#similarly to the military stuff

[transsongtaewon]

Rereading the early chapters is fun, because you think there's a sort of funny scene coming up and then Kim Sunghan mentions his college days in passing and Yoojin thinks wouldn't it be nice to go to college. And then follows it up with I Need To Get Drunk.

[b1asho]

While it's on the mind, here's my wings of fire designs too. Not as much of a brainrot but still fun. Bad take or am I cooking with some of them? Let me know in the comments. Here's some (too many) notes:

I really liked the original designs when I first read these books, but I wanted to try my hand at uhh changing them a little. Mainly making them more distinct from each other (even if this irreversibly breaks canon XD)

-Sandwings live in a mixed savannah and desert habitat and have bodies adapted for resource scarcity, effective hunting, and heat dispersion. They have large ears to help cool off and listen for stuff. They can fly, but pretty weakly in comparison to some others, mainly using flight to navigate their large territories , get onto cliffs, and scan for prey. They typically climb up somewhere and then jump off. They are built like felines, and use a solo stalk and rushdown hunting approach coupled with a sting instakill. They live in family groups, with a ‘queen’ title going to the alpha female 💪 and everyone else hunting and living together. They are immune to their own venom, which acts very similarly to a scorpion’s but in a massive dose, causing numbness, breathing difficulties seizures, and eventually death. It takes time for them to make more once they’ve expended the dose, so they rarely use it outside of hunting or life/death situations (though the prospect of being stung is very scary to everyone else, and they will instinctively raise their tail when startled or threatened)

-Skywings live in high mountainous and forested areas, with some living in the lowlands. They are powerful flyers and very acrobatic due to their tail, though this comes at the expense of their agility on land and the strength of their non wing arms. They have long legs with powerful talons for grasping prey midair or snatching them from off the ground. They hunt and live alone unless they have a partner. Communities are made up of a loose group of related individuals who rarely collect in one place at once(queendom structure are a more recent and ‘unnatural’ thing for them, but very useful for organizing military efforts and empire building). They stay aloft for long periods of time and usually only land on their cliff homes. They need a sprint or a takeoff point to get flying, though. Unlike every other tribe, they have a noticeable difference between male and female (being a nose horn and red face for males.) males are prized for these features, and having a pretty husband is seen as an attractive trait for a queen.

-Seawings live along the coast. They normally only venture out of the water for trade and other resources, since they can get everything else they need underwater. Their large neck houses gills protected by thick pads that will close when on land, while their lungs are in their mid chest. Primarily adapted to swimming, they have very strong tails and webbed fingers and toes. They will also use their wings to steer and paddle, as well as manipulate things their other arms can’t reach. They will hunt in packs, corralling fish and other animals into a kill zone. They are very clumsy on land and in the air with their short limbs and weak wings. Their bioluminescent spots can be flashed for communication, and compared to the other tribes they have pretty poor vocal ability (due to the gills in their neck getting in the way) and will supplement with other spot/sign signals. Every individual has unique spots, though their glowing ones come in consistent numbers, sizes, patterns, and places on their body so they can use them for common language across their group. However, Different groups from different parts of the ocean have different numbers of spots in different areas, making cross communication via only spots difficult. Their whiskers help navigate in close or dark areas, and are seen as a status symbol.

-Mudwings live in warmer areas, specifically marshes and other wetlands (though sometimes in some forested areas too). Their thick armor helps protect them from other mudwings/competition, while also acting as an insulator that allows them to easily venture a wider range than other tribes from warm climates. Physically, they are the strongest and bulkiest. They typically use the element of surprise and their overwhelming size and strength to take down large prey. However, unlike other tribes they tend to eat more plants too due to their large size (all of them are technically omnivores, but meat makes up the dominant part of their diet because of their energy needs and their ancestors). They are also the poorest flyers out of the bunch, having sacrificed that for size and strength, though they can do short bursts similar to a chicken to get to hard to reach areas or to surprise attack prey faster than them, they’re similar to hippos and are adapted to living in the water too, using powerful webbed arms to propel themselves and dig through the mud, and their large lung capacity to stay submerged and hidden for long periods. Their nostrils, ears, and eyes are located near the top of their head, which also gives more room for Tusks. They use these to root around occasionally defend themselves. Tusk maintenance and appearance is very important to them. They live in large groups of families in the same area and have more communal social standards than other tribes.

-Rainwings live in tropical areas and have a very small habitat range. This has caused them to look and act very different than most tribes, leading to poor perception of them. They use their long claws, strong grasping fingers, and prehensile tail to climb around, and are pretty much arboreal. They have wings meant for quick takeoffs and flight in dense areas, and are pretty agile and swift. They and aren’t that great at sustained flight or dealing with high altitudes and winds though . Their frill is delicate and used for emoting (probably originally for mating purposes) Their skin is packed with chromatophores that they can use to match their surroundings, and they have loose ridges in their skin that they can raise to enhance the effect. Their skin is constantly changing color due to their brain activity, though they have set patterns/colors for emotions and communication. They can also choose to focus on organizing their skin patterns to get coordinated colors and patterns, since normally it’s pretty disorganized. They eat a lot more plants due to their environment and due to social standards, but arent herbivores. They have the ability to spit acid out of hollow retractable fangs, and use precise shots of this coupled with their camouflage ability to get prey. They can also spray it at higher velocities for defense and offense, though this expends their supply much quicker. They don’t recognize a queen in their communities and are fairly disorganized into different cooperative groups.

-Nightwings are the result of a group that split off onto an island, though the volcanic activity on their original island escalated to the point where they had to emigrate. They are great fliers, using their wings and tail extensions to travel great distances to track prey and ambush from above. When on land, they aren’t particularly fast or strong, and instead are built for persistence. Their hunting tactic involves getting an initial bite onto prey, then waiting for it to succumb to infection. Their spines, horns, muscles, and talons are mainly for defending their kill from other Nightwings rather than hunting it in the first place. As a result of this competition, they aren’t naturally very social like other tribes, They are mainly nocturnal.

-Icewings live in the colder tundras and snowy forest environments. They are pack hunters, using their speed and persistence to take down prey, similar to wolves. Their long overlapping scales help them trap heat and survive in the cold, and while the guy i drew here is pretty skinny they also store fat much more readily than other tribes. Their bowed wings are mainly used to swoop in in prey, and like falcons they often take steep dives to grapple it. Their antlers only grow in at a certain time in the year, but royalty will wear embellished artificial ones in the meantime.

[saintsenara]

wait how bougie was Tom Riddle Sr.? How nice would his Manor have been? Was he like an actually Lord with a title and stuff?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

in half-blood prince, dumbledore refers to tom riddle sr. as "the squire's son" - which allows us to state with certainty that he was a minor aristocrat.

however, the word minor is important here.

there are - historically - two levels of aristocracy in britain. the first are the peers of the realm - which refers to families which hold one or more of the titles of duke, marquess, earl, or viscount. these are the elite of the elite - these gradations of nobility were created in the middle ages as a way of distinguishing those who held the titles from other noblemen, usually because of a close relationship [often one of blood or marriage or both] to the king.

the titles are hereditary by male primogeniture, and the holders - while this is no longer the case - used to have political power [such as the right to sit in the house of lords], simply by virtue of their birth.

[this is why they're called "peers" - it refers to them historically being close in status to royalty, and therefore expected to serve as royal advisors.]

there is another class of peer - a baronet - whose title is similarly hereditary, but whose position doesn't come historically with the right to sit in the lords or advise the king by virtue of birth. [baronets may - of course - have been members of parliament, or royal advisors selected at the king's discretion, but this would be separate from their title. a duke, in contrast, could historically expect to request a meeting with the king simply because he was a duke.]

while some families have historically been ennobled at the king's discretion, access to any of these titles is pretty much restricted to the small group of families who've held them for centuries.

but below the peers of the realm, there is a second, more minor class of aristocracy, the landed gentry - of which a village squire is a textbook example.

historically, what is meant by "landed" is an ability to live off of the rental income of one's country holdings, which would be leased to tenant farmers. that is, they are landlords in the original sense of the term - lords of the land. this is what tom sr. tells us his family does in half-blood prince:

“It’s not ours,” said a young man’s voice. “Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son’s quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village - ”

what is also meant by "landed" is that the family in question is of the upper-classes, but that they are still "commoners" - which in this context doesn't imply a value judgement, but which is a socio-legal term which simply indicates that they don't hold an aristocratic title such as duke, earl etc.

[and gentry families certainly aren't common in terms of financial standing... the most famous member of this class in literature? fitzwilliam darcy, whose ten thousand a year is something like thirteen million quid in today's money...]

gentry families might be very old - they might have received their lands from the king in the middle ages as a reward for knightly service, and it's interesting to imagine generations of gaunts and riddles brought up alongside each other in little hangleton - or they might be comparatively newer - tom sr.'s great-grandfather [feasibly born c.1810] could have been a self-made victorian industrialist who bought the lands from the original holder and established himself as gentry.

by 1900, it was becoming much harder for the gentry to live on rental income alone, and many would also have had jobs. these would have been elite, and very frequently were in politics, the civil service, the military, or the law. tom sr's father - whom the films call thomas, so let's go with that - might, for example, have served as a high-ranking officer in the army [including during the first world war], be the local magistrate, or be the local member of parliament.

in terms of titles, thomas riddle would almost undoubtedly be sir thomas - and this is how it would be correct to address him. but this title would be a courtesy, and it wouldn't be hereditary unless the riddles were also baronets [which it's entirely plausible that they were].

which is to say, tom sr. would not have a title while his father was alive - although he would have the right to be referred to formally in writing as mr thomas riddle esq. [esquire]. the correct form of verbal address for anyone other than friends and family would be to call him mr riddle, although the riddles' servants would probably refer to him as mister tom.

tom jr. would not have a title while his father or grandfather was alive. if the riddles were baronets, he would technically inherit the title after he kills the rest of the male line... but given that tom sr. never acknowledged him and his existence was presumably unknown to the riddles' lawyers this wouldn't be something which happened in reality. the estate's executors clearly took control of the riddles' property, the land was portioned off and sold, and the house became a standalone property for sale.

the riddle house - which is a name used informally for it in little hangleton, it would have a different "proper" name - is described in canon in ways which show that it's a typical manor house, which means it would look something like this:

these houses are obviously very impressive, but they're tiny in size in comparison to the magnificent stately homes - places like blenheim palace, chatsworth, burghley house, holkham hall - lived in by the titled aristocracy. the riddles would entertain - for example - by giving house parties, dinner parties, hunting parties, etc., but they wouldn't have a ballroom or a dining hall capable of seating hundreds.

[they would probably also own a property - probably a flat or small house - in london.]

they would have servants, but not colossal numbers - they would undoubtedly have a butler but not footmen, and the upstairs maids would report to the butler since they probably wouldn't have a housekeeper. they canonically have a cook, who probably had one or two kitchen maids assisting, and they canonically have a gardener - frank bryce - who probably doesn't have any assistants. they may, depending on the size of the estate, have a gamekeeper. sir thomas undoubtedly had a secretary and a chauffeur, and his wife might have a lady's maid. tom sr. would have had a nanny and then been educated until at least the age of eight by a governess, but would then have attended a prep school [either day or boarding] until the age of thirteen, and then gone to a boarding school, from which he likely went on [on the basis of social class rather than talent] to oxford or cambridge.

the family would have enormous social influence locally. most people - and also businesses - in little hangleton would be their tenants, and they would also probably have a say over the appointment of the local clergyman [an important figure in the community in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries], since the parish church is likely to have been something called a "living" - the thing which turns up again and again in jane austen - which means that the church and its parsonage technically belongs to the landowner, but is granted to the vicar as a freehold while he's in post.

gossip about the riddles' doings would also be the main source of local interest - the servants were dining out for months on tom sr.'s elopement and return.

so they're something resembling celebrities - but they're local celebrities. nobody in london - and even nobody in cities we can imagine are nearer to little hangleton, such as liverpool - would particularly know or care who they were. tom sr. might have made it into the london gossip columns if he was part of a particularly scandalous "set" [a group of friends] who socialised in the capital, but these mentions would have been fleeting - and the press would have been much more concerned by the doings of members of his set who were genuinely titled or who were legitimately famous.

[this is the reason why mrs cole doesn't recognise the name. if merope had said her son was to be named cecil beaton after his father, she may well have been prompted to hunt him down...]

so tom sr. is elite - but he's elite in a way which is extremely culturally-specific, and which is [just like the portrayal of aristocracy in the wizarding world - the blacks, for example, are far less aristocratic than the riddles in terms of canonical vibe] often exaggerated into the sort of pseudo-royal grand aristocracy which the british period-drama-industrial-complex makes such a big deal of.

and tom jr.'s character is affected by this in a series of extremely interesting ways.

by which i mean that, in terms of blood, he's probably the most aristocratic character in the series - the absence of grand aristocracy in the wizarding world would mean that [were he raised by his father] he would come from a social background which was equivalent [even as it was divided from them by virtue of being muggle] to any of his fellow slytherins, and would help him easily blend into their society because the manners, genre of socio-cultural reference points [he would recognise, for example, that quidditch heavily resembles both rugby and polo], accent and way of speaking etc. that he would possess would be broadly indistinguishable from those of his pureblood peers.

[this is why justin finch-fletchley and draco malfoy speak in essentially the same way.]

but he would then be given the enormous boost in cachet - one which would genuinely elevate him above the rest of his cohort - of his maternal line.

and we see in canon that this does bestow some privilege on him among his peers while he's in school:

Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Harry noticed that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look to him as their leader. “I don’t know that politics would suit me, sir,” he said when the laughter had died away. “I don’t have the right kind of background, for one thing.” A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Harry was sure they were enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their gang leader’s famous ancestor.

where he's let down socially is that people like slughorn - to whom he can't reveal his slytherin ancestry and hope to maintain cover for his wrongdoing - don't think he's come from anywhere particularly special. this is because he has a muggle father - absolutely - but it's even more that he has a muggle father who, since he left him to be raised in an orphanage, was presumably working-class.

what the young voldemort lacks is any socio-cultural familiarity with the muggle class performance which the class performance of the wizarding world parallels. abraxas malfoy boasting about how important his father is would be something a tom jr. raised by the riddles could match - "oh yes, my father gives to all sorts of causes too. in fact, he was invited to buckingham palace because of it." - establishing himself as an equal in terms of class and social influence even if he isn't an equal in blood.

what actually happens in canon is that the orphaned tom - with his uncouth manners and his working-class accent - has no hope of gaining any sort of social equality with his posh peers.

so he becomes determined to outrank - and humiliate and control - them.

[ranahan]

Correct me if I’m wrong, but…

The Star Wars: Republic Commando multimedia project (which includes a first person shooter video game in addition to the novel series) was conceived as a grittier, military take on Star Wars universe, told from the point of view of the disposable grunts (their words, not mine). “Not Star Wars Star Wars,” I think they called it in interviews. I always assumed Traviss was hired for the project because she wrote those kind of stories. If you don’t like military science fiction, that’s fine of course; nobody is required to like all genres of fiction. But it’s rather the point that Republic Commando deviates genre-wise from the rest of the SW media. It’s a feature, not a bug as it were.

Likewise, I don’t think it’s a valid criticism of Traviss that she wrote military fiction, which she was presumably commissioned to write. You can of course argue that the choice to deviate stylistically within an established franchise was a poor one. But I always assumed that was a choice that came from higher up the chain, because as far as I can tell, the Republic Commando FPS game is in line with the novels, and Traviss was not involved in game development (afaik she was hired later), which is rather a larger project than a single novelist anyway. Similarly complaining about Traviss adhering to genre conventions of military fiction seems to miss the point that that’s the entire concept of the novels.

I think you can find valid critiques of the novels, I’m not the greatest fan of them either. You can even critique the decision to create military science fiction novels in the Star Wars universe. But the framing of some of these critiques seems a bit off-base. It’s not that Traviss decided to write military wank because she has a boner for it (she makes a living writing the stuff); it’s because she was hired specifically to do so.

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Gate - Thus the JSDF Fought There! Girl Models Candidates

Fuck... Fuck man, I figured there might be one or two good girls from this but dammit... 17... I managed to narrow it down to 17. Not gonna like, mostly it's cuz I can't resist Bunny Girls, Knights or Oriental girl designs.

But yeah this would essentially be if the anime happened in Remnant, the gate opens in either Mistral or Vale, and the invasion happens. Itami gets the best ending he could ask for, having to do nothing but escort people away and to buy his manga and collectables.

Why Because Jaune (Canon but way older Post Salem) is there, Itami get's to focus on his Otaku lifestyle just like he wanted. Meanwhile Jaune is fighting a small army of medieval looking invaders, one-sidely winning them... And then the Police force and other Huntsman get involved.

So yeah stuff pans out similarly to the anime in that regard but instead of a military force Huntsman are what they face, one men armies worth dozens of men with power that cannot be explained and technology that can hardly be fathomed.

The benefit is that Remnant for all it's faults is actually more united then earth's forces were. And so it's Atlas leading the charge but with Huntsman from each Kingdom representing Vale, Vacuo and Mistral.

Jaune, Nora and Ren being obvious choices, Team RWBY wouldn't be able to go for diplomatic reasons (Weiss can't go cuz she's the SDC's head, and Blake cuz she's leading Menagerie with Yang) Ruby wouldn't be able to go because Remnant still needs Silver-Eyes fro Grimm.

Jaune would be put in charge of a team of soldiers from Atlas, Shino Kuribayashi and Mari Kurokawa.

Jaune would simply put it go into sorta a blood rage once he see's Noriko Mochizuki, a Mistralian enslaved and raped, and also at see residents of their own world treated the same (Tyuule) He would proceed to kill Zorzal and only be stopped from beheading Molt due to Ren's intervention.

I can see him taking both Noriko and Tyuule with him (The later surprised and feeling extremely conflicted) Which of course would lead to Jaune eventually meeting Delilah as she tries to attack and kill Tyuule still under the impression she betrayed her race.

Jaune would also grow close to the Rose Knights, not helping but wanting to help them become more then a mere order under a corrupt kingdom.

Okay... Lets see.

Giselle, Hamilton Uno Ror, Nanami Kuribayashi, Noriko Mochizuki and Shandy Gaff Marea would be made later...

[bucketsquid]

An Exhaustive List of Octarian F.A.Qs... and Answers!

There's one thing I've noticed about the Western Splatoon fandom.... and that's the weird amount of misconceptions, mistranslations, and misunderstandings about the Octarians.

For some reason it's often lore about them, surrounding them, or about their activities that always seems to have this happen. And so I want to help correct that! They're a super cool faction and I want to work on people hopefully understanding them better, while helping to correct misconceptions about them.

This will be long, there will be many citations and pictures both. Shoutout in particular to Inkipedia and inkfish translator rassicas, and the hard work of both, for this.

If there's any common lore misconceptions that I left out, please let me know! I'm including every single one I can think of, but I probably missed something somewhere.

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General Octarian Questions

Q. How are Octarians made? And are Octolings made the same way?

A. Octarians are made from severed Octoling tentacles (The Art of Splatoon + SplatoonBase) that are then somehow animated. Ones with more tentacles are "more intelligent"; they're sapient, either way.

Octolings are not, to our knowledge, created like this. The existence of SashiMori's Paul suggests that Octolings undergo the same life stages as Inklings do. (Similarly, Diss-Pair's Warabi has lore that mentions having parents.)

There is concept art in HaikaraWalker (the Octo Expansion artbook) that depicts Octolings mutating from Octarians... but it seems to just be concept art.

Q. Did Octavio brainwash the Octarians into obeying him? Wasn't music used to make them obey?

A. No, they were never brainwashed. Octavio uses his music to keep the Octarians in order and to keep their working rhythm correct-- like a military march. Inkipedia compares the Onward! jingle to "a call-and-response clapping rhythm used by teachers to grab students' attention in elementary schools". It does sound like that...

Now, if you want to say that Octarian propaganda is brainwashing, yes, that does exist.

Q. We've only ever seen feminine Octoling soldiers. What's with that?

A. The "rival Octolings" we meet in the story modes are all part of a special military unit that's female-only. They're referred to as "Takozonesu" in Japanese, a mashup of "tako" (octopus) and "amazons". Not every female Octoling can be one of these, and this group isn't completely representative of Octolings in the military.

There are male Octolings, they're just not part of this one group. (Fun fact, did you know that these Octolings are voiced by Callie and Marie's voice actors?)

Q. What's with the green sclera on Octarians?

A. There's no confirmed canon reasons. Octolings are very inconsistent about it, as well; Octavio has it and so do many enemy Octolings, but not other Octolings of note.

It could just be that the whites of their eyes are really reactive to stuff in general, since sanitized Octarians have black sclera. The green color could also just be something that happens with age while living in the domes.

Q. In Octo Expansion, Marina calls Octarian society "oppressive"-- how oppressive is it really?

A. This descriptor is actually inaccurate to the original Japanese, and was added in localization. (The Splatoon 2 Retranslation Project has a more accurate version over here! Thanks @shiverhohojiro for the link.) Octo Expansion has some notorious details that were added in localization, like Craig being more racist than usual or the omission of Commander Tartar's chatter about humankind.

That said. The domes are an isolationist* military-centric society, with emphasis on meritocracy. Octolings go into professions for things they're good at, not necessarily for what they want to do. Resources like electricity are limited, so they have to structure life around that detail, and strictness logically follows. The military doesn't tolerate slackers or nonsense, but talented people seem to do well for themselves based on how Marina's life was. Even so...

A lot of music, culture and artwork gets made down there! And they have things like beachside domes, bowling-themed domes, amusement park domes and even circuses... so it's not completely strict. There's a lot of room for silliness, it just needs to be in the right place.

So, to be totally fair? We don't know much. It's not perfect, but it's also not a hellish place to live if you wanted to stay. * They trade with Salmonids, but don't seem to do so with anyone else.

Q. Can they respawn? Are we killing them when we splat them?

A. Yes, they can use respawn technology in the same way Inklings and Octolings do. The only situation where an Octarian explicitly dies is, potentially, during the escape phases in Octo Expansion!

Q. Where/how did they make the domes?

A. Leftover human technology, meant to be similar "last resort shelters" made by humans. Think Alterna, but on a smaller fragmented scale.

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Questions about DJ Octavio

Q. Why do we always see him in octopus form? Can he shapeshift?

A. Octavio can't shapeshift because of an injury from the Great Turf War. He was able to do so before and during it, however!

Q. We know Octavio leads the Octarians, but what is he? A king, an emperor, or what?

A. He is a Japanese shogun, as referenced by his title in the first Splatoon: "DJ Takowasa shōgun". We don't know if he was appointed by an emperor, if he was part of the previous shogun's family, or if he just sort of... took up the mantle (haha octopus joke) after the Great Turf War.

Q. Did he brainwash Callie?

Based on the information we have... I am inclined to say, no, he didn't brainwash Callie.

Callie was in an extremely stressful period of her life, Octavio reached out to talk, and... we don't know what happened next. But the context feels like Callie might have joined willingly. In reference to the Hypnoshades, it's important to note that hypnosis as a concept is incredibly variable, with one argument made that "you cannot hypnotize an unwilling participant".

"But, didn't he say--"

He likes music puns. He's a DJ. It's supposed to be funny, why aren't you laughing? (What this line was in JP, I wonder...)

... But, I feel like the evidence stacks up. It suggests that Callie wasn't kidnapped or brainwashed or forced to join the Octarians. It was probably an escape from fame and loneliness for her-- the Hypnoshades helped her get away from that and just have a good time. But with Octavio being a guy to hold a grudge, nothing got to be that simple, and Callie was ultimately weaponized against the New Squidbeak Splatoon.

It remains very up-to-interpretation because we don't know, exactly, what happened behind the scenes. But Callie fosters zero ill will towards the Octarians, even after being rescued... and if fiery, outspoken Callie doesn't seem to be angry about it, what does that say about the matter?

Q. Why do all the tentacles piloting the Great Octoweapons have the same scar as him?

A. Because they're directly cloned from Octavio and are then made to pilot them, presumably because they have the muscle memory to operate as pilots. Octopuses have very complicated brains and neural centers that extend out into their arms.. so this cool bit of sci-fi checks out.

Q. How old is Octavio, really?

A. We don't know. But the narrative often parallels him with Craig Cuttlefish, who mentions in Octo Expansion that he's 130 years old. It would be fair to assume Octavio is also, at least, 130.

Q. Why is he so gigantic in Splatoon compared to the other games?

idk man, you tell me. I think this is much funnier and cooler than later games, though.

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Octo Expansion + Octarians Questions

Q. It's suggested that there were thousands of test subjects before Agent 8. Where did Kamabo Co. get all of these people?

A. Not only is it suggested that the Deepsea Metro may be accessible from other train lines, but it's also plausible that the subterranean networks that the Octarians use could be connected to the Metro. (Thank you for your hard work, Dodo.)

Test chambers always reminded me of Octarian domes, anyways, with the large amount of highly versatile space they have, and how it'd only make sense underground.

After all, Commander Tartar offered a glimpse of "the promised land", and that plays very specifically into the Octoling desire to see the surface world again. ("A utopia of light beyond your wildest dreams".) Its appearance as a telephone even seems to evoke an Octarian's face, which they're more willing to trust.

Q. Are sanitized Octarians a hivemind?

A. They're something like that, being hollow shells that have lost their memories and identities while submitting to a higher force. (This can be fixed, as we've learned.) They seem responsive to being assigned roles, what with Acht being made to produce music while other sanitized Octolings act as enemies in test chambers.

Commander Tartar's ideology revolves around a lot of "giving up one's individuality for the greater good" and "joining something bigger than yourself". To "eliminate the general idea of the individual" for "a harmonious world"... "becoming one with existence".

I think that carries a lot of interesting implications. You can draw your own conclusions, since there's no explicit canon answer.

Q. Was Acht sanitized willingly or unwillingly?

A. Public twitter info suggests that they were sanitized willingly, to "get rid of doubts and conflicts involving production" and to commit completely to music. But in Side Order, Acht says that it wasn't done willingly.

There's a lot of ways to interpret this. Maybe they wanted to at first, had a last-minute realization that they got tricked, and ultimately didn't want it. Maybe they committed completely and don't want to say it. Maybe social media is lying to us completely, in the same corporate word-twisting ways that Grizzco also uses, to make Kamabo Co. seem better. So... who knows?

Q. How does the Kamabo Corporation have clones of the Octo Canyon bosses?

A. Uh...

... I don't actually know. Clearly they have pretty advanced technology going on, so maybe they actually did manage to replicate and clone these bosses perfectly?

Or, maybe, it's just a psychological recreation of Agent 8's memories. Octo Expansion has a lot of stuff like that, so it feels pretty possible!

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Anyways, that's all... for now. I'll probably only edit in more sources and tweak details on this post, but it's completely possible that I might need to add more things later.

[heavenmercy]

I never understood why people dont bring Gregory being interested on military stuff more. I remember loving Gregory because of the military aspects of his character.

I had studied War history and Military history for years, it's actually a big part of the things I'm interested in. I mostly specialize on the history of UK and France's side of it in past history. I also study on UK's Airforce during a specific era, the Supermarine Spitfires and Hawker Hurricanes are something I really really love.. And basically put that onto Gregory's interest too.

But anyways I really feel like people should point it out more! Gregory literally leads the revolution so prepared and is canon that he has done stuff like this before.

AND AND LOOK AT THESE LITTLE ARMY FIGURES I know that it's not implied of who own these, but I like to think they're Gregorys since he's the one handling them to tell the plans of where they should go and how the base is set up.

Another thing I found in detail is the song that comes up in the background when Gregory finds the La Resistance's hideout.

(Starts at 0:37)

I know, It might be a stretch, but to me it sounds so familiar (or at least inspired) by army marching music, it defiantly has the tone to it, which is a detail I adore and I never see anyone point it out before I also feel like it makes sense since the setting of the movie is... mostly about military and war themes, Gregory volunteers to be apart of this, defiantly has experience, knows what hes talking about, and has knowledge about it. (Note: He's also literally political about the American government and all the shit going on) And of course he knows Christophe who also very similarly is experienced in those topics too (I mean.. look at him) And the final part, is Gregory of course being inspired by Enjolras (Les Misérables) which is basically about the French Revolution War... (I know its not Military specifically but I really hope you get what Im putting down) I just love the details! I feel like Gregory is defiantly a military interest guy and loves taking charge of something he knows a lot about. I like the headcanon of it and how theres canon parts that can back it up. People kinda ignore it a lot... which is upsetting, since it's such a big part of his character. But of course, I won't put this as something people need to force into their headcanons and face it as 100% fact. I only find it disappointing that it's just a detail that is left neglected and barley even brought up.

(Old art coming in ew)

I remember featuring it on past Gregory artwork ... and I am considering just bringing it up again not only here but in future stuff as well. I dunno, I just wanted to ramble and I hope I had pointed out stuff that you didnt know about before!!

Military Gregory ily, they'll never make me hate you

[bambisspeckles]

Disasterology {BD!Simon}

Chapter Three: No Plan

*pics for aesthetic purposes only

CW: angst, insecurities, probable misrepresentation of medical and military procedures, mentions of terminating pregnancy (this is the last time it will be mentioned), simon is actually so soft even though he's bein kinda mean, reader has anxiety, normal pregnancy stuff, mildly edited! lmk if i missed anything <3

WC: 1.8k (ahhh!)

Summary: The reality of the situation is starting to hit you as you finally come to the decision to keep the baby. Even if Simon is supporting you now, part of you wonders how long you can really trust him.

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A week later you and Simon are sitting in the waiting room of the obyn's office, anxiously awaiting your first ultrasound appointment. You're seeing Doctor Green again and that brings you some comfort, but it's not nearly enough to slow the pounding of your heart. You can tell Simon feels similarly by the anxious bouncing of his knee, his knuckles nearly white as he grips the fabric that covers his thighs.

You're not supposed to be here, you're not supposed to be in this position. It feels weird, strange, you don't think your brain can fully comprehend that you're about to get an ultrasound of your baby. Simon's baby too. You feel your face heat up a bit at the thought, somewhere deep down in all this madness, you were glad it was his. Of course, you know it's foolish, Simon most definitely doesn't want this baby, but you can't help the little flutter your heart gives.

Either way though, your parade is rained on fairly quickly.

During the following week, leading up to your appointment, Simon grew even more distant. You knew it was probably the shock of the news that was causing him to hermit into himself, but even then, seeing him pull further away from you cracked your heart a lot more than you want to admit. The kisses stopped, the frequent lingering touches stopped, the pet names stopped. It all stopped, everything stopped. You knew you weren't together, but at least before you could pretend to be.

It made every negative thought in your mind run rampant. You were constantly worried about him leaving, scared to death you'd wake up one day and your apartment would be empty, void of his presence. The night after you told him you were pregnant, he called his Captain, Price, and asked for leave. Apparently he gave it to Simon no questions asked and since then he's been staying with you.

He never sleeps with you anymore though.

A rough hand gently squeeze's yours, bringing you back to reality. Your head snaps towards Simon, eyes slightly wide like a deer caught in headlights.

"They called for us." They low timber of his voice washing over you like a soothing balm.

"Okay."

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This appointment was eerily similar to the first time you came to the clinic. Your stomach is agitated, though it might just be the baby, who knows at this point, your heart is pounding damn near out of your chest, and for the life of you, you can't stay fucking still. You're sure Simon is much the same though his balaclava hides most of the emotion on his face. You wish you could hide yours too.

When you enter the room Doctor Green has you sit on the edge of the medical bed so she can explain how the ultrasound will go. It's pretty straight forward in your eyes, they'll put some weird, cold gel on your lower stomach area, and then the ultrasound tech will use a fancy medical machine, a transducer as Doctor Green called it, to show you your baby. Simple enough.

"And, are you the father?" The question catches you off guard despite it being directed at Simon and your eyes flick over to him, his hulking figure seated in a tiny chair at the corner of the room.

He stares at her for a moment before looking at you and then back to her.

"Yes." He answer is short, curt, and Doctor Green grimaces a bit before plastering a smile back on her face.

"Well then it's wonderful you're here."

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The car ride home was uncomfortably silent and tense, a sonogram of your baby in hand. The ultrasound tech who actually conducted the procedure was a bit overly enthusiastic despite the biting energy of the room. She paid a great deal of attention to Simon even though you're the one who's pregnant. You tried to ignored nasty feeling that nagged at you when you thought of it.

You wonder if things had played out differently, if you would have left that appoint with a large grin smacked on your face. You wonder if Simon would place his large, rough hands onto your stomach, pride soaring through him, you wonder if the both of you would be happy together. Instead, there's an uncomfortable distance between the both of you despite being right next to each other. You sigh softly, swallowing back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes, and look at the window, the late afternoon sky whipping past.

"Are you hungry?" Simon's voice slicing through the quiet startles you.

"What?" You turn your gaze from the outside to look at him.

"Said' are you hungry?" He repeats his words a bit slower this time, his eyes still planted on the road in front of him.

"Kinda…" Your voice quiet as you speak, worried if you raise it any louder it'll snap the tension that fills the car.

"Wha' d'you want?" His eyes quickly glancing over at your form next to him.

You let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders before letting yourself lean against the car door once more.

"Dunno, nothing sounds or looks good to me anymore." He hums at your words.

"Can make somethin' for you…" There's a short pause before he speaks again. "My mum was like this when she was pregnant with tommy. Didn't want to eat anythin', had to get creative." The mention of his family shatters your heart a bit. You remember when he finally told you about them, about his family, when he told you what happened to them.

It's exactly the reason he didn't want to start another.

He clears his throat to draw your attention, your face getting a bit hot at the embarrassment of being caught staring.

"Sorry," you bit your bottom lip anxiously. "Yes, can cook something for me. I just can't promise I'll eat it." A small, cheeky smile pulls at your lips when you speak.

You fail to notice the way his eyes crinkle a bit when you smile softly, the perpetual frown you've had for days leaving your face for only a moment.

"Sure thing."

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This is the first real meal you've been able to stomach in at least two weeks, a quick unwanted grocery store trip was completely worth your time. When you arrived back at your apartment Simon immediately sent you off for a shower, instructing you to wash off whatever excess was on your stomach while he made dinner, and truly he didn't have to tell you twice.

Honestly this is the best you've felt in weeks, physically anyways, mentally you were still checked out but at least you weren't smelly or hungry anymore. You and Simon shared a meal for the first time in days, it was quiet, and a little tense, but it was a step towards… something. After dinner you had attempted to wash the dishes, a silent thanks for the meal, but Simon quickly forced you out of the kitchen with the low grumble of his voice. You shrugged him off before settling onto your couch, the sound of running water lulling you into a mental daze.

You sit on the couch in your dazed state for god knows how long, when suddenly the area next to you sinks beneath new weight.

"You ave' enough?" Your eyes meet his, still slightly glossed over as you nod. Your heart squeeze's a little at the question and you feel a bit silly for it.

Even with all the distance he still cares.

There's more silence for a while before Simon suddenly speaks again.

"I wan' you to move in with me, got more space in my flat n' a extra room." He pauses for a moment, and you assume he's trying to gauge your reaction, before he speaks again. "Plus I can take care of you better there."

His proposition shocks you a bit but you can't say you're completely surprised. Simon likes to be in control of his environment, he likes to he in control of what's his, and even if he won't say it out loud, you're his.

"Simon I can't do that… You need your space! I can't imagine moving in with a crying baby will make our situation any easier. Not to mention I'm not even sure I'm keeping the baby!" Simon releases an irritated sound, something low and deep.

"You want to though." You tilt your head in confusion. "You want to keep the baby, don't you?" His brows are furrowed, face now uncovered by his mask, he tilts his head to match you.

You do want to keep the baby and the guilts been eating at you for days now. You feel guilty for wanting something Simon doesn't, you feel guilty for wanting more. You feel guilty for the way your heart flutters when you think about having his child. Your fingers subconsciously reach down to pick at the threads of your shirt, tears welling in your eyes.

"Hey, get out of your head, none of tha', no cryin'." Simon's thumb traces over you cheek, subsequently wiping your tears away.

"How did you know?" Your words come out between sniffles. "How could you tell? I barely said anything, you've barely talked to me." Simon's thumb pauses on your face, a look of guilt crossing his features.

"I know when you want somethin'… Wasn' hard to tell." He removes his hand from your face, loosely shrugging his shoulders.

"I'm sorry.." Your voice coming out quiet as you speak.

"No." The hostility in his voice alarms you, he seems to take note of that and repeats his words slower. "No… I don' want you to apologize or feel guilty, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"Simon…" You bite your lip harshly, hoping the pain will stop more tears from spilling over.

"I…" He swallows thickly. "I'll take care of you. We'll get you're things n' move you into my flat. Can do whatever you wan' to make it feel like home." You want to tell him that anywhere is home as long as he's there but you refrain.

Simon's not a bad man, he's trying. You're sure he's damn near as scared as you but he's trying to push past all the walls he's put up for you. To be there for you. Even if he doesn't want to be with you, at least not in a romantic way, he's not cruel enough to leave you all on your own. You just have to trust him.

You scoot closer to Simon, and for the first time in weeks he welcomes you with open arms. The warmth of his body seeping into yours causes your eyelids to grow heavy, you shift against him but he just shushes you gently, holding you tighter against his body.

"Jus' sleep, I'll take care of everything."

He whispers the the words softly, his lips brushing against your forehead. They bring a comfort to you that you haven't felt in weeks, a salve that soothes the open wounds of your heart.

Maybe everything will be okay, even if it's just for a little while.

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ummm :3 hi! it took me like 3 days to write this idk why! anyways I love this story it's nice to have smth i'm proud of <3 ilysm mwah mwah! thank you for reading, likes and reblogs are appreciated assss always! take care of yourselves lovies <3

[sreegs]

i hate that fucking right-wing nudniks have ruined these topics for us but if you ever see a meme or funny post and the subject is like, ancient rome, medieval europe, military stuff, or guns, check the OP before reblogging. Half the time it turns out to be some brand of fash and 30 seconds of scrolling on their blog will find some racist shit or something similarly hateful

please report any hate speech you find and block them. bonus is that their chud buddies are usually reblogging the OP too so you get a free report/block list

[uboat53]

LONG RANT (TM) time? LONG RANT (TM) time.

INTRODUCTION

One of the most insidious tactics in politics is the tactic of making wild and false allegations. I'm not talking about traditional spin, where a politician presents generally accurate information in the most positive way for their position, we all do that at some level. No, I'm talking about wild allegations, usually made in only a sentence or two without any supporting evidence, that are so false that it's clear that even the person making the allegation couldn't have reasonably believed it.

This is a modified form of the Gish Gallop, a technique which weaponizes lies. Duane Gish, a creationist and inventor of the Gish Gallop, discovered that, while it only takes a second or two to tell a lie, it takes far longer than that to disprove it. He would, therefore, begin every debate by spewing a torrent of wild falsehoods, forcing his opponent to spend their entire time debunking them rather than making any argument of their own.

Similarly, people in politics today, particularly MAGA Republicans, will often make wild accusations knowing that people with short attention spans will hear the accusation but won't pay attention long enough to hear the rebuttal. Even worse, through a process known as the "spacing effect", a lie repeated often enough will embed itself in the mind of people who hear it even if it is actually rebutted.

HOW TO ADDRESS IT

Given that, how can we approach this tactic?

First of all, I want you to get out of the habit of just reading the claim itself; read the name of the person making the claim. People who use this tactic rely on other people just reading information and accepting it as true without checking the source. Get used to paying attention to who is saying what and start to test some of their statements. Granted, a lot of stuff that people say is hard to fact-check, but a lot of it isn't; check those things to see if they're true. This will allow you to put together patterns where you can recognize things like "hey, this guy tells a lot of lies" or "this news source doesn't report news that's good/bad for one side." Knowing this helps you better understand the information you're receiving.

Secondly, once you recognize a pattern of lies or even a single case of an egregious lie, get used to ignoring that source of information. You don't have to listen to something just because someone says it and you don't have to turn off your brain when you engage in politics. If someone lies a lot or even if you just caught them in one particularly bad lie, it's okay to take that into account like you would with other people in your life and stop trusting them.

AN EXAMPLE

I'm going to start with an example that I saw recently. We're going to look Jeffrey Clark. If you know him at all, you probably know him as the Justice Department lawyer who wanted to give Trump permission to send the military to seize ballot boxes after the 2020 election. Only the full-throated opposition of every other lawyer in the government stopped Trump from making him acting-Attorney General.

These days he's being investigated by several layers of law enforcement for his actions around the 2020 election, the Washington D.C. Bar is in the processing of disbarring him, he's been indicted in Georgia for his actions around the 2020 elections, and he's currently working for a think tank closely linked with the Trump campaign. Here's his Wikipedia article if you're interested in learning more.

On September 23rd, Elon Musk retweeted a post by Jeffrey Clark in which Clark complained that no one could find a transcript of any case that Kamala Harris had prosecuted, giving him a much larger audience than he had on his own. Let's look at that claim, shall we?

So Kamala Harris has been Vice-President since 2020, was a Senator from 2016-2020, was Attorney General of California from 2010-2016, and was District Attorney of San Francisco from 2002-2010. None of these are positions where a person would personally try or argue cases in court. However, she was a deputy district attorney in Alameda County from 1990-1998, a deputy district attorney in San Francisco from 1998-2000, and a San Francisco City Attorney from 2000-2002. All of these are positions where she may have tried cases herself.

This is convenient because these are specific places with specific dates. Court transcripts are public records, so all you'd need to do is go to the courthouse in question and request the transcripts. I haven't tried San Francisco, but the Alameda County Court website has a search function where you can search for cases by name. Once you have the case number, you can request the transcript for that case. All of that costs money and requires you to make a login, so I haven't done it, but it's something you could do for around $100 or less. I haven't checked the San Francisco Courts, but I imagine it's similar there as well.

And I'm sure Jeffrey Clark, Attorney-at-Law, knows all of this. I'm not a lawyer and have no formal legal training and I know all of this, so he certainly does. In other words, this is not just a clearly false claim, it's a clearly false claim that the person who made it KNEW was clearly false when he made it.

RESULTS

As we've seen, this isn't a pattern of lies (though Jeffrey Clark certainly has that as well), but it is a particularly egregious one. Mr. Clark made an accusation here that he clearly knew was false even as he made it. He lied about as thoroughly as it's possible to lie, but he did it in a way that he thought he could weasel out of.

You see, Mr. Clark phrased it as an innocent query, "I'm just asking questions", because he thought that, when called on the fact that he implied Harris' case transcripts were being hidden, he could just say that he hadn't said that. But we know that he would have known they're not being hidden, his purpose in asking the question was to imply the answer in people's minds without having to take responsibility for it. In this way it's actually much worse than just a standard lie.

You can also make some assumptions about Elon Musk in all of this given that he shared this post as well. Clearly he has retweeted at least one fairly major claim without fact-checking it. Looking back on a few other things he's reposted, it seems as if he has a pattern of doing this. If you're taking what he posts at face value, it's pretty likely that you're getting a lot of misinformation fed to you.

CONCLUSION

So here I've given you a test and an example of that test applied to a real-life case. I think I've made it clear that Jeffrey Clark is a person who lies very deliberately about things he definitely knows are false and does so in a way that he thinks lets him deny responsibility for the lie. Because of that, it's safe to say that you should not trust anything he says unless you can verify it with a reputable source and you may want to question trusting what Elon Musk posts as well.

But don't think that's the end of it, take this test and apply it everywhere! If you catch someone lying a lot, or if you catch them in a particularly egregious lie like this one, stop trusting them!

There are so many sources of information around these days saying so many different things that you'll never be able to sort through it all unless you start whittling your information diet down to the people and groups that are consistently saying accurate things. Much of the information we receive is hard to fact-check, so our best method is to fact-check the things that aren't hard to check and use them to determine the reliability of a source.

Curating a good diet of information starts with cutting out the worst and least accurate sources of information. Hope this helps!

[thegnomelord]

was thinking about drawing Ifrit from "Hell has a basement floor" and had some headcanons on his appearance.

on one hand i was thinking to make him tall and burly, built big to store all the mana and power he has, make him built like a volcano.

on the other.... what if and hear me out.... Ifrit.... skinny. tall and gangly, long limbs, underfed, outlines of bones poking out from underneath the skin, sunken eyes for that extra unsettling factor. besides magic does have a cost. maybe it's just your body that needs to be exchanged.

now i thought of the second hc because tall and skinny isn't exactly associated with the kind of brute force Ifrit has but he's still strong even if his lifestyle is gonna put him in an early grave. now imagine when he's finally part of tf 141 they notice that he's not very well in the food and weight department for his height and the amount of energy he spends so... they start feeding him (especially Price and Soap because protect and care hoard/pack)......

i've also been getting into the trope where characters gain weight as a sign of health and living a better life. so yeah tell me what you think

and maybe share your hcs on Ifrits appearance because i don't want to butcher your creation on accident

Okay 1: you have no idea how happy it makes me when I hear ppl want to draw fan art of my stuff :DD, internally I'm like that dog video where the dogs happily tapping his paws lol bc he can't contain his excitement lol. And also yeah, I'm a huge sucker for the trope and your little idea with Price amd Soap tickles my brain.

And 2: man you did some mind reading bc your hcs are actually very close to what I've made up for the lore of the whole au. While I want to overall leave Ifrit's body type ambiguous to give readers some space to imagine themselves in Ifrit's place, Ifrit is 100% underweight with more of a volleyball/basketball player type build, as mages focus on stamina and endurance rather than raw strength bc that can be augmented with magic. Also has stretch marks because their weight fluctuates a lot lol

Okay lore spoilers so if y'all want to find out through the story skip this-

Okay so— magic is increadibly taxing on the body, not just by eating away flesh and creating mage marks as a Mage's power grows, but just by simply existing inside the body magic stresses the body. Because fundamentally magic is toxic to humans, and even mages who have the needed adaptations to utilise magic are no better than our ancestors when they were first learning to stand on two legs.

The best metaphor I have for magic is chemo drugs. They're used to kill a cancer but they also damage healthy cells. Magic, similarly, damages the body by existing inside it, but also is used by mages to heal the damage as soon as it happens. This uses a lot of calories and also why mages have really irregular weights, losing 10kg in a week isn't an uncommon thing.

Someone possessing even half of Ifrit's capabilities would need to eat 3x that of a regular human of the same height and weight. Mages are literally Shaggy from Scooby Doo lol. And that's only to get the bare minimum their body needs, caloric need becomes much bigger if they're active like Ifrit is. So you'll find that many mages, but especially military ones, are underweight and need to regularly get Iv fluids and nutrients to help their body recover from using magic. They also need to eat a lot of highly caloric food, which isn't easy when one of the most common side effects of magic use is puking your guts up.

Most military mages don't reach 30. The average life expectancy is around 25, with active duty (i.e. constant missions and daily magic use) mages lasting on average 3-4 years before their body basically breaks down, but they can last longer depending on how conservatively they use magic.

Now, knowing all that, Ifrit has been actively using strong magic on par with military mages since they were 14-15 years old and while they're not the healthiest, they're healthy as a horse when compared to most mages. The reason behind their continued survival — their mage marks.

[wordstome]

What are Price's daughters like? What are their names? Are they sweet or pranksters or crafty like their father?

Also, which of the 141 + KorTac dads are on the PTA?

OMG how did you know I wanted to write more about Price??? I love you Spec <333

Price's daughters are named, from oldest to youngest, Alice, Brianna, and Clara! Alice is a classic cool older sister, undeniably her dad's right-hand woman. When she and Brianna were younger, she would mess with her younger sister all the time, but since Clara the baby came around, she decided to be a "grownup" (which is of course, adorable). When they're a bit older, I can see them taking on the same dynamic as (bear with me, this is a deep cut) Flavia de Luce and her sisters from the Flavia de Luce books by Alan Bradley. Alice and Brianna band together to mess with Clara, but I can see Clara growing up to be very smart and quick-witted, probably taking after Price.

As for the PTA:

Price: is definitely on the PTA. He runs it like the military: no room for middle aged mom drama or passive aggressiveness in his PTA!

Ghost: absolutely not. He's not touching that stuff with a ten foot pole. As long as nobody's making things difficult for Caden, he's good, thanks.

Soap: he's on the PTA, but he's not getting shit done. He'll do whatever Price asks of him, but he's just there to shoot the shit and flirt with moms. Rascal.

Gaz: He might drop in once in a while and help out at events, but he's a busy busy man and can't make those meetings, unfortunately.

König: No, much like Ghost he isn't interested in suburban school district politics.

Horangi: Horangi, similarly to Soap, is on the PTA, but his presence is sporadic and he's solely there to pick up gossip and instigate. Wait a second, why is he allowed in here? His daughter's not even in school anymore!

Keegan: didn't even know there was a PTA

[salubriwrites-blog]

I was on a train for 8 hours so I wrote smut

I am still mentally ill for What In "Hell" is Bad? so I needed to get it out of my system. Andrealphus is my sweet baby, and this one is for the Andrealphus wanters. I intend to add a full on smut chapter later, but here have some fluff.

I start my Lycawise week stuff tomorrow so I am gonna go stress about that for a bit ^^; enjoy some fluff for now!

UPDATE: Its done :3

You Chose Andrealphus

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Gusion said flatly, shoving Beleth aside. “The daughter of Solomon does not want to ride along and watch you shoot angels all day.”

That wasn’t entirely true, you thought to yourself, you didn’t mind seizing the learning opportunity that could come with being with Beleth. You didn’t know how the rules of the road in Hell worked, but how hard could they be? With his cool way of speaking and not-fucks-lost demeanor, it was easy to imagine you as the Bonnie to his Clyde in an angel waste land.

“Oh yes,” Bathin said sarcastically, examining his nails without looking at his brothers. “She’d much rather sit in a morgue instead and watch you dissect them.” That would be interesting too, if she would be able to take notes and ask questions about how different angel anatomy was from human or devil. And then ask for an in depth demonstration of those differences, you thought with a squeeze of your legs.

“Yes, thank you for agreeing with me, Bathin,” Gusion clapped his hands enthusiastically. He was able to conveniently ignore the eyeroll that Bathin gave him as he turned back to Beleth. 

“Actually,” you spoke up in the comedic lull, but you were cut off by Bathin. 

“You’re both too blood thirsty for a human. She is a fragile thing who could break if you aren’t careful. Angels are dangerous things dead or alive, and her blood would be on your hands if you are negligent.” 

“Oh no,” Beleth and Gusion said together, whirling on devil, both ready to explain how they would take care of you with the utmost professionalism and tenderness. 

Meanwhile, you huffed your bangs out of your face and crossed your arms, trying to think of what to say to get them to pay attention to you. 

Your visit to Abyssos so far was… interesting, if you were forced to put it politely. Lord Belphegor greeted you at the gates of, bowing respectfully at the presence of Satan, brushing your hand with his lips. It put the King of Gehenna at ease when the devil prince didn’t immediately try to jump on top of you like every other devil who’d mistaken you for Solomon. After making several promises to Satan that you’d be safe and cared for, the Lord of the Nephilim offered you his arm and off you went. 

It was when Satan seemed well and truly gone that Belphegor let out a yawn that could shake the pillars of heaven, and dropped all propriety. “He can be such a hard ass,” the lord groaned, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. “Let’s get you to the palace and figure this all out.” Flying over Abyssos, you saw the good and the ugly parts of this level of Hell. It was damaged and razed similarly to Gehenna, but it seemed that places associated with the Prince of lust had been targeted in particular. It was jarring to see districts that had once been for sex and drugs were leveled with unholy precision, as if whole swaths of city had been cut from the fabric of this world. 

Prince Beelzbub’s home looked less like a regal castle and more like a warehouse home to raves. The “throne room” was just a large dance floor, and on the stage where a DJ’s booth might sit was instead an empty throne. The Nephilim stood in firm military form as you and the lord burst through the iron double doors.

“Gentlemen,” he said darkly, eyes narrowing at the three devils as though he knew that he had just missed catching them in the middle of something naughty. “I present to you the Daughter of Solomon. She is here on special orders from the King’s regent, and one of you will- wait.” You started as he raised a finger and counted out the handsome devils in front of him. “Where is Andrealphus?”

“Hunting, my lord,” one of the dark haired ones replied, bowing his head as he spoke. “We tried to summon him but… You know how he gets.” 

Thinking to himself, Lord Belphegor counted the three men out one more time before sighing tiredly. “I will address him myself when he returns. In the meantime,” he paused again to yawn, and the three devils looked at you for your response. You didn’t know how to respond, this was a Lord of Hell yawning, what were you going to do? Call Sitri to smite him down for his disrespect? Believing you knew better, you just smiled placidly as the Lord finished. “I will leave the three of you to decide who will tend to the Daughter of Solomon. I need to rest.” 

“Oh wait, what?” You asked after him, now deciding that this was the time to step out of line. You weren’t so sure about being left alone in a room of three, good looking veterans of war, who were also devilishly watching you. 

It wasn’t so bad, you decided as you sat on the edge of the stage, one elbow on your knee as you watched them fight. Who would be your personal servant, guide, and whatever else you needed? Watching them argue among themselves that they knew better than the other about your preferences to pass the time. Even though none of them had even spoken to you yet. As you were wondering when they would notice that you had just left, a pair of shoes scuffed over the stage. The steps were shambling, as if whoever it was was feeling for the way forward. Looking over your shoulder, your face twisted embarrassingly into awe at the creature approaching. 

He was tall with gorgeous hair contained into a singular, bloody braid. His all black attire contrasted like night and day against his pale skin, along with the dark scars down his face. One even seemed to be choking him, it wrapped around his neck like a serrated brand. The damaged skin grappling and strangling for territory at his unblemished skin. Atop his head were dark horns, spectacular as death herself, that twisted like great constellations from his blonde lock. All of these beautiful traits almost offset how upsetting it was to see that he was also doused in blood. 

As he drew near, eyes looking forward and seemed to watch the shouting match at risk of escalating to fist throwing, you checked yourself. You owed this man an apology for having such a visceral reaction to his appearance. However as you uttered a slew of begging pardons, the devil - no, angel? - continued to watch cautiously past you. A pair of wings, angel wings, dragged on the stage behind him. 

“Uh, guys? Why is there an angel here?” You asked, scooting away as the creature shuffled to the edge of the stage. That’s when you noticed what else dragged behind him, something in a fishing net that left a smear of blood on the stage in its wake. Even more angel wings, all of them varying qualities and methods of brutally removed.

Surprise, surprise, the devils didn’t hear you say that either. At the seeming mention of his appearance, the beautiful monstrosity dropped the bundle and took a seat on the stage near you. “I am not an angel.” 

“Then what is this? Some kind of disguise?” You asked, now having the courage to step out of line and touch the thing’s wings. They felt pretty real, so you were interested to hear his excuse. 

“A mark of my shame, a reminder of betrayal,” the man said, soft spoken like Sitri but intimidating and feral like Amy. 

“Is your name… Andrealphus?” You asked, remembering that one had been busy initially, “hunting”. 

All signs pointed to yes, but still you waited to hear him respond. “It is, and you must be the Daughter of Solomon?” 

“I am,” you said, suddenly feeling bashful, he was so sweet and well spoken that you were the one to feel childish for being rude. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Please accept my deepest and sincerest apologies,” he began, turning to face you now but something was still odd about his gaze. Like he couldn’t bear to look at you, he stared past and toward the stained glass windows. Feeling self conscious now, you tried not to tilt yourself into his line of sight. “I got… carried away on my patrols, and lost track of time when the Lord Master Belpegor appointed me to return for your reception. Please,” reaching back now, Andrealphus pulled the net of amputated wings to his side. “Accept the bounty of my hunt as a symbol of good will and promise to do better.” 

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before you could feel your thighs slick with arousal. This had to be the hottest thing anyone could do, bringing you the spoils of their angel hunt for you to enjoy first. Andrealphus stopped to gasp mid sentence as you realized that you were going to leave a heart shaped finish on the wood, and you wondered if he may have sensed what he was doing to you. Still, you tried to play it cool, if only he would look at you, especially after all this back and forth. 

“This is beautiful, but these are a little big for me to just carry around for myself,” you laughed, and his eyes finally looked closer in your direction. It was the vacancy in his eyes that made you squint and ask yourself out loud. “Are you… blind?”

At the same time, the entity was plucking dozens of feathers from one of the larger wings, gathering them up in an elegant handful. He held them out for you, shoving his hand almost too close for comfort. “Show me where you’d like to be decorated, then.” 

Andrealphus’ laughter was hard to hear over the still bickering that you were no longer following. “I am, but don’t worry, my other senses are sharp as ever and help me get around.”

Aw fuck, you thought to yourself as you squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to stifle the smell. It only got worse when his breath hitched in his chest again, and you knew he was catching your aroma. 

“That’s… interesting,” you began awkwardly, looking to change the subject. “Well, yeah you can put them in my hair… here,” reaching you, you took Andrealphus’ hand and twisted his fingers into your roots. “Wherever you want to put them.”

Wordlessly with interest and caution he loosened where you had gripped them, the angel navigated your hair. At first you had been afraid of the blood that stained the fine, black leather gloves, now though you fought to lean into it. Bloody fingertips left a rosy sheen behind as he ran hand over fist through it. Somehow though you were not disgusted or frightened of it, as if Andrealphus was wordlessly regaling you with the stories of his conquest. Eyes fluttering shut, you held on tight to the moan that gathered in your throat when he touched you. Little, probing touches that dragged on into soft caresses with his knuckles and the brushing of the angel feathers. The tingling feeling, like little beads of tickles rolling over your cheeks, was orgasmic. 

You waited until his hands were off of you to frown your disappointment that he stopped. “Well, if I’m going to be decorated, it would make sense that you match me.” 

His eyebrows creased downward at your proposal, but sat still as you took his braid between your fingers. The handsome devil’s eyes closed the same way as yours had, and he put his hands in plain sight, folded up tight over his lap. As if he was showing you that he was remaining chaste. It was a good sign as you fixed the bloodied and mangled feathers into his hair, sometimes even sorting through the wings that he had brought you to find softer downs. Maybe you could have him take you to where the angel’s bodies had fallen and he could kiss you on a bed of their bones. 

“How do I look?” Andrealphus asked when your hands reluctantly pulled back, touching his braid to feel where you had adorned him. 

The blood was the perfect contrast to his monochrome look, but you couldn’t just say that out loud. “You look nice,” is what you said instead. 

“How do you look?” He asked second, smiling wide with too many teeth as you swooned. At this rate, you were going to leave a permanent water stain from your sex because of this angel. “Describe yourself for me.”

“Uhm,’ you started, running your hand over your face as if trying to remember your features. “I have purple hair, it’s long.” 

Angling his body to face you, Andrealphus propped his chin on his elbows and smiled dumbly at you while you detailed your futures. Where your moles were, your stretch marks, and your scars, you listed them all and he painted a picture of your beauty. 

“So,” you said after you finished, dropping your hands slowly from your face. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to try and sneak your fingers across the little space between you and touch him. “Now that I’ve done that; how do you think I look?”

“Hm,” he said critically, deliberating heavily before giving you that wide smile like a shark. “You look nice.” 

Once again you got annoyed at how the three devils still fighting overpowered his laugh, and you whipped to glare at them. Were they even arguing about you anymore?

“Would you take me away from here?” You asked the fourth devil, expanding your hand bravely now, clasping your palms together. “They are too loud and frankly, I don’t like any of them.” 

“You don’t wish for any of them to be your guardian in the Abyssos?” He asked, seemingly surprised even though Andrealphus was helping you to your feet. Feeling for the ends of it, the angel dragged the bag of disembodied wings with you off stage. 

“No, I choose you.” You said confidently, wondering how long it would take for them to notice that you were gone. Sooner than you expected, as the throne room’s metal door hadn’t closed yet when Andrealphus laughed again. You heard this one, and your belly tightened at his soft tenor. It was not like the deep voices of the other devils, rolling like thunder and crashing like waves. He reminded you of the wind blowing iridescent fields of grain on a clear day. He almost bumped into you when you stopped to shudder. 

“They’re arguing again.” He explained, pulling his black leather gloves away to reveal delicate fingers, long and spindly. 

“What about now?” You asked, watching him stretch an arm out for you to take, just as Lord Belphegor had. 

“They’re blaming each other for not realizing you’ve left.” 

“Well,” stunned silence fell over you as Andrealphus opened his wings, which were also blood stained. They didn’t look to be in much better shape than the wings that he had dropped at your feet. “No one was stopping them from talking to me but themselves so, their loss… are you going to carry me?” 

“I can, if you want, or we can walk,” the angel offered, seeming to strain as he lifted the wings and stretched them as though they were weights. 

“Why don’t we walk? I can lead the way,” you decided and as though he had already made up his mind, watched as Andrealphus approached you with an outstretched hand.

“Will you be my eyes, please? Once we get to the square I’ll know where we are and can show you around.”

This first day in Abyssos so far was nowhere near your original expectation, but after the rough start it wasn’t so bad. At least now you felt like you could engage in a conversation instead of just being the topic. Holding his long fingers, you led the way down the steps from the house of Beelzbub, counting out the steps for Andrealphus so that he wouldn’t stumble. You were surprised by how easily he kept up with you, and how easily he clung to you. 

“What are you seeing?” He asked simply. “No one has ever told me what Abyssos looks like. I want to know what this place is like through your eyes.”

Oh Andrealphus, you thought to yourself as your stomach tightened again with feeling. Keep asking me things like that and I’m gonna show you a whole slew of new things. You didn’t say that, though. Instead you held a hand to your eyes and looked far over the rooftops. 

“All of the rooftops are flat, with furniture and bars. The windows are full length to let the sunlight in.”

[littleeyesofpallas]

So I've mentioned before that Hisagi Shuuhei's given name Shuuhei[修兵]: "disciplined soldier" is a homonym with shuuhei[州兵]: lit. "state+soldier" but refers to both the organization and individuals of a "National Guard" and contextually the US National Guard specifically. And I've mentioned how it kinda plays into his characterization in relation to his zanpakutou. But something that maybe isn't as apparent is how he shares a very loose theme with Kensei.

Kensei's got a weird mix of things going on and it always felt to me like part of it kind of pivoted half way thru the series, and really the Visored in general, where he started with a sort of US military theme but got shifted into being more of a Japanese style biker gang leader instead(and how that plays into Mashiro's toku hero gimmick)

Among other things he's got the retroactively named move, BakudanTsuki[爆弾突き]: "bomb thrust" that has a subtle militaristic connotation to it. But then in context it's the same root word for "bomb" used in Bambietta's Schrift The Explode[爆撃]: "bombing(raid)" like in an aerial bombing from a plane.

(The other attack there is just SANDBAG BEAT[サンドバッグ・ビート] which doesn't feel especially thematic, but I guess does kind of evoke him being in something like a more western boxing gym, rather than any kind of japanese or samurai specific aesthetics like you'd expect from Soul Society. And his given name is written as "West(ern) Fist")

And then his zanpakutou, Tachikaze appears to be, at least in my mind, evocative of the Tachikaze class destroyer ship. Although I admit that's largely on the back of my own kind of wild/broad speculation about the Visored more as a group than anything supported by just him specifically.

Shuuhei ka tsuyosou na namae janee ka! Nakuna![修兵が強そうな名前じゃねえか! 泣くな!]: "Shuuhei is a strong looking name isn't it? Don't cry!"

It feels too obvious to need spelling out, but he's not just giving the generic pep talk, he's very specifically pointing out the Shuuhei's name means "Disciplined Soldier" so he should act like one.

I wish I could find it again but I swear there was some transcript of an interview where Kubo more or less reiterated stuff he'd been asked in other similar Q&A but mentioned that he doesn't really design characters with a background in mind, he just draws what feels cool and comes up with a story and personality to match the look. And mroe over that he similarly doesn't design characters with their relationships in mind, he just takes the characters he's already made and imagines which ones look like they'd get along in some way or another. (Among other things this explains why the same women keep showing up in 8th division, not because Nanao and Risa, or even Risa and Kyoraku were ever meant to be meaningfully related but because Kubo just keeps making these women who look the same and ends up pigeonholing them into the same basic network of characters.) Again i can't seem to find this specific Q&A though so take that "factoid" with a grain of salt.

Still it's with that in mind that it feels like Shuuhei and Kensei ended up together. Not because Kensei was ever actually meant to be Shuuhei's childhood hero but because they both had a soldier gimmick and so Kubo's brain filed them into the same general corner together. And it's from that link that he specifically made their meeting in the TBtP arc punctuated with this line about Shuuhei's name.

Also Shuuhei's got his whole motorcycle thing which is weirdly never actually brought up in the context of Kensei's biker thing and his hollow form made to look like car parts; although it's Shuuhei who's only briefly nodded to as the orbital factoid around Jackie's whole gay leather biker daddy themed Dirty Boots. (Very funny that between that and Mashiro's Kamen Rider homage that we have two implicitly motorcycle riding kicky ladies in Bleach. "...two nickles..." and all that...)

[fatehbaz]

Recent Chicago peice reminded me of the way Chicago north suburbs use military bases to divide and segregate in a manner that similarly matches connects to colonial actions. You always compile interesting stuff thank you.

Thank you for the kindness and support. I'm gonna riff on this a little bit. I'm sorry, I don't mean to distract from what you specifically brought up here.

Yea, we can add federal military base sites to the list of significant "innovations" Chicago has made in race-based labor segregation in service of wealth extraction. (For anyone following along, the article/essay we're discussing explores racism and white anxiety in Chicago, the fear and "anticipation" of Black migration from the South during Reconstruction and the Great Migration, and how between 1880-ish and 1910-ish Chicago then became a center of surveillance and policing beliefs and practices in response to this racial anxiety, refined to such an extent that Chicago's police/surveillance practices were then "exported" and employed across the US and also in the colonial plantations of the Philippines under US military occupation. By Jolen Martinez, in 2024, "Plantation Anticipation: Apprehension in Chicago from Reconstruction America to the Plantocratic Philippines".)

So Chicago is a wealth funnel, right? The node. The center of transportation networks. Extracted wealth channeled by the Great Lakes/St. Lawrence River waterway, channeled by the Mississippi River corridor, channeled by the railroads acting as tendrils reaching out into westward into "the frontier". For the United States, Chicago was the gateway to "the West". Over the course of the past two centuries: Furs from trapped mammals in Canadian boreal forest shipped through the lakes to French benefactors, mined metals from the Iron Ranges shipped through the ports, timber from Minnesota shipped through the waterway, cattle from Texas rangeland shipped to massive Chicago meat processing facilities, corn products from the tallgrass prairie ecoregion shipped to Chicago. And people, too. People diminished. People seen as mere resources. People as labor. People shipped to Chicago to work the processing centers, the docks, the restauraunt dish-pits. And so Chicago becomes a hub of the Great Railroad Strike of 1877. And because Chicago was a hub of labor unions and Black migration, it also becomes a hub of policing.

Chicago achieves the pinnacle of its spectacular reputation with its image as a glistening modernist metropolis after the construction of the railroad networks. But even before the city itself was formally established, the wetlands where the Chicago River meets Lake Michigan were kinda located in this general region that acts as a sort of bridge for French wealth, being both near the inland terminus of the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence route while simultaneously also sitting near a sort of terminus of the Mississippi River route (uniting French Canadian fur trade and Ontario/Quebec settlement with French "Caribbean" plantations and settlement via New Orleans).

I think about how suburbanization, and its attendant racial segregation, is especially blatant in something I kinda think of as "the southern Great Lakes industrial corridor and its economically, ecologically, culturally similar satellites" (Cleveland, Columbus, Detroit, Grand Rapids, Indianapolis, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, St. Louis, Omaha, etc.). Some writing that I enjoy about this, which you might enjoy checking out if you haven't yet, is Phil Neel's work, particularly the book Hinterland (2018). Neel's book is largely about suburbs/suburbanization; the environmental construction of Midwestern cities as hubs of industrial extraction and racial segregation; and how these Chicago-esque traditions of designing physical space (whether it's residential, "rural", "urban", whatever) to best isolate/subdue people for extraction are now widespread and typical of US space in general. As another example, Neel discusses how the "revitalized urban core" of Seattle's utopian "infotech metropolis" of tech companies is actually dependent on the corridor extending southward towards and past Tacoma, "this logistics empire" of "warehouses, food processing facilities, container trucks, rail yards, and industrial parks" while "the poor have been priced out" and "can also be found staffing the airport and the rail yards [...], loading boxes in warehouses [...]." So that the power of such a major city does not end at the technical city limit boundary, but extends beyond into the "rural" hinterland. (You can see this when looking up an "urban megaregion map".) This is of course pretty obvious with the Great Lakes cities, if you consider all of the corn fields, the farms, the Rust Belt manufacturing sites, many of which use railroad and/or highway corridors to funnel that wealth ultimately to a place like Chicago. And Chicago, in many ways, was a sort of "pioneer" of these techniques of organizing space with racially-segregated labor compartmentalization.

So perhaps unsurprisingly, urban/neighborhood segregation is very ingrained/formalized in the Great Lakes cities. Chicago's Lake Michigan-based sibling Milwaukee is especially notorious (2018 research found Milwaukee had the most extreme Black-white segregation of any US city with a million or more people). Including banking, home-loan denial, insurance practices engineered specifically and efficiently to isolate/segregate/prey upon Black people (all kinds of academic research on on these practices). Redlining ("other side of the tracks"), especially 1930s-1940s, made use of the region's many railroad tracks as physical barriers and hostile environments.

And part of why I liked Martinez's take on it was that we can see more evidence that Chicago's techniques of organizing space/life did not just establish ways of being in the Midwest, but also established ways of being across the United States. And we can kinda see that this power is not just physical/material.

I think Chicago is interesting, especially in the time period of the research we're talking about (1880-1910), because this Gilded Age, Edwardian era, turn-of-the-century-opulence kinda moment is sort of singularly important for (European) empire-building. British imperial power being exercised in Southeast and South Asia. The Scramble for Africa. French Algeria. European power reaching outwards. But it also corresponds to United States empire-building both domestically and globally. 1889/1890: Wounded Knee and "the closing of the frontier", the West has been won, from sea to shining sea, now the US thinks it owns the continent or whatever. And the US didn't waste any time. Immediately, the US moves on to Cuba, to the Philippines, etc. And it's like, at first, to target Indigenous people and the Wild West, there are obvious physical/material reasons why Chicago (geographically, as a railroad and telegraph hub, as shipping hub, as the destination of Great Migration) is like a homebase or an epicenter for westward expansion and domestic empire-building. And with Martinez's writing, we can see Chicago is not geographically a convenient hub of colonization abroad in Central America or the Philippines (it's not close to those locations, the railroads of Chicago don't reach Manila, etc.). And yet in a very scary way Chicago still actually did function as a hub of empire-building across the globe due to Chicago's ideas, imaginaries, beliefs. Chicago's imagination itself. Chicago's racism, channeling the earlier racial hierarchy of the antebellum South, reached out across the planet. Chicago authority figures trained police and administrators from elsewhere. Chicago-style police data-collection and record-keeping inspired surveillance approaches across the United States. The ideologies, the "personality types", the filing cabinets, the "intelligence cards", were adopted elsewhere. What white Southerners believed and practiced in antebellum Louisiana, would carry over into Gilded Age Chicago, would influence twentieth century US domestic surveillance, and would then affect the rest of the planet. The beliefs, practices, the very emotions of white US residents could transform plantations in the Philippines. Disturbing.

[simon-roy]

The idea of logging on a colonized alien planet brings my mind back to the planet Lalonde from Peter F. Hamilton's Night's Dawn books - a world that had very hard wood as its only meaningful export, and was also stuck developing its economy from agriculturalism (due to investment shortages, though).

All this is to say - Hey! What are some foundational inspirations for your sci fi verse? You gotta have some like recommendations of classic or older sci-fi for us, right? What are some of your suggestions of books and authors to read?

OK SO - My sci-fi tastes have sort of ended up in some very specific niches. Growing up, I was a Larry Niven +Jerry Pournelle man, in part because my dad amassed a huge collection of their books - then gave 90% of them away before i was old enough to read them. So one of my teenage missions was rebuilding that library, trash and all!

Stuff like Footfall, Ringworld, Gil "The Arm" Hamilton, Protector (yes i attempted to name a comic series similarly, and paid for it) "The Mote in God's Eye"... you name it, I read fuckloads of these books. And while they tend to land on a sort of human chauvinist "mankind will win based on his inherent adaptive human-ness, and the aliens will fail because of their rigid alien-ness", this shit was very foundational to me.

Their more collaborative series, The Man-Kzin Wars and War World, also loom large in my teenage mind. The Man-Kzin wars are super fun - humans meet a race of tiger-men, and go from being NWO peaceniks to roughneck cat-skinners in a generation! PEACE AND LOVE WONT DEFEAT TIGER MEN!

Similarly, war world (like lots of that 70s/80s military sci fi) was a sort of catch-all for western military nerds to play with their favorite factions - it was a planet where all the un-ruleable ethnic groups and nationalities had been deported by the authoritarian earth government, and left to rot... until a race of genetically engineered fascist super men land on the world, and start trying to rule the place. Pretty fun shit.

As I got older, I turned hard into William Gibson, and read the absolute shit out of both the Neuromancer trilogy and the Bridge trilogy, as well as his short stories. Bruce Sterling was part of that wave for me, too, and I religiously sought his old paperbacks out too. In terms of novels, "Distraction" is my favorite coherent Sterling Novel - though the short stories in the "Schismatrix" novel/collection of his remain my absolute favorite space opera pieces.

At this age, too, I found my top-top fave Sterling Stories - "Taklaman" and "Bicycle Repairman", both gritty pseudo-cyberpunk stories of the highest degree, in this collection:

This thousand-plus page collection of short stories and novellas was basically my bible for a few years - i put sticky notes on each story i loved and meant to return to, until the book was so festooned with sticky note bookmarks i abandoned the practice altogether. If you have the chance, just buy this book and chew on it for a few years.

As i got into my 20s, Charles Stross became my lode star - his books like Accelerando and Glasshouse were total game changers for me. They come with their own peculiarities, but I loved his transhuman/posthuman musings (or at least i was obsessed with his stuff for a good few years - the venn diagram of his obvious interests and my own overlapped enough that his books were great fodder for a growing sci-fi loving brain).

But since then, my main literary squeeze has been the great man, JACK VANCE. Working on Prophet, my friend @cmkosemen made a remark about how much the early issues of the series reminded him of a book series called "Planet of Adventure" or "the Tschai Cycle", by Jack Vance. The book has a beautifully simple setup - a man from an entirely undescribed spacefaring human civilization crash-lands onto a weird planet. But on that planet, he finds four separate civilizations, each who possess a population of enslaved humans, culturally and physically molded to the needs of their masters. And each book of this series covers our generic hero's interactions with each bizarre expoitative culture. I was extremely intrigued.

Soon thereafter, I found my current absolute favorite book - "THE DRAGON MASTERS". A book about an isolated medieval world... which gets visited, once every few generations, by a black pyramid starship, flown by a reptilian race known as the Greph. The greph capture humans to (surprise surprise) breed them into hyper specific slaves... who in turn become Greph-like in their thinking and demeanours. But the last time the BLACK PYRAMID landed, a bunch of angry medieval dudes stormed the thing, blew it up, and captured a bunch of greph... who became the breeding stock for a whole new human world of slave labour. By the time we meet this planet, the two rival lords of the human-populated regions have been breeding greph slave warriors, or "dragons", for generations, for combat against one another. But soon, the black pyramid will return...

I love this book I even spent a good few months during covid talking with the Vance Estate and several publishers about developing it into a graphic novel, but nobody could quite agree on how it could get made with old Simon getting a paycheque... so sadly it fell apart. There are concept drawings floating around my patreon and other corners of the internet. But one day I'll use 'em...

My other favorite books of his, to name a couple of the MANY books of his I love:

THE BLUE WORLD: A caste system of humans, descended from a crashed prison ship, live on floating settlements on an ocean planet, paying protection to a giant long-lived intelligent crustacean. But one man is tired of giving up all his crops to this tyrannical megafauna...

THE MIRACLE WORKERS: Rival lords on a planet descended to medieval tech (surprise surprise) fight using armies... and rival SORCERORS who employ the powers of suggestion to voodoo each others' warriors... but when facing non-human intelligences, these sorceror's skills fall short.

But there are heaps more, and I love most (thought not all) of the ones i've read. They're generally short, concise, and full of all sorts of bizarre bullshit.

THere are more books i've read and enjoyed in my life, of course, but these are the core ones that I think of when I think of my career as a sci-fi reader... let me know what your top recs are!