#like if the premise of your existence is that no one should be as powerful as you and therefore you should in theory be able to beat

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

I think something that's fascinating in the AI discussion is how non-creatives perceive AI versus how many creatives perceive AI.

For example, years before AI was a thing--I spoke with someone about my creative writing projects and they expressed to me how they found it unfathomable that I could just make up entire worlds far removed from our reality of existence. To them, it was like magic.

To me, it was the culmination of countless hours spent playing with words until they flowed into semi-coherent lines of thought and emotion. I remember being ten years old and laboring away on my "biggest" novel project ever--it was 5k words full of singular sentence-long paragraphs and garbled heaps of grammar atrocities to the English language.

If I hadn't written it, I wouldn't have come to learn how to create the basic foundations of a story.

But I do get the "it's magic" sentiment a bit--I'm that way with music. Theoretically, I understand the components of a music composition but it feels like magic to see a musician that can listen to a tune for the first time and play it perfectly due to years of honing in their craft.

That's the premise of that quote from Arthur C. Clarke: "Magic's just science we don't understand yet."

When it comes to anything we don't have countless hours of experience with, it feels like magic. It feels like something that's outside of our feeble human capabilities. It's not until we start to put in the time to learn a skill that it becomes more attainable inside our heads.

Generative AI presents a proposition to the non-creative: "What if you could skip past the 'learning process' and immediately create whatever art of your choosing?"

It's instant dopamine. In a world that preys upon our ever-decreasing attention spans and ways of farming short spikes of dopamine, was it ever a surprise that generative ai would be capitalized in this fashion?

So for the non-creative, when they use generative AI and see something resembling their prompt, it feels good. They are "writing" stories, they are "making" art in ways they could never do with their lack of skills.

(It is, in fact, really cool that we have technology that can do this. It's just incredibly shitty that it's exploitative of the human artists whose works were taken without permission as well as its existence threatening their livelihoods.)

What I think is equally concerning as the data scraping of generative ai is the threat that AI imposes on the education of the arts. More and more, you see an idea being pushed that you don't need knowledge/experience in how to create art, all you need to do is feed prompts into generative ai and let it do the "work" for you.

Generative AI pushes the idea that all art should be pristine, sleek and ready for capitalism consumption. There is no room for amateur artists struggling like foals to take their first steps in their creative journeys. We live in a world where time is money and why "waste" time learning when you can have instant success?

It's a dangerous concept because presents a potential loss in true understanding of how art works. It obscures it and makes it seem "impossible" to the average person, when art is one of the freest forms of expressions out there.

It's already happening--Nanowrimo, the writing challenge where the entire point was writing 50k original words in a single month regardless of how pretty it looked--coming out and saying that it is ableist and classist to be opposed to AI is the canary in the coalmine of what's to come.

For the non-creatives who enjoy the generative ai, it feels like a power fantasy come to life. But for creatives concerned about generative ai?

We're living in a horror movie.

[teamironmanforever]

You know something I never quite understood? Anakin was supposed to be the chosen one, the strongest Jedi ever, and yet, all 3 times Obi wan fought with him (really fought, not as training but with the aim to kill), Obi wan one each and every time and I am not counting the time Vader dragged him thru the fire because Obi wan was supressing his jedi powers and literally was UNABLE to fight so that doesn't count for the purposes of what I am explaining. Had he cared for Anakin less, had he had the heart to kill him, literally all the movies could have been avoided. Vader lived because Obi-Wan willed it so.

Even their last battle, Obi-wan didn't lose but rather allowed Vader to kill him to a) buy luke and Leia time and b) because he knew he actually could gain a lot of power as a force ghost.

I am not sure what my point here is - I guess I just don't understand why there's this whole mythology around anakin in the fandom in general when, at every turn Obi wan, who is not supposed to be particularly special beyond his unwavering ability to remain good and just no matter the circumstance and therefore the perfect jedi, is able to beat him each and every time.

[innuendostudios]

New Alt-Right Playbook, regarding the minimization of power imbalances with "enh, it's not SO bad."

If you like this and my other work, do please back me on Patreon and/or watch me on Nebula.

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, you and some other folks have gotten embroiled in a debate about the use of content warnings. One side has put forth the usual case: some people have trauma or anxiety disorders, and giving them a heads up about common triggers lets them make informed decisions about how to engage with a piece of media. They aren’t always looking to walk out, even, just to avoid a panic attack by having a few moments to prepare themselves. And this is often better for everyone as more people can appreciate the work itself and the discourse doesn’t derail into another discussion about whether it should’ve had a content warning.

And then someone from the other side of the debate says, in all seriousness (and I remind you this is about whether or not people should put a single sentence at the beginning of a video, the start of a game, outside the door of a theatre), “Can’t you just, like, have your panic attack? I mean, this isn’t life and death.”

The discussion quickly and predictably devolves from there into people who have panic attacks trying to explain how miserable they are, and how comparatively simple putting up a content warning is, and you realize far too late that this whole conversation is missing the point. Because the “it’s not life and death” crowd? They never claimed they are more inconvenienced than the person having panic attack! Content warnings ain’t life and death either! They made no attempt to frame this tradeoff as fair or justified. Only that, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not so bad.

I call this Didoing.

(Relationship Discourse would call it The Tolerable Level of Permanent Unhappiness, which is a really powerful phrase, but I came up with Didoing and I’m keeping it.)

You see Didoing everywhere. Be as gay as you want, just don’t tell your commanding officer. Be trans if you must, but pee at home. Kink is fine, but keep it out of Pride. Drag is whatever, just not in front of children. Being a woman on the internet isn’t hard if you’re willing to block seventy thousand people and just use this service to scrub all your private information from the internet so men have a harder finding your home address. It’s eleven bucks a month! What, you can’t afford eleven bucks a month??!

And, yes, all these are minimizations, and, if you want, you can point that out. You can tell them what it’s like to get a Twitter DM threatening to murder your entire family using a quote from Mission: Impossible 3. Yeah, he’s probably not gonna do it! But it can still fuck up your day; the goal is to fuck up your day. But the “it’s not life and death” crowd won’t understand, not because they don’t care, but because they don’t care enough.

But even that is letting them control the conversation. You’re trying to stress the pain of a panic attack, the anxiety of a death threat, to emphasize a gulf of iniquity between their experience, as a person who does not deal with these things, and that of someone who does. As if, were the gulf smaller, it would be not so bad. In this, you have accepted their premise. Did you even catch what the premise was? That it’s okay for things to be unfair within a certain tolerance. That some people do and should take extra precaution just to exist in the world alongside the rest of us. That it’s okay for others to suffer for the convenience of the normals. Because it’s not so bad.

This is a bit different from how privilege usually works. The issue with content warnings - really, most things people Dido over - is that, if you are a person with triggers, it means other people can provoke a panic response in you against your will. The severity of that response is, frankly, immaterial: the point is, they have power over you, and, if you’re going to operate in this world as equals, you need their word that this power will not be invoked.

The usual move for people on the privileged end of a power imbalance is to deny the imbalance exists: “white privilege is a myth,” “there is no gender wage gap,” etc. etc. You would think, the greater the imbalance, the harder it is to deny, but it’s just the opposite: people Dido when the imbalance is small (or, at least, appears small in the eyes of the Didoer). It happens with content warnings, microaggressions; “no, I don’t get followed around Macy’s like I’m gonna steal something, but is that really so important? is this life and death? don’t you have bigger problems?” (Which is a funny thing to say, because, according to white privilege: no! The bigger problems don’t exist!)

Didoing is foundational to the privileged mindset, because it’s one scenario where they will admit to the Didoee, “yes, I do have power over you… and you should just let me have it.”

[communistkenobi]

i’d love to get your take on the physical geography/human geography “divide”. we spent a lot of time debating the merits of having both in my first year phd course and in my opinion as a physical geographer the opportunities for interdisciplinary collaboration far outweigh any of the issues with housing physical and social scientists together

my familiarity with this debate primarily comes from the academic discourse around the concept of the “Anthropocene” (ie the period in Earth’s history where human beings have made a measurable, global impact on the environment, almost always spoken about in the context of climate change). The way I’ve seen this term used is to argue that the period of the Anthropocene is collapsing the physical/human geography divide, that even if we could separate these disciplines in the past, we can no longer partition the environmental from the social.

I’m partial to critical interventions in this discourse (which is how I will answer your question) - that the ‘human impact’ we’re talking about is actually a function of colonialism, imperialism, and capitalism, not some abstract universal ‘human impact’. Modern human beings have existed on Earth for nearly two hundred thousand years, and human-made climate change has only occurred in roughly the last two centuries - a microscopic timeframe when talking about Earth’s climate. People in the Global South, in imperialized countries, and indigenous and Black peoples in settler colonies are not the classes who produce industrial levels of carbon emissions or wreak industrial-scale environmental devastation - that is the ruling class & the imperial states of the world. Hoelle & Kawa (2021) argue in Placing the Anthropos in Anthropocene that we should call it the plantationocene or capitalocene, because human-made climate change is a function of specific historical and material processes, not some generalized, ahistorical "human impact." Likewise, "human impact" is an imprecise and colonial definition of human involvement with the environment, which dismisses Indigenous peoples' complex and highly sophisticated relationships with what are understood by the Western world to be "pristine environs" (arising from the doctrine of terra nullius, or empty land, which justified colonial expansion into the American continent because there was "no civilization there") such as the Amazon Rainforest, which should be understood as a human-made ecological system the same way we understand farmlands to be human-made (see Roosevelt's 2014 The Amazon and the Anthropocene: 13,000 Years of Human Influence in a Tropical Rainforest).

therefore I think it's productive to think of the divide between the physical and the human geographies as a colonial framework, or at least one that is deeply implicated in colonial thinking - it positions the environment as an ‘object’ terrain that ‘subjects’ are situated on top of, as opposed to understanding human beings as part of nature. This is part of the logic that relegates Indigenous people to the status of animals ("savages"), as "part of" nature, while human 'subjects', ie white bourgeois Europeans, are separated from nature (see Quijano's 2000 Coloniality of Power, Eurocentrism, and Latin America). This type of thinking is attributed to climate change-denialism in fascist circles (see Acker's 2020 What Could Carbofascism Look Like?), whose denialism is premised on a settler colonial understanding of the environment as a resource to be dominated and extracted from - the environment has no agency in this framework, no ability to react to the violence of colonial extraction, it is a purely inert economic resource. Likewise, this psychical/human divide obfuscates the fact that historical processes like colonialism are also environmental processes. In North America, the genocides of indigenous peoples carried out by European settlers over the past five centuries have been so monumental that the resulting reduction in carbon dioxide output by human bodies is measurable in the geological record (see Hoelle & Kawa again). The environmental devastation of silver mining in South America led by Spanish colonizers, and the resulting misery inflicted on colonized peoples forced to conduct this mining (see Galeano's 1971 The Open Veins of Latin America) was foundational to the forming of the modern Spanish nation-state, who imported so much stolen silver into Europe that they crashed their own economy (see chapter 3 of Perry Anderson’s 1974 Lineages of the Absolutist State).

Likewise, efforts at environmental protections from Indigenous nations has resulted in unique advancements in the law, such as enshrining legal personhood on rivers, as was the case with the Whanganui River in Aotearoa (see Brierly et al's 2018 A geomorphic perspective on the rights of the river in Aotearoa New Zealand), or the forsaking of sovereign mining rights by the state in order to protect indigenous land claims for environmental protection, as was the case in Ecuador (see Gümplova's 2019 Yasuní ITT Initiative and the reinventing of sovereignty over natural resources). These are social, political, and legal efforts at environmental protection, done with an eye towards decolonization (or at the very least, decolonial policy regimes), and separating the environmental from the social in trying to understand this subject would be absurd.

And so the question of discipline specificity is obviously bound up in these debates, and the academic production of environmental scientists on the one hand and geographic social scientists on the other is part of the maintenance of that divide. Environmental protection policy requires specialised knowledge of the environments being protected, and that specialised knowledge likewise requires expertise in how state policy functions. And it has required decades and centuries of resistance and legal challenges for Indigenous people to be involved in these respective sites of knowledge production - all of this is bound up in debates about if we should keep the physical and human geographies separated. I think the example of medical doctors talking about “shit life syndrome” (ie the medical problems faced by people as a result of poverty and inequality) speaks to a consequence of the debates around disciplinary divides - most medical doctors are not social policy experts, it’s not their job to write legislation or policy programs, their job is to provide medical services to people, but they are nonetheless identifying in their supposedly separate discipline of medicine and human biology the harmful social outputs of capitalist societies, which is intense systemic poverty

[tossawary]

A handful of random thoughts about the "Ultraman: Rising", with some vague, marked spoilers here and there:

I like the fact that they didn't explain kaijus or where Ultraman came from. After so many superhero origin stories where we have to be slowly introduced to the existence of the supernatural, it's refreshing to get dropped in the middle of a "second-gen" (unclear how many generations of Ultramen exist in this universe so far) superhero's story. The movie isn't apologizing for its genre or its premise. It just goes, "Yeah, you know what a superhero is and what a kaiju is, so let's go already. No, we're not even really going to explain how Ultraman's powers work. That's not what this is about!!! It it about our protagonist's daddy issues!!! Keep up!!!"

If I think about the world building, I do have some questions, like who built the protagonist's fancy tech house that's also a superhero base, but it's not too important. I assume his dad built it and then moved out to give his kid space? OR: "Why do the kaijus seem to attack this place specifically?" This movie works mostly because it's like "this is classic superhero stuff and we're just not dwelling on the logistical setup too much"! It leaves you to fill in some blanks on your own or just suspend your disbelief, which works.

The pacing was a little weird in places and the movie does get a little ridiculous in parts, I'm never quite sure of what the capabilities of these characters are, but it's a superhero vs. kaiju animated movie and that's to be expected. I still enjoyed myself well enough.

A few of the character designs didn't super work for me, like the big-headed kid characters. The kaiju baby is maybe a little too cutesy, but she was very cute and I've forgiven them because they didn't shy away from babies being gross. (There is... A LOT of baby kaiju vomitting.)

I did really like some of the other character designs. I liked the protagonist's big nose and pierced ears and bangs falling in front of his sharp face; he looks like such a dirtbag pretty boy. I like the lean in the industry right now towards more stylized and geometric 3D character designs in general, because I think that the shapes are fun and they'll age better this way.

Dirtbag guy to single dad is a winning story formula, huh.

They did a lot of 2D-style effects in this movie that I thought looked fun. I dig that trend in the industry right now as well. Some of the scenes were a little clean, almost bare, in terms of environmental design, but the colors generally looked great. Some of the scenes were really bright and vibrant and pretty.

(Mild vague spoiler?) There's no romance in this movie, which was surprising when they definitely set up a female journalist in the position for a love interest. No, it's a "strangers to friendly acquaintances" relationship for them. The female journalist is also a single mother, which was interesting, because you don't get a whole lot of career-minded single mother love interests in animated movies.

(Unimportant spoiler:) She told the protagonist to his face that she thinks he has daddy issues. Not stated quite like that, of course, but it was pretty funny. She was also right about that.

The emotional focus in this film was instead about the protagonist, Kenji, repairing his relationship with his father and also taking care of the kaiju baby. Kenji's only friend and co-parent for a chunk of the movie is an AI assistant (Mina) his parents made.

(Unimportant spoiler:) Stumped by an issue, Kenji makes a frustrated comment about how maybe he should ask Siri instead. Shortly after, in response to a different statement, the AI assistant Mina makes a passive-aggressive comment about how maybe he should ask Siri instead. I found that pretty funny.

(Mild spoiler:) Ultraman in this universe is a known and popular superhero and has been for decades. At one point, the baby kaiju gets out into the city, and Kenji has to go get her before she gets hurt or hurts someone else, and he publicly tells her to "Come to Daddy." And this is overheard by a bunch of nearby civilians, who gasp loudly. It is quite funny. It doesn't really come up again, but even if that wasn't recorded, you just KNOW that the news and the internet went wild over that revelation. "Ultraman had a baby with Gigantron???!!!"

(Another mild spoiler:) At one point, Kenji asks the female journalist for some parenting advice, and she IMMEDIATELY asks him if he has a secret love child. (No one is quite sure why this baseball star suddenly came back to Japan from the U.S., as they don't know he's Ultraman.) Kenji denies it, but I'm pretty sure that she must still think that he does.

(Continuing:) Kenji's baby kaiju parenting struggles (along with his ego) are fucking up his baseball career, due to stress and lack of sleep and conflicting commitments. We aren't shown a lot of interactions with his team, but I desperately hope that he also asked a couple of his teammates for parenting advice or something, so that his team could also immediately assume that he has a secret love child.

Like, "Yeah, yeah, Kenji Sato's secret love child, we all know about it. The poor kid is really bad at hiding it. We're trying to keep it hidden from journalists for him, but the whole team knows he's a new dad, for sure." (They do not know that Kenji is Ultraman and the baby is a kaiju.)

All in all: this movie was fun! Very silly, but cute! I think that I might try to pick some other "Ultraman" shows or films out of the dozens that exist, and try some of those ones out. The property seems to exist in a similar vein as "Transformers" where Rule of Cool rules world building and canon is whatever the newest iteration wants it to be.

[theresattrpgforthat]

THEME: Monsters Protecting Themselves

Hello @fromreddit, I'm sorry but you must have tried to ask me a question while the inbox was closed! However, I'm finishing up on the most recent queue of questions, so I now have time to answer your request. Here we go!

Who’s the Monster Now?, by Solo RPG Voyager.

Who’s The Monster Now? is an RPG where players take control of the enemies in the fictional game of Scatterash. One of these players, however, will take control of someone known as the Streamer, a character who will play the main character of Scatterash, whose goal is to defeat all the bosses and win the game. Everyone else plays as those very boss monsters. However, they’ve become aware of the character’s existence and have prepared themselves to stop them at all costs.

The setting of this game is a video game, but the details of that video game are up to you, the table. This means that if you want to play fantasy monsters, urban monsters, or aliens, all should fit! The game uses pools of d4s that shrink depending on the numbers your monsters have in their stats. The game uses a roll-under mechanic with a threshold of 8, so the lower you roll, the better! If you roll too high, you have a BAD TIME, which can have dire consequences for your character.

The Skeletons, by Jason Morningstar.

Years fly by like dead leaves.  Everything is darkness.  Everything is silence. You stand vigilant before the sarcophagus without thought or breath-such is your compulsion. 

You do not remember your name and still you watch.  The flesh has fallen off your bones and still you watch. And then one day there is light and motion and you weigh your bearded axe and raise your shield, lusting for the fray, eager to measure your skill against these tomb-robbing children so full of blood. 

You’ll never be alive again, but in this moment-in the chaos between violation and destruction-you truly live, and you remember what you once were, and you taste the sun. 

The Skeletons flips the script on the classic dungeon crawl— here you play not the intruders, but the guardians, cursed to spend all of eternity defending a tomb. As time passes, both the tomb and its guardians will change. Ferocious battles are fought and won, and the skeletons slowly remember who and what they once were. Melancholy, introspective and spanning epochs, The Skeletons is unlike anything you’ve ever played.

The Skeletons comes with eight complete characters that the players will pick from when they sit down to play. Part of your game will involve learning more about who you are as you play, your memories being the only part of you that you can control. You check off different items during each encounter until you reach The Desecration, where your skeletons will finally be defeated - and laid to rest.

Bridge Trolls, by Melfy.

What fantastical problems befall you and your siblings as you struggle to run a bridge business? Deal with meddling adventurers, petty witches, dreadful bards trying to pay their toll with song, arsonist wizards and more!

One page with easy to understand rules and character creation & another page with tables for encounters and troublesome travellers.  

Bridge Trolls is a two-page game about protecting your bridge from unwanted travellers, either through brawn or wit. All of the players are siblings, and at the beginning of the game, you collaboratively create your home and the bridge that crosses it. The rules are reminiscent of Lasers & Feelings, with a higher Brawn meaning a lower Bluff and vice versa. It’s a simple game with an interesting premise - and it’s free!

Minions & Mayhem, by ignotus17.

Minions & Mayhem allows players to portray the servants of an ambitious Boss.  Define the boss with objectives, powers, and flaws.  Describe the lair, its location & strengths.  Assemble a Crew, a Party, a Horde, a Kabal, or a Cult.  Play to find out if the dark master can shape the world to their will.

Each session of Minions & Mayhem begins with the player characters receiving a mission from their boss. Over 12 or so sessions, you hope to complete your Boss’s wishes, whatever they may be. The Boss you design will grant you special boons and abilities that will help your monsters in specific areas. The rules are inspired by Blades in the Dark, so I know it’s probably not what you’re looking for, but I wanted to include it in the list because it matches pretty much everything else - and some folks might still want to check it out.

TROLLS, by Secret Hearth.

Trolls is a six page analog game of trampling, terrorizing, and evil-doing created for the 2019 Mega RPG jam.

Be Trolls. Pillage. Defend your den.  Take back the Black Wastes.

This is a 4-player game about the last clan of Trolls, defending their homeland from human invaders. The game cycles through three phases: pillaging, fortifying, and defending.

In the Pillaging phase, you try to earn as much contempt from terrorizing the villagers. In the Fortify phase, your trolls will first draw up a map of their den, and then spend their contempt to create measures and precautions that will help them in the final phase. In the Defending phase, a trio of heroes alive and attempt to move through your den in order to slay you. The Defending phase culminates in a battle, during which you will either perish, or succeed. Complete this cycle three times, and you have won the Black Wastes for the Trolls!

You might also want to look at…

No Sacrifice Without Blood, by hyphen artist.

B.B.E.G., by Maps N’ Quests.

Here, there, Be Monsters!, by wendi yu.

Worm Spring, by rpgnatalie.

[reccyls]

Surprise Bag 2024 Story (Prologue)

The April Fool's story from 2024. This is only the prologue, as the continuations are sold as story sales that I will not be purchasing. I do still think it is very funny, though.

The premise is a bodyswap, Ellis <> Jude and Elbert <> Alfons

Ever since I became a Fairytale Keeper, I like to think that my tolerance for the extraordinary has increased.

However, this latest happening in Crown far surpassed anything I had ever experienced.

"Jude": Good morning, Miss Kate. I'll make you happy today too.

Kate: ...Jude, did you... hit your head on something?

"Jude": Hm? Nope, I'm perfectly fine. Haven't hit my head on anything.

Kate: What happened to your usual terrible attitude?! Did you catch a cold? Are you injured? We have to go to the hospital now--

"Ellis": Tch, the hell is this?

"Jude": Ah, Jude. "Jude": Huh? Jude, why are you me?

"Ellis": I should be the one asking. Why the hell are you me?

Kate: Wha? Huh??

"Elbert": Ahha! Something terribly amusing seems to have happened, hasn't it?

Kate: Alf- Eh, Lord Elbert? Kate: Wait, so then is that 'Alfons' standing behind you...?

"Alfons": ...When I looked in the mirror, I became Al.

"Elbert": Being able to look at oneself from the point of view of an outsider truly is fascinating. "Elbert": Oh yes, El. Do speak more energetically. It's unsettling to hear myeslf sound so glum.

"Alfons": ...More energetically? ...I'll, try... "Alfons": ........Ahha.

"Elbert": I suppose that's my mistake for asking you to be more energetic.

Kate: Wait, just hold on a second. So what's happened is... Kate: ...Jude and Ellis, and then Lord Elbert and Alfons have swapped bodies!? Kate: What kind of ridiculous situation is this...!?

"Ellis": It's that goddamn doctor bastard's fault. I'll kill him.

---

Gathering the remainder of Crown, we questioned Roger about the circumstances. He let out an unrestrained laugh.

Roger: My bad, my bad. Who'd ever think that the results would pay off this quickly? Aren't I a genius?

Victor: Now's not the time, Roger! What did you do to cause this adorable- excuse me, very troubling situation?

Liam: Victor, you're not hiding your true feelings very well. Your words and face don't match at all.

Roger: I had the thought of swapping a cursed person with a normal person. That could lead to the curse transferring, couldn't it? So I was doing some research.

William: Your unquenchable thirst for knowledge is admirable indeed. But if that were the case, shouldn't you be experimenting with a cursed person and a normal human?

Roger: It'd be pretty dangerous for us if something went wrong while I was experimenting on a normal person, wouldn't it? I thought I'd test things out on these guys first.

Harrison: Just what do you think we are? We die just as easy as normal people, you know.

"Elbert": Let's toss that musclehead four-eyes into the Thames.

"Ellis": Yeah. Fix some stone weights to him and it'll be over quick.

Kate: Stop, stop! Don't say things like that wearing Elbert and Ellis's faces!

"Jude": But that's pretty amazing, Roger. I never thought that medicine like this could exist.

Liam: ...Jude being all soft is- nope, that's just weird!

Roger: Don't worry so much. Once I've collected enough data from you lot, I'll whip up an antidote. Roger: ........Once I've got an antidote, I can start testing on the others.

Harrison: ...You just said something awful, didn't you?

Roger: Don't know what you're talking about.

"Elbert": You're acting like you're in any position to bargain about turning us back? Pardon my French, but go die.

Harrison: Yikes... Uh, Liam? Hey, Liam, hey. Did he fall asleep?

"Jude": Sorry, I touched his head. I was curious about whether I could use Jude's power or not.

Roger: Huh, so the ability stays with the body. I really am a genius after all, aren't I?

(This isn't helping anymore...!)

Kate: A-anyway! Please make that antidote as soon as possible, Roger! Kate: ...Geez. What are we going to do if Her Majesty hears about this?

Roger: Well, I might end up getting fired... Roger: ...So it's up to you to watch over the lot of them to make sure nobody else finds out about this, little lady.

Kate: Huh? ...Roger? Wait!

"Ellis": Tch... Fuck it. Let him get kicked out.

"Jude": Ah, Jude, my body isn't used to--

"Ellis": *cough, cough*... Ellis. First thing we're doing is to start training so you can at least handle one cigar.

"Elbert": Hmm... with a face like this, I could get away with doing pretty much anything, don't you think?

"Alfons": ...Kate, is this spoon beautiful?

Kate: M-my poor sanity...!

[armouredgoblin]

In regards to my previous post about Fem Custodes

I have a few points to make If I made you mad. That's not my problem. I still hold the opinion that they should not be a thing due to 30+ years of lore stating that they have always been men. I have heard a few arguments.

"Its always been political"

Well yes but actually no. Internally it has its own set of politics depending on which faction you look at. You can have politics that are separate to the real world. A good example of that outside of the Warhammer Universe is Helldivers.

Helldivers developers Arrowhead decided that they would not put anything that would represent the real world beyond the fact that humans exist. They rejected putting things such as rainbow capes and country based capes because it would take away from the actual internal lore and would cause division in the community.

The people that want these things tend forced into the media/lore to be the people who wont actually play it because they never wanted it in the first place.

"Its just a small change what's the harm?"

Its a step. One small step towards creating female space marines. If you can make custodes gene seeds work in woman; then you can make the space marine ones work in them too because who cares any more?.

Its an active attempt at slowly moving the Warhammer universe and turning it into the grey sludge that only appeals to the "Modern Audience" filled with the political messages that only goes one way.

I wanted to enjoy the lore as an experience separate to my own existence. I want to use this as an escape of this work but I am seeing it slowly being infiltrated and ruining the immersion.

"There isn't enough representation in Warhammer40k"

Who the fuck wants to be represented in the universe that is basically one constant war. Were the standard imperial guardsmen (of which contain both genders) eat what is called "corpse starch".

To be fair in the spotlight there is mostly the Space Marines which is an all male team of genetically altered super humans (the Custodes are further up that chain and are seen as even more powerful than the average Space Marine). Space Marines are barely recognisable as humans due to the effect of the gene seed.

However if people actually looked they would find there is plenty of representation within Warhammer40k. There are many factions outside of the Space Marines that have both female and males on the frontlines of this eternal war.

Factions: Eldar (Male and Female) Dark Eldar (Male and female) Imperial Guardsmen (As mentioned before) Sisters of Battle (All female) Sisters of Silence (All female) Not sure about them: Tau: I know they take from many species and I am not so sure what they have on the male and female ratio.

Errm: Tyranids: Alien bug species, fuck knows what they have. Chaos: They will defiantly have both, Slannesh will torture fuck you all.

Speaking of Slannesh While often referred as male, he actually can be both and neither.

"GW can do what they wish with their IP"

Yes. There is not much to argue with there. They could even pull a Disney Star Wars and state that everything from the next codex is now the true canon and everything before it no longer exists. In my opinion this would be stupid.

"Warhammer40k is for everyone"

Is it tho? You seem to be ready to throw out many people who don't immediately agree with you.

No media in any form is for everyone. People have a preference and can not like things.

Using myself as an example. I don't like sports games. Therefore I don't play them as it's not for me. I am not demanding sports games change the entire premise and add things to attract me to the game.

In short if you don't like it, don't force yourself into it. If you are interested. Experience it before making decisions. and especially before you decide that you can change the entire hobby to fit you.

Make your own thing.

Chances are there will be an audience however small or large it may be.

For those of you on the frontlines of the Gatekeeping Hold the line.

[qweerhet]

To your latest post: https://www.tumblr.com/aronarchy/723133162841047040/

mmm... i can understand why twitter user butchanarchy's rhetoric sounds good to people who posit "survivor" as a coherent category that is in direct opposition to the ontological category of "abuser," and i can definitely understand why some people see "reclaiming power" as a positive (in that their frameworks see "power", as in "the ability to control others via negative consequences," as a thing that must continue to exist, and we should support existing), but i've had a long and storied history of disavowing butchanarchy's critiques in the general anarchist online sphere precisely for these reasons--that is not the lens i am coming from, and i disagree fundamentally with multiple of their premises.

i do not agree that the power to control other people via threat of violence is good, nor that it should be utilized in community contexts. social contexts that arise out of necessity during class struggle are, imho, inherently flawed and dysfunctional in the context of forming strong community on equal footing. treating community members as if they were militant arms of the state (provided they are not, in fact, literally acting as militant arms of the state i.e. police officers, prison guards) is fundamentally flawed as a mode of operation.

i also do not agree that victims of harm are necessarily experts on how to stop that harm from happening by virtue of being traumatized; again, i'm speaking as someone who decided almost a decade ago, due to my own trauma, that the best community response was to attempt to run the person who date raped me out of town, and now regret that because it caused more harm and did not stop future harm from occurring. positioning "survivor" as an ontological category of expert on harm reduction necessitates believing that victims of harm not only always and invariably have a robust emotional toolkit with which to operate and to make decisions for other people who are not themselves, but also never have any material reason to perpetuate further harm and abuse, and that's... simply not true. it gained me a significant amount of social clout to run an impoverished 18-year-old transfem out of every community space and isolate her with her abusive father--i operated for a handful of years on the social clout i gained from that! i got popular in the local communist scene because of that!

i don't think that any one person should direct any community response to interpersonal harm, tbh, and harm reduction/prevention requires a large support network of dozens of people working in parallel. it also requires robust social welfare networks that inherently predispose someone's ability to get their crew to run someone out of town or kill them; unconditional housing, food, utilities, medical care, and home aid (i.e. cooking and cleaning) cannot coexist with the ability for these things to be removed based on someone's individual desire, regardless of if that desire is morally justified or not (and i don't agree with frameworks that apply a universal system of morality to begin with, but that's a digression).

i think it's rather shortsighted and myopic to overlook basic principles of community care in order to justify furthering pre-existing systems of violence in non-state contexts, and i also think it's pretty myopic to not integrate the inherent power structures of targeted violence into your analysis + your harm reduction praxis... like. it's literally already the case that a white woman can point at a black guy she has literally never met before, say "that guy raped me," and get all her white friends to jump him at a bar. it is literally already the case that she can utilize her social networks to get him run out of town. it's not particularly revolutionary to be like, actually, we should make that more possible and do more of it.

[julienbakerstreet]

Gender, Marriage, and Queer Subtext in My Dearly Beloved Detective

Me? Sapphic-truthing a Soviet Sherlock Holmes adaptation? Yes obviously and you will be too at the end of this.

First of all, I love this movie. It's absurd and silly but I love the way it deals with gender politics. The premise (that the literary character Sherlock Holmes became so popular that an unspecified group decided to form a detective agency at 221B to help everyone who came asking for Sherlock Holmes, and then hired two women to fill the roles because their last names were already Holmes and Watson) requires you to suspend your disbelief (did Shirley Holmes take up violin to be more like her literary counterpart? Why did they insist upon hiring people with the correct last names but not the correct genders? Why do they turn 221B's sitting room into a museum that implies Sherlock Holmes is a real man before introducing clients to Shirley?) but it's so worth watching.

The plot of the movie revolves around sexism. From the opening scene, we see a client doubt Holmes’s skills. "Do you really think I will entrust my case to you? Sorry, Miss, this is not as easy as cooking porridge," he says. To him, a woman's domain is restricted to domestic tasks. In response, Holmes lets loose a string of deductions, including one that a male detective could not have made. "Only a woman can sense a light scent of French perfume in burned coal," she says. One of the reasons I'm very passionate about adapting/reading Holmes as a member of marginalized groups is because people in marginalized communities have knowledge that outsiders aren't necessarily aware of that would be a boon to Holmes's detective work. Elementary had episodes where Sherlock's past as an addict or Joan's experiences as a Chinese woman were crucial to solving the case. Queer interpretations of Holmes often give him insight into a criminalized queer Victorian underworld that aids his work. MDBD shows how Holmes's gender (or, more accurately, the way she is treated because of her gender) hinders her, but it also demonstrates how it can be an advantage in her work. ACD Holmes says that his irregulars are valuable because they can go places and hear things that he never could, and the same is true of women, who were/are often overlooked.

But the main plot of the movie isn't about men underestimating Holmes and Watson. It's about men being intimidated, emasculated, and jealous of them. Scotland Yard is humiliated that a woman is showing them up at every turn and getting the credit in the papers. Early in canon, the police are frequently dismissive and envious of Holmes, and I love how MDBD imagines how the tone of these interactions would change if Holmes was a woman. The police view Holmes's success as a slippery slope to female equality: "If a woman detective can make a joke out of Scotland Yard, anything can happen in England." "This will end with a minister in a skirt," one says- a meta-reference to Margaret Thatcher being England's PM when MDBD came out.

Scotland Yard officials dig into Shirley's past to try and get dirt on her. Before she was a detective, she worked in a law office and had once been a brilliant student. The only black mark on her record that they can find is that she's never been married. "As a professional she's perfect, but as a woman..." a Yarder says, making it clear that to be a professional and a woman are two separate things. This is echoed in the line "She's not a woman, she's a rival." It's clear that the professional respect they have for her can only exist if they desexualize her. "A woman, charming, beautiful, powerful, wealthy. And despite all that, she's unmarried... it's extremely suspicious." Both of the men in this scene are also unmarried, but they only find it inherently suspicious for Shirley.

Later on in the film, the chief inspector tells his assistant that they should comfort Shirley and Jane after they shut down their agency. “Perhaps I should marry her… And you can marry Watson,” he says. He’s envisioning a future in which he publicly humiliates Shirley and then marries her to comfort her. In his mind, marriage- even to the man who schemed to embarrass her in front of the press and end her detective career- is automatically something Shirley would want and be comforted by. It’s beyond the realm of imagination to him that she’s unmarried by choice.

It's unclear how old Shirley is supposed to be, but the actress who played Holmes, Yekaterina Sergeyevna Vasilyeva, was 40 when the movie was released. The characters don't view her as too old to be desirable, they only comment on the fact that she's so incredible and has gone this long without getting married. In fact, a subplot of the movie involves a former client of Shirley's traveling to England from Spain because he's in love with her. Shirley doesn't reciprocate, going so far as to learn Spanish to tell him to leave her alone more effectively. "If there is one man who truly thrills me, it's Sherlock Holmes and no one else," Shirley says. Because Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character in this universe, she's saying that her career as a detective is what drives her. It's refreshing to see a middle-aged woman who the narrative treats as desirable without making it central to her plot or personality. I appreciate how the movie doesn’t soften Shirley’s personality from ACD Holmes’s- she can be just as abrasive, impatient, and cold while maintaining ACD Holmes’s capacity for emotion.

The Scotland Yard officials decide to set up a fake crime, get Shirley to investigate, let her believe that she's solved it, and publically humiliate her by revealing the hoax and saying "That's what happens when women become detectives." This scheme is an admission that they know that Holmes is more skilled than they are and they know they can't beat her fairly. The way they attempt to humiliate her indicates that they do respect her, even as they resent her for it. I've always loved that ACD Holmes critiques how self-interested the police and the justice system can be, and MDBD picks up on that theme. The men at Scotland Yard resent Shirley so much that they're willing to compromise their ability to solve crime and help people just so a woman isn't seen as more competent than they are.

Another detail I love is that throughout the movie, Jane is shown as a full partner to Shirley. Shirley trusts her to make deductions and investigate crime scenes. When Shirley is practicing her marksmanship or her martial arts, so is Jane. Jane is a little younger and implied to be less experienced, but she's not a Watson who's just along for the ride. Their partnership is very important to both of them, and Shirley reacts with distress when her Watson announces her engagement, similar to how Holmes reacts to Watson's engagement in The Sign of the Four. Unlike ACD Holmes, she criticizes Jane's choice, convincing her to call it off.

Shirley and Jane spend a full 10 minutes of the movie in drag. They wear men's evening wear and mustaches, disguising themselves to go undercover in a gentleman's club. While in drag, Shirley flirts with a flower seller outside of the club. Jane, following her lead, quickly flirts with another flower seller. They aren't being observed, and this has no relation to the investigation. Shirley expresses no interest in men throughout the movie, but she uses male dress to flirt with women.

Inside the club, the men sing a song about how "there's no one more stupid than a married man," "no one is smarter than an old bachelor," and "our hearts are closed to girls." These men get to be proud to be bachelors, a stark contrast to how view Shirley's lack of a husband is viewed as a suspicious defect. The men even bemoan how "for years the world was groaning and suffering under women's oppression." Shirley and Jane have been facing sexist treatment the entire movie, yet these men are so convinced that women are the ones oppressing them.

After Holmes and Watson leave the club, Watson cries because she was scared of being found out, and Holmes coldly tells her that she needs to practice acting as a man "so the lowest sailor would take us for his mates." Evidently, they frequently need to present as male for their investigations, because men aren't always willing to be open with two ladies. She tells Watson (the more feminine of the pair) that her skin and hands are too soft and they need to stop using cosmetics. She even encourages Jane to use sandpaper to make her hands rougher. Jane balks at this and Shirley asks if she wants to be a good detective. "Let me be a bad one, but I will remain a woman," Jane says, still wearing a mustache and suit. "I'm a woman and I will stay one!" She chastises Holmes for attempting to control her personal life and derogatorily calls her "Mister Holmes." Shirley's gender non-conformity is part of her, and she can't fathom why Jane doesn't want to live like she does. Jane is comfortable defying gender norms by working as a detective, but Shirley's devotion to her work at the expense of her femininity is too much for Jane to accept. Despite being Holmes's partner, Jane projects the same gendered disapproval that Scotland Yard does. Whatever else Shirley is, she's a failed woman first in their eyes. In anger, Jane calls up her ex-fiance and declares that she will marry him to spite Shirley, even as Shirley tells her to stop. Marriage is, for Jane, a repudiation of her partnership with Shirley and the noncomformist lifestyle they lived together.

Towards the end, Shirley and Jane talk to a woman (going by the alias "Rosita") who is part of the plot by Scotland Yard to embarrass Shirley. The Yard used her incarcerated husband to coerce her. Shirley sees through this and appeals to her "woman to woman.” "Love to your husband is a great feeling, but love to the truth is greater," she says. Rosita asks if Holmes and Watson have ever been married, implying that they cannot understand her reasoning because they're single. It’s that understanding and alteration of priorities that is assumed to come with marriage for a woman that Jane is leaving Shirley for.

The plot's resolution was a little disappointing. Shirley's Spanish suitor holds the chief inspector hostage until he agrees to... have all of Scotland Yard perform an elaborate and choreographed apology song to Shirley? It's weird. She's unimpressed and looks uncomfortable with the whole display. For all the ways this movie highlights Holmes's intelligence and capability, it's odd that the resolution to the police wanting to embarrass Holmes for being a competent woman is the man who harassed Holmes the entire movie and ignored her when she told him to leave her alone forcing the men of Scotland Yard to play nice with Shirley and Jane. I would have preferred to watch Holmes and Watson teach them a lesson on their own terms, which would have thematically been more in line with the rest of the movie.

Later, the chief tells Shirley he's ashamed of how he behaved and wants to end the rivalry and be friends, but even this apology is halfhearted. There never was a rivalry between them- he was just resentful of her success, even though it helped him.

The movie ends with Jane, freshly married, running into Shirley. She kisses Shirley on the cheek and gives her half of her wedding bouquet before Shirley kisses her (rather deeply and for longer than I'd consider strictly friendly) on the mouth. Shirley twirls in delight before walking off, but Jane runs after her and they say goodbye one more time. Jane goes back to her husband and embraces him before looking back at Shirley. Shirley walks away, caressing the cheek Jane kissed and wiping away her tears, still holding half of her partner's wedding bouquet.

To me, this movie ultimately reads like a bittersweet love story between Shirley and Jane. Jane is a good detective, but she can't bring herself to betray social convention to the degree required to be great. Holmes doesn’t understand why Watson’s femininity and social position as a lady is important to her. ACD Holmes being upset at losing his partner when Watson gets married has been explored so many times through both queer and straight lenses, but marriage for a man and a woman in Victorian England was very different. A married man had much more agency and separate identity than a married woman, and Shirley is very aware of how marriage would affect Jane's freedom to do their work. I like to think that they continue their partnership and eventually get together (possibly when Jane realizes that Shirley was right to advise her against marrying a gambler) because they have a very sweet and domestic relationship.

As always, all my love to @spiritcc for making this and other Russian adaptations accessible to English speakers!

[mllemaenad]

The thing about Fallout is ... I don't actually think Bethesda really broke the concept until Fallout 76. I have seen people wring their hands over the Nuclear Option quest in Fallout 4 being incompatible with Fallout's themes, but I don't really agree with that.

There's that tired, defeated sounding voice over at the start of every game, after all: "War, war never changes". And I remember: I remember having to blow up both the Mariposa Base and the Cathedral in the original Fallout; I remember destroying the Enclave oil rig in Fallout 2. That's three whole buildings with people in them, just like the Institute.

While they are role playing games with a lot of choice and consequence built in, the Fallout series does consistently railroad the player in one sense: you are inserted into the narrative at a point where the situation has escalated to the point where you have to go to war. There are many side quests that give you the opportunity to find alternative, peaceful solutions to conflicts – you can fix broken machinery and forge alliances or just shout at people until they calm down, and that all works – but in the main quest, the fight is inevitable.

And that makes sense. The ghost that haunts the narrative of every Fallout game is the morning of the 23rd of October, 2077, when everybody fired on everybody else at once. You ask yourself – "How could they do that?" The scale of the destruction, the sheer number of deaths, the absolute no-win scenario that created for every nation in the world makes it sound utterly unthinkable. But they did it.

You get a lot of historical backstory on how they got there, of course: the over reliance on fossil fuels, culminating in a last minute switch to nuclear power; the collapsing economies and failing institutions; the extreme ideologies embraced by the world's super powers; the horrifying disregard for human life that spread everywhere well before anyone launched those missiles. You see all the off ramps that weren't taken along the way.

But more importantly, you live it, every time. You never set out to fight a war or blow anything up. You're trying to find a damn water chip, a GECK, your father, the guy who fucking shot you, your son. But at the end of the day, you always find yourself recruited, and you always have to destroy something. Then you can see for yourself how it happens. The world had passed its point of no return the day you arrived in it, and you just have to deal with it. War never changes.

But with Fallout 76 ... I mean, it's the problem of a single player narrative in a multiplayer game. The premise is that you are one of many vault dwellers emerging into the world to rebuild, but in practice you are The Chosen One, all over again. The Vault Dweller, singular. If you imagine it as a single player scenario it's not that bad, although it is retreading old ground: the Enclave has another one of their delightful genocidal plans, and in the end you have to turn their weapons on their plague-ridden creations to stop the nightmare from spreading. It's a tragedy, because you are risking this little patch of unpolluted land, where crops can still grow and people can still live – but you're alone with only the resources you've been able to scrape together from the detritus of this fallen society, so what choice do you have?

Except. Well. You are not alone. Not even a little bit. In theory you should have a vault full of fellow geniuses to collaborate with. And unlike other games in the series, your fundamental issue is not that you are dealing with multiple groups of people with such different ideologies that they will never agree. Those people existed, but they are now dead or fled (At least originally; I am aware that expansions have since changed the situation). In theory you are now accompanied by a group of people who should, like you, be focused on doing everything they can not to destroy their new homeland.

And worst of all, because it's a multiplayer game everybody gets a bloody turn. You don't launch your weapons, battle the scorchbeast queen and then fade into a montage describing the literal fallout of what you have done. No, you do the whole thing over again for the XP and the loot. So now you are basically using nuclear weapons for post-apocalyptic big game hunting, and it drives me up the wall.

War never changes. Let's launch the nukes for fun.

[aceartistactivist]

Okay here we go!

Things I would have changed/am confused about in tua season 4

- first of all, it needed 10 episodes. Not 6. Don't even need to change the storylines- just flesh it out. Add random filler stuff. Not one of the characters got a real character arc because they didn't have enough screen time to show it!!

- speaking of, Jean and Gene got way too much screen time. Like I don't care about them I want to see the actual main characters

- no mention of Sloane????? Nothing???? What about the other sparrows? Do they exist in this timeline?

- how were they still riding in that van after puking so much in it lol 😭

- wtf is up with the only mention of Ray being a throwaway line that he walked out on Allison??? Seriously wtf??

- also, if Lila's parents are alive and living with her & Diego... Uhhh... are they not gonna address the fact that Five killed her parents in the last timeline? Like with all the scenes they had together I felt like that should have come up... I guess maybe that was something they already got past sometime in the 6 years?

- I'm so confused about Abigail. I'm just so confused. What is up with her

- STILL NO EXPLANATION FOR THE WHOLE ALIEN THING??

- also five's weird arc in s3 where he gets the tattoo? I'm still so confused about that. What was the purpose of the tattoo? Why was that whole thing a thing? I'm just lost 😭 and the "restaurant at the end of the world" scene in s4 was not exactly helpful or forthcoming either

- not a fan of how Ben's original death was just Reginald shooting him. Also the whole "reverse element of the marigold" thing seemed like a random idea turned plot device that just could have been planned/set up better. I also didn't understand the whole Jennifer thing. Why did she have the element thing in her anyway? Why was she in that container? I need explanations please

- IS REGINALD EVIL OR NOT HELP HE KEEPS GOING BACK AND FORTH

- Just so many things that could have been fleshed out

- where did the notebook five found that was "in his own handwriting" even come from? What version of himself figured out the subway system and wrote the cipher?? So many questions

- speaking of, what IS the subway system. Where did it come from. Why- just- why. I'm so confused about how it even affects the plot at all (except for the very end with the kids & family members)

- five and lila were supposedly lost in time for 6 years but they didn't change at all?? I get that actors are not going to be able to visibly age 6 years in a week but really, they couldn't have tried to make it look more believable? Changed their hair, added makeup and stuff? And then when they got back and they looked exactly the same as when they'd left and certainly didn't act like they'd spent 6 years lost in time? Like you'd think something like that would be extremely noticeable lol... I was expecting the others to be like oh my god what happened to you? And then it was just on we go business as usual. Like they could have done a lot more to make that feel realistic/believable I think

- oh, the ending... I get it, but I also think they should have gotten the lives they have "in most timelines" in the commission handbook thing, iykyk (basically if they'd all just grown up normally without the umbrella academy or anything)

- but... If Lila's family and Claire were taken to a restored timeline where the 43 children & umbrella academy never existed, wouldn't that create the same paradox that was the EXACT SAME THING that was the whole premise of season 3?? Remember the kugelblitz??? By YOUR OWN universe rules, sending those people to the restored timeline where they never existed created a kugelblitz that destroyed the real timeline and the universe for good. Congratulations.

- I was also hoping for an explanation of why their powers were slightly different but I guess it's just a plot device that doesn't really matter

- all in all, honestly, I really liked it! And I'm sad that pretty much the majority of the fandom doesn't. It could have been a lot better just by fleshing it out and giving the characters enough screentime for actual character arcs but. You know what. It's good enough for me. I'm satisfied

[bestworstcase]

I have a question about some of your Salem thoughts

If Salem is 110% certain that she can take down the Gods (assuming that's her goal since we don't actually know), why wouldn't she communicate her plan to Oz? Especially if she truly doesn't want anyone to die like you say. Oz would jump at the bit if Salem said "Hey I want to stop fighting" since that would mean their shadow war would stop. I really don't think Oz likes the Gods either, and even if he's afraid of them, if *Salem* is that confident she can stop them (she's far from an idiot), I'm sure he'd at least hear her out (which would tell Salem a LOT).

If she's that confident and truly doesn't want to fight, why wouldn't she tell Oz her new plan? And why would she kickstart her plan by attacking the kingdoms/Academies? Surely she could find a way to steal the Relics without flat out attacking them (like sending in double agents to take the Maiden powers)? Like... she would've known she'd get people killed, including children and innocent people. Even if she did damage control (which I think is just strategic, why bother going after people if she's focusing on the Relics? She's not gonna waste precious time and resources), she surely knew people would get caught in the crossfire.

Don't get me wrong, I like what you bring to the table!! Your posts are thought provoking and unique. But I can't see Salem being somehow secretly good. I don't think the show is setting her up that way, and I think she's a fantastic villain, so from my own perspective, doing that kind of twist would be a disservice to her character. I don't think she's inhuman or a complete and total monster who should go, but she's definitely not a good person especially if she can't communicate that she supposedly doesn't want people dead. She seems to be an "the ends justify the means" kind of person, and the show I think has stated that that isn't a good mindset i.e. Ironwood.

Sorry, I rambled and completely strayed from my point 😅 I don't mean to be mean if I come across that way. I hope my ask is interesting or thought provoking though :P

my position is that salem is right, not that she’s secretly good—that is an important distinction. i think she sees the gods clearly for what they are, thinks the divine ultimatum repulsive and unjust, wants remnant to be free, and believes that humanity is transcendent over their creators; she also, quite plainly, does not have any compunction about doing whatever it takes to achieve her ends and while i do think she is still fully capable of and driven by love, she is so TERRIFIED of being hurt again and so CERTAIN that no one could ever care for her that when she does care for someone else it comes out in very, very twisted and often cruel ways. she’s not good, she’s not nice, she’s just right.

equally the heroes are good but not right, because they have yet to really grapple with the premise of the divine mandate (that humanity as it exists right now does not deserve to exist) or their own role in upholding it (their immediate goal is survival, but when they envision the ending of this war they imagine salem driven back and the relics squirreled away again in hope of at best everlasting stalemate). the point of structuring the narrative this way is that neither side can get to the proverbial good ending alone; they need to work together, salem’s ends with the heroes’ means.

like. she’s evil. lol. that’s not in question and i think it goes without saying that she is doing evil things so i don’t feel the need to make a “but she’s still evil though” disclaimer every time i try to tease out what’s going on in her head. notice how my reaction to salem razing vale was OH GLINDA LAYS SIEGE TO THE EMERALD CITY, WE’RE REALLY IN IT NOW and not, like, shock or dismay that salem would do such a terrible thing. brgdfjs

(i DO think she has mostly been trying to avoid ozma and not reciprocating the shadow crusade against her prior to about fourteen years ago and that she isn’t about wanton destruction or killing for the sake of it; and in that sense i think she’s not as bad as the general fanon reading. but that comes with the territory of thinking she has actual reasons for doing what she does as opposed to being, like, a genocidal lunatic.)

anyway. to your questions. the short answer is she’s just as scared of oz as he is of her.

“but he’s the good one!”—think about this from her perspective for a minute. set aside your opinion of her and oz, presuppose for the moment that i’m correct on her motivations, and consider what everything ozma’s done in the last few thousand years looks like to her.

she knows that the gods were monsters. she witnessed them slaughtering the whole world and she saw how little it mattered to them after. she was alone for millions of years, and then hated and feared for thousands of years because she didn’t look human. all that suffering because the gods are punishing her for praying to them. yes?

then ozma returns to her, somehow. he doesn’t explain how or why—maybe he tells her he just doesn’t know—but that’s alright. what matters is that he’s here. he asks what happened to her, and she tells him the truth: the gods ended the world. cursed her. killed everyone. she was alone for so long. (maybe not the whole truth: there are things she’s afraid to say, because the gods did it all to punish her, and it’s her fault, and she’s so scared that he’d despise her if he knew everything. the only reason for her to fear ozma would reject her is if she blamed herself. you don’t hide things out of shame if you don’t feel ashamed of them.)

they learn each other again. fall in love all over again. things are finally okay. they fix up her house. they’re happy together. one day ozma tells her that he’s worried about how divided people are. she wants so badly to make him happy; she would move mountains for him. salem herself has no interest in ruling over people as a god—if she did, she wouldn’t have been living alone in a rotting shack in the middle of nowhere—all that enthusiasm is for him. to support what he wants.

they build a following, found a prosperous kingdom, start a family. four children! how long do you think they were married—ten years? twenty? and the whole time, the whole time, ozma was keeping these secrets from her. that the god of light, who’d condemned her to eternal suffering for praying to his brother, who’d shown utter indifference to the deaths of millions, had sent him back to redeem humanity FROM HER SINS, from what SALEM did. that the point of all this is cleansing humankind of her defiance and inviting THAT MONSTER to remnant to judge whether this world deserved to be subjugated under the brothers’ tyranny again or else be put to death.

imagine how she must have felt when ozma finally told her the truth, knowing that the first thing she told him was that the gods ended the last one. imagine the sickening realization that their whole marriage is built on a lie, because she would never, ever, ever have agreed to help him unite the world if she had known what he sought to unite them for, and ozma knew she never would. that he deceived her! manipulated her into serving the will of a god she knows to be a monster!

and even then—even to the very end—she loved him enough to try. she was willing to forgive all of that and figure out a way to move past it together, and the only thing she asked was that he walk away from his task of submitting this world to the judgment of THAT MONSTER. and he wouldn’t do it.

there’s a gap we don’t get to see, in between ozma backing away from her and salem catching him leaving with the girls, but we can infer that ozma walked out of that room and salem didn’t. imagine how she felt. ten years, twenty years, however long it was, and he was lying to her through it all, and he left her with hardly a moment’s hesitation when she refused to help him enact THAT MONSTER’S retribution against herself. because that is, ultimately, what this is all about; humanity is found guilty by association with her.

imagine how she felt. used. worthless. duped. like a fool for ever trusting him. did he ever love her at all, or was that a lie, too?

when she caught him in the hallway later that night, they both attack each other in the same instant. ozma remembers her attacking him first, but their volleys meet in perfect symmetry and right before salem throws her first bolt of magic, her eyes flicker down in surprise as she tracks the motion of his staff (which we see in the previous shot)—salem remembers him attacking her first.

because they were both so tense and scared and angry at each other that they snapped in exactly the same moment.

their battle is so intense they blow up the castle, and when the smoke clears, salem is a pile of ash. ash! he incinerated her! imagine how enraged you have to be to burn someone to ash. that level of fury, of absolute hatred of her, is literally burnt into her memory as the last thing he did to her before she managed to kill him, inextricably twisted around the guilt and unbearable grief she feels for her children.

he’s dedicated all but a handful of his lives since then to getting rid of her. finding a way to destroy her. (how far is he willing to go? what would happen if salem tried to move on, find community and solace somewhere far away from him? would he come after her? would he follow his god’s example and go after the people she cared about to punish her? is she willing to risk that he might?)

do you think salem understands why ozma did any of this? she doesn’t. she doesn’t get the luxury we do of jinn narrating his side of the story and showing us the anguish he felt, wanting so desperately to be with salem but eaten alive by terror of dooming the world for his happiness. she doesn’t know.

all she knows is how he treated her: the secrets, the deception, the manipulation, the immediate and absolute rejection when she told him no, the explosively violent anger at the end, then centuries upon centuries systematically erasing her from history and enforcing her exile whilst searching for the relics he needs to summon his god for the final judgment. which she knows will inevitably end in the annihilation of the whole world and yet more torture for her with no hope of reprieve, because if all of this was not enough to satisfy the god of light’s grudge against her for, again, just praying to his brother, nothing ever will.

salem feels about ozma now the way blake felt about adam. why did he lie to her, why did he use her, why does he keep coming back, why won’t he just LEAVE HER ALONE, hasn’t she suffered enough, hasn’t she been punished enough, when will it be enough—and intertwined with that, she is being EATEN ALIVE by the conviction that no one could ever truly care about her or feel for her or want to help her or think that she deserves help or even just see her as a person, because if ozma—ozma, the one who saved her from her father’s tower, who knew her and loved her before all of this happened—if ozma thought her so worthless that he would rather serve a god who ended the last world and promises to condemn this one too than suffer her to exist at all in this world, why the fuck would anyone else be any different?

thousands of years later, she still flies off the handle when anyone lies to her. (except cinder. but cinder is always the exception, to every rule.) there’s a reason she recruits the kind of people she does—desperate, broken, angry people starving for something she can promise to give them if they make themselves useful to her—and it’s because she does not believe that she can get anything better than strictly transactional relationships with people who have literally nothing and nowhere else to turn. and when she actually cares about someone? she fights herself tooth and claw over it because she desperately doesn’t want to open herself up to more heartbreak. look at how erratic and cruel she is with cinder.

it’s not rational. salem is smart and very, very tactically shrewd but she is making all of her plans and all of her choices from the assumption that she is and will always be alone in this, because she is unlovable, because she is worthless, because she is the reason this world is damned. and she’s terrified of ozma because to her everything he does suggests that his conviction and dedication to the god of light has never wavered. she cannot see his doubt. she cannot see his misery. she cannot see how much he misses her and desperately wants to make amends. all she can see is that he’s zealously guarding the relics and spreading his god’s word and training children to fight and die in the name of keeping her exiled.

why doesn’t ozma just go to her and tell her he wants to make amends? because he’s terrified she’ll never forgive him and terrified that he’ll damn the world to annihilation if he follows his heart. they’re the same. they’re exactly the same.

but this is also what makes it so possible—even easy—for salem to undergo a villain-to-hero arc, because the only thing that needs to happen is a spark of real hope. that someone, anyone, could really care about her. like. the things she says in her soliloquies about the transformative power of hope? “even the smallest spark of hope is enough to ignite change,” and “it’s true that a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary…”—that’s her. one small reason to hope. that is all she needs to change.

she doesn’t want to be razing kingdoms to the ground or cutting a bloody path through children to get those relics. she is willing to do it because she truly, genuinely, from the depths of her soul believes that it’s the only way to free herself from the torture she’s been subjected to for millions of years. she’s driven to this by desperation. she won’t keep doing it if she’s given a reason to feel less desperate.

but she does need to be given a reason, first. she’s hemorrhaging. this is why the winnowing of her inner circle and the split between everyone else in vacuo versus salem + cinder + summer in vale is important; Those Two are the ones she cares about—technically we don’t know for sure regarding summer yet, but the level of trust she has for the lieutenant holding beacon is suggestive—and that being reciprocated is what ignites her hope.

[oftenwantedafton]

Vent - Steve Raglan/William Afton/Springtrap x Female Reader

Chapters 7-10

Rating - Explicit

no explicit content in these chapters

Also available on AO3 Chapter 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Chapter 7 ~ the ride ~

The sedan that pulls into your driveway is a relic from the past: oversized, not fuel efficient, all long lines and sharp angles, noisy engine and abundant exhaust.

You lift the chrome handle, the passenger side door swinging wide to grant you access. The seats are low, deep, a sinking descent that has you leaning to grasp the inside handgrip and tug the door closed. It’s a heavy sound, like a metal jaw closing; like a trap sealing shut.

“Thanks for giving me a ride.”

“I don’t mind.” Steve Raglan grins around the lollipop in his mouth, the white stick tucking into one dimpled corner. The career counselor had offered to pick you up after school, claiming he was on his way to the pizzeria anyway. He’s still dressed in his office attire: a long sleeved windowpane patterned dress shirt, dark tie and matching trousers. You don’t know what to make of your new boss; you’ve barely spoken to him since he’d hired you four months ago.

This afternoon was going to be your first day of orientation, the renovation and construction phase of the restaurant completed. You wonder again about the fate of the yellow rabbit, who, despite his promise, has been nowhere near the premises each time you’d passed by, trying to sneak a peek here and there until the site was firmly off limits. Perhaps he did not enjoy the remodeling process. You cannot imagine his existence outside the costume; cannot fathom why he insists upon wearing it, lurking in that strange abandoned building, a ghost of a memory haunting what remains.

There’s some dated song that sounds like it’s from the eighties playing softly on the radio that the driver hums along with as he reverses the car, some melody with a lot of guitar and synthesizers that you don’t recognize. You fold your hands in your lap and stare at the scenery as you depart your neighborhood, wondering where the man might live; if his house is as dated looking as his office furniture and clothing and car. You wonder if he lives alone. You don’t see a wedding ring on his finger, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not married.

“You look nervous,” he observes when you reach your first stoplight, glancing over at you. His tongue is stained red from the candy, curling around the crimson orb before he drags it through his lips. You realize you’re staring and you hurriedly look away, but not before you see him smirk. “First day jitters are common. You should try to relax. You’re not going to be doing anything too strenuous today.”

You nod, keeping silent. The engine revs as the light changes to green and the sharp, fast turn makes you lose your balance and lean towards the older man, your shoulder pressing against his upper arm. You reach out to brace yourself, one hand closing over his thigh, trying to push yourself back into place. His head turns, tucking down towards his shoulder, eyes shifting from the road to look at you. The soft smile is back, his pale eyes darkening.

And then he refocuses on the road and you manage to find your way upright and back into your own seat, the moment passed.

The parking lot is empty when you arrive at Freddy’s. Raglan crunches through the last of the candy embedded on the stick and tucks it back into the wrapper with an almost mournful sounding sigh. He shuts the engine off and you feel his eyes on you.

“You ready?”

You swallow and nod, thinking you’re very much not ready at all.

***

“Wow.”

The owner hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the place was being completely renovated; it looked amazing. The retro look is still very much present, but every surface from the flooring to the tables to the curtained stage is spotlessly clean, the colors vibrant, the textures of tile and wood and carpet restored. Neon lights brighten every wall. Rows of arcade and pinball machines are powered to life, the prize counter fully stocked. The skylights above offer a gentle spill of natural light that must be stunning on evenings when the sky is clear and full of stars.

“You like it?”

You glance over to find Raglan leaning back against the front of the elevated stage, his arms braced on either side. You nod, watching as he makes his way over to one of the prize machines, digging into his pocket for quarters. The coins slot into the receptacle and the handle turns, depositing a gumball into his waiting palm.

“Want one?”

You shake your head, watching the purple globe disappear inside his mouth.

“Why isn’t anyone else here?”

“They’re coming later. You’ll be joining them, watching the orientation video and filling out paperwork. Tedious, necessary tasks. But you’ve got a lot of things to learn, hence you getting some one on one time.” A pale lavender bubble emerges, parting his lips before he snaps it and it retracts back into the recesses of his mouth. Your eyes shift to the velvet curtains, and he notices. “You want to see them?”

Without waiting for a reply he moves to the wall beside the stage, his palm slamming on the comically large red button.

The lighting set in the fixtures above change from stationary white to a rotating display of flashing colors that stretch into bands across the room. The curtains slide back and you have your first glimpse of the main trio of animatronics, the rabbit and chicken bracketing the bear leader. There’s no music loaded yet, but they move as if performing anyway. You watch the pantomime of guitar strumming and crooning into the microphone as Steve ascends the first couple of narrow steps leading to the platform, offering you a hand to help you join him onstage.

The luminaires splash a full rainbow spectrum of color over the pair of you and the robotic animal mascots moving in front of you. You walk around slowly to view them from all angles. There’s wonder in your eyes as you admire the figures; something more obsessive in the older man’s.

“Let’s get started.”

Chapter 8 ~ employees only ~

“If you’ll follow me right this way.”

Steve pushes on one of the Employees Only doors, holding it open for you. You hesitate. There’s something about this that’s familiar, but it’s difficult to discern. Everything is blanketed in fog each time you reach for it, your mind denying you access.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, I…” One foot in front of the other. You’ve reached the threshold. He’d only opened half of the pair of doors. You see the narrow window of the closed partner. An eye, watching you. You feel like you’re being swallowed down when you enter the dimly lit corridor beyond. There is no color here. Everything is gray, raw. Coarse cement and abrasive bricks. The rough draft of a canvas, sketched in and waiting to be finished. The end of the hall divides into two more. It’s a maze you’d get lost in.

Had you been here before? Had you somehow escaped?

Raglan steps away from the door and it seals shut. He’s so tall beside you. You look up and he looks down. Watching. Waiting.

“Follow me,” he says, the rasp echoing as he abruptly begins striding down the hall, Oxfords striking the concrete. You hurry to keep up. You don’t want to be alone back here.

***

The service room is enormous, a vast space filled with steel shelves and workstations. Computers occupy desks and neatly organized tools hang on the walls. A different version of this area flashes in your mind. You’ve seen it before: cluttered and dirty, full of broken equipment and something sharp and dangerous. You hadn’t been alone. You’d been led here.

The owner speaks and the thoughts dissipate, lost to the hidden recesses once again. “This is the heart of Freddy’s. Everything out there is only possible because of what happens in here.” Steve switches on a desk lamp and thumbs the lock of one of the filing cabinets, lifting out a massive binder and setting it on the surface of one of the desks, gesturing for you to come closer. You can faintly detect a hint of grape from the gum he’s still chewing. “You’re going to need to do a lot of studying. Memorizing. Learn every detail.” He flips the cover open and then gathers a handful of the pages within, letting them fan apart until he releases them and they randomly settle. You recognize a diagram of an endoskeleton, the featured arm component meticulously detailed.

“Are you sure I’m the right person for the job? It seems like you’d be better off with someone who actually has a background in this.”

“I’ll teach you. They’re my creations, after all.” He reaches up to remove his glasses. The neat sweep of graying hair has finally succumbed and descended, several strands falling over his forehead. He’d loosened his tie somewhere between the dining area and the service room, exposing the hollow at the base of his throat and teasing the beginnings of some sort of scars. He sees you looking; you think nothing will ever escape this man’s notice. “I saw the way you looked at them. You understand. You are exactly the right person for this job.”

Chapter 9 ~ orientation ~

The new hires filter into the restaurant throughout the rest of the afternoon and early evening, gradually restoring life to the previously unoccupied space. There are tours and actual VHS videos to watch on an older model tv that Steve insists on using, so lodged in that sense of nostalgia, such an odd contrast with the thirst for the newest technology for the animatronics.

You recognize a fair number of the employees as students from your school: people you’ve never spoken to, people who likely don’t know your name and have never bothered to spare you a second glance.

Your new boss does nothing but give you second glances. And third and fourth and beyond. He’s always watching you. He’s doing it right now, seated near the wheeled tv stand, one long leg folded, ankle resting on the opposite knee. You feel dissected beneath his gaze. You can’t determine what exactly his fascination is. You’ve never felt pretty nor interesting, but he looks at you like you’re some brand new discovery. Earlier in the service room he’d been nothing but professional, diluting some of your misgivings. He’d answered your questions and encouraged you to bring some of the materials home to peruse further. You’d handled some of the primary components for one hand joint, let him guide your own real phalanges to slot the pieces together, alloys and cables delicately weaved, the correct pattern slowly realized. And yet, that uneasy feeling had remained. There was still something off about him, as kind and patient and affable as he seemed.

The crowd disperses after the video is finished and you’re alone with Raglan again. The view of the stars through the skylights is every bit as impressive as you’d predicted. You trail after him, watching as he puts everything away, gathering the recently signed orientation packets and tucking them inside a filing cabinet in the manager’s office. He hits a few switches and the main lighting dims, the security system activated. He turns the key to lock the front doors and pauses, the rabbit’s foot keychain swinging gently where it dangles from its ring, looking over at you standing there, the binder he’s leant you clutched tightly to your chest.

Of course he offers you a ride home. Of course you accept.

Chapter 10 ~ the first lesson ~

You settle back inside Steve Raglan’s car, shivering. It’s still that period between late winter and early spring and the nights get cold.

“The heat will be up soon.” He turns the dials so the blower directs the air flow over your upper and lower body. You nod gratefully, the binder now tucked safely on the back seat, next to the white tshirt with the red Freddy Fazbear logo on the left chest that will be your uniform. He’s said any type of black pants are fine to wear. You’ll have to rummage through your drawers and see what you have.

The bearded man makes no move to leave the parking lot, the car now paused at the exit. “Are you hungry, by any chance?” You haven’t eaten since lunch at school. Your stomach growls, churning at the idea of sustenance and Steve chuckles softly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I didn’t bring any money with me.”

“Don’t worry about it. My treat. Payment for your extra time today, if you’re feeling that guilty about it.” He waves away your frown and the engine rumbles as he pulls away from the pizzeria. “We’ll be getting supplies for the kitchen in the coming weeks and they’ll be options available on site. Until then…oh, here we go.” You feel the sudden heat wafting over you as the temperature elevates and the car distributes it accordingly.

“You don’t have to give me a ride next time.”

He glances at you. “Oh? Is there a problem? You’d prefer walking? This time of night?”

You backpedal quickly. “No. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful Mr. Raglan, I just don’t feel like it’s fair to make you escort me back and forth. That’s not your responsibility. I’ll be buying a car soon.”

“Steve, please. At the very least when we’re alone like this. I can’t abide the formality of the other title. So what’s wrong? You don’t like the indebted feeling? Or…?”

“That, and…I’m not used to it.”

“Not used to what?”

“The attention. The conversation. I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s awkward.”

“You don’t need to say anything to try to impress me. You’ve already been hired.”

You fumble for an explanation. “It’s not that. It’s…I’m so bad at this.” You pluck at a loose thread emerging from the seam of your jacket.

“I disagree. Still, I leave it at your discretion. Accept a ride or don’t.”

The roads become well lit again as you reach the other side of town. Steve pulls into the driveway of a popular fast food franchise, halting along the row of parking spots before actually getting into the line for the drive thru, glancing over at you. He still hasn’t replaced his glasses. You wonder what he needs them for, if seemingly not to drive or perform tasks close up like when you’d been in the workshop. So odd. “What do you want?”

“Oh, um…a cheeseburger, fries, a Coke. Just a medium is fine.”

“Sounds good.”

He eases the car into the line, duplicating your order when he reaches the speaker set before the brightly illuminated menu, the only alteration being a request for a chocolate milkshake instead of soda.

“You have such a sweet tooth,” you murmur as he advances to the window for payment.

He grins at you. “Terrible, isn’t it? Don’t get old, you’re not going to like it. Your body develops strange cravings.” Steve hands over a credit card and then passes the paper bag of food over to you, slotting the two beverages into the cupholder and then finds a spot to park near the rear of the lot lined with trees and hedges.

The older man takes back the bag, dividing up the contents between you. You unwrap your burger while your boss takes a bite of a French fry and sighs contentedly. “Yesss, they’re fresh.”

The burger is too, the heat permeating the wrapper that perches on your thigh, warming the denim clad skin beneath it. You take a bite, chewing and staring as the evening breeze shifts a low hanging branch of the tree in front of the vehicle, the shadows moving across the dashboard.

“Do you do a lot of cooking? At the restaurant or at home or does someone else…” You don’t know why you’re trying so hard to fill the silence.

“I’m not home much, so no. I live alone. There is no ‘someone else.’” The straw parts his lips and he tests the flavor of the shake, sighing again, apparently satisfied. “You can ask me anything you want, you know. You don’t need to be cagey about it.”

“I’m not…” Your voice trails off. “So you’re not married?”

“Not anymore.” Another French fry disappears. He licks the salt from his fingertips. “I wonder if you’d do me the same courtesy and answer some questions. An even trade for each that I respond to. Does that sound fair?”

Your heart quickens. Suddenly the car seems too warm.

“Can you…can you turn down the heat?”

He switches the engine off and cracks his window open. You inhale deeply, grateful for the fresh air.

“You still haven’t accepted my terms.”

“I…I guess it’s fair.” You take another hurried bite of your sandwich and wash it down with a sip of cola.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“No.”

He nods. “Gone out on a date, anything?”

“Never.”

“Have you ever been kissed?”

Your hand freezes mid rummage through the box of French fries. “That’s three questions. I only asked you two.”

He smirks, cracking the lid of the milkshake to remove the straw, using it to spoon more of the chilled dairy treat on his tongue. “Clever. So ask me something else and then answer mine.”

“What are the scars from?”

“How did you…ah. Open shirt collar.” The pizzeria owner shoves the straw back inside the cup, still clutched by the lid settled loosely on top. He unbuttons the cuff of his right sleeve, folding it up neatly until it’s tucked by his elbow.

More scars tattoo his skin, lines and circles, dots and dashes, they begin at the wrist, marking front and back, his arm swiveling slowly to display them. There seems to be no end to them, but it’s impossible to tell as the shirt hides the rest of him.

“What happened?”

“That’s another answer you owe me. They’re from the springlocks. They’re what separates someone from the dangerous parts inside of the mascot suits.”

“They failed.”

“Yes. I’ll be generous and count that last one as more of a statement than a question. Now answer mine.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze. “No, I’ve never been kissed.”

“Would you like to try it?”

Your stomach somersaults. “What?”

“I can teach you about a lot more than just the animatronics.”

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Such a pretty color.” He hums appreciatively at the blooming pink tinge. “What do you think? Entirely at your discretion, again. You’re under no obligation. We can keep things strictly professional.”

You stare in disbelief at your new boss’s smirking mouth. He actually wanted to…it’s wrong, isn’t it? Inappropriate on so many levels. He’s so strange. That disarming, off putting feeling is still present, but there’s something else as well. You’re so used to being ignored, unwanted, disregarded. But this man, virtual stranger that he is, he seems to actually desire you. The sensation warms you further. You want more of it. He intrigues you.

“Okay,” you agree softly.

“Okay what? Okay you want to keep things professional, or okay you want me to kiss you? You have to say it.”

“I want you to kiss me.” Just saying the words sends a thrill through your body, stirring a warmer desire within.

One hand settles against your face, palm warm, the fingertips calloused. His thumb strokes across your cheek, underlines your lower lip. “You’re tense. Relax.”

“I’m trying.”

“Close your eyes.”

You obey, feeling your lashes trembling with the effort it takes to hold them there, restrained. You want to see what the older man is doing. You hear the seat creak as he leans closer to you, feel his breath against your forehead and cheeks and neck, saving the ultimate goal of your mouth for last.

His lips are gentle against your tentative ones. You’d half expected his beard to be scratchy but it’s oddly smooth. His mouth touches yours again and you feel wetness now, his lips parting and your own reflexively open. This isn’t as scary as you’d imagined it would be. It feels good. Really good. The hand against your cheek slides down to your neck. You’re not sure where to put your own hands, finally resting one on his bare forearm, stroking along the patterns of his scars.

He moans into your mouth, seat creaking again when his pelvis shifts. His tongue presses against yours and oh, does that do something to your insides; forget the somersault, this is an absolute roller coaster at its apex plunge. It spirals around your own, caressing, stroking, pushing. You absently realize you’re no longer caressing his arm, your nails digging into flesh instead.

He sucks your bottom lip briefly before breaking away, easing back into his seat while your eyes slide open. You’re both a little breathless, panting for air, watching each other before he recovers enough to speak. “Well you are a fast learner, aren’t you? Such a good protégé. I’d ask you if you enjoyed it but the answer is quite apparent.” He gently pries your fingers loose from their vice grip.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize. I liked it. A lot.”

You wonder if he’ll kiss you again, somewhat disappointed when he doesn’t. The cold remains of your dinner are tossed and he restarts the engine. Another twenty minutes and the route to your house will be completed. You don’t think you’re going to sleep a wink tonight.

You’re at that stoplight again, the one with the sharp ninety degree turn that he’d taken too fast.

“Did you do that on purpose earlier?”

“Hmmm?” It’s the first time you’ve spoken to each other since the parking lot of the fast food joint.

“When you took the corner too fast.”

He chuckles softly. “Accidental. Intentional. A pity we can’t try it again from this direction to decide which it is.” He pauses. “We could try it again tomorrow, though. If I’m still picking you up. Or are you still insistent that walking is more proper?”

“You can pick me up.” The light turns green but he doesn’t move. There are no other cars around. “Why did you stop kissing me?”

His thumb strokes over the grips of the steering wheel. “Because that was the end of the lesson.” The car turns gently. Your destination is close now. You wish it wasn’t.

Your parents’ cars are in the driveway and the reality of your unpleasant home life comes crashing down around you. You'd actually managed to forget all about it for once. Excited about your new job. Feeling like you might belong somewhere after all. Wanted by your new employer. No longer so lonely.

Steve reaches into the back seat, retrieving your things and handing them to you. You hesitate, one hand resting on the handle of the door.

“Tomorrow,” he promises.

[utilitycaster]

Strengths and weaknesses of Crimson Mirror?

I'm not sure if you're referring to the Circle itself or the 3-episode series but I'm going to answer based on the latter. I think the strengths are that the plot was extremely well-crafted - I was having a discussion with @captainofthetidesbreath who mentioned the "but and therefore" rule of screenwriting, ie, a good plot should always have elements that are brought upon by introduced complications (but) or clear consequences/actions driven by what has already happened (therefore) - and the circle itself does feel like people who have worked together for a time and there is an opportunity for some excellent conversations between them.

I think the main weakness for me is that the final battle is extremely cool, but the premise requires it move very slowly and in a TTRPG (and especially one that doesn't have a combat mode) this is tricky. It is a good story but this is perhaps not the ideal medium; the vibes are great but it can be hard to follow. Honestly, had that final encounter been tighter, I think this circle would have tied Needle and Thread for me, and that's a tall order.

The two strongest Candela series for me are Needle and Thread and Crimson Mirror and while I think you can have a good show that doesn't follow this pattern, I also think it's really suited for the three-episode horror story structure:

In medias res opening (strong opportunity to establish character, and how this circle operates. I also think it is just outright better to have a pre-existing circle because 3 episodes isn't very long; you only have so much time and showing a circle coming together takes up half of one of your three episodes).

Assignment given immediately following, tied to a personal connection. End of Episode 1.

Downtime in which the party can talk, establish who they are in the world more clearly and who they are to each other

Assignment given (or de facto acquired, in the case of Needle and Thread) that is related to the first

Assignment doesn't go terribly well (might be successful, but leaves the party in rough shape). End of episode 2.

Here's where they diverge a bit, but essentially, either they continue the second assignment or they take on a third tied to the previous, which involves a perilous journey; that is your episode 3.

The thing about the above, notably, is that it puts the power entirely into the GM's hands and doesn't rely your party to make specific decisions; it's somewhat player-agnostic while still granting them a lot of agency. The But/Therefore rule is crucial in TTRPGs especially since you are relying on players to react in a way that lets you hit the ball back; you cannot GM with "and then" elements because players will either assume there's a deeper meaning or they will feel like they're simply being pushed around.

I also think the fact that both had an element of "the worst horror is some of your circle turning on you" was pretty strong for me but that might be a personal preference.

[miss-tc-nova]

All Not Lost - Percy de Rolo x Reader

Ventured into Vox Machina and now I'm in love with a nerd. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Premise: After years under a mind control spell, someone finds it hard to return to a broken home

Words: 2,688

Music Inspiration: The Magic Music Box - Orchestral Music by Jojo Comps

~~~~~

               Getting used to the loss of five years was never going to be easy. I lived an eternity in endless pain, but at the same time, in the blink of an eye, I lost everything. It wasn’t just the final years of my teens but also my whole world. My parents, my siblings, the friends I had, the people I loved—all of them in my life one moment and gone the next. Now I’m here, in this new world and trying to figure out how to take another step when I’m so afraid of walking.

               A voice pierces my mourning. Lifting my gaze from the text I’d long since lost track of, I find Percival de Rolo. It was Percy and his friends that tore me from Delilah Briarwood’s hypnotic spell, dragging me through time to a world I’m not sure I want to be part of.

               There’s something concerned on his straight features. It easily beckons a smile to my lips, a deceit I had much practice with lately.

               “Sorry, were you talking to me?” I ask a bit tongue in cheek.

               “I was, in fact.” Arms fold as green eyes peer at my tome from behind spectacles. “Though you seem far more engrossed in…the destruction of existence as we know it.”

               “Huh?!”

               A gloved finger points at the page, underlining the text that speaks of poorly performed magic that could unravel the fabric of reality.

               “Not planning to doom us all, are you?”

               “N-No! Nooo.” The book snaps shut, leaving the immediately vicinity via its flight over my shoulder.

               One of those dark brows quirk. “Really?”

               “Yeah. I was actually looking at teleportation spells but I guess I just…got lost in my own thoughts.”

               “I see.” Percy retrieves the tossed tome and returns it to the table. “Well no need to take it out on a perfectly good book. Though maybe we should reconsider its return if it contains the secrets to destroying the world.”

               I laugh. “I’m sure not a soul in existence has the power to pull that off. Besides, this is mine.”

               “So I should confiscate it.”

               “Only if you’d like to continue walking everywhere.”

               “We have Keyleth for that.”

               My expression falls deadpan. “What was it you needed me for?”

               He eyerolls my abrupt change of subject. “We’re going out for a drink and there were questions as to whether or not you’d care to join us.”

               “Oh…”

               I can understand that—a festive drink in celebration of another day survived. That’s the way Vox Machina enjoyed life and I could never deny them that. But I don’t feel like I survived, nor am I in the mood for said merriment.

               “I think I’ll pass but I appreciate the invitation.”

               Standing, I collect my text and start for the hall of borrowed rooms. Before I disappear, however, I pause.

               I lost it all beneath the Briarwood’s rule, and that included Percy. Yes, he stands before me now, but I can no longer claim him to be the boy I served for all those years—the boy I befriended. Somehow, this truth hurts me more than if his life had also been claimed by those monsters. And I find myself utterly disgusted for thinking such terrible things.

               Again, there’s worry across his face that I can only smile at.

               “Are you certain?” The soft, low gravel in his voice grates at my resolve.

               “I’ll be fine. Enjoy your night, Percy.”

               In the instant my back turns, the smile slips away. With every step, my heart cries to go running back and spill my every misery to him. Had I not come to terms with the fact that he is not the person I once knew, I have no doubt that I would be on my knees, wailing and begging him not to leave me.

               The door to my room closes and the silence is deafening.

               Because I’m a fucking coward.

~~~~~

               Groaning, I pry my face from my pillow. The pain of spilt tears stings at my eyes, but I force them open all the same. Darkness rules the room, the lantern on my bedside table has long since flickered out. Silver moonlight filters through the curtains to give some semblance of bearings.

               Again, the knocking rattles my tranquility, though this time, a voice follows.

               I should let him go—let him think me asleep and wander away for I know I’m at my weakest and Percy deserves so much better than for me to drag us into the past.

               But I’m at my weakest.

               The worn blanket clears my face before I stand. In my stride to the door, I straighten out my appearance. Though rationale yells at me to stop, emotions pull open the door.

               There he stands, surprised, perhaps thinking I wouldn’t answer.

               “What’s wrong?” I hate how broken I sound.

               “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

               “I wouldn’t really call it sleep. Did you need something?”

               The well-dressed man straightens up, as if he’s rehearsed this a dozen times over.

               “Yes actually. I need you to come with me.”

               “Isn’t it late?”

               A smile cracks his lips, cracking at my fractured resilience. “We don’t have bedtimes anymore, do we?”

               My gaze adverts. “I suppose not…”

               “Just trust me.”

               A glove extends to me in offering and I somewhat retreat into my room.

               “Please.”

               Following that arm, my eyes find his face again and, for a moment, I see the boy from my past and there’s nothing I can do to keep from taking his hand. Percy hesitates not even a second in pulling me towards the front door, the warmth of his palm lulling me into acquiescence. My bare feet skim the stone floor, muted by the soft click of his boots. The utter silence of the building cautions the slumber or absence of other callers. Only we—as we creep through the dormant shadows—stir in this silent night.

               Even as my guide draws open the door, I follow without question. No, I only think twice when he steps towards the black steed harnessed to a small carriage. Even so, all I find in my glance is an encouraging smile.

               Gesturing to the uncovered cart, Percy lures me towards the steps. I don’t even have the words to respond, my hypnosis convincing my feet to climb the steps instead. Once I’m comfortably seated, Percival climbs into the driver’s seat and sets out.

               Whitestone, in all its destruction and desecration, rolls by as the carriage wheels creek through deserted streets. Seeing the present whilst remembering the past only brings back the ache I earlier tried to escape. My once proud and thriving home is naught more than a pile of rubble with its citizens scrounging on the edge of starvation. Each passing corner draws me closer to tears. Yet I somehow remain composed, trusting in the man that brought me here.

               There’s not much else he could take from me anyway.

               The excursion eventually leaves that battered city behind, climbing the gentle slopes that used to bring a bustle of travelers from across the realm. Nearing the top of said slope is where the horse’s hooves begin to slow, pulling the cart to the side of the road. The carriage driver dismounts his seat, strolling to the side where he, yet again, offers his assistance.

               “We’re here.”

               Cool grass rustles beneath my toes, soft against unprotected skin. A whisper of a breeze moves the air, careful not to cause unease in this comfortable atmosphere.

               “Where’s ‘here’?” I ask, my voice barely able to break the quiet.

               Percy waves away from the carriage. “Why don’t you see for yourself.”

               It takes my weary soul a moment to sum up the energy to take those few small steps. As I do, the grand ruins of Whitestone revel in the valley below. At its heart, the damage took its toll, but gazing down upon its corpse, the city breaks me. Knees give, bringing to me to the ground, trembling hands trying to contain the grief from pouring out.

               Through the mounting misery, a gentle hand meets my back. “It’s alright.”

               “How can you call this alright?!” My words come out louder, but I can by no means call them strong. “Our home is in ruins! We lost everything!”

               “So that’s what you see.”

               Breath still quivering in my chest, I peer up at Percy. His expression is that of contemplation.

               “I suppose I should have expected as much. When I first returned, that’s all I saw too. Nearly everyone I knew is dead and my home is in shambles. I’d given up hope that Whitestone could ever be prosperous again.” That smile returns ere long. “But the Briarwoods are gone. Those that are still here choose to rebuild and the people are in good hands. From what remains there’s potential. Whitestone can be great again—maybe even better. There’s an entire city down there just waiting to grow anew.”

               Looking back to my home, I consider his words. I can’t say that I’m entirely convinced, though I can no longer see just doomed remains. Some of those sentiments sooth the pain enough for me to clear my eyes.

               “Besides, I wouldn’t say we lost everything.”

               From my back, his hand slips beneath my fingers. His thumb softly strokes against my skin. I’m now unsure whether the hiccup in my chest came from my ebbing sorrow or my heart.

               “We’re here, aren’t we?”

               Percy waits patiently as I gather my words to respond. From his touch, my hand retreat as the rest of me tries its best to hide from him.

               “So much has changed from what I remember. To say that the people we were survived would be inaccurate.”

                “I agree that people change over time, but surely there’s still part of us that always remembers who we were, don't you think?"

               From the corner of my eye, I see Percy reach into his coat. Curiosity gets the better of me. In his palm sits a small ornate box. Silver embellishments flourish across ebony paint, a small silver latch securing the lid. Into my hands, he pushes the trinket. I warily turn the box in my fingers, noting the detail and craftmanship of the item. It appears to be not new but in good condition and not quite perfect. Barely noticeable, a hole in the side blends into the design. Easily, the box opens to show me its secrets. A bundle of mechanical parts is wound together inside yet I understand not its purpose. The metal cylinder is riddled with bumps sitting beside a comb with narrowly spaced teeth while a spring runs the length of the small container.

               Before I can ask, Percy extends his hand again. A silver chain tumbles across his palm, twisting and turning in on itself. At its heart lies a small, silver key. The peculiar charm has no teeth, but a hole at its end and, as I pick it up, I understand.

               Inserting the key into the side of the box, I’m met with some minor resistance. It clicks with each turn until, after a few turns, it moves no further.

               The moment I release the key is the moment the world stops spinning.

               The cylinder turns, those bumps brushing against the metal teeth of the comb with a chime. Each sound on its own is simply senseless noise, but as it continues to turn, it recreates a melody etched deep into my heart. A bright room adorned with golden decorations and luxurious drapes gleams beneath an elegant chandelier. The finest dresses and shoes skim the polished floor in tempo to the orchestra’s magic. People weave together before pushing apart, only to retwine themselves in elegant dance.

               Most importantly, he stands before me. Trauma has yet marred his face, pure innocence left behind that bashful smile. Naivety leads our steps yet allows us to indulge in our blissful youth. We had no fear for we knew none. Our lives were whole. And we were happy.

               “You remembered,” I whisper.

               Percy’s expression holds softer as he too remembers that simple dream. “It was your favorite song. How could I forget?” His gaze wanders the stars above. “You would go about your chores humming that song every day since that dance at my sister’s eighteenth birthday. It was as if you never wanted me to forget.”

               I stare back down at the singing box. “Because I never wanted to forget.”

               “See.” He snares my attention again. “You may not be who you were, but there’s still some semblance of the person I knew in there.”

               Percy stands, pulling me up beside him. Carefully, he takes the box and winds it once again before replacing it in my hand. This time, however, his fingers carefully cradle mine as the box sings its little tune.

               Wistfully, he says, “I can only hope that part of who you saw back then still exists in me.”

               Without warning, Percy pushes me back. I stumble, but the arm at my back keeps me balanced. It occurs to me what he’s doing and the second movement is far smoother. Into memories he leads me, through our childhood and into our teenage years. We spent so much time in each other’s company—in casual conversation, in fervent discussion, sometimes even in silence. It was Percy’s presence that always brought me peace, even now in this new broken existence. And I would dance with him until my last breath if the world would only let me.

               The notes teeter out, the music wheel eventually coming to a stop. Slowly, our feet also cease to move, our reminiscence at an end. Percy’s arms drop and I hold the music box close to my chest.

               “Thank you, Percy. I needed this.”

               It’s hard to see in only the moonlight, but a tint of pink dusts his nose. “Think nothing of it.” He reaches forward, carefully draping the silver chain around my neck. “After all, it only took me five years to finally give it to you.”

               “You got this for me?” A flutter in my chest begins to smolder.

               “Technically, I made it for you.”

               “You made this?”

               “Of course.” At the simple gesture of brushing the hair from my face, Percy ignites those embers. “Because I never wanted you to forget.”

               His touch is careful and soft, as though I might break. However, I need only the smallest sign to lean into his caress. Even the press of his lips to my forehead speaks of his caution, but I see the longing burning in his eyes. For us, it’s been far too long and yet no time at all. Percy is a different person and yet he’s still the same. I suppose not everything has been lost to me.

               Fingers curl around Percy’s coat, my head tilting back. My consent is clear and his head dips a second time. It’s like being blessed with new life, filling my chest with hope I dared not have before this moment. It’s soft and deliberate, meant to relay all we’ve weathered and all we will weather. But this one thing between us will stand through it all.

               Just as it began, it ends though the significance of it all hangs in the air. In his embrace, I soak in his presence. While I have his warmth, however, the night has grown ever late and from my mouth escapes a yawn.

               His voice is reluctant to break our serenity. “We’d best get you back to bed.”

               Rather than answer, I press tighter against him. In response, Percy slips his arms beneath me and whisks me back to the carriage. Sleep nearly takes me in the time it takes to return to our temporary residence. Again, it’s Percy’s strength that returns me to my bed, but it’s mine that keeps him there. I’m not ready for him to leave me again, no matter how short the night may be. He grants me that plea and it’s in his arms that I finally find the shattered pieces of my heart in peace.