#Testing things out in magma in the first image

[hyperfluffed-scribbles]

misc rain world shenanigans

[raayllum]

2x01: Viren takes something that does not belong to him (the king’s seal) as he is ‘just a servant’ and not a king. Callum is unable to take something that does not belong to him (ability to do magic) on account of being ‘only human.’ Viren needs access to the status of king to have greater power; Callum needs a primal stone in order to do magic.

2x02: Viren tries to unearth the secrets of the mirror, resulting in a breakdown cloaked in darkness. Callum tries to mediate between his friends, who are all keeping secrets, resulting in a breakdown as he steps out of the darkness of the half moon and into the light. He has finally learned the truth about Harrow, and Viren has his first bit of contact with Aaravos.

2x03: Callum deals with the fallout of Harrow’s death, as well as ultimately trusting Rayla over Soren and Claudia, who betray him. Viren makes his first real bit of contact with Aaravos.

2x04: This is perhaps one of the three most overt episodes to parallel them. Callum goes out into the storm in hopes of connecting to the Sky arcanum, but has too much self preservation (thankfully) to electrocute himself. Likewise, although Viren begins communicating with Aaravos, he has too many reservations to do the blood oath spell by cutting his hand. Both mages reject the mores self destructive pursuit of power - for Viren, he still hopes political machinations can work, and for Callum, primal magic in another way.

2x05 - 2x06: Depending on where the story goes, these episodes could retroactively have a lot of parallels (the heart of the magma titan was a good thing and a bad thing, resulting in the loss of loved ones; the key of Aaravos, also revealed in tandem, could have a similar good-bad dichotomy with it). However, these episodes do thematically set up Viren and Callum as opposites, for a Narrative of Strength and a Narrative of Love respectively.

2x07: Faced with a lack of options and desperation to save what they want to protect, Viren makes the blood pact with Aaravos by cutting his hand, and Callum does dark magic in order to save Rayla, thus completing their initial refusal of darkness/danger in 2x04 in the same episode by going through with it anyway. 

2x08: Viren converses with the mysterious elf in the mirror, while Callum faces a mirror image of himself. Viren falls in deeper in spite of Aaravos’ lack of answers, while Callum rejects dark magic but can’t shake the threat of drowning. 

2x09: Callum is brought to his knees due to love and sickness, while Viren kneels before death and Aaravos’ machinations. Both are given very different perspectives of love (“I love you with all of myself, and I always will” / “Those who fail tests of love are simple animals. They deserve to be motivated by fear” / “Search your heart” + “You must know it with your head, hand, and heart”) as well postulations of meaning ( “I can’t lose you like this, you mean too much to me” / “This mirror meant something to [Avizandum]. You meant something to him” “Perhaps”). Their arc long search for greater magical purpose is concluded with Callum finding magic within himself, and ultimately freedom, while Viren’s external manifestation of it (Aaraworm) goes into his body, and he is forced into chains. 

BONUS PARALLELS:

2x07 / 2x08:

2x08:

2x09:

[galansu]

Oliver and why he's Going to Hell (a rant)

It's hard to write a character when you know they're gonna go to hell in the end. Or at least when they die. You've aligned them to being morally good, fighting against evil, and yet when they die, they're sent away while some of the people they've fought against are sent to heaven. Not for things they did in the past. But because of things they've always done.

Oliver's deeds as a hero and his support to the team do not cancel out the fact that he mutilated and bioengineered people into monstrosities and continued to do it throughout his career (as of now). Sure, it helps that he tests everything (that he shows to the public) he makes before he uses it on the people he trusts and loves. But it's not good that he's tested it (being prototypes and first time experiments) on unwilling and unknowing subjects. I'm not just talking about rats or mice, I'm talking about people. He grew and made people in his lab so he wouldn't have to kidnap and experiment on someone who already had a life and a future. He made people to essentially kill them. Sure, they didn't have a sense of consciousness in later versions he created since the screaming of brutality and begging for mercy was a lot, but I mean?? He saw the only problem being the defiance and not the "No, please! Don't do this!"???

He lives with the trauma of seeing his parents die at a young age. Of getting disowned by the last bits of family he had left. Of one of his experiments going wrong and terribly electrocuting him, scarring him for life. Yes, he's suffered. Yes, he's not all mentally well. But he continues to do unethical things and sees no reason to stop when his methods give good results. He does experiment on himself when he knows the results won't end with him dead, but if he needs to take something apart to get answers then he'll resort to growing a clone/life form of that species.

I believe in the idea that if you do bad things in the past and change and grow as a person in the future, you'll be considered a good person in the eyes of judgement. I believe that people can be redeemed and bettered if they work on themselves and prove they've changed with time, as well as genuinely believe in the good they do afterwards. I feel like Oliver, if he decides to change later on, can be able to make it to heaven in the afterlife. But as he is right now, he's going to hell.

I imagine it going something like this. Oliver dies in a lab incident. He begins to go up to heaven, a bit nonchalant about just dying. He walks up to this big gate that has many different entries to it, going up to one of them and waiting to be allowed inside. When he gives them his name, they don't find it on their list anywhere. He's shocked and terrified. They tell him to check "downstairs", as he's sent plummeting through the skies to the hells below. The gates are like mirror image of what heaven has, minus the clouds and the bright golden color. It has a rusty look to it, the entire place a wasteland of firey rocks and magma. Oliver sheepishly goes to enter, and is horrified when they tell him he's on the list. He begs and asks why. The stuff I said above is told to him. Bioengineering with malicious intent. Modifying subjects against their will. Creating life just to take it away. And then he's ushered inside.

TLDR: Oliver is going to hell because he does cruel experiments and causes suffering even though he helps save the universe. If he stops his cruel methods and finds a different way that doesn't involve killing people or mutilating them, then he can go to heaven.

"b-but galans you wrote him 🥺" yeah and it hurts me that he's gonna go to hell so i want him to have character development at some point where he changes his methods

"so why don't you just write that now you don't tell us much about him anyway we would have never known" i want you to know he's a silly boy when it comes to being friends with people and most of his inventions but his experiments suck and I CAN FIX HIM!!!!!!!!!!

i may just redeem him in his side story (which im on the fence about making a blog for since so many of you said "yeah make one!!" but also showed you had no interest in engaging with it which to me defeats the purpose of you guys saying i should make it, if you want it to happen then you'd want to see it that's my logic)

[darkseraphscorner]

Eden.

Rain thundered down as Neph sat on the edge of one of the few intact buildings in Eden, making the last few adjustments to her power armour, listening to the combination of rain on her helm and the dull hum as her suit power relays.

As the last status message scrolled over her H.U.D, she smirked and ran to the edge, leaping across to the next building as her suits camo kicked in, reducing her form to nothing more than a flickering after image as she impacting on the other building, her fingers digging into the brickwork she crawled along the wall. Casting her gaze around, she listened to her radio, chuckling as she heard some chatter from Crey mooks.

Not really much of a threat, but it always felt good cracking their skulls and it be a good test of her suits upgrades.

Following the signal, she eventually reached what looked like some sort of camp sight, Crey juggernauts patrolling the perimeter while at the centre, bathed in the light from several flood lamps was some sort of metal coffin. She watched as scientists scuttling around it like ants before dropping down and sprinting into the shade for some heavy equipment. Looking over the edge, she moved to the next piece of shade, keeping the coffin in her line of sight as she moved closer.

Ducking behind a console, she heard one of the chatting to a bored looking guard. “See, by creating a symbiosis with the lobotomised crystal, we have created what could be the first generation of anti devouring earth troopers! With such things, we could take out the Hamidon! Think of how much we could charge for that!”

She had no idea what the hell the guy was going on about beyond the fact that Crey had got their hands on some innocent and was twisting them into some sort of weapon that they could sell to the highest bidder.

So of course, as a hero, Neph knew what she had to do.

Moving closer, she hear some noise from the edge of the camp and watched as several Juggernauts entered, dragging a heavily restrained Greater Devourer, the beast thrashing in it's chains as they dragged it towards the coffin.

Watching from the shadows, she saw the top of the coffin open. A young woman dressed in a simple black body suit stumbled out, her face obscured by her white hair, while some sort of metal and crystal device seemed to be bolted onto her back.

The chatty guy in a lab coat stepped forward holding some sort of remote, pressing a button the girl screamed, her body twitching as the ground beneath her pulsed. With another press of the remote, she buckled and screamed again, the mud beneath the devourer exploded upwards as spears of magma lanced it's flesh.

Feeling her stomach turn, she watched as the button was pressed again and again, each time the girl screamed as more magma lashed up to tear into the bound beast.

This was inhuman.

Stepping out of the shadows, she felt her suit purr as she grabbed the first mook, snapping his neck like a twig as she stepped into the light, her energy aura flikering as she drained their stanima into herself

It was a dangerous trick, it was all to easy to become lost in the high, but she had something to focus on, to ground her as she punched the nearest Juggernaut, his chest plate cratering as he fell.

She had to save that girl.

The scientist screamed and pointed the remote at her, hammering the button as if his life depended on it, the poor girl twitching like a puppet on broken strings as she held out a hand, her eyes glowing crimson under her fringe as she slapped the mud in front of her. A wall of magma rolling out to trip Neph up, sending her tumbling face first into the mud.

Quickly leaping to her feet, she saw the shock wave wasn't discriminatory, the Crey Juggernauts laying prone, either trapped in place or impaled in the magma. The nutso in the lab coat screaming as he fidgeted with the remote. “You worthless hunk of Junk! What happened to the Friend or Foe system? It must need re-calibrating.”

Rolling to her feet, she stood in front of the scientist, looming over him as she snarled. “Yeah, how about no.” She brought her armoured fist down on his head, knocking him cold and grabbing the remote crushing it in her hand

The poor girl staggered as the remote was destroyed, dropping to her hands and knees before rolling over onto her back.

Splashing though the mud, she dropped to the girls side and checked her vitals, letting out a sigh of relief as she felt a strong pulse. Reaching to her belt she pulled her mediport off and attached it to the girls jump suit before activating it, sending her to the King's Row hospital before trigging a spare teleporter To follow her.

* * *

King's Row Hospital

Examination room

The clockwork turned to Neph giving her a slightly irate look as she straighten her dress. “You know, this unit did have a date planed for tonight?” she muttered, Neph noting the usual vocal quirk as Medical Unit Theta walked over and start putting some X-rays up on the light board. “If it wasn't for how much trouble your family gets into, this unit would of probably ignored the call.”

Neph shrugged . “Sorry Theta, but you are the best medic I know. I mean, how many times have you patched up my old man or Caroline?”

The clockwork woman sighed and pointed to the X-rays. “Fine, but this unit has 3 bits of news. Good, Bad and what the hell, which would you hear first?”

“Um... the good news first?”

Theta turned and crossed her arms. “She is in surprisingly good shape despite what those idiots at Crey have done. She looks to be early teens, possibly of Latino decent or Hispanic.”

“Okay, the bad news?”

Theta taped a X-ray of the woman’s head. “She has been given an implant that is disturbingly similar to what the Preatorian seer's have installed, but Crey have done a sloppy job.” She taped portions around the implant. “It has caused damage to her language centres, this unit also found traces of what ever drug they use to erase their memories in her system.” Theta shook her head.

Neph shifted slightly, she had seen many Sabers wake with no memory of their past. She wasn't sure what Crey did, but it made her skin crawl. “What’s the last bit of news then?”

“This is.... well.” Theta put up an X-ray and pointed.

As Npeh lent in, her jaw dropped slightly. The x-ray was of the girls back, showing that the crystal on her back wasn't just grafted on, it had grown into her, the girls ribs, spine and a portion of her pelvic bone covered in a strange crystalline growth. “What the hell is that crap?”

“As far as this unit can tell, it is a symbiotic crystal. She could not take a sample though, that stuff is as hard as diamonds.”

She looked down at the Clockwork. “What the hell was Crey trying to do?”

Theta shrugged. “This unit does not know, but there is the question of what will we do when she wakes up? She can stay here for a bit, but after that? ”

Chewing her lip slightly, Neph got her phone out. “Well, we got some spare rooms at home. I'm just hope dad doesn’t mind...”

(Okay, this was a 12 year old fic I edited to fit the new CoH muses.)

[marshmallowloves]

Actually I'm gonna kinda ride this train and use this as an excuse to talk about my Pokémon S/I headcanons gjdhf. I'm sorry it's so long I got kind of excited 😭😂

So if you're (somehow) already familiar with the lore of my Pokémon S/I, then you know one of her Big Goals™ - and the reason she joined Team Magma in the first place - was to find out if there was a way for her Bisharp to Mega Evolve. It's said in canon (and this is the only canon thing in this post, the rest are strictly headcanons fjdjg) that the strong bond between Pokémon and Trainer is part of what makes Mega Evolution possible, and ever since learning this, she thought that being able to achieve it with her Bisharp would be physical proof of how close they are.

Originally, her research centered just around Mega Stones, specifically their properties, mineral composition and such. Since she was looking for a stone that would react with Bisharp, she looked more closely at stones that matched Bisharp's typing. One of the first stones she analyzed as a member of Team Magma's Mega Evolution research division was one that she already had in her possession: Aggronite. Because Aggron loses its Ground typing up on Mega Evolving and becomes pure Steel, it would be easier to study the composition of stone as there are no variables in the form of other types.

After she traveled to Paldea and learned about Terastallization, she immediately became intrigued. This regional phenomenon was capable of changing a Pokémon's type for the duration of a single battle, and was controlled via an object that's essentially the condensed energy of said phenomenon - not unlike the very subject of her own research.

So as she traveled across Paldea, got swept up in the whole professor debacle and went to Area Zero, she did her own analyses (with some help from Maxie (I dunno, I just like to imagine them working together overseas by sending each other samples and test results back and forth because the Magma Hideout has more readily-available technology for research purposes…or something fjfhgj it's just a fun image in my head)) on Terastal energy and the compositions of both Tera shards and the crystals growing in Area Zero - during which she found that the energy emitted from these is quite similar to that of Mega Evolution. From this, she wonders if it would be possible to manipulate Mega Evolution in the same way one can manipulate their Pokémon's Tera type. Either way, the fact remains that the two phenomena are clearly linked to some degree.

When she heads to Kitakami and sees Ogerpon's Terastallization in action, she sees another possible similarity between it and Mega Evolution - the drastic shift in appearance. Before, she had thought the only change was giving a Pokémon the crystalline coat and forming a jewel upon its head, but Ogerpon's masks become enormous and more elaborately detailed upon Terastallizing. The observation isn't as solid or groundbreaking as some of her other discoveries over the years, but it's still worth noting nonetheless.

She makes even further headway in her research when she's introduced to Blueberry's Terarium - specifically after crystals from the Area Zero Underdepths are introduced to the Terarium Core. It was already exciting enough for her to learn that Terastallization could be introduced into a place where it didn't occur naturally, simply by having the right materials present in the vicinity (and therefore furthering the idea that Mega Evolution could be manipulated in the same manner). But then the crystals give way to the discovery of the Stellar Tera type - a type that embodies aspects of every type - and suddenly the possibilities in her research are blown wide open.

At some point, either on her own time or on a short return trip to Hoenn, she analyzes these crystals (because of course she wasn't going to leave the Underdepths without snagging some for her research) as well as Stellar Tera shards left behind from battling some of the wild Stellar types in the Terarium, and makes an exciting discovery. Whereas the energy emitted from single-type Terastallization was only somewhat similar to the energy emitted from Mega Evolution, the energy contained within the Underdepths crystals and Stellar-type shards, as well as emitted from Terastallization into the Stellar type, is nearly identical to that of Mega Evolution.

Not only does this discovery suggest that the two phenomena are even more closely related than previously thought, but coupled with the knowledge that Terastallization can not only be manipulated but also outright replicated under the right conditions, it poses a new and very interesting question: who's to say that Mega Evolution - or even Mega Stones - can't be replicated in the same manner? That under the perfect circumstances, Mega Evolution could be triggered for any Pokémon?

Thus Sierra continues her research with renewed vigor, having finally found an answer to the question she'd been asking all these years - "Is there a way for Bisharp to Mega Evolve?" Yes. By making one.

[blackstar5078]

EggCartonSMP Days 26 to 30! (Part 2).

Summary under the cut...

Day 28

(This happened during July 3rd).

-

Wither and Bluebell had only a little bit of time together that day, but they started it with the journal.

Wither: You are the trigger? Interesting...

Bluebell: That's the theory anyway... He was going to test it, but she disappeared...

Wither: And not any leads of where they went, right?

Bluebell: I don't really know... I didn't ask.

Wither: I see. I guess, in theory, it would be fine to go home, but, on the other hand, there's the spies...

Bluebell nodded and the conversation stopped there, since they now were on the way to leave more food to Magma, plus Wither wanted to get a couple of drops from rabbits to get them something else too. The first attempt at this did not get results.

(''That missions wasn't succesfull'' says the pink sign).

They ended up building a place at Spawn to breed the rabbits, since they were very hard to find.

After more attempts without results, they both went back to sleep.

--

Day 29

(This happened during July 4th).

-

Very early in the day, both Bluebell and Wither went to Sky's Create class! After the fact, Bluebell was able to make a milk machine!

During that, though, Wither got to see an enderman, so she hid.

Bluebell: I can keep my bed hidden for now, but I miss the others just free to pop by... I want to at least cook at the house.

Wither: I don't know how secure it is, they know you are here...

Bluebell: I know that they know, I just... want to be home, even only during the day...

Wither: I know you miss home, but I don't think it's worth your safety.

Bluebell only crouched and stared sadly at the sign.

Wither: I'm sorry, but that is my top priority...

Bluebell did not say anything else after the hug though, she just went to the house. Wither felt horrible, but had no intentions to take back her words, so she only watched and made sure the alligator was safe.

Until she noticed how Bluebell tp'd out, and assumed that she was at the bunker, and she was at the moment.

While Bluebell was at the area with the kitchen, Wither started working in another room for the bunker, until she noticed that the gator was gone again, and she wasn't the only thing gone.

So Wither tp'd back to their house, and sure enough.

Wither only stared at her and what she was doing, until she handed her over a chocolate fondue.

Wither: So are you ignoring what I said?

Bluebell: Yup! :D

Wither did not say anything in response, she just destroyed her signs and left through the waystone.

At first, she was wandering off through the first place she found that was not near. But then she decided to settle in an small island, to start making machines there. She needed a distraction, while she was processing a lot of emotions, mostly negatives, on her own.

Wither: At this point, I can't protect anyone, I can't if nobody even listens to me...

(Correction: ''Until it does show any progress, this creature lacks any value.'' This is what happens when you edit images at 3 am lmao).

At some point, Wither accidentally lost the bow Bluebell gave her, so she was on the way to the Enchantment Table to enchant a new one, and it was there where Bluebell also tp'd to their house at the same time. They just stared at each other for solid 5 seconds, until Wither turned and entered the small building of enchantmens.

Upong coming out of it, these signs were there.

Bluebell hugged her. Wither returned it, but her mood did not look better. The little gator gave her a marshmallow filled chocolate and a cup of hot chocolate.

Wither left to the Trading Village to change carrots for emeralds with Franklin. She went back and forth between places in the efforts to enchant the bow and other tools.

On the way, she hid her armor again while thinking ''what's the point...?''.

And Spawn got some scratches too.

With all the enchantments done with, Bluebell was taking a nap, so Wither went to sleep without saying or doing anything else, alone in the bunker at that moment.

---

To be continued in part 3 <3.

Posting it tomorrow cuz I'm f cking tired, sorry, folks.

EggCartonSMP Days 26 to 30! (Part 1).

(Yoo, an entire month, let's go).

(Some days were pretty short or with not much to report, but the last two days will be longer 👍).

Summary under the cut!

Day 26

(This happened during July 1st).

-

Wither started the day going to Spawn, so Sky could give her the stuff she asked for to improve her armor and tools.

Once that was done, she tp'd back to the bunker, where Bluebell received her.

They talked about the fact that Bluebell found the dream journal Rox mentioned before while cleaning their place, and that speaking of journals, it was Bluebell's Journal time.

During the rest of the day, they got to meet with Arachne, and she gave Bluebell her own special banner, which she ended up placing near her bed.

Now both Wither and Bluebell have improved armor too!

They worked on the library until they finished it, and met up with Soup while doing the final touches.

Unfortunately, a bit after that, Bluebell fell to her second death down the elevator.

They spent more time on the library before Wither and Bluebell returned to the bunker.

They hugged goodbye and went to sleep.

--

Day 27

(This happened during July 2nd).

-

Bluebell invited Wither to go and see how that one village near the Nether portal was doing. There, she noticed... a cemetary.

And slowly approached it, to then back up shortly after entering.

Bluebell said that the dead villagers deserved a good memorial like this one. Wither did not deny this, but she was feeling awful at that moment, towards herself.

In an attempt at distraction, she ended up picking up seeds to replant some crops. Wandered off for a little bit when she noticed that the Nether portal was working again, until Bluebell came to where she was and they both went to meet up with Arachne.

Bluebell told Arachne about the accident the day before and explained how she was feeling.

The rest of the day was spent terraforming the area of the park, with huge help from Sky.

At the end of the day, Wither saw how Bluebell ate something and put the armor back on again.

After that, it was time to sleep.

---

To be continued in part 2 <3.

[itsgoldleaf]

3-2-1 challenge

I was tagged by @alienfuckeronmain to share - thank you, I love these! 

This is how it works:

The theme for this weekend is Good Vibes! 😎 So we’re going to 3-2-1 style with your WIPs! What does that mean? For the number of WIPs you have, you’re going to start with sharing that number of sentences for the first one, drop by one for the next one, etc.

So FOR EXAMPLE: If I have 5 WIPs, then I’m going to share 5 sentences out of one of them, 4 sentences out of the next, 3 sentences out of the next, etc. GIVE US THOSE GOOD VIBES WITH ALL YOUR WIPs!

Only have 1 WIP? Share that 1 sentence and be proud! Tag all your writing friends to send them lots of Good Vibes! ***  Mine are all SGA at the moment and I got WAY too carried away with this but please understand, I am incapable of making meaningful progress on any of these so I suffer with you XD 6. My Tao of Rodney coda wherein John has a crisis and there are way too many hyphenated words: As a child, bored, in the Tampa house where the air was humid and sugared with the earthiness of horse manure (because with every house came horses, and with horses came the comfort of their hot sighs on your cheek, the dark chocolate-leather scent of their skin, the bristle-brush tickle against your fingertips when your hands ran the wrong way across their coats) John would let his legs dangle from walls and his face point at the sun, closing his eyes and watching the blob-like after-images coalescing in the eigengrau. If he blinked real fast, he could watch everything flash by in jerk-limbed stop-motion. His father crossing the yard in on-off zoetrope strides. Here, then there, then gone. Blink at the right time and a galloping horse’s feet will never touch the ground. Pegasus. 5. The sequel to my Pacific Rim fic!:

John snaps back to reality, sees the HUD calm down again, sees the corresponding colours on McKay’s side sooth back into the green and pleasant. The kaiju is a rotten sport, elbow deep in the riptide and digging, hurling reef with abandon. Another meteor, and they’re both with the programme this time, and duck.

“Goddamnit, is it digging back down to the Breach?” McKay fumes, annoyed. 

Laughter burbles up like the roil of magma, and John loses his grip again but this time they stay in sync, shoulders burning, legs pumping as they coax the Daedalus into a jog, let’s get some distance, let’s test this motherfucker’s aim.

4. This is a Teyla/Kanaan & Rodney/John story that has become very precious to me and subsequently will take me about 40 years to write:

John says, “C’mon Kanaan, lemme show you what we do for fun on Earth,” a remark that is normally a prelude to chaos, but when Teyla passes by the rec-room an hour or so later, they're watching a movie that seems reassuringly free of explosions. John is in the midst of an explanation so concentration-hungry that he’s got his beer bottle held between his knees so his hands can sketch diagrams in the air, eyebrows in a knot as he tries to untangle things called boundary layers and wake turbulence. “He likes to show off the fact he knows a thing or two about aerodynamics,” Rodney says at her shoulder. “It’s mostly bunk, so I wouldn't worry.” 3. A McKay visits the Millers story (for Fictober, oops!) in which he has both luggage and baggage: His thumb hovers over the send key for four minutes, and then he taps it, closes his eyes, and is on the cusp of actual sleep when the answering ping jolts him awake again. He’s almost afraid to look, and wishes he hadn’t once he does. 02:30: me too.

2. Another Fictober prompt that will hopefully also be posted ASAP. A mission goes south and John has a Bad Moment: None of them are dead but they could be, sitting like four dangle-legged ghosts on four beds, draped head to foot in shawls of volcanic dust, hair matted with it, lungs clogged, the exposed skin of faces and hands still cooking beneath the patina of disaster. McKay is right there, talking and talking, but he doesn’t reach out in case it happens again, in case - like on the planet where the sky turned from blue to black in the blink of an eye, and their ears became hot with blood as the explosion shattered eardrum and earth alike - his fingers pass through air where McKay should be, where he was, and won’t be again. 

1. Yet another belated Fictober fic, Rodney gets into a time loop and he is not best pleased: “Rodney,” says Elizabeth, and oh, he could self-ignite, he really could just go up when her eyes crease in the way she thinks is beseeching but comes across as maudlin sympathy. *** Tagging @avi17 @tofadeawayagain @a-storm-of-roses and @chaos-monkeyy and anyone else who’d like to do this! No obligation :)

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (January 26/2021) - Kids With Nukes and Talking Eggs

The Crimson’s influence continues to spread and corrupt the SMP, with the seeds planted earlier sprouting into new tendrils. 

In fact, the Crimson has spread so far that now chat can finally hear the Egg’s whispers for themselves, as Badboyhalo and Quackity have an important discussion, and Karl attempts to prevent the worst...

Also, Snowchester’s nuclear weapons test was a success! Everything went exactly according to plan and definitely nothing else. Yep.

---

- Ponk starts sneaking out of the Egg Room, but Bad comes on and he runs back to avoid suspicion.

- Bad calls him and asks how he’s doing. Ponk says he’s doing fine. Bad asks if he can get Ponk anything. He says Ponk will stay down there until he learns to love the Egg.

Ponk: “I’m a bad bitch, you can’t kill me.”

- Bad says he’ll stay down for an extra day because of that.

- Ponk asks Bad for an iced mocha with cream and a pain au chocolat. Bad refuses at first, but after Ponk threatens to pee all over the Egg, Bad rushes off to get Ponk his iced mocha with cream and pain au chocolat. Ponk asks if it’s vegan.

- Bad drops Ponk his iced mocha with cream and pain au chocolat.

- Bad locks Ponk back up and says he’ll be staying down there for a day now. Ponk says he’ll continue to vibe. 

- Ponk sneaks out once Bad is gone. He meets up with Awesam on the surface. Sam is still talking like he’s exhausted and drained, and says he wants to head home.

- Sam goes to be with Fran again, holding his rose with a wall blocking them off.

- Ponk shows Sam that he’s got Dream’s shield. Sam says that he probably shouldn’t carry it around, as people might get the wrong idea...Ponk says it’s cool because it makes his “head fuzzy.” 

- Ponk says goodbye and leaves Sam.

- Both keycards for the nukes have gotten lost. There is no way this can end badly. Jack comes online and they begin to prepare. The plan is to launch one and decommission the others.

- Jack wonders how to get Tommy to the test site. Perhaps if some of the materials for the hotel can be obtained easiest near the site? He speaks with Awesam about adding spruce wood to the materials list. Awesam says he’ll let Sam Nook know.

- Tommy comes online and speaks with Sam Nook, who tells him to get some spruce wood. Niki comes over to fetch him. Niki leads Tommy closer to the test site.

- Jack desperately attempts to stall the launch. 

- The nuke is launched! Jack and Tubbo rush over.

- Tommy manages to delay walking over to the test site purely by talking nonstop, and the nuke misses him. He instead goes to examine the crater with the others. Tubbo is concerned about Tommy’s lack of hazmat suit. 

- Jack and Niki are furious that it didn’t work. 

- They go back to Snowchester to celebrate. Tommy coughs up a bit of blood. Foolish comes over to deal some stress relievers.

- Sam Nook then tells Tommy to gather red dye.

- Tommy and Jack start fighting and Sam Nook comes to kill him.

- Ranboo speaks with Tubbo. Apparently the Crimson showed Tubbo images of dead families that made him cry. They wonder if they should do something about the Blood Vines.

- Ranboo writes in his book. His pickaxes have been mysteriously losing durability.

- Ranboo later speaks with Niki. He asks why she burned down L’mantree. Niki explains that she’d lost hope in L’manburg and didn’t believe it should exist anymore.

- Tommy mugs Foolish. Foolish says he’ll remember this.

- Tommy still doesn’t have enough red dye. Sam Nook is worried that Awesam won’t be pleased with him leaving the build site today. If Awesam found out, that wouldn’t be good...

- Foolish visits Ponk, who is still trapped in the obsidian Egg cage.

- Antfrost logs on and Foolish starts running up the stairs. He sneaks behind a corner and Antfrost walks by. He doesn’t seem to see Foolish.

- The Blood Vines have made their way to Foolish’s desert...

- Bad comes online with plans to introduce Callahan to the Egg. He meets up with Quackity and asks him if he’s noticed the Vines growing everywhere.

- Bad checks the Crater. Quackity sees the Crater Vines for the first time and is horrified. 

- Bad asks Quackity -- he’s a chaotic individual -- what if he could join something greater than himself? Callahan as well? He asks if Quackity would either wish to be brainwashed, or voluntarily join the Eggpire. Quackity could be in charge of everything.

- Quackity says to keep talking...Bad says he would make a great leader. The Egg could be the means to the end of becoming the leader over everything.

- Ever since the whole L’manburg, fight with Dream happened, Quackity’s been wandering, taking some time off. Thinking about things. But he doesn’t like the idea of the Vines covering the entire SMP.

- Bad explains that once the Vines have covered everything, Quackity can come in as the ultimate hero, conquering the Egg and becoming the ruler of the entire Dream SMP.

Quackity asks...what’s the catch? Why wouldn’t Bad do this himself?

Bad says all he wants is to see Quackity succeed. 

Bad: “You...could become the ruler of all of this.”

Quackity asks for Bad to show him a little more.

Bad: “The Egg can grant you your heart’s desires.”

Quackity: “So why do you still not have Skeppy?”

- Bad shows him around. Quackity wants to see exactly what Bad has up his sleeve, what’s really going on here. Karl follows them around in hiding.

- Bad, Quackity and Callahan jump down into the spider spawner to head to the Egg Room without Prime Suits on.

- Callahan dies on the Egg’s magma and disappears in the presence of the Egg.

- Quackity stands on the Egg and says it’s...wonderful. He feels great. A strange sensation.

The Crimson speaks.

- Karl types in chat, trying to get Quackity to leave the Egg.

- Quackity freaks out and says he needs to get out. He starts running, shouting in fear. He faces Bad in the hallway, telling him to stay back.

Bad: “Power! Power. Power...you want power, Quackity.”

...

Quackity: “Badboyhalo, there is something so very wrong with you...” 

- Karl jumps into the hallway and hits Bad away.

- Quackity tells Bad to never do this to him again. Bad says everyone has to make a choice. He tried the easy way already, but Quackity’s chosen the difficult path...

- Bad comes to the Egg, frustrated. He’s trying to be nice, trying to give everybody a chance...and they’re not taking it.

The Crimson whispers to him.

- Bad thinks that maybe, letting so many Vines grow has turned people against the Crimson instead of getting them to love it.

- Bad lets Ponk out. He’s vibing. Bad gives him a pain au chocolat.

- Bad asks the Egg. What are they to do?

The Crimson whispers.

Bad says he had hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Nothing matters but the Egg...and Skeppy.

- Bad leaves the Egg. They have to check the status of Sam, deal with Tommy, and see if they can still get Quackity on their side. He can come around to them! Antfrost and Bad need to meet with Technoblade as well.

- Quackity whispers to Bad that he would like to talk.  As he comes up, he spots Ranboo wandering around.

The Crimson whispers, but Bad says he “can’t deal with this one at the moment.”

Bad picks up the grass block that Ranboo left and places it in his Ender Chest...

- Bad addresses chat: have they spent enough time with the Egg that they can hear the Egg too?

- Bad meets with Quackity at Eret’s castle. As Quackity jumps a fence, he places down some purple concrete. Bad picks it up and places it in his Ender Chest as well.

- They make it into the wilderness and Quackity tries to snap Bad out of it.

Quackity: “You’re one of the only people on the server who I have a little bit of hope in! ...What the hell is going on?”

“That’s not you! That’s not you, Bad!”

Bad: “The Egg offered me exactly what I wanted!”

Quackity: “What’d the Egg give you?”

Bad: “The Egg gave it to me -- or told me that it could get it for me.”

Bad says that Skeppy got infected by the Egg, and he realized that there was no way that he could get him back to normal, so he knew he had one job: if he got infected by the Egg too, then everything would be fine.

What else could Bad have done except done what the Egg told him? All of Bad’s attempted cures just ended up messing Skeppy up more and more. He couldn’t get Skeppy back to normal on his own. The Egg said if Skeppy was red, everything would be okay.

Bad: “Everybody has something that they want. Something -- when you lose something that you’re really close to, and you’re worried that you’ve lost it for good, sometimes you’re willing to make the tough sacrifices in order to get that thing back.”

Quackity: “And what are these ‘sacrifices?’ Your other friends?”

Quackity is offended that Bad would think the only thing he wants is power. Is that all Bad sees him as? Power-hungry?

Quackity: “Bad, I wanna help you.”

The Egg has an objective, one objective. It wants something, but can’t get it on its own. It needs people to get it. That’s why the Egg needs people, at least right now.

- Bad and Quackity argue. 

- Quackity says Bad is a liability. He shouts at Bad to just listen. Quackity suggests that if they find the source of power for this Egg...maybe they can use this to the ultimate well-being of everyone. Because if the Egg can control others, then...maybe they can control other people for good?

- The only person the Egg can’t control is Tommy, so he has to die.

- It’s not a specific person that the Egg can’t control, but a specific type of person.

- Bad wonders...what if he could control the Egg?

Maybe he could free Skeppy himself.

- But how could they control the Egg? Quackity says he’s thought of a different type of control. Their conversation has given him some thoughts. He says Bad can deal with his Egg stuff alone, but he’s too far gone.

- Quackity says it’s not just about gathering people. There’s power in other measures too.

Quackity: “Do you remember that room Dream had where he had everyone’s personal belongings and he essentially had full control of just about everyone, because he had control of their personal belongings?”

- Bad says Quackity’s getting in the way of what he’s trying to accomplish. Quackity says they may be trying to accomplish the same things...

Quackity: “We have the same objectives with different measures.”

- It’s time they part ways. Before they split, though, Quackity leads Bad up a hill and has him look out across the wilderness.

Quackity: “Look at all this. Remember this for a long time...all of this empty land, all of these things...that people think don’t matter, Bad? They do matter, they do matter. Picture this in your head...just never forget it, okay?”

- They leave.

Quackity: “Goodbye, Bad...good luck in whatever you’re gonna do...

And I’ll make sure to get in your way.”

- Bad returns to the SMP, thinking to himself. If the Egg can give him his friend back, then that’s good...right?

- Punz’s eyes have turned red. He’s become favorable to the Vines growing on his tower, saying he likes the feeling of chaos it brings to him.

---

The Crimson spoke with five distinct messages throughout the stream, reversed:

“I will give you your heart’s desire...I will give you what you want.”

“Kill the boy ...Tommy must die.”

“This world is mine...it belongs to me.”

“Feed me...I require nourishment.”

“I know all...I see all...I...AM...ALL...”

---

[ckneal]

Sometimes I need to remind myself that not everyone watched Supernatural with an ongoing gen fic happening in their head, all about the family life of the angels before Chuck’s disappearance and the rise of humanity. And as such, not everyone was constantly compiling stray details thrown out about the angel characters, clustering them together into this rubber band ball of ideas that was just so fun to play with.

I mean, for instance, not everyone took in the way the other angel characters seemed to look down their noses at the cupid characters (who, it’s worth noting, are never once referred to by their individual names, but instead by the human pet name for their category of cherub [which in Lucifer’s case, was certainly framed as an unflattering term], despite Castiel once boasting that he knew everyone in Heaven), and reason to themselves that it was surely because the other angels were jealous. Because obviously, the cupids are given classified information from God himself about what bloodlines he wants to see continued and merged for the sake of his Plan, putting these silly, non-combatant angels on par with the archangels in terms of secret knowledge about what was to come. For the first couple billions of years of existence, while the other classes of angels were sitting around with nothing to do, they all had to watch the cupids happily zipping around the earth, cooing over blue-green algae and gradually coaxing different species into existence with their magic love arrows. And every time a significant milestone was reached, they also had to watch as the insipid little harbingers of love scooped the newborn creature up and raced over to the nearest archangel to excitedly show them their progress, like a little kid with their first art project. And the archangel in question, regardless of which one, would nod encouragingly and smile as the cupid in question babbled about the tiny, tiny lungs this fish had, or the beginnings of feet at the ends of its fins. Even Lucifer, who would also add the additional suggestion to try and give the next one more teeth.

Additionally, not everyone looked at the way that Lucifer was able to just insert himself into Sam’s head from inside the cage, and considered how Azazel needed to visit a specific geographic location to communicate with Lucifer, and even then was only just barely able to do so, and thus came to the conclusion that clearly Michael and Lucifer must have come to an agreement to pool their powers to project Luci’s image into Sam’s head. Which explains why Sam’s special link disappears right after leaving the cage, and also why Michael didn’t interfere when Lucifer was freed, even though season 15 makes it clear that Luci did not sneak quietly out the backdoor. Michael was fully aware who was responsible for the jailbreak, thus leading us to consider that perhaps Lucifer was supposed to turn around and free Michael and Adam in turn, but did not. Thus leading us to imagine Michael spending roughly a year (Earth time) tapping his foot in the cage, until . . .

“He’s not coming back for us, is he?”

And Adam, cracking open a molecule-flavored soda (manifested courtesy of Michael), snickers. “Nope. Told you not to trust him.”

“Right. . .” Michael exhales, looks around for a moment, settles on side-eyeing Adam. Then, with an air of ‘fuck it’ says, “Want to make out?”

And Adam promptly chokes on his soda.

And not everyone heard Metatron specifically say that he personally tattooed the names of every prophet of the Lord ever on the inner eyelids of every angel, and immediately had the thought, “Poor Michael” spring to mind. Because of course Michael was the first one on the proverbial chopping block, trying his best not to flinch as his little brother gradually figured out how to handle the needle. (To this day, Michael is still not sure if the prophet after Chuck Shurley is named Kevin Tran or Rovim Frun). And all the while, Michael was probably also trying his best not to worry about how things were going on Earth while he was busy getting his eyes stabbed.

After all, Lucifer was God’s second eldest son, barely younger than Michael in the grand scheme of things. He could handle watching over their younger siblings for a little while. And Raphael and Gabriel were there to help. Everything would be fine.

However, Michael isn’t aware that about five minutes after being left in charge, Lucifer yelled, “HEY EVERYONE, CHECK THIS OUT!” And then promptly threw his grace into the body of a nearby pterodactyl. Possession being a new ability that Chuck had recently invented, the surrounding angels were mystified as Lucifer piloted the prehistoric reptile through a series of dizzying loop-de-loops that saw the poor creature—not suited to containing angel grace—explode midway through, leaving Lucifer gleefully giggling in the sky.

About half of the angels looking on gaped in horror.

Gabriel whispered to Raphael, “We’re still beta testing that, right?”

The other half of the gathered angels, however, like the impressionable young followers that they are, start grinning, because Lucifer is grinning, and he’s their cool older brother, and as Lucifer—relishing the attention—makes a beeline toward the earth’s one continent, Pangea, and an unsuspecting herd of ornithopods, these younger angels eagerly follow.

Soon, Earth is full of the anguished cries of cupids, watching their hard work blown to bits again and again. Swept up in the crowd, are Castiel and Balthazar. They watch Uriel and Zachariah excitedly throw their armored dinosaur bodies against one another in the moments before both vessels combust, after which Uriel and Zachariah excitedly dart off to take on new ones.

“Are we sure this is. . .okay?”

“Well, Lucifer is in charge. We’re supposed to follow his lead. . .aren’t we?”

Meanwhile, Raphael is frantically trying to stem the carnage. Several dinosaurs are levitating in mid-air, as Raphael tries to simultaneously keep them from exploding while also ordering the angels possessing them to vacate the vessels immediately. But none of them have ever taken a vessel before, and do not know how to get out of them without tearing them apart. Raphael keeps expanding their powers to more and more creatures as their young siblings continue to follow Lucifer’s example.

“GABRIEL, DO SOMETHING!”

“RIGHT!” Gabriel looks around, locates Lucifer running amuck in an apatosaurus that he’s forcing to walk on its hind legs, and fires off a lightning bolt to startle him out.

The lightning bolt misses its target in spectacular fashion, and several trees catch on fire.

Gabriel throws another lightning bolt.

“GABRIEL, THAT IS NOT HELPING!”

“RIGHT!”

Gabriel then grabs a giant meteor from outer space and begins trying to smother the flames by whacking it against the continent, to Raphael’s horror. More cupids begin to cry. Thick clouds of dust fly up, choking out natural light on the planet’s surface—now only illuminated by flames, as well as the magma that rises up out of the cracks that form in Pangea, as Gabe unintentionally creates the first tectonic plates from the sheer force of his assault on the planet.

Trees fall over. Fire continues to spread.

Lucifer is still in the apatosaurus, but he’s fallen onto his side, laughing hysterically.

“WATER, GABRIEL! USE WATER!”

“OH! RIGHT!”

Gabriel throws the meteor into a nearby sea, creating a tsunami.

It is at this point that Raphael abandons the dinosaurs to their sad fate, forgetting their solemn oath to not reveal any secrets regarding evolution and God’s plan, to broadly yell out to any and all of their angelic siblings who are listening, “QUICKLY, SAVE THE MAMMALS!”

And it is at this point, that Michael returns. Samandriel, clutching a dozen or so rodents in his wings, is the first one to spot him. All of Michael’s eyes are red and puffy from abuse. The cupids are sobbing, the Earth is battered, flooded, and scorched. Angels are getting into fist fights with reapers as they dart back and forth, trying to ferry as many warm-blooded creatures as they can find from the site of the catastrophe to the relative safety on the other side of the mountain range Gabriel accidently made when he bashed a crater into the planet—relative, as it turns out some of those new mountains are in fact volcanoes, and it took some trial and error to figure out how far away from an active volcano could be considered “safe.”

Nearby, Castiel and Balthazar are somehow both stuck inside the same mosasaur, beached from the tsunami, and loudly panicking as they struggle to de-possess it before it explodes. There’s a snapping sound, and then suddenly all of the angels still trapped (or willfully frolicking) inside vessels are ejected, at the same time that the fire goes out and the volcanoes cease erupting.

Consequently, everyone goes very still as Michael scans the damage and his bedraggled siblings. With humans not yet existing, the art of facepalming is not yet a thing. But looking at Michael, one might just expect him to invent the practice right then and there.

When Michael gets to Lucifer, he’s greeted with, “What? Pop’s 86-ing the lizard kingdom anyway!”

Michael promptly drags Lucifer off to Heaven.               

The next day, it was made an official rule, written into the very fabric of angelkind: vessels could only be taken after obtaining explicit consent.

Additionally, everyone agreed to never, ever mention the existence of the dinosaurs or how they ended ever again. And, rather than fixing the damage to the Earth’s surface, the tectonic plate situation was just sort of left to do as it would.

Many, many years later, Adam was shocked by Michael’s reaction when the cage door suddenly swung open in Hell. Adam had immediately surged to his feet in excitement, ready to leave and never come back.

Michael, however, remained stationary on the floor, squinting at the doorway, wondering what dystopian nightmare must be waiting on Earth after leaving his siblings unsupervised for a solid decade.

“Michael? You okay?”

“Adam, before we go back to Earth, I think I need to tell you a story. . .”

[writingamongther0ses]

Burn

Alpha One experiences the burn of new feelings.

Written for @oc-growth-and-development’s Oc-Tober, Day 13: Burn and Inktober Day 17: Collide.

If you like my writing, come buy me a tea.

-_-

Alpha One, the right hand to God, stood in the security center. Their white hands were neatly folded behind their back as their artificial blue eyes pulsed to the beat of their heart. All the screens showed the past feed from the security cameras. They all showed the escape of the fugitives. One held a familiar girl to his chest.

"Here, commander." a tech said finally. Their head turned sharply from the small bundle on the screen. He brought up a face scan taken at the entrance of the group. It had been taken hours ago, but their wait had felt like days. "Hm," The tech sounded interested as he looked over the file of the girl. "She was a student at Education-0957. There's no record of a first name or parents, due to a blackout a few years ago. It wiped out many of the files on the planet, and nobody could get them back.” Common trouble on the education planets. “But her surname is Siv- in the old language it meant bride. 0957 turned into Vulture meat a day or so ago. I don't know how she escaped but here's what I can find."

The guard transferred the information onto a data chip and handed it to Alpha. They took it smoothly without a brush of his fingers. "Good work," they said. He would be rewarded later, but they had things to do, including keeping things quiet from the public, punishing the disobedient guards, and figuring out who had died onstage. They transferred the chip to their tablet and set down the hall. As they walked, they turned on the tablet and started to read.

Siv was of Japanese descent, around the Tokyo area if the education system's required genetic testing was correct. She had been taken to Education-0957 when she was around seven when her planet, Shipyard-1759, had been bought. She had a lifetime of mental problems- anxiety, self-destructive tendencies, hallucinations, chronic lying, avoidance of medical help, the list went on. Alpha continued through the file as they entered their temporary quarters, fancily decorated and full of presents. It was too grand for their tastes but usable. They didn’t bother to look around. They pulled the chip out and inserted it into one of the screens that littered the room. Instantly, the screens lit up with the information and footage.

She was born on November 7 of 2185 AR…

A beep drew their attention. They pressed the communication button hidden in their ear. “Alpha One speaking.”

“Alpha.”

They almost dropped the tablet. “My lord!”

“My Eye heard about the...incident during the presentation and informed me about it. Would you like to report what happened?” Baldar’s voice was smooth as butter and as soft as silk. It reminded them of the early days at his side, listening to him gently explain things.

Those days were long gone.

“Y-Yes, milord. I was showing the crowd the Heaven’s Gate when I saw a girl trying to leave the presentation.” They remembered the fury that had risen at that blasphemy. “I chose her for the free demonstration, to show her your light. To make her perfect. She attempted to avoid it but I had her brought up. The assistant I had prepare her must’ve gotten stuck inside with her, I wasn’t paying attention-”

“Describe her.”

Alpha's eyes landed on a screen at the words. This had Siv's face scan image blown upon it. She held a mask of determination, but her nervousness was clear in her eyes and the tension in her jaw. It dawned on them that they were staring and they looked away. Still, the image of her determined glare wormed its way through their mind.

“Her body seemed to be based on magma if I had to guess from her unfortunate complexion.” They had seen magma-based aliens before and they had held the same warm skin tone and dark splotches. Oddly, the pictures beside the gate picture showed no signs of that. “From the remains of her records, Japanese descent. Short, dark red hair and brown-red eyes.” Eyes that turned to angered bronze, the scent of fire clinging to her, not matching her school pictures. “She had an odd thing in her chest.”

“Describe it.”

“It looked like a wooden drawer. There was a face carved into it.”

There was silence. Alpha decided to take a chance.

“My lord?”

“He did do something.” Baldar’s voice had lost its smooth echo, making him sound like an ordinary man. It reminded them of how Siv’s voice changed with her emotions. The comparison between their god and the blasphemer was odd. They waited patiently without wording their thought, like a good follower. There was shifting and a sigh. Finally, their lord spoke, sounding cool and collected.  “You did nothing wrong. You did the right thing, trying to bring her to the light. Find her. Find her and bring her to me.”

"Yes, milord-"

"And speed up the search for Angerboda."

He disconnected before they could confirm.

Alpha pulled their hand away from their ear. The red eyes in their vision made them realize that they were staring again.

Why?

She was a symbol of all Baldar fought against- copper and red, uncouth, disregard for perfection…

What was it about this pitiful creature that interested them so?

Siv had no visible past left, no possible future, no family, not even a proper name...but she was still fighting. She was fighting with passionate fury to survive despite all odds stacked against her.

In a word, Alpha was fascinated by her.

She had no reason to keep living. Yet she was, with a ferocity and determination and passion that showed in the copper and yellow of her face, the amber and bronze of her eyes, and the scalding remarks on her tongue. She had scolded Alpha and the entirety of Baldar on stage, and for some reason, the memory made the blood and preserving fluid rush through them a little bit faster.

They flicked through the little footage of her, the images taken of her on her planet, through scans guards and cameras had taken until they were back to the blowup of her expressive face. As if she would shy away, they carefully placed a white-gloved hand to the pixelated image.

"Siv," they breathed, almost reverently. They suddenly wished that the mask was off, so they could be like her a little more. Maybe she wouldn't have shied away from the perfection they offered. Maybe she would've loved them as the other Followers did.

Alpha's eyes suddenly flew open and they staggered back.

Become like her? Imperfect? That would be sacrilege of the highest degree.

No, that wouldn't do, not at all. But she still fascinated them with her emotions, clear and bright through her very skin. They didn't want to change that. The memory of their orders hit them and they nodded.

Siv wouldn't have to change. She would be a valuable ally to Baldar- incredibly strong, very powerful, and dedicated to whatever cause she had. Alpha would simply have to indoctrinate her to Baldar's truth and…then they would have her.

The thought made their heart pound a little bit more. They slowly turned back to her image and imagined her with the mask, the ears, and the blue eyes. Like a perfect little Follower. The thought of her, stripped of any personality and like the rest of the Followers, wasn't as pleasing as it should be.

But she wouldn't have to wear the mask. Alpha chuckled at their silliness. She was made of fire and magma. It would just melt off.

She would be Baldar's worst follower and most perfect weapon.

The thought made them shiver.

[kyousei-archive]

unmasked

    A headcanon as to what Kakuzu’s life was before recruitment into the Akatsuki. Please keep in mind this background will heavily influence my interpretation of Kakuzu’s character and make personal relationships with him more than just difficult!

    Tanned skin, dark eyes. Brunette. She was tiny, at least in comparison to him. Unassuming and normal all things considered.

    – But, god, she was beautiful.

    Perhaps it was her smile that had captured him at first, or that even, tranquil personality that had tamed the most fearsome temperament in all of Takigakure. He’d been young then, a mere Chuunin destined for great things – headed for the Council to bring their country to peace. However, seeing how easily that man could fly into a fit of rage… any sort of idea like that would be a long time coming.

    His former squad had all been killed and friends had been hard to come by. Takigakure was poor, horribly so. Even their most capable warriors, their Elders and Council members – they could only grasp for anything to keep them afloat, often resorting to testing their own morals in order to survive. Family killing family, friends turning against friends. It wasn’t capable of fazing him any longer. His own mother and father had been swiped clean off the face of the earth, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with.

    Perhaps that had been why he had always seen himself more as a Doton user, instead of the affinity for water that he was in possession of. Stone was hard, immovable. It was like him. Cold one moment and burning like magma the next. Kakuzu wasn’t water. He wasn’t tranquil or beautiful. In fact, he was rather scarred and gruff looking.

    It had always been like that. He’d been given a strong jaw from his father, broad shoulders and a built chest. Though it had always been his eyes that had scared people off the quickest. It hadn’t been his quick temper or his appearance, no… His eyes were unique in Taki, mint and maroon and harsh. It wasn’t rare for a single glance to send others running.

    Not her. Certainly not her.

    The library, as strange as it sounded, had always been a place of peace for the Chuunin. He could read and learn about the history of his village, about the beastly Choumei that had once plagued this land. It was relaxing, a welcomed silence from the blood and gore he had been forced to endure day after day protecting his village.

    Though there had been one time his peace had undoubtedly turned on its head… A quiet day, just like any other, that those strange eyes had taken advantage of by drinking in information from dusty scrolls and thick manuscripts.

    “They’re pretty.”

    He’d jolted, not expecting a voice from someone he hadn’t sensed approached. Eyes had blinked once, twice, three times upon sitting fully upright, and his upper body turned toward the visitor that had interrupted his silence. Kiyomi. He would have never guessed exactly what the future would hold for them back then. At the time, he’d simply thought of it as an annoyance.

    Kakuzu was silent, tanned lips pulling into a small frown as brows knit beneath his headband. What had she been talking about..?

    “Your eyes, I mean. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

    Maybe it was then that she’d completely captured his attention, especially after that miniscule smile that had accompanied her words. Kiyomi was a civilian nowhere near any sort of match for the shinobi, but still brave enough to approach him in his time of solace. – Or maybe she didn’t know. He hadn’t been certain at the time which he would have liked better. Nor would he really ever be certain.

    Everything had seemed like such a blur from there. They’d gotten closer, able to call each other friends, and closer still. His temper that had once been known throughout all of Takigakure had all but vanished. Kakuzu had been well-mannered, irritable, but still capable of reeling in the beast that had once constituted his personality. If only for her.

    He could have broken her without a second thought, as he had done to many in the past who had gone against him. And yet... he didn’t. She had made him happy – an emotion that few hidden among the waterfalls could say they had truly experienced.

    Kakuzu had been able to make due supporting two. Extra missions here and there to make up for what she couldn’t had been enough then. He’d been thankful for the minor increase in salary with his promotion to Jounin. There had been one moment, though, that had sent his world to a screeching halt.

    “I’m pregnant.”

    He’d almost spat out his drink with the sudden information, eyes immediately falling to her stomach. Kiyomi’s belly had looked fine; there was no swell beneath her clothing, nothing at all that could have said that she was carrying a life inside of her. “—Shit.”

    She had laughed at his reaction, had told him not to worry. He listened, saving every last scrap of worth that he had come into contact with for the next nine months. A family of three was a number that he could handle, which he did for quite some time. She had given him a little girl, a bundled gift that was the striking image of her mother. Thankfully. They named her Kishiko.

    Four, however, was a number that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Again they were graced with one more addition to the family, a stocky boy named Hayase that seemed a combination of his parents. He had his mother’s eyes.

    Mission after mission after mission had run the Jounin dry. Every spark of energy had been given to keep his small corner of the world afloat, but still he could call himself happy. They were content with what they had and grateful for every moment that Kakuzu was able to spend at home. Stress had given the shinobi a harsher stare and a perpetual frown. But still, she loved him.

    There had been a single request from Takigakure’s finest warrior to the Village Council: to keep the stress of his work away from his family. They had listened for the most part, that is… Until the group of four had visited the small home on the outskirts of the village.

                                                   We have an assignment for you.

    The knock on the door had been unexpected, even somewhat strange. Visitors to the household were all but nonexistent; no one dared to traverse this far out of the village simply to meet the one person who wouldn’t give them a welcome. His temper had changed, yes, but the way he acted in the face of annoyances was a different story. Kakuzu remained hostile to all that did not reside in his home, presenting a silent anger to all those he stood against. There had always seemed an air about him that churned and roared silently to itself, storming against the impending battles that were sure to come.

    Until those eyes she had commented on all those years ago fell back to her. That typhoon fell into a quiet breeze that simply rippled against his thoughts. – Like water. It had been her and those brats that had turned the stone to liquid, like alchemists trying to turn granite to gold, only to fail and end up with mud.

    Door having been thrown open, the last people that the Jounin had any expectation of visiting had interrupted him, had come to his home with the explicit request to stay away. How arrogant those fools were, hiding behind their masks as if their military status gave them any real power. He could have ripped them all in half before they could blink.

                                                  “We have an assignment for you.”

    An assignment, Kakuzu soon realized, that would change the entirety of Takigakure forever if it was successful. It would have put his name in the history books that he adored and lost himself in. The killer of the first Hokage: Senju Hashirama.

    The world was at war with one another and the surrounding waterfalls appeared to be in the center of it. Borders had been held firm against the Great Nations attempting to take Takigakure for its own, a massive feat for such a small and poor country. It was only logical to remove the biggest obstacle in the way of the Council’s goals. If Konoha fell due to the actions of their strongest Jounin, reason stated that the Shinobi War would crumble and the Five Great Elemental Nations along with it.

   No one would see the spec of a country rising to power in their calculations. The balance would be shifted.

    It could end.

    Promises had been made to the Jounin as his assignment had been laid out for him. His family would be kept safe and out of harm’s way and the funds that he so desperately needed to keep them stable would be given without further question. They already knew what he wanted out of this and had dangled it in front of him like a carrot to a starving horse. It would benefit not only himself, but the livelihood of those he held so dear in ways that he would not be able to do for them otherwise. There had been only a small moment’s thought before Kakuzu accepted.

    Kiyomi begged him not to.

    It would only be later that the understanding of what he had to overcome in order to complete his mission would dawn on Kakuzu’s shoulders. This was a gamble he was nowhere near powerful enough to partake in, a gamble he’d been unknowingly led into with honey-laced words and ideals of grandeur.

    – And so he left.

    Senju Hashirama was a powerful leader of his country, stronger than even that of the famed Uchiha Madara. To be the master of two opposing forces, of both the ground and the sea… It took control and precision that would have been incomprehensible to someone that had only heard of the great Hokage. It was Kakuzu himself that had been forced to endure it.

    Defeat had only been expected, but the remainder of his life… That was something that had not been put into his calculations. Takigakure was strict and ruthless; every shinobi of the village knew that without a doubt. He had expected humiliation and being stripped of his title. Exile and public execution were not out of the question either.

    It had been the imprisonment of his family, of his wife and children that had taken him off guard. News of his failure had rippled through the village like water drops from the countless falls that dotted through the village before he had even returned. He had discovered his home burned to the ground, belongings lost to the flame as injuries that covered his body turned tanned skin a dirty crimson.

         They were safe.

                   They had to be.

    The beginning stages of panic and anger began to set in, energy drained limbs having blood stained fingers curled into tight fists. He had begun to tremble with a rage that hadn’t been allowed to let loose in years, lips pulling into a tight line and brows furrowing. Chakra was already dangerously low, yet as the silent orders from the Council were brought into effect Kakuzu was still capable of fighting off many of those Jounin he had once considered allies.

    Bones cracked and blood stained the grass on his feet, yells of fury overtaking the clearing as his vision turned red.

         They were safe.

                   They were safe.

                           They were safe.

    The constant reminder, no matter how small of a shred of hope it had been, wasn’t enough to pull him into a state of control. He fought and fought until eyes began to blur, movements becoming sluggish as exhaustion began to catch up with his body and mind.

    Having been overpowered at last, he had no choice but to be forced into a state of submission; head bowed to the ground and arms twisted behind him. Kakuzu found his chest heaving for air, heart pounding against his rib cage at even the mere prospect of the three most important people in his life being harmed because of his failure.

    The Takigakure prison was where those traitors were kept, cuffed and kept in cells like animals to await their fate. He was no different, guards standing on either side of the expanse of bars that kept him contained in the small area he was allowed. How pathetic…

    – But he needed to remain in control. For them.

    It smelled of sins and traitors in there, an indescribable smell that burned at his senses and tore at the guilt buried deep in his gut. He had been too weak to follow through with his orders and the consequences had been accepted. Marks of traitors were tattooed into his forearms, four bands that he had found himself counting until his time was up.

    Only the promise of their safety, the thought of them smiling had kept the beast of Takigakure at bay – for now. His eyes had sunken in after days of neglect, head bowed forward with locks of dirty brown obscuring his features. Hands had been secured behind his back but no attempt to escape from them had been made. He had merely sat, quietly, for hours upon hours. Reactions had tried to be pulled from him time and time again by the guards poking and prodding him with humiliating words, yet only a deep growl had been heard from the monster.

    Three days had passed before he had moved, head lifting slowly with the instinct that something was wrong. Something was incredibly wrong. The guards had been talking among themselves as if their prisoner couldn’t hear, complaining about a public execution that they would miss. A woman. Two children; a boy and a girl.

    He had felt his heart drop into his gut, denial washing through his nervous system in a flood. – But he knew. Those in association with traitors would be treated as traitors. Kakuzu’s wife and children would be murdered in cold blood in front of their village – the village that he had been loyal to and followed without question. Until now. No longer would he allow himself to be seen as a shinobi from this village.

    The Council would no longer dangle promises of safety and prosperity in front of him. Their hearts would be in his hands.

    It had started as a quiet fury, the waves of chakra pouring from his body like water from the falls having stunned the guards into silence. It grew swiftly, the red returning to his vision that he hadn’t truly seen in many years. The village had forgotten how fearsome their most powerful warrior could be when enraged beyond control; they would soon be reminded why they had feared him in the beginning.

    Had that sound been him? It couldn’t have been. The noise that reached his ears must have been made by that of a monster, a terrifying roar that shuddered through him, trembling against the walls of his jail cell and into the very cores of those who were assigned to guard him. The memories of what had happened next would never truly be remembered in full detail; the fury that bubbled through his veins had blocked his senses in full.

    There had been faint flashes of crimson, the scent of blood mingling through the air as each and every occupant of that prison had been ripped to pieces -- guards and their charges alike. He remembered the sounds of bones cracking, of stone crumbling under the force of his hands and the screams of those who begged for their lives. What right did they have to survive? This village had taken everything from him; they had taken his past, his present and his future in a single moment of trying to prove their superiority over the rest.

    His hands had been stained red before the prison fell silent of the carnage, trembling breaths from his remaining anger the only sound heard.

    But he could not stop. He ran until his muscles burned, every muscle aching in his body until Kakuzu’s only energy was a will to continue. Yet as the executioner’s clearing came into view all his eyes could focus on were shapes his mind refused to correlate to his family.

    Bodies, three of them. Blood, pooled and saturated into the ground.

    Kakuzu’s knees buckled underneath him.

    Not a sound broke through the clearing. Silence buzzed in his ears until the noise felt like it began reverberating into his limbs, and finally into his chest.

    The sun had long since fallen before he could rise.

    The village had taken everything from him, so he would take everything from them. Only the most highly regarded shinobi of this country knew of their most prized technique; it was forbidden and dangerous. Kakuzu had read about it once, of the fearsome power of stealing the hearts of enemies to take their chakra and prolong a lifespan.

     What a fitting end it would be for those fools. Those fools that had thought a warrior with everything to lose would be weak once it was lost.

     No, they would discover that a warrior who had lost everything would sooner cut his own throat than lay down and accept that fate.

     He didn’t care about the blood that had caked his clothes or his skin; his only goal was finding that scroll. The secret archives were no more secret than they were well-guarded. It seemed only the fear of discovery was what had kept thieves at bay, but his goal was clear. Whomever had found enough bravery within them to step before this monstrous beast was disposed of without a thought.

    What he had not expected, however, was the pain. There was no wonder in Kakuzu’s mind why this was classified as a forbidden technique. The agony that had ripped through every muscle fiber was not of a normal scale. Only those with enough will in their bones and strength in their mind would be able to endure it.

    Skin had been forced away from underlying flesh, torn and sewn back together by black tendrils that seemed to have a mind of their own. Muscle was gouged and replaced with the living threads to act as tendons and nerves. They had fully incorporated themselves into his body, leaving him weak and suffering both mentally and physically.

    What would she have thought..? Bloody wounds now crossed back and forth against the skin she had loved to trail her fingers over. Kakuzu had become marred and ugly, a monster in every shape and aspect. It was Takigakure’s fault for bringing him to this point, for making him finally snap against their overwhelming rule. Each of them would suffer for their crimes against him, of their tyranny and iron fists.

    He imagined their screams for mercy were the same as hers before her execution, the same as his children’s cries for help as their mother was slaughtered in front of them. These four would receive the same treatment. Four lives had been ruined by these four masked figures, one mask for each of them.

    Still beating hearts had been ripped from their chests, newly acquired tendrils strangling each of the Council members ruthlessly until death itself happily took them into its arms.

    Their hearts would be in his hands.

    He felt no remorse for the poor souls that discovered the carnage the next morning, the sight of their leaders ripped limb from limb until they were hardly recognizable. Their masks had been taken and stitched to the very back of the man that had killed them.

    They would be forced to watch the trail behind the monster they had created.

[jurassicsunsets]

question: do you think there’s fossils underneath the deepest sea floor? Do you think we could ever get down there to dig them?

Totally there are! In fact, much of the seafloor is made of fossils.

To properly answer this question we first have to talk about hard-rock geology. 

Part 1: Hard Rock Cafe

When I say hard rock I mean igneous rocks (rocks that formed by cooling of molten rock) and metamorphic rocks (rocks that formed when already-formed rocks were cooked and altered). This is to set it apart from soft rock (sedimentary rocks—rocks that formed from bits of stuff getting squished together) and prog rock (rock that formed when 1960s musicians took LSD). Hard rock is what forms the basement of the world, beneath all the other layers of rock, and so it’s what we have to start with here.

The ocean crust acts very differently from the continental crust, and that really deserves several long posts of its own. I’ll summarise it by saying this: Ocean crust is thinner, younger, and moves more than continental crust.

(Image: A gif of seafloor spreading. Oceanic crust moves away from the central plate boundary in both directions, like two conveyor belts going in opposite directions.)

Oceanic crust is formed at the boundaries between tectonic plates, and specifically where the plates are pulling apart from each other (AKA a divergent boundary). This exposes the mantle that is underneath the crust, causing lava to pour out.

Now we come to a very common misconception. It’s very common to think that the mantle is a liquid magma, a molten ocean upon which floats the Earth’s crust. But this isn’t actually true. The Earth’s mantle, despite being at very high temperature, is solid. This is because the enormous weight of the rocks above creates so much pressure that the mantle takes its most compact state—solid. (As a bonus fact, the minerals that make up the Earth’s mantle are lime green.)

(Image: A chunk of peridotite, the rock that makes up much of the Earth’s mantle. As promised, it is indeed lime green, and is made up primarily of olivine—the same mineral that makes up the gemstone peridot. There’s also some pyroxene in there, the same mineral that makes up asbestos! [Source])

Despite being solid, the mantle is still a fluid. That might take a bit to wrap your head around, so I’ll help you out. Think of silly putty; it’s a solid, but also can flow and deform in a ductile manner. Make that a lot thicker and that’s kind of how the mantle acts.

Back to the divergent boundary. The seafloor pulls apart by tectonic forces, exposing the mantle. Remember, the only thing keeping the mantle solid is the weight of the rock above it that compresses it. So, when that pressure is removed—pow! The mantle melts, and erupts as lava. This lava meets the cold ocean and “freezes” quickly into solid rock, schmamming onto the sides of the plates that are moving apart. And so new crust is born.

If you have taken any middle-school science you probably know that heat makes things expand. And if you haven’t, then you’re now getting a leg up on your classmates. And if you have taken middle-school science but didn’t learn this, I can’t blame you. The school system is a mess and it failing you is not your fault. The fact that you’re reading this is proof it didn’t manage to completely kill your curiosity, so good on you!

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Heat makes things expand. When things expand they became less dense, and so they float a little higher. This means that the brand-spanking-new ocean crust at the mid ocean ridge, which is still hot from being erupted, “floats” on the mantle higher than than the older, cooler crust.

(Image: A map of the world, with particular attention to the topography of the seafloor. It’s not all flat, but rather, has long mountain ranges down the centre of the ocean basins (shown in dark blue). [Source])

This causes the divergent zones in the middle of the ocean to form long ridges where the new crust floats higher than the older crust. Because the crust moves away from the middle ridge like a conveyor belt, the older crust gets pushed further and further away as new crust is created at the ridge.

We can take samples of these crust rocks using super deep rock-coring rigs, and then we can use these cores to conduct radiometric dating and find the age of rocks in different parts of the ocean. This is shown below:

(Image: A map of the world, showing the age of the oceanic crust. The youngest rock is shown in red and it right near the centre ridges of the oceans, while older rock is further away. [Source])

You can imagine “rolling back” the rocks progressively towards the mid-ocean ridge, until South America and Africa fit together right at the ridge—as they did about 100 million years ago.

When crust gets too old, it cools down and becomes more brittle. This can cause it to break and sink under continents, a process known as subduction. This is currently occurring on both sides of the Pacific ocean. The Atlantic, however, has not begun subducting away yet.

Part 2: Soft rock and smooth jazz

All the above was to give a necessary context to talking about fossils in the ocean. We now have a maximum age of fossils that we could possibly find in the ocean; any older than that, and the rocks would be subducted underneath continents and returned to the mantle. The fossils on top of the oceanic crust have to be younger than the crust itself.

So, how are these fossils preserved? This is where we get to sedimentary rocks. I mentioned above that sedimentary rocks form primarily by broken-up bits of other rocks getting schmammed together into a bigger rock. This happens in the ocean, too. Rivers carry sand, silt, and clay into the ocean, and deposit it.

However, these particles can only travel so far. Eventually, these tiny particles of rock will start to sink. The smaller the particle, the easier is is for currents to sweep it up and prevent it from sinking; therefore, the sediment size generally gets smaller the further from shore you get (because bigger particles settle out first).

(Image: A digram of sediment transport, showing that larger particles have a greater settling velocity and thus don’t get carried as far away from shore. [Source])

This isn’t the end-all/be-all, by the way. Submarine avalanches called turbidity currents can cause bigger sediment particles to be transported much further, as the underwater landslide can glide on a sheet of water with very little friction, and can thus travel far out onto the flat abyssal plain while moving really fast—like, 60-100km/hr.

(Image: Schematic view of a turbidity current, showing how they form from underwater landslides and travel across the flat ocean floor. [Source])

Both of the above mechanisms can bury the remains of organisms, but there’s an even more significant kind of rock in the deep ocean, and it’s made up of fossils.

See, in the deep, deep ocean, far from shore, it’s hard for sediment to be transported normally. So there’s not a crap-ton in the way of mud or sand. Rather, the sediment is formed largely of the shells of organisms that live above or on the seafloor.

The most common of these are single-celled organisms called foraminifera, or “forams”, which make calcite or aragonite shells. (Calcite is the stuff that makes up chalk, or antacids, or marble, and aragonite is just another form of calcite.) Most foram shells (or “tests”) are near-microscopic, and look like this:

(Image: Scanning electron microscope images of various shells, or “tests”, of foraminifera. Some look like coiled nautilus or snail shells; others are elongate tubes; others look like a bunch of spheres glues together. [Source])

Many of these foraminifera are part of the plankton, and float around by the surface. This is because sunlight makes it much easier to precipitate calcite out of the water. When they die, their skeletons sink to the bottom of the sea and pile up, creating what will eventually become limestone. 

Since different parts of the ocean crust are different ages, there is different thickness of sediments in different parts of the ocean. Plankton don’t really care about what’s going on at the ocean floor—it’s 3km below them! So we can think of them as living at all parts of the ocean (though more live at warmer temperatures). Their skeletons sink to the floor of the ocean wherever they are. The oldest crust has been around for a much longer time than the brand-new stuff, so it’s had more time for forams and other sediments to accumulate on top of it. Brand new crust is rough and naked, but old crust is smooth due to being covered by a thick blanket of limestone.

Many other organisms may be preserved in limestone. Some of them, like molluscs, sea urchins, corals, sponges, and trilobites, have shells that are themselves made up of calcite. Others, like vertebrates, are made up of other materials, but can still get buried alongside other organisms with limestone.

Unfortunately, most of the limestones we’ve studied came from shallower seas that covered the continents in bygone ages when the sea level was much higher. Because oceanic crust is eventually returned to the mantle, it doesn’t enter the permanent record very often. Even if it did, there’s still the massive logistical hurdle of digging for something beneath kilometers of water and hundreds of metres of overlying younger sediment.

But that doesn’t stop me from dreaming of someone pulling up a deep-ocean limestone core with a complete plesiosaur skull inside.

[jaegertango]

Writing the Rite (for Right)

Remember that time I used to write things? I sure don’t. I just found this laying on the ground outside, so I’m gonna post it.

He couldn't sleep.

Vykaenai had been awake for some time now, blearily staring out over the vast sea of clouds that surrounded the realm of Bastion. As was his wont, he was seated on the very edge of the world, his feet hanging perilously above the endless dirge that was the Maw so far below. Yet, he hardly seemed worried that one unbalanced push would send him to his demise – maybe because he was too tired to care. His fiery eyes were focused on some unfixed point on the horizon, and even if his face was calm, his mind was racing. The Rite of Purity had occurred several hours earlier, but it was still fresh in the dragon's mind. Not because Helteon had failed, not because the Forsworn had attacked, but because the images he had seen during the Vesper's ringing were far too realistic.

He closed his eyes – and once more, he did not see the reassuring calm of black, but the flames burning all around him.

The Grandmaster let loose a growling sigh, a furl of smoke puffing from his nostrils as he flexed his knuckles. Even though he understood the importance of sleep, he didn't want to close his eyes longer than he needed to.

“Do all of you dragons do that?”

Another tired, albeit commanding voice spoke out to Vykaenai, and he lazily turned to look up at Lady Firehawk approaching him. She was still wearing her armor, complete with her helm hiding her eyes, and the dragon mused if she had taken it off since they had arrived in the Shadowlands. It was ironic. When he had first met her, she was clad in farmer's garb, in a comfortable atmosphere, and she looked well-rested. She did not want to return to the life she had given up, and yet. Here the Blood Elf stood, looking far more comfortable in layers of platemail, in a death realm that knew not sun or moon, in a voice that sounded as exhausted as the Grandmaster felt. And despite that, it seemed to suit her.

“Do what, Lady Firehawk?” Vykaenai replied gruffly, staring her down.

“Find some dramatic perch to roost yourselves upon,” she continued, shaking her head at the very edge that the Grandmaster sat upon. “First the bow of the airship, now here. And I heard that when Deathwing attacked Stormwind, he made sure to land upon the towers of the gate.”

“'Tis a black dragon sentiment, surely,” Vykaenai grumbled with such a dry tone that even Lady Firehawk smirked at it. “What brings you up at this hour?”

At first, the Sin'dorei did not respond. She walked up towards the dragon, her boots crunching onto the golden grass that seemed to crackle with resplendent life unlike anything the woods in Azeroth had ever gotten to enjoy. When she stood behind Vykaenai, he returned his eyes forward, keeping relaxed as silence fluttered between the two, leaving only a melodic wind to hum between them. Despite that, it was not awkward, the quiet almost relaxing as the two stared into the clouds beyond.

“Helteon is healing quickly,” Lady Firehawk finally stated, crossing her arms over her chest. “He had few wounds worth noting, but he is resting at the least.”

“Mm. Very good. His Rite was not what I expected,” Vykaenai grunted brusquely, but the corner of his mouth pulled upward slightly. “A shame the Forsworn attacking failed his Rite.”

“I don't think so,” Lady Firehawk spoke, and the Grandmaster turned his head up curiously at her.

“Oh? These creatures happened up as his Rite started to go wrong, and you do not believe them culprits? I may owe their leader his wings back.”

“The Forsworn didn't help Helteon, no. But his Rite was failing before their arrival,” the Blood Elf replied, pursing her lips. “They saw opportunity, and leaped at the chance.”

“Attacking a single Aspirant's Rite at a moment's notice. Harumph,” Vykaenai snorted, looking somewhat annoyed at the explanation. “Their desperation reeks of hypocrisy.”

“Is it hypocrisy though?” Lady Firehawk replied, leering down at the back of the Grandmaster's neck. “To give up one's memories for this 'greater good.'”

“Not all of their memories, Lady Firehawk,” Vykaenai answered back smoothly. “Just the ones holding their true nature back.”

The Sin'dorei made an exasperated noise, much like a groan and a sigh combined. The dragon believed the conversation over, so he turned around so he could stand up and get some quiet – only for Lady Firehawk to instead grip him by the shoulder and force him back down.

“Memories are what define us, Vykaenai. What would we be without them?”

“Probably a lot happier without those bad memories plaguing us.”

“Don't give me that horseshit,” the Blood Elf hissed, and for a fleeting second, her armor seemed to radiate with fire and smoke not unlike the fury that occasionally roiled from the dragon. “All your blustering about being so old, knowing so much, but I know you'd never give those memories up.”

The dragon glared back at Lady Firehawk, his teeth gritting together as he did so. He didn't want to admit it, but she had a point. When he first joined the Kaldorei in their stand against the Legion so long ago, it was their memory of standing against their immortal enemy, and his own memory of standing against his father, that gave him strength. But that wasn't to say it was pleasant. The Night Elves, even in their eternal vigil, still had its singular Illidans big enough to damn the entire race. They still hated the black dragons, even as he, Hakurion, sought to uphold their legacy as stewards of the Earth. And his kin, the very beings that shared his blood and pride, wished for all life – including the other Dragonflights, to be buried under magma and soil. They were not happy memories – but they were the very sources he needed to remember why he continued to walk Azeroth.

His eyes closed again. Fire. Smoke. Screams. Murder. Mortals could not be trusted. They were greedy and violent. The dragonflights had never been wrong about mortals as a whole. Everything was burning. Everything was dying. Everything was under the purge of a tyrant. So much pain. So much heartache. It had happened seven-thousand years ago, and yet flashes of that nightmare still found themselves plaguing the dragon at random. This was the worst it had ever been in a very long time, and Vykaenai found that seven-thousand years had done little to heal the wound. The Vesper only made him realize just how much he still hurt inside. When he finally opened his eyes again, there was a resonating wrath blazing in his gaze.

“I would never,” Vykaenai started, an ominous snarl booming in the back of his throat. “I share your pain, Lady Firehawk. I know the power of memories, and I stand strong in them. But do not mistake my resolution to honor them as not wanting to be rid of their pain either.”

“If you can't handle their pain, then you're not doing them good,” Lady Firehawk growled icily, clearly not amused.

“Do not test me, Sin'dorei!” Vykaenai abruptly snarled, very suddenly standing up despite her grip and looming dangerously over the woman. “You, who have been here a fraction of my time, who know nothing of my pain, claim that I should not be allowed to be free of it!”

Lady Firehawk said nothing, but she did not back down a single inch even as the dragon towered over her, flames crackling at his shoulders.

“You...,” Vykaenai hissed, only to sigh, pinching at his brow and allowing the primal heat resonating around him to simmer away lightly. When he returned his gaze to the Blood Elf, he gave her a long gaze – not that of a young Kaldorei, but that of millennia-old man.

“I know not of your pain either. Nor do I deny its worth. Use your pain as a focus for now, while you can,” the dragon rumbled, keeping his eyes stoically on Lady Firehawk. “But you know as well as I do: a temperance to pain does not make greater torment any easier. It merely makes you numb to everything else.”

The Blood Elf kept quiet, her impassive features having not changed no matter what the dragon did. Her arms merely kept crossed, not even being enough of a threat for her to attempt reaching for her lance. Vykaenai continued to gaze at her, as if waiting for a reply, but she gave none. He finally sighed, shaking his head and turning back around to sit on the edge of the world once again.

“Keep an eye on him, Liniadel,” he murmured, continuing his sight towards the clouds ahead.

“I already am,” the woman answered, but as she waited for him to give a snarky reply back, he said nothing. The silence returned, and this time it was quite awkward. Several heavy seconds passed as the Grandmaster sat upon the edge, and Lady Firehawk leered at the back of his head. Finally, she gave up waiting for a response, turning on her heel to instead go elsewhere, where a dragon wouldn't be condescending towards her. As the footsteps faded, Vykaenai held a hand up to his eyes, rubbing the itchy orbs gently.

He couldn't sleep. But it was a nightmare regardless.

[hopoo]

Devblog #12 – Somewhere, Over the Double Fucking Rainbow

Hello there! This is Chris, hijacking the RoR2 devblog to share a few notes on music.

Tl;dr:

Yes, I am writing the music for RoR2

No, there won’t be a Coalescence 2

Chanson à nouveau..

The day I would start composing for RoR2 was a day I looked forward to with equal amounts of excitement and fear. The score to the original RoR is one I hold very dearly. It is music I loved writing, created during a very special time of my life, infused by each and every musical influence of my childhood and adulthood. It’s a perfect capture of me at that particular space and time. It also happens to be my most successful soundtrack to date, primarily because it’s part of a great game that people love to play, but also—if people’s feedback is to be believed—because it’s not too bad in its own right.

Now I find myself exploring the musical world or RoR once again and I can assure you it’s an awe-inspiring place! It’s also immense, savage and untrodden... You can witness this for yourself in the wonderful images posted on this blog and all over the internet, but let me tell you, it’s one thing looking at it and a whole different thing experiencing it first-hand.

The move to 3D was a bold one and I’m its biggest supporter. Honestly, even if it didn’t offer this amazing opportunity to expand the game’s universe into this whole new level of detail and immersion, I would still embrace it only because it gives me the perfect excuse—the obligation, even—to avoid repeating myself. The thing I feared most starting this project was writing the same music all over again. Not because I don’t like the existing music (I love it) but because the existing music already… exists. What would be the point of Coalescence 2 (some people have actually asked for it)? If anyone wants to listen to Coalescence it’s right there for the listening. The RoR OST is a product of very specific, irreplicable circumstances. Even if I wanted to write sequels to these tracks, I couldn’t. They would be mere parodies.

So, I’m writing new music for a new game. Hopefully it will be better music for a better game, but I’m going to be satisfied if turns out being good music for a good game. I know many of you will not be happy reading this but I ask you to be open minded and trust me. If you liked the music for the first game chances are, you’ll like this one too. It’s the same person doing the writing (and performing, and producing, and mixing, and mastering) after all. It will be different, but it won’t be that different.

Paying my Dews

Let’s make sure we avoid any misunderstanding here: I don’t take the RoR musical legacy lightly. Rest assured that many things will carry over, not least of which the RoR motif. The usual odd meter and various polyrhythms will be featured prominently too. There’s drumming, lots of drumming, way too much drumming…. Several cameos of familiar instruments and even entire sections that will sound very reminiscent to old players. And then, there’s the unsung (pun intended) hero: form. Even though you can’t literally hear it you can certainly feel it. Form is the glue holding the music together. Just like with the first game, I’m working my ass off to fit these new tracks into meticulously woven forms.

As such, all the above elements that are part and parcel to the RoR sound will not be let behind. As previously mentioned, this is terra incognita we’re heading into and only a fool would go into the unknown without a flashlight. I plan to use the original music to illuminate all the new one hidden in the darkness beyond.

Forecast

It’s still too early to tell what the new soundtrack will actually sound like. I guess it will sound more like the original RoR than anything else—a definition as intentionally vague as can be. A word I liked using to describe the first soundtrack was “monolithic”. I feel the RoR2 OST will be even more so. To use a classical music analogy, if RoR1 was a suite, RoR2 will be more like a symphony. Don’t worry though, I’m still delivering discreet pieces of music that you will be able to tell apart (and prefer over others). Let’s just say I’ve set up my sessions like communication vessels of sorts.

For the time being, you can sample some new music in the game’s teaser and this SoundCloud playlist (which I plan to sparsely update). There’s a lot of material already written but most of it is still being forged into shape. There are also new things we’re testing to make the in-game music more dynamic and meaningful to the player, which have directly impacted my workflow. For the moment, all I can say I’m working on it steadily but slowly—slower than usual (sorry, Duncan & Paul!). As I said, while I’m very excited I’m also quite fearful. There’s plenty of pressure to satisfy the many fans of the music from the original game (thank you all so much, btw!!!) and even more self-imposed pressure to write music that I feel proud of and enjoy listening to for years to come. You see, I’m trying to uncover music I’ve not written before and I need to make sure my excavation brings to surface more than just petrified feces…

FAQ

When? When the great Magma Worm in the sky deems us worthy.

Where? All over the place, starting with Bandcamp.

Vinyl? Probably. Hopefully in a nice boxset with an RoR1 re-print.

Engineer Edition 2? Yes, but no sheet music this time around. Too many arpeggiators and modular patches for it to make any sense.

DEADBOLT 2? I sure damn hope so!

“It Can’t Rain All the Time”

That will be all for now! If you made it this far, thank you for reading and see you next time! If you want to keep the conversation going you can find me in the social media outlets below, where I will post the occasional RoR2 update, answer all your questions and share pictures of my cats:

Twitter | Facebook | Instagram |YouTube |SoundCloud

Take care, Chris

[resolutionlow]

My First “Real” Game And Why I Am Still Proud: An Analysis

When I think about every game I have ever worked on, I commonly come back to a simple RPG maker game that I created for my first ever game jam, titled “Neru”. It isn’t the most technical thing I've ever created; I didn’t code very much for it, I didn’t change the JRPG formula much at all, and it was extremely influenced by another game I played a few months back called “Space Funeral”. The art and design direction is frankly crazy, a mishmash of different ideas colliding with off-the-wall humor, weird techno music from the 80’s, and lots of monsters and blood. By all accounts, it isn’t really greater than your average RPG Maker game. So, why does this game captivate me so much? 

Neru began as a game created for a game jam titled “My First Game Jam”, a jam created to serve as an introduction to game creation in a limited time span for people who wanted to begin jamming, but were afraid of joining the more serious jams with their lack of experience. This wasn’t my first game creation experience, as I had already taken multiple game development classes during my high school years, but it was my first “real” game. I was 19, and had just graduated high school the previous year, and I had taken a break from making games to begin my college studies. Joining this jam was my first step into making “actual” games that other people could play and enjoy.

Having discovered and played the games OFF and Space Funeral a few months before, I distinctly wanted to create an odd-ball JRPG game that defied the conventions of a typical JRPG game. After seeing the weird and wild ways that those games infused into the classic JRPG format, I wanted to channel my creative energies into making something that could creep people out and make them laugh at the same time.

I threw myself into creating it, rapidly prototyping a room and creating some placeholder sprites to fill it. This is where I created the main character, who I titled Gared. As you can see from the image below, many of the weird ideas found in the final game sprung up naturally from my attempts at creating a “creepy” and weird atmosphere as I re-familiarized myself with the RPG Maker 2004.

As I was designing, I quickly realized that while I could capitalize on my poor spriting work as a cohesive visual style (At least, as cohesive as a game like this one could be), that was no excuse for leaving things looking terrible without any effort. Thus, I began to refine the game’s style and aesthetic before I began creating the world in full, simplifying all of the possible sprites into something that was still messy and odd, but simple and easy to read at a glance. In my earliest play-test with friends, many of them believed that touching the lake would hurt them, convinced that the blood was actually lava.

Notice how the blood became much simpler in the last screenshot. In the screenshot before, the “water” looked more like magma than it did blood. The harsh, detailed lines causing it to clash against the simplified ground tiles. By simplifying it into a pure red color, I made it much easier for the player to look at the blood lake, as well as made it much easier for the player to recognize that it was in-fact a lake of blood! Through this realization, I subconsciously learned about the importance of visually “explaining” what something is while making a game, you can’t just expect a player to understand something because you understand it, you need to design what they are looking at in such a was as to tap into their subconscious biases to behave how you would like them to.

After this point, my focus shifted towards a battle mechanic that I wanted to include, inspired by Space Funeral to take my first steps into designing a combat system. This system was the Mystery command, which would cause something odd or mysterious to happen once per battle. It was here that I got to stretch my creative muscles, breathing new life and humor into the combat system through simply giving the player a chance to have something mysterious to happen to them. This could be both good and bad, or simply do nothing to alter the outcome of the battle at all, but the random nature of it enticed players to try it out with different enemies to see what they would get.

Quickly, I began to flesh out the story and game through creating enemies and maps, along with various NPCs. With the limited abilities that my game mechanics gave me, I began creating small wacky situations for the player to discover while they searched about the world. It is here where I had my most fun, designing the world to provide the player with little insights into the odd lives of the monsters around them. They could enter a house and find a pair of lovers, and read their secret “romantic” letters to each other, or they could walk into a home and find a tongue-person pretending to be a mouth-monster, hiding the fact that he is different simply through the monsters not having eyes.

While I would create more interesting mechanics for the player to interact with on the over world, such as more story interaction along with puzzles for the player to solve to progress, with my more advanced knowledge of design, one still has to admire the unique attempt to make the game shine through my limited design knowledge, taking what I knew I could do and turning it into a feature for the player to look forward to.

That isn’t to say that this game is anything great; Quite the opposite in fact! I gave the player no direction, no tutorial on how to interact with the world, and frankly no challenge either. Every single battle can be defeated without much more than 1/8th of your maximum health, and healing items are extremely common. In the combat menu, there is an extra row that does nothing, mistaken left in. Money is trivial, as well as grinding levels. Heck, even the Mystery command is broken, where if the player runs from a battle after using it, they lose the ability to use the Mystery command until they defeat another enemy!

But, if this game has so many flaws, why do I still look back on it so fondly? Is it just because it’s one of my first ever games shown to anyone but myself? Is it because I received praise on my dialogue writing? Is it because I saw videos of people playing it and enjoying it?

Well, you could say that all of that does help in making me feel fond for it, but I think it goes beyond that. That game was a reflection of myself at the time, something created for myself. Of course I wanted other people to enjoy it, but throughout making the game I tried to think of things that would make me laugh or smile if I came across them in a game. It was really one of my first, and probably most genuine, attempts at actually creating something fun for fun's sake.

That is why, I'd like to offer this piece of advice to anyone reading who wants to make games: Make something that you would actually find fun yourself. Don’t create something just because you think it would be popular, or just because you think other people would like it. Create things that you personally enjoy and they will provide you with a lot more long term satisfaction than the thing you made to appeal to everyone else.

[twitchesandstitches]

Rites of Passage Aboard the Fleet

(written some time ago, and may be out of date relative to more recent info; just go with whatever sounds better!)

The Endowed Fleet don’t have a uniform rite of passage into full adulthood; they’re too freeform to demand something as authoritarian as that. Every sub-set of the Fleet (ranging from individual splinter fleets, specific ships, worlds and regions, all with thier own particular cultural flavor and attitudes, to say nothing of the influence individual clans may have on all that) has their own rite of passage, assuming they have one at all.

However there is one universal aspect, and that is the ritual of giving someone their first superpower. Every member of the Fleet has at least one notable superpower that forms the basis of all other abilities they might gain; for example, those with consuming or pregnancy-themed abilities will have those powers relate to this first power in some way.

In the event of a fledgeling who already has powers of their own, such as human mutants, this process instead amplifies them to an extreme degree, effectively giving them immense potential they otherwise would not be able to use. Someone who can control an element but not create it may develop a mutation that produces it from their body, for example.

It is important to note that a superpower is defined here as an ability not native for the species of physiology; for example, a human’s ability to sweat and regulate body temperature (thus enabling impressive stamina by Earth-based standards) would not be considered such, while the aquatic adaptations of a violet or fuchsia-blooded troll would also not qualify. Amplifying these abilities to super degrees WOULD qualify, such as given a human superhuman stamina and regeneration, or a troll enhanced psionic powers. However this is fairly rare.

This is an ideal rite of passage for two reasons. Firstly, it allows the fledgeling to prove themselves and gain some experience, as the rite is carefully designed to be impossible to fail (To avoid the whole ‘stuck in perpetual uselessness forever’ thing), so they can succeed eventually. The second is that it ensures that they earn their power. The Fleet is leery of its powers being used maliciously or irresponsibly, and just dumping random powers onto someone who may not use them properly unnerves them. So the Rite ensures that, however they gain their powers, they must learn something about themselves and strive in order to gain them, maturing in the process. Strength, and it’s duties, must be earned.

The first stage of the rite generally involves a sponsor; an older matriarch, preferably one the fledgeling knows well. It may be one of the caretakers of the fledgeling’s creche, a local heroine, or simply someone who has taken a shine to the fledgeling. In preparation for the ritual, the fledgeling is put through a religious ceremony; often a baptism in the milk produced by the sponsor (often in a bath) is used for this, and then annointing the fledgeling in sacred paint with the sponsor’s blood mixed into it.

Given the hedonistic and casual attitudes of sex the Fleet has, it is extremely common for the fledgeling to mate at this time, often with the sponsor or a volunteer; a common romantic trope in Fleet stories involves a relationship consummated properly at this time, either between fledgelings of similar age (often as the culimanation of a mutual pining plotline) or between a sponsor and the daring junior she has grown to love. It is considered a rite unto itself, but is not strictly necessary and only done if the fledgeling explicitly agrees beforehand. If the lfedgeling does not (such as if asexual, or uncomfortable with mating with the sponsor in question), it is considered acceptable.

Some rites involve the fledgeling being temporarily rebirthed by the sponsor, and imbued with a considerable amount of power in order to succeed at the rite. This is considered both a taste of power and an exercise in mastering their future abilities. It also gives them the benefit of having enough power to win, in the case of a physical confrontation.

Then, the power is found. Sometimes it is gestated by the sponsor beforehand, in preparation for this event, and other times different methods are used, depending on the specific rite. Rites that put more focus on the bond of community will have the sponsor produce it, creating an unbroken line of power across many people, while more spiritual communities may elect to have the power somehow harnessed from the fledgeling themselves. Still others make it up on the spot, using specific chemicals and hormones to produce a mixture from everyone involved.

The power is administered. It typically resembles a consumable; a food or an elixir to be drunk. It can also be a raw orb of magical potential, a constructed machine, or even a puzzle. It can be virtually anything imaginable, and its specifically tailored to the task required of the fledgeling. IT should be noted that the power is almost never determined before hand; it is ideally a mass of mutagenic potential backed with enormous amounts of magic. At the conclusion of the rite, the superpower will manifest within the fledgeling, more or less at random and depending entirely on the fledgeling’s personality, the nature of the rite, their actions throughout, and personal wishes or self-image. Subject to a certain amount of pure luck, of course.

To earn this power, the fledgeling must accomplish a task based on their aptitudes. This can be nearly anything; those of a more martial bend may face a monster that the power transforms into, and be asked to hunt it down and slay it, making a meal from its meat before they can transform. Others of a more diplomatic bend may be tasked with also hunting down a power monster, but instead taming it, earning its trust, and then fusing with it. The intellectual may be faced with a very difficult puzzle, such as a huge machine that must be made to fully unlock. Others may be asked to contend with the sponsor for a certain amount of time, such as evading them in the woods for a certain amount of time, succeeding once enough time has passed without being captured.

They are given all the time that is required, and the rites are set up so that it is impossible to fail; the purpose of the rite is not to weed out the unworthy, but to instruct the fledgeling on the nature of powers and instill in them the responsibility to use it.

The sponsor is often expected to assist in subtle ways, though it is their choice how to go about this. The needs of the fledgeling must be considered; a hot-tempered and skilled adventurer in training will benefit little from a sponsor who attempts to save them from their own mistakes, while a relatively weak and frail youth who will not gain physical power until after the rite will benefit from a sponsor’s aid.

Once the rtite is completed, the fledgeling gains their power and transforms as the full impact of their deeds come upon them; they internalize what they have learned, understand something about themselves, and go through an apotheosis. This understanding is a very key part of the process; it CANNOT happen without them learning this! The actual change is brief: as mentioned earlier, it is completely random, but largely guided by what the fledgeling wants; their self-image determines the bulk of how they change. Complete sex transiition, species alteration and dramatic porportion shift are not unknown, and neither is extreme morph change; a masculine humanoid may abruptly become an insectoid mother-queen, if that is their true desire. Virtually any power may manifest, and even if they already have abilities, those powers may be magnified or transform into a completely different ability.

For example; a young woman with frog-themed powers may find the scope of those abilities increased. Her tongue able to change shape for many different tasks, her skin secrete not just itching toxins but any poison possible, and be able to breath underwater or sense things through exposed skin. Alternatively, her powers may mutate to encompass any ability demonstrated by all amphibians, not just frogs in general.

Finally, it is important to note that the particular aesthetics of the Endowed Fleet means that any powers will involve physical alterations. They are not subtle people and revel in monstrosity and mutation. They don’t just universally have gargantuan breast sizes and giant heights, but bizarre transformations. Someone who develops large claws from their hands will have very large and obvious swellings where the claws retract, and someone with fire powers will have magma-like transformations to their bodies where fire is produced. These transformations are not pretty, they are not easily hidden (if at all), but they are weird as hell and the Fleet LOVES it.

At the culmination of this, the fledgeling is given a week to recuperate and adjust to their transformation. Once they are considered to have recovered, they take part in the final judgement. This ritual takes many forms, usually focusing on respected and impartial matriarchs examining the events of the rite and testing the fledgeling in some way. Often this involves a short trial by combat instead, to examine the fledgeling’s new abilities; more intelllectual or social trials may be employed if the new power is not combat suitable. The purpose of this kind of challenge is to get them used to their new abilities, and satisfy the matriarch’s queries on the fledgeling’s progress.

Once it is complete, the matriarchs declare the fledgeling a full member of the Fleet in a ceremony, often symbolized by giving the fledeling a drink filled with a suitable liquid, and mixed into it the blood and/or milk of the matriarchs, sealing the covenant. This particular ceremony is prone to the most amount of local variation, with individual ships in the same splinter fleet have vastly different ones. Religious overtones are almost universal, however.

However it happens, at the conclusion, the fledgeling is no longer a fledgeling but a full member of the Fleet, complete with powers and a body that better suits their spirit. In the case of newly forged members who did opt to mate with their sponsors, it is traditional for them to do so again after being confirmed as legal adults; sometimes for the new hero’s first pregnancy litter or to give the sponsor a litter of their own (and thus keep the population growing), or to signify a growth on the relationship between the two, should they have a bond together. In the case of confirmed lovers who took the rites together, this is a deeply significant moment, and often the first pregnancy for any women involved (as mentioned above). Much romantic literature is a build up to this moment.

Finally, while most of the above applies to similar rituals done elsewhere, this applies specifically to those who were born into the Fleet and wish to become fully fledged members. Thos who immigrate to a Fleet world and wish to become full members and advance up the tiers of duty (or citizenship, as it might be put) may do so freely, and while the rites in question are similar, they function differently. As the sponsor in this case is unlikely to have been present for the growing up of the potential member and have an insight into them, the sponsor is also something of an inquisitor, judging the new members intentions and resolve.

It is not necessary to undergo the rite to be a legal citizen of a Fleet world. One must be a member in order to gain the most powerful transformations and gain full access to the devouring and pregnancy powers. And since the Fleet is so wary about the powers it grants being abused, combat-grade transformations, mods and powers are limited for those not of the Fleet. They are not barred from purchasing these abilities, but the mods in question are limited so that if someone who isn’t a confirmed Fleet member uses them, the resulting abilities have their more dangerous applications locked. They still work, but the user will not fully transform until certain conditions are met. The Fleet isn’t totally restrictive; combat-application mods will still activate if the user is in great peril or places themselves in danger, and mods that would otherwise be of use in other capacities but have dangerous applications if used freely (such as super strength or power tool limb mods, bough to be used in industrial work) will only operate at full capacity when in certain environments or situations; in the example case, when at work at the factory or construction site.

As a result of the rites of confirmation not actually being obligatory (merely encouraged), the Fleet is developing something of a population divide in some places between those who take the rite and accept its responsibilities, and those who are content not to. EFfectively it is similar to a distinction in a world of superheroes and the civilians they protect; the confirmed Fleet members have far more potential power and pregnancy/consuming abilities that allow them to grow stronger and larger indefinitely, while the civilians are growing in such number that they are the workforce of the Fleet. They are explicitly not a second class, as the Fleet affords no special rights or privileges to the confirmed members (beyond keeping full acess to dangerous powers to them alone, and that itself is hugely controversial within the Fleet), but thier numbers are growing and shifting the tone of the Fleet from a nomadic society of builders to a culture centered around immortal matriarch-heroines and the teeming multitudes who idolize them.

Due to the Fleet’s random mutations and open access to transformations, these less powerful protectorate are just as likely as Fleet members to be totally monstrous in appearance, though they will almost invariably be far smaller due to their weaker power levels, rarely growing beyond their biological scale. While they are content and cared for, living utopian lives, they present a growing concern for the Fleet; are they unknowingly breeding a working class, or even creating serfs? They are horrified at the notion, and yet, releasing the dangerous mods and combat powers to all would threaten enormous losses of life and abuses of power. Individual worlds and regions are implementing different ideas, ranging from offering less extreme versions of the rite for protectorate to gain access to limited but better versions of the powers without having to go through the full rite, to providing access to mods via complicated labyrinths and puzzles so they must earn all transformations and prove themselves to have the responsibility to handle them. This is producing even more interesting divergences across Fleet territory, but doesn’t address the core fears of producing a second-class who will wind up mostly being breeding stock to matriarchal goddesses and relish it.

The suggestion of making the rite of passage mandatory for all fully matured beings within the Fleet is controversial but viewed as the least damaging solution.