#i memorize a lot of facts and most of them would be considered “dark”

[habitual-creatures]

Hey Mx. H, question:

What’s your favourite part of the human body to eat? I’m very curious :p

(Also OOC- you’re cool have this 🫴🏻🌹)

IT DEPENDS...

FOR ACTUAL FOOD, FOR MEANINGFUL NUTRITIONAL QUALITY... I FIND THE THIGHS, UPPER ARMS, OR ORGANS (ESPECIALLY THE LIVER OR LUNGS) TO BE BEST...

HOWEVER, I LIKE TO THINK OF MYSELF AS A ROMANTIC...

SO I READILY ADMIT THAT MY FAVORITE PART FOR A... PERSONAL DINING EXPERIENCE IS PROBABLY THE HEART.

IT CAN BE SO BEAUTIFULLY CARVED OUT TOO... WHERE YOU CAN KEEP THEM ALIVE LONG ENOUGH TO WATCH THEM REALIZE WHAT YOUR GOAL IS... YOU CAN FEEL THEIR PULSE SPEED UP AS YOU GET CLOSER TO REMOVING IT FROM ITS CAGE...

IT'S INTOXICATING.

[ REGARDS, HABIT ]

(( gwahhh- thank you for saying you think I'm cool!!!! :'DDD I'm really not, I'm just a goober. And thank you for the digital rose!!! *I left a rose. /ref* sorry btw if this ask is really triggering in any ways to anyone... cannibalism is bad but so fascinating to hear about. :']] I'm weird so I know a lot about it. ))

[seventeenlovesthree]

Sora Takenouchi's clothing style - a meta analysis

Initially, it looked like Sora would come out as the clear winner of the fashion analysis poll - and for a good reason, as Sora's clothing style is quite a subject to discuss when it comes to her character, development and the role(s and maybe even identity) she takes on through the course of the series. She may only have finished second after Yamato, but now concludes the first quartet after him, Taichi and Koushirou. So let's dive into it:

Adventure (+ Our War Game), age 11/12:

Sora'a initial look in Adventure may best be described with the term "iconic" - because aside from Taichi and Mimi, she may actually have one of the most memorable "adventurous" pieces of clothing among the original eight. Functioning as a contrast to Mimi's feminine red dress and pink hat, Sora prefers practical blue jeans, a yellow top with short sleeves and her trademark blue hat. The colourful ensemble is completed by red gloves, dark sneakers - with the latter most likely influenced by her playing football alongside Taichi in their school's football club. The only "more typically feminine" element - which isn't fully portrayed here - is the little pink belt with a bag she wears on her waist. Last but not least there is, of course, the signature short red hair - which, at this point, is still mostly hidden under her hat. While there are debates to this day as to whether it's a beanie or a helmet (thanks to episode 11 of the anime), we can already detect a few elements that will turn out to be reoccurring themes for her, one way or another:

Sora is our resident tomboy with a caring attitude: she can be assumed to like being practical, she is "a pants kinda girl" who prefers football over flower arrangement, but never (!) looks down on her more feminine presenting companions - and may or may not hide a lot of trauma and insecurities behind a mask. And maybe even her clothes...?

Fasting forward to Our War Game, things may become a bit clearer; her main role in the movie is to provide background conflict with Taichi while staying away from the battles because of it. However, OWG already re-uses a few elements we have seen on her before, especially in terms of colours. With Taichi, Yamato and Koushirou, estimating their favourite worn colours is a little bit easier. However, I would argue that Sora has a very strong fondness for (light) blue and yellow. She's still sticking to her blue jeans, the blue hat has been replaced with a yellow beanie, the colour of her previous shirt.

But what was the conflict about? Taichi chose to gift her a sunflower hairclip for her birthday - just to get yelled at for that by her, asking him whether "her hat doest suit" her after all. Granted, we only know his side of the story, but we can clearly see her being bitter about the whole situation and waiting for him to apologize.

Why is a little piece of jewelry riling her up so much, you may ask?

Considering how Sora's mother used to want her to quit football and behave like the daughter of a flower arrangement school owner (= iemoto) should, one could assume that she's already going through some kind of identity crisis at the age of only 12. Being confronted just by the mere possibility that her best friend may want her to be/look more feminine (just like her mother), even though her gender representation had NEVER played a role between them... May have frightened her to the core. They had always been friends, football comrades and Digital World companions. Not only that, she had already been confused about whether or not her nurturing attitude had been real or just a facade, so this may have been the icing on top - as we can tell by the fact that she keeps fumbling with her hat (and the hairclip too) through the course of the movie, displaying a great sense of insecurity. On the other hand, we can also tell that she is willing to move towards others if she's met with kindness and understanding. So once Taichi's apology reaches through to her, she ends up putting on the hairclip instead of the hat and apologizes as well. A significant change for the rest of the series...?

Come to think of it, we know that she has already reconciled with her mother to at least some degree by the end of Adventure - so could that be the reason why she already dares to wear a pink sweater at this point...? We may have to wait and see...

02 (+ Diablomon Strikes Back), age 14/15:

02 is what I would like to call "Sora's experimental phase" - and I'm not just saying that because we never see her wear her previously beloved pants through the course of the entire series plus movies, not even once.

Upon her journey of reconciling with her mother step by step, she often stays away from fighting alongside the others; either because she's busy learning (and struggling with) flower arrangement or attending tennis camp. By the start of the series, we learn that she has actually switched from football to tennis to get closer to her mother, wearing a very short skirt - and she absolutely isn't afraid to run around with it comfortably in the deserts of the Digital World, so we can tell her adventurous spirit has not (completely) vanished. And despite everything, she still tries to jump into action when possible - which will also turn out to be a theme for her: Trying to find a balance between real life obligations and the fighting, making her own choices about it. But we'll get to that.

... At this point, it all appears to be quite a strong contrast to Adventure!Sora, as she fully commits to more feminine clothes and hobbies. However: Whether it's about choosing to wear the (more Mimi-centric) colours red and pink, to generally wear skirts or about whom she wants to date - she goes for it, seems confident about it (even if she may need a nudge here and there) and still makes way to put on a hat and the colours blue and yellow again occasionally. If you squint, you may even be able to tell that, by winter season, she not only has fully embraced the blues (coat) and yellows (sweater) back into her life, while mixing it with the adopted pink (scarf and skirt) - but that her hair seems to have grown a tiny bit longer as well. Long enough to keep the fringe out of her eyes and into a side fringe (with the perfect length to be held by a hairclip). She's a teenager, it's all very experimental (to the point of wearing silly matching shirts with Taichi that refer to circles and triangles for whatever meta reason).

Since it is never outright stated, the viewer can roll the dice on whether the pants and the hat (age 11) were an act of rebellion and the skirts (age 14/15) an act of hyper-adaptation (towards a heteronormative, more "typically feminine" gender representation). But in my opinion, both interpretations are somewhat valid considering her age. Growing up is a process - and we'll learn that her style isn't set in stone at all yet.

Tri, age 17:

17-year-old Sora, despite appearing to be more torn and insecure about her path and future than before, seems to at least have grown MUCH MORE confident in her clothing style. Yes, she seems rather distressed in front of her closet (!) when it comes to picking a suitable outfit for a concert AND a football match at the same time - but who WOULDN'T be confused when being "put on the spot" like that?!

Sora's entire arc is about (struggling to) making choices - and Tri!Sora still tries to avoid doing so for the most part, hiding behind her caring nature and big sister/mom persona for the sake of Meiko, Mimi and basically everyone else. It's a comfortable mask for as long as it works, giving her a sense of security and familiarity. It's her own sense of "conformity" (and less that of rebellion) so to speak. For example - just like in 02 - she wears her school uniform prim and proper without any individual cues (unlike Taichi and Yamato and more like Koushirou). And thus, you really have to squint this time to spot her own preferences, interests and likes, because they're usually not spelled out to the viewer.

It's about the fact that she may only rarely return to wearing hats, but that her closet also doesn't exclusively consist of skirts anymore. It's about her wearing different kinds of jeans and pants of various lengths, there are tops, shirts and sweaters with silly prints, lots of layers, even a jumpsuit, shorts, miniskirts, boots, sandals and sneakers... And thus, it really feels like she has found her own definition of femininity at this point. She leaves the frills and dresses to Mimi, Meiko and Hikari - and still seems to be confident in giving her own sense of femininity a try. It's cute and comfortable - not exactly sporty, but still practical, functional, and adds a variety of colours to her already present blues and yellows, as well as the reds and pinks.

Then of course, there is her hobby that hides in plain sight and that hasn't presented itself to us previously...

Your girl, previous tomboy skirt tester, resident mom friend who used to be all into sports - is actually also into sewing and, judging by how much variety her own wardrobe offers, possibly into fashion as well. (Which, in my opinion, should have made her bond with Koushirou over his own fashion-related problems, but I digress.)

Granted, we know she also knows how to make the perfect bento box and has been practicing more "feminine things" (like flower arrangement and tennis) before, but this one is still new... And it shows that, not only DOES she have various interests - even if they all lean more into the "feminine side of things" -, but that her "experimental phase" may have led her in a direction she could turn into a career one day. Her own career. Offering the balance she has always strived for - one which, despite the variation in her wardrobe, she still hasn't achieved yet. (Which is why clashing with the version of Piyomon that lost her memory almost lets her collapse emotionally, challenging the purpose of her entire identity.)

Last but not least, we need to talk about her hair - while it hasn't exactly gotten longer (except for the fringe that grew back), it definitely has become fuller and bushier... And even provides enough length for a braid. After the events of Tri, we see her actually cutting it much shorter - it's not exactly a pixie-cut yet, but according to very common anime tropes, we know that hair changes after crucial events stand for a change in path and attitude...

Kizuna, age 22:

... And for Sora, this may mean to finally make up her mind, "deciding on something and someone" like she always dreaded. Wanting to be seen as "Sora Takenouchi" - not as a Chosen Child or the daughter of an iemoto. In her early 20s, she is still (or once again) at a point of indecisiveness and despair - and thus, as beautiful as she is, there is a "plainness" in her style that cannot be overlooked:

"Hiding" behind the kimono while practicing flower arrangement - blue and yellow, familiar and warm, but also restraining her true self by doing something she isn't fully happy with. Just like the braid she uses to tie her hair back - it's still very short, yet the fringe has grown out once again, signifying her being torn about which direction she should take. Her casual outfit symbolizes this as well, as she wears a pure white shirt - and a pair of sky blue pants, wide enough to pass as a long skirt. But, who would have guessed it, you really need to squint to see it.

When she chooses to stay away from the fighting, she has already lost her way - and already has to witness her bond with Piyomon crumble. She had to make this choice for herself, just like she had to choose to not be the first to apologize when Taichi gifted her the hairclip back then. It may not be a comfortable choice, but at this point, it is her own. Her white shirt is an empty canvas and the flower arrangement she finishes, representing all of her friends, is the tint of colour she needs in her life. She is a genuinely caring person after all - which can’t be erased by the sheer idea of her believing to act out of obligation or because she was chosen. But she also needs to let them in at her own pace.

Epilogue, approximately age 39:

Epilogue!Sora has, for obvious reasons, adapted her style from late 02: The hair remains short but, in combination with the grown-out fringe, offers sophisticated styling opportunities - close to how her mother used to wear her own. The yellows (almost olive) and blues (almost grey) have returned - and, fittingly enough, resulted in a green kimono, one she wears while showing off her career: Being a designer of traditional Japanese fashion with a modern touch - with flowers at the forefront of it all, as she could never fully abandon them and instead integrated them into another part of her life.

Some final thoughts:

Just a little while ago, I had talked about how Sora's arc may or may not have been influenced by the concept of gender dysphoria, unable to distinguish herself from her mother and the expectations that are constantly being thrown at her - whether it's about being the daughter of an iemoto, a Chosen Child, a girl(friend) or a woman in general. One may argue that we don't actually hear or see these expectations being thrown at her post Adventure, since we could clearly see that her mother was willing to move towards her as well... And Yamato and Jyou even tell her that, while it's true that they were chosen, SHE still has the right to choose to do what she could by herself. So what exactly happened?

As previously and through the course of several meta posts explained, it is difficult to really pinpoint Sora's motivations, as she keeps them to herself most of the time. She doesn't have the best self-awareness and seems to put a lot of pressure on herself - even though nobody else seems to hold her up to these high standards. (Her mother may still do so due to family traditions, but as mentioned, we don't actively see it post Adventure and can only make assumptions.)

In Tri, Taichi tells her that she's always in other people's business and that nobody knows what's going on inside of her. In To Sora, Mimi - her contrast in design and attitude as well as one of the most supportive flowers in Sora's life - tells her that she should spread her wings freely... Indicating that she's still restraining herself, putting all these labels and characteristics onto herself, regardless of whether they (still) fit her or not (which can be indirectly applied to her gender representation and maybe even to her sexual orientation as well). And that is why we may have to wait until Adventure Beyond to see how things will resolve for her.

I for one cannot wait to see her new design. Because, unlike the three boys I had previously analyzed, her fashion (and hobby) themes may have repeating elements as well, but are pretty inconsistent and thus basically also stand for her inner turmoil. This is not just about whether she should wear pants or skirts, hats or hairclips, whether she should cut her hair super short or let it grow out into perfect braiding length... There appears to be a tendency to put her in a box, both in canon (mostly self-imposed) and fanon, where she has to pick one side and one side only, no matter what it's about: tomboy or feminine, football or tennis, flower arrangement or fashion design, pants or skirt, to fight or not to fight, Taichi or Yamato...

Personally, as much as I have my issues with Tri and To Sora and even though they haven't solved any of her problems for good - I believe they still gave us a hint of how Sora's trauma (her fallout with her mother up until her dark cave moment) may have manifested. That's why I call 02 the "experimental phase", because she may have adapted to her mother a little too much without giving her own preferences a voice. Pleasing her to get closer to her - just like "big sister/mom friend Sora" in Tri caters to everybody's needs but her own - and eventually snaps.

By the winter period of 02, she seemed a little more grounded (indicated by how well she mixed all her favourite colours) and Tri tried to imply how she got interested in designing in the first place (indicated by how much variation her wardrobe had). But we could also observe that she hadn't gotten better at communicating her own desires and needs, that the pent-up anger she had displayed since OWG was still present... Culminating in Kizuna, where her bond to Piyomon was on the verge of breaking, showing her being unsure of who she even was in the first place. So we're currently in the soul-searching phase, as she pulled herself back from everyone...

I long for the day she decides to let her friends back into her life. For the day she and Piyomon will reunite. And maybe, just maybe, we will see her in a style that shows: "Yes, this is my own choice. But I don't have to choose one thing only over all the others. No labeling, no externally assigned identities anymore. There is a flower on this kimono I made, I'm wearing blue football sneakers with a yellow sunflower on top - because I found my own balance between all the different things that make me me."

[twistedtummies2]

Top 15 Evil Clowns

There are many fears one might consider “popular phobias.” These are terrors that are not only common amongst people in general, but frequently used, abused, and homaged in various works of popular media. They’re the sources of many famous movies and monsters. Among these popular fears you’ll see folks return to time and time again are arachnophobia, ophidiophobia, galeophobia (look up what all those words mean, I’m not telling you here)...and, of course, coulrophobia. The Fear of Clowns.

In reality, most clowns are not scary at all. They’re figures of fun and whimsy intended to make people laugh and entertain children. They work hard to practice their craft and usually do what they do either for want of money, or love of their career, or even both. However, over time, the imagery of the clown has become increasingly negatively stereotyped, to the point where it’s actually really hard to find genuinely friendly, humorous clown characters in fiction that have a lot of impact. There are a few, mind you - Bozo, Ronald McDonald, and Clarabell are three hopefully recognizable “good clown” names - but nowadays, most people see clowns in the same vein as zombies or vampires. Their innocent origins now seem almost forgotten, and as a result, the fear has become even more intense.

It’s not surprising, to be fair, that the clown has become so synonymous with evil as opposed to happiness. As many have pointed out (who are wiser than I), their heavily made-up faces and flamboyant costumes not only make for eye-catching and iconic visual elements, regardless of the circumstances, but can also make it difficult for people - especially very young people - to fully “connect” with them. As humans, we rely on certain features and physical attributes to tell what others are thinking or intending, and when they are covered up especially heavily, we naturally become unsettled. Beyond this, however, there’s also a wonderful dichotomy inherent to the idea of the Evil Clown: it’s the mismatch between the colorful, often humorous exteriors and the dark, horrific internal processes going on. They can be silly and fun, but they can also be dangerous. This applies to every form the iconography can take, from cartoon baddies to horror film bogeymen.

While I, myself, have no inherent fear of clowns, I’ve always found the idea of the Evil Clown to be fascinating. So, I thought it would be fun, as part of my October-fest of lists for 2024, to cover the topic and name some of my personal favorite examples of the trope. Some are scary, some are just cartoonishly nasty, but all of them universally give clowns a bad name. So, without further ado, here are My Top 15 Favorite Evil Clowns!

15. The Birthday Bandit, from Teamo Supremo.

Of all the characters on this list, the Birthday Bandit is arguably the least threatening, and one of the least well-known. While both of these facts hamper his ranking, he’s still worth mentioning. “Teamo Supremo” was a children’s superhero series made by Disney, inspired by a combination of old superhero shows from the 60s and 70s, and the works of Jay Ward - the creator of Rocky & Bullwinkle, George of the Jungle, and Dudley Do-Right, among other things. It focused on the adventures of three child superheroes; one of their most popular antagonists was the Birthday Bandit. The Bandit was a disgruntled children’s entertainer who turned to crime; while he mostly targeted birthday events, he would also strike on holidays and other special occasions. The main thing that makes the character so memorable, in my opinion, is voice: the Bandit was played by none other than Mark Hamill…and don’t worry, we’ll get to a certain OTHER famous clown of cruelty Hamill has played later in the list. We’re just getting started, ladies and gentlemen…

14. The Clown at Midnight.

This somewhat obscure horror-mystery venture was a made-for-TV film originally produced in Canada. Depending on where you look, the release date is listed as either 1998 or 1999, my guess being depending on the country you look at. While by no means a masterpiece of morbidity, it’s still a decently creepy adventure, in my opinion. The story begins when a young lady named Kate learns she is the daughter of a former opera star, who was killed under mysterious circumstances. She and her friends decide to try and restore the old opera house where her late mother worked. However, things take a turn for the deadly when a mysterious killer, dressed a clown, begins to stalk the teens and their teacher. Kate and her friends must try to figure out who is behind the makeup, while also attempting to stay alive. I won’t give away who the Clown is, or why they’re doing what they’re doing, but it’s the actor involved and the clown himself, as well as the atmosphere of the old opera house, that makes this movie worthwhile.

13. Punchinello, a.k.a. Mr. Punch.

The character of Punch, or more appropriately “Punchinello,” is one of the oldest examples of an evil clown in recorded fiction. Now, some of you may be thinking, “What? That silly slapstick puppet show that showed up in ‘Santa Clause 2’? Does that even count?” Well, yes: few people realize the origins of Mr. Punch are really quite disturbing. “Punchinello” is a type of clown character, and the famous figure from “Punch & Judy” is not nearly the innocent weirdo you probably would expect. The origins of Punch indicate he may not even be human, and in the classic Punch & Judy show…yeah, he’s a psychopath. He murders his wife, his child, his neighbor, a policeman, abuses various animals, and even clobbers the Devil himself just to keep his own soul out of Hell! While it’s all given this darkly humorous slapstick veneer, when you really look at the character and his actions, they’re pretty messed up. While I’ve always had a fascination with this folkloric figure, I count him low on the list because he’s really more recognizable as a character in a puppet show than anything else. Which, to me, kind of makes him sit in an odd place compared to other characters on the countdown. And while most people are vaguely familiar with the idea of “Punch & Judy,” I doubt very many really realize how thoroughly INSANE Punchinello is. Other clowns to come are much more overt in their darkness, and most of them are likely more recognizable AS clowns.

12. The Hobo Clown, from The Devil’s Carnival.

“The Devil’s Carnival” is a short independent musical movie, focused on three people who all end up damned to Hell at the exact same time. They soon discover that Hell is not the medieval fire-and-brimstone wasteland you might expect, but instead takes the form of a perverse carnival and circus. The three sinners thus face a challenge: if they can overcome their greatest sins in life, they will have a chance to go to Heaven. If not, they will be forever doomed to perform in the Carnival, facing death and torture for all eternity as punishment. The Hobo Clown is one of the demons working at the Carnival, and acts as one of two devils assigned to take care of the vain and greedy Miss Merrywood. The character was played by Ivan Moody - most famous as the lead singer of the band Five Finger Death Punch - and gets arguably the best song in the film, “A Penny For a Tale” - performed as he and his fellow carnies torment Merrywood after she fails her test. The film has a motif themed around Aesop’s Fables, and the song analogizes Merrywood’s downfall as a musical retelling of the fable of “The Dog and Her Reflection.” While this dark clown’s role in his respective source is relatively small, it is certainly VERY memorable.

11. Violator, from Spawn.

When most people think of evil clowns in comics, they most likely first think of Batman’s Joker. (And again, we’ll be getting to him soon enough.) However, the Caped Crusader is not the only comic book superhero to have a crazed and murderous clown for an arch-nemesis. Enter Violator - the arch-nemesis of Spawn. While I haven’t actually read much of the Spawn comics, I am primarily familiar with the character thanks to the (admittedly terrible) film adaptation, and (more importantly) the HBO animated series. The former had John Leguizamo, of all people, in the role (and he is arguably the best part of the movie), while the character was voiced by Michael Nicolosi in the TV series. Across all media, however, the character’s basic setup remains the same: Violator is a vaguely bug-like demon who typically takes the form of a crass, vulgar, sardonic clown as a disguise. Ostensibly, he’s in charge of training Spawn, so you’d think they’d be allies…but the Violator is resentful of his position, and only becomes more antagonistic when Spawn goes against his role as leader of Hell’s forces to fight against the Devil. Much of Violator’s evil comes from him trying to one-up his human-born rival, but he’s generally just an awful creature who enjoys suffering and violence in general. When you have a name like “Violator,” I think it’s a given you’re going to be pretty nasty by default.

10. Canio, from Pagliacci.

Alongside Punchinello, this is the oldest example on our list. It’s also the most arguable: while Canio is by no means a hero, it’s debatable how “evil” this clown really is. “Pagliacci” is one of the most well-known operas in the world. Composed by Ruggero Leoncavallo, it tells the story of a troupe of commedia dell’arte performers: chief among them is Canio, who plays the role of the clown Pagliacco in their shows. Canio is depicted as a devoted and kind husband to one of his fellow performers, Nedda…so, when he discovers Nedda is cheating on him with yet another one of their fellow actors, but doesn’t know which one, he plots to find out who her lover is and get revenge. SPOILER ALERT - this ends with Canio, unable to continue his next performance in his emotional distress, murdering both Nedda and her lover, Silvio, before the horrified audience. Canio is a complicated character: on the one hand, he’s typically shown in a sympathetic light: his love for Nedda appears genuine, and he doesn’t seem to be a cruel or abusive husband. HOWEVER, it’s indicated early on that Nedda is afraid of his temper and his possessive attitude towards her, which is why she begins her affair with Silvio. It’s not till he discovers the affair that Canio’s dark side comes out in full force, and even then, one can understand his impulsive and emotional actions. However, Nedda and Silvio aren’t depicted as necessarily bad people, either; they aren’t plotting to do any harm to Canio, and their own relationship seems equally genuine. There’s a lot of gray area here. Ultimately, I would say that double-homicide fueled by rage - however justifiable the act may or may not be - definitely counts Canio in the “Evil Clown” category.

9. Killer Klowns from Outer Space.

While Canio’s villainy is debatable, there’s no such argument to be made with the titular monsters in this cult classic horror-comedy. I mean, it comes with the name: they’re called “Killer Klowns” for a reason. As the title indicates, this movie focuses on a horde of carnivorous, clown-like extraterrestrials, who come to Earth seeking fresh prey to feast upon. The Klowns have powers and weapons that match their circus-like demeanors: they wrap people up in acidic cotton candy cocoons, hatch from eggs that resemble popcorn, have a spaceship that resembles a Big Top, and their only weak spots are their round, red clown noses. While the film is intentionally done in a cheesy, satirical style - fully absorbed in its own silly premise - these Klowns are a great example of what makes the trope so good. They are very funny and utterly bizarre, but they’re also depicted as being totally and completely evil, and have moments where they are genuinely creepy and disturbing. It’s clear that they fully enjoy their own sadistic antics, and take great delight in toying with the humans they kill and consume. The Klowns themselves, and the movie they hail from, are considered classic examples of the concept of Evil Clowns, and were so popular they even spawned a video game, where players are able to take control of the Killer Klowns and hunt down humans in a variety of absurdly despicable ways. I’ve never played the game, but if it’s in any way a match for the movie, I can only imagine it’s as fun as it is freaky.

8. Umlaut, from CarnEvil.

Speaking of video game clowns (as we did at the end of our previous pick), when it comes to the concept of evil circuses, carnivals, and so on, one game title always automatically comes to my mind: “CarnEvil.” A dark staple of arcade galleries from 1998 well into the 2000s, this - like Killer Klowns from Outer Space - was a combo of horror and humor. The game focuses on a thrillseeking protagonist who summons the titular CarnEvil: a twisted amusement park filled with monsters, ghosts, zombies, and…um…evil Christmas elves (no comment), all run by the mad showman, Ludwig Von Tokkentaker. Of course, psychotic killer clowns are all the rage at this place…and the most noteworthy among them all is our “host,” Umlaut. This disembodied jester’s skull - who flies around with his belled collar acting like a helicopter propeller - is the game’s mascot, and acts as Tokkentaker’s second-in-command. Throughout the our gory and grisly adventure, he introduces the different levels, giving each one a darkly humorous limerick to accompany them. In the climactic final sequence aboard his master’s phantom zeppelin, Umlaut confronts the player directly as a mini-boss, preluding the grand showdown between the MC and the leader of CarnEvil. As the most recognizable character from one of the most deliciously deranged arcade experiences of all time, Umlaut definitely deserves a place in my personal top ten.

7. Joker (a.k.a. Rascal), from Smile! Pretty Cure/Glitter Force.

There are quite a number of evil clowns, jesters, harlequins, and so on in the world of anime. A couple that I enjoy who didn’t make the cut include the Moderate Harlequin Alliance from “That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime” (yes, both of those titles are things), and Saggi the Dark Clown from “Yu-Gi-Oh!” However, my favorite example from anime would have to be this character. “Smile! Pretty Cure” is one entry in the long-running “Pretty Cure” franchise…and it’s also the ONLY PreCure series I’ve ever seen. (I’m not really a huge fan of Magical Girl shows.) The series is themed around fairy-tales, with three of its major antagonists - Wolfrun, Akaoni, and Majorina - all being characters from famous fairy-tales, and the show as a whole featuring references to other stories and fairy-tale elements throughout. With that said, the main antagonist of the show appears to be a totally original character, and that is this guy. In the original Japanese version, he’s referred to as “Joker.” The English Dub, which retitled the series as “Glitter Force,” changed nearly all of the major character names and other bits of terminology; in that version, the character was renamed “Rascal.” While the original Japanese version is definitely better, I’m going to refer to the character by that name in this description, simply because I find “Rascal” to be a more unique name than “Joker.” The four villains all plan to resurrect a dark entity known as “Emperor Pierrot,” and use his power to - of course - take over the world. It’s eventually revealed that Rascal is actually a part of Pierrot, given his own body and soul, and his greatest desire is to return to his Master and become part of him once again. Rascal will stop at nothing to achieve these goals, and while he at first seems like a goofball, he quickly shows himself to be the scariest and arguably the most wicked of the bunch. And considering his associates include the Big Bad Wolf and the Evil Queen from Snow White, that’s probably saying quite a lot. While the aforementioned Big Bad Wolf, Wolfrun (or “Ulric” in Glitter Force) is my favorite of the villains, Rascal comes at a close second, and was by far the most sinister of the group.

6. Kefka Palazzo, from Final Fantasy.

I’m not super well-versed in the universe of “Final Fantasy,” but I’ve played and seen enough to know a fair bit about Kefka Palazzo. And with what I know about him, there’s no doubt in my mind he’s one of my favorite video game villains, and therefore a shoe-in for a place on this countdown. Once upon a time, Kefka was meant to be a great hero: the first “prototype” of an intended army of Magic Knights, he was experimented on with Magitek (as the name implies, a sort of combo of magic and technology) to give him special powers. The experiment, however, did not go as planned: it DID give Kefka great powers, but also twisted his mind. Kefka is the jolliest nihilist you could ever hope NEVER to meet: he very literally cannot comprehend feelings like love, compassion, and loyalty, and doesn’t understand why people hold so many things as precious. So, like an errant child, he reacts to these things he doesn’t understand by destroying him. While Kefka is manipulative and cunning, his schemes and plots have no great ambition behind them: all he yearns for is death and destruction. Nothing matters to him but killing and ruining other people and the things they hold dear, and no amount of this meaningless horror is enough. He is both a tragic and decidedly deplorable character, and one of the most powerful and dangerous examples of an evil clown on this countdown.

5. The Ghost Clown, from Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?

This may seem like a weird one to place into the Top 5, but for me, it’s a no-brainer. While the Ghost Clown may not be the most threatening and scary of all the clowns on this countdown, he’s one of the first characters I think of whenever I think of the concept, as well as one of my favorite classic Scooby-Doo villains. Appearing in the episode “Bedlam in the Big Top,” the Ghost Clown is a mysterious figure, with a raspy, husky voice and hypnotic powers. It’s revealed that the Ghost Clown is a superstition among circus folk in this world: whenever the Clown shows up, it’s a sign that the circus is doomed. That certainly seems to be the case, as after the appearance of this particular specter, the circus he’s haunting begins to experience a variety of accidents, endangering the performers and causing nearly all of them to leave. It’s therefore up to the Mystery Inc. gang to find a way to stop the Ghost Clown, being the meddling kids they are. In typical fashion, it’s eventually revealed the supposed ghost is a crook in a costume, but I always liked the lore of the Clown being some sort of evil spirit and bad omen, and the Clown himself is just creepy enough to a memorable member of the Scooby-Doo Rogues Gallery. Shaggy, Scooby, and the rest have faced other clowns since then - from a man-eating robot clown to a zombie fond of balloon animals (yes, both of those are in other Scooby-Doo programs) - but none are quite as iconic as the Ghost Clown.

4. Fear, a.k.a. The Clown, from Star Trek: Voyager.

Played by Michael McKean, this creepy customer appeared in my personal favorite episode of “Star Trek: Voyager,” entitled “Thaw.” In this episode, the crew of Voyager stumble upon a group of humanoids - the last of their race - who are being kept in suspended animation, hooked up to an elaborate computer system. It’s revealed that this computer system places the minds of its users into a sort of “dreamworld.” This dreamworld is run by the Clown, a.k.a. “Fear.” Why is he called this? Because the Clown is a literal manifestation of fear itself: he tortures those in his dreamworld with their worst fears and most traumatizing memories, till they literally get scared to death. (Hmmmm…a clown who feeds off of people’s fears, and can make them experience them…where have I heard this before?) While the whole episode is a glorious blend of nightmare fuel and entertaining silliness, courtesy of Fear/the Clown, I think what makes me love it more than anything else is the way it ends. I won’t give away the ending here, but it’s one of the most haunting and emotionally ambiguous conclusions to any Star Trek episode, hands-down.

3. The Chief Clown, from Doctor Who.

From one sci-fi show to another. The Chief Clown is the secondary villain of my personal favorite episode of the Seventh Doctor’s era, “The Greatest Show in the Galaxy.” He is a member of the Psychic Circus: an interstellar circus that has set down its roots on the desert planet of Segonax, and is inviting people from all across the galaxy to tryout and become their next big act. The Doctor and his companion, Ace, go to see the show, and soon find themselves wrapped up in a massive conspiracy, involving extraterrestrial Gods and many buried secrets. The Chief Clown is the ultimate manifestation of the corruption of the circus: it’s indicated that, once upon a time, he was a simple and innocent entertainer, and was considered a genuinely great clown. However, he’s now become obsessed with the power he has over other people, and unlike the other circus performers - who seem more begrudging in their evil deeds, at least to some degree - the Chief Clown has completely embraced the madness. As the episode goes on, he gleefully carries out the will of his near-deity-like masters, and is more than willing to sacrifice not only random people, but his fellow longtime performers, to sate their demands. The character was played by Ian Reddington, and his performance is a major, MAJOR part of what makes the Chief Clown so memorable: he takes even the most simple lines and story beats and finds ways to make them fascinating to watch and listen to as they play out. As I’ve said, I’m typically not afraid of clowns…but this guy might be the one who creeps me out more than any other on the list. (pauses) Well…almost any other, at least. All in due time…

2. Pennywise the Dancing Clown, a.k.a. IT, from Stephen King’s IT.

I was actually tempted, at first, to place Pennywise - the clownish guise of the mysterious entity simply called “IT” from Stephen King’s story of the same name - much lower on the list. Mostly because…to be blunt, I’ve never seen a version of this story that satisfied me to 100%. Every interpretation - the book, the 1990 miniseries, and the two-part cinematic film treatment - has their own share of flaws, and also their fair share of good points. However, as time has gone on…while I have noticed more and more the issues with the story itself, I have also, conversely, gained more and more of an appreciation of the character of Pennywise. Whenever people think of the phrase “Evil Clown,” he (it?) is one of the first characters folks think of or reference. Every incarnation of Pennywise is slightly different, but all of them share the same basic idea: the clown is the preferred “costume” of a shapeshifting creature, referred to as “IT,” which feeds on people’s fear…and then feeds on the people themselves. What I love most about Pennywise in the book is the way IT is actually written: for all the problems the novel has, the monster, itself, is honestly so incredibly disturbing. Something about the way King describes the creature and its thoughts and words and so on makes it feel so unnervingly alien and cosmic. The screen treatments don’t capture this same nigh-Lovecraftian idea, but they are memorable in their own ways: Tim Curry’s delightfully over-the-top performance often feels more comical than truly chilling, but is certainly a memorable and entertaining execution, and it’s easy to see why so many people still feel scared of him, or at least enjoy him, to this day. Bill Skarsgard’s Pennywise upped the horror factor to the max, but still had a decent amount of humor and even manipulative guile to him, and gave the character a wonderful arc, as the eater of worlds and master of fear learns what it’s like to feel fear itself. Whatever version you prefer, there are few twisted harlequins quite as iconic as Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

1. The Joker & Harley Quinn, from Batman.

Yep. It’s finally time. You all knew this one was coming. And yes, I’m including Harley here, too: while I’ve personally become a bit annoyed with Harley’s ridiculous levels of misused popularity over the years - and nowadays she barely even counts as an “evil” clown, a lot of the time - I’d feel remiss to leave her out of the running entirely. The fact that it bothers me so many of her redesigns and reinventions almost seem to forget the fact she’s meant to evoke the iconography of a classic clown and jester should say something on its own. However, I’ll admit it’s mostly the Joker we’re talking about here. The Clown Prince of Crime is arguably the most famous supervillain of all time, and is one of the longest-lasting killer clowns on this countdown: he’s been around since 1940. I think the only clowns who have been around longer than him are Pagliacci and Punchinello; considering the latter has been around since the 17th century, and the former has been around since the late 1800s…yeah, I’d say the Joker’s near-85-year-run is still pretty darn impressive. If you need proof of just how much influence this character has had on me, if nothing else, you don’t even have to look at other things I’ve written; just go back over this list and see how many times I hinted at the Joker’s arrival, and how many characters here bear some resemblance - however intentional or not -  to the Ace of Knaves. There’s really not much more I even need to say to justify this decision: in my opinion, the Joker (and, to a lesser degree, dear Harley Quinn) are the ultimate couple of Evil Clowns. “Laugh, clown, laugh.”

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

Sweet Tooth, from Twisted Metal. (I don’t really know anything about this character or these games, but from what little I’ve learned, he seems fun in an utterly horrifying way.)

The Clown Doctors, from Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure. (Also the Clown Statue. Lots of evil clowns here.)

The Fireman Clown, from The Brave Little Toaster. (GOOD LORD, THIS THING WAS SCARY.)

Krusty the Clown AND Sideshow Bob, from The Simpsons. (Not sure how much either of these guys count - Krusty seems more “cynical” than “evil,” and Bob barely even qualifies as a clown - hence why they’re only Honorable Mentions.)

The Clown Doll, from Poltergeist. (I felt this fit more in the vein of “creepy toys” than “evil clowns,” but still worthy of an Honorable Mention.)

Mad Pierrot, from Cowboy Bebop. (He may not wear makeup in the original anime, but I still say he counts.)

[ohnococo]

Give and Take | Toji x Vampire!Reader

You don’t need to ask which thing he was impatient for, you knew by now it was all of it. Toji craved your pussy the same way he craved your bite, and the feeling was mutual. Still, you didn’t like being told what to do. “Be a good boy.”

You need to feed as much as any other vampire. Lucky for you, you have donors like Toji, a man that offers more than most.

Warnings: fem!bodied reader, reader is a vampire, mild blood, blood drinking, rough sex, biting, vaginal sex, creampie, aftercare, porn with moderate plot

Notes: Realised I never posted this one here (if you follow on ao3 it's old news)

Out of the endless benefits of living in the modern age, the biggest one seemed to be how relentlessly unusual everyone and everything was. At least, compared to the rigidity of what had been considered normal in the past. You hardly have to keep up appearances nowadays. No one cares that you never leave your house before sundown, that you keep your distance from your neighbours, that you seem to have a lot of late night visitors, or that they always leave looking a little worse for wear.

These days it hardly took convincing to find your donors, and you were no longer limited to where you could wander in the dark of the night. You didn’t need to worry about being exposed either, as often as people had once feared you, they were now more likely to laugh in the face of someone who said they’d met a vampire of all things. It made it easier to not have to run or kill when it wasn’t necessary.

It was also much safer for you to feed in private. Feeding gave you a high that could leave you making reckless decisions if not in a controlled environment, and the comedown afterwards would have you dazed, vulnerable should the wrong people come across you. As for not leaving a body behind, that was personal preference. For you, there was something exhilarating about making someone throw away all sense of self-preservation in exchange for an opportunity to have your mouth on their neck, wrist, or elsewhere.

In fact, if you were to place markers on the eras of your life it would be easy to do so by which donors you had at the time. Some of these generous (and brave) souls stood out to you much more than others, and among those more memorable patrons, few were quite like Toji. You’d discovered he was someone with no fear, someone who had shed his skin many times, and someone with whom you did not have to hold back for once.

You’d drank from him the very first night you'd met him, shown him who you were and outright told him what you were capable of. Still, he’d held back in the beginning. After multiple sessions he finally realised that you could handle all of him.

It had taken even more encounters for you to understand he could handle all of you.

There was no shame in admitting when you’d grown attached to these donors - you enjoyed their company in one way or another or you wouldn't waste your time. Especially not nowadays when you were more or less spoilt for choice. That fondness (as well as an appreciation for the sacrifice they made) left you with certain ground rules for these encounters: you didn’t feed too often, you didn’t feed too much at once, and they themselves had a duty of care for their own health leading up to it.

It was always clear to you when they hadn’t been looking after themselves, and you would turn them away on occasion, but never Toji. He always seemed to be perfectly ready for you, but you still went through with the formalities as you waited for him.

Water, snacks, bandages, paracetamol - arranged nicely atop silver trays and crystal dishes on your coffee table to make it look slightly less like he’d arrived at a blood drive. Not that Toji needed half of it, or cared about the appearance of it all. Outside of that your home is just as welcoming as any: fire lit in your lounge, lights dimmed, carafe and filled glass of water on the end table next to the chaise you were sitting on in waiting. Your silk robe covers your nakedness so you can at least have a facade of decency when he arrives - that will all go out the window quickly enough, of course, but there was always some semblance of ritual to your feeding sessions.

You smile when you hear a knock at your door, just one heavy tap, and you’re already salivating with anticipation. Even before you get to your door, you’re keenly aware of the soft thud of his heartbeat and as you open it to greet him the heady scent of his skin greets you first. You could tune these things out if you wanted, but it’s all an important part of the experience for you. So you breathe deeply and smile, taking in every bit of him.

“Thanks for stopping by.”

“Anytime.” He removes his shoes at the entrance as you close the door behind him.

It really did feel like any time with Toji, compared to others at least. It was the benefit of having a man who recovered so well, otherwise you made your donors wait weeks to see you.

“Which room?” He’s straight to business, walking past you and guessing where you want him correctly as he only half pauses on his way to your lounge. He’d end up in your bedroom later either way, but not until he’d cleaned himself up after how you would leave him.

“Lounge.” The usual spot, though you sometimes switched it up. Not tonight.

“Right.”

You’ve caught up to him just before he’s entered, and he scans the room quickly before laughing. “I don’t know how you get blood out of velvet.”

He means the chaise, somewhere the two of you have made a mess of more than a few times.

“I don’t get blood out of anything.” You’d lived long enough and acquired enough funds over time to not have to worry about things like that - outside of finding a trustworthy cleaner.

“How much money do you have again?”

He knows you won’t answer that, but asks anyway, always keen to catch you off-guard. Instead you gesture to the chaise, “Whenever you’re ready.”

He feels no need to make a ceremony of this, and pulls his shirt over his head with one hand, tossing it onto the floor. You were generally careful when you drank, despite the high that eating generated for you, but with him you felt no need to be so delicate and he knew that. For Toji, there were no illusions about the undercurrent of violence in the act of drinking his blood, nor about the places that the blood would flow to and how well the two of you would take care of that.

“Have you eaten well? Had enough water?” It was courtesy to ask.

He nods and waves his hand in the air, as if dismissing the line of questioning, then pulls down his pants and underwear in one go before they’re tossed aside as well. Despite the electricity in the air with the anticipation of what is to come, there’s still a sense of ease at the casual nature he lends to these encounters. He always presents himself to you as plainly as if he were offering you a cup of tea.

When he sits down on your chaise, he rests his arms to his side, wrists up, and tilts his head back, letting you have your pick of where you’ll drink from. You enjoy the variety, and often leave him covered in the telltale wounds of an evening with you, but you’ve already decided that tonight you would have his neck alone.

You move slowly to stand in front of him, stopping between his legs and looking down at him. Another question, another formality, and then you’ll begin. “Are you well rested?”

“I will be after tonight.”

When you drop your robe, the sound of his blood pumping faster at the sight of your naked body is music to your ears. As you climb atop his lap, his hands are on your hips to offer help you don’t need, but the touch is welcomed nonetheless. You grab him by the jaw, tracing your thumb over his lips, wanting to make sure his blood is rushing for you before you open him up. His body is quick as ever to respond to your touch, and his cock stands to attention against his own stomach. You press your body to his, capturing his lips with yours and smiling as he parts them for you. His taste is familiar enough to conjure up sessions past and you give in to the feel of him beneath you, the sound of his heartbeat growing louder to your sharpened senses as you kiss him and slide your body against his.

He wraps his arms around you, thrusting lightly and groaning with the tease of friction from having his cock pressed against your stomach. You part your bodies just enough to take it in your hand, stroking it slowly, listening to his rushing blood as you do, and angle it so you can slide your pussy along the shaft, rubbing the thick head against your clit. As you kiss and nip along his jaw you’re careful not to break skin with your teeth, not wanting to add another mark to his pretty face, and when you reach his neck you nuzzle against his warmth. The feel of his pulse against your lips has you clenching, and you raise your hips enough to have the head of his cock pressing at your entrance.

When he moves his hands back to your hips, ready to guide you down onto him, you redirect, going back to rubbing yourself against his shaft. The veins in his neck throb beneath your lips, and you swear you can taste him before you've even touched teeth to his skin. You tug at his hair roughly, revelling in the contented hum he lets out as you crane his head even further to the side so the musculature of his neck is well displayed. You suck and lick at the muscles and tendons, leaving your share of soft, playful bites in lead up to the one you’d called him here for. His hands squeeze at your ass, spreading your cheeks before releasing them, giving them a few slaps.

“Don’t make me wait.”

You don’t need to ask which thing he was impatient for, you knew by now it was all of it. He craved your pussy the same way he craved your bite, and the feeling was mutual. Still, you didn’t like being told what to do.

“Be a good boy.”

Neither did he. “When have I ever been good?”

Toji slaps your ass hard before gripping you tightly, raising you up just enough for him to angle his hips and press the head of his cock to your entrance. You hook your feet over his thighs for purchase, tensing and keeping him from pulling you down onto him like he intended to.

He throws his head back and lets out something between a growl and a laugh. He’s quick to get frustrated with your teasing, strong enough to defy your will, but still weak to his need to be inside of you - whether it’s cock or cum or blood he’s filling you with.

You chide him, swirling your hips and dipping them low enough to have your entrance just kissing at his tip. “You’re plenty good for me, Toji.”

There it is again, the rushing sound of his blood, the heavy thud of his heart, that much faster from the way you say his name. He’s given you what you wanted, and he’ll give you ten times more, so you let him have his wish. You relax against his hold without him expecting it, and he pulls you down onto him all at once. You don’t let all of his focus go to his cock though, plunging your teeth into his neck, savouring the initial rush of hot fluid into your mouth. Things like this always earn you the closest a man like him could come to sounding pathetic, whimpering at the feel of his blood being slowly sucked out, at the feel of your pussy gripping him like a vice.

You rock against him lightly, making his mind fight for focus. It only takes a moment before he’s pushing his hips right up into you, hands squeezing you tightly enough that you’d have bruises if you were still human. Once your mouth is filled enough to swallow him properly the high hits, and he knows it all too well. Your thoughts are hazy, even as your senses sharpen, and a low hum of energy starts from your throat and spreads through you. Toji runs a hand up your back and your nerves stand to attention, electricity coursing through your body straight from where he was touching you. It was always as if the blood now inside of you sensed where it had come from and his touch acted as ignition for the fire within.

Toji knows how feeding works for you now, and lets that first wave wash over you, slowly running his hands over your body all the while, building your frenzy as you drink. Then, it all hits you and leaves your body aflame. You wrap your arms around him, gripping him tight and he braces himself as you tug at his neck with your teeth, leaving more than the tiny puncture wounds you had reserved for all others. As the blood trickles faster his hips are snapping up against yours and you squeeze at whatever of his muscled body your frantic hands can grab, as though on the verge of ripping him apart.

He holds you tight as he fucks up into you and you ride him in time with his thrusts. Your perfectly matched rhythms have his cock throbbing, sending waves of heat through you. You’re frenzied, hips slapping against his as you continue to build a pace determined by the very rhythm of his blood pumping and coursing from his heart, through his veins, and into your mouth. You pull your teeth out of his neck, lapping and sucking, and moaning with the taste as you get your fill, unable to stop yourself from biting him again and again along his neck, marking him further and giving yourself more to drink. The wounds never last, never scar or leave remnants past a month or two, but you revel in them while you can - scratching at his shoulders to add more. It spurns Toji on, drives him almost as wild as you were right now, and he grips your ass tightly enough to make you feel something other than the burn of his blood and cock warming you inside out.

There was an indescribable high in being able to throw away all caution as he bounced you up and down. You weren’t counting seconds as you drank, counting how many gulps, how much blood down to the millilitre lest you go too far. You weren’t measuring your strength, listening for the first hint of tearing muscle or creaking joints, watching for that flash of fear that would come if you didn’t pull back just in time. No, you only needed to feed and feel and fuck. Toji was more than capable of knowing what he could handle.

When that point comes he tangles his hands in your hair, tugging until you release enough for him to pull your teeth from him. You place your hand over the still bleeding bite, choking him as you ride him. You’re putting pressure on the wound, allowing it to coagulate, but it’s all the same to him, really. He healed faster than any human you’d ever met. Fucked faster too. Something he never lets you forget as he brings your bloodied mouth to his, tasting himself on you as he thrusts up into you, never faltering. The speed of his thrusts borders on supernatural, just like yours, but you’d long stopped wondering if he was really human. He tasted just like the rest, it was only everything else that was different.

Your sense of time is lost, along with your sense of anything around you that isn’t Toji, and the way he doesn’t shy away from running his tongue over your fangs as you kiss him has your pussy gripping him even tighter. It brings him almost as close to madness as you are, and he presses the tip of his tongue to your teeth until it draws blood. You capture his tongue between your lips, sucking at it, savouring the small droplets of blood. As his cock throbs insistently, so too does the blood inside of you, waves of pleasure washing over you as you clench and cum on top of him. Neither of you stop until he’s milked dry inside of you and even then you’re still going. He lets you keep riding your way through to overstimulation, though he’s past that point - tensing and hissing at the intensity, until your fuse is blown and your limbs get heavy.

As the drop comes, feed now finished, your head lolls back and you go limp in his grasp. He manoeuvres you so your head rests on his shoulder and lets you melt fully into him while he settles you both, pushing your hair from your face while you lie on top of him. Even after you’ve cum his blood has you feeling warm, body buzzing as you let yourself settle into your most vulnerable state.

The softness you felt after these encounters juxtaposed the frenzied state you were in upon first taste is what makes these relationships so important for you. The fact that Toji seemed to match that just as well as he had everything else seemed to only enhance the feeling that fresh blood gave you. He holds you close, rubbing your back softly and when his fingertips trail up your back you don’t fight the chills going through you.

“You okay?”

You laugh, a sound joyful enough for Toji to take it as an affirmation, whispering a soft ”Good…” into your hair as he kisses the top of your head.

It would always amuse you, him suddenly treating you with so much tenderness, despite knowing that even in the relatively vulnerable state of the comedown of your feed you were still twice as strong as any man. Well, maybe not twice as strong as Toji, but there was a comfort in knowing that he wasn’t going to test that. No, without fail Toji did what he always did. Let you take, let you give, let you ride those waves of satiety again and again as he kept your cold body warmed, then he would go home until the next time you called for him.

[kanzakurawrites]

Do you have any headcanons about Claudine Frollo?

Claudine Frollo can easily be one of the most tragic characters on the Isle and I will elaborate through headcanons.

I personally believe that the canon Isle can easily make the villains go mad over time and Frollo was one of the ones hit the worst. And once again, we pick and choose what's canon in the books.

Claudine was born with pale hair and eyes, leading her father to believe she was a changeling. Her father almost put her out in the cold before deciding that he just wouldn't touch her, other than to feed and clean her, until she proved she was human. It took over a month, once her eyes settled into a dark blue, that he was convinced and even then he was never an affectionate person and she was still alone most of the time.

Her mother wasn't in the picture, and Claudine really doesn't know what happened to her as her father refuses to talk about it.

Her father taught her to read by having her read Revelation over and over and over again.

On that note, he didn't let her study the Gospels, instead she had to learn about them through him.

Every day she had to memorize a couple passages of her father's choosing, and if she didn't then he'd cut her off from food and sleep until she did.

She's never been allowed to wear her hair down around others, including her father. As a young girl she was allowed to wear simple braids, but as she got older her father made her wear buns covered with a bonnet.

She once made the mistake of wearing her hair down at home and her father screamed at her about being a temptress and whore.

Around her 13th birthday, she began to live in the Isle's clocktower. While she knows that it would be considered cruel to put your child there, she welcomes being away from her father.

She feels guilty whenever she questions her father's teachings.

Her father took her Bible away when she was 12, as she began to question more. Following that, he would come to the tower and make her recite versus ranging from the ones saying to honor your parents, to those about wickedness.

All of her clothing must cover her skin. The only skin she shows is her hands and face, and part of her neck though her father did once consider having her wear scarves.

Despite her upbringing, she is genuinely kind.

She doesn't bother with fantasies of Auradon. If she thinks about them too much they take over her mind and that means that she's sinning so then she has to stay up all night asking for forgiveness which just leads to more problems because then she's tired and can't focus and her father gets upset, and its all just one big circle.

When she was fourteen, Rasputin's young daughter makes her way up the tower trying to find a hiding place. It was near the time Frollo would be showing up, so Claudine hides her and despite her mind's screaming she doesn't let her father know. She ends up becoming friends with the girl, despite knowing that she has magic.

After that encounter, Claudine takes to hiding kids in the tower when they need it. This clocktower isn't as grand as the one Quasimodo lived in, but there are plenty of hiding spots and she makes sure her father never finds out.

By 16 she rebels more, even dancing for her enjoyment. And she really does love to dance.

Lastly, she knows how to wield a knife. She can use a sword. But she'll never tell you why she knows or how she learned.

There we have it. All these headcanons are based on the little we know of her from the books, but depending on the AU or how dark or light you want to go a lot can change when it comes to Claudine. Mostly because of the fact that Claude Frollo is a monster.

[zapperman26]

The Amazing Digital Circus REVIEW - Episode 3: The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor

The Amazing Digital Circus, the juggernaut indie animation series created by Gooseworx and produced by GLITCH Productions, has hit its third episode, and boy, is it a spooky doozy perfect for the Halloween season! It's got scares! It’s got lore! It’s got discussions of body dysmorphia, memory issues, and trauma! And shotguns! What more could you WANT?!? 

Overall, I would consider this the most mature episode we have seen (so far) in terms of subject matter and tone. Still, those facts only make for a more memorable experience that builds on the existential themes the show is building!

Synopsis

The third episode of The Amazing Digital Circus follows the gang (sans Zooble) going on a horror-themed adventure in the ghost-infested Mildenhall Manor. This haunted mansion sees Pomni and Kinger trapped in the “Rated Mature” section, trying to puzzle their way out of the physical and mental horrors the path presents. Pomni slowly comes to understand Kinger more throughout the ordeal and his unique mental state.

At the same time, Zooble, who had been doing all she could to avoid going on these adventures, is put into “therapy” by Caine, who is trying to understand why she keeps skipping out despite his efforts to appeal to her tastes more. The session, after Zooble tries to articulate her utter discomfort with her digital body and the dysmorphia she grapples with, pivots then to Caine’s insecurities (since he can’t grasp her issues despite her efforts) of his only purpose, making adventurers, being subpar, and Zooble keeping him from having a mental breakdown. 

With the plots of the episode roughly broken down, let's deep dive into each of them to discuss what made them great!

The ‘A’ Plot: The Mildenhall Manor

The ‘A’ Plot of the episode, the adventure in the manor, is, naturally, the most dense, leaving a lot of ground to cover. The episode leaves little room for Jax, Gangle, and Ragatha (besides for some brief checkups and gags with them) but gives us A LOT of attention to Pomni and the here-to-unexplored nutcase, Kinger! The two of them trapped in a “mature” haunted house horror experience gives them both time to shine, requiring them to lean on the other in the face of being hunted by a literal face and headless monster! 

This episode marks the first time Pomni can bounce off one of the main cast 1-on-1 for the entire episode (besides Ragatha), which gives room to show her growth. Pomni, still several layers of traumatized from the first two episodes, is trying her best to engage with and socialize with the rest of the cast, even trying to explore the limits of her new digital body, but is still noticeably on edge after all she’s faced so far and, when faced with the horror-game scenarios, barely keeping it together. Thankfully, Kinger is there! 

Kinger, a chess-themed lunatic who, at first, seemed more like comic relief than anything, really shines (literally) in this episode. Kinger, at first, gets the two of them stuck on the “mature” horror path, barely helping, if at all, with his mania and memory issues. As the episode continues, his lucidity and competence grow, from coming up with solid plans to escape the manor, remembering more and more, and making shockingly good use of a shotgun against the monsters in the manor! All of this comes to a head when he reveals that his memory issues fade when in darkness as a result of one of his strongest memories: His wife abstracted, and before being banished to the cellar, Kinger managed to calm her down just long enough to hold her one last time, thanks to the two of them being in darkness. Kinger is a tragic figure, a shambling husk of a man just trying to keep sane, with only the dark giving him the mental clarity he has lost in the light. He manages, though, thanks to the main message he imparts to Pomni. 

Pomni, through her existential struggles in the first few episodes, always seems to pull through better when interacting with and empathizing with others. It has not been perfect, with the loss of Gummigoo being the sharpest knife in her (so far!) attempts to adjust. Later, at Kofmo’s funeral, she starts to get what helps everyone else keep moving forward in The Digital Circus, which Kinger would then spell out. The people in the circus are what make it all worthwhile. None of them are perfect, but they all try and, in those little moments of care, selflessness, and camaraderie, those memories they make are what make it a little more bearable and worth treasuring, as there is no telling how long that might last before any of them abstract. They all need to lean on one another to make it through the adventure to the next, and, in the end, that’s precisely what Pomni and Kinger do, escaping the mature horror section of the manor, hand in hand, holding their breaths, as the entire cast was doing in the start of the episode. The plot caps off with Pomni both thanking Ragatha, already applying the lessons she learned in that adventure to appreciate and love while she can, and her having a newfound respect and appreciation for Kinger, seeing him in a much better light thanks to what she saw of him when he’s in darkness. 

In short, there is a lot of heavy stuff in that Plotline, so what about the Zooble therapy? How does it compare to such a dense main plot? I would say: Very well! 

The ‘B’ Plot: The Zooble Therapy Session

Zooble has not participated in any adventurers so far! But why??? That is what Caine wants to discover in this plotline, where he makes her go through a “therapy” session that straddles the line between a body dysmorphia discussion and great comedy!

The ‘B’ plot is, naturally, not as long as the ‘A’ plot. Still, it manages to use all its time by giving us a brief but powerful look at Zooble’s issues and a more comedy-charged but telling glimpse at what makes the ringmaster of the Digital Circus tick. 

The crux of the plot is after Caine fails to recall what Zooble’s problem was (and not make the therapy session all about him), Zooble explains they struggle with being comfortable in their own (digital) skin, unhappy with their bizarre body and, even with Caine having provided them with an entire box of body parts to swap in and out, can’t find anything that feels right. The most profound nuances of this are beyond the scope of my education or personal experiences, but the messaging of body dysmorphia is clear as day, and the dismissive attitude of Caine, who, even with the attempts to “help,” comes very close to modern insincerity over the issue. Overall, this revelation recontextualized many of Zooble’s actions up until now, presenting someone profoundly uncomfortable with their customizable body and, very likely, unable to ever escape due to the nature of Digital Circus. Caine, meanwhile, is as funny and, in his way, oblivious as ever.

Caine, as always, continues to be a great source of comedy, and, as someone who loves to overthink animated, more stuff to speculate over!

His attempts to figure out what has been wrong with Zooble are interesting. They come from a decidedly selfish place, wanting them to participate in the adventures he worked hard on but is at least trying to understand it in a way that makes sense to him. It seems to me Caine is not trying to be insincere when listening to Zooble's problems (at least intrinsically), but the AI is, as he spells out, born and built to make adventurers for the players to enjoy. It is entirely possible that Zooble’s dysmorphia, beyond his attempt to give more options for them to explore (as one might give a player customization options in a video game) is literally beyond his digital scope to grasp and, in the wake of that, defaults to trying to make the adventurers more appealing to them without hitting the root problem. That is not all we can speculate about in this therapy session plotline. 

The episode also introduces something that may come up later: When Caine begins to question if he is even good at his sole purpose, creating adventurers, the area around Zooble and him starts to glitch out. Was this a one-off gag or foreshadowing that the entire Digital Circus, on some level, is predicated on the AI’s own mental stability and confidence? They could build up this little moment later as either a dangerous outcome the rest of the cast must avoid for their survival or, on the flip side, the key to escaping the circus, as the game glitching out may allow them to leave (if such a thing is possible). At this very moment, we don’t have enough information to determine if it was good or bad, but it might be worth watching out for in later episodes! 

Overall, this plotline offered a lot of laughs, an extraordinary exploration of Zooble (and their very real body dysmorphia), and the potential for Caine’s problems as an AI and how it could make or break the Digital circus moving forward!

With all that said and done, how does the episode compare to the preceding two? 

How Does The Episode Compare?

Episode three is the best of the series we have seen so far from a writing and visual standpoint, barely losing out to episode two in comedy. 

Regarding writing, the previous two episodes were not bad by any means. The first episode functioned as the pilot and had the baggage of establishing the gist of the series, which kept any overall narrative within the episode non-complex but straightforward. The second episode was a step up from there, showing us what the series would look like going forward. Still, its B plot (the rest of the gang still going on the adventure while Pomni is gone) paled compared to the A plot, which is saved only by its stronger comedy. By a mile, the third episode is the most tightly written of the three. Its opening segment pays off in the ending; the segmentation of the A and B plot contrast enough to be unique and fun to watch in their own ways, tackling separate but still meaningful topics, and the entire story of Kinger is short but sweet in a way that will stick with viewers well after watching and completely recontextualizes him in a way that is worth rewatching the other episodes for. These points are built up better with the episode's visuals, which are out of this world!

The animation and visuals of episode three are easily the best we have seen. The Amazing Digital Circus, while a visual marvel at its baseline, uses a very bright, pastel color palette that can be a bit visually overstimulating and offputting at times. This episode changed all that with its location in a haunted mansion. The dark and spooky locations we see the cast go through, filled with shadows, low light, and more muted colors, honestly make all the models of the cast look absolutely gorgeous, making even the cartoony Kinger’s stronger emotions feel melancholy and substantial. The highlights were the monster chasing Kinger and Pomni, an utterly terrifying fleshy beast straight out of an early 2000s horror game, and the darkness segment where the characters mentioned above had their eyes drawn and animated in 2D. This tremendous creative choice enhanced the scene! The previous two episodes were not bad visually at all. Each had their marvels of animation between them (the abstracted Kaufmo, The Fudge, etc.), which are brought down a bit from the visual overstimulation and samey use of bright pastel colors. In contrast, this new episode goes up proverbial points for bucking that trend and doing it masterfully! That is not to say the Mystery of Mildenhall Manor is without fault, as I feel it loses out in the comedy department. 

The comedy for episode three is no doubt the weakest aspect. It still has its fair share of great jokes. Caine and Kinger (even with his sanity increasing) are still comedy gold. The focus on more serious and horror-themed subjects does not allow for more comedy to shine in the storytelling as a necessity. The pilot and the second episode win out in the comedy department, with the latter being the best of the bunch with its heavier focus on slapstick and great visual gags and the former making more of an effort to fill out its characters in their initial characterization. Losing out in comedy is a small price for sweeping the other two episodes in visuals and writing. 

The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor is clearly a standout episode compared to what we have so far! Overall, though, how is this episode?

Conclusion

The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor, the third episode of The Amazing Digital Circus, is the best of the show so far. The episode's choice to focus on the very human struggles of loss, mental instability, body dysmorphia, and the need to connect and love while you still can was an inspired one to make. The visuals and writing make this episode stand head and shoulders above what we have seen. Overall, The Amazing Digital Circus keeps improving with each passing episode in all categories, and if the show keeps up at this pace, it will no doubt be legendary!

Want to read more reviews like this? Keep an eye on this Tumblr or my Blogger

[scrunglepaws]

Is that SAILS doing the Captain Morgan??? Because PIRATE? (Yes). :D Anyway, if you want to hear me ramble about character design-

So! Sails! He's a pirate, so going with an ocean theme was pretty standard, but my little goober also has a romance theme! Because: he played a lute that one time -> he loves music -> I was like dang that makes me think of this lute-sounding song (idk if it's even a lute; I'm musically inept) and it's called the Romantic Sea of Tranquility -> I guess he's a sappy romantic now.

Fun fact: He's also a shipper, which is a completely unintentional joke. fgfdgdf

ANYWAY, he's got the lil wave marks in his ears and on his tails. The ones in his ears double as a heart to hit both themes at once, heck yeah! I was originally drawing the waves on his tails like giant, curvy ones but it was really hard to draw consistently and looked weird at certain angles. Then I had the Big Brain thought to do the generic, little waves. At the time, I hadn't drawn Kit as much and didn't realize this was also in his design. xD However! I FINALLY memorized which direction Kit's waves go in, and they're actually the opposite of Sails'. So I'll finally draw their tail swooshes consistently from now on. Hooray!

I considered changing Sails' tails to more gay little hearts (can never have enough gay little hearts!!! :3). But it looked too prim and neat, so I threw that idea out (this bitch scrungly). I did, however, add some more hearts to his ears- on the back! A broken heart and a happy heart, for his past and future. Hopefully Kit doesn't die so he doesn't have to get his other ear ripped off... >_>; But yeah, Sails has darker colored ears now. Which contradicts something from the first chapter of Aquarius, but you know what? Oh well. I don't think it will break the reader's immersion to have a tiny detail changed, so I won't let it bother me either. (Can you tell I struggled with this and it bothered me a lot kfklgfdl). I'm still debating about giving him darker paws/feets, but I'm really unsure about it. On one hand, they look really cute! Because sock markings on animals are stinkin' cute! But design-wise, it would ruin how nicely his darks/lights are broken up with his current clothing design. And I don't want to change it- I really like drawing his clothes (other than the head scarf)! So yeah... Dunno on that one. Most likely won't add them, though. I will, however, be making more of an effort to remember to draw the scar under his eye. I draw it much more exaggerated than it actually is, but that's fine because it adds to the overall scrungliness and makes him look like a tired old man. Which is good, because he is supposed to look older than he actually is. Living life on the salty ocean with the sun beating on you, constant stress from fighting/ect survival hardships, poor hygiene and nutrition... Doesn't do wonders for the complexion, or so I've heard.

Anyway, back to tails! I want my main dudes (aka Kaleidoscope + Someplace Tails variants) to have distinct enough designs that you wouldn't look at them and think they were clones of each other. Just weirdly similar instead. Because, in both AUs, they're actually not different versions of Tails! They're just coincidentally freakishly similar dudes from different planets. Because I said so. So we've got Nine (smooth, noodly thin tail with a tiny white tip), Tails (average, slightly bushy tail), Mangey (long, voluminous, BUSHY, styled tail with a red-typed tip), and... Well CaveTails isn't part of the main four, but he also has a distinctly tiny, SCRUNGLY tail, so I put it there. ANYWAY, then there was Sails. I could never decide exactly how I wanted his tails to differ in volume/texture/ect. I couldn't just go with a generic scrungly/scruffy, because honestly that's all of them (other than Nine and his extra short fur)! Then I thought, well, he's a pirate. He's been in a lot of scraps- he has some scars and he's missing an ear. What if he's missing some tail? And because I want these designs to be quick and fun for me to draw, I had to convey this in a way that was pretty simple. So I just tried rounding off the tip a bit, making it look just a little flat/chopped off. Which reminded me of how I draw a certain original species of mine's tails... That look like this nonsense:

And I was like shit... That's it. I've solved Sails' tails. They're fun as SHIT to draw and they look hella scrungly, but also soft and floofy at the same time. Perfect. 10/10. Very him.

Oh, and another quick note: I was fussing with differentiating his hair from Tails' SO MUCH. I tried making it wavy, bushier, swooping a different way, giving him a ponytail, but nothing seemed right. For the most part, I couldn't draw them consistently at all angles, or they weren't scrungly enough. It never occurred to me to make it scrunglier by making his hair SHORTER. Which, I did. It's probably too subtle for anyone to notice but me, but *I* can tell, so I'm finally happy with it. xD Same with his cheek and chest floofs.

Sooo, yeah! I think he's done? Finally??? (nothing I do is ever final... >_>) All I have to do now is find a point in the story where someone freaking BURNS his head scarf or something because I hate drawing it! xD Or maybe he starts wearing it around his neck again, like when he was a wee lad. I'd be cool with that. I got used to drawing the vest at least, so it can stay.

If you read all of this... Why... But also. MY MAN!!! *high five* >833333

[pinemountainobservations]

Observation: RYM Top 100 Album Cover Review #11

Abbey Road by The Beatles

Well, here we go.

Abbey Road is one of the most iconic albums of all time. Considered by many to be the best album from arguably the best (and definitely most famous and influential) band of all time, there’s no way this album and its cover couldn’t be in talks for the best of all-time. This is another one that is so talked-about that I really can’t add too much to the conversation. I’m also very much not a Beatles superfan. I don’t dislike them or consider them overrated like some, but I’m also definitely too young to care a lot about them. They’re so far past my time that the people they influence are some of my favorite artist’s influences. My experience with their catalogue is very limited, and while I have plans to change that at some point soon (I’m working my way through a lot of contemporary psychedelic music right now, but I’m eventually going to get to them), I haven’t begun that journey yet.

With all that in mind, I may come back to revise this cover review later. I certainly will have to do that with Revolver and Sergeant Pepper’s, albums I’ve spent even less time with. But in this case I do feel like I have a decent amount to say, given how normal this cover is in comparison to some of the British Invader’s other works.

This is a case similar to Dark Side of the Moon, albeit in a different way. This cover is on many a shirt, I’m sure. However it doesn’t really have that iconographic quality that DSotM or similar covers have. Instead this cover is made iconic by its association with The Beatles and status as their last real record. It’s definitely the last one that gets praised a lot, and obvious it gets enough acclaim to land just outside RYM’s top ten. And for this album, I very much think this is a case of those outside factor’s carrying the iconic quality of the cover far beyond the artistic quality of the cover itself.

Not to say that it’s a bad cover by any means. Especially for the time, this is pretty quality, and it hits in the same way that albums like Weezer (the blue album) would hit later on. The meme-ability is off the charts here and I think that’s given it lasting staying power for modern audiences. But let’s be honest here for a second: If this was some random album in the middle of a random band’s discography, would it be good? I think in a vacuum, this is just a fine album cover. Because its The Beatles, they get away with just having a photo of them crossing the street. But without that influence, this cover doesn’t have a lot special going for it. The outfits and stances are a little bit heightened, this obviously isn’t a candid photo, it was set up and shot intentionally. But its also not heightened enough to really feel super special. The guys aren’t positioned perfectly evenly like the Weezer cover, the background isn’t particularly interesting like other photographic covers I’ve talked about (thinking of TPAB here) and the color palette really doesn’t speak to any specific vibe or emotion that this record might be touching on.

All that being said, this cover does not exist in a vacuum. It very much is one of the most iconic and memorable album covers of all time, and even if that is mostly due to the music and the men behind it, that fact remains. I give Abbey Road a 5/10.

[digitalkorbaxllc]

Initial Logo Design Holds Much Significance For Your Firm

Initial Logo Design

The Initial Logo Design is the main attraction of a brand. It emphasizes the message and paints a clear image of the business in the mind of consumers. Each business has got a logo, but not all logos make sense to the customer. Why is this the case? You are exposed to hundreds or thousands of logos on a daily basis, so why are only a few of them remember? This question may be confusing to you. However, the solution is quite simple. Even though you are likely to succumb to many, the idea of a few caught your attention; perhaps they are desirable enough to draw your attention, or they had something that drew your attention. It is the best logo design because it did its job perfectly for which it was created.

Some Things To Keep in View With Logo Design

Logo design is critical, especially if you run a small or large firm. The logo's primary function is to create a good graphic image of your brand. The first step toward achieving market presence or recognition would be to create a captivating Initial Logo Design. It is a fact not only in the physical world but also over the internet. Creating a logo is not a simple process. There are still many factors to consider before creating a good logo. Start by creating an appealing design. Always keep in mind that the style of the logo must always convey the essence of the business to the people. If the logo design is perpetual, it can harm the public reputation. Aside from that, it is critical to keep the logo design distinctive. Apparently, the logo is designed to represent the business, so in order to maintain a positive image, you should make it as distinctive as possible.

Logos Create a Distinction that a Business Requires

One of the most important characteristics of the best Initial Logo Design is that it tends to aid you to remember the company it relates to every time you see it. Without a doubt, it is a nonverbal communication and advertising strategy that aids in creating impact with minimal effort. To win the affection of consumers, the company must put in a lot of effort during the logo design stage. It could be a graphic or symbolic representation, but you must be certain of what you want. If you're thinking about having your logo redesigned or starting a new project, here are a few pointers to help you get started. I won't bother you with many tips; the fundamental tips are not only slick but also effective:

• Simple Yet Effective:

The best logo design is simply stunning. You don't have to make the initial logo design very great; just relate it to the company objectives so that consumers can connect with it.

• Don't Add The Tagline Purposely:

Any best brand logo would never consider the company's tagline. You don't want people to memorize your catchphrase. If it's necessary, go ahead and do it; otherwise, skip it and simplify things.

• Don't Make It A Color Splash:

You are not a child, and neither is the general public. When it comes to competence, you can't just use a bunch of colors to make your logo look like a rainbow. Please don't ruin the logo's meaning. Just keep in mind that people need to recognize it, so design it so that it is noticeable to all at a glance. To achieve a good effect, use a combination of light and dark hues. Always look up to the giant big businesses and try to emulate their norms. Failure will never occur in your company.

Reference

[incorrectbatfam]

What are your thoughts on the Batman: The Knight comics?

Spoilers under the cut since it's relatively new

Batman: The Knight is a 10-issue retelling (spanning from January to October 2022) of how concept of The Dark Knight was conceived. It focuses on a young Bruce Wayne in the first handful of years after his parents' murders. I'll be honest, going into it I was a little like "whatever" because we've had countless iterations of Bruce's backstory and at the moment it seems like DC is oversaturated with Batman compared to other heroes, but while this isn't the most original take, the storytelling format coupled with the artwork makes it among the more memorable.

I like how the first issue starts with Bruce trying to channel his emotions into a productive way to help Gotham, but it quickly comes out in ways that aren't as helpful as he thought (with folks like Alfred helping him see that). His fighting/training is intercut with flashbacks of therapy sessions with Hugo Strange. This makes for a good setup because it shows how his noble intentions are confounded by his youthful recklessness.

Issue #2 is a continuation of Bruce learning his Batmanning skills in Paris. I also like how this issue addresses the hypocrisy of vigilantism—he's committing crimes to stop crimes. He also has to learn to be more independent because his whole life, he's been far too dependent on Alfred. I'm kinda meh on the kiss at the end, though I view it as foreshadowing for his future relationships, namely Selina. Also, I love the little details of the past like Bruce owning a Razr and the artwork being reminiscent of the late 2000s.

#3 is where we start really diving into the psychological aspects of Batman. It shows that Batman wasn't an easy decision and we have these glaring moments of self-doubt that, understandably, Bruce would have. Because, as the comic put it, how do you stop monsters without becoming one? The detective work itself felt a bit lackluster but the show-don't-tell of Bruce's trauma and the emotional kick to the solar plexus makes up for it.

I'm not as big of a fan of #4's cover art because it doesn't have the same feel as the first three but that's whatever. Story-wise, I think it's a nice take on Bruce's ninja training but there's nothing too special there. It feels like a transition comic and I was hoping to see more of Ducard. It also reminds me a bit of Batman Begins, but overall it sustained my attention and made me look forward to what he's gonna do next with his new skills.

#5's cover art feels like Carmine Falcone should be in it even though I know better. Not sure why. Anyway, Bruce is now in Russia on an espionage mission. Even when he's in a vulnerable place, we still see Bruce pulling together everything he's learned to outsmart Anton. Also, Bruce was ~this~ close to kissing a man. Half the fandom already knows he's some flavor of queer but I like having another piece of proof for when I inevitably get into an argument with another cishet neckbeard at a convention.

We all know that later in life, even with the batkids, Bruce has these walls around him that take a lot of work to chip away at. Well, in issue #6, we see these walls start to build up. Bruce wasn't always a hardened control freak. The opposite, in fact. He fails to consider the consequences of breaking the rules. We see this portrayed as a flaw in other comics, like when the Gotham Rogues continually break out of Arkham or evade the system, but this issue illustrates how that's not Bruce's fault, it's the system that's supposed to take care of the villains after he turns them over. We see Bruce losing faith in the system and relying more and more on himself, which leads to the popular lone wolf portrayal of him later on. I enjoy not just the nuance, but the details that show how someone like him would become closed off.

(Not a fan of the cover art in #7 that's just me.) This issue is where we explore Bruce's early relationship with Zatanna. She plays a smaller role but it's interesting nonetheless. We see Bruce experiencing magic and he even has the opportunity to acquire it, but he ultimately decides against it. He does a good job of placing boundaries on what he's willing to do, and at the same time it highlights why he trusts people like Zatanna and Constantine more than other Justice League heroes. Also, the humor feels very on-brand.

The training part of issue #8 felt a bit short for my liking, but I still enjoyed where the story went. This issue in particular felt more like it was about Anton's journey to becoming Ghost Maker, so while I didn't expect to see that in a Batman origin comic, it provided some interesting and necessary context for that character. For Bruce, I really like how this highlights that the battle for justice is just beginning, even though we've seen him endure so much already. With abstract concepts like justice, it's hard to picture the uphill battle, but toward the end of this issue I finally start to understand the magnitude of what Bruce is up against.

Issue #9 came out a day ago so it's the freshest in my memory. Bruce's globetrotting is finally over and he faces his real test against Ra's Al Ghul himself. We finally see everything come together to make Batman. We also get to see why Ra's Al Ghul was seeking Bruce in the first place with the incorporation of The Still. The pacing felt a bit off to me because with all the detail they're packing about how Bruce navigates the league of Assassins, it's hard to believe this is the second-to-last issue (I think there should be at least one more). The artwork also felt a little inconsistent at times but it doesn't detract from the story (the coloring is great though). Overall, this issue sets the foundation of the relationship between the Waynes and the Al Ghuls, even providing a possible connection to Damian's storyline.

The last issue comes out on October 18th. I'll definitely be reading it, but I might not remember to review it here so if you want my thoughts, shoot me a reminder.

Overall rating: 84/100. Not the most original retelling, but a detailed and fascinating spin on what we already knew. Also a good starting point for Batman newbies.

[wingaround]

I don’t often see it get talked about much these days (maybe I’m wrong, IDK, it’s just that other fans I’ve talked to don’t know/don’t recall), but the Grimm storyline from Legends of the Dark Knight had a pretty memorable portrayal of Bruce, Dick, and guilt.

If you’re not familiar with this, Grimm was a five-issue arc in Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (#149–153) which took place during the maiden year of Dick’s term as Robin. It was written by J.M. DeMatteis with art by Trevor Von Eden and José Luis García-López.

Basically, Dick follows a pickpocket named Wendi into the subterranean “children’s paradise” of Mother Grimm, a deceptively jovial villain who lures wayward children there. The plot and writing honestly gets a bit convoluted towards the end, but commits and resolves satisfactorily. All you really need for context here out is Mother Grimm.

(All images henceforth are described in ALT text.)

I’m specifically talking about issue #151, or Part 3 of the arc. At this point, Dick had become entranced by the temptation of Mother Grimm’s world like the other children had, and when Batman came to take him back, Dick refused to go along. It was then that Mother Grimm gave Batman some vivid hallucinations (where he’s reverted to the form of a child) that stirred up some morbid, subconscious thoughts.

Already we get hit on the nose with the question, “Why’d you bring a little boy into the Batman’s warped world?” Because it’s this very notion that makes up the foundation of why Bruce found a connection with Dick in the first place during their early years together.

The following panels then posit a pretty disturbing frame of reasoning. And also keep in mind that Dick is the one recounting and narrating what Bruce told him of the ordeal, which Bruce had chosen to disclose years later. It illustrates a subconscious fear that Bruce has: that he had only taken Dick in and raised him into vigilantism for the sole purpose of compensating for what he (in his mind) had failed to do: die with his parents.

I cut off the lower panels, but it’s necessary for you to know (if you’ve never read this) that it’s Batman who saves young Bruce from the fall, and wakes him.

So he breaks free of the hallucination, but some pages later Bruce is exposed once again to the mind-altering chemicals of Mother Grimm, and this time he’s seeing himself as a child alongside Dick and a vision of the scenes of their respective parents’ deaths, had they both died alongside them.

He has a bit of a reckoning in this moment, saying to both Dick and his child self that he’s trying in his own way to help them, to prevent the fate of death from coming to them as it did their parents, that they do not also have to die.

But HOLD IT! There are some serious layers to this onion. After all, as Dick is the one narrating, he admits that Bruce didn’t really tell Dick what exactly he saw in this particular moment, but could reasonably guess (and he’s most likely correct, which is a testament to the fact of how deeply Dick knows Bruce). But that means this is also a reflection of Dick’s psyche, which develops in relation to Bruce’s because of the similarities of their traumas.

This simultaneously accomplishes the following:

Dick coming to terms with his own survivor’s guilt by using Bruce as a mirror.

Dick comes to a better understanding of why Bruce let him become a part of Batman’s world.

It means a lot more when you consider how Dick is recalling this whole story as an adult. How within that time, experiences like this one would have marinated.

Bruce found purpose and control in his grief, at a much greater capacity and intensity than what the average person might, thus creating the persona of the Batman as a way of avoiding and eliminating that feeling of helplessness. He extended that to Dick, who he essentially latched onto as a companion who knew what that helplessness was like.

Any psychological analysis of Batman (and Dick Grayson) would need an entire separate post, so this is where I’ll end it. When I first read Grimm a long time ago, I was especially stricken by the implication of Bruce believing that he was using Dick as both punishment for himself and compensation for living on while his parents were dead. It was nice for both Dick and Bruce to have that affirmation where their relationship was ultimately one born from compassion.

(Of course, as the years have passed, their relationship has taken on new strains, but it’s all the more tragic when remembering where they began.)

[five-rivers]

Three Twilights

Can be considered a loose sequel to Deep Sea Diver (same vibes).

Warnings: Soft body horror, Danny totally ignoring objectively horrifying things

.

.

.

“I was thinking,” started Maddie over breakfast, “we could start observations of that island that came into view last week, the blue one.”

Danny shook his head. “You’ll have to use the Speeder, then,” he said. “I’ve got an errand to run.”

There was a pause as both of Danny’s parents looked at him, confused. He didn’t blame them. Danny rarely went out as a human anymore, and certainly not for anything like errands. Looking like he was still fourteen after all this time made doing anything even remotely official difficult.

But this wasn’t a human errand. “Yeah,” said Danny. “In the Ghost Zone. I’ve got to go to Three Twilights.”

“Where?” asked Jack.

“It’s, um, a city,” said Danny. “Well, three cities, I suppose, depending on how you want to group them. One Realm. On the shores of the Celestial Sea. I’m sure I’ve put it in your files.” Probably a direct copy from his files from before he came clean to them, but still. He stirred his cereal counterclockwise, letting his ice powers chill the milk.

“Yes,” said Maddie, “but there are a lot of places in there. I’m not sure we’ve had a chance to properly look at them all, much less memorize them.”

“Okay, yeah,” said Danny. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What kind of errand are you running, Danno?”

“I’m picking something up for a friend. A book,” he clarified. “They lent it to someone there, but they need it back.”

“A book,” said Maddie. “For the Library of Tongues?”

“No, they’ve got a contract service for overdue loans.”

“Contract service?” asked Jack.

“Yeah. Moonlighting bounty hunters mostly.”

“For a library?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Danny, shrugging. “They’re really serious about their work.”

“If it isn’t for them, who is it for?” asked Maddie. “The princess? Wulf?” Wulf had actually been over a few times, and his parents had… Well, saying they got along would be an overstatement, they didn’t really have anything in common beyond ripping portals in the fabric of the universe, but everyone had been civil. “The boy at the school?”

“No,” said Danny. “Wulf would just get it himself.”

“Who, then?” pressed Maddie.

Danny put a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, delaying. Maddie hadn’t eaten anything since Danny had mentioned the errand. The errand was, in fact, for Clockwork. Danny was always more than happy to do anything for Clockwork. The older ghost had saved him too many times for him to be otherwise. But Jack and Maddie were wary of Clockwork. Danny didn’t get it, but talking about it hadn’t been productive so far.

He didn’t want to lie to his parents. Not ever again.

“It’s for Clockwork,” he said.

Ah, yes, there were those suspicious looks. The ones Danny could have interpreted even without being able to almost literally taste emotions.

“I see,” said Maddie.

“Anyway,” said Danny, quickly, “if I haven’t shown you Three Twilights yet, it’s really cool. I don’t want to take the full rig, but maybe the little ectocam would be okay? The one that I can clip on.”

“Why not the normal camera with an ectofilter?” asked Jack. “That has more features, and it’s easier for us to get data from.”

“Three Twilights. It’s dark there,” said Danny. “It might work in Civila, but not so much in Naŭtika and Astronomia, and I sort of want to go down to the beach and see if I can find any star pearls, and that’s really dark, so if you want to see anything properly, it’ll have to be the sonar setup, which I’m not doing, the noises that thing makes are offensive, or the ectocam.”

“And the Fenton Phones?” asked Maddie.

“Sure,” said Danny. “But I always bring those.”

“Yes,” said Maddie, after a moment. “You do.”

“Great. It’s settled, then.”

.

Most of the journey to Three Twilights could be made by air. Or, rather, what passed for air in the Infinite Realms. But when the rocky edge of an island came into view, Danny touched down. Further in was a blue wood, and Danny walked under its inviting branches.

The atmosphere started sunny, summery. The leaves and needles of the trees were the color of a clear blue sky. But as he got deeper, the leaves were touched with sunset colors: golds, reds, oranges, purples, and pinks. They fell to the ground, crunching beneath Danny’s feet. The sunset grew longer, deeper. The leaves on the trees grew sparser, revealing patches of sky.

By the time only bare branches framed the sky, it was a dusky, dim, purple. A few lonely stars twinkled in the sky.

He passed out of the forest. The city of Civila rose above him. Windows glowed in the near dark like eyes.

Danny had changed, too. His aura had dimmed. The whites of his suit were now dark gray, and patterns swirled on its surface like camouflage, like wind-twisted clouds, like nebulae.

Shadows bled around the corners of the city buildings like ink in water. Will-o-the-wisps bobbed, casting pools of illumination in lieu of streetlamps. Ghosts walked up and down the streets, or floated only a few meters up.

The buildings glittered. Everything was dark, vibrant, colors. A sharp, sweet scent filled the air, something dark and rich beneath it.

The canals in the center of the street were filled with flashing fish. Or perhaps serpents. Or perhaps worms. Between how fast they moved and the dimness of the light, it was difficult to tell.

Danny could feel his irises contracting, shrinking down to needle-thin rings. His teeth were sharp. He matched the other ghosts around him. This was how the Civila liked it, how things were in this part of Three Twilights.

Everything in order. Everything peaceful. Everything civil.

Danny walked through the market square, and bought some charcoal-colored cherry pastries from a vendor who looked like someone’s nightmare demon with a chip of ghost ice.

Much to his parents’ protests. They didn’t care for him eating ghost food.

There were seven bridges to Naŭtika, which was built half underwater and half on boats that floated both on the water and in the air. As the dark waters of the inlet lapped at his feet, Danny felt the changes ripple across his skin. To a human, he would look pure black, except for the faintest glimmer of rim lighting and the stars of his eyes. He and the other ghosts moved silently, cutting through the waters like shadows.

To Danny’s ghostly senses, the place was alive with emotion and force, energy loud and crackling against his senses.

“We’re solely on the ectocam, now,” said Maddie. “You were right about that.”

“Mhm,” said Danny, half distracted by a whispered sea-shanty backed by a choir of not-voices and not-sound that wove together with the mastery of a hundred years of practice.

He glided up a rope net, and began to navigate the ropes to the taller ships. The very tallest, the ones that scraped the ever-darkening sky and blotted out uneven sections of stars, moored the glass-like ships that floated above. He’d need to reach them, to get to Astronomia.

“What’s that?” asked Maddie, breaking his concentration on his path.

“What’s what?” asked Danny, whisper soft, drawing some looks. He turned, slowly, on the spot, planks barely creaking under his steps. A gentle wind ruffled his hair.

“There,” said Maddie. “By the ghost that’s registering red.”

It had taken Danny a long time to learn what color on the ectocam’s artificial sensor signified what, but he had, if only to reduce the guessing when they played this game.

“Star pearls,” said Danny, eyeing the ropes of stone that glimmered brighter than his eyes currently did. They were one of the only reliable forms of light, out on the Celestial Sea, although they were valued for other things, too.

“They’re putting out a massive amount of energy,” said Maddie.

“You mentioned them before,” said Jack. “You wanted to look for some?”

“On the shore,” said Danny. “Out past Astronomia.” He wanted to find his own, rather than buy them.

Partially because they were expensive. He didn’t really want to think about how much unmelting ice he’d have to conjure up to equal one of them. They were usually bartered in exchange for… more significant things.

The ghost by the pearls beckoned him closer, clearly hoping to make a sale. Danny shook his head, broadcasting regret and admiration for his wares. Speech might be faster but, under these circumstances, it would not be polite.

When Danny left, the social rules of Three Twilights would only leave the faintest impression on his mind. But, for now, they were a heavy, but not uncomfortable weight. One he could shrug off if necessary, but which was currently useful.

“What are they?” asked Maddie, as Danny turned away.

“They happen when big enough things fall into stars,” said Danny. “They’re all the memories of what they used to be… and the imagination of what they could become, when the star dies. Well, that’s what they’re supposed to be. I don’t think anyone really knows for sure.”

“And you can just… find these? Lying around?”

“Not… not really,” said Danny, slowly drifting towards a crow’s nest. “It’s like that one national park. That one where you can collect diamonds? You never really find anything good, but you can look.”

“I see,” said Maddie. “So, you don’t expect to find one?”

“Yes and no,” said Danny. “If I don’t expect to find one, I probably won’t. Unless the sea is feeling ironic, which it usually is, apparently. I mean, it’s an ocean and the stars. And prophecy is, like, ninety percent irony, but mostly for an outside observer. Which honestly makes sense, I think. An observer, not an Observant. Those are different things.”

The kind of silence on the other side of the line was the one that emerged when Danny used too much ghost logic.

“Anyway,” he continued as he scaled the crow’s nest and started traversing the glass ropes and chains to the all-but-invisible glass ships, “no, I don’t really expect to.”

The path to Astronomia was a staircase carved from moonstone harvested in October, when the moon was full and orange-red. It burned Danny’s eyes to look at and feet to walk upon. Like many ghosts who fixated on things like astronomy, he adapted quickly and thoroughly to the spiritual dark.

This darkest twilight was built of delicate bubbles, whorls, and arches of glass, any of which could cradle a ghost, all of which could be phased through with impunity. There were no true roads here, but certain places were easier to travel through. Addresses were carved in the glass in glimmering, holographic sigils made from glass-caught starlight that humans would never be able to read, but Danny could understand with a glance. It was not silent in Astronomia, the high wind sung through the glass like the immense instrument it was, playing ethereal and eternal music that mirrored heaven.

As always, Danny was enraptured. Perhaps the stars here were not true stars, only their memory and imagination (or simulacra made from stripped ghost cores, he remembered with a shudder), but he felt so close here.

“Danny? Are you still with us?”

Danny started to reply, but realized he had forgotten, once again, that he had no mouth here.

A phantabulist played a story for a group of not-quite-children, characters made of carefully constructed light chasing each other about with vigour. Danny stopped for a while to watch the story, a parable about spiders and fish. They were common here, storytellers who plied their craft this way. The stories could be pressed into glass prisms and orbs that served as books and viewed even in other environs of the Ghost Zone.

He moved on, passing through a glass bubble full of ghosts that snatched at and stroked him as he passed by, leaving stars and dark clouds to swirl across his skin. His suit had long since smoothed over and sunk in. His skin was a thin surface, a membrane holding in liquid night. He was like smoke, like vapour, thin and easily overlooked.

The places he passed were homes, places of business, warehouses, and hotels, organized without any apparent reason. A phantabularium glowed like a struck match, snatches of story visible inside its walls. He walked by.

Eventually, he reached the palace at the city center.

The ghost who lived there was old. Older, perhaps, than Pandora. She filled the vessels of her palace in placid pools connected by crystalized threads and looping tubes. Seven round-bottom flasks, radiating outward, like the spheres of heaven. The music here was almost deafening.

This was Urania, Muse of Astronomy. Astronomia was her city, and subordinate to her will before all else.

Danny resisted the urge to kneel. He was not here as a supplicant, and they both knew it.

The lowest pool bubbled, and slowly a glass prism, a dodecahedron, floated to the top. Danny took it with careful hands and left Urania’s direct presence as quickly as possible.

Being near her was always difficult. She was the Muse of Astronomy, and she felt he did not indulge his second Obsession as much as was proper.

Indeed, she thought it should be his first.

(The starlight inside him pulsed. He was never sure how much influence Urania could exert on him when he visited Three Twilights, never sure how much the relationship between his passions shifted when he was here. He loved it here too much to stay away forever.)

Astronomia did not end all at once. Instead, as one walked farther from the palace, the delicate, clear glass was replaced by black sand. When Danny had feet again, and could feel the grains beneath them, he knew he was no longer in Astronomia, but on the Shores of Night. The Isles of the Moon were faintly visible in the distance, sea-spray framing them in silvery halos.

He felt human here. His breath moved in his lungs, and his skin rose in goosebumps, the sleeves of his t-shirt fluttering in the wind. The sea and the sky were the same, and twice as beautiful for it.

“Sorry for going silent on you there,” said Danny. “I keep forgetting I don’t have a mouth there.”

“How do you forget that?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know.” Danny shrugged, even though he knew Jack couldn’t see him. “Do you think the ectocam might be able to spot buried star pearls?”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 8,347 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the Greene farm Warnings: Language, violence, gore, attempted sexual assault, discussions of trauma, typical TWD A/N: This is Part 1 of the new miniseries! This should be 2 or 3 parts total, and it's kind of intense and a bit dark at certain points so heed the warnings ya'll. Summary: Y/N is considered quiet, standoffish, and even a bit odd by the group, but Daryl knows how much she does around camp to care for everyone. After a traumatic incident while searching for Sophia, Daryl starts to discover why Y/N is the way she is.

Your name: submit What is this?

The group was all sitting around the low campfire, eating some breakfast. The two Greene girls came out with baskets in hand. Beth approached Rick and held hers out. “We have some more eggs for you all. Our hens lay more than we can eat,” she said.

Rick gratefully accepted them with an earnest look and a nod. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“And some potatoes,” Maggie offered. Lori grabbed her basket.

“Really, you all are being so kind. If there’s anything we can do to help around the place just let us know,” she said.

Beth was looking off into the distance at you sitting alone, away from the group, your back to the farmstead. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked, without really thinking.

“Beth!” Maggie scolded her.

“Well, I—I just mean she never eats with ya’ll. She seems like she’s always off on her own,” Beth explained, a little sheepish from her sister’s scolding.

The rest of the group was looking your direction now too, many of them asking the same questions in their minds.

“C’mon, now. That’s enough,” Maggie said. “Daddy needs help with the laundry.”

The group watched them head back to the farmhouse and Shane was the next one to break the silence. “It’s a fair question,” he said, chuckling to himself wryly, glancing back over his shoulder at you before leaning in to grab another helping of breakfast. “She hasn’t exactly meshed into the fabric of the group, has she?”

“Shane, give it a rest,” Lori said sternly.

“No offense meant but I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say more than two words at a time,” Andrea said. “You can’t pretend like there isn’t something… odd there.”

Dale hummed. “Not that it’s really our business, but she’s never said anything about what happened to her before we found her out by the quarry. I’ve tried to ask her about her family, what she used to do before all this,” he shrugged vaguely. “Never got a thing out of her. That’s her right if she doesn’t want to talk about it, but it does seem a little strange.”

“That’s all I’m sayin’,” Shane said. “Somethin’ weird with that girl,” he trailed off.

Daryl stood up, annoyed. “Ya’ll are a buncha busy body gossips. If ya’d open your damn eyes for two seconds you’d realize she does more for this group than most of ya combined,” he growled. “She gathered that wood burnin’ in your fire right there. Them mushrooms mixed in with your damn eggs, who the hell ya think found those? Ya think they just magically appeared along with that stuff you’re usin’ to make tea every night?” He tossed his empty plate down on the grass and scoffed. “People who don’t trust easily usually got a damn good reason. ’M outta here.”

Shane watched him go in slight amusement, but most of the others looked a little ashamed of themselves. Daryl was right, of course. You did do a lot for the group. You just kept to yourself. You didn’t make a big show of bringing back some meat or foraged food. You never complained when Rick or Shane asked you to do something. You took more than your fair share of the night watches. And the fact that no one knew anything about your past, the fact that you didn’t talk much, didn’t need any explanation to Daryl. Based on his own background, he could guess there was a reason you were the way you were.

A short time later, Daryl noticed you gathering up your pack and grabbing your pistol and recurve bow. He wandered over as you were snapping your knife into its sheath at your hip. “Ya headin’ out to search again?” he asked softly. You and him seemed to be the only ones who hadn’t completely given up hope of finding Sophia. You simply nodded once.

“Alright,” Daryl drawled. “What’s your plan?” Asking a question that wasn’t a simple yes or no was always a toss-up with you. Half the time he’d get a short answer, half the time he wouldn’t.

“North side of the ridge,” you said. Your voice was always quiet and measured. The archer usually wished most people would talk less, but with you he always hoped to hear more. The little that you said was purposeful and deliberate. There was no idle bullshit.

He nudged his nose up in a nod at you. “Alright. I’ll start by that creek and work along the south side. We can be close by in case either of us gets into trouble with walkers,” he said.

You simply nodded again and gave him a long thoughtful look. You did that a lot. Daryl had the feeling there was a lot going on behind your eyes, but you never spoke any of it. Surprisingly, he never felt nervous or uncomfortable when you looked at him like that. He just hoped someday maybe you’d open up a little bit more. The next moment you had turned and were heading toward the tree line already. Daryl scrambled to gather his gear and set off after you.

He could see your figure ahead, disappearing into the brush and soon he couldn’t see or hear you at all. He set out along the south side of the ridge as planned, picking his way along the creek, scrutinizing every inch of ground and hoping for a shoeprint.

Along the north side you were doing the same. You frequently knelt to examine some little scrape in the litter or soil and as you went you filled the little cloth bag you carried with edible and medicinal plants, berries, and fungi. The day wore on with no sign of the little girl and your frustration and fear grew even as the sun reached its apex in the sky and started to drift back down toward the western horizon.

You turned and started picking a new path back, heading toward the farm now rather than away. The deepening shadows made detecting print or trail more difficult but you kept your focus sharp on the ground as you moved, your bow slung over your shoulder next to your quiver.

You were becoming tired when you noticed an impression in the mud. You knelt, one knee of your jeans sinking into the damp soil. It was a boot print, but certainly not left by Sophia. You stared at the detail of the sole impression and your brow drew down low immediately. You have everyone’s shoe designs memorized. It wasn’t one you recognized. Your eyes drifted up and you could see a worn trail through the underbrush and more prints, heavy in the mud. There were at least three men who had left this trail, and they weren’t walkers. The path was straight ahead with no stagger and you could tell they were picking their way through the underbrush. You crouched and started to follow the trail. You needed to get eyes on these people. They were awfully close to the farm… Close enough, certainly, to see the smoke rising from the chimney and your fire circles.

You ghosted through the woods following the trail, moving as silently as you could. You’d been on the path for probably ten minutes when you could hear careless, noisy movement ahead. You must have caught up with them. Your heart hammering in your chest, you stayed low and crept closer. As you moved around a partially downed tree you could finally see the shapes of two men ahead. They were scruffy and filthy, clearly living on the move in the woods. You needed a closer look. You wanted to see what kinds of weapons they had on them. If you could scout out the group, you could determine whether something needed to be done about them or not.

As you tried to shift to another patch of concealing cover, you didn’t notice your bow catching on a low hanging dead branch. By the time you felt the resistance it was too late. The whole branch pulled loose with a loud snapping sound as it bent and cracked other dried branches and twigs on its way down. The two men you had been watching spun immediately and had weapons raised, rifles pointed in your direction. You were swearing under your breath and instantly on your feet aiming your pistol right back.

“Well, shit! What the hell do we have here?” one of the men asked, shifting a little to get a better look at you. “You alone out here, sweetheart?”

You fell an immediate swell of anger and dread rising up in your chest.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” the second man asked, grinning and revealing teeth that were tobacco stained and yellow.

“What’s a fine little thing like you doing out here by yourself? Don’t you know it’s dangerous? There are all kinds of monsters in these woods,” the first man said, looking you up and down thoroughly. His companion laughed.

Fuck. This was bad. Why had you pushed your luck and crept in so closely? Now you were outnumbered and you knew there was at least one other man somewhere that you didn’t have eyes on.

Your chest was heaving with anxious breaths from the rush of adrenaline. The first man stepped a bit closer again and you responded by taking a measured step back, your pistol aimed squarely at his chest. Now what? Should you make a run for it? Would they shoot you? Based on the animalistic looks in their eyes you knew things could go very bad, very quickly if you couldn’t get the fuck out of there. Your mind was whirring.

Suddenly, you heard a stick crack behind you and you turned instinctively to see a third man now rushing you. He landed a fist into your jaw and your vision went black as you fell to the ground, holding onto your pistol as tightly as you could. The pain radiating from your jaw into your head was overwhelming. You blinked, willing the darkness to clear, but it lingered as you suddenly felt rough hands on you, rolling you over and ripping both your bow and rifle from your back.

You struggled blindly and managed to get yourself onto your back again as the darkness in your eyes faded instead to the outlines of blurred shapes. You could make out the shape of the man standing over you and you instinctively raised your pistol and squeezed several rounds which sounded like cracks of thunder in the close woods. You missed, the scene still foggy, and you immediately squeezed again and discharged another round but the man leapt down on you with a wild yell, knocking your arm to the side and pinning it into the ground. His weight pressed down on you and you were vaguely aware of an acrid smell filling your nostrils, causing bile to rise up in your throat. He pried your pistol from your hand and tossed it away into the brush.

You writhed beneath him, struggling to get clear of his grasp but he was much bigger than you and soon there was another set of hands on you. You were rolled onto your stomach again and your arms were pulled back behind you and held painfully tight.

“We got ourselves a wild cat here, boys!” one of the men laughed. “Get her up,” he ordered. You were pulled roughly onto your feet, still trying to blink away the remaining fuzziness in your eyes and struggling against your captor.

The first man, who seemed to be the leader, paced over, watching you with a look of satisfaction on his face as you still tried to fight loose. His rifle was now dropped casually by his side. He grabbed your chin cruelly and pulled it up so you looked right into his eyes. His fingers dug into the tender spot on your jaw where the other man had hit you. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing,” he murmured silkily.

You yanked your face from his grasp and he chuckled, glancing back at the other man standing just behind him. “She’s a good one,” he said, a sick smirk on his face. He looked back at you and his eyes roamed perversely over your body. “This’ll be fun.”

He turned violent and grabbed the front of your light cotton shirt, ripping it harshly down off one shoulder, tearing the breezy plaid fabric easily and popping off the first three buttons. The man holding you only tightened his grip. Your throat constricted so tightly it was hard to breathe. You felt like your heart was beating so hard that it would surely burst. You could feel everyone’s eyes on your newly bared skin. Next the leader withdrew a knife and pressed the point into the center of your chest just above your bra. You cringed at the feeling of the biting cold metal pricking your skin.

He stepped close into you and moved the knife up to your throat, pressing it to the side of your neck and drawing it lightly across your skin just enough to cut you. You winced and shut your eyes, trying to keep as still as possible with that blade to your throat and you soon felt a rivulet of warmth rolling down toward your collarbone. You opened your eyes as the knife left your throat and he slipped it under your exposed bra strap, rotating it and lifted up until the fabric started to separate along the sharp edge. Finally, it gave and the strap hung loosely down. He sucked in a hiss of breath through his teeth, his eyes hungry and crazed. “This will be a lot easier on you if you just cooperate. Then again… I like a woman with some fight in her,” he snarled. “Your choice.” His companions let out more appreciative laughter as fear twisted your stomach.

You felt yourself going numb. Suddenly, you couldn’t feel any pain anymore. You couldn’t feel the man’s hands pinning your arms back. You couldn’t feel the blood that was now running down your chest. Your eyes drifted to the leader’s cold, blue blade and then unfocused so the scene simply became a haze. And you suddenly realized that they hadn’t taken your knife. It was still in its sheath on your hip…

A short distance away, Daryl had been thinking that it was probably about time to call it a day and head back when he heard a series of loud gunshots. His body went rigid and he turned frantically, staring off into the brush. He strained his hearing to its limit. They’d definitely come from your direction. Abandoning any other thought, he sprung into motion, racing through the woods as fast as he could in the direction he thought the blasts had come from.

Back in camp, everyone else had heard the shots too. Shane turned and looked at Rick, his gaze intense.

“Were those gun shots?” Lori asked, fear in her voice.

“Yeah,” Rick said, rising to his feet and rushing to grab his gun from the stash of weapons in the RV. “Shane, T, Glenn, let’s go! The rest of you stay here!”

Hershel stepped out onto the porch and watched the group of men racing across the pasture toward the trees. He had a bad feeling in his gut. Maggie and Beth came out, the slamming screen door punctuating the piercing silence that fell after the shots.

Daryl smashed through the brush carelessly, his eyes scanning the ground for a trail, any trail, something to follow. Finally, his eyes locked on boot prints that were surely yours. He vaguely registered that there were much larger impressions in the soil too, several different boots much larger than yours. And they certainly weren’t from walkers.

“Son of a bitch,” he cursed under his breath. He froze and scanned the thick greenery. He strained his hearing again, listening for some sound, anything, to give him an idea of what was happening. Please don’t let me be too late, he thought frantically. He took off again but more cautiously, following the tracks you had clearly also discovered. Probably what had led you right into something…

Rick and the others were well into the trees now but Shane stopped everyone. “Rick, what the hell are we doin’ man? We don’t have a clue where Y/N and Daryl are. We can’t just go blindly crashing through here or we’re gonna end up in a bad spot too.”

Rick’s eyes frantically whirred over the seemingly endless tree trunks.

“Wait—I saw Y/N’s map yesterday. She had the whole thing sectioned out into search areas,” Glenn said. “Most of them were already crossed off.”

“Well, which ones weren’t?” Shane urged, checking to make sure there was a round chambered in his gun.

“Uhh—” Glenn’s mind raced. “I think—I think by that ridge, straight north of here. But I can’t be sure,” he trailed off.

Rick rubbed a hand over his face. They all listened for any sound, but the woods were oppressively silent now. “Shit…” he cursed under his breath.

“It’s the best we got,” T gasped, out of breath from the frenetic dash from camp.

Rick nodded. “Alright. Then we head north. Keep your heads on a swivel and your eyes peeled for any sign of Y/N or Daryl.”

Daryl moved as swiftly along the trail as he could. Suddenly, he spotted something lying on top of the litter out of the corner of his eye. Your pistol. Daryl grabbed it and the muzzle was still warm. Clearly, you’d been the one to fire at least some of those shots. “Fuck. Fuck…” He tucked it into his waistband and moved more cautiously now. His heart was pounding and sweat was pouring down his forehead. His knuckles were white on his crossbow. He rounded a downed tree and froze when he saw a dark shape on the ground ahead. His heart dropped into his stomach. Please don’t let it be Y/N… He was almost paralyzed with fear but he forced himself to take another couple steps. As he rounded the brush and straightened up, he knew it wasn’t you but his apprehension didn’t evaporate. It was a large man, clearly dead, completely covered in blood. The hair on the back of Daryl’s neck suddenly stood on end and he spun around, his crossbow up to his eye, ready to fire. But he dropped it involuntarily as he took in the scene before him, his jaw dropping partially open and his eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out what the fuck he was seeing.

You were standing there in front of him trembling from head to toe, your hands out in front of you with your knife clutched in one like it was a lifeline. Daryl could easily see the shakiness in your hands. You were completely covered in blood. Your clothing and skin were soaked in it, like you’d bathed in a crimson river. There was thick splatter on your face, neck, and chest. Your eyes were wide and fixed and you didn’t show any awareness that he was there in front of you. Daryl registered that your shirt was torn down from one shoulder and your bra strap had been cut. He didn’t need an explanation to know what the fuck had happened and rage swelled in his chest, stoking an intense fire. His eyes drifted down to two more bodies lying at your feet, each with uncountable stab wounds and one with his throat cut, his clothing drenched. The metallic smell of blood was in the air and Daryl could almost taste it on his tongue.

Still you showed no awareness that he was there. You seemed frozen, catatonic. He now registered that you had slash wounds through the fabric of your sleeves and cuts on your arms. Defensive wounds where you had blocked a knife attack. There was a purposeful cut partially up the hem of your jeans at the bottom, clearly from one of the men… It was nearly impossible to tell if you were hurt anywhere else because there was just so much blood…

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmured. “Y/N?” He took a cautious step toward you. “Y/N? Can ya hear me?”

Nothing. No reaction at all.

Just then Daryl heard the noise of several people in the woods nearby and he planted himself between you and the sound, raising his crossbow. “Ya better get the fuck outta here unless ya want an arrow between the eyes!” he roared.

Rick straightened up. That was Daryl. “Daryl?!”

Daryl gulped. “…Rick?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Shane, Glenn, and T! We’re comin’ to you! Are you alright?”

Daryl glanced back at you again. You were still just standing there shaking. “‘M fine. Wasn’t me who fired…” Daryl swung his pack off his back and dug inside it.

The men crashed through the underbrush and came into view, taking in the scene. “Oh my God.” The words spilled from Glenn’s lips. They were all glancing from the bloody bodies on the ground to your blood-soaked figure.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane uttered, pacing closer and bending to look at the slash wound in the one corpse’s neck. Daryl finally laid hands on his poncho and yanked it out of his bag. He turned to look at you and began approaching cautiously. “Y/N? It’s Daryl. Can ya hear me?”

Nothing.

Rick was slack-jawed as he looked at the scene. “Daryl… be careful,” he cautioned, eyeing the knife still gripped in your fist.

Daryl glanced back at him. “She ain’t gonna do nothin’ to me,” he drawled.

“Do you see this?” Glenn asked him urgently indicating the bodies. “This is insane. You don’t know that! She looks completely out of it, like she doesn’t even know we’re here!”

Daryl’s jaw clenched and he turned back to look at you again. “Don’t ya fuckin’ see her? She’s terrified. Look at her clothes. They were tryin’ to rape her,” he growled. “They deserve what they got.”

Shane straightened up from examining the bodies, glancing furtively over at you. “Maybe but… on the force, we’d call this ‘overkill’,” he said, backing up and exchanging a glance with Rick.

Daryl ignored him. “Y/N? It’s alright. You’re safe. Nobody is gonna hurt ya. Just lemme take your knife, okay?” There was no recognition on your face, your eyes still wide and fixed, until Daryl’s hand gently closed over yours and started to open your hand around the handle of your knife. He could feel you shaking beneath his fingers. “S’alright,” he said softly as your eyes landed on his face and then locked with his. Your brow drew down low, casting a shadow over the vaguely confused look on your face. As Daryl gently took your knife, he could see there was a very deep gash in your palm. It was bleeding heavily. He guessed it was either another defensive wound from you putting your hands up to stop one of the men’s knives or otherwise your hand, slick with blood, had slipped down onto your own blade when you’d been fighting them. “Glenn, get some gauze out of my pack and bring it over here,” he said. He spoke calmly and softly. He glanced back over at Glenn when he didn’t move from his slack-jawed frozen position. “Glenn. Gauze.” Glenn snapped himself out of it and went to Daryl’s bag. The archer gulped and draped his poncho over you, covering your ripped shirt. “S’alright,” he murmured again.

You didn’t take your eyes off his face. He wasn’t even sure if you realized the others were there. Glenn walked forward and handed Daryl the small roll of sterile gauze before backing up slowly. The look in your eyes was haunted and dazed and it left all of them feeling empty and concerned.

Daryl opened your hand flat and your eyes drifted down to watch him wrap the bandage over the wound on your palm. You couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t really feel anything, except Daryl’s hands on yours.

Shane turned to Rick. “Rick, what the hell are we gonna do about this? We can’t just waltz her back into camp covered in blood. You don’t want the others seein’ this… Carl? Lori? Or Hershel. Look at her. She looks completely unstable. This might be enough for him to kick us out right now.” He looked back at you over his shoulder.

Rick sighed heavily. “So, we’ll get her cleaned up first.”

Daryl was keeping one ear on the conversation going on behind him. “She needs stitches on this hand,” he drawled. “And who knows how else she’s hurt. Can’t see a damn thing on her right now. And since ya’ll are more worried about yourselves than her, I’ll take care of it. Why don’t ya just get the hell outta here,” Daryl growled.

Glenn stepped forward. “We are worried about her. But you have to admit that this is—this is—” He didn’t even know what word to use. Daryl just stared at him. You were hugging your arms around yourself now, still shaking. Your eyes were downcast, staring unseeing at the ground.

“Listen, I don’t give a shit what ya do. I’m gettin’ her outta here and taken care of.” He hastily shouldered his pack and his crossbow.

“Just—Daryl,” Rick started, pinching the bridge of his nose, the situation weighing on him heavily. “Clean her up a bit before you take her to Hershel to be looked over.”

The archer eyed him through a narrow glare for a moment before he nodded. He turned back to you, your frame swallowed up in his poncho. “C’mon. Let’s get ya home,” he said gently. Your eyes snapped up to his face again and you allowed him to lead you back toward the farmstead.

He picked a path carefully and finally the two of you broke out from the edge of the forest. The others back in the camp were staring at the tree line, wracked with nerves. Lori straightened up as she recognized movement. “Dale—someone just stepped out.”

Dale, standing on the RV, raised his binoculars to his eyes. “Oh my,” slipped from his lips.

“What? Who is it?” Carol asked anxiously.

“I think it’s Y/N and Daryl,” Dale said. “I can’t quite tell properly, but I think something is wrong with Y/N.” He squinted into the binoculars again. “My God. Her jeans are covered in blood and it—it looks like there’s blood on her neck, her face…”

Carol pressed a hand over her mouth. “Is she hurt?” she asked anxiously. “Was she bit?”

Dale shook his head, lowering the binoculars again. “They’re too far. I can’t tell what’s going on.”

Daryl looked up to see everyone standing almost in a line watching the two of you as you started across the field. He gulped and then put a hand lightly on your back, nervous and unsure of how you would react to the contact. He guided you toward his camp which was closest and was set apart from everyone else’s.

“C’mon and sit down, alright. We’re just gonna clean ya up a bit and then take ya to Hershel.” The look in your eyes was worrying him immensely but you sat down on a round of wood pulled up near the fire ring. He anxiously chewed on his bottom lip, trying to figure out how he could reassure you. “Hey. S’alright. You’re safe.”

You met his blue eyes and he finally saw some sense of relief in them. His stomach flipped at the way they softened and he nodded. He took in the sight of you in his poncho again and realized you’d need something else to wear to go see Hershel that wasn’t half ripped off you. “I’m gonna, uhh—” he cleared his throat nervously. “I’ll put a clean shirt out on my cot for ya. Ya can change in in my tent and then we’ll just clean ya up a bit, alright?” He knew better than to wait for a response and climbed to his feet and disappeared into his tent to set the clothes out. He dug around in his duffel bag until he found one that was still folded tightly, definitely clean, and he set it out for you. You watched the handsome archer reemerge from inside his tent and nod his head toward it. “Alright. Go ahead. I’ll just be right out here.”

He watched you get up and disappear, zipping the door behind you. He paced in front of the fire circle, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip thoughtfully as the image of you standing there in the woods, frozen, absolutely soaked in blood with your shirt half torn surged forward in his mind and he felt another sickening swell of anger. Jesus. Things could have gone so bad with those men… and they were fucking lucky they were already dead when he got there.

The soft rustling of the tent fabric interrupted his thoughts and you stepped out in his long-sleeved flannel, looking a bit dazed still but more grounded. He nudged his nose up in a nod. “C’mon and sit down,” he said, gesturing to the round of wood again. You sank down on it. Daryl grabbed a bucket of clean water that had been warming in the sun all day. He grabbed a cloth from inside his tent and caught sight of your bloody and torn shirt discarded on the floor, feeling another tight twist between his lungs, like someone had tugged a knot there.

You watched him kneel down in front of you and sink the cloth into the bucket of water, wringing it out before bringing it close to your face. He hesitated short of touching you. “S’this alright?” he drawled.

You gave him a questioning look but finally nodded, just one slight tip of your chin. You closed your eyes as the fabric came in contact with your cheek and Daryl started wiping away the blood. The cloth stained crimson quickly. He cleaned the splatters from across your forehead and your nose and the spots on the other side of your face. With the red stains gone, Daryl could see the shadow of a deep bruise along the side of your jaw. Without thinking he gently clasped your chin and turned your head so he could examine it, a heavy shadow falling over his blue eyes. He sunk the cloth back into the bucket of water and wrung it out again, this time pressing it to the side of your neck.

Despite how gentle he was being, you involuntarily sucked in a sharp hiss of air through your teeth as the cloth found the cut on the side of your neck from the leader’s knife. Your eyes blinked open through your wince.

“Sorry,” Daryl drawled, pulling back to look at the wound. “Jesus… Those assholes had a knife to your neck?” he asked. It was rhetorical and he didn’t expect an answer. He wiped at the blood spatter and you closed your eyes again, trying to breathe deeply and still the trembling you still felt wracking through you. Daryl could hear a shaky quality in your breathing. Soon, your face and neck were clean and Daryl turned his attention to your hands. Your eyes were still shut as he rinsed the cloth out again in the bucket. “Lemme see your hands,” he said softly. You found the deep gravel of his voice comforting.

Out of everyone in your group, you usually felt like Daryl was the only one who really saw you. You’d wanted to get to know him better, but held yourself back. He seemed to seek solitude like you did, and you didn’t want to force yourself into his world.

He took your hand, your palm resting against his, and he swept the cloth lightly over the back of it and down each finger. The sensation sent goosebumps rising on your skin and you glanced up at the concerned and intent expression on his face curiously. You couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had shown you so much attention and care. He took your other hand in his now, the one with gauze around it and the deep gash in your palm. He rubbed the blood from the back of each finger and then flipped it over in his hand. He frowned as he noticed that your blood had soaked through the bandage. “Probably need stitches on this one,” he murmured softly. The cloth tickled over the underside of each finger now, sweeping off the ends. “Alright. Push up them sleeves,” he said, dunking the cloth into the bucket again for what felt like the hundredth time.

“What?” He was startled by your voice and his eyes snapped up to look at you.

He straightened up, one of his eyebrows quirking down at the question. “Ya had a buncha cuts on your arms. We need to clean ‘em up and check ‘em. See if ya need stitches anywhere else.”

You shook your head.

He gave you a questioning look for a long moment and chewed on his bottom lip. “Alright. Ya can do it. I’ll just go tell Hershel you’re on your way in, alright?”

You stared at him for another long moment as he set the cloth on the edge of the bucket, whose water was now stained a dark pink. You glanced up as he climbed to his feet and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “C’mon up when you’re done and we’ll get that hand taken care of.”

Daryl started over toward the farmhouse and as he approached Carol rushed up to him. “What happened?” she urged him. “Are you okay? Is Y/N?”

He stopped, his hand on one hip. He glanced back out toward the trees and saw the rest of the group making their way back toward camp across the field. “‘M fine,” he drawled. “Y/N ran into some men out there when we were searchin’.”

“Men? What men? What happened? Is she alright?”

Daryl chewed his bottom lip and shrugged vaguely. “I don’t know how to—how to answer that,” he said truthfully.

Confusion muddled Carol’s expression and she glanced in the direction of you over at Daryl’s camp. “Well, what happened?” she asked again.

Daryl looked at her seriously and shrugged vaguely. “Y/N killed ‘em. Didn’t have no choice.” He continued his path up to the house and bounded up the porch steps, knocking on the front door. Carol stared after him, a bit shocked. Maggie answered, looking worried.

“Were those gun shots earlier?” she asked.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm… Hey, can your dad take a look at Y/N?”

“Of course. What happened?” she asked, holding the screen door open so he could step inside.

Hershel was there in an instant. “Daryl. What happened? We heard those shots.”

“Y/N and I were out lookin’ for Sophia. There were some men. She—she ran into some trouble.”

Hershel took a deep breath and nodded. “Is she alright?”

“I think she needs stitches in her hand. She took a good hit to her jaw too. Might have a concussion. I dunno,” he said. He anxiously chewed on his bottom lip again. “I know she’s got some cuts on her arms, defensive wounds, but she wouldn’t let me look at ‘em. Got a cut on her neck.”

“Oh my God,” Maggie said, her hand flying up to her mouth.

“What happened to the men?” Hershel asked.

Daryl quit chewing the side of his thumbnail. “Dead,” he said, watching the old farmer’s reaction closely, but the man’s face was blank. He simply nodded.

“I’ll get my kit. Have her come on in.”

Daryl headed back onto the porch to see how you were doing and you were on your way over. His eyes caught on the dark splatters and stains of blood on your jeans and the slit at the bottom. His stomach twisted. Maybe he should have had you change clothes completely… You were trying to ignore the eyes on you as you made your way over to the house.

Andrea and Lori exchanged a look at the state of your clothes.

“Come on in here and sit down,” Hershel said kindly. “Let’s take a look at that hand.” You offered up your gauze-wrapped hand and Hershel laid it out on the table, unwrapping the already blood-soaked bandage and taking a look at the deep gash. “Pretty deep cut here. Definitely need stitches.” He grabbed a needle from his kit and pricked the end of each of your fingers. They all twitched in response. “You can feel that?” You nodded. “Good. Looks like we dodged any nerve damage. Much deeper and you would have needed major surgery for a cut tendon and who knows what else. Maggie, dear, would you get the sutures set up while I clean this off?”

Nerve damage. Cut tendon. Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his spot leaned up against the wall. You hardly seemed to react to the news at all.

Hershel swabbed at your hand and you shut your eyes against the bite of the alcohol. “Now, Daryl tells me you took a good hit to the jaw. I’m just gonna check it and make sure nothing is broken.” He palpated both sides of your face, across your cheekbones and up your jawline. “Just a bit swollen,” he said. “Did you lose sight when you were hit?” he asked you, grabbing a small pen light and checking the dilation response of each of your pupils. You gulped and nodded. “Do you remember your name?” he asked you. You nodded again. “I need you to answer my questions verbally. I’m interested in your answers but also your speech.”

“My name’s Y/N.”

“When is your birthday?” Hershel asked.

You stared at him. “No one here knows my birthday. How will you know if I’m right or not?”

A small smile grew on Hershel’s face. “I’d say your speech and cognition are fine. Probably a mild concussion though with your eyesight blacking out. You’ll need to take it easy the next few days, rest and fluids, and let me know if you develop any new symptoms like vomiting or nausea, confusion, a worsening headache. Understand?”

You nodded again. “Yes. I understand.”

“Sutures are ready,” Maggie said.

Hershel put on a pair of clean gloves and prepared. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to numb you,” he said, propping your hand up on a towel so he could see it better.

“It’s alright. I would have told you to save it anyway,” you said. Daryl straightened up from his place against the wall and came to stand next to you. You could feel his eyes on your face.

“You’re one tough cookie,” Hershel said. “Let’s get this taken care of.” You hardly flinched as he passed the needle through…

Outside, Rick and the others were just arriving back at camp. Everyone gathered around and seemed to read on their faces that they were all unsettled.

“Rick,” Lori said, grabbing him into a hug. “What happened? We saw Daryl and Y/N come back. Her jeans were covered in blood.”

Rick looked down at her. “Nothing to worry about. It’s been taken care of.”

“Well, what was it?” Lori pressed him, her eyes still a bit wide and fearful.

Carol spoke up. “Daryl said she ran into some men and they’re—she killed them.”

Glenn and T were avoiding everyone’s eyes while Shane let out a frustrated sigh and paced away from the group, disagreeing with Rick still about the decision not to tell everyone you had clearly gone slasher on those assholes. Provoked or justified or not, Shane felt like that was something everyone should know. He’d gone far enough to describe you as a serial killer before Rick had stood him down. Rick nodded and looked at his wife and then at Andrea and Dale. “Y/N was attacked and she dealt with it. Hershel is gonna patch her up and there’s nothing to worry about.

“What if there are more of those men?” Carol asked fearfully.

“We only ever saw three different boot prints out there,” T reassured her. “But we’ll keep watch like we always do. We’ll be fine.”

Everyone still looked uneasy, but settled back into their tasks. Lori was about to go fetch some more water when Shane grabbed her arm and tugged her around the side of the SUV. She gave him a stern look and pulled her arm from his grasp.

“What?” she snapped at him, a bit unkindly.

“Rick ain’t tellin’ you everythin’,” he said.

Lori just stared Shane with a guarded expression. “I trust my husband. And you used to, too.”

“Yeah, well… What happened out there today? It should concern everyone.” His expression was dark and Lori felt her sense of unease grow.

Shane rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. “Y/N just—” Shane let out a sigh that had the edge of a growl to it.

“What are you talking about?” Lori pressed him in an undertone. “Are we in danger?”

Shane straightened up and pressed his lips into a thin line briefly before meeting her eyes. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I’m not taking my eyes off that girl.”

Inside, Hershel tied off the final stitch and snipped the suture. “All done.” He applied a layer of antibacterial ointment and wrapped your hand in a fresh dressing. “Try to keep it dry. And I mean it,” he gave you a pointed look, “take it easy for a few days. Daryl, you hold her to that. Anything else you need me to look at? Your arms? Daryl said—” You shook your head no. “Alright.”

The archer straightened up as you climbed to your feet. “Thank you,” you murmured to Hershel.

Daryl held the door for you and you cringed at how everyone’s eyes were on you immediately as you stepped out onto the porch. You avoided them and started heading in the direction of your camp. Daryl was still in step beside you and you hazarded a glance in his direction.

He could read a question in your eyes. “I’ll keep ya company for a bit if that’s alright... Besides, ya should be restin’ and somebody needs to make sure ya take care of yourself.” You didn’t say anything, but that also wasn’t a refusal. Daryl could tell you were still reeling a bit, and he wanted to be there just in case.

You arrived at your separate camp area and watched as Daryl immediately went and stirred up the coals in the fire, adding more wood and soon having a nice blaze going. You headed for your tent and glanced back over your shoulder at him. “Just gonna change,” you said softly. He nodded and went about heating something for you to eat along with water for tea. He was sure you had collected more ingredients and remembered that your bag was still sitting at his camp. He jogged to grab it and brought it back along with your bloodied and torn shirt, not sure what else to do with it. When he got back, you were sitting by the fire in clean and comfortable clothes, his shirt resting over your lap. You held it out to him as he dropped your pack beside you.

“Thanks,” he murmured. The fabric was still warm from your body. “Dunno what ya wanna do with this,” he said, holding yours out in turn.

You stared at it for a long moment before your fingers closed on it and Daryl watched as you immediately tossed it into the fire. In a moment, it was only ashes and embers. He sank down beside you and felt you studying him. He turned and met your eyes and was surprised when you spoke. “You aren’t afraid of me now? Like the others?” you asked softly.

“Nah. Why would I be?”

Your striking eyes focused back on the crackling campfire and the embers dancing upward on the warm torrent of air. “You saw what I did. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Daryl peered at you curiously for a long moment. “Ya were only protectin’ yourself. Can’t say I wouldn’t have done worse if I’d been there,” he drawled, and you could hear anger in the tension in his voice.

“I blacked out,” you said suddenly.

“When they hit ya? Ya, yer gonna have a good bruise tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You cradled your injured hand absently in the other. “The last thing I remember was the one starting to cut my jeans and then—then I was just covered in blood and they were all dead. And next thing I know you were taking my knife from me.” You shut your eyes for a moment. “I don’t remember anything else.”

Daryl considered the regretful expression on your face. “Don’t matter. Yer safe. That’s what counts. Those men? They had it comin’.”

You looked up at him in surprise and he simply nodded and then grabbed a mug and filled it with hot water for you. You accepted it and dug into your bag, pulling out the small sack of foraged herbs from the day. You dropped a few berries and leaves into your mug and cradled it with your uninjured hand.

It was nearly sunset and the quality of the light was cooling, oranges turning to reds and then fading into deep purples and inky blues. You allowed yourself to frequently study the archer as he shoved a bowl of reheated stew into your hands or added more wood to the fire. You felt surprisingly at ease with him there and he didn’t seem at all bothered by the passing of so much silence. Maybe the concussion just had you slightly numb, but you didn’t think so.

“You aren’t going to ask me?” you finally said.

Daryl looked over at you and he felt a stirring in his chest at the way the firelight was catching the shine and colors in your hair and the soft shape of your lips. “Ask ya what?”

“How I—Why I—” You didn’t even know how to phrase it really.

Daryl watched you struggled for a moment. “Ain’t none of my business. But if ya wanted to talk about it, I’ll listen. Not gonna lie and say I haven’t wondered about what came before ya were with the group.”

You had been on the verge of speaking it but suddenly lost your nerve and sipped at your tea again. Daryl watched you withdrawing again and rubbed a hand a bit nervously over the back of his neck. Darkness had fallen completely now. “Well, I’ll leave ya alone. Yer probably sick of me anyway,” he drawled. “Get some rest, alright?” Daryl had climbed to his feet and started to head in the direction of his own tent but your voice froze him.

“It’s not that I want to be alone all the time…” Daryl could hear the crackling of the fire in the silence that followed. “It’s just that alone usually feels safer.”

He glanced back at you, turning partially. “Ya. I know the feelin’,” he said gently, pacing back.

You looked up at him and something about your expression, your wide eyes, went straight to his core. “Stay,” you said quietly. “Please.” You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment. “Being with you feels safer…” you admitted, timidly.

Daryl felt an ache in his chest and nodded. He grabbed a seat beside you again and puzzled over this unprecedented turn of events.

You seemed to come to some decision suddenly and looked over at him intensely. He caught your eyes briefly and then watched as you pushed up your right sleeve. At first all he saw were the knife cuts, crimson against your skin, but you turned your forearm toward him in the firelight. “This is what I didn’t want you to see,” you said. You gulped. You’d never told anyone, never shown anyone, literally never talked about what had happened to you since you got out. You’d vowed that you would just move on, but the longer you suffered in silence the worse it seemed to get, until you felt like it would consume you. And then today, with those men, you’d just completely lost it. It had triggered something, a memory or maybe more like a nightmare, and when you came to you were bathed in blood and didn’t even recognize yourself, couldn’t believe what you’d done. Enough was enough. Maybe if you spoke it, admitted it, dealt with it in some way… maybe it’d get easier.

Daryl stared at a scar on your forearm. It looked like a brand and the skin was still slightly pink, showing that it wasn’t that old. It was four numbers. 1048.

[kindahoping4forever]

Hi Crystal!

Just looked through your blog to see if I had missed any thoughts you shared on the album, but instead I saw you said you didn't post anything bc no one asked. So I came here to ask ☺️

What song surprised you most? What's your current top 3? What line(s) keeps rotating in your head? What stood out to you most on first listen? (Feel free to ignore the questions if you'd like to just ramble about the album in general. I just want to know your thoughts haha)

What did you end up thinking of the iHeartradio set list? I was surprised they didn't play Bad Omens and that Complete Mess was actually the only new song they played.

They really did look hot. Especially Ashton. I feel like it's always especially Ashton lmao.

I really appreciate you both looking for and asking my opinion! (And sorry for the delay in answering, omg this week has been a lot both IRL and in 5SOS-land 🫠)

Current Top 3 would have to be: Caramel, Bad Omens and... Moodswings? Either Moodswings or Red Line. (I should do the song sorter to see how I really feel I guess 😌) I don't know if any particular song surprised me but I think in general, I was pleasantly surprised at how much their lyricism has continued to evolve. There's so much symbolism and truly poetic imagery in this album, while still maintaining an accessibility that doesn't distract from the sometimes painful honesty of what's being talked about.

Which was another surprise for me: they talked so much about wanting this album to feel lighter and brighter than CALM, how they purposely wrote in major chords and keys, how that's what the world "needs" - and they accomplished that, this album is energetic and a delight... but also contains some of their saddest lyrics to date. 😅 I'm definitely not complaining, sad girl hours all day everyday, I actually love that juxtaposition, but that was funny to me.

Another pleasant surprise (for me anyways lmao) is how Ash-heavy this album feels - and I don't just mean how rhythm heavy it is or the fact that he actually gets lead vocals (that would've been enough though 😍) and is so audible in the group vocals. One of the things I've always loved about 5SOS is at least to me, I feel like they each have distinct songwriting/melodic voices and tendencies and so it's often apparent whose artistry is driving a song. And so to me, I hear a lot of Ash melodies and I see his large fingerprints all over some of these lyrics. Which makes me both happy and sad because like I said, this album is lowkey depressing as fuck but you know what, the man knows how to make beautiful art out of that darkness so 😌

I don't know if I'm ready to say it's my favorite album or their best album yet (historically I usually say YB is the fav and CALM is their best, for the record) but I am definitely very happy and very proud of what was accomplished here! 👏🏻👏🏻

iHeartRadio thoughts under the cut!

I really really loved the iHeart set! I saw them at Wango Tango (another iHeart event) and while I will never complain about seeing them live, their set there was... puzzling to say the least. Only 5 songs total and the only new song they did was Me Myself & I, which was only a few weeks old and had not received the radio exposure that Complete Mess had (and also a bit too mid-tempo for the set IMO).

I think they definitely made strides to correct those issues in the iHeart set and it was a dream! At a radio/festival show, the goals should be crowd engagement (which is why I think they mostly stuck to their best known songs) and giving a performance so memorable, no matter how many artists play, you're the one people go home remembering. For that reason, Teeth should always be in their festival set, even if people don't know it (and it seemed like a surprising amount did!), it slaps so hard, it's gonna be a moment whether you're a fan or not. I think they should also consider making Complete Mess a staple in that kind of set, it's also a great live moment and I think gives a good example of what kind of band they'd like to be seen as in this era. And I will never get over the fact we got No Shame/Easier/More at a radio show, that's nuts. It's what we (and More) deserve. 10/10.

[thedreamermusing]

Harry identified with and reluctantly admired Snape even before ‘The Prince’s Tale’

So, 'Albus Severus' is admittedly is a controversial name in fandom due to Snape's own dubious morality. And people also think that Harry going from hatred to admiration of Snape so quickly is unrealistic. But, that's not true. There's no doubt that Harry hated Snape, but amid that hatred, there was also reluctant admiration and even identification with Snape. Let's see a few examples:

Harry did not speak; he felt that to say anything might be dangerous. He was sure he had just broken into Snape’s memories, that he had just seen scenes from Snape’s childhood, and it was unnerving to think that the crying little boy who had watched his parents shouting was actually standing in front of him with such loathing in his eyes. . . .

Probably the first time Harry is looking at Snape as anything more than his hated Potions professor. But it is still significant considering Harry's own abusive childhood.

His reaction to Snape's Worst Memory:

What was making Harry feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him — it was that he knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as his father had taunted him, and that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him.

His immediate reaction after watching Snape's memory is to empathise with Snape, because he knows what it's like to be bullied in front of a crowd.

We also get hints of how similar Snape and Harry are. Even Hermione comments on it:

Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff —” “Well,” said Hermione, “I thought he sounded a bit like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yes, when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?”

Hermione comments on how they both sound similar. Snape and Harry do have a lot in common as we will find out later, but this is one of the first hints of another character noticing it.

But imo, the largest culmination of Harry's reluctant admiration is in the case Snape's old textbook, when he called himself the Half-blood Prince. This is teen Snape; Snape as Lily knew him, Snape without all the baggage that he has with Harry. And what is Harry's opinion of him?

Harry woke early on the morning of the trip, which was proving stormy, and whiled away the time until breakfast by reading his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. He did not usually lie in bed reading his textbooks; that sort of behavior, as Ron rightly said, was indecent in anybody except Hermione, who was simply weird that way. Harry felt, however, that the Half-Blood Princes copy of Advanced Potion-Making hardly qualified as a textbook. The more Harry pored over the book, the more he realized how much was in there, not only the handy hints and shortcuts on potions that was earning him such a glowing reputation with Slughorn, but also the imaginative little jinxes and hexes scribbled in the margins, which Harry was sure, judging by the crossings-out and revisions, that the Prince had invented himself.

Harry's admiration is practically dripping through the pages. He's staying up at night reading the book, admiring the boy who was so clever.

One of the most interesting lines is also this:

“My dad used this spell,” said Harry. “I — Lupin told me.” This last part was not true; in fact, Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be —?

Harry is so attached to Snape's old textbook that he wishes it was his father. Harry is hungry for father figures and the fact that he elevates the Prince to this kind of figure from just his textbook is significant. It shows the lost potential between Harry and Snape. Who is the Prince but a younger Snape? It shows that had Snape been a little less bitter and damaged, he could have been a mentor figure for Harry.

These two have so much in common: their lives are defined by Voldemort and they're not truly free until he's dead, they're both half-bloods who grew up in the muggle world, they both suffered abusive childhoods, they were both bullied, they're both sarcastic and dry, they both can get very vicious (Snape more so obviously), they're both completely loyal to Dumbledore, they're both brave and stubborn as hell. I truly believe that had Snape not been so blind, he could have been a great father figure for Harry simply because of how similar they are and how much they could relate to each other.

He felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage; what had the Prince been thinking to copy such a spell into his book? And what would happen when Snape saw it? Would he tell Slughorn — Harry’s stomach churned — how Harry had been achieving such good results in Potions all year? Would he confiscate or destroy the book that had taught Harry so much…the book that had become a kind of guide and friend? Harry could not let it happen…He could not…

Harry thinks of the Prince as a friend and guide.

“Will you stop harping on about the book!” snapped Harry. “The Prince only copied it out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!”

“I don’t believe this,” said Hermione. “You’re actually defending —“

“I’m not defending what I did!” said Harry quickly. “I wish I hadn’t done it, and not just because I’ve got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn’t’ve used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can’t blame the Prince, he hadn’t written ‘try this out, it’s really good’ — he was just making notes for himself, wasn’t he, not for anyone else…”

Even after 'Sectumsempra', Harry defends the Prince like this. As a side note, I also think that Harry's relationship with the Prince somewhat mirrors Lily's relationship with Snape. They both admired and loved the boy who was so clever and imaginative and were willing to blind themselves as that boy went deeper into the dark side.

He broke off, looking out of the window. He could not stop himself dwelling upon Dumbledore’s inexcusable trust in Snape…but as Hermione had just inadvertently reminded him, he, Harry, had been taken in just the same…in spite of the increasing nastiness of those scribbled spells, he had refused to believe ill of the boy who had been so clever, who had helped him so much..

This is after Snape killed Dumbledore, and Harry's primary feeling about the Prince is one of betrayal. Ultimately, I believe Harry's relationship with the Prince is pivotal in his understanding of Snape, and I firmly believe that this also informed his decision to name his son after Snape. After watching Snape's dying memories, Harry's admiration of the Prince returned and merged with his feelings towards Snape. It is no coincidence that the chapter revealing Snape's true allegiance is called 'The Prince's Tale', telling us that Snape truly is the same Prince Harry admired and wished was his father.

Harry's feelings towards Snape after the Prince's tale is obvious. Throughout Snape's memories, he identifies with him, not James. He immediately notices that James has an air of being loved and adored while Snape conspicuously lacks it. He cannot bring himself to watch Snape's Worst Memory again. After watching the memories, he identifies with both Snape and Tom Riddle as 'the abandoned boys' who were outcasts and only found their home in Hogwarts.

In short, I believe Harry's admiration of Snape was not sudden or inexplicable but something he always reluctantly felt. He identified with Snape even when he hated him. Once he saw Snape's memories in his entirety, he understood and identified with them even more because Harry has been in Snape's shoes. He's been a dark-haired, abused, bullied, half-blood outcast. And he knows how hard it is to be brave in those circumstances. While the readers might have trouble understanding why Snape would have a child named after him, Harry doing so is not a surprise.

[putseraphinaonthaphone]

High Sex HCs

Bakugou

God help you if this man smokes sativa before y'all fuck

"Stop fucking running and take this fucking dick" is a common theme

Any self respecting pussy having person would try to take a break after the fourth round!

And the fifth, and the sixth

You started on your hands and knees

Then it was just your knees while he fucked you hard enough to make his hips slap against your ass while he pummeled your cervix like the bully many accused him of being

Then you couldn't keep yourself up anymore and he started getting creative in finding ways to make sure you took his deep as possible

"Where do you think you're going? This pussy is mine to fuck full. Again. And Again. Until you're round with my babies, baby. Understood?"

Even when the weed wears off

just seeing you crying and leaking his cum and begging him to let you rest cause it's too much

will have him rolling up another blunt while y'all "rest"

Shinsou

He grows his own strains of indica because most strains for sale in town aren't enough to help him sleep

So when you go over to smoke with him you're knocked out by the first blunt, even though you'd been so sure you could handle his weed

Since he won the bet, he was happy to collect on his prize. The one you two agreed on while you blushed and flirted your heart out; letting him fuck you in you sleep

You're already soaked by the time you fall asleep against his chest, both of you having been cuddling while soft music played and exchanging secrets about your darkest fantasies (because it was the good indica, the kind that made you horribly horny even as you struggled to keep your eyes open)

He fingered you with ease and even though you were probably going to sleep well into the night you were still so responsive, moaning softly and making cute little whining sounds every time he added another finger to stretch you out

Fucking you while you slept and sighed and moaned for him was turning him on a lot more than expected

The weed and the sight of you stuffed full of cock while you dreamed completely unaware combined into a dark pleasure that grabbed him by the balls until he was make a cummy mess of your pussy

Tamaki

You bought the weed from Shinsou, and now Tamaki was relaxed and horny enough to fuck you stupid

"This is what you wanted isn't it?" He pinched your nipples as he fucked you harder and deeper than he usually let himself, finding it was cute the way the weed and his dick had a similar effect on you:

heavy lidded eyes, heavier breathing, and you stopped being able to speak coherently

"Big Tama, so fucking big I'm going to break-"

"That's not what I asked silly," he taunted and from the way you clenched around him you could focus enough to realize how fucked out you sounded and be embarrassed by it, which was good because if he couldn't make your pussy milk him tighter by being mean to you what was the point of degradation?

You could feel him rearranging your guts and you were selfishly pleased no one snapped him up before you two got together, it meant your shy lover and his long girthy cock were all yours- even when he stopped being so shy

Denki

It was ironically perfect, that he could charge every dab pen y'all had (which was quite a few because both of y'all were dedicated stoners) right before a night of cross faded party hopping

By the last party he's too hot from the way you've been dancing on him all night to wait, so you're gasping and trying to keep quiet while he fucked you against the wall of the upstairs hallway

The music downstairs is spilling up the stairs and giving you guys a bit of cover but the way he just pushed you against the wall and pulled your panties aside already has you being too loud

"I don't need to be prepped just fuck me fuck me fuck me-"

"Shut up!" He stuffed his fingers in your mouth and stuffed his cock in your pussy hard and deep and fast, making you moan- once again, too loud even with him muffling you

"If you're this loud when I'm just fucking your pussy then maybe I shouldn't take your ass.."

You whined like he would be robbing you if he didn't take your ass against a wall where anyone could catch you, and that's what made him forgive you for screaming when he blew his load in your tightness while circling your clit with his thumb

Tokoyami

Sativa made Tokoyami hungrier to fuck you again and again until you were twitching and leaking his cum and so overstimmed you could barely speak

"F-fumi--" You were certain you'd passed out at some point, but once again you woke to feeling him fucking you

The combined mess of bodily fluids between your thighs made the most embarrassing squelching sounds as he ground his cock into you, deeper- always deeper

It was after that particularly memorable night of discovering his breeding kink that you had a serious talk with him about why you were on birth control in the first place and that you had to limit the amount of times he came inside you

But every time y'all got high together you ended up getting filled

Indica made Dark Shadow strong enough to convince Tokoyami to double penetrate you with him

You weren't sure how it was possible (Tokoyami refused to go into detail and got incredibly flustered when you tried to question him) but Dark Shadow was able to cum inside you

So it didn't matter who took which hole, you were leaking cum from both your ass and your pussy by the time they were done fucking you senseless

Hybrid strains makes them both in the mood to stuff your pussy together and fill your womb, regardless of the fact that you're not on birth control for once (one of the small windows where you were talking the placebo pills)

You were sure you wouldn't have even considered this if you hadn't smoked just as much as your partner

You were seriously reconsidering as you felt Dark Shadow manifest a shaft just large enough to be painful when pushed inside you alongside Tokoyami's shaft

They were going to just feed off each other as they got more excited and you knew they already hated your reasoning for why you couldn't get pregnant

"G-guys you can't.. cum inside okay?"

They both groaned and pushed into you deeper at your words

"Seriously.. guys!"

Deku

High Deku is a fuckboy don't at me

All of a sudden it's "say less, ma" and his hands are wandering shamelessly

Because not only does weed make him horny, but it makes it easier to hold back so basically-

marathon sex

you're not walking after fam, just accept this

He's just as caring and thoughtful about your pleasure as always, making you fall apart on his fingers and cock again and again, he's just a little more cocky like his Kacchan usually is about it when he's high

"Now just three more on my tongue and then we'll see if I'm ready to cum.. but if you look too cute while I'm eating you out I might need to just keep fucking you after that"

He cums twice in your pussy and when you beg him to let you rest and he keeps trying to fuck one more load into you, you throw out mindlessly "Just fuck my ass instead please! I'm so sore, 'Zuku, please.."

He runs with it

Now you're begging him to cum because your ass can't take as much as your pussy, and even though he's masterfully touching your clit and helping you cum- he feels so much thicker in your ass when you're shivering and shaking from his mouth on your throat and his thumb grinding into your sensitive clit

When he finally fills your ass he gets a little too excited and all you remember is green lightning filling your room before he fucked you unconscious

Shoto

Likes to use his quirk on you when he's high, spanking you with painfully hot palms and fucking you with ice fingers at the same time

His tongue and dick are always addictingly hot though

Cold fingers pinch your nipples once he's inside you, and his hot hand on your hip while he's fucking you makes you feel branded- owned

You weren't sure if you hated it or loved it but weed also got your usually clammed up boyfriend to finally start talking

"I always wonder, are you always a slut like this during sex or is it just with me? Either way I don't think I can let anyone else ever see you like this. You're mine forever now darling."

Your pussy clenched around him in agreement and he groaned, his voice turning accusatory as he fucked you harder making the wet squelching more evident "Your pussy is more honest than you are. She know's who her master is doesn't she?"

"Shoto!"

"Quiet now. I'm trying to ask if she wants me to give her a baby."

You screamed when you came then, and when you could finally focus again Shoto was pressing your thighs to your chest and fucking you in a deep mating press telling you heatedly

"You fucking -hng, squirted all over me baby. That means you want it too right? You want me to fuck a baby into your womb?"

You knew you were on birth control even if his high ass forgot but you couldn't even get that out, arousal took over your brain and all you could do was beg him "Yes, please Sho, give me a baby-"

You were high as fuck too, and it felt too good to pretend he could get you pregnant like you asked