#desert locu

[locusfandomtime]

season 10 really is the hermitcraft third life au. first, two third life members who weren’t already here - skizzleman and smallishbeans. then, red names. then, ren in a position of power. now, monopolies. next to be added will be martyn “in the little wood” minecraft and a cactus ring

[reescrever-as-estrelas]

If you are a reylo shipper, you probably thought of Ben Solo when you heard in episode 7 of The Acolyte information about Vergence (a concentration of Force energy in a certain location that has the power to create life).

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Exegol, the planet where we last saw Ben Solo in The Rise Of Skywalker, has a unique vergence in the Force, a transportive vergence. Exegol is also called the place of rebirth.

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According to this story [Star Wars: Dark Legends - "A Life Immortal"], Exegol is a unique vergence in the Force, where "the veil between life and death [is] thin."

Source: Screenrant

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"To Exegol. To the place of rebirth."

- Star Wars: Shadow of the Sith (book)

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"Exegol was a dark, barren, and rocky planet with desert flats. Its dry conditions, combined with the rubbing of dust particles in its atmosphere, created enormous static discharges that appeared as lightning strikes from the planet, which made the atmosphere too dangerous to deploy deflector shields. The dead and desolate world was covered with enormous fissures that reached deep into its crust. These were excavated by Sith loyalists who were attempting to reach a transportative vergence they believed to lie beneath the surface."

Source: WOOKIEEPEDIA

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They were looking for a transportative vergence to get to where? The World Between Worlds? 👀 Or another place?

Could Exegol's vergence be a portal to the World Between Worlds? 👀

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Let us also not forget the Power of the Dyad.

"The life force of your bond…a dyad in the Force. A power like life itself. Unseen for generations."

- Palpatine

"A vergence, sometimes described as a Force nexus, a nexus, or a locus, was an unusual yet naturally occurring concentration of Force energy localized around a place, object, or person."

Source: WOOKIEEPEDIA

Like Anakin Skywalker, would the dyad in the Force also be a vergence? Could the Vergence of Exegol and also the power of the dyad have kept Ben Solo alive and transported him to World Betweem Worlds? 👀

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There are many ways to bring Ben Solo back!! 🦋

[thefandomlesbian]

37 + wilson for the ask game :)

OUCH we're going right for the throat, huh--

This is probably going to be utterly incomprehensible and I am not responsible for any ramifications that arise from answering this question. Allow the word-barf to commence!

#37: What they really think about themselves:

This is such a difficult question to answer because Wilson is a man shrouded in layers upon layers of hiding. This is someone who constantly begs the people around him to be vulnerable with him, to trust him, while simultaneously refusing to ever offer his own vulnerability. And he's good at it. He's good at passing himself off as being close to someone while they never know he has a brother.

House is all walls topped with barbed wire fences and he makes no claims otherwise. Wilson on the other hand is a shimmering oasis. He's fresh water in the desert with shade and fruit. He's nothing but a refreshing illusion. Wilson can be incredibly human while simultaneously more detached than anyone knows. This is aided by the fact that he's a social chameleon, matching whoever he's with, and a natural conscience mirror for the people around him. House calls him out on this multiple times in S5, specifically for being a chameleon who meets the environmental needs of everyone else socially; House asks him, "Who are you at your core?" and then goes on to assert that he thinks Wilson has no core, that his locus of identity has been completely erased in his desperation to meet the needs of others.

Even in S6 when House demands that Wilson choose something to place in their home that he likes... he picks something he knows House likes. "You asked me to tell you who I am, and I am someone who loves you. This is the only answer I know how to give." That's typically the fandom read, but it's important to recognize that this attitude is not unique to House coming from Wilson. He does the same thing with Amber, with Grace (the cancer patient he cares for), with Cuddy during the Rachel adoption arc, with Tucker, with Sam. His existence pivots on his service to other people.

His desperate need to be needed, as House calls it, has a flipside: Wilson can't need anything. From anyone, ever. He can't be vulnerable, which is why he hides himself so effectively. To unveil weaker parts of himself, it would require his loved ones to serve him, to help him, and Wilson cannot cope with the idea of inconveniencing the people in his life. I have written meta in the past on the whole cast's gross mistreatment of Wilson during the Tritter arc. He has no money, no car, living in a hotel that presumably expects weekly payments, no way to buy food or keep himself housed. Everyone attacks him when he finally folds, but none of those people were there to support him, even though his situation was exclusively caused by House lying to and manipulating him. But the thing is... Wilson wouldn't have let them help him. Think of his friendship with Cuddy, how she reveals that she treats him as a confidant (she told him and only him that she slept with her father's best friend) and trusts him not to repeat things to House--but when he arrives to work late from riding the bus, she didn't even know his car was impounded. That sort of friendship is the type you can call to come get you! You don't need to take the bus! Wilson would never dream of reciprocating the relationship she has with him. He's incapable of inconveniencing someone, even to ask for a ride to work or to spot him a five for a sandwich in the cafeteria, even from people he's very close to.

And this all comes to a head in the cancer arc. Wilson is incapable of being needy to the point that he's ready to undergo high dose chemotherapy alone in his own home in a nonsterile environment with no one to monitor him or check on him. In his words: "I am not going to die slowly in a hospital bed under fluorescent lighting with people stopping by to gawk and lie about how I look. Even a small chance of that happening is too big a chance for me." It's funny that later in this episode he says that he wanted a wife and children to care for him, when we know he wouldn't ever allow himself to be so weak in front of his loved ones. House acknowledges this in the same episode.

Wilson's need to serve and his fearful avoidance of being vulnerable all point to an incredibly abysmal sense of self-worth. He says that House doesn't like himself but admires himself, and I don't even think Wilson does that much--as he consistently tries to lie on the sword for everyone around him. RSL says Wilson is the saddest man in New Jersey, and I would agree with that. Wilson has deep-seated issues with his self-esteem. As a wise YA novel once said, we accept the love we think we deserve, and the only love Wilson ever accepts is House's. In S3 after House upends his entire life, it takes one genuine apology to buy him back, because House's love is the only one Wilson knows how to handle. It's the only one he can take without feeling unworthy. All coming to the S8 conclusion: House makes the ultimate sacrifice for Wilson, and Wilson (in spite of having just lambasted House publicly for ostensibly ditching him) argues against it. Wilson says he's not worth the sacrifice. He would rather die alone than have House give up his life for him.

(I could delve into a whole follow-up wrt Wilson's romantic relationships as a gay!Wilson truther, but I've already gone too far and made this unnecessarily long.)

so in short: I wouldn't say Wilson hates himself explicitly, he would consider that vain and self-centered, but he cannot exist outside of serving others. If his utility is gone, he is pointless. I already wrote a long meta on my take on Wilson's suicidality, but that line of thought follows here, too. Wilson thinks his value as a person stems from his ability to care for others and will die sooner than become someone who needs to be cared for.

[eesirachs]

god auto-entombs in the wilderness: we are told that he buries his own body somewhere in that desert. but this grave is anatopic, placeless. it has no geography, no spread, no site or locus for mourning. which means that it is all spread. all site. you can't step in the wilderness without wondering, hauntingly, if you're walking over god's body. and you very well could be. do you feel it, under your foot? is this a holy grave?

[plotdesigner]

picrew used here

It's oc time, tumblr!!

Name: Lanif Castor, formerly Yaniv Khouri

Species: Human 

Homeworld:  born Black River Delta, lives Scala ad Caelum 

Age: late 50s (time of Kingdom Hearts: Dark Road), mid 60s (time of death)

Occupation: Professor/Medical Biomagus/Keyblade Wielder 

Job Class: White Mage/Summoner/Black Mage

Relationships: 

Xehanort: student, quasi-son

Eraqus: student, adoptive nephew 

Weapon: Blue Blooming Lotus (Keyblade)

Gender:  Male 

(More under the cut!)

Black River Delta

Lanif’s homeland is a combination of floodplain and desert centered around the enormous river that gives the world it’s name. The river runs black with the amount of sediment it carries, along with the sheer amount of fish, boats, megafauna and people that rely on it.  The three seasons are Flood, Farm and Harvest, relying on the yearly rise and fall of the river; weather that gets below freezing, much less snow, is a once a century scenario. 

Being an agricultural powerhouse near a locus of gummi ship routes meant that Black River Delta became a center of trade, culture and science centuries ago and remains one to this day. Much like Agrabah, it retains a skepticism for the reliance on magic common on worlds like Radiant Garden and Scala ad Caelum; although magic practitioners are more common than on Agrabah, they often approach magic as a science rather than a spiritual phenomenon.

Having been conquered by others and conquering others back many times over in it’s long history, Black River Delta’s monarchy has developed the kind of family tree and drama usually only seen in long running soap operas. All royal decrees are translated into five languages to ensure the majority of the incredibly varied population can understand them, and religious freedom is not so much a right as a necessity given the amount of ways the many faiths that were born or introduced intertwined among each other. 

Backstory

Once Upon a Time....

Lanif Castor, born Yaniv Khouri, was born fifth of seven in a rural village far away from the drama and bustle of the capitol. He was a quiet, serious child who would help on the family farm by weeding plants or making sure the goats didn’t wander off; as his older siblings grew more interested in continuing the family farm, he grew interested in the spiritual and practical tasks of the village mortician, who took him under his wing as a potential apprentice.

When Yaniv was fourteen, his parents’ house collapsed with them and his two younger siblings inside due to a fault in one of the walls and an otherwise harmless sandstorm. Running home to find the house buried in sand, Yaniv started digging with his bare hands, only to be overcome with a sense of certainty - there was a way he could get them out easily, but it would leave him with responsibilities for the rest of his life. Was he willing?

Of course he was.

His keyblade manifested. Yaniv used it to sweep away the sand. 

He was able to dig his siblings out safely. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to get to his parents in time. 

In the aftermath, the mortician sent a message to a larger village to try and found out why, exactly, his apprentice had spontaneously manifested a magic sword. The priest in the next village sent word to the village in a nearby town, and she contacted another city - 

It wasn’t long until a keyblade wielder came to the little village in Black River Delta with an explanation and an offer. Keyblades came to those with worthy hearts, and Scala ad Caelum would teach those worthy ones how to wield them responsibly. They’d even offer a stipend in order to offset the loss of a pair of hands from the family farm - modest for Scala ad Caelum, but a fortune in a village so far from Delta’s capitol. 

It meant leaving home, possibly forever. It meant saying goodbye to his siblings, his ambitions, his teacher, the goats, and the river. Yaniv took it the opportunity, intent on supporting his family. 

Leaving Home 

The change was stark. Scala ad Caelum was a city on a vast archipelago (too humid and cool) on the ocean (too big) where the streets were narrow and the buildings tall (too crowded) and the basic assumptions of the others at the school he was enrolled in were too strange.

Scala ad Caelum had been founded in the ashes of the Keyblade War; it venerated light and keyblades alike, and the world had ritualized communication and emotion to free it from darkness, and saw the keyblade as a holy tool - words taken from the Church of Light itself. Strong emotions were to be repressed and individual action was to be aligned with the greater good in order to prevent a repeat of the war; society calcified into classes.  As more Scalans began to lust for the keyblade as a sign of prestige rather than a tool for good, fewer and fewer of them manifested one, leading to an offworld recruitment campaign that many Scalan nobles resented and envied in turn. 

As such, while Yaniv Khouri was considered a reserved and intelligent teenager at home, in Scala’s most prestigious academy he came across as blunt, overly emotive, obnoxiously pagan, and obviously rural. His classmates either avoided him or tried to pick fights; well meaning teachers pushed him to convert as a solution to the issue.  (And being one of the few arab-african students on a world with a population of mostly east asian and european descent did not help.) 

His one ally came from an unlikely corner: Xine Pollux, the youngest daughter of an old blood Scalan noble family and inheritor of the Master Defender keyblade. She was more interested in maintaining the martial tradition of the family than the political, and increasingly annoyed with the attempts by ambitious classmates to drag her out of the knightly footsteps she was quite happy to follow in thank you very much, and into the realm of marriage alliances and violence with words instead of fists. 

Yaniv and Xine found fellow spirits in each other, both wanting to get offworld to do good and get away, excel in their studies, and also get a little peace and quiet; they offered each other mutual chicanery in the name of helping each other, Xine helping Yaniv pick a Scalan name to pass better and teaching him world customs, and Yaniv, now Lanif, was one of her few classmates, then associates, then friends, to respect and stick by the strict principles she held herself to. 

He went home for summer vacation. He came back with his hair impeccably braided, three months worth of coffee beans, and the goal of becoming so much better than his classmates that they’d have no choice but to shut up and sit down. 

And then he did.

Magic, combat, history, maths, etiquette - he threw himself into it all with the red hot energy that came from spite - and then, as he discovered more and more about magical healing, with burning interest. When he and Xine were approved to fight as keybearers, they went as a team, Xine as tank and offense and Lanif as healer, support and mage. 

Growing Up 

As Xine’s parents and older brothers succumbed to old age or dangers of being active keybearers, she had to spend more time helping with the political side of being a noble; Lanif used the opportunity to begin courses to hone his white magic from general use in combat to handy for more specialized emergencies. 

And when XIne became head of her noble house after the abrupt death of her final living brother, having quit taking active missions to take care of him in his final days, Lanif had worked his way through medical school and was alternating between clinical work  and being sent out on healer-specific keybearer missions, and spending what little free time he had left stress cooking and helping Xine deal with the mounting paperwork. 

Xine’s House Pollux was old, but it’s power had dwindled with it’s population; the family had tended their resources well, but manpower was low. It’s sibling House Castor had died a generation back; Xine alone held the pull of two noble houses and all their holdings, and with Scala’s obsession with lineage dating to the Keyblade War and increasingly batshit politics, she’d have little ability to get anything done with people begging for marriage alliances - 

Unless she revived the old House Castor and gave it to her pagan offworlder friend. Lanif accepted the responsibility with glee, despite knowing how it’d put a bigger target on his back; the two of them had spent their youth fighting evil in the shape of monsters, and now that they were getting into their thirties, it was time to fight it in the shape of society.  Scala ad Caelum’s isolationism and obsession with light was growing worse, and someone had to try and hit the brakes.

(Or disappear for three months and come back pregnant with nary an explanation. Rumors abounded about the parentage of little Eraqus Pollux - but being born a near copy of his mother dispelled a great deal of them. Xine never told.)

Teacher Time 

Time flew between the politics and the parenting. Lanif discovered a passion for translating nonmagical medical procedures into spells into materia, where even a layman could instantly cast the spell to provide treatment - useful for chronic conditions that otherwise required constant synthesis of a delicate hormone, like insulin, or to replace kidney or liver function to reduce reliance on dialysis machines. He moved on from clinical work to medical research, which was easier to balance with his duties as a Head of House and a keybearer - 

And was eventually invited to teach at the same prestigious school for nobles and keybearers he attended once. His prestige was growing enough to outweigh his infamy, and some of Lanif’s enemies on Scala hoped that distracting him with teaching would dilute his influence - which it did, only to be replaced with him immediately working to reform the school that had given him so much trouble in his teen years. 

It was at Scala’s school and his student labs that Lanif would encounter the roses he would become famous for in his final years - great rosebushes that had endured the archipelago’s monsoons and centuries of students to engulf entire swathes of wall and tower, climbing several stories up to the rooftops. As Lanif’s medical experimentation went from the physical to the metaphysical, he used the hardy roses to begin to cultivate small amounts of both light and darkness - transforming the difficult to handle raw magics into safe to handle dilutions for his own research. 

Eraqus grew up with the support and nurturing of his mother and his uncle, but found navigating relationships with his peers tricky, feeling as though like and dislike were measured out by opinions on his famous and infamous guardians rather than any personal feelings for him. He developed a smiling facade to keep people at a safe distance while remaining friendly, eventually testing how much he could mess around with his studies and still pass due to his famous lineage - though whether it was to make a point or because of the increasing strain of his self-imposed isolation, he was not able to articulate.

(Lanif flunked him, cementing his own reputation as a hardass teacher and Eraqus’s as Tardy Fleetfoot.)

And then, on one cool summer day, a portal was ripped on one of Scala’s beaches, and an offworld boy with a keyblade stumbled through. 

Xehanort 

No one really considered the boy wandering the streets of Scala of much import until he brought out his keyblade - and then people were very interested in a kid with no id and no money and an entire magic sword was doing wandering around Scala. 

It was lucky that Eraqus was out on the boardwalk fishing. He saw the commotion and vouched for Xehanort before things could escalate, and innocently asked if he could ask his mother to come help clear things us. 

Xine and Lanif promptly came down like a pile of bricks and brought Xehanort home. Xehanort haltingly explained things - he’d found a way to Scala to find out how to use a keyblade, he didn’t want to go home, he’d been told that anyone with a key would be welcomed, and he was rattled by the less than warm welcome. 

Lanif, with his own less than stellar first year in Scala running through his head, promptly dipped into his emergency funds while Xine pulled strings to get Xehanort an ID, a scholarship and a place in the dorms faster than Xehanort could kick Eraqus’s ass at chess.

Xehanort and Eraqus would have hit it off without Eraqus’s family swooping in to help, but borrowing a room in his house and deciding yeah, sharing a dorm room with him would be cool just speed-ran the friendship. Xehanort’s wonder and joy at a new world made Eraqus engage with it once more, and Eraqus’s earnestness and willingness to wear his heart on his sleeve were a salve for Xehanort after what had been a very bad year. 

( Meanwhile, Scala’s more conspiratorial wing of the church checked in on the chosen one who had been sent to a very special island to be free of the corruptive influences of the newer, more liberal Scala and had three very bad realizations in quick succession: one, the child’s caretaker had died a year previous, two, the child had been dumped into foster care about it, three, no one was really sure where the child had gone. Whoops! Cue a scramble to figure out where the FUCK their chosen one went. )

 And as the two of them began school together as part of the keyblade wielder class, apprenticed under Master Odin, they were inseparable. While Eraqus continued to mostly float through his classes, Xehanort studied like a man possessed; while Xehanort found fighting unwieldy and slow, Eraqus took to combat like a fish to water. They challenged each other, pushing each other in skill level and knowledge as they grew, and grew close to the few other keyblade wielders who were learning alongside them.

Lanif, for his part, tried to provide Xehanort with tutoring and guidance as he forged forward on his path, sometimes falling on the side of strict as he gave him additional lessons. Scala demanded twice as much from offworlders like them, and Lanif would not let Xehanort be torn apart by it’s judging claws - even if it did, at times, frustrate Xehanort. He tried to recreate old meals Xehanort remembered from home, and showed him his own home cooking, and even if their conversation was stilted at times - he became someone Xehanort could come home to happily. 

They would have liked it to be official. It would have been good. But it was not allowed. Lanif’s political power was considered too great as it was, and so his enemies insinuated that he wanted to use Xehanort, manipulate him - and so for the sake of Xehanort’s privacy and safety, Lanif abstained for the time. 

....it would be a few years later, at the end of this idyllic period, that Kingdom Hearts: Dark Road takes place. (Which, I’ve only read the script and not watched it so, grain of salt on how well I’ve got all the details lmao)  What was supposed to be a simple Mark of Mastery exam escalated into the near-unbalancing of multiple worlds, an attempt to destroy the world in the name of light,  an attempt to destroy the world in the name of darkness, and the murder of most of Xehanort’s fellow keybearing students. 

In the aftermath, the world was in shock; Eraqus and Xehanort shot into celebrity status as the two who had survived, who had saved the day - Eraqus took to avoiding the fame as much as he could as he tried to silly his way out of his feelings, while Xehanort smiled his way through it as turmoil grew in his heart. 

(Xine gave Eraqus a place to hide and lick his wounds. Lanif tried to do the same for Xehanort, but Xehanort couldn’t stand the thought of showing such vulnerability, even around someone he knew and trusted. In the end, none of the adult keybearers had come in time to stop the killings; it had been up to Xehanort alone.)

Lanif could not bridge the gap between himself and Xehanort, though he tried; he was never particularly good at a bedside manner on his own, and it was worse when it was something important like this; worse when his duties as a teacher and doctor had kept him from noticing Baldr festering in in his own darkness, when he only knew Xehanort and Eraqus were in danger well after the time had passed. 

He could not force Xehanort to bridge the gap before he was ready. He could only make sure he was ready to reach out fo rhim when the time came - 

And he could turn his studies fully to light and darkness. Darkness had overcome Baldr,  but could it have been stopped with an application of light - not as a weapon but as medicine? Light and darkness in high enough measures affected the personality and temperament; he had dabbled in treating keybearers who had been exposed to too much of both, but could he formalize it? Get rid of the stigma against darkness so that the fear of darkness did not make events escalate again? 

Well, probably not, but he had to try. 

Scala’s Chosen One 

Between Master Odin’s retirement and Xehanort taking and passing his own Mark of Mastery, Xehanort didn’t need a new master - but there was always the possibility of, metaphorically, post-doc study. Lanif had taken on a few students in his time to train in white magic - and, once, in summoning - and had eagerly made plans for Xehanort’s graduation. They had both discussed light and darkness and their study eagerly, and Lanif’s hardy roses were beginning to bear fruit - literally, bearing safe to handle rosehips full of light and darkness for study.

But it would not come to pass.

Some weeks after passing the Mark of Mastery, Xehanort summoned a new keyblade - the great black key with one Gazing Eye, the keyblade of Scala’s Great Founder. He’d already been the center of attention as a survivor of Baldr’s massacre, but it doubled when he became the heir of that key.

Scala had been put together by the great Ephemer, who had spent his entire life rebuilding the city on the ruins of the Keyblade War; the only one who was more revered was the Great Founder, the single surviving Lost Master, who had left a holy book from which the Church of Light grew. Those who could wield the Founder’s Key were said to understand the Founder’s will, and would be brought into the church as figurehead and prophet as fast as possible. 

....Luxu was not so thrilled about this.  He’d written the damn book as a guide to try and keep the surviving keyblade wielders from murdering each other before the Master of Master’s plans could kick into gear. It wasn”t supposed to be religious! And people kept on twisting things more and more out of context in the pursuit of thei own desires! He said no Unions, why are there 108 Houses?? Stop obsessing over the light!  

The one good thing about it was that every decade or two, Scala spat out someone so deranged they’d try and end the universe. One of them probably had to be whoever he was waiting for for the plan, right? And if not, it was funny watching them kill each other over self fulfilling prophecies. He’d alternate between taking the body of a wielder and that of a priest or politician, pushing their obsessions further and further, trying to get the pot to finally boil the frog... 

Xehanort had been his friend as Bragi. He was brilliant, and he’d become cynical, and he had his keyblade. Maybe he was the frog. 

So Luxu shucked off his old body and took on that of Lucian Patine, bishop and politician for the Light. He could figure out that Xehanort was that missing Chosen One with a few strings pulled; when Lanif tried to invite Xehanort to be adopted properly, the paperwork went missing. Xehanort was being dragged into politics whether he liked it or not, judged quite literally by the entire world; it was easy enough to show up as a mentor, to offer guidance, to slowly but surely expose Scala ad Caelum’s rotten core - 

Xehanort was already on the right path when Luxu had found him. All he needed was a little push and a few resources. They both needed the world to become better - Luxu would not see the other Lost Masters until then, and Xehanort would not find the justice he craved. 

They spiraled together in mutual disgust for the world, and Luxu would find a new place to push xehanort every time, to drive him deeper down his path.

And - if he had his frog, his chosen one, did Luxu need this world to continue birthing wanna-be apocalypses every decade? Didn’t Xehanort want a chance to destroy the pressure cooker that had created Baldr?

Xine’s work slowed from politics to her old hobby of blacksmithing as decades of fighting caught up with her. Eraqus, missing his friend and growing more fanatic about light, isolated himself at the monastic world he’d been assigned to. Lanif studied light and darkness in his lab and tried to help his students and waited and waited as days turned to weeks, weeks to months, waiting to hear from Xehanort one more time. 

The Last Day

Lanif was supposed to be visiting home, but one of his old students was pregnant and had invited him to the birth and christening; he’d moved his vacation days around so that he could leave a little later and visit Hikari on Radiant Garden. If it was a boy, he’d be Ansem; if a girl, Kairi.

It was the reaction of the roses that let him know something was wrong. The darkness roses hissed and let darkness ooze from their buds, making the air stink. The light roses grew stiffer, their rosehips shining every brighter.

Which would only happen if the ambient darkness in the atmosphere  raised exponentially.

He slammed a door open - and, again, there was the smell of darkness in the air, almost spicy, and the sky was turning dark even though it was mid-morning. There were terrible rents in the sky, black pools dotted with glowing yellow. 

Not the night, but another world.  

The Heartless weren’t the most common enemy Lanif had faced, but he could recognize them. Could recognize the portals to the World of Darkness with a fear that shuddered down to his bones. 

There weren’t many Keyblade Wielders left this generation. Not many people had a consistent way to get off-world. But with that many Heartless coming, the best way to save people would not be to fight, but to flee.

So he flew on his Keyblade and started them running. Portals offworld, clumsy ships - the students funneled in, since the school was closest, and then - 

He couldn’t go home. Xine would be fine on her own, organizing the evacuation there; to go find her would only distract both of them from the task at hand. They’d split to tackle major problems hundreds of times before. He would trust her to survive to the end, just as he’d do his best to survive so he could see her again. 

Eraqus was offworld, thank goodness, still moping about - 

Xehanort. Where was Xehanort? In town, probably - Lanif could check the port area next to the school, he was going there anyway, not a distraction, it would be fine - 

The port was swarming with Heartless. The great clock had been cracked; boats were drowning in the harbor. On top of one of the old buildings was a person in black keyblade armor with a goat’s head as a helmet; they tore open another portal to the World of Darkness as he approached, staring down. 

He couldn’t go look for Xehanort if an enemy was there summoning Heartless. Besides, Lanif had spent a lifetime fighting Scala ad Caelum, trying to tear all its stupid rules to shreds so it’d be a little more fair, a little better, but that didn’t mean all the people there deserved to be eaten alive. 

So he attacked. 

Lanif was primarily a doctor in his later years, but that didn’t mean he’d let himself lose his edge; you didn’t get to making materia without being good at magic. He summoned his favored summon - Anpu, a black jackal whose healing and buffing were matched only by being extremely immune to instant death attacks -  and started going ham with the magic, spamming Triple Blizzaga from range and swapping to Balloonga or Reflectga when the goat-head got too close. 

The goat-headed warrior didn’t summon a keyblade; they cast Flare, Firaga Burst, spells that alternated light and darkness, and even made the dark sky glow from an Ultima. It  was - 

Familiar. This had to be someone he knew hiding their keyblade. But who? Why? 

“Run away,” said the goat head, voice raspy from the smoke coming from nearby buildings damaged in the fighting. He was unsteady on his feet, but his armor was holding up - for now. They were both fighting MP Exhaustion as well as each other at this point. 

“I can’t,” Lanif replied. His ears were ringing from getting slammed against the ground; he couldn’t recognize the voice, he could feel his bones scraping together despite all the healing magic he’d used on himself. Pieces of his armor were beginning to break off; his summon had been pancaked against a wall minutes ago, an eternity ago. He tried to shove himself back to his knees anyway, using his keyblade as leverage to maintain his balance. “There’s someone I have to protect.” 

“People always say that before they do something unforgivable.” 

“Maybe so. I don’t care.” 

“Are you, too, full of false light? Hiding cruelty under your pretty declarations? Do you think you’ve fallen to darkness, or is this rage of yours a holy light?” 

“I don’t care about light and darkness,” Lanif declared as he dragged himself to his feet. “Or the Founder whose symbol you’re so happy to stick on your head. A heart is as much defined by light and darkness as it is by blood and vessel, or the body by hormone and sinew, or the brain by fat and flesh. I’m stopping you from summoning more of these monsters, and then I’m going home and taking my son out for coffee, like I promised him!” 

Lanif lunged forward, his keyblade tilted up to smash the helmet off or into his opponent’s face - despite how obviously telegraphed it was,his enemy didn’t dodge - no, by his body language, he was shocked, but by what?

“As if, old man.”

The blade slid through the hole in Lanif’s armor and into his side,up into the ribcage. He’d been so focused on staying upright he hadn’t noticed the man in white behind him until it was too late.  He swung his keyblade back, striking his attacker, but it was too late; he fell to his knees, his vision going black at the edges. 

Whatever was hit may not have been immediately fatal, but after this fight, and at his age? Even if he could manage a Curaga, he was pushing his luck to not bleed out. 

There was a clatter as the goat’s head tumbled to the ground. He couldn’t see either of them - it was an effort to keep his arms straight enough to keep him from collapsing.

“Professor!” 

He was caught just before he collapsed, pulled into strong arms, his helmet pulled off carefully to free his braids in an explosion of silver and black. Xehanort was holding him - ash smudged, sweaty, alive - was casting whatever cure spells he could think of. 

“Is now the time?” said a familiar, obnoxious voice. Lanif’s head wasn’t clear enough to recognize it, even though he should, even though he knew it was the voice of someone who’d taken something precious from him... 

“Shut up,” Xehanort snapped to the other man, and then looked down at him. “What have I done? I just wanted to - to make this world’s cruelty stop.” 

What had he done? Lanif wasn’t sure. He’d been looking for him but he hadn’t seen him until now, and there - was - something important, wasn’t there - what was he worried about - 

He reached up and cupped Xehanort’s face. “It’s fine. I know it’ll be fixed now that you’re here.” 

“Don’t say that!” 

“I’ve always had the greatest confidence in you.” And his vision was dimming, holding only Xehanort’s tearful face in it’s shrinking diameter. “Sorry for scaring you. I’ll be on my feet soon. We’ve still got to go out for coffee together. I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” Xehanort said, holding Lanif’s hand to his face. Tears welled and dropped on Lanif’s armor. “Don’t go. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, you weren’t supposed to be here - You should have run away!“

“How could I run when... I didn’t know where you were?” 

That just made Xehanort cry more. That wasn’t - it shouldn’t - Xehanort hated being seen crying. 

“It’s alright,” Lanif murmured. He was - tired. Maybe he just had to - close his eyes -  “It’s alright, son. It’s ok, it’s ok.. it’s... “

...................

............

.....

.

The Aftermath 

Xine Pollux survived, bringing a number of Scalan residents to the world her son had moved to. Other survivors went to nearby worlds as well; the largest group settled on Radiant Garden and would become a major cultural influence on the branch of the Church of Light that had developed there. 

Nevertheless, the death toll was catastrophic.  Centuries of knowledge were lost. The art of keyblade wielding dwindled. 

No body was ever found, much to the upset of both Lanif’s Scalan friends and his family on Black River Delta.  Lanif’s family on the Delta held a funeral that numbered hundreds - six siblings begat dozens of nieces and nephews and even more grandchildren, who he’d visited regularly for over fifty years. 

Xine and Eraqus held their own small funeral, which grew larger as former students came, and people he’d saved during the fall of Scala. it turns out that despite his reputation for being abrasive, blunt and argumentative, he’d actually done a lot of good. It would jumpstart the transformation of his reputation from a controversial political figure to a renowned scientist and keyblade wielder, which would be further fueled by the popularity of the Auto-Cast medical materia that he’ engineered. By the time of Kingdom Hearts, he’d faded to a semi-famous historical figure who figured in several books and plays - and also several more that never were published as Eraqus and Xehanort kept on showing up to go ‘hey you’re not erasing his identity as an offworld polytheist to make the church of Light look good, right?’ because even if they were fated to eventually try and kill each other, they both had some fucking standards.

Xine helped the refugees resettle and remained a resource as both a leader and someone with a vast cultural knowledge, but she was never the same after losing her home and her best friend in one fell day. She stayed at the monastery Eraqus had been assigned to when not traveling. When she died, Eraqus was left truly alone. 

~

Xehanort sat at his desk, staring down a mess of papers - plans for Kingdom Hearts, for light, for darkness - 

An old essay with a handwritten note and a fading coffee stain. Well done, Xehanort. 

“Is this worth it?” 

Silence.

“It has to be worth it.” 

Personality Quirks:

Due to a bad habit to burn the candle at both ends and a genuine love of coffee, Lanif has a severe caffeine addiction. God help anyone who gets between him and his beans. Likewise, him brewing someone a cup of coffee is one of those nonverbal affection signs that have more weight behind them than people may realize. 

He also tried to keep up traditional cooking he learned as a child, but he’s had to adapt to Scalan’s tastes and ingredients - especially since Eraqus can’t handle anything spicier than paprika. 

Lanif’s keyblade is Blue Blooming Lotus. The hilt is carved dark wood, with a keychain dangle of a blue Egyptian water lily; the staff is a flat plank of dark river water suspended by magic; the ‘key’ is a tangle of blue Egyptian water lilies, which bloom when Lanif is happy, and revert back to buds when he’s upset.  Blue has long reach, low critical rate and high magic stats, with an innate skill of MP Hastaga.  Blue’s keyblade transformation is into a pair of floating water lilies Lanif uses as skates and a staff, with gameplay similar to the mobility and high magic potential of Sora’s Wisdom form, culminating in a Finish similar to Aqua’s Magic Pulse. 

Lanif tends to wear long sleeves and layers (usually jellabiya modified to match Scalan fashion, with high collars and tightened sleeves, but sometimes Scalan-style haori for formal events) because most worlds are cold compared to Black River Delta; he mostly wears black because even if being a goth hadn’t been invented in Scala yet, he is still a goth at heart.

His keyblade armor, likewise, is black with golden highlights. Since armor with animal motifs were popular among older keyblade wielders, he based his on the jackals native to Black River Delta. There was absolutely some point where he and Xine had an argument on if adding a tail would be ‘sick as hell’ vs ‘a liability in combat.’ (Xine won. No tails!!) 

Lanif’s summon, Anpu, is also a black jackal - a Persona, manifesting not an elemental being or a ghost but a reflection of his personality made manifest. Xine’s one of the few people who have gotten the full powerpoint presentation on what Anpu represents. She’s also quick to tease that as much as Anpu cut a dashing figure in public, if he got summoned for a long period or in private, he had a bad habit of begging for scraps off Lanif’s plate. 

Every few months, Lanif will head to Olympus or Mirage Arena to blow off steam at a tournament and also enjoy the company of the other contestants dot dot dot. Scala wouldn’t be too weird about the gay thing, but hooking up before marriage? Scandalous! 

Battle Music (as player character):  Rivers in the Desert - Persona 5 OST

Battle Music (as boss fight): Persona 3 - Battle For Everyone's Souls - Traditional Japanese Version - Hyuman

[sixcrowsbooks]

Locus loved the heat. He loved the summer. He grew up on a shitty desert planet, and sure, the desert wasn’t great…but oh man, the sun? He could stay out in it all day and feel nothing but relaxed. Calm. He loved nothing more than sitting back, closing his eyes, and soaking up the rays for a few hours.

Of course, that changed with UNSC. No longer could he lay out in the sun. No longer could he feel the gentle heat on his skin for hours on end. However, that didn’t stop him from trying. There were times that he’d be out on a mission on yet another desert planet, or maybe just a planet that had different seasons, and while his comrades were complaining about it and sweating up a storm, he’d take his helmet off and lean his head back. Soaking in as much as he can. His team would stare as inconspicuously as possible (who were they kidding, it was totally obvious, and all Locus had to do was glare at them once for them to back off) before he put his helmet back on. He did that for as long as he was in, just a few minutes here and there.

It stopped completely with Felix. He tried to do it once, away from him, when a mission was going well and he felt confident. But Felix ended up seeing him with his head back, and he would not shut up about it for weeks. He would constantly make barbs towards Locus, call him out on it, twist his verbal knives into him. Normally, Locus shrugged off whatever Felix said. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him. Normally, he bit back with something worse.

But this, he couldn’t shake off Felix’s shit about this. This one thing that allowed him to feel human throughout his fucked up life. He knew that if he could just feel the sun on his face, on his body, that he would be okay. Now though? Now he doesn’t even have that. Not when working with Felix, with his barbed comments, constant bitching, complete manipulation of everything he said or did.

So he stopped completely. He doesn’t remove his helmet anymore, even when he’s fully alone.

He tucked away that one small piece of humanity he had left.

And became a monster.

[prophecydungeon]

man, the gulf between season 8 wash and chorus trilogy wash (or even season 10 wash!) is actually completely and utterly bonkers

Serious Competentman things wash does in recovery one and season 6:

takes down a hornet with exceptional competency

faces down the meta one-on-one multiple times

calmly disposes of many dead bodies, including those of his former teammates and friends

shoot (at best) or kills (at worst) several guards at headquarters

with the crowning "oooooh boy" achievement being: he kills south in cold blood

which is like, alright! neat! we have now gotten another Serious Compenentman freelancer, and this all tracks more or less to what we've seen tex, wyoming, york, and south do. wash in season 6 is the reality check to the reds and blues; he's the straight man (...ykwim) to their brand of insanity.

by season 8, wash is so completely off the fucking rails that he's the one that needs a reality check character. doc plays that part for both wash and maine* in season 8; he's the token blood gulch haha funnyguy character who both offsets our Serious Antagonists and occasionally mediates between them, and he's there to alleviate the tension. (to the audience, at least. our Serious Antagonists have no time for jokes.)

this is epitomized, imo, when they're in the desert dealing with the aliens and trying to find the (discarded) epsilon unit:

wash: you sure that's what he's doing? doc: well, my alien-to-english is a little rusty. i would suggest we get one of those translator balls, but we've got enough jerks around here already. maine: [speaks] wash: i agree. we should just kill most of them. the last one left alive will talk. doc: (patiently) wash, you just can't kill everybody you meet. wash: why not? doc: uh... well, now you've put me on the spot. i don't really have an answer for that. seems like a bad idea, though. karma?

wash has killed people before - many people, in fact! - and he's certainly far from squeamish about it, but this is on an entirely different level. he isn't playing the straight man to the blood gulch guys here. he's entirely serious about killing this group of aliens and so is maine. sure, this is a big and significant turn from how he acted in season 6, but who he is by the time the chorus trilogy rolls around makes this person from season 8 almost entirely unrecognizable.

other things wash does during his baddie arc include:

shooting lopez

(functionally) killing donut

probably genuinely would have killed doc at multiple points if he didn't prove himself useful in one way or another

treating maine exceptionally poorly, even though they were at least superficially friendly at some point in the past, until it serves him to be slightly nicer

(he's also mean to doc, but they don't have a history)

tucker's character arc (rightfully) gets the most screen time in the chorus trilogy, but wash's and carolina's growth - while a little more understated - is also not at all to be discarded. season 8 is wash's ugliest moment** and boy is it fucking bleak. he's mean to maine and verges on downright cruel until things start to go his way; he acts entirely out of selfishness to clear his own name; he's willing to throw anyone and everyone under the bus and kill his way to the finish line. and then he doesn't.

he survives but he doesn't really succeed in clearing his name, and he doesn't really earn his redemption, per se, but we get reminded multiple times over the rest of the series that he was that terrible person at one point and he isn't anymore. going backwards from the chorus trilogy to season 8 is almost enough to cause whiplash and the way his growth gets shown from that point on (while also taking a back seat) is so gratifying. he tells locus, "[...] you’re too afraid to take responsibility for what you’ve done. I know I used to be a real piece of shit, but at least I’m trying to do something about it." and he does! that's the thing. he does.

*i'll die on this hill; see the "elaborate on that" "no" video.

**i say this knowing fully and completely that if wash did not have his baddie arc, i would not like him half as much as i do

[summerstrash]

thinking about the flesh and the machine in Hellions (2020) again and the interplay between love and violence and kinship and the fact that john greycrow, an at-least-double amputee who wears his prostheses as weapons and as armor, is unambiguously the emotional heart of the team.

like, he's the one who reaches out, who physically and emotionally supports his teammates when they need someone. he's the man who walked into the dream-desert for kwannon, subverting the nightmare-desert of Inferno (1988) and contrasting the way alex is abandoned by the nightmare robot maddie. they can only reunite, as a team, because john heard kwannon's call and came, no matter how long it took.

and it's john's perspective from which we see a lot of issue #13, where kwannon tries to pull away from him, and he comforts and spends time with peter as he feels abandoned by nanny, and he calls alex out for ignoring the team at the first hellfire gala.

he's also kyle's friend, willing to take him as he is post-arakkification, and he's the first one to get to alex when hex butcher cuts off his hands, the first to comfort him as he lays bleeding in the dirt.

and this is a book that in large part hinges on the conflict between the mutant and the machine, and the way both are malleable and subject to manipulation by people with institutional power (sinister and emma on the council, tarn on the great ring and as cult leader and "father" to the locus vile, the hodge robot & the right in general)

and I just think it's really neat that john, the most visible fusion of mutant and machine in the book, a man who, despite several resurrections, remains an amputee with big fuckoff metal prostheses, is the one whose engagement with the rest of the team forms one of the big emotional cores of the book.

[magistralucis]

Exile and the kingdom [Zultanekh/Djoseras Snippet]

(Something from the second part of we live on archipelagos. A meeting of the princes after Oltyx's banishment; Zultanekh discovers, much to his alarm, that is not just Oltyx who is 'gone'.

Sad to say it's time to suffer)

------------------

They will achieve nothing more in this fashion. "I will come to you."

Objectively this is suicidal. Unnas's temper was ever quick to ignite, and it never died down all that fast, either. If the banishment of his own scion hasn't kept him smouldering, an Ogdobekh prince in his crownworld surely will. Zultanekh does it anyway, for it is not in his nature to avoid the inevitable. The fact Djoseras didn't turn him down only urges him on. A dignified royal such as he would never normally allow himself to be seen that way - as Zultanekh makes landfall his core aches with a horrible sinking feeling he will find Djoseras damaged, physically or through pattern ataxia, but it is so much worse than that.

"Djoseras?"

This is bare desert. There is no one here. He checks the locus coordinates: this is the right place.

'Djoseras!'

He calls out twice, vocally and through the network, woven through with alarm-glyphs. Both dissolve into the wind.

Thankfully, just as he is really about to panic, he receives the kynazh's response. It comes not in the form of words nor sound, more a faint interstitial nudge; apparently he's close, much closer than Zultanekh thought. Zultanekh is puzzled as to how he missed him, until he clangs his fist against his palm in realization. Necrons of their station do not receive guests alone. They are accompanied at all times, even if by a mere scatter of lychguard - he was scanning for a retinue, which Djoseras may no longer have, if he has had to leave so abruptly.

He has never been to Antikef before. This emptiness was not what he expected to see, the open despair. Something terrible is taking its course.

The kynazh's personal signature points to a crumbling quarry of boulders. An ocular scry suggests it may be the foundations of a palace. Zultanekh marches towards it with two lychguards by his side, and is proven correct in his analysis; when he brushes a hand over the rocks, he gains an additional observation, namely that their cleavings are new. This is a palace not yet built. It does not hold, officially, even a single occupant.

But they are past official matters now. He finds Djoseras at the heart of the ruin, in the beginnings of a sepulchral hall. The kynazh sits on his princely throne, the only intact piece of furniture for miles; he has his back turned to Zultanekh when he enters, and does not look around, Zultanekh has to make the turn himself. This is the first time he has seen Djoseras in person since the war.

"Honoured kynazh, I..."

The person is as Zultanekh expected. The essence of Djoseras, less so.

He is staring blankly into forward ground. His oculars have no focus. His carapace is mirror-polished and perfect, thanks to the maintenance scarabs they bear, but the dullness of his flux fails to match it. He does not even appear to have moved in some time, from the way the dust has gathered by his feet. In the language of yore, Zultanekh supposes - he is bankrupt.

Limp in Djoseras's right hand is a small phase blade. A pile of something glitters on the floor. Zultanekh adjusts the magnification of his oculars, gazing beyond the sand-grains, and with alarm realizes that it is silver: as thin as foil, not beat into shape, but shaven. There's a piece of it still clinging to the blade. Metals have always been sacred to the Ogdobekh. No other noble would've cared for those details. Just as well, then, that Zultanekh is no other noble, for it does not escape his oculars that this is the same grade of silver as Djoseras's own.

Oltyx.

[sharkface-daydreams]

alrighty, AU time. some of these are partially posted. some are partially written. some of them will never see the light of day and/or are only half formed ideas shaped by delirious whimsy. but i think they're fun.

tagging @autisdicksimmons bc this is your fault (affectionate)

Thread Gulch Chronicles - the 4th wall touching cross stitch au. still haven't decided if i want to do anything related to framing

Andy the bomb but turn him into a ship ai and give him a crush on a dirty little shisno au - partially posted as of rn but the guy who works on this isn't out very much so it's in limbo kinda

Tripartite "villains in love" au (i know the name is stupid, bite me) - all take place in the same universe. stassney lives and ends up Stockholm syndromed with Felix who he rescues from dying at the bottom of the tower, locus realizes Doyle's romantic notions of soldiers are actually what's correct and either they fuck off together and Doyle fakes his death or locus surrenders idk haven't decided, and sharkface and price say fuck all this shit and fuck off into the aether for a happy ever after. there's some bits posted as the Unfettered [WIP snips] on ao3

Afterburner - Hargrove recovers Sigma and Sigma is given to sharkface to assist in killing freelancers (underdeveloped, that's literally all i have written lmao)

Double Triple - the triplets and the trio trying to make the best of their ice planet abandonment with hijinks and nonsense and dwindling supplies

Foxtrot Echoes - the honeypot au: version 1 contains no actual York ai but it's completely contrived and hinges on sharkface being a good enough actor to fool Carolina, wash and epsilon in order to get closer enough to kill them. bro fails step 1 tho and falls for Carolina and has to come clean thereby destroying the whole reason he'd confessed. angst!!! version 2 contains actual York ai but he's an early attempt by freelancer to acquire another ai so he's not technically a smart ai but he's still an ai and his and shark's psyches bleed into each other a bit

Heartstrings au - I only have Gravity posted bc tbr the rest of this is completely self indulgent Locington schmoop but I'm always a sucker for a good betrayal plotline

Shark mechanic au! the feds n news scoop up a fishy enemy and as they need all hands on deck he helps them as a mechanic and bonds a bit with the ducklings

modern band au - shark in a band with wash, south, pills and sleeves, all sorts of drama. not very well developed but lots of Sharklina angst

Xmas sharcus bit - this might get written eventually. modern au where the mercs gang gathers at Locus' for the holiday and during an argument with Felix, shark breaks an ornament that's really important to his bf locus… then works really hard to fix it but it's like glass u know so it's a huge pita. idk. Christmas schmoop, i was miserable on antivirals when i did this lol

the Sharklix "get worse together" enemies who fuck to kinda friends who fuck and also get revenge together au. unlikely to be posted, it's a little too self indulgent lol

games of the heart - au where Sharkface realizes he can't beat the freelancers physically so he suckers wash into falling for him so he can turn around and shred his heart to pieces. underdeveloped, self indulgent

get your kicks - the long haul trucker/greasy spoon waiter lolix au featuring unhappily married locus and licherally dying of boredom working for tips along the desert freeway Felix (thanks Ross for the line i took and ran with 💖) also the road is route 66 and modeled after the old route 66 on earth for novelty reasons

Lazarus - locus does his good guy shtick and returns often to help a sangheili colony and winds up with an alien baby. someone activates a temple of regeneration on chorus, and now alive Felix goes hunting for revenge. parts of this posted in scribbles n bits but it's not a full thing in the first place

the Locnut farm family rivalry au with donut and his two moms next door to locus and his two dads who are in a Midwestern rivalry but the two of them are getting along much too well

MaceFace! Mason and Sharkface run into each other at physical therapy and get chummy and eventually set out together for revenge since Lolix and the freelancers are both on Chorus

The Outriders AU - an enormous crossover undertaking with characters in the Outriders game universe… this will probably never be done but i got great plans for it. the mercs and a few others get freaky superpowers, there's an epic quest for info to secure survival, and Dr Church is trying to reverse engineer the superpowers unethically and causing problems so what else is new

MetaNut meet-cute/horny au where donut doesn't get shot bc Meta gets attached and also yanks donut over the cliff with him during the fight but they both survive and work their way back up to civilization while everyone else assumes them dead. plural meta au ✌️ also they have a little cottage with a garden and bees

the "no-PFL" SharkPrice AU where Price is hired at the same Charon building untoasted Sharkface is working security for and also Price and Dr Church are bitter exes and Church thinks Price is cradle-robbing when he sees them together

red Team Shark AU where Boose and Shark are friends and bond over losing your friends

Tear The Throat - also known as the SharKey AU (the one that comic is about) where Sharkface gets the key because he grabs it and tosses it to Felix not knowing it bonds to one person. This is a Chorus-loses AU bc they can just turn the key on the purge and call it a day and cash in.

WashFace au where Wash and Terrence were together before whatever shit happened that got Wash almost court martialed and sent to PFL, and Wash doesn't shoot when Sharkface makes his little "as long as I'm alive" speech bc he recognizes him when he takes off his helmet. and shark is like wtf you're supposed to be DEAD and gdi he can't kill wash now this is fucking unfair

extremely underdeveloped Dragon Age au with Sharkface as an apostate fire mage but like that's literally all there is to it lmao … shape shifter with dragon form could be fucking cool tho

fucking hell i forgot the Yurch au, that shit just started sprawling. yellow church gets stuck in cabooses head after church's time travel shenanigans in s3? and then yoinked out into a spare Android body and now there's a new guy on Blue team but he's church but he's not. blue church gets sent to rats nest with the others instead of isolated and they rescue all the fragments. EL/NOD AU. this is also what i made my freelancer OCS for but only Rhode island is actually in the story until they get to chorus. few variations on that one

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This day in history

On THURSDAY (June 20) I'm live onstage in LOS ANGELES for a recording of the GO FACT YOURSELF podcast. On FRIDAY (June 21) I'm doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On SATURDAY (June 22) I'll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel and a keynote at the LOCUS AWARDS.

#20yrsago Why Microsoft should get out of DRM https://craphound.com/msftdrm.txt

#20yrsago Fark posts 1,000,000th link, Web surrenders https://www.fark.com/comments/1000000/Birds-learn-how-to-open-doors-at-Home-Depot-Finally-they-can-make-that-deck-for-birdhouse-In-other-news-this-is-1000000th-link

#15yrsago Vancouver cops affirm your right to take pictures https://web.archive.org/web/20090618134523/http://www.news1130.com/news/local/more.jsp?content=20090617_112051_8240

#15yrsago UK cop: ‘War on terror means no pictures of police vans in disabled parking spots’ https://shkspr.mobi/blog/2009/06/police-camera-action/

#15yrsago British cops stop and hassle thousands to “balance racial statistics” https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2009/jun/17/stop-search-terror-law-met

#15yrsago Mind Over Ship: David Marusek’s hyperfuturistic, hyperimaginative soap-opera https://memex.craphound.com/2009/06/17/mind-over-ship-david-maruseks-hyperfuturistic-hyperimaginative-soap-opera/

#15yrsago Bozeman, Montana requires job applicants to hand over all social network logins and passwords for background checks https://web.archive.org/web/20090621103931/montanasnewsstation.com/Global/story.asp?S=10551414&nav=menu227_3

#15yrsago Canadian cops want to wiretap the net https://web.archive.org/web/20090618223330/http://www.calgaryherald.com/Technology/Feds+give+cops+Internet+snooping+powers/1706191/story.html

#10yrsago Copyright trolls cut and run at suggestion that they’re a front for disgraced firm Guardaley https://www.techdirt.com/2014/06/16/once-again-as-details-questionable-copyright-trolling-practices-come-to-light-troll-desperately-tries-to-run-away/

#10yrsago London police’s secret “domestic extremist” list includes people who sketch protests https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/jun/16/domestic-extremist-metropolitan-police-spying-elected-politician

#10yrsago Riot control drone that fires paintballs, pepper-spray and rubber bullets at protesters https://www.defenceweb.co.za/aerospace/aerospace-aerospace/desert-wolf-unveils-riot-control-drone/

#10yrsago Seattle paid $17.5K to “manage” online rep of public utility CEO https://web.archive.org/web/20140623210450/http://seattletimes.com/html/localnews/2023849447_citylightbrandxml.html

#10yrsago Oligopolistic America: anti-competitive, unequal, and deliberate https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/how-america-became-uncompetitive-and-unequal/2014/06/13/a690ad94-ec00-11e3-b98c-72cef4a00499_story.html?hpid=z3

#5yrsago Structural Separation: antitrust’s tried-and-true weapon for monopolists who bottleneck markets https://memex.craphound.com/2019/06/17/structural-separation-antitrusts-tried-and-true-weapon-for-monopolists-who-bottleneck-markets/

#5yrsago Fox News poll has Trump losing to Sanders, Biden, Warren, Harris, or Buttigieg https://www.commondreams.org/news/2019/06/16/fox-news-poll-bernie-sanders-would-beat-trump-9-points

#5yrsago Traverse City, MI braves the wrath of telcoms lobbyists, pushes ahead with municipal fiber network https://upnorthlive.com/news/local/traverse-city-light-and-power-approves-fiber-optic-internet

#5yrsago After Hong Kong’s leaders delay plan to render dissidents to mainland China, 2,000,000 Hong Kongers march and demand resignations https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-china-48655634

#5yrsago The UK government gave away cheap money for property purchase deposits, which the wealthy abused, driving up property prices and leaving UK taxpayers exposed https://wolfstreet.com/2019/06/13/uk-government-blew-billions-on-help-to-buy-scheme-that-enriched-home-builders-and-drove-up-home-prices-taxpayers-on-the-hook-when-prices-sink-new-report-warns/

#1yrago Pizzaburgers https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/17/pizzaburgers/

[mtgpocketrealm]

Map of Komas - 4

The next innermost ring contains 'normal', 'hospitable', and generally non-living terrain. This ring inwards is home to the vast majority of the humans of the realm and is also home to the phyrexian cult of the realm.

As was the trend of the previous rings, the remnant continues to erode from the landscape, becoming almost normal to a lifeless hellscape rather than an Eldrazi-devoured lifeless hellscape. Much of the 'living tissue' remnant has migrated under the surface, clinging onto life as best it can, despite the attempts of the realm's other life, viewing the masses of flesh and bone as easy meals. An extreme vast majority of this realm's human, plant, and animal life lives within this ring. Tough and hardy root plants, massive centipede-like creatures that feed on and emit mana, swarms of man-sized locus, a grub-like species that seem to spontaneously appear in random locations, and even a small species of fox that can see souls and leylines. But, discounting the Eldrazi, the Skep, and the creatures humans use as tools, and the humans themselves, that's effectively all of the life on the Realm. The amount of biodiversity is non-existent, and that is due to the innate hostility of being unable to utilize any color of mana.

The environment here as mentioned is normal, if not extreme. The desert is hot with little water, the arctic is cold with little food, and the temperate slices somehow have little of both.

The skies here are mostly normal, though there is an occasional echo or two. That will be discussed more in-depth in the next ring.

Journey's End

Besides the fleshy parts of the underground, which are localized around the temperate slices of the realm, the cave systems get larger and more complex. More mana crystals grow and they grow quicker and, veins of mundane metals begin to appear. These veins are small, only a crude few even bother attempting to mine them, but like the mana crystals, they tend to regrow themselves once mined.

But this is the end of the Pilgrim's journey, they have made it to 'safety' and the ring which the Realmsouls tend to set up shop.

Card Inspirations: Ash Barrens, Desert, Mouth of Ronom, Blasted Landscape, Zoetic Cavern, Promising Vein, Crystal Vein

Prev

Start of Komas

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[bookmaven]

A CANTICLE FOR LEIBOWITZ by Walter M. Miller. (New York: Lippincot, 1959) Cover art by M. Glasser. First edition was issued with a paper banner from publisher.

‘A Canticle for Leibowitz is a post-apocalyptic social science fiction novel by American writer Walter M. Miller Jr., first published in 1959. Set in a Catholic monastery in the desert of the southwestern United States after a devastating nuclear war, the book spans thousands of years as civilization rebuilds itself. The monks of the Albertian Order of Leibowitz preserve the surviving remnants of man's scientific knowledge until the world is again ready for it.

The novel is an amalgamation of three short stories Miller had originally published in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction [April 1955-February 1957], inspired by the author's participation in the bombing of a monastery at the Battle of Monte Cassino during World War II. The book is considered one of the classics of science fiction and has never been out of print. Appealing to mainstream and genre critics and readers alike, it won the 1961 Hugo Award for best science fiction novel, and often appears on "best of" lists. It has been recognized three times with Locus Poll Awards for best all-time science fiction novel. Its themes of religion, recurrence, and church versus state have generated a significant body of scholarly research.’

source [NPR radio drama]

source [paperback edition]

[aerialsquid]

FFXIVWrite 2023 Day 8: Shed

High hand pain day today so instead of old man yaoi you get a sliver of a CidNero idea I've had trucking about my head.

One of Nero's old professors had once told him that things the things you most wanted to find would always be in the last place you looked.

This struck Nero as idiotic. Of course they were in the last place you looked. Once you found them, you'd stop looking. 

Frumentarium Scaeva, sir. Reporting in.

"Go ahead."

I've been scouting the area around Camp Drybone as requested, sir, and I have found some evidence the savages have been routing their paupers to the Amal'jaa for sacrifice. But I've also found something much more exciting, sir!

"Oh?"

Nero listened, fingers pressed to his linkpearl, and then let out a long practiced sigh. "Agent, the traitor Garlond has been dead for years. Yes, I know he was reported missing, but his corpse was found on the Carteneau flats. We just let it be thought he's still alive so if any of the Eorzeans manage to stumble into some sort of magitek achievement we can credit him instead of a savage. It's all a propaganda technique. I assure you, whatever you saw, the man himself has long turned to bones."

Oh. I'm sorry, sir…

"It's all right, Agent, you were only working with the information you were given. Keep the information to yourself anyway, if the Vox Imperatoris wants to put the blame on him, it's not our business."

Nero finished out the linkpearl call with a placid smile on his face, making polite notes until the agent hung up. Then the table crashed against the floor as he leapt from the room with all the speed of a rampaging reaper and charged for the hanger.

I finally have you, Garlond - not Baelsar, not Livia, not Darnus, me!

–

Even by the standards of Eorzeans, the settlement of Drybones was pathetic. The most impoverished storage shack in Locus Amoenus would look like a palace compared to the church that loomed over the threadbare little plaza and marketplace huddled around the aetheryte. Nero disguised himself with a dirty robe and headband, following the trail of superstitious grievers and corpse-haulers up the dusty hill to the church. 

Of all the places to hide, of course Garlond would pick this one. Not just a backwater, but one dedicated to the worship of Eorzea's false gods, the furthest thing possible from enlightenment he could get. No one would think to search for a magitek prodigy here. How Garlond could even bear it was in question.

(How he could bear the heat was also in question. Even this late in the afternoon Nero had sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Barbaric, that anyone chose to live in this climate in the first place.)

Nero kept his hood up as he stalked his prey, picking the taller bearded hyur out of the crowd. He watched the hands that had brought Garlond so much glory take up a dirt-caked shovel and mechanically begin to dig another grave, the edge of his hood hiding his eyes. This must be misery for him, a thought that gave Nero delight. 

He sidled up closer and closer as Garlond walked the rounds of the graveyard, until they were out of sight around the back of the church.

"Excuse me, gravedigger?"

"Yes?" Garlond lifted his head, and Nero saw the strap of a pair of goggles covering his third eyes. Pathetic. "Can I help you with something?" His voice was soft and demure, an obvious feint. 

"Why yes, I'm looking to pay my respects to an old friend." 

Nero threw his hood back, exposing his face fully to the burning desert sun, and gloated, "One by the name of Cid nan Garlond."

He waited for the impact of his reveal to hit Garlond and send him reeling. Then he waited further, in case Garlond simply was grappling with the implications and unable to react. 

"And is he…buried here or elsewhere?" Garlond finally asked, after they'd both been waiting a good five seconds for follow up.

"Wh–is he–no, he's—" Nero's jaw worked. He wished he was like the desert peistes and could simply spit poison from his throat directly into Garlond's softly smiling face, for words were so much harder to form.

"I could check our church records if you aren't sure, I've only been here a few years and my mind is a bit…" Garlond touched his temple, looking sheepish. 

"Don't play dumb with me, you absolute incompetent." Nero trailed off as he realized Garlond was actually cowering, shoulders tucked and his head down, muttering awkward apologies. He wasn't sure Garlond had ever apologized a day in his life.

"What do you mean your mind is a bit…" Nero mimicked the gesture, scowling. 

"Since the Calamity, I mean. It's. I don't remember things well. Maybe he came through and I forgot, I'm sorry, I can ask the others here, they're much sharper than me…" Garlond was wringing his hands now. Nero's eyes raked over him, looking for the lie, but Garlond had never been a good actor.

[gen-der-loss]

⟣ ﹒ ﹒ genderlocus — 🌌

( jen-der-LOW-cuss )

. . . ✦ genderlocus : a KEIN gender for when your gender feels like a physical place. it’s somewhere that you can walk around in that is your main gender, with smaller pockets of other genders. it feels liminal, abandoned, nostalgic, vast, and almost impossible to describe. the way this gender feels will vary from person to person.

a) an example may be a limitless desert with small oases of other genders that you stumble across.

b) another example may be an endless building with small rooms, floors, or subsections that are different genders entirely.

. . . ✦ etymology : gender = gender … locus = latin word for place

coined by me ! let me know if someone else has already done this <3

(( ID and PT under cut ))

[PT: genderlocus: A KEIN gender for when your gender feels like a physical place. It’s somewhere that you can walk around in that is your main gender, with smaller pockets of other genders. It feels liminal, abandoned, nostalgic, vast, and almost impossible to describe. The way this gender feels will vary from person to person.

a) An example may be a limitless desert with small oases of other genders that you stumble across.

b) Another example may be an endless building with small rooms, floors, or subsections that are different genders entirely. END PT.]

[START ID: A rectangular flag with five equal-width horizontal stripes. From top the bottom, the colors are: black, dark grey, dark blue, off-white, dark purple, dark grey, black. The center of the flag has a small circle in the same off-white color with four triangles surrounding it. The second image is the same but without the circle or triangles. END ID.]

[deehollowaywrites]

It's that time

It's awards eligibility season! For those of you who don't spend your time with your nose to the various lit-world grindstones, here's a handy explainer on awards eligibility from SFWA.

For me, it's been a modest year... but also a significant one! If you're only going to have a few paid pieces of work out, it's cool if they're your debut long-form book and a much-beloved and highly satisfying piece of short work. Since I don't anticipate any more paid work appearing before the new year, I'm using this spot both as a review of 2023's overall published work and a note of the awards-eligible work I had out.

As a reminder, the easiest spot to find links to both free and fee’d work is Chill Subs! (Chill Subs is also a fantastic spot for writers in general, featuring a submissions tracker, a huge database of publications to search, a social media hang-out, and a library of users’ work to read)

If you've read anything I've written, this year or any year, I appreciate it more than I can say. Happy reading, whatever you've got on deck, and happy writing too!

“Anxiety is the Dizziness of Freedom” (Ancillary Review of Books, April 2023)

“Monica Robinson Journeys to Death and Back in to rule the desert” (DIS/MEMBER, May 2023)

“Capital Punishment” parts 1 & 2 (Invisible Oranges, June 2023)

“Dead Leaves: Summer Reading” (DIS/MEMBER, June 2023)

Something in the Water (DIY, June 2023)

Little Nothing (Queen of Swords Press, July 2023; novella)*

“On the Trail of Bigfoot: Land of the Missing Aims to Conjure Instant Dread” (DIS/MEMBER, August 2023)

“The Catamount” (Lamplit Underground, September 2023; short fiction)*

“A Haunting in Venice Relishes Old Hollywood Thrills” (DIS/MEMBER, October 2023)

“Suzan Palumbo Interrogates the Truly Monstrous with Skin Thief” (DIS/MEMBER, October 2023)

“Dead Leaves: A Becky Cloonan Primer” (DIS/MEMBER, October 2023)

hallowzine vol. 2: an upstate gothic (DIY, October 2023)

“Exospective: The Exorcist (2016-17) Revisited” (DIS/MEMBER, November 2023-ongoing)

*suggested awards for Little Nothing: Lambda, Hugo, Sidewise, Locus, Florida Book

*suggested awards for "The Catamount": Shirley Jackson, Eugie, Bram Stoker