#and apparently it's a crime drawing characters with a new look

[queeniecamps]

this whole situation is still just. so crazy to me.

My headcanons/redesigns were honest to god the only things keeping me interested in drawing camp camp anymore. Now I'd feel "guilty" for drawing them again, and just... damn!!

[erosiism]

SACRED | YANDERE PRIEST X M!READER

prompt: yandere!priest x transmigrated!male!reader

character(s): priest (anton), you

warnings(s): mention of violence, god complex, religious imagery, dub-con, not to be glorified or romanticised

note(s): male reader, second person, past and present tense, not beta read. from twisted faith on my wattpad.

It takes a few moments for you to truly process what just happened. From the coarse sheets underneath your skin that differ greatly from the silken ones you have grown so accustomed to, to the air that smells like blood, you know something is terribly wrong.

Then you see a mural of a priest on the wall, and you remember where you are. A horror game.

Anton. It’s the name of the priest you need to find.

The first time you see the priest is the day after you transmigrate into a horror game. The said game, Spiraling into the Abyss features almost a cult like fanaticism with religion: you learn in the first few seconds of your time in the new world that they worship a priest like a God, and that they sacrifice humans to please the apparent gods of the heavens.

You’re a sacrifice. You know that. You are found to be guilty of some stupid crime you didn’t commit, and as far as you know, you are a worthless extra who will die by burning—you will do everything to prevent that.

To survive, you need to get into his good graces. You see him on the day or worship, when you come early to the Church: and his beauty astounds you. Symmetrical features—and the whole blue eyes and golden hair combination that is seen as rather cliche, in terms of beauty—but Anton doesn’t have a common kind of beauty; he is radiant. Benevolent. Ethereal. You marvel at him. His skin is without a blemish, and is fair, like he hasn’t gone out in the sun for a while...yet it has a healthy glow to it. His expression is serene. Anton's hair frames his face perfectly, and his eyes are expressive and rather captivating, with long, dark lashes that draw attention to it. His cheekbones are well-defined, his nose straight—and those only add to Anton's appeal.

He speaks to you in lilted tones, and immediately, you realize the priest isn’t just evil—he’s downright a menace.

"Sometimes I forget you are a new, naive believer. God is perfect, is he not? So his messengers, in turn, can do no wrong. He sends his messages through me. God is part of me. I'm merely ridding the world of evil."  He strides to where you are, and his hands touch the top of your head lightly. His fingers fall to your cheek, and he strokes it gently.

You can only swallow. “Yes, Father Anton.”

There’s one day where you ask him why he burns those bodies. He calls it “cleansing”, apparently.

“They donate to the church out of the kindness of their hearts,” you tell him, swallowing the bile down your throat as you hear more screams. “Is that not…a little extreme?”

“Extreme? Why, no, not at all.”

“You burn people alive.”

“That is the cleanest way to proceed. Their ashes tumble away, and it makes it much easier for the people, too. If we were to use magic, or beheading, or even hanging—it would be much messier, no? And I believe fire is such an awfully beautiful thing. It can make death look inviting; and even though the heavens might cast them away…in hell, all they will see is the fiery pits. This is their punishment. To feel sorry for them is strange, Y/n.”

Despite this, for the sake of your survival, you continue to visit him. Now, such visits are rare: Anton barely makes time for anyone. But he does, for you. 

Of course, this partial treatment doesn’t go unnoticed by you. He treats only you like this: it’s concerning, actually. His words are light and gentle, but the weight of it isn’t. In fact, he speaks of cleansing, he speaks of murdering in such a calm manner that you wonder if the devil truly resides in him.

But one thing is clear. 

To survive, you need to get into his good graces.

You feel your sanity slip each minute you spend in the game.

Anton kills. So does the Church. And you still can’t explain the goddamn obsession he has with you. Why has he not killed you yet? Anton is no saint, not at all.

Perhaps Anton was ensnared by the promise of Godhood—ensnared by the tendrils of his own self proclaimed grandiosity. Perhaps he had been idolized so much…worshiped by the devoted believers that he had simply been led to believe in his imagined divinity. Anton was a mortal who had dared to cast a shadow that eclipsed the very stars that he had reached for. Anton was simply adorned in robes of imagined omnipotence, and smelt of the fragrance of narcissus.

Here, he was god, but Anton was completely alienated from empathy. For what was a god in isolation but a sovereign ruler over an empire of one, ruling over a realm devoid of the richness of God’s grace?

You can’t deal with him much longer. He keeps murdering: he murders those who come to you under the guise of the silly notion of cleansing, he finds it amusing to see you sob and cry…and he has no qualms about drugging you. If not for the items you have stored in your inventory, warning you of drugs, you would have succumbed long ago.

Anton is no priest. 

And now he stands before you, his lips curling into a smile when he sees the look of despair on your face. He has just killed a friend,

You have to. You have to fight Anton…you have to…

Anton leans forward. You two are a hair’s breadth away.

God. Is God real? Is the devil real—has he taken form in Anton himself, twisting, persuading, begging, tempting people to court evil, to withhold the stench of death? The crimson flames have not faltered for long, and have only seemed to welcome him with fiery contempt, only surrendering when everything has been destroyed in its wake.

You long to spit curses towards Anton. You long for your limbs to connect with his face, and leave a mottled bruise there. You long for your twitching fingers to wrap around the priest’s neck; watch as oxygen slowly slips from his lungs out of your throat. You long to see his body grow limp.

“You are so perfect,” Anton murmurs, “so, so divine. So perfect…”

You don’t get why he says this. He’s been telling you this for ages: it’s the reason why you’ve been treated well. He claims you are some savior from an oracle ready to save him, he claims you saved him.

And now in this scenario, where his fingers are grazing your cheek?

You swallow. There was no way, right? No fucking way—

“I want to kiss you.”

Your heart drops. “…If I say no, you wouldn’t listen.”

A kiss. It would just be a kiss, right? That was okay. It means simply brushing your lips against Anton’s…yeah, that was possible.

You want to cry. Anton presses his lips on yours—it’s a mixture of heat and warmth; the way Anton ravages your lips has some sort of twisted hunger to it, craving and craving and craving. There is an obscene sheen of saliva coating your lips when you part.

The kiss tastes just like the forbidden fruit, plucked from the tree of desire. It is the same way that Eve sinned—eating a fruit that had belonged to the serpent. It was as if you had forged a pact with the devil himself—that in kissing Anton, it was like sealing your fate in the molten wax of sin, staining the canvas of your soul. Had matted it black. 

It was shameful. So utterly shameful that the kiss…

Once Anton fully lets go, he smiles, and you collapse on the ground, tears running down your face.

He needs you, Anton thinks, he needs you. You are the savior who has brought him from the depths of hell. You are his miracle. You are his little pet; his little divine sacrifice, the white sheep with the white wool. You are the one who will follow him guiltlessly. Untouched, untainted, clean.

You are shaking like a newborn lamb.

He presses another kiss on your forehead.

[ before, Anton’s pov ]

The world was dirty.

It needed a savior. Someone to bring them out from the depths of hell—to cleanse them. After all, was that not what the texts read? Was that not what he had learnt, ever since young? Was that not what had been instilled in him since his very birth? Luke 15:11-32. The wayward son who squandered his inheritance but was welcomed back by his forgiving father—Anton had marveled at it when he was young. To think someone would have such boundless grace; such forgiveness for a foolish person…

The oracle. Anton saw the oracle as a gift—a symbol from God. It had been delivered to him when he was young, naive, and careless. 

Anton remembered very little about his childhood. Extremely little. He remembered his mother, his father. But that was it—but oh, how he hated them. Anton did not remember why he hated them, why the portrait of his family had been torn out. He regarded life then, and now, as the beginning of the end.

Something fleeting, something ephemeral. Something tragic. Life was a wonderful tragedy.

People look at me with such endless wonder; such spellbound eyes and widened mouths. They see me as God—they see me as a deity above them all.

And that was true, Anton thought. That was very true. Sinners. Wretched, dirtied, horrid sinners, all of them! Anton despised humankind; they were worthless—made of brittle bones with flesh. He did not even see them as humans. They were just mere vessels in need of salvation.

“Father Anton!”

“Father Anton, would you please help me?”

“Bring me to the path of salvation!

He was anointed by a divine purpose to purify the soiled souls of the world…

Yes, that was his purpose.

It was relieving and calming to have a purpose. To drift in the vast expanse of the world; the universe without a tethering purpose is akin to being a feather in the breath of the wind. Useless, damaging, lonely. Anton could see—it was very easy for him to see who were those who were aimless in life, compared to those who had the bright, bubbly life shining magnificently in their eyes.

Oh, Mother. Anton would stand before her grave. Again, he did not remember much of what he believed was to be a mundane, boring childhood, but his mother’s name left a bitter taste on his tongue, horrid and painful. Somehow, he did not feel a single bit of…remorse, or guilt when he gazed at her tombstone. He expected to feel guilt for something he was quite sure he didn’t do.

But his lips would always curve into a smile when he saw the words etched on the grave. She was dead, he would remember. Dead. Occasionally, snippets of memories would come to him—her shrill voice, her messy, jagged hair, her crazed, crazed eyes. The way her fingernails felt on her skin when she scratched at him wildly.

Clearly, she deserved to die. How did she die, though? What exactly transpired? What kind of person was she, and what kind of person had she tried to make Anton into?

Anton found, to his surprise, that he was bothered about this. Detachment was something he prided himself on: he would never venture too close.

To have attachment with someone would be detrimental. Annoying. Haunting.

There were times—many, many times when Anton had awoken, hollow and void. 

The oracle.

The oracle.

When is it coming? When is it coming? Have the gods lied to me?

The oracle—his lifeline since he was young—was the very proof that this world had a chance, to live on, to heal.

A savior.

There were times Anton would grow impatient. He needed to do something about the state of the world. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? Why did people falter in front of flames? What did people shun away from blood? Was the sight not wonderful, not enchanting? The heat was welcoming—a gentle caress. Those who ventured in, would have their faces bathed in mesmerizing glow. Nevermind their screams, nevermind their bleeding, rotting flesh. 

The fire illuminated the world before it dissolved like nothing. Like it hadn’t existed. 

“Horrible! Horrible! You’re fucking horrible!” Then the stinging of flesh. There was something piping hot, something burning him.

“Why won’t you even flinch, you monster?”

Anton smiled loosely. Another memory. They came into his mind occasionally and quickly. He never pondered over them—it was useless to; for he already had everything he wanted.

The day you came into the world, was the day he felt alive. Waiting had become a bore to him—it was the same routine over and over again, with the same stupid, foolish people—

Something extraordinary had graced his reality. The oracle. You were the chosen one. The chosen one. The chosen one. The one he yearned for; seeked for; the change in the world.

“Dear God,” You had said the first time he saw you. “I confess I have been impure in my holy spiritual presence…”

Anton had seen you before the mural; your head lowered, your words soft and quiet.

Anton had stepped before you, tilting his head to the side as he observed you. In fact, you seemed to be struggling.

“You have to be sincere. You can’t just read off the mural.” Anton sighed.

You seemed to look at him with flickering recognition.

“Forgive me, Father Anton, for I have sinned.” You appeared shocked for the words to even slip past your lips; and oh, you were beautiful. Lovely. Innocent. Anton gazed at you—this was the person he had been waiting for his whole life—fervently, impatiently, silently. 

“You don’t seem to be used to this,” Anton said at last, as he took off his hood. He had not meant to come to church today—he was aware the crowd was growing more stifling, more crazed by the minute. The women of the church reminded him of his mother. There were times he wished he could draw a blade to their throat, and watch the blood spill out in a wonderful crimson.

“I’m afraid it’s been long since my last confession.”

Anton couldn’t help but smile. You were lying. 

“That’s alright,” He said calmly, “you have come now. Is there something in particular that’s troubling you, perhaps? To bring you to confession?”

“I…”

Anton could read human beings exceptionally well. From the way their eyes narrowed, the way their pupils widened marginally, to the gap of their fingers…you were trembling. You were thinking of what other lies you could say.

An adorable fool.

“You…?” He prompted. “You must not feel self conscious in the eyes of God. He already knows, Y/n. He is only waiting for you to confess.”

I am only waiting for you to confess. To tell me that you are from the oracle.

“I cannot even recall it.” You admitted.

You cannot recall it because it is not true.

“What do people come here for, Father Anton?”

Many things.

“The ones who have sinned so awfully they are made to be sacrifices.”

Oh. Sacrifices. Anton did not even—

There were times he would stand before dead bodies, blood in his hand, blinking slowly. When? When had he killed them? It all happened so fast, he wasn’t even aware of the blood staining his clothes, the bodies riddled on the ground.

“You tell me, Y/n.”

“Murder…?”

Anton wanted to laugh. A textbook answer. You had much to learn, didn’t you? It was alright. Anton could teach you. Teach you from ground zero, till you would become who you were supposed to be.

“Mostly, it’s their lack of faith. Rebelling against us. It is their perceived lack of loyalty, and their utter ignorance and disregard for God that leads us to take drastic measures.”

“But that’s…that’s killing isn’t it?”

So pure. So untainted, so innocent. 

The oracle. The person from the oracle. 

“But that doesn’t matter,” Anton said softly, “you show a desire to learn. And that is always very splendid, always welcomed.”

Anton would morph you and turn you into something splendid, divine.

remember to reblog and like! comments are always appreciated

[tragicvampireromanceisland]

i keep seeing suuuch cool AUs, so it's my turn now :) superhero AU anyone???

solarflare is the hip new hero on the block, with a myriad of powers and an almost alarmingly carefree attitude. the sole survivor of her alien planet, andersen, she's ended up making earth her home, and she'll gladly do anything to protect it. when not out fighting crime and saving the world, she's jane "joy" ray, working her day job as a photographer for the newspaper the train of thought, alongside her coworker she often does joint stories with. and while she's good at her job, she's a bit of a klutz and often absent...especially when a breaking story about solarflare is hot off the press. what gives?

speaking of...samira sage is one of the most renowned reporters at the train of thought, as well as the most patient. she's got a near innate ability to hone in on the emotional core of each subject and carry out thoughtful, poignant conversations with her interview questions. it's that very patience, though, that's gotten her assigned to looking after ray. she claims it's "just her luck," but maybe she's also choosing to stick around. not just because ray's sunny disposition has started to grow on her, but also because she thinks she just may have a lead on solarflare if she keeps at it. there's just something about her...

and that's not even getting into kuiper, solarflare's sidekick! originally a college student, xenia merak, who gained super speed from a freak lab accident, she has big dreams of being a hero of solarflare's caliber, but still has a lot to learn about what it means to be a hero. her ambition and enthusiasm more than make up for it, though! or often just land her in trouble. or both! she was the first (and apparently only) person to figure out that jane and solarflare are one and the same. and after sol got over the initial shock, she ended up greatly appreciating that she has someone she can confide about this sort of stuff with. xenia usually hops around from her dorm to headquarters, crashing at either intermittently. sol's home is kind of like a second home to her. they're an odd pair of roommates, but xenia always has her back! plus...it's nice to finally stop feeling like an outcast.

MORE CHARACTERS TO COME....these are just our main three! what other allies do our heroes fight alongside? who is the evil syndicate that they fight against? find out, um. whenever i have time to draw again!!👍🏾

[604to647]

Code name: Hephaestus

3.2K / Marcus Pike x fem!reader

Summary: Marcus requests a change to his FBI Agent code name.

Warnings: None! Mention of cheating (obviously not Marcus! By Teresa Lisbon, that rat 😒).

A/N: This is written for Round 2 of beskarandblasters's Pedro Pantheon challenge - I sort of misinterpreted the challenge, and instead of making Marcus an actual god, I envisioned a more allegorical story? I hope it still works! I've always found the myth of Hephaestus to be rather tragic, but learned recently (to my delight) that in some renditions he goes on to have a happy second marriage with Kharis (sometimes called Aglaea), so that's how this story was born. The parallels I draw aren't terribly subtle (in fact, you could accuse me of sort of hitting you over the head with them 😅) but in our story, Lisbon is the bare equivalent of Aphrodite (just go with it 😂) and Jane is Ares; takes place in a Mentalist AU where Marcus doesn't go to DC. This is my first time writing Marcus so please be gentle (I'm nervous about this one!); endless thanks to @morallyinept for her character files which helped me get a better handle on our dear Agent Pike (I think!) Thank you for reading!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / please see @clawdee's pinned post for the other Pedro Pantheon works.

Today is the day.  The day Marcus Pike’s approved request to change his FBI Agent code name goes live.  You’re exceptionally proud of him.

It’s incredibly rare for agents to ask for, never mind actually change their sanctioned code names; the amount of paperwork and pain in the ass database updates required were enough to have most requests denied, never mind that most agents had sentimental attachments to their top-secret monikers.  If anything, it only ever happened if circumstance necessitated – say a higher-ranking officer transferred in and used the same code name in their previous office.  No one ever asks to change just because.  Especially not to a name that had been whispered around the office for the better part of three years and made said agent the butt of a cruel joke.

Hephaestus.

Whispered in the hallways and meeting rooms of the Austin FBI building whenever his back was turned, Marcus good-humouredly admitted that there was some cleverness to it.  And though there was no real malice behind the nickname, it was inescapably insulting.

You had hated it enough for the both you. 

When you took up the job as the Austin office’s head of Public Relations, Marcus had been one of the first agents to welcome you and make you feel like your contributions and hard work were appreciated.  From your previous time in the private sector, you know that a lot of people in public service think of PR as window dressing, just frivolous adornment, but Marcus told you that he found your job to be terribly important.

“How can we protect the public if the public doesn’t trust us?  You make our jobs look inspiring and glorify our hard work so that we can do it another day.”  You’d never heard of your job being spoken about so poetically.  You would come to learn that you weren’t the only one who marveled at Marcus’ ability to look at things from an unique, often beautiful, perspective.

His valued role in the FBI’s Art Squad was never up for debate – no one else could unravel intricate mysteries and solve cases that required expertise and appreciation for the artistry of old and new creative masters the way Marcus did.  His analytical mind and problem-solving prowess when it came to art crimes were second to none in the Austin office, and some might say the whole of the FBI.  No, respect wasn’t an issue for Agent Pike.

However, as you would learn from one of your colleagues over a casual cup of coffee in the breakroom, even if they respected the hell out of him, the parallels between Marcus and his unofficial handle were too apparent for even the most high-browed FBI agents to ignore.

“I see you’ve met Hephaestus.  One of our best.”

“Hephaestus?” you muse out loud.  The God of Fire and Volcanoes?  That didn’t seem to make sense to you… but hang on, if you recalled your Greek mythology correctly, Hephaestus was also the patron god of artisans, craftsman, metallurgy, sculpture.  In your estimation, that aligned a bit more with the handsome Art Squad agent.  Your co-worker nods at your assessment but encourages you with a knowing expression for you to keep going.

An unbelievable thought crosses your mind, “Omigod, it’s not because of the limp, is it?”

The circumstances were well known around the office, but it had been Marcus himself who told you about the injury he sustained while on a case that effectively removed him from active fieldwork two and a half years ago.  He had given an overzealous art thief chase, and when the perp had been caught, they made one last ditch attempt to waylay the famous Agent Pike… with a bullet.  Though otherwise well recovered, the injury had left Marcus with a limp which permanently assigned him to desk duty.  When Marcus told you the story, it had been without any bitterness, but with an air of graceful acceptance, acknowledging his injury as a “risk that comes with the work.”

You couldn’t help but admire his steadfast commitment to the job and even-keeled approach to obstacles most people might deem to be insurmountable.

And besides, as you understood it, being taken out of active fieldwork has done nothing to slow down Marcus’ career.  He took his reprieve from field work and used it as an opportunity to emulate some of the great artists he had spend his life admiring by becoming something of a creator and maker himself.  Seeing a need for technology to become better integrated into the Art Squad’s investigative methods, Marcus began working closely with the FBI’s Tech division to develop new and innovative technological tools to fight art crimes; he became the architect behind celebrated programs and gadgets that aided in the detection of high-quality forgeries, and sophisticated applications that simplified the digital forensics in smuggling schemes.  He was something of an in-house hero – you had seen some of these tools at work, and the details in these designs were sometimes as beautiful as the traditional art hung in museums.

The trajectory of Agent Marcus Pike’s career was undoubtedly on the rise.  But even though no one, not even Marcus, viewed his limp as an impediment, you still thought the comparison to what the Greeks had considered Hephaestus’ deformity to be in bad taste.

But it was worse than you thought.  It wasn’t just because of the limp. 

Your eyes widen in horror and your heart clenches painfully for Marcus when your co-worker tells you about Lisbon and Jane. 

Most of what you knew about Marcus’ marriage to Agent Teresa Lisbon you learned from your friends at the office.  That he had given up his promotion to the D.C. office and stayed in Austin at her request (or as you saw it, a condition) before agreeing to marry him three years ago.  Teresa was partnered with a civilian consultant, Patrick Jane, with whom she previously had a close working relationship in California.  It was the Austin office’s worst kept secret that their "working relationship" had evolved into a romantic and sexual one… even as she remained Marcus’ wife.  The affair has been going on for the better part of two years, with everyone, including Marcus, privy to the fact that his wife and the mentalist were more than just partners in the field.

You’re incensed and indignant on your friend’s behalf.

As a rule, you don’t judge what goes on in other people’s relationships – it’s none of your business and you know from experience that no one ever truly knows what goes on between two people behind closed doors.  But this isn’t behind closed doors.  It’s at work.

It’s one thing to have an affair.  But it’s really another to flaunt your boyfriend in your husband’s face.  And it’s an entirely separate matter to do it at the work place you and your paramour share with your spouse.  You find yourself grinding your teeth and tapping violently at your keyboard whenever you draw up notices about the cases that Lisbon and Jane work.  You might very well even have refused to do it, except that in most cases, their success could be partially credited to Marcus. 

Because while Teresa did not find her husband worthy of being loyal to, she did deem his superior intellect worthy of helping her when she couldn’t quite puzzle out her own casework, or she found it advantageous to have an in with the new golden boy of the Tech division.  You couldn’t minimize Lisbon and Jane’s work without minimizing Marcus’ contributions as well.  Besides, it would be unprofessional to let your personal feelings bias your work, no matter how justified you felt it might be.

Even if you didn’t find her treatment of her husband to be reprehensible, you had a hard time connecting with Teresa.  While you do consider her to be a good agent, she was vain, smug and in your opinion, entirely too caught up in the appearance and perceived clout of being partners with the celebrity “Mentalist” consultant: Patrick Jane.  Jane, you couldn’t stand at all – quite frankly, his impulsive and unpredictable behaviour and frequently caviller attitude towards proper police procedure made him a risky asset.  You didn’t think it did the FBI any favours to glorify his exploits and for your part, you try not to do so.

While you quietly seethed on his behalf, Marcus remained unflappable, professional and generous when it came to all the reasons he had been bestowed his not-so-secret nickname.  It struck you as slightly odd that a man as kind-hearted and considerate as Marcus could let such insult and cruelty roll off his own back when he most certainly would not be tolerant of it being inflicted on others.  That’s one thing you learn about Marcus during the time you spend with him, be it in the Tech basement learning about all the new innovations you might have to announce, or the lunches and breaks you share – he is giving.  Benevolent even.  Bestowing on others the kindness that he’s not always shown.  He puts the good of others, the whole, ahead of himself.  It’s the whole reason he went into law enforcement. 

Not without some effort, you forbid yourself from developing and nursing a crush on your married friend.  His honour wouldn’t allow it, you’re sure, and in truth, neither does your own dignity; instead you nurture a friendship that you come to value highly with a man whose company you enjoy very much.

Once, you told Marcus that you thought he had the soul of an artist.  He had scoffed adorably at this, but listened appreciatively as you explained your assessment.  Yes, Marcus has a great appreciation for beautiful things and fine art, but he seemed to see beyond the piece itself – feeling the conviction and emotion behind every brush stroke, chiseling tap of stone, hammering of soften metal and listened to what they had to say rather than what his eyes told him.  He appreciated art for the artist, and you thought only another artist could be capable of that.

And what of his new passion for his work in Tech?  Sure, Marcus wasn’t literally chasing down bad guys in the streets anymore, but he was still pursuing them with vigor, now to the dark corners of the internet.  What was an artist but someone who reworked and shaped what was familiar in order to shine a new light on them?  Didn’t artists breathe new life and purpose into what others might see as irrelevant once its obvious usage was no longer?

And his vibrant outlook went beyond his work.  You talk animatedly over your shared lunch takeout, the one that Marcus picked up from a local Moroccan restaurant that he’s always wanted to try but had no one to try with.  “Take this food, for example,” you say. “It’s something new and maybe you won’t like it, but you’ll try!  And when you do, it won’t just be for the flavour on your tongue, but you’ll taste the culture and history behind these dishes.  You’re going to enjoy the culinary experience no matter what; even if you’re not guaranteed to like everything.”

And you know he’ll do it again!  Try another cuisine or restaurant he hasn’t before, or see a play or movie he’s never heard of!  Because artists take risks!  Even ones with low stakes because that’s what life is for.  You tell Marcus that the friend you see before you is dynamic and has the gift of seeing the potential in things (and people) where others don’t.  He takes leaps of faith and reveres life.

Marcus tells you that you might actually be the poet that you usually accuse him of being.  And though he thinks you make him out to be grander than he is (you are in PR after all!), he still thinks about your words a lot.  He supposes that perhaps he's always been an artist of sorts.

An artist creates, builds, molds – and Marcus has always firmly believed in making the best of what one is given; to see and encourage as much beauty in something as possible.  It was an artist’s gift to translate the mundane into the extraordinary, and even if he wasn’t necessarily successful, the artist wasn’t supposed to want more than or try and change what fate has handed him.  Or so Marcus had thought.

Before he met you.

Something about you and your friendship made Marcus think perhaps he didn’t have to make beautiful the cards that he had been dealt.  That it was okay to admit if something wasn’t right and not try to mold or craft it into something just this side of tolerable.  It was okay to want better, to strive for something that was actually good.  Lovely. 

Little by little over the past year, Marcus has been taking his life, his pride back.  And it fueled his desire to reclaim this name he had been mockingly bestowed and reclaim its godlike power as his own.

Yes, he’s ready to proclaim loud and proud: Marcus Pike is Hephaestus.

Marcus Pike is a lover of the arts.  An admirer of those of his fellow man who choose to create and construct, artisans and craftsmen who spin and cast stories and convey moments of deep and relatable emotion using earthly materials, metal, stone, clay, canvas, and accordingly, live on far beyond their own years.

Whose brilliant mind combines the industrious and the creative, leading the advancement of innovative technology and its implementation within the ever-evolving discipline of crime fighting.

He might never be fit for active field work the way he once was, but a renewed commitment to physio has made him stronger and leaner than he’s ever been.  He wields weights in the gym like a blacksmith might a hammer, forging muscle and strength on the anvil of his own flesh.  Far from caring about physical appearances, he sculpts his body into something hard and powerful for the calm it brings his mind, but there is no doubt about it: Marcus Pike is a physical specimen to behold.  Limp or no limp. 

And yes, Marcus Pike married a woman who did not love him and who did not deserve him.  She cheated on him with someone she thought was her equal, all the while overlooking and dismissing the quiet power and steadfast devotion of her husband.  And Marcus accepted this insult for a long time, because he thought he had to make something beautiful that wasn’t, that he could love her enough for the both of them.  But he’s come to realize that he did it mainly because she made him feel like that was all he was worthy of.  But no more.  The ink on the divorce papers has been dried for many months and now he positively basks in the love and grace of a woman who sees his true worth.

You.

The code name change is for you too, he likes to think.  Marcus doesn’t want you to feel pity for him or the parts of his life that lent connotation to this name, not that you ever did.  But he wants you to know that he feels every bit the man you’ve always treated him as: confident, virtuous, strong.

Your Agent Hephaestus.

Some time after he started divorce proceedings, Marcus had reflected a little more on your and his friendship.  It was easy and joyful.  You respected one another.  That you were objectively beautiful was neither here nor there; Marcus was a loyal partner to the core and truthfully didn’t even consider the attractiveness of other people while he was in a committed relationship… but now that he was no longer, he had to admit that he was very attracted to you.  And not just your pretty face and alluring figure, but all of you. 

You’re kind-hearted and smart, generous and compassionate.  You care.  He sees it in the way you conduct yourself at work – putting your all into making his fellow agents and analysts shine, making sure that no one was overlooked and that others feel seen and valued.  It’s certainly how you’ve always made him feel.  You’re sweet and funny – the friends that you make at the office, himself included, would attest that you were sometimes the best part of their work day.

And you’re open and joyful; up for trying and learning new things – never conceited or self-important, you wear your appreciation for the wonders of life and what it has to offer on your sleeve.  Your job is about making others look good, but you yourself rarely cared about clout or public accolades - your hard work and confident demeanor speak for themselves and unironically, you come off looking fantastic and everyone liked you, just cause.  One thing you never were was cruel or heartless – you give everyone a chance and extend grace to others even under stressful or difficult conditions.  The only thing you’re intolerant of is when others exhibited those self-serving attributes.  Once in a departmental meeting, some dinosaur had tried to cover up his own mistakes by throwing a young analyst under the bus – you had put a stop to it before the old man could finish his fib with a cutting and deliberate comment about the importance of integrity at the FBI.  Marcus had discreetly chuckled to himself and thanked whatever deity looking out for him that you seemed to always be on his side. 

Yes, Marcus admires you exceedingly.

A year ago, he had asked you out, nervous that you may not see him the way he now sees you, terrified of ruining your friendship.  You had been hesitant, but not for that reason – of course you’re attracted to Marcus, he’s one of the finest men you've ever known, but you worried that his heart might not be ready after what Lisbon had put him through.  You should have known better than to doubt Marcus’ capacity for love.  Taking a leap of faith in much the same way you admired him for always doing, you’re now happier than you could have ever dreamed.  Marcus dotes on you and makes you feel cherished like a goddess.  Sharing a life with him makes everything better: food tastes better, sunsets are more colourful, music sounds more harmonious; all because the man next to you makes everything good even better with his kindness and his care.  And he worships at the altar of your body like no one ever has, and you doubt ever could; Marcus loves on you with such devotion and wickedness that you regularly see the heavens themselves.

Marcus is an artist reborn – having taken something already amazing and precious, and transforming it into something even more beautiful.  Something that makes his life complete.

Marcus doesn’t tell you, but he also put in for a code name for you as well.  It’s not needed for the Public Relations department, and you’re not an agent in the traditional sense of the title, so you’ve never asked to be assigned one, but the paperwork for your code name has been submitted and approved.  Currently on standby, if and when you ever choose to accept it, it will be ready to go live.

Perhaps someday in the future, should both of you wish it, you’ll agree to become Agent Kharis in both name and in life.  Marcus cannot think of a code name more fitting for you than the name of one of the three Graces of the ancient Greek myths, goddess of Splendor, Glory and Adornment, and the beauty who saved Hephaestus from a life without love.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(12)

Couldn't Someone Have Dreamed of a Goddamn Beach?

Robert Fischer x reader

description - a snowy landscape provides the stage for their final act but how much will be revealed before it's time for curtains close.

word count - 3.3k

warnings - snowboarding/skiing, guns, major character death

a/n - I know I said I was gonna do shorter fics but there was no realistic place I could have ended this chapter :) Also I had to have my gal snowboarding as boarding is just the best! To the day I die I will say that snowboarding is sooooo much better than skiing!

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Cold. The ice burned my skin even through the thick layers. My eyes shot open, and they landed amongst the icy glades of the third layer. My breath shot out in front like a cold whisper dancing through the air. I rolled my bones out trying to feel out my new attire. The jacket was bulky and frame hugging. A warm hat christened my head, and I was thankful for the barrier. I smoothed out my feet which appeared to be locked in position. They glided along the snow as they were held into a state-of-the-art snowboard. I grasped the goggles from my head and snapped them in place over my eyes. With one little nudge I began to skate down the snow hill. I expertly manoeuvred around the trees but once I spotted projections on heading for me, I was able to jump and glide, saving myself without firing a single shot. My eyes darted in search of any familiar bodies to give me any indication of the others location.

“Y/n. Y/n, do you copy?” a buzzing sprung to life in my ear, and I skidded to a stop. I fiddled with the apparent earpiece which had found its way on to my person.

“I copy, what’s your 20?” But before an answer could be said I had spotted their group and boarded down to join.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I arrived to find Ariadne and my dad. Dad had his gun trained on the building. It’s sharp angles made it look so futuristic, but the façade was villainous. There was nothing about it which invited me in, especially not the copious number of armed projections.

“Cobb, what’s down there?” It seemed he was merely using the gun for the lens.

“Hopefully the truth we want Fischer to learn.” Dad’s voice shook with insincerity but right now his fluctuating confidence was the least of my worries.

Ariadne lowered her voice to avoid the angle of my ears. “I meant what’s down there for you?” Dad shot a look to her which was filled with fear. He was now directed toward me with something more akin to guilt. But his crime I had yet to know.

Over the hill, Eames, Saito, and Robert could be spotted. It seems they had chosen to sport ski’s. Too many pieces for my liking but I had no doubt in Robert’s ability, feeling there were a few skiing holidays under his belt.

 “Eames this is your dream.” My dad began once we had all reconvened. “I need you to draw the security away from the complex. Understand?”

Eames halted and removed his goggles. “Who guides Fischer in?”

I looked over to Robert’s face which flushed with uncertainty. I dropped to the ground in a more comfortable sit and tugged on his jacket. He looked down to me and I gestured for him to join me. He did so but was unsure in his movements. From the moment he had fallen asleep he hadn’t had a moments rest. A sit down would be good… for the both of us. He smiled, thankful for my kindness and in response I patted his shoulder in a silent show of support.

“I designed the place?” Ariadne placed herself forward.

“No, you’re with me.” Cobb rebutted her idea.

“I could do it.” Saito spoke up. My brows furrowed as I looked up at him.

“All right, you brief him on the route to the complex.” Cobb turned to Eames. I rose hurriedly and attempted to balance myself.

“Excuse me, but no.” Everyone turned to look at me, shocked by my firm denial. Dad’s gaze felt like steel on my weathered face. “It should be me.”

Cobb practically laughed in my face before approaching to whisper close to my face. “I don’t want you anywhere near him.” He spat out. “I saw the hug, I saw your face, and more importantly I saw his face. Don’t do this, you’ll get yourself hurt.” I forced back the tears unwilling to give him a sliver of weakness, but I could no longer decipher whether he was concerned of my physical wellbeing or my emotional.

I strengthened my voice and rose the volume of our conversation so the others would be brought in. “I think you’ll find Saito is still injured and in no condition to be the lead. I am happy for him to come with, but Fischer’s safety will be left up to me.” I angled myself back so I could pour this directly into his ear. “I am the one to do this. And you know it.” I saw his face fall at the harshness of my words and my position was confirmed with a slight nod.

Cobb patted Fischer’s chest where a microphone sat. “Keep this live, I’ll be listening the whole time.” As I turned to make sure Fischer was ready, in the corner of my eye I spotted Saito gripped in a painful cough. And I could only imagine the blood that was to follow. “The windows on that upper floor are big enough for me to cover you from the south tower, you see it?”

“Yeah,” Fischer managed to push out through his clenched breath. “You’re not coming in?”

“In order to find out the truth about your father, you’re gonna need to break into Browning’s mind on your own.” Each man’s breath deepened, gorging on the thin air available. He pulled away and patted Fischer’s back to confirm the end of the discussion. He then gestured to where I stood prepping my board. “Anyways, you’ll have her. She’ll get you through it.” A soft smile spread across both of their faces but when my dad noticed his warm grin was matched, he gripped Robert’s shoulder. “But she is still my daughter.” Robert’s gulp was practically audible, and he shook out his body in a show of understanding. But once Cobb had turned back around, his eyes fixed on me and refused to move anywhere else.

I skidded a bit further down the hill, ground to a stop, and once again adjusted my goggles.

“Ready, boys?”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

As we approached the building, a clear commotion was visible. It was directed towards a flare which had been set off by Eames causing the ‘guards’ to hustle to exit the building in search of the threat. A worry alighted in my body seeing the sheer size of the garrison which was coming for Eames, but I had to be determined in his ability and focus on my own.

‘Non je ne regrette rien, non…’

The familiar tune filtered through the atmosphere as if bird song in the morn. As soon as the French words whispered into my ear my heartbeat quickened. It was too soon. We weren’t anywhere close to being ready for the kick, but Yusuf couldn’t know that. And without the kick we were stuck.

“What’s that?” Robert questioned as he slid to my side. I turned around to see Saito trailing behind; the struggle evident in his weakened body.

“Nothing. Just a signal. Nothing to worry about.” I hurried out and once again prepared to glide.

Once I felt a safe distance from the two men, I pressed my ear piece to activate it. “Eames, Cobb.” I could practically hear him sigh at my use of his name. “Was that what I think it was?”

“Affirmative, baby cob.” Eames soft lilt came through the buzzing. I rolled my eyes at the previously rejected nickname.

“Yusuf’s 10 seconds from the kick, that gives Arthur 3 minutes.”

“Which gives us what?” Dad questioned.

“60 minutes.” I answered free of hesitation. “But can we make this route in under an hour? Ariadne?”

“You still have to climb down to the middle terrace.” Her voice came through.

“They need a new route, a more direct route.” Dad pressured Ariadne to think through her design.

Gunfire alighted around us, and the tension rose an exorbitant amount. I dodged as best as I could which was easy on my board, the boys struggled on their skis. I desperately wanted to throw my arms up in a futile attempt at self-preservation, but I remained firm, knowing my vision was more important.

“It’s designed as a labyrinth.” The panic in her voice was clear.

“Even Theseus found a way through.” I joked attempting to lighten the mood.

“There must be access routes that cut through the maze, right?” Dad’s voice began to rise. “Did Eames add any features?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.” I was getting frustrated with this back, and forth which had no appreciation for the lack of time.

“We don’t have time for this! Did he add anything?” Cobb was shouting now.

“He added an airduct system which can cut through the maze.”

“Ariadne, tell me where to go. Now!” My tone was sharp, but my nerves were high.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Yusuf crashed through the bridge’s barrier.

Arthur was thrown forward through the hallway.

I paused my descent up the rock and shivered as I watched the bundle of snow collapse down the mountain.

The kick.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I clipped off our rope and yelled down before throwing the three of us off the rock before the avalanche could reach us.

We tumbled down with the snow blanketing our fall.

Once our fall had ceased, I could only feel ice water fill my lungs as my face was cushioned in a perfect cold. A pair of hands grasped my shoulders to turn me over. I took a gulp of fresh air and my eyes focused on his concerned face.

“Are you okay?” Robert softly asked my numb frame. When the realisation set in, I dragged my body up fuelled by pure frustration. I ripped off my hat and goggles. Throwing them on to the ground. I paced around, tears daring to spill out at everything I had just lost.

“Was that it? Was that the kick? Did we miss it?” My thoughts tumbled out onto our radio lines.

Silence.

“Yeah, we missed it.” My father broke through.

I turned around to see Robert in his own torment. He was flinging about his arms trying to remove some invisible attacker. I could only assume the cold and confusion blended together to destroy his heart.

“Couldn’t someone have dreamed of a goddamn beach!” He whined out. I ignored the radio conversation and ran over to take him into my arms, to soothe his woes.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” I stroked down his back in a comforting repetition. “I’m here.”

My earpiece pierced back through. “What do we do now?” Eames defeatedly asked.

“We finish the job.” My dad stated. I halted my movement confused by his assurance. “Before the next kick.”

“What next kick?” I asked.

“When the van hits the water.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I continued, confident in my father.

We made it to the airduct. It was a copper pipe so decrepit it looked as if it had lived under the sea for the past century. Saito had gone ahead to open the gate as I had stayed back to make sure Robert was still following. My hand firmly in his.

The gate blast open from the charges Saito had set. I pushed Robert to go in front of me. His scepticism meant I had to physical direct him into the pipe. I followed closely behind.

Once we entered, I ripped off my hat and goggles, feeling breathless at the constriction. My hair tumbled loose, and I spied Robert glancing at me.

We climbed up before Saito rushed to the side to expel the cough he’d been repressing. I ran to him as his body nearly collapsed. I rubbed his back for the only comfort I could provide. I knelt down to him, so Robert was not privy to my words.

“I’ll take him in. Here,” I placed my pistol in his hand. “Cover us.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“We’re here.” Robert spoke into his mic from behind me as I continued to walk.

“You’re clear but hurry.” A crackly voice informed our movement. “There’s an entire army headed your way.”

After the mic cut off, I felt a grip on my arm, and I turned around to meet the eyes I was willing myself to forget. I could see his lips were trying to form words, but his brain struggled to keep up.

“Robert, we don’t have time.” I hurried out whilst gripping his hand to drag him along. But he stalled so I would be forced to face him again.

“That’s exactly my point.” He was serious. I could see it and didn’t feel any desire to stop it. “Look I don’t know who you are or what this place is. And your father is a scary dude who seems quite dangerous.” I giggled slightly at this. He took my hands in his. “But there is something special about you and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t –” He rushed towards me, and our lips met in a passionate kiss. As I sunk in deeper my hands grasped around his waist and his came up to my shoulder blades. The space between us was now imperceivable and the kiss deepened more. I reached up and ripped out our earpieces, refusing to share this moment.

Eventually we pulled away and I bit my lip when I looked up at him. The lines on his face had smoothed and his expression had calmed. We smiled in synchronisation and matched each other’s happiness.

“I don’t even know if any of this is real, but I couldn’t go back without having one last moment with you.” He spoke to me, his words dripping with passion. My eyes fell deeper to swim in his blues. My body slumped into his arms, never wanting to leave. Something snapped me back and I realised that if I wanted this, I needed to get him through that vault.

I grasped his hand and dragged him back through. “We need to go, come on.”

“Wait.” His saddened voice stopped me. I turned back around and cupped his fallen face.

“I feel the same, but if we want forever. I need you to follow me.” He nodded in understanding and followed me.

We stopped in front of an imposing vault. With a gentle nudge, I pushed him to walk forward. As he did the hairs on the back of my neck prickled up.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*3rd pov*

“There’s someone else in there.” Cobb whispered to himself as he spotted a figure drop down into the room. He couldn’t make out the frame, but he could sense the danger.

“Fischer, Y/n! There’s someone else with you! Abort! Turn around.” He shouted and shouted to the broken line.

“Why aren’t they answering?” He questioned Ariadne. “They can’t hear me.” He stated with a morose realisation.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

I watched Robert walk forward and felt his tentative steps. I stayed back fearing my presence would disrupt.

I trained my ears backwards as I heard the gentle sound of boots land on the floor. The hairs had not calmed so I slowly turned around and faced...

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Mum raised her gun which was trained on Robert. He turned to face the voice. I reached into my empty holster. A shot rang out and Robert fell dead.

I screamed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Eames stormed up through the grate and watched my grieving frame which was bent over Fischer’s cold body.

He ran to the side and brought out the defibrillator. I hurriedly wiped away my tears fearing the reaction. Eames’ hand laid over mine and spoke more comfort than any words could have said.

Ariadne and Dad ran up to meet us. Even as they watched on, I couldn’t stop the free flowing tears which came from all I’d shared with this man in the moments before.

“What happened?”

“Mal killed Fischer.”

Cobbs eyes lingered on her lifeless frame. Once I found where his eyes rested, I could barely drag mine away either. It was all too familiar. Why was I cursed to have a recurring nightmare which I had been forced to live twice. My mother’s death causing such conflicting feelings.

“I couldn’t shoot her.” I scoffed at him.

“She’s not real.” I seethed from my place on the floor. “Robert. Robert was real.” The sentence cracked at the end as my voice gave up. Dad came to kneel beside me and offer a consoling hug with my onslaught of emotion.

“Look, there’s no use in reviving him.”

“Shut up.” I spluttered out.

“His mind’s already trapped down there.” He stood firm in everything I didn’t want to hear. This didn’t stop Eames applying the pads as he looked at my broken expression. Dad kissed my head. “It’s over.”

Eames stopped all movement.

“That’s it then? We failed?” Eames stated, throwing down his gloves.

“We’re done.” My dad stood up to shuck off his gloves. “I failed you.” He then saved his final words for me. “I’m sorry.” He whispered out as if speaking it louder could hurt me more.

“Well, it’s not me that doesn’t get back to my family, is it?” I glared at Eames. “Sorry.” He quickly corrected. “It’s a shame, I really wanted to know what was gonna happen in there. I swear we had this one.” Eames seemed unable to accept, despite his apparent contentment, as his hands flitted about his face in different motions.

“Let’s set the charges.” My dad solemnly walked away.

“NO!” I shouted and he stopped at my yelp. “There’s another way.”

“Darling, you’re hurting, I know.” He refused to look at me as he searched for the charges.

“We just follow Fischer down there.” I gestured to his peaceful expression as he lay still.

“Not enough time.”

“There will be enough time down there.” They both finally stopped to consider my words. “And we will find him.”

Now that I had their attention my adrenaline spiked at this possible plan.

“As soon as Arthur’s music kicks in just use the defibrillator to revive him. We can give him his own kick down below. Look, you get him in there.” I gestured to the locked vault. “And as soon as the music ends you blow up the hospital, and we all ride the kick back up the layers.” I was giddy with excitement.

“Well, it’s worth a shot.” Eames agreed. “If Saito can hold the guards off whilst I set the charges.”

“Saito will never make it, will he?”

I interrupted the boys muttering and threw myself against my father. My pleading eyes bore into his. “Daddy. We have to try.” I stuttered out.

He silently contemplated but his mind was made up once our eyes met. We communicated in a way only known to the two of us. And with the slight tilt of his head, I knew it was on. We rose.

“But if you are not back before the kick, I am gone with or without you.” We both solemnly nodded at Eames, understanding the very probable outcome.

Cobb took my hand in his and solidified our agreement. Together, we would go down deeper. The risks were even stronger than up here but we both knew neither of us would be able to return without at least trying. Dad would rather spend eternity in limbo than not know he did everything he could to save our family, and I knew I couldn’t live a second more without Robert.

We prepped the machine.

“If we’re doing this, you have to trust me.” Dad warned. “Whatever you see down there, we must have trust.” I worried for the seriousness of his warning. “Do you trust me?”

“Do you trust me?” I threw back. He smirked at the familiar stubbornness which he had known many years ago.

“Forever.”

“Forever.”

Dark.

LAYER FOUR: LIMBO

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Oooooo we're getting so close to the end!!

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace

[siflshonen]

Hi, I love your analyses and your fics! 💕Especially that Eureka Seven AU man ngl it lives in my head and starts playing in my local theaters every other night at 2 AM, but *clears throat* I'm getting off topic lol :D do you have a bakudeku fic/authors rec list?

I'm honored you read the Eureka Seven one!

Good Bakudeku authors... the truth is, there are SO MANY. Just in general, and so many that are really, truly excellent. I have begun consuming more and more fic lately as I feel the itch of the subtext of what's happening in the manga rapidly becoming text and just plain consuming me, but many of the individual stories I've read can be GREAT as a story but perhaps not so great as a canon-faithful representation of Bakudeku - so I'm not entirely sure what kind of Bakudeku you're asking for ("fun and good story" versus "horny vignette" versus "that's totally Katsuki and Izuku.")

Also, like, for several of these authors, their Bakudeku portrayals evolved as the series progressed and we all learned more about these characters and the varnish of what BNHA pretends to be (superhero stock shonen!) peeled off to show what it actually is (The newest generation of something that should never have been domesticated now outgrowing the limits of the modern genre.) This is always good to keep in mind when looking at the dates of each work published.

Um, it's hard to pick just a few, and even harder when there's no specific direction about what TYPE. So here's a scattershot off the top of my head:

Me. My work. Read Mundane Crimes, Public Displays of Affection and I Want What I Don't Deserve. Those actually have some substance to them. The rest are kind of whatever, but you may still find them fun.

Kickass AUs and All-Rounders

chymerical is my favorite author on this list. They can do anything. I care about sports now because of chymerical. There's your fuckin' fadeaway.

young_crone - some are truly Bakudeku and some are just great stories that are using familiar names. Read all of 'em.

SmartiMart - Variant Edition is a sweeping epic and fascinating enough that the Bakudeku isn't actually its primary draw for me. Please also read Where in the World is Marigold? It's not Bakudeku, but I love it. SmartiMart is clever, inventive, and sometimes so much of a romantic that it makes me go, "woah, now! That's a bit much!" but in the best way.

iphido - this author has only one work for bakudeku, and it is worth it.

nicc - bite-sized sweet scenes, though many are very NSFW. Consistently excellent.

pikahlua - Dragonheart. this is your kick in the pants to finish those scenes, Pika.

Romantic Comedies

qodqodqod - Cringe comedy where love always, always, always prevails and bakudeku can't out-stupid their way out of it. Great job of not making the miscommunication, or lack of communication, a bore or overdone past what it needs to be.

heartsinhay - the cringe comedies are named that for a reason.

Darker Stuff

rironomind - apparently published something new earlier this year and I missed it??? DAMN! Existential, experimental, melancholic, high concept, fantastic. Rom's work is mostly in this category because it tends to throw curveballs at the reader. This is the category that just felt the most right by its vibes.

bkdkink - Lemonhead specifically.

Roadtripwithlucifer (read their new stuff too) - horny, but focused and full, full, full of ennui and anger and love and grief. It's the confidence of handling the last four that makes these works shine.

Surveycorpsjean - hit or miss for me personally, but always well done.

majjale - always great work; sometimes hit-or-miss for me personally on the bakudeku.

[omnitheist27]

@the-ravenclaw-werewolf and @purplemochi20055

The 40 - A traumatic revelation

Hey ya'll I'm back with the next fan comic I promise you all!

Oh ho, drawing this fan comic of The 40's reaction to the ending of Death Note was a challenging one due to the lack of motivation and anticipation of the final chapter of Main Character Syndrome. And I got to say, it came out pretty good...for the most part.

Now, oh my gosh, the ending to Death Note regarding Light getting shot by Matsuda and nearly killed was quite a dramatic climax when I first watched it back in middle or high school. Then, I stumbled upon The_Ravenclaw_Werewolf's fanfic and became hooked on the possible reactions to the forty chosen anime of the main characters. I have to tell ya, emotions would be flying high for many of our anime audience as they watched Light Yagami's descent into madness and saw him stoop to many lows unimaginable for them.

But the one low I really would like to see The 40's reaction to Light is how he calls his own deceased father a "fool" whose idealism would only be inefficient in his new world, where it might as well registered to any sane person's mind that Light is saying that Soichiro deserves to die even though that probably wasn't his intention. That particular moment would be the trigger for those in The 40 with really bad Daddy Issues and probably go as far as hallucinating themselves in Matsuda's shoes opening fire on Light afterward.

----

For L, I know that he's the world's greatest detective in Death Note and saw plenty of nasty crimes committed by the most heinous serial killers while growing up, along with him being very stoic and cool-headed as a result of his own "quirks" and the desensitization of seeing death bodies to deal with the obvious high stress that comes with the job. However, emotions are not rational and I wouldn't put it past him to have an anxiety attack from witnessing something really bad (e.g. his scared reaction upon the mention of Shinigami for the first time in the manga), and obviously, L would be triggered in his own way after witnessing his own death and Watari's, the growing hatred he'll gain for Light, and to his own surprise when seeing himself in Matsuda's place as a result of his emotional imbalance and frankly, having enough of Light's bullshit. When drawing the hallucination L, I looked up the character art from the bad ending of The Boogyman regarding Keith Baring aiming a gun at the villain with his blood as tears coming down his eyes, which represents Keith's unresolved grief and guilt from being unable to cry from the death of his son.

For Edward, it's very obvious that he's got a deep-seated grudge against Hohenheim for his abandonment of him, his brother, and their mother (even if it was for good reason). But Edward witnessed Light's madness and willingness to endanger his own family for his delusions of godhood will, not if, earned him a spot on his hatred and would override any hate he has for his estranged father. Also, Edward has shown a very humanist approach as a State Alchemist by refusing to kill others, and he'll likely advocate for Light's imprisonment despite his hatred for him. Of course, it would come as a shock for Edward to see himself in Matsuda's place shooting Light multiple times before being readied to execute him with a headshot, showing that he's not ok, and ironically, jump-starting his resolve to reconcile with Hohenheim. When drawing the hallucination of Edward, I just included his tendency for dramatic facial expressions.

For Tohru, oh bless her kind heart, but I had to draw her reaction for the finale to Death Note. I don't know much about Fruits Basket but I have read the broad strokes from the TV Tropes page of it. Apparently, in the past Tohru once had a hatred for her late father due to his death causing her mother to neglect her for a time and almost commit suicide, though even then she recognizes it's wrong to feel that way. Seeing Light's father dying due to Light's actions, even on the possibility that Light actually feels guilty about it, would slowly bring that part of Tohru's personality back to the surface and the obvious guilt that'll come with it, and god forbid her breaking point upon witnessing Light calling his late father an "idealistic fool". Never mind that Light Yagami is going to be one of the many people that even an all-loving girl like Tohru would hate with all her heart in my opinion. Also, there's the cultural significance of Tohru seeing herself wielding a gun against Light in Matsuda's place. In Japan, there are very, very strict laws regarding citizens owning firearms, with only the police and military being allowed to own them. For a minor to be seen as willing to hold a gun is unthinkable given the whole "children are innocent" angle in Japanese culture and how every child in Japan is expected to have obedient and quiet deferential behavior toward authority figures. Plus, in Japanese culture, killing someone, even in self-defense no matter how justified, will always be seen as "murder". So unlike L (a detective) and Edward (a soldier hailing from a culture similar to Germany), the hallucination!Tohru holding a gun and being readied to fire upon a now defenseless Light, even if he did deserve to die, would really highlight to a native Japanese audience just how bad Tohru's sanity has taken a dive and the obvious shock she would have to the core. When drawing the hallucination Tohru, I took inspiration from Winery's design as she pulls a gun at Scar upon overhearing that he murdered her parents, because it was just perfect in my opinion and there were obviously weren't many images of Tohru having a "mad face" that would be appropriate for the climatic moment in the Death Note viewing.

For Rin, it'll be obvious for him to also hate Light Yagami, especially with how his actions killed his father, who had always wished that his son isn't Kira. Upon seeing his hallucination, Rin would be shocked and horrified to see himself as a demonic shadowy being damning Light for taking to his father for granted and it'll be a foreshadowing of what's to come when The 40 will view Blue Exorcist. When drawing the hallucination of Rin, I just decided to go with a silhouette to represent a "shadow archetype" of Rin due to his troubled childhood of being perceived as a demon child, along with Rin not seeing what would happen to his adoptive father, Shiro, in the viewing yet.

----

In conclusion, what are your thoughts on this fan comic and how accurate do you believe I drew the character's reactions to the finale of Death Note?

P.S. The next fan comic I'll be planning for The 40 will be in celebration of the recent release of chapter 3 for Poppy Playtime and Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League.

[thekimspoblog]

Wait, you people liked "Skinamarink"?

"What does it mean?" It doesn't mean anything. The writer made an exploitation movie with an analog horror gimmick because hearing children cry in pain is inherently viscerally upsetting. You don't need character arcs; you don't need complex motivations for the antagonist besides it wants to be entertained maybe (convenient). Just take an innocent victim and kill them slowly, and that will be so disturbing that audiences apparently won't care that we're missing any conventional landmarks of horror like... levity, or... a point.

Sure, if I don't like Peacock's speculation on deep lore, I don't have to watch this channel. But I do think it would benefit us all if theorizers more readily considered the possibility that maybe the media they're looking at is just lazily written and THAT'S why some elements are cryptic.

Maybe I should watch the movie before making any conclusive statements. But I'm sorry this movie just doesn't sound fucking scary to me. Even the childhood nightmares this movie is trying to evoke, my monsters played on much more specific anxieties than... whatever this is. It succeeds at making the audience feel unsafe in their own homes, but let's be honest most horror movies manage to do that, even the bad ones. It's competently shot for something with a shoestring budget; it understands the classic adage that the imagination should be left to fill in the blanks, but that's all it's got going for it. Where you see "cruelty", I see a lack of stakes. It doesn't matter if the kid characters are vivid or if they do intelligent things, because they were doomed from the beginning. Being trapped in a dimension by a creature who wants to torture you is a scary prospect, sure. But that doesn't mean it's automatically narratively interesting to see it happen to someone else.

I don't know what to tell you. Bad things happen to children. Bad things happen to children in the real world. Real life stories of abduction and torture are clearly what the film wants the adult audience to be thinking about. But that ultimately hamstrings the effectiveness, because a spooky boogieman with godlike powers is never going to be as scary as the real tragedies we've seen on the news. But if the movie did more to lean into parallels with the real world and the sickos who actually perpetrate these crimes, it would be written off as unpleasant schlock. The twist that the kids have been trapped in this hell for two years is attention-grabbing, but without the contrast of any sort of light at the end of the tunnel, it's just cruelty for cruelty's sake. If the kids were rescued after two years of this but we saw the psychological toll it had taken on them, THAT could be horror! But with the no ending/everyone dies ending, I'm just left with the "well that just happened" feeling I would get after seeing anything as narratively complex as a snuff film. It's a half-baked Creepypasta that starts with "Wouldn't it be weird if...?" and ends with "Other scary stories I like have bleak endings, so throw in some gore and oblivion I guess". And that's very clearly the order in which this movie was conceived and scripted.

I feel the need to draw a line in the sand. You can show me 90 minutes of pointing a gun at a golden retriever puppy's head, and that would probably be greatly upsetting. But that wouldn't make you the next Stanley Kubrick. Contrary to popular belief, there's more to writing a horror film than simply imagining bad things happening to people who don't deserve it. When you think about how switching out the characters with adults (or even older children) would change the plot very little but diminish the disturbingness of this film greatly, it sort of lays bare the mechanics of how it's trying to get a rise out of you.

[0hellifiknow0]

brief rant about X-men 97 because apparently whitewashing is still a thing in the 2020s

I know season one came out almost a year ago, but I'm still frustrated with X-Men '97's portrayal of Roberto Da Costa. In the comics, Roberto is the son of an Afro-Brazilian millionaire. His mutant powers developed after he was the victim of a racial hate crime in Rio de Janeiro. Admittedly, the comics have a nasty habit of lightening Roberto's skin and giving him Eurocentric features but his first appearance makes it clear that he’s a dark-skinned, visibly black man.

That’s not what we get in X-Men '97. Instead, Roberto has a tiny nose, rail-thin lips, and barely textured hair (it honestly looks less like it’s wavy and more like straight hair that's just been styled.) Whitewashing is always frustrating, but it's downright disheartening when it happens in a franchise that centers around diversity and anti-discrimination. X-Men '97 has demonstrated its ability to engage with diverse backgrounds effectively. The effort and care that went into portraying Magneto's Jewish heritage is a testament to this. It's telling that they'll do that for a white character but couldn't even be bothered to draw Roberto with black features. They don't even explore how his Brazilian heritage affects his view on being a mutant. The Da Costas are Brazilian immigrants. This makes them outsiders in New York's (predominantly white) wealthy circles. That could add a lot of nuance to Roberto's belief that he shouldn't "rub [his mutation] in people's faces." If Roberto was visibly black, that would add even more nuance to that stance because he (and his father) would be an outsider, even among other Brazilians. I don't think there was any malice behind this decision. I think they were just lazy and careless.

To be clear, I'm glad they did Magneto's Jewish heritage justice, and I don't want to imply that antisemitism isn't an issue. But a lot of Jews are white, and they experience the privilege that comes with that. You can't tell that someone is Jewish just by looking at them (unless they're wearing religious clothing and/or jewelry). It's the opposite for most black people. Magneto and Kitty Pryde are both white. While I enjoy seeing how that shapes their view of anti-mutant discrimination, I wish it was explored more with characters whose race or ethnicity is more visible. It just feels like they don't care. Which sucks because I fucking love the X-Men. The franchise is so deeply rooted in diversity and anti-discrimination, and shit like this makes it ring hollow.

For context, here's comic Roberto vs. cartoon Roberto:

[mllemaenad]

The Magnus Protocol: Saturday Night

Well, that went better than expected. I mean – there are implications, obviously, but so far everyone's limbs still seem attached, so that is a definite plus.

The meat of this thing, the case file, is interesting, because of how far it leans into a desire for publicity.

We have:

A forum post with a deliberately provocative and arguably supernatural image in First Shift

The tattoo artist who live streams the creation of an obviously supernatural tattoo in Making Adjustments

The crowd-drawing (and occasionally crowd-murdering) violin in Taking Notes

The surprisingly popular horror media review blog that has had all content removed except the posts that detail the author's ensnarement in a supernatural film viewing in Personal Screening

Needles actively reporting his crimes and harassing the emergency service operators in Introductions

The unnamed gambler character in Rolling with It feeling inspired to dress up and cause supernatural havoc in public by getting people to roll the dice

... And now Mr Bonzo

Pretty much everything about Mr Bonzo, really. This was a character that regularly appeared on television. While the situation evidently escalated, it is strongly implied that there was always something wrong with him, both by the fact that Nigel does not know where the name came from, and by Gotard Rimbaeu's disproportionate terror at encountering him. He had a chart-topping song that can still apparently be used to summon him. He has merchandise that is still being sold. And the thing is, he's still making the news:

Geraldine And how do you respond to the more recent rumours? Nigel (on guard) Excuse me? Geraldine The witness statements from three murders over the last five years- Nigel (speaking over her) I told your producer this wasn’t going to be discussed. Geraldine -that claim a person in a Mr Bonzo costume was at the scene? Do you think there could be a copycat? – The Magnus Protocol: Saturday Night

This bit here is clearly the point of this interview. The nostalgia and the laughter were all to lead Nigel into a trap: the big story here is that Mr Bonzo has been seen killing, and they want Nigel to comment on it.

I know this is a reference to a stunt on an actual British variety programme. I think it might even have aired at some point in Australia – but I must admit it wasn't something that was on my radar in the 90s. It's hard to be accurate about something from that long ago, but I don't think I ever saw it. I'm not completely sure how close this is to reality, but I think pretty close, barring the murders.

The point is, this is something that was obnoxiously popular in the real world ... and perhaps even more prominent here. Even if you're not aware of the cultural impact of this thing specifically – and like I say, this largely passed me by – you'll know how this kind of thing can spread. A novelty can consume the public consciousness. And if it's just a novelty – well, it might be annoying after a while, but no more than that. But if it's more than that?

In an odd way, all of this reminds me of Good Omens, and how the gone-native demon Crowley relates to his colleagues:

"I tied up every portable telephone system in Central London for forty-five minutes at lunchtime," he said. There was silence, except for the distant swishing of cars. "Yes?" said Hastur. "And then what?" "Look, it wasn't easy," said Crowley. "That's all?" said Ligur. "Look, people –" "And what exactly has that done to secure souls for our master?" said Hastur. Crowley pulled himself together. What could he tell them? That twenty thousand people got bloody furious? That you could hear the arteries clanging shut all across the city? And that then they went back and took it out on their secretaries or traffic wardens or whatever, and they took it out on other people? In all kinds of vindictive little ways which, and here was the good bit, they thought up themselves. For the rest of the day. The knock-on effects were incalculable. Thousands and thousands of souls all got a faint patina of tarnish, and you barely had to lift a finger. But you couldn't tell that to demons like Hastur and Ligur. Fourteenth century minds, the lot of them. Spending years picking a way at one soul. Admittedly it was craftmanship, but you had to think differently these days. Not big, but wide. With five billion people in the world you couldn't pick the buggers off one by one any more; you had to spread your effort. But demons like Ligur and Hastur. They'd never have thought up Welsh-language television, for example Or value-added tax. Or Manchester. He'd been particularly pleased with Manchester. – Good Omens, Corgi Edition, 1991. p.22-23. Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

The Magnus Archives was about secret cults and esoteric knowledge. It was about old men and their devoted acolytes trying and failing, over and over, to summon their gods. It was John running into other avatars and getting laughed at, because he had the power and the doom, but he hadn't been properly initiated into the Mysteries, so he didn't know the proper terminology.

It was also about the dead-end job you couldn't quit, no matter how much you wanted to.

The Magnus Protocol is the dead-end job you could lose tomorrow. The apparent high turnover at the OIAR, whatever the hell went on with Karl the former IT guy, Teddy losing his new job immediately after he got it – and Mr Bonzo. Mr Bonzo is the job you lose the moment a new guy turns up:

Nigel Well, there was a different man in the suit, of course. There were a few of them over the years. It was very physically demanding and that wasn’t the only injury we had with it. It actually became a sort of ritual: the newest member of the production crew wore Mr Bonzo until someone else joined. – The Magnus Protocol: Saturday Night

And it's also about freaking out a lot of people in one go.

If I have any theory about this part, it's this: what if the core difference between universes is a desire to be known, and this is because of the way The Magnus Archives ended?

There have clearly been supernatural entities in this world for centuries, at least – otherwise whence came the cursed violin? But it's impossible to reasonably discuss whether these are native beings who have been exposed to something new via interdimensional travel, or whether they are the entities from The Magnus Archives and something about the nature of interdimensional travel means that now they have always been here.

But either way, what if the new thing these beings have is ... a taste, let's say, for the public stage.

The entities from The Magnus Archives were like Hastur and Ligur. They might spend years tormenting one soul, or stage a whole set piece for one guy and have to deal with him just not getting the effort they put in. There were rituals, yes, and they were of a larger scale – but still tended to be desperately secretive.

It was craftmanship, sure, but in terms of nourishment it made them scavengers. They had to catch a person alone, or in a moment of emotional vulnerability, to feed upon them.

Then, of course, the apocalypse happened. And for a while, all the world was their smorgasbord. It turned out that everyone could be afraid at the same time. And while those set pieces still existed, they could shove lots of humans into them at once and torment them all together.

But then:

Archivist Because for the Fears to spread into these new worlds, they would need to leave ours, wouldn’t they? Annabelle If one should leave this place for… greener pastures, the rest must follow. Archivist Leaving us behind in the process, freeing our world at the cost of others.Basira What are you saying? Archivist We can pass them our apocalypse. [MUFFLED DISCOMFITED REALISATION] Annabelle Nothing so extreme. In these new worlds they would exist as they used to in ours, lurking just beyond the threshold. – The Magnus Archives: Connected

That puts everybody back to square one. I'm not suggesting that these beings have a coherent plan for restarting the apocalypse – we might get there, but these are creatures of feeling, not thought, so if we do it will likely be a human plan. Rather, I mean, that they have the feeling that they like being known. It was good to eat well. It was good when everyone was afraid.

And that changes the model. Now they're Crowley, setting up the M25 to churn out a smidgeon of low-grade evil every time someone drives on it. The push is not to isolate someone and work on them, but rather to declare to the world "Here I am".

Several people wore the Mr Bonzo suit. Not for long, but they were all touched by it. Millions saw "Nigel's SOS" (that is on the nose) and – and this is called out specifically – Mr Bonzo was especially popular with children, even though the original joke seems to be geared more toward adults. And all of them then knew about the serial killings. People don't work at the OIAR for very long, at least not usually, but everyone who does is exposed to the horror stories.

It's not the equivalent of being a statement-giver in The Magnus Archives, exactly. You don't have some personally crafted nightmare that will stay with you forever. But you know there are things out there that can hurt you. You have reason to be afraid.

And the OIAR seems to be sending Mr Bonzo out to kill. Kill whom? And why? Don't know. But as I said: he's making the news. And before him there was Starkwall. And they also made the news. By committing a massacre.

In more meta terms, Mr Bonzo seems to fill a similar niche to Jane Prentiss. He's almost certainly going to be a problem, but is probably not the problem with the world. But more importantly the kind of thing he is teaches you something about how the world works.

And he has some interesting similarities: in both cases you seem to be looking at something parasitical. Jane was both seduced and consumed by her wasp nest; and while there was enough of her left to understand what was happening she was desperate for help.

Nigel seems to be Mr Bonzo's prisoner, with the comedy dungeon transforming into a more literal hostage situation. But he's also his livelihood, and his claim to fame.

Geraldine Yes, I was going to ask – Mr Bonzo merchandise is still on sale via your own website. Do you feel at all uneasy about that? Nigel About what? The fact that a few sales might be from people trying to be edgy? A man’s got to make a living, Geraldine, and it’s not like I can tell if someone’s buying a t-shirt ironically. Besides, people think of Nigel Dickerson and Mr Bonzo is never far behind so it’s not like its changing my reputation. In a lot of ways I’m more his prisoner now than I ever was on my show. – The Magnus Protocol: Saturday Night

Jane was a creature of almost pure tragedy: sure, she had problems prior to the wasp nest – that's why she was vulnerable to it – but her descent into monstrosity is marked largely by confusion and distress. Nigel seems actively complicit in spreading Mr Bonzo around, and he's defensive when someone suggests it's inappropriate.

I assume the "worm tracks" Sam and Alice find when investigating The Magnus Institute are at least an Easter egg, although whether they're relevant to any of the current happenings remains to be seen. Whatever brought the place down mostly spared the archivist's office, and that feels relevant.

The return of the tape recorder is interesting, though, because it doesn't fit the pattern of how listening in has worked in The Magnus Protocol. Tape recorders were an Archives thing. Supernatural events would only record on tape. If no tape recorders were available in a given setting, eventually one would just manifest itself.

The situation in The Magnus Protocol has been much more opportunistic: any device with a microphone will do. If you stayed away from microphones – a thing Colin has largely managed to do – it couldn't create one to record you. Of course, tape recorders weren't just popping into being this early in The Magnus Archives either, so I'm not suggesting this is some permanent rule. But Sam and Alice's phones are clearly available as options: the first bit of conversation comes from a phone. But once inside, something makes a tape recorder when it did not have to.

And the other noteworthy thing is, of course ... whatever crawls out of the trap door at the end. Mostly this one is a "put a pin in that for later" situation, because while it's clearly important there's not much you can do with it just yet.

But there are a couple of things.

The first point of interest there is that it pops up just as Sam is talking about not being chosen for something. So is this someone who was chosen?

The second is how the character is credited: [ERROR]. That looks very much how one might see something in an error log; something technological in nature.

Which suggests Colin is right: he should figure out what's up with the computers as quickly as possible.

[isaidquirky]

tagged by @dorothygale

last song: emotion sickness - silverchair

last book: okay it's possible 200% of the reason i wanted to do this meme again is because i need to complain about Luciano Lamberti's The Kruguer Massacre. have you ever read something so mediocre that you keep thinking "no, but maybe the twist is that it's the telenovela causing it?? maybe there's some context or metaphor about idk the malvinas that i'm not getting due to not being argentinian?" but NO. it really is just a dumb book where it tells you a rock makes people kill each other, and then they kill each other, and then the book ends. WHAT. The Tokyo Infinite Chocolate Zodiac Murders was a million times better.

(yes, i'm using my two weeks off to devour random crime/horror books i picked at the bookstore based on Vibes)

last movie: oh god was it Deadpool and Wolverine?

last tv show: i watched one episode Netflix's Senna TV show and cried.

sweet/savoury/spicy: alternating sweet and savory in the same meal.

relationship status: no wife, which is very homophobic.

last thing I searched: "luciano lamberti" because i didn't know what the book was called in english. SUCKS.

current obsession: agatha all along. calling taylor swift taylor alison.

looking forward to: christmas and new years because i'll have time off again.

fav drink: cashew juice? idk. OH. cashew caipirinhas which i last drank a million years ago but it was so good (basically a caipirinha but you use cashew juice instead of lime. also, vodka > cachaça)

song playing 24/7: i don't know why Espresso came back with a vengeance lately.

current fav character: AGATHA HARKNESS. she is such an asshole, i want to kiss her on the mouth while she steals my wallet.

fun activity you would like to get into: huh, good question. i think i'd like to get back into drawing/painting.

last video game: Dead Cells, which Sony tells me I apparently played a lot this year.

last comic/graphic novel: Matt Fraction's Hawkeye run, because I've been trying to finish my little Kate Bishop fic adventure.

[canmom]

Animation Night 151: Modest and Immodest Short Films

Ahoy my friends! The hour is late, but not so late that we can’t watch a few films...

So. Lackadaisy huh.

I feel like you need to be in a somewhat specific age bracket of internet old to feel like that’s immensely significant. You need to be a webcomics bitch, basically. But from quite a specific era: the decade or so window between when webcomics looked like newspaper comics, and before the present era of webtoons. The Webcomics Review narrativises it as people who went to art school arriving on the scene in the mid-2000s, and that seems accurate enough. And of that crop, Lackadaisy Cats was certainly one of the biggest!

The concept is pretty straightforward. It’s a Prohibition-era crime drama set at a speakeasy that’s seen better days... and also everyone is an anthropomorphic cat. It was the beginning of the furry boom (Digger was a contemporary). But mostly... Tracy J. Butler could really fucking draw. You could say things like: clean, expressive designs with a lot of texture and depth and strong composition. (Not surprisingly, she’d worked in animation before drawing the comic.)

And compared to other comics whose selling point was the art such as The Meek and Dresden Codak, it also updated (if I’m remembering right) fairly consistently. It had archetypal characters, a very clearly defined aesthetic, and, compared to many webcomics of its era, a clear, accessible story. In short it read like a pro comic.

So it was natural for it to pick up steam.

Now, at some point I kind of stopped keeping up with most of the webcomics I read back then. Sure, some of them stopped updating, but others kept on going, sustained on merch and later, Patreon type sites. In that time, the standard of art in the scene went way up, the number of comics became so huge that there was no longer really a ‘shared context’ of webcomic readers, and manga scans and webtoons arrived in force. It is now almost impossible to build a new following with a webcomic, but you can do pretty well for yourself if you got in at the start.

Well, in the last few years a new phenomenon has developed out of that whole webcomic scene: the crowdfunded independent animated film. I wrote about this a bit back on Animation Night 117, with the biggest example being Vivziepop‘s works like Hazbin Hotel. In 2000, Lackadaisy joined in, running a kickstarter for an art book and maybe a short film if it did well. You can guess the rest of that story.

These films sit at an odd scale between ‘independent’ and ‘studio’. If you look at the credits of Lackadaisy, you’ll see a small army of animators and cleanup artists to exceed most TV productions (apparently the staff number in the 170s in total). The calls they put out for animators were demanding. And the lavish effort certainly shows! The makers of Lackadaisy set their sights on full animation, on-model, cleaned up and with an ambitious drawing count. Every scene is full of movement and acting. (There’s actually an interesting stylistic choice where construction lines are left in the final composite on many scenes.)

But in many other ways it was very unlike a studio production. One of the animators who worked on the short, Manu Mercurial, has put out a little making-of retrospective, which is pretty light on detail, but still gives some info. Since the production took place during the pandemic, it was completely organised over Discord, with animators posting WIPs and receiving feedback in full view of everyone else, and a director receptive to animators adding their own spins to shots. This apparently led to an atmosphere of friendly competition that was beneficial to the film as a whole.

Mercurial is full of praise for the film’s director Fable Siegel, who seems to have been the major organising force behind making this be an impressive, finished short film instead of just a bunch of artists hanging out in Discord. At least going off IMDB credits,  Siegel seems to have come to The Industry by way of participating in ‘Reanimated’ collabs on Youtube, before getting jobs on Hazbin and also Pendleton Ward’s experimental post-Adventure Time series The Midnight Gospel. (Right now their Twitter is a huge wall of Lackadaisy process shots if you’re curious.) Here’s an interview (by Toon Boom, so one of the questions is blatantly slanted to sell Toon Boom, but the rest is pretty interesting.)

The short film is presented as a pilot, and that is indeed how it plays out: a tour of all the major characters and dynamics of the comic/show, with a car chase, a set piece battle in a quarry, and a final wind down scene in the speakeasy itself which sets up the broader plot. It’s unquestionably very well executed. I’m certain it’s going to get a good few million views in the next few days alone, and maybe it will lead to a series. (Will it surpass Hazbin?). It’s got electro-swing, of course. SungWon Cho (ProzD) is in it, of course.

All the same... I wish it was weirder. Like something about Lackadaisy always feels like it’s playing it safe. It’s fun, it’s goofy, it’s charming... and that’s where it stops! For all that the creators like to talk about how we’re on the cusp of adult animation really taking off in America, the moonshine, and strangely ineffective guns, don’t really change the tone from the more mainstream animation. Bah humbug, etc.

Still, it’s unquestionably an extremely impressive work of animation and a sign of the way things are changing. I expect with all the animation studios laying off staff left right and centre, we’ll start to see a lot more like this.

That’s our first act! For our second...

Ian Hubert returns! I wrote briefly about him back on Animation Night 78. Hubert’s thing is compositing human actors into elaborate cyberpunk environments using Blender; his channel is full of ingenious tricks for creating impressive looking shots and effects with minimal geometry. What makes it work is Hubert’s eye for lighting and composition, knowing just where to place detail to sell a shot and what’s unnecessary for the camera.

The first episode of Dynamo Dream - which we’ll rewatch! - introduced us to a plant selling girl in some sorta cyberpunk megacity. After inadvertently saving out the weird cyborg landlord that runs her apartment, she gets a favour, which she calls on to contact her faraway boyfriend using a kind of missile launched phone terminal I guess? He invites her to come out and join him, but weird shit starts happening on the train. I haven’t watched this yet but I’m sure it’s going to deliver some fascinating visuals.

And then...

Modest Heroes is a collection of three short films by Studio Ponoc, a studio which spun out of Studio Ghibli. In the mid 2000s, the period that Ghibli could enjoy an exceptional state of employing lot of full-time salaried staff (instead of per project freelancers) was coming to an end. In 2014 it seemed they were on the verge of shutting down altogether. Yoshiaki Nishimura, lead producer of many of Ghibli’s films in the 2000s era (Howl - When Marnie Was There), left the studio in 2015, bringing in a bunch of ex-Ghibli animators under a new studio called Ponoc.

Their first film, Mary and the Witch’s Flower, apparently found it hard to define an identity beyond the shadow of Miyazaki (I haven’t seen it!), but things got a lot more exciting with their second. Modest Heroes is a collection of three short films, showing off a variety of ingenious approaches to animation. (It was originally planned to be four, but then Isao Takahata went and died while planning the segment on the theme of ‘death’... oof.) The writers of Animation Obsessive are big fans, and they’ve written two detailed, enthusiastic articles on two of the shorts in the collection.

Invisible, directed Akihiko Yamashita, is a take on the invisible man concept. Since the invisible man is, well, you know..., his entire existence must be communicated through interactions with objects and clothes. Yamashita hoped to communicate feelings and interior life. His invisibility is a metaphor for social invisibility, and thus it comes combined with other metaphors, such as weightlessness.

The idea came from Nishimura, who thought it was a worthy subject for an ‘animation genius’ such as Yamashita. Nishimura wanted the film to bring a kind of inventiveness that he felt was missing from the overly conservative contemporary anime. Yamashita, after leaving Ghibli, attempted to get by in the regular anime industry and found it unbearably strained. He returned to the fold to work on Boro the Caterpillar with Miyazaki, and this convinced him to follow Yamashita over to Ponoc.

The result is something gorgeous, with its emotional drama playing out against grimy desaturated backgrounds that are perhaps closer to something like Tekkonkinkreet than the Ghibli nature scene. Yamashita named quite a specific palate of inspirations...

As reference, Yamashita drew from Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men and Gravity, the films of Alejandro González Iñárritu and the manga of Junji Ito, among others. They contributed to the dark, unusual vibe and look of Invisible.

I’ve been wanting to watch this film for ages, here’s our chance!

Alongside that comes Yoshiyuki Momose’s film Samurai Egg (here’s the aniobsessive link again). Momose, the ‘right-hand man’ of Takahata, was one of the guys he leaned on to actually draw the storyboards of films like Grave of the Fireflies.

In contrast to the elaborate visual metaphor of Invisible, Samurai Egg is a very grounded film about a kid with a severe egg allergy. Takahata is famed as a realist, although a different sort than people like Okiura and Inoue who bring incredibly meticulous detail and well-observed acting to sci-fi scenarios. Certainly, Takahata would make films about ghosts and mythology, but he’d also make films like Only Yesterday that are much quieter, everyday dramas.

Despite sharing the everyday focus of, this film veers away from it into more expressionistic techniques, bringing in softer pencil effects to the anime cels, as well as techniques like 3DCG-rotoscoping. There’s a dance scene where Shinji Hashimoto gets to go nuts with shapes a la Ryan Woodward.

Momose took some pains to avoid being too sentimental with it; AniObsessive quote Nishimura in Animation Magazine:

When you make a film about a parent and a child, it’s easy to fall into the trap of showing a “heartwarming” relationship, and creating a cheap-feeling structure. We wanted to avoid that.

The film is pre-recorded - like Grave of the Fireflies, actually. (It’s the norm in the West, but rare in anime.) There’s some interesting linguistic nuance there:

It was necessary because Oko’s role called for something special. In a detail that’s lost on foreigners, Shun’s mom uses the Kishiwada dialect, which “sounds harsh, but you can feel the love behind it,” Momose said. It’s a cruder, shorter form of Japanese. They used it partly to fit more information into Samurai Egg’s 16-minute runtime, and partly to reveal the relationship she has with Shun. He’s a Tokyo kid — he speaks differently.

As for the third film...

Kanini & Kanino takes us underwater for a pair of kids who live on a coral reef. Alas, I don’t have a detailed article on the making-of and influences on this one, but I can tell you that the director Hiromasa Yonebayishi, aka Maro, is behind it - best known as the director of The Secret World of Arriety, When Marnie Was There, and Ponoc’s first film Mary and the Witch’s Flower. Notably the dialogue for this short is all in ‘crab language’ - are these kids anthro crabs? In fact, yes, it would appear they are anthropomorphic crabs. Sick. Whether they will attend a rave I can’t say, but the internet reliably informs me that is the primary activity of crabs, so probably.

I think that’s enough to be going with! Apologies it’s so late - I had to spend most of today reinventing Canabalt. But I succeeded, so I think I’ve gotten a lot better at this whole game dev thing. Let’s go enjoy some short films!

Animation Night will be going live now at twitch.tv/canmom, films to begin in maybe 15 minutes.

[clinically-not-straight]

I think banksy isn't a particularly great person in regards to what he has shown me about art and design stuff. Like, sure he made it to the top from being a street artist/graffitist, cool as shit, love to see a guy winning. Less of a fan of the bit where he started pretty much just making cool looking stuff for rich people and not being a graffitist.

This isn't me saying he shouldn't have changed or progressed; good for him, etc. I am saying his work has became gentrified. See, Banksy was a graffitist, like that guy that lives near you that draws dicks on bins or the one that did a really good spray of a cartoon character at your local skatepark. Now, that is illegal, even in most skateparks, and i wouldn't care about that if it wasn't the reason for my first issue.

So, if you get seen graffiti-ing you get arrested or whatever, even if you're on a public wall where people are allowed to, because nobody knows that those are a thing half the time and assume you're a criminal (not that I'd care if you were). After you make your shit its not over still because now you get chucked into this lot of people that are considered vandals because they dared to draw something on a wall, you're now in the same lot of people that smash up bus stops for no reason, isn't that fair?

Now, banksy is banksy so he doesn't get that same treatment. He gets praised for it, and his work get protected, unlike most graffiti. So now just he is allowed to graffiti shit, him and his team, apparently there are a few of him now. But at least that's the end of it, at least he's just some guy that is allowed to graffiti because he transcended the law, good on him.

Anyway, its not just that, number 2 is he is gentrification incarnate. People started protecting the areas his work was on and selling it and shit (I don't quite remember the details of that, but apparently people tried to sell the walls themselves)

(From my stupid fucking friend, luv u bby)

So he's a lil bit corporate, but that can't be on prupose right? Like, you wouldn't just make artwork that vaguely gestures toward having some kind of meaning whilst not addressing said thing that the meaning should address, right? You wouldn't use vagueness as a means of making something palatable to corporate fucks whilst also removing any depth to it, right?

Banksy come on man.

I can imagin that bouquet as a pepsi can and it has more meaning there. The satire, underlying message, just a bit of the funny.

The vagueness of it all really serves as a nice mask for it. This came from a thing that says "Banksy advocates for peace" what peace? Where? In regards to what? That looks like a rioter; it seems like the government pissed people off a bit too much and the rioter is reacting adequately. The headlining plus the image make it seem like Banksy is calling rioter out for being violent, but I'll put it down to the headline being a headline. Here's another:

See now because I know my deal with recycling and stuff I can say this is about microplastics and how melting plastic for recycling isn't great still because of the fumes and shit, and I think that's great. But let's be real here, what is it actually saying? Its probably more along the lines of "man, things are kinda bad, but this kid has childlike wonder so he doesn't notice. You are the kid and you don't see the bad" or something like that.

But maybe its not and maybe he's being genuine. Maybe plastic being thrown into our atmosphere is a big deal to him. I want to see it as that, so I'm gonna, I think.

Don't those fences look a bit oddly placed though? Round the sides of the graffiti, them ones... well that leads me onto an entirely new point.

What is graffiti?

According to the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language one definition is "a form of vandalism involving painting, text or images in public spaces"

So the crime thing from the start, yeah whatever, you already mentioned that dipshit.

So what the fuck is this headline then? Is banksy's art not graffiti? When does it become socially acceptable art? Isn't it a thing in graffiti that we're aware nothing is permanent so that's why people draw over others' shit? Why can't we play by his rules and draw too? That doesn't seem fair.

You know, I've saw things about banksy's work getting done in an alley once, there was a layer of plastic added onto it so that people wouldn't vandalise the vandalism. Apparently passing graffiti artists would piss on it as they went by. Again, apparently, I cannot find where I saw that but its incredibly funny.

But note that headline, "Banksy Art in Folkestone Vandalised by Graffiti." Where is the cut off point here? Why is that one art and the other is graffiti? Why does Banksy's get called art and the others get called vandalism? To clarify, Banksy's work, because of how known and unknown he and his team are, is called art, without question from news sources and headlines and shit. Yes, I do remember there was initially a whole thing about him just being some guy, but now he's celebrated for it, and that's what I'm drawing attention to here.

Even the BBC addresses it, his work is something that should be considered vandalism but isn't. Someone liked it, then rich people started picking up on it and now people have tried selling walls because of it.

So maybe this isn't so much a comment on Banksy...

Arguably, to me at least, this is more of a comment on the audience his work has garnered. Do I think his work is bad? No, actually. In fact, even if the symbolism or imagery means little to me in some places, I'd argue they're really good, I know what I'm thinking of when I think of his work and for such a reason, they stick. The colour usage is fine, the stencils used are probably ones he cut himself, he's home-made. It's all not that bad.

The issue is simply the audience it has gained. A large proportion of it are people that hate graffiti but love banksy, a graffiti artist; already you can see the issue. Most of them are little rich weirdos that love graffiti as long as its up to a certain standard and isn't on their property, then they can have it phoographed and put on a canvas in their house, on their wall, in their property... you can see the point I'm getting at with the sort of people I see enjoying his work.

I do think his work wouldn't garner the same audience if it weren't the way it were. The rioter with a bouquet for example; you can see it as a call for peace, which is incredibly shallow and is blaming somebody that has been dicked over by the system, as many people would, especially with the piece being out there in public for everyone; you can alternatively make the comparison the bouquet throwing mirrors the throwing of flowers n shit at the end if races, a congratulation for being remembered as a tyrant or whatever. But because the piece, to my knowledge, has not had much meaning applied to it explicitly, by banksy, then the public makes the meaning, and the public has decided its a call for peace.

Simply put, banksy is not necessarily a bad artist but the audience that decides on the worth of his work aren't great in discerning a message from art. We know war is bad, we know our government is fucking us, but I'm sure you can come up with something more creative than that.

Fucking sick that Banksy got where he is, he somehow beat the law and is loved for it, came up from nothing, and is still pretty much unknown. Love that for him. I just think his audience could use some work.

Oh yeah and he's from Bristol which is unacceptable.

[theaistired]

Blog introduction

Hello, my name is Thea (she/they), I’m acespec, arospec, and autistic. I speak German and English and I am trying to learn Italian, Swedish and Arabic (learning three different languages at once is complicated, so trying instead of actual learning). I’m a big fan of the fantasy genre and like to read, write, draw, play the piano, and occasionally play video games. I also love birds and science.

Now, this is my main blog where I post about my writing, my art and also stuff in general. I might also post about some of my own music in the future. You can find a short introduction to my WIPs under the cut.

Hope you enjoy and I'll see you around on tumblr!

Galidean: A fantasy series that was supposed to be a trilogy but has grown into a much longer series. But I guess that is what happens when you look a three different projects and think to yourself "wouldn't it be hilarious if the took place in the same setting". So, the series can be divided into three different "eras" with their own little "main plot", but there is also a plotline running through all of them mostly in the background.

A hundred years after the joined victory over the Dark Sun, the human nations gather together in celebration. Future leaders attend a journey through each other's home, during which it becomes clear that scorching raids have left their marks over all the territories. With no apparent culprit, a prince, an orphan, a lord, and a sorcerer band together to find the power that turns banishment into death. With the help of a friend and a sibling, they start chasing mysteries and legends across the world, unaware that they all take root from the wounds of the world itself.

Old Gods: A fantasy series consisting of 3 – 4 books, while I also wanted it to be horror, that part has gotten somewhat lost while developing it. Oh well.

Cyr was young when the war started, he was young when he joined it and he was not so young anymore when the enemy captured him. After four years of imprisonment, he comes to terms with his inevitable fate. Surrounded by enemies, hated by his allies, stripped of his magic and will, there is no escape for him. While the voices and visions invade both day and night, Cyr prepares for his final day. His only true solace is the new courtesan who has endless stories of hope and rebirth to tell him.

The Human in Us: An urban fantasy series, that really is just two characters and my investment in their relationship in a trench coat. All started by me looking at different supernatural YA stories and going “wonder how I would do that”.

Students, alcohol and an abandoned house should have been the set-up for a fun, maybe spooky anecdote in their future. It should not twist and turn and talk, it should not turn nightmares real, it should not make Josephine’s hallucinations even more vivid and grotesque. Yet it does, and one month later, a burning girl appears to give her an envelope containing an address and a promise of answers.

There Are Voices In the Void: A sci-fi horror story, set in the same setting as a different sci-fi project of mine, but story-wise not connected to it.

While investigating a nebula, the scientists of the crew gather samples of cosmic dust, finding an unknown organism on it. The head biologists determines it to be deceased and proceeds with further testing. The death of two of his colleagues soon afterwards is just the beginning of the nightmare.

Little Remains: A bit of crime fiction/thriller, that happened by me looking at YA mystery series and going “wonder how I would do that”.

Detective Morgan has worked on many gruesome cases in the past, most of them took place in bigger cities with an anonymous population. When a teenage girl is found dead in the fields of a small town nearby, Morgan first assumes an outsider to be the murderer of the unidentified victim. However, with the murder of a local student a few days later, even the tight-knit community quickly realises that one of them is far more familiar with the gruesome case than the rest of them. Unwilling to sit back, the student’s friends start their own investigation, while Morgan begins to struggle with old ghosts.  

[justapillowpetpanda]

'Batman: Caped Crusader' First-Look Images; Premiere Date

Today, ahead of its inaugural upfront presentation on May 14, Prime Video announced that the highly anticipated new animated series from Warner Bros. Animation, Bad Robot Productions, and 6th & Idaho, Batman: Caped Crusader, will premiere all ten episodes Thursday, August 1, along with the official first-look images of this thrilling new show.

Courtesy of Prime The first-look images give audiences a special peek into the world of Gotham City and some of the iconic fan-favorite characters that will be featured in the upcoming season. The character reveals, with descriptions below include Bruce Wayne/Batman, Selina Kyle/Catwoman, Dr. Harleen Quinzel/Harley Quinn, Commissioner Jim Gordon, and Clayface. Welcome to Gotham City, where the corrupt outnumber the good, criminals run rampant and law-abiding citizens live in a constant state of fear. Forged in the fire of tragedy, wealthy socialite Bruce Wayne becomes something both more and less than human—the BATMAN. His one-man crusade for justice attracts unexpected allies within the GCPD and City Hall, but his heroic actions spawn deadly, unforeseen ramifications.

Courtesy of Prime

Characters in Batman: Caped Crusader

- BATMAN - A cold, remorseless avenger of evil, seemingly more machine than man. Forged in the fire of tragedy, every fiber of his being is dedicated to the eradication of crime. - BRUCE WAYNE - To the public at large, Bruce Wayne is a shallow dilettante, apparently wasting his parents’ vast fortune on frivolous pursuits and hedonistic pleasures. In fact, he’s an elaborate facade, carefully constructed to divert attention from his activities as Batman. - SELINA KYLE / “CATWOMAN” - Selena Kyle is a blithe and pampered heiress whose family lost their fortune after her father was imprisoned for embezzlement. Despite having the silver spoon yanked from her mouth, Selina refuses to quit living in the lap of luxury and becomes Catwoman as a “fun” way to maintain her lavish lifestyle. - DR. HARLEEN QUINZEL / “HARLEY QUINN” - Despite a personable and bubbly demeanor, Dr. Harleen Quinzel is a brilliant psychiatrist who treats some of Gotham’s elite. However, as Harley Quinn, she is a different person, entirely. A creepy, quiet, calculating menace who secretly dispenses her twisted justice to the truly despicable among her elite clientele. - COMMISSIONER JIM GORDON - Former beat cop close to retirement, Gordon was hired to play along with the corrupt system and run out the clock till he can draw a pension. But they’ve sorely underestimated Jim Gordon. His unassailable character brings him into conflict with dirty cops and crooked politicians, alike. Not to mention, he has to reckon with a deranged vigilante beating up Gotham’s criminals. - CLAYFACE - Thanks to his “unique” facial features, screen actor Basil Karlo has been forever typecast as a B-movie heavy. Frustrated by the limitations his appearance put on both his career and personal life (he fell hopelessly in love with his co-star), Karlo turned to an experimental serum that promised to change his face. However, not only does this serum ultimately disfigure his face, but it ruptures the last of his sanity -- creating the tragic, vengeance seeking villain, Clayface. The series is a reimagining of the Batman mythology through the visionary lens of executive producers J.J. Abrams, Matt Reeves and Bruce Timm. Based on DC characters, Batman: Caped Crusader hails from Warner Bros. Animation, Abrams’ Bad Robot Productions and Reeves’ 6th & Idaho. Along with Abrams, Reeves and Timm, Batman: Caped Crusader executive producers include Ed Brubaker, James Tucker, Daniel Pipski, Rachel Rusch Rich, and Sam Register. Batman: Caped Crusader will be available to stream exclusively on Prime Video in more than 240 countries and territories worldwide beginning on Thursday, August 1. Read the full article

[lyledebeast]

Abigale vs Abigail

Since the theme of this semester's end's procrastimeta is finishing old Turn/The Patriot metas, here's another!

The enslaved woman in the Culper ring known as 355 is given the name Abigail in Turn. History has not recorded her actual name, and "Abigail" was clearly a popular name in the 18th C. Still, I can't help wondering if her sharing the same name as Benjamin Martin's housekeeper, with one letter's difference in the spelling, is entirely a coincidence. What the two women have in common is being very emotionally connected to the families they serve. Abigail is genuinely fond of Anna, Andre, and Peggy, and devastated when she realizes that her information played a role in Andre's execution. Abigale uses her body as a human shield for the Martin children when Tavington draws his pistol on them, which is as much as their own father does. The difference is that Abigail feels like a fleshed out person with her own desires and motivations and Abigale, like everyone else in the movie who isn't a White adult man, feels like a prop. However, if we look beyond the surface, maybe these two women have more in common than initially appears.

Turn is much more deliberate than The Patriot about demonstrating the power differentials between Black and White women. While Abigail is best besties with Anna and Peggy most of the time, the White women each remind Abigale that they can do anything they want to her with impunity: Anna when she wants to manipulate Abigail into letting her into John Andre's house and Peggy when she wants in on the plot to kidnap her husband. Of course, they go right back to being friends later, which is both likely and not at all suspect . . . hmmm. And in spite of only agreeing to help Anna spy to assure that she will care for Cicero in Long Island after Abigail goes to Philadelphia, Abigail and Cicero continue to risk their lives sending information to the ring after they are reunited. Akinbode, having failed to convince her to bring Cicero and come with him to Canada, asks why she is staying to help people who care nothing for her. An excellent question, and one the show unfortunately never answers.

While Abigail is more loyal to the Patriot cause than she has any reason to be, Abigale's loyalty to the Martin family undergoes a little . . . blip. After Tavington's crime spree at the Martin farm, she is apparently taken into British custody with the other Not Slaves. But then she appears later in the sea islands with the Maroons. She has either escaped her British captors, or been set free, but she does not go to the plantation where everyone in South Carolina knows Benjamin Martin has stashed his children. Why?

First, being the only free Black person is a household full of slaves would be far too delicate a situation for this movie to handle with any care at all. In that same vein, having Abigale in the sea islands saves the writers the trouble of creating a new Black character in a speaking role. Two of those is surely plenty for a movie set in a colony where the overwhelming majority of the population was Black in the 1780s, right? While acknowledging these limitations, I'd like to offer a much more fun, unhinged possibility.

Abigale . . . is a spy for the British!

They set her free on the condition that she provide them with information about the militia's activities. Obviously, she didn't agree to that right away. She said, no thank you, I'm done with Whites of every nationality after all these shenanigans. But then those children turn up in her safe haven with their enslaver aunt and . . . well, damn. And then they have a big Maroon-themed wedding and, a few days later, a goodly number of the White guests at that wedding are burned up in their church. How does Tavington know this community has given aid to Benjamin Martin and his rebels? It's because Abigale was sitting in a dragoon tent the night before telling him and Captain Bordon all about those treacherous Howards. I hope he paid her well. She deserves it for all she's been through.