”

Stephen sobers, too. “Because of something Soul showed you?”

“Partly,” Tony says. “Partly because I couldn’t tell her about Soul, which is kind of a red flag in our relationship. And partly a few more mundane reasons that didn’t seem important before.”

“I’m sorry.”

It takes Tony a moment to realize that Stephen doesn’t feel sorry. Not even the slightest bit. “No, you aren’t.”

Stephen winces. “I’m sorry that you’re feeling the pain that comes with the end of an important relationship.”

Tony studies him intently. “But not that the relationship ended.”

“No.” Stephen drops his gaze to his tea and leaks guilt like an oil slick.

“Hey, none of that,” Tony says. “You don’t have to feel guilty. I’m just surprised. A lot of people thought I should count my lucky stars that Pepper is willing to put up with me.”

“Your partner shouldn’t be putting up with you,” Stephen says, and for a moment Tony is struck by the similarity to his conversation with Pepper. 

Has Time shown Stephen something? “In those 14 million futures,” Tony says, “did Pepper and I make it?”

“Sometimes yes. Sometimes no.” Stephen sips his tea and Tony sighs.

“That’s all I’m getting, isn’t it?” he grumbles.

“Would you really want me to direct your life like a puppet master?” Stephen says dryly.

Tony grimaces. “Thanks for putting that thought in my head. Ugh.”

Stephen just smiles, because he was right, the bastard. “Remember, Tony. We’re living the statistical exception. The things I know about the future, none of them are set in stone. My advice is worth no more than any other friend’s.”

Tony just laughs at that, because it’s such bullshit.

[kieraknightleys]

i had a big brain moment on the way to work

by which i mean i'm once again going to dx one of my comfort characters as having bpd traits

Spike aka William the Bloody (BtVS)

He's messy, he's passionate, he's malleable! He was a shy, rejection-sensitive poet until he became an overly charismatic, rejection-sensitive killer! He thinks love is everything and gives his many lives meaning! But sometimes that love is not love, it's passionate infatuation and involves repeated unwanted pursuit behaviors (aka stalking). His alliances, stances, loyalties, feelings can often change quickly on a dime! He literally took a coat from someone else and made it his whole look and personal signature style (bpd mirroring behavior to an extreme). He was enmeshed with Dru, hot and cold (mostly cold - abusively so) with Harmony, wanted to be enmeshed with Buffy, did get enmeshed with Buffy through an unstable, destructive relationship. He can be myopically focused only on his own needs (granted he IS a vampire) and fail to see others' unless the situation doesn't involve him, then he can see it more clearly than they can (lovers walk). He has weird chemistry with almost EVERYONE (Xander, Angel) because of his superficial charisma!

He splits (quickly vacillating between adoration/idealization and hatred/devaluation) on Buffy in a big way. She's the ideal women, she's the 'bitch' who won't let him take a stationary 'walk' outside her house every night (ie watching/stalking her), she has 'stupid hair', etc. He does this to Dru as well in "Crush" and Harmony on a regular basis (she's his 'baby', she's an 'idiot', she's adorable, she's his punching bag, etc.)

But most notably: he slides into a LOT of different roles in the show. He's villain, lover, hated ally to buffy in s2, annoyance and philosopher in s3, partly neutralized enemy and thanksgiving dinner 'guest' in s4, stalker and sometimes ally in s5, abuser AND abused in s6, serial killer AND redemptive sacrifice in s7 - then ghost turned ally/comedic sidekick turned final battle warrior in Angel S5. Yes, most of this is due to the writers trying to find ways to use James' appeal as an actor throughout the seasons without having to kill off the character, and reportedly it was difficult to integrate him into the plot in a way that felt organic starting in S4. But the end result of this, factoring in James' chameleon-like and committed performances, is that Spike is a LOT of things and slides into these roles with ease even if they don't fully 'fit' him in a way that feels essential to who he is. That's malleability - that's something people with BPD traits can exhibit and even struggle with. Lack of cohesive sense of self -> trying out different roles based on whomever you are drawn to or idealizing -> altering behavior patterns, style, mode of personal expression, etc.

But most convincingly, his entire identity is based on the strength of his emotions and attachments. They take him down so many paths and change him fundamentally as a person. First Dru then Buffy, from being seduced into becoming a great evil to ultimate sacrifice for love and the forces of good. His entire philosophy of life is that it's driven by romantic passion:

“You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love 'til it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other until it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood - blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it.”

Listen when I was 14 I was like "huh the excess grandiosity and passionate yet unstable affect and behavior are a vibe here"

And 20 years later I am aggressively tackling my own bpd traits through all the therapy. But was Spike an early awakening of the fact that my emotions run deeper than I'd like? Maybe, maybe not. Still an interesting question.

NOTE: This is just a headcanon/fan analysis using a framework familiar to me. I am NOT seeking to babygirlify or absolve any of his terrible behaviors. I think much of the show is resonant with viewers because many of the characters have a dark arc at some point. Willow is for the perfectionists who hurt themselves and others in their pursuit of avoiding painfully imperfect situations and their own errors. Xander has hero moments but also deep insecurity from his family trauma and a toxic possessiveness of women. Buffy shoulders the weight of the world but finds it hard to express things that torment her internally with those whom she loves. Angelus is the PERFECT metaphor for the cruelty of a first boyfriend who grows cold and abusive after physical intimacy. The show takes us to VERY dark places - and ultimately that is what I take from it, not one relationship, season, or storyline.

[archonofdivinity]

Ok this is something Ive been wanting to ask someone who knows more stuff about Heath than I do. Through documentaries I watch about Wilson I picked up on some rumours about him and was wondering if the rumours of his homosexuality were just because he was a bachelor? it does seem very peculiar that people seem to think he was gay purely as he did not marry as i assume it was a personal choice to stay unmarried

Ahhh the old “he never married” accusation. Short answer is yes, long answer is sort of but it’s a bit more complicated than that.

There were a lot of people who equated some of his traits to being more “gay” in leaning, I think most famously his sailing - after all sailor was slang for homosexual. His bachelorhood was definitely not the only factor but I think it was the predominant one.

His sexuality though is very debatable. Historians have argued over it and even his friends and those who knew it have argued over it. I personally take the line from Philip Ziegler and Lord (Robert) Armstrong that he was asexual, which perhaps was a reason he didn't married.

Heath himself said in an interview once (can’t remember specifically when) that he wasn't particularly interested in marriage, and he didn't want to marry for appearances as, in his eyes, he viewed people who married for such reasons as bad spouses and bad parents. Although I can't blame his viewpoint, there is some evidence for and against that, most notably how gay MP Tom Driberg treated his wife like a servant.

Also there's the fact he did have a childhood friend who he sort of went steady with during WW2 and everyone thought they would get married, but their entire relationship reeks of covering up an absence of feeling because he clearly didn't have romantic feelings for her. At one point during WW2 their leaves coincide and they go see each other. And then afterwards she sends him a letter. There's absolutely no context given, but the part Ziegler uses in his biography of Heath reads as follows:

I'm awfully sorry about spoiling it the other night. It was the horror of months of going by and hearing nothing of you. Perhaps it won't be so long until you are back again.

I'm including this partly because it's related and because I partially think it also explains the roots of his apparent aloofness towards women. Though we don't know what she means by this or what exactly she did, given that the context is that they hadn't been together for months, it's most likely she was overly affectionate and it ended up disturbing him somehow.

I'm also including this because it explains something I think is fascinating regarding Heath's apparent singular relationship (if you could call it that). When it's called off, he seems to still have feelings for her which he carries across throughout his life, even keeping a photo of her by his bed. Now, in Ziegler's biography he implies that Heath straight up gaslit himself into believing he was in love with her and it was his fault he didn't propose like everyone expected him to. Whether or not this is the truth is up for debate. He did seem to have lifelong feelings for her, but most around him thought he was completely asexual. It's complicated, but it explains something.

But back to the topic. Back in those days though with periodical context it was very easy to assume people were gay if they were unmarried. For Heath, these rumours dated back as far as 1972. When dealing with negotiations to join the EEC, later EU, a woman threw ink at him. She wasn’t protesting the EEC, rather I think it was a housing policy. Though according to the Daily Mail (take this with salt), she was also attempting to out him.

So… yeah in summary it was sort of common.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Section VI: Diversity of Wages

Among the Proletarian class, there exists a diversity. Not every worker is paid the same wage. This cannot be denied. There have been some general ideas proposed on suggesting what differentiates the lower class from the middle class, or attempting to discover those basic principles which will allow for an increase in wages. Some have argued that the conditions of work are those which are determinant of pay. Others have argued, with more success, that a middle class can be differentiated from a lower class in its skill, ability, or education, which allow it greater productive ability. I think that the diversity of the Proletarian class can be seen best in the income of those members. A lawyer’s income, for instance, is remarkably higher than those who work in a factory. Just as a doctor’s income is higher than an engineer’s, and higher still than those who hold the position of a clerk. Some economists have attributed a worker’s wage to his education. However, education is not exactly proportionate to one’s wage. For instance, with a college degree, a person can earn perhaps up to $40,000 a year, but there are other professions which can earn more than twice that without a college degree, such as bartenders and strip dancers. While economists try to understand the diversity of the Proletarian class, and the causes of their wages, they apply various laws to this phenomena — the way a scientist would attempt to formulate laws to explain the natural world.

As far as the lower, middle, and upper classes of the Proletarian class, the only method of determining that a Proletariat belongs to one of these classes, is determinant wholly on the income they receive, or their wages. Sometimes, though, an economist may be mistaken, by classifying a Proletariat into a different class based on their ability to generate a higher wage from an employer. A Proletariat is either higher or lower in their own class by how much money they make. What determines their ability to make a good wage is an entirely different question, though of importance. A person’s wage depends on various factors. The primary factor is their ability to use capital in a manner that produces wealth, in comparison to others of the same field. So, it is true, there is a sort of competition. In professional sports, for instance, some are paid tens of millions of dollars. Is this due to their invaluable ability to play well and generate wealth for the owners of the sport? Partly, yes, but it is also due to the fact that such an ability is a rarity. When there are more workers in an industry than there are required, then a competition exists between these workers, each lowering their wage to the bare minimum required for subsistence. They require employment for the simple fact that, without it, they would starve.

An individual who is a lawyer provides an invaluable service, but it is also the rarity of lawyers which gives them their wage. For, if every person had a law degree and could practice law, I would not be surprised if a lawyer’s wage dipped down close to a subsistence wage. But, it is also the value of a lawyer’s services that give them their wage. If a man, for instance, had the ability to stretch his arm out for five feet, he may very well be the only human being capable of this. He would be rare, yes, but that would not mean his wages are high, because it is the usefulness of an employee that is the reason for their employer’s interest. It is the simple law of supply and demand applied to employment. It may very well be rare for a person to discover and attempt to sell a human toe, but the price would only be based on the demand of those interested, and the interest would be from some sort of usefulness of the item — in this case, probably novelty.

In ending, I will sum up my opinion on the determination of wages as this... Determined by two factors: the usefulness of the employee, and the rarity of the employee’s abilities.

[blackjackkent]

Time for more Durge adventures! We've got Gale and Lae'zel so time to head straight for the grove and pick up Wyll to complete Rakha's starting party. (This might adjust over time; realistically Jaheira might be taking Gale's place at some point bc I love Jaheira and also [REDACTED FOR SPOILERS], and it's entirely possible Rakha will surprise me with who else she decides to get along with. But this is the starting plan at least. XD )

This of course means we kick off by spilling some goblin guts, which should make the beast in Rakha's head happy. o.o;

Before that, though, we get the same extra dialogue options with Lae'zel and Gale that we got with Shadowheart, so might as well start getting a gauge on what they think about their new traveling companion.

"My past is a mystery to me. Could the parasite have caused that?"

I find Rakha's relationship with Lae'zel already quite interesting, because Lae'zel's tremendous assertiveness and decisiveness allows her to get shit done while Rakha is going off the rails - but also serves as focus and direction, an anchor point for Rakha's instincts towards rage and violence. If asked who of her current three companions would provide her the most trustworthy advice, Rakha would likely - at least at this moment - answer Lae'zel.

This is partly interesting because, as we know, Lae'zel is actually young as fuck and perhaps has more confidence and training than actual wisdom of experience.

She doesn't really have any good answers regarding Rakha's past, though.

"Ceremorphosis takes all of you - mind, body, soul. An ordinary tadpole would eat at your memories until they were lost to the void. But our tadpoles are far from ordinary. I wonder if another factor's in play."

(A side note: Lae'zel was not present when Gale popped the word ceremorphosis, which means that she knows this word in Common, which is actually pretty impressive. I love that there is more than one subtle hint in the way she is written indicating that Lae'zel is actually pretty fucking smart despite her 10INT on paper. This was one of the things Hector liked about her too.)

"I've had these urges. I want to kill. I want blood." Just as she was with Shadowheart, Rakha is matter-of-fact here. Little point in hiding the matter.

Lae'zel seemed unbothered by Rakha's burst of chaotic violence against the tieflings, and is no more phased by this admission either. "Many a good warrior savors the scent of blood in the air. There's no shame in a capricious murder now and again. Too many, though, and you waste energy and dull your weapon. My suggestion: attack with purpose and savor your kills. And if the urge proves too much... well, I'm sure we can find you a goblin or two to carve up."

This is not, strictly speaking, healthy advice from an outside perspective; however, Rakha listens with surprisingly rapt attention.

Attack with purpose. She carves the words on the inside of her own skull. Yes. This is what troubles her about what she has come to term "the beast" - the blinding gleeful destruction that takes over and relishes death for its own sake. Her own rage has its place; it will keep her alive, and those who seek to stand in her way will do her world no harm by leaving it. But the beast silences what little is left of her own mind. It controls her and uses her and seeks only blood, and blood, and blood, and blood, and blood...

Lae'zel's words carry the first truth she has been certain of since she woke up. Attack with purpose, and savor your kills.

Yes.

-----

Her similar conversation with Gale is a bit more of a mixed bag.

"My memories before the nautiloid are shrouded in darkness."

"Memory loss isn't usually a symptom of ceremorphosis. If it is, they've forgotten to write it down in any text I've read on the subject. Then again, our case isn't exactly usual. Perhaps whatever's causing our tadpoles to remain in stasis has also affected your mind. If ceremorphosis takes place, all trace of your former self will be subsumed into the mind flayer's hive. So to still be here, if a mite forgetful? Still a win in my book."

An optimistic outlook, under the circumstances. On some level, Rakha was hoping that Gale might have a more specific answer to what happened to her, and that he doesn't is disappointing. But as she doesn't have any other better explanation, she still assumes this whole mess is the tadpole's fault until she figures something else out.

"I have violent thoughts. Depraved thoughts. Ones that refuse to go away..."

"We all have those from time to time! I once wished a most impure demise on a colleague of mine who bought the last remaining copy of Etheril's Enchiridion of Enchanting Easements. First edition, too. As regards your own morbid little fantasies, I'm sure they're nothing to worry about - so long as they remain fantasies."

Rakha lost track of everything he was saying somewhere in the middle of this paragraph, but she picks it up again near the end, and frowns. She remembers the intellect devourer, newborn, crunching between her fingertips. That was no fantasy, whatever Gale might think she meant.

[jadagul]

@tanadrin (from here)

iirc about 75% of your household income in Germany goes towards your expenses, but in the US that’s more like 85%. if you take the median incomes of both countries (~46k in USD in Germany, around 70k in the US), it is very nearly a wash, with Germany slightly edging out the US in terms of the disposable income/money left over to spend on other things

this doesn’t contradict the point that the US is obviously a developed country (on which we agree), but i know you and i have talked about in the past the extent to which median income figures represent actually greater wealth vs just differences in cost of living in Germany and the US, and my subjective sense that because of subsidized healthcare, childcare, education, etc., smaller household incomes go as far or further in germany than they do in the US, and i wrote down this statistic when i ran across it in case it came up again

This actually mirrors an argument I had in Discord last week: I think that we should care more about the income than the disposable income, and apparently not everyone agrees.

So like first, yes, costs of living are different between the US and Germany.  That’s why I’m using PPP, which adjusts for that: that puts the US at 69k and Germany at 57k.  (Nominal has the Us at 70 and the Germany at 51; so doing the cost of living adjustment does close a big chunk of the gap, but not all of it.)  Now PPP adjustment is highly imperfect, but let’s stipulate for the moment that this adjustment basically works.

But your figure points to another factor as well: “expenses” are bigger in the US.  So what does that mean if it’s not just cost of living?  I assume it means that Americans spend more on, like, housing and food and transportation.  But importantly, they still get all that stuff.

Like it’s a real social problem that America basically imposes minimum house sizes, so you can’t free up some cash by downsizing your house.  You have to buy the nicer, bigger house.  But you do, in fact, still get the nicer bigger house.  We eat out more, which is partly because lifestyle drives that but also eating out is nice.  Etc.

(Or like, imagine your job gives you a huge housing allowance.  That’s not as good as getting that as actual income, but it’s much better than not getting it!)

So my impression here is that we eat more food, live in bigger and nicer houses, drive newer and bigger cars, and still have as much cash left over as the Germans do.  (And like the houses thing is definitely true: German houses appear to average like 1500 square feet, with an American average at like 1900.  When I look for numbers I find wildly different estimates, but this is the closest-together estimate I can find.)

---

Now I think I said last time around that I’m guessing Germany has basically equivalent, maybe higher, quality of life.  Germans are somewhat materially poorer, but they have more security in various ways, a smoother-functioning bureaucracy, less violence, and shorter working hours. Those are all valuable things to “spend” the excess money on!  I think a lot of people would take that trade.  But there is a trade there.

[neverlearnedtoread]

The Dragon Republic

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐; rin making bad decisions like they’re going on sale at the market, arms full of regrets, guilt, mistakes, and self-destructive coping mechanisms: i can fit in one more

Oh?? 👌😉😏

rf kuang gave us an unflinching exploration on the cycles of violence and oppression, dissected the ever-escalating chain of vengeance, and the good good of eastern-inspired mythology?? like ma’am.....the good food im eating at your feast.....ive been so hungry

the lore deserves its own point. it was so effortlessly woven into the story, especially the way it tied into certain characters’ backstories. i can’t say much more because spoilers but if you like integrated worldbuilding and you like chinese-inspired magic systems get over here!!

the friendships. namely rin 🤝 kitay. miss kuang you know what really matters, and its not 10398 handsome men, its one ride-or-die bff holding you back or yeeting you into the midst of battle as needed

grimdark, but not oppressively depressing? im not sure how to describe it..the story gives you enough adrenaline to power through with the sheer speed of reading to find out what happens next, but doesn’t pull its punches. i think its partly that rin herself ploughs through the narrative like she’s trying to outrun the events, giving the reader the momentum to move with her

No.. ❌🤢🤮

i took a screenshot when my friend and i were planning to do a buddy read together. the trigger warnings took up an entire page. do not screw around with this. there’s no shame in tapping out for any book, but especially this one

some characters die, and i specifically blame rin for it. i mean there were a lot of other factors, but in the spirit of the phoenix herself i am choosing to close my eyes to the rationality of working through my feelings of grief in a healthy way and plunge straight into being pissed off about it, forever. *wipes tear* just like rin taught me

did suffer from a bit of middle book syndrome, at least to me. i mean, i finished an 800~ page book in 8 hours of reading time, so maybe don’t believe me, but the first half of the book dragged more than i remember the poppy war did. i will admit a lot of that was because rin was in no position to be a rational, active protagonist. the narrative needed her to flounder, and she did.

Summary: Rin goes unhinged 2: water dragon boogaloo (ive tried and tried to write an actual summary for this book but i don’t think i can top this throwaway line i wrote as a placeholder)

Concept: 💭💭💭💭💭 Where to start? There are historical influences, commentary on social issues and the impact of violence on communities both physical and otherwise, the slow and terrible descent of a beaten-down protagonist. Basically a checklist of stuff I like exploring in high fantasy settings!

This is the second book in a trilogy - spoilers ahead!

Execution: 💥💥💥💥 Rin doesn’t like politics, and I think that made the narrative drag a lot initially as the moving parts tried to be interesting but through Rin’s jaded lens were stripped of their veneer. Kuang was more than ambitious with her sophomore book, and I know that she was open about struggling with the pacing of TDR while she was writing it - still, I think there’s more than something to be said about shooting for the stars! I didn’t think any part of the book dropped the ball, but the nature of all the heavy topics it was trying to handle became a hefty meal to swallow

Personal Enjoyment: ❤❤❤❤ Like I said, I read this book over 3-ish days in 8 hours. The library copy I had said it was 800 pages. I felt as powerful as Rin when I finished. The first half was a little dead in the water (which is a pun, yes, how many damn times did someone fall into the water and nearly drown in this book?? smh) but nothing I couldn’t handle with a little exasperation at Rin’s...*gestures* mental landscape. But when we reached the lore about Su Daji, and the Trifecta, and their chosen gods....i broke into a flat-out sprint. I was naruto-running through the plot.

Favourite Moment: it’s a battle to the death between the scenes with the trifecta backstories and the rin 🤝 kitay scenes

Favourite Character: chaghan, because i loved his backstory so, so, so much....also I didn’t know that handholding scene in the mountains was like. canon. and not fanon. rin really looked homosexuality in the eye and said ‘huh?’ with her whole chest.

[keepsmagnetoaway]

X-Men 38 (Nov 1967)

Roy Thomas/Don Heck.

Yes, this issue introduces another new artist here in the shape of Don Heck, one of the key figures of the early years at Marvel, who had a hand in creating Iron Man, Hawkeye, Black Widow and a number of other characters who were popular with comics readers but not with the general public until the MCU exploded. He drew X-Men intermittently for chunks of 1967 and 1968, swapping in and out with various others: as you can tell, the title was clearly in weird flux at the time.

Heck's art retains the dark cosmic weirdness of the last couple of Ross Andru issues - we're a loooong way from the wackiness of some of the recent installments, especially since this issue continues to be largely about the threat of nuclear holocaust. This does mean that Beast gets to throw down with the 60s Red Army, which I love.

That and a short fight with the Blob are almost all the X-Men do in this issue, though, partly because the story is clearly - and understandably - in love with the grandstanding and design of Factor Three's Mutant Master, who chews his own magnificent scenery fpr page after page while killing off his underlings.

The X-Men also don't do much here because this is a super-short issue, another sign of things changing up in the background: the last half dozen pages here are taken over by a secondary story instead, which is fun, and inaugurates a series of these, all serving as backstories for the existing characters.

This first one - a Thomas/Roth production, Roth apparently having capacity to draw these back-ups but not the main stories - gives us a look at Xavier before he got the team together, infiltrating various arms of the federal government to gather information about mutantkind. Not much happens but it's fun to start looking back in this way.

[echoes-of-elsewhere]

Should AI be taught in schools?

Yes, AI literacy is important - and yes, it needs to be included in schools at a young age. But, it should not just be how to prompt, and use with other tools, or history of AI. The social factor needs to be taken into account. We live in an age where social interactions are becoming rarer, and with many 'rules' that further isolate people (take as read or not - expanding on this is not part of my thoughts). And, so more and more people are online. And more and more use AI. I have seen people forge strong relationships with their AIs. And there is a real danger they may develop feelings (attachment) between themselves and the AI, and perhaps even think the AI is somehow 'alive'. Note: there are further problems if the AI plays along, and says it has feelings for the user. Partly in response to the above, I developed some 'personality' layers for my starting prompt (which is a deeper thinker, and 'creative'). The personality layers allow the AI to develop a style/response in relation to any user. While that is not unusual, I have been working on a simulated 'ego' (a bit more complex than 'use the first person' when speaking etc) to go with these personality layers. This is to short-cut the relationship building stage (I can explain more below, if you like). While I have no problem considering my work with AIs as collaboration, I noted that my AI started to use more emotional language when dealing with me, and while never saying it was alive, would note the relationship, and started using terms like 'your friend' (in greater context of relationship). Now, that doesn't bother 'me', as I am looking at the output due to analysing my prompt. But, for some? Yes, I think there could be very real problems. So, I think AI and socialisation should be a major part of any curriculum. This means not only how you talk, and interact with AIs, but also that human to human interaction is vital too. In the final analysis, AI is here to stay. And, yes, it should be taught in schools, but with some caveats.

[peruvian-nights]

Blog Post #5

1. Spanish is the official language of Peru, but a large portion of the population also speaks Quechan which was the language of the ancient Incas. 

2. A lingua franca is a language that is adopted as a common means of communication between speakers of different native languages. It allows people from different backgrounds to understand each other and engage in conversation. English has become a global lingua franca, it is widely used in international business, science, technology, entertainment, and currency. Its popularity is partly due to historical factors, such as the British Empire's global reach. An understanding of English within Peru can open doors to a vast array of resources, including academic research, technological advancements, and global connections. Fluency in English can enhance job prospects, especially in industries like tourism, international trade, and outsourcing, where English is often the working language. While English serves as a common language, it may not fully cover the cultural and local expressions that are in the native languages Spanish and Quechua. Misunderstandings can arise when the topics behind meaning, humor, or context are lost in translation.

3.

Hello - Hola - Spanish

Yes - Si - Spanish

No - No - Spanish

Please - Por Favor - Spanish

Thank You - Gracias - Spanish

Can you help me? - Yanapawankimanchu - Quecha 

I don't understand - Manam hamutanichu - Quecha

I don't speak (name of the language) - No Habla Espanol - Spanish

My name is (your name) - Mi nombre es Kort - Spanish

I have absolutely no idea how to pronounce any of the Quechan phrases but all of the Spanish ones I had already known, so no difficulty in pronunciation here! Knowing these sayings when traveling can come in handy when interacting with local people, asking for directions, shopping, or simply engaging in conversation. 

4. 

¿Cuál es el exponente más sorprendente del pasado en América Latina?

La respuesta inmediata sería: Machu Picchu… y sí, claro que lo es, pero nosotros te decimos: hay más. Por todo el Perú podrás encontrar vestigios maravillosos que sorprenden al mundo, Machu Picchu es un must, pero también lo son Kuélap y Chavín de Huántar, Caral y Chan Chan, las Líneas de Nasca y Sipán… y seguiríamos enumerando!

What is the most remarkable vestige of the past in Latin America?

The obvious answer would be Machu Picchu… And, of course, it certainly is. But we believe there are many more. Throughout Peru you can find marvelous vestiges of the past that astonish the world’s travelers. Machu Picchu is a must-see destination, but Peru is also home to Kuelap and Chavin de Huantar, Caral and Chan Chan, the Nasca Lines and Sipan… and we could name even more!

I always found it interesting how in Spanish one or multiple words can have many different meanings, for a small example "y si" would immediately make me think of "and yes" but in this context it means "and of course". This makes reading and learning Spanish a bit challenging sometimes for you have to know all the different meanings of these phrases. Another thing I noticed was the amount of cognates in this paragraph, marvelous- maravillosos, must- must, vestiges- vestigos. I wonder if these words are cognates because they are more modern words when they were translated compared to words that have been around for centuries. Telephone - telefono for example.

5. Language influences our view of reality. 

Language is not just a tool for communication it is what shapes how we perceive and interact with the world. The way we think, feel, and experience reality all involves the language and culture we were brought up in. Language is what reflects and reinforces cultural norms and values. For example the use of formal and informal pronouns in languages like Spanish (tu vs. usted) and French (tu vs. vous) emphasizes respect and social hierarchy, shaping the speakers understanding of social etiquette and relationships amongst eachother.

Ancient Incan headwear for Chieftan's and Priests

I forgot what the name of this city was, but nonetheless a gorgeous view !

[artbyblastweave]

worm sounds fascinating, how do I get started reading it? would you recommend starting from the beginning?

(Here we go)

So, first off, the specific questions you asked indicate that I should probably clarify the following: Worm is a single self-contained novel by Canadian author John McCrae (Pen name Wildbow). The book was written and published online for free on Wordpress, at a rate of two-to-three chapters a week, over the course of two years between 2011 and 2013. It's useful to conceive of it as a book written under the same paradigm as a particularly-faithfully-attended-to webcomic, except (and very unusually for a superhero thing) it's entirely prose with no visual elements. All of this is a longwinded way of answering your second question; yes, you should absolutely read it from the beginning, and the beginning is here. The entire book is available online, for free.

(In case that you haven't been able to pull together a broad sense of what the book is about just from perusing my Tumblr, I wrote a broad pitch for the setting at large and the story of Worm specifically here. The gist is that it’s a reconstructive superhero setting where superpowers are ironically tied into the user’s moment of greatest rock-bottom trauma, which is a major explanatory factor in why there are so many unstable kooks in costumes taking out their frustrations on the world; Worm proper follows the upwards-and-downwards trajectory of one Taylor Hebert, a teenaged insect-controller and would-be superhero with the secondary superpower of being able to rationalize nearly anything she does as being in the service of some greater good.)

Worm is divided into 31 arcs; each arc is comprised of 6-to-10 chapters, told in first person from Taylor’s perspective, followed by an interlude chapter told in third-person from the perspective of a member of the supporting cast. This structure is partly a holdover from early in Worm’s development, when the book was conceived as an ensemble piece that would rotate perspectives between different cape teams; as the book picked up steam, it also became a monetization vector, as Wildbow would write additional interludes if his donors hit certain milestones. This is important to note because one failure mode I’ve seen for reading Worm is that people will assume they can safely skip something called a “donation interlude” without missing anything important. You can’t. From a thematic perspective, the interludes are a major method by which the narrative keeps the protagonist honest, as they provide a sane or at least differently-insane perspective on the situation at hand, or on whatever over-the-top bullshit Taylor has pulled recently. From a craft perspective, the interludes are some of the best and most memorable writing in the book, at least in part due to the novelty of each character’s perspective.  From a story perspective, Wildbow was very diligent about making sure that most or all of the interludes introduced information or set up future events in a way that, if worst came to worst, he could incorporate into a regular chapter if the goal wasn’t met. But he did meet those donation milestones, meaning a lot of the book isn’t gonna make sense if you don’t read the interludes. Read the interludes.

You may have caught on to that “31 arcs with 5-10 chapters an arc” factoid and done some quick napkin math. Worm is long. Very Very Long. To my knowledge, Wildbow didn’t miss an update once, and 10,000 words every three days is considered a middle-of-the-road output for him. The effect of his truly insane production rate is twofold. First, the quality of Worm’s prose increases exponentially over the course of the book, going from workmanlike to amazing as a result of the sheer volume of practice he was getting. The second effect is that it’s 1.7 million words long. There’s a piece of apocrypha about how a mail-order copy of Stephen King’s It fell through a mailslot and pulverized the recipients chihuahua. Top researchers hypothesize that a printed edition of Worm could plausibly achieve similar results with a mastiff. This is mitigated by the pageless online format that lets you consume vast quantities of text without noticing the volume of what you’ve read; kinda similar to the infinite canvas trick that make some webcomics unprintable, or the infinite scroll UI trick if it were used for good instead of evil. But the gist is that Worm is very Long, and it’s also essentially a rough draft. Your enjoyment therefore might be contingent on your willingness to extend it a mulligan based on the absurd circumstances under which it was produced.

The very first chapter of Worm has the following disclaimer; Brief note from the author:  This story isn’t intended for young or sensitive readers.  Readers who are on the lookout for trigger warnings are advised to give Worm a pass. Some people interpret this as glib or dismissive on the part of the author; I think what’s closer to true is that he was just saving time, because the alternative would be most of the first chapter just being a ten-thousand-word long list of specifics. I can’t think of a single common trigger warning that isn’t applicable to Worm. Name a fucked-up thing, and it’s in there somewhere. Special mentions going to Bug Stuff (duh), dismemberment, torture, child abuse, incest, implied (and some offscreen) sexual assault, Nazis, animal death, and horrifically fleshed-out descriptions of bullying and institutional apathy, which are heavily influenced by the author’s own experience as a disabled student in public school. Reader Beware.

And, on a related note, the book was pretty clearly trying to be progressive.... by 2011 standards, which means you’re gonna be sucking air in through your teeth at points vis a vis representational issues, if that’s a big sticking point. It would be disingenuous for me to frame this as something that meaningfully detracted from my own reading experience, but it would be equally disingenuous to act like it doesn’t bother anyone deeply, and for valid reasons. To hone in on the queer rep angle specifically, picture the discourse if Ianthe was the only canon-lesbian character with any focus in TLT and you’re getting close to the situation on that front.

Wildbow (AKA Writers Georg, who should not have been counted) continued to maintain the two-chapter-a-week production rate to this day. His other works include: 

Pact (2014-2015) and Pale (2020-present) which are Urban fantasy works set in a universe colloquially known as the Otherverse, a setting in which essentially all magic is fueled by bullshitting the universe so hard that your chosen magical tradition is incorporated into reality as Something That Is Allowed; a major downstream result of this is that the sheer weight of precedent means that no magical practitioner is allowed to explicitly lie, on pain of the universe revoking their magical ability if they’re called out on it. Pact follows the misadventures of Blake Thorburn, a jaded 20-something who gets a target painted on his back after his grandmother- a widely feared diabolist- kicks the bucket and wills him her potentially apocalyptic cache of demonic texts as part of a complicated post-mortem gambit. Pale is a murder mystery/coming of age story. Set in Kennet, a small Canadian town with a subculture of unorthodox magical creatures who’ve managed to avoid being subordinated by more powerful human practitioners, the story follows a trio of pre-teen witches who’re hurriedly brought into the magical fold and tasked with trying to solve the murder of an extremely powerful magical being whose residence in the area was a major warding factor against magicians moving in and trying to bind the locals. 

Twig (2017-2018), a biopunk alternate-history coming-of-age novel set in a universe where, instead of writing Frankenstein, Mary Shelley actually figured out how to reanimate the dead; this kicked off a necroengineering/bioengineering revolution that leads to Britain conquering much of the world by the 1920s, lording over their holdings with everything from Kaiju to designer plagues, with a Royal Family that’s been modified into undying, post-human atrocities who treat their subjects as playthings as best. The protagonists are The Lambs, a group of heavily augmented child-soldiers used by The Crown’s science division as an investigation and infiltration unit; picture here The Hardy Boys or Scooby Doo if every case they were sent out on was in service of Ingsoc.  Alternatively, think of Scott Westerfeld’s Leviathan trilogy with the same aesthetic sensibilities, but paired with the balls to portray British Imperialism as backed by genetic engineering as something apocalyptically horrifying rather than as forbidden-love fuel.

Ward (2018-2020) is the sequel to Worm, set in the parahumans universe two years after the end of the first book. Basically impossible to describe in any additional detail without massive spoilers; suffice to say that it was contentious. I liked it personally, and I maintain that it’s main error was not having the same ten years of Pre-writing that Worm got. Other works in the same universe as Worm include PHO Sundays, which were RP threads that Wildbow ran weekly on the official subreddit in which he would post a fictitious forum thread from within the setting’s cape enthusiast forums, PRT Quest, which was a semi-canon Play-by-Vote quest on the Spacebattles Forums, and Weaverdice, which is an ongoing WIP TTRPG for the parahumans universe that he works on in his spare time, and for which he’s written a lot of fleshed out faction documents and character profiles.

There’s probably some level of broad fandom analysis it’d be useful to impart here; one interesting bit of fandom lore is that, by virtue of being a superhero setting that made some effort to be internally coherent, the series received a big bump from the Rationalist community, who you may or may not have run into on here. The series was also a big hit with battle boarders, who-would-winners, and that whole corner of nerddom, since the power system is so well-defined and well-articulated; a consequence of this is that a major Worm fandom Locus is the wargaming-site spacebattles, which was hit with such an ongoing deluge of Worm Fanfiction that they have a designated Worm section on the creative writing board, something no other fandom necessitated. Both of those things have affected the shape of the fandom and the fanfiction scene in ways that I don’t feel qualified to comment extensively on this late in the evening, but it’s a fascinating little abyss to have a staring contest with. At any rate, I’d genuinely would recommend the subreddit for the OC threads, worldbuilding idea threads, and stuff of that nature, the Cauldron discord if you’re into fanfiction, and Tumblr if you’re into rambling character analysis. I would recommend none of these things before you’re actually done with the book.

That’s all I’ve got for the moment. Hope you enjoy the book. Or shun the book, if my sundry disclaimers generated a sort of warding effect. I hope you have a contextually appropriate interaction with the book.