baelpenrose

[baelpenrose]

Hmmm....

Atheism is so cringe and it's culturally christian, just because you were hurt by religion doesn't mean you should take it out on all religious people! Also, not every religious person is like those evangelicals who hurt you, silly! You need to get over it and stop being racist, obviously only angry white men in basements are atheists! And clearly, no one is actually an atheist, people never actually leave the religions they were born in, some people are just angry." ^^^Increasingly average take on atheists on this site. Oddly, shockingly similar to Christian talking points about atheists, but with Social Justice paint. "OOOHHHH my GOD paganism and spirituality are so CRINGE! They're just a bunch of white girls who think shiny rocks and candles make them SPECIAL and believe in astrology! Astrology is just skull measuring for gay people! Don't you know that all that shit is just racist and that trying to rediscover any ancient practice that white people ever did is super racist and that those communities are full of cultural appropriators and nazis?" ^^^Increasingly common take about pagans on this site. Oddly, shockingly similar to Christian talking points about Pagans, but with social justice paint using 'racist' instead of 'fake'. "Oh you can't be that mean to MAINSTREAM religions with ACTUAL POWER TO LEGISLATE AND FUCK WITH YOU INCLUDING THE ONES DOING IT RIGHT NOW, that's mean to all the poor, marginalized folx who believe in them for good, social-justice approved reasons, you fucking racist. And what about all the queer people who ignore the fact that the holy scriptures of most major world religions ACTIVELY FUCKING HATE THEM and decide to find meaning in that anyway? Clearly those people's self-hate should be pandered to. The bible says women should submit? Sure, but...it doesn't mean you should be an asshole to Christians jsut because it hurt you or people you knew." ^^^Average tumblr take on major world religions with actual, lawmaking power who hold literally billions of people under their power. I don't know, guys, I don't think you're as immune to propaganda as you think you are.

[baelpenrose]

Hey, just so anyone whose mind isn't rotted by video essayists knows: The anti-LGBT film Lady Ballers produced by the Daily Wire was supposed to be a documentary. The original plan behind the film was that they were going to actually get a bunch of men to dress in drag and enter into women's sports, then record the results.

However, the barrier of entry for trans women to qualify for admission into women's sports proved to be prohibitively high, and they couldn't find any men willing to go the extra mile in undergoing hormone therapy and transitioning to the point they met the criteria for admission.

The Daily Wire accidentally disproved and discredited the entire concept of "men in women's sports", and were forced to turn the film into a shitty piece of comedy fiction instead.

[baelpenrose]

Young directionless men: “all I want is to either find a women or die meaningfully fighting for something important.”

Ukraine, with a declining population of young men and a (comparative) large number of young women, fighting for its life against a genocidal invader who has helped back the rise of fascism: “hey so we may have a place for you, it’s risky but it’s meaningful and you may well find love and if you did it’ll be in service of protecting a hard won democracy…”

Every single one of those “directionless men:” “nah that’s gay and stupid.”

[baelpenrose]

The taxi driver is one of the funniest characters in the whole thing. The vibe of “suprisingly unflappable” only escalates from here.

Not the Chosen One, Ch. 11: Doctor, Doctor, Tell Me the News

We finally get to meet the final member of our cast, a character who was called "Long Suffering Uber Driver" for the majority of the brainstorming, until I actually got close to writing this chapter, and even then he ended up having a name change. There is 1 more new character after this, but she isn't a recurring character at this point in time, while this guy is intended to be.

Kudos to @baelpenrose and @writing-with-olive for beta reading this.

Also, for those who haven't seen Bael's chapter yesterday, I didn't forget to post last week, I swear. I was across the country, attending Bael's wedding, and just exhausted from travel. I literally landed in my home state at 9am last Tuesday. I was wiped, lol.

Sure enough, Benji had started gushing at the mere mention of Taji.  It was later that I found out that she had given Dex a list of questions to ask me regarding the protections around her clinic, were the boundaries holding, were there protesters again, etc.  Trey had clearly heard everything he needed to, because shortly after he’d eaten, we were waiting by the curb for an Uber.

“I’m still confused why you need a rideshare,” he admitted, rubbing his chin nervously before catching himself and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Soooo…..” I drew out. “I can’t drive, for starters.  Strong magic and steel don’t work great together.  It doesn’t hurt, per se, but it’s super distracting.  At least enough to keep me or Benji from being able to safely drive, if that makes sense?”

Trey’s head tilted side to side before nodding. “That makes sense, yeah.”

After a sigh of relief, I added the part I knew would make him laugh. “Besides, nothing kills a battery faster than crossing the wards.  Benji knows what causes it, but I don’t understand shield magic enough to explain it. Basically, strong wards plus batteries equals dead batteries. Including cars.”

“That’s why the Tanners park at the street?” he confirmed slowly.

“Yep!”

I was glad Trey got the gist of the matter, because just then a bright orange car pulled up to the curb and my phone - which I had dug out of the mailbox so I could even request the damned ride - went off against my leg. A dark haired man with a hawkish face and large glasses leaned out the window. “I’m Kevin. Stef and Trey?”

“That’s us,” I nodded, stepping towards the car and resisting the urge to scratch at phantom itches.

Kevin nodded before rolling up the window. Once we were piled in the back, he jerked his head towards my property before putting the car into gear. “I’m guessing it’s not actually vacant?”

“I’m not sure how that’s any of your business,” I ventured, reaching for the door handle.

“Oh, it isn’t,” he answered cheerfully. “It’s just weird to see a mailbox outside of an empty plot of land.  A lot of paranormals I pick up tend to have mailboxes like that, though, so if you’re behind wards or something, probably get a P.O. box and get picked up at a gas station.  But if you actually get your mail at a vacant lot, that’s really clever.  Just don’t tell me which it is, okay?”

Trey and I turned to each other, wide eyed. He decided to ask before I could. “Do you pick up a lot of paranormals?”

Kevin seemed to glance at the passenger seat before swearing softly and flipping the visor down. “Sorry about that, didn’t realize it was flipped up.” The backside of the visor shimmered warmly, a piece of paper I couldn’t read from this distance attached to it.

I didn’t need to read it though. I had one in my kitchen. “You’re a licensed magical transport?”

Without looking, he tapped the visor. “Specifically to ensure safe harbor within the confines of my space.  It isn’t a large space, but it’s safe.”

Relaxing into my seat, I patted Trey’s shoulder. “You’re almost as safe in this car as you would be at home.”

A condescending snort sounded at the exact same time that Kevin pulled over for a sneezing fit. “Oh, you must have cats,” he apologized, clearly not hearing the snort that I was now shooting daggers at. “Give me a sec to grab my spray, I have allergies.  It doesn’t add to your travel time, I swear.”

The pile of fur at Trey’s feet - one which had certainly not been with us when we had gotten in the car - showed no remorse.

I sent a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening when Trey sighed dramatically. “I am so sorry… Somehow, our cat - “

“Who is an asshole,” I interjected.

“- managed to get in the car without us seeing him,” Trey finished with barely a straight face. “We can turn around if - “

A brown hand flew up and waved us off. “I’ll roll the windows down. It’s normal, although you might have a familiar instead of a pet if he managed to follow with - “

“I beg your pardon?” Dexter yowled indignantly, jumping into the front passenger seat.  By the time he landed, he was completely hairless. “I am not a common familiar I will have you know.”

“The cat talks,” Kevin muttered in quiet awe, the car somehow still smoothly accelerating back onto our route. “He talks.”

How the hell do you give an Uber driver ten stars? Because gods and goddesses know, this man just earned it.  “This is Dexter,” I introduced wearily. “He’s… our guardian. Magically, not sure about legally.”

“Ohhh, I’ve heard about those…” Seriously, how in the hells was this man able to focus so clearly on driving when all this was going on inside his car??  “Nice to meet you Dext - whoa, you’re naked!”

“Seriously, that’s the shocking part?” Dex scolded, licking a paw before curling up on the seat.

“Allergies. Fur. Sneezing…”

Dexter formed himself into a tight loaf, face tipped down in chagrin. “I was not aware you were allergic. I had been comforting Trey before his healer appointment.”

“Stuffy mode,” Kevin whispered.  I doubted Trey heard it, as I barely could. Dex had the grace to pretend he didn’t. At a normal volume, our driver continued. “Healer appointment, huh? Man, I hated going to the doctor when I was a teenager.  Even though I know it was worth it now, it was so awkward at the time. I don’t blame you for needing emotional support.”

Trey leaned over towards me, whispering. “He’s a dork, but I kind of like this guy.”

“Harmless dorks are best dorks,” I confirmed. I wasn’t going to point out that Dexter hadn’t killed him yet, so clearly he was okay people.  Not a good idea to test the nerve of the person who was literally driving a weapon of mass destruction, after all.

After a few more minutes of bizarre shop talk between Kevin and Dexter - what constituted a sanctuary versus a warded area, merits of plastics versus steel in magic interference, et cetera - we arrived at a nondescript building. Kevin seemed to halfway recognize it, but for once said nothing.

We piled out, this time with Dexter in Trey’s arms, and I turned to wave. “Thank you. We really do appreciate the safe passage.”  Worst case scenario, the guy had faerie heritage and I didn’t have to worry about him in the future after mortally offending him.

“No worries, it’s my job! And hey, if no one is available after your appointment - “

Here comes the creeper line, I thought…

“- there is a bus stop three blocks that way,” he gestured in the correct direction for the stop I was aware of, “and it runs every forty five minutes. There’s a connection at Mulberry that will take you really close to where I picked you up. I think the drop off is four blocks from there?”

Without another word, he waved again and drove off.

“What an odd little man,” Dexter chirped.

[baelpenrose]

A suprisingly accurate vibe rn.

"I don't hate all old people. Only the ones that are alive and in my way." - Mike Stoklasa

[baelpenrose]

death of the author yeah whatever but death of the fandom is so integral to enjoying legitimately anything like that is just a necessary step to take in ur head always. do not let them affect the text in any way exterminate them all with ur death ray. they r not real and cannot hurt u

[baelpenrose]

Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path. Chapter VII: About Those Apologies

Neith poisons a garrison and does some social engineering to spare the slaves working there while Liza handles the captain of the city's troops. Beta-read by @canyouhearthelight and @writing-with-olive. Both of whom had some solid suggestions. Sorry about the week long hiatus - I was off getting married!

Neith

Her poisoners’ pouch was heavily laden that night. A foul thing to contemplate - she’d once been a witch doctor’s apprentice, and had gone back to learn more. She’d then learned from others, medical experts in Nistria, medicine men in Asgaria. To take life with the knowledge brought her no joy. To be a master of poisons, to take lives en masse with the arts of the pestle and mortar, the magic granted by the gifts the earth gave, felt almost blasphemous, and yet she’d now crossed that line a thousand times over, on every continent she knew.

And she had to simply live with it. She’d been forced into it by Vixen as a teenager, when the Blight had hit her village - when something so dangerous that not even her mentor could have fixed it had ravaged their home. She’d had to join cause with Vixen then, for a magical panacea that cured the blight. Since then, Vixen had forced her into all manner of quests - always trading one favor for another - never letting her get far enough ahead on her own, though Neith had always been able to get the distance she’d needed to continue her studies of medicine across the world. But Vixen had always found a way to drag her back, force her back into service, always found a way to make her violate some taboo that forced her away from wherever she had been in order to do the right thing.

And now she was preparing a slaughter at a ceremony. Yes, there were going to be daemons, and whatever gods the descendents of Ancient Sargomia held to were darker and fouler than any men should offer prayers to, but poisoning hundreds at a sacred rite still left a foul taste in her mouth. She forced it down. Liza had already dressing herself in a lovely number - strips of silk that wrapped up and around her body, tied below the shoulders, and left plenty of Liza’s supple, tanned skin showing, even as the elegant silk wrap around her shoulders marked her as a higher class.

In Neith’s pouch - lotus oil, a powerful hallucinogen, one that she would lace in all the wine for the rites to be engaged a week hence. Yew paste, to be smeared and mixed into any butter the soldiers had. Hemlock, to be left carelessly among their teas. The deaths would come in numbers, trickling, and weaken the garrison. She’d add other poisons as well - she’d seen normal mushrooms come in to be cooked into a stew, it would be trivial to slip in deathcap among them. To be sure, only a few caps in a hundred would be deadly - but among so many, certainly some would bite the wrong one. 

Marcus had said these men drilled almost constantly and were never seen without their squads, and that was true enough, but this was all the better to her. Gaps in formations they were used to would unsettle them, always make them more uncertain if they were used to intimately knowing who they were fighting with and they had to suddenly reshuffle. To make matters worse, if she slipped poison among other foods the same way, it wouldn’t kill them all, only make them deeply, deeply paranoid about consuming anything. This, she knew, would be deadlier. Some would eat or drink as little as they could out of fear of death - better if she laced the water barrels with something to make men sick, but not kill them outright. Cause confusion. Terror. The soldiers of Sargonny would be weak and trembling by the time they faced off against the team - if they were still even alive. 

So she and Liza strode to the soldier’s quarter. She saw, then, a youth of around fifteen years on the street, pushing a large broom. He looked to be Hykranian in origin, not Sargon - and if the racial features weren’t enough to confirm his status, his ragged smock, unshod feet, and haggard expression definitely were. She’d spoken to enough Hykranians to know that only those with Sargon blood worked stably in the city, everyone else would only find work there only as passing merchants or mercenaries. Anyone else working here wasn’t doing so of their own free will.

She approached the boy, even as Liza wove through the crowd ahead of her. Without particularly stopping, she slipped him a small clay pot. “The next time you or a friend is whipped,” she said, “Apply what’s here to the wounds. They won’t fester.” If she could not stop killing with her knowledge, she could make sure it was more than the only thing she did. She was a healer - and while that had been a small gesture, to someone who could easily be permanently crippled by a festering wound, it probably meant a great deal. Especially if the slaves in question would be free within weeks - which was very much their ambition. It may have been a mad one - but then, once, she’d have claimed that plundering an ancient tower in the middle of the Blasted Lands or finding a panacea for the Blight was a mad ambition, and she’d since then done both. 

Besides, it wasn’t like a small pot of marigold ointment was hard to replace - the flower was common enough that getting a new pot she could seal to her satisfaction to carry would, in truth, be harder to replace than the ointment itself.

She hurried to follow Liza, passing the boy, and shuddering once she realized that the streets were almost eerily clean for a city often pelted by sandstorms so common to this part of the world. How often must people be worked to maintain it this way? Other places had built sewers, had built methods, carted waste out - but no cart could stand the sands of the desert, and this city was far too old to build under. Not that the Sargons need fear - as far as they were concerned, she knew, deaths of their ‘lessers’ in service were simply more advantage for their gods. 

Liza was beckoning to her, and whispered, quietly. “Is there any way for us to make sure whoever they have in there isn’t…doesn’t catch it, from what you do?”

Neith shook her head. “If they start forcing slaves to check, innocent people will die. But it will kill Sargon men in droves. Or…” She chewed her lip. “You talked to Marcus about this? The kinds of people in military barracks?”

“Yeah. He said that with this kind of discipline he’d be surprised if they weren’t cleaning it themselves, or if they had a small cleaning staff do it while they were on drill. Aside from that, he said that he knew of no barracks in the world that didn’t have its share of prostitutes and laundry workers.”

“Did he mention if the laundry workers slept there? Them or their children? For that matter, Liza, you were a courtesan against your will, did you ever meet a man who’d buy your services if he was sick enough to be impotent?” 

“Actually yes, but it was for a very elderly man who wanted my services as a singer while he took poison and died on terms he’d picked rather than letting his sickness claim him. For the general gist of your question - no. But some of the worst nights of my service were with noblemen about to ride to war, or with men just coming back from it. Men become much more brutal when they think they’re going to die - and I don’t envy any woman in those barracks with soldiers your poisons miss. None of which answered my question: what happens when they start simply forcing slaves to act as food tasters?”

Neith had to think about it - the bard knew more of this than she did. “I suspect once the panic sets in they’re more likely to draw food from other stores - most of these poisons take several days, they’ll think it's something else until it's too late. As to slaves - Liza, do you actually think they’re eating the same as the soldiers?”

Liza bit her lip. “I don’t know. I did, but I was a high class courtesan. Many of those bound in debt didn’t, those lower in status. I doubt a soldiers’ washer or a barracks prostitute is going to have the same status as a Palatine’s courtesan, but what happens when they do figure out it's the food? Other thing, many of lower status ate food from the day before, after it went stale, so unless whatever you’re using goes impotent if it isn’t eaten within a day…”

Neith swore. It had been a long time since she’d done this. “Fine then. There’s…other things I can do. Were servants permitted to make themselves tea from their lords’ stash?”

“No.”

“Hemlock stays in. I can get nightshade into wine, which again, will probably not be permitted to the slaves. Can you make sure we’re spilling it, or…”

Liza shook her head. “I’ll do one better. I’ll talk to the officers and flatter them until they come to the conclusion that wine is a luxury for their class and soldiers who’ve earned it - not slaves who should be grateful to have been taken alive.” She gave Neith a flat stare. “You want them to drink more of it, right?”

Neith nodded. “And…there’s things I can do to other rations to make them sick but not fatally, to confuse them, but not be fatal. I don’t think I can avoid that, but it also won’t kill anyone unintentionally targeted. The confusion these drugs cause is more fatal if you’re being attacked. And it takes time to set in.” She felt for slaves who would be undergoing the mind fog she was about to put everything in the barracks through - but by the time of the rite, the soldiers would be helpless, and the people she was drugging would be able to recover.

And she still had to get the really awful hallucinogens into the fancier wines for the ceremony itself. 

Liza gripped her hand and pumped it. “They’ll survive. And trust me, it’ll be better for them to be obviously not part of it.”

“Right.” Neith sighed. “I’m glad you’re part of this. I…needed your expertise for this, and I wouldn’t exactly have wanted to bring…” Left unsaid was the rest of it. The only person who might know what conditions a servant or slave would face was Itene, and neither Liza as Itene’s ersatz-mother nor Neith as her (albeit temporary) bondswoman and companion wanted to bring Itene along for something like this. And besides, Itene couldn’t have gotten her in. This task was one for those with experience in just how brutal the world could be. Itene could keep her innocence a little longer, whatever was left of it. No need to have her mass poison people.

Neith passed her an ointment. “For your lips. Don’t swallow til you’ve wiped it off.” 

Liza grinned.

The door to the barracks was blocked by a man in uniform, and Liza approached him, slinking into the light with the practiced ease of a professional courtesan. Neith watched her with cool professionalism, feeling the same pleasure she did watching anything done well, as the made-up Liza approached the soldier. “Lord Akkadius had a message for the commander on watch, and he sent it with a gift.”

Neith raised an eyebrow. Where had she gotten that name? The soldier seemed to buy it though, saying something too fast for Neith to follow. “I don’t have time for your attitude or doubts, boy. Let myself and my servant through at once. I have urgent business to discuss with your captain.” 

Of course, the elegant cloak hadn’t been for fun. Nor had the makeup. In the torchlight, Liza looked like a Sargon woman, and Neith…oh, clever. The young man stammered something, and Liza got close to him, idly loosening her cloak. “I appreciate your sense of duty. I shouldn’t have been so impatient. But I have business to attend, and I need to be allowed through.” The young man’s face wasn’t fully visible behind the mask of his helm, but Neith noticed the eyeslit of his helmet very clearly tilted downward. 

Then the door opened and Neith muttered, in her native tongue, “How much Khym did she just…”

“Enough to convince a gelded bull.” Liza whispered, in the same tongue. Then she spoke more loudly, in the Sargon tongue, more obviously for an audience. “Make yourself useful to the cooks here, girl. I’ll call for you when it’s time for us to leave.” 

The room itself was full of soldiers, and from the condition of the handful of non-Sargon faces she saw, Neith was glad she and Liza had discussed the conditions of slaves who would be working here well ahead of time.

All at once, a cover story for her to be in the kitchens while the men focused on the more flashily dressed Liza as Neith looked down, cowed, and headed for the barracks kitchen. Only a slight moment later and she’d scattered hemlock among the soldiers’ tea leaves, knowing full well the chances of most of them getting a lethal dose were quite small, and when pressed to go grab a few cups of wine, quickly poured her nightshade into a few barrels. In likelihood it would only kill a few - but it would make many quite ill.

She brought a flagon up to the captain’s room, where Liza and the soldier’s captain spoke like old friends, Liza laughing at the man’s jokes with a grin that never quite touched her eyes. Neith handed her the flagon with a smirk and headed back down, spotting bread dough - and quickly dusted it with ergot. 

She shrugged at the realization that she’d likely be here until Liza finished out whatever she was doing with the captain of the watch - and decided to look for other mischief or ways to make herself helpful. Leaving a bit of tansy in plain sight could be a start, at least for some of the women here. 

The captain, she’d leave to Liza. They’d talk about it on the way back.

[baelpenrose]

Forgiveness vs. Utility

I don't forgive trump voters. I also don't care. Morality and politics don't interact with each other, not in the way you think they do. A *person* has morals, but a community? Any group of people, whether its a community, a demographic, a country, a corporation? Groups have *interests.* If someone voted trump last year, panicked at what happened, and switched sides, its fine. I mean, personally, feel how you want to feel. But strategically? There is everything to gain and nothing to lose by letting disillusioned republicans defect. That is in our strategic interests and it would be stupid not to do it. Letting them have positions of power in our movement is another question, but just letting them switch sides without harassing them is an obviously good idea.

Incidentally, this is why I don't get 'how can you work with x' as a question - the answer is because political operators don't have morals, they have interests, and at any given time your interests and someone else's might align.

[baelpenrose]

oh shit

this is genuinely the best implementation of this i've seen

[baelpenrose]

I cant believe this tweet is how I find out

[baelpenrose]

[baelpenrose]

About California

LA is huge. Really, really huge. Like, 1 in 35 americans lives there. One in 12 lives in california. As a californian, I am tired of this weird 'coastal elites' bullshit that the conservatives push. More Americans live in LA than in Montana, Wyoming, and the Dakotas...combined. The idea that Flyover Country represents "real America" and the areas that the reactionaries always speak of with such contempt don't is nothing more than racist, reactionary bullshit. California is not, and never will be 'real america' to the right, not because we aren't a huge chunk of the people but because we are a multicultural state. Because we actually live like we're in the 21st century instead of being bitter the country ever left the 19th.

When you hear about how terrible "California liberals' are or how "California is so bad people are leaving in droves" - yeah, okay. More people are coming into california or are born here than leave it.

We are the 'real' america, by the metric that counts in a democracy. There's more of us than there are of anything else. On our own, we represent the 4th largest economy in the world, and if we seceeded from the union we'd still be a developed country - the only other state that could even be a functioning country on its own AT ALL is Texas, and they'd be a poverty-strapped disaster of a third-world country if they tried it. Honestly, more and more I think california should split off, watch the reactionaries running the rest of the country drown in their own spite and hatred and total ineptitude that our taxes have been funding. Set our own immigration policy - southern border open, queers and minorities welcome from the US.

[baelpenrose]

[baelpenrose]

You gotta remember. Even if the military is deeply imperialist and reactionary as an institution, most of the enlisted don’t know that. They bought the propaganda. They think they signed up to fight for ‘America’. Fighting other Americans exercising their rights - when all the propaganda through training says they’re “fighting for freedom” - makes for miserable cognative dissonance.

A lot of revolutions get started when soldiers of the regime get disillusioned. Don’t miss this opportunity.

I have some news for members of the united states armed forces who feel like they are pawns in a political game and their assignments being unnecessary.

[baelpenrose]

THE ENTIRE WEST IS BEING PUT UP FOR SALE AND I AM BEGGING YOU TO CALL YOUR SENATORS

Trump’s budget bill has many, many things in it, but buried amongst it is the MILLIONS OF ACRES OF PUBLIC LAND FOR SALE.

This is the entirety of the Arizona state forests, the entire Cascades mountain range. Swathes of pristine desert around the national parks in Utah. On the doorstep of Jackson Hole.

THIS BILL IS BIG, BUT IT CAN BE AMENDED AND ABSOLUTELY MUST NOT PASS AS IS please.

If you have ever enjoyed the wilderness, we stand to lose it all forever.

CALLING your senators - NOT JUST IN THE WEST. ALL SENATORS, is CRUCIAL.

Outdoor alliance has a great resource for reaching out.

I don’t have a huge following but please, everywhere I have ever loved, the forests I grew up playing in, the land I got married on, is all at risk and I am begging.

[baelpenrose]

Five months into Trump's presidency, and we are in a war.

Did his supporters have that on the bingo card?

[baelpenrose]

The cruelty of racist white men.