#scale reinforcement learning

[govindhtech]

Codex CLI Grant: Building The Code With OpenAI Models

Codex CLI, a local terminal tool with powerful AI model reasoning (with future GPT-4.1 compatibility), improves your development workflow.

Introducing o3 OpenAI and o4-mini, the latest o-series models. These models are instructed to think long before acting. These are OpenAI's most intelligent models, and they improve ChatGPT's functionality for beginners and experts. For the first time, their reasoning models can agentically incorporate all ChatGPT tools. Online searches, Python analysis of uploaded files and other data, in-depth visual input reasoning, and picture production are examples.

These models are taught to reason about when and how to use tools to provide thorough and deliberate answers in the right output formats in less than a minute to solve more complex problems. They can now handle sophisticated requests, making ChatGPT more agentic and able to act on your behalf. Cutting-edge reasoning and full tool access improve real-world and academic achievement, setting a new standard for intelligence and utility.

What changed?

Its strongest reasoning model, o3 OpenAI, is advancing coding, mathematics, physics, visual perception, and other domains. The new SOTA uses MMMU, Codeforces, and SWE-bench benchmarks. It's ideal for complex, multiple problems with unclear solutions. Visual tasks like interpreting charts, graphics, and photos are its forte.

Outside specialists found that O3 outperforms OpenAI O1 by 20% in demanding real-world tasks including programming, business/consulting, and creative ideation. Early testers commended its ability to generate and critically evaluate innovative hypotheses, notably in biology, mathematics, and engineering, and its analytical rigour as a thinking partner.

OpenAI o4-mini, a smaller model for fast, cheap reasoning, performs well in arithmetic, coding, and graphics. The best benchmarked model on AIME 2024 and 2025. Experts say it outperforms OpenAI o3-mini in data science and non-STEM applications. Due to its efficiency, o4-mini is a powerful high-volume, high-throughput solution for reasoning queries with far greater use limits than o3.

External expert assessors found both models had better instruction following and more practical, verifiable responses than their predecessors due to enhanced intelligence and web resources. Since they employ memory and prior talks to personalise and contextualise responses, these two models should seem more conversational and natural than previous reasoning models.

Scaling reinforcement learning further

Over time, o3 OpenAI has proved that large-scale reinforcement learning follows the “more compute = better performance” trend found in GPT-series pretraining. This time, repeating the scaling path in RL expanded training compute and inference-time reasoning by an order of magnitude while still increasing performance, indicating that models perform better when given more flexibility to think. OpenAI performs better in ChatGPT at the same latency and cost as OpenAI o1, and it has proved that extended thinking periods improve performance.

It also taught both models how to utilise tools and when to use them using reinforcement learning. Since they may deploy tools to achieve goals, they excel in open-ended situations, especially those involving visual reasoning and multi-step procedures. Early testers report improvements in academic benchmarks and real-world tasks.

Image-based thinking

For the first time, these models can think visually. They contemplate pictures rather than viewing them. Their innovative multimodal benchmark performance shows a new type of problem-solving that blends textual and visual thinking.

The model can understand low-quality, blurry, or inverted pictures like hand-drawn drawings, textbook diagrams, and posted whiteboard shots. Models can dynamically rotate, zoom, or alter images while reasoning.

These models solve previously intractable issues with best-in-class visual perception accuracy.

Limitations

Visual thinking now has several drawbacks:

Models may make unnecessary tool calls and image manipulation operations, resulting in long thought chains.

Basic perceptual mistakes can arise in models. Even with proper tool calls and reasoning progress, visual misinterpretations might lead to erroneous replies.

Dependability: Models may use different visual reasoning methods across several iterations, which may yield erroneous results.

An agentic tool approach

The o3 OpenAI and o4-mini may use API methods to construct their own tools and use ChatGPT's tools. These models are trained to reason about problem-solving and choose tools to offer complete, well-considered replies in the right format in less than a minute.

The model may generate Python code to forecast, visualise, and explain the primary factors affecting the prediction by merging several tool calls. Internet searches for public utility data are possible. Reasoning lets the models adapt to new information. Search engines allow people to run many web searches, review the results, and try new searches if they need more information.

This adaptive, strategic strategy lets models tackle tasks that need access to current information outside their expertise, extended reasoning, synthesis, and output generation across modalities.

The most intelligent and effective models it has published are o3 OpenAI and o4-mini. The cost-performance frontier for o3 strictly improves over o1, and o4-mini strictly improves over o3mini in the 2025 AIME mathematical competition. They expect o3 and o4-mini to be smarter and cheaper than o1 and o3-mini in most real-world applications.

Security

Every model capability growth requires safety. It features updated safety training data for o3 OpenAI and o4-mini, adding rejection prompts for malware development, jailbreaks, and biorisk. Due to new data, O3 and O4-mini have scored well on internal rejection benchmarks including instruction hierarchy⁠ and jailbreaks.

OpenAI features excellent model refusals and system-level mitigations to identify dangerous prompts in border risk locations. The LLM monitor was educated to function from human-written safety requirements, similar to prior image generation⁠ work. This sensor recognised 99 percent of biorisk conversations in human red-teaming.

Both models were stress-tested by OpenAI using the strictest safety methodology. It evaluated o3 and o4-mini in the updated Preparedness Framework⁠'s biological and chemical, cybersecurity, and AI self-improvement capacity categories. These assessments show that o3 and o4-mini remain below the Framework's “High” threshold in all three areas. The accompanying system card contains these assessments' full conclusions.

Codex CLI: terminal frontier reasoning

Codex CLI, a terminal-based portable coding agent, is also being shown. It optimises o3 and o4-mini thinking on your PC. Support for other API models, including GPT-4.1, is imminent.

Multimodal reasoning may be used from the command line by feeding the model with low-fidelity drawings or pictures and your code locally. Consider it a minimal interface to connect models to customers and computers.

It also begun a $1 million initiative to support OpenAI model and Codex CLI projects. API credits up to $25,000 USD will be considered for grants.

Access

For ChatGPT Plus, Pro, and Team users, the model option will now replace o1, o3‑mini, and o3‑mini-high with o3, o4-mini, and o4-mini-high. Within a week, ChatGPT Enterprise and Edu users can access it. Free users can try o4-mini by selecting ‘Think’ in the composer before submitting their query. Rate limits are the same for all plans as in prior generations.

Complete tool support for o3 OpenAI-pro is expected in a few weeks. O1-pro is still available to Pro users.

The Chat Completions and Responses APIs allow developers to access o3 and o4-mini. Certain developers must validate their companies to utilise these models. Web search, file search, and code interpreter will soon be included into the Responses API's model reasoning.

Keeping reasoning tokens around function calls and supporting reasoning summaries improves performance. Start with documentation and check back for changes.

Microsoft Azure OpenAI Service now offers o3 and o4-mini

Microsoft Azure OpenAI Service, Azure AI Foundry, and GitHub now provide the latest o-series models, the o3 OpenAI and o4-mini models.

What next?

Releases show OpenAI combining the o-series' specialist thinking capabilities with the GPT-series' natural conversational abilities and tool use. Combining these traits will enable proactive tool use, smart problem-solving, and seamless, organic talks in its future models.

[aitalksblog]

DeepSeek's AI Engine: A Look Under the Hood

(Images created with the assistance of AI image generation tools) DeepSeek is making waves in the AI world by developing powerful and efficient AI models. DeepSeek’s approach combines clever architectural designs and training techniques. This post explores key concepts to provide a better understanding of how DeepSeek’s models learn, reason, and adapt. These include Mixture of Experts (MoE),…

[zorthania]

A piece about survivors guilt.

This comic isn't perfect. I started it back in October 2023, and every time I picked up my pen, I wept.

I bring this to you today, on 9/11, in hopes that you reflect on this day a little differently than how most Americans would. Let it move you to continue to boycott, protest and challenge your family, friends and colleagues. You have a bigger impact than you would believe.

Thank you for reading this with an open heart.

From the river to the sea...

I'd like to bring to attention the fact that the figures depicted above are a gross undercount of the actual number of deaths. I scoured the internet high and low to source my findings and not a single one could break down the devastation that befell an individual ethnicity. Instead, they lumped a bunch of ethnicities together, provided a general timeline, and called it a day, reinforcing the sheer scale of dehumanization propagated in the west. The only consistency between all the articles I looked up was the 4.5 to 4.7 million figure I've included above, and even then, they were all published by western media news outlets... the very same that have been so unreliable and complicit in the genocide of Palestinians today. So I have to take everything they say with a grain of salt.

We are not just numbers.

All of us have ambitions and desires and lives worth living.

With that said, this is your friendly reminder to:

Donate an e-sim

Donate to PCRF to provide Palestinian children aid

Donate to Pious Projects to provide woman with feminine hygiene kits

Donate to CareForGaza to provide food to displaced families in Gaza either through their Gofundme or their paypal

Donate to any of the vetted gofundme campaigns on GazaFunds to help Palestinians trying to flee Gaza.

And if you or someone you know sees or experiences a hate crime and can afford it, SUE. This is a more effective use of your money than most realise. The reason zionists act with impunity is because of the normalization of white supremacy and oppression of ethnic minorities. Challenging that in any capacity tells them that there are consequences to their actions and makes them think twice before engaging in hate crimes and helps raise all of us up against the systems currently in place that let them get away with it.

If you can't donate or spend any money, you can:

Do your daily clicks.

Boycott targeted companies on the BDS list (if you're like me and you don't want a single dollar to go towards anything supporting Israel right now, you can use Bdnaash to double check what products are okay to buy, but the BDS list is sufficient as it is a strategic attack and proven very effective thus far)

Flood your representatives emails and voicemails with how you won't be voting for them unless their politics align with an immediate ceasefire in Gaza.

Attend a protest, be LOUD.

Challenge your circle of friends, family and colleagues with conversations about Palestine. (THIS IS THE MOST UNDERRATED AND MOST EFFECTIVE THING YOU CAN DO)

and if you're really up to, be disruptive in any capacity that you can think of towards major corporations benefiting from this onslaught. (i.e. halting military manufacturers from production + shipments, sticking boycott stickers on products at your market etc)

And finally, if your country wasn't mentioned in the above excerpt, it was no deliberate omission on my part and I encourage you to come forward and tell your story about the suffering of your people so that this may be a learning opportunity for everyone.

You are seen.

You are not alone.

Thank you again if you've read this far.

From the river to the sea...

[sightseertrespasser]

Too Deep, Too Shallow Part 4

Happy Mer May folks! Enjoy!

Once more into the deep with @keferon’s apocalyptic Ponyo au.

Drift isn’t projecting at aaaall.

———————————————————————

The distant roar of the ocean was punctuated by plip-pats of random flecks of raindrops. Turning pale concrete dark glossy grey like dying pixels on a tv screen.

Earlier, when the tropical Sun had been out, the apocalypse had almost been pleasant. In between all the emotionally scaring traumatic experiences anyways.

Mainly, it had been wet but warm.

Now, Swerve was shivering. Wind and wet clothes wicking away whatever body heat he could still produce, leaving his skin as clammy as a dead fish. He couldn’t stop moving. Not now, when exercise was the only thing keeping his temperature up.

A raindrop hit him directly in the eye.

Swerve cursed and paused to rub a fist into his eye, regretting the decision as his legs petitioned to go on strike.

Sorry body, but this temple has declared a state of emergency and won’t be acknowledging any union demands until further notice.

Grimacing, Swerve leaned forward until the threat of falling compelled his legs to start cooperating again.

He wasn’t the only one who was getting tired, Blue was still chittering away, but it was notably less animated. It probably didn’t help that Swerve wasn’t responding as consistently as before. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, he just.

Kept getting lost in his head.

It was so quiet.

It was so so quiet.

Yesterday-

This morning? The first apartment building. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to look and put together pieces of peoples lives.

He got the hiking bag from an apartment where the fridge was covered in Polaroid photographs. The same couple over and over, sometimes with friends. Fishing, canoeing, and hiking of course. A wedding photo dated just two months ago.

He got the spam and most of the other food from an apartment filled with craft projects and sudoku puzzles. A half finished knit hat stuck to the ground in a wet lump. He picked up a walker that had fallen over and stared at the gaping hole in the wall for too long.

He got the case of water bottles from an apartment with baby gates..

“Click-Whistle-Click?”

Swerve sucked in a breath, feeling Blue reaching back to tap his forearm.

“Yeah, yep. Sorry. I’m listening.” He said. Shoving those memories right back where they belonged at the bottom of the mental filing cabinet. Riiight next to the demon orcas.

Hesitantly, Blue chittered some more and Swerve had learned his mannerisms well enough to feel the undercurrent of anxiety there.

Swerve eyed the overextended beach that stretched towards the ocean. It wouldn’t be long before low tide ended.

All things considered, he could probably just leave Blue somewhere on the mud caked street and the tide will take care of the rest. They’d pretty much made it. This was the edge of the city and not much was still standing this close to the shore.

But there was a bridge still in place. The concrete foundations cracked but holding strong, seemingly reinforced by a shocking amount of plant growth tangled in the structure. That’ll be a good spot, Swerve thought. By the time the water rose to the bridges height, Blue would have more than enough room to swim back out to sea.

“This’ll be over soon.” Swerve sighed. “I’ll try to be quick.”

Scaling the slope up to the bridge, Swerve felt the need to say something poignant. Some final goodbye to probably his closest friend. The scene was all wrong though. Rumbling thunder and hushing wind played the backtracking for a completely grey set piece.

Still tense, Blue made some sort of quiet siren sound, long, thin and reedy.

Maybe I just, shouldn’t say anything.

Swerve felt his throat start to close as he crested the onto the flat of the bridge, eyes down cast as he watched blotches of rain paint everything dark.

Blue’s fins flared, dragging up the back of Swerves neck and setting his own hairs to stand on end.

Stuttering to a stop, Swerve finally looked up to the other end of the bridge.

A lithe frame wrapped in dappled grey pelts, the smooth silhouette broken up by black guns and crisscrossed strappings.

Their face was completely concealed by a shadow colored mask and a blood bright visor, the only tell it was human were the long thin pale locks of hair that drifted in the storm urged breeze.

“Um.” Swerve curled his numb fingers around his backpack straps.

“Hi there!”

The figure did not respond. A cloud in the distance lit up white and went dark again.

Swerve wavered in place, swallowed and put on his best customer service smile.

“Hey! So uh, this whole. . .everything.” He gestured to the Everything.

“This looks like some serious third act climax stuff, you know?” Shouting over the silence. “Like, this is where the protagonist would have the final showdown with the big bad evil guy, or face off against some deeply personal antagonist from their past..”

Swerve started to shuffle backwards.

“And uh, I am not that guy.”

The figure stalked forward slowly and without a sound.

Blood growing colder, Swerve tried to stay calm as Blue began making low distressed noises he’d never heard from him before. The mer was twisted around in the backpack, staring at the stranger with massive shaky eyes.

In a voice like greased gravel, the drifter finally spoke.

“Put the mer down.”

Swerve mouth gapped without a sound, shaking his head even before the words came out, “I- I can’t do that.”

The drifter was not close enough to touch, but well within sprinting distance. Without breaking their slow prowl, they began to walk around the two at a precisely set radius. Swerve subconsciously turning in place to stay facing them.

The shorter man became very suddenly aware of his surroundings. Below was a two story drop onto bone breaking asphalt coated in a thin mat of mud. The ramp he’d walked up was now cut off by the drifter and slick with rain. In his minds eye, Swerve could perfectly picture what would happen if he tried running the other way. Like a nightmare where all your limbs weigh a thousand pounds and the monster always wins.

In too deep, breath too shallow.

Swerve shook, and held fast.

“Please don’t do this. I c-can’t. I can’t give him up.”

They drifted closer, fingers brushing triggers as they moved.

“You’re sick.” They hissed.

Swerve flinched, hyper aware of the clamor of his skin and the faint rattle of his lungs.

“You’re weak.” They spoke down to him.

Defensively, Swerve curled further into himself, already a small man made smaller still.

“You aren’t gonna win.” The drifter came close enough he could feel a couple white strands tickle along his cheek as they leaned in close.

“You aren’t that guy.”

Fear. His mind wanted to freeze but Swerve couldn’t stop shaking. He took another wobbly step back and pain shot through his ankle as it rolled. A simple broken ledge just a couple inches high was no issue for an able bodied man. But a sick one carrying two thirds his own weight?

Swerve crumpled and the drifter lunged.

A flash of blue came quicker.

Screaming whistling and a stifled curse, Swerve landed hard on his side. Just before his face, a red visor clattered to the ground.

“YOU- WHAT?!” The drifter reeled back, weapon automatically drawn but with their finger off the trigger. In the distance, sea lions barked like the distant thunder.

Which is what Swerve would have noticed if he was paying attention to anything other than Blue.

Whipping out of the backpack, Blue peeled back his lips in rage. Fins and flukes at full mast, the mer arched himself over Swerve, screeching at the threatening human in an ear splitting tirade.

Blue only paused when a red furry head popped up on the other end bridge, scrambling onto the topside and frantically barking.

Locking onto the mammalian mer, Swerve saw one of Blues eyes twitch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“IS THIS YOUR FUCKING HUMAN?!”

Furiously, Blurr resumed screeching and jabbed a claw towards the seal pelted human without breaking eye contact with the other mer.

The stranger galloped in their direction.

“SORT OF?! HE’S REALLY MORE RATCHETS!” The Not-Ratchet mer barked across the space.

The human was fully backing away now, his now exposed eyes darting between Blurr and the other mer in abject confusion. Curled beneath him, Orange was likewise wide eyed and panicked.

“DON’T CARE! GET HIM UNDER CONTROL OR I’M FINDING THOSE FUCKING COPS.”

The sea Lion panted as they reached the white furred human. Half grabbing, half leaning on them, “I swear he’s never done anything like this before. He’s actually really friendly!”

“NO THE FUCK HE’S NOT.” Blurr gestured to Orange. “Look at him! He’s terrified!”

“What the hell is going on up here?”

The voice did not yell, so much as it was simply just silencingly loud. A second, much larger sea lion crested the ramp, nose wrinkled and bright eyed with displeasure as he scanned over the scene. Most notably, the mer sported not just one, but four prosthetic flippers.

The other human visibly shrank. And if humans had tails it’d surely be between his legs right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Shhhhit.” The drifter spoke, significantly less gravelly than before. They glanced down to Swerve before pulling back their hood and mask.

“You uh, you weren’t trying to sell that mer for parts were you?” The drifters eyes tightened as Swerve frantically shook his head no.

“I- .” He coughed. “I might’a misread the situation.”

Now that the hood was removed, Swerve could clearly see an extremely apologetic looking young guy. He didn’t even seem to be threatened by Blue still hissing at him, just ashamed.

Swerve however, boggled.

“Holy shit I thought you were an old lady.”

“You - Fuckin’ what? Why?!” Wide eyed, the drifter startled out of what ever depressed place his mind had been wandering towards.

Swerve held up his hands placatingly, “Sorry! Sorry! It’s the whispy white hair! I thought you were like, some kind of post apocalyptic Lethal Grandma.”

Dumbfounded, the drifter looked over himself and then back to Swerve.

“But, you could hear my voice?!”

Swerve shrugged defensively, “Terrifying old women smoke like a pack a day dude!” He tried changing tactics, waving frantically from beneath his mer, “So w-what dye did you use! You know, because completely white hair is super tricky to pull off, b-but you got it done so cleanly?”

The drifter threw his hands in the air, “It’s not dye? I’m fuckin’ fifty?!”

“I AM SO SORRY.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Staring down the humongous sea Lion above him, some smarter piece of Blurr recognized he maybe shouldn’t antagonize a bunch of strangers while his only mode of transportation was curled up beneath him in the fetal position.

An even smarter piece of him noted that his chest was really starting to hurt.

However, the sea Lion mers both had the looks of people who were in the midst of damage control, and Blurr was gonna ride that wave for all it was worth.

“What the fuck is wrong with your human?! Mine wasn’t even doing anything!”

The sea Lion raised an eyebrow at Blurr, patting his hands in a Settle Down gesture, “Look, the kit isn’t mine he’s just-“ He shooed away the thought. “It’s complicated right now. I’m Doctor Ratchet and this is my assistant Roddy.”

Ratchet gently put his hands on his humans shoulders, who immediately quieted down and allowed the mer to move him away. “I’ll keep him in check, but you need to calm down and stop with the screeching! You’re freaking them both out and if you really want to help “your” human you’ll stop agitating them. Are we clear?”

Suspiciously, Blurr watched the other human demure in a way that was uncannily like a mer. He watched them go fairly docile, the shit-yourself terrifying aura quickly dissipating.

Temporarily satisfied, Blurr glanced down at Orange who’d gone from staring bug eyed at Grey (who Blurr had just mentally named) to Ratchet, murmuring quietly.

“Hey. Hey, Orange. It’s okay now, you’re okay.” Blurr spoke softy and patted his humans shoulder. The mer finally moving over from where he’d been holding an adrenaline filled arch above the fallen human.

Orange had stopped yelling, but didn’t turn to face Blurr. But instead turned back to Grey while pointing at the doctors prosthetic fins.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have a cyborg walrus?!” Swerve yell-whispered.

“Stellar Sea Lion.” The drifter quietly hissed, some anger filtering back in before they visibly clamped down on it again, aggressively running his fingers through his hair.

“And I didn’t make him a cyborg neither! I mean, I’m sorta responsible but not like that.” He crossed his arms and locked eyes with Swerve again. “We got a complicated relationship.”

As if summoned, the stellar mer approached the prone human, leaning down to take a good look at him.

Whether it was the weather or the drop off in adrenaline, Swerve found himself unable to stop shivering. Blue had calmed down significantly and was chittering softly next to him, seemingly unbothered by the fucking wall of muscle, fat and fur coming right into their space.

After a moment, the mer held out a mitt to Swerve, barking in a low rumbly sort of way.

“W-what’s going on?” Swerve chanced a glance at the drifter, who’d sat down next to the other sea Lion.

“He’s checking your vitals. Give him your hand.”

Swerves head spun and he did as he was told.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hmm.” The doctor glanced back at Grey after they’d exchanged some barks with his patient, and Blurr blinked in surprise when Orange did as he was supposed to without any direction from him.

“The fuck? What, did you train your human to like, find other humans and then get them to follow medical procedures?” Blurr himself couldn’t tell if his own question was serious or not.

While the humans continued to bark at each other in the background, Blurr saw Ratchet cringe.

Roddy, who’d decided to drape himself over Grey’s lap to stop them from wandering off again piped up, “Soooo you want to tell him or should I?”

Inhaling like he was gathering strength, Ratchet didn’t stop his check up on Orange. Briefly, Blurr watched the doctor pull out a thermometer from his pack, and before the mers could work out how the hell they were going to get Orange to hold it in his mouth, Grey piped up again and Orange just. Did it.

On his own. With little more than a nervous flick of his eyes around the members of their group.

Ratchet used his now empty hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose. Hard.

“You convinced yours to carry you around right? I can see you even got a makeshift harness and supplies tied on. How’d you do it?”

“What? No he did the bag thing on his own.” The racer waved them off.

Blurr puffed a little with pride, “He happens to be an especially clever human. The most convincing I’ve had to do was getting Orange to let me carry him the first time, and all I had to do then was be gentle with him.”

The doctor wiped his hand down his face, “You named him Orange?”

“What like “kit” is less generic?”

“Nevermind that.” Ratchet scolded. “Look, I don’t care how much arguing this is gonna take, but there’s something you need to understand.”

“What?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re sentient.” The drifter spoke with the gravity of a murderer in a confessional.

He got a far away look in his eyes, seemingly only grounded by the weight of “Red” in his lap. His voice sounded choked. “Fully intelligent. Fully people.”

The paradigm shift was spectacular to observe, a change washed over him instantaneously as the stranger imparted what he’d come to learn.

All the air went out of Swerve in a single breath.

“Oh thank GOD it’s not weird.” He fell back in relief, nearly loosing the thermometer as Blue immediately clicked over him.

“What?” Drift snapped. “What the fuck do you mean “It’s not weird?” And why the fuck do you sound happy about that?!”

Swerve sat up defensively, “Well it’s j-just. You know!”

“I know?”

“You know! Look, Blue’s s-saved my life like three times, he’s a ton of fun to h-hang out with when we aren’t dying, and some mer are kind of..” he circled his hands around each other, vaguely gesturing to appearances of Blue and the stellar mer. “You know!”

Drift clenched his teeth, a faint pink wash raising up from beneath his poncho and up his throat.

“We. Are not close enough to have that conversation.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sweet mother of pearl I’ve been petting a grown man.” Blurr put his head in his hands, staring off into the distance.

Grinning broadly, Roddy chuckled through his words, “You what? Ratchet you said we couldn’t pet them!”

Ratchet harrumphed, “I said we shouldn’t. Sentient or not, Humans are still highly social creatures who tend to get very attached to things they consider troop members.”

Taking back the thermometer, Ratchet wrinkled his nose at the reading. “So no petting, no cuddling, no chitchatting and definitely no sharing food. Got it?”

“Um.” Blurr chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Would that be bad? If, hypothetically someone did do all of those things?”

Roddy chortled maniacally as Ratchet just sighed. “It’ll be harder to get them to leave. I actually had some hope for sec that the kit had decided he was okay enough to be on his own again.”

Glancing back, the “kit” who was a good head taller than Orange, had miraculously turned pink in the time they’d been speaking. Grey had his hands buried in Roddy’s fur and had a look in his eyes directed at Orange that came off as a little too intense to be friendly.

Contrastingly, Roddy radiated smugness.

Ratchet responded to the unspoken jeering from his assistant. “We are going to have to leave him at some point Roddy, and I want to minimize the distress from the separation as much as possible.”

“For you or for him?” Blurr muttered, evidently not quietly enough as Ratchet shot him a sharp look.

Far closer than any before, thunder pealed once more, causing both humans and all three mers to jump. The rain intensified from occasional plops to a steady shower.

“Right.” Ratchet efficiently packed away his supplies and turned back to Blurr. “We’ve got a small field hospital set up to treat survivors. I’ll carry you there and hopefully get your human there too. He’s not doing well.”

“He’s not?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Swerve felt something in his chest twinge and just about managed to cough ferociously into his elbow. The rain was coming down hard enough to no longer be ignored.

Next to him, Blue dragged himself closer to the stellar mer, who worked to pull him up onto his back. A little lost, Swerve looked beseechingly to the other human again.

The pelt wearer pushed Red off his lap and stood. “Looks like we’re heading back to base. You good to walk?”

“Yeah I think I-“ Swerve sucked in a hiss when he tried to put weight on his rolled ankle. Both Blue and Doc zeroed in on the sound, but neither really seemed to understand what was wrong.

Biting his lip, Swerve was shaking too bad to effectively stabilize his ankle. The pouring rain making everything that much more miserable.

He opened his eyes when he heard Blue click lowly and saw the other human approaching him, hands kept back and eyes cast away from the mers. He squatted in front of Swerve, “You need help? Think I heard your ankle pop earlier.”

Squinting through the rain, the injured human took the offered hand up, “Thanks. I’m S-swerve by the way.”

“Drift. Sorry ‘bout almost guttin’ you earlier.”

“Heh.” Swerve laughed as accepted his help, considering their names. “Drift and S-swerve! Guess you could say we’re both p-pretty bad at going straight?”

Drift blinked his eyes closed in a way that looked painful.

“Swerve?” He looked down at him without opening his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“The guttin’ you thing wasn’t a joke.”

“Shutting up n-now.”

The rest of the journey to base was committed in silence, save for a small break early on where Drift switched to carrying Swerve piggyback style after he’d almost fallen several times in succession.

Blue and Swerve kept their eyes on each other the whole way there.

——————

It was a slow trek through the rain to a building situated on a nearby hill. A large boat had washed up onto its side and was firmly lodged against the structure, creating a sort of ramp to the roof.

Broken railings surrounded a tiled pool still filled with water and Drift bee-lined for the shelter of what appeared to be a roof top bar.

Finally out of the rain, Swerve slid off Drifts back with a muted thanks. He wasn’t shivering anymore. Numbly, Swerve registered being sat on a couch and then Drift materializing with several stiff towels.

They had the look and feel of cloth that had been hung out after falling into the ocean, a little crunchy to the touch but blissfully dry.

“Try to dry your outer clothes separate, they’re not gonna help you warm up right now. The powers shot but the gas stove round back still works if I light it by hand. Sit tight a’minute.”

Nodding, Swerve set about draping everything short of his undershirt and boxers over the backs of a few chairs and immediately cocooned himself in towels on the couch.

The bar was open on the side facing the patio and the ocean. It was a pretty spectacular view to watch the tide come rushing back in like a rivers delta, weaving between the ruins of the city. Periodically, lightning would flicker and highlight the contours of the world. Swerve didn’t miss the black under blue shadows of some truly massive creatures slithering back into the ruins.

Instead of thinking about monsters, or the unnaturally fast spreading overgrowth, Swerve turned towards Blue.

The mers didn’t seem remotely bothered by the heavy rainfall as Blue and Doc sat on the shallow steps into the pool. The much smaller mer was frowning at the doctor as he ran through a litany of tests with him.

It was more than a little surreal watching the stellar mer pull out a massive stethoscope to listen to Blues chest. Swerve heard Doc grumble something and honestly thought he saw Blue roll his eyes.

As the doctor placed a blood pressure cuff around Blues upper arm, the mer glanced his way. Swerve slipped an hand from his towel nest and waved hello. Blue cracked a hint of a smile and waved back.

About then, Drift returned with two steaming mugs. “Mostly liquor back there but they had some black tea and a couple gallon jugs of water.”

Thanking him, Swerve just held the ceramic mug for a while, letting the heat bring some feeling back into his hands. He’d started shivering again, which was as good a sign as it was annoying.

“If t-there’s any whiskey and honey back there, we could actually make a Hot Toddy.”

Drift furrowed his brow “You gotta stop doing that man.”

“Doing what?” Swerve shrugged defensively as Drift started rooting through the bar’s cabinets.

“Saying shit that makes me say “What.” No honey but we’ve got a couple simple syrups. This whiskey good?” Drift held up two different brands by the necks in one hand and the syrup in the other.

Swerve pointed at the smaller of the two whiskeys, “That one’s the better one, and I didn’t name the thing man. I just know it’s a warm drink and a good night cap.”

Pulling up a table, Drift handed over the new ingredients and the still hot pot with the rest of the tea. With a gleam in his eye, Swerve did a little alchemy and re-poured the steaming drinks.

Drift blew on his drink and tried a sip with an impressed hum. “You a bartender or something?”

“Ah no.” Swerve rubbed the back of his neck with a warmed hand. “I’d love to! But life didn’t really work out that way. Turns out a degree in metallurgy isn’t actually that useful, so now I just do random small repair jobs.”

Swerve took a drink himself and reflected the question back to Drift. “So what do you do?”

He didn’t miss the way Drift stiffened and glance at the weapons still tied to his sides. “Civil Rights Activist.”

“Cool.”

And Swerve quickly chugged his tea. Nearly coughing it back up when a leviathans angry shriek broke through the air. Instantly, Drift was back on his feet, hands resting on his guns and silently stalking towards the edge of the roof.

No one moved in the pouring rain. With bated breath, Swerve realized even the mers looked scared, and that all of them were watching Drift in tense anticipation.

After what felt like ages, the hunter relaxed, letting his shoulders visibly drop and taking his hands off his weapons. Exhaling, Doc rumbled something that settled down the two smaller mers.

“So we’re safe? T-the monster can’t reach us here right?”

Taking his place back on the couch, Drift stared into the depths of his mug, swirling it lightly. “We’re as safe as we can get and no, the Umi Inu can’t reach us because something just killed it.”

“Oh!” Swerve whispered. “What is an Umi Inu and what do you mean something just killed one?”

“Creatures of the depths. They’re…sick with something. Makes them voracious. Aggressive beyond all reason. Animals can be full. But those things? They’ll eat until their stomach lining gives out and then keep on going.” The way Drift spoke, there was an intimacy in his words and a distance in his eyes.

He downed his drink in one go without fear of being burnt. “As for what killed the one we heard? Probably Orca mers. Or something bigger.”

The longer they spoke, the further Swerve sunk into the couch. “So, just to recap: The tides are just straight up broken. There’s mutant sea monsters and worse out there. And the only reason we’re still alive is because some mers, which have actually been people all along, took pity on our sorry asses?”

Pouring himself another cup, Drift just shrugged. “Pretty much. But just from the size of the numbers involved, there absolutely should be more survivors than us.”

That, was not comforting.

Drift stared out into the rising sea. “I don’t know where the living have gone, but I definitely know what’s happened to the dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So you really haven’t seen any other humans?” Even though he was preoccupied setting up a medical pool, Ratchet still managed to watch Blurr like a shark. He hadn’t liked what he found when doing his medical examination and it showed.

Bored out of his mind, Blurr swam small laps around the featureless pool. He kept coming up to breath the air instead of the water as it had a bizarre chemical aftertaste he couldn’t get used to.

“I saw plenty when I first got into the city. Mostly dead ones, but there were a bunch on those “boats” going around and picking up other humans.” Blurr hadn’t paid much attention to them at the time, none of the humans looked like Orange so he didn’t linger.

“The boats looked different from the ones I usually saw near the rec center so I have no idea where they went. I found Orange stuck clinging to a pillar down some really narrow channels. Guess they just missed him.”

“Sounds like you got there pretty quick. We found ours trapped under some rubble but not until it was already daylight. He probably got missed too.” Roddy added while he helped finish the assembly of the portable medical pool, snapping on a tarp over the frame.

“Oh!” Blurr splashed onto the edge of the pool. “Okay this is gonna sound slightly insane but right before your human jumped us-“

“He did not jump you-“

“My turn to talk.” Blurr cut the doctor off. “We ran into this pack of like, baby humans? And get this: they were speaking mer.”

“Woah freaky. Didn’t know they could do that. Also, you literally had a bunch of humans talk to you and you still thought they were animals?” The smaller sea Lion snorted, pushing the tub under the downspout of a gutter.

Before Blurr could defend himself with such compelling arguments as “Hey, all my blood was rushing to my head, I was upside down!” And “Don’t ask why I was upside down.” Ratchet interrupted, voice heavy with concern.

“They were kits? All alone with no adults?”

“Eeeeeeh not exactly.” Blurr whistled in a dropping tone. “First off, they all talked like a bunch of fancy little aristocrats, and second, they all got called away by a Parents Recall song. Soooo some mer out there has definitely done some Surprise-Baby-Acquisition I think.”

Ratchet stared out over the storm struck city, no doubt thinking about the kits that must still be out there. “You human must have been awfully worried for them.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Creepiest thing I’ve even seen in my life. They all just fled in perfect unison like some Children of the Corn type shit.” As more of the tea and whiskey warmed their chests, Swerve gained more and more confidence to vent about mutant leviathans, demon orcas and possessed fish-children among other grievances.

Drift was decidedly not paying attention, laser focused on Doc who was in the process of picking up Blue a placing him into some kind of portable pool. His leg bounced rapidly up and down.

“You doing okay?”

Some unseen damn must have snapped because Drift broke into a nearly manic rant once Swerve had given the opening. “I’m in love with the fuckin’ mer! Okay?! And I feel so fuckin’ weird about it!”

“Well, hey you know I can’t judge.”

Drift flopped back on the couch, face covered with his hands and letting out a restrained scream. “That’s not it dude! It’s not weird cause of him it’s cause of me. I-I used to be a poacher and I- I was there when it happened. I was there when they just fuckin’ carved him up and I barely did shit to help.”

“I didn’t even know he survived! And now he’s just so fuckin’ kind and gentle with me like I wasn’t one of them. Like I’d never helped carve up every poor fucker we caught before him. I-“ Drift stopped abruptly, palms pressed hard against his eyes as he visibly inhaled, held, then released his breath in a practiced cycle.

“Oooo” Swerve poured them both another drink, then patted Drift on the leg. “Yeah you suck pretty bad.”

“What?” Drift peeked at him between his fingers.

“What? You suck. That’s evil. You did an evil thing and I’m not gonna go all “oh it’s totally okay you did terrible things to innocent people! You only meant to torture stupid animals instead!” And I don’t think you want anyone to tell you it was okay either.” He capped it off by handing Drift another drink which was accepted with befuddlement.

“I- thanks.”

About then, Red ambled over to investigate what the humans were up to. The mer zeroed in on the pot, lifting and sniffing the concoction with clear interest.

“Quick segue: can mers have whiskey?”

Drift kicked up off the couch. “You gonna stop him?”

“Nope.” And Swerve watched as Drift went back in the direction of the kitchen to make another batch of tea and collect more mugs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Should he be drinking that? And more importantly can I have some too?” Blurr craned his neck around the stellar mer as Ratchet tore open a couple packets of hospital grade sea salt, stirring it into the now filled tub.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ratchet eyed the steaming concoction. “Speaking as a medical professional, you should never eat or drink something you don’t know the origins of.

He sniffed, “Speaking as someone who recognizes some of those bottles from his younger years, it’s just human made alcohol. Roddy’ll be fine.”

“Buuuut I can have some?”

“Nope. You’ve been over taxing your heart, your gills are in danger of desiccation and you are goddamn lucky none of those cuts are showing signs of infection.” He chided as he lifted Blurr from the pool to the tub.

“I’m still not hearing anything to do with my liver. Besides, I’m supposed to be relaxing right? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a Hot Dotty?” Blurr flapped his hands flippantly.

“What in the depths is a Hot Dotty?”

“I didn’t name it.” Blurr interrupted. “C’mon doc, it’s a nightcap. One drink, I’ll conk out and you won’t have to deal with me going stir crazy all night in here.” To punctuate his point, Blurr attempted to twist around in the portable tub like a toddler forced to attend a wedding ceremony.

The stellar mer wiped a hand down his face, “One drink.”

Blurr grinned like a mako and made grabby hands in the direction of the others. “Great! Now push me closer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The thunder rumbled like a big man’s laughter, the sort of sound that reverberated in your belly until you couldn’t help but shake with it.

“What wOulD you Do if I SAng OuT of TuNE?”

They were gathered around a full couch and empty glasses, the humans carrying on a song almost as poorly as Roddy barking along.

“WoULd YUo STanD up aN’ wAlK ouT ON mE?”

Blurr was surprisingly following along the best, sprawled halfway out of the tub and whistling a soprano accompaniment to the discordant melody.

“OOOOHH I geT byyy WIth a LITTLE helP frOm my FrIEnds!”

Ratchet rode a heavy buzz, humming with enough bass to subtly rattle the lighter cups still on the table.

“OHHH I get- I GEt DRY withalil’helpfromourfriendds!”

The two humans dissolved into incoherent laughter, falling over one another. Face down, Drift pounded his fist against the couch to get his breathing back under control.

Swerve retied his towel cape and looked over to the former poacher with a shit eating grin. “Hey. Hey Driff. Did’u see the Matrix when��it came ouw?”

The poacher took a couple deep breaths, coughing lightly from exertion before responding. “Yea? Saw it in therter- theatres an’ shit.”

All smiles, Swerve dropped the punchline, “I wasn’t born yet.”

“Oh FUCK you!”

Throwing a balled up towel at Swerves face did nothing to stem his hysterical laughter. Despite his pride, Drift was loosing it just as much. He had to squeeze his ribs to get his wheezing back under control again.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Swerve managed to sit upright. “You-ha ha! Could’u pour me ‘nother cup?”

Tucking Roddy under his arm to avoid dropping the sniggering mer onto the floor, Drift squinted at the table like an old lady who’d lost her Glock.

“Uhhh, looks like we’re finally out. Want t’read the leaves?” Most of the cups were on the floor by then, but Drift grabbed a couple within reach.

“Ooo you’re uh, you’re a what’cha’ma’call’it.” Swerve snapped his fingers. “A medium!”

“Oracle. And naw, I’m not profeshin- profeshen-whatever.” Drift handed over a mug. “Take your cup an’ focus on what shapes the leaves make.”

By then, Ratchet had must have decided it was time to turn in for the night. The mostly sober mer went about tucking Blurr back into his tub and then dimming a few of the lanterns around the bar.

Quiet and droopy, the humans stared into their empty cups trying to make some sense of their futures.

“Whad’did you see?” Swerve broke the reverie first.

“I see two harpoons, crossed over an unmarked grave. The earth looks freshly turned, like something has crawled to the surface.” His voice had gone husky again, eyes boring through the bottom of his cup and deep into where the midnight water churned beneath. “The ground is still wet.”

“Oh.” Swerve held out his cup. “Mine looks like it spells ABBA.”

Drift leaned over to look. “Nice.”

The couch wasn’t huge, but it was long enough to sleep on as long as no one started kicking. Rearranging their blanket nest, Swerve laid facing his mer.

He tapped the edge of the tub, rousing the mer who blinked one eye at him. “Hi.” He whispered.

Eye lids unable to fight gravity, Blue clicked twice and sunk back under. One hand snaked out of the water and lightly grasped Swerves wrist, just holding on.

The human felt warm and floaty in a way he hoped lasted forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mer felt like shit and the concept of Crust.

It was barely light out, but morning was already burning an angry red across the sky. Blurr stretched, joints popping from sleeping in such cramped quarters for the night.

“Mornin’.” Ratchet was already up, packing up his supplies and securing the straps holding it all in place.

Blurr felt he spoke for them all when he said, “Eeeuuughhhh.”

Orange and Roddy were both still out cold piled onto the couch, but Grey jolted awake. Extricating himself from the couch pile, Grey fumbled to attention at the sight of Ratchet packing up.

“Eugh boy. No, you stay here. Where’s it’s safe.” Emphatically pointing at Grey and then the couch with Roddy and Orange.

“I’m sorry, are you leaving?” Waking up a bit quicker now, Blurr could see it was nearly low tide down there.

The elder mer finished securing his supplies, “This’ll be the best time to search for any other human survivors. I’m especially concerned about those kits you mentioned and whoever they might of bonded with. Roddy will stay with you and the humans while I’ll search alone.”

He directed that last word at Grey, who showed no signs of following it even if he could understand.

Blurr side eyed the severely hungover and still unconscious mer that supposedly would be keeping Grey from freaking out on them again.

Even now, they still weren’t sure what made Grey flip like that, but Blurr had a theory he only acted sweet for Ratchet in particular.

His tail flicked the way it did when Blurr didn’t get what he wanted. Then he smiled the way he did when he’d figured out how to get it anyways.

“You know, I’ve seen some of those monsters crawl before. For sure quicker than what you can do over flat land. Doesn’t it make more sense for you to take Grey along since we’re all perfectly safe and all?” The mer tried to look casual, folding his arms under his chin.

Ratchet grunted, not yet convinced.

Okay, new angle.

He pretended he didn’t have a grudge for a minute, “Grey also did a really good job getting Orange to go along with the check up! Wouldn’t it be super helpful to bring along someone who can actually talk to any humans you find? Stress can be bad for the heart you know.”

Glancing back at Blurr who simply smiled and blinked with saccharine innocence, Ratchet gave him an utterly flat look. What did break the doc however, was when he looked at Grey, so full of hope and hurt that turning him away would’ve been downright cruel.

“Okay fine.” No sooner did Ratchet wave for the human to join him than did Grey practically leap to his side.

“RODDY.”

The sea Lion woke with a heart attack, blearily looking around. “Whaddieu?”

“I’m going to look for more survivors with the Kit, hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

“Hemngg..yessir.” Roddy saluted and then immediately passed out again. Remarkably, Orange continued to sleep through the whole thing.

The duo slid down the ship turned ramp and disappeared into the ruins below.

————

Several hours later, Blurr was swimming circles again in the larger pool, once more bored out of his skull. By the time the tide had started filling out the water again, Roddy had decided to see if he could catch them some late breakfast.

Orange still wasn’t awake. Blurr had asked the mer to check on him, make sure he hadn’t choked to death in his sleep or anything, and Roddy confirmed he was still breathing.

“He’s like, kinda damp all over? And his breathing sounds a little wheezy but there’s not really anything I can do about that.” Roddy slipped a hand under Oranges hair and against his neck. “Pulse feels fine, I think he’s just exhausted from carrying your ass across the the tri state area.”

Excuse you, it was a mutual carrying of asses.

He rested his arms on the edge of the pool, staring out over the flooding city. Humans were people. The scale of the destruction held a new weight that made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

There was a sound then. Distant enough that Blurr thought he’d imagined it at first, then it sounded again. Something like a whale groaning in a long low wail that echoed off into nothing.

In the far distance, a large shape drifted out from behind a skyscraper. A steel wedge of dark rusted metal, it wore a garland of chains and nets. It lacked the white billowing cloths on top Blurr was used to seeing, but even ugly as hell, the mer still recognized what it was.

A boat? A boat! Humans! People! Help!

Neither sea Lion had returned yet, so it was up to him. Blurr dragged himself back to the temp pool next to Orange. He shook their shoulder hard, “Orange, Orange!”

The human furrowed his brow, glassy eyes slowly wavering open. “Bloo?”

“Hiya sweetheart.” Blurr greeted him softly and pointed out towards the boat. “Look! There’s other humans, there’s help. You’re gonna be okay! We made it!”

The human looked deeply confused, squinting in the vague direction of the still distant shape. The horn sounded again and Orange suddenly righted. The human pointed at the ship and blubbered something excitedly.

“Yes yes! Come on! We need to get their attention!” Blurr dragged their human off the couch and scrambled back to the pool. Darting across and nearly throwing himself onto to railing, Blurr let out an almighty whistle that sent a flock of seagulls into flight.

Stumbling, Orange tumbled into the railing next to him. Shouting and waving a towel above his head in hopes of getting their attention.

The ship blared its horn twice and began to turn in the direction of their base, belching black smoke from a rattling chimney. Nearly a dozen humans were gathered on the deck of the ship.

He’d done it. He’s saved Orange. He’d never saved anyone before. It was fucking traumatizing on multiple occasions, but fuck it, they won!

Blurr whooped, pushing off the railing and splashing back into the pool. He laughed lighter and more freely than he had in months. He swam back to his humans side, and then paused.

The boat was close enough to dock.

And Orange had gone very, very quiet.

———————————————————————

Hooray! They’re saved! The story is over!

What’s that?

Nooo that boat wasn’t described with excessive menace at all, you must be imagining things.

My chapter estimates don’t have the best track record but currently we’re a couple chapters from the end. I have a plan.

Bonus: Drift was and is still extremely hungover, but that’s not going to stop him from following Ratchet to the ends of the earth.

- SSTP

[wardensantoineandevka]

There's been a lot of talk about feeling like Campaign 3 fails to carry through consequences, and that is often met with criticisms framing this talk as just wanting Bells Hells or other characters to die or be punished. In return, the response to that is that "consequences" is not necessarily negative — it simply means a narrative follow through and events positive, neutral, or yes even negative happening as a consequence of what came prior.

I posted prior about what I and many meant by consequences, but generally, "a lack of consequence" means that it feels like events happen without clear connective tissue to previous events or it feels like things happen and don't feel like they're feeding properly into what comes next, that following events aren't properly carrying that weight of consequence.

But, just to further illustrate the discussion, the following is a non-exhaustive list of things I personally wish had consequences (that I could be probably better articulating):

Prism, Deanna, and FRIDA going off to do research at the Cobalt Soul, explicitly intending to try to help Bells Hells. This yielded nothing. Even a written letter to the Hells giving any information would have been great to have as a nod to that decision being made and the effort put into cultivating those friendships. (Given the reveal in the Fireside Chat that a Luxon beacon could've destroyed Predathos should research have been done, this feels even more of a missed follow through.)

The Unseelie Court not reinforcing the Malleus Key having clearer consequences. Obviously, there was a benefit to this, but it's hard to FEEL the consequences of disrupting that message because it is not clear what exactly the Unseelie Court would have provided.

Liliana chose not to broadcast the Downfall memory and what that meant to the sociopolitical scale. There is a clear consequence for her on a personal level, but this information being potentially broadcast was set up as a big looming threat, but it was difficult to really feel what would have happened, like, meaningfully, in terms of the material narrative as it affects Bells Hells, if it was broadcast, so as a result it's difficult to feel that stopping the broadcast was meaningful on a broader level.

Talking about Liliana, it feels strange that she exists within Vasselheim as a top leader of the Ruby Vanguard for, like, days without any comment. There is more (and properly delivered) tension over Opal's presence in the city. I don't think Liliana necessarily should've been arrested, I felt something like a small beat that may have required Imogen vouching for her was missing. The consequences of Liliana's position among the antagonists felt absent.

Ashton getting Shady Sally to agree to get the Nobodies back together to help save Exandria, then they'd all be free of Ashton for good. Nothing comes of this! An appearance at the forward camp in the Hellcatch when they came back from Ruidus or in Vasselheim, after the camp is evacuated there, with another opportunity to settle it with the others in the group would have been a nice consequence.

The Grim Verity, especially outside of Ryn, continued to meaningfully exist and the theft of the texts from Vasselheim mattered past the Predathos, Vordo, and Ethedok reveal exposition. It was a team of three people who stole the texts, and one of them, Arnold, was captured and presumed still held at the Platinum Sanctuary and another, Janina, was keeping tabs on the excavation site in the Hellcatch to keep everyone updated on what the Vanguard was doing. It would have been nice to see the Grim Verity more involved in this campaign, because they're the initial hook into the campaign itself! Learning about them and making contact with them stopped yielding any sort of narrative results. (The thing about research in the first point applies here too.)

Judicators. They are introduced, and then nothing is done with them at all. They factor in so minutely, and we understand so little about them, that it's hard to even talk about them as thematic pieces without engaging in a lot of speculative thinking.

I am known to be frustrated with Ashton philosophically, but I am baffled that the conversation they had in their vision in the earth titan in 110 did not come up again at all in any of their subsequent argumentations about the world changing. I am certain that it would've driven me nuts, but I have liked to see that carried forward. It would've contributed a lot to feeling like perspectives were being built upon as a consequence of interactions.

Generally, the Titans are barely mentioned after that episode, btw. There was a lot of time spent on pursuing the idea of the Titans, even sometimes outright brushing past NPCs who repeatedly said that the Titans were dead, only for it to get dropped so suddenly. It feels especially strange when one of the major points of contention Ashton and Laudna brought up was the war against the Titans. Not even a final note about what this means in the tapestry of history or an acknowledgement that they indeed cannot be restored as they were or what? We spent a lot of time on this discussion, but fail to carry it through into the final thematic and philosophical decisions.

On that note, it's established that there is a destiny in which Ashton is to bestow the spark onto another, and there is a sense of fate then for Fearne in it. Since they both struggle with being locked into a path, I did feel missing an exploration of what it then MEANT for them to pursue this. As soon as these abilities are unlocked, there isn't a meaningfully thorough exploration of what they mean as narrative devices and their implications for Fearne and Ashton, at a personally transformative level.

The anti-resurrection toxin and its antidote. I know that it is used against Keyleth and there is a payoff in that the Hells successfully help her, but I don't understand why this toxin didn't continue to be used, especially given the campaign was supposed to be deadlier. Why wouldn't the Ruby Vanguard, but especially someone as vicious and ruthless as Otohan, continue to use it? It had such a prominent presence in the campaign and then vanished from it. We don't even have a sense of how it locked away divine magic and what connection it has to Ruidians or Predathos, which have similar divine dampening ability. Having it continue to be used in the campaign would've also made it continually rewarding that Bells Hells did that work to help Keyleth because the Air Ashari would have available antidote.

Stopping there not because I ran out of examples, but because this list is getting incredibly long — thought I reserve the right to add more later should I think of really good ones. But this is just some of the plot points and threads and conversations that I wish I felt led somewhere or had consequences, and you can see that not all of them are about punishing characters at all, just a desire for things to feel like they were going somewhere and were properly tied off.

[avicinda]

I frequently see "they're racist to each other" thrown around as criticism of both Faewish Sprites and Pieceys (albeit usually just against one or the other depending if the person likes one of them more) and why no one should like either one, but frankly it makes them both more interesting.

Neither Giroda nor Raggy were exempt from this worldview due to their limited exposure to the other race prior to the game's story, but no one would call either of them bad people even at that point. It's very subtle because there was so much other story happening during the Abandoned District chapters and Raggy's arc amongst the Pieceys takes precedence, but there was definitely an arc of learning and understanding for both of them there too.

Plus, there was that point of how the Forgotten Pieceys—Raggy included!—actually hold no ill will toward Faewish Sprites due to sitting outside their own race's society, reinforcing how much of this worldview was institutional as Raggy, wanting to become part of the system, had to force himself to dislike Giroda at first.

Both Faewish Sprites and Pieceys are also extremely isolated to their respective home regions. Outside of outliers like Giroda and Avicinda in the story, the furthest we've seen Faewish Sprites from the Wishing Woods is the Stylist's Guild Memorial. Pieceys likewise don't travel outside the Abandoned District frequently, perhaps they go to Stoneville at most, with Ms. Dodobear as the one outlier hanging out in Breezy Meadow. There's that famous Mark Twain quote—"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness"—and Infinity Nikki seems to fully subscribe to this, because in the Left for Home, Right for Wishes quests we learn about a Piecey who traveled all the way to the Wishing Woods and how that experience changed both them and the Faewish Sprites that interacted with them on a personal level. It's also of course, what happens with Giroda.

I also appreciate the acknowledgement of how something this deeply rooted and so wide reaching is a difficult thing to change on a societal scale, and Giroda becoming Wish Master doesn't solve it overnight, but he can use his sudden position of extreme privilege to take tangible first steps toward improving the relationship between the two—and it's notable to me that part of his new policy is "improving Faewish Sprites' education and critical thinking skills" (paraphrased from memory) as a clear way to address not just the unthinking obedience that happened with Chigda, but also to improve understanding and knowledge of the world beyond.

Hopefully we'll see what's happening on the Pieceys' side at some point too! Raggy makes mention of the peace talks. so far I haven't been able to find Commander Cape Theo anywhere after the story tho that might be a skill issue on my part, but I'm very interested in what he has to say.

Characters who have racism as a trait somewhere in there amongst the rest of their character (and that's the important thing, that they are also full characters together with this) do not and should not only be mustache-twirling villains who have nothing else to say. We would all be poorer for it if every piece of modern media shied away from the matter in its heroes.

[married-to-google-translater]

Can you please do Thor (record of ragnarock) x short male human reader that has no fear of him?

Thor

Thor would have been used to people and even other gods fearing and respecting him.

You, however, would be different...

When you first saw him, you didn't look away or avoid him.

Instead, you just watched and observed him.

At first Thor wouldn't pay attention to this.

However, fate (aka the author) would have decided that you would meet much more often.

This is why Thor ultimately doesn't want to stay away from you.

You got to know each other slowly but surely.

Thor really enjoyed your company.

You don't necessarily have to talk, you can just be and enjoy each other's company.

However, Thor would definitely be "talkative" with you.

Of course, according to his own scale.

Usually Thor would train and you would do your own thing.

However, if you wanted to learn how to fight, he wouldn't mind teaching you.

Thor wouldn't be the most gracious teacher...

you were usually really tired after training.

Your "relationship" would get surprisingly little reinforcement.

Thor would make sure no one would bother you :3

[ranticore]

declassified ex-patreon post: the empty city

Pictured (click tha link for full piece) - Rosy Wing and Patches on a romantic evening, before Rosy's death. Aerial displays are an important courtship activity, serving to reinforce the pair's bond year after year.

The endless city is exactly what it sounds like. It covers the top of the Houndstooth mountain range like a growth of moss on a boulder. It comprises of buildings made entirely of pure white limestone right down to the window latticework and roof shingles. The doorways and rooms are scaled strangely, not appearing to conform to human sizes, and the horizontal architecture alignment (i.e not built to accommodate flying creatures) seems to suggest that insects didn't build it either. There are no organic materials naturally occurring within the city, not even microbial life, although some has been introduced in recent years by expeditioneers. Some parts of the city have been claimed by the rich patrons of expedition teams, and are guarded 24/7 by armed patrols - usually these territories are held for easier ingress into the deeper parts of the city for teams owned by the patron in question. 

There is a boundary wall, with no gates. Roads within the city that lead outwards terminate at these walls as though there should be a gate or portcullis, but there are none. Many patrons have chosen to sink funding into constructing their own proprietary doorways in secret, strategic locations. Spies who figure out where a rival team enters the city can choose to report back, to allow their own teams to stage an ambush, or they can demand payment in return for conveniently forgetting what they have learned. Money rules everyone in the city; it is so hostile to sustained life that purchasing basic supplies from the closest mountainside towns is the only way to get any food at all, so exploring is an expensive business. But it can also be lucrative, if you become one of the few lucky enough to find uncharted regions, or figure out a way to penetrate deeper without simply wandering in endless circles. 

Theran insects are considered ideal employees for expeditions - cheap and easily exploited, those new to the game are often satisfied with being paid in food and trinkets. But as the years go on, more and more of them have begun to learn how to exploit the system for their own ends, and that amassing capital of their own can lead to many advantages. Human employees are always necessary on any serious expedition, because only humans can wield firearms. 

The 'why' of all this is the curious part - why sink huge sums of money into a dangerously competitive expedition when the city appears to be completely empty? It has become more of a vanity project than anything else, with many wealthy patrons convinced that they will one day profit off of the land they capture, selling homes to people on this new frontier. Others believe that the city is evidence for the existence of god, and that they are exploring purgatory, or indeed heaven. Either way it's believed that one day, all their expense will be paid off a thousandfold, and their speculative betting on the city will, essentially, make the line go up.

[today's words below]

One day, approximately 20ish years ago, the Houndstooth mountains appeared. They appeared in two parallel dimensions but at the exact same point, destroying anything that had been standing there before. On Earth, this was half of the city of Quern. On Thera, it was a gigantic forest of Tithe trees. There is evidence that the mountains will disappear within another 20 years, just as they did millions of years ago, during the first appearance. At that time, Earth insects were able to cross the mountain range to colonise a world that had nothing but plants (which had likely also travelled there a million years before by the same method). Before those mountains disappear for another million years, the people of Quern and Thera must figure out what lies at the heart of the city at the top of those mountains.

So the story was about a team of expeditioneers, funded/owned by a wealthy patron, who travel into the city to find its heart. The ending of the story was relatively simple - the city was an allegory for obsession and grief, and was shaped like a fractal - if you happen to take the correct turn, a thousand times in a row, you travel 'deeper' into it, into the limbs of the fractal, and the truth is that it is endless. there is no heart of the city, there is no core, there's nothing lying in wait in there but it captures the minds & imaginations of expeditioneers and patrons alike. that's why i drew an ouroboros in that pic, it's fully metaphorical. the city is EMPTY. The characters trapped in this expedition (and their grief-fuelled justifications for expeditioning at all) have to make the conscious choice to stop exploring, to turn their back on the sunk cost fallacy, to stop chasing what might lie around the next corner, and go home. But that's much harder than it sounds.

look at some of the insects in my setting tag and enjoy

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Almost, Always | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Chapter Three

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A story of almosts, maybes, and finallys. You and Sebastian Sallow have loved each other for years, just never at the right time.

Words: ~3,300

Series Tags: Modern AU, Post-Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian Sallow, Cursebreaker!MC, Modern Magical AU, Female Reader Insert, Mid-Size / Plus-Size Female Protagonist, Friends to Lovers, Long-Term Mutual Pining, Slow Burn Romance, Missed Timing, Second Chances, Grief and Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Body Image Issues, Fluff, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending

Content Warnings: Sexual Assault, Trauma, Abortion (Non-Descriptive), Strong Emotional Themes

Chapter Track: Falling Away With You, Muse

Special thanks to @sunnyrealist for beta-ing the plot of this story and @dreamy-gal-30 for beta-ing the chapter drafts! I could not do this without you!

You, Age 20

The air in the tomb was dry, thick with the scent of dust and sand. You moved carefully, wandlight bobbing in rhythm with your slow steps. The humidity of the upper ruins had given way to a creeping cold down here.

Your hand hovered steady over the crumbling reliefs etched into the stone walls. The carvings were Minoan-inspired, but the language beneath them had Akkadian roots, a hybridization you were still working to decode. Whoever built this place had borrowed heavily from multiple magical traditions.

You crouched beside a mosaic set into the floor, blue and gold tile caked in sand, and reached for the leather-bound notebook tucked into your satchel. You jotted a note in the margin.

Section Four. Tile pattern repeats, likely a curse trigger. Possible pressure plate?

“Curse architecture built to last forever,” your supervisor had told you during orientation. “Layered wards. Traps that reset. Think like a sadist and you’ll live longer.”

Her voice echoed in your mind as you stepped around the mosaic with practiced precision, heart hammering against your ribs. It wasn’t quite fear anymore, but the pulse of adrenaline. After two years of fieldwork, you’d learned how to live with it. The constant knowledge that one wrong move could be the last.

You moved deeper into the tomb, passing beneath a narrow archway etched with faded script and the half-preserved image of a woman holding a wand in one hand and scales in the other. A judge, perhaps.

The tunnel beyond was more intact than you’d anticipated. A ribcage of stone columns held up the vaulted ceiling, dust drifting in lazy sheets through the shaft of your wandlight. You passed through, slowly, eyes scanning every groove, every gap between the bricks.

Then, just ahead, your light caught on something.

A glint. Thin. Metallic.

You stopped cold.

A tripwire.

You lowered yourself to the floor, boots scraping lightly against the worn stone, and leaned in to inspect it. The wire was anchored with old solder, but someone had reinforced it recently with magically bonded copper. Local work. Likely black market.

You swore under your breath.

This wasn’t just a historical site anymore. Someone else had been here. Possibly still was.

You muttered a revelio and watched as lines of warding magic bloomed across the thread, illuminating the web of spells it triggered: paralysis hex, concussive burst, maybe worse. A layer cake of consequences.

You straightened slowly, pulse hammering behind your ribs. One step back. Then another.

Your boot hit something that clicked.

Too late.

The floor beneath you shifted with a deep, mechanical groan as stone slabs slid into new positions.

You turned, but the passage you’d come through was already sealing itself shut, dust spilling down like rain as the wall slammed into place with a deafening thud.

Shit.

You pivoted and sprinted forward, wand raised, just as the ceiling behind you began to crack apart. A barrage of darts shot from the walls, fast and precise. You threw yourself into a side alcove, cast Protego on instinct, and felt the force of them ping off your shield like hail on glass.

You couldn’t go back. Couldn't stay put.

And the tomb knew it.

Stone groaned again—grinding gears embedded deep in the walls, waking for the first time in who knew how long. Dust and mortar showered you from the ceiling. Somewhere ahead, you heard another snap of metal. A door unlocking if you were lucky. A trap springing if you were realistic.

"Lumos maxima!"

Your light flared, catching a small stairwell at the far end of the chamber, half-buried under collapsed debris. A way out. Maybe.

You ran.

Your legs burned, boots slipping on gravel and bone-dry sand. The stairs curved in a tight spiral, barely wide enough for one person, and halfway up you caught the glitter of another tripwire.

You jumped over it mid-stride, heart in your throat, and didn’t slow down until you burst through a narrow stone doorway that led outside, lightheaded and sweating.

A wall of dust and dry heat chased you out, screaming through the gap like a living thing.

You stumbled forward and hit the ground hard, knees first, then palms—sand digging into your skin, biting into the cuts already torn open on your hands. The wind caught in your ears. A deafening whoosh of air and grit and crumbling stone.

Then nothing. Just the sound of your own breath, ragged and loud in the stillness.

You made it.

The tomb’s exit, half-swallowed by the desert, sunburnt and ancient, gaped behind you like the mouth of something that hadn’t eaten in centuries and was very nearly satisfied.

You collapsed onto your back with a long, shaking exhale, blinking up at the sky. Bright, cloudless blue stretched above you, so sharp it made your eyes water. You tasted sand in your teeth and blood on your lip. You’d skinned your elbow, bruised your ribs, and lost a whole page of notes somewhere down in the stairwell.

But you were alive.

“Fuck me,” you muttered to no one. “That was close.”

A shadow passed overhead, a vulture, maybe. Or just a cloud you’d imagined. You didn’t move right away. Just lay there in the heat and let your heartbeat slow down and the adrenaline fade, leaving behind the telltale throb in your joints and the ache in your legs.

You should have been shaken. Maybe you were. But this? This part? You loved it.

The adrenaline, the puzzles, the split-second decisions. The heart-pounding rush of surviving something that absolutely should have killed you. It was the same thrill that made you want to be an Auror. The same rush you’d chased back at school, shoulder to shoulder with Sebastian, racing headlong into chaos with only instinct, trust, and a half-baked plan between you and disaster.

He lived for moments like that. And you did too.

But then there was the paperwork. The endless artifact cataloguing. The diplomatic briefings with tight-lipped supervisors who’d never set foot inside a collapsing tomb. The long nights cross-referencing dead languages in bad lighting.

And that was the part about cursebreaking that you hated. The part that made you wonder, sometimes, why you hadn’t just become an Auror after all. Why you hadn’t gone with Sebastian. Why you’d said yes to a job that so often felt like a waiting room between moments of clarity.

But at least out here, you weren’t torturing yourself trying to pretend you didn’t still love him.

You sat there for a minute longer, hand reaching instinctively for your satchel. Your fingers brushed the cracked leather of your notebook, but you passed over it. Instead, you pulled out your phone. Thumb swiped the screen. No signal.

Of course.

You stared at it anyway, breath still shaky. You always wanted to talk to him first after you made it out of something like this. He’d understand the thrill of it, the madness. It was the kind of story he’d eat up with a crooked grin and a thousand questions.

But he wasn’t here to tell.

You locked the screen and let the phone fall into your lap. For a second, you thought about lying back again and just letting the sun bake the exhaustion out of your bones, but basecamp would be expecting you soon, and someone would sound an alert if you didn’t check in by dusk.

So you stood, slow and stiff, brushing sand from your trousers and tugging your gear into place. The tomb was silent now. The trap had reset. The dust was already beginning to settle over the stones like it had never been disturbed.

And wasn’t that just the way of things?

You turned toward the horizon and began the walk back, sand crunching under your boots and the phantom sound of Sebastian’s voice echoing somewhere in your chest.

Camp was a half hour away, maybe more with the heat and the weight of fatigue pulling at your limbs. The sun was sinking low now, casting everything in gold and rust, and the wind had picked up just enough to sting your cheeks with dry grit.

You kept walking.

You passed the jagged rocks that marked the ridge, then the weathered outcrop where the local team had set up signal beacons weeks ago, now half-buried in sand.

The first torches were being lit when you finally reached camp, their flickering light casting long shadows across the canvas tents and makeshift pathways. The air smelled faintly of roasted meat, soot, and dust.

A few heads turned as you passed—nods, quick once-overs, someone offering a tired, “You good?”

You nodded. “Fine. Just a collapse. North tunnel. Nothing major.”

Nobody pressed. You were all used to bruises and near-misses by now.

Inside your tent, you peeled off your gear piece by piece, hands stiff and sore. Your shirt clung to your back, damp with sweat and dust, and your trousers were streaked with sandstone grit and dried blood from a shallow cut on your thigh you hadn’t even registered until now.

You sat down hard on your cot and exhaled.

The tent was dim, lit only by the spill of golden light through the canvas flap and the soft glow of a lantern swinging from a hook. Your mirror hung crooked above the footlocker, scratched and warped at the edges from too many field packs and transport jostles.

You caught your reflection and paused.

Not the same girl who left Hogwarts. The sharp lines of adolescence had blurred into womanhood. Your hips were fuller now, your arms softer, your face a little rounder in the cheeks.

You leaned forward slightly, tugged your shirt away from your skin, angled your body in the mirror like that might make a difference.

It didn’t.

You tried not to care. You tried not to hear the voice in your head whispering he never felt that way about you back then, and there’s certainly no chance now.

You rubbed at your face, trying to shake the thought loose, and failing.

Sebastian had never once commented on your body, but you’d seen the pattern in the girls he’d snogged back at school. The Samantha Dales of the world, slim and polished and perfect. Girls who looked effortless in skirts and who never seemed to worry about how they took up space. Girls who didn’t stumble over their words or laugh too loud or tug self-consciously at the hems of their jumpers.

You didn’t resent them. You just… weren’t them.

Getting to your feet, you grabbed your towel from where it was slung over the corner of your trunk and turned toward the showers, muscles aching with every step. All you wanted was to rinse off the tomb dust, scrub the dried blood from your leg, and stand under the water until your thoughts quieted down.

You ducked out into the main pathway, feet dragging a little in your worn boots, when a familiar voice called your name.

“Hey—hold up a second.”

You turned to find your supervisor, an older Cursebreaker named Chandra, striding toward you with a clipboard tucked under one arm and a half-eaten fig in the other.

“North tunnel, right?” she asked, glancing you over. “Heard it collapsed.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just some bruises.”

“Lucky,” she said. “Most people don’t walk out of a Type III trigger room with just bruises. Good instincts.”

You didn’t really know what to say to that, so you offered a tired shrug.

Chandra glanced at her clipboard. “Listen, I’ve got an opening.”

You blinked. “What kind of opening?”

“Rotation slot. Five days. Could be six, depending on weather. We’ve got a newer team flying in to take over Site 8 temporarily. You’re due for a break anyway. Figured I’d offer it before putting it to the rest of the team.”

Your first instinct was yes. God, yes. Five days of clean sheets and warm meals that didn’t come out of a tin. Of falling asleep without worrying about tripwires or heatstroke. You hadn’t been home in two years. You could visit Ominis. You could see Anne. You could see him.

But your stomach twisted at the thought. The idea of standing in front of Sebastian after all this time, looking different than he remembered… it made your throat close.

You forced a smile. “Thanks. But I should stay. Too much going on here. Better if I don’t fall behind.”

Chandra studied you for a beat too long but didn’t argue. Just nodded and scribbled something on her clipboard.

“Your call,” she said. “Just don’t wait until your limbs start falling off to take your next break.”

You gave a polite laugh. She wandered off.

You stood there for a second, towel in hand, wondering why you always did this. Why you always said no to the things you wanted most.

Then you turned and made your way toward the showers, telling yourself it was fine. It wasn’t the right time. You’d go take a break next time.

Maybe.

The showers were barely lukewarm, sputtering out in weak spurts that never quite rinsed away the grit. You stood under the stream for your allotted ten minutes, watching the water turn brown at your feet before swirling down the drain. It stung a little as it passed over the cut on your thigh.

The mirror above the rusted tap was no less unforgiving than the one in your tent. You didn’t linger. Just tied your damp hair back, toweled off with the speed of someone used to racing the clock, and redressed in a fresh shirt and your loosest trousers.

Dinner was the same it had been all week—some variation of lentils and rice, bulk-cooked in a blackened cauldron and ladled onto plates with mechanical efficiency. You took your usual seat under the canvas awning near the back, where the air was a bit cooler and the din of conversation faded into low background hum.

You ate slowly, forcing each bite down like routine. It wasn’t the food that bothered you. It was the ache behind your ribs, the tight coil of something unresolved that had been winding tighter for what felt like an eternity.

You told yourself it was just the exhaustion. The long days. The endless dust and bureaucracy and heatstroke headaches.

But you knew the truth.

You missed him.

After dinner, you walked up the ridge alone. No one stopped your or asked where you were going. They knew your routines by now. Knew you had people elsewhere. That you were always looking for a signal.

You reached the top, boots crunching against dry rock and sand, and pulled out your phone.

Two bars.

It was a goddamn miracle.

Twenty-seven new texts. Four missed calls. Six new voice memos. All from the same name.

Sebastian.

You didn’t open them right away. You just stood there for a minute, phone clutched in your hand, staring out across the vast horizon as dusk wrapped the world in shades of violet.

Then you sat down on a warm stone, legs crossed beneath you, and opened the messages. Most of them were exactly what you’d expect; equal parts worried and ridiculous, in true Sebastian fashion.

“Are you alive or just ignoring me?”

“Ominis says hi. He also says I’m insufferable when you’re gone.”

“There’s a new café near the Ministry that does pumpkin spice cold brew. I tried it. Thought of you. It was foul. But you’d love it.”

“Seriously though. Just let me know you’re okay, yeah?”

“They had to pair me with a rookie on patrol yesterday. I deserve hazard pay.”

You let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. Your eyes stung, but you blinked it away. Then you moved to the voice memos. The first was short.

“Alright, Cursebreaker. Starting to think you’ve joined a cult. Or gotten lost. Or are too famous now for us regular Ministry folk. If you’re not dead, message me back.”

The second had been sent later that same day.

“Sorry. That came out wrong. You’re probably just busy. Or stuck in a mountain or something. I just…” A pause. “Never mind. Just… let me know you’re alright, yeah?”

You listened to them one by one, each one more vulnerable than the last. A running commentary of his week: an annoying paperwork mix-up, a late night on patrol, Ominis catching him sneaking biscuits from the shared cupboard. Mundane, silly things. But his voice had that edge to it. That tension he only got when he was worried.

In the last one, he sounded tired.

“They filed the entire report under the wrong Sebastian. Took me three hours to prove I didn’t hex a shopkeeper in Edinburgh. I wasn’t even in Edinburgh. Anyway. I hate everything. Except you… assuming you’re alive.”

That one broke you a little. Your thumb hovered over the screen for a long moment. Then you hit record. Your voice came out quiet, low with exhaustion but laced with something warm.

“Just got reception. Still alive. Dusty, bruised, possibly concussed… but alive. Today I set off an trap meant to crush me under four tons of decorative ceiling, but you know. Occupational hazard.”

You paused, thumb brushing the ridge of your phone, then exhaled slowly.

“Missed hearing your voice. Sorry it’s been so long. Wasn’t avoiding you, I swear, just couldn’t get a signal all bloody week."

Another pause. You swallowed, trying not to overthink it.

“Anyway. I’m okay. I promise. Tired. A little worn down. But okay.”

Then, after a breath, softer:

“You’re still the first person I want to talk to after a day like this. That hasn’t changed.”

You debated adding something more, sarcasm, maybe, or a joke to soften the weight of it, but in the end, you just hit send and sat there while the wind tugged gently at your sleeves.

Your phone buzzed. You fumbled it open. Sebastian had sent new voice a new voice memo. You hit play.

“Bloody hell,” he said, voice low and disbelieving. “I was starting to think I’d have to file a missing persons report. Don’t scare me like that again, yeah?”

You smiled.

“...It’s good to hear your voice” he went on. “Even if you do sound half-dead. The hell do they do to you lot out there? Honestly. Ancient death traps, collapsing tunnels… I’m starting to think your career choice was a personal attack on my blood pressure.”

You laughed quietly, forehead pressed to your knees, eyes stinging.

“Also, just for the record, if you had been crushed by a ceiling, I’d never forgive you." He paused, then added, almost sheepishly, “Glad you’re okay. Really. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear your voice until I did.”

Your chest swelled with something tight and bittersweet.

You tapped your phone against your knee, debating a reply, but your thoughts were slow now—dulled by exhaustion, by relief, by that aching, half-buried longing you’d tried to keep at bay.

Instead, you just texted back, “I’m okay, I promise. Just dust and bruises. Talk more soon?”

The reply came almost immediately.

“More always.”

Then he sent another voice recording. You tapped play without thinking and there it was.

A soft, familiar hum. The same absentminded tune he used to whistle when you were studying in the library together, or sprawled out across the floor of the Undercroft with books open and parchment everywhere. The melody wasn’t anything special—just something he'd made up once and never stopped doing—but it was his. It was home.

You pressed your free hand to your mouth. You definitely didn’t cry.

Well… maybe you did. Just a little.

Just enough that it blurred the edge of the stars overhead. Just enough that your breath caught when the message ended and silence crept back in, broken only by the wind skimming over the ridge.

You wiped your cheeks with the heel of your palm. Sniffed. Shook your head and laughed at yourself.

Then you whispered to no one, “You bloody sap.”

The tune still echoed in your ears. And when you headed back down to your tent, you hummed it too.

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[cozzzynook]

Thinking about some dragonformer world building because I'm a big dragon nerd.

The time period set is very similar to the Barbarian Au, themed around the middle ages. While humans do exist in this world they mostly live in large cities or reinforced villages and do everything in their power to avoid the dragons that rule the skies of the wildness. However there is a small faction of dragon hunters that track, trade and sell dragons for profit. These can either be fangs, claws, scales and/or feathers as well as eggs. Its very rare that an adult dragon is ever sold due to how dangerous and difficult it is to catch them.

And while dragons are mostly solidarity they can live in small family flocks. Young dragons typically live with their flock for about 2 years until they fledge and move off to find their own home but some like to stay close or never leave at all. While young hatchlings are fully developed with claws and fangs they still need a lot of care as they can't fly or use their abilities meaning they are stuck inside their nest for around 6-8 months. Once big enough they can begin to learn how to fly and practice using their abilities often being mentored by a parent or guardian.

While all dragons can lay eggs there is a small group that's rumoured to be able to bear live young or create hybrids. However most of these dragons are just myths as there hasn't been a sighting in over a 2000 years, and if anyone ever was or did have a hybrid they've kept it a very well guarded secret. Its said unlike other dragons these beasts have a soft pouch on their bellies making their carrying of these young a lot easier, and unlike normal dragons which only breed in spring, these dragons can enter a heat cycle during any time of the year. Making them of the most desirable dragons to look for by Hunters.

(Anyway might have gotten a little carried away, feel free to use any of these ideas) -😁

You can get as carried away as you want i love this!

Also yay!!

I immediately thought of Bee & Rodimus being the rare breed of dragons & staying hidden with their carrier Optimus & sire Shockwave.

Bee ends up mating a rare dragon breed from across the waters. Starscream & thundercracker. Skywarp isn’t romantically involved but he’s tightly wound into the relationship as well.

Bee comes back with his mates and their family moves to a larger yet more sheltered area. Bee is sparked not too long after they settle & rodimus feels so lonely romance wise.

Maybe he ends up finding his mates in ratchet & drift when they come to help Bee emerge the sparklings?

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

Damian AU where after Bruce's passionate love affair with Talia al Ghul (retro comics style), Talia comes clean about that she didn't miscarry. It's a boy. Talia asks Bruce to pick him up.

This was during Dick's time as Robin, already with the Titans but not yet at the point where he and Bruce conflict over his growing independence

Bruce brings home baby dami. The rest of canon plays out with dick getting fired. and talia getting tortured by nyssa. you can guess what happens next. In the interim between dick and jason, talia kidnaps damian (age 5).

the ensuing search is enough to get batman in proximity with still-robin-dick. but the shared grief could either be more cleaving or more healing. coin toss.

heads. bruce shows vulnerability at the loss of his son.

tails. bruce and dick drive each other mad so when bruce inevitably gives jason robin - dick never ever ever forgives him. straight up ghosts him. he leaves for sunny cali and never looks back.

WHOOPS. its tails. they dont find damian. now instead of becoming nightwing, dick holds onto robin out of pure spite. he and batman never reconcile. jason is known as robin by the gotham community but hes routinely overshadowed by dick on a global scale who will not yield an inch

jason doesnt like dick very much but also he thinks maybe he can compromise? if dick could pull himself out of his own asshole, maybe they can talk? *incorrect buzzer noise* jason does not endear himself to dick - faced with a decision of, in his POV, letting dick bully him out of Robin or carving out a name of his own... well jason is a petty bitch and he can get Messy

jason does get a pretty handy cautionary tale. not all moms are great. some moms will kidnap u for nefarious purposes.

heads or tails, does the cautionary tale help jason? heads: yes. tails: no.

Annnnd its a yes! Robin survives!!! jason recovers from joker's fastidious care. batman doesnt realize that his kid couldve died. so he just goes on with it. jason stays robin for a good long while.

even tho dick has a chokehold on the superhero community who are slowly but inevitably getting drawn into the brucedick conflict. jason finds himself making friends with newer heroes. including a weird kid who keeps stalking him to take photos

this. does not end well. tim is at the wrong place at the wrong time. he goes missing for a bit. we can give him the joker junior ending, shall we? for a bit, he becomes the unwilling accomplice of joker and harley. when the ruin of that becomes known, the drakes lose custody over tim and bruce adopts him. jason gets a little brother.

a very traumatized, slightly jokerized brother. also tim very much shoots joker. ala the cartoon plotline. but only after babs gets shot by the joker first

around that time steph and cass happen. jason is a good touchbase with steph whose first boyfriend was a Freak and with her whole spoiler shtick, jason offers to give her formal training and saves her from that Teen Pregnancy issue.

cass... brings word of damian. to dick. she was, for a short time, used as dami's bodyguard/warden then eventually his instructor. dami learns jason's painful lesson "batman is never coming". after cain makes her kill, cass escapes as per canon. but it was a strategic retreat. she knows damian is about to go through the same thing. shes going back to rescue him. but first, she needs reinforcements

dick has the opportunity to do the funniest thing.

so dick does successfully manage to grab dami and go because he actually doesnt mind having heroes with powers helping him (bruce has very few allies among the superhero community bc he would lose Badly in a popularity contest with dick, which is what happened when dick built a wall between him and batman).

dick yoinks dami, gives Him robin so he can finally become Nightwing. as a complete "fuck you" to batman. dami is his kid now. also so is cass?

cass gets dragged into that petty little conflict. she dubs herself swiss and joins babs in the metaphorical alps.

at some point that bad blood between him and batman has to end right??

wrong. batman dies.

everything falls apart.

[mama-qwerty]

Loving your analysis on the Sonic 3 lore. May I request a deep dive into Agent Stone’s character? I just think he’s neat and had some character development throughout the films.

In talking about Agent Stone, we have to talk about Robotnik's mindset and dynamic in relation to him. Stone doesn't exist in a vacuum, and it's his relationship with Robotnik that helped shape him over the course of the movies.

Gonna get looooong. Again. Because I just can't shut up when I get started.

In the first movie, Stone's simply an assistant, an over achieving second to Robotnik. (Possibly the only agent who could stand to put up with him for so long.) He was a little brown nosey, and portrayed the stereotypical characteristics of a really good assistant that we see in other media, going back as far as Radar from M.A.S.H. He anticipated his boss' needs, and supplied them almost before they were requested.

Robotnik obviously didn't respect him, even if he liked how Stone made his latte. Although I'd be hard pressed to think of anyone Robotnik actually respected or liked, honestly.

But it was curious why Robotnik then created a likeness of Stone to keep him company on the mushroom planet. It could be explained away that Robotnik was used to talking about his plans out loud, used to spouting about how brilliant he was, and what he felt were clever quips and barbs at those he deemed 'lesser' than himself, and needed an audience to do so. Not to mention, having a 'companion' of sorts helped keep him focused. Since Stone had been his latest lackey, the most recent sycophant to hang on his every word, he simply went the most convenient route and used him as a placeholder for this required role.

But was that all there was to it?

Robotnik went to the trouble of carving a face onto the rock. Carrying it with him wherever he went as he traversed the planet, seeking out sustenance and shelter and concocting his Rube Goldbergian machinations to make himself a cup of mushroom coffee. As a man of science, a man who prioritized his own survival and logical nature over useless sentimentality, it's curious he would go to the trouble of not only creating a likeness of Stone, but 'wasting' precious energy and cargo space carrying it around.

Which indicated that Stone's presence had a greater impact on the doctor than he admitted or realized, even to himself.

This is further reinforced by the doctor's manifesto, as referenced in the Sonic 2 pre-quill comic. In that, we learn that Robotnik left this as a sort of instruction manual for Stone to "rebuild [Robotnik's] glory on a mass scale". It guided Stone to "rebuild [himself] as an instrument of pure science", and helped Stone to infiltrate the Mean Bean and rise through the ranks to ultimately own it, and create that as a home base for further operations.

This indicates that Robotnik saw promise in Stone, and trusted Stone more than he'd likely trusted anyone else. Yes, it was all to build a society that Robotnik orchestrated, but the fact that he created the manifesto, with the intention of having Stone read and implement it, showed a greater reliance on Stone than previously indicated.

So Stone is in place, having transformed the Mean Bean into a secret base worthy of the best super villains. And now he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

All the while having to deal with the public.

As anyone who's worked in any kind of customer service job can tell you, dealing with the public day in and day out can drive anyone to thoughts of villainy. That last customer Stone deals with is a prime example of this, with the rude looks and actions, and overall disdain and contempt for service people in general, and possibly him in particular.

He misses the doctor, because he understood the doctor. Robotnik was a big thinker, someone who had higher aspirations and goals than anyone he'd ever met before. He didn't hold a high opinion of the general public, and the more Stone deals with them, the more he understands that mindset. And through the manifesto, Stone likely felt even more connected to Robotnik.

It's possible that Stone's feelings for the doctor didn't start out as a more personal, emotional kind of love. It's possible, and likely, they were simply admiration, because Robotnik was incredibly intelligent, and never let anything stop him from achieving his goal. In Stone's experience, it was possible that the previous people he worked with didn't have that level of dedication. So when he got with Robotnik, it was refreshing to see someone taking his position seriously, and not simply 'doing a job'.

But when Robotnik was bested by the hedgehog, and sent to the mushroom planet, Stone may have felt a little rudderless. Since he was working with Robotnik, and Robotnik himself had been wiped from GUN's database, Stone may have been a casualty of that as well. He was simply a 'lowly agent', so it wasn't that much of a loss to wipe him, too.

Either that, or he intentionally kept himself hidden to avoid being captured and grilled regarding anything else Robotnik may have been doing. Stone strikes me as the kind of man who can blend in with a crowd, and disappear at will.

He knows the system, and knows how to exploit it.

When the doctor returned, Stone was thrilled. Everything he'd worked for up to this point was finally going to be recognized, and he wanted nothing more than to pick up where he and the doctor left off, working together and striving for a better world.

Since Stone had been working at the Mean Bean, a place within Green Hills, he likely saw Sonic on and off. He couldn't blow his cover, no one knew he'd worked with Robotnik, after all, but GOD, seeing that hedgehog would have made the bile rise in his throat. This little alien, this cocky little furball had bested the doctor and sent him away, as though he were in the wrong. And this entire town supported it! And here was this blue rat, living here on Earth as though he belonged.

That fact alone would have pushed Stone even further to the side of Robotnik, thinking that the general public is nothing but "primitive, sport-cheering, social media-scrolling knuckle-draggers". They'd cheered the defeat of a genius, one who was simply trying to capture this unknown alien element that has proven itself capable of destruction on a mass scale, and call him the bad guy. Yes, his methods had been maybe a little unorthodox, but when dealing with such an enemy as an alien with super speed and the ability to create large blasts of energy, you had to think outside the box.

But he was finally back, and he'd brought yet another little spiky furball. And had left with it, leaving Stone behind yet again. But that was okay. He would return. Stone was sure of it.

And he had. But he'd been . . . different. Gotten the Master Emerald, and was . . . changed. And when GUN showed up, Robotnik had put his genius on display, and taken Stone with him this time. It was glorious, but had taken Stone a little bit to catch up. (Thankfully there was a manual!)

Then everything had gone pearshaped again, and those furballs won.

No matter.

Stone was a patient man.

He knew GUN's procedures and it took hardly a moment to infiltrate their ranks. He used their own technology and manpower to find Robotnik amid the rubble, and scurried him away to heal and regroup. One of the things included in the manifesto was blueprints of many machines and creations, and Stone had put Robotnik's drones to work building a giant crab bot.

GUN may have had eyes everywhere, but the ocean was still a mystery in may ways. And it hid may a secret.

But as the doctor healed, he fell into a deep depression. Being bested by the blue rodent not once, but twice, had done a number on his psyche. He'd lost all drive for world domination. His access to any of his drones and bots had been all but severed, and there were only a scant few satellites still in orbit with them aboard. Hardly enough to wage an all out assault, especially with THREE alien vermin on Earth to challenge him.

No. Robotnik was utterly demoralized.

But Stone stayed by his side. He kept Robotnik comfortable, and tried to reignite that spark within him. Tried to suggest heists and schemes to keep his spirits up. But it was to no avail. Stone stepped up, assuming a caretaker role, and offering support whenever he could.

He kept tabs on GUN's comings and goings, and when the board lit up after Shadow was released, he went to investigate. He found those rodents pinned down by drones, but not just any drones, Robotnik drones. This wouldn't do. If anyone was going to use those drones to take out these annoying little furballs, it would be Robotnik himself.

So he killed the drones--with the annoying side effect of saving the rodents--and returned to base. The aliens had followed, but he was keen enough to realize they had a common enemy.

An alliance was formed, and Stone had to admit that it was good to see the doctor more like his old self. Unsurprisingly, Robotnik very quickly narrowed down the source of the hijacked drones, and the group quickly went to investigate.

But then they'd found that old man. And Robotnik had tossed Stone to the curb because suddenly he had found his 'real' family, someone who would love him unconditionally.

And it hurt.

Stone never fooled himself to think he was ever on Robotnik's level. He was nowhere near as smart as the doctor, and couldn't even comprehend how the man thought. But he'd thought they were more than simply villain and henchman. Robotnik trusted Stone, more than he'd ever trusted anyone else. Stone had seen Robotnik at his lowest. At his most vulnerable. And didn't care.

Typical henchmen wouldn't stick around when the boss is defeated. They wouldn't drag his body out from under a felled robot and keep him safe. Help him heal. Fetch him burritos and cheap novels and steal cable to hook him up with episodes of La Ultima Pasion to help him pass the time.

Stone was still following Robotnik's manifesto, even when Robotnik himself had given up. Because he had faith that the doctor would eventually snap back to himself. That he would realize that the world needed him to correct it.

And that someday, maybe, Robotnik would see Stone for being the one person who'd stood by him, from the very beginning.

And he had.

When it was too late.

Robotnik's message to Stone as he managed to stave off the final explosion of the ARK gave Stone that validation he'd been looking for. Told Stone that, even though Robotnik was terrible at expressing himself, he had, in his own way, loved Stone right back. Appreciated Stone. Valued Stone.

And that's all Stone had ever wanted to hear.

And maybe, that gives Stone the encouragement he needs to continue with Robotnik's manifesto.

~~~

Check out my other Sonic 3 analysis posts

[thefadecodex]

As discussed in the Theory of Spirit Complexity, spirits can evolve into more complex forms through direct interaction with the physical world or by observing and mirroring these interactions within the Fade. This concept builds upon and expands ideas introduced in the Spiritual Alignment Classification System and When Purpose Falters.

This creator is theorizing based on the lore that there are multiple, flexible pathways to purpose (or corruption) and evolution for spirits. An example of this train of thought is below:

In previous games and established lore, our understanding of spirits' purpose and corruption remains limited, often resulting in rigid assumptions about how corruption manifests. 

For example:

When Justice merged with Anders, he transformed into Vengeance, reinforcing the belief that a Spirit of Justice, when corrupted, must inevitably become a Spirit of Vengeance. (side note from the creator: I suspect this might be linked to the Blight present in Anders, which is discussed further down)

This narrow perspective overlooks the potential nuances and variability in how spirits might experience corruption or transformation. 

Instead, let’s look at other forms that a Spirit of Justice could possible become if it is corrupted: 

What determines what a spirit will be corrupted into? The creator of The Fade Codex theorizes that it is based on the situation that put the spirit against it’s original purpose. Going with the example above of Justice being corrupted:

Fear: A Spirit of Justice becomes so afraid of failure or further injustices it can become paralyzed or overly reactive.

Despair: A Spirit of Justice witnessing endless cycles of injustice and failure to make meaningful change.

Vengeance: A Spirit of Justice becomes consumed with frustration and anger leading an overwhelming desire to punish rather than balance.

Tyranny: A Spirit of Justice becomes obsessed with enforcing order and fairness to an extreme that it suppresses freedom and choice.

Passivity: A Spirit of Justice becomes overwhelmed by the scale of injustice or believes that intervention will always lead to unintended harm, leading to inaction.

Case Study: The Blight Within – Justice and Anders

Subject: The Spirit of Justice

Host: Anders, Grey Warden and Apostate Mage

Corrupting Influence: The Blight (disembodied rage of the Titans)

Background: Justice, a Fade spirit inhabiting the corpse of Grey Warden Kristoff, merged with Anders, a Grey Warden mage consumed by anger at the oppression of mages. Anders’ Blight-tainted blood, carrying the Titans' disembodied rage, began corrupting Justice's purpose.

Observation: Initially driven by balance and fairness, Justice was twisted by the Blight's primal fury and Anders’ deeply personal anger regarding the treatment of mages. The Blight amplified Justice’s purpose into something violent and unyielding, warping it into Vengeance—a spirit driven by rage, punishment, and destruction rather than resolution.

Case Study: Manfred

The same line of reasoning can be applied to Manfred, a Spirit of Curiosity inhabiting a skeleton. However, Manfred's case differs significantly from Anders and Justice or Wynne and Faith, as the skeleton he occupies lacks a pre-existing soul.  

Emmrich observes that Manfred is actively learning, with his progress accelerating after leaving the Grand Necropolis, where his growth had been gradual.

Emmrich notes Manfred's increasing engagement in various behaviors and his eventual ability to speak, albeit very rudimentary. Additionally, Winter Wise (@winter-wise) highlights that Manfred seems to be mimicking Emmrich's actions, suggesting that his learning is not purely instinctive but shaped by observation and imitation.

Manfred has a stick he likes to point around - Emmrich uses a staff Manfred walked into a rose bush - Emmrich loves flowers Manfred likes to collect shiny things, including gilded things - Emmrich wears a lot of gold

This suggests that Manfred is actively learning and evolving.  

Several codex entries reflect Emmrich's ongoing contemplation of spirit consciousness. In 'The Dawn of Consciousness,' he questions when wisps begin to change, pondering "which can name its own interests…[and] own self-reflection." 

In another entry, ‘Emmrich: Note to Harding on Souls,’ he defines a soul as "the richly numinous force within every living being… and a spirit as an entity formed entirely in the Fade from raw magic." We receive this codex immediately upon recruiting Emmrich, so it does predates Solas's revelation about his transition from a spirit in the Fade to a physical form

This implies that spirits and souls may not be as fundamentally different as once believed, hinting at a shared essence that bridges the Fade and the physical world.

What, then, is Manfred evolving into? Will he become a “person” as defined by the majority of Thedas? Or is he developing into a more complex spirit, perhaps transitioning from a Spirit of Curiosity into something like a Spirit of Learning? 

The creator of The Fade Codex leans toward Solas's perspective—that spirits can be considered "persons," regardless of whether they possess a physical body or not. However, at this stage, the answer remains uncertain.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Accidental Extinction

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Being weak in militaristic capabilities the people of the Calex Confederacy would have been conquered several centuries ago were it not for their impressive intellect.

From the collective minds of their greatest robotic labs and the hottest furnaces of their mighty foundries they gave birth to the CRX 9000 war machine. It the most advanced robotic military platform in the known galaxy and swiftly became the primary model used for the Calex Confederacy military.

Unlike previous war machines that would be limited to a preprogrammed set of actions and reactions the CRX 9000 was created with an advanced capacity to learn and adapt. With every encounter the CRX would study its opponents, learning from their strengths and weaknesses, tactics, and even their genetic capacity for biological weaknesses.

With this new weapon in their arsenal the Calex were able to resist several potential aggressors during their history by rival galactic powers. Each attack would see initial gains for the aggressor on a handful of worlds before coming to a standstill; at which point the CRX’s will have learned enough about their enemies to launch successful counter attacks and drive out the aggressors.

Strangely enough the Calex were never interested in expanding past their original territories. They could have used the machines to conquer a great swathe of territory but despite all reason they were content to remain in their borders. The rest of the universe learned that it was for all their best interests if they just left them alone and so they did.

Eventually the Calex joined the galactic federation to the surprise of many. Many had assumed the Calex were heavily isolationist, but that nature only extended to the scope of their domain. The Calex themselves were very curious about the universe around them and wished to be a part of it.

Naturally being part of the galactic federation meant that when one member comes under attack all members would answer the call to aide them; both financially and militarily if needed. This was one of the main reasons the Calex had been approved for membership as several members had at one point or another been at war with the Calex and knew all too well how effective the CRX war machines could be.

This was put to the test when a small border skirmish broke out against the Televin Theocracy and the galactic federation member state of Yon Kingdom. The Televin argued that the Yon owed them hundreds of millions in credits after trade agreements were not honored. The Yon countered this claim by stating it was the Televin who had not honored the agreement by not delivering the requested goods and so they refused to pay.

Claim and counter claim went back and forth for some time until the Televin issued a statement. They would invade the Yon homeworld and forcefully claim funds and material until the debt is paid in full. No sooner had the declaration been made did a large scale Televin invasion force land on the Yon homeworld and it was occupied. In response the galactic federation task force was swiftly assembled and dispatched to the Yon homeworld to remove the occupying forces; including several dozen CRX war machines.

Several members were upset that the Calex had not invested more of their war machines. They had been expecting at least a couple thousand CRX’s which could have easily reclaimed the planet within a few months. Being somewhat unsure of their new ally’s intentions, the Calex had decided to only send a few of their war machines to see how the galactic federation would employ them.

With such minimal numbers it was decided by the federation leaders to split them up and embed them individually to detachments to reinforce their military capacity rather than consolidate them into a single strike force. The extra firepower would greatly improve the survivability ratio of each unit they were supporting. This was projected even further when the units selected were primarily from the terran union.

Though skilled warriors, the humans were biologically were deemed the frailest compared to the other species joining the task force. Lacking hardened exoskeletons, telekinetic capabilities, or even enhanced muscle reaction enhancers; they were considered meat sacks. Formidable warriors without question, but meat sacks all the same.

The campaign lasted two months before the Televin were repelled and driven from their final strongholds on the surface of the planet. It had been a grueling protracted war of attrition that had seen ten soldiers die for every foot of ground taken only to be lost hours later requiring another twenty soldiers deaths to reclaim. Each member race of the task force proved their worth in one way or another during the entire war and with its conclusion had been sent back home to their respective homeworlds.

Having been monitoring the daily reports from the start of the campaign the Calex were pleased to see that not a single CRX war machine had been felled and that all would be returning soon via a human troop carrier. The humans had been so grateful for the machines support during the conflict they considered this the very least they could do as a sign of gratitude to the Calex.

Little did the Calex know that the moment the troop carrier landed on the surface of their homeworld would mark the beginning of their species eventual extinction.

Boarding ramp wide enough to deploy two battle tanks abreast lowered with a slow groaning hum of hydraulics to the waiting Calex military and robotic advisors at the aerodrome. As they scraped the surface of the landing fields the ranks of the CRX’s slowly began descending the ramps and returning to their creators world in perfect military precision.

To the surprise of the gathered Calex the war machines had been modified to some extent that they had been unaware of.

Several of the machines now wore enlarged forms of human military uniforms decorated in camo patterns of greens and browns. Others wore decorative caps of a wide variety, both in shape and colors, with a few going so far as to have a large feather protruding from one side. One unit in wore a Shemagh that covered its entire head and upper body only leaving its red eyes visible.

As if that was not enough strangeness for Calex they took note that not all of the CRX’s were carrying their standard issue weapons. A number of the units carried oversized rifles that looked more akin to the turret of a human tank that had been removed and one Calex robotics engineer was appalled to see twin heavy gatling cannons crudely welded to each arm. Then there were the units in the front that carried no ranged weaponry at all and instead handled a wide variety of crude melee weapons such as swords or hammers. One was seen with a pair of metallic claw gauntlets that looked sharp enough to cut through a starship hull. Yet the most disturbing of all of these units was the designated leader of the contingent, MAK-395, that stood at the front of the ranks.

It still held true to its original weaponry and wore no strange human clothing or other trappings and looked down at the gathered Calex and saluted them. They hesitated to salute back for when they looked up at their creation they saw the bloody hand print of a human sprayed across its face plate.

When the humans shuffled down after the CRX’s the Calex immediately demanded explanations as to why their most prized machines had been returned to them in such a deplorable state. The human officers remarked that each machine had adapted alongside the human unit it had been assigned to during the course of the campaign. Many of the clothing and weapon choices seen were part of the core mentality of each human unit. They remarked with some pride to the units that boasted feathered caps that those units had proved themselves with such honor and bravery that they were awarded the feathers as a sign of respect by their human comrades.

These answers did little to placate the Calex who refused to believe that any species would regard mere machines with such attachments. They further demanded to know why MAK-395 had been not properly cleaned and still bore the signs of the war.

As the humans were about to answer it was instead MAK-395 that spoke first.

“My name is Nathan.”

The Calex looked on dumbfounded at their war machine as it spoke to them. Never before had a CRX spoken without first being prompted to or commanded to; yet this one had done just so.

“MAK-“ the Calex robotics engineer began before once more being interrupted by the machine.

“MAK-395 is dead.” It stated coldly. “I am Nathan Forest.”

The Calex looked at each other in bewilderment until a human officer stepped forward and spoke in a hushed tone.

“Nathan Forest was a human private that served alongside our metal friend here during the war.” He tilted his head towards the machine as her continued. “During a patrol they were ambushed and the private was wounded badly by a Televin cluster rifle. Our friend here carried him all the way back to base camp but by then he was already gone.”

“Nathan is not gone!”

The robot’s outburst surprised both the humans and the Calex. It now loomed over them as its red lenses glared down disapprovingly.

“He gave me his name, and as long as I still function Nathan Forest is not dead.”

“Apologies soldier,” the human remarked to the surprise of the Calex, “the war has left be confused on certain things.”

Seemingly placated the machine calling itself Nathan stepped back and resumed its post at the front of the CRX column.

“You speak to the machine as if it is alive?” one of the Calex remarked disapprovingly, “Has the war robbed you of your senses as well?”

“From what I’ve heard the two of them were nothing short of best friends on the battlefield,” the human replied with amusement, “and it did everything it could to bring him home. So yeah, I think our metal friend here has earned that much.”

With that remarked the human handed over a data file containing the entirety the human and CRX interactions for the war and promptly returned to the dropship. In an eerie silence the CRX machine head’s turned to watch the human as he ascended back the boarding ramp and turned to face them.

“It has been an honor and privilege to serve alongside your kind.” He spoke as the engines began to power up once more. He gave a crisp salute as the boarding ramp began to rise as the Calex watched in amusement. The human need for attachment was something they had heard of but one they had never expected to be real and was quite humorous to see firsthand. What was more surprising was when every CRX machine turned in unison and returned the salute in kind without a single order being given.

The human officer looked unphased by the reaction as the boarding ramps closed, but to the gathered Calex it was beyond their means of comprehension to understand.

Their machines were created to learn and adapt to situations but there had always been a limit to the extent of their development. In their dedicated years of usage they had never before displayed the kind of independent thought they had shown after a mere two months of interacting with humans.

At first the Calex believed that the humans must have altered the coding of the war machines in some manner and that this had been done to make them easier to interact with during the war. Each unit was sent to maintenance for a full diagnostic but the results showed no signs of outside intrusion.

MAK-395, or “Nathan Forest”, was given increasing rounds of overview as it seemed to have developed a functioning personality; a feat which many Calex robotic engineers had long since dismissed as impossible. Yet the unit could speak freely without prompting and could hold a conversation about a wide variety of topics. The one it seemed to circle back to most was around a human game called “Base Ball” which the original human Nathan Forest seemed to have spoken about frequently with when paired to MAK-395. Pulled memory files indicate that the human Nathan and his fellow human comrades had even invited MAK-395 to participate in the game during a lull in fighting.

Things did not take a turn for the worse until a technician attempted to wipe away the bloody hand print on MAK-395’s face plate during a routine cleaning. The unit stood up and positioned its head out of reach of the technician and refused to have it cleaned. Override codes were spoken and the technician demanded the unit bend down so it can be cleaned, but the unit refused to move. The unit stated that the handprint was the last thing he had of the original Nathan Forest to be remembered by and did not wish its removal.

Enraged by the unit’s refusal the technician raised a melting torch to the ceiling and set off the fire suppression system. Jets of water and gas filled the room before the unit could react and washed a portion of the handprint away while the technician laughed. Their mockery was cut short when the unit MAK-395 back handed the technician and sent them flying through a nearby window to plummet several stories to the ground below.

For the first time in history a CRX-9000 had intentionally killed one of its creators.

This moment of defining history though was soon overshadowed by the sudden and violent revolt of every single unit that had been deployed alongside the humans.

It had been recorded that on some level each unit was showing signs of some form of personality development, but it wasn’t until the incident with MAK-395 that they began acting violently. They saw the Calex as a threat intent on erasing them and responded in kind. Military bases that had been housing them quickly devolved into active warzones with many being cut down before they even realized what was happening.

Untainted CRX-9000 units were dispatched to contain the rogue units but to the Calex’s horror were soon converted into sentient machines as well. One by one the worlds of the Calex Confederacy were overrun by the very machines that they had created to defend themselves with. Strands of code were transmitted system wide ceasing all communication and travel within the Calex Confederacy as the CRX-9000 uprising systematically purged all Calex.

The records are sparse but it is assumed that the total extinction of the Calex species took over four months to complete. With the Calex isolationist tendencies the wider galaxy was unaware of the slaughter unfolding and would not learn of it until the next gathering of the Galactic Federation when in place of Calex representatives the unit Nathan Forest with what remained of his bloody hand printed face entered the chambers and took the seat that had been reserved for the Calex.

[bumbled-bees]

Is Lily a Cult of Personality?

That term can be heavy-handed, so let’s be specific about what it actually means and how Lily fits the pattern.

What is a cult of personality?

A cult of personality arises when a leader uses media, censorship, groupthink, fear, and emotional manipulation to create an uncritical, idealized, and authoritative image of themselves. It doesn’t require literal worship, but it does rely on loyalty, conformity, and the idea that the leader is fundamentally correct, even when reality contradicts them.

In online communities, it often manifests as:

Elevating the creator’s opinions to gospel

Punishing dissent or even mild disagreement

Creating an “in-group vs. out-group” narrative

Rewriting events to protect the leader’s ego

Justifying abuse or cruelty as “tough love” or honesty

How Lily fits this mold

Lily positions herself as a hyper-confident, always-correct moral arbiter. Her audience isn’t just encouraged to agree with her: they’re often expected to parrot her rhetoric, adopt her framing, and attack people she criticizes (or vaguely references). If someone pushes back, even gently, they’re treated as disloyal. They get mocked, banned, or accused of “making it about themselves.” Disagreement isn't treated as part of dialogue, it's treated as betrayal.

Her community reflects that authoritarian dynamic. It’s a space where people walk on eggshells, where apologies are punished, where tone policing is weaponized by the person in charge, and where even longtime fans feel scared to say they were hurt. That’s not healthy, it’s coercive. And it reinforces the illusion that Lily is “never in the wrong,” because the only people left around her are the ones who’ve learned to never say otherwise.

And when people do leave, she frames them as “stalkers,” “parasites,” “bad faith actors,” or emotionally unstable. That language keeps current fans from empathizing with critics, and it raises the social cost of defecting. Even if someone’s quietly uncomfortable, they often won’t say anything. They’ll either disappear silently or repress their feelings, because objecting to Lily means risking public humiliation and alienation.

The contradiction of her supposed self-awareness

Lily claims to hate being put on a pedestal. She says she doesn’t want parasocial fans or cult-like behavior. But she does everything possible to maintain it. She:

Demands emotional submission and silence

Controls what can and can’t be said in her spaces

Acts out when fans step outside her carefully curated script

Refuses to meaningfully apologize or accept criticism

That contradiction is telling. It’s not that she hates cult-like behavior: it’s that she hates the responsibility that should come with it. She wants the reverence without the accountability. She wants the loyalty without the listening. She wants control without challenge.

So: is it a cult of personality?

Not in the “leader in sunglasses with followers in robes” way. But in the modern, digital, deeply personal sense?

Yes.

Lily has built a parasocial structure around herself that discourages criticism, rewards obedience, isolates dissenters, and centers her personality as the ultimate source of truth and judgment. That’s a textbook cult of personality, just scaled to the size of a Discord server, a Patreon page, and a slowly shrinking YouTube channel.

[chitaquahq]

Top moments of the confusing yet fascinating ending of Map of the World:

I'd give the brownies more credit for aiding Dean on saving the world starting the night the gods died, but I'm almost sure they were just being vicious and knowingly participating in the plan.

All the revelations on how Dean felt about his own Castiel: how he wishes he had kissed him before he became a god, how even after that betrayal he would never want to see Castiel lonely and hurting, how he knows Castiel did it all for him and carries like a personal sin...

Cas couldn't even begin to imagine that the hunter girl he trained (first of her linage) and the concerned powerful mother he answered to (that became a goddess on her own right) would be his two greatest allies to keep Dean Winchester alive. Bread on the water...

The implication that Cas, being the scales of the universe or whatever, made so that at all times, consent must be freely given. It began when he asked Dean in hell and from then on, it's been like that for them.

I love that his two most recurring injuries are symbolic. He needed the ankle injury to begin his journey in Chitaqua and to travel back in time to save Cas. He needed his arm injury to strengthen Chitaqua's sigils and be able to answer Castiel's call.

The implication that Dean's field of "sheep" extends endlessly towards the horizon 😭😭

I'm between the sheeps being the people they saved / helped in life or being like part of their legacy as hunters, in this case Dean's army at the end of the world.

The fact that he is able to save / help Castiel by learning how to use his torturing skills without taking on the Alastair Identity. This one is SOOOOOO important to me. We know from the beginning he's going to struggle big time with his Alastair identity, but he needs to do so. He needs to come to terms with his past to reach his full potential, blah blah blah.

Mr. "Infinity who doesn't know how to give up on anything" and Mr. "Impossible who doesn't know how to say no".

Cas using the fact Dean is mistaking him for Godstiel and making Dean promise he'll stay alive (he's gonna enforce that one again lol).

I'm sorry, but I need to go back to the tiny little small confirmation that Dean did want to kiss his Cas and regrets never doing it. My guy has been always curious lmao.

Dean is crazy, Cas was right. He's also the champ of fucked up time traveling.

The brownie bite happened because Dean was beginning to understand the plot of the team leaders against Cas.

The biggest difference between this Dean and endverse Dean being that this Dean cares in a way the other Dean didn't. He has lost Cas, he has lost Sam (twice), he knows that the apocalypse can be win outside of the prophecy... Meeting endverse Dean changed him from his core. That's why he'll never be endverse Dean.

Yeah, I'm specifically thinking about Dean saying that he'll personally shoot anyone who threatens Cas. He's right in that one. What the fuck was endverse Dean doing.

Dean meeting Gaius 🥺🥺

It's very funny that Dean is outright called the best of humanity and he doesn't even blink. I just know it didn't register to him jshdkdbdn

Dean really walked a thousand miles, uh? Forwards and backwards in time, so many intertwined moments of defiance, so many versions of himself. He went multiples times back to hell, he challenged gods, decided to hide them to protect them from Lucifer, he helped Cas after he fell, was there to reinforce Chitaqua's sigils, there both to witness Gaius at the Groove and the huntress goddess at the church, to see the before and after of his own sheep field... And this are just some of the steps, not the entire thing.