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sicksadgames · 1 month ago

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As the Sun Forever Sets - Terror in the time of the Telegraph

It’s nuts I’ve been working on this game for over 4 years at this point. As the Sun Forever Sets is for sure my biggest and most capital G Game. It even has a publisher and everything. It’s also my first game! Wow! It's been tough, though. We'll get into it!

Britain, 1899

As the Sun Forever Sets is a survival horror sandbox based on the War of the Worlds, utilises the Forged in the Dark ruleset, and is about ordinary people surviving a Martian invasion of Victorian era Britain. We play to find out how they rise to meet the storm of destruction, the ways in which it shapes them, and if they survive to see a new world emerge, or die amidst the rubble of the old.

In the last years of Queen Victoria’s reign, the British Empire stretches across a quarter of the globe, and under the guise of genteel progress and civilisation, it commits theft and murder on a global scale. Britain itself is on the verge of the modern era, the Second Industrial Revolution pushing people into the cities to drive the factories and forges owned by the greedy industrialist class. But beyond the common causes of humanity and unbeknownst to the men who impose their rule over it, vast wheels have begun their inexorable turning. Across 40 million miles of void, the Martian invasion hurtles Earthward. Screaming across the stars, instruments of annihilation unlike anything believed possible lie ready for assembly, alongside the Martians themselves. They are truly inscrutable beings, but their intent is as clear as it is terrible – they will suck the literal and figurative blood from the Earth, and nothing less than the complete and utter subjugation of humanity will be enough.

If this sounds cool to you... well, you gotta wait, it’s not done yet. Sorry! But you can come and hang out in the Sick Sad Games discord, where I post excerpts and occasionally organise playtests.

The Hard Times of (Old) England

Be warned, this is a long one - over 4000 words (if you don't have a Tumblr account, you won't get to the end before it starts bugging you to register one, so go read this on Medium instead.) It turns out when you work on a game for a long time, you have a lot to say about it. Strap in, grab your gin and laudanum, and let’s destroy an evil empire just by existing.

Thanks to the wonderful @hendrik-ten-napel for taking a look over my disorganised thoughts.

(Potential) Spoilers for: The Bear, The War of the Worlds, The Last of Us, Children of Men, Threads, When the Wind Blows, Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs, The Thing.

Roleplay in the Pre-Post-Apocalypse

TTRPGs love a good post apocalypse. It's understandable - gas up and ride glorious on the legally distinct fury road, run a commune of like minded weirdos in the ashes of the old world, go digging through retro-futuristic ruins to find retro-futuristic treasures. Who wouldn't want to do any of these? But As the Sun Forever Sets is about an apocalypse as it begins, not after it’s over.

There's a lot of crossover, of course. There’s a focus on similar things - disaster and spectacle, relationships and trust, scavenging and survival. But the bonus of the world not yet being over, is that we get to roleplay out dealing with that terrible, inexorable reality.

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HG Wells wrote a book about blowing up all the places he used to live, and it's a banger. I was surprised to find there wasn't a TTRPG based on the War of the Worlds, being the tantalisingly public domain ur-alien invasion story it is. As the Sun Forever Sets is very explicitly an adaption of it, to the point that before I came up with the name it almost got released as The War of the Worlds: The Roleplaying Game (lol). I'm glad I didn't, doing my own thing has meant both me and the people playing are way more free to fuck around without the expectation that it must adhere to a canon.

The book is good, strikingly modern feeling in parts, and obviously massively influential - so much science fiction can be traced back to our nameless Narrators tormentuous trek across the south of England. But Wells’ prose is typical Victorian - overly wordy and florid (any book that contains the word “ejaculating” meaning “to shout” might be difficult for readers who aren’t used to the style), so when it comes to recommending an actual adaptation, there’s only one true king. Whenever I bring up Jeff Wayne’s The War of the Worlds, the usual reaction from anyone outside of the UK is to say "... they made a what?"

My mom was very keen to get me into musicals, but nothing really stuck until she tried this, the secret best War of the Worlds adaption (sorry Steven Spielberg, but you were doomed from the start.) It's the bombast and drama you'd expect from a disaster film, the horror and pathos of Wells’ classic, all expressed through vivid narration and sick nasty prog rock - wailing guitar and crunchy 70's synths operating at full effect. It's not completely faithful to the book, it doesn't matter. It’s the best.

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Ah yes, the film bro's favourite mid 2000's film. Did you see that sick oner? That’s six minutes without a cut, that means the film’s good right? Children of Men is a slow burn apocalypse, dressed up like a world that’s already ended. Plenty has been written about all the little ways the film is prescient about the state of the UK - the slow belly-crawl into facism and nationalist fervour, the particularly British decay and class divide exacerbated by the desperate times, even the willful ignorance and the explicit sense that everyone’s just given up, it’s all here.

All that thematic stuff seems like it’d be really relevant to As the Sun Forever Sets, right?

Unfortunately, we are in fact here to talk about the long takes. The unbroken moment-to-moment action scenes evoke The War of the Worlds to a tee. Theo navigates danger with the same fraught tactical tension as War of the World's Narrator - dashing between doorways, groping for an axe handle in the darkness, desperately trying to start a car as assailants sprint towards him. What’s the best way out of this situation? How do I get from here to where I need to be? He lives his life in rolling, fleeting 5 second intervals, because he’s forgotten what it means to think in the long term - about the future, and what it might hold.

I was always fascinated and terrified by the idea of nuclear war. I guess it comes from watching a lot of 90’s disaster movies, but those are often ultimately fun romps where the day gets saved at the end, or at least the main characters find themselves alive and well at the end of the saga of destruction. Instead, As the Sun Forever Sets asks you to reflect on the horror and sadness present at the end of the world. Things are going to change forever, and change is always hard.

There’s not many clips of Threads and When the Wind Blows online, so it’s a little hard to demonstrate their particular nuclear inflected pitch black darkness. They’re grim - Grave of the Fireflies grim - differing in focus but united in their horrible impact.

When the Wind Blows is a story of an elderly couple living in rural England when the bombs drop, based on the comic by Raymond Briggs. Yes, The Snowman’s Raymond Briggs made a film about 2 lovely grandparents dying of acute radiation poisoning. Jim and Hilda are completely unprepared for what’s to come, their only reference is the Blitz - terrible in its own way, but not a patch on the scale of death they’re about to experience.

They survive the blast and wait for the good old British Government to arrive to save them, as it did in the 40’s. Slowly liquifying in the nuclear fallout, they hold onto each other and keep their spirits up, eventually making the decision to clamber into the paper sacks they mistakenly believed might protect them from the blast. Clutching their medical cards and birth certificates (for the ambulance, sure to be along any minute now), Jim mumbles painfully through a final prayer that morphs into a misremembered Charge of the Light Brigade, and they slip into a perpetual slumber together.

The most tragic part is Jim and Hilda’s unshakeable faith that their government is there for them - ready to catch them when they fall - borne out of Britain’s post WW2 renewal but absent in the 1980’s of the film’s plot, and the Britain of today. It’s a masterful film, shockingly sad, but the shock is the point.

Instead of aiming for your heart, Threads aims for the head. It’s a drama that aims to be as accurate as possible to government research into what a nuclear war might look like, plainly and forensically setting it out without any thought of softening these hard facts for its audience. Rather than focusing on a personal story, Threads flits around several groups of characters - minor government figures and ordinary families. Like Jim and Hilda, they too are woefully unprepared for the end of the world, and those in charge know there’s no way the UK could ever be ready for such a thing.

As mundane life is quietly intruded upon by news updates detailing far off geopolitics and the subsequent escalation that leads to war, the tension rises subtly then suddenly, like a spacecraft on the launchpad. People we’ve seen pottering about their normal lives are maimed and evaporated in the subsequent shocking nuclear exchange, whilst stark statistics flash on the screen - the hundreds of thousands instantly killed, how long the millions more fatally irradiated have left to live, the woefully inadequate tonnage of stockpiled food to feed those who survive. Each zero hits like a gutpunch.

And when you think the film must nearly be over, it keeps going. 1 week later. 1 year later. Threads grinds to an excruciating halt 13 years after the bombs fall, after year upon year of failed harvests from a destroyed earth barely able to support a population level equivalent to medieval Britain. At one point, mute children watch a warped and scratchy VHS of classic kids educational programme Words and Pictures on a TV powered by a steam generator.

The friendly presenter spells out the word “cat” through the thick veil of static, accompanied by a picture of one - an animal the children watching will likely never see. As they watch with blank, emotionless faces, the image of the cat fades to one of its skeletal form. “A cat’s skeleton” the presenter enthusiastically intones. The unrelenting bleakness might feel like a punishment, but Threads doesn’t mean it to be. This is just what would happen, after all.

Love in the time of the Heat-ray

In fact, someone in a Reddit thread said As the Sun Forever Sets “wasn’t just endless misery” and I’m glad that comes across. I wanted there to be moments of tenderness, quiet joy, anger, frustration, love and loss to punctuate the action and the horror.

People are messy and complicated even at the best of times. Under pressure, this is amplified a thousandfold - a little crush becomes a whirlwind romance, small disagreements become full blown fights, and not fully understanding someone might transform them into an enemy in your head.

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The little town Bill conspires to be left alone in ends up comparatively untouched by the horrors going on elsewhere, as untouched as anywhere can be in The Last of Us. He hated the world anyways - so he isolates himself as he prepares for it to end, and it makes sense that his life only really begins as the show does. When Frank arrives, Bill is forced not to just engage with the broader world outside of his little enclave, but in the act of truly living in it.

There’s no prepper’s guide to romance. A human heart can’t be field stripped for maintenance. By choosing to exist as a vulnerable, emotional being, Bill opens himself up to a different kind of apocalypse. Frank becomes the flowering vines that slowly crack the flat concrete wall of a world that Bill created, and when those vines die, the wall can only crumble. It’s so fraught and lovely, delicately yet absolutely gut wrenching. At least their apocalypse was one they decided to have together.

“I’m old. I’m satisfied. And you… were my purpose.” - "Long Long Time”, The Last of Us

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While several of my TTRPG writing friends were gushing about how great The Bear is, Em Acosta, author of the wonderfully inspirational Exile pointed out something super interesting - a lot of the show is about how you deal with people you’ve found yourself stuck with. No matter how much they piss you off, or whatever they do wrong, there’s something that means you can’t ever let them truly exit your life. They’re there, like it or not, until the bitter end.

Turns out this is very similar to how As the Sun Forever Sets handles Player Character relationships. In both it and The Bear, nothing’s ever truly resolved between characters - every relationship is like a cooking pot perpetually simmering. You might’ve apologised, made a truce, or just ignored your issues for so long that they seem to disappear, but no matter what, you’ve got to keep your eye on that pot.

Because suddenly a crisis will hit, and someone says something, or a diceroll comes up bad and all of a sudden the pot boils over and things are once again fucked. You storm out, start screaming, throw a fork. Even in the worst case scenario where a Character leaves because they’re absolutely sick of the rest of the group, they might show up at the end of the game for one last scene. Who knows how you’ll all feel at the end - nothing is ever truly fixed, and only the dead are truly broken.

“I quit, chef, is what’s going on. You are an excellent chef. You are also a piece of shit. This isn’t on me. Goodbye." - “The Review”, The Bear

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I’ve talked about The Thing a little before, John Carpenters sweaty, paranoid antarctic masterpiece. Along with the incredible effects and the (mostly) restrained use of action and bombast, the thing that makes... The Thing work is that the staff of the stricken research base lack any and all emotional intelligence.

It’s sort of the ultimate reverse Dudes Rock movie. Nobody knows anything about each other, so when their bodies and minds are colonised by the titular chameleon from outer space, they’re just another stranger to the rest of the crew. I’d ask you a question only you would know the answer to, but uh.. I don’t know anything about you. Whoops!

Over the course of the film, the whole operation falls apart as they try their best to work together to deal with the alien interloper, but their complete lack of ability to trust or relate to each other - present even before the crisis they find themselves in - is their ultimate downfall.

That final excellent shot of MacReady and Childs sat in the snow at the end of the film as their compound burns around them is the subject of a lot of unnecessary theorycrafting youtube videos, which kind of misses the point. Each suspects the other, but ultimately it doesn’t matter if one of them’s a Thing. One stranger is the same as another. Why bother getting to know each other now?

“Well...What do we do?” “Why don't we just... wait here for a little while? See what happens.” - Childs and Macready, The Thing

Science Fiction Revenge Fantasy

I’m not a historian, but the parallels between 1899 and now are pretty plain to see. Increasing class disparity, a lack of political will to help those in need, rampant cronyism and profiteering. As long as you’re in the place for it, roleplaying in a fictionalised version of the past to air out the issues of the present can be super fun and cathartic. You’re not expected to get a degree in British history to make it work, either.

The title is a play on the phrase “The Sun Never Set on the British Empire”, and it’s plainly stated in the book that Britains Empire acted as a mechanism of genocidal oppression, and that the Martians are here to end it - intentionally or not. It’s appealing as a premise on the face of it, but it goes a little deeper. Memories of Empire echo across time in Britain like the ringing of a malevolent bell, a cause celebre for braying Tories and fascistic right wing cunts (two very close circles in the venn diagram.)

We used to be a great country before this woke nonsense. Things were better back in the old days. The DEI contingent is trying to destroy our noble past. Yada yada yada, fuck offff. I’m sure someone somewhere will accuse me of “wokewashing” the past for including explicitly trans and queer characters as part of the book, along with the historical facts around how we fit into the oppressive Victorian conception of sex and gender. Unfortunately for them, we’ve always been here.

To be a little pretentious about it, every game of As the Sun Forever Sets reaches back into the past and cuts the myth of a glorious and benevolent Empire, and the good old days enjoyed within it off at the neck, purely in the act of beginning one. That sparks a little joy for me. Destroying a racists dream is fun, even if it’s only in the abstract.

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A horror game about the most literalist Victorian industrialist imaginable hearing the phrase “Eat the rich” and getting right on that. I’ve not played Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs despite fond (??) memories of playing The Dark Descent in a room full of jumpy friends, and seeing Dear Esther played live on stage, with a live orchestra and narrator - an exquisite way to experience that game.

The mechanical chops of Frictional Games mixed with the narrative verve of The Chinese Room, how could this game be anything less than incredible?

After The Dark Descent I fell off’ve the “scary guy chases you around” genre of game until Alien: Isolation revitalised it, and the reviews of A Machine for Pigs were mixed - kind of boring, middling gameplay, too dark - so I never went back. I was planning on writing a little about its vibe - dark, gothic Victoriana that rhymes nicely with As the Sun Forever Sets - but after a bit of research, Mandus’ quest for his missing sons strikes an unexpectedly resonant and terrible chord.

The writing and voice acting is phenomenal, Mandus’ split consciousness - the self you play and the other half of him that’s seen the horrors of the forthcoming 20th Century and is compelled to act, imbued into the myopic machine he built - is extremely compelling. He feels compassion for the poor and wants to save them, but they fill him with fear and disgust. He knows the industrialist class is killing the world, but feels a deep shame in the fact that he counts himself amongst them. So his machine grinds the rich into meat for the poor, who it distorts into grotesque pig homunculi and forces them to operate the machine’s inscrutable workings.

It’s Mandus’ twisted way of saving the world - kill the rich for their crimes, enslave the poor for their own good, all hail the new machine/god/manager of the 20th century. It’s a neat reflection of the way modern politicians contort themselves to the whims of big business and AI snake oil salesmen to avoid doing the simple and obvious things that’d better the world. It’s a nightmarish refutation of Victorian Liberalism, that only the upper class know how to fix the problems of the lower class. It’s brilliant, and we should play it.

"Do you hear me Mandus? This is what you planned! This world is a machine! A Machine for Pigs! Fit only for the slaughtering of pigs! Whores, beggars, orphans, filthy degenerates. Pigs all. But I will purify the streets, cleanse this city, set the great industry free. I will clean the world, make it pure." - The Machine, A Machine for Pigs

Song of the Year, of the Century

Not long after I came out as trans, I was asked what (in an ideal world) would make transition easier. I replied - never having to leave the house. One day I'd shut the front door as a man and another day, months or years later, I'd open it again as a woman, neatly sidestepping the terror of being perceived in a notoriously transphobic Britain.

In 2020 I shut that door and didn't open it for 4 months. At work, I remember calling the nearby shelter to donate our excess hand sanitizer and toilet roll, figuring out at the last second how support workers could take calls from their already isolated clients via their mobile phones, and fixating on the steady stream of scared coworkers leaving early. Tearfully, I felt the urge to hug those that remained as we locked up, before we remembered we probably shouldn't.

I've never been more aware of the minutia of moving through a space on the way home - How many people had their hands on this handrail? Have I touched my mouth or eyes without realising? Is anyone in the office already sick? Or on this train? How many more people are going to die? - My heart was in my chest, I heard the blood whoosh through my head to the beat of my steps on the pavement. At home, I realised my boyfriend had to go into work the next day. After he went to sleep, terrified he might die, I cried.

"I remember I felt an extraordinary persuasion that I was being played with, that presently, when I was upon the very verge of safety, this mysterious death—as swift as the passage of light—would leap after me from the pit about the cylinder, and strike me down." - "The Heat Ray", The War of the Worlds

Writing As the Sun Forever Sets was my way of coping with the disconnect with the world I felt, the fear of both Covid and the rising transphobia kept me inside even as the lockdowns eased. That feeling of throbbing death creeping at the window took a long time to wrestle under control, and getting deeply obsessed with a big project became part of that process. It seems incredibly maudlin to make a TTRPG dealing with darkness and death during a pandemic that killed (and continues to kill) millions of people, but I suppose I’m kind of a maudlin person.

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“I haven't written a song in a month, So I'm playing the same chords again. I know I need to get lost in the moment, But I get lost before it begins. Fingers stretching out into space. Reaching as a thought slips away.”

It also burnt me the fuck out. After years of constant work and testing (beginning long before Evil Hat picked up the game), I ran out of steam. I spent the months after Evil Hat’s public playtest ended not really able to write anything ATSFS related at all. The game kind of froze - I knew what I wanted to change or fix or add, but the moment the google doc opened I couldn’t make myself start typing. It was incredibly frustrating to have the switch flip from endless obsessive writing to constant nothing, and I don’t think I truly recognised the burnout I was feeling until recently. It turns out spending years staying up past midnight writing is bad, who know!

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A lot of Forged in the Dark games don’t get finished (or more accurately, get stuck in perpetual development), something that the excellent and dearly missed +1 Forward podcast recognised in their episode collecting their thoughts on the FITD games they looked at back in 2021. I think that’s because, at least to me, writing a Forged in the Dark game is like trying to hold a plate of spaghetti without the plate. It’s deceptively simple at its heart, but the system squirms when you poke at it - write one thing and it affects 3 other things. Tug one piece of pasta out and you lose a meatball without realising it.

When I listened to that episode, I took it as a challenge. Part of me now wonders if it was a curse. I'm being hyperbolic, of course. But a little part of me did think it might be better to give the game up.

That’s not going to be As the Sun Forever Sets' fate, thankfully. Evil Hat has been there to support me when I’ve felt guilty about shifting another deadline or replying to a check-in email with another late “Not much progress this month, sorry!” The frozen writers block is thawing, and I’m so tantalisingly close to finishing the final text. This blog is part of that process, another chip in the icy dam.

The wheels of dread Martian terror turn once again, and it feels good. Part of that is down to not beating myself up about a lack of progress. The more important part came when I realised I felt able to return to the world again - living in it, not hiding from it. Staying connected to it, even when there's times I'm not able to inhabit it physically. Covid, Britains particular brand of transphobic brainworms, and the shadow of Empire all continue to exist, and so do I - a weird maudlin transsexual woman - in spite of them all.

“The day seemed, by contrast with my recent confinement, dazzlingly bright, the sky a glowing blue. A gentle breeze kept the red weed that covered every scrap of unoccupied ground gently swaying. And oh! the sweetness of the air!” - “The Stillness”, The War of the Worlds

You made it!

Thanks for sticking with my messy thoughts. If what I talked about here sounds cool to you, please stop by the Discord, we'd love to have you. Look forward to seeing As the Sun Forever Sets come to a crowdfunding platform of Evil Hat's choice (I assume backerkit) at some point in the future ♥.

#ttrpg #indie ttrpg #forged in the dark #horror #war of the worlds #ttrpg design #science fiction #incredible self indulgence #as the sun forever sets

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silverseaming · 2 months ago

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At the harbour there’s noise everywhere — hurried rushes of footsteps, snatches of conversation, the voices of street-sellers rising above the everyday din with cries of “Fresh whelks! Fresh whel—”, “Apples and pears! Fresh today!”, “Roses, sir, roses for your Mis—!”. Along the quayside cargo masters bark instructions to their men, and crates clatter earthward from the decks or are borne aloft on the shoulders of brawny dockers. Beneath it all is the sound of the shipyard, a constant beat of hammers that Kit can feel in his chest.

Kit pushes on through the crowds, buffeted along by the busy current of fellow humanity. He wishes dearly for the open fields or leafy avenues of Brindleton. There the air is sweet, not thick with the salty seaweed taste, the people don’t rush, don’t crowd together, shout, or jostle.

A journey of bumping shoulders and muttered apologies washes him up on the doorstep of The Lermond’s Cove company, as the modest brass plate beside the door proclaims. The building is smaller than the grand shipping offices, tucked on the end of the harbour frontage, but it’s smart enough, and offers welcome shelter from the bustle outside. A small bell rings above the door as Kit makes his way inside.

“Hello, sir.” The young woman greeting him sits behind a solitary desk, a large ledger arrayed in front of her. The frugality of the outside of the building is continued on the inside, with the only ornaments to the small room besides its occupant being a few framed charts and maps. The whole arrangement gives the impression of being newly established. “How can I help you?”

“I, er, have an appointment with Mr Allen,” Kit says, suddenly abashed.

After checking an entry in the ledger, the young woman gestures down the hallway.

“It’s the first door on the left, sir.”

Making his way to the indicated door, Kit hesitates a second before knocking. He can hardly turn back now, with the secretary watching in the entryway.

His knock is answered by a curt “Enter.”

The man behind the desk rises to greet Kit, extending a hand over the tabletop. He’s smartly dressed, in a well-made suit of the latest fashion. The clothes look new — too new, perhaps. The thick callouses beneath Kit’s hand betray the lifetime of hard work that the suit tries hard to erase.

“Fred Allen,” The man says, by way of introduction. Releasing Kit’s hand, he gestures to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “You must be Calloway.”

“That’s right, sir. As I said in my letter, Mr Miller up in Brindleton heard you might have opportunities going for someone willing to sell their crop.”

“Well, he heard correctly, I guess, though I have to say I wasn’t expecting anyone round here so soon. How’s about you tell me what set up you’ve got going, and then I’ll think about it?” says Allen.

“I’ve got about two-hundred acres just outside Brindleton, wheat and potatoes mainly. Only took over two years ago, but the last two harvests have done well.” Kit picks at a loose thread at the edge of his jacket, wishing he hadn’t done his collar up so tightly.

“You got any hands, or is it a one man show?” Allen asks as he sifts through a stack of papers, running a finger down a column of figures.

“Just me at the moment, sir, but some of the local lads help out around harvest. There’s room for expansion, though, if we come to an agreement.”

“Hm.” Allen seems to be considering, rubbing a large hand across his coarse chin. The more Kit looks at him, the more he struggles to see the businessman through the farmer — or is it sailor? At any rate, Allen’s tanned skin and deep crow’s feet speak of a life that, until recently, was spent working out of doors. The tailored clothes seem almost like a costume. It’s reassuring, perhaps, to know that Allen would understand something of the toil put into producing the crop.

Eventually Allen reaches the end of his deliberations with a great sigh.

“Look, son, I won’t pretend this isn’t somewhat of a cowboy venture, and that I haven’t got as much capital to be free with as certain larger companies. But I think we understand each other, and on account of your being the first to come and see me, I’m willing to give you an offer. I’ll take half your next wheat harvest, and I’ll give you two dollars a bushel if you’re willing to shake on it now.”

“I’m more than willing, sir, thank you,” Kit says. There’s a weight that’s lifted from his shoulders with Allen’s words, the anxious knot in his stomach loosening a little. Somehow, he’s managed to grab hold of the life ring thrown to him, and for a minute the hard work of hauling to shore can be forgotten.

Arriving home that night, dusty from the road, Kit feels lighter than he has done in months. For once he looks at the farm and sees it as something beautiful, rather than a never-ending source of work. There’s a little moonlight dappling through the trees, outlining the farmhouse against the night sky behind it.

For a moment, he leans against the fence of the cow-pen, taking slow lungfuls of the cool night air. Then he turns towards the house, and the faint glow behind the front door that draws his weary feet over the threshold.

Meg’s standing at the kitchen table, placing the finishing touches on a freshly baked cake. From the untidy tendrils of hair she keeps trying to blow from her face and the flour down her apron, it’s been a hard-fought battle with the sponge. The weak firelight from the stove behind her casts her in a rosy glow, and oh, it’s enough to knock the air from Kit’s chest.

“You’re up late,” he murmurs, giving into the urge to take her in his arms. Her body is warm against his, and she smells slightly of strawberry jam.

“I had to remake the sponge,” Meg sighs, finally pushing the finished cake away and leaning into his touch. “And I split the cream. It’s all a horrible mess.”

“Well hang the cake then, because I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.” Gently Kit spins her round to face him, pulling her close.

“I take it your meeting went well?” She smiles.

“I think so. He’ll take half of next year’s wheat, and for a good price as well.”

“Oh, you wonderful man,” Meg says softly.

Kit’s reply is to lean down and kiss her. Even though he’s only been gone a day, it feels like he’s waited months for that kiss, for Meg’s hands on his shoulders and lips on his. Without thinking, he lifts her onto the table, hands finding her waist and hair.

“Christopher James Calloway, if you want to carry on with this nonsense then you will unhand me and let me clear up before we go upstairs!” Meg pulls away, trying to sound cross, but the barely concealed laughter rather ruins the effect. “I love you very much, but I will not ruin this cake for you.”

“Consider me told,” Kit laughs.

#ts4 decades challenge #decades challenge #historical simblr #ts4 historical #ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #sims story #ts4 legacy #calloways #calloways 1890s #kit calloway #fred allen #meg calloway #we back baby!#(sporadically because uni is busy but it's something)#being busy is certainly helping me to be less of a perfectionist #and just accept that more often than not the post won't come out exactly how it is in my head

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garadinervi · 1 month ago

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Maria W Horn & Vilhelm Bromander, Earthward Arcs, (Cassette, Digital album), WW032, Warm Winters Ltd., 2023

Composed and produced by Maria W Horn & Vilhelm Bromander

Artwork: Maria W Horn Design: Jordana Loeb

#graphic design #art #music #music album #cassette #cover #maria w horn #vilhelm bromander #jordana loeb #warm winters ltd.#2020s

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theworldatwar · 10 months ago

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A German Ju 87B Stuka of I/StG 77 falls earthward in its final moments over Chichester, England. Both airmen seem to be still onboard - Aug 1940. The Stuka suffered such high casualties that it was eventually withdrawn from any missions over Britain

#world war two #ww2 #worldwar2photos #history #1940s #ww2 history #wwii #world war 2 #ww2history #wwii era #the battle of britain #battle of britain #chichester #england #great britain #ju87 #luftwaffe #1940

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coquettemouse · 2 months ago

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Jason stood before the mirror, adjusting his tie for the umpteenth time, his nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. The muted chatter of his friends filled the air—Reyna, Piper, and Octavian gathered nearby, their laughter mingling with the scent of fresh flowers. “I mean, seriously,” Octavian said, raising an eyebrow as he gestured toward Jason, “Leo is lucky to have you. You clean up pretty well, despite... well, you know.” He flashed a reluctant grin. Reyna shot him a playful elbow to the ribs, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Stop it, Octavian. Jason, you look awesome.” she says with a firm nod, her encouragement washing over him like a warm wave, easing some of the tension in his chest.

As Jason straightened his tie one last time, he caught sight of Nyssa entering the room. He had seen her earlier, but now she was accompanied by another man. Nyssa exuded strength and confidence, her short braids adorned with small orange beads that caught the light as she moved. Her arms, toned from years of forging, conveyed a sense of security. The young lad beside her greeted Reyna and Octavian casually, bring an easy smile to their face.

He finally glanced toward Jason, his curly hair bouncing slightly as he turned his head. With his brown skin, black eyes, and baby face—accentuated by soft cheekbones and crooked teeth—he seemed both youthful and about to throw whipped cream at someone. Jason watched the brief exchange.

He was about to marry.

And he was at the battlefield.

the vague noises of people around him fading into the background. “No!” Jason yelled. “We have to stay with you. Piper’s got the cure. Leo, you can’t—”

“Hey.” Leo grinned, his expression unnerving against the backdrop of flames, his teeth glinting like molten silver ingots. “I told you I had a plan. When are you going to trust me? And by the way—I love you guys.”

Suddenly, Festus’s claw opened, and Jason and Piper fell.

“I love you too,” Jason managed to gasp out, his voice strained and desperate, but he had no strength to stop Valdez. He clung to Piper as she cried Leo’s name, and they plummeted earthwards.

Festus became an indistinct ball of fire in the sky—a second sun—growing smaller and hotter, like Jason's heart, which felt like it was bleeding. Then, in the corner of Jason’s eye, a blazing comet streaked upward from the ground, emitting a high-pitched, almost human scream. Just before Jason blacked out, the comet intercepted the ball of fire above them.

The explosion turned the entire sky gold.

The man’s smile faltered, and he raised his brows. “Are you okay?”

Piper walked toward him, concern etched on her face. As she reached him, Jason registered the weight of her hand on his back, guiding him to sit down in a nearby chair. Octavian was no longer in the room. He guess, Jason wouldn't know.

Leo looked him up and down, his lips pressed straight before breaking into a small smile. “You are such a loser.”

“I can’t have my sad moment now?” Jason groaned, though there was no bite in his tone.

“A loser and an emo,” Leo teased playfully. “That’s a great combo.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Stay sad,” Leo flopped down beside him on the carpet. “But with me. So we can be emo and losers together.”

Jason stifled a laugh, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Okay, whatever you say.”

Leo placed a hand on either side of Jason, hovering his face over him, his curls spilling around his forehead in a messy halo. “I know, I’m great at saying things,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief and warmth.

"Leo?” he whispered as Leo's calloused fingers found their way to his temples, pressing gently but firmly against Jason’s skin. “Are you here, bebé?” Leo asked, his tone decisive yet tender.

The other man stood awkwardly beside them, his jaw slightly square, smaller ears framing his face, and his eyes set a bit closer to his nose — Harley — looking away as Jason stare him.

“I’m here,” Jason murmured, his gaze locking onto Leo's.

#valgrace #leo valdez #jason grace

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now-you-sound-like-a-jedi · 5 months ago

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Star Wars x Classical Mythology

2: Bo-Katan Kryze as Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons

"Dressed in this fashion in her intricate armor, she seemed like a bolt of lightning sent earthwards by the might of resistless Zeus to show men that a mighty thunderstorm is coming, or ceaseless blasts of whistling wind.

[...] No spear she directed went astray: she would hit either the back of a fugitive or the chest of an attacker. Drenched all over in warm blood, her limbs active and vigorous, her fearless heart unwearied, strong as steel."

- Quintus Smyrnaeus, Posthomerica

Bo-Katan and Penthesilea were both the daughters of warriors (indeed, Penthesilea's father was Ares, god of war) and, as ruler of Mandalore and queen of the Amazons, respectively, both eventually became the leaders of a warrior society.

Furthermore, both of them took the throne following the tragic and untimely death of their elder sister. Interestingly, Penthesilea's degree of responsibility for her sister Hippolyta's death varies between sources: some say she had nothing to do with it, that Hippolyta was murdered by an outsider but, according to Smyrnaeus, Penthesilea accidentally killed her.

Either way, Penthesilea was devastated by her sister's death, and sources cannot agree whether her reckless actions on the battlefield during the seige of Troy were due to a desire to atone for her sins by saving the Trojans or simply because her grief and guilt were so great that she wished only to die honourably in battle and then join her sister in the afterlife.

This part came into my mind when I was watching the Siege of Mandalore arc of The Clone Wars, specifically the part where Bo-Katan tries to attack Maul, because it reminded me of Penthesilea fighting Achilles and the ambiguity of her motivation for it. Did she try to fight because she was arrogant enough to believe she would win, or had she simply lost so much that she no longer cared?

The Amazons were ultimately decimated by the Greeks just as the Mandalorians were by the Empire. The difference is that, unlike Penthesilea, Bo-Katan survived to rebuild.

Satine

#idk mandalorian women as space amazons is just such a fun idea to me #it wouldn't be star wars or greek mythology if it wasn't depressing though!#bo katan kryze #star wars #penthesilea #mandalore #amazons #the clone wars

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rorywritesjunk · 11 months ago

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The stars in their courses will run and bring their hearts earthward to hear her.

Buggy brings his son in to the bakery to get a treat for his birthday. You like decorating cakes. Rating: PG-13ish. Warning: Adorable kid decides he wants to be a baker. Worried Buggy. Friendly baker. A/N: This chapter is the official start of these two. No name for the Baker yet. I can't be stopped. This story's first few chapters will take place over like, a weekend and then fast forward a bit I feel.

Title comes from "Girl in the Garden" by S.J. Tucker. Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6

Chapter 2

You left the ship after breakfast. You needed to get to work, hoping your associate was already there getting ready. Hopefully she didn't notice you were in yesterday's clothing. You didn't have time to go home and change. And when she saw you, taking in your appearance, she just smirked as she filled the case with fresh goods.

“Fun night?”

“Shush.”

After throwing your apron on, you went to the kitchen to start getting pans and tins ready for your baked goods. You weren't incredibly late but just enough you felt behind on everything already. You started making some muffins first, greasing the tin with butter to keep them from sticking. Your associate was at the counter helping some customers while you stayed in the back.

Thankfully it was a quiet morning, even through the lunch rush. You leaned on the counter as your last customer left, giving the two of you time to breath.

“So, is it real?”

“Is what real?” You asked as you straightened up, frowning at her. She smirked as she went to make herself a cup of tea.

“You know what I mean. You were with that pirate, weren't you?”

“I was.” You shrugged. “And that's all I'm going to say about it.”

“Oh, come on! I'm just curious!”

You just shook your head as you started to wipe down the counter. She pouted and went back to you. “You're no fun.”

“I just don't want to talk about other people in a way that could be malicious.” You retorted. “Now, can you go do some prep work for tomorrow? I'll work the front.”

Your associate grumbled and did as she was asked, heading to the back. You shook your head and sighed, waiting for the next bout of customers. Maybe it would be a slow day, going by how the last few hours were. That wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. You were tired from the night before and wanted to take it easy.

The door chime alerted you to someone coming in, but when you looked up you frowned. There wasn't anyone there, but when you looked down you were surprised to see Darby walking up to the counter. Without his dad. Oh no.

“Hey, sweetie!” You greeted as you came around the counter to greet him. “What are you doing here? Where's daddy?”

Darby shrugged. “Working.”

“Oh, does he know you're here?” You asked. Darby shrugged again. “Umm, okay. Is he on the ship?”

“Yea! He's not here.” Darby told you. This wasn't good. You sighed softly and smiled at him.

“Well, let's head back to the ship, okay? He's going to be missing you.”

“Can I help you here?” Darby asked. And it was really sweet and innocent of him to ask, but you had a feeling that when his dad realized he was missing then there would be hell brought down upon the town. You crouched down so you were eye level with him.

“Okay, let's go ask daddy first and see if he allows it.” You told him. “I'm more than happy to have you as my assistant but we gotta ask first.”

Darby frowned at that but nodded. No doubt Buggy would agree to it but he didn't think to ask. You straightened up and called back to your associate, telling her you'd be back, before you held your hand out to Darby, letting him take it before you headed out of the bakery. It would be better to get him back sooner rather than later.

And no sooner did you start walking that you could hear Darby’s name being shouted near the docks.

“Hey, I think the crew is missing you.” You told him as he led you to the ship. “We should go find daddy, Darby, that way we can ask him.”

“Okay!” He pulled you up to the ship. There were several of the freaks there, several looking down into the water while one shouted back to the ship that the kid was found. When they tried to take Darby's hand to lead him up to the deck, the kid recoiled and grabbed your apron.

“Uhh, I'll take him up there, it's okay.” You said, patting the kid on the head. “Can I carry you, Darby?”

He nodded, wrapping himself around you once he was in your arms. You wondered if this was a regular occurrence, and was he going to be punished? Buggy didn't seem like the type to punish his kid, you saw the way he looked at his son. This kid was his entire world. You held him tight as you walked up the ramp to the deck, pausing when you saw Buggy. He was screaming at someone, red in the face as he pointed out towards the town.

“He was under your watch and you lost my kid!” Buggy roared. “How could you let that happen?! He's three!”

“I-I just looked away for a minute, Captain Buggy!”

“Maybe I should gouge your eyes out so this doesn't happen again!”

Well, this was escalating, so you cleared your throat and set Darby on the ground. He immediately ran over to Buggy, who's demeanor changed the moment he saw that his son was safe. He glared at the freak who ran off before Buggy focused on his son, picking him up in his arms and hugging him.

“Sweetheart, where were you? You can't disappear off the ship like that.” Buggy was calm and quiet, opposite of how he was moments ago. Darby shrugged and pointed over to you; you just gave them a friendly wave. “Did you go all the way to the bakery on your own?”

“He found his way to me because he wanted to be my assistant for the day.” You told him. “I suggested we come ask you first. He's a smart boy, getting all the way to the bakery on his own.”

“Darby…” Buggy rubbed his face, sighing heavily. “You can't just take off like that.”

“Daddy, I wanna bake!”

“We have a kitchen on the ship!” Buggy replied, shaking his head. “No running off, you scared daddy, okay?”

You decided to leave, taking a step back before turning to head down the ramp but a hand on your shoulder stopped you. Right, his body did… things. You tried to shoo the hand away before looking back at the captain.

“No, you're not done here.” Buggy said. “I need to talk to you.”

Aw, shit, what did you do? He set his son down and marched over to you and you took a step back. Was he mad at you for some reason? Did he think you wanted to be involved in this? He stopped in front of you and crossed his arms, sighing before he looked away.

“Thank you.” He mumbled. “For bringing him back safely.”

“Uh… you're welcome? I figured you would be worried.” You chuckled nervously. “I can see how much you love your son. I wish all parents were like that.”

His gaze softened and he glanced at you before he looked at Darby. His son had followed him and was at his side, holding onto the hem of his jacket with one hand while the other went up to his mouth and he started sucking his thumb. Okay, the kid certainly knew how to be cute.

“Well, I need to head back to work.” You said before crouching down in front of Darby. “And I am more than happy for you to stop by, but make sure daddy is okay with it, sweetie. We don't want him getting worried.”

Darby nodded, turning to hide his face, suddenly feeling shy. You smiled and stood back up, looking at Buggy. “I don't mind if he comes by, y’know, as long as you're okay with it.”

“Yea, well, we’re leaving in a few days, so I don't…want him getting attached.” Buggy said with a shrug.

“Oh! Well, I wouldn't want him getting his little heart broken.” You said. “But I need to head back to the bakery.”

Buggy just nodded. You smiled at Darby, giving him a wave. “I'll see you around, Darby! Next time you guys come by you should come see me, okay?”

He looked up and pulled away from Buggy, holding his arms out for you. It was hard not to melt at how cute this kid was and you picked him up, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He wrapped his little arms around you and hugged you.

“He isn't normally fond of strangers.” Buggy commented as he watched you two. “He doesn't even like some of the crew.”

“Aw, you're just saying that so I feel special.” You chuckled as you rubbed Darby's back gently as held him. “Then again, he didn't leave my side at his birthday party.”

“See? He likes you.” Buggy shrugged. “So you should feel special.”

“Okay, well, I need to head back.” You said as Buggy tried to take Darby back but the kid wouldn't let go.

“You keep saying that, and yet I don't see much effort being made.” Buggy said with a smirk as he tickled Darby’s sides, getting the kid to squeal and loosen his grip. He managed to get the kid out of your arms after that. “He really likes you.”

“Well, he's sweet. Probably one of the best behaved kids I've ever met.” You said, smiling at the proud look on Buggy’s face. For a kid living in a pirate ship, he seemed to be doing fine. You weren't sure how common it was for pirates to have families, muchless on a ship. A part of you always wanted kids, but as you got older and settled into your career, it just never happened. Now you made sure to shower attention on the kids that came into the bakery, making sure they had a great time in there.

“What are you doing tonight?” Buggy suddenly asked. “Would… you like to stop by again?”

“And do what?” You asked.

“I don't… know.” He shrugged. “Cabaji can watch Darby, that's one of the few people my kid likes.”

You frowned. “Captain, are you asking me on a date?”

“If I said yes, what are you going to say?” Buggy asked as he shifted Darby in his arms. The little boy reached for you again. You raised an eyebrow and took Darby back from him, chuckling softly at passing the kid around like some kind of game.

“If it's a date where I'm not expected to do anything but show up looking nice then yes, I will go on a date with you.” You said as Darby rested his head on your shoulder. “You do this with all the bakers you meet in towns, Captain Buggy?”

“You're the first baker I've met that I liked.” He grinned. “But I try not to make a habit out of it.”

“Don't want to get attached now, so we?” You teased. “I can come back once the bakery is closed for the day.” You rubbed the little boy’s back as he settled in your arms. “I can’t wait, Captain.”

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc

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