#golden replica of themselves

[c3berus]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 — price, gaz & simon SHORT angst.

𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: you’re soap’s identical and grieving twin brother and you’d do anything to get your boys happy again, even if it meant that you disappeared.

2 months.. that’s how long it’s been since you two have got into one of your brotherly scuffles.

60 days..that’s how long it’s been since you’ve heard johnny’s obnoxious laughing .

1,440 hours..that’s how long it’s been since simon looked at you.

86,400 minutes..fucking hell that’s how long it’s been since you’ve shared a bed with your husband.

and 5,184,000 seconds..that’s how long it’s been since you became a stranger to your own boys.

you knew why they didn’t want to associate with you— you looked exactly like Johnny. you knew when they saw you, they saw your brother— cold, dead, soaking in his blood, reliving his life in seven long and emotion filled minutes. you knew they couldn’t help but grieve but god did it hurt any less. you knew that you were a key reminder of exactly what they lost.

but did that give them the right to treat you like this? like a stranger? you didn’t want that. you wanted a sense of familiarity. you wanted to grieve with them— to cry and remember with them. which is what lead you here— holding a pair of clippers with the initials ‘J.M’ carved into the side in the sloppy handwriting you knew too well. you gripped the clippers tighter knuckles turning white and you took a deep breath and removed the towel from the mirror.

you physically shuddered at the sight that greeted you. you looked miserable, hell you were miserable, you were on the brink of a breakdown and you had to do something about it. your eyes had horrible bags, themselves being bloodshot. your hair untamed and unkept, you tore your eyes away from the mirror, eyes blurred over with unshed tears. his blue eyes was what disturbed you, except they were yours. but yours were a pathetic replica that would never match the weight of his, they would never come close.

you turned the clippers on giving yourself one last pathetic once over before lifting the clippers to your hair. clump by clump and sob by sob johnny was back. johnny was home. your boys would be happy and everything would be normal. you’d make sure of it.

even if it meant you disappeared with his return..

even if you wouldn’t be able to welcome him back yourself..

even if you had to wipe every trace of your being or break and bend every piece of flesh and bone to bring your baby brother home.

you’d do it one thousand times over. you’d consume his very being from his mannerisms to his golden retriever like nature, you’d do it. you did it. you rid all of your clothes and instead took on his, a little tight fitting but who cares? you cut your hair to be just as it was two months ago. you took back up on some hobbies, the ones you had two months ago.

simon immediately greeted you with a hug, it almost made you nauseous, you almost wanted to claw his hands off of you with how much his touch was foreign. instead, you embraced him with just as much passion.

kyle broke down before punching your shoulder and cracking jokes.

and your husba-‘good to have you back soap’ oh..

that sent a slimmer of pain through your body. when your husband looked at you he didn’t see you. he saw johnny. you know he did, those eyes? he didn’t see his husband. you looked exactly like him, you acted like him, got his exact tattoos. you hated how sick and twisted you were to do this but as they say..grieving actions are the worst— best remedy. as time went on, it hurt less, yo-no johnny felt welcomed.

johnny was welcome.

johnny was happy.

johnny was home.

[genderlessghoul]

HI. IT'S ME AGAIN. YA BITCH. AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS. OH YEAH WE'RE TALKING ABOUT GHOST COSTUMES.

Well... One Ghost costume in particular. Because I've talked at great lengths about how the costumes are made and what they're made out of but I haven't talked much, if at all, about the inspiration behind them. So today we're gonna take a look at Papa's Kaiserion costume.

Impera, Ghost's fifth studio album, builds itself on the themes of the rise and fall of empires. Kaiserion, the first song of the album with lyrics, leans heavily and explicitly on those themes. It makes sense, as being also the first song played live during this era, that Papa's outfit would reflect that empirical meaning.

Copia has always been so interesting to me in terms of stage costumes as he never really tried to fit into the role carved by his predecessors. The band's image, before Terzo was relieved of his Papal duties (and his head), relied on Satanism and depicting themselves as an opposite for Christianity. Taking inspiration into religious costumes and giving them a stylish twist à la Satan. Terzo started this trend of diverging from this image but he only had one stage outfit that wasn't his robes. Copia has had several from the very start.

This one costume is no exception. You will find Satanic and occultist symbols in the embroidery on his vest but it's not trying to be a religious garment in any way, shape or form. It rather reminds me of French military uniforms from the late 1700s to the late 1800s.

Obviously it's not a perfect replica of any historical uniform but I still find the comparison fascinating and I have a deep appreciation for the imagery it creates. It leads us straight into the atmosphere created by the song and it infers on Copia a sense of authority fitted for the meaning of the album. For the span of those 5 minutes of the concert, he's not just a spiritual leader, he's a ruler commanding an army.

That sentiment is aided by one of my favourite details. Epaulettes were often used to mark stature on uniforms. Not only if you had them but what they looked like. You didn't think I was gonna make a whole post about Papa and not mention the ghouls once, were you?

Not only is the overall construction of Papa's jacket made to be more imposing than the ghouls, his golden epaulettes imply a greater status, a higher rank.

I would also like to point out the state of the jacket. Which of course, matches the decrepitude of the pants he wears for the entire concert. To me, it implies a meaning hidden in the concept of the album itself. The military inspired jacket paints him as a commander ready for conquest, ready to go to war for him Empire. To me, all that intentional distressing says "this is what it'll look like once we fall, this is what it'll look like when the Empire fails."

All of this really makes me question the fate awaiting Copia now that this era is over. "The empire has been built." it feels like half of the prophecy fulfilled. We're yet to see it fall, but the fall was promised.

Aight didn't mean to get all ominous on ya at the end but oh well 😅😅😅 that's all for me today! Thank you and good night!

[oliveroctavius]

I got this ask on main but thought I'd pick it up here, my comics history/fashion ramble blog. I'd been wondering this exact same thing recently, and Google initially wasn't much help—Rocketeer replica jackets describe themselves only as "Rocketeer jackets" and the one Lobster Johnson cosplay thread just suggested ordering one of those.

The most curious part is the double seam and horizonal row of buttons that mark out the entire front as possibly being an unbuttonable "bib", like a plastron front. (Please don't ask how late in the game I worked out that "plastron" is the right word for that.)

The closest genuine Golden Age example of a plastron jacket I found was the military tunic style uniform of Blackhawk, created in 1941.

(Pics from the '52 movie serial (right) really show how awkward it is to combine open lapels + plastron. On a double breasted coat, that chest panel IS the bottom lapel, folded shut.)

Here's the thing: This outfit mirrors that of the Nazi ace pilot he fights in the origin issue, von Tepp (middle). And compare further to the far right: real life WWI flying ace Manfred von Richthofen, AKA the Red Baron, in imperial German Uhlan (lance cavalry) uniform.

"The Germans had designed such great costumes, we decided to use them ourselves," co-creator Cuidera is quoted as saying in Steranko's History of Comics, which (more dubiously, in my opinion) compares the look to the Gestapo or SS. Breeches or jodhpurs weren't strictly a Nazi thing at the time, but they do add to the overall effect.

Compare two other military tunic themed costumes from 1940, on Captain Marvel and Bucky Barnes. These are asymmetrically buttoned, and switch to a more classic circus strongman look below the waist.

But somewhere around 1975, with the Invaders book, Bucky gets a buttoned bib! There's something infectious about it—the symmetry, maybe. (Even re: the characters we started with; Mignola didn't draw Lobster Johnson with buttons down the right side, but every artist after does. And Spider-Noir wore a sweater under his coat until Shattered Dimensions introduced the double-breasted vest.)

If it didn't reach his belt, Barnes' button-on front + shirt collar combo would resemble a bib-front western shirt, like the one that became the Rawhide Kid's signature look in '56. (Or Texas Twister's in '76.)

This shirt entered the old-West-obsessed public imagination in the 1940s/50s largely because John Wayne wore it in several cowboy movies. In reality it was rare among cowboys, more common with firefighters and civil war era militia.

Military tunics, Western shirts, alright, but does anything match the style and material and era, or are these jackets a total anachronism? I tried looking into 1930s leather flight jackets and was surprised when the closest-looking results were marked as Luftwaffe.

It took me a bit to work out why: USAF and RAF issued standard flight jackets with a center closure. The Luftwaffe instead let their pilots buy non-standardized ones. The 'weird' double-breasted black German flight jackets were in fact fairly normal (but repurposed) motorcycle racing jackets.

Far left is an English biker's jacket that dates back to the 1920s. Even without the bib, this may be as close as you'll get to an authentic Rocketeer. The jodhpurs were pretty common to complete the look. (What was an early motorcycle anyways, if not a weird metal horse?) The first biker jacket with the now iconic off-center diagonal zip was designed in America in 1928 and yet as far as I can tell, not a single actual pre-war pulp hero wore one.

The greatest weakness of this post is that I haven't been able to find any of these artists' notes on how, exactly, they arrived at similar versions of this iconic Pulp Front Panel Jacket. I'm sure I've missed some things. But as far as I can tell, this jacket is an odd bit of convergent stylistic evolution from the above influences that's picked up enough momentum to now be self-perpetuating.

The problem with pulp heroes is that for the most part, they just wore clothes. The appeal of this jacket is actually very similar to what the 1940s thought the appeal of the bib-front shirt in westerns was: It's alien enough to feel "old". It looks like something invented before zippers or synthetic fabrics. It looks formal and militant but also renegade, rebellious. It also looks a little mad-sciencey*. It's a costume, but you can nearly fool yourself into thinking the past was weird enough that you could find something this cool on the rack.

If I wanted to end on some grand point, I could try to argue that there's a thematic throughline between fascist fashion, John Wayne movies, and throwback pulp. A manufactured aesthetic valorizing the violence of a fictional golden age... but I think the noir stylings of the post-Rocketeer comics in this lineup mean that, at least on some level, they know the "good guys" didn't dress like this.

*If I had another couple weeks of time to burn, I'd try to trace the visual history of the Howie coat in popular culture and investigate its possible connections to this. Alas, I do actually have a life.

[wanderingmind867]

I haven't read any of Supergirl or Power Girl's Comics yet, but I already know one thing: those two are how you do an alternative universe divergence correctly. Sure, they're both Kara Zor-El (or Zor-L, in Power Girl's case), but their life experiences were fundamentally different. By 1985, they were around the same age (I think). Supergirl was living in Chicago on Earth-One, while Power Girl was with the JSA or Infinity Inc. But they still looked somewhat different, they acted different, they had different mannerisms. Because they were different people, with different lives. Their life experiences aren't invalidated by the different versions of themselves. They still have different civilian identities, which helps show that they're different people.

In fact, I love the different backstories. Supergirl was sent to earth in 1959 as a teen on Earth-One. Argo City was in danger or something, so they sent her to see her cousin. But Power Girl was born the same year as Golden Age Superman. She was sent out in a rocketship too, but it took her 60 years to reach earth! In those 60 years, she grew up inside a virtual reality, a replica of her home planet. But she never truly knew her home like Supergirl did. They had different lives. They've been shaped by their lives, and their lives were different. And, god, I want to explore this more. I made a post saying I want DC to have four main worlds at any given time, and it's mostly so we can explore stuff like this.

[oraclekleo]

Tiny Pick-A-Pile Tarot Reading 01 - NSFW

What kind of villainous captor would keep you in their sex dungeon and fall in love with you? How would they “torture” you?

Hello my dear followers and random visitors to my blog!

I haven’t done a PAC reading for a while but to celebrate this Sexy&Spooky month, let’s have a tiny Pick-A-Pile tarot reading! It’s super fantasy based, please take it as a fun treat.

Disclaimer:

All my tarot readings have purely entertainment nature

Tarot isn’t a science, I can’t guarantee any of what’s said in a reading

Do not base your life decisions solely in tarot readings, use your common sense

This is a NSFW tarot reading - minors do not engage in reading any further, please

I don't read energies, I don't meddle with yours or anybody else's

What kind of villainous captor would keep you in their sex dungeon and fall in love with you? How would they “torture” you?

Pile 1

Cards: Father (Archetype Cards), Cosmic Egg (The Wild and Unknown Animal Spirit), Knight of Cups, 4 of Wands (Tarot of the Vampires)

Reading:

Your captor is a father-like figure. They might be much older than you or they simply have that certain mature vibe to them. They are likely to make sure that even as their “hostage” you are well taken care of. If you decide to refuse food, they will make you eat nutritious meals even if it means they have to spoon feed you themselves. On the other hand, they have many rules which aren’t open for discussion. You are not in a position to dictate anything in their care. You follow and obey. Your villainous captor might be pretty well-mannered and even courteous. They are not likely to force you into anything as that would feel somewhat brutal and undignified to them. They are more likely to present indecent offers to you and see whether you feel tempted to fall for their charms. They have a vast wisdom to them, they speak like a guru to you, softly and as if they hypnotised you. Before you know it, you are agreeing to things they offered and finding out how much pleasure you can experience if you simply give up control. Your captor might have a thing for locking you up in a golden cage or shackling you to bed with a cage around it. Treating you like an exotic and precious and wild animal gives them that extra kick. They wouldn’t hurt you but they simply get turned on by the sensation of utter control over you.

What kind of villainous captor would keep you in their sex dungeon and fall in love with you? How would they “torture” you?

Pile 2

Cards: Samaritan (Archetype Cards), Earthworm (The Wild and Unknown Animal Spirit), Ace of Pentacle, 10 of Pentacles (Tarot of the Vampires)

Reading:

Your captor is the shy type. They probably kidnapped you because they didn’t have the courage to approach you. And so they prepared a masterful plan in which you are forced to be in their company and finally learn to appreciate them. They might try to impress you with all they have done, with their genius and determination but to you it might sound a bit too forced and pathetic. Be careful not to make your feelings obvious, though, as your captor is already insecure and if their pride is wounded by you, you might lose all those privileges they rewarded you with. Your villain might be a little nervous around people but they are successful when it comes to making money and surrounding themselves with fantastic gadgets. If you are good to them, you will be allowed to ride their perfect and functional replica of Batmobile. Your captor might have problems to even start flirting with you but the more time you spend together, the closer you become and eventually you can see their better side, the attractive one. The moment they tell you you are no longer their “hostage” you don’t want to leave. Your villainous captor is likely to propose and make you their beloved spouse.

What kind of villainous captor would keep you in their sex dungeon and fall in love with you? How would they “torture” you?

Pile 3

Cards: Athlete (Archetype Cards), Moth (The Wild and Unknown Animal Spirit), 9 of Pentacles, XI Justice (Tarot of the Vampires)

Reading:

Your villainous captor is a dynamic one, they probably sweep you off your feet, quite literally and run away with you into their villain mansion. They don’t really have a plan as such but they know they want you, crave you, you have to be theirs and theirs only, nobody else will ever gaze at you with desire in their eyes ever again. Your captor is a jealous type and won’t let you out of their dungeon until they are absolutely sure you have fallen for them. They will seduce you abruptly and physically, making you feel things you have never felt before again and again and again and again… their stamina is endless and they will keep you “occupied” for days or weeks if necessary, until your will is broken and you are nothing but a sweaty mess and you can’t form a single thought, not to mention an attempt to resist them. This is not about you, this is about your captor and what they want. Not that you wouldn’t enjoy it. Your pleasure is what your captor wants and so you are likely to enjoy this hasty and intense experience.

I hope you enjoyed this tiny weird tarot reading! Please let me know. I'm always happy for any feedback.

If you have ideas for Sexy&Spooky PACs, don't be shy to tell me. I know some of you are pretty freaky, why not to share some freaky fun together? 🎃

Thank you for reading this far!

Pick-A-Pile (PAC) Tarot Readings Masterlist

[saintarc]

♰ DIVINE DARKNESS, shuji hanma.

about. where did this doll came from...?

notes. written for @httpshujii, as requested.

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈. you looked at the toy below you which empty and golden eyes bore into your soul. where have such an item came from? you have lived in this house all your life, trapped and forced to live your life behind marble walls with no access to the world outside. but never have you encountered an odd looking doll. never taught to poke your nose into things that you do not know about, you walked pass the doll, feeling its eyes burn into your back.

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐈. there it was again. the same doll which you briefly laid your eyes on at the corner of the music room where it was not far from your piano. this time, it is at the living room, sitting at the bottom of the television. it's golden honey eyes once again bore into your soul. how was it there? well, it must belong to your father or mother, for a doll couldn't move on it's own.

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐈𝐈. "father, mother, do you own a doll? it has yellow and black hair with golden eyes. it wears a long golden earring on one ear. has a tattoo on its hand," you said, hands moving to sketch the said doll. your mother denies, so did your father later on. but yet again, the doll is seated among the other dolls at the display. except, it has a single red stain that fell from the corner of its eyes. what a terrifying sight to behold.

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐕. you conducted an experiment. for the entire day, you remained in dark rooms or dark areas. you approached darkness and embraced it, finding yourself some solace in them. you sat in darkness all day. and eventually, the doll's honey golden eyes came into sight. you weren't scared or anything. in fact, you were curious. curious as to why such an unknown and mysterious doll keeps following you everywhere. red liquid trailed down the corner of its eyes once again, like yesterday.

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐕. the doll is yours. you have caught it with your own hands. and all memories of this doll are flowing in like puzzle pieces that slowly fixed themselves. this is no mere doll. the doll is your lifelong friend. a friend who was always with you. hanma shuji is the name of the doll. well, to the soul of the doll. hanma shuji died years ago. but the shock of it erased your memory. and his soul lives within a plastic replica of him. he is a doll who lives in your divine darkness, waiting for you to embrace it.

© SAINTARC. DOLLBRUARY SERIES.

[zalmoxis-the-great]

Hurt

‘My lord, pardon my boldness, but I highly recommend leaving the testing of the artifact to someone disposable.’ Said Sannet, the chief curator of Solemnace.

‘Your suggestion was noted and promptly dismissed.’ Said Trazyn, the Overlord and master of Solemnace. ‘I intended to test this artifact myself.’

‘Once more, I beg you to excuse my hesitant nature, but could we at least let the Master Engramancer have a look at it first?’ The hard-light sculptor proposed as he looked over the Adscititious Generating artifact.

‘I am disappointed by the lack of your adventurous spirit, Sannet’, Trazyn said as he activated the sides of the cuboid artifact. ‘We are safe in here.' He gestured at the chamber that his subjects dubbed the testing rooms of the Galleries.

The device was one of the few Trazyn had actually acquired with its former owner’s consent.

A fringe planet hosting a necron vanguard, under siege by a Tau fleet, was more than happy to crack open a few of their vaults and give him whatever was inside them for his help.

That was a fruitful endeavor, and the archivist found himself incentivized to acquire both some new members for his Kor'vattra exhibitions, as well as some new necron artifacts, and better standing with another dynasty.

A rare occurrence.

He was now sorting through his loot, with the help of his curator, comparing the objects to the list that the chief cryptek of that planet gave them.

‘Besides, you saw the listing. This is considered a low-value item.’ Trazyn said as he finished activating and connecting to the device. He started accepting the queries that popped up in his vision, about allowing the item to scan his engramatic banks.

‘My lord, I understand, but still be cautious. This is an item that is supposed to generate a virtual reality based on your greatest desires, allowing it to scan your engrams might be a rushed mo-‘

Sannet’s voice was lost as Trazyn disconnected his consciousness from reality, and his sensory arrays got connected to the Adscititious Generating cube.

The setting changed in front of him, as the artifact was generating his new environment.

Trazyn looked, mostly intrigued, as the item struggled to remake the docking port where he usually entered Solemnace.

The cuboid was clearly a work of love, probably of a cryptek psychomancer’s passion project.

It wasn’t optimized, that was sure.  He thought as he saw Sannet reappear in front of him.

‘My lord Trazyn, Solemnace rejoice at your return.’ He said bowing, as behind him rows and rows of lychguards kenneled down, the canoptek constructs lowering their heads, and representants of each cryptek conclave hosted on the planet prostrated themselves in front of him.

Solemnace was, indeed, rejoicing at his return.

‘It does, I see.’ Trazyn answered, letting elated glyphs into the interstitial space.

‘Chief archivist, I am happy to announce that the Imperial Throne exhibition is finally ready!’ Sannet raised his ocular to meet his lord's.

Trazyn could feel his engrams crackling with energy from the sudden rush of flux.

‘Throne room?’ He started thinking that this device might not be too bad. ‘Bring me to it, I need to see it done!’

‘As you wish, sir’, He said, standing up as he sent a coordinates pack to his Overlord.

Trazyn didn’t waste a moment, and as soon as he received them, he translocated to it.

Before he fully materialized inside the exhibition room he was afraid, for a moment, that the code would work in the real space too, but that thought was soon abandoned.

In front of him, the centerpiece of the exhibitions was one other than The Emperor of Mankind himself.

Trazyn was sure he dropped his jaw on the floor.

‘Is it to your liking, sir?’ Sannet asked behind him.

He waited for over 2 hours, but Trazyn seemed still mesmerized by the chamber.

It was over twenty Khet long. Completely gilded, with a replica of the Golden Throne, except for the top part, which has been removed from the original piece. On top of it lay the God-Emperor of Mankind, the Carrion Lord. A ghoulish carcass that was still incredibly psychically active and completely conscious of its imprisonment inside a tesseract labyrinth. Custodes, or lookalikes until Overlord Trazyn could acquire more, placed diligently every fifth of a Keht, all the way to the pyramid top of the golden machinery.

‘Sir?’ Sannet tried again. ‘Is it to your liking?’

Trazyn seemed to finally have heard him, nodding slowly, still in awe at the exhibit.

He seemed to have read the report, as he slowly turned his head to his chief curator.

‘Sannet, write down to get more custodes.’ Glyphs of stupefaction colored his words.

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘Aren’t you going to write that down?’

‘There is no need for that.’ Sannet looked at him with pride in his interstitial space. ‘ The Master Engramancer managed to fix my memetic issues.’

‘Sannet!’ Trazyn exclaimed, a smile blooming on his deathmask. ’This is absolutely wonderful to hear!’

‘Thank you, sir!’ The hard-light sculptor exclaimed with excitement.

‘Show me more of the recent exhibitions! Anything that is marked with a high priority status!’

‘Absolutely!’ The curator replied, animated by his master’s enthusiasm.

More coordinates came, and Trazyn enjoyed himself greatly, seeing the beautifully arranged carnage in the WAAAGH! exhibition, where Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka himself stood in the middle, accompanied by his grot banner-waver.

He got exceptionally excited to admire a vivarium where a whole Drukhari pirate crew was trapped in a piece of space, the mind-shackling scarabs inside them ensuring they thought they were looking for prey, not realizing their never-ending search.

After that, he asked to just walk to other exhibitions, as the items he saw on the way were all, almost as delightful as the big shows.

Trazyn was almost skipping with joy as he passed the necrontyr galleries. Noting that his armor collections were complete, one from each dynasty. It was beautifully combined with parts of his library, where copies of each item’s history were exposed next to them, offering information about the time period, and the nature of the conflict they were part of.

He never felt so at home in this part of his galleries, that was when he noticed the pottery exposition.

To his shock, all of them were perfectly assembled, as if they were never smashed.

‘Excellent work repairing those!’ He continued his ecstatic journaling of how he wanted his galleries to look like, when his oculars fell on a particular object.

It was the Astrarium Mysterios, but it lacked the sidenote that said it was a duplicate.

He let out a whistle.

‘Looks like Orikan didn’t get his claws on this one over here.’

‘He did, sir. As per your agreement, he studied it and then brought it back.’

‘What agreement?’ Trazyn asked, confused. ‘What did the old fool do this time? ‘ He was prepared for bad news, they always accompanied the astromancer.

‘I am not completely sure of what it entails. You and he discussed it privately. But I can ask him to come and explain it himself.’

Trazyn was speechless.

He realized Sannet was sending a message, right as the summons were released into the Tomb Complex’s network.

‘Orikan is here? What is he doing here?’

Sannet blinked at him, seemingly shocked by this question.

‘You and him went on an expedition together, and after you returned, he decided to join our dynasty.’ He stated.

Trazyn didn’t even have time to process the information, as right then the familiar light of a translocation brighten the room.

‘You better have a good reason to interrupt my studies, Oh-Overlord-Of-Solemnace!’ Orikan barely finished materializing into the room as he started aggressively hissing in the archivist’s direction.

‘Show the proper respect to your Overlord!’ Sannet rebutted, spirited by the presence of his master in front of him.

Trazyn didn’t register the words.

He didn’t even acknowledge the tone.

He was completely fixated on the cartouche sitting in the middle of Orikan’s chest.

It was his symbol.

The ankh the he himself wore.

The only difference between the two was that Orikan's was a rank lower

Orikan was part of his entourage.

The diviner was in a foul mood.

He found himself to be in such moods pretty often when working on the time clot that was Solemnace.

Trazyn was just standing there, looking at him with his oculars so bright, they seemed like two suns.

Since he wasn’t up to their usual bickering, Orikan decided to vent his complaint again, in hopes that this time it would actually be listened to.

‘Fine then, Master Trazyn, have you finally had time to approve the materials for my observatory on the artificial satellite of the planet?’ He demanded.

This was why he disliked working under other Lords, they focused only on themselves.

Trazyn was still staring at him.

Orikan noted that this was not his usual unreadable expression. Glyphs of shock seem to pour off Trazyn and into the interstitial space.

Then, as fast as a swooping bird, Trazyn lunged forward, catching the diviner in a crushing hug.

He let out an undignified static yelp, as he felt the Overlord’s. His Overlord’s cartouche pressed against his.

‘I pray to the stars that this isn’t your way of hiding another moronic mistake you’ve gotten yourself into!’ He screamed as he struggled to free his arms from the awkward angle they were caught in. ‘I am not going to bail you out of this!’

He was still being hugged.

‘Trazyn!’ He seemed exasperated, the archivist always showed his eccentricities, some more tolerable than others. The diviner sighed, rolling his ocular in its socket, as he looked at Sannet, who just shrugged.

‘Fine. I will help you, but I reserve the right to call you out on your foolishness.’

Still no answer.

‘Trazyn. What happened?’ He asked his friend.

Again, nothing.

‘You can tell me.’ He wrapped his arms behind the Overlord’s cape.

Orikan let out a sigh.

‘We can approve the observatory after. You are being very melodramatic, just so you know.’

A few moments passed.

‘Trazyn?’ He tightened his arms around the shaking archivist. ‘Is this about the Tyrannid fleet? We can redirect it. I know you have some deep space lures.’

He moved his hand behind the Overlord’s head, absurdly rubbing his cranium, in what he considered to be a soothing motion.

‘It is going to be fine, whatever got you like this, we can fix it.’ He tried again. ‘Trazyn, we can talk about this, please stop crying.’

He hugged the necron tighter, trying to stop the other’s trembling.

‘Trazyn please calm down.’ Orikan was truly concerned right now. ‘I am here, it is fine.’

This only made it worse.

‘I am with you.’ He repeated himself, completely overwhelmed by the situation.

He closed his ocular, hugging the Overlord as tightly as he could, feeling the living metal bend under the pressure.

‘It will be fine, I love y-‘

Orikan’s works dissolved as his sensory array got forcefully disconnected from the artifact.

‘Is he fine?’ Sannet asked the other cryptek in the testing rooms.

‘I disconnected him, superficial scrys did not reveal any malfunctions.’ Said Solemnace’s Master Engramancer. ‘I am doing a deeper search.’

Trazyn looked at them, expression unreadable, engrams not letting any emotion or glyphs surface.

‘Sorry sir, I called the engramancer to disconnect you as soon as you started crying.’

Trazyn lifted his hand, touching his deathmask.

It was indeed wet.

He noted some oily tears still dripping between his ribs.

The archivist pressed the cube into Sannet’s hand, then pushed the engramancer away.

‘I am fine. Sannet, please move this to the archives. As far and deep as you can.’

The hard-light sculptor's hand was writing the instructions without even looking.

‘Sir, what happened, was it nonfunctional?’ He asked as he took the cube.

‘No, it works as intended. I need a break, prepare the crew for an expedition.’ He said as he turned to leave the rooms. ‘Send me a list with whatever acquisitions we need next.’

‘Absolutely, sir.’ Said Sannet, as he looked at the leaving Overlord.

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

New Short Stories Across the Galaxy chapter just dropped !

I am experimenting with what I call a lazy narrative style, where I don't describe a character and let you, the reader, do all the work for me!

[vintageairplanehub]

What Is Considered a Vintage Airplane? Key Characteristics of Classic Aircraft Model

A vintage airplane is a term that generally refers to an aircraft model that was built between the early 1900s and the 1980s. These airplanes are often celebrated for their historical importance, unique designs, and the pivotal roles they played during a certain period in aviation history. While there is no agreed-upon definition of what specifically qualifies an airplane model as "vintage," there are a few characteristics that most enthusiasts and experts agree on.

One of the primary characteristics of a vintage airplane model is its age. Typically, any aircraft that was manufactured more than 40 years ago is considered vintage. However, the term can also apply to airplanes that were built more recently but are replicas or restorations of older models. The technology and materials used during the construction of these planes are often outdated by today's standards, which adds to their vintage charm.

Another defining feature of a vintage airplane is its design. These airplanes often have unique shapes, construction methods, and engineering that set them apart from modern aircraft. For instance, many vintage airplanes feature fabric-covered wings, radial engines, and tailwheel landing gear, which are uncommon in contemporary aircraft. These design elements not only make vintage airplanes visually striking but also reflect the technological limitations and innovations of their time.

Several vintage airplane models stand out for their historical significance and the roles they played during pivotal moments in aviation history. For example, the World War 2 aircraft model P-51 Mustang is one of the most iconic vintage airplanes. Since its speed, agility, and long-range capability plays a crucial role in securing air superiority for the Allies during World War II. Its sleek design and powerful Rolls-Royce Merlin engine made it a favorite among pilots and aviation enthusiasts alike.

Another notable vintage airplane is the big airplane model Douglas DC-3. Introduced in the 1930s, the DC-3 revolutionized air travel by making commercial flights more reliable and accessible. Its robust design and capability to land on short, unpaved runways made it an all-around aircraft used not only for passenger transport but also for military operations during World War II.

The vintage airplane model Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress is yet another example of an aircraft that has earned its place in history. This heavy bomber was instrumental during World War II, particularly in the European theater. Its durability, withstanding severe battle damage and still returning home, earned it a reputation as one of the most reliable bombers of the war.

The appeal of vintage airplanes goes beyond their importance. For many enthusiasts, these aircraft represent a golden age of aviation—a time when flying was seen as an adventure, and each flight was a testament to human ingenuity and bravery. Restoring and flying a vintage airplane is a way to preserve this legacy, keeping the history and stories of these aircraft alive for future generations.

Preservation of vintage airplanes is a passion for many. Organizations around the world dedicate themselves to restoring and maintaining these aircraft, ensuring that they remain airworthy and can be enjoyed by future generations. Air shows and museums often feature vintage airplanes, providing an opportunity for people to see these incredible machines up close and even witness them in flight.

In conclusion, vintage airplanes are more than just old machines—they are flying pieces of history. Whether it's a World War 2 aircraft model like the P-51 Mustang or a big airplane model like the Douglas DC-3, these airplanes embody the spirit of a bygone era of aviation. For those who appreciate history, craftsmanship, and the thrill of flight like me, vintage airplanes hold a special place in the skies and in our hearts.

[doyoudreamofwater]

Golden Tears, inherited from my headmate Sweets, allows me basically immortality. 50% of all pain and injury done to my person is reflected back on the attacker via Rebound from the eyes. If there is no attacker, I can focus the Rebound on my wounds, negating them entirely. Surely there's more to it, I am the only one who can use it this powerfully since the late 1700s.

Nothing Left, inherited from my headmate Scythe, creates an exact replica of this reality, with one small adjustment... magic doesn't exist. However, since I made it via my own magic, I can use that magic as much as I want. Anyone I use it on cannot attack me at all, and cannot defend themselves against my attacks. Anything they do in the alternate reality created by Nothing Left doesn't exist.

With these and what magic I've learned before, I can do anything. I never have to worry about death. I am immortal. And with this I can live life as I want to. Leaving my exes was the best thing I've ever done, somehow. Even though they were devastated and would've probably died of sadness without each other.

[nixylubouv]

🌺 Snippet Request 🌺

Dear Anon, thank you for your snippet request. I know I you sent this a while back. I finally got around to finishing it. I really liked your prompt. It was very unique and gave me a lot of inspiration!

Prompt: [Garden, Tears, and Cage with fluff/hurt and comfort vibes]

The sound of footsteps clicked against the singular marble pathway that led to Hero’s cage. Hero shuddered, curling in on themselves in the furthest side of their prison. It was like a giant birdcage, gilded and ornate gold. And Hero, like a little bird, displayed for Villain’s pleasure. The enclosure that surrounded Hero was meant to be a replica of their home world, giving the illusion of a forest. 

Trees with rough russet bark and flowering foliage in all shades of blue grew to the crystal dome ceiling high up above. Purple vines were woven in the canopy and entwined in the bars of Hero’s cage. A gentle article waterfall burbled somewhere behind, falling into a lazy stream of cerulean waters that ran throughout the glorified garden.

Small white flowers dotted the shrubbery like stars, and glowing orange moss climbed the scattered rock fixtures. Maybe to a stranger, the likeness to Hero’s home would have been astounded. To Hero, it was a mockery. Everything was too well maintained and manicured. It was nothing like the wild beauty of a true native forest. 

The worst part was the stillness. No birds twittered or insects chirped, no breeze blew or leaves rustled. Everything was just wrong. It was terrifying. Hero would have preferred a windowless basement room over this death-like silence. 

Click. Click. Click. The footsteps drew near, rounding a huge flowered hedge into the cage’s line of sight. Hero didn’t look. They braced themselves for Villain’s saccharine sweet voice and disgusting honied words of love.  

“Hello, Hero.” 

Hero’s head snapped up. That wasn’t Villain’s voice. Hero gaped at the person standing just outside their birdcage. Supervillain, dressed head to toe in finery. And covered in blood splatter. They walked right up to Hero, sword clattering to the floor. They fell to their knees and gripped the golden bar with one hand. 

Hero was frozen. Trapped in Supervillain’s dark magnetic eyes. Supervillain smiled and held up the object in their other hand, something that sparkled brilliantly in the artificial sunlight. Hero tried to process what they were seeing. It was gorgeous. Hundreds of crystal tears welded together in a crown, almost as many as Hero had shed in their lifetime. 

“How? I thought Villain had sold them all.” Hero couldn’t resist asking. 

Supervillain smiled at that, the gentle expression so out of place on their beautiful face that it caused Hero to shiver. “I know. I tracked them down.” 

Hero inched closer to the front of the cage, mirroring Supervillain’s kneel. “You didn’t use them?” they questioned. Hero’s people rarely shed tears, and the power contained in them could lead people to wage war. It was the reason Villain had captured Hero, no matter how they liked to pretend otherwise.  

“I never wanted you for your tears,” Supervillain said. The bar in their grip started to glow. Hero watched in silence as the glow spread around the cage, disintegrating the vines and melting it down around them.

“I wanted you for you,” Supervillain finished in a hushed whisper. Slowly, reverently, they placed the crown on Hero’s head with both hands. Finally returning what was stolen so long ago. It was very stupid, Hero supposed. To feel touched. Kneeling here, face to face with Supervillain. Wearing a crown made of tears and kneeling in a puddle of gold with someone who they had considered an enemy a lifetime ago.

Tentatively, Hero reached up and cupped Supervillain’s face. Supervillain leaned into Hero’s palm as Hero wiped a thumb under their eye, smearing away the blood. 

“If I leave now, will you stop me?” 

“No.” Supervillain responded simply. And Hero believed them. They felt the bud of an unknown emotion bloom in their heart, something they long thought had withered away. 

“Good.” Hero stood up, pulling Supervillain along with them. “Then let’s get out of here.”

[thevelaryons]

Unwin Peake, Lord Regent and Hand of the King, draped an admiral’s golden chain about his neck and presented him with a silver replica of the Queen Rhaenys as a token of his victory. The king himself inquired if his lordship would consent to serve upon his small council, as master of ships. Lord Alyn humbly agreed. “Then the Hand’s fingers closed about his throat,” says Mushroom. “The voice was Aegon’s, the words Unwin’s.”

[…]

And Alyn Oakenfist, that proud and headstrong youth, found he had no choice but to agree to sail his fleets around the southern end of Westeros.

[…]

The trap was neatly set. The voyage was perilous, and like to take a heavy toll of the Velaryon fleets. The Stepstones teemed with enemies, who would not be taken unawares a second time. Past them lay the barren coasts of Dorne, where Lord Alyn was not like to find safe harbor. And should he gain the Sunset Sea, he would find the Red Kraken waiting with his longships. If the ironmen prevailed, the power of House Velaryon would be broken for good and all, and Lord Peake need never again suffer the insolence of the boy called Oakenfist.

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents: War and Peace and Cattle Shows

The precursor for Alyn being caught in Unwin's trap is him being presented with the golden chain to wear. Alyn himself is both content and ignorant of what it represents.

There's a lot of Odysseus-coding to Alyn's first great adventure, in the sense that he encountered many obstacles that sought to delay him and send him on detours.

For example:

Lord Alyn was anxious to take on provisions and depart on his long voyage home, but the westermen were loath to see him go. With their own fleet destroyed, they remained vulnerable should the ironmen return under the Red Kraken’s successor, whoever he might be. Lady Johanna even went so far as to propose an attack upon the Iron Islands themselves; she would provide as many swords and spears as might be required, Lord Velaryon need only deliver them to the isles.

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents: The Voyage of Alyn Oakenfist

In the end, Alyn did manage to return home, and he turned what was meant to be his downfall into his success instead.

Queen Daenaera, blushing prettily and stammering just a little, hung about his neck a heavy golden chain studded with sapphires, “b-blue as the sea where my lord has won his victories.” Then King Aegon III bade the admiral rise with the words, “We are glad to have you safe home, my brother.”

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents: The Voyage of Alyn Oakenfist

Next time it’s a golden chain studded with sapphires like the sea. Another grand trophy to commemorate Alyn's victories, and in the future he will continue to prevail against his enemies. But a chain is still just a chain. Foreshadowing for how Alyn will be bound to the sea for the rest of his life, always leaving home for one reason or another, never truly residing at Driftmark for long.

Soon thereafter, Lord Alyn Oakenfist grew restless, and began to make plans for the second of his six great voyages.

— Fire & Blood, The Lysene Spring and the End of Regency

[bread--quest]

sunny being a spooky little guy in their first ever interaction :eyes:

actually y'know what this is basically at a ending point anyway and i've just been looking for an excuse to post it so. surprise sunny treat!

By Season 22, Day 70, Liquid Friend has more or less gotten reacquainted with the Vault. It and Plasma have dusted off their office and gotten it back in working conditions, said hello to their old friends, and reintroduced themselves to the people who have come here since they left. The Vault's gotten bigger since it was last here, but Liquid still knows its hallways like an old friend, and it knows all the people in here by name at least, if not more.

Which is why it's taken completely by surprise when it rounds a corner to see someone it's absolutely never seen before standing there, happily dusting a wall.

Liquid runs through all the people it knows of in its head. Obviously this is not Uncle Plasma. They are also obviously not Clare (although they do have little wings and a glowing, flickering halo), Parker, New Megan, or Fletcher. They could be Cote, maybe, since Liquid's never actually seen Cote, but that would raise a lot of other questions. Definitely not Nagomi. Not York. Not Chorby, Aldon, Goodwin, Pitching Machine, or Valentine. Not James Mora either.

Well, what the heck.

"Hey there, uh..." Liquid takes a slight step forward. The person(?) turns to face them with wide golden eyes. "I'm Liquid Friend. It's nice to meet you! Are you...lost?"

"Are you lost?" Liquid Friend's own voice says, and Liquid jumps, startled, and thinks for a second it was an echo, but one of the many strange things about the Vault is that it doesn't usually echo, and anyway that was far too pitch-perfect and crisp to have been a quirk of architecture, which means...

"Did you say that?" Liquid says, and this time it keeps an eye on the person so it can tell for sure— when their mouth moves, what comes out is Liquid saying "Say that?" A perfect echo.

Okay. That's a little creepy.

The person moves forward, towards Liquid. They're keeping one hand on the wall, Liquid notes— maybe for comfort? To keep from getting lost? For steadiness? They move like someone who's not quite used to having a body. Their hand leaves a bright gold streak behind it as they drag it along the walls— do they have wall polish on their hand, or something? (...Is wall polish a thing?)

The person stumbles a bit closer and then stops. They don't seem threatening, exactly, but Liquid's getting the willies for sure. It might be time to call in backup.

Liquid turns around and calls "PLASMA? THERE'S SOME KIND OF...HAUNTED BABY OVER HERE!"

Haunted Baby makes a startled yelping sound and Liquid looks back to see them stumble backwards a few steps, plastering themself against the wall, eyes wide.

"Oh no! Did I scare you? Was I too loud?" Liquid says, bubbling in distress.

"Too loud," echoes Haunted Baby, looking very betrayed.

"Aw, I'm sorry," Liquid says, kneeling slightly to be more on their level. It notes a couple interesting things about their appearance—same golden tint to their skin as the Replicas, the little halo and wings that look like a mimicry of a Legend, hair orange-brown but golden-tipped in a way it doubts is hair dye—but mostly focuses on the fact that they look, more than anything, like a frightened little kid. "I'll be more quiet now, promise. I didn't mean to scare you. It's okay. Do you need help? Are you– do you know where you are?"

Haunted Baby visibly brightens– as in, they look happier, but also as in their halo and wings glow slightly and, unless Liquid's mistaken, their eyes get brighter as well. 

"The Vault," they say, in a voice that isn't Liquid's but seems like it shouldn't be theirs either, far too big for that tiny body and with an echo of its own, like the hallway itself is trying to amplify it, and it's Liquid's turn to rock backwards slightly, very startled and the tiniest bit afraid.

"Liquid?" Plasma's voice says, and Liquid finds to its great relief that the voice is coming from Plasma's mouth this time (inasmuch as Plasma has a mouth, anyway.)

"Plasma!" it says, scrambling back to its feet. "I'm so glad you're here." If it was possible for anyone to pinch Liquid, it might ask Plasma to pinch it to make sure it's not dreaming.

Plasma nods towards the tiny figure standing across from them, looking blissfully unaware of the mega-spooky thing they just did. "Is this the...Haunted Baby?"

"Haunted Baby!" chirps Haunted Baby, in Plasma's voice.

Plasma's expression doesn't appear to change much, but Liquid's known them long enough to know they're startled. "Ah."

[dellarosula]

╰ ✧ ˖ @incitomniaveritas asked:

[PROP DESIGN] - It's hard to make a set on a budget, and that’s where you come in. Show off your own artistic skills by lending a hand to make some props!

From the tarp layer out, all kinds of props were laid about with a sheet of paper keeping track of it all. The props under scrutiny were all of a previous drama troupe wares, and all needed minor fixes. While the previous owners had handled the wobbly legs of prop furniture, had sewed faux cushions and clothes properly, and maintained their props that held forms of energy, they did not extend that courtesy to anything handheld. Banged up suitcases, wooden prop swords with their silver paint peeling, and umbrellas with strange bends from carelessness. From under the violet haired man's arms could be seen a firearm of some kind. With its more slender build and hearty stock, it could be classified as a sports weapon had it not been labeled with red and orange paper at the barrel and grip. Its golden body is sleek with minimal scratches, and it has many accessory bits made of the deep blue hued wood of the forests nearby. It gave a hollow ring as the wooden accessories clicked and loosely held themselves in place. He found the issue. It was falling apart because the wood was dehydrated, shrinking and chipping it. After all, that's why he's here. He notes it down on a sheet of paper between them. "Miss di Rosula, Veritas Ratio." He greets. "I await any ideas you have for this props future lifespan. It's a worthwhile design, able to comfortably be handled by teens and adults alike. But I'm unsure about the wood. Making it fully metal, though, would hinder some actors from handling it in the future." With the prop sitting next to them, stripped of its problem pieces for inspection, he adds: "And I apologize for having your group overseeing this matter. But with the realistic aesthetic, handling carelessly could cause unneeded... stress."

"A pleasure," comes her greeting in turn, features fit with a smile. "Please, no apology needed. I'm always eager to offer the Spina's expertise!"

A finger comes to rest upon her chin, tapping idly as she studies the dismantled replica. Its prime days are well past, leaving it largely too flimsy to convince anyone of its legitimacy the moment a wielder might thing to move with it.

"It can hardly keep itself together," she observes, sliding one hand beneath the barrel and curling the other around its heel. Careful to aim no higher than the floor, prop weapon or no, Navia raises the rifle to position. Pieces jostle about, betraying the seams where it has been meant to be taken apart for storage and now no longer fits together quite right. A click of her tongue, disapproving.

"To make it fully metal would certainly weigh it down too much, but as is, it's quite a bit too light." Simply musing aloud as she shifts about, swapping the weapon from one shoulder to another, pressing her cheek to the aged wood of the stock. "A little weight would go a long way-- hold it together better, sure, and make it easier to convince a kamera. "

Lowering it once more for inspection, Navia drags a finger along the line drawn down the handguard. A contemplative hum before she's prying it apart, peering down the holes drilled clean through the center. A too-thin dowel, previously the connecting piece, clatters miserably to the floor.

"Some weights in here, maybe..." A pause, a shake of her head. "And some better glue for the next dowel."

[satindupe]

heyyyyyy ( with the intention of getting you to plot with me ) this is a second muse so i hope you're interested in meeting miss yang taeri, because she likes to be everywhere at the same time! her profile is up here and anomaly here, below i'll give her background and some ideas for plots. please like this post and i'll come to you, or let me know if you prefer discord b/c i sure do!

yang taeri, 23, textile & fashion design major with self replication

ok now that that's out the way, she was bork in new york city, usa! went by the english name madison. her family did well for themselves because her dad was an it manager, but her mother was an anomaly with psychic powers and fully leaned into the occult. well known within the city and charged people for readings and what not. a controversial figure due to it, but people kept coming to her in an attempt to deal with lifes uncertainties.

not only to mention that taeri is the oldest out of 3 and looks nothing like her younger siblings. at all. only vaguely looks like her mom. like come on, as she grows up she knows she's mixed but it's not something that her parents bother talking about, with her or even each other, just settles as the constant elephant in the room. eventually she learns to stop asking.

but! taeri is cute and charming and not at all odd like her mother and so people just learn to ignore that part. she still gets invited to things and does well in school because she doesn't talk about her mom and people just know that she's not going to be like her.

but mom is right a lot of the times. like how she told her that she was an anomaly too but didn't specify more than that. she's seven in a martial arts class ( shoutout to dad ) when she gets kicked and an identical clone also gets thrown out of her. that's the first time that it happened in public, however. a couple of year before that she talked about having an imaginary friend, as most do, and thought that the replicas that she just ... pulled out of herself was imaginary. turns out they weren't.

anywho i'd like to believe that new york is more liberal-ish when it comes to anomalies so despite that, it doesn't effect her reputation too much. at least not yet.

fast forward to high school and she's class president, golden girl, sweetheart. the resentment has grown with her mother as she refuses to fit in and loves to put on a show, but she also uses her powers to help taeri excel too. she doesn't understand why her mom is still so kind to her even when she doesn't admit her existence outside of the house. it's a love hate thing that she can't exactly explain. her younger sister is a couple of years younger and they go to the same school, and has taken on her mothers ways. she overhears a cheerleader call her a 'fucking occultist' and she just. kind of sees red. she's pushing two other clones of herself and beats the girl's ass LOL, completely unexpected coming from her. it takes a couple of dudes from the football team to get them off of her too.

it also doesn't help that same week her mother sits her down and tells her the truth ⏤ that she's the product of a heated love affair between herself and a different man that left the country once she told him he was pregnant. or at least, she thought that was the case until he started writing you recently, showing a letter that's addressed to her. then it clicks why no one ever discussed anything with you.

lots of conflicting feelings as it turns out this is a man is a foreign diplomat currently in south korea. apologizes for what he's done and would like to get to know her. she tells her mother she isn't going, mother states that she'll end up there sooner than she thinks. it makes sense when taeri attempts to make up with the cheerleader and thankfully charges aren't pressed, but taeri does end up expelled and her reputation tanks. so, y'know, maybe a change of pace in korea isn't so bad after all.

she ends up moving to finish up her last two years of high school and realizes that this dude has moneyyyyy! upper class lifestyle, and a younger baby brother with his korean wife. adjusting to life in korea was hard as hell, especially because anomalies were looked down upon much more than in america. her actual father gives her a nullivi patch as he doesn't want to deal with her powers, and she's not fond of it but keeps her head down and plays along until she gets to sua. spends time w her dad on the weekends, he likes to have breakfast and he's very open to answering whatever questions she has.

which brings us to present day! she's a fashion major because it's the one true thing that she has a passion for, and eventually would like to work at a fashion house or start her own little boutique.

uses the patch for classes only / when told to, but otherwise you may catch her around multiple places around campus at once. she wants to know everything!

joined curious currents because she's nosy as hell and can't put her fucking camera down, and considering she's minoring in marketing it made sense for her to be the social media manager. very bubbly with them but not in your face.

and in terms of plots here's some i can think of off the top of my head:

childhood friends? anyone from new york? probably somewhat of a long shot but could be nice

roommates! red hall girlies! very much the type to try to do things w the other girls in the communal areas and loves the ~sisterhood~ and what not

i need her to have a fat ass crush on someone. very much dreamy sighs and doodling their name on class notes, liking all social media posts. can absolutely be one sided or not!

a bad influence! someone who thinks she's too much of a goodie two shoes and she would like to prove them wrong

you keep running into her and think that it's simply coincidence when in reality! it's not, she keeps sending her clones in your direction to get information / tea from you. are you weirded out? find it annoying? sorry, there's something about you that interests her ( or she finds you sus ) and she's just trying to help out the newspaper, y'know?

she likes to think that she's your guardian angel, watching over you and helping you when needed

cousins? maybe from her ( actual ) father's wife side ( so by marriage ) who had no idea that she existed until now

people who think she's fake! that she's putting on an act for attention

party friends because you know that she's always at all the events and needs someone to enjoy them with

sexual tension? a will they won't they situation of sorts?

and the usual stuff of friends, exes, and everything in between! really i'm down for anything ~

[sellensand]

One body, two beings

ELDEN RING SPOILERS AHEAD

I know I'm late to the Elden Ring lore party, but I've been meaning to share my personal theory on the whole "Radagon is Marika" business for a while. There's quite a heated debate around it, and obviously only Miyazaki and GRRM themselves know The Truth, but nonetheless here is my stupid take that nobody asked for.

After reading and watching approximately 37923764 theories about this topic, I’ve come to the conclusion that Radagon and Marika were always one single being capable of transforming from female to male (and vice versa), rather than two separate beings that later merged into one. Why, you ask?

Well. First things first. Since Elden Ring came out there have been multiple theories going around about the true nature of Marika and Radagon's relationship.

There are those who believe that M and R were always two distinct people that "fused" into one single being either during or after the Shattering, when Radagon was already Elden Lord. Their fusion may or may not have been consensual, but that's besides the point. There are several ways of understanding this "two becomes one" perspective:

1. The "lone Radagon" theory, in which Radagon was more or less a "random" champion of the Erdtree, with no previous connection to Marika, who eventually married Rennala (he may or may not have truly loved her, that's not important rn). He was later called into Leyndell once again to become the 2nd Elden Lord (consort to Marika) once Godfrey was out of the picture, leaving Rennala and their children behind. Since Radagon's background in this scenario is completely unknown, some players believe he may even have been related to the Fire Giants (see Giant's Braid description) or the Fire Monks (who are also pale dudes with red hair).

2. The "Marika's rib" theory, in which Radagon was created or "extracted" from Marika herself. How did this happen? Well, some players think Marika was "cursed" by the god of the Fire Giants during the war against them (Godfrey's last war as Elden Lord). Marika tried to "purge" herself from this curse and spiritually partitioned herself. That process resulted in the creation of a different being ("my other self", she calls him) with Fire Red hair, so this theory also ties well with the Giant’s Braid description. In this scenario, once they "become two from one", Radagon and Marika are their own separate people, they each have their own free will, even though he is "technically" her (or a part of her at least). A long time after the war against the Giants, Radagon married Rennala, and the rest is history.

3. The "golden mimic tear" theory, in which Radagon is a Numen/Nox alchemical creation. Marika is a Numen, a scion of another world, the civilization responsible for the construction of the Eternal Cities. She may or may not have been their Queen (giving the "Marika the Eternal" title a whole new meaning), which would kind of explain why she was chosen as an Empyrean and given a Shadow (Maliketh) in the first place. The Numen excelled at alchemy and magic (=science in ER's world): they invented puppets (later perfected by the Carian magic preceptors... more to come on the various Carian-Nox connections), they defied the Greater Will with the creation of the Fingerslayer Blade (a blade made from a corpse... you know... like the Elden Beast's... who knows what exactly they did to create their weird replica), they invented Night Sorceries (the dark blue spells from Sellia, a Nox settlement, which are all about stealth and invisibility), they are the people of the Black Knives (an all-female guild of assassin swordstresses that use Night Sorcery to become invisible)... But most importantly, they created artificial life, notably the dragonkin soldiers and the silver tears that pester the player while traversing the Eternal Cities (and maybe the albinaurics too?). It is stated that they were experimenting with the silver tears in an attempt to create "a Lord", their Lord of Night. What if they actually managed to create a lord? What if silver wasn't powerful enough and Queen Marika, their sister, the new god of the Erdtree, provided them with gold so she could create her lord (the Elden Lord)? I must say I love the idea of Marika creating her consort after her own image with help of the mimic technology in an "I don't need no man" way. Also, even though I don’t like to draw too many conclusions from cut content, I can’t help but think that they may have cut the Asimi questline because it gave too much away in this regard. That Melina encounter when she asks “is that...another person inside of you?... Hello, other you” is just gold, no pun intended lol

Now. I acknowledge that all of these theories are quite sound. I especially love the "golden mimic tear" one, although I don't think any of them are quite as plausible as the "one body, two beings" theory.

Why exactly am I more inclined to support this particular theory?

- The physical resemblance. I know this sounds basic, but hear me out. If Radagon was just some random dude, or a tiny Fire Giant, or a Fire Monk from who knows where... why would he look exactly like Marika (in a time before their fusion)? The paintings, the statues... They all depict him with a delicate, almost feminine face (his body is another story lol). They wear the exact same clothes only with a different "fit" (long dress vs. long skirt), they have a very similar hairstyle and hair length... Sure, he could have been “supplanting” her in the official iconography, that’s not uncommon in our own world’s history. But the similarity also applies to both Marika and Radagon's soreseal and scarseal talismans, which look exactly alike aside from the rune they each have engraved (by the way, whose eyes are those?). The seals also mirror each other: they raise the exact opposite stats. [I'm aware that all of these same points could also be made for the "mimic" theory].

- The Carian preceptors' “masks of confidence”. The seal over the masked preceptors' mouth is Radagon's seal. They were free to speak before his arrival as Rennala's husband. The masks were his idea. What was he so afraid of? What was it that the preceptors might have seen and shouldn't speak about? In my view, he was worried they might witness the transformation and spill the beans all over the Lands Between.

- The connection to alchemy. Given the alchemical themes of the game, it is fairly evident that Marika and Radagon are the alchemical Rebis, the divine hermaphrodite, the White Queen and the Red King, the male and female in a single body.

- The Red Wolf of Radagon. I'm personally inclined to believe that Radagon adopted a red wolf because he wanted his own Shadow beast. Marika had Maliketh, so Radagon felt a need for a furry companion (of his own choosing, this time) to serve and protect him. They also have the same hair color, how cute is that. [There is at least one red wolf around Nokron. That reinforces the Eternal Cities connection and rules out the "lone Radagon" theory imho].

- The golden tayloring tools found in the Church of Vows, where Radagon and Rennala got married. It is sadly true that needlework is a traditionally female labor (I know the only seamster in the game, Boc, is male, but his tayloring tools belonged to a female, his mother). I would say it is also very atypical for a male to contribute tayloring utensils as dowry in his own wedding. I believe he had them because he is literally Marika.

- The Mimic’s Veil, also known as “Marika’s Mischief”. From this item description alone, one could easily interpret that Marika was some kind of master of disguise. Did she ever... I don’t know... assume another identity? In order to escape (from) something? That’s what the Mimic’s Veil does for us players, it allows us to transform and go undetected (in theory at least lol).

- The relation to their son Miquella, who I believe is also capable of such metamorphosis: Miquella is also known as St.Trina. Sure, he may just be an androginous little boy with feminine traits who can easily pass for either sex... But what if he is a sort of Rebis himself? St. Trina’s lore is vague enough to allow this interpretation. There’s obviously a lot to speculate about what makes an Empyrean in the first place. If we think about all the Empyreans we know in the game, there is certainly something about “duality” and "femaleness" there... Do they need to somehow be "female" because they "give life" to other beings (I don't think the demigods are literally birthed by the way)? Does the close bond between Radagon and Miquella mean that Radagon knew about his own son's "duality" and supported him in his Empyrean claim? Did Radagon want for Miquella to succeed Marika, but she opposed because she wanted to be a Goddess-Queen forever? We do not know at this point and maybe we never will. And this whole Empyrean thing might as well need its own post lol

-The Law of Regression, the incantation needed to reveal the secret behind Radagon's statue in Leyndell. By its own definition, regression means "reverting to a previous state". When we apply the Law of Regression on Radagon's image, it "goes back" to what he once was: Marika. This particular incantation in the game "heals all negative statuses, dispels special effects, and reveals mimicry in all its forms". I might be overreaching here, but this might as well be another sign that Marika was sort of "disguising" herself as Radagon, but her transformed state could be reverted.

- And last, but not least... We see the transformation. It is explicitly shown to us in the cinematic before the last fight. We see Marika’s hair change color and her stony flesh become Radagon’s. We all may interpret it as we see fit... but it is there.

Finally, some things to consider:

- What about the Giant’s Red Braid item description? Well, it is ambiguous on purpose (just like virtually every single piece of lore in this game lol), so there are several different ways to interpret it. My personal view is that, since almost everything Red in the game is related to primordial gold, the fact that Marika's other self is a redhead is somehow related to the Crucible, the Erdtree's primal vital energies. Radagon might have hated his hair color for many reasons: maybe he hated the Giants because they were enemies of the Erdtree, or maybe it reminded him of the "impurity" of red tainted gold (closely associated with the Crucible).

- What about their mind/consciousness? Was Marika still herself when she transformed? Did she maintain her motivations as Radagon? Can they “choose” when to transform or does it require certain “triggers”? Did they know they were each other?? I honestly don’t have a definitive answer to any of these questions. We can assume that they weren’t always on the same page, since we are told that Marika shattered the Elden Ring but Radagon tried to repair it. But we don't really know why any of them did that anyway.

-How does the "one body, two beings" theory relate to the Golden Order Fundamentalism? Was Radagon a fundamentalist because he was Marika, and she needed to further her own agenda? I honestly don't have solid theory about it. I highly recommend SmoughTown's video on Golden Order Fundamentalism to understand what the Golden Order actually is.

- How do you explain that Radagon doesn’t seem to be around until the Liurnian wars, while Marika has always been there as Queen? Well, we don't know that. While Radagon seems to have earned his own fame as a warrior in the Liurnian wars, he may have been there before that, as part of Godfrey’s army. This is not stated anywhere of course, it's pure speculation. But there are a couple of things that keep me up at night... One is the Red Wolf of the Champion boss in Gelmir Hero’s Grave. A Red Wolf? All the way up there? Belonging to a war hero, a "champion"? (that’s exactly how Miriel calls Radagon) What champion? The other one is the Ancient Hero of Zamor (as enemies of the Fire Giants, the Knights of Zamor probably played a part in their defeat at the hands of the golden army) trapped in the Weeping Evergaol drops Radagon's Scarseal... It is also possible that Marika didn't really start "experimenting" with her male side until she needed to either win a war or pretend to have a consort.

- Did Rennala know? What about The Egg? I haven't given much thought to Rennala's knowledge of her husband's true nature. I do wonder though... if Marika was simply the woman who “stole” her husband, why would she be okay with her children being adoptive demigods (lmao) and made to be close to her instead of their own mother? I get that she was heartbroken and all, but still... Thus said, I’m not sure whether Ranni (or her brothers) ever knew the truth about their father. [Also, there is no way the mighty Hoarah Loux did not have any offspring from a previous relationship (I don’t want to say Nepheli because we don’t know where she fits in Godfrey’s timeline and family), so why didn’t Marika adopt any of his children? I’m going off the rails here but whatever]. And The Egg... I mean, it's made of Erdtree amber and it contains a Great Rune. How did Radagon have access to any of those things before becoming Elden Lord? He gifted The Egg to Rennala when he left for Leyndell. It is one hell of a god-like gift if you ask me... Are we supposed to believe that Rennala never questioned what The Egg was or how he obtained it? Maybe she knew more than we think.

- What about the "You are yet to become me. You are yet to become a god. Let us be shattered both, my other self" quote? I tend to believe that this is a "warning" more than anything. What Marika is saying, in my view, is "Hey man, you are not the god of this age. I am. I was the chosen Empyrean. You are just my consort here, even though you are me, but nobody else knows that. You don't get to decide what happens now. I'm going to shatter the Elden Ring and us both in the process, that is my decision, and I don't care what you think about it". As I said, I still don't have a clear idea of what Marika was trying to do by shattering the Elden Ring (and herself by extension) or why Radagon wanted to stop her. In the early days, many players believed that Marika was a victim of Radagon's own ambitions and wanted to either get rid of him or the Greater Will altogether, but right now I more inclined to believe that she is much more complex and conniving than we give her credit for.

In conclusion: this game is a nightmare and I love every second of it. I know I'm just repeating things that many others have said countless times before, but I really needed to get my thoughts together and vent for a moment.

I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. All of this is just my perspective of course, so feel free to share your own views on the matter in the comments.

(Wow, this was a LONG post. I need to take a 4-hour nap after this lmao)

[remdutton]

FULL NAME: Remington Dutton

NICKNAMES: Rem, Remi

AGE: 36

OCCUPATION: Fisherman & Boat Guide

RESIDENCE: Wrightsville Beach

GENDER / PRONOUNS: Cismale. He/Him

HOMETOWN: Wilmington, NC

TW: Abandonment

Parents always want their offspring to have the best: to be good. Something that when they’re out with their friends and co-workers, they can boast about their child’s accomplishments. At least that was what it was like in the Dutton household. This isn’t a story of a white picket fence or one that has a happy ending. Sure, Remington had the foundation of a good upbringing and foundation but sometimes that overbearing and pressure alter’s a man’s change of course. Acting as it’s own fork in the road. It definitely didn’t help when he had to compete with his older brother at everything. Remingtons’ brother was the epitome of a golden child, one who wanted to be some world leader. Even in his early childhood days, the boy had ambition and when Remington was born - his parents expected that he too would follow in the footsteps. But Remington knew he would never be a replica. For he wanted to stand out even if that meant being looked at as the bad son. The young male never considered himself a rebel. The only people who ever called him that were people who wanted him to do what they wanted. It was safe to say that he would go against any expectations and hopes his adult parents had for him. Much to their dismay. When he was still growing, there was always that glint or relish of hope. But see hope was a bitter thing.  It means that you are not what you want to be. It means that part of you is dead, if not all of you. It means that you entertain illusions. Illusions that the Dutton’s were using to protect themselves from the real destruction that Remington was and who wanted to be with open arms.  Sometimes you need to start a fire to create everything but ruins and disasters. Destruction is its own form of beauty. At least to him anyways. And that only would escalate as he grew older.

What started as a slow taste of chaos stemming from a candy bar here or there stolen or scooped into his pocket and then walking out of the store like he was invisible fully escalated. That rush of his heart beat quickening in the few moments between the register and the door excited him. It was a thrill for the then young man. A taste he soon would crave over and over again. One that would fully come to surface in the years passing. If his parents thought they could change him then, they soon realized he was ultimately a lost cause once his freshmen year of high school started. He spent a few days here and there in juvenile detention for hot wiring cars (his parents refused to take him to get his permit so he found more creative ways of going about such act). Among many other brushes with the law. Remington was known as the disappointment. The one where at family dinners, he was never asked about his day or how his school week had been because they had already expected the answers to it. It was safe to say he was the black sheep of the family. A title surprisingly that he took in stride. They chose to ignore the male and not fuel the amusement in their ways of trying to redeem him. Though what almost came as a surprise for Remington was the ability to have his family fully desert him. He was off on a bender his junior year of high school - partying, stealing from rich out of townees and spending the loads of cash he collected with his friends, his peers who were like him was almost like a merry go round to the man. A never ending cycle. To say he was shocked, to come home the summer of his senior year with his childhood home laced with nothing but dust. With one hidden exception - a note stating that he was no son of theirs. That they couldn’t watch his own forthcoming death. At least the physical part anyways. In retrospect he was already dead to him and they had only one true son. Nonetheless, he was alone for the very first time it seemed. He didn’t have a fall back. The perks of at least a warm bed, one never truly knows the value until it’s completely gone.

For a good while, he lived on the street in some back alley. Just like in some movie, tent city you might call it. It was also safe to say he never got around to finishing up his senior year and graduating but what was the importance of a small piece of paper with his name on it anyways? It was all bullshit to him. But see, when you hit rock bottom the only way to go is up and he took full advantage. Having street smarts was way more life altering then knowing the value of pi or some other mathematical equation. Even Stoichiometry. Or literally anything chemistry related. Microsoft word and Google Chrome don’t even recognize that as a word. Why should he? Remington encountered a lot of hardships and he literally was trash (when you sleep behind a dumpster – it’s kind of difficult to come up with better verbiage) for a few years of hard learning. One night when he was 20, he tried to pick pocket some random guy or who he thought was of no importance. Well, like most things he turned out to be wrong and had to weasel his way out of it. That particular person was well known around town for having their own fishing/boating business and instead sending Remington to law enforcement, the man took pity to him and was amused at the balls that Remington himself seemed to have. As he didn’t cower and instead tried to played slick. Nonetheless, the story goes as any cliché might. Remington was taken under this elder’s wing. Of course, not without some blood, sweat and tears. He would soon turn into the man’s best employee. In the end, it’s not what you achieve but what you overcome.