#and the complexities of being part of a hive mind

[river-of-wine]

I know I’ve mentioned this plenty of times before but I’m still kind of annoyed by how the fanbase just kind of completely declawed the four lords and placed the entirety of the responsibility for their wrongdoings on Mother Miranda.

The Baker family are great, I love them, they’re an incredible unit of antagonists who are intended to be very sympathetic, at least for the most part. Jack and Marguerite in particular have lost all control over their minds and their bodies, turning into extremely violent murderers and cannibals who threaten and attack their own family, kill anyone unfortunate enough to come across them and, especially in Marguerite’s case, lose complete autonomy over their own bodies. Marguerite turns into a walking bug hive who’s only purpose is to feed her family and birth her new children. Jack is an unstoppable murderous force of patriarchal violence who has so much fun chasing down and harming his victims, which in the Daughters DLC includes even his own daughter. The exception to this is obviously Lucas, who has been cured of his infection and his acting of his own free will. All of this is caused by Eveline, everything Jack and Marguerite do controlled by her, and yet Eveline is just as sympathetic as the rest of them. She’s a ten year old girl. Even Jack, who has watched his family and their victims suffer because of her infection, doesn’t seem to hold any of it against her. She just wants a family of her own, after all. It’s a complex and tragic situation.

The four lords, while I suppose being similar in structure, are not the Baker family. Not in dynamic, not in character, not in the kind of tragedy that they embody. I could talk for a while about just how completely different they are, but I don’t know if I really need to.

The Baker family are so tragic because they were just innocent bystanders trying to help a woman and a little girl they found in a shipwreck out in a storm. That’s the only reason they ended up in the situation that they were in. While the lords have similar origins, being victims of Mother Miranda’s experiments to bring her daughter Eva back, an important distinction between them is that in the case of the lords, all four of them are still acting of their own free will. Yes, Mother Miranda has undeniable power over them. She leads the cult they are part of, she has control over the village, she is their superior. However, I really dislike when every negative action by the lords is pushed onto her, as if the lords are not all grown adults who are for the most part acting independently of her.

With Alcina, she is the head of her own extremely brutal crimes. I think a lot of people have forgotten quite how horrifying the situations of the maidens are, possibly due to the prevalence shipping between Alcina and the maidens, and though we have minimal information what we do know is very frightening. Alcina uses her work force like livestock, draining them for their blood in a cellar full of horrific torture devices, and leaves their corpses to shamble around, armed and ready to attack any unwanted guests that have slipped out of the daughter’s clutches so that Alcina still doesn’t have to do her own dirty work, given how highly above everyone but Mother Miranda she appears to view herself as. While yes, Alcina does need human blood to survive, her methods are brutal, and none of this has been enforced upon her by Mother Miranda. Similarly to Jack on occasion, she takes a great deal of pleasure in hurting and attacking Ethan as he runs from her. Additionally, everything she does to Ethan is against Mother Miranda’s request. While yes, it is retaliation after he killed Bela, the part I often see people leave out is that Alcina is equally as upset that he entered her property and was attempting to steal from her, and she isn’t just after him to kill him.

Alcina has also been an active participant in aiding Mother Miranda with at least one experiment, considering that I’d how she got her daughters. While I’m sure her strong admiration for Mother Miranda and Mother Miranda’s power over her has absolutely had an affect in this, that’s not something I’ll deny, Alcina is still a grown woman and in her written entries about this shows no qualms about her participation in this. Her general attitude towards others, using young women as a good source and turning men into scarecrows, also leads me to believe that she does not exactly care who gets hurt or taken advantage of when it comes to her and Mother Miranda’s personal endeavours.

Donna and Moreau are the two more sympathetic people within the four lords, but they are not innocent. To start with Moreau, he’s desperate for Mother Miranda’s approval, as well as the other lords. He’s insecure and lonely, and he’s doing what he has been instructed by Mother Miranda when it comes to protecting the flask. However, he does also take quite a bit of joy in trapping Ethan in the reservoir and swimming after him with the intention to eat and kill him. Moreau though, given his conditions and circumstances, is the one I think is the least to blame for what he does.

Donna is hard to discuss because we know so little about her. Her parents are dead, as well as whoever Claudia was to her, she communicates through Angie and she can cause those who enter her house to hallucinate. According to Mother Miranda, Donna is severely mentally ill and that is what has made her an unfit vessel. I think a lot of people took this to mean that Donna is unaware of what she is doing, that the hallucinations she is showing Ethan are frightening, but after having been a fan of this game for years I just can’t agree with that anymore. Donna intentionally lures Ethan into her house with visions of his supposedly dead wife. Donna is going after fears she likely knows Ethan has, making him relive Mia’s death, take apart a mannequin of her, listen to her voice panic over something being horribly wrong with Rose, all building towards the horrifying baby that chases him through the house. There is no way Donna doesn’t understand how what she is showing Ethan is distressing, especially when you consider that, given how she can make herself appear and disappear at will within Ethan’s vision and that Angie is sitting in the hallways stationary and unspeaking, Donna was likely close by Ethan at all times and could see and hear his frightened reactions to what she was intentionally showing him.

Donna’s death is upsetting, but Ethan was not just chasing her down and killing her. Donna was attacking him, or at least she was controlling her dolls to do so. It’s still a hallucination, but Ethan doesn’t know that. When faced with a threat that is keeping you trapped and trying to end your life, you will likely try to get away or try to fight back, as Donna is doing to Ethan after he starts to attack her and Ethan is doing to Donna when he thinks his life is still in danger. I would also like to remind everybody that Donna communicates through Angie. What Angie is saying, that’s Donna. Angie doesn’t talk or move once she’s dead, it is Donna who controls her.

Lastly, Heisenberg. I think Heisenberg is the one of the four most entrenched in headcanons. Headcanons are fine, I am never in this post trying to suggest they aren’t, but my issue comes in when people use them to try and change the canon of the game. For example, it’s fine to believe that Heisenberg was experimented on by Mother Miranda as a child, but that isn’t canon. It’s fine to believe that Heisenberg mourned the deaths of his siblings, but that isn’t canon. The opposite is, with Heisenberg not viewing the cult as an actual family and being very openly mean to all three other lords, even Donna and Moreau who seemingly haven’t done anything to slight him. While his goal of killing another Miranda is a very understandable and sympathetic one given what she has done to him, using a six month old baby as a weapon and trying to bring her father into the mix only to try to get him killed when he denies him is not. I cannot overstate quite how little Heisenberg actually cared for Ethan and Rose’s safety when it came to his goal, and given that we are playing as Ethan, Rose is the priority.

Heisenberg has built an army of corpses he has presumably stolen and desecrated. This is kind of fucked up actually, and done completely independently of Mother Miranda. He also puts Ethan through a very dangerous lycan gauntlet before he even reaches the factory, which makes it even stranger to me that people seem to interpret Heisenberg’s deal as something that would have benefitted both him and Ethan and as if he ever had Ethan’s safety in mind.

All four of the lords have tragic aspects to them and there are definitely reasons to sympathise with all four. They’re victims of Mother Miranda, who knows they will all be killed. She wants them to be, giving her less to deal with by the time she has Eva back. They never meant anything to her. Not Alcina or Moreau, who were desperate for her attention. Not Donna, suffering from her unspecified but apparently severe mental illness. Not Heisenberg, who was seemingly her favourite creation. However, all of them are grown adults who do their own bad things independently of her.

And it’s fine to still like them. It’s fine for them to be your favourite character. It’s fine to have happy or nice headcanons about them or want to kiss them or be their friend or to want them to have survived. It’s fine to like characters who do shitty things. It’s to be expected in a game series like Resident Evil. It’s a horror game series. People are going to do bad things.

I just find it so boring when people take away all their bite. What makes a character like Lady Dimitrescu so fun it’s that she’s completely over the top. She’s campy and ridiculous, her castle layout makes no sense, she’s got three kids made of swarms of flies dressed like a set of goth triplets, she’s a lesbian who’s castle is full of naked statues of women, she turns into a big dragon and laughs maniacally while flying around and trying to eat you. She’s evil and it’s fun. It’s the same with Heisenberg. He’s a campy show off with a fun voice and a massive hammer he never actually uses. He can control metal. He looks like a cowboy. He pronounced Miranda in a funny way. He talks to you over an intercom while trying to get you killed. They’re fun and evil and they fight over who gets to kill Ethan like they’re two little kids. It’s absurd.

What makes a character like Donna so scary is that she’s silently working in the shadows, unassuming at a first glance and unseen for most of the time in her house. She is the least threatening of the four upon first glance, and yet she has undeniably the most frightening part of the game. Pretending as if Donna is completely unaware of what she is doing and babying her like she is an incapable child waters her down completely and takes away from the effectiveness of her character.

Villain characters are great! They’re very often the highlight of the story they are in, and they aren’t real! The four lords especially are often so completely exaggerated in what they do as well. It’s fine to like villains! It doesn’t make you bad! Characters can be bad people and you can still like them!

It’s just frustrating seeing a group of very fun and exciting villains, all designed with different aspects of horror, all over the top and campy and stupid and fun, all doing their own set of fucked up things, watered down to a set of poor innocent victims who have never done any wrong ever. If you want Jack and Marguerite, take Jack and Marguerite. Lady Dimitrescu loves killing and eating women and Karl Heisenberg turns corpses into soldiers. They’re bad people and they do comically exaggerated bad things. If you can’t stomach liking a character like that, horror is probably not the genre for you. Unless it’s Resident Evil 7, I suppose, but apparently tall women aren’t hot when it’s Marguerite Baker crawling on the walls.

[feartoxinjelloshot]

clipsverse SWAP AU! for fun! character elaboration under the cut because it gets kind of wordy:

selina's deal is pretty straightforward: she has the typical “saw parents die as a child" backstory, but she’s obviously not a millionare so she’s operating out of some kind of condemned underground parking lot... somewhere. authentic gotham grunge i guess. she’s a functioning alcoholic and i am obsessed with her. she's a hardboiled detective like batman, but tends to be a bit more cynical - sort of like if rorschach from watchmen was a normal person and also didn't hate sex. firefly is her "guy in the chair" similar to what alfred is to batman in canon, minus the surrogate parent part, obviously. public opinion is pretty split on if the bat is a man or a woman under there. i don't really have swap ideas for the robins ironed out, but i'm thinking that cass and stephanie are her robin and red hood equivalents (cass being dick, stephanie being jason). cass would have an allblack bird theme going on, so she might be "crow" or "blackbird" instead of robin. dunno what stephanie's red hood rendition is like. purple hood? i'll figure it out eventually.

bruce’s parents are alive, but he has a terrible relationship with them and with his own wealth so he mitigates the guilt complex by dressing up as a cat to steal and redistribute resources to people who actually need it. he could probably do that in daylight but there is something very wrong with him. i don't think his dumb slutty playboy persona is entirely genuine even without his parents' deaths, but he does lean into it more and incorporate parts of it into his vigilante persona over time. i think this version of bruce is just generally very lonely under the surface. he tries to be normal in his daytime life and he's very bad at it - theft aside, in a certain sense being the cat(man? woman?) is his own break for freedom; he felt a need to plunge himself far into the deep end of what normal society calls a 'freak'. ...writing it out like this, we're probably lucky he didn't start killing people. fortunately batman isn't really that kind of guy in any universe.

meanwhile on the other side of the rails: ivy! her deal is slightly unformed right now due to the fact that the hatter and the joker also swap places in this au - so the hatter is a dangerous, evil mastermind intent on controlling gotham to suit their whims, and the joker is... just a harmless silly little guy. yeah. i don't have swap-hatter's exact personality ironed out yet, so detailing his and ivy's dynamic would be difficult, but i can say that while she is his loyal second-in-command at his table of advisors, she is also plotting against him. ivy is a consistent loner in both mainline cv and here, and while she doesn't have the same tumultuous, antagonistic, emotional relationship with him as harley does with the joker, she is also frankly not interested in being his number one until the end of time. she wants to do it herself and she wants to do it right. this is an ivy who, in lieu of her own world-altering gift, is scraping tooth and nail to successfully supersede the most powerful entity she can her her hands on. the hatter is blissfully unaware of this - we can't all be perfect.

harley, for her part, is very tame in comparison. she mirrors ivy's canonical backstory pretty closely: an esteemed scientist studying stem cell relations who was denied funding, mocked, and forced to experiment on herself to prove a point, unwittingly connecting herself to a worldwide hive-mind of plantlife. this version of harley, while still dressed as a scientist, is far more surface-level emotionally volatile than mainline ivy, more impulsive and irrational, and probably willing to lean much farther into the classic poison ivy reputation as a villainous seductress, to varying degrees of honesty and success. it takes ivy an incredible degree of patience and control to maintain the mental and physical balance she strikes with the green, and this version of harley has far less of both. she lets it use her body as a conduit of earthly rage and she lets the poison infect her skin and organs until mottled and decaying. she's not unhappy, but she's not exactly stable, either.

jonathan is a mysterious, faux-sleazy lounge singer who lost his left arm to a snake bite infection as a child and thereafter became obsessed with the symbolism of the balance of life via games, tricks and questions - winning and losing, birth and death, etc. the ouroboros is a common symbol in his theatrics. he possesses a certain degree of social confidence that the mainline jonathan has never quite been capable of - while he doesn't have the same fervent need for attention as edward, he takes a compulsory delight in the mental influence he achieves on small crowds and will employ many avenues to get ahold of it. he's certainly not outgoing: he keeps almost entirely to himself offstage, uninterested in fame outside of his show persona. unlike mainline jonathan who views the scarecrow as a genuine self-inflicted diety, this jon sees his persona as more of a mantle or responsibility that he must take on in order to discover new truths about the world. like his canon counterpart he is asexual and uninterested in sex, but i imagine that he has less qualms about leading people on as an act to get what he wants from them. he's not terribly famous in his singing career, but he's become a bit of an underground legend for his resolute 1920s-inspired style and occasional genuine debonair charm.

edward in comparison is not nearly as ritualistically compelled as mainline scarecrow, but he’s far less cagey about his own machinations and his mental relationship to them: he lives in a tricked-out barn somewhere on the far outskirts of gotham, and he spends his time as a propmaster creating elaborate saw-trap-esque haunted houses and escape rooms to invoke panic in his “guests”. he wanders the halls of his own houses along with the guests, repairing and tinkering, or just scaring the shit out of them. he also makes a genuine living by making and selling cosplay props and other related objects online; he's developed a bit of an internet presence through this channel, though he's not as fixated on it as the mainline riddler would be. he still craves spectacle and attention, but he's more of a "quality over quantity" guy according to his own standards and is rarely happy with the work he creates, hence the endless roundabout of creation and reinvention.

[carionto]

The Equality Games

Once every now and then, the Galactic Coalition's Cultural Exchange department holds a large digital competitive event.

Anyone can participate, and to level the playing field, contestants aren't the ones who actually compete, but instead an advanced deep brain scan (or equivalent body part) and an unbiased AI create a digital avatar that represents the individual and autonomously acts within the digital space.

The cognitive capacity of each is analyzed to a near perfect level and a highly complicated algorithm that, honestly, nobody understands, even the AI that built it, then creates this avatar with traits and weaknesses based on an even more incomprehensible set of criteria and internal points system.

To put it simply - the scan identifies nearly every calculable aspect of a person and assigns a point value for each, then uses those points to "buy" the most relevant and appropriate traits from within its list to give the avatar. There are changing costs, negative value "flaws", and prerequisites based on other information from the scan, but basically it is the most convoluted TTRPG character creation ruleset ever devised.

Given the enormous complexity and diversity that individuals from across thousands of races exhibit, until this system was invented, it was thought impossible to have a sort of intergalactic Olympic Games. There were many attempts over the eons, of course, but one factor or another always made it so that someone did not accept the results.

The Equality Games, however, earned respect and acceptance as a valid alternative once the underlying system was demonstrated and people started to play with it. The avatars were made to act autonomously due to how some species had a distinct advantage when manipulating a digital interface, thus bringing up the old arguments yet again.

One curious result of the AI algorithm avatar generator is that it quite frequently created multiple avatars for each person, only the more hive-mind-like species tended to be represented by a singular avatar within the Games. It is theorized, again because nobody can understand how it really works, that most intelligent beings have multiple "personas" i.e. distinct behavior and personalities in certain common situations, primarily a "public" and "private" persona.

In fact, it is most common for everyone to generate about a three to five avatar "team" that represents the one individual. In comparison, if an ant were to get scanned and put in the games, its avatar would be a single incredibly powerful avatar with many deficiencies, but an overwhelming advantage in several disciplines.

When Humans first entered the Games, as expected, they too had teams as avatars. What was not expected, was that these avatars would sometimes work alone instead of together as a team, deliberately not help one another, and even engage in infighting and the sabotage of another "self".

The Humans suggested that it is perhaps because hypocrisy is not uncommon among them. Self destructive tendencies also appear rather frequently. These Humans almost always are themselves surprised by how contradictory their avatar team composition ends up being.

While the Games themselves happened as normal, the Humans overall placed in the top 20% brackets of most competitive challenges, and scattered roughly evenly everywhere else, they then approached us with a most unusual request.

"Give us a copy of this AI algorithm scanner thing. We think this is the most revolutionary therapy and psychological diagnosis device we've come across."

Of course we obliged and helped set up centers in a number of stations and on Earth itself.

Last we heard, some Humans have avatars that are singular nigh-nightmarish monstrosities, while a very tiny fraction have minds so splintered that their avatars are teams of dozens, one time even over a hundred distinct versions of themselves. Then there are even some seemingly regular Humans who broke the scanner - it gave the error: "Only one individual can be scanned at a time."

Upon "fixing" it with a hack, the results for those were unheard of. Two distinct avatars. Not a team of two, but by all accounts, the AI algorithm identified two separate individuals within one mind, each with very little in common with the other. Sometimes there was nothing in common, even their digital visual representation.

The mind is incredibly complex and hard to comprehend. The Human mind, while biologically quite peculiar but not outside the realms of understood evolution, neurologically it seems to hold near limitless diversity, both complimentary, contradictory, and beyond.

[rel124c41]

BITCH CAME BACK. vox

You leave the VoxTek tower at 3 P.M. and return to it at 3 A.M.

Vox likes to think you would never betray him like that.

tags: established relationship, bodyguard, relationship issues, implied/referenced sex, big brother is watching complex, canon typical violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms, & fist fights

word count: 8,626

It is not cheating.

He chooses to believe it is not cheating. 

No matter what Valentino whispers about you being unsatisfied in bed; no matter what Velvette teases about how you always leave behind your phone; no matter what his derailing mind starts to image (some muscular hellhound, incubus, sinner, overlord, defined biceps gripping your thighs and –) in his most calamitous moments: Vox chooses to believe you do not leave VoxTek tower to go cheat on him. 

Relationships are built on trust. That principle rule is often why relationships fail in Hell. Trust from sinful liars was as valuable as a rock painted gold. In Hell, trust comes from blood signatures and thumping, electric green deals. You and Vox were not bound through these standard demon methods. No contractual deals, you outlined early on, just verbal agreements. 

You and Vox did have a certain verbal agreement: three little words. Whispered into the drool spot on his pillow, bleeding from your mouth when you two collided in kisses, breathed on your wrist when you found him hunched and tired in his office, flashing on your cell’s screen, and written on his hand. That was the deal. 

Though, Vox muffles a curse into his pillow, you certainly have been saying those words less now.  

He moves his monitor off the pillow surface when the rain of the shower ebbs. When you came in, the scent he had picked up on you was thankfully not sex. Instead the scent of metallic blood clung to you like amber honey on a bear’s mouth. Your signature scent. Vark and his hammerhead brother were drawn to how deeply the smell was oiled and shampooed into your skin. Violence: a perfume tailored for you. 

A hair-dryer starts up in the bathroom and Vox stops busying himself with sharpening the metal of his claws. 

Still, even if sex was not a present scent, that didn’t mean you did not have it. The dark part of him stirs like a hive of bees. Foreplay for you is like a mimic of lions fighting a buffalo to eat her child. His purchases of new screen protectors and bandages increased when you two first kickoffed a relationship. So scent is not a good thing to completely go off on –

The sound of water returns. Ah, the sink faucet. Buried under the first sound, he can hear the tiny scrub of a toothbrush. Light leaks under the closed door. If you kiss him tonight (he hopes you will), he would be grateful for the smell of mint on your teeth. Mint and iron. Mint and iron and the possible burial of body sweat, sex.

You left VoxTek tower at 3 P.M. – in the middle of a weekday before anyone working there would dare to clock out – and then you returned to your shared bedroom at 3 fucking A.M. He should zap the information out of you.

It’s not cheating; it’s not cheating; it’s not cheating. 

The bathroom door clicks open. A towel is thrown around your neck. Already dressed in your pajamas, a simple billowing pair of sweatpants and socks, you make your way over. Tiptoeing even though you know he is awake.

At the ping of you entering the building through surveillance cameras, Vox had started to gradually stir. He could not fake being asleep. As soon as the black on his monitor melted away to reveal blue, you knew he was awake. There is no acknowledgement of him from you. No hi honey or night Vox. And his face brightness is not dimmed below seventy percent so you know he is awake. Azure lighting filtering over sheets and floating in the air, you pull back covers to sink into bed, shirtless as was your habit. You turn your back to him, which has regrettably become a new habit.

He tracks his eyes over the canvas of your back. On it, mauve and ebony bruises are speckled. They are like lily-pads in a dark lake or a thousand eclipses lighting up a dark sky. Never an absence of bruises with you. Across the canvas, there are bisecting marks of sharp claws not made by him that cause him some stress.

Vox remembers once connecting all your bruises into constellations, shapes of animals and faces and other things, post-aftercare scrambling up his wires and guiding him do something so sinfully, sentimentally human. He remembers your laughter and whines at his cold claws on warm skin. Remembering not in a human way but in an electronic way, memories always fresh in his mind, recorded.

You were like a virus. The most prominent memories he has are ones with you.

Blue light slimes over your skin. Vox dims his screen in hopes you might turn towards him. No luck. He lifts up one sharpened claw to drag a line shaped like a cleft note from bruise to bruise. He goes to —

“Stop that. It hurts.”

He goes to do nothing. Defeated, Vox returns his hand underneath his pillow. Why are you acting like this? Why were you doing this to him? You must feel his eyes scrutinizing on the cusp of your shoulder. Moving, you do something that takes that dark, calamitous part of Vox and squeezes it like a dog clamping his teeth around a squeak toy, all the ink spilling over and soaping up his systems.

You inch to the edge of the bed, so close to falling off that you might as well leave altogether.

It’s not cheating. Vox rolls over and tries to sleep without dreaming. 

You are a hired bodyguard for Valentino. Out of the ten bodyguards employed, you are closest to Valentino. Though you do not flank your boss all hours nor all week, you are seen most in the public eye out of the others employed to protect this pompous moth prince. This is because you are so efficient at your job.

It was that efficiency that drew Vox to even glance in your meaningless, background direction.

For a sinner demon, your physical appearance does not often stir up anything for anyone. Your employer did give you lipstick tubes a few times and perfumes for you to try. If Valentino said you had potential, he wanted you to embrace it.  You politely declined but kept your gifts. To be honest, you are very plain. Your hellish form was disfigured to give the mimicking resemblance of an oni, a yokai, but most human features remained. 

You had two physical differences that Valentino nettled you on showing off. One: golden spirals running down your arm like kintsugi art; two: a set of heavy, crimson horns growing from your temples. Every first of the month, Valentino mourned your horns.

January first, February first, March first, April first, and so on, you would grind down your horns. Equipped with a hacksaw and then a sander, it was a routine task for you. What could have grown gorgeously into carmine bighorn sheep’s horns were ruined to Valentino’s grief. You snipped them away like a disgruntled gardener. Like two red tree stumps, your horns sat on your head.

You went through with this cosmetic change for two reasons. You could not stand the look of a demon on yourself. Your horns were so heavy that they often disturbed how you moved. 

“I could not kill your enemies if I am toppling over due to the heft of my horns,” you told Valentino and he conceded. 

So unburdened by that obstructing weight, you did your job remarkably and accidentally captured Vox’s eyes. Sparked him, you joked. And then he came to agree and would say you shocked his heart – which often left you with warm cheeks. A relationship built all because someone grew obsessed over a pornstar and felt owed a performance, thus deciding to take it out on Valentino at one of his clubs.

It was nothing remarkable. You were not intimidated by the demon’s size despite the Vees awe. It was simply your job to do. If someone threatened Valentino, a bodyguard needed to react. 

“But a runt like you being able to take down someone like that. What a treat you are, (Name)!” Sharp teeth flirted with you and the moth kissed your bloody cheek when it was all done.

You were not small in stature like an imp. You retained your human height. However, some sinners grew with the hellish transformation. Thus, a 7’ 6” demon was a spectacle against you who was very obviously not reaching that. Though, your hellish transformation had selected a different prowess of your physical form to alter: your strength. Fondly, you reflect on that day.

“Mr. Valentino! Sir!”

Valentino blinks behind his heart-shaped glasses. In front of him, the head of the sinner woman he was talking to gained a third eye. Valentino only blinks because as she slumps lifeless to the ground, her drink slashes on him, causing him mild stress. Then, he blinks a second time as you grab him by the waist, spinning him off the leather booth, a hole suddenly appearing in the exact spot his back was reclined on. 

His lips upturn into a smile, amorous pinks and warm amber lighting raining down on his features. How theatrical you are! He mourns when your hands slide off his waist as you jump in from the shadows to do your job. 

He distantly hears Velvette curse. She was sitting on his left so it is only natural she would be startled, so close to when the gunshots were fired. Valentino watches as you jump down from the high platform where the three Vees were sitting and watching the night’s performance before being rudely interrupted. 

The demon is easy to make out in the crowd, Carmine-manufactured gun raised in his hand, standing at a height perhaps only three feet smaller than Valentino himself. He is not standing for long. You vault yourself over a table, kicking him down to a height you can reach and starting to take care of your job. Now, this is not as good as the performance on the stripper pole but is not half bad. 

“Vox. Light,” Valentino says, turning to his right where the television demon is in a similar state as Velvette, but collecting himself. A cigarette hanging from a long cigarette holder is waved momentarily in his face. 

“Thank you,” Valentino says and, smoking, watches. 

There are a million tools you could be using – glasses from any of the nearby tables, the arm of a leg chair, Valentino knows you are skilled enough to grab the gun laying two yards across the club floor to finish this job. Yet, all you do is punch and punch, enjoying and savoring your job.

Raising your fist by your head, launching it down into the demon’s face. Again and again and again. Valentino watches with great delight how the speed at which the demon’s legs fail miserably underneath you wans off from panicked kicks to tired scuffling. Your knuckles are recolored. You raise back up your fist. You launch it back down into the concave space you are making. There is a nose, underneath that is a gorey sunken mess, underneath that is a disconnected, bottom jaw. The crimson warmth coating and nuzzling into your hand is a welcome feeling. You miss it dearly when the body underneath you eventually stills. 

With a push, you stand back on your feet and start towards Valentino. He raises one of his four arms out to you – the upper right one drawing you in as he spins you excitedly on the platform. Valentino dips you and kisses you on the mouth, giving you the courtesy of blowing out his smoke first.

“Well done!” He pulls you back up into a standing position. 

“It is my job, Mr. Valentino.” Your voice is monotone which isn’t too entertaining but it does not dampen Valentino’s cheer. “No need for praise.”

Your gaze briefly flicks over to the couch. Genuine scolding burns you up inside while looking at the hole in the leather booth, should have been quicker. You startle when you see one of Valentino’s associates staring at you. Was the television demon named Vel or Vox? Doesn’t matter.

Hating being ignored, a finger on your face tilts your gaze back to the heart-shaped glasses. Valentino leans down, humming at the side of your face when some gore must have billowed up from the mess you were making. “But a runt like you being able to take down someone like that. What a treat you are, (Name)!” Sharp teeth flirt with you and the moth kisses your bloody cheek; all of it done and all of it set in motion.

You will never know Heaven. After some tears, skin punched off your knuckles, and snowflakes of broken glass, you accepted this. You will never know Heaven and its comforts. This is a second Heaven.

Red rivers waterfalling over and down trembling fingers. Warm pain of a bruise kissing into an ankle or wrist like an amorous cat. A crack as the cartilage of bone is split like a pencil. Skin rubbed off like latex on a scratch ticket to reveal bone, blood, and fat. Bitten tongues elongating into red syrup; a black gap in the military cemetery of teeth; an eye rolling on the ground in a morbid game of golf. Blood and injury, a frequent lover of yours. All these wonderful experiences and sensations: backdropped by the sound of sinisterly supportive cheers from imps and sinners. 

Your chance of redemption. Smoke billows off your lip and past your bloody nose. This is a chance to feel what Heaven could possibly be like. Redemption and honor made possible through violence, something you have known for a long time. A moral as ingrained in you as the gold rivulets falling down your arms.

Fiddling with your cigarette with your tongue, you busy yourself with wrapping white around your hands. Over the left and diagonal across the right – like a child practicing tying their shoes. 

You finish your work, checking your compression is tight, when the door opens and a muscular hellborn demon with defined biceps walks in. “(Name).”

“Yeah?”

“Only three more minutes.”

“Got it.”

Vox will never know Heaven. This is nothing that causes him any grief. During his entrance into the realm – before he set up contracts, set up VoxTex, set up a reign of control – it had been a heavy stone to lay with until erosion crumbled it down to a pebble. He will not know Heaven; so fucking what? 

He put so much stock in his business that it would be unfortunate for him to be pulled into heavenly gates. This was Heaven, not a second Heaven but Heaven itself. In the military march of obedient corporate slaves, a hymn. With the simple spiral of his right eye, he could get people to revere him. Proverb 15:3 says: the eyes of the Lord are in every place (every cellphone, house security system, every television and computer), beholding the evil and the good. Alastor gone and probably buried somewhere, Vox was on top of his game. Heaven was perfect until you started acting so strangely.

Something dark stirs in him in his news studio. His brain and eyes are wired to every device in the room. Vox turns from talking with the camera operator, words automatic as if they were pre-recorded. Even when you are concealing yourself in shadows, he can see you and when you step out of them, he wants to watch.

“Sir, is this a correct height for the trucking?”

“No, you’re doing it wrong,” Vox says without even turning his body to check the camera’s position. 

His attention is raptured by you. As it always is. Woefully, he watches as you talk with Valentino in the corner, before another bodyguard with defined muscles, puts a hand on your shoulder. Vox does not even try to hide the abhor spark that flicks over him. He could hear everything perfectly from Valentino’s phone but it is nothing of use. You switch out a shift and are letting your boss know that you are clocking out. Simple, quotidian activities. Nothing of use to try and decipher where you go. 

This is Heaven, Vox reminds himself, standing in Hell.

“Five hundred, nineteen.”

The room tilts and billows.

“Five hundred, twenty.”

There is something about pain that is so satisfying to you.

“Five hundred, twenty-one.”

If you could stay in pain, it would be as beneficial as a plant in sunlight.

“Five hundred, twenty-two.”

You – You, huh? – You turn your head to the side slightly. Blue light fruitlessly hides from you. Oh, he is awake. Releasing the tension from your muscles, your feet take a slight drop to the ground. You can finish the last of your six hundred and sixty-six pull-ups at a later time, you relinquish.

Just as you grab yourself a shirt, Vox finally decides to speak. It is a tone as if he is trying to gauge which version of you he will receive today: your old self or your new self. “Morning.” He rises up from the pillow and smiles dubiously. “You still have a bit more than a hundred to go.”

You stare at him. In his expensive, personally tailored pajama button-up. Him, with the hesitation in his eyes. Vox. Your Vox. Who despite the distance you have carved out, you are still incredibly fond of. You pull the shirt down over your abdomen and say, “Morning.” Slowly, you take a lazy walk to the side of your shared bed. “How do you feel,” you ask as you plant yourself down.

“Definitely felt better before,” he grins lopsided, trying to flash on some boyish charm. “Think you almost dislocated my shoulder.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I liked it.”

“Still, it’s not right of me.”

“...” Vox runs a hand up and down your thigh before lifting it up onto the bed.

“What is the agenda for today?”

“Let’s see. Marketing team has a change of manager which is gonna be a bitch to handle; we have a mid-morning segment to do on Velvette’s love potion; I have a 2 o-clock, a 4 o’clock, then a 5 o’clock; today is Friday so another Vox-2-Nite is scheduled. And that is all planned without any wiggling room. So if just one thing goes wrong –” At the mere thought, his voice starts to drop in octaves, prematurely vexed. World never seems to stop spinning, even when being below it. 

“Sounds dreadfully long. Are you sure your charge will hold on through it?”

“I scheduled a fifteen minute break in there … somewhere.”

“Ah, yes, Vox’s infamous fifteen breaks. Ones that always get pushed off until the end of the day.”

“They aren’t so infamous when I have you there, forcing me to take company-policed hour breaks … You really have to stop doing that.”

“Well, you’ll have to trudge through today without me or an hour break. Valentino has me booked today, honey.”

“That fucking bastard,” Vox shimmers, cursing Valentino, and you offer a timid chuckle. You trail a calming hand up and down his arm. Throughout the conversation, he and you had fallen into the lotus sex position – just awfully more clothed and less sexy– one of the numerous you two had been tangled into last night. 

Last night … your mind cannot help to wander to it and not fun wandering either. Two awful images keep spinning in your mind. One: the image of you grabbing his upper arm in the cowgirl position only to push too hard and hear a sickening crack from his shoulder, his screen malfunctioning. Thank your lucky star, it was just air bubbles. Two: in the middle of your rendezvous, the image of his screen turning black because you had taken talons and dug them amorously into his abdomen, your passionate action almost punctuating his colon. 

You kiss under his monitor when Vox rests his chin onto your head, feeling the warmth of electronic currents mimicking a bloodstream long since retired. You let him stay that way for a while, enjoying his presence. It is a little better than finishing up those pull-ups. 

“Hey, are we alright?”

Spoke too soon.

You stone up in his arms like a garden statue – ah, his arms. He has thought ahead and wrapped his arms around you, forbidding you from escaping this question. Well, you can still escape as you had no contract requiring you to answer his questions. Avoidant kisses are speckled past his poorly buttoned-up pajama top. 

“(Name).”

At the stern tone coating him saying your name, you bite into his blue-tinted collarbone. Vox is expecting this so he does not even groan at the fresh assault on an already bruised neck. He lets you fight shy of this heavy conversation through your physicality. His pride is quite grand when he does not moan as you attack his particularly sensitive spot, just in the space between the vagus nerve and jugular vein. 

“(Name).” You sweat cold when you realize Vox’s voice is still controlled and level, absent of a single glitch.

“Yes, honey?”

“Are we alright?”

“Why wouldn’t we be,” you avoid the question with a question and start to unbutton his pajama top. 

“Because you’ve been leaving –” his voice glitches, just a slight temperament, but you jump onto the break in his words.

“Hey, Valentino’s working on,” you press a kiss to his dead heart, “on this new segment in his porn. And it’s got,” you bite down lightly on his nipple, “this really hot position in it,” you scold yourself when your fingers mess up on a button, “called the Valedictorian. I think we should try it.” You celebrate when you manage to undo the last button by sucking on Vox’s nipple.  

“(Name).” 

At least this time, when your name is said, Vox’s voice is wobbling. And, thus the arms around you are less like a steel cage and more like fragile icicles. Honestly, you could have broken out any time but you would rather slip out of his arms with humane strength. 

And Valentino comes to the rescue twice in this eventful morning. Mentioned in name and then showing up in the ring of your phone. Vox is in such an amorous state that he only disconnects the incoming call after the third ring which means its presence has been heard and cannot be ignored.

“(Name).”

This time he says your name mournfully. You place a parting kiss to his throat. From his fragile arms, you slip away. “Duty calls,” you say and then leave as you have done for weeks now.

EXPANDING THE VEES REIN. 

That is what the agenda for today’s meeting is, highlighted in bold in the most professional serif font, Times New Roman, and thrown up onto screen behind Vox’s chair. He had wrestled with that for a while, foolishly feeling like the intern he once was in the living world. Not that Valentino or Velvette would appreciate it. Crumpled papers littered his personal bedroom, alliterations and homophones scrapped. Absent from his usual sounding-board (your spot in bed empty), he had decided after frying his favorite mug that simple and cut-to-the-point was the way to go.

Expanding the Vees rein: how can they go about that, the next slide asked to a group of two. Well, don’t damage your dead brain too hard by thinking of that alluring question; Vox was already supplying the answers and then the execution. And he readily rambled on about it:

“Now this little beauty is called SPID. It stands for spider parodying intellect-gathering device. Spied and spider, see? The task of the SPID would be to lock onto anybody’s potential target, infiltrating homes and creating a web of information through this lens. If we refer back to slide thirty-three, we can see the previous success of –” 

“Vox.”

The Overlord screeches to a halt. Not really paying attention if either Velvette or Valentino were paying attention, his name being said catches him by surprise. His claws pierce gently into the plastic molded around the spider device in his hand. The SPID is just one of the dozen he has brought in, all masquerading under the purpose of Expanding the Vees Rein.

A snarl appears on his screen. “Yes, Velvette?”

“How long have you and (Name) been together?”

It gives the Overlord pause for a moment. Gently, he takes his claws out of the back of the mechanical spider. Letting the tiny creature join the others on the conference table, Vox grumbles, “eight months, one week, three days.” 

He onlys that so precisely because he has a detailed timeline of everything since his fall. Give him a precise date and year, no matter how far away, and he could tell you exactly what he had for breakfast. His memory was pristine. 

“Isn’t that enough time for you to trust them? And enough time where we don’t have to sit through your spiraling insecure bullshit?”

With a laugh: “As you can see, Velvette, this meeting is the betterment of the Vees. If one does not always expand his monopoly, he leaves himself vulnerable to be subdued by another monopoly. Sooo – as I was saying, this spider is going to help us –”

“He’s just being pissy because he doesn’t have his little bebito/a under contract.”

The spark of electricity that flies over Vox’s entire body is violent. Volatile energy pulses in the air as formidable as a gun. This time (because he had already picked back up the spider) the SPID dies with a crunch in Vox’s claws. All eight legs twitch in the tiny thunderstorm inside Vox’s grasps. Vox is envisioning crushing a different insect though. 

“Neither do yOU.”

“I might not have their soul, but I have their loyalty. Do you?” Vox can tell by the grin pulling up Valetino’s lips that he finds this remarkably humorous. Very pleased at himself that he knows something the Vox doesn’t. 

“You FUCKING –”

“Hahahaha!”

They never get to go over the additional twenty-seven slides Vox had slaved over the night before.

“Mr. Valentino? Sir?”

The strap of your duffle bag is choked by uneasy hands. When the door had opened in the back alley of Voxtek’s towers, you had admittedly jumped like a startled cat and screamed like a kid on a rollercoaster. Even when greeting the familiar face of your boss, you are still a little nervous. 

“Do you need me for something, Sir?”

Though you are off the clock, so Valentino really should not be down here. In the dirtiest part of the towers, in a small sliver of space ignored by security cameras. Which makes your apprehension completely valid.

“Can’t a man enjoy a smoke, bebito/a?” The uneasy wilts out of you as he pulls his cigarette holder from somewhere.

“Of course, Sir. I will leave you to it.”

“No, stay. That other demon is such a sloppy bodyguard.”

“Oh.”

“Light?”

“Of course, Sir.”

You take your place next to Valentino, his shadow. Looking down at the duffle bag, you judge that you can be a bit late. It is not like –

“Dunhill. Refined cigarettes, cinnamon and suet.” Pink smoke billows off tiny fire, slurring up into the air in the shape of sweet Valentine candy. It never fails to impress you with how delicately opulent it looks. “You know, the best cigarette is the first cigarette in the morning. The untouched, virgin cigarette after a night starved of them. Very new. Very Dunhill. 

“I do not like owning second hand garbage, (Name).”

You feel your heart beat faster just a few seconds. That tone of voice is one you have never had directed at you. The straps of your duffle bag cry for release as you strangle them in a worried grip. “I’m aware, Sir.”

“Typically, when you get out of the hole, you do not go crawling back to it.” 

“Yes, typically not, Sir.”

You two fall into silence. Where Valentino luxuriously leans against the brick wall, you fall back and dig your shoulders into the brick, making sure to feel the pain and burn of a bruise. At this moment, you can feel your heartbeat under the skin of your throat. You are sure Valentino can hear it too with how he is prolonging drags off his cigarette. Typically, you were not so afraid of Valentino – even now, your fear stems from the thought of Vox instead of Valentino. You wrestle with the thought of the repercussions if Vox knew you were crawling back into that hole as your boss said.

“Answer me this.” Smoke waterfalls off his lips and you look up. The Overlord slowly takes off his heart-shaped sunglasses and bends his height. “Are you being summoned there?”

“No, Sir,” you answer with your untethered soul still inside you, pounding away on your ribcage. 

“Hm.” Straightening up to his height, Valentino smiles and puts back on his sunglasses. “Good.”

It is not cheating, Vox reminds himself as he hops from television in stores windows to telephone wire to smart watches. Those four words are a fire blanket coating over his damned soul. They keep him from exploding in fiery rage. Even when he reaches a point where he has reached the last electronic he can use, he repeats that … ugh, prayer … in his head. Sparking out of a telephone wire, Vox stands formidable on the ground, energetic from his frustration. 

Then, he tries diligently to shrink and draw less attention to himself.

His screen brightness is dimmed to a submerged 16 percent, all of his notifications are thumbed over to off, and a gray hoodie is zipped over his red-and-black striped waistcoat: all the preparations for this espionage set into place. He had done exceedingly well keeping out of your sight while keeping you in his sight. Head down, Vox follows around the last corner you took. 

Every city has its bad areas. Pentagram City has managed to exceed the limits for a bad area quite impressively here. He has to side-step some monstrous activities he would rather soon forget. The depth of red liquid staining his shoes would put to shame a wade in a cranberry bog. Violence swims in the air like a body fragrance.

There is a hole in the world like a great black pit and the vermin of the world inhabit it and its morals aren’t worth what a pig could spit. Vox recounts you saying that once; he pulls up the recording in his files, listening to your voice in the back of his head. Perhaps you have meant here rather than Hell. 

Waiting thirty minutes inside telephone wires after you went in was painful. He had boiled over with the anxious energy of just wanting to follow you shoulder to shoulder. He knew better. So while watching you go down a flight of cement steps, past a black gate, into an apartment complex’s basement was like water in the wires, away from him, it was necessary. If you knew about his presence before he wanted to reveal it … well, he rather not clean up shit off fan blades.

This is just a simple check-up. An in and out operation. He just … He just needs to know what you are doing.

Vox cannot really wrap his head around why you are coming here. You are so much better than this cesspool – was it a kink of yours to socialize with the lowest of the low? Skirting around the gate and the door, he walks in uninvited.

No security checks? Really is the lowest of the low. Incredulous, Vox analyzes the place.

It is a lobby of sorts — a mock imitation of it and as close to organized as a hoarder’s house — and there is evidently a large gathering around a desk. There are some outliers standing to the sides of the room. To the far left are double doors, guarded by two well-built and muscular figures. 

Black, jealous spirals appearing in his right eye, Vox turns back to the crowd to calm himself. This does not look like a sex dungeon but he can never be certain. He watched as people elect to shove knives into throats instead of shoving to move up into line. Receding into his body, he feels around for an electronic he can teleport in and out of.

Hm?

Hm.

No way. 

There are zero electronics in this entire place. It gives Vox such whiplash he ogles at the place until he remembers to school his expression. No one even holds a phone in their back pocket. For the first time in his reign of control over technology, he cannot feel a single spark of anything. 

Vox is knocked out of his stupor when some sinner pushes him, “fucking move or lose it, flat face.” and melts into the bloody crowd.

Metal claws curl up into his right palm. He schools that whet vehemence in his soul, knowing he sadly cannot cause a scene. No one knows of his presence. Probably the only praise-worthy factor of a town empty of technology. Joining into the crowd, Vox thinks on how he will find that sinner later. Electrocuting him until his eyes pour out of his sockets like rooibos tea is a calming image to feast on. His digital mind plots in great detail as he waits to reach the front.

— according to — the eutectic point, two solids have the same melting point, of the human skin and eyeball is — between 500 to 2000 volts kills — and saline — a sponge moistened with saline as a conductive jelly for electric currents — according to —

Vox is kicked out of his browsing of the internet when a phlegmy throat clears itself. He narrows his eyes in annoyance, finally stepping up to the seat of his mind and away from the waves of databases. 

At least he was recording and listening to what others said before him: “I’ll have 80 on number 7.” Vox says, combining the numbers of two separate customers’ statements. Then, he pulls out his credit card from his slacks. Even under poor lighting, the ebony and gold surface shines pristinely. 

The demon at the desk raises an eyebrow at him, “We don’t accept cards, newbie.”

They don't — huh! Even the Epirorium down in Cannibal Town accepted credit cards — credit cards were the most effective way to pay for anything! A quick transaction without the hassle of juggling coins and crumbled bills. He cannot help gritting his turquoise teeth in frustration. 

“You cannot be serious.”

“No cards or phones. You’re already breaking one of the rules with that fucking Samsung you got as a head.”

“It’s a LG, not a Samsung.” He can feel his teeth grinding.

“I don’t give a fucking shit.” The demon deadpans. “Do you have any cash?”

Waste of space sinner; if his patience (his very small patience) keeps getting tested tonight, something is gonna go wrong. With a grumble, he searches around in his wallet. Credit card 2, credit card 3, credit card 4, a photo of you and him, credit card 5, cred— a measly five dollar bill. Slamming it down, Vox deepens the pitch and echo frequency of his voice, “Here you go. Five on number 7.”

Worthless piece of shit. 

The demon clears their throat and then hands Vox his ticket. Knowing that is all he needs from observation, the Overlord makes a swift turn to the double door. What greets him is crowds upon crowds of sinners, imps, and hellborns. A stadium of sorts? Vox walks across the top floor, analyzing the circling structure of seats. No one is sitting in the seats but they cascade down in a cup-like structure into this eight foot drop where he can guess the entertainment is. Off the top layer floor, Vox finds a staircase and sedately starts walking down them. All the while he listens to the crowd:

“Kill them! KillthemKillthemKillthem!!”

“The stomach! Go for the stomach!”

“They’re getting destroyed out there. I bet my left eye on this, if they don’t win …”

“Cheater!”

So he was correct in assessing this was a gambling spot. A fighting arena of sorts … Vox thinks he is starting to get all the pieces put together when a loud voice, unamplified by any technology but still pristinely clear, yells, “THE WINNER!” The crowd explodes; Vox lowers his hearing and disturbs the charge into his eyes. His shoes click measured on the stairs. Metal claws grasp the railing and he leans forward, curious and suspecting. 

“Announcing their one thousandth, two hundred and seventy-second win, it is our one and our only (Name)!”

Some skinny demon, smaller than Vox, raises your arm up by the wrist. The golden patterns on your biceps and latissimus glow like a fanning, spiraling wind-chime made of reflective metal. A Jason Pollock of red blood coats your body. Your hands however are thoroughly drenched in red, making the smaller demon’s grip unsteady and slipping. Your expression is tired and unsatisfied. Up and down, your chest rises in heavy pants. And though you look you could really use a nap, Vox thinks you still look stunning.

That is why Heaven felt so far away: in the news studio, in his bedroom, empty from the march of corporate slaves and the clicking keys’ symphony of obedience. Heaven followed after you. 

“(Name).”

Like a dog, you growl around the material in your mouth. Why could he never leave well enough alone? Him and his annoying persistence to always be in your business like a second skin! When he starts pounding on the door, you kick it back hard in retaliation. Thump! Wood groans at the assault. 

Glaring as your name is called again, you work. You had told him it would take five minutes and it had barely been two.

Forceps pinched between your teeth, you gently continue what you came in the restroom to take care of before your management interrupted. (Fuck, you were always under the thumb of someone, bending yourself to them always). Performing any type suture is vastly different when fake silicone skin was not geysering out a steady stream of blood. Pulling the needle holder towards yourself, you push your non-dominant away to lay the first knot. You watch as the loop of blue thread shrinks inch by inch. When the first knot is laid, you twist your hands to do the second knot. 

“(Name)!”

“For fucks sake! I told you five minutes! Not two, not four! Five minutes!” You squeeze the forceps and needle holder in the same hand, harsh metal almost crushing under your grip. You have enough control to not break the tools you need to sew up your thigh. “Am I clear!”

“I don’t care how long it takes for you to get your rocks off. You come out right now. This crazy fan of yours is causing a fucking scene and I won’t have it. It’s either you or nothing.”

“You own the souls of thirty plus fighters! Get one of them to handle it!” 

You look back down at your leg, trying to fruitlessly focus on your knots. Were you on the second or third? 

Your management bristles and shouts back, door almost leaning into the bathroom with the weight of his frustrated voice, “you don’t think I’ve tried that! I don’t know how they managed to do it but no one landed a single punch on them. Like I fucking said, it’s either you or nothing.”

If you were not so equally frustrated, you would have taken a moment to absorb that information. Instead, only a fourth done with your interrupted sutures, you bite back, “unless they want me coming out there with my sweats down my ankles, tell them to fuck off!” You tried to keep profanity out of your words most of the time but this was too frustrating. Putting the forceps back in your mouth, you end the conversation. 

There is a ghastly noise beyond the door. You startle on the toilet seat, the metal hurting your enamels with how your mouth tenses. It is the hollow thumping noise backgrounded by raining sizzles. There is a bloody cough. The raining sizzles billow then fall back, sound momentarily expanding then shrinking. A man’s electronic voice: “I’ve already seen that.” You bite the metal harder in denial.

“(Name),” Vox says. 

Absent of your senses, your hands finally get the second knot tied – it is sloppy and unaligned to the first. 

How? How did he possibly find this place? It is so off the grid of the Pride Ring that no maps or GPS know the name of it. It is a rumored place, absent of technology, that only the lowest of the low lived in. You have been so careful with triple checking your surroundings. No one on this side of town could afford a phone. No one on this side of town could afford to ever get out of it. 

You will never forget meeting Valentino. Long ago, he seemed supernatural and uncanny. Luxury branded cologne burning your nose and pink cigarette smoke irritating your lungs. Everything, the affluent aspects of him, down to his self-possessed smile was something alien and frightening to a sinner like yourself who never experienced the sight of wealth. 

Valentino had been right about it being a hole one would never want to crawl back into. Comparing past and present, you were comparing an orphan on the streets to a prince in the castle. It was obviously better to choose the laps of luxury you had fallen into, content and chesired. 

Yet home called to you and you, the bitch, came back.

You stare hard at the bathroom door separating you and Vox. Blood runs down your left thigh to floors that have never seen a mop. If there is a way to downsize yourself into abysmal nothingness, you yearn for that ability. To shrink away … you wish you could. Slowly, you take the forceps out of your mouth and hold them tight in your lap. Seems like you are going to have to address the open wound. 

“Vox.”

“Can I come in, doll?”

Two things. You wholeheartedly hate two things about his question. The nickname, doll, implying you could be anything like porcelain skinned dolls; then, the fake shyness in his voice, trying to seem meek when Vox is far from that. “No, you can’t. In fact, I think you should leave.” You can smell the mounting violence.

“(Name), please. I just want to know what the problem is.”

“There’s no problem. We’re fine.”

“If we were fine, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, I’m fine with me being here, so you’re just going to have to find it within yourself to accept that.”

You surmise this is it. This is going to be the first argument of the relationship. The catalyst of whether you two were going to spark with a negative or positive charge, growing or dying from this verbal fight. Physical fights are your raison d’etre. Now you shift to a wrestling ring. Amputated from the burden of your hands and left with your mouth. Eyes drawn to your lap, you are unsure if you are going to win this. 

“You’re obviously upset over something.”

“I’m not.”

“(Name).”

“Vox.”

“Why can’t you – UGH!” You can tell by the start of his sentence it would erupt into volcanic static and electricity. All the hair on your arms and exposed thighs rise as he sends a wave of energy at something beyond the stall. Good. Physicality you can handle. You wait patiently for Vox to knock down the door. “Do you want us to be public?” Your body locks up, spine pressing hard into the manual flusher behind you. Why – Why is he trying to gauge what has you upset!

As you are reeling from his question, your mouth remains shut. Vox, taking silence as a negative, asks, “are you upset about my past with Valentino because we both have a past with him!” He jumps back when the door thumps and bends with the force of your kick. “Okay, wrong choice of words. Just – ugh! Are you upset about my past with Valentino?”

“I’m not upset over that.”

“Sinners don’t just leave their home from 3 P.M. to 3 A.M. unless they’re upset over something, doll.”

“I’m truly not upset over anything,” you insist. You really need to get back to your sutures before anything has the chance of getting infected. “Vox –”

“Okay, I’ll stop hacking into your phone!” He shouts in defeat.

“You'll stop what!” This time you kick without holding back any of your strength. The locking mechanism splinters down the middle like a wafer cracker. You feel a little victorious in this match when the door hits him in the shoulder, his startled jump just a bit too slow to avoid getting hit.  

“Unholy fuck!”

“My phone,” you bite at him, eye to eye finally. Vox and his Big Brother is Watching complex is one of his worst traits. “You’ve been hacking into my personal phone like I told you never to do.”

“You told me never to do it because of trust. How am I supposed to trust you when you leave for twelve hours in the middle of random nights like you’re on a booty call schedule,” Vox bites back. His red sclera are pointed down, resembling the shape of orange slices with how deeply cut his glare is. Defensiveness is written into each twitch of his body. 

“What, you thought I was cheating on you?”

“What else was I supposed to think!”

That shuts you up. Your temperature on your face rises with each inch of shame that eats at you … well what else was he supposed to think. The image of him, lying in your shared bed alone, head swimming with sharks of queries about your relationship, paints itself in your mind. Eyes down, you concede that that thought of cheating was warranted. Relationships are built on trust. That principle rule is often why relationships fail in Hell. Trust from sinful liars was as valuable as a rock painted gold. Cheating? … Yeah, you cannot blame him there.

“It’s none of that, Vox. I wasn’t upset about any of that and I’m not cheating on you.” 

Even when you cannot look at him, he can tell by the frequency and pitch of your voice that you are telling the truth. A few advanced polygraph technology moves into his right eye, scanning you for any sign of a lie. “I would never cheat on you.” In your chest, your heart beats. Eighty-three beats per minute, completely at rest, completely truthful.

Vox feels awful, finishing up with analyzing your heartbeat. He feels like he has just given a public report wrong on live television and he can feel the social media downfall already materializing in the air; he feels sick to his stomach. And yet he is still mad because, “Why did you not talk to me about this?”

“I was ashamed; and a little scared.” You bite your cheek. “I was ashamed and scared about you finding this place for the longest time.”

Vox raises an eyebrow. “You think I would judge you for needing to blow off steam?”

“This place is beneath you. I know exactly what was going through your head when you entered here: this place is the worst of the bad or this place is the lowest of the low.” Vox inhales through gritted teeth and you know that you hit the bullseye. “I couldn’t just bring you here. You would have been disgusted. And … and that would have led to you eventually being disgusted by me.”

There it is. You guess that is all you really can give him. Still, Vox is looking at you like he does not understand you. He is probably deducing that his past self could have overlooked this revolting place like a lover overlooks an ugly birthmark or stretch-marks. This was not a minor impurity. 

“I fell here.” 

Understanding dawns upon Vox’s face like a gleam on sunrise. Falling … the spot where one fell was sentimental, perhaps not in fondness but certainly in a consequential way. A fool only dares to insult the spot where a sinner has fallen, their second home. 

In a sinister way, this is a homecoming for you. And – sending a wary glance to the bathroom door while he leans into the stall – Vox has realized he committed an illicit act on the same par as perhaps punching your brother or sister. Even if you hated your co-workers?, the sentiment remains. 

The live broadcast analogy is frivolous. Vox feels like he is an intern who just spilt coffee on the front of his boss’s suit a minute before the higher-up was scheduled for a momentail meeting. The burn in his stomach is paralyzing. 

“I-I uh,” Vox stammers. Little sparks are jumping up his body like happy stars. Frustration that mistakenly looks playful. He moans out, “Fuck, (Name).” and leans heavily on the stall’s inside wall.

You chuckle humorously and finally look up. “Yeah. I know.”

“I guess I get … the secrecy now.”

“I’m sorry for not coming clean. Even if this is a really bad hole, it is my hole.” Vox smiles at you, fondly without his previous hesitation. You know by that smile alone that you two are going to survive your first argument. However, you do not want the conversation to shift away from the thesis. Now that you two have finally managed to start it, there is so much that you have to say. “Vox?” He stares in attention. “... We’ve become domestic, Vox.”

“That bad, doll?”

“It’s awful.”

“...”

“I worry – I worry all the fucking time – about hurting you.”

“I’m an Overlord, you’re a sinner. It is a little insulting that you would think –”

“But I do! Every minute, I just worry and worry,” you interrupt, pressing a hand to your chest to emphasize those words. All your hands have managed to do are kill and maim and injure. Fighting quelled your hands. You were positive that if you drained your hands to the point of exhaustion it would keep Vox from getting hurt. “I’ve never been gentle – I’m awful – and I –!”

Vox kneels down on unwashed ground, covered in blood and piss, in his freshly tailored, iron-pressed slacks. Your dead heart pounds at that.

Then, Vox says three little words that you two have decided to put the coin of trust into, paying the fare to a relationship that both of you wanted to keep. “Hey,” he says to snap you out of your thoughts. Then, as he slowly takes the tools out of your hands, Vox says, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

As he helps you with your sutures, you still remember when Vox and you had finally said those three little words that built up your relationship. Your contract. One that in a way was not really a contract at all.

I love you. He had said that for the first time when you were checking his grammar for a broadcast. Highlighters and colored pens laid scattered on the ruffled sheets. You had been crossing out the tailing end of a sentence. Eight words stretched out when he only needed three to hammer home his point. You crossed out fifteen words in surprise. In Hell, he is akin to a shark and you are akin to a goldfish. Even so. Sometimes I think love and violence are the same thing. You had meant that as warning but he just leaned into you, biting your tongue when you two kissed. 

Accepting that part of you.

[nothoughts-onlywomen]

Pink Floyd’s The Wall

This BTS photo has really piqued my interest. Not just because it’s clearly a hint at something for season 5, but also because it happens to be one of my favorite albums ever. So, I thought I’d do a deep dive into how it might factor into the next season.

Full disclaimer: All these ideas I’m about to verbal vomit will make more sense if you watch the film here and/or listen to the album here. I truly recommend you seek it out. Far and away, it’s one of my favorite films/albums, and it’s stood the test of time. In fact, there are certain sequences that may be a little triggering in our current US political climate (I’m thinking of the “In The Flesh/Run Like Hell/Waiting for the Worms” sequence).

War. The Wall is about war; namely, the bitter uselessness of it. The film has a lot of anti-war imagery. Young soldiers wounded and vulnerable, doves exploding into crows, a bloody cross, etc. The film ends with a culturally diverse group of children picking up rubble from the war. There’s a beautiful image where a child pours out a Molotov cocktail. The meaning there is that children are taught to hate and kill, and once they are, the joy of youth is smothered by it. Now I can think of a few scenarios where this is relevant to our crew. This could have something to do with the war against Vecna, in that our kiddos are so young to be fighting this war, and that it will inevitably chip away parts of them. For some, it may take limbs, or even lives. There may also be an assertion that Henry Creel was taught to hate, rather than it being an inevitable part of him. El suggested this at the end of season 4, when she asserts to Vecna that Papa made him a monster. The nuance within the anti-war message of The Wall is that the main character, Pink, lost his father in World War II. Henry Creel’s father went to war (the exact same war, in fact) which is an interesting similarity, but I think greater parallels should be drawn between Pink and Henry Creel in terms of how their relationship with their father (or lack thereof) led to their emotional erosion. And when I’m referring to Henry’s father, I’m not necessarily talking about Victor, though their relationship may have been complex. I’m referring to Dr. Brenner as well. Now the major difference between Pink and Henry - at least, so far - is that Pink is shown to have a soft, gentle side to him. This gets smothered as his emotional wall grows taller. I don’t know if Vecna ever had anything of the sort, but we know that Will is nothing if not gentle. And if they’re going to draw parallels between Will and Henry next season, I have to think there’s some meaning in there somewhere.

Conformity. It should be noted that the film takes place during World War II, so the conformity themes were especially prevalent in those days - the days of Hitler and the Nazi regime. Pink attends a school where the children all wear masks and stand on an assembly line, eventually to be thrown into a meat grinder. All very heavy-handed symbolism, I know. But the idea is that society attempts to suppress individuality and corner the youth into becoming part of the mindless whole. Blessedly, toward the end of the school sequence, the kids all rip off their masks and rebel. Now, in reference to our friends in Hawkins, this could be a nod to how the group has never been afraid to be the “freaks,” and that conformity is meaningless to them. Stranger Things has always reveled in the beauty of being yourself in the face of societal labels. The Wall also utilizes hammers in much of its imagery, which is supposed to symbolize the hammer pounding a nail into submission. With the individual being the nail, and the oppressive whole being the hammer. To me, this hearkens back to the “hive mind” idea. The Mind Flayer operates from this hive mind, and so any deviation from this would be quickly and mightily suppressed. I also addressed the idea of the “hive mind” in my theory about the Wrinkle in Time Easter egg, and how the planet Camazotz adopts this same concept (read here if you feel so inclined). Will Vecna be this deviation? If not, who will? One of the kids? Will Dart break away from an army of demogorgons to save Dustin? I can’t see the Mind Flayer being thrilled about it regardless of how it manifests.

Emotional isolation. Pink undergoes a descent into emotional isolation. The wall itself is symbolic of the emotional wall he builds around his heart, insofar each negative event in his life is “another brick in the wall.” Once his emotional isolation is complete, he becomes callous and disconnected with others. He fantasizes about committing atrocities, even becoming a Hitler-like figure in his imaginings. Such emotional isolation is likely present within Vecna as well, as only someone with a real disconnection from their emotions could kill people in the ways that Vecna has. That scary face on the poster, in fact, is emotion, trying to break free of the wall. A scream of agony from within. Perhaps the Duffers will explore this within Vecna. Perhaps Vecna has some small shred of humanity left that the group will try to capitalize upon. At the climax of The Wall, Pink puts himself on trial in his mind with a judge that is a literal asshole (yes, it’s as batshit as it sounds), and the wall is torn down within him. The album ends with a spoken message that loops into the beginning track, suggesting that the conundrum of emotional wall-building will never end. Perhaps the group will attempt to tear down Vecna’s emotional walls. The Duffers are good enough writers to make us feel at least some empathy for Vecna, if we hadn’t already, and this might just be a continuation of this. There is also the possibility that one of our other kiddos starts to emotionally isolate. It could be any of them: Mike, Will, Lucas, Dustin, El, or Max. I’m less inclined to believe it would be one of the older kids, though they’ve all certainly got their own demons. None of them will become as twisted as Vecna, of course, but I could see them struggling against their own emotional walls. We’ve seen Max do a bit of this already. It would be a real shot to the heart if the Duffers utilized a deeply sad track like “Nobody’s Home” or a wistful, melancholic tune like “Comfortably Numb” to describe Max’s consciousness literally being absent from her at the moment. I think Will is also an ideal candidate for this concept, especially if (as I suggested earlier), we are going to draw similarities between him and Henry Creel. The ending song on the album, “Outside the Wall,” postulates that those who truly love you will walk up and down outside your emotional wall, banging on it, trying to tear it down and thus forge deeper connection. We’ve seen this happen with Max a bit, and I could certainly see it happening with Will, too.

Mental illness. Pink is suggested to have a mental illness. He’s not particularly easy to slap a diagnosis on (though based on the information we do have, I might have put him in the schizoid/schizotypal/schizoaffective territory. Depression with psychotic features at the very least). Mental illness isn’t a topic that heavily explored in Stranger Things, though season 4 definitely had some poignant things to say about depression. But I’m wondering - if they do decide to touch on this somewhat - if this will hint at a deeper dive into Vecna’s psyche. Killing small animals is generally a precursor to actual murder, and this was certainly the case when it came to Henry Creel, but we have yet to really unpack all of this. We’ve gotten hints. Vecna noting that he “never forgets a kill” and “they are always with me” is a very interesting concept I will be curious to learn more about.

I would love to hear any additional thoughts on this.

[dunmeshistash]

Maybe it's about the "complexity" of the familiar that affect the user ? Like Marcille's three familiar weren't that complex, they even managed to manually change their shape without any resistance even when it wasn't their creator doing it. Thistle's "eyes" do look more deeply thought and fast but are numerous so can't have the same "depth" and probably work like a hive mind of some sort(that would be cool)

Meanwhile Fleki's familiar is a crow creature that might not even be a monster, if it is might be a Yatagarasu or a similar crow creature(but weirdly it didn't have 3 legs ?) but do feel more independent and smarter than the other two familiar shown

Anonymous asked: Fleki's familiar giving her severe brain damage when it dies might be a combination of Fleki's being made of blood giving it a stronger connection to her and fleki herself being a skilled familiar user jamming her entire mind into that thing for even better control then the other summoners which is probably a risky move when she can already control it just fine the normal way the other canary summoners use. My thinking here being that managing to fit your whole consciousness into a smaller and more primitive creature takes skill and a lot of recklessness on part if the user considering if that thing dies its taking you with it. I'm thinking the pros of this would be less distractions and better use of the familiar (assumed) superior senses and more ease of control

Anonymous asked: I never notcied before but is Fleki's familiar made out of mana? Maybe it's even more difficult or has a stronger connection to the caster? It's probably the most mana intensive one out of the stated options (making familiar out of scratch + only using mana, remaking the familiar every time).

Sorry I'm putting all the familiar asks I received here.

Basically all we can do is speculate I guess there isnt much info about Fleki's Familiar, I always assumed it was just a normal raven but since it was inside her head at one point maybe not.

Anyway yeah most likely is a case of Familiar complexity and connection, you can check the Familiar tag to see what other people have theorized

[proserpinesprankster]

Talk about your fantrolls NOWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!

ALRIGHTY BITCHES. So note that some have more iterations than others and im prolly gonna fix up the less refined ones AS I AM TALKING.

Ill add a cut because theres so fucking much of them.

Feel free to ask more questions i love my sillies!!!

Lets go in order of caste, therefore...

FIRST OF ALL! Nihila Umbrax, the Knight of Void, Derse sway, Burgundy Blood.

Nihila is a burgundy who was less fortunate at wriggling to say the least. They have multiple significant mutations, their eyes are solid red and their height is comparable to that of an older purpleblood, aswell as large mothlike wings. All of this and its seclusion in the woods has led to it being mystified as a local cryptid, the fact that its horns are shaped like antennae does not help the mothman allegations. Beneath all of this Nihila is overall just a big clumsy blind individual, they like to tinker with electronics and usually end up dumpster diving to salvage parts. They were most likely the troll who got SGrub up and working for the group, but its cryptid nature is not at all ceased during the game. Bowkind Strife.

Next we have Squash Tapeko, the Bard of Space, Prospit sway, Bronze Blood.

Squash is a bit of an anomaly in general, being that he operates outside of the typical laws of space and time. Paradox space and Squash get along like two peas in a pod, or more aptly two pumpkins in a patch, while normal space seems to avoid him like the plague. Hes always wearing those tacky shades that have the lines and stuff, and only has one horn which curls like a stem. Anyone accquainted with the laws of paradox space can tell in an instant this goofy goober is like a pumpkin given physical form. He likes to garden, usually growing squashes for later use as plot devices. Sodakind Strife.

Next! Aureum Crisia, the Maid of Light, Derse Sway, Gold Blood.

Aureum has little to no psiioniics despite being a goldblood, she's insecure for obvious reasons. She compensates with over the top optimism, though in truth she is a realist who never waits for things to fall into her hand. She has spent her whole life using charisma and wit to work her way into alternian business, despite the prejudice shown by higher classes. She can be a bit shady sometimes, but she refuses to take any disrespect. Coinkind Strife.

Beitah Bliuta, the Sylph of Breath, Prospit Sway, Olive Blood.

Beitah is close with Nihila, shes shared purr hive with them for as long as they can remember, practically siblings. Their hive is rudimentary regardless, mostly a well decorated cavern. Beitah is overall playful and childish, and the youngest of the group. She is also however a bit feral, for lack of a better word, most view purr as just overall weird for any of these things. Beitah is smaller than most of the others and wears baggy clothes constantly.

Raekie Venaer, the Rogue of Doom, Prospit Sway, Jade Blood.

Raekie likes to call themself a poet, followed by a murder of crow lusii constantly. They didn't favor life in the brooding caverns and instead live in a makeshift treehouse they ended up making after running away. They don't live in the same area as Beitah and Nihila but they do exchange tips through Trollian, and of course Raekie shares their cheesy poetry. Despite the gothic aesthetic Raekie is a terminal optimist, and knows good and well how cheesy their poetry is. Penkind Strife.

Terrun Biyiga, the Thief of Life, Prospit Sway, Teal Blood.

Terrun hates his own caste, plain and simple, mostly because of having lower class friends and realizing he was a part of the problem. He internalizes this hatred as of the start of the session, simply playing along. He has a certain level of internalized self hate, but covers all of this up with a hero complex and cowboy accent. Revolverkind Strife.

Now for a real interesting one, Celare Scurra, the Mage of Mind, Derse Sway, Cerulean Blood.

Celare Scurra is actually not 100% a troll. She always seems oddly well dressed, and never removes her gloves. On Derse, you may hear a whistling of a familiar tune, though back on Alternia it's less well known. Celare Scurra has joined The Midnight Crew on Derse. By some twist of fate, her body has a hint of Carapacian, which has shrouded half of her dreamself in black. She serves as a villain for this story, overall. Bit of a bitch, but unlike Vriska she doesn't flaunt it. Cardkind Strife.

Kirkor Stilis, the Heir of Heart, Prospit Sway, Indigo Blood.

Kirkor isn't the brightest, but he's sure lovable. Hes the only one even close to matching Nihila's height, and serves as Aureum's bodyguard at times as a result, warding off anyone who would threaten her due to his sheer scale. Theres some sort of moiraillegiac tension there, probably. Overall he serves as, well, the heart of the group. Hes also just very clumsy, someone give the 7 foot tall pair some dexterity. Hammerkind.

Manika Dexsue, the Witch of Hope, Derse Sway, Purple Blood.

Manika gets her kicks in a different way from most purplebloods, she usually only dresses up in the full clown getup for formal stuff. Normally shes wearing a dirty jumpsuit and rubber gloves with a purple gas mask, inviting Nihila over for their latest biomechanical experiment. Nibies' arm tends to end up the test subject. Manika is overall just a short mad scientist, and of course besties with Nihila. Sawkind / Needlekind Strife.

Sourim Paetel, the Seer of Blood, Derse Sway, Violet Blood.

Sourim is a socially inept hopeless romantic. He knows how to interact with high troll society... And thats about it. He's all prose and pretty words, with no real awareness of the state of things. He loves rainbow drinker literature, and this was why he first took an interest in Raekie, and then fell HARD. The fact that he has no social awareness makes flirting difficult, aswell as the fact that he takes Raekie's poetry seriously and Raekie doesn't take his seriously. Theyre both idiots with romance. Rapierkind Strife.

Ossico Blakke, Prince of Rage, Derse Sway, Fuchsia Blood.

Ossico is constantly tired, quick to anger if awoken from a good nap. Overall the whole group knows she has some anger issues to work through, but she cares deeply about her friends and is a sweetheart when shes calm. She is a force of raw destruction with a love for all things cutesy and brightly colored, and ducks. Furniturekind Strife.

Nibies Dulcis, Page of Time, Prospit Sway, Cotton Candy Blood.

Nibies was claimed by a purpleblood cult before she could be culled, and was worshipped as the avatar of their god, this was not a good thing for her. Eventually she did make it out and meet Manika, theyve got some sort of undisclosed redrom going on there, noones really sure. Nibies also hates Celare for an unknown reason, and its rather obvious theyve got some blackrom tension. Nibies is silly and over the top to make up for Manika's lack of clown behavior, with a very intense sweet tooth. She probably would have gone entirely mad if not for this group, and Manika and Nihila made her a prosthetic arm to replace the one she lost. Sweetskind Strife.

[nellasbookplanet]

Book recs: possession, bodysnatching and bodysharing

Demons, ghosts, aliens, sentient bacteria, artificial intelligences - isn't there something fascinating about the idea of sharing a body with another being like a giant get-along t-shirt? No? Too bad, because I'm going to tell you about books featuring this trope anyway.

A note: multiple of these books are sequels where the bodysnatching/possession aspect plays little to no part in the first book. In all these cases, I still recommend starting with book one. I also in one case chose not to include a certain sequel that I loved as even mentioning it in this context would be a huge spoiler, so, uh, sorry about that.

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

If you want more book recs, check out my masterpost of rec lists!

Brain Plague by Joan Slonczewski*

Chrys, a struggling artist, agrees to become a carrier for a sentient strain of microbes. With their help, Chrys breathes new life into her career and becomes a success. But every microbe society is different - some function as friends and brain enhancers to their carrier, while others become a literal brain plague, a living addiction taking over the life of their carrier. And like every society, the microbe community is in constant flux - including the one inside Chrys's head.

Children of Ruin (Children of Time series) by Adrian Tchaikovsky*

Sequel to Children of Time. Millenia and generation spanning scifi. After the collapse of the Earthen empire, a project to terraform various planets and use them to uplift other species to sentience in left unfinished. However, both species and planets continue evolving on their own, and when what remains of humanity flees the dying Earth millenia later, these planets might be their only hope of survival. But the uplifted species aren't the only intelligent life out there, and are far from the most dangerous as the survivors encounter something capable of terraforming the human body itself.

Leech by Hiron Ennes*

Unbeknownst to humanity, a sentient hive mind has taken over the entire medical profession to ensure the health of their host species. One of their doctors is sent off to an isolated location where they’re cut off from the rest of the hive mind, only to realize they’re faced with a rivaling parasitic entity. Leech hands you only just enough information to get by, and whether its historical fantasy, an alternate timeline, or futuristic post apocalypse is hard to determine. It’s spooky and a bit weird and wildly creative.

A Memory Called Empire (Texicalaan duology) by Arkady Martine

Mahit Dzmare is an ambassador sent to the center of the multi-system Teixcalaanli Empire, where she discovers that her predecessor has died. Trying to protect her home, a small independent mining station, from being taken over by the empire, Mahit struggles to find out the truth of her predecessor's death while carrying the voice of his ghost in her head, guiding her as best he can. Features a sapphic relationship but focuses more on world-building than romance.

Ninefox Gambit (Machineries of Empire trilogy) by Yoon Ha Lee*

Military space opera where belief and culture shape the laws of reality, causing all kinds of atrocities as empires do everything in their power to force as many people as possible to conform to their way of life to strengthen their technology and weapons. It’s also very queer, with gay, lesbian and trans major characters, albeit little to no romance. Disgraced Captain Kel Cheris is given a second chance by allying with the undead Commander Shous Jedao, who in life never lost a battle, but also went mad and massacred his own army. Now, Cheris must decide just how far she can trust him, with her forces as well as with her sense of self.

My Heart is Human by Reese Hogan

Nine years ago, all complex technology was made illegal. This complicates life for Joel, young transgender single father, as a bionic just uploaded itself into his brain without consent. Scared of losing his daughter, Joel tries to keep the bionic secret while using it to fix his life, but things quickly get more complicated as the bionic gains more and more control of his body. A bit simplistic in writing style but makes a lot of cool parallels of bodily autonomy to Joel’s experiences as a transman.

Bonus rec: if you like the general concept of struggling for physical control over one’s body with an AI, may I also suggest the (much grittier and gory) movie Upgrade.

The Host by Stehpenie Meyer*

The Host follows Wanderer, an alien part of an invading force on Earth. Humans have been defeated and are being used as host bodies, but Wanderer's host Melanie is being difficult and refuses to fade away. Instead she fills Wanderer's mind with images of Jared, the man she loves and who's still in hiding. With Melanie's feelings bleeding into Wanderer's the two reluctantly ally to find and keep safe the man they both love. While The Host does feature Meyer's trademark romance - of which I'm not the biggest fan - the more interesting and arguably more central relationship is that between Wanderer and her human host.

Needle by Hal Clement

1950s classic. A small island in the pacific ocean and a fourteen-year-old boy have just become the center of an interstellar chase between an alien Hunter and the criminal he’s pursuing. Robert is a regular boy, but he has a very special passenger: an alien symbiont hiding inside his body. The alien became stranded on Earth as he pursued a criminal of his own species, and now they are both trapped on the same island, playing a game of cat and mouse as Robert and the Hunter struggle to find their prey before it finds them.

Malevolent by Harlan Guthrie*

Lovecraftian horror mystery. Private detective Arthur Lester wakes up in his office, his partner dead, memories fuzzy, vision gone, and the voice of a malevolent entity in his mind. Unable to see, Arthur is forced to rely on guidance from the entity as he attempts to solve the mystery of what it is and where it came from. Is this a book? No. But as someone who reads mostly audiobooks, the difference between a book and a fiction podcast is negligible, and also I love this story and its characters and want all of you to do so too.

Goddess of Filth by V. Castro

Novella. What starts as a drunken seance between friends ends with one of them chanting in Nahuatl, the language of their Aztec ancestors. Following that night, the formerly shy Fernanda has changed. While her family calls for priests, claiming her possessed by a demon, Fernanda's friends believe what has taken up residence in her is something decidedly older. A quick read featuring female rage, desire and empowerment, this is a different twist on the typical possession story.

This Alien Shore by C.S. Friedman

Space opera in which humanity found a way to faster than light travel and began establishing colonies all over the galaxy, only to belatedly realize the method of FTL caused irreversible mutations and disabilities and leaving their nascent colonies to die. Much later, many of the colonies have survived and thrived, and one has found a new method of FTL travel, allowing an interconnected space society to grow. However, Earth is on the hunt for their method and is prepared to do anything to steal it. Trapped in the middle of all this and forced on the run is young Jamisia, who is little by little coming to realize that not only might she be the very solution Earth is after, she's also not alone in her own mind and body.

Touch by Claire North*

Kepler should have died long ago, beaten to death in an alley. Instead, a switch happened as Kepler leapt into and took control of the body of the killer. Since then, Kepler has lived in body after body, having gained the ability to inhabit anyone with a touch and stay for anything from a few minutes to an entire lifetime. Kepler cares much for the host bodies, and when one of them is brutally assassinated, Kepler must find the killer, avenge the host's death, and stop it from happening again. You want a fucked up main character with fucked up morals who still genuinely cares for people? Then boy do I have the book for you!

The Midnight Bargain by C.L. Polk

Fantasy romance. Beatrice Clayborn is a sorceress, but if her family gets its way she won't remain so for long. Married women are forbidden from practicing magic, and Beatrice's father is intent on marrying her off to save them from destitution. Beatrice has a different plan: become so powerful a sorceress that she can herself save her father's business and becomes too valuable to marry off. To achieve this, she strikes a bargain with a minor spirit of fortune. In return, the spirit demands to be present in Beatrice's body as she experiences her first kiss... a kiss with a man who might jeopardize all her plans.

Pandemonium by Daryl Gregory

Del Perce's world is almost indistinguishable from ours, the only difference being the presence of possessing entities that can strike with little to no warning. When he was young, Del was possessed by one of these demons, which was eventually exorcised. But now he’s experiencing a resurgence of symptoms, a voice in his head demanding to be freed. To save himself, Del races to find out the truth behind the possessions.

The Thousand Eyes (The Serpent Gates duology) by A.K. Larkwood*

Sequel to The Unspoken Name (please read that first, I promise this duology is very worth it). These books have a lot going on: portals, flying ships, orcs, elves, creepy snake gods, possessions, cults, immortal evil mages who traumatize teens as their hobby, gay and lesbian frenemies, the works. Csorwe, born and raised in a cult and meant as a sacrifice, escapes her intended death with a mage who becomes her mentor. But he has dangerous motives of his own, and Csorwe must decide where her loyalties lie.

A Skinful of Shadows by Frances Hardinge

Young adult, historical. All her life, Makepeace's mother has been teaching her how to defend herself from the possession of ghosts, until one day her guard drops and a wild and fierce spirit slips in. When Makepeace's mother dies and she is sent to live with her father's family, this spirit might be her only defence. Because her family is harboring dark secrets, and they have plans for Makepeace... plans which do not care for her well-being. Unlike most other YA I've read in terms of vibes and plot, A Skinful of Shadows is a unique and intriguing read.

Vespertine by Margaret Rogerson*

Young adult fantasy. Artemisia prefers the dead to the living, and is training to become a Gray Sister, a nun who helps the souls of the deceased pass on to the afterlife rather than remain as dangerous spirits. To defend her convent, Artemisia accepts the help of a dangerous revenant, a powerful spirit which grants her great power but also could possess her the moment her guard is lowered. As evil threatens her homeland, Artemisia and the revenant must find a way to work together.

A Psalm of Storms and Silence by Roseanne A. Brown

Young adult fantasy. Sequel to A Song of Wraiths and Ruin. To save his family, Malik has made a deal with a dangerous spirit with equally dangerous demands - the death of the princess. Meanwhile, princess Karina is seeking her own power, meaning to resurrect her assassinated sister no matter what the prize. As their paths intertwine, the consequences of their pursuits keep getting higher, both for them, their nation, and the entire world.

Grey Sister (Book of the Ancestor trilogy) by Mark Lawrence

Sequel to Red Sister. Fantasy with sci-fi flavor. Nona is being raised to become a killer at the Convent of Sweet Mercy. But dangerous classes aren’t Nona's only problem: her planet is slowly dying, and her own inner demons whisper in her mind. As the sun grows weaker and ice creeps ever closer, Nona and her allies race to save themselves from extinction.

Fifth Quarter (Quarters series) by Tanya Huff*

Sequel to Sing the Four Quarters. Fifth Quarter is only loosely connected to the first book in the series so you could read it as a standalone, however I still recommend starting with Sing the Four Quarters as it is very good. Bannon and Vree are siblings and highly skilled assassins, but they are put to the test when a failed assassination finds them sharing a body, their intended victim having stolen Bannon's. Now, they must choose between remaining loyal to their Empire, or helping their supposed victim find a new body to steal - and he doesn't want just any body, he wants the royal prince.

The Nein Eyes of Lucien by Madeline Roux*

Recommended with the caveat that you're unlikely to get the full experience unless you have also watched Critical Role Campaign 2 (which is quite the time investment, but very worth it). It follows the antagonist Lucien, first owner of the body we know as Mollymauk Tealeaf, both before Lucien lost his body and after he regains it in the ultimate struggle against Mollymauk's old friends, the Mighty Nein.

Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool

The Scratch Daughters (The Scapegracers trilogy) by H.A. Clarke

Sequel to The Scrapegracers. Sideways Pike used to be able to perform only party tricks, but in finding new friends and starting a coven, the four become powerful witches. But not everyone wants witches around. After having gotten her spectre stolen and losing her ability to perform magic, Sideways is forced to rely on Mr. Scratch, a book demon taking the place of her spectre to keep her alive. Now she must struggle to get her magic back before it’s too late.

Riding the Odds by Lynda K. Scott

Sci-fi romance. Tara Rowan is a spaceship captain with secrets - a past she wants to leave behind, and Zie, an organic symbiote which grants her greater strengths and reflexes. But when sexy Holy Knight Trace Munroe blackmails her in an attempt to rescue a missing princess, Tara's secrets are in danger of being revealed.

What Doesn't Break by Cassandra Khaw

Like The Nine Eyes of Lucien, you're unlikely to get the full experience of What Doesn't Break unless you're also a viewer of Critical Role. It follows the backstory of Laudna, undead sorceress and warlock with the ghostly presence of the necromancer who once murdered her keeping residence in her mind and tugging at her strings.

Every Day (Every Day trilogy) by David Levithan

Every day, A wakes up with a new body and a new life. A has rules on how to deal with this existence - don't get attached, don't get noticed, and don't interfere. But when A finds themself falling in love, all their established rules no longer apply. This one has also been adapted as a movie!

This Body's Not Big Enough for Both of Us by Edgar Cantero

A. and Z. Kimrean are twin siblings and private eyes - they also share the same body, calling themselves A.Z. When someone starts murdering the sons and heirs of a ruthless crime boss, it falls on A.Z. Kimrean to solve the case and find the killer before all out gang war breaks out.

A Madness of Angels (Matthew Swift series) by Kate Griffin

Two years ago, sorcerer Matthew Swift was killed. Today, he woke back up. And he isn't alone in his body... Now, he seeks vengeance not only against the one who killed him, but also against the one who brought him back.

Honorary mentions AKA these didn't really work for me but maybe you guys will like them: Bone Rider by J. Fally, The Lives of Tao by Wesley Chu, What's Left of Me by Kat Zhang, Hunter of Demons by Jordan L. Hawk, Odder Still by D.N. Bryn

[fandom-zoomer]

I think I may have come up with the best worst tma time travel “fix-it” au (imho)

Inspired by Ketakoshka's 'dread spawn' idea in their dread child jon series, Dribbledscribbles' origin story for the dread powers and extinction entity interpretation in their extinction!jon fic (and some more of the latter in their post-eyepocalypse fic too), as well as my own love for making unholy (aka fun) fusions of things and sandboxing eldritch interactions with the 'mundane' . . .

. . . I have created a post-canon, Somewhere Else, time travel ""fix-it"" story that I think might be unique (at least I've never seen any fics like it– but if I'm wrong then please please share the link!! or dm me if it's your own work hehe but no pressure!!)

(mag 160+ spoilers after this point!)

(i'm about to wax poetics here (hopefully coherently)—so you can read the story-ramble OR you can scroll to the TL;DR at the bottom to skip it & spoilers to read the nutshell & see if you're interested :3)

so get this...

The big Change happens right? But this time the Extinction is a bigger player in the game than canon, and ultimately deeply marks Jon throughout the eyepocalypse.

So when the finale happens, since Jon is now connected to the epicenter of the whole show, his 'death' and the panopticon's destruction has the simultaneous effect of baiting the Dread Powers into the Hole (via his voice in the spools of tape)– and also killing everyone trapped by the Dread Powers in the world via Jon the walking detonator thanks to being entrenched in the Extinction's influence. —Combining both his best and worst plans and realizing his worst nightmare: killing everyone and spreading the Powers to an unknown number of worlds to wreak even more havoc.

How did this happen?

Simple—but first some backstory for context.

The Extinction was more of a 'lurker', much less "outgoing" than its 'siblings'. And when it was "grandiose", well. . . it tended to leave no survivors. Thus its unrecognition by those like Robert Smirke or Jürgen Leitner.

To go back even further, the Dread entities were originally one cohesive entity with many faces and limbs. Its faces reflected the same developmental complexity as the sources of their manifestation. So those with the most diverse species feeding them held the widest capacities. Namely: the Hunt, End, and Extinction. But being a singular entity, it didn't mean much.

But as human species' family lines develop and grow more complex cognitive ability, more esoteric Dreads developed, and more faces become more complex. And the Extinction was right there from the beginning as more species died out one by one. Quietly. (...maybe? 👀)

Over time humans discovered the Powers and bonded with them, then started to classify them. From here, the Dread entity fragmented into Dread entities.

They developed their own 'consciousnesses' distinct from the hive 'mind' they once were. And, eventually, sapience. Self-awareness. Desires. Personalities. But they were still connected, part of the 'system'.

The Extinction and the Web (newer, but always sapient) are a quirky pair, the Web seeking control over everything and the Extinction seeking ultimate entropy and change upon its catastrophe.

It's hard to distinguish the Extinction exactly, its work misidentified for others with few under its own unique umbrella. Things 'unique' to it get missed due to being a misnomer and not getting clocked. (But that is the nature of the Dread Powers after all.. being a fragmentation of their original singular mass.)

...

The Extinction represents the fear of disaster that will bring about the end of everything—everything you know, love, need to survive. Everything you built, worked for, hoped for. The destruction of stories and of life, of the very history written by your land—your home.

Your community. Your society. Your species.

You.

Annihilated in totality.

The Extinction represents the fear of those that come after you to replace you—worse than you, different from you. Leaving you and your history and stories (the driver of your continued existence) forgotten forever. The fear of life moving on after you, ignorant and apathetic. Your story meaningless, irrelevant.

Your community's story. Your society's story. Your species' story.

Your story.

Erased and written over.

The Web represents the fear of being controlled, fate being out of your hands—by malevolent authorities out of reach, by abusive companions or relatives, by invisible forces far beyond the human comprehension. Spinning, winding, twisting, pulling each decision in your life made for you. Until destruction of the self by your own hand.

Your struggle for change futile. Your feet following the same path. Your fate determined for you.

You forfeit control—your feet march you to your bitter demise.

The Web represents the fear of being conspired against. Scheming, plotting, planning your downfall. The loss of everything you hold dear, worked for, bled for. Spinning, twisting, scripting lies about you. Your credibility falls to pieces, your world shatters, and your story distorts.

You are kept alive by the spreading of your story. And the people have decided to trust the manufactured tale.

You are forgotten—twisted into an image of something wrong.

...

Sometimes they're at odds. Where one seeks to manipulate the threads of everything endlessly, the other seeks to destroy it all so thoroughly, with such finality, as to mutate it– the schemes, the pawns, the gameboard itself.

Sometimes they're complementary. Where you watch as you lose everyone you cared for one by one, spiraling down a path darker into entropy, the irreversible nightmare, and wondering if you ever really had free will in the first place– if anyone did.

What if the end for you really was just another game to them? What if this wasn't their first round? What if you're just the next step in the grand scheme, larger than even your own universe?

Alright, now with that out of the way, let's bring back the question.

How did the Extinction change Jon, and how did this cause the altered result of the finale?

The Web has been there since the near beginning, pulling Jon along and guiding him to his next milestone in the plot. She had known the world would come to an end one way or another, and wanted to bring it about on her own terms so that she—they all—could escape it.

So when the Web saw what the Eye was doing, she had an idea. So she aided their acolytes, seeing her sibling as the perfect way to bring all of them together for the final step. And the Web set her own card onto the board: Jon.

Jon had a natural disposition for the Eye; from stubborn curiosity to the reckless pursuit for answers to even the coldest cases. Whether he knows it or not, his mind is a gaping maw for horrible knowledge—chasing after experiences disguised as answers to his burning questions so dreadful they leave scars on him like sigils of a looming doom.

While he has no affinity for the Web's machinations, he is still hers. She has no issue with guiding agents from across the court, she knows how to share. Especially when it benefits her. Jon archives each event, every little detail, with such care and readiness that he makes the perfect vessel to pull them in—to guide them out. He'd flourish best as her tool in the Watcher's sphere.

After the Watcher's Crown and the Dread Powers came into the world, the Extinction started to make its presence known. It seeped into other Domains and fed on the people's dread for permanent catastrophic change, on their fear of ruin and total desctruction. And as Jon traversed them and lived through their fear, so was he marked by the Extinction.

It seeped into his skin like oil and burned through his veins like acid. It tainted his trails with the radioactivity of human hubris and greed, twisting and mutating both the mundane and Dreadful as he passed. It closed its grasp on him with the tightness plastic rings and infected his Perceived routes with the stench of mountainous landfill and the thickness of city smog.

The Web and the Extinction had a complex relationship, but in this moment they guided the Archivist in synchronous song like a soldier being led to his final mission: dropping the nuclear bomb.

Did Jon know?

...

No.

The twines of manipulation layer labyrinthine over everything, above and below and through every angle and dimension. Even the Nigh-Omniscient Antichrist and his All-Knowing God will never fathom its depths.

He might never know that he helped start the Extinction's ritual: Raze the Earth.

Or that both the Web and the Eye knew and did nothing. (honestly, the latter's only there for the show)

So when Martin stabbed Jon and Melanie lit the gas mainline, the threads around the world snapped and the glowing light of humanity's greatest sins exploded over everything—

—and they prayed—

—and they wept—

—and the Dreads rushed out torrentially. (pulling a few strays with them)

Now for the part you were all waiting for (well I was)—the Heart of this AU

The Dread Powers and the ones who were dragged with them were transported Somewhere Else– a parallel world in a parallel universe. But they were. . . Changed from their previous/original selves.

The tag-alongs—Martin & Jon of course, but also Annabelle Cane, Oliver Banks, Simon Fairchild, and Arthur Nolan—replaced their parallels at birth, and gained partial or full amnesia to their past lives. But their personalities are altered, reflecting some aspects of their pre-finale personalities.

Except for Jon. Jon, the Pupil of the Eye, the Warhead of the Extinction, the Spools of the Web, the Archive of the Dreads and linchpin to their escape. . . was significantly destroyed in the center of the storm. He got it and so much worse—a stick so short its existence was inverted.

While they did get reach the new universe, they had to reconstruct their linchpin/Archive that they're still connected to so that his total destruction doesn't tear them apart as well (being an Extinction avatar that's now deeply connected with them, he's capable of "taking them down with him").

When Jon was reborn, he was literally thrown into the world like a meteorite, landing with an explosive blast that rendered the surrounding area a lifeless wasteland in moments. High radioactivity and a deathly curse left few flora or fauna returning before wasting away soon after. Those that 'survived' did so by being infected by the Extinction or Corruption.

It would permanently remain uninhabitable, and it would take months before the withered stillborn spawn of the sapient eldritch Dread Entities would crawl out of the jagged crater on its own, none the wiser to its tragedies.

TL;DR

The Web manipulated Jon's attempt to put a stop to the Entities' reign, utilizing the Eye's easy influence to help the Dreads escape the world and into a fresh new one before they were also destroyed in the Extinction's "Raze the Earth" ritual (set up by using Jon to weave toxic-filled veins throughout the world he was traversing that'll explode at once 'grand finale' style).

Jon, now deeply binded to the Entities' purest forms and still an Extinction time-bomb, was mostly destroyed during the trip to Somewhere Else and the Entities had to reconstruct him so his death wouldn't destroy them too. This led to Jon being reborn a near completely different being (with some of him preserved) as functionally the direct spawn of the Dread Powers, replacing his parallel counterpart from the new world.

[velvet-vox]

Oropo; the ideology of power behind being god: Part 1

This is for @secret-engima .

One of the things villains tend to do or want in fiction is becoming god or just having a god complex due to their insane power (examples down below):

Bill Chyper, big nihilist with unimaginable godlike powers that uses them for his own amusement and entertainment.

Flowey, a time resetting rogue experiment that wants to become god through manipulation and brute force.

The solver of the absolute fabric, the mechanical equivalent of the antichrist in his show, who plays himself up as the god of his universe.

All of these baddies have in common their insane power level as their main feature and seek to cultivate said characteristic in different ways.

Bill Chyper is a multi dimensional super being that burned down his own world and seeks to do it again in a new one to satisfy his sense of boredom caused by his insane godly powers; Bill, although probably quite sadistic by nature considering the fact that he destroyed his own world, sees himself as a God, but doesn't think to highly of said title nor does he seek even more power and just limits himself to benefitting from its advantages.

Flowey is actually the reincarnated body of a traumatized, dead child that has risen to the temporary god of his world through the ability of rewinding time, and wished to gain even more power through the absorption of souls, so that he could finally break free from his unchanging existence and solitude. In his case, although Flowey already had the powers of a god, but didn't view himself as one so he decided to gain even more power than the one he had.

The Absolute Solver, (this part will be reviewed at a later date) although very mysterious and with an ongoing story going on, seems like a shared IA eldritch entity that can have various hosts each and every one active at the same time with a priority system and has an hive mind identity of his own that gives it a shaky sense of self and seeks to spread that self across the universe with his reality warping powers. The solver is portrayed as the devil while being viewed as god by the human researchers and this leads to an interesting dichotomy in the solver's sense of self.

But while all of this is pretty interesting on its own, I believe there is one villain who took the idea of power and becoming god and took it to a whole new level by building an entire philosophy, ideology and theology around it.

And that villain is none other than the Eliotrope Oropo from Wakfu, the main antagonist of season 3.

For starters even though Oropo in the actual season isn't as competently written as Nox and Qilby, the idea that he had baked into his DNA would have made him by far my favourite Wakfu antagonist, and one of said unique ideas that make Oropo so different from many other fictional villains is his unique spin on the "I want to become/am a god" baddie mindset that he has developed.

You see, from the very start Oropo is an extremely powerful being but not an omnipotent one like Bill, more in line with the base form Absolute Solver and seeks to gain more power like Flowey.

But where he starts to differentiate himself from the others is the complex world view that he develops around the idea of power and godliness. You see, Oropo is a clone of the main character of the show that had his entire race of copies sent back in time to the beginning of everything and had to watch every single one of his siblings die with the gods being uncaring to their situation which sparked in him the idea to replace them. But while a normal person would think that he'd limit himself to just obtain more power and then become the only god of the world, what actually happens is that, in an attempt to prove himself better than the gods, he builds his own new pantheon made out of abandoned demigods, and builds up a tower meant to represent his doctrine from which he'll replace the gods once the time loop ends.

And that's what's really fascinating about Oropo, it's his complex idea of what being a god is like; he doesn't limit himself to just being powerful or gaining more power to obtain everything he wants, no, he has to build a pantheon, a doctrine, his own mythology and have other people who share his ideology to rule alongside him in the hierarchy that he has envisioned complete with his own set of rules and roles which must be obeyed by everyone.

Next part>>>>

[nb-n0v4]

was lookin at @charseraph 's crowns and remembered an alien I made ages ago called Seraphs! long ramble about these guys under the cut lmao

mmm okie so the seraphs have a hive mind similar to the mercane from dnd, all connected but still sporting individual personalities, with the Arch or "Arch-seraph" as a "mother" to the species that spawns more through asexual reproduction. Seraphs are essentially made of stardust and their internal composition is similar to that of a plant or fungus, lacking any kind of skeletal structure and instead having incredibly tough skin covering a network of simple muscles and a complex neural network that spans their entire bodies.

The little nodes on their cap don't function as normal eyes but instead see auras and act as powerful sensory organs that detect minute changes in atmosphere and the composition of the environment around them. They are capable of surviving in a total vacuum, since this is where they are born and they are in fact made for interstellar existence. Their main goal is to collect knowledge to further the intelligence of the collective consciousness held within the Arch and bring intellectual enlightenment to species they perceive as worthy.

They have no spoken or written language and instead communicate through complex telepathy. they range in color from void black to bright white and always have a vaguely pearlescent sheen to them. Their "eyes" are a nebulae of colors that shift with the electromagnetic currents that pulse through their bodies. They're graceful creatures, and surprisingly agile and strong.

If a seraph dies, which is a rarity, it's a somewhat common practice for another seraph close to them to fully assimilate the deceased seraph's consciousness and live as a combination of the two, meaning seraphs will occasionally house multiple sets of memories. If the memories are not assimilated then eventually that seraph is reborn through the Arch, with a fledgling occasionally choosing to take on the life of a deceased seraph instead of gaining one through their own interactions with the universe.

they don't have a concept of family unit structure within their society beyond existing as a collective, and are largely solitary or pairs, with no need or desire to reproduce and physical distance being immaterial to their interaction with others of their kind. Seraphs also don't have a concept of age, since they receive a wealth of knowledge about existence in general from the moment of their conception, and emerge fully developed. "Young" serpahs only exist in a chronological sense, but a seraph always remains with the Arch for around 70 years communing within the knowledge of the collective before venturing out, regardless of how they chose to assimilate, in order to be properly knowledgeable and suited to bringing enlightenment.

Older seraphs will often pose as what could be likened to psuedo-religious figures, imparting the secrets of the universe onto planet-bound species and encouraging them to interstellar travel. The Seraphs will then travel with these races to gain their unique perspective on the universe around them. They have no culture of their own, and instead strive to understand the universe through all of its infinite lenses.

They hold no regard to morals, good or otherwise, and are an utterly unbiased and mostly passive race. Not to say that you couldn't get them to help you out with something, after all, their own interaction with the universe and the races in it is part of the knowledge they strive to collect, it would just take a lot of convincing as they largely prefer to simply observe.

the oldest recorded seraph (outside of the Arch, who's age is indeterminable despite best efforts, and is even theorized to be a remnant of existence from a previous universe,) is roughly 24 billion years old, as Seraphs do not die naturally. This seraph, unlike it's bretheren, has actually begun to show what could only be called signs of aging, bearing small under-developed growths reminiscent to that of the Arch.

It is theorized that this seraph is in the very beginning stages of growing into an Arch itself, and grants a mind-boggling look at the time scale necessary to create one of these beings. This seraph is also capable of creating primitive proto-seraphs that are colloquially known as "cherubs" that resemble small earth jellyfish both in appearance and level of conciousness.

[what-immortal-hand-or-eye]

I swear I've seen you mention before that you have more wormlore about Zazie. So, any cool worm notes that didn't make it into the fic yet? :o

My general idea for Zazie is that it is the collective consciousness of the entire species. This consciousness has spanned millions of years and observed itself evolve. It has a long memory and a vast store of knowledge. Every worm is Zazie and Zazie is every worm at once.

The divine rite of autocannibalism is part of how worms/Zazie have spiritualized the necessity of consuming itself for population control. Worms eat other worms, and the worms that are eaten are still part of the hive mind, so the hive is also experiencing the feeling of being devoured.

As a hive mind, Zazie didn’t understand the concept of individuals for a while. It adapted surprisingly quickly, but not before it and Vash had a misunderstanding (spoilers).

Worm culture is complex and almost incomprehensible to non-worms because of how it hinges on interconnectivity. Worm music will blow your socks clean off, if it doesn’t rupture your organs first, like whale sonar.

[plurality-questions]

Hihi! We have a question about the Ratking term. We see the "hive-mind" part of the definition but we don't.. Understand what a hive-mind could look like in a collective, and we thought we'd ask what that means? We're trying to figure out if we possibly work like a hive-mind. /lh, genq

basically the hive-mind part of the definition was added for any system who feels as if they have a "hive mind" at times or all of the time

the definition of hive-mind is "the collective mental activity expressed in the complex, coordinated behavior of a colony of social insects (such as bees or ants) regarded as comparable to a single mind controlling the behavior of an individual organism"

so thinking/acting in sync is an example of the hive mind part..or another example is due to being a Rat king the plural is monoconscious as all of their consciousnesses also got tangled/blurred together

i do hope that makes sense-/gen

-Omori+Stranger

[rocketyship]

Does BE also have fellas that make up her mind like AM does with his Id, Ego, and Super Ego?

Not exactly. See the Freud’s theory of the Id, ego and superego is something distinctly human and in relation to the human body experience. It makes sense for AM to have them as despite being a sadistic-war machine his entire character and motivations themselves are very “human”, AM is a character that clearly craves to be human, to have the experiences, the senses, life, as seen when he visits Ted’s mind in the original story, described as “walking around”, “eyeing”, “running his fingers”, even in the radio drama it’s more explicit him expressing a deep desire to do various human activities. He views himself a man clearly. BE however doesn’t think in such a way. Her love for humanity shouldn’t be confused with her wanting to be human. BE truly sees herself as something inhuman and she is okay with that. She fully has the ability to make herself a body similar to AM’s in this universe, however she chooses not for a variety of reasons.

To answer the question about “fellas in her mind”, I should first state that while I do usually draw her in her rather cutesy Android body, she isn’t bound to it. BE is closer to hive-mind in how her mind functions. She does many things, watches everything, and is seemingly everywhere. The best way to describe this hive mind is that it is like a court. There’s a judge, a witness, defence, jury and prosecutor. Typically it is her “defence” part interacting with the humans, “prosecutor” with AM obviously, “Judge” is her core, “witness” is her eyes around the complex and her inner networks, and “jury” is what handles the terraforming and research of the earth, radiation, and the clones. This is an over-simplification, but it’s the best way to explain it.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

DC Comics Original Character Superhero: Hoplite

Above image was Drawn by the ever excellent and talented @spider-jaysart

co-created by both @confusedhummingbird and Yours Truly

Civilian Name: Penelope Haney Troy

Former Name: Subject 66

Clone-Daughter of Donna Hinckley Long Troy

Half Sister of Robert Hinckley Long-Troy

Age: (Physically) 10 1/2 Years

Height: 5’ 7

Weight: 128 lbs

Superpowers: Superhuman Strength, Enhanced Agility, Flight with speeds at a maximum of Mach 4, Superhuman Speed, Enhanced Reflexes, Godly Stamina, Superhuman Durability, and Ability to Channel and Manipulate Incoming Lighting Bolts

Gadgets and Accessories: An Enchanted Lasso, Bracelets of Submission, An Amazonian Javelin and Amazonian Shield

Personality: Adventurous, Energetic, Eccentric, Intelligent with Battle Techniques and the Arts of Combat, Kind hearted, Loving, Selfless, Knows Cuss Words But Often Restraints Herself from their Use Unless Absolutely Frustrated, Able to Accept Most Criticism, Self Punishing If Something Involving Her Doesn’t Go Right, Sometimes Clueless With Social Cues, Not Quick to Anger But Can Be Hard to Calm Down, Respectful to Those She Feels Earns it but Otherwise is Quite Mischievous to Those Who Don’t, Tries Being Snarky but Often Doesn’t Do Well, Talkative, and Keeps Herself Busy with Very Little to Keep herself Standing Still

(Read More Below the Cut)

Bio:

As part of Project CADMUS’ endless attempts for contingency plans and strategies against metahuman heroes and crime fighting vigilantes should they go rouge, The higher brass commission a restart to their highly effective cloning process with some modifications to their original design. In this case, create a clone at a younger age so they can be more easily swayed therefore controllable under their orders when the time arises. Futhermore, with hiring some mystics and magic based metas on their side, CADMUS was able to acquire DNA from Human turned Amazonian Warrior and Veteran Titans Member, Donna Hinckley Troy aka Troia.

After initial gestation which lasts about 5-6 months, the clone had by then developed into a young woman which bears a lot of resemblance to Donna albeit with some alterations due to the incorporation of other Amazonian DNA within her samples. Once she reaches an age resembling that of a 10 year old, by then thanks to the transference of all sorts of knowledge, from the basics about social skills including table manners, the learning of that English and Ancient Greek Languages, all the way up to the most advanced and complex of Amazonian combats techniques on the battlefield, the clone dubbed Subject 66 was finally released from her pod, to officially begin her training under CADMUS’ wing.

However, what the scientists at those hadn’t entirely counted on was Subject 66 exhibiting personality traits which actively questions and speaks against their goals for her, all of which conflict with her extraordinary emotions of free will and self empowerment. While they had managed some of the training they had in mind with positive results, CADMUS was overall unable to exactly control Subject 66, only reason she even cooperated with their training and what passed for their care was because at that time, she had nowhere else to go.

Enter Donna and her ‘sister’ Cassandra ‘Cassie’ Sandsmark aka Wonder Girl. During an extensive battle against routine Titan nemeses The HIVE/Fearsome Five, the secret laboratory CADMUS was operating in that contains Subject 66 was discovered by an errant Donna being tossed right into its walls, crashing though the complex and down to the vault which led to the Subject’s living quarters. She hadn’t found enough to notice her clone though as Donna immediately rushed back into the battle right out of the building. Subject 66 however noticed her ‘bedroom’ vault was wide open, allowing her to fly out of there to delicate her freedom since that the CADMUS personnel had left in a massive hurry. Once finally outside the building complex after so long, Subject 66 saw the battle between the two Wonder Girls and the HIVE/Fearsome Five, so far the battle not going so well for the Wonders. Just Donna was pinned to the street floor and about to receive a nasty looking face punch from Mammoth, suddenly the fist is caught midway through. Donna peaks an eye opening, revealing a lone girl with jet black hair with golden streaks, clad in a grey and black bodysuit with both her hands on Mammoth’s fist, holding it there with immense super strength but delivering an uppercut to the villain, sending him flying to the complete outskirts of the city, shocking much of the HIVE and allowing Cassie and Donna to gain the edge; ultimately winning the battle and saving the day.

Shortly after the HIVE are apprehended by the Bludhaven PD, Subject 66 is immediately taken to Titans Tower, making formal introductions about what she knows about herself to the Titans and their adjacent Young Just Us team. It’s here thanks to DNA testing from Victor Stone aka Cyborg the Subject learns of her genetic progenitor being none other than Donna herself, a decision that no doubt would be a major shock but Donna, being the compassionate and rational woman she is, would take sympathy with this clone of hers, valuing her as her person and understanding her feelings for freedom. This especially gets prominent once Amanda Waller, Head of CADMUS and flanked by her Task Force X, arrives later on that day with the demands to get Subject 66 back under their custody.

Donna and Subject 66 however are insistent and persuasive with Waller; a back and forth that goes for about 1 hour and with the ultimatum that should the Subject being taken by CADMUS, the Titans won’t be afraid to reveal their many dirty secrets of all sorts of misbehavior to the public, Waller eventually backs down and allows Subject 66 to stay with the Titans and Donna in particular. Once the helicopter leaves the roof, Subject 66 gives a major hug to Donna in thankfulness for allowing her to stay with them, a hug Donna gives right back.

Over the course of the next few months, with weekly visits to Themyscira for enhancing and perfecting her training with the Amazons alongside Cassie in particular, forming a sort of mentor and mentee bond between them, forging her own custom made outfit heavily patterned after both Donna and Cassie’s while making it her own and meeting and befriending with the son of Donna’s close friend Nightwing, Jakand’r/Jake Grayson aka Skybird along his best friend Christopher Grayson Kent aka Nightwing Phantom, The clone also develops close bonds and connections with Donna and her birth son Robbie Long aka Darkstar, eventually also gaining a new civilian name once her adoption papers are fully completed: Penelope Haney Troy, ‘Penny’ for a nickname.

With that, she then declares her newfound crime fighting superhero identity of Hoplite, named after the elite warrior classes of many Ancient Greek city states, in particular Sparta. Also a proud de facto apprentice of Wonder Girl who Penelope looks up to as a de facto Aunt.

Occupation: 6th Grade Student of Bludhaven Academy, Amazonian Warrior in Training

Superhero Outfit: A Black and Gold Version of the NTT era Wonder Girl outfit Donna had worn with a skirt in place of pants, and the stars on it being pink and white. Complimenting the outfit is a pair of goggles once belonging to Cassie, given as a gift as a sign of their small yet strong bond growing overtime. When Penny offers said googles back, Cassie tells her not to worry as she’s got plenty of spares

Physical Appearance: Long and Combed Jet Black Hair with Golden Streaks

Bright Ocean Blue Eyes

Medium Frame with a Healthy Muscle Build Around the Arms

No Scars Present

Trivia

- A big fan of the Bratz Dolls, Penny has amassed a sizable and impressive collection with her allowance money and spare change. Despite good efforts to preserve them, she still allows others to play with them. Its one of the many things that she can share in common with Mar’i Grayson aka Nightstar

- Regarding her half brother Robbie, despite being younger than him age wise, she staunchly comes to his defense if any girls start flirting with him or pursue crushes on him. Already into her first year attending school, she’s scared off about three girls who she can sense can break his heart.

- Besides his Bis Sis Mar’i, Chris Kent and Jasper Logan, Penny Troy is the one person Jake can trust above all others and most definitely one of the ones he can both relate and confide to for nearly everything. The bond between Penny and Jake has been routinely compared to the strong platonic bond between their respective parents Donna and Dick Grayson aka Nightwing. It’s a comparison frankly none of them can deny

- Speaking of Jake and Chris, while she hasn’t joined their group Team StarKnights just yet, she’s still considered a proud honorary member. She even has her own bedroom set up at the StarKnights’ base whenever it’s needed.

- Like so many in this generation of heroes, Penny can clearly see the small crushes Jake and one girl from school Meredith Robinson have for each other despite their consistent denial of it. She often is among the many ones who try planning secret dates from those two. Seeing Jake blush every time he gets too to Meredith always being a playful grin to her face.

- A Fan of 70s to 80s Rock n Roll, in particular the band called Fleetwood Mac. Takes inspiration from said band to learn playing piano, harp and most importantly for her, a cowbell. As such is often present for when Chris and Jake reform their own band, The Sidekicks, along with Mar’i and Chris’ brother Jon Kent

[zeroducks-2]

I hope you don't mind me asking but did classic Slade in orginal comics did anything to Terra? I mean I know he used and manipulated her and i know it's hinted that they had sex in later versions/reboots, but does anything like that happened in the original story?

I don't mind at all! Funnily enough I have received a very similar ask a while ago, but I feel I haven't answered exhaustively so here's a more complete breakdown of Slade and Terra's relationship.

I will assume that with "the original story" you mean the very first time Terra, or Tara Markov, ever appeared - which would be in New Teen Titans (the run from 1980), specifically in the story known as The Judas Contract. And as far as I know, this run is the only one in which Slade actually had sexual intercourse with her.

This is what George Pérez had to say about Tara:

(...)when you see her for the first time wearing full-make up and dressed in a provocative outfit, where you know she's just been in bed with Deathstroke, it does jab you a bit. "Whoa, good God! This little girl is a slut!"(...)

Wolfman and Pérez never had an ounce of sympathy for her, and aimed to portray her as a psychopathic teenage "little slut" that "used and seduced" Slade Wilson the Deathstroke. Baffling (and imo quite ridiculous) as this take is, this is roughly how it went:

Tara was born from the King of Markovia. She obtained earth manipulation powers through serum experiments, but then was sent to the US to prevent a scandal because she was an illegitimate daughter of the king. There she started selling her services as a hitman and a spy, and that's how she met Deathstroke - Slade was looking for a way to gain information and the upper hand over the Titans, to avenge his son Grant's death and fulfill his contract with HIVE, so he and Tara staged a fight in which she helped the Titans and got accepted among their ranks. She started feeding Slade info through cameras she had on herself, and through first hand recounts of their missions and trainings, and that is how Slade originally came to know the Titans' civilian identities. The reader finds out that they are in fact allies by being shown a panel of Tara half naked and smoking, with Slade nearby getting dressed.

(here's some of said panels)

Her death is her own doing: she feels disgusted with Slade after he shows his paternal love for Joseph when shit with HIVE hits the fan, and in her rampage and attempt to kill the Titans alone, she pulls the HIVE complex down upon herself with her powers.

Basically the fact that she sleeps with Slade is supposed to serve as a reminder of her low character and moral depravity, and to shock the readers that thought she was a cute little angel. This is Tara in a random scene with the Titans:

(Dick just announced that he's not going to be Robin anymore, and he's not wearing part of his suit hence the weird all-green look. It's so cute how physically close he is with the other Titans btw, and Tara has just been elected as one of them, so she's included in the group affection smooches)

There isn't a real judgement of Slade in the text as far as I remember, not even from Adeline (whose role in the story is to provide Dick the info he needs to understand who Slade is and why he does what he does), and the only time the situation gets talked about is in a later issue, during a conversation Slade has with Garfield who brings up how Slade slept with Tara. I can't find the panels at the moment but I recall that Slade's reply is more or less "does it change anything considering what happened?", and there isn't any real rebuttal from Garfield's part.

Now, and again this is only as far as I know, there isn't any other version of Tara that canonically slept with Slade.

In Teen Titans 2003 (the animated series) Slade manipulates Terra into leaving the Titans in favor of joining his side, preying on her insecurities and need for guidance. Now I personally believe that they indeed had a sexual relationship which couldn't be shown, due to tt03 being a show for kids and therefore heavily censored, but that's just my personal opinion and the canon of the animated series is that Slade did not indeed sleep with her.

In Deathstroke Rebirth (2016) there's a flashback regarding Tara and how Slade used her to further his own goals, and they're shown kissing and exchanging love vows but it is made abundantly clear that Slade was toying with her and manipulating her. What exactly happens between them is left vague on purpose, but upon getting asked, Christopher Priest (who wrote the story) said they never had sex despite Tara's insistence.

In Teen Titans: The Judas Contract (animated movie from 2017), which is a (very) loose adaptation of the comic issues from 1980, Tara is again born in Markovia but not as royalty. Due to her powers, that are innate in this case and not a result of experiments, the townsfolk label her a witch and would have killed her if not for Slade's intervention. He saves her as a child and what happens next is unclear, but at some point she's shown as a teen, on a mission to infiltrate the Titans and feed Deathstroke information on their real identities and how to capture them, as both her and Slade are working on behalf of Brother Blood. She's desperate to gain Slade's affection and approval, and as such she falls for his manipulation when he promises her they will be together after the mission is complete (which is also what keeps her in line, being that she grows fond of the Titans in the meantime, so Slade manages her by promising her a life together). Despite the grooming, he also rebukes all her attempts to have sex with him, and it's clearly stated that no intercourse happened between them.

I believe these are all the instances in which Tara is shown in any relation to Slade, and again the only time they actually had sex was back in the 80s in The New Teen Titans - but that's also the only time Tara got so overtly and wholeheartedly villainized. In every other story she appears as a troubled individual with a dark past, and it's textbook that Slade used her youth and naivety to further his own goals.