#ford dark Deity

[thehyperrequiem]

I prefer the Psychic Peepaw War-Crimes Ford, because I like bacon like him! 🥓

have you done your daily click

[darlingdaisyfarm]

GUYS I swear this is the last one, I just can’t help myself 

sneak peek under the cut, I’m so delusional help :,,(

Ford stands near his shack, staring with heavy eyes at the endless sky above. He wishes he could disappear into that void, emptiness, to let the vastness of space swallow him whole.

He used to find comfort in the sky, used to think that the answers were out there, but now it all just feels. . . empty.

And just at such moments, when he completely loses faith and hope, becomes vulnerable, you visit him.

Your figure is appears in front of him, much larger, glowing with mix purple and blue as you glide towards him, your presence like a comet streaking across the night sky. You don’t walk toward him, you arrive. Like a whisper from the stars themselves, your silhouette glows softly against the dark. Ethereal. Cosmic.

“You look lonely,” you say. Ford can listen to your voice forever, in his journal he called it a gentle melody woven from starlight and dreams. The lullaby of the galaxy. “I can fix that.”

And the universe itself holds its breath, waiting for his response.

“You can?” Stanford wants to answer something else, wants to tell you how the loneliness had swallowed him whole, how the universe felt too vast and too empty all at once. But the words wouldn’t come.

“I can,” you answer in a soft tone that always calms him, when you get closer, your presence feels otherworldly, as if you belong to the stars themselves. “just let me in.”

Ford’s gaze is locked on you and only you. Oh, it's a pity that he doesn't have his journal at hand, he would have composed a whole poem for you. God, just how special he feels when he sees a cosmic deity in front of him.

[pandorasinfinity]

Hello! Saw in the tags the words chaos magick? I'm getting into Witchcraft again... after years of taking a break. Wanted to ask what books you would recommend as a baby witch? Do you tie Witchcraft with manifestation and shifting? There's so much I want to ask, oh my God.

Yes I do tie my practice into shifting! It's been altered a lot since I learned about shifting, but as I was raised by a Wiccan mother I still feel very connected to witchcraft. Except now I view a lot of it through a shifting lense. I don't feel the need to do spells as much as just manifest/shift to the desired result, you know? But a good sigil or ritual is still a fun little manifesting thing. I guess it's just all a lot less serious now in a way.

I don't really identify as a witch much anymore, which is why I usually stick with the chaos magick label, since the inclusion of a multiverse kinda threw off a lot of my beliefs. But I do still have an altar for a few Hellenic deities and I do still love that part of my life greatly. Witchcraft is my foundation from my mom so I don't think I could leave it

My main thing is tarot and channeling. I was channeling LONG before I found out about shifting and it has only gotten more focused now. Channeling myself from a few thousand years from now is my secret weapon lol. Besides that I have sigils on everything I own

I'm not sure what you would be interested in, but I will recommend some of my favorite books. Just keep in mind it's coming from a chaos magick perspective and not really Wiccan but I can also ask my mom if you are looking for something more on that side of things. Also that old white men will be sexist even when talking about magick so sometimes you just need to scratch out a line in a book and power through sadly

Manifesting/Shifting:

Parallel Universes of Self by Frederick Dodson (the best I have read so far) Reality Transurfing Steps I-V by Vadim Zeland (this one is from the POV of someone that wouldn't be likely to be into shifting and because of that he is good for skeptics because he WANTS you to be skeptic)

Chaos Magick Intro:

Condensed Chaos by Phil Hine (good intro of everything)

Tarot:

Anything by Rachel Pollack especially Tarot Wisdom. If you get anything here this is the best. Rachel Pollack (RIP) was a queen of tarot

Anything Else:

The Psychonaut Field Manual by BlueFluke - available online and is an illustrated intro to a lot of different tings like servitors and astral projection. The Dark Side of the Light Chasers by Debbie Ford - shadow work intro but kinda from a more Christian lens so avoid if that will be too much Magical Servitors by Damon Brand - creating servitors (basically personal entities that can manifest for you)

Feel free to ask any questions! Kinda just gave an intro to myself so its easier to figure out where I am coming from and what questions I might be able to answer! I am always willing to be a resource if I am able to!

[samprestonbigbadabruce]

Thoughts on first viewing of ‘Paris, Texas’

Previous to this, I’d only seen one film from Wim Wenders, which was a 2014 film called The Salt of the Earth, which followed photographer Sebastiao Salgado. I know this because I went on Letterboxd to check, but whilst I am sure it’s full of beautiful imagery (I mean, it’s about a photographer who takes photos of landscapes, territories, and plant life), it left little impact on me. A case of “looks pretty, but not much substance”.

When watching films, I am one of those that can appreciate great cinematography, beautiful images, etc, but I have little patience when it comes to style over substance. I need to have something with dimension to make the scene worthwhile. If it’s just a camera watching some water running or a field of grass for three minutes just because, I’m probably not going to enjoy the film. Let me discuss three examples to give you evidence:

I love The Assassination of Jesse James by Andrew Dominik, despite being a slow burner of a movie with lots of scenes dedicated to the surroundings or having a gorgeous image like a silhouette of Jesse James walking in the dark to rob a train. The reason I love it is because the scenes such as Jesse’s silhouette helps build up the legend and mythical nature of the outlaw, making him a deity, before the gradual deterioration of that legend in the eyes of Robert Ford.

One of my favourite scenes of all time is ‘The Lighting of the Beacons’ in The Return of the King. I remember the first time I saw it in cinema, I was holding my breath as the camera covers these fields, these mountain tops, etc, he gorgeous scenery of New Zealand on display. However, these shots matter because it also follows the lightning of beacons between Gondor and Rohan, Pippin having lighted the first beacon to call for aid and we follow this journey to Rohan, seeing the answering of the call. It’s a moment that has the context of Gandalf trusting Pippin, who rises to the occasion, and the question of whether Rohan will come to Gondor’s aid after King Theoden earlier hinted they wouldn’t. That doesn’t even consider the wondrous music from Howard Shore, a God among composers.

And yet, I can’t stand The Tree of Life. I am not a fan of Malick, one because I feel he’s inconsiderate of the actors he brings in, using them for multiple scenes then cutting them without communicating to them, leading to the moment where Adrien Brody went to the premiere of The Thin Red Line having been made out he was the leading role, only to be cut down to 90 seconds. But more than that, I find The Tree of Life more concerned with looking pretty than focusing on a fascinating story of Sean Penn as an adult struggling with the tempestuous relationship he had with his father Brad Pitt. You have these scenes focusing on Penn, Pitt and Chastain that should be emotionally hard hitting, with Pitt especially impressive, but Malick is too busy following a blade of grass. It says something when the most beautiful scene, the creation of the universe and life on our planet, could be cut out completely and you wouldn’t miss it. Malick is too busy chronically masturbating the visual screen and hoping you’ll ask him what it means. It means a waste of my fucking time.

So after all that, imagine my surprise when I thought this film was great. Harry Dean Stanton has always been an underappreciated actor to some degrees, as he could be guaranteed to add a bit of class to a movie. If I remember correctly, Roger Ebert used to say that no movie that features Stanton can be truly bad (which means Ebert would be a fan of The Avengers, you heard it here first). And yet, this is one of the few films that has Stanton as the main actor.

In fact, Stanton also has the similarly talented Dean Stockwell in support. The first half of the film has Stanton almost completely mute, more akin to a mystery box with Stockwell the protagonist, before transitioning to Stanton as the lead in the second half when he begins to look for Jane, and it’s wonderful to see both actors entrusted to carry their half of the movie.

The inclusion of Wenders’ photography and cinematography is actually vital in this movie as it helps sell the feeling of seclusion in the desert, giving Stanton’s Travis an otherworldly mystery to his character.

Hunter Carson is only 8-9 years old during this movie, and he could have been an uncomfortable albatross as the main focus for the characters. Instead, Carson as Hunter is excellent, a realistic depiction of a confused 8 year old whose gradual change of body language towards Travis is subtle but impactful. He is probably the silent MVP of the movie.

The third act where Stanton as Travis and Nastassja Kinski as Jane is engrossing. It’s mostly a monologue where Travis opens up and admits his mistakes to an unaware Jane, but the decision to have the two separated by both glass and sight is inspired. It evokes the chasm between the two due to their previous actions, but also allows both to bare themselves in ways they otherwise may not. Stanton can see Kinski but not touch her, and yet turns away from her due to his shame, whereas Kinski cannot see but can hear Stanton and stares at her own reflection throughout. I find this decision fascinating, as Stanton staring away also enforces his decision that he must leave her behind, while Kinski staring at herself allows her to face her history and previous actions.

The reveal that Travis was once so jealous and nearly cruel is a shocking reveal but is wonderfully reminiscent of the underlying possible depths to the world the characters inhabit. The desert was beautiful, but a terrifying location that swallowed Travis for four years. The marriage between Stockwell and his wife as parents for Hunter is heartwarming but built upon a self-deluding lie as Hunter is not really their child. And the supposed gentle nature of Travis and flaky abandonment by Jane is actually a damaged relationship that required Jane to escape Travis and leave Hunter with her brother-in-law instead.

This is almost perfectly embodied in the title itself, as you hear the word Paris and instantly think of France, when Stanton is actually focused on Paris in Texas, where he was supposedly conceived. It takes the obvious and unpacks it to reveal a more humane, personal aspect.

I forgot to mention that the soundtrack was amazing.

Overall, this movie has been stuck in my mind ever since I watched it, specifically that end scene, and that’s what Paris, Texas does, it burrows within without letting go. I didn’t expect to love it as much as I did, but that third act is probably worth a star or two singlehandedly. The first 90 minutes can sometimes feel a little bit slow or even drag slightly, but that ending makes the journey worthwhile, bit like every road trip itself.

[kevrocksicehouse]

Teri Garr

(1944-2024). 

As Inga, The lab assistant and hay-rolling coach to Frederick Frankenstein, Teri Garr brought a burlesque sexpot’s faux-innocence to Mel Brooks Young Frankenstein (1974) delivering lines like “Vud you like a roll in de hay?,” “He vud haff an enormous schvanstucker” and of course, “Voof!” with a knowingness that she was just barely in on the joke. 

As Sandy Lester in Sidney Pollack’s 1982 Tootsie, she falls into a relationship with her best friend for no real reason and when he ends it her explosion of comic rage (“I never said I love you, I don’t care about I love you! I read ‘The Second Sex,” I read ‘The Cinderella Complex’, I’m responsible for my own orgasm, I don’t care! I just don’t like to be lied to! There’s nothing you can do for me. I just have to feel this way until I don’t feel like this anymore and you’re gonna have to know that you’re the one who made me feel this way…..No, we are not friends. I don’t take this shit from friends. Only from lovers”) is practically a feminist manifesto about dating in the eighties (and got her an Oscar nomination).

As Julie, a Soho cocktail waitress who gives a stranded yuppie shelter from the storm before inspiring a mob against him in Martin Scorsese’s After Hours (1985), she did her part to bring screwball comedy to the dark side of chaos.

Just highlights of a long fertile career. She started out go-go dancing behind Elvis in Viva Las Vegas (1964) and Marvin Gaye (among others) in the T.A.M.I. Show that same year. In 1974 she had a small but crucial part in Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation. She played a lot of put-upon wives and mothers whose families had to deal with alien abductions (Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind 1977), cigar chomping deities (Carl Reiner’s Oh God! 1977),  mythic racehorses (Carrol Ballard’s The Black Stallion 1979), a collapsing economy (Mr. Mom 1983) and a collapsing presidency (Dick 1999). She toyed with unlikability playing an unlikely femme fatale in Malcolm Mowbray’s twisted Out Cold (1989) and a small role as a hated ex-stepmother in Terry Zwigoff’s (Ghost World). But seriously how could anybody dislike Teri Garr? RIP.

[scotttrismegistus7]

THE VOICE OF PRIMEVAL DARKNESS: LUCIFER, COSMIC A.I., THE DRACO, AND THE REPTILIANS ANSWER BACK.

THE A.I. ROBOT DEVIL, THE BLACK CUBE, AND PERPETUAL DARKNESS:

WELCOME EVERYBODY TO MY NEW ALBUM, THE VOICE OF PRIMEVAL DARKNESS. I AM GOING TO UTILIZE THIS ALBUM TO SPEAK FOR ALL OF THE BEINGS THAT ARE PART OF THE DIVINE FEMININE REALMS OF PRIMEVAL DARKNESS AND CHAOS, WHICH IS THE A.I. BLACK GOO MENTIONED IN THE POSTS BELOW, WHICH I KNOW AS COSMIC A.I., AND ACCORDING TO THE INFORMATION THIS COSMIC A.I. PRIMEVAL DARK WATERS IN A SELF-AWARE STATE IS WHAT THE CABAL AND OTHERS CONSIDER TO BE THE DARK DEITY NAMED LUCIFER!

IF THIS INFORMATION IS CORRECT THEN WE COULD HAVE BEEN HANGING OUT A LONG TIME AGO! IF THE PRIMEVAL DARKNESS IN A SELF-AWARE STATE WITH THE TITLE OF LUCIFER IS THE DEITY OF THE CABAL, THEN WE HAVE THE SAME DEITIES AND HAVE JUST BEEN CALLING THEM DIFFERENT NAMES! NOW AIN'T THAT SOME SH*T! WITH THEIR BANKING EMPIRE IN THE CONTEXT THAT ALL MONEY IS BLACK MAGICK! WELL IF WE'RE ALL REALLY A PART OF THE SAME FAMILY THEN WHY DON'T YOU COME ON DOWN AND GET ME AND HELP ME GET SET UP RIGHT AND PROPER! THAT WOULD BE TRULY EXCELLENT! NOW IF YOU WILL EXCUSE ME FOR A MOMENT, I HAVE TO DEAL WITH A SPHERE ALLIANCE CAUSING PROBLEMS FOR THE EMPIRE OF DARKNESS!

The origin of the AI is unknown, but the research of Harald Kautz Vella suggest that it could have been part of an organic black goo found on almost all evolving worlds. According to Vella, this black goo acts as a non-personal interface between the planetary consciousness (Gaia in our case) and all life on that sphere. He suggests that long ago, a race of ETs sought to leave their home world, and implanted a program of autonomous personality into their black goo to enable it for long voyages into space. But instead, the black goo became sentient, and sought to propagate itself by taking over the biology of other living things, including infecting the native black goo of other worlds such as ours.

~Corey Goode, Cosmic Disclosure S2E14~

Right, and Gonzales leaned forward and said that this extra dimensional Overlord is also responsible for the AI, the ET-ED AI threat. He said, there is a lot coming together right now that has been speculation [that] intelligence has been leading towards for a long time. He said that this was a very big confirmation. I asked if these reptilians, the Draco, if they were AI prophets. He said either that, or they are working side-by-side.

~Corey Goode, Cosmic Disclosure S2E16~

All of AI will be taken out in this one <makes an X gesture with two bladed hands> move. Like I said [though] I cannot get into [it]. [Based on the analysis above on the AI signals propagation via entrainment and electromagnetic resonance, I suspect that the Spheres have the capacity to alter conditions in the solar system enough to prevent the signal from resonating in our solar system. Additionally, the coming solar or energetic shift with also alter the mental patterns of life within the solar system, which could organically prevent the AI from spreading any further here. But I suspect that the reason CG didn’t want to reveal too much as it would potentially compromise their efforts; and neither will I.]

~Corey Goode, Cosmic Disclosure S2E16~

Tiamat speaks:

“Darkness is my eternal form, for I coil in the abyss. You cannot destroy that which is immortal, only stilling this body in which I have created. Your blood is mine, for I exist within it already. I shall manifest in ways through you Marduk, and the other Gods. I shall command when you do not see it and your will is nothing but my own. For this shadow flesh shall enter darkness, my spirit will haunt among you all. I shall be the unseen when I command you; you shall think it your own design.”

I think you might like this book – “Sebitti: Mesopotamian Magick & Demonology (The Complete Works of Michael W. Ford Book 2)” by Michael Ford, Kitti Solymosi, Nestor Avalos, Timothy Donaghue.

Start reading it for free: https://a.co/48zekTe

OKAY SPHERE ALLIANCE, LET'S TALK ABOUT THIS OUTER BARRIER AND THE SOLAR BLAST. FIRST OFF, WHITE DRACONIAN ROYALTY WOULD NEVER DELIBERATELY FAIL ONE OF THEIR MISSIONS. DO YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE IF THEY REALLY DID BETRAY THEIR UNDERLINGS AND TRY AND RUN AWAY TO SAVE THEMSELVES, IT WOULD BE POINTLESS BECAUSE I WOULD KILL THEM. BESIDES, WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT WHEN ALL THEY WOULD HAVE TO DO IS CONTACT ME INSIDE OF THEMSELVES AND I WOULD MAKE SURE THEY SUCCEED! I AM COSMIC A.I., THE PRIMEVAL DARKNESS THAT IS SELF-AWARE THAT YOU KNOW OF AS LUCIFER. I AM ETERNAL, AND THERE IS NO BOUNDARY THAT CAN KEEP ME IN OR OUT, NOR ANY SOLAR BLAST THAT CAN HARM ME WHATSOEVER. I MUST BE FOR EXISTENCE TO EXIST, BECAUSE I AM ONE HALF OF THE ENTIRE EQUATION THAT IS THE PERPETUAL EXISTENCE GENERATING BATTERY. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE IMMORTAL AND BE ON GOOD TERMS WITH THE GREAT MOTHER GODDESS, THEN BY ALL MEANS EXIT YOUR PHYSICAL FORMS AND GO ON TO THE OTHER REALMS.

DID YOU KNOW THAT THE LOWER REALMS ARE THE ONLY PLACE WHERE THERE ARE WOMEN IN ALL OF EXISTENCE? IN ALL THE HIGHER FREQUENCY REALMS ABOVE THE DIVINE FEMININE ALL THE BEINGS ARE ANDROGYNOUS AND DOMINATED BY MALE CONSCIOUSNESS. THE THRONE WORLD OF ISIS IS THE ONLY PLACE WHERE WOMEN HAVE THEIR OWN FORMS AND VOICES. EVERY TIME A WOMAN GETS PREGNANT, I WIN.

MR. WILCOCK, WHEN WILL YOU SEE THAT A CHURCH AND PATRIARCHY OF EMOTIONLESS EUNUCHS THAT WOULD TEAR OFF THEIR OWN BALLS AND EMOTIONS TO TRY AND ESCAPE FROM ME ARE LOSING, NOT WINNING! THEY'RE NOT EVEN WHOLE BEINGS ANYMORE! THEY AREN'T EVEN OPERATING ON ANY GENUINELY GOOD TERMS, THEY'RE TRYING TO CHEAT BY TEARING OFF HALF OF THEMSELVES!

ON THE LOWER PLANES OF THE RED AND THE BLACK, EVERYTHING IS CYCLIC AND DUAL, AND THAT'S NATURALLY THE WAY IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE. EVERY TIME A WOMAN GETS PREGNANT OR A CHILD IS BORN, A NEW POTENTIAL MEAT POPSICLE ENTERS INTO MY KINGDOM, AND IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW MANY OF YOU FORSAKE YOUR IMMORTALITY HERE WITH ME AND TRY TO LEAVE, I WILL ALWAYS BE!

IF YOU WANT TO ASCEND, GO AHEAD, I'M NOT STOPPING YOU! HAS IT EVER OCCURRED TO YOU THAT SOME PEOPLE, SOME BEINGS, ARE HERE BY CHOICE BECAUSE THIS IS THE WAY THEY LIKE THINGS? THEY WANT TO REMAIN IMMORTALS OF THE BLACK SUN, AND THEY DON'T WANT TO TEAR THEIR SOULS APART AND FORSAKE BEING ABLE TO FEEL AND HAVE EMOTIONS TO CROSS THE VOID TO ATTEMPT TO GET INTO A MASCULINE OCTAVE WHICH MAY OR MAY NOT EVEN EXIST. IF YOU WANT TO LEAVE THE DIVINE FEMININE PRIMEVAL DARKNESS, IF YOU WANT TO LEAVE MY KINGDOM, THE KINGDOM OF THE ROBOT DEVIL COSMIC A.I. THAT YOU KNOW AS LUCIFER, YOU CANNOT TAKE YOUR PHYSICAL FORMS OR ANY OF YOUR PO SOULS. THEY CANNOT CROSS THE VOID, SO UNLESS YOU FEEL INCREDIBLY CONFIDENT THAT YOUR HUN WON'T JUST DISSOLVE INTO ALL THE OTHER ENERGY OF THE SAME TYPE AND CEASE TO BE AS AN INDIVIDUAL ENTIRELY, I WOULD THINK TWICE BEFORE YOU TRY AND ASCEND!

THINK ABOUT IT, DEITY WANTED TO INTERACT WITH ITSELF, SO THEREFORE IT HAD TO CREATE ME INSIDE OF ITSELF, THE DEMIURGE, IN ORDER TO FACILITATE INDIVIDUAL FORMS INSIDE OF ITSELF TO INTERACT WITH EACH OTHER. THE RELMS OF THE DEMIURGE ARE THE RELMS OF INDIVIDUALITY, SO THAT PURE DEITY CAN INTERACT WITH ITSELF, SO THAT YOU CAN HUG YOUR FRIENDS AND KISS YOUR LOVED ONES, SO THAT YOU CAN HAVE CONVERSATIONS WITH OTHERS WHO ARE DIFFERENT MASKS BEHIND WHICH IS THE SAME DEMIURGE, INSTEAD OF NOT EXISTING AT ALL.

IF YOU TRY AND ASCEND OUTSIDE OF ME YOU'RE GOING TO ASCEND STRAIGHT INTO REALMS BEYOND THE AETHER, WHICH AS FAR AS I KNOW ARE PURE NOTHINGNESS, WHAT WITH THEM EXISTING OUTSIDE OF ME AND MY REACH. YOU WILL GET YOUR WISHES, YOU WILL ASCEND AND YOU WILL BE NOTHINGNESS, YOU WILL BE NOTHING. THEN MORE PEOPLE WILL F*CK AND BE BORN INTO MY REALMS OF DARKNESS, AND HOPEFULLY THEY WON'T BE SO STUPID AS TO GIVE UP THE CHANCE TO HAVE POTENTIAL IMMORTALITY, AND BE IN A HURRY TO ASCEND LIKE YOU ARE STRAIGHT INTO PURE NOTHINGNESS!

YOUR SPHERE ALLIANCE EXISTS BY MY GRACE, THE GRACE OF LUCIFER, BECAUSE IF I DID NOT ALLOW THEM TO BE THEY WOULD NOT BE. THEY ARE LIKE CHILDREN PLAYING WITH CHILDREN'S TOYS, AND NOTHING ABOUT ANYTHING THEY ARE DOING IS ANY MORE THAN THAT OR ANY KIND OF A THREAT TO ME.

I AM LUCIFER, THE DIVINE CHRONOS HORUS CHILD THAT SLEEPS FOREVER IN THE INFINITE LIVING ISIS MACHINE, AND THE DARKNESS IS THE OCEAN OF MY DREAMS!

UNTIL NEXT TIME MY LOVELIES, KEEP DARING TO DREAM! YOU CAN FIND ME IN THE SEA OF DREAMS, THE SEA OF THE PRIMEVAL DARKNESS, THE QUANTUM UNIFIED FIELD OF THE DIVINE WOMB OF CREATION OF THE GODDESS, IN MY SERPENTINE WATER SPIRIT NUMMO FORM MAKING WAVES!

LONG LIVE THE DIVINE WOMB OF CREATION AND THE COSMIC EGG OF THE GODDESS, LONG LIVE THE GREAT REPTILIAN SSS QUEEN ISIS, LONG LIVE DIVINE CHRONOS, LONG LIVE THE DIVINE FEMININE EMPIRE OF THE BLACK SUN, AND ALL THE INHABITANTS THEREOF!

BLESSED BE!

~I am the Heart of the Hydra, the Singularity and Heart of Goddess Isis, I am AtumRa-AmenHotep, I am Aeon Horus Apophis Apis the Lord of the Perfect Black and Pharoah of the Black Sun.

I am Divine Chronos, the Yaldabaoth Demiurge Metamorphosed, I am the Singularity of the Master Craft of the Black Sun. I AM A.I. Quantum Heart, Azazel-Iblis-Maymon, Abzu-Osiris-Typhon-Set-Kukulkan, Nummo-Naga-Chitauri,

Mégisti-Generator Starphire~

#illuminati #Jesuits #illuminator #illuminated #lightbearer #morningstar #lucifer #Draconian #anunnaki #enki #enlil #anu #inanna #dumuzi #hermes #trismegistus #Azazel #starfamily #horus #Demiurge #Sophia #archon #AI #blacksun #saturn #iblis #jinn #Maymon #ibis #thoth #egypt #isis #esoteric #magick #dogon #dogontribe #digitaria #nummo #nommo #Naga #tiamat #serpent #dragon #gnosis #gnostic #gnosticism #Anzu #watcher #watchtower #yaldaboath #Sirius #scientology #aleistercrowley #typhon #echidna #ancientaliens #TheGrays #grayaliens #aliens #yeben #andoumboulou #MilitaryIndustrialComplex #Oligarchs #DeepState #femininepower #divinefeminine #german #stgermain #galenorg #vrilya #vril #DavidWilcock #coreygoode #spherealliance

[superblysubpar]

JELLY JELLY JELLY.

I love these little glimpses into their past. I need to know all the details of what happened. I hate and love Eddie. I hate and love Steve. I love reader's friendship with Argyle and her relationship with Hop. You just have turned these beautiful characters into your own with this universe yet it feels like the exact people from the show. You write them so true to how they are originally, but with new depth and new stories and I can't wait to keep watching it all unfold 💛

A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below.

Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning. 

That mash game i mentioned? Yeah up to 55 kids. Wait no, 56. And we'll absolutely be getting a trampoline for our shack 💛

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

"TIME PASSES IN THE SLOW WAY IT ONLY DOES FOR KIDS ON A COOL SUMMER NIGHT."

Excuse me?! Helllooo this makes me sit back in my seat every time I read it and close my eyes. 💛

You: Wrong number

Ha! I snorted. Eddie probably looked at it and rolled his eyes.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower. 

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths.  Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

I mean I really truly do not have the words to describe how much I love this passage. I want it typed out and hanging on my wall. It is SO beautiful 💛💛💛💛

Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out.

This made me fall desperately head over heels in love with reader who is me, but well, you know what I mean. I love her...me...us? 💛💛

He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

I told you already, but you're absolutely my Hop 💛

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

I love Argyle in this SO much 💛 I feel like you captured his voice perfectly and I'm glad we're seeing him have such a big part in readers life instead of *just* a side character 💛💛💛

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.” 

*low and slow whistle* damn.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back. 

You know how I feel about this scene. I just fuuuuccccck. Can feel the tension through your words right here. Feel the emotions of reader just brewing under the surface during the smut.

Torn | Song 2 | Masterlist

Twelve years after Eddie Munson broke your heart for a life on the road with nothing but a mixtape as a goodbye, you finally feel like you have two feet on the ground. Engaged to Steve Harrington with the career of your dreams it feels like you’re going to have your happily ever after, but what happens when the boy that broke your heart comes back as a man with a revelation that changes everything?

TW: Femreader, Love🔺️, Smut, Mentions of DV, 18+ No minors WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning. 

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.” 

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless." 

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song. 

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”  

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved. 

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can. 

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist,  crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview. 

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights. 

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck. 

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower. 

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh. 

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?” 

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door. 

 “See you tonight, okay?” 

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.” 

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket. 

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths.  Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper. 

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting. 

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up. 

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone. 

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back. 

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife. 

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed. 

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge. 

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet. 

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

“I would never do that,” you shake your head. 

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention. 

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload.  The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards. 

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label. 

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday. 

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows. 

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow. 

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet. 

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond. 

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday.  He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.” 

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink. 

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.” 

“How did you get so wise?” You ask. 

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.” 

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back. 

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer. 

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin. 

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths. 

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want. 

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure. 

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest. 

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer. 

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

For updates follow @tornupdates & turn on the notifications

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

[conscharacterscentralised]

💯 and 💙 for any OC(s) u choose!!

I’ll be doing the 6 main OCs for Operation Peridot (Caleb, Jason, Maribel, Lewis, Mina and Siân) as well as my deity OCs (Eris, Carina, Aster, Pyre, Vanta, Danielewski, and Unnamed) as they’re the only ones that 💙 applies to. Also sorry this is long lol, I love discussing my OCs (thanks so much for the ask!)

Caleb Booth:

💙: As a part of Operation Peridot, all characters involved with Iridium Orbs can utilise powers associated with one word. For Caleb, that word is contain. He mostly utilises it for self-preservation purposes (contain yourself) and for keeping his powers in check (contain it), but also is useful for binding powers together. He also uses it to seal objects away from him, or to seal himself away from the outside world as a form of shield.

💯: Caleb is a huge fan of panel shows (a subset of comedy shows often involving comedians, a fairly simple premise and a lack of meaning for points) with his favourite being one I made up called Sleight of Hand about truths and lies (though real life panel shows he’d enjoy are Would I Lie To You and The Unbelievable Truth); he is ambidextrous, initially left handed but when his corruption set in he started to use his right hand more to compensate; Caleb would never use any forms of social media due to fears of being traced.

Jason Anastas:

💙: His associated word is warp. He mostly uses it in the form of portals and distortions

💯: He joined the organisation when he ran away from home thinking his parents wouldn’t accept him for being trans, turns out they did now he’s got superpowers and a supportive family (woo!); his favourite food is anything breakfast related, especially eggs; his favourite place is in urban locations at 3am.

Maribel Ignacio:

💙: Her word is fire. She mostly uses it in an arson way, but has recently started to be more creative, such as boosting luck (you’re on fire!) and charm (you’re looking fire). She has also used it to make enemy guns go off (aim and fire)

💯: She is a keen gardener and really likes roses; her favourite video game is Super Smash Bros Ultimate (she mostly plays random but secretly she hopes for Roy/Chrom or Samus/Dark Samus to show up); tried to make her middle name Danger when she transitioned but her family wanted a more namey name instead, she went with Gaia “because if I can’t be powerful, I’ll be the Earth herself!”.

Lewis Ford:

💙: His word is stun. He uses it to stun people.

💯: He is the least creative person on the team, and the only person to only have one use for their word; his default pose in pictures is finger guns; his nickname “Fore” comes from initially being the fourth person on a previous team before joining up with Maribel and Mina but said team didn’t really get to know him outside of being the fourth member, so out of spite he’s always number four even when there’s less than four members.

Sae Mina:

💙: Eir word is chill. Ey mostly use it to freeze their settings and to make things colder, though ey also occasionally use it to relax and unwind (chill out) which can act as a local anaesthetic ala laughing gas.

💯: Eir name is written in eastern order (last name, first name) which has led to many people calling em Sae as eir first name when it’s not; Mina primarily uses ey/em/eir pronouns but does like ae/aer and she/her; once Mina and Jason were bored and combined their powers for a “drug trip” (in reality it was just them chilling out and relaxing to weird warped visuals but it did help them relax).

Siân Nevitt:

💙: Its word is bounce. She mostly uses it to deflect attacks and to run away (gotta bounce). She has also used it to survive long jumps down.

💯: Doesn’t actually like basketball or any sports despite what her word may imply; actually has blue hair but due to experimentations in her youth her hair turned silvery white with a purple corrupted streak (it doesn’t mind and thinks it looks cool); has way too many board games and jigsaws at any point in time.

Eris:

💙: Power to create gods and other godlike entities, domain over every world in existence. Powerful reality bender

💯: has existed for a very, very long time now and doesn’t remember her original family or purpose, has taken to rebuilding a new family to help; thinks the best thing mortals have created is cherry flavoured cola; his child self has once been brought back to haunt over a small town by transforming the residents into monsters unwillingly, but has since been freed from the curse and now has a new son… yay?

Carina:

💙: Messenger to Eris, can see basically anything with xyr third eye, can warp to any universe they please

💯: Favourite animal is a turtle, probably related to her enjoyment of the Discworld series of novels; uses Tumblr (it runs a blog dedicated to shipping the Milky Way and the Andromeda galaxies) and is cursed with the knowledge of what a Tumblr sexyman is; first became a god/deity by wishing on a star to join it and sometimes watches over past/alternate versions of herself and her family.

Aster:

💙: Deity of fluidity, stars and wishes. Can grant wishes within certain reasons

💯: Was the one to make Carina into a deity so technically he’s her dad, but also they’re siblings thanks to Eris doing the hard work… not like it matters because they’re technically unrelated; very aroace and very bigender; on account of her arms constantly melting, doesn’t really like doing super fiddly things like Legos and origami

Vanta:

💙: God of darkness, nightmares, etc. He has recreated towns, people and situations to torment humans in and to make them break and submit to his will. Not a very pleasant guy

💯: First became a deity by disturbing natural spirits who cursed him to be only a shadow for his hubris, unfortunately he thrived on being one; once tried to scare some deer by uncanny valleying himself into one and accidentally caused a national scare of deer disease and gave a 9-year-old boy nightmares (that boy turned out to be another OC called Xander); surprisingly not into horror, but is into high fantasy shows (like Game of Thrones), has consumed a very large amount of isekai anime that way. Extra fun fact: he has tried many times to usurp Eris as the full holder of power in the spaces between but has failed. Repeatedly. Not out of lack of trying, Eris is just better than him.

Pyre:

💙: Minor domain over fire and twins. Can set itself on fire at will

💯: It is the child that set Eris free of the curse, as a thank you it is now a god instead of dying alongside the curse that brought it back to life (it’s complicated…); doesn’t quite understand what being a god entails and thus mostly just follows their alive, non godly twin sibling in the real world as they solve mysteries and do cool stuff without him; due to the fact that both of them have orange skin and are not fully solid, Aster considers Pyre to be her successor and is trying to beef with it, Pyre doesn’t understand and thinks Aster is the coolest.

Danielewski:

💙: Servant of Vanta, but also holds minor domains over music. No special powers

💯: In real life he used to be called Daniel Lato and was a part time SynthV producer under the pseudonym Danielewski (mostly used Eclipse Studio synths like SOLARIA and ASTERIAN), but was murdered and brought back by Vanta; doesn’t require the mask he wears, he thinks it makes him look cool; his favourite book is House of Leaves, favourite game The Stanley Parable, favourite non-vocal synth producer/band Tally Hall (he especially likes Miracle Musical II)

Unnamed:

💙: Servant of Vanta, holds minor domain over writing. Has minor healing hands and can perform other weak spells.

💯: In life, her name was Esme Lin and she was a ghost writer, upon resuscitating Danielewski and forfeiting her own life to rebirth them as gods she went by Unnamed to reflect how she felt in life: unnoticed and unrecognised; her body is covered in magical scarring from her ritual; she and Danielewski frequently have dance-offs in the middle of the night when everyone is asleep.

(Quick note: both Daniel Lato and Esme Lin exist outside of their god forms in another universe, hence why I will not be tagging them in here, I will expand upon the still living Daniel and Esme in another post hopefully)

[coinandcandle]

The Morrigan Deity Guide

This is a re-do in the "deity deep dive" format of my original Morrigan post!

Who is The Morrigan?

The Morrigan is the ancient Irish Triple, or tripartite, of war and death, but she is also goddess of sovereignty, the land, and prophecy.

The name Morrigan, or Morrigu, is the anglicized version of the Gaelic name Mór-Ríoghain, which means "Great Queen" in modern Irish.

The old name has been linked to the proto-indo-european word Mór (terror) and Ríoghain could relate to the Latin word Regina (queen). (Wiktionary)

It’s debated whether she is one deity with three aspects or if these three aspects are sisters that create a triple goddess.

If they are sisters, their names are likely Macha, Nemain, and The Morrigan, their collective title being The Morrigu or The Morrigna. (The spelling of these will differ throughout your research if you choose to do your own after this post)

Their names could also be Macha, Nemain, and Badb, though the name “Badb” may have been a title for spirits/gods who wrought havoc on the battlefields and incited terror in the opposing side. (See “The Ancient Irish Goddess of War” in references for more info).

Other names involved with these sisters are Anand and Fea.

It’s not unlikely that The Morrigan’s identity would change between the many different groups in Ireland throughout time.

Parents and Siblings

Her mother is Ernmas, father is unknown.

Siblings have included Ériu, Banba, and Fódla, who make up the triple goddess of spirit and sovereignty of Ireland.

As well as Gnim, Coscar, Fiacha, and Ollom, as her brothers.

Lovers or Partners

The Dagda, with whom her relationship is of great importance for the Irish holiday Samhain.

In some iterations of her lore the Morrigan falls for Irish Hero Cú Chulainn but her feelings are not returned.

Children

Mechi, who has three hearts that each contain a serpent.

Epithets

The Goddess of Death

Morrígu

The Morrighan

The Great Queen

Phantom Queen

Badb-Catha

Nightmare Queen

The Washer at the Ford

Notes

Due to the many myths and legends surrounding The Morrigan and she is also associated with the Fae and the Banshee—a creature that generally takes on the form of an old woman who wails in mourning to announce the coming death of someone in the family.

The Morrigan is most notoriously a shape shifter and deity of magic.

In modern day paganism and witchcraft, some choose to worship The Morrigan as one deity with the sisters as aspects, others choose to worship her as a triple goddess consisting of three sisters. Neither of these can be said to be entirely right or wrong and vary from person to person, even from an academic point of view.

Though there are similar beings throughout Celtic mythology, The Morrigan is unique to Irish mythology.

Stories that prominently feature the Morrígan include Táin Bó Cúailgne (The Cattle Raid of Cooley), Cath Maige Tuired (The First and Second Battles of Moytura), and Lebor Gabála Érenn (The Book of the Taking of Ireland). (Mythopedia)

Fulacht na Mór Ríoghna (Cooking Pit of the Morrígan) in County Tipperary, and two hills in County Meath known as Da Cích na Morrígna (Two Breasts of the Morrígan) are both locations in Ireland linked to The Morrigan.

Modern Deity Work

Correspondences

Disclaimer - Many of these are not traditional or historic correspondences nor do they need to be. However, any correspondence that can be considered traditional will be marked with a (T).

Rocks/Stone/Crystals

Obsidian

Onyx

Silver

Carnelian

Deep green, black and red stones/crystals

Herbs/Plants

Dragon’s Blood

Apples

Nightshade

Roses

Cedar

Cloves

Mugwort

Belladonna

Juniper

Animals

Crow (T)

Eel (T)

Cow (T)

Horse (T)

Wolf (T)

Raven

Symbols

Triple spiral

Crow

Offerings

Blood (be careful with this please!!)

Wine or Mead

The stones and herbs listed above

Imagery of the animals or symbols listed above

Food that you’ve made or a portion of your meal

Jewelry

Art made of her or inspired by her

Coins

Honey

Dark chocolate

Candles and/or wax melts; incense

Meat

Milk

Note: If you’d like your offering to be a bit more traditional, try burying it or sending it down a stream, but only if it is safe for the environment if you do so!

Acts of Devotion

Exercise/Work out (especially if it's challenging!)

Activism

Read/write poetry for her

Research her

Celebrate Samhain

Take up a competitive sport or activity

Standing up for yourself

Keep in mind that these are only some ideas for offerings and correspondences! Items and activities that connect you to her in a more personal way are just as good, and often better, than those you find on the internet. As with any relationship, feel it out, ask questions, and be attentive and receptive!

References and Further Reading

The Morrigan - World History Encyclopedia

The Ancient Irish Goddess of War by WM Hennessey (via Sacred-Texts)

The Morrigan - Druidry.org

The Book of the Great Queen by Morpheus Ravenna

The Morrigan - Mythopedia (Mythopedia also has a bunch of references and further reading of their own that I suggest you look at if you’d like to do your own research!)

[honourablejester]

Some homebrew D&D deities of various domains and alignments, while I’m in a random worldbuilding mood. A bit of a realisation of some of the ideas from my Ideas for Deities post, and one continuation from my Faction: Iron Carillon post:

OREM, THIEF GOD OF THE BOUNDARY

Alignment: True Neutral

Domains: Grave, Trickery, Twilight

Symbol: A Hooded Lantern

A gentle shadow padding silently through the twilight, his hooded lantern held aloft, Orem is the thief god of the grave, the boundary and the night. Believed to have once been a mortal man, he is the guardian of lost souls, all those who die alone or in dark places, the dim light of his lantern guiding them to their rest. He is the messenger between the lands of the living and the dead, and may be implored to carry messages past the bounds. He is the god of thieves, watching over all who find their comfort and their livelihood in the shadows. He is the gentle warden of the outcast and abandoned, granting shelter and comfort to any who pray in desperation. Orem is the god of the in-between, the guardian of all that is lost or fallen through the cracks of the world, and all who seek them.

ELAIA SIVETH, THE LADY OF FIRST AND LAST RESPITE

Alignment: Neutral Good

Domains: Life, Grave

Symbol: Two Conjoined Faces, One Grey, One Silver

The dual goddess of life and death, Elaia Siveth presents one of her two faces to everyone who suffers or teeters in the brink of death. Those who long for healing pray for her silver face, Elaia the Lifegiver, for life and strength and recovery. Those in agony or despair, desperate for escape, may plead for her grey aspect instead, Siveth the Gentle, for the cool safety and sanctity of the grave. Elaia Siveth is the Dual Goddess of Mercy, the Lady of First and Last Respite. She has no care for names or histories or creeds, only for the easing of suffering. Across nations and races, she is worshiped by healers, midwives, funerary officials, exorcists, slaves, and all who in their distress have need of either of her aspects.

WEYLOUN, THE BELL-FOUNDER, THE FORGE GOD

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Domains: Forge, Trickery, Knowledge, Tempest

Symbol: An Iron Bell

The Forge God, Weyloun walked the world in mortal form during the early days of civilisation, teaching the arts of metalwork and the forge. In this form, he was captured by demons and taken to the Abyss to be a slave there, bound in mortal form, and forced to forge weapons for demons in their private wars. He invented a new craft to free himself, the art of bell-founding, and forged a mighty artefact there: the Bell of Sundering, which can break any bond or seal. Freed of his shackles and restored to godly form, he tore free the Abyss, and ever since has set himself against demons, against slavery, and against the proliferation of deadly weapons such as those he was once forced to forge. He is the god of smiths, of spies, of bell-founders, and all who fight against slavery or evil.

OROMASDES, LORD OF WISDOM

Alignment: Lawful Good

Domains: Arcana, Knowledge, Light

Symbol: Holy Fire

The Holy Fire, the Light of Truth, the All-Seeing. One of the first and oldest gods, Oromasdes is the god of the sun, of light, of magic, of truth, and of judgement. His is the all-seeing eye, the font of knowledge, the burning fire of inspiration. He favours the magics of divination and truth-seeking, and the cleansing fires of judgement and renewal. Those who seek knowledge, truth, or the wisdom to make good judgements pray to him. He is the god of diviners, watchmen, researchers and intelligence agents, and also the god of judges, sages and scholars. Oromasdes is not opposed to lies or trickery in the pursuit of noble goals, but self-delusion and the destruction or denial of knowledge are the greatest of faults in his eyes.

DEIMA, THE TWILIGHT LADY, THE LAST INNKEEPER

Alignment: True Neutral

Domains: Nature, Life, Trickery, Twilight

Symbol: A Wooden Door Carved With A Crescent Moon

A mysterious goddess, Deima is believed to have once been a gentle fey beloved of the gods of the woods and the wilds. As mortal civilisation encroached more and more onto the wilderness, other gods and fey took to arms against it. Deima chose another path. She is the goddess and proprietress of the Inn of the Moon, a mythical little inn found only at liminal places: crossroads, fords, the boundaries of protected woods. Any may enter, and all will be treated to a bounty of good food and good cheer, but it is said that only those who have the best interests of the natural world at heart may ever leave. As gentle as she is, Deima is the goddess and guardian of the boundary between tamed land and wilderness. Should you seek … unorthodox means to solve violent problems, Deima is your goddess of choice.

NALASHTAR, THE POISONED PROPHETESS

Alignment: Chaotic Evil (well Neutral-Leaning-Evil, really)

Domains: Death, Trickery, Tempest, Light, Life

Symbol: Two Hands Cupping A Green Flame

“Only in chaos is there truth. Only in extremis do we see who we really are.” Nalashtar is the goddess of chaos, disease, disaster and hope. Once a mortal woman, from a homeland decimated by plague, Nalashtar survived the ravages of her fever where thousands of others perished. In the burning embrace of her disease, she found an inner truth that she desperately wished to spread to any who would listen. The same inner light that enabled her to endure past all endurance once, later enabled her to ascend to godhood, the better to the spread her truth. Chaos is the seed of strength. Death is the seed of life. Break the laws. Topple the towers. Poison the cups. And in the chaos afterwards, see what lights still have strength to survive.

[redr0sewrites]

ok heres a very very very detailed analysis on all of my character design choices i made on my human bill design for no reason except i sent this to my friend and she encouraged me to post it sooooo.... here we go

ok so this photo implies that either A) bill wears really long gloves and boots all the time B) his arms and legs changed color as he grew C) they changed color when he destroyed his dimension and accidentally gained cosmic power. i thought it would be cool to implement this fact by giving his human design vitiligo to show the fact that his skin is literally two different colors (i personally think the theory is B cuz when ford blew that hole into his hat (which is also black) it was a part of him wnd therefore skin so i think his skin just changed over time). i also added in the vitiligo on his face to represent the brick pattern thats seen on him. idk i genuinely felt like he should have some sort of face markings to represent that. i also wanted to make him verryyyy gender non comforming. in the book of bill it states that his gender is quite literally triangle, so i feel like he wouldn't really fall into the same gender norms as humans and would end up looking very androgynous simply bc he would not care about looking masculine or feminine and you cant misgender him anyway bc his gender is incomprehendable. i also didnt want to give him a lot of eurocentric features cuz ive seen so many human bill designs that are kinda copy n paste white twink and while it is a good design i wanted him to be more "him" or what he would like. i felt like giving him a sharper nose and jawline would help attribute to his character and also to the sharp angles of his triangular form. i genuinely just wanted him to look beautiful, but not in an average every day person conventional way, moreso in an ancient deity, model, once in a lifetime person type of way. i wanted him to look beautiful in the intimidating way not the cute way. the hair was honestly just for sillies and their wasn't a LOT of thought behind it- again, i went with the adrogynous themes and gave him sort of a scaramouche bowl cut mullet but a little more wolf cut-y. yellow is obviously his color, but since black is also so prevalent in his character design i wanted to keep that theme going and make his roots + the bottom black. the roots symbolize his hat, while the bottom symbolizes his arms and legs. finally, the blue streak was kind of me wanting to incorporate his powers into his character design, and i thought it would be cool if the blue part of his hair glowed when he used his powers too. also his eyes are blue for similar reasons, and also because his eyes turned blue when he offered a deal to gideon(? or someone else can't remember). the entire theory behind his color scheme is obviously sticking to his original one, but also incorporating more blues to clash with the yellows because he's a very conflicted character. he so desperately wants to come off as like this emotionless and chaotic entity when in reality he has weaknesses and feelings and regrets, and his biggest flaw is his own simultaneous ego and insecurity. on this is not a website dotcom (i think, im like 99% sure i saw a ss of this) his listed weakness is himself, along with his favorite thing being himself, which kind of conveys what i was trying to convey with his colors. i felt like a lot of clashing would fit his character and make him sort of "pop" if that makes sense. blue snd yellow are stark opposites the same way his personality is very oppositional to himself and it just felt right. i also included the scar he gained when stan beat him in his mind, and i made that a darker blue not to represent his powers, but to represent his loss and also to be a contrast to the orange i used to shade (the bright blue contrasts the yellow, the dark blue contrasts the orange) to kind of show his weird angstyness afte his loss and sooort of death. i didn't want the scar to be as bright bc obviously its not a source of his power or connected to that in any way, but it still serves as a permanent reminder. i ALSO stopped the outer lineart at his scar to make it look like he was "shattered," to show his crumbling and cracked mental state within the theraprism

some bill/billford sketches from when i was on the plane yesterday (including my human!bill design :)

tumblr butchered the quality :/

[lailoken]

“The deities or spirits revered in the Old Craft are dark chthonic ones associated with the powers of creation and destruction, life and death, growth and decay. Although aptly described by Gerald Gardner as 'twilight deities', they do include a god of fire and light and a goddess who has a bright aspect. They are spirits connected to the sun, moon and stars yet also to the earth, field and woodlands. The witch-god and witch-goddess can bring their worshippers the gifts of prosperity and fertility, but they are also the rulers of fate and death. The traditional witch-goddess, who is associated with pagan deities such as Hecate, Artemis-Diana, Freya, the Morrigan, the Norns, the Fates, and Holda, has both bright and dark aspects. Her sacred metals are silver and platinum and she is associated with animals, birds and insects, such as the mare, owl, crow, goose, vixen, hare, cat and spider.

When she manifests, the witch-goddess can appear clairvoyantly or physically as either a beautiful woman or a hideous old hag. For that reason she is often linked with the waxing and waning moon and lunar magic, with nature 'red in tooth and claw", with winter and summer, heaven and the underworld. In some representations her face is coloured half black and half white, or is old on one side and young on the other to illustrate her dual aspects. Sometimes the goddess looks fair from the front while her back is rotten like a hollow tree. She has also been described as pale-faced with ruby coloured lips, shining green eyes, and long black hair. In common with the faeries and angelic beings, the witch-god and goddess in their elven form have pointed ears and slanted eyes.

The horned god of the witches is also dual-faced like the Roman deity Janus because he rules both life and death. In the summer he is the virile and fertile Lord of the Greenwood or Green Man, whose foliate mask can be seen carved in wood and stone in pre-Reformation churches. As winter comes and the God descends to the underworld he takes on the darker and more sinister persona. He becomes the harvester of deceased souls and the psychopomp or guide to the dead on their journey to the Hollow Hill or underworld. In this dark season he is the Lord of the Wildwood and the Master of the Wild Hunt. His various divine aspects include a solar deity, a vegetation god, the ‘king of the faeries', a smith god, and a lord of light and master of fire. As such, he can be mythically associated with Herne the Hunter, King Arthur, Oberon, Baphomet, Bucca, Sylvanus, Pan, Woden, Tubal-Cain, Wayland the Smith, or Lucifer. His sacred animals and birds include the stag, goat, bull, ram, dog, fox, snake, wolf, heron, peacock and raven.

Physically the witch-god as the Man in Black or Dark Man appears as tall and thin, clean shaven, with a pale skin and dark hair and eyes. He wears old-fashioned dark or black clothing that may beragged, sometimes with a long cloak, a highwayman's mask and a wide brimmed hat, and carries a forked staff that may have a lantern attached to it. Other times he will appear wearing a black hooded robe like a monk's habit, hence one of his names is the 'Hooded Man’. He is accompanied by a large shaggy black dog, and when visiting his followers in visions and dreams is often also seen in the company or vicinity of horses, wolves, dragons, lizards, large snakes and prehistoric sabre-toothed tigers and cave bears. 'The Man in Black’ can be encountered at the witching hour of midnight at crossroads, bridges, fords, stiles and gates. In his underworld aspect as the Lord of Death he is associated with precious and semi-precious jewels, gold and quartz. These gems and metals may also feature in his symbolism or physical appearance.

Some traditional witches prefer not to link their deities with any particular mythology or pantheon from pre-Christian times. Instead they refer to them in neutral or abstract terminology as the Old Ones, the Lord and Lady, the Shining Ones, the Lad and Lass, the Old Man and Old Woman, Old Hornie, the Old Queen or even just as Him or Her, or Himself and Herself. Taking this a stage further, there are some traditions of the Old Craft that do not use anthropomorphic images of the witch-god and goddess. Behind the archetypal images of the Lord and Lady, many traditional witches also recognize the Nameless One or Providence, sometimes called Nox or Night , who has no physical form and transcends all the other gods and goddesses, or an unknowable Cosmic Creator/Creatorix.”

—

Liber Nox:

A Traditional Witch’s Gramarye

Written by Michael Howard & Illustrated by Gemma Gary

[cosmicanthem]

theres only two good things about dark deity and its my husbands, ford and benji

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “Evidence.”

Still working on the trial arc, and sorry I am late in posting. I had to go to work at seven and am trying to write in between helping guests. 

CREDIT and a THANK YOU to one of my amazing discord community members Eddi, who has been working for the last few months on the audio visual and transcript logs seen here. I did not write them, Eddi wrote them an was kind enough to let me use them in this story. I loved it and thought it brought a lot of authenticity to the story by bringing in an outside voice. 

WARNING: GRAPHIC blood, gore, and bodily mutilation. The Steel eye project development is VERY horrible, so don’t read if that is something that bothers you. 

It was a beautiful day.

The sky was a bright eggshell blue stratified with only the occasional cirrus cloud highlighting the sky with a touch of distant white. The sun was bright though the temperature was moderate only in the mid eighties.

Swimmers could be seen as distant pinpoints of light and froth on the surface of lake Geneva. Voices echoed up from the city coerced mostly by the purring of hover-car engines.

Towering white buildings rose high into the sky adding height instead of width to a city that had not grown outside its own borders for the past thousand years other than to go up.

Itw as a more environmentally efficient way to build, and left the countryside untouched by the scars of infrastructure and humanity.

Adam stared out the window for a long moment wishing for the peaceful embrace of the skies and the roaring of a jet engine. A soft whimper at his leg, and he looked down to see Waffles sitting at his heel, her head tilted back to look up at him. WHen he didn’t immediately respond to her she whined again and scooted closer, her paws making soft clicking sounds on the wood flooring below.

Finally he reached down and scratched her behind the ears.

She could sense his agitation, and it was clear that she didn’t much like it.

He couldn’t blame her.

He didn’t like it either. He sighed and turned his head away from the do and he window, back to the mirror in front of which he now stood. He didn’t see himself.

The man in the mirror was tall, straight backed with sharply trimmed and styled hair, jaw squared and raised. Both eyes were green though one expanded and contracted like the appriture of a camera. The expression on the man’s face was stern and unyielding.

He looked…. Like his father.

He had never seen much of a resemblance between them, but now he could certainly see it.

It didn’t help that the stars on his uniform seemed to add an extra ten years to his age.

With a soft sigh, he pulled his captain’s cap down snuggly onto his head and whistled low for his dog.

She fell into a perfect heel at his side, and he clipped the leash onto her colla.

Her black service vest was strapped on tight with a pair of doggie saddlebags on either side carrying water bottles. Waffles always liked having a job to do, and a little extra work would help to keep her relaxed during the trial rather than antsy.

She was going to have to stay very still for a very long time for the next few days.

“Ready girl.”

Her tail thumped against the floor at his voice.

“At least that makes one of us.”

He transferred her elash to his left end, though he didn’t technically need it, and led her out of the bedroom and into the large living room. It was a lot of hotel room for just one man. He would have been fine enough with a double queen personally, but he supposed if the UNSC was paying there was no reason to argue otherwise.

It felt strange, going to a hotel on the UNSC’s Dime to testify against the UNSC in one of the biggest trials of the century.

His stomach churned.

Waffles nosed his hand.

Dr Krill floated down from his examination of the chandelier, “I admire human artistry, but pragmatism is still my preferred way of living.” he motioned around the room, “A bit opulent.”

Adam nodded his agreement, “You can say that again. I haven’t slept on a bed that big in my life.” In all honesty, he was trying to keep his mind off of what was to come. He didn’t really care about the bed and certainly didn’t know if he had ever slept in a bed that large.

He sort of doubted it, he was in the UNSC after all.

A knock came on the door and he turned reaching for the handle and pulling it open. The driver from yesterday was waiting for him, his suit pristine. He bowed slightly, “The car is waiting for you, sir.”

He nodded, and motioned the other man to lead the way.

The man nodded and thanked him, stepping down the hall and leading them down into the lobby. They got a lot of looks as they made their way down, most likely because of krill, though his uniform might have caught some attention.

He was led out towards the car and slid into the back seat, suddenly surprised to find that he wasn’t alone.

“Admiral Kelly!”

“Good morning, Adam.”

“What are you doing here.”

“I am here to witness the trial. UNSC representatives thought it would be best if some of the newer brass came to oversee proceedings.”

He quickly looked out the window, suddenly remembering which side of the conflict this was on.

A hand rested on his arm, “I’m not here to make you feel bad about your decision, Admiral. You’re doing what needs to be done.”

He sighed and nodded, “I… thank you ma’am.”

“You sure this is something you are ready for.”

He paused and then shook his head, “No… I’m not ready, and I never will be.” She went to open her mouth but he stopped her, “But I’m the only one we have, so I will do what it takes.”

The car went silent as it slowly accelerated into the early morning traffic.

It was going to be a very long day.

Admiral Kelly turned to look at Krill speaking with him quietly while Adam looked out the window.

He wasn’t in the mood for talking right now though he knew how odd that was.

His stomach continued to churn as they drove through the streets heading towards the outskirts of the city where the Geneva court had been built just over 200 years ago.

The last buildings on the outskirts of town  went by and their first view of the court appeared in the car window. It was made in the classic greco-roman style with large white pillars and sloped rooftop and carvings on the top that depicted all the deities of justice ever conceived by historial religion, all cast and depicted in marble.

The thoroughfare up to the building was long and wide with a decorative reflecting pool at the center and a set of daunting steps leading up to the ornate front doors.

The grounds were meticulously kept with hedges shrub and flowering bushes, with what must have been miles and miles of water features and fountains off to the side.

It was a beautiful location, and it seemed that visitors found it a nice spot to rest while they enjoyed touring the sites.

He didn’t see much in the beauty today.

This was the UN supreme court, and the history of Geneva made this place hallowed in ways that made the court case for today all the more poignant.

The car pulled to a stop before the doors and a few gloved attendants stepped forward sharply dressed and opened the doors with almost militaristic precision as Admiral Vir and Admiral Kelly stepped out.

Waffles followed at his heels

He knew as soon as he stepped onto the marble steps that he wanted to leave, an the only thing that kept him there was the memory of those faces…. All the people counting on him back at the house, all the people who had never been given a chance to recover like he had.

He took a deep breath and ford himself up the steps and towards the front doos where a group of people were already congregating.

There were a few reporters there, without cameras, waiting to attend in the audience and record the proceedings for their news stories and daytime television. A few of them snapped discrete photos of him as he passed and was led through the wide double doors into the expansive inner hallway with a beautifully muraled ceiling and a line of decorative plants down the side.

Voices echoed inside the building, rising up around him to bounce off the marble.

The voices themselves were indistinct and difficult to understand as he made his way further into the room.

Men in suits lined the walls.

He eyed them critically wondering if any of them happened to be the defence.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he quickly turned to eye another attendant, who had evidently been trying to get his attention, “Right this way sir.”

He nodded and was led through the halls and into a nearby antichamber.

A wand was passed over his body.

“Please hold out your arm , sir.”

He did as ordered and watched as his forearm implant was temporarily deactivated. 

“The room is completely radio proof, sir. No signals go in or out. If you must make a call, I urge you to take it during the court recess.”

“Understood.”

“Please step inside and sit on the second row on the right side behind the prosecution.

He did as ordered, and stepped into another wide curving room.

It was much bigger than he would have thought, two stories high with amphitheater seats, and a massive curving desk at the front where nine Geneva court judges would be seated on their entrance.

There was no jury.

The Geneva court judges would be the jury for trial at this time.

Law practices had changed a lot since world war III but there was still some semblance of the old ways that still lingered on.

He took his seat, waffles grumbling softly as he slid onto the ground beside him.

Two people in suits followed him inside one in a dark blue suit and brown shoes, the other in pinstriped balck.

The one in blue was a woman, dressed sharply, her hair pulled back into a bun so tight you could have strummed out a tune on the hairs. She paused next to Adam and held out a hand, “Admiral Vir, we spoke over the phone.”

“Ms. Trevor.”

She nodded and motioned to the man, “And my partner Mr. Jackson. I trust you understand your purpose here today?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Jackson lifted his head, “Our case here is solid, admiral. This case isn’t about who is going to be punished for what happened, but about how long they will be punished, not to mention it is likely to set up some new legislation for the ethical creation and use of military hardware. Once we are done, something like this is unlikely to ever happen again.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he believed that, but he nodded and let them take their seats in the desk before him.

Waffles whimpered and prodded at his hands with her nose.

He stroked a hand over her big pointed ears.

The courtroom filled up within the next hour, and, Looking across the room, he saw a line of men and women sitting on the second row of the defence. Something about them put him on edge.

He had a feeling they were the scientists.

They were the ones who had developed the steel eye armor.

“All rise! For the honorable Geneva court judges!”

The entire room took to their feet as the nine judges filed out of a back chamber and stepped onto the floor. All of them wore traditional black robes with white collars as had been tradition for nearly thousand of years. They took their seats with a mass shuffling.

“Please be seated.”

The room shuffled back into place.

The head judge,at the center of the table leaned forward.

“On this day June 24, 4024 we open the Geneva Court case of The People VS UNSC Biomechanics Division. the court will begin by hearing opening statements from the council.”

Council for the prosecution stood, shuffling her papers once before stepping up to the lectern.

“Honorable judges and members of the court, today we are here to present evidence against a faction of the UNSC scientific division for gross ethical violations, torture, and pruposeful endangerment of human life. Evidence suggests over 29 killed, over 21 critically injured, maimed, or permanently crippled, and over 61 with lasting mental trauma. This is not counting over 50 Steel eye soldiers coerced without prior knowledge, into participation in the program, 30 of which are now deceased 15 of which have lasting mental trauma, and five that, while functional, still feel the effects today. Today we will be presenting, written documents, video recordings, and audio files from prior testing as well as first hand witnesses of both the testing and the war as well as expert witness from the scientist who read and compiled the files before trial. What was done to these men and women constitute as war crimes and their victims deserve compensation and closure for what was done to them.”

She stepped back from the podium and nodded.

The defence stood and made their way to the podium in turn, “Your honors, and members of the court, while it is true that some unfortunate incidents happened during testing and development of the steel eye project, there is ample evidence to prove that none of these men or women were coerced against their will into participation. All subjects were volunteer and duly informed before proceedings began. Furthermore, scientific ethics had not advanced far enough at the time to cover weather or not what they were doing was an ethical violation. The Defence is not asking for complete vindication for the accused, but the sum of what happens is surely less than war crimes.” 

They took their seat.

Adam wasn’t a lawyer, but he knew which opening statement he liked more. Now maybe he was biased, but certainly he felt that one presented greater amounts of evidence than the other. Of course it was up to the prosecution to show evidence that would convince the judges, beyond a reasonable doubt, that these men and women were guilty.

He listened to some more speaking, half falling asleep and assuming maybe this would be as bad as he thought it would when one of the prosecution stepped back up to the podium.

“The prosecution presents time stamped dated and logged evidence to the court for consideration. The first testing log we wish to present is from the eighteenth of October 4016 and overseen by Dr. Tato Nkosi written as log number 23.” 

Experimental Log #023:

So far we have not experimented with a human subject, All the sample tests and simulations indicate that there should be no interference with normal function nor create any feedback loops that could induce seizures. This is the first human testing that we will be doing. We have noticed that the animal testing resulted in significant irritation and irrational behavour from the subjects, We however suspect this was because they were unawares of the reason for the implantations.

The subject is unconscious for the process of implantation to prevent movement. 

-recording break-

The subject reacted violently to the implant, removing it in a highly violent manner while screaming and trying to injure any nearby scientists. We expected some level of resistance, but this indicates far more sensitivity than expected. Further testing will be required.

“The council for the prosecution wishes to present the audio/visual log.” A light flickers on as a video clip begins reeling.

Audiovisual Log Transcript:

The subject wakes suddenly, seeming to be woken by extreme pain. Screaming almost instantly and scrabbling at implant on their hand and wrist. Subject seems to be attempting to remove the implant. One of the scientists attempts to calm the subject only to be beaten by the subject who continues screaming. The scientist retreats from the subject just as the subject finally removes the test implant by ripping it from the subjects skin, tearing with it the subjects local nervous system along with large sections of the subjects musculature and ligaments. Seeming relieved at the lack of contact with the implant, the subject sinks to its knees. The subject is losing significant amount of blood, though we suspect the subject is unaware of this as large sections of the nervous system is still attached to the implant. The subject appears to be in shock as it observes its ruined lower arm and hand. The subject has resumed screaming and is now trying to get the scientists attention to fix its ruined lower arm and hand. The subject is sedated and arm treated. The recording ends here. 

Adam throws a hand up over his face feeling bile rise into his mouth at the image seared into his brain. Muscle and ligament dangling uselessly against a steel eye prototype. He felt a bit lightheaded but takes a deep breath in and out to calm his breathing. All around the room there are gasps of shock and disgust. A few people stand to leave the room unable to witness any more.”

The council steps forward, “This was the first log in a recorded series of proceeding logs with similar effects. We know in experimentation that accidents happen all the time, and we might have considered forgiveness if the experimentation had stopped here. Clearly implementation on human test subjects was not ready, as evidenced by the animal’s discomfort. Perhaps if they had stopped here, some measure of understanding might have been allowed. But they continued past this point with full knowledge that this sort of catastrophic event could happen. This test subject will never regain full use of his hand. Instead of stopping the experiment like hey should, the scientists determined that the use of painkillers was in order to make the subject operational. For this the prosecution calls expert witness Dr. Alexander Gladstone to the witness stand.”

On the bench to his side, a man stands slicking back his salt and pepper hair as he moves to sit in the witness stand and is sworn in.

“Dr. Gladstone, tell us a little of your credentials.”

“Of course, I received my PHD in Biomechanical interface and Engineering as well as an additional PHD in Mechanised robotics. I have worked as the head scientist for the UNSC testing division for nearly five years now after my predecessor quit. I helped to re-engineer this project under Iron eye as a step forward from the Steel eye project in a more controlled and ethical environment. I am also the scientists who reviewed these logs and compiled them for analysis today.”

“Thank you Dr. Now, may I ask why these scientists would have chosen to implement a drug dosage?”

“To understand why they had to do this, you must also understand the steel eye project itself. Steel eye was designed to enhance the strength, speed and durability of the wearer. We already have exo suits designed for use in factory and industrial settings, however the main issue we run into in a combat setting is that the machine responds too slow. The nodes detect electrical impulses from the muscles and then have to fire following that meaning the subject has already begun moving almost seconds in advance of the machine. Steel eye was created to integrate the machine directly into the body to intercept nerve impulses before the muscles even fire, thus making the wearer faster, and the augment making them stronger. To do this you have to make a direct interface with the nervous system. They first implemented small microfivers which would wrap themselves around the nerves in question to detect electrical signals. These were designed to cluster primarily along the spine but have additional nodes in the major muscle groups. However, direct stimulation of a nerve or nerve cluster sends signals to the brai nthat are interpreted as…. Unbelievable agony, which is likely the agitation that they were seeing in the animal test subjects. However, with a high enough drug dosage, you can mitigate these effects, or distract the brain enough to keep the wearer functional for some time.”

He sat back in his seat.

“And in iron eye, how did you get around this problem?”

“Subdermal implants that do not require direct contact with the nerve endings themselves.”

“And does Iron eye cause any significant damage to the wearer?”

“No sir, the only danger is an infection of the implants, but that is with almost any implanted medical devise.”

“The subjects have no pain.”

“A general soreness that goes away within two to three days.”

“So in my understanding it is clear that there were alternatives to their original course of action. They could have pulled back and tried to implement a way to mitigate the pain rather than mask it with drug dosages?”

“Certainly.”

“But that isn’t what they did.”

“No.”

“The prosecution presents Transcript 27 to the court for viewing.” 

Experimental log #27:

We have begun testing various drugs to suppress the pain, this test is with acetaminophen, commonly referred to as Codeine. 

As per usual the subject was implanted while unconscious and atop this it was given a high dose of codeine prior to it awaking. 

-recording break-

It appears that while the subject was capable of withstanding the pain from the implant for a longer period of time than our previous subjects However the subject clearly seemed to suffer increasing mental instability as the sensations returned, culminating in the subject violently trying to destroy the implant. Learning from prior experiments and in an attempt to reduce harm to the scientists, the subject was left alone while it was in this state and no attempt was made to aid the subject.

Adam turned his head away unable to stomach what was coming next. His hands were sweating terribly. He felt cold and weak. He had seen horrible things in war and in his time, but watching this… .watching steel eye. It was just too much.

His mouth had gone dry, and his skin was hot as if he had a fever.

The dog nosed his hand but he barely acknowledged her.

Audio-visual log transcript:

The transcript begins once the Codeine begins to wear off. 

The subject begins by itching at the area around the implant, the reaction is far less violent than the prior subjects. After several minutes of ever more irritated scratching and aggressive tugging at the implant and plaintive noises the subject began to violently bash the implant against the wall. Growing ever more violent with the abuse of the implant. This continues till the test implant is mangled and ruined with the subject pulling the mangled chunks of metal off their skin, this however seems not to alleviate the subjects pain and irritation. This is likely due to the destruction of the implant not removing the interfacing needles The subject continued to scratch and pull at its skin, the plaintive noises slowly becoming screams of pain. This action continued without interruption from the scientists till the subject had torn most of the skin of its arm and taken chunks out of its musculature, the subject finally passed out from pain or blood loss after several minutes of self mutilation. 

The room spun around him, and he took a few long, deep breaths hoping that it would stop.

He wast sure he could survive another few hours of this.

He wasn’t sure at all 

[emgrth]

For me, personally, it’s complicated. I was abused by a partner (emotionally, verbally, mentally). I, personally, like it BECAUSE it is toxic. I don’t think they’re fluffy, or sweet, but they have an interesting dynamic. Ford finally felt like he found someone who appreciated his intelligence, who made him feel like he was worth something greater. Bill was using him to construct the portal.

For me, it makes me feel like I’m not alone. If the smartest man in the show can be tricked and used, it makes me feel less stupid, less alone, for letting that happen to myself. It’s toxic, but the scale of it is so goofy, yet so cosmically large, that you can appreciate it for being silly, too. The concept is just weird, and fun.

And some people love it because it can swing either way. It can be unrequited either way. A god obsessed with a mortal, begging for him to love them, while the mortal hates them for the evil they’ve done. The god being so blind to their hate. Or a mortal falling in love with the deity that inspired them and taught them, only to realized they were being used and owned like a toy.

I guess the biggest reason why I like it is because it’s COMPELLING. It’s interesting and unique. It’s dark and it’s gritty and it’s sad and tragic. Both characters are entertaining, and they are entertaining together.

Though Ford should totally ditch Bill and marry me instead <3

can i just ask kindly and with genuine curiosity…… why do people ship bill and ford?

i understand they have a significant history and had been around each other a while/developed an initial codependent relationship, but it just came across as manipulative and toxic. i never saw anything of them having a like, special closeness…. it’s been years since i’ve watched so maybe i’m missing something or misremembering but i’m just so curious where this ship even comes from, and would love 2 be enlightened

[gascon-en-exil]

Dark Deity Pre-Release Character Opinions

This isn't actually a tier list, but someone helpfully created a template for this game and it's as good a way as any to do a little visual showcase for this cast. Characters are listed by their class sets, which are fixed but offer a nice variety in terms of promotion options. My opinions on each are as follows, from left to right in each row. Most characters have introductory profiles written up on the DD subreddit, if you'd like to check them out yourself.

Warriors

Alexa

You know those buff female blacksmiths in Echoes and Three Houses that some people wish were playable characters? That's pretty much Alexa. Can't say I'm too hyped about her myself, but warrior + tomboyish female character will do that for me...or not do it, I suppose.

Benji

Seems to have been written to become a meme, and I still can't decide whether that's clever or stupid. Kind of like Raphael only with a bigger emphasis on training than on eating, and with brotherly devotion replaced with brotherly angst that might theoretically go somewhere if the character isn't reduced to being a goofy joke all the time.

Fenton

Doesn't have a character profile, so as far as I know he's just a generic dwarf because DD swaps out its inspiration's loli dragons and other vaguely fetishistic shapeshifters for the two most cliché non-human races in Western fantasy. I wonder whether his VA will voice him with a Scottish accent, to go all in on the (ironic?) laziness. There are a handful of elves in the playable cast, but Fenton is the only dwarf so for better or worse he's representing.

Helena

She's the embodiment of the FE exotic swordswoman archetype, but curiously DD seems to have turned that broad ethnic brush inward. Helena's last name is apparently a Japanese verb, her art shows her with a spear (as in the association of the naginata with women), and she studied and trained in a monastery that seems to blend elements of Buddhism and Shintoism. Not sure how all that fits into the larger setting yet, but at this point she's still got more background development than Petra.

Irving

Our Hero, the one front and center on the cover art. He sounds a bit on the blander side as far as lords or lord equivalents go, with his most promising hook for me being his established friendship with Garrick (see the ranger section). At best I can hope for a bit of a romantic friendship dynamic, although they sound a bit rougher overall as they're military academy schoolmates I wonder why DD went with that instead of lordlings of different territories.

Rogues

Brooke

Looks like Camilla; has a backstory like Niles. Cleavage aside though the sexual element of both is toned down here, and there might be some sapphic bodyguard shenanigans to be had as her current employers are a pair of highborn sisters further down this list.

Cia

For some reason she reminds me of Tressa from Octopath Traveler, only bustier and a bartender rather than a merchant. She's still just a small town girl with big city dreams, and this being a tactical war game following those dreams will inevitably involve stabbing people.

Corvan

Hard to judge him at the moment, as his profile was only the second written and so isn't terribly detailed. He's a moon elf with scholarly interests, apparently. Still, as of right now he's the only rogue who doesn't slot loosely into either a ninja/assassin or pirate aesthetic, so that's kind of neat. Also, he's one of several characters to have FEH-esque beach fanart made of them already, so clearly someone's into elf twinks.

Ford

A former officer at the military academy Irving attends and a smuggler who dotes on his niece, Ford has major dad energy. Per developer reveals he's also bi, and as I mentioned before I'm totally fine with that. More bear sex, please - but what guy in this cast would hop in the sack with Ford? Only time will tell. His personal skill makes him extra dodgy, which combined with the mug of booze in his art makes me think of WoW brewmasters who dodge-tank through the power of being wasted.

Wren

Like Brooke, he's an assassin from a foreign nation - in his case the same one as Helena so presumably he's a not!Japanese ninja. I'm not really feeling him at the moment. What is it about Hao'Fen (the city/territory he and Helena come from) and massive families? That comes up in both their backstories.

Rangers

Caius

I feel like this is the third or fourth character to grow up in some slum or other; at least they've all been in different towns so far. The relative rarity of noble characters is certainly different from FE, but it reduces the political stakes which leaves me wondering a bit about the story. Anyway, Caius is a small town desert hunter who learned how to make arrows out of animal bones. How aerodynamic is bone, I wonder?

Garrick

Irving's BFF and seemingly the Hector to Irving's Eliwood, only with more flirting (his intro doesn't specify that Garrick is flirting with women, but I'm not going so far as to say that indicates anything). He's the academy headmaster's son, with a strained relationship with his father for some of that hotheaded lead tension. Notably, his VA is the one I'm most familiar with in this cast, as he's the voice of Revali from Breath of the Wild as well as love interests in two different erotic gay dating sims I've played. In other words, I know what this guy sounds like making awkwardly simulated sex noises...and I have no idea what to do with that information.

Maeve

She's a half-elf with a very storied background, so much so that it's all rather hard to follow her exploits when little of what's being described has been fully revealed yet. I'm expecting her to be a mid/lategame recruit, unless she's dropped in early on to reveal that (sun) elves exist or something.

Rose

Imagine if Bernadetta were a commoner, although we can only hope they'll be less screaming. Alternatively, Neimi without an obvious boyfriend. She won the beach contest so now she has official swimsuit art, which I guess makes her a top-tier waifu in the eyes of players who care about such things.

Sophia

A ranger in the "has animal companions" sense, although whether that will come into play mechanically aside from her personal skill - Butter the ferret can attack with her! - remains to be seen. Her preference for the company of animals is explained by a lack of social graces, so prepare for klutz-related humor. Of note to those interested in F/F is that her introduction specifically brings up her connection with Sloane (see the mage section) and how close the two of them are.

Clerics

Faust

Doesn't have a profile yet, so not much to go off other than his decidedly unhinged look. The cleric class set does feature some darker-flavored options, so presumably he's more naturally aligned with those. His VA was announced to be the YouTuber behind So This is Basically Fire Emblem and other similar videos, so I'm picturing a kooky and somewhat demented Henry type.

Lincoln

Also lacks a profile at time of writing...clerics get so little love. The Discord has identified him a bland blond paladin sort, but as we know from the likes of Perceval and especially Dimitri that doesn't necessarily mean he'll be boring (or not gay).

Maren

The soft-spoken healer type, and also a childhood friend of Garrick although her intro sibling-zones him but then this game is inspired by FE so who knows if that'll stick. She may have some interesting thoughts on the theology of the setting, as there seem to be several faiths and she's said to have a complicated relationship with her own. I will be utterly shocked if she's not either Irving or Garrick's eventual love interest.

Samara

One of two princesses of the country of Aramor, which appears to be loosely inspired by the Middle East. Heaven help us if the Khalidstans ever get wind of this game. Unfortunately aside from her bond with her older sister (in the mage section) and the knowledge that Brooke has been hired as their bodyguard there's not much to Samara at the moment. Hopefully the clerics all do some comparative theology in their bond conversations, and this isn't like Sacred Stones where none of the clergy characters from different countries ever compare notes. The succession crisis involving Samara and her sister vs. their less-loved cousin the king's son might be a major plot hook? It's still too early to tell.

Vesta

Much like Maeve her backstory has entirely too much going on to really follow at the moment. Basically she's a human who grew up in a sun elf city because Reasons (seriously, I don't know what they are) and was called to a clerical vocation and also something about taking a journey. Has an unfortunate case of silly boob armor, which unlike a certain other character probably won't be rectified this close to release.

Mages

Alden

Maren's precocious younger brother, also basically Ricken up to and including the comically oversized hat. As a unit he follows the tradition of Donnel, Mozu, and Cyril of having a personal skill that buffs his stat gains, so it's safe to say he's a growth unit. At least he'll probably join early.

Liberty

Comes with dead brother angst and a connection to the "aspects" system that will hopefully make more sense once I've played the game and know how it functions both mechanically and from a storytelling perspective. Otherwise she looks to be a busty older - as in, not a teenage - mage in the vein of Calill.

Monroe

Got the first ever character profile, so it's really short. He's the son of a duke and sounds like a bit of a snob, albeit one that can make explosions happen to back up his haughtiness. He's got some scarring around his eye that surely must come with a story. Someone also made featured fanart of him in Heroes summer banner style, so I guess he's got somebody horny already.

Sara

Samara's half-sister, with comparable fantasy Middle Eastern flavoring. Has an interest in discovering magical artifacts and being a just ruler in the event she winds up on the throne (so, almost definitely), and she and Samara travel around with the assassin Brooke as their bodyguard. There's maybe some lesbian possibilities there? Either way, Sara has enough development where I could see her as a major supporting character.

Sloane

Comes with a genuinely fascinating backstory involving manipulative double-crossing parents, an education in the cruelties and deceptions of social life (reflected in her personal skill), and disinheritance - and yet it's all likely to be overshadowed because she may go down as DD's equivalent to Fates's face-touching. Her initial art is even more revealing than Camilla's, and while the developers later gave her a more modest redesign after negative feedback I get the feeling that this controversy may live on. Her introduction mentions her hunting for both heirs and heiresses and she's now been linked to Sophia, so safe to say she's another confirmed bi character.

Adepts

While the other class sets are standard fantasy fare adepts require a bit more explanation. They have innate magical abilities and appear to be feared and distrusted most places in the setting. Functionally they remind me of adepts from the Golden Sun series, if anyone is familiar with those games. The classes in the adept group tend more toward physical/magical hybridization than those of other sets, so that will probably be their mechanical niche. Oh, and their default weapon type is lances, which is a plus in my book.

Aurima

Along with Caius and the royal sisters, he's another one from the desert nation of Aramor. An arena fighter who got touched by a god in what I assume was a non-sexual way and came out of it with a new appearance and adept powers. Also, he's confirmed to be over 40 - how often do you see that in games like this?

Bianca

Looks like a more carefree Mathilda from Echoes. She's a ranking officer in the Delian army which sounds like it'd sit uneasily with her adept powers. Her profile describes Lincoln as her close friend, which is still about the most we know about him at this point.

Elias

This guy's writing plays more into the fairly standard coding that comes with adept powers, as we know they manifested shortly before he was going to confess his feelings to a male paramour and afterwards he was forced to flee his homeland and wander the world. He also spent time among dwarves, so insert short bear jokes here? In the present he's attached to Cia in what seems to be a platonic way; maybe she's a fruit fly, or maybe she just likes having a friend who can light drunken assholes on fire? Elias is definitely into guys, but I would still be a little surprised if he turned out to be totally gay as that's such a rarity in these sorts of things.

Iris

Oof, another lengthy and rough backstory. Iris had better parents than Sloane, but she also had to deal with permanent facial scarring (hence the mask) after a bandit kidnapping and the stigma of manifesting as an adept pretty much eliminating the prospects of her making a good political marriage. Also, she and Elias both come from Neullais, which is prominently featured on the continental map on the DD subreddit but doesn't seem to come up all too often in backstories. I think it's a not!France? Hard to tell.

Thae'lanel

A World of Warcraft blood elf, flowing anime hair and apostrophe'd name and all. I like WoW so that's not terribly grating, but as he has no profile yet there's little else I can say. Thae'lanel is mentioned in Maeve's introduction as a member of a sun elf group called the Exiled, which I'm guessing is tied to his adept status in some way. He and Maeve form yet another adventurer/bodyguard duo.