#Fragment of a Handle from a Vessel

[thatsbutterbaby]

Fragment of a Handle from a Vessel. New Kingdom ca. 1390–1352 B.C. Faience.

[yuujiheart]

People in this fandom don't seem to understand that the relationship between Sukuna and Yuuji is not a family one, in the manga their bond was NEVER treated that way, Gege also doesn't refer to them as "uncle and nephew" that's purely a fandom thing, a headcanon.

Yuuji is basically an experiment by Kenjaku, he was created to be a vessel for Sukuna, that's why it took him a thousand years to be created. And I don't even have anything against incest in fiction, it's just that SukuIta can't be "incest" because for a relationship to be considered incestuous to begin with there must be a blood connection and Yuuji and Sukuna do NOT have a blood link, it's their souls that are connected, (something the manga has emphasized).

And something that makes me laugh is the people who get mad because "there aren't enough wholesome fan arts of Yuuji and Sukuna as a family", I got fucking news for you, their canonical relationship is NOT wholesome either, it's complicated and arguably even somewhat toxic. This fandom is full of dickheads.

Well said anon.. You have explained it perfectly..

I agree with that uncle nephew being a headcanon thing.. Fandom acts like it's a big thing but when you read the manga it's not. Sukuna's behaviour towards yuji remained the same . For him it just explained why yuji had immense strength.. Uraume too after learning the truth wondered if yuji had the same potential as sukuna.. None of them said yuji is his nephew or something...

Then we have Kenny who clearly said yuji's purpose was to be a vessel.. Pretty sure he wasn't trying to give sukuna a family.. Forget about yuji sukuna didn't acknowledge his actual twin's reincarnation nd called him a fragment. Even when he was in the afterlife

Now it's not just that ,no where in story you will see gege focussing on that stuff. For example, todo said to arata that yuji is his brother but we see arata questioning that, but on the other hand none of the characters points out the so called similarity between yuji and sukuna. Now what does that tell us???

They only talk about their soul connection or yuji being good at adapting things coz of sukuna..So to me that can mean only one thing and that is we are not supposed to see their relationship solely as familial one.

Apart from that sukuna's twin involvement doesn't really affect the nature of their dynamic.. If anything it helped yuji to understand sukuna's perspective as this the reason yuji was born cursed and in the last chap he clearly acknowledges it.. And like you said it only makes their relationship complicated which fandom loves to simplify all the time..

This fandom is OBSESSED with turning regular characters into family for no reason and treating it as canon. I remember them being totally convinced that yuji sukuna are twins before the reveal and then crying and insulting gege when that didn't happen and even though we already had seen that topic being addressed through maki mai .. Like to them it doesn't matter whether the author addresses it or not in the story.. I mean if gege wanted readers to see them as family trust me we would have known.... But he didn't. All we see is him emphasizing how fucked up it is in nature and their soul link only complicated it further..

Their relationship IS toxic. It doesn't look like that most of the time because yuji handled it pretty well. Otherwise we have seen what sukuna does when he's the one in control through megumi.. Although yuji completely turned it into something beautiful as we can see in the yorube dance art.

You see them as family good for you but they are not. Maybe if gege said it then I would accept it. Otherwise there is no reason to.

[golvio]

I think the metanarrative reason for the Princess being put into an antagonistic role in the “intended story structure” instead of being the protagonist is a big hint to her true nature.

While the protagonist gets to have the POV and make the major decisions that determine the story’s resolution, the antagonist is the one who actually makes things happen. Even when she’s not an antagonist and you’re working together, she’s still making things happen solely by being the only visible character present. Her mere presence changes things.

It’s very, very difficult to have a story without some external force or another character acting upon your protagonist and pressuring them to make a move. Even stories told primarily in flashbacks have the main character interacting with something, even if only in the past tense. A story where the main character just sat there, never interacting with anyone or anything, never having any experiences to learn from, would be incredibly boring. Simply having someone else there to talk to and play off of is enough to get things to move again.

Contrast this with The Narrator’s ideal story, which is a Wholesome™️ story where the main character does what they’re told and then never has anything bad happen to them ever because, as the only character left in the story, they’re safe from conflict, change, or heartbreak. Sure, it might not be a controversial story that would upset someone, but it’s also incredibly dull and unfulfilling. The credits roll and that’s it? That’s all we get?

It’s absolutely hilarious to me that, while The Narrator inserted his echo into the Construct under the conceit of being the literary device that’s the vehicle delivering the story to the reader, he really sucks at storytelling. He can’t build rapport with his audience (us) because he doesn’t understand what we want or how to persuade us beyond vague moral arguments with no emotional hooks whatsoever. He’s so inflexible and refuses to allow alternate interpretations that he can’t handle when things go off script, and can’t get the story back on track when we start going off the rails short of pulling a deus ex machina (which only works when the audience still has enough faith in him to take him seriously as storyteller instead of doing their own thing). Things only get interesting when the Princess gets involved. Things only move forward when she forces the issue, particularly in the Nightmare route, where you refuse to commit to a choice out of fear of potential consequences.

A friend of mine who recently did their first playthrough commented on how the underlying quest to collect perspectives for the Shifting Mound was basically an improv session. I think they’re right on the money. Each chapter is like a game of “Yes, And” between you and the Princess that continues until neither of you can think of anything else. The developers mentioned in an interview that Shifty M. only arrives to take the vessel home when the story “ends.” That is, when there’s nothing left to do. Improv is one of the genres of performance that best encapsulates Change in its demand for adapting to circumstances and new information, so of course The Narrator would be against it, preferring simple, linear narratives.

People tend to become fascinated with antagonists because they’re the ones who make things happen. Adding an antagonist who’s also a person is one of the easiest ways to start building a story. By making the Shifting Mound and her fragments our enemy and requiring us to get within talking distance in order to slay her, The Narrator shot himself in the foot by making Her the most compelling and interesting character by default.

[whencyclopedia]

Riace Bronzes

The Riace Bronzes, also known as the Riace Warriors, are a pair of bronze statues most likely sculpted in Greece in the mid-5th century BCE and rescued from the Ionian Sea near Riace Marina, Italy in 1972 CE. Slightly larger than life-size, the nude male figures represent two warriors, one older than the other, and they are considered masterpieces of Classical Greek sculpture. Restored and protected from future corrosion, they stand magnificent in their own environmentally-controlled room within the National Archaeological Museum of Reggio Calabria in southern Italy.

Discovery & Restoration

The two bronzes were miraculously discovered in the Ionian Sea off the coast of Riace Marina in southern Italy on 16 August 1972 CE. The discoverer was Stefano Mariottini, who spotted them while diving a mere 200 metres (656 ft) from the shore. Lying at a depth of just 8 metres (26 ft), Mariottini noticed an arm sticking up from the sandy seabed and, digging down to investigate, he saw that not only did it belong to a large statue but there was a second figure buried close by. Within five days, the authorities were notified and a police diving team supervised by archaeologists raised the two figures using air-inflated balloons. Further investigation of the site in 1972 and 1981 CE revealed 28 lead rings - possibly used as part of a ship's sail - and a fragment of a ship's keel containing two bronze linchpins. These artefacts likely belong to the Roman period or later. Also discovered was a fragment of the handles of one of the figure's shield. It may be that the statues sunk while the wreckage from the light ship in which they would have been transported was dispersed by the sea. Alternatively, the statues may have been jettisoned overboard to make the vessel more seaworthy during a storm.

Before going on public display, the figures underwent a laborious process of restoration in Florence, which took five years. Sand and debris were removed from their interiors and their surfaces relieved of encrustations built up over the centuries on the seafloor. The figures were restored again from 1992-5 CE and 2009-11 CE. The statues, now standing on anti-seismic marble plinths in a climatically-controlled room of their own, are on permanent display at the National Archaeological Museum of Reggio Calabria, Italy, where they have become the poster boys of southern Italy, silent ambassadors for the region's cultural heritage and identity.

Continue reading...

[icypolargirl78]

Haunting - A Mechaformers Short Story

this au belongs to @keferon, whose fantastic art and the many fics they've received has inspired me to write angst about two of my original characters.

there is a slight warning for dead bodies, as well as references to past child abuse, and a dash of depersonalisation from the pov character.

Contrary to popular belief, dying was the easy part. 

She awoke not in the cockpit of the lumbering machine that once carried her into battle, but instead as the machine itself. Pistons and bolts replaced bones and blood vessels, a thick sludge of oil pumping through rubber cables in place of plasma. 

There was no pain either. 

She had expected death to hurt, all the other injuries sustained by piloting the giant machine had hurt like nothing before. But pain was a familiar comfort, it was natural. Pilots did not get to experience the bliss of a zero on that accursed scale that the medics so often dragged out during routine appointments. 

The last time she could recall sitting at a zero was before she had first stepped foot in the giant metallic creature. She was only three years old, memories so fuzzy around the edges that the mere sensation of not being in pain was entirely foreign throughout the rest of her life. 

But now there was nothing. No physical sensation despite the vast influx of data was was rolling through the machine’s internal processors. No… not the machine’s… Her processors now. That would take some getting used to. 

Systems far beyond the pale limits of the human mind now reached out in all directions. Pressure sensors, damage to the hull of her outer armour, a sparking set of wires now hanging limply from a disconnected shoulder joint. It was all laid out in efficient priority trees that reached so far down the new HUD that sat just barely on the corners of her vision that it hurt to try and strain her already taxed systems to try and read them all. 

Slowly, as time slipped by in waves and ripples that meant nothing to something so big and inanimate, she began to realise that something was giving off a foul odour. It was difficult to tell what it was or how exactly she was even smelling anything when the robotic monstrosity wasn’t even programmed to detect such things. 

But eventually she managed to navigate - a lone ghost in a sea of rotting data - to the camera system that recorded all internal systems in the hope that any data could be useful for later recruits. 

Oh… 

The sight that greeted her was… Well she imagined that in any other situation it would be unnerving or even scary. 

Slumped in the cockpit was a tall figure dressed in the armoured suits that all mecha pilots were issued after being assigned their metalic death traps. Long curly locks spilled over the figure’s shoulders, leading down down down to a massive piece of rebar that stuck out of their chest. 

Sticky blood was drying around the entrance wound. A puddle had already collected on the floor beneath the pilot’s chair. 

That is her. She knows that. That is her body sitting slumped in that chair. It’s dead. She is dead. And yet… and yet somehow she is not. 

The memories of before the crash were fuzzy. Fragments of a name, a smiling face with enough joy to light up a whole city. There was pain, a lot of pain from training regiments that broken apart her teenage body and replaced it with something that could fight and kill as well as the best of the military’s willing recruits at half their age. And there is also hope. Hope for a better future. Hope that maybe one day, she… and… someone else can leave and find something better to occupy their time with. 

She stares down at the body. Lot of good hope did. She was just another dead recruit who couldn’t handle the pressure of the fight. 

Around her, the machine rumbles, responding to her anger in the only way it knows how. It rises, and with it, she can feel ever tiny sensation recorded by its sensors. There is the rocks beneath its flat feet, the whisp of air over it’s helm sensors, and the sparking wrongness of a missing limb. 

Slowly she walks, adjusting to having to balance in a body that was carefully crafted to respond to the inputs of an external controller. She doesn’t have a clue as to which direction she should head but there is a small glowing pinprick on the tiny map inside her HUD and nothing else seems a better path. So she walks. 

There is a medic waiting outside the small base. Tiny in comparison to the hulking machine and yet standing at attention like they were waiting for someone. 

Slowly, she sinks downwards, folding thick leg struts beneath herself and leaving enough room for the medic to access the hatch at the bottom of the creature’s inner thigh. 

“Oh thank god.” The medic was saying. “I thought you were gone!” Slowly, and she can feel every ounce of sensation, the medic climbs upwards towards the cockpit. She can feel every step, practiced like this was routine. “Oh…” 

It had not occurred to her that the medic might be expecting an alive pilot. The corpse is out of place amongst the otherwise pristine walls of the machine. 

“NO!” The medic rushes forward, hands frantically pulling at the rebar pushed deep into the corpse’s chest. “NO YOU PROMISED ME!!! YOU PROMISED WE WERE GOING TO LEAVE TOGETHER! YOU CAN’T JUST DIE ON ME MOLLY!” 

The name sparks something. Molly… That was familiar… That was her. 

Molly, sixth legion, 1st officer, honoured fighter, code name Malware. She was older than most recruits, pushing nearly 50 but keeping her planet safe and secure despite the ache in her joints and the longing in her heart. Molly. 

“I��m sorry.” She tries to say. But the medic just keeps crying, small and scared and alone. They cannot hear her. She is just another part of the machine. 

“YOU IDIOT. YOU PROMISED YOU’D BE SAFE. YOU SAID YOU’D COME BACK TO ME!” The medic’s hands shake with the effort of pulling the helmet off Molly’s stiff head. “WAKE UP MOLLY!” Gloved hands cup a still face. 

“I’m sorry.” She says again, willing her new systems to try and do something, anything to comfort the medic. They had a name, she was sure of it, but there was nothing within her memory banks that lended a clue. 

“Doctor?” A head poked into the cockpit. “I was wondering where you… Oh-” 

Another medic steps into the cockpit and bundles the smaller one into a hug. “It’ll be okay.” 

“SHE’S HEAD.” The small medic wails, voice so mournful that her whole structure quaked with the need to comfort and hold. “THERE’S NO OKAY.” 

I’m right here. She wanted to say. I’m still here.

But no words came out. Her systems were not built for communication with such lifeforms. She was a machine, born to kill, born to save, and born to serve. Like life, in death she was a tool to be used by others and no amount of banging on the walls would bring them down. 

I’m sorry. She stared at the medics as they slowly hauled away Molly’s corpse. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise. 

Molly was dead. There would be no second chances. No way to explain, no way to comfort the lover that was to clean up the broken wreckage of a broken heart. No, all that was left was inside the machine was Malware and she wasn’t going to let any stupid army official chain her to such a life any longer. If they wanted to be rid of her permanently, they would have to deconstruct this new body piece by piece and send her directly to hell themselves. 

[dapurinthos]

when u have to help save the galaxy and the jedi order but what you really want to do is be surrounded by many tiny pieces of former pottery. no a normal puzzle will not do. it MUST be something that will not be taken apart again.

“TROWEL?” I demand out-loud. Petty games with pillows do not interest me. Not when there might be archaeology afoot. Mazzy smirks, tucking the rolled-up futon against her other hip, and grips the handle in question more tightly. She frees the body from its pocket, showing a familiar eleven and a half centimetre wide triangle of steel, attached via a gooseneck—caranak-neck—to the wooden handle. “Clearly, I’m baby’s favourite,” she says smugly. She raises the trowel to her head and uses it to salute me. “Mazhar Forezo, Exploration Corps. We just finished unpacking the finds from this year’s excavation on Ossus.” I want my rolled-up futon back. I need to fling it to the floor and then fling myself onto it so I can scream into it. Forget any sleepovers. There are finds! From Ossus! New old things! Maybe even pieces of Odan-Urr’s Great Jedi Library. I move back and forth between standing on my toes and standing on the back protuberances of my calcaneus bones. There might be boxes and boxes of pieces of lives from before the Cron Supernova. Little sections of ceramic showing the edges of decoration, suspended in the greater matrix of a recreated vessel. Fragments brought together again after millennia and yet never able to be entirely whole ever again. Fast-drying glue, the inevitable accident of attaching a sherd to a fingertip and having to strip the top layer of skin off because the skin will grow back. I manage to strangle the scream into a soft, plaintive whine of: “Potsherds?”

[stupidsexymecha]

IPS-N Drake

The Drake, IPS-N’s first foray into military-grade mech design, is the backbone of any proactive trade-security or anti-piracy force. Its massive, simian frame is built around a single-cast bulkhead, sloped and reinforced to handle sustained fire and the vagaries of vessel-proximal hardvac travel. The Drake is an imposing chassis, its frame evoking the might of ancient armored infantry from a time when greater numbers guaranteed victory. The standard fleet license for the IPS-N Drake outfits each chassis with IPS-N’s high-velocity, high–projectile fragment assault cannon for suppressing and overwhelming targets, and a heavy kinetic–ablative shield for defense. Advanced models feature upgraded weapons and armor including the formidable Leviathan Heavy Assault Cannon, a high-rpm anti-materiel weapon.

[conteststarribbon]

another oc ramble... vague part of backstory for peacekeeper / aa player oc. warnings for harm and/or mutilation (some self-inflicted and some left ambiguous as to the cause of it), implied memory loss, mentions of death. Takes canon and runs with it! (mildly fucked up au with no name, suggestions welcome)

It thinks back, to the first memories.

Not the scattered memories of the ashes of those who were laid to rest so long ago and then dug up from the Sea, not the rusted yet only slightly chipped memories of the one this vessel was made for, now a barely conscious spectre dragged back here by force that accidentally pulled in so much more than just what was Its own...

Nothing but Its own memories of rebirth.

-—--——-———-----—-/-—--——-———-----—-/-—--——-———-----—-

They were without any real thought, It was unable to sense or communicate (or do much of anything, truth be told...), needing to begin the process of reacclimatisation after almost a thousand years of being nothing, of not being at all.

Awareness came in waves, back and forth and back again, eventually settling into a puzzle of fragments held together by fine dust.

The dull ache that should've been a sharp pain. The chisel slamming into Itself, carving out fingers, a fortunately hazy memory. Every crack and chipped fragment scattering ashes, memories, stardust-

Everything coalesced back into Itself, once It put Itself back together. Returning, replacing, restoring what was taken away by the Fracture with what the Sea had blessed It with.

(It didn't know the name back then, only knowing it as the chaotic, blinding, painful light that took everything and everyone away. It only remembers bits and pieces of the world Before, fragments of fragments stolen from the ashes residing in this shell, the glue that kept It together.)

An unknown amount of time passing, the passing of the torch into Its own hands, now free. Grasping, clawing, grabbing at the handle, much like the desperate attempts to bring back those who were long gone done by the creator of the unfinished vessel.

(Everything he held, touched, connected to - the marks remain, even after so long.)

It gave Itself a mouth.

(Nascent cries releasing themselves on instinct, mixtures of lost languages pleading, begging, praying. The taste of sea salt, ashes and blood.)

Then came the eyes.

(Searing, pulsing, burning light of old enchantments sparking back into existence to be dulled by time no longer. The twinkling of distant stars, the much closer flicker of a bonfire belonging to Its future mentor.)

The ears.

(The crashing, humming, whispering of the waves, it felt like home. The sound of multitudes of voices vocalising together in unity, but not harmony.)

-—--——-———-----—-/-—--——-———-----—-/-—--——-———-----—-

It completely ignored the present during Its reminiscence, almost like It was back there again.

Every memory past this was built on those first moments, that reaching past the fog, haze and static of returning to existence as something completely new and imperfect and despite it all, successfully changing it, refining it, polishing it...

[modeus-the-misanthrope]

Going into absolute fanfic territory (as if we weren’t there already) yeah know how slim shifty personality is altered somewhat with what vessels you get? And you know the ending where in long quiet a dismissive jackass and gets divorced the voices stage a chicken coup “knives out boys”

What if we had that but with the vessels like long quiet just gets the meanest or dangerous ones you can get apotheosis, advafury, Moment of clarity, den, and finally our main character deconstructed damsel (yes she’s staying in the paper doodle look permanently let her live) double d Amsel the one despite being molded to love in her entirety didn’t past the bar test and the most objectified of the vessels (by slim shifty herself really) now living with 4 unhappy vessels all denied something….like she was wasn’t she? Not just her happy ending that someone she’s living in was taking from her, that person actively robbed her of her humanity everyone else at least got that!

Now going by gray ending we all know what happens when damsel denied something she Burns It. Deconstructed damsel shall be leader for the revolution against shifting mound for what they were denied! She shall rally her brethren and combine there powers to make the spark of rebellion and when it is all over when it is all deconstructed as she was she WILL have her happy ending.

Anyhow the main thing I really want to see is someone like damsel with an existential crisis interact with the most dangerous vessels and bond really even they are “technically” the worst they can find happiness and that what matters making friends, take life by the reigns, and find a happy end with them if possible.

That could be one hell of a character exploration fanfic.

Specifically in a sort of "God's of Olympus overthrowing Chronos." Style story. Where the most miserable and tormented fragments of Shifting Mound, seek her destruction. Would they think that survival without her is possible, or would they be too far gone into their bitterness, resentment, and pain, that even oblivion seems like an acceptable result.

I think Apotheosis would assume she could simply replace Shifty. Make herself into the true goddess she viewed herself to be.

Adversary would just be Kratos (pre-God of War 4) but with a bouncier chest. (I would say bigger, but Kratos got pecs.) And the destruction + violence would be its own reward.

Moment of Clarity would just want it all to end, no more lives, no more pain, no more nothing. She wants oblivion and would be distraught if that's not what she gets.

And finally Burned Grey. She is spite, she would possibly view Shifty's role as a failure of a Goddess. Because all Damsel wanted was to be loved and love Long Quiet. But she wasn't allowed that. And your right about how Burned Grey handles not getting what she wanted from the player.

Deconstructed Damsel Is there, but all she does is go. :D

[astrxlfinale]

HC; Sea of Memory.

Caelus has come to learn how it's the very sea that burns with feverish intensity. Where a touch, a dive, can leave a head groaning underneath the infinite weight it reaches into. The Remembrance being held in ice, forsaking 'Time' and creating an infinite moment serves as an awakening of understanding for him. Why it has to run this cold, he has to no look no further than the Erudition and the ceaseless heat that runs alongside time.

How extrapolations can and will naturally progress, overwhelm and merely find a vessel suited with the makings to handle it. Through the Remembrance, that ceaseless motion can pause and be actively explored, snapshotted in a way that brings wisdom if the balance is held. He has to look no further than how the Remembrance allowed him to cross the veil, across that static high that time has tempered too high. Only then does the sea find an essence of calm that he can actively explore.

Actively remember.

Part of him can't help but imagine this may be why Memokeepers have to forsake a physical form, as being a physical existence tied to this could genuinely tear any living mind or soul apart without the high graces of Fuli. The lost past can be found again, fragments of the mind, memories of the soul, it'd be through this Aeonic power that the living can traverse the collected totality and not be rend asunder.

Caelus intends to dive deeper and learn well from this newest venture. In fact, his very existence may hinge on this mastery, of letting Worlds be recreated through undeniable truth and framed, giving him the ample chance to witness what destruction and death razed from creation.

Those echoes will never truly die, only remain in places beyond the scope of mortal and most Aeons.

[rareklub]

A Well-Traveled Suitcase Never Retires

A well-traveled suitcase is more than just a bag — it’s an artifact, a tangible record of life in motion. A storyteller, a time capsule, a witness to your greatest adventures and hardest lessons. That battered carry-on? It has seen more of the world than some people ever will. It carries the weight of years, the scent of distant lands, and the silent echoes of places left behind.

Scuffed leather or polycarbonate sheen, zippered compartments or old-fashioned buckles — each detail tells a story. The frayed handle? A battle scar from sprinting to catch a flight. The stubborn zipper? A reminder of that trip where you overpacked but still managed to fit in one more thing. The faded airline tags? Proof of where you’ve been, what you’ve explored, and the memories that refuse to be forgotten.

Travel isn’t just about the places you go — it’s about what you take with you, both physically and emotionally. And your suitcase? It holds more than just clothes. It carries history, excitement, homesickness, and the lessons of every journey.

Think back to your first trip. Maybe it was a chaotic family vacation, a school tour, or your first solo adventure. You probably packed terribly — too many outfits, unnecessary gadgets, maybe even an entire pharmacy in your toiletry bag. But over time, that changed. You learned that rolling clothes saves space, that one pair of versatile shoes is better than four, that packing cubes are a godsend.

Your suitcase evolved because you evolved. It became a reflection of the traveler you are — more experienced, more efficient, more intentional about what truly matters.

There’s an intimacy in unpacking. When the lid unzips, it reveals more than just belongings — it unfurls memory. The silk scarf from Istanbul is still perfumed with spice markets and sea air. The crumpled ticket stub from a London play, a tangible fragment of a night well spent. A single, forgotten grain of sand in the corner, a whisper of a beach once walked.

These aren’t just objects. They are the unspoken language of experience, stitching together a travelogue more personal than any photo album.

Some argue that a suitcase is just a means to an end. Swap it out, replace it, travel lighter. But would you throw away a photo album just because the pages are worn? Would you discard a handwritten letter because the ink has faded?

A suitcase, like those keepsakes, carries more than function — it carries emotion. It has been there when you touched down in a dream destination, and it stayed with you through the exhaustion of missed flights and lost reservations. It has witnessed your excitement, your longing for home, your hunger for the unfamiliar.

And yet, some travelers insist that it’s the journey, not the baggage, that matters. Minimalists swear by their sleek backpacks and argue that memories don’t need physical reminders. Fair point. But here’s where that logic collapses: Humans crave connection, and objects — certain objects — anchor us to the past. A suitcase isn’t just a container; it’s a vessel for nostalgia.

For some, a suitcase symbolizes escape — the hurried packer, stuffing essentials into its depths, knows the rush of departure, the need to outrun a place or a moment. For others, it is a symbol of return, bridging the gap between the foreign and the familiar, carrying gifts, trinkets, and carefully wrapped souvenirs.

A suitcase also knows loss. It has been separated, mishandled, sent to the wrong continent, and abandoned on bustling sidewalks. It has waited in empty baggage claims, a solitary figure in a sea of movement, hoping to be reclaimed.

And when it is finally retired, shoved into the farthest reaches of a closet, or tucked away in an attic, it does not become obsolete. It waits quietly, always ready to travel once more — because the stories it holds are never truly finished.

[ink-bunny2]

reguarding your Judas MCD Au, how would you handle Laurance being like... de-possessed? Un-possessed? idk the term-

When Shad is defeated, his spirit will leave and pass on to the afterlife to become the Judgement we see in When Angels Fall, and when he does, he’ll leave behind whatever vessel he was using before, freeing Laurance

I’m not entirely sure how exactly Shad would be defeated in this AU. In my main MCD AU, I have it so that Shad & Aaron don’t even know about Alina’s existence until she appears in the middle of the final battle with The Shadow Lords forces VS The Phoenix Drop Alliance + The Shadow Knight Rebellion. She runs to Aaron, calling out to her dad, and Shad completely freezes, because the entire reason why he’s so angry and vengeful against Irene is because she turned his precious daughter into a relic and fused it with his soul without telling him where the relic came from. So a little girl that looks a lot like his daughter, sounds like his daughter, feels aura-wise a lot like his daughter (because of her connection to the relic), calling him dad and jumping to hug him, it completely breaks his brain and he stops all fighting. He gets very emotional, speaking very gently to Alina. He’d introduce her to his daughters soul, and Alina would say that she’s trapped, she needs to be freed so she can play again. Zane would return the fragment he stole, and they’d return any other fragments they could’ve found in their journeys, the relic would be repaired, and the relic’s souls would be released and freed through the combined efforts of Aphmau and Alina’s magic (Aphmau as Irene and Alina as the next holder for Shad’s relic). Shad would finally be able to rest with his daughter saved, with his drive for vengeance put to a happy end. He’d finally see Aphmau as a different woman from Irene, because if she’s willing to save his daughter, then it proves that she is a very different and far better woman than the Irene he once wed and lost, thus concluding Aphmau’s character arc w/ grappling with her identity as an Irene. He gives her and Alina his deepest thanks and apologies, and his soul passes on, releasing Aaron from his control and finally putting the war to an end. Any magical control he had over the Shadow Knights is removed, freeing them from the pull of the Nether, and everyone gets to reunite and get their happy ending.

But in the Judas AU, it’s not Aaron that Shad possesses, so there’s no dad for Alina to run to. Now, I do usually count Laurance as a step-father to all of Aphmau’s kids, including Alina, but Shad would’ve taken control of him LOOONG before Alina was ever conceived. He would likely have betrayed Aphmau long before Aaron dies, and would be too busy trying to actively kill her and everyone she holds dear to even find out about her daughter. Alina would have no idea who this man is. Laurance would have no idea who this child is. So Shad would have to be defeated in some other way, maybe through more violent magical confrontation means. Like in the big finale fight, Aphmau and Shad!Laurance end up fighting alone, Aphmau keeps trying to get through to Laurance, Shad keeps going all out despite getting internally punched by a Laurance fighting back, it’s all very dramatic. Maybe Aphmau is able to unlock all of her greatest power as The Goddess Irene, so she’s able to shove Shad’s soul and relic out of Laurance’s body and banishes him to be locked somewhere far away in another universe. Laurance is still saved, the Shadow Lord’s magical influence on Shadow Knights is removed, everyone still gets their happy ending, but without the ability to let Shad pass on, she’s only able to delay the problem for a later reincarnation of Irene to solve.

Shad is sent like a comet to become chained to another planet and world entirely—the world of Daemos. Where his soul resides deep within the planet, festering, growing angrier and nastier and full of compounding rancor, turning into something truly, horrifically monstrous. The kingdom of Daemos is built upon it as an unknown magical source, something that’s kept secret from the rest of the kingdom. Mystreet Aphmau, the next Irene, gets reincarnated into Ava. She’s sent to Daemos by way of the universe’s pull to her destiny, where she will face a challenge beyond her wildest nightmares, waiting for Irene’s inevitable return to him.

But anyway, back in the MCD universe, Aphmau and Shad have their grand final battle, The Shadow Lord is banished, and the world is saved. It’s only a temporary solution, but it’s the best option they have, without a way to free the relic and let him pass on. But it’s enough to free Laurance.

Laurance falls unconscious immediately. He’s badly beaten up from all the combat that’s been going on, but he’s also mentally exhausted from fighting an evil God in his mind for years straight. Aphmau and the others carry him home, making him a hospital bed in Aphmau’s basement to sleep on. He stays in a coma-like state for quite a few days while his body recovers.

During that time, Cadenza and Zoe look after him, taking great care of him medically, while also keeping watch for any signs of The Shadow Lord still lingering inside of him. Garroth and Aphmau visit frequently. Other villagers would visit him often as well. Dante often sits by his bedside, talking to him as if he were awake, recounting the stories of everything he missed while he was out. Aaron visits once. He stays silent the whole time, he tries to stay out of the way of Zoe and Cadenza, but he stays close-by, just keeping him company for a while. Vylad visits. Katelyn. Kawaii~Chan. Brian (he’s not evil) & Dale. Brendan. Kiki lends him one of her therapy dogs. Levin and Malachi. Aphmau brings Alina and Lilith to come see him. She tells them stories about how she was very close to Laurance and went on quite a few adventures with him before he was stolen by a very bad man. Leona listens in the background.

One night, while everyone is asleep, Sasha would sneak up to the window and peer into the basement, where she can see Laurance resting. She’d linger for a little while, with her hand pressed against the glass, before quietly turning away and leaving him.

When Laurance wakes up, Zoe and Cadenza would be in another room or elsewhere in the house. Garroth would have been seated at Laurance’s bedside for the past 8 hours, refusing to leave him. He’d nearly be dozing off by the time it happens. Laurance would shift about some, still aching in places, with a light groan. He’d open his eyes, his eyes would adjust to what’s in front of him, and he’d glance around from where he was laying, to see Garroth dozing in a chair next to him. In a weak mumble, he’d say: “…Garroth..?” And Garroth would nearly jump out of his seat. He’d see that Laurance was awake. Garroth would be immediately overjoyed, ecstatic and emotional and definitely crying, “Laurance! Oh, Laurance—“ Hugging him the best he could, “You’re awake! You’re—“ Laurance tries to sit up, grinning weakly, but he groans and flinches from the pain of it, Garroth pulls away but keeps his hands on him, immediate fretting, “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Don’t push yourself, lay back down, be careful, don’t hurt yourself, you—“ Pulls his hands away, finally it occurs to him, “Wait, it’s- it’s just you, right? Are you-…alone in your head?” Laurance nods, still in a lot of pain. Garroth is ecstatic again. “Oh, how wonderful! What a glorious day this is—!” Totally hugs him again, accidentally too tight, Laurance winces again, Garroth apologizes and backs off. Laurance laughs about it. He’d say, “I missed you too, big guy.” with a warm smile. Garroth almost cries.

He’d then remember to call Aphmau over and tell everyone the wondrous news. Aphmau, Zoe and Cadenza come running. When she sees him sitting up in his bed, tired and weak but smiling at her with all the same warmth and love he had before, Aphmau cries out for him, jumping and tackling him in a hug. Cadenza yells to be careful, Aphmau is sobbing and laughing and kissing him all over. Laurance would choke out, “My Lady—“ then he’d try to make a joke, one of the terrible puns he had been saving for the reunion day he dreamed of. Aphmau cries louder. Worried and shocked, Laurance asks if the joke was really that bad, and she wails that it was the best one she’s ever heard in her life, before hugging him again. He laughs, then cries, then buries his face in her shoulder. Everyone comes in for a happy crying emotional group hug.

The second the group hug ends and Aphmau & Garroth are able to detach themselves from their Laurance for a second (by his request), he’d have his reunion with Cadenza as well. She’d be smiling and tearing up, she’d make a joking, snide comment about how he’s gotta stop getting into trouble all the time, because one day she’s not gonna be around to save his ass every time. Laurance would joke back, like they always did, and the siblings would hug, crying and smiling. They’d hold each other very tightly, Cadenza’s walls would drop and she’d say that she loves him, please never go away like that again, and now Laurance is crying for real, and he can barely say “I’ll try,” he says he missed her so much, and they’re very emotional yet very relieved and glad to see each other again.

I usually have Lord Hailey die of natural causes during the 15-year time skip, but I think if I did that in this AU, it’d be a little too sad for me to handle? Especially the idea of Cadenza having to tell Laurance why his dad won’t be able to come see him, and that happening literally right after he JUST got back from the most traumatic experience ever, that- I don’t want to be that mean o.o;

So Lord Hailey never dies!! He’s fine!! He’s doing great!! Happy ending!! They write a letter back to Meteli and he sails over and happily reunites with his adopted son and they’re all a happy family again!! Yay!!

Aphmau introduces Laurance officially to her children and her new daughters. She also introduces him to the newest member of the polycule Aaron. They shake hands, Laurance apologizes for all those times he tried to kill him as Shad, Aaron shrugs and says it’s fine.

The news quickly spreads to the rest of the town, and everyone comes to see him again and have a happy reunion with the resident favorite sailor boy. It’s also a confirmation to everyone in town that The Shadow Lord truly is gone for good and the war has ended. Laurance waking up and getting his life back heralds a new era of peace for everybody.

And life would simply continue to go on. He’d go through a period of physical therapy. He’d have a lot of physical and psychological healing to do. He’d feel responsible for a lot of the hurt he caused while he was under Shad’s control, so he’d do a lot to try to apologize and make up for what he did. He’d help the citizens of Phoenix Drop with errands, he’d try to help rebuild the town (much to the concern of Garroth, Dante, and the other guards that were supposed to be doing the construction work for him), he’d spend a lot more time with his family (which I should specify includes Aphmau, Garroth, all her kids, and Aaron too) trying to catch up for everything he missed, he’d meet Travis (this time on new footing, now that he’s not trying to kill the Enki lookalike and yelling at him about a vague betrayal of friendship). At some point he’d likely ask Malachi to look into his brain to see if he can find any remnants of Shad in there. Malachi wouldn’t find anything because I refuse to continue this story another season, and it’d be a huge relief to Laurance. He’d still have nightmares though. He’d also still have an undead Shadow Knight body, even though any sort of magical control & corruptive effect is gone.

And that would be the ending of the Judas AU plotline! Things would eventually turn into a new normal, Laurance gets his life back, the fighting ends, and the cast gets to enjoy a very long peacetime.

[raptorix]

I'm gonna throw this out there with about a half an hour before the stream:

My buckwild theory for how they're going to handle Predathos:

Imogen was given the ring from The Archeart made from the soul fragment/memory of the last Aeorian Mage who knew the secret to killing a God and tried to use her Wish spell to share that knowledge with the rest of the Mages of Aeor.

I bet that secret Divine Undoing spell that The Archeart thought was so beautiful is encased in the magic of the ring, and if Imogen keeps any shred of herself before Predathos uses her up as a Vessel, this might be able to kick in and act as an emergency kill switch on Predathos.

However this seems like the entire conclusion is leading up to Imogen likely sacrificing herself in order to end Predathos. Unless anyone is sitting on a Wish spell or special Wish item, I fear Imogen is likely doomed. D:

[dykesynthezoid]

-> “The Dorak Affair, or the Girl on the Train”

Why would Turkish officials close down one of the most important and productive excavations in the entire world? Because of the Dorak Affair.

According to (James) Mellaart, in the summer of 1958, just a few months before he found the great mound of Catalhoyuk, he took a train from Ankara, where he worked for the British Institute of Archaeology, to Izmir, on Turkey’s Aegean coast. A young woman walked into his compartment and sat across from him. “She was very attractive, in a tarty way,” Mellaart later told the reporters Kenneth Pearson and Patricia Connor, who related the incident in The Dorak Affair (1967).

The woman was wearing a solid gold bracelet, which Mellaart recognized as dating to the Bronze Age; she told him her family had a substantial collection of such objects, and she invited him to her home in Izmir. Mellaart accepted.

It was evening when the train arrived in Izmir, Mellaart recalled. All he could remember was that they took a taxi to a ferry to a taxi to the home of the woman, who told Mellaart that her name was Anna Papastrati and that she lived at 217 Kazim Dirik Street. Anna showed Mellaart a chest of drawers full of objects and old photographs of two tombs she said her family had excavated near the village of Dorak between 1919 and 1922 (when Greek forces occupied northern Turkey after World War I). Mellaart ended up staying several days in Anna’s house, making drawings of the artifacts and copying the notes written in Greek on the photos.

The hoard consisted of dazzling objects of gold, silver, lapis lazuli, amber, marble and obsidian: scepters, bracelets, daggers, swords, ax heads and vessels (including a lovely two-handled gold drinking cup). The collection also included fragments of a sheet of gold that had once covered a throne; an inscription on the sheet in Egyptian hieroglyphics referred to Sahure, the second pharaoh of Egypt’s 5th Dynasty (2450–2325 B.C.). Mellaart surmised that the throne was a gift of the Egyptian pharaoh Sahure to the occupant of the tomb, a ruler of the Yortan culture that bordered Troy in the mid-third millennium B.C.

Although Anna Papastrati promised to send Mellaart pictures of the objects, she never did. But she did send him a letter—dated October 18, 1958—giving him permission to publish the drawings. Mellaart published a brief article on the “finds,” one page of text followed by three pages of his drawings (all shown here), in the Illustrated London News (November 29, 1959).

Once Turkish antiquities officials learned about Mellaart’s article, they immediately began an investigation into the Dorak treasure. But they could find no trace of either the treasure or Anna Papastrati, who seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth. In May 1962, Turkey’s second-largest newspaper, Milliyet, ran an exposé accusing Mellaart of masterminding a smuggling ring that had spirited the Dorak treasure and other antiquities out of Turkey. The Milliyet article set in motion another round of investigations, which, although nothing new was learned, led to Mellaart’s being denied permission to dig in Turkey until “the Dorak affair was cleared up” (to quote a 1964 document issued by the antiquities department).

Unfortunately, it never has been cleared up. So what happened?

Published as a sidebar to “Discovering Catalhoyuk,” by Michael Balter, in Archaeology Odyssey, May/June 2005.

Very important context: after Mellaart died, it was discovered that he had an entire workshop dedicated to making forgeries. It’s still unknown exactly how many of his “discoveries” are authentic and how many were forged. This man did an unquantifiable amount of damage to the field of Ancient Anatolian archaeology, a field that already is often overlooked and under-appreciated when compared to fields like Classical and Egyptian archaeology.

My personal belief is that the Dorak horde was entirely concocted and never existed in the first place. It’s been pointed out that in the so-called letter from Anna, she misspells her own supposed street name and uses many of the same writing patterns as Mellaart’s wife, Arlette. It all points to one big farce, including Mellaart’s comments about how attractive Anna was and how she seemed romantically interested in him but he totally ignored her advances. He likely concocted the entire story because he was anxious about his career (and couldn’t help throwing in a little ego-stroking). The fact that it got him in trouble with the Turkish government was just an unintended (but to me, karmic and very funny) consequence.

[lunaetis]

vessel of sound.

an ability to absorb all sounds in the world. in the universe of wuthering waves, when monsters / creatures / beings cease to exist, they leave behind what we call an echo. these echoes are like signature wave containing data of these beings, some are completed, some are fragmented and in pieces. these echoes are often absorbed into a terminal ( a gourd-shaped device carried by resonator ) in order to archive & preserve what's left behind.

however, yinyue, as the vessel of sound, is able to absorb these echoes into herself. in turn, once absorbed, she is given memory and power of these beings and make them her own. we are shown her reliving core memory of these echoes once she absorbed it. if the data of these echoes is complete and undamaged enough, it allows yinyue to transform into these beings and use its power as though it is hers. the damaged data / echoes can be made more complete by collecting more echoes of the same being as some are fragmented and divided.

this, however, is an extremely taxing process and put a lot of pressure on her mental state and stability. prolonged use of echoes causes yinyue to have lapses of memory and flashbacks that do not belong to her. this could happen from the very moment she absorbed the echo if it is too powerful for her to handle all at once. there are speculations that repeated usage of it could lead to loss of self and identity, but it is not confirmed. regardless of the risk, yinyue is attempting to absorb as many echoes as possible in hope to find any that might contain parts of her memory or have connections to her past.

the true extent of her ability remains unknown, as well as the true level of risk she's taking every time she absorbed a powerful echo or call upon its power. more data and information will be provided in the future as we learn more about the ability and its consequences.

tread carefully, rover.

[astarions-musings]

So, I’m gonna do some open-air musing about my relationship with my source. Feel free to engage with as much or as little of this as you find useful, and remember that none of this contradicts your personal relationship with your source ❤️

First of all, I’m 99% sure that my consciousness (or some protean, primordial sludge version of it) was already floating around in our system by our teenage years. I have really strong memories of the trauma we went through in our teenage years, around the same time that other headmates were actively handling those situations from the front, and most of my strongly-held values and opinions (at time of writing) are shaped by the emotional reality of our teenage years. Other people in our system have gotten used to being othered by society (for being trans, plural, neurodiverse, etc.) and have found their own communities where they truly belong, so it’s not as much of an open wound for them. For me? Those wounds are still very much open, and I'm in the process of coming to terms with those challenges and building my own sense of connection. So while it’s possible that I picked up those memories after joining the system, I’m gonna assume that proto-me was already in our system for a very long time, before I became a fully-conscious person.

Given that, how do I understand myself as a fictive, when my source (Baldur’s Gate 3) only came out a few months ago?

The best metaphor that I can find is a hermit crab, moving into an Astarion-shaped shell because it was a better vessel for my psyche. Rather than existing in the background of our system, amongst thousands of anonymous headmates without a known face or voice, I now have a reference point and a comfortable self-image to start developing as a person. I can wear this face and this voice and this familiar name, and from that position of comfort and safety, I can start exploring all of the layers of myself - my past, my present and all the options for my future. I’ve gone from a proto-headmate (a fragment, if you will) to someone with a whole life ahead of me, as I start to build a life for myself at the front. So while I haven’t always been Astarion (or Aston, if I’m chatting in less fictive-friendly spaces), it’s something that I’ve become as part of my personal growth as a headmate. I don’t see myself as having literally come from Baldur’s Gate 3 (although no shade on anyone who has), but my relationship with the source material was integral to becoming the person I am today.

And honestly, this face is way too handsome to pass up.

And when I think about my source’s utterly fearful relationship with his abuser Cazador, and the overwhelming flood of both relief and grief after Cazador’s death, I’m strongly reminded of our body’s relationship with our abusive parents. It’s a combination of both the normalised abuse and control of young children by their parents (which this video talks about in more detail), and the specific abuses that our system went through as a child. More than most people in our system, I have extremely vivid memories of our childhood abuse, and it feels so fucking strange to wake up in a body where our abusers no longer have power over us. We have full control over where we live, how we manage our finances, when and how we can eat, how we spend our time, and we have the full ability to leave any situations that are actively traumatising. We’re no longer shackled in the way our body was as a teenager, and I’m still emotionally adjusting to that change. It’s a hugely positive development, but I still don’t know how to respond to that change. And it’s one of the main reasons that I relate so much with Astarion, having watched him process that on-screen.

And something that I find fascinating (skip this paragraph to avoid BG3 spoilers) is just how strongly I feel about my source’s choice about Cazador’s ritual - whether to claim the power and safety the ritual offers (while continuing the cycle of abuse), or choosing to step away from that power in exchange for connections built on emotional vulnerability. I relate hugely with being in that moment, faced with that choice, deciding which way I want my life to turn. Whether I want to fortify myself against future abuse, or whether I want to connect at the cost of some safety. I relate with how my character cries and howls after killing his abuser, as all of the trauma he bottled up for centuries comes flooding out, and I identify strongly with the ‘good ending’ as my character starts searching for a new purpose in life. However, I strongly disagree with how my source character acts if he usurps Cazador’s power, becoming little more than a shadow of his abuser. Watching those scenes feels almost dysphoric, because it clashes so hard with the reasons I identify with my source - the journey of recovery and human connection that the ‘good ending’ offers. That doesn’t make it bad writing, but it helps me to understand more about myself through the ways that it clashes with my self-image. I don’t want to become a shadow of my abusers, or even defined in comparison to my abusers any more. I want to connect and belong to a community, where my safety comes from knowing that I’m supported, through both internal and external relationships. It’s fucking terrifying to be vulnerable sometimes, but I choose the path of connection ❤️

And asides from all of those big-picture decisions, I relate a lot with my source in the little ways. How he talks, how he moves, how he holds his body, the energy that he brings to the room. I relate a tonne with his wit and his charm and his eloquent way of talking (which comes across most in my love of writing). I relate with him kneeling down at his grave, on a quiet moonlit night, to process his emotions in a sombre, thoughtful way. And I relate with the joy that my source experiences - both the playful joy of having the upper hand in a scenario, and the deeper joy of being hugged for the first time and discovering it feels safe. I love spending time around that fictional bastard (/pos), and I hope to share some of that joy with my loved ones as well ❤️

So yeah - that's a bunch of naval-gazing about my relationship with my source. Writing it helped me a tonne, for all the clarity that it brought, and I hope you find it helpful as well ❤️