#chimera assembly

[johnnyprimecc]

Chimera BMX

USE CODE JOHNNYPRIME FOR $150 OFF YOUR CHIMERA If you’re not already aware, I’ve been getting pretty deep into the ebike culture and community here in NYC. I run the NYC Zooz Club and I helped create Electric Wednesday with Mike Rios of S3 Crew. Electric Wednesday is the glue that holds the various riding clubs together here in NYC. We’ve created something really special. While I still have and…

[plateauofmemories]

Also thinking about the point when Kabru is like, "at first I thought we'd just been robbed which sucks and is also boring, but now it looks like the theft is actually something incidental to some developing drama involving some of the most fucked up people I'm aware of, so this is actually quite fun!" like. Bro.

[ambrosiagourmet]

@gerrykeay HOLY SHIT DO NOT APOLOGIZE AT ALL. THIS IS FANTASTIC. I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

I hadn't even fully considered the ways the song could connect to BOTH Thistle and Falin, and you tie them both together so well... I love the way the build to the confrontation between Laios and Thistle feels somehow newly tragic by the time it comes around... inevitable but heartbreaking. And then that feels in some ways like it SHOULD be the end but the song & story keep going & Yaad keeps carrying Thistle forward.... augh....

Legitimately got chills at the bit with the tower rising up out of the water at the same time that Falin is eating the meal and coming back to life. So so so good.

Everyone loves to talk about how Rule #18 - Lion by Fish in a Birdcage is a Dungeon Meshi song and that's true it is but what about Rule #4 - Fish in a Birdcage by Fish in a Birdcage huh.

What about he has a wild imagination and tells me things that must be true like there's a world where I can take flight where I can freely move. What about that.

[cow-wife]

it’s november 1st (halloween 2) so here’s my chimera falin outfit i assembled last minute to kiss girls dressed like marcille at the halloween party

might cut it up more & saturate the blood but rlly happy with how it turned out :3

[sweetrululu]

A night we should forget (Helsa Fanfic)

It was one of those endless nights when sleep seemed more like a chimera than a possibility. Elsa lay motionless in her bed, staring at the ceiling with wide-open eyes, as if simply closing them would be futile. Her thoughts, like waves crashing against the shore, ebbed and flowed incessantly. Echoes of the day’s meetings still resonated in her mind: the councils, the debates, the barely restrained sighs of her ministers. Every decision felt more like a burden than a solution, and though the world slept, she could not afford such a luxury.

She rolled to one side, then the other, clutching her pillow in a vain attempt to find solace. Finally, she sat up with a frustrated sigh. It was clear that rest would not come—not while her mind was caught in this whirlwind of thoughts. Perhaps, she thought, a book might offer some relief. Something dull enough to calm her mind, or, hopefully, interesting enough to distract her.

And so, wrapped in a shawl and moving lightly, she made her way to the library.

The silence of the castle at this hour held a special weight, as if time itself had paused. Only the soft creak of the floorboards beneath her feet broke the stillness. Upon arriving, she pushed open the heavy library doors carefully, expecting to find it shrouded in shadows and filled with the comforting aroma of old paper. But to her surprise, she was not alone.

In the middle of the shelves, a male figure was bent over a low shelf, a damp cloth in one hand and a book in the other. The dim glow of the lamps barely illuminated the room, but it was enough for her to recognize him.

“Hans?” Elsa murmured, surprise coloring her voice.

He turned to her with the calm nonchalance that seemed to have become his trademark. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and an errant lock of hair fell across his forehead. It was such an unusual image that Elsa had to remind herself not to appear unsettled.

“Your Majesty, what brings you here at this hour? A sudden passion for reading?”

Elsa raised an eyebrow, attempting to match his neutrality, though her initial surprise had not entirely faded.

“I could ask you the same,” she replied, stepping closer to him. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

Hans let out a soft chuckle, raising the cloth in his hand as if it were all the explanation needed.

“I had the misfortune of being caught avoiding my duties during the day. Your steward decided that cleaning the library is a suitable punishment to ‘reform my character.’”

Elsa, who had initially let out a faint sigh of exasperation, now had to suppress a smile. There was something terribly fascinating about his ability to turn even humiliation into a scene bordering on the absurd.

“And you expect me to pity your situation?” she responded, raising an eyebrow.

Hans let out a dramatic sigh, but his eyes glimmered with amusement.

“No, Your Majesty, that would be too much to ask. I’ll settle for you admiring my fortitude in the face of adversity.”

“And tell me, is shirking responsibilities a habit of yours?” she said, crossing her arms as she regarded him with a mix of sternness and amusement.

Hans met her gaze directly, his eyes glinting with that familiar spark, as if carefully weighing his response to strike the perfect balance between provocation and insolence.

“Let’s just say I’m selective with my efforts. But you haven’t answered me yet, Your Majesty.” He straightened slightly, his confidence as unshakable as ever. “What brings you here in the middle of the night? Don’t tell me your steward has punished you as well.”

Elsa took a deep breath.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, lifting her chin slightly, as if to dispel any notion of vulnerability.

Hans raised his gaze, his expression hovering between genuine interest and calculated curiosity.

“I thought as much.”

Elsa frowned, surprised.

“You thought as much?”

“Of course. I saw you during your speech to the assembly this morning.”

“You were there?”

Hans nodded slowly.

“Yes, I was there. I heard most of it, although…” He paused deliberately, letting his words hang in the air as he studied her face with unnerving precision. “I wouldn’t be entirely honest if I said my attention was focused solely on your speech.”

Elsa felt a faint warmth rise to her cheeks. There was something in his tone, something implied, that she wasn’t sure she wanted to interpret.

“And what distracted you, then?” she asked, trying to sound indifferent, though her voice came out softer than she intended.

Hans smiled, that soft and dangerous smile that seemed to say more than he would ever admit out loud.

“Well, I believe you can imagine, Your Majesty.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow, noticing how the weight of his words seemed to slide carefully toward a line neither of them should cross. And yet, there was something in the way he said it that left her utterly disarmed.

“You should be more cautious with your words, young Westergard,” Elsa replied with an air of icy authority, though it was betrayed by the faint blush on her cheeks. “They could easily be misinterpreted.”

Hans let out a brief smile, more a gesture of resignation than amusement, as if the game they were both playing demanded as much from him as it did from her.

“Oh, it wasn’t my intention to offend, Your Majesty. I was, of course, referring to how striking the Duke Halverson’s wig was. Frankly, it seemed to be competing with the chandeliers for everyone’s attention.”

Elsa blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in the conversation, and, despite herself, a brief laugh escaped her lips. She quickly brought a hand to her mouth, conscious that laughing at someone in her court—even the duke and his terrible wig—was hardly befitting of a queen.

“You shouldn’t say such things, Hans.”

“ What? The truth? “he replied, his gaze sparkling with mischief. “ Or note that the duke appears to have been slightly influenced by his time in northern France? Perhaps, Your Majesty, you should consider revoking his diplomatic privileges for his own good.”

This time, Elsa couldn’t hold back. A light but genuine laugh filled the room for a few moments. Hans said nothing, only watching her as her laughter slowly faded. There was something captivating in his expression—a mix of restrained grace and warmth that made it impossible to look away from him.

“Well, Your Majesty, I’m afraid this is not the best place to spend the night seeking distraction,” he said, gesturing toward the dusty shelves around them “. Half of these books are filled with political history and medieval tragedies. I wouldn’t want to ruin your mood.”

“And what do you suggest, young Westergard?” Elsa asked, her faint smile lingering.

Hans moved toward another shelf, his fingers trailing along the spines of the books in a gesture that seemed almost absentminded, though his words were anything but.

“Perhaps something less solemn. There are stories here that might suit your taste… “His fingers paused on an aged but well-kept volume, which he carefully pulled out. He glanced at the cover and then back at her “ This one might interest you. It’s about a young maiden forced to make a decision that could change her life forever.”

Elsa blinked, and though she wanted to smile at what seemed like a calculated response, she couldn’t. His words felt too personal, resonating within her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

“And what does she choose? “ she asked, her eyes never leaving his.

Hans smiled—a slow, deliberate expression that seemed to hold more than he was willing to say.

“I’d rather not spoil the ending for you, Your Majesty.”

The words hung in the air between them. Elsa stared at him, and for a moment that felt eternal, there were no books, no shelves, no library—only the two of them, in a space that felt both dangerously small and impossibly vast.

Hans extended the book to her, breaking the moment with a gentleness that almost made her shiver.

“I hope you find it interesting.”

Elsa took the book and held it against her chest, the warmth of his hands still imprinted on the cover. Her eyes sought his for a moment that felt like forever, and though her lips formed a faint smile, there was something in her gaze that betrayed the calm she tried to project.

“Thank you for the recommendation, Hans. Good night.”

The echo of her farewell lingered between them as Elsa turned on her heels, her measured steps deliberate, as if each one was an act of will. She reached the doorway, her hand resting on the frame, indecisive, as though the weight of unspoken words anchored her there.

“Good night, Your Majesty, “Hans said from behind her, his voice low, perhaps sounding more strained than he intended, wrapped in a mix of resignation and something deeper” something that seemed to struggle to break free, though he kept it firmly contained.

Elsa closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself not to let his tone reach her, but it was already too late. There was something in his words, in the way he had spoken them, that held her where she stood, tugging at her like an invisible thread tethering her to the threshold of that room.

Her heart pounded as the weight of the moment took hold of her. Slowly, she turned back toward him, her eyes seeking his as if she wanted to say something, but before she could form the words, the book slipped from her grasp.

Several pages came loose from the binding, sliding onto the floor in a small, scattered mess. Before she could bend down, Hans was already at her side, carefully gathering the papers.

As they picked up the scattered pages together, their hands brushed briefly. It was a casual touch, almost insignificant, but it was enough to make them both look up at the same time, their eyes meeting in a moment that seemed to hold everything they hadn’t allowed themselves to say.

Hans froze, his fingers still grazing hers. His breath caught, and Elsa, her heart racing, saw the struggle within him. She could tell he wanted to step closer; it was there in the way his shoulders tensed and his eyes flickered to her lips. But she also saw how quickly that impulse was subdued.

With a resignation so palpable it seemed to hang in the air, Hans withdrew his hand, gathering the pages and standing up. His composure returned to his face like a well-placed mask as he held out the carefully ordered papers to her.

“Be more careful, Your Majesty,” he said with a formality that Elsa felt like a wall rising between them.

She took the pages but didn’t look away from him. There was something in his expression that made her want more, something that urged her to break down that self-imposed distance. Elsa knew that what she was about to do was wrong, something that could never be justified—but in that moment, she didn’t care.

With a swift motion, she made the first move. She let the book fall to the floor again, grabbed Hans by the collar of his shirt, and pulled him toward her, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was both timid and determined—a mix of insecurity and long-contained desire.

Hans, shocked at first, stood rigid for a moment, but soon he gave in to the moment. His hands found her waist, pulling her firmly against him, his passion a stark contrast to the restraint he had shown just seconds before. One of his hands slid up her back, brushing against the bare skin where her nightgown didn’t reach, his fingers tangling briefly in the braid that fell like a current down her spine.

Elsa, for her part, felt Hans’s urgency blend with her own nervousness. Her hands hesitated before weaving into his reddish hair, holding him as if she needed an anchor in the storm swirling inside her. Her lips moved clumsily at first, but they quickly found a rhythm, one that spoke of everything neither of them had dared to say.

The kiss was deep, charged with emotions that had been suppressed for far too long, now spilling over like a river breaching its banks. Hans tilted his head slightly, intensifying the contact, and Elsa felt her initial shyness give way to something stronger, something she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—control.

When they finally broke apart, it was more out of necessity for air than by choice. Elsa kept her hands on his neck, but her breathing was erratic, and her face was flushed. Hans, still holding her by the waist, opened his mouth as if to say something, but Elsa raised a hand to stop him.

“Don’t say anything,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath between them.

Hans closed his eyes for a moment, as though trying to suppress something more than just words, and when he opened them again, there was something indescribable in his gaze—a mixture of desire, resignation, and a pang of guilt that Elsa felt mirrored in her own chest.

She stepped away from him with difficulty, lowering her gaze as the weight of reality came crashing down on her. Panic filled her eyes, and her breathing quickened.

“What have I done? This… this shouldn’t have happened. It… it can’t…” she murmured, shaking her head over and over as if trying to convince herself.

Hans, still standing where she had left him, looked bewildered. He took a step toward her, raising a hand as if to reach out, but stopped, hesitating.

“Your Majesty… Elsa… please, it’s all right.”

“No. Please, don’t say anything,” she said urgently, looking at him with bright, pleading eyes, as if doing so could halt the chaos swirling within her. “Pretend this never happened. Pretend none of this happened, okay?”

Hans frowned, his gaze searching hers. There was something in his expression that was both worried and frustrated.

“I can’t pretend that. I can’t… ignore this.”

Elsa pressed her lips together, her eyes closing as if to shut out his words.

“You have to. You must. This isn’t right—it can’t be right.”

Hans sighed, running a hand through his hair as if trying to find the right words.

“Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I haven’t reminded myself every single day that what I feel for you is wrong?” His voice softened, but it lost none of its intensity. “But I can’t help it. I can’t stop feeling this for you. I love you, and I have for months—”

“Stop!” Elsa interrupted, her tone desperate. She stepped toward him, looking at him with a mix of confusion and fear. “Don’t say those things.”

Hans wanted to speak, to explain himself, but before he could, a soft knock on the door echoed through the library. They both froze as the door creaked open, revealing a young maid.

“Young Westergard…” The woman stopped abruptly, her eyes darting between Hans and Elsa before settling back on Hans. Her expression was one of pure bewilderment, and a blush quickly crept up her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry… I was sent to inform you that you may retire for the evening. There’s no need to continue cleaning.”

Elsa and Hans exchanged a quick glance, both visibly tense. The maid hastily lowered her head, murmuring something incomprehensible before offering a quick bow and closing the door behind her.

Elsa remained frozen for a moment, but the weight of the situation hit her harder than ever.

“She… saw us,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, though Hans heard it perfectly.

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. No one… no one will say anything, Elsa.”

She shook her head, taking a step toward the door.

“I can’t stay here. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Elsa, wait…” Hans tried to reach for her, but she hurried away, shutting the door behind her. He let out a long sigh, running a hand down his face as he tried to process what had just happened. He knew it shouldn’t have, but it was already too late.

•••

The morning sun barely managed to filter through the tall windows of the council chamber, casting a faint glow on the stone walls. Elsa sat at the far end of the long oak table, her back straight and her fingers interlocked in her lap. Across from her, Kay spoke with his usual efficiency, listing a series of political matters that would have commanded her full attention on any other day.

“…and as for the treaty with the Southern Isles, Majesty, King Richard has sent an envoy to negotiate the terms of shared fishing waters. Captain Bay and his delegation will be expecting you at the port for lunch.”

Elsa nodded automatically, but her mind wandered far from the southern seas. Every word Kay spoke seemed to fade into a distant echo as an insistent image crept into her thoughts: Hans’s hands, firm and warm, on her waist; the brush of his breath against her skin; the way their lips had met with an urgency that defied all reason.

For a moment, she recalled the pressure of his fingers on her back, tracing the line of her spine as though memorizing every detail. She felt again the weight of her own decision—the audacity of having crossed a boundary she knew was forbidden but couldn’t entirely regret.

“…Majesty, do you think it would be prudent to convene the council before making a final decision?” Kay’s voice continued, now little more than a faint murmur.

“Elsa, are you all right?” Anna asked suddenly, leaning slightly across the table to look at her with concern.

Elsa blinked, startled, and turned her head toward her sister, who sat nearby. Anna had insisted on attending the meeting, arguing that she wanted to be more involved in the affairs of Arendelle.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Elsa replied, forcing herself to maintain her composure.

“You don’t look fine,” Anna pressed, offering a warm but inquisitive smile. “Maybe you should take a break. It’s been a tough week, and… well, I can’t handle everything by myself, but I can at least try. I could go to that lunch if you’d rather stay at the palace.”

“I’m fine, Anna,” Elsa repeated, her tone firmer but still gentle.

Before Anna could respond, the door opened, and a maid entered quietly, carrying a tray with a cup of tea. Elsa glanced up and immediately recognized the young woman who had interrupted the scene in the library the night before.

The maid didn’t meet her eyes, but her hands trembled slightly as she set the tea on the table. Elsa felt her pulse quicken, heat rising to her cheeks. The maid quickly bowed and left the room without a word, leaving Elsa with a mix of shame and nervousness that she struggled to hide.

Anna raised an eyebrow as she sipped her tea.

“Well, that was weird. Are you sure you’re okay? Because now even the servants seem more nervous than usual.”

Elsa shook her head, trying to downplay the comment.

“I’m perfectly fine, Anna. Let’s just focus on the important matters.”

Anna studied her sister for a moment longer before giving her a soft smile and rising from her seat.

“You know what? I think you should take the day off. I’ll go to the port and have lunch with Captain Bay.” She leaned in and kissed Elsa on the cheek. “Just get some rest, please.”

“There’s no need, Anna…” Elsa began to protest, but her sister was already heading toward the door.

“Kai,” Anna said as she stepped out, “don’t give Elsa too much to do today. I need her in good shape for our picnic tomorrow.”

Kai, who had remained respectfully silent during the exchange, bowed his head in acknowledgment.

“Of course, Princess Anna.”

Once Anna left the room, Kai returned to his formal stance, picking up where he had left off in his report.

“If I may continue, Your Majesty, you might be pleased to know that the preparations for the Christmas celebration…”

But Elsa wasn’t listening. Her mind betrayed her again, dragging her back to the library, to the way Hans had said her name, to the intensity of his lips on hers. The images were so vivid she could almost feel the weight of his hands on her back once more.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she interrupted Kai.

“I think we should remove Prince Hans from my service.”

Kai blinked, startled.

“Prince Hans, Your Majesty? May I ask why?”

Elsa hesitated, searching for the right words.

“I’ve noticed that… lately, he hasn’t been fulfilling his responsibilities as he should. He’s easily distracted, and… I’m not sure his presence is beneficial at the moment.”

Kai frowned slightly, clearly taken aback by the comment, but he nodded slowly.

“I see, Your Majesty. Is there something specific that has caused your dissatisfaction?”

Elsa turned her gaze to the window, avoiding Kai’s questioning eyes.

“There’s no need to go into details. I just think it would be better to assign him different tasks. Something more… physical. Perhaps working in the gardens or assisting with the repairs at the port.”

Kai tilted his head, still puzzled but too respectful to press further.

“As you wish, Your Majesty. I’ll see to it.”

Elsa nodded and wrapped her hands around her now lukewarm tea, her thoughts racing. She knew this was the right decision. What had happened that night in the library could never happen again.

She clenched her hands tighter around the cup as the weight of her emotions pressed on her. Allowing herself to feel even a shred of longing for Hans was dangerous—for her, for him, and for the kingdom.

Elsa had always prided herself on her self-control, her ability to put duty above personal desires. But in that one fleeting moment, she had faltered. She had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and she couldn’t let it happen again.

Hans would have to leave her presence. It was the only way to ensure that she didn’t repeat her mistake.

Her chest tightened painfully at the thought, but she forced herself to push it aside. She had made her decision. For her kingdom, for herself—and for Hans—it was better this way.

Hi, how are you all? Here’s this new story for you. For those who already follow me, you’ll probably notice that this is sort of a prequel to the Christmas story (The chime of a forgotten bell), where Hans and Elsa seemed to be hiding something that happened one night. Well, this is more or less what took place. I’m trying to connect the stories I’ve created, and I really hope you like it. I’d love to hear your thoughts! Feel free to leave your comments or even share any ideas for a future story. Thank you so much for your support, as always!

[chernobog13]

KING KONG VS. FRANKENSTEIN

AKA King Kong vs. Prometheus, this is the story legendary animator Willis O'Brien was shopping around in the early 1960s to revive both his and Kong's careers.

Unfortunately, he got swindled by producer John Beck, who sold the idea to Toho. Frankenstein/Prometheus was replaced with Godzilla, and King Kong vs. Godzilla (1962), one of the most successful kaiju movies ever, was made. O'Brien never saw a single cent from the deal, and died penniless and heartbroken a few months after the film was released.

Many of Obie's wonderful production drawings and paintings still exist, giving us a glimpse of the battle Royale he envisioned.

The Frankenstein monster in Obie's original story was not the creature we know and love from the Mary Shelley novel and Universal horror films. Instead it was a giant chimera, assembled from parts of various animals, that the grandson of Dr. Frankenstein (the film version, at least) stitched together. This project started as a research into his grandfather's work, but then young Frankenstein gets the idea to exhibit his creation to the world.

Meanwhile, Carl Denham, the man who captured Kong, had smuggled the somehow still alive beast back to Skull Island to recuperate (basically ignoring Son of Kong (1933) entirely). Denham hears about Frankenstein's creation and decides to return to the island and recapture Kong. He believes a live show with both monsters will make him a millionaire.

[I don't know who Obie envisioned playing Denham. Robert Armstrong, the actor who originally played the role (and the ONLY Carl Denham in my mind), was in his late 60s/early 70s at the time, but was still acting, mostly in television roles.]

Denham and Frankenstein agree to join forces and travel the world, exhibiting their monsters. Their first stop is San Francisco, where the first show is immediately sold out.

Things go wrong of course, as they so often do in these situations. The monsters break free and begin battling. Their fight wrecks the theatre and spills out into the streets of San Francisco.

Much of the city is laid waste in the course of their titanic struggle. Their final battle takes place atop the Golden Gate Bridge. The two monsters smash into each other and, still grappling, they plummet off the bridge to their deaths.

Okay, the story needs fleshing out, but Obie just had a nine-page treatment to go with these pictures. It's still a good base for a giant monster flick.

It would be great if someone would pick up Obie's baton and make this film, especially if they made it a period piece and used stop motion animation. I know CGI is much faster, although not necessarily less expensive, but this needs to be made old school.

And it would be a great event to celebrate King Kong entering the public domain four short years from now, in 2029.

[raisans-art]

A very fun storyline you've put together! And a very interesting what-if scenario!! It's no bother to me to see people drawing my designs ever, so belive you me, I'm having a ball!!

Thank you so much for putting this much time and thought into my silly little guys!! Gah, it just means the world to me that people will think about the things I create beyond any time they spend looking at it =w=

Originally I was just gonna leave the previous post on Agee and Chei as a one off, as I don’t own them and it was just me spitballing. There was also a repost saying I was thankful for the attention it got and that anyone is free to have their interpretations on it, but I deleted it as I didn’t want to bombard the original creator too much. My anxiety can get bad especially when it comes to interacting with popular creators or making fanart due to stuff I rather not get into, but it can lead to me struggling a bit with knowing how to go about things or if I’m being too pushy. Even now I’m a little anxious posting this giant section, and can take it down if asked, but after reading my what if my brain wanted to expand on it with images more detailing what happened that first day.

I will warn this contains body horror, implied and shown death, injury, and a small bit of blood. This is also NOT my work or ocs. Like before, both design and the original story comes from @raisans-art and they should be given the credit for these great character designs and engaging stories. This is just my interpretation on a what if both twins got experimented on.

As stated before, this version starts off the same with Emmet taken first and dies in the process of becoming Agee. But in this version the scientists catch on to Ingo’s snooping and struck him from behind when he finally encountered Agee. There was actually a deleted image showing that directly after, Durant popped out and, seeing Ingo limped on the ground and scientists quickly flooding in, grabbed Ingo’s pokeballs to try to at least save his team with the hope of being able to come back later to save the twins. He escapes through a vent, but in the process three pokeballs are knocked off and left in the lab, where Durant can’t grabbed them because the scientists are gaining on him. This wasn’t drawn cause for the life of me, I couldn’t draw full body Durant without looking like a knockoff lego.

“What do we do now?”

A little while later, the newest experiment Chei wakes up to a “frightening” giant. Meanwhile, the friendly fusion tries to welcome their new cell mate with open arms. I absolutely loved drawing that frame of Agee.

A familiar image from before, but the shadows and Agee’s tail are actually here. This is an outside view of the scientists observing how the two fusions will interact with each other given the origins of the two used for this.

Doesn’t go well. I realized I also missed the scar on Agee’s face, so I added it to the what if lore by having Chei feel threatened and slashed Agee with their face blade. Agee out of instinct and shock slammed their tail into Chei without realizing.

A fun fact I mentioned in the comments last post, but Chei’s tail, chest, and face are made of glass. It’s a softer/flexible and more durable glass, but can still be cracked. As long as the core/soul in the chest is unharmed though, the glass will repair itself some time after with the length depending on how severe the damage was. So Chei will be fine, but Agee still feels bad for hurting them.

Chei takes shelter in the corner to heal while Agee decides to give the new guy a little space for now, still determined though to make this friendship work as he feels a connection to this fusion. There was also a second cut drawing of Chei waking up later to an “I’m Sorry” poorly written on the ground while Agee anxiously taps their fingers together for a response.

Elsewhere in a realm inaccessible to ones like us, a few spirits watch this disaster go down…

And that’s it! That was all the drawings made for that what if scenario. Will there ever be more? I’m honestly not sure as this was already a stretch. But I will be finishing my top ten list very soon if you want more Pokémon drawings from me and to yell at me for putting Lickilicky in my top 10. But once again, thank you @raisans-art for being the creator of the Emmet Chimera Au and may you all have a great rest of your day!

[starryspancakaes]

╰┈➤ Springtide Dawn

A/N: Might change the title of this later - but this is my first fanfic I'm actually posting on here. I've been playing Hogwarts Legacy for literally a month straight & lowkey became obsessed with it. little sad I finished the game (cries in Nintendo Switch). But overall experience a 9/10

n e wayz I decided to a slice of life oneshot of my mc (cause I kinda suck at romance). Also slight spoilers for one of the keeper trials - hope you enjoy!

(btw sorry there isn't much description on the characters expressions, this is heavily unedited.)

{Seb & Omi pictures found on Pinterest}

WC: 1657

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Bright illuminating warmth of the daystar blessed the highland, shores, & mountains of the whimsical world. Each beam of sunlight filled the windows facing it, the space behind the glass being soaked in its luminosity. The lively souls of the living become conscious from their nightly chimeras of that being slumber. The ancient stone & carvings of gravel shaped the large obscured, & spirited premises known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Pupils of the school arising, & assembling themselves for their classes that would be held in a plethora of rooms scattered amongst the property soon. Buttoning his white shirt, tightening his green striped tie, & adjusting her blue robe - Two males depart from the cunning, ambitious, & strong house that is Salazar Slytherin. A girl follows suit but sets off from the clever, wise & creative house of Rowena Ravenclaw. 

The Slytherin males, Sebastian Sallow & Ominis Gaunt - stroll through the halls as they chat & jest each other with whimsey comments. Already knowing where they were heading, sauntered without a care, too soon for many other students to be active, as well as too early for them to be ready for the day’s classes. 

Aurora Foster, the Ravenclaw lass - wandered through the similar yet different halls. The few students who were awake & ready for the day greeted her with a small wave, smile, or hello - she herself reciprocated these small actions as she strode past. Seemingly also knowing where she’d be going way before classes would even begin. 

Sebastian & Ominis climbed the staircase that was just before the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom - & towards the corner of the staircase where an old Astronomy cabinet sat. Sebastian ever so slightly interacted with the cupboard with his wand, the wheels & gears turning to unlock it as the starry cabinet door opened with a low ping! As the two entered the open door, Aurora had been walking down the stairs that lead to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, taking a quick peek of anyone who had been nearby, thankfully no one had or was - she walked to the same corner, where the two boys had just entered. Repeating the same actions Sebastian had done prior to her, the gears to the cabinet turned, & the door opened with another ping! Entering, she crouched slightly, walking down the winding staircase, until she reached a gate. Sensing her presence, the gate shifts, until it lifts open. Revealing the large space known as the Undercroft (as Sebastian’s unofficial title for such a place, it did fit the setting).

“You’re here.” Sebastian’s voice rang through to the girl, as she took a few steps inside, adjusting her vision to the dim lighting. Ominis stood just behind Sebastian leaning on a pillar with his arms crossed. Even in the cool morning air, & after taking such time to get ready for the day, Sebastian had already taken off his robe, & loosened his green striped tie ever so slightly. Always claiming that his robe would be heavy, or he felt too warm. But during times of late winter, to early spring - it was required for the students to wear their house robes, not just to keep them warm. “Of course I’m here,” She replied. 

“Are we going to settle this or not?” Aurora would ask. With a chuckle & a cheeky smirk, Sebastian rolled up his sleeves & nodded. He stepped aside, turning to his blonde friend. “Well Ominis, care to say anything?” The other slytherin male pushed himself off the pillar. “As if I’d willingly lose to the likes of you two.” He’d say, taking a few steps towards the sound of their voices. 

The three of them stood in a circle, not surrounding anything in particular, the space between all of them allowing the presence of all three of them. “Ready?” Sebastian said, reaching behind him as if to grab something. Both Aurora & Ominis do the same, as they reach into their robes ready to pull out something. They both nod. “Alright .. 

..1 

2..

3!” 

Each of the lot pulls out an item of some sort. Ominis pulls out a Hippogriff feather, Aurora with the large, thick & slightly heavy crown of a Graphorn - & Sebastian, holding it by its leg an … odd colored Niffler ? 

“Where in Merlin’s name did you get the horn of a Graphorn?!” 

“You don’t wanna know ..” 

“Is that a niffler you have there, Sallow?”

“It is indeed, what of it?” 

“The bet was to get something that could be found from a beast. Not the beast itself.” 

“But I did get something! I’ve acquired an abundant amount of Galleons, just look.” 

Now hanging the poor niffler by both legs, he shook out all the gold galleons, sickles, Knuts & even a few other shiny items from the beast's seemingly limitless pockets. “Sebastian stop that, you're going to hurt it-” Aurora said, trying to reach for the creature. Sebastian quickly turned away before she could grab it. “I think there’s no doubt that I have won this week's bet.” 

“Yeah right you did, none of these things even belong to the niffler!” 

“If this were a different situation, this would be considered stealing.”

“But the niffler had it, it has to count! I’m calling that it does.” 

Sebastian would say proudly, holding the confused niffler close to him in his grasp. Aurora huffed, crossing her arms, still holding the Graphorn Horn in her hands. “Well I vote that it doesn’t. Some of those galleons might even be yours. Ominis, what do you think?” She’d ask, turning to the boy, still holding his Hippogriff feather. “I agree, it shouldn’t count. Nifflers’ steal whatever they see is shiny to them, therefore all these items are not the Nifflers’.” Ominis stated. With a smug smile on her face, she turned back to the other slytherin boy. “Seems you’ve been outnumbered, Sallow.” 

Sebastian scoffed, turning away with the Niffler still in his arms. “You two are just Jealous at how rich I am now.” Aurora rolled her eyes & shook her head, turning back to Ominis who had his Hippogriff feather outstretched on display. “How did you even get this Ominis? I thought Hippogriffs’ migrated for the season.” She’d ask, inspecting the feather in further detail. “Some returned once the snow began melting. Plus .. I had some assistance.” 

“Let me guess, Poppy?” 

He nodded. 

“I was still able to actually pluck the stray feather, so it counts.” 

“Seriously?!” 

“Oh Shut it.”

Aurora chuckled, at both Sebastian, & Ominis. She was glad, but now came the time to decide who won the bet. Ominis with a Hippogriff feather, or Aurora with the Horn of a Graphorn. How shall they settle this, a duel? Rock Paper scissors? Wait. She came up with a better idea. Turning to Sebastian, who had seated himself on the floor against one of the many crates that were scattered around the room, she gave him a seemingly innocent smile, & asked, “Sebastian, to fairly settle this bet between me & Gaunt, could we perhaps use your new friend as a judge?” 

“I beg your finest pardon?” Sebastian replied, shielding the small beast from the Ravenclaw girl. “I suppose this might work.” Ominis piqued in. “You can’t be serious, Gerald wouldn’t make such a decision!” 

“You already gave it a name ?” 

“Of course. Gerald is a much better companion than you lot.” 

“Oh for Merlin's sake…”

“It’ll only be to settle the score I promise. Here,” 

Aurora put down the Graphorn Horn on the stone slab floor, “Ominis, put the feather on the floor.” 

“How do I know you won’t steal or switch them?” 

“I can tell quite clearly how well you trust me.” 

“I’ll keep an eye on her for you Ominis!” 

“That doesn’t ease me any further..” 

The niffler, seeing the items being placed - squirmed out of Sebastian's hold, & sniffed as he crawled towards the objects.  Aurora & Ominis taking a step back, as the critter looked between the Hippogriff feather, the Horn of a Graphorn. He sniffed the air, once more as it neared the object of its choosing until …

The bell rang. 

All three of them became stone shocked, standing completely still for at least a few seconds, hearing the loud yet slightly muffled chimes of the bells. Aurora quickly fished out her pocket watch from her pocket to check if the ringing chimes were correct. To her Dismay.. They were. “Sebastian, you need to get that thing out of here before we leave.” “But we haven’t settled the bet yet-!” 

Going to retrieve the Horn on the ground & putting it back in her robe, she began her stride to the exit. “We can finish it later, right now we have to get to Professors’ Sharps class before he makes us clean all the cauldrons.” She’d say, as the two boys quickly began to gather their belongings, Sebastian putting the Niffler away in Aurora’s nab-sack she’d sometimes leave in the Undercroft for them to use later during the passing period (if they ever had the extra time that was). The trio made their way near to the gate, exiting the Undercroft.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

The clicks & turns of the cabinet gears could be heard, as the door opened, Sebastian peeking his head out, checking if anyone had been near to see them, thankfully most had already been on their way to their first class. “Coast is clear.” He’d say, climbing out, with Ominis & Aurora following suit. The door closed behind them, gears turning with a click & another ping!

“Hurry up, you don’t want detention again, do you Sallow?” She’d ask, as she sped walk ahead of the slytherin boys. “It wouldn’t be as bad if I got detention with you two.” 

“Like I'm getting into detention because you, Sallow.” 

Ominis lit up his wand, & walked up ahead to where he could sense Aurora’s presence, leaving Sebastian behind. 

“It wouldn’t be because of me! All of us would get in trouble- hey! Slow down!” 

“Sorry Sallow, I don’t feel like dusting the whole library all weekend!”

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

[maxwell-grant]

What are your in-depth thoughts on THE CHIMERA BRIGADE? Would love to know what you make of it, given its handling and assembly of so much pulp material.

@thedeathalchemist asked: With your first initial thoughts on League posted, I have to ask did you ever get around to reading all of the Chimera Brigade and its sequel/spin-offs?

Anonymous asked: Any advice for how to a fictional character mashup story ala chimera brigade, league, etc?

(So first and foremost huge thanks to Ritesh Babu for being the whole reason for me finally picking this up again and finishing it, our conversations with him and @davidmann95 were crucial for putting this together)

(Also SPOILERS for The Chimera Brigade - this comic is impossible to discuss meaningfully without spoiling it down to the last issue, so go read it first)

The French tradition of booklets and serials certainly didn't have the punch or the sociological freedom of the pulps, but certain of its great figures did survive the Second World War: Fantomas, Arsene Lupin, Rouletabille and even, in a way, Maigret. Why those and not the others.

Why doesn't anyone remember the Nyctalope, or Hareton Ironcastle, or Felifax or Michel Ardent? Which cultural black hole of pre-war French science-fiction were they swallowed up by? And why have our bandes dessinées authors neglected these virtual superheroes that a little touch-up here and there could have modernised? - Serge Lehman

I can very confidently say two things - 1: I've read countless works like The Chimera Brigade that set out to do something similar to what The Chimera Brigade does, and 2: I have never seen a work like The Chimera Brigade, and one that achieves what it does the way it does. This being a superb pulp fiction crossover, who makes most of the others seem like they're not even trying, is maybe the smallest of it's achievements.

It's the kind of project that so very often tends to get lost in the weeds of it's source material, of having it's context overtaking the plot, of devolving into simple sentimental reverence or spiteful potshots at the expense of the story it set up, of being able to construct a story and world convincingly but fumbling at the finish line, and it's so very rare to find one of these projects that is ENTIRELY about the finish line of what the narrative has set-up, especially when they have significant messy real-life history and context to bolt in, which The Chimera Brigade has a ton of.

Pulp nerd crossovers tend to be largely about the novelty of it's characters meeting up, or the unresolved tension between it's characters and the historical context they coincidentally inhabit, or setting up a shared verse to be played in, and thus a lot of them are predictably aimless when it's time to wrap up the story and thus define what the story in question was about. This is even an issue that series creator and co-author Serge Lehman even brings up during the annotations, regarding why he asked his friend Fabrice Colin to co-write the script with him, specifically in part to try and prevent this. I want to make note of what he says here, "confusing fanatic nostalgia for creativity". A thing this set out to avoid, and a thing that helps set this apart from so, so, so many pulp hero crossovers / pulp-in-wartime stories / dissertations about publication-meta-fictional history presented as stories, miles and miles of Wold Newton adjacent stuff I've scoured for days and weeks on end and tried very, very, VERY hard to like so much more than I actually do.

This project does demand a lot of data archival, it demands the laborious Jess Nevins annotations and footnotes to keep track of who's whom or who's meant to be what. It's a story about European superheroes that is focused why European superheroes don't actually exist / completely vanished stillborn around the time the American superheroes first appeared and became a dominant force, specifically drawing on reasons like publishing failures and the fascist incorporation of superhumanity that really did cause these things to vanish. But The Chimera Brigade is a very, very focused project: it's about one thing first and foremost, and it's about one moment first and foremost, and thus the thing that it is about, and the historical moment that informs it, completely defines the purpose of it. Crucially, this is one of the many things this has that makes it so good, that makes it so different from so many other modern takes on pulp fiction or crossovers: the clarity of purpose this has, the point it's making and the unflinching vision it achieves to serve it.

It's a historical pulp nerd project initially entirely centered around a real phenomenon only historical pulp nerds are likely to know anything about, and then it gradually reveals itself to be, in fact, about something everyone has always known about all along, and you were only ever deluding yourself for thinking this was heading anywhere else. You want to talk about European superheroes? You want to talk about European pulp history? You want to know about the absence of the European Superman and why the Americans got to really create that instead? Okay, let's talk about that. Let's talk about European fictional history and see where it goes.

Even before the central question of European Superhero History comes into play, the baseline concept of The Chimera Brigade's worldbuilding is already taking such a smart, clear-eyed, versatile approach to the crossover aspect, starting from really strong pitches and compelling hooks regardless of what context you have for it, that enables it to tie it's pulp characters to the superhero history and political turmoil it will dwelve into, by tapping into The Great Unifier of Marvel Origin Stories: radiation. What if the first superheroes were also created by radiation? If superheroes are so inherently tied to World War 2 and the Atomic Bomb, and pulp heroes are so inherently tied to World War 1, what if we went back further to Marie Curie and the discovery of Radium as the connective tissue between them? What if we set about unpacking the radioactive monster elements inherent to the genre, as they creep into the world before the actual superheroes do? What if the existence of superhumans, in itself, inevitably placed humanity into a cold war / arms race, just as the existence of atomic bombs in our reality did (a.k.a what if The Power Fantasy was actually about what it says it's about, or really was about anything at all)? What does it mean for these constructs to exist at the time they do, to come from the nations they come from, in the way they are made to be?

Everyone here may not have a singular common origin at first, but they really are all tied together, and that in itself allows all these wildly different fictions to exist together in a way that feels cohesive and justified, on top of lending itself to fun sequences and reimaginings of classic characters and visuals and ideas to engage with. And that's an important thing to also highlight first, that this is a very well-crafted and fun comic to read. Don't let all the pulp nerd context scare you, this thing is a hoot.

It does a superb job at being a fun, engaging pulp comic, playing with a Mike Mignola/John Paul Leon-esque artstyle that makes a lot of this feel familiar and dynamic, with a lot of collages that play more experimentally and add a lot to the real-world history aspect of it. Gess and Bessonneau's art lives up to the tremendous task of taking all these characters from very different sources or creators, or at least very convincingly made to feel as if they would have if they existed before this, and paying tribute to replicated history both real and imagined as well as making them all feel like they belong in the same world and even share similar rooms and spaces, to the point that you can't tell which characters were made up for this and which existed beforehand without consulting the collected edition notes.

A lot of stories do great work by honing in and highlighting the novelty of clashing wildly different tones and structures and designs against each other, that is actually one of my favorite things to see done well in any kind of fiction, I'm certainly not arguing that visual consistency is a definitive must for any kind of crossover. But I will argue that here, consistency is a must, because this is not a story about the crossover, the crossover is necessary for the sake of what this story is about. You must believe that you are reading about a world that exists, in part because the finale of this is about making you realize that you were, indeed, reading about the world you live in all along.

With the exception of a not-so-disguised figure who makes two small but very crucial appearences (with other characters scattered across a handful of cameos and mentionings), this completely refrains from using any majorly known characters, and it's important that it does so. This has a very tight control over which characters show up in what way, which characters are relevant and which characters are not, in part because this is about real-world history as much as it's about any of the existing characters it's pulling from elsewhere, and so those are chosen more so as representatives of their nations than anything else, picked first and foremost to represent the real historical circumstances driving this war. The cadaverous and inhumanly wealthy Gog to represent fascist Italy, the weaselly and controlling and useless Nyctalope as a condemnation of France's inaction and whose greatest failure was his unwillingness to stop the fascist takeover of Spain, the mechanical men of the Soviet Union, Dr. Mabuse as a living rampant metaphor for Nazi doctrine and dehumanization, and so on.

All these fantasies/metaphors turned literal and on the warpath, constructs that stand for more than just their respective characters or publishers but the imaginations that created them. You have to talk about those to talk meaningfully about these characters, about the history, and about the reasons why there are no European superheroes from that era, about the profound failure of imagination that occurred in Europe at that time. You have to talk about not just the ways Europe's imagination not only failed, but turned for the worst in the worst ways imaginable, for the worst ends possible. This comic is frequently compared to, or pitched as a companion to, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, which I've covered here, and that's not a parallel I feel is particularly worth getting into (not in the least because this is, obviously, tremendously better written and more thoughtful and purposeful with a fraction of the page count), but I'll say this: if LOEG touches a lot on the idea of fiction as a dangerous, noxious force, largely in terms of stunted moral development and unhealthy attachments to problematic ideas (a thing it can never fully commit to because Moore and O'Neil themselves do have a lot of attachments to it and because it's trying to extend commentary to ALL of fiction), if it's always dancing around the idea of our fictions being unhealthy and problematic and potentially dangerous, The Chimera Brigade picks a subject it very much cannot dance around. Instead of trying to be about all of fiction, it takes a laser-focused approach on the way fiction informs it's central topic. The Chimera Brigade fires a bullet into your heart by just showing the example of how, when and why fiction was used to enable and justify and even perpetrate the slaughter of millions.

There is so much about this comic's final stretch that feels like it shouldn't work, particularly the literalized cockroach metaphor purposefully evoking anti-semitic fiction, but there is no other way this could possibly end other than showing how fiction very much did get weaponized in the name of slaughter. There is no triumph to be had in the European imagination of 1939. There is no way the European superhero can possibly end in anything other than colossal shame and failure, if it allows this to happen. Even if Superman shows up to help, you can't Hope your way out of the Holocaust, not when you're in this historical playground, not when you're talking about the history of the genre. The finale in particular is something I'd like to see being dissected and discussed from a Jewish creator perspective, because so much of it is specifically about that aspect of the superhero myth, but this finale is the big reason why this comic can't be discussed without spoiling it. It would be like trying to discuss Watchmen or Miracleman without spoiling their endings, and believe me, those comparisons are extremely warranted. This ends on even more of a downer ending than those two, and there is no other way this could possibly end.

This comic doesn't just come from a place of great curiosity and historical interest and research, it doesn't just come from a place of love for the medium and it's possibilities, it doesn't just come from a desire to rectify or correct or live up to an ideal within the genre, but it comes from a place of genuine insight and honesty and focus on what it's about, and what it has to say to truly be about that thing. It's a comic that is willing to turn to you and say, "let's take this all the way to the top, let's take this concept where it was actually always going in a way that can never be walked back, no beating around the bush or happy ending, this is what the European superheroes were, this is why they stopped existing after a point. Maybe we could have had them, maybe we could have had superheroes the way the Americans did, but we drove their creators elsewhere by bulldozing their people into mass graves, we deserve this shame and we must confront it, there is no happy ending here, only a reminder of what has been and what must never be again"

It can't pretend this failure, the failure of the European pulp heroes and superhumans, the failures of European society, were redeemed by a different kind of super imagination, and it becomes apparent how much of this is built on the understanding that you do know how this is going to end for everyone and how much all of these characters must dissappear basically forever, The End of the European Superhumans as it displays on the back of the collections, ending the only way it possibly can and with just as horrible of a gut punch for them as it needs to for everyone.

Everyone except the mysterious smiling American strongman with a spitcurl and a suit whose real name can't be legally said, and who is here to bring his family of fellow constructs home so they can take and create The Superhero Genre elsewhere. "Mr.Steele"? Why, he is gonna do just fine from now on.

I was wildly underprepared for how much this would give me to dissect and think about, on it's own and especially in comparison to the kinds of stories that usually attempt what this one is doing. I do know there are sequels and prequels, the sequel doesn't seem like it's any good (you can feel Colin's absence from the first issue) but I do want to check the Nyctalope prequels, and apparently there's a big fancy animated project coming out and I have NO idea how the fuck is that gonna work. But overall this is just a tremendously impressive achievement in genre archaeology and storytelling by every metric, it's astonishing how much this can do with the space it has.

This has genuinely reinvigorated my entire interest in pulp fiction like nothing has in a really long time and I think from this point onwards, any question I get regarding how to tackle a pulp fiction crossover or genre mashup is gonna be answered or prefaced with "read The Chimera Brigade and try to get on that level".

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Thirty: Cerberus Is Not Your Friend

You weren’t a coward.

You’d fought bounty hunters, bitten Marines, eaten sea monsters raw (well, licked them), and survived being quarantined for fleas.

But even you had to admit—

This island? Was giving you the ick.

Every tree was twisted like it grew up listening to cursed poetry. The ground squelched when it shouldn’t. The fog curled around your ankles like curious little fingers. And the distant howling?

Not the cute kind.

Definitely not the cute kind.

You crept through the woods beside Sanji, tail low, eyes darting.

“Where are we even going?” you whispered.

“To find Nami, Usopp, and Chopper,” he muttered, scanning the path ahead. “Try not to run off.”

“Try not to catch me doing it.”

The howling got louder.

Luffy, of course, ran toward it.

Robin stayed back, calm as ever.

Zoro walked straight into the fog like a very angry lighthouse.

You stuck close to Sanji. Why? Because you could smell fur ahead. But not the good kind. Not yours.

And then you saw it.

Lumbering through the fog—

Cerberus.

Or rather… some kind of stitched-together nightmare version.

Two dog heads. One fox head. All drooling. All very loud.

Patchwork fur. Mismatched ears. It looked like taxidermy and tax fraud had a baby.

You froze.

“WHAT is that?” you hissed.

Robin tilted her head. “Three heads. Poorly assembled. Fascinating.”

Sanji lit his cigarette. “Ugh. That’s an insult to good-looking foxes.”

“RUDE!” you snapped.

Then Cerberus growled.

You hissed.

Cerberus barked.

You shrieked.

Cerberus lunged.

And Luffy—

PUNCHED IT DIRECTLY INTO A WALL.

The entire forest shook.

Cerberus let out a “whuff—?” noise and crumpled into a pile of legs, fur, and dazed confusion.

Luffy beamed.

“Down!!”

You stared at the dogfox chimera as it rolled onto its back with cartoon swirls in its eyes.

“…Did he just domesticate it with violence?”

“Yup,” Zoro said, emerging from the mist, unfazed.

“I’m so glad he didn’t try that on me.”

“You’d have bitten him back,” Sanji said.

“I still might.”

The now-subdued Cerberus stumbled after Luffy like a dizzy, cursed puppy.

You kept a very safe distance behind it, pressing closer to Sanji’s side, ears twitching with suspicion.

One of the heads sneezed.

You jumped.

Sanji chuckled. “Aw, what’s wrong? I thought you liked dogs.”

“I like normal dogs,” you hissed. “Not… that. That’s three tax returns in a trench coat.”

The fox head turned to look at you.

You bared your teeth.

It licked its eyeball.

You shuddered violently.

As the crew continued deeper into the forest, you kept glancing over your shoulder at the waddling, stitched-up Cerberus trailing behind Luffy.

You leaned in to Sanji and whispered, “If that thing tries to sniff me, you’re feeding it to Zoro.”

He exhaled a puff of smoke and smirked. “Deal.”

You purred once. Just a little.

But kept your claws out.

Just in case.

--

You knew something was wrong the moment you stepped into the graveyard.

The fog got heavier.

The wind colder.

The ground? Squishier. Too squishy.

And then—hands. Rotting, groaning, grabby hands.

“HEY—HEY—NO TOUCHING!” you shrieked, trying to claw your way out as bony fingers latched onto your ankles, arms, tail—your tail, for crying out loud!

“THIS IS NOT A SCRATCH-AND-SNIFF ZOO!!”

The zombies groaned louder and dragged you down like something out of a very poorly budgeted horror movie. You were bitten, slobbered on, held aloft by at least six different limbs, and just as you were mid-scream—

The crew arrived.

And obliterated them.

Zoro sliced one into pieces midair. Sanji kicked another’s head so hard it rolled into the fog. Luffy punched through a cluster like wet paper. Robin politely popped a few skulls.

Within moments, the graveyard was still.

You? You were left sitting in the mud, covered in slime, pawprints, and deep emotional betrayal.

And then—

You started crying.

Full body. Ugly. Sniffling.

“IT’S OVER FOR ME!” you wailed.

Zoro blinked. “What.”

“I’VE BEEN BITTEN! MULTIPLE TIMES!”

“You’re fine,” Sanji said, crouching beside you.

“I’M NOT! WHAT IF I TURN INTO A ZOMBIE? What if I start shedding uncontrollably?! Or stop being cute?! WHAT IF I STOP PURRING?!”

Luffy tilted his head. “Do zombies do that?”

Robin: “Scientifically unclear.”

You gasped, clutching your chest. “I don’t want to live like this!”

Then you turned to the crew, eyes wide and watery.

“I LOVE YOU ALL! Even Zoro. And that’s saying something.”

“Gee. Thanks,” he muttered.

“Robin, keep being elegant and mysterious. Sanji—stop calling every girl 'madam.' It’s weird. Franky— always add more explosions. Luffy—well, I guess just keep being Luffy.”

The crew stood in stunned silence.

You turned, teary-eyed, to Sanji, grabbing his lapel (the folded thingy on the jacket of a suit) with shaking paws.

“Come closer,” you whispered dramatically. “I want your sparkling eyes to be the last thing I see before I die.”

Sanji flushed, but leaned in obediently.

You looked into his eyes.

Held your breath.

And then…

Dramatically collapsed backward into the mud.

One paw flopped out limply. Tail went still.

Dead.

…

Silence.

Then—

You peeked open one eye.

“...Did it work?”

Zoro groaned, hand to his face. Luffy poked you. “Why are you still breathing?”

“I wanted a moment, okay?!”

Robin smirked. “Convincing performance. Four out of five stars.”

You sat up slowly. “Do zombies cry that hard? No. That was Oscar-worthy.”

Sanji helped you up with a towel and a sigh. “Next time, try not to lick your wounds mid-scene. Kinda ruined the immersion.”

You paused. “…Noted.”

One of the pummeled zombies, face half-smashed and lodged into a tombstone, groaned.

“They… they took your friends… to the mansion…”

Luffy’s grin returned like a light switch. “AWESOME!! Let’s go kick a mansion’s ass!”

You nodded solemnly.

Still dripping zombie goo.

Still kinda whimpering.

“Someone better carry me, though. I’ve just been traumatized.”

--

Sanji, ever the gentleman, held out his arms toward you, soaked, still trembling with "trauma" (your words), and said softly:

“Come here, angel. Let me carry you—princess style.”

You fluttered your lashes. Smiled sweetly. Raised one dainty paw—

And immediately got yoinked.

“—HEY!!”

Zoro had already scooped you up and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“WHAT IS THIS?!” you howled, tail thrashing, “I SURVIVED ZOMBIES! I DESERVE SILK PILLOWS AND GENTLE HANDS!”

“You’ll get silence and stay there,” Zoro muttered.

Sanji looked like he’d been physically stabbed. “You put her down this instant, you moss-brained slab of disrespect!”

“She’s not a handbag, Zoro!” Robin chimed in, absolutely enjoying herself.

“Too late. I live here now,” you mumbled from your upside-down position.

They stepped inside the mansion.

The door creaked. The floor groaned. The wallpaper judged you.

You squinted from over Zoro’s shoulder as they entered a grand hallway lined with paintings.

Big ones. Small ones. Ornate, cracked, faded. All of them showing twisted figures. Elongated arms, warped grins, grotesque scenes of dancing and war and why is that one looking at me?!

You narrowed your eyes.

“...These paintings are moving.”

“They’re not moving,” Zoro grunted.

Then one of the paintings blinked.

“…Okay they’re moving.”

One frame twitched violently, and a warped, stretched-out face-worm of a body began slithering out of the canvas, like someone was being pulled through a tube of toothpaste.

“NOPE,” you yelled, scrambling—still upside down—on Zoro’s back like a spider. “I’M OUT. THIS IS A WORM MAN.”

Another painting across the hall began to bulge.

Robin raised a brow. “Fascinating. Sentient artwork.”

“ABOMINATION ART!” you screamed.

Then the bear rug on the floor growled.

The eyes glowed red.

Sanji turned mid-sprint and kicked its face in. It rolled like a sentient floor mat screaming in bear-ese.

Zoro sliced one of the worm-bodied art gremlins in half mid-air as it tried to monologue something about "the void between brushstrokes."

Luffy just started punching frames and laughing. “THEY SQUISH LIKE CREAM!”

You were still flailing when the stupid mounted pig head on the wall started moving.

It blinked. Snorted. Let out a low, guttural voice:

“Diiiinner ttiiiiime…”

You froze.

It was… bacon.

Cursed bacon.

But still.

“…I wanna eat it.”

“What?!” Sanji gasped.

“It’s still meat!” you snarled, lunging from Zoro’s shoulder like a torpedo. “IT SHOULDN’T TALK IF IT DIDN’T WANT TO BE EATEN—!”

You landed with claws bared and bit into the edge of the wooden plaque.

“OW—ow—okay not real meat—not real meat—!” you hissed, spitting splinters.

The pig head shrieked and started insulting your chewing technique.

Luffy punched it clean off the wall with a laugh. “That’s for disrespecting the chef!”

You staggered back to Zoro, spit out a wood chip, and muttered, “I regret nothing.”

He sighed, grabbing you by the scruff.

“Haunted ham shouldn’t exist,” you grumbled. “I was hungry.”

The hallway was quiet again, save for the occasional twitch from the frames and the groaning rug as it dragged itself into a corner to rethink its life choices.

You flopped against Zoro’s back again, licking your teeth. “That was the most calories I’ve burned in a week.”

Robin adjusted her hat. “Let’s hope the next room doesn’t try to eat us.”

“I will bite first,” you declared.

“Noted,” Zoro said. “No more talking pigs.”

“They’re liars anyway.”

---

It hit you slowly at first—like a quiet itch in the back of your brain.

Sanji wasn’t talking.

Which was weird.

Sanji always talked.

Flirting. Complaining. Cooking threats. Calling Zoro names. Trying not to look at you when you stretched too much.

But now?

Silence.

You looked around.

You were walking down a long, creaky hallway with Luffy, Zoro, Robin, and Franky. The only light came from the cracked windows and the flickering wall sconces. Everything smelled like mold and undeath.

“Where’s the cook?” you asked suddenly.

Everyone stopped.

“…He was just behind us,” Robin said slowly, eyes narrowing.

Zoro’s jaw tightened. “That bastard didn’t say anything.”

You spun around, ears flat, fur puffing up.

“Sanji?”

Nothing.

You sniffed the air.

But all you got was dust, damp wood, and the faint smell of something wrong.

“Stick close,” Luffy muttered, and for once, his voice was serious.

So you did.

Tight formation. Weapons out. Claws ready.

Until—everything went sideways.

Literally.

With a soundless, horrific blur, something dropped from the ceiling—thin limbs, twitchy claws, multiple limbs—like oversized spiders stuffed into rat-sized packages, covered in stitched fur and twitching whiskers.

“THEY’RE SPIDER MICE—” you managed to shriek—

Before one landed directly on you.

Its claws dug into your back. A long, twitching tongue hit your shoulder. You were lifted into the air with terrifying strength—silently, swiftly, like you weighed nothing.

Across the hall, Zoro was caught too, mid-swing.

You reached for him.

He reached back.

Too slow.

The world went dark.

You woke up somewhere cold.

Somewhere massive.

A grand hall, cloaked in eerie blue light. Tall arched windows stretched impossibly high. Tattered curtains danced in a phantom breeze.

The air was heavy with rot, with magic.

And with hunger.

You couldn’t move. Your body was bound in thick webbing at your legs and arms, your head slumped against a dusty floor. You blinked sluggishly. Tried to growl.

But everything hurt.

Your tail twitched once.

You lifted your head—and froze.

Across the room stood a tall, horrifying silhouette. Draped in elegant, ancient clothes, a monstrous, aristocratic vampire-like figure loomed in front of you. Eyes glowing. Mouth stretched into a horrible grin.

And his tongue—

Was licking his lips.

“Such rare souls,” he said, voice like velvet soaked in blood. “And what a odd little beast you are... I’ve never stolen a feline shadow before.”

You struggled, claws scraping the ground. “Don’t you dare—”

His fingers flicked.

Your body stopped.

You felt it—the pull.

Your shadow ripped free from your feet like smoke. It stretched, screamed, twisted—and was ripped away.

You let out a strangled cry.

Everything went cold.

And then—

Nothing.

Your body crumpled.

Eyes closed, face neutral.

Fur dulled.

Unmoving.

He laughed.

“Another one for the pile.”

You were tossed like trash into the corner.

Your body landed hard next to two others:

Sanji.

Zoro.

Pale. Breathless. Unconscious.

You didn’t move.

But the crew was coming.

And your shadow… would not rest easy.

[darkmaga-returns]

By Charles Hugh Smith

OfTwoMinds.com

December 18, 2024

All three pillars propping up workforce spending are cracking. Plan accordingly.

Karl Marx and Henry Ford both understood the key pillar of an industrial economy: the workforce has to earn enough to buy the output of the economy. If the workforce doesn’t earn enough to have surplus earnings to spend on the enormous output of an industrial economy, then the producers cannot sell their goods / services at a profit, except to the few at the top as luxury goods–and that’s not an industrial economy, it’s a feudal economy of very limited scope.

Marx recognized that capitalism is a self-liquidating system as capital has the power to squeeze wages even as the output of an industrial economy steadily increases due to automation, technology, etc.

Henry Ford understood that if his own workforce couldn’t afford to buy the cars rolling off the assembly line, then his ambition to sell a car to every household was an unreachable chimera. (There were other factors, of course; the work was so brutal and mind-numbing that Ford had to pay more just to keep workers from quitting.)

If we say the three pillars holding up the economy, the conventional list is: 1) consumer spending (i.e. aggregate demand); 2) productivity and 3) corporate profits. These are not actually pillars, they are outcomes of the core pillar, wage earners making enough to buy the economy’s output.

As the statistics often cited here show, the purchasing power of wages has been declining for almost 50 years, since the mid-1970s. This means the workforce’s surplus earnings have bought less and less of the economy’s output.

There are three ways to fill the widening gap that’s opened between what the workforce has to spend as surplus earnings and the vast output of the economy:

[mysteroads]

Chapter 3: The Party Assembles! And Screams.

Summary: Barbara and Delia step through their mirror for their first foray into the Neitherworld proper. Lydia's happy to meet up with some old friends, but there's a bit of a learning curve for the newbies.

Excerpt:

Seeing the usually bustling store empty was odd, and set off warning bells in Lydia’s head— right up until she heard a familiar Brooklyn accent:

“LYDIA!” 

She grinned as a pink jumping spider about the size of a german shepherd came skittering towards her from between the shelves.

Behind her, Barbara and Delia screamed. A blast of energy Lydia whizzed past Lydia, so close it ruffled her hair and numbed her ear. The blast slammed into the shelving next to the spider, who squealed and got tangled in its own legs trying to run away. Lydia spun, eyes wide. Beetlejuice had his hand around both of Barbara's wrists, having shoved her hands up and to one side, deflecting the ball of ghost energy that had been aimed at the incoming monster.

The shelf wobbled, tipping back… then forward… then back… then forward again… it hesitated, then crashed to the floor. The contents (a mix of snow globes, ancient power tools, a selection of novelty pens, and a crystal punch bowl filled with bouncy balls) spilled out across the floor in a wave. The bouncy balls, apparently overjoyed at this chance for freedom, rocketed away to the far, dim corners of the store. The snow globes and punch bowl didn't fare nearly as well, adding the cringe-causing sound of breaking glass to the cacophony.

A lion’s roar drowned everything else out as a trap door behind the counter opened with a bang and a monster the size of a VW bug surged out. 

Beetlejuice and Lydia had repeatedly warned the Neitherworld newbies about what to expect, but verbal descriptions rarely do the supernatural justice. Especially when the supernatural in question is a roaring chimera — complete with two heads (lioness and goat) and a snake tail—wearing pearls and a bright red peplum. 

The screaming got louder.

[caprart1]

Bandit is so cool! If he was created to be a super human does he have superpowers or was he just a half racoon guy? And if so was that why they were so comfortable with just putting him down?

Happy you asked!

I don't personally consider Bandit and other chimera pals to have super powers, although that could be debated because originally it was supposed to be a superhero story. I do have a few characters within this story that appear outwardly to be more human, but have the ability to morph into the animal their DNA is spliced with. I guess that could be up to however you interpret it

The laboratory is more concerned with improving the workforce, and so they're driven to create "humans" that are faster, stronger, more intelligent, and more obedient. Their idea then was to create human-animal hybrids. Bandit, as a raccoon chimera, is crafty with scrap and knows how to utilize his resources to create new gadgets. This can be useful in positions that require assembly. However, because he exhibited characteristics of disobedience, the laboratory ended up seeing him as a danger to their cause. The solution was to have him killed, since it wouldn't be ideal for him to be integrated into society

I would also like to say that the laboratory keeps a lot of information hidden from their subjects. Bandit never realized what the true purpose for him and anyone else was. As far as he knows, he was special from other regular humans and was made to make a difference, so he feels rage that he's being stopped from fulfilling that

I hope this answers that question! I really appreciate the interest, feel free to inquire more if you're curious about anything else! 💓

[weirdestbooks]

The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 16

And One Must Face the Reality of War (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

June 17, 1775

England’s day started with cannon fire. 

The ships in the harbor were attacking rebel fortification in Charlestown, just across the Charles River. The Colonies and his rebels had set up fortifications on two hills, meaning that someone had tipped the rebels off to England’s plans.

England was furious. He was already under a lot of pressure from his son to break the siege of Boston and end the uprising. Not to mention the mocking letter England got from Wales, making fun of how he fled from The Colonies’ rebels. Wales mocked England, blaming the loss on England’s great mistake from 1536—when England accidentally almost killed himself, permanently weakening him. 

Wales neglected to mention it weakened him too, but then again, with the dragon traits the faux-countryhuman gained from the Glyndŵr rebellion, perhaps the dragon-lion chimera saw himself as stronger than his English counterpart.

Now, he had this to worry about. 

England was furious and swore to himself that he was going to take his grandson, drag him back home, and throw him at Britain’s feet to face the punishment he deserved. England knew his son would show The Colonies more mercy than England and just beat the colony. England knew that the beating would keep the Colonies docile until their unfounded rage subsided enough for them to see the error of this rebellion. Normandy used it to help him see how misguided he was, although England would admit his mother was much less harsh than Britain. Still, you could not deny the results. The colonies fell in line, even Scotland's brat and her brood, and that's all that matters., which England knew would keep the Colonies docile until their unfounded rage subsided enough for them to see the error of this rebellion. 

Normandy used it to help him see how misguided he was, although England would admit his mother was much less harsh than Britain. Still, you could not deny the results. The colonies fell in line, even Scotland's brat and her brood, and that's all that matters.

Still, that wasn’t important; instead, what was important was dealing with the threat outside of Charlestown, hopefully capturing The Colonies and demoralizing the stupid rebellion.

General Gage had ordered troops together at mid-morning, and now, at midday, the first ship carrying soldiers, England included. As the troops began to assemble, England kept an eye on Breed’s Hill, where the rebel fortifications were, looking for any sign of his grandson.

Unfortunately, The Colonies was nowhere in sight, leaving England curious about what the colony was doing.

“England?” General Howe asked from behind him. England turned, his eyebrow raised, “Are you sure you won’t join the feint? It would be a lot more believable if you did.”

General Howe's plan was smart. One force would advance on the redoubt as a feint. A second would march to the right through an open pasture and flank, surround, and crush the resistance inside the redoubt. Unfortunately, the general wanted to send England as a distraction despite his years of experience in combat. 

England sighed, “For the last time, General, I will go with the main force. If Colonies is there, I must ensure he gets captured and returned to his father.”

General Howe nodded, his face stoney. “I trust your judgment. You have my permission to go with the main force.”

England almost snorted in amusement. Permission. How quaint of this human to think he could give England such a thing. England was eight-hundred forty-seven years old and had been at war for much of his life. He knew where he would fight, and he knew he would fight and not be some feint to trick a bunch of rebels and a rebelling colony who really shouldn’t be thinking for himself.

England walked to stand by the commander of the attacking force, who looked up at him with awe. England ignored him, his eyes back to scanning for his grandson. Eventually, England spotted a glimpse of him, and his ears twitched, frustrated, as even with his better hearing, he could not hear what his misguided grandson was saying.  

Finally, after waiting a while, England and his troops were given the order to advance, as the ships ended their bombardment of the hill after hours.

As they made their way through the pasture, England realized this would not be as easy as he had thought. For one, the tall grass had hidden many obstacles from England and his troops, from fences to rolls, and the advancing line slowed to a crawl as they carefully picked their way around them.

Secondly, The Colonies had apparently not placed all his troops in the redoubt. In a shocking display of military intelligence from a group of rebels, some were at the end of the pasture. However, much to England’s shock, the rebels weren’t firing, not at them or the decoy force. They watched the soldiers come closer but still made no move to fire.

What on earth were they doing?

The rebels' lack of reaction to their advance made England nervous. Although their guns were raised like they would fire, they did not move.

However, as England’s soldiers got closer, the rebels opened fire, and the air was quickly filled with the screams of the injured and dying. 

England bit back an Old Norse curse as it finally dawned on him what the rebels were doing. They waited until the soldiers were close before firing so their bullets would cause more casualties.

It was brilliant and a strategy befitting an actual army and a real military commander, but these bloody rebels did it!

England was going to make The Colonies pay.

If climbing the hill in the pasture had been difficult, the rain of bullets made it impossible. While England could see a few rebels fall, he was losing far more men.

Eventually, as the soldiers drew back, the rebels' fire slowed, and Engladn realized that they would only be fired upon as long as they were close. Still, they had to climb the hill to take the redoubt, and England ordered his men back into the slaughter.

England heard cannon fire start back up again and panicked. He turned around to look at his ships and sighed in relief when he realized they were only targeting Charlestown, with red-hot cannonballs too, England presumed, as the small town had started to catch fire.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, England returned his focus to the rebels. Unfortunately, having lost the momentum their attack needed, General Howe ordered the troops to withdraw.

England growled in frustration, shooting a hateful look at the rebels before pulling back, tail lashing, and praying they were not about to retreat from The Colonies again.

“We need to try something else. The rebels are slaughtering us, and they have too much of an advantage on that hill.” General Howe told England as they regrouped with the feint force, who had also lost a lot of men.

“Are there rebels on the other side of the hill? They cover the pasture and the front, but if they aren’t covering all sides of the hill, that could be the opening we need.” England pointed out. General Howe nodded.

“It’s worth a shot. If we fail, we’ll have to report another failure to break the siege, and none of us need that right now.” General Howe said before ordering the troops to regroup. 

Once they had done that, they marched up the left of the redoubt, this time facing far less resistance and able to put more pressure on the redoubt. It also seemed like the rebels were running low on ammunition, as England could see some throwing rocks and others fleeing. 

The sight filled him with confidence, and England was sure now that they would win, especially as some of his soldiers began mounting the walls. Smiling in satisfaction, England moved forward to join them, climbing over the walls with all the grace of an experienced soldier (who had the benefit of sharp claws). 

Inside, a bloody melee had begun, with England’s soldiers cutting down rebels with their bayonets as the rebels desperately fought back, turning their rifles into clubs. England jammed his bayonet into a rebel’s stomach before ripping it out, leaving behind a bloody hole, before dodging a swing of a musket.

England sighed and shook his head as he saw who the attacker was.

“You know this isn’t right. Come home.” England growled out, baring his sharp, draconic fangs.

The Colonies shook his head, and England felt a bolt of fear go through him as he realized that The Colonies' eyes were bright green instead of the brown they had been for so long.

“I think I am home. And I think you need to get out.” The Colonies said, baring his teeth in return. England tightened his grip on his gun.

“I won’t leave. I’m taking you back to your father, so you’ll face punishment for this stupid little rebellion.”

“Listen here, England,” The Colonies said before England cut him off.

“Stop pretending we aren’t family,” England said, clenching his jaw. More rebels were fleeing now, the improvised weapons failing against the bayonets. It filled England with great satisfaction, seeing his army win against the cocky rebels.

“We aren’t. Not anymore. You aren’t taking this seriously! You don’t take me seriously! But I’ll show you just how serious I am, England.” The Colonies snarled out before swinging the butt of his musket into England’s jaw, swinging the weapon like one would swing a club. 

There was a loud crack, and red-hot pain erupted in his jaw as England collapsed to the ground, blood filling his mouth as he spat out one of his teeth.

England attempted to speak but stopped as another bolt of pain erupted in his jaw, causing tears to prick in the corners of his eyes. This was a kind of pain he had never felt before, blinding and all-consuming, as every movement of his face seemed to send a new type of pain down his jaw.

England bit his tongue, trying to prevent himself from whimpering in pain. He could not let The Colonies see how badly he was hurt. It would do no good to feed into the delusions of control.

“We aren’t going to give up easily. I–we hope you’ve learned that. Send Britain our love,” The Colonies said, his eyes vividly reminding England of Ireland. 

England felt anger swell throughout his body as he tried to stand up. However, The Colonies kicked him in his jaw, which made another loud crack. England let out a cry of pain before he collapsed, not getting up, the pain rendering him immobile. It was all he could do to stop himself from crying at the pain as The Colonies, foolish coward he was, fled.

The pain was overwhelming, but England still managed to turn onto his side, painfully spitting out a mouthful of blood as he struggled to breathe.

He knew his jaw was broken. 

The rebellion had barely begun, and The Colonies and their godforsaken rebels had already forced England into a pyrrhic victory. This did not spell good things for the rest of the rebellion.

However, in this battle, England and Generals Howe and Gage had made the costly mistake of underestimating the colony and his rabble.

That was a mistake they could never make again.

[strawberrygrapesandcherry]

(Snippet of the new chapter in my fic)

After some more debating, they came to a resolution where Theo lives in the apartment that Derek lends to him for the foreseeable future, and of course, Argent and sheriff Stilinski threaten Theo again; something about skinning him and sticking him on a pole to which Theo responded that’s a little sadistic, even for me.

Getting Theo to accept the offer was a bit challenging but when Liam put his foot down and denied Theo the right to refuse, there really wasn’t much left to say. Theo’s not too sure if Liam’s puppy eyes convinced him or if it's the sheer wrath that would follow if he’d said no.

Then there’s Theo’s least favourite part which was actually moving in. Liam had insisted on so much decor like hanging paintings and ceramic vases even after Theo told him he has no intention of buying flowers to place in them anyways. They bickered back and forth in the middle of the furniture aisle—earning them odd looks from the strangers nearby—before coming to an agreement that Liam can pick out half of the furniture.

The little bastard put the vase into the cart when Theo wasn’t looking and insisted that it would make the space more homey, and argued that it’s not like it’s coming out of Theo’s pocket anyways.

Peter was definitely going to be furious by the amount of spending on his card that the two boys did—mainly Liam—but that’s really at the bottom of their priority list.

They spent the rest of the day moving in furniture that they had to assemble themselves, which took longer because Liam read an instruction sheet wrong and accidentally ripped it in half, and then Theo dropped the small labelled containers which scattered the small parts straight across the whole floor.

Another squabble ensued as they tried to point at who was to blame, because technically the chimera dropped the container after his shock at Liam’s stupidity, but they never really agreed on whose fault it was. Before they knew it the sky was already dark and though they couldn’t finish everything, at least they fixed Theo’s bed and got the beddings on it.

[lugiepie]

do you have lore for hero-n and tabbygon 0:

alas, i do…

i’ve decided to completely rework how i wanted the chimera logs to be considering i lost the plot so hard but still loved gary to death as a character to write. so, instead of an au focusing on just gary and his struggles with his life and friends, gary is now a narrator. he is thrust into his job at the chimera lab just as suddenly as he was in the og chimera logs story, but now he’s all alone. there was no first day escape incident that led him to meet max, izzy is no longer here (still thinking about this. she could be in it, but as a casualty), etc.

hero-n and tabbygon are gary’s first chimeras. they were made in the first week he was there (or, at least their concepts) and due to not having any friends at the chimera lab, he heavily idolizes them. to him, they are his friends (and he eventually even considers them his children) despite them being nothing more than some blueprints and a hard drive. he designed them to compliment each other: hero-n was meant to be a swift, frail attack chimera while tabbygon supported it and could protect it if need be. gary longed for the day that a heron and a cat would arrive at the chimera lab so he could realize his vision so much so that he assembled all of the required mechanical parts in advance.

unfortunately for him, his heron and cat never came. instead, he was delivered two torn-up children who he was ordered to keep alive at all costs. against his wishes, his blueprints for the internal mechanics (and, later, their combat tools) were used on the twins. he despises the twins for taking his one chance at happiness and completion and destroying them. to make matters worse, lucas is the heron (a defensive psi user with attack-based programming) and claus is the cat (an offensive psi user running on analytical and defensive programming). those “hell-sent suckers” can’t even be good chimeras! at any chance he gets, he berates and torments the boys by letting the other chimeras trample or fight them. he nearly kills the boys several times, either through ignorance or from training them just a little too much.

all until his blueprints are returned to him by lucas. at first gary completely dismisses this. he idolized the heron and the cat for so long, and by now he had accepted that they would never see the light of day. he considers locking lucas in the cryo room for his supposed sabotage. however, he eventually overhears how worried doctor andonuts and, by extension, every damn human in the lab is about him. they think gary’s completely lost it (i mean, they’re right) and they don’t know what to do with him if he’s going to continue to be this violent with their expensive chimeras. gary takes one last look at his blueprints, leaves them under his bed, and “kidnaps” the twins. in reality, he just ushered them into his truck and tried to get them home; unfortunately neither of them remembered where tazmily was and they got caught.

gary then realizes that, due to how the wrong twin has the opposite’s programming quirks, he comes up with a long and convoluted plan that will result in one of the twins being able to leave the lab forever. after much consideration from the boys and gary, they decide lucas is the best one to go. at least one of them has to stay to be commander, after all, and who better than the powerhouse thunder thumbs? but that means the heron and the cat are separated, and what happens?

claus becomes violent and short-tempered, much like how flint was the night of hinawa’s death and also like how gary was when they first met. he begins a spiral into madness where he, quite literally, becomes porky #2. lucas, meanwhile, latches on to flint after miraculously finding his way back home. he becomes so independent and stale in the face that the folks of tazmily think he’s been possessed by something. that and people finding his cybernetics vile lead to him becoming “the ghost of tazmily”; he flies above the town and over the sea at dawn and dusk, as flying is the only thing that drowns out the noise of his spiraling negative thoughts. he steals from shops and people’s homes in the night. he’s regularly crawling around in sunshine forest to take out his feelings on the landscape, leaving perfectly scorched patterns from PK Love everywhere he goes.

i’ve recently attempted rewriting the chimera logs following this storyline, and it hasn’t gone well. i’m not even ten pages in and i already want to set google docs on fire. i wish i could express in writing just how important the concept of a shady heron and a mischievous cat are to gary’s entire situation, as they act as constant reminders of who, what, and where he’s been in life, but i simply don’t have the brainpower to do that currently methinks.

just know that the heron and the cat cannot be separated; for if they are, their absence will drive their compliment to conform to the next nearest thing, and that will bring certain doom.

there were always two.