#Structural Decking System

[apexlandscapesolutions]

At Apex Landscape Solutions, we specialize in creating personalized outdoor spaces that invite relaxation, play, and unforgettable gatherings throughout the South Puget Sound region. Based in Olympia, WA, and established in 2015, we emphasize quality craftsmanship and sustainability. By integrating pathways, ponds, lighting, and irrigation, we ensure your space is functional and long-lasting. Our designs focus on sensory-rich experiences with diverse textures, colors, and sounds, transforming your outdoor space into a true retreat. From vibrant gardens to serene water features, we bring your vision to life with creativity, care, and attention to detail. Discover your dream outdoor oasis with us.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

I hate the viper as the black divine btw I hate it I hate it I hate it

And no, it's not because it's a bad idea.

It's because it's an EXCELLENT idea, and the idea that they intended it to be canon (or planned for it to be) is quite frankly an insult to such a complex idea. Especially in the game series that used to explore religion quite seriously and which has decided, in the game about Gods and potentially disproving faith, it no longer actually cares about faith (the MAIN THEME OF THE PREVIOUS GAME).

Like. Firstly narratively the Black Divine being Viper could have had such an impact because you could have built to it. You meet Viper, get to know him... simultaneously you're meeting various imperial chantry officials. Maybe these chantry officials are even aligned with Venatori. They keep alluding to the Black Divine but you never meet him until ACT 3 when it turns out...the black divine was the viper all along.

And one assumes the black divine would turn to a life like the Vipers because they don't think their office is doing any real good. That's!!! Really interesting!!! Someone decked in glory and power realises their own office is a sham that is doing no good not stopping slavery or Venatori and so works to do it from the shadows...that's interesting!!! And has something to say about systematic power structures and how changing a system from the inside can be damn near impossible.

Or maybe he does this because he DOESNT want to risk his seat as the black divine but feels immense guilt about how he's not actually helping the faithful poor in his city. He wants to cling to his power because he believes he can nudge history in the right direction if he does, but simultaneously knows that by not speaking out publiclly on slavery or poverty he's potentially dooming people to death and so needs to sooth his guilt by going vigilanty. Maybe there's an interesting question in there somewhere about living in two worlds and trying to maintain the status quo in one and destroy it in the other.

Also it DIRECTLY parrellels previous characters like Cassandra and Leliana and is a continuation of inquisitions themes surrounding what good can faith ACTUALLY accomplish for people (this even goes back to da2 and Anders)? When does faith break/why? What

Also because it's not explained, it's just kinda stupid. Does Bioware think that high ranking religious officials do nothing all day? They're not billionaires sat in a mansion popping into occasional meetings, they're public figures and political leaders of giant organisations who regularly have to be on show to the masses and to their own advisors. I won't believe that they not only a) have time to be batman AND b) they also have time to just...sit around in some room in the middle of nowhere to be a performative faction leader to the protagonist of a video game they don't know they're in.

Also. Are you telling me. The venatori were going to execute the FANTASY POPE??? And nobody cared??? They were going to publiclly execute the FANTASY POPE and the viper wasn't going to reveal himself and he wasn't going to be recognised and that wasn't going to cause problems? Are you kidding me?

Tblr; the idea that the viper is the black divine is such a good idea it makes me so angry they seemingly couldn't be bothered to actually put the time into it to make it interesting

[windienine]

like most humans i have a pretty nuanced personality that can be easily barnum'd and as a young teen i was pretty open to astrology, mbti, and any other horsepiss that made me feel like i could rely on a higher power or a sorting system to help me get my shit together during a really stressful time. i regularly worsened my ocd by coordinating the appropriate healing crystal pendant for the corresponding day, hour, and moon phase, but the impetus for this was less specifically a suburban mom wellness scam thing (though this was where i sourced my finds) and more that i had extreme chuuni energy throughout my middle school years and was waiting for the correct magic crystal, hidden tarot deck, or dusty grimoire to grant me my magical wings and talking animal companion

anyway a friend did a double take at me when i nodded about their jewelry retail woes and went "yeah the moms buy amethyst for focus like hotcakes i used to press a geode to my head at age fourteen to try and treat my ocd before i knew i had ocd."

anyway anyway the actual interesting thing about amethyst is that it's purple because of iron impurities in the quartz structure

[tsa23urban-hostel]

STRUCTURE MODEL......drawing and description of the steel structure

_ik

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Stede Bonnet and the Subversive Shirt

In season one, despite the colours, lace, and detailing, Stede’s dress is mostly conformist in cut and style. His shirts are high-buttoned, cravated, and do not show much flesh below his chin. Coupled with the pantaloon and waistcoat, Stede’s wearing the clothes of traditional masculine presentation of his era.

There are times Stede’s clothing becomes less formal. During the sword practice with Ed in 106, Stede’s shirt is open and the cravat loosened. Again, in 107 we see Stede in his open nightclothes wandering on deck. During evening story hour, his jacket is removed. Stede usually seems more relaxed during these moments too.

Stede’s style changes properly on the second leaving of Bridgetown. What Stede is wearing openly as he drags the boat to sea is a rather romantic poet-pirate look with billowing shirt and sash. The look has links with future nineteenth-century Romantic freethinkers, championing individualism, revolution and liberty - including sexual liberation.

The open-neck shirt was popularised by Byron and Shelley a hundred years later. It was a deliberate choice of styling in opposition to enforced gender presentation and monogamous heteronormativity. The fashion of the times, similar to the 1700s, was high collars and neck-wrapping in order to force the holding of the male head in a stately and erect manner. It’s all about rigidity…

For an English gentleman of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, to have his shirt open and loose in public, was a sign of effeminacy. It was women who showed their décolletage in society, who were allowed a softer presentation; this new style hinted strongly at sexual and gender nonconformity. Women were viewed as more animalistic, men as cultured. Cultured people cover up. Softness, looseness - these are aspects of female sexuality, a bit bestial. And women are also a little bit insane. Why would any man, especially a man of status, want to present as feminine and lesser? And what does it say about patriarchy if some men actively choose to relinquish their privileged status by presenting more effeminately? It’s dangerous.

By today’s standards, Byron was pansexual and polyamorous. Shelley’s sexuality is less clear, but he was viewed as a subversive atheist and disinherited. Both might consider themselves nonbinary today. Shelley especially seems to have had a strong gnc presentation. Both left England for more liberal Europe.

I feel the costume department must’ve made a very deliberate and informed choice regarding Stede’s shirts post season one, but I don’t feel it’s the one some people think it is. I know part of DJenks stated aim was to ‘make Rhys Darby as sexy as possible’, but it’s not about appearing more masc. just because he’s showing more flesh. It’s about appearing more Stede. Stede is expressing a new-found confidence in his sexual identity and gender expression, by choosing a more freer, less structured, less traditionally masculine way of dressing, associated rather presciently with future Romantic liberalism. It seems poets and pirates have more in common than we realise. And both were considered dangerous for questioning the system.

However, Stede is also an individual in flux and he circles back to a part of his former self. The Red Suit is a sort of hybrid male/female costume. The cuffs, detailing and shirt itself are femme. But there are elements of traditional masculinity which are quite toxic. The epaulettes reinforce the inverted masculine triangular shape. Anyone who grew up in the 1980s will remember their mothers feeling forced to wear exaggerated shoulder-padding as they entered male-dominated workspaces. They also enforce military rank. Stede thinks he needs this imagery to ‘be the Captain’. He doesn’t. The exaggerated coattails are also absolutely synonymous with upper class male power. It’s masculinity as performance and power-play. Stede needs to let all of this cursed patriarchal nonsense go.

As so often’s the case in OFMD, external struggle, this time with the crew over the Red Suit, could also be a manifestation of Stede’s internal conflict and shifting identity. It’s a final letting go of patriarchal ideas, especially around captaincy. The crew certainly don’t want it. Stede is (more than) adequate just as he is. At the end of all the pushing and pulling, Stede keeps the most relevant bit of the outfit - the shirt. It’s the least restrictive part, the more feminine and therefore, the more subversive on a male body. It’s a sartorial representation of a changing Stede.

The three shirts worn in series two are deliberately opened-collared and low-cut, showing more and more of Stede’s chest. This is a traditional feminine aesthetic which historically on a man, at least in the anglosphere, was considered subversive and dangerous. And Stede couples his shirts with a different sort of masculinity, a leather trouser. Class-wise, this is a traditional working man’s garment. Through his new choice of clothing, Stede is rejecting entirely his previous role within patriarchal hegemony, both the imposed status and imposed gender norms.

This was in my drafts a while but inspired to try and pull it together by @celluloidbroomcloset posts here and here

[vexwerewolf]

-- SSC Death’s Head @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] SSC Death’s Head 3, IPS-N Tortuga 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Reinforced Frame, Full Subjectivity Sync [ TALENTS ] Heavy Gunner 3, Vanguard 3, Grease Monkey 3 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:26 ARMOR:0 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:8 REPAIR:4 TECH ATK:0 LIMITED:+1 SPD:6 EVA:14 EDEF:8 SENSE:20 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] MAIN/AUX MOUNT: Deck-Sweeper Automatic Shotgun / Pistol HEAVY MOUNT: Railgun [ SYSTEMS ] Personalizations, HyperDense Armor, Kinetic Compensator, High-Stress Mag Clamps, Pattern-A Smoke Charges x4

I call this build "Tungsten Peashooter," the logical opposite of "Glass Cannon." It takes advantage of a very specific rules non-interaction: "half damage" effects don't stack.

HyperDense Armor gives you resistance to all damage from beyond of Range 3, in exchange your you dealing half damage to targets beyond Range 3. Heavy Gunner 3 allows you to mark two targets and attack them with your heavy mount when they move, at half damage. But these effects don't combine, so there's no additional penalty.

[irisintheafterglow]

Parley? (opla!zoro x you)

summary: a stranger arrives to disturb your peace and you have no choice but to negotiate with him.

wc: 2.57k

cw/tags: first meeting, swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence including blood and swords, zoro doesn't know how to express his feelings

note: i'm so nervous posting this ngl because i really like zoro as a character but i'm scared that i'm not gonna do him justice since i don't know him as well as gojo or geto or bakugo etc etc etc. hopefully all yall zoro girlies like this because i've been itching to write for him since my explore page became nothing but mackenyu. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

You hear the chimes first. The melody is soft, nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear, but you sense it. After all, you were the one who tied the string under the walkway floorboards in such a way that the bells above your window would clink if something pressed down on the wood. Over time, you learned to identify where outside was being pushed based on more strings and bells. It made it easier to find the Lady, on the rare occasion she stepped into open air and you weren’t with her. However, whoever was now setting off your makeshift alarm system had footsteps unlike the usual occupants of the house. The quietness of the notes was unsettling, in a way, because it meant they were creeping around the house. Someone didn’t want to be heard. 

It was the flowers next, the roses with uniquely reflective petals that were especially good at bouncing moonlight precisely through your window. The Lady commented one day in the market that she’d taken a liking to that particular flower, and you bought the vendor’s entire stock to plant around the house once you realized how it could be used. Not before you built a crow’s nest-like window, first. The glass structure jut out of the house in just the right way that you received colors from the left, right, and front of the house. Had an intruder approached from the back, your only blindspot, you would hear the more insistent clicks of the typewriter keys attached to the outside deck panels. The nearly noiseless bells and the ominous shadow sneaking across your wall were enough to snap you wide awake. 

The soles of your feet meet cool stone as you slide from under the covers, wrapping the sheath of your saber around your waist and slipping out of your bedroom. Despite the darkness of the hallway, your legs move by memory to the Lady’s chambers only to find the door already ajar. 

Shit. Were you too late?

Slinking into the room in one graceful stride, words leave your mouth without thinking when you see him standing over your Lady, holding two deadly-looking swords. 

“Taking a life halfway gone is immoral no matter the bounty, pirate hunter.” His head snaps in your direction and you have your blade on him before he can blink, resting the point lightly but threateningly against his throat. His eyes narrow on you challengingly and you put ever so slightly more pressure into your hilt, forcing him to surrender and sheath both swords. The third, you note, remains undrawn on his hip. “No better targets to pursue than a retiree? I expected better from the demon of the East Blue.” His gaze remains unchanging while you step forward, inching him backward until his head hits the wall with a soft thud. You were thankful, for once, that the Lady was starting to lose her hearing and was always a deep sleeper. 

“She’s wanted,” he says in a low tone. 

“She’s withered,” you retort. “Killing her advances justice no more than leaving her alive.” His face is still unreadable, void of any emotions just as the rumors conveyed. Many tales circulated of the infamous pirate hunter, but you chose to believe the Lady to be far too irrelevant to pose any real threat to the Marines. As one of the last known powerhouses of the Gold Roger era, it was more likely her wanted poster would be drowned out amongst younger hotshot pirates than for her to become an actual target. And yet, here was the most feared bounty hunter in the seas, hunting down a myth that many assumed was already six feet under. And for what, fun? 

“It doesn’t matter. Honor is a courtesy denied to killers.” He speaks in a way like you wouldn’t understand his ideas, and it sends a white-hot flash of anger racing through your veins. 

“Ooh, yes. You’re being so honorable by julienning a defenseless old woman while she sleeps.” To your surprise, he flinches, unwillingly bringing your eyes to corded muscle and flexed biceps. It’s a bit of a struggle to refocus on the task at hand. “Enlighten me on how this makes you feel vindicated.” 

“I kill pirates for a living,” he states simply, nodding over to the slumbering mass under the thick comforter. The tip of your sword follows every movement he makes, careful not to give him an opening to strike. Unexpectedly, he seems almost relaxed, like the weapon at his throat was the least of his worries. “That woman is a pirate.”

“That woman was a pirate. She is no longer the ‘Captain Indigo’ you seek.” 

“Who is she now, then?”

“Lady Lavender, adored by her constituents and far removed from a life of piracy. If I weren’t on the verge of spilling your organs on the carpet, I’d say visit the farmer’s market on Tuesdays. You’ll see just how different her life is now.” His chin tilts in disagreement.

“The Marines say otherwise.”

“What do you say?” A minute tilt of your wrist angles your saber so that the point now resides under his sharply defined jawline. “Hmm, hunter? Any opinions in that thick skull of yours or are you just another mindless government weapon?” 

“You understand nothing,” he mutters like an indignant teenager, looking off to the side woefully. It makes your blood boil.

“Try me,” you snarl at the green-haired stranger. In another life, you’d have thought him pretty handsome, if you weren’t so infuriated by his indifferent sense of justice. He knew nothing about you, or the Lady, or what either of you had to endure to create a sense of safety. Safety, you would add, that you weren’t going to give up easily. 

“This woman you serve, what are you to her? A caretaker? A child?” 

“A friend,” you answer cautiously. “Something your line of work would know nothing about.” 

“The Marines know that your friend murdered the former governor and seized the island in an act of desperation,” he informs you with a note of condescension. “They’ve wanted her gone for ten years, and I am here to collect her head. It’s not personal; it’s business.” The incorrectness of his information is laughable, but what concerns you more is the ease with which he talks of taking lives. 

“You don’t feel any sort of remorse for the targets you kill?” The anger in your stomach starts to rub against a different, unwanted influx of sorrow. After witnessing the change in a ruthless pirate empress, you refused to believe a human could be this heartless. 

“I don’t dwell on them long enough to care. Most of the time, they do something stupid that makes it a little easier to dispose of them.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong about her,” you recover, pressing the blade against his skin on the brink of drawing blood. He winces, squirming against the wallpaper for some sort of relief. You don’t budge. “The former mayor was a half-brother whom she reconnected with after Gold Roger’s execution. His death was caused by a misdosage of medicine used to treat hemorrhoids he’d suffered with since he was twenty. On his deathbed, he made her promise to take care of this city...” You inhale, focusing on the man in front of you. His expression is soft, nothing like you would have expected from a feared killer-for-hire. He was actually listening to you. 

“Go on.”

“And to take care of me. I have the great pirate hunter at the end of my blade, so she must not have done that bad of a job at either request.” He’s silent for a moment and you watch the cogs turn in his brain, hoping he’d find some humanity and realize that killing the Lady isn’t just pointless, it’s fundamentally wrong. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that I need money.” Nevermind, then. Backup plan it is. 

“I understand that,” you concede, and you remove your weapon from his neck. His hands are on the hilts of his swords instantly, but he doesn’t draw them. He could kill both you and the Lady in a single swing, but he doesn’t. Maybe you did reach a different side of him. “That's why I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with pirat–” he starts, but abruptly cuts himself off when you raise your eyebrows in expectation. Did you not learn anything from what I just told you? His face contorts in confusion, as if his mind was at odds with what his body was telling him to do. After carefully schooling his expression into blankness, he stands to his full height, rolling a broad shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re aware of the Blue Ringed crew, yes?”

“Famous for their poisons, I’ve heard,” he confirms and you nod. “They cover every inch of their ship in toxins and wear special clothing to prevent contact with their skin. Makes it hard to sneak up on them.”

“Exactly. See, you’re not as uneducated as you look,” you tease and you feel your face heat when he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s so boyish and immature, in stark contrast to the handsome, god-bodied man that faces you. “I happen to have a counteragent, enough for you to get on their ship and collect three times the amount if you killed us tonight.” 

“And what would you get in return?”

“The sound of your boots walking off the property and never returning,” you whisper a little desperately, pleading with him to leave your perfect peace intact and forget this altercation ever happened. The quiet in the room as he ponders your offer is suffocating save for the gentle snores of Lady Lavender. Eventually, he takes your deal, inspecting the powder-filled vial when you bring it to him on the front porch. 

“How do I use it if it’s powder?”

“Mix it with lotion to help soak it faster into your skin. When your skin is dry, you’ll have roughly an hour to navigate the boat completely immune to the poison. It’s sweat resistant but will wash off with seawater, so take care not to get thrown overboard,” you instruct him, crossing your arms across your chest against the chilly ocean air blowing in from the south. It was breezier than normal and you regret not grabbing a sweater. Unless you wanted to freeze your ass off, you needed to finish this debacle quickly. “Kill the pirates, get your bounty, and leave us the hell alone. Deal?” 

“Fine by me.” He carefully places the vial in the pocket of his pants and begins his descent down the front walkway. Before you can turn back into the house, however, his voice reaches your ears so lightly you think you’d hallucinated it. “Stay warm.” 

He doesn’t end up keeping his side of the deal. A few days after your initial altercation, he approaches the house again in broad daylight holding a box about the size of your hand. You stare at him in disbelief, reading in the nook of your window and he has the audacity to smirk at you when he spots you looking. 

“I thought we had a deal, pirate hunter,” you remind him when you open the front door of the house. It was infuriating how good he looked for having just returned from a pursuit, dressed up in fine fabrics with his hair combed back nicely. The irony was palpable, the situation not unlike the stories the Lady told you about the numerous men who attempted to court her. They appeared at the same front door with flowers, rubies, and promises of devotion, but none of them actually wanted her heart. In contrast, you wanted to stab the heart of the idiot in front of you. 

“Stop calling me that,” he frowns and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your mouth. “My name is Roronoa Zoro–”

“Oh, sorry,” you interject and his eyebrows furrow at your lack of manners. “Am I just supposed to act like you’re my friend now? After you tried to kill my boss?” 

“I thought we were past that,” he states bluntly.

“That was four days ago.” 

“It’s enough time to move on.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head in disbelief, slightly puzzled at the giddy feeling in your chest when the faintest smile appears on his face. “What’s that?” You gesture to the rosewood box in his fingers. 

“Consider it an apology,” he says, holding out the box for you to take, “for bothering you the other night.” 

“How chivalrous.” You eye the box warily, still unsure about the enigmatic bounty hunter before you. “But we don’t need nor want your money.”

“It’s not money. Just open the damn box,” he grunts impatiently and you begrudgingly oblige, sliding back the top panel to reveal a bracelet. It wasn’t like any other bracelet you’d seen before, a gold chain garnished with a single deep green emerald barely the size of your pinky fingernail. It was delicate and elegant, subtle enough not to draw attention but luxurious enough to make you feel spoiled. “Do you like it?”

“I do, actually. The color is pretty,” you reply slowly, still slightly in shock. “Why green?”

“Take a wild guess.” He smirks again and your gaze flicks up to his hair. It was just as vibrant as the gemstone and he watched you carefully as the pieces clicked into place. With the bracelet, you’d be forced to think of him every time you looked at it or anything the color green. What kind of guy buys a momento for almost killing you, you had no idea.

“You didn’t need to bring me this. I thought the deal was–”

“I remember what the deal was, but I felt bad making you stand outside shivering while you explained how the counteragent functioned.” Your eyes widen slightly at his admission. He noticed you reacting to the wind, so how intensely was he watching you that night? If he sees your surprise, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to explain why he brought you the gift in the first place. “The powder worked, by the way. I snagged this from the captain’s chambers on my way out.” 

“You stole this because you saw me get cold?” He merely shrugs, clearly unbothered. 

“I mean, yeah. You looked miserable.”

“I was miserable.” He smiles slightly again, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. It makes your heart stutter against your wishes. “Does this mean we’re even now, pirate hunter?”

“Call me Zoro and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll consider it?” 

“Holding a sword to someone’s throat is a major transgression that can’t be forgiven so easily,” he taunts and you roll your eyes. “Let me start over, meet you properly without the involvement of weapons.”

“You really want to see me again?” He scoffs at your question as if the answer wasn't crystal clear.

“What, bringing you a bracelet wasn’t obvious enough? I’ll have to bring the entire ship next time. Might take a little longer to get back to you.”

“Get off my porch, Roronoa Zoro,” you laugh, reaching out to push his shoulder away and feeling every inch of his skin against your fingers in the brief moment your bodies touch. “Don’t come back unless you have something important to say.” 

“I think you’ll soon find out what I prioritize as important.”

[cozycottagetarot]

What Do They Daydream About You?

How To Pick A Pile:

Everyone has their own technique for choosing a 'pile'. My recommendation is to clear your mind and focus on each image for a few seconds. The image you find yourself coming back to even when you focus on the other images is the pile for you.

Quick notes on this reading:

I'm experimenting with a different style. -- I've been working on shorter, less structured, formal pacs (and some longer ones). I'm not sure how I feel about it but I'd like to hear your thoughts too!

I apologise for any errors. -- My immune system and I have literally been at war for weeks, so know if there are any errors, I probably missed it while wincing in pain. 😅

It's purely for entertainment purposes. -- Don't think I need to explain more. Take what resonates be it all of it, some of it or none at all.

PILE 1

14:44 as I pulled the last card, maybe 444 is of importance to you at the moment. Knight in shining armour vibes. Noble acts or intentions of just sweeping you off your feet. Introducing you to their friends and or family. Daydreams of big celebrations of being with you, internally and externally. For some, they daydream about celebrating the news of having a child with you. Finding peace after long struggles... starting anew with you. Domestic bliss, as in chilling at home with someone you love, not doing much of anything. Or simply enjoying the mundane tasks together. Going for walks. Having a cup of tea or coffee together. Peppering your skin with kisses... maybe physical touch is their love language. The ghost of their fingertips on your skin. Heart-to-heart conversations. Falling into a routine with you. The magic of embarking on new beginnings with you.

PILE 2

North Star Vibes. Holding out hope that they make it to you. Trying to make life better so they can show up for you. They daydream about how you make them stronger, about you being a good influence on them. It's like the thought of you soothes them when they're struggling. Dreaming that happiness is coming in the form of you. Lots of fiery energy. You're a symbol of hope. Rediscovering what they had lost with you. Feels like someone who has been through a lot. Playfulness. Daydreaming about you is embodying those feelings that seem long forgotten. I know I keep repeating the same thing over and over, but I'm not getting anything more than that (even when I go back to the literal meaning of the cards) so I pulled some love messages. There's the cards 'twin flame', 'finding myself' and 'still listening'. My interpretation is that daydreaming about you holds a mirror up to themselves which inspires them to look deeper within and figure out what they want and who they want to be. They could also find solace in music, they may have a song or playlist that makes them feel more connected to you.

PILE 3

If you were drawn to pile 2, consider checking out that pile as well too. 333. The number 3 could hold some sort of significance.

Dreaming of an equal. Someone to keep them balanced and bring a new perspective. They could feel as though (or know) some kind of scrutiny is possible, but they spend their time dreaming of overcoming it. There could be cultural differences or for some it's a matter of being in a same-sex relationship or anything that goes against what may be more commonly accepted. If it's of any significance, the red string of fate (two different decks mention it). Power couple vibes. Being able to maintain a sense of youthfulness in the relationship. Someone who won't try to take advantage of them, who'll push them to be better and vice versa, who'll look out for them. Someone to heal with and understand that they are still healing. They could dream of having a child with you or starting a family in whatever format that may look like to both of you. Daydreams of warmth & protection. Giving and receiving. You could possibly meet at a concert or connect over music.

PILE 4

I did a repull to make sure I was reading the cards right (it was stormy) and the same cards came out after reshuffling (minus one card). I feel like this person has been reborn. Who they were is not who they are now (or when you meet them). They could daydream of being divinely guided towards you. Someone spiritual or religious. At the very least finding a connection with something (a concept) greater than them. Daydreams of being guided towards happiness. They had a teardown and rebuild of who they are. They could be from a different location, you could meet when travelling across a large body of water. It feels like they're dreaming of coming in hot. They're paving the way for their happy ending. Take it as you will, but instead of a 'damsel in distress' (regardless of gender, it's just women on the cards depicting forging on) type of story, it's one of those ones where it's like "you know what, I'll save myself and I'll chase after my happy ending". Actually, I get a-spec vibes as well and that this person could be a platonic love or a strong platonic bond. It could even be you respectively. But the energy is one of being inspired and ever-lasting bonds. A new resolve, coming home to oneself, resting in the knowledge that the future is going to be good because you'll make it so.

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 19: The Knightly Sea Prince

polo-drone-065 asked:

Would you do like a chav meets a posh boy

Ah, the UK, one of the longest running democracies still in existence, and yet still has a Royal Family. And it is an old one. Many treat the birth year of the British royals as 1066 when William I took control, but they go deeper being able to trace themselves back to Cerdic of Wessex. That meant that this land has been influenced by the progeny of one man for over 1500 years.

As such, England & Scotland would develop a quite rigid society on the social side of things. Your station was not determined by wealth or any actual contribution to society, but what family you are born into & who you marry with. This leads to the creation of the Nobility: scions of Kings & Queens who never took the throne, next the Aristocrats: people who got in the good graces of a monarch to receive a rank & title.

And then there was everyone else.

Unless one got into a royal government, moving up socially or economically was hard. And while the functions of everyday government was eventually handed over to the people, the previous system persisted. A stark reminder that no matter how high you climb, there is always a ceiling.

Despite the wide strides made within recent times, there are those who have yet to catch their lucky break. And within those groups is a section of of young men with poor prospects who have banded together for protection. They aren't gang members, but they are stereotyped as being socially uncouth & wearing sportswear.

Being treated as the rough unwanted members of British society has made them the perfect target. They spend a lot of time outdoors in the streets trying to find something to do between job interview or promotion failures, and with all of that untapped & unused testosterone concentrated in an given area with the masculine aspects of British culture: you get a lot physical violence. When compared to their much more pampered & curated preppy counter parts, these men tend to be more physically dominate, and without centuries of rigid structure imposed on their fighting ability like you would in say fencing, they are able to adjust better to changing conditions.

The aristocrats love this. Their society rules makes it hard to for them to have much in the way of street smarts, and the pampered lifestyle can induce other bad habits. And so untold numbers of these poor men have been captured & assimilated into the young heirs of these landed peoples.

Here is Peter Montague-Pandall:

Slated to be the 22nd Earl of Salcombe.

One wouldn't think that a small coastal resort town like Salcombe would have anyone struggling. But every place has someone who is struggling. With resort towns, most people not business owners are forced to either go into fishing, farming, or into a service role. And while there is a lot of money that flows through, the pay for onsite workers can be bad & the rich clientele are notorious bad tippers.

Most with no prospects outside of cleaning the poop deck, move out via university or the military, and this has kept the local population low. But there are some who don't even have the option.

For Peter he grew up here, his family has been here for centuries. Granted monopolies long ago for saving some medieval king in the heat of battle, their solider founder ancestor set them up for life through bravery.

But like many such families, they all, aside from those who kept a strong military service tradition, lose their edge.

The inbreeding & a couple generations of gambling addictions should have layed the Montague-Pandall's low like the Fulfords, but they were able to course correct early enough.

The Pandalls were connected enough to learn about how the nobility would occasionally assimilate the strongest palace servants or guards to strengthen the family while still keeping up the bad practices that they do. But, they did not have enough power to get one of these necklaces that facilitate this. The fountain that birthed the method in Greece was not infinite in its waters.

A new method was found among those families, and they made a plan. They would make sure that some in their respective towns & cities were kept poor & working class, and unable to move up the ladder. The strongest born of this would be used to strengthen their heirs when the time was needed.

The Pandalls had a tradition that each heir & one spare would be merged with one of these people. The end result of constantly bringing in new DNA, new ideas & perspectives, and new skills would create a long chain of Earls stronger than the last. One result of this is that the Pandalls gained an reputation for being rather hot among their peers. And on top of this, they were more liberal with who they married.

Peter was not only the top of his school's social circle due to his family, but due to his good looks. What the average person didn't know is that untold numbers of people were absorbed into his male ancestors to create this town's Adonis. And if the traditions held, his sons would be born with similar physical gifts.

The Pandells were careful on who they selected, but they eventually paired Peter up with someone.

Here is Jaxon:

He has dreams of leaving his hometown for something different. He likes to go to the beach and stare out west towards America. A land said to be of much better opportunity. But it is a land where you can also fall harder.

But Jaxon is a bit more upright about his future. He is best friends with Peter, son of the Mayor, scion of the richest family within the area.

While they don't help his family with things like bills or food, they have always made sure he was clothed. And so for among his sports clothing wearing brethren, he always had the highest quality. This of course caused conflict. His peers were jealous of this, and so he got into a lot of fights growing up. And that constant fighting forged him into a warrior.

It was the summer after graduation. Jaxon was going to join the Royal Navy. Peter was bound for Cambridge University.

Jaxon & Peter were inside Peter's bedroom. From what Jaxon understood, Peter had a graduation & parting gift for him.

Peter was at the entrance facing the door staring at the door knob. He knew what he had to do. His father did this at his age, so did his grandfather and so forth. But he liked Jaxon. Did he really have to assimilate him. He tried to persuade his father to chose someone else. Someone with no personal history.

He locked the door & turned to Jaxon who was sitting in a desk chair.

"I love you," Jaxon said. Jaxon was always straight to the point. Trying to weasel yourself out of a situation in the streets would get your teeth knocked out too often.

Peter, who was walking towards Jaxon, paused. Did he just confess to Peter.

"I do too, like a brother of course," Peter responded.

Jaxon stood up & gave Peter a hard expression that softened a little.

"I like you a bit more than that," Jaxon said.

Peter took out a small rounded cylindrical vial that contained a yellow fluid.

The fluid was how the aristocratic families without a necklace merged with others. It took some research, firstly by going to the source, and doing decades if not a century more of alchemical, and then chemistry related research. As it turned out, human to human fusion was one of the secret goals of alchemy.

Peter quickly opened the vial and swallowed the liquid.

"What is that," Jaxon asked.

"Liquid luck after what I just walked myself into," Peter said.

"Why are you confessing to me now," he asked.

"You saw how every girl in our school wanted to climb me, and yet I never responded," Jaxon replied.

"I thought being near me was enough to not get you to end up in paternity court," Peter said.

"I would gladly go to court if you were the other parent. I wanted you climb and explore me so badly, but I know someone in your position would never be able to act if you felt the same way," Jaxon said.

"You could have as-"

"Shut up my Sea Prince, I am not done. I am telling you now, because I am leaving this place. Your dad gave me the funds to travel to go to basic training. I am going to see the world, meet new people, and maybe fall in love again. Next time, with someone who isn't so blind. But I wanted to let you know that I no matter what happens after I leave town, that you will always be my first love," Jaxon said.

A silence fell the room.

"That's a lot of words coming from you," Peter said.

Peter started walking towards Jaxon. He soon face to face with Jaxon. Or he would be. Peter was 6'1. Jaxon was 6'5.

"I guess you are influencing me a little bit," Jaxon said.

This was it, maybe he could answer Jaxon's feelings through what he was about to do.

Jaxon closed his eyes & moved to kiss Peter. He was forceful about it, pressed too hard. Peter backed up a little bit, but stayed connected. Jaxon then moved to hold and caress Peter's forearms. This eventually moved into a full embrace. For Jaxon this was the first & last time he would embrace his first true love.

He let go, or tried to. His mouth wouldn't come unstuck and his hands started to sink into Peter's back. He opened his eyes quickly. He knew what Peter was trying to do. But rather than fight back, he gave in.

Peter was scared, he couldn't get a full look at Jaxon's face given his physical position relative to Jaxon's, but the eyes told all. A fierce anger like a Tiger fully committed to killing its prey after said prey tried to fight back in vain was shone through his eyes. Peter fully expected Jaxon to pull back violently and physically rip their faces, but the opposite happened.

Jaxon pushed in. It felt good too. As Jaxon moved into Peter's body, a wave of ecstasy filled his body, but that was mixed with fear. It was only a few minutes, but 60% of Jaxon was mixed into Peter. Jaxon sank more and Peter felt bloated. Their skulls had merged, and Peter lost his facial features. He was a blank skin colored canvas.

All that was left of Jaxon on the outside was his shoulders, chest, abs, & back. Peter tried moving, but it was hard. Each step pulled Jaxon in more & more. The shoulders were gone. More steps. The abs and lower back. He was now in front of his bed and as he reached it, all of Jaxon was consumed.

Peter felt weird. He didn't just feel bloated, he felt Jaxon's mass move inside him. Constantly swirling & flowing, like a river without end.

And then it happened.

Peter's body mass quickly shrunk away. Ribs sticking out, skin hanging off the bones of his arms & legs. Abs gave way to the general shape of his spine. He was like a skeleton draped in skin, but no facial features.

Peter woke up in a completely white space. He was laying on a nice sofa and he was in his fully healthy body again. He quickly undid his shirt, and his muscles were all there.

Was what just happened a dream? A nightmare? But no, he doesn't know of rooms where the area was an featureless white void. He thought about it again. Based on what he was taught by his family both directly & in his records, he was in his mind space. It dawned on him.

He really tried to assimilate his best friend & would be lover Jaxon.

Peter got out of his thoughts when he remembered Jaxon. He knew what was going on; the mental merge. Where was Jaxon?

"I AM RIGHT HERE YOU PAMPERED DONKEY OF A MAN," Jaxon yelled:

Jaxon was now visible to him. Why was he in his boxer briefs? Peter wondered.

"I had an idea of what you money grubbing, self important monsters were doing. I know of a couple of mates who disappeared, all who had help from you lot like...like," he said in an angry & then confused tone.

He couldn't remember exactly who got assimilated. As he thought harder, his memories of them faded away, moving further out of reach. This was by design. The one assimilated would face some form of historical erasure. Some completely, others had aspects of their history smashed into the intended beneficiary.

"Wait, I didn't want to do this-"

"Why didn't you just choose someone else. Pick someone else with nothing to look forward to. I had an option, your family gave it to me," Jaxon roared.

"You know how set in their ways my family can be," Peter said.

"All the help, the great treatment when I came around, and putting ideas into my head. I was just a pig for the slaughter. Tell me, my fate was sealed the moment we met wasn't it," Jaxon asked.

Peter darted his eyes away from Jaxon.

"Yes," he said sadly.

"DONT LOOK AWAY FROM ME, THAT IS NOT THE MAN I LOVE, NOT THE PERSON WORTHY OF BEING ONE WITH ME," Jaxon screamed.

Peter looked back at Jaxon. He noticed that his mental space had changed. It was now a luxury hotel. He realized what had happened.

His father set him up.

He started to become aware of his body in the real world. The emaciated look was due to Jaxon fighting back so strongly on a mental level. The process didn't know which way to go. Not until they resolved who would dominate.

Peter pulled himself together.

"Listen, I know you want to beat me to a pulp, but let me explain. We are giving you a chance," Peter said.

"If that was the case, we would be taking each other's cherries on your bed right now, but instead you tried to use me like meal supplement," Jaxon said. He was much calmer. He wanted to know of this "chance".

"Normally, people who are chosen to be assimilated are knocked out cold, chemically or physically, and then given further drugs to weaken their mental fortitude," Peter said.

"Why," Jaxon asked.

"You had a glimpse of my world, do any of the stuck up pricks I am forced to hang out with seem to have the mental strength or personality to take you guys over fairly," Peter said.

"Absolutely not, you over patted sheep break down at the simplest of inconveniences. Why wasn't this done to me? As you can see, you are doing a bad job of dominating me," Jaxon asked.

"My father probably set this up. My guess is that he wants me to earn this new me. Perhaps due to the subtle influence of whoever he absorbed. Their own way of giving you a fighting chance when they didn't," Peter said.

Peter was fully committed to letting Jaxon take over. His form of apology.

Peter got up, ready to get pummeled and be an aspect of Jaxon.

Jaxon was soon right up to Peter's face.

Those eyes were full of anger, but they soon softened into Jaxon's normal stoic face, but they were a little tinged with worry.

"You knucklehead," Jaxon said. Before Peter could respond, Jaxon kissed him again in their mental space. Unlike the last time, there was no mixing of bodies. They were soon in an embrace. They slowly fell back into the couch and made love. In each thrust from Jaxon, Peter could feel Jaxon's emotions flow into him. His love, his worry, his anger, his confusion, and his acceptance. Mentally, this lasted for hours. In the real world a few seconds.

"Did we just..., bang mentally," Peter asked.

"Another round? Want to try being the top this time," Jaxon said confidently.

Surprisingly, they did it again, but in the way Jaxon suggested.

The couch that hosted this activity twice was in shambles. Peter looked back at the mess and was blushing. He didn't know he had that DAWG in him.

"What do we do now," Jaxon asked.

"Go through that door and live your life. Don't worry about me, I will gladly sacrifice myself so that you can see the world," Peter said.

Jaxon took Peter's hand & made the rest of him follow. Before Peter could protest, they both were a few feet from the door.

"What are you doing," Peter asked.

"I am not going to do to you what you just tried to do to me my Sea Prince. Since we can't come unstuck, let's walk this new us together as equals," Jaxon said.

Peter teared up and then wiped his eyes.

"You would agree to something like that after everything," Peter asked.

"Yes, outside from trying to eat me, everything you did for me made my life more bearable. Even if I had to fight more because it made me stick out more in streets," Jaxon said.

"Your father was right in picking me, you would be useless out there without me guiding you. But once we step through this together, we will be guiding each other, or guiding the new us," Jaxon said.

Peter let out a deep breath.

They both walked through the door.

Peter didn't dominate Jaxon, and Jaxon didn't dominate Peter. This meant that they would be reborn a new person.

The mass that was Peter began to show signs of life again.

It was no longer Peter though. Peter & Jaxon decided to walk the earth as equals. It was still deciding on its name though.

A liquid flowed through it's heavily constricted veins. It was DNA. Peter & Jaxon's DNA had broke down & mixed into a new structure. This new structure was being distributed throughout its soon to be new body.

Though it had no mouth yet, it moaned.

Starting with his feet, then his legs, chest, shoulders, arms, hands, and neck loud pops could be heard in that order. Immediately following the large pops in each body part, muscle exploded in those areas.

As the buttocks grew, you could hear the noise of stretched rubber, and its jewels were big like Jaxon's, but long & girthy like Peter's. Hair grew around the base.

Its stomach expanded in waves, doubling in mass each time. Soon it stopped growing after the third wave and began to restrict. An eight pack was forming with boulders for abdominal stones.

As the skin in the stomach restricted, the rest of the body followed, the result was a more vascular body than what Jaxon had.

Jaxon & Peter were quite compatible and this resulted in a new wave of muscle growth all over that made him more massive than Jaxon as well.

The formless face began to have features again. He had Jaxon's eyes, but softer. Jaxon's skull shape, but rounder. Peter's mouth, but more flush with pink. He had a combination of their noses & eyebrows. Jaxon's chin, Peter's ears. His hair texture & color were from Peter. but the volume was from Jaxon.

He let out a loud yell like a roar.

He was breathing heavily. Then he opened his eyes. It was time to meet his father.

He busted into his father's study unannounced.

"Hello son. Which one are you. Jaxon or Peter," he asked in a monotone manner. He also took a quick glance at the hinges of the door that guard his private study. They were bent at different angles. He was belated; he had strength beyond reasoning.

"I am both. I am Owen Montague-Pandall," Owen responded.

".... Good," the father said.

"You knew, you knew they wouldn't dominate each other," Owen said.

"It was obvious that Jaxon was in love with Peter when they turned 13. The boy was stealing too many glances at Peter once puberty kicked in. I figured they would mutually...mix. A reward for both. Jaxon can live his life with Peter as one, and hopefully you will do your duty and engender the next generation in the future. Tell me, do you like girls or boys," the father asked.

Owen mused for a bit.

"Both," Owen answered. Owen turned to leave.

Good enough the father thought.

"A reward for what though," Owen asked.

"I am aware that Jaxon would defend & protect Peter when he couldn't. Peter was good with a fencing blade, but everyday street fights were not his foray. Jaxon was his knight,' the father said.

Owen continued his walk out of the room.

"Are you not going to knock me out? You sure did a number on my door. I hated that door," the father said.

Owen turned his head.

"Like you said, they found a way to make this crap sandwich into one hiding gold. I can tell you, they are humming happily deep in my subconscious," Owen said.

"Your plans for the future," the father asked.

Owen smiled and walked away. He didn't utter a word.

Owen went to Cambridge like Peter was planning to:

He would spend enough time there & then go join the navy like Jaxon wanted. He would finish school through the methods that the military allowed him to. He would be both scholar & warrior. And like Jaxon, he would get to travel the world.

He would need to. Jaxon & Peter found the easy way out by merging, but now Owen would have to find his first true love, and not try to devour them this time.

Plenty of fish, in the Navy.

He also made sure that Jaxon's original family was taken care of. No more getting eaten by some elitist idiot.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you have any recommendations for TTRPGs where Body Horror is a central theme or mechanic? Preferably ones where themes like loss of agency or control over one's body are the focus. Thank you!!

THEME: Body Horror (Part 2!)

Hello there, I’m going to start by providing a link to the Body Horror recommendation post I put up back in 2022, before I move on to new recommendations!

Mutant Monster Machine Girls, by babblegumsam.

In MUTANT MONSTER MACHINE GIRLS, you play as a member of "The Girls", a group of queer misfits fighting against an oppressive anarcho-capitalist state ruled by The Corporation. 

Each of you fights against them because all your lives have been ruined by The Man Responsible, a dangerous and cruel servant of The Corporation. Because of his actions and the nature of your evolutions, you can no longer return to your previous lives and the people you love.

Your only solution? Exact your ultraviolent revenge on him and bring peace to the city by force!

The Mutant part of Mutant Monster Machine Girls is pretty heavy on the body horror, although I think the other character options certainly have possibilities. Babblegumsam has a fondness for weaving trauma and emotion into many of their works, so you’ll likely find a lot of feelings about exploration and loss in this one. The game system uses a modified PbtA system, which gives you tokens that you can spend to add modifiers to your roll. (This same mechanic can be found in Apocalypse Keys!)

Soul Burner, by World Champ Game Co.

Soul Burner is a standalone tabletop role-playing game of adventuring ashen corpses wandering a volcanic ghostland in service of the gods of fate, protecting the timeline from imminent disaster by manifesting fractured memories to shape the world to their will.

Compatible with Mork Borg and inspired by Necronautilus, this game acts as a bridge between worlds of violent dark fantasy and stoner metal science fantasy.

Soul Burner embeds body horror both into the characters you play and the creatures you come across, using MORK BORG rules and depicting your characters as merely remnants of who they used to be. You will find creatures overgrown by fungi, desperate cannibals, and lava-worshipping cultists in this book, evoking a grim and gritty fantasy setting. Your own characters are ever-changing, morphing and distorting whenever you gain a Reminder - pieces of who you are that give you mechanical advantages in the game.

FLËSHMØG, by Freak Flag Games.

FLËSHMØG: THE FLESH BEGINS TO EXERT ITS WILL UPON ITSELF

mäw of hëck: flëshmøg is a pen & paper body horror character creator. draw your hand, discover your body, and mutate your form.

This isn’t so much a game as it is a character-creation exercise. Using a deck of playing cards, you assemble cards as you randomly draw them to give yourself body parts, strengths, and adaptations according to the world around you. This might be an interesting exercise if you want to come up with a wretched home-brew character for MORK BORG, or if you want to design some kind of horror to pit against your players in another game.

Do Not Fear: In Death We Bloom, by Hella Big Claws.

Do Not Fear is a Forged In the Dark Tabletop Roleplaying game, about accepting the fleetingness of life; and using the strength that gives you in order to combat a growing stagnation.

Fight as a Hunter, a person who has been given a Gift of Bloom; a fungus like infection that allows for incredible strength and regenerative ability; in exchange for subsuming your flesh as you die.

Combat or save the Rusted; living creatures infected by a growing viral stagnation; marbling their bones and rusting their flesh; sculpting them into horrifyingly beautiful creations. Ascend the Tower; a large, multilayered structure which you call home. Interact with the factions and people within, as you set down roots.

As a fungus-infested person, the characters for Do Not Fear feel like prime candidates for body horror. Your characters have accepted that their fate will likely end in death, but only because they must if they are to save the world from a horrible plague. The game is built off of the same system as Blades in the Dark, but I think there’s been some tweaks here and there, because there are teasers to creatures and weapons that indicate hit-points and stats. The character abilities however, look really powerful and exciting. If you are a fan of Bloodborne, Hunter X Hunter, or Technoir, you might like this game.

Mutagenic Hive Swarm, by Atelier Hwei.

Waking up as a transdimensional insectoid reptilian has never been more fun!You are a stone age psychonaut apparently occupying the body of a Transdimensional Insectoid Reptile, a bug.

But who you were is less important than where you are: you must navigate the bloody, alien meatscape of the MUTAGENIC HIVE SWARM and find a way back to the Here & Now… before memories of who or what you fade completely.

Mutagenic Hive Swarm is all about playing bugs who are not really bugs - your characters have found themselves in the bodies of alien creatures, and will need to fight in order to hold onto their sense of self. Much of your character’s skills and effort will be directed towards trying to resist certain influences and changes, so I think the theme of loss of agency really shines through in this game. What you might really like is the d20 table of mutations that can threaten you every time your body changes. If you want a game where your character is more likely going to succumb to their changes than find a way out, you might want to check out Mutagenic Hive Swarm.

Other Games to Check Out

Wasted, by World Champ Game Co.

Bio-Drones & Cryo0Clones, by ChrisAir (for Mothership).

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1926 home in Carmel, CA is so big, but it only has 2bds and 4ba. It's unique and they're asking $2.888M. Maybe it's for the land, which is 2.50 acres.

Front door and small foyer.

The large living room has a big stone fireplace and a great view of the mountains from the huge window. I'm a pink lover, but I'm not feelin' the carpet.

I like this sitting room better b/c it has a tile floor. It also has a fireplace, but this one is brick, and there's a large chandelier. Notice how they face their chairs toward the window.

The kitchen is large and has 2 brick structures with tile accents.

Closeup of the kitchen island. This thing is here to stay, unless you want to take a sledghammer to it.

Now, this is weird- look at how far the oven is- it's on the other side of the island, and there's a little room that looks like a pantry, but the fridge is in there.

See the fridge? And, the cabinet on the other side houses an old, outdated stereo system- look at the big reel-to-reel tape player.

There's a hallway to the right, and look at the fancy stairs. Even a brick arch.

Bedroom #1. So fancy- the wallpaper, drapes, and bedding match. It's even on the ceiling.

And, check out the matching bath. The tub is so 70s.

The shower is also made of the pink and gold tile.

Down the hall is Bd. #2. Wow, an organ. Can you imagine if it starts playing in the middle of the night?

Interesting hall outside the 2nd bedroom. It has pocket doors, too. The theme is blue & green.

Maybe this is why they're selling, they have another bed squeezed in here. Not enough bedrooms.

I don't know what this is- looks like an apt. setup in here.

Another pass-thru with storage.

The house has lots of stained glass.

I wonder why they have the stairs blocked off on the left.

There are decks and terraces around the house, all with great mountain views.

The main attraction is the scenery. There's a small path here.

Looks like an abandoned shed.

Nice gate here and some wildflowers.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/27540-Mooncrest-Dr-Carmel-CA-93923/19372886_zpid/

[direquail]

My specific read on John is not that he's a nice guy, either. It's that, like any good character (specifically a tragic character, which, TM has said that he is modeled on a mythical tragic hero, so) he has a flaw that dooms him. And what that means is, when he has the choice to change what he's doing, that flaw either prevents him from taking the option he's aware of, or prevents him from being aware that there is another option altogether.

And so as a writer, what I look for are moments where either:

something good about a character becomes an excess that harms themselves or others

we receive information that shows a persistent blind spot a character has

we look for times when a character gives their view of the world/a situation and it Does Not Match Up with reality, or is hinted that it doesn't

we look for evidence of something simmering under the surface that clashes with their outward, agreeable presentation

What fills that role for John?

Yep.

When this first pops up, it's pretty easily dismissed as yet another layer on the falsehood he's propped up. Admittedly, he's been doing it for ten thousand years, so it's probably got a few layers to it.

However:

This one, to me, gives us a hint about what John is blind to: That his friends see his vindictiveness and his failings and that they could still love him. This is where it crosses into tragedy, for me; where his own inability to forgive blinds him to the capacity that other people have for generosity--and so, to a world where "justice" means more than "vengeance for the dead".

And this illuminates the whole chain of events that leads him to that climactic scene in Harrow the Ninth, telling Mercy that she never would have forgiven him anyways:

John is, at heart, deeply angry--like most characters in the series, and like a lot of people who grew up in poverty, especially if they managed to escape it. He also has some deep sense of justice, and deep sense of judgment.

So we have this cycle of related emotions and ideas: Justice, judgment, outrage. And a human measure of selfishness, amorality, double standards, etc.

In one situation, this allows him to throw himself completely into the cryo project, something that (if it hadn't been sabotaged politically) could have made a difference to humanity. He brings in people who work to make it even better, who demonstrably want to make the outcome as just and humane as possible. It's also implied that this is part of why he received those powers; "I chose you to change."

(And, I'll be honest, one of the other things that I see that chafes me is the implication that there was nothing about John to recommend him to the Earth. I'm actually of the opinion that there was; she chose him, and I don't think she just rolled a d100 or drew a card off a tarot deck and called him up. John is also still a human, flawed person.)

Then, the situation changes. It's no longer an issue of dedicating expertise to solve a problem; this is a political issue, and specifically of rich people using their resources to shift outcomes towards the one they think will benefit them the most, that will secure their survival, explicitly at the expense of everyone else.

And their strategy is, profoundly: short-sighted and unnecessary (pooling resources would help create a better outcome for everyone, including the rich, by reducing global trauma and preserving more of the systems that already structure their world); bigoted and uninformed (many rich people think that the world has to be a certain way, generally that the world is violent, competitive, dog-eat-dog, etc., and someone has to be "on top", and there will always have to be a loser, or lots of losers); and utterly cruel, unjust, and pointless.

And John--John, who grew up poor, who grew up aware of the despair around him and the injustice of his position and more than likely made use of that anger to achieve what he had up to this point--John is so angry.

Because they're all the same. They're all the same. It's the same song, over and over again, no matter how stupid and pointless and unnecessary. He is certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it doesn't have to be this way. He passes judgment.

But John is losing to them, because he doesn't have the resources they do. He can hate them and fight them all he wants, and it doesn't matter, because he's nowhere near in the same league as they are politically.

And then, after the cryo project is cancelled, he gains his powers.

The thing about anger and judgment is that the deeper it runs, often, the more invested the person who holds that anger in themselves is in not seeing what they hate in themselves. E.g: John has conceptualized the people he's resisting as fundamentally unjust, cruel, amoral, and bigoted. There's a very good chance--to different degrees, depending on the person--that becoming aware of similar traits in himself might wake up those feelings he has towards those other people--aimed at himself (that is, cognitive dissonance). He can't see the things he's passed judgment on in himself and function. He's not like them; he's trying to fix things, to bring about justice.

Of course, there's justice as in "living in a just society", and justice as in "justice for the dead". But that's a later realization, because right now, everyone is still alive.

So John hides those parts of himself; from himself, from other people. So thoroughly he can exclude it from his consciousness and pretend it doesn't exist. He thinks no one sees the real depth of his own rage, his own cutthroat pursuit of a solution. And then, when he can't pretend it doesn't exist, he can still pretend to be the man he thinks they need him to be. He can "fool" them. He can say--he's trying. He screwed up. He doesn't know what he's doing.

And then, Casseiopeia says, No, actually, we know you, and we know you're horribly vindictive. And we're on your side--we're on the same side--our fight is your fight--and we love you. But your drive for revenge is seriously limiting your ability to imagine and create a living, just world, and that's what we're fighting for. Remember? That's what we set out to create.

And John's brain can't quite handle this; he can't imagine that they could actually see him and still be on his side. Because he couldn't see that and still be on his side. He can't forgive; he can't imagine forgiveness.

He can't see the things he's passed judgment on in himself and function.

And, by this stage, in some ways, it's already too late to change course. But this is one of several "come to Jesus" (no pun intended) moments where John could become aware of alternatives, or could change his behavior--and doesn't.

And I think this is where we get that self-awareness from, the thing that makes him creepy and tragic but also infuriating: He is aware, but apparently that's not enough to stop him from being his worst self--so is he just pretending to be moral? Capable of making different choices but choosing not to? And the weird statements he makes later:

This is, imo, not a power-hungry dictator who genuinely doesn't care about the cost of his throne, or a gleefully predatory abuser. This is a dude who's committed to a course of action and doesn't feel great about it. This is a guy who has violated his own sense of justice and has to live with it.

This is a guy who set out to save the world, killed it, and now the only thing that's left to him is to avenge it.

And like, from a mythology standpoint, that is exactly what the Erinyes are, like the Furies and Alecto. They are not the justice of Apollo or Athena. They are screaming for blood. They are hunting their quarry to the ends of the universe. They are chthonic.

Again: This isn't what Cassieopeia or Christabel said to him. This is what John has said to himself. This came from him. This is a reflection of what he believes.

And it encapsulates, exactly, why he erased their memories. Why he took away their agency.

The difference between him and many, many people is he had the power of a god and no one to check him when he was struggling with his own worst impulses. And then, he created a world where no one could, not just because then he could do what he wanted and pretend to be kind and loving and moral, but so that he would never have to lose the love of the people he needed.

Because, unfortunately, he still needed them.

It just took ten thousand years for the lie to unravel.

[kcg69]

The SS Edmund Fitzgerald was a Great Lakes freighter built by Great Lakes Engineering Works of Ecorse, Michigan, and launched on June 7, 1958. Here are the detailed specifications and description of the ship:

length overall: 729 feet

length between perpendiculars: 711 feet

breadth molded: 75 feet

depth molded to spar deck amidship: 39 feet

draft (designed summer draft): 26 feet, 6.5 inches

gross tonnage: 13,632 tons

deadweight capacity: 25,891 gross tons

service speed: 16 mph

power: 7,500 shaft horsepower

engine manufacturer: Westinghouse Electric Corporation

registry number: US 277437

hull number: 301

The Edmund Fitzgerald was designed to carry taconite iron ore pellets from mines near Duluth, Minnesota, to steel mills in the Great Lakes region. The ship was noted for its luxurious interior, including deep pile carpeting, tiled bathrooms, leather swivel chairs in the guest lounge, and two guest staterooms for passengers. It featured advanced nautical equipment for its time, including a large galley and a fully stocked pantry.

On November 10, 1975, the ship sank in a severe storm on Lake Superior, approximately 17 miles north-northwest of Whitefish Point, Michigan. All 29 crew members perished, and the exact cause of the sinking remains unknown, though it is speculated that the ship may have suffered from structural failure, topside damage, or grounding on a shoal.

The wreck was located in deep water, split into two large pieces. The sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald led to changes in Great Lakes shipping regulations, including mandatory survival suits, depth finders, positioning systems, increased freeboard, and more frequent inspections of vessels.

[zedecksiew]

How To Play The Revolution

So: I do not like the idea of TTRPGs making formal mechanics designed to incentivise ethical play.

But, to be honest, I do not like the idea of any single game pushing any particular formal mechanics about ethical play at all.

So here I am, trying to think through the reasons why, and proposing a solution. (Sort of. A procedure, really.)

+

Assumptions:

1.

Some genres of game resist ethical play. A grand strategy game dehumanises people into census data. The fun of a shooter is violence. This is truest in videogames, but applies to tabletop games also.

Games can question their own ethics, to an extent. Terra Nil is an anti-city-builder. But it is a management game at heart, so may elide critiques of "efficiency = virtue".

Not all games should try to design for ethical play. I believe games that incentivise "bad" behaviour have a lot to teach us about those behaviours, if you approach them with eyes open.

2.

The systems that currently govern our real lives are terrible: oligarchy, profit motive; patriarchy, nation-states, ethno-centrisms. They fuel our problems: class and sectarian strife, destruction of climate and people, spiritual desertification.

They are so total that the aspiration to ethical behaviour is subsumed by their logics. See: social enterprise; corpos and occupying forces flying rainbow flags; etc.

Nowadays, when I hear "ethical", I don't hear "we remember to be decent". I hear "we must work to be better". Good ethics is radical transformation.

3.

If a videogame shooter crosses a line for you, your only real response is to stop playing. This is true for other mechanically-bounded games, like CCGs or boardgames.

In TTRPGs, players have the innate capability to act as their own referees. (even in GM-ed games adjudications are / should be by consensus.) If you don't like certain aspects of a game, you could avoid it---but also you could change it.

Only in TTRPGs can you ditch basic rules of the game and keep playing.

+

So:

D&D's rules are an engine for accumulation: more levels, more power, more stuff, more numbers going up.

If you build a subsystem in D&D for egalitarian action, but have to quantify it in ways legible to the game's other mechanical parts---what does that mean? Is your radical aspiration feeding into / providing cover for the game's underlying logics of accumulation?

At the very least it feels unsatisfactory---"non-representative of what critique / revolution entails as a rupture," to quote Marcia, in conversations we've been having around this subject, over on Discord.

How do we imagine and represent rupture, to the extent that the word "revolution" evokes?

My proposal: we rupture the game.

+++

How To Play The Revolution

Over the course of play, your player-characters have decided to begin a revolution:

An armed struggle against an invader; overturning a feudal hierarchy; a community-wide decision to abandon the silver standard.

So:

Toss out your rule book and sheets.

And then:

Keep playing.

You already know who your characters are: how they prefer to act; what they are capable of; how well they might do at certain tasks; what their context is. You and your group are quite capable of improv-ing what happens next.

Of course, this might be unsatisfactory; you are here to play a TTRPG, after all. Structures are fun. Therefore:

Decide what the rules of your game will be, going forward.

Which rules you want to keep. Which you want to discard. Jury-rig different bits from different games. Shoe-horn a tarot deck into a map-making game---play that. Be as comprehensive or as freeform as you like. Patchwork and house-rule the mechanics of your new reality.

The god designer will not lead you to the revolution. You broke the tyranny of their design. You will lead yourself. You, as a group, together. The revolution is DIY.

+++

Notes:

This is mostly a thought experiment into a personal obsession. I am genuinely tempted to write a ruleset just so I can stick the above bit into it as a codified procedure.

I am tickled to imagine how the way this works may mirror the ways revolutions have played out in history.

A group might already have alternative ruleset in mind, that they want to replace the old ruleset with wholesale. A vanguard for their preferred system.

Things could happen piecemeal, progressively. Abandon fiat currency and a game's equipment price list. Adopt pacifism and replace the combat system with an alternative resolution mechanic. As contradictions pile up, do you continue, or revert?

Discover that the shift is too uncomfortable, too unpredictable, and default back to more familiar rules. The old order reacting, reasserting itself.

+

I keep returning to this damn idea, of players crossing thresholds between rulesets through the course of play. The Revolution is a rupture of ethical reality like Faerie or the Zone is a rupture in geography.

But writing all this down is primarily spurred by this post from Sofinho talking about his game PARIAH and the idea that "switching games/systems mid-session" is an opportunity to explore different lives and ethics:

Granted this is not an original conceit (I'm not claiming to have done anything not already explored by Plato or Zhuangzi) but I think it's a fun possibility to present to your players: dropping into a parallel nightmare realm where their characters can lead different lives and chase different goals.

+

Jay Dragon tells me she is already exploring this idea in a new game, Seven Part Pact:

"the game mechanics are downright oppressive but also present the capacity to sunder them utterly, so the only way to behave ethically is to reject the rules of the game and build something new."

VINDICATION! If other designers are also thinking along these lines this means the idea isn't dumb and I'm not alone!

+++

( Images:

https://forum.paradoxplaza.com/forum/developer-diary/victoria-3-dev-diary-23-fronts-and-generals.1497106/

https://www.thestranger.com/race/2017/04/05/25059127/if-you-give-a-cop-a-pepsi

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WarGames

https://nobonzo.com/

https://pangroksulap.com/about/ )

[astra-ravana]

Bones In Magick And Divination

The long-standing tradition of using skulls and bones in magick dates back ages, yet it is a topic often overlooked in modern witchcraft, leaving many unsure of how to incorporate them. There are many excellent ways to use these mystical objects and their potent energy within your craft.

Some Ethics:

• Never harm an animal simply to obtain its bones for magickal purposes.

• It's best to find bones in nature or buy them from a trustworthy supplier.

• Remember to pay respect to the animal whose bones you are using.

Archetypal Energy

Because bones contain DNA they are not only spiritually, but biologically connected to the animal they came from and all its ancestors. This makes bones powerful totems and talismans that embody the qualities of that animal. This is important to consider when wearing bones or using them as vessels and guardians.

The House Skull

Bones and skulls carry a lot of protective energy. One traditional use for a skull was that of a house guardian. These skulls are usually given a place of prominence in the home and often adorned, painted or decorated. A ritual can be performed to invite the spirit of the animal back to use the skull as a vessel. A binding sigil can be used for this as well as to tie the spirit/skull to you and your home. Skulls are commonly stained red or black to embue them with more protective power.

Crafting

Bones and skulls can be used in creating magickal tools and crafts as well. Long bones and antlers make unique and powerful wands. Skulls can be mounted or hung. Smaller bones can be used to make things like witches ladders and chimes. They make powerful jewelry pieces and charms.

Bones In Spellwork

There are many applications for bones in spellwork including spirit/deity work, necromancy, and ancestral work. They carry the general correspondences of protection, healing, strength, stability, growth, life, and death. Bones are also used in baneful workings and binding. They can be used much like crystals. Each type of bone carries its own magickal properties and can be utilized in rituals, offerings, and as a component in spell jars/bags or poppets. They can be ground into bone powder for general purposes or burnt to bone ash for darker workings.

Bone Correspondences:

• Skull- Thoughts, power, divination, spirit, truth, higher realms

• Teeth- Communication, destruction, control

• Spine- Stability, strength, confidence energy

• Rib- Agility, shielding, abundance, vitality

• Arm- Harmony, balance, duality, physical interaction

• Hand/fingers- Skill, creativity, accuracy, progress

• Wrist/ankle- Flexibility, connection, fluidity

• Leg- Edurance, momentum, travel, change

• Foot/toe- Speed, stealth, balance, luck, prosperity

• Shoulder/hip- Structure, permanence, support, rest

• Tail- Secrecy, sudden events, change in luck, accidents/mishaps

• Claws/nails- Conflict, damage, persistence, defense

• Horns/antlers- Penetration, protection, determination, destruction, harm, nature(can represent The Horned God)

Throwing The Bones

Bones have have been used as a medium for divination for centuries, by many different people and belief systems. Today, it is unfortunately a dying art. It is still practiced sporadically, however and is referred to as osteomancy or curiomancy. Some practitioners choose to use only bones, while others include a variety of things in their kit. Some suggestions include:

• Charms

• Shells

• Coins

• Keepsakes

• Stones

• Toys/figures

• Items from nature

• Found objects

Once you have your items gathered, set to the task of assigning meaning to each bone/object. What feelings does it elicit for you? What does it make you think of? Write down your meanings in a grimoire or designated book. Find a bag or pouch to hold your 'bones'.

To cast your bones simply "shuffle" them around in the bag with your fingers, similar to shuffling a deck of tarot cards. Once you or the person being read are content with their thought/question, grab whatever is within your palm and cast them in a circular motion. For smaller kits, you may cast all your objects at once and use their location to interpret the message. Some read the bones in a spiral, while others use quadrants, rings, or even complex maps/spreads. You can use a cloth with a circle drawn on it or any symbols/design you feel appropriate. Each spread, style, and kit will be unique to its creator.

[sparrowrye]

The Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 6: a gold, comfy cage

Synopsis: Alastor presents you to the ruler of Pentagram City and lays down the law.

Master List

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor left me at the edge of the airship and moved about the deck giving orders. I watched with astounded curiosity as the men and women threw ropes twice their size over the edge and pulled the ship into dock. Magic lifted the heavy crates over the railing and piled them nearby. 

The sudden realization that those crates held my old books was like a new hit to the head.

My angry eyes searched for Alastor's red coat a moment before he planted a hand on my shoulder. I jumped at the contact and he was quick to take a step forward and lead me off the airship. I followed, ignoring the urge to itch my trapped wings.

The stone was more solid—obviously—and my knees weren't ready for it. I stumbled off the ramp but kept walking, cheeks burning from the chuckles of the crew. It was then I noticed the cat leader from the attack was walking close behind me, arm carried in a makeshift sling from the injury I had caused. His yellow eyes met mine and I didn't dare look back a second time.

Alastor walked to one of the pulley systems for passengers and held open the small door. I casted him a wry look as I stepped into the funny contraption. I stayed in the corner and did my best to avoid accidentally brushing elbows. 

At the center of the ravine was a large stone castle. It had several attaching gray structures and looked more like a fortress than a castle. The surrounding buildings were bright, beautifully designed, and as exotic as the people.

Is that...electricity? I noted different lamps and the static of radio music coming from several buildings. They did have electricity.

The pulley system stopped at a platform right at the fortress. The cat, with his crazy red wings, was already waiting for us. He moved so quietly—too quietly—and the look in his eyes unnerved me. He stayed close behind as we walked up the front steps and through the large wooden doors.

The inside of the massive building was uncomfortably cold. I folded my arms over my chest as my footpaws took on the brunt of the cold stone. The huge windows helped, though, and I made it a point to walk into the sun-soaked stone. Alastor looked over his shoulder but said nothing.

Eventually we came to a door that looked like any other but the inside was much larger and more extravagant than the door suggested. The floor was lined with red and brown rugs, the wall coated in dark wood, and various yellow trinkets were scattered across any available surface.

My eyes scanned the bookshelves and trinkets before discovering a second half to the room, a half that was occupied by comfortable furnishing, a crackling fire, and a short man dressed in white and red. He turned upon our entrance.

His coat was whiter than anything I'd ever seen. He wore a light pink vest with gold buttons and a red long sleeve underneath. There were red ruffles at the ends of his sleeves, around his chest, and at his waist where the pink vest met white pants. He was so strikingly different than his surroundings. His short, bright blonde hair added to his ethereal appearance.

Movement in the corner caught my attention, and I turned to find another person. I immediately noticed the family resembled in their blonde hair and puffy red cheeks. Her colors were inverted compared to her father.

She wore a red, sleeveless crossbody coat and black pants. Underneath her coat was a pristine white long sleeve which ruffled at her wrists and chest, topped with a beautiful red pendant in the shape of an apple. Her brown boots were knee high and her hair braided behind her back. She somehow managed to embody both femininity and masculinity, and it made me feel all the more awkward and plain.

"Lucifer," Alastor spoke, gesturing to me with a single hand, "may I present the most brilliant Archivist of our age."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes as he placed a light hand on my lower back and guided me closer to the important pair. Their eyes looked me over just as much as mine had. It took every ounce of effort not shrivel and curl inward on myself.

"It's an absolute pleasure to meet you." Lucifer gave a small bow and stepped forward with an outstretched hand. "Though I wish it were under different circumstances." He was only an inch or two shorter than me compared to his daughter who stood an inch or two taller than me. 

"Me too," I said curtly, ignoring his hand. He cleared his throat with the rejected hand and straightened up. I kept my face as neutral as possible despite the shaking in my legs.

"I'm sure she will come around," Alastor said in response to my rejection. "She's proven to be...resilient in times of hardship, but not beyond my ability to persuade."

"I won't be persuaded to do anything." I crossed my arms and took a step away from both men, eyeing the young girl standing behind Lucifer. "I'm bound by—"

Lucifer held up his hand and I fell silent. "I know you're bound by an oath. And I understand your anger, truly. But I hope you see this not as an act of malice but an act of survival." His cheery smiley was contrasting his true intentions.

"Your city seems to be doing just fine."

"On the surface," Lucifer explained. "We have worked hard to keep our looming demise hidden from the public. A demise we hope you'll be the key to preventing. The people...our people," he looked over his shoulder at his daughter, "are counting on us. They're trusting us to make the hard decisions."

"Hard but necessary," Alastor added, finding my eyes. "You've kept those texts hidden for too long, letting them gather dust while the rest of the world falls apart. It's time to put them to use."

"If your city is dying then it's your own doing," I said carefully. "There are plenty of communities doing just fine on their own. Yet you conquer and kidnap hundreds every year in the name of what? Power?"

"Survival," Lucifer corrected gently.

"That's not survival." My smile contrasted my true feelings, just as Lucifer's had. "You want an empire to control in the name of survival. I hate to tell you, but that's how Humanity fell."

"Which is why we want your help." Lucifer didn't seem to be losing patience, compared to Alastor who seemed to be building in impatience."We need to know Humanity's history so we don't repeat it."

"Most people know Humanity's general history, thanks to my people," I argued. "What you're asking from me is Old World technology and weapons."

"No weapons," Lucifer put his hand up again as if to banish the notion. "That's something I am personally against. But yes, we are also looking for Old World technology. It can protect our city, it can duplicate our resources, and families won't have to go hungry because we don't have enough food to feed them."

"We don't wish to take anything from you," he went on. "You'll have access to your archive as well as our own collection. We are asking for your help. We're not just a city, we're a refuge. And your knowledge—"

"A refuge from what?" I interrupted, arms finally unfolding so I could talk with my hands and point at Alastor. "Communities fear the day the Radio Demon comes to collect them and trap them in this city."

"In time," Alastor spoke before Lucifer could, "you will see the glory of this city and the peace it brings to families who were on the verge of death in their community." His words held firm but the underlying tone showed a glimpse of the level of irritation he was withholding.

I took another step back. "But apparently so is the city."

"Nothing is without fault," Lucifer interjected when white noise got caught in Alastor's throat. "But we are a better chance than what they had. Regardless of how you view our city, one fact remains: the knowledge you hold can save hundreds of lives and, later on, the entirety of Humanity. You hold that power."

Alastor moved silently and laid a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder. He leaned down so our faces were close. "This isn't about the past. This is about saving the future, the very thing you also want to save. You have the power to help build it bigger and better than our ancestors. You can be a part of that," he straightened up and donned the Radio Demon, "or find yourself on the other side of history. The world is moving on and if you don't adapt, you will be left behind."

"I don't think you realize what you're asking of me." I stepped away again so his hand would fall from my shoulder. "You're asking me to betray everything I've known. You're asking me to go against my predecessors and the oath we live by."

"Not necessarily," the girl spoke up.

"Charlie..." Lucifer whispered.

She ignored him. "Your oath says it can't be used for bad, right? That it's meant for the rebuilding of Humanity? Well, that's exactly what we're trying to do. You have knowledge--insight into Humanity's old ways. Farming techniques, materials for reinforcements, and even ways to survive against natural disasters. They're not weapons. We're just trying to survive like everyone else."

"And what about him?" I gave a terse nod in Alastor's direction without looking at him. "He spends half his time ranting and mocking the Old Humanity. Calling them weak and pitiful and whatever other derogatory terms you can think of. Why does he suddenly care about Humanity's legacy and its future?"

Lucifer and Charlie both looked to Alastor, whose grin faltered slightly. He recovered and stepped forward to circle behind me. "You judge too quickly, my dear." His voice was laced with feigned innocence. "I may have my strong opinion of Old Humanity, but that does not make me blind to progress. It's their strengths we need, not their weaknesses."

"Old Humanity used to think they were invincible," I replied. "In taking all their strengths, you will think yourself invincible too. In fact..." I looked him up and down with a wrinkle of my nose, "I know you believe you are."

His grin widened. "Such harsh words from the woman who was so gentle when she stitched my chest." He laid his long fingers across the lapels of his coat.

For the first time since my kidnapping, I smiled. "I'd love the opportunity to gently unstitch them for you."

"Enough," Lucifer grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alastor may not express himself well--"

"I find that many people understand me quite well," Alastor enunciated.

"--but he does understand what's at stake," Lucifer went on, ignoring the comment. "We all do. This isn't just about Pentagram City. It's about Humanity as a whole, which you are oath-bound to protect. With your help, we can build a future for Humanity. But we have to start small. One city at a time."

I shifted my weight between my feet. For years I had loathed my destiny; I had loathed the weight of Humanity's fate on my shoulders and now it was being increased ten fold. What they were saying made sense but my instincts were telling me this was wrong. I wanted to trust my instinct. "And if I refuse?"

Lucifer's lips dropped into a sad smile. "Then I'm afraid you'll find even the strongest wills can be broken." He glanced at Alastor still standing off to the side of me. "Alastor brought you here because he sees potential in you—a rare notion in itself."

"And for other reasons," Alastor added more quietly, glancing over me from head to toe.

"And I happen to agree with him just from this conversation. Most Archivists are blindly stubborn and see nothing past their oath. You know there is a way to save Humanity. Your region has known more about our past than any other region in the last ten years. Working with us, not for us, you'll find what you've been protecting will finally serve the purpose it was meant to."

My tone held no bite. "You're twisting my oath around to serve your purpose. If you really thought this to be a noble action, why kidnap me? Why steal my archive? You could be asking me for specific information then leaving me alone in my bunker. Yet you didn't."

Lucifer chose not to answer me directly. "If there was another way, I would take it. But we're running out of time and options. I know what I'm asking from you is a sacrifice, but one that could save the fate of Humanity."

Alastor's hand came to rest on the back of my neck, the pad of his finger brushing my skin. His tone was gentle and it sounded like Al was talking to me, "This doesn't have to be a battle, my dear. You're no longer alone. Allow us to work together."

All of them went silent for a long time. My gaze was rooted to the floor. I couldn't do what they were asking me; I couldn't translate those texts and allow them to use it how they wanted. There was no telling what they would do with it, no matter how small or insignificant the information might seem.

After my internal conflict went on for too long, Lucifer said, "Think about it."

Alastor's hand slid down to my lower black and led me out of the room. Charlie looked like she wanted to say more but thought better of it, folding her hands politely in front of her and watching the two of us step through the doorway and back into the cold hallway.

The sound of Alastor's boots on the stone echoed in my head. My mind swirled with all kinds of emotions--doubt, anxiety, resentment, fear, hurt, and even a glimmer of curiosity.

I wanted to trust them. Lucifer was obviously the ruler, even though I thought Alastor was, and what he had said made sense, along with his daughter. The city was in a type of danger thanks to Mother Nature and was looking for a way to survive; a way that I had hidden in my mountain of texts.

Yet I couldn't ignore the probing thought in the back of my mind: what happens if I help them survive their looming threat? They dragged me and my archive all the way back here, which likely meant they were looking for more than just a rain shield. They would want more.

"Care to share your thoughts, my dear?" Alastor's voice snapped the tense silence.

My shoulders stiffened. "Why? So you can twist them around for your benefit?" The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I felt a presence behind me. I spun to find Husker walking silently behind me, sharp eyes glaring up at me. Why could I never hear him?

"Such venom," Alastor chuckled, continuing his stride down the hall. "I would've thought you'd have seen the bigger picture by now."

"Oh I see it just fine," I walked after him. "You trick me for your benefit and then expect me to save your precious city in the name of saving Humanity. All because you suddenly decided Humanity is worth saving. Please."

Alastor glanced over his shoulder. "I admit my methods are...heavy handed."

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "You put a spell on my wings, threw me and my archive on a ship, and presented me to your ruler like some trophy. I'd say that's a little more than heavy-handed."

He came to a stop and so did I, eyeing him carefully as he turned to face me fully. "You cannot deny it achieved results. You are here. You are safe. And despite your protests, I think you're starting to understand just how important you are."

I took a step back, fists clenched tightly at my sides. "Don't flatter yourself, Alastor. The only reason I'm not 'hissing like a feral cat' and attempting to throw my life away is because Lucifer's words have some merit. At least he has the grace of making me feel like part of the bigger picture and not some pawn on a chessboard."

His eyebrow twitched as he leaned down, voice lowering with him. "Lucifer is an idealist. He'll sugarcoat everything to make you do his bidding. But me? I won't coddle you. I'll do whatever it takes to keep this city from falling. Even if it means being the villain in your story." His words soaked into my skin as those red eyes bore in mine. This was the Radio Demon.

He straightened up, back to glaring down his long nose at me. "I trust you'll make the right decision, for yourself and for all of us."

{|}

We passed two guard towers at the entrance to a ravine and stepped into a world of unworldly things. People dressed in bright cloaks and shawls hustled about, spirals of dusty air flew overhead, and a bright green light pulsed through the ground beneath my feet like a heartbeat.

Buildings were carved into the stone wall and carpets hung over their edge, paints of red, oranges, and browns outlined their designs. All kinds of sights, smells, and noises pummeled my senses. It was hard to focus on one thing in all this chaos. It was amazing but...overwhelming.

We came to a fork in the road. The stone buildings and makeshift stands and tents continued onward. How much more of this was there? How long was it? How many more people lived here?

My questions remained unanswered as we approached a building sitting at the corner of the divide. It was a tower of some sorts and dressed in reds and blacks. The colors were so bright and demanding that I instantly knew this was where Alastor lived.

"Fetch Rosie," Alastor ordered, and the cat slid off without a word or a sound.

Alastor opened the door and gestured inside. My eyes looked him over as I carefully stepped through the threshold, a heavy weight settling in my lungs. It was dark for only a moment before a fireplace sparked to life in an instant, followed by lanterns on the ceilings and curtains drawing apart to let in natural sunlight. The motions made me jump.

The room was rather simple but, in my eyes, it was by far the most luxurious place I had ever seen. To the right was the grand fireplace surrounded by a simple couch and chair. The cushions looked soft and in perfect shape—not a scratch or patch in sight.

Bookshelves leaned against the staircase directly in front of me with trinkets and other things on display. Directly behind the couch was a standing cabinet. Both pieces of furniture were made of finely sanded dark wood. At the end of the room was another threshold that looked like it lead to a kitchen and dining room.

"Welcome to my home, my dear," Al said from behind me. I had shown him my home and now he was showing me his. "You may go anywhere in this house. What's mine is yours."

My cheeks burned at the realization that my bunker had probably looked shabby to him. It was dark, rusting away, and cold. Everything had been made to withstand time and life, not to impress. Despite everything that had happened, I wished I had made the bunker more presentable for him.

Then I heard a lock click and everything came back. I stepped forward, turning around to face him with my arms crossed and face set. He let out a sigh through his nose. "What is it?"

"I suppose you want me to be thankful you're not tossing me in a cell?"

He smirked, passing me and withdrawing a glass canter from the standing cabinet. He poured two cups of a reddish-yellow liquid, placing one at the edge and picking up the other. "You're not a prisoner here, my dear. At least, not in the way you think." He moved to the single chair by the fire and motioned for me to sit. I remained standing.

"You brought me here against my will," I reminded him firmly. "I call that imprisonment." Curiosity made me glance at the drink still sitting on the cabinet.

"I've brought you here because you're valuable and because despite everything—" he swirled the liquid around in his glass, then glanced up at me with those ruby eyes, "I still seek your company."

"Valuable?" I ignored the glass and moved to stand in front of the fire. "I suppose that's how you've always seen me and just tricked me into thinking it was something more. I expect nothing less from the Radio Demon."

"It's not that simple," he said. "I have responsibilities. I have an entire city to protect from the inside and outside."

I crossed my arms. "And I'm just the tool to fix all your problems."

He sipped from the glass then placed it on the small table beside him. His eyes seemed to glow in the firelight looked at me. "I will not pretend like this is ideal for you. But you are here now. Safe and with access to more knowledge than your ancestors could ever dream of. But in order for this arrangement to work, there are rules to follow."

I scoffed and walked in a circle. "What makes you think I'm interested in following your rules?"

His tone dropped. "You should be." He deposited the glass on a small side table and stood. "For your safety and for your books. Archivists have been hunted down and burned alive with their archive on this side of the region for centuries."

I backed up when he came too close.

"Firstly," he began. "You will continue your work translating your archive as well as any others I present. I expect progress and will not take kindly to any attempts of sabotage or withholding information. Am I clear?"

I crossed my arms, taking another step away. "If I refuse?"

He looked at me as if he was persuading a child. "You won't refuse. Not if you want to protect your books, live by your oath, and still get to live a life no Archivist has ever dreamed of living."

A single step put him in my personal space and I had run out of room, the wall practically pushing me in the direction I didn't want to go in.

His tone softened with his eyes. "I do not want to be your enemy, my dear. But my devotion to Pentagram City must come first, just as your devotion to your oath does. I hope you will come to understand this and we may once again have what we did in that forest." His hand came up to brush his knuckles on my cheek.

Had it not been for his appearance, I might have fallen into that trap. But his unfamiliar, bright red coat and monocle under his eye reminded me of the reality I was being forced to live.

I swallowed on nothing, voice struggling to speak at a normal volume. "Are you expecting me to just blindly believe you're Al?"

He blinked. "I don't follow."

"I have spent the last five years listening to your broadcasts. You're not Al. You're the Radio Demon, the man I've sworn would never touch my books. The man who laughs at Humanity's downfall but uses only the good parts for his benefit."

He pulled his hand away and the Radio Demon came back in a very jarring way. "Secondly, you may go anywhere in this house but you're not permitted to leave. My district is full of life but the streets are very dangerous, especially for someone who has not grown up in such an environment. If you step outside without me, you're putting yourself and the fate of Humanity at risk."

My hands pressed into the wall as if to ground myself. "What do I get out of this? A gold cage is still a cage."

"You'll have my protection, my resources, and my company."

"I don't trust you nor want your company."

A knock on the door drew our attention. Alastor didn't seem at all concerned about it, calmly approaching the door as he continued the conversation. "Consider this a new start, then. A way for us to...coexist and discover if there's any hope of reestablishing our connection. But I remind you, your work is vital and I need you focused."

I shifted my weight. "So I'm stuck in a fancy cage with a man I don't trust. I'm not so sure this is any better than my previous circumstance."

His smile was...complicated. "I hope as time goes on that you'll see more of this city and the wonders it holds. And I hope that one day you'll come see this place isn't as terrible as it seems. Maybe...you'll come to find I'm not so either."

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Author's Note:

Oh to be in a fanfic. Things are never so simple.

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