#Human Expertise Integration

[zomb13s]

Welcome to IkZieZombies - Exploring Entrepreneurship and AI

At IkZieZombies, we embark on an enlightening journey into the intersection of entrepreneurship and Artificial Intelligence (AI). Our platform serves as a resource hub for aspiring entrepreneurs seeking insights into leveraging AI for business growth and development. Through our blog, we unravel the complexities of entrepreneurial language and demystify the role of AI in tackling fundamental…

[trendynewsnow]

The Political Implications of R.F.K. Jr.'s Appointment by Trump

The Political Dynamics Surrounding R.F.K. Jr.’s Appointment In any given political climate, the nature of public outrage and the rallying points of opposition reveal much about the underlying sentiments. In the current landscape, the fervent backlash from liberals regarding Donald Trump’s selection of Robert F. Kennedy Jr. for the Department of Health and Human Services is particularly…

[911bts]

appleofhisai: Devastated.

Words….ever insufficient…none able to carry the harrowing heartbreak reverberating through our 9-1-1 family. As the industry processes the passing of one of our invaluable and invested individuals—notably loyal, thus lauded and loved for his commitment to his craft and sharing the wisdom he’d gleaned from decades of working in this industry, hearts are heavy navigating feelings of grief and gratitude for the life of Rico Priem.

The unsung heroes of our show, any show really, are the scores of crew members whose names seldom move from the back of call sheets to household names though they contribute an immense amount of time, talent, and tenacity to servicing the stories that fill our screens-small and large. Time that seems invisible to the untrained eye, but it is NOT. Our crews are the cornerstone of our community. Their individual effort and areas of expertise create a cumulative effect, ensuring the work we do, the characters we portray lands in the lives of audiences around the world. The crew is integral to the execution of every idea that begins in the minds of creative becoming long lasting memories and moments that live on in the hearts of humanity.

With each passing year, our 9-1-1 cast and crew have undoubtedly become a family. We strive to comfort and care for each other. We aim to welcome visitors with warmth. We hold one another up through hard times, and this certainly qualifies as a profoundly hard time.

Rico graced us with his presence and passion, before he passed away in the early morning hours on Saturday, May 11th. It is the hope and the unspoken assumption that when we wrap a days work, we will see each other again to do it all over again the next day. His passing has stilled our hearts and signaled for more conversation and care in that area.

In this moment, I want to express deep love for our crew, and give thanks and reverence for the legacy of Rico Priem. Whispering a gentle prayer to the sacred soft spaces within his family’s hearts that ache in his absence.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing a "Wise" Character

Wisdom

The ability of an individual to make sound decisions, to find the right—or at least good—answers to difficult and important life questions, and to give advice about the complex problems of everyday life and interpersonal relationships.

The role of knowledge and life experience and the importance of applying knowledge toward a common good through balancing one’s own, others’, and institutional interests are two perspectives that have received significant psychological study.

Aristotle believed in 2 types of wisdom:

Theoretical - involves the exploration of things we can’t change, but about which we seek truth.

Practical - explores that which we can change through making good choices (Lacewing, n.d.).

Descartes viewed wisdom as:

good judgment in everyday life and

seeking knowledge in all things one is able (Rutherford, 2017).

Confucius said, "By 3 methods we may learn wisdom:

First, by reflection, which is noblest;

Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and

third by experience, which is the bitterest."

Although a definition is difficult to come by, agreement on what wisdom is not, have been much easier.

Researchers agree that wisdom isn’t a result of aging.

They also believe that higher IQ scores don’t equal increased wisdom.

What role does age play in attaining wisdom? Can a child be wise?

Current research indicates that the “optimal age to attain wisdom is about 60 years old” (Compton & Hoffman, 2013, p. 201).

Balance Theory of Wisdom

By Robert Sternberg

He defines wisdom as “using one’s:

intelligence,

creativity,

common sense, and

knowledge” to balance 3 life domains:

They are interpersonal, intra-personal, and extra-personal interests.

People do this over the short and long-term.

The goal is to achieve balance among:

adaptation to current environments,

shaping of those environments, and

choosing a new environment

Baltes and Staudinger (2000, p. 124) define wisdom as “expertise in the fundamental pragmatics of life.” This is further defined as “knowledge and judgment about the essence of the human condition and the ways and means of planning, managing, and understanding a good life.”

Through their research, they developed 5 criteria for evaluating wisdom-related performance:

Factual (declarative) knowledge which asks, ‘What does one know about human nature, interpersonal relations, and social norms?’

Procedural knowledge criteria answers, ‘What strategies does one use to navigate the twists and turns of life?’

Lifespan contextualism criteria consider questions like, ‘Where does everything fit?’ ‘How are things interconnected?’ and ‘How are the various roles – education, family, etc. connected?’

The relativism of values and life priorities allows for the tolerance of differences in values between people.

Recognition of and management of uncertainty criteria acknowledges that we don’t know everything. There are limits to human processing.

Ardelt (2004, p. 257) in contrast to Baltes and Staudinger (2000), viewed wisdom as an “integration of cognitive, reflective, and affective personality characteristics.”

She argues that preserved wisdom (writings) represent theoretical (intellectual) knowledge.

This knowledge doesn’t become wisdom until or unless the person internalizes it.

For this to happen a person must experience the truth contained in the preserved wisdom. Doing this leads to the person becoming wise(r).

Meeks and Jeste (2009) reviewed the wisdom literature and identified common areas. From their review, they created the 6 sub-components of wisdom:

Prosocial attitudes/behaviors: promotion of common good, empathy, social cooperation, and altruism

Social decision making/pragmatic knowledge of life: understanding others’ emotions and motivations and using the information to make “wise” social decisions

Emotional homeostasis: self-control and impulse control; ability to manage oneself in challenging situations

Reflection/self-understanding: self-knowledge

Value relativism/tolerance: perspective-taking behavior

Acknowledgment of and dealing effectively with uncertainty or ambiguity: navigating uncertainty and acknowledging/accepting the limits of what one knows.

Their review also is interesting for its inclusion of specific brain regions believed to play a role in the 6 sub-components.

Peterson and Seligman (2004, p. 39) define wisdom as “knowledge hard fought for, and then used for good.”

They describe it as a noble virtue or trait — one that people appreciate in others.

To date, 5 strengths fall beneath the wisdom umbrella in their research:

Creativity

Curiosity

Judgment

Love of Learning

Perspective

Each of these strengths exists in every person to some degree.

They also can increase in prominence as you learn to use them more.

These strengths are part of a larger list consisting of 24.

The measurement of wisdom is challenging, but not impossible. Most research falls into one of 3 areas:

wise process

wise product, or

wise persons

It’s the combination of these 3 that yields what researchers now agree about: Wise products are generated by wise persons using wise processes.

Issues

Character strengths can be over/underused.

The goal is to achieve optimal use of each of the 24 as needed.

Following are examples of issues arising from over/under use of particular strengths (Niemiec, 2018).

Extreme creativity leads to eccentricity, but a lack of it leads to conformity. We strive for adaptive originality.

Someone who is overly curious is nosy, but a lack of curiosity leads to disinterest. Strive for a balance between exploration/seeking novelty.

Narrow-mindedness and cynicism are judgment “gone bad.” People who lack good judgment tend to skip reflecting on situations. Balanced use marries critical thinking and rationality.

Know-it-alls flaunt their love of learning. Complacent people don’t care. Strive for deepening your knowledge systematically.

Extreme use of perspective is overbearing, and a lack of it is shallowness. A wider view is optimal.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[carionto]

Humans really like space wildlife

As Humanity integrates itself within the Galactic Coalition ever further, trade and travel between Sol and neighboring member systems is growing at exponential rates. In particular, their interest in the native wildlife of other planets is the most widely expanding sector for tourism and commerce.

Even though it is also the most heavily regulated and restricted one, Humans, who typically display a desire to subvert the normal procedures to expedite any process they can, for this they are surprisingly willing and eager to fill in all the necessary paperwork and spend hours upon days making sure they follow and adhere to all the requirements to import some of these creatures.

While such level of determination is not uncommon for new member species who discover a certain non-native creature or something that to the respective natives is commonplace but for them is the pinnacle of exotic, the variety of requests made by Humans is nearly as great as the entire list of known fauna species. And the reasons listed on the forms are even more diverse:

"That's a unicorn! I've always dreamed of having a unicorn and you're telling me there's a dozen subspecies?! Yes, please!!!"

"After reviewing their behavior, this bear-sized fluff-ball is the perfect cat I've always wanted, but couldn't because of allergies. I'll treat them with love and care, my life is incomplete without this fella."

"Tiny. Elephant-duck. Want."

"Our company was looking for a mascot, and these six-legged spindly beaver-crabs are perfect. Here's our mission statement and prepared accommodations for a flock."

"They all said I hallucinated the lizard sasquatch when I was on that acid trip, but now I'll show 'em. It's real. I knew it all along!"

"Aww, these baby puppies are so adorable (referring to the four meter, 800kg Fanged Widowmaker of Abyss Valley predator). My kids were looking through your alien picture books and instantly fell in love with these ones."

And so on. At first we had to reject quite a few, mainly because half of them were deadly beasts from Deathworlds that are almost impossible to capture in the first place. Then the Human officials informed us that, while they will try to stop it from happening, if we don't make importing and adopting even the most dangerous animals in the known Galaxy reasonably possible for them with Human help and expertise in the field, some Humans will set up illegal smuggling rings to "fill the market gap" as they said. Historically, they explained, that causes more problems and expenses than just handling it through official channels.

Reluctantly we were persuaded and have set up a new organization to quell this, apparently, unquenchable Human pack bonding condition. Even if said pet can kill them. We think, as horrible as it may be, that for some that is part of the appeal. Even the ones that breathe out literal poison.

"We'll wear a mask around them. This wendigo-like one is too cute to not get belly rubs."

Said the OFFICIAL Human Representative of a monstrosity that can only be described as the living incarnation of countless teeth, fangs, claws, vivid seizure inducing iridescent feathers, and a body that extends from a inconspicuous ambush pose to a fully 8 meter tall six limbed nightmare machine of Death!

[reasonsforhope]

"When Francois Beyers first pitched the concept of 3D ocean farming to the Welsh regulators, he had to sketch it on napkins. 

Today the seafood farm is much more than a drawing, but if you walked along the Welsh coastal path near St David’s, all you’d see is a line of buoys. As Beyers puts it: “It’s what’s below that’s important.”

Thick tussles of lustrous seaweed suspend from the buoys, mussels cling to its furry connective ropes and dangling Chinese lantern-esque nets are filled with oysters and scallops. 

“It’s like an underwater garden,” says Beyers, co-founder of the community-owned regenerative ocean farm, Câr-y-Môr. The 3-hectare site is part of a fledgling sector, one of 12 farms in the UK, which key players believe could boost ocean biodiversity, produce sustainable agricultural fertiliser and provide year-round employment in areas that have traditionally been dependent on tourism. 

Created in 2020 by Beyers and six family members, including his father-in-law – an ex-shellfish farmer – the motivation is apparent in the name, which is Welsh for “for the love of the sea”. ...

Pictured: Drone shot of Câr-y-Môr, which is on the site of abandoned mussel farms. Image: Scott Chalmers

Ocean farming comes from the technical term ‘integrated multi-trophic aquaculture’, which means a mixture of different seaweed and shellfish species growing together to mutually benefit each other. But it’s not just a way of growing food with little human input, it also creates ocean habitat. 

“You’re creating a breeding ground for marine animals,” explains Beyers who adds that the site has seen more gannets diving, porpoises and seals – to name a few – since before the farm was established.

Ocean farms like Câr-y-Môr, notes Ross Brown – environmental research fellow at the University of Exeter – have substantial conservation benefits.

“Setting up a seaweed farm creates an exclusion zone so fishermen can’t trawl it,” explains Brown, who has been conducting experiments on the impacts of seaweed and shellfish farms across the UK. 

Brown believes a thriving ocean farming industry could provide solutions to the UK’s fish stock, which is in “a deeply troubling state” according to a report that found half of the key populations to be overfished. “It would create stepping stones where we have safe havens for fish and other organisms,” he adds. 

But UK regulators have adopted a cautious approach, note Brown and Beyers, making it difficult for businesses like Câr-y-Môr to obtain licenses. “It’s been a tough old slog,” says Beyers, whose aim is to change the legislation to make it easier for others to start ocean farms. 

Despite navigating uncharted territories, the business now has 14 full-time employees, and 300 community members, of which nearly 100 have invested in the community-benefit society. For member and funding manager Tracey Gilbert-Falconer, the model brings expertise but most importantly, buy-in from the tight-knit local community. 

“You need to work with the community than forcing yourself in,” she observes. 

And Câr-y-Môr is poised to double its workforce in 2024 thanks to a Defra grant of £1.1 million to promote and develop the Welsh seafood industry as part of the UK Seafood Fund Infrastructure Scheme. This will go towards building a processing hub, set to be operational in April, to produce agricultural fertiliser from seaweed. 

Full of mineral nutrients and phosphorous from the ocean, seaweed use in farming is nothing new, as Gilbert-Falconer notes: “Farmers in Pembrokeshire talk about their grandad going down to the sea and throwing [seaweed] on their farms.” 

But as the war in Ukraine has caused the price of chemical fertiliser to soar, and the sector tries to reduce its environmental impact – of which synthetic fertiliser contributes 5% of total UK emissions – farmers and government are increasingly looking to seaweed. 

The new hub will have capacity to make 65,000 litres of sustainable fertiliser annually with the potential to cover 13,000 acres of farmland. 

But to feed the processing hub, generate profit and reduce their dependency on grants, the co-op needs to increase the ocean farm size from three to 13 hectares. If they obtain licences, Beyers says they should break even in 18 months. 

For now, Beyers reflects on a “humbling” three years but revels in the potential uses of seaweed, from construction material to clothing.  

“I haven’t seen the limit yet,” he smiles."

-via Positive.News, February 19, 2024

[gremlin-girly]

Cold Dark Waters

Part of the Sun, Sea & Sirens Collection

Part 1 | Part 2 -> | Series Masterlist | Curtis Masterlist

Pairing: Siren!Curtis x f!antartic researcher!reader (Snowdrop)

Tags/warnings: SMUT, dub/non con (for siren song), monster fucking, descriptions of drowning (sorry there's not many other things you can do in the sea lmao), descriptions of animal attacks, blood, descriptions of hypothermia, dry humping, size kink (I made him big and beefy soz), clit play/teasing, nipple play, kinda cum play,talk of mates (as always xoxo),

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, copied or put through AI! All work is 18+

Summary: On a routine trip to monitor some penguins, things take a turn for the worst. Thankfully, you're rescued and hatch a plan to get back to your outpost and home with a new found friend.

Word count: roughly 6k

A/N: So many rehashings later we. Are. Here. This was a real labour of love because I had to look up so many things and the story just kept going and going and going... and then i got an integral plot point WRONG. 😩 oh well. Part 2 shouldnt take as long. Enjoy!

Additional Author's Notes to be added later for research links etc. X

Banner by me, made in Canva (image credit to the creators, I sourced these on Pinterest) | Dividers by: @/bernardsbendystraws

Your expedition parka was zipped all the way to your chin as you threw on your ugliest, most beloved bobble hat to brave the harsh freeze of the Antarctic.

“Do you think I could request a parka in any other colour than dehydrated piss yellow?” You ask Amil as you tug on your gloves.

Amil was one of the other four researchers with you on the expedition and probably the one you were closest to, mainly due to the fact that you studied inter-connecting fields; yours being polar marine life and Amil’s being observational oceanography. Oceanography has many fields of study, Amil’s being focused ocean-ice interactions, specifically focussed on how the rising sea levels were affecting the oceanic climate. In the same vein, the melting of the ice caps meant changes to polar marine life; your area of expertise. Many a late night on the desolate planes of the Antarctic had you both chattering away in the common area discussing possible solutions and outcomes of your research.

“We don’t even get funding for better canned food; you’d be hard pushed to find approval for a new colour coat.” He laughs up at you from lacing his boots.

“Yeah,” you sigh and open the door. “Very true.”

You knew that life as an Antarctic researcher wouldn’t be a cake walk. Below freezing temperatures and no fresh food other than fish meant you were limited to a minimum of six months of fish breath. The only upside was watching and studying what little life seemed to flourish in this frozen wasteland. Penguins were a regular feature favourite, some of which had been tagged by the team in order to tell them apart from the others, and you closely monitored them. Sometimes seals or orcas made an appearance, which meant you had to watch on at the edge of your hiding spots as nature took its course.

Looking out onto the vast icy plane before you, the sun’s rays making the snow glitter, you can’t help but wonder if somewhere out there in the unforgiving cold there was a discovery waiting for you to find. You’d heard about bacteria and the like but part of you wanted something more, something bigger, like the abominable snowman or a yeti. Something worth studying. What if there was a culture or language that hadn’t met human connection yet? What if you were the person to make that connection?

Dreams of grandeur and snowman-human communications often occupied your thoughts, even if you yourself knew that it was just a dream.

Checking everything one last time, you and Amil begin to make your way to the boat.

The boat wasn’t really a boat, per se, more of an inflatable red dingy. Funding really was low.

As Amil tugs on his life jacket, a lovely neon orange to match the yellow of the coat, you do a check of the boat; ensuring no bite marks may have appeared over night from a bored polar bear. You give Amil a quick thumbs up as you begin the arduous process of fighting your life jacket on whilst Amil checks the recording equipment. On days like these when the sun is bright penguins are out in droves. Which means so are all the predators.

You hate to idly watch by and do nothing but, research is research, and mother nature is cruel and unforgiving at the best of times. You and Amil heave the dingy onto the dark water clambering in quickly before it moves too far, the buoys along either side of the dingy bob frantically at the nuisance but quickly settle as the tiny engine roars to life and you set off across the water to the penguin outpost.

“Do you think we’ll see any orca today?” Amil asks, tinkering with the camera.

“Possibly.” You say casually, manoeuvring around a stray ice plate. “It’s quite warm today, so I’m hoping we can see the seals on the beach.”

Amil chuckles. “They are cute when they sunbathe. Maybe Marnie will be a little more confident and say hi.”

Marnie was one of the seal cubs you’d miraculously managed to put a tracker on. A sweet white ball of fluff who was so shy she rarely peeked her head past her mum.

“I doubt it. But damn it,” You groan. “She’s just too damn cute!”

You stall the boat about twenty metres from the penguin outlook and watch on with a happy smile as they waddle around. The water is quiet, barely making waves against the boat and you and Amil make the silent agreement to move a little closer to the giant ice floe with the oars.

“Oho,” You whisper to Amil as he focuses the camera lens, pointing to one of the penguins carrying a small pebble. “Looks like someone’s trying to propose.”

Watching the tiny penguin hop over others to an awaiting mate is probably the sweetest thing you have ever been blessed to witness in real-time. Coos and caws of excitement from the penguins erupt all over the floe and you and Amil cheer on silently from the dingy, grinning widely at each other. It’s only when the penguins chatter dulls again that you hear another noise.

You check behind you, the water inky black even in the sunlight. There aren’t any ripples, no black fins protruding the surface. But the noise remains.

“Do you hear that?”

Amil looks at you and strains his ears before nodding. “What the hell is that?”

You shrug helplessly. It’s an eerie howl, low and gravelly. You’ve never heard anything like it before, and you’re supposed to be the expert. Looking back to the water you squint, hoping to see something. You think you catch a glimpse of a tail but you can’t be sure; the water is too dark to see anything unless it was at the surface. However, a sense of unease creeps in, like you’re being watched.

“We should go.” You say, making a grab for your oar. “I don’t like this, Amil.”

Amil rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You can’t be serious, we just got here! Scared of your marine monsters you always hope to see?”

You shake your head, cold sweat rolling down your back even in your many layers of clothing. “It’s not that it-“

You pause as fear seeps into your bones, quietly muttering. “Listen.”

Amil frowns but follows your instruction. The penguins have stopped chattering. Huddled together on the ice floe, they’re almost silent apart from the occasional squawk from a young chick. A predator must be near, one that you can’t see, and suddenly you’re wishing that you’d never asked for a bigger discovery.

The howl comes again, then what sounds like the bang of a drum. You wrack your brain for answers, but you can only settle on orca. But if it was orca you'd have seen them by now. They hunt in packs, they’re mammals and need air, a dorsal fin or a snort for air would have pinpointed them for you. But you also know that orca, for all their intents and purposes, don’t hunt humans. Their intelligence alludes them to the fact it’s not optimal to eat you but that doesn’t mean you want to get close enough to test that theory.

The sound of water splashing makes you turn your head but there’s nothing but quick ripples when you look. You’re ten miles from the shoreline you came from, your camp another five inland on a snowmobile. If your dingy tipped, you’d have maybe fifteen minutes of swimming to complete before going hypothermic if you were lucky. And that’s if whatever was in the water was happy to only eat penguin.

“Amil,” You whisper hurriedly, grabbing your friend’s attention. “Your oar. Let’s go.”

Amil, now pale-faced after finally understanding your predicament, shakily picks up his oar. You both gently dip your oars in the water and watch them disappear as you slowly begin to row backwards from where you came. A curious, or brave, penguin steps down to the edge of the ice floe and dives into the water quickly followed by another handful. You sigh, grateful for the distraction until one of the penguins slams into the side of the dingy, making it rock violently. You grip the wide sides and peek overboard. Only darkness stares back.

“Hooooo,” You breathe out nervously, nodding at Amil and begin rowing again. Another penguin smacks into the dingy, this time catching a rope from one of the buoys that may have not been as tight as you thought, ensnaring itself in a knot as the bouy bobs away from you. Your training and research dictates that you should always let nature take its course, however, if you were a tiny little penguin furiously trying to escape an unknown monster, you would be grateful for a helping hand from a piss-yellow-coat-neon-life-jacket-wearing hairless yeti.

You lean over the edge of the boat, ripping the small swiss army knife free from your deep pockets and sawing at the rope frantically as the penguin splashed around in a blinding panic.

"Amil!" You scream sending ripples across the surface, half turning to look for your friend for help. "AMIL!"

It happens so fast, you only catch snippets of the next few moments; the feeling of hot steaming breath on the back of your neck as teeth sink into the faux fur of your hood, the growl of triumph in your ears as you're yanked backwards viciously, the look of terror on Amil's face as he reaches for you, centimetres from your own outstretched hand as you hit the water and the taste of winter ice filling your mouth as you try to scream.

The last thing you hear before the being dragged under the ice is Amil screaming your name.

You can't remember ever being so cold.

Your body seizes as your legs flail helplessly. You feel incredibly stupid. Leopard seal. Of course, it was a leopard seal. Not much was known about them other than a few measly facts like their singing, their size and their territorial behaviour.

Ice burned in your lungs. You were lightheaded, low on oxygen and dizzy. However, escape would be futile. You feel the maw release you and for a few moments you begin to float upwards - you scrunch your face waiting for the killing blow only to be barrelled into by something bigger.

Which can never be good.

It feels like you're moving diagonally. There's a howl, a grumble and you swear you can hear a man's voice tell you you're safe. Half convinced you're dead or dying you don't give it much credence until you breach the surface of the water and are thrown onto ice.

You cough and splutter salted ice water from your lungs and heave a sharp, deep inhale of air. You don’t know where you are, or how you’ve survived but everything aches from adrenaline. Moving to sit up, you notice you’re on thick, clear ice that surrounds every corner of your vision but it blurs before you can make out anything distinguishable.

Your dehydrated-piss yellow parka has absorbed too much water and weighs down on your shivering body. Panic settles. You need to get out of these clothes ASAP and get dry.

That’s rule one of hypothermia avoidance.

The zipper slips from your fingers a few dozen times as you try to undo it, teeth clicking together like a ghostly xylophone echoing against the ice. There’s a swish of water behind you and you think the seal has decided to finish what it started. You half turn, ready to be met with a maw of sharp teeth, but instead you’re met with a beast of a man clambering out the hole in the ice.

His arms are thick with muscle, straining as he heaves himself from the water. His hair is close cut but because his face is focused downward, you can’t make out any features on his shadow-cast face. Your eyes trail his torso; like the rest of him he’s huge, with taut muscle and dark, thick hair that runs from his chest all the way down to his abdomen. His body is littered with scars, ranging from silvery slices to pink teeth-marks. He’d clearly wrangled with beasts plenty of times.

You breathe out slowly, watching the rest of his form emerge from the depths. Scales dance around his hips in what little light is available and you blink rapidly as more and more appear. You think, finally, that you’ve drowned and this is the final image your brain has decided to subject you to; a giant merman with a tail as blue as the midnight sky.

Maybe he’s here to finish what the seal couldn’t.

The thought terrifies you and you shuffle backwards, your hands failing to find grip in the ice so you end up blindly kicking your legs. The movement makes the man (monster?) raise his head, cementing you to your spot as bright, frost-blue eyes connect with yours.

A vicious thought enters your brain; about how you wanted this. You wanted a discovery and by a sick twist of fate, you’ve gotten it.

“LIE DOWN!” He bellows, icicles shaking above you. He slides across the ice so quickly, grasping you by the shoulders to keep you still. Your wide eyes can’t even cry because you’re so scared. He seems to briefly register your fear because in a softer voice he adds, “I need to get you warm and dry. Trust me.”

You nod wordlessly, stuck between fear and logic with your chattering teeth. The merman, for lack of better a word, tears at your ugly coat and hurriedly peels away at your layers. Your shock doesn’t even let you feel embarassed about being naked in front of the merman, too busy focusing on your own survival to even think about letting a bit of bare skin get in the way.

The ice floor beneath you is cool against your skin but not freezing, yet you still shiver. The merman lifts you with ease, holding you close as he moves across the open space to a nest of furs you’d missed when you’d first breached the ice. Setting you down gently, he wraps you in a fur leaving only your face and wet hair visible. The scent of the fur is overwhelming; leathery, salted musk that had mingled with the creature's sweat. It was strangely comforting, considering the situation you were in.

“Th-thank you.” You slur, cosying yourself beneath the blanket. “A-are we s-s-safe here?”

He grunts and nods in response but doesn’t say anything else, watching you carefully. To say he’s huge is an understatement. He’s positively gigantic, towering over you with a fretful look etched along those strong features. He’s borderline stauesque, almost unmoving muscled ivory skin that looks almost blue in the reflection of the cave. Your discovery, your saviour, your merman was the most beautiful specimen if you’d ever seen one.

“What’s your name?” You puff out slowly, trying to keep your breathing steady as you fight the tiredness settling in your bones. Adrenaline levels in your body must be dropping but you can’t sleep yet, not until you have some questions answered and can safely stay warm.

“Curtis,” he murmurs, leaning down closer to inspect your face. “It’s Curtis.”

“Curtis.” You murmur back and a smile creeps onto your lips. A big, beautiful creature called Curtis was your saviour. A sea monster called Curtis is almost laughable but it's cute. He's cute.

“What’s so funny?” He asks raising an eyebrow at you quizzically, his head tilting slightly. His eyes are possibly the bluest you’ve ever seen and you’re utterly lost within them.

“Nothing.” You say quickly, ducking a little further under your fur to hide your lips. You give him your name, smiling dumbly at him. He says it slowly, savouring it on his tongue and your heartbeat quickens.

You're a scientist. He's a discovery. Why are you so wound up like a teen with a crush?

His blue eyes are still watching you closely as his large tail curls around your tucked knees and, with what you can only be described as purring, nudges at your forehead with his.

A wave of warmth rolls over your body and settles between yout thighs, making you sigh with delight. You blink up at him lazily, well-aware that it’s most likely the hypothermia making your brain turn to blissful fluff, but you’re suddenly more concerned about the fact he may get hypothermia too, even as a merperson.

“Where’re your furs?” You ask, shuffling your legs against his tail. He was emanating heat like a merman radiator.

He chuckles. "You're using them."

“Oh.” You blink in slow surprise. “We should share then.”

Curtis watches you with amused fascination and you gingerly lift the furs, offering to share your warmth with him.

“You need them more than me.” He counters and you shake your head.

“I can’t have you going hypothermic on me, either.” You huff before shivering. “Just please get under here.”

Curtis sighs through his nose, draping a heavy arm around your waist, tugging you closer to his huge body, letting the furs contain your heat. You squeak but the moment your bare chest touches his you can feel heat pour from him and instead of making a point to divide up sides, you hum with delight. Curtis mimicks your hum and you feel that tide of warmth wash over you again.

“You’re so warm.” You whisper and his grip tightens.

"Hush," He sighs, his other arm acting as your pillow and pulling your face into his chest. "You're safe now. Close your eyes and rest."

Your face is buried into the hair on his chest, inhaling a musky mix of salty sea water and sweat as your arms wrap around him. You shudder with cold as you fight away the impending feeling of panic. Amil thought you were dead. Was Amil safe? Did he get back to base? Your friends, family...

"I need to get back to the base." You breathe quietly. Your legs brush against the scales of his tail and your surprised to find that they're soft, not scratchy. Moving of their own accord, your legs rub against the scales, the friction building much needed heat. "They need to know I'm okay."

"Stay here tonight." Curtis rumbles and you feel your argument die in your throat. "That's tomorrow's problem."

A large palm moves soothingly up and down your back, and you find yourself curling into him, chasing his warmth. You don't know what's come over you. You should be terrified, you are terrified, but it's lost within a cloud of fog over your brain. Your body wraps itself around Curtis like a second blanket, a leg hitched over his hip to press close to his body under the fur.

You find your body slowly melting into him and you sigh with contentment; despite anxiety's slithering tendrils curling at the edges of your psyche, you felt safe. Comforted.

Horny.

That couldn't be right. Your brow furrows slightly as you chide yourself. You're a scientist. adrenaline has done one over on you, and although you aren't a psychiatrist, you could make a safe bet that this feeling was linked to the fact you almost died gruesomely and Curtis was your saviour. Plus, he was easy on the eyes too.

From where your head is on his chest; vibrations rattle along your skull as Curtis, for lack of a better word, begins to purr. That rolling warmth you felt earlier returns, your body slowly drawing itself from sleepiness. Then the sound stops as you fidget, fighting your body to stop itself from grinding against Curtis' scales.

"I'm sorry," Curtis murmurs against your ear and despite the warmth emanating from you both, you shiver. "I was getting too comfortable."

"Too comfortable?" You echo, peeking up at him. His eyes meet yours, searching your face and studying your reaction with budding curiosity.

"I didn't mean for-" He looks apologetic. "It's my song."

You blink up at him. "Song?"

He nods gently taking your hand closest to his chest and placing it where your head had been resting, near his heart and then he hums.

The same vibrations rumble through his ribcage, brain fog descends once more making you feel giddy while your stomach swoops with anxiety. However, despite the anxiety, you find yourself humming back and matching his vibration with your own.

You argue to yourself that you mimic him, that you're doing what you'd do if you found another animal; trying to understand how they communicate. But deep down, within the roils of terror, you knew your body acted of its own accord.

"Your soul called to mine in those cold, dark waters." Curtis' low baritone echoes around the cave, sending vibrations across the thick ice beneath you. "And I responded. You feel it don't you? When I sing?"

You couldn't deny the feeling but then he adds in a whisper, "That's how I knew you were mine."

You can feel the thud of his large hear pumping beneath your palm. You're part terrified, part intrigued; how was this different to the dreams of your yetis and snowmen?

The other part, the deeper, darker part of you knows what's he's saying is true. You're both connected somehow and you can't deny your attraction to him, even if you are still frightened of how your body is reacting to him.

It must read all over your face because Curtis chuckles, low and deep. You peek up and catch a small smile and his glittering blue eyes as he looks at you like he's won the lottery and it makes both your heart thrum. He moves his face closer, pressing his forehead to yours and nudging your nose with his again. You move your face slightly and Curtis moves again, this time capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. It's short and unexpected but it still leaves you breathless.

"I am sorry if I scared you earlier," he murmurs, his nose nudging yours as he purrs again. "I wanted to make sure you were safe and unharmed."

"Stop doing that." You eke out, face flushed with embarassment as you grip onto his shoulder. Damp heat had settled between your thighs and you desperately needed friction.

Curtis looks at you quizzically before realisation dawns. "If you need to use me," He says with a small smile. "Do so. I won't mind."

You bury your face into his chest to hide how red your face is.

"Anything my mate needs or wants from me is yours."

Mate.

That word rips through your mind and you try to argue

"I'm not - we're not..." You say thickly. "Mates?"

"It's a rare occurrence for humans to be mates but it does happen." Curtis nods. "Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are. I thought there was no one for me. But then I heard you."

You cast your mind back to when you were in the boat. Had he been watching you then? Was the gaze you felt his and not the leopard seal?

Or was it beneath the surface of the water? Did your scream send vibrations through the water that he happened to hear? If so, that opened up a research possibility.

Vibrations we're a clear method of communication, nothing surprising about that since a lot of marine animals would use the water to their advantage. Without meaning to, had you bound yourself to him?

You shake your head, nose and cheeks brushing against the coarse hair on his wide chest. You didn't want to think about it but at the same time it was all you could think about. From the way he spoke, it sounded like these merfolk mated for life. And it didn't help that you were so hot and bothered by him that you just wanted to crawl on top of him and-

Your right leg hitches itself over his tail, the thick muscle sits between your legs now, soft scales biting gently against your skin. You timidly roll your hips forward and a groan wracks your body as your clit rubs over the slightly bumpy scales. It feels better than good, it feels amazing and you roll your hips again, biting your lips this time. You can't stop yourself, the pleasure you feel easing the ache you'd been feeling.

Curtis' left hand, the one that had been running up and down your back, grips the back of your thigh and hoists you higher, your face closer to his and your needy cunt pressing against the his scales. His nose nudges yours again, and you raise your lips to his with no hesitation. He tastes like salt water and when you hum, licking away the salt with your tongue, Curtis' grip on your thigh tightens and lifts it higher letting the furs slip away and bearing your cunt to the icy cave.

You gasp quietly and peek at him through tired lashes, his blue eyes dark and focused on your face as he adjusts his wide hips. Then you feel it, the heavy weight of his thick cock moving through your folds easily, slowly. To say he was huge was understatement. His cock matched his imposing size; and when his scaled hips rolled back and the leaking tip of his cock brushed your throbbing clit, you jutted your hips forward to meet his. You want to climb him, fuck him, milk him. And Curtis seemed to know this, smiling at how your lips part and how your eyes beg for more.

"Needy little thing," He chuckles. "But not tonight. It'll be too much for you."

He places a chaste kiss to your forehead, moving his hips again, your pussy clenching as his cock ruts between the soft of your thighs, giving your clit plenty of attention. It's not long before your moans become high and breathier and you cum with a shudder and a loud whine over his cock.

"You look so beautiful when you cum. I can't wait to see you stretched over my cock." Curtis murmurs as he continues to thrust through your silky folds before he reaches his climax, coating your thighs with thick sticky spend.

You cast a glance downward, watching the scales shimmer in what little light you have. The scales fall in a V shape around his hips, dark hair of his snail trail disappearing under them. His cock, strangely, is where it would be if he were human only difference is that it's protected by scales. Your fingers delicately trace the line where scale meets skin as Curtis tugs the fur back across you both, shuddering at your touch.

He huffs a breath but allows you to continue, his own fingers tracing patterns against the back of your shoulders.

"So pretty," you murmur sleepily, watching his muscles twitch under your touch.

"Rest." He urges quietly with a kiss to your forehead. "We can explore eachother more tomorrow."

You hum in acknowledgement, your eyes slowly closing. It's not long before you're asleep, dreaming of merfolk and their communication, society and their mating rituals.

When you blink awake, you're not sure how long you have been asleep. It may have been hours or minutes but you're cosy and warm with Curtis still wrapped around you, now acting as big spoon. His legs are tangled with yours, which is strange because, if your memory served correctly, he was a giant merman last you checked.

Your face heats as your realise that your inner thighs are still sticky with Curtis' cum. So that wasn't a dream. But Curtis doesn't have a tail anymore. You remove left arm entrapped under the arm Curtis had lay across your waist, exploring down his thigh; muscular, some coarse hair, but no scales.

You frown.

Maybe in your vulnerable state you'd assumed he was a merman. You make a small grumble of frustration. Curtis stirs gently, his cock twitching against your ass.

"Snowdrop," He mumbles, voice thick with sleep. "Go back to sleep."

You angle your head to peek at him and see his eyes are still closed but his arm around you squeeze you tighter. Your face heats with embarassment as you mutter a quick apology.

"Go back to sleep." Curtis repeats, snuggling into you again, his beard tickling the nape of your neck.

Your mind starts to race, subconsciously wiggling further back against him under the furs. You shift your legs every few moments, remembering the state you were in; blissed out after humping his thick cock. Shame and arousal wash over you. He'd not only let you do it he'd encouraged it; using you only after you'd cum and not pushing to fuck you. Your heart strings tugged, even if it was the bare minimum. He seemed to have genuinely taken to you and you were still trying to make sense of him; you almost felt guilty for it.

There's a sigh behind you and Curtis' big hand that had been been draped over your waist slowly made its way between your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing slow circles, making you gasp and jerk in surprise.

"I'll help you get back to sleep then, Snowdrop." Curtis murmurs, angling the large arm under your neck to fondle at your bare tits. He rolls a nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he he rubs at your clit, swiping some of his still-sticky cum over your sensitive nub. You groan pressing your ass back against him. His fingers dip downward to your cunt, slipping in one thick finger as he kisses and nips at your neck, slowly pumping you a few times before adding a second finger and letting your walls constrict them.

"Your cunt is still slick." He comments, his half-hard cock pressing against the curve of your ass. "You must have been having good dreams."

Your pussy squeezes at his words and you can feel his smirk on your neck, his fingers pressing against your walls to keep you stretched open. His thumb swipes at your swollen clit and he tweaks at you nipple, earning himself more moans of pleasure.

"Curtis please." Your back arches against him, letting the pleasure wrack your still-tired body.

"I'm sorry, Snowdrop. If I don't stretch you open you'll never fit on my cock." He purrs, kissing your cheek softly. "We can't have that, can we?"

You groan in response when his fingers start to curl and move inside your pussy. Curtis was right, you were still wet, and your orgasm was pending on release as he holds you at the edge; curling and pumping his fingers all while toying with your nipples and clit. It was too much.

"Curtis," you gasp, weakly reaching for his face, behind you, twisting your neck uncomfortably to place sweet kisses against his lips. "'M gonna cum."

"That's fine, pretty thing." He murmurs. "Cum for me."

Gentle kisses are placed to your temple as you heave breaths, shuddering as your cunt gushes around his fingers. Curtis' fingers linger inside you for a few moments before retreating, and you watch in a haze as he takes a long lick of them, savouring your cum against his tongue. His eyes are almost predatory black as he looks down at you.

"You taste..." He trails with a happy hum, lapping at his fingers. "Delicious. I'm going to enjoy ruining our bedsheets when you're ready."

"You know what bedsheets are?" You giggle softly as he slides back beside you, pecking your lips as your body still thrums with remnants of your orgasm.

"Of course." He replies but doesnt elaborate further. His arms wrap around you, holding you close and he starts to purr with contentment. Your body grows tired again, relaxing into his hold.

"Curtis," you whisper.

"Mm?"

"Thank you." You curl under his chin, twisting your legs into his as you fall away into sleep, holding him tight.

When you wake, hours later, you're greeted by the smell of cooked fish and smoke. There's an ache between your legs from your two earlier trysts, however, the need for food is at the forefront of your mind now. The trysts can be addressed later.

It's only a moment before Curtis appears at your side, wrapped in layers of fur and holding a freshly cooked fish out to you. You take it, blowing on the charred skin and try not to think about what you're eating as your teeth sink into the flesh. You're so hungry. Hungrier than you've ever been and the fish is finished in seconds and you look up at Curtis sheepishly.

He smiles softly. "Good. You have an appetite."

One of his hands cups your cheek, gently tilting your face to look up at his. "There's plenty of food for you."

When Curtis turns to get you more fish from the fire, you take a moment to glance at your surroundings. You're in an ice cave. Naturally occurring hollow structures in ice or ice floes. You'd been in them before, when out exploring; they make excellent shelters from the elements since the ice is so thick. The cave is almost sloped, with the entrance higher in the ice.

Curtis is near a small fire by the entrance of the cave, ensuring no smoke is getting trapped to suffocate you both and, not far from where your lying in the furs, is the hole Curtis had emerged from the day before. Sea water sloshes three inches from the surface. So you were on the ocean at least.

Looking behind your makeshift bed was very few items. Some cans of food, a small roll of tools and what looked to be spare fur clothes to fit Curtis' enormous body.

Your tattered clothes are next to Curtis drying out and when you look over at him again you can see that he definitely did not have a tail. You rub your eyes and double check.

Nope. No tail.

It must have been your mind playing tricks on you. However, he is as handsome so that was still an excellent discovery.

You shuffle under the covers trying to hold the fur over your chest when Curtis returns, holding two fish out to you. You're halfway through the first when you notice he's just watching you eat and you hold the second one out to him.

"You'd better eat too." You urge, feeling guilty for stuffing your face while your saviour hadn't taken a bite.

Curtis shakes his head and smiles down at you. "I've eaten already. I was making sure you there was enough for you after you woke."

"Oh thanks."

Curtis raises his eyebrow. "Especially after your... restless night."

You blush hard, stammering out an apology.

"It's quite alright, Snowdrop. No need to apologise." Curtis settles beside you, watching you tear through your fish. "It's my duty to make sure you're well taken care of."

You almost spit the flesh all over him. "Your duty?"

Curtis nods and looks at little sheepish. "As your mate. You may not remember the conversation from last night since you were running on adrenaline."

You did but were half convinced it was a mixture of death defying hypothermia and your imagination. Clearly, he wasn't a merman but he was perhaps a weirdo living in an ice cave. Though, surviving this long in the uninhabitable plains was ny impossible...

"I, erm..." you swallow your fish meat thickly. You sit a little straighter. The last thing you want to do is piss him off, considering his size and stature you'd be easy to... well, do anything to. However, you can't resist blurting the question that's been bothering you since you woke up the first time this morning. "Do you have a tail? Sorry. I just remember seeing a tail and I think it was a fever dream."

Curtis blinks at you and chuckles. "Yes."

"I thought so - wait - excuse me?" You look dumbfounded and you're sure he's just messing with you.

Now Curtis looks as confused as you do. "All merfolk have tails?"

"Hoooookay," you say, your mind racing. So last night was not a dream or your brain playing tricks. Curtis purrs in response and you feel your skin prickle and when your eyes meet you can tell he thinks he's being cute.

"Hey," you snap, cheeks growing red as heats spreads from between your legs. "Don't do that. I have more questions."

"You didn't seem to mind it last night." Curtis says but bows his head to you. "But ask away."

"How long have you been out here? Where's your family? What-"

exactly are you?

You don't voice the rest of your question, thinking it a bit too rude, but Curtis doesn't seem to mind as he begins to tell you about his time out in the great frozen unknown.

He'd been left for about a year on his own. His family, what he called a pod, was a myriad of merfolk that gathered together as a family unit. According to Curtis, his pod had never truly settled like some merfolk had and spent most of their time travelling the sea in an almost continuous migration.

"With the ice melting, pollution and sea travel, it's been harder for us to keep hidden and find refuge." He explains, then fixes you with a funny look. "I don't know how it'll work with a mate like you."

"Stop calling me that." You chide softly, but it still makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. "So, what happened?"

"I decided that enough was enough. That we should settle as a unit, like we should have years ago." He grumbles and then shrugs. "We didn't know where to start or if it would be safe when we got stuck here. The cold water killed off many of the elderly. The children struggled to acclimatise and the leopard seals and some orca saw them as easy pickings. I sent them on the migration path early urging them to settle someplace. Myself and a few others volunteered to stay behind to keep them safe on the journey out of these waters."

The last part went unspoken but you could piece it together; Curtis had been the only one of the volunteers to survive. The cold must have had a hard time affecting that gigantic body of his.

"Well, surely you could find them again?" You press. "If you migrate every year and travel there has to be-"

"I wouldn't know where to begin." Curtis sighs dejectedly. "We have different routes. And with how dangerous the sea has become..." he shakes his head. "I made my choice to protect my pod when they left this place. I can only hope they found somewhere to settle."

His big blue eyes look at you, hoping for understanding and your heart aches for him. You place a small hand over his reassuringly and give him a smile.

"But what about you?" You say gently. "You can't stay out here. It's uninhabitable for a reason."

"I like the cold." Curtis huffs haughtily.

"Yeah well," you huff back. "Mate or not, I can't survive in those waters for more than fifteen minutes without thick insulated SCUBA gear. And without water or proper food, I would die within the week. Give me a beach in the Bahamas with a few cocktails and I'd be golden."

You give him a sideways glance and see him shift his hunkering form uncomfortably, knowing you were correct. Clearly the thought of abandoning his post made him uncomfortable, the mere thought of his pod returning and not finding him anxiety-inducing. You sigh through your nose, trying to think.

"We could go to the research outpost where I was stationed," you say slowly, watching his expression shift to unease. "Plenty of food and water and shelter."

Curtis harrumphs but then an idea swims from the depths of your brain amd you clap ypur hands together, startling Curtis as the sound reverberates around the cave. You turn to him beaming.

"We could find your pod." You say excitedly. Curtis' eyes narrow.

"I know you're right about going you don't need to manipulate me, Snowdrop." He grumbles, shoulders slumping. You scoot closer patting his thigh, still brimming with excitement.

"No we have maps, tech, SONAR-" Curtis' eyebrows raise as you speak. "We could map out where your travel paths are. We do it with orca and other animals all the time. If we do that we could narrow down the areas you visited most and where the pod would most likely settle."

Curtis eyes are sparkling by the time you've finished speaking and he's grinning at you almost madly. "So, I have a smart mate."

"Don't call me that." You snip quickly, but you're still smiling at him. "Do you know a way to get us to the out post safely? By foot?"

Curtis' face falls and his thick brows furrow with thought. "There aren't enough furs or food if we went by land." Curtis explains. "But there are no predators. Only the sun. We would starve to death or freeze long before we reach where I found you in the water."

He pauses and looks slightly apologetic as he continues. "But if I took you beneath the surface, the journey would be done in less than an hour. Less than a day if I take supplies with me."

You nod along thoughtfully. "I'm sensing there's a but?"

"But," Curtis sighs. "We would be crossing through leopard seal territory. Again. You could potentially drown, be injured or killed and that's before we're out of the water."

"I could go hypothermic." You finish and Curtis nods. "And you don't know how to get to the compound or how to work the equipment."

"But underwater is our best bet." Curtis says slowly. "But what if my pod comes back to find me?

"We could leave a message in the ice to head to the out post." You suggest. "Leave my contact information? We could always-" you can't believe you were saying this. "-Come back and update the messages if we don't locate them elsewhere."

Curtis looks visibly relieved. "We could?"

"Of course." You give him a reassuring smile. "My research is based out here anyway I could... try and bring you with me."

Curtis smirks. "I could always follow your boat."

"Right. Merman." You smile sheepishly. "I'd have a hard time explaining that to the other researchers, gotta make sure you don't get kidnapped by the men in black."

"No one could keep me from you." He says firmly, making a sweet rumbling sound that keeps you still as he kisses you adoringly. You can feel yourself literally swooning and it's almost laughable until Curtis pulls back, looking at you with a soft smile. "But I have to get everything ready for our journey."

You nibble at your fish, now cold after your chatter. The plan was that Curtis would make trips back and forth with the clothes and what little belongings he had, scouting the area first before taking you. That way, not only was the journey safer, but he could focus on moving faster with you in his arms and when you reached your destination, could wrap you in furs that would be dried in the sun.

You re-dress into your clothes from the night before, still a little damp in places and the piss yellow coat now had a smokey salt scent to it, and watch Curtis undress to jump into the ocean.

Your eyes trail his muscular legs, all the way to his torso and your face heats when you see he's been watching you oggle him for the past two minutes.

"If we survive the trip," he says, voice sultry as he ties a leather belt with a sheathed hatchet around his waist. "You can explore me all you like."

You bluster, about to argue back when he dives through the hole and vanishes for what feels like an age.

You shouldn't be attracted to a fish man. You chide yourself, pacing the ice cave to stay warm. The more you thought about Curtis, your circumstances of meeting, your research despite your current mate situation, the more you realised that regardless of being his mate (however that happened) you'd have been attracted to him anyway. And from what you'd seen and heard from myths and stories, you much preferred having a hunk of a mermaid than some terrifying sea creature that wanted to eat you for dinner. You shudder, remembering the leopard seal. At least you'd have Curtis for protection.

After what felt like an age, Curtis' head pops out of the hole in the ice.

"Bad news." He pants. "The ice floes have moved. It may take longer than anticipated to reach your out post."

"Shit," you hiss, passing him his few belongings wrapped tightly in a fur. "How much longer?"

Curtis shakes his head, taking the fur parcel from you. "Perhaps a few minutes? The good news is that I can't see or hear any sea leopards."

You sigh with relief. "Okay. Phew."

You give him a short smile and he rises higher out of the water to catch your lips in a wet kiss that leaves you a little lightheaded and you murmur out a quick "be careful" as he disappears below the surface of the dark water.

The second time he returns, he's a lot faster. He gives you a once over, trying to give you a reassuring smile when he sees your worried expression.

"You ready?"

You nod, breathing quickly, trying to steel yourself.

"I'll be with you." He affirms. "I'll keep you close and take you to the surface as soon as I can."

You look down at him, fear and cold making you shake but you manage a smile when you see his soft features look at you with such affection and brace as you slide into the water.

Sliding into the water was a lot more difficult than being pulled in. Even with your layers the icy water still penetrated to your skin and the darkness that enveloped you made your heart jumps erratically. Thankfully, the hulking mass that was Curtis was there to hold you as you took one final gulp of air and dipped under the surface.

He moved fast. Now that you weren't actively drawing, you could feel the pressure of speed from the beat of his tail against your body and in mere seconds you were breaking the surface, bobbing together in the freezing open ocean.

The sun, as always, was high and bright and you had to squint as the snow and eyes glittered back into your retinas.

"Okay?" Curtis asks nudging your cheek.

"Yeah. Let's keep going." You nod with a smile, taking another deep breath as Curtis ducked back under, following the route he'd mapped as quickly as he could.

Maybe it was because he was enjoying how close you were - or that he was so focused on his mission to get to the outpost that he didn't notice the leopard seal barrelling towards him from the depths.

When he did notice, it was too late to move out of the way but Curtis turned his shoulder, wrapping his arms to protect your head as the sharp canines of the leopard seal sank into his flesh and you squeaked in terror.

Curtis cried out and glowered into the black eyes of the seal as it challenged him to move.

"Fucker," Curtis' voice echoed viciously through the water. "You were watching this whole time."

Your brain was racing, you couldn't open your eyes but you needed to breathe. Curtis was stuck in a catch twenty two. If he released you to the surface, the leopard seal would release him to chase you as the easier target and, being injured, Curtis would struggle to keep pace. Even if he managed to keep the seal occupied, you weren't able to reach the outpost on your own besides the fact that another seal could potentially be nearby. Although they hunt in pairs often, it didn't mean they never did.

The other option was to fight off the seal here and now. But by doing that, you could run out of air and drown in his grip before he could reach the surface.

Curtis growled, and you could feel the anger and anxiety reverberate through your soul. You pat Curtis' side blindly with a loud snarl of the seal so close to your face and a grunt from Curtis as he keeps the seal at his shoulder. Your eyes are squeezed closed and the lightheaded dizziness from the lack of oxygen is making it hard to focus but you find the hilt of the hatchet, tearing it free from it's confines and jamming it into the snout of the seal as hard as you could.

The seal releases Curtis' shoulder with a sickening shrill, and Curtis tears through the water, upwards closer to the surface for you to breathe. He half throws you onto his back and you pretzel your legs around his waist, your arms wrapping around his neck as he takes off again. It happens so fast that you barely comprehend it, your body producing a fierce amount of adrenaline that you can't feel the cold anymore.

"Well done back there!" Curtis shouts to you, pride clear in his voice and your heart swells, but it's shortlived when you hear a trill from behind you. The leopard seal had given chase; clearly not happy about missing out on dinner and second time. "We're close, don't worry."

You burst from the water first, grateful for once to see a wide open plain of snow and the distant outline of the outpost. You roll off Curtis' back and go to pull him up but his hands claw at the ice as he yells out, his tail splashing angrily in the water.

He goes to clamber out again, when the seal knocks into his side and back down under the water.

"CURTIS!" You shriek, falling to your hands and knees at the water's edge. You search the surface and can't see a thing, panick brewing as you try to think of how to rescue him. You're no mermaid. You're lucky if you get away with no hypothermia a second time.

You clutch the hatchet with white knuckles and then an idea.

"Bring it to the surface!" You call out to the ocean, hoping Curtis hears you. "Bring it close!"

So much for leaving the animals alone.

Moments later Curtis appears again, maw of the leopard seal snapping furiously at his face with a Cheshire Cat like grin. Until you swing the hatchet into it's back.

It wails, it's head turning to you as you reel back with the hatchet in hand, raising it in threat again and-

It stops. It growls lowly but stops fighting Curtis and looks directly at you, considering you almost thoughtfully before moving off Curtis entirely and disappearing under the ice floe.

Both you and Curtis wait a few moments more, just in case it returned, but when you begin to shiver Curtis heaves himself out of the water with a groan, collapsing into the snow. Blood oozes from the wound, slowed from the cold, but you take great effort in tugging him away from the water's edge with his good arm.

You look over his shoulder wound hurriedly, they're deep but nothing that wouldn't heal. However, his tail and side have some pretty nasty scratches and bites too.

"We have a first aid kit at the out post." You tell him, lifting his torso steadily into a seated position so you could wrap him in a fur that he'd left. As you look up out to the sea, you can see the head of the leopard seal watching you both with a managing gaze.

You shiver. "Come on, let's go."

Curtis grunts you see his tail shimmer and in one blink it's gone, replaced by two tree trunks for legs. Questions for later.

Gathering your few supplies you both clamber on and slowly make your way to the out post in shuddering silence, focusing only on conserving your energy until you get to the outpost.

End of Part 1

A/N: That's part 1 folks 😵‍💫😭 I had to cut it here because even though I'd written it... turns out the other creaure I wanted to add doesn't even live in the antarctic (and I hate to say this but I found out from a tumblr post that the artic inst a shortened name for the Antarctic and if you look up the difference you can probably guess what animal it was and i feel so stupid lmao). This took so much longer than anticipated honestly. But the good news is part 2 gets to be re-worked a little and hopefully won't take as long. Though I don't know if I want to do a one shot for the next one (it's either Lloyd or Steve) and then continue the series as it was posted (Ari, Jake then Curtis)...

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@stargazingfangirl18 @awkwardgiraffe726 @looking1016 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @irishhappiness

[hadesoftheladies]

I find it very unfortunate that most people have a very romantic, heroic and “male” view of revolution or activism. Most people imagine it as sudden, loud, violent, glorious, public sacrifice and bleeding in the street. You think of protest and you think of destruction of property, bonfires and gas masks. It is sometimes, big and large donations. These can lead to change, but they oftentimes risk being performative.

Revolution and protest, I think, are actually very quiet affairs. Revolution is reading and learning to deconstruct culture and human behavior. Your own mind, where the colonization happens. I think Revolution happens in the daily choices of what we choose to consume. When people live their lives as protest rather than wait for a big moment. I think boycotting shouldn’t simply be about getting companies to bend the knee. It should be about divesting from an entire industry of exploitation. Our way of life should change. Revolution is us changing. Changing our minds and choices. And living in such a way that we create a community, however small, of different living. Where we buy each other’s soaps and wooden spoons and rely on each other’s expertise instead of buying a subscription (and I’m generalizing here I am aware bc activism must be intersectional to be effective). It is far more impactful that I stop consuming dairy for a lifetime than that I starve myself for a month in protest. It is far more costly to these corporations and to the status quo that I alter my life.

Men’s idea of glory is dying for their beliefs. That is the predominant narrative of heroism. Everyone dies. But living in accordance to your principles? Living as radically as possible? That’s rare and that takes a whole lot of work. An entire lifetime of boycotting is far more destructive to these systems than simply punishing yourself or putting pressure on others in the heat of a mob. It is far more revolutionary to think the forbidden thoughts and so do the uncommon thing. By living this way, we open a door for a new way of living for others. And when we create a new system of living as a community, we set up pillars here and there that will eventually hold up the future we are trying to build. It takes longer. The best works of art take longer. Quality takes more time and focus than quantity, and too many of us are worried about the quantity (how many people can we get to post the black square) rather than quality (how do my decisions impact those around me and how can I use that?).

I think that’s why so many of you look down on things like separatism and veganism. It is less sensational and more (at least in perception) inconvenient. But I have contributed to the environment way more by not eating meat than I would by donating thousands of dollars to green charities. And the reason I am vegan is because other vegans helped me integrate into that lifestyle. They “socialized” me so to speak. Separatism socializes women and men, too. Women separating socializes future policy makers and little girls that would have otherwise (likely) ended up in abusive relationships. It’s not glamorous: does that make it less impactful?

I think revolutionaries are not the ones that merely give a nice speech for the newspapers or volunteer (I am NOT saying volunteering is not worthy or valuable activism). Rather I think revolutionaries are the ones who are willing to change how they think and how they live first. I think the greatest thing a person can give to their causes is their entire life. Not money. Not suffering. Not a few days in the soup kitchen. Their entire way of living. Their consumption habits and their civic activities. Their intentionality in interpersonal relationships.

I think that’s how anything’s ever gotten better in the first place.

[blueiscoool]

Rare 4th Century Roman Helmet and Chainmail Found in Denmark

Archaeologists have recently unearthed a massive stockpile of weapons near Hedensted, Denmark, buried 1,500 years ago by an ancient chief. In addition to many weapons and unique chainmail, fragments of a Roman helmet from the 4th century have also been found.

During recent archaeological excavations at Løsning Søndermark in Hedensted, Denmark, a significant discovery has been made that sheds light on the region’s Iron Age history, dating back 1,500 to 2,000 years. Archaeologists unearthed a burial site containing an extensive array of weapons, sufficient to equip a small army, alongside a remarkable chainmail shirt and other valuable artifacts. This find suggests that the site belonged to a powerful chieftain, and the manner of the burial indicates that these war implements may have been offered to higher powers.

The excavation was prompted by the Danish Road Directorate’s ongoing project to expand the motorway to three lanes, leading to the unearthing of these extraordinary artifacts just northwest of Hedensted, situated between Vejle and Horsens.

Some of the half-buried weapons found in Løsning

In addition to the extensive weapon deposits, archaeologists have discovered two unusual iron plates, each approximately the size of a human palm. Initially, the origins of these plates were uncertain. However, through the application of X-ray imaging technology, conservators and archaeologists were able to penetrate the thick layers of rust that obscured the objects.

The imaging results revealed an extraordinary and rare discovery: the remnants of a Roman helmet. The two plates identified consist of a neck guard and a intricately decorated cheek guard, which are components of a crest helmet—a type commonly utilized during the 4th century within the Roman Empire.

The illustrations show the placement of the neck and cheek guard on a Roman helmet. The top of the helmet has not been found, so its appearance remains purely speculative

Finds of Roman helmets from the Iron Age are exceptionally uncommon in southern Scandinavia, and this particular discovery lacks direct parallels within the region. The few comparable artifacts have been located at Thorsbjerg Moor in Schleswig, as well as in southern Sweden and Gotland, with no similar finds recorded in Denmark itself.

An X-ray scan shows the fragments of an ancient Roman helmet found in Løsning

In addition, a chainmail shirt was discovered at Løsning Søndermark. Only a very small number of chainmail shirts from the Iron Age have been found in the southern Scandinavian region. Notably, the chainmail unearthed at Løsning Søndermark is particularly remarkable as it is the first instance found in association with a settlement, rather than being recovered from a burial site or bog.

The production of chainmail required specialized expertise, access to resources, and a considerable, sustained effort. Consequently, these expensive pieces of armor were owned exclusively by the highest echelons of the warrior elite in society, underscoring their status and importance.

The ancient chainmail shirt found in Løsning

In addition to the extensive weapon sacrifice, archaeologists have uncovered fragments of two highly distinctive bronze neck rings at the Løsning Søndermark site. These rings exhibit striking similarities to imagery found on gold bracteates from the Vindelev Hoard, as well as other representations of Iron Age rulers.

The motif of a ring-bearer holding an oath ring in one hand, symbolizing power and influence, is a well-established theme in Nordic imitations of Roman gold medallions and gold bracteates. It is likely that the rings discovered at Løsning Søndermark served a similar function and may have been integral to the chieftain’s personal equipment, alongside the chainmail, sword, horse gear, and other military items that were part of the sacrificial offerings.

Two ring fragments found in Løsning

Notably, the ring-bearer depicted on the Vindelev bracteates is also adorned in a garment featuring an unusual pattern, which may represent chainmail akin to that found at Løsning Søndermark.

Starting Saturday, February 8, 2025, selected items from this remarkable find, including fragments of a Roman helmet, will be exhibited at the Cultural Museum in Vejle, providing the public with an opportunity to engage with Denmark’s rich archaeological heritage.

By Oguz Buyukyildirim.

Some of the swords and other weapons found in Denmark

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I like to think that if human color had curly hair, he would give two sh1ts about defining it properly and just go around with a frizzy hair on normal days

MAYBE he would give more attention to it for important events, maybe, but I like to think about that

I really like to think that, as opposed to a human/humanized Killer’s long thick often straighter hair, Color would have a shorter, curlier type of hair—such as 3C hair.

And i definitely agree that he’d have very frizzy hair on most days. Not only because he’s a Sans at heart, but because he’s also chronically ill!

His depression on top of his chronic fatigue and chronic pain from his past bones fractures—having easily breakable, “brittle” bones—just can make even the “simplest” tasks so draining and difficult.

Not to mention—he spent like two decades in the Void, he’s kinda way out of practice in the whole self care department, and has to relearn while he recovers and rehabilitates. Redeveloping those habits that he fell out of, and remembering why they even matter.

Some days even the thought of trying to wash his hair or style it can be so damn exhausting, let alone actually doing it. On top of that, if it weren’t for having to share his life and body and mind and soul with six kids, he wouldn’t give two shits about any of that on his own.

His mind just immediately breaking it all down into every single step he has to do and planning it all out just makes it seem even more of a daunting task.

(And if you go with the idea of Color being narcoleptic, there’s also the matter of daytime sleepiness.)

Which is another way I feel Color feels he’s letting down the souls.

Not only is he “failing” to even do simple things, he can’t even style their hair, but he often needs Perseverance’s influence to make it through—and when he needs Vera’s influence, more often than not, they end up pushing it too far and need even longer to physically recover.

Which means even less energy and motivation to style their hair, to make it up all nice and pretty—with all the ribbons and bows that Color often sees during the rare moments when Patience allows itself to linger on the past.

The most Color can mentally and physically bring himself to do for the longest time in terms of style is cutting off lengths of their hair at a time any time it gets too long.

And that is because they have to, because their hair being too long is too triggering, even when watching the hair be thrown away into the trash or fall into the sink often leaves Color with a deep, aching feeling—a sense of profound sadness, loss.

And the impending sense of dread, at feeling that creeping sense of having failed again—of having let them all down, feeling Patience’s unspoken disappointment. Dreading the moment when Integrity informs him of how upset Ness is, how she had been asking for reassurance that she was still pretty, right?

And I was actually thinking that, maybe this yet another area where Epic and possibly also Delta help take care of Color and the souls.

Hair and hair styling isn’t really Delta’s thing or expertise, but that doesn’t mean wouldn’t be willing to learn how to properly wash and tend to 3c hair and wash Color’s hair for him when he’s too drained and exhausted to do it themself.

And Epic, a bit of a fashionista, he’d certainly be full of creative hairstyle ideas and accessories—and he both cares for his friend, and is good with kids.

Even if Color isn’t feeling up for styling or accessorizing their hair himself, but some of the kids do and Color wants to make them happy and comprise with them, he can always go to Epic for some ideas and help.

[rainydetectiveglitter]

Every Person You Know Is One of These

I've been deep-diving into Human Design lately. As a 4/6 Mental Projector (only ~3% of people are Mental Projectors), I’m not saying I’m special and it honestly feels like a curse half the time. But I’ll be sharing more soon.

For now, here’s your Human Design profile superpower.

1/3 Investigator/Martyr

Generator — Digs deep and creates solid structures that last, learning through real-world action.

Manifesting Generator — Breaks through barriers fast, making their mistakes into stepping stones for success.

Projector — Sees patterns and systems clearly, guiding others with laser-sharp precision.

Reflector — Instantly senses what’s wrong, reflecting back the hidden flaws for all to see.

1/4 Investigator/Opportunist

Generator — Builds a strong foundation through deep knowledge and focuses on long-term growth.

Manifesting Generator — Moves quickly, pivoting and adapting to new opportunities as they arise.

Projector — Recognizes talent and potential in others, helping them find the right direction.

Reflector — Mirrors back the collective strengths and weaknesses, helping others see their true potential.

2/4 Hermit/Opportunist

Generator — Focuses on perfecting their craft, creating valuable work that attracts others.

Manifesting Generator — Masters multiple skills at once and uses them to solve problems quickly.

Projector — Observes deeply and provides practical, intuitive guidance when asked.

Reflector — Sees and reflects back hidden talents, helping others realize their potential.

2/5 Hermit/Heretic

Generator — Deeply skilled, works in isolation, and attracts others who need their expertise.

Manifesting Generator — Quick to spot solutions, moves independently to create lasting results.

Projector — Shares perspective that challenges norms, helping others rethink their approach.

Reflector — Reflects the potential for change, showing others where they can improve or evolve.

3/5 Martyr/Heretic

Generator — Embraces mistakes as growth, creating a path to mastery by overcoming every obstacle.

Manifesting Generator — Tackles challenges head-on and turns every failure into a stepping stone.

Projector — Spots inefficiencies and offers game-changing advice that others may not see.

Reflector — Sees the bigger picture and guides others to evolve through trial and error.

3/6 Martyr/Role Model

Generator — Grows stronger through every setback, becoming a force to be reckoned with.

Manifesting Generator — Learns fast from experience, inspiring others by embodying resilience.

Projector — Uses lived experience to guide others with clarity and authority.

Reflector — Reflects the lessons learned from failures and inspires others to grow through them.

4/6 Opportunist/Role Model

Generator — Builds deep relationships that create lasting success, thriving on trust and stability.

Manifesting Generator — Moves quickly and uses their network to create opportunities for others.

Projector — Brings strategic insight to relationships, helping others see the big picture.

Reflector — Mirrors the potential for success, showing others how to rise by making smart connections.

4/1 Opportunist/Investigator

Generator — Strengthens the foundation of their work, ensuring it’s solid and dependable.

Manifesting Generator — Builds quickly, ensuring everything they do can sustain growth over time.

Projector — Understands how systems work and helps others navigate them effectively.

Reflector — Reflects the integrity of systems, showing others how to build something lasting.

5/1 Heretic/Investigator

Generator — Creates value through knowledge and deep understanding, making things that last.

Manifesting Generator — Leverages their skills to solve complex problems and show others the way forward.

Projector — Offers transformative insights that shift how others approach challenges.

Reflector — Reflects hidden truths, showing others the deeper layers that they missed.

5/2 Heretic/Hermit

Generator — Masters their craft in silence, only offering their skills when it’s most impactful.

Manifesting Generator — Moves quickly to create change, leveraging their talents to shift the status quo.

Projector — Delivers quiet but profound guidance that changes the course for others.

Reflector — Reflects opportunities and challenges, guiding others to see what’s truly possible.

6/2 Role Model/Hermit

Generator — Builds long-term stability through quiet mastery, growing into a steady source of wisdom.

Manifesting Generator — Moves swiftly from one project to the next, leading others by showing them what’s possible.

Projector — Offers wise direction, helping others make aligned decisions with ease.

Reflector — Reflects wisdom from life’s lessons, showing others the way forward with quiet certainty.

6/3 Role Model/Martyr

Generator — Builds resilience through every trial, showing others how to rise from failure.

Manifesting Generator — Constantly evolves through setbacks, creating a path forward for others to follow.

Projector — Guides from experience, helping others grow by avoiding past mistakes.

Reflector — Reflects the transformation from hardship, inspiring others to grow through challenges.

Find your Human Design here ↓

https://www.myhumandesign.com/

[fandomtrumpshate]

FTH 2025 Supported Org: Environmental Integrity Project

Climate crisis is here, and it’s urgent. Rising global temperatures and shrinking wildlands have caused a cascade of disasters for humans and non-humans alike. But although some of the effects of climate change are beyond the point of reversal, many can still be rolled back or avoided entirely – if we all work together.

EIP uses legal expertise and technical analysis to combat the air and water pollution, challenge permits that are too lax to protect public health, take legal actions against big polluters, advocate for stronger regulations, and release reports and data to inform the public about the many problems caused by fossil fuels. They also scrutinize the water and air emissions from factory farms, and use this data as part of their national efforts to push EPA to more closely regulate the pollution that livestock and agricultural runoff dump into our waterways.

You can support Environmental Integrity Project as a creator in the 2025 FTH auction (or as a bidder, when the time comes to donate for the auctions you’ve won.)

[reality-detective]

Dr. David E. Martin: On Coercion in Medical Practices and Protecting Our Rights 📽

🔍 Who is Dr. David E. Martin?

Dr. David E. Martin is a prominent figure in the fields of intellectual property and finance, known for his advocacy on issues involving patents, corporate integrity, and human rights. His expertise has led him to scrutinize medical practices and the pressure they exert on individuals. 🤔

The document link: 👇

Serve those with notices who are using coercion against humanity 🤔

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: May 7, 2025

Reworked Group #7: Ptolemaic Army

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, sex slavery, SA, sexual exploitation, and pedophilia.

Overview

The cult of Ptolemaios originated after the discovery of the Rosetta Stone of the Avatar of Evil in the Soursop Jungle, sacred lands of the Nina Runakuna (“fire people” in the Quechua) within the Amazon Rainforest. This revelation stirred something profound within Ptolemaios, beckoning a new era of humanity where the pursuit of utopianism and eternal life reigns supreme. He quietly abandoned his role as the representative of Latin American tribes within the Earth Federation, driven by a calling to dedicate himself to the liberation of the Dark Lord and subjugation of all reality. After his sudden disappearance and resurfacing, he founded a mysterious, nameless cult skilled in his mastery of wizardry and dark magic.

Over time, their influence spread across South America, extending into the Amazon Rainforest. They recruited more followers with false promises, emotional manipulation, extensive brainwashing, and their distorted ideology. They also established a network of hideouts, each with its own specific purpose. Despite their growing presence, they continued to operate discreetly, attracting new followers to their ideology and gradually advancing their understanding and application of ancient technologies and mechanical innovations.

Believing it was time to officially cement their place in human history and make their presence known, Ptolemaios founded the Serapion Fellowship, while Anastasia assisted in restructuring the cult to better fit his ambitions. Anastasia informed Ptolemaios about a guerrilla force operating in Venezuela, comprised of highly skilled mercenaries and special agents. This group was involved in violent acts against citizens, raiding towns, and attempting to corrupt military personnel, while adhering to an extremist ideology influenced by Darwinism, sadomasochism, and militarism. Zoilo led the Theophylaktos Union, and his soldiers knew him as a fervent and outspoken follower of the Avatar of Evil. Seeing an opportunity to enhance the Serapion Fellowship's military capabilities, Ptolemaios discreetly met with Zoilo and formed a strategic alliance. This agreement enabled the integration of the Theophylaktos Union as the Serapion Fellowship's paramilitary force, substantially increasing their military strength and technological resources.

For the next few years, Ptolemaios and his organisation, or secret society as some called it, held significant influence over Latin America, shaping its political and religious landscape and contributing to its military and technological advancements. The Serapion Fellowship clashed with the Ikari Warriors, following Heidern’s decision to launch an attack based on intelligence from Clark and a group of mercenaries. This intelligence suggested suspicious activity in northern Latin America, including unexplained disappearances, assassinations of journalists, and the prominent presence of guerillas that had no ties to law enforcement and the military. The Serapion Fellowship was defeated and subsequently went into hiding, where they established a new compound, recruited more followers, and replenished their lost technology.

They became involved in weapons trafficking and formed an alliance with the Regular Army, which agreed to provide temporary support for their weapons development. As part of this agreement, the Serapion Fellowship received nuclear missiles, excavated Tuatha Dé Danann technology, hand explosives, and various firearms, marking the beginning of the Arms Deal Barrage. Once they formed an alliance with the Pipovulaj, their technological development skyrocketed, thanks to the expertise of Pupipi and numerous Martian technologists and roboticists. However, they suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the Regular Army's elite forces and a devastating betrayal by Rootmars. With no other choice, they returned to hiding, quickly reestablishing themselves as the Ptolemaic Army. Fortunately, they gained a formidable mercenary force, the Phantom Strike, and three powerful allies: Colonel Hilde Garn, Lieutenant Colonel Macba, and 1st Lieutenant Wired.

They were recovering from their significant loss and slowly expanded their influence to North America, South Africa, Europe, and East Asia. However, their military advancements suffered significant setbacks due to Eri's rebellion, which was supported by 30 members. Fortunately, with the aid of the Phantom Strike and Avatar of Evil, they were able to stop the rebellion, which was nearly decimated in the process. As a result of this rebellion, the Ptolemaic Army decided to adopt a low-profile strategy, biding their time until they were ready to implement their plan for global dominance. The Phantom Strike was able to provide significant support in their recovery from the setbacks caused by Eri's unexpected rebellion.

During the Great Morden War, upon hearing from the Phantom Strike about the Amadeus Syndicate's remarkable scientific and technological advancements, they formed a strategic alliance that furthered their military progress. The Ptolemaic Army also became a reliable contributor to the harvesting of ancient technology and a provider of military services for the Amadeus Syndicate. Following the Great Morden War, the Ptolemaic Army planted double agents, including Dilovar, within the Regular Army. They were tasked to gather crucial intelligence on their operations, manufacturing facilities, and other potentially valuable information that could aid their future plans.

The Ptolemaic Army operates with secrecy, keeping their true objectives concealed from outsiders. Despite possessing advanced technology, they prioritise achieving Ptolemaios' goals through supernatural means and mysterious practices. They specialise in espionage, sabotage, guerrilla warfare, incursions, and arcane disciplines. Due to their tendency to repurpose excavated, borrowed, and stolen technology, often branding it as "Ver. P.M." (Version Ptolemaium Mekhanos), they’re frequently referred to as a "scavenging army" by various militaries.

Insignia

It features a silver-white shield with a sharp, eared top and an angular bottom, all outlined in jonquil. At its centre, a downward-hanging, stylized jaguar paw is depicted with each toe tipped with a black claw. The paw is flanked by open, simplistic crimson bat-like wings. Above the shield's eared top, a turquoise sun rises from the horizon, emitting ten rays of red-orange light.

Cult Sects

Sect of the Celestial Serpents

Believers belong to the first established sect of the Ptolemaic Army: the Sect of the Celestial Serpents. They're enigmatic cultists who oversee the Ptolemaic Army's affairs and strategic operations from behind the scenes. The Sect of the Celestial Serpents is predominantly comprised of female members, and many of them seem to be entertained by the morally questionable actions of the masked soldiers.

They adhere to a dual deity doctrine, strictly worshipping both the Avatar of Evil and Sol Dae Rokker. They view the worship of only one deity as sacrilegious, believing both to be of equal importance in the universe. Those who fail to acknowledge both deities aren't tolerated. Instead, they're reassigned to either the masked soldiers or paramilitary forces. Reconciliation is possible, but only if the individual actively begins worshipping both deities and atones for their perceived mistake.

Unlike the masked soldiers, they're the most down-to-earth, yet coldly distant from the rest of the Ptolemaic Army. They primarily focus on their cult's activities and maintain distance from the paramilitary forces whenever possible. However, they'll engage with them if a critical issue arises that requires their attention or if they have a close family member serving within those ranks. They abstain from participating in booze-filled and intensely sexual orgies as well as the Ptolemaic Army's breeding program because of their adherence to a strict rule of celibacy. However, Anastasia and Ptolemaios only sanction sexual intercourse and breeding exclusively within the context of marriage where both partners uphold marital fidelity.

Sect of the Horned Beasts

The masked soldiers, also known as shamans, comprise the second and final established sect of the Ptolemaic Army: the Sect of the Horned Beasts. They assist believers in orchestrating key events that facilitate the Ptolemaic Army's objectives. Additionally, they oversee military expansion, the slave pens, and the breeding program, ensuring the legacy of the Ptolemaic Army remains robust and resilient. They serve as caretakers, responsible for training children born into or recruited by the Ptolemaic Army, indoctrinating them as cultists and soldiers. Additionally, they sometimes engage in procreation to produce new cultists and soldiers, which also serves to maintain their own sexual vitality. They rarely engage in combat, but will intervene when defending themselves or when the paramilitary forces are failing badly.

The Sect of the Horned Beasts is primarily composed of male members, and some appear to be embittered towards the believers, although the reasons for this are unclear. They strictly follow the Avatar of Evil, but they also recognize and respect Sol Dae Rokker, designating him as the serpentine and sunny aspect of their main idol.

They appear to be indifferent towards the paramilitary forces, but exhibit a friendly and affectionate demeanour when interacting with fellow cultists and their favoured fighters. Some cult members have been observed displaying a parental-like affection towards favoured fighters and newly indoctrinated recruits. However, most cult members are fervent in their beliefs, displaying brutal zealotry by slaughtering non-believers or subjecting them to flaying, which they justify as punishment for perceived willful ignorance.

They frequently participate in orgies characterised by binge drinking and uninhibited sexual activity. Notably, illicit drugs are strictly prohibited from these gatherings as they're seen as hindrances to both procreation and the social excitement that these events are intended to foster. They're strong advocates for fertility, believing that it's a sin against creation for individuals to reject sex and fail to contribute to the propagation of a new generation. Their ideology also holds that men are sexually superior to women, viewing women as vessels for bearing new offspring. However, they emphasise that both men and women share equal responsibility for raising and educating their children.

Uniforms

Believer Uniforms

Believers wear ground-touching, flowing robes with medium-length bell sleeves, a buttonless opening, and a triangular single vent. Their attire includes black fingerless gloves, silver-grey wristbands, and pristine gauze covering their forearms. They don a hood shaped like an eagle's head, complete with a short cape that has a central, split opening and reaches just below the breasts. The hood is secured above the collarbone with an eye-shaped, polished turquoise button featuring an amethyst iris, an obsidian pupil, and two decorative braided leather stripes tipped in silver aiguillettes. Their outfit is adorned with gold outlines along the hems of the hood, short cape, robe, and sleeves, while the eagle beak portion of the hood and the interior of their robes are crimson.

Women wear a sleeveless peplos, made from heavy wool and falling to their mid-thigh. The peplos is cinched with a jaguar fur waistband, paired with knee-length palazzo pants and azurite-hued paratrooper boots. Men wear a sleeveless, knee-length silk chiton cinched with a puma fur waistband, paired with ankle-length tobi pants tucked into malachite-hued paratrooper boots. 

They wear dark metal masks with two half-shut openings that reveal glowing red eyes. Two golden lines run down the centre of each eye slit to the jawline. Wearing these masks grants the users unique psionic-based powers. They have the ability to quickly phase in and out for one minute, after which they require a physical recharge or they'll become dizzy and nauseous. They can generate a large, yellowish-white orb with their mind, which shoots lightning bolts at nearby enemies for 30 seconds. They earn a special ability called the Wall of Trials, which enables the user to summon a massive stone monolith from the sky to block attacks and crush enemies. They can easily transform into spiders, llamas or owls for five minutes. They possess pulse vision for target acquisition, allowing them to see the rhythmic beating of their heart and the disturbance in their aura. The mask strangely alters their voice, imbuing it with a sinister yet melodic tone when they speak.

Master believers are high-ranking members of the Sect of the Celestial Serpents, reporting directly to Anastasia and Ptolemaios. They assist with overseeing daily operations and administrative tasks. Only men have held this position. They don pearlescent white robes, a cochineal red chiton, and yellow ochre tobi pants. A Mexican coyote skin, minus the head and legs but retaining the tail, hangs from their right shoulder. They wield a high-powered Laser Gun, modified to emit a wider laser beam that increases its range and damage output.

Elite believers are high-ranking members who have earned their position through merit. They primarily serve as workers in the fields of medicine, science, and archaeology. They don Mayan blue robes, a lapis lazuli peplos and chiton, indigo palazzos and tobi pants, silvery leather sheath for their ceremonial dagger. A peccary skin, minus the head and tail but retaining the legs, hangs from their left shoulder. They wield handguns with a design similar to the .44 Auto Mag pistol (AMP), which fire floating projectiles called Curse Balls. These projectiles paralyse enemies for ten seconds and cause their skin to become covered in a black vein-like pattern.

Soldier believers are the common members of the Sect of the Celestial Serpents, and only the most capable can join. Despite being trained fighters and specialised spies, they also serve as record-keepers. They don jade robes, a grey-green peplos and chiton, sage-hued palazzos and tobi pants, and silvery leather sheath for their combat knife. They utilise a variety of special weapons, which they have either obtained or stolen from the Regular Army.

Guardian believers serve as the close protectors of Ptolemaios and his deputies, ensuring their safety and security at all times. Only women are eligible, and they undergo rigorous and extensive military training, making them the most skilled and formidable fighters compared to soldier believers. They don Spanish orange robes, a fulvous peplos, and cinereous palazzo pants. They wield sniper rifles resembling the Sniper Rifle from Metal Slug 3D, but with a modified design that fires explosive bullets, making them effective against enemy vehicles.

Masked Soldier Uniforms

All members wear a hood with a short cape that has a blunt tip. The cape falls to just below the breast in the front and above the waist in the back. They also wear ankle-length chalk white silk robes featuring long, bell-shaped sleeves and two slits that extend up to the hips. They wear a sash tied with a box knot near the left hip with the ends extending down to the knee. Additionally, they wear a gold-buckled leather belt positioned above the sash, cinched around the waist. It serves to secure a gun holster for their lightweight Martian ray guns, which shoot floating homing projectiles that vaporise enemies called Cursed Balls, and a sheath for their ceremonial dagger.

They wear simple pauldrons made of gilt-brass, secured by black leather straps with golden buckles that form an X-shape across their chest and upper back. They have two armbands: a left-side armband indicating their position within the Sect of Horned Beasts and a right-side armband bearing the Ptolemaic Army insignia. Their attire also includes midnight blue fingerless gloves and waist-length, camouflage-patterned cargo pants, tucked into spike-soled combat boots.

They all wear similar masks to the believers, but theirs are silver-white, lack gold lines, and feature a silver horizontal line crossing the upper parts of the eye openings. Like the believers, masked soldiers are granted psionic-infused abilities when wearing their masks. It enables them to summon two blue lightning bolts at a time to strike and incapacitate their enemies. They can manifest shadowy, bat-like wings from their backs, stretching twice their height, which grant them flight and swift evasion from enemy attacks. They can teleport behind any person of their choice to ambush them and camouflage by imitating the environment's colours for three minutes. Additionally, they possess two types of specialised vision: night vision for nighttime surveillance; and pulse vision for identifying and tracking down targets. The mask strangely alters their voice, imbuing it with a raspy yet eerily soothing tone when they speak.

The bloodied are standard members of the Sect of the Horned Beasts and frequently serve as pilots of Ptolemaic Saucers. They also act as superior military commanders, issuing Ptolemaios' military orders to the paramilitary forces. They wear a cardinal red hood and a Ptolemaic Army armband, accompanied by a vermilion sash, cinnabar combat boots, and cargo pants featuring a rosy brown, garnet, and redwood camouflage pattern. On their left arm, a rusty red armband bears a central horizontal reddish-black line.

The abyssal are elite members of the Sect of the Horned Beasts, serving as guards for their compounds and hideouts. They frequently accompany the bloodied and specialise in infiltrating enemy operations to steal machinery and harvest organs. They wear a gunmetal hood and a Ptolemaic Army armband, accompanied by a black bean sash, charcoal combat boots, and cargo pants featuring a taupe grey, timberwolf, and feldgrau camouflage pattern. On their left arm, a dim grey armband bears two central horizontal black lines.

The verdant are high-ranking members of the Sect of the Horned Beasts, renowned for their expertise in ancient technology. They possess advanced skills in modern computer science, enabling them to craft viruses that extract valuable data and execute sophisticated computer hacking operations. They wear an emerald hood and a Ptolemaic Army armband, accompanied by a viridian sash, phthalo green combat boots, and cargo pants featuring a celadon, olivine, and asparagus camouflage pattern. On their left arm, an apple green armband bears three central horizontal greenish-black lines.

The cursed are high-ranking members of the Sect of the Horned Beasts, responsible for rallying Ptolemaic Army troops during intense counter-offensives and defensive operations. Additionally, they serve as combat instructors and play a key role in initiating rituals dedicated to the Avatar of Evil. They wear a grape purple hood and a Ptolemaic Army armband, accompanied by a purpureus sash, palatinate combat boots, and cargo pants featuring a languid lavender, thistle, and periwinkle camouflage pattern. On their left arm, a Byzantium armband bears four central horizontal purplish-black lines.

Commander Uniforms

They're high-ranking officers who command the bulk of the Ptolemaic Army's paramilitary forces, coordinating airstrikes and ambushes. They work closely with the masked soldiers, executing military orders on behalf of Ptolemaios and his cult. However, they rarely engage in direct combat, typically retreating once orders have been issued. They primarily use their handguns for self-defense and aren't always the most skilled at melee combat. However, a few of them are equipped with Gatling guns, the same ones used by the Rebel Army. For mysterious reasons, they all seem to be durable enough to handle ten to twenty 7.62mm bullets and have enough stamina to perform multiple jumps in quick succession.

They wear a Cambridge blue jacket adorned with the Ptolemaic Army insignia embroidered on the back, gilded epaulettes, breast pockets, and a notched collar. The jacket has a bronze five-button front and blood red cuffs edged with metallic purple piping. They wear a gold-buckled black belt cinched slightly below the waist, equipped with a gun holster for their semiautomatic pistol and a sheath for their taser. Two tanned leather pouches, one on each side of the front area of the belt, hold ammunition for their choice of pistol. They wear a snow white dress shirt underneath their jacket, a navy blue cravat, and annatto gloves. Their attire is completed with Cambridge blue army cargo pants, which are tucked into muddy brown combat boots secured with bluish-black laces.

Guerrilla Uniforms

They're outfitted for field operations and often encountered outdoors. They prefer close-quarters combat and have access to knives, machetes, and riot shields. Their ranged arsenal consists of pistols, submachine guns, bazookas, mortars, and mines. The standard strategy is to set up ambushes, either quickly closing in for melee or saturating the kill zone with firepower. They're often seen piloting Jet Hammer-Yangs, Hover Units, and mechanized Units. Compared to Rebel Infantrymen, they have better combat experience, enabling them to handle more powerful equipment and even command ground troops when necessary.

All guerrillas wear an olive drab headwrap and a sleeveless serge shirt, featuring a black eight-button front, a sailor-style collar, and two breast pockets. They wear a Kevlar vest underneath their sleeveless shirt, battleship grey gloves, and black tactical goggles with clear lenses that strangely seem to obscure their eyes from view. They don two rust-coloured bandoliers that form an X, holding ammunition for their pistol, submachine gun or both. Their army cargo pants, featuring a U.S. Woodland camouflage pattern, are tucked into spike-soled raw umber combat boots. Their pants are held up by a greenish-brown belt with bronze snap-on buckle and a sheath for their combat knife.

Men wear crimson T-shirts and bandana face masks, while women wear navy blue ones. They wear a drop leg holster for their pistol and a cinereous armband featuring the insignia of the Ptolemaic Army. They carry greenish-brown load-bearing backpacks, which contain essential supplies for survival and outdoor operations, including food rations, camping gear, and tactical maps.

Bazooka guerrillas are required to carry a long-range bazooka, and have their backpacks packed with explosive ammunition and canisters that release a misty purple cloud to disorient enemy forces. When not using the bazooka, they're known for being capable of rapid and precise knife swings.

Mortar guerrillas are equipped with modified mortars, enabling faster and longer-range firing. When not using their mortar, they employ alternative tactics, including submachine gun fire, mine deployment or rapid, slashing attacks with their combat knife or machete.

Shielded guerrillas are required to carry sturdy riot shields made of light gray metal with a black bulletproof, one-way glass window. They prefer to use machetes for close combat and pistol fire for long-range engagements. They're known for harshly bashing their enemies and decorating their riot shields with crudely painted animal scratch marks.

Sniper Uniforms

They're unmasked guerrillas who are skilled in marksmanship and establish concealed firing positions to eliminate targets undetected. These positions are often hidden in bushes or beneath wooden crates. Typically working in pairs, they utilise black headsets for long-range communication. Specialising primarily in assassination, they're frequently hired by commanders and the cult to eliminate high-priority targets. These guerrillas are adept at stealth, slowly inching forward to gain a better view of their enemy while remaining concealed. They're often seen piloting Hover Vehicles.

They wear the same attire as their field guerrilla counterparts, but with a sienna waist pack stocked with ammunition for their rifle, compensating for the lack of bandoliers. Notably, their rifles differ from those of Rebel riflemen, boasting a higher rate of fire and featuring modified scopes for enhanced accuracy. Their bolt-action rifle closely resembles a fusion between the M1903 Springfield and Japanese Type 99 Arisaka. Their headwraps and sleeveless serge shirts are field drab, their T-shirts are mossy green, their combat boots are black, their army cargo pants have an Airman Battle Uniform camouflage pattern, and they wear no gloves and tactical goggles. They don an Improved Outer Tactical Vest (IOTV), which shares the exact same camouflage pattern as their cargo pants.

Special Forces Uniforms

They're outfitted for urban operations and often encountered indoors. Their attire allows them to blend in with their environment while psychologically intimidating their enemies. As masters of concealment and ambush, they frequently attack unsuspecting targets in choke points or strike from their hiding spots. As skilled engineers, they're frequently tasked with vehicle maintenance. However, when performing engineer work, they're unequipped for combat and will instantly flee if engaged. Their arsenal includes throwing daggers, pistols, grenades, rolling bombs, and mines. With a minimal loadout, they're able to sprint faster than other soldiers. They're also often seen piloting Hover Units and riding motorcycles.

They wear military-grade smoky black jumpsuits and gas masks, styled similarly to 1939 Finnish civilian gas masks. These masks extend to their collarbone and feature red-tinted lenses. They wear charcoal gloves with a jonquil-outlined hem, combat boots featuring crimson soles, and silver-grey elbow and knee pads. Their attire is completed with a silver-buckled slate grey belt, adorned with a sheath for their combat knife and four golden brown pouches (two on each side) containing pistol ammunition. A wenge waist pack that's secured at the back of the belt holds throwing daggers. Their additional gear includes a drop leg holster for their pistol and a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a camouflage pattern of eerie black, Nardo grey, and charcoal. They carry brownish-black load-bearing backpacks, which contains grenades, rolling bombs, and mines.

Special forces bikers are required to be skilled in motorised vehicles and operate the same Micka Horn and Thunder Moto motorbikes as the Rebel Army, but with a green, grey, and black colour scheme. Notably, the sidecar of the Thunder Moto is equipped with rocket turrets, rather than housing an additional soldier.

Special forces divers are equipped with specialised gear for underwater operations, including swimming suits, breathing apparatuses, and harpoon guns. Notably, their equipment bears a strong resemblance to that used by the Special Forces in Metal Slug 5.

Vehicles

Combat

Terrain Carrier (discontinued)

Tani Oh (discontinued)

Iwa Oh

Screamer

Metal Rear

Ptolemaic Slug

Black Hound

Units

D-001 Tanbal

Support

Ptolemaic Armored Truck

A.P.C.

Gaia Elephant

Land Blowfish

Rock Mole

Aerial

R-Shobu Ver. P.M.

Flying Tara Ver. P.M.

Eaca-B

Ptolemaic VTOL

Ptolemaic Zeppelin (discontinued)

Ptolemaic Blimp (discontinued)

Ptolemaic Rocket (discontinued)

Rocket UFO (discontinued)

Hover Unit

Hover Vehicle

Ptolemaic Saucer

Shooting Ray

Marine

Weapons Port

Ptolemaic Submarine (discontinued)

Vigilance

Sand Marine

Ptolemaic Train (discontinued)

Electromagnetic Crane (discontinued)

Big Bertha (discontinued)

Ancient Technology

Stone Turtle

Borrowed Tech

Girida-0 Ver. P.M.

Di-Cokka Ver. P.M.

MH-6S Ver P.M.

Nop-03 Sarubia Ver. P.M.

Landseek Ver. P.M.

Ptolemaic Mini-Sub 88

Augensterm Ver. P.M.

Jet Hammer-Yang

Special Weaponry

Borrowed Tech

Sensor Mine

Vigilance

Wall Drone

Ancient Technology

Quadro Jumper

D-Gu

Bioweapons

Cyclobster

Mutated Soldiers

Jellyfishes

Squids

Extra Information

Members of the Ptolemaic Army are commonly known as “Ptoles”, much to Ptolemaios’ displeasure because he finds the name diminishes the greatness of his followers.

When new members join, they are subjected to extensive indoctrination and love bombing by the masked soldiers. This process involves isolation from others for a short period, typically in the Soursop Jungle or one of their secret hideouts on the outskirts of society. Alternatively, new members may undergo brainwashing during thorough interrogation, but this method is only employed in cases where the Ptolemaic Army is desperate for recruitment. As part of the initiation ritual, new members are required to consume the raw heart of a deceased baby goat in the name of the Dark Lord and drink Ptolemaios' blood from a wine glass. Most cultists and soldiers undergo a blessing from the Avatar of Evil, granting them strong resistance to fear and extreme numbness to physical pain. However, deputies are exempt from this process because Ptolemaios believes their fearlessness and physicality already surpasses that of average mortals.

Only a select few are aware of Ptolemaios' true plans and whereabouts, including his deputies, devoted believers, masked soldiers, and high-ranking members of the Phantom Strike. Acting as Ptolemaios' messengers, the masked soldiers and deputies convey orders to commanders and their respective paramilitary units, outlining the actions they're expected to take.

All believers and masked soldiers must form a pact with the Avatar of Evil, sacrificing a body part to unlock a unique, psionic-infused ability. This ritual is believed to deepen their spiritual connection with their idol. They're also required to operate in hideouts that appear normal but serve as indoctrination and ritualistic sites. These sites are used to recruit new followers for the Ptolemaic Army and perform dark rituals involving chanting, sea salt, gemstones, and human and animal organs.

Every 16 years, a young masked soldier is chosen to be sacrificed, a tradition begun by Anastasia and sanctioned by Ptolemaios, to appease the Avatar of Evil and avoid catastrophic misfortune. Every 20 years, an older believer is selected for sacrifice, believed to bring blessings of success and fortune to the Ptolemaic Army.

The paramilitary forces are primarily divided between followers of the Avatar of Evil and Sol Dae Rokker. Although, there are rare instances where they reject both deities and instead pledge allegiance solely to Ptolemaios' rule.

There are palpable tensions between the cult and the paramilitary forces. While the believers generally keep to themselves and avoid interfering with the paramilitary's affairs, they will intervene when the masked soldiers' actions become excessively brutal. The masked soldiers, in turn, treat the paramilitary forces with indifference and disgust, often referring to them as idiotic cattle and even killing them when their requests are considerably reasonable. They show no restraint in desecrating the corpses, removing organs for use in twisted rituals, and committing heinous acts of sexual assault to assert their dominance or subjugate and perpetuate the Ptolemaic Army's legacy. The paramilitary forces either harbour great disdain for the inhumane treatment they receive from the masked soldiers or are absolutely terrified of them. Despite their desire for respect, they never dare to rebel against their oppressors, fearing a futile resistance would only lead to a dishonourable death.

They're involved in weapons, narcotics, and human trafficking to generate funds, indoctrinate followers, and advance military capabilities.

They own "slave pens" that hold adolescent girls and adult women, comprising both official Ptolemaic Army paramilitary soldiers and coerced individuals. These captives are exploited for forced breeding, aiming to produce children who can be moulded into future cultists and soldiers. In certain cases, these individuals may become members of the Ptolemaic Army, bypassing the standard initiation ritual due to their enslaved status.

Unlike most other militaries, they don't have a single, centralised base of operations. Instead, they maintain multiple bases that serve various purposes, including recruitment, rituals, and strategic planning. Within specific regions, they have established central hubs referred to as "compounds" (e.g. the Osaka compound).

[wombywoo]

Are there other characters within Quinn and Vincent's world? And sorry if I missed it, but have you talked about the role of non-humans in the military? The piece you made with some of their documents was really interesting, but especially from a worldbuilding perspective!

hihi yes! I do have a bunch of characters in mind for this universe already 😙 There are several members of their military unit (perhaps a secret werewolf 🤫), as well as Quinn's dad and sister, his former squad mate, a problematic ex, Vincent's geriatric bff, evil past acquaintances, etc... I'm still trying to piece everything together but it's been fun so far 🤙

As for the role of non-humans in the military--it was a recent development, alongside the integration of said 'abhuman' people into modern society. Quinn's unit is specifically committed to combating supernatural threats, so Vincent was taken on as a sort of field consultant--he has intimate expertise on the subject, as well as heightened senses/reflexes/strength etc (plus he's a veteran ☝️). Naturally, there had been a fair amount of opposition to allowing this in the first place (due to preconceived notions that all vampires are inherently dangerous), but after witnessing him in the field, I think no one can dispute the effectiveness of Vincent's unique skillset 💅 slay, quite literally

[ddarker-dreams]

lock!!! I need ur thoughts on Wriothesley

holding myself hostage to not go on another panopticon tangent

wriothesley has piqued my interest!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the underwater prison in particular adds so many unique possibilities to him as a yandere. one of my absolute favorite horror experiences is the game soma, with its decrepit submarines and the intense claustrophobia from being stuck underwater... i find the ocean terrifying. like wtf is going on down there. what is a leviathan. why are giant sea beasts mentioned consistently throughout so many ancient cultures. Why are there noises picked up in the ocean that cannot be sourced. why are anglerfish. why why why.

as it relates to yan wriothesley — the fortress of meropide would have a subjugating presence that rivals his. creaking metal vents, dripping pipes, the all-consuming scent of saltwater and rust; running back to his arms would be a temptation. it'd play an integral role to ensuring your cooperation. wriothesley doesn't demand complete submission. he knows human nature, the tenacity sentience imbues, for better or for worse. he doesn't see the appeal in dampening the flames that burn within you. he'd rather build a perimeter around it that'll keep the fire from spreading and burning too hot.

total transparency isn't how he operates, though. he'll clue you in, build the maze you're to navigate, but won't hand over the blueprints. you're free to traverse the fortress as you please. you can talk to whoever you want, say whatever you want, such is your prerogative. at first, you can't help but find him naively arrogant. he might be "the duke," but even he must have limitations.

or so you think.

the vacant areas that guards seemingly overlook wind and stretch for miles. each step diminishes your hope, little by little. will your provisions last? do you really have the expertise to pull off a successful dive and ascent? why did a prudent man such as wriothesley leave a potential escape route unobstructed? these doubts are weights that drag you down, and, inevitably, back to where he waits.

this leaves pleading your case to your fellow inmates or the guards. the first time you try, it's a rush of adrenaline, stumbling over your words just in case he'd come dragging you back at a moment's notice. this incoherent accusation of his grace forging false evidence to keep you here, in the depths where he'd like you, doesn't go as you dreamed. you're either met with awkward apprehension or outright ignored. in the case of the former, it's safe to assume they think you're having a break from reality. the latter is worse, more cruel; they can see where you're coming from and elect to do nothing about it. why should they endanger themselves for your sake? it's a dog-eat-dog world in the fortress.

defeated and humiliated, you return to the administrative area 'willingly.' there he waits, the door unlocked to show he anticipated your return, leisurely sipping his tea. he isn't angry, bitter, or vicious. he just simply asks,

"did you have a nice chat?"