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togenabi · 7 months

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the language of flowers

gojo satoru x reader (royalty au)

♡—All your life, you have been training for the role of Empress... But nothing could have prepared you to be Satoru's wife.

word count♡— 4.7k (I came back swinging y'all)

genre♡— fluff, royalty au

aged up characters♡— 18+

content notes♡— arranged marriage, romance, crown prince (maybe ooc) gojo, flowers, no use of y/n, afab!reader, ur a princess we're all princesses, minor chara oc's, mentions of my other au's, reader's father is a jerk, reader is tough but falls hard, not fully proofread

author's note♡— this took a while! september was ridiculously busy for me but I did my best with this to compensate! this is also very self indulgent, but I hope you enjoy it! xoxo, belle

As a child, you found out of your engagement to the Crown Prince by accident.

On a chilly winter's evening, you had been chasing the Royal Secretary's cat around the palace. Your father, the King, would frown upon you playing games at this hour. You should be writing essays, learning dance or banquet etiquette.

But all that can wait, you think. You've just spotted the end of a fluffy tail dart around the next corner.

When you catch up to it, the orange tabby is curiously peering into a room—whose grand double doors are slightly ajar. Eyes widening, you quicken your steps but make sure to minimize any sound. The last thing you needed was to be spotted skirting your duties right in front of the King's study.

You let out a huff of relief once you've gently picked up the cat, your arms hugging it to your chest.

Just as you're about to sneak away, however, you hear your name.

From the gap in the door, streams of golden light pour out; contrasting with the darkness of the hallway. The silhouettes of your father and his Secretary leave shadowed patterns on the floor.

You listen, as these silhouettes plan your future without you.

“Ha!” The King bellows. “My daughter. Empress. I never thought I'd see the day.”

Your heart stutters. What?

“When will you inform her, Your Majesty?”

The shadow on the painted tiles waves a hand dismissively as your father does.

“I'll leave that to you, Montgomery. Tell her that she should be honored.”

Heavy footsteps sound as he paces. “It was concerning to have a daughter as a firstborn. I knew she couldn't be made to rule what I've built, but I'll finally have a steady pawn in The Empire once she's sent away.”

Pain shoots into you. Your eyes begin to sting. You had always known your brother was the favorite despite all the hard work you've put in, but to be spoken of as a pawn... Could it be that you have not worked hard enough?

You suddenly remember where you are. Remember how slacking off brought you here. Heartbroken, you hug the cat tighter.

The words your father speak as you walk away deepens the dagger in your chest.

“Do not settle for anything less than perfect for her coursework. She's to be Empress, after all.”

On that chilly winter's evening, your heart froze over like the snow-covered branches looming outside.

...

Several years later.

The carriage goes over a bump in the road, but you do not show discomfort or act without grace. Your expression is controlled and your posture is correct as you balance yourself.

Across from you, Secretary Mont holds a newspaper up, the front page faces you as he reads. Large bold letters take up the entire upper half of the paper:

‘CITIZENS QUESTION IF EMPRESS-TO-BE IS WORTHY OF THE CROWN PRINCE’

You scoff. It makes Mont meet your gaze over the paper before flipping it; he frowns disapprovingly at the front-most article.

“Do not mind them, Your Highness.” He folds the paper and sets it aside—as if it would help prove his point. “The people are not used to your presence yet, but they will be. They will see how you are the perfect choice for Empress.”

The Princess is power hungry, someone who was interviewed had said. You wanted the Empire for yourself, apparently.

Jealous. Vain. Possessive. Dramatic.

Shifting your gaze to the window, you contemplate what you had done to garner such a negative image. Could you have done anything differently?

Your father's face appears in your mind's eye. That same ever-present scowl on his face as he says you should do better. You should be grateful. You should be nothing less than what you've been preparing all these years for. Everything must be perfect.

The Imperial Palace comes into view. It stands high and grand, shining under the bright midday sun. The cloudless blue sky above it makes the scene picturesque.

After the wedding in four months, it is to be your new home.

The Imperial Princess, your betrothed's younger sister, greets you when you arrive. You curtsy to each other, and she surprises you by reaching out to take your hands in hers. She gives them a firm yet friendly squeeze.

“I'm pleased to welcome you, my sister-to-be.” She beams, and you return the look with your own small, composed smile.

“I am honored to be here. Thank you for taking the time to receive me personally.” You gently lower your hands, letting her go.

She leads you inside, passing lines of palace staff as you enter.

“Congratulations on your own engagement, by the way.” You say honestly. After assessing her for a moment, you carefully remark, “I hear you and Prince Toge are quite happy.”

“We are.” She nods, smile glowing even more at the mention of her beloved. “Please allow me to say that I hope you and my brother find your own happiness, despite the ‘political arrangement’ of it all.”

“I thank you for your well-wishes.”

“Would you like an escort to your chambers?” The Princess offers once you reach a grand curving staircase.

“If you have other duties, I will not keep you.” You give her a bow, the ends of your dress brushing the polished marble flooring.

“Very well.” She nods. “A servant will inform you when dinner is ready.”

Gathering your skirt, you make your way up the steps to the east wing, where the guest chambers are.

Your eyes find the path to the west wing, where the royal families' rooms can be found. Soon enough, you would be heading there instead of east. Hopefully, the Prince will be amicable to live with.

The chambers reserved for you are exactly how you remember them. It's spotless and feels homey despite you only visiting a few times a year.

This is the only place you can be truly alone. Your father, try as he might, has no power here.

You step towards the balcony, opening the glass doors that lead outside. The wind caresses your skin like a soft kiss to your cheek, and you take a deep breath to savor it.

Four months.

That's all you have left. Four months of freedom here.

Another breeze passes. It carries with it a tiny dandelion wisp. Catching it almost feels like holding onto air, and yet it is there between your fingers. Small and weighing nothing, but there nonetheless.

For such a small thing, it strengthens your resolve.

You're not here for freedom. You're here to be Empress. And that's all that matters. You will not let anything get under your skin and interfere with your responsibilities.

...

So you said, only to find yourself in a very unexpected situation.

Dinner was uneventful, your only gripe was that your betrothed was not present. You had hoped to show everyone that you got along well... Even if you've only really spoken a handful of times.

However, once you returned to your chambers, you spot the balcony door open once more. Beyond it, looking out at the view of the city, was the Crown Prince himself.

You try not to let your unpreparedness get to you. Bowing respectfully, you greet him. “Good evening, Your Highness. May I ask what brings you here?”

The Prince turns to you, crossing one ankle over the other as he casually leans on the balcony.

“There you are.” Satoru says, his head tilting as he observes you.

You eye him warily, trying to decipher his intentions. If he wanted to see you, he could have simply shown up to dinner. “What are you doing?”

He steps forward. You step back. “Is it a crime to want time alone with my—”

Sighing, you should have expected him to want more time with the future—

“—wife?”

The word knocks the wind out of you.

Of all the names you have been called, ‘wife’ is a new addition to the list.

You are your parents' daughter, your country's princess, and are to be the Empire's most powerful woman.

And yet, to one person... to Satoru, you are to be his wife.

It's almost strange to think about. Your earliest memory of your betrothed is back when he was small and scrawny. It was difficult to take him seriously back then.

Now, something has changed in him. Or it could also be that he's always been like this, and this is a side to him he doesn't show to others that often.

Satoru watches you process the word, seeming to have something to say, but decides against it. You half expected him to tease you for being flabbergasted, but he patiently waits for you to speak first.

“Why are you here at this hour?”

He grins, eyes bringing shame to those distant stars hanging in the sky behind him.

“I didn't want our first meeting in ages to have so many spectators." Satoru explains. “If I had shown up earlier, the scribes would have taken note of how many times I blinked or how fast I chewed."

His jesting does not put you at ease at all. “I have a feeling you have something to say that should not be recorded or overheard.”

“That's true. However,” Satoru says pointedly, “The hour is far too late for all that I wish to say, so I will simply bid you goodnight with this...”

Out of nowhere, he pulls out a red flower with curling petals.

You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the flower's stem. Satoru watches you back, smiling softly. He's backing away before you can thank him, but he doesn't look like he minds. He seems to be happy you didn't reject it.

“Goodnight, my dear.” He bows, and makes his exit.

...Through the balcony. Again.

You step out and try to find where he disappeared to, but he's gone.

The moonlight out here allows you to get a better look at the flower. How curious. Usually, people in the Empire give roses, don't they?

The red carnation twirls between your fingers, and you think of how much more grand and tangible it is compared to the dandelion wisp that found you before dinner.

...

Carnations mean many different things, according to this book on the language of flowers you picked up. It all depends on the color.

Pink carnations symbolize fondness and remembrance. Some also consider it to mean not being able to forget someone.

White carnations mean purity, good luck, and new beginnings. It's a common way of wishing someone safe travels.

Yellow carnations have varying meanings. Sometimes, they are used for apologies. But most often they are given to express disdain, symbolizing a hopeless state of mind. You stare at the illustration next to the passage. The yellow watercolor is so bright and vibrant, it makes you wonder what it did to deserve such sad connotations.

Setting the book down for a moment, you rest your eyes by scanning the library. Countless shelves with even more countless books. A golden candlestick here. A priceless painting there. A stack of yesterday's newspaper lying a few tables away.

Something unpleasant settles in your chest. You ignore it and resume reading.

Naturally, as is the case for most red flowers, the red carnation means love. True, passionate love and affection.

You shut the book softly, tracing the embossed petals on the cover while thinking of the red carnation sitting on your bedside table.

Things could have gone worse, you suppose. At least Satoru didn't give you a striped carnation, which has no other meaning than rejection.

Secretary Mont enters the library before you could dwell more on that thought. He's arrived with several palace staff for additional wedding plans.

“Your Highness,” Only Mont greets you, but they all bow in unison.

You nod, and gesture to the table. “Be seated. Let's begin with the urgent concerns first.”

Apparently, the most urgent problem was that Satoru had not approved any of the table dressing color schemes. When you review the options, you think you can assume why. There can only be so many shades of white and cream and pearl.

“What shall we do, Your Highness?” One of the butlers ask.

“Give me a few samples, I'll talk to the Crown Prince myself.”

You almost regret saying that, because once you did, several staff began tripping over themselves, requesting you bring up other preparations with Satoru.

Secretary Mont asks if he should schedule an appointment with your betrothed, but you decline. Something tells you that he will show up again tonight.

And so, here you were after dinner in your chambers. A box of wedding planning materials rests next to you on the bed. You left the balcony doors open this time, and he shows up just as you predicted.

“Aw, were you expecting me?” He's smiling at you as he approaches, but it falters once he sees the box.

He lets out a loud breath before settling on your bed too, the box sits between you. “Alright, let's do this.”

“Start with these.” You hand him some fabric swatches, he looks at them in disdain.

“Pearl, then.” He says, barely even looking through all the options.

“Don't decide hastily.” You can't help but reprimand. “It's not just the color you have to consider, but the material as well.”

Satoru blinks, but presses his fingers to feel the texture of the fabric at your suggestion. “Is pearl not good then?”

“It's pretty, but it's too shiny.” You explain. “The sheen doesn't make it soft or comfortable to use.”

“Ah.” He breathes out, understanding what you mean.

You tell yourself your heart doesn't beat louder when he picks the one you had your eye on. Satoru holds the sample fabric up, the label attached reads ‘Snow’.

A clean, classic sort of white. Soft to the touch, almost fluffy. You don't have to tell him that you agree, he can already guess from the way you glance at him.

He doesn't need to know that your eyes strayed to his hair. Soft. Fluffy.

Clearing your throat, you change the subject by bringing out some tableware samples. “Shall we discuss these, next?”

An hour and thirty kinds of invitation cards later, a short break is due. You're writing down your decisions when Satoru calls your name.

You've moved to your desk by now, since your bed has become some sort of wedding moodboard. Something clinking together reaches your ears, and you turn to find that Satoru had tea brought up. He pours you a cup and carefully hands it to you.

“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, taking a sip before turning back to the lists in front of you.

“Aren't you tired?” Satoru asks, reading your writing over your shoulder.

“This is actually quite easy for me.” You admit. “Wedding planning is unexpectedly... Pleasant.”

Satoru laughs softly. “You're probably the only one in this palace who thinks it's pleasant to work with me.”

After a moment, he continues. “I suppose... That's a good thing, if we're to be wed.”

His words make you pause writing. You suddenly feel shy, warmth spreading on your cheeks. The kind you're sure isn't from the flame crackling in the fireplace.

How silly that you're becoming bashful after being engaged to him since you were children. The thundering of your heart can wait.

“I agree.” You respond, not turning to face him. You will not allow him to see you uncomposed like you did the previous night. “I wasn't sure what to expect from our marriage, but I would appreciate it if we were companionable.”

The rest of the evening proceeds smoothly, though you do notice Satoru becoming more silent as the night goes on.

The next day, you spot Satoru speaking to foreign delegates. Something is different in the way he carries himself in front of them. His posture is that of a proper Emperor, not a cheeky prince that sneaks into your room at night.

... It's probably best that no one finds out about that, lest a scandal breaks before you even get married.

When the delegates leave, you're about to approach and greet Satoru when he, unmistakably meets your eyes, then walks in the opposite direction.

You're left there, confused and perhaps even a little hurt. But you stone your expression and carry on as if nothing has happened. Your lessons taught you to be graceful, even in times you feel anything but.

By late afternoon, it's painfully obvious that Satoru is ignoring you. When he rushes through his lunch and gets up right when you take your seat, you try your best to look unaffected.

Hopefully, you're the only one who's noticed so far. If word reaches Secretary Mont, word will reach your father... That troubles you more than you can put to words.

Satoru doesn't show up for your scheduled wedding planning session with the rest of the staff. You're careful not to say that you'll speak with your betrothed, and thankfully no one mentions it even if it shows they wish you did. You're not even sure if he'll show up at your balcony tonight.

When the hour turns ten, the time he's usually here, he isn't. You sigh and can't help feeling a little disappointed.

Perhaps you said something wrong last night. Maybe you should apologize for something. Or he could just be busy, you tell yourself. You can't expect the Crown Prince to always have time to sneak away to you, can't you?

Something taps against the glass of the balcony doors. It breaks your train of thought, and causes your heart to leap just a bit.

But when you go to check, no one's there. You open the doors to find a single red carnation, just like the one he gave the first night.

You're only barely successful at hiding your relief. You reach for it and glance around once more, just to make sure if he left any other trace of him. There are none, but after you lock the doors and turn in for the night, two carnations in a glass vase calm you in a way you hadn't let yourself feel in a long time.

...

A maid knocks at your door a tad earlier than you're used to. When you ask about what's going on, she says she has to prepare you for the Crown Prince's departure.

“He's leaving?” You ask as you rise from bed, already headed for the bathroom to clean up.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She sifts through your wardrobe for your clothes. “He is to go on a business trip to settle trade agreements.”

“How long will he be gone for?”

“I cannot say for certain, Your Highness.”

Pausing in thought, you look to the balcony doors.

A rush of determination fills you as you ask the maid, “Could you prepare something for me?”

The head butler said that he could be gone for two or three weeks. Weeks before you see that face of his, which has a surprisingly forlorn expression on it.

“Thank you for seeing me off.” Satoru acknowledges you with a smile, but his eyes reveal how tired and troubled he truly is.

You say nothing at first, silently taking steps closer to him. You could practically feel the air freeze over as everyone watching holds their breath. This is the closest the two of you have appeared in public.

You reveal a white carnation held in the hand you hid behind you. The stem is cut short, just enough so that it fits into the pocket on his coat.

“I will take care of things here while you're gone.” You assure him, taking a step back to admire how the white flower suits him.

Satoru seems to be at a loss for words, but his eyes regain their usual spark when he addresses you again. “It seems I have nothing to worry about, then.”

You feel stares at your back as the carriage departs, but pay them no mind. You intend to keep your word and perform your duties while the prince is gone.

On your way to the library, you overhear the Imperial Princess and Sir Nanami speaking to each other.

They're in the next hallway, and you were just about to turn to it when you hear your name spoken. You press your back to the wall and listen.

“I'm glad Her Highness seems to have liked my brother.” The princess says. “And of course, I know Satoru would have been over the moon because of that flower.”

Sir Nanami hums. “His concerns were nothing to be worried about after all.”

The princess laughs. “Oh, what was it again that he said? That she friendzoned him?”

“It was that she companion-zoned him.”

You huff quietly. So that's why Satoru had been ignoring you yesterday.

“I look forward to their blooming relationship. I'm sure Her Highness will come around.” Is the last you hear of their conversation as they continue on their way, their footsteps fading further into the hall.

Come around? To what?

A grandfather clock chimes to signal the change of the hour, and you realize you've dilly-dallied for long enough. The rest of your way to the library has no people whispering about you and your betrothed or the flower you sent him off with.

But you would be lying if you said you'd forgotten about what the princess said.

...

Ever since Satoru left, he's been writing you letters. He said his sister gave him the idea.

You've given up on replying on every letter he sends. It seems as though he writes to you daily, and you simply can't keep up. He insists on writing no matter how busy he gets.

His fifth letter is so short that it should be called a note:

‘The flowers here are lovely. I had a bookmark made for you.’

That same bookmark, a dried pink carnation, sits between the pages of the novel you're currently reading. It makes you consider pressing the red carnations Satoru had given you so that they're not just left to wilt.

You write back once a week. But what you lack in quantity of letters you make up with the number of pages you write, and you tell Satoru as such. There are many things you want to report, so you don't hold back on anything.

Well, perhaps you don't quite tell him that you can't fall asleep until you spot the moon through the balcony glass. Or that you think of him whenever you're not distracted enough.

In Satoru's fifteenth letter, he brings the unfortunate news that his return will be delayed. He will have been gone for four weeks before he comes home, and the journey back will take three days at the latest.

Unable to express your disappointment outright, you instead imply that he should make haste for the wedding preparations. That he shouldn't miss the food tasting or the floral arrangements.

‘I trust my wife to make all the right decisions. Even if you don't, I'll consider them right anyway.’

There he goes again, calling you wife when you haven't married yet. It also dawns on you that Satoru has only ever called you by name, or addressed you as his wife. He's probably the only person who hasn't referred to you as Empress-to-be.

You're quickly learning that with Satoru, you're finding yourself again. It's rare for you to feel more than just a princess or Empress in training, but he makes it effortless with just a few words.

...

You begin counting down the days when Satoru writes that trade negotiations have finally concluded. He should be home in four days, and you can hardly wait to see his face again.

But of course, Satoru finds a way to bewilder you by arriving home early. In the middle of the night, no less. And naturally, through the balcony.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you try to decipher if his visage is a dream or a trick or the light. But when he laughs, and tells you he missed you dearly, you need no further proof.

Satoru clasps your hands with his, running his thumbs over your fingers and knuckles. Your eyes travel down to his boots, which are filthy with dirt and grass. His hair is ruffled and windswept.

“Did you,” The word settles on your tongue when you pause. “...Rush here on horseback?” You ask incredulously.

Satoru laughs again, and wraps his arms around you. “Are you complaining?”

You blink, and tentatively wrap your arms around his middle. “No. I'm glad you're home.”

Satoru is so warm compared to the night air that surrounds you. You almost complain when he pulls back, but the serious look in his eye makes you keep your mouth shut.

He clears his throat and rubs your shoulders before taking your hands again. You're completely shocked when he sinks to one knee.

“I know that we're already engaged.” Satoru begins. “I know that we've been preparing for this for years, but I just wanted to ask you properly. Because you deserve it.”

He pulls out a ring, a diamond shines at its center.

“Marry me, and I shall spend every moment of my life proving my love for you.”

“Yes. I will.” You respond, and he slips the ring onto your finger. How does he keep getting more and more lovely?

You place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him up to you. You kiss him, and the air ignites like a spark brought to life.

It's tender, and careful, and carries all the things you wish to say to him. How you missed him. How you love the flowers he gives you. How excited you are to have him by your side for forever.

When you break apart, he seems surprised to find you reflecting his happiness back at him. He's about to speak, but not before he can resist the urge to kisses you again.

You smile into the kiss, but place a hand on his chest, pushing him to ask, “You were about to say?”

“...I've always known I would treat you right when we got engaged. That was always a given.” Satoru cradles your face gently, making you feel like the most precious in the world to him. “You were chosen because you're smart, and you worked harder than anyone else.”

“...But I saw you one day, when we were kids.” He speaks carefully. “You were trying your best to impress your father, but not at all happy...”

“From then on, I decided to make it my mission to make you smile.” To prove his point, he places his thumbs at the corners of your mouth to drag them up playfully. You laugh and swat his hands away.

“A real smile, just like that! None of those diplomatic half-smiles you always throw out to please people. That won't work on me.”

“Before you are the Empress, you are my wife. And I will love and treasure you as such.”

...

He says those same words at the wedding. You jest that he has no originality, but it brings you to tears just the same.

The wedding happens in the palace gardens, surrounded by countless beautiful flowers that dance and sway under the sun when the wind blows. Everything is, in every sense of the word, perfect.

For this moment, you are not the Empress. Not yet. The world can wait a day, you decide. Everything else can wait while you bask in the glowing warmth this man offers you.

As you leave the ceremony behind with your arms linked together, Satoru leans into your ear so you can hear him over the cheering crowd. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Petals shower you both on your way, and you can't help but smile. “Just that we're perfect together.”

Satoru laughs in agreement. “Damn right we are.”

Several staff are positioned at the exit of the gardens, ready to escort you both to the carriages that will take you through the Empire to greet your subjects... But something makes you pause at the end of the aisle.

You pluck a red carnation from one of the floral displays before turning to your husband. You tuck the flower into the chest pocket of his suit, snug in front of his pocket square.

When you glance up to see his reaction, he's already beaming at you, looking indescribably happy.

“I love you too.” He says, taking your hand and pressing the softest of kisses on top of your wedding ring.

When you sent him away back then, you remember thinking how the white carnation matched well with him. Looking at him now, however, the red flower over his heart seems to overflow with all the love and all the words that need not be spoken. You like this one much better.

He leans down to pluck another identical flower, and gently tucks it behind your ear.

Satisfied, he holds your hand tight, leading you to the rest of your lives with the assurance that he will never let go.

taglist♡— @flowerjun @mellozhi

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo royalty au #gojo fluff #jujustsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru oneshot #gojo x y/n #togenabi-writes #togenabi-gojo-01

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centrally-unplanned · 5 months

Text

In my list of orphaned projects is a big damn essay on the fertility transition , which I never wrote. I had this in the docket for almost a decade, back when worrying about fertility rates was still a hot take. But alas the ship has sailed, everyone is talking about it now and has written it all out already, and I have mountains of projects, so I will just outline it quickly, sans graphs and footnotes. Maybe doing that will incentivize me to write up a full one someday, and it also gets my cohesive viewpoint out there.

The Future Is Exowombs & the Global Fertility Transition

The Trendline

The fertility transition has long roots - going back to 19th century France, originating in metropoles like Paris and culturally exporting itself to the countryside.

It seems broadly linked to material prosperity in ways that are load-bearing, one implies the other.

It is a 'sticky' cultural transition - once a country begins to move towards lowered TFR it never recovers outside of temporary blips.

It is not related to "western" cultural norms or specific contingencies of religion or ethnicity - those can matter at the margins, but rarely make a huge difference.

Starting in the 1990's, following sharp increases in A: global economic growth and B: global cultural diffusion/global monoculture, a trendline that used to be reserved for wealthy countries has rapidly accelerated, affecting countries at almost every income level. The fertility transition is now fully global.

The Cause

The primary driver of this phenomenon is the positive realization of desires - and by that I mean it is not something forced on people due to a lack in their lives.

It is not primarily caused by growing singleness; the number of people having any kids at all today is lower but overall pretty similar to the number of people who did a hundred years ago. It makes a marginal difference but not a huge one.

It is not linked to money, or housing prices, or other economic issues - fertility rates do not notably change with income levels or other price factors. At the margins, sure, but not at relevant ones.

It is not linked to specific technologies like contraception. People have understood how to prevent pregnancy for centuries - though like many things they do contribute at the margins. Additionally, you can’t uninvent them.

It is by a large majority linked to the death of large families. It was previously common for there to be families with 5 or more children, sometimes way more. 10+ children was not that rare in the past.

These families were disproportionately engaged in agricultural production; cities have always been fertility sinks.

In a world of manual household labor, rural living, low rights for women, low economic opportunities for women, and high death rates for children, these large families made sense. The 'opportunity cost' of the endless pregnancies & sicknesses was low (economically, not gonna handwave the immense personal toll)

All of these reasons have vanished. People want to have families, and love their children. But enduring multiple painful pregnancies, putting your career on hold, and spending huge chunks of your lifespan on child raising no longer tracks. The experience of having ~2 children is superior, along almost every metric, than the experience of having ~5 children for most people. This is what I mean by positive desires - the family structures of the past were built on misery and necessity, and will not return willingly.

The Problem

Many will point to the economic & social consequences of the Fertility Transition. They are very real, particularly at sub-1.0 fertility rates. If you are South Korea today, you have no plan for how your economy will truly support itself 50 years from now - you will vanish as a country in a few generations.

The focus on nearish-term crises also misses the opportunities lost - economic growth is premised on specialization, and specialization is premised on scale. A smaller world is a poorer world per capita, and a less innovative world, problems which have compounding effects. The difference in the long term is orders of magnitude.

But, far more importantly than any of that, is that we are nowhere close to the capacity of the earth to support humans. Supporting double or even triple the current population of the earth is trivial; a 10-fold increase would be quite easy, particularly once innovation is factored in. Being alive is a good of worth incomparable to anything else - the 'future' is literally defined by it. Time only meaningfully passes through the eye of one who can behold it.

The Failed Solutions

Money cannot buy lifespan or reclaim lost time - all attempts to throw money at the problem of fertility can help at the margins, but won't change the fundamentals. Some people want to have 2 kids, but can only afford 1. Or are prioritizing a career, but will work part time to have 3 kids. But the current policy crop of tax benefits or subsidized child care has not found a way to make someone truly want a larger family size, just mitigate gaps between desire and ability - and only barely.

Could radically larger amounts of money solve this problem? A professional career track in giving birth, 100k+ salaries for full-time mothers? I am open to the idea - but society isn't. The fiscal transfers needed are too radical for the current political environment, no one is proposing this.

Immigration was frequently proposed as a stop-gap, but its a 90's idea, premised on the idea that the Fertility Transition was a western problem that other countries did not face. It is not and never was; as every country's fertility declines, immigration becomes a zero-sum solution.

Turning back the clock on cultural change is A: impossible, the material logic of modern industrial production broke the need for it, and culture is downstream of material constraints. And B: its barbaric - if your answer to humanity's obstacles to greater flourishing is to condemn half of it to misery, we are better off dead.

So population levels will either stagnate or decline - unless something intervenes.

The "Future" Aka Getting Rationalist On Main

Exowombs, aka artificial wombs, allow you to grow a human child outside of the need for a person to incubate it. The baby (hah) step they let you do is strongly lower the cost of having a child; this is time & health given back to a mother, it will make having larger families easier.

But that won't fundamentally, shift the reality - that most people only want 1-2 kids, they don't want to raise more than that. However, with exowombs, you don't need to; you can make children outside of a family's desire for one. You can do that pretty trivially, actually. A society, if committed to solving its fertility issues, could mass-produce people with exowombs. Which would be very good to do ethically, because living is good and I personally don't think kids at orphanages should be euthanized to end their suffering, they are fine.

If some society, somewhere, did this, they would rule the world in a few generations. No one else is solving this problem, and meanwhile the human capacity to live on Earth is being woefully underutilized. Before natural human growth would solve this eventually - now it seems that will never happen, so anyone who actively tackles the problem wins. They literally win the future, by being the future.

Now, no one is going to do this soon - proposing this idea is not my point. Exowomb research is harshly regulated or illegal everywhere, modern society hates the idea of this kind of experimentation. We are, in so many ways, allergic to the idea of solving this problem. It doesn't even have to be exowombs, maybe we do the salaried mothers idea. My point is just the illustration - the future where there is 100 billion people dwarfs any current trendline future. That hypothetical dominates the worldline space, because arriving there organically seems to have faded away. The fact that we are not going to take that future, that it is probably gone now, is really, really sad.

But of course there is the other solution, the reactionary specter - instead of the technological solution, we choose the social one, of cultural regression and expanded reproductive control. I am not so worried about this, personally? Because I think it would unsustainable and result in a lot of bleed to liberal societies. It should not be taken lightly though - in a world where everyone has 1.0 fertility, and the social and economic consequences are becoming dire, I wouldn’t discount the willingness for radical solutions. I myself prefer the technologist side. But I think odds are we don't get either, just the long decline.

TL;DR - don’t let the Mormons win. Build exowomb factories.

#the fertility transition #essay

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thankskenpenders · 7 months

Text

And now for something new

So, here's something I was never planning on doing, but I just couldn't shake the idea... Thanks Ken Penders is gaining a sister blog featuring an entirely different comic franchise!

Introducing... Thanks Steve Ditko, a blog where I read the Earth-616 Spider-Man comics, starting all the way back in the '60s! It's gonna be much more casual and less thorough than how I run things here on TKP, though, which I'll explain in a sec.

If seeing me post weird bits from old Spider-Man comics sounds fun and you need no further info, then just head right on over to Thanks Steve Ditko. But for longtime TKP readers, I know you probably have questions...

Number one: Why?

Spider-Man's always been my favorite superhero, and with the Spider-Verse movies kicking ass and my excitement building for the new Insomniac game, I've been in a Spidey mood. Inevitably, a thought occurred to me: Maybe I should actually read the comics that everything else is built off of and see the wildly varying contributions of all the original creators, rather than filtering them through big budget adaptations. If I can power through One Piece and all these other manga with hundreds of chapters, it can't be that hard... right?

And, well, after a few issues I quickly realized that my options were to either clog up my other accounts with random Spider-Man panels for years, or to just make a side blog. And so the side blog was born.

Two: Will this blog replace Thanks Ken Penders?

NO!!!!!!!!!

Okay but prove it

To allow the two to exist side-by-side, Thanks Steve Ditko will have a different format than what Thanks Ken Penders developed. Rather than an in-depth guided tour that critically analyzes every story beat of every issue, TSD will just be a place for amusing panels and brief thoughts as I casually read the comics at my own pace.

If you've seen me make a few tweets about reading Spider-Man recently, I'm basically just moving that to a dedicated Tumblr. It's a place for me to dump these things so that it doesn't fill up my media tab on Twitter for the next decade. (You know, assuming Twitter is still around in a decade.) There will be many issues where I only post two panels that I thought were funny. There will be issues where I don't have anything to say at all. Maybe I'll reach a run that I just cannot get into, and I start skipping around more. Who knows!

This may sound similar to what I thought this blog would be before it blew up. Aside from the simple fact that there's already mountains of Spider-Man commentary out there and therefore less of a void for me to fill, one of the main steps I'll be taking to avoid repeating the past is not enabling an ask box on TSD. I do not need people to ask me to go into ten times more detail on everything. I do not need to write seven essay-length responses to questions about Spider-Man minutiae every day. I do not need a place for people to chide me for not covering certain scenes, issues, or ancillary series.

It also won't have any kind of update schedule. I'm trying to keep it very casual. I'm reading these comics at my own pace, and if I feel like sharing a moment or commenting on something while doing so? It goes there. That's it.

(On the subject of format changes, I'm also listing the issue, writer, and penciller in the body of every post. This is a thing I wish I'd done on TKP so that people didn't misattribute every weird Archie Sonic panel I post to Penders.)

Three: So when will TKP come back from hiatus? You said it'd come back after you finished SLARPG!

I don't know! Sorry. I have a couple things on the backburner right now for TKP, but I'm not sure when I'll get back to proper updates where I read more comics.

I wanted to bring TKP back this year, and that's still possible. The main hurdle is that I want to reread my own archive (again) as a refresher, which is, uh. A lot of posts. I've developed a high standard for myself on here, and I feel like I wouldn't be doing my job right if I forgot half the ongoing subplots and character arcs and didn't bring them up in my analysis. Especially when I'm discussing the work of an author as obsessed with continuity as Ian Flynn. Unfortunately, the nature of this blog means that every time I go on another long hiatus for Life Reasons I have even more comic continuity to catch up on than last time.

(This is a big part of why I'm making Thanks Steve Ditko an extremely casual blog instead of promising to become a Lore Expert on 60+ years of Marvel.)

Mostly I've just been very burnt out this year after having finally finished a video game that took almost eight years to make. I haven't really had the energy for any creative projects, including TKP. But I feel a little bit of a spark here with Spider-Man, so I'm chasing that feeling to try to get back into the swing of blogging about comics - no pun intended.

So, basically, bear with me on this as I start this low-energy side project. But hopefully folks will enjoy Thanks Steve Ditko as its own thing, too.

Look forward to goofy shit like this

#tkp post

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absolutely-not-my-main-blog · 4 months

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Writing this on my phone at work so a lil jumbled but one of the things that really does make Macdennis one of the greatest will-they-won't-theys in tv history and why it doesn't annoy me they haven't gotten together yet even this far in when I would usually be pulling out my hair in other cases much earlier on is that it doesn't fall into a lot of the common pitfalls of the genre because in most shows, you *know* the characters are going to be together from the start and they don't actually have a solid reason why it can't happen sooner, other than they need to drag it out for the show, so rather than use the tools they have and naturally play off the existing tension between characters, they almost always feel the need to throw in arbitrary, extraneous, and often frustrating external obstacles instead, like a series of random cardboard cutout boyfriends/girlfriends/wrong place/wrong times that last entire arcs over and over again for the *sole purpose* of keeping them apart and being like not yet tee hee, to the point where you're just like okay, okay, get on with it, already, but with Sunny, almost every obstacle is *internal* (or based on already built in external factors that affect them internally and haven't just been fabricated on the spot to create problems in the relationship): Mac's struggles with his sexuality and religion, both their parents' intense homophobia and neglect, Dennis' past experience of being sexually assaulted, and his fear of being perceived as anything less than perfect in a society he's learned he has to hide from/always be stealthy in, lest you be taken advantage of or hurt, in general that societal expectation, you will get married to a woman (Maureen), start a family, live a "normal" nuclear life, that's how the story goes, etc. etc. not to mention the culture of the time the show itself first aired, network tv of 2005, they didn't start with this endgame in mind, practically unheard of that they would ever get together in any official capacity even if they did, so they were able to grow separately from each other before starting to grow together, naturally inclined toward each other, yet just as naturally held back by themselves and the world that made them this way. But eventually... they outlived that world, and after being so used to standing still, now they're struggling to keep up, to find themselves, to find their place in an environment they no longer recognize, and to reconcile the fact that maybe they don't have to hide anymore, maybe they don't have to be miserable, to run away, it's okay it's okay, but it was not okay for so long, they need time. And I'll get into the parallels more another time because I'm obsessed with them, but in Waiting for Godot (and in turn Big Mo), there's the theme of "The whole world changes, only we can't," but Mac comes out, Dennis claims back his heart, Big Mo shows up, so maybe they can maybe they can, and that change is necessary before anything else can move forward. And god, do I have a lot more to say on *that* topic and theme of change, but I'm saving it for a full essay, god willing🤞

#iasip #text #it's always sunny in philadelphia #macdennis #anmmbposts #macden #was gonna toss this in the queue but i think ill scare myself out of posting so gonna post then run away and actually do my work #oh wow after i posted i realized i just gave y'all a wall of text lol my bad

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sereneres · 5 months

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miss me ⁰

huh yunjin x fem!reader / 2k

summary. — conversations you had with jennifer, or, rather, yunjin, before her debut as a member of le sserafim.

warnings. — drinking / mentions of produce 48 + iz*one / implied kissing / requited yet unrequited love. / angst w no happy ending. / may or may not become a series

“do you miss it?”

you hum absentmindedly, not paying as much attention to the girl beside you compared to the essay you were writing. you soon regret it, though, because not a second later, you feel her foot hit yours. hard.

you weren’t the type who liked giving satisfaction to others, though, so even though it hurt like hell, all you said was a monotone, “ow.”

jennifer has always been able to see through your facade, though, so all she did was roll her eyes and mumble something about how you “weren’t any fun” under her breath before speaking at a normal volume again. “answer my question, yn.”

playing dumb, you tilt your head. “what question?” you asked, playing dumb, much to her chagrin.

“you-“ she starts but cuts herself off, shaking her head. “urgh, i asked if you missed it.”

“missed what?”

this time, you weren’t playing dumb, genuinely confused by the girl’s words.

“y’know, the show.” she pursed her lips. “the one we did in korea?”

“ah… produce forty-eight?” jennifer nods. “no, i don’t.” you pause before asking a tentative, “do you?”

she sighs, dropping her head into her arms and barely missing the keyboard of her laptop. “maybe,” comes the muffled response, followed quickly by a, “is that bad?”

“no.” she raises her head, high enough so that she could make eye contact with you with only one eye but low enough that a majority of her face was hidden. “it isn’t.”

“why?”

you raise an eyebrow. “why would it be bad?” you ask her, feeling partially confused and mostly curious. “it’s your feelings, not mine. i don’t have any say on them.”

“but…” jennifer trails off, remembering just how much hate you got on the show, during and after your elimination. it’s probably not the best idea to mention it, though, she decides to say something else. “it was just so bad for you. the diets, the practice, the way the other trainees treated you…”

you shrug. “that’s just how the idol industry works.” you say, making her frown. “and it’s not like they treated the other foreign trainees any different.”

“still, it was rough for you.” she insisted, pushing herself off of her stomach and onto her shins. “i-“

“it’s fine if you enjoyed being on the show, jennifer.” you interrupt, giving her a frown of your own. “you are the most idol-esque-“

“idol-esque?” she asked, amused. “what does-“

you press a finger to her lips, glaring at her in a way that made her stomach churn, and if you noticed her cheeks changing from her natural skin tone to a more pink-ish color, well, you didn’t comment on it.

“shush.” you mutter, frown deepening. “i’m talking so you need stay quiet and listen to me.” had you not been more focused on getting your point across, you would have cringed at just how… fanfic-like your words sounded. “got it?”

intimidated and suddenly feeling a little too warm, jennifer nods, gesturing for you to continue with her eyes.”

“as i was saying…” you cough, embarassed as you pulled your finger away from the girl’s lips. “you are the most idol-esque person i’ve ever met. just because no one voted for you–they’re assholes by the way–doesn’t mean that you weren’t built for the stage.”

if she was blushing before, then jennifer was for sure red now. “you… you mean it?”

“mhm.”

“that’s…” she blinks, laughing softly out of both embarassment and happiness. “that’s… no one has ever told me that before.”

“that’s ‘cuz everyone’s stupid.” you mutter, pulling the girl down back onto the bed and into your arms. “i mean it, huh jennifer. you’ll be a star one day, i just know it.”

she tenses a little in your arms, both surprised and a little flustered, but she settles into them quickly, wrapping her arms around your waist and sighing at just how warm you were.

“a star, huh?”

“i miss how we used t’be.”

jennifer has always gotten sentimental whenever she drank a little too much, and, while you weren’t necessarily sober, you certainly weren’t drunk enough to want to listen to whatever depressed ramble she was about to go on.

so, with that said, you finish the can of beer in your hand and chuck it into the back of the car. the resulting clang! told you that maybe the two of you had drank a little too much, but that was okay. tonight was supposed to be ‘black out drunk’ night anyway.

“i miss how clos’we were.” she continued to mumble, shifting so that she could sit up properly in her chair, only to slump again. “the show… ruined us.”

“it did.” you acknowledge, bobbing your head absentmindedly up and down. “but i think…” you trail off, blinking hard when you feel the world spin a little too hard. “but i think,” you repeat, voice more steady, “it ruined you mo’than it ruined m’.”

“it did.” jennifer agreed, her head making a quiet thud. upon making contact with the car window. where her breath hit the cold glass, a circle of coddensation grew and shrank with her exhales and inhales. “but tha’s only ‘cuz you didn’ really care for th’show.”

“i didn’t.” you bowed your head and pinched the bridge of your nose. god, just the thought of the headache you’d get later, once you woke ip sober, was enough to give you a headache now. “i only joined ‘cuz you didn’t want to be alone.”

jennifer snorts. “i knew that.” she said, and it isn’t much of a surprise to you that she did. she’s always known everything about you. “i guess is’ fitting that we ended up gettin’ eliminated together, huh?”

“rank twe’y-s’x,” you slur out, one finger pointing–touching–the other girl, you motor skills getting worse and worse as the alcohol began to take affect, “and rank th’rty.” you point at yourself.

she sighs, taking your hand and absentmindedly playing with it. “d’you ever wonder what would’ve happ’ned if we actually got in?”

“to iz*one?”

“what else?”

you hum. “n’really.”

she too hums, nodding her head sagely. “you didn’t want to be an idol to begin with, so i guess that makes sense.”

“you’re upset.” you note, the corner of your lips tugging into a frown. “did you really want to be in iz*one?”

“yeah.” jennifer looks up at you. “‘s that bad?”

you vaguely remember her saying something like that maybe a week or so earlier, but with how inebriated you were, you couldn’t remember why.

“no.” you say simply, and she hums and nods again. she’s been doing that a lot as of late.

from the corner of your eye, you could see her head turn to look at the clock displayed on the infotainment system–why was it even called that, and how did you know it was called that?–above your console. “it’s almost midnight.” she notes.

you blink, the sudden topic change giving you whiplash. “huh?”

“midnight.” she repeats. “‘s new years.” she pauses, reaching back and taking the last beer can from it’s case before opening it, a loud sshhh! following her words. “remember?”

right. new years. that was why the two of you were in your car, drunk out of your minds past the time you would normally drink. because of new years.

as if realizing just how cold it was, you shiver, tugging your blanket tighter around your body.

“you’re cold.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “no shit, sherlock.”

“i know something that can warm you up.” she murmurs, ignoring your harsh words. “would you like it?”

perhaps if you weren’t as drunk as you were, you would’ve noticed the way jennifer was looking at you or, more specifically, your lips. and maybe if you weren’t so drunk, you would’ve realized that the girl was inching closer and closer to you and your lips.

that said, you’re not sure if you would’ve cared if you were sober.

humming, she takes another sip of her beer before placing the can down and taking your neck and-

oh.

“happy new years.”

oh.

“…happy new years.”

“would you miss me if i left?”

you blink, only sparing a glance at the girl to your right before looking back onto the road. your janky headlights had little effect on the seemingly eternal darkness around you, and you didn’t want to accidentally hit a pole, another car, or, worse, an animal, just because you weren’t paying attention.

“not really.”

jennifer, partially offended and mostly just drunk, lets out an indignant huff. “rude.”

you shrug as best as you could with both your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “it’s the truth.” you say simply, wincing when you feel the girl pinch you in retirbution for your words. “you haven’t done anything worthy enough of missing.”

“you’d miss talking to me,” she insists. “you’d miss walking with me around the city-“

“you drag me out to do that.”

maybe it’s because she’s drunk or just doesn’t care anymore, but jennifer ignores you instead of picking a fight like she usually would have done. “you’d miss the way i kiss you whenever we got too drunk to care about the consequences.”

you tense, or, rather, freeze. she had never once mentioned it, sober or drunk, so to for her to bring it up now…

“maybe.” you murmured, “you’re a good kisser.”

at your words, the girl preens and laughs haughtily. “why, thank you. it comes with the experience of kissing millions of women and men.”

“millions?” you raised a brow.

“okay, well maybe not millions, but a lot.” she huffs. “i’m pretty sure i’ve kissed every girl at our old school.”

“all of the girls you’ve kissed were either questioning if they were gay, doing it to get someone’s attention–usually a guy–or just wanted to get their first kiss done and over with.” you deadpanned. “and sometimes it was all three.”

“details, schetails.” jennifer says dismissively, waving a hand at you and nearly stabbing you in the eye with her long nails. “point is, ‘m a good kisser.”

“you are.” you couldn’t even disagree. jennifer was a good kisser and you’re pretty sure that on your short list of random girls you’ve kissed before, she was number one.

you don’t think you’ve ever disagreed with yunjin.

“so you would miss me, right?” she asked again. “for the kisses.”

“for the kisses.” you repeated, nodding.

“would you miss me if i went to korea?”

you hum, considering the question. “maybe. but don’t worry, i’ll get over it.”

“‘i’ll get over it’?” she repeats, sounding suspicious. “shouldn’t you be saying, ‘if you really did go, i’d probably get over it’?”

you snort, flopping onto your bed and sighing. “what, did you get that from a fanfiction or something?” you asked dryly, raising an eyebrow even though you knew she wouldn’t see it. “never though you’d be the type to say what you read.”

“answer the question, yn.”

“there is no ‘if’ if you’re already going to korea.” you mutter, pursing your lips. “i saw the email. from source-whatever entertainment.”

you’re pretty sure you sound bitter but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. not when… whatever this was was happening.

“you looked through my stuff?” she asked, sounding half annoyed and half agitated. “yn, that’s-”

“you left your laptop open for anyone and everyone to see.” you interrupted. “during our sleepover. it was like you wanted me to see.”

she goes silent, and vaguely, you could hear an announcement calling for anyone boarding a flight to korea.

“why didn’t you ask me to stay?” she asked, her voice so quiet that you could barely hear it.

“would you have stayed if i asked you to?” you ask in response, heart clenching when all that followed your qeustion was silence rather than the clamoring you had expected–wanted to hear.

there are a million things you want to say to the girl on the other end of the call but you can’t bring yourself to say any of them so all you say in response to her response, or lack thereof, is, “you… you should probably go. that’s your flight they’re calling, isn’t it?”

“it-” she coughs, clearing her throat. if you strained your ears, you could hear her do the quietest sniffle in the world. “it is.”

“i guess this is it then.” you clear your throat, hoping to any god listening that your voice wouldn’t crack. “good bye, yunjin.”

beep.

masterlist.

#sereneres #seren.writes #seren.indulgence #kpop x reader #le sserafim x reader #lesserafim x reader #le sserafim imagines #lesserafim imagines #yunjin x reader #huh yunjin x reader #au.yn

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purgatory-if · 6 months

Text

demo (tba) | faq | masterpost (you are here.) | art cred @aykaypee

You’re in danger, and every fiber of you knows it.

You’re sure, by now, that no matter what you do you won’t be able to stop it. Maybe that’s a good thing.

...This is the end.

You wish you had something that would remember you.

... YOUR life is a mystery to you when you wake up in the sunny fields of Purgatory. Apparently death isn't supposed to be a full memory wipe to the soul, but that's no problem, right? There's usually some sort of record kept of this kind of thing. If not for special cases like yours, then at the very least for organizational purposes. You're told all of that, assured that nothing is wrong and that this jsut 'happens' sometimes up until the moment they look for yur death and find nothing to speak of. Nothing of your life, either, just to make a bad time even worse.

Without knowing anything like this, it's safe to say that it'll be impossible to pass on. The underworld isn't built for fringe cases like you and even if it was, not even knowing who you were is disconcerting at best and cause for crisis at worst.

So alright. It shouldn't be too hard to find out how one person died, right? Detectives and story characters do it all the time- and now you have all the time in the world.

You should, anyways.

... FEATURES include:

play as a seriously unlucky pc whose cause of death depends on which route you decide to pursue

be whoever you want to be! standard for ifs nowadays; things such as pronouns, general appearance, personality all that jazz

8 romance options (mostly fem/non-binary, 1 option you can choose the gender of) and the ability to play as aro and/or ace

at least 4 poly romance routes!

love me some good vanity stats! vanity stats

get recruited (read: forced) into a 9-5 where time isn't real

beat up time

really symbolic mythology! i could write a goddamn essay on these fuckers

... PURGATORY is recommended for players over the age of 15, though I’m not going to police what you do on the internet. The game will contain major character death and death of all kinds, what is probably sacrilege, memory loss, fantasy violence, potentially sexually suggestive scenes and dialogue (hi ama.), morally dubious behaviour, and more. In-depth content warnings for each chapter and specific routes will be released at a later date.

... 'MAIN' CHARACTERS

THE DIVINE.

Angel (prns selectable) / Witty, charismatic, more than a little bloodthirsty, there's a certain volatility about someone who is Fate embodied. While they take their time on the many, many field missions necessary for stability in the multiverse or whatever very seriously, they'll put their restless passion into anything if it catches their eye for long enough.

Achlys (they/them) / Death itself, stoic and sharp and more than a little intimidating, it's hard not to let their mere presence get under your skin. While it would be nice to say that's not an intentional effect, the only unintentional thing about them is the fact that they're down here, of all places. They seem to be making the best of it.

Esme (they/them) / An angel in what is certainly an analogy for hell, classic, isn't it? They're little more than a shambling mess in a skirt if we're being honest, oh so scared of any shadow that moves in the corner of their vision. They truly do wear their heart on their sleeve, which seems to be an invitation for some to try and stop its frantic beat.

Amaterasu (she/they) / Don't let her meet your parents, is the only advice I'd give, because she'd be gunning for at least a threesome by the time starters are served. Unflinchingly forward and seductive, they're horribly charming in the most impermanant of ways. There's nothing she'll shy away from trying sooner or later, it seems, in or out of the bedroom.

THE MORTALS.

Viviana Alatorre (she/her) / Businesslike. Some people really don't change when they die, and going to this office just means you see the sun less on your coimmute. She doesn't appear to be dead, or alive, something in the middle. Out of everyone here, she's probably the most terrifying. Even more than the death god, probably because she's actively working towards terror.

Ailbhe Kahinu (she/it) / There's nothing that troubles Ailbhe, and it wouldn't be concerning if she was... y'know, dead. In the face of certain terror, it faces things with a shrug and a sigh. At least she's good-natured about this whole thing, being dragged down here by both her girlfriend (Vivi) and her sister (Rahley). The prices here are better than aboveground, anyways.

Rahley Kahinu (she/her) / Rahley's been compared to a robot more than one time, and while the comparison probably wasn't in good faith that doesn't mean it was necessarily wrong. She's intensely focused on her work, and her skill in that department seems to have drained her ability in things like basic conversation and empathy. So it goes.

M Blankenship (prns selectable) / Previously called 'Hit 'N Run' in the world of roller derby, the violent nickname seems odd on someone as cheerful as M. They act as a sort of tour guide for souls entering the Underworld proper instead of hanging around Purgatory, and it's hard to say their easy extroversion makes them anything worse than great at their job.

THE CONSTANTS.

Stratos C. Lusse (he/him) / The eternal guide to Purgatory for souls lost, souls found and all who are inbetween. He seems to have been here the longest--minus all of the deities, of course.

Octavia Hardin (she/her) / The part-time guide to Purgatory. She seems more likely to throw your soul into damnation if you cross her or anybody she cares about. Stay on her good side!

Salem Astor (she/her) / She would be a romance option if I had the energy to code in a shop feature. But I don't. So she runs free through the city.

Abbadon (prns selectable) / Personification of the past. If anyone can help you figure out what the hell happened to you, then they should be the one to go to. Sometime in the next 5 centuries would be ideal.

Maliel (prns selectable) / Personification of the future. Again, probably someone who can find out in a second what you'll know when you figure out this mystery, if you're able to find them at a good time. The woes of being a primordial deity.

...and more! Probably. Co-workers, pirates, other deities but this is running long.

#if: intro #interactive fiction #if game #if wip #choice of games #interactive game #twine game #twine if #interactive novel #twine wip #purgatory if #masterpost

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