#somewhere in another reality...

[twotiime2]

Reality Adjustment, Pt. 2

[[ Discord RP log to follow. The content has been edited for ease of reading on Tumblr.

tws for: existentialism, authoritarian deprogramming, heavy themes of unreality and being unable to trust your own senses, a nightmare sequence involving body horror with sexual themes and blatant propaganda/thought control, intent toward child harm (like hardcore), mentions of pregnancy, guns.

if you come across it and i haven't warned you, please let me know so that i can add it to the list. ]]

Simon awoke with a yawn, causing his ears to pop. His seat, a very well cushioned, tufted leather chair whose wooden legs were secured to a carpeted floor with bolts, trembled and shook lightly. All around him was the quiet rumble of a loud but distant engine. Other seats, like his own, sat in pairs up and down the length of the mahogany wood cabin with its round window ports through which sunlight poured in. Between each seat in each pairing was a finely made antique oval side table with a small shaded lamp and two velvet-lined indentations to hold cups. There was even a bronze handled drawer in the front of each table, accessible from either chair. These pairs of fine antique seating were separated by a wide walkway, whose carpeting was only slightly darker in color than the rest. The entire floor had a fine checkered pattern of burgundy and dark grey.

There was no one else in the room, though, with him. Only the oddly out of place finery, and sunlight through the little circular windows on either side of the forty foot wide room, some hundred and fifty feet in length. Overhead, the wooden ceiling arched slightly, with a single rail of cherrywood running the length of the room directly overhead of the darker carpet path that ran between the seats and their tables. From this, every twenty feet, hung very small chandeliers of elegant design and their crystals being of many hues, swaying gently as they dangled from black chains and casting everything in soft rainbows that were largely lost in the daylight but when the sun caught one of them - a shard of vibrant color danced briefly across some part of the room. The trembling of the place kept the tinkling sounds of the crystals in a constant white noise that was a beautiful as it was calming.

- - - -

Simon's first thought upon waking here was, Train? That would explain the slight rumble, the nice seating, but he had never been on a train this fancy or that dared to have some goddamn chandeliers in it while it rumbled and chugged along. He checked himself over, already having moved from confusion to slight irritation; why had he gone from nearly murdering a kitten to waking up somewhere completely different, without any idea how he had passed out or where he had been deposited? This wasn't another different Consensus, already, was it?

He grumbled to himself about "Goddamn bullshit reality-hopping, why can't I just stay somewhere," while he got up to complete his personal once-over.

- - - -

He was dressed in crushed velvet, leather, and satin finery, all of it in Victorian gentleman's fashions of the highest caliber - complete with a top hat and a dainty chain which held his folded spectacles with their rounded lenses, one tinted red and the other blue. His entire outfit was a mismatched series of black and white patterns which managed somehow to never have the same color touching itself anywhere across the entire affair.

The most adorable feminine voice came from a little ways behind him as he stood to check himself over.

"You shouldn't use such bad language. Maybe you're not staying anywhere because you can't decide who you want to be."

- - - -

He whipped around, caught at an awkward angle and ready to throw the top hat to the chair, to see the girl who spoke- oh. She matched her voice, and him, nicely. Her admonishment of his language brought out a reflexive, "Uh- sorry, I didn't think anybody else was here…"

Her words made him frown, though. "What to do you mean by that? I know who I am; it's everyone else who wants me to be- to act how they want."

- - - -

She came and sat in one of the chairs nearby, maid's dress kept primly in place, despite how short it was, by her laying her hands gently in her lap. She regarded him with sympathy through eyes mismatched. "Then… who are you? My name is Castor. Miss Simone Castor. I'm one of the cleaning staff here aboard the Gemini."

- - - -

He sat back down in his chair and took off his hat, setting it in his lap so that his hands could fiddle with the brim and texture of its fabric. "…Simon Castor. Whether that's who this reality expects or not."

Being faced with a maid-girl version of himself that he thought was cute was… uncomfortable, at best. Simon tried not to look at her too much. "What's the Gemini? I was just at home- some alt-me's home, that he probably got on his Union salary- and kinda conflicted about how to deal with a fairy that looked like a kitten. In my- in our?- colors."

All his displeasure at waking up somewhere new and strange had evaporated as soon as he realized this one was a far more personal-to-him space, possibly not even real in the sense of consensual reality's… reality. This wasn't some random new place; this was somewhere that had a strong connection to him.

- - - -

Her eyes practically shone with stars as she fangirled her answer to his question. "The Gemini is the most beautiful and wondrous of all the airships, anywhere in the Imagi Nations. It's become my home, and even though I'm just a maid, I've never been happier. I meet interesting people from all over the Nations, and I get to listen to their stories and their dreams, and be there for them when they have problems, and it's… it's just the best!"

She tilted her head quizzically at the rest of what he said. "Alt you's home? I suppose I'm happy for Alt You being part of a Union, sometimes the workforce can be hard to live in. But I'm sorry they took your home? I've never seen a fairy. Or a cat. I have a stuffed bunny, but… I haven't seen a real one of those either."

Her eyes took him in more carefully.

"You seem very sad. And frustrated. But… and I know it's none of my business, but… if you know who you are… why does it matter where you wake up? Won't you still be you?"

- - - -

That… was not a reality he was even remotely familiar with. He sort of wished he could share the visual of the kitten with her, just so that she would have that experience and knowledge, but he knew he had no way of doing so, which was also just slightly frustrating.

"…I'd explain the nuances of what I said, but, I don't wanna bum you out with the details of my usual reality…" He didn't want to dull this girl-him's sparkle, what she had of it and how she comported herself. He was kind of sad that he hadn't cultivated that sort of naïve kindness, actually, which fit into her observation of him pretty accurately.

"…Every reality I end up in, if I want a chance to be me, I've gotta fit the mold… the Union- the Technocratic Union- I was recruited by them 'cause I'm- I was- talented with computers, and had connections to a group of people they couldn't track down. And anybody who's in the Union has some serious rules to follow, or else they get brainwashed into compliance, or they just get killed for being a threat to the stability of reality, the way most people know it. If I don't fit their rules, it gets way worse for me, if I'm a member of the Union in the particular reality I wake up in. Which I have been, the last couple times."

And he just explained why everything sucked for him anyway. Of course. He couldn't help himself. "…Sorry if that, uh, upsets you, Simone."

The Imagi Nations. Was he in his own head, or was this another reality entirely? Simon was finding he couldn't trust himself to know, anymore. Maybe he was just going for-real nuts.

- - - -

She listened, obviously not understanding everything he said, but Doing Her Best™️.

"So… is following all of these rules a big part of… being you? Is that why you do it? You said you know who you are… and that the only way to get to be you is to join others and follow their rules."

She looked down at her hands in her lap. "I can understand that. I always wanted to fly in an airship, but… I was never good with the machinery and the smoke and the grease and the coal and stuff. I'm good with maps, though, and I understand how all of it works! I've read many, many books on aviation and ballooning and mechanical theory… but…"

She gave a little shrug. "I'm just not a mechanic, is all. So, I found other ways to be helpful aboard ships, and now…"

She looked around, beaming with excitement. "Now I get to sail the skies in the Gemini."

- - - -

He frowned down at the hat in his lap. "…No, I… I don't like following those rules, a lot. Having structure in my life is nice, and all, but mostly I just kind of like all the cool technology the Union has. I don't want to fight monsters in the field, I'd much rather be part of the division that makes all the field operatives' cool toys." He swallowed. "Not that being in the field and fighting monsters and protecting reality doesn't feel good, you know? It's important, I know it is, I nearly got killed by a monster, myself, before all this weirdness started happening- I don't want anybody else to have to go through that. And I feel like being with the Union and following their rules and stuff is a better way to do that than trying to work with people who don't have all the Union's resources, much less by myself."

Finally, Simon looked at the sweet, kind, bright-eyed Simone, with a sort of pleading to his expression. "I guess… I guess we've both settled, rather than doing what we really want. I'm sure you could figure out a better way to operate an airship like this; it doesn't have to use the stuff you're not good with, not necessarily. Where I'm from, we also had steam-powered engines- and eventually we figured out how to produce energy in even cleaner ways, and package it up so that it could power things without having to be generated constantly. If we're anything alike in more than looks, Simone, I'm sure you could figure something like that out. You could absolutely be the pilot, not just a maid." He looked down at his hat again. "…If you wanted to. I know that can seem like- like a lot of work and responsibility, and this might be preferable to maybe messing something up and crashing the ship of your dreams."

Simon went quiet, considering his own sentiments. Much like this girl, he was good at solving other people's problems, but had a hard time translating his advice into his own actions.

"…I know I'm scared of failing, on my own. The structure of the Union is… safe, I guess, 'cause they know what they're doing and if I mess up, it's not a huge deal- someone can pick up my slack. If I were trying to do all this myself, if I wanted to do it alone, it'd be so much harder to figure out the hows and the conditions and everything. 'Cause I'm not a monster-hunter by nature, I'm just a geek with a brain that works well with computer logic. And I don't know what to do with that on my own, when I know all this other stuff is way more important. I need some kind of direction or else I get paralyzed by indecision, I guess."

He sighed, heavily.

"…I dunno. Sorry. That was a lot."

- - - -

"It doesn't sound like you need direction," she offered, kindly. "It sounds like you have a direction… you just need the… resources?… of those other people. Or, maybe some of your own!"

She smiled. "Maybe if you had your own workshop to build in, and parts and stuff to make things with, I bet you could do just as good as those other people! Better even, without their rules telling you what not to do!"

She beamed at him. "You could build your dreamship, sir! I'm sure of it!"

- - - -

Simon considered this quietly for a moment, staring down at that hat he woke up in. When he had seen the R&D Division of the Agency and what they were working on, he had been inspired- he wanted to help innovate on their ideas so very badly, to take their work and notch it up and make it function exactly how they wanted. That was what he always did when he had the chance- he took something that existed, and he wanted to make it better. With those skills, he had always broken things down by tearing into their base code and exploiting flaws, making viruses other people needed or wanted, between projects where he tested the limits of what a virus could do to the code it was built on. He was always trying to find or make better parts for his computer, so that it could do more than top-of-the-line, expensive hardware big companies peddled to consumers (apparently at the whim of the Union, based on what they thought the consensus could "handle" being added to their reality without it breaking down entirely)…

"…Maybe. I'd have to work within the rules until I had built up my resources… but the big thing is, I know what the Union can do- I don't wanna be on their shitlist. People who do things too fast and break their rules, who break away from them, they get hunted down because they're dangerous to how the world wants to work. Or… how they make sure it works? Rogue elements are likely to break the illusion of reality for people who don't know monsters exist, and then the monsters… they could do whatever they wanted. It'd be chaos. I don't want to be considered someone who would do that."

- - - -

She offered a sad, understanding nod. "I know how it feels to have to stay in your place, when nobody wants you to be yourself. You said I could be a captain? But… girls aren't allowed to be pilots. Or mechanics. I suppose… I could cut my hair very short, and… um…"

She blushed, looking away. "… I could bind… my chest…"

She swallowed uncomfortably. "Maybe if I did all of that and wore men's clothes, nobody would know it was really me! I know they say that women aren't all untrustworthy, but I… I guess enough of them are, that… society just doesn't want us doing important things on our own. I mean, what if we messed it up? Or what if we changed something important? I don't like it… but… the Nations' leaders have been in charge of how things are, since forever. They must know what they're doing, right? What's best for everyone?"

She looked thoughtful. "But… I suppose if I cut my hair very very short and hid my chest, to fit in… tried to talk with a deep voice maybe? If I put enough dirt and grease on my face and hide my hands in work gloves, maybe nobody will notice that I don't fit in, and I can do what I really want to do. Do you think?"

- - - -

Simon frowned at her.

"…I think you could do your utmost and change how people see women, here. Be unabashedly a girl and do what you wanna do, how you're gonna do it, and don't let anybody tell you they know better. If you change something important, maybe it wasn't that important- or maybe it was outdated and needed to be changed- but regardless, generally speaking, if people who have had power for their whole lives are in charge of how everyone else lives, they're not going to make the best decisions for everyone 'cause they don't have everyone's perspective. They only know what they know. "

His eyes went far away, imagining the men in Congress he had seen on TV while with his dads and how they argued, twisted the rules to their own ends, and kept anyone who didn't agree with them, down.

Simon supposed that might apply to the Union, too, even if something in his head railed against that idea and made his stomach do flips.

"What do men know about being a woman, anyway? Like, really know, not just what male doctors have studied about the objective, physical facts of women, and what they think they know about how girls's brains work. Being men, they don't know shit. So you should try and challenge those old, wrong beliefs, if you feel up to it- 'cause you deserve better, and so does every other girl, and nobody is gonna realize that, if things stay the same way they've always been."

Do "normal" people in the Consensus deserve better than a safe, stable reality?

Is that really what they're living in, if the monsters are just hiding, but still doing horrible things within the confines of the rules of reality anyway? Twisting the system so that they can get away with their crimes? Are people entitled to knowing how the world works?

It would… it would drive some people insane. It would prove some insane people to actually be entirely sane. It would have consequences he couldn't possibly account for.

Was the Union doing the right thing? Or holding the world back?

The lessons about the world the Union had imparted on him from hours of conditioning railed against the idea that the Consensus could handle their own safety, if they just knew what they were up against- but everything he knew from what little time he had as a Hunter, what Madison had proven to him, and all of his allies, was that humanity could find a way to fight anything. They had a will, and the tools to do something with it, even if some of them died in the process… some people weren't ready, but that was true of any war, wasn't it? Any change? It would be resisted until it couldn't be, and then they had to make of it what they could.

There may have been a war for how reality should be, that he had never paused long enough to think about, being fought for as long as monsters had existed.

And did the Union really have the right to decide their version of reality was the most correct one? Were they really the shepherds that humanity didn't know they needed? Or were they keeping their domesticated, normal human stock, in the dark on purpose, so that they could control the rest of reality for themselves and never really be challenged about that?

What side was he on?

Simon's mind was conflicted, and he was starting to get a stellar headache. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and breathed, trying to halt his thoughts for a moment.

- - - -

Simone listened, seemingly struck and a little uncomfortable with the notions that he was imparting to her. After his long silence, she said, very softly - as if almost whispering to no one - "I'm only one girl. I can't change anything."

- - - -

Her soft uncertainties brought Simon back to the moment, despite his nagging headache, and with it his conviction brought from years of stories of one man, one hero, changing things because they had been empowered to do so. Because they had a responsibility to do what they could, with the power they had.

His fist very gently knocked against his forehead a few times, then came to rest on it.

"Yeah, that's true," He started, just as softly, "But- you- even if you're the first, you won't be the only one. You won't be the last. If you can achieve something you want this desperately, despite everything against you- you'll be an inspiration to everyone who comes after you, you know?" Simon put his hand down, eyes still closed against the pain in his head, but grew calmer in feeling as he spoke. "That's how heroes happen. One person decides something needs to change, so they do their best to make that happen- and yeah, it's hard, and yeah, it hurts, often- but making the path for others to follow is hard, and there are gonna be things you'll have to fight so that they don't have to. You don't think you're the person to do it; nobody who changes things thinks they're the one person who can make it happen. But nobody else is gonna step up unless someone does first. And if you want it bad enough… well, then that someone's gonna be you, isn't it?"

Simon opened his mismatched eyes to look in their feminine mirror, sympathetic but understanding of his own conviction in this principle.

- - - -

"I… I just want to be a pilot. I don't know if the world has to change for that… it'd be nice if the world were better, but… I don't want my life to be pain and hurt, to make my dream easier for someone else to get to be happy. Do I really have to do all that? Can't I just… fly? Or… or, I guess, stay a maid? It's not what I want, but at least I'm in the sky, and on a beautiful airship. I don't like cleaning, or always having to wear a maid's uniform, or do everything the custodians ask of me, or any of that stuff… but… I'm in the ship, aren't I? Does it matter if I can't fly?"

She shut her eyes and held herself. "It feels like it matters… but I'm not a revolutionary. I'm just an airship enthusiast with some self taught skill at maps and navigation and how the bridge works. My dream isn't to change the world… it's to fly."

She looked at him, lost in a whirlwind of unfamiliar thoughts.

"What do I do, to make my dream come true, even though I'm a girl?"

- - - -

Simon considered her discomfort for a long moment. It reflected in him; if anyone else were trying to tell him all of this, he would have been uncomfortable and lost on where to start, too. But he felt like he had a solid enough grip on the rules that he could work with, in, or around them, for his goals. They weren't much- he just wanted to make cool things that could help people, and keep people safe- but they were perfectly achievable if he planned right.

"I don't know how things work here. How does someone usually become a pilot? Forget about the prerequisite of being a boy, I mean, what are the steps for it?"

- - - -

She sniffled and looked up at him, confused. "A boy? No, no, boys can't be pilots, either."

She then stood, trying to wipe away the tears that had begun to form in her eyes and straightening her uniform as best as she could and stood up straight, before offering a curtsy. "Captain."

A fluffy, fat, persian cat that was black on one side and white on the other, wearing a monocle and a tiny top hat, then strode leisurely down the aisle to where they'd been talking and offered a single "Mew."

Simone nodded urgently, "Right away, sir!", and hurried away to an old-style tap-phone with a cone for speaking and another for listening, hung from the box by a cable. She picked up the listening cone and tapped the bar three times, before saying into the cone mounted to the box, "Captain Whiskers requests minced tuna to be served for dinner, with a milk saucer and yumyum paste."

- - - -

Simon had to do a double-take. This just went from reasonable to completely ridiculous.

- - - -

Captain Whiskers bid his passenger farewell with a nod and then turned, tail held high and anus proudly displayed as he sauntered back toward the bridge.

- - - -

Simon muttered quietly to himself, "What the fuck."

Once Simone was off of the phone/loudspeaker system, he addressed her again, jabbing his thumb back toward the cat-captain. "OK, nowhere did you imply this society was run by cats."

- - - -

Simone hurried over to him and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you for your help." She licked his nose.

"Thank you." She licked his lips.

"Thank you." She licked his jaw.

"Thank you." She licked his nose again.

He awoke to the frantic licks of the tiny white and black kitten with the mismatched eyes, as it stood with its rear paws on his upper chest and front paws on his cheeks.

- - - -

Simon startled and nearly threw the kitten off of him- but after just a handful of milliseconds, did not, in fact, chuck the little fuzzbutt across the room, instead reaching up to pull him off of his face after scrunching his nose up at the cat-breath and licking. "Augh, okay, okay, little guy, I'm awake," he muttered, settling the kitten onto his chest instead. "Did I pass out…?"

He cast his eyes about his immediate vicinity, trying to get his bearings again.

- - - -

Instead of answering, the kitten circled the spot he'd laid it on, on his chest, before pricking at Simon's undershirt with its tiny claws to make sure this was acceptable place to lay by happy-paws'ing the shit out of it before settling into a kittyball.

The room was dark and Simon was again in his underwear and an undershirt. It was much the same as he remembered it from waking up here last time… except with a kitten on him, and this time there was no sunlight coming through the curtains.

- - - -

Simon did his best to reach for his glasses, remembering they should have been on the nightstand next to the crystal-clock, while also calling out for his maid.

"…Otome? Hello?"

The kitten's purrs of contentment were genuinely pretty comforting, despite his earlier moral crisis over its life. He pet it with his other hand.

- - - -

His glasses were right where they should have been. Otome, however, did not respond.

- - - -

That brought a frown to his face. He gently held the kitten to his chest as he sat up, then stood from the bed, moving to the doorway that lead into the living room so that he could turn on the lights for the bedroom. What had happened? Why had he passed out? Given the time (02:22, nice), it was likely Otome was asleep… he should let her know he was awake, and figure out what happened. Or maybe go back to sleep and wait til she woke up on her own… he didn't know her schedule, after all.

After the lights were on, he turned the VDAS in his glasses on, fixing his gaze on the little kitty again. Was it still acting up?

[[ OOC REPETITION WARNING ]]

- - - -

His glasses seemed to be just… glasses.

When he flicked the lights on, every action figure and stature was featureless, faceless, white, and without discernible emblems or clothing. Like pose dolls, each one was a unisex nothing. His framed art and metal posters were all white as well, with grey writing on them.

The computer was on, its screen black and scrolling the same message over and over again, line after line, in barely visible off-black text.

DO NOT QUESTION

EVERYTHING IS FINE

YOU ARE SPECIAL

DIET AND EXERCISE

WORK IS IMPORTANT

OBEY AUTHORITY

DIFFERENT IS DANGEROUS

MONEY MATTERS

LEADERS LISTEN

DISRUPTION IS CHAOS

INNOVATION IS RISK

BODY IMAGE MATTERS

SCIENCE IS THE LAW

SLEEP BUT DO NOT DREAM

EVERYONE IS WATCHING YOU

LIFE IS TOO SHORT

EVERYONE HAS THEIR PLACE

BE WHAT IS EXPECTED OF YOU

CHANGE IS DIFFICULT

PUBLIC PERCEPTION MATTERS

TECHNOLOGY IS NECESSARY AND COMPUTERS ARE THE CORNERSTONE OF ALL GOOD THINGS IN THE FUTURE

Even the screen of his phone was doing it, though the message was different.

STAY INFORMED KEEP READING ALWAYS CHECK SOURCES

There… was nothing in his room that was how he remembered it. Even his mismatched socks, laying next to the bed beside his shoes, were only 'mismatched' by a fraction of a color… not even enough to call it a different hue.

[[ REPETITION ENDS ]]

- - - -

Oh, Jesus Christ. Simon held the kitten close, squeezed his eyes shut, and made his way out of the room, trying to get some respite from the sudden onslaught of subliminals coming from all of the media in that room. He looked down at the kitten again. Was it real, at least? Could he bury his face in soft fur and feel it purring and have some kind of anchor to sanity?

They both walked the dark hall into the room where he had met Loane, Simon fully expecting more of… that, from his room, in this room's various displays of media, and dreading it. None of this had been so blatant before.

- - - -

The kitten remained as it had always(?) been… fuzzy, soft, tiny, black and white, with one blue eye and one red eye. Upon closer inspection, however, he'd been wrong about its sex.

The hallway and rooms beyond were too dark to see, but he did hear Otome's voice, sleepily, coming from somewhere ahead and to the right.

"Sir? You're awake?"

- - - -

Simon held the kitten close as he approached Otome, keeping her softness against his hands and her warmth against his chest. "Yeah, I am. What happened? Did I pass out again?"

- - - -

"Again? You've-- I mean, Sir's been asleep for days. Ever since the accident at Sir's office. How is Sir feeling? When did we get a cat?"

- - - -

Oh, shit, Otome could see the cat! Reality had turned slightly to the left, it seemed. "Oh. I… thought I remembered waking up the day after, when Loane came to check on me. Sorry it's so late, I just, uh, I thought you'd wanna know I was up."

He waited in the intersection of the living room and the hall leading to Otome's room, for her to come out and be seen. "I dunno about the cat- but she's kinda perfect, right?"

- - - -

"I don't know… I mean… isn't she a little… different?"

- - - -

Simon scritched the kitten behind the ears. "She's my favorite colors. I'll take the 'different' as a win, on this one."

- - - -

"But… different is dangerous. Why don't we get a normal cat? We can put that one up for adoption. I'm sure some defective family will want it."

- - - -

Simon's lip curled, and he stepped back a couple of feet, trying to draw Otome closer. "…Different is good, Otome- you're different, I'm different, every person is unique, and that uniqueness is like, essential to the human experience. Are you okay?"

He had a feeling she was going to be some blank-faced propoganda-doll, too.

- - - -

"I'm fine, Sir. Could you help me down?"

He heard the faintest, familiar feminine voice from all around him, but from so far away.

"Wake up!"

- - - -

He tried to see past the darkness of the hall and actually see Otome. "Down?"

He never woke up by his own volition, he had no idea how to start now. Even if this was definitely not a good… whatever this was. Dream? Version of this reality? He couldn't tell anymore.

- - - -

"Please, Sir? I can't serve you like this."

[[ OOC WARNING FOR THE SEXUAL BODY HORROR SCENE ]]

"Simon, you've got to wake up!"

"They're inside your dreams!"

"Fight it! Wake up! Please!"

The lights around him came on, as every bulb in the house lit all at once. Everything was white, save for the cat in his hands - still as he remembered it. At the end of the hall, hanging by a series of thin chains, was a life-sized and seemingly alive woman-shaped sex doll with its only feature being a hole where its mouth should have been. Tiny hooks studded its nipples, outer labia, and its nostrils, keeping all of these places open and perky looking. Larger hooks impaled the collarbones and pelvis, to keep it upright. Its body was obviously extremely lifelike, but was still a blend of silicone and flesh, artificial in the light but real in the dark. From the blowjob-hole came Otome's voice.

"Does Sir want something to help him sleep?"

- - - -

Like something out of Hellraiser. Simon was not expecting that drastic of a nightmare-vision, and he clutched the cat close to him, shuddering and closing his eyes to try and shut out that visual- but it was too late; it already overwrote his idea of Otome and all of her strangeness.

He backed up into the hall again blindly. Out loud, to nobody, he frantically whispered, "I don't know how to wake up! This is really fucked up!!!"

He needed some clothes. He needed to get out of here. Simon definitely wished he were anywhere but in this house of horrors.

[[ SCENE TRANSITION TO MENTIONS OF PREGNANCY, CHILD HARM, MORE REPETITION AND THEMES OF HUMAN SUPREMACY/IMPLIED GENOCIDAL IDEAS, PLUS MENTION OF NAZIS ]]

- - - -

Simon fell backwards over a box, barely caught on his way down by a firm hand on his back and his arm. He was wearing his normal clothes - casual clothes from before, not the suits he'd gotten used to - and he was standing in Al's Army Surplus, having tripped over an ammo box that was tall and thin and metal and olive green… and probably from Vietnam or something. Connor shook her head at him disapprovingly. "Watch where you're going, or you're going to end up dead."

She turned her attention back to the portly old redneck behind the counter.

"Seven of them. We're going to need rounds fitted for nine mil and standard twelve gauge. Preferably something silver on the outside and incendiary on the inside. Not poppers, though… we don't want any collateral damage to nearby civvies."

The cat was gone and, judging by the light through the windows and the big analog clock on the wall, it was around 3 in the afternoon.

- - - -

Simon's eyes widened in shock as Connor caught him, Madison, the woman he'd only met through their mutual recruitment by the Agency all that time ago. He took her help to stand, shaky, and looked around as if he had no idea how he had gotten here (because he didn't, of course). "I… Connor? What'2 going on?"

Was QDiv trying to fix their mistake? Was he just traveling through his memories as his mind shattered into a million pieces, as he was physically kept in a looney bin or something? He couldn't recall ever being with Connor on a Hunt, much less against werewolves… He had to play along for a second, just to get his bearings. Again.

- - - -

"Well, I got holla' point oughtta do th' job fine. Ain't nothin' speshul 'bout 'em, 'cept theys' gonna make a real bad mess'a things when they hit. I c'n fill 'em up full'a fire juice, f'swhatcha wanna do."

She nodded, ever resolute. "Do it. We'll take six magazines for the nines and thirty two shells."

She slapped down a trio of hundred dollar bills, though the faces on them were … was that a nazi soldier's portrait on american money?

"How long?", she asked.

"Few hours. Prolly less'n three."

Connor nodded and gestured with her head for Simon to follow her out. Outside, was a civilian humvee covered in Hunter symbols… he knew they were Hunter symbols… but he couldn't read any of them.

"Once we get the rounds we need, we can head out. We know where they'll be and we know when. We just have to be there to make it happen," she said while climbing in on the driver's side.

- - - -

Simon frowned at her as he followed her out.

"I- No, Madii2on," he nearly tripped over her name, tongue getting in the way of his words again after years of not having to worry about that, "What the fuck are we doiing here? Wa2 that Natzii2 on your money? What??"

This was not a reality he was familiar with, either, even if it had all the trappings of his oldlife.

- - - -

"What do you care who's on the money? It all spends the same, now get in. We have a job to do."

- - - -

"Becau2e the natiion ii2n't run by fuckiing Nazii2, Madii2on!" He was being a little petulant, but he definitely also was not getting into that fucking humvee. "II don't know what fuckiing job you iintend two be doiing, either! What the fuck ii2 going on?!"

[[ DIRECT CHILD HARM AND HUMAN SUPREMACY REFERENCES ]]

- - - -

"Seven werewolves are laid up in Wintram Central's OB wing. They went in as a group, all pregnant and about to deliver. We're going to go down and keep an eye on them, check out the fathers to see if any of them are lycan. If they are, we wait until we have the rounds. But, if they're all human, we flash some badges, get them outside and pop them, real quiet. I already have a tarp down in the trunk. That way they can't pass on the gene to anyone else. When we have the munitions we need, we go in there and clear out the maternity ward. Mothers and cubs, one two, just like that. Seven mass murderers and however many they would have birthed, all in under ten minutes. Now get in the fucking jeep, Gemini, we've got work to do!"

- - - -

"What the fuck!" He backed up from Connor. "Werewolve2 about two giive biirth- you're planning two ju2t, ju2t off them?! No fuckiing way! II'm not gonna murder a bunch of mom2 and theiir brand-new kiid2 ju2t 'cau2e they deciided two exii2t!"

Simon kept backing up, away from both not-Connor and Al's storefront, along the sidewalk. "Nope. No way. You'd never murder kiid2, Madii2on, II know that. Fuck thii2."

Maybe if he wanted it hard enough he could go back to the cat-flown airship and get away from this mess.

- - - -

Madison angrily climbed out of the humvee, words burning themselves into her skin like brands, fresh and hot and sizzling and smoking as her skin reddened and dug into her flesh without her notice. She drew her sidearm as she approached and leveled it at his head as the words came close enough to be readable.

A mew from nearby drew his attention as she began yelling at him like a drill instructor, "Get in this truck and help me kill the enemies of Man or so I will put you down, as a traitor to your own people! You think you know what's best!? YOU!? I've killed thousands in this war for peace and I will kill thousands more to win it!"

DEATH TO THE ENEMY

BULLETS ARE THE VESSELS OF RIGHTEOUSNESS

WRATH IS A VIRTUE

THE UNCLEAN DESERVE TO DIE

EARTH BELONGS TO HUMANITY

NO ONE DEFIES THE MESSENGERS

MARTYRS AND MURDERERS AND VICTIMS WE ARE ALL THE SAME IN THEIR EYES

The mew was louder this time, coming from the corner of the building. It was his tiny kitten.

"You can do this!"

- - - -

Simon socked Not-Connor in the face, putting all his force behind the left-hook.

"NO!"

- - - -

Her jaw was as hard as steel. He not only heard but felt every single bone in his hand, from his knuckles - down his fingers - and down to halfway along his palm, shatter inside his hand.

She gripped his shirt and lifted him from his feet, growling in his face.

"You pathetic traitor. I knew you didn't have the balls for this life. You never did! You were a spineless, worthless shit stain when I found you and you're even more disgusting now. Slithering around, licking the heel of every Technocracy shoe that passes by and is close enough to stick to, like the pus slime that you are."

She threw him backward, landing hard against the wall to Al's.

"All so you could pretend to be somebody, with their toys and gadgets, instead of the nobody you were when that monster nearly got your sorry ass the first day on the job."

She pulled back the hammer on her handgun.

"I've passed bowel movements with more drive than you've had since the day we met."

- - - -

Simon's heart dropped like a rock, racing like a rabbit having a heart-attack, chilling his bones even over the aching fire in his dominant hand. He held it against himself, tears welling up from the pain and fear, but faced Not-Connor (a manifestation of the Messengers?) despite it all. The iron feeling of her jaw reminded him of the ItX Terminators they had worked with, but her words only spewed fire and hate, opinions and feelings even the most advanced HIT Mark couldn't possibly have had.

She drew her gun on him on the floor. He swallowed the fear in his throat. Turned out, he couldn't banish nightmares like these by hitting them really hard, even if their spouted hatred welled up all of his own like bile at the back of his throat.

That's what she embodied. That self-hatred, that feeling he always had of kicking himself when he was down and going lower, saying these things to himself like they were true.

But this wasn't true. This wasn't even real.

None of it lined up with what he knew, and that meant anything could happen.

Simon did his best to pull himself off of the floor, trying to ignore the aches in his body where it had believed it impacted the wall and concrete. He set his jaw.

"Gue22 there'2 no rea2oniing wiith you, then."

- - - -

The first bullet tore through his left shoulder, sending white hot lances of pain through his entire left side, even as his felt his clavicle break inward and his shoulder blade break outward, with the shuddering thunder of kinetic force ripples that shot through him in waves that took only microseconds to make their way through him and back.

He couldn't hear anything but the silence of a deafening tone, stronger in one ear than the other. Then the burning sting came, of exposed tissue, and a feeling like something had spilled on him. He didn't need to look to know he was bleeding. Probably badly.

Her mouth kept moving as she no doubt gloated over how feeble and inferior he was. It was a kind of tragedy, really, that even when deafened, he still knew exactly what she was probably saying.

"▄█▀ █ █▚▞▌ ⬤ █▚▌ ◣▌ ⬤ ▐▄█ █▬█ ▅▀▅ ▀▄▀ █☰ ▀█▀ ⬤ ▀▄▀▄▀ ▅▀▅ ▐◀ █☰ ▐▄█ ▐◣ ! ▐◣ █▄ █☰ ▅▀▅ ▄█▀ █☰ ! "

- - - -

Despite everything, Simone's voice, distorted as it was, chimed over his deafness from the gunshot. You have to wake up! Please!

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on her voice through the pain, to make it clearer. He had to shut this stupid, brutal dream out, and focus on that one constant.

END SCENE

[icewindandboringhorror]

examining a seemingly normal image only to slowly realize the clear signs of AI generated art.... i know what you are... you cannot hide your true nature from me... go back where you came from... out of my sight with haste, wretched and vile husk

[auteurdefeu]

Ba2mia Spoilers

I’m so mad that I’m doing math during my summer break for something so fucking heartbreaking but here we are.

Ever since Murph established that Beverly’s Oath of the Ancients “Undying Sentinel” thing, where he would no longer suffer the effects of old age, meant that Bev was theoretically immortal, I’ve had this terribly depressing thought.

We’ve been reminded on several occasions, since Moonshine’s talk with Jolene in c1 and Hardwon returning to the material plane in c3, that both Bev and Moonshine were going to outlive him. Moonshine’s first time bringing it up, about not wanting to know a world without Hardwon Surefoot, sprouted a lot of Hardshine angst fanworks… but one thing I haven’t seen people mention is, what about Erlin? Halflings generally only live to 150-ish. We can hope that Erlin joined them in going to the Astral Plane, but when was that?

Hardwon was 26 in c1, reportedly 226 now but having physically aged to about 80-90 since the passage of time is wonky in the Astral Plane and they don’t really age there. For the sake of this, I’ll be saying he’s closer to 80. We know he’s spent about 3 years back on the mortal plane. This leaves about 51 years unaccounted for, where they were all still likely on the Material plane. So that makes Erlin, what? 67? Almost half way through his life?

Erlin and Beverly have always been outgoing, and they wanted to have their own adventures, that’s what they set off to do at the end of c1 to fill the journal together. It seems unlikely they’d stay within the astral plane forever. It seems almost cruel to. Erlin’s bound to grow old, and Beverly will have to watch another person he loves die and be unable to do anything.

I suppose the “easy” answer to that is that it was young love that wasn’t meant to last. A love that survived the apocalypse, sure, but love seems so much easier in comparison to the end of the world. Ive seen the fallouts y’all write on ao3, it’s heartbreaking- but is that better than the alternative? Worse than trying? Is there a good outcome???

Anyway it’s 5am and I haven’t slept, so yes I am crying about “Beverlin Foreverlin” not being forever. Sue me.

[cagedchoices]

As we trickle on down the line with more people becoming more aware that there are some people out there in this world using AI language programs such as ChatGPT, OpenAI and CharacterAI to write positivity, come up with plotting ideas, or write thread replies for them, I'm going to add a new rule to my carrd which I'll be updating later today:

Please, for the love of God, do NOT use AI to write your replies to threads, come up with plots, or script your positivity messages for you. If I catch anyone doing this I will not interact with you.

[lisbonsteresa]

the height difference oh i'm bordering on certifiable

[lilly-white]

me: i can’t do the thing

company: can you do the thing?

me: but i told you that is a thing i can’t do

company: haha ok. .......... so can you do the thing now?

me, trying to explain in more & more intricate ways the many technical reasons why I literally physically CANNOT do the thing:

[nickywhoisi]

I just learned bill c-11 passed...I just can’t anymore...I just can’t take any more of THIS. After 2015 everything has just gone wrong, all sorts of trauma and terrors spiralled out of my control and damaged me until being in this neurotically manic and near-helpless state, and the dark powers that run the governments continues to viscerally, viciously unwind every last shred of happiness I try to reclaim and hold on to? God fuck canada, I’m making plans to move. I have no idea how I’m going to do it, but I need to. It’s far more than I could ever stand.

[astrochemstry]

me @ the imaginary audience in my head

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

Low-key, having a panic attack about starting working again. I haven't had a "real" job for about 9 years. I've been sitting on my ass. Accumulating things. Accumulating knowledge. Picked up new hobbies. Dropped said hobbies for other interests. Cried. I didn't really laugh so much. But that's nothing new.

Anyway. I'm worried that in finding some new parts of myself that I'm going to lose some others. That's a fairly normal thing, though, I suppose.

But like, what happens when I feel like I'm going to be missing out on so many things?

WILL I REALLY BE MISSING OUT? What the hell am I going to miss, honestly.

Maybe some of you out there will miss me?

For someone who just started a new B.C. pack, I sure feel like I'm at the end of one.

This is so fucking dumb.

Gonna read TokRev now.

[sunkern-plus]

white conservative female nikki haley/robert kennedy jr voters are somehow more tolerable than white conservative male ron desantis voters because the former is more likely to sympathize with and befriend trans people despite "not accepting their beliefs" while the latter watches ben shapiro owning the libs compilations and treats animals like they don't have souls and like they're his property. from personal experience with both of these demographics

[neverendingford]

.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[orcelito]

I'm tired of the mood swings man like wtf is my problem

[batfamfucker]

What About The Kens?

I'm already seeing guys complain about the Barbie movie end, how they wanted Kens to be equal in Barbieland but were only given a small part on the Cabinet.

That's the point.

You're meant to feel bad for the Kens. Believe me, women aren't partying over the 'Returns to Matriarch' ending. Some will be, but the ones who also clocked the meaning behind it won't. Most women will also feel bad for Kens. Because it's an exact parallel to how women are treated in reality.

Men, you're meant to be upset. You're meant to question it. Because you're meant to feel it, and feel what that is like, so you can finally understand women. You're upset at seeing it in a movie, now imagine living it in reality. That's being a woman.

Kens were shit on so you could feel what it was like for women this entire time. Kens were being used as a placement so you could see yourself in a woman's shoes. A world dominated by the opposite sex. When Ken leaves, and sees male presidents (All men) for the first time, men being doctors and lawyers, etc, realising he is more than just a prop for Barbie, that was on purpose. Because that is the feeling that Barbie gave to women. It's why you cheer for him at first before he goes a little overboard.

It's exactly why the real world was an exaggerated Partriarchy and Barbieland an exaggerated Matriarchy. Neither wins. Neither is equal. None of them change for the better. It's why you should want women in the real world to be respected, and Kens in Barbieland to be respected.

The thing is, women also didn't win. Not in the real world. In Barbieland, yes, but not anywhere else. The real world didn't change. But you didn't notice, did you? That Gloria (The mother that helped Barbie) also didn't get a position on the Mattel board? It was still all men? Her idea was ignored until it made a profit, and the men will likely get the credit? She'll still just be the receptionist? The women representing the real world didn't get anymore opportunities, neither did the men in Barbieland.

I was hoping that Gloria would be offered a position on the board, and that the Barbie Cabinet would introduce another entire Cabinet to represent the Kens, but neither happened. They're complete mirrors.

But which one did you actually notice? Which did you actually care about? Now tell me again the ending was unfair. Because it was. For both parties. That's the point.

The difference is, Barbieland is fictional. You will walk out of the theatre with the reassurance that at least it's not real. Women won't. Women can't. Companies not giving women equal opportunities or voices isn't fictional, and that was just one example. There are no women presidents (USA at least) for us to go look at in the real world. We don't have somewhere to go to realise it could be different for us like Ken did. Barbie and make believe is all we had when we were kids, or even now.

You're supposed to be mad, just not at the movie.

[critterbitter]

The twins and their starters may have grown slightly taller, but their love of shenanigans have tripled, no, quadrupled in size.

On that note did you know Eelectrik has a glow animation?? Perfect nightlight eel. Absolute gold standard for creature. Click here for the masterlist!

Bonus shitpost under cut ft @birdsaretoddlers’s incredible take.

(plus a fanfic drabble that birds did while we were discussing in chat! Check out their funny writing @birdsaretoddlers) “Lam lam pentttt. Lam.”

“Language. I am not calling them that. This is a civil discussion about the capacity of a 284 Berkshire’s firebox, not a playground argument.”

“Lammm Pent.”

“If you possess my phone I will have to put you in time-out in your ball, and neither of us will like that.”

The argument over a literal online flame war was cut short by the door flying open, one of the hinges breaking off with the force and flying somewhere into the aether, never to be seen again. Or at least, not without a strong magnet.

Emmet stood there, proudly, holding his newly-evolved Eelektrik, his grin a mile wide. Ingo picked his heart up out of his femoral artery, where it had lodged itself, and gently removed Lampent from where she hid, hanging over his shoulder. Emmet stood there, eyes twinkling, clearly ready to perform the coveted Bit. Ingo opened his mouth, got halfway through a word, and his twin took the proffered delight of cutting him off.

“I am Emmet and I discovered something INCREDIBLE. INGO LOOK.”

Ingo looked, because what else was he going to do? He would allow his twin to complete his circus act, it was only proper and polite. Eelektrik trilled with delight. Emmet twirled like the best of Nimbasan runway models, clearly wrestling his eel, cooing platitudes to it as he writhed and squirmed to get it into position.

“Me beautiful slimy baby, my beloved pool noodle, my beeesstt conductor!~” Doing something that could generously be called ‘dislocating his shoulders’, Emmet managed to get his eel flipped up and around his neck. He flopped forwards, bonelessly, tipping his hat and giggling madly. He was grinning harder than normal. Ingo was a little scared.

“But now, Eelektrik can do MORE. OBSERVE.”

He threw his shoulders back, standing up as tall as he could, somehow not throwing himself ass-first onto the floor as the fifty pounds of eel he was currently deadlifting remained stationary over his neck. Emmet’s arms flew upwards and out, rocking back and forth in jazz hands. Eelektrik frilled its fans, made another happy little buzz and-

"Eelektrik boa."

“DRAGONS ALMIGHTY. THE EEL GLOWS.”

There it was, clear as day. Eelektrik flashed it’s spots in natural bioluminescence, blinking like a neon sign. Bright beautiful yellow and clearly charged, Emmet’s hair stood on end, pushing his hat an inch off his head. They blinked in a rhythmic, pulsing manner. It was almost hypnotizing to watch, in a way. Ingo snapped back to reality, realizing his mouth had dropped open and Lampent had ceased questing for his Pokedex. Recognizing Emmet was looking for a response, he threw his arm out in a thumbs-up so fast his arm hurt, snapping his suspender against his neck.

“Brrravo! Ten out of ten! Majestic eel scarf!” He praised, Emmet’s expression only growing further full of himself and his achievement, which was well deserved. Lampent echoed the sentiment, flashing back at Eelektrik in response.

Now that both Pokemon could glow, they’d never have a problem in the caves again!

[blacktabbygames]

Slay the Princess Concept Art

We shared a bunch of concept art on Twitter today. Sharing it here, too, where you can find it all in one post. Post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution (or just play the game already if you haven't 😉)

Going to start with the first piece of concept art Abby drew for the game.

In the earliest stages of development, we toyed around with the concept of there being multiple "end game" forms of the Princess.

The initial outline, rather than being tied together by an overarching metanarrative, structured a full playthrough as a 5-6 chapter long, self-contained journey down a single route, determined by your decisions in chapter 1. Here's an alternative late-game form:

The idea of deviating end-game forms didn't lost for very long, though. As we explored the game's themes more deeply, it made the most sense for there to be a singular "true" form.

If your reality is shaped by subjectivity and perception, then the "truth" has to be what's left when that subjectivity is swept away. the Shifting Mound's final design feels like that initial truth for the Princess, though there's also another truth if you push back against her and press on into the final cabin.

We really liked this "void" design, and I played around with the idea of it being an intermediary to the final form. The "void" Princess would be what you saw upon encountering the final Princess without understanding your own truth, but once you had that understanding, you would see her as the Shifting Mound, as depicted in the game.

That gave way to the intermediary design of the SM being a sea of disembodied limbs, and we also took parts of both designs and incorporated them into the protagonist (particularly the wings.) You can see the eyes and feathers for this void form in the ending card of the original trailer below:

You can see extremely early concept art for the spectre (top), nightmare (top-right), stranger (left), beast (bottom) and ??? (right) as well!

The eyes became a motif in the Nightmare route (Paranoid's manifestation of the fear of being watched), but I also like to think of them as a part of The Long Quiet's truth. You are space and emptiness, but you're also that which observes those things, and it's your perceptions that give the Shifting Mound shape.

Anyways, on the note of the original original concepts for the game, the Princess was initially going to remain human for several loops before taking on more monstrous forms. Some concepts of that are below. Had to get Abby to tone down some of the more horrifically cartoonish designs because they creeped me out and I didn't want to romance them in a video game.

We had to hold our cards close to our chest in the non-metanarrative early drafts, which is part of why, even in the first demo, the cabin doesn't really change much in chapter 2. More room to subtly play with the concept of transformation over time.

There were a lot of reasons we moved in a different direction for the full release. The branching was unmanageably large to write, and the game felt like a slog to write.

Using an overarching narrative as a framing mechanism in the final version gave us a lot more freedom to explore wildly divergent ideas within routes while still driving the player towards the originally planned finale.

Anyways, now we've got some concept art for individual princesses. There's a lot more than this lying around somewhere, but it's all in sketchbooks, and we'll probably wait until we make an art book to show it off.

First is the tower, who really didn't change much at all. (She got a little thicker, I guess. All of the Princesses did)

Not a lot to say about her, other than the fact that we knew we wanted a set piece where she gets so big that the trees and cabin orbit around her.

The stranger went through many many redesigns over the course of development. Here, she was a "princess skin" filled with a hive of sentient bugs. The script wasn't working for me, though, so instead she became a peak behind the curtains without the necessary context to know her.

A lot of people ask how these earlier drafts of the Stranger route would have played out, and the answer is I can't tell you, because I couldn't figure out something worth writing.

The writing process for individual routes didn't really start with outlines or plot beats. Rather, the routes started from a theme and a relationship dynamic, and I organically found their outcomes by exploring actions within those themes, and then seeing if those passed Abby's editor brain.

Neither of us found actions we wanted to explore with those versions of the Stranger, at least actions that weren't a beat-by-beat retelling of chapter 1, which contained way too much variation to put on a single chapter 2 route.

If each princess examines a relationship formed by perception and first impressions, the Stranger examines one that's fundamentally unknowable. One where you've seen too much, too quickly.

An insect hive-mind pretending to be a person seemed like a good starting point, but it was too difficult to write any interactions that didn't immediately feel knowable, if still strange. So the final version of the Stranger was designed in such a way where her unknowability makes interacting with her on a human level fundamentally impossible, and you don't get to have a real conversation with her unless you satisfy extremely specific criteria.

Anyways next up is the razor's final form. We decided she needed more swords.

Hearts became an accidental motif very quickly in the development process, too. (The fact that it is only strikes to the heart that fell her in the demo was accidental, but it felt poetic so we extended it to the rest of the game.)

So on top of adding more swords, we made her heart visible. This is something we did with the fury as well, as a way of showing their emotional (and physical) vulnerability.

Here's an early version of the Adversary and what would eventually become the Eye of the Needle, back when she was still called the Fury. Originally her hair was going to be fire (as seen on the right), but it didn't feel right in its execution.

She's hit the gym since this concept art. Good for her :)

And we're going to end with the Beast, who at this point was called the Adversary. I think this was before the Witch was added? The Beast was originally designed to be a Questing Beast who lurked in the shadows, where you'd only see glimpses of her, and where each glimpse would make her appear to be a different animal. This was too difficult to execute, though we gave her a more chimera-like appearance in the final game.

This design was from when we still has the Voice of the Obsessed, and the route was going to be a more feral mirror of what eventually became the Adversary, but it felt too thematically similar while being less interesting, so we moved in the direction of making the Beast about consumption as a form of love.

Anyways, that's all we've got for you right now. Hope this was fun!