Being an Eridian scientist has to be so funny. You train your entire life as a biologist, becoming specialized in your field, probably giving lectures or educational speeches to other Eridians, and then the star savior Rocky comes home with his weird pet dog. Your job is now to cultivate food so the weird dog who is the age of average baby doesnât die. The dog also saved the stars. Your job is making dog food out of the dog. You also learn that you and the dog have the same job. You are the happiest scientist on Erid.
The dog knows more about how the universe works than anybody else on your planet. The dog understands how relativity works and how the universe began. The dog has access to complex machines that can store and process massive amounts of information, launching your society into a new age of scientific and technological advancement.
You later find out that these machines were originally invented because the dog's species has a memory like a sieve and struggles with primary school level maths.
#that is a man who A: has tripped over his sword before and been laughed at by EVERY ELF IN RIVENDELL and is NOT going to do it again#and B: knows that he has more leg than anyone else in the room and is GOING TO USE IT BY GODS#he is COVERING GROUND with every step#he got that moniker of strider through HARD HONEST WORK (and very very big steps)#aragorn#lotr movies#viggo mortensen
#So basically. He runs like an actual real person would over uneven ground đ#The Hollywood Run is pretty to watch sure but also takes place on a paved surface usually#There is no way to look dignified whilst running across lumpy bumpy ground down across a hill. Unless one is an actual gazelle#thankyou Mr. Viggo for that Real Human rep (saving @jonairadreaming's excellent tags because everyone who has ever tried running down an incline over uneven, possibly shifting, ground knows you try to get down there as fast as possible with the least amount of time of foot actually touching the ground and constantly being prepared to shift your weight to keep your balance. By the time the stones actually shift from your weight you already want to be two steps away)
had a beautiful moment of connection. my 14 month old neice was pointing at my beverage and looking like she expected something, so I said âyes baby, this is mugs zero sugar root beer. very good, baby.â but she just jabbed her finger more insistently, and went âwoof wooof woofâ. and this is when I looked closer and saw the mugâs rootbeer bulldog. I almost teared up. I said, âyes baby, thatâs the mugâs rootbeer bulldog. woof woof woof. I love you small baby.â
The midjourney stuff just reminds of when we were trying to find a new platform to host the ao3 donation form, and companies kept trying to tell me about all their "ai" features that would track donor engagement, and figure out the optimal pattern to email individual donors asking for follow up donations, and all the ways they suggest we manipulate people into staying on our websites. It was a great way to filter out who either wasn't listening to us when we described our ethics and donor base, or just didn't believe us.
Now granted ao3 is a unique case based on a) the amount of page views we get in any given time period and b) the fact that most donors absolutely do Not want to be identified as such anywhere, (the default "list of recent donors" module got nuked Immediately) but it surprised me some that the concept of "donors who value their privacy and would be furious at even the whiff of AI" is unique. Some of us really are just existing in different worlds.
#I just started dropping '2.5 Billion page views a month'#into conversations as early as possible bc they would Not believe me otherwise#it was right up there with having to say 'csam attacks' to get them to take my compartmentalization of information concerns seriously#turns out those are the magic words#otw#op
The last part was kind of insane, honestly. When we started changing platforms for the donor database, I kept telling them that yes I was aware we already had an account for the volunteer database, and no that could not be connected to the donor database. And they said yes fine sure and then connected them anyway. And I called them back and said, excuse me, I'm confused, I can see both databases. And they said, well, yeah, but it's only you, someone has to be able to see both databases to give other users access. The other users can't see both. And I said, no, we have been asking for a completely separate database. I should not be able to see both. And they said, you are one organization, one organization can't have two databases. And I said, last year someone used our volunteer email list to commit approximately one thousand felonies. Please feel free to imagine how much worse it could have been had they had a way to use volunteers' email addresses to get their legal names. We do not want this to be something anyone can do no matter how much we trust them. Let me describe those felonies to you in more detail. And they emailed me two hours later and said, you can have two separate databases.
Itâs difficult to tell - typically light fixtures are installed using some combination of screws and brackets to affix them to the wall, but in this case the actual point of connection is obscured by a cat.
I thought I grew up in a good neighborhood, surrounded by good people. Everyone said good morning to each other in the morning, my mom was friends with our neighbors, and we all went to church together. In my young mind, that made us very good people.
Then Daffodil came to town and turned my world upside down.
I first met Daffodil when he knocked on our door. Mom was absorbed in a book she was reading so I went to go answer the door. I thought I was mature enough to do so at six years old, and plus, I had Bear- a dog mixed with a million different breeds but was big and looked pretty intimidating. Dad got him for us before he shipped out overseas, for his own peace of mind. Someone to keep us safe while he was off keeping the country safe.
I didnât expect to see a skinny rail of a guy standing on the porch, bouncing on his heels as he waited for someone to answer the door. His cheeks were bright red, he had a short beard and curly blond hair, a guitar that had seen better days was slung over his back, but what really got my attention was that he wasnât wearing any shoes.
âHello!â He knelt down to my level, grinning broadly. âIs there any chores or work I could do for your family to earn my bread?â Â
I glanced at Bear to see his reaction to this bizarre fellow. Normally my dog would at least be a little apprehensive around a stranger, but much to my surprise Bear was happily panting away. The man looked at Bear and actually squealed. âOh, a good boy!â He gave Bearâs ears a scratch and Bear licked his hand.
I craned my neck in and yelled for my mom, âMom, thereâs a man here who wants to do work for bread. Can I have him help clean my room?â Â
âSure, sweetie!â Â
Of course, my mom was distracted. She loved her books. But since she said it was okay, I let the man in. He bowed his head politely. âThank you, thank you so much. Sun was about to burn me alive. My friends call me Daffodil, whatâs yours?â
âIâm Will. Come on, letâs go clean my room.â Mom said I had to, after all, before I went to go play, and if all Daffodil wanted was bread then what was the harm?
Daffodil was a very efficient cleaner, and I learned quickly he was a complete weirdo but he was nice. He asked the names of all my stuffed animals, asked about my favorite games to play, my favorite color. When he wasnât asking about me, he was humming tunes to songs I didnât know. Â
We just got done when Mom popped in to ask who I was talking to and screamed when she saw a strange man in her sonâs bedroom. âWho- Will, who is that?!â She grabbed me by the back of the shirt and yanked me away. Â
âMom, itâs the man I told you wants to work for bread! You said it was okay!â I complained.
Daffodil politely bowed his head. âNot to be argumentative, maâam, but heâs right,â He said.
My mom was pretty embarrassed, but in the end Daffodil did end up staying for dinner. She came to the same conclusions I did- weird, but absolutely harmless. He was a traveler, just planning on cooling his heels in town for a while.
How long was a while?
âMaybe a week, maybe a century. Iâll make up my mind later.â Â
As he left, he gave me a dried out flower. âThank you for dinner,â He said before tipping his head once more and skipping down the street. Â
I still have that flower on my desk. Â
Daffodil did end up staying a while, several years in fact. Heâd typically go door to door, asking for work in exchange for something to eat or a place to sleep. If he wasnât doing that, youâd find him in the park playing guitar for tips or selling pressed wildflowers. His songs told stories of home, of gardens that went for miles and a wife named Rose and another named Dahlia and their dozen children inbetween them. I rather liked his songs, even though apparently he had some raunchier ones that my mom told me about when I was older. He never sung them around the kids though.
My mom gave him a pair of my dadâs old boots during winter, and I swear he did a little dance and promised to dedicate a song to her. When my dad got home, he was also a little hesitant about Daffodil (Iâm pretty sure I heard him ask mom if Daffodil was a queer), but I thought it was impossible not to warm up to such a charming fellow. Â
I learned better when I got older.
See, Daffodil never minced his words. Never pulled any punches. He got into several heated arguments with one of the neighbors, Mr. Robert Miller, about why he wouldnât go to church. Miller was a quite devout Christian, always trying to convince the âlost sheepâ of God to join the flock. Most people knew better than to try to argue with him about it. Â
Daffodil was not most people.
I was about nine when I overheard one argument between the two.
âMr. Miller, I am well aware youâll put a roof over my head and food in my mouth if I go to church, but again I donât think itâs very Christ like to blackmail me like that.â
âItâs not blackmail. Iâm just trying to help you-â
âNo, no, youâre helping yourself feel good.â
âHow dare you!â
I enjoying a good amount of eavesdropping as a kid, so I kept myself hidden behind the fence dividing our two yards as I continued to listen in on this bickering.
âIâve been around the block a few times, Mr. Miller, I know how it works. The moment weâre done here, youâre going to run to all your other little church friends and talk about the heathen that wonât hear God, you will pray together and pat yourselves on the back for doing a job well done.â Â
âWhat is wrong with you?!â
âNothing. Or a lot of things, depends who you ask. I found my version of god in song and in nature. Iâm at peace with that.â
âYouâre one of those, arenât you? Is that why you wonât go to church?â
There was a pause before I heard Daffodil sigh.
âI am not inclined to share my sexual past with anyone, Mr. Miller. Good day.â
âYou are then! Youâll burn in hell, faggot!â
Iâd never heard that word before. But the way he spat it out so venomously almost frightened me. I almost asked my mom what it meant, but I lost my nerve, given it sounded like a bad word and I didnât want to get in trouble.
Didnât lose my nerve to ask Daffodil though, next day while he raked leaves for old Ms. Reed.
âWhatâs a faggot, Daffodil?â
He didnât even miss a beat as he twirled the rake in the air. âA bundle of sticks,â He responded. Â
âThatâs all? Like a bitch is a female dog?â I couldnât say these words around my mom. But I could ask Daffodil anything and heâd tell me the truth.
âSorta.â
I remember him laughing and performing another twirl of the rake. âWill boy, just know that Mr. Miller meant it in a way to cut me down. Itâs a nasty word, so donât use it. You can use some of the other bad words when you get old enough, but thatâs just one of the words you canât.â
âWhy?â I asked.
Daffodil never got mad when I asked why, but this time he looked a little sad as he reached over and ruffled my hair. Â
âYouâll understand one day.â
And I did understand one day. I suppose Daffodil wasnât exactly hypermasculine, he put flowers in his hair, danced down the street to no music, cried when he was emotional and was not afraid to get excited over things like baby bunnies or dogs. To be totally transparent though, I donât think Daffodil was gay. He was too much of a flirt with any women close to his age. Â
Didnât matter though. He was a piece of pyrite surrounded by the asphalt on the cul de sac and people didnât like that too much. Â
It really came to a head when I was twelve. Daffodil was one of my friends, my parents loved having him for dinner and it wasnât often that he wasnât crashing on our couch, snoring like a freight train and his oversized legs hanging over the couch arm. I felt like he was a cool uncle, the guy I could turn to whenever I had a problem or question.
I was doing dishes while my mom was enjoying a glass of wine with Mrs. Miller in the living room. I still hadnât learned not to eavesdrop, so I took a break from the suds to listen in.
â-And I just donât know if itâs a good idea to have him hanging around Will all the time.â
I heard my mom laugh. âAnna, Daffodilâs harmless. Weird, definitely, but harmless.â
âWell, you know heâs⊠you know⊠like that. What if Will turns out like that too?â Â
âAnna, you canât seriously believe Daffodil is homosexual. Really, I think youâre making a mountain out of a molehill.â
âI just care about you and your son! And god knows what he might have if he is a homo, what if he gives Will AIDS?â
âAnna!â My mom sounded horrified, and I felt the same. I did not like the implication that Mrs. Miller was throwing out there. Â
âIâm being serious!â
âAnd Iâm being serious when I say, again, Daffodil isnât gay and he doesnât have AIDS. Besides, I think the neighborhoodâs done well with him around. You know we havenât had anything really bad happen since he started staying around here? No oneâs lost their job, everyone has a good looking yard, no oneâs gotten badly sick or diedâŠâ
âWhat, are you saying heâs had something to do with that?â
âWell, maybe heâs a good luck charm. Letâs change the subject. Howâs Levi, has his grades improved?â
I went back to the kitchen after the subject changed. I genuinely hoped it was just the Millers with such nasty thoughts, that their venom was contained in the family.
I was wrong. Mr. Miller was a deacon at the church at this time and had the respect of a lot of parishioners. His nasty thoughts had taken root in many peopleâs minds.
I donât know why I was out late that night. It was hot, maybe I couldnât sleep, but I wasnât really the kind of kid to wander the streets after dark. This is the only night I remember doing it. I heard a commotion and followed the sound, curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back, Daffodil taught me.
I found a mob of twelve men and all of them had surrounded Daffodil. For the first time in my life I saw Daffodil look afraid. Â
âYou donât have to do this,â He said, hands raised in the air. He wasnât armed. He was defenseless.
I saw Mr. Miller lift up a baseball bat. âWe told you to leave, Daffodil. You wouldnât listen. You forced us to do this,â I swear I heard pure evil in his voice that night.
Daffodil looked down and then he looked straight at me. I heard him mutter âstay putâ before he looked back at Mr. Miller. âThen I suppose Iâll cease to speak. My words have fallen on deaf ears for long enough. Do what you came to do.â
They descended on him like a pack of wild dogs, and he never fought back, not once. Â
I watched them beat him into the ground with bats or golf clubs or whatever the hell they brought. They beat him while he howled in pain, they beat him until he only whimpered, and they beat him until he was still and quiet. When they left, all clearly proud of what theyâd done, thatâs when I crawled out of my hiding spot and hurried to Daffodilâs side.
He didnât even look like a human anymore, he looked like fresh roadkill. That friendly face that I never saw without a smile before tonight was swollen and broken, the flowers in his hair were squashed on the ground⊠Â
âDaffodil?â
Somehow, Daffodil turned his head towards the sound of my voice. â⊠Will. Good⊠good boy, for not leaving your hiding spotâŠâ
âWhy wouldnât you let me help you?â My eyes overflowed with tears, they landed on my friendâs face.
âBecause⊠I couldnât stand the thought of you getting hurt for me, my little friend.â
A shaky hand, one with fingers bent in horrifying angles, reached up and touched my face, smearing blood across my cheek.
âThank you for listening to me. Thank you⊠for being my friend.â
I waited until he seemed to stop breathing before I dragged him off the road and into the nearby woods. He was far too heavy for me to consider doing this in a sane state of mind, but I was on autopilot at this point. All I could think of was how they might further desecrate Daffodilâs body in the morning. How theyâll say he deserved it, and then put him in a grave that didnât have a proper headstone and not even a name. Â
I folded his arms over his chest, like he was just sleeping. I covered him in leaves and flowers. I took one and put it in his hair, tucked behind his ear.
This was the grave he deserved. The best a twelve year old boy could do. Â
I didnât eat for two days after Daffodilâs death. I didnât leave my room. My mom was confused as to what was wrong until she realized Daffodil hadnât shown up. Miller claimed he just left town but mom knew he wouldnât have left without saying goodbye.
She managed to pry the real story from me and then she called the police. Â
Hereâs the kicker though- the body was gone. They found the grave I made for him, the piles of leaves and flowers, but there was no Daffodil. My mom told me that maybe Daffodil was okay, that he got up and just chose to quietly leave, but I knew I saw him stop breathing. Â
You know how my mom said Daffodil was a good luck charm, right? I think she was right. Well, half right. Daffodil was good luck to the people that did him good, and their neighbors prospered because of that. But Daffodil wasnât going to give that kindness any longer to the people that beat him and left him for dead.
The week after Daffodilâs death, I saw him. Â
I couldnât sleep. I hadnât been able to sleep well since the incident. I was staring out the window when I saw a familiar head of golden hair walk into the space between ours and the Millers. I couldnât believe it. I rubbed my eyes a dozen times before I got up and pulled the window up, ready to call out to my friend to see if it was really him or if it was just a dream.
The word froze in my mouth when I realized I wasnât sure if this was really Daffodil. Sure, he had the golden hair and the beard, but he was⊠different. Taller, which was quite a feat given he was already a giant. There was this unnatural glow about him, and he wore strange clothes. If this had been a few years later, Iâd say he looked dressed to be in a ren fair. Â
One look confirmed though that he wasnât wearing shoes. It was still Daffodil.
He turned to look at me and now he smiled, but there was an unfamiliar mischievousness to it. He put a finger to his lips to shush me before he opened the window and reached inside. Out he pulled the Millerâs infant daughter, Rebecca. He cradled her for a brief moment before he turned his head behind him and whistled.
Two women walked out from the bushes. I didnât recognize them. Both were also quite tall, one with hair almost silver in the moonlight wearing a white gown and the other with midnight black hair cut short to her jaw and a sword hanging from her waist. Daffodil handed Rebecca to the swordswoman who bounced her up and down a few times before walking away. I saw the silver haired woman slip in through the window and a few minutes later left the front door with the Millerâs two sons, four year old Micah and seven year old Asher. Both were still in their pajamas but clung to the womanâs hands and looked at peace with her. She walked down the street and vanished in the dark.
Now it was just Daffodil again. He looked at me, still smirking, before he rubbed his hands together before lifting them up to his mouth and blowing on them. I saw sparks fly out from his palms and dance in the air before going black.
The next thing I remember is waking up the next morning to police all over the street. The three youngest Miller children were gone. And the eldest, seventeen year old Levi, was dead. Autopsy would later reveal he had gone undiagnosed with brain cancer, even though heâd just had a physical a few months prior and he was healthy as a horse. Â
Sure, I was asked if Iâd seen anything, since my window was closest to the Millerâs, but I just remembered Daffodil putting his finger to his lips and told them nothing. Â
Only one child of the Millers would be found, baby Rebecca, returned to her crib. But a week in and Mrs. Miller looked ready to have a meltdown. A teatime with mom and she confided all about how Rebecca never slept, only cried, and how she swore she heard her daughter giggling whenever she wasnât in the room. Â
That child was certainly not Rebecca, but once again I kept my mouth shut. Â
Things went downhill for the Millers the fastest, but they werenât alone. Several other households faced their own bizarre and sudden catastrophes. The Petersons were in a terrible car accident that cost Mr. Peterson his legs and Mrs. Peterson her memory. To her death, she believed every morning was July 21, strangely not the day of the accident but the day of Daffodilâs disappearance. The Caldwells had a nasty divorce after Mrs. Caldwell got mysteriously pregnant, even though Mr. Caldwell had a vasectomy. Itâd later come out she was approached by a young handsome man and they had a moment of passion in the backseat of Mr. Caldwellâs car. Â
The Andersonâs house burned down. The Rivers were infertile. The Wardâs prize garden wilted and died while Mr. Ward wasted away with an illness no doctor could diagnose. The Reeves lost their jobs. I could go on. But Iâm sure you guessed by now what each of the families had in common.
Each of those families had someone directly involved with Daffodilâs beating.
While everyone elseâs family was suffering disaster after disaster, ours only prospered. Bearâs health held strong until he was nearly sixteen, long time for a big dog. My parents thought they were out of luck when it came to having another kid, but mom became pregnant with twins. I insisted one be named Daffodil. They compromised and Marieâs middle name is Daffodil. They were also approved to adopt and thatâs when I got a brother just a few months younger than me, Brian. We became thick as thieves the day he came into our lives and weâre still quite close. My dad got an amazing job when he was discharged from the army, mom got some serious promotions so we got to go on amazing vacations and make amazing memories. Â
I was eighteen when Mr. Miller finally cracked and hung himself. Heâd lost everything- his job after he failed a drug test that he shouldâve passed with flying colors, his position as a deacon after said failed drug test made common knowledge, his wife after she was just done with his bullshit, he just had to give up the car because of the debt he was in and was about to lose the house. In his suicide note he did confess to Daffodilâs murder and named the other conspirators as well. A few of them were already dead from various means, but the others got in pretty deep shit, even though they couldnât be officially charged without a body apparently. Â
Sometimes I wondered if I dreamed that night I saw Daffodil outside. Sometime I even believed it.
But itâs been a long time since then. I have a family of my own now, married the love of my life and we have a six year old daughter, Iris. I actually own the Millerâs house, I got it for a steal because of the suicide. My wife thinks it serves for great inspiration, sheâs a horror novelist, so that works out.
Maybe I wouldâve forgotten Daffodil one day if my daughter hadnât run to get the door before I could stop her. Girl has no fear, probably like I did when I was her size.
I almost reached the living room when I heard her yell back, âDaaaaadddyyyy, thereâs a man asking if we have bread!â
âErm, not quite, if you have work so I can have bread. Close enough though.â
I never forgot that voice. I ran for the door, nearly tripping over the dog in the process. I whipped open the door the rest of the way, nearly bowling over Iris in the process.
He looks exactly the same as he did back then. Same beard, same guitar slung over his back, same lack of shoes. He stared at me for a few moments before his eyes widened and he grinned.
âHello, Will! Itâs so good to see you again. Mind if I help around the house? I like to work for my bread.â
hey yall! i have to move out this week and iâm a little short on the first/last/deposit for the apartment. ($300) Iâm going to pawn my older DSLR camera so I hope i can get a little bit from that but iâm still kinda panicking. so I'd really appreciate it if you'd take a moment and check out my kofi, and possibly donate or buy a wallpaper: ko-fi.com/8pxl
I also offer cross stitch patterns: HERE
ANY SUPPORT WOULD MEAN THE ENTIRE WORLD TO ME, THANK YALL SM <333
* New student, very small. Grace said it was pebble. Pebble is small Earth rock. Pebble likes name.
* He found out Eridians have no gender rules.
* Students brought him mineral sample. After he stopped crying he said he loves show-and-tell game. Human naming conventions oddly literal.
* I told him Earthsun grew bright.
* I took him up atop atmosphere bypass elevator to look at stars.
* He woke up from nap and found me still with him. I did not wait on his chest; he says I am heavy like âelephantâ and he âcouldnât breathe.â I laid my arm over him instead, kept him close, feeling safe. He said âcuddleâ was warm.
* Before class he heard younglings singing.
* He has plants in house from sprouts on ship. Plant grew âbud.â
* Engineers got seawater temperature right. He took off shoes and stood in water, sighing. He didnât care about pants getting damp. Cried until shirt was also damp. Humans very endlessly wet.
* He missed âDoritos.â
* Adrian helped food scientists make taumoeba dried paste. Made it crunchy after heating. We fused it into triangle form. Told him it was Tauritos. That made him laugh-cry. Laugh-cry is rare and precious.
* He remembered Eridians have no gender rules.
* We made him celebration outfit. Used metals he calls pretty. He can see frequencies named âcolorfulâ and âshiny.â These make humans happiest.
* I gave him hug when he wasnât expecting it. Easier to hug close now with exosuit. Hug when Grace sitting down so he does not fall over.
* Told him to think long time, stay with me as long as he can.
theartofmadeline
discoholicmusic
snowghoul
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart
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dailybridgerton
