So I was thinking about the whole elves-being-naturally-prettier-than-humans thing because that was always sort of weird to me when I FINALLY think I figured it out.

Humans used to know about the elves, and there are some things they still remember—hence myths about Atlantis and such. Reality is, humans and elves resembled each other in a lot of ways, but elves put themselves on a pedestal as better than every other species (that’s, like, canon, and better be addressed more fully at some point?) and that’s probably a part of the reasons humans “betrayed” the elves—they got sick of hearing that elves were better.

But it was just sort of implanted in their minds, though they weren’t fans of the idea, and elves didn’t go to great lengths to erase that idea from their minds. So humans remember myths and some things about elves, and Atlantis being the underwater city………and beauty standards.

It’s not that elves are naturally prettier than humans. It’s that human beauty standards are shaped around the natural looks of elves.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk

huge list of headcanons about waynes. sure why not

life cycle

their life "cycle" is actually a straight line. waynes do not reproduce

eggs wash up on afterlife beach -- but no one knows where or how they're created. it's sort of taken for granted that nature just Does This

the lucky eggs will hatch into larvae; many others don’t and simply dissolve away. the incubators in the waynehouse basement, a fairly recent invention, improve hatch rate

after a while, larvae bury themselves in shallow pits to pupate and emerge as humanoid imagos

very rarely, an imago will metamorphose again into a special senescent stage with a vaguely centauriform body (two humanlike arms and four digitigrade legs)

but most will eventually die for good and return to the gunk of the afterlife

the life expectancy of a typical wayne is rather short; i’m thinking around 50 or 60 years. old waynes are longer-lived, able to look after several generations of waynes

features

waynes are all autistic

(which isn't to say that only waynes are autistic. plenty of other hylic beings are too)

waynes are also incredibly chill

for the 200 or so years they've been around, waynes have always formed an insular community with little outside influence

at the same time, they're happy to help those in need, e.g. weary and injured travelers are taken into the waynehouse without a second thought

the easiest way to piss off a wayne, short of harming a larva, is to try to grab them by the back of their neck

a wayne larva will relax when picked up by the scruff of its neck; this reflex is retained as an adult. if you’re not a highly trusted friend, touching the back of their neck is considered an incredible violation of personal space

(this is why waynes keep their collars popped)

culture

most cultural aspects of waynes are traditional but none are obligatory

"wayne" is the default name for reasons lost to the mists of time

their usual bespoke pleather garb is made by semi-dedicated wayne tailors. the preference for pleather seems to be ingrained

the wayne community never learned of the concept of gender, though some individual waynes certainly have learned it from outside sources

he/him are the most common pronouns for reasons also lost to the mists of time but any are ok usually; most waynes don't care or even know the difference

those who know gender can choose their own pronouns and that's cool too

variation

skin color, horn curvature, and, like, Bodily Composition in general are all quite uniform across waynes

moderate variation in height, weight, body type, facial structure, voice pitch and timbre

larva eyes are solid black

imago eyes range through sunset colors: from indigo to gold

old wayne has ten small solid black eyes on his forehead plus one large cyclopean eye on his face. the big eye retains imago eye color

tons of variation in presentation of autism, obviously

community

"if almost all waynes are named wayne and dress similar and look similar, it must be hard for them to keep track of each other!" yes, to the point where They Just Don't

waynes take good care of each other and basically form a model commune but are also kinda distractable and laissez-faire

if one gets lost without anyone noticing, the other waynes won't know to do something about it

this can be troublesome if the lost one is a young adult, who tend to be clueless disasters when left alone

(waynes are more orderly and have better judgment as group size increases. not a hive mind thing, they just tend to find it easier to take care of others than themselves)

separation happens rarely, but a disaster at the waynehouse a couple years before h1 scattered a lot of waynes, most of whom never came back

after that, old wayne became more protective over his wards, permitting solo departure only upon completion of a training program

romance

waynes are on the aromantic spectrum

they also consider all other waynes as family and therefore are necessarily species-exogamous

few waynes ever experience romantic feelings, and few people ever get to know a wayne enough to be interested in them anyway

but it does work out sometimes. the people tending the larvae etc in the afterlife are the grown offspring of one past wayne's husband

that’s it for now! thanks for reading everyone!!

“hey wait just a fucking minute bshock you’re saying waynes have existed for only like 200 years? what’s up with these ‘reasons lost to the mists of time’? and where do the eggs come from???”

smiles serenely. You’ll See.

edit: i have by now answered these questions in the form of a 5k-word fanfic. check it out here, if you wish.

It Isn’t Beautiful Because It Lasts

Destiel Ficlet

AO3

The human lifespan was short. Castiel knew this, of course.

He knew that one day the Winchesters would no longer be with him. He knew that one day he'd be alone. It was inevitable, after all.

He's ancient. Older than one could ever imagine. He's watched life come and go over and over again, he's watched entire eras pass by as species evolved and the world changed and adapted. To him, it all seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye, and even now as he leans more towards humanity than angelic grace, he finds himself thinking that the lives of humans are still too short.

It seemed that falling from grace only helped to further ingrain into his mind how important it was to appreciate the little aspects of life that wouldn't last forever.

And even though Castiel knows he still has many years left with his all-too-human family, he still can't bring himself to fully accept that one day, they'll be gone– entirely forgotten, like a leaf getting swept away by the wind, never to be seen again.

When he was an angel, life seemed less significant to him than it did now. Of course, he still appreciated them, they were all God's creations, so how could he not? But back then he still turned a blind eye to how impactful a single life could be. Species would die, empires would fall, and the times would constantly change– as if the Earth was going through multiple phases, as a teenager would.

When Castiel watches humanity now, he sees their beauty in all of their short-lived glory– these creatures that his father had created to be loved and protected. And when he observes the life of these humans, he thinks that it was actually the angels that were unworthy of watching over them all along.

For Castiel, it all started with one bright soul. One human that shifted his perspective of everything– of himself.

And even now, when Castiel watches Dean Winchester perform mundane, everyday acts, he thinks to himself; What did he do to deserve this human?

And when Dean meets Castiel's eyes and grins at him brightly, Castiel can feel his fading grace burn heavily underneath the surface of his skin.

"You gonna help me with this case or keep staring at me? I mean, I know I'm a fine piece of ass but it'd be nice to have some help here, buddy," Dean joked.

Castiel responds with a smile of his own.

"Of course, Dean."

------

When Castiel watches Dean sleep, he feels an odd flutter of affection spiralling in his gut. He knows that Dean would've grumbled at Castiel's awkward habit of observing him while he slept, but Castiel still has the urge to do it anyway.

Nowadays, it's just to make sure Dean is okay. But Castiel still likes to stretch out the moment for as long as possible. It's relaxing to see Dean asleep and peaceful. With everything the Winchesters had been through, sleep was now their only escape to peace.

It seems Castiel is not so lucky today, because Dean's eyes fly open and begin to shift into focus at the sight of Castiel.

"Really, man? Thought we'd gotten past the whole, creepy stalker nature," Dean grunted. Although, he doesn't seem too upset this time. He looks adorable like this, Castiel notes. His bed hair and bleary-eyed blinking make Dean look so innocent.

"My apologies, I was just about to leave," Castiel assures, but as soon as he makes a move for the door, he feels a warm hand clamp around his arm.

"Hey uh," Dean begins. He shuffles awkwardly as he tries to position himself on the bed.

Castiel lifts an eyebrow and stares down to meet green eyes.

"Yes, Dean?"

Dean shifts his gaze over to somewhere behind Castiel over his shoulder.

"Could you uh," Dean fumbles around a bit before finishing with uncertainty, "stay?"

Castiel can feel his heart swell hearing this. There's just something about Dean that endears him so much that he can't put it into words.

"If that is what you want, Dean."

Castiel can see some of the tension leave him, as Dean starts to move over to make room on the bed.

Once Castiel sits on the edge of the mattress, Dean begins to settle down on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"So whatcha thinkin' about?" Dean asks. He's slightly turned so he can look over at Castiel. "You seem kinda out of it."

Castiel blinks at him, "What do you mean?" He shifts his body so that his back isn't to Dean's to better engage in the conversation.

"I don't know dude you tell me," Dean retorts. "You've been more...quiet, I guess."

Castiel tilts his head, and Dean's eyes seem to soften slightly at the movement.

"I was not aware," Castiel responds. "I suppose I've just been thinking about certain things."

Dean squints at him and leans a little closer.

"Thinking about what?"

Castiel hesitates before responding. For a little while, he just stares at Dean and scans over those all too familiar features. He stares until Dean starts to squirm under his gaze.

"You," Castiel says. "I've been reminiscing about our time together on this earth."

Dean grins slightly. "Me?"

Castiel nods and Dean chuckles.

"Wow I'm awfully flattered," he jokes. "Unless those thoughts about me are bad?" Dean raises an eyebrow in question.

"No, it's just…" Castiel trails off. Dean is still looking at him expectantly.

"I think about humanity," Castiel sighs. "I think about how one day you'll leave me– you and your brother."

Dean's expression shifts into one of abundant empathy. He moves closer into Castiel's space until their sides are practically touching.

For a moment, there's silence.

"We're not going anywhere, Cas," Dean finally whispers. His hand comes up to Castiel's shoulder to grip him tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Castiel only smiles in return.

"I've cherished our time together, Dean. And I'll cherish the moments yet to come," Castiel says softly

Slowly, Castiel intertwines his fingers with Dean's.

"After meeting you, I've come to appreciate God's creations more intimately. I admire how humanity works."

And it was true. Castiel was truly fascinated by humans– fascinated by how they could accomplish so much in their short lives– fascinated by their lasting beauty even after they've left this world.

Castiel was enthralled. And he was positive in saying he would do it all over again if he could– the pain and winglessness and all.

"I admire you," Castiel finishes.

Dean flinches visibly and sighs.

"Never really thought I'd ever be admired by an angel of all things," Dean grimaces.

The air is filled with a sort of melancholy that Castiel wants to get rid of. He wants to make the most of the remaining years he has with Dean. He wants to make him smile as much as he can– wants to see his soul glow brightly throughout the universe.

"I'm glad I was the one that raised you from damnation."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

The corners of Dean's mouth quirk up.

"Well then, the feeling's mutual," Dean squeezes his hand.

Castiel loves him. He loves this human so much that his grace threatens to spill out of his body whenever he's near him. He's loved Dean Winchester for so long– loved him so fiercely that he turned his back against everything he was programmed to do.

At first, he didn't know what to call this feeling. He didn't even know that his feelings towards Dean were not the same as his feelings towards other humans, Sam, for example. It took him so long to realize it.

He fell. Hard.

When Dean starts to shuffle under the covers, it snaps Castiel out of his stupor. Castiel just watches Dean even as he starts to eye him expectantly.

"Well?" Dean asks. He draws back the covers slightly.

"What?" Castiel responds confused.

"If you're gonna watch me sleep, may as well get comfy. Just don't wake me up," he states simply.

Castiel takes the invitation and lies next to Dean. He doesn't really need to sleep, but spending the night in Dean's bed sounds very appealing to him.

As Dean further settles under the covers, he turns his head so that his eyes stare directly into Cas's. Their heads are so close that Castiel can feel Dean's breath at the tip of his nose. It would be so easy to close the gap between them.

"I don't think I've ever met a creature with a soul as bright as yours," Castiel blurts without thinking. He blames it on the fact that Dean is so close to him right now.

Without warning, Dean surges towards his lips and closes the distance between them. Castiel is taken aback at first– he's never expected Dean to be so forward. But soon after, Castiel finds himself kissing back, chasing Dean's lips even as they pull away for air.

Castiel feels so light as if he were flying. Dean looks back at him a little dazed. He's not entirely sure what to make of this.

Dean huffs a laugh and Castiel beams.

"You're a pretty okay kisser," Dean muses.

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean's waist and pulls him even closer.

"I want to spend every moment I have left with you." Castiel knows this is not possible, but he dreams anyway. "You made me fall for your kind. Ever since hell, I've never been the same. You've made me who I am today, Dean Winchester."

Dean gazes back at him and smiles.

"Gettin' all sappy on me now, Cas?"

"I can't really help it, I suppose."

Dean snorts and relaxes into Castiel's embrace.

"You've kept me awake for too long now, although I'm not complaining," Dean says, "but I seriously need my four hours, so I'm just gonna conk out."

"Of course, Dean. I'll watch over you," Castiel promises.

"Night, Cas," Dean mumbles back and effectively passes out immediately.

Castiel threads his fingers through Dean's hair while he sleeps, and gazes over his features once more.

I love you, Castiel thinks as he listens to Dean's steady breaths. I'll love you for the rest of my life.

Castiel realizes now that it is humanity's mortality that makes them so entrancing to him. Death was inevitable, and that was what made life so sweet, after all, a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts.

Castiel grips Dean tighter and closes his eyes.

"Goodnight, Dean."

Title: Echoed Vexations (Part two)

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Rating: Teen and up audiences (violence warning)

AO3: here! (Full story at once)

•••

(PART ONE)

Beginning, summary, and warnings can be found there. Story continued under the cut.

•••

He regretted it instantly.

Catching sight of the white abyss behind Their eyes, the sanctions of his mind found themselves entangled in the monster's clutches. They weren't physically there, but he could feel them all the same-- tendrils like snakes burrowing into his brain, parasitic vermin that rooted themselves into his very core with a vice-like hold. He'd thrash, or fight, but that only ever ended in the pain spiking from a ten to an eleven, proven by the past, and again by Cub's screams of anguish as Scar barely bit back his sobs.

His thoughts echoed in his skull, looping over themselves as the Vex listened in like safe-crackers. He wanted not to think, not to have a single notion cross his mind, but an infinite number of processes scrambled through at once no matter what he tried.

Not being able to defend himself against such beings was humiliating in its own right. Rationally, he knew They were far more powerful than the average human, and a group of Them was nothing to sneeze at when they got serious. The Vex were a corrupt and cruel species who enjoyed little more than acquisitive riches and making others suffer, but as much as he was aware of that, it didn't make being beaten down by something an eighth of his size any less demeaning.

With that train of thought, Scar's auditory input from the outer world was replaced by ringing-- blood seeping out from his ears and from his nose not long after. The taste of copper was bitter on his tongue, mixing with the salt of tears and bile that had risen in his throat.

We're nothing but small, cruel, and materialistic? The concordats forget themselves so...

They will learn from this, mistakes make for better humans.

I think they've forgotten who they belong to.

He dared to think he didn't belong to Them, that he was his own, not even of his own accord, and still his air was cut off. His arms gave out next and he crumbled to the side, gagging on red and trembling as waves of pain crashed over his body. Scar gasped, but his lungs refused to fill, leaving him grasping at his throat and pleading internally.

Do you remember now?

One of Them, or maybe all of Them, had asked.

Do you remember our deal? Do you remember the emblem we burned into your skin when you agreed to join us?

I remember, he begged in his mind, I remember. I'm sorry. Please don't kill me, I'm so sorry. I belong to the Vex. I'm sorry.

Horrid laugher overtook his senses, and a feeble rush of air filled his chest before his consciousness began to fade.

You will never escape us.

They finalized, and his world went dark like the drawing of velvet curtains.

------

Back in the present, flashes of that day and many others raced through his head as if to mock his phobia of thinking itself. It was almost akin to watching his past unfold in third person, like he'd been detached from his body during the events. Bleary yet potent reenactments of metal patterns searing his flesh, of his bones shattering, of gashes and bruises and the life fading from his eyes. All the times he was made to expand their trade, slaving endlessly until his hands were stiff and immobile from overuse, but it still not being enough for Them. Annexing the rest of the industry, becoming number one, having two humans as their play things. Nothing was, or ever would be, enough for the Vex.

Scar's nails raked up his arms as he tried to feel anything other than Their coils invading his brain, doing all he could to reason with himself that they weren't real, for the logical part of him knew they weren't. His hands grasped for the brand ingrained into the flesh of his shoulder blade, fingers feverishly grazing over the risen tissue to find the divot and remind himself that the seal had been severed. His time with them was over. The symbol was broken.

"I'm- I'm safe..." he recited, "I'm away, I'm free, I'm okay…"

The words were more of a finding of his voice than a real reassurance, and Scar fumbled to pull his communicator from his pocket, aware of how much he needed to contact a proper support system. Tears blurred the screen, making the already jumbled letters more difficult to make out, but he managed to gather the necessary information.

He could call for Cub, but the man was away, and even if the notification were to alert him, such an event was likely to jump-start evocations of his own traumas.

Xisuma was available, but he didn't want to pester the already busy admin with his troubles anymore than he'd had to before. The kind man had already spent countless time and energy ensuring that they were all safe inside of the world barrier; a field in which no Vex could enter on Their own, nor abuse Their power if They were to be deliberately summoned by a rogue party. Admin magic, he was thankful for it to the nth degree, but he currently needed a real person in his presence more than anything.

Scar scanned the remaining names on his monitor. There was only one other Hermit who knew about what he'd been through, and he was practically imploring him to be around.

Grain.

There he was!

Scar would've sobbed in relief weren't he already weeping, left struggling to type out a private message to his friend.

<GoodTimeWithScar> Grian are you avaiavble?

<GoodTimeWithScar> i need your help, i'm at Mumbo's base

<GoodTimeWithScar> my base? i don't know, the monument

<Grian> sure am! whatcha need help with?

Scar's thumbs danced awkwardly above the keyboard, grappling with himself over what to say. It was always a struggle to express his troubles in the midst of panic, especially when doing so was a part of the problem. He knew he didn't have to go into depth with the other Hermit, however. That was another benefit of them being aware of one another's history; they didn't need to spill their guts in order to receive a helping hand.

<GoodTimeWithScar> i just need someone here

<GoodTimeWithScar> i can't seem to calm muself down right now

<GoodTimeWithScar> or type out messages poperbly it seems?

<GoodTimeWithScar> haha dang

<Grian> i'll be right there

<Grain> i'm at zedaph's cave, so the distance is a little further than usual, but you know i'm a fast flier

<Grain> so just hang tight, scar

<GoodTimeWithScar> i'm not going anjwhere

Scar dropped his hands to his side with a shaky breath, flinching when a sudden softness brushed against his hand. He glanced down only to see a concerned looking Jellie, the cat purring softly and nuzzling his arm. He cracked a feeble smile and reached out to pet behind her ear, her very presence providing a degree of comfort.

Much to his surprise, it truly wasn't long before the telltale beating of wings thumped through the air, Grain landing expertly in the grass and folding his feathered pinions snug behind his back.

"Scar?" he asked, cautiously approaching the other man.

Scar looked up to him, managing to raise a hand and wave as a greeting. Still wrought with trepidation, his shaking arms were scored with scratches he'd unconsciously inflicted while attempting to ground himself. Tear tracks lined his cheeks and his hair had become an unkempt mop, but he'd pulled through the worst of it.

"Oh, dude…" Grian said sympathetically, stepping over the rest of the way and crouching by his side. "It's alright, I'm here."

He nodded slow, "Thanks, Gri…"

The avian returned the nod and extended his hand, allowing Scar to take hold of it as a reminder of his security. "It's no problem. I see Jellie showed up to help, too."

"Yeah," Scar chuckled humourlessly, "She can always tell when I'm upset…"

"She's good like that," Grain confirmed, earning a well timed meow from the feline beside them.

They both let out a small laugh, Scar's being far weaker but present nonetheless.

"How about we get you away from all this noise and take care of those scratches?" Grain asked, and the other Hermit nodded again.

He helped Scar to his feet, leading him away from the distant thundering of the base's heart. They departed from the heights of the ruins, Grain ushering Scar to settle down against a tree once they were out of earshot of all the clamour.

"Let me see your arms, 'kay? I'll fix them right up."

Scar held out his scored arms after a moment of hesitation, finding them still stinging with the red drag of nails.

Grain produced a potion and gauze from his inventory, pouring the thick blue liquid onto the cotton before dabbing it across the irritated skin. A cool numbness spread over the area, and Scar relaxed at the alleviation of his symptoms. People often overlooked Mundane potions due to them having no official use, but anyone suffering from a mild ailment could tell stories of just how practical its effects could be. From soothing scrapes or minor burns, all the way to settling stomach aches or migraines, they could work little wonders. A Mundane potion for mundane problems.

"Better?" Grain asked.

"Much… thank you. Sorry for making you fly all the way over here."

"No, no, don't apologize, it's no big deal," he assured, motioning to brush off his concerns. "I needed to get out of that cave anyway. Not to bash on Zed's decorating skills, because the gadgetry is amazing, but the rest is all nonsense and greys and belch-- it was making my head spin."

Scar nodded, but couldn't help the guilt that crept into his chest, eyes darting to the side as if in anticipation for the hostility he sensibly knew would never come.

Grain smiled tenderly and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I mean it, it's no trouble. Besides, you'd do the same for me. Geez, man, you have!"

"I guess you're right," Scar agreed, turning once more to face the winged man. It wouldn't be the first time either Hermit had coaxed the other down from a panic, for not only had Grain been there for him in the past, but vice versa as well.

Most recently, he could recall, someone had led a bundle of animals into the blond's mansion as a prank. Such a feat was usually harmless fun, as was the case with the challenges they'd created wherein a herd of chickens were set loose in the same manner. The problem, however, arose when the trickster wanted to break the chain of stunts involving birds, and instead released a colony of rabbits into the manor's grounds. It was intended to be innocuous, but to say it hadn't ended well would be making a molehill out of a mountain.

Mumbo and the baffled prankster themselves had immediately volunteered to clear the animals from the house, whereas Scar stayed with Grain at the man's starter base until the mansion was deemed clear, and he was able to find resolve. It had been a long day for them all, but Grain especially. He'd mostly adapted to seeing hares in the wilderness, but finding himself in an enclosed space with dozens of the creatures sent him spiraling. Scar had been told tales of a man named Sam; a heinous individual with ears of a rabbit, who despite the innocent appearance, caused Grain immense suffering.

He's from a chapter in my story that I'd much rather leave behind, Grian once said, I have a far better future to write now, anyway.

That last line always stuck with Scar, no matter how much time passed after he heard it. There were brighter eras ahead, they just had to move forward and stick around to see them. In the end, he of all people could respect wishing to leave one's past as just that. The past. Even so, he'd probably still deck that Sam character given the chance.

"Of course I am," said Grain abruptly, and Scar blinked back to the present after an internal game of catch-up to remember what they'd been speaking of to begin with.

Nodding and smiling faintly, he asked, "So, what are you doing for the rest of your free time?"

The Brit grinned in turn and ruffled his wings, "Well, my schedule is actually rather jam-packed. I'm spending the rest of the day with a friend who's in quite the pickle."

Scar raised his eyebrows, pointing towards himself, "Is it me? Am I in the pickle?"

Grian laughed, "Yes, my briney bro, you are. And I'm determined to stay by your side until you're feeling better again."

Thankful, Scar smiled as well, knowing it would do no good to feel remorseful for taking up his companion's time, or to try and convince him he would be fine on his own.

"Thank you, Grain," he said truthfully.

"Anytime," he replied, "Now let's find something nice calm to do."

"Now those are words I never thought I'd hear you say."

The two chuckled and made their way off, ready to waste the rest of the afternoon in a mellow rhythm to starve off any further panic. Scar knew he'd likely feel off for a while, not fully himself again until at least the following day. The lingering tension of his episodes always latched to his nerves and left him on edge, but he knew the company of an understanding friend would lessen the blow. They'd spend the coming hours in a tense yet manageable tandem, and to some degree, Scar could accept that.

He was still learning to trust the fact he was safe, no matter how much he already wished to embrace his freedom with open arms. Eventually, one day, maybe, he could believe it entirely, or at least to more ample extent. Until then, it was gradual steps forward on the road to recovery.

Grain skipped beside him, cracking light-hearted jokes laced with reassuring phrases, all made to help lift Scar's aching mood.

Wherever it was that road led, however, at least he wasn't walking it alone.

[END]

Comments are always greatly appreciated! More than you could imagine, in fact! 💚

                 ☆ @blossomingbeelzebug ESTABLISHED FIRST CONTACT.

     HE HAD thought about what it had said.

     MISUNDERSTANDINGS RUN abound between them, a perilous chasm which he cannot cross, vast and great like the parsecs between stars.  His translator is utterly incapable of making sense of some of the strange sounds etched out from its throat, those harsh, guttural snarls which tie his tongue in knots.  And although 683′s abilities in To Amass’s language are limited, there is no mistaking what it had told him, albeit mangled from incomprehension: we are meat eating.  Understand this, or we will perish.

     ATOMINA, THEN, offers no sustenance, only shelter.  The mephitic atmosphere cannot sustain organisms much larger than rodents, most of which depend on the Atominans themselves, their artificial oxygen, their continuous food supply; his people could never waste their precious scant resources on the covetous, foolish desire to rear livestock, and to slaughter another creature for the grotesque purpose of consumption makes one no better than an animal.  They are above this, they’ve evolved, they are higher life beyond the inimical throb of genetic compulsion.  Their incisors, then, are merely some gift from some ancient, savage ancestor; Atominans do not eat meat, and there is no meat on Atomina.  This knowledge weighs heavily on the frail redhead’s mind, constantly bubbling to the forefront of his thoughts like an oilslick over water: To Amass will starve, and he can scarcely do anything about it.  Blue and black irises search the paneling of his ceiling, minimal and without grace, for some answer, some solution.  There must be something he can do -- what a foul, fetid shame it would be to see him resort to eating the rats in the ventilation.  

     HIS SLEEPWEAR drowns him; he is small even for his species, frail and thin and delicate, waifish ankles swung over the side of the bed as he feels the acrid cold floor touch the soles of his feet.  Deft fingers creep along the wall, adjusting the lights to a dim brightness, pupils dilating to mitigate the dark.  ❝ To Amass, ❞ he murmurs, his voice low, and he stands, shivering slightly despite the temperature control.  This room is tiny -- he sees every corner, he even drops his knees and squints under the bed, searching for the flicker of four white eyes like dying stars blinking out of existence.  It is not here.  To Amass is not in his room.  And panic wells within him, a heavy, thick dread weighed down on his shoulders, rising up like bubbling bile in his throat as he scrambles to his feet and thrusts his hand against the sensor, the door sliding open with a sibilant swish as he stumbles, barefoot, into the dim hallway, skidding slightly as he looks left, then right, panting in his burgeoning panic to realize he sees no one -- Atominan or otherwise -- down or up the hall.  

     THE TROUBLE he’ll get into will be legendary: he will be ruined, he’ll be castigated unlike ever before, horrified that even the notion of punishment ( unheard of, incomprehensible, humiliating in a way he could never articulate ) might lurk just beyond the horizon of his future.  For lack of nuance, of grace, 683’s outright in some deep shit.  Perhaps it broke into the canteen or food storage to forage for something to eat: quite literally nothing could be worse than that, and he hides his face in his hands as he struggles to regulate his breathing, already on the verge of tears to think of what awaits him if he must pay the price for ruining their carefully planned rations for the community.  Stress to this degree is beyond him, foreign as a splinter stuck into his skin, and he’s ready to run to the communal dining hall and start tearing apart the chairs and tables in a frantic search for his missing alien before he hears -- something -- sees -- something -- a light -- and there should be no lights on, at this hour, everyone is asleep.  A crack of light, the corona of the sun a halo beyond the shadow of the moon; the door beside his is ajar, it’s 684, and the world suddenly seems darker, that thin white line suddenly seems brighter.  683′s frail hand meanders over the sensor, some perilous feeling of dread settling like frost over the lining of his stomach, digits splayed to the flat panel as the door stutters open, broken, pried from its track and hinges, and the vibrant smell of deep, ichorous copper fills his nostrils and leaves him gagging.  He -- well -- he’s found To Amass, hasn’t he.

     STRANGE.  IT’S all too strange.  He feels like he’s drowning.  He’s never drowned, though, never even been near water -- thus, this overwhelming panic is instinct, then, forged through in his DNA despite centuries away from danger, as ingrained and inherent as its need to eat meat.  He remains there, in the doorway, mouth ajar as he can practically taste the stale, putrid carrion before him ( and he’s never eaten meat, never smelled blood, but he knows exactly what it is, at least, some part of him does ). The cruel sentience he so thought was a gift refutes him the ability to simply dash to safety; there is a grotesque curiosity in the way their body lays limp and unnatural ( they have his hair and his eyes and his nose and his jaw and his everything, they are 98.34% identical, it’s a mirror of himself if not for the glassiness over the corneas and the green gore pooling from their torn throat ), the bulge of entrails rank like offal splayed from their body cavity.  Those belong inside, clearly, obviously, they aren’t supposed to be outside, and he’s suddenly acutely aware he’s got a matching set inside of him right now ( all suddenly cram into his throat and threaten to jump right out of his mouth ) -- he really ought to scream, shouldn’t he, do something other than stand there slack-jawed and stupid, to be appropriately petrified as prey before predator, because he was wrong to think there was nothing for To Amass to eat on this planet: it is eating them, it’s eating 684, and --

     HE CHOKES on his own spit as he sits up in bed, panting a great, heaving breath of air as he flails, arms and legs skittering on the mattress as he runs hands all over himself ( still in one piece ) and takes gulping mouthfuls of stale, recycled air ( a scent he’d never thought he’d appreciate, because surely anything is better than the smell of copper ).  A fist slams into the light control, a flooding illumination of white cast over the room as he is elated -- and simultaneously horrified -- to see To Amass sitting underneath his desk, blinking at him in astonishment.  A dream, then -- he has bad dreams, but never anything like that.  He wonders how -- how he knows what that kind of carnage looks like, how he so acutely smelled the scents and tasted the metallic twang in the air and knew, perfectly, acutely, entirely, what torn muscle and flayed flesh and dripping fat looked like.  Memory.  Not his own.  Given to him by ancestors eons past, remnants of savagery his people thought they outgrew, the instinct that anyone like him should be weary of things with as many teeth as this monster.  A whimper builds in his throat, swallowed down like the nausea, arm raised to hold his own shoulders, to draw his knees to his chest.  ❝ Did you, ❞ he chokes, his voice tight as taunt twine, brimming with a terror he can hardly hold back, ❝ did you leave this room ?  To Amass, you can’t go anywhere -- I need to make this clear ! ❞ he exclaims, dropping off the bed to the floor, snatching his wrist in his hand, grip as vice-like as his meager strength will allow.  ❝ You can’t leave.  You cannot go outside, under any circumstance, do you understand ?   You -- ❞ and he hesitates, eyes dropping to his clutches, and he releases it, fingers twisting together as he heaves a shaky sigh, draws his knees to his chest and drops his head to his folded arms.  His actions are illogical, outright dangerous, and yet -- 

     ❝ I’M TRYING, ❞ he beseeches it, ❝ to keep you safe.  And to keep everyone ... else safe, too. ❞

100 Warm-Up Roleplaying Questions for Players

Character: Amur Universe: Pathfinder Gender/Race/Class: Male human Paladin/Holy Vindicator Alignment: NG/CG Questions source: here

Full (long) post under the cut.

1. If your character wasn’t an adventurer, what livelihood would they lead?

His parents were peasants who worked as labourers, so probably that. If he ever receives charity from any organisation, he’d strive to work for them.

2. Who in the party would your character trust the most with their life?

If it’s strictly his life, Niyooshan - for some reason the alchemist seems to refuse to let him die or even get too hurt. Maybe it’s a healer thing. 

If it’s about making decisions based on his best interest... he doesn’t trust anyone in the current party with that at the moment.

3. What are your character’s core moral beliefs?

People are essentially good. 

Mercy and compassion is no less important than justice and righteousness. 

Any good is worth doing. 

Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity.

4. What relationship does your character have with their parents and siblings?

He left home at the age of 8, and his parents were largely absentee in those years. He honours them out of societal expectations of filial piety, but that’s about it.

He’s the second child of five. His older brother (1st) and younger sister (4th) passed when he was 7; he depended a lot on the former, and got along well with the latter as they have the most similar personalities amongst the siblings at the time. 

For his surviving siblings, he is very close to his younger brother (3rd, only a year his junior), and they still exchange letters frequently. He and his youngest sister (5th) barely knew one another until they reunited recently as adults.

5. Does your character have any biases for or against certain races?

Having the privilege of being human, he has the common in-universe biases but he tries his best to check them. He does this especially consciously when it comes to race/ancestry (i.e. species) - one of his friends from his apprentice days was lynched for being a drow. 

6. What is your character’s opinion on nobility? On authority?

He respects nobility who is responsible in their post, and righteous authority. 

Otherwise he tolerates them and tries not to cause trouble... unless they do something with which he greatly disagrees morally.

7. Describe your character’s current appearance: clothes, armour, scars they’ve picked up along the journey, etc.

(Skipping the part about scars - addressed in #21)

He dresses in full, heavy plate armour complete with a kite shield when out in the field or in battle. 

During downtime, he wears simple tunics with trousers and boots, usually with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sometimes he wears a gambeson on top or a leather cuirass for more formality. 

8. What location encountered in the campaign has your character felt the most “at home” in, or just generally liked the most?

(Answering the second part - first part addressed in #40.) 

The small towns and villages they’ve passed through with down-to-earth folks. Though he also likes cities with rich histories and culture.

9. What deity, if any, does your character worship? What’s their opinion on other people’s worship?

Sarenrae - the goddess of the sun, redemption, honesty, and healing. 

He respects most other gods and religions on the good or neutral side of the good-evil axis. With evil gods, he tries not to judge their believers until evil actions based on such beliefs are actually taken.

10. If your character had time to pick up any artisan’s tools, game set, instrument, etc., what would it be?

Some sort of sculpture, maybe pottery or carving. He’s a very tactile person.

11. Describe your character’s current relationship with the player character sitting to your right.

(Rolling 1d3 between 1. Amalli, 2. Mawari, 3. Niyooshan)

AMALLI: It’s complicated - he trusts that she means well and has his best interest in mind, however what she considers “best” is rather... unusual. He teeters between having faith that she is kind by nature, and being annoyed at her messed up values and principles ingrained by nurture. 

12. What is your character’s current goal, summed up in one sentence?

Save the sun, keep his uncle alive, vindicate his friend’s honour.

13. Does your character ever want to “settle down” with a spouse, children, house, etc.?

He’s a sojourner who feels uneasy if he has to stay in one place for an extended amount of time. At this point he’s accepted the single life; it makes it easier to travel.

14. Has your character ever been in love?

He’s aromantic/asexual and can’t really distinguish between romantic and platonic love very well. He does love his friends and found family deeply however.

15. What battle in the campaign has been most memorable to your character?

Against a dragon turtle which is also a divine guardian of sorts. The party angered it and was having trouble hurting it at all; he used Greater Angelic Aspect for the first time to speak to it so it would stop attacking them. It eventually involved taking a massive hit for it and dying (for the first time since level 1), but it ended the battle with no further damages to the party.

16. If your character wasn’t whatever class they are, what would they be instead?

A cleric. Arguably with his temperament he’d have turned out better as one.

17. What is your character’s favourite season?

Spring - the sun gets stronger, the day gets longer, the plants and animals become livelier. 

18. What would your character’s Zodiac sign be, following stereotypical astrology?

Pisces.

19. Where in the world does your character most want to visit?

If it’s only Golarion and the material plane - the Padishah Empire of Kelesh.

20. What is the biggest mistake your character has ever made?

Boy where do we begin. A few months ago he’d have said “going to pee alone that one time”, but he’s okay with that now. 

He thinks his biggest mistake was to give in to despair and as a result fell from grace and lost his god-given powers. He counts the lives lost that could otherwise be saved as his fault.

21. Does your character have any noticeable scars? If so, what are their stories?

A scar on his neck from a time when he wanted to kill himself, and a stigmata in the form of a sunburst brand on his right hand from when he became a Holy Vindicator.

22. What animal best represents your character?

Bison - sometimes peaceful and absentminded, other times temperamental; bull-headed, tough and hardy, and stubborn.

23. If your character could go back in time and change one thing about their life, what would it be?

Aside from not falling from grace as per #20... pick a more common language to learn in school. See #95.

24. Which other player character does your character find themselves having the most in common with?

Those in the first adventuring party he’s had - with Adeline, Mirele, and Kebarong. Simple people with simple needs. Their personalities may be very different, but at least they live in worlds that are relatable.

25. Does your character regret any particular choice the party has made?

Anything that involves the deaths of innocents, even/especially if it’s for the “greater good”. 

26. What would your character say their best trait would be?

His faith in humanity.

27. What is your character’s greatest fear? Deep, irrational?

Having his soul doomed in one way or another. Presently the most plausible method by which this can happen is to have it torn asunder and destroyed.

28. What is currently motivating your character to stay with the party?

He knows he can’t do much of anything alone - not only does he play a supportive role in combat, he needs his companions’ skills, qualities, experience, and expertise to achieve the massive goal they all share (to a degree) - see #12.

29. What are your character’s hobbies and interests outside of their class?

Animals (especially felines), writing letters, pleasant long walks somewhere outdoors.

30. What would most people think when they first see your character?

Big, shiny, clangy, scary-looking, heavily-armoured man. He himself is completely unaware of this perception.

31. What stereotypical group role does your character play in the party? (The Mom, the Mess, the Comic Relief, etc. Optionally: What role would your character play in the “Five Man Band” structure?)

Often he’s the Heart. In a Five Man Band he’d be (conditionally) the Leader, the Lancer, or the Chick.

32. What is your character the most insecure about?

His terrible schmoozing skills.

33. What person does your character admire most?

His benefactor, mentor, and mother figure - a cleric who gave up her peaceful life and comfortable home to travel the world as a missionary and healer. 

34. What does your character admire and dislike the most about the player character sitting to your left?

(Rolling 1d3 between 1. Amalli, 2. Mawari, 3. Niyooshan)

NIYOOSHAN: He admires the alchemist’s resourcefulness, calm and analytical mind, general intelligence and skills in what he does. 

He dislikes his cold rationality and ability to make brutal decisions without hesitation... but what he dislikes more is his own feeling of envy for such a quality. (See also #67.)

35. Why is your character’s lowest stat their lowest (the in-character reason, not “because there’s no reason for a wizard to have 16 strength, duh”)?

Strength and dexterity (I know). He grew up poor and missed out on some bulking up as a child. He’s hardy though.

36. What would be your character’s theme song/favourite band/favourite genre of music?

Folk music with lots of wind instruments.

37. What stereotypical role would your character play in a high school AU/if they attended a normal high school? (Nerd, jock, bully, goth, etc.)

Looks like a jock, acts like a nerd. Probably would get bullied if not for protective friends.

38. What treasure/item/artifact that your character has collected during the adventure is the most important to them?

His standard issue shield given by the Church (with which he shares a Divine Bond, and he has had various upgrades attached to it), letters from friends and those he considers family, a feather from the Vermillion Bird.

39. Is there any particular weapon, item, etc. that your character longs to find?

Right now, as the campaign demands - the Chronicles of the Righteous. Otherwise he’d love to come across any of Sarenrae’s divine artifacts.

40. Where does your character feel the most at home?

BACKSTORY: the Sarenite church grounds in Absalom, where he grew up.

IN-GAME: Falcon’s Hollow, despite its cursedness, where he met people he grew to trust with his life.

41. Does your character care about how they’re perceived by others? How do they change themselves to fit in with other people?

He cares how his loved ones see him insofar as he wants them to trust him, but he doesn’t compromise easily on the kind of person his principles make him.

42. What does your character think is the true meaning of life?

To find something worth loving in everything and everyone.

43. What is your character’s scent? (Bonus points for a description that sounds like it could be from a bad [or awesome] fanfic.)

Sun-burnt vegetation and a faint but unmistakable hint of metal.

44. Does your character think more with their heart or their brain?

Heart.

45. What is your character’s most recent or frequent nightmare?

His most frequent nightmares all involve fire - a child being incinerated, a pile of bodies being cremated, a gigantic flaming wheel in the sky overlooking chaos befalling a city.

46. What opinion does your character have on [CERTAIN ESTABLISHED GROUPS/AUTHORITIES IN THE GAME WORLD]? (Dragon-marked Houses, royal crown, etc.)

CHURCH OF SARENRAE IN ABSALOM: It was his home once; not anymore. Maybe it can’t ever be home again now that he’s seen how deep the corruption runs.

EAGLE KNIGHTS: They mean well, but they have a ruthless murderer in their own ranks and after all these years they haven’t sorted that out. Helpful to a point, at least. 

HELL KNIGHTS OF THE SCOURGE: They’re more reasonable and likeable than he’d expected, and he’s not sure how to feel about that.

PATHFINDER SOCIETY: Crazy resourceful, shamelessly shifty.

JADE REGENT: Shit.

47. How did your character spend their childhood? Where did they grow up/who were their childhood friends?

He lived in poverty in a backwater town (Railford) in southern Taldor until the age of 8, when he was brought to the Church of Sarenrae in Absalom. His years there as an apprentice were the happiest, most peaceful of his life - he had his mentor and her companion as pseudo-parents, and made some close friends when he was training to be a paladin.

48. What aspect of your character’s future are they most curious about? (If they could know one thing about the future, what would it be?)

Whether or not he can redeem Shasriel. See also #52.

49. What colours are associated with your character?

Green, yellow, brown.

50. Who in the party would your character prioritise rescuing, in dire circumstances?

Among his current party of Amalli, Niyooshan, and Mawari, he’d prioritise Amalli because she’s been with him the longest and he knows her best out of the three.

51. Is your character the most swayed by ethos, pathos, or logos?

Pathos.

52. If your character was granted a single use of Wish, what would they use it for?

He’s wary of the repercussions and unforeseen consequences of such a powerful spell, so he’ll restrict it to wishing that the wraith feeding off of his soul be saved from undeath and her uncorrupted nature restored. See also #48.

53. What is your character’s favourite spell? If they don’t use spells: what is their favourite personal weapon/combat manoeuvre/skill/etc.?

Lay on Hands, with mercies and feats.

54. How does your character feel about keeping secrets from the rest of the party?

He doesn’t like it but he does it with people he’s not close to, out of fearing judgement. With close people he only keeps secrets if he himself doesn’t want to confront those things, which actually happens quite often.

55. What type of creature in the world is your character the most intrigued by?

Benevolent creatures that should be evil by nature - devils and undead for example.

56. When they were a child, what did your character want to be, or think they were going to be, when they grew up?

Before he went into paladin-specific training, he wanted to be a missionary cleric - just like his mentor. 

57. The player character to your left admits that they’re passionately in love with your character. How would your character respond?

(Rolling 1d3 between 1. Amalli, 2. Mawari, 3. Niyooshan)

MAWARI: He’d think she’s ill, making a bad joke, or trying to curse him.

58. If somebody (an NPC, someone from their backstory, etc.) your character trusts/loves asked your character to do something against the party’s best interest, who would they side with?

It would depend of course, but at this point he doesn’t really trust his current party, so he would probably side with his loved one.

59. Does your character value their own best interest more than the party’s?

Definitely not, to a fault sometimes.

60. What decision would the party have to make in order for your character to consider splitting off from the group?

Something unequivocally cruel and undeniably evil.

61. How does your character imagine the way they will die?

In battle, protecting others with all that he can give.

62. What is your character’s greatest achievement?

Aside from the battle described in #15, being vindicated by his goddess at the exact moment he defied an order from his religious superiors.

63. Is your character willing to risk the well-being of others in order to achieve their goal?

Not at all, unless his goal also happens to be the greater good.

64. What is your character’s opinion on killing others?

He understands the necessity of killing in the kind of life he’s chosen to live, but he tries his best to avoid killing innocents, and even those who are guilty - so long as he thinks they have a chance to be redeemed.

65. What is your character’s favourite food? Beverage?

He doesn’t have single favourite, but he likes homey, hearty meals. Potatoes make him think of Kebarong, one of his closest companions. As of late he seems to have suddenly developed a constant craving for almonds. 

66. How generous is your character? Especially to those they don’t know?

Very. He’d fall for any sob story; even if he knows he’s been cheated he wouldn’t change his ways, because his generosity being abused is not his problem, but the abuser’s.

67. What is your character the most envious about, regarding anyone in the party?

As addressed in #34, he’s envious about Niyooshan’s ability to make cruel but rational and/or necessary decisions. He is also sometimes envious of Amalli’s blissful ignorance of some realities of the world, but other times he feels sorry for her.

68. The player character to your left and the player character to your right are both telling your character two different versions of the truth. Who does your character believe?

(Rolling 2d3 between 1. Amalli, 2. Mawari, 3. Niyooshan) 

MAWARI & AMALLI: This is a toughie. On the one hand he trusts Amalli more than Mawari, since he’s known the former for a while and became acquainted with the latter only recently; on the other hand Amalli has a way of viewing and interpreting reality that he really doesn’t understand sometimes. Ultimately he’d take Amalli’s word for it if he has to.

69. What is your character’s sexuality/relationship with sex?

He’s aromantic and asexual, although he does enjoy intimacy with friends (i.e. he’s quite touchy-feely). if someone were to pursue him romantically/sexually and he already likes them a lot, he’d do what they request if he thinks that it improves their bond. 

70. What is your character’s biggest pet peeve?

People using doublespeak, especially if it’s for politics.

71. Describe how your character feels about the party’s current situation/objective/etc.

It’s a big job and he can’t even fathom how they’ll get there, but it has to be done and it seems like he and his companions are the ones who need to do it, so he’ll just have to take things one step at a time. 

72. Who in the party would your character trust the most to keep an important secret?

Niyooshan - he trusts the man to exercise discretion. Amalli means well but tends to run her mouth.

73. If your character knew that they were going to die in a month, how would they spend the rest of their life?

Write heartfelt letters to his friends and family, write strongly-worded letters to his Church and the authorities-that-be, and do his best to further his and his allies’ mission.

74. What makes your character feel safe?

A nice home-cooked meal, a warm fire, knowing people he trusts and loves are close by. 

75. If your character had the chance to rename the party/give the party a name, no questions asked, what would it be?

“Not-Rebels”. Because they’re totally not rebels with massive bounties on their heads. 

76. What memory does your character want to forget the most?

Technically he’s already forgotten it - the process by which his soul was bound to an ancient Azlanti wraith was traumatic enough that his memory of it is now repressed. 

For his intact memories, he’d very much like to forget about the time he watched a child be incinerated in an instant, or the time he’s had to mercy-kill a group of innocents who’d been afflicted by the curse of undeath... or maybe he doesn’t because he thinks he needs to carry his “mistakes” with him.

77. If your character had to multiclass into a class they currently aren’t the next time they level up, what would it be and what reason would they have for doing so?

Fighter - so he can be more flexible with gear, be more effective at controlling the battle, and - most importantly - use tower shields. 

78. What television/book/video game/etc. character would your character be best friends with? (Or: what media character is your character the most influenced by/similar to?

Take all the usual Knight Templar tropes and subvert them.

Additionally, my GM compares him to Anders of the Dragon Age franchise. I created Amur way before I knew who Anders was, and some of the similarities are frankly uncanny. 

79. What unusual talents does your character possess?

High pain tolerance, and (is this a talent?) diminished self-preservation instincts.

80. How does your character feel about receiving/giving orders? Are they more of a leader, or a follower?

He’s much happier receiving orders than giving them, but he can’t help but question or even defy those he considers immoral. He wants to be a follower but is ultimately too headstrong and impulsive to be a good one.

81. What does your character’s name represent to them? (Or: why as a player did you choose your character’s name?)

His name is one (of the few) ties he has with his birth family, but he’s fine if he has to use a different name temporarily for a good reason.

I named him after the Amur River. As a geomorphologist I sometimes name my OCs after landform features. All my original PCs and NPCs in this universe are named after real-world rivers.

82. Is your character more of an introvert, or an extrovert?

Introvert.

83. How far is your character willing to go to pursue the “greater good”? Do they believe in a greater good at all?

He believes in the greater good, he just doesn’t believe in having to sacrifice innocent individuals to pursue it.

84. What does your character want to be remembered by?

Kindness and compassion.

85. What would be your character’s major in college?

Humanities - more precisely, something along the lines of Anthropology or Cultural Studies.

86. Does your character consider themselves a hero, villain, or something else?

Something else - he sees himself as one who helps someone else become a hero, or turns someone away from villainy. 

87. What major arcana tarot card best represents your character?

Strength.

88. Where does your character see themselves in 20 years?

Dead. Still travelling around, with or without a name, finding trouble, and doing whatever needs to be done.

89. What is your character’s relationship with magic? Are they scared of it, wish to know more about it, indifferent to it?

To him, in general magic is just another ability or talent, as much as someone can be gifted physically, intellectually, or artistically. His own magic is granted by his deity, so he sees it as a blessing and not really belonging to him. 

90. Who is your character’s biggest rival?

He doesn’t consider anyone his rival, but he does have a nemesis of sorts by the name of Geminus Nero Rugatonn. The guy’s been hounding him and his friends since something like level 6.

91. What is your character’s guiltiest pleasure?

Playing with cats.

92. What does your character hope for the afterlife?

To have his soul intact and actually see Sarenrae in all her glory, and to meet those he thinks he’s failed and apologise to them.

93. Who in the party does your character trust the least?

At this point, Mawari - she’s only just joined them, is a witch with creepy curses and hexes, and is their ally only because their goals align with her being a traitor to the Jade Regent.

94. What is your character’s biggest flaw?

Impulsiveness, and being a bleeding heart who is way too forgiving.

95. How did your character learn the languages that they speak?

TALDANE: His first language, and the common tongue across most of the Inner Sea region.

TERRAN: Learned it as part of the curriculum in his apprentice days. Why he didn’t pick something less obscure is anyone’s guess. Maybe he just doesn’t want to use it much.

NECRIL: Started to learn this after being possessed (?) by a wraith.

TIAN: The common tongue in the continent of the current campaign, Tian Xia.

MINKAI: The local tongue in the country of the current campaign, Minkai.

SIGN LANGUAGE: Learned this after Niyooshan lost his speech. 

96. What is your character’s favourite school of magic/type of weaponry?

MAGIC: Healing (conjuration) and harm-negating spells (abjuration).

WEAPONRY: Do shields count?

97. What is most important to your character: health, wealth, or happiness?

Happiness.

98. What advice would your character give to a younger version of themselves?

“Don’t ignore the urging of your conscience; act on it. It’s better to regret what you’ve done than what you haven’t.”

99. Are there any social or political issues your character feels strongly about?

Any sort of persecution or discrimination that is based on some neutral and often unchangeable part of someone’s identity, e.g. being slaves, low-born, or of a particular race.

100. What, currently, is your character the most curious about?

What part he has to play and how he will end up by the end of this whole deal involving nations, religions, legacies, curses, spirits, gods, and Great Old Ones.

stats: Declan Grímnir Thorirsson McAuliffe, 29 (b. October 9th, 1990.) he/his (cis.) species: human occupation: musician working the nearby ski lodges & hotels / hunter

alignment: somewhere between lawful evil and chaotic neutral.

+ charming. observant. driven. adept. loyal. – ruthless. deceptive. reticent. calculating. macabre.

lymskr old Norse – ‘cunning’, ‘wily’. intelligent malevolence. an underlying sense of ill intent. danger lurking in the undertow. eyes unseen in the woods somewhere.

aesthetic

taller than god. speaking of; 'heathen devil’. monochrome tattoos. a circle of nine spears for odin on his arm. the grim mask of death. a sacred quest. a hollow future. choice as an act of vengeance. choice as an act of love. to hear the choir of gods as you creep through ancient woods. to follow the old ways, the old law. singing in tongues, lucid. dreaming awake, lost.

history

( tw physical/verbal child abuse, patricide, cult mentions, murder, mentions of arranged marriage. tl;dr at the end )

1.

He watches as the floating pyre burns, firelight dancing across the surface of the water. His mother is crying; his siblings, too. It’s the funeral of a king, he knows, to be set aflame like this, caught between sea and fire, earth and sky. It’s also a way to ensure the dead cannot walk again. That nothing might return from where it shouldn’t – and as he stands there, amidst the misery and smoke-black grief of his family and kindred, he finds himself daring his father to come back.

I’d do it again. I’d make you fucking suffer, second time around.

The proverbial throne is his, the kingdom and crown, the sword and the sceptre. He doesn’t want it.

When the time comes for the sjaund, the grave-ale at the end of a week he’s spent pretending to mourn a man who doesn’t deserve the effort – at the end of a week where they all expect him to become the new head of the family – Declan does what no one thought him capable of:

He spits in the face of his legacy, his bloodline, and tells them he’s leaving.

2.

They spent that August looking for signs. Freyja might reveal herself in the flight of falcons; Freyr in a good harvest. Rán and Ægir if the waves sweeping the shore grew heavy. A fall of white petals standing in for snow in the late-summer heat as a sign of Skadi. In truth, Aidan Thorir McAuliffe hoped his firstborn might be born to thunder and sheaves of lightning, making them – himself – twice-blessed by Thor. But none came. No one revealed themselves. Not until their son was born with a caul on the ninth day of October did they know who had chosen their child; why the rest had not made themselves apparent.

It was an omen of Odin’s favor.

They named him Grímnir, for an old facet of Odin – Grímnir, masked one, fitting for a boy born in the caul. The first in three generations to be chosen by the One-Eyed himself, Declan’s birth was an auspicious sign for the McAuliffes. By all accounts, it was the highest of honors, to have a child born beneath the watchful eye of the Allfather.

And yet it earned him his father’s ire. He has spent a lifetime wondering if it was jealousy or fear that left those scars on his back, that drove his father’s knuckles into a fist, into a hand clenched around whichever weapon would hurt – but not kill – his son. Did you think you were driving me towards greatness, or were you hoping you could break me?

3.

For as long as there have been beasts in the woods, there have been hunters to kill them. It is an old story – an old law. For centuries, his family has followed an Seanreacht, lines stretching from Massachusetts back to Ireland all the way to the ancient Norse. The old law encompasses the modern remnants of the Ulfheðnar: the ‘wolf coats’. What word survived of them among outsiders is that that they were berserkers, dressed in nothing but wolf pelts as they went into battle – all to honor Odin, the One-Eyed, the Allfather, the leader of the Wild Hunt.

The truth is that they slew werewolves. The grey pelts adorning their shoulders had once been people.

4.

Among those following an Seanreacht in the States, the McAuliffes are admired and feared in equal turn for their single-minded obsession, for the way they raise their children and keep the old ways. Their life is devotion: to the gods, to the hunt, to the songs and the stories. As the firstborn of the main house, Declan’s fate had been carefully laid out – he would devote himself to the cause or break before it; he would marry appropriately, and when the time came, he would take over. Not once did he struggle against it – for years, he did everything he could think of to live up to weight of his future. He let himself be hammered and bent into form; bore the brunt of his father’s expectations and cruelty without complaint. He was his father’s son in name, and at convenience; in theory and in blood – but he was not his father’s son, he was his father’s tool, blunt or sharp depending on the need.

Talent is innate, but skill is forged. It was his father’s favorite saying, and Declan wishes it didn’t come with the memory of his back bleeding, stinging as though he’d been set on fire. Punishment was a lesson he learned early – but that didn’t stop the lessons from coming, again and again.

Not until Brighid Nolan was taken in by his family did Declan so much as stop to pause at the way he’d been raised – and even then, it was not so much a pause as a moment’s stutter, because all he had known was life under his father’s thumb. What scraps they got of a childhood were spent on a petty rivalry that turned to bloodied, bruised understanding – and then Brighid left.

Funny, that. An omen all her own.

5.

It is winter, and it is dark, and he is a blade.

(No, that’s not right.)

It is winter, and it is dark, and he is pointing his rifle at his father, because a wolf has bit him, and his father takes it with grace, as an Seanreacht dictates. It’s a kind death, one befitting his foremost teacher–

(… No. That’s not right, either.)

It is winter, and it is dark, and his father is begging for his life. Slobbering, cursing, as he tells Declan of a cure, as he tells Declan that he cannot kill him, that he must listen to his father, and not the old ways, do as you’re fucking told, I won’t die here, boy–

It is winter, and it is dark, and his father begins to run, like he thinks the Allfather might stop the bite from taking. Like he thinks Declan didn’t learn a damn thing, all those years spent being broken into whatever shape suited his father best. Like he thinks Declan doesn’t remember the lessons.

He exhales.

He shoots.

(In the hands of his maker, he became a formidable weapon.)

6.

The wolf escaped his father’s aim, but Declan drags a corpse back to the compound all the same. The rites are due to begin any day when Brighid calls.

(She’s crying. It’s an unfamiliar sound.)

He cannot tell you why he did it. He likes to think of himself as a logical man, and, by all accounts, wrecking his future was not logical. With logic gone, what remained? Grief. Resentment, maybe; a shining, hateful moment of spite. Loyalty, wretched and wrong, for someone who left, no less. Love, unspeakable.

He comes home with a traitor, brandishing scars that match; comes home bound in blood to a woman who is not his fiancée, and all that stops them from burning the mark of the blood oath off his skin is that he is his father’s son.

Funny, that. How things work out.

7.

They leave, and they do not look back. His family and his bride to be think it’s the work of grief – are prepared to forgive him for his transgressions, are prepared to let him have this for the next few weeks. But weeks turn to months turn to a year, and then another, and another. He fields calls. Tells them that he won’t invoke odelsrett; that he has no intention of taking over.

They keep calling.

8.

They left, and they didn’t look back. But faith is a complicated thing, and it’s been ingrained in him since birth. There are things he has seen he doesn’t have an answer for. He knows the world well enough to have reached the conclusion that if there’s such a thing as werewolves, it wouldn’t be so strange for there to be gods and other creatures out there. And so he still sings the songs, carves the effigies, finds comfort in the habit of it all, even if he cannot decide if the echo sounds hollow or not.

9.

He remains bound to her by blood, by choice, by the things they do not speak. They’ve come to Blackrock for their quarry, for the one that stole from her – but winter’s stalking closer, and with it, wolves. So they bide their time, as the cold creeps closer. He sings the songs, and carves the effigies, and remains a hunter true.

tl;dr

– raised as a Norse-flavoured cultist in an abusive home – killed his own father – was the firstborn heir; abandoned the calling for Brighid – a traitor to their cult – also, blood oath. bound to Brighid 4 life – now they travel the States killing werewolves, and Santí is at the top of their list

wanted connections

(john mulaney voice) he’s NEW IN TOWN

Declan’s looking for information, as winter nears – to that end, he’s relatively friendly, even charming, in how he approaches people. (He wants to suss out hunters and wolves alike.) He’s 6′5″, otherwise known as ‘so tall it’s terrible’, but has a way about him that makes you forget how intimidating that can be – until he wants you to remember. 

As he is indeed NEW IN TOWN, i’m simply looking to Vibe–– some quick ideas:

– MUSE B hears him playing at a nearby ski lodge; thinks that’s real neat – ....... i swear i’ll come up with more ideas but i mean honestly let’s just vibe, babey

Hello Grey! On various different occasions I've attempted to integrate cultures in both canon and fanmade Clans and every time, I have trouble even guessing where to start. I know their landscape and diets are different, but I think where I'm finding difficulty is making them all separate enough from one another, but also not taking away what makes them a warrior Clan, such as ranks for example. Do you have any advice? Thank you!

Hello, Ruddles! I think I do have some advice for you. You are looking very broadly at these clans’ components and trying to make big, significant, immediately noticeable changes. But culture is in everything we do: not just what we eat, but how we eat it; not just where we live, but how we conceptualise our relationship with where we live. My advice to you is to look closely at small, intimate details of daily life and the beliefs of your clans, rather than trying to change the whole structure. 

Two clans eat the same kind of prey. One clan’s hunters will always bring back what they’ve caught, put it under the central tree, and the leader or medicine cat will climb the tree and make a blessing over the kill before anyone will eat: the clan believes only those two cats have the power to properly bless the dead, of any species, and eating something that hasn’t been blessed is taboo. The other clan’s hunters will give a prayer over each creature they kill as they kill it, then return home and give the prey directly to other clan-mates themselves: they have no prey-place and no cat would ever consider letting a body touch the ground and lie there, because it is disrespectful to the dead and will attract bad spirits. Two clans, same prey, similar beliefs in the power of blessing, but they are still different and a cat from one clan would have a very hard time adapting to life in the other. 

You can extrapolate more depth about each clan from here by asking questions: why does one clan believe only the leader/medicine cat can bless, and the other believes anyone can? Where does this difference in belief stem from? What do the clans consider “a bad spirit” and where do they believe they come from? What happens to cats who break the taboo? What does each clan think of their prey–i.e., does prey exist for them, does prey have feelings, does prey have a soul, who are the praying to when they give a blessing? The more questions you ask, the more you’ll discover and develop about each clan’s culture. You can pad out nearly every part of clan life by thinking about culture in this close-to-home scope. 

Another example would be two clans who share a river as the boundary to their territories. One clan believes themselves to be owners (and creators) of the river: they see themselves as inheriting the right to fish, hunt, swim, and use the river however they like, whenever they like from their fierce and powerful ancestors, who (in their legends) fought against an evil toad and its army. When those ancient warriors defeated the toad, it burst into water and created the river itself. Therefore, these cats believe that without them, there would be no river, and so of course it is theirs and theirs alone. The other clan believes themselves to be the caretakers of the river, tasked with looking after it until the talking cloud who cried the river comes back again: they perceive themselves as having a responsibility to watch over the river, no matter what, and that if they abandoned that responsibility, the storm that their ancestors made a promise with would punish them. 

Both clans have legends about the same river and a reason to fight, but their perspectives are hugely different. One clan’s focus is on conquest, power, ownership, rights, justice, and rewards for past great deeds; the other clan’s focus is on responsibility, patience and endurance, keeping promises, and avoiding punishment/trying to fulfill a future great deed. These clans are not opposites, either! They’re both willing to fight and fight and fight about this damn river. One isn’t the “bad” clan and the other the “good” clan. They’re just different, and their way of seeing the world will impact how they interact with it and each other. 

Which brings me to the other thing to consider as you go is how does having  different cultures add to your story? It can definitely add a sense of verisimilitude and depth to your world, but if you don’t want it to just be window-dressing for your setting, it’s worthwhile to consider how culture will influence and shape your characters and your narrative. To give you some idea of how to think about this, come up with a few scenarios: ethical problems, social problems, whatever you like! Pick what interests you and what you like to write about. Then think through how each clan would approach thinking about and solving these issues and dilemmas. If you get exactly the same answer every time, there’s probably more work to be done on making your cultures real and ingrained in your clans, rather than something sprayed over the top of Generic Clan for decoration.  

The final piece of advice I can offer you is: keep most of your world-building a secret. I know that is a lot to ask, because you love your ideas and you’re very excited and you want to share them all with the world, but over-telling can really weigh down a story and sap the life out of it for your reader. If you give them all the answers upfront, they have nothing left to wonder about. If you tell them every detail of your world, you leave no room for thinking about it later when they’re on the bus or on their favourite forum. As hard as it can be, your job as a writer is basically to build a beautiful, intriguing world, and then only show your reader an ankle of it. The thought of what’s beyond that ankle will keep them thinking about your story for years, and if you’ve done your world-building well, there will be no doubt in your reader’s mind that there is so much more behind the curtain. Solid, interesting world-building leaks through every time and will flavour your whole story, even when you only lightly touch on it in the writing: a word here, a suggestion there. Enough to make them hungry, but not enough to kill the appetite, you know? 

I like to think of readers (myself included, and maybe especially?) as a little like zoo animals--tigers, or monkeys, or elephants, whatever you like. You give them a little something to eat, and they eat it and it’s over. You give them something to eat that’s trapped in a block of ice, or after they solve a puzzle, or cut up very small and scattered around in a dozen hiding places, and they’ll spend hours working to getting to it all. The more you withhold your world-building, the more you leave things implied or imperfectly solved, the more you leave for your reader to figure out for themselves using the pieces you’ve scattered about for them, often the more enjoyment they will get from thinking about (and “solving”) your work in their own time! I hope this is helpful to you, and good luck with your writing! 

Fic: A Sign of Trust

WinterFRE2017 Prompt 94: Mer!Fili

Digital prizes please.

AO3 Link

It's a rather humbling experience when you gain the trust of a previously wounded animal, and Kili will do anything to make sure that trust is never broken.

The sun hadn't been up long when Kili parked his car in front of the large cement structure where he spent most of his time. The moment he opened the door and stepped out he could smell the salty water from the ocean not too far away and hear the seagulls as they fought over food on the beach.

Kili had been working for the Erebor Aquarium in the city it took its name from for a couple of years and he lived for his job and what he did. They housed all different kinds of marine life from the really small to fairly large, though thankfully they hadn't been needed to tend to an orca as long so Kili had been employed there.

The aquarium didn't keep animals to make profit from, but instead tried rehabilitate those that were injured and needed to heal before being released back into the ocean. Visitors could come inside the aquarium for a small donation to its cause and learn more about the species inhabiting the oceans, but it was never a big show and the animals didn't perform on demand.

Some people left unsatisfied, but Kili was never unhappy to see them go. Some people just didn't see animals the way the team there did and the sooner they left the better in Kili's opinion. The wildlife belonged in the wild, and it was part of Kili's job to ensure that as many of their residents as possible would be returned back to the wild. Sadly the aquarium did have a few permanent residents that would never be fit to be released, like a manatee that had been hit by a boat and would only swim counter clockwise because half her body had been paralyzed. On her own she'd either starve to death because she couldn't reach her food or she'd be hit by another boat. There was also a sea turtle that’d been injured by garbage, and a whitetip reef shark whose dorsal fin had been almost completely cut off.

But that was okay, Kili and the rest of the staff working there made sure that they lived happily and remained healthy.

At least they did their best. Some of the more difficult residents were impossible to please. Kili had been assigned to one such resident a couple of months ago, and he'd spent every day and a many nights since then trying to gain the creature's trust.

The resident in question was a mermaid and a rather rare sight nowadays thanks to overfishing, polluted waters, and human greed. Kili had never actually seen one in person before he'd met this one, and he hadn't known what to expect.

The species was known to be secretive and rather shy, keeping far away from land where humans dwelled. There were of course those myths about them being able to lure sailors to their deaths with their beauty and their song, but Kili had yet to observe any kind of singing so far.  Most were known to be unpredictably moody, though the younger ones seemed to have a curious streak as they were the ones more often spotted or caught. Kili had read too many articles about the high price a tail fin could go for if sold to the right buyer, or how another mer had died in captivity after someone had taken it home and had been unable to provide it the proper care it had needed. Unable to, or didn’t care.

It was enough to make him sick.

It was with that thought in mind that Kili stepped onto the observation deck and made his way to the familiar tank. The mer in question had been brought to them after being found on a beach barely alive. Nobody could say what had truly happened to him, but Oin, the establishment's veterinarian, had discovered that among many other lacerations and injuries, certain fins along the tail had been sliced off, and he could only guess that the mermaid had somehow managed to escape before whoever had caught him could finish the job. This mer’s tail had a colouring blend of gold and black that would shine when the sun hit it. It seemed to be a sought after colour as it was unique and eye catching.

He had been lucky to survive, and even after having been brought to the aquarium it had been touch and go for many days since the forlorn creature had refused to eat or even move away from a corner of the tank. Dead fish weren't appetizing and he couldn't move fast enough to catch live ones. Oin had tried force feeding him once out of desperation, but that had only traumatised him further and ingrained a deep mistrust for the vet and most of the other staff members. Once freed back into his tank, the mermaid had retreated to the bottom where his body grew thinner and thinner as the days passed and the colour of his tail dulled to brown and grey.

Everyone had given up on him surviving except Kili, and it was only by accident that Kili had dropped some of the grapes he'd had in his lunch into the water. Suffice it to say, apparently mermaids really liked grapes. At least this one did.

From there Kili had tried all kinds of fruit and found that the creature would eat practically anything. The only exception seemed to be apples. Those would only be thrown back at Kili along with an annoyed splash. Yes, mermaids were very moody, but a deep bond formed between them regardless of how many apples Kili tossed into the tank. And because of Kili's dedication, the skeletal like mer had filled out more and grew stronger with each passing day.

But no matter how strong he grew, he could never gain back the speed his fins had provided him with, and because he wasn't fast enough to catch food on his own or flee from danger, he'd been deemed a permanent resident. But Kili had hope that he'd be able to adapt so that one day he'd be strong enough to leave. It was a high hope, but the creature was intelligent and deserved to be back with his family even if that meant Kili never seeing him again.

Knowing that that wouldn't happen for years if it happened at all, Kili was just enjoying the time he got to spend with the amazing creature. They were both teaching each other and it was an experience Kili wouldn’t trade for anything.

Humming to a song he'd heard on the radio on his drive over, he shouldered the backpack he always carried a little higher as he spotted a redheaded woman already standing by the railing of his tank, leaning over it and peering into the water.

"Hey T!" He called out but barely got a twitch in response. He frowned in confusion before the sudden thought that something was wrong entered his brain.

Before he could panic and race toward the tank, his friend turned back to look at him with a grin on her face. "Come slowly." She whispered and motioned him forward.

Still confused but less panicked, Kili did as he was told, approaching the railing slowly and coming to stand beside her before peering into the water. He let out a sigh of relief and immediately relaxed when he realized nothing was wrong, though the scene wasn't something he expected to see. "How did that happen?" He wondered as he crossed his arms on the metal railing, smiling fondly at the mer in the tank.

"Ori forgot to lock the penguin enclosure after feeding them last night. I'm pretty sure they've been here most of the night." Tauriel tried to sound annoyed, but it was clear that she was enjoying the sight by the smile on her face.

Kili certainly enjoyed watching as the two small Humboldt penguins that had come to them after getting caught in an oil slick zipped and darted around the mermaid floating in the middle of the tank. He had no hope of catching them, but that wasn't the goal of their play apparently. The goal was to climb up onto the mermaid's tail that was floating along the surface and jump off into the water only to zip around the tank once before climbing up and doing it all over again.

It thrilled Kili to see that tail on full display as it was usually hidden beneath the water.

The mer seemed to be enjoying himself too as he kept himself afloat so that his new friends could play while he made a clicking noise every few moments that Kili recognised meant that the mer was pleased. They didn’t normally mix species in the same tank, though it wasn’t like they had another mer to socialize with. The only interaction the mer truly got and actually enjoyed was with Kili. All the interactions with Oin and the medical staff were forced and stressful.

Kili hadn't been noticed yet since he was behind the mer, so he took that moment to observe the relaxed and almost carefree behaviour. Now that the mer was healthier, it wasn't hard to see why mermaids were said to be able to cast spells on human sailors and lead them to their doom. Kili had long accepted the fact that he was utterly enchanted by this creature.

Long blond hair spread out in the water around his head like the tentacles of an octopus and the gold and even black scales of his tail caught the sun and shined in places now that it was healthy again. The mermaid was a beautiful sight to behold despite the scars that littered his torso and his tail, and Kili couldn't help but stare in awe of him. He could only imagine what that tail would look like if it had all its fins.

By the scarring Oin had been able to tell that the mer had originally had pectoral fins that had been located just under the hips on both sides and a long dorsal fin that had spanned almost all the way down the back of his tail. There were also markings to indicate that he'd once had pelvic fins on either side closer to the bottom of the tail. The fin on the fluke itself had once been almost feather like, but it too had gotten damaged somehow. Whether it was from the humans who cut the fins or from the struggle to shore, nobody could say for sure.

There were other scars, but on sea creatures they were a common sight. It was an eat or be eaten world and everything had to struggle to survive, so Kili didn’t think twice about the few marks of lighter skin along the creature’s shoulders or his chest. The one that was highly noticeable, and usually kept hidden from sight, was the long jagged mark that ran from the bottom of his ribs on his right side to the joint in the tail that allowed it to bend, about where the human knee would be. That had been still freshly bleeding when their rescue van had finally brought him in. It had later gotten infected, which had thrown Oin into action.

A sudden squeal that was followed by a loud clicking sound brought Kili out of his musings and he realized he'd been spotted. Kili had easily become the mermaid's favourite human and he was always greeted enthusiastically on the good days, which were becoming more and more frequent.

"Hi Fili." Kili waved to him before kneeling down and opening his backpack. He hadn't been the one to name the mer, but the staff had insisted on it because he was Kili’s mer and the name had stuck. The mermaid seemed to like it if only because it was so similar to Kili's name.

Tauriel chuckled, "I'll grab Ori and we'll round up the penguins." She said as she pushed away from the railing. "I wish my boyfriend would greet me like that." She teased.

Kili rolled his eyes as he set his bag down, "He's a mermaid, not my boyfriend." It was a familiar argument that Kili had resigned himself to.

"He's a boy mermaid." Tauriel pointed out, "Which still applies. He's your merboy."

Kili scowled at her as he drew a smaller waterproof pouch from his backpack that he clipped to the side of his waist. "He's not even human and wouldn't understand things like that."

"Bullshit. Everybody else thinks it; I'm just saying it. Even Oin mentioned his mating behaviour when you're around. He gave you his frog, Kili." She was talking about one of the bath toys they'd dumped into the tank to give Fili something to do. For whatever reason, Fili had decided that a neon green rubber frog that spit water when squeezed was his favourite. He'd carried it around since that day and had refused to be parted with it. Admittedly it had been easier to get him to cooperate for Oin if he could cling to the toy, and they'd only had one incident where he'd sunk his sharp teeth into another staff member when the man tried to take the toy away so they could get x-rays.

Everyone in the facility knew that that toy had become Fili's, and they risked life and limb by attempted to take it away.

And yet he'd given it to Kili about two weeks and had become distraught when Kili had tried to give it back. Now it sat in the bottom of Kili's bag and he found himself carrying it around with him.

Mermaids were said to give a gift to a potential mate. Normally it would be a rock or a shell that they could weave into their hair, though sometimes it was a fish or some other type of favourite food, but Fili's tank was devoid of any rocks or fish, so he'd given what he could. And out of all the toys in the collection, he’d made sure to give Kili his favourite.

"Yeah he did." Kili sighed and looked up at her. Everyone also knew that Kili had grown attached to the mer. He'd been afraid it would be considered wrong or unhealthy and that he'd be fired, but he honestly couldn't help it. Forming an attachment to any of the animals was a given, but mermaids were on a whole other level. He was relieved to know that he wasn't the first of his kind to form such an attachment either.

"Mermaids are different from the other creatures we bring in." Thorin, the man running this whole operation had told him when Kili had first brought it up, "I don't even feel right calling them animals. They're people, just different from us. It doesn't happen as often now since they're rarely spotted, but do a quick Internet search and you'll see that you're not the first." Kili had been under the impression that Fili wasn't the first mermaid that Thorin had ever encountered before, but he hadn't been brave enough to ask.

"Everybody knows that mermaids choose one mate in their lives, and this one has chosen you. You know he'd be displaying his fins for you if he could." Tauriel was smirking, "And from what we've pieced together, they'd be pretty magnificent."

Kili hated thinking about the fins Fili had lost. They weren’t only to help a mermaid swim and manoeuver in the water, but the fins were a way to attract a mate. Even if Fili were able to be released one day, he was pretty much condemned to a life of solitude. "Could you just go get Ori and get those penguins out? It's hard to teach Fili when he's distracted." Kili muttered as he got up and moved to a ladder that would take him to a large smooth ledge a few inches under the water. The water of the tank itself was a few feet down from the observation deck where Tauriel was still standing for safety precautions so that any animal inside it couldn't climb out and hurt themselves.

"Oh please." Tauriel rolled her eyes, "As if he ever pays attention to anything else when you're around. Stop denying it Kili." She huffed but did as she said she would and left to go find Ori.

“I’m not denying anything.” Kili mumbled as he turned back to the three figures staring at him. The two penguins had already climbed out of the water and were standing near the edge of the ledge. Fili was between them, leaning on his arms so that he was half way out of the water and his tail was still beneath the surface. He was rather protective of it and rarely let even Kili touch it. Kili couldn't blame him and didn't take it personally.

"Hey you." Kili smiled at his friend before kneeling down in front of the three of them. The two penguins got greetings of their own as they crowded either side of him looking for fish. "You two know I don't carry fish, and I'm not giving you the grapes I have." He told them as if they understood.

The penguins might not have understood, but Fili understood the word 'grapes' very well and his blue eyes lit up in excitement. He reached across the short distance and tugged on Kili’s shorts, giving the man a pleading look.

"You know the deal. You'll get your treats when we learn something today." Kili laughed as he pried that hand from his clothing. He didn't let go of it though, and Fili clung onto him too. His hand was cool from being in the water, but it warmed quickly within Kili's grasp.

During one of his many talks with Thorin regarding the mermaid and mermaids in general, Kili had learned that there were records of older mermaids learning to speak the human language. While Fili was considered young for a mer, Kili had decided that he was going to try to teach Fili to speak. If the mer was going to be a permanent resident, then Kili didn't see the harm in trying to better communication with him for both their sakes. Besides, Fili grew bored easily and this gave him something to do, and of course it meant more time with Kili and getting his favourite treat every time he learned a new word.

So far he'd learned to say 'hi', 'food', 'yes', 'no', and they'd been working on Kili's name, though the L sound was giving him a little trouble. They'd only just started, so Kili thought it was great progress.

The hand disappeared quite suddenly as Fili slipped back under the water and the penguins suddenly started chittering loudly as Tauriel returned with Ori. Ori was their favourite because he always gave them fish, but Ori had also been one of those that had helped in Fili's forced feeding so he wasn't trusted, and every time he was near Fili would hide under the surface.

"I hope they didn't cause too many problems." Ori smiled sheepishly as he knelt down to receive one of the penguins that Kili picked up and handed over.

"Nah." Kili shook his head, grinning widely as he remembered the fun his mer had been having. “I don’t think anybody would complain if they happened to get out again." He said cryptically.

Ori understood his meaning and winked down at the brunet. "Oh, knowing these two I'm sure it'll happen again." He promised as Kili handed the second penguin to Tauriel. "We'll leave you and your merboy alone now." Ori laughed.

"Damn it Tauriel." Kili groaned as he watched them walk away laughing. By noon the rest of the facility would be using that term and Kili knew he'd be in for a lot of teasing. Oh well, it was all in good fun, and he supposed it was kind of true.

He glanced back and was greeted with nothing but the calm surface of the water. "Are you planning on hiding the entire time?" He asked but there was no response. He sighed dramatically even as he walked to the edge and sat down with his legs dangling over the cement ledge. The water quickly soaked the shorts he was wearing and made him shiver, but he seemed to spent more of his time in the water than out of it and was used to the cold temperature. He patted the surface of the water to get Fili's attention.

"Alright, looks like I'll have to eat these grapes all by myself then." He dug into the bag he carried and pulled out a couple of green grapes. Those were the favourite choice. Red just didn't cut it.

Before he could even pretend to pop one into his mouth, a wave hit him from the front as Fili surfaced right between his legs and he suddenly had his arms full of chirping mermaid. He laughed happily as arms circled around his neck and a wet nose nuzzled against his chin. "I was only gone for eight hours and you act like you haven’t seen me in forever!" He snickered once the chirping had died down.

Fili didn't care how long Kili had been gone for and he always hated having to watch the human leave. Kili was told that he'd usually sulk in the bottom of his tank most of the night afterward, and while Kili felt guilty for causing the distress, he couldn't very well live at the aquarium, even if he wished he could.

"Hihihi." Fili greeted him, looking pleased with himself as the words were clear though slurred together. His voice was a little rough sounding as he wasn't used to speaking yet, but Kili enjoyed hearing it all the same.

A hand reached down to grab at the pouch on Kili's waist.

"Hey, hey! You know the rules." Kili wiggled a little to get away from the grabby hand. "New word first." He insisted, grinning when the mer pouted at him. "I'm glad to see that that isn't just a human trait." He snickered before holding up the grape he held in his hand. "Say my name and you get this and a special treat."

Curious as to what this special treat entailed, blue eyes regarded him for a moment before he opened his mouth. "Keeeee." He began.

"Now try the last part." Kili encouraged before showing Fili how to make the L sound by pressing the tip of his tongue against the back of his front teeth. "Leeee." He prolonged the vowel a little.

Fili had no sense of personal space and got right up close to Kili's face so he could watch the movements of the human's tongue as it preformed the action. He smelled a little stronger than the sea, but it was a scent Kili was well acquainted with and actually enjoyed.

"Lllll..." He opened his mouth, showing Kili his sharpened teeth as he pressed the tip of his rough tongue against the backs of them just as Kili had shown him.

"Now it just sounds like you're growling." Kili teased, leaning back on his hands so Fili didn't just drag him into the water by the weight of his tail. The mer was happy enough to rest against him.

"No." Fili pouted again, eyes narrowing at the teasing. Kili recognised that he should lay off the teasing a little as a real growl escaped his friend's throat. Some days Fili was receptive to it, others he wasn't. Moody creatures indeed.

"Okay, okay. I won't tease you today." Kili promised before bringing one hand forward and poking Fili's nose.

Those blue eyes crossed to watch the finger and the mer shook his head when his vision went funny. Apparently he wasn't having that behaviour today either because he opened his mouth and had Kili's finger between his teeth faster than Kili could register the movement.

He frowned when he felt the sharp pinch of teeth close around his skin. It wasn't enough to really hurt or do any damage, but the warning was clear. "Hey now. We've talked about this. You bite me and I take the grapes and go eat them myself, and I will make sure you can see it." Kili threatened and since he'd done it before, Fili knew it wasn't an empty one.

The teeth tightened but Kili wasn't worried. He knew Fili just had to take a moment to make his decision. He'd been bitten before, mostly at the beginning when they were still building trust between them, but there had been a couple of times like today when the mer was extra moody or having a bad day.

Deciding that grapes were better than being a brat, Kili's finger was released and most of the upper body weight of the mer was pressed down on the man. There were soft chirps and clicks of apology as Fili cuddled into Kili's chest.

"I know you didn't mean it." Kili promised, using his now free hand to run through Fili's hair. It was tangled and wet, but Kili was careful not to pull on any snags. "Were you up all night playing with the penguins?" He suddenly wondered. That would explain the grumpiness.

"...yes." Fili sounded reluctant to admit it, like a child being chided by his mother for staying up too late on a school night.

"You're such a silly thing." Kili laughing softly. "If we can make it through a quick lesson without any blood shed or loss of fingers, we'll go easy the rest of the day. How does that sound?" He moved his head back enough so that he could peer into Fili's face.

The mer looked tired now that Kili was looking, and he couldn't help but smile softly at the cute sight a sleepy Fili made as he nuzzled against Kili's shirt. He made a rather displeased sound, but relented and sat up so they could continue.

"Lee." Kili prompted and they spent the next little while struggling with the L until finally, Fili grew frustrated and took a deep breath.

"Lee!" He shouted to release some of that frustration, but instead startled himself into silence. He stared at Kili with wide eyes before sinking back into the water with a squeak.

Kili laughed, the comical behaviour once more reminding him of a child who'd just done something wrong. It was quite the opposite though, and Kili clapped in pride, "You did it!" He cheered. "Don't hide, you did it!" He held his arms out, knowing Fili knew it meant Kili wanted a hug.

A wave soaked his shirt completely as Fili surged forward, wrapping his arms around Kili's waist, squeaking and clicking happily even as his swishing tail churned the water around them.

"Okay, now say it together." Kili pulled back a little, hands going up to gently cup Fili's cheeks. "We'll go slowly, okay? Kee."

Fili was grinning widely, his whole body wiggling in excitement. "Kee." He repeated.

"Lee." Kili was excited for him.

"Lllleeee." The mer forced out again. "Keelee." He wrinkled his nose and frowned because it wasn’t quite right.

"You almost got it." Kili would have been happy with that, but Fili didn't seem satisfied. "Just say it a little faster. Kili."

"Kili." Fili breathed out.

"That's it!" Kili gasped, utterly bursting with pride at Fili's accomplishment. He’d make sure to leave a big message on the whiteboard in the staffroom about this.

"Kili!" This time the name was followed by a series of clicks and squeals that Kili had learned was an equivalent to laughter. "Kili. Kili. Kili."

"I wish you knew what a nerd was, because you're being one." Kili shook his head in amusement as he pulled three more grapes out of his pouch. "Alright, that was amazing Fili. Here's your treat." He held the grapes out where they were snatched up quickly as though he might change his mind any second.

Fili lounged against him as he consumed his well-earned reward as though he were a large dog who still believed itself to be a lapdog, but Kili didn't mind the extra weight and waited patiently for Fili to finish.

When he had, those blue eyes focused on Kili again. "Kili." This was clearly going to be Fili's new favourite word. Maybe they'd work on Fili's name next.

"What?" The brunet asked with a grin on his face, a surprised yelp escaping him as questing hands were shoved into his shirt. "Hey!" He giggled, "What are you doing?" He tried to shift away from sharp nails but Fili was basically pinning him to his spot.

The mer whined, unable to communicate what it was he was looking for. He reached for the pouch again and wiggled it, though surprised Kili by not just pulling it and retreated to the bottom of the tank. That had happened before.

"I already gave you your treats." Kili said brows furrowed for only a few seconds before it dawned on him. "Oh! You want your special treat?"

"Yes!" Fili attempted to crawl into Kili's shirt again, hunting for whatever else the human might have brought with him.

Kili couldn't help the giggles falling from his mouth, "It's not food, so you might be disappointed."

That caused Fili to pause and look at Kili in confusion. "Food? No?" He tilted his head adorably as he stared at the human.

"No food." Kili shook his head before smiling down at his mer. "I don't even know if mers do this." He admitted before he took a breath, leaned forward, and then planted a kiss right on the tip of Fili's nose.

The mer stilled completely as he stared at Kili like a deer caught in headlights once the man had pulled back to see his face, even his tail had stopped shifting.

Kili grew a little worried. Did mers have offensive gestures? Had Kili just crossed a line?

But then his worry melted away as the shocked expression on Fili's face turned into one of pure delight, and before Kili knew what was happening, hands gripped his wrists and he was being pulled into the tank.

"Hey!" He managed to cry out before he went completely under. He didn't panic as he was an expert swimmer, and he really should have been used to being yanked into the water by the mer.

He surfaced in the middle of the tank and brushed his hair out of his face so that he could spot the dark shape swimming in celebratory circles around him. He chuckled at the dramatic display and certainly wasn't going to put a damper on the mer's happiness. Besides, Fili's excitement over something small was ridiculously cute. "Are you done yet?" He laughed, treading water as he watched the dark colour of Fili's tail move by him again. Instead of going around for another lap, the mer changed course under the water and came right up beside Kili and floated along on his back.

"Are you done with your little dance now?" Kili teased, sensing that it was okay to do so this time. His respond was to get a tail shoved against his side. "Wait, what-" He knew touching Fili's tail would usually end in one way: with a harsh slap and the mer hiding along the bottom of his tank for a few hours, but this seemed to be like an offering of some sort.

He watched the mer, careful to keep his hands away from the shimmering scales. Fili didn't seem disturbed by having Kili so close at all and made an encouraging little purring sound as they both bobbed in the waves he'd created.

"I can touch?"

"Kili. Yes." Fili promised as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, seemingly not having a care in the world.

Apparently Kili was getting a special treat of his own today. It was the ultimate sign of trust as far as Kili was concerned, especially considering the harsh abuse Fili had already endured at the hands of other humans. He was not taking this offer lightly.

Carefully, and with more than a little caution in case Fili changed his mind as mermaids were known to do, Kili placed the tips of his fingers along the large scar along Fili’s ribs. The mer didn’t even twitch as he soaked up the sun that was beaming down into this part of the tank. Deciding it was safe, Kili trailed his fingers down marvelling at the change in texture as skin almost like his own turned rougher and darkened with scales. They were mostly smooth as long as he kept his hand going in the direction toward the fluke, but very rough if he moved back toward Fili’s head.

He paused when he reached one of the smooth scars where a pectoral fin used to be and ran his thumb gently over it. It saddened him, but he tried not to think about it. As much as he wanted Fili to be able to return to the wild and to his home, the chances of that were slim. He’d never survive, and now that he’d chosen a mate, the likelihood of him leaving was almost nonexistent. But like the other creatures at the aquarium, he’d be given the proper care and attention so that he would live a good and happy life.

Kili would personally make sure of it.

Just a note: Fili’s tail originally looked like #7, though different colours.

Black hole & Star cluster please :>

Star cluster - Does your Shepard have any mental illnesses and if yes, do they visit a therapist or talk to someone about it?

I gave Kanae Shepard the went-through-HELL backstory combo, so she lost her family to a slaver raid, and went on to survive a thresher maw attack almost all of her squad was killed by.  She started out pretty traumatized, and she actually went through a lot of personal growth regarding that.  I wouldn’t say she had long, deep heart-to-hearts with Wrex specifically about her personal life, but getting to know him, and being his friend, taught her a lot and gave her a lot of encouragement and validation and hope.

What I’ve read about mental trauma basically describes it as an outlook shift where the assumption that lethal danger could easily happen is built deep into your worldview, and you’re wired to live your life accordingly.  And the symptoms are basically grounded in that, in how you don’t want to experience a terrible thing or die.  

Now let’s talk about krogan.  The lore describes them as very survival-oriented; even the placement of their eyes (wide-set, for scouting out danger, rather than close together, for focusing on prey) is supposed to reflect how deeply ingrained it is in their minds to prioritize survival.  We learn that prewar krogan only rarely had blood rage, and that that stuck out as a plus in the whole evolution scheme when the cities came crashing down because being able to get out of a tight spot and momentarily not feel pain turned out to be pretty useful.  So modern krogan society is made up of these individuals who, by archaic standards, and modern standards of other aliens, basically count as messed up in the head; the world is obviously not out to get you.  But guess the fuck what everybody!  Tuchanka literally is out to get everybody!  Because it’s Planet Fuck Everyone Who Lives Here!  And the krogan aren’t scuttling around in shame because they’re “wrong” about their outlook according to outsiders who don’t know them.  They’re thriving with everything they’ve got, and they’re damn proud of being alive.  By their standards, they’re doing just fine.

So Kanae met Wrex.  And it turns out he’s carrying a lot of grief.  It turns out he’s carrying the pain of abandonment from his family, the pain of having failed his clan and his species, the pain of oppression from the galaxy at large, and just a lot of pain; and he doesn’t seem to really have anybody to rely on, or anything.  But here’s the thing.  He’s a big fucking red guy with badass scars all over his face and scary looking reptile eyes.  And he’s at peace with not being at peace.  He doesn’t try to make his pain prettier for anybody; give the crew a 2 minute task of coexisting and being nice in an elevator, and he’ll say something caustic to see how people react, and remind people he’s seen some shit and is Grumpy about it.  If he’s talking about this stuff directly, he’ll explain exactly how upset he is about it, and bite back if anyone even thinks about giving him trouble for being affected.  And Kanae didn’t really know this was an option for how to try to recover from things; that you can just accept that something horrible happened to you and it will never be okay, and also move on and be yourself and live your life or whatever.  And the more she learned about krogan, the more she came to just seriously respect and appreciate them, so much.  Because they’re all kind of like that.  They don’t expect each other to pretend not to be affected by deeply unsettling things.  They face deeply unsettling things every week; they just roll with it and keep going.  Wrex inadvertently gave her permission to feel all the things she felt, instead of primarily worrying about how fun and enjoyable and understandable she was to others.

Black hole - What is your Shepard’s greatest fear?

Maybe the fear of not being worth anything, or worth much, intrinsically and/or to other people.  And I want to take this opportunity to say she’ll fight the hardest for others when she’s defending them from things she’s afraid of, or has faced, herself.  Probably because she’s capable of deeply empathizing with others.  So when Mordin started talking about gardening krogan, you basically have this smugass fucker pointing to the first glimmer of genuine hope she’d found in years and calling it irrelevant garbage he was proud of having defiled and invalidated, and would defile and invalidate again if he was given the chance to do it all over.  According to the logic he outlined, people who are too weird or fucked up in the head shouldn’t make their own choices or control their own destiny when there’s a risk it could negatively impact people who are less weird and less fucked up in the head, and that the less weird/fucked up are in no way obligated to make any particular considerations for the greater good of the more weird/fucked up.  It’s safe to say he didn’t know who he was talking to.

There’s a part in The Hobbit where Tolkein tells us that, while Bilbo Baggins faced lots of things that look really brave on paper, like fighting in a war, the actual bravest thing he ever did on a personal level, the hardest fight he had with himself, was convincing himself to walk through a cave passageway when he knew there was a dragon on the other end.  Kanae Shepard didn’t opportunistically lose track of Mordin in the chaos of the suicide mission, because she knew his death wouldn’t solve anything or prevent any further harm, and she felt that, according to her values, handing out death as a punishment wouldn’t be Doing the Right Thing.  And I’m very proud of her.

REAL Vintage Guitars

I had a gig on Friday.  Nothing special, just some little bar in a shitty part of Cleveland.  Regardless, I was pretty amped up for it, for whatever reason.  Spent the better part of Friday afternoon going over the setlist and making sure that my tone was dialed in.

Was in a pretty solid state of mind when it all got thrown to shit.  We knew the other band pretty well, and when I showed up, the other band’s guitarist shoves an original 1956 Gibson Les Paul in my hands and says “you should play this for your set.”  Which, yea of course.

Over the years, I have had a ton of experience with true vintage guitars running across the spectrum.  So today I wanted to talk about what the real deal is with vintage guitars...

***

This particular 1956 Gibson Les Paul was just bursting with mojo.  I didn’t change pickups the entire set, staying in the middle position the whole time because there wasn’t any reason to switch it sounded so great.

It was one of those experiences that you hear about that’s given vintage guitars such a reputation and legacy.  Why every major guitar maker has vintage inspired lines, even going so far as to simulate the wear of a well-worn instrument.  Vintage guitars have almost this Excalibur type mythos about them...as if they were drawn from a stone.

And the market for them reflects this.  A guitar in the condition similar to the one I played on Friday would be valued anywhere from $25k to $40k.  A 1958 Les Paul will start at $100k.  A 1959 will start at $200k.

Is this madness?

***

God it’s hard to answer “yes.”

But yes, it is madness.

Lets sprint past the typical overtures of supply and demand, and the idolation of our heroes’ instruments.  Nostalgia and madness fuel a significant portion of this grotesquerie of capitalism, but not all of it.  I can’t in good faith come here and say, after an hour+ of playing a 1956 Les Paul, that I could have just gone to a guitar store and pickup an equivalent instrument.

This 1956 LP was unlike any I’ve compared it to.  I’ve directly compared a 1969 Les Paul Custom (the black ones) to their modern equivalents, and it was still no contest.  The 1969 version was a man amongst boys.

HOWEVA...I have played some vintage Les Paul’s that were absolute donkeys.  One of the worst guitars I’ve ever played was a 1962 Gibson ES-335...it was so bad that I don’t know how a restoration would improve it, because if it was restored they’d have to basically rebuild the thing into a new guitar.  It was as much of a dog as a guitar can be...the only sounds it made were woofs and farts.

So no, simply being a vintage guitar doesn’t make you good.  It’s dumb to even think that...like modern manufacturing techniques wouldn’t drastically improve the quality and consistency of output.  But there’s still something there...

***

Well what?

Some of it’s easy to explain.  This 1956 LP couldn’t have weighed more than 8.5 lbs...which for Les Paul’s is a featherweight.  And, like this one, most Gibson Les Pauls from this era are lighter than modern ones...simply because they farmed a different species of African mahogany, and overfarmed it making it unavailable for later models.

Some of it’s the nature of handbuilt instruments and/or the natural passage of time.  Think of how uncomfortable a pair of well made dress shoes are out of the box...stiff leather, soles that haven’t broken into your feet yet...but a few months later, those shoes are the most comfortable pair you own.  A few years later, you look at them with the same pride you might a successful child.

And some of it’s just shit like being a “Wednesday Car.”

The assembly line is runnin' slow on Monday They've been livin' it up And layin' up Saturday and Sunday On Tuesday they're about to kinda come around But they still feel bad and they're down And mad 'cause they've got four more day

Before the weekend rolls around On Wednesday they're feelin' fine again And they're workin' like a dog and diggin' inTryin' to do everything they should Puttin' 'em cars together good

And I got me a car that was made On Wednesday, on WednesdayIf you're gonna buy yourself a new car You just better hope you're lucky enough To get one made on Wednesday

On Thursday the weekend is in sight And they're in a hurry and they don't do nothing right Friday is the worst day of the week That's the day they make lemons dogs and freaks If your car was made on Friday Friend, you'll soon be in the creek

'Cause it's payday and the loafin' has begun Lord them Friday cars just hope you don't get one Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday Are all bad days and the only try day is Wednesday

And my car was made On Wednesday, on Wednesday If your car wasn't made on Wednesday I'd advise you not to even leave home any

***

Not all vintage guitars are the same either.

Gibsons are handmade instruments, lovingly put together by craftsman with year of experience, using decades-old techniques and materials, and are so ingrained in the fabric of the 20th century’s music, you can’t imagine them not being a part of it.  The second half of that also applies to Fender, the first doesn’t.

A vintage-styled Fender vs. a true vintage Fender is no contest.  You buy the modern one.  Fenders are parts guitars.  Tools, not works of art.  The idea of paying more than $3k for a Fender-style guitar is fucking asinine, let lone five-figures.  The idea that the person putting a Fender together has a meaningful impact on the quality of the guitar is silly.  If you can use a screwdriver and a soldering iron, you can build a Fender.

Do you know how to properly set and glue a neck tenon joint?  Didn’t think so.  It’s not vintage, but you can tell the difference in the philosophy of each instrument maker by their top custom shop output.  Both these are “aged” examples.

Fender’s “name guys” just beat the shit out of a regular Strat, but beat it up in a way that kinda looks natural?  I dunno, that doesn’t look natural at all to me.  It’s still the same old woods, the same old screws and bolts with almost zero actual handiwork. This will run you north of $8k.

Gibson’s aged version by its “name guy” is a lovingly recreated every step of the way.  The woods are purposely selected from crops of reserved woods kept in humidity controlled environments.  Simply putting the maple top cap (the figured wood part on the front of the guitar) requires more precise work than putting an entire Fender guitar together.  And while Fender’s masterbuilt aging looks hideous and unnatural, this looks positively organic.  This will run you about $8k.

Point being, the amount of true, individual handiwork on Gibons is lightyears beyond what Fender does.  And because of this it doesn’t make any sense that vintage Fenders are so highly valued.  You’re more collecting serial numbers than an actual instrument.

***

All this said, I can’t sit here and say that original vintage models are not deserving of their reputation.

I can’t really put this into words but the guitar I played on Friday was unlike any non-vintage Les Paul I’ve ever played in my life.  It was miles better, and I didn’t even really give it a fully thorough exam because I didn’t really even need to.  I played a Les Paul that was the modern version of this...you likely wouldn’t be able to tell the two apart from a quick glance...and remember going BLECH! and giving it back to the guy at the guitar store to hang up.

If your guitars are put together with a screwdriver, you don’t need craftsmanship and skills hewn over decades.  But if they’re glued together, using beautiful woods, you better believe the guy putting it together matters.

Unfortunately, the tradeoff is that you’ll find much greater levels of consistency with Fender vs. Gibson.  That “Wednesday guitar” might be leagues better than a “Thursday Gibson.”  You just don’t know.

BUT when you have one of those holy grail Gibsons in your hand, you absolutely know the second you strike a note.  I wish I could put this into words better, but it’s just such a constellation of these intangible qualities, it’s very difficult.  Frankly, the thing I can’t get over was simply how light the guitar was...something that really doesn’t register when thinking about the qualities of a guitar.

However, if you’ve spent time with guitarists, you’ll likely hear refrains about how great Les Pauls sound, but how nobody wants to play them because of how heavy they are.  Well, this Les Paul was so light, I literally couldn’t stop thinking about how light it was and how I could’ve played it for hours.  You don’t think you can “play a guitar for hours” if it’s heavy as shit, let me tell you...

***

At the end of the day, vintage guitars aren’t going anywhere.

You don’t see these types of guitars in the hands of players much anymore because they’re fragile, valuable and impossible to replace.  The fact I played a $25k guitar in a shitty Cleveland bar is borderline insanity.  You could probably buy the bar for $25k.

It’s the “impossible to replace” part that makes them so valuable.  You can get hundreds of reissues for relatively cheap, but the supply of guitars made in 1959 has been declining each of those decades.  You think the supply of them was low to begin with?  Now think of the parts cannibalism that went down during that time...

You can’t argue with supply and demand from a logical perspective, but you can from an artistic one.  There was a mojo about this guitar that I’ve rarely felt in others.  I remember a 1979 Gibson Super 400, my Fender Eric Johnson Strat (played dozens of EJ’s since then, and none resonated with me like mine), a 1957 Gibson Les Paul goldtop reissue (made by the Tom Murphy guy who did the LP above) and a Nickerson archtop (an extremely niche artisan luthier).  That’s literally it.

What price do you pay for that mojo?  Whatever that price is, add to the madness you’ll encounter trying to find that same vibe in a guitar you’re comfortable taking outside the house.

Which is why I don’t believe that vintage guitars are worth it, mojo aside.  I’m brutal to my guitars...they get beat up and worn because I’m practicing 4 hours a day at a minimum these days.  I can’t think of resale value because my guitars are in a condition that won’t get any resale value.  Practically speaking, vintage guitars aren’t very practical.

Despite all that logic laid down, there’s something about vintage guitars that you can’t find in modern ones.  That intangible something has a value...I just can’t tell you what that value is, and if it’s worth it.  You either know if it’s worth it or not.  And if you get screwed?  Well, that’s your own fault.

Duck sex made me an atheist via /r/atheism

Submitted December 06, 2018 at 07:53PM by Sanguiches (Via reddit https://ift.tt/2G3y3Wv) Duck sex made me an atheist

That’s a bit of hyperbole. It’s more accurate to say that knowledge of the world and science and people wore down my inherited belief system, but ducks were the nail in the coffin.

Warning: life's story incoming. TLDR at the bottom.

My parents were missionaries. I spent my 10th-15th years in Russia, spreading the good word starting back in '95. I wasn’t expected to do the proselytizing, but it was everywhere in my life, and I saw the dedication and faith my parents had firsthand. It was a very interesting experience, one I don’t regret, but it did make me a bit different from my peers.

Back in America, I continued to go to church with my folks every Sunday like a good little Christian. Up until that point I generally accepted everything my they taught me. I wasn’t exactly spiritual, not in the way they were, but I basically believed that the Bible was the literal truth. While I was a generally decent person, it definitely colored my views of things like homosexuality and other Jesus no-no’s, and despite how much I’ve changed in later years I still find some of those prejudiced thoughts lurking in the darker corners of my mind. I’m a million times more open-minded than I was, but that shit’s ingrained DEEP.

Despite all that, the day I was old enough to make my own decision on church, I stopped going. It wasn’t WRONG, I didn’t hate it or any of the people there, it just didn’t matter to me. My parents were disappointed, but never forced the issue or treated me differently. In retrospect, I’m kind of amazed at how few attempts they made to convince me to come back into the fold, while still wanting to be a part of my life.

Being immersed in secular society through school and friends gradually and subconsciously wore on my faith, but it didn’t bother me when I didn’t think about it. One of the biggest things was astronomy. Stuff like the first Mass Effect game got me really interested in the universe and just how batshit-crazy things like quasars and black holes are. My dad would say that it’s the majesty of God’s creation. I began to feel that it’s the proof that the entirety of mankind is like a drop of rain in the ocean, and just about as important.

Side note, I was disappointed to learn how impossible faster-than-light travel seems to be. At first, my faith convinced me that one day we would sail to the stars because… why else were they there? Humans were the most important thing God ever made, so all those planets must exist purely so we would never run out of things to explore. Now I think we might go extinct before developing FTL, and those planets are there because the universe doesn’t give a shit about us.

So I was caring less and less, and one day I stumbled upon this classic: Orange, Or Some Other Color

I’d read it back in the day, but rereading it many years later I became curious if they actually WERE orange. Once I came back from the rabbit hole of waterfowl reproduction, I hated the world a little bit more. Learning that ducks are such rapists that the females evolved to have vaginas that REDUCED the chances of conception rather than, you know, choosing not to have sex was disturbing to me. Couple that with learning that anti-rape vaginas are a thing, and God didn’t see fit to give them to HUMANS, the animals his son died to save. (I’m not saying this would make rape in any way okay, but I’ll bet that women who’ve gotten pregnant with their rapist’s baby would’ve liked the option.)

I have since learned that this isn’t even the most horrible means of reproduction in the animal kingdom, but baby anglerfish aren’t cute. I can never look at ducklings the same way again. Warning: May Make you Hate Ducks

The bottom line is, I decided that if an omnipotent, omniscient creator made every last living thing, then he’s a goddamn psychopath. Seriously, if someone told you they were making a new, adorable species, and designed their reproduction that way ON PURPOSE, you’d think they were monsters.

Hell, maybe God’s real and he IS a monster and we’re all just some messed-up science experiment. I don’t know, and I don’t care. Christians say things like nature is tainted by Original Sin. They have explanations for every horrible thing in the world, but they just sound like excuses to me now. I’m a writer, I know you can retcon anything if you try hard enough.

The biggest obstacle to my conversion was my parents. Not because of what they taught me or how they judge me, but because I still see them as wonderful people. They are both some the most giving, selfless people I’ve ever met. After 35 years they’re still an excellent example of a healthy, loving marriage, and good role models for the college students they regularly work with.

Even though I disagree with their faith, somehow it’s the cornerstone of their excellent characters. If not for, you know, the WORLD, I would gladly follow their example. Hell, it’s still kind of tempting if I’m honest.

To this day I’ve never discussed my atheism with my parents. Given my complete lack of religious behavior in recent years, they must suspect, but it sounds like a horribly awkward conversation to have. On top of that, I see no benefit in trying to damage their faith. Since they aren’t forcing their beliefs on me or others, my instinct is to just leave it alone. It feels kind of cowardly sometimes, but there’s basically no way for me to enlighten them, and if I did change their views, it would destroy the identities they’ve made for themselves. It’s lose-lose, and it’s not like there’s an atheist hell I’m saving them from.

Their faith gives them peace, and purpose. They know for a FACT that they are doing good for the world, and will be rewarded in eternity. Honestly, there are days when I’m jealous.

There’s no real point to this, I’ve just never written it all out before. Weird to look back at my life from this angle. It’s funny, I’m just now realizing that I don’t miss church, or the Bible, or missions, but I do kind of miss that time when God loved me.

But I miss when Santa came down our chimney too.

​

Tldr: The day I learned that female ducks have a built-in anti-rape vagina, and female humans don’t, was officially the last day I believed in God.

Expert: People will believe a big lie sooner than a little one, and if you repeat it frequently enough, people will sooner or later believe it. ― Walter C. Langer, The Mind of Adolf Hitler: The Secret Wartime Report, 1972, Basic Books I write a lot about the punishment society, which is the hallmark of American capitalism, both conceptually and in practice. It bears repeating and repeating – ironically the punishers of late are also Zio-Cons, and we get ad nauseam the Jewish holocaust, the Jewish Reparations, the Single Moment in Eradication, but god forbid that we have common sense history about the destruction of native peoples here, the subjugation of Africans, the entire blasted world of moneyed interests slashing and burning entire swaths of mother earth and children of the earth. You listen to the Goldman Sachs thugs in Armani, Jewish or Christian, and listen to the arbiters of slave wages and precarious work, who have set up a false dichotomy of “all the money for millionaires and billionaires, or else the collapse of society, so buyer beware and don’t complain about social services/safety nets being cut, or yammer on about the public commons being yanked away by the almighty corporations, or push this fair wages, equity, and education-housing-healthcare for all agenda, or else — YOU all will see the collapse of any hope YOU all have in making it to even first-base in this competitive world.” This is the warfare carried out daily, for sure, the heavy economic carpet bombing by the chosen ones, by the few, elite, the hedges and Kochs and all the other captains of thievery. The uneven reality of the chosen few holding court over the universe, divvying up the crumbs of their engorgement to the masses, as in 99.99 percent of the world. This elitist mongering of the moneyed class, the all-powerful, those symbols of manhood in Capitalism – the barrel of a gun, the nuclear tip of the proverbial phallic, the supersonic waste of our militaries, or the blubbery sap of fawning over the mercenaries of the land, from SEAL to sweating Green Beret, it is hyper-unreal but hyper-deadly! In this large view, this wide angle take, we have microcosms tied to the belief systems of those underlings and swollen-lipped small-timers who push the punishment daily on the streets, in the stores, in the schools, at airports, on public transportation. It was one of those Skippy days on the Portland light rail, MAX, listening to two great examples of minor league punishment on the small-small little Eichmann scale – a man and a woman, in their forties, heading home after a hard journey into night: parking ticket enforcers. I understand the work and words of the working class, but these two just kept swapping stories of the stupid people (their words) trying to get out of tickets, that is, attempting to thwart the sting of the violations in this punishment society. This is the Eichmann of the Small-fry species, in a nutshell, but the way these two stalwarts of retrograde humanity were depicting violators is emblematic of this country’s “it will not take a village to raise a vibrant and safe village – so let the dog eat the dog world prevail be damned” ethos (sic). Something about the American mindset, in general, that has been raised on high fructose corn syrup and the most perverted TV-Film-Video Game-Live Event shit out there. The very manifestation of sociopathy, but these people believe their very prominence in the community is somehow the glue for our culture. The kicker, though, way beyond the mean-spiritedness of their depictions of poor people freaking out about a $44 ticket or multiple $100 violations, was how they demeaned the tourists and locals who dare ask these uniformed ticket cops for simple directions. These two idiots believe they bear no responsibility in assisting the city (where their salaries originate) with the tourists and locals attempting to find place in a cluttered high rise city. It’s the old adage of putting a badge and uniform on someone, and the little brown-shirt many times comes out, in all its glory of dehumanizing “the other” by believing their very existence in the gravity vortex is somehow very special. Making fun of people looking for directions to the museum or some cool well-known locality, well, that’s classlessness of the crass country we have morphed deeper into. This attitude is carried through to its very high-level and broad-reaching culmination in the hard and wicked rules-regs-fines-taxes-garnishments-limitations-checks-and-balances this pro-pro Capitalist society has built into the unfair system of corporations calling all the shots. We can see it in the blaring light and dank shadows as a parody of this un-Supreme Court follies, with this un-gentleman Utah judge whose goal in life is to protect the collective kleptomania of the corporations and taskmasters of hedge funds and the banksters getting the same-same faux grilling of all the other judges for the highest court of the land. One decision says it all, in life, for sure, and his decision to side with the trucking company that fired the trucker for leaving the trailer to save his own life and not putting other travelers at risk is proof of lack of judgment. But then to believe his own little cold blooded pissed out empathy Gorsuch spewed under the lights of the media — with Saturday Night Live comic-senator grilling him? — justifies his existence as a non-impartial judge. But then again, this addiction to the rule of law, over rule of humanity, well, that’s what we have handed over to this legal system where a Gorsuch can ramrod his interpretation of bloodless and emotionless legal crap, putting  every man/every woman at risk, and under the screws of the felonious corporations. Neil Gorsuch – hmmm. America is all in for the optics, the crudeness of these rotten guys, like Trump, or even some military punk, like Schwarzkopf; collectively we are into the military, into the bombs bursting in air. We are lovers of the men and women in blue, and lustful for the hardware – guns and tanks and civilian control devices and SWAT and Sniper gear. It’s what kiddos gravitate toward, and teens, even girls and women, and then the older infantiles, the men in big pick-up trucks or those in tricked-out Honda Accords. This is the punishment hoard, hoping for some cruising for a bruising war or skirmish or anything to make noise and flatten people – people of color, especially, and those boats of fleeing refugees, ka-boom, ordnance dropped smack on schools and strafing of lifeboats. This is not just the dominion of conservatives, or right-wing wackos. The average liberal hems and haws about just how big of a killer Obama was, and how deeply ingrained the Democratic Party is in the military industrial complex. Colleagues in the social services are actually legitimizing anything that demonizes Russia or Iran or North Korea. And this is a culture of armchair Eichmanns, for sure, just counting the fissures in their own countrymen/women, and waiting to swoop down and attack all social services, all things good and safe in the form of the human/humane welfare system. A picture is worth a thousand words, or in this case, a picture-perfect immigration ban for leading minds from Africa paints a perfect portrait of how fascist and insipid this country is, from election cycle to election cycle, from one rotten president to the next, one new law after another new law: The African Global Economic and Development Summit, a three-day conference at the University of Southern California (USC), typically brings delegations from across Africa to meet with business leaders in the US in an effort to foster partnerships. But this year, every single African citizen who requested a visa was rejected, according to organizer Mary Flowers. This is probably the biggest news of late, never broadcast on major networks, never mouthed by the pundits, and, quickly vanishes into the sludge that is mainstream thinking and journalism, but what does this mean, that 80 leaders from African nations were blocked from coming to the freest (sic) nation (sic) in the world because of this country’s proclivity to not want to know, to witness, or tangle with the real important ideas! The compelling part of all of this is the unknowing, the unholding, the lack of honor, the hold on the minds of the controllers – everyone is enemy, everyone is a set of biometrics to parse up and juggle inside the dungeons of digital prejudice. This is not the first example of bans, travel restrictions, of pushing truth and debate into a prison cell or isolation chamber. This country, UK, Canada, EU, Israel, and a thousand banana republics run by capitalism thugs spewing declarations of independence, they’ve all done bans, for decades, centuries, millennia. Applied not, 2017, in USA, well, no wonder there is confusion running amok in the liberal (sic) class (sic). This is the infatuation of America – how much can we throw up on Facebook, how much can the corporations capture, and how well can the government facilitate the collection services of the profilers? There are great chasms in America, and they are etched through the implosions of capital eating at mother earth, all those rivers of toxins cutting away at the epidermis of the world, exposing the villainy and corruption of the elites and outing the tag-along middlings who are in it for the chance at lottery fame, anything to touch the sagging skin of the Trumps and the Botox glow of their trophy wives! All of this observational tie-in is being unpacked through the wickedness of the world I work in – social worker, homeless advocate, recovery facilitator, and even though the systems I work under are non-profits, the devilish nature of my colleagues’ own version of punishment toward our clients is sometimes shocking. This is the systems of accounting for every fucking dollar spent on a struggling soul, while the interior designers and architects glower over their profits. I run into people in the government bureaucracies, and they are so tied to the fatalism that is fate-determined by their Judaeo-Christian belief systems – professing the work they are doing, the work I do, is predetermined by their master(s) god(s)/Jesus(-es)/all knowing (s). It’s messy, this pre-ordained belief system, as I work with some major cases of people trapped in that trauma no-one on any Breaking Bad set could dream up in their Hollywood nightmarish brains. Fate and angels and afterlife –whew! Americans believe there is an afterlife, heaven, with the all-knowing god all buttoned up and tailgate party ready for believers to continue the hallelujah all-you-can-eat buffet (puns intended), says poll after poll, year after year — 90 percent! And then, more than half of Americans polled (52%) believe in fate — out of our hands, out of our agency! We are talking about women in their forties, survivors of childhood horrors like being pimped out at 12 after six years of constant rape, violence, witnessing of more horrors, booze and pills and meth by the age of 11. Fodder for the punishers, the levelers, the judges, the pundits, the inquisitionists, for sure. Yet, the systems fed by broken safety nets, broken by the people in it for the I Do Not Know paycheck. Horror upon horror, and yet my colleagues sees this all as a great plan for their demon god(s). Plan of the great planner to seed youth at age six with syphilis, seed brains with violence only dreamed up in the corridors of the most wicked people on earth. Yet, our systems of social work only give these damaged one so much time before we turn our back on them, exit them, finish all services. Heroes, in the survivor sense, but outcasts by not only the elites, the Social Darwinist millionaire clubbers, but in many ways outcasts by the very people who should know, care, and advocate. I see the disempowerment of the “normal” barely standing straight a portion of the day facing all these disruptive industries-economies-education plans-ideologies-collective consumerism-on-steroids. I see it in their eyes, in the way they hold their hands; I hear it in their voices – defeated but gasping at the final attack on say, a Donald Trump, confused by the rapidity of the fall (sic). I want to give them the benefit of many a doubt, to be sure. My brethren want no anger, no radicalism, no revolutionary, no mano y mano. Praying for salvation in the other life, the after-pre-life. This is not the teachings of Martin Luther King, Jr., this passivity, this hoping for change in the leaders who control the armament of military-police-finance in their vigilantism of anything dealing with the public good-welfare-safety. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, extreme materialism and militarism are incapable of being conquered. — “Revolution of Values” speech 1967 This is death by a thousand bills, debts, fines, fees, deductions, de-fundings, delays, garnishments, and paying the ferryman for services unrendered. The insanity is not only the perversions of our capitalist world – graduates of the school of inflicting maximum pain. The insanity is in compliance, in our unwillingness to collectively rebel, stand up, walk off, strike, hack, reappropriate, and carry out a massive citizen’s arrest to lay claim to our futures and our great-great-great grandsons and granddaughters’ futures. The insanity is how much we are taking and subjugating our wills to; how far we allow the perpetrators to go into our own heads until we believe suicidal walking is an option; and how willing we are to move closer and closer to the edge of the cliff that capitalism has carved out from which the world to jump off. The insanity is the lack of rebellion, the lack of mouthing off to the controllers and the Little Eichmanns; the insanity is the de-education, the re-education by/for/through the controllers. The real madness is our lack of anger and our collective lack of will to take on the ignorance that is at the heart of consumer-predatory-extractive Capitalism. For those of us who do, we are lone actors, men and women lost of tribe, hitting the horizon at terminal velocity speed. It’s a dance with many devils, a tango with toxins, a self-encased dirge. We have lost tribal truths and human touch. We are wrapped in plastic and steel pushing air-water-land into a permanent fog of pollution, and the greatest of all pollutants — war. That’s one megaton bomb of guilt and awareness to place on one’s shoulders, but is there some other choice? http://clubof.info/