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bonefall · 1 year ago

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Can we hear about the Guardians too? I forget if you've already talked about them, but what about their afterlife? Where'd they come from? What're their ideas about gender, culturally?

Anon you got me feeling like an elder telling stories to kits again lmao. All righty. Elder Bones gonna teach you a bit about the Guardians.

Troutfur and I are building out a rough draft for their language too so I'll give you a preview of that, too. Let's start there, in fact.

GUARDMEW

Is an SVO order language, just like English. We Cultivate Roses. Subject, Verb, Object. This is going to come up a lot in BB!ASC when Berryheart, the Evil Educator, critiques a ton of Sunbeam's grammar.

Unlike Clanmew with each verb morpheme being used in full to describe a past action and shortened for present tense (pabrpabrpabr vs pabrpabr) Guardmew uses suffixes, also just like English. Sunbeam picked up the habit from her mentor, and Berryheart HATES that she will say "Pabrpabryr" instead of "Pabrpabrpabr."

But anyway, forget the setup we've got going for ASC. Let's just talk a little more about Guardmew.

It is in the same lingustic family as Clanmew, descending from Lakemew. Of all the living languages, Guardmew is closest to the ancestral form, since it was born directly from refugees fleeing eastward, from the tyranny of Holly Leaves.

They also have the concept of Threat Level, with pronouns built around skill for people, and benignness for everything else. That means, they have completely separate pronouns for cats, but classify plants and animals based on how they act on the environment.

For examples, their leader Spiresight shares the same pronouns as their "elders" and most experienced craftsmen. The building they live in will use the "respected object" pronoun. A plant with an infectious mold, or an invasive weed, will have a "malignant" pronoun.

CULTIVATION CULTURE

While Tribe cats encourage traveling, Guardians are the opposite. They believe in the value of setting down roots, and cultivating your homespace. If you go somewhere, they expect you to take care of it well.

The Church that Dovewing found is not the only place where Guardians live in that geographic region. They tend to name their groups after a major landmark-- she found the Guardians of the Spire.

They manage their land in a way that attracts wild animals, and then attempt to selectively hunt the animals that live on that range. In a way, it's like a carnivore's approach to agriculture.

If the Clans have a specialty in combat, and the Tribe has a specialty in hunting, Guardians can be considered to have a specialty in construction.

AFTERLIFE SYSTEM

If they have a Hell, it was made by Sol. But I'm not sure if they have one of those.

They DO have a heaven though-- they call it The Firmament.

The Firmament is the ground, but it's specifically your home soil. To Guardians, the more people who are buried somewhere, the more power that ground has. They believe that buried bones are proof that the soul still remains within the Firmament, and remains are NEVER to be disturbed.

They try to avoid the graveyards of humans and bury their prey neatly in "mass graves," pits dug neatly and only totally covered bi-weekly. Because there's such a strong taboo against disturbing remains, they are VERY careful about where Guardians are buried, and try to cover them with carefully arranged stones and woody plants so these graves are not disturbed.

After death, the flesh of the body must rot away into soil. They believe that this allows you to experience The Firmament TRULY, as a mole or an earthworm does. It becomes a new world, and you no longer see dirt, but the connections between everything.

You could describe this as "Monotheistic." They believe that when your flesh melts away, you join The Firmament. Your bones are like a conduit of the wishes you have for your loved ones still above the ground... but, these too will someday melt away! That's part of it too!

The Sky, in contrast, is a terrible, almost evil thing. In English we may say, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." A Guardian would say, "When the sky rains, the firmament grows mushrooms." Weather is something to be anticipated and handled, ESPECIALLY storms.

New spirits are made from what the mother eats of the Firmament. Berries feed the mice, mice feed the cats, cats return to the Firmament. A cycle, forever.

LEADER POWER

NOTE: I should rename this BB concept, "leader power." Not all cats with these unique abilities, given by an Afterlife System are political leaders-- they're spiritual ones.

One example of this is the Groundskeeper of the Guardians. They are thought to fully reincarnate, taking new bodies over and over. When a Groundskeeper dies, they are put into the same grave as their previous incarnation, and it is believed they gain more power with each death and rebirth.

But, they are not given political authority. They have CONSTRUCTIVE authority-- advising new projects and acting as a liasion between the Firmament and the living.

Cats who are identified as Groundskeeper change their name to their old incarnation. Spiresight is the leader of the Guardians of the Spire. They're identified on their birthday, so all Groundskeepers begin at exactly 1 year old, at least 1 year after the death of the old incarnation.

Spiresight is able to "see" the world as an interred skeleton does, he is in a permanent state between life and death in their eyes.

He can "feel" when something new enters his Firmament, gage it based on its paws, weight, movement. He can can tell when a plant is sick based on how strong its roots are, or if something is being pulled up. He knows where all the skeletons are, feels the worms in the dirt, and can tell the weather from the sway of the plants above.

He can tell if a plant is sick, but not animals. Because of this, the Groundskeeper is NOT INCLUDED IN MEDICAL PROCEDURES. He may point a doctor in the way of good herbs, but all Guardians are expected to know medical knowledge significantly beyond first aid.

The Groundskeeper leads religious ceremonies, funerals, and new projects. He is socially expected to not leave the center of the territory too often, especially during storms. That aside, the Groundskeeper is allowed to have a life and family of their own, including adopting kits and having mates.

OTHER THINGS

Time for a closing list of random facts.

An adult member of the Guardians, fully trained, is called a Gardener.

They have an extreme and severe taboo against other supernatural entities. They believe that they are "of the sky" and harshly reject anything "unnatural."

This is likely because of Holly Leaves, who tried to force a star-based religion upon their ancestors.

The Guardians, like all societies, have their problems too. They don't welcome cats who return after a wander and heavily discourage leaving.

If you're going to leave, leave permanently. A dandelion seed does not return on the wind.

So returning cats, traders, and repeat visitors are treated more coldly on subsequent visits. Not always hostile-- but the welcome is not gracious.

Cats who do have to leave on a quest or for some reason have a "quarantine" period when they return. A cleansing ritual.

Kittens are named by their families, usually after consulting with the Groundskeeper. Names are often reused through generations.

A name carries association with whoever had it last; it's not quite a reincarnation so much as it is a "continuation"

Because of this, there's very rarely any new names. A cat who enters the Guardians keeps their old name, and it is entered into their "list" after they die.

This is how they get some weird ones, like Boots and Cinnamon.

When a Guardian does something awful, they're buried beyond the Firmament and their name is no longer used.

I haven't worked out their gender systems yet.

#Now try to go back to canon where they don't actually have any of this lmaoooooo #Hate how they never build out other cat cultures because they have to make the clans The Correct Way To Live #And oooough its so amazing and perfect and nothing else can compare #Shut up. Touch Firmament.#The Guardians wc #Better bones au #Man I need a tag for Cultural Overhauls #Like for all the outside groups im overhauling #In line with the spirituality overhauls #Heartstar's Rise

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ficandkaboodle · 1 month ago

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Papa’s Favorite Ghoul: Primo

Banner Credit Goes to @saradika-graphics! Word Count: 3281

Man, where do I even begin? I guess by stating that there’s two tropes I like: AUs where characters switch dynamics, and when characters or people go by titles that don’t traditionally align with their gender identity. Like woman kings or, in the case of Star vs the Forces of Evil, Jushtin the Boy Queen. Admittedly they’re more so applied to align with the importance placed on patriarchal and/or matriarchal power but we’re not getting into that. Nor are we getting into the kind of weird patriarchal traits of the Catholic Church the Church of Ghost keeps hold to — there are real-world explanations for them, I suppose, and this is fanfiction.

What we are getting into is my blending of the two aforementioned tropes to create this…Well, I guess it’s a series of sorts now because each character segment got too hefty to belong to one singular post. My bad. But I digress:

Somewhere out there, there is a universe where you were a part of the bloodline that has long reigned the Satanic Church as a dark papal dynasty. And now the title of Papa, for better or worse, has fallen upon you. You’ve trained your entire life for this — mephistophically, that is. But few things can prepare someone for dealing with ghouls more than actual exposure can. And now with the task of utilizing music to corrupt and recruit falling upon you, you’ll have plenty of time to become familiar with these literal hellions.

Don’t worry, though: If there’s one thing that has remained consistent throughout the millennia, it’s that a Papa almost always finds that one ghoul form whom they develop a fondness for . . .

You had not, in fact, been the one to summon the ghoul known around the Ministry as “Primo”.

He had been walking these unhallowed grounds since before you were born. A ghoul having an extended tenure topside wasn’t unheard of, but the implications set by his humanoid appearance of a very tall old man seemed to punctuate that point. Was he genuinely that old? Did he use a bit of ghoul magic to influence his appearance? You weren't going to ask.

Coupled with the way he carried himself, his presence commanded respect, something which the Clergy had been surprisingly willing to oblige despite his species.

Primo was, for all intents and purposes, the ideal ghoul: He had an intense work ethic, he was loyal, and he was tame enough to be of use while also posing a threat to anyone who did the same towards the Clergy.

Even something as simple as his horns seemed perfect for his position: The four horns of a Jacob sheep’s spiked warningly from his flesh, the perfect sort of horns for a ghoul of the Satanic Church to bear if there ever was any!

Even though his original summoner had long since passed, they never asked him if he wanted to return to the Pit. And, to their credit, Primo never expressed any desire to. It was that kind of dedication that endeared him so and kept him at the ready to be a conduit for the Old One’s message.

It was also probably the only reason why he’d involved himself in the “Ghost Project” you had recently proposed in a board meeting, even though he had made it extremely apparent that he did not see you as worthy of the title of Papa. If anything, he did so in order to keep an eye on you.

Primo had served many Papas in his time topside. Suffice it to say, you were nothing like any of them! Where your ancestors commanded their dark flock, Primo felt you merely timidly nudged them. Where the Papas of yore spat promises of the Dark One's ire and the rot of man, you seemed to more so focus on concepts of personal principle. Not entirely incorrect, but it certainly felt like a watered down method of leading.

Where was the damned soul made of brimstone and hellfire? Where was that penetrating glare that could freeze the doubters? All the old ghoul saw when you assumed the mitre was a soft-spoken slip of something or other that had fumbled their way through the bloodline. Had it not been for The Mark that paled your left eye, he might have more vehemently – more violently – questioned your ascension.

But the Clergy made no movements to dismiss or discard you, and Primo had never been one to take impulsive action. So here he began to find himself: Sitting at a drum set for rehearsals, battering away whilst his peers made fools of themselves as they writhed about, mimicking sexual proclivities or just plain goofing off.

But for as much as he would glower at them, his true poison was always fixated on you: You, who clearly just wanted the attention the Dark One was supposed to be receiving. You, who was just plain wasting his time – time that could be put to more use around the Ministry instead of spending hour upon hour listening to you warble the same cheesy lyrics, bastardizing unholy psalms passed down through millennia.

But he was nothing if not a professional, attending all rehearsal sessions, barely speaking unless it was to keep the more juvenile bandmates in line. Though more often than not, need only shoot them a sharp stare with those magma-red eyes of his and they would stop immediately.

That was all you needed when, surprised that he would pick something as raucous as the drums, you attempted to offer something not as physically demanding or requiring of too much movement.

You had meant nothing by it, of course. If anything, it was an attempt on your part to at least try and build a communication with one of the people (?) you would be working with indefinitely. Your peers and predecessors as a whole weren’t known for extending much kindness to the ghouls under their power; that was something you wanted to change during your reign. The rest of the ghouls, bandmates and Ministry-established alike, seemed to appreciate that well enough but Primo . . . Well . . .

Weren’t earth ghouls supposed to be less . . . intense? Stubborn and a twinge terse, perhaps, but usually they still had a bit of gentleness to them after a point. But then again, Primo was in a class of his own. Or maybe he’d just been a fire ghoul at some point? Might explain the eyes . . .

Really, though, the praise you’d heard regarding his dedication towards Papas past had yet to make any real appearance beyond him not taking you out. And perhaps volunteering to participate in your brain child, though you felt that was more so out of obligation to the Church rather than out of any real reverence.

Given how blatant he had made his dislike of you from the get-go, you decided to accept his (admittedly impeccable) drumming skills as the closest thing to respect you were going to ever get out of him. Much like the Clergy, you weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth too hard.

Your magnum opus couldn't afford it and for as confident as you were in the prospects of it, you knew you would need all the help you could get. Even if some of it came from an ancient earth ghoul who wished you would keel over so the next guy could take over.

If Primo could grit his teeth, then you sure as shit could to get the results you were looking for. Even if the results meant enduring painstakingly awkward rehearsals, right up until Ghost's very first performance.

Primo knew not to expect much in the way of venues. After all, bands that merely copied their principles never had an easy foothold in the world, never mind an actual band representing the Church. In the end, it did make the most sense to perform in lowly places, places inhabited by those most vulnerable and willing to lend an ear. Still: He had not anticipated this . . . “Whiskey a Go Go” place to be your debut. Oh well. The crowd here clearly looked susceptible enough; he could handle it.

He didn’t approve of you donning your chasuble for such an event but at that point, what did it even matter? He just needed to literally play his part and get this over with. Maybe then this tomfoolery could be put to bed and you would be reprimanded for wasting the Ministry’s time and resources, sullying their trust.

At least, that had been the idea when the first song was signaled in.

But as the setlist progressed, Primo couldn’t help but note how his expectations weren't being met. In fact, quite the opposite was beginning to take hold. Like how the words sounded different even though they were the same ones he’d heard ad nauseum.

Snippets and verses clipped from corrupt hymns made themselves right at home in the measures, something he’d internally protested the first times he’d recognized their presence.

Rhythms sounded more coordinated against the acoustics of the venue, far different from the way they resonated in the makeshift practice room back at the Abbey. This was what they were meant to sound like? Not a tangled mess of notes and words struggling and biting and fighting for dominance, but actual music stretching to the rafters? Huh. Who would’ve thought?

And all the shenanigans his peers had participated in – back at the Ministry, it seemed so juvenile, so distracting. They weren’t taking this shameful display with any kind of seriousness. But in that moment, the jumping, the showboating, even the gyrating all seemed right at home on the stage.

But above all else, it was the response to it all: Audiences loved it. They loved the words, the chords, the riffs, the "ghouligan" behavior. And, perhaps most of all, they seemed to love you. Who you were, in this moment, was far from whom Primo had been seeing – whom he thought he saw – in the pulpit and at rehearsals.

All that had been apparent child's play. Or perhaps they were simply the wrong environment for your fullest potential. Here, on the stage, you positively bloomed, transforming into something radiant, something filled with infernal fervor. A little hell flower decked in infernal regalia, your chasuble catching the stage lights like petals collecting sunlight.

During the few times you would turn your back to the audience and faced him, he could see it even from his furthermost position in the back: That fire he thought you lacked, blazing from your every pore, brightening your eyes and casting long, dark shadows upon all before you.

Primo had been right: You truly were unlike any Papa he’d ever served before . . .

From then on, Primo was to decidedly keep a closer eye on you. No more having the rug pulled from beneath him. Clearly you were like a mystery seed: He had no idea what your potential truly was, having not quite encountered something like you before. As such, you needed to be . . . studied. If at a distance, for now.

However, it's a bit difficult to go unnoticed when you're a 6'1" ghoul with large horns when out of a glamour. Never mind that you had grown so used to his stare being fixed on you that you always knew when it had reappeared. Only, you couldn't help but feel that something about it was . . . different. Somehow.

It was normal enough to feel them during black mass because everyone's eyes were on you. But to feel them when you would go to the library to request old tomes even most Clergymen did not seek; when you slipped members of the Children's Ministry candy to perk them up after a particularly boring Latin Studies class with Bishop Malicion. Even in what should have been the sanctity of your office, you swore you could feel those red-hot eyes affixed to your person!

But the heat of them was gone now, and hadn't quite been there since the Whiskey a Go Go. Instead, they felt more curious. Maybe like a cat? Ghouls were often likened to cats above all other manner of beast but Primo had only resembled one in the way he composed himself. A trait like intrigue just seemed bizarre to picture him exhibiting, let alone so obviously.

However, you were still Papa throughout all this: Best not to dwell on it and instead keep focusing on keeping your project afloat. You would deal with whatever was going on with old Primo later.

(Though you couldn't stop yourself from feeling slightly giddy at the possible improvement. Having him give you the slightest hint of a nod while passing in the hallways was leagues better than having him radiate bloodlust or disdain!)

Later, however, came quicker than you had prepared yourself for. In fact, it arrived one curtain call during the band’s slow creep towards notoriety.

In hindsight, the fact he willingly held your hand for the final bow should have been a sign that something about tonight was going to be different. Normally, if he had to join hands with anybody, he made sure to position himself at the very end so he need only spare one hand and with another ghoul. Being virtually in the middle with you would have required effort on his part.

But you were abuzz, the performance having gone splendidly with a highly receptive and interactive crowd. You were quite proud of yourself and your ghouls if you said so yourself. Maybe the energy that evening was just enough to make Primo feel less rigid than usual?

You’d only just risen up from your bow, ready to release his hand when you noticed that he himself was not letting go of your own. Odd, considering he’d done so with the other ghoul he'd been holding. You tried not to look perplexed when you spared him a glance; maybe something was wrong and he needed you to be on high alert? Though, no, that wound up not being the problem – in fact, there was no problem whatsoever.

He just needed to keep your hand in his so that he could raise the back of your hand to his mask – where his mouth would be.

It was a pantomime of a kiss, sure, but the gesture was still very evident. Screeches of delight erupted from the audience below as heterochromatic eyes widened against black paint, staring at scarlet ones peering through the eyeholes of a mask.

Suffice to say, what fans Ghost had already garnered had a field day. Soon, fanzines featuring the visage of their new favorite band's lead singer and drummer would appear in grungy coffee shops and to be swapped at both Ghost shows and shows of other bands. It wasn't Time Magazine but the marketing practically handled itself, and that was good enough for the Ministry to quietly applaud Primo's forwardness.

Clearly the Ministry's favorite ghoul knew what the people wanted and took it upon himself to stoke the flames to drum up further intrigue and popularity.

So surely it made sense to continue fostering this relationship, right? For the good of authenticity, of course.

It wasn’t long at all before you found yourself confiding in Primo, bouncing lyrics off of him. Lyrics turned into discussions, dissections of your faith’s principles and even a few misconceptions that most were too tired to correct at this point.

And he, in turn, used his many, many, many years of wisdom in his services to you.

Even divulging into his life before the Ministry, what little there was worth recounting. There was good reason he’d stayed up here so long after all: Life topside was just so different, so brightly-lit when compared to the Pit. Sure, he might’ve been built exactly for the life infernal, but that didn’t mean that a ghoul lacked a capacity for more.

The biggest example in his case was the garden he’d kept during his time here. It was almost funny: You’d walked these grounds for so long, so used to the presence of the greenhouse that sat towards the back of the garden. The brightness of the vegetation and bushes stood out from its darker, more gothic-leaning surroundings in an almost silly way.

Really, though, your only real interactions with that section of the Ministry could be boiled down to times spent in your office. The window there allowed just enough of a view of the little land below, one you couldn’t help but look at when the tensions in your poorly-postured back traveled into your skull, or when a delivery ghoul delivered more heaps of papers for you to look over and sign. (Suddenly, feeling Primo's intense gaze on you even when you thought you were alone made sense.)

Your path to the antipapacy was basically carved out for you, it ironically left very little room for extracurriculars such as gardening. But you could always count on catching a Sibling or earth ghoul or two, hauling heavy sacks of soil and carting that season’s harvest in a wheelbarrow.

Their decision to spend their time on such a long-term task that demanded constant attention and dedication was admirable to you. You could relate to focusing in on a project that would take time and focus.

And to see their efforts be rewarded with something brilliant and fortifying, something that caught the eye and could be used to nourish both the body and mind . . .

In way, perhaps seeing the hardships that produced flowers and fruit might have served as inspiration and motivation for your idea to entice the masses with music. Just a twinge.

To learn that the very things that refreshed you in your moments of exhaustion had grown under the same watch as the one that had once wished you ill initially amazed you. And amused you.

The idea of ever having been afraid of Primo seemed so silly now, you couldn’t even remember what the heat of his ire felt like. If anything, the pierce of Primo’s gaze had softened into something . . . Well, the proper words escaped you any time you tried to settle on one. "Passionate" mixed with "admiration", but still with its tenderness.

As it turned out, that warmth earth ghouls were often characterized with did exist in the old curmudgeon. It was exhibited as the years marched on and as you both grew closer.

It was there even in small moments such as this, with you kneeling in the soil, planting your umpteenth flower. You had learned under his watch years ago and no longer needed instruction, but it still felt lovely to share this type of thing together. Even after all this time.

A grunt escaped you as you wobblily stood back up from aching knees, another when you cracked your back.

“One of these days, Primo,” you sighed, “I’m gonna get down and not be able to get back up. You can just bury me here, then.”

It was a joke, of course, and you were totally prepared to not get a laugh from the old ghoul. Primo’s sense of humor, you’d long since learned, was as mysterious as it was strange. It was frankly a wild guess as to what would make him laugh on any given day. What you hadn’t prepared for, though, was the way the ghoul’s eyes stared back at you. You didn’t feel unsafe or anything, but you certainly felt . . . observed.

There was that curious cat vibe that had started it all from way back when. But, knowing Primo as you now did, you knew he was simply collecting thoughts. He would eventually reveal them to you in due time.

In the meantime, though, it served you better to shake it off. Supper would be served shortly, anyway.

“Remember to wash up,” you offered, standing as high on your toe tips as you could just to place a peck on the soft, weary flesh of his neck. To that, you received a quiet grunt typical of your partner.

As you left, though, Primo kept his eyes on you, tail thoughtfully swaying behind him. He remembered seeing you sparingly in your youth, which was impressive considering how unimportant you’d been back then. You weren’t Papa, you weren’t anything, really. You weren’t important to him.

But now, years later, here you stood: Wrinkles that weren’t there before were beginning to carve their permanence into your features, standing out even through your papal paints. Just the other month, you’d noted an increase in silver strands popping up in your hair. You sighed something about the stresses of dealing with the next projected tour or an onslaught of paperwork, but Primo knew that soon, more silver would come sprouting out at your temples. More than you’d probably bother dyeing, if he knew you. If he knew the people before you.

He'd seen this all happen before, many, many times. You may have been different from all other Papas he’d known, but all Papas were alike in this one way.

A heavy sigh broke him from his stagnation, and Primo began to trek back to your chambers to wash up. Before he even entered the building proper, his mind was made: If and when your time came, Primo would finally request to return back to the Pit.

#ghost band headcanons #the band ghost x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus #papa primo #papa emeritus i #primo emeritus #papa primo x reader #tf is this as long as it is fo?!#(judging by how the others’ installments are they’re only going to continue to be big honking fics i am so sorry i cannot learn to shut up)#i apologize for my crimes against the good people of the Ghost fandom for my contribution #. . . not enough to stop me from writing the other Papas as ghouls but like #turns out when you don't really write anything for over six months your writing muscle naturally atrophies!#haha Primo is the curmudgeon stuck in his ways and reader is the manic pixie dream Papa coronated to stir things up #(well more like the exhausted ghoulie work-dream Papa but still)#*drops post and runs to hide*#my junk

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get-back-homeward · 1 year ago

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The chapter of Royston Ellis meeting the Beatles is so wild.

He first hits on George at the Jacaranda. George responds to this with a casual “oh, you’d love my friends” and brings him to Gambier Terrace:

Also dropping into the Gambier Terrace pit was a special guest, Royston Ellis, “King of the Beatniks.” The bearded bard, who featured in TV documentaries and press articles whenever an offbeat teenage angle was needed, was in Liverpool to read his poetry at the university on June 24/25, and he swiftly found himself drawn into the Beatles’ company. The conduit was George, who (with nothing else to do while John, Stu and Paul were in school) was hanging around the Jac when the wandering coffee-bar poet traipsed in, drawn by hip radar to “the happening place.” Avowedly “trying everything,” Ellis was an active bisexual in this period of his life and he took an immediate fancy to George: “He looked fabulous with his long hair and matelot-style striped T-shirt, very modern, which is why I deliberately spoke to him. I was nineteen and he was seventeen and we clicked right away.”15

George took Ellis, his typewriter and his duffel bag back to Gambier Terrace to meet John and Stu. A rapport was quickly established and Ellis was invited to “crash” for a few days—yet another occupant for the filthy back room.

Then Ellis hits it off with John and Stu and wants them as a backing band:

Ellis says he developed a particular rapport with John and Stuart and that they discussed poetry, art and London. When he left, they spoke of doing it again sometime: “We were talking about how I wanted a band to come to London and back me on my Rocketry performances, and they were thrilled at the idea.” Art school studies finished the following Friday, July 1, marking the end of Stu’s fourth year and John’s third and last because the college was waving him goodbye. The exam results, when they came through on August 1, were just as expected: John failed and was out, Stuart passed the NDD, for which he received a certificate. The option was there for him to do a fifth year and attain the highest available qualification, the Art Teacher’s Diploma (ATD), akin to a degree and entitling him to become a teacher … but both he and John were pondering a period as prospectors, and doing something again with Ellis was a definite possibility.

So much so, Ellis is responsible for the first* two mentions of the band in the newspaper:

As for Ellis, so much was he enthused by the possibility of appearing with them again that he soon got the Beatles their first mention in a music paper. It was the July 9 edition of Record and Show Mirror, where a supercilious little article about “the bearded sage of the coffee bars” ended “he’s thinking of bringing down to London a Liverpool group which he considers is most in accord with his poetry. Name of the group? ‘The Beetles’”

….A born publicist, Royston Ellis knew how to manipulate a follow-up, writing a letter for publication that clarified a point in the first. He expressed his intention to find a group that would join him on TV appearances with Bert Weedon and the Shadows, and reiterated, “For some time I have been searching for a group to use regularly, and I feel that the ‘Beetles’ (most of them are Liverpool ex-art students) fill the bill.”

John and Stu decide to go to London on their own to join Ellis…but then chicken out:

By July 10, at the end of his three-year art school vacation, John had arrived at a key decision in his life: he would try to earn his living from the guitar. “I became a professional musician the day I got a red letter from the art college saying ‘Don’t bother coming back next September,’ ” he later said.31 Cyn would remember, “John decided that this [music] was very definitely the life for him. All the ideas that everyone else had for him of making an impact on the art world faded into the back of beyond with incredible rapidity, and with almost no regret at all. Aunt Mimi was distraught. Her view of his future couldn’t have been blacker at that time.”32

These events coinciding, it seems John and Stu decided to head south and hang out with Royston Ellis. Allan Williams is emphatic on the matter: he says John and Stu “split the Beatles and went down to London.”33 Norman Chapman would remember Stu asking him for a lift through the Mersey Tunnel one day so he (or he and John) could hitchhike to London—“They wanted to go down to London and become involved in this poetry-music scene.” Beat poets led a nomadic life by definition. Ellis lived for periods in all sorts of places, but his main base was still his parents’ house, at 31 Clonard Way, Hatch End, Pinner, Middlesex, a pleasant detached villa with the name Denecroft. This was the address he gave John while staying at Gambier Terrace. When Ellis arrived home one day his mother said he’d missed a visit from his “beatnik friends from Liverpool.” He never knew how many or who had come, but—as insane as it appears—John and Stu (and/or as Ellis always thought—hoped—George) had hitched the best part of two hundred miles, taken the trouble of locating his house in leafy Metroland, not stayed or left a message and then gone home again, never returning or making further contact. It makes no sense, but there it sits, illogical and incomplete.

Allan Williams remembers them being “back in Liverpool within a week, because it didn’t work out,” at which point the Beatles “reformed” as if they’d never been away. With bookings only every Saturday, it’s conceivable they did all this without missing one, and perhaps that was always the intention. However, while three independent witnesses (Ellis, Williams and Chapman) all remember something happening, none of the Beatles ever mentioned it—though in their interviews they talked with candor about everything. So it must remain in doubt, an intriguing puzzle unlikely to be solved.

There are two additional curiosities that may or may not be incidental. One is that, in the last days of July, a group of Liverpool art school students, apparently including John and Stu, went to London (or tried to go) to see a Picasso exhibition at the Tate Gallery. Second, and most fascinatingly, a set of photographs taken at this very time (mid-July 1960) in Stu and John’s studio-bedroom-slum at 3 Gambier Terrace includes several people they knew but not John and Stu themselves—perhaps because they were on the Hatch End trip. It was published on July 24 in the national Sunday rag the People in a sensation-splash headlined THIS IS THE BEATNIK HORROR. It’s as if a man on a flaming pie was pointing down at Flat 3, Hillary Mansions, Gambier Terrace, Liverpool 1. In six months, three Beatles moved in and the fourth was hanging out, the nation’s best-known beat poet had come here to get them high, and now, when a Fleet Street journalist and photographer were looking to substantiate a load of old tosh about dirty beatniks—reportage that could have been cooked up anywhere in the country—they landed in Stu and John’s room.34

Though hugely amusing, the feature had one unfortunate side-effect: because the address was given (a “three-roomed flat in decaying Gambier Terrace in Liverpool”) and some of the occupants (“well-educated youngsters”) were named, the landlord gave the tenant, Rod Murray, notice to quit. On August 15, everyone—Rod, Diz, Ducky, Stuart, John and sundry other bodies who’d joined them—would be out on the street.

—Mark Lewisohn’s Tune In, Ch 15 (May 31–Aug 15, 1960)

And Lewisohn is just like yup nothing to see.

So what the hell happened here? Was it just a school trip? Or was it a deliberate split?

#royston ellis #beat poetry #beatniks #tune in #1960 #early liverpool #bug mysteries #i think about this once a week and just found the bit again #mine #mark lewisohn #reading tune in #prebugs #*i think they may have found an earlier mention since tune in printing #i have a june newspaper clip date in my timeline #john and stu #young george #june 1960 #queer bugs #reading riding so high #joe mentions the dates of royston’s liverpool university appearance #june 24 1960 and davies says the first beetles mention in the newspaper is june 11 #so theres some conflict there when was the first #just learned royston ellis died earlier this year #but kerouac website writers reached him in 2020 and he still claimed they got the BEAT ideat in the name from him #theyve got a clipping from june 5 with silver beetles #but lewisohn references a june 2 clipping with the A (beatles)#so thats too early for royston maybe they were deciding and flipflopping he helped settle on one i can see that #lalala i cant read its first mention in a music paper rather than a general newspaper

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moltengoldveins · 7 months ago

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alright, TCU scenes in no particular order, but they’re all meant to communicate something about the humanity of the characters involved in relation to the act of creation and the appreciation of beauty or smthn idk-

Antarctic Empire has a very early scene in which we are shown Techno in his cell beneath the Pit, painstakingly enchanting his flimsy armor with scraps of stolen lapis and a pen he’s carved from a bone he took as a ‘trophy.’ This is juxtaposed with Phil’s introduction scene immediately prior, in which he is disguised as a young nobleman and is stealing things from partygoers while watching the fights. It’s revealed that he’s used the things he stole to enchant something to crack the spells on Techno’s cell. These scenes are used to show us that, while they may seem disparate, these two are actually extremely similar in skill set.

At the end of AE we get a similar scene to the one I just described: Phil darts his way through the camp before the final battle, grabbing supplies and food, only to join Techno in his tent and help him enchant their armor. The two sequences are shot nearly identically.

Somewhere in the retirement arc we have an entire sequence where Techno is embroidering and enchanting his cape using blaze powder, showing a clear connection between certain magical components and their effects.

Phil’s crows are at first assumed to be normal nonsentient animals, but there are plot beats (assumed to be plot holes) in AE that only make sense on a rewatch after Covenant’s reveal that they, similarly to Phil, are conduits of Death and capable of communication crime and conspiracy. Specifically, Phil knows where an ambush will be that Techno doesn’t expect while their relationship is still really rocky, techno ignores his advice, and Phil has to haul tail to save him.

We see Techno crafting the emerald earrings in an end-credits scene in AE. It’s a few long continuous shots and a lot of close-ups that obscure what he’s working on. He’s singing to himself as well. Considering the end of the film moments prior was The Throne Scene with the coronation (Kinda dark, violence was involved) it’s a an odd tonal shift. Phil calls to him from the other room, saying they’re gonna be ‘late for petitioner’s hour’ and Techno jokes that ‘he’s the emperor, he can cancel petitioner hour if he pleases’ but he drops his work and leaves, grabbing the crown as he goes. We get one last shot of the unfinished earrings before cut-to-black.

During Pogtopia, we have a long scene where Tommy and Tubbo (after the execution, before the Pit) are shaken and trying to rest in Tommy’s room. There’s no dialogue. They’re sitting on Tommy’s cot, slightly leaning on one another, in dead empty silence. Tubbo is shaking slightly. Without warning, Tommy’s patience clearly runs out and he gets up, puts a song on his record player, and pulls Tubbo into a dance. (I’m thinking something kinda jazzy and tinny? An old recording, like Beyond the Sea.) They manage a few shaky turns before Tubbo’s iron facade cracks and they both burst into tears, holding one another. We rotate to see that Tommy’s face is burning with fury. The Pit immediately follows this.

Tubbo, Ranboo, Tommy, Techno, Phil, Niki, Puffy, and Jack are all shown in various background scenes in the first trilogy to know how to knit, sew, weave, and/or crochet. In fact, the only character who cannot and is never shown trying to learn to work a fiber craft is Icarus Craft. The irony is rather obvious.

Phil has a medieval architect setup in his basement with a classic plaster drawing table (this is how the cathedrals were planned. The architect would pour plaster into a very thin layer on a tabletop, let it dry, and then use heavy metal compasses and tools to make thin precise lines in the plaster for their designs. They’d then fill the lines with charcoal or graphite and transfer the designs from there so the masons could access them easily) we see him using it once or twice, and at some point near the end of the whole series we see him teaching Tubbo how to use it.

Tommy picks flowers while out on a scouting mission with Techno (post- Welcome Home, Theseus) he’s carrying them in the bg for most of the scene and we see them in a jar on the kitchen table after Tommy’s betrayal.

#Molten wips #technoblade #mcyt #Technoblade cinematic universe #Tcu

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teine-mallaichte · 7 months ago

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Some Kirkwall specific writing prompts

Some Kirkwall specific prompts that I may one day get round to writing short fics for:

Hidden Horrors: In the depths of Kirkwall's sewers, the group stumbles upon a forgotten chamber filled with ancient Tevinter artifacts. But as they delve deeper, they uncover a dark secret that threatens to unleash a new wave of chaos upon the city.

Cursed Legacy: Generations after the fall of Emerius, a descendant of the Krayvan family returns to Kirkwall seeking redemption for their ancestors' sins. With them they bring ancient knowledge of Kirkwalls dark past.

Mystery Illness: When a mysterious illness spreads through Kirkwall's streets, Hawke is tasked with uncovering its origins. As they delve into the city's dark past, Hawke discovers sentries old secrets in the catacombs below the city, ancient magics that someone has inadvertently activated.

A bad investment: after gaining part ownership of the Bone Pit Hawke learns that the mines have been exploiting the refugee population of Kirkwall, trapping people in a never ending cycle of indentured servitude.

Spring cleaning: After regaining the Amell Estate Hawke wanted to clear it out as a surprise for her mother. She invited her new friends round to help, but they discover some unpleasant things left by the slavers who had temporarily being using the building.

Emerius: Hawke's investigations into the Band of Three's notes lead them to uncover a series of hidden chambers scattered throughout Kirkwall, each containing clues to the city's dark secrets. As they piece together the puzzle left behind by the enigmatic scholars, Hawke realizes that the fate of Kirkwall may rest in their hands alone.

City Planning: While investigating reports of strange phenomena in Kirkwall, Hawke discovers that the city's layout mirrors intricate magical symbols and glyphs. Determined to uncover the truth behind Kirkwall's mysterious design, Hawke delves into the city's dark history discovering that the city was designed to be a conduit for an ancient ritual.

Conspiracy theories: After witnessing a series of inexplicable events in Kirkwall, Hawke begins to suspect that the city itself is alive with dark energy. The more Hawke discovered the more everyone else starts to feel that they have fallen into a paranoid conspiracy theory, their companions start to worry about Hawke, but eventually Hawke is proven right.

These were written for my DADWC prompt list, but feel free to use them yourself if they appeal.

#writing prompts #prompts #Kirkwall #da2 #dragon age

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droctaviolovecraft · 2 months ago

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"Jesus loved everyone, but the insects loved me more..."

ANM №: ANM-627

Identification: Hive Man

Danger Level: Snit 🟡 | Contained ⭕️

Lead Researcher: Dr. Öctavio Kalev

Type of Anomaly: Human, insectoid, historical, military

Containment:

ANM-627 must be housed in a temperature-controlled containment chamber in Department-05, designed for insect-based anomalies, with an internal temperature maintained between 22-26°C and humidity levels between 50-60%. The chamber must be equipped with an air filtration system to prevent the escape of any insects from the subject. All personnel interacting with ANM-627 must wear full-body protective suits to avoid insect infestation. The chamber should be regularly inspected for structural integrity to ensure no cracks or gaps allow for a potential breach.

ANM-627 should be fed nutrient paste through an intravenous tube once every 48 hours. Interaction with ANM-627 is restricted to research personnel with Level 3 clearance or higher. No personnel should physically contact ANM-627 without prior approval. Any abnormal behavior or changes in insect population density must be reported immediately.

In the event of a containment breach, Subject P personnel armed with flamethrowers will be mobilized to neutralize all escaping entities. Recontainment efforts will focus on incapacitating ANM-627 using high-frequency ultrasonic devices to disrupt communication with the insects.

Description:

ANM-627, known as "Colony Man," is a humanoid male (formerly known as █████ ████), approximately 1.7 meters tall and weighing around 25 kg due to the skeletal state of his body. ANM-627 is in a constant state of decay, having undergone a remarkable and anomalous transformation wherein his body has become a living hive for insects, currently housing thousands of insect species, primarily beetles, ants, and wasps. Despite the extreme decomposition and mutilation, ANM-627 remains alive, though in a state of severe physical deterioration.

ANM-627's body is largely devoid of skin, muscle tissue, and internal organs. Most of his organs have been consumed by the insects inhabiting him, except for the brain, eyes, and a significant portion of the nervous system, which remain intact, though heavily deteriorated. What remains of his body is calcified bone, with the structure appearing fossilized and coated by a brittle, spiny substance similar to an exoskeleton secreted by the insects. Pockets of insect colonies are embedded within ANM-627's skeletal structure, notably in the ribcage, pelvis, and femur bones.

ANM-627’s mouth, now perpetually open, serves as the primary point of entry and exit for many insects, and his nasal cavity has similarly been hollowed out and repurposed as a conduit for insects. His appearance is deeply disturbing, especially to individuals with trypophobia (fear of holes or pitted surfaces) due to the numerous openings and cavities in his body where insects are constantly seen entering and exiting. Additionally, ANM-627’s insect-infested exterior is a source of extreme discomfort for those with entomophobia (fear of insects).

ANM-627 was first discovered in ████, Cuba, living in an improvised shelter within a garbage dump, subsisting in a semi-immobile state. Local reports indicated that ANM-627 had been seen wandering near urban waste disposal sites for years, but attempts to approach him failed due to the overwhelming swarm of insects that constantly surrounded him. Task force "Sewer Worms" was dispatched to handle ANM-627's retrieval after local authorities failed to relocate him safely, resulting in multiple fatalities caused by insect swarms.

Subsequent investigations revealed that ANM-627 is the former Cuban revolutionary █████ ████, a guerrilla fighter who assisted Che Guevara during the Cuban Revolution. Historical records indicate that ANM-627 was captured by Batista’s forces during the revolution, subjected to brutal torture, and used as a living host for insect-based torment over several months. His captors reportedly introduced colonies of carnivorous beetles, larvae, and other insects into his body as a form of enhanced torture. However, after a mass escape orchestrated by revolutionary forces, ANM-627 escaped captivity.

It is believed that ANM-627, severely disfigured and traumatized by months of insect-induced torture, developed anomalous abilities that allowed him to survive despite his grievous injuries. These abilities appear to be directly linked to the insects infesting his body, which now sustain his vital functions, using his skeletal remains as a hive.

Although ANM-627 exhibits constant physical pain, as evidenced by his hollow groans and occasional erratic muscle spasms, he has largely become desensitized to his suffering over time. ANM-627 is capable of limited speech and appears to have some degree of control over the insect colonies residing in his body. He has been observed giving subtle vocal or physical signals to the insects, which then respond by adjusting their behavior, including forming defensive swarms or retreating into ANM-627’s body cavities.

ANM-627’s ability to communicate with the insect colonies is still under investigation, but preliminary research suggests a form of neurochemical signaling or pheromone-based interaction. ANM-627 can also release insect swarms as a defense mechanism, overwhelming any perceived threats with sheer numbers.

Despite his grotesque physical state, ANM-627 has demonstrated a high level of cognition and retains fragmented memories of his life before the transformation. ANM-627 has referred to the insects inhabiting his body as "companions" and expressed a reluctant acceptance of his current state, claiming that the insects "saved" him and allowed him to continue the fight, though his understanding of the passage of time seems distorted.

Addendum 627-1: Interview Log

Interviewer: Dr. Ortega

Interviewee: ANM-627

Dr. Ortega: Can you tell us your name?

ANM-627: (in a distorted, raspy voice) ...█████... I was... that... once.

Dr. Ortega: Do you know what happened to you?

ANM-627: (pauses) The insects... they kept me alive. I didn’t want... but I needed them. They made me one of them... hollowed me out. Now I’m... a hive.

Dr. Ortega: Why did they choose you?

ANM-627: (shaking) I... fought. They tortured me... insects, crawling inside... eating me from within... but I fought... I got out. They stayed with me. (groaning in pain) Always with me.

Dr. Ortega: Do you control the insects?

ANM-627: (slowly, deliberately) They listen... they hear me. I... ask. They do what I need. They... protect me... they need me.

Dr. Ortega: Do you feel pain?

ANM-627: (long pause) Yes... but now it’s mine... we live with it. Together.

Dr. Ortega: One last question: Do you remember the revolution? Che Guevara?

ANM-627: (shaking, coughing) ...Che... we fought... for something... but now... all I fight for is them... and the silence. I know Che was killed... we failed... all together...

[End of Interview]

Addendum 627-2: Incident Report 627-A

On ██/██/20██, ANM-627 exhibited unusual behavior, with a significant increase in the insect population within his containment chamber. Several species of predatory wasps, not previously observed in ANM-627’s colony, emerged from his body and began attacking research personnel. After the initial swarm, ANM-627 was observed vocalizing loudly, causing the insects to retreat. This event raised concerns about the long-term stability of ANM-627’s containment.

Final Note: ANM-627 represents a unique and disturbing anomaly, merging human suffering and insect adaptation into a singular entity. Although the subject remains contained, further research is necessary to understand the full extent of ANM-627’s control over the insect colonies and how this relationship has allowed him to survive in his current state. The remains of a rebel may not want to attack, but his insects do. We hope they continue to obey him; we do not want another infestation issue like we had with ANM-284.

#scp #scp foundation #writing #mothra institution #project #art #horror #originalscp

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docgold13 · 3 months ago

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Heroes & Villains The DC Animated Universe - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Tala

Tala was a powerful sorceress and a former protégé of Felix Faust. She worked as a member of Project Cadmus, acting as an advisor on magical matters for Cadmus’ inner circle.

After Felix Faust’s soul was banished to the Pits of Tartarus, Tala was able to extract his essence into a magical mirror. Through this mirror Tala could continue learning from her former mentor. Yet Faust betrayed her and tricked Tala into transferring her own essence into the mirror whilst Faust’s soul was supplanted into the Annihilator armor. The animated armor was ultimately destroyed by The Justice League, resulting in Faust being sent back to Tartarus; yet Tala remained trapped in the mirror.

At some point thereafter, Tala was released from her prison by Gorilla Grodd. As thanks, Tala gladly joined Grodd's Legion of Doom and placed her magical talents at his disposal. And yet when Grodd was deposed by Lex Luthor who then took over control of the Legion, Tala quickly changed her allegiance and pledged herself to him. As such Tala assisted Luthor in his obsessive pursuit to regain the powers of Brainiac.

Spurred over Luthor’s inattentiveness toward her, Tala chose to free Grodd, resulting in a tremendous battle wherein the Legion of Doom fought amongst themselves. Luthor’s faction ultimately won out and Grodd was killed. Luther then used Tala as a conduit to revive Brainiac. Tala pleaded with Luthor, warned him that he was going to unleash ruin. Yet it was to no avail and Tala perished. In the end, Luthor had succeeded not reviving Brainiac but rather resurrecting the dread lord Darkseid.

Actress Juliet Landau provided the voice for Tala with the tragic sorceress first appearing in the third episode of the second season of Justice League Unlimited, ‘The Doomsday Sanction.’

#Justice League #Tala #Legion of Doom #Juliet Landau #DCAU #Cadmus #cut-out #papar art

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dailycharacteroption · 3 months ago

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Class Feature Friday: Earth School (Wizard Elementalist School)

(art by Indigojrps on DeviantArt)

And it’s time for yet another elemental school, this time going into the element of earth!

There’s something… odd about imagining your stereotypical wizard being a geomancer. We tend to think of most wizards being frail, feeble, and weak of body while their minds can bend reality itself. That visual language does not lend itself well to a character that invokes the raw might and resilience of earth.

Of course, that assumption is based both on the belief that a person has to reflect their abilities (which while useful and fun, is not necessary) and also the belief that a mage has to be physically weak, but there’s nothing stopping you from having an above-average strength score as a mage.

In any case, the element of earth covers all earthly materials, from the dirt beneath your feet to the stone and minerals of the rocky strata, and the geometric perfection of crystal and the potential of raw ore. It is the element of resilience and immovability, slow to act and patient, but absolutely unstoppable on the path to a goal once it starts moving. And while it is possible to shatter stone, it takes great effort, and even then, the shards left behind retain much of their former strength in their own right, and sport an edge that can prove dangerous to foes.

Earth is also an element of potential and crafting, as it’s many minerals have a myriad of uses both physical and chemical, so it is not surprising to see it be favored by elementalists who seek to create great works, particularly of stone, gems, or even metal, though obviously the latter is favored more by the spreading elemental tradition of metal.

Naturally, earth as an element is opposed by air in the western style, and by wood in the eastern cycle style.

The earth element lends itself well to defensive magic, but also offensive, and as such, such mages make for excellent allies in a siege, with their ability to create and tear down fortifications. However, they can also be found practicing more benevolent magic such as building great public works like bridges and buildings or crafting wondrous items using the magical properties of crystals, and so on, to say nothing of their expertise concerning natural geological formations for the purposes of delving and/or mining.

The earth elemental spell list has the old general staples concerning summoning or polymorphing into elementals, but it also has a lot of focus on conjuring or shaping masses of earthen material, which can range from creating walls, showing foes with rubble, to more esoteric uses like conjuring molten obsidian or tar or even clouds of toxic gasses such as those leaked from underground. Transmutation to or from stone is also a part of their arsenal, and they also gain plenty of offensive and defensive acid spells, since acid is associated with earth in First Edition thanks to the number of caustic minerals that exist in the earth. And who could forget all the various extradimensional pit spells?

Like many earth elementals, these mages derive strength from the ground beneath their feet, being supernaturally hard to make stumble or forcibly move. What’s more, their attacks hit harder and surer when both they and their foes are in contact with the ground. Finally, the most powerful geomancers can use the earth as a conduit for their magic as easily as the open air, meaning that earth and stone no longer block their spells, though obviously they still cannot see through it without other magic.

As a basic attack, these mages can conjure clouds of acidic gas, the fumes of which also debilitate those that inhale them.

Later on, they learn the art of earth gliding, able to swim through the ground the way earth elementals do. However, they can only do so for a limited time.

While no wizard is going to be winning any wrestling matches without magical aid, these elementalists can prove able to hold their own when foes try to inhibit them up close, plus the ability to earth glide means they can get out of nasty scrapes relatively easily. That being said, the real draw of this school is their focus on spells that control the battlefield, set up defenses, and of course generate all sorts of lingering damage. If that sounds appealing, a geomancer might be the right choice for you, but don’t forget to expand your magical arsenal to diversify as well.

I have to imagine that geomancers are a lot like geologists, and while they spend a bit more time mastering magic to manipulate their chosen element, they are likely very passionate about the many different times of stone and rock, and of course the composition and uses of various minerals.

Using arts stolen from dwarven enclaves they infiltrated over the years, the reptoid colony of Vaaskuta is built deep underground from the magically-terraformed rock, and these geomancers protect it still, preventing outsiders from learning of the city or of their plans.

The great underground lake of Banu-Nur is a place where the elements of water and earth meet, and there exists a rivalry between the elementalists that harness both elements. This has most recently come to head with a competition to see who could best retrieve rare crystals from the bottom of the lake. While the hydromancers may at first seem to have the advantage, their earthbound associates know the best conditions in which the crystals grow, and both will be relying on the bathysphere jellyfish of the lake to do their exploration and work.

Though long since worn by erosion and geological action, Mt. Minog is no natural formation. Indeed, it was crafted by elemental god of earth to be the seat of his power on the material realm. As such, it is something of a sacred site for geomancers who wish to learn greater secrets of earth and stone.

#pathfinder #archetype #wizard #school #earth #elemental school #reptoid #dwarf #bathysphere jellyfish #Advanced Players Guide

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novankenn · 1 year ago

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From Mistress to Servant

Salem: (bows head in supplication) Master, I am here as summoned.

Jaune: I have someone to introduce to you. Then you will report everything you know and have discovered.

Salem: Of course.

Jaune: Meet my bride...

Salem stumbled back away from the pit of grimm slime that had been converted to act as a conduit to her new master.

Salem: Bride?

(Images generated by perchance ai text-to-image)

Velvet: Is there a problem?

Salem: T... there is no problem Mistress! (bows head in supplication)

Velvet: You were right dear husband. She knows her place.

Jaune: Now to see if she can continue to serve ... speak of what you know.

Salem: (lifts her head) I have contacted all my agents, and consulted every resource I have...

Velvet: And?

Salem: The relics are the only threat to you. Legend speaks that if they are combined the brother gods will return...

Jaune: (Laughs) Brother gods... worthless upstart twats.

Velvet: Continue.

Salem: Yes, Master, Mistress. The relics are said to be trapped in vaults below each Academy, but that information is old, and the only confirmation I have is through Lionheart who I cowed to my will before you're arrival...

Jaune: And where is this Lionheart?

Salem: Haven... he is the headmaster.

Jaune: Let's use retire for the evening my love... we visit Haven and this... Lionheart on tomorrow's evening.

Salem: Master my I inquire...

Jaune: Ask...

Salem: What will become of Lionheart? He is... was important to my plans...

Jaune: You plans are no longer valid. You serve our will.. as for Lionheart... my bride?

Velvet: We have no need of him... after we seize the relic...

Salem: But... my plans... my salvation... then of my curse!

Jaune: They are of no concern. You serve our will... or would you like a reminder?

Salem: (Bows her head in supplication) No Master.

Salem's grew wide with utter terror as the "bride" stepped out of the grimm pool...

Velvet: Too Late.

--== Master List ==--

#jaune arc #velvet scarlatina #rwby #demonic rabbits #demonic bunnies #corruption #possession #dreamscapes #sweet dreams au #salem

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darkmaga-returns · 7 hours ago

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Recent events in the State of Washington pit environmentalists against the voting public.

Doomberg

Nov 13, 2024

“Don't pay any attention to the critics—don't even ignore them.” – Samuel Goldwyn

By nearly all the measures that matter, the State of Washington’s energy mix is about as green as it gets. Leveraging the powerful flows of the Columbia River, Washington generates approximately 60% of its electricity from hydroelectric dams. The Grand Coulee Dam is by far the largest hydroelectricity producer in the US and ranks among the top ten globally, generating more than 20 billion kilowatt hours (kWh) per year. The state is also home to the Northwest’s only commercial nuclear energy facility—the Columbia Generating Station—which provides a further 8% of annual supply to the grid, about as much as is currently delivered by wind turbines. The balance of Washington’s generation comes from clean-burning natural gas, and the last of its large coal furnaces is set to close in 2025. Set it and forget it | Getty

A similar story emerges when analyzing how residents in Washington heat their homes. More than 58% use electricity, and state leaders are actively pushing heat pumps as a replacement for traditional resistive heating options. Only a third of households rely on natural gas, while the remaining 9% rely on a mix of propane, wood, and other sources.

Although Washington produces almost no oil or natural gas within its borders, it has positioned itself shrewdly in both markets. The state is home to five refineries, ranks fifth in the US by total refining capacity, and is a net exporter of petroleum products. Washington is also a major conduit of natural gas produced in British Columbia and Alberta, home to some of the lowest-cost supply in the world. The Gas Transmission Northwest pipeline is capable of flowing 2.7 billion cubic feet per day (bcf/d) as it passes into the state from Idaho on its way to Oregon. The Northwest Pipeline has a peak capacity of 3.8 bcf/d and enters Washington in Sumas, southeast of Vancouver, facilitating gas supply for Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, and Colorado.

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daybreakrising · 2 days ago

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the moment Osial was sealed for Beisht ( for this meme ) listen it's rage if you want to tap into it.

send me something to drabble about | always accepting tbh

Agony. That was the sensation she felt first - a ripping, tearing, searing pain at her core, as though hands that burned cold had taken her heart within their grip and torn it clean in two. She stopped short in her path, her serpentine body twisting and coiling in immediate reaction to that sudden, agonising ache. And her mind, instantly, turned to her husband.

Osial. Something has happened to Osial.

The vast seas of her home are a constant conduit of emotion to a hydro dragon such as herself, and her beloved felt so strongly that every shift of his mood could be felt for miles upon miles. She had always known when his anger was triggered, when melancholy overtook him, when something delighted him - no matter where she was within Teyvat's oceans. She felt the ebb and flow within her storm's heart as clearly and as strongly as if it were her own.

And now... now she could feel him no longer. There was a fleeting, terrifying moment of emptiness - and then the chasm of his absence filled with a boiling rage. Jaws opened to release a feral scream that tossed the water into violent waves destined to assault shores and unsuspecting vessels; a scream that sent ocean critters scattering in terror, that shattered drifting or fallen debris. A scream that summoned dark clouds overhead and torrential, lashing rain.

Her eyes blazed bright as she altered her course, propelled herself forward at top speed in the direction of home, fuelled by the rage that pulsed within her draconic heart. Her beloved, her storm - gone. Dead? She could not tell. Their connection was severed, his essence lost. If he lived, then he lived beyond her reach.

Morax, she cursed with vengeful bitterness, hatred rising to join rage in a violent dance. She had no doubt who was to blame, for who else could ever hope to defeat Osial? Who else would dare to stand against him, to drive the knife of betrayal ever deeper into his back? I will drown your pathetic city, she vowed, I will assault your shores until those precious humans of yours curse your name for bringing this wrath upon them. I will delight in your pain as you watch them die, gasping for breath as they sink into the depths of my domain.

She cursed their old friend, cursed the heavens that pit them against each other. She raged over the tatters of their once peaceful existence, over the war that had separated her from her husband in this crucial moment. Too far - she was too far to help, travelling long distances to seek allies to their cause, to scrape at any power they might call friend. I should not have left him. If I had been there-

If she had been there, at least she could have fallen with him.

Grief permeated the rage, the hatred, but rather than dampen the fire, it became yet more fuel. She would not make it back in time to aid him, to save him, but she would avenge him. If death had parted them, she would raise a storm upon Liyue in his name - but if there was a chance to revive him, to bring him back to her... she would stop at nothing to make that happen.

Morax, she vowed, you will regret this betrayal. No one can doubt the power of the earth, but mountains fall and the ground quakes... and there is nothing that erodes earth faster and more brutally than the ocean.

#resolutepath #muse; beisht (genpact)#v; what lies beneath the water so deep (past)#;we were a ripple that became a tidal wave. ours is a storm eternal (csial; osial & beisht)#( and thus begins her centuries-long hatred for liyue & morax )#( i immediately got hit with the visual of her just swimming out somewhere in a vast ocean and being *hit* by his sudden loss in her heart #( sailors probably told stories of that scream for generations. it became a myth. a warning. )#( this could have been longer probably but i think that's a good place to stop )

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rogueshadeaux · 11 months ago

Text

Chapter Twenty-Eight — Enigma

I sent a pulse through the water to scare off the giant reptiles, sitting at the edge of the wood planks and swinging my bare feet over, letting them dip into the water and feeling the touch sooth that constant ache in my back. A constant reminder that something was wrong.

5.8k words | Good Luck tbfh | TRIGGER WARNINGS: bodily harm/injuries/hallucinations [mentions only], Familial arguing, domestic terrorism? I feel like that counts. Tags warn of a mild chapter I promise.

“Yep,” Zeke Dunbar said as he lowered the vial from his face. Taking off his glasses, he set the sample down on his cluttered desk, leaning back in the green and black gaming chair. “It’s tar, alright.”

Dad looked like he was on the verge of either homicide or suicide. “We know it’s tar,” he said, terse. “What we need to know is what you know about it.”

We were all shoved into the little living room space of Zeke’s stilt house, barely settled in before getting to business. Dad leaned against the little bistro table off on the side, Dr. Sims had claimed a corner to himself and was typing away on a mini laptop on his lap, two regular sized ones on either side of him. Brent was next to me on the miniscule loveseat, leg jiggling away.

The guy seemed nice enough. The moment we got into his little hut, he had offered us food — ‘course, that constituted as two-day old bachelor pizza and soda cans from a mini-fridge that wasn’t all that cold, but hey, it was something. Especially considering the time was bordering two in the afternoon and we hadn’t eaten a decent meal in eight hours, give or take.

So that’s where we were now; sitting in his living room — which was smaller than my bedroom back at Salmon Bay, stomaching old supreme pizza slices and watching Dad regret letting Dr. Sims talk him into leaving Washington.

Zeke bit the temple tip on his glasses, thinking. “It was one of the first big issues we ran into after the Blast,” he began. “The woman that could control the tar was poisoning the water supply, made a buncha people her little minions by getting them to drink it. Once they had enough in them to change into Reapers, that was it. They were practically gone.”

“‘Reapers?’” Brent repeated beside me, mouth full of food. He had to be on what was his eighth slice; the entire way here he was complaining about feeling hungry. In the food and the Conduit sense. Could that have been because of his revival on the Causeway?

“That’s what the faction was called. You’ve gotta understand, after the Blast? It was an apocalyptic wasteland in there. Entire groups of people rose trying to take advantage of the situation. Who was gonna stop them, y’know?” Zeke shrugs. “The Reapers were one of those factions, led by this crazy bitch named Sasha.”

“That’s the one that was captured and experimented on by DARPA, right?” Dr. Sims asked from the side, not looking up from his computer.

“And the CIA.” Zeke added. “Hated the woman, but she sure got the shit end of the stick.” Zeke shook his head, ridding himself of his thoughts. “Anyways, yeah. Tar was there, and this looks exactly like it.”

“What could it do?” Dad asked.

Zeke trilled his lips, thinking. “Let’s see…it was different for Cole versus the rest of us normal people, I should warn you. He wasn’t nearly as affected as other people were. He’d get a headache like they would and feel a bit sick to his stomach but there were other things too. Being able to sorta hear Sasha in his head — he’d get these hallucinations—”

“Hallucinations?” I asked.

My mind was days back and worlds away, standing in front of my mom in that pit of crystals. Could that…could that have been a hallucination? It would have made sense; I was in the middle of nowhere, with a sky that lacked a sun and some underground tunnel that opened up to a tree grove. It didn’t make sense, and I had spent the past few days trying to rationalize that fact to myself. Maybe it was a dream, or something induced by that stasis Dad had found me in when I was floating in the Sound.

Some selfish little part of me hoped it was more than that, though. Was it irrational to sit there and pray that maybe I experienced death for a moment if it meant I got a second with my mom? Her voice, her laugh — God, I just wanted it all to be real.

So the confirmation that it wasn’t hurt my heart more than anything else could have.

Zeke looked at me curiously. “Yeah. He’d see these…mirages or what-have-you of people. Flashes of images, but that’s really it,”

Dad’s head cocked to the side. “Why do you ask, Jeanie?”

I froze; I couldn’t tell Dad about Mom. About what I saw. Not only would he shut down like he always did when she was mentioned, but I…I didn’t really want to share it with anyone at all. It would just lead to questions that I knew would sting, and I was too tired to try and keep myself from crying.

So I gave a noncommittal shrug. “Just wondering,” I said, adding on, “It wouldn’t…it won’t start happening to me, right?” to sell the lie.

Zeke shook his head. “Nah, not now. He’d only feel bad for a few hours, would usually shake it off after sleeping.”

“And he’d be perfectly fine the next morning?” Dad nearly demanded. “No lingering symptoms?”

“No, none.”

Dad groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “So this is a dead end.”

Dr. Sims finally looked up from his computer. “Not necessarily,” He began. “Augustine was transferred tar powers.” He stood, taking the small computer with him and setting it on the edge of Zeke’s desk. “Look,”

Dr. Sims’ arms gained those blue circular gauntlets, and there was a flash as the dimly-lit living room was bathed in the same color, pixels spreading through the air before condensing, becoming some holographic screen that free floated in the small open space.

“When the fuck did you learn to do this?” Dad demanded, looking over at Dr. Sims, who waved him off.

“I got ahold of nearly half of the DUP’s records years ago during the UN trial,” Dr. Sims began. “Managed to download them without anyone noticing during Augustine’s testimony. There’s one instance of a Conduit with tar powers in the entire seven years they were working—” he pulls up a file featuring the mugshot of this startlingly beautiful woman who was bald, eyes deep and unsettling. Like she knew many different ways to kill a person and get rid of the evidence. “Sasha LaRue, tar Conduit.”

Zeke nodded. “That’s her. Crazy bitch,”

“So what does that mean?” Dad asked, looking through the screen at his friend.

“It means that if there’s any place tar came from, it’s her.” Dr. Sims nodded with his head towards the mugshot. “She was one of the first Conduits they tested on. She was one of the first they killed.”

Brent’s leg stopped jiggling, and he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “But would the DUP keep her tar? How did Archangel get it?”

“You don’t need a Conduit’s powers to do a power transfer,” Dr. Sims started. “You need their rayacitin protein.”

“Their what?”

Dad looked over at us. “Have you guys not gone over Conduit physiology in school?”

I snorted. “They barely went over human physiology, are you kidding? Our teacher was Catholic and skipped over so many things ‘cause she didn’t want to ‘put ideas in our heads,’”

“Let alone the conduit physiology portion,” Brent grumbled. “They were an affront to God,”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Why did I even pay for you two to go to that school?”

“Well,” Dr. Sims started, “Rayacitin is the protein that gives a Conduit powers. Helps us perform conduvergence — which is when you use your power — and makes your fast healing happen. You only need a copy of that protein to artificially activate a Conduit’s conducrine gland.”

“Which means if they kept any of this woman’s DNA on file, there’s a chance that’s where they got it,” Dad groaned.

Zeke slowly set his glasses on his desk. “There’s…another place they could have gotten her DNA from.”

Dad’s head snapped around to look at Zeke. “What do you mean?” He asked cooly.

“Well, Sasha was captured by the First Sons, too.” Zeke pointed out. “They drained her of this stuff just like DARPA did, and used it in Empire City—”

“But Empire City’s gone.” Dad interrupted. “How would they get the DNA from her if it’s underwater?”

“Y’think tar doesn’t float? And Empire City wasn’t the only place them bastards worked.”

Dad glanced over at Dr. Sims. “Where else were they?”

Dr. Sims grimaced. “Well…here. New Marais.”

“This is where the power transfer device was used first too,” Zeke said. “Both versions.”

Brent held up a hand as if in class, but didn’t wait to be called on. “Wait — what’s the First Sons?” He asked.

“They don’t matter.” Dad started with that annoying finality he’d been carrying around the past few days. I couldn’t take the coddling anymore.

“Dad,” I began, “If they’re — if they’re a part of this somehow? They’re important.”

“They’re not something you need to worry about—” Dad tried to decide for me instead this time. Decide for me. I huffed a bit, shaking my head, making him blink before his face settled into a scowl. “What?” he demanded.

“When are you gonna stop acting like we’re—” I struggled for a minute to find the words, “Like we’re too precious to know about this stuff, Dad? Too young?”

Dad grit his teeth. “You are too young to have to worry about this,” he insisted.

I shook my head. “Didn’t really seem to stop them from doing this,” I said, raising my right arm to show off my nice little prize from the last time I was deemed ‘old enough’ to be a part of this. “We’re adults in ten days. Are you gonna make me wait for answers then, or are you gonna let me try to help figure out how to fix myself? It’s too late for us to not be involved in this.”

We stared each other down through the blue light of the holographic screen, unblinking. He couldn’t keep leaving me out of things that affect my life and claim he was trying to protect me! I was sick of being treated like I was too fragile to handle anything.

Dad eventually sighed, looking away. “The First Sons were this cult,” he started, relenting. Definitely didn’t look happy about it, though. “They basically engineered Conduits. Figured out how to activate them fully. They were the reason for the Empire City Blast.”

“I thought that was a terrorist attack?” Brent asked beside me.

Zeke shrugged. “Was it not?”

Everyone fell silent at that; it hadn’t really connected with me before this moment that we were talking to someone that actually managed to survive Empire City. Not until Zeke got that same haunted look on his face Dad would when he talked about Mom or Uncle Reggie.

Dr. Sims inhaled, taking the reins. “If what you guys found all those years ago working with Raymond Wolfe is true, the DUP seized almost all of the First Sons’ information. There’s nothing regarding them in any of my files beyond the power transfer device.”

Zeke laughed mirthlessly. “You think they did? Especially when half of the organization is in the bottom of the Birmingham Sound?” He shook his head. “Nah. The DUP didn’t have everything, and I can almost guarantee it.”

Dad’s eyes narrowed at Zeke. “Are you saying you have information they don’t?”

Zeke nodded. “Without a doubt. Don’t remember exactly what — it’s been nearly twenty years since I’ve touched anything. But I have some dead drops, a few documents. Stuff Cole and I managed to pack on the boat before heading here. Nearly everything we did find while we were here.”

Dad straightened. “Where is it?”

“‘Bout thirty miles east, buried underground.” Zeke responded. “But I can go get it. Maybe with all that, and by putting our heads together, we can get a lead on where exactly this Archangel came from, and what they want.”

Zeke stood, cracking his neck before saying, “It’ll take me a few hours to get where I need to go and dig it all up, so why don’t y’all rest up? You guys look beat.”

There was a brief period where Zeke and Dr. Sims talked before Zeke donned some rain boots and left, footsteps echoing away on the dock outside before the motor to his own boat started. Dad looked at Dr. Sims as he called back the holographic projection accusingly. “I told you coming here was useless,” he said.

Dr. Sims rolled his eyes. “You don’t know that yet, Del. How about we look at everything he’s got before we say it’s worthless?” He glanced towards us before adding. “Besides, they need to rest, and we need to talk.”

I didn’t like the look the two exchanged before Dad nodded. “Yeah,” he resigned. “Yeah, okay.”

I woke up on the very edge of the full sized bed, Brent’s snoring in my ear.

As if plopping too hard onto the bed and breaking the wooden frame with his weight wasn’t enough, he was now spread eagle on the mattress, leaving me the smallest sliver of space on the edge of it. One of my legs had already lost the fight and was lying against the cool wood floor, and there was no shoving him back to regain space when he was too goddamn heavy to move.

The room was almost pitch black thanks to how off the grid it was, the pale quarter moon barely doing anything to cast a light through the window. I nearly headbutt the doorframe as I tiptoed blindly out of the room, my phone — and its flashlight — stored away somewhere so no one could track it to Zeke’s hideout.

He was really cautious, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was running from. I mean sure, Archangel was a concern now, but he’d been living like this for years if what Dr. Sims said was true. Why the caution, why the fear?

The top of the stairs squeaked under my foot as I went to put my weight on it, so I took the rest of the stairway as a wave, solidifying on the bottom. Something in the center of my back twinged as my skin returned, leaving me to shrug my shoulders awkwardly to get the stiffness out. That gland Dr. Sims talked about, that’s what it was. That’s what hurt.

Dad was on the loveseat in the living room, legs thrown over its arm. He was asleep, thank god — meaning it was easy to slip past him and open the front door, stepping out into the night. I walked along the dock, looking down at the near-black waters and the small white specks of the alligator eyes that caught the moonlight, twinkling like their own little stars in the abyss.

A constant reminder that something was wrong.

It never hurt before. Using my powers. Maybe it was just because I was only really beginning to heal from what happened in that fight with Augustine, or maybe it was because I was in that stasis for a long time; but either way, there was a consistent sting in my shoulders just like when I start to run out of water and need to drain more. Like the organ wasn’t getting enough.

Was it not?

I sighed hard, letting my head drop into my hands; I had no idea what was going on anymore. I was confused, and scared, and felt angry that Dad couldn’t even trust me enough to be either without treating me like a child. How was I supposed to ask him questions about what’s happening if I couldn’t be sure he’d tell me the truth? He blames me for all of this, I just know it — and I couldn’t even disagree.

I sat there in the dark, the chorus of the crickets and the scream of the generator doing nothing to drown out my thoughts. The sound of that car crash on the Causeway and Dr. Sims’ power trying to restart Brent’s heart echoing in my head. The way those icicles felt pushing into my skin. The smoldering of COLE’s burned remains. All haunting. All because of me being trapped in that alley, or turning my back, or doing something I was told not to do. All my fault.

“You know, the gators will bite off your toes if you stay there,” a voice called, making me jump and nearly sending me off the edge of the dock.

I spun around, looking for the source and failing to find it until Zeke called, “Up here,” from the top of the old train car. He was sitting in one of those folding lawn chairs, using a cooler as a footrest.

I laughed awkwardly, inwardly cursing; damnit, I was looking for a moment alone! “Nah, I uh,” I glanced back over my shoulder to the water. “I scared them away with my powers.”

He nodded. “Right, right — water. Y’know, you’re the first water conduit I’ve met. I mean, I’ve met someone that could use steam, ‘couple light Conduits, even another steel one like your brother. But water? That’s a first.”

I nodded, the awkward silence rushing over us despite all the noise of the night. I was on the verge of bidding him goodnight and going back inside when he motioned for me to join him without speaking.

I hesitated for another moment before moving to join him — what was I going to do, tell the host no? It felt rude to brush him off. So I swallowed my pride, figuring five minutes of my time wasn’t gonna kill me, and walked up to the old train car, climbing the ladder on its side.

Zeke stood, offering me the chair and refusing to hear otherwise when I argued. He pulled two drinks out of the cooler, offering me a beer.

I looked at it before glancing up at him. “I’m seventeen,” I said.

“Woah-ho-hoookay, never mind,” He chuckled, crouching back down to the cooler and setting the offered beer off on the side. The ice in it was already gone, replaced with cool water that sloshed around as he murmured, “Pretty sure I…I’ve got cola here somewhere…” He made some sort of triumphant whooping sound as he pulled out a store-brand coca-cola, passing it to me.

“Thanks.” I murmured as he closed the cooler and sat on top of it, looking off into the swamp. I fought the top of the can for a moment, trying to open it with the hand in the cast before giving up and swapping hands, frowning.

“I saw what you did.” Zeke said. “The fight with Augustine. Gotta say, you were impressive — wouldn’t have expected a kid to be able to do all that. The whirlpool? Holy hell. Bet you’re a hit at pool parties.”

I had to admit, that managed to get me to laugh. I never even stopped to consider the type of things I could do at a pool or a water park or something. “I’ll have to try it when we…when we’re done with this,” I said, the chuckle dying off in my throat.

Zeke leaned forward, beer hanging in his hand between his legs. “Don’t worry about it, kid,” he began. “We’ll get to the bottom of whatever’s going on.”

I nodded, unspeaking. How could he be so sure? I definitely wasn’t.

“I got everything from when Cole and I ran around for your pops and Eugene,” Zeke added. “Found some other things from when I was working with the Conduit Rights League and Project Sanctuary, though your dad probably has access to those files, being a part of COLE.”

I glanced over at him. “You…you really were friends with Cole MacGrath?”

Zeke chuckled. “Friends? We were practically brothers.” He said. “Met him when I moved to Georgia as a kid, I was the new kid and always being, you know, big boned, I immediately was bullied. Didn't matter to Cole though. He came up to me at recess, didn’t even let me talk before pulling me into some spy game, and we were inseparable after that.”

“So you knew each other since you were kids?”

Zeke nodded. “Eight or something like that.”

“Wow,” I murmured. The great Cole MacGrath, and Zeke knew him before he hit puberty. “What was it like? Being there for…” I drew off, unsure how to summarize it, “All of it?”

Zeke chuffed. “Wild, but you also gotta remember — the world was ending. Everything was flipped on its head. Cole having powers was just one of a buncha fucked up things going on, we couldn’t even really concentrate on that.” Zeke took a swig of his beer. “That being said…it was pretty badass. It felt like I was there for my best friend’s superhero origin story. It was like them old comic books we used to read as kids.”

Zeke seemed humored in a melancholic sort of way as he thought back to whatever memory was playing in his mind then, and I let the conversation die for a moment, nursing the soda.

But — God, I was sitting next to someone who knew Cole MacGrath! The first Conduit. I couldn’t really keep myself from talking as I asked, “How did he deal with it?”

“With his fists, mostly,” Zeke comments, glancing over at me. There was minimal lighting outside — just a few floodlights on the front of the house and the old train car — but it was enough to see that his eyes, now lacking those sunglasses, were brown. “But it was…something else entirely. There was no group or someone to talk to. We were on our own through most of it, especially at the beginning.”

My brows furrowed. “You mean…like, learning to use his powers?” I asked.

Zeke nodded. “Yeah. Our version of training was having him charge up dead car batteries or shoot mannequins we stole from JCPenney.”

I played with the tab on my soda. “Was it hard for him to figure it out on his own?”

“Both times sucked pretty bad,” Zeke said. “The first time, after his coma, his powers were just outta control.”

My brow furrowed. “His coma?”

Zeke nodded. “Took him a while to brush off what happened after the Blast.”

After another moment, I asked, “How long was Cole MacGrath in a coma for?”

“You can call him Cole, I don’t think he’d be upset.” Zeke chuckled. “And he ain’t here to yell at you if he is. But, to answer your question, a week. There were actually a couple times he was put outta commission by something.”

A week. “So there’s a chance that — what’s happening to me — it’s something that’ll fix itself?” I asked.

Zeke sighed. “Let’s hope.”

I didn’t like how noncommittal that answer sounded.

“Did he ever…” I drew off, unsure of how to phrase the next question. “Was there ever something wrong with his powers after getting hurt?”

Zeke looked over at me, cocking an eyebrow. “Why? Is there something wrong with yours?”

“Dad said that my mom had something go wrong with hers.” I started. “And I don’t — there’s nothing wrong, but it sorta hurts to use my powers. Like I feel sore when I do.”

Zeke hummed. “Have you told Eugene this? Your father?”

It was still so weird to hear Dr. Sims be referred to so casually. “No,” I admitted.

“You need to. Anything regarding your health right now, they need to know.”

I knew he was right. I just didn’t want to admit it; I let Dad know the truth, and he’d put me in bubble wrap and tie a leash to me so I wouldn’t be able to move or stray far without his permission.

There was a moment of silence where I looked down at the drink in my hands before Zeke said, “Once.”

I looked up at the man, who was staring off into space. “Hmm?”

“There was one time Cole’s powers were messed up after a fight.” Zeke clarified for me. He brought the bottle to his lips and threw his head back, chugging the entire thing in a five second span that I was sure would have impressed Brent if he was here. He moved to open the spare, clearing his throat. “The first time he fought the Beast, it had…broke his powers, I guess you could say. He wasn’t strong, could barely drain. Lost some of his mojo, too — all the old moves he could pull with his electricity? Gone.”

My brow furrowed. “Like he, what, forgot how to use them?”

Zeke nodded. “Was too weak to use some moves and had to rebuild himself, but after that? Lost some completely.”

What? “The Beast broke him?” I asked in disbelief after a moment. Zeke nodded. I’d never heard of anything like that happening before. “Then how…how did he get fixed?”

“Time. Blast Cores.” Zeke chuckled to himself as an afterthought. “Probably pure spite, too,”

“Blast Core?”

He looked over at me. “You don’t know what the Core Relays do,” He realized. He readjusted to face me better before continuing, “You know how every nuclear generator has a little core to make the energy, like a battery?” I nodded, prompting Zeke to continue, “Well, Blast Cores were the battery. The middle part that powered up the whole thing, nuclear-style. An informant we had told us how it would give a Conduit new and stronger powers. It’s how he juiced up to fight the Beast in the end.”

“I didn’t even know the relays were nuclear energy,” I admitted. “Just thought they were some weird battery.”

“Nope. They’re straight RFE.” Zeke said simply.

RFE. Ray Field Energy. That was that secondary field of energy they discovered around the earth, I think. It’s what I answered on my Earth Science exam at least.

But something popped up in the back of my mind, in flashes of blue and visions of water. “My Dad, he — there was this thing that happened with a Core Relay. He managed to hit me with the power from it when he was trying to drain it, and it gave me visions of how my powers worked.” I looked over at Zeke. “Did Cole ever experience anything like that?”

Zeke nodded. “Oh yeah. Sorta like a premonition of how the power worked?” I nodded vigorously. “Yep. He’d get them when connected to a generator too, back in Empire City. We had to bring the electrical grids back online and when he’d connect that current, it did something. Would show him a new power. Dunno why, though.”

“I think…” I drew off, lowering the can from my lips. “I think it’s because he was connected to the element. It happened to me when I was fighting Augustine — the water helped me when I got hurt. It…it reminded me to breathe and it washed out my cuts, and it gave me these flashes of visions on what to do to fight her. When you’re in your element? I don’t know, it feels like you become—“ I faltered when I looked up to see how Zeke was looking at me. “You become one,” I finished meekly.

He nodded once. “Kinda how Cole had described it.” He said. “Gotta be nice, that feeling,”

I shrugged. “It’s something. Kinda weird, kinda cool.”

He raised the bottle, pausing with it pressed against his bottom lip to ask. “And the hallucination?”

My heart skipped a beat. “T-the what?” I stuttered. Completely unconvincingly, may I add.

Zeke finished his swig. “Kid, I’m a lotta things, but I’m not stupid. Not usually, at least. When I was talking about how the tar worked, you looked like you had seen a ghost.” He shrugged. “You ain’t gotta tell me, but I just wanted to ask. Definitely seemed like you had questions.”

My eyes fell to the ground and then closed, Mom’s form imprinted on the lids. I could still picture her smile with ease, how expressive her eyes were when her voice rang in my head. She wagged her eyebrows a lot when she talked — she seemed so expressive in everything. It felt too real to be fake. “Cole, did he…what were the hallucinations like?” I asked, opening my eyes. I didn’t raise them though. “You probably don’t know, actually—“

“No, I do. Somewhat. I know he imagined up his dead girlfriend.” Zeke said solemnly. “Enemies attacking him.”

“Any sort of…terrain change?” I asked gently.

Zeke shook his head. “No, but then again, he only accidentally swallowed the stuff. I know yours went in your bloodstream, gotta imagine it would change things.”

I nodded, letting silence fall between us and fiddling with the tab of the can until it popped clean off. Zeke let it linger too, and I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for that, or if the tension of my manufactured memory was enough to make me audibly say it. Confirm to someone else that for a moment, it was true. “I saw my mom.” I said simply. “She’s been — I don’t remember her, she died when we were babies. But she was there in this weird place and had hugged me and talked and laughed and it—“ my voice cracked, and I clammed up immediately. “It felt so real,” I finished on a whisper.

“You’re worried it’s not,” Zeke declared simply. I just nodded. “Well, lemme ask you something: does it matter?”

What? I looked up at him, the edges of his form blurry through my tears. “Huh?”

“In the end, does it matter if it was some hallucination? It was a moment with your mom.” Zeke leaned back, looking up at the stars. “I sometimes have dreams with people I’ve lost. My momma, Cole, my old dog Beefcake. I count them as a different sort of memory; them checking up on me. And I mean, sure, I wake up sad they ain’t real — but does it matter?” He shook his head at his own question. “Nah. It’s important to me, and that’s all that matters.”

“I just wish I knew what was…true. What’s going on,” I said.

“We’ll figure it out. Way your dad is going, he’ll have it solved before the week is up.” Zeke said.

I cringed; Dad was doing nothing but being snippy and rude to Zeke, and it was obvious that he didn’t like the guy. “I’m sorry about him, by th—” I started before Zeke waved a hand, cutting me off.

“Ain’t your fault. Can’t even get angry at your father. He’s gotta be stressed outta his mind, trying to figure out what’s wrong with his little girl.” Zeke sighed. “Can’t say I wouldn’t act the same, if I were in his shoes. He’s scared outta his mind right now. Can’t fault him for it.”

“He’s mad at me,” I said solemnly. “I keep messing up and getting us into more and more trouble whenever he solves one issue.”

Zeke shook his head. “I don’t believe that—”

“I almost got my brother killed coming down here. I didn’t hide like he wanted me to when we were being shot at by those snipers and Brent almost died because he — he had to worry about keeping me alive. I killed so many people in Seattle. I got kidnapped in Portland ‘cause I wasn’t cautious enough and it ended up getting Archangel to bomb COLE.” I set the can down on the train car’s roof— my hands were shaking too hard to hold it without spilling some. “I keep messing everything up.”

Zeke leaned forward a bit. “I don’t think he blames you for anything.” He said softly. “Your dad reminds me a lot of Cole — ever since he got his powers, he’s had to sacrifice. I know he lost his brother. I know he lost your mom, and his parents, and a buncha his tribe. He’s scared of losing you too, especially now that someone’s hunting him. He’s stressed and wants to keep you safe — and I bet he feels just as guilty about the fact that he wasn’t able to the last few times. He’s trying to keep you from being in some position where he can’t help.”

I blinked. “I hadn’t…thought of it like that.” I admitted. All of the precaution and anger Dad was feeling; was it because he was scared, not angry at me? Not blaming me for everything that was happening or thinking I was incapable of taking care of myself after getting hurt?

Zeke left the conversation floating there, letting me sit in my thoughts. I had to admit, it was hard for the silence to feel awkward around him; there was a comfort to his presence that said nothing really needed to be said. It left me to stew in my thoughts regarding Dad, to sit there and imagine a moment in his shoes. Watching him fall into the Sound, not finding him for days, and once I do, him not healing. God, I’ve been so blind. “I think I’m going to go talk to my Dad,” I said suddenly, standing. I’ve been so scared and confused that I’ve been taking it out on him more than understanding he’s feeling the exact same way.

“Sure,” Zeke nodded. “I’m gonna stay out here a while longer, maybe have one more before bed.” I’ll be in later, if you want to have a private conversation I could hear in the tone. I smiled gratefully at him before whooshing off the edge of the old rail car and down to the dock, solidifying from the wave on its rough wood.

Dad jumped awake when I walked back into the house, not bothering to be quiet. His arm lit up in ash and ember as he blinked sleep out of his eyes, moments away from blasting off a shot before realizing it was just me. “Jeanie?” He asked scratchily, clearing his throat and shaking the smoke off of his hand. “What’re you doing awake?” He sat fully up, swinging his legs around so he was facing me — and it was then that he realized I was crying. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t stop the tears once they started. “I’ve been mean a-and rude with you when all you’ve been trying to do is help me and it’s—“

“Hey, hey, no,” Dad hummed. His arms wrapped around me immediately when I hit the ground in front of him on my knees. “It’s okay.”

“I’m scared.” I admitted into his chest. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore,”

“I know,” He muttered into my hair. “I know. But I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to fix this.”

#infamous erosion #infamous second son #infamous #infamous 2 #fanfic #cole macgrath #delsin rowe #Zeke Dunbar #Eugene Sims #Fetch Walker if you squint #I am so tired of coming up with chapter titles I need y'all to know this #Sucker Punch Productions #An OC teaser as well!!

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