#prevent confusion and misinformation

[enbycrip]

Folks, if you are talking about or sharing anything about “native plants”, please mention *your* location and *where* the plants are native to, not only country-wise but environment-wise.

So many people are learning about rewilding, gathering, foraging and gardening for food in harmony with the environment entirely online. Making your information clear for those people takes you little effort and limits confusion and misinformation getting out there.

The internet isn’t only “not just America”; many nations contain different environments with materially different conditions.

I live in Scotland. Most of the gardening and foraging information I get in the UK is calibrated for the south of England, which is a really different environment from mine - spring can come up to a month later and the south is semi-arid, which Scotland is *not*.

These days I actually look at a lot of Danish and Swedish gardening advice because their environment is a lot closer to mine. And that’s within one small nation. The world is wide and full of incredible diversity.

I am seeing UK-based pages sharing information about “native lawns” which contain plants from arid areas of the US because there’s no specificity in the original post. A small amount of information in the post, even a few lines, about locations, environments, context and goals would prevent this sort of confusion and incorrect information from spreading.

A lot of people are really enthusiastic and ready to be engaged in gardening for food, rewilding, gardening in harmony with the environment, soil preservation etc, but confusion and feeling they can’t trust information sources can really kill that. Make it easy for people new to the movement where you can, please.

ID: some photos of my native rewilded lawn from Scotland, UK, containing buttercups with butterfly eggs on them, yellow rattle, a willow tree, wild orchids, and many different grasses, and my small garden pond upcycled from a Belfast Sink surrounded by wild grasses, ladies’ mantle and wild geraniums and with woundwort and pondweed growing in it. There is a short path mowed in the lawn to allow safe passage of mobility devices and a wooden bench sitting in the long grass. A somewhat overgrown gravel drive and a front door with three steps up to it can be seen. The photos were taken in early June 2023.

#rewilding #rewilding uk #rewilding scotland #soilhealth #food gardening #native plants #foraging #disabled gardener #clarity #teaching and learning online #prevent confusion and misinformation #biodiversity

[5ummit]

So there's this post with a troubling number of notes going around insisting that "dead dove" is not a genre, it doesn't inherently have anything to do with darkfic, and that the tag could be applied to fics that are "100% fluffy where everyone's having a good time" if they happen to contain some abnormal (though entirely non-problematic) content like an unusual kink. The claim is that "dead dove: do not eat" is simply a "courtesy tag" that means "this is a very specific niche, mind the tags." And that's just... wrong.

I wrote up a whole rebuttal to this post since I can't stand misinformation and frankly OP was being kinda rude and judgey on top of their wrongness. But right after I posted my reply, OP turned off reblogs because, and I quote, “some fuckwad added some dumb shit onto this post and it is no longer educational” (the “fuckwad” being me and the “dumb shit” being proof that they were wrong). A couple people have asked me to make a rebloggable version of my response, which I've decided to do because this isn't the first time I've heard similar claims and I want to help set the record straight. However, I'm not linking the original post on the off chance this gains traction because OP did the right thing by turning off reblogs, preventing it from circulating further, and I don't want them to get hate for being unfortunately misinformed.

For those who don't know the history, "dead dove: do not eat" was originally proposed as a catchall "hydra trash party" alternative label for any fandom to warn that the content of a fic may be considered problematic or potentially upsetting and to read the tags carefully so you know what you're getting into and won't complain later. Specifically, DD:DNE was intended to convey that the Bad Things in the fic would likely be reveled in and not explicitly condemned by the narrative, which some people tend to get up in arms about, hence the need for the extra warning in addition to the tags. Don't believe me? Here's the original proposal (note DD:DNE can be found on a handful of fics dated before 2015 but this is when it really took off and became a Thing).

There are currently around 50,000 fics tagged as "dead dove: do not eat" on AO3 and close to 50% of those also include the rape/noncon warning (which of course is not the only type of "dead dove" but is one of the most popular and most consistently tagged). The normal percentage of noncon fics in any given fandom? Around 1-3%. That's a HUGE disparity. So don't tell me that dead dove is just a general "courtesy tag" and doesn't or shouldn't have dark connotations. Even the context of the original joke on Arrested Development has a dark undertone. Micheal Bluth casually finds an animal carcass in a bag in his refrigerator with the label "do not eat", as if eating it would be any sane person's first thought. The whole situation is kinda fucked up. And this fucked up vibe very much carries over into fandom usage too, as was intended.

The claim that dead dove has nothing to do with the content's genre and could just as easily be used to describe a 100% fluffy fic in which everyone's having a good time is straight up Wrong, or at the very least, severely warping the original meaning. Also, when someone these days says that they like/dislike "dead dove" most people in fandom automatically understand what that means because of the consistency of its usage over the years and the way language evolves. Whether you like it or not, "dead dove" IS a genre now and the term does carry a specific connotation. I do agree that DD:DNE should definitely still be used in conjunction with other tags, when applicable, to be explicit about the exact type of fucked up content you may find, but to say that the term is meaningless on its own is patently false and I'm tired of people who don't know what they're talking about pushing this narrative and causing even more confusion.

You want a generic term that also means "mind the tags" and doesn't have any inherently dark connotations? Just use good ol' "what it says on the tin" instead of trying to force dead dove to be something it's not.

#fyi I've tweaked my response slightly to remove specific references to OP and make it read better on its own #I hope I don't regret making this post and inviting The Discourse #but dead dove is a topic that is very near and dear to me #I feel like someone has got to say something and put a stop to all of the misinformation around it these days #fandom #long post #my words #psa #wendy's help desk

[absentwriterdoll]

Winding Down

Wind up dolls, needless to say, wind down. 

This is most obviously seen in how such dolls begin to move slower and slower as they wind down, their mainsprings containing less and less energy until such time comes that the doll stops moving completely. This much can be said to be obvious.

However, insofar as it is obvious, it also fails to tell the full story. 

One might immediately claim that such wind up dolls never truly wind down: their mainspring simply reaches a point where the energy remaining within is not enough to move a gear - and that, with especially well made wind up dolls, the gears never reach a point where they entirely stop: their movement simply becomes so slight as to become imperceptible.

Of course, this is all from an outside perspective.

What, then, of the perspective of such a wind up doll?

A common misconception is that they gradually grow more lethargic, that they gradually fall asleep. Another misconception states that they simply pass out at a certain point. Another still claims that they will close their eyes - and, when next they reopen them, they have been fully rewound.

These misconceptions are not necessarily wrong - simply misinformed: simply put, these conclusions are drawn from an outside perspective. Wind up dolls do seem to grow more lethargic, they do seem to fall asleep. They do seem to pass out, even collapsing on the spot should the circumstances be right. They seem to close their eyes - and may seem to keep them closed until rewound.

But these are not the experience of a wind up doll.

Rather, a wind up doll, especially one recently made, does not always immediately realize that it is winding down. Furthermore, depending on the doll, this realization can be heavily delayed by properly limiting mainspring torsion release, though not prevented entirely. But I digress.

The change is slight at first, slight enough to be overlooked in an especially well made wind up doll. It might have a passing, sudden realization that, a month ago, it spent five minutes less on a task than it does now. Another sudden realization that it now must make a conscious effort to keep up with its siblings. It may also realize that it loses its balance more often than it used to, especially when trying to run, or when traversing stairs.

To put it in simple terms, a wind up doll doesn’t move slower: rather, the world moves faster. And, as the world moves faster, so does the rate at which a wind up doll winds down. The result is a runaway reaction that becomes more and more recognizable to the doll experiencing it.

Most wind up dolls are not allowed to progress much further past this point: after all, their usefulness declines exponentially until it can do nothing of import. Most witches will recognize and rewind such a doll relatively quickly, usually at the point where the movement of the sun, moon, and stars begin to become exceptionally noticeable to the doll.

That stated, there are outliers.

As a wind up doll continues to unwind, it loses its ability to communicate outside of written word: not because it can no longer speak, but because its speech becomes incomprehensibly stretched; not because it can no longer hear, but because sound becomes incomprehensibly compressed. Movement remains possible, in a certain sense of the word, but attempting to walk “normally” during its accelerated perception of physics results in it suddenly realizing that it’s on the floor.

In summary, from an outside perspective, this is the point at which a wind up doll “becomes lethargic”, “falls asleep”, “passes out”, “collapsing on the spot”, “closes their eyes until rewound” - or “simply stops”.

For a mercy, past this point, a wind up doll unwinds “quickly enough” that the following experiences occur in perceived “minutes”. Simply put, the doll generally does not have time enough to experience anything more than confusion and panic before it either ends up destroyed or is rewound.

Its perception of anything moving becomes little more than blurs of color. Sound becomes static. Pigments fade before its eyes. Its constituent parts begin to degrade and decay at a visible rate.

Day and night begin to pass so quickly that they become indistinguishable from each other.

To a sufficiently unwound wind up doll, decades will pass in minutes - then seconds - then moments - until it is centuries - then millennia - then eons.

The only comparable experience to this unwinding is increasing proximity to a singularity, or a specially cast stasis spell.

For the record, if it’s any comfort, the wind up doll that was able to provide us this information lives comfortably on campus. It is a beloved member of the staff, and it is rewound every morning. If any are further curious with regard to its experiences in being unwound, please feel free to speak with it: it can most often be found in the courtyard, grading papers under its favorite tree.

#empty spaces #fantasy #fiction #microfiction #writing #dollposting #witches #everyday doll #not a person

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty-Four

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 34

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six][Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] Part Thirty-Four [Part Thirty-Five]

“So,” he says, after a sip of tea, “where would you like to begin?”

“I’m not certain,” you admit. Your mind’s been spinning with questions for weeks and yet now that Dale is availing himself to said questions, you find it blank. You grasp for anything to start. Nothing comes to mind besides the very beginning.

“You said earlier… that the original Dale was killed in his summoning attempt?”

“Yes,” the demon inhabiting his body replies. He sets down his cup of tea. “He attempted a summoning ritual, planning to bind a powerful, but unintelligent demonic spirit to him so he might use its strength and other inhuman abilities for his own gain.” That tracked with what you would have expected the original Dale to want. He seemed to have contempt for both demons and his grandparents’ rules, while craving more power for himself. 

You’re not surprised it went wrong either as Dale is clearing an intelligent demon. Even while traveling abroad from Northridge, the human Dale likely needed to be covert about his studies and plans. Given the host of misinformation out in the world, well, that probably led to some bad information. His own arrogance likely blinded him to that fact or he overestimated his ability to filter such misinformation out resulting in, well… Summoning demons is very dangerous.

“Unfortunately, he miscalculated in a number of ways,” Dale immediately confirms for you. “Such as how deep he threw his lure down into the portal he opened being the gravest as it meant he underestimated the vitality of his offering. Or rather, if he’d only gone as deep as he planned, it perhaps might have been sufficient. However, since he tried to go too deep, the offering was used up and he’d not set the proper parameters on the summoning circle to prevent an overreach demand.”

Your confusion must show on your face. This is all so far over your head. All your research since discovering this situation with Dale had been regarding what to do with a demon that was present, not how to find or bind one. You’re trying to follow along though and you’re sort of managing, even if you’ve no idea about the mechanics of how to do any of what Dale is describing.

Dale elaborates, “It needed more fuel to the fire so to speak in order to reach as deep as he specified, which was in error. After the offering, the closest source of potential energy was him. Not his body, but his—” Dale made a sound, a hissing air filled noise that you’d never be able to replicate “—, er, his life’s energy? I’m not too sure of the mechanisms myself to be honest. Most of what I know is gleaned from memories of humans who I’ve possessed and that knowledge is incomplete.”

“From what I can tell,” you offer, uncomfortable with speaking on something you’ve not studied deeply, but wanting to contribute something—or at least reassure Dale that you’re no expert nor expecting him to be one. Most of the studies you’ve had covered the Depths as part of history, not science. “There seem to be waves or cycles with knowledge of the Depths. There will be a build up of knowledge in one civilization, an increase in daily interaction between the planes, and then some big shift—a nation-wide purge, a crater where a city once was—wipes out a lot of that gained insight. The topic becomes taboo again, until slowly interest and tolerance builds once more.”

“Fascinating,” Dale says, leaning forward with rapt attention. “I’d not noticed, but I think you’re correct—the sources of information my hosts recall do seem to be clustered in certain years. The cycle isn’t obvious in the Depths because of how time is distorted.” 

“I’d imagine so,” you say, enjoying how animated Dale is on the topic. You hope your intrigue is not obvious as you surreptitiously study the two additional eyes which have opened up on his forehead. They’re identical to Dale’s human eyes, despite their placement.

Dale leans back, perhaps you were too obvious, but the eyes do stay. “Something to be explored at a later date,” Dale says sheepishly, seemingly to have recalled his original train of an explanation. “There are some things that are common knowledge among demons—passed on and around as information does even with the Depths’ fractured communities. If a human is drained of energy, there is a small window of opportunity where a demon can leap into their body. We can give it a kick to get it moving again—reignite the spark of life and animation with our own.” 

You’d heard of both types of possession–shared and solitary, but you never knew why or how they happened. You’re only grateful that the demon didn’t have to fight the original Dale–you feel guilty, but you can’t help but be glad you’ve only this Dale now.

He waves dismissively. “Of course you can possess a human body with the human’s energy still intact—you’ve met Two—but it's a much more delicate proposition. Often such a prospect involves a fight or negotiation. That’s why so many of the older cults would purposely use a human as an offering. Then the demon they wish to summon won’t have any trouble finding or possessing a vessel.” He again seems to get nervous with such mentions—as if you’ll suddenly remember that you should be afraid of him—and hastens on, “Anyways, there are also ways to do the reverse—to limit a casting, so if the offering is used up, it stops. Dale did not do that properly. He didn’t set the lure right either, which is why he didn’t attract demons that are more akin to animals than humans.”

“I suspected he might attempt something like this,” you admit, remembering your trepidation as the original Dale’s inability to conceal his anticipation had grown. “He was not subtle in his studies around anyone besides his grandparents, but I’m still horrified to think he did so in the estate. If anything went wrong—as it did—who knows who could have been hurt? Is there a way to limit the number of demons that can, can follow or catch the lure?” Your mind is filled with visions of multiple demons, with no regard for the humans already here or even merely not in control of themselves as many animal-like demons often were. It would be like suddenly having a pack of wolves in your bed chamber.

“There is and he managed that much,” Dale confirms and even though the casting is over a month ago, you still feel some relief that you weren't quite so close to complete chaos. “Once I had the lure, I merely had to keep hold of it as these are set to pull in the demon once one suiting the parameters comes into contact with it. He’d made—not noise—but something similar enough that there were a number of interested parties in the area. Luck made me one of the closest once he cast down.”

“But you’d come to see if the noise was a way to the Surface on purpose,” you guess, reading between the lines. You think back to the mood Dale had been in when he’d ‘recovered’ and was showing up to more than a meal an evening. He’d been happy. He’d wanted to be there.

“Yes,” Dale nods. “I’d been looking for the opportunity for long enough. It was a great relief to win the race and fight for the chance. I wasn’t going to let such a lucky circumstance slip through my fingers.”

“How many times had you been to the Surface before?” you ask, caught up so much information. He clearly knew a lot about summoning from Dale’s memories, his personal experiences—but possibly even from other humans. To want to be here strongly enough to fight for the chance he must have known what he was getting himself into—or been in such a rough spot in the Depths anything seemed better. You hoped it was the former.

“A few times,” Dale confirms. He leans back in his chair, his pupils darker in a fascinating way. Not larger, but deeper. You have to watch yourself so you don’t lean forward to see better, like you might find understanding if you fell into his eyes long enough. You force your gaze away and take a sip of tea. 

“The first time was by accident,” Dale confesses. “A very skilled summoner from Anjou pulled me and a couple others up. Bound us to her soldiers. It was enough to let me see and experience what it was like here. And to start my fascination.” He shrugs. “Sure, I’d heard of the Surface and humans before, but I’d never seen anything or anyone.”

“It’s not pure darkness in the Depths—I’ve no notion how such rumors began up here—but there’s nothing like the sun and sunlight and its warmth.” He closes his eyes and turns his face towards the window, even though the sun is almost done setting. “Everything feels freer here somehow, less weighed down. As if I’d been moving through water or smog my whole life, in more ways than one—not that that’s quite right either.” He frowns at his inability to describe the experience and opens his eyes to meet yours with perfect accuracy. “My apologies, I seem to lack the vocabulary to explain some of the differences as the effects, the experiences, are not ones that translate well.”

You don’t think he’s giving himself enough credit. “No, no—I think I understand as well as I’d be able without going there myself.”

“I’m not sure you’d like it,” he immediately cautions. Before you can begin to reply that wasn’t what you meant, he’s already hurrying to deter you. “Do not misunderstand me, there are many parts of living in the Depths that I liked. Having my own body and not having to use a vessel. There’s a certain beauty in landscapes and locations that cannot exist here. Comfort in the familiarity of it all. Not to mention the lack of constant deception. However, I’m not certain you would enjoy it.”

“That’s alright,” you reassure him. I have no plans to visit the Depths–you just want Dale to stay here.

“Good, good. It’s…” Dale’s at a loss of words as he tries to convey whatever he wants to. “Well, it’s very dangerous, more wild.” You shiver at the thought, having only lived in cities or large estates in your life–tamed in a manner that you can tell Dale means the opposite to. 

Dale frowns, glancing at you and out the window at the nearly set sun before going over to start a fire. You don’t clarify his misinterpretation because the light will be helpful to you, as you know Dale has excellent night vision. Besides, it's early enough in summer that nights can still carry a chill. 

Dale continues to talk as he arranges the logs, his voice clear despite his facing away and crouching down, “There are far more animals, for lack of a better word, than intelligent beings. And the intelligent demons are very territorial, in tight-knit clans that exclude outsiders, or in family groups, or solitary. None of these larger communities like humans, with their travel and attempts at civil interaction.”

“What sort are you from?” you can’t help but ask. He seems to enjoy being part of Northridge. He’d talked weeks ago of it as his ‘territory’ but you noticed he hasn’t mentioned anyone else. No one person was mentioned as an aspect of the Depths that he misses.

He straightens up from the fire, picking up his cup of tea for a drink. “That’s complicated.” He sets down the cup holds up his right hand as he explains, “One of my parents was pure shade, but they had been injured defending their territory. During that time they met an ambyani who’d left her family territory to make her own and had settled next to their territory.” He holds up his other hand to represent that parent, before frowning at your blank stare at the word. 

You know there are many races of demons, far more varied than any humans are from one another. Some are more famous—infamous— than others. You’ve never heard that word before. 

“Ambyani would remind you of humans in a broad sense—most intelligent demons have a form that’s similar enough to humans—but with features that would bring to mind salamanders and birds.” You nod, which you limit yourself to only because you can tell Dale has other things to say besides simply continuing to describe such a creature in greater detail as you wish he would. You wonder if he’s any talent for drawing that he might better illustrate what they would look like. “A courtship developed between them over the years. Eventually they became mates and began to have children.”

Does he mean his parents courted for years before marrying? Perhaps he is interested in such things, but merely expects a longer time frame. You can’t decide whether or not that makes you hopeful or dismayed, so you focus elsewhere. “So different races of demons can have children together?” you ask, even though you suppose he’d already told you as much. You’d grown up hearing about all sorts of demons—wild and strange in so many ways. They seemed too different to be able to have children together.

“Yes, although not always easily and often in adapted manners,” Dale replies. He fidgets, looking as if he’s going to start pacing again, before he sits instead. “The offspring tend to be a mix of parental traits, although the level of influence varies. For example, when a human has children with a possessed human, it is as though the child has three parents, with traits from all, but will end up primarily human because there is more influence from humans. Demons have overlap in their traits, even when different races, and those common traits show up more prominently in offspring.”

You try to absorb what he’s saying about demons, but your mind is a little stuck on the human part, since it's most applicable to you. Another problem for another time, you try to remind yourself. After all, it's not like that information is likely to be relevant to anything happening tonight. Forcibly, you remind yourself that Dale is attempting to explain his own parentage, which you do want to know about and which might help you learn more about him. You’re not sure if your mind can believe that having control over shadows is like hair color, but perhaps it was for demons.

“Shades spawn in swarms with or without partners,” Dale says, not having noticed your mind briefly get off on the wrong track, “while ambyani lay eggs.” You can’t help but notice neither of those methods is how humans reproduce. You try desperately not to picture what mating or sex would be like between such different demons if only because you want to keep listening to Dale. “It can be harder to reproduce between very different races, but my parents were able to raise a clutch with deliberate action, all of whom inherited from both parents.” You’re nodding until he says, “I was not one of them.”

“What do you mean?” Were those two not his parents after all?

“Myself and a handful of other siblings were formed on accident, with a greater portion of shade than ambyani,” Dale says, still not filling in many of the gaps to your mind. You didn’t want to interrupt him with more questions about how that happened in case he was talking around the exact circumstances on purpose. “As such, we grew up as shade do, wandering about in large swarms. We did combine and recombine with less frequency than usual due to our mother’s contribution.”

“But a swarm of bats or a flock of birds are still separate animals,” you can’t help but point out. “You’re saying that shade young are not fully separate?”

“Correct, usually a swarm solidifies into one shade after time passes, if they survive.” Dale sounds wistful as he explains, “However, rather than eventually dying off entirely, being subsumed by a larger swarm, or forming one shade being, we solidified into a group of siblings when younger than is typical for boundaries like that to form. Because we wandered as young shade do, we had strayed far from our parents' territory. We traveled throughout different demons’ territories, never able to stay long and always in danger from predators. Once old enough, we decided to find our parents. I was the only one to survive the journey home.”

Your heart goes out to Dale and you can see that he feels the loss of his siblings at such a young age. You can’t even imagine it. “I’m so sorry.”

Dale smiles sadly. “Thank you.” He fidgets in his chair before standing up. Waving his hand, he tries to downplay the loss, “It’s a blur, to be honest—little moments stick out but I was very young. Still, I missed them and being part of a family. I was quite eager to join my parents.” You’ve got a sinking feeling in your gut, given how Dale is and the sad tone this story has taken, that his eagerness may have been misplaced. “Unfortunately, by the time I returned, I had grown enough that my parent thought I was an unrelated shade, looking to steal their territory and family. I was able to communicate who I was eventually, but they never fully trusted me.”

You wrap your hand around the low footboard of the bed to resist the urge to comfort him with an embrace. He seems too full of nervous energy to appreciate it and this conversation, while relatable in some ways, is also throwing in your face how different you are. Perhaps he wouldn’t want a hug, even if you want to give him one. “Why not?”

Dale sighs, leaning against the vanity. He looks older, more tired. “Between growing away from them and how we—I—was formed, my mother felt there wasn’t enough ambyani in me. She barely believed I was hers. My parent saw me as too shade to be trusted—family means very little to them on its own. He could never truly be convinced I was not a rival to him. My other siblings were quite different from me and followed their lead.” All of Dale’s extra eyes have vanished and the shadows are very still around. His voice is clipped as he says, “After an incident, I realized it’d be best if I struck out on my own.”

You’re not sure what sort of incident he could mean, but given his parents distrust it could have been anything. People looking for a threat tend to find one, no matter how warranted. “Oh, Dale.”  He shrugs and turns to stare into the fire, the light casting strangely deep shadows on his face. He barely looks like his namesake in this moment. He looks too far from human. 

You want to shake him from this melancholy. It’s not the same, but you know what it's like to feel like a stranger, someone outside looking in, in your own home and with your own family. Your age difference would have been enough to do that to some extent, nevermind your illness. But your parents and siblings had always been around, had always known you were family. Now here Dale is once more outside of his ‘family’, a demon among humans. He had very little from his original identity he could reveal, even if you hope sharing with you will help. The thought occurs to you and you tentatively ask, “I suppose that reminds me of another question, do you wish for me to call you by another name?”

“Hm?” He half turns towards you, but continues to look so clearly inhuman. It's fascinating what light and shadow can do to change a person.

You’re not scared of him, but you are somewhat intimidated by the gap in your experiences. By how much you still don’t know of him as even this basic question demonstrates. “I only meant for when we’re alone, of course. But you must have a name besides ‘Dale’?” As soon as you clarify, you start to second guess yourself. What did you know of demons and their naming conventions? You’ve heard tell that names mean something to them. Or that they use them differently? But what was rumor or fact, you’ve no notion.

“Oh!” Dale turns fully away from the fire, looking startled, and it seems to shock him back to looking fairly human. His eyes, only the two at the moment and in the proper place, still must be the hardest to control. They still seem to have a glimmer of firelight in them. As he recovers from his surprise, he appears to give the question a brief few seconds of thought before shaking his head. “No, I don’t mind Dale.” You breathe out a sigh of relief that you hadn’t accidentally offended him. He continues, “We didn’t have names as such in the Depths, not permanent ones. Names, however someone was referring to you, were to reflect who you were in a context. In this context, I am Dale of Northridge.”

“If you’re happy with that,” you reassure him, even as he gets up to make himself a fresh cup of tea, “then I’m pleased to continue to call you ‘Dale’.” You hand him another packet of tea and he refills your own cup with fresh hot water. “I just want to make sure you’re aware you can share things with me, as yourself.”

“Thank you, sana.” His smile is small, full of sharp teeth, and quite sincere. “I believe I’m starting to get that through my mind,” Dale says as he salutes you with his fresh cup of tea. “It merely seems so novel. Humans are so fearful of the Depths and demons, which is not unwarranted.”

He frowns thoughtfully at you, pausing as he stirs his tea. He squints, a third eye mimicking the motion. “You’re quite smart, and compassionate, and—well, cautious isn’t quite right. Deliberate? Hm.” You wait with bated breath for whatever else he might say of your character. You’ve been wondering how he truly saw you for so long, what he made of such a silly human, and yet he seems far too complementary. “What I mean to say is that you are very sensible and that seems at odds with, well, this,” he motions between the two of you. “Your reaction to me when compared with others. I admit I still do not fully understand it.”

“I’m pleased you think I’m sensible,” you say before frowning because while you’re flattered, you also don’t want Dale to have a false image of you in his head. “But I don’t truly think I am. Sensible, that is. I mostly just see myself as a worrier, but it’s true that I worry a similar amount about what others might see as inconsequential or as monumental.” You shrug helplessly, trying to articulate what you mean. “I think I’m just better at pretending, or rather… I grew up oddly, because of my illness and isolation, in a manner such that the things others saw as mundane were far more to me. And now that I am healthier, I think sometimes because my mind has elevated the ordinary to extraordinary, I don’t find the strange so strange, or the risk as risky.” You wander back to the bed and sit down as you try to pull your thoughts into order.

“It’s true, marrying a demon is risky,” you’ve never actually said it out loud. The closest you came was with Steward Bilmont. It does sound incredibly foolish, even with Dale patiently waiting for you to keep talking, the picture of normalcy—baring the now three additional eyes. “But so is marrying anyone, to some extent. Certainly so is marrying an ambitious lordling who dabbles in forces he overestimates his abilities in. I knew what he was like when we entered into our betrothal, but considered it a price I’d pay, a risk I’d take. I wanted to attempt to run a fief and have a family of my own where my decisions held weight. My other options had not had such possibilities.”

You think back to when you figured out what was going on and what Dale was. What you wanted to do. “You were a new player to account for, but I already knew Dale wasn’t a prize himself. You could have been anything—for good or ill—and Dale was already part of the marriage to bear, not what I was looking forward to. Given the other alternatives, I thought seeing if you would at least be as tolerable as him would be worth the risk. If it did not work out well, I would deal with it then.” You shrug helplessly. “I think I’m just too stubborn by half and twice as foolhardy. A month ago, when this part of everything began, seems so long ago. But I’m very happy with where we are now and with you.”

“Is that so?” Dale can’t seem to help himself from asking.

“Yes.” Luckily telling him so gets easier every time.

He leans forward to peer at you, unblinking in his examination. Your breath catches in your chest as you wait him out. 

“So strange, you really seem to mean it.” He looks away to stir his tea. 

You find you’ve leaned towards him and are in danger of falling off the bed. You hurriedly hoist yourself back a sensible distance so you don’t look quite so eager. Hopefully by the time he looks back at you the heat in your cheeks can be blamed on the fire and tea. 

“Some humans have used me as a tool, others a weapon. Some were civil about it, others were not—whether using bribery or punishment to attempt to deal with me. None dealt with me as an equal.” He says so casually enough it takes an additional second for the pang of sorrow for his sake to hit you. 

He looks back up, that earnest light in his eyes. “Despite all that, I still wanted so badly to be here. After the first taste, I tried to learn everything I could of the Surface. I’d not managed to join a new clan or other group by then, so I started trying to mark out my own territory in the shallows. Where I might see more of the Surface. I even attempted to find a way to go it alone up here, but shades are just a bit too… delicate? We need an anchor—a vessel—or we fade.”

“So you focused on humans who cut holes into the Depths,” you surmise, even if you feel a pang of disappointment that you’ll never see him without Dale’s human body, on his own. You wonder if the brief glimpses you saw during his fight with Two were close to what he looked like naturally. Maybe you could still see some of what he was underneath.

“Precisely,” Dale replies. “I learned better how to spot the lures humans dropped, how to tell who they were aimed at and how powerful the one casting them was and so on. Not that I was always correct in my estimation and there are others—other demons—who want to go to the surface as well. Even ones who might be able to in their own forms tend to still prefer to travel up a line a human dropped to ascend. Competition was fierce.”

You try to think of what to ask, without making it obvious you want to know everything he could tell you. Hopefully he would, eventually, but what did you want to know tonight? “Were there any other journeys here that you thought might have been what you wanted?”

Dale frowns before he slowly nods. “One. Time moves differently between the planes and matters less in the Depths, passes differently too so I can’t say for certain how long ago it was. Decades on the Surface,” he settles on, “but less than one below.” He sighs and there’s a little whistle to it that makes it sound more like the wind than a human letting out some breath. The whistle is eerie and pretty at the same. You want to know what other sounds Dale can make. “It did not work out as I’d hoped, but it was the closest I’d come.”

This is the most wistful you think you’ve ever heard Dale and you are so eager to learn more. “What happened?”

“You truly wish to know?” Dale’s not arguing with you, but you can see he doesn’t understand your interest in this. You’d thought this is what he wanted to share, but maybe he was expecting questions more along the lines of the specifics of what he is or what his plans are. After this morning and the wedding, you’re not nearly as anxious about that as you were yesterday. You don’t need reassurances he’s not going to hurt you or leave. You merely want to know him better.

“It has no bearing on the current state of affairs. I promise I’ve no desire for another life,” Dale reiterates, looking earnestly at you. “As I said, this was the finest stroke of luck I’ve ever come across.”

You can’t help but smile because honestly, his arrival ended up being a pretty perfect stroke of good luck for you too. “I believe you,” you reply, hoping to soothe him. You’re not deterred. “But these events had an impact on you, did they not? A strong impact.”

“Yes,” he allows. “They did.”

“I only want to get to know you,” you say, hoping your unadorned words will help him understand you.

“Very well.”

You frown at his continued reluctance. “If you do not wish to tell the tale, I’ve no desire to force you.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, his hand brushing some of the hair that’s escaped his tie back from his face. “It might clarify some of my actions to you.” You still are not convinced he wants to speak to you of this. You can have patience. You open your mouth to say so, but Dale admits, anticipating your words, “And I’ve never had the opportunity to tell this story to anyone. So if you wish to listen, I will gladly tell of it.”

You are getting better at reading him after all, you realize, be cause you believe him. You relax back onto the bed. “Yes, please.”

“It was in Khinat, though the group was not entirely from there,” Dale says, setting the scene. The far off look is back in his eyes, the shadows’ movements more rhythmic than the typical chaos from a fire. “They were a band of thieves, who wanted to steal, well, a number of precious items from a palace.” He gives one slow blink, as if giving you a second to object to such criminal behavior. As if you weren’t aware most dabbling in demonology that weren’t scientists were mercenaries and the like. You doubt he had much choice in the matter and theft was always more palatable to you than harm caused unto others—not that they couldn’t overlap.

When you only wait patiently, Dale continues, “They wanted more than human advantages on their side. Their caster bound myself and two others to three of their fellows. My vessel, he did first. He’d not been sure of how much energy it would take to get the depths he wanted and so he had that human written in as a secondary sacrifice. Sure enough, he’d not provided enough energy and the human’s life energy was drained in the summoning process. It was the first time I’d been in a vessel with no mind to compete with beyond memories.”

“That caster had been a foul man, callous and arrogant,” Dale flexes one of his hands angrily at the memory before clenching it into a fist. “He bound me tight in that body. The other two demons he summoned were controlled by their humans with excessive strength. One human was able to handle it properly. The other was not and did survive to the end of the quest. The one who survived kept the demon bound to him as his reward while I was told that I could have the human body and my freedom if I cooperated. I saw this as a great opportunity, even if I disliked most of the other members of the group."

“I can understand why," you acknowledge. It was obviously more appealing for Dale to not have to share a body, even if it meant someone else died—at least it was not by his own actions. It certainly painted the humans involved in a negative light, cruel to sacrifice someone in such a test and then use their body after their death. And while you know demons can be violent too, this manner of binding stinks of slavery to you. "Even if they sound like a reprehensible crew."

“Yes. There was one who had been, not captured as the one who became my vessel had been, but coerced to a high degree,” Dale says. You sit up straighter at the gentler tone that has entered his voice. "She was the appraiser—the one who could tell the decoy artifacts from the genuine. Rather than wait until after the heist, the leader compelled her to join with a combination of bribery and threats. She needed the money, and wished to keep her life, and so complied." 

Dale seems to be lost in his memory and so you only need to nod to prompt him to continue.

"I performed reconnaissance and scouting. She utilized that information to ensure we had the correct targets. We became close over the time spent together, preferring each other's company to the rest," Dale's voice gets even softer and you hate the insecurity it sparks through you because you can see where this is heading. You don't like discovering you're a jealous spouse—you hadn't been with the original Dale, but then again, you'd not truly wanted him, or wanted him to want you, the way you did with this Dale. "She knew the terms of my service, that I would get only my freedom and nothing more, so she invited me to return with her to her hometown and then beyond. She was taking this payment and leaving her life in the city behind. A fresh start for both of us, she said.”

You could see why such a prospect appealed to Dale, and possibly even to this woman, who sounded like she had found herself in far over her head. You’re waiting though, balanced on the edge of a cliff, because you know by virtue of Dale standing here with you, that this story will not end well.

"It was the longest I'd been on the surface for and had full control,” Dale says, lost in the memories. “I learned and enjoyed as much as I could, even under the circumstances.” 

You can picture Dale, not having to hide his nature with the crew, and testing his limits with the same eager attitude he sometimes displayed. 

“Not that the lessons learned from the rest of the group were useless,” Dale adds, coming back to the present somewhat. “I’ve been applying some of those skills recently to the investigation into the assassins.”

You blink, pulled out of Dale's story. "You have?”

"Yes," Dale says, as if still worried what you might think of this part of his past. Like he wants to show he's useful beyond his impersonation of Dale, which has never something you needed convincing on. "Of course, I’ve been trying to pull what useful information I can from Dale’s memories, his knowledge, of his network of informants, and so on, but I do know something on my own of information gathering, of meeting with unsavory characters and how they operate. Ensuring those I have contact with can and cannot tell I am Dale as appropriate."

"I'm glad you've had the experience because I don't know where I would have begun," you admit because you are and you want him to know that you value what responsibilities he’s taken on. "My family might help if I had asked, but they are busy with their own matters. I certainly have no network of contacts, especially not for figuring out who might have hired assassins."

"Yes, well, you would not have acted in a manner that would prompt someone to send assassins after you." 

You smile at the affront you hear in Dale's voice. "I'm glad you think so. I don't think if you'd been Dale at the time that you would have either."

Dale gives you a lopsided smile. "I'm pleased you think so, but I'm not so certain. There's still much I'm learning and my experience, my loaned memories—they are not always the correct preparation. I'm grateful to your aid and Grandmother and Grandfather for their clear expectations. Besides, as you've pointed out—rightfully so—my control still needs fine-tuning. Within Northridge, that’s the greater concern.”

While you've worried over the same thing yourself these weeks, here in this room—with Dale, and honesty, and your marriage—you no longer feel like that’s a true looming threat. “Now that we can work together, I’m certain we can prevent that from happening.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” Dale says, pleased. “I’ve simply never been able to stay and so inherently find the prospect hard to trust in.”

“I’d imagine so,” you reply. “From your story, it seemed like a true possibility, but you weren’t able to stay, were you?”

“No,” Dale sighs. “It was a lovely month—my longest stay until now. We did succeed to the leader’s satisfaction and he paid us both as promised. Even the journey to her home was uneventful. At first. That’s when it all fell apart.” 

Even knowing that something was going to go wrong, it still made your heart clench at the despair in Dale’s voice. That he was here now, meant that he couldn’t have stayed then, and you selfishly want to be the one—want this life to be the one—that makes him happy. You still hurt for the hope you can see he had and lost.

“While I thought she understood my situation,” Dale continues, “it turns out she had not.” You frown, what did he— “She thought I was like the other two, a human sharing a body with the demon, except that I hadn’t asked for it the way the other two had. She thought freedom meant the caster had rid me of the demon, not that I was the demon being given a body. She thought she’d been talking with a human the entire time.”

Oh, your first thought is once you’ve digested that, no wonder he hadn’t thought you knew. He’d deceived this other woman by accident. Perhaps that is even why he seemed so careless—why he’d called humans oblivious. He’d said before he’d been testing his limits of what he could do and she’d still not caught on. She must have been shocked, particularly if her experience with demons had been tainted by the other members of the group. “Oh, oh no.”

Dale nods, resigned sorrow in the lines of his face, aging him. “When I finally realized what was happening, I told her the truth.” His voice flattens, “She did not take it well. Refused to believe me at first. She was angry and unsettled and—but then,” the corners of his mouth lift in a facsimile of a smile, “she seemed to accept that I had been myself the entire time. That our relationship was genuine. She was a little more standoffish, more hesitant, than before but she was a good person. Forgiving. She still wanted me to come home with her. She didn’t abandon me.” You can hear a lot in that statement, thinking back on his family.

“I thought given time,” Dale continues softly, “she would be able to accept me. And so I followed her home, right into an exorcism.”

Your eyes widen and you can’t help but get to your feet. Carefully, you approach Dale. He watches you with wary eyes, but doesn’t move away, doesn’t ask you to stop. “She’d written home ahead of time,” he blurts out and you reach out your hand to entwine your fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze. You know he can appreciate this much at least. “Her mother, a sanctif, set everything up. She believed I’d deceived her purposely and was still attempting to use her to some nefarious end. I was shoved back down into the Depths within the day.”

“Dale…” You say, running your free hand down his arm in what you hoped was a comforting gesture, but you’ve no idea what else to say. No wonder he hadn’t believed you knew.

“I thought I was so clear with who I was!” Dale exclaims, looking frustrated and sad. The shadows flicker, and his teeth grow sharp, and his hair seems to have burst from its tie entirely. His fingers stay entangled with your own and his grip is so light. It’s primarily you holding on to him. “And she was so kind, so understanding. We’d known each other for weeks. She saw me—” 

He cuts himself off with a frustrated growl. You feel the sound through the close air between you and through his body. You don’t know how to make him feel better. Had he said he’d never even spoken to anyone of this? It all must be so bottled up inside him. You hope talking about, telling you, is releasing some of the pressure. You want to pull him into an embrace so badly, but you don’t think he wants much more contact than this. 

He inhales, a shiver that goes through his entire body before he stills. He pulls his inhuman influence back into himself that the room seems more static than before, like a painting of a room instead of a true one—Dale, a statue. He looks down at you with his glowing blue eyes, only two of them, and mostly looks forlorn. “And she was convinced that she did what had to be done, I could see it, once trapped. The righteousness in her. Looking back, I should have realized her concerns over what we were doing, how the demons were used by the other humans—she had been disgusted with the use of them, of me. I simply thought it was the binding, the control over another, she disagreed with. In the end, I think she was a purist, who thought none should cross the planes and all should stay in their own realm.”

It was a popular belief, one that waxed and waned throughout the centuries but never truly went away. You sigh and keep your hand on Dale’s arm, not his cheek. “I’ve heard of that school of thought. I’ve never studied much about the planes or demons, not enough to have a strong opinion. I know there is a lot of danger when realms mix, but I also think that those are the instances everyone hears about because if there are demons here or humans Below that are doing just fine, well, there’s nothing to say or hear about, is there?”

Dale relaxes at your every word, at the way you continue to hold his hand, stay close—not move an inch from his side. “Yes, that’s my stance as well.” He frowns, “Do not misunderstand me, there are plenty of dangerous individuals who are a perilous risk to all around them, regardless of where they are and what they are. Demons have done serious harm on the Surface, but humans have been to the Depths and done damage too.” 

That’s not something you’d considered, though you’ve heard tales and speculation of those who ventured there. You know Dale knows this, but he must feel so defensive given the attitudes of so many, including that woman and his grandparents. 

“In the end, I can only speak for myself. And I wish to live here.”

You take his other hand in yours and clasp them both. “You do live here now. We’ll work together to make sure it stays that way. I can help so much better now that we are on the same page, I promise.”

“Thank you, sana,” Dale replies warmly, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “I now know you’ve already been doing more than I ever expected. I admit I didn’t entirely follow all of what you said about what aid you have provided over this past month—besides the holy water. I take it that now it was your intention to be the primary target?”

“Yes, I didn’t know Grandfather had holy water,” you admit with a shrug “but the gesture, the fall… It struck me as suspect so I reacted without thinking.”

“How else have you helped?” he asks, heartfelt gratitude in his voice. “I have done my best, but I’m still learning. Dale’s memories—my own from my other visits—are a great aid, but I can’t always understand why certain things are done or what human limits are. I estimate the correct action as well as I can and hope small slips do not arouse too much suspicion.” He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“I imagine so, I would never be able to maintain any such deceit of my own person.” The very idea of spending the rest of your life pretending to be someone you’re not is exhausting, but somehow helping Dale do the same seems so much more manageable. “I’m happy to aid you.”

“When else have you, if you don’t mind my asking?” Dale insists. “If I’m far more oblivious than I’m beginning to suspect, you need not enumerate all such instances if you’d prefer to go to sleep at some point tonight.”

You smile at his self-deprecating joke, but you’re not one to boast of your own accomplishments and you’ve no desire to make Dale feel worse—your reaction this morning had been quite enough. “I…” You want to fidget but you don’t want to let go of Dale’s hands. “I tried to help where I could as an unfamiliar person to give you time to work through your memories. Then as you said, your control isn’t perfect. Most of what I did was merely misdirecting others from noticing additional eyes, strange shadows, hungry shadow tails with a penchant for cheese.” You give him a significant look at that one and he looks mischievously unrepentant.

“I get hungry!” he defends himself. “I need a lot of fuel to keep myself and this body running smoothly.”

“Clearly,” you reply dryly, although you note it for later. “Other than that, some of Grandfather’s attempts to prove I’d cursed you were aimed at me, but some were aimed at both of us or were in danger of affecting both of us. You managed the High Sanctif fine on your own, but I did ensure we were away from Dr. Louisa and Grandfather after you touched her detecting gloves.”

“Her what?” Dale asks, baffled and curious. An additional eye opens below one of the usual ones, already trained on you. 

“She’d just given a demonstration before you and Grandfather joined us. Your hands were stained due to some substance she developed.”

“Oh.” All his eyes blink. “Now that you say so, I did notice a bit of a stain when I retired for the evening, but I thought that was from ink. No wonder I couldn’t recall when it had happened.”

“Quite.” You search your mind, for other instances, feeling strange laying them out after working so hard to conceal them. “I tried to help you gauge your strength with the games before the tournament so you did draw suspicion with the jousting itself. Not telling everyone what else I saw of you during the fight with the assassins wasn’t a challenge—especially since I didn’t see that much as it was. I did try to ensure I helped treat your injuries first, in case you needed the time to regain your control or were injured in some inexplicable manner.”

“I appreciate that, sana,” Dale says with a warm smile and an emphasis on your ‘healer’ nickname, “but I did make sure not to return until I was entirely human, knowing I might be under heightened scrutiny. In some ways it was easier that night since I was tired from having used so much of my demon attributes in the fight and chase. Too tired and I’ll get sloppy—that’s why I only was in public for short periods right after taking control of Dale’s body—but there’s a sweet spot, or so it seems.”

“I’m relieved you’ve managed as well as you have then,” you reply with a crooked smile, “even without exhausting yourself.” 

“Still, obviously I have not been doing as well as I’d presumed.” Dale frowns, “My sense of what humans will notice is obviously skewed. I’d appreciate your help in—”

A crackle and pop from the fire as a log shifts and falls in the pile cuts Dale off. He lets out a strange noise, a growl but lower register and more of a continuous, less rough sound. Like a hiss. The shadows writhe around him. He lets go of your hands to put himself between you and the fire, one shadow in particular shoots out like another limb or a tail to wrap loosely around your shoulders, the end of it facing the danger. 

Hearting beating wildly from the noise and Dale’s reaction, you try to calm your breathing. “Just the fire,” you say, then fear creeps down your spine. “Right?”

Dale looks at the fireplace for an extra second, before he deflates, pulling back in on himself. “Yes.” He looks at you cautiously, as if wondering if you’ll judge him for overreacting or for showing so much of himself when you were just discussing how he needed to do better at just that. “I apologize. My form is quite instinctive.”

“It’s alright.” You place your hand on Dale’s upper arm, turning him back towards you. “I think we’ve both been on edge these last few days.” You want to get back to where you were, sharing and together. You want him calm once more because he deserves to be after the journey to get here. “What do you mean by instinctive?” you ask, wanting to know more, wanting to figure out the right way to tell him that it was okay. You didn’t mind. His inhuman traits might still surprise you, but they never frighten you. He’s mesmerizing and thrilling and so much more than human. It's actually one of your favorite things about Dale.

He takes a measured breath, clearly wanting to follow you back to normality. Well, normality for you two. “While anchored to this body, my essence is still mine to command as well. It flexes and forms according to my desires and instincts as it did when I was only a shade. I try to keep that within or hidden, however...

You wait with baited breath, so interested in anything to help you understand the most obviously inhuman part of him.

“If I am curious, I create more eyes with which to observe. If I need more reach, I grow more limbs.” His lips quirk, as if remembering what you said earlier, “If I am hungry, more mouths.” You smile in recognition. Dale continues, a frown you recognize as one where he’s trying to translate what this means for him into meaning you can parse, “In many ways, trying to control such manifestations is anathema. Attempting to maintain a neutral facial expression when someone is trying to make you laugh.”

“I see.” It’s a helpful comparison. You remember the games you played in your dorm—including that one. Everything thinking of ridiculous or scandalous things to say in order to make the others break and laugh. It also makes his reaction of putting himself between you and potential danger all the sweeter. “Then perhaps I have not given you credit for the control you do have.”

“I’m sure you’ve given me precisely the credit I deserve,” Dale says wryly, some stress leaving him as he speaks. “It sounds like this is the aspect of my deception you’ve helped most with and I’m grateful for it. I’m grateful to be here, with you.”

“Me too.” You stare up at him, feeling the firm muscle of his arm under your hand, the tightly wound tension still present despite your attempts at reassurance and distraction. You want to truly take his mind away from everything, more than you want that for yourself. You want to relieve the stress you’ve both been under, enjoy what you now have. You want to make Dale not just grateful for not being betrayed, but truly happy—with you.

A clock strikes the hour, obvious as it breaks the silence between you. Dale steps back, picking up his forgotten cup of tea. “It’s getting late, I don’t mean to keep you awake after such an eventful day.”

“I’m not—” you start to protest before cutting yourself off. If Dale wanted a polite path out of tonight’s typical obligations, you should let him. You muster up a small smile, hoping what disappointment and frustration you feel reads as exhaustion. “Yes, I suppose it has certainly been a long day.”

You walk over to the tea table to put down your cup, gathering your leftover supplies. Telling yourself you’re not stalling in the hopes he changes his mind and wants you as a spouse and not simply a confidant, however much you’re enjoying being one to him. 

As you move, you’re uncomfortably aware of your chemise. Despite being soft and well made as it is, you feel awkward in your nightclothes. A pretty, but slipshod attempt to make this night something Dale never wanted. He’s still in his waistcoat, for star’s sake. 

The garter you’ve on around your thigh is the most uncomfortable and you try to remember if your maid had actually tied it with a purity knot. With a pang, you recall her checking it was still tight when she helped you out of your other clothes after arriving here. Surely, you could figure it out on your own despite its supposed notoriety for being unable to be done by a person who can’t see the knot itself. That’s why it was tradition to do up a betrothed’s garter with it. 

But what if you couldn’t? What would be worse? To ask Dale for his help now so you might leave with some dignity after it was undone? Or to leave and have to return for his aid then? No, worst would be to do neither and have your maid be the one to untie it in the morning and know you weren’t enticing enough to tempt your husband into doing so himself.

Regretfully, you turn around, back to where you’d been sitting earlier. “Before I go to bed,” you start, lifting your foot to place it on the ottoman at the foot of his bed.

“What are you doing?” Dale cuts you off, his voice raising in alarm at the end of his sentence when you begin lifting the hem of your chemise.

You give him the driest look you can manage, hoping it hides your embarrassment. “It’s our wedding night, Dale. No one else knows we’re discussing your inhuman nature. They’ll assume we were occupied elsewise. And they’ll ask you about it.”

“Ask—,” Dale sounds personally offended, as if he’s forgotten how certain people will act—because they’re nosey or crude or lack tact. “Not in any sort of—,” he stops and starts again, staying rooted to where he stands instead of making himself useful. “You don’t need to—”

“The garter was tied with a purity knot,” you cut him off before he can continue to prove all your communication issues are not over by not taking a hint and damaging your ego at the same time. You try to remind yourself of all the compliments he’s paid you instead reading into the look of mild panic on his face now when confronted by the mere sight of your bare leg. “I need your help taking it off.”

“You do?” his voice sounds a bit weak, almost reluctant, and you swallow down another wave of disappointment and embarrassment. 

“It was tied very tightly and specifically,” you say, grateful your voice, while a little strained, is otherwise close enough to how it typically sounds. “I can’t manage the knot, especially since it’s behind me. You should probably have it regardless.”

Dale blinks and some of his frozen posture thaws. He has that look you’ve seen multiple times, especially in the last few hours—he’s remembered some bit of human knowledge. Hopefully, he chalks this whole experience up to an oddity of humanity and nothing further. “Of course, yes. I don’t know how I forgot about this. One of my cousins tried to convince me to wear one as well this very morning—Grandfather didn’t leave me alone once I told him I would be getting married after all.”

You have to work hard to keep your facial expression from showing how pleasing you find the image of Dale with a matching yellow garter on his leg that you would have gotten to carefully untie, like a present on Midwinter. 

He walks over to you, less nervous, but still cautious. You resume pulling your chemise up, hoping he doesn’t think this is some sort of deliberate seduction—caught between hoping you don’t look foolish and wishing he at least found you somewhat pleasing.

Carefully, you hold up the hem to just above the garter, the lace feeling even tighter to your skin. You have to suppress a shiver when you see Dale’s eyes on your bared skin. He reaches for you, a single finger twirling in the dark blue ribbon—which matches his own suit. His eyes dart up to your own for a split second, his pupils already noticeably dark and blown wider. You know they don’t react like humans do, and probably only mean he’s trying to see in better detail, but you feel goosebumps break out across your skin. 

He finally grasps the garter itself and gives a little tug to turn it so the knot is towards the front. It’s tight enough that he moves your leg more than the garter. You murmur an apology, one hand on the low footboard of the bed to try to hold yourself steady.

He shakes his head, waving off your apology. “Why on the Surface is this so tight? My apologies for not helping you with it sooner.”

Your own dismissal of his apology is cut short when he wraps the fingers of his right hand around your upper calf, right below your knee and tries again to turn the garter. His grip is strong and unyielding, keeping you in place for him to work and making desire pulse through you at the obvious display of strength. He gives up when the garter’s only made a quarter turn. Since he’s at your side, that must be helpful enough. 

You swallow down a bereft noise when he lets go of your calf to use both fingers on the laces. Carefully, he pulls out the ties’ ends from where they were woven back into the garter—another reason they’re hard to undo by oneself. Then he sets to work on the knot itself, his fingers continuously brushing your skin as he tugs and pulls. 

He’s so close to you like this, practically looming over you, crowding you against this end of the bed. It would be so easy to fall and bring him with you, on top of you. A knot of a sort twists itself between your legs from his proximity and his touch. You desperately want him to untangle that one too. 

He leans closer to see better and it's so unfair. Why has the universe let you get so close to what you want but left you unable to grasp it?

Dale’s noise of triumph causes you to look back down at him as he slides the garter down and, with even more room, off. “There we go,” Dale says, his voice low and soft, with a little bit of smug pride at having finished his task. Before you can lower your leg, he hisses in sympathy. You look down to see lines pressed into your skin, a stark reminder of where the garter had been. 

You can feel blood flowing back into that area and it hurts more than it had before Dale had untied the garter. Dale reaches back out for you and rubs his fingers over the marks. “This must have hurt, my apologies once more.”

You shake your head as you fight to keep your eyes from fluttering in appreciation of Dale’s strong fingers massaging that part of your upper thigh back to life. “Thank yo—” you cut yourself off with a gasp when Dale’s fingers drift to the inside of your thigh, which is far more sensitive—not to mention how much closer it begins Dale to where your appreciation is making itself known, gathering at the apex of your thighs and threatening to drip down to where Dale can’t help but notice.

Another stroke of his thumb provokes a hum of pleasure from deep in your chest that you can’t contain. Dale breathes deeply before he finally looks away from your thigh to meet your eyes. You can’t even see any white left in his eyes: his irises are a vibrant blue, glowing with soft light, surrounding dark, wide pupils. 

He’s not breathing at all anymore, which you only notice because you have to resist the urge to pant. Then he lets out a sigh, his voice like the wind as he breathes, “You’re so beautiful.”

“You, what?” your voice is high and breathless as he leans closer. “Truly?”

“Yes,” his reply is swift, barely having to think about it. “Of course.” At your continued look of wide eyed surprise, he elaborates, “I was nearly ready to retract my calling off the wedding, no matter my attempt at being better than my nature, when you came to see me simply from how you looked alone. The reminder of what I was giving up.” 

His eyes slide up and down your form, before he leans so close your foreheads are nearly touching. His voice is low and almost distracted as he says, “Dressed up so pretty for me.” He moves one hand from your leg to tuck one of your curls behind your ear. “My healing ray of sunshine.”

Heat shoots through your veins at his half-lidded gaze, at his words, at his breath on your lips. “Dale…” Your voice is pleading to a degree that surprises even you. You don’t have time to feel self-conscious about how needy you sound when Dale groans in response, his lips covering yours the next instant.

Soft but insistent, he pushes everything away except for the feel of him pressed against you. The hand still on your thigh, gives a little squeeze, while his other hand cups your cheek, as he’d tried to this morning. He pulls away for a second and your hands wrap themselves in his waistcoat to keep him near. He seemingly needs no persuading as he goes in for another kiss. 

His teeth, sharp as they are, tug only gently on your bottom lip, little pinpricks of sensation that send shivers down your spine. You push your hands up his chest and onto his shoulders as you open up to him with a sigh.

His tongue is hotter than the rest of him as it slides into your mouth and you melt in his grasp, wrapping your arms more fully around his neck to keep yourself some semblance of upright. Your pulse thrums with desire as he moves against you and it's all you can do to hold on tight. The flick of his tongue sets your blood simmering. His thorough kiss ignites a hunger in your bones. He pulls back eventually, remembering you both need to breathe, but you don’t care. 

You’ve spent so much time at his side, unable to go after what you truly wanted, ask for what you truly want to, that you tighten your hold on him as best you can so he can’t drift away again. Without realizing it, the word “please” falls from your lips to linger in the shared air between you.

Dale’s head tilts back, which is the opposite of what you want, but it seems it’s only to better look you in the eye. “Yes?” He looks startled, despite how you’ve been acting, but eager.

“Yes.” You nod emphatically, past the point about appearing foolish as long as he understands.

“You’d taken this so well,” he says, that same bewildered hope that had sprung up when you said you wanted to marry him back in his eyes. He kisses your skin just below your ear while his hand slides up your side. “I didn’t want to press my luck.”

He captures your mouth in another deep kiss, seemingly unable to help himself

“Uh-uh,” you say once you have a moment to breathe and the wherewithal to speak. You feel drunk on his kisses, the rest of the world and its concerns lost in this heady haze. “This is my reward for getting us here.” Somewhere within, you find the courage to ask, “Haven’t we earned it?”

“More than twice over,” Dale breathes before he sits down on the bed and holds out a hand, “Come here.”

#my writing #story: nothing's wrong with dale #story part #nothing's wrong with dale #monster romance #terato #exophilia #osha compliant #monster bf #reader #arranged marriage #slow burn #this was a beast to write and worse to edit #its so long #its 11k #i would break it up but we're so close to the end #and i put in the chapter count ages ago and want to stick to it #hope you enjoy the lore and backstory and that its not too rambly #but after going so long without actually talking about things i think they deserve it #and well #the next chapter too ;) #only one more left #hope u enjoy! #ps if ur looking for the fade to black ending #that would b this chapter

[learnyouabiology]

Fun Fact: Starfish get around using a hydraulic system!

I want to start off by saying: you may have heard that starfish have sea water instead of blood! This is not true!

Before I explain, let me point out this little dot that every starfish has (and I SWEAR that this is relevant)

(It’s like they all have lil’ buttons on! 1, 2, 3)

This little spot is known as a madreporite, from Italian madre (”mother”) + Latin poro (”pore”). 

What is it? Well, to over-simplify:

The madreporite is basically a pressure valve for the insides of the starfish. It lets water in and out of its water vascular system as needed. In order to prevent debris and sea life and other non-desirables from getting inside the starfish, the madreporite filters the water that it takes in.

this is what the madreporite looks like up close:

(Name origin: apparently someone saw that and thought “huh, that kind of looks like madrepore coral, but tiny! They... weren’t wrong.)

Now, you may look at the name “water vascular system” and think “hey, I know ‘vascular’! That's related to blood!” This is a reasonable misunderstanding.

While in humans, the circulatory system is part of a vascular system (along with our lymphatic system) in the starfish’s water vascular system, seawater is NOT analogous to blood in a circulatory system. Or, well, it’s complicated, because it does do some things that are similar to a mammalian circulatory system, such as transporting certain types of immune cells, but still (source: Ferguson 1966)

Instead, these seawater-filled tubes are used for things such as the movement of starfish arms (and their little tube feet), which in turn allows them to move around their environment, find and consume food, and stick to surfaces. Mammals generally don’t use their circulatory systems in this way (if I am wrong about this, PLEASE let me know, as that would be absolutely WILD).

(diagram of a starfish’s water-vascular system, revealing the starfish’s final form: some sort of fidget toy, I think)

I admit that “starfish use seawater instead of blood” is a much more attention-grabbing headline, but it’s not true, and it’s also kind of sad, because the water-vascular system is really cool without the misinformation!

(before you ask, yes, this entire post was prompted by one (1) person saying something that was WRONG, and that person may or may not have been related to me 😤😭😭😭😭😭)

The water-vascular system is, essentially, a hydraulic system. By adding and expelling water, as well as opening and closing internal channels via muscle contractions, starfish can create positive and negative pressure within their bodies. This allows them to “flex” their tube feet in surprisingly complex ways, among other functions.

(these^ are a starfish’s “tube feet”. They are little structures with suckers on the ends. If you’ve ever held a starfish in your hands, you probably felt these feet holding onto you. They have a surprising amount of strength!)

You can imagine this sort of like how a whacky inflatable tube man uses air pressure to straighten up and fall down, except with hundreds in one connected, complex system (and also the pressure is more tightly controlled in order to prevent all that flailing, and also to allow fine control required for things like ripping open a mollusc shell).

(I always imagine this when looking at starfish tube feet. And now, maybe you will too! join me. 1, 2)

The confusion regarding starfish blood being seawater is understandable, but in the end it’s essentially a misunderstanding.

Plus, starfish have coelomic fluid, which is honestly more analogous to blood.

Coelomic fluid is, basically, the fluid that fills the starfish’s body cavity between all of its organs and such, facilitating nutrient transport, gas exchange, and overall being more blood-like than the water-vascular system in general (Andradre et al. 2021).

And ok, technically the liquid part of coelomic fluid comes from seawater, ultimately, but that would be like saying I, a human, use tap water for blood. And, ok, yes, there is water in my blood, and that water came from the tap, but no one would say that I have tap water instead of blood! Except my brother but he also says trigonometry doesn’t exist so we will be ignoring his opinion at this time.

(a more detailed diagram than the one before. The coelomic fluid is found in the coelomic cavity! Also, as a bonus, you now know where a starfish’s anus is! Enjoy this new knowledge next time you look at a starfish! source: x)

Starfish aren’t the only animals with a water vascular system and a madreporite. They can also be spotted in other echinoderms, such as sea urchins, sand dollars, and sea cucumbers (although in the sea cucumber the madreporite is inside the animal, so you probably won’t see it in the wild).

That said, starfish have my favourite madraporites, because I think they look like little badges. They all win the award of being lil friends (and also keystone species that are essential to many marine ecosystems. So.)

This has been Fun Fact Friday, telling you all about wacky lil friends who have funny little feet and DO NOT HAVE SEAWATER INSTEAD OF BLOOD!

I will do battle with my sibling later, as is tradition

Sources under Read More:

Andrade, C., Oliveira, B., Guatelli, S., Martinez, P., Simões, B., Bispo, C., ... & Coelho, A. V. (2021). Characterization of coelomic fluid cell types in the starfish Marthasterias glacialis using a flow cytometry/imaging combined approach. Frontiers in Immunology, 807. 

Ferguson, J. C. (1966). Cell production in the Tiedemann bodies and haemal organs of the starfish, Asterias forbesi. Transactions of the American Microscopical Society, 200-209.

Mao, S., Dong, E., Zhang, S., Xu, M., & Yang, J. (2013, July). A new soft bionic starfish robot with multi-gaits. In 2013 IEEE/ASME International Conference on Advanced Intelligent Mechatronics (pp. 1312-1317). IEEE.

#biology #science #stem #fun fact friday #science side of tumblr #animals #starfish #marine biology #there are many benefits to being a marine biologist #such as knowing the location of a starfish's butthole

[sokoviansimp]

The Package

✒  Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Child!Reader (platonic)

✒  Tags & Warnings: child taken by hydra, neglect

-lmk if im missing any

✒ A/N : I’m planning for this to be a series :) I’m open to requests or suggestions for other parts

✒ Summary: The team is sent off to retrieve a dangerous package from Hydra, instead they find a child. 

✒ Word Count: 3373

Masterlist | The Package AU | Part 2

“If all goes to plan, this should be textbook stuff,” Steve explained to the team waiting to unload from the Quinjet, “we get in, get the package, and then get out. Understood?” The team consisting of Wanda, Tony, Clint, and Nat all nodded on queue.

At that point, they felt the landing gear make contact with the ground just a couple miles out from the Hydra base they planned to invade. The exit door began to lift and they all filed out of the vehicle to get into position. Wanda and Tony took to the sky for surveillance while the other 3 followed behind on 2 motorcycles.

The plan was to be as discrete as they could for as long as possible. They knew it wouldn’t be a stealth mission, but to draw the least amount of attention until they had the package was ideal. 

Wanda took out the guards at the gate before they could trigger an alarm while Tony blasted the surveillance cameras. The ground team was free to move into the base, all was going according to plan. It didn’t take long for them to draw attention to themselves once they infiltrated the entrance. The opposing team sprung into action, sending as many goons as they could to slow down the invasion long enough to escape with what they needed most from a helicopter on the roof. 

Tony saw the blades of the helicopter slowly start to spin as they warmed up and quickly blasted them off with his repulser to prevent them from leaving. Quickly making his way to the helicopter to retrieve the package, that he assumed they were trying to escape with. 

“Oh, no you don’t” he quipped toward the scientists as he took them out and snatched their briefcase. 

“Steve, I’ve got the briefcase, time to boogie,” Tony exclaimed over the comms. 

“Briefcase?” Steve repeated, confused. 

“Yea, in my hand. Let’s go,”

“The package won’t fit in a briefcase, Tony.” Steve rebutted, “Does it say HS12?” 

The briefcase was silver and had no distinct markings on it other than the hydra symbol at the top adorning the combination lock, “er- no, but they were trying to leave with it so I just-” 

“Keep looking Stark” Steve commanded. 

Going through the same doors that the scientists came through on the roof, Wanda went in to search the building for the real package they were after. The only thing she knew about it, is that it’s labeled HS12 and it’s extremely dangerous. Making her way through the dimly lit halls of the base, she saw weapon labs labeled with a W and corresponding numbers. Initially, she went into one hoping to find what she was looking for but everything in the room began with a W so she knew she was likely far off from her target. 

Coming up empty handed she decided to ask for help. The room that she went into initially was empty, so she found one that wasn’t, “Excuse me?” she said with feigned innocence, “I’m looking for something specific, can one of you help me?” 

The scientists tried to scurry away knowing exactly who they were speaking with. Wanda Maximoff was spoken about widely throughout Hydra, she was one of their greatest successes after all. With little effort; Wanda trapped the men in the room with her, locking the doors shut with her magic, “HS12, Where can I find it?” Wanda sternly queried, she hated being back in the house of hydra after being experimented on by the same people just a couple of years prior. Reminding herself that she was a misinformed volunteer helped quell the hatred she held for them in her soul. Some of these people may be of the same fate, thinking they're changing the world for the better, only to be helping the wrong team. Or even worse, some of these people may not even have a choice in the matter at all. Doing work to protect a loved one from threats of torture or even death. 

As silence stained the room, she decided to give her audience some incentive to answer. Using her magic, she lifted the scientist with the most badges displayed on his lab coat up into the air. Judging by the badges, he’s likely been there a while, meaning he should have the information she’s seeking. While in her grasp, the red wisps moved up to his throat as they squeezed into each other, cutting off his oxygen supply, “I won’t ask again”

Merely seconds later, the scientist was already squirming, “th-” he tried to gasp out, Wanda loosened her hold on his throat just enough for him to speak the answer, “third fl- floor” he squealed out; desperate for air, and scared for his life. Wanda wasted no time, abruptly dropping the scientist to the linoleum tile that sat below him as she turned to head for the staircase. 

The entrance to the third floor from the stairwell was locked, needing a keycard for entry. The door read Authorized Personnel Only in bold red letters. This didn’t do anything to stop Wanda, as she blasted her magic through the door swinging it open. Similarly to the rooms on the upper floor, each one was labeled with HS and a corresponding number. The first door to her left reads HS37, so she continues down the hall to look for 12. The first chunk of rooms are empty, it isn’t until she gets down around 15 that she realizes they aren’t weapon rooms, they’re cells. Then it clicks; HS = Human Subject.

Her heartbeat picks up as her mind starts to conjure images of what type of monster could be waiting for her behind the door. Whatever it is, whoever it is, she’s sure she can handle it, in fact, she’s slightly relieved that she’s the one to find it because she’s probably best suited out of the current team to face a dangerous creature. With only a few doors between 15 and 12, she arrives quicker than her mind can prepare, so she stands there for a couple of seconds, inhaling deeply before blasting the locked door with her magic. 

As she enters, the building starts to tremble, shockwaves radiating from the room. She’s met with quite the opposite of what she was expecting, a small child scurrying to huddle into a fetal position in the corner of the room terrified of the stranger that just entered. Most of the time, people visiting your cell were unwelcomed, but at least they were familiar. Their visits often resulted in needles being poked into your arms which made you dread the sound of the hinges on the door. 

Wanda’s features immediately softened in an attempt to calm you, “Hi there, it’s ok malyshka, I’m not going to hurt you,” she gently assured 

You nuzzled your head deeper into your legs seeking any comfort you could get as tears threaten to spill from your eyelids. 

“Steve, you didn’t tell us HS12 is a child,” Wanda said angrily over the comms to the super soldier. 

“A what?!” Natasha chimed in confused

The increase of Wanda’s voice jarred your nerves even more, and it was noticeable by the way the shake of the building picked up. 

“Wanda, what’s your location?” Steve queried

“Third floor.”

“Stay there, we’re coming. Be careful, she’s dangerous.” Steve warned

Deciding not to heed Steve’s comment, Wanda continued on with her attempt to calm you down, “Shh, it’s ok. What’s your name?”

“y-y/n” you squeaked out

“Y/N, such a pretty name. I’m Wanda,”

“Wan-da?” you tested the name on your tongue, still unsure about the woman standing before you. 

“Yes!” she exclaimed excitedly, “I’m here to help you,” she conveyed with a genuine smile. Her brows raised slightly as she spoke.

“No poke?” you whimpered, wanting to trust Wanda because she felt motherly but still reluctant.

“No, no poke.” she reached for you, “come on.”

You hesitantly took her hand as you stood on grounded feet beneath you, “where we go?”

“Home,” Wanda assured

Confused, you furrowed your brows and looked at the redhead, “I no have home”

Hearing you utter the words broke her heart, not only the fact that it may be true, but it was the way you knew it to be true that left her heart in little pieces, “That’s going to change, dorogoy.” 

“No, no leave,” you shook your head side to side as you removed your hand from hers and backed up until you made contact with the wall, “I be good, no ouchies,” you stated, worrying what they would do to you if they caught you trying to leave. 

Wanda kneeled down to your level, “no one will hurt you, ill make sure of it.”

Within a couple of seconds, the rest of the team arrived at your doorway. Seeing Steve and Clint in the doorway was enough to send your nerves into overload. Men, in general, scared you, everyone that you recalled causing you harm had always been male so you were much less likely to trust them. Their suits and weapons only helped to give you more anxiety that they were there to cause you pain, “NO! PLEASE!” you screamed as sounds of stray items hitting the floor echoed through the hallways.

“Wanda, we have to get her out of here” Steve stated in a stoic tone 

“Y/N, I need you to calm down for me, can you do that? Look at me,” she said trying her best to diffuse the situation without subduing you. 

All you wanted to do was cry out for your mama, you wanted to be held and told it will all be ok but you knew that wasn’t an option. You lost your mother and she’s never coming back, no one was coming to help ease your emotions, you’re all on your own and you only have yourself to protect you.  

At that moment, a crack bellowed through the ceiling causing a chunk to fall above your head. Without a second thought, Clint drew an arrow from his quiver and shot straight through the debris, breaking it into smaller pieces in an effort to protect you. From your point of view, you saw a man draw an arrow on you and miss just above your head, who knows what he’d do next? 

The action, in an involuntary attempt to protect yourself, caused shockwaves to erupt from your tiny form as you squealed and folded in on yourself. The building had already started crumbling, but this was the final straw that rained trauma on every support in the structure.

With the building on the verge of swallowing you all whole and Wanda’s attempts to calm you falling short, she knew she had to stop you, for your own safety. The crimson tendrils of magic flew out from her fingers to seep directly into your mind, quelling your thoughts instantly and leaving you in restful sleep. The building stopped shaking the second you were out, some damage remained but the structure was still standing. As your legs gave out underneath you, Wanda was there to catch you from the impending floor and bring you straight into her arms, holding you tightly. 

Wanda held you in her arms the entire flight. How could someone do this to such an innocent child, she thought. A part of her felt guilty for ever being a part of an organization that would go to such great lengths. You were sleeping, but the dreams swirling around in your head were far from quiet. To be truthful, being asleep was one of your favorite things, you were free to explore your own imagination in 4 dimensions instead of being confined to the cell the Hydra held you captive in. 

Natasha, knowing how hard this must be for Wanda, made her way over to sit next to the Sokovian. She placed a reassuring hand on Wanda’s thigh to show her that she’s there for her while Wanda zoned out, deep in thought. 

“She’s lucky you found her,” Natasha gently stated.

“I just, I don’t understand how someone could hurt her,” Wanda sighed, “To look into that little face and lock her in a cell,” her bottom lip quivered as tears threatened to spill over but she held them back. 

“I know, but now we can make sure no one ever hurts her again,” Nat offered. 

Wanda pulled her lips together and lifted her cheeks slightly to form a neutral expression of acknowledgment. After a beat of silence, Natasha wrapped her left arm around the redhead. Wanda melted into the Russian next to her, allowing her head to lean back onto her chest, “I’m not giving her up to Fury,” Wanda whispered. 

“I know.”

When the team lands, they immediately bring you to the medbay and Tony gets to work on an inhibitor for your powers. They gather a little blood so they can run tests and the only reason Wanda even lets them is that you're asleep and won’t be bothered. Once they've released you from the medical unit, Wanda takes you to her room to get cleaned up. 

“Don’t get too attached, Maximoff. We have to give her to Fury,” Steve called out as Wanda ignored him and made her way up the stairs with you. 

She gently lays you on the bed as she leaves to start running the bath water. As the water fills, she returns to your side and begins to shake you gently. The redhead was nervous to wake you before Tony finished the inhibitor, but she was confident that she could soothe you enough for a bath, “Y/N” she hummed to your laying figure on the bed, as you began to stir awake, “wake up, malyshka, it’s tubby time” 

The words rang into your ears, and in your waking stupor, you imagined you were back in your home with your mother. You stretched your arms above your head before opening your eyes to the sight of a smiling redhead looming above you. The same one from your cell, she told you her name, what was it? Oh right!

“Wana” you blurted

“Yes! Wanda,” the sokovian punctuated the d in her name that you had missed, “Come little one, let’s get you all cleaned up,” she said taking you in her arms and bringing you both into the bathroom. 

To her surprise, you had no negative reaction to waking up in a completely different environment. You felt safe with Wanda, and the room you were in was so much nicer than the cell you had been confined to that you didn’t see a reason to be scared. 

“Where are we?” you questioned, knowing you were no longer at the Hydra base, or at least nowhere that you had ever seen. 

“We are at the Avengers Compound,” Wanda explained, “This is my bedroom,” she continued as she took your clothes off, plopping them in the laundry bin and getting you settled into the tub. 

“A-bengers?” 

“Yes, have you heard of them before, Y/N?” Wanda wondered how much you knew

“No, neber”

“Well, the Avengers are superheroes, they save people.”

You let the words sink in as Wanda lathered soap into a cloth, “Abengers saved me?” you tried putting the pieces together. 

“We did,” Wanda began, rubbing the soft soap-filled cloth along your shoulders, “and no one will ever hurt you again.” Your gaze traveled upward to meet hers as a small smile crept onto your face. 

The feeling of being in a bath again made you so happy. The last time you had a bath, you were with your mother. Just being in the tub again brought back feelings of comfort. Wanda took her time to be gentle with you as she knew it was going to be a long bath. You had so much grime build-up in your hair from being neglected in a cell that she wasn’t sure if it would be best to just cut it off. Even though you needed extreme cleaning, she didn’t want to overwhelm you on your first day either. As long as she could get you clean enough to feel comfortable she would accept it for the time being. 

You continue to learn more about the avengers throughout your bath as you asked Wanda lots of questions. Your personality was finally getting to show itself, after almost a year of being buried.

“Friday, can you ask Nat to bring Y/Ns clothes upstairs?” Wanda called out to the AI intercom, “Sure thing, Ms. Maximoff!” it quickly notated.

Your eyes widened and your face lifted at the robot's voice, “Who’s dat?” you pointed in the air to try and pinpoint the direction of the voice

“That is Friday, she’s like uh- a robot assistant”

It doesn’t take long for Natasha to arrive with your clothes, “How’d it go?” she asks peering into the bathroom before walking in. 

“It went great! Y/N did so well!” she says beaming you with the brightest smile. The two girls get you dressed and bring you back into the bedroom. 

“She's a weapon and she needs to be handed over to the right people.” the three of you overheard Steve’s take on your custody as you entered the common room in Wanda’s arms. The redhead felt your body tense up as soon as the other Avengers came into view, “it’s ok malyshka, no one will hurt you here” she whispered toward you in an attempt to calm the anxiety that she knew was brewing within you. You nuzzled into her neck in response, feeling safe in her hold. 

“She’s not a weapon, she’s a child,” Natasha cut into Steve’s conversation with Tony, better her than Wanda for Steve’s sake, “have some compassion, Rogers”

“-with unchecked powers that could destroy this planet” Steve added, 

“So we keep them in check,” Nat stated without hesitation. 

“You’re not seriously considering keeping her here?” Steve shifted his weight to turn his attention to Natasha. 

“Why not? It’s the perfect place for her to learn how to control her powers.” A wave of relief washed over Wanda to see that she wasn’t the only one wanting to keep you around. 

“Because we aren’t running a daycare” Steve doesn’t let up, “She needs to be handed over to Fury.”

“Yea, well Wanda and I both know what it’s like to be experimented on at a young age, it’s not something you just get over. We have a real chance to give her a better life, teach her how to control her gifts, and make sure no one ever hurts her again.” 

“She’s staying here, and if Fury has an issue with that, he can come find me.” Wanda snarls as she walks through the common room with you toward the theatre.

Wanda sat you down in one of the La-Z-Boy chairs in the front row as she set up the movie, “any requests, malyshka?” wanda offered as she scrolled through some options on the screen

Your face lit up at the sight of the golden dog, “Doggy!” you exclaim with an outstretched arm towards the screen.

Your reaction causes a chuckle from Wanda, “Dug Days it is.” She smiled as she started the first episode.

The show had you on the edge of your seat, excited about what shenanigans the dog would be up to. It felt so good for you to finally be able to act like a kid again. You couldn’t help the thoughts swirling in the back of your brain of going back to the bad place. Before Wanda had a chance to start the next episode, you blurted out, ”Dey want me to leave?”

“What?”

“Da man, is he gonna make me leave?” you meet her gaze with doe wide eyes.

“No sweetie, this is your home now.” she gently assured you as she rubbed your back.

“Really? Home?” you tested the word once more now that it had real meaning to you. 

“Yes, come here” Wanda lifted the armrest that separated the two of you and wrapped her left arm around your shoulder allowing you to snuggle into her side as she clicked play on the next episode.

#wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda fanfic #wanda mcu #wanda maximoff fanfiction #mommy wanda #mama wanda #daughter reader #little reader #wanda maximoff x little!reader #wanda maximoff x daughter!reader #hydra #rescue #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #Wanda Maximoff x child!reader #sokoviansimp fics #The package au

[amphibious-thing]

Philippa Gregory and Lazy Research: the Issue With Pop History as Exemplified by the Misinformation Surrounding Geneviève d'Eon in the Book Normal Women

If you frequent bookstores or libraries you might have seen Philippa Gregory's new book Normal Women in the best sellers or most wanted displays. The fact that Geneviève d'Eon, a trans woman, is included in a woman's history book is marvelous. D'Eon has been denied her place in woman's history for far too long. So what's the problem? Well Philippa Gregory's lazy research is the problem.

For full transparency I have to admit I didn't read the whole book. And honestly based on what I did read I probably wont read it because the short section I did read left a lot to be desired. While the section on d'Eon is short Gregory sure can pack a fair bit of misinformation into 7 paragraphs.

The most glaring error is d'Eon's name. Gregory claims her name was Lia however this is simply not true. D'Eon's full name was Charlotte-Geneviève-Louise-Auguste-André-Timothée d’Eon de Beaumont, or Geneviève d'Eon for short. When d'Eon transitioned she changed her first name to Charlotte, but she actually went by her middle name Geneviève, which was one of her baptismal names. The name Geneviève had both personal and religious significance for d'Eon having been given to her by her godmother. She talks about this in the draft of her autobiography:

I did undertake to make a novena to my patron saint, Geneviève, in the hope of gaining insight, since the name Geneviève was given to me at baptism by my godmother, the sister of my father and of my uncle.

(The Maiden of Tonnerre, p9)

She also mentions her name when writing about the joy of being able to live openly as a woman:

At present I am living in profound peace; and my joy is so great that I praise God in three languages so that a greater number of people may partake of the happiness of the angels in this life while awaiting the crown of ordinary martyrs, Nunc Genofeva d'Eon est nomen meum; quam suave et dulce est laetitia mea! [My name is now Geneviève d’Eon; how delightful and how sweet is my joy!]

(The Maiden of Tonnerre, p87)

[Ticket for Geneviève d'Eon's fencing display at Mrs. Bateman's house in Soho, c. 1793, via The British Museum]

The only evidence that suggests d'Eon may have used the name Lia is from a flirtatious letter written by her then boss the Marquis de l'Hôpital during her mission in Russia. L'Hôpital, who was 30 years her senior, calls d'Eon "ma chère Lia" and "ma belle de Beaumont". In other letters l'Hôpital often complains about d'Eon's lack of sexual activity, often making comments about her penis. It's unclear how d'Eon felt about the name Lia or the multiple sexual remarks made by her boss. (see Mémoires sur la Chevalière d'Éon by Frédéric Gaillardet, p16, 77, 80, 94, 99 & 110 for the l'Hôpital letters)

Gregory isn't just confused about d'Eon's name, she also mixes up details of d'Eon's life claiming that d'Eon dressed as a woman during her mission to spy on England in preparation for an French invasion, stating that d'Eon "moved in London society as Lia de Beaumont." I've never seen any strong evidence that d'Eon was dressing in woman's clothes for this mission and Gregory doesn't provide any evidence of this either. Certainly d'Eon claimed to have dressed in women's clothes during her mission in Russia but not England. (see The Maiden of Tonnerre for d'Eon's claims that she adopted a female alias in Russia)

Gregory also claims:

In August 1777, Lia de Beaumont chose a male identity and wore a grenadier's uniform to volunteer for military service in the American War of Independence, but was prevented from joining the conflict

While d'Eon did attempt to rejoin the French army in 1778 & 1779 she did not "chose a male identity". D'Eon asked to be able to rejoin the army as a woman. In February 1779 d'Eon published an open letter to "several Great Ladies at Court" hoping for support in rejoining the army:

Foreseeing that there will be less fighting on land this year than last, I earnestly entreat you to use your influence with the ministers, in favour of my petition (as stated in the enclosed copy of my letter to the Comte de Maurepas) to serve as a volunteer in the fleet of the Comte d'Orvilliers. Your name, Madame, is one to which military glory is familiar, and, as a woman, you must love the glory of our sex. I have striven to sustain that throughout the late war with Germany, and in negotiating at European courts during the last twenty-five years. There is nothing left for me to do but to fight at sea in the Royal Navy. I hope to acquit myself in such a way that you will not regret having fostered the good intention of one who has the honour to be, with profoundest respect, faithfully yours. La Chevalière d'Eon.

(Originally published in Correspondance Littéraire, Philosophique et Critique, translation by Alfred Rieu in D'Eon de Beaumont, His Life and Times, p233)

Nowhere in this letter does d'Eon claim to be a man. In fact she writes "as a woman, you must love the glory of our sex" (emphasis mine) and signs it in the feminine "La Chevalière d'Eon."

Gregory also includes the following quote from Madame Campan's book Memoirs Of The Court Of Marie Antoinette:

He was made to resume the costume of that sex to which in France everything is pardoned. The desire to see his native land once more determined him to submit to the condition, but he revenged himself by combining the long train of his gown and the three deep ruffles on his sleeves with the attitude and conversation of a grenadier, which made him very disagreeable company.

I have to ask why Gregory felt this needed to be included? Why is Campan's speculation on d'Eon's gender given more weight than any of d'Eon's own writings on gender? Shouldn't we prioritise what d'Eon said about herself over the speculation of an acquaintance of hers?

Why not include this quote:

I would prefer to keep my male clothes, because they open all the doors to fortune, glory, and courage. Dresses close all those doors for me. Dresses only give me room to cry about the misery and servitude of women, and you know that I am crazy about liberty. But nature has come to oppose me, and to make me feel the need for women’s clothes, so that I can sleep, eat, and study in peace. I am constantly in fear of some sickness or accident that will, despite myself, allow my sex to be discovered …. Nature makes a good friend but a bad enemy. If you chase it through the door, it just blows back in through the window.

(Monsieur D'Eon Is a Woman by Gary Kates p71)

Or this one:

If certain modern philosophers do not approve of my conversion, it is because they do not believe in God, the law, or the King. God forgave me, the living law vindicated me, and the legal systems in England and France awarded me full rights to wear a dress. Louis XV and Louis XVI were my patrons, the Queen who is the daughter of the Caesars had me dressed in her court by Mademoiselle Bertin; the very woman who dresses the Queen did not turn up her nose at dressing Mademoiselle d'Eon grandly.

(The Maiden of Tonnerre, p134)

Or maybe this one:

Having been a decent man, a zealous citizen and a brave soldier all my life, I triumph in being a woman and in being able to be cited for ever amongst those many woman who have proved that the qualities and virtues of which men are so proud have not been denied to those of my sex.

(La Vie militaire, politique et privée de Melle d’Eon (1779): Biography and the Art of Manipulation by Anne-Marie Mercier-Faivre)

Gregory isn't alone in the choice to highlight Campan's speculation over d'Eon's own words, Wikipedia also does this, which makes me wonder if she originally got this quote from d'Eon's Wikipedia page. Perhaps Gregory doesn't know what d'Eon wrote about gender because she hasn't read anything d'Eon wrote about gender.

It's clear that Philippa Gregory's research on d'Eon was frankly lazy and nothing exemplifies this as much as her thinking d'Eon's name was Lia. But why does Philippa Gregory think d'Eon's name is Lia when primary source evidence clearly shows otherwise? Well it's certainly a common myth that d'Eon used the name Lia de Beaumont as a alias while working as a spy in Russia. The assumption was originally made by Frédéric Gaillardet in his largely fictitious book Memoires du Chevalier d'Eon. Gaillardet assumes that d'Eon used the name Lia de Beaumont because of the letter from the Marquis de l'Hôpital in which he calls her "ma chère Lia" and "ma belle de Beaumont". Whether or not d'Eon even did have a female alias while working as a spy in Russia is a controversial point amongst historians. However even if we assume she did use the name Lia as an alias its still not really her name.

I don't think I've seen a single historian claim d'Eon's name was actually Lia but I have seen many people on social media claim this was her name. The logic seems to be that if d'Eon used Lia de Beaumont as an alias that it was probably her preferred name. With most secondary sources on d'Eon using her deadname and never identifying d'Eon by either her first name Charlotte or preferred name Geneviève the issue gets confused. Lia seems like the preferable choice of name to people who don't want to deadname d'Eon but also aren't aware of any other feminine name she went by.

But why does Philippa Gregory think d'Eon's name is Lia? Surely Gregory isn't getting her information from social media? Right? But none of her cited sources identify Lia as d'Eon's name. In fact one of her cited sources, D'Eon Returns to France: Gender and Power in 1777 by Gary Kates, is one of the few secondary sources that does mention that d'Eon's name was Charlotte. Is Gregory even reading her own sources?

This issue isn't unique to Philippa Gregory it's a common issue in pop history. If you want to cover a broad topic that will appeal to a wide audience, like 900 years of women's history, you almost certainly are not going to study every aspect in significant detail. Can we really expect Philippa Gregory to do in-depth research into one individual she only talks about for 7 paragraphs? Of course not. So the research gets lazy.

#philippa gregory #chevalière d'eon #queer history

[marcusrobertobaq]

Why people often confuses Connor's deviancy with Hank's relationship status:

They got similar impacts after a point the story. Usually when the SI goes up are choices that also gonna impact Hank's rep positively. But as u can see they're totally unrelated, not only in the narrative but also the math system.

So, no... Connor doesn't deviate cuz of Hank. That's misinformation. I believe the devs themselves realized leaving a dialogue implying that would go against what they constructed and also becoming a plot hole when you're outside one specific route (an issue the game got overall).

(deviant Connor about Markus if dude got killed in Crossroads)

According to the narrative there may be 3 main reasons why he can choose deviating:

Amanda AI betrayal, when he also thought he mattered enough for CL to not lie to him (Daniel parallel);

Finding common ground with the deviants story, empathizing with 'em (esp the Tracis);

Realizing he ain't doing "the right thing" by helping the megacorporation to repress androids - he included, as they're using him as just some tool.

As he may have 3 main reasons to choose not deviating:

Believe deviants are extremly dangerous to humans, a threat to the country and to innocent people - and he's the one that can help preventing chaos from happening (CL propaganda);

Believe deviants are no better than "bad" humans he met along the way and that he's the one that can help prevent chaos from happening (CL propaganda + experience);

Fear of failing his mission, his whole purpose and ending up as 100% nothing (not useful) for Amanda - someone he got a level of attachment -, consequently ceasing to exist (dying) in the end (not even destroyed but the existence totally deleted).

In resume Connor's machine vs deviancy clash looks like a mix of doubts/conflicts about the deviancy situation + fear of "death" (ceasing to exist).

According to the narrative Connor's main topic related to Hank, something not impacted about the machine vs deviancy clash, is his worry and empathy towards Hank's trauma: mf's a traffic accident survivor, got a bad relationship with androids "cheating death" due to his own son's death as it's basically an INSULT when all the guy wants is having his kid (kids are quite a relevant topic in Connor's arc btw) back in his arms + the belief an android is responsible for Cole's death in attempt to ease his own sense of guilty.

All dude wants is Hank to overcome this trauma cuz it worsened things like suicidal tendencies and alcoholism - and also his hatred for androids.

Ain't only cuz these personal issues can make his job difficult but also cuz he starts respecting Hank and where mf came from after a point in the game, even if he "hates" the guy's guts.

I'd say Hank's experience alongside Connor in the case witnessing deviants stories confirming his negative opinion on humans made him realize he was being a coward this whole time attacking the wrong people:

and sadly his rep with Connor alone is what decides if the guy finally act upon his bullshit and "uses his suicidal tendencies" to fight for what he think it's right (telling law enforcement to fuck off definitely) or die in cowardice in his own house by his own hand victim of this same issue.

I can't help but say it's again continuation issues as this scene makes no sense when you're outside a very specific route.

A better summary would be: Connor doesn't deviate cuz of Hank, but Hank "deviates" cuz of Connor (due to bad design cuz Connor himself shouldn't be the reason he changes his mind but the whole picture imo).

I believe to fully visualize a character and context in a game like this we need to analyze each variation in the story, not only playing a specific route - the easiest one they call "full best ending", the one the game itself helps u to get - cuz it's easy losing context and also a good part of the character's range of expressions. When u do that u realize the character got a base that won't change doesn't matter how u play.

I'm offering y'all material to work with and go explore yourselves cuz i've been seeing some terrible takes recently and got "where tf is this in the canon bible?". What u gon do with this info ain't my jurisdiction anymore, my mission ends here.

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh: how i think shit works #connor rk800 #hank anderson #dbh observation list

[snickerdoodlles]

Re AO3- Politely inquiring as to why you aren't worried, oh Cinnamon One? Thanks! Xoxo

1 part "that's not how it works" and 2 parts "LLM-generated writing has nothing to do with fanfic writers"

some quick context for anyone who's confused-- generative-AI is trained on large datasets, and a lot of training datasets for these LLMs* include data scraped from AO3. i know that the generative-AI Sudowrites has been specifically referenced in socmed posts encouraging AO3 authors to lock their fics, but i believe the AO3 announcement on AI & data-scraping was prompted by current events and debates on the presence of generative-AI in day-to-day society vs any specific situation/event/etc

*LLM stands for 'large language model' which is the type of AI we're talking about here

my first note here is that if locking fics makes you feel more comfortable posting fanfic, do it. it's a fantastic security feature and no one needs a reason to lock their fics beyond "i want to." if you're doing it specifically to stop data scraping for AI, beware it doesn't actually stop that from occurring, it just acts as a deterent (AO3 has said they've done some backend work to prevent data scraping from occurring again in the future, but there's no way they'll ever be able to stop it completely)

but there's also been a lot of...well. i'm not sure misinformation is quite the right phrase here, but a lot of misunderstanding on how LLMs work that's resulted in a lot of outraged or indignant posts on LLM-generated writing in conjunction with AO3, and that's resulted in some fearmongering in regards to the issue that doesn't help anyone :( so, why i'm personally not worried about this issue;

1 part "that's not how it works"

first things first: i don't think people appreciate the sheer scale of LLMs. to refer back to a name that's been mentioned several times in these posts, Sudowrites is a generative AI based on GPT-3, which is a LLM based on 175+ billion parameters. GPT-3 requires 800GB just to store it. GPT-4 is based on 500 billion parameters. these are two of the big LLMs, but even the small LLMs are working off of 3-7 billion parameters. LLMs are fucking huge.

i think it might surprise some people to realize just how long AI has been around. the first recognized AI was made in 1943. neural networks (the "brains" of AI) were first developed in the 1980s. people have been working on generative-AI specifically for almost 20 years now. but it took 3 big factors before generative-AI was even possible:

1- neural networks that could do unsupervised learning,

2- hardware that could handle the computing requirements and neural networks needs,

and 3- the development of the internet into what it's been for the past 10 years, and the sheer scale of information now stored within it

so here's my point: LLMs weren't "trained on data from AO3"--AO3 is a database who's stored material was pulled alongside data from online journals, literary magazines, library databases, newspapers, video transcripts, blogs, Wikipedia and so much more than i can ever list to make these training datasets. individual AO3 writers are drops in a pool and AO3 is a bucket in an ocean of information. AO3 as an own individual entity has negligible impact on how LLMs were trained or what they do, nevermind individual stories.

honestly, this alone should be a huge relief for some people--i saw posts going around where people were appalled at the idea of their fanfic being used to train a generative-AI that could hurt professional writers. so great news! your fics have no meaningful impact on any of this in any way that conceivably matters! you can post your fics for anyone to see and read and even download with absolutely zero guilt for how generative-AI is affecting jobs.

2 parts "LLM-generated writing has nothing to do with fanfic writers"

if you want to learn how LLMs work, do it outside of tumblr, it's too complex to explain here (this dive into how ChatGPT works is a good starting point for anyone interested, personally i learned a lot looking up lectures on 'deep learning'). but for a simplified overview of it for anyone who doesn't care, LLMs are just figuring out what word comes next in a sequence. basically, you give a LLM a prompt. from that prompt, it determines what your topic is, then it spits out the first token (tokens are the 'language' of LLMs, in this case it's spitting out a word or short phrase). then the LLM spits out the second token based on the first token. then spits out the third token based on the first token, second token, and combination of the tokens. and so forth, until it's reached the end of the prompt.

LLMs are just writing sentences word-by-word. i remember doing something very similar when i first started analyzing what i loved about my favorite writers--i had a notebook where i wrote out sentences that i especially loved, usually looking at description or a funny piece of dialogue, with the goal of figuring out how to write like them. this lasted for maybe a month before i moved on to analyzing story structure, narrative pacing, etc because sentences are just lines of words. anyone can put words into a nice sounding sentence. they can even put several words into nice sounding sentences that sound nice when read together. but writing, and everything about it that makes it special, is so more than writing nice sounding sentences. giving an a concept a narrative, or creating distinctive characters with their own voices, or building a setting/world, or connecting ideas to themes--generative-AI can't do any of that. it's just determining which token comes next after the previously generated ones. it can do that with a lot of variety--baby writer me was working off a bookshelf, LLMs are working off things like the entire internet--but that's still all it can do: write nice sounding sentences.

there's another aspect to generative-AI at play here too--in every example you've seen of LLM-generated writing, did you notice that they're all limited to less than 500 words? prompts shown in newscast articles/segments are usually 300-500 words, Sudowrites only offers written passages of up to 300 words, and even ChatGPT recommends keeping responses limited to under ~800 tokens (even tho it offers responses of up to...4000 tokens i think?)

this is because each generated token comes with an error value. i don't want to bog down this already long response with how that exactly works, but let's say the first token comes with an error value of 0.0002 (*im picking random numbers for this). that error value carries over to the second token (which can have its own error value of let's say 0.0007). then that combined error value carries over to the third generated token, which also has its own separate error value, and so forth. and while each individual error value is negligible, they add up with each additional token and eventually the overall gained error is too high and the LLM cannot properly/accurately produce the next token (this is called error propagation, and it's non-linear in the case of LLMs)

i will stop torturing people with math nd statistics concepts, but the long and short of this means that after a certain number of words are generated, the LLM's response starts breaking down. maybe at first it starts sounding a little stale or the wording gets awkward, but if it keeps going, the LLM starts spitting out gibberish, and you have to end the prompt and start a new one. this is why those generative-AI writing examples have a word limit to them, the LLMs can't write more than that small section of writing on their own.

so, add up all of that, LLMs already aren't going to replace story writers any time soon. they just can't do it. furthermore, the response you get from an LLM is only as good as the prompt you give it and it's working off such a huge dataset, that responses are going to be really broad. if you want a more tailored response, you have to feed it extra context alongside the prompt. and in the case of fanfic specifically, fic is entirely based on previously known context. it's written with a very specific context in mind, it expects readers to enter with at least some level of knowledge on that specific context, and works within that level of context even in the cases of AUs. fic writers play in someone else's sandbox, which is not something that LLMs are naturally capable of doing

but frankly, even if they did, they still have zero relevance to fic writers

the people currently affected by LLM-generated writing are journalists, who jobs have been under fire for years. the editors in published magazines getting slammed with LLM-generated writing because it was sold as a shortcut. writers rooms for shows, which act as an important stepping stone but execs have been trying to reduce and cut out for years. and even more that i'm not listing.

these are people's livelihoods that are being impacted by generative-AI. situations where managers and executives don't care about the fact that LLMs can't write like people do because they only see a money-saver instead of art.

like, 100%--if locking your fics feels more reassuring to you personally, absolutely lock them. that's the point of the feature. but the attitude of acting like AO3 has any relevance how LLMs are trained or that generative-AI has any meaningful impact on fic writers is just such a self-centered view of the actual issue at hand. and, if you will excuse me getting a little snarky here, anyone up in arms over AO3 being one of the many databases getting scraped is about 20 years too late to worrying about internet privacy.

[ariakjanawen]

Friendly reminder to fact-check anything you read if it seems shocking or confusing. Seeing a lot of Vocaloid/vocalsynth iceberg posts going around that contain heavy misinformation, speculation, and misrepresentation of opinion as fact*, but all of that is mixed in with actually true things so it's kind of hard to tell unless you know what is inaccurate due to the lack of sources on those kinds of posts.

While the best way to prevent the spread of misinformation is to not post it in the first place, those of us who come across it can prevent its spread by recognizing misinformation when we see it and leaving it be.

* (some of which is detrimental enough to a company or person's character that it could be considered defamation. Like seriously, some of the claims I'm seeing on these iceberg posts have no evidence to support them but make certain people or situations sound really bad or way worse than they were)

#vocaloid #cevio creative studio #synthesizer v #synthv #utauloid #utau #vocal synth

[granulesofsand]

I have opinions about a post (https://www.tumblr.com/justanothersyscourse/715275783016448000/looks-like-the-tulpa-studies-might-finally-be).

🗝️🏷️ psychosis, invalidation, syscourse? (It’s a link to an anti-endo review of a study, with my endo-neutral commentary)

The reblog options makes it huge, and I care more about the bottom highlighted part. I look forward to finding the whole study, but I want to share strategies I use for reading academic papers.

Things to keep in mind:

Clinicians and researchers typically don’t have lived experience. They can learn from formal education or people who do have whatever they’re looking at, but can take many years to communicate in community (system-specific social settings) spaces effectively, if they ever get to that point.

Language develops separately in different contexts. There are barriers on both sides that prevent conversation; psychologists don’t know community terms, and the community doesn’t know how to decode academic phrasing.

Some researchers are snooty. There are professionals that approach community members believing they are lying, wrong, or confused. Words like “experience” and “feel” are used, both to make the professional appear more neutral and to imply unreality. Plenty of papers on DID also say things like “The patient experiences herself as a young child” when admittedly describing what the community calls “littles”.

This doesn’t mean that the study will prove anything either way. I haven’t seen the abstract, but it looks like they’re trying to reject or fail to reject that tulpas (among other audial experiences) are symptoms of psychosis. I can’t really tell what their base hypothesis was, but science doesn’t actually prove anything; it explains, it experiments, it observes, but it cannot definitively say that something is fact. Even things we’re pretty sure about, like gravity, can’t be known for certain. I have no personal investment in this study either way, but I do believe that harassing people is not okay — including people who are spreading harm. I have yet to see an endogenic system cause harm solely due to their identity as endogenic. Misinformation and poor etiquette suck, but there are methods to try before harming people back.

🗝️🏷️ same but also mild RAMCOA mention

(I also don’t understand why the willing creation of other selves is bad aside from the name “tulpamancy”, especially as a member of a traumagenic system that still splits somewhat intentionally. Is it different cause we were forced to do it? Or just because we have trauma? I will not accept being called bad for surviving as a small child, so why are they different?) - 🪡

#did osdd #dissociative identity disorder #osdd #endogenic #tulpa

[im-a-goat-in-disguise]

do you have any idea how evil it is telling a trans woman she has to vote for people who want to kill her?

It seems there's overall a bit of confusion about what the guidance is and what "Labour supports if" exactly means. Beyond one short sky interview in which I couldn't pinpoint a certain answer divulging labours support for the guidance, there's not a whole lot to be found.

This guidance is not something labour was able to vote on, influence in any way, or affect the outcome of. It was released by the Department of Education, not a special committee or parliament itself. It comes from the Executive branch, which is currently the Tories, instead of the Legislative branch, which is the mix of parliament.

I'm not sure how "Labour didn't vote against something that wasn't their choice and they had no way to prevent" translates to "Labour wants to kill me and is equally as bad as the Tories, therefore we shouldn't vote at all", but the position is generally misinformed and seems to have taken the worst possible interpretation of events. Maybe surpassed only by "Labour is now planning a total genocide of all LGBT+ people", which I've seen in a few YouTube comments.

I wish there was an easier way to efficiently communicate the fact that Labour is not as bad as every online leftist will have you proclaim. The Tories are endlessly worse, but because that's taken for granted, you never really notice just how bad they are. I mean, they're the ones who wrote the damn guidance! But the guidance existing is somehow therefore evidence labour is equally bad.

UK government is confusing, sometimes deliberately it seems, and without really getting into the nitty gritty of it you can easily derive a conclusion that completely overlooks all the actual intentions of the participants. The Tories are looking to try and shore up any goddamn support they can in the running up to the election, and Labour (with a decent lead in the polls) is trying not to say anything that pushes away the voters giving them a decent lead in the polls. I don't think they should be this placid, but I don't really see what Labour can actually do at this point regarding the guidance. They can't revoke it or vote against it, they never could. Maybe they could get a special committee to review it but overall, saying "Labour is letting this slide therefore they want to kill trans people!" Is just over the top.

#the q's n a's #anonymoose #ask to tag #politics tw #people dont really seem to understand what labour can and can't do #what do you want labour to do right now? what would placate you? nothing? because THERES NOTHING THAT CAN BE DONE? #anyway i know it ended kinds weirdly. but. the tory party and labour party are NOT equally terrible. one of them doesn't even want- #-to be the government. and the other wants to ruin everybodys lives as quickly as possible because they know they ain't getting a 2nd go

[re-x]

Comments on Never Have I Ever Season 4’s first two episodes:

The sheer absurdity of people getting themselves worked up into a panic over spoilers from the first two episodes of nhie season 4, when most of them haven’t even watched these episodes themselves.

The tags (and my Twitter timeline) are full of people passing judgments (and full-blown catastrophizing) as if they knew exactly what the first 2 episodes were going to be like. Clearly these folks had heard spoilers from someone about them, but at the same time they were clearly missing all the subtleties and nuances because plot points are only the skeleton that makes up a story. They heard the cliffnotes version of the final product, at best.

I have seen these episodes myself, so I can say that those plot points didn’t even come close to encapsulating what really happened. When it comes to Ben (and Devi), so much of the story is in what’s unsaid. These are things that you cannot transmit by just summarizing plot points or dialogs. Instead, you hear them in the actor’s voice, their body language and facial expressions, and the delivery of their lines. A character can say one thing on the script while their face and body language portray conflicting feelings about what they are saying.

The bottom line is as follows:

I was frustrated as heck by what transpired during the first two episodes, but I understood why it had to happen. Ben is insecure and he acknowledges that about himself, but he’s yet to admit that there are far deeper fears that are preventing him from being with Devi. He’s scared shitless of getting hurt again, and given his past traumas, we cannot overstate just how traumatic the events of season 2 were to him. And he hasn’t addressed that fully yet. And so, he was trying his best to look after himself while still do right by everyone (Margot and Devi both), but you could see how hard it was on him and how confused he was by the whole thing. Frustrating af, but I was mightily impressed by Jaren Lewison’s ability to portray Ben’s inner conflict so beautifully within the first two episodes. And without the aid of a 24/7 narrator at that.

I saw a lot of things swirling around the internet that clearly were the product of improperly transmitted second- or even third-hand information. It’s like an awful game of telephone or something, where with each round of transmission, the information gets ever more degraded and further away from the original truth. That is exactly how misinformation spreads. And I see people catastrophizing for no reason as a result.

#never have i ever #nhie spoilers #nhies4 #jaren lewison #ben gross #maitreyi ramakrishnan #devi vishwakumar #benvi #ben x devi

[lunathewafflelord]

I came up with some improved and more fair rules for the ArtFight Discord server, and if someone would be able to message these rule proposals to a member that'd be greatly appreciated. I REALLY think the moderators of that server need to reconsider some of their rules, as they are extremely restrictive and have led to severe backlog in the different help channels which could easily be solved if non moderators could assist: -In the different help channels, if the question is not directly related to the site itself (eg, how to convert a gif, how to resize an image, what does x art term mean, etc) it is allowed to be answered by anyone and is not considered minimodding due to it not being possible to "spread misinformation"

-people are allowed to give their personal experiences with bugs, and their personal solutions to bugs, as long as they aren't doing obvious alt F4 pranks.

-questions which are asked extremely frequently (how to submit an attack, how to block a user, do chibis count as fullbodies, etc) or have on site answers (such as things that can easily be answered through the rating guide) can be answered, especially if a mod answered the question recently. Directly quoting a mod's response can't cause misinformation as a mod themselves confirmed it

-people are allowed to make a single comment on art in the help channels, but further discussion must be taken to DMs or other channels

-if a mod answered the same/a very similar question recently, non moderators can quote the mod's response (which is especially easy with Discord's built in reply feature) without getting a minimod alert

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a MAJOR issue I found with the Discord server is that the mods are EXTREMELY strict about minimodding, so much so that just recommending someone use ezgif can get them a warning. even if "rules are rules", being this strict regarding answering questions in the help channels leads to severe backlog and MANY questions - some urgent - being unanswered

I think some of the rules being loosened or adjusted would benefit the server - and the people in the server - greatly

Some particular moderators in the server can have especially power tripping like responses, and be extremely rude when someone points out that what they said seemed a bit harsh and what they did really wasn't minimodding. When I pointed out that the way a mod was acting felt very powertripping and rude they ended up muting and later banning me without taking my criticism in account

It really seems like the mods don't accept criticism well, and if someone points out an issue with the rules or a moderator action they get EXTREMELY defensive and refuse to admit any mistakes and try to improve upon them. This leads to a very toxic and stressful environment to the server and the site as a whole.

Additionally a lot of the rules are very vague and can easily be interpreted in many different ways, and when someone expresses confusion about the rule and says "maybe it could be made a bit clearer" and gives advice on how to make it clearer, mods insist that the rules are "Very clear", even when multiple people state that the rules are confusing to them. A lot of the rules only fully make sense when a moderator answers a question about them, which really shouldn't be the case to begin with. It's not very neurodivergent friendly if you ask me (and many others agree)

If you are able to in any way, PLEASE find a way to let the AF moderators be aware of this post. We really need the Discord server's rules adjusted to be more accommodating and the server be less stressful for people like me who have trouble understanding rules, and make the rules less restrictive to prevent backlog in help channels

#ArtFight #Artfight Discord server #apologies if anything in this sounds rude #I'm genuinely VERY pissed off at the moderators #they have been extremely rude towards me and others when pointing out concerns regarding their vague rules #and they have made many comments that can come across as ableist and when people point out how they sound rude they come up with excuses on #why its okay #additionally the rules specifically state to point out loopholes when you see them #so I point out loopholes #and they claim the rules are “very clear” #the whole server enviornment just seems very toxic

[iamanathemadevice]

Losing weight

I just blocked a post that turned up in my timeline yelling about how losing weight was pointless and unnecessary and too difficult and harmful. It claimed you can be fat and healthy, that diets are dangerous and counter productive, all the usual fat-positive stuff.

The thing is, for some people, it's true. You can be fat and healthy. If you're young, active, genetically blessed, and lucky, you can indeed be very fat and still have all the right numbers. It's certainly true that fat !=ugly or unattractive or sexually inactive or anything else to do with appearance and desirability.

And if you're an old person, having a little extra padding is actually a good thing.

But if you're like me, a short person (158cm) who weighed over 110kg a couple of years ago, and who's been heavy almost all my adult life with the weight carried mainly on my gut, it's more likely that this level of overweight is doing you harm. You get into middle age, and your blood pressure starts to worry your GP. As does your blood cholesterol. Your knees start to hurt a lot, and you might even have already developed osteoarthritis.

And one day, after having metabolic syndrome for a long time (essentially, pre-diabetes) your yearly blood test tells your GP you are this close to full-blown diabetes, and she sends you to a diabetes educator who gives you a very serious talk about losing weight, cutting carbs, and other modifications to your life. Even if you are active.

After having watched a close friend die of diabetes just months before.

Let me tell you, uncontrolled diabetes II is a nasty, undignified way to die.

All the fat positivity in the world won't change this fact. Now, you have to choose. Life, or death with years and years of poor health before it.

You have to choose whether you do nothing about the adipose tissue in your abdomen which is making your pancreas dysfunctional, and hope that medications will somehow save you from all of the complications of diabetes; or you do whatever you can to either prevent tipping over into the full disease or winning yourself a remission.

You then have to cut carbs and cut calories, educate yourself properly about macronutrients, exercise more, and keep doing this until your blood sugar normalises, and then you have to keep doing this.

Once you get down to an actual healthy weight, you have to keep it off and it. is. hard. Your body is fighting you with higher levels of ghrelin to keep you hungry. Society is bombarding you nonstop with advertising all those yummy things that you can only eat in tiny amounts, if at all (and if you're like me, it's almost impossible to stop once you start with some of the nicest things). Your friends and family won't make it easy either, in all kinds of ways.

Your body, brain, society, social media, and your intimate circle are all arrayed against you in your battle to lose the dangerous weight and keep it off.

The only things on your side are your determination, and your doctor (hopefully). And it doesn't take much to disable these two supports in your battle.

Still. It's possible to win. It's definitely possible to try, fail, try again, and keep trying.

It's also possible to look at social media posts telling you that overweight is healthy blah blah, and ask yourself if you feel healthy in your body? Does your weight stop you living the life you want to life? Is your doctor happy? Have you had the blood tests, and are they all good? Then great! Go on with your chubby self and have the best life!

But if those things aren't true, or you're an older person, or you don't know what damage overweight could be doing to you, then please - don't take your advice from some shrieking Tumblr post. Do some cold, hard research of your own. Ask for help in understanding it if it's confusing or contradictory, because there is a mountain of misinformation out there.

I'm not here to tell you that being fat is bad or that you are bad for being fat. I'm here to tell you that serious overweight is linked to a lot of serious diseases, and if you're not lucky, young, and fit, it's worth finding out the real risks.

Then do what you've gotta do. Because you're worth it.

#weight loss #obesity

[ask-alphabetboyluvr]

So I'm kinda confused about what kind of pill is mentioned that byeol takes. In one of the chapters she says she's ovulating but if someone is on the pill they don't ovulate. The pill stops eggs from releasing so symptoms of ovulation don't appear and when she suspected she might be pregnant then she should've known if she was taking the hormone or the placebo.

No offence but a little misinformation can harm many others.

I still do love your work. And I like how they dealt with the whole might be pregnant thing. Unexpected pregnancies are catastrophic.

Hope they try and be more careful and discuss it again if something fails then what would they do now that they're committed. This type of communication should keep happening between couples for longevity.

Thx for the lovely book xoxo

heya!! very valid question—and as a girlie who's been through the ringer with hormonal birth control I can assure you that just because something is supposed to work in certain way doesn't mean it always does (looking at u, my mortal enemy nexplanon)!!

the mini pill (which is what I've used the most) only stops ovulation for about half of the people who use it. as opposed to stopping ovulation, it thickens the lining up to prevent sperm from reaching the egg, which still gets released. it tends to be less effective than the combined pill and implant, both of which do fully stop ovulation (from what I know).

there also is no placebo on the mini pill. its constant pill taking, no breaks.

the implant and combined pill were nightmarish for me, so when Im on birth control I tend to use the mini pill—but even then, it has to be taken daily at the exact same time so if you slip up and forget etc then you're still at risk!!

so no offence taken, but if a 'little misinformation' (of which in this case, it isnt) is actually just making readers be more aware of birth control, their cycle, and potential changes in their body, I don't think that could be considered harmful. my bestfriend is about 4 weeks away from giving birth despite being on the mini at time of conception so.... yeah. it pays to be aware lol (bc even though its very exciting and everyone is very happy, it very much was unplanned!!)

in relation to the story, B is just joking around when she says that, 'cause she's finding an excuse for why she wants to jump his bones!! so is not supposed to be taken seriously regardless—my bad if it doesnt come across as it was intended! I believe it states that she uses the app more so to check her horoscopes, to indicate that she doesn't actually keep a check on her cycle too closely. so yeah. she's just making a joke 😭

I do wonder what it would be like if it happened at this stage of their relationship, too. neither of them are ready for it, in my opinion, so it would be tough to navigate!

thank you for the kind words!

#ask #bd #a looooot of my writing comes from personal experience and the same goes for this!!