#not with custodians themselves obviously

[minweber]

Musings on Custodes: Nobilitas Terra

Ah, the now famous “all Custodians begin their lives as the infant sons of the noble houses of Terra” line from the 8th edition codex (not reproduced in the 9th one, btw). It has now experienced the kind meteoric rise in quotation previously enjoyed only by biblical verses in times of major church schisms. Let’s talk about the part of it that’s actually interesting though.

So Custodians are drawn from the children of Terra’s nobility. It is apparently not exclusive and other sources are allowed on Custodes’ own discretion, but this is both the traditional and the main one. It seems that originally the Emperor was doing something of a mamluk/janissaries thing with them, taking infant children from the families of his potential rivals as both hostages and soldiers that could be raised loyal only to him. Later, when his power grew to so far outstrip that of Terra’s aristocracy as to make any internal challenge of it inconceivable, it instead became prestigious to submit a child of a family to this service - not conscription, but an offering to the golden idol of humanity instead.

So surely, in 42nd millennium, with the Emperor’s eclipsing presence… changed, if not gone, there must be some sort of interesting dynamic between the Custodians and the bloodlines that spawned them? Well, the codex seems to dismiss the idea out of hand, stating that there is no real way for nobles of Terra to recognize their scions once they become Custodians - which presumably means that there is no grounds for interaction? And sure, I can recognize why the official lore in its current state isn't interested in that: Custodians are fixated on the Emperor to the exclusion of everything else, and the Terran nobility itself is a fairly faceless thing in the lore, one of which we don't really know enough about to build any kind of investment from their perspective.

But here we are all about the things that could yet be, rather than the things that just are! And I honestly think a bit of lore expansion in this direction could be pretty interesting!

Between the origins of the Rogue Traders and the Custodians themselves it seems that, much like the priesthood of Mars, some clans on Terra were indeed once powerful enough to make the newly ascendant Emperor deal with them in terms other than total subjugation or destruction. Would the meteoric rise of the Imperium during the Great Crusade grow or diminish their powers? On one hand - the previously mentioned growth of the Emperor's power in relation to them and the whole new "breed" of imperial elite he was literally creating (I know that in modern lore there is some speculation about what were actually his plans for the Astartes and the primarchs post-Crusade, but however things would have turned out for them, had he his way, I doubt it would have resulted in even a modicum of power returning to the hands of his once-rivals)... But on the other - during times of obscene growth and expansion rich and powerful tend to grow even more so, and I doubt that grimdark future avoids this tendency. So I will go out on a limb a little and say that while during the rise of the Imperium the power of Terran nobility may have waned in relative terms, it probably grew in the absolute ones.

And the following ten thousand years of sitting at the top of a stupidly expansive feudal confederacy probably did not hurt them either!

In the days of the Era Indomitus, then, these vague "noble houses of Terra" must be some sort of force to be reckoned with - politically, culturally, and probably even militarily. Likely on a galactic scale. And the personal guard of the Emperor, the supposedly most advanced beings in the entire Imperium, the living symbol of his power - are staffed almost exclusively by the scions of those houses. Do you see my vision? Do you agree that something simply must be there?!

Custodians are the Emperor's representatives and envoys, the single most powerful military force on Terra and the organization in full undisputed control of access to the most holy site in the entire Imperium, a place from which, technically, ALL authority within its borders is derived. Even without the bloodline connection there should be some kind of a relationship between them and the other powers of the throneworld! Even if we look at the pre-codex, fully palace-bound version of Custodes that care for absolutely nothing other than the Emperor's corpse physical safety - they still recognized that the events on larger Terra influence this safety and need to be at least reacted upon. And in the modern version they have never even been that shut-off. Even before the lifting of the Edict of Restraint, Solar Watch patrolled the Sol system entire, Aquilan Shield departed on their mysterious protector missions and the Emissaries Imperatus were busy being a diplomatic corps, for fuck's sake. I find it hard to believe that they would simply ignore Terra's political players, leaving them to do whatever unless someone rolled up armed to the Imperial Palace. So there definitely would be interactions - and once that hook is in, the fun begins.

Are custodians willing to "stoop down" and play nobility's games with them? Do they even have aversion to doing so? Surely, with all the talk about their talents beyond head-chopping, they are capable of scheming with the best of them? And if doing so is the most efficient way to get the job done - why would they object? And if they are no strangers to political manipulation and the noble families desperately want the prestige that comes with having produced a Custodian - why wouldn't the demigods indulge them and use it as a tool? Especially since they - if we keep the codex idea of it being impossible to recognize surrendered infants as the Custodians they become - hold all the cards and can basically present any of their number as a scion of this or that family? And while we are at it - do they themselves actually know? I imagine it must be not that important to them, but are there any records kept? Could you be a 200 hundred year old Custodian fresh out of training (a random example - like so many things, it is not known how long the creation and training of a Custodian takes) and be suddenly told that the aging matron of a noble house with whom you have to go and negotiate is actually your biological mother? Would that stir something? Curiosity, at least? Or is the Emperor’s light so absolute that it can blind one to even the most deep-nested human impulses?

Do Custodians remember sins and glories forgotten by the tapestries of gold and jewels? Do they watch some relatively minor and unimportant house with baffling prejudice - all because someone from it almost outdid the Emperor in something more than ten thousand years ago? Do some bloodlines enjoy unseen protection due to secret deals that have passed out of all human memory?

What about the internal politics of the organization? Millenia of drafting from a relatively closed pool of families means that some Custodians are related to each other - does that matter to them in any way? Even if the golden demigods are completely free of prejudice and superstition - which their history of paranoia kinda tells me they are not - genetics do play an objectively huge part in their existence. Is more expected of those drafted from families that produce more Custodians than others, or have spawned some especially renowned heroes? Once again - is it even public knowledge amidst the Custodes?

And what about the nobles themselves? Do they seek favor of the Adeptus Custodes? Is such a thing even possible? Do they view them as another player in their political games, or are they more of a force of nature, a condition that everyone has to deal with and adapt to? How does the process of submitting children even work nowadays? Is it compulsory? How many are taken from each family/genertaion? Do any struggle against this harvest, or has the honor of the thing completely overshadowed any resentment that they might have had?

Basically what I am saying is that, for the purposes of worldbuilding, interaction between systems is always better than the lack of thereof. And if one were looking for the ways to expand Custodes' lore - this one feels like a great source of characterization for them.

[indigovigilance]

The Final Fifteen is about Terry Pratchett's Death

read on Ao3

The final fifteen is obviously a major plot point, and serves a role in a story that was written long before Terry Pratchett was ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But the scene itself wasn’t written until just a few years ago, during the writing of Season 2. In fact, the scene came about during a park bench conversation between Neil Gaiman and John Finnemore.

Others have noted that the non-romantic kiss that signals the story moving into the third act is a Neil Gaiman staple. The function of such a kiss, from Gaiman’s perspective, is to communicate.

In 2023 we are seeing a lot of stories written by men, for men, about men who are best friends and discover that their friendship can go deeper than the norms of society would usually allow; that platonic and romantic love are not so far apart, and perhaps the better word for a relationship that can be described this way is intimacy.

Neil Gaiman has made it clear in interviews that his friendship with Terry Pratchett was deeply intimate. They began collaborating on what would become Good Omens in the 1980’s, endured a tumultuous experience together through the first publication, wherein Neil offered to martyr himself on behalf of Terry if the book failed, and then spent the better part of two decades touring the world, meeting the people who loved their work. Neil would even off-handedly remark that Terry’s fans were so cheerful, and Neil’s seemed like they were ready to kill themselves; wouldn’t it be nice if they got married? From the outside, it looks very much as if Terry was Aziraphale-coded, and Neil was Crowley-coded, working together in an unexpected partnership to make the world a little bit more tolerable for the humans inhabiting it. I am not conjecturing that Neil and Terry had romantic inclinations the way their fictional characters do, but I think it is fair to say that their opposites-attract intimacy became an important part of who each of them were.

In 2007 Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with posterior cortical atrophy, a rare form of Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, he began to lose himself, and knew that the person he used to be was slipping away. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, and die as himself, but England did not and still does not allow for voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. He advocated for the right to die but never achieved it, and ultimately succumbed to the disease in 2015. Neil Gaiman has spoken a lot on the topic of death, and one answer of his that resonated with me reads:

Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person. 

It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard. 

~~~

The entire show is seeded with references to Terry Pratchett, but the most important one is the one that’s missing. Neil Gaiman cameoed as a sleeping moviegoer in S1E4, but a long time ago, he and Terry had discussed cameoing as sushi restaurant-goers, because sushi was weirdly prominent in the book. That cameo would have been in S1E1. But when it came time to do it, Neil couldn’t. Not without Terry. 

Neil: I was gonna say our location is a Chinese restaurant we’d had turned into a sushi restaurant. So Terry and I, Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it.

Douglas: You never told me this before either. I might have pushed you into doing it, had I known. I think you were right not to tell me.

Neil: I was keeping it to me self ‘cause I was always like: Oh, maybe I’ll be… this will be my cameo. And then I couldn’t. I was just so sad, ‘cause Terry wasn’t there. And it was probably the day that I missed Terry the most of all of the filming - it was just this one scene ‘cause it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.

~~~

In the Final Fifteen, it is clear that Crowley and Aziraphale want to stay together. They love each other. They each know that the other loves them. There’s nothing that needs to be said, no convincing that their bond is true and real and precious.

But Aziraphale has to go to Heaven, and Crowley cannot follow him there.

I cannot speculate what it must have been like for Neil to endure losing a friend who, though I’m sure he desperately wanted to still be in his life, he also knew that life had become a burden to him, and grieved that Terry was not able to choose the time and manner of his departure from this Earth. This sort of complex grief, we fan-ficcers know, is the kind that is often best processed through story-telling. 

I think that what we see Crowley going through in the Final Fifteen, alongside its importance to the story arc of Good Omens overall, is Neil processing his grief at losing his friend Terry Pratchett, and even the kiss, that violent, terrible, awful kiss, was the symbolic representation of Neil saying goodbye.

[yellowocaballero]

hyped for claude story, just from the little blurb and ur tags it looks like its gonna be hysterical

I'm gonna be real man. Is there tight plot? No. Is there anything other than dialogue? Of course not. Is it fast paced? You don't even need to ask. But it is the unwilling recipient of months of my insanity, and for that purpose I admire its resilience. It works because it is also the story of one boy slowly descending into absolute insanity.

I think people sometimes think of Claude as the comic relief and 'only sane man' in the leaders. This is untrue. He's fucking nuts. Imagine if a Japanese-American read a lot of websites on Japan and decided to move to Japan, pretend he was fully Japanese despite obviously being half-White, had been there the entire time, and became Emperor of Japan. He's living his best Dancing With Wolves life. My first decision of the story was that Claude probably didn't call himself his white people name/alias in his head, and that ended up changing a lot. I think if you take a different perspective of him, and decide to understand him a certain way, he becomes absolutely the most bugfuck and interesting character in FE3H.

All three House leaders pretend to be good people and, in fact, are actually pretty shitty people (except for Yuri, who pretends to be a bad person and is an actual angel). Claude is selfish, self-centered, and apathetic. Claude here is actually worse than in canon - for actual reasons that will become clear around 75k into the story. Weekenders was about somebody who saved lives but doomed souls; Rosetta Headstone is about somebody who saved souls but doomed themselves. I think the ending of both stories reflects that.

Anyway, meanwhile Byleth is living her New Game+ and she is killing it.

Also, transcript of that text under the cut - it's a bit long for alt text.

Byleth walked through the door. The bucket of water fell on her head. She had been absolutely drenched. 

Byleth had blinked at them, water dripping in rivulets across her hair. Most of the class was laughing their ass off, even Khalid. An absolutely atrocious first impression on their teacher, but the students had successfully won dominance. They had driven away their first teacher in tears and they could do the same to this one. Every student in the class either hated to work (Hilda and Marianne, for surprisingly identical reasons), hated being told what to do (Leonie, Lorenz, Lysithea), or went along with the rest (Ignatz and Raphael). There had been no intention of bowing down to an authority figure. What were they, the Blue Lions? Bootlickers?

“Is there a leak?” Byleth asked. 

The laughter died. Everybody stared at Byleth. Byleth tilted her head. 

Slow, tremulous, Ignatz pointed at the bucket. Byleth looked down, squinting.

“Oh. Why was that there?”

Straight faced, Hilda said, “Maybe the custodian left it.”

“Okay.” Byleth had walked forward, taking her place in the front of class. She bowed, a little stiff and awkward. “Hello. I’m your teacher. Please treat me well.” She looked up, eyes crinkling faintly in what Khalid would come to recognize as her edition of a smile. “I’m happy to be here.”

The tone was set. Byleth was unflappable. 

Salt in her coffee? She drank it all without flinching. Hidden alarm clock set to ring during class? She found it instantly. Frogs labeled 1, 2, and 4 in the classroom? Byleth sadly noted that 3 must have been eaten by a hawk, and she spent the rest of the class delighting over her shiny new frogs. Watching her feed the frogs little worms was adorable. It was so cute that the pranks stopped. Nobody could stomach it anymore. She was too innocent. 

Khalid, famous for his honest, straightforward, and upfront nature, hated liars. And Professor Byleth was stinking of deceit. Nobody was that adorable. She had a plot and he would sniff it out. 

[alpaca-clouds]

i am sending an ask to talk about solarpunk ^^

for my question: what do you think is a healthy relationship with between solarpunk and the natural. by this, i dont just mean the flora and the fauna, but the ways they, and anything else, are when humans arent involved. the dichotomy that arises when people typically discuss the natural is "this thing is (supposedly) natural and therefore must be preserved" and "we must change the world to be more exploitable useful". both of these are veiwpoints that i find wholly antithetical to solarpunk, but rule over so much discussion about the topic, so i think its definately worth some talking about

Alright, let's do the next question!

This really is a topic that cuts back to the very European idea of "culture vs nature", something that technically originated with the ancient Greeks, but really was brought up to the forefront during thr 18th century and then especially in the 19th century with the romanticism movement. With the general idea being that "culture" and "cultural landscape" is landscapes that is being created and touched by humans, while "nature" is untouched by humans.

This dichotomy ignores, however, that humans are animals and therefore a part of nature. And a lot of humans over the centuries have lived in a way that absolutely in alignment with the ecosystem around them.

One example that is often named in this regard is, how a lot of Northern American indigenous cultures managed to manage forest fires way better than white people do.

Hell, I would argue that for the most part even in Europe cultures did manage this quite good for the most part - especially in Eastern Europe - until the later third of the middle ages. (With the Roman culture being the notable exception.)

I think the general issue is, that a lot of modern people (especially white folks) always talk about the ecosystem from the perspective that "humans are not part of nature, but nature is there to serve humans". A lot of the white "nature preservation" movement wants to create an artificial "nature" that exists for them to enjoy, while the entire extractionist folks obviously think of nature as a ressource for them to enrich themselves. Both does not work.

Humans are a part of nature. Humans are animals. Given that right now we are the most intelligent species and admittedly also the one doing the most harm, we should act as custodians for nature, rather than profiteurs of it.

We absolutely can live in a way that we co-exist with the rest of our eco systems. We just need to actually put some effort into it.

[emberj-theotherfoot]

This post contains pretty dark subject matter like suicide and feelings of hopelessness. I'll also say arachnophobia, entomophobia, and toxicophobia for good measure.

Viewer discretion is advised.

I've got another idea for a Bendy: The Cage fic that I felt like running by you. (Yes, I am still working on the "wedding band dream" one I mentioned a while ago)

This is kinda sad, so... Be warned?

So Henry's exploring this abandoned lab type deal and he finds a keeper log about a creature called "the phantasm" (best name I could come up with) which is a version of the widow king that has a venomous bite that induces really bad hallucinations. Most of the victims of this bite were lost ones, and what happened was the venom slowly destroyed them from the inside as it drove them up the wall insane and they either killed themselves, or succumbed to the actual poison. (So either way, they died.) Henry's not a lost one obviously, he's as close as you can get to a human in the studio besides Audrey and Joey's memory. How would his body react to a bite from this phantasm thing?

We're about to find out.

So let's say this phantasm bites him, and he kills it. So the creatures dead, the bite stings like hell, but overall nothing seems to be happening so far. He's about to press on and continue but then that's when the hallucinations hit.

There's these segments in BATIM that I call "orange moments" where everything goes this sunset orange kinda color, you can hear indescribable horror noises from the depths of hell, and Henry sees things that aren't there. (Except for when it's just a visual effect, like when Bendy annihilates the projectionist, or when Henry inserts "The End") I mention these "orange moments", because I think that that's the best example I can give for what I think these hallucinations would be like. Not identical, but very similar.

Anyway, it gets really overwhelming, he's not having the best time right now for obvious reasons, hallucinations aren't exactly peaches and gravy, they're really unpleasant, but after a minute it kinda settles when he hears a familiar voice, and sees a familiar face:

Linda...

it gets even worse, don't worry.

So Linda isn't actually here, she's part of the hallucination, but unlike the hallucinations that are actually harmful, she's the only hallucination that acknowledges the fact that she's a hallucination. In a way, Linda is a representation of Henry's rational mind trying to push through the venom's effects and find a way out of this (an antidote or something). He isn't exactly confident he can just bounce back like he normally does when he dies? (Comin' back from the dark puddles I mean) I think the keepers log would mention that the Lost Ones that dies from the venom's effects have yet to emerge from the dark puddles (There's a note somewhere in dark revival that talks about people that don't emerge from the dark puddles, calling them "phantoms of the machine") hence why Henry wouldn't be too confident. So Henry's arguing with Linda (or himself I guess) about whether or not it's worth it to find an antidote that he's not even confident exists, or if he wants to let himself die while finding comfort in this hallucination of Linda.

Yeah, I'm implying that Henry's a little suicidal here. A bit of a heavy take, but allow me to explain: His ex-buisness partner with whom he had a complicated relationship with traps him in a never ending nightmare of satanic inky nonsense, said ex-buisness partner with whom he had a complicated relationship with dies leaving said neverending nightmare of satanic inky nonsense to spiral out of control, some asshole custodian comes along and locks him up indefinitely leaving him alone with his thoughts where he realizes "oh shit, I'm not a real person, I have nothing to get back to, what the fuck is the point anymore". I feel like he'd be conflicted about the idea of being dead for good, because on one hand Henry seems like the kinda person who doesn't give up easily. He's stubborn in the best way, and you've gotta have a lot of tenacity to go through the same nightmare over and over again with the same "here goes nothing" type attitude. That said, he is absolutely tired out of his mind. He doesn't wanna die necessarily? I don't think anyone truly wants to die, it's more that they feel trapped and feel like there's no other option than to die. Henry doesn't wanna die. He just wants this nightmare to fuckin' end. In his eyes, he's not real, his entire existence was a lie, and he has no purpose. He was created for the purpose of being Joey's means to vent his frustration, Joey's dead, now what?

Now here's the tricky part. Do I want this to be pure angst that completely breaks people's worlds? Do I wanna make something that gives Henry the "it all makes sense now" type moment that every protagonist gets at one point or another? Or do I do a secret third option that combines the two horribly? To simplify; do I kill Henry, have him find an antidote, or have him die and just come back again? (Fuckin' hate that last one, that'd be such bullshit. 😅)

I dunno if I'm actually going through with this? I'm usually not a big fan of angst because a lot of the ways it's portrayed comes off as edgy torture porn that doesn't really do anything, so I'm torn. Cool concept, but is it really worth it?

[187days]

Day Seventeen

The ninth grade English teachers recently had students choose an image of themselves and write one-page personal narrative about it. They made a display out of string and clothespins, printed everyone's pieces in color, and hung them on the display. It's SO cool, and so much better than white walls. I took a "five minute field trip" with my second section of Global Studies so we could look at their work. They were all talking about wanting to find theirs when they came into class, so I figured we should just do that to start with.

Then they- and the students in my other two sections- used today's class to finish putting together their geography projects and practice presenting them. The practice went the best in my third section; groups actually made notecards, went out into the hall to practice (I stood in the doorway so I could see them). and so on. In the other two sections, it was less extensive and far more reluctantly done, but I was able to show a few students that it was beneficial because they were able to correct their pronunciation, get comfortable reading some of the larger numbers that might've tripped them up, and things like that.

Whether they practiced or not, though, I'm looking forward to their presentations. It's been a while since I've done a group project like this with freshmen, so it's been a learning experience for me as well as for them, and I think it's been a good one.

In APGOV, I was back at the front of the room- after days of project work, presentations, and guests- to begin the first unit of the actual AP curriculum: foundations of American democracy. I called students' attention back to the lessons we'd done on in the first couple days of school about the years leading up to the Revolutionary War. Then I showed a Crash Course episode on the subject, asked questions to review their knowledge of the Declaration of Independence, and lectured on the task our Founders had to form a government once the Declaration had been signed. They're supposed to read the Articles of Confederation and US Constitution by Monday (we have a guest speaker tomorrow), so this lesson is segueing into the next one really obviously.

What else?

I screwed up a bit, but it's not totally my fault. I've always moved the tables in my room around for various activities, but their default layout is rows. A teacher trick I learned years ago to ensure they got put back into those rows correctly was to mark their placement on the floor with a sharpie. I've done it for years, but we've got a new Head of Maintenance this year, and he came in to fix a busted lightbulb, saw the marks, and made the custodian assigned to my hallway clean them. I found out and apologized immediately; it had just never been an issue before! The custodian told me not to worry about it because he's super nice, but still.

I also had a couple meetings today, and I think I handled those well. It's Thursday, so, of course, we had a PLC meeting in the morning; we spent it discussing some upcoming events and directives from the leadership team, then filling out the professional goals paperwork we're required to do each year. And, during my prep, I had a less formal meeting with Dean 1 about the challenges the new teachers are facing. There's nothing extraordinary, it's all typical new teacher stuff, but he wanted my thoughts on what would be most helpful.

And, as longtime readers know, one thing I'm rarely shy about is giving my thoughts. It's good to have admins who appreciate that trait!

[ultradiqueer]

Trollian Culture Post 2 (jesus. only 2?)

I don’t really Get when people gove trolls animalistic properties and stuff. Like. We’re kinda just stupid-evolved bugs, dude, and just because we have lusii as custodians doesn’t mean we Are Animals. Like brother we come from the fucking Mother Grub.

So why not go over what trolls are and are not, and what trolls can and can not do:

Trolls can:

Purr, Chirp, Growl, make other such noises

Inherit certain, minor features and behaviours from their lusii (for example, a troll with a meowbeast lusus may develop cat-like pupils, trolls with a crab lusus may develop a certain temperment, a land-dweller with an aquatic lusus may develop thin webbing in between their toes (or, rarely, their fingers), so on so forth). This is due to subtle pheromones given off by the lusus that the troll may be affected by.

Trolls cannot:

Develop tails, whiskers, non-seadweller fins or gills, additional horns, additional eyes, additional limbs, psychic abilities, etc etc; due to their lusus. Such features would be caused by mutations, and (depending on how severe/overt the mutation, would be cull worthy).

Trolls have:

Horns, fangs, pointed ears, psionics (depending on the caste), naturally claw-like nails, naturally black lips, grubscars and, if they are a cerulean, may have additional sets of eyes or pupils.

Trolls do not have:

Fucking tails. We don't have tails.

We also don't have antennae or mandibles (though depending on the lusus, a troll could develop teeth similar to mandibles)

Please, please, PLEASE stop giving trolls tails! I'm begging you

And while we're here, we may as well briefly talk about certain, smaller parts of troll anatomy:

Horns:

Troll horns are very tough, chitinous horns (fucking obviously) that, depending on the caste, can be located on the top, sides, or top-back of the head (it's very rare to find someone with horns protruding from the front of the head, but I doubt it's impossible). They are, as we all know, candy-corn coloured, being red at the base of the horn, nearest to the skull, orange as you go further up, and yellow in the upper third/quarter of the horn. The further you go up the horn, the less sensation there will be, as there will be less nerves. (So, a piece being chipped off from the very end of the horn wouldn't be too painful, but from the base of the horn? Gog help you that shit will HURT).

Fins:

We all know that seadwellers have fins in place of ears (though unfortunately I can't tell you if they have fins anywhere ELSE. I remember most other stuff but this? No idea). These fins can be heard through via vibrations, from what I know (though again, can't really be certain). Something I do know for certain however is that they are STUPID sensitive. Like. Really goddamn sensitive. Getting a piercing in one is Excruciating, especially around the little rib-parts (the webbing bits themselves are still gonna Fucking hurt, but not as much).

Grubscars:

I am aware that grubscars aren't Usually included in art of trolls (or discussion), but let me tell you again: they are part of a troll. They are chitinous, typically raised scars left behind by the middle two pairs of legs that are absorbed when a wriggler undergoes their final pupation (these legs become part of the ribs). And while they aren't particularly sensitive when it comes to touch, it'll hurt like a motherfucker if they are stabbed, nicked or otherwise pierced. Let me fucking tell you, grubscar piercings? Not fucking worth it unless you're planning on wearing exclusively crop-tops before you're sent off-planet.

Of course, as per usual, feel free to send asks if theres anything that needs clarification, or if anyone has any questions regarding trollian culture (<- I say to my 14 followers /lh). If I think of anything else to add I'll probably just make another post (e.g. Trollian Culture 2.1).

[princeofgod-2021]

LIGHT OF LIFE 359

John 1:4

TOO LATE 22 – AGENTS OF CHANGE? 14

Eze 14:19-20

The Word of God’s divine Laws is the most reliable “Agent of Change” but sadly, the most ignored.

We always like to wait till the Man of God has said it, till we attempt to do the needful.

Act 2:37

These men all had the LAW of Moses in their various places from whence they came, but they obviously had only LEGALISTIC devotion to the CONVENIENT portions of that LAW.

It is understandable however, that they needed some “spiritual” Leader to help interpret it correctly.

Act 13:15

This is why the Church Leadership will bear the greater responsibility if the people fail to live righteously; the Nation is mostly expected to “stand” in the Faith, if they are led properly.

2Ch 15:3 FOR A LONG TIME ISRAEL WAS WITHOUT THE TRUE GOD. AND THEY WERE WITHOUT A TEACHING PRIEST, AND WITHOUT THE LAW. ERV

All 3 points are faults in leadership: they are supposed to show God to the people, Teach them His ways and present the LAW to them.

Was it not leadership that buried the LAW in the Temple?

You’d be shocked if I told you where they “buried” the Book of the LAW. Read this…

2Ch 34:14 WHEN THEY TOOK OUT THE SILVER THAT HAD BEEN BROUGHT TO THE LORD’S TEMPLE, HILKIAH THE PRIEST FOUND THE LAW SCROLL THE LORD HAD GIVEN TO MOSES. NET

Beloved, the Book of LAW was discarded UNDER the pile of MONEY, or at least, until Money was cleared out of the way, they couldn’t have DISCOVERED the Book of the LAW.

So, the book of LAW was kept in the same room where they keep money. Gross! Isn’t it?

Ecc 7:7

The Priests would go to the store room for Money and help themselves to piles and piles, which was regularly replenished with more, and so, they never get to the level of the LAW Book.

Got it?

So, if Priests taught anything at all, it’s their own “thesis” or frivolous men’s philosophies.

Mar 7:7-9

Let me ask you beloved, are these things happening [in a clever way] in our churches today?

Well, it was the Leaders that God & Jesus put as CUSTODIANS of the word of TRUTH & GOSPEL.

Luk 12:41-43

The conversation above started with Jesus giving a Parable and Peter wanting to know if He was referring to them (Apostles).

Jesus buttressed that, not only were they being referred to but they were responsible for “Feeding” all these truths to the people, and as reminder later.

2Ti 2:14

That’s why it’s risky for anyone, who isn’t called, to attempt taking on the role of Altar Minister.

Jas 3:1 DO NOT ALL BE TEACHERS, my brothers, because we TEACHERS WILL BE JUDGED MORE HARDLY THAN OTHERS. BBE

In Summary, keep your focus on the Word of God; it is your road map through life’s maze.

May God keep our hearts and minds flooded with His divine LAW, IN JESUS NAME.

Join us on Wednesday as we proceed with this thought-provoking Subtopic.

Keep Shinning!

Brother Prince

Monday, May 29, 2023

08055125517; 08023904307

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

You've talked before about how more and more people are seeing through the lies of the church, and are thus leaving in progressively larger numbers, but why is that happening now? I can't imagine atheists are a new thing, so what do recent generations have that previous ones didn't?

Irreligion has obviously been around as long as religion. For as long as people have been inventing gods, people have been noticing that they're invented gods.

I think what's going on now is the pointy end of what I like to think of as three main waves that have chipped away at religion. These aren't hard boundaries or anything, and others might have other “waves” in mind.

In the pre-modern era, religion held the "truth". If you wanted to know what was true, you asked the church. In this era, religion lead humanity. And then things started to change.

--

The Slow: the rise of Modernity brought reason, evidence, science. These weren't new, dating back to pre-Xianity, but they'd been submerged by the authoritarianism of religion. It brought an understanding of the structure of the world, that we were not the center of it, global exploration, modelling the world through mathematical equations via physics, astronomy, an understanding of speciation (evolution), electricity, flight and more.

Even the printing press, which enabled everyone to read the bible themselves, and understand what is in it, rather than being told by the resident holy man, custodian of the only copy of the bible in the village.

We started to actually accurately describe and measure the world around us, rather than having to simply accept the "mysterious ways" excuses of religion and the assertion it was all parts of god's unknowable plan.

In this era, humanity caught up to and surpassed religion. Religion declared blasphemy, tried to suppress what we learned and ultimately needed to just outright lie.

--

The Fast: if religion couldn't tell us what is true, how could it tell us what is right? Significant changes occurred in not just the US but other "western" countries around 60 years ago; again, these weren't wholly original or new, and had antecedents, such as abolitionism. These countries are typically founded on constitutions that are very neutral and based on liberal ethics. But they were not always living up to those, and liberal civil rights movements started to demand that they make good on the constitutional contract.

So, for example, the Equal Pay Act (1963), decriminalization of homosexuality, integration and end of segregation, etc. Religions had stood on the front lines of opposing these, and demonstrated they were, to use the tired Woke slogan, not "on the right side of history."

While reinterpretation had been eating into doctrine, particularly when Modernity's discoveries could no longer be denied, these social changes marked a milestone in that those who wanted to remain attached to religions like Xianity were increasingly forced to start coming up with ways to make the "good" of these changes mesh with their religion that clearly opposed them.

There are denominations of Xianity, for example, that insist that they're the "true" Xians (No True Scotsman), the true spirit of Xianity and Jesus, because they love and accept gay people. Not like the bad Xians, who hate gay people. Except, Xianity has never been their way. And it didn't change; Jesus didn't come back and fix things. Humans changed Xianity. Humans changed the religions. Things became more metaphorical, more interpretation. Even the concept of the "personal relationship with god/Jesus" is an extremely new phenomenon, as Xianity has always asserted itself to be the moral fabric of society, representing an involved, active god, not merely a personal conviction of a poorly defined “spiritual” nature.

In this era, humanity was dragging religion along behind it, trying to make it keep up.

--

The Very Fast: one of the things that's really kicked it into high gear recently as been pervasive communications. You need no longer simply take the word of the preacher, the only source of knowledge within two days' mule ride. In moments, you can find a refutation for the Kalaam cosmological argument, three memes countering Pascal's Wager, and an explanation of the No True Scotman fallacy.

And you can find people who have the same doubts about religion as you. You can look up the religious apologetics, and the counter-apologetics. You can click a button and read the bible or the quran, type into a search box and find all the references to biblical slavery or quranic/hadithic antisemitism, and instantly share them with others.

One of the most common things I ever hear from those who've apostasized - aside from the empowerment of being responsible for yourself, both mistakes and successes - is that they thought they were the only one, they thought that it was just them, and that nobody else was thinking like this. They were alone and an aberration. The problem is with them, not with the religion.

This, of course, is a deliberate tactic, although religions don't say it explicitly. Everybody learns that "this is the truth," and that if you doubt it, then you must not have enough faith (true, but not the bad thing they pretend it is), must not understand it (usually the opposite is true), and if you reject this "truth" then you're a bad person. The failure to believe the unbelievable is cast as a moral failing, rather than failings in the claims of the belief system. It’s a deflection.

Everyone else gives the appearance of understanding it, believing it, finding it utterly convincing and indisputable -- even though it's virtually guaranteed that others around them have the same doubts. Including the preacher.

But now you can find out not only that your doubts are justified, and why, but that there are plenty of others in the same position, and that many not only successfully left, but have full, rewarding lives. You can connect with people you would never have met before, who may be completely unlike you in ethnicity, politics and other ways, but you have similar experiences living under a religious orthodoxy. The common canards, the similar tactics, the group memes deployed by the religion. You might never have met them, and you still might not even ever meet them in real life, but there’s someone there who can relate to that part of your life.

Non-believers, and particularly those who've apostasized, are often admonished by believers to basically shut up. They'll tell you that it's impolite or to be respectful or something, but the reality is that they're scared. It used to be that they could just burn, imprison or simply intimidate the heretics to silence them, but since they can't, the very real, very justified fear is that anyone at any time could just think their way out of superstitious belief. Especially when they hear their own thoughts, doubts or experiences echoed in someone else's story.

So, on the one hand, the internet made possible the rise of anti-vax; the re-emergence of Flat Earth; Woke theology; the social contagion of gender creationism; "Influencer" culture; the anxiety of creating and maintaining a presence for the Likes in the fear others are having a better life than you; and many more blights, many of which would still have existed but had more difficulty spreading.

And on the other hand, we get the rise of the Nones, the ability to discover and explore new information (seriously, when would I have ever had the opportunity to read the quran?), and to put an idea out there into the world to see if it floats.

The internet giveth, the internet taketh away.

In this era, humans are letting religions die a well-earned death by the roadside, and continuing on independently. As they should.

[minweber]

Musings on Custodes: Talons Apart

Is there a rift between the Adeptus Custodes and the Sisters of Silence? There must be, right?

If Custodes have not enough lore, then the Anathema Psykana have next to none. They are played up as the almost-as-important-as-Custodes-no-seriously-trust-us in that charming GW way, but most of their lore so far fits on a single codex page.

The second talon of the Emperor, the Pale Scourge, the Null Maidens - they are depicted as ferocious and as loyal to the Emperor as Custodians themselves, but where the latter have their whole "literally built around the Emperor's identity" thing, the Sisterhood somehow arrives to the same level of devotion by more conventional means. And here I would have loved to present my examples of how their brand of fixation on the Emperor differs from that of Custodians or the other all-female warrior sorority... IF I HAD ANY! I'd say their relationship with the Emperor and their duty deserves its own separate post, but that would be straight up just me coming up with headcanons for them (which I might still do). When it comes to any sort of meaningful worldbuilding that is not just rank structure and training regime - yeah, the girls got no lore, or, rather, no theme.

By themselves, that is. As a part of the Talons of the Emperor however...

Well, no, no real thematic depth materializes for them once they are placed next to the golden demigods, but the two factions do make an effective pair - dread and awe, silver and gold, the natural and the artificial evolutions of humanity, psychic and physical armour of the Emperor. Some sources say that the Sisters first appeared at the Emperor's side during the Great Crusade, but others insist that when he made his Custodians ages before, he made them specifically resistant to the powers of the null... So there is chance that the two factions were straight up designed to compliment each other and work together, which they did well... until they didn't.

Because in the current state of the lore, it seems that they haven't actually been working together between the Horus Heresy and the Era Indomitus.

The Anathema Psykana came out of the other end of the Horus Heresy in no better state than Custodes. Once again - all the numbers are very vague and we don't even really know how many of them there were to begin with and yada-yada - what's important is that the end of the Siege of Terra left the Sisterhood in shambles. But unlike Custodes - and here we come to one of the few pieces of interesting worldbuilding that sisters do have - they never had the opportunity to recover. By the time Guilliman rolls up to Terra in "present day" 40k, the Sisterhood is still a shadow of its former self, its members extremely few and scattered.

So what happened? Well, the codex states the following: "Without the Emperor to support them, and with Custodians looking inward after their failure to protect the Master of Mankind, the natural aversion many felt towards Blanks led the Sister's political enemies to drive them out of positions of influence." And isn't that a whole story in disguise? After the Heresy, the Sisters came into conflict with other imperial institutions - a conflict they did not win - and Custodes did nothing to intervene. Surely such a breaking of bonds of fellowship has consequences?

Custodes were obviously deeply affected by the "death" of the Emperor. They blamed themselves for it - hence the black cloaks and ten thousand years of moping around. They blamed the primarchs - Guilliman rises as the last loyal son of the Emperor and receives direct divine guidance from his father, and they still run drills on how to kill him. They blamed the Astartes - the Phalanx, hanging above Terra as its most devout defender, is infested by the Custodians ready to bring it down at the first sign of treachery. Did they blame the Sisters too, then? Did they knowingly abandon their counterparts to the judgment of degrading Imperium, seeing it as a fitting punishment for a failure of duty? Have they preserved this sentiment across the millenia? Or did they come to realize their betrayal for what it was? If so, why have they never sought the remaining Sisters out? Or have they? When they encountered the Brides of the Emperor thousands of years later - did it stir something in them? Was Captain-General reaching out to them not solely about the solution to the Van Dire crisis?

It is specifically pointed out that high Custodes casualties in the battle against Khorne's demons at the Lion's Gate were caused by the absence of the Sisters of Silence at their side. Did they re-embrace the ancient partnership out of purely practical necessity, or was it a true rekindling of bonds? Could it even be such for those custodians who began their vigil after the demigods and the blanks have parted ways?

And what is the Sisters' side of the story? The lore that we have is pretty clear on the fact that, despite being abandoned by their allies and shunned by the Imperium's caracss, they never shirked their duties. Left without any official support and recognition of their status, persecuted and sometimes downright hunted - Space Marine legions have rebelled for less. And yet, as reduced as the Sisterhood became, for ten millenia Black Ships somehow still prowled the stars, and the sacrifices to the Carrion God were still being delivered. Did they feel betrayed? By the Imperium they served and partners they fought alongside? And what carried them through? Was it all solemn duty and grim determination? For how many generations could those last you? And what can motivate an organization for ten thousand years instead?

How strong is their institutional memory? Are the annals of their order's history lost to the Sisters of the Era Indomitus, like it is with so many other - much better supported - imperial institutions? Do they know about the rift between their forebears and the Ten Thousand? Do they carry resentment towards the Custodians? Do they know why?

And now that the Talons bite together again - do they do so earnestly, the synergy woven into the very structure of both orders restored? Or is there an unspoken divide between them still? Was there any sort of official reconciliation? Do either feel a need for one? And after ten thousand years of potential bitterness and resentment - is it even possible?

[duchessofostergotlands]

Waits so Carl Gustav doesn’t sign laws and doesn’t appoint the government, so what does he do?! I’ve seen him sit at the end of a very large table with Victoria, wasn’t he talking to his ministers?

I’m not a monarchist, but if a nation must be a monarchy at least make it make sense idk

Yes, since the 70s the monarch in Sweden has had no remaining executive power so they are purely a symbolic figure head. But he remains head of state so his role includes things like hosting and undertaking State Visits, participating in specific events which are part of Swedish identity like National Day or the Nobel Prizes, like all royals they do charity work, and they are essentially a symbol of Sweden (I think this becomes particularly relevant during times of tragedy like following the Tsunami where lots of Swedes died).

The meetings you're talking about are basically advisory council meetings. He chairs them. It's made up of different government ministers and members of the opposition. It's a chance for them to update the other parties on what they're doing in a confidential space but it also updates Victoria and the King. This is essential to their job, even if they don't have any actual power. Let's say Carl Gustaf was going on a state visit to a country which wants to buy more green tech. Sweden obviously has a lot of businesses and projects in this area. If CG doesn't know that, he might spend the whole time talking about cows and then when someone asks him "oh what does Sweden do in green tech?" he might not have an answer. It also means the work they do can be in step with what's important to the country. If a certain area has a big fire, the royals can send someone to visit as a show of support. Things like that. Anyone who is acting as a representative of the nation - domestically or internationally - needs to know what their message is so those meetings give them the opportunity to learn. In fact, the PM was not great at updating the King after the aforementioned tsunami and it got a big backlash (he was also bad at informing the public generally but many people in monarchies do turn to royals in times of crisis and they were met with silence because CG had not been told what was happening).

I personally don't view this kind of monarchy as useful as I mentioned in that last post. But I'm also not Swedish. We talked about it not long ago and why Sweden doesn't remove the monarchy: https://duchessofostergotlands.tumblr.com/post/685431240450523136/hi-out-of-curiosity-if-cg-doesnt-have-any-power And @murielstacy - who is Swedish - also added that they have had a monarchy for over 1000 years so it would be a big shift in how they think about themselves. CG and Victoria have both spoken about seeing themselves as custodians of Swedish identity and culture. They are related to other heads of state, they can go to the opening of a new wing of a building which was opened by their great-great-great grandfather and provide a link to history, they can do things like their visits to all the provinces and people feel like it's not just a politician visiting to secure their vote. They have their own reasons!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Faction: Cereburg College

“ Per sapientiam est calamitatis temperatam”

The old college motto meaning “By wisdom is calamity tempered” 

Setup: Nearly three centuries ago, a group of scholars came together to thwart an incursion into their world by a dread power from beyond the firmament. The battle was close, and the cost was great,  and in its aftermath the survivors pledged that they would do everything in their power to stop the next such attack, even if it occurred beyond their own lifetimes. 

Cereburg collage is the manifestation of that oath, an organization dedicated to the study of great truths, such as the nature of the stars, the gods, and the weft of reality, as well as numerous mundane technologies that could provide a defense against future cosmic threats. Though most students are ignorant of the school’s purpose as the collage does not openly proclaim itself the bane of distant and terrible gods, those who have dealings with the unseen world know to expect the custodians of Cereburg to step in should they feel there is any sort of eldritch malfeasance occurring. 

Adventure Hooks: 

Attendance at Cereburg is available to those who pay several scaling fees and pass the rigorous exams, though exceptions are usually made for those who can prove themselves either academically or financially gifted. Though operating primarily as a  traditional academy for middle and upper-class scions looking to receive accreditation in natural philosophy, the College fast-tracks those who the upper faculty feel could be useful to them in their campaign against the horrors of the cosmos. In particular,  players may find themselves recruited into the school’s secret should they possess exceptional intelligence or skill, or are in possession of supernatural gifts that could be cultivated into weapons in the College’s arsenal. 

Needing to do research for part of their own quest, the party seeks to gain access to the College Library, one of the largest repositories of technical and arcane knowledge on the continent. Doing so will require the donation of several rare artifacts or historical volumes, but will be well worth the trip. On track to find their own answers, the party finds a diary hidden among the shelves which seems to detail a student investigation into the College’s many secrets, including hidden vaults, concealed passages, and the strange rituals conducted by the faculty in their lofty towers. The diary details enough to serve as a map to several of these mysteries, then cuts off violently, the writer apparently never returning to collect their work. 

Something valuable has been stolen from Cereburg, a relic apparently pertaining to one of the founders and worth a great deal in financial and historical value. Though the college has agents of its own to do this business, they make a public show of hiring the party without ever expecting them to catch the theif. Schemes like these seldom go to plan, and when the party unexpectedly catches up with the thief, a struggle for the relic ensues. IN the chaos, the relic ( a cumbersome reinforced box of beautifully carved and lacquered wood) is broken, revealing the true relic to in fact be the mummified head of a long dead scholar. Things are on track for the party to return their prize and obtain their reward, when the obviously dead head stirs from slumber, yawns, and then begins groggily hurling accusations at the party regarding who the HELL they are and where in the SEVENTEEN METAPHYSICAL SUPERPOSITIONS they are?

Further Adventures: 

The mummified head belongs to one Master Florence, the last “surviving” member of the circle of scholars who originally defeated the cosmic incursion in ages past. While others of his band died natural deaths, obtained enlightenment, or simply got lost over the intevening years, Florence’s failing health and dabbling in necromancy eventually resulted him making the decision to become a demi-litch, binding his soul to a number of arcane crystals that he secured about the world. Since this transformation Florence has acted as the secret “head” of faculty at Cereburg, collecting knowledge, and ensuring generation after generation of scholars are better prepared for an eventual confrontation with the unknown horrors of beyond.  Master Florence spends most of his time as an astral projection, either exploring the dreamscape or appearing in ghostly form to his agents around the material plane. The theft of his last remaining tie to the mortal plane had honestly escaped his notice, an embarrassment for those members of the college assigned to guard it and one they hoped to sweep under the rug before he returned. 

While not everyone in the party might be of a scholarly persuasion, the College could always use more field teams, requiring capable individuals to go on excursions far into the wilderness in order to investigate strange happenings, or even journey across the planes. 

Patron Benefits: 

Service to Cereburg comes with all the patron benefits of working for an Academy group patron, with the added benefit of use of the collages’ extensive teleportation network, leading to locations all over the world and across the planes. 

Credit to @theonetruelemon for helping to inspire this post!

[grandguignols]

Shiba Miyakaze: An Analysis

Shiba Miyakaze is an interesting character to me because I think his overall “redemption” was done very sloppily the first time around. You don’t actually get to see a lot of what he was like “before” Kubo apparently started manipulating him, only having what Shoka and the other Shinjuku reapers say about him as fact. Taken at face value, it’s hard to believe there was anything good about him at all, let alone enough to warrant going to such lengths to save him. It’s only in a second run through that more and more pieces of him become obvious, and it’s by putting together these pieces do you get a sense of what Shiba is like as a whole- and what became of him. So I will try my best to explain these aspects of Shiba as a general analysis of him, his personality, what became of him, and why it all happened. Spoilers will abound, obviously, so fair warning for that.

First off, there are 4 major pieces of information that the game gives us:

The hierarchy of reapers and angels, and the subsequent dehumanization that comes with going higher up the ranks

Shiba and Hishima being put forth as a direct parallel to Uzuki and Kariya

Shiba being stated to be a charismatic and social person who is deeply lonely during the course of the game

That Kubo, as an angel, has the ability to warp lower being’s ‘vibes’ just by being around them and Shiba was affected by this more than anyone else

First off, let’s talk about the hierarchy of angels and reapers. While it’s not information that’s directly relevant to Shiba himself, it will inform most of the context related to these other points. The secret reports in both the original game and NEO talk about how Players with strong Imaginations can become Reapers, who then go up the ranks to become Game Masters, then eventually Conductors, with some even getting to go up Higher Planes than that. The entire point of the Reaper’s Game is just that- to find the most “talented” and “capable” of the dead, and appoint them as caretakers and custodians of the UG, RG and beyond.

However, once you analyze both the original game and NEO, you’ll find that this hierarchy is also inversely related to a person’s humanity, ie, the further up you go, the more detached you become, and the less you see people beneath you as “human”. The original game’s Reapers were all what “ideal” Reapers were: they challenged players and tested them to their limits, but were also always in danger of being overthrown themselves. Even one of the lowest of the named Reapers, Uzuki, was blithely unconcerned with how she erased players, as that is simply part of her job description. And as you go further up the ranks to Higashizawa, Konishi, Sho then Megumi, you’ll find that they all get worse and worse.

NEO showcased the Reapers in a slightly more sympathetic light, because under Shinjuku rules they don’t HAVE to actually test humans directly. This is stated to be a bad thing in the Secret Reports, as it puts the Reaper hierarchy “at a total standstill”. Shinjuku rules in general are considered to be bad by Hanekoma (an Angel’s) standards, because it “neither encourages nor allows for personal growth or change.” But if you compare the Shinjuku Reapers and their relationship vs the Shibuya Reapers, you’ll find that the lack of such a dog-eat-dog setup actually allows them to be closer, to the point that Shoka considered them a family.

But even under Shinjuku rules, Reapers have jobs. A job that requires them to erase players and be fine with it. And the higher up you go, the more players you have to test, and the more players you have to erase. It’s a system that necessitates detachment and cruelty, and it can be seen most obviously in Shoka who had to ‘help’ Rindo and the others through sarcastic quips, cruel words and discouragement, while dealing with Rindo and the others calling her and her family monsters, etc. We know through her Swallow identity that that is her “true” self, and the front she has throughout the game is just that- a front that was forced to exist because she was a Reaper, and one she willingly cast away even though she knew she would die for it.

In relation to Shiba, he is a Conductor. A Reaper one step away from the Higher Plane, but sits the Highest among Reapers in the UG. The Conductor of the last game- Megumi- gives insight to just how detached a job that is, as even if he loved Shibuya and wanted to protect it, his “protection” required the complete elimination of free will. Shiba, by necessity, has to completely disregard the people around him for the sake of his position. He has to make decisions that involves the erasure of Reapers and Players below him. And even though he didn’t get this job until after he moved to Shibuya, he was still well on his way to promotion there, as it was stated he became Game Master in Shinjuku beforehand.

This brings us to the next point: how Shiba and Hishima parallel Uzuki and Kariya, respectively.

This was a point that could be considered kind of minor, but upon thinking actually gives both characters a great deal of insight. It’s shown most obviously in Final Day’, where Uzuki and Kariya both immediately hone in on Rindo mentioning the relationship between Hishima and Shiba, and then Uzuki calling Hishima to yell at him to talk to Shiba. She says to him: “if [my partner was getting played] I wouldn’t be able to bear it” and then sympathizes with Shiba when talking to Kariya:

This is notable for a few reasons: Uzuki HATED Shiba up to this point, and constantly complained, either directly or indirectly about him to the Wicked Twisters. The fact that she’s so easily able to sympathize with him means that on some level she understands his situation.

Secondly, she does actually go through something similar, being the Game Master and Conductor of Shibuya, who got played by Shiba into giving up her position to him. But unlike him, she still had Kariya to support her through it and prevent her from becoming too ruthless and uncaring- to still be human. Kariya’s support is part of the reason she was willing to go against the rules of the Reaper hierarchy and to protect Shibuya even against orders.

And lastly, a major motivation of Uzuki’s was to work up the Reaper hierarchy, and eventually become a Game Master or even a Conductor. In the original game she was INCREDIBLY single-minded in regards to this, and was willing to do almost anything to go up the ranks. Considering every other parallel drawn between them, it’s safe to assume that Shiba has a very similar mindset, and probably puts great importance on the hierarchy. This is backed up by how Shoka and Rindo talk about him in one of their conversations in w3d2, where Shoka talks about the Reaper hierarchy.

(As a side note, both unpainted- his boss theme, and butterflies- his Noise motif, are very very tied into the concept of transformation, metamorphosis, and changing yourself. The lyrics of unpainted, however, seem to be almost sorrowful and unsure about this change, and still consider themselves ‘unpainted’ or incomplete.)

Kariya and Hishima are both the emotional rocks for Uzuki and Shiba. Neither of them care (or seem to care, in Hishima’s case) about the Reaper hierarchy, and because of that, they are the perfect partner to rein in and ground them. Hishima being the sole person Shiba was willing to listen to, and Hishima being comfortable enough to talk to him so bluntly despite Shiba’s position as Conductor shows that even after 3 years, that familiarity is still very present between them, and Shiba missed it dearly, because...

Shiba is an incredibly isolated character, and is stated to be as such during the course of the game. Susukichi, Shoka, Beat and Nagi all comment about it in various times during week 3, which Susukichi explicitly saying “part of me wonders if he’s just lonely” and that he always stood at the scramble crossing to wait for someone. While this is obviously in reference to Hishima, it can be said that Shiba is aware, to some degree, of every other Shinjuku Reaper’s reluctance to be close to him.

The Secret Reports state that “judging by the Shinjuku Reapers’ unflinching devotion to him, [Shiba] must have been exceptionally charismatic”. And why wouldn’t he be? He wasn’t in as high a position as he was 4 years ago, and Shinjuku’s rules allowed an environment where Reapers could be incredibly close to each other. The actual situation that led to Shiba overthrowing the previous Conductor is implied to be seen as him “saving” the Shinjuku Reapers (because they thought the Conductor was the one who wanted the Inversion) and by the time they realized that was not the case and that Shiba himself was most likely responsible, they couldn’t bring themselves to break up the last thread they had to their hometown. This is a topic that could be an entire analysis in and of itself, but Ayano and Susukichi in particular both could never fit in properly in Shibuya, and so they clung to the last vestiges of familiarity they had. And with the Reaper job description requiring Reapers to be uncaring to those below them, it was easy enough for them to blow off and subsequently enable Shiba into becoming worse and worse, while distancing themselves from him emotionally.

As stated before, Hishima is his emotional rock. And according to Shoka who didn’t even know about this relationship, he had been absent from Shiba’s life for at least 4 years, well before the Shinjuku inversion and everything that came with it. This is a decision that damn near everyone in the cast calls him out on, with Kaie calling Hishima a hypocrite, both Shoka and Rindo being unimpressed with him, Uzuki calling him a coward, and even Shiba himself getting visibly upset at him for “leaving him” which Hishima couldn’t deny. Hishima’s thoughts and feelings on this are also a topic that could be a whole other analysis but suffice to say, he still very much cares about Shiba, and his constant inability and hand-wringing about going to confront him is a manifestation of that. Or rather, as he is Kariya’s (shadow) parallel in much the same way Shiba is Uzuki’s (shadow) parallel, his decision to not act comes from resignation and inability to take responsibility, which becomes harder and harder to overcome and confront as Shiba gets worse.

With absolutely no one to keep him ‘human’, so to speak, it was easy enough for Shiba to put all he had into his workaholic tendencies. Kubo’s “vibes”, put together with every other information here, simply exacerbated all the issues Shiba had.

I actually resent the idea that Kubo simply mindcontrolled him into being “evil” because I think that’s a very boring way to read the situation, and takes responsibility away from Shiba about what he has done. If anything, I think it’s meant to be a metaphor on emotional isolation, and how people without human connections can become horrifically inhumane themselves. Kubo simply planted the seed that would force Shiba to want to take the last step into being “inhuman” (ie, being an Executor- an Angelic position), while also taking advantage of his crumbling social connections to convince him to pursue such a position wholeheartedly.

In the end, what saved him was rebuilding his human connections. Rindo stated in w3d6 that unlike the Twisters who all have each other, Shiba has no one, but ironically, leaving Shiba alone only ever ends with further tragedy.

It’s only through rebuilding his connection with his partner, as well as confronting and making amends to the girl who (arguably) suffered the most under him (as Tsugumi’s brother was the previous Conductor, and her Soul’s entrapment was one of the results of Shiba’s actions) that he could break out of his cycle of tragedy, as well as becoming “human” again. Human enough to recognize every mistake he's made, as well as taking the steps to make amends for it.

As Nagi stated, “Humanity is the difference between being fraught with fear when facing others, versus being blithely unconcerned with others altogether”

[navelgazed]

Lmao that reminds me of the person that was like 'abolish nursing homes!!' And as someone who has had three grandparents in nursing homes because of alzheimers....are you fucking joking

Like obviously no one wants to put their loved one in a nursing home. It tore my mother apart to move my grandpa into one. And I'm very, very aware of the issues with nursing homes and elder abuse in those places. The answer is not to abolish nursing homes and force children to become full-time caregivers of their parents, because holy fucking shit that is every goddamn minute of every goddamn day that is dealing with someone who has forgotten how to use a fork and the toilet and they cannot bathe themselves and they cannot walk without falling and they might just fucking leave and get lost in the middle of the night. And I'm not saying that there aren't people who would become full custodians of their elderly parents, but honestly? If my parents had alzheimer's and it was in its late stages, even if I didn't have a job, I don't think I could care for them.

Dementia, often combined with physical disability requiring a strict medication regimen, is not something everyone can handle. Period. We need to make nursing homes better and more accountable, not just get rid of them entirely.

[inmyfxith]

Things are made to happen

Pairing: Frank Randall x student!reader

Words: 1 884

-> Requested

1951 - Cambridge, MA.

Ever since you were a child, you had always loved history and wanted more than anything to make it your profession. That is why, once you graduated, you could only aspire to one thing: to study your favorite subject at one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in the country, Harvard.

Among the different subjects taught, two of them attracted you unquestionably, genealogy and English history, but perhaps it was not really the subjects themselves that interested you but rather the professor who, in almost every class, managed to captivate you with the little details and other anecdotes that he disseminated throughout his lectures. You were still at the beginning of your year, and you were still going to discover many interesting subjects, but they would never be as interesting as those taught by Professor Randall.

Strange as it may seem, you felt close to him. And it all started with a lecture in a large lecture hall full of students who were more or less attentive to his monologues. You were attentive, you drank in his words as if the desire to retain each word that came out of his mouth was stronger with each hour. Several times, his big hazel eyes had met yours and, as a defensive mechanism, you had felt obliged to lower your eyes on your paper, already black with annotations on the advantages and disadvantages of life at the court of King Henry VIII. Once the class was over, while the others had hurried out forming two human tides, you were meticulously putting away your papers. You meticulously packed your belongings in your bag, just waiting for the right moment to go out. However, one of your comrades probably didn't have the same patience as you and, as you were gathering your loose leaves, he accidentally dropped your bag and scattered your belongings on the ground. Too busy picking them up, you didn't notice that your teacher had come, like a knight in shining armor, to help you.

"Life ... is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

The sound of his voice startled you, but soon a smile replaced the annoyed expression on your face. Handing you the copy of Macbeth he had just picked up, Frank returned your smile before looking at his watch. Having to quickly excuse himself, he did take the time to congratulate you both for your attention during class and for your reading, which was classic but quite remarkable for a student of your age.

Soon, the first tests and assignments came in and, except for one or two subjects, you didn't have to worry. Your genealogy professor was no exception, and during the third week, he asked you to research your ancestors using the research tools he had told you about.

Your parents lived a little too far from the university for you to get home every day, so like many students, you slept in the dorm. As a result, you had access to the library for most of the day and part of the night. That's where you found yourself, sitting alone at a desk in the Humanities section of the large library, your eyelids heavy after spending your evening working on your paper. A quick glance at your watch told you that it was past time to go to your room.

Holding your books under your arm, you smiled at the custodian as a good night gesture before heading down the main hallway. The university was divided into several separate buildings and the library was in the same building as most of the faculty offices.

You could have walked by without stopping, but one of the doors to an office was open and someone was obviously working there because the light was still on. This was not the first time you had left the library late and you had never met anyone. Your conscience told you not to pay attention, but your curiosity was too strong. Who could have so much work to not go home at such a late hour when the next day was not a day of rest. There was no sound from the room. You tiptoed towards it. The light in the room barely illuminated the plaque on the door, "Professor Frank Randall, Department of History". Poking your head through the doorway, there he was, sitting in a brown leather chair, his glasses still on his nose and a glass of whiskey in his hand. He couldn't have seen you, his back was to the door. The fairest thing would have been to leave him alone, but obviously, you didn't. Randall turned around when he heard the sound of your hand against the door, his eyes met yours and each of you remained silent. After a few seconds, realizing that it was indeed you, he kindly smiled at you.

"Can I help you?" He asked you with slightly furrowed brows without appearing annoyed or upset. Not really knowing how to react, you remained stoic. You started to stammer the beginning of an apology before your teacher came to your rescue. Turning his back to you again, he sat back down in his chair, pointing to the one in front of him. Not wanting to appear rude, you sat down, not really knowing what was going to happen.

You could see different emotions in his eyes. He was upset about something, upset and sad. Randall finished his drink in one gulp before asking his opinion of you again.

"You want a drink?" Even though you could tell something was wrong with him, his voice and especially his body language towards you remained kind and respectful.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, and I don't know either if the principal would be very happy to see one of his students alone with a teacher so late at night." Your remark made him smile as he poured himself another drink.

"You're probably right."

To break the silence that followed his answer, you tried to find the reason he was still in the university.

"I didn't know you lived within the school walls, I thought you owned a house in Boston."

Your professor nodded before correcting you.

"Only students are allowed to live within the prestigious walls of Harvard. I do indeed have a house not that far from here."

"Then why are you still here?" You asked spontaneously as if addressing a friend. Randall raised his eyebrows, surprised by your sudden interest in his personal life without actually resenting it. You looked down as you realized what you had just done, but he responded anyway.

"I've been working and, I think I ended up getting lost in my thoughts." He brought his glass to his lips before taking a sip of whiskey, his mind already foggy from the previous drinks he had before you arrived. As with many human beings, alcohol helped loosen tongues.

"The thing is, I didn't want to go home. You know, Claire..." His expression had changed after he said that name, becoming sadder than it already was. Randall let out a long sigh.

"That doesn't matter. The real question is what were you doing, alone, in the dark hallways at that hour?"

"I was in the library most of the evening, working on my homework...on your homework in particular."

Raising an eyebrow, Frank finally nodded as if he had just remembered he was a college professor.

"And, may I see how your paper is progressing?" He asked with great curiosity and even gently insisted as he saw you clutching the books you were still holding. Only to make sure you were on the right track and hadn't made too many mistakes, you handed him your sheets.

"It's not finished yet... and I wrote too fast..." You found to make excuses for any remarks your teacher might have made, but instead of criticizing, he smiled here and there while reading what you had started to write.

"Interesting, very interesting. No, it's good... very good. Keep it up." Randall handed you back your paper before smiling at you, almost proud to see that at least one of his students was taking his lectures and requests seriously. You had scored considerably that night. But things weren't going to end the way you thought they would. You finally relaxed a little and agreed to have a drink, he didn't ask you again, in fact, he had already put a glass out in case you changed your mind and since the bottle was still on the table, you helped yourself.

You had never really drunk alcohol per se, of course, when you graduated you had allowed yourself a little drop of champagne but, whiskey... straight whiskey... it goes to your head much faster than a glass of bubbly. You got up from your seat and walked around the office under the curious and almost amused gaze of Professor Frank Randall who, still sitting in his chair, had taken his last drink of the evening. Your gaze lingered on the large bookcase that covered one of the four walls of the office. Genealogy, the history of England, of Scotland, many packages of sheets on this or that historical subject, and small African statues probably brought back from a trip.

You then approached the desk before slumping into the teacher's chair. Your fingers caressed the varnished wood of the desk before your eyes fell on two perfectly aligned frames. One frame contained a picture of the professor hugging a young woman with dark, curly hair, and the other contained a picture of a child, a little girl with bright eyes that looked nothing like Randall. Frank had seemingly read your mind and without you even realizing it, he was behind you, the frame in his hands and his eyes glued to the photo.

"That's Brianna."

"Your daughter?" You asked innocently, trying to hide what you had already discovered. In response, he simply nodded before changing the subject as if you had struck a chord. As you were about to take the first frame in your hands for a closer look, your hand then brushed against Frank's who had had the same urge as you.

His hands were surprisingly soft for a man of his age, and the contact between your two skins didn't just affect you. Unable to put into words what you were feeling, you stood up abruptly, not really knowing why maybe because of alcohol or fatigue. Your face came within inches of Professor Randall's. Your heart rate increased dramatically, as did his, you could feel it even though your bodies weren't quite touching. Your hands suddenly became sweaty and before you could realize what was happening, Frank's lips were on yours. It was a brief but intense kiss, with no real feelings on his part. He was drunk and depressed, probably because of his wife. If it was just a way to momentarily ease his grief, for you, that kiss said a lot.

At least that's how you felt the next day when, with your mind still soaked in alcohol, you went to class as if nothing had happened. However, the looks you exchanged with your teacher had changed, for better or for worse.

[vake-hunter]

Heart’s Desire Lore Post

[All of my Ambition lore can be found in this google doc]

The Marvelous

This is protocol: when a player wins, they depart. A new candidate is found, or occasionally, like your delecterious self, presents themselves." Pages lets out a long faux-melancholy sigh. "The rest of us must keep playing, of course. Victory is the only escape."

“When a winner expresses their heart's desire, we – that is the Masters – gather, and turn all our ingenuities and resourcements to its fulfilment. If it is possible, we shall grant it. We have never failed yet. After all, we have moved cities in pursuit of desire. I fear to be immodest, but our capabilities are significant."

The Deck is, at first, very normal. Until, as Pages says, “the unfortunate business of expense, deadly journeys, etcetera, can begin."

"They must be consecrated, naturalously, in the Kingdom of the Is-Not.”

Discuss the venue. Where is the best place to hold the Honour? “"The venue must be somewhere that all the players can agree on.” The answer to everyone's needs is Arbor.

The standard set of Cats, Rats, Bats and Hats. Then there are the trumps: the trinity of face cards which tops each suit: the Jacks, smiling and stern, the Queens, sober and wild, the Kings, magisterial and melancholy. Each face is unique to its suit, a Tiger for a Jack of Cats, a Master for a King of Bats.

First played in the Third City

The cards are a recent convention. It changes with the fashion of the cities.

Seven players, always. Every five or ten years – the date depends on certain astrological conjunctions, written in the roof. 

Rules

Each hand you pay an initial ante (7 coins) and are dealt a hand of cards. You then chose to call (pay the current bet), raise (double the current bet) or fold (lose your current stake, and the hand, but bet no more coins).

Each game is played in a series of hands, during which you stake some of your First City Coins. Hands are compared, with different combinations of cards have different values. At the end of each hand, the winner takes the loser's stake. When one player's coins are gone, they lose the game. In its essence, it is not dissimilar to poker – a fact which the Custodian claims is no coincidence.

Gradually, you learn about the legal combinations of cards. How First Fall beats Second, but both are trumped by the Perfidy of Sisters. About the complex interactions between the Parliament of Rats, the Tragedy Procedure, and the Four Crowns.

On the faintest and most coyly-worded of tablets, you study the forbidden hand: the Thing in the Well, which is mentioned nowhere else, and which loses to all other hands but one.

Then you move on to the esoteric rules that govern as yet undiscovered combinations. The Conspiracies: the matching of key cards to increase their value – or decrease the value of an opponent's hand. You learn to avoid the Treachery of Seven, which renders aces lower than sevens. You struggle to understand the Footsteps of Salt, a rule which has never been interpreted the same way twice.

The Thing in the Well wins only against All Manner of Things.

 If you run out of coins, you can stake something else. If your opponent accepts, you may play one more hand. All or nothing. They call it the Chance.

rules forbid excessive drunkenness unless the Debauchery of Fourth is in play

Mr Pages

Pages fucking HATES the monkey. 

Literally moves into your house, drinks all your wine and calls you a bitch.

Really likes Roquefort Cheese. This is important Lore.

Inquire after Mr Pages' own heart's desire: Normally, it would be unwilling to divulge information of a personal nature. But under the influence of uncanny musics, the Masters sometimes let something slip. 

Mr Pages, in your drawing room, waltzes clumsily to the aerological sympthony. You watch, carefully, as it performs some soaring dance of heavens long since abandoned. Beneath its robes, shapes stir and bulge, as if trying to break through the cloth. Are those wings?

"Home," it says, it's voice slurred, "I want to see the stars again."

Mr Pages' approach is brutally successful, and First City coins teeter in stacks at its elbow. It raises aggressively, pushing rivals into situations where they stake more than they should. Then it folds, leaving others locked in bidding wars they daren't lose. Then, when it has a strong hand, Pages pursues it relentlessly, driving up the pot and turning routs into slaughters. Its victories are infrequent, but Pages only cares about comparative success. All it cares about is staying one coin ahead.

Beats the Monkey but offers him a Chance if he has something to bet. The Monkey bets you. Pages instantly accepts. And loses to the monkey. 

Now hang on a minute— you protest, but Pages raises a talon. "Quiet please! It is inapproprisiderate for the stake to speak. The Chance has been offered and accepted. One more round; all or nothing."

Cards are drawn, discarded, drawn again. The Monkey does not stand on ceremony now; there is no showmanship. It calmly puts down a straightforward Ascension of Cats: the three, four, five, six, seven, eight and nine. Pages stares. It contorts beneath its robes. "I offer a Chance of my own!" it screeches, in panic. The Monkey shakes its head, but Pages persists. "Name a price! A flask of Hesperidean Cider! A vial of my own blood! The very robe from my back!"

The Monkey hesitates. It is obviously tempted. To disrobe a Master, to expose its true nature here, before Londoners... But no. The Monkey keeps its eyes on the prize. It picks its nose, dismissively. Thwarted, Pages emits a strangled noise, and jerks spasmodically to its feet. "Impuderagous!" it squeaks, and hurls its cards across the room before sweeping from the Helmsman.

Publishes a bunch of poems about how much monkeys suck.

Confirmed crime is Truth-Strangling.

The Manager

Ask about the Manager's heart's desire: The Manager offers a hungry phantom of a smile. "Cities are odd beasts, don't you find? One can never tell where one begins."

"My needs are simplicity itself. I want a bright diamond. I will make it my heart and grow from there into something strange and wild. Like my beloved. I will carry the seed of a new city. Perhaps I could be of sandstone and gold. That would look very splendid, don't you think?"

The Manager's style is infuriatingly languid. He considers his hand minutely before every bid. When he raises, he counts his coins with plodding deliberation before committing them. And then, half the time, he reveals he has nothing better than a Remorse of Sisters or a Roser's Retreat! Except, apparently, when someone thinks they have him figured out and calls his bluff, only to walk right into a Peace of Hell or an Black Glass Mirror. The Manager likes to keep his opponents guessing.

Uses Nightmares against his opponents.

You can choose to win one of his Brass Buttons or the Topsy King’s Mind when you beat him. 

A Bright Brass Button: You won it from the Manager of Royal Beth during a game of the Marvellous. It is a key to a secret back door allowing you to leave his hotel. And it is very, very shiny. [Weapon; Watchful +3, Bizarre +2, Glasswork +1]

Your Monkey

The Monkey appears to be asleep, but you are certain it is a ruse. You think it's trying to put the other players off their game. It snores loudly when Virginia is deciding whether to raise. It chatters its teeth as the Bishop rearranges his cards, upsetting his train of thought. And whenever Mr Pages lays down a card, the Monkey noisily breaks wind.

 The Monkey is guilty against Hell and the Chain (only ascension is permitted)

The Monkey used to be Gregory Beechwood, and previously won the Marvelous. His desire had been to become an ape because he believed aps were better than humans. He now regrets it. A lot.

His current Heart’s Desire is to end the Marvelous forever.

Beechwood's argument was that man once existed in a state of grace: its present form a devolution. That pristine state was to be found in the form of the ape. One of the players of the Marvellous just so happens to be a monkey – your Monkey, to be precise.

The Monkey gives you a wink, then darts a glance at Pages' now useless mountain of remaining coins. Was that the play? To tempt Pages into giving up his stake advantage? To even the odds by risking everything on a single hand? With you as the prize? Well, it could have bl__dy asked!

Wins against Pages, but not before hesitating when Pages offers its own robes for a Chance of its own. 

Your final opponent is your own monkey.

Virginia

She is very, very mad at you.

Ask about Virginia's own heart's desire: An old desire, renewed. Virginia gives you the thinnest smile you have ever seen. "Sanctuary," she says, in a voice as soft as bare feet on snow. She looks away, indicating the end of the discussion.

Virginia sets a strategy early and holds to it come hell or high water. She trusts to the deck, discarding reliable cards in the hope of a high-scoring combination. But the cards aren't her friend tonight. The best she can manage is a Brace of Hats, then a String of Rats. But every now and again, it pays off. When it looks like she's within inches of constructing a Great Chain, Mr Pages folds hurriedly. A few rounds later a six-card Mirrorcatch wins back her losses. If her fortunes change, her approach might bear fruit.

Loses to your Monkey. 

Kills you so you can meet the Boatman. Is like really excited to do it. "I've been waiting for this...." Virginia arrives at your lodgings promptly. She passes a cursory glance over the instruments of death you've neatly laid out for her (to furnish your own demise.) "Thank you, my dear," she says, "But I shan't be needing those." She advances on you, wearing her sharpest smile. Mercifully, you do not remember the rest.

The Bishop

Ask about the Bishop's own heart's desire: The Bishop smiles, though he is no longer looking at you, instead off into some middle distance. "South," he says at last, his voice low as though thickened with honeyed wine. "To be forgiven. To be welcomed. To end all these darkened days of wandering. To taste sweet fruit upon my tongue and walk in pastures gold. I would lie down upon that splendid glade like cloth of emerald and feel my cares mist away, like dew on a cold morning. And I would not walk there alone. I would open the gates, and lay a path so that others could follow, those who knew the signs." Thin tears streak his face.

The Bishop's style is cautious. He prefers reliable hands, and rarely raises. He watches his pile of coins hawkishly, as though they might abandon the table of their own volition. Still, after a few rounds you think you have discerned a pattern: every three or four rounds he finds his courage, and plays to the end regardless of his hand.

Loses to you or the Manager depending on how you faired in the Honor.

Topsy King

Doesn’t seem to remember why he plays. Staked his mind against the Manager to stay in the game and lost. The Manager now keeps his mind.

He favours esoteric combinations and rare exceptions. He invokes the Treachery of Sevens, the Heart-Catcher's Promise, and the Embarrassment of Swans. He constructs elaborate Conspiracies from low-numbered cards, and disposes of kings and queens like a guillotine. He is having a good night, winning a steady trickle of coins from the other players. But his weak point is the Manager, who always seems to know what the Topsy King is holding.

Loses to you or the Manager depending on how you faired in the Honor.

You have won back the Topsy King's mind. You should return it to him. Even if it is sometimes a lizard.

You restored it to him. He will never be as he was, but nor is he entirely what he became. Some of the time he is the Topsy King; sometimes he is Tristram

The Thief-Oath of Tristram Bagley: You restored some of his lost mind, and the Topsy King will forever be in your debt. He will always owe you a favour, and you will always have a friend in a high place. [Affiliation; Shadowy +1, Dreaded +1, Bizarre +1, Mithridacy +1, Visiting Tristram Bagley +1]

October

Previous Winner.

The Calendar Council is composed of twelve members: each opposes the purview of one of the Masters.

"October achieved her goal and vacated the Council. But she remains one of twelve – a successor has not been chosen. She must mean to, however, so we must assume she is somewhere that the Masters cannot reach but the Council can. Which suggests – ah. Yesterday's Clerestory."

"I asked for my dreams to come true, and the Masters arranged certain accommodations with the powers of the Is-Not."

"The Masters didn't know who I really was, of course. I spent years constructing a false identity in order to join the Marvellous. Virginia saw through it, but did not expose me. Not that I'd have let her." October smiles bright as a falling star. "Afterwards, I used my reward to cast one of the Masters in a prison of its own failures." October sighs wistfully, "I understand that most of them have had second thoughts about the game since then."

Won and killed Mirrors. 

The Boatman

A previous Winner

At last, he answers in his creaking voice. "A replacement. I grow weary." His voice echoes in the hollowness of his skull. "My desire was granted, but difficult to arrange. An appropriate substitute did not exist; therefore one had to be born." The Boatman punts the craft further into the centre of the river.

"They should be of age now. And yet." The Boatman's gaze is briefly reflected in the water, dark empty sockets lost in the darkness. "Perhaps there has been a complication." His voice cracks, a splinter of melancholic menace.

His Amused Lordship

A previous Winner.

His Lordship tells you of his heart's desire. "Damn fool game. I only played to rescue a damn fool friend. Well, friend undersells it rather a lot. She wouldn't be pleased to hear me describe her so. They have such terrible foul language on Mutton Island." His Lordship smiles wistfully. "She was on a dark path, a seeker of that which shouldn't be sought. I played the game to win her back."

Won and freed Mrs Plenty from Seeking.

Mr Hearts

Created the Marvelous in the Third City because the Masters were bored. Lord of Blood in the Third City

Is fat!!! Bulky!! Big!!

Flies you to the top of the tower!!

Has red eyes. 

Final Match

Takes place deep in the Bazaar. Literally in the Bazaar’s heart. 

The Masters all gather and hang from the ceiling to watch. 

Visions of different outcomes assault both of you with the beat of the heart.

Visions of Power: You feel the slow stretching in your bones. Your organs, persistently rearranging themselves into superior configurations. You cast off your robes to stretch your new arched wings, wide enough to break the sky.

The Bazaar opens all of its seven doors to you: the other Masters welcome you to a spire of your own. In the innermost chambers, you let fall your robe and allow your magnificent wings to spread—

Visions of Love: Adoring eyes locked with yours. The heat of a fierce embrace, beating heart to beating heart. Two lives, completed by each other. A love that inspires and consumes.

You play with a poet's ardour and mastery of form. The cards want you to win; they adore you. A rare Adoration of Days; a timely Anchorite of Norwich. Your opponent, meanwhile, is struck by these visions more powerfully than those of yesterday. Tears glisten on his hairy cheeks. His paws shake. He still plays a string of lucky, desperate hands, but you're able to win back some of your coins before the day is through.

Visions of Time: You see yourself defying time (the greatest of thieves), and living hale and healthy into a new age of the world. An endless future, to make of which what you want. And not just time for you, but for others, too. The theft of the sixth city deferred. London's lifespan is prolonged, gleaming like the Neath's darkest jewel.

The heart shows you a New Empire, its dawn-ships conquering territories across the zee. It shows you the Sixth City – a colony of the Fifth – suspended in chains from the Neath's ceiling. You see yourself, centuries hence, on a throne of roses in the Eighth City after the Treachery of Arbor; and then you leading the leagues of Hell against the Ninth— In each vision, you dedicate a handful of years to planning your next move in the Marvellous.

Visions of Escape:  Escape from London, escape from the Neath. You see the glow of a rising sun across the length of a horizon; feel the playful touch of wind in your hair; smell the scent of fresh-fallen snow, sharp and crisp; hear the relentless chatter of birds, clear in a blue sky.

You lose, but invoke your Chance, staking something. Either your profession, your destiny or a single penny. (if you don't have a penny you can borrow one from Hearts.) 

You win, then. But Beechwood, your monkey, wishes to stake his own Chance.

Accept his Chance: He stakes all that is left of himself. The remainder of his humanity. And then places a losing hand on purpose. He turns feral and runs off, unable to deal with being trapped in the game as a monkey any longer. 

Decline his Chance: Beechwood has drawn away. You can see him wringing his paws together, compulsively. His eyes are haunted. He knows that – in a few years' time, when the false-stars align – he must play the Marvellous again.

Your Desire

Mr Hearts speech: "Colleagues, we are gathered (save for Mr Pages, who is excluded for reasons of a conflict of interest) to fulfil our sacred duty. This creature–" here, it gestures at you, "–has proven victorious in the Marvellous and earned their heart's desire!"

There is polite, scattered applause.

You take the time to look around. The walls are adorned with calendars – some of them follow earthly dating systems, others do not – and maps. The workbenches are covered with indecipherable apparatus. A set of heavy red books stands on a shelf. You can make out the black-lettered title of the nearest: 'The Tragedy Procedures Vol. VII.'

"Here," Mr Hearts tells you, "is where we perform our greatest works. This is where we ascertained how to purchase London, and how to accomplish the small request Her Majesty required in exchange. Thus far, no request has been beyond us. Now, if you would do us the honour, tell us your heart's desire. We shall do all in our power to grant it."

Power: You want to be one of them, a Master of the Bazaar – terrible, glorious, magnificent.

Another argument follows, this one not about whether but about how. There is some debate as to your bailiwick and whether this can be a purely titular bestowal. It cannot. Spices and Hearts begin to mix steaming concoctions at one of the workbenches. Mr Veils measures you for a robe.

In the end, Hearts approaches you. "It is decided. You will be Mr Cards." 

Love: There is a long silence. "The problem, oh perspicacious, indeed brilliant, victor of our game," Spices says in its sibilant whisper, "is that despite our very best efforts – and I do not wish to disparage our dear Mr Fires in saying this – we cannot manufacture love." Fires only grunts.

"Does it have to be true love?" Wines interjects, thoughtfully. "There are approximations that, as far as we can tell, are indistinguishable in all meaningful ways—"

"We are not all convinced," Hearts cuts in, "That true love even exists. Certainly, we have yet to isolate it. But! Happily, we can offer something better: adoration. Celebration! The whole city, united in recognition of your evident magnificence. Fame, and of course, glory."

Choose something else. Choose something that is not love.

The Masters have no idea what love really is.

Adoration: To be known by all. To be admired. To be worshipped! In every mind of the city will live a shining image of you, perfect, pristine, and permanent. A collective sigh of relief from the Masters. Adulation, adoration, envy – all these can be readily manufactured.

Time: Long life – not just for you, but London, too. Eventually, the Masters will require a Sixth City. But London is your home, and you would want to defer that day as long as possible. 

"This means London, in its entirety, is technically yours. We shall not," it says, raising a claw to the other Masters, "seek the Sixth until all reasonable hope for the Fifth is lost. These are our terms: this your prize."

How long have you bought for the city? Years? Decades? Centuries? More than it had, certainly. You look around at its familiar, grimy streets; the poignant, flickering glow of its gaslamps; the people hurrying by to jobs and appointments, oblivious to the fact that you have saved them from a fate that has befallen four other cities. Perhaps London itself is your heart's desire. And a reckoning has been postponed.

Escape: You want to walk on the Surface again. You want nothing less than the sun, the sea, and the stars – the real stars!

Eventually, between them, they reach a proposal. Mr Hearts presents it to you. "There are certain laws that are, unfortunately, beyond us. The capriciousness of sunlight is one. Were you to return to the Surface there is every chance the sunlight might kill you, and there is nothing we could do to prevent it. However, there are places where the sun is only an occasional visitor."

Mr Fires unrolls a map of the Surface, and stabs a claw into the top of it. "We will build you a home. Here. The sun is absent there nearly half a year at a time. The location looks to be somewhere in the arctic circle. Habitable, but hardly clement. 

Your Defeat

Yes, you can let the monkey win.

The Marvellous is over. In fact, if Beechwood is true to his word, it is over forever.

The Monkey asks you to come with him to get his reward.

 A pair of Masters carries you and the Monkey – Hearts for him and Iron for you. Membranous wings rip through their robes, and with a beat you are lifted aloft, borne to the highest chamber in the Bazaar.

You tell them the Monkey’s desire is to end the Marvelous for good. Hearts is very upset but Stones argues that after the ‘Mirrors Incident’ it should have been ended. 

"It would be a shame," purrs Spices. "The Marvellous has been terribly diverting, and the days are so very long." Sympathetic murmurs from the other Masters.

"Enough, Our truest currency, colleagues, is our word." Mr Wines is speaking, now. "This is entirely in the rules as you established them, Mr Hearts. It's hardly the monkey's fault."

"I must strongly object!" splutters Hearts.

'NOTED.' reads another note from Mr Iron. 'AND IGNORED.'

Item Rewards

Marvellous Monkey: A monkey, once called Gregory Beechwood, who achieved his heart's desire, regretted it, and (with your aid) brought about an end to the Masters' preferred entertainment, though it cost him everything. [Companion; Watchful +5, Persuasive +5, A Player of Chess +1, Dangerous -1]

The Robe of Mr Cards: The robe is huge and concealing, and glistens like wormskin. It contains an ingenious framework, which grants its wearer the profile and stature of a Master of the Bazaar. 'Mr Cards,' of course, is you. Every month you call at the Ormolu Door of the Bazaar, and are taken inside to undergo various painful but improving procedures. Already you have grown a few inches, though your posture suffers. Your ears are lengthening. And one day – one bold, magnificent day – those nubs on your shoulder blades will be wings. [Clothes; Persuasive +11, Dreaded +2, Artisan of the Red Science +1]

Newly-Cast Crown of the City of London: Fresh-forged from authentic starlight (carried from the High Wilderness in the Bazaar's vaults) this magnificent crown denotes your position as Regent of London. It heavily implies that you are in the line of succession, and gleams like the promise of power. It has been made to your exact size, for it will only ever adorn your head. The Masters have promised you that. [Hat; Persuasive +13, Respectable +2, Mithridacy +1]

A Leasehold on All of London: This is the very contract by which Her Majesty agreed to sell London to the Masters. It is a labyrinth of legal complexity and metaphysical demarcation – partly written in English, partly in Latin, and partly in the Correspondence. As a result, it is best stored in a fireproof steel tube. The text has been meticulously amended in order to extend the 'guaranteed period' in which 'it is prohibited for the previously-specified parties to arrange the replacement, abdication, or discontinuation of London' in favour of 'any other metropolis of comparable significance and succulence.' The exact duration of the extension is not specified: as with all the best legal precedent, it makes much hay of the word 'reasonable' – 'for a reasonable period,' 'to a reasonable observer,' and so on. No doubt some lucky court will be expected to work out the details at a future point. A final, recent clause specifies that the owner of this leasehold (that's you) is entitled to a monthly stipend of revivifying peach brandy to 'further and ensure that party's longevity and rude health.' [Home Comfort; Shadowy +10, Respectable +2, A Player of Chess +1]

A Palatial Holiday Home in the Arctic Circle: A Surface mansion of your own, dappled in genuine moonlight. It enjoys commanding views of dense pine forests, and basks in the infinite hues of the Aurora Borealis. The mansion is only accessible via a secret funicular connecting to the Travertine Spiral. When the sun is absent, for several months of the year, you can travel there and breathe fresh air, and hear birds, and walk in real, new-fallen snow. [Home Comfort; Watchful +10, Bizarre +2, Mithridacy +1]

The Marvellous: This deck – consecrated at the Root of Need – was used in the ancient and treacherous game known as the Marvellous. Player after player was broken upon it. But since you forsook your heart's desire, proving you were not subject to your own wants, the cards have been obedient. Now, they anticipate your needs, and seem eager to please. When you play with them it's as if they're speaking to you. Via their oblique language of numbers, faces and combinations, they hint of broader, grander games played behind the skin of the world. [Weapon; Persuasive +13, Bizarre +2, A Player of Chess +1]