So this girl is one of my best friends since 5+ years and we are the same age.. 2 weeks ago our board results came. Right before boards we had studied together ,we kept in touch during boards and discussed papers. She had taken science n maths and I had taken eco and math (in icse). She hadn't been to any classes or anything and self studied throughout 10th grade. All of us thought she was the smartest amongst us as she always said she got 90+% EVEN IN PRELIMS. Which is a lot.. I also believed she was smarter than me , plus I respected her to go thru stuff like science. Even before results we hung out alot and discussed future plans and everything.. she suddenly switched her stream and said she wanted to take commerce and leave science. And she kept trying to prove herself every other second. Like " it's not like Im not good at it , im amazing at science, I just like commerce..." And I was like dude chill I get it , everyone gets it .ur feeling like this cause you have built up this taboo around commerce. Its easier than science ofc, atleast for most people.. So when results came.. I got totally unexpected 97.4% I was super happy 😚 So I called her like 5 mins after the results came She didn't pick up I got busy talking to others but still kept calling She called me back around 1.5 hours later saying she was busy eating food ?! And she got 93% I congratulated her. Even she said she expected more and she's not completely satisfied and I was like stfu 93 is great. Later that day thru a trustworthy source. I got to know she actually got something around 80% which aren't bad marks but very unexpected from her. Because she was always claimed to be smart and I know her so I can understand her level of aptitude while talking to her na.. I felt bad for her. Obviously her parents had a big part in this lying and scheming. A 16 yr old cannot carry the lie of her boards marks to such a big extent.. And I felt maybe she was being pressured into lying and she has been since a while. I've seen her home life and there aren't many signs of these things happening it feels pretty normal but obviously I'm not there all the time so you never know.. plus she never openly shares anything like that either , she tries to cover it up. I haven't communicated this with her even though we hang out so much. This amount of lying to so many people in the society, and taking genuine advice seems wrong.. everyone is giving her advice based on the lie. As much as it bothers me how morally wrong it is , it's effecting her in a different way, and ek do percent chalta hai yar mere aa gye achhe nhi toh mai bhi badha kar hi bolti.. But it's been going on for a while I guess because someone can't get 90-95% in prelims and get less in boards its literally impossible.. there might be circumstances that I'm unaware of but she hasn't communicated any of them to me . Yesterday in her phone I saw her marksheet by mistake Maths was veryyy low and rest for the subjects were in 70s and one in 80s. So I don't even think her top 5 can reach 80 honestly I don't know what to think , and I need to communicate this with her but I don't know how to.. Getting low marks is not a big deal but lying to YOURSELF and so many others will have consequences, everyone will forget about it in the next few months but you will obviously have to make school/college decesions on your real marks.. I was thinking to let her get into a college and then confront her but I need to let her know.. what should I dooo??

Groaning awake, panic twisted my features at the sight of Marcus slumbering peacefully next to me. Flying off the bed, the sound of me hitting the floor had him snapping awake. Patting the bed, a tender blush painted my cheeks at him grinning flirtatiously in my direction. Seconds from reprimanding him, the door blew open. Tarot bounced over to me, a tarot card flipping through his fingers. Flashing a bemused grin, he flicked the card into my palm. Of course, he had to dance his way in. When was he going to stop being such a child?
“First job and you might like it. We have an unknown killer in the seventies. We have intel that they are meeting with Glanda.” He explained with a wink, confusion twisting my features. “Glanda Kills the witch we are dealing with. Prevent their meeting and you get to put another serial killer on the map. Your disguises are on the door. Have fun, my lovely weirdos.” Floating out in a scarlet velvet suit, pale blue bell bottoms and a green floral disco shirt had me rolling my eyes. Popping to my feet, Marcus looked less impressed with his navy bell bottoms and a cheesy blue and white button up shirt. Low growls rumbled in my throat, my fingers dancing along the material. Excusing myself to give my hair the Farrah Fawcett treatment, the hair curler worked overtime to give me the perfect bouncy flips and curls. Flipping through the makeup bag, the correct pallet greeted me. Painting my face the best I could, the bold lines contrasted wonderfully with the blue. Coming out to get dressed, Marcus looked miserable in his outfit. Fussing with the colorful material, a fit of laughter burst from his lips at my hair and makeup. Flipping him off as I tugged on my modern undergarments, he turned his back as I tugged on the denim bell bottoms. Tying the front of my disco shirt, hesitation lingered at the faded scars covering my bare stomach. They weren’t completely visible, a lump forming in my throat. Getting lost in my thoughts, Marcus dropping my pendant over my head ripped me back into reality. Sliding his hands down to my hips, his lips brushed against the top of my head.
“No one is going to see them and witchcraft isn’t so taboo. At least you look sexy. I look like someone’s dad back in the day.” He complained with a snarl on his lips, a quick peck on his cheek softening his frustration. Plucking the tarot card from his fingers, a date was required for me to work my spell. Lifting my pendant over my head, his hand stopped me. Fishing around his pocket, he pressed a silver engraved dagger into my palm. What was the point of this weapon? It wasn't that I didn't know my way around them but a deep disdain lingered with using them.
"I can’t have you trapped without a way out again.” He whispered gruffly into my ear, a shiver running up my spine. “Cut your palm and it should shrink into a charm.” Listening to him with a look of pure annoyance, my magic tended to keep me alive. Cutting my palm, a bright light blinded me. The light died down to reveal a jingling charm bracelet on my left wrist, pride glistening in his eyes. Offering him my palm, hunger burned in his eyes. Licking off the blood, the substance would keep him healing throughout our next mission. Remembering that I needed boots, Marcus crouched down to slide on a pair of worn black boots. Thanking him while reading the date one more time, something told me that today was going to get heated. Clearing my throat, it was time to go. Spinning my pendant clockwise, time would always be on my hand.
“I call upon the sands of time to whisk me away to the Quincy Market in Boston on the twenty-sixth of August in the year of nineteen seventy-six!” The pendant spun faster, a blast of energy knocking us onto the cobblestone street. Landing on our asses, one would think that we could land on our feet by this point but the energy was unpredictable. A sea of bell bottoms and brick buildings greeted us, a long sigh pouring from my lips. Staring at the card in my hand, nothing but the card of death greeted me. So much for the details, Marcus tapping my shoulder causing me to quit my silent fuming. Dropping my pendant over my head, his head rested on my shoulder.
“Any more information about our mission or are we in the dark per usual?” He grumbled venomously, his fingers drumming on my lap “Of course it had to be on a busy day.” Helping to my feet with him, the food vendors had people lining up and blocking the way. The energy shifted, a woman with a sleek silver bob and dazzling emerald eyes walked past me. Time slowed down, emerald ribbons following her. Her green crop top matched her brown bell bottoms to a tee, our eyes meeting for a second. Flipping her hair with a middle finger, my temper visibly flared. Chuckling under her breath, Marcus had to hold me back. Glancing around for the person she was meeting with, another energy giving us pause. A blood soaked man with dirty blonde waves around his shoulders darted after her, crazed ruby eyes lingering on us for a little too long. A golden spiked club dangled off of his wrist, screams and chaos erupted in the distance. Pushing our way through the crowd, a man lay at my feet. A jar of souvenirs rolled out of his pocket, the face having been beaten to a pulp. That mission was a bittersweet ending, a blast of green energy catching my eyes. Stomping on the tail of her time travel spell, Marcus grabbed my waist. Twisting through time to the land of the dinosaurs, the sheer force of the energy had us splashing into a pond of mud. Dragging ourselves out, she wasn’t getting away that easily. Grabbing onto her magic trail, one yank had them in the mud. Low growls rumbled in her throat as she pulled herself out, a steady stream of curse burst from her lips. Mud dripped to our feet, dinosaurs of all kinds darted around us. Parting our lips to speak, screeches had us hiding behind thick trees. More problems, right? Why did Murphy's law have to taint my plans?
“What the hell is your fucking problem!” She screeched over the chaos around us, a giant leaf tickling my legs. “The great Glanda Kills refuses to listen to anybody! The world will be ruled by chaos!” Rolling my eyes, someone was full of herself. Marcus poked his head around the tree, his club spinning in his hand. Placing my hand on his chest to calm him down, curiosity had me wondering who the hell she thought she was.
“Wow! We speak about ourselves by our names. The fact you speak of yourself by your name implies that you are less of a wicked witch.” I returned sarcastically, waiting with bated breath for a response. “Now we don’t have a backbone after time traveling like a reckless buffoon.” Marcus shot me a warning look, my palm rubbing against his chest to keep him calm. A fit of laughter burst from my throat at her mate and her arguing, the two of them weren’t in sync. Yanking Marcus down by the collar of his shirt, a purr rumbled in his throat. Not now, you hungry demon.
“Calm down, killer. We are going to split up and figure out how they fight.” I teased with a wink, disappointment dimming his eyes. “Play your cards right and we can have fun very soon. You do recall that a pure witch can only engage in such activities if she is married, right?” Huffing a playful fine, he pretended to get on his knees. Sticking out my tongue, I took my necklace off of my neck. Extending it into a smooth violet wand, violet ribbons swirled down my arm. Combining all four elements of nature into a single ribbon had been my specialty. Stepping out from behind the tree, Marcus crept in the opposite direction. Spinning my wand in between my fingers, something had to give.
“Miss Glanda, are you down for a good old fashioned witch’s duel or am I going to have to call you chicken?” I challenged her with a hearty laugh, the muddy witch stepping out from behind the tree. “She makes an appearance.” Raising her palm into the air, ruby poured down her arm. Bowing in my direction, a look of disdain leaving her lips at my steady bow. Manners weren't her strong point either, her disrespect pissing me. Refusing to show it, my composure remained as strong as it always was.
“You act like you are all high and mighty but you are no different than me. We keep breaking the laws of time and you never have yet to face any consequences like me.” She spat icily, my brow raising at her harsh words. “Oh wait, I forgot! The time guardians gave you a free pass because you want to improve people’s lives. How pathetic!” Pointing my wand her direction, another fit of laughter had me doubling over.
“Sure because destroying what has a right to live makes you so much cooler than me.” I taunted with a sly grin, storm clouds rumbling to life. “Screw you with that bullshit. Time isn’t my only strength, you foul wench. Unleash a storm!” Heavy rain soaked us to the bone, the mud splashing around our feet. Snapping her fingers, a blizzard replaced the rain. Snapping my fingers, the rain took over. Grinning ear to ear with triumph, a wave of my hand stopped the storm. Her lips parted to speak, a shrill roar ending our duel. A tyrannosaurus rex roared behind me, true fear rounding our eyes. Looking up slowly, angry yellow eyes met mine. Cursing under my breath, a bright flash of green announced her leaving with her partner. Marcus skidded up next to me, fresh bruises and cuts dotting his exposed skin. Shrinking my wand back down to my pendant, another roar rattled the ground beneath my feet. Dropping it over my head, we needed to get away from the current danger. Splashing through the mud, our eyes scanned the overgrown land for a solution. Hopping into a raging river, rough waters tossed us all about. Holding me close to him, his body took the brunt of the rocks hitting us. The water speed picked up, the sounds of a waterfall roaring away frightening me. Wiggling my fingers in the water, a wave tossed us onto a sandy beach. Rolling onto our backs, his wounds sealed shut. Turning over to face him, the corner of his lips curled into a twitching grin. Curiosity mixed with love, scarlet painting my cheeks.
“Did you plan any of this?” He inquired with a wink, a snort causing him to laugh. “Too bad that we couldn’t get him in jail. At the very least the guy will have the crimes linked to him. Why are you so beautiful?” Snorting at his compliment, his eyeballs must not be working. Sitting up, my hands rested on my knees. Taking off my necklace gingerly, Marcus grabbed my waist as I began to spin it counter clockwise. Time to blow this prehistoric dump!
“Time to go home. I call upon the sands of time to whisk me back home and to set this timeline in place.” I chanted with a wry smile, a blast of energy knocking us into a random park during present time. A familiar energy had my hair standing on in, a demon gang coming our way. Marcus noticed the numb but panicked expression on my face, his hands cupping my face. Struggling to find the words, chains had me paralyzed in my spot. Laughing with an apologetic grin, my past was coming back to haunt me. His stern expression told me to speak, my hand beginning to tremble uncontrollably. Why today of all days?
“I might have pissed off a gang of demons before I met you. So let’s say about twenty years ago.” I expressed with another nervous laugh, his hands dropping to his lap. Mumbling under his breath for a couple of minutes, his harsh words were sure to come my way. Staring around the park to seek out the gang, his attention returned to me. Working through what I had said, a long breath drew from his lips.
“Given your track record of running your mouth, I can presume that you talked yourself into the issue.” He pointed out simply, my eyes averting to the grass. “Judging by your expression, I am correct. While I enjoy our banter, most people don’t.” Jumping to his feet, his hand hovered in front of my face. Accepting his hand with vigor, one tug had me in his arms. Spinning me around, his lips brushed against the top of my hand. Was he ever the flirtatious Casanova or what?
“Wake up your dagger and get ready to talk in a different way.” He ordered with an annoyed expression, my charm expanded into its dagger. “Please do your best to keep your sharp tongue under control.” Clenching my fist, he didn’t flinch the moment I pressed my blade into his throat. As much as I adored him, he didn't have a right to talk to me like a child.
“My banter is my blade and my words are the sharp edge of it. Sue me if I like to mess with my enemies. They broke into my place in search of my pendant and I couldn’t let them take what was given to me.” I spat back, his expression twisting into a bemused grin. “Why won’t you marry me already! Am I not good enough for you! I can’t keep dropping the hint hard enough! I have been alive since the seventies. Do you know how long that is! I didn’t get abused by my father in a shitty home in the worst part of a small town to suffer an empty eternal life! Why did they have to stop me from aging at fucking twenty!” Cupping my mouth, his expression softened. Silent tears trickled down my cheeks, his mind putting two and two together. His lips parted to speak several times, seven masked demons approached us with black iron chains curled around their hands. The tallest one stepped forward, his chains whistling over his head. Preparing for a battle, dread bubbled in my gut.
“Do I have to burn you to get what I want?” He sneered furiously, my lips curling into a sadistic smirk. Must he interrupt an important conversation, my dagger spinning in my palm. Pointing it in his direction, Marcus towered behind me like a shadow. Marching up to him, surprise rounded his eyes. Did these demons not expect me to stand up for myself? Honestly, where were their brains?
“Even if you wanted the pendant, you still need me. Time travel is blood magic and that one person who has the blood is the one in charge of the crystal. Study your damn lore!” I berated him venomously, hovering the dagger over his heart. “Screw off or let me cut your freaking head off!” Rolling his inky eyes, his giant hand swallowed mine. A hearty laugh cascaded from his lips, his hand dropping to his worn jeans. Why put on a big show? Did he desire to mess with my mind in a friendly manner?
“I didn’t come here to fight. I came to warn you. My respect for you was garnered a long time ago when you mouthed off to me.” He warned me with a polite bow, Marcus lowering my blade gingerly with an apologetic smile. “No need for that, mate. Her sharp tongue is her blade. Back to why I wanted to talk to you. Glanda is hiring my cousin and his gang to come after you. Can’t help you because of family ties but know that I won’t be helping him. Have a fine day.” Turning to leave, my hand snatching the hem of his t-shirt had his eyes widening with shock. An apology was necessary, the words tasted odd on the tip of my tongue.
“Don’t leave like that. I am sorry for being rude. Thank you for the head’s up.” I apologized politely, a natural smile curling on his lips. “Where are we?” His words faded in and out, Marcus taking in the information for me. Crunching away, Marcus snapped his fingers in front of my face. Tuning him out again, Glanda’s energy seemed to be near. Dragging him towards the energy, his protests fell on deaf ears. Marching into a city, a pizza parlor ultimately being her destination. Hiding him behind a tree, our eyes watched Glanda stomp into the pizza parlor. Mumbling a spell under his breath, the filth lifted off of our outfits. Seconds from going in, Tarot stepped out of a flurry of tarot cards. Two ordinary bands glittered in his palms, Marcus grinning ear to ear. What did the two man children have planned?
“What I have here is two wedding bands that unify the lovely couple standing in front of me. They are both blessed by the demon king and the grand witch. Slide them on and you are a married couple.” He announced while floating around with a Cheshire Cat grin, Marcus turning towards me. “You didn’t tell her that you planned on asking her. After all that floating around!” Cupping my cheek, his other hand tucked my hair behind my ear. Blushing a deep scarlet, his golden heart made it impossible for me to be mad at him.
“I didn’t know about your past but I don’t care. Hear me out for a second.” He choked out adorably, his cheeks burning a deep crimson. “Do me the honor of becoming my wife in this crazy world. I have to admit something to you. Your light bathed me that day you darted past me with those wounds. You stopped to ask if I was okay and I couldn’t believe it. Everyone hated me at the time. Every moment since has been a blessing and I wish to have many more years with you. I ask again. Will you be my wife?” Melting into his arms, this had been my dream since I was a young child. The image of a big family flashed in my mind, the sight of our children running around a yard while laughing had me smiling softly to myself.
“Why would I ever say no?” I answered in an uncharacteristic lack of sarcasm, his nervous grin swelling into one of relief and pride. “Are you going to slide the ring on or what?” Returning our usual style of banter, his shaking fingers slid on the smaller wedding band. Accepting his band from Tarot’s palm, my own quaking fingers slid on his. Swinging me underneath him, his lips pressed against mine hungrily. Time slowed, the sound of the outside dying down. Our heart beat to the same beat, a tap on my shoulder had the sounds rushing back in. The bands twisted to matching silver metal flames, Marcus kissing the top of my hand. Tarot pointed towards the pizza parlor, Glanda stepping out of the restaurant. Hopping into a onyx town car, our target rumbled away. Tarot shoved his phone in my face, the article that pinned that man to those crimes. Happy to see that, something else ate at me. Why murder them if you could use them? Perhaps there was a special spell you could perform with those souls.
“Don’t worry about his death. Asphy told me that he was going to die that day, regardless.” He assured me with a comforting grin, Marcus embracing me from behind. “She is one of my friends and in charge of the universe. Maybe one day you could meet her. In fact, she is younger than you. The grand witch told me to give you this.” Feeling around the pocket of his suit, he pressed a lilac envelope into my palm. Ripping it open, my heart sank into my stomach at a request to meet with her personally. Lowering the card with a huff, Tarot shrugged his shoulders. What did she need with me now? Every time she asked for me, it was simply another witch hunt.
“Can you tell me if I am going to be ripped to shreds or is this a little spot of tea?” I questioned through gritted teeth, hating that my aunt was calling for me. “Fine, let’s go!” Bringing my dagger back to life, a quick slice had blood staining the paper. Lilac smoke swirled around us, a force of energy whisking us outside heavy lilac doors. Marcus kissed the top of my head, my dagger shrinking back down to its charm form.
“Whatever comes your way, I will be by your side.” He promised lovingly, shooting me a playful grin. “Your words are your blade and your bite is the sharp edge.” Looking back up at him, my husband watched me with all the love in the world. Our marriage may have been rushed but both of us would be more powerful. Perhaps the flames of hope could burn bright once more.

Alternate name(s): Delicious in Dungeon, episode 20

Episode 20

After the Golden Kingdom is sunk underground by an insane magician, its king emerges, promising all of his treasure to any who defeat the magician, before crumbling to dust. Guilds are spurred on by this promise, traversing the labyrinthine dungeon in search of the magician. Laios, the leader of one such guild, encounters a dragon that wipes out his party and devours his sister Falin. Despite having lost the entirety of their supplies and belongings, Laios along with Marcille, an elven healer, and Chilchuck, a halfling thief, immediately reenter the dungeon, determined to save Falin.
Time being of the essence, Laios suggests the taboo of eating the monsters of the dungeon as a means of gathering supplies. Upon the preparation of their first meal in the dungeon, they are stopped by an onlooking dwarf named Senshi. An enthusiast of monster cooking, he helps them prepare their monster ingredients for safe consumption. After learning of Laios' circumstances, Senshi expresses his desire to cook a dragon and joins their guild, thus beginning their food-filled foray into the dungeon together.
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[I shared this in girls and gays but wanted to share here as well for those of you not in that sub]
With Kendrick Lamar and Drake’s rap feud raging over the last month, I got curious about what their natal charts say about each of them as rappers, and how the astrological synastry between the two has fueled this chart-topping fight. Luckily we have an accurate birth time for both Drake and Kendrick, so we can see exactly how their charts overlap.
Here’s Drake’s chart:
And here’s Kendrick’s chart:
Inconjunct Suns
Kendrick has a Gemini sun, like many of hip hop’s greatest rappers, including Notorious B.I.G., Tupac, Lauryn Hill and Outkast’s Andre 3000. Geminis are well-suited to rap as the wordsmiths of the zodiac, one of the two signs ruled by Mercury, the planet of communication. Virgo, the other sign ruled by Mercury, expresses the analytical, practical, pragmatic side of the mind, the so-called “left brain” which sorts the wheat from the chaff (and, fittingly, Virgo season aligns with the harvest season of late summer).
Gemini expresses the more playful, self-expressive, hyper-curious “right brain” side of the mind - the monkey mind that swings from branch to branch, seeing connections as it goes. “Curious to a fault, Geminis have a finger in every pie. Solar Geminis are flexible and changeable people. Usually quite clever and witty, Geminis enjoy intellectual conversations and they are easily bored if they are not getting enough mental stimulation.”
Drake is a Scorpio sun, bringing a very different energy to the table. Scorpios seek power above all, and they live life intensely. If Gemini is the court jester, taking life lightly and poking fun at it all, Scorpio is the dark knight plotting and positioning himself for a coup. As one of the two signs ruled by Mars, the planet of war and competition, Scorpios don’t back down from competition, and as a fixed modality sign, they can struggle to let go–even of what hurts them. Scorpios are drawn to the darker sides of life - they know that secrets hold power, so they tend toward privacy, as shown in Drake’s last rap beef, when Pusha T revealed that he had secretly fathered a son with a porn star.
Gemini and Scorpio have a tricky inter-dynamic, with an aspect between them known as a quincunx, or an inconjunct. Quincunxes occur when planets are 150 degrees apart, and therefore share neither an element (water, fire, earth, or air) nor a modality (cardinal, fixed, or mutable). They are at odds in a very fundamental way, and though they can teach each other a lot, in order to get along they will have to make some serious adjustments.
“When these signs get together, they just can’t understand each other. They have almost nothing in common, so it’s hard to find common ground. When a quincunx shows up in a synastry or relationship reading, this can make for a tense or difficult relationship.” This natural repelling dynamic is expressed in Kendrick’s diss song Euphoria (“I hate the way that you walk, the way that you talk/I hate the way that you dress/I hate the way you sneak diss, if I catch flight, it's gon' be direct”).
Drake’s ascendant is placed at 29 degrees Leo, exactly conjunct the royal fixed star Regulus. Regulus is one of the luckiest stars in the zodiac, and it is often seen in the charts of celebrities. “On the Ascendant, it will give a courageous and frank character. A splendid and illustrious life; glorious, mighty and commanding nature; fame, busy with many activities, bountiful resources, well known or feared in cities and regions.” But with Regulus on the ascendant, expanding the already narcissistic tendencies of Leo, there is a risk for an over-expansion of the ego and a lack of humility. Drake wants to be the best by all accounts - not just the biggest commercial superstar, which he is, but also the most critically acclaimed rapper, like Pulitzer Prize-winning Kendrick.
Mercury and Mars vs. Mercury and Venus
When it comes to analyzing writers of any sort, I like to look at their Mercuries, and here we see a fascinating contrast. Kendrick’s Mercury is located in intuitive, emotional Cancer (just like Lana del Rey, who I analyzed last week), and it is conjoined with Mars, the planet of war, which is what makes him such a formidable opponent in a rap battle. “Mercury conjunct Mars natal gives a quick mind, rapid reflexes, and a sharp tongue. These attributes are ideal for making quick decisions in the heat of the moment while others hesitate. Excellent debating skills allow you to stand up not only for yourself but for the rights of others. Your enthusiastic, direct and courageous way of expressing yourself can win admiration in politics, business, and the military.”
I think Mercury in combination with Mars is the ideal aspect for the competitive sport of rap, and interestingly enough, Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G., who famously feuded and are considered by many to be the all-time greatest rappers, both had these planets tightly combined (Tupac had Mercury trine Mars with a 1 degree orb, and Biggie had Mercury septile Mars with a 0 degree orb).
Drake, by contrast, has his Mercury conjoined with Mars’ planetary opposite, Venus. Mercury conjoined with creative Venus is a great aspect for a musician, but it lacks the teeth of competitive Mars. “Mercury conjunct Venus natal makes you a lovable, handsome, neat, refined, romantic, and courteous person. You may tend to be passive and submissive, but this is a means by which you achieve peace in your life. You can lovingly communicate things; a melodic, poetic, and relaxing voice often helps this. Mercury rules trade, and Venus rules money, so you could do well in business and enjoy buying and selling.”
Many of Drake’s biggest hits show this melodic Mercury-Venus aspect - like the no-rapping, all-singing “Hold On, We’re Going Home,” “Hotline Bling” and “One Dance,” or the purported feminist anthem “Nice for What.” Many think Drake is best as a pop star rather than a rapper, which Kendrick references in Euphoria (“I like Drake with the melodies, I don't like Drake when he act tough” “Keep makin' me dance, wavin' my hand and it won't be no threat”).
Mercury conjunct Venus should be a very positive aspect for Drake, and in many ways it is – as two of the planets that rule over money (Mercury the marketplace, and Venus the possessions), this aspect is part of why he’s had such incredible financial success. However, a few factors complicate it. For one thing, they are located together in Scorpio, ruled by Mars. His Mercury is expressed in a Venusian way, but it wants to be expressed in a Martian way. I think this is why Drake returns regularly to gangster rap despite his success in pop and R&B. He wants to be a Mercury-Mars rap powerhouse like Kendrick, Biggie, and Tupac, but he’s fundamentally different. From the beginning of his career he’s been taunted as soft, weak, feminine, privileged–all very Venusian adjectives.
Another complicating factor is that Drake’s Venus is doubly challenged - it is both in detriment in Scorpio, as well as retrograde. Venus is in detriment in Scorpio because it rules over Scorpio’s opposite, Taurus, and so the planet is not at ease in suspicious, jealous Scorpio. “Fears of being too vulnerable or of giving up their own power to others is strong. Scorpio is an “all or nothing” energy, and relationships tend to be somewhat of a rollercoaster ride as a result. Disdain for mediocrity and superficiality can compel them to create crises in order to feel alive and vital.”
Venus retrograde in the natal chart “suggests you have some difficulty in giving and receiving love and affection. You may experience sadness in love or have to endure hardship or delay. Natal Venus in retrograde can also show as excessive use of makeup and jewelry or even disfigurement from cosmetic surgery.” It’s interesting how some of the allegations against Drake in Kendrick’s songs have included a nose job and a Brazilian butt lift. After Drake told Metro Boomin to “shut up and make some drums” in his initial Kendrick diss Push Ups, the producer responded with “BBL Drizzy.”
Drake has never been married or had a public long-term relationship. His highest profile one with Rihanna was on-again, off-again, and at times seemed more like unrequited love than true commitment. When interviewed about the relationship, he said “As life takes shape and teaches you#Personal_life) your own lessons, I end up in this situation where I don't have the fairy tale [of] 'Drake started a family with Rihanna, [it's] so perfect.' It looks so good on paper [and] I wanted it too at one time.” Two years ago Drake had jeweler Alex Moss create a necklace worth $12.5 million dollars built from dozens of engagement rings he had made but never used: ““New piece titled ‘Previous Engagements’ for all the times he thought about it but never did it,” Moss wrote over a video showcasing the stunning necklace, which is made up of “42 engagement rings” totaling “351.38 carats in diamonds.”” It’s quite the testament to a challenged natal Venus.
Lilith Synastry
Here is Drake and Kendrick’s synastry (Drake is on the outer circle):
The most interesting thing I found digging into Drake and Kendrick’s charts was the presence of Lilith in their synastry. Lilith is an asteroid associated with the “angry woman” figure as well as female liberation. In some Jewish folklore Lilith was the first wife of Adam, but she was banished from the Garden of Eden for not obeying him and replaced with Eve.
“In the intricacies of a birth chart, Black Moon Lilith symbolizes the raw essence of femininity, the primal urges, and the suppressed parts of our psyche that lie in the shadows. This point, not a planet but a mathematical point, reveals where one might feel estranged, challenged, or empowered to go against the grain of societal norms. It unveils deep-seated desires, innate instincts, and perhaps the areas where one feels the need to challenge established roles or expectations. It's a place of power, mystique, and, occasionally, friction – pinpointing where one's true nature might clash with the conventional, leading to feelings of marginalization or rebellion.”
The allegations Drake and Kendrick threw at each other both had to do with mistreatment of women - Drake said that Kendrick abused his fiancée, and Kendrick said Drake was a pedophile who shouldn’t be trusted around young women.
Both Drake and Kendrick’s Liliths make tight aspects with the other’s chart. “Whenever Lilith is around, you can expect to feel a wild, intense, deep, and sometimes obsessive energy. If you have Lilith aspects in synastry then this energy will show up in your relationship. Whenever your Lilith touches one of your partner’s planets or vice-versa, you can expect to see your deepest fears revealed. You might also see glimpses of things you desire but can’t have. Ultimately, Lilith aspects in synastry give both partners a chance to work on their shadow sides.”
Kendrick’s sun exactly conjoins Drake’s Lilith at 26 degrees Gemini. “Often, the sun person [Kendrick] represents all that the Lilith person [Drake] wants but can never quite “catch.” There is an illusive vibe to this relationship. The Lilith person may feel somewhat less-than or “bad.” Lilith conjunct sun in synastry is a test for the Lilith person because their most taboo qualities such as obsession and anger will be activated, but it’s also a test for the sun person. The lesson is for the sun individual to stand their ground and follow their inner voice. Lilith is neither good nor bad, and the sun person can share in some of the Lilith partner’s activities without merging.”
This resonates with the fact that despite Drake’s huge commercial success, he is deeply jealous of Kendrick’s critical success. In Family Matters Drake took a jab at Kendrick’s acclaim (“Kendrick just opened his mouth, someone go hand him a Grammy right now”), and the beef between them played out similarly, with many rap fans deciding that Kendrick won before even listening to Drake. I think it’s obvious that Kendrick is a stronger rapper, but it’s also clear that Drake wasn’t given a fair shake.
Drake’s Lilith makes a tight trine to Kendrick’s Mercury. “Both the Lilith person and the Mercury person help each other to bring unhealed deeper wounds and unconscious emotion to the surface and articulate deeper, wild instincts. Mercury person [Kendrick] helps Lilith person [Drake] make sense of their inner restlessness and insecurities, sexual passions and unresolved rage. Mercury person may find Lilith person to be highly emotional but is also intrigued by Lilith person’s edgy and unique perspective.” It’s remarkable that both of their Liliths are interlocked with each other’s inner planets, creating a push-pull, love-hate, shadow-enlightening dynamic between the two.
I think the obsession goes both ways, and that part of the reason Kendrick fought back so viciously was because Drake triggers something in him shown through the Lilith synastry. Drake shows Kendrick what he could be–a charismatic playboy enjoying his fame and money to the fullest. And in engaging with the feud he stooped to a lower level, making unsupported claims about Drake’s supposed secret daughter, and writing a rap song (Meet the Grahams) addressed to Drake’s 5 year old son opening with “Dear Adonis, I’m sorry that man is your father.” All is fair in rap battles–or is it? Questlove called it out, saying on Instagram: “Nobody won the war. This wasn’t about skill. This was a wrestling match level mudslinging and takedown by any means necessary — women & children (& actual facts) be damned.”
Kendrick’s latest diss track Not Like Us has just debuted at number one on the Billboard Top 100, and it’s clear this battle has propelled him to another level of stardom. Drake’s Regulus ascendant arrogance and Scorpionic desire to fight to the death drove him to attack the strongest living rapper, and now he’s dealing with the fallout. Kendrick’s streams of his back catalog are up 50%, while Drake’s are down 5% and his reputation has taken a massive knock. But Kendrick has taken a hit as well. Having rap’s two biggest stars accusing each other of heinous crimes might drive up streams in the short run, but it’s a dangerous game. Astrology helps us understand why these two polar opposites are so intertwined, and why their mutual dislike has spurred on such a captivating firestorm.

[I shared this in girls and gays but wanted to share here as well for those of you not in that sub]
With Kendrick Lamar and Drake’s rap feud raging over the last month, I got curious about what their natal charts say about each of them as rappers, and how the astrological synastry between the two has fueled this chart-topping fight. Luckily we have an accurate birth time for both Drake and Kendrick, so we can see exactly how their charts overlap.
Here’s Drake’s chart:
And here’s Kendrick’s chart:
Inconjunct Suns
Kendrick has a Gemini sun, like many of hip hop’s greatest rappers, including Notorious B.I.G., Tupac, Lauryn Hill and Outkast’s Andre 3000. Geminis are well-suited to rap as the wordsmiths of the zodiac, one of the two signs ruled by Mercury, the planet of communication. Virgo, the other sign ruled by Mercury, expresses the analytical, practical, pragmatic side of the mind, the so-called “left brain” which sorts the wheat from the chaff (and, fittingly, Virgo season aligns with the harvest season of late summer).
Gemini expresses the more playful, self-expressive, hyper-curious “right brain” side of the mind - the monkey mind that swings from branch to branch, seeing connections as it goes. “Curious to a fault, Geminis have a finger in every pie. Solar Geminis are flexible and changeable people. Usually quite clever and witty, Geminis enjoy intellectual conversations and they are easily bored if they are not getting enough mental stimulation.”
Drake is a Scorpio sun, bringing a very different energy to the table. Scorpios seek power above all, and they live life intensely. If Gemini is the court jester, taking life lightly and poking fun at it all, Scorpio is the dark knight plotting and positioning himself for a coup. As one of the two signs ruled by Mars, the planet of war and competition, Scorpios don’t back down from competition, and as a fixed modality sign, they can struggle to let go–even of what hurts them. Scorpios are drawn to the darker sides of life - they know that secrets hold power, so they tend toward privacy, as shown in Drake’s last rap beef, when Pusha T revealed that he had secretly fathered a son with a porn star.
Gemini and Scorpio have a tricky inter-dynamic, with an aspect between them known as a quincunx, or an inconjunct. Quincunxes occur when planets are 150 degrees apart, and therefore share neither an element (water, fire, earth, or air) nor a modality (cardinal, fixed, or mutable). They are at odds in a very fundamental way, and though they can teach each other a lot, in order to get along they will have to make some serious adjustments.
“When these signs get together, they just can’t understand each other. They have almost nothing in common, so it’s hard to find common ground. When a quincunx shows up in a synastry or relationship reading, this can make for a tense or difficult relationship.” This natural repelling dynamic is expressed in Kendrick’s diss song Euphoria (“I hate the way that you walk, the way that you talk/I hate the way that you dress/I hate the way you sneak diss, if I catch flight, it's gon' be direct”).
Drake’s ascendant is placed at 29 degrees Leo, exactly conjunct the royal fixed star Regulus. Regulus is one of the luckiest stars in the zodiac, and it is often seen in the charts of celebrities. “On the Ascendant, it will give a courageous and frank character. A splendid and illustrious life; glorious, mighty and commanding nature; fame, busy with many activities, bountiful resources, well known or feared in cities and regions.” But with Regulus on the ascendant, expanding the already narcissistic tendencies of Leo, there is a risk for an over-expansion of the ego and a lack of humility. Drake wants to be the best by all accounts - not just the biggest commercial superstar, which he is, but also the most critically acclaimed rapper, like Pulitzer Prize-winning Kendrick.
Mercury and Mars vs. Mercury and Venus
When it comes to analyzing writers of any sort, I like to look at their Mercuries, and here we see a fascinating contrast. Kendrick’s Mercury is located in intuitive, emotional Cancer (just like Lana del Rey, who I analyzed last week), and it is conjoined with Mars, the planet of war, which is what makes him such a formidable opponent in a rap battle. “Mercury conjunct Mars natal gives a quick mind, rapid reflexes, and a sharp tongue. These attributes are ideal for making quick decisions in the heat of the moment while others hesitate. Excellent debating skills allow you to stand up not only for yourself but for the rights of others. Your enthusiastic, direct and courageous way of expressing yourself can win admiration in politics, business, and the military.”
I think Mercury in combination with Mars is the ideal aspect for the competitive sport of rap, and interestingly enough, Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G., who famously feuded and are considered by many to be the all-time greatest rappers, both had these planets tightly combined (Tupac had Mercury trine Mars with a 1 degree orb, and Biggie had Mercury septile Mars with a 0 degree orb).
Drake, by contrast, has his Mercury conjoined with Mars’ planetary opposite, Venus. Mercury conjoined with creative Venus is a great aspect for a musician, but it lacks the teeth of competitive Mars. “Mercury conjunct Venus natal makes you a lovable, handsome, neat, refined, romantic, and courteous person. You may tend to be passive and submissive, but this is a means by which you achieve peace in your life. You can lovingly communicate things; a melodic, poetic, and relaxing voice often helps this. Mercury rules trade, and Venus rules money, so you could do well in business and enjoy buying and selling.”
Many of Drake’s biggest hits show this melodic Mercury-Venus aspect - like the no-rapping, all-singing “Hold On, We’re Going Home,” “Hotline Bling” and “One Dance,” or the purported feminist anthem “Nice for What.” Many think Drake is best as a pop star rather than a rapper, which Kendrick references in Euphoria (“I like Drake with the melodies, I don't like Drake when he act tough” “Keep makin' me dance, wavin' my hand and it won't be no threat”).
Mercury conjunct Venus should be a very positive aspect for Drake, and in many ways it is – as two of the planets that rule over money (Mercury the marketplace, and Venus the possessions), this aspect is part of why he’s had such incredible financial success. However, a few factors complicate it. For one thing, they are located together in Scorpio, ruled by Mars. His Mercury is expressed in a Venusian way, but it wants to be expressed in a Martian way. I think this is why Drake returns regularly to gangster rap despite his success in pop and R&B. He wants to be a Mercury-Mars rap powerhouse like Kendrick, Biggie, and Tupac, but he’s fundamentally different. From the beginning of his career he’s been taunted as soft, weak, feminine, privileged–all very Venusian adjectives.
Another complicating factor is that Drake’s Venus is doubly challenged - it is both in detriment in Scorpio, as well as retrograde. Venus is in detriment in Scorpio because it rules over Scorpio’s opposite, Taurus, and so the planet is not at ease in suspicious, jealous Scorpio. “Fears of being too vulnerable or of giving up their own power to others is strong. Scorpio is an “all or nothing” energy, and relationships tend to be somewhat of a rollercoaster ride as a result. Disdain for mediocrity and superficiality can compel them to create crises in order to feel alive and vital.”
Venus retrograde in the natal chart “suggests you have some difficulty in giving and receiving love and affection. You may experience sadness in love or have to endure hardship or delay. Natal Venus in retrograde can also show as excessive use of makeup and jewelry or even disfigurement from cosmetic surgery.” It’s interesting how some of the allegations against Drake in Kendrick’s songs have included a nose job and a Brazilian butt lift. After Drake told Metro Boomin to “shut up and make some drums” in his initial Kendrick diss Push Ups, the producer responded with “BBL Drizzy.”
Drake has never been married or had a public long-term relationship. His highest profile one with Rihanna was on-again, off-again, and at times seemed more like unrequited love than true commitment. When interviewed about the relationship, he said “As life takes shape and teaches you#Personal_life) your own lessons, I end up in this situation where I don't have the fairy tale [of] 'Drake started a family with Rihanna, [it's] so perfect.' It looks so good on paper [and] I wanted it too at one time.” Two years ago Drake had jeweler Alex Moss create a necklace worth $12.5 million dollars built from dozens of engagement rings he had made but never used: ““New piece titled ‘Previous Engagements’ for all the times he thought about it but never did it,” Moss wrote over a video showcasing the stunning necklace, which is made up of “42 engagement rings” totaling “351.38 carats in diamonds.”” It’s quite the testament to a challenged natal Venus.
Lilith Synastry
Here is Drake and Kendrick’s synastry (Drake is on the outer circle):
The most interesting thing I found digging into Drake and Kendrick’s charts was the presence of Lilith in their synastry. Lilith is an asteroid associated with the “angry woman” figure as well as female liberation. In some Jewish folklore Lilith was the first wife of Adam, but she was banished from the Garden of Eden for not obeying him and replaced with Eve.
“In the intricacies of a birth chart, Black Moon Lilith symbolizes the raw essence of femininity, the primal urges, and the suppressed parts of our psyche that lie in the shadows. This point, not a planet but a mathematical point, reveals where one might feel estranged, challenged, or empowered to go against the grain of societal norms. It unveils deep-seated desires, innate instincts, and perhaps the areas where one feels the need to challenge established roles or expectations. It's a place of power, mystique, and, occasionally, friction – pinpointing where one's true nature might clash with the conventional, leading to feelings of marginalization or rebellion.”
The allegations Drake and Kendrick threw at each other both had to do with mistreatment of women - Drake said that Kendrick abused his fiancée, and Kendrick said Drake was a pedophile who shouldn’t be trusted around young women.
Both Drake and Kendrick’s Liliths make tight aspects with the other’s chart. “Whenever Lilith is around, you can expect to feel a wild, intense, deep, and sometimes obsessive energy. If you have Lilith aspects in synastry then this energy will show up in your relationship. Whenever your Lilith touches one of your partner’s planets or vice-versa, you can expect to see your deepest fears revealed. You might also see glimpses of things you desire but can’t have. Ultimately, Lilith aspects in synastry give both partners a chance to work on their shadow sides.”
Kendrick’s sun exactly conjoins Drake’s Lilith at 26 degrees Gemini. “Often, the sun person [Kendrick] represents all that the Lilith person [Drake] wants but can never quite “catch.” There is an illusive vibe to this relationship. The Lilith person may feel somewhat less-than or “bad.” Lilith conjunct sun in synastry is a test for the Lilith person because their most taboo qualities such as obsession and anger will be activated, but it’s also a test for the sun person. The lesson is for the sun individual to stand their ground and follow their inner voice. Lilith is neither good nor bad, and the sun person can share in some of the Lilith partner’s activities without merging.”
This resonates with the fact that despite Drake’s huge commercial success, he is deeply jealous of Kendrick’s critical success. In Family Matters Drake took a jab at Kendrick’s acclaim (“Kendrick just opened his mouth, someone go hand him a Grammy right now”), and the beef between them played out similarly, with many rap fans deciding that Kendrick won before even listening to Drake. I think it’s obvious that Kendrick is a stronger rapper, but it’s also clear that Drake wasn’t given a fair shake.
Drake’s Lilith makes a tight trine to Kendrick’s Mercury. “Both the Lilith person and the Mercury person help each other to bring unhealed deeper wounds and unconscious emotion to the surface and articulate deeper, wild instincts. Mercury person [Kendrick] helps Lilith person [Drake] make sense of their inner restlessness and insecurities, sexual passions and unresolved rage. Mercury person may find Lilith person to be highly emotional but is also intrigued by Lilith person’s edgy and unique perspective.” It’s remarkable that both of their Liliths are interlocked with each other’s inner planets, creating a push-pull, love-hate, shadow-enlightening dynamic between the two.
I think the obsession goes both ways, and that part of the reason Kendrick fought back so viciously was because Drake triggers something in him shown through the Lilith synastry. Drake shows Kendrick what he could be–a charismatic playboy enjoying his fame and money to the fullest. And in engaging with the feud he stooped to a lower level, making unsupported claims about Drake’s supposed secret daughter, and writing a rap song (Meet the Grahams) addressed to Drake’s 5 year old son opening with “Dear Adonis, I’m sorry that man is your father.” All is fair in rap battles–or is it? Questlove called it out, saying on Instagram: “Nobody won the war. This wasn’t about skill. This was a wrestling match level mudslinging and takedown by any means necessary — women & children (& actual facts) be damned.”
Kendrick’s latest diss track Not Like Us has just debuted at number one on the Billboard Top 100, and it’s clear this battle has propelled him to another level of stardom. Drake’s Regulus ascendant arrogance and Scorpionic desire to fight to the death drove him to attack the strongest living rapper, and now he’s dealing with the fallout. Kendrick’s streams of his back catalog are up 50%, while Drake’s are down 5% and his reputation has taken a massive knock. But Kendrick has taken a hit as well. Having rap’s two biggest stars accusing each other of heinous crimes might drive up streams in the short run, but it’s a dangerous game. Astrology helps us understand why these two polar opposites are so intertwined, and why their mutual dislike has spurred on such a captivating firestorm.

This chapter took a long time to get out. Life has me super busy. Two jobs, married, two kids, still sober. I like how this turned out, however, someone new stole the show this time. As always, leave feedback, I appreciate it so very much.
[FIRST] [DELETED SCENES] [PREVIOUS]
~ ~ ~
As I reentered my true body without recieving a mending, the vicious wounds I endured manifested into being as I reactualized into my true Self. Through the pain, I couldn't help but think on Raver's words to me.
"The doors have to be closed."
~ ~ ~
Without recieving a mending in Raver's Dreamtime bubble, reactualization was a fucking bitch. I Perceived my Self as having quite the damaged form, my Soul was fucked over by bombardment from dreadlight and my physical body simply disagreed with it all, stating that I was mostly whole and intact, only being damaged by wounds I had already endured. The three parts had an argument of a sort amongst themselves and with the power of the Dreamtime, reached a tortuous compromise.
I'm certain I seizured and blacked out through the process.
I awoke with my body shaking and covered in a cold sweat, Tsula and Luna above me, chanting in the secret language of their esoteric Traditions. The two of them each held diffetent tools required for their cultural and subtle manipulation of reality. Soft hands, awash with mana and glowing tattoos, were placed on my chest, right where my heart was. Cold, icy fingers cradled my soul protectively, keeping it connected to my body in the here and now as harsh, physical laws rent my form.
I was paying the price for Raver's hubris, and I had almost overdrafted. Thoughts of mortal over reach faded from my mind as I slipped into cool and soothing darkness.
Cold and bloodied fingers were pressed against my chest and did little to assuage the burning ache that was my soul. I couldn't focus on anything else as I gazed at the hollowed out body of my beloved. She had been beautiful, gorgeous even, and due to give birth to our daughter in two weeks. Now, the... dead thing in front of me could barely be defined as a corpse. Her skin had been peeled away like a banana and her insides removed, leaving a bloodied, hollow space. The flesh and bones had been scooped away like ice cream, leaving little in the way of remains. Our unborn child had been pulled out and repurposed with the stolen parts of her mother by dreadlight and a mage's fell Will to form the body of a Thing.
With silent tears streaming down my face, I placed the ring I had proposed to her with and put it onto my finger, next to my plain tungsten one. The simple act of removing it almost caused what remained of her hand to simply fall apart in my fingers. I'm not sure how long I stayed like that. I couldn't even hold her body against mine for fear of it crumbling away into a vile mess. I ignored what was going on around me as I kneeled in the spent summoning circle.
The world around me split and rent itself into distorted imagery, as though I were looking at everything from under a pool with gentle waves. Some parts were compressed together and others were stretched out, not quite like a mirror maze as the world was still simply one cohesive image. Additionally, things seemed closer or further in ways that defied conventional Euclidean geometries. The only area not affected by this blatant disregard of spatial dimensions, had been myself and a scant few feet around me.
What...?
A heavy thud broke me out of my thoughts and I saw my Father landing next to me. Since both of us had been prepared, he was wearing, much like myself, full motorcycle safety gear. It had been enchanted and bolstered by hidden runes and severed Will, turning everything into protective objects that even defended against potent and offensive mysticism. The equipment in question had been chosen for its sheer mundanity and ease of access, letting the powerful enchancements skirt around the Lie and Consensus leaving the magic fully intact and potent.
"Alistair," I heard my Father say to me with grim calm as he twisted the space in front of us into a right angle, redirecting rapid gunfire, "I can't do this alone."
I remained silent.
"Damnit, Son," he growled out then literally kicked my ass with his heavy boot, almost knocking me over onto my side, "get a hold of yourself, Its here now. You handle the mages."
That got me going. I finally got up, my grief was as a lead weight and prevented me from doing what was needed. With a last look at C'Leena's hollowed out corpse, I grit my teeth, steeled my nerves and called forth my magic from the Aether.
Was I dreaming? No, worse, I was in a memory...
"Stay out of my way and watch yourself," Father said to me, "I can't pull my punches against that."
"Gotcha," I replied almost absently and turned to face the assembled shadow mages. They had inexplicably stopped theit gunfire to admire the Thing they brought into existence from Somewhere.
I couldn't help but stare, either.
Standing on top of the northernmost anchor stone, an ugly, multi-faceted block of copper with glyphs and sigils harshly hewn into it, was a naked woman. The glyphs themselves were hard to look at, as though their mere presence were an affront to reality itself, which they were. The woman's skin was a darkened olive tone and she was tall as well as athletic, lithe and fit. Her shoulder length black hair was bushy and curly, flowing about her head almost like an afro. As she ran her hands down her body, I could not help but notice that everything was oddly symmetrical and too perfect. It was unnerving me greatly and triggered an uncanny valley response that tore at my heart.
The body this Thing was wearing had belonged to my fiancée.
Father didn't let It have time to get acclimated. Sidestepping forwards, he drew upon the full capabilities of his Path, eyes backlit by stars, an impossible physical sword of abstract spatial geometries held in his left hand, and a reality defying, super-dense distortion held in his right.
The world contorted and screamed under his might.
I awoke with a start and a low groan, glad to be awake and free of that horrid nightmare again. Not for the first time, I wished I had that motorcycle gear still. I had been far too reckless then and immediately thereafter, and everything had been damaged beyond repair. I could never find anyone I trusted enough to make those enchantments anyways. Farnsworth could only enhance the mundane qualities as he didn't know enough about mana warding to permanently imbue the protections I wanted nor needed for my line of active field work.
Looking around, I saw Rue asleep on the other side of the bed and Spades was nestled between us, his massive form making a visible dip in the mattress. The big monster dog was on his back, legs splayed open and snoring loudly with his tongue hanging out of his muzzle. I was reminded a lot of my Lola when she had still been around in the flesh, making me smile with old and pleasant memories. I must have been out for some time for Spades to be here.
A quick, almost reflexive, mental orison told me everything I already suspected. My mana reserves were shot, my body had been through the ringer and my soul was frayed and burnt. While I knew I owed my continued existence to Raver and her godsend, I also knew it had taken a great and terrible toll on my Self. Miracles like that usually held some kind of hidden cost, even if they weren't readily apparent.
Getting off the bed slowly, I began to look for my pack. It took far longer than than usual as I had to steady myself quite a bit from the spinning room. I managed to be quiet, however, and didn't wake up Rue nor Spades. Finally in the shower, after some time and using the wall to support myself, I let the almost scalding water roll over my aching body. The pendant on my neck protecting me from recieving any burns or aggravating the injuries I had, both old and new.
With the hot water soothing aching muscles, I began to think and take stock of my situation. I had never been on the back foot like this, low on any kind of resource, having few allies, and being pressed for time. It was like something out of a bad novel or shitty indie Steam(R) game. Though, real life was often stranger than fiction and had no real need for a logical cause and effect dynamic. If this was going to become the norm, then I had to find another method of approaching my wendigo problem.
I was simply running out of time.
After some long moments of thinking, I began to wash my hair, using the guest products on the corner caddy. They were so much nicer than anything I would have willingly bought and made me seriously consider changing up my usual shampoo. The only idea I could come up with regarding those wendigos, besides an overwhelming frontal assault, was to appeal to their bottomless gluttony and barter for passage.
I resigned myself to actually try to negotiate with their clan leader, leveraging their horrid taboos against them to get what I needed.
Wendigos, unlike most strange cryptids, vampires and were-folk aside, had a lot of things known about them, especially how they powered their supernatural capabilities. It was a simple and rather straightforward process, the more heinous the act, the more mana they drew from it. Cannibalism, sacrilege, incest, murder, torture, hedonistic gluttony, or any number of other terrible and minor sins. As well as general lawbreaking and felonies, oftentimes combined to have as many as possible occur in the same sitting.
I audibly gasped with a sudden epiphany.
My fate had already been decided, by myself no less. In a bar I couldn't remember the name of, when I had been gazing into my bronze coin, I saw what I needed to do. I had to gift what measly scrap of knowledge I understood from Beyond the Infinite to those creatures. To let those wendigos defile and mutilate such sacred and pure knowledge to whatever whims their baleful minds could come up with.
"Fuck," was the only thing I could whisper at the thought of it all as I turned off the water, getting out of the shower. I cooled the bathroom down with but a thought and wiped away the condensation on the mirror with a towel that wasn't my own, finally getting a good look at myself without vertigo, as that had finally passed.
I looked like shit, and that was a compliment. Huge, fist shaped bruises of black, green and yellow littered my torso, though most were located on my left side and blurred together into an ugly shapeless mass. The ones on my right, however, were well defined and I could easily count the number of strikes. My face held a swollen black eye, I never noticed my diminished field of vision as I had gotten used to having them over the years. Turning gingerly and opening the mirror a bit so I could see my back, I grimaced. It was another spiderweb of a bruise, earned from when I had been smashed against the edge of Raver's Dreamtime bubble.
At least none of my fingers were broken, only very stiff and swollen, just like the rest of me. I probably couldn't drive for another day or so, either, not with my hands the way they were. As I looked, surprised I hadn't noticed earlier, the inside of my right hand was, branded. The skin, while fully healed, held the symbolic glyph that heralded the Path of Stars. A circle with nine curved lines inside it. Each line only intersected two others, but with the irregular placement of them, I could trace an intersection to any other one. In each of the open spaces, slightly off center, as a simple dot.
"Miracles leave their marks," I muttered to myself, almost disbelieving the literalness of the phrase.
I didn't bother drying off and struggled a bit getting into the clothes I brought with me, maroon athletic shorts and a black tank top. Exiting the guest bathroom, I thought about where I wanted to go. Settling on a destination, I went into the backyard, found a patch of grass in the shaded, morning sunlight and lay down. The grass was thick and rather soft, and the smell of the lemon tree and the garden was more pleasant and fragrant than they should have been.
Warding myself against dreaming, I pulled on the principles of the Aether, specifically, those of sun and storms. Since the Aether was a realm of energy and mana in all of its varying forms, I employed an advanced technique, a mysterion. It was something only able to be done by those that actually hailed from the Aether rather than having mastery over it. Pulling some of the sunlight and ambient warmth into my form, I converted measly scraps of energy directly into mana. The process was slow, and almost hardly worth the effort. It was like filling a bathtub with water, a single milliliter at a time.
Mana was now such a rare commodity, every miniscule drop of it mattered.
I settled in and entered a trance-like state, most of my attention devoted to my mysterion, though some of it was allowed to drift off elsewhere. While not exactly a dream, and while maintaining my mana draw, my mind conjured up nonsensical imagery and conversations between myself and others. I didn't pay them any attention as my thoughts wandered and drifted idly.
"I thought I'd find you out here," Rue said as I heard her sit down next to me. I didn't hear her walking, however, she continued to speak, "you've been asleep for a few days. What happened?"
"Got fucked," I replied easily, a little sarcastically as well. "Truthfully," I amended, "I got summoned by Raver. She pulled a shenanigan with Fate to let her have a waking dream."
"So she was hallucinating?" Rue stated, though it was more of a question.
"Damned straight," I confirmed, "she had Sasquatch and Farnsworth make something for her. It had to have been lethal, something like that. Anyways, we were talking and then one of Them showed up. Inside the Dreamtime bubble of hers. Found Raver's luminescence despite Mirzam hiding it."
"Shit. So It was physically there? That means It had a stolen body..." Rue said, trailing off.
"Yeah, it had a body alright," I almost growled out, "broke Raver's ritual with little effort. I spent everything I had to make a patch job just to keep it active, burned through all my mana, too. I did not want to be dispersed."
"I see," Rue said to me with understanding, "I wouldn't want to have to find my physical body without a tether either." There was a small pause before she spoke again, "So what happened next?"
"I made it mad with insults to buy time for the repaired shenanigan to stabilize Raver."
"What do you mean?" Rue asked as I heard her stretch out a bit, my eyes still closed.
"Her shenanigan was woven in such a way that whatever drug Sasquatch and Farnsworth made for her didn't just kill her," I answered with a pause then continued, "it let her do things beyond normality, anyways, my fucked up patch job let me tell Sasquatch that Raver had to stay dreaming."
"So he wouldn't just purge the elixir out of her," Rue stated, then added perhaps a tad bit defensively, "I know some things from other paths, not much, but some."
"That's good," I answered back, "knowledge is power."
"With us, it's quite literal."
I murmured in assent.
"So why did you make It mad?" Rue asked, "wouldn't It just draw strength from human emotions, especially in the Dreamtime?"
"It did," I answered back, "but It couldn't act properly on them, like human emotions were new and novel. The whole encounter was sloppy after a certain point, but I did almost die. Raver saved me, gave me a miracle."
"I saw," Rue said simply, "the mark on your hand was a giveaway."
I could only murmur in agreement again then asked, "Did you find a card in my hands, too?"
"I did," Rue replied after a few moments of silence, "it was debit card, with a note attached to it."
"From Procyon, right?"
It took a few moments for her to answer. "Yes, it was from Procyon," she took a breath and continued with wavering effort, "that damned bastard had it all planned out. Wrote a fucked up letter to me on a Google(TM) doc telling me not to worry and that this had always been his exit plan."
"Sounds like he knew what was going to happen," was all I could say.
"Yes, but, I miss him!" Rue all but snarled at me, then, in a small and quiet voice, whispered, "He was my best friend, and maybe we could've been more, y'know? Now... there's... There's just nothing, only memories of him left to mourn."
"I didn't know," I answered simply.
Rue spoke with a wavering breath before continuing, her thoughts more than a little disjointed, "a lot of what he wrote was personal, so I won't get into that, but he was certain that something catastrophic was going to happen to him and myself. So he made sure that I was at my secondary home, recovering from a job. I had just completed a mission from Raver and Mirzam, and was going to perform a ritual to patch up Spades after I got some sleep. Procyon also stated that someone has been altering things for a very long time."
"So that's why you were caught with yout pants down," I said, "you didn't even have time to recover." I paused, adjusting my mysterion as I had to refocus due to our conversation, "what did they have you do?"
"Some hedge wizards actually got a hold of an actual necromancy grimoire and charged mana tools in a graveyard," Rue said with a bit of a tired sigh, "they knew exactly what they were doing, and would have been rather powerful shadow mages if they had been capable of using starlight."
"Fuck," was all I could say, then formed an actual response after a few moments, "that shouldn't have been an issue for you. Hedges don't have our capability, though numbers may have evened out their odds."
"You're right, but they brought a spirit back before I could stop them," Rue answered with more than a little spite, "a real nasty piece of shit, too. Turned on the hedges, absorbed them, and put up a real mean fight against Spades and I. It was touch and go for a long time and I was actually fearful for my life, too."
"You won, though."
"Yeah, managed to send it kicking and screaming back to the Pit, exhausted most of my mana to do so. Fucking bastard."
There was a small silence between us as Rue became lost in her own thoughts. It was a while before I asked her, "Can you elaborate on what Procyon said about Fate being altered?"
"I can, actually, though it's a bit difficult since I'm not even a novice with the Path of Stars," Rue answered as I heard her shift a bit on the grass next to me. She paused as she seemingly collected her thoughts, "it's just that certain events were made to happen sooner or later. The big one, for our Node at least, was that you were always supposed to make your ancestral home translocate. It happened sooner than it should have."
"Fuck," I said, "So I wasn't supposed to send it away a few days ago?"
"No, that was supposed to happen after our wendigo thing, if the letter is to be believed."
"Fuck," was all I could say, "I do suppose that was a snap decision, I really didn't want Them to get a hold of anything inside. If I had been able to wait, or even had help, I'm sure I wouldn't have lost it to time and space."
"Exactly," Rue said with bitter excitement, "and we'd have access to everything in it. Losing your home was a big blow to our Node."
"Yeah, but at least They don't have it," I answered more spitefully than intended.
"Silver linings and all that, right?"
"Yeah, gotta look at the bright side, no matter how bleak," I answered back with a bit of sarcastic mirth, then said as I stretched a bit, readjusting my focus on my mysterion as well, "speaking of wendigos, I know what we need to do to solve that."
"Oh? Do tell, I couldn't come up with anything myself, kept running into dead ends," she said, then added, "lack of resources and help."
"Well, I don't think you're going to like it, I'm not sure I like it either."
"Don't keep me waiting," Rue said to me with a bit of sarcastic exasperation. I could sense her looking at me even though my eyes were still closed.
"I'm going to leverage their taboos against them, appeal to their insatiable greed and offer them what little I can understand of That Which Lies Beyond the Infinite." I sighed and added, "after all, how could they resist the allure of new magic?"
"You're right," she answered, "I definitely don't like it. I'm pretty sure it's not even wise to do so."
"Wise or not, it's the only way forward, I even saw it in a vision when I was manipulating fate magic."
"Have you talked to Mirzam or Raver about this vision of yours?"
"No, not yet, and I'm pretty sure I don't need to."
There was a bit of silence between us as she digested my words. I felt compelled to elaborate as I adjusted my mysterion again, losing a bit of my focus due to the depth of the conversation we were having.
"Acrux," I said, getting her attention fully by using the name of her star, "there's something you need to understand." I sat up, abandoning my mysterion in favor of giving her my full attention. Blinking a bit at the rise of light and warmth, I continued my thought process, "in the Dreamtime, the Thing I was fighting against, It was surprised and enraged that I was able to call upon knowledge that Lay Beyond the Infinite. Whatever those glyphs and powers are, They never wanted humans to know of them, let alone have them."
"Yet you want to give such power to wendigos of all things."
"At least the knowledge, corrupted or not, will still be on Earth," I said then added, "I'm not sure what you remember, but I know you've seen something from Beyond the Infinite. Your self revival and Spade's new form are proof of that. I was there, guided by Oracle. I Perceived something unknowable, something terrible, something no mortal has any right to gaze upon. Something I can hardly even begin to try to put into words. Raver Perceived it, too. It's how she managed to give me a godsend. So, what did you Perceive, really?"
Rue brought her knees up to her chest, thinking deeply. I could tell she was using her Perception to look inwards upon her Self. I waited patiently while she struggled to look at her soul's reflection against her mind and struggled even more to put the image there into words.
At long last, she spoke, her eyes still closed as she did so, "I'm not sure what I saw, there was too much, and I felt so small. Insignificant. Less than even a dismissed, intrusive thought. There is one thing I do remember. A doorway made of the might from two universes worth of truths and laws. A Thing was trying ro break through, but couldn't, not fully, yet the doors were opened, letting smaller ones through."
"The Doors have to be closed," I said, quoting Raver, before continuing, "that's what Raver said to me, before she sent me back to my body."
"Why didn't they mend you then?"
"They were being attacked in the waking world, too. It was a good plan on Their part, They just didn't expect us to put up so much of a fight."
"They never do, though I think that's changing."
"So that's our endgame, not sure how we're going to do it," I said, bringing the conversation back to topic, "at the moment, however, I'm going to eat a few of those mana-stuffed protein bars and fix your leg. I can't keep spending mana to be able to drive your truck. You'll have to use your own mysterion to get mana, too."
"I hate my Path's mysterions," the venom in her voice was palpable.
Before I could say anything, the backdoor opened, revealing Luna. She was wearing a bird-patterned sundress and her hair had been tied back into a loose ponytail. She put her hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun as she squinted against the brightness relative to that from inside.
"Hey, you two," she called out, "Grandmother says she needs to talk yo you."
"Alright," I called out, shakily getting up to my feet with a bit of a grunt. Everything still hurt. Rue had a bit of trouble as well, her leg was not recieving the rest and healing it deserved and needed.
"We're a mess, aren't we?" Rue asked aloud as we began to walk towards the bak door.
"Yeah, but you should see the other guys," I replied with a light chuckle, only to wince and hold my sides, "I forgot how much laughing hurts with fractured ribs."
"I really don't envy you right now," Rue said with a bit of a smirk as we entered Tsula's home, Rue entering first. "I wonder what Tsula wants to talk to us about?" Rue asked aloud, not really talking to anyone in particular.
I could only wonder as we followed Luna to the living room, the house pleasantly cool due to central air conditioning.
~ ~ ~
The moon was not in the sky, and I greatly enjoyed not having to endure the accursed, purifying light of day reflected by its surface, even if greatly diminished. The loathsome wound in my side had been a mortal blow, burning through my toughened flesh and form with unnerving ease and stunning, blinding pain. Once more, I looked at the oily, thin, and black ichor that dripped from my fingers, more human-like than I was comfortable with.
The mote of dreadlight I had recieved for my services had been the only thing that had kept me from vanishing entirely. Mortal alchemy -- science -- had advanced to such a degree so as to emulate the harsh light of day far too remarkably well. That hadn't been the worst part, that damned thaumaturgist had ensorcelled a curse upon the weapon as well. With effort, as the bulk of my power was directed at repairing the oozing wound, I altered my form and shape, struggling to maintain the illusion as I walked out onto the sidewalk from a side alley.
My contract was not yet completed.
The first two nights I had hidden myself away in the dark depths, raging against the oblivion that threatened to overtake me and ending my existence. The preparedness of the thaumaturgist had been unexpected, as well as the skill and the knowledge he had wielded so effortlessly. Without my guidance, nor presence, to instill fear into the gifted abetters, the wraiths I had gathered with me fell and fled into the night, abandoning their duties and contracts.
I would have never made this mistake against the herald of the bear.
Had I known the name of the mortal's star I had been tasked against, I would have demanded more than a simple mote of dreadlight and a paltry handful of coerced allies. Realistically, I should be grateful that I still had a kind of semi-existence. Quelling my anger and hatred, and swallowing my utter revulsion, my form rippled and took the guise of a tall, middle-aged human male in a common and unremarkable suit carrying an old and worn briefcase.
The artificial illumination around me flickered, emitting a grating hum in my presence and the thin television flickered oddly as it tried to display my image, failing to accurately do so. While tracking Arcturus's quintessence had been a bit of a task, as far too much time had passed, my familiarity with it granted me an advantage that overcame that difficulty. Traveling in my wounded state, however, had been much more arduous. Looking the woman at the reception desk over, I took on my role with hiden revulsion, aided by the illusion I was conjuring and the mimicry of my physical form.
"I'm detective Aiden Roth, and I'm looking for someone. I believe that he was here a few nights ago, definitely this past week," I said. My false, human voice had been made to sound smooth, suave and strong, interlaced with a suggestion, using what little forte I could spare. I put the worn and well-used briefcase I had conjured with me onto the counter with a heavy thud, using more of my forte to emulate such a simple thing. Opening it up, I fished out an image and showed the slightly grainy, black and white picture to the receptionist.
As the woman perused the conjured image, I could not help but hiss, my hand going to my side as I expended more of my forte than I had anticipated. The cursed wound fighting back fiercely against the dreadlight tethering my existence and life. I held my disguise with willpower of monumental proportions. A strength of will I rarely had been pressed to draw from.
Seeing the concerned look the woman gave me, I simply stated, shrugging off the pain with yet more expenditure of will, "An old injury, it flares up from time to time. No matter, have you seen this individual?"
"I'm going to need to see some kind of badge or warrant," the woman said with a genuine smile, "sorry."
The fear of losing her menial job overpowered my subtle suggestion. Unfortunate.
"Sure," I replied with a fake and well ptacticed, fetching smile, adjusting my forte to include another suggestion. I showed an actual badge with my assumed name and likeness. The mortal I was impersonating had been slain many years ago by my own hands, and the subtle illusion taking hardly any of my forte adjusted the dates and design of the badge to whatever was current.
Only a thaumaturgist, or a very particularly skilled sorcerer, could pierce the illusion. Against this mortal, there was no chance of resistance and she accepted the stolen badge without question.
She looked it over, as if trying to divine the legitimacy of it. "Okay," she finally admitted, "he was here a while ago, maybe a four or five days? I remember, 'cause I tried to flirt with him..."
I ignored her prattling and asked when she finished speaking, "Can you show me the room he used?"
"Sure, but it's been cleaned a few times since then."
With a nod, I let her lead the way to the room in question, staying silent. The lights around me flickered and hummed loudly in my presence. Had the woman been more observant, she could have seen my true shadow as I had not the forte to expend to hide it entirely from the ever changing lights. She opened the room in question, using what I could only assume was a master key card.
I immediately recognized the faded auras of quintessence.
"This will do," I stated, closing the door behind me and dropping my revolting disguise, using my forte to lock it.
I revealed my true form. My legs and arms lengthened and thinned, the black suit and red tie I was wearing became my skin, armor and form. My face and eyes became blank, gaunt and sunken, skin stretching out over it. The wound in my side made itself visible, it was an ugly red, peeling and oozing burn from my shoulder to my waist and took up most of my torso. The dreadlight I was using to prevent my oblivion illuminated the wound with a kind of sickly, crimson colored backlight. Black ichor oozed out from it and dripped onto the floor as I used the bulk of my forte to ablate the caustic, foreign quintessence from my form.
The woman looked at me as even her pitifully dull, mundane human senses told her that there was incredible danger in the room with her. She screeched and irrationally ran towards the bathroom as my presence became impossibly tall in the very finite space in the motel room. Using the smallest iota of my forte, I remotely smashed her fleeing form against a wall, pinning her there with unseen force as she begged, and sobbed for her pitiful life.
I ignored her for the moment.
Drawing upon more of my forte, freed up as I no longer needed a disguise, I sensed out where quintessence had been used, discovering two places, the bed and a wall. Imbuing the wall with my own forte, I witnessed a spectral, moving image of Arcturus throwing five darts at a map placed on the wall, one at a time, then draw intersecting lines to a single point on the map.
"Wendigos..." I hissed out in loathing, the skin on my face stretching and contorting with the movement as i spoke aloud with a nonexistent mouth. Even I knew their territory.
Turning to the second source of quintessence, I did the same thing. I saw Arcturus ward himself against dreaming and then hold a brilliant shield in the air, as well as a ball of fire. My knowledge of actual thaumaturgy told me that I would have great difficulties against those Knowings. I put the mystery of his Dreamtime excursion out of my mind for now, there was nothing I could do regarding that.
My expenditure of forte caused my horrid wound to pulse against my form painfully. With a hiss, I turned to the woman meekly begging me to spare her life as she was still pinned against the wall. I could use a thrall, especially as I could no longer gain allies, not without offering something in return to my current contract holders.
That was not a barter I wanted to engage in.
"Please... don't kill me... please... I'll do anything... please..."
The absolute terror in her eyes was delectable. Her fear invigorated me with energy and reminded me I needed to feed. However, the morsels offered by her would be more than sufficient for my needs. I dragged my left hand across my oozing wound, covering it in my own essence then flexed my forte. The clothes she was wearing split in half down the middle, revealing her naked form, making her shriek. I could see the ideas her panicked mind vomited forth as she renewed her struggles with vigor.
What I had in mind was so much worse than the mundane taking of her physical body she expected.
Using the full might of my forte, I lengthened and sharpened my index finger, the tip dripping with the gathered ichor of my essence. In an instant, less than the blink of an eye, I appeared in front of her from where I had been by the bed and plunged the very tip of my sharpened, needle-like nail into the center of her heart, cutting through the most sensitive parts of her breast to do so due to the angle I had chosen for just this purpose. As I let my ichor suffuse her body with each beat of her racing heart, her vascular system visibly turning black under her skin as she screamed and writhed in agony, an odd thing happened.
What could only be considered my blood had been tainted by thaumaturgy qnr bolstered by dreadlight as well as my own forte. As it mixed with the blank canvas of the mortal in front of me, I could sense the candle of her soul. Reaching out with dreadlight, letting the wound burn my side with a hiss of inhaled breath, I ignited it with three kinds of mysticism.
A horrified realization overcame her as she knew I had fundamentally altered her to suit my whims. Having a thaumaturgist thrall would be a great boon.
"You'll do quite nicely," I said with an actual grin, the skin stretched over my mouth revealing impossibly large, gleaming flat teeth, as I watched the physical and mystical changes taking place.
My new thrall would never be human again.
I feasted on her terror, anguish and torment.
It was delicious.
~ ~ ~
Arcturus and Acrux will be back. C'Leena Thomas, Prosthetist is going to be my next update.
[[NEXT]]

This chapter took a long time to get out. Life has me super busy. Two jobs, married, two kids, still sober. I like how this turned out, however, someone new stole the show this time. As always, leave feedback, I appreciate it so very much.
[FIRST] [DELETED SCENES] [PREVIOUS]
My bare-bones-ish Discord.
~ ~ ~
As I reentered my true body without recieving a mending, the vicious wounds I endured manifested into being as I reactualized into my true Self. Through the pain, I couldn't help but think on Raver's words to me.
"The doors have to be closed."
~ ~ ~
Without recieving a mending in Raver's Dreamtime bubble, reactualization was a fucking bitch. I Perceived my Self as having quite the damaged form, my Soul was fucked over by bombardment from dreadlight and my physical body simply disagreed with it all, stating that I was mostly whole and intact, only being damaged by wounds I had already endured. The three parts had an argument of a sort amongst themselves and with the power of the Dreamtime, reached a tortuous compromise.
I'm certain I seizured and blacked out through the process.
I awoke with my body shaking and covered in a cold sweat, Tsula and Luna above me, chanting in the secret language of their esoteric Traditions. The two of them each held diffetent tools required for their cultural and subtle manipulation of reality. Soft hands, awash with mana and glowing tattoos, were placed on my chest, right where my heart was. Cold, icy fingers cradled my soul protectively, keeping it connected to my body in the here and now as harsh, physical laws rent my form.
I was paying the price for Raver's hubris, and I had almost overdrafted. Thoughts of mortal over reach faded from my mind as I slipped into cool and soothing darkness.
Cold and bloodied fingers were pressed against my chest and did little to assuage the burning ache that was my soul. I couldn't focus on anything else as I gazed at the hollowed out body of my beloved. She had been beautiful, gorgeous even, and due to give birth to our daughter in two weeks. Now, the... dead thing in front of me could barely be defined as a corpse. Her skin had been peeled away like a banana and her insides removed, leaving a bloodied, hollow space. The flesh and bones had been scooped away like ice cream, leaving little in the way of remains. Our unborn child had been pulled out and repurposed with the stolen parts of her mother by dreadlight and a mage's fell Will to form the body of a Thing.
With silent tears streaming down my face, I placed the ring I had proposed to her with and put it onto my finger, next to my plain tungsten one. The simple act of removing it almost caused what remained of her hand to simply fall apart in my fingers. I'm not sure how long I stayed like that. I couldn't even hold her body against mine for fear of it crumbling away into a vile mess. I ignored what was going on around me as I kneeled in the spent summoning circle.
The world around me split and rent itself into distorted imagery, as though I were looking at everything from under a pool with gentle waves. Some parts were compressed together and others were stretched out, not quite like a mirror maze as the world was still simply one cohesive image. Additionally, things seemed closer or further in ways that defied conventional Euclidean geometries. The only area not affected by this blatant disregard of spatial dimensions, had been myself and a scant few feet around me.
What...?
A heavy thud broke me out of my thoughts and I saw my Father landing next to me. Since both of us had been prepared, he was wearing, much like myself, full motorcycle safety gear. It had been enchanted and bolstered by hidden runes and severed Will, turning everything into protective objects that even defended against potent and offensive mysticism. The equipment in question had been chosen for its sheer mundanity and ease of access, letting the powerful enchancements skirt around the Lie and Consensus leaving the magic fully intact and potent.
"Alistair," I heard my Father say to me with grim calm as he twisted the space in front of us into a right angle, redirecting rapid gunfire, "I can't do this alone."
I remained silent.
"Damnit, Son," he growled out then literally kicked my ass with his heavy boot, almost knocking me over onto my side, "get a hold of yourself, Its here now. You handle the mages."
That got me going. I finally got up, my grief was as a lead weight and prevented me from doing what was needed. With a last look at C'Leena's hollowed out corpse, I grit my teeth, steeled my nerves and called forth my magic from the Aether.
Was I dreaming? No, worse, I was in a memory...
"Stay out of my way and watch yourself," Father said to me, "I can't pull my punches against that."
"Gotcha," I replied almost absently and turned to face the assembled shadow mages. They had inexplicably stopped theit gunfire to admire the Thing they brought into existence from Somewhere.
I couldn't help but stare, either.
Standing on top of the northernmost anchor stone, an ugly, multi-faceted block of copper with glyphs and sigils harshly hewn into it, was a naked woman. The glyphs themselves were hard to look at, as though their mere presence were an affront to reality itself, which they were. The woman's skin was a darkened olive tone and she was tall as well as athletic, lithe and fit. Her shoulder length black hair was bushy and curly, flowing about her head almost like an afro. As she ran her hands down her body, I could not help but notice that everything was oddly symmetrical and too perfect. It was unnerving me greatly and triggered an uncanny valley response that tore at my heart.
The body this Thing was wearing had belonged to my fiancée.
Father didn't let It have time to get acclimated. Sidestepping forwards, he drew upon the full capabilities of his Path, eyes backlit by stars, an impossible physical sword of abstract spatial geometries held in his left hand, and a reality defying, super-dense distortion held in his right.
The world contorted and screamed under his might.
I awoke with a start and a low groan, glad to be awake and free of that horrid nightmare again. Not for the first time, I wished I had that motorcycle gear still. I had been far too reckless then and immediately thereafter, and everything had been damaged beyond repair. I could never find anyone I trusted enough to make those enchantments anyways. Farnsworth could only enhance the mundane qualities as he didn't know enough about mana warding to permanently imbue the protections I wanted nor needed for my line of active field work.
Looking around, I saw Rue asleep on the other side of the bed and Spades was nestled between us, his massive form making a visible dip in the mattress. The big monster dog was on his back, legs splayed open and snoring loudly with his tongue hanging out of his muzzle. I was reminded a lot of my Lola when she had still been around in the flesh, making me smile with old and pleasant memories. I must have been out for some time for Spades to be here.
A quick, almost reflexive, mental orison told me everything I already suspected. My mana reserves were shot, my body had been through the ringer and my soul was frayed and burnt. While I knew I owed my continued existence to Raver and her godsend, I also knew it had taken a great and terrible toll on my Self. Miracles like that usually held some kind of hidden cost, even if they weren't readily apparent.
Getting off the bed slowly, I began to look for my pack. It took far longer than than usual as I had to steady myself quite a bit from the spinning room. I managed to be quiet, however, and didn't wake up Rue nor Spades. Finally in the shower, after some time and using the wall to support myself, I let the almost scalding water roll over my aching body. The pendant on my neck protecting me from recieving any burns or aggravating the injuries I had, both old and new.
With the hot water soothing aching muscles, I began to think and take stock of my situation. I had never been on the back foot like this, low on any kind of resource, having few allies, and being pressed for time. It was like something out of a bad novel or shitty indie Steam(R) game. Though, real life was often stranger than fiction and had no real need for a logical cause and effect dynamic. If this was going to become the norm, then I had to find another method of approaching my wendigo problem.
I was simply running out of time.
After some long moments of thinking, I began to wash my hair, using the guest products on the corner caddy. They were so much nicer than anything I would have willingly bought and made me seriously consider changing up my usual shampoo. The only idea I could come up with regarding those wendigos, besides an overwhelming frontal assault, was to appeal to their bottomless gluttony and barter for passage.
I resigned myself to actually try to negotiate with their clan leader, leveraging their horrid taboos against them to get what I needed.
Wendigos, unlike most strange cryptids, vampires and were-folk aside, had a lot of things known about them, especially how they powered their supernatural capabilities. It was a simple and rather straightforward process, the more heinous the act, the more mana they drew from it. Cannibalism, sacrilege, incest, murder, torture, hedonistic gluttony, or any number of other terrible and minor sins. As well as general lawbreaking and felonies, oftentimes combined to have as many as possible occur in the same sitting.
I audibly gasped with a sudden epiphany.
My fate had already been decided, by myself no less. In a bar I couldn't remember the name of, when I had been gazing into my bronze coin, I saw what I needed to do. I had to gift what measly scrap of knowledge I understood from Beyond the Infinite to those creatures. To let those wendigos defile and mutilate such sacred and pure knowledge to whatever whims their baleful minds could come up with.
"Fuck," was the only thing I could whisper at the thought of it all as I turned off the water, getting out of the shower. I cooled the bathroom down with but a thought and wiped away the condensation on the mirror with a towel that wasn't my own, finally getting a good look at myself without vertigo, as that had finally passed.
I looked like shit, and that was a compliment. Huge, fist shaped bruises of black, green and yellow littered my torso, though most were located on my left side and blurred together into an ugly shapeless mass. The ones on my right, however, were well defined and I could easily count the number of strikes. My face held a swollen black eye, I never noticed my diminished field of vision as I had gotten used to having them over the years. Turning gingerly and opening the mirror a bit so I could see my back, I grimaced. It was another spiderweb of a bruise, earned from when I had been smashed against the edge of Raver's Dreamtime bubble.
At least none of my fingers were broken, only very stiff and swollen, just like the rest of me. I probably couldn't drive for another day or so, either, not with my hands the way they were. As I looked, surprised I hadn't noticed earlier, the inside of my right hand was, branded. The skin, while fully healed, held the symbolic glyph that heralded the Path of Stars. A circle with nine curved lines inside it. Each line only intersected two others, but with the irregular placement of them, I could trace an intersection to any other one. In each of the open spaces, slightly off center, as a simple dot.
"Miracles leave their marks," I muttered to myself, almost disbelieving the literalness of the phrase.
I didn't bother drying off and struggled a bit getting into the clothes I brought with me, maroon athletic shorts and a black tank top. Exiting the guest bathroom, I thought about where I wanted to go. Settling on a destination, I went into the backyard, found a patch of grass in the shaded, morning sunlight and lay down. The grass was thick and rather soft, and the smell of the lemon tree and the garden was more pleasant and fragrant than they should have been.
Warding myself against dreaming, I pulled on the principles of the Aether, specifically, those of sun and storms. Since the Aether was a realm of energy and mana in all of its varying forms, I employed an advanced technique, a mysterion. It was something only able to be done by those that actually hailed from the Aether rather than having mastery over it. Pulling some of the sunlight and ambient warmth into my form, I converted measly scraps of energy directly into mana. The process was slow, and almost hardly worth the effort. It was like filling a bathtub with water, a single milliliter at a time.
Mana was now such a rare commodity, every miniscule drop of it mattered.
I settled in and entered a trance-like state, most of my attention devoted to my mysterion, though some of it was allowed to drift off elsewhere. While not exactly a dream, and while maintaining my mana draw, my mind conjured up nonsensical imagery and conversations between myself and others. I didn't pay them any attention as my thoughts wandered and drifted idly.
"I thought I'd find you out here," Rue said as I heard her sit down next to me. I didn't hear her walking, however, she continued to speak, "you've been asleep for a few days. What happened?"
"Got fucked," I replied easily, a little sarcastically as well. "Truthfully," I amended, "I got summoned by Raver. She pulled a shenanigan with Fate to let her have a waking dream."
"So she was hallucinating?" Rue stated, though it was more of a question.
"Damned straight," I confirmed, "she had Sasquatch and Farnsworth make something for her. It had to have been lethal, something like that. Anyways, we were talking and then one of Them showed up. Inside the Dreamtime bubble of hers. Found Raver's luminescence despite Mirzam hiding it."
"Shit. So It was physically there? That means It had a stolen body..." Rue said, trailing off.
"Yeah, it had a body alright," I almost growled out, "broke Raver's ritual with little effort. I spent everything I had to make a patch job just to keep it active, burned through all my mana, too. I did not want to be dispersed."
"I see," Rue said to me with understanding, "I wouldn't want to have to find my physical body without a tether either." There was a small pause before she spoke again, "So what happened next?"
"I made it mad with insults to buy time for the repaired shenanigan to stabilize Raver."
"What do you mean?" Rue asked as I heard her stretch out a bit, my eyes still closed.
"Her shenanigan was woven in such a way that whatever drug Sasquatch and Farnsworth made for her didn't just kill her," I answered with a pause then continued, "it let her do things beyond normality, anyways, my fucked up patch job let me tell Sasquatch that Raver had to stay dreaming."
"So he wouldn't just purge the elixir out of her," Rue stated, then added perhaps a tad bit defensively, "I know some things from other paths, not much, but some."
"That's good," I answered back, "knowledge is power."
"With us, it's quite literal."
I murmured in assent.
"So why did you make It mad?" Rue asked, "wouldn't It just draw strength from human emotions, especially in the Dreamtime?"
"It did," I answered back, "but It couldn't act properly on them, like human emotions were new and novel. The whole encounter was sloppy after a certain point, but I did almost die. Raver saved me, gave me a miracle."
"I saw," Rue said simply, "the mark on your hand was a giveaway."
I could only murmur in agreement again then asked, "Did you find a card in my hands, too?"
"I did," Rue replied after a few moments of silence, "it was debit card, with a note attached to it."
"From Procyon, right?"
It took a few moments for her to answer. "Yes, it was from Procyon," she took a breath and continued with wavering effort, "that damned bastard had it all planned out. Wrote a fucked up letter to me on a Google(TM) doc telling me not to worry and that this had always been his exit plan."
"Sounds like he knew what was going to happen," was all I could say.
"Yes, but, I miss him!" Rue all but snarled at me, then, in a small and quiet voice, whispered, "He was my best friend, and maybe we could've been more, y'know? Now... there's... There's just nothing, only memories of him left to mourn."
"I didn't know," I answered simply.
Rue spoke with a wavering breath before continuing, her thoughts more than a little disjointed, "a lot of what he wrote was personal, so I won't get into that, but he was certain that something catastrophic was going to happen to him and myself. So he made sure that I was at my secondary home, recovering from a job. I had just completed a mission from Raver and Mirzam, and was going to perform a ritual to patch up Spades after I got some sleep. Procyon also stated that someone has been altering things for a very long time."
"So that's why you were caught with yout pants down," I said, "you didn't even have time to recover." I paused, adjusting my mysterion as I had to refocus due to our conversation, "what did they have you do?"
"Some hedge wizards actually got a hold of an actual necromancy grimoire and charged mana tools in a graveyard," Rue said with a bit of a tired sigh, "they knew exactly what they were doing, and would have been rather powerful shadow mages if they had been capable of using starlight."
"Fuck," was all I could say, then formed an actual response after a few moments, "that shouldn't have been an issue for you. Hedges don't have our capability, though numbers may have evened out their odds."
"You're right, but they brought a spirit back before I could stop them," Rue answered with more than a little spite, "a real nasty piece of shit, too. Turned on the hedges, absorbed them, and put up a real mean fight against Spades and I. It was touch and go for a long time and I was actually fearful for my life, too."
"You won, though."
"Yeah, managed to send it kicking and screaming back to the Pit, exhausted most of my mana to do so. Fucking bastard."
There was a small silence between us as Rue became lost in her own thoughts. It was a while before I asked her, "Can you elaborate on what Procyon said about Fate being altered?"
"I can, actually, though it's a bit difficult since I'm not even a novice with the Path of Stars," Rue answered as I heard her shift a bit on the grass next to me. She paused as she seemingly collected her thoughts, "it's just that certain events were made to happen sooner or later. The big one, for our Node at least, was that you were always supposed to make your ancestral home translocate. It happened sooner than it should have."
"Fuck," I said, "So I wasn't supposed to send it away a few days ago?"
"No, that was supposed to happen after our wendigo thing, if the letter is to be believed."
"Fuck," was all I could say, "I do suppose that was a snap decision, I really didn't want Them to get a hold of anything inside. If I had been able to wait, or even had help, I'm sure I wouldn't have lost it to time and space."
"Exactly," Rue said with bitter excitement, "and we'd have access to everything in it. Losing your home was a big blow to our Node."
"Yeah, but at least They don't have it," I answered more spitefully than intended.
"Silver linings and all that, right?"
"Yeah, gotta look at the bright side, no matter how bleak," I answered back with a bit of sarcastic mirth, then said as I stretched a bit, readjusting my focus on my mysterion as well, "speaking of wendigos, I know what we need to do to solve that."
"Oh? Do tell, I couldn't come up with anything myself, kept running into dead ends," she said, then added, "lack of resources and help."
"Well, I don't think you're going to like it, I'm not sure I like it either."
"Don't keep me waiting," Rue said to me with a bit of sarcastic exasperation. I could sense her looking at me even though my eyes were still closed.
"I'm going to leverage their taboos against them, appeal to their insatiable greed and offer them what little I can understand of That Which Lies Beyond the Infinite." I sighed and added, "after all, how could they resist the allure of new magic?"
"You're right," she answered, "I definitely don't like it. I'm pretty sure it's not even wise to do so."
"Wise or not, it's the only way forward, I even saw it in a vision when I was manipulating fate magic."
"Have you talked to Mirzam or Raver about this vision of yours?"
"No, not yet, and I'm pretty sure I don't need to."
There was a bit of silence between us as she digested my words. I felt compelled to elaborate as I adjusted my mysterion again, losing a bit of my focus due to the depth of the conversation we were having.
"Acrux," I said, getting her attention fully by using the name of her star, "there's something you need to understand." I sat up, abandoning my mysterion in favor of giving her my full attention. Blinking a bit at the rise of light and warmth, I continued my thought process, "in the Dreamtime, the Thing I was fighting against, It was surprised and enraged that I was able to call upon knowledge that Lay Beyond the Infinite. Whatever those glyphs and powers are, They never wanted humans to know of them, let alone have them."
"Yet you want to give such power to wendigos of all things."
"At least the knowledge, corrupted or not, will still be on Earth," I said then added, "I'm not sure what you remember, but I know you've seen something from Beyond the Infinite. Your self revival and Spade's new form are proof of that. I was there, guided by Oracle. I Perceived something unknowable, something terrible, something no mortal has any right to gaze upon. Something I can hardly even begin to try to put into words. Raver Perceived it, too. It's how she managed to give me a godsend. So, what did you Perceive, really?"
Rue brought her knees up to her chest, thinking deeply. I could tell she was using her Perception to look inwards upon her Self. I waited patiently while she struggled to look at her soul's reflection against her mind and struggled even more to put the image there into words.
At long last, she spoke, her eyes still closed as she did so, "I'm not sure what I saw, there was too much, and I felt so small. Insignificant. Less than even a dismissed, intrusive thought. There is one thing I do remember. A doorway made of the might from two universes worth of truths and laws. A Thing was trying ro break through, but couldn't, not fully, yet the doors were opened, letting smaller ones through."
"The Doors have to be closed," I said, quoting Raver, before continuing, "that's what Raver said to me, before she sent me back to my body."
"Why didn't they mend you then?"
"They were being attacked in the waking world, too. It was a good plan on Their part, They just didn't expect us to put up so much of a fight."
"They never do, though I think that's changing."
"So that's our endgame, not sure how we're going to do it," I said, bringing the conversation back to topic, "at the moment, however, I'm going to eat a few of those mana-stuffed protein bars and fix your leg. I can't keep spending mana to be able to drive your truck. You'll have to use your own mysterion to get mana, too."
"I hate my Path's mysterions," the venom in her voice was palpable.
Before I could say anything, the backdoor opened, revealing Luna. She was wearing a bird-patterned sundress and her hair had been tied back into a loose ponytail. She put her hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun as she squinted against the brightness relative to that from inside.
"Hey, you two," she called out, "Grandmother says she needs to talk yo you."
"Alright," I called out, shakily getting up to my feet with a bit of a grunt. Everything still hurt. Rue had a bit of trouble as well, her leg was not recieving the rest and healing it deserved and needed.
"We're a mess, aren't we?" Rue asked aloud as we began to walk towards the bak door.
"Yeah, but you should see the other guys," I replied with a light chuckle, only to wince and hold my sides, "I forgot how much laughing hurts with fractured ribs."
"I really don't envy you right now," Rue said with a bit of a smirk as we entered Tsula's home, Rue entering first. "I wonder what Tsula wants to talk to us about?" Rue asked aloud, not really talking to anyone in particular.
I could only wonder as we followed Luna to the living room, the house pleasantly cool due to central air conditioning.
~ ~ ~
The moon was not in the sky, and I greatly enjoyed not having to endure the accursed, purifying light of day reflected by its surface, even if greatly diminished. The loathsome wound in my side had been a mortal blow, burning through my toughened flesh and form with unnerving ease and stunning, blinding pain. Once more, I looked at the oily, thin, and black ichor that dripped from my fingers, more human-like than I was comfortable with.
The mote of dreadlight I had recieved for my services had been the only thing that had kept me from vanishing entirely. Mortal alchemy -- science -- had advanced to such a degree so as to emulate the harsh light of day far too remarkably well. That hadn't been the worst part, that damned thaumaturgist had ensorcelled a curse upon the weapon as well. With effort, as the bulk of my power was directed at repairing the oozing wound, I altered my form and shape, struggling to maintain the illusion as I walked out onto the sidewalk from a side alley.
My contract was not yet completed.
The first two nights I had hidden myself away in the dark depths, raging against the oblivion that threatened to overtake me and ending my existence. The preparedness of the thaumaturgist had been unexpected, as well as the skill and the knowledge he had wielded so effortlessly. Without my guidance, nor presence, to instill fear into the gifted abetters, the wraiths I had gathered with me fell and fled into the night, abandoning their duties and contracts.
I would have never made this mistake against the herald of the bear.
Had I known the name of the mortal's star I had been tasked against, I would have demanded more than a simple mote of dreadlight and a paltry handful of coerced allies. Realistically, I should be grateful that I still had a kind of semi-existence. Quelling my anger and hatred, and swallowing my utter revulsion, my form rippled and took the guise of a tall, middle-aged human male in a common and unremarkable suit carrying an old and worn briefcase.
The artificial illumination around me flickered, emitting a grating hum in my presence and the thin television flickered oddly as it tried to display my image, failing to accurately do so. While tracking Arcturus's quintessence had been a bit of a task, as far too much time had passed, my familiarity with it granted me an advantage that overcame that difficulty. Traveling in my wounded state, however, had been much more arduous. Looking the woman at the reception desk over, I took on my role with hiden revulsion, aided by the illusion I was conjuring and the mimicry of my physical form.
"I'm detective Aiden Roth, and I'm looking for someone. I believe that he was here a few nights ago, definitely this past week," I said. My false, human voice had been made to sound smooth, suave and strong, interlaced with a suggestion, using what little forte I could spare. I put the worn and well-used briefcase I had conjured with me onto the counter with a heavy thud, using more of my forte to emulate such a simple thing. Opening it up, I fished out an image and showed the slightly grainy, black and white picture to the receptionist.
As the woman perused the conjured image, I could not help but hiss, my hand going to my side as I expended more of my forte than I had anticipated. The cursed wound fighting back fiercely against the dreadlight tethering my existence and life. I held my disguise with willpower of monumental proportions. A strength of will I rarely had been pressed to draw from.
Seeing the concerned look the woman gave me, I simply stated, shrugging off the pain with yet more expenditure of will, "An old injury, it flares up from time to time. No matter, have you seen this individual?"
"I'm going to need to see some kind of badge or warrant," the woman said with a genuine smile, "sorry."
The fear of losing her menial job overpowered my subtle suggestion. Unfortunate.
"Sure," I replied with a fake and well ptacticed, fetching smile, adjusting my forte to include another suggestion. I showed an actual badge with my assumed name and likeness. The mortal I was impersonating had been slain many years ago by my own hands, and the subtle illusion taking hardly any of my forte adjusted the dates and design of the badge to whatever was current.
Only a thaumaturgist, or a very particularly skilled sorcerer, could pierce the illusion. Against this mortal, there was no chance of resistance and she accepted the stolen badge without question.
She looked it over, as if trying to divine the legitimacy of it. "Okay," she finally admitted, "he was here a while ago, maybe a four or five days? I remember, 'cause I tried to flirt with him..."
I ignored her prattling and asked when she finished speaking, "Can you show me the room he used?"
"Sure, but it's been cleaned a few times since then."
With a nod, I let her lead the way to the room in question, staying silent. The lights around me flickered and hummed loudly in my presence. Had the woman been more observant, she could have seen my true shadow as I had not the forte to expend to hide it entirely from the ever changing lights. She opened the room in question, using what I could only assume was a master key card.
I immediately recognized the faded auras of quintessence.
"This will do," I stated, closing the door behind me and dropping my revolting disguise, using my forte to lock it.
I revealed my true form. My legs and arms lengthened and thinned, the black suit and red tie I was wearing became my skin, armor and form. My face and eyes became blank, gaunt and sunken, skin stretching out over it. The wound in my side made itself visible, it was an ugly red, peeling and oozing burn from my shoulder to my waist and took up most of my torso. The dreadlight I was using to prevent my oblivion illuminated the wound with a kind of sickly, crimson colored backlight. Black ichor oozed out from it and dripped onto the floor as I used the bulk of my forte to ablate the caustic, foreign quintessence from my form.
The woman looked at me as even her pitifully dull, mundane human senses told her that there was incredible danger in the room with her. She screeched and irrationally ran towards the bathroom as my presence became impossibly tall in the very finite space in the motel room. Using the smallest iota of my forte, I remotely smashed her fleeing form against a wall, pinning her there with unseen force as she begged, and sobbed for her pitiful life.
I ignored her for the moment.
Drawing upon more of my forte, freed up as I no longer needed a disguise, I sensed out where quintessence had been used, discovering two places, the bed and a wall. Imbuing the wall with my own forte, I witnessed a spectral, moving image of Arcturus throwing five darts at a map placed on the wall, one at a time, then draw intersecting lines to a single point on the map.
"Wendigos..." I hissed out in loathing, the skin on my face stretching and contorting with the movement as i spoke aloud with a nonexistent mouth. Even I knew their territory.
Turning to the second source of quintessence, I did the same thing. I saw Arcturus ward himself against dreaming and then hold a brilliant shield in the air, as well as a ball of fire. My knowledge of actual thaumaturgy told me that I would have great difficulties against those Knowings. I put the mystery of his Dreamtime excursion out of my mind for now, there was nothing I could do regarding that.
My expenditure of forte caused my horrid wound to pulse against my form painfully. With a hiss, I turned to the woman meekly begging me to spare her life as she was still pinned against the wall. I could use a thrall, especially as I could no longer gain allies, not without offering something in return to my current contract holders.
That was not a barter I wanted to engage in.
"Please... don't kill me... please... I'll do anything... please..."
The absolute terror in her eyes was delectable. Her fear invigorated me with energy and reminded me I needed to feed. However, the morsels offered by her would be more than sufficient for my needs. I dragged my left hand across my oozing wound, covering it in my own essence then flexed my forte. The clothes she was wearing split in half down the middle, revealing her naked form, making her shriek. I could see the ideas her panicked mind vomited forth as she renewed her struggles with vigor.
What I had in mind was so much worse than the mundane taking of her physical body she expected.
Using the full might of my forte, I lengthened and sharpened my index finger, the tip dripping with the gathered ichor of my essence. In an instant, less than the blink of an eye, I appeared in front of her from where I had been by the bed and plunged the very tip of my sharpened, needle-like nail into the center of her heart, cutting through the most sensitive parts of her breast to do so due to the angle I had chosen for just this purpose. As I let my ichor suffuse her body with each beat of her racing heart, her vascular system visibly turning black under her skin as she screamed and writhed in agony, an odd thing happened.
What could only be considered my blood had been tainted by thaumaturgy qnr bolstered by dreadlight as well as my own forte. As it mixed with the blank canvas of the mortal in front of me, I could sense the candle of her soul. Reaching out with dreadlight, letting the wound burn my side with a hiss of inhaled breath, I ignited it with three kinds of mysticism.
A horrified realization overcame her as she knew I had fundamentally altered her to suit my whims. Having a thaumaturgist thrall would be a great boon.
"You'll do quite nicely," I said with an actual grin, the skin stretched over my mouth revealing impossibly large, gleaming flat teeth, as I watched the physical and mystical changes taking place.
My new thrall would never be human again.
I feasted on her terror, anguish and torment.
It was delicious.
~ ~ ~
Arcturus and Acrux will be back. C'Leena Thomas, Prosthetist is going to be my next update.
[[NEXT]]

But he says himself that slime talks shit about people shit all the time on HIS podcast and that he dosen't care if he gets heat for it
https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxeBgd0mY9X-asupIEE4ztVUSjY4VvvJ3Y?si=OPG5_43HLOmcVBCL
If he knows that stuff that can get him into shit are said and doesn't do anything about that he basically agrees. And this time they said that he just reads wiki but there were other times when they called him cuck and stuff.
If slime said something controversial about Pokimane or something i bet he would get talk immedietly after theirs show. Or if he said something like even idf is right would probably got him kicked from the show.
And also everyone says all the time that destiny says that going after his son and wife is taboo but against others he doesn't adhere to it but those are two different things. He made it that if someone rellentlesy attacks them without good reason and in bad faith he won;t platform them. If Melina who was a twich streemer got into a drama because of stuff she had done he would probably even say on stream that what she did is stupid or stayed out of it.
But all the hate that he gets from ludwig started from QT so it's fair that he brings her in to it. And it's not even like he lied. If he said something like "I bet it's her face after she bangs with your friends face" or something with would be just lie and attack he would be braking his taboo but he just posted pic of somone who basicly hates him while crying so i don't understand where all the hate comes from. They post pics of Melina dancing with aba with honestly noone cares about except for people posting it.

From vaporwave aesthetics to the endless amount of action-movie reboots, we can see a building trend of remembering the 80s as the current form of nostalgia bait. Being about 40 years ago, the 80s are the catalyst for most, if not all, media we see now. The internet began back then, CGI was being tested, global reach started to take hold, electric keyboards became a music staple, and video games had their first crash due to so much home console production. The 80s were a time of massive change that we don’t notice as a difference from the 00s, especially when it comes to things like film and music. Trying to imagine the difference in the metamodernism of 1980-2020 is like trying to see a difference in the art nouveau of 1880-1920.
Previously, I talked about how hipsters change trends every 10 years because of the way public schools work, but the overall change of society goes from generation to generation. The halfway point of a human life is about 30 years, which is about how long it takes for a person in their childhood to enter a “production” age of media influence. Something like Stranger Things needed the Duffer Brothers to enter their late 30s in order for their pastiche and play to be worthy of directing, because they are not able to make these massive projects in their teens or even early 20s. Like any other trend, there was a trailing of its existence in video games of the 90s, as well as movie sequels like Terminator 2, that kept things alive after the decade. Our pop music continues to carry on the electronic sounds that sprouted from the 80s, with the tabloids focused on the singers and their sex lives more than the quality of their music. Most importantly, the inclusion of anime and adult cartoons from back then continues to spread into western fashion as production transitions into a digital form that is easier to maintain than pen & paper.
It's not that the 80s never ended, but rather we never leave the shadow of such a dramatic shift in culture. The sheer amount of consumerism, brought on by globalism and the end of the Vietnam War, caused propaganda to enter a more hippy form of anti-war rhetoric. Ironically, the vast amount of action movies from these times were done in order to say how bad war was, with movies like Rambo: First Blood and Platoon done as a way to make it look yucky. Due to the inability to critique the war during the war(or even shortly after), movies like Star Wars and Aliens would present the Vietnam War in a fictional sci-fi setting, allowing themselves to slip by censorship and inspire future projects. The big guns of the 80s, like the M202 Flash (a quadruple-tube rocket launcher) or the M60, were staples of movie posters and standees that lured us into seeing these action star achievements.
Big names like Arnold Schwarzenegger and John-Claude Van damme became global phenomena due to their action roots requiring zero dialogue. Their inability to speak well allowed their body language to do all the talking, with slasher movies rising up like Jason did from the dead in Friday the 13th, for the same reasons. And like the slasher villain, their franchises wouldn't die, allowing home media to turn box office failures into cult classics. Along with the exploitation of war, and the senseless murder of horny teens, came an abundance of gory practical effects, now that the censors were more lenient on sex and violence. The Hays Code prevented clear exploitation of sex, drugs, and violence up until the late 60s; quickly changed by the death of the head of the MPAA to then put the liberal Jack Valenti in his place.
After the Grindhouse era of the 70s, the 80s was all about showing drug use, naked women, and body organs flying all over the place. One of the main contributors of this exploitation, Roger Corman, was the main mentor for most of the big directors during this sudden spark of everything taboo. Deemed “The Pope of Pop Cinema” and “The Spiritual Godfather of New Hollywood”, his influence created a new form of movie production that would spit in the face of old Hollywood by resorting to everything the censors hated. Morals, culture, nationalism, conservatism, modesty, all of these were to be mocked and made into satire as the world became smaller and more global. Besides the advent of New Hollywood were the movies influenced by the Italian crime genre of Poliziotteschi and the Hong Kong action films of the 70s, further increasing the focus on casual urban violence.
Consumerism increased dramatically as fake industries rose to the top. Toylines and video games, as well as children's entertainment, exploded during this decade. The focus on the youth, by selling them the latest trend, was aided by easier access to commercials and even the infomercial that was freed from restrictions in 1984. Innovating technology meant there were new gadgets for people to buy, with nerds becoming more present through our fascination with these new inventions. Video games and movies were easier to gain an audience of collectors, thanks to the advent of the VHS and cartridge.
The ones who grew up during this generation are now the main contributors to what toy companies call “the kidult market”, the adults who still buy toys meant for kids.
Home movies became more popular because of the camcorder, with indie films growing in popularity from the ease of production. While the modernist slogan was “make it new”, the metamodernist slogan was “make it snappy”. It didn’t matter if things were dumb or absurd, because pastiche and play made sure we could simply recognize it and find it entertaining through intertextuality. Rather than focusing on quality or culture, the 80s was a time of focusing on simply making things exist, no matter how silly the premise was. The studios put the captain hats on the directors, with these directors of New Hollywood walking straight out of Woodstock, with plenty of acid still in their bloodstreams.
Music became a different beast once it shifted its platform from radio to TV. The introduction of visual music videos caused musicians to become performative artists, with their fashion sense mimicked by their fans at a wider scale. To attract the audience through a performance, crazy clothes and hairstyles became the latest craze, changing the clean hairstyle of prior into a mousse filled mullet. Punk, goth, heavy metal; all of these were mirrored by the new romantics, glam, and synthwave that shared the same spots on MTV. This was the time when being rebellious and “original” was no different from being any other person, because the fashion was just a difference between leather jackets with studs or jean jackets with rhinestones.
TV dramatically changed to what we know now as “daytime television for mom” and “primetime for dad”. In fact, the first talk show run by a woman was none-other than the Oprah Winfrey Show, started in the 80s. This was done because studios knew that moms were at home, available after the kids left for school, and they could watch a show made for them while they did their aerobics. For broken homes in this period, the latchkey kid generation was forced to stay home after school as a safety procedure by the increase of mothers in the workforce, with single motherhood increasing from the increased access of welfare. Staying home, with little parental supervision, had a strange result of Gen X being raised by the idiot tube, comic books, and home consoles.
In that regard, not much has changed other than the addition of streaming and other online-related activities.
Feminism changed in the 80s by sparking the dreadful sex wars: a debate between whether or not feminism is supposed to be pro-porn or anti-porn. Yes, this was the main issue for feminists during the 80s, until the transition to third wave feminism in the 90s. During this period, media depicted women as valiant prostitutes or brave business women, wearing shoulder pads either way. The demand for equality caused a confusion when feminists couldn’t decide on whether or not sucking dick for money was considered “feminist”. Freedom was questioned and the result became the third-wave feminism that began to question whether or not there was a difference between men and women at all.
Both debates are still going.
Video games were still primitive, barely entering a coherent bit quality, with violent games like Mortal Kombat making concerned parents worried about what their kids are getting into. The arcade was the new amusement hall, allowing kids to throw quarters into “entertainment vending machines” that occupied their time. The mall wasn’t started in this decade, but it began to flourish as the main hotspot for teenage activity, thanks to the arcades and food courts. During the 80s, paper cups of the food court had an orange flower design, which was replaced with the more iconic Jazz design in the 90s. Yes, I was shocked when I learned that as well.
When we view this newfound addiction to the 80s, we are viewing the catalyst of why we are the way we are today. The sex and violence in media started around the 80s, the performative art of musicians expanded thanks to music videos, and everything we see online was pioneered by Gen X nerds who were high on crystal Pepsi and cocaine. With how little has changed, it’s no wonder the 80s are much loved and seen as “a time we remember but didn’t grow up in”. I don’t want this to be seen as a nightmarish journey down memory lane, but rather a reminder that the 80s are when postmodernism first sprouted into metamodernism and started what we suffer through today. Like everything else in mainstream media, the nostalgia bait is fake and forced.
I am not surprised that Gen X will claim their time was better, because that’s all they know. But consider the bits and pieces that inspired the 80s itself, from what occurred 30 years before it. Shows like Happy Days tried to cling to the charm of the greasers during the 50s, or how quirky musicals like Grease and Little Shop of Horror used pastiche to remind us of how wonderful the 50s were. Creature features of the 80s were mostly inspired by the alien invasion movies of the 50s that were used to symbolically spread anti-communist propaganda, accidentally carrying this sentiment into the 80s as the Iron Curtain collapsed. Like any other era, the good seems to out weight the bad, because the good is a channeling of what came before and what lasts forever.
Next time someone demands the 80s, secretly give them the 50s. As good as people try to make the 80s out to be, it is hard to argue against the massive influence of the 50s that caused many of our much loved properties to exist. Sure, Woke Hollywood is now turning those classics into flaming piles of shit as a way to destroy the Four Olds, but we can always revive what was from before. But whatever we do, we must not treat the 80s as the be all, end all. We must treat it as what it is: the origin point of why our media today is totally bogus.

Alternate name(s): Delicious in Dungeon, episode 19

Episode 19

After the Golden Kingdom is sunk underground by an insane magician, its king emerges, promising all of his treasure to any who defeat the magician, before crumbling to dust. Guilds are spurred on by this promise, traversing the labyrinthine dungeon in search of the magician. Laios, the leader of one such guild, encounters a dragon that wipes out his party and devours his sister Falin. Despite having lost the entirety of their supplies and belongings, Laios along with Marcille, an elven healer, and Chilchuck, a halfling thief, immediately reenter the dungeon, determined to save Falin.
Time being of the essence, Laios suggests the taboo of eating the monsters of the dungeon as a means of gathering supplies. Upon the preparation of their first meal in the dungeon, they are stopped by an onlooking dwarf named Senshi. An enthusiast of monster cooking, he helps them prepare their monster ingredients for safe consumption. After learning of Laios' circumstances, Senshi expresses his desire to cook a dragon and joins their guild, thus beginning their food-filled foray into the dungeon together.
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The ONLY way you can 'officially' watch ODDSAC is by purchasing a now out of print DVD on Amazon or ebay. The film is not on any streaming service, and you can't buy a copy directly from the band. Even an extremely poor quality version is thus hardly available, especially if you're not in the US.
DVD only means that the highest quality video available is 480p in the year 2024. The audio, being on DVD, is also of extremely low quality. I know the band has been adamant in interviews and AMAs about wanting to separate the visuals from the music. But we know that higher quality versions of the awesome music from ODDSAC is just sitting on a hard-drive somewhere. Also.. why is Tangerine Reef okay to be separated from the visuals for streaming and physical soundtrack releases, but ODDSAC is taboo?? I would understand if their goal was to incentivize people to support Danny Perez, but since the DVD is OOP, it's not even supporting Danny at this point.
Ideally, it would be great to have a bluray remaster of the film available for purchase, and the soundtrack on streaming with a physical release. Even works of art filmed completely digitally in low resolution have been remastered (for example, Inland Empire). This seriously awesome work of art has been really disregarded by its creators (almost as much as panda bear s/t but i'll save that for another thread) and it's a damn shame. We got a STGSTV remaster and re-release and it was fucking awesome, now please do ODDSAC :)

VIII: The Flight from Feeling: Sociopsychology of the Sex War
The Trivialization of Personal Relations
Bertrand Russell once predicted that the socialization of reproduction - the supersession of the family by the state - would “make sex love itself more trivial,” encourage “a certain triviality in all personal relations,” and “make it far more difficult to take an interest in anything after one’s own death.” At first glance, recent developments appear to have refuted the first part of this prediction. Americans today invest personal relations, particularly the relations between men and women, with undiminished emotional importance. The decline of childrearing as a major preoccupation has freed sex from its bondage to procreation and made it possible for people to value erotic life for its own sake. As the family shrinks to the marital unit, it can be argued that men and women respond more readily to each other’s emotional needs, instead of living vicariously through their offspring. The marriage contract having lost its binding character, couples now find it possible, according to many observers, to ground sexual relations in something more solid than legal compulsion. In short, the growing determination to live for the moment, whatever it may have done to the relations between parents and children, appears to have established the preconditions of a new intimacy between men and women.
This appearance is an illusion. The cult of intimacy conceals a growing despair of finding it. Personal relations crumble under the emotional weight with which they are burdened. The inability “to take an interest in anything after one’s own death,” which gives such urgency to the pursuit of close personal encounters in the present, makes intimacy more elusive than ever. The same developments that have weakened the tie between parents and children have also undermined relations between men and women. Indeed the deterioration of marriage contributes in its own right to the deterioration of care for the young.
This last point is so obvious that only a strenuous propaganda on behalf of “open marriage” and “creative divorce” prevents us from grasping it. It is clear, for example, that the growing incidence of divorce, together with the ever present possibility that any given marriage will end in collapse, adds to the instability of family life and deprives the child of a measure of emotional security. Enlightened opinion diverts attention from this general fact by insisting that in specific cases, parents may do more harm to their children by holding a marriage together than by dissolving it. It is true that many couples preserve their marriage, in one form or another, at the expense of the child. Sometimes they embark on a life full of distractions that shield them against daily emotional involvements with their offspring. Sometimes one parent acquiesces in the neurosis of the other (as in the family configuration that produces so many schizophrenic patients) for fear of disturbing the precarious peace of the household. More often the husband abandons his children to the wife whose company he finds unbearable, and the wife smothers the children with incessant yet perfunctory attentions. This particular solution to the problem of marital strain has become so common that the absence of the father impresses many observers as the most striking fact about the contemporary family. Under these conditions, a divorce in which the mother retains custody of her children merely ratifies the existing state of affairs - the effective emotional desertion of his family by the father. But the reflection that divorce often does no more damage to children than marriage itself hardly inspires rejoicing.
Battle of the Sexes: Its Social History
While the escalating war between men and women have psychological roots in the disintegration of the marital relation, and more broadly in the changing patterns of socialization outlined in the preceding chapter, much of this tension can be explained without reference to psychology. The battle of the sexes also constitutes a social phenomena with a history of its own. The reasons for the recent intensification of sexual combat lie in the transformation of capitalism from its paternalistic and familial form to a managerial, corporate, bureaucratic system of almost total control: more specifically, in the collapse of “chivalry”; the liberation of sex from many of its former constraints; the pursuit of sexual pleasure as an end in itself; the emotional overloading of personal relations; and most important of all, the irrational male response to the emergence of the liberated woman.
It has been clear for some time that “chivalry is dead.” The tradition of gallantry formerly masked and to some degree mitigated the organized oppression of women. While males monopolized political and economic power, they made their domination of women more palatable by surrounding it with an elaborate ritual of deference and politesse. They set themselves up as protectors of the weaker sex, and this cloying but useful fiction set limits to their capacity to exploit women through sheer physical force. The counterconvention of droit de seigneur, which justified the predatory exploits of the privileged classes against women socially inferior to themselves, nevertheless showed that the male sex at no time ceased to regard most women as fair game. The long history of rape and seduction, moreover, served as a reminder that animal strength remained the basis of masculine ascendancy, manifested here in its most direct and brutal form. Yet polite conventions, even when they were no more than a façade, provided women with ideological leverage in their struggle to domesticate the wildness and savagery of men. They surrounded essentially exploitive relationships with a network of reciprocal obligations, which if nothing else made exploitation easier to bear.
The symbiotic interdependence of exploiters and exploited, so characteristic of paternalism in all ages, survived in male-female relations long after the collapse of patriarchal authority in other areas. Because the convention of deference to the fair sex was so closely bound up with paternalism, however, it lived on borrowed time once the democratic revolutions of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries had destroyed the last foundations of feudalism. The decline of paternalism, and of the rich public ceremonial formerly associated with it, spelled the end of gallantry. Women themselves began to perceive the connection between their debasement and their sentimental exaltation, rejected their confining position on the pedestal of masculine adoration, and demanded the demystification of female sexuality.
Democracy and feminism have now stripped the veil of courtly convention from the subordination of women, revealing the sexual antagonisms formerly concealed by the “feminine mystique.” Denied illusions of comity, men and women find it more difficult than before to confront each other as friends and lovers, let alone as equals. As male supremacy becomes ideologically untenable, incapable of justifying itself as protection, men assert their domination more directly, in fantasies and occasionally in acts of raw violence. Thus the treatment of women in movies, according to one study, has shifted “from reverence to rape.”
Women who abandon the security of well-defined though restrictive social roles have always exposed themselves to sexual exploitation, having surrendered the usual claims of respectability. Mary Wollstonecraft, attempting to live as a free woman, found herself brutally deserted by Gilbert Imlay. Later feminists forfeited the privileges of sex and middle-class origin when they campaigned for women’s rights. Men reviled them publicly as sexless “she-men” and approached them privately as loose women. A Cincinnati brewer, expecting to be admitted to Emma Goldman’s hotel room when he found her alone, became alarmed when she threatened to wake the whole establishment. He protested, “I thought you believed in free love.” Ingrid Bengis reports that when she hitchhiked across the country, men expected her to pay for rides with sexual favors. Her refusal elicited the predictable reply: “Well, girls shouldn’t hitchhike in the first place.”
What distinguishes the present time from the past is that defiance of sexual conventions less and less presents itself as a matter of individual choice, as it was for the pioneers of feminism. Since most of those conventions have already collapsed, even a woman who lays no claim to her rights nevertheless finds it difficult to claim the traditional privileges of her sex. All women find themselves identified with “women’s lib” merely by virtue of their sex, unless by strenuous disavowals they identify themselves with its enemies. All women share in the burdens as well as the benefits of “liberation,” both of which can be summarized by saying that men no longer treat women as ladies.
The Sexual “Revolution”
The demystification of womanhood goes hand in hand with the desublimation of sexuality. The “repeal of reticence” has dispelled the aura of mystery surrounding sex and removed most of the obstacles to its public display. Institutionalized sexual segregation has given way to arrangements that promote the intermingling of the sexes at every stage of life. Efficient contraceptives, legalized abortion, and a “realistic” and “healthy” acceptance of the body have weakened the links that once tied sex to love, marriage, and procreation. Men and women now pursue sexual pleasure as an end in itself, unmediated even by the conventional trappings of romance.
Sex valued purely for its own sake loses all reference to the future and brings no hope of permanent relationships. Sexual liaisons, including marriage, can be terminated at pleasure. This means, as Willard Waller demonstrated a long time ago, that lovers forfeit the right to be jealous or to insist on fidelity as a condition of erotic union. In his sociological satire of the recently divorced, Waller pointed out that the bohemians of the 1920s attempted to avoid emotional commitments while eliciting them from others.
Since the bohemian was “not ready to answer with his whole personality for the consequences of the affair, nor to give any assurance of its continuance,” he lost the right to demand such an assurance from others. “To show jealousy,” under these conditions, became “nothing short of a crime…. So if one falls in love in Bohemia, he conceals it from his friends as best he can.” In similar studies of the “rating and dating complex” on college campuses, Waller found that students who fell in love invited the ridicule of their peers. Exclusive attachments have way to an easygoing promiscuity as the normal pattern of sexual relations. Popularity replaced purity as the measure of a woman’s social value; the sentimental cult of virginity gave way to “playful woman-sharing,” which had “no negative effect,” as Wolfenstein and Leites pointed out in their study of movies, “on the friendly relations between the men.”(*) In the thirties and forties, the cinematic fantasy in which a beautiful girl dances with a chorus of men, favoring one no more than the others, expressed an ideal to which reality more and more closely conformed. In Elmtown’s Youth, August Hollingshead described a freshman girl who violated conventional taboos against drinking, smoking, and “fast” behavior and still retained her standing in the school’s most prominent clique, partly carefully calibrated promiscuity. “To be seen with her adds to a boy’s prestige in the elite peer group…. she pets with her dates discreetly never goes too far, just far enough to make them come back again.” In high school as in college, the peer group attempts through conventional ridicule and vituperation to prevent its members from falling in love with the wrong people, indeed from falling in love at all; for as Hollingshead noted, lovers “are lost to the adolescent world with its quixotic enthusiasms and varied group activities.”
These studies show that the main features of the contemporary sexual scene had already established themselves well before the celebrated “sexual revolution” of the sixties and seventies: casual promiscuity, a wary avoidance of emotional commitments, an attack on jealousy and possessiveness. Recent developments, however, have introduced a new source of tension: the modern woman’s increasingly insistent demand for sexual fulfillment. In the 1920s and 1930s, many women still approached sexual encounters with a hesitance that combined prudery and a realistic fear of consequences. Superficially seductive, they took little pleasure in sex even when they spoke the jargon of sexual liberation and professed to live for pleasure and thrills. Doctors worried about female frigidity, and psychiatrists had no trouble in recognizing among their female patients the classic patterns of hysteria described by Freud, in which a coquettish display of sexuality often coexists with powerful repression and a rigid, puritanical morality.
Today women have dropped much of their sexual reserve. In the eyes of men, this makes them more accessible as sexual partners but also more threatening. Formerly men complained about women’s lack of sexual response; now they find this response intimidating and agonize about their capacity to satisfy it. “I’m sorry they ever found out they could have orgasms too,” Heller’s Bob Slocum says. The famous Masters-Johnson report on female sexuality added to these anxieties by depicting women as sexually insatiable, inexhaustible in their capacity to experience orgasm after orgasm. Some feminists have used the Masters report to attack the “myth of vaginal orgasm,” to assert women’s independence of men, or to taunt men with their sexual inferiority. “Theoretically, a woman could go on having orgasms indefinitely if physical exhaustion did not intervene,” writes Mary Jane Sherfey. According to Kate Millett, “While the male’s sexual potential is limited, the female’s appears to be biologically nearly inexhaustible.” Sexual “performance” thus becomes another weapon in the war between men and women; social inhibitions no longer prevent women from exploiting the tactical advantage which the current obsession with sexual measurement has given them. Whereas the hysterical woman, even when she fell in love and longed to let herself go, seldom conquered her underlying aversion to sex, the pseudoliberated woman of Cosmopolitan exploits her sexuality in a more deliberate and calculating way, not only because she has fewer reservations about sex but because she manages more successfully to avoid emotional entanglements. “Women with narcissistic personalities,” writes Otto Kernberg, “may appear quite ‘hysterical’ on the surface, with their extreme coquettishness and exhibitionism but the cold, shrewdly calculating quality of their seductiveness is in marked contrast to the much warmer, emotionally involved quality of hysterical pseudo-hypersexuality.”
[*. The transition in American movies from the vamp to the “good-bad girl,” according to Wolfenstein and Leites, illustrates the decline of jealousy and the displacement of sexual passion by sexiness. “The dangerousness of the vamp was associated with the man’s intolerance for sharing her with other men. Her seductive appearance and readiness for love carried a strong suggestion that there has been and might be other men in her life…. The good-bad girl is associated with a greater tolerance for sharing the woman…. In effect, the woman’s attraction is enhanced by her association with other men. All that is needed to eliminate unpleasantness is the assurance that those relations were not serious.”]
Togetherness
Both men and women have come to approach personal relations with a heightened appreciation of their emotional risks. Determined to manipulate the emotions of others while protecting themselves against emotional injury, both sexes cultivate a protective shallowness, a cynical detachment they do not altogether feel but which soon becomes habitual and in any case embitters personal relations merely through its repeated profession. At the same time, people demand from personal relations the richness and intensity of a religious experience. Although in some ways men and women have had to modify their demands on each other, especially in their inability to exact commitments of lifelong sexual fidelity, in other ways they demand more than ever. In the American middle class, moreover, men and women see too much of each other and find it hard to put their relations in proper perspective. The degradation of work and the impoverishment of communal life force people to turn to sexual excitement to satisfy all their emotional needs. Formerly sexual antagonism was tempered not only by chivalric, paternalistic, conventions but by a more relaxed acceptance of the limitations of the other sex. Men and women acknowledged each other’s shortcomings without making them the basis of a comprehensive indictment. Partly because they found more satisfaction than is currently available in casual relations with their own sex, they did not have to raise friendship itself into a political program, an ideological alternative to love. An easygoing, everyday contempt for the weaknesses of the other sex, institutionalized as folk wisdom concerning the emotional incompetence of men or the brainlessness of women, kept sexual enmity within bounds and prevented it from becoming an obsession.
Feminism and the ideology of intimacy have discredited the sexual stereotypes which kept women in their place but which also made it possible to acknowledge sexual antagonism without raising it to the level of all-out warfare. Today the folklore of sexual differences and the acceptance of sexual friction survive only in the working class. Middle-class feminists envy the ability of working-class women to acknowledge that men get in their way without becoming man-haters. “These women are less angry at their men because they don’t spend that much time with them,” according to one observer. “Middle-class women are the ones who were told men had to be their companions.”
…
Strategies of Accommodation
Because the contradiction exposed (and exacerbated) by feminism are so painful, the feminist movement has always found it tempting to renounce its own insights and program and to retreat into some kind of accommodation with the existing order, often disguised as embattled militancy. In the nineteenth century, American feminists edged away from their original programs, which envisioned not only economic equality but a sweeping reform of marriage and sexual relations, into a protracted campaign for woman suffrage. Today many feminists argue, once again in the name of political realism, that women need to establish their influence within the two-party system, as a kind of loyal opposition, before they can raise broader issues. Such tactics merely serve to postpone the discussion of broader issues indefinitely. Just as the women’s rights movement of the nineteenth century drew back from discussions of love and marriage when they met with public hostility, so strong forces in the National Organization for Women today propose to improve woman’s image, to show that feminism in no way threatens men, and to blame “social conditions” or bad attitudes, not male supremacy, for the subordination of the female sex.
More subtle forms of accommodation pose as radical challenges to mainstream feminism and the status quo. Some militants have revived discredited theories of matriarchal origins or myths of the moral superiority of women, thereby consoling themselves for this lack of power. They appear to the illusory solidarity of sisterhood in order to avoid arguments about the proper goals of the feminist movement. By institutionalizing women’s activities as “alternatives to the male death-culture,” they avoid challenging that culture and protect women from the need to compete with men for jobs, political power, and public attention. What began as a tactical realization that women have to win their rights without waiting for men to grant them has degenerated into the fantasy of a world without men. As one critic has noted, the movement’s “apparent vigor turns out to be mere busyness with self-perpetuating make-work: much of it serving in the short run to provide its more worldly experts with prestige, book contracts, and grants, its dreamers with an illusory matriarchal utopia.”
“Radical lesbians” carry the logic of separation to its ultimate futility, withdrawing at every level from the struggle against male domination while directing a steady stream of abuse against men and against women who refuse to acknowledge their homosexual proclivities. Proclaiming their independence from men, militant lesbians in fact envision a protected enclave for themselves within a male-dominated society. Yet this form of surrender - the dream of an island secure against male intrusion - remains attractive to women who repeatedly fail to find a union of sexuality and tenderness in their relations with men. As such disappointments become more and more common, sexual separatism commends itself as the most plausible substitute for liberation.
All these strategies of accommodation derive their emotional energy from an impulse much more prevalent than feminism: the flight from feeling. For many reasons, personal relations have become increasingly risky - most obviously, because they no longer carry any assurance of permanence. Men and women make extravagant demands on each other and experience irrational rage and hatred when their demands are not met. Under these conditions, it is not surprising that more and more people long for emotional detachment or “enjoy sex,” as Hendin writes, “only in situations where they can define and limit the intensity of the relationship.” A lesbian confesses: “The only men I’ve ever been able to enjoy sex with were men I didn’t give a shit about. Then I could let go, because I didn’t feel vulnerable.”
Sexual separatism is only one of many strategies for controlling or escaping from strong feeling. Many prefer the escape of drugs, which dissolve anger and desire in a glow of good feeling and create the illusion of intense experience without emotion. Others simply undertake to live alone, repudiating connections with either sex. The reported increase in single-member households undoubtedly reflects a new taste for personal independence, but it also expresses a revulsion against close emotional attachments of any kind. The rising rate of suicide among young people can be attributed, in part, to the same flight from emotional entanglements. Suicide, in Hendin’s words, represents the “ultimate numbness.”
The most prevalent form of escape from emotional complexity is promiscuity: the attempt to achieve a strict separation between sex and feeling. Here again, escape masquerades as liberation, regression as progress. The progressive ideology of “nonbiding commitments” and “cool sex” makes a virtue of disengagement, while purporting to criticize the depersonalization of sex. Enlightened authorities like Alex Comfort, Nena and George O’Neill, Robert and Anna Francoeur insist on the need to humanize sex by making it into a “total experience” instead of a mechanical performance; yet in the same breath they condemn the human emotions of jealousy and possessiveness and decry “romantic illusions.” “Radical” therapeutic wisdom urges men and women to express their needs and wishes without reserve - since all needs and wishes have equal legitimacy - but warns them not to expect a single mate to satisfy them. This program seeks to allay emotional tensions, in effect, by reducing the demands men and women make on each other, instead of making men and women better able to meet them. The promotion of sex as a “healthy,” “normal” part of life masks a desire to divest it of the emotional intensity that unavoidably clings to it: the reminders of earlier entanglements with parents, the “unhealthy” inclination to re-create those relations in relation with lovers. The enlightened insistence that sex is not “dirty” expresses a wish to sanitize it by washing away its unconscious associations.
The humanistic critique of sexual “depersonalization” thus sticks to the surface of the problem. Even while preaching the need to combine sex with feeling, it gives ideological legitimacy to the protective withdrawal from strong emotions. It condemns the overemphasis on technique while extolling sexual relations that are hermetically free of affect. It exhorts men and women to “get in touch with their feelings” but encourages them to make “resolutions about freedom and ‘non-possessiveness,’” as Ingrid Bengis writes, which “tear the very heart out of intimacy.” It satirizes the crude pornographic fantasies sold by the mass media, which idealize hairless women with inflated mammaries, but it does so out of an aversion to fantasy itself, which so rarely conforms to social definition of what is healthy minded. The critics of dehumanized sex, like the critics of sport, hope to abolish spectatorship and to turn everyone into a participant, hoping that vigorous exercise will drive away unwholesome thoughts. They attack pornography, not because they wish to promote more complicated and satisfying fantasies about sex, but because, on the contrary, they wish to win acceptance for a realistic view of womanhood and of the reduced demands that men and women have a right to make of each other.
The Castrating Woman of Male Fantasy
The flight from feeling, whether or not it tries to justify itself under an ideology of nonbinding commitments, takes the form above all of a flight from fantasy. This shows that it represents more than defensive reaction to external disappointments. Today men and women seek escape from emotion not only because they have suffered too many wounds in the wars of love but because they experience their own inner impulses as intolerably urgent and menacing. The flight from feeling originates not only in the sociology of the sex war but in the psychology that accompanies it. If “many of us,” as Ingrid Bengis observes of women and as others have observed of men as well, “have had to anesthetize ourselves to [our] needs,” it is the very character of those needs (and of the defenses erected against them) which gives rise to the belief that they cannot be satisfied in heterosexual relations - perhaps should not be satisfied in any form - and which therefore prompts people to withdraw from intense emotional encounters.
Instinctual desires always threaten psychic equilibrium and for this reason can never be given direct expression. In our society, however, they present themselves as intolerably menacing, in part because the collapse of authority has removed so many of the external prohibitions against the expression of dangerous impulses. The superego can no longer ally itself, in its battle against impulse, with outside authorities. It has to rely almost entirely on its own resources, and these too have diminished in their effectiveness. Not only have the social agents of repression lost much of their force, but their internal representations in the superego have suffered a similar decline. The ego ideal, which cooperates in the work of repression by making socially acceptable behavior itself an object of libidinal cathexis, has become increasingly pallid and ineffective in the absence of compelling moral models outside the self. This means, as we have seen, that the superego has to rely more and more on harsh, punitive dictation, drawing on the aggressive impulses in the id and directing them against the ego.
The narcissist feels consumed by his own appetites. The intensity of his oral hunger leads him to make inordinate demands on his friends and sexual partners; yet in the same breath he repudiates those demands asks only a causal connection without promise of permanence on either side. He longs to free himself from his own hunger and rage, to achieve a calm detachment beyond emotion, and to outgrow his dependence on others. He longs for the indifference to human relationships and to life itself that would enable him to acknowledge its passing in Kurt Vonnegut’s laconic phrase, “So it goes,” which so aptly expresses the ultimate aspiration of the psychiatric seeker. <“Western” Buddhism>
But although the psychological man of our times frightens himself with the intensity of his inner needs, the needs of others appall him no less than his own. One reason the demands he inadvertently imposes on others make him uneasy is that they may justify other in making demands on himself. Men especially fear the demands of women, not only because women no longer hesitate to press them but because men find it so difficult to imagine an emotional need that does not wish to consume whatever it seizes on.
Women today ask for two things in their relations with men: sexual satisfaction and tenderness. Whether separately or in combination, both demands seem to convey to many males the same message - that women are voracious, insatiable. Why should men respond in this fashion to demands that reason tells them have obvious legitimacy? Rational arguments notoriously falter in the face of unconscious anxieties; women’s sexual demands terrify men because they reverberate at such deep layers of the masculine mind, calling up early fantasies of a possessive, suffocating, devouring, and castrating mother. The persistence of such fantasies in later life intensifies and brings into the open the secret terror that has always been an important part of the male image of womanhood. The strength of these pre-Oedipal fantasies, in the narcissistic type of personality, makes it likely that men will approach women with hopelessly divided feelings, dependent and demanding in their fixation on the breast but terrified of the vagina which threatens to eat them alive; of the legs with which popular imagination endows the American heroine, legs which can presumably strangle or scissor victims to death; of the dangerous, phallic breast itself, encased in unyielding armor, which in unconscious terror more nearly resembles an implement of destruction that a source of nourishment. The sexually voracious female, long a stock figure of masculine pornography, in the twentieth century has emerged into the daylight of literary respectability. Similarly the cruel, destructive, domineering woman, la belle dame sans merci, has moved from the periphery of literature and the other arts to a position close to the center. Formerly a source of delicious titillation, of sadomasochistic gratification tinged with horrified fascination, she now inspires unambiguous loathing and dread. Heartless, domineering, burning (as Leslie Fiedler has said) with “a lust of the nerves rather than of the flesh,” she unmans every man who falls under her spell. In American fiction, she assumes a variety of guides, all of them variations on the same theme: the bitchy heroine of Hemingway, Faulkner, and Fitzegerald; Nathanael West’s Faye Greener, whose “invitation wasn’t to pleasure but to struggle, hard and sharp, closer to murder than to love”; Tennessee Williams’s Maggie Tolliver, edgy as a cat on a hot tin roof; the domineering wife whose mastery of her husband, as in the joyless humor of James Thurber, recalls the mastery of the castrating mother over her son; the man-eating Mom denounced in the shrill falsetto of Philip Wylie’s Generation of Vipers, Wright Morris’s Man and Boy, Edward Albee’s The American Dream; the suffocating Jewish mother, Mrs. Portnoy; the Hollywood vampire (Theda Bara), scheming seductress (Marlene Dietrich), or bad blonde (Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield); the precocious female killer of William March’s The Bad Seed.
Child or woman, wife or mother, this female cuts men to ribbons or swallows them whole. She travels accompanied by eunuchs, by damaged men suffering from nameless wounds, or by a few strong men brought low by their misguided attempts to turn her into a real woman. Whether or not the actual incidence of impotence has increased in American males - and there is no reason to doubt reports that it has - the specter of impotence haunts the contemporary imagination, not least because it focuses the fear that a played-out Anglo-Saxon culture is about to fall before the advance of hardier races. The nature of impotence, moreover, has undergone an important historical shift. In the nineteenth century, respectable men sometimes experienced embarrassing sexual failures with women of their own class, or else suffered from what Freud called “psychic impotence” - the characteristic Victorian split between sensuality and affection. Although most of these men dutifully had intercourse with their wives, they derived sexual satisfaction only from intercourse with prostitutes or with women otherwise degraded. As Freud explained, this psychic syndrome - “the most prevalent form of degradation” in the erotic life of his time - originated in the Oedipus complex. After the painful renunciation of the mother, sensuality seeks only those objects that evoke no reminder of her, while the mother herself, together with other “pure” (socially respectable) women, is idealized beyond reach of the sensual.
Today, impotence typically seems to originate not in renunciation of the mother but in earlier experiences, often reactivated by the apparently aggressive overtures of sexually liberated women. Fear of the devouring mother of pre-Oedipal fantasy gives rise to a generalized fear of women that has little resemblance to the sentimental adoration men once granted to women who made them sexually uncomfortable. The fear of women, closely associated with a fear of the consuming desires within, reveals itself not only as impotence but as a boundless rage against the female sex. This blind and impotent rage, which seems so prevalent at the present time, only superficially represents a defensive male reaction against feminism. It is only because the recent revival of feminism stirs up such deeply rooted memories that it gives rise to such primitive emotions. Men’s fear of women, moreover, exceeds the actual threat to their sexual privileges. Whereas the resentment of women against men for the most part has solid roots in the discrimination and sexual danger to which women are constantly exposed, the resentment of men against women, when men still control most of the power and wealth in society yet feel themselves threatened on every hand - intimidated, emasculated - appears deeply irrational, and for that reason not likely to be appeased by changes in feminist tactics designed to reassure men that liberated women threaten no one. When even Mom is a menace, there is not much that feminists can say to soften the sex war or to assure their adversaries that men and women will live happily together when it is over.

As I wrote my response to We're Here this week, with the prompt of Teacher Appreciation Day, I came upon you. Yes, you. Nerdfighteria.
Y'all have helped me realize who I am, truly. Even though I wouldn't consider myself "active" in the community, this is a central part of my life. Nerdfighteria has been a north star, helping me uncover what I even I don't know about myself, demonstrating how to live with the good, and the bad. Words honestly fail to explain how much this "we" means to me. So, in lieu of beautiful words to describe your importance in my life, this is an extensive-but-not-exhaustive list of some of the things you've taught me (so far):

• My now is not my forever; the importance of community; the power of community; it's possible to be kind in such a harsh world; imagine others complexly; self-care; empathy; being silly; being a nerd: loving something wholeheartedly; fighting our favorite disease, TB; lifelong learning; curiosity about the world around me; being generous to others; being generous to myself; doing goofy stuff in a live stream extravaganza; putting in sleep breaks in our extravaganzas; it's still possible to live a fulfilling life, even with deep mental health struggles; willingness to talk about taboos, be they mental health, or giraffe love; focusing my attention; willingness to examine society, reflect on it, and do what's possible to affect change;

Thank you for being here, with me. I love you all.

I'm going to tell you the true story of an ordinary man, in his thirties, who didn't have much money and who, in the space of a few months, is going to become a multi-millionaire. This story is mine, but you'll understand that it could easily be yours too!
What's worth my kendu bag on May 7th
To start, I'll tell you directly what's helping me become a bit wealthier day by day: Kendu Inu! I'm French, and I wrote this testimony in all sincerity in French. Everything written is true, and I have nothing to hide. My pseudonym is Lorniko, and I only used Chat GPT to translate this text into English.
I started with crypto in early 2024. More precisely, I received 1 ETH as a gift for Christmas 2023. A close friend helped me out because my financial situation was starting to get complicated. I had just started my first business, and until it could sustain me, I needed to find other sources of income.
This friend isn't just anybody! I won't dox him, but I can tell you he's a king of sniping and has a program to sort and snipe the best crypto projects launching. His success rates are impressive.
He gives me free access to his bot, and I start sniping from January onwards. I make some nice profits (+0.6, +0.8 eth, etc.), but I also make a lot of bad choices and end up losing a lot of money.
I go through calls, good deals that I jeet too early, scams, etc.
Until February 21, 2024!
It was late afternoon, I'll always remember it, my phone rings, another launch that my bot buys. I see it's called Kendu Inu. I think to myself, "Well! I hope this isn't a scam!" I check the Telegram, the contract seems okay... I'll follow the trend and what's being said on the general TG, hoping it's not a scam...
Then I receive a message from my friend who gave me the eth. He forwards me messages he had received. He had been warned that Kendu is a very big project and that you have to hold! Of course, this reassures me, and I follow the trend with more serenity.
With an automatic purchase of 0.1 eth, my bot automatically sells 0.6622 eth (80% of my bag) for me when Kendu pushes me past +900%. I was super happy because my wallet was dangerously close to 0 ETH!
Since I still had 20% at stake on Kendu and I had been warned that it was a serious project, I started listening to all of Miazaki's live streams, following every message sent on the general TG! Then, quite quickly, I began to be convinced by Miazaki's sincerity, by the atmosphere he created in this community. No taboos, no bootlicking, lots of humor, and no "wen"!! I then started to shill with my Twitter account (I had never used Twitter in my life before), started creating memes, and started to enjoy it and improve!
One sell is what I had, the other one was the clog
By not missing a single phrase, breath, or word, I understood that "yes, Kendu is very serious and I need more of it!!" That's when the chart was going down, people were selling because they were impatient, and I decided to buy more Kendu, despite my wallet being at 0.7 eth (Each call by the bot buys 0.1 eth, if a few scams follow, I have nothing left at all).
I felt pressured not to go back to 0 to not disappoint my friend who had given me 1 eth, and if I buy more Kendu and it continues to go down, I risk greatly disappointing him but... I'm convinced, I feel it, Kendu is going to make me rich, very rich!
My wife thinks I have a gift because I often feel things and don't make mistakes. So, I wait for what I judge to be the best possible dip. I wait, finger on the button, for the ideal moment... I see sales, I hope for one last sale... it sells!!! Awesome!! $50k Marketcap, I buy 0.1 eth!!! Kendu never came close to that $50k mc again!
A masterstroke!! But now I have to hold!! Work for Kendu and never, ever crack...
Spoiler alert: I'm writing these lines on May 7, 2024, I've never sold Kendu again, I'm 100% involved, and my Kendu is worth over $120k. I'm still aiming for multi-millions. Story continues in part 2!
Buy like a jeet, hold like a chad, that's my story!

First Previous Wiki
Fleet Commander Annabelle Weber raised the shields of the dreadnaught as she approached. All across the Alliance Defense Fleet's mental network, psychic amplifiers were activated in tandem with shields. Thousands of small bubbles surrounded the soldiers and crews in the mindscape while Annabelle herself donned a mental device meant to strengthen her even more. It had been delivered directly by Brey herself in a massive expenditure of energy and likely was another classified project.
This far out, Annabelle had less access than usual. There was also less contact with Phoebe than usual, likely due to politics. But out here, that didn't matter. All that mattered were her crews, her ships, and her soldiers. Past that, the Cawlarians. Tenrah's fleet had started to move away from her, as the Admiral drew most of the fire from Siran's fleets.
Meanwhile, Annabelle and the Battle Planner were working on the planet crackers. There were five of them, luckily out of position by a few scouting attacks that had been sent against them a few hours prior. It had helped to ensure Annabelle and the Battle Planner wouldn't get wiped by the beams before even entering the battlefield.
They'd been deployed faster than expected. Phoebe's sabotage drones hadn't been able to destroy them quickly enough before being detected. The capability was unexpected, but it wasn't entirely implausible. She hadn't told the Heptarchies anything of the war plans, and neither had Phoebe or Tenrah. And the Battle Planner had almost no contact with them after their constant disparagement of his religion.
He'd gotten over it, though, and was stable. Hundreds of thousands of mine sweeper vessels, little more than drones with massive but flimsy shields, started moving forward. They cleared any stealth mines, antimatter pockets, and any other natural surprises that waited for them. The planet crackers themselves loomed large in the distance, but only through the optical sensors.
The battle would take a long time, and Siran's forces were being hit by a large portion of a second fleet. The Cawlarians had suddenly pulled off border patrol for a pincer attack. It risked the Heptarchy invading, but Annabelle couldn't stop that.
If Kawtyahtnakal had made the decision, he had plans in place. It wasn't a question. Annabelle checked the vectors, the networks, and the inventories of her fleet again. Everything was nearly at 100%, with only the FTL fuel reserves somewhat lower. Luckily, hydrogen compression wasn't exactly difficult in the modern age. Specialized interfaces told Annabelle that several smaller fleets of the High Kingdom were closing in, but they wouldn't arrive before they were already in the thick of battle.
Explosions rippled on the distant shield fronts of the mine sweeper drones. Corrosive acids and even smaller cutting drones came out, along with several heavy magnetic field bursts. Many of the drones were disabled, but the Battle Planner's strategy had paid off. His fleet took almost no damage, and only a few dozen cruisers and frigates were even hit. They shrugged off the damage easily, though they did pull back from the front of the formation.
The fleets had adopted a design that allowed for easy repositioning and retreat. It took tactics similar to the old British musket lines, only for actual ships instead of people. The caveat to that was only small ships could really turn quickly enough for the strategy to be effective. Their broadside guns, less capable than the dorsal and spinal guns but still powerful in their own right, also helped with maintaining the barrage of fire pouring down on the thick shields that were rapidly spinning up around the planet crackers.
Several ships filled with explosives and absolutely covered in heavy metals zoomed into the system from outside the battle. Annabelle could only track them by calculations. The ships themselves were empty of crew, with only a few androids piloting them. Phoebe's suicide vessels were ships that had been towed by Alcubierre drives, emerging from the bent bubbles in such a fashion that they had a massive relative velocity to 'normal' space.
In fact, thanks to some very complicated effects, they had been accelerated to a very close percentage of the speed of light. But in a space battle, the speed of light was still somewhat slow. Even with the presence of tens of thousands of overlapping Q-comms suppression fields, the Kingdom put up a good defense. Invisible ships detonated in front of the attacks, their own versions of speeding space drives detonating in a violent and bright fashion, creating ruins in reality.
Through those broken holes, stars glimmered, twinking uncontrollably. Bright lasers erupted from the side barrels of the planet crackers, taking sweeping passes over the attacking fleets. Thanks to the multiple trajectories, the planet crackers themselves couldn't easily focus their power. Hours later, as lasers and fighters darted across the system, and metal and flame spewed from red-hot barrels on both sides, the first shot hit.
A planet cracker aligned with the center of Annabelle's fleet. Its massive beam charged, sending warning readings across every sensor she had. Charon-class guns fired on the planet cracker, but its shields still hadn't opened. Annabelle started dipping the dreadnaught down, traveling at an oblique angle as the superweapon charged.
All the dreadnaughts in the battle were trying to avoid the planet crackers' fields of fire, but the massive guns were moving far faster than they should have been capable of. Whoever was in charge of them was truly desperate, which was dangerous.
She shouted her orders. The captains did their best, relaying them down the ranks. They pushed their ships beyond their limits. Cruisers groaned. Battlecruisers creaked. Dreadnaughts strained. But one ship, not close enough to the shield to avoid the rotating planet cracker nearest to Annabelle, was unable to escape.
Annabelle blinked away the tears in her eyes watching as the dreadnaught tried to engage its FTL drive, but the opposing fields from the planet crackers blocked it. The ship fired its main guns eight times in five seconds before the weapon split apart. The extra thrust gave it a boost, but it still wasn't enough. Everyone on that ship was about to die, and they all knew it.
Annabelle had done what she could. Now, the rest of the fleet would be in danger if she didn't act soon. She finally unlinked all the fleet's shields, having them pull them back to limit the impact the weapon could deliver. The codes thankfully managed to get through the interference in the battle, though she'd had to resort to laser communications to do it. Some of the ships had already dropped away from the combined fleet's shield.
Even the planet crackers could only damage what they could hit. With her fleet spread so far, the thick beam couldn't destroy them all. And there was proper warning with the Q-comms relays in place for instant communication. The light from the planet cracker wouldn't be fast enough on its own to warn them before it had already fired.
But it still fired. The impossibly bright beam burned out sensors that hadn't shut in time. Shields were overloaded in an instant. A violent undertow in speeding space accompanied the thick laser, allowing the FTL nature of it even despite the suppression fields in place. Past a certain threshold, they could do nothing.
The hivemind took over Annabelle's mind. The thousands of humans on the Coordinator were separated from the network to prevent a far worse fate from befalling the rest. Gravitational waves radiated from the beam along with a physical heat so strong it would have fried Annabelle to plasma from a hundred thousand miles away.
Space dust, scattered asteroids, and the shields of ships all glowed like stars. The unprotected matter became plasma, and a thick ring of plasma puffed out around the planet cracker's barrel, the residue left from the reaction that had created the devastating attack.
It was not just a physical effect, either. In the mindscape, a section winked out of reality, warping so violently with energy as to kill anyone inside. Stone sheared and calved away into a new dimension, caving in and through itself, shields, and people in the process. Light and space bent and collapsed in a relatively straight line. Thousands of people she'd served with for years were wiped out, their minds obliterated as effectively as they could have been.
And then the reality of the mindscape imposed itself, and the line split into smaller things and shapes beyond calculation or understanding. Minds visible beneath the shields of the planet cracker became hidden once again, as Phoebe pulled back her assault briefly to prevent damage to her mind. The hivemind withdrew into its constituent parts, so that the remnants weren't dragged into oblivion.
With Annabelle acting as a hivemind node, the hivemind deciding to remain would have killed her instantly. Her mind would have been smashed into the rock so violently it would have cracked the local layer of the mindscape, possibly killing everyone in the star system.
Meanwhile, the FTL beam continued moving. 182 light minutes separated the planet cracker from the Coordinator. Typically, speeding space FTL was anywhere between 52 to 3000 times faster than light. But speeding space, when it acted on a planet cracker beam, only served to accelerate its speed forever. The last warning from the hivemind had been sent.
13 seconds later, the beam itself impacted the dreadnaught Annabelle was using to remotely coordinate the fleet. The Coordinator was one of the newer and more heavily shielded dreadnaughts that had come from the Mercury shipyards. But no matter how much protection it had, a direct hit from a planet cracker was beyond its capabilities.
The beam atomized the dreadnaught entirely, along with four battlecruisers that were inside the beam that was several kilometers wide. The bright glow vanished in an instant, and the beam kept going, as it would do forever until it struck a planet, moon, or star. The glowing innards of the planet cracker suddenly sputtered with damage. Several attacks had managed to slip through the open shield as the planet cracker fired. They were followed by bullets, decoy drop pods, and actual drop pods. Just as expected.
It was a grim exchange, one which chilled Annabelle's heart to the core. In the military, losses were expected. But that never made them any easier. Doubt crept into her mind, and she harnessed her grief and pain to grind it into the stone of the mindscape. Her soul ached with the reality of what she'd caused, but she pulled the hivemind from its node and gave it an order.
A second later, her grief was quarantined and sequestered appropriately, where it would no longer impede her ability to command. She would spare the tears and the emotions for when they could be allowed. A gap in the defenses needed to be exploited.
The Coordinator's destruction had allowed Annabelle to take out the planet cracker with a shot from her dreadnaught's side guns. She couldn't use the main gun due to the angle and the risk of causing irreparable damage or an explosion she couldn't escape.
It could be easily repaired, but not quickly. The capacitor cell had been hit. Annabelle took the opportunity to assess the battle, as well as keep an eye on the defending forces. The remaining Kingdom battlecruisers and destroyers were fighting on, but they were a footnote in the battle. FTL suppression and multi-vector attacks kept them from being able to escape.
The Alliance hammered on them hard, breaking their shields, cracking their hulls, and detonating their reactors. Every few minutes, there would be another explosion out in the void as fighters and frigates took down the shields of another enemy. Her dreadnaught took care of the battlecruisers while her battlecruisers and cruisers hunted and corralled the smaller ships.
Without the power of numbers on their side, the Kingdom's defenses were already caving in. All that remained were the planet crackers, locked out of FTL by the strongest fields Annabelle could manage. Had her ship been hit, they could have freed a few. But it had not been. The Coordinator's ultimate sacrifice, terrible as it was, still enabled her to win the battle.
Several fighters strafed the inner defenses along with faster frigates. Dreedeen pilots spun and looped around inferior defense vessels.
Phoebe's missiles and lasers targeted the planet cracker's own laser defenses with pinpoint accuracy. Nuclear detonations rippled across the thick bulk of the planet cracker, but it shrugged off the barrage easily. More shields were flaring into existence, but it was too late to prevent Phoebe from landing roughly twenty thousand androids and five hundred commando androids on the ship.
Fighters fell apart, releasing more androids hidden within their wings and hulls. Several frigates fell to pieces, disgorging hundreds more androids. They flooded the planet cracker's nearest airlocks. Thermite Throwers spewed their searing power into the thick locks. More detonations rippled across them as Phoebe worked on taking out the airlocks.
Thick gouts of air rushed out of the planet cracker, though comparatively small compared to the actual size of the massive gun. Annabelle continued to move her fleet closer to the planet cracker, still watching as Phoebe's disposable androids swarmed through the now broken airlocks and set more Thermite Throwers on blast doors, sealing their entrances. The battle proceeded for more grueling and stressful hours.
The Battle Planner captured two more planet crackers, taking hundreds of thousands of losses in ships and borders for each of them. Phoebe broke through to the engine and control rooms of the planet cracker she was invading, finding it all destroyed. With the defenses neutralized and the defenders being routed, a new carrier was brought in.
It was a ship dedicated to bringing technological marvels to the frontline. Androids hauled thick cables from the ship, dragging them through the hallways of the planet cracker. Phoebe eventually plugged them into the broken remains of the computers in the control and engine rooms.
"Done," the android next to Annabelle said. "I'll have the planet crackers ready in a few hours for firing. I've captured around 40,000 personnel."
"Thank you, Phoebe," Annabelle said.
"You are welcome. Excellent work."
She'd already offered condolences for the deaths. Morale was low, having lost a dreadnaught, and there was no need to lower it. All Annabelle could do was commend those who'd fallen in the line of duty, protecting the lives of innocents by capturing weapons capable of destroying entire worlds.
Annabelle's second prong of the attack, along with the Battle Planner's third and fifth prongs, hit the fourth planet cracker, swarming it with attacks. The shield never opened for it to fire, but that didn't matter. An Arsenal Asteroid smashed into the planet cracker's shield at 99.6% of the speed of light when its barrel aligned with Annabelle's dreadnaught. It was too slow to properly evade at this distance, and both of them knew it. The weapon was starting to charge its gun.
It hit at an oblique angle to avoid destroying the valuable target entirely. When it impacted, a nova of light erupted in a halo rising from the shield, which flickered several times. And then it went out.
15 trillion gigaton explosions tended to be damaging to shields. Even the massive shield of the planet cracker, equipped with all the power of a planetary shield inside a few dozens of miles in radius, was unable to stand up to that. Though it almost had, somehow.
Annabelle had nearly died. Luckily, the planet cracker fired prematurely, so its beam didn't carry the apocalyptic power in its entirety. It had roughly half power. But most importantly, it wasn't FTL. So, the 80-minute travel time was plenty for Annabelle's evasive maneuvers to evade it. The beam vanished into the void of space.
The tears did not fall. Not yet. There was more work to be done. Her eyes fixated on the fifth and final planet cracker, which was turning her way. The sensors picked up several stealth fighters attached to the gun's sides, helping to push it to make those quick turns.
Annabelle had the dreadnaught roll, swinging it back toward the rotating planet cracker. She'd measured the firing time of the last one, and the momentum of the thing would work against it. By the time it would be able to match her forward motion and account for it, she would be out of the cone. She had an extra 10 minutes, thanks to the light lag for that. And she'd put them to use.
The Battle Planner swooped back in, using the precious minutes to burn toward the last remaining threat. Annabelle's ship passed the line of sight of the planet cracker. It had already started charging, but it was too late. The last of her ship had passed when the massive gun belched a ray of thick light. It seared past and below her, as she'd also used the light lag to add a bit of relative yaw and pitch to her ship. The laser destroyed her shields and ruined the armor facing it with heat expansion. Plasma formed on the edges of her dreadnaught, exploding away in violent puffs.
The actual beam had passed a scant few thousand miles away and was going off into space, this time hitting nothing at all directly.
A stream of fire from the planet cracker hit the shields at the same time, trying to keep the opening from allowing purchase in the shields. But as the residual explosions cleared, nothing seemed to happen. No fighters, no giant battles against the well-prepared defenses.
"Permission to fire?" Phoebe asked.
"Permission granted," Annabelle replied.
A hard light hologram around the captured fourth planet cracker fell away. A thick beam passed the shield of the fifth planet cracker, weakening it visibly. Then, the planet cracker beam hit the star in the center of the system. A gigantic coronal mass ejection followed, along with an ejection of plasma roughly eight times the size of Jupiter, as the beam detonated within the dense interior of the hot ball of plasma.
The magnetic storm which followed disabled every shield in the system, leaving the Cawlarians and the Alliance easy pickings of the planet cracker. Phoebe's androids landed on the burnt and blasted metal surface first. Thermite Throwers followed.
Five hours later, the battle ended. The hivemind wrapped her in a gentle hug as the mental block on her grief slowly started to fade.
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Elder Manil Van smiled as he ate something called a burger. So far, the tour he'd gone on with the Alliance had been mostly uneventful. Dirty looks, a few mothers moving to the opposite side of the street, and a whole lot of walking. He had expected it, though.
The Patriarch checked in on him periodically, looking through his eyes and sometimes listening to the conversations that Manil had. A few of the humans on Luna actually were interested in learning more about him. They'd come up to him, shake his claws with their hands under the wary gazes of his guards, and ask if they could learn more about him. Some of their interests were academic. Several scientists had been recording his testimony on how genetic altering and conceptual energy had contributed to the number of Elders who were angry all the time.
Others wanted to know more about his culture, traditions, and morals. They'd been surprised several times to learn just how similar some of them were or how different. The Casting Of the Candles as a way to honor the death of someone great by setting floating candles into a river was apparently similar to how a few of them had done funeral services. Other times, they were surprised by Manils' descriptions of how large the Sprilnav's trains and buses were to account for quadrupedal forms. Their ceilings were generally lower in exchange for packing more people inside. Some of them were also interested in Sprilnav fashion.
Most of it wasn't something that he bothered with. The Sprilnav didn't really do 'pants' like humans did. With four legs, that was often relegated to either long socks, robes, and dresses, or just simple loincloths. Female Sprilnav didn't have the same taboo that female humans did about showing their chests. Manil assumed it was likely due to a lack of mammary glands at the location, so there was no 'breast-feeding' of children or any related stimulations even possible.
The dimorphism between male and female humans was greater than that of the Sprilnav, who mostly showed it in bone structures and how lean their bodies were. Others had compared him to other quadrupedal Earth creatures, attempting to see the singularities and differences.
Of course, he denied anything that required extensive physical interaction. The rave gyms that Equisa apparently went to didn't interest him, with their large crowds. He disliked having so many eyes on him, so he decided to avoid that whenever he could. One particularly bold human had even asked him on a date, citing things that were apparently mixes of superstitions and odd fantasies gained from too much time spent on a network with a great deal of certain content.
Though some of it was shocking, most wasn't. He'd seen a lot in his long life, and if a network was unregulated enough, a lot of the things Phoebe later explained to him would also appear. Though the fact that anything they did managed to surprise him at all was worrying, considering that they were not an old species.
"And you likely could start up a few businesses, for the novelty of it," Phoebe was saying. Manil nodded absently.
"What is it?"
"Where are Luke and Leia?"
"Elsewhere," Phoebe said. "They're assets of the Alliance. We don't exactly give away their locations. Especially..." she trailed off.
"Especially not to Sprilnav," Manil finished.
"Yes. I am authorized to tell you that further contact can be arranged in the future, under careful circumstances."
"That is good. They are good people, somehow. I'm still trying to figure out how to managed to make super soldiers that are good people."
"I had no hand in their creation. But we managed."
"Yes. I would hope no more are being experimented upon."
"I can neither confirm or deny that. Take that as you will, but there will be no further conversation about classified topics."
"Then... how are you feeling, Phoebe? I heard you got in some hot water recently."
"Learned that idiom too? And yes, I did," she said, looking a little defensive. "Politicians are who they are. But Humanity is better than them, and kinder than them. Even the youngest people can say the nicest things to me. It's what I love about them."
"Love," Manil said. "An interesting word."
"A true one. I am a person, and I happen to be able to love."
"You have people that do not love?"
"There are different kinds. Aromantic people, for example. Edu'frec doesn't engage in non-familial relationships. The wanderers do things differently, as do the Junyli. Every species is different."
"So you have people that do not contribute."
"We do. Every society does, and they all deserve a chance at life."
"An interesting opinion, but I suppose our cultures to have differences."
"I hope you don't purge your own people."
"I do not. The Van family does not. But we are not our entire species, just as you and Penny are not the entire Alliance. It is prudent to remember that."
He said it more for the Patriarch than for them.
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Penny frowned as Valisada continued to defend himself against Justicar's anger. Kashaunta's promise of a 'civilized discussion' clearly didn't account for their animosity. Only Valisada didn't say anything, continuing to listen to various insults spewed against him and his leadership. When Justicar's latest tirade finished, Valisada turned toward Penny.
"Your ally is gifted with his words."
"How dare you ignore me," Justicar said. "Your Grand Fleet did this, and I will have my reparations."
"What's your price, now that you are done?"
"50 quintillion credits, and you leave."
Justicar had escalated his terms. Valisada noticed, as did Penny.
Nilnacrawla sighed in Penny's head.
If we get him to sign a non-aggression treaty, we need to ensure both Kashaunta and Justicar have a vested interest in backing it. He isn't above tarnishing his reputation for the issues he believes are important. He is dangerous, and you must remain vigilant while he is Grand Fleet Commander.
Kashaunta is worse than I hoped.
She is what you knew she was, but is now comfortable letting her worse side free so it will be normalized when the Judgment is done. Once you get used to it, you will excuse it, and Kashaunta will use your gratitude to ensure your continued relationship. She is grooming you, Penny.
For what?
Likely to continue providing her money with the linear singularities. Do not be surprised if new threats appear that 'only Kashaunta can stop' when the Judgment ends. Or if it goes unfavorably, for her to clamp down because she knows she's the Alliance's only hope. Play at anger or friendship if you wish, but do not forget who she is, and how she got her wealth.
Thank you, Nilnacrawla, Penny said. But can you remind me when I'm losing my way, if I do in the future?
Gladly.
"I cannot leave, sadly," Valisada said, looking truly downtrodden at the request. "I have my own masters I must please, the same ones who ensured the previous leader's removal. I cannot go against their desires, and their desires are for me to remain here, as a check against Kashaunta and her own Grand Fleet."
"My Grand Fleet is here because yours is. And I would note that yours arrived first," Kashaunta replied.
"Through no actions of my own, and I am unable to rectify that to your liking."
"That is convenient, isn't it?" Justicar asked.
"Ask them about that. They're the ones who attacked my flagship and abducted Azeri," Valisada responded. "I hold no animosity about that, but your actions to have consequences. I will not be bullied or goaded into making a poor decision here. You all are smart people, so surely you realize that any further arguments must have a legal backing before we proceed. Justicar is uniquely equipped to handle these things, given the size and scale of his legal apparatus, as well as its high quality. Just as I am sure that the Judgment will proceed soon."
"You almost sound eager for it, Elder Valisada. Is there any reason why?" Penny asked.
"Well, yes. It is because I am tired of this. Regrettably, it will determine the fate of your species. But that is life. The weak are ruled by the strong."
"And yet you say you do not look down upon Humanity."
"It is not a weakness of your forms, or of your hearts. It is one of minds, population, and resources. And your Alliance has more species than just Humanity, Penny. Are you not concerned for the teeming billions of Acuarfar, or the Guulin you stole from the United Legions?"
"The Guulin were liberated from slavery," Penny frowned. "And when I get back down to Justicar, I will continue doing that to the innocent people your Dreadnaught Captain mercilessly slaughtered. In the interest of honest cooperation, I will terminate gang leaders with prejudice if I must, but only if there is no other choice.
Any who have links to your Grand Fleet will be treated even more harshly, which should discourage any more 'rogue' members of your fleet from engaging in illicit affairs. For the 455 thousand dead Sprilnav that Solei personally killed, it would be the least you can do. Given that the Grand Fleets exist to protect the Sprilnav species from all threats, internal and external, of course."
"Perhaps Solei believed you were an external threat," Valisada replied. "Given your threats against those who actively stand against you, it would make sense from his perspective."
Penny laughed. "His last perspective was of Justicar's teeth crunching through his ribcage."
"How distasteful to laugh over such a gruesome death."
Valisada actually managed to look sad about it.
"Distateful, Elder? I'm showing the same amount of appreciation that you do for the Sprilnav who don't happen to be rich and powerful Elders. Unless you are assuming that the 455 thousand Sprilnav are worth less than the life of one Elder?"
"There is no assumption necessary," Valisada said. "In monetary, legal, economic, and even political studies, this has been proven true. In fact, the lowest estimates for the ratios are 1 Elder for every 50 million Sprilnav, though some more biased studies can go quite higher. I remember the Autonomous Peoples' Stars put out a study which found that roughly 20 billion Sprilnav equaled an Elder in value.
Of course, the names of those who funded that study happened to include several Elders high up in the political hierarchy, including a certain Elder named Kashaunta. Luckily, more realistic measures of our worth prevail. In the event of a war breaking out, the largest losses for Justicar would be the civilians."
"And a war will not break out," Justicar agreed. "If it does, my jaws will find a new Elder's body."
For effect, his tongue slid over his teeth. It was a grotesque gesture, but neither of the Elders seemed bothered by it. Perhaps they'd seen worse. Penny had to admit it would just be another step to Elder insanity if they were cannibals, too. The only thing worse was if they did blood sacrifices on babies in cults.
"You know, cannibalism is considered a crime by your very own laws," Valisada said as if that was the only problem with it worth considering.
"I do not remember consuming the physical meat of Solei, which is the requirement for that law. Deaths in the mindscape can happen when Elders make poor decisions. But that is beside the point. I have matters to attend to, and will be sending over some agreements and lawyers to your ship. Kill them or harm them, and you will be at war with me for real," Justicar threatened.
"Without a flagship, such a measure would be foolish," Valisada said.
"Luckily, he would not be without a flagship in that case," Kashaunta replied. "Because I will be sending lawyers too. Rest assured, a war with me, and my nation, is something you might live to see the end of, though your remaining relatives on your home planet would not."
"You would not dare."
"I would," Kashaunta said. "Quite recently, I have been reminded of my previous methods of dealing with those like you. I believe I was reminded 'what I am' if you would. You do not care about the people Solei killed on Justicar, and neither will I for Padalia, Ni-alsi 2, or Malikaven."
So this was to make Penny feel bad for her words. She saw what this was, and would not allow herself to be swayed. Elders had this sort of tendency, and if she wanted to get a positive outcome, she'd have to deal with it for a bit longer. Perhaps Kashaunta would regain her willingness to maintain her facade of friendliness again once this was over.
But Penny would not forget this. Kashaunta was the Alliance's best option, but that didn't mean she was a good one. After the Judgment, Penny would reexamine their relationship.
Valisada's eyes narrowed. "You would increase it to three planets?"
"Yes. I believe their total population is roughly 140 billion people. That equates to 70 Elders. Or 67.16, if we are being exact with the study I believe you are citing."
Penny did her best to hide her disgust but failed. Valisada took notice. "This is who you work for, Penny. This is who she really is."
Don't listen to him, Nilnacrawla said.
I know. He doesn't want what's best for us, and Kashaunta's our means to an end.
Watch you back, Penny. I'll do the same.
"I know," Penny replied. "But we don't have any other allies. You're not exactly reliable, even if you were to suspiciously flip sides and make an offer to be a new ally. Justicar is bound to his planet. The Progenitors are pulling back their influence."
"And such extreme threats as I have made would only come to fruition if a war were to break out," Kashaunta said. "I am making them so you understand the scope of your actions as a Grand Fleet Commander. Perhaps I was overly harsh, but do not mistake these threats as empty. I protect my own."
"Your own?" Valisada asked. Kashaunta flicked a claw toward Penny, without meeting her gaze. Penny was still processing the sudden escalation, which had seemingly came out of nowhere. Why was Kashaunta pretending she cared? She clearly saw Penny and the Alliance as means to an end. Perhaps even several ends.
"Penny, and those she values. I could consider the slaves as citizens of the People's Stars, for example."
"No, you could not," Justicar responded. His demeanor darkened visibly, and the lighting in the virtual reality became darker.
"Why not? You don't think they're your citizens, do you? Not much 'justice' in keeping slaves, hmm?"
This is stupid, and a waste of my time, Penny thought.
They do need a bit of an ego check, don't they? Nilnacrawla agreed.
Yes.
Penny stood up, making her chair slide backward. "Can you all quit being evil? This is ridiculous. All we need to do is sit together and draft agreements. Otherwise, leave it to the lawyers, and stop with the petty insults. Or the grave ones. You're not 5 year olds. You're billions of years old. It's honestly sad. No, it's pathetic.
How have you managed to keep your 'master race' thing going this long, when you suck this badly? Spoiled little brats. Can you believe Kashaunta told me I needed to be civilized for this meeting? Perhaps I should don a loincloth and pick up my club, so I can start hooting it up with you old primitives."
The Elders paused, looking at Penny in wonder.
"You see? Let's talk treaties. Do you guys have any ideas, or should I go get some wood for a bonfire? With how much you all talk, I'm sure your singing voices must be phenomenal."

Hello fellow Payment Monetary Wubbert lovers! As childlike as Wubby may seem at times, I think he's provided the community and many others with a form of therapeutic openness to what are known as taboo topics and hard life truths. 'Tism, racism, sexism, and the list goes on. He jokes about real topics while not becoming an a**hole about it (usually) which lets people look at life differently. This in turn fosters curiosity, openness, and understanding (again usually). IMO it takes a big person to have the maturity he has and moral compass he tries to stick to while being fairly young in his life journey. Anyways, as a personal project I've been trying to find the best motivational streams he's had. You know, the ones where he or someone is in butthole depression and finds something to keep pushing.
What is your top pick for motivational streams (old wubby or new works)?
Disclaimer: I fell off hard af mid 2023 because life got me busy so I have little idea of anything going on these days.

Chapter One
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-Factory Floor of the White Flame Industries Magifactory-
“First of all, I’d like to introduce you to your new co-workers. To reiterate, they aren’t directly from the hell-plane.” Master Demonologist Thippily was in his element, smiling and excited. He stepped aside to reveal an engraved chest behind him. He opened it, revealing a neat grid of small dark rods, each in their slot. He pulled out a single ebony imp totem and held it high so everyone could see it. The room was bright, lit by the narrow windows spaced evenly around the huge room, and some glass skylights overhead, and astonishing extravagance for Pine Bluffs.
“This is the totem. Without going into some super interesting details, this is what projects the imp, as well as binds it to our plane of reality.” Grigory paused, clearly waiting for someone to ask him to explain in more detail. Everyone in the room had fallen into that trap before and knew to keep their mouths shut. “They need to be invoked into our reality, but the invocation is a very simple gesture. Interestingly, the invocation itself doesn’t require magic, it’s all self-contained, just hold the thick side of the totem and–”
Grigory flicked the totem with a swift twist of his wrist, summoning a muted thunderclap that heralded the appearance of a tiny, dull-red demon. It materialised midair, landing with a soft clatter of hooves on the stone floor. It regarded its surroundings with its one big eye and sat down cross-legged, its big knobby knees sticking out widely.
Taritha, along with most of the rest of the audience, took some involuntary steps back in horror. It was grotesque, inhuman—a parody of a man, so diminutive that she could have trapped him in a woven basket. Though taller than a squirrel, its scrawny frame suggested it weighed no more than one. Sitting perfectly still it was less threatening, but the air itself stank of hell. Looking around, Grigory and Stanisk were both smiling, like they were waiting for us to get a funny joke, while the entire crew stared horrified at the little imp.
Grigory continued, with a showman’s cadence, ”First of all let me once again say they are safe! Imp! Take this knife and bring me Stanisk’s ear!” The demonologist crouched low with his silvered steel pocket knife on his open palm.
Before anyone could react, the imp just said, “Nerp.” Stanisk for his part didn’t look remotely worried.
“No matter what you ask it to do, it will refuse the order if it would hurt any living thing. Very safe! Well, large living things? People and animals for sure!” Grigory folded his knife and put it back in his pocket. “Come to the side, I’ll show you more why this is the most potent magic I’ve ever used. I’ve not finished furnishing your quarters yet, so let's work on that.” He led them across the floor to the side where a few planks were on one of the shelves, practically lost in the scale of the room.
As he spoke, he performed a different and more elaborate gesture over the chest. Like popcorn, a steady stream of imps popped into existence; Taritha lost count at twenty, with more continuing to appear. Without hesitation, they pulled tiny tools from boxes. The low, wide benches around the perimeter were actually imp-sized workbenches designed for such tasks. “Imps, craft one writing desk, sturdy with martial engravings. Use both pine and walnut,” he ordered.They moved quickly and confidently, and without a sound, other than the tools against the wood. It was an overwhelming swirl of activity, with so much happening at the same time that she couldn’t follow it all, so she focused on a single imp. He (it?) wielded a chisel in both hands and shaped a plank while two other imps held the plank firm. In as little time as it took for her to take it in, it was done. It started on another plank, while yet another imp ran away with the finished board.
Edging closer for a better look, their rapid, nimble movements were even more unnatural. Their limbs were long and agile, flitted about with eerie precision. The sight clawed at my gut, as revolting as watching a spider write a song with a quill on parchment. Their faces, such as they were, barely watched their own work.
Still reeling from what she saw, Taritha watched as one imp finished up and another sprinted away with the board. Then, the first imp picked up a tiny broom to tidy his workspace. Once the sawdust and shavings were cleared, it replaced its tools and sat down on the workbench, legs crossed, back straight and his single eye open and regarding the demonologist. Looking further down the row, she saw that the countless parts had been assembled into what was by all accounts an amazing desk. The imps covered the entire bench, still too many to count.
A pot wouldn’t have even started to boil in the amount of time it took them to build that thing!
Grigory noticed the discomfort in the room; everyone seemed torn between their unease with the demons and their curiosity about the work being done. He decided to remove their distraction. 'Imps, stand at the kilns,' he commanded crisply.
“Merp!”
The imps bounded and sprinted across the entire factory to stand by the kilns, well out of the way, and stood in straight rows at the far side of the factory floor.
“Take a look, It might be a familiar level of quality. Oh, and those are the only two words they seem to know.” He gestured to the completed desk on the bench.
“Holy shit, they are as good as the guys that made our stuff in the barracks, this is amazing!” Ros gushed.
The desk, crafted entirely from wood, had no screws or brackets—only amazingly intricate joinery. Its surfaces were smooth to the touch, except for the vertical faces, which displayed scenes of war and battle. They were created in a palette of carved white pine and deep walnut, shaded with hellfire scorches—some almost too small to see.
“You don’t think that, uh, they’re the same guys?” Rikad ventured.
“No, I haven’t been sleeping on a demon bed this whole time? Have I?” Theros said with growing horror.
“Of course! Not just that, the mugs in the cabinet, the bedding, the clothes, literally everything from the midsummer festival! Imps made it all, most of that was late at night in my bedroom, to be honest!” Mage Thippily said, bursting with pride.
Theros looked down at his bright green shirt, one he’d worn countless times, and immediately pulled it off, threw it on the floor and took a few steps back. “It was touching me!”
Wow, he’s in really good shape, Taritha observed approvingly. A refreshing reprise from the stressful morning.
I’ve no idea how I’d react if I knew I was wearing demon-made clothes. Oh shit.
“Uh, were all the clothes you’ve given me made by imps?” She asked Stanisk, already knowing the answer.
His laugh was deep and rumbling, “I sure as goat balls ain’t been sitting in the lamplight with a lil needle! It's fine miss, they’re handy as hell. Put yer damned shirt on Theros, and let’s keep moving.”
Grigory continued, “Yes, don’t worry too much about complex imp commands, that’s my responsibility. You are welcome to come to the factory whenever you like if you need something, anything at all. But please, don’t make anything outside of this room, just to keep things neat.”
Mustering her nerve Taritha piped up, “Uh, Sir? Can they make me a new comb?”
The demonologist was almost giddy with excitement at her request. “Oh yes! Ask them to!”
“Uh, I’d like a comb please?” Taritha gently said towards the swarm of imps by the kiln.
Nothing happened.
“Ah, there’s a bit of a knack to it, miss. You’se gotta address ‘em, then make the request. Then stay silent for a bit, and they’ll go. Imps! Craft five wooden combs for a lady, all different styles.” Stanisk said firmly, with the same tone and cadence he ordered his men.
A small handful of imps sprinted across the floor back to their workbenches, and this time the combs were done staggeringly fast. The tool noise ended, and Stanisk collected the combs off the bench as they tidied up then sat cross-legged. He placed them all firmly into her hands with a big grin, his hands warm and callused. “Anythin’ that can be made, any time you’se want. It’s a better way to live.”
Of course, each comb was perfect and beautiful. Each was unique, all had patterns, textures, and carvings on the handle. Each was made out of both pine and walnut, giving a pleasing contrast with pale and dark.
I would have bought a plain one, but these are so much nicer than anything I’ve owned before.
The linseed oil was still a little slick on them, so she held off running them through her hair and gently placed them into her satchel. Already they were her most prized possessions.
Grigory added, “Feel free to get me or Stanisk if you need help, but you’ll catch on fast enough, they are simplicity itself! Anyways let's have a look at the common spaces, I think you’ll find them much nicer than that old warehouse!”
Grigory’s tour was terrifying and overwhelming. He introduced new appliances, concepts and enchantments with every breath. The kitchen had no fire, just pyrostones that could be activated by moving an inhibitor stone, and in both the ‘stones’ were carved into a pleasing functional shape. The water jugs were massive rooftop barrels, linked by copper pipes to a fixed basin he called a sink. There were countless other minor and major strangenesses. Even the plain parts, the high ceilings, the smooth tiled floors and sturdy doors blew her mind. She’d never seen anything as refined, effortlessly expensive. She assumed such things existed in the homes of the nobility, but she’d never seen a building as grand, let alone been inside one. The trappings of wealth and the unique, fully enchanted aspects ran together badly for her.
“--This mattress is a series of magically linked columns of woven wool that dynamically change their diameter, which in turn–” Grigory droned on excitedly gesturing towards a gorgeous bed, as big as her entire hovel.
“Sir, souls don’t exist at all, or just for demons?” Theros interrupted, his face clouded with worry.
“Oh. Uh, I’m sure you have a soul, just not one that I have any way of detecting, affecting or interacting with?” Grigory said. His brow was furrowed with concern. He continued as conciliatory as possible. “And afterlives are likely some extraplanar reality that is also entirely undetectable?”
“Whew, that’s a relief! Thank you milord!” his stress melted away and he returned his full attention to the tour.
“Right. Anyways, there are no hearths, the heating and cooling of each room is controlled by–” and Mage Thippily happily continued his tour. The men looked at each other, taking a half dozen different conclusions from the short exchange. They continued to the extravagant latrines, to the totally empty armoury, and finally ended on the factory’s roof.
As they ascended the final flight of stairs, Mage Thippily ushered his soldiers onto the expansive rooftop. "Here we have the rooftop garden," he announced with a grand sweep of his hand. The area had been meticulously reinforced, the stonework beneath their feet solid and reassuring. "Feel free to run drills here if you like. But," his voice warmed with pride, "this is my favourite part!"
The rooftop was a vibrant tapestry of newly potted plants, their leaves still tender and bright against the sun. They passed rows of greenery that hinted at future seclusion and colour. Familiar patio furniture, just like the ones they had at their last barracks, offered a semblance of continuity and sanity. In the centre, a gazebo stood like a freshly bloomed flower, its newness evident in the crispness of the vibrant canvas and the shine of the wood.
Approaching the north wall, Grigory leaned casually against the defensive ramparts, a solid structure that spoke of strategic design. His men gathered around, following his gaze outward.
Beyond the fortress walls, a wide expanse of forest stretched toward the horizon, its canopy a patchwork of greens and browns. Where the trees broke, the land transformed dramatically into a steep, rocky shore. Below, the Nerian Sea churned, its waves crashing against the cliffs with relentless, rhythmic fury. From this vantage point, the view of the coastline stretched magnificently—a panoramic display of nature’s unbridled power and beauty.
"I’m thinking of adding all-weather tables and chairs up here," The demonologist mused, breaking the silence as his eyes scanned the horizon. "Maybe some cover and heaters too, to turn it into a kind of three-season space." His gaze drifted back to his hirelings, a tacit invitation in his eyes. "Feel free to come up here whenever you like. I only ask that you don’t interrupt me if you see me reading or writing."
Taritha nearly scoffed aloud, the idea of interrupting him was so many layers of taboo that the thought hadn’t even formed. The men seemed more at ease here, and several took seats and talked excitedly. Others walked the long perimeter of the rooftop. The sides closest to the courtyard extended to the top of the perimeter walls, allowing them to walk all the way to the gatehouse. Ros stood near her, looking out at the ocean.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get to set foot in a palace like this!” he said in hushed reverence as she joined her.
“Yeah, the funny part is how humble the mage keeps making it sound. As if it’s a boring workman's hut. I have no idea how the emperor lives, but I bet he doesn’t have half as many things as the mage does!” Taritha grinned ruefully.
“Definitely fewer imps! What do you think of them? I think they are the most special thing ever!” Ros gushed.
“I don’t know. They disgust and revolt me, but I also see how they are useful. I worry my reaction is based on assumptions I’ve not examined? Mage, I guess Demonologist, Thippily has been nothing but kind and open in every interaction, so I think I’m okay? With living with demons.”
Just saying that out loud made her skin crawl.
“That’s good! It’ll be alright, if the Chief and the mage think it’s good, it’s good.” Ros declared resolutely. She envied his clarity.
“Yes, we just became a lot more dependent on his goodwill. On the other hand, he didn’t have to tell us anything. He could have lied or covered up,” she said, staring out at the ocean. She’d never been so high up. The slight slope of the woods meant she could see over most trees. It both scared and exhilarated her. She leaned forward to look down and was rewarded with dizzying vertigo. Holding onto the rough stone battlements with both hands she looked out into the grey blue of the inland sea. She could see some fishing boats, just specks near the horizon, far beyond the small scraggly islands that clustered near the shore.
“Are you gonna move in with us? You didn’t say anything when he made the offer.” Ros made another attempt at casual subtly.
That was the exact question she’d been asking herself. On one hand, it was an incredible offer: to live in what might be the most luxurious residence in the entire Empire. And it would be safer, too—while the guards weren’t exactly her own, here they might as well be. But at what cost? Memories of her mother, executed by the Church for witchcraft, haunted her. Would accepting this offer make the Church right about her bloodline? Would it make her just like the evil she’d always feared? Mage Thippily seemed certain that demons weren’t evil, just a chaotic part of a chaotic universe. He knew more about demons than anyone that’s ever lived!
It’s easier to sleep with a guilty conscience in a nice warm room with tall ceilings and a soft bed.
She made her choice, and her stomach lurched as if she’d jumped from the battlement. She took a slow steadying breath before replying.
“I’d be insane not to. Look at this place! Have you seen where I’m living now? No comparison!” Her light tone hid the storm of uncertainties that were making her lightheaded.
This doesn’t have to be forever. Plus the demons seem quiet.
“Let’s go get your stuff! I’ll help you move right now!”
“Ohhhhh, okay. I can’t think of a single reason not to do that right now,” Taritha said slowly.
They started back to the staircase, passing Stanisk on the way. He was quietly discussing something with the mage.
“Sir, is it alright if we go get Taritha’s stuff and move her in?” Ros’s voice crackled with excitement.
“Aye, that’s fine. Take a few others with you, to load the cart at the warehouse and get our gear too. You and the men take the rooms on the second floor, the miss here is too delicate by half for you’se brutes so set her up on the third, 3-C oughta work?”
“We can have a company dinner when you all return! Come up here when you are ready!” Demonologist Thippily commented from where he was sitting.
Stanisk added, “I probably don’t need to tell you’se but don’t NEVER discuss what happens here when in town. Never.” His tone was low and flat, but he made direct unblinking eye contact with them.
“Of course, sir,” Ros said and bowed awkwardly, and the herbalist nodded as they descended the way they came.
They made their way down through the residence side of the factory, crossing to the exit via the second-floor dormitories. Everything was so new, and a few things weren’t entirely finished –some doors leaned against the hallway, and several rooms weren’t furnished.
“There are twelve of you in security, excluding your boss, right?” she asked as they walked.
“Yeah, the same twelve as we had in Jagged Cove!” Ros confirmed cheerfully.
“So why do you reckon there are twenty rooms on this level, and I assume the same number on the other third floor?” she asked.
“Hmm, maybe in case we have visitors?” he offered.
“Strange. Oh, hey guys,” She greeted Eowin, Kedril and Theros as they waited at the end of the hallway.
“The Chief said you needed a hand with moving stuff?”
Ros quickly and clearly explained their plan, and they hooked up the horse and wagon and headed to town. The trip back to town seemed shorter as everyone quietly contemplated their new futures.
“So his, uh, helpers would have made all the stuff we’ve been using?” Kedril wondered aloud.
“Yeah, I specifically asked about the clothes! They all were. It sounds like everything he’s done, he kind of hasn’t done?” Taritha trailed off, unsure what she even thought.
“No, everything he did was even better! He made something that anyone can use! Any one of us could open a factory just like him now, it’s the magic that made the tool, which is a full step more impressive if you ask me,” Ros said.
“Wait, so all those people healed? Was that all with them?!” Theros said with growing horror.
“Nah, I was there, he‘s a regular mage too. I saw him heal them with normal biomancy.” She said as if she had a single other point of reference for what biomancy ought to look like.
They continued in contemplative quietude. The midweek afternoon was busy, and lots of townsfolk were doing their normal chores, fetching water, hauling bundles, and feeding their chickens. Their pastoral tranquillity undisturbed by the demonic horde just down the twisting narrow road to what was recently a swampy forest.
“You guys go on to the barracks and start packing, I’ll be able to bring most of my stuff by myself. I’ll meet you there.” Taritha said as they approached an intersection.
“I’ll give you a hand, the fellas will be pretty quick anyhow,” Ros said gallantly as he accompanied her home.
“Alright, but you can’t judge me for my hut! It’s hard to make a living here without a wealthy patron!” she said. She hadn’t really wanted anyone to know how she lived. City folk wouldn’t understand what it’s like scraping by to survive a winter.
“I’m already impressed! That you owned a place free and clear makes you one of the richest folk I know! Well definitely richer than anyone that would talk to me in the days before I worked for Mage Thippily!” Ros spoke with a smile neither proud nor ashamed of his past.
“What did you do before you were an elite mage guard? You said you were poor but city poor is like country rich! I bet you were the captain of the guard for some rich merchant or something!”” she guessed as she ducked past the hide flap into her hut. “Wait here.”
Ros found a hefty log of firewood with moss growing on one side of it. With a grunt, he manoeuvred it upright, fashioning a makeshift and somewhat precarious stool. Seating himself atop it, he settled in to wait for her, the forest sounds filling the quiet. “Something like that! I picked fruit in orchards, I swept alleys, I did plenty of stuff! I was way too scrawny to be a guardsman though. Stanisk probably only hired me because he’d had a few beers that night!”
The inside of the hut had some clanks and thumps but she didn’t reply. He folded his arms and looked around. He’d come to appreciate the ancient pine forests around the small town. They were actually in town, but surrounded as they were by trees, he felt like he was in the primordial forest. It was the first forest he’d ever seen and hadn’t spent much time in it. His duties kept him constantly busy, other than the work trip to kill the big staghog. Considering all the trees, mosses, low flowers, and darty animals he saw, it felt a little unfair that it just smelled earthy, with the barest hint of pine. If he were in charge of forests, they’d smell like a thousand living things all at once.
“Need a hand?” he offered after a bit longer. He didn’t want to rush her, but he was also happy to help. He was comfortable and wondering if he’d changed at least a bit. Sitting on a log with his thoughts was something he liked now.
“Thanks, Ros, I got it. Do you reckon I should bring my old mattress, or he’ll give me one like he showed us?”
“I can’t imagine him making you sleep on a sack of old hay, while we sleep in the magic beds he’s making. I’ll tell you what, if he does, you can sleep in my bed,” he offered.
“Hah! Just when I thought there were no wolves in these woods!” she retorted.
“Oh, Light no! I meant I’d sleep elsewhere! Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that!” he blurted. She poked her head out of the low opening, and Ros worried it was mainly to see his deep red blushing.
“Hah! Take this!” she said. His firewood stool fell forward with a bassy woomp as he went to take an ancient iron cook pot, filled to the brim with clay jars and a few dark glass bottles. He carefully held the precious cargo, aware of the clacking and rattling they made with even the slightest movement. A few seconds later she emerged with a few old dresses thrown over her shoulder and holding a stack of woven reed baskets in her hands.
“Just as well you came by, I had more stuff than I remembered. I hope I have space for it!” she said, slightly embarrassed. “Oh anyways, back to your big city days! It must have been hard to leave all that excitement and culture for this dump.”
“Are you kidding? I’m exactly where I want to be!” he said with disarming sincerity. “This is where the people I care about are, and it’s where the world will start getting better. I wouldn’t leave for, not for a whole sack of coins. Besides, I bet Stanisk is cooking dinner tonight, and he’s the best cook I ever met!”
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Alternate name(s): Delicious in Dungeon, episode 18

Episode 18

After the Golden Kingdom is sunk underground by an insane magician, its king emerges, promising all of his treasure to any who defeat the magician, before crumbling to dust. Guilds are spurred on by this promise, traversing the labyrinthine dungeon in search of the magician. Laios, the leader of one such guild, encounters a dragon that wipes out his party and devours his sister Falin. Despite having lost the entirety of their supplies and belongings, Laios along with Marcille, an elven healer, and Chilchuck, a halfling thief, immediately reenter the dungeon, determined to save Falin.
Time being of the essence, Laios suggests the taboo of eating the monsters of the dungeon as a means of gathering supplies. Upon the preparation of their first meal in the dungeon, they are stopped by an onlooking dwarf named Senshi. An enthusiast of monster cooking, he helps them prepare their monster ingredients for safe consumption. After learning of Laios' circumstances, Senshi expresses his desire to cook a dragon and joins their guild, thus beginning their food-filled foray into the dungeon together.
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This is my first time posting here so apologies if I make any mistakes, but I found this sub and I had to share my experience out of excitement.
Browsing Reddit till I stumbled upon this sub made me immediately jump in here and tell my oh so fun time I had back on Amino Apps sometime late 2017 to early 2018. I don't want to drag my story too long so I'll try to keep it brief and readable as I can.
After a long period of not roleplaying of a couple of years, a friend of mine offered me to download Amino to be a part of his community. Since then, I was very curious about other aminos that I browsed plenty till I found one in particular that welcomed me with open arms. I was rather surprised with how much attention I gained yet I didn't actually participate with any of the OoC stuff and went along with their group RPs they had going on in the overall amino. After a couple of months and folks being kind, I made the mistake of finally speaking to community after so long.
At first it was all fun and games for a while, sharing my RP experiences as well as reading what others have done and what has happened in this amino's history. At some point, I started to notice that some of their long time members began to show their true colors such as being pretentious, overly emotional and just straight up rude. It would soon get worse when I was offered to be a mod on the amino to which I began to see the guts of the community more and see how much of a mess all thanks to one particular user who was someone who treated their seniority as some kind of authority over everyone.
This person had their own circle which included other mods that obeyed them and allowed that person to break the guidelines set up despite how much they were clearly discouraging and ruining other experiences in the various RPs happening. Worst part? They had their RPs forced into the overall group RPs to the point that if anyone interfered, they would pull all the taboos of RP like instant killing characters or forcing them into things the user did not want even when it wasn't intentional while also pushing some kind of RP authority over everything. Say you challenge whatever they did, they would run and cry to their mods for "ruining" the RP. It was silly, no one wanted to try anything but they still wanted to continue with whatever RP was going on while trying to win over the person's favor like they were some kind of king, running around and doing whatever while the few mods who tried to stop it were ignored up until that person began to convince the community that there are folks who are ruining the RPs for everyone which began with me. At first, I didn't really care with whatever they did since most of what they tried weren't anything big since most of the time it was all lies up until they barred me from RPing cause "my characters broke guidelines" which was utter nonsense.
I packed up my things, spoke to those who cared about me about what's been happening and left alongside those I have spoken with which gave me a chuckle since one of my friends was known as the "community cinnamon bun" who was convinced that the place sucked and decided to pursue their art streaming dreams instead of being a part of a stagnate community as they said. At some point, after many friends began to move on, some decided to peek into that amino after four years just to see that person is still there, but activity fell drastically probably due to amino falling off. Around this time, I was returning to writing and started to use the RPs I have had there to make new stories followed by making ones taking jabs at the person just for fun and seeing responses of them fuming over everything and acting like they were the better person to the point that they were basically making fanfics of my works as a means to get back at me but unfortunately, many thought they weren't well written and just existed to show how petty and childish they were which was pretty funny to read.
There was more that happened in my time on that amino but it would make this post longer, so I'll share them in a separate post but that's the gist of everything that has happened. I hope the read was remotely enjoyable and I will gladly answer questions about specifics if anyone likes and apologies for any mistakes as this was me having a spur of the moment and overall excitement to share my experiences in a sub I'm very interested in.

Alternate name(s): Delicious in Dungeon, episode 17

Episode 17

After the Golden Kingdom is sunk underground by an insane magician, its king emerges, promising all of his treasure to any who defeat the magician, before crumbling to dust. Guilds are spurred on by this promise, traversing the labyrinthine dungeon in search of the magician. Laios, the leader of one such guild, encounters a dragon that wipes out his party and devours his sister Falin. Despite having lost the entirety of their supplies and belongings, Laios along with Marcille, an elven healer, and Chilchuck, a halfling thief, immediately reenter the dungeon, determined to save Falin.
Time being of the essence, Laios suggests the taboo of eating the monsters of the dungeon as a means of gathering supplies. Upon the preparation of their first meal in the dungeon, they are stopped by an onlooking dwarf named Senshi. An enthusiast of monster cooking, he helps them prepare their monster ingredients for safe consumption. After learning of Laios' circumstances, Senshi expresses his desire to cook a dragon and joins their guild, thus beginning their food-filled foray into the dungeon together.
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