#i do think its funny how I seem to get noticeably better at drawing when not drawing naruto characters

[oh-no-its-bird]

skin shading my beloved ,,,, how I missed u ,,,

Doing silly oc things for one of my closest and oldest friends birthday

[the-s1lly-corner]

Drawing each other (CRPS 1/2)

I'm probably going to forget to break these posts up unless like- I dont write all the fandom parts at once so I'm sorry you guys have to see the same prompt but different groups of characters/fandoms over and over LMAO

Characters: slenderman, splendorman, masky, hoodie, ticci toby

Notes: reader is GN, admin tossed a coin on whether or not the reader is an artist or not

CWs: none

SLENDERMAN

neither of you are... good artists... but neither of you are about to judge one another for your skill levels

im... not even sure hes picked up a pencil before in his life, and that shows in his drawing of you

he keeps the art you make of him tucked away somewhere, where exactly... youre not actually sure, but you know he keeps them as youve caught him holding them before

you keep his drawings of you tucked away somewhere where they cant be damaged

... its not the best bonding activity, but its a nice little moment between the two of you that feels... normal

SPLENDORMAN

he love love loves watching you draw, so when you approached him with this idea hes over the moon! you want to draw him? and you want him to draw you as well? say no more!

hes not insanely skilled, but he doodles here and there! likes using bright colors, so expect his drawing of you to be vibrant! if you let him hes going to add extra stuff such as glitter and stickers! youre not sure where he gets them...

waits patiently for you to finish your drawing, he even does his best to sit as still as possible so you can get a better reference of him

even if its not your best work- in your opinion- hes going to treat it like its the greatest piece of art made by anyone ever

hangs it up on the fridge, and will constantly praise you

is it a little much? ...yes... but damn it hes going to let you know how much he loves it!

MASKY

i like to think that proxies are the ones who create slenders pages, and... well they arent exactly pretty, a lot being just scribbles

doesnt find much enjoyment in drawing, but he may agree to do this with you

now you on the other hand, you like drawing... and its likely masky may pick up on some of the things you do when making it, even if you dont notice him hes somewhere watching you

his drawing of you has the scratchy look a lot of the pages have... but since hes given more time to work on it, it looks a lot nicer than some of the pages even if theres some flaws in the anatomy and all

quietly looks at the drawing youve made of him, he doesnt seem offended by your portray of him so at least you have that going for you!

gently places it on the table, but youre sure hes going to put it in his stash somewhere in the house to keep for later

HOODIE

not much of an artist, and neither are you

generally the interaction is pretty light hearted, even if there isnt much talking between the two of you

very proud of his drawing of you, even if it ends up being a mass of colors that only slightly resemble you- similar to masky, theres a lot of that scratchy black scribbling on his drawing of you

gives you a thumbs up when he receives your drawing of him, he doesnt say anything but thats to be expected from him

tucks it into the back pocket of his pants

TICCI TOBY

he cant draw, but you can... it leads to a.. funny exchange

you put so much time into drawing him how you view him, even if its just a quick colored sketch, its going to look like mona lisa compared to what toby is about to show you

you both poke fun at the skill difference between the two of you, it quickly leads to the both of you needing to take minute in order to catch your breath

hes not interested in art, or improving his skills however hes going to jump at the idea of you offering to teach him some stuff

just to spend time with you, really! there isnt much spare time to do that given his being a proxy thing... likes any excuse to hang around

[shuuen-no-cimory]

Also of course, it ain't me if I don't crossover my current hyperfixation with my ultimate current hyperfixation. So... Degrees of Lewdity x ProjectMoon! (This post is full of me yapping as I explain each drawing, so I guess, be ready?)

First, I'll go hard with Whitney as R Corp. 4th Rabbit Team. The initial idea was that he reminds me so much of RHeath LMAO But eventually I love the idea because I think he'd go along with Myo well. Plus... Somehow imagining Whitney in Rabbit Team Hatchery shenanigans seems... Interesting.

Next is Eden. If anyone notice, I originally designed him based of 2 Abnos: Der Freischutz and Big Bird. Der Frei was, of course, a nod to his title as a Hunter, and a marksman as well. For Big Bird... Yeah definitely there's the Big Bird in DoL, yet I think temperance-wise, Eden does felt similar to Big Bird. A creature living in a forest, thinking they protect others by doing the action that definitely doesn't seems to be out of protection. As for RRH, oh think about this: Being hunted down while getting marked. One by a hunter, and another by a wolf. Oh isn't it just reminds me of something...? Right

Funny enough, before I designed the school LIs properly, I reimagined them as The City's feathers. "If they're living in the City and has to work with one Wing, which one they'll work on?" I've talked about R. Corp Whitney earlier so I'll talk about the others! Robin, L Corp. - I can imagine him with the pressing needs to survive under the weight of Bailey's rent ends up either being sent or signed himself up as an agent for L Corp. The Wing doesn't ask that much requirement as per Hokmah's story while the agent supposed to have a great pay (being a wing and all). Hence, I think he might work for L Corp. Sydney, K Corp. - The idea was that after graduating, Sydney might follow Sirris path in science. Being the obedient child she is (as we sees on the game before they get corrupted), she probably choose to do what Sirris might do hence her as K Corp. researcher. Oh anyway, truly this is just a fyi that doesn't seems to be related to anything, I reimagined Harper as Dongrang in this scenario, with the whole Teary-Thing problem exist. Oh, lucky enough for Sydney to help producing K Ampule that definitely just as seen in the canon Limbus story. Just saying. Kylar, W Corp. - This one actually a rather fun idea. This is set with the idea that Kylar work as the Clean Up Member, with parents that's definitely unaware with how their child work but nevertheless proud with him. They'd even use WARP Train solely to be sent off by Kylar each time, much to Kylar silent dismay. If only they know what Kylar has to clean up among the 6 seconds they went into the train... Read one of the reblog tag and yeah. It has to do with Love Town. And pretty much how Kylar had to regularly assemble his parents again and again each trip they made.

LCB! SYDNEY LET'S GOOOO!!!! This idea came as I made my LCB-esque ID Card for Sydney. The idea of LCB Sydney's background was that it's pretty much what happened in the game, but make it The City-esque and seen from Sydney's eyes. It's fun imagining her as a Dieci Fixer who was caught in a complicated issue which she rather dip out from as she hasn't fully grow the backbone to face it yet. Oh right, in this AU I reimagined Ivory as Abnormality and both Sydney and Kylar got their EGO. Sydney got their Longing Phase EGO (HE, Gloom) while Kylar got the Haunting Phase EGO (WAW, Wrath). I actually had a draft of how the EGO works and its gimmick but let's talk it later on lol

When Yield My Flesh event is up on Limbus, my head doing the funny by thinking, "Damn... Jun Wren sounds cool..." then I remember Tingtang exist like jfgdjfgbjd HE FITS BETTER AS TINGTANG WHY DIDN'T I THINK ABOUT IT ON A SIDE NOTE, I also had the thought on how Bailey MIGHT kills it as either a Kurokumo or a Middle. After all, Middle never forget... Just like how Bailey never forget your rent LOL

And last but not least: Sydney and Robin as L Corp. Agent! Robin will be a high Temperance agent which work for Safety Team, while Sydney is the high Fortitude, high Prudence Disciplinary Team Captain. Oh, if you do notice: I made Sydney's cross looks like Penitence EGO Weapon. It's actually based of this idea of how One Sin and WhiteNight's dynamic thematically fits Sydney the Faithful and Sydney the Fallen. The name of both Abnos' EGO Set-- "Penitence" and "Paradise Lost" respectively, both fits the image of each Sydneys. Hence, I draw them in both EGO Sets!

[alexanderwales]

Art and the Artist

I generally prefer to read things without knowing much about the author. There aren't that many cases where it adds much to the work to know that they were a plumber before they got into writing, or that they immigrated from Jamaica, or that they served in World War II. To my thinking, a piece of media should stand on its own and not need the context of the author's life story. If you have to open up with "this story is about the Holocaust" then in my opinion, you've already failed as an author.

With that said, it's often inevitable. Sometimes it's just the nature of the work itself, and it would bleed into your understanding even if there weren't a little "about the author" blurb at the end. Sometimes a story is painful obvious in how personal it is, or the metaphor to the real world is so poignant that it's impossible not to make the connection. And sometimes you just get a sense of a person from their writing, particularly if you've read a lot of their writing. It can be the authorial voice you come to understand, the things they choose to show you, the way their mind works, and you think to yourself "yeah, I could get along with them".

And other times, you find yourself drawn to the author because they're the person who best knows their own work. A book leaves lingering questions, and it might be better for you to understand it by communing with other people, but the author is often right there, and you want to hear their takes on their own work, what they were thinking, what lies behind the scenes, the cut chapters and the ways the ending might have been different. You finish gobbling up what the author has prepared for you, and then you gobble up the scraps in the kitchen, and when that's not enough, you start gobbling up the author: you read interviews, you read their blog, you start as a fan of their work and become a fan of them.

Sometimes their understanding of their own work does not match your understanding, and that can be a little bit heartbreaking. Sometimes the stuff behind the curtain is awful and bad, worsening your enjoyment of the text because now it seems phony and poorly thought out. Sometimes an author turns out to be a piece of shit.

Usually, I can move past it. If I like a book or a movie, then I like it for the feelings that it produces in me, and the person who created it is irrelevant except maybe for the fact that they're getting $5 from me or whatever, which is not the level of microutilions that I generally worry about.

Sometimes it impacts my understanding of the work itself, casting a shadow over the things that I once felt, tainting the art.

I was a big fan of Louis CK. The self-deprecating humor did it for me, the introspection and irreverence, the way he was saying things that felt real and true, things that I had always noticed but never really considered. And of course I found him funny. But then there were allegations, and his mea culpa, and I stopped finding it funny. Partly that's because his comedy was autobiographical, so the taint was worse than it might have otherwise been, but part of it was the comedy itself: if the comedy rests on me recognizing myself in Louis CK's stories about himself, I'm going to be less able to do that if drawing those comparisons gives me a curdled milk feeling.

I was a fan of Buffy and Dollhouse and Firefly and Cabin in the Woods and Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog, and I think that these don't suffer nearly as much from being from the mind of Joss Whedon. It's easier to dissociate the stories from the man, and harder to read his personal shittery into the character arcs and setting details and elemental units of plot. Some of that is just the medium: comedy specials are the product of a singular vision, while television shows and movies are the result of team of people working together. Even then, I think shitty people can make good art, so long as they're good at separating their shiftiness from their art. Most people with a bit of awareness would do this naturally, I think: they know what's unpalatable, and present an image to the world, which also comes from the art they make.

Information about the artist informs a reading of the art, as much as we might try to have it not do that. I think some art survives revelations better than others. Someone who writes about murders being revealed as a murderer certainly seems like it would poison my enjoyment of their books. But it's the nature of art that's it's all pretend, and sometimes people don't create because they're spewing self-confession onto the page. Then, I think, you're usually safe.

I hadn't written this with Neil Gaiman in mind: it was sitting in my drafts folder, as so many posts are. But I think Gaiman's work will, for me, survive the accusations, even if the man himself is exiled. I'm certain there will be passages and plots that read differently, places where he can be seen defending himself, chapters that are now unseemly. But I think that for me, the stink of his crimes will wash off quickly, and I'm hopeful that unlike other cases, separating the art from the artist is easier for me.

[wannabe-cartoonist-blog]

Key:

Mine: the colors I've used the most consistently in my own fanart

Anime: pulled straight from screen caps from the show (i also tried to find scenes where the lighting was most "average" (so no night scenes, or scenes with noticibly harsh lighting)

Manga: pulled from these official manga box set covers (bc they all seemed consistent in lighting and shading)

More info below cut (bc i started to ramble, like always)

Probably one of my oddest projects yet, but I've always wanted to compare what colors I choose when drawing the characters vs what the anime uses vs what Fujimaki uses. Color choices and art styles usually go hand in hand, so I wanted to see how weird the characters would look in my style with the two different canon color palettes. Conclusion; pretty fucking weird (to me, at least).

I've always suspected it, but I think this is pretty concrete evidence that I go bold when it comes to coloring (which I think fits my chonky lineart and cartoonist art style). It was funny to see that the anime colors especially are actually rather "dull", because they don't look it at all to me in the actual show. Fujimaki's style was hard to translate, since obviously he uses traditional mediums and also does a lot of blending/shading. I still tried my best to pick the colors that I thought were most prevalent in his images, even though, obviously, they aren't quite so flat in the actual illustrations. I used the special edition covers for the manga color palette, but I'm not 100% sure if Fujimaki himself drew/colored these special edition covers, so someone please correct me if wrong!

Some conclusions I made;

apparently, at some point, I decided to make Kuroko pale as hell??? i think he's always read as pale to me (bc compared to other average characters like Furihata and the GoM themselves, he's does look fairer-skinned imo. But apparently I leaned waaay into that lol. Once I got the actual canon color tones I was like "....oh. I made him sickly...". TBH tho, I think he looks better paler in my style, but that's probably because I got so used to drawing him that way lol. Please do lmk if you think I should begin to switch things up tho when it comes to my style!

kagami, alternatively, I ended up making tanner than canon it seems. but my (perhaps controversial) anime opinion is that Japanese artists tend to "whitewash" a little bit (aka they lean into lighter tones as opposed to darker when it comes to poc skintones). Now kagami, may or may not be mixed raced, but i've always thought a rich, tan skin tone fit him quite well, idk.

I already knew I did this, but its clear from these drawings that I really lean into the colors of their hair. once I get to the GoM, this will be very obvious ("I mean, the colors are in their NAMES. ofc i'm gonna exaggerate them" -> I'm sure that was my exact logic whilst picking my personal palette over the years).

since i'm lazy, i usually just make the characters hair and eye colors the exact same hue, so it was fun to see the different tones they can take in the canon palettes.

So yeah, I plan to go through all the GoM and compared my color preferences vs anime canon and manga canon, so look forward to that! If you read this far, thank you I love you.

If you guys give suggestions, perhaps I'll go back and make a "voted on" color palette, so please do let me know your opinions, in terms of what colors you think "feel right"/look best in my style! :)

[blurrymango]

Below the cut is. Some shit I just wrote.

You're eight years old and your twin just went into a coma. Their eyes are covered with bandages. Your parents keep them back home, in your room. Safe in their bed, right across from yours. Sometimes, it's easy to pretend they're just sleeping. That they'll wake up soon and things will go back to normal. But as time moves on, they don't wake up. You haven't spoken a word since the incident. Your parents don't notice it, or maybe they do, and they just don't care. It's quiet now. They can't speak. You won't either.

Your peers at school never liked either of you. Said you both weird, creepy. They notice your twin's absence. For some reason, they hate you even more. You get home, you go to your room, you ignore the body on the bed. You don't want to be in the same space as it. But you miss your sibling, and you don't want to be out in the house with your parents. Their hair grows out, you brush it, make sure it doesn't get tangled. You let your own hair grow too.

Sometimes, at night, you think you hear them speaking to you. You can't make out the words, you can't remember their voice. But you can hear them. You can't remember your own voice, either. Did the two of you sound the same? You know they used to talk a lot, you miss their voice. It's... been getting harder to recognize the body sharing your room as your sibling. It has your face, but not really. It's more like. A doll.

Sometimes, your parents catch you sleeping in the thing's bed. They tell you that you shouldn't disturb your sibling. It isn't your sibling, they were lively, bright, they had blue eyes and they liked to step on bugs. This thing in your room is a husk. It's barely alive. But it's warm. And you miss cuddling with your twin. You never hurt the thing. You're gentle with it. Careful not to disturb the tubes and wiring and whatever. You want to hurt it though, sometimes. It's frail, and pale, and lifeless. You wouldn't dare leave a single mark on its skin though. Your parents would have your head over it.

They make you get a haircut. It sucks. You cut the body's hair that night. You leave it longer than your own, though. Because it's more fun to play with if it's not short. Besides, their hair is better when it's longer than your own. You're going to be starting middle school soon. You want to tell it that. But you don't. You've forgotten how to speak, for one, and besides, talking to it would disturb the peace. You wouldn't speak to an inanimate object, you'd seem crazy. You probably are crazy though, because you can still hear it speaking to you at night. The words are louder but no less intelligible. It sounds like it's in pain. You are too.

Somehow, you make a friend at school. She has blue eyes. She likes to talk. She talks a lot, talks enough for the both of you. It's annoying. You draw things for her. You've punched a couple of bullies for her. But you don't let her touch you, it would be wrong, if you went home with someone else on your skin, you think. It might disturb the thing in the bed if there was residue of someone else. You've started taking care of the thing more often than your parents do, they think you're just being a good sibling, you just don't want them to touch what's yours.

Your friend goes home with you one day. Introduces herself to your parents. Funny, you don't remember if she ever told you her name, and you don't pay attention when she tells it to your parents either. They tease you about having a girlfriend. You feel angry at that. They think you're just flustered. She laughs, tells them you're just friends. The two of you hang out in the backyard, you're not ready to introduce her to. Your... twin. Yet. You almost don't even want her to look at them. She doesn't deserve to see them, delicate and monstrous. She doesn't deserve to go through that, it would scare her.

Somehow, she got a crush on you. You didn't even notice, your mind is stuck in your room with the doll most of the time. She comes over, and asks if the two of you can go to your room. You shut down, unable to stop her from dragging her into the space, you don't even notice her hand gripping your wrist, either. You're with her on your bed, her presence violates the air around you. What if her being here disturbs your twin? She's about to kiss you when her eyes finally glance at the other bed. She screams. She runs out of the house. The residue of her existence is hard to remove, you nearly cry while trying. You hope she didn't frighten the. Body. It's just a body. It can't be frightened. You have to remind yourself.

She doesn't speak to you anymore after that. She avoids you like the plague. You're grateful for it. She wasn't right for you. Her eyes the wrong shade of blue, her hair not dark enough. She won't be ruining yours afternoons and stealing away your attention from what's important. So delicate, and fragile. And warm. But not warm enough. In your mind, the body is still the same age your twin was, but you know that's not true. Time still passes, even though both of you are stagnant.

Puberty comes to the body first, with you waking up to blood all over the two of you. You scream, thinking that you had hurt it in your sleep. You nearly tear your vocal chords from it, even. Your parents rush in, no longer fazed to see you in the thing's bed. In your distress, you're thankful for their intrusion. They explain to you that your twin just got their first period. They say "she'll" be a woman soon, that "she's" growing up. You don't want that. You don't want that. They tell you that you'll be reaching puberty soon as well. That you'll be becoming a young man soon.

It terrifies you. The changes happening your bodies. Your parents give you the talk, and then tell you that you might be getting your own room soon. It's too much. It's too much all at once. You lock yourself in your room for two days. Only leaving the bed to get water from the bathroom connected to your room and to pee. Well, that's not true. You keep up your duties, taking care of the body. Your father finally manages to burst into the room on the third day. You're crying.

That night, you're too hungry to ignore. So you sneak into the kitchen, stop when you hear voices in the living room. Not the normal voices at night, your parents. Your mother is sobbing, your father sounds sad. They're talking about something. They're talking about your twin. Which is nothing out of the ordinary, they talk about the thing all the time. Always sad. Always sorrowful. Like they're mourning. It's sickening. But no. It's different. They're talking about you as well. Saying that this has "gone on long enough" and that they need to get both of you into the hospital. Your twin into a real hospital, you into an asylum. They're worried that you might do something terrible to your twin.

They're right, of course. You do something. But it's not terrible. It's not. It's an act of love. Nothing has felt right until now. Nothing quite as good as thrusting into the body's heat. You wonder why you didn't do this sooner. It feels amazing. Of course, the plan was to take the body and run away, but you feel so tired afterward that all you can do is pull out and lay down. You were gentle, being as inexperienced as you were. They bled, you felt guilty, almost enough to stop all together. But you didn't. You've been so good to this thing, so kind, you figured it's about time it did something for you. And it did. You had your first orgasm. Inside of it. You felt absolutely amazing.

You wake up to pain. And screaming. Your mother crying. Your father is angrier than you've ever seen him. It's terrifying. What the hell is going on? Your brain struggles to catch up. Your father's fist makes contact with your eye, and your remember last night. Right. Incest. You committed an act of incest. Of rape. And now you're being beaten for it. You hear your mother, full of sorrow and rage, screaming at you. "How could you do that to her?! To your own sister!?" It's funny, because that thing isn't your "sister", it isn't even your twin. Hasn't been since it fell asleep and never woke up. It's not even human, in your eyes. It's a thing. Of course, your parents wouldn't see it that way, now would they? They haven't had to spend every night in the same room as it. In the beginning they even scolded you for wanting to sleep somewhere else. They made you live with it and then they never bothered doing anything about your obviously declining mental state. So why are they so surprised? So angry? 5 years of neglecting you and they're shocked when you do something they think is bad? Your final thought before passing out is that this is their fault.

When you wake up next, you're in a sterile unfamiliar room. Your doll nowhere to be seen. A doctor sits beside you, you're afraid and confused and angry. He tells you that you're going to be staying there for a while. That you'll be getting the help you need. You're not paying much attention until he mentions your twin. You're not going to be able to see them, after what you did. You feel as though your heart has been ripped from your chest. You feel like you're dying. It's like your 8 years old all over again and you can't take it. You lash out. You attack the doctor.

The next years are a blur. You're drugged up most of the time. Hardly aware of anything except that your twin isn't around. You don't keep track of time. You don't keep track of anything. Your mind is in shambles. You think you see your parents sometimes. They're always angry at you. You want to crawl out of your skin. You want to die. You still don't speak. You won't speak. The only thing that's clear is at night, it's almost like you're back home because you can hear the thing whispering to you again. Except now, the words are clear. They want you to come find them. They forgive you, not for what you did during your final night together, no, they liked that, they forgive you for putting them in the coma in the first place. Oh. Right. It was your fault, wasn't it. But they forgive you. It's ok. They miss you.

You remember now, how it happened. You remember how you did it, but not why. The two of you had been on a camping trip with your parents. You were both exploring away from the campsite. It was nearing sunset. You had a rock. It was heavy, but small. You remember how easy it was, how satisfying it was for you to plunge it into their eye. Deeper. Deeper until they stopped screaming. They went limp. Both of you were covered in blood. Why did you do that? By the time your parents found you both, they were beyond truly saving. But you didn't know that at the time. You don't know why you did that to your own flesh and blood. The whole time, you were unaware that it was your own fault. You didn't know. You didn't realize. Why why why why why.

When you're to think clearly again, it's been ten years since the incident. You're not at home, you're not in the asylum either. You're in a hospital. It's night. Your twin is in a bed in front of you. How did you get here? You don't remember. You're holding a gun. How did you get that? Everything is mush from that final night you spent with them to now. You're different now, bigger. Taller and stronger and it feels wrong because when you look at them they still look so delicate, so frail. Why did you do it? Why did you ruin their life? You need to fix this. You stumble to them, your mind in a daze. Two bullets. Two bullets and you'll both be out of your misery. Two bullets and you'll be at peace. Shooting them should be agonizing. But it's easy, it's as easy as when you were eight and in the woods. You don't give yourself time to think about what you're doing after you shoot them. You simply aim the gun at yourself and shoot.

When you wake up, you shouldn't be waking up, but you're eight. You're in a hospital bed. Your twin is in a bed across from you. You don't remember anything. But you know that you've missed them. They smile at you like they know something you don't. It looks wrong. They look too pale. The room smells like death, old and rotting and full of dust. But they're smiling at you. And you smile too. They tell you it's been too long, that they've missed you. And you don't know what they're talking about. You finally look into their eyes. Red meeting blue. It feels wrong. Everything feels so very wrong. But you missed them too. And you're happy to be together with them. And they're happy too. All that matters is that you're together, right?

Right?

[average-vibe]

”Are You Well?” pairing: Tom Simons x Fem!reader summary: you have a killer headache, and your boyfriend is very worried about you TW: cursing, so much fluff, and unedited work (lmk if i missed anything) A/N: this is my first Tommyinnit fic! hope you like it! i definitely didn’t get the title idea from the artful dodger masterlist ****

you quietly groaned in pain as your boyfriend, bless his soul, yelled out on joy, proceeded by a loud laugh.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” Tom continued, laughing along with the sounds of his keyboard keys getting smashed by his quick fingers. you held your head in your hands, trying to ease the banging pain in you temples. after about 5 more minutes of loud shenanigans going on in his office, you resorted to going in there, hoping he would calm down when he saw you. you slowly made your way to his office, and when you opened the door, his demeanor became a gentle, kinder looking one.

“Oh look! it’s the love of my life!” he said in a calm manner. you had been in some videos and more streams, but you rarely came in unplanned.

“Hey, can i stay in here?” you asked, looking at his monitor, slightly surprised to see how tired and, well, bad you looked.

”if you’d like. i’m doing a mod stream.” he replied, smiling at you, a twinge of worry in his eyes.

you then saw the chat, and as you moved closer, you could see some of the comments.

TommYinniT12: OMG ITS Y/N QUEEENNNNN

fruity-sky: LOVE UUUU

random.user1928: are u ok? how u doin?

barbie*gurl*barbie*world: hope ur doing well :)

You smiled at the ‘fans’ you had, giving a small wave. “Hey guys! how’s the stream going?” you asked.

“Going pretty good, better now, though.” Tommy flirted, smirking at the camera. “Obviously, i make everything better.” you teased, shrugging your shoulders as you sat down in a small stool designated for you. it was titled the “Y/N throne” (named by tubbo). You caught tom slightly glancing at you in a worried type of way as you answered some questions about how life was going. you shrugged it off, supposing it was something on your face, or maybe the dark circles that had gathered underneath your eyes.

Finally, you had finished introducing yourself, you sat back and watched your boyfriend joke around with his fans with the mods, which had made every tame animal hostile, and every hostile animal tame.

“AAAAGH!” Tommy yelled, as a chicken began to attack him. it was funny, but the sudden yell made you flinch in pain, your head in agony. you shut your eyes and tried to distract yourself, but the pain in your forehead was too prominent to be dismissed. your boyfriend looked back at you, as he clearly noticed your sudden change in additude.

“you okay?” he quietly spoke, trying to not draw attention to you, but no matter what, obviously his fans were going to take note of what happened.

username: is she okay?

papi susis: look at her; is she well?

you quickly nodded, smiling for effect, but you knew tom didn’t buy a second of it. but he simply nodded in return and turned back to his monitor, attempting to react to some comments taht chat was making, most of which about you, worried about your well-being.

“Yeah, i’m SO excited to meet up with them.” tom rambled, referring to his plans to meet up with Bill, Aimsey, and Ranboo. “I think y/ns going aswell, aren’t you?” he asked, turning to you.

“yeah, if you’ll let me.” you joked. “i’ll go as long as you let me out of the basement.”

“wHAT?” he reacted, the small yell going straight to your migraine, but you continued in your smirk, not wanting to ruin the stream with your headache.

the rest of the stream was spent with you laughing slightly at tom, who kept making flirtatious remarks towards you, making you blush a deep red and all the fans go crazy. after what seemed like forever, he finally signed off, saying goodbye to his fans and ending the stream.

“What’s the matter?” he said, almost immediately after ending the live. you studied him, looking at his eyes that were drowned in worry for you. his eyebrows that were furrowed together in stress. and his mouth that had hints of a smile at the ends of his mouths.

“Y/N.”

“huh?”

“what’s the matter? you’ve been staring at me for like, 30 seconds straight.” he said.

“oh. sorry.” you said, standing up from your “throne”. “i’m gonna go to bed.” you said, walking to the door until you felt a strong grip on your arm, holding you from advancing any further.

“Y/N. What is the matter?” he asked, the third time now. “Are you well?”

“i’m okay.” you said, playing a small smile.

Tom didn’t but it for a second.

“No your not.” he said, standing up, his frame towering above you. loosened his grip on your arm and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“i just have a headache, Tommy. That’s it, i promise.”

“how bad is it?”

you looked down, trying not to let him see your eyes. “Umm..”

“is it one of you worse ones?” tom asked, with nothing but concern in his eyes.

“yeah. a really bad one. the worst one yet.”you said, in one big string of words.

Tom held you close, giving you a gentle hug. “I suppose my screaming didn’t help much.” he guessed, looking guilty.

you hugged him tighter, sighing. “No, it really didn’t. but it’s part of your job.” you defended him, holding his face in your hands.

“I need to think about you more. i only think about my fans during streams. i never think about you. i’m sorry, love.” Tommy says, guilt covering all of his emotions.

“It’s okay.” you say, smiling.

“Do you wanna go cuddle in bed?” he asks, almost innocently.

“i would love to.” you say. “just let me get my headache medicine.”

“no, let me do it.” he says, jumping infront of you, walking to the closet.

for the rest of the night, he wouldn’t let you do anything, insisting that ‘you need to rest!’ before doing it for you.

when you finally fell asleep, he kissed your head.

“sleep well, love.

***** A/N: that sucked but wtvr.. sorry for taking so long on the stream part lol

hope you liked it

love u

[caluski]

again, a brief moment of self-reflection :-)

turning a little older yet again, i think its funny to see myself changing still. i wont lie that my life feels that much different from what it used to be - but other than boring things such as employment or housing or the lack of relationships, something has perhaps shifted in a bit quiet way, one you usually notice upon retrospection much later.

i think im still pretty much a hopeless romantic, in that stupid, proud, dramatic way that makes me absolutely fucking insufferable. everything must be either grand or tragic. obviously, its not a bad thing in itself, but it does make me far too self indulgent for my own good. i know i have to learn patience towards others, and domesticate my solitude, otherwise soon life will drive me even madder... there is a lot to reconsider when it comes to what i expect from life and people in my life, even if it feels like i overthought everything to death and back already.

the big goals for 29th year is definitely going back on meds. or should i say, finding meds that actually work for me. theres a lot that i want - such as moving out and becoming independent, having a stable job i dont have to worry about losing, or finding companionship in my daily life - but i want to be realistic just once. last year, i remember finding out about the layoffs right before summer ended, and i thought - my next job will be the one that fixes everything. obviously, its not, not yet at least. even the minimum wage aside, im annoyed with lots of aspects of it, so its far from perfect. i wish i could land a safe, corporate job that pays enough to keep me afloat on my own, but, well.

but like, other than all my actual flaws, i dont think my attempt to romanticize everything is that bad in itself. it does make good-but-normal things seem far too good to be true (like having friends, being loved, having a safe home - how can it ever be real for me, if its so beautiful???), but other than that, i do like the way it makes me feel. i like treating every coffee like the biggest blessing of the day. i like how good music makes me tear up. i like it when days are so good, theyll feel like a dream when i look back at them. i just have to keep it under a little bit of control. i have to get used to the thought that the world is not out there to cater for me, that i am not in fact the center of the universe, that everything goes on no matter what. i always liked the thought of being not the main character of life, but more of a best friend or love interest; youre still there, you can participate, you can be significant if you put your mind to it, but the world wont stop for you. also, i do like the sentiment of someone's main purpose in life being both giving and receiving of love. i might lack the brains and beauty for much more, but love, i think everyone is capable of, no matter what - and it includes me, in the end.

i want to spend more time taking pictures and listening to music. going to cafes and having long walks. i want to try going back to drawing. i wanna get better at writing - god, if this wall of text alongside all my other silly little posts arent a proof of that...... - which of course, means reading more, too. i wanna hear more live music. local, or maybe the big performances, if artists i like come over to warszawa or kraków or something. also, i wanna travel a little more. even if just to sit in a local cafe and watch the traffic. i wanna visit żmija (if youre reading this, i swearrrrrrr im not trying to invite myself over - but maybe if im in kraków or something, we could see each other closer to your home. which could also be fun because its such a big city, so much to see, so many cafes to experience. maybe a gay bar to visit? are there any worth dancing in?). and i do wanna continue collecting vinyls - slowly, as they are so costly, but still. and i do wanna become more outgoing, i want to take more risks, even if it leaves my stupid little heart sore and exposed.... rejection is inevitable, right? and i do want to catch up with romantic experiences, too. i want to feel something for someone again, even if its one-sided and desperate and miserable. but i miss it so badly, so so badly. i want to have someone to pour out my affection on - consensually. i want someone to want to be loved by me as i am, with all this mess of loud, intense feelings, without being freaked out. or maybe getting freaked out in a good way.

anyway. such a gloomy day calls for love & food playlist promo. have a good evening everyone! mwah

[bornazombiefrommercury]

I said something similar on my blog but I feel I didn't word my thoughts better:

The newer phases' art styles feel too polished for me, from the lineart to the boring shading and saturated colors. (Especially with phase 6) I miss the messy feel of Phase 2, 3, and even 4 because it still kept the feeling of the older phases. Phase 5 I'm iffy on because imo it still looks fine with the colors but still has that modern Gorillaz art style I dislike but it still sorta felt experimental in a way?-. On it's own the art styles are...Alright, but for Gorillaz I just don't think it fits, I love the cartoony art style from the earlier and find it more charming and memorable. I don't think I'm saying this out of nostalgia (I joined the fandom during 2018, lmao) I think it's just because of my own preferences

I saw someone say that it's like Jamie is trying to make the characters more conventionally attractive and I couldn't agree more.

hmmm ..... ive heard many people say this but i have mixed thoughts on it.

the tone of gorillaz overall taking a turn towards being more brand-friendly is definitely a factor, but i dont think its the only one. i really do think jamie gets bored and its not just me speculating, apparently he said he was "fucking bored of drawing those characters" in 2008, yes, since BEFORE PHASE 3. i do still think he has a lot of enjoyment in drawing them (otherwise he'd probably quit) but you can really tell when he's drawn something just because he felt like he had to. that's why gorillaz promotional art seems to be increasingly lacking in personality, imo. something really changed around song machine era where stuff was just getting pushed out as fast as possible and predictably got rushed. because ive brought this up before, if youve seen his art in the gorillaz artbook it's an entirely different vibe than promotional artwork cause thats the stuff where he does whatever he wants and is free to experiment. but that level of experimentation that he wants to do is very non-commercial, and it would've been in any phase. (that semi-realistic murdoc rasputin picture freaked people out when it was released but thats the kind of thing he really wants to do!!)

it's not only got a lot more personality and life to it but it's retained that edge that earlier gorillaz art had, despite using brighter colors and overall more poppy visuals. there's a murdoc shrunken head ffs. i really like it. i hope we see more of that kind of stuff in phase 8.

here is the edgy 2d everyone's been asking to make a comeback, in the 2020's:

personally i dont mind the brighter colors and overall more clean and lighter vibe. it doesnt resonate with me quite as much, but i dont think its neccessarily a sign of becoming more commercial. it can look that way and have edge at the same time as seen in the artbook.

murdoc becoming neon green is an eyesore often times but i think it's made up for by the fact that it's really funny in an ironic meta way. some day he will just transcend the color spectrum visible to the human eye probably....

i dont see how the characters have gotten more conventionally attractive. for example noodle had her whole eyebrow shaved off on the meanwhile ep art. theyve always been ugly and to get rid of that youd have to change their designs and personalities to make them unrecognizable. plus i think murdoc's actually somehow managed to get uglier... his face looks more misshapen as he's aged.

one thing i dont like in newer gorillaz art that i havent seen anyone else point out is how much jamie's horniness leaks into it. maybe i have just noticed it more than everyone else. dont get me wrong i think its totally fine if he draws that stuff on his own time of his characters if he wants to but when it gets into official gorillaz stuff its just plain weird and unneccessary and makes me uncomfortable 😭 like wtf ....

[connan-l]

Colorful

Fandom: Natsume's Book of Friends Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Morinaga Souko/Natsume Reiko Summary: So many colors suited the forest girl that Souko couldn't assign a single one to her. Words: 7,123 Link: AO3 | Fanfiction.net

Notes: Believe it or not, I actually started writing this in 2018, and for some reason was never able to complete it lol. But I got so excited with the announcement of season 7 that I decided it was a good time to finish this, before we get to see those chapters get adapted.

Find out Reiko and Souko’s story still makes me cry even 5 years later, and I can’t wait to bawl about them once they’re animated!

* * *

People were always surprised when Souko told them she didn’t like the color blue.

It wasn’t like she hated it, but she just wasn’t very fond of it.

She liked green, yellow, purple, red — vivacious pigments that felt alive, cheery; hues that a child would love to use to paint one of his drawings.

Blue was just sad.

The watery tint of the deep sea, the cold tint of winter.

Souko loved assigning colors to people. She saw her father as a vibrant red, and her mother — from the little she remembered of her — as a soft purple. Her uncle was golden, her aunt orange, her grandmother green.

So although she didn’t hate it, a part of her always felt disappointed ‘blue’ was the color people associated with her the most — simply because it was what she’d been named after.

Sometimes, Souko thought it was a funny twist of fate, for her to bear the name of a color she only connected to sadness; a warped prediction of what her life would look like after she fell ill.

No one who met her after she got sick would believe it, but she actually used to be a very energetic child. Back then, she could spend the entire day running around and climbing to trees and playing all sorts of games outside with other kids, giving her father a hundred of panic attacks.

All of that crumbled away when her heart started to malfunction two years ago, and suddenly her whole body began to fall apart without her control.

It had been gradual. Slow and excruciating.

She barely noticed the first signs; the shaking in her hands, her frequent headaches, her legs incapable of walking or running for very long. One day on her way to school, she passed out — and just like that, she spent the following year practically unable to get out of bed.

Her life then withered away.

She couldn’t do any of the things she liked anymore, couldn’t go to school anymore, couldn’t see anyone but her family.

She stopped running and playing outside, and she stopped gardening, and she stopped cooking.

She didn’t really had any friends, as the shy girl she’d always been, but she’d still managed to have some decent relationships with some kids at school, at least.

Now she didn’t even had that anymore.

She withered, drowning away in a bottomless cerulean sea, and for a long, long time, nothing seemed to really matter anymore.

During those endless days, there was only two things she could do: read, which she took the habit of doing since then, and stare at her window. Her bedroom was in front of their garden, so she had a direct sight on the many colorful flowers her mother had planted there long ago, and that Souko had continued to take care of since then. But most of the times, it wasn’t the rainbow of flowers she would stare at, but the blue of the sky — getting lost in its infinity, her heart heavy with anguish and anger at her own life.

Dad had told her, once, that the reason why they named her ‘Souko’ was because she’d been born during a day with a completely clear blue sky. No clouds, no shade of gray, no sun; only blue and blue and blue, as far as the eye could see.

But as Souko kept staring at that same sky, the only thing she could think about was how profoundly empty that blue looked.

* * *

With the help of medications and reeducation, she slowly started to get better — but the doctors were unequivocal on the fact that she would never be able to move like she used to.

She had to limit her gestures, her outings, her breathing; she couldn’t run anymore, or barely so. She was getting better, but she still felt like she was imprisoned within her own body; a bird unable to get out of a cage of its own making.

But the worst wasn’t really any of this. It all weighted heavily on her, of course; but she could bear that. She didn’t really have a choice. The burden her illness had taken on her family, however, was another thing entirely.

The Morinaga household was constituted of only Souko and her father since her mother’s death when she was little, but her uncle and aunt lived nearby and were practically part of their home since as long as she could remember. Dad was very close to his brother, and so her uncle was almost like a third parent to Souko, always having been deeply involved in her life.

Thus her illness had repercussions not only on her father, but on her uncle, her aunt and the whole family. Everyone was always so tense whenever they came to see her, obvious tight smiles and stiff shoulders as they looked at her; and through the months she’d heard hundreds of arguments between her father and grandmother, between the two brothers, between most of her relatives, all about the same topics. What to do with her condition, with her treatment’s cost, with everything else.

Even Dad stopped looking at her like he used to, and instead a pained expression spread across his face every time his eyes met hers. She felt more like a poor little wounded animal he pitied than like his daughter.

That was the hardest part. The idea that not only her body was getting torn apart, but her family did as well — and that it was all her fault.

She couldn’t stand it. It made her want to run away.

Find a place far away; cut from all of her problems, where she wouldn’t have to worry about anything, and where she wouldn’t worry anyone.

A place to be all alone.

And then one night after dinner, Dad approached her with an awkward smile and addressed her in a gentle, careful voice:

"The other day the doctor made me an offer... I thought about it and it could be a good opportunity. He said that… to help with your convalescence, we could move to the countryside.”

At first, Souko wasn’t sure what to think of it.

Truthfully, she didn’t want to move.

She knew nothing at all about the small town where her dad wanted to go, and going there would mean losing all of the landmarks she’d known her whole life. It meant leaving their house where she grew up. Uncle and Auntie. Mom’s grave from a few meters away in the cemetery. Her school.

Souko might not have had any friends here, she still didn’t want to lose the relationships she had with the people of her hometown — and she didn’t want to have to make the effort to form new bonds with strangers.

The very idea made her stomach twist with anxiety. But she couldn’t turn Dad down; not when she knew he also probably didn’t want to move either, and that he only proposed that for her sake.

So against all of her better instincts, Souko agreed.

* * *

She couldn’t manage to assign any color to the forest girl.

No matter how hard she tried to, none of the choices — none of the different tints and shades and hues — seemed to fit her.

Or, rather, all of them fitted her.

The girl — her match companion, the teenager she’d met hidden within the deepest parts of the woods, like a rare, delicate diamond — was the most beautiful and fascinating person Souko had ever seen; ephemeral like a ghost, flippant like a cat and fluttering like a butterfly.

Her long silver hair seemed to change color with the sunlight; turning white or golden or purple contingent on the sky’s whims.

Souko blurted that out, once, without thinking much about it beforehand; and then regretted it right away, because of how childish it sounded.

The girl just laughed.

“Purple?” She repeated, and Souko felt herself blush. “Really?”

“B-Because, look… Your hair is so light, so it take on the dusk’s color. And when dusk turns orange, or pink, then your hair also…”

“Is that so.”

The girl looked over at the horizon, which was indeed starting to take on a mauve tint. For a moment, her companion seemed contemplative; then finally, she turned towards her again and grinned.

“Well, what do you think? Is purple my color?”

Souko felt the scarlet of her cheeks deepens even more, but she was able to muster the courage to actually reply truthfully: “I think every color is your color. You look pretty in everything.”

And that was true, too.

Souko could imagine her in red, pink, purple, orange, black and white — and that girl, her mysterious nameless acquaintance of the forest, would be just as wonderful and breathtaking as ever.

She would look beautiful and full of life even in blue.

Souko had never seen a person like that before, so radiant and mesmerizing that her eyes couldn’t stop staring at her, that her mind couldn’t help but think of her almost all the time.

For a very brief moment, the girl looked slightly taken aback; but she quickly seemed to get over it and simply smiled back at her.

The girl was always smiling.

It was a little disconcerting, sometimes — and it wasn’t that Souko didn’t like seeing her smile, but she just wished that smile looked actually genuine.

Once I’ll win, she swore to herself.

Once I’ll win, I’ll make her give me her name. I’ll make her become my friend — and then I’ll be able to make her smile for real.

* * *

“Oh, the candy’s blue.”

“Isn’t it pretty?”

“Yeah. Like the blue of Souko.”

Her voice resounded in her mind even long after the two of them parted way.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the manner she’d said her name. Softly, fleetingly, lost in the wind, like no one but the girl herself had been supposed to hear it.

The blue of Souko.

Souko had never been fond of her name. She’d never really liked the color blue.

And now, after all she’d been through, the only thing it managed to evoke to her was the emptiness of the sky as she looked through her room’s window stuck in her bed.

That was all the blue of Souko was to her.

But when the girl spoke it… When she said her name so softly, so longingly, Souko couldn’t help but love it.

The girl was a little like a fairy, Souko thought; an otherworldly being who seemed to be able to transform every bad aspects of her life into something magical.

Her name sounded beautiful when she said it. That town in the countryside seemed so fun now that she started spending time with her. Her new home, her tense family, her unfamiliar school and classmates — everything seemed bearable now that she had that girl by her side.

Even the color blue would surely feel warm and vivacious, if her secret companion started wearing some of it.

Before meeting the forest girl, Souko had simply not been able to feel at home anywhere in that town.

It wasn’t like people here weren’t welcoming — at the contrary, everyone was quite nice to her, but Souko still hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling that she simply didn’t belong. She’d always been a timid girl, but suddenly moving here while cutting all ties to her old life, added to the months she’d spent completely isolated from the world because of her illness, made her feel like she’d lost all of her social skills. She could barely handle normal conversations with the other kids, or with the townsfolk — always feeling like people were staring at her, judging her, monitoring her every moves. And even when she was alone, she couldn’t stand to be at her house either, in that unfamiliar place.

That was why coming in the middle of that forest, away from any form of life, away from her family and other people, was the only time that had finally made her feel a little comfortable — and that despite the fact this place had a strange ominous aura and sometimes gave her headaches.

And then she met the girl. The time she spent by her side, chatting idly and having silly matches and laughing together about nothing made her the happiest and most free she’d felt in months. Not since she fell ill.

The girl wasn’t always nice; she could be quite prickly and cold, and it wasn’t like Souko didn’t think that girl was... strange. Truthfully, she could be a little unsettling, or even scary sometimes. Occasionnally, she would just say weird things out of nowhere, or stared past Souko’s shoulder as if she was seeing someone behind her, or dragged her away from a place as if she was trying to run from something.

Something Souko couldn’t see.

(And, sometimes, Souko almost had the impression there really was something else with them, and that it wasn’t just the two of them in the middle of these woods.)

But even so, despite all of this, Souko still didn’t think she could, or wanted to, stop seeing the girl.

At least, she treated Souko like a normal person. She never walked on eggshells around her, even after she’d learned she was sick. And even with all her prickliness, Souko could tell that she had a kind heart, buried behind her sharp gaze and barbed comments. She wouldn’t have let Souko stay by her side otherwise.

The girl and those meetings were so odd, so detached from everything in her life — that sometimes Souko almost felt like she was hallucinating them. Like she was doing some forbidden rituals with a witch, and not just playing childish games.

There was only ever the two of them in that forest, after all — no one else here to confirm the real from the surreal.

Her rendez-vous with the forest girl was the most exciting part of her day, and she spent the whole time thinking about what new games they would play next.

Wishing that today would finally be the day she win — would be the day she finally earn her name.

Earn the right to be her friend.

“Are you going out again?”

Her father stopped her just as she was about to leave the house, and Souko startled. “Ah, yes…”

A worried look crossed his face. “Souko… I’m glad you seem to be so happy, lately — really, but… You need to be more careful. Your body is still…”

“I know,” Souko said, maybe a little more forcefully than she intended. Of course she knew her body was still frail. It was her body, after all — she understood the consequences of its weakened state better than anyone. “I’m careful, Dad, I promise. You don’t need to worry.”

But of course, that was probably a meaningless thing to say. Her father would always worry regardless of what she said.

“…Is that a friend that you see like that every day?” He asked. “I know you said you’ve been getting along better with your classmates lately…”

Souko opened her mouth, then hesitated a little.

She still hadn’t said anything to her father about the forest girl. She hadn’t said anything about her to anyone, period.

She wasn’t really sure why.

She’d told Dad about the classmates she’d started to talk to — they weren’t really friends yet, but they were nice, and Souko would like to become closer.

That, too, was thanks to the forest girl, in a way. It wasn’t like she had encouraged to talk to others or anything, but being able to have normal conversations with someone her age after having been isolated for so long had managed to cheer Souko up and make her feel braver.

The girl always looked so strong and confident, after all; solid as a rock, standing tall among the trees. Souko always felt like nothing could ever hurt or reach her.

So she’d thought that if she wanted to be worthy of befriending the forest girl, then she should try to befriend the more approachable kids at her school first.

But her classmates were different from the girl, and so Souko felt that she couldn’t simply tell Dad about her like she would with a normal classmate. Maybe she wanted to become friends with her for real before telling him — or maybe… maybe she just wanted to keep her as a secret. For now.

Something only Souko knew about.

Her father had still noticed the changes, though, and he looked simultaneously happy and worried about them. He’d already been very concerned from the start, when Souko went back to school, and then about the fact he could tell his daughter had clearly struggled to fit in at their new place. And now he clearly wasn’t happy about her escapades after school; didn’t like her going outside to play around in the forest. Souko sympathized with his feelings, knew that he was only worried for her; but it had been the best she’d felt in such a long time, and she wasn’t about to let that go.

Dad said nothing for a moment, then narrowed his eyes at Souko — and only when she noticed his suspicious look did she realizes that she was blushing.

“…Is that person you’re seeing a boy?”

“Wha— N-No! I-It’s not like that… we’re just…”

Her father laughed a little, and waved his hand. “Sorry, that’s none of my business. But you don’t need to be embarrassed about it, you know. It’s normal, at your age.”

“I-It’s really not like that…”

And it’s not a boy.

But Dad didn’t seem he would believe her no matter what she could say, so Souko felt it would be pointless to argue further. Instead, she went to her rendez-vous spot with the forest girl, and as usual they played together, Souko lost, and then they talked for a while. At some point, the girl took her hand and dragged her somewhere else. Her hand was rugged, and her skin sturdy — but it felt warm.

Souko wished she could keep holding her hand forever.

Maybe Dad isn’t entirely wrong, she thought then, looking at the girl’s pretty long hair flowing in the wind, her heart skipping a beat at the sight.

If she were a boy, maybe I would fall in love with her.

It would be so easy to fall for her. She was so beautiful and strong and fun. Souko was certain most boys at her school must be crushing on her.

(She’d inadvertently said this, one day, and to her utter surprise the girl bursts out laughing ; so hard she had to hold her stomach, and Souko had never seen her laugh so loudly and for so long before.

“No way!” She’d exclaimed after calming down. “Boys don’t like me, at all.”

“H-Huh?” Souko let out. She didn’t think she would lie about this, but she heavily doubted that was true. Maybe no one ever confessed to her, but there was just no way not a single person had at least some feelings for someone as charming as her.

The girl grinned, her green eyes boring straight into Souko’s. “I scare them. Well, to be honest, I don’t really like boys either.”

Souko didn’t know why, but at these words her cheeks flushed and she felt a small warmth of hope bloom in her chest.)

Late in the evening, when Souko came home, the first thing she did was going out in the garden, just as twilight was starting to set.

The place was still barren. Back at their old home, they used to have a garden with a lot of colorful flowers — hibiscus, daisies, orchids, tulips, marigolds… Her mother’s flowers, that Souko loved to take care of; the first thing she would see upon waking up, a rainbow of delicate, shiny petals. In their new house, a lot of things were different, but Dad had made a point to get her a bedroom where she could see the garden too, just because he knew how much Souko had liked it before.

She finally wanted to start feeling at home here, too. So maybe she could start by planting some flowers. Dad would probably like that as well — he’d loved their flowers too.

One day — after she’ll finally be able to learn the forest girl’s name and become her friend, Souko will invite her to her home and introduce her father to her.

Show her her flower garden.

But in the meantime, the forest girl would stay her little secret — something that was hers and hers only.

* * *

One of Souko’s new favorite things was when she was able to surprise the girl.

She always thought a lot about the types of games she could propose to her — even asked her uncle and dad to give her some new ideas. And every day, it felt like the girl was surprised to still find her here in the forest with a new challenge. Almost like she expected her to suddenly stop coming any time now.

How silly, Souko thought. There’s no way I’ll ever stop coming to see you, even if I wanted to.

But even so, she’d never seen the girl as shocked as when she decided to show up one day with lunch boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She asked in a bewildered tone, her pale green eyes pinned on Souko like a cat’s.

“Lunch.”

“I can see that,” the girl snapped back sharply, but by now Souko was used to her curtness. She could be a little mean sometimes in her way of speaking, but Souko had come to learn it wasn’t necessarily because she was annoyed. “I was asking why you brought this here— and why you brought two of these.”

Souko flushed a little, but still didn’t let go of the girl’s eyes.

“Well, I… I was just thinking, that you often seems hungry when we meet, and also, how you’re very thin, and so— I just thought that maybe you should just eat a little more. There’s meat in there, and…”

The girl narrowed her eyes at her. “Who do you think you are? My mom?”

Souko blushed even further, and looked away. That did seems a little silly and pretentious to bring that girl a lunch out of the blue, when she put it into words like that. But she couldn’t help it, and— truthfully, Souko had started to get quite worried about her.

It was often that the girl’s belly would suddenly start gurgling in the middle of one their matches, and Souko had noticed how she seemed much lighter than a girl her age should be (absolutely not because Souko was staring her at a little too much, of course; that had nothing to do with this). She’d once asked her if she was eating enough — and then the girl had snorted, rolling her eyes. But she hadn’t replied. So Souko thought, that she could…

But maybe it had been rude of her to do. Just as she was about to apologize though, the girl suddenly grabbed her lunch box and chopsticks, and Souko barely had the time to turns her head towards her that she saw her open the box and starts digging in.

“What?” The girl shot back, catching her staring. “You did say it was for me, right?”

Souko smiled, and nodded enthusiastically. “Y-Yes, of course!”

And so she quietly watched her eat away the whole meal with a smile she couldn’t quite manage to hide. She didn’t even left a single crumb — which on the one hand, Souko was happy about, but on the other it definitely had her more concerned, because that seemed to confirm the fact she truly didn’t get enough to eat at her house.

Souko could never brings herself to ask, but she has the distinct feeling that things were… not great at home, for the girl.

To start with, it was strange for a teenager to hang out in a forest so far away like this. The girl always seemed to be all alone, too; and she was spending so much time here… it didn’t seem like she had any other friends. Much like Souko. But much more worrisome was the fact that she was often hurt. Souko frequently caught glimpse of scratches, bandages, and bruises covering her body. Some of them might be because of her playing around in the woods — and Souko had absolutely seen her doing a lot of reckless things that would get her injured — but…

Others must have been made by someone, Souko was pretty sure.

She tried to ask her a couple of times about her family, but the girl always brushed her asides and changed the topic when she did. Even Souko talked to her sometimes about her father and her uncle and her family, but the girl would never say anything back about herself. She clearly didn’t want to talk about her life at home. So Souko respected that — even if she didn’t like it.

She didn’t want to jump to conclusion about things she couldn’t possibly know either, but… she still worried.

“H-How was it?” Souko decided to ask, trying to stop thinking about such morose things.

“Hm? Oh, good. It was really good.”

Souko beamed. “Really?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Hehe, that’s true. Thank you! I’m so glad you like it.”

The girl actually stared at her and lifted an eyebrow at her words. “‘Thank you”?”

“Ah… I’m the one who made that.”

She had woken up earlier this morning specifically to prepare it, following her mother’s old recipe. Dad had been so surprised to see her in the kitchen — it had been the first time she cooked anything since she got sick. Until now, he’d been the one taking care of most of the cooking — or sometimes it was her aunt, when she was home.

Souko had forgotten how much fun cooking actually was.

She used to do it quite frequently back then, but then stopped after she got sick, just like most of her hobbies — and even now that she was recovering, she hadn't gone back to them. Even though now she could easily try them again without endangering her health. Gardening was the same, too. She wondered if she’d have as much fun gardening, if she did it again now.

It’d be nice if I could do those things with her, too, she had thought this morning while cutting off vegetables. The only things she did with the girl was playing games and talking, but she was sure they’d have fun doing other type of activities together as well. I wonder if she loves cooking and gardening…

The idea made her so happy that she had decided to creates the prettiest lunch box for the girl — as colorful as her old flower garden used to be — putting shades of red and green and pink all over, carving orange carrots in little flowers, putting the yellow egg yolk in the form of a sunflower.

Each color so vivid and lovely, each of them suiting the forest girl.

The memories of this morning made Souko smile, and she was only brought back to the present moment thanks to a strong wind blowing through her short dark hair. She turned her head towards the girl, about to apologize for her absentmindedness, but then stopped.

To her surprise, the girl actually seemed really taken aback, eyes wide and mouth agape. Was she truly that shocked by the fact Souko could cook?

(Or was it because she’d cooked for her, specifically?)

“O-Oh,” the girl stuttered — and for a bewildering, fascinating moment, Souko saw her cheeks reddens slightly.

Is she… blushing?

The moment disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and Souko almost thought she’d made it up, a conjured illusion of her mind. But the scarlet on her otherwise white cheeks, and her embarrassed expression, was engraved inside Souko's heart, and she couldn’t help the wide grin that then spreads on her lips.

Of course, scarlet was just as pretty as any other colors on the girl’s face.

She looked just like a flower herself, in all her silver and green and white and red.

Souko wished she was brave enough to kiss her just then.

Instead, she quietly promised to do everything in her power to see that expression on her face once again.

* * *

She couldn’t even remember how she managed to get home, that evening.

Her head wouldn’t stop pounding, so much that she was unable to think. Her body was so heavy that every step felt like torture. Her heart seemed like a dead weight inside her chest; a burden pulling her down and down.

She felt just like that day she’d collapsed for the first time, two years ago; the day that marked the start of the end of her normal life. The only lucid thing she could register was her voice, echoing inside her skull again and again and again.

“Reiko. My name is Reiko Natsume.”

“Go away.”

“You look pale. It’s starting to rain, so you should go home.”

“You should go home.”

Souko knew she should never have gone home the moment she turned around. She knew she should have stayed; that she should have kept talking to her — her forest girl, her ghost of an acquaintance; the lovely, strange, colorful person she fell in love with.

But her voice had been so cold, when she told her to go away.

Her eyes were blank and sharp at the same time, so different from the way she usually looked at her, and Souko couldn’t stand to see that.

And she just hadn’t… she had never even expected that she could be…

It made sense, if she really thought about it; what other teenage girl would spend all her time alone in the forest, but the rumored weird delinquent from the neighboring town?

But Souko had never thought of her like that until now; both seemed so unrelated in her mind, and she felt so shocked she hadn’t been able to properly process it.

And now her duel partner had already vanished, like a mirage of the woods, like she’d never existed at all.

Souko had taken her name, and then nothing of the girl was left.

Now she was all alone in the rain, and the blue of the sky had faded away, replaced with nothing but a foggy, looming gray.

Souko’s steps vacillated, and her head still hammering, she fell on the ground.

She’d finally won, after training for so long — she finally knew her name — and yet she still wasn’t… still couldn’t be her friend.

She needed to go back, she needed to apologize, she needed to talk to her—

But the sound of the rain and the coldness of Reiko Natsume’s voice were the only thing she could hear before her consciousness slipped away.

* * *

The following days were spent in a blur.

Souko barely even registered her father’s voice or her uncle’s hands or the doctor’s visits. She felt like she was in another dimension, far away from this house, this town, this country.

She felt like she was still stuck in that forest, alone with Reiko, the rest of the world non-existent.

In her dreams, Reiko was here, by her side; pretty in all colors of the rainbow, and she smiled, and laughed, and talked. They played games together, they cooked, they gardened.

In her dreams, Souko apologized. She told her she hadn’t meant to leave, she told her she didn’t care about the rumors about her. She told her that to Souko, she wasn’t a violent scary girl, but a fun, and beautiful, and kind person.

She told her she loved her.

In her dreams, Souko was brave enough to finally kiss her.

But then she opened her eyes, and she was all alone in her bed, and there was only the blue of the sky from her bedroom’s window.

One night, she had a different dream, though.

She felt like she heard someone crying, and then Reiko was there, blue petals falling over her hair and uniform.

As she woke up, Souko couldn’t remember what the dream had been about.

* * *

It took her three whole days before she was able to stand again.

Dad and Uncle were relieved, but Souko couldn’t share any of their enthusiasm. She still felt sick, but insisted nevertheless to go back to school. She couldn’t really bring herself to talk to anyone there though, even as her classmates fussed about her health; her mind focused on only one single person — and as soon as the day ended, she ran towards the forest, towards their usual rendez-vous spot.

(She knew she shouldn’t run, she was still coughing, she still felt so weak — but she couldn’t help it.

She had to see Reiko again, as quickly as possible.)

“Reiko?” She exclaimed upon arriving, but there was no one else.

There's no one yet, Souko reminded herself, trying to stay positive. I’m still early. She could come later.

“Reiko!”

She repeated her name for a while — and couldn’t help but think that if only the circumstances were different, she would feel so proud over it.

To have finally been able to learn her name, to be able to call it out like that.

But that didn’t matter much if no one was there to respond to it. To call Souko back.

I don’t even know how it’s written, she thought.

She tried to think of all the combinations of characters to write ‘Reiko’ that could fit her the most, but just like with colors, she couldn’t decide upon a single one. All of them could suit her.

She would have to ask her about it, next time she saw her.

At least she felt pretty certain on how to spell ‘Natsume.’

All-seeing eyes of the summer, the season of ghosts and spirits.

Souko sat at their usual place.

She waited.

She kept staring left and right, attentive to every sound; trying to catch the slightest glimpse of a silver thread.

But by the time dusk came, there was still no one.

She was still all alone.

* * *

Souko stopped talking to her classmates.

A few days after her last encounter with Reiko, she’d asked the girl from her class who’d first told her about the violent high schooler from next town if she knew anything else — but she’d ended up getting into an argument with her. Her classmates had always been very nice up until now, but as soon as she started asking about Reiko Natsume, they completely changed tune and started spewing all those terrible things about her — that she was a violent delinquent, that she was crazy, that she hurt people.

Souko couldn’t help but defend her. Her classmates had never even met Reiko — what did they know about her? But everyone refused to listen to her. They almost all had a specific creepy or terrible anecdote about Reiko Natsume; she hit my cousin, she talked to trees, she burned down a shop — I tell you, that Natsume girl is bad news! C’mon, Morinaga, why do you even want to associate with someone like that? — and so Souko stopped talking to them.

She didn’t mind. She had no intention to keep hanging around such judgmental people who spoke badly of someone purely because of some rumors they’d heard.

She herself felt so ashamed, to have simply believed those hearsay and repeated them thoughtlessly. She had believed she was doing the right thing by warning Reiko about a potentially dangerous person, because she cared about her and didn’t want anything to happen to her — but she couldn’t even imagine how Reiko must have felt hearing this. How badly Souko must have hurt her. And then, when she’d learned her name, Souko had just run away…

She wouldn’t be surprised if Reiko never wanted to see her again.

But even so, she couldn’t just leave things like that. She had to apologize, at least — she had to tell her that she… she didn’t think any of that, about her.

So she tried to ask around about Reiko, tried to find out if anyone knew where she could live, what school she went to — but whenever she did, she only received vague, uncertain answers. Reiko Natsume was a weird orphan who kept being passed around among families like an unwanted stray, so it was hard to keep track of where she was.

Nobody wanted her, and nobody tried to know anything about her.

She's just a poor crazy girl, was the kindest thing one could hear on her behalf.

The more Souko learned about Reiko Natsume, the less it made sense.

This weird, insane, violent girl was nothing at all like the girl she’d gotten to know. Her Reiko could be a little cold, and a little too blunt, but she was nice, and fun, and amazing. It was like two entirely different people sharing the same name. Souko couldn’t even begin to comprehend how anyone would say such awful things about her.

In the end, she wasn’t able to find anything more about her, and so she had no other choice but to go back to the forest, and wait. Which she did, day after day, even against her family’s protests, even when it rained, even when her health kept deteriorating.

She continued waiting alone.

But sometimes, just sometimes, she felt like she could feel another presence.

Like a ghost sitting by her side, waiting with her, sharing in her lost love and her sadness.

Souko thought back to the legends she’d heard about the forest from her classmates; the strange things Reiko would do sometimes — the stares behind her shoulder, dragging her away forcefully just because a branch had snapped, the way she’d gotten startled during their last match, as if she had been distracted by something…

Maybe Souko wasn’t so alone, after all.

Maybe there truly was someone else by her side, someone she couldn’t see.

Maybe if Reiko had seemed so radiant and vibrant, that was because she actually was able to see another world: a world full of new colors, invisible to others.

Souko found comfort at the idea; that she truly had a companion to share her feelings — her pain — with, even if only a little.

* * *

It was during a day with a completely clear blue sky when she had that dream again.

Souko had stopped being able to go to school a while ago, and thus at the same time she stopped being able to go to the forest as well — the first one she didn’t care about anymore, but the second was more troubling.

She didn’t really think Reiko would come back by now — but she still kept coming there, just in case, like a last prayer.

She wondered if her companion she couldn’t see would feel lonely now that she wouldn’t be there anymore. She wondered if they would miss her.

Where could Reiko be now? Was she still sleeping in a forest, talking to creatures only she could sees?

Was she still all alone?

Souko wished wherever she was, it was far, far away from all those people who spoke and treated her so badly. She wished she was able to find a friend, someone who would love her for the person she truly was and would stand by her side no matter what — even if that person couldn’t be Souko.

Her father was in the living room now, sleeping. He had spent the whole night crying, no matter how much Souko had tried to comfort him.

She wished she could find the right words for him — tell him that she was fine, that her life had still been full of wonders and happiness despite all the suffering, that he’d been a wonderful father — but they both knew there was nothing she could do that would soothe his pain. She wished she could apologize to him, for leaving him all alone just like Mom did, but she didn’t even have the energy to do so anymore. The rest of the family — her uncle and aunt and grandmother — should arrive tonight, and Souko hoped they’ll be able to do a better job than her at comforting him.

She looked up from her bed, at the window in front of her.

The large sky spread wide before her, and it was so deep and blue, and Souko wondered if this was how it looked the day she was born — the day her parents decided to name her after the saddest of all colors.

Although Souko had stopped finding blue as sad as she used to. Now when she thought of blue, she thought of the way Reiko used to say her name so gently, of the blue candy in her palm, of the blue flowers she saw in a dream that she couldn’t remember.

The blue of Souko.

From here, she could also see the barren garden — in the end, she hadn’t been able to plant anything there. She closed her eyes, slowly, and tried to picture the colorful flowers she would’ve liked to put there, the ones she wished she could’ve shown to Reiko.

As her mind drifted away, she heard someone crying.

A gentle voice, from a gentle presence.

Souko smiled, because she knew that presence; it was the same person — the same creature — that had kept her company all this time, while she was waiting for a girl she loved that would never come.

Like with her father, she wished she could comfort them, but nothing came to her mind.

However, as she kept straying farther and farther away from reality, a sight suddenly opened up to her eyes.

She’s in a meadow.

A flower field with blue, blue, blue petals everywhere — fluttering, dancing, as far as the eye can see.

And here, in the middle of the blue flowers, all alone, is her forest girl.

Tears wells up in Souko’s eyes, but she smiles, big and wide — and do the one thing she wishes she could’ve done months ago: she calls out her name.

“Reiko.”

The girl she loves turns around, and as her green eyes melt upon recognition, she has the most beautiful and genuine smile Souko has ever seen.

All the colors of the sky, of the forest and of the meadow gets reflected in her long silver hair, and blue has never looked so joyful.

* * *

Note: The first time I read those chapters, I didn’t even realize that Soranome implied Souko died at the end until someone pointed it out, and I can’t stop thinking about how terribly sad it is. I suppose one could argue maybe Souko just moved at the end and that’s why she stopped coming, but it doesn’t seem likely with the way Soranome phrased it. At least with Reiko, there’s a chance she was loved and happy for a while with the grandfather and then with her daughter afterwards, even if she still ended up losing them at the end. But Souko never got that chance. I only take comfort with the idea she had a loving family who took care of her. (And yes, if anyone’s wondering, I decided she was raised by a single father as a parallel to Tanuma.) But it’s also terrible there seems to be some implications that if Reiko had stayed then Souko wouldn’t have died, given it seemed to be the youkai of the forest that amplified her illness (much like how Tanuma has gotten healthier since meeting Natsume).

I went back and forth about the idea of Souko cutting ties with her classmates in the aftermath of her losing Reiko, because that also felt a little mean to her, but I honestly think she wouldn’t have tolerated anyone speaking badly of Reiko and would feel guilty for listening to the rumors.

I want to try writing something else less sad about them, but truthfully I really love the tragedy of their story haha. Still, maybe I’ll give them a silly little happy ending one day.

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Full book available here

[The novella is short, but the chapters themselves are too long to post all at once, so I'm breaking them in half for convenience]

Chapter I (part 1/2)

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked.

“What’s happened to me?” he thought. It wasn’t a dream. His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table—Samsa was a travelling salesman—and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.

Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops of rain could be heard hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad. “How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense”, he thought, but that was something he was unable to do because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his present state couldn’t get into that position. However hard he threw himself onto his right, he always rolled back to where he was. He must have tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to look at the floundering legs, and only stopped when he began to feel a mild, dull pain there that he had never felt before.

“Oh, God”, he thought, “what a strenuous career it is that I’ve chosen! Travelling day in and day out. Doing business like this takes much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there’s the curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad and irregular food, contact with different people all the time so that you can never get to know anyone or become friendly with them. It can all go to Hell!” He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back towards the headboard so that he could lift his head better; found where the itch was, and saw that it was covered with lots of little white spots which he didn’t know what to make of; and when he tried to feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder.

He slid back into his former position. “Getting up early all the time”, he thought, “it makes you stupid. You’ve got to get enough sleep. Other travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. For instance, whenever I go back to the guest house during the morning to copy out the contract, these gentlemen are always still sitting there eating their breakfasts. I ought to just try that with my boss; I’d get kicked out on the spot. But who knows, maybe that would be the best thing for me. If I didn’t have my parents to think about I’d have given in my notice a long time ago, I’d have gone up to the boss and told him just what I think, tell him everything I would, let him know just what I feel. He’d fall right off his desk! And it’s a funny sort of business to be sitting up there at your desk, talking down at your subordinates from up there, especially when you have to go right up close because the boss is hard of hearing. Well, there’s still some hope; once I’ve got the money together to pay off my parents’ debt to him—another five or six years I suppose—that’s definitely what I’ll do. That’s when I’ll make the big change. First of all though, I’ve got to get up, my train leaves at five.”

And he looked over at the alarm clock, ticking on the chest of drawers. “God in Heaven!” he thought. It was half past six and the hands were quietly moving forwards, it was even later than half past, more like quarter to seven. Had the alarm clock not rung? He could see from the bed that it had been set for four o’clock as it should have been; it certainly must have rung. Yes, but was it possible to quietly sleep through that furniture-rattling noise? True, he had not slept peacefully, but probably all the more deeply because of that. What should he do now? The next train went at seven; if he were to catch that he would have to rush like mad and the collection of samples was still not packed, and he did not at all feel particularly fresh and lively. And even if he did catch the train he would not avoid his boss��s anger as the office assistant would have been there to see the five o’clock train go, he would have put in his report about Gregor’s not being there a long time ago. The office assistant was the boss’s man, spineless, and with no understanding. What about if he reported sick? But that would be extremely strained and suspicious as in five years of service Gregor had never once yet been ill. His boss would certainly come round with the doctor from the medical insurance company, accuse his parents of having a lazy son, and accept the doctor’s recommendation not to make any claim as the doctor believed that no-one was ever ill but that many were workshy. And what’s more, would he have been entirely wrong in this case? Gregor did in fact, apart from excessive sleepiness after sleeping for so long, feel completely well and even felt much hungrier than usual.

He was still hurriedly thinking all this through, unable to decide to get out of the bed, when the clock struck quarter to seven. There was a cautious knock at the door near his head. “Gregor”, somebody called—it was his mother—“it’s quarter to seven. Didn’t you want to go somewhere?” That gentle voice! Gregor was shocked when he heard his own voice answering, it could hardly be recognised as the voice he had had before. As if from deep inside him, there was a painful and uncontrollable squeaking mixed in with it, the words could be made out at first but then there was a sort of echo which made them unclear, leaving the hearer unsure whether he had heard properly or not. Gregor had wanted to give a full answer and explain everything, but in the circumstances contented himself with saying: “Yes, mother, yes, thank-you, I’m getting up now.” The change in Gregor’s voice probably could not be noticed outside through the wooden door, as his mother was satisfied with this explanation and shuffled away. But this short conversation made the other members of the family aware that Gregor, against their expectations was still at home, and soon his father came knocking at one of the side doors, gently, but with his fist. “Gregor, Gregor”, he called, “what’s wrong?” And after a short while he called again with a warning deepness in his voice: “Gregor! Gregor!” At the other side door his sister came plaintively: “Gregor? Aren’t you well? Do you need anything?” Gregor answered to both sides: “I’m ready, now”, making an effort to remove all the strangeness from his voice by enunciating very carefully and putting long pauses between each, individual word. His father went back to his breakfast, but his sister whispered: “Gregor, open the door, I beg of you.” Gregor, however, had no thought of opening the door, and instead congratulated himself for his cautious habit, acquired from his travelling, of locking all doors at night even when he was at home.

The first thing he wanted to do was to get up in peace without being disturbed, to get dressed, and most of all to have his breakfast. Only then would he consider what to do next, as he was well aware that he would not bring his thoughts to any sensible conclusions by lying in bed. He remembered that he had often felt a slight pain in bed, perhaps caused by lying awkwardly, but that had always turned out to be pure imagination and he wondered how his imaginings would slowly resolve themselves today. He did not have the slightest doubt that the change in his voice was nothing more than the first sign of a serious cold, which was an occupational hazard for travelling salesmen.

It was a simple matter to throw off the covers; he only had to blow himself up a little and they fell off by themselves. But it became difficult after that, especially as he was so exceptionally broad. He would have used his arms and his hands to push himself up; but instead of them he only had all those little legs continuously moving in different directions, and which he was moreover unable to control. If he wanted to bend one of them, then that was the first one that would stretch itself out; and if he finally managed to do what he wanted with that leg, all the others seemed to be set free and would move about painfully. “This is something that can’t be done in bed”, Gregor said to himself, “so don’t keep trying to do it”.

The first thing he wanted to do was get the lower part of his body out of the bed, but he had never seen this lower part, and could not imagine what it looked like; it turned out to be too hard to move; it went so slowly; and finally, almost in a frenzy, when he carelessly shoved himself forwards with all the force he could gather, he chose the wrong direction, hit hard against the lower bedpost, and learned from the burning pain he felt that the lower part of his body might well, at present, be the most sensitive.

So then he tried to get the top part of his body out of the bed first, carefully turning his head to the side. This he managed quite easily, and despite its breadth and its weight, the bulk of his body eventually followed slowly in the direction of the head. But when he had at last got his head out of the bed and into the fresh air it occurred to him that if he let himself fall it would be a miracle if his head were not injured, so he became afraid to carry on pushing himself forward the same way. And he could not knock himself out now at any price; better to stay in bed than lose consciousness.

It took just as much effort to get back to where he had been earlier, but when he lay there sighing, and was once more watching his legs as they struggled against each other even harder than before, if that was possible, he could think of no way of bringing peace and order to this chaos. He told himself once more that it was not possible for him to stay in bed and that the most sensible thing to do would be to get free of it in whatever way he could at whatever sacrifice. At the same time, though, he did not forget to remind himself that calm consideration was much better than rushing to desperate conclusions. At times like this he would direct his eyes to the window and look out as clearly as he could, but unfortunately, even the other side of the narrow street was enveloped in morning fog and the view had little confidence or cheer to offer him. “Seven o’clock, already”, he said to himself when the clock struck again, “seven o’clock, and there’s still a fog like this.” And he lay there quietly a while longer, breathing lightly as if he perhaps expected the total stillness to bring things back to their real and natural state.

But then he said to himself: “Before it strikes quarter past seven I’ll definitely have to have got properly out of bed. And by then somebody will have come round from work to ask what’s happened to me as well, as they open up at work before seven o’clock.” And so he set himself to the task of swinging the entire length of his body out of the bed all at the same time. If he succeeded in falling out of bed in this way and kept his head raised as he did so he could probably avoid injuring it. His back seemed to be quite hard, and probably nothing would happen to it falling onto the carpet. His main concern was for the loud noise he was bound to make, and which even through all the doors would probably raise concern if not alarm. But it was something that had to be risked.

When Gregor was already sticking half way out of the bed—the new method was more of a game than an effort, all he had to do was rock back and forth—it occurred to him how simple everything would be if somebody came to help him. Two strong people—he had his father and the maid in mind—would have been more than enough; they would only have to push their arms under the dome of his back, peel him away from the bed, bend down with the load and then be patient and careful as he swang over onto the floor, where, hopefully, the little legs would find a use. Should he really call for help though, even apart from the fact that all the doors were locked? Despite all the difficulty he was in, he could not suppress a smile at this thought.

After a while he had already moved so far across that it would have been hard for him to keep his balance if he rocked too hard. The time was now ten past seven and he would have to make a final decision very soon. Then there was a ring at the door of the flat. “That’ll be someone from work”, he said to himself, and froze very still, although his little legs only became all the more lively as they danced around. For a moment everything remained quiet. “They’re not opening the door”, Gregor said to himself, caught in some nonsensical hope. But then of course, the maid’s firm steps went to the door as ever and opened it. Gregor only needed to hear the visitor’s first words of greeting and he knew who it was—the chief clerk himself. Why did Gregor have to be the only one condemned to work for a company where they immediately became highly suspicious at the slightest shortcoming? Were all employees, every one of them, louts, was there not one of them who was faithful and devoted who would go so mad with pangs of conscience that he couldn’t get out of bed if he didn’t spend at least a couple of hours in the morning on company business? Was it really not enough to let one of the trainees make enquiries—assuming enquiries were even necessary—did the chief clerk have to come himself, and did they have to show the whole, innocent family that this was so suspicious that only the chief clerk could be trusted to have the wisdom to investigate it? And more because these thoughts had made him upset than through any proper decision, he swang himself with all his force out of the bed. There was a loud thump, but it wasn’t really a loud noise. His fall was softened a little by the carpet, and Gregor’s back was also more elastic than he had thought, which made the sound muffled and not too noticeable. He had not held his head carefully enough, though, and hit it as he fell; annoyed and in pain, he turned it and rubbed it against the carpet.

“Something’s fallen down in there”, said the chief clerk in the room on the left. Gregor tried to imagine whether something of the sort that had happened to him today could ever happen to the chief clerk too; you had to concede that it was possible. But as if in gruff reply to this question, the chief clerk’s firm footsteps in his highly polished boots could now be heard in the adjoining room. From the room on his right, Gregor’s sister whispered to him to let him know: “Gregor, the chief clerk is here.” “Yes, I know”, said Gregor to himself; but without daring to raise his voice loud enough for his sister to hear him.

“Gregor”, said his father now from the room to his left, “the chief clerk has come round and wants to know why you didn’t leave on the early train. We don’t know what to say to him. And anyway, he wants to speak to you personally. So please open up this door. I’m sure he’ll be good enough to forgive the untidiness of your room.” Then the chief clerk called “Good morning, Mr. Samsa”. “He isn’t well”, said his mother to the chief clerk, while his father continued to speak through the door. “He isn’t well, please believe me. Why else would Gregor have missed a train! The lad only ever thinks about the business. It nearly makes me cross the way he never goes out in the evenings; he’s been in town for a week now but stayed home every evening. He sits with us in the kitchen and just reads the paper or studies train timetables. His idea of relaxation is working with his fretsaw. He’s made a little frame, for instance, it only took him two or three evenings, you’ll be amazed how nice it is; it’s hanging up in his room; you’ll see it as soon as Gregor opens the door. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here; we wouldn’t have been able to get Gregor to open the door by ourselves; he’s so stubborn; and I’m sure he isn’t well, he said this morning that he is, but he isn’t.” “I’ll be there in a moment”, said Gregor slowly and thoughtfully, but without moving so that he would not miss any word of the conversation. “Well I can’t think of any other way of explaining it, Mrs. Samsa”, said the chief clerk, “I hope it’s nothing serious. But on the other hand, I must say that if we people in commerce ever become slightly unwell then, fortunately or unfortunately as you like, we simply have to overcome it because of business considerations.” “Can the chief clerk come in to see you now then?”, asked his father impatiently, knocking at the door again. “No”, said Gregor. In the room on his right there followed a painful silence; in the room on his left his sister began to cry.

So why did his sister not go and join the others? She had probably only just got up and had not even begun to get dressed. And why was she crying? Was it because he had not got up, and had not let the chief clerk in, because he was in danger of losing his job and if that happened his boss would once more pursue their parents with the same demands as before? There was no need to worry about things like that yet. Gregor was still there and had not the slightest intention of abandoning his family. For the time being he just lay there on the carpet, and no-one who knew the condition he was in would seriously have expected him to let the chief clerk in. It was only a minor discourtesy, and a suitable excuse could easily be found for it later on, it was not something for which Gregor could be sacked on the spot. And it seemed to Gregor much more sensible to leave him now in peace instead of disturbing him with talking at him and crying. But the others didn’t know what was happening, they were worried, that would excuse their behaviour.

[commenter2]

"Cabin Fever" review

Here is my review on episode 4 of Murder Drones. A camping, slasher flick themed episode! Let’s see if Uzi and the other will survive.

Again Glitch Productions, please make a longer intro theme.

Now at first I wondered why the Drones would think bringing a bunch of teen Drones to the surface is a good idea given how dangerous it is for them, when I realized that they only know of the 3 Disassembly Drones and since Uzi killed J, and N and V are good (or controlled in V’s case) logically there really isn’t anything for them to be afraid of about the surface…until J 2.0, Tessa, and potentially other Disassembly Drones appear, likely in this episode.

Given their robots, the idea of vehicles being animal like makes a bit of sense while still being funny. Does that make the pods N and the other DDs came in birds XD

So these must be the new cannon fodder I MEAN characters for the episode. We have a stoner, female nerd, the jock/bully and his girlfriend, and the self-centered jerk. I wonder how they will change as the series goes on…XD

THAD AND LIZZY ARE HOLDING HANDS! BLASPHAMY! Though I do see it adding tension to the love triangle/quadrangle ideas I’ve talked about in the past.

Uzi’s backpack has wings, making her a bit like a Disassembly Drone. Foreshadowing? :3

Uzi’s mom is strangely happy about the core blowing up. Also what Khan said seems to confirm my theory from my last episode review about how this 3rd drone type was able to blend in with the Worker Drones.

Khan: Your mom was a catch!

Uzi.EXE has stopped working XD

Khan’s room has various door designs XD

If the idea of Khan immediately proposing to Uzi’s mom after she told him to make doors doesn’t become canon, we should boycott the show!

This singularity thing will be cool to learn about later. One quick prediction I have is that it’s some kind of electrical hive mind system that connects all machinery, and it’s a part of robots like Uzi and others. It also seems to give them visions. That or some kind of BATDR like vibe given some of the drawings.

If you can ignore the the cool S drawings (a difficult challenge, I know) you'll noticed that Khan is 3 for 3 of being a better father then he was in the pilot.

Seeing the teacher wearing a stereotypical tropical outfit may seem odd given its snowing, but I bet this kind of weather is pleasant for robots trying to relax. Same with the nerd robot making a cross symbol but Uzi did mention a robo Jesus in the pilot.

We better get camp counselor N and V plushies in the future!

WOAH! Poor robot guy. I feel bad for whoever has to tell his parents.

The book the nerd girl is carrying is called “Final Girl” XD

Nice to see Thad and Lizzy being nice to N and V WAIT DID Lizzy just pickpocket the dead drone’s watch!

Sad to see how the others are scared of Uzi to a point they would befriend robots that were killing them some time ago, or seconds in V case.

Cool to see that Uzi seems to have gotten use to her powers.

At 4:51 you can see that mystery human girl from N’s dream from episode 2.

It is funny seeing the other drones trying to use the canoes on a frozen lake and again having fun with N and V given they use to be afraid of them.

Since we haven’t seen N or V overheat yet, but see Uzi and Doll do so (more Uzi) does this mean the 3rd drone type overheat faster?

Bitch move V, scratching Uzi’s screen..face..whatever. It’s a good thing Uzi can heal herselWAIT A MINUTE!!!

A green bug! AND IT “TALKS”. It also seems to think Uzi is her mom. This plus how it seems to be a key to a lab, makes me wonder what the future of this series holds.

Even in the distant future audio to text features still suck.

Doll is back.

Where is Thad in the crowd?

Uzi has the power to turn inorganic matter into living things! This is some big Internecion Cube shit here. Fitting since Murder Drones and Internecion Cube are both made by Liam Vicker. It also seems to give us the main reason why the DDs are there, as robots like those could be very dangerous if they were to attack humanity. Heck Uzi seems to have caused a big problem without even trying! Also that thing she made looks like that image in the pile of papers near the dead drone where she found the green bug.

Now we get to the slasher stereotypes, starting with the couple going somewhere to make out.

Uzi is turning! Also totally called the backpack as foreshadowing!

While N is trying to turn on the computer, you can see a pair of red eyes (likely Dolls) behind him!

From analyzing the visions N sees, it looks like a robot went rouge and ate something organic, a severed organic arm was being held on by some lab equipment, and a giant black hole (likely the singularity) is near a house that looks like the one from N’s dream and the season 1 trailer. This gives me a small theory but more on that at the end.

Uzi’s unpopularity actually saved her from being exposed to the others. It would be funny if it wasn’t a bit sad.

Wait is Uzi’s tail organic? IT IS, and she has human arms on her wings! This is a nice change for the usual DD design and it reminds me of what J’s backup systems did in episode 2. This gives me hope that we will see different designed DDs later on in the series like I have been hoping will happen for some time now.

Lizzy is sassy even on the verge of death XD

The freefalling scene is a great moment. We get to see N’s caring side as well as some good Uzi X N content.

V is jealous :3. Please writers, gives us a love quadrangle. I mean if you can make me want to see one (and I usually hate that trope) then it has to be good.

Oh…Lizzy is alive…that’s good, I guess.

V likes the idea of being a diva.

So vehicles aren’t animals, there just hot-wired and when it acts up, they need to be treated like animals.

There’s Thad! I was wondering what happened to him.

It’s interesting to see V cover for Uzi. It also makes me wonder if at some point, because of V’s actions, the drone society will try and kick out N and V (maybe Uzi as well) for all the killings V have done…. Only for them to want them back when J and the other new DDs appear.

Uzi and N technically held hands!

Can’t wait to see what is on that tape. Actually Zombie Drones sounds like another nod to Internecion Cube.

That was an intense episode, as all slasher films are. I mean we now learn that if Uzi loses control she turns into a monster and why it seems the DDs were sent to the planet, we have a new “character/plot device" in the form of the robotic bug, N stumbling upon a tape that will likely explain everything, and we see V being jealous of how close Uzi and N are which I think could make her start to remember his life before she became a DD.

Only time will tell on what will happen next but I have some new theories based on what we saw.

After seeing Uzi’s ability to turn inorganic things into organic, I have this new theory that Doll is the mystery human girl we saw in this episode. See there was this old theory that went over the possibility of the drones being originally human or used human parts and something like this seems to be true, especially after seeing the lab machinery holding a human body part in N's visions. Maybe Doll’s mother was originally that girl in the flashback who use to own J, V, and N but died which made her father want her back as a robot. However, the inorganic and organic components resulted in their dangerous powers and had to be taken out, but failed and the the girl was able to escape where she had a robot daughter of her own AKA Doll. Also after seeing Uzi turn inorganic into organic matter, maybe Doll could do something similar but on a bigger scale as she could make herself look very much like a human.

I also have this theory that whatever gives Uzi and Doll their powers, its being used slightly for the DD’s. I mean thinking back to episode 2, that heart thing that came out of J gives me a similar vibe to the techno-organic substance Uzi was making in the episode. For all we know after the exoplanet incident, the tech behind it was perfected on Earth and they gave it to N and the other DDs to give them a fighting chance against the 3rd kind of drones. It would explain how they can make all those weapons and regenerate quickly.

What did you think of the episode? What did you like about it and do you have any theories of your own about the series?

[lostbizkits]

I will never get over the fact that the person who I considered one of my greatest friends actually Did Not In Fact Like Me for at least 4 years and during those 4 years deliberately tried excluding me from every conversation with others about my interests.

If a new anime came out and she wanted to talk about it she would specifically only talk about it when I wasn’t around.

When I started talking about said anime she would immediately lose interest and the cycle would continue

It happened like… 5 times 😭😭 like MHA, AOT, Undertale, Yuri on Ice, Tokyo Ghoul, DRAWING IN GENERAL it’s really funny now that I think about it.

I just straight up did not notice the entire time too my ass was so clueless I couldn’t fathom that she was doing this. I only found out because someone else told me 2 years after it started happening.

I will also never forget about how 3 of my highschool friends, 2 of them I knew for 13 years, got into relationships, didn’t tell me for a whole year, and laughed at me when I got confused when they were talking about how they’d all been “going strong” for a year.

I will never forget being considered weird and strange and childish for my interests esp since I was interested in them for way longer than my peers. That I was weird for liking things like anime and donghua even though I grew up watching anime and donghua (I could never beat the Asian poser allegations even though I was the only Asian ) but then 2017 hit and liking anime was cool all of a sudden and multiple people suddenly forgot they called me abnormal for liking ugly cartoons at my big age and were asking me for recommendations

I remember saying things to people and they would laugh but I’d never understand why it’s funny, to this day I don’t get it. I am very good at this now tho with my college friends so my SHS was probably just full of dry people.

The shit that keeps me up at night is also that all my teachers would tell my parents that I was highly distracted and always fidgeting or daydreaming, and that if I just worked on discipline and motivation I’d be a better student even though I wasn’t doing bad by any means from class 1 to fucking 6th form and no one clocked that I had ADHD is WILD

My mom, who majored in child psychology didn’t clock that I had ADHD for 19 entire years and called me drug seeking when I got my diagnosis and started treatment, because I was nothing like the ADHD kids that she worked with who were all 4.

Also the fact that my childhood was lowkey a giant fluorescent sign of it all and no one clocked it is hilarious. I pulled the straps of my shoes so tight they’d rip because I don’t like the feeling of shoes having air in them, I have dents from it like my feet would not get proper circulation because my shoes were so tight. I cut along the seems of all my school socks because if the seem touched my toe pads I would cry. My favourite thing to do second to playing Mario kart and watching 3 movies on rotation (ponyo, cindarella, Monster High: 13 Wishes) was to stack my collection of kid encyclopedias ( 14 at its peak), read them then put them into another stack. I had more kid encyclopedias but I didn’t like them because they had a different publisher so none of the stuff was in the same layout 0/10

The call was coming from inside the house but everyone had the phone on silent

[quillyfied]

Things I’m noticing on this rewatch, which I’m hoping to take slow and ponder on but we will see how it goes, PART TWO (obviously major Good Omens season 2 spoilers throughout, specifically for S2E2)

- Immediately the first thing I notice and love is the old-timey grainy way the Job storyline was shot with. Aziraphale’s holy background thing is so fun and dynamic, omg. There’s something very Terry Gilliam about the visuals.

- Also want to point out that the different shades of red of Crowley’s hair is a CHOICE, because he’s back to s1 color in this flashback. Also noticed last episode, but the new hair seems to have much darker roots or lowlights visible in some shots. Deliberate?

- Crowley can just summon a small sun. Nbd.

- The idea of a permit. The continuing hysteria of inserting modern parlance into the past. This is why I love this show.

- THE PERMIT IS SO LONG WHY IS THAT LOONEY TUNES LEVEL HUMOR STILL SO FUNNY

- Thing I notice now: the crows flying away after the goats are struck by fireballs. Originally unnoticed ambiance. Now incredibly funny.

- “You know, geese? Big, cross ducks?” I LOVE MURIEL.

- Hello, Jerkface McGee Gabriel.

- My brain, when Gabriel talked about witnessing the first human birth: oh, he was there for Cain? Weird, but—oh. Oh he meant Eve. Oh NO. Aziraphale your superiors are incompetent.

- The marks of irritation the archangels have with Aziraphale…phew. Eye rolling, huffing, the whole shebang. Poor guy.

- The fact that Jim is trying to be helpful and makes the bookshop less comprehensible delights me, actually. As does his hideous sweater.

- The fact that there are edges to Jimbriel’s memory, that he has snatches of himself but can’t encompass the whole…weird. Why won’t his whole self fit back inside of his amnesiac mind? What’s taking up the room? Unless all the room is stored with the rest of his memories? This is a silly train of thought and I’m getting a bit too deep

- Wondering how Hell’s miraculous tracking system works tbh.

- Another note about the opening: last season, we got to the crowd actively falling off the edge of their cliff path and the good ones going up, the bad ones going down. This time…credits end before they reach that summit. And they’re climbing towards something brightly lit. Interesting.

- I love that the seemingly throwaway line of all albums turning to Queen Best Hits when left in a car for too long turns into more of an actual plot point with the jukebox and Buddy Holly. Almost feels taboo.

- The needing an invitation to get in thing is so subtly done, too.

- Keen?? KEEN???

- Yeah the attempt to kill the fly does sort of overly dampen the reveal later. Better foreshadowing would have been to him trying to catch it tbh.

- CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW AZIRAPHALE CAN DRAW

- Dirty Donkey pub. Something about that is tickling my brain. No idea why. Like I know its utility as an elevator in s2 but I feel like there’s something important about it I’m forgetting? Or missing?

- Jane Austen as master spy and novelist is the exact flavor I’m looking for, thank you. XD

- Ehm. Aziraphale. The ball part isn’t where the love realizations happened, from my memory. They’re highly charged events, but they’re for feeding chemistry, not realizations. Idk man.

- Aziraphale almost closes the shop door on him. Noticed it the first time. Noticing it now. Mistake? Or meant?

- Pride and Prejudice is what is zoomed in on. Nice.

- Feels like Crowley is possibly probing Jim’s mind at this stage. Miraculously? There’s a partial little hissing chime when he starts doing it but I can’t tell if that’s a tension builder or an actual miraculous signifier.

- Note to self: go back to first episode and see if any sound effect played during the dual miracle. Result: yes, normal miracle chime.

- Going back to e2, not a full miracle chime but definitely a hiss of something. Don’t think Crowley is rooting around in his head but unsure how Crowley can evoke these episodes in Jimbriel but Aziraphale can’t. Hmm.

- Wondering if there’s a female voice layered under Gabriel’s, or if it’s his own pitched up.

- The fact that Jimbriel has some awareness of himself though!! He KNOWS whatever he can’t quite remember is too big for him right now, but he doesn’t know what it is and goes back to being a happy sieve in no time. Weird!!!

- Aha. Subtitles are wrong, Aziraphale does still call him Crawly in the Job minisode.

- “Technically you can—“ “oh, then technically I will” I SEE YOU, JOHN FINNEMORE. REUSING VERY GOOD LINES.

- GOSH the ACTING I am in a SWOON

- THAT SMUG LITTLE ANGELIC GRIN

- okay but: very important conversation about sides and desires and knowing (gosh that sounds dirty), unfortunate side effect of validating to Aziraphale that the angel he knew as Crowley Before is still in there and still reachable, the demon no different but just more stubborn for some reason. Massive flaw in his cognition to work through in s3, the universe willing.

- The kids being brats feels so…appropriate, somehow. All but the youngest. Who is adorable.

- Aziraphale showing faith in Crowley, though, and being proven correct. My tender heart.

- Crowley being obliging and turning Jemimah into a blue lizard. I cry.

- Aziraphale having a gag reaction to wine is hysterical actually

- The sensuality of the tempting Aziraphale to eat though.

- I…really can’t tell God’s tone or intent in talking to Job? Might just be telling him off. I think that’s what They’re doing. Job and I are on the same page at least.

- Gabriel’s game show host way of announcing this poor middle aged woman can have seven more kids. The Supreme Archangel, folks.

- Crowley stepping up at the nick of time to stop Sitis from committing blasphemy in front of the most powerful angels of Heaven: incredible power move. Only to be topped by his subsequent act of “midwifery”

- The “yes, and”ing of this scene. I’m agog.

- “Reach into his robes—higher, higher” THE LOOK ON JOB’S FACE

- Okay but the very neat forcing of Aziraphale to directly lie to his superiors, to take an active role of disobedience for the actual greater good. Mmm. Tasty for his character.

- THE WAY AZIRAPHALE’S HEAD JUST POPS OUT FROM BEHIND THE BENTLEY. Also had a little miracle chime to it so he definitely just. Popped up. Good grief.

- OUR car. Passed his test 90 years ago. Just like it’s technically my shop but we both get plenty of use out of it. MARRIED. BICKERING.

- GOOD OMENS THE BOOK INSIDE OF GOOD OMENS THE SHOW. I SQUEAL. I GIGGLE. I KICK MY FEET.

- The whole conversation at the end about falling and being lonely…SO many emotions. So many layers. Such setup. I just want to pop it in my mouth and gum on it for hours. This is the second time Aziraphale has lied to his bosses, but he wasn’t near as torn up about lying to God as he was about lying to Gabriel and the rest. Possibly because he had no proof that God DIDNT want him to give the sword to Adam to protect themselves with, and in this case he DID have more substantial proof that God wanted those kids dead. Or, Gabriel and Michael did, at least.

- Once again setting up to Aziraphale that Crowley is a good demon, that trusting him is a good idea, and pitting that against his ingrained trust in Heaven. Difficult dichotomy, difficult situation. Still hasn’t fully untangled that one in the present day. Obviously.

- “I’m a demon. I lied.” The absolute POWER.

Okay that’s it for tonight. More later!

[purple-tello]

Another special delivery of angst! These files are from the most recent updates to Facility 92's database by none other thaaaan, you guessed it, AGENT BISHOP!

Trigger warnings are implied experimentation and dehumanizing language

Subject Three - "Leonardo"

Filed by Agent Bishop in Facility 96.

After the ambush today, we were able to capture two of our assailants. The first of these is a mutated turtle, likely one of the, "children," referred to by One. There are no legal records of Three's birth, therefore its consent to DNA testing is not required.

From a quick glance, we have been able to identify Three as a species of Red Eared Slider, its human DNA matching that of Hamato Yoshi. Three's metabolism is also extremely high, as the drugs used to sedate them wore off extreme fast. Likely due to the mutagen. Extracting a sample will be necessary.

Three shows an intelligence that should not be underestimated. It waited until a guard's back was turned before drawing a sword out of nowhere to attack. All items have been apprehended from its possession as to keep it from using anything as a weapon. It has asked to see subjects One, Two, and Four. We have permitted it to see Four, though through bars. We cannot allow these subjects to escape, they are our only access to the mutagen.

It should also be noted that Three should not be left without supervision for long. Several escape attempts have already been attempted, and we cannot risk another. Three is extremely observant and should not be underestimated.

It is suggested that Three can be used to better contain Four. If either escapes, nonlethal methods are recommended, but should it become necessary, kill on sight.

Subject Four - "Raphael"

Filed by Agent Bishop in Facility 92.

Subject Four was quickly apprehended with Three, though it took much longer to sedate it. It was noticeably much easier to apprehend it when threatened with Three's safety. Due to the lack of citizenship or record of Four being a legal citizen of the United States, consent is not required for DNA testing of any kind.

Four seems to he a mutated form of Alligator Snapping turtle with the shared DNA of Hamato Yoshi. This connection between Three and Four suggests that despite their differing species, they are related. It is recommended that we push further for One's consent to its DNA to see if that connection extends to it as well.

Upon speaking to Three, this conversation was recorded.

Three: You okay?

Four: Yeah... Fine. What about you, you okay?

Three: Other than getting needles in my arm? Fantastic. It's always been my dream to be a guinea pig in a lab against my will.

Four: Leo stop, that's not funny. Did you see if the others got out?

Three: Don't ask that. They're fine, but don't give anyone an inch to investigate it again.

Four: You don't think -

Three: Shush. They're probably listening right now.

Four: Have you thought of a way out?

Three: God do you not hear me? Shush! And really? You wanna listen to my plans now?

Four: |after hesitation| You're probably right... I'm sorry...

Three: Oh I can tell.

Four: Leo I'm sorry.

Three: I believe you.

Four: LEO I AM SORRY. |Four was then observed panicking with its hands on its head| I'm sorry, okay? You were right, we shouldn't have done this! We should have just waited to get dad back and - you were right...

|several moments of silence|

Four: Please talk to me...

Three: You weren't listening before... Why would you now?

Four: Because... I don't have a good reason.. But I'm sorry. I was scared, I ran in when I shouldn't have, I put us all in danger, and now you're paying for it.

|more silence|

Four: I knew you were right, but I... I didn't want to listen. I was so scared I'd lose them, like how we lost you. I wasn't ready to face that again.

Three: I know.

Four: You do?

Three: Dude I literally did this same thing when you got taken by the - |Three cut itself off here and glanced towards the camera, as if afraid to reveal information. Note for later|

Four: You... Did?

Three: I got us all hurt trying to get you back. It took... God it took him talking to me to really sink in how dangerous this all is... I didn't think death applied to us before. I do now.

Four: Yeah... Because of what happened to you.

Three: No, because of what could have happened to you.

Four: What?

Three: Not here... But I get it. I just don't get why... You were always lecturing me for acting like that, why did you?

|silence|

Three: Raph?

Four: Because it's what you would have done, before.

Three: Huh?

Four: You're our leader. Doesn't matter that you gave that title to me when you got hurt, deep down we all know you're the one we follow. Even when we were kids, Leo, you always had the plans, the ideas. You got us out of trouble or figured out the answers to our problems. You gave me the chance to prove myself again, and I didn't wanna waste it.

Three: So you thought making the same mistakes I did would help?

Four: I dunno what I thought... Just that that was how we used to do things. Go in, get it done, get out. You and I would fight like we always did but we'd get the job done.

Three: Keep talking like that and the people here are going to think we're assassins.

Four: Oh... Right.

|more silence|

Three: ... Raph what are they gonna do to us?

Raph: Well... We know they didn't hurt dad...

Three: Dad has rights. We don't.

Four: What?

Three: They can prove dad is a US citizen. Us? We have no legal proof of existence anywhere. Nobody knows about us... They can do whatever they want to us...

Four: I won't let them. Not to you.

Three: ... We really gucked this one up, huh?

Four: Yeah... We did. I'm sorry, Leo.

Three: I know... And I forgive you... Hey, I have an idea.

After this both subjects refused to acknowledge or speak to each other. There was no indication of any communication between them other than their facial expressions. As ridiculous as it sounds, I suggest a mental connection of some kind.

It seems that Three is the only true motivation to keep Four calm and resistant to escape. It has not attempted to escape so much as see Three face to face. This could be utilized in their containment. Should Four escape, it's size is too big to kept alive. Do not engage, and kill on sight.

[abimee]

hi i never send asks but i need to tell you how much your art means to me. i remember seeing it years ago when u were drawing ut/dr stuff and i loved it back then, but to come back years later and see youre into ffxiv is like, miraculous. i absolutely ADORE the way u stylize the characters, their stories seem so interesting, and its such a breath of fresh air to me, like straight up inspirational it makes me wanna go ham drawing my guys the way i want bc ive felt so self concious since most fanart i see sticks pretty close to the source. anyways keep doing what ur doing im /cheerjump'ing at you from the distance 💖

NO IM THE SAME WAY REAL getting into FFXIV after being into UT/DR had a long period of like embarassment following it because i wasnt used to being surrounded by artists who stayed pretty on model and like, didn't ''mess'' with the designs of both like specific characters and just general overall character types like m'iqote. Coming from UT/DR where the art style and the general ''theyre monsters'' gave me a lot of leeway to do stuff like anteater dreemmurs and draw frisk in a frilly flower pattern skirt, so coming over to draw ff14 art and never see people even like, give a character a haircut or draw elezen eyes slightly differently made me feel.... not scared, but i felt ambarassed that people wouldnt like my art or not recognize the characters, or find my art incoherent like a few people used to mock me for back in UT/DR days.

I eventually got over it but i still someyimes feel that shame, especially when the art isn't particularly well recieved, mostly with stuff like my butch menphina or how i draw hades, and i begin to wonder if my art would ''do better'' if i stuck closer to the style/design of the FF14 game down to the eye shape and exact clothing patterns

this isnt smthn i think about too often though thankfully, and i feel like a swell of love whenever people do react positively to how i interpret characters into my art :,] ive noticed a few people respond to really liking how i draw Zero even though i never considered her to differ far from her original design, but looking at it side by side i think i sometimes cant tell when im fucking with a design myself until i stare at them next to each other LOL

BUT GO FOR IT!!! there really is nobody stopping you from messing with the designs in the game, FF14 is a million dollar successful MMO ran by one of the biggest gaming companies in the industry so unless yoshida sends a cease and desist directly to our doors there is NOTHING stopping you from taking characters into your own hands and molding them to your liking. Draw Miqote looking even more like cats than people, draw vieras more anthro than humanoid, make your wol part sahagin and give them funny fish gills, give your favorite character a fatter head or a buzz cut, there is an endless possibility as vast as the people in the world are!!!! \o/