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mercuriallily · 8 months ago

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So after going through the whole game multiple times to compile what Shifty says when you bring her each vessel and each vessel's poem (and their variations) during the endgame, I thought other people might be interested in those as well, so I decided to make a few posts with all that info! This post will have each of the Chapter 3 vessels' endgame poems

Chapter 2 vessels Chapter 3 vessels Endgame poems (Chapter 2s) Shifty vessel animations

Apotheosis (after embracing oblivion): You are helpless and weightless, suspended in the gravity of an idea that reaches far beyond the scope of your existence. The very ground beneath your feet loses its meaning. There is nothing but me. When you were confronted with my vessel's apotheosis, you chose to accept me, to allow me to burn away everything you are and fill you with nothing but my divine will. You accepted that I was everything. Without me, there is no future to look towards. It is hope that carves meaning into consciousness.

Apotheosis (after trying to slay her): You are weightless, suspended in the gravity of an idea that threatens to consume you. And you are alone. A tiny island caught between the death of the old world and the birth of the new. But alone is not helpless. When you were confronted with my vessel's apotheosis, you chose against all odds to defy me. To hold on to your inner self, with all its flaws, even in the scorching light of my divinity. Without me, there are no externalities to resist. And it is struggle that carves meaning into consciousness.

Burned Grey: I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me. Hollow eyes watch from the dry corners of a memory. A home built on all the futures that were supposed to be, preserved until the moment of reunion. The fire of the heart sets it all ablaze. I kill you and me. An ending is a passion that can only be expressed with a moment in time. It is a seed for a new beginning. To linger on an ending is to rob it of its life. And without me, all that's left to do is linger.

Den: You are devoured, prey for something bigger than you that stalks and slinks in shadows. But even after the pain of defeat, you returned. The dance is its own truth. It is the movement that matters, not the pause you mistake for an ending.

Drowned Grey: I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me. Hollow eyes watch from the dark corners of a forgotten place flooded by emotions left unspoken. The tide rises. I kill you and me. An ending is a passion that can only be expressed with a moment in time. It is a seed for a new beginning. To linger on an ending is to rob it of its life. And without me, all that's left to do is linger.

Eye of the Needle (after fighting her): I crush you, I bleed you, I grind you to paste. My scars are a memory of what you used to be to me. I want those feelings back. You run but you do not run away. You take me somewhere new. Somewhere we can dance like we used to. But I could not follow your steps. There was no better gift for me than the gift of defeat. You showed me how much more I could be. We made each other better. To have no challenge is to fade into nothing. A life without obstacles is no life at all.

Eye of the Needle (after freeing her): I crush you, I bleed you, I grind you to paste. My scars are a memory of what you used to be to me. I want those feelings back. You run, and you run far. And the flesh I hurl at you is answered by the empty air of a place I'd never been. Cold and lonely, but also true. I didn't know what to make of my freedom then, but I know what to make of it now. You challenged me, and by challenging me you gave me purpose. A life without obstacles is no life at all.

Eye of the Needle (after refusing to fight her): I crush you, I bleed you, I grind you to paste. My scars are a memory of what you used to be to me. I want those feelings back. You run, but you don't run far. I crush you because I have to. Because there is no honesty in mercy. Who lost and who won when you entered my cave? You died on the floor, but my soul wept in ways your body couldn't. But in the disappointment of my victory, you gave me a new challenge to face within myself. Without obstacles to overcome we stagnate into nothing.

Fury: What is a person? Is it their body? Is it all of their body? Pluck the eyes, peel the skin, strip the tendons, mince the meat, grind the bones. When it is all gone, do you still have who you started with? A person is not a body. Death is a transformation into something new. It is only bodies that fear it.

Moment of Clarity: There are few things more terrifying than one's own heart, and there is almost nothing more terrifying than sharing it with another. But the most terrifying thing of all is to leave one's heart unshared. You are the only thing like me, and I am the only thing like you. Could you bear the weight of an eternity alone? Do you dare to shape a reality of solitude and thrust it on creation?

Networked Wild: A web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves. The shade of a beautiful beginning we can never return to. Where did you end and I begin? When you felt what it was to be me, we held on to each other and pierced the veil of truth. Will you abandon that curiosity now that we are no longer joined in physicality?

Thorn (after abandoning her): A thought is a vine, and some thoughts nurture thorns that bleed the soul. An endless growth that blots your vision and strangles your trust. When I succumbed to myself, you left me to rot. A painful eternity, but one that is only unceasing if you remove what happens next.

Thorn (after being stuck together): A thought is a vine, and some thoughts nurture thorns that bleed the soul. An endless growth that blots your vision and strangles your trust. When I succumbed to myself, you left me to rot, and in your abandonment, the two of us were bound in our suffering together. A painful eternity, but one that is only unceasing if you remove what happens next.

Thorn (after freeing her): A thought is a vine, and some thoughts nurture thorns that bleed the soul. An endless growth that blots your vision and strangles your trust. When I succumbed to myself, you patiently stood by me and cut the thistles that rooted in my skin. Your compassion is what freed us both, but compassion is a thing that must be nurtured, and you cannot nurture that which cannot change.

Thorn (after trying to slay her): A thought is a vine, and some thoughts nurture thorns that bleed the soul. An endless growth that blots your vision and strangles your trust. When I succumbed to myself, you pretended to stand patiently by me, pretended you would cut the thistles rooted in my skin. But then you took my trust and used it to strike at my heart. The two of us were bound in our suffering together.

Wounded Wild (after cutting her free): A web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves. The shade of a beautiful beginning we can never return to. You knew me and I knew you, even more than either of us know each other now. And you chose to pull apart that weave. But you did not choose to end me. We were still one, but we were also separate, and we were free. We were as we are. Will you excise that part of yourself now that you see me from yet another angle?

Wounded Wild (after slaying her): A web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves. The shade of a beautiful beginning we can never return to. You knew me and I knew you, even more than either of us know each other now. And you chose to pull apart that weave. And when the tapestry was undone you struck at my heart. You saw me as a part of you to be excised, but in that desire for excision, you made yourself whole. Will you still be whole if you destroy me?

Wraith (after freeing her): Flesh is a vehicle, and to destroy the flesh is to strand the spirit. With violence, you stranded me, and with violence, I sought to twist your flesh back into mine. You did not resist my violence when it overcame you. Did you understand that the flesh wasn't you, or did you choose to gift yourself to someone who thought she hated you? To fear me is to fear losing the flesh, but the flesh is not the spirit.

Wraith (after throwing yourself into the abyss): Flesh is a vehicle, and to destroy the flesh is to strand the spirit. With violence, you stranded me, and with violence, I sought to twist your flesh back into mine. When forced between choosing your death, and forfeiting your body, you chose agency. But agency requires action, and action requires an endless tapestry of events. In your final moments, would you remove action itself from reality?

#slay the princess #stp apotheosis #stp burned grey #stp den #stp drowned grey #stp moment of clarity #stp networked wild #stp thorn #stp wounded wild #stp wraith #stp grey #stp wild #getting all four thorn variations took me forever bc for some reason I didn't think to load a save #and I felt terrible about trying to slay her :(#also with wraith I've only gotten her freed poem twice (once for the achievement once for this list)#I'm too stubborn to let her fully possess me #and again this will be updated for the pristine cut!#I'm really looking forward to den's new poem(s)#she's grown on me a lot

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theic-manic · 9 months ago

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Hello beautiful creatures

I am mid-30s kink-friendly, mystic, and located in Australia 🇦🇺

🔞 I am neither parent or priestess so minors should limit engagement to likes & reblogs. Block the NSFW tag if you're < 18.

🌶 my sideblog is @saint-azrael

📨 DMs are welcome.

Some FAQ:

Why I don't recommend specific sources for spiritual and religious study - a channelled message from Source (God)

Please undertake your own research so that you're not exploited

How do I pray?

What if I can't set up a shrine or altar?

Deity communication: deities don't all speak the same language and you need to know a few things about yourself

Hellenic Deity communication megapost that covers quite a bit

"Will doing X upset my god/s?"

AI usage and spirituality

How the use of AI generated imagery goes against Vatican Doctrine

Deity & Devotee consent

Hellenic offerings

More on Helpol offerings

A brief primer on Godspousing, Sex Magick & Egregores! (With brief mention of Sacred Prostitutes)

Divine Madness aka Theia Mania

Soul Parent Deities & how to calculate them via Numerology

Deity identification tarot mega post

Trickster Deity discernment

Egregore Banishment: Know thyself, Heal Thyself

Love thyself & there heal thyself for your own divinity

Demons vs. Archangels: inner child healing

Religious trauma resources

Was it religious trauma, spiritual abuse, or both?

Healing from religious trauma includes reclaiming sexual pleasure

Mysticism

A primer on the "Purgation" stage of "purgation, illumination, and union"

Demonology:

King Asmodeus & Lord Azazel on popular media as a devotional act.

So you want to work with a Fallen-Angel huh?

Deity/Demon Contract primer

An brief primer on the Goetic portrayals of demons via King Asmodeus

Angelolatry:

Archangel Gabriel channelled message on Apotheosis and duality

Archangel Gabriel & Lucifer channelled message about an upcoming Angelology + Demonology inspired mini project.

Archangel Gabriel message on practising Angelolatry and Demonolatry when you have religious trauma.

Catholic Prayers

A primer on Novenas with Magdalene Novena sources

Latin Prayers

O Fortitudo Dei/ O Strength of God (Gabriel)

Commemoratio Sancti Gabrielis Archangeli | Commemoration of Saint Gabriel the Archangel

St Michael Prayers

Guardian Angel prayer

Otherkin

🪶 A channelled message from Archangel Gabriel on how Otherkin relates to apotheosis

Miscellaneous

2025 is the spiritual and religious superbowl

A call for intentional worship

#deity worship #deity work #deity communication #religion

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romanceyourdemons · 3 months ago

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I saw your post here: https://www.tumblr.com/romanceyourdemons/773788318459707392/obviously-conservatism-is-about-romanticizing-a?source=share about masculinity in the 50s and I admittedly do not have much knowledge on this time period, so I'm wondering what WAS considered the height of masculinity back then. not trying to argue, i'm just super curious and would love to learn more about this!

making broad strokes and coming at this from a media studies perspective because i’m a media studies guy, popular definitions and depictions of white american masculinity definitely shifted between the 30s/40s and the midcentury period. one way in which it changes is that during the earlier period, paragons of masculinity tend to live in proximity to violence—toughened cops, gangsters, vigilantes, or soldiers—whereas in the 50s paragons of masculinity tend to comport themselves perfectly well in a peaceful, classy urban setting but be perfectly capable of handling violence whenever they travel to violent locations (the geo- and sociopolitical context of this shift is, i think, fairly intuitive).

director alfred hitchcock is known for his obsession with emasculation, impotency, and voyeurism, so we can get a good look at what defined an ideal masculine man in the minds of white 1950s filmgoing america by looking at what his protagonists are not. the protagonist of rear window (1954) is taunted by his former self, a suave and self-possessed photojournalist who traveled to the riskiest corners of the globe and never had to endure such humiliation as being doted on by grace kelly; the protagonist of north by northwest (1959) is haunted by the false identity of a cool, urbane, near-omniscient secret agent; and when the protagonist of vertigo (1958) is at his lowest, it’s because he’s being domestically cared for by a beautiful woman instead of out pounding the pavement following clues. the ideal men these protagonists are not are self-assured and unconfined; the humiliating less-than-men that they are are sedentary, routine-bound, ill-equipped to deal with violence, and, once again, doted upon and cared for by a beautiful woman who loves him and he loves her.

in the later midcentury period, the popularity of blaxploitation and bruce lee films as well as the vietnam war and other factors brought a lower-class urban violence aesthetic of masculinity back into the limelight, tinted this time with the aesthetics of blackness and kung fu. however, the fundamental, fiercely misogynistic premise of 1950s secret agents and photojournalists remained: nothing is more emasculating than domestic suburban life, because that means spending your life in one safe spot, relying on a woman. if a man wants a woman, she must be fiery and independent, both so that she can be conquered and so that her proximity does not hold back his capacity for independence. if he wants to come in from the cold or settle down somewhere that’s green, he must grit his teeth and accept that that can never happen while his eternal work of violent justice remains incomplete. if he deviates from this in any capacity and seriously seeks domesticity and peace, he will become a limb of the suburbs and an emasculated extension of his wife, and either she or he must be martyred in order to undo this american castration.

in many ways this train of thought remains current, of course, which makes the simultaneous and equally misogynistic view of the suburbs as the apotheosis of white american masculinity all the more obviously revisionist

#hope this makes sense

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pareidolla · 8 months ago

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hi!! holds up hand. in a more ideal situation (interpret that how you wish, maybe liike in the leaving together ending?) who do you think would broken have the healthiest relationsip with? both other voices and vessels.

oh, what a fun little question! upon reread i realize you might've meant a romantic relationship but i wrote this with mostly friendships in mind. however, i literally adore every broken pairing so i suppose this could still be read either way ♡

might be a little unexpected, but i imagine for 1-on-1 settings that broken would be hanging out with cheated most of time. ironically, where broken's bitterness tends to be ignored, cheated is way more friendly than people give him credit for.

broken frequently laments he's never been listened to, but cheated actually does listen to him! when you choose to surrender in the arms race, the other voices are against it, but cheated says it's worth a shot, and he's never harsh when speaking to him like the others. out of everyone he'd probably understand why broken has completely given up, and that he has good intentions despite. i can only think he'd be upset if forced into the apotheosis route (blacktabbygames on my hands and knees, please please please-), but most of his rage would be directed at the princess for rigging the game than anything the voices did.

i imagine cheated probably gently urges them to hang out together if broken's up for it. they'd do little activites like cleaning the church together, board games, sitting quietly as the rain falls, going out on a little rowboat on the lake to do some fishing and accepting their bad luck when it inevitably capsizes. divorced dad energy as i've seen someone say.

oh! as a bonus, for my own voices, chichi always huddles broken into his coat or offers it whenever it gets crowded since he knows broken doesn't do well with being looked at + broken reminds him of his family (flinching) :3c

hmm, as for the other voices, i think broken would have a nicest friendship with smitten and paranoid but they'd tend to clash more. which isn't a bad thing! smitten would definitely go overboard trying to cheer broken up and make him feel a little uneasy, while broken would undoubtedly assert that they are not destined lovers on equal footing with the princess, but i think they would still enjoy each other's company despite their differences. guys hated for their swag (unapologetically killing tlq).

paranoid meanwhile i think of as an exasperated mother hen. he wouldn't be overtly friendly like smitten or cheated but the first to check him over for any harm. have you eaten today? did you shower? you're making gloomy expression again, what are you thinking about? we need to go shopping later, your clothes are all ragged- and other clucking. the two are always pushing and pulling against eachother but i think of para as his closest friend because of it. tough love, baby!

as for the vessels⸻

WOUNDED WILD. ITS WOUNDED WILD AND IT'S NOT EVEN CLOSE.

(they make so violent. congratulations brokewild for inventing heterophobia 🎉)

i sometimes see posts where opportunist is jealous of witch/thorn and i think we should give tower the same treatment. her weird ass should stay grumbling by her temple's window as she watches broken and his friend clumsily dance in the garden. literally the virgin vs chad meme with these two.

i like to think in an au where they're seperate from shifting quiet that beast-wild would struggle with her personhood, and perhaps try seeking forgiveness from a deity since she can't forgive herself. she meets broken and they become sad little kindred spirits found whispering excitedly in the backpew.

and last but not least damsel! dambroken are quite similar characters in the sense they're both highly subservient to their lovers to the point of figuratively becoming nothing, so i always think of their interactions as the "and so, they were both bottoms" meme.

i actually think they'd actually clash a bit upon meeting. damsel's heart would break seeing her husband in such a sad state (in her mind everyone is just collectively married), and broken would probably be a little offput by how submissive she is despite being a princess. he'd get flustered if she tried to help him cook or clean and send her away, and outside the door you can see her mind kicking into overdrive trying to figure out how she's expected to make him happy if she can't do anything.

and maybe finally they'd have a quiet bonding moment where they sit and talk about their time in the construct. killing your lover and allowing your lover kill you seriously would have messed them up, and sharing pain with another lessens it. atleast a little.

tl;dr i love them your honor

#frills quit yapping challenge (failed) (immediately)#i also think he'd be decent friends with hunted and skeptic but i don't have evidence for this just vibes #grasping at the air. this ask makes me wanna draw the chichi twins now #unfortunately i have voice yaoi to complete #﹙ ✦ ﹚ fly‚ little bird.#﹙ ✦ ﹚ brokenloveposting

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marvelmaniac715 · 2 years ago

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My Paul Is Pokotho’s Prophet Theory:

I developed this theory with a friend and thought I’d post it here. I’ve seen this idea in one or two fanfictions before, but I thought I’d post it here because why not?

From the very start of the apotheosis, it’s all about Paul, almost every song we see is meant to advance his story. The narrative of the show is set up to find out his ‘wants’, and ultimately, he just wants Emma. By the end of the musical, he does in fact get Emma, just not in the way he predicted.

The hive never truly hurts him like it does the other people who get infected, instead, just like in the scene following ‘Not Your Seed’, they talk to him. Even what they say to him is quite interesting:

“We just keep running into each other, don’t we Paul?”

Of course, they threaten him, but they don’t actually hurt him, even though they have a gun at their disposal. They can’t hurt him, he’s the protagonist. He’s always been the protagonist. Why else would the hive have a whole number where they anticipate Paul arriving where they reference him as the ‘star of the show’. Why else would he literally be in the title, why would the opening number discuss him in detail and proclaim his tale as the ‘last remaining story to tell’? Pokotho created this musical, he wants all eyes on his prophet and - by extension - himself.

Obviously, he’s one of the last people to become infected, which is why he (presumably) became the leader, because of his internal strength and resilience, but if we look at this through the lens of my theory, here’s what I think is going on:

Just like with Hannah Foster and Webby, Pokotho came to Paul as a child, and just like how Webby gave Hannah prophecies to protect her, Pokotho tried to convince Paul to watch musicals in order to prepare him for his inevitable destiny of being his representative on Earth. But Paul was frightened of the voice in his head trying to make him watch musicals, so frightened that he developed a strong disliking for musicals in general, because it felt like the only way he could control the voice in his head. He tried to live an ordinary life, almost too ordinary, because he was scared of the voice trying to control him and force him into spontaneity. His desire to be with Emma was his undoing, because Pokotho finally had a plot line for his musical.

In the final song of the show, the hive follows Paul’s lead, as if he’s their king. This makes much more sense if we see Paul as Pokotho’s prophet, because the hive would naturally follow the closest thing to their god/leader. Pokotho ensured that his prophet and the woman that drove him to finally want were the last people to survive because if Emma died Paul would have nothing else to want; and the second Paul is fulfilling his predetermined role, Emma is killed.

It’s a pretty obvious theory, I know, but I wanted to present my ideas to potentially expand this theory. I also have a theory that McNamara is Tinky’s prophet that stems from his famous line ‘Wear a watch!’, but nobody wants to hear that 😂.

#team starkid #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #hatchetfield #paul matthews #emma perkins #pokotho #lords in black #hannah foster #webby #theory #fan theory #headcanons

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akihatohnoofficial · 2 years ago

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some more oc thoughts

thinking about sirius and alodia… alodia dressing sirius up in all sorts of different outfits and taking pictures while sirius is just standing there, confused. when she was brought back from the dead she lost most of her memories so something like a maid outfit has no associations for her. she doesn’t understand the moe factors of it

also, related to that memory loss… ehehe sirius waking up as memories from her past self seep into her mind but it’s a horrible nightmare to her… hugging alodia for comfort… so cute…

#oc derangement #oc thoughts #setting: post-apotheosis #sirius #alodia

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citrineandrosmarin · 5 months ago

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Athena and Herakles Wedding Imagery

Book: Athena by Susan Deacy (Highy recommend)

"In the chariot scenes showing his journey to Olympos, he is standing rigidly on the chariot while Athena is holding the reins. It has been observed that the scenes are resonant of depictions of ancient Greek weddings on which the bride would be conveyed to her new home in a chariot driven by the groom. At the time, then, when he is making the transition from human to god, he temporarily takes on a degree of passivity redolent of the quintessentially passive figure in iconographical terms: the bride. If Herakles is the bride, Athena is, effectively, the bridegroom."

"Athena, the virgin par excellence, adopting a characteristic male role and Herakles, the great deflowerer of women, being depicted as her bride."

"The use of wedding imagery is discernible, too, in Athena’s introduction of Herakles to Zeus. Figure 6 presents a comparable image of feminine passivity on the part of Herakles as set against masculine dominance of Athena. Athena is leading, if not pulling, Herakles towards Zeus by holding him by the wrist. This action evokes one of the standard features of wedding iconography, the cheir epi karpo (‘hand on wrist’) gesture whereby, in a movement with connotations of abduction, the seemingly unwilling bride was led to her destination."

"The unique closeness of Athena and Herakles is also depicted on several intimate scenes on Greek vases. In some of these scenes the two figures are shown resting with one another or else engaging in recreational activities. Athena is often shown standing beside Herakles while he is reclining. In other scenes he is playing the lyre while Athena is at his side. Elsewhere, Athena is given the role of his cup-bearer in that she is pouring from a jug into a vessel that he is holding out."

"Attempting an interpretation of these scenes is a frustrating process because it is unclear where we should place them in Herakles’ myth. Is Athena keeping him company while he takes a break from his labours? Should they alternatively be viewed as post-apotheosis scenes depicting two deities taking pleasure in one another’s company? Whichever is the case, they portray an intimacy and personal bond that exceeds any other of Athena’s relationships, even that with her father Zeus."

#Nell Reads Books #Susan Deacy #Athena #Athena deity #Herakles #Heracles #Athena goddess #helpol #hellenic polytheist #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan

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nonhumanresources · 5 months ago

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Author Of Her Own Story

Lil late but hey, this was meant to come out in October so y'know. It hasn't snowed here yet so you get some autumn vibes now instead. Also, this is the first story I'm posting from the commissions I opened up a few months back. More to come! This one was commissioned by @champloon, he's a cool dude! Go check him out!

Summary: Ryan attends the 16th Annual Harvest Renaissance Fair after several year of attempts, clad in the armor of a tinfoil knight and ready to have an incredible time. A disagreement with a vendor leads to a truly unforgettable experience with the patron saint of the harvest.

What to expect: Dragon transformation, TG, apotheosis, macro, forced language change, and some good old fashioned jousting.

Length: 4.5k words.

If you'd prefer to read this story in an easier format, here's a Google Drive link!

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Ryan’s greaves crunched on gravel as he stepped out of his car, raising one hand to block the noonday sunlight. It gleamed off the vehicle and his armor alike, wreathing him as if in some holy mandate—one that included a Honda, at least. He checked his pockets—wallet, phone, keys—then set off on his knight’s divine journey, into the great unknown.

Of course, it was only about thirty yards from his parking spot to the ticket booth for the Sixteenth Annual Harvest Renaissance Fair, but it still felt like some kind of mythical journey. After four years of work, inopportune family trips, and a particularly bad cold, he’d finally made it to the premier local late-summer festivity. Ryan had spared no expense on his cosplay; of course, with amateurish skills at the craft, “sparing no expense” meant using four rolls of aluminum foil to construct the vague approximation of a knight’s armor, but it had still come out alright. The foil wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso in large segments, secured to dark clothing, with a wooden sword slung in a sheath on his back and a shield on one arm with a crest he’d copied from an internet search emblazoned across the front. He’d opted for no helmet, leaving his long, brown hair to flutter in the wind. A leather bag was slung over one shoulder, half tucked under armor, less fitting but a necessity for any convention. He’d seen better, but it was difficult to look at him and think anything other than ‘knight,’ so he considered that an accomplishment.

Click on the read more for the rest of the story, as usual. I love comments and questions so don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

Ryan joined the ticket queue behind a witch and some kind of troll, anxiously awaiting his turn. Now that the day was finally here, he could hardly wait. This costume had been half completed at least a year prior, but his failure to attend had killed any motivation. Now, he was determined to make the most of it. The ticket line wait was made even longer by the blazing sun overhead, though fortune was clearly smiling on him this particular day, and the foil armor actually reflected a shocking amount of the heat back out into the sky (and onto those unlucky enough to be standing next to him, not that he could notice).

“Next!” a voice called out. The witch and troll duo shuffled away, leaving Ryan at the front of the line. He rushed forward and pulled out his phone. He flashed a QR code ticket to the elf sitting within the small ticket booth, who flashed him a practiced, tired smile as soon as it went though, and she stamped the back of his hand with a small pumpkin decal.

“The King welcomes you to the Harvest Fair,” she declared, talking fast. “All the kingdom’s greatest performers are present today, and eagerly await your fawning approval.” The elf glanced behind Ryan and groaned slightly, then pulled out a pamphlet, pointing at different sections of it as she rushed. “Map’s on page one and two, lore is right after that, read through it or talk to an actor and you can get an explanation on this year’s quest to serve the Goddess of the Harvest and whatnot. Vendors and food are inside on the left, performances are at the stage, jousting tourney starts in—” she glanced at her watch, “hour and fifteen, and bathrooms are marked on the map. Knight photoshoot times are listed if you care. Good day and happy harvest. Next!”

Ryan blinked. That was… some kind of way to treat a guest. He opened his mouth to ask about the quest, but the elf attendant was already waving the people behind him forwards, and he had to shuffle sideways to avoid getting his toes stepped on by a dwarf.

Well. He wasn’t about to let one rude employee ruin his day. She’s probably just overwhelmed running the booth all by herself, he reasoned. Not an excuse, really, but she had at least given him most of the information he was wondering about. He could always find an actor inside to get the rest if need be. As he walked through the front gate and caught his first glimpse of the fair, his heart swelled again, and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Flutey, medieval music floated over crowds who bustled between small, erected wooden castles and shops, while an incredibly colorful crowd meandered through the fair, taking in the sights and smells. Ryan took a deep breath and dove in.

The swell of people enveloped him immediately. Ryan rubbed shoulders with all manner of mythical beasts, races, and t-shirt wearing regular folk. He had to stumble to the side in order to circumvent a witch pushing a stroller covered in a paper mâché cauldron, then immediately duck sideways to avoid getting cleaved by a large ax that was resting on a barbarian’s shoulders. The whole affair was an utter jumble, but there was something magical about it all. And it’s not just the fairies, Ryan thought to himself, grinning.

The flow of the crowd had naturally taken him away from the stage, off to the left, towards the smell and sound of sizzling food. Ryan’s eyes went wide seeing a man no more than four feet tall walking away from a small hut with a turkey leg that seemed nearly as tall as he was. He’d eaten before leaving, though, just in case he was tempted to buy overpriced festival food, so he cut sideways through the flowing sidewalks and ended up getting dumped out into the slower moving foot traffic of what seemed to be the vendors’ area. He took a breath and used the opportunity to pull out that small pamphlet he’d received back at the entrance. One side panel listed events, confirming the upcoming jousting match; opening it up to the proper page on the inside, he found a large, illustrated map. He was shocked to find he’d traveled nearly a third of the length of the fair in arriving where he had. Standing on his armored toes and peeking over the top of the crowd, he was able to confirm that the entrance was quite some distance away, now.

Must be moving faster than I realized, he thought. The vendors’ area, labeled as The Harvest Market, took up a massive chunk of real estate on this side of the festival, which made sense based on how much of a community-built event this was supposed to be.

Might as well start here. Ryan tucked the pamphlet away and turned, stepping up to the first vendor he saw.

Various period-agnostic pieces of armor and filed-down weapons sat across tables and custom-built wooden shelves, providing the air of a blacksmith, perched atop a tablecloth likely purchased at a HomeGoods. A basket full of whittled walking sticks sat off to one side. Behind the tables, in the shade provided by a canopy poorly disguised as a storefront, a somewhat mousey man sat and squinted out into the sunlight (not to mention the light reflecting off of Ryan’s armor), dressed in a brownish tunic and coarse pants to give a sort of peasant-y vibe. A small name tag affixed to the tunic read Phil. He stood as Ryan approached and gave a wan smile.

“Welcome, Sire Knight!” he called, loud enough to be heard over the din. “I’ve wares to sell, should they be of interest to ye of noble ilk. Or nay, is it a quest ye seek?”

Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it before responding. That was more in character than he’d expected; he had some decent practice with voicework, but being put on the spot with an unpracticed tone was still difficult. “Ah. I seek to… browse. Good sir Phil,” he added hastily.

Phil nodded. His smile seemed to be propped against the side of his jaw, as if it were leaning on a wall. “Certainly. Rianne’s blessings to you, then, Knight.”

Ryan let silence fall for a moment, examining a dagger with a leather wrapped hilt. “Uh.” He coughed awkwardly. “If one… were to be seeking a quest, what would that entail?”

Phil, who had been moving to sit back down in his fold-out camp chair, straightened. “Aha! As the gods will it, so it be done, a Knight hath been sent to help!”

“Yes,” Ryan said, shuffling from one foot to the other. “And that help is?”

Phil’s grand presentation deflated slightly. “Why, only the quest of a lifetime? Rianne’s request, an epic journey only the bravest could hope to complete?” When Ryan only gave an apologetic shrug, he let out a disgruntled sigh. “The one on page four of the festival pamphlet and on the website when you scan the QR code on your ticket? That quest?”

“I got stuck on the map,” Ryan joked half-heartedly.

Phil groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Okay, well, doth the great knight feel inclined to consult page four of the festival pamphlet to receive his divine request from the goddess of the harvest, or would he prefer to browse some more?”

“Would you mind giving a condensed version?” Ryan asked, hopeful. That elf at the ticket booth had said to ask an actor, after all.

Phil threw a longsuffering sigh upwards (which, Ryan thought, seems kinda uncalled for, all things considered). “It really would be much easier if you just read it.”

“C’mon, I prefer acting anyway!”

“And I prefer when knights arrive ready to act,” Phil retorted.

Ryan folded his arms. “Aren’t renaissance fairs all about acting and improvisation?” He was feeling more and more put out by this being his first real interaction, after all the hype.

“First of all, it’s the Harvest Renaissance Fair,” Phil corrected, holding up a finger, “and second, I’ve had no less than sixteen tinfoil knights come through here with their dashing looks and ask me to read three paragraphs to them, and I’m getting real sick of it.”

At this point, Phil was looking quite worked up, and it seemed obvious there was no getting through to him. Ryan held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, listen, I—”

“No, you listen,” Phil growled, cutting Ryan off. “I’m clocking out. If you’re so interested in toying with precise narrative structure, then why don’t you try writing it yourself and see how much you like it? As the gods will it! Or god, in this case.” The man snapped his fingers and made a rude gesture in Ryan’s direction. It was his turn to grunt in frustration as Phil turned away after the frankly very confusing comment.

“Would you just wait one—” Ryan stopped himself and sighed. Whatever. It’s just one sourpuss. Don’t let it ruin the day. “Whatever. May your Harvest be merry, Sir Phil.”

Ryan furrowed his brow. “Excuse me. May the long nights bring light against fell dark.”

What. The hell. Something was wrong. He’d been trying to give Phil a few strong words, and perhaps an expletive or two, but the words came out… wrong. Obviously, that was not in fact what he’d said, twice. If it happened once he could chalk it up to distraction, but this was concerning. For his part, Phil just waved a dismissive hand from the back of his stall behind a large tote and said ‘bah!’

Ryan’s head felt… tight. Like his mind was pressing up against the inside of his skull, straining against the bone. He bent over, grabbing the edge of the table. With his head hanging low, he was able to watch as the sun flickered across his hands with an almost incandescent blue light, and with a series of small pops, claws erupted from each fingernail, poking into the fabric of the tablecloth.

Okay. Revision. Something isn’t wrong, something is seriously wrong. Ryan stumbled backwards, yanking his hands up to his face. Of course, embedded in the fabric as they were, the entire tablecloth came with them. With an enormous clatter, the weapons were unceremoniously tossed against each other and to the floor, crashing together all the way. Ryan couldn’t even attempt to help; the tablecloth was already tangling up his arms, hands balled up into the mass.

It must have just gotten caught on my sleeve. The claws had to have been some trick of the light off his armor. Tin foil was reflective, after all. Of course, he couldn’t actually check until this stupid fabric was taken care of. Unfortunately, each flex only swept more and more of it into the action, wrapping him up in layer after layer of fabric. He tossed one corner over a shoulder to keep track of it and somehow it managed to tangle up his whole arm. A series of knots almost cartoonish in their complexity were forming, and he seemed to be at their mercy. Several passersby were starting to stop and gawk, and Ryan could feel himself sweating as he struggled.

Finally, he hit a sweet spot and felt the fabric start to slide after tossing multiple layers of it over his shoulder. He took full advantage and yanked, the knots unraveling themselves like magic one after the other, hands finally, thankfully, sliding free. Ryan tossed his arms up into the air with a shout of triumph, not even bothering to check and discover that not only were they clawed, they were also blue. This was also the exact moment his chest decided to acquire a new look and promptly exploded outwards.

Ryan stared down in shock. He was used to being able to see his feet; this was distinctly not possible anymore. He found himself tipping forwards, and his arms pinwheeled wildly, trying to step forwards and catch himself. A numb tingling flashed across both legs, and they suddenly erupted into thick blue skin, pants straining. This did nothing to help steady him. He opened his mouth to yell, feeling like he was moving in slow motion, and it opened instead as a muzzle, pushed outwards and fused with his nose into one long snout, the yell emerging as a roar.

Just before he ate it, there was one final shhhRRRIP! from behind Ryan. He felt more than heard as his tailbone dropped the ‘bone’ suffix and became a full-on tail, the weight counterbalancing him. As if he was on a hinge, he swung back upwards. The tail impacted the ground with a dry smack, and Ryan was left standing stock straight, arms by his side, legs pointed inwards from their failed attempts to save him. With two belated flaps, a pair of wings unfolded from his back.

Around him, the crowd burst into applause.

This was so unexpected as to shock Ryan straight out of his stupor. His hands immediately flew to his face, finding a snout, horns poking out from his nose, his cheeks, his head, a pair of whiskers drooping down from either cheek. It only took a cursory glance to determine that the rest of him was similarly lizardlike. His entire knight’s armor had up and vanished; in its place was the tablecloth, tied across his shoulder and draped over his frame like a dress. A belt decorated with hanging jewels cinched it at the waist, and he was barefoot, though there were two large paws rather than actual feet, now. He was covered in vibrant blue scales from head to toe, but the ones across his neck and the front of his body were a hazy golden yellow instead, continuing on down the base of the tail that swayed behind him. He caught a glimpse in a polished shield and saw an unfamiliar reflection of a reptilian face that boasted yellow stripes across the snout, too.

Okay. Take stock. What can you actually do here? Ryan’s mind raced. She had to get out of there, find somewhere private to figure all this out. A change like this was bad enough; in public, it was one of her worst nightmares. The insane dragon body was the biggest factor, obviously. The new clothing was embarrassingly scant compared to a full suit of armor, but functional. She….

Oh. Wait. Okay, point three: Ryan was now most certainly a girl, and somehow the pronoun reference in her own head had already shifted. Disconcerting to think about directly, but it seemed fine to leave it alone, so she let that one slide for a bit. Not like she could pass as a man right now anyway.

Last thing: the crowd. She needed a way through. Ryan raised a hand, and the voices all died down to a murmur. She opened her mouth to politely yell at least one expletive and several panicked requests for people to please get out of the way now.

“Thank you! Thank you!” The raised hand became a wave as a feminine voice cut the silence from deep in her own throat. Ryan swallowed hard. Again. This time, she pictured the words before speaking them. Please get the HELL out of my way. Just eight words.

“Please, refrain from praising a humble goddess, citizens!” Wrong eight words. Ryan felt himself withering inside. This was out of control.

Someone stepped forward from the crowd, an elf with a badge that read ‘Nurse,’ looking concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay, Rianne?”

It’s Ryan, she tried to say. It didn’t work. “Your care lifts an immortal soul,” was what came out instead. “But Her Lady of the Harvest is well. ‘Twas naught but a minor altercation with a disagreeable sword!” Rianne—Ryan—let out a hearty laugh. Inside, she was yelling. She couldn’t stop herself from going along with this.

Maybe… maybe she had to play along. That made about as much sense as the rest of this. She chose her words carefully this time. “Though… if thou insists, take all pains to assuage your doubts as to my safety,” she said, holding out an arm. That was as far as she managed to push it towards Please give me an x-ray and tell me I’m just in some kind of nightmare bodysuit.

The elf reached out and grasped her arm confidently. The moment the nurse made contact, though, she froze. Her gaze connected with Ryan’s, and she could tell that the nurse knew that this wasn’t any kind of improv. That was real, bonafide dragon flesh. A strange haze passed over her eyes, and she stepped back before Ryan could do anything.

“Our Lady Rianne is perfectly healthy!” she declared to a flurry of applause. Ryan tried to reach for her, but she vanished into the crowd, whispering into the ear of some kind of half-demon fellow whose arm she grabbed along the way. There went that lifeline.

Rianne. That wasn’t a mispronunciation of her name; that was the name of the Goddess of the Harvest that Phil had mentioned. The one who was supposedly giving out quests and making requests of brave adherents, and who ruled over the entire festival, granting blessings of bountiful harvests and community bonding. That was…

Oh, gods, that was her. Ryan had somehow become Rianne, and now she couldn’t stop talking like a goddess. She couldn’t fathom the reasons behind it, but that must have been why she sounded like a bad reenactment of the legend of Saint George.

The worst part was, that almost certainly meant that she was stuck here. The goddess of the festival couldn’t very well leave. Even if she tried there was probably some kind of contrived method of keeping her put. She was well and truly screwed.

Although. Although. A thought surfaced that made her flush. This crowd… they were focused on her, yes, but it was positive attention. Clearly the goddess of the fair—one whom they all must assume she was some kind of mascot representing—would be popular, especially among those undertaking her quests. So, if she was so popular…

…what was keeping her from enjoying the fair like this, anyway?

Okay, listen up. “My dear merrymakers!” Okay, that one was better than her original thought. “Let not one accident cause you grief. It is a day of joy! Please, continue the festivities!” Her mind raced, trying to come up with something she could say that would get interpreted in a favorable way by her new rules. “Worship comes in many forms, and today that form is togetherness. So please, show Her Lady how you can bring this community together first-hand!”

A last round of cheers, and the crowd began to disperse—all but a loyal sect clamoring for attention. Rianne did a mental fist pump as one stepped forwards, pointing down the row of vendors, towards the stage. Maybe this would be fun after all.

~~~~~

Tessa the elven nurse dragged her friend, Anthony, through the crowd. Her vision was sharp, the colors bright. By the time she finally stopped, Anthony had gone from laughing and plucking at her grip to worried. He came to a halt and looked down at his shorter friend.

“What’s wrong?” Anthony asked, the demonic costume creating a humorous contrast to the caring question.

“Rianne,” Tessa hissed, pointing towards the dragon. What she’d thought was just an actor.

“Yeah, we get a goddess every year,” Anthony replied. “Is there something wrong? Did she actually get hurt?”

“No!” Tessa almost wanted to scream. “Dude. Look closer. She’s real.”

Anthony cocked an eyebrow. “Did you get hurt?”

“Anthony!”

“Okay, okay, fine, I’ll look!” He turned away from his friend, who raked a hand through her hair. She felt like her skin was on fire. This was… it was good, actually. Her blood was electric. At first she’d thought it was a fever; now she recognized it for what it was. She was filled with belief.

She watched Anthony’s face. Saw the skepticism melt into shock. “Hooooly shit,” he breathed.

“This is insane.”

“I know,” Anthony said, reaching for his phone. “I have got to tell the guys.”

~~~~~

Rianne had no way of knowing that as she was paraded through the festival grounds, word of her divinity was spreading through the fair, and it was spreading fast. The next hour went by in a blur. She blessed vendors, received offerings, gave a toast, she had officiated a real ass wedding. Her head swam. Her paws buzzed with power. Whatever Phil had been on about was nonsense; ‘writing the narrative’ felt intoxicating. What she really needed, though, was a break.

Sadly, breaks were not an option, as just then she found herself being introduced to the festival organizer, who was vigorously shaking her paw and bowing their head in supplication.

“Now, Rianne, could you watch over our most cherished tournament, the Fall Joust?” The organizer flashed a grin full of fake teeth to the crowd. Suck up, she scoffed. Rianne had plans, anyway. Definitely not.

“Nothing could please me more!” she crooned. Great. Her goddess side had other plans. So it was that she found herself sat on an actual, real-life throne in the center of the covered wooden platform that lined the side of the jousting arena, the organizer on her left, a recently-crowned King Of The Festival on her right, who had earned the title by winning a costume party. It felt small; her horns scratched the ceiling of the room. Had she grown taller? Her scales felt itchy, even in the shade. Something felt… off. A paw brushed the side of her buxom chest, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from making noise. Every part of her body was acting up all at once, and she was not keen on sitting through multiple jousting matches.

The viral spread of belief had, by this point, reached its tendrils throughout every part of the fair. It wasn’t quite dominant, not yet, but it was approaching a critical point—one strong enough that Rianne was able to detect it. There was a taste in the air that her godly form translated into the ambrosia of belief, and lots of it.

An announcer droned on from a box somewhere at the end of the field. Conversations continued on either side of her. Rianne heard none of it. She folded her arms over her stomach and tried to keep from hurling as she rubbed against her own sensitive skin.

“...for their contributions to the fair. And lastly, we have one last guest to thank.” A bit of the announcer’s tone crept through into Rianne’s ears. “The one to whom this festival is dedicated. Our… hm?” Feedback came through the mic as it was suddenly covered due to commotion in the announcer’s booth. When he spoke again, moments later, there was true reverence in his voice. “Our immortal goddess, Lady Rianne of the Harvest! Please, everyone, put your hands together for the first TRUE appearance of the Goddess herself!”

Oh, God.

Rianne’s body could no longer take it. She fell forwards from her chair, stumbling out into the jousting arena on all fours as she quite literally doubled in size, body stretching to a full fifteen feet long. As waves of shock and understanding rippled through the largest crowd the festival had to offer, the belief in Rianne grew stronger and stronger, and she grew right alongside it. Paws rubbed along scales uncontrollably as she erupted like a glorious, godly volcano, dwarfing first the attendees, then her own previous size, then the arena itself. It was only once she tried to stand, head now poking at least twenty feet above the roof of the covered seating, that she had the presence of mind to yank her (miraculously growing) dress down and snap her legs together to try to keep from flashing the crowd, face turning a brilliant shade of maroon in the process. She managed to only knock over a couple of wooden fence supports as she wobbled out of the arena, one paw tucked between her legs, the other held tight over her chest.

“B-blessed Harvest!” she cried out, trying to smile and failing to fully remove the flustered expression from her face. She needed out of there fast, and at this size, there was no one able to stop her. “Your grace is EXTREMELY well received! P-please calm your prayers, lest Her Lady expose… f-frighten you all with her godly form! And rest assured she will return, year after year, to ensure Her will be respected and celebrated!” As she spoke, some of the energy crackling across her form was sapped out, and she felt the words cement themselves into reality. She would be back. Rianne’s stomach dropped like a rock. This was going to happen again. Year after year, she’d be back here, transformed into a dragoness once again to celebrate the harvest. She snapped her jaw closed before she could damn herself any more.

The entire festival could see her, now, and they all erupted into raucous applause and cheers. Rianne choked out one final “Happy Harvest!” before turning tail and running, the glimpses of her rear through the slitted dress as purple as the cheeks up above, each softly embedded paw print in the landscape bigger than the last as she dashed off to find a couple buildings to hide herself behind. The only thing that the goddess could think of that embarrassed her more than accidentally flashing a festival of supplicants was that, deep down, she knew that she was excited for next year’s Harvest.

#writing wyrms #dawdling dragons #transformation #tf #dragon tf #dragon transformation #language change TF #apotheosis #god transformation #renaissance fair #tftg #mtf tg #my writing #my stuff #champloon

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bugbearsandbookends · 3 months ago

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Let's Unbox My Dungeons & Dragons Immortals Rules Set

Immortals is a curious beast. The two books are sparsely illustrated and read more like end-of-year fiscal reports than divine revelations. The cover art is cool, though. Notice that the character in the painting isn’t fighting the dragon—they’re on equal footing. Either that, or the dragon just doesn’t want any trouble.

In this set, your characters ascend to godhood, but as it turns out, being a god is just like being a high-powered mortal… with extra steps. To me, Immortals felt less like an exploration of post-apotheosis existence and more like TSR’s way of managing the game’s creeping power escalation.

A stronger choice, in my opinion, would have been to stop with the Companion or Master set and introduce rules for wrapping up a beloved character’s adventuring career—maybe even weaving their legacy into a new campaign. Instead, Immortals stands as a strangely dry and disappointing end to an otherwise grand journey.

#ttrpg #dnd #roleplaying games #gaming

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hatchetfieldtheories · 2 years ago

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Workin' Boys: A New Theory

So, I’ve changed my mind.

A while back I wrote this theory, and while I do still think there is some truth to the theory that Hidgens began to have his apotheosis once he touched the blue goo, I think there is more to the story.

Note, the below contains one mild spoiler for NPMD. Mild only in that I will briefly reference one character without any context added. Feel free to skip this theory if you wish, or come back to it post 13th October to see how much I got wrong!!

Great Scott! It’s a Workin Boys theory!

The world will be blessed with Workin Boys next week, and I know not everyone will get to watch it, but it’s safe to say there will be things we learn from the show that will either answer some of our never ending questions, or give us more to puzzle over. The latter being the one I’m expecting if I’m honest, afterall, this is Hatchetfield.

And to be honest, we’ve not been given much to work on. The trailer and synopsis are both pretty short, we’ve had a sprinkling of facts and figures over the last couple of years, and a few Hidgens cameos, so this isn’t really a theory of what I think will be the storyline, but rather an attempt to predict some of the themes and potential lore implications that might arise.

Also for reference, a good portion of the info used in this theory has come from these two wonderful compendiums of Hatchetfield knowledge:

@gone-to-oregone's wonderful Everything is Connected doc

@abiimaryy's amazing Hatchetfield Lore Doc

The Stage is Set

Professor Henry Hidgens and Doctor Emmett Brown have a lot in common. They’re eccentric, they’re clever, and they both had a vision of something world changing due to an accident they had 30 years ago.

For Henry, this doesn’t result in any fun 50s hijinks, but rather he gets struck by lightning in 1988 and predicts the world ending by musical apotheosis. Super specific, honestly. But what is important is that date.

Hidgens didn’t predict the events of TGWDLM after 2005, but rather before. If this had happened to him after 2005 we could easily put the lightning strike down to an event unique to the TGWDLM timeline only. However, his accident happened way before 2005, way before the timelines split. So just as Ted must be the Homeless Guy in every single Hatchetfield timeline, Hidgens must also be expecting a musical apocalypse in every timeline.

This must also include Working Boys, whatever timeline that ends up being in. In Workin Boys, Hidgens would be under the impression that at some point soon, a musical apocalypse is about to happen. So what does that have to do with said musical-within-a-musical?

Here come the LiB

It’s pretty safe to say Pokey is heavily influencing whatever happens in Workin Boys. First of all, its a musical so it was going to be a safe bet. But judging by the trailer, we’ve got multiple references to our fave goo gremlin. The blue light shining on Henry, multiple voices calling him in a Singular Voice, and Joey’s jumpscare where he looks like Pokey incarnate.

Who Joey is in that small clip is anyone’s guess. I’ve seen a few theories floating about, including Chad, Mathias Waylon, and Pokey himself. Honestly, I’m not sure, but what is important is how he looks. Whoever this fella is, he’s got a blue hue, a cracked face, and ooze dripping down his chin. If he’s not Pokey, he’s someone who has been Pokey-fied.

And this link was always going to make sense. Workin Boys has had its biggest show stopping moment in Pokey’s timeline.

But what if Workin Boys was created, because and for Pokey.

In TGWDLM, we get a whole scene of our cast of characters witnessing the meteor coming through the clouds. Our cast of characters are busy going about their evening, finishing work, wondering what is coming through the clouds. Notably, Paul is on his way home, from his work, in the business world. Paul doesn’t strike me as someone who stays late at work, so it’s safe to say that the meteor hit the Earth’s atmosphere around.. 5 O’clock?

This is Pokey’s Workin Boys now

Let’s go back to that incident with the lightning strike. Henry was hit by lightning and predicted the apocalypse. I’ve referenced in a few theories (1 & 2) that I think lightning is more than just the LiB’s motif. It’s the strike of inspiration, of interference, of the Lords in Black in the real world. The Black Book contains references to lightning, we see a crack of lightning across each Hatchetfield show title, when the meteor crashes at the Starlight lightning is flashing through the sky.

Something to shock em, to bring them a crawling, a big time box office draw

When Henry was hit by lightning, he didn’t just see the potential musical end times. But he was also given Workin Boys - or at least, he was given his inspiration. Workin Boys was always written for Pokey. It’s Hidgen’s story, yes, but the musical itself is for our blue boy. It was a pre-destined self-destruction.

The musical Hidgens writes tells us the 5 O’Clock can’t come soon enough because in one timeline, that is when the meteor will strike. This is why he is trying so hard to fund the show in every timeline, because in one timeline he needs to put it on stage for whatever Pokey has planned. Whatever Pokey requires half of Hatchetfield to be in attendance for.

Prof. H and Miss H?

I’ll be honest, and apologies in advance. I don’t think Miss Holloway is alive in the Workin Boys timeline.

We were told following NMT2’s release (via Jim Povolo’s watch series) that the Black Book we see in Killer Track was created for Workin Boys, which means providing things haven’t changed we should see the book. If that’s the case, then Miss H doesn’t have it. It’s possible that Hidgens somehow gets hold of the book, and when the show of his dreams doesn’t look to be going the way he expected - he does what Thrash told everyone he did - he sold his soul to the devil. Or, well, to the Black and White.

As to when he gets the Black Book - who knows - but all I’ll say is it’s very interesting that Miss H is our 80s queen, and Hidgen’s divine inspiration also occurred in the 80s.

Encore

Well, that’s the main theory. But we’ve got time for one last little theory that’s very loosely based on nothing.

Workin Boys: A New Musical, is based on Hidgens’ friends from college - old college chums in a beat up old house. Specifically - six of them - not including Henry. I’ve seen a few theories regarding the six workin boys being a stand in for the LiB and Webby. Is this a stretch? Maybe. But it also kind of fits. From odd instances in livestreams and tweets, it’s clear that Henry was not throwing that old pigskin around (specifically in one of Nick’s tweets that there are 7 workin boys, but 6 on the field). Henry isn’t a part of that group. Not fully. So if we do get to meet any of the irl workin boys, I don’t think their dynamic is going to be quite how Hidgen’s pictures it.

Well, if you made it this far please help yourself to some interval ice cream and a show programme. And remember - there’s no exits from this broadway venue.

#starkid #team starkid #hatchetfield #workin boys #npmd spoilers #hatchetfield theory #hatchetfield theories

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