#folks who inhabit the world

[galehowl]

Random fact about that dragon lady - I originally, a good while ago, storyboarded a very messy bit of her singing a part of the "How Does A Moment Last Forever" lol.

She's an older dragon and a part of a small side story about the Ishgardians and dragons dealing with the aftermath of everything that happened, and later helps with the city's restoration as well, and at one point Ray and her have a lengthy conversation about the recent events and nature of love and its duality, as Ray is struggling with her dark knight troubles. The dragon gives a thoughtful but optimistic opinion on the topic, words that the young knight does take to heart, but the worth of this conversation really comes to light much, much later

[earthnashes]

I don't think I've ever actually shown the finished design of my sona here, so here ya go! :)

Her name's Ash, a shapeshifting monster who acts as a traveling Lorekeeper. Her job is basically documenting the wonders of the worlds she travels to, particularly the inhabitants she comes across. AKA she's literally me with a fantastical twist. :)

I was actually told a few times that folks were surprised she looked so much like me and uh. That's kinda the point; I never had the interest to have a sona until relatively recently, and the only way I found myself actually connecting with her is by making her a mirror of myself in every way outside the obvious artist flare with the more animal features. She's loud, she draws, she likes to travel, she's got a big ol afro, she's weird. Badabing badaboom!

I'm pretty happy with the result! It also helps a lot when I do promotional art to actually have a functional design on hand to reference from. ;w; I'd also like to expand on her lore; a couple of my friends suggested building a world for all of our sonas to exist in for the hell of it and I'm pretty excited with the idea.

But ye! I hope ya'll like her! I may end up making an "official" ref of her sometime in the future. owo

[mesetacadre]

Palace of the Republic, Berlin

The right to work at a job of one’s own choice was guaranteed by the East German constitution (Aus erster Hand, 1987). While there were some (mostly alcoholics) who continuously refused to show up for jobs offered by the state, their numbers represented only about 0.2% of the entire East German work force, and only 0.1% of the scheduled work hours of the rest of the labor force was lost due to unexcused absences (Krakat, 1996). These findings are especially noteworthy, given that people were generally protected from being fired (or otherwise penalized) for failing to show up for work or for not working productively (Thuet, 1985). The importance of the communist characteristic of full employment to workers is reflected in a 1999 survey of eastern Germans that indicated about 70% of them felt they had meaningfully less job security in the unified capitalist country in the 1990s than they did in communist East Germany (Kramm, 1999)

The Triumph of Evil, A. Murphy (2002)

The GDR had more theatres per capita than any other country in the world and in no other country were there more orchestras in relation to population size or territory. With 90 professional orchestras, GDR citizens had three times more opportunity of accessing live music, than those in the FRG, 7.5 times more than in the USA and 30 times more than in the UK. It also had one of the world’s highest book publishing figures. This small country with its very limited economic resources, even in the fifties was spending double the amount on cultural activities as the FRG. Every town of 30,000 or more inhabitants in the GDR had its theatre and cinema as well as other cultural venues. [...] Subsidised tickets to the theatre and concerts were always priced so that everyone could afford to go. Many factories and institutions had regular block-bookings for their workers which were avidly taken up. School pupils from the age of 14 were also encouraged to go to the theatre once a month and schools were able to obtain subsidised tickets. [...] All towns and even many villages had their own ‘Houses of Culture’, owned by the local communities and open for all to use. These were places that offered performance venues, workshop space and facilities for celebratory gatherings, discos, drama groups etc. There was a lively culture of local music and folk-song groups, as well as classical musical performance.

Stasi State or Socialist Paradise? The German Democratic Republic and What Became of It, Bruni de la Motte and John Green (2015)

Work itself was elevated to a place of pride and esteem and, even if you were in a lower paid job, you were valued for the work you did as a necessary contribution to the functioning of society. The socialist countries were also designated ‘workers’ states and it was not merely an empty phrase when the GDR government argued that the workers, who produced the commodities that society needed, should be placed at the forefront of society. Those who did heavy manual work, like miners or steel workers, enjoyed certain privileges: better wages and health care than those in less strenuous or dangerous professions. The GDR had one of the most comprehensive workers’ rights legislation of any other country in the world. From 1950 onwards, there was a guaranteed right to work. This right applied to everybody, including disabled people and those with criminal records. Employers were made responsible for the training and integration of everyone. This meant that everybody felt they had a place in society and were needed. This was particularly important for disabled people and those who wanted a new start in life after being convicted of a crime. Working people were under a much more relaxed discipline in the workplace. Because there was job security and it was almost impossible to be sacked, an authoritarian discipline was difficult, if not impossible, to achieve. In Western countries work discipline is invariably enforced by the implicit threat of job loss. In the GDR, only in cases of serious misconduct or incompetence would employees be sacked. There were individual cases where employees were sacked illegally for what was considered ‘oppositional’ or ‘anti-state behaviour’, but usually the sanction would involve demotion or being transferred to a different workplace. This job security gave employees a sense of confidence and a considerable power in the workplace. It meant that workers could and would voice criticism over inefficiencies or bad management without having to fear for their job. Job security and lack of fear about losing it was probably one of the greatest advantages the socialist system offered working people. Even in cases where a worker was sacked from one job, other alternative work would be offered, even if not on the same level. The other side of the coin was that there was also a social obligation to work - the GDR had no system of unemployment benefit, because the concept of unemployment did not exist.

Stasi State or Socialist Paradise? The German Democratic Republic and What Became of It, Bruni de la Motte and John Green (2015)

[whereserpentswalk]

You will be given a new body that fits in with this plane don't worry. You can also still stay in contact with the people who you meet there once you return home.

Reblog to go to the plane you chose when next available. Like to take a little gift from there home once you get back.

[notmyneighbor]

sway | female doppel reader x francis mosses

rating | explicit

words | 4.2k

alcohol, cigarettes, sexual content

ao3 link

The hotel cocktail lounge is like an open buffet for doppelgangers.

You’d really lucked out cloning that young, attractive, newly hired lounge singer, disposing of the original before she could cause any trouble. While so many of your brethren struggled to get into the heavily guarded, overcrowded apartments for shelter (and food, of course) you had the better fortune of landing a job at the swanky city hotel with the added bonus of a room upstairs to reside in. Working smarter, not harder.

Sure, you might not enjoy the aftertaste of all that alcohol that’s saturated the humans’ systems but hey, it’s still easy pickings for a hungry invader like yourself. You have a set of genuine documents that verify your identity, pilfered from your victim. No one even bothers to screen in the lounge, because if you’ve made it that far inside, it was too late to worry about it. The identification cards are still required, though, ensuring you’re the legal age to drink. Funny, what humans thought important, when their world was being devoured right out from under them.

Perhaps the most impressive feature of your stolen life is the fact that you actually like your new employment.

At first you’d balked at the idea of working for the humans, but you’ve really started to warm to it lately. You enjoy the music. The pretty gowns you get to wear. The admiring stares which you return easily. Meat regarding meat, right? The ones you liked the least became your next meal, lured to the parking lot, the side alley, hell, you’d even snacked on one in a housekeeping closet. You were careful to space feedings apart, though. Discreet. You’re not going to fuck up a good thing like this.

There’s a new customer at the bar tonight. You’ve been here long enough now to recognize who’s a local and who’s passing through, the regulars and the fleeting visitors. Another reason this was such a good place to hunt for prey—so many people coming and going. You tried to leave the locals alone and fix your sights more on the traveling folks instead. Their absences could be more readily explained. No one would notice them missing right away, and by the time they did, well, it was much too late.

In spite of the fact that he’s a newcomer to the establishment, you recognize the milkman that’s seated at the far end of the bar as a local. He looks as if he’s come straight from his job, with undereyes so smudged it seems as if he’s been working in a coal mine, not delivering dairy products. The bowtie around his neck is loosened and draped in careless wrinkles, the top button of his shirt undone. His cap is on the counter, next to a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. After a few rounds the man serving alcohol had finally just left the bottle. You’ve been served free vodka between sets, clear like water but damn, that taste. You’d have to be pretty desperate to force that down straight on the regular.

Still, you nod your thanks and glance at the stranger again. He’s completely focused on the drink. Shame that, because the more you look at him, the more you find yourself appreciating his appearance. As wretchedly exhausted as his features are, there’s still something oddly appealing about his face. You study the way he swirls the liquid in the glass before taking a contemplative sip, the movement of the pronounced arch of his throat as he swallows it down. You’ve never thought of the humans as attractive before, but this one…

It wasn’t completely unheard of for doppels to have some fun with the inhabitants of this planet. It wasn’t always just copying, killing, eating. You yourself have never indulged. No one has captured your attention like this. Maybe it’s because he disregards you so strongly. Immune to the charms you’ve replicated. What was it he liked in a girl? You could make yourself look like anyone he might desire. The ideal lover, really. A new face and body to suit every mood.

There are other customers already gathering at your elbows, praising your singing talents, your beauty. You smile and murmur polite gratitude but you’re not interested in any of them. It’s that milkman you want.

Your target polishes off the last of the glass in front of him, dragging the back of his wrist across his mouth. He reaches for the sealed pack of cigarettes now, tapping the box against his palm to pack the tobacco tighter before peeling off the plastic wrapper and flipping the cardboard top open. He withdraws one of the cylinders inside and tucks it between his lips, next seeking out the book of matches. Red phosphorous struck, you can detect the faintest scent of it as the match is lit, the end of the cigarette now aflame, the match shaken violently until it’s extinguished, then tossed into the ash tray nearby.

Now your eyes follow the path of that lit paper roll, tucked between the middle and index fingers, brought to his mouth, the deep inhale and then exhale, a thin white stream of smoke clouding the air in front of him.

For a moment you allow yourself to indulge in imagining yourself sitting next to him. Lifting that cap off the counter and placing it on your own head, teasing him to retrieve it, staying just out of reach. Getting closer. Walking your fingers up his sleeve. Playfully tugging the cigarette free from his fingers and slotting it into your own mouth. You don’t truly understand the humans’ fondness for the nicotine laced tubes. You’ve never tried one yourself, only in a second hand kind of way after you’ve chomped on someone who indulges in the habit. But this man made it look appealing. You’re wondering at the taste. At the way it feels to breathe those substances inside.

Your name is called—not your real name, of course, but the identity you’d stolen. The manager, reminding you it’s time you retook the stage, break time over. There is some polite clapping, some whistles. The lighting changes as you take up your position behind the microphone on the stand, nodding to the musicians behind you. You have copies of all of the artist’s whose songs you’re covering in your room, an extensive selection of records. You’d learned the lyrics easily, and if you messed up during performance, no one seemed to mind much. The place was more about a feeling. A relaxed, languid kind of atmosphere. Unwinding after a long day of work. Taking a respite during travel. It’s Dean Martin’s sultry crooning you adopt now, your fingers stroking the stand as gently as if you might caress a lover.

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

You move your hips gently in time to the music. The light catches on the sequins of your emerald gown, making them sparkle. It’s low cut, molded to the curves of your body. You glance over at the man still seated with his back to you. You’re going to get this man to turn around and pay attention, one way or another.

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

You’ve descended the stage, bringing the microphone with you. Each table is draped in a white cloth, with a candle centerpiece. You move around the room, gifting attention to patrons at random, batting your eyelashes or blowing kisses from your painted lips. It’s all for show, all smoke and mirrors, concealing what your true intentions are.

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have the magic technique

When we sway I go weak

The range for the wireless mic is limited, so you can only travel so far. Your milkman is frustratingly out of reach, for the moment.

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

You return to the stage, and the tired looking human has finally turned on the bar stool to regard your performance. He hadn’t been here during your first set. It seems you’ve finally made him take notice. Your eyes lock with his as you sing the chorus.

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have the magic technique

When we sway I go weak

The stage lights snap off in time to the music, your fellow artists pausing for a dramatic effect before resuming playing as you reach the final verse, the lights now focused solely on you.

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

Applause. More wolf whistles and cat calls. You smile and thank the patrons, your gaze once again flicking toward the man at the bar. The cigarette in his mouth has been forgotten, the charred end lengthening, threatening to drop off on its own. He hasn’t touched the glass that he’d poured before you began singing.

You’ve got him.

***

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about the males of any species, it’s that the more you ignore them, the more they pursue you.

So you don’t follow up on the progress you’ve made with the milkman that first evening. Truth be told, you’re starting to get hungry, and the sweating man with the shifty eyes at the rear of the lounge looks like he’ll keep you satisfied for a couple of days, at least. It’s all too easy to convince the human male to follow you into the recesses of the alley between the hotel building and the warehouse next door, your actions concealed by the rows of dumpsters when your impromptu ‘date’ turns into a meeting with teeth and claws.

You get a night off from work in between sessions, allowing other acts the chance to perform, but word of mouth is quickly spreading your borrowed name as the favorite. It’s you the customers really want to see.

Wednesday evening arrives and your milkman is back. A beer in front of him now. No cigarettes today. He looks a little less rumpled. Bowtie fastened. His eyes are still bruised looking, though. Did the man ever sleep?

You’ve got a little time before you’re due to begin. You’re not supposed to favor any one particular patron, but you figure you’re a big enough attraction now that you’ve earned a little autonomy. You saunter to the bar—he’s chosen the same seat again—and lean against the counter. Today you’re clad in ebony. Same shape as the dress you’d worn previously, hugging your figure and leaving little to the imagination with its tight fit, the teasing bits of skin exposed through the slit of the skirt, the low dip of the bodice and the narrow straps keeping the sparkling garment hooked on your otherwise bare shoulders daring anyone to resist that offered temptation.

This delivery driver doesn’t look. He’s too polite for that, apparently, even though the way you’re leaning would allow him a great view of your décolletage. Or maybe he’s too shy. There’s a nice bit of color in his cheeks, blossoming after you’d approached, and you don’t think alcohol is solely responsible for that effect.

You reach for the ID card he’s left beside his cap, dropped there after entering the lounge. “Francis Mosses,” you read out loud, thumb smoothing over the DDD logo in the corner, eyes roving over the expiration date. The cards and the entry requests were tricky to get just right, especially if you didn’t know your target well enough or if the doorman was too astute. Or just plain overzealous. You wonder how many innocent humans had been unintentionally eradicated by the very person that was supposed to be screening for invaders and protecting them from harm.

“You go by Frankie? Or Frank?”

“My…my mom used to call me that. Frankie,” he adds for clarification. His cheeks are scarlet now.

You smirk, tapping the card on the counter. “Hmmm. But you’re not a little boy anymore, are you, Francis? All grown up now.” You boldly reach for the beer on the counter, taking a swig directly from the bottle. It tastes as putrid as all the alcohol you’ve sampled thus far, but that’s not why you’re imbibing it. The milkman stares at you, transfixed by your every movement.

“Better keep this somewhere safe. Wouldn’t want this to fall into the wrong hands—or claws—would we?” You rest a hand on one shoulder, tucking the card into the pocket of his work shirt. You see the nervous gulp of his throat, feel the warmth radiating from his body in that brief touch.

You complete your first set—five songs, running your total time performing just under a half hour—and begin making your rounds again, schmoozing with the attendees. Saving Francis for last.

“Wait for me by the elevators after I’m done. You know where they are?” Your lips are close to his ear. You can still smell his aftershave from what must have been early that morning. You hate rising before dawn. You much prefer the nights. Easier to hide. Take what you want. Feast.

“Yes,” he manages to croak out softly.

“Good. See you then, honey,” you purr into his ear, making him shiver.

***

The man sticks out like a sore thumb.

Francis is pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the elevator doors when you arrive later that evening after your last set, rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable until you approach and then he freezes, standing rigid. Maybe a little of his natural instincts were kicking in, prey sensing predator. You’re not going to harm him; at least not unless that’s what he wanted. Maybe shy boy liked it rough. You would soon find out.

Wordlessly you push the button for the elevator and step into the carriage, gesturing for him to join you when it seems as if he is truly welded in place, forever stuck to the hotel’s carpets. You reside on the third floor, at the rear of the building. The room is generously sized and nicely furnished. You step out of your high heels gratefully as soon as you’ve cleared the door, one of the nuances of fashion that you don’t appreciate quite as much. They were really quite uncomfortable to walk in.

The human male hovers just inside the doorway, his nervousness radiating from him. You’re starting to wonder how much experience he has with females in general. Maybe you should have waited for a night when he’d been a little more intoxicated, when his inhibitions had been a little lower. But you’d been impatient. Careful about all those other details when it came to consumption, but this type of hunger, this lust, is a demanding mistress you aren’t accustomed to dealing with.

“Have a seat. Get comfortable.” You switch on the living room lamp and gesture towards the plush white couch and he sits stiffly at one end, his cap clutched by the brim in his fidgeting fingers.

You pull the hat away gently and toss it onto the coffee table, then sink down at the opposite end, not wanting to intimidate him too much just yet. You can see the pulse jumping in his neck. Such a lovely throat. You’re willing to bet the blood inside would be sugar sweet.

“You got a girl?”

“Uh…no. I’m single. I live alone. I have a daughter. Her mother and I…we all live in the same apartment building.”

“Hmmm.” Your polished nails drum on the arm rest. “That delivery job of yours stresses you out, huh?”

“It’s just the hours. Longer days. A lot of people don’t want to leave the house anymore, now that…” His voice trails off.

“Now that the doppelgangers have invaded,” you finish for him.

“Right.”

“You ever see one?”

“No. I mean, not that I know of. Kind of seems like the last thing you’d ever see if you did. That’s another part of what makes the job difficult. You don’t really know what’s on the other side of the door. Have you ever…?”

Every day when I look in the mirror, you think. You merely shake your head for his benefit.

“You know how to give a massage? My feet are killing me.”

“I, uh…”

“It doesn’t take much skill. You’re just rubbing.” You lift the train of your dress and shift positions so your nylon clad feet rest on his lap, stretching out across the length of the couch. You see the slightly alarmed look on his features and your voice is soothing, patient. “It’s okay, Francis. You’ve got this.”

His hands reach tentatively for one foot, placing one over the top and the other underneath. His movement are stiff, brisk, awkward, until you begin to hum that Dean Martin song he’d seemed to enjoy, making his hands slacker, softer, caressing the sore areas. You interrupt the melody to groan appreciatively, stretching further, letting your heels grind against his thighs. It’s starting to feel good. He has nice hands. You want them on you in other places.

You slide one foot closer to his crotch, gently stroking. He’s gone immobile again, startled. You drag both feet back and stand, now moving in front of the seated man, lifting your dress so you can straddle his lap. His hands reflexively reach for your waist. You dig your hands into his thick russet hair, tugging his head back slightly.

“You ever have any of those lonely housewives ask you to come in? Make a special delivery?”

“N…no. It’s just business. No one notices…”

“You sure about that? Maybe you’re just too polite to notice when a woman is hungry.” Your free hand tugs on the bow tie, loosening it. You undo the first two buttons of his shirt. You want a taste of that gorgeous throat of his, even if it’s only the top layer and not the succulent fluids below that you’re after.

The pleasant scent of that aftershave assaults you again as soon as your face bends to sample the arch. His skin is slightly rough, the facial hair he’d scraped away reclaiming its territory at this late hour. You lick from the base all the way up to his jaw, and the fingers on your waist tighten.

“You think maybe you’ve got one more batch you need to deliver, honey?” Your hand dives straight for the fly of his pants, pleased to feel he’s already becoming aroused.

A choked sound escapes the man’s lips. Maybe an attempt at a word that becomes garbled with incoherent pleasure. Your impatience is growing. Too many layers. Earthlings insisted on wearing so many. Your species didn’t care about that, in your natural habitat. You could shred them to pieces so easily with your claws, but that would mean revealing what you truly are, and you don’t want to do that just yet. The man is anxious enough as it is.

So you settle for using the human hands you’ve replicated to unfasten the belt and zipper and undo the button, reaching beneath the waistband of his underwear and dragging his cock free. Ample. Leaking. You stroke over it and he hisses, a feral sound not unlike one a male of your species might make. Your teeth nip his earlobe, tease his bottom lip before you finally sink your tongue inside his mouth. There’s the faint, lingering taste of alcohol, but you ignore that and instead concentrate on the feeling of that wet maw, stroking cheeks and tongue and teeth and palate, exploring thoroughly. You don’t even have to guide him to the straps of your dress, feeling them slid over your shoulders, then moving to the front of your dress to knead the further exposed globes of flesh there.

“That’s good, doll. That’s really, really good.” His fingers are beneath the fabric, pinching and rolling your nipples, making them erect. You like it, but it’s not where you need him most. There’s a wet heat between your legs that’s throbbing. A hollow space waiting to be filled, and the prick in your hands is perfect for the job.

You gently push on his forearm and he takes over from there, snaking beneath the slit of your dress, the seam ripping a bit as it’s still partially tucked beneath you. He pauses. “Shit, sorry…”

“I have plenty of other dresses. I don’t care. Touch me, Francis.” The lingerie you’re wearing is skimpy. Nearly indecent. Clinging, and he tears more fabric in his urgency to work beneath the pair of panties. His digits find moisture and you moan into his mouth. That was what you needed. The pads of his fingers rolling across your clit. Parting your lips. Digging into your entrance. He’s becoming bolder now. The desire coded into DNA so long ago to ensure the propagation of the species continues taking over.

Your head tips back as you gently ride a pair of his fingers. You’re still stroking him, keeping him slick and hard. Back at his mouth again. You like kissing him. A lot. It makes your insides flutter. You’re getting even wetter.

Eventually you move away. You have to, if you’re ever going to get what you need. You lift your dress and bend over the armrest of the couch, your panties dragged down just past the lace edge of your thigh high stockings. The milkman’s dick finds your opening and slides in smooth, straight to the hilt, stretching and filling you. Your nails dig into the fabric of the couch. You’re so tempted to let the natural claws peak out, to allow the gentle incisors lining the front of your mouth shift to the genuine, sharper cuspids. It takes tremendous effort to keep the monster within restrained. The bloodlust mingles with the other, surprising you with its intensity. You’d fed so well. You shouldn’t be this hungry again so soon.

The man’s hands grip your hips, aiding him as he thrusts in and out. He’s still holding back, still gentler than what you’d like. “Fuck me harder, Francis. I want that cock in as deep as it can go.”

He grunts, maybe a little surprised with how aggressive your words are. Nice young women didn’t talk like this. Then again, you’re not a nice young woman. Not really. You just look like one, bent over with your ass cheeks spread, letting a virtual stranger violate you. You fucking love it.

His hips slap against you a little faster now, a little rougher. You push back to meet him, matching his rhythm, driving him in even further. So good. He’s hitting a tender spot inside just right. You’re getting close to achieving orgasm.

Francis is, too. You feel it in the tremors that make his hands shake on your body, the breath that stutters in rasping pants.

“Fill me up, honey. I want every drop of that milk.”

Spurred on by this last request, he moans and you feel the wet heat of his release painting your insides. You tip over the edge at that exact moment, the walls of your canal contracting and squeezing his cock, making sure to extract every bit of his seed.

If the man had looked tired before, he looked absolutely exhausted now. Spent. Drained. He flops wearily onto the couch after pulling out. You drag your panties back into place and let your hem fall down, sliding the straps of your gown back over your shoulders as you join him. You’re a little tired yourself, after that brief, intense session.

“What time do you have to get up in the morning?”

“Four.”

You clench your tongue with your teeth, sucking in a sympathetic draft of air. “It’s midnight now.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to stay? I’ll make sure to wake you up on time. Set the alarm.”

“No. It’s too far from work. I still have to load up the truck in the morning. I’m better off going home.”

“Alright.” You’re not particularly upset at him declining your offer. You are curious about something else, though. “Are you coming back to the hotel on Friday? That will be my last performance of the week.”

He looks over at you. “Yes, I will.”

“Maybe you could stay over that night. You don’t work on the weekend, do you?”

“No. Someone else has that shift.” He reaches out tentatively to touch your cheek, his thumb stroking your bottom lip. “I’ll stay that night, if you want.”

“Yes. I want.” You lean over to kiss him, the gesture gentle this time. Soothing, like the song you’d hummed earlier. “Go get some sleep, doll. You’re going to need the energy for Friday night.” For just the briefest, fleeting moment, the glamour shielding your true eyes from view slips, and the milkman’s own flare in alarm. But then you’re disguised again, so swiftly you know he’s questioning if he’d really seen what he thought he’d seen, or if it’s just fatigue that’s making his eyes play tricks on him.

You couldn’t possibly be a doppelganger.

[burr-ell]

The narrative is one thing, but I think it's really weird for fans to think Ludinus "has a point" about the gods in general causing the destruction of the Calamity when we know better. We objectively know better. It wasn't Sarenrae mutilating Vespin Chloras into a mindless puppet. It wasn't Melora sending Zerxus manipulative dreams and visions. It wasn't the Raven Queen destroying Exandria's protections against extraplanar threats. It wasn't Kord sending fiends into two inhabited cities to slaughter people indiscriminately. It wasn't Bahamut trying to release two emperor titans to destroy the planet. It wasn't Pelor killing and resurrecting Zerxus multiple times just for kicks, calling living breathing mortals "worthless paper dolls" and "a bad first draft".

It wasn't they who were responsible for the cloud of ash covering Exandria, or even most of the casualties. We know it was "not only in the first year, but in the first moments of Calamity" as Rau'shan and Ka'mort were destroyed—to prevent unleashing them on the world and everything being lost—that a large amount of that two-thirds of living beings were killed. We know that the "eruption of ash and fire, molten stone" from the destruction of Toramunda caused by the release of energy from the Astral Leywright sent up a cloud that covered Exandria for about a hundred years—up to the point where Downfall takes place, in fact. We know who then saw that destruction, done in the name of saving the world from the worst of his carefully plotted scheme, and then decided to shatter Exandria's teeth.

It's interesting how fixated some folks have gotten on the idea of "history being written by the winners", that maybe we don't really know the truth of what happened. It's not only ironic to then give infinite benefit of the doubt to the perspective of someone we know is a liar, it effectively wishes away how much of the history we've seen play out for ourselves. Under this...let's charitably call it understanding, the gods that we objectively know caused the Calamity's destruction are never the gods being referred to as oppressors and tyrants (even when they've explicitly identified themselves as oppressors and tyrants!).

For Bell's Hells, and the people of Exandria, much of this information has in fact been lost to time, and I don't look askance at them for not knowing what happened. I do, however, look askance at the real-life people who do know what happened, who can reasonably piece together the information we've been given, and are still so desperate for Ludinus to "have a point" that they're hiding behind tautologies and clichés so they can demonize the gods regardless. Because "what if the good guys were bad" is subversive, you see. When the black-and-white mindset is true but just casts the heroes as the villains, well, that's nuance, right?

[iwritefandomimagines]

NOT GOING ANYWHERE — JOHN HANCOCK

masterlist

pairing: john hancock x reader

description: you couldn’t be happier with the life you’ve built in goodneighbor with john. when a handsome stranger makes your acquaintance at the third rail, though, your beloved mayor needs just a little reminding that you’re all his.

warnings: tooth rottin’ fluff baby !!! bit of swearing as per. of course the handsome stranger is coop !

author’s note: this was a request i HAD to start immediately so thank you so much for it and sorry it took a while. john hancock deserves the world and you, dear reader, wanna give it to him here <3 enjoy!

———

“What’s a pretty little smoothie like you doin’ in these parts?”

At the sound of the gruff voice beside you, you had to fight off the deep, frustrated sigh that threatened to escape your lips.

It’s not like you didn’t get asked that same question every time a newbie swung into town, but it was growing increasingly boring of late.

You’d been living here over a year now, and at least nine months of that time had been spent practically attached to the mayor’s hip.

Hancock had been enamoured with you as soon as he met you, and for once you felt that his attentiveness was genuine — not just the usual curiosity about your past or your once evident naivety about the world.

That naivety was gone, now, anyway.

“I live here,” you replied, swirling the bourbon around in your glass as you looked up at the man who’d situated himself at your side, “Home sweet home.”

He was handsome, undoubtedly, a cowboy hat hung on his head and a smirk beset on his face as his dark eyes flashed over your frame.

He chuckled, leaning up onto the bar and signalling to Charlie — who immediately got busy pouring him a drink.

“Surprising, saw a pretty little thing like you as more the Diamond City type,” he took a sip of his fresh drink, “Not slummin’ it here with folks like me.”

You scoffed at that, “New around here then?”

“Just passing through,” he hummed, “Couldn’t waste a chance to talk to ya, could I?”

It was at that moment that you saw Hancock descend the stairs, and you breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry to say it, but your flirting is a little rusty,” you chuckled, “Besides, I’m spoken for.”

He turned around now, a hearty laugh escaping him as his eyes locked with Hancock’s — the latter now just metres in front of him.

“Oh, maybe slummin’ it was underestimating it, heh,” he swirled his drink in his glass, “Here I am forgettin’ my manners and trying it on with Mrs fuckin’ Mayor of Goodneighbor.”

Hancock rolled his eyes, “Like you’ve ever had any manners, Howard.”

“Well I had been hopin’ to ask you about the sweet thing I’ve heard you’d been so taken by, hm,” his eyes scanned over you again, drinking you in, “My mistake for hitting on her first.”

Hancock’s arm swung to hook around your waist protectively, and you looked between the pair, “You know each other?”

“We’ve crossed paths a fair bit,” they didn’t seem as frosty as you’d feared when you asked that question, so you were relieved that the hint of tension appeared to be based on the new ghoul’s advances as opposed to any previous issues.

“Well, it was nice meeting you…” you trailed off, realising that in your short lived conversation you hadn’t learned the ghoul’s name.

“Y’can call me Cooper. Coop if you like,” he side-eyed the mayor with another chuckle, “Though I s’pose your mayor wouldn’t be too fond’a that.”

You shook your head, again leaning close to Hancock to kiss his cheek. His grip on your waist loosened just a smidgen at this action as he seemingly relaxed.

“Hm, well if you don’t mind, we’ve got some stuff to do.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you do. See ya’round.”

You looped your arm through Hancock’s now, smiling at the other Third Rail inhabitants as you made your way back to the Old State House beside a grumbling Hancock.

You could see he looked frustrated, his teeth gritted and his eyes barely leaving the floor as he navigated to your room.

“I leave you alone for two minutes and Cooper fuckin’ Howard is trying to hit on you,” he shook his head, “Lucky I came back when I did.”

You stopped for a moment, just before you were both about to settle down on the couch, “What, y’think his god awful flirting would’ve worked on me if you hadn’t?”

He shrugged, slumping down and pocketing the jet he’d been contemplating taking. He figured now wasn’t the time.

“Hancock, seriously,” you frowned, settling beside him and cuddling into his side, “You don’t need to worry about that kinda thing. Really.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Sweetheart, it ain’t hard to see you’re out of my league. Can’t help worrying you’ll skip out on me sometime.”

It broke your heart to hear him talk like that — Hancock was the best thing that had ever happened to you, and there was no chance in hell you’d give him up if you could help it.

“That’s not gonna happen, like ever,” you cooed, “I’m so happy here, with you. Goodneighbor is home… You’re home, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He seemed briefly satisfied by this, but the slight pout still remained on his face, “I know, sugar, I know. Just hard to believe I lucked out this much. Howard’s right, you shouldn’t be slumming it here with us.”

You heaved out a deep sigh, “I’m not slumming it here, though. Goodneighbor might be dysfunctional, but I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else. We got a good thing going here.”

“We do, don’t we,” he leaned into your touch now as you cuddle in close to him, “‘M sorry, sunshine. You’re right.”

You pressed a kiss to the rough skin of his cheek, “I love you. No amount of flirting from some random irradiated cowboy is gonna stop that.”

He chuckled now, “Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, reaching up to pull his hat from his head and place it on your own, “I much prefer my men in a tri-corn hat.”

“And I resent that my girl looks so much better in said tri-corn hat than I do,” he licked his lips, eyes scanning over your entire figure.

You’d never get over the way that, as impossibly dark as his eyes were anyway, they always seemed to darken just that little more when he took you in, permanently twinkling in adoration.

“Nuh uh,” you shook your head, immediately replacing the hat on his head, “Not even remotely true. I’m one lucky girl.”

The sing-song lull of your voice made his heart swell, and he found himself almost more dazed than he’d have been after the hit of jet he’d long forgotten about wanting.

He reached to pull you into his lap by the waist, smiling into a kiss as you curled into his lap just as he’d hoped you would.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” his rough hands caressed the curve of your jaw now, “No wonder sons of bitches like Cooper Howard are droolin’ all over you. You’re an absolute dream.”

His touch sent goosebumps across your skin as you smiled so wide your cheeks almost ached, “Hm, you may have told me that once or twice.”

“Just so damn pretty,” he murmured, his insecurities bubbling back up for just a moment, “And stuck up to this ugly mug every day.”

You pulled back briefly, pouting down at him from your position in his lap as you shook your head.

It broke your heart that, even when assured of how you felt, he still worried your feelings were somehow stunted by the way he looked.

“Baby, there’s no face I’d rather wake up to,” you hummed, pressing gentle kisses to every inch of irradiated skin on his face.

You were sure that if he was still capable of doing so, he’d be blushing crimson.

You finally reached his lips again, giving them one gentle kiss before showcasing a big toothy grin again, “If anything, I feel like I’m dreaming. Luckiest girl in the commonwealth.”

“Now you’re just being crazy,” he kissed the corner of your lips as you rolled your eyes, causing him to raise the space where his eyebrows once were, “You been at my stash of chems without telling me again?”

You shoved his arm playfully, “Me? Crazy? Never! Crazy ‘bout you, maybe!”

For a beat you were wordless, just giggling at your own cringeworthy line as you curled in closer to him.

You lived for moments like this — when all the hustle and bustle and danger of his life as mayor fell away for just a moment so that he was all yours to be completely yourselves together.

The giggling soon stopped though, replaced by your attempts to blink away sleep as you nestled closer to him.

It had been a long day, and the couple of bourbons you’d knocked back while waiting for Hancock’s working day to be over (well, not that he ever really took a moment from his duties besides when you were alone) had begun to make you sleepy.

All Hancock could do was smile as he tucked your yawning figure into his chest, kissing the top of your head.

“You get some sleep, sweetheart,” he scooped his arms beneath you to lift you over to your bed, “I love you.”

Your reply came out almost too incoherent to understand, the wave of sleepiness hitting you so suddenly and so hard that you could barely keep your eyes open to smile up at him.

“‘M in love wi- you,” you managed as you curled up, “C’mere ‘n’… cuddle. Need you.”

He laughed, his whole body warming at the sight and sound of you, “I’m not going anywhere, sunshine. Never.”

And as you fell asleep with a Cheshire Cat grin on your face, Hancock was certain he’d never been more in love.

———

um john hancock you’re the love of my life fr !!!!!! i hope this was okay, it’s a lil messy but i’ve been ill this weekend so it’s a bit short & written amidst kinda flu-ey delirium (i’ll inevitably come back to edit) but i hope you enjoyed — feel free to request more hancock/other fallout characters while i finish up NMFR pt.3 for u lovely people. and here’s my masterlist <3

[blackkatdraws2]

3rd Batch: The Citizens!

[Blank Scripts AU (non-canonical)]

There exists a more peaceful world outside the Parable. Where all the common folks go about their lives.

A group of workers enters the welcoming bakeshop of Red Ribbon operated by a sweet, hardworking family. They take a quick visit together for bread and cake to munch, simple warm food for lunch.

BATCH LIST:

- [1st Batch: The Inhabitants] - [2nd Batch: The Janitors] - [3rd Batch: The Citizens] - [4th Batch: The Guardians]

↓ [Thoughts and Credits below] ↓

-----------⟡

The second illustration is complete! More coming soon!

Slowly fighting art block!! Thankfully it only lasted for 2 and a half weeks. I don't know what I would have done if it extended for a month or more, haha.

These are the citizens! After looking at all these characters, the info given to me shared the same features of these characters existing as normal people or outside of the Parable!!

I didn't put any of my own characters in this illustration. I was planning to but I wasn't capable enough to think of a more clever composition to show all 9 characters [the extra 1 being my own.] So only 8 characters for this one.

Lex by @corelex

Ah yes, the original. Lex was the first to draw about her self-insert, Sies, into the Blank Scripts AU. This character and artist has done a lot in influencing me to interact with other artists with OCs and self-inserts who also wanted to join in on Blank Scripts! Thank you, Lex. I appreciate you and Sies lots and lots. (❁´◡`❁)

Melanie by @insomniphic

OUR PAPARAZZI GIRL!! She loves taking secret pictures of drama and spice in the Narrator's [Black's] company and talks a lot about them too! I absolutely love her teehee

Steve by @xandyprojects

Here comes the chef! The idea of a cook who works for the Parable and feeding both staff and monsters is such a cute idea hehehw. He looks a bit intimidating in appearance but he's a sweetheart when he just wants to feed someone. [Just don't waste food please]

Xavier by @4thwallbreakerdraws

The man, the guy, the legend himself! He's an absolute asshole and I LOVE him. Despite his superficial exterior, he's a very complex and deep character with all his interesting lore! He's been an absolute delight to have around.

Rei by @mei-meidraws

He's a sweetheart and he deserves the world awuhaw I hope he gets to be as creatively free as much as he wants to be. He's just a swell guy in general.

Anala by @hyydrochloricacidd

I kept my promise! Anala is in this illustration!! I couldn't find a scenario to draw both of them last time so I took this opportunity to draw her in this one instead. Also, it just fits the lore of Anala trying to find her sister but she's still in the outside world, you know?

Joshua and lola Edna by @meiitenn

Guh... Joshua.. Our little cringe man, our conspiracy theorist, our meow meow... Oh no, I hope nothing bad happens to him ahahahaw I hope nothing bad happens to him. Right, Mei?

[tima7fa]

Eyes Are The Gates To The Soul

Tf!Sukuna Ryomen x Concubine!Reader

Contents:some heavy themes, sukuna being an asshole, not really romantic, blood kiss?, slightly suggestive, sukuna calls reader "sweet lotus" and "darling", reader has a scar across the face, slight showing of obsession (sukuna), no use of y/n, I don't like this, character study but I'm really bad at it, sukuna kinda doesn't act like sukuna so forgive me folks, sukuna ryomen is his own warning tbh

___________________________________________

Hideous

That's the term that always accompanied your presence, due to the disfiguring scar that marred your mouth and cheek. The individual in question, Ryomen Sukuna, was well acquainted with your plight. The villagers had offered you as a sacrificial lamb, nothing more than a disposable offering.

He had the option to decline.

Yet, he chose not to.

The reasons behind his decision remain uncertain to him. You appeared delicate, a fragile woman, dwarfed in comparison to his own formidable stature. He understood that even the slightest touch from him could shatter your fragile bones to pieces. The evidence of constant mistreatment was evident in the way your skin clung to your skeletal frame. The garment you wore could hardly be classified as a kimono; it was a mere tattered cloth. Additionally, half of your face was obscured by a lotus-embroidered fabric secured by an upper lace, fashioned into a dainty bow behind your head.

You were a far cry from conventionally attractive.

That was the consensus among the villagers. He had the option to refuse and exact revenge on them for daring to disrespect him through this hideous creature. Yet, he did not. He should have. Perhaps it was those eyes that captivated him. They were the sole aspect he could focus on when he gazed at you. Your eyes were the only discernible feature.

Designating you as his concubine seemed not suitable, and many would agree. How could such a lowly being attain the position of the king's concubine? It was an outright display of disrespect. After all, he was not just anyone; he was the king of curses, the all-powerful Ryomen Sukuna. In comparison, you were insignificant, an unsightly and hideous entity. Some might have overlooked your ascension to concubine if you were not such an eyesore.

You did not desire to be sacrificed to protect those wretched individuals, the ones who had mistreated you since birth. Vague memories of your mother being burned alive haunted you. The stench of charred flesh and witnessing your mother's agonized screams were unbearable. Yet, not a single person showed her an ounce of compassion. You despised them. The way they treated you as if you were a bastard child, a product of adultery. You vividly recalled the torment inflicted upon you by your father, who began to yearn for your mother again after being the cause of her demise.

As your body gradually matured, your father's gaze transformed into a repugnant predatory glare. The scar he inflicted upon your face mimicked the one your mother bore. Every time he laid his hands on you, you felt an overwhelming urge to puke. His comments about your resemblance to your mother made you contemplate self-annihilation. Each time you bathed, you vigorously scrubbed your skin until it turned a burning red, even drawing blood in some areas. The revulsion you felt toward your own body was indescribable. The day that man perished brought a sense of liberation, and beneath the cloth concealing half your face, a hidden smile emerged.

Now, your fervent hope is that this village, filled with detestable inhabitants, meets the same fiery fate as your mother. They do not deserve to live, nor do they deserve the privilege of breathing and leading peaceful lives, devoid of care in the world.

___________________________________________

"Make her more presentable."

With that command, you were abruptly handed over to the maids who bowed anxiously, displaying their respect for their king. Yet, he paid them no heed, his four eyes locked onto your gaze. Remarkably, you refused to avert your eyes. Normally, in the presence of this man, one's gaze should naturally shift downward. However, you held your ground, never once diverting your gaze.

He huffed dismissively before turning away and striding off. Your eyes followed him, fixated on his receding figure as he grew smaller and smaller. The maids beside you sighed audibly, relieved that they no longer had to prostrate themselves. Their expressions twisted with disdain as they regarded you, a sight they were accustomed to. "Let's start by bathing her." one of them suggested.

The bath itself could accommodate twenty people, a testament to the luxuries of the wealthy. As you undressed, you gingerly dipped your feet into the water, mentally preparing for the expected chill. To your surprise, the water was warm, enveloping you in comfort. It felt almost inviting, coaxing you to drift off to sleep. The maids recoiled in horror when you removed the cloth concealing your face, for it was a scar that not even makeup could conceal. Nevertheless, they attended to you diligently, beginning with your unusually long hair, a result of never having the means to afford a pair of scissors. They proceeded to scrub your body, a canvas adorned with blue and purple bruises. Strangely, it did not elicit pain. At least, that's what you convinced yourself.

After the bath, the scent of roses clung to your skin, an aromatic residue from the bathwater. They applied oils to your body and hair, meticulously attending to every detail. They trimmed your nails and tidied your hair, leaving it neatly styled. You pondered why they didn't cut it shorter, but you didn't bother questioning them. Subsequently, they dressed you in a kimono, meticulously fastening the obi and obijime. Truly, the affluent are coddled. They need not lift a finger, as everything is handed to them on a silver platter. Not that you were complaining; it was a novel experience to enjoy such privileges.

As the maids styled your hair, you hummed contentedly, fixating your gaze on a spot on the wall, conjuring faces in your imagination. Once they finished, they presented you with a feast, a veritable abundance of food. It could easily satiate thirty people. Did Sukuna intend to fatten you up to savor a more substantial meal? You wondered as you began to eat, only to have the maids promptly correct your eating mannerisms. How infuriating. Why should you learn the "proper" way to consume food? For heaven's sake, it's simply nourishment, and you certainly weren't dining like an animal. Although, in their eyes, you were likely no more than a beast. They even went so far as to correct your sitting posture, deeming it unladylike.

Tonight, you drifted off to sleep on a plush futon, relishing the comfort afforded by the opulent surroundings. You had glimpsed a taste of the opulence enjoyed by the rich, and you were content. The thought of tomorrow, whether you would become his next meal, briefly crossed your mind. However, you swiftly dismissed it. After all, your wrists remained slender; Sukuna likely preferred his victims with a bit more flesh, not mere bones.

___________________________________________

Months elapsed, and your health steadily improved, resulting in a much more favorable appearance. However, you had yet to catch a glimpse of the man responsible for your newfound opulent lifestyle.

Today, you made the decision to venture outside into the garden for the first time. Until now, you had remained sequestered within the confines of your chamber. After all, there was little incentive to venture out when the maids attended to your every need and little was demanded of you—simply staying silent and breathing was sufficient. Nevertheless, today you yearned for a breath of fresh air. Even you could grow weary of the sight of the same chamber, furniture, and faces adorning the walls and ceiling.

The garden was a sight to behold, meticulously maintained, as one would expect. You pondered whether Sukuna had an appreciation for the beauty of nature. However, you found it difficult to imagine such a scenario—a rather amusing thought, nonetheless.

"The mouse has finally emerged from her hole?"

A familiar voice sounded beside you. You glanced to your side to find him standing there, arms crossed over his chest, while the other pair dangled loosely at his sides. His approach had gone unnoticed, highlighting just how vulnerable you must appear in his eyes. He wasn't looking directly at you; instead, his gaze remained fixed straight ahead. His voice had been a rarity in recent months, but it possessed a distinctive quality that had been etched into your memory. Raising one hand, you pulled up the sleeves of your kimono and began kneading the flesh on your wrist. This action seemed to pique his interest, as his lower pair of eyes fixated on your movement. "What are you doing?" he inquired.

From the beginning, you should have realized that the maids were preparing you as the next course for the King of Curses. It became apparent once they applied a different oil to your skin. Did he prefer the taste of flesh seasoned with rose oil? You had discreetly sampled it when the maids weren't looking, and it tasted awful. The only redeeming qualities were its color and scent. "Do you enjoy consuming women who lack substantial flesh?" you replied, countering his question with one of your own. "What?" His face now turned towards you, all four eyes focusing intently. "I possess very little flesh, so I doubt you would derive pleasure from devouring me," you added with a sigh. Everyone has their preferences. Well, at least the lavish life had been enjoyable while it lasted.

"What kind of consumption are we discussing here?" he huffed, appearing somewhat amused. You noticed a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. Did he find this situation entertaining? "Are there different types?" you inquired, furrowing your brows. He seemed to tense as he averted his gaze, fixing his attention straight ahead once more. "Forget it." he dismissed. "I am not here to consume anyone. I was not even aware that you would step out of your chamber." He scoffed, yet he seemed to take notice when you took a step away from him. "I said I'm not here to consume anyone."

"I am simply being cautious. You might change your mind." you replied, tugging at your sleeve to occupy yourself. You heard him sigh, perhaps out of annoyance, who knows. "I did not bring you here to devour you."

"Nevertheless, you might still change your mind." you argued, unwilling to take any risks. "I believe I might change my mind if you continue to be this irritating." he declared, his grip on his biceps tightening. It was becoming apparent that provoking the King of Curses was not a wise course of action. "You've just proven my point..." you groaned softly, realizing the futility of continuing the conversation.

For a while, silence hung between the two of you, initially carrying a certain tension that gradually dissipated over time. "Why do you keep me around? I had assumed you would dispose of me once you had your fill." you broke the silence, but he offered no response. He himself lacked an answer to that question, a rather absurd realization. He simply walked away, leaving you to ponder the matter on your own. You decided it was time to return indoors; you had experienced your share of fresh air, and that was enough.

___________________________________________

You found yourself inexplicably seated on the ground, hands planted firmly to support your upper body. Tilting your head upward, you locked eyes with the figure before you—Sukuna. He cast a fleeting glance your way before resuming his heavy, enraged strides. A shiver coursed down your spine, regret flooding over you. You should have remained hidden away in your room.

Sukuna was no ordinary individual. Known for his merciless killings, he was not one to simply "forgive and forget." How could you forget such a fact just because you had a seemingly harmless conversation in the garden? This man had the power to slice you into countless pieces, showing no mercy to anyone. And you, in truth, held no special significance. Your right arm throbbed from the impact of the accidental collision with him. You couldn't help but wonder how it would have felt if it had been intentional, rather than a mere accident.

Dusting off your kimono, you rose from the ground. If you wished to avoid a premature demise, you knew you should confine yourself to your room, remaining silent and simply breathing. Otherwise, you would be cutting short your insignificant, pitiful existence. Returning to your chamber, you berated yourself for getting ahead of your station. You were nothing more than a nobody, and if Sukuna decided to end your life, you would perish. No one would come to your defense. In the past year, you hadn't even bothered to establish connections, not even with the maids. Perhaps you should have, as it might prove beneficial in the future.

You had recently begun forming connections with the staff, finally making an effort to remember their names. Previously, you had dismissed such endeavors as futile, convinced that death was inevitable. However, you had recently come to the realization that you didn't want to die. You weren't ready to surrender just yet. It might seem foolish, but you were only human after all. Humans clung to life until the bitter end. Staying alive had become your primary mission. Be compliant, follow the rules, behave like a lady, stay silent, and speak only when spoken to. One thing you had learned about this cruel world was that women were merely objects of pleasure and vessels for bearing children.

Therefore, you mustn't overstep your boundaries. Remain silent and endure whatever comes your way. Despite bearing the title of a concubine, you were still a nobody. A year had passed since your arrival, and Sukuna had not once visited your chamber. You were nothing more than a useless, pitiable excuse for a person. Not a single day went by without the memory of his enraged expression haunting your thoughts. You had been fortunate once, but becoming arrogant would surely seal your fate. The next encounter would likely be your last.

___________________________________________

You were overcome with a profound sense of dread upon receiving the summons. The shattered remnants of the delicate teacup, from which you had been sipping moments ago, now lay scattered at your feet like a shattered mirror of your own fractured composure. Why had the formidable Lord Sukuna requested your presence to dine with him? For this was no mere request - Sukuna's words carried the inescapable weight of absolute command, regardless of how they were phrased.

For the past two years, you had carefully cultivated a life of deliberate obscurity, purposefully making yourself scarce and unnoticeable to all, even earning the unenviable title of "the forgotten concubine." Sukuna's other consorts did not even view you as a challenge, granting you the blessing of fading entirely from his consciousness. And yet, here you were, called to his presence once more after such a prolonged absence.

The temptation to take your own life crossed your mind, but you swiftly dismissed such a cowardly act as unworthy. "I understand. I shall attend His Grace forthwith." you replied solemnly to the servant, who swiftly departed to relay the message.

'His Grace' - how the honorific now dripped with ironic bitterness. There was a time, you recalled, when you had addressed Sukuna with the casual familiarity of a friend, narrowly escaping punishment for your irreverence. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you smoothed the delicate fabric, adorned with the embroidered lotuses, tying its lace into a small bow that got covered with your hair and made your way to the grand dining hall.

Sukuna was already present, elbow propped upon the table, chin resting contemplatively in his palm, exuding an air of bored indifference. The sumptuous feast laid out before him remained largely untouched. You bowed low in deferential obeisance. "Greetings, Your Grace." A muted hum of acknowledgment was his only response, granting you tacit permission to take your seat at the opposite end of the grand table. Your gaze studiously avoided meeting his, focused instead on the ornate tableware arranged before you.

"Your Grace, huh?" he muttered, a note of curiosity laced through his words. "I don't recall you ever addressing me so formally before. What changed?" Indeed, a great many things had shifted within you. You steeled yourself, replying. "My apologies for my previous rudeness and lack of proper decorum."

I am now more acutely aware of my station and position within these hallowed halls.

Your response, however, did not seem to satisfy him, for he scoffed dismissively before turning his attention to the sumptuous feast laid out before him. You wondered what it was he truly sought to hear from you, for he appeared decidedly unsettled by your courteous words.

"Why aren't you eating?" he questioned, an edge of impatience coloring his tone.

"I did not wish to presume to partake without your express permission, Your Grace." you replied demurely.

In truth, the very prospect of consuming food in his imposing presence filled you with a sense of profound unease, as if your stomach might rebel at any moment. Yet, you dared not voice such trepidation aloud.

"Don't wait for my permission to eat," he grumbled, his irritation palpable. "Begin when I do."

"As you wish, Your Grace." You grasped your chopsticks, your eyes falling upon the delicate rolls of futomaki. Raising the morsel to your lips, you hesitated, your ever-present veil of concealment still in place.

"The hell are you doing?" he growled, his brow furrowed in annoyance. "Just take that damn cloth off and eat like a normal person."

You swallowed thickly, your gaze averted. "The scar upon my face is rather unsightly, and I did not wish to disturb your meal with its unsightly presence."

His response caught you off guard, for he scoffed dismissively. "I've consumed human flesh thousands of times. A little scar is nothing I haven't seen before."

Was that his attempt at providing some semblance of comfort? If so, it had been a rather shitty effort. Yet, you dared not voice such an assessment, for you knew all too well the perilous consequences that could arise from such irreverence. Slowly, you removed the delicate cloth, placing it within easy reach upon the table, and resumed your meal, acutely aware of his unrelenting gaze upon you.

The sudden summons had taken you by surprise, leaving you to wonder at his motives. Had your chance encounter in the past provoked this unexpected audience? Yet, the passage of time since that incident made such a reaction seem oddly delayed. A myriad of questions threatened to spill forth, but you dared not give voice to them, fearful of overstepping the bounds of propriety.

Remaining silent and obedient, you knew, could risk boring the capricious Ryomen Sukuna, for he demanded constant entertainment. However, you were uncertain whether drawing his interest would be a prudent course of action. A life of peaceful obscurity was your fervent wish, though you harbored doubts as to whether such a fate was truly attainable.

To your astonishment, Sukuna seemed unbothered by the scar that marred your countenance. In truth, for a man, such a blemish was often viewed as a mark of honor and bravery – a notion that, in your current circumstance, seemed utterly incongruous. Yet, you dare not dwell upon such fanciful musings, for his very presence filled you with a profound sense of unease.

You continued your meal in silence, offering only the briefest of responses when he posed questions, effectively stifling any attempt at meaningful discourse. Sukuna, you sensed, grew increasingly vexed by your reserved demeanor, a stark contrast to the spirited disposition he had once witnessed.

Your repeated apologies, too, seemed to grate upon his nerves, and you had somehow managed to strike the delicate balance between captivating his interest and avoiding his wrath.

___________________________________________

You had inadvertently piqued the interest of Ryomen Sukuna himself.

You were not the only one to have discerned this fact, as his other concubines had also become acutely aware of the shift in his attention. At first, your increased frequency of shared meals with him had not seemed to elicit any particular reaction from the others. However, when Sukuna began to visit your personal quarters more often than before, the jealousy and resentment of his other companions began to simmer.

Soon, the insults and petty acts of harassment commenced, as the other concubines sought to undermine and humiliate you. Yet, you remained steadfast in your composure, recognizing that their outbursts were rooted in the delusion of a genuine, romantic connection with the capricious daimyo. In truth, you all were trapped in this gilded cage, bereft of familial or social ties that might offer the prospect of escape.

The lack of reaction from you seemed to gradually extinguish the interest of your tormentors, and you were able to return to the semblance of a peaceful existence, though the frequent visits from Sukuna himself continued to weigh heavily upon your mind.

Seeking refuge, you resorted to the ruse of claiming illness, sequestering yourself within the confines of your quarters. As you sat upon the zabuton, contemplating the best means of avoiding his unwanted attention, you carefully dried your damp hair, your thoughts consumed by the need to devise a plausible excuse to keep Sukuna at bay.

At that moment, the door suddenly slid open, and Sukuna himself stepped through the threshold. In the wake of his imposing presence, his attendants carried boxes tightly wrapped in intricate Furoshiki cloth.

"Ah, my sweet lotus has finally awoken. I was beginning to worry I might have to summon the imperial physician once more." he remarked, his voice laced with a palpable undercurrent of sarcasm. Advancing closer, his massive form cast a looming shadow over you, a vivid reminder of your chance encounter in the hallway.

"Your grace, you're here.." you murmured, your tone flat and devoid of any discernible emotion. A cursory glance at the boxes carried by the servants quickly dissipated your interest, as your eyes returned to meet his penetrating gaze.

"What? Not happy to see me, my sweet lotus?" Sukuna said, his voice tinged with amusement. He observed you in silence, his eyes intently fixed upon your every movement. "Perhaps you'd like to be carried back to bed?" He chuckled softly, his hand reaching up to gently brush a stray, damp lock of hair from your face. "I would hate for you to overexert yourself."

"I'm fine, thank you for your concern, my lord." you swiftly dismissed the suggestion, your hands continuing their work as you dried your hair. "I'm grateful for your visit."

Sukuna raised a single, skeptical eyebrow, his mouth curling into a sardonic smirk. "Are you? It seems to me that you have been actively avoiding my presence of late." His tone had grown low and serious, his eyes scanning your countenance with an intensity that belied his true intentions.

"Is there something amiss? Perhaps if you were to obtain a bit more rest, you would find yourself in a more amiable mood to converse." he mused, his voice tinged with a hint of feigned concern.

"I assure you, I am not avoiding you, my lord. I would never dream of such an act." you responded, your tone resolute.

"You're not?" Sukuna remarked, a subtle note of disbelief coloring his words. "Then why is it that you so often shrink away from my presence? I cannot help but suspect that this supposed illness of yours is nothing more than a convenient excuse to elude me." He took a measured step closer, his towering figure casting a looming shadow over your seated form.

"You would do well to be more forthright and transparent with me, my lotus," he said, his eyes filled with a palpable disdain. "I have little tolerance for liars, especially those who lack the decency to even fabricate their falsehoods to my face."

You knew he had seen through your deception. Lying to Sukuna was a perilous endeavor, yet you steeled your resolve. "I assure you, my lord, I am not being untruthful."

"Oh? So you're telling me that you are not, in fact, avoiding me, yet your actions suggest my very presence is unwelcome," he said, his gaze darkening as he reached out to cup your cheek, running a calloused thumb along the contours of your lips.

"You may well be able to deceive others with your falsehoods," he whispered, his voice laced with a palpable undercurrent of danger. "But when it comes to me, I see through your every attempt at obfuscation. I know when you are hiding something from me, my lotus."

"I merely required a respite," you sighed, resigning yourself to a degree of honesty. "Spending time in your company has incited jealousy among your other concubines, and they have taken to tormenting me. I sought refuge in my chambers to avoid such unpleasantness." It was not a complete lie, but rather a carefully constructed excuse that sounded plausible.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed perceptibly at the mention of the other concubines' actions. He fell silent for a moment, his gaze intently fixed upon you.

"Those concubines should know better than to provoke you," he said, his voice cold and unyielding. "And you, my lotus," he added with a scoff, "you should have come to me directly. Hiding away in your chambers is not the solution." Reaching out, he gently took hold of your chin, compelling you to meet his unwavering gaze. "This matter could have been resolved swiftly had you confided in me, instead of resorting to avoidance."

"Please, do not kill them," you requested, "but rather punish them accordingly." You did not wish for their lives to be forfeit, only for them to face appropriate consequences for their actions.

Sukuna's lips curled into a sardonic smirk, a gleam of dark amusement sparking in his eyes. "Oh? Are they truly worth the exertion of my time and energy to be punished?" he mused, his tone tinged with a hint of derision.

"Very well," he conceded, the corner of his mouth twisting into a cold, cruel smile. "Consider it done. I shall personally see to it that they are dealt with in a manner befitting their transgressions." Turning his gaze back to you, he added, "And as for you, you will accompany me for the remainder of the day."

___________________________________________

You found yourself the recipient of an increasing number of gifts, though you were unsure how to truly feel about this development. Silently, you accepted these offerings, allowing them to accumulate untouched within your chambers, left to rot without ever being utilized.

This apparent disregard for his generosity seemed to have caught Sukuna's attention. How dare you not make use of the gifts he had bestowed upon you? Your seeming ingratitude clearly annoyed him, stirring a rage within that threatened to consume his composure.

"My sweet lotus," he began, his words seemingly benign, yet his tone spoke of a simmering fury lurking beneath the surface. That familiar endearment, so often used to address you, now carried a palpable undercurrent of menace. "Are the gifts not to your liking?" he asked, stepping closer until his looming figure cast a shadow over your seated form.

You sat upon a zabuton, positioned atop the tatami floor, your hand pausing in the act of combing your hair as you caught his reflection in the mirror before you. "My lord, I assure you, I appreciate all that you have gifted me. They are truly lovely." you responded, your words ringing hollow even to your own ears. No matter the quality of the offerings, you could not bring yourself to feel genuine gratitude for them.

"Do you now?" he scoffed mockingly, leaning down until his breath caressed the shell of your ear, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror's surface. "Or are you merely saying what you believe I wish to hear?" A shiver ran down your spine at his words.

"My lord—" you began, only for him to cut you off. "Enough with the obedient act, my sweet lotus."

"I despise the vile creatures called humans," he trailed off, one of his hands reaching out to pluck the comb from your grasp, "but I loathe liars even more than I hate mankind, and i have a already made it clear before." The comb glided smoothly through your hair as you maintained unwavering eye contact with him through the mirror, your silence becoming a tacit acknowledgment of his accusation.

"If you value your life, I would advise you to speak the truth." Sukuna warned, his grip on your chin tightening, causing you to wince. Your gaze lowered reflexively, but he quickly rectified that, roughly guiding your eyes back to meet his through the mirror.

"Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, darling." he commanded, a grin replacing the frown that had previously marred his features.

Your hand reached up to grasp his wrist, your nails digging into his flesh as you felt the tightening of his fingers on your chin. His gaze fell to where your nails pierced his skin, and his grin widened with amusement. "Make me bleed. Go on." he chuckled, and you complied, watching as his blood tainted your nails and dripped down to stain your kimono. The metallic scent of the blood hit your nostrils.

"You've made a mess. Why don't you clean it up, darling?" he mused, releasing your chin and raising his arm slightly, positioning the bleeding wound before your mouth. You moved your head back, causing it to press against his chest. "Why are you so afraid? I can assure you, my blood tastes amazing." he said, pushing your head forward until your lips connected with his wrist, the crimson liquid staining them.

You kept your lips tightly sealed, and he withdrew his wrist, studying your face. "Red suits you, my sweet lotus." he murmured, his gaze focused on your lips, his thumb gliding across the plump of your lips smearing is blood, before he captured them in a rough, demanding kiss. You tried to pull away, but his hand held the back of your head in place, and his lower pair of hands snaked around your waist, anchoring you to him. His free hand caressed your cheek, a stark contrast to his forceful actions.

His tongue easily slipped past your lips as you opened them in a failed attempt to speak, and his eyes remained locked on yours, which you struggled to keep open amidst the overwhelming situation. Your hands gripped the fabric covering his chest tightly, and you felt tears forming in your eyes as you fought to draw breath.

Finally, he pulled away, but remained close, his breath caressing your skin. A thin strand of saliva connected your lips before it snapped, and you were left breathing heavily, striving to regain your composure. His laughter echoed in the room.

"What? Can't handle a simple kiss?" he taunted, his voice laced with amusement.

"There's a long way to go, darling."

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Existence Value: Why All of Nature is Important Whether We Can Use it or Not

I spend a lot of time around other nature nerds. We’re a bunch of people from varying backgrounds, places, and generations who all find a deep well of inspiration within the natural world. We’re the sort of people who will happily spend all day outside enjoying seeing wildlife and their habitats without any sort of secondary goal like fishing, foraging, etc. (though some of us engage in those activities, too.) We don’t just fall in love with the places we’ve been, either, but wild locales that we’ve only ever seen in pictures, or heard of from others. We are curators of existence value.

Existence value is exactly what it sounds like–something is considered important and worthwhile simply because it is. It’s at odds with how a lot of folks here in the United States view our “natural resources.” It’s also telling that that is the term most often used to refer collectively to anything that is not a human being, something we have created, or a species we have domesticated, and I have run into many people in my lifetime for whom the only value nature has is what money can be extracted from it. Timber, minerals, water, meat (wild and domestic), mushrooms, and more–for some, these are the sole reasons nature exists, especially if they can be sold for profit. When questioning how deeply imbalanced and harmful our extractive processes have become, I’ve often been told “Well, that’s just the way it is,” as if we shall be forever frozen in the mid-20th century with no opportunity to reimagine industry, technology, or uses thereof.

Moreover, we often assign positive or negative value to a being or place based on whether it directly benefits us or not. Look at how many people want to see deer and elk numbers skyrocket so that they have more to hunt, while advocating for going back to the days when people shot every gray wolf they came across. Barry Holstun Lopez’ classic Of Wolves and Men is just one of several in-depth looks at how deeply ingrained that hatred of the “big bad wolf” is in western mindsets, simply because wolves inconveniently prey on livestock and compete with us for dwindling areas of wild land and the wild game that sustained both species’ ancestors for many millennia. “Good” species are those that give us things; “bad” species are those that refuse to be so complacent.

Even the modern conservation movement often has to appeal to people’s selfishness in order to get us to care about nature. Look at how often we have to argue that a species of rare plant is worth saving because it might have a compound in it we could use for medicine. Think about how we’ve had to explain that we need biodiverse ecosystems, healthy soil, and clean water and air because of the ecosystem services they provide us. We measure the value of trees in dollars based on how they can mitigate air pollution and anthropogenic climate change. It’s frankly depressing how many people won’t understand a problem until we put things in terms of their own self-interest and make it personal. (I see that less as an individual failing, and more our society’s failure to teach empathy and emotional skills in general, but that’s a post for another time.)

Existence value flies in the face of all of those presumptions. It says that a wild animal, or a fungus, or a landscape, is worth preserving simply because it is there, and that is good enough. It argues that the white-tailed deer and the gray wolf are equally valuable regardless of what we think of them or get from them, in part because both are keystone species that have massive positive impacts on the ecosystems they are a part of, and their loss is ecologically devastating.

But even those species whose ecological impact isn’t quite so wide-ranging are still considered to have existence value. And we don’t have to have personally interacted with a place or its natural inhabitants in order to understand their existence value, either. I may never get to visit the Maasai Mara in Kenya, but I wish to see it as protected and cared for as places I visit regularly, like Willapa National Wildlife Refuge. And there are countless other places, whose names I may never know and which may be no larger than a fraction of an acre, that are important in their own right.

I would like more people (in western societies in particular) to be considering this concept of existence value. What happens when we detangle non-human nature from the automatic value judgements we place on it according to our own biases? When we question why we hold certain values, where those values came from, and the motivations of those who handed them to us in the first place, it makes it easier to see the complicated messes beneath the simple, shiny veneer of “Well, that’s just the way it is.”

And then we get to that most dangerous of realizations: it doesn’t have to be this way. It can be different, and better, taking the best of what we’ve accomplished over the years and creating better solutions for the worst of what we’ve done. In the words of Rebecca Buck–aka Tank Girl–“We can be wonderful. We can be magnificent. We can turn this shit around.”

Let’s be clear: rethinking is just the first step. We can’t just uproot ourselves from our current, deeply entrenched technological, social, and environmental situation and instantly create a new way of doing things. Societal change takes time; it takes generations. This is how we got into that situation, and it’s how we’re going to climb out of it and hopefully into something better. Sometimes the best we can do is celebrate small, incremental victories–but that’s better than nothing at all.

Nor can we just ignore the immensely disproportionate impact that has been made on indigenous and other disadvantaged communities by our society (even in some cases where we’ve actually been trying to fix the problems we’ve created.) It does no good to accept nature’s inherent value on its own terms if we do not also extend that acceptance throughout our own society, and to our entire species as a whole.

But I think ruminating on this concept of existence value is a good first step toward breaking ourselves out first and foremost. And then we go from there.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[vorthosjay]

Hi Jay. Not wanting to sound mean, but I really think it must be commented and that there's no softer way of doing that: the company's statement of Thunder Junction being an inhabitated plane prior to MoM is not a honest way of capitalizing on a sellable trope without touching its uncomfortable issues. It's even disrespectful. They have done it in a less flagrant way with Kaladesh and both Ixalan iterations, but now they've gotten too far with Thunder Junction. Colonialism is too big an issue to simply being put under the carpet as it never existed and we could just enjoy the sunny part of the history. I really hope Hasbro as a company acknowledges this and changes its way of dealing with the theme. Thanks for letting me pointing this.

Look, you caught me on a bad day, so I'm going to be as polite as possible but let's start with the foundation that this is not a complaint to direct at me. I have no control over any of this. Mark Rosewater exists and takes feedback on Tumblr.

But, let's talk about it, because I've seen some folks take this to extremes.

First off, I've seen a lot of well meaning folks speaking up on behalf of hypothetical indigenous americans, but I'd love to get takes from folks this actually impacts. I'd love for Wizards to post something about their work with cultural consultants, for sure. But the only actual thing I've seen so far is a great story from Magic's first indigenous american author. And when you're speaking on someone else's behalf, you tend to miss things. Like, Kaladesh is not the great representation of south asian culture that you might think when you jumped to it, and it's okay if you didn't know that, but it sort of proves the point that it's very difficult to actually protest on someone else's behalf. And I just haven't heard from anyone who has also mentioned they speak from authority or are impacted by this. That doesn't mean you're wrong, necessarily.

But here's the thing. Thunder Junction isn't history. It takes cues from the American West, sure, but it's a fake world. And sometimes it's okay for a fake world to ignore the bad things that happens in real life and create something more aspirational. Magic does this all the time. Magic doesn't have homophobia, but that isn't really realistic or representative of the real world, is it?

No one, and I mean literally no one, came to me and said that people of color needed to be ostracized and not allowed to work alongside the white people in the demon mob families of New Capenna. That racism was real, it was systemic, and it was violent. But did it need to be tackled in a fantasy crime drama based on america in the 20s? Should it have been? I don't think anyone would have enjoyed it as much. Sometimes it's just fun to play gangster.

Similarly, the colonization and manifest destiny that was the reality of the American West was tragic, but does that need to be our only depiction of indigenous peoples - being colonized? If they were erased completely from the narrative, that would be awful, but can't they just have fun being cool thunder slingers? The Atiin were developed with a consultant, and if you want answers ask Wizards to talk about it.

There's a reason the Oltec were depicted as being sealed off from the Immortal Sun drama that had happened on the surface. To have an aspirational mesoamerican culture that wasn't affected by the Dusk Legion and Azor and all that.

To put it in another perspective, does every period piece featuring black americans need to feature systemic racism to be respectful? Is Bridgerton disrespectful (I mean probably but not for that reason)?

The reason I've framed a lot of this as questions is because I don't necessarily think I know the right answer, especially not for a fantasy card game. I've worked with tribal governments in my emergency management career and spent a week on the Navajo Nation, and talked a lot about perspective on things, and I would not presume to know what the right answer to all of this is.

Edit: to be clear, Could it have been handled better? Probably. I will never deny that. But also it’s a complicated and fraught topic and I’d love to hear from the people wizards contracted who actually know what they’re talking about.

[felassan]

New article from IGN: 'How Dragon Age: The Veilguard Used Lessons From The Sims to Craft Its Character Creator and More'

Inside the intricate systems that bring BioWare's RPG to life.

"Corinne Busche wasn’t looking for a job when she sat down for lunch with BioWare’s leadership team in 2019. She had been a fan of BioWare’s games since the days of Dragon Age: Origins, and she wanted to, in her words, “meet my heroes.” “So I went to lunch with a couple of folks in the leadership team at BioWare, and we started riffing about progression systems and skill trees and economies, and we just really resonated with one another,” Busche remembers. “And much to my surprise, they expressed an interest in me joining, and it was kind of the question you don't have to ask me twice. That was such a dream opportunity, and to be able to step in this space, visit the studio, see my favorite characters on display throughout the walls, I was immediately sold. Immediately.” Busche was coming off a stint at Maxis, where she helped design the systems on various The Sims projects. In taking the helm of Dragon Age: The Veilguard, she became part of a wider talent pipeline flowing from Maxis to other parts of the games industry. It’s a pipeline that includes the likes of Eric Holmberg-Weidler, who was credited with fine-tuning many of the systems that comprised The Sims 4 before spearheading the Professions revamp in World of Warcraft’s Dragonflight expansion. Justin Camden, who also worked on The Sims, is one of Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s technical designers."

"Systematic discovery At first blush, it might not seem like The Sims has much in common with an RPG like Dragon Age outside the fact that they both feature romance in some way. Going back to its release in 2000, The Sims has garnered a reputation as a casual, frequently silly lifestyle simulator; the game where you remove a ladder from a swimming pool and watch your poor little Sims drown. Under the hood, though, The Sims is a complex web of systems, progression and relationships. Sims have jobs. They gain skills. They fall in love. “Maxis is a great place for designers to hone their skills,” Busche says. “There are many projects across differing platforms and service models happening simultaneously which give a rare opportunity for a breadth of experience. What people may not realize about the Sims, given its playful outward nature, is the underlying systems and mechanics are deceptively deep – especially as a dev. One of the more interesting parts of coming up through Maxis as a designer is the experience you get with simulation, emergent gameplay, and emotionally relatable player experiences. It’s just a really unique opportunity being a part of these teams, and those are skillsets that can benefit a number of different games and genres.” Busche’s systems design background is evident throughout The Veilguard. It includes extensive skill trees, with sub-classes that are geared around different weapon types and styles of play, and the choices you make also resonate deeply throughout the story. It’s also possible to level up your relationship with individual factions and shopkeepers, which in turn opens up new possibilities for acquiring unique gear, and characters bear long-lasting scars depending on the choices you make. Systems are layered throughout Dragon Age, deepening the player’s intertwined connection with the world and the characters that inhabit it. “What's so wonderful about [The Sims] is there's so much autonomy in that game, and we find that RPG players are hungry for that same sense of autonomy, making decisions, influencing characters. And what you might not realize in the Sims is behind the scenes, there are some really robust progression systems, game economies, character behaviors for their own AI and autonomy… a lot of really fascinating parallels,” Busche says. “So in that regard, I'm very grateful to my time there, being able to take some of those learnings, whether it's about how to convey romantic progression to the player, or design skill progression, game pacing, a lot of really interesting transferable ideas that you might not think about on the surface." In The Sims, characters go through their daily lives in an idealized world filled with strange but charming characters like Bonehilda (Dragon Age, it should be mentioned, has its own living skeleton in Manfred). While Dragon Age’s characters are still bound by the demands of the story, BioWare goes out of its way to make them seem more alive. As we talk about in our hands-on preview that went up last week, Dragon Age is filled with little messages noting how, for instance, you “traded verbal jabs” with Solas. As we’ll go into in a future article, both platonic and romantic relationships are a big part of how characters grow in Dragon Age. And of course, as anyone who has played a BioWare or Sims game knows, both games have their share of woohooing."

"How Dragon Age learned from The Sims' character creator Ultimately, though, it’s the character creator where the resemblance between the two is the most apparent. Dragon Age’s character creator is extensive, allowing players to adjust physical characteristics including chest size, the crookedness of a character’s nose, and whether or not their eyes are bloodshot, among other features. While custom characters are a time-honored BioWare tradition going back to the days of Baldur’s Gate, The Veilguard draws from the lessons of The Sims in everything from body customization to the flow of the user interface. Cross-pollination like this is common within EA, and Dragon Age: The Veilguard borrows from plenty of other sources as well. That incredible hair technology, for example, got its start within EA’s sports games, meaning your Rook can have a luscious mane like Lionel Messi. But the character creator is perhaps the greatest inflection point between Dragon Age and The Sims. “Character creators are extremely complex, and in many ways even more personal. It’s so important that players feel they can be represented and feel pride in that representation as they go through the creation process,” Busche says. “In particular, I remember we were struggling with some of our iconography, and we turned to each other and said ‘how did The Sims 4 handle this?’ While the technology and UI is quite a bit different, the underlying goals and lessons were quite similar.” She adds that Maxis has a “tremendous wealth of knowledge when it comes to representing gender, identity, and the surprising number of localization issues that come along with that when you’re releasing in different regions and languages.” “It’s always nice when you can draw from that prior experience. See what worked, what didn’t, and how expectations have evolved. The fun part is now we get to pay that forward and have been sharing our knowledge with other teams,” Busche says. On a moment-to-moment basis, of course, The Sims and Dragon Age are two very different games with very different goals. One is a single-player action RPG, the other a lifestyle sim. As studios, too, BioWare and Maxis are in very different places right now. The Sims has been a powerhouse franchise for more than two decades, and EA is seeking to expand its reach with a new movie. BioWare, meanwhile, is seeking to rebuild after stumbling badly with Anthem and Mass Effect Andromeda. But when creator Will Wright first decided to focus on the people inhabiting his games, the world he crafted wasn’t too dissimilar from the one found in Dragon Age. Both use unique systems to create reactive, imaginative worlds full of interesting choices, filled with characters with their own inner lives. It’s a philosophy that’s always been part of BioWare’s legacy; now, in The Veilguard, it finally gets to be on full display once again. Dragon Age: The Veilguard will be on PC, PlayStation, and Xbox on October 31. Make sure to keep an eye on IGN all this month as our IGN First coverage continues."

[source]

[the-cypress-grove]

Worldbuilding Checklist (STILL UPDATING)

This is basically a bunch of worldbuilding checklists crammed together. Use what works for you, leave the rest. This is fantasy orientated and I will continue to update it regularly so reblog or comment something you think should be added.

History:

How far back does recorded history go?

How does history interact with myth and folklore?

How did the current system of governance come into power?

What are some notable figures of history?

Is your world's history broken down into eras?

What events have been twisted and changed as they've been passed down through the generations?

Geography:

What is the climate of this area?

What are the common plants of this area? Are there any fictional plants?

What are the common animals of this area? Are there any fictional animals?

Are there continents? Islands?

How much of this area is inhabited?

What area is known?

Country borders?

What are the major geographical landmarks i.e. rivers, mountains?

Where are the major trade routs?

What are the seasons like in this area?

Magic System:

How is magic practiced? Using wands, staffs, runes, etc?

How is magic learned?

Can magic be taken?

What can't magic do? What are its limitations?

What is the first thing a person learns when learning magic?

How are magic users perceived by others?

What are the laws regarding magic?

How does magic link to religion?

How has magic influenced history?

Politics and Law:

What style of leadership rules the area i.e. theocrasy (ruled by religion), monarchy (ruled by a royal family)?

How are laws created?

What is the process from the conception of a law to the point where it passed?

How is the law enforced?

What is the judicial system of this place?

Is there a death penalty?

Society and Culture:

How many major cultures are there?

What is their global population?

Where are they located geographically within your world?

Is there a social hierarchy / a division between the classes?

What are the major pieces of art in this world?

What does its music sound like? What instruments are used?

Are there well know folk songs?

What food is eaten by each group of society?

What are the treat foods of this area?

What are the foods saved for special occasions?

What holidays / special occasions are there?

Religion:

What are the major religions in this area? Do they get on with each other?

How are these religions viewed by their worshippers? By those who worship other religions? By those who worship no one at all?

How much does religion influence politics and the laws passed?

What do these religions believe in?

Are there divisions within these religions between groups who believe slightly different things?

How old are these religion? Which came first?

Which religion has the biggest influence on the world?

What are their opinions towards the government?

What are their opinions regarding the poor and the rich? Do they differ?

What are their opinions towards magic and technology?

Commerce and Industry:

What is the major industry?

Main imports / exports?

How wealthy is this country / area?

What valuable resources does this country / area have?

What are the common crops / livestock in this area?

Is this area coastal? Is there a fishing / trade industry?

Is this area forested? Logging and timber?

Technology:

What are the transport option available? For the poor? For the rich?

[edenmemes]

tloz: twilight princess (manga) starters

❝ i was shattered. i lost everything. ❞ ❝ i warned you not to take me lightly. ❞ ❝ we’re partners, aren’t we? ❞ ❝ ever since we’ve met, you’ve been disobedient and rude. ❞ ❝ take suffering as your companion, and unease and fear as friends. if you do, darkness will become light. ❞ ❝ it’s a cold world out there. you’ve gotta learn to trust folks. ❞ ❝ as you stand before me now, you’re all desperation and bravado. that is not true bravery. ❞ ❝ you can’t change your past and you can’t change who you were. you can only decide who you’re going to be. ❞ ❝ resentment is a trap of the heart into which everyone falls. ❞ ❝ you don’t look well. are you ill? ❞ ❝ you were born into life with a destiny. you cannot run away from that. ❞ ❝ you carry a smouldering darkness inside you. ❞ ❝ it’s considered impolite not to give your all in a fight. ❞ ❝ at dusk and dawn...it’s easy for all sorts of things to sneak by. ❞ ❝ since that day, so much has changed for me. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry. it’s been hard, huh? ❞ ❝ a true hero must shoulder a heavy responsibility. ❞ ❝ stay calm. move cautiously and remain vigilant. ❞ ❝ one more time. try telling the truth. ❞ ❝ why keep fighting until you’re just a broken wreck? ❞ ❝ if we start a fight, we must be ready to hit back. ❞ ❝ in the end, it’s easier just to be selfish. ❞ ❝ i was lost without you. i was lonely. ❞ ❝ why do i so often taste this sense of loss? ❞ ❝ i think both our journeys are pointing to the same place. ❞ ❝ power does not inhabit a blade without bravery. ❞ ❝ did you hear something? like the cry of a beast... ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? if you’re too weak, then just leave. ❞ ❝ what is strength? is it displays of power mocking the weak? destroying beauty simply to satisfy your greed? ❞ ❝ you get too worked up over things. ❞ ❝ easy for you to say. i’m the one getting beat up. ❞ ❝ i don’t need thanks. i didn’t do it for you. ❞ ❝ depending on your attitude...i might be able to help. ❞ ❝ if you don’t do as i say, i’ll take your arm off. ❞ ❝ as leader, i will not choose the path of pain and death for my people. i must protect them. ❞ ❝ strength isn’t about power...it’s about being brave. ❞ ❝ you have good eyes. the eyes of a proud beast. ❞ ❝ if the need arises, i will not hesitate to pick up a sword and fight. ❞ ❝ i guessed you had a secret past.   people can try to hide it, but nature shows through. ❞ ❝ i was lying when i said i’d never held a sword.❞ ❝ there’s no time for sentimentality. ❞ ❝ if someone comes in who knows about your past, i’ll protect you if they try to hurt you. ❞ ❝ is there something strange about me? ❞ ❝ be careful...there have been monsters around here lately. ❞ ❝ choose...surrender or die. ❞ ❝ when i feel uneasy or afraid i just think: ‘this is my mission’. ❞ ❝ don’t take me for nothing more than a fine doll good only for decoration. ❞ ❝ i’m nothing more than dirt. i’m not worth all that effort. ❞ ❝ why do you think we’re any safer here? ❞ ❝ don’t die on me now. ❞ ❝ ha! even you have a good idea sometimes. ❞ ❝ i fought through all kinds of monsters to get here...and i survived. ❞ ❝ i’ve spent so long looking for you! i’m so glad you’re safe. ❞ ❝ people are always hovering over me...and it’s so suffocating! ❞ ❝ some detours lead to unexpected good luck. ❞ ❝ you say whatever you think...i’ve never done that. ❞ ❝ there is no greater joy than helping a friend. ❞ ❝ what do you mean ‘never mind’? ❞ ❝ these days such peaceful travels are rare indeed. ❞ ❝ wildly rushing into danger isn’t courage. ❞ ❝ didn’t you say there’s something you need to do, no matter what it takes? ❞ ❝ i sense unprecedented danger approaching. ❞ ❝ how do you feel now, looking back upon yourself at that time? ❞ ❝ as usual, you’re a wimp. ❞ ❝ resentment is dangerous. it comes in through the slightest crack in your heart. ❞ ❝ i’d go to the ends of the earth for you. ❞ ❝ it really hasn’t been that long, but you’ve grown into a fine man. ❞ ❝ now is the time for us to take back all that was stolen. ❞ ❝ one thing’s certain --- those aren’t human. ❞ ❝ what do you fight to protect? answer. ❞ ❝ i wish you wouldn’t do such dangerous things. ❞ ❝ if you got hurt due to my mistakes...i don’t think i could live with that. ❞ ❝ why would you do all that...when we’ve only just met? ❞ ❝ it’s a pretty name. perfect for you. ❞ ❝ once your wounds heal, you’ll need to leave right away. ❞ ❝ the hero on his knees! quite a sight. ❞ ❝ how does it feel to be so strong? quite a rush, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ you’re all puffed up on your own arrogance...drunk on your own pride. ❞ ❝ i once wondered how good you are...now i see you’re really skilled. ❞ ❝ i’m not physically strong like you...but my wits, brains and analysis can be helpful. ❞ ❝ don’t say you can’t accept that this is the end. ❞ ❝ you just want to satisfy your own ambition and lust for power. ❞ ❝ it’ll be all right because we’re together. ❞ ❝ why would you leave me at a time like this? ❞ ❝ for the first time i feel like i’m overflowing with incredible power. ❞ ❝ there’s no time for doubt. you are the chosen one. ❞ ❝ your problem is that you demand absolute perfection. ❞ ❝ there is no easy path. but you can definitely overcome it. ❞ ❝ i’m so very sorry. i broke my promise. i hurt you. ❞ ❝ that’s the spirit. hate me more. only then will this fight be worthwhile. ❞ ❝ i thought you were dead. ❞ ❝ well...? say something. or has my beauty left you speechless? ❞ ❝ i never forgot you. not for one moment. ❞ ❝ sorry for killing the mood. ❞ ❝ light and shadow are two sides of the same coin. one cannot exist without the other. ❞ ❝ if you desire something...then that is my desire too. ❞ ❝ who says i’m afraid of you? ❞ ❝ your weapon is little better than a toy. ❞ ❝ all that awaits you is despair. ❞ ❝ i’ve done the unforgivable. i betrayed you. ❞ ❝ i’m here to repay you for what you’ve done. ❞ ❝ since i’ve met you, we’ve travelled a long way...and a lot has happened. ❞ ❝ are you on a journey of self-discovery? ❞ ❝ that was a great strike. if i was a hair slower, you’d have gutted me. ❞ ❝ when i was young, i wanted to be a hero. ❞ ❝ your struggle is futile. ❞ ❝ as you can see, i know how to fight. ❞ ❝ my hatred toward you will not be satisfied by merely killing you once or twice. ❞ ❝ you’ve been through a lot. ❞ ❝ whose side are you on? light or shadow? ❞ ❝ if you run then we’re done for! fight to survive! ❞ ❝ i’m not strong enough. not good enough. ❞ ❝ i must crush your bones, rip out your organs and relish your lingering cries of pain. ❞ ❝ that was close, huh? ❞ ❝ rest now. you don’t have to fight any more. ❞ ❝ i bear this sword so i can protect my home in times like this. ❞

[superectojazzmage]

X-Men works best, I feel, when writers understand on at least some level that it's really basically a cyberpunk/biopunk horror story that just happens to also be a superhero comic.

X-Men is the story of the world entering a new epoch where any random person on the street might randomly get superpowers - ranging everywhere from green hair to mind control - simply because they happened to win(?) a genetic lottery as part of a cosmic process programmed into humanity in ancient times by ineffable star gods. All around you are people who are ostensibly still people, but are also inhuman entities with alien powers who are gradually developing their own subculture that tells them they are the future dominant species destined to replace mankind. Many of them are just normal folks... but just as many see you the same way ancient homo sapiens saw neanderthals.

X-Men is the story of fear and hatred rising in the hearts of men in the face of that new epoch. Corrupt humans and mutants alike use bigotry and xenophobia to divide the two peoples, pushing them into a war not just for politics, but for evolution and the planet themselves. Mankind begins altering themselves and building machines of death to keep up with the mutants, in the process creating a third race of humanity; transhumans and robots, that in time come to be no different from the mutants, superpowered monsters of society's own making that see the humans as flatscan wastes of genes at best, oppressors to be destroyed at worst.

X-Men is the story of humanity fighting amidst themselves in their senseless darwinistic war while their world tumbles through a swirling universe of terrifying eldritch threats. Out in the stars and spiritual dimensions are alien empires once like us now advanced beyond comprehension, legions of magical wonders and nightmares in equal measure, lovecraftian machine hive minds that eat planets, demons that feast on our sin, cosmic entities that have as much in common with us as we do ants.

And above it all, X-Men is the story of how recognizing each other's humanity, of embracing love instead of hate, may be the only thing that ensures even a hope of survival in the face of the unimaginable, mind-breaking horror of a world entering a new era whether it's inhabitants like it or not... or perhaps, the only thing that decides whether or not we deserve to survive.

The best X-Men writers are the ones who recognize this. Chris Claremont, Johnathan Hickman, Grant Morrison, Kieron Gillen, etc.. The writers who recognize that there's something profoundly and utterly, existentially TERRIFYING about what the series really boils down to (a self-defeating war between mechanical and genetic evolution with normals caught in the middle that may be the extinction of all three races) and reflect that in the aesthetics and tone by emphasizing a cyberpunkish vibe.

Emphasizing that this is a world where people - willingly or not - alter their bodies like mechanics alter cars and any random person you see on the street might be a mutant or Sentinel or something that can kill you with a look, and that random person is probably hiding from something even worse that wants to kill them just for being born.

[redjademilktea]

Okay one of the few times that whole "PhD student in history" thing is going to be relevant to anything I post here but last night's C3 episode has me feeling some sort of wayyyyy.

Specifically the part where they found those incredibly ancient elven ruins within the cave they were exploring. After barely escaping near-death, and Laudna fresh from deliberately channeling the darkness within her, they stumble across these ruins. Deep within a dark cave where they sought refuge from the harsh storms that plague the unforgiving Ruidian surface. Geodes full of sharp and jagged crystal jut out from the walls of cold, ancient rock. A river coming from some unknown source pouring into a rushing waterfall, leading away further into the depths. Matt did a phenomenal job painting the scene.

There, in those ruins - in that tomb, that crypt - they run across a hauntingly serene sight. Bones from the presumable inhabitants are crushed into the walls, unmoving. Frozen. Sharing the same space in a wonderful, striking, tragic, serendipitous juxtaposition is an enchanted garden. There, in the derelict remains of this once-vibrant space, the vestiges of that past life hold strong. A small bastion of life and healing amidst the monument of death and destruction.

It's within this space of dizzying contrast - air thick with the practically tangible weight of past tragedies - that Laudna finds a doll. A simple doll, devoid of features beyond the bare minimum that helps identify it. A toy, a companion? A relic of some child from so long ago. Laudna likes dolls. She decides - after asking permission - to keep it.

Now within her possession is a ghost. Not a literal ghost, mind you, considering those are in fact a very literal thing in the world Laudna lives in, but a ghost all the same. Through that doll, a child from untold centuries before is reaching, grasping at Laudna. This child, whose entire life, history, and experienced are lost to time - trapped in the past - has managed to pierce that temporal barrier and make themselves known to her.

In addition to this framing of a ghost, the doll can represent another type of haunting. That of a reencounter. Through this doll, this mundane object that often is filed away under the folder of insignificance, Laudna is confronted with the complicated web of violence, trauma, and grief that wraps around both her and the space around her. Laudna loves children. She has a childlike innocence that constantly bubbles at the surface. Yet beneath that is 30 years of unfathomable pain and loneliness.

Laudna, much like the ruins, is at times also frozen. Both physically in her unaging visage and mentally in the way she seems to revert in response to intense trauma.

So, within the confines of this long-forgotten space, the woman who just hours before channelled 30 years of darkness, anger, and hurt into a spell that served to strengthen her tormentor, picked up a doll. A doll that in so many ways symbolizes the innocence and joy that Laudna embodies, surrounded by tragedy.

It was such a beautifully haunting scene.

**If folks are interested, I am referencing the wonderful works of Avery Gordon in her book Ghostly Matters (1997) and Crystal Baik in her book Reencounters: On the Korean War and Diasporic Memory Critique (2019)**