#<- actively an apocalyptic zone

[kadextra]

I miss her (quesadilla island)

[ckret2]

Above: Bill showing off the messed up things he can make the Nightmare Realm do.

Below: Bill literally an hour later.

Here, have a fic. In which the gods try to figure out what to do about the new omnicidal chaos god who would rather destroy reality than politely exit Dimension Zero so they can arrest him for burning down multiple dimensions.

This is part 7 of a ???9-ish??? part plot about the Axolotl meeting this friendly harmless innocent little triangle in the wake of the Euclidean Massacre and then getting repeatedly slapped in the face with all the atrocities Bill's committed. If you want to read and/or look at the pretty art on the other parts, here's one, two, three, four, five, and six.

####

There was fresh fear amongst the many gods crowded around the site where Dimension 2 Delta had once stood.

The perimeter around Dimension Zero's turbulent border had pulled back dramatically, leaving a barren no man's land between the police cordon and the triangle's territory.

The fires in the 1D and 2D universes, for a moment so close to doused, had returned with a vengeance—and by the sound of some chatter amongst the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force agents, they suspected it was a literal vengeance. The storm cloud heading the ATTF operations had needed to personally visit the burning dimensions again—see which previously contained fires had reignited or jumped their firelines, and see which new fires had broken out so that it could redistribute the available firefighting forces appropriately.

The Time Giant had gone along to inspect the damage and figure out which dimensions could be repaired—provided they ever stopped the fires—and which would ultimately needed to be rebuilt.

And anyone who wasn't actively engaged in trying to control the fires was still trying to process the newest crisis: the leader of the mortals who'd fallen into Dimension Zero wasn't a fellow mortal victim, but an out-of-control new god with the power to move and burn entire universes who didn't seem to understand that he was about to destroy all of reality, himself included.

VENDOR had finally run out of excuses to avoid the media, and was now reluctantly holding an impromptu press conference with the reporters on the scene—and THEY looked so miserable the Axolotl nearly felt bad for THEM. He overheard THEM blurt out, probably far louder than intended, "I will not be remembered as the god who was in charge of the emergency response efforts that got the entire multiverse destroyed!" and he wondered whether VENDOR remembered either that THEY weren't in charge or that, if the multiverse were destroyed, THEY wouldn't be remembered at all. No one would be.

From the conversations he overheard, the Axolotl got the impression that no one, even the most senior ATTF agents on the scene, had ever dealt with a threat to the multiverse this dire. No one knew what to do about the triangle—least of all the Axolotl, who was only here because everybody still hadn't realized that he wasn't supposed to be.

So while everyone else was arguing, privately panicking, or actually doing something useful, he was floating at the cordon holding people away from Dimension Zero.

####

There were a few stars and rocky bodies on the wrong side of the cordon. The triangle's sun—the star that had once shone down on his 2D world before it burned down (before he burned it down)—was still out there. Once again, it was falling toward Dimension Zero.

He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then swooped under the cordon, scooped up the sun, and carried it back to the safe zone. He opened a portal to his tank, slid the star inside, then shook out his forefeet and inspected the burns on the soft skin. He'd been playing with a lot of fire today.

"Axolotl!"

The Axolotl looked up. He wasn't surprised by the familiar sight of his Oracle's soul emerging from the aether—she'd already come by once to but he was frustrated by it. One more person he had to protect in this mess.

"Something happened—"

"I know." He quickly curled around her, doing his best to shield her from the other gods in case any of the nearby arguments escalated—or the triangle decided to lash out at the third dimension again. "You shouldn't be here now. It isn't safe."

Of course, she ignored him. She wouldn't be the kind of person he picked as one of his Oracles if she weren't the kind of person who ignored gods' warnings. "Our seers heard the whole sky scream in pain, and then saw a vast eye—"

"Over there." He lifted his tail out of the way just enough to let her see the border of Dimension Zero.

No matter where you looked at Dimension Zero, that golden fleck of light seemed to twinkle in the center of your field of vision. The Oracle squinted. "The little flat yellow creature?"

"He was bigger earlier."

"What happened?"

"A showdown with the cops."

The Oracle paused as she tried to reconcile that with the seers' apocalyptic vision. "Who won?"

"He did."

"Good." And she wouldn't have been the kind of person the Axolotl picked for his Oracles if she didn't say that, either.

On most days, he'd agree with her. But after seeing what the triangle could do—knowing what he would do... The cops weren't the answer, but he had to be stopped somehow.

(He could feel the triangle's eye on them. Was he listening to them now?)

"He's shaped like a triangle. Is he connected to the blind seer's final vision?"

The seer who'd seen the sky burn and collapse into a blinding triangular light. "He is. He's the last survivor of the first dimension to burn. His people called him the Magister Mentium; he was a seer to his people, too."It tore the Axolotl's heart to say more than that—but he wouldn't mislead his Oracle. "Somehow, he started the fire."

Before the Oracle could ask him how, a faint voice yelled, "Hey!"

They turned toward Dimension Zero. The triangle was on the border, looking straight at them. He shouted again, "Hey! You with the pink freak!"

"What?"

"How many fingers do you have!"

She gave her four arms a puzzled look. "Twenty!"

"Wow!" The triangle sounded genuinely impressed. "What do you use 'em all for?!"

"Normal finger things?" She asked, "Why's your hat so skinny?"

"What hat?"

She paused. "Never mind!" She turned back to the Axolotl and whispered, "Is the hat part of his body?"

"I don't think so. He didn't have it the last time I saw him."

She kept trying to look at the triangle until the Axolotl curled around her to stop her staring. "That's the seer who's destroying universes?"

He wanted to make excuses for the triangle. He wanted to defend him. "Yes."

She was silent a moment before asking the question she'd really come for: "Is my world in danger?"

"Not yet. Not directly. But... if he isn't stopped, it eventually will be," the Axolotl said. "He's fallen into the center of the multiverse and is trying to build a kingdom there. If he fails, it will collapse and kill him; but if he succeeds, it will destabilize and kill all of reality."

"Wh—?!" She gave him a look of disbelief. "But—that doesn't make any sense! He loses either way!"

"I know."

"So why is he endangering everyone for nothing?!"

"I don't know."

"I'm going to find out."

"Wait—!"

The Oracle's astral projection could be very slippery when she wanted; she was already past the Axolotl and flying toward Dimension Zero. "Hey! Magister Mentium! I want a word with you!"

"Don't cross the border between dimensions!" The Axolotl clutched the police tape in both forefeet as he watched.

After five minutes of shouting and death threats, the Oracle flew back to the Axolotl.

"I think he's stupid," she said.

He smiled sadly. "I fear it's something much worse than that."

He had the skin-crawling feeling that the triangle was staring at him. He forced himself not to turn and find out for sure.

####

The Time Giant was the first to return from the frontlines of the fire. She joined the Axolotl next to the police tape, muttered something about needing to pick up some "stuff" from "a couple centuries ago," snapped out a length of time tape, and returned three seconds later in a different shirt with sleeves rolled up and carrying a folding table, a bundle of blueprints, and an energy drink. She unfolded the table in the void, spread out her blueprints on it, chugged her drink, hunched over the table, and ignored the rest of the universe.

The Oracle gazed up at the Time Giant and instantly fell in love. The Axolotl politely pretended he didn't notice.

VENDOR was the second to float over—slumped forward, lights dim, looking like THEY were returning from a war zone rather than a press conference. Heaving a weary sigh, THEY positioned THEMSELF next to the cordon with the Axolotl and Time Giant; which was the point at which the Axolotl realized he'd accidentally formed a club of people who didn't want to be in charge of this mess but were. "Any change?" 

The Time Giant grunted distractedly. The Axolotl said, "No." The Oracle said, "I accidentally taught the triangle an obscene gesture." 

VENDOR turned toward Dimension Zero.

The triangle sprouted two extra arms and gleefully pantomimed something filthy.

VENDOR turned away from Dimension Zero and sighed even more heavily.

When the storm cloud drifted over, VENDOR said, "Go away unless you have good news." The arrogance had drained out of THEIR voice; what little pomposity THEY had left was a thin mask over exhausted fear. (The Axolotl could sympathize; he felt the same dread weighing low in the pit of his stomach.)

Before the storm cloud had left to check on the other dimensions, it had still been hailing in fear; by now, it had whipped itself up into a furious blizzard. It had to stay back from the group to keep from freezing them too, and even at that frost still crept across VENDOR's glass and the Axolotl had to shield the Oracle from the cold. "Well," it said stiffly, trying to rein in its rage and sounding even colder as a consequence.. "Almost all the new fires have already been contained. I'll say one thing for that—" It paused as it mentally glided over what was no doubt a long and creative list of insults, "—guy; at least he's making an effort to be more careful of where he kicks the neighboring dimensions so the damage doesn't spread as fast." It sighed a chilly, angry gust of wind. "Unfortunately, he's gotten more aggressive about kidnapping mortals from other dimensions. He's narrowed his focus, but he's kicking ten times harder."

"That wasn't very good good news," VENDOR whined.

"Sorry. Fresh out," the cloud said. "Fact is, if we don't stop him, we're toast."

Nobody was surprised by that. VENDOR asked, "How much time do we have?" THEY turned to the Time Giant.

While VENDOR had gotten pathetic and the cloud was seething with barely-restrained rage, the Time Giant had only grown more stoic. Her face was set in a stony mask; her jaw was tight enough that she could bite an airplane clean in half. Since she'd come back, she hadn't glanced up from the stack of blueprints she'd retrieved.

It took her a moment to realize the question was directed toward her. She jerked her head up as if ready to snap at whoever had interrupted her; but caught herself as she processed the question. "Uhh, pffff..." She squinted toward the horizon of time, face scrunched up to expose her teeth. "If we get the fires put out? Few years. Couple decades at the outside. Reckon it's more than enough time to jury rig something that'll keep reality propped up while we get in a construction crew to set up a new Big Bang, no problem."

The Axolotl whispered reassuringly to the Oracle, "A couple of decades to us is over a thousand of your people's generations."

"A couple of decades," VENDOR muttered, voice rough, a few stray moons rattling around behind THEIR product dispenser door. "This multiverse was built to last an eternity. To think it could be destabilized enough to collapse within a couple of decades, all because of one..." THEY fell silent. They could all feel the steady staring eye watching them from deep within Dimension Zero.

The cloud said, "And if he doesn't let us stop all the fires?"

She pursed her lips, brows knit tightly. "If the fires keep spreading and that triangle keeps destabilizing things, the whole thing could collapse in a week tops."

"That's still a few years for your people," the Axolotl told the Oracle optimistically.

She swatted his paw. "Aren't you powerful enough to, just—stop him? You're gods." They must have seemed undefeatable to her—living beings the size of mountains and vast world-moving machines and forces of nature. That was how the gods always looked to mortals.

But unfortunately, when you got right down to it, they weren't much more than weirdly big people.

VENDOR muttered, "Well, I don't have the authority to call in the kind of reinforcements that can take that thing down." (More cautious now that THEY realized this wasn't a threat THEY could effortlessly crush in THEIR gears, weren't THEY.)

The cloud said, "The Apocalyptic Threat Task Force can make that a call that in any situation that poses a credible threat to multiversal safety and security, but..." It asked the Axolotl and Time Giant, "Just how strong do you think he is?"

"Could be omnipotent," the Time Giant said. "Wouldn't be surprised."

The Axolotl reluctantly nodded in agreement. "He doesn't understand what he's doing yet, but he's already manipulating the fabric of reality with his bare hands."

VENDOR made a tiny noise like a malfunctioning motor at that.

Grimly, the cloud said, "I could put in a call to HQ. We have a few higher dimensional types on call. Creator gods and the like. They're probably the only ones who'd stand a chance against an omnipotent god that can make a whole universe do a barrel roll. But if we aren't sure we could win the fight, and fast..."

The assembled group of gods cast a nervous look at the gaping hole into Dimension Zero.

The triangle, smaller than one of the Axolotl's fingertips, stared back from the border. He solemnly spread his arms wide. "You wanna go? Come at me."

They did not want to go. They turned away.

"Bad idea," the Time Giant said. "If the laws of physics are unstable, even the strongest god wouldn't have an advantage. It'd be like putting the fastest sprinter in the multiverse on a racetrack without gravity. And since he's the one running the physics, he could practically hand himself a win."

"And on top of that, any fight down there risks knocking the multiverse down," the cloud said. "It's too dangerous. We can't risk attacking him."

"We'll just have to hope he doesn't attack us first," VENDOR muttered.

The Axolotl's stomach flipped. He knew something they didn't. "Actually, I... don't think he can."

All attention was on him. VENDOR said, "Please tell me you have some actual good news."

"I don't know." He wasn't sure whether it would make any difference. All he knew was that he felt like he was betraying the triangle. He lowered his voice to what for him passed as a whisper. "But, I think... I think his power is limited to the borders of his realm." As he said it, he knew he was telling the truth. Some beings got like that when they were old enough; they could just feel when something was right. "He can't impact anything that isn't touching his dimension. He's essentially harmless to the rest of the multiverse. The only real threat is... well." He gestured helplessly at the frothing chaos. "The fact that the dimension is like that."

Voice hushed, the cloud said slowly, "Hold on. So... he's trapped in the crawlspace beneath reality."

"No—he's trapped in the 'dream realm' he's built inside the crawlspace. He can drag the realm out with him, but... we saw what happens when he does that." They'd all heard how existence had howled in pain. They'd seen how even the triangle had been scared enough to stop.

"So we have no hope of fighting him in his bunker—but if we drag him across the threshold... the fight's over." THEY turned to the two cops THEY'd been leading around all day.

The crab and burning wheels tried very had to look like they hadn't noticed the conversation at all. 

VENDOR and the cloud exchanged a frustrated glance. Sarcastically, the cloud muttered, "Yeah. Easy."

The Axolotl said, "I'm not even sure we can drag him out of his bunker. I don't know if he won't leave, or physically can't leave—just that his power stops at his borders."

VENDOR sighed, "So we're back where we started."

The Time Giant smacked her mess of blueprints, making the other gods start. "No we aren't! If his influence can't spread outside his dimension, then I've got a fix." She held up a thick binder. "It's a fiddly chrono-construction technique to shore up brittle dimensions. It can work as a stopgap measure to stop him from destabilizing any more dimensions." She looked at VENDOR. "It'll make a lot of extra work for the urban planning committee."

VENDOR's lights flickered off. The Axolotl could see the numbers on THEIR digital display as THEY slowly counted to ten. Then THEY turned their lights back on and said, with an air of forced calm, "All right. I don't think there is any getting out of this without extra work. Tell me the idea."

"Right now, all our dimensions are connected adjacent to each other—corner to corner and edge to edge. It's simple that way. But, if we restructure the dimensions parallel to each other, we can use the pressure of the outside dimensions to press in on the crawlspace and keep its contents in place. It's gonna be a mess. Forget about the Dimension 1, Dimension 2, Dimension 3 system we have right now; by the end of this we're gonna have Dimension 143 and Dimension M and Dimension 6.5 and Dimension -17 and imaginary number dimensions and quadratic dimensions..." She shrugged helplessly. "But if we can't get this bozo out, it might be our only option."

"Parallel universes? It sounds ridiculous." VENDOR let out a low moan of pain, "We'll have to restructure the whole multiverse."

"Yup. Probably."

"Everything's so nice and tidy now. A perfectly arranged planned community. Nice, straight, gridlike dimensions..."

"Parallel dimensions do have some potential benefits over adjacent dimensions," the Time Giant offered comfortingly. "Easier interdimensional travel—"

VENDOR grumbled, "Oh, I know, I know, Municipalitron's been pushing to experiment with parallel dimensions for the past two hundred billion years. He won't shut up about how it would benefit mass transit."

The cloud said, "All I care about is the multiverse surviving long enough to worry about mass transit."

The time giant said, "The biggest downside is that once we've completely closed up the crawlspace, when that dimension he's set up inevitably collapses, there's no easy way to get back all that energy and dark matter. If we ever decide to rip open a rift big enough to drain it out, it could take trillions of years if we don't want the flood to destroy the receiving universe. We might never clear out the rubble. But on the other hand, if it's sealed up well enough, it won't matter if the ruins are left to rot."

"What about the hostages?" the Axolotl asked. "Won't that trap everyone inside?"

"We'll have to leave manhole covers and maintenance shafts, obviously. Until the fabric of reality's finished unraveling, we'll have a chance to get them out," the Time Giant said. "Even that 'Magister' can leave if he decides to surrender himself. Assuming he's willing to leave his construction project behind."

If he could leave it.

VENDOR let a heavy whoosh out THEIR vents. "Balls. Very well, submit your proposal to the committee. I'll vouch for it. But I won't like it." THEY muttered, "Municipalitron's never going to let me live this down."

The storm aimed its sunbeam at the Time Giant. "Can't start construction as long as he's still starting fires and picking fights, though—can we? Unless you can build new dimensions on top of an active inferno?"

"N—Hold on." She squinted toward the future to check. "Nope. Though once I get down a fireproof foundation, we won't need to worry about it anymore. Got a trick called timeline splitting: you reformat a dimension so that the timelines fork infinitely, any time a choice is made. If he tries to burn 'em, they split: one timeline he burned and one he didn't. He'll just add more timelines and thicken the foundation every time he tries to attack the neighbors."

Horrified, VENDOR said, "I've been trying to pass an ordinance to ban timeline splitting for an eon."

"Has it passed yet?" the storm asked.

"No!"

"Great. Then that's our plan," the storm said. "We just need somebody to talk him down long enough to put out the fires and get the fireproof foundation in place." Its sunbeam turned toward the Time Giant. "Maybe if someone explains the stakes to him—?"

She shook her head, expression flat. "I'm a civil engineer, not a hostage negotiator. If he didn't get it the first time I laid it out to him, he ain't gonna get it the second time."

VENDOR asked the cloud, "Isn't the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force trained in talking down apocalyptic threats?"

"Yes, but no," the storm cloud said.

"What does that mean! Just... go up to that thing"—THEY tilted toward Dimension Zero—"and keep him calm."

"Are you kidding? I'm not suicidal!"

"This is your job, you're an apoc cop!"

"Apoc agent!" It raised its voice, "And talking down threats is not my speciality! I was sent because we thought this was a structural issue, not an actively malevolent entity!"

"Hey!" the triangle shouted. "Who are you calling malevolent?! Hey! Hey! Look me in the eye and say that again, I'll kick your base! I'm the most benevolent entity you've ever met!"

They wordlessly avoided eye contact with the triangle, scooted another solar system farther away from Dimension Zero, and lowered their voices again. 

The storm cloud asked VENDOR, "Shouldn't this be your department? We're dealing with the possible genesis of a new god, and his first act was destroying a dimension and destabilizing reality. Sounds like politics to me."

Delicately, the Axolotl said, "I don't think THEY're the best choice."

"I'm certainly not. I handle the urban planning committee's budgeting," VENDOR said. "I deal with accountants, not terrorists! The only reason I'm here is to provide planets for those flat refugees, and I am sick of being at every humanitarian crisis in the multiverse just because I vend planets—"

The Axolotl had taken all of VENDOR that he could. He rounded on THEM, snarling, "Why are you even in politics, if it's not to help mortals? Is that not why you accepted the title of 'god'?" He flared his gills and his eyes glowed in rage. "Because it's why I did! I wish there was more I could do to help! And you, you can do more than anyone, and you're complaining about it?!"

VENDOR jerked back from the Axolotl. For a moment, the whole group was stunned silent. The Axolotl's eyes stopped glowing. He had to fight the urge to shrink back self-consciously from their staring. His Oracle patted his side comfortingly.

And then VENDOR's lights  brightened. "You know how to talk to mortals like that. This triangle is just like the omnicidal monsters you represent every day." THEIR camera whirred as THEY sized him up. "If you want to help more, then why don't you?"

Ah. The Axolotl paused to swallow his anger. 

He glanced down at his Oracle, who had been hiding in his shadow as she took notes and attempted to surreptitiously ogle the Time Giant. He said, "I think..."

She nodded. "I'll wake up." And then she faded out as her spirit sank back down to a lower plane.

The Axolotl tried to avoid looking at VENDOR—how could someone without a face look so smug?—and focused on the Time Giant. "What do you need me to get him to do?"

####

Biologically there was really no such thing as a god, in the same way that botanically there is really no such thing as a vegetable. Tomatoes are fruits; spinach is a leaf; carrots are roots; broccoli is an unfinished flower. The word "vegetable" just indicates the cultural role a plant performs in the kitchen.

The word "god" indicated the cultural role an entity performed in cosmology: a god was anything that people considered powerful enough to be worth worshiping.

A trillion trillion priests and philosophers and theologians and politicians had attempted to pin down a firm definition—but any definition was only ever valid to the worshipers who agreed it was right. The simple truth was that a being who had created a universe could be called a god, and a particularly impressive tree could be called a god, and a con artist who used clever stage magic to convince people he could teleport and raise the dead could be called a god, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, to prove than any one of them "really" was or wasn't a god, no trait that universally separated the false gods from the true. If other gods thought you were a god, or if enough mortals worshiped you that the other gods had to bow to public pressure, that meant you were a god. 

Different beings honored with the title "god" handled it in different ways. Some, unsurprisingly, developed a god complex. Some picked up debilitating scrupulosity in an effort to be perfect enough to be worthy of their people's worship, and their people developed scrupulosity in an effort to live up to their god's perfect example, and so it went in a vicious cycle until somebody finally got therapy. Some printed their titles on the party invitation flyers they tossed out on busy streets. For the Axolotl's part, he thought it was a useful designation to help with networking, but mostly it was a pain that meant he was put up on a pedestal for doing his job.

The Axolotl was a god of justice. Not the god of justice, but one. He held dominion over an abstract concept; over millions and billions of years, his words and decisions slowly, inexorably altered the idea of "justice" on a multiversal scale. Mercy, retribution, punishment, rehabilitation, equity, equality, fairness, and righteousness were like multicolored clays he could twist, squish, sculpt, and blend in his wet little salamandrine grip, permanently altering what those ideas meant to the mortals they affected.

Which was to say: he was a lawyer.

He was also known as a god of rebirth. Which was to say: he specialized in afterlife law. Before going into law he'd only been a psychopomp, but after having to escort too many despairing souls to afterlives he felt were too severe for their sins, he'd decided he wanted a say in where he took his souls. For a while, he helped clients get their charges reduced so they were eligible for a higher-tier reincarnation, or got their purgatorial sentences reduced. Though for a long time he'd steered away from damnation cases. He didn't always win—and those ones were too depressing to lose.

And then he'd thought he should be doing more. It wasn't enough for him to help his clients get the best option available under the system to which they were subjected; he wanted to change the system. He'd started pursuing bigger cases.

Now, he had a reputation.

For the past few centuries, he'd been working on a damnation case. He was defending a supervillain who'd developed a weapon that could slice open the fabric of spacetime so severely it could rip clean into another dimension—a mortal who'd committed an interdimensional crime against reality. The villain had died in the jurisdiction of an afterlife that had legalized eternal damnation.

Case law had long established that, unless other arrangements had been made premortem, the dead were to be sent to—in order—the afterlife of their birth, their death, or their choice, provided that the afterlife in question accepted them; and that they would be judged and sentenced by that afterlife's laws.

But if this villain had been extradited to his home world, the heaviest sentence he could have faced was a thousand years purgatory with an option for early reincarnation for good behavior after a hundred years.

So the jurisdiction he'd died in had summoned up some bureaucratic red tape to dismiss his native afterlife's extradition request, and he'd been sentenced where he'd died. Crimes against reality were often handled differently from regular sins; and the gods of vengeance in the domain where he'd died would love to see the courts declare that the gods who'd brought down a criminal against reality could call dibs on punishing him, rather than hand him back to his motherland. They hoped they would get away with it just for lack of anyone protesting the move. After all, everyone involved would much prefer that a mortal wicked enough to damage spacetime and obliterate multiple populated planets receive eternal punishment.

Everyone involved except the Axolotl. 

Taking this case hadn't made him many friends. He didn't care; he had his principles. Let an interplanetary supervillain be dragged away to a foreign afterlife just so that he can be forced into damnation, and next it'll be a planetary dictator; let a dictator be dragged away, and next it'll be a murderer; and next it'll be a burglar; and next it'll be a jaywalker that a psychopomp has a personal grudge against. If the Axolotl could establish that even the most undeserving mortal imaginable still deserved the right to be sentenced in his home afterlife, then he could ensure that everyone less evil received the same right.

If he had anything to say about it, in two or three trillion years he'd see eternal punishment outlawed completely; but untilthen, he was not going to sit idly by and let this flagrant abuse of interdimensional law become the new meaning of justice! He would get that supervillain out of eternal damnation, personally escort him to his native afterlife, and see him reincarnated on his own home world; and mark his words, he would rain so much bureaucratic hell on the judges and psychopomps that had let this abuse of justice take place—he would wreak such vengeance upon the vengeance gods who had tried to claim his client—that no god would dare keep a soul from its rightful afterlife ever again, or he wasn't the Axolotl!

All of which was to say:

Yes, unfortunately. This triangle was like the omnicidal monsters he represented every day.

And so he was appointed hostage negotiator.

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 7 of a probably-9-part fic about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl almost fucking die.

It's ALSO chapter 61 Part Seven of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: okay THIS is now probably the least cosmic-horrifying chapter of this arc. Which is a necessary interlude, because NEXT CHAPTER is the big climax woohoo!

Even if not much horrifying happens this chapter, I like the worldbuilding in it. The section on what being a god of justice means to the Axolotl was one of the first things I wrote for this arc.)

[blueiscoool]

More than 200 Survivors of Mount Vesuvius Eruption Discovered in Ancient Roman Records

After Mount Vesuvius erupted, survivors from the Roman cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum fled, starting new lives elsewhere.

On Aug. 24, in A.D. 79, Mount Vesuvius erupted, shooting over 3 cubic miles of debris up to 20 miles (32.1 kilometers) in the air. As the ash and rock fell to Earth, it buried the ancient cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum.

According to most modern accounts, the story pretty much ends there: Both cities were wiped out, their people frozen in time.

It only picks up with the rediscovery of the cities and the excavations that started in earnest in the 1740s.

But recent research has shifted the narrative. The story of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius is no longer one about annihilation; it also includes the stories of those who survived the eruption and went on to rebuild their lives.

The search for survivors and their stories has dominated the past decade of my archaeological fieldwork, as I’ve tried to figure out who might have escaped the eruption. Some of my findings are featured in an episode of the new PBS documentary, “Pompeii: The New Dig.”

Making it out alive:

Pompeii and Herculaneum were two wealthy cities on the coast of Italy just south of Naples. Pompeii was a community of about 30,000 people that hosted thriving industry and active political and financial networks. Herculaneum, with a population of about 5,000, had an active fishing fleet and a number of marble workshops. Both economies supported the villas of wealthy Romans in the surrounding countryside.

In popular culture, the eruption is usually depicted as an apocalyptic event with no survivors: In episodes of the TV series “Doctor Who” and “Loki,” everyone in Pompeii and Herculaneum dies.

But the evidence that people could have escaped was always there.

The eruption itself continued for over 18 hours. The human remains found in each city account for only a fraction of their populations, and many objects you might have expected to have remained and be preserved in ash are missing: Carts and horses are gone from stables, ships missing from docks, and strongboxes cleaned out of money and jewelry.

All of this suggests that many – if not most – of the people in the cities could have escaped if they fled early enough.

Some archaeologists have always assumed that some people escaped. But searching for them has never been a priority.

So I created a methodology to determine if survivors could be found. I took Roman names unique to Pompeii or Herculaneum – such as Numerius Popidius and Aulus Umbricius – and searched for people with those names who lived in surrounding communities in the period after the eruption. I also looked for additional evidence, such as improved infrastructure in neighboring communities to accommodate migrants.

After eight years of scouring databases of tens of thousands of Roman inscriptions on places ranging from walls to tombstones, I found evidence of over 200 survivors in 12 cities. These municipalities are primarily in the general area of Pompeii. But they tended to be north of Mount Vesuvius, outside the zone of the greatest destruction.

It seems as though most survivors stayed as close as they could to Pompeii. They preferred to settle with other survivors, and they relied on social and economic networks from their original cities as they resettled.

Some migrants prosper:

Some of the families that escaped apparently went on to thrive in their new communities.

The Caltilius family resettled in Ostia – what was then a major port city to the north of Pompeii, 18 miles from Rome. There, they founded a temple to the Egyptian deity Serapis. Serapis, who wore a basket of grain on his head to symbolize the bounty of the earth, was popular in harbor cities like Ostia dominated by the grain trade. Those cities also built a grand, expensive tomb complex decorated with inscriptions and large portraits of family members.

Members of the Caltilius family married into another family of escapees, the Munatiuses. Together, they created a wealthy, successful extended family.

The second-busiest port city in Roman Italy, Puteoli – what’s known as Pozzuoli today – also welcomed survivors from Pompeii. The family of Aulus Umbricius, who was a merchant of garum, a popular fermented fish sauce, resettled there. After reviving the family garum business, Aulus and his wife named their first child born in their adopted city Puteolanus, or “the Puteolanean.”

Others fall on hard times:

Not all the survivors of the eruption were wealthy or went on to find success in their new communities. Some had already been poor to begin with. Others seemed to have lost their family fortunes, perhaps in the eruption itself.

Fabia Secundina from Pompeii – apparently named for her grandfather, a wealthy wine merchant – also ended up in Puteoli. There, she married a gladiator, Aquarius the retiarius, who died at the age of 25, leaving her in dire financial straits.

Three other very poor families from Pompeii – the Avianii, Atilii and Masuri families – survived and settled in a small, poorer community called Nuceria, which goes by Nocera today and is about 10 miles (16.1 kilometers) east of Pompeii.

According to a tombstone that still exists, the Masuri family took in a boy named Avianius Felicio as a foster son. Notably, in the 160 years of Roman Pompeii, there was no evidence of any foster children, and extended families usually took in orphaned children. For this reason, it’s likely that Felicio didn’t have any surviving family members.

This small example illustrates the larger pattern of the generosity of migrants – even impoverished ones – toward other survivors and their new communities. They didn’t just take care of each other; they also donated to the religious and civic institutions of their new homes.

For example, the Vibidia family had lived in Herculaneum. Before it was destroyed by the eruption of Vesuvius, they had given lavishly to help fund various institutions, including a new temple of Venus, the Roman goddess of love, beauty and fertility.

One female family member who survived the eruption appears to have continued the family’s tradition: Once settled in her new community, Beneventum, she donated a very small, poorly made altar to Venus on public land given by the local city council.

How would survivors be treated today?

While the survivors resettled and built lives in their new communities, government played a role as well.

The emperors in Rome invested heavily in the region, rebuilding properties damaged by the eruption and building new infrastructure for displaced populations, including roads, water systems, amphitheaters and temples.

This model for post-disaster recovery can be a lesson for today. The costs of funding the recovery never seems to have been debated. Survivors were not isolated into camps, nor were they forced to live indefinitely in tent cities. There’s no evidence that they encountered discrimination in their new communities.

Instead, all signs indicate that communities welcomed the survivors. Many of them went on to open their own businesses and hold positions in local governments. And the government responded by ensuring that the new populations and their communities had the resources and infrastructure to rebuild their lives.

By Steven L. Tuck.

[five-rivers]

Death is a personal thing.  

To be sure, everyone dies eventually, and, in that, if nothing else, they are equal.  But no two people know death the same way.  No two people are touched by death the same way.  No two people see death in the same way.  No two people are taken by death in the same way.  

And no one may know another’s death.  Not beyond a glimpse through a window at night, not beyond a tale of a country undiscovered.  

That country of death was much the same. 

The Ghost Zone.  The Spirit World.  The Infinite Realms.  

Many names.  Many faces.  Many forms.  

It was personal.  

.

Vlad Masters knew what the Ghost Zone looked like.  He had worked with Jack and Maddie to extrapolate its composition and appearance long before they’d even gotten the proto-portal running from the tiny samples of ectoplasm they’d been able to synthesize.  

Once they had… Well.  Even the small uncertainty he’d had before was gone.  The Ghost Zone was green and pulsating pain, ooze and rot, twisted abominations and power.  

He could feel it inside him, even in the hospital, even dying from ecto-acne.  He knew.  He knew.  

And his knowledge was vindicated the first time he stepped through a portal.  

.

Danny grew up hearing stories about ghosts, even if he didn’t believe in them.  Stories about how evil they were, generally, but also about what the Ghost Zone was supposed to be like.  Vast voids.  Glowing ectoplasm.  Islands of stability.  

It shaped him.  But it wasn’t the only thing that did that.  

(He remembered, distantly, Grandpa Fenton saying that he was going on one, last, long journey…)

He stood in front of the empty porta, smiling.  “You’re right.  Who knows what kind of awesome, super-cool things exist on the other side of that portal?”

Danny didn’t know.  But he imagined.  He imagined a journey of a lifetime, of a death, of an eternity.  

The light that killed him and saved him was green, but it was followed by diamond-studded black.  

His first journey into the Ghost Zone showed him a world of wonder.  Eternal night stretched as far as the eye could see, strewn with luminescent islands - each a wandering star, populated by strange trees, strange fruits, strange beings, strange technology, all glowing in the dark.  

.

For Sam, the Ghost Zone was a vast wilderness full of extinct and endangered creatures.  All those things Sam cared so much about saving.  All the things humanity had failed to save.  All the things humanity had driven into the dark.  

Not only a wilderness - a hungry, grasping wilderness.  Beautiful, but deadly and eager to take.  

It was about her activism.  Her passions.  Her understanding of killing.  

(It was really about Danny.)

(About losing him.)

(About dooming him.)

(About killing him.)

(Making him a member of a not-quite-species with only three members.)

But she could find her place here, too.  She knew.  The jungles, the deserts, the mountains, the tundra.  The creeping vines, the snarling beasts, the towering trees.  There was a place here for her.

.

The Ghost Zone was dead, and to Tucker Foley dead meant two things.  Broken tech and hospitals.  

His version of the Ghost Zone had both.  Great landfills and huge, almost industrial buildings that seemed to ooze illness and injury in an apocalyptic landscape.  There was rust and gray in the sky, streaked with mossy, algae-like green.  Verdigris.  Even gold oxidized and crumbled.  

The thing was, junk could be repurposed.  Broken things could be fixed, or scavenged for parts.  Brought back to life, as it were.  

He just had to avoid the hospitals, and everything would be fine.  

.

First and foremost, Jazz’s view of the Ghost Zone and ghosts in general was colored by the general concept of ‘her brother, the superhero.’

This was the world beyond the portal for her.  One where death wasn't, and she still didn't have to see.

.

Valerie hated the Ghost World and everything in it.  It was a bottomless pit that did nothing but take and take and take.  

… It did seem a little different, though, after the first time she'd actually worked with Phantom.  There seemed to be other changes after her second suit.  The whole place just felt more inviting.  

But surely that was all in her head. 

.

And Jack and Maddie?  Well.  They already knew everything there was to know about ghosts… and they knew they weren’t ‘souls of the dead’ or any such nonsense.  They were simply monsters from another dimension!  One made of ectoplasm and energy!  A green world!  An exciting world!

A hostile world.  

One that would do anything it could to lie to them, to trick them, to kill them.  Just like the ghosts that inhabited it.  

That's why they needed the Specter Speeder and all their other protective gear.  

That's why they needed protective gear, unlike, say, Sam, who could walk through her wilderness unharmed, so long as she kept an eye out for prehistoric megafauna, or Tucker, who'd had to get his tetanus shot renewed after a nasty fall into a junk pile that first week.  The Ghost Zone would destroy them, just like they tried to destroy it.  

That was just what death was like, after all.  

[hunniegl4zed]

Hey ideas are ideas! I just like looking into Sonic lore from different continuities a lot, and picking and choosing the bits from there. See what meshes well together. 

Shit I mean look at our boy, him suffering is the only canon event we should be worrying about / joke but also true 💀. 

Also the fun is infinite when you make stuff up too along with that. With the way space-time in the Sonic Universe gets so horribly warped in the first place, I say that anything is possible. 

So I can roll with the worlds and timelines getting unstable again, to where some places that were once lost before suddenly respawn. Everyone on Moebius proceeds with their lives as normal….except for Scourge who dreams frequently of his old life enough to where he starts asking questions….and it seems like nobody knows what he’s talking about. Even starts mixing things up and it unsettles him. The last straw being that he talks about a few zones he once visited, only to find out…they never existed. 

Something tells him that he should probably go to Sonic’s world to figure that out. 

Turns out to be the biggest mistake, because as soon he’s near the place, a terrifying vision of his last moments strikes, and his molecules get really unstable, nearly eliminating himself AGAIN. 

Could be another reason why Scourge takes so so long to contact Sonic as well. Zonic theorizes since some zones were very recently partially restored, going near the source (Sonic’s Zone) that is still largely readjusting itself could cause implosion for anyone who doesn’t originate from there.

He tries desperately to move forward with his new life only to find it’s as terrible as the last.

Having the memories meld together worsens his meltdown, to the point where he decides to make good on his promise with Moebius. By tearing apart the planet in his Super Form. ( Being extra for no reason here but his father was ALIVE again here. He was the last victim.)

Fiona is alarmed on why Scourge would even go this far in destroying Moebius, and this leads him to tell her everything. She doesn’t believe him unfortunately and ends up leaving him, only seeing that he would down-spiral from there. 

With no home to turn back or anyone by his side, the days slowly stop mattering to him. Until mid-way he crashes at Mayhem’s place once they find each other, deciding to go with that he knows him….despite actually knowing him in this timeline. It’s nice that he has one other guy to rely on even if this all can be erased someday too without warning and……….and………

he should really get some sleep. 

That’s one way this can be setup. Though feel free to explore Scourge’s story pre-delirium another way if you wish to do so.

EATING THIS UUUUPPPPP, It's like a 8 course meal!!! 😭🙏💚💚💚 Hope ya don't mind me combining the two asks, making it a little more clearer ✨️✨️✨️

His paranoia only getting worse when citizens of moebius start actively avoiding him, thinking this guy lost his marbles and should be send off to the looney bin. All off his crew seeing the path he goes down to leads them to step away from him, even Fiona can't stand being around him anymore. His "insane ramblings of other zones and people that aren't there" annoy or scare most of them away. Until he snaps :3

ANTI-JULES BEING HIS LAST VICTIM IS RAW AND I DON'T MIND AT ALL 🔥🔥🔥 THE expression he makes before Super Scourge beats him to a bloody pulp with his bare hands, is gonna be one if the faces that will haunt Scourge in his God forbidden nightmares.

Agree with you that Moebius would still be there, only for it to be empty and a place of death. All bodies of the dead will still be there when you enter it, just like how Scourge left it when he got burned out from his rampage. Almost apocalyptic.

Hecc to the no that Scourge ever wants to return to that place. If he's using a wrap ring, he can always slightly hear the screams of Moebius in the back of his mind. Always afraid that when he steps through one, it will lead him back there.

That's some of the reasons why his delirium picks up so fast. It can all be gone in the blink of an eye. When being in Sonic's world and staying at Mayhem, he tries to shake things off himself, "The past is in the past, right?". But boy oh boy, is our brains perfect at reliving your past~ ✨️✨️💅💅 Especially when you're trying to sleep and you're left alone with your thoughts 😌

[bubbl3zdaseaotter37]

Whumptober 2024

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

A/N: So, I don’t really have a super clear plot for this one, I just love zombie apocalypse settings and Lockwood & Co, so HERE WE ARE.  Zombie apocalypse AU!

 I guess my general idea for this AU was that instead of being sensitive to psychic activity, certain young people are more resistant to infection.  It still affects them, but instead of turning into rabid, flesh-eating undead, it makes them hallucinate, get very, very ill, or go into a catatonic state like we see with ghost-lock, which can kill them anyways.  Nobody’s immune to being torn limb from limb (duh).  But as they get older their immunity gets weaker, the same way children deal with chickenpox than adults.

It doesn’t make complete sense -- this was a very rushed concept lol -- but that's the rundown. I hope y’all enjoy!

My first mistake was letting my guard down when I saw that convenience store.  It’s an easy thing to do, when your stomach feels like a gaping hole in your middle, and it was only for a moment, but I should have known better.  I wasn’t a survivor for no reason; generally, I like to think I was better than most at avoiding stupid mistakes, or the consequences of those mistakes at the very least.  But that time, during my first few days in London, was an exception.

For being such a major city before The Outbreak fifty years ago, I was shocked to find it so… quiet.  Sure, I could believe the stories about the gangs of dangerous bandits that I had heard from some in my hometown might have been an exaggeration.  And I knew of the two major safe zones here – that was the reason I had been so willing to leave the safety of my hometown’s makeshift setup in the first place.  Across the country, survivors knew the reputation of the two militarized areas, run by the two most powerful families, Fittes and Rotwell.  Everyone knew that they were racing for a cure, and that the people who worked for them got the best accommodation that existed in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.  It was a position every Resistant envied, the running water, the warm beds, the steady food supplies no matter how bland.  And respect, of course.  To be an agent was a heavy job and dangerous, but when you protected them from the living dead, adults gave you more regard than they had before.

That was what we dreamt of, my best friend and me.  I arrived in London alone.

I had spent days making my way slowly through the suburbs.  Supplies were scarce, but I already had plenty of experience in the basics of survival.  Stay quiet, avoid loud weapons, and always carry something with you to cover your scent; infected relied mostly on their sense of hearing and smell, since their sight is mediocre at best.  Compost and other rotting things are the most effective choices, but people tend to prefer more pleasant smells, for obvious reasons.  Lavender, rosemary, woodsmoke, those are some of the most popular camouflages.  Move during the night; although they can’t see very well, use the darkness to your advantage.  If you can’t see them, they probably can’t see you.  Never under any circumstance back yourself into a corner.  Before entering a building, always ensure that there are multiple escapes.  And lastly, leave no trace behind, like you don’t even exist.  You never know who’s out there; infected aren’t the only danger.

Somehow, I managed to forget, disregard, or completely desecrate every one of those rules when I entered a little, rundown corner shop in Marylebone, Northwest London.

I was exhausted, hungry, and I hadn’t had a chance to find something new to block the smell of a girl who hadn’t properly washed in days.  Besides, it seemed innocuous enough, with its sad, crooked sign simply saying, “Arif’s.”  Most of the windows were boarded up, and the door was locked with a heavy padlock, but I managed to climb through a smaller, uncovered side window by clambering awkwardly onto a metal trash bin and squeezing through.

As I landed in an undignified heap on the dusty floor of a tiny room, the bin toppled over with a resounding crash, crash, clang.  I froze, biting my lip as I waited to hear the telltale sounds of infected homing in on the noise.  When nothing happened, my shoulders sagged.  I tasted the sharp tang of blood on my dry, cracked lower lip as I subconsciously ran my tongue quickly over it.  Even if nothing had heard that commotion, I wanted out of here fast.

I looked around to find myself in a tiny storage room, packed with empty, sagging shelves.  It was more of an oversized pantry than anything else.  To my relief, the door to the rest of the ground floor was unlocked.  Cautiously, I opened it a crack and peered through to scan for danger.  The area on the other side of the door was a cozy little shop.  Droopy, old baskets sat at the endcaps of each of the aisles.  Of course, it appeared that everything useful had been looted long ago, but I still thought it might be worth a look.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, no movement, no noise, no stench of death hung in the air, so I opened the door the rest of the way.

As it swung open, it caught something unseen.  A tiny hitch – followed by a resounding, multi-level crash.  My stomach dropped to the floor.  Something must have heard that.  There was no way that no one heard that.  The whole world seemed to hold its breath as I intently listened… waited…

A moment later, I caught a faint rattling sound coming from across the store.  A key!  Someone was unlocking the front door.

Sucking in a breath, I closed the door as quietly as I could with trembling hands, rested my back against it.  Frantically, I searched the little storage room for a weapon, a way out, something. But the window I had climbed in through was just out of my reach.  I would have had to move things around to build myself something to step up onto, and that would take too long, make too much noise.  The only weapons I had in my bag were a baseball bat I had picked up in a suburb on my way into London, and a few homemade stun grenades.  I had made a stupid mistake in trapping myself here, now I just hoped it wouldn’t be my last.

A friendly bell chimed.  I heard slow, measured footsteps on the other side of the door.

I had stopped breathing.  The knuckles of my right hand were white around the taped-wrapped handle of my baseball bat.  In the other, I clutched one of my flashbangs, though I prayed I wouldn’t have to use it.  They were loud, bright, and inevitably attracted the undead, no matter how “clear” an area was.

The footsteps stopped, what sounded like a good distance from my door.  A tense moment of complete silence passed, in which I silently shifted from pressing my back against the door, to crouching just behind it, bat at the ready.  The footsteps resumed, quieter this time, but I could now hear a second pair, hidden underneath the first ones.  They became so quiet, I couldn’t make them out from the pounding of my heart in my throat, but that was alright.  I didn’t need to hear them to know to strike as soon as the first of their ugly mugs appeared on this side of the door.

Tensing my muscles, I prepared for a one-sided fight.  Maybe if I were able to take them by surprise, I could slip past them and make a break for the front door.  That was my only chance.

The handle began to turn. 

As soon as it had opened wide enough, and I saw the shadow of two figures silhouetted vaguely across the floor, I burst out from behind the door, swinging my bat with a fierce war cry.  Aluminum struck the doorframe as my opponent ducked.  Almost immediately, a flash of light blinded me.  I lost track of the two figures, stumbled back, blindly swung again, leaving myself woefully exposed.

A whisper of metal, and I felt a cold, sharp point at my throat.  I froze.

“Hullo.”

I sucked in a sharp breath at the stranger’s voice, blinked rapidly as my vision began to return.  Slowly, I began to make out my two assailants.  Staring back at me were two boys, both of whom looked to be about my age.  One of them was tall, lanky, and wore a long, tattered black coat.  His hair, dark like his coat, hung loosely, but stylishly over his brow.  His eyes glittered curiously at me, his gaze as sharp as the rapier he now held steadily at my throat.

On the other hand, his companion was short, impressively stout for a world where food was scarce, and stared blankly at me from behind a pair of thick, rounded glasses.  His hair was a disheveled, dirty blond, like a clump of straw had simply been discarded on the top of his head.  Also unlike the first boy, he clutched a flashlight in one hand, and a stun grenade in the other. 

“And who might you be?” The first boy asked lightly, as though we were having a friendly conversation in the town square, and he wasn’t holding a sword to my throat.

I stared at him warily. “Why are you asking?”

“Well, I supposed that since you are in our neighborhood, I might be a good neighbor and get to know our visitor,” he replied with a charming smile.

A frown crossed my face.  Their neighborhood?  This certainly wasn’t what I had expected from the infamous “bloodthirsty bandits” of London everyone talked about back home.  If he really wanted me dead, he could have finished the job with a single flick of his wrist.  But he didn’t.  I was still breathing, and something about the way he was looking at me, that smile made me think that I could trust him.  Ridiculous of me, really.  Foolish, even, but I couldn’t help it.  I would later find that that smile of his had a similar effect on anyone he directed it at.

As it was, I hesitated for another moment, before replying, “My name is Lucy.”

The boy’s smile widened, and he infinitesimally lowered his rapier.  I could no longer feel its cold, iron tip brushing against my skin.  “Very good,” he said, and I believed him wholeheartedly. “I’m Anthony Lockwood, however you may call me ‘Lockwood,’ and this is my friend, George Cubbins.”

Behind him, George didn’t lower the activated flashlight that was still shining in my eyes.  “Where did you come from? I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“Up north,” I replied curtly.  Something about the way this other boy held himself, in the dismissive tone he directed at me when he asked me his utterly useless question, rubbed me the wrong way.

“How far north?” He pressed.

Before I could reply with a rude comment about “as far north as his mother’s house,” Lockwood intervened.  “I’m so glad that the two of you are so eager to get to know each other, but I believe there will be time for proper introductions later.  For now, I think it best that we evacuate the premises before the wave of the living dead that heard all the commotion in here find us standing here having a chat.”

A shock of adrenaline shot through me as I realized that he was right.  If Lockwood and George had heard the commotion I made, then the infected were likely not far behind.

Lockwood’s smile turned serious, and he gazed directly at me.  “I am going to lower this sword, and I expect not to be clobbered with that bat, because I have a place nearby with plenty of food and water for all three of us where we can all take shelter.”

Even with my wariness surrounding these two strangers, the mention of food would have been enough to get me moving.  I nodded, and the blade dropped the rest of the way from my chin.

“Very good,” he said, smile returning.  “Now, let’s get moving.”

The three of us began quickly making our way to the front door.  The friendly, little bell jangled again as we burst out into the street.  Lockwood, his rapier now swinging stylishly alongside his billowing coat, led the way down the residential street marked “Portland Row” by the street sign on the corner.  Having tucked away his flashlight in the waistline of his baggy pants, George asked me, “is anyone else with you, or did you come along?”

To my surprise, I felt a stab of sadness in my gut as I replied, “I’m alone.”

Abruptly, Lockwood came to a stop in front of one of the big-boned, Victorian style houses, this one with an elegant, iron gate leading into the front yard.  I could hear the distant, but rapidly approaching growls and gargles of infected as we briskly made our way to the front door.

With a grin back at George and I, Lockwood swung the door open. “Well, Lucy, welcome to 35 Portland Row.”

We ducked inside just as I caught the first whiff of death on the wind.

[timid-times]

seeking a chronic yapper and enthusiastic writer!! (fxf)

hey there! Hope you are all doing well during this time!! I’m a 21-year-old writer looking for enthusiastic roleplay partners aged 18 to 23 (both writers and characters) who are ready for some immersive storytelling fun. here’s the scoop: (also if we were in contact before- don’t hesitate to reach out!!)

literacy & writing style: I’m all about detailed, engaging writing! if you enjoy rich, intricate storytelling and creating deep characters, we’ll be a fantastic match!

availability & timezone: I’m in the MST timezone in the U.S., and it’d be great if you’re within 3 hours of this zone. I’m online a lot and love quick, lively exchanges both in-character and out-of-character. if you’re active and enjoy frequent interaction, we’ll click!

pairings: my focus is on sapphic (FxF) pairings—this is my passion, and I stick to it.

ideas & themes: I’m eager to dive into modern, apocalyptic, and slice-of-life scenarios, though I’m not as into fantasy, medieval, sci-fi or historical settings. I’m brainstorming some ideas but am always excited to brainstorm and create new concepts together.

feelings on ghosting: honestly, it doesn’t bother me! you aren’t obligated to give me a reason! I understand life happens or interest becomes lost! I’m not one to get upset at you! communication is important to me and I’d like to know if there’s anything I can do to make things engaging again, so never be afraid to speak up! however, if you’re just wanting to move on, entirely understandable!

If you’re up for an amazing roleplay adventure, let’s connect and craft some incredible stories together! DMs are open!

[rippedfleshh]

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

hi! you can call me lock

interests: scene & 2000s fashion, coquette themes, hyper femininity, creepypasta, marble hornets, psychology, philosophy, music, art, dark topics/themes, marble hornets, southern gothic, liminal spaces, apocalyptic themes

music: sleep token, hozier, get scared, mitski, three days grace, melanie martinez, ayesha exotica, 6arelyhuman, motionless in white, in this moment, type o negative, cannibal corpse, mayhem

byf: i sometimes word dump abt creepypasta, this is a judgement free zone, i might talk abt darker subjects but that’s already slightly mentioned, i don’t message w anyone under 16, I have an ed so I do interact with post as such but I don’t actively post them on my page but my twt is a different story

#lockthoughts are my personal (and stupidly vulnerable) word barfs that usually hold some type of sentiment

#lockspastatalk are my creepypasta rambles <3

[summersmithlatinxgyatt]

Summer is perfect at one thing - adapting.

Her father can remain stagnant and won't change at all. The only time he thrives is when the entire world shifts in his favor (luck, being seen in high regard by the Federation, being in a simulation, apocalypse scenarios, etc)

Her mother refuses to stay out of her comfort zone she sets up because of the repercussions of accepting the negativity of change. Beth forgives Rick so many times and pressures change out of others BUT Rick or the world around her if it involves Rick

She was the first to know that our Rick and Morty are not her original grandfather and brother. She didn't freak out or love them any less. In fact, it reinforced how close they were now

She's so quick on her feet to act and be Rick's helper or the family's savior - such as helping them out in the post-apocalyptic world

She manages to switch between teen life and adventuring life flawlessly. What I thought was a character incosistency might work perfectly because she's just adapting to each life. She's still unfulfilled and tries to flaunt herself to gain friends and fill that current void. When it comes to helping out Rick, she's ACTIVELY filling that role! That means she isn't longing for anything else. It's kind of how like in "Something Ricked This Way Comes", she told Mr. Needful about how she didn't care about being paid and other wishes - just working there was enough

I think a mix of being ignored one too many times, learning from Rick, and being an angsty but loving teen makes her able to adapt to anything thrown her way perfectly. That seems to be her unique trait

[radioactive-earthshine]

Political Thriller AUs..... where the Arranged Marriages are more lethal than the cyanide-laced donuts. How are you feeling around this AU?

10/10

Arranged Marriage AUs or Betrothal AUs are sort of a weakness of mine particularly when the author is wise enough to include more of the political reasons behind the union rather than "force my idiots to fall in love" which is the common path a lot of these AUs take. It's not a BAD direction and I do sometimes want to see End Game of my idiots falling in love but that's not necessarily what's important.

It's the why, what is this world, what are the stakes, what's going to be broken if one, or both REFUSE, do they have other people they want to marry etc.

There's a lot you can do with these AUs other than "teehee they had no choice but to fall in love"

As for who I would do this to I have a Konbart one pingponging in my head that the concept is Krypton never was destroyed, Tomar-Re managed to stabilize the planet and save them all, but Jor El sent Clark to Earth anyway because he was certain it was going to happen, and the fallout afterwards was a lot of political upheaval and he was caught in the crossfire and was murdered (possibly by Dru). Things unfold more or less identically except Clark finds out where he is from, that they are all alive, has his own adventures there as a adopted child meeting the bio fam and their culture some 25 years later, meets his mom who did manage to survive the post-near-apocalyptic event. He has a lot of inner struggles of 'what is home' and knows in his heart it is with the Kents and his mom knows this too.

Eventually Kon comes along, but he's created on Krypton, not on Earth, as a sort of co-opt project between planets. Krypton wanted a way to try to genetically engineer Kryptonians to be able to have their powers AND live in any environment regardless if they have a red sun. Earth was needed because Krypton does not have as advanced of knowledge on genetic manipulation as Earth does, and use with the Earth Metagene was something even their own geneticists were curious about. The only way they were able to do this was cooperation between planetary governments. Kon was a secret side project that when exposed blew up because 1.) they used Kal's dna 2.) they were successful and 3.) they have a fucking clone running around and Krypton had actively BANNED cloning due to the last time they dabbled it and it ended badly.

Clark finds out about this clone and storms there like WTF - It's a mess. There's back and forth bs on what to do with him - some politicians are just 'kill it' but most are 'well no hold up, he actually has some intriguing abilities, we can use this!' Meanwhile Clark is just - 'sort this out, now, or I'm taking him to Earth.'

So they agree, he is an El, so he is released to Lara to protect and raise. Lara by now has high status (for now) and power under her so while critics might grumble, there is nothing they can do less they be shot off to the Phantom Zone.

Things settle down, but only so much.

Earth starts becoming a bigger presence in the interstellar community, Krypton is ever paranoid that Kal on Earth with an endless supply of Metas is a threat to them and so tensions begin to rise.

Some of the more warmongering Kryptonians want to conquer Earth, its conditions are ripe for them to be as their ancestors should have been under a young sun, and humans are soft and need help from aliens and only a spare few of their own kind are even worthy their grace as something approximating equal (metas, Amazons etc).

Clark knows if he just evacs Kon and Lara from the growing tensions on Krypton it would send a message to various Kryptonian politicians that Earth just may be that shady after all and Clark really is plotting against them so he works with his mother to try to find a solution. What would make the tension lesson so diplomacy talks could go positively.

Lara suggests an arranged marriage, because nothing makes Kryptonian's more excited than the prospect of legally bound by blood and law cooperation.

Clark says no before he even hears who or why. Lara persists and explains that while he, who was raised among people that do not partake in arranged marriages, and he who has a very singular mindset of what a marriage should be, arranged marriages are common among Krypton and nothing will show the wide majority of their people that Earth is willing to be neighbors and allies than by participating in one of their most time honored traditions.

Clark relents, and asks who. It is Kon. He has to think about it because that's his little brother. After much self reflection and dismantling his initial responses to the suggestion he relents that it is not a bad idea.

The hard part is deciding who would be a good match for Kon - but the fact that any gender is open for consideration makes things easier. After weighing all the options they have, and getting a lot of "wtf no!" Bart is suggested partly as a joke by [redacted].

Fucking Bartimus. At first he is written off as absolutely NOT eligible due to his more or less canon impulses but out of all the suggestions between metas and Amazons and Atlanteans Bart is the one who is in a position best suited to protect himself against literally everything. No one can touch him unless he wants to be touched. He's also from prominent Hero Family and has a name for himself on Earth as Impulse so it's not as if he's really ineligible.

So they agree.

Bart's not happy about this AT ALL and he thinks they chose him just to get rid of him because this takes place just little while after Max vanishes and he's feeling like he's being yanked around (he is 18 though, he just had longer with Max) and he's had so little control of his life this is just one other thing he has to deal with. Wally tries to explain but he does it badly so he pisses him off even more. Iris explains and he's beyond listening at this point. It takes Helen letting him rant at her and talking through things for him to come down that maybe they really don't HATE HIM.

So he shows up and lets Clark explain it and he, after thinking about it for 2 seconds (for Bart he was going back and forth for about 20 minutes though) agrees that this will be interesting and might just be the right thing to do - and because no one else will I guess it should be him.

Kon meanwhile wasn't taking the whole thing seriously enough because he didn't honestly think it would happen.

He was wrong when Lara told him they found him a husband. Cue record scratch, glass shatters and a cat yowls sound effect. Cue panic. Cue the last 5 years of being totally out of control of his life and being yanked around by anyone and everyone as a political pawn exploding.

It takes a long time for Lara to calm him down but she has a tough job because everything that Kon is freaked out about is TRUE. She reminds him that this good for him and their people, that she too was from an arranged marriage, and that the match they secured for him was a good one and it is for the good of everyone and, dickishly, what would Kal do?

So Kon is sort of guilt bullied into it even though he agreed to it in the first place (very quickly and was just like 'hey just so long as they're hot!') and knew it was happening but he didn't think it would actually happen.

Seeing Bart's picture does dispel some of his anxiety, he is cute, he's attracted to him, he has a nice bod, super speed sound pretty neat and he knows Clark wouldn't choose someone who was creepy.

Little does he know Clark didn't even choose Bart at all at first and Bart wasn't even an option until everyone said NO.

So there they are, both initially GRRRRRR about the whole thing not because of the other but because of the situation. Kon feels like he just a tool to be used, and Bart feels like everyone just wants him gone even if everyone has done everything to explain that's not the case and they believe in him. Bart's older and wiser to know that if they really did believe in him, he would have been up for consideration at the start instead of [redacted].

Overall the stakes are pretty basic - get married just to open the door to start a meaningful conversation. Not even to STOP a conflict, just to hopefully get communication better. If either Kon or Bart balk on it it has the potential to exacerbate tensions between Earth and Krypton though Earth has more to lose.

In the end Kon and Bart do find love.

And that's what I have for this Arranged Marriage AU on my spreadsheet that MAY or may not ever be written, and as always some details may just change entirely.

Send me a fanfic/media trope or theme and I'll rate and tell you what I might do with it or something.

[dreamanduality]

The Jupiter Saturn Square Dance

Think back to December 2020. By then, we had become accustomed to lockdown, and the myriad holes in society had become glaringly apparent through the lens of Uranus in Taurus. The spiritual community was abuzz with excitement over the lofty, evolutionary ideas surrounding the Jupiter-Saturn conjunction in Aquarius.

Why is it that whenever Aquarius is mentioned, it's romanticized as a lofty ideal, reminiscent of the Woodstock hippie era—where people "cosplay" poverty while unwittingly perpetuating the very systems they claim to oppose?

It's easy to forget that Aquarius is ruled by Saturn. While Aquarius has a different tone than Capricorn—quirkier, perhaps—it still bears Saturn's influence.

We're all familiar with the powerful impact of a Saturn square. The most significant of these occur when transiting Saturn squares your natal Saturn.

Squares mark the first and third quarters of a cycle, acting as a test. Multiple squares can occur before and after the halfway point of the opposition.

Squares create friction, while oppositions present challenges.

It's important to note that all planets have this cyclical relationship with Saturn, just as they do with each other.

When it comes to these two giants, Jupiter and Saturn, their interactions are so profound because they shape generational arcs. These aren't daily occurrences, but rather pivotal moments in life's sequence.

Let's journey back to December 2020 (this is why I encourage journaling, if you have the luxury of time to do so).

The conjoining of the 2 of them in the home of Saturn, making Jupiter a guest. We really can think of rulership's the way we think of homes and the tolls + comfort that we have at our disposal. Jupiter being in Saturn's home of innovation means that Saturn is the Lord of this space meeting an a more or less isolated space with no aspects. The weeks prior are just as important for what the themes were presented to you and what markers are meeting you now.

In my time zone the peak of conjunction did happen at dawn—this is going to have its own instillation, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

In the big picture and why the hype about the “Great Conjunction”

This conjunction marked the motion of a 240ish year cycle of the two grea t teachers making conjunctions in Air signs moving away from the Earth cycle we have all been accustom to—ok cool, but what is this motion for the lives we are actively living on the micro level?

Bringing in the Apocalyptic narratives. This has been more or less a theme since the Byzantine Era, our great teachers being those that are the furthers we can see with our eyes or of the Ptolemaic system,: as well as being the slowest moving. It is from this time via Arabic texts that we have record of profound effects happen upon the earth when these slow and steady giants make a conjunction. Due to the sequence of Saturn and Jupiter these conjunctions happen within triplicity.

This lens of change marked the changes in Kingdoms and Religious Rule, traditionally noted as changes in laws and sects; as we can note the timing in similarity to Pluto returns.

If I recall correctly what the conversations in my sphere involved having trust in community like I had not seen it before which is very fitting. There was deep reflections around our foundations and shifts in focus on a practical level—there was also the beginning of a surge in the spiritual community and spiritual psychosis like I hadn't seen it before.

Air signs are those of the intellect, bright ideas and the application of thought lead creativity.

Jupiter is expansive generosity fuels the process of growth and then there is Saturn bringing in the discipline and structure keeping that abundance in check. These two together instill the necessity for tangible results. Jupiter balances out Saturn’s cause of anxiety in scarcity and limitations and Saturn culls for healthy development so there isn’t the excess of subpar or mediocre development.

When fruiting trees are stewarded the fruits produced are of higher quality,

The dance of the tight rope

In 2020 this was the constant, the back and forth of finding balance between Jupiter and Saturn—growth and reorder, rinse and repeat as we finished up that earthy scented shampoo moving onto something more heady.

Now

As of today, we're a few days past the exact formation of this square. Our great teachers will be dancing around in orb to one another until the next exact square on December 24, 2024.

We’re still riding the full moon in Aquarius, ruled by Saturn retrograde in Pisces, which in turn is ruled by Jupiter in Gemini—and Jupiter, being in detriment, is quite uncomfortable, as if running on a low battery. This month is full, really the rest of the year, of backtracking, and yes, we're all tired. It began with our chance to slow down, be quiet, and observe. Now we're like exhausted dandelion seeds caught in the winds of change. Jupiter in detriment, ruled by a retrograde Mercury, squares a retrograde Saturn, creating a chilling atmosphere in Pisces. This truly embodies how all of the planets are showing up in the theme of not knowing where to land. As Saturn inches closer to Neptune's naturalistic dissolution, we're struggling to trust the sands of time as they form fragile glass bridges. Sometimes its ok to do what we know and what we can when we are floating along. For some this is where it is at on a personal level, but for others and the global diaspora this really isn't in—but this is where we find hope. We are living these changing tides which is our reminder that things can in fact change.

We are all navigating an unprecedented atmosphere, and it's worth noting that our world is indeed novel, even as we echo core themes of our ancestors.

This square of Jupiter and Saturn is met with a T-square of Venus, unfortunately I don’t see this as much of an attribute in aiding Jupiters tempering of Saturn. Mercury is retrograde.

Mercury ruling over both Jupiter and Venus. Jupiter is poorly conditioned and though Venus is neutral and finds an an ease of organization in Virgo like a hospitable guest—this isn’t enough to stretch the tight collar of Saturns restraining disposition.

Further telling the story of Mercury at this time; they are under the rays of the Sun. Begging their scorching decent like Icarus.

As we follow the Mirroring relationships of the conversation being held by the celestial divine, Saturn is the the home of Pisces. The icy unseeing atmosphere that Saturn creates with the co-presence of Neptune.

We know squares bring the friction of the 7 rays. Squares are a challenge in what is being witnessed. I see this as the benefice’s asking Saturn “uhhh wait, its not winter…hold one we might need that…what I want that…” Saturn coldly and compassionately always being the “No, its for the better…”

What is being challenged here through the energies of; abundance, desire, restriction and sprinkled with miscommunication?

What houses are these transits happening in? This ill provide you with the themes of this aspect. For depth and particulars check out to see what I have available!

You will have the coming months obverting and witnessing these manifestations in you life as the Rex Dance f Saturn ends and Jupiters begins.

Since Saturn has been Rx the fears of duality and inconsistency have been the revisiting motion.

For our next trick our continuation of thought and dream meeting challenge is met allying Mercury.

The square of the great teachers with the addition of Mercury in mutual reception to Jupiter attributes to the presence of the problem solving what is being attempted at this time. Jupiter and Mercury are quarreling witness about what Saturn is constricting. Jupiter and Mercury both being in detriment find themselves nervously laughing, while shifting in their seats that provide the opposite type of comfort from they preferences. Jupiter’s optimism is as good as those that don’t like the taste of cilantro but love taco’s—the air of Jupiter in Rx at this time falls deep in hopeless abundance under the pressure of challenge that Saturn is showing at the head of this table. Saturn sterling reassuring that, “its ok that all of this has died, it will grow back stronger.” Mercury also in Detriment finds the atmosphere of thought to lofty to digest and the pearls of icy fog too many to count.

Jupiter is not good at grief, and Mercury understands the decent into the underworld. Jupiter disregards what comes after a bubble pops and would rather take shots with Neptune to deal with Saturn in a stupor. How Saturn works is in the show up, how do you show up and are you consistent. The critique continues during the duration of the cycle—they don’t do instant gratification.

Within this exchange Mercury and Jupiter understand each others discomfort and aid each other in a strong connection.

Consider how your natal Mercury manifests in exchange's, as they travel they carry the word along.

Note: Neptune is still co-present with Saturn, making much of the restriction seem imaginary or not clear.

Horoscopes Here Let me know if this resonates or if you have any questions!

-K

[reactor-four-official]

The Campaign of the Biorobots

An early photo of the destroyed reactor hall at CHNPP. Highly radioactive debris covers the roofs in front of and behind the ventilation chimney, as well as several other lower roofs.

The explosion at the Chernobyl Atomic Energy Station on the morning of April 26th, 1986, ripped apart the very core of the reactor itself. Debris from this explosion was scattered over a large area, mostly on the grounds of the plant itself. Much of it ended up at the base of the northern wall of the reactor hall, which had itself collapsed. The remaining majority of this debris was thrown onto the roofs of the plant building, which itself had many levels and tiers. All of this debris was dangerously radioactive and much of the radiation close to the plant came from this debris.

The Soviet government, eager to be done with the Chernobyl Accident, set blisteringly tight deadlines on the liquidation efforts. To finish the Sarcophagus, an important milestone set by the government, the debris had to be cleared. They also demanded the plant be made safe so that the other three undamaged reactors could be reactivated to salvage some of their badly damaged reputation both domestically and abroad. Without clearing the debris, the reactor building of Unit 3 would have so irradiated that it would not be safe to send personnel to operate it.

The debris itself was composed of reactor components, primarily graphite, metal piping, and other assorted hardware, such as control rods and fuel assemblies. Some debris was also parts of the destroyed reactor hall. Uranium fuel pellets were also common in this area. They were still so active that they melted down into the bitumen roofing of the plant, essentially gluing them to the roof.

Radiation levels around the plant were edging apocalyptic, but they were nowhere near the levels on the roofs of the plant. These roofs were split into three areas by elevation and radiation level and named after three women related to General Nikolai Tarakanov, deputy commander of the Civil Defense Forces of the USSR. Area Katya had the lowest level of radiation, at about 1,000 roentgen per hour. Area Natasha was twice as active, with up to 2,000 roentgen per hour. But they both paled in comparison with Area Masha. This roof, the smallest but highest of the three, had fields of up to 10,000 roentgen per hour. It would take less than three minutes to receive a lethal dose here.

Below: A map of the three named roofs.

Photo credit: u/0utlander

Clearing this debris and decontaminating the buildings was a monumental task. The Chernobyl plant, an enormous construction, had many different levels to its roof that now needed to be reached and then cleared by the commission in charge of liquidation efforts. Made up of several different representatives of different ministries and enterprises within the Soviet government, they had the all resources of the USSR at their disposal.

The commission turned to NIKIMT, a Soviet think tank. This laboratory had already invented several solutions to many problems within the Chernobyl Zone, and this time they delivered another cheap yet effective idea. They proposed laying huge cloth sheets covered in water soluble glue on top of the debris, and then when the glue dried lifting the sheets away via one of the large cranes already on site building the Sarcophagus and burying it as high level radioactive waste. However, SREDMASH refused to let them use any of the cranes to test these out, as Sarcophagus construction needed to continue 24 hours a day. After this setbacks NIKIMT then proposed lifting the sheets with helicopters, but were again denied due to the dust these helicopters would kick up.

The Ministry of Energy, responsible for reactivating and subsequently operating the plant, had its own plan. They would use robots to clear the debris. Two Soviet lunar rovers were brought out of storage and retrofitted with bulldozer blades and a frame to attach a wire to lift them onto the roof via helicopter. Also brought in was a specialized West German robot named ‘Joker’, which was designed specifically to handle radioactive material. These robots had some success, notably in Zone K. Ultimately however, these robots all failed. Their circuits were severely damaged by the gamma radiation fields on the roofs, and they got stuck on debris and in the bitumen roofing. Even Joker, supposedly designed to operate in such hostile environments, got stuck when it drove over a piece of graphite and got it lodged in its treads. When it was retrieved, it was revealed it too had succumbed to the gamma field. Whoever had ordered it from West Germany had immensely underrepresented the level of radiation it would be facing.

Below: A retrofitted lunar rover cleans debris off of Zone K before its untimely demise.

Below: The West German robot, Joker, is checked over by technicians before being deployment on the roof of the plant.

On September 16, 1986, the government commission convened for an important meeting. All other means of clearing the roof had failed, and the specialists of the Ministry of Energy requested that men be sent to clear the rooftops. This unpleasant prospect had been long delayed in the hopes of finding a better solution, but now it remained the only choice to clean the roof before the completion of the Sarcophagus.

General Tarakanov began preparations to send the men under his command to the roof. He set up a mock rooftop complete with real graphite blocks and reactor components, pulled from the unfinished reactors 4 and 5, which had been under construction at the time of the accident. Since they were never used, these components were not radioactive. Protective clothing was procured, and tests were conducted on its effectiveness and the level of radiation a soldier would absorb working in the area. Routes were planned to the roofs. It was determined that the waste from the roofs would be thrown into the ruins of Reactor 4, to be sealed away under the Sarcophagus with the rest of the reactor.

Below: General Nikolai Tarakanov debriefs a group of biorobots after their sortie at the CHNPP. Tarakanov was well respected by his men and the other government ministers for taking a leading role in cleaning the roof. He personally handed out the bonus awarded to every group of biorobots after their mission and supervised the missions daily. Liquidators were limited to only 25 REM (roentgen equivalent man, basically total exposure), but the general spent so much time at the plant that he accumulated a dose of nearly 200 REM. He survived after hospitalization.

The soldiers assigned to clean the roofs, known (with not a little irony) as 'bio-robots', were outfitted with heavy leather aprons, lead sheeting torn from within buildings in Pripyat for their chests and heads, respirators, and goggles. They were given shovels and rakes to clear debris, stretchers and wheelbarrows to carry large pieces of graphite, and sledgehammers to smash any fuel pellets melted into the roof of the plant. The equipment was slipshod, the danger unclear, and the task monumental. But on September 19th, three days after the order to send men onto the roofs was issued, the general's men commenced their campaign.

Below: Two men help a Biorobot prepare to go out onto one of the roofs. Note the lead plate on his chest and leather apron on his back.

They went in small groups of 2-4 men, with another man timing them to limit their dose and ensure they did not linger too long on the rooftop. Most sorties lasted about a minute and a half, with some going as short as 20 seconds depending on the mission of a group. After receiving their orders, the men ascended through the maze of corridors to the roof they had been assigned to decontaminate. They donned their shielding, almost negligible in such strong radiation fields, and waited by one of several entrances to the roofs. Upon the signal of their supervisor, they would run out onto the roof, throw as much debris into the reactor ruins nearby, and then when the signal (usually a siren or a pipe hit with a hammer) was given they ran back inside of the plant. They removed the heavy and constraining aprons and shielding, and shuffled back down the stairs. Every man's contribution was marked down in a log book, with their name next to how much debris they had thrown back into the reactor. You can find footage of one of these sorties to Zone M here.

Igor Kostin, a reporter assigned to cover the accident, made five trips to the rooftops himself with cameras shielded in lead to capture the work of the biorobots. The radiation in these areas was so intense that it left ghostly waves on the film of photographs taken in these areas. You can see some of these photos below.

A group of bio robots works in Zone M, the most dangerous of the three roofs.

Below: Two biorobots carry a large graphite chunk on a wooden stretcher, again in Zone M. This method was used to carry large and unwieldy pieces that could not be lifted by shovel.

In the end, 3,828 men would work to clear the roofs of the Chernobyl Atomic Energy Station. The operation to clear them lasted from September 19th until October 1st, 12 days. The same day the operation was declared complete, Reactor 1 came online for the first time since the accident.

Radiation sickness was widespread in these men. It was common to find them curled up in the lower corridors of the plant, fighting off nausea and exhaustion. Most of these men would die young, some mere years after Chernobyl. All of them were given a little red certificate of commendation and a small cash bonus, but very little recognition was given to them after the completion of decontamination. Without them, the plant would have remained dangerously radioactive and radioactive waste would have been exposed to the atmosphere and environment for years.

Below: A group of biorobots await deployment at the CHNPP.

[ddelline]

ADSR 6

work: attack, decay, sustain, release fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) rating: M relationship(s): gojō satoru/itadori yūji character(s): JJK ensemble tags: canon-typical violence | slow burn | spoilers | canon compliant through CH221 (then taking a massive detour into canon divergence) | v likely that more tags are tba

summary work:

The most common kind of envelope generator has four stages: attack, decay, sustain, and release. Or: Gojō Satoru, the issue of time versus temporality, and what happens when you run out of both in the midst of an apocalyptic war zone.

summary chapter:

There are logistics to think of, and to coordinate, in times of war. By now, all active jujutsu sorcerers have by and large been transferred to Tokyo. The network encompassing active sorcerers in the field has never been vast, but it’s miniscule now, by comparison, considering the eradication of the Zen’in, the fall of the Kamo, plus the Culling Game’s still ongoing, large-scale devastation. (Satoru is troubled by the latter; only somewhat piqued by the former, and only when considering the larger implications of being unable to headcount two major clans’ worth of fighting power to their arsenal.)

ch 06 | where’s the catch? | here

[victusinveritas]

From the Dull Men's Club on a different Hellsite:

"We've been living in Northern France for ten years now. Before we lived in Southern France, which was after we had been living in - while restorating - an old windmill in Flanders, the working part of Belgium (couldn't unsay that one).

Without searching for it for any reason in particular, the old farm we bought here is located right on the Western Front, German side to be precise.

We learned very fast that the past was very palpable in our new environment. First time we got a glimpse from it was when one of our dogs dug up a piece of what was without any doubt a nice pebble to him, but appeared to be a fragment of a German shell - yes l dug a hole of 4m wide and almost 2m deep to get most of the other parts of that explosive - that's how l got to know who fired it in the first place.

His name was Fritz, Frank or Gunter, probably, maybe Mark, and since he was a fresh new recruit in the herd he fired his howitzer way too short, right behind the lines of his outraged fellow brothers in arms. At least, that's how l imagine the story. l apologize for my lack of evidence tho, despite it looking highly plausible to me.

Whatever, lots of artifacts came out of our ground since - bullets, fragments of pipes, an almost completely rotten away army boot with the nails still in its sole, more shell fragments, shrapnel bullets etc, all sorts of elements from military activity in and around our - probably - completely shot into pieces old farm.

You know, l've got a soft spot for old stories and maps. The National Library of Scotland did an outstanding job by digitizing the so called 'trench maps,' used by the allied forces in their daily struggle on Western Front. They are online, and a pure treasure chest for me, seeing our region with a more than 100 year old eyesight every day a little bit more. Allied trenches, less detailed, in blue, and German trenches, highly detailed, in red.

I'm not a souvenir seeker, l'm not an historian, l'm just a no name witness of something l'll never understand.

About this photo. I took it this morning, and y'all agree there's nothing more dull than a muddy road on a rainy day in an almost featureless landscape.

This is today, but more than a hundred years back this was about a few ten meters behind the first German (attack) trench. If ever the Allied forces managed to cross that trench, a flat zone of about 1000m soaked clay, craters, barbed wire, bodies and gear layed in front of them before they got into what would have been the real hornet nest - a second, extremely well defended trench system located on top of that tiny 'ridge' at the horizon of the picture. Well designed, barbed wire, machine guns, everything, and a whole bunch of cannons in the back country that covered the apocalyptic landscape between both trenches (that yellow dot indicates where the photo was taken, looking south-east).

These tiny ridges - ancient dunes during the glaciations - were the key of the whole Western Front north of the Somme. Strategic advantages in a lowland landscape, they defeated Allied leaders and superiors to throw thousands of young men to it.

This region is literally sprayed with war graves. New houses, residential areas, shopping malls and industrial areas are been built, transforming these fields with their ditches into concrete and bitumen, gradually erasing these tiny details in the landscape that remind us of what once was happening here.

When l got back in my car, track 11 of Phil Collins Best Of cd started playing - l'm a child of the eighties. I love good ol' Phil and every time l put another cd in my player, it stays there for several weeks.

Track 11, can't remember the name of the song, started with bag pipes and drums.

Bagpipes and drums. That's how l'm imagining them, storming the enemy lines.

Lest we forget.

Bart. 48 year old Belgian expat in France."

[neverfittedin]

IMPORTANT

I feel like I should point out how I write Nick (not only for those who may not have seen the show, but in general). So here it goes:

Overview:

Nick has a problem with addiction, more precisely substances (including heroin). He was actively using in the show prior to the zombie outbreak and it shows on several occasions that he has an addictive personality. The outbreak has in fact helped him become clean and ultimately to stay clean (for the most part) as he has found other ways to get his fix.

Also he has a very complicated relationship to his mother. He lost his father to whom he could never get as close to as he wanted to (he had his own mental health problems). If he needed someone he always seeked out his step-father. His relationship to his sister and step-brother are good (for the most part). He loves kids and animals. He's a good soul, calm, people tend to like and trust him (what he has exploit in the past, due to his addiction). He uses sarcasm also as a defensive reaction.

Following characteristics apply to him:

adventurous and thrill-seeking

comfort with secrets and lying

ease with risk-taking behaviors

mental health conditions like depression and low self-esteem

high levels of sensitivity

obsessive and compulsive behaviors

sensation seeking

acts on impulses

believes he does not fit into societal norms

deviate from conformity to rebel

sensitive to emotional stress

has trouble to handle situations that he deems frustrating

self-destructive

What does this mean?

Drug addiction and the term addict/junkie will be mentioned in threads, but I won't actively tag it as it's part of who he is. Nick is not ashamed of admitting to it or talk about it either. (Failed) rehab and therapies have made that possible. He will lie, keep secrets and steal. He's out to seek thrills or sensations which come close to it. He tends to self-destruct.

I'll never erase his addiction, as I mentioned, it's part of who he is, but I won't write him as actively using (unless it's discussed beforehand and even then it'll not be descriptive; example he seeks someone out to get money for drugs or shows up after disappearing for days and then disappears again). Nor write out scenes where he would be in the middle of getting his fix.

What I will write: My Nick is clean by default, the addiction will be mentioned and the muses may talk about it in threads (if it comes up as a topic), again nothing too descriptive. He will lie, have secrets, occasionally steal something, sneak into places he shouldn't be. He will have his moments where he'll feel the temptation, but I'll have him know how to keep himself from giving in. He does smoke cigarettes though. In apocalyptic settings he will get in the middle of the danger zone, he will be out there, on supply runs or just walk among the dead.

[wolfspiders-web]

What fresh hell is this?

I need a place to put my weird furries for their enrichment or else they breach containment and I have to corral them! It gets old! So I'm deciding to put together my notes on a personal headworld project.

This is where I put all my non-fandom OCs and the stories related to them, because they've all been tossed into multiple different locations/drives on my computer and I'm tired of playing data GeoGuessr when I need to consult my notes or add to them. :Y

Basically, this is the universe where my characters like Lupa, Claude, and Chasseur live.

Long write-up after the break!

Setting Overview

The overall vibe is science fantasy in a post-post-apocalyptic setting, hundreds of years after a "Great War" decimated the planet with lingering scars and barely explored wilds being some of the only reminders of the past. The two major sophont groups are humans* and a race of multi-limbed furfolk known as anthropods, with the population centers of both concentrated into about a dozen or so megacities.

Outside of the major cities there exist ruins of the Old World hidden amongst the landscape, long overgrown and the safer ones turned into tourist destinations and family camping spots. Due to the existence of pockets of reality-warping magic, atomic radiation, or still-active and dangerous technology outside of civilization, intelligent organic life outside of these safe zones is few and far between. This area, taking up most of the real estate on the planet, is called the Verdant.

Magic and technology are two sides of the same coin and are inseparably linked, with furfolk leaning towards high magic/low tech and humans leaning towards high tech/low magic. Technology is well understood, highly advanced, and most knowledge is Pre-War that's slowly being re-discovered; examples range anywhere from holograms, to spaceflight, and giant robotic exosuits. Meanwhile magic is newer, somewhat crude in its use, and came about directly as a result of the War tearing apart the known laws of physics itself. It was revealed that certain branches of science actually have a tangible "magic" at their very core, which can be manipulated in various ways.

Magic generally falls into the categories of energy (light, electricity, thermal, sound, kinetic, radiation, etc.) manipulation, enchantments (the manifestation of "will" on physical objects), blessings and curses (buffs vs debuffs), alchemy and apothecary (new branches of chemistry), and other disciplines not listed here. [aka "add more when I think of them", lol]

*"humans" in this setting aren't exactly like you or me, more on that later