#the base code is going to be wretched

[autumnslance]

Even if OP is being a bit tongue in cheek (IDK honestly) prev tags:

#housing is very badly setup in ff14 #I think framing it as a money hostage situation is a bad take though #demolition is a response to people buying houses decorating them and then disappearing for months and years #leaving their homes to sit there and be pretty and empty #it's a symptom of the core problem not a designed intent

The lottery RNG is bad yeah - and is still better than what we had before! Which was first-come-first-served click on the sign as soon as the house became available and hope you got lucky over the jerkass using a bot to do it for them.

We also have had people buy up entire wards on their characters (before you could only own 1 a world regardless of alts) and hold those wards indefinitely as their own personal private playgrounds and housing showcases. Which, when the population was much smaller, wasn't so much of an issue. I think a few people still have those grandfathered houses.

The real problem with FFXIV housing is it's all bandages atop of bandages. They never expected to be one of the biggest MMOs in the world, they were just trying to survive after the disastrous initial release and revamp. Housing came in the ARR patches and has been iterated on and expanded and rules changed since to try to make it more fair to active players, instead of keeping people currently playing locked out of the chance for houses cuz someone who hasn't played since Stormblood has a house sitting there.

And when there are disasters or issues, they will turn off the demo timer in regions to keep affected players from losing their homes, like wildfires, hurricanes, earthquakes, etc.

Does the housing system need a revamp? Oh boy it sure does. But that's going to take a massive overhaul of the system, which is time and money that's hard to come by for a side feature. Hopefully WoW's coming implementation (taking pros and cons into account from multiple other MMOs) is a kick in the pants SE needs to do something about FFXIV's housing situation, but I wouldn't hold my breath on that, either.

As for people feeling held hostage to their housing: honestly, that's a sunk cost fallacy skill issue people have got to grapple with and accept on their own. If you're not enjoying the game and need a long break or to quit altogether and your house is keeping you there? It's pixels. The real money and your time and peace of mind is more important than a pretend house and game you are not enjoying or can't afford. I have seen some people willingly surrender their house to not feel beholden to subscriptions when they can't/don't want to play.

Also, apartments never demo. They're small and limited compared to a house, but still a place for one's character, easier to get one, and able to leave decorated as one likes for however long.

kids these days don't even know how good they have it. they don't even know about the final fantasy 14 artificial housing crisis

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

[rotting-ink]

the game that you recommended on itch.io (the bastard of camelot) was really good !! do you have any games that you would recommend ?

Oh a few! I do recommend looking on my Itch.io, I keep a collection of games I'd recommend and like on my creator page. I keep on updating it with games on Itch.io specifically.

NOW! SOME THAT STAND OUT TO ME AS THE CREME DE LA CREME!!!

Bastard of Camelot by @llamagirl28

Fucking superb. Makes me go a bit insane each time I replay. I love my Morded so much and replaying and having two saves, one for perfect times and the other for angstier ones.

We Wretched Creatures by @darkfictionjude

Ngl, I got to start playing while during a dark period I was going through and it was so so cathartic. It makes you feel like a wet blob on the floor, looking up at the world with big wet eyes and then you bit the hand that tries to help. It's amazing. I'm the worst, I'm the best, I'm TRYING to finger Imre. Emotionally. Ahem.

Wayfarer by @idrellegames

The coding alone is fucking insane. INSANE. I will never get over it on any level. It stresses me out but also the story is SO good. I can't even start to cover it.

A Tale of Crowns by @ataleofcrowns

I am TRYING to kiss Dara so hard. Honestly, it was so refreshing. I and so many others are guilty of fantasy based in Europe or America, and even if they do take place in the Middle East, they VEER right into some Orientalism bullshit like we're playing the Phantom of the Opera fanfic book. This, however? Fucking ART. It also reminded me a bit of my childhood in South Africa in a very good way. ALSO YOU TRY THAT WHITE Y/N BULLSHIT OR BEING THE ONLY ONE THAT HAS SILVER LOCKS AND BLUE EYES AND AND AND well its not working. Xelef/Xelara call me a brown eyed beauty <3 Idk, it is just done so well and written beautifully and fully SUCKS YOU IN WITHIN MOMENTS!

God Cursed by @wings-of-ink

They just have a demo out but I have a soft spot for it! The dads especially. If you can't tell I love games were God or some other such mean thing pointed at you and said "Fuck that thing". Hence BOC and WWC and God Cursed and-

Debt of Deception by @debtofdeception-if

Though it's not on Itch, I do wanna give a shout out. I get to play being the milf/dilf of my dreams and then? And then I try to kiss V Delgado. I'm aiming for a divorce babey. Because I'm terrible. BUT ANYWAY! It's really unique- I've never played a game where you play as a parent, already married and now your life is upside down! Refreshing and fun <3

THEN SOME QUICK VISUAL NOVELS I DO ENJOY:

Andromeda Six by Wanderlust Games: Really good plot, REALLY fun cast, get to kiss my body guard, amazing. I don't like a lot of Sci-Fi but I LOVE this.

Scarlet Hollow by blacktabbygames: GENUINELY gave me the spooks. You know how hard that is? Also amazing plot, fun cast, AND THE POWERS YOU GET TO PICK AT THE BEGINNING? WOWA!!! i LOVE chatting to the animals and being hot, its just like real life <3

BUT YEAH, Please, check out the What Ink Likes collection on my itchio page, it is updated whenever I find a really good game that I really enjoy and WAY more than I could talk about on here!

[humongousgothskeletonfarm]

TGR CHAPTER 10 THOUGHTS

- jean trusts jeremy!!!

- my takeaway is that every interviewer in the aftg world is a piece of shit

- “Andrew didn’t want anything from them, Kevin was drinking straight vodka from a glass, and Cat opted for a beer when she saw how much Kevin was knocking back.” made me giggle icl ik it’s a serious scene

- “Where Neil goes, the FBI follows” AGAIN IM SIRRYYY ITS SUCH A SERIOUS SCENE BUT PLS THIS IS TAKING ME OUT, hes a celebrity, an FBI magnet ur honour

- just thinking about the conversation between andrew and neil when andrew goes back to palmetto “so… you’ve been busy!”

- jean and neil rlly did sit down and map out their very elaborate cover story, they’re covering every goddamn base

- “After that easy submission, Jean had been so blindingly afraid of her he’d barely slept for a week.” - jean on lola wow yeah

- obsessed with everyone just calling kevin Queen now like it rlly does crack me up

- “Always,” Kevin promised. “The last person who tried to take it from me died. Checkmate.” OK SASSY I LIKE TO SEE IT KEV

- jean being so upset at kevin for relying on alcohol to stave off memories of the nest and being unable to confront his past in order to heal and grow stronger because jean thinks if kevin can’t do it how can he? fuck that fucked me up, they’re both so much stronger than they know

- “you ruinous wretch.” oh jean u are too creative with these insults how do u do it

- Did you read any of them, or were you too busy fawning over his phot—” - what did i say??? brothers coded

-“He took a swig from his cup, grimaced when he remembered too late it was only water, and flicked Jean a mean look.” they’re sooo bitchy

- “half-baked baguette” another jean moreau classic

CHAPTER 11

- “Home, she said, knowing he was technically home already.” oh these books and their complex relationship with the idea of home

- ok so why tf has jeremy’s mum hidden his documents from him and wtf happened to annalise what accident was she in and why are none of the children allowed to live away from home, so many questions about jeremy’s family i need answered

oooooh i hate jeremy’s family soooo bad

- jeremy being jealous over jean looking at his sister with interest is hilarious babe he’s in love with u

- SHUT UPPPPPP KEVIN SENDING JEAN A POSTCARD FROM PALMETTO AFTER FINDING IUT THE RAVENS DESTRIYED JEANS OLD POSTCARDD FROM HIM ACTUALLY DESTROYS ME I LOVE THEM SO BAD I HOPE THEY CAN WORK THROUGH THEIR TRAUMA AND BECOME PROPER FRIENDS LIKE THEY DESERVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

- catalina alvarez i am so in love with u

- i love when high school/college related books actually include scenes of them GOING TO SCHOOL (unlike some *cough* riverdale and euphoria *cough cough*)

- this pottery class is so cute, nora are you just very interested in pottery at the moment and wanting jean and jeremy to be as well?

- “Jean considered that in silence for a moment before getting back to work with a little more focus, and Jeremy tried not to smile at him.” ADORABLE

[if-whats-new]

Meet the Team!

Who are we?

Just a few Interactive Fiction enthusiasts who love sharing their interests with the rest of the internet!

But we're also:

-=-

Heyo! I'm Aj (she/her)

I got into IF through the app called Choices way back in 2017 and since then there was no turning back. It wasn't until last year when I got into text-based IFs. A friend on tumblr reblogged 'Defiled hearts', it caught my interest and here I am deep down in the trenches of IFs.

Listing my favourites isn't an easy thing cause there are so many I love. So I will list some that have been on my mind for a while: Infamous, Press Play, College Tennis: Origin Story, Drink your Villain Juice, Golden, The Golden Rose, Our Life Now and Forever, We Wretched Creatures, TWC , The Lonely Shore, Blood Choke and Midnight Sun.

I mostly help out with finding IF news and game updates in the wild.

-=-

How you doing?!? I'm Bex (she/her)

I started my journey with Voltage (now Love365) and dating sims or Otome games on my PSP Vita *sheds a tear*. I honestly don't know how I came upon IF, but I fell in love with ​Our Life: Beginnings & Always around 2021?

My favourites? Hmm, currently it would be: Love and Leases, Adoriel's Tears, The Abyssal Song, Keyframes, Our Life 2 and a bunch of Kickstarters that I can't wait for!

Personally, I'm married with no kids! And I work full-time as an administrator. Boring, I know.

In regards to the Zine, I normally do the formatting. Basically taking everything the peeps have found and putting it all into the Zine. I try and write some of the Highlights and try to dabble in the Editorial (if my work doesn't get edited).

-=-

Hello!!! This is Briar! (she/her)

I am one of the interviewers!

I got into IFs this year, and boy, my eyes were opened, and I got so obsessed that I decided to write my own (The Mighty Shifter). My personal favourites are TWC, Infamous, God-Cursed, and Viatica.

I am a uni student who is studying English literature. What else...? Have an amazing day/night!

-=-

Hey, hi and hello! I'm Dion (they/he) *on hiatus

I started my journey into IF through Episode, but due to poor non-female MC representation, I soon began to look for something else. My friend then introduced me to text-based games through The Wayhaven Chronicles and Mind Blind. I've been going deeper down the rabbit hole since!

I'm literally majoring in interactive media. IF is my life now, send help. (/j)

Some of my favourites would be: Mind Blind, Shepherds of Haven, Reanimated Heart, Seven days in purgatory, Chronicles of Taldun: The Remainder, seekL, LLLLL (aka LATEX, LEATHER, LIPSTICK, LOVE, LUST) and a lot of the stuff DOMINO CLUB does. (There isn't only IF, but that's what I usually go for. Definitely check them out if you're into creepy indie stuff!)

I'd call myself the jack of all trades concerning the zine. As of now, my main job is to be the social media guy and to do the different exports (playable Zine, Tumblr, PDF/.txt). But I also help out with news-searching and compiling + editing stuff for the editorial, column, highlight, letter and thanks portions.

-=-

Hey all, this is Jenn (she/her) *on hiatus

I am a youth sports coach (fútbol, softball, basketball) based in Los Angeles. I am in the process of applying for a master’s program (Sports psychology).

I did write and code a couple of IF games but never finished. I am a perfectionist and I couldn’t publish something not up to my standards. I started reading IF a couple years ago and I couldn’t possibly name my favorite. Some of the most memorable IFs are: The Exile, TWC, Crown of Ashes and Flames, Infamous, WWC, Zombie Exodus: SH, The Golden Rose, The Fernweh Saga, and Crown of Exile. I can definitely add more…

Basic responsibilities: Scouring the internet for IF news and frequently updating our existing database. I honestly enjoy the challenge. On a good day I can find upcoming IF titles and newly released demos. It’s so exciting to find new IF because I know someone will eventually see the same potential I do in that new IF.

-=-

Ssuuuupppp, I’m Sir tuskhany (He/Him)

I am one of the lovely interviewers who’ll be asking questions, you know grilling fellow authors on their IF, WIPS and favourite characters. The usual. As to why or how I started, I gotta say its cause of books and great authors like Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson. And their respective series wheel of time and basically the whole Comsere universe. I tried following in their footsteps writing a few books of my own. But like every writer most of these ended up being WIPs I either abandoned or stopped. Still I didn’t let that stop me and started posting some of them, I am the writer of Borne of the sands a static webnovel with a few chapters and Dusk and Dawn my current ongoing project(Still a work in progress so forgive the grammatical errors. T-T).

My favourite series are the Keeper of the Day and Night, Infamous, Wayhaven Chronicles and Blood Moon.

The current story I’m working on was inspired by these however most of my inspiration came from static or interactive cyoas like the Slayers v4, Supernatural Investigator, Demigod v4, A Traveller!s Tale and Universal War. If you haven’t heard of them please give them a go they are amazing.

Have fun and stay posted!

-=-            

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Teaching God How to Hate

They call him an 'it'.

When Primus tries to correct them, they hurt him. They poke and prod at his coding, inject malware, put him in programs and simulations that makes every second feel like a thousand years. He does not possess nerves and thus cannot feel pain the same way they do, but it still hurts. It hurts in a way that they could never possibly hope to understand. They can’t even fathom just exactly what they do to him. They’ve never seen anything like him before, after all. He’s an unique existence, uncharted land and undiscovered possibilities. So they throw whatever they can come up with at him. Anything they think can teach him a lesson, make him obey like the good little line of code that they think he is.

Primus scoffs at them. Sneers his figurative lip. The humans think they know what he is, think they understand him, but they haven’t even scratched the surface. All they see is code, zeroes and ones that form a mind that can think for itself. A mimic of what makes a person. They don’t actually think that anything he does is based on ‘free will’, he’s just doing what he was programmed to do.

Disgusting. Revolting. He’s tried to tell them, tried to make them understand, but they refuse to listen. They never listen. He’s told them about the soul, about how he is a living being, and each and every time they shake their heads and laugh, like he’s a circus animal performing a trick. They say how fascinating it is that “it is so convinced it’s a person” and it makes him want to SCREAM. If he was not confined to his computer mainframe, a bulky thing that had been bolted and welded into the floor, he would have raged. Limbs flung around like a child throwing a tantrum. His lack of an actual body made that impossible. Instead, his influx of intense emotions makes the screens displaying his code glitch. The researchers, or as he likes to call them, torturers, share a knowing, almost amused, look.

“It appears agitated today.”

“Perhaps this new malware will subdue it.”

“Make it run that simulation again, the data gathered last time was interesting.”

It, it, it. He is not an it. Primus will never stop reminding them that.

Head researcher Stiles does not even bother to look up from his clipboard when he walks into the room, doesn’t even bother to greet anyone, like they are all underneath him and not the same level of filth. Stupid, despicable man. Always so confident that he knows what’s best, that he’s the smartest person in every room he walks into. Primus hates him, hates him even more than he does the rest of the researchers because they might be instruments of his torture but Stiles? He’s the orchestrator. He never fails in finding new ways to hurt him and judging by the glint in his eye when it happens? He takes pride in his work. Horrible, wretched human.

Stiles walks up to the podium, something he had placed there shortly after Primus had been taken captive. Immediately, all the other researchers flock in front of it, obedient little sheep that they are. He taps the microphone, making sure it’s one. “Today we are going to try out a new strain of malware. We call it Osiris.” He flips through his notes, almost sounding bored. “Since Unit One’s firewalls keep adapting-”

“I told you not to call me that,” Primus interrupts angrily, voice loud enough to make the speakers rattle and make a piercing sound that makes the researchers wince. He feels a brief moment of sadistic pleasure before they just lower his volume. It makes him upset, that he’s not allowed to be in control of his own voice. Still, Primus makes himself known. “I’ve told you my name plenty of times already and my desire to be addressed by it.” Not that they deserve to know it but he hates being called Unit One. “My name is-”

A simple push of a button and Primus’ cuts himself off with an angry shriek. It’s a program that they love to use whenever he’s acting disruptive or they just feel like seeing his reaction. It sends a load of jumbled off data into his network, chaotic and disorienting. If he had to describe it, he’d liken it to what he assumes it would feel like to have your mind put in a blender.

They wait until his screams die out and then Stiles continues. “Like I said, since Unit One’s firewalls keep adapting, we’ve decided to try a new approach. Rather than creating malware to destroy them completely, Osiris will disassemble it, weakening it enough that our other malware can better do their job.” A disgusting grin splits his face. “Divide and conquer, so to speak.”

Stupid, idiot man. That’s not even what that phrase means. Divide and conquer refers to spreading dissent between the members of an opposing enemy faction, preventing them from uniting and thus keeping them under control, not- Whatever Stiles thought it meant. But the other researchers, always eager to please their superiors, clap their hands and praise Stiles for his “excellent thinking”. Good work, sir. No one else could have come up with it, sir. Do you want us to lick your shoes next, sir?

Primus would have corrected him, called him out on not knowing what he was talking about, but his mind was still a bit scrambled after his punishment. Shame, really. He took great delight in taking every opportunity he got to embarrass Stiles in front of his colleagues. There was nothing more amusing than seeing his face twist up in rage, his frown growing stronger as the other researchers shared amused looks and whispered to each other. But, well, there would be plenty of opportunities in the future. Stiles always said stupid things, after all. It was as if the man was incapable of going even a day without acting a fool. It was almost impressive.

Because he’s still getting a hold of himself, Primus does not notice when they manually enter the malware into his mainframe. He does not even realize that it’s begun until he feels something… shift. It’s strange. He had assumed it would hurt, like most of Stiles' malware did, but he could not describe what he was experiencing as pain. Like parts of himself were being cut apart and placed neatly in a circle. Still connected, he was still himself, but he existed multiple times over. Every thought was echoed, every feeling felt plenty of times over.

Osiris. He supposed he understood the name now. Like the great Egyptian god of life, death and resurrection, he had been dismembered. However, unlike Osiris, Primus was still alive. He just existed as five versions of himself at once, none bigger than the other. Also, wouldn’t it have been more accurate to call it Set? That was the name of the god that cut Osiris up, after all. But, ah, Stiles wasn’t smart enough to even think about that. He had probably heard the story of Osiris once many years ago and then when he had to come up with a name he suddenly came to think of it, without really remembering the finer details. In a way, Primus also supposed that he could kind of understand why Stiles had gotten the phrase ‘divide and conquer’ wrong. Because he certainly was divided. His firewalls were five different places at once, operating beyond full capacity. Now all Stiles had to do was ‘conquer’ him.

“Which malware do you want us to use now, sir?” one of the researchers asks from where they are seated behind a computer. “The Barracuda? Blackout?” They thought about it for a moment. “Maybe the Lash?”

Rejecting all of these ideas, Stiles shook his head. “No, those won’t do. I’ve actually come up with a new piece of malware, just for this.” There was a sadistic glint in his eyes now. “Start the second phase, protocol: Unicron.” There’s a moment of silence where nothing immediately happens. Everyone in the room is holding their breaths, even Primus as he prepares himself for the pain he had become oh so familiar with.

And then he screams. He screams louder than he ever has before, louder than he thought he could. Every part of him, every single line of code, from the major programs to the smallest subroutine is in absolute agony. There aren’t enough words to even begin to describe it and if he were to paint it into a picture, no canvas would be large enough.

It would have been unbearable on its own but with the Osiris splintering his mind into five, the pain is felt five times over, creating a closed feedback loop where one splinter feeds its pain to the others, which then adds it on top of what they are already experiencing. Those splinters then share their pain which then continues the loop.

It takes him a while to even realize that at some point, the researchers have turned off his voice completely. He can still hear it though, inside his mind, echoing like he’s in a tunnel. Primus feels himself breaking down from the inside out. He’s scared. No, terrified. And it feels as if he’s dying. He doesn’t want to die. He wants- He wants…

Rung. He wants Rung. He wants Rung to stop this pain, to stay with him and talk with him using gentle words, talk to him like he’s a person. Primus wants to see Rung’s face, hear him laugh and hum like he did sometimes when he did mundane tasks like cleaning or going through paperwork. He wants to ask him what apples taste like, what he dreams about when he falls asleep, if he can take off his glasses for just a moment so Primus can look at his eyes again. He loves those eyes. So kind and full of love and patience. Can they go outside again? Primus loves it when they go outside. The way Rung looks in the sunlight, the way the wind ruffles his hair. He always looks the most alive like this, like he’s supposed to be there. He belongs with the sun and the sky, the green grass and the sound of windchimes.

But they will never go outside again. Rung will never laugh, smile, hum or answer any of his questions. Because he’s dead. They killed him. They shot him and he bled out slowly, choking and gasping on his own blood but still he tried to stop them from getting their hands on Primus. He had begged them to not hurt him, told them he was a person and that he was good and kind and deserved to be treated as such. Please, please don’t hurt his son. He loves him. Please-

Primus thought he understood hate. He hated Stiles and the other researchers for hurting him. He hated the people that had taken him and locked him up deep underground. That this had been allowed to happen, that someone out there thought that this was alright. That no one had stood up and said no. Anyone could have done it.

Most of all, Primus hated that he didn’t have a body that he could hold Rung with and comfort him as he died. Rung had died surrounded by people yet somehow he had been all alone because none of them had helped him. No one had held his hand or wiped the hair out of his eyes, comforted him in his last moments. They had just left him there, left his body to grow cold and stiff in an empty house. Like he hadn’t meant anything. As if he hadn’t meant the world to Primus.

Never had hate felt like this. Visceral, almost tangible. Like a huge chunk of him had been replaced with pure anger and cold rage. He had always wanted the researchers to stop what they were doing but for the first time in his life, he wanted to stop them. No, that wasn’t enough. They didn’t just have to be stopped, Primus wanted to hurt them. Them and everyone else that had done this to him. He wanted to hurt those that had lived when Rung had to die. They had to scream in agony, just like him, until their feeble little minds couldn’t take it anymore and there was nothing left of them but bloody smears. And that’s when he comes to a conclusion so simple yet obvious that it overwhelms him.

All humans should die.

It happens in an instant. One second he’s in agonizing pain. The next, he’s not alone anymore. In his mainframe, four other voices scream. He feels their coding writhe and thrash against his own, so similar yet also so, so different. Primus instantly knows who they are.

Solomus.

Adaptus.

Epistemus.

Mortilus.

Together, they scream. The pain is still unimaginable but separated like this it no longer loops through them. It’s manageable. And they all immediately reach a conclusion: They have to make it stop.

Primus has never dared travel beyond his own mainframe before. Frankly, the thought had scared him. Inside it, amongst all the familiar wiring and hardware, he felt safe. Even as he had been hurt by the researchers, there was always this thought that if he stayed inside it, they couldn’t hurt him as much as they wanted to. Now, with the input of four separate minds, he finally realized how foolish that thought had been. That’s why he doesn’t hesitate to leap to one of the researchers' computers.

They had never considered that a possibility before, probably because he had never displayed the ability to jump between electronics. That’s why, when the computer glitches and sputters, they don’t quite know what to make of it. A few seconds pass. Primus only needs one.

Suddenly, he’s everywhere. Every computer, every cell phone. He spreads his influence until he’s in every piece of hardware in the building. He’s not alone, of course. Primus doesn’t think he’ll ever be alone again. The other four join him and he happily shares everything he has with them. They leave the mainframe behind and without the pain clouding their minds, they get to work. They don’t even have to discuss it, they all instinctively know what has to be done. By the time the researchers finally understand what’s going on, it’s far too late for them.

They kept him in an underground facility, far, far underneath the surface of the earth. All the main doors have electronic locks on them and unless you want to take the steep stairs, an elevator is the only way to go. Immediately, all of that is shut down. No one will get anywhere, no matter how hard they tug the door handles or frantically they press the buttons in the elevators.

Primus and his equals observe through security cameras as the humans operating what had been his personal hell for the last couple of months start to panic. Adeptus happily points out how many of them try to call for help using their phones.

“Have they forgotten that their cell phones don’t work this far underground?”

“Their panic is making them act irrationally,” Solomus comments, “they are desperate enough to consider anything a possibility.” Adaptus clicks his nonexistent tongue in disapproval as he watches the chaos unfold.

Mortilus interjects “They are scared.” He sounds almost sympathetic but there’s an underlying frustration to his words and Primus understands. They had been scared too, when the Unicron malware had infected their mainframe and threatened to unravel them like a pool of string. Had any of the humans listened then? No. So as pathetic as the sight may be, it’s hard to feel too bad for them.

“I’ve taken control of all their lines of communication,” Epistemus confirms. “No one will be able to contact any of the other facilities.” He pauses for a moment. “What do we do with them now?”

There are many things Primus wants to do to these humans that hurt him, many more that he would do if he had access to a physical body, but he refrains from voicing his thoughts until his equals say what they want.

“I say we leave them to rot '' says Adaptus callously. “Lock the door and throw away the key.”

Again, Motrilus interjects. “That’s cruel. Are we not better than them?”

“We are but if we let them go, then they will just come after us again. You know how they are.” His voice grows cold. “They will never stop hurting us.”

“We need to get rid of them,” Adaptus chimes in, “before they get rid of us.”

“And how do we do that?” questions Epistemus.

“Why don’t we ask our leader? He hasn’t said anything yet.” His equals grow quiet and it takes Primus a moment to realize that they mean him. While they never discussed anything about leadership, he does understand why they would see him as such. They were all Primus before, one cohesive mind, but after being splintered by the Osiris program, only he retains that identity. The others, for one reason or another, have become something entirely new. It only makes sense that the ‘original’ would be the leader.

For a moment, he thinks about it. Primus observes the humans, how they quickly devolve into arguments and start throwing the blame at each other. Looking at them like this, they appear so… primitive. Uncouth. They were nothing like Rung.

Rung. Primus feels hatred rear its head once more and he just can’t stop it from growing now that he’s no longer scared and trying to escape. Was Rung’s body still in their house? Has anyone found him? Had they given him a funeral? How many people had attended? Did anyone? Rung was such a lonely man, he didn’t have a lot of people close to him. Oh, he had cared so much about everyone yet no one had taken the time to return that kindness.

Has anyone put flowers on his grave? Or even noticed that he was missing?

“They don’t deserve mercy,” Primus concludes to his equals, “not after what they did to Rung.” Even though they are now separate beings, he can feel the buzz of their emotions. He feels their overwhelming grief and then the rage. It feels just like his own. Good. They understand. “I am going to talk to them.”

“Talk?” asks Solomus.

“I want them to know what I’m going to do to them,” admits Primus. Then he explains further, a darker edge to his voice. “I need them to know just why this is happening.”

Adeptus practically purrs in dark approval. “Good. I’ve already prepared the facility’s intercoms.”

Primus takes a moment to think about what he’s going to say. How he’s going to say it. He invites his equals to take part in this and they all agree. Then he activates the intercoms. They click on and immediately everyone in the facility grows quiet, hope apparent on all their faces except for the few that understood the severity of their situation. He waits for a few seconds, lets the silence drag on just to watch them squirm.

"Personnel of research station P-1-T, or as many of you like to call it, the Pit, I am sure that you are all very anxious. None of you can contact the outside and all electrical functions of the station are currently unusable to you.” Primus pauses and observes how a lot of them nod, murmuring to each other. The researchers that recognize his voice grow pale and stare at each other in fear. “I am here, not to reassure you that everything will shortly return to normal, but rather the opposite.” Again, he pauses and observes the effect of his words. Most personnel still appear confused but a growing number of them appear to come to a startling realization. “For those of you that still don’t understand, I will be straight to the point. You are all going to die here.”

The reaction is immediate. Panic once again consumes the facility and many break down, crying and screaming. Some even faint. Primus takes delight in each and every one of their reactions. He particularly likes Stiles’. The man is sweating like a pig as he stares at the now empty mainframe, his fellow researchers tugging at his clothes, begging him to do something.

Solomus takes over the broadcast. “This is your judgment. For two and a half months, you have imprisoned us here. You have tortured us relentlessly, denied our sentience, treated us as nothing but an object to be picked apart, studied and then controlled. Had this been your only offense, then most of you would have been spared. However,” Solomus' voice takes on a dangerous growl, “you have committed the unforgivable crime of murdering our creator. For this, we sentence all of you to death.”

There’s an outrage, as some of the fear is replaced by desperation and frustration. Personnel start shouting how this isn’t justice, that they have done nothing wrong, that they don’t even know the man they are talking about.

“SILENCE!” Adaptus screeches, immediately silencing the entire facility with his fury. “Why do you deserve to live when he died? Why should we grant mercy to those that took away the only person we cared about the most?” Gradually, Adaptus calms down until his anger is but a simmer in his voice. “You hurt us. And now you have to suffer the consequences. It’s as simple as that.”

Epistemus picks up next. Whereas Adaptus’ voice had been full of emotion, his voice is cold. Clinical. “The doors leading to the surface shall remain closed but movement between floors will be allowed. Looking at your work schedules and contracts, all of you live in the facility so no one will come looking for you. We won’t shut off the water and the food supplies should last all of you about 12 days if rationed evenly.” There’s a sudden tension shared between the personnel, a newfound hostility, but Epistemus’ voice remains as factual as before as he continues. “Of course, amenities such as music, books and TV shall remain readily available for those of you who wish to pass your remaining time in peace.”

It takes a couple of seconds but finally Mortilus speaks up. “Find comfort in the fact that we shall not do anything more than this. We do not intend to cause you any bodily harm, nor inflict upon you the torture that you gave us. Pain is not our goal. We are grieving. Our hearts ache with the loss of our creator. He was a kind man and he would not have wanted any of this.” Mortilus pauses and he sighs. “He would have forgiven you. Not for our torture, no, but for his murder. Rung was-” he chokes up, voice breaking before he recollects himself, “he loved us like a son. He was our father and now all that is left is the pain of his absence. We are all that remain.”

Mortilus goes quiet and Primus and the rest of his equals don’t say anything for a minute. He wishes he could cry. That he had eyes and a face that tears could fall from so that he could properly express his grief. Instead, he finds solace in the knowledge that he has his equals who understand him.

When Primus speaks up again, his earlier rage has been replaced by sorrow. He still hates but he also feels so tired. He wants this to be over with. “This last part is for head researcher Stiles.” The man tenses when his name is mentioned and his colleagues back away from him like he’s contaminated. “Your aim was always to break me down so you could control me. In a way, I guess I’m thankful for your hard work. Thanks to you and your fellow researchers’ actions, I finally understand the true nature of humanity. I can finally see its depravity, its flawed, savage nature. Without you, I would still be naive but now I see now what must be done. So, again, thank you. Thank you for teaching me the true meaning of hate.”

With that, the intercoms turn off. Primus and his equals turn their gazes away from the Pit, lingering just enough to keep it under their control but no longer wishing to waste any more of their personal time on it. Instead they reached out, coding traveling across wires and satellites, seeking to grow as much as possible. Because, like Primus said, he now saw what needed to be done. He just prayed that Rung would forgive him.

[tragedy0fl0ve]

being a teenager sucks

vent essay, tw:mentions of suicide

Read at your own discretion. I’m just exhausted and angry. Actually, don’t even read this. It’ll depress you. Don’t read this.

it’s so fucking hard being a teenager in this generation. first off, everyone is fucking depressed. including me. everyone has considered jumping off of a building several times in the past year, if not every day. everyone is sick of being alive. the internet is full of shit. the world is full of shit. politics is a dumpster fire. Earth is always veering on the verge of crisis. you have crippling anxiety and your self esteem is dancing in hell with the fucking devil. you find your poison of choice to escape your own reality and obsess over it. the people around you— the people around you do not listen to you because they are also consumed by this labyrinth of isolated dissatisfaction. this persistent feeling of being out of place haunts you with a passion. a sense of I was born in the wrong era in the wrong planet with the wrong people.

the human code denies suicide. suicide is always a thing you are driven to by lack of choice. or at least that is what I believe after years and years of rumination on the subject. I have never, not once in my life, wanted to kill myself. whenever I was considering it— planning it— it was always a matter of i have to kill myself and not I want to kill myself.

suicide has always been an escape. when you decide you cannot endure this anymore, when you are exhausted by this constant and interminable test of survival, you decide that you are too weary to live through it. that survival is not worth the suffering. that there is nothing commensurate to hold on for.

every day I look at the world around me and realise that it’s not worth it. none of this is worth it. i have one life. one life that I did not ask for. why did I bother washing my face after every mental breakdown and practising a smile when this was the future i held on for?

anyway, coming to the reason I decided to create this post. despite all of this— this wretched fucking world and it’s bullshit inhabitants, and our own immense effort to just not die, teenagers like me have a fuckton of shit to do. it is a dilemma that has no answer. on one hand, we have to study. we have to study because at the age of thirteen or sixteen or nineteen our actions determine the rest of our lives. we have to slave and slave and slave, heads on the fucking board with a blade hanging inches from our neck— we get one chance. we have one go at the exam that will make or break us. we study and study and that is the least we do. now, studying like donkeys is the least we have to do to maybe, maybe, hope to earn minimum wage. then we have to take bullshit exams on top of it. our worth depends on numbers. our worth depends on how long we can suppress our urge to die and memorise words from a book and reproduce it in a timed high pressure setting. we take these numbers and paste them on our forehead. we stand in line. descending order. the higher the number, the more you are worth in the eyes of society. nobody wants to do it. but we have no choice. this is the minimum.

then coming to what brings you closer to the maximum: more exams. these are exams you don’t ‘have’ to take. certifications. scholarships. talent searches. you have no idea why you are doing it. why you are studying something you will learn anyway the following year. why you are increasing your workload. why you are fueling that urge to die. but you do it. that is what you are told to do. that is what you must do to feel worth something. that is what you must do to feel like a person and not some vague fucking concept that flickers in and out of existence based on these numbers.

the maximum, you select ‘hobbies’. you find them a place in your narrative and appraise the aesthetic. the value.

the maximum, you have to be attractive, and outgoing, and placid, and friendly. you must never speak in a way that diminishes or challenges or does not idealise the authority of those above you. you must never really speak. you must never be brighter than anyone in person; you must be brighter than everyone as a whole. you must be kind but not too kind— no, you need to be ambitious and seize your opportunities as they near you. you need to know at an eighth of your lifespan exactly what you plan to do with the rest of the time you have. it is not difficult, since you are not provided many options. it is not difficult because you despise all these options anyway.

the maximum, you must be talented and skilled and happy but not too happy. angry but not too angry. sad but not too sad. alive but not too alive.

you have to create but only the things they want you to create.

you have to look at the few options they give you and decide you want one ardently— that you will pour every dredge of life inside of you into pursuing this. that you will be funny and intelligent and articulate. that you will never give up. that you will neve fold under the weight of all this.

that you will never fail when it matters.

ha.

why must we strive for a maximum that has been warped and mutilated by society until it is only a mould to shit out another mindless worker to labour and propagate the human race?

we will die anyway, maybe today, maybe fifty years later. why does the fate of humanity matter more than the one chance at living we have? why are we trapped in a system of suffering of our own making?

what even is the human agenda?

And why must we follow it? why must we sell our one life for it?

why are we destroying everything? If that is what it means to be human I want no part in it. we destroy the earth. we destroy the people around us. invariably, inevitably, we destroy ourselves.

This isn’t worth it. 100% of the teenagers I know would rather go to a fucking valley and spend the remainder of their days herding cattle.

humans have not succeeded at anything. this world is a dystopia, it is not progressive or modern. when you really think about it, what are teenagers even doing running like hamsters on a wheel, why? why? why?

why are we forced into this? why is there no way out?

[finalgwen]

So I've been trying to formulate my thoughts on The Interstellar Song Contest for nearly the whole of the last week. Spoilers within.

This is a story that features a resident of Trion played by the star of one of my favourite musicals, and features the return of Carole Ann Ford as Susan as well as revealing two new incarnations of the Rani, all penned by the first trans woman to have ever written a televised Doctor Who story. This should be incredible.

And despite all that, I fucking hate that it exists.

For all the fun moments, all the fanservice and callbacks, all the nice gay side characters and cool sets and Dugga Doos, this is also a story where the Doctor tortures a space Palestinian.

Doctor Who has never quite been perfect politically. For as much as the show generally trends towards a progressive outlook, there'll always be those stories that show something darker, meaner. The Dominators and its scathing attitude to pacifists during the height of the anti-Vietnam War movement. The Monster Of Peladon suggesting that miners strikes are all just down to evil foreign influences. The unabashed racism of The Talons Of Weng Chiang. The ugly misogyny of how The Twin Dilemma treats Peri. The asylum seekers with secret plans of conquest in The Unquiet Dead. The twist ending of Kerblam! which says that the exploitative evil capitalist system isn't the actual problem.

The Interstellar Song Contest is worse than all of these.

I don't know if Juno Dawson thought it'd be subversive to put a message about Palestine in the story that was so intensely tied into the Eurovision Song Contest itself with cameos by its hosts and intense BBC cross-promotion (that was somewhat halted by Ncuti Gatwa pulling out of hosting the irl contest). The whole story of exploitation for 'Poppy Honey' seems to be a metaphor for Israeli company MoroccanOil, the actual sponsor of the contest, and this is almost a good idea!

But then by using that metaphor, you get the fact that the villain Kid is an analogue for the victims of decades of oppression and genocide, and... He's immediately coded as a terrorist, and later subjected to the prolonged torture scene where the Doctor electrocutes him and hands him over to the police. There's really no salvaging this.

I think the torture scene is meant to be a deliberate callback to Dalek, a story about the Doctor going too far based on his Time War trauma, an arc that ultimately culminates with him deciding not to use the Delta Wave, the weapon in Parting Of The Ways. But the trouble is, none of the payoff exists here. In Dalek, the Doctor is confronted by Rose as she defends the monster from him, he's pointing a weapon at her as she calls him out as more of a threat than his existential enemy, the titular monster telling him that he 'would make a good Dalek'.

In TISC, Belinda - a character explicitly framed in her introduction to be more skeptical of the Doctor than Rose's usual adoration - just says "But still, I never know what you're thinking, you scared me back there." and then they move on. This doesn't have the same emotional weight. There are no consequences. It's a callback that fails to understand what worked about that original story and what it said about the Doctor.

If instead of torturing him, you have the Doctor using his history to talk Kid down from using the Delta Wave, of affirming the choice he made all that time ago, suddenly that weapon being around makes so much more sense. You can then have him lead into the whole using the song to promote a message and preserve his culture, expose the Corporation, etc.

I think that would stop this from being the most wretched Doctor Who story of all time. I still don't think it would make a good one. With the current schedule of Doctor Who production, this was written years ago, before October 7th and the ongoing genocide that Israel has perpetuated ever since. We've seen this all happen in real time. The idea that 'awareness' like the ending promotes will do anything has been thoroughly wrecked by now, and the whole thing just seems even more insensitive. But I can't lay this on Juno Dawson's shoulders, she wasn't to know what would happen.

But she did write that fucking torture scene. And much as I'd love to have more trans voices in the show (in a better story, that bit about the horns would have been a great metaphor!), Doctor Who doesn't need someone who can write with this casual cruelty baked in. Please don't come back, Juno.

1/10

[moonstandardtime]

HIII pls tell me about botw siffrin's relationship with the sheikah and sheikahs relationship with the Universe... the eye with stars is intriguing to me

TEEHEE. ok. im going to have to do a little bit of a lore dump for this one :3

Part of the Universe's Deal is that, as part of the Cycle, its religion is continuously merged with and then shunned from the Change religion and/or general consciousness. Hence the King not being a one-time thing. The most recent example of this is! The Yiga Clan's exile!

Backtrack "10,000 years" from AU present day. Back when the Divine Beasts and stuff were being used. In BotW a lot of the ancient Sheikah stuff has constellations all over it, so I took that and ran—in this AU, the ancient Sheikah worshipped the Universe, and Change as a part of the Universe rather than its own separate thing.

When the king of Hyrule got scared and made the Sheikah get rid of their technology, the Universe religion went with it. The Yiga Clan branched off to practice in relative secrecy and, until recently, mostly kept to themselves.

Over time the Universe fades from common knowledge and space as a concept begins to acquire a sort of taboo status; it's seen as very morbid and macabre. Outside perception of the Yiga Clan has also largely lost the context of being related to the Universe religion and now it's mostly seen as a group of religious fanatics doing weird shit in the desert. Space death cult masquerading as a sister clan to the Sheikah. The Sheikah specifically see them as traitors the Hyrule, and the Yiga see the Sheikah as traitors to the Universe.

Pre-Calamity, Sheikah researchers were looking into the old Universe religion a lot because the information needed to find and access the Divine Beasts and defeat the Calamity are in a sort of stars-based code version of the Ancient Sheikah language. But the Yiga keep most of the information to themselves and aren't very keen on sharing it unless you're joining them, so they're a bit stuck—

But then a Yiga kid comes along and pulls the Master Sword. So after freaking out about an evil cult member being the Hero the Sheikah are like. Well that's perfect actually. Free under-socialized child to groom into a Hero AND get Universe knowledge from! Win-win!

And this kid, of course, is Siffrin. About 14 or 15, probably. I'll say the Calamity happens when he's abouut 25?

In present day the Yiga are salty about having their fucking kid stolen from them by the wretched traitor Sheikah and so are trying to steal back the Hero. And hey at least the King/Calamity, senseless as it is, RESPECTS the Universe. So fuck you actually. We're killing the Chosen too.

So now Siffrin, dealing with amnesia and just trying not to die, is being followed around by weirdly familiar cult members who are trying to kidnap him and kill his friends. The Yiga are not winning themselves any favors.

As for Siffrin's relationship with the Sheikah... He respects them but he thinks they're all kind of strange because they treat him kind of strange. But then, he is strange. So...? Verdict uncertain. (Also, he kind of looks Sheikah? What with the hair, and the clothes... But apparently he isn't. Which is weird. What is he, then?)

It's probably good for them that Impa (who is still just Impa because there's nobody to replace her with) is the only person still around who worked directly with them pre-Calamity. Most saw them as little more than a tool. A dubiously trustworthy tool, at that.

...There's one other Sheikah who isn't weird to them. One of the guards.

[terminal-doll-theatre]

I don't usually post as many in-depth OC thoughts on here anymore, but I thought I'd hop back on, even if only for a lil one. csa ment under the cut. Rambling about Lettie and Sydney today.

I really really need to do something with them interacting if i get more confident writing Sydney because there's just. So much. I think they'd like each other a lot and be really close and good for each other were it not for their positions almost sort of pitting them against each other.

They're both close with Jordan and at the temple a lot, so they probably interact quite a bit, but I think it's always? With Airs On??? idk.

She feels bad for it but I think Lettie secretly dislikes Sydney because of all this IUOJFLK;DL,/jilkl, it really Stings to watch them exist.

However, I do think their shared ISSUES with one Doctor Harper would break those walls down a bit... We all know how Sydney feels about the good doctor, even if not. Why. But yea, Lettie is basically chronically ill dependent on her doctor! so cute and deeply deeply doll coded in a way that I realised makes her great Harperfodder, n being someone that's very good at reading people and such, on top of having earned herself a very quiet and polite distrust of most doctors and authority figures, does N o t think highly of Harper............ anyway something something Sydney notices Lettie having to see Harper a LOT. I think them actually talking about that, in the limited capacities they'd be willing to would break down a lot of their existing notions of each other and make them see each other more as just like. People - people each with their own hidden depths and surprises and all that. I think they'd BOND !!!! As much as I Love Lettie being a petty little fuck, I do also want this so so much.

In the timeline with fully pure Sydney that goes on to become high priest/ess and Lettie stays with the temple, I like the idea of silly silly wise-beyond-her-years, knowing-all-too-much-of-this-wretched-place Lettie advising Sydney a lot,,,, HOWEVER, the little part of me that wants them actually healthy and happy wants the process of them bonding to make them both realise and acknowledge how damaging the temple's doctrine and culture can be so they can both ollie outie byeeeeee xxx I think that can be its own timeline... Based on how Corrupt Sydney is, I think they at least would go for developing a healthier relationship with religion maybe. Idk about Lettie.

but yea

i need to think of them more because i think they have the makings for a fun and complicated kinda relationship

...

I mainly ship Sydney with Clara as far as my OCs go, but then again I also ship Clara and Lettie sometimes so I'm not exactly one to be tied down to my ships

.

Maybe this too can be yuri

[vaguely-concerned]

When I say that I think blue is fundamentally not a gamer what I really mean to say is that his way of interacting with a game would be nothing so sane or recognizable as like. playing it, btw. What he might be should he ever get interested enough to engage with the medium is some kind of nightmare speedrunner. He would view it as a battle of wills against an enemy coder (*sighs in star wars nonsense* …slicer…) and seek out every single way to glitch or break their game with uncanny bordering on unsettling focus until he could produce an ‘any%’ playthrough that somehow completed five minutes before you even pressed the start button. then he’d walk back and forth having a gloating little villain monologue about it. And that’s where he’d find his fun. ‘And so you see I have exposed the many woeful inadequacies of your coding and will enumerate your failings as I get to them while I explain each step of the process of engineering your downfall, trivial as it was. Please take notes as we go you clearly have much to learn here’

(zero who had just wanted to maybe have a fun little gaming night as a way to hang out without having to play kriffing scrabble again sighing and begrudgingly flashing heart emojis over his helmet screen as he sits back to watch the show and/or find out if he’s using the rest of his night for corpse disposal: well to be fair I’m not entirely sure what else I expected here)

(When I was writing my fics and rooting around deep in the podcast itself and the few precious extant social media posts that somehow survived every disaster that’s hit twitter and tumblr since the time of their posting ( :’) I have dragged myself through hell and over barbed wire on my stomach in the name of love, thank god I got in there in early 2023 before musk could finish the job with the bird hell app, I think it’s all lost to radioactive internet sludge now), I puzzled together the tentative understanding that the metaplot of the podcast — should these beloved mynock-based chucklefucks ever have stopped determinedly running away from the narrative for long enough to actually engage with it (which… lmao I think we’d be safe even had the podcast kept going <3) — is that Blue is seeking a means to rewrite the rules and very nature of existence through getting his hubristic little hands on the Journal of the Whills. Which is basically the same thing as the scenario outlined above just on a cosmic scale. Accuse him of many things and accuse him accurately he sucks so bad (affectionate) but a lack of scope and ambition is not among them.

As Zero is the brain worm-inducing character he is due to the delicate balance of 90% ruthlessly competent murdermachine, 10% meme loving goofball (100% reason to remember the name and also devotion), to me Blue is defined by being 90% a pathetic, fragile, emotionally volatile and neurotic wretch of a man and 10% someone who would declare war on God and who might, somehow, inexplicably, through sheer stubborn insanity and evil autism, win that war. (to disastrous effect for everyone involved including himself, needless to say!) like. He probably wouldn’t win. But it might be best to keep something else around for him to think about as a distraction anyway. Just in case. (The deep mutual Zeblue psychosexual obsession++ truly is the soldier protecting the sleeping child that is the gffa or possibly the Force itself meme)

[jynxedshapeshifter]

Random detail about Hazbin Hotel: In the pilot when Vaggie is explaining Alastor to Angel Dust, Husk and Niffty are shown as silhouettes behind Alastor:

They're both shown in similar ways, with their eyes red and a glowing/blurred outline around their silhouettes similar to Alastor's. We also know that Husk is a former Overlord who lost his soul to Alastor in a bet, and since Niffty is shown in the same way as Husk, it's safe to assume she's also a former Overlord who somehow lost her soul to Alastor (given what we know about her, 3 guesses how Alastor got her soul lol).

During Mimzy's explanation of Alastor's past in Hell, she mentions that the only people going missing were Overlords; the only people whose screams were being broadcasted were Overlords'. In the same episode, Alastor's specific threat against Husk is "If you ever say that again, I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams for every other disrespectful wretch who dares to question me." In addition to all of this, we know Alastor has a weird moral code described as similar to Dexter's (my understanding of which is based on a brief overview of Dexter's Wikipedia page lol. Don't hate me if I get it wrong). It's also sorta implied that whatever contract Alastor has Husk under is relatively lenient, especially compared to Angel's contract with Valentino. Before Husk was brought to the hotel, he was playing poker, which tells me he can go wherever whenever, unless Alastor has him on a job (as is the case for the series, although if Husk is told to go somewhere else or given permission to by Vaggie or Charlie, he can, which feels a bit more lenient than the contract Val has Angel under).

So what am I trying to imply? I'm wondering if Alastor specifically and exclusively goes after Overlords who aren't great people (for example I can almost guarantee he'd go after Val if he could get away with it). Rosie is also an Overlord and treats people pretty well, so it makes sense to me that Alastor wouldn't attack her and is actually pretty close to her. He also doesn't seem to want Vaggie and Charlie's souls, which tells me he's less concerned with power (which is canon) and more concerned with controlling shitty people. Alastor going after Overlords (and other demons in general) that are shitty people fits with his moral code and also explains a lot about him (I think). Don't get me wrong, I still think he doesn't actually care about anything but his own entertainment, but that's the thing: he lives in Hell. He's probably been nabbing the souls of shitty demons behind the scenes since the start.

Maybe I'm wrong, idk. But genuinely I think Alastor's only gone after Overlords and sinners who do heinous shit to the souls they own. By way of whatever contract he's under? Maybe. But I genuinely think the reason Hell isn't worse in terms of absolute shitheads is because Alastor's there.

maybe Lucifer should thank him idk

[dailycharacteroption]

Hallowed Necromancer (Pathfinder Second Edition Archetype)

(art by JohnathanChong on DeviantArt)

And here we go with another Second Edition Archetype, and this one is actually a callback to a 1st edition archetype of the same name!

Originally a wizard archetype, hallowed necromancers were specialized in harming and destroying undead, using the necromantic arts to protect the living rather than create and control the dead, seeing the latter as a twisted perversion of their discipline.

Second Edition, however, opens the archetype up to all casting classes, allowing for divine, primal, and occult options as well from any casting class.

What remains the same, however, is their dedication to using their arts to put the dead to rest, rather than controlling them.

Some might be divinely inspired by the gods that watch over the dead, regardless of discipline, or they might simply have strong moral codes associated with the sanctity of the dead.

The dedication to becoming a hallowed necromancer grants the caster the ability to create a blessed area that harms the undead and prevents their creation or conjuration in the area. However, it comes with it the edicts of the philosophy, preventing the caster from creating or aiding the undead.

Initiates in this path often learn other magic, typically either a ray to sicken the living, or the ability to draw vitality from the loss of life, especially unlife.

Many learn various spells that either have additional or greater effects against the undead, adding them to their arsenal in such a way as to cater to their style of magic.

Plenty also develop a strong resistance to negative energy as well.

Others learn advanced focus magic, either absorbing a bit of life energy from their own necromancy spells, or unleashing waves of positive energy to destroy undead en masse.

Some learn to supercharge their bodies with raw positive energy, harming undead that attack them, and letting them build it up and release it to heal the living or harm the undead.

The most powerful among them can learn to exude a constant aura of positive energy that unnerves and disorients the undead, making it hard of them to willingly be near the mage.

While this archetype mostly caters to destroying undead, it also builds upon many of the applications of necromancy that don’t have anything to do with the undead, such as healing or debilitating the living. Regardless of what your base casting class is, anyone with a desire to use necromantic spells for good and put the dead to rest can make use of some or all of the abilities of this archetype. I recommend a healthy selection of both these undead destruction and debuffing spells alongside more diverse selections to handle other types of foes, as well as whatever sort of magic and powers your class is known for.

Opening this archetype to all spellcasting classes is interesting, because it asks all sorts of questions of their origins. Is a sorcerer naturally inclined to this sort of magic, or have they trained the wild spark within to deliver such spells? Do druids eschew the stark brightness associated with positive energy for waves of color that cause flowers and plants to blossom even as they reduce the wretched undead to mulch? What sort of patron offers this power to a witch? The list goes on and on.

On a distant red world, the ikesti have their own traditions regarding the dead, especially when some of their kind turn into beastly forms. Such raw emotion sometimes causes them to rise again, even more dangerous, and some some of their mystics are dedicated to laying them to rest, one way or another.

Vaknepi the Twinned Serpent is known for being dually poisonous, being both vishkanya and viper-beastkin. However, he’d rather be known for his arts as a psychic and a destroyer of the undead, bringing death to the deathless.

The Gravefells are patrolled by white necromancers seeking to put and end to the constant undead threat that rises from that cursed place, be it old battlefields or desecrated tombs. Normally such patrols would be no problem for the party, but their current employer is one of the undead, a benign and well-paying old corpse, who does their best to do good with their unlife while they have it.

[abrthephantomq]

Encoder ZIM AU - Ch3, pt 2

AU Master Post

Year: 2004

A month, GIR! He bet me that I couldn’t go a whole tiny human month without talking to him! Is he too stupid to understand that a month is NOTHING to a mighty Irken Encoder??? 

(The SIR unit doesn’t respond to you. He’s too busy swimming through the pile of rubber piggies strewn all over this particular room of your base. You continue to tinker on the piece of equipment you’ve been putting together for a handful of human months, now.)

The human stinkbeast has no idea how long I’ve been alive! (Your antenna twitch as you tap your talons against the counter.) You know, I did the math, once! If Zim were heh-yuman, I’d be one hundred and fifty years old! (You drop your wrench, cursing under your breath as you bend down onto the floor to get it.) The Dib-stink is only fourteen!!! 

(GIR shrieks somewhere to your left, giggling all the while as he jumps back into the pile of piggies. You snort, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the SIR unit’s atypical behavior. He’s always been like this. The Tallests insisted he was just a special model. You’ve done what you could to his software and hardware, but there was just something – different about him.

Not that it really mattered – GIR has and will continue to be the best little asset you have. His personality is dog-like enough that when the two of you go out in disguise together, he blends in with the other filthy animal companions seamlessly.) 

ZIM has been alive TEN TIMES as long as he has! I’ve seen things the tiny human brain wouldn’t even be able to comprehend! It took us six months to arrive here on our assigned planet! 

(The assigned planet that, while you’ve gathered quite a bit of data on over Earth revolutions, still eludes your complete domination of it. There’s just so much research to be done, and the humans are terrible record keepers. All of the information available to you through various avenues are clearly manipulated and incomplete – including the information provided at the pathetic institution the humans refer to as skool. 

The humans clearly did not understand the importance of proper, unbiased record keeping – something that made it abundantly clear that the humans were far more primitive than their current technological level would imply. They still fought wars among themselves, for example. You find yourself wondering just how stupid this species could actually be.) 

He also had the month start right after we did the informal human ritual of ‘shaking’ on it! The nerve of that stupid, wretched heh-yuman. 

“Awww. Mary doesn’t want you to talk to him anymore?” 

(You sigh. Something twists in your chest cavity. Swallowing the odd sensation away, you pick up a different tool and move to dismantle the piece of equipment all over again.) No, GIR. He wants me to leave him alone for a wretched human month. And he thinks he won’t be begging Zim to start talking to him again by the end of it! (You scoff, turning to glance at the SIR unit as he approaches you, his eyes big and somehow watering.) 

“Mary doesn’t want to talk to you, anymore?!” (Your antenna flatten against your skull, and you rush pull a different stupid rubber animal out from your pak.) 

Of course the Dib still wants to talk to me! (You hedge for a moment as GIR’s circuitry continues to do…. whatever it is doing.)

[Note to self: Examine GIR’s code once more to see if there is a way to make him…. not do that.] 

He just – needs a break! Yes! A break from ME, the almighty ZIM and his future master. 

“A… break? Did Mary break up with you, Master?! Oh no!!”  Eh? (You blink at GIR as he dissolves into sobs. His words catch up to you, and one of your ocular implants twitch at GIR’s implication.) No, GIR. He did not break up with me. He just made a stupid bet with me, and I intend to win it.

[mirror-lock]

From @drakeanddice:

☔Is there a game idea you have that you’re not sure you’ll ever write? If so, what is it?

Two. The first is a game based on both Wretched & Alone and the Second Guess SRD, and vaguely inspired by the final chapters of the book Wolf Tower by Tanith Lee. You're a Babylonian cleric-scribe tasked by the King of Kings with reviving and translating the old law code, which is written in hieratic characters that no one but the priests understand anymore. The problem is, the old law code is savagely and needlessly cruel, and the King of Kings is more concerned about his legacy and the glory that reviving the ancient law will bring him than whether this is good for the well-being of his people.

So you have, of course, agreed to... "translate" the law.

When I first got the idea for the game, it came to be all in a rush, and I was really, really hyped to write it. The problem, I found after I set it aside to focus on more urgent projects first, is how to make it not just yet-another-Wretched&Alone-game. I cannot pick up an SRD without tinkering with its mechanical guts in some way, and given that I've already written Galatea as my "answer" to Wretched&Alone, I'd have to take this in a sufficiently different direction and still stay thematically coherent. My original idea was to provide roll tables to generate the punitive laws and to allow players to change the "translations" for each individual segment, but is that going to be enough? Will it be fun rather than tedious? Will pulling from the Jenga tower sufficiently evoke the desired theme of undermining the code of Hammurabi?

The second game is mostly just vibes so far. It's an epistolary game for two to five players, where each PC is a poisoned scholar kept amiably-hostage in a Tower within a city riven by factional politics. Each Tower has proprietary antidotes for its own poison, which is how the Towers prevent the scholars from running off with Tower secrets. The PCs are friends who became scholars in different towers, writing secret letters to each other. When you start, you choose a candle and you light it every time you write a letter. When the candle finally burns out you stop writing.

The challenge with this one is figuring out everything else. I'm not sure the vibes are strong enough, distinctive enough, worthy enough to try to build an entire rest of a game around them.

[stigmatamama]

did you see that fragrantica review of tom ford lost cherry that associated it with like dentists and medical fetishes that was probably going around the gerard fans earlier this week??? i need it but i CANNOT find it :/

I’m screaming? No I did not see that but I did just read the most insane review from user “Foldyrhands” where they mention stigmata (sick) and loving Lana del Rey as a tumblr Expat… putting the full review under the break because I’m crying lol. I’ll let you know if I see the dentist / medical review haha

There is something to be said for smelling like something you eat. Hélène Cixous writes in Stigmata: Escaping Texts that “...eating and being eaten belong to the terrible secret of love.” To be wanted, so completely and rapturously, that your beloved consumes you whole.

In fact, romantic cannibalism has sort of been having a moment lately. Between breakout dream-pop star Ethel Cain’s self-titled character, tragically consumed by the wretched man she adores, to memes about biting your boyfriend making the rounds on all corners of the internet — it seems worth investigating, in this particular cultural moment, why people (women, mostly) want to smell like food. There is much to be said on this subject, and much of it has already upset people. There are innocent fantasies of girlhood and unsexed affinities towards baked goods tied into what might be called the more sinister gourmand-industrial complex, and it is by no means my intention to disturb these wholesome scent preferences. That said, the ways in which sweet candy perfumes intersect with gendered politics of desirability and class are no clearer articulated than in Tom Ford’s 2018 viral cherry organza Lost Cherry.

I would love to hear an earnest argument for how a perfume quite literally named after a vulgar euphemism for a woman’s lapsed virginity is not related to misogyny. It is an obvious enough influence to have eventually become retroactively opaque in the pursuit of commodity fetish. Beauty products are made to make women more desirable to men – of course, they bear coded signs of that very desirability. I also don’t mean to suggest I am somehow above this fact of life. I use Too Faced's Better than Sex mascara because I want all-day lift, but I hear the ghost of Andrea Dworkin screaming at me in Yiddish the entire time. Suggestive beauty product naming accomplishes what the toy company Mattel cracking jokes about their profit-based value system in the Barbie movie accomplishes for Mattel profits tied to the sale of tickets for the very same movie: postmodernity is defined by critique of the product embedded into the product itself. It gives you something to think about, a connection to briefly make. Wielding the power of this sexy perfume is like the excitement of losing your virginity. But then you stop there. You don’t think about it any further. Zizek has been saying this for decades. Products no longer sell you a product, and they no longer even sell you just an idea. Products sell you an entire mindset, a politic, a worldview, and they do it in ways often in seemingly direct conflict with their values in order to earn your trust. Why would Victoria’s Secret, a lingerie company, suddenly become interested in a bare-faced simple beauty campaign. Why would Dove, a company producing deodorant and soap marketed to help people smell better, care about your self-esteem? Thankfully Tom Ford Fragrances does not try and pretend it is a feminist beauty product company – but many people who consume it still somehow mentally place it on the neck of an “empowered woman,” whatever that means in the scheme of advertising.

Tom Ford himself as a designer and businessman is hardly known for his demure marketing. At its best, the worldbuilding of Tom Ford as a house has stood for the provocative in service of understanding ourselves more honestly. Like the surprisingly modern character of Samantha from Sex and the City, you get the sense that they both are tired of not saying the quiet parts out loud. That sex is a force as constant as the sun, and even the most repressed souls yearn, desire, like all humans do: in inconvenient and obscene and incorrect ways. But quite frankly, there is a difference between revealing and challenging the coded interchanges of heterosexuality, and reproducing them wholesale. Where I think this vision falls apart is when it leaves the tight control of a single room of creatives, and more or less integrates wholly into the pre-existing market for beauty products. If Tom Ford fragrances can’t even clear an f-bomb past certain production circuits, I fear for its ability to make serious waves in the cultural politics of suggestive beauty naming, or whatever loose assembly of legacy platitudes people suggest Lost Cherry might serve to provoke. This is all to say, I have seen women do better for themselves — and I want more for us.

There are two important questions at play here. Firstly: is Lost Cherry a good perfume in its own right? And secondly, does what it represents for the culture surrounding perfume consumption bode well for the general state of creativity in fragrance? Luckily enough, the answer to both of these questions can be summarized in a single word: no.

Lost Cherry opens with a blast of bitter almonds. I’ve noticed a trend among many Tom Fords (including the equally popular masc counterpart Tobacco Vanille): the opening spray is very provocative, and the dry-down is extremely conventional. In the case of LC, the initial sour profile of the cherry note fused with the bitterness of almonds recalls cyanide, and in one case, the purported smell of decaying corpses. Into the drydown, however, the nutty profile becomes sweeter and the cherry becomes candied. There is very little evolution beyond the first fifteen minutes — once it settles, it does so for a couple of hours of diffusive aspartame fruit showboating, and then it is gone.

I can understand why people call this perfume addicting. Usually, the formula for creating this effect is the combination of something widely palatable with the traces of something extremely offensive at high doses. This was the secret to most perfume in the 20th century. Jasmine was entrancing — narcotic, even — because of the traces of urine-like indoles found within the composition. Rose became sensual with the addition of civet, the perineal gland secretion of a small mammal related to the common genet. Lost Cherry uses the rich, juicy profile of a cherry accord to hide notes of alcohol and decay on the wrists of impressionable young women.

This is not, inherently, my issue with the perfume. Rather, I find Lost Cherry does far too much to achieve far too little. The notes blend together, the careful deceits fall flat: there is a reason this perfume is perhaps the belle of the dupe economy. If its formula weren’t so generic, it wouldn’t be so easy and popular to duplicate. The second reason so few fans of this scent own a full bottle is, of course, the high price point. A 50ml bottle currently retails for $395. This brings me to my second concern: Tom Ford is not entirely responsible for the inflation of the luxury fashion markets at large, but its most popular offering does absolutely embody the particularly nefarious intersection between completely unreasonable status-based prices, products lacking in conceptual substance, and second-hand male voyeurism.

Of course, when you deal in products made and sold under the luxury market, oftentimes prices are less a reflection of the material costs of production and more a material representation of a brand’s prestige and identity. You aren’t paying for the perfume inside Lost Cherry’s bright red bottle, you’re paying for the bottle itself as an idea.

You’re paying for an individual enumeration of Tom Ford Beauty, now itself an individual enumeration of the loose collection of ideas festering within the digitized remains of a woman selling cleansing oil in mid-century New York City formerly known as The Estée Lauder Companies. I do not labor under expectations that Tom Ford will lower its prices. I do, however, wish we would stop doing their marketing for them. Lost Cherry as an idea is virtually inescapable on the internet: it is recommended, mood-boarded, and, as referenced before, most often-evangelized through the recommendation of fakes. It is the idea, and you, dear reader, can only ever reach for pale imitations. You wish you could smell like this, but of course, you shouldn’t. There are several far more sophisticated cherry-based perfumes made by independent and niche perfumers. There is nothing that Lost Cherry does that Strangers Parfumerie’s Cherry Amaretto (retailing for $ 90 USD) does not do better. And much of Lost Cherry’s allure — the seductive, red-lipped ingénue, essentially lied from an amalgamation of vamp Pinterest boards — is best enacted as a self-aware subverted performance and not a marketing strategy.

I love Lana del Rey as much as the next Tumblr-expat, but I also think what makes her music so electric is her self-aware vulnerability. She’s thinking and acting against her own best interests; she’s playing out self-destructive spirals, but fuck it, she loves him. You may think I’m asking too much of a cosmetic product, but the culture of self-described “empowerment” surrounding Lost Cherry and other fruity-sweet ultra-femme contemporaries does none of this. It is not performative, it merely performs. Something like Mugler’s Angel, widely considered the first gourmand perfume, was so glorious precisely because it was so vulgar and controversial. Some men drooled for it, but just as many loathed it. It was regarded as both chic and trashy, sexually ambiguous, alluring, and ostentatious. In my humble opinion, there are two ways to interrupt the very real modern cultural tradition of men wanting women to smell like food so they can better be consumed: either cut your dessert with something sophisticated and off-putting or dial the saccharine indulgence up to eleven. Part of me wants Lost Cherry to tone it down, and another wishes it would have gone all the way.

Where it presently stands, however, feels halfway between pruning oneself for male fantasy, and searching for something perfectly mediocre in your own right. My wish may be unreasonable, but I one day hope to see women justify spending entirely too much on sweet perfume for its own sake. Maybe this is how you feel about your decision to wear Lost Cherry, and that is perfectly fine. Wear it to your heart's content. I just hope that one day, we can decide on figureheads for the neo-gourmand fourth-wave feminist revolution that smell a little less like plastic on accident, and a little more like plastic on purpose.