#its intentionally meant to look older

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Hyperbole

Hyperbole

An intentional exaggeration or an exaggerated statement that isn’t meant to be taken literally.

Typically used to make writing and speech more exciting using exaggeration. An imaginative hyperbole can capture the attention of a reader or listener as they analyze the hyperbole to understand the user’s actual meaning.

Examples of Hyperbole

Jim fell off the roof and broke every bone in his body.

Don’t touch that hive unless you want to deal with a million angry bees.

We looked forever for the remote but couldn’t find it.

My sister will eat anything.

The whole world was against me, but I managed to complete the report on time.

That comment is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said.

My mom keeps checking up on me every five seconds.

The explosion was loud enough to wake the dead.

I told him a billion times to keep the window closed.

My dad will kill me if he finds out I failed my math test.

That house is older than the dinosaurs.

The TV weighed a ton, so I had to drag it across the room.

Our grandma was the smartest person who ever lived.

The star running back is a bulldozer who destroys anything in his path.

I was sweating buckets while working outside today.

We live in Dallas, and my brother lives a million miles away in Toronto.

Hurry up and hand me the scissors before I die of old age.

The clowns had the entire audience dying with laughter.

She’s been working nonstop on her new painting.

My job is so easy that a monkey could do it.

Our daughter is a little angel.

The smell was so bad it would’ve downed a bull elephant.

Gaston is stronger than 10 men and has a smile that lights up the room.

Since she got sick and stopped eating, my cat has been nothing but skin and bones.

Hyperbole is an example of a rhetorical device.

Typically, a rhetorical device is defined as a technique or word construction that a speaker or writer uses to win an audience to their side, either while trying to persuade them to do something or trying to win an argument.

In the case of hyperbole specifically, exaggerated language can give an audience a sense of scale. For example, hyperbole can be used to imply an issue a speaker supports is very important or be used to imply an issue a speaker opposes is unimportant or dangerous.

At the same time, hyperbole can help establish a rapport with an audience, as it’s often seen as an example of less formal language.

it is important not to confuse or mislead an audience.

It should be clear whether or not a statement is a hyperbole.

A good practice is to use extreme embellishment or impossible feats in your hyperbole to make it abundantly clear that you are exaggerating. For example:

Ambiguous hyperbole: There are twenty cats in the barn. (A possible event.)

Clear hyperbole: There are a billion cats in the barn. (An impossible exaggeration.)

In formal writing and serious situations, hyperbole must be used sparingly and effectively.

Because hyperbole is often viewed as less formal, it may come across as inappropriate or make the user seem as though they aren’t serious.

When an audience expects accurate information or hard facts, hyperbole can give the impression that the speaker doesn’t have the information the audience wants or is intentionally concealing it from them.

Ill-timed use of hyperbole like this can damage the speaker’s credibility or weaken their influence over their audience.

Literary Examples of Hyperbole

His horses are the finest and strongest that I have ever seen, they are whiter than snow and fleeter than any wind that blows. —Iliad by Homer (7th/8th century BCE)

Nor was Stubb the only banqueter on whale’s flesh that night. Mingling their mumblings with his own mastications, thousands on thousands of sharks, swarming round the dead leviathan, smackingly feasted on its fatness. —Moby Dick by Herman Melville (1851)

It surprised me that what before was desert and gloomy should now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure. My senses were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight and a thousand sights of beauty. —Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (1818)

Sources ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[hailsato]

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT !! 18+ NSFW!! !!MINORS DNI!! !!ALL characters involved are 18+ NO MINOR CHARACTERS!!

tags: dead dove, manipulation, lack of experience, toxic relationship, sexual coercion in the first part, discomfort, peer pressure, violence, some sexism, misogynistic 'values,' overprotective big brother!satoru, angry toru, not so cheerful him, dubcon, incest, loss of virginity, some verbal abuse, 'sl_t' as derogative and later as affectionate, cnc

synopsis: you've been ignored by your family for lack of curse abilities- being the opposite of your big brother. despite that, you've had a good relationship with him. you end up in a situationship because you want to fit in so bad and want a relationship. things escalate but not for the better, and he rescues you from the boyfriend, but has punishment in store,

word count: 1.65k

It did not matter that you were born without curse abilities. At least not to your older brother, who was clearly the favourite not just out of your family, but out of the whole clan.

Because, of course, he was, as the inheritor of the six eyes.

That didn’t bother you much. Well, it did while you were younger. You used to get jealous sometimes, and heartbroken most times. But Toru-nii was always there to make you feel better. More stoic when he was younger, and childishly cheerful when he was a teenager. 

And over time, instead of feeling jealous towards him, you found you loved him for that. As for the clan and your parents? Well, you decided as you got older that it was for the best they didn’t care about you, since that meant you were mostly left to your own devices, unbothered unless some event required all important and unimportant members present.

Recently, you reconnected with an old classmate as he had returned to the city for work purposes. You started meeting him at restaurants or coffee shops, catching up and just feeling lively under the attention that most of your family deprived you of. Even Satoru was busy with his work at the school, and you knew better than to bother him.

So, it wasn’t that you intentionally kept this budding friendship hidden, especially from him. It was just that you didn’t know if he would even care to know, or have the time.

In any case, after some discussions with and persuasion by the old classmate- er boyfriend? You weren’t sure what you were to each other anymore, since you held hands every now and then. And he had kissed you recently. 

But never asked you out.

When you’d balked at the suggestion, only a few days after the kiss by the way, to sleep together, he had tutted like you were a silly child. “Of course, it’s only reasonable for us to see if we’re compatible in bed before we make it official,” Jira had said to you, his tone patient and all-knowing.

And you, unfamiliar with dating and how these things usually went, were starting to get swayed by his words. In fact, it worked so well, that you had promised him that tonight you would go ahead and sleep with him- and no! I promise I won’t chicken out like the last time. 

Or like the last ten times.

It didn’t matter that you were trembling as he held you on his lap, hands roaming your body greedily, his mouth attached to your neck. And all you could think of was how disgusting it was to be slobbered with spit, about how embarrassing it would be if someone were to look closely as they walked by- because yes. Your once classmate and now situationship hadn’t even bothered to take you up to the motel room. Perhaps he was in such a rush in case you changed your mind like the previous times. 

Was that bad? Were you bad for not making up your mind? 

At least, the previous times this had started, you’d gotten wet, you thought, biting your lip to muffle the breathy sounds as he mauled your neck. Did he even bring lube? 

Your thoughts were interrupted when the car door was yanked open- and was it hanging off its hinges?! Before your bleary eyes could even adjust in the dark, you’d been yanked out, blouse hanging off your shoulder from the force of the pull. 

“Wha-” you muttered, instinctively hugging yourself as muted pounds filled your ears before your eyes could even adjust.

And the car door was still hanging loosely off its hinges, your friend not visible, though you could hear his muffled cries as someone caged him in, beating him with large fists. 

Was this a mugging?! 

No… If that were the case, the culprit would’ve just grabbed your bag and made a run for it. 

Then you caught a glimpse of light- white!- hair as the two figures writhed against each other in the backseat.

Toru-nii. 

God. 

Well, actually, you were sorta relieved. Once you actually realized you were in no danger. And… also glad because now you wouldn’t have to go through with sleeping with your friend. He had started to seem more and more mean as of late anyway.

Still. You didn’t want your brother to be labelled a murderer because of that guy, so you bent down a little to peer into the car, pushing a lock of your dark hair behind your ear. 

“Toru-nii! Please leave him. I want to go home,” you called, trying to keep your teeth from chattering as the chill seemed to seep into your bones. 

You weren’t sure he heard you, and were about to repeat yourself when he pulled away. He grabbed your bag from the front seat, long limbs folded awkwardly for a moment as he turned in the cramped car, before climbing out without so much as a second glance at Jira.

That was okay. You didn’t really look at Jira either, barely making out his swollen eye and ripped shirt stained red as blood dribbled from his busted lip. 

“Aniki-,” you started, but one look in your direction had silenced you, those intense blue eyes seeming to glow in the dark parking lot.

Wordlessly, you followed him to his car and climbed in, not even questioning how he’d known where you were or what you were doing.

Who knew his sweet little sister would grow up to be such a slut? Well, perhaps he was a bit to blame too since he barely kept contact after leaving, especially after Geto’s defection and his own job.

Still. To think that you were willing to let that loser fuck you in the back of a car? To think you’d allow the fucker to touch you at all?

Boiled his blood.

Which is why he’d dragged you straight to his room. And you didn’t protest or ask questions, thinking you deserved the earful you were about to get.

Satoru huffed. Oh, you’d be getting more than just an earful.

He didn’t even bother to lock the door, knowing nobody would dare disturb him. Especially after he’d returned after so long.

“How did you find me?” 

Your voice seemed muffled, like it was coming from behind a closed door, and Satoru realized it was his mind that was hazy. With rage.

“You have the gall to ask?” he said, voice deceptively calm. “Since y’had no problem being a little slut back there, let me give you what you want.”

The next few moments were a blur- he wouldn’t say his body moved on its own. Because it did exactly what he wanted in the moment- it was just that the mix of  intense emotions had somewhat blinded him. Metaphorically, speaking of course.

But there you were, fat tears in the corners of your eyes, soft belly heaving with your punctured breaths as his cock mercilessly pounded you. One hand gripped your ankles near your chin, bare legs folded over your torso, crushing it a little with the weight he was pushing down on you. Not fully, but enough to make your breath come out strained.

“T-Too deep, nii-chan,” you hiccuped, shaky hands covering your red face.

Satoru slapped your hands away, his thrusts never slowing down. “Yeah, yeah. You can take it,” he hissed, admittedly a bit meanly.

That made more tears sting your eyes, because he’d never been mean to you! Big brother Toru was the only one who’d consistently been kind and loving towards you. 

Did he hate you now?

Maybe you said that out loud, because even under the damn blindfold, you could see a shift in his expression. From meanly curled, his lips went a bit slacker, more neutral. 

You flinched as a large hand- and why had you never realized before how big nii-chan’s hands were?- wiped your cheeks gently.

“Just relax,” his tone had shifted too, words still clipped, but voice no longer growling insults at you. “Y-You’re doing good,” he muttered, before lowering down further, causing your knees to crush further into your chest, but that was okay, because he wasn’t angry anymore. And he was leaning down to pepper kisses along your cheeks and bite the fleshy bits.

“Really?” you asked, voice small and breathless. 

He huffed in response, snapping his hips faster, smirking as your eyes went wide and your back arched up into him, mouth hanging open as the changed angle hit that spot repeatedly. 

And why was it so loud, so wet? Were you just noticing the wet slapping sounds now, or were they really not there before.

There wasn’t much time to ponder that on your own, and each time you’d opened your mouth to ask, the words had been steadily fucked out. Was he still angry at you? Didn’t matter- not with how desperately your pussy was throbbing around his length, the slobbery mess of your juices slicking each slide in and out.

“I-I,” you frowned slightly, having something important to say, trying to concentrate. But he wouldn’t let you.

“Just shut up,” he huffed, but not meanly this time- you could see the amused smirk pulling at his sinful lips through your blurry vision.

And maybe it was that sight, maybe it was how deep he plunged in- the head of his cock meeting your g-spot in a hard kiss-, maybe it was the wet sounds- but your eyes rolled back, vision going dark as you throbbed and clenched around him, cumming the hardest you ever have- you fingers a pathetic comparison to being rage-fucked by Satoru.

Good little slut.

Where did that come from? Did he say that? Or did you imagine that? Either way, that was not your concern, your exhausted body falling into slumber before he’d even pulled out.

[tititilani]

Am I writing arguably my first thing in like two years for DBDA? Maybe. Do I even think it's any good? No. Do I particularly care? Also no.

This idea just wouldn't leave me alone so I banged it out in like three hours. Also fun fact, I wrote this partially by candelight because my power went out. Ambiance, anyone? I also posted this on my AO3 in case anyone wants to read this there instead. Just ignore any indiscrepancies in this, I just didn't care that much. <3

wash out the salt from my hands. 1.5 words.

Time moves differently than it does on Earth, as it turns out. Mostly pre-relationship Paineland.

He doesn’t think much of it, at first.

Charles is too caught up in relief, too relieved to have Edwin back where he can keep him safe again, to think about the weird phrasing.

“For decades.” Edwin says with a quiet hitch to his voice, more vulnerable than Charles can ever remember seeing him. He looks stripped down and vulnerable now, without the stiff bowtie and uniform that Charles is so used to seeing him in. Tear tracks mark his cheeks, cutting through the grime that seems to cover every inch of the hell pit they’ve found themselves in.

Their reunion is marred by the gruesome sounds of the last Edwin being devoured at the other end of the room and Charles can’t look too closely at the pile of corpses without getting enraged. He’s already angry at how long it took him to locate Edwin, how many times he had had to go through this loop before Charles could rescue him, but he knows where his priority lies now.

He wants nothing more than to clutch Edwin to him, stitch them together so closely that nothing could ever pry them apart again. He knows it’s not feasible (he’s checked) but he would stitch himself into Edwin’s ribcage without hesitation if it meant Edwin never had to come down to this place again. He also knows that now is not the ideal time for a big reunion, which can come after they are both safe.

“Well, I’m here now, so,” he says, pulling out a lit bomb from his bag and watching the flames glint in the depths of his best mate’s gaze.

“I have been dead for over a hundred and thirty years, after all, of course I should be the bait.”

Edwin’s tone is reasonable even if what he just said is not and he blinks when Charles levels him with a weird look because of it. Something in Charles lurches uncomfortably at the idea that Edwin should be bait for anything again, let alone a hungry beast that seems to specifically eat ectoplasm, and he’s immediately distracted away from it.

“Mate, you are not being bait. We can figure something else out that doesn’t end in you possibly being eaten.”

It’s been some months now since Charles gave a metaphorical finger to hell and rescued the other ghost but the idea of Edwin intentionally being put back in danger still scrapes over nerves that are far too raw. The Edwardian may look as though he is back to his normal posh self, all stiff bowties and perfectly parted hair but he has seen Edward flinch at enough dolls in enough windows to know he is not completely back to normal. Them managing to get Niko back was like slotting a missing puzzle piece back into Edwin’s frame but Charles still knew that there were pieces that could probably never be found.

Edwin frowns at him, fussing with his bowtie in a rare tell. “Per my books, this creatures likes older ghosts for its course – who else can we use?”

Charles thinks on the new and improved cricket bat tucked away in his bag. “I’ve been dead thirty years – should be enough to get the thing’s attention, yeah?”

“Absolutely not!”

(For once, Charles wins an argument.)

The witch is giving him the creeps.

One of her two eyes is bulging out far enough Charles is kind of worried it’s just going to...pop out. He’d try to catch Edwin’s eye but his nose is too far buried in one of the tomes the witch had given them to notice the way said witch is fixated on Charles. She seems to be mostly harmless at least, or at least hasn’t tried anything to make him reach for his bag but the way she is staring at him still has him on edge.

“Your bones are so old now but you are older still,” she tells him in a croaky old voice finally like it’s some sage wisdom and Charles just...has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that. Those books better be so worth it.

“Pretty sure my bones and I are the same age, ta,” he tells her in a voice he really hopes hides how completely bananas he thinks she is. He thinks she’s absolutely around the bend but is trying to play nice to make sure Edwin gets to play in her bookstore as long as he wants to. He’d be willing to deal with a lot worst things if it means he gets to enjoy the little sparkle that new books always put in Edwin’s green eyes.

The bulging eye bulges even more and he leans back in his seat a tad just in case there’s suddenly a splash zone. “Souls are aged by realms traveled,” she says in an even more grave tone while somehow making even less sense at the same time. He has no idea where Edwin has disappeared to in the books stacked precariously around the store but Charles hopes he surfaces soon.

Preferably before an eye falls into his lap or something.

It’s a dark night and Edwin’s head is in his lap.

There are no open cases at the moment, no one in the office, and an abandoned game of Cluedo is on the table. As ghosts, their sense of touch is almost completely nonexistent but Charles still swears that he can feel every strand of Edwin’s hair as he runs his fingers through it. He’s trying to be as gentle as he can be because Edwin deserves every scrap of gentleness Charles can give.

Edwin’s eyes are closed and that little wrinkle that is so common between his eyebrows has been smoothed away into unlined skin by Charles’ thumb. He can’t be super comfortable, his long legs draped over the other arm of the couch, but he also doesn’t seem inclined to move. Ghosts don’t have the ability to sleep or Charles would think Edwin had dozed off against his thigh.

They had been talking a little bit ago but that had faded off and for once, Charles didn’t feel the need to break the silence just yet. He has Edwin close and comfortable and safe and he finds he doesn’t need much else at this moment.

“I did not think I could have this,” Edwin murmurs finally, his tone soft and wondering. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, something Charles is momentarily grateful for. He knows that if Edwin looked up at him, moonlight in his emerald eyes, that there is nothing Charles wouldn’t do to give him anything. “A century in hell was almost worth it.”

Charles’ hand pauses. “A century?”

Maths was never his best subject in school but even he knows the difference between seventy years and a hundred years. The two of them are so tangled together on the couch that he can feel the moment tension returns to Edwin, tightening up his lanky frame and when he finally opens an eye to look up at him, he looks almost worried.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” he finally says, voice hushed in the darkness of their office. “But time moves differently in hell. This last time in Port Townsend was about a decade. My first...visit was closer to ninety, I think.”

Charles’ hand spasms at that, the only thing keeping him from clenching it is the fact he doesn’t want to even accidentally pull on Edwin’s hair, even if it wouldn’t be felt. Edwin deserves so much gentleness. The sheer magnitude of how much time he had spent down in hell, fruitlessly attempting to outrun its horror, would make Charles sick if he still had a stomach.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks finally when his urge to scream has faded. After another moment, he resumes petting Edwin and almost against his will, the other boy’s eyes slide closed.

“I did not want you to know how long I was down there,” Edwin says in a low voice. “I thought you might be angry.”

“Never,” Charles says fiercely, voice almost too loud in the quiet of their room. “I would never have left you down there, even if it had taken me a thousand years.” He swallows back everything else he wants to say, like the fact Edwin spent so much longer than even a few hours being tormented by a spider-doll demon makes Charles wish he had another doorway and a molotov cocktail or twelve.

I would tear hell apart for you. I will never let you be taken again. I love you.

He thinks it’s an okay time to say it but it lodges in his throat. Charles wants it to be a perfect time, not just an okay time. He didn’t need forever to figure out how he feels about Edwin but he has forever to make it just right. It is the least Edwin deserves.

He looks back down at Edwin to see he is already looking back and he was right – the moonlight in his eyes makes Charles want to give him anything, everything.

[friend-of-a-cat]

Playing Persona 4 Golden again from the start. Aiming to actually finish it this year and play consistently so that I don't run into the issue I've been having where I don't play it for months and forget literally everything that's happening lol.

I will say, and this is similar to what I think about Persona 3, I don't think it needs a remake. It would be great if it got one, sure, but it really doesn't need it. Because a remake, I think, would fundamentally change how the game feels: it's atmosphere and it's tone. Whilst Persona 3 Reload looks absolutely stunning (especially the menus - holy shit), you can't really deny that it feels different to the original (and FES and Portable). Yeah, it's probably because those games are way older, and were made for different hardware with different hardware limitations, but the original just feels like it captures its themes better because of the way it looks and plays. Granted, I haven't finished P3, either, but yeah. I feel like Persona 4 (and Golden, as well) would lose a core part of itself if it was remade in "today's standard"/a post-Persona 5 world. And I'm not talking about the story, although the visuals and overall vibe can help inform and convey the story. I'm talking about how it looks and feels. I take in the muted colours and the hazy environments and the fog and the noise and the way sunlight and the sky looks and I just don't know how or why they'd even attempt to replicate it when they've already hit the nail on the head. Same with Persona 3. The limitations those game had placed on them in terms of how it could look and feel made them look and feel better, in my opinion. I booted up Persona 3 and I felt scared. I felt out of my depth. Something felt off, and oppressive, and unknown, and it was gritty and crunchy, and the visuals and gameplay pushed that, and I feel like that was what it was meant to convey. I booted up Reload and it felt polished and shiny, and it looked amazing, but I didn't feel that same sense of dread, or feel oppressed, or really get to experience a slice of how the protagonist viewed himself or the world, which was definitely conveyed in how the original looked. But then you also have the stunning lens flares and sunlight streaks and rainbows and particle effects in the older P3 games that Reload can't even rival. Not to mention that the original P3 was quite an experimental game, especially from an aesthetic point of view (it's visuals; it's music; it's presentation). It definitely wasn't in the mainstream eye when it came out in the same way that Persona 5 was. I'm not saying that something being more mainstream is bad or that it ruins everything and makes it look souless. I don't think they set out to intentionally make Persona 3 Reload "worse" (even though it's not worse, per se, it's just different in a way that I don't think captures why the original worked in the way it did). I don't even blame them for wanting to remake it in this way. But I just don't vibe with the remake as much. I don't know if this makes any sense, and, of course, Reload looks and plays fantastically, but, from an atmospheric standpoint, it just doesn't feel the same, and I don't think that's necessarily a good thing in this regard, at least for me.

Anyway, the only reason I'd want a remake of Persona 4 Golden is if they actually make Yosuke a romance option in it, because it makes his whole storyline and relationship with Kanji more interesting. Obviously, and I feel like I don't even need to say this, homophobia is bad even if it's internalised, but it would just make so much more sense if Yosuke was a romance option considering how he reacts to and interacts with people and situations in the game already. I do love that his relationship with the protag can be viewed as platonic or romantic or anything in between or removed, but just having the option there would do his character a world of good, I think.

They should port the older Persona games (the original; 2; etc.), or, if they must do more remakes, remake those ones, even though I think they'd run into the same issue I just described regarding the games feeling entirely different due to their visuals and such being remade. But I feel like they should give the older games some love, y'know? I haven't played them, but I fully intend to, because I've heard great things about them. And I feel like if I played them for the first time and there were remakes, I'd want to play the originals for the same reasons I've mentioned.

[dumdeeedum]

How is an eighteen year old hooking up with a nineteen year old that he was previously worried was younger in any way rape? they are both older teenagers please be serious. baby faced nineteen year olds exist in the world it's not rape when they date their literal peers. i do kind of take your point about aging up claudia- it doesn't always work for me either but they really couldn't have cast a kid and done two seasons even if the ethics of that situation wasn't extremely dodgy. at a certain point you have to treat it like a mid special effect or stop watching.

I'm gonna go ahead and keep watching and commenting on what I'd like, thanks. I find it very strange that that's everyone's go-to when it comes to everything now. Are adaptations just whatever people want them to be now and if you expected to AT LEAST recognize the characters that's your bad and you're an idiot? I'm honestly still here because I love the book series, have been waiting for an adaptation for DECADES (was SO EXCITED for the Fuller adaptation that fell through) and now I'm waiting for the "Interview" part, the most boring but necessary foundational part for me, to end and to get to the good stuff. The problem is that the changes have been so great that I'm concerned and I'm allowed to feel that.

I feel like y'all want to be intentionally stubborn and weird about this which is part of the point and reason why aging up Claudia was a bad idea. She's MENTALLY 18 but she's physically meant to be a child. If we're having to have it so we're all just splitting hairs about how old she actually is/looks/is meant to look like in the show or having to suspend utter disbelief for it to work then it doesn't work. It also takes away from the visceral reaction we get from Claudia in the book, the utter sense of wrongness and pity we have for her and her situation. And how utterly wrong and fucked up it was of Lestat and Louis to make her.

Even Armand says as much and thinks of himself as having been too young at 17 in retrospect in the books. He's also angry at Marius in the books for turning Sybelle and Benji, the latter of whom is only 12. It's a big thing in the book series.

Claudia being unambiguously young allows the story to convey its idea in no uncertain terms: she'll be a child forever. She can't simply explain away her situation to her contemporaries whom are human because she can't tell them she's a vampire. She can't have sex with someone because she's a child and only a pervert would want to fuck her. She has all these adult feelings and sensibilities and she's not taken seriously and can't act on many of them because of that. Even her fathers, who know her the best and know she's mentally old as fuck still see her as a child. In her diary in "Queen of the Damned" she describes how cruel it is that Lestat gives her a DOLL every year on her birthday just to fuck with her because Lestat is a bitch.

When you not only age the character up to 14 but then cast someone who is an adult and then IN THE SHOW tell us that it's easy enough for her to just go "no, I'm an adult I just look young" then you take away pretty much all the angst of the character and she loses what makes her such a horrific element.

In fact, in season 2 she's so out of character for me because book Claudia, as an adult, is very smart and dignified and SEEMS old, which this actress does well but doesn't fit with an adult body. Book Claudia would not allow herself to be treated the way this Claudia allows herself to be treated and it's part of why book Claudia finds Madeline and starts to pull away even from Louis whom she knows is about to leave her for Armand. She also knows that the theater troupe suspect she killed Lestat and dislike her and want her dead. She's not even trying to make nice with them.

In this she's allowing them to dress her up like a child and make her a servant and humiliate her. I know they needed to expand on shit to make a season of television instead of a shorter book but I think it only ends up showing us that the show is floundering on how to convey its idea that Claudia is a child without actually having a child. They could have put more time into her relationship with Madeline which they only sort of did. Have Madeline treat her different and show her spending time with Madeline instead of prostrating herself for these people who disrespect her.

It's especially poorly done when a 14-year-old isn't even a child the way they want to depict her in the stupid waste of my life play they have her in by the standards of THAT TIME. The conceit of that idea would have worked better if the actress had been much younger and may even have served as a surrogate for Lestat and the doll. Unfortunately here it just doesn't work because she's already too old for the Shirley Temple shtick.

They could have gotten a teenager who perhaps looks like they're pre-teen Disney channel aged or whatever. I know that Kirsten Dunst was 12 when she filmed the movie and that's young enough to get a couple of seasons in before they get too old looking. Again, Disney channel aged (I'm too old to know where the kids are these days). Especially when Claudia reasonably should only be there until the end of this season even if they don't mean to continue past "Interview with the Vampire." Ideally they'd have made "Interview" into a miniseries and moved on because the entire thing is too long-winded and different.

Children do horror all the time. You don't have to have anything explicitly sexual for the character to work and that's another reason why the age up bothers me. Kirsten Dunst didn't HAVE to kiss Brad Pitt either, they added that to the movie so making that some sort of bar a young actress would have to meet is nonsense.

It feels like they ONLY aged her up TO put the actress in sexual situations and make it acceptable. But then they ALSO decided to age up Armand, presumably because it would be weird to put him in a sexual relationship with Louis if he's meant to be 17. So which is it? Can we have mentally young characters in sexual situations with adults or not? After all, mentally Armand is over 500 years old and Louis is much younger.

How much more impactful would it have been for us to see Claudia spending time with a boy she likes, a boy her "mental" age, to have him shoot her down and treat her like a child and even perhaps laugh at her? And for that to happen to her over and over again if need be. Instead she can just explain it away and it's fine if the guy she likes sees a teenager and still wants to fuck her, it's all fine?

It was a bizarre decision and as good as the actresses are and I wish them incredible success in their careers, it doesn't work for this show. A LOT doesn't work for this with the age changes as far as I'm concerned.

[rivetgoth]

A Plea for CGI

I feel like the last bastion of defense for CGI as an art form sometimes dude. CGI fascinates me so much. As a kid it felt so wondrous and unlike anything I’d ever seen. The dancing bear in Teletubbies was the first instance of CGI I ever remember seeing and it enamored me unlike anything else. It felt like genuine magic. I felt similarly about Tiny Planets, which genuinely felt like it transported me to an alien world. Later on as a kid I stumbled onto the Madagascar tech reel Easter egg on the DVD and it was the scariest thing I’d ever seen. It scared me so bad I couldn’t be in the same room and I was scared to turn off the television. I stayed in my bedroom until my dad got home because I knew he’d turn the TV off if he walked in and saw nobody watching it and I didn't want to be out there until I knew for sure the television was off and the reel wouldn't still be playing. I couldn’t sleep for days after seeing it and I was literally scared of DVD menus for fear of accidentally stumbling onto something like that again. Blooper reels for CG films absolutely terrified me, it was like genuinely nauseatingly scary. The “You’re not perfect” Courage the Cowardly Dog bit was similar.

I don’t think I’m an anomaly for finding these examples scary, a LOT of people did (the former one is full of commenters saying it scared them as a kid, the latter is literally meant to be scary). But the thing is with CGI, despite that it never stopped having this sort of wonder to me as well. When I was a kid CGI still felt uncommon enough that any time it was employed it felt really magical. It felt like I was seeing into a world that didn’t actually exist. I think its ability even in its earliest forms to be implemented into live action media, or its ability to have strange three dimensional properties when used in fully animated films, gave it this sense that it could be used to bring things to life in a way that couldn’t be done before. Like, I recognized even as a kid that the dancing bear didn’t look REAL. But it also looked three dimensional. It looked almost dreamlike to me.

I think the history of CGI as an art form is just so fascinating. I remember how fascinated I was reading about the CGI of the 80s and 90s, as it began to move beyond being an oddity that computer scientists could use to demonstrate tech and found some mainstream and wider spread usage. Tony De Peltrie (1985) was the first CGI human to express emotion and objectively he hasn’t aged well, he looks super creepy as does almost everything about his short film, but it fascinates me that he was so well received and touched people’s emotions in spite of that. The human ability to connect with something so alien in every way—stylistically, but even in terms of the art form being used, which was still absolutely brand new—is so interesting. The fact that the Canned Food International Council commissioned a commercial to be done fully in CGI in 1984 and it was referred to as so realistic you “couldn’t tell if it was animated or not” when nowadays it’s surpassed by PS1 video game graphics is so fascinating. The entire implication of that moment in the history of art, advertising, aesthetic. Maybe most fascinating to me is the short series Quarxs from the 90s utilizing CGI in one of the most bizarre ways I’ve ever seen to this day to bring to life cryptobiological organisms. Really insane looking stuff using really limited technology. The creator of Quarxs, Maurice Benayoun, writes theory on virtual reality, including some really interesting stuff about the human relationship to the material and virtual world that is most definitely reflected in Quarxs.

Nowadays I turn to Severed Heads as an example of one of the most fascinating recent uses of CGI to intentionally evoke the uncanniness of older CG and bring to life the music through a visual accompaniment. “Tiny Wounded Bird” (2016) is hard to watch even as an adult, it feels like in the best way it strikes so much uncanny fear that would've ruined my life as a child. It was the first time I saw someone fully, intentionally evoke those fears in art—I think it’s so fascinating the way CGI evokes the uncanny valley so easily for so many, and Tom Ellard was clearly aware of this. Tom Ellard, the artist behind Severed Heads, has worked on the cutting edge of technology to make unabashedly uncanny art in both visual and auditory forms since the 70s.

I see people suggest the uncanniness of CGI has to do with early or pre-textured CGI looking almost corpse-like, but I always felt like it was something else, it's not just CGI People Look Creepy. I think it’s just so, so, so foreign to the eyes. It exists in a three dimensional plane that should be similar to ours but isn’t quite ours. It can emulate the human body but also contort it in any way imaginable. The blooper reels I mentioned being scared of as a kid show these fully three dimensional beings with limbs elongated far past the physical possibility of a real body, eyes popping out of the head. Shadows having to be implemented manually, AI trying to figure out how physics work for thousands of particles of simulated hair. It's sterile and it's incomparable to really anything else. CGI is an entirely new artform, unique from any other that exists. It's literally creating a whole new plane of reality. I think it should lean into that more.

I think CGI as a tool is extremely oversaturated due to all sorts of issues within the entertainment industry around the desire to rush products, the lack of unionization and worker protection, corruption from the top down causing companies to rely on it heavily in the least imaginative and most predatory ways. But that’s not the fault of CGI as an art form, which is still only a couple of decades old—Again, Tony de Peltrie, first emotive CGI human, is only about 40 years old. The first television series less than that. The first movie only about 30. This is BRAND NEW technology. We are in the earliest of earliest stages of CGI experimentation. History will look back on CGI and not view 2024 as notably distant from Toy Story’s release in ‘95. I think it’s only in the past few years that we’ve seen mainstream film really try to use CGI for something genuinely brand new—Trolls in 2016 creating an entire world comprised of textures that wouldn’t exist in such a way in real life (like felt ground, cotton ball clouds, etc), Moana (also in 2016) using computer generated blacklight and neon for the Tamatoa sequence, Into the Spider-Verse in 2018 absolutely changing the game with its use of comic book stylization that looks nothing like anything that came before it, followed by Puss in Boots: The Last Wish in 2022 implementing something similar to evoke a storybook feeling and experimenting with intentional drops in frames per second (there’s a cool video about it here that covers some of this). But these new and inventive attempts at CG, all less than a decade old, would not exist without the decades leading up to it. Terminator 2 was an extremely significant breakthrough in animating liquid. Finding Nemo over a decade later was a huge technical breakthrough for animated underwater environments. 1991 to 2003, 12 years spent learning how to make a computer animate water, and Finding Nemo looks plenty dated now. The first realistic digital fire was shown off in my all time favorite animated short, Peedee Meets the Dragon, in 1989! Only 35 years ago animating fire was in and of itself a feat! Toy Story in 1995 famously used toys as protagonists because humans were still difficult to animate—Only 29 years ago HUMANS still couldn’t be consistently animated in CGI. The Incredibles would be THE FIRST ALL HUMAN CAST that Pixar would attempt, and that was in 2004, almost a DECADE later. All the weird uncanny experimental stuff are building blocks to something so much greater than we can even imagine. I really believe that.

So like, yeah, the homogeneity of CGI in the industry right now is frustrating. The industry-standard willingness to exploit digital artists for rushed, cheap, and unregulated third party work is disgusting and genuinely abhorrent. But man, I hate seeing CGI itself shit on in the same breaths that these criticisms are made. So much fundamental misunderstanding of what it is and what it can do as an art form and such a lack of genuine desire to see it continue to evolve and progress. To be blunt a decent amount of it is just straight up nostalgia, and often very rose tinted nostalgia. “Things from my childhood looked better.” Sometimes it’s genuinely being misinformed—Tons of movies that get heralded as being traditional animation or practical effects… still utilize some form of CGI. I also think there’s something to be said about the fact that I believe the current trend of using CGI for hyper realistic effects in big budget live action films is genuinely a misusage of the medium and a complete failure to actually utilize CGI in any meaningful way (looking at you, live action Disney remakes). I love practical effects and I love traditional animation, but I don’t see why they need to be at odds with CGI. The best and most visually striking movies with the greatest visuals tend to recognize that and utilize a blend of the strengths of more than one of these mediums—Though interestingly, Courage the Cowardly Dog remains one of the only examples I can think of that uses CGI as a form of mixed media INTENTIONALLY. As in, not to look hyper-realistic or to replace/accompany practical effect or traditional animation, but to squarely be intentionally meant to be read as CGI in order to evoke a specific tone, functionally using CGI as a punchline the same way one would use live action shots in a show like Spongebob. I'm sure others have done it, but it doesn't appear particularly common.

That’s my last note: I really want to see CGI utilized more with both its strengths and weaknesses taken into account. Back to “Tiny Wounded Bird,” which makes use of the way models of the human body can be reskinned and manipulated to the point of being unrecognizable, a succinct but evocative visual theme for a song about pride and suffering. But I want to talk about another older CGI short film that does something similar, Polly Gone from 1988.

Y’all, I’m literally switching from my phone to my computer to type this out because this matters a lot to me.

EVERYONE writes Polly Gone off as absurdism. That goofy "Early CGI Was Horrifying" video writes it off as "a shitpost," which half the damn commenters on the artist's upload are quoting, annoyingly. The VintageCG Youtube account cruelly calls it "The second worst computer animation ever produced." It finds its way onto r/OddlyTerrifying and similar subreddits not unoften. You guys. Polly Gone is directed by the artist Shelley Lake, who has made this statement about her work:

"The artwork that comes from the world inside is the culmination of my mind’s eye–a fantasy world where, through my imagination, anything is possible. I enthusiastically partner with intelligent machines and together we create an artificial reality. A simulated world of superheroes, erotic men and women, wireframe meshworks, anatomical investigations, cybernetic creatures, phantasmagoric depictions of impossible people, places and things. Although these artworks often resemble our photo-real existence, these creations are utterly unreal and sometimes uncanny." (X)

She KNOWS it's uncanny. She knows it's weird. And her work is, explicitly, intentionally, and, honestly, blatantly, engaging with the weirdness of this medium to deliver messages in ways surreal, fresh, bizarre, and off-putting. I don't know what exactly her intentions are behind Polly Gone, but I would very strongly make a case for it being about women's roles in society, or at least that being a perfectly viable interpretation, especially if you do a 5 second deep dive into her body of work exploring themes about female bodies, sexuality, kink, and queerness. Her synopsis on her own Youtube page for this short is: "A day in the life of a robot." Consider watching it through a feminist lens. Consider how uncanny and dehumanized this animation is of an expressionless, mechanical humanoid--in a dress, in lipstick, with breasts--that zooms around its futuristic house doing mundane chores. Consider the name being a feminized version of the word "polygone." Consider this oddly cool OddlyTerrifying comment:

They're joking, but they're not: This is a short film from the EIGHTIES, seven years before Toy Story would be the first full-length CGI film. Shelley Lake received both a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and a Master of Sciences degree in the 70s. This is artistic experimenting from someone with years of experience, this is making use of the strengths and unique facets of computer generated animation that cannot be replicated through any other means, and it is not purposeless nor does it deserve to be written off as "a shitpost." And it's not asking you to look past the CGI limitations, it is wholly embracing them.

I want to see more CGI play with this. I think it was a mistake to veer CGI in the direction of trying to disguise it as something that it is not. I think it can work as an accompaniment to other effects, sure, but I don't think its sole purpose should be photorealistic lions emoting less than their real world counterparts singing covers of Elton John songs. I wish CGI wasn't devalued and I wish people would engage with it as a unique art form of its own.

[londonhalcyon]

Chapter Update

Whoooooo's ready fooooor

Chapter 39!

Happy holidays, y'all! Told ya I'd have a new chapter finished later this month.

Is this chapter sad? Not at all. Will dramatic irony repeatedly stab you in the gut? Well...

Obligatory chapter preview below.

* * * *

Chapter 39: War Room The next time I was called to an Order meeting, it was to plan a battle. Technically, it was a plan with the intention of avoiding a battle, but we had to have all our bases covered. Considering the Order had intentionally kept me out of combat so far, Dumbledore’s orders, it was serious if they had decided to bring me in. After over a year of frustration, now that I actually had the chance to see some action, I wasn’t thrilled by the implications. 

It was an escort mission—for none other than the current Chosen One himself. I’d never met the Potter boy despite all he had been involved in. He had always been outside my jurisdiction. Now, with both his Trace and the protections on his house about to break, the Order was pulling out all the stops to move him to safety. The plan was an elaborate game of cat and mouse, with some bait-and-switch thrown in. Tonks had hit her fellow Auror Dawlish with a Confundus Charm to trick the Death Eaters into thinking that the Ministry would move the boy to a safe house on the 30th. We, on the other hand, would move him three days earlier, without either the Ministry or the Death Eaters knowing—with luck.  That was step one of the plan. Step two, in an astoundingly uncharacteristic stroke of brilliance, had been proposed by petty sneak thief Mundungus Fletcher. On the night of the 27th, we wouldn’t just transport one Harry Potter. We would transport seven. If we were found out, the enemy wouldn’t know who to hit—also with luck. Tonight was a matter of logistics. We had the bait. Pulling off the switch was its own challenge. Six fake Potters and one real one, plus their protectors, meant fourteen people going seven different directions. Fourteen people we had to keep safe, in seven different locations. It was far from easy.  “Seven pairs, seven Portkeys, seven safe houses,” Mad-Eye Moody growled in recap. For him, a growl was his natural speaking voice. “We stay together, stay in formation. No one breaks until I give the order. When we do, fly like your broom bristles are burning. Only one pair to each location. Rendezvous at the Burrow. Are we clear?” “That’s all well and good, Mad-Eye,” Tonks said. “But I think it would help if we knew where we’re actually flying.” “I didn’t think we had seven safe houses around Surrey,” Fred Weasley said.  “Or anywhere,” George added.  “Not anymore,” Arthur said, prompting a dark look from Molly.  “It’s an obstacle,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said in his deep voice, “but one we hope to resolve tonight.” He drew attention to the large map spread out over the kitchen table. “Alastor and I each have a place to offer up, and Arthur managed to convince his Aunt Muriel to host us. That’s three. We need four more.” Tonks said, “Use my place.” While Remus said, “I know a hideout, if you’re willing to brave a flight to Soho.” “Up to five,” Kingsley said, adding to the map with a tap of his wand. “Two more. Anyone else?” The room exchanged looks. One by one, each person shook their head.  I said, “Nothing south of Scotland.” In other words, nothing close enough.  It wasn’t completely true. My parents were based in Southampton, but I wasn’t about to give them up. They were much older than Arthur and Molly—and Ted and Andy. They didn’t belong anywhere near a fight, no matter what protections were in place.  Merula crossed her arms, reclining against the wall. “Throw some wards over an old castle,” she said. “Plenty of those abandoned. Minimal security.” Kingsley traced the map with his wand. He nodded. “It may be our only option.” The Aurors crowded around the table to study the map, as did Remus, Bill, and Arthur. Everyone else hung back, if only because there was no room to join the deliberation.

[ipsen]

Blank Canvas 18

Read on AO3. Words: 4886 Summary: Apologies, truth, and Touka's mean right hand. Chapter 17 Chapter 19 Master Post

How could Sen have been so blind?

She had to have slipped up somewhere, but when? How? Did Shachi or Kuzen rat her out? Was there a leak that she hadn’t noticed? Each was its own possibility— Shachi’s heart was too big, Kuzen was a survivor, and she wasn’t exactly sure of everyone she had who was gathering information on V, but there were far more reasons for all not to betray her or Haise. Which only left—

She stopped right before the door to Haise’s apartment.

— Donato. Shit. It was obvious now. Working with that guy, a member of the unpredictable and chaotic Clowns, had always been like navigating a minefield. He was the only one whose interests lay with himself alone, meaning he could be convinced by V. Not even his affection for his son could trump a lifetime of greed. Donato’s alliance with Sen had always been a matter of convenience, where she could exercise his selfish revenge while he was stuck behind bars.

Knock, knock.

However, whatever he’d told V, they ended up going for Haise instead of her, which meant they wanted something. As for what, there were a number of things: her books, her connections, her findings— All were thorns in V’s side, and restricting any would do wonders. But what would they be doing now?

The door opened, revealing Hina. “Hey…” she said, a little uneasily.

“Hi.” Sen kept her voice neutral, not wanting to alarm Hina any more than she already was.

Hina stepped aside. “Um, come in… Hide’s still out, so we’re just waiting.”

Sen stepped through and kicked off her shoes. It was a surprisingly nice and clean apartment, far different from her own. Lots of space, too, what with the kitchen and living room separated by tile and carpet, then what appeared to be two bedrooms and the bathroom in the back. If only she could appreciate it under better circumstances.

Ayato and Touka were sitting on the couch on opposite ends. He, upon seeing Sen, opened his mouth, but Touka beat him to it. “Coffee?” she asked, moving to the kitchen.

Sen, after a moment, nodded. “Sure…”

While Touka searched the cabinets for the kettle and beans, Sen sat in a chair at the counter, feeling Ayato’s eyes on her back. Hina entered the corner of her vision and took a nearby cup of water.

Once upon a time, Sen might not have even shown up here, let alone entertained Hina’s call as long as she had. Time passed, people left, she used to say, especially after Papa’s death and Arima’s transfer. Much how you outgrew things as you got older, people tended to outgrow or outright ignore Sen as she went through the motions of life. That was just how she had seen herself.

But things were different now. Miza and Naki supported her. Tatara and Fei befriended her. Shiono was a caring father. The Bins worked splendidly for her. And Haise was— he was just— he—

Sen sighed, a smile playing on her lips. It seemed as though there were some things even a scribbler like her couldn’t describe. This must be how Haise felt whenever she asked him to express his thoughts about her; though she preened with satisfaction, there was something to his countenance that suggested he had more to say.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “About the get-together, about what I said— For everything that happened, I’m sorry.”

Hina tittered. “I-It’s really not a problem, Ms. Takatsuki. I think—”

“It is a problem,” she interrupted. “You’ve all known Kuzen for a long time, and it was insensitive of me to trample on that the way I did.”

The kettle began to hiss as the water inside reached a boiling point. Hina thumbed her glass of water. Ayato intentionally looked away, staring at the muted TV. Touka, with practiced ease, ground a handful of coffee beans.

“He’s hurt me a lot, in more ways than one, and I’ve learned he’s— I know he’s hurt others in worse ways.” Sen picked at the hangnails on her fingers. “It felt wrong letting him enter without saying something, so I… Look, I botched it for you guys, and I’m sorry.”

There was silence as Touka poured the coffee. She slid it across the counter to Sen, who took it with a quiet thanks. Ayato glanced over, sensing that she was done, and Hina took a sip of water.

“I…” Hina searched for the right words. “I don’t want to say that you were wrong. You were… You weren’t ready for him to appear when he did, and you were caught off-guard. At least, I think so.” She looked up at Touka to continue.

Touka sighed and put her elbows on the counter. “I’m sure you remember I was next in line for Anteiku’s manager?”

Sen’s mouth became a thin line, and she nodded. She remembered putting two and two together as they talked at the get-together. The way Touka danced around both her aspirations and her job— having to make a choice between them was tearing her up inside far more than Haise made it seem.

“Well, I was also recently accepted into the Chigyou School of Medicine, for their spring term. If I chose to go, and things went awry for Mr. Yoshimura at the wrong time, then Anteiku might very well shut down before I can come back. But if I chose to stay, then I’d be giving up my selfish dreams to keep up the place that helped me and Ayato at our lowest.” Touka traced a circle on the counter, as though she were running back and forth between the two choices.

Sen took a sip of the coffee. It was really good, she had to admit, even without the sugar she personally liked to take. No wonder Touka could be manager, if this was anything to judge it by. Ayato, for his part, pursed his lips at memories she’d never know, but she could take a guess from her own.

Touka suddenly stopped, and pushed herself from the counter. “You took that choice away from me. With what you said, I felt like I had no other option but to take the path that was best for me, and not for Mr. Yoshimura. Because otherwise, I’d be someone willing to play dumb for the sake of feeling good about myself. I’d choose to do nothing.

“Hina’s right; you weren’t wrong, and Mr. Yoshimura shouldn’t have hid his skeletons in his closet from us for as long as he did. However—” Sen grunted when she felt Touka’s fist collide with the side of her arm— “have some class next time, okay?”

“O-Ow…” was all Sen could say.

“Sis and I totally get having beef with shitty dads,” Ayato said from the couch, amusedly watching her nurse her new bruise. “We really do, but she’s right.”

“Always am.” Touka chuckled. “By the way, how’s the coffee? I usually make sure the two oafs that live here have the good beans, but, well— you know.”

Sen smiled through the pain. “It’s good. Really good. I almost feel more guilty.”

Touka smiled back and almost said something else, but just then, the doorbell rang. She went over to answer it, and Hide was revealed. “Welcome back.”

“Hey, guys. You—” He paused when he saw Sen. “Oh. Hey, Sen.”

The corner of her lip curled. “Hide.”

Haise’s famous— or rather, infamous— little source of information along with Chie. An information smuggler that traveled the world and collected dirt on all sorts of organizations that could be taken down a peg or ten. She was honestly shocked by how lucky she was; because of Haise’s little slip-up on how he acquired Donato’s files ahead of her, she was able to piece together the identity of someone who had, until now, kept it completely hidden.

And oh, how Hide knew that she knew. The moment he paused at Nishiki’s, where they met in person for the first time, he had known. The Scarecrow was outed, at last, by sheer dumb luck.

Her smirk faded; much as she wanted to squeeze more information out of one of her most anonymous and valuable sources, there was something far more important at hand. “Do you know where Haise is?” she asked instead.

Hide cleared his throat, appreciating it. “Well, no, but I mean, I brought someone.”

He pushed in a familiar figure on a wheelchair. Frail bones, thin white hair, and gaunt cheeks that clung to their last vestiges of life. He was dressed in familiar black leathers, with a fedora atop his head.

Kuzen Yoshimura, her father, a shell of his former self.

Sen took the time to, finally, really look at him. This barely functioning old man was who she had despised all this time? This… thing in front of her, declining in real time, was the cornerstone of her revenge?

Even then, however, her anger wouldn’t disappear overnight. She doubted it would disappear at all; Kuzen had twisted and altered her circumstances against her will, and even if good came out of them, it was by her hand and not his. She had climbed out of the muck he poured onto her out of spite, and she would do it a thousand times over to remind him of his failures.

And so, she sighed, glared, and asked the obvious question: “Why are you here?”

———

“I-I’m sorry.”

That was not the first thing Haise expected to hear when he came to.

His hands were individually bound to separate chains, and there was a dim light to give him some semblance of his surroundings. He tested out his bonds, and saw a rusty chain mechanism a few paces away struggle against him. His feet were free, at least.

Then, when he looked up, he saw the driver, sitting in a creaky wooden chair. He wasn’t just tall; his limbs were far longer than his torso needed them to be. His hair was a tousled black, with dark circles under his eyes and gaunt cheeks. He wore a loose collared shirt and torn jeans, both colors faded with time.

“H-H-Hey, Mr. Kaneki,” he said, waving. “I’m, uh… I-I’m Karao Saeki.”

Haise didn’t answer immediately, instead darting his gaze around to see if there was anything he’d missed. No such luck. “Where am I?” he asked shakily.

Saeki tittered. “That’s a little, er, c-c-complicated. Y-Y’see, m-my boss—” His phone suddenly rang. “S-Sorry…” He answered. “H-H-Hello? Yes, I have him… N-No, he’s— he’s totally fine!! I-I-I used chloroform…”

Haise listened to the conversation quietly. It seemed that, for now, he was safe; whoever Saeki’s boss was, they needed him alive and unharmed. That was a load off his shoulders, but the next question became: why him? Was there something he knew that they wanted? Was there some one? The possibilities were endless until he could glean something, anything about these people.

Saeki’s conversation continued. “S-So, M-Mr. Kaiko, what should I—?”

‘Kaiko’? As in Kaiko Industries? As in V? Wait, could Haise even make that assumption? If this was V’s doing, then why target him? He was completely useless; wouldn’t it have been better to target Sen? Then again, the idea of Sen in the same situation was worse; he should just be grateful she was (hopefully) free. She could continue her work, continue helping people who deserved help, and not waste her time with people like him: burdens who treated mines like eggshells, never caring for the consequences. She probably— no, she definitely hated his guts now, as she should.

Sen— no, no, Takatsuki had infinitely more important things to think about than him. Hopefully, his drafts of the last few pages were enough; he’d hate to be more of a burden than he already proved himself to be.

Saeki clapped his phone shut and stowed it away. “S-S-Sorry, Mr. Kaneki,” he apologized again. “B-Bosses, right?”

Haise, not wanting to take his chances, decided to nod.

“W-Well! Make yourself c-c-comfortable, because you might be here a w-while…” He twiddled his thumbs.

“Why… Why me…?” Haise asked cautiously.

Saeki flinched slightly. “W-Well, um…” He seemed to grapple with something internally, then relented. “Well, o-okay, you d-d-deserve to know… T-T-To save you from the d-details—”

———

“They promise the safe return of Kaneki,” Kuzen, settled in, said, “once you stop your investigation of them.”

Sen scoffed. “That’s it? That’s all they want?”

Kuzen pursed his lips. “It is an obvious choice, no?”

“Obvious— are you fucking kidding me?” Sen stamped her foot down. “Sacrifice everything that I— that we’ve— worked on these past ten years for— for one person?!” Even as she said it, her heart twisted in agony. “That’s the best they can do, huh? I— I can’t even begin to imagine—!”

“What are you talking about?” Touka interjected, stepping in between them. “You know the people who have Sasaki?”

Ayato came forth. “What the fuck did you get him tied up in?!”

“G-Guys—” Hina began.

“Did they kidnap him because of you?” Touka’s voice shook. “Does he even know about—”

“Touka, Ayato,” Hide stepped in, “let’s take a breather, and—”

“You’re awfully calm about this!!” Touka whirled on him, all but grabbing him by the shirt. “Our best friend has apparently been kidnapped by some— some group we know nothing about, and the reason might be right in front of us! Why aren’t you—!”

“I just think that antagonizing Sen isn’t the play here.” He put up his hands in defense. “Look, we’re all in this together to try and find him, so—”

“So you’re just gonna let her keep secrets from us?! Real good ‘working together’, pal! Are you fucking—”

“I’ll talk!” Sen said, turning all eyes on her. “I’ll talk… You deserve to know.”

She carefully left out the part about Hide being the Scarecrow, but laid out the basics of V, as well as her and the others’ involvement in exposing their deeds. Kuzen hung his head slightly the further she went, especially when she mentioned Ukina. It was a small consolation prize.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Touka muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, so a secret government lobbyist organization, who works with serial killers, has Sasaki because you—” she jabbed a finger at Sen— “are getting too close to ‘exposing’ them?”

Sen nodded stiffly. “Yeah.”

“You realize how stupid that sounds, right?” Ayato complemented Touka. “Just ‘cause you broke some laws, he’s gonna pay?”

Another nod. “Yeah.”

Hina was the only one who didn’t seem phased when she spoke. “Ms. Takatsuki… Are you going to stop?” was all she asked.

Sen curled her fingers into a fist. “I… I can’t stop,” she said, wanting her tongue to betray her just this once. “I’ve… We’ve come too far to stop now.” She trembled. “I won’t— I can’t choose him, even if I want to.”

And she did, desperately so. She wanted to choose Haise over everything and contradict her own words. Her lungs longed to cry out in protest, to throw everything away for him, because now that she’d felt the warmth of the sun, she wanted to bask in it forever.

But there were people besides her who were a part of the investigation, and they were people who put so much on the line. Now it was her turn. Ugh, she was the worst.

She bowed her head as low as it could go, as if it would absolve her of her sins. “I’m sorry.”

Silence, as her decision hung in the air and everyone digested it. It was likely that none of them would ever see Haise again. That lovely person, full of boundless kindness, would be forever lost to the world. No one would ever see him smile, laugh, or cry ever again.

Touka reacted first. She walked up to Sen, pulled her up by the collar of her shirt, and punched her square in the jaw, knocking her to the ground.

“Touka!” Kuzen shouted as best he could, but it went ignored.

Ayato and Hide had to grab her by both her arms before she could advance. Hina, meanwhile, helped Sen up and checked for lasting injuries.

“Fuck V,” Touka breathed. “But fuck you too. I don’t care what the hell you’ve ‘discovered’ or whatever, but you don’t just give up like that, you hear me?!”

Sen, leaning on Hina, massaged her second bruise for the day. “It isn’t that,” she muttered.

“Then what is it?!” Touka ripped herself out of Ayato and Hide’s grasp. “Don’t you care about Sasaki?! Don’t you— Why are you just letting him go?!”

Sen bit her lip, trying not to tremble.

“That look on your face makes me sick, you know that?” Tears welled in Touka’s eyes. “Thinking you’re making the right choice, that this is all for some ‘greater good’, and maybe it is! Maybe, if you let Sasaki die, we’ll all eventually be in a better place, but I—!” She raised her fist again, but let it hang at her side instead. “I don’t care. I won’t care until we try something else.”

It was a pretty thought; when you didn’t like your choices, force a new one that did. However, Sen had made her choice years ago: she would fight. And whenever you fought, blood would spill. The blood of the innocent, the blood of the guilty, and worst of all, the blood of your loved ones.

She simply hadn’t realized how much the latter would hurt. “Say we did try something. What would we try? Where would we even start?” She hated the question as soon as it left her lips. “We don’t even know who—”

“He is with the Torso,” Kuzen suddenly said.

It was like dropping a bomb. The name hovered in the air, taunting all who recognized it. Hina’s eyes widened in horror. Hide, Ayato, and Touka swallowed. Sen thought she’d heard incorrectly. Did Kuzen— did he really just—

“He is with the Torso,” he repeated, his grip on his armrest like iron. “I do not know where, but… that is who is with him.”

“Torso…?” The word was practically foreign on her lips. “He’s with the…?”

“He’s with the Torso…” Hide mumbled, putting a hand on the side of his head. Suddenly, he gasped. “H-He's with the Torso!!”

“Uh…” Touka looked mystified.

Sen, instead of explaining, joined Hide with the same realization. “Yes… Yes, he is!!” She laughed, her heartbeat picking up with hope and her stomach flipping. “The Torso!!!”

They jumped up and down together, cheering and whooping and confusing everyone else.

Ayato palmed his face. “Are we just gonna be lost all day?”

Sen ignored him and grabbed Hide by the shoulders. “Nashiro. Did Nashiro leave anything behind? Please tell me she—”

“She did.” Hide nodded enthusiastically. “All of his hiding spots, every single one!!”

“Um, excuse me!” Hina got their attention. “What’re you two talking about?”

“We’ll explain later,” Sen said, pulling out her phone. “But right now— Ayato, call Tatara and tell him we need men. Hide, give him the addresses; he’ll understand. I’ll get Miza, Naki, and the Bins.” She called the first of their numbers. “Miza? Miza, it’s Sen. I’m sorry, I know you’re busy— really, I know— but I need a favor—”

According to Nashiro’s final investigation, Torso had a number of hideouts spread across the 13th and 23rd wards. Tatara and his members of Chì Shé would cover the ones in the latter, while the former fell to Sen and the others. But there were still some places that needed to be covered.

“Is there anyone else that could help us?” Sen asked. “We need tough people, able to kill a man.”

Touka, who caught on quickly, snapped her fingers. “Apes & Dobers! I’ll call Kaya.”

“Great! Hide?”

Hide scrambled for his phone. “Kimi’s got a few rowdy volunteers; they’d break the law!”

“Hina?”

“I’ve, um… I could see if Mr. Banjou knows anyone!”

Calls were made, groups were assembled, and addresses were passed around— all in service of finding one artist who, apparently, could move mountains without even trying.

Then, just before she left, Sen glanced at Kuzen one last time. “Hey.”

Hesitating, he looked up at her.

“Thanks.”

She didn’t stay to see his reaction.

———

The next few days were spent in an odd cross between dread and comfort. Even in the face of his inevitable doom, Haise couldn’t complain about how he was being treated. The chains on his wrists weren’t going to come off anytime soon, but he was given limited space to roam until mealtime.

As for Saeki, he was a strange man. He didn’t talk much, but Haise sort of preferred it that way. He’d never been one to converse with strangers, especially if said strangers were working for lobbyists with a penchant for kidnapping and killing anyone who disagreed with them. Less talking usually meant less trouble, and it was paying off.

However, despite being fed regularly and never being touched, Haise knew it was only a matter of time before he was killed. Takatsuki wouldn’t come for him; he would have to try to escape himself. The problem was that he didn’t even know where to start. Besides some beams holding up the ceiling, he had nothing he could grab.

Then, one day, things changed.

Saeki came in at the expected time, but there was no meal in his hands. Instead, he made straight for the chain and yanked on it. Haise was forced against the wall, then secured when Saeki slotted a rusted nail into the chain.

When he stood over Haise, the neutral politeness he had exerted in both the taxi cab and over the past few days was gone. Haise swallowed.

“Y-Y-You knew,” Saeki seethed, teeth gritted, “didn’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Haise was confused. He knew something? What did he supposedly—

Saeki’s foot suddenly plunged into his stomach, evacuating all of the air from his lungs.

“Y-YOU KNEW, D-DIDN’T YOU?!” Saeki repeated, much louder this time. “You sick fucking freak— you knew! YOU KNEW!!!”

There was a scene in The Metamorphosis that suddenly came to mind. Gregor, having been locked away for some time after his transformation, left his room and incidentally frightened his mother, causing her to faint. Because of that, Gregor’s father stood over him, much like how Saeki stood over Haise now. After a moment, Gregor’s father pelted Gregor with fruits, with one of them lodging permanently in Gregor’s backside and beginning his spiral into useless, wretched death.

When Saeki kicked Haise again, he felt his kinship with Gregor renewed.

Haise gasped for breath. “What… What are you…?”

“About ^%*’s scars!! You knew she had them!!” Saeki kicked him twice more, hitting the solar plexus with deadly precision. “M-M-Mr. Kaiko told me!! So why didn’t— why didn’t you tell me?! Why did you keep that away from me?!”

Takatsuki’s scars? How had Saeki found out about that? She was always so careful about concealing them; she’d only ever shown them to him, as far as he knew… Had she lied to him? Had she simply pitied him and shared an open secret? Just his luck, and just like him. Always ignorant to others, and only thinking of himself.

Still, in the face of that ugly truth, he fought for his life. “I… I didn’t know…”

“LIAR!!” Another kick, this one to his head. White flashed across his vision. He thought he heard something crack. “YOU’RE A MAN, AND SHE’S A WOMAN!!! WHAT ELSE CAN YOU DO BUT LOVE HER?! WHY WOULDN’T SHE TELL YOU?!”

Another kick, then another. The face, the chest, the diaphragm, the legs, his face. It was a familiar feeling. Haise couldn’t even begin to decipher why this was happening, not with his head throbbing and breath straining as they were. As the assault continued with no end in sight, Haise shrank away, and Ken Kaneki, a small and pathetic child, rose back to the surface.

His ears rang. His jaw was sore. His head throbbed, pounding and deafening the room with pain.

Kaneki remembered begging for his mother, his aunt, and his uncle to stop, but they wouldn’t, and so he stopped begging. Stopped asking. Stopped being selfish. He patiently endured the slew of words thrown at him, existing to be hurt so that they could stop hurting. He was alone, and so he endured alone.

“I-I-I’ll teach you a f-fucking lesson!!!” Saeki yanked Kaneki up by his hair, making him yelp. “T-T-Teach you to— to KEEP ME FROM MY PRIZE!!”

He slammed Kaneki into the wall, forcing the nail in the chains loose. Kaneki’s world spun from the impact, but he definitely heard Saeki’s last claim.

Takatsuki was going to be his next victim, which meant this was—

“Shit, shit…” Torso muttered as the nail rolled uselessly on the floor. “S-S-Stupid thing, c-can’t even stay on right…”

Kaneki, slumped against the wall, looked up as Torso fiddled with the nail.

Tragedy was a thing born of inaction— The hero succumbing to their flaw instead of overcoming it; a poison being allowed to spread in a lake until it is wholly undrinkable; a small group of greedy people seizing power and then treating people like toys. Over and over, as a result of ignorance, arrogance, and bystanding, tragedy struck like a knife.

Torso pulled on the chain and tried to put the nail back in, but he dropped it and swore.

Kaneki’s thoughts turned to Takatsuki, as they so often did. Specifically, they turned to her stories. Though dense at first glance, he’d come to realize that not only were they deeply personal works, but they were also warnings. Warnings of inaction, warnings of standing by and doing nothing.

After this, whenever it was over and Kaneki was dead on the floor, Torso would leave and pursue her. She’d end up just like Nashiro, Mr. Yasuhisa, and Ryouko. Another notch on V’s belt, next to thousands upon millions of others. For each one, Kaneki had been helpless to stop, always at mercy of the great flow they forced upon others.

Torso secured the nail, tested it a few times, then cheered in triumph.

Ka— Haise wouldn’t allow it. He would protect Sen, no matter what. If he was going to die for her to win the fight against V, he would take any of her enemies down with him. It was the one thing he could do, the one thing he should do.

“N-Now,” Torso stood over him, raising his fist, “w-w-where was I…?”

Haise curled up against the wall like a cornered animal: wounded, afraid—

The nail snapped in two.

— and unpredictable.

.

.

.

The human jaw, supposedly, is able to exert up to 125 kilograms of force.

“FUCK!!!” Torso screeched, and stumbled backward with one hand clutched to his head.

More than enough to tear the human ear off.

“F-FUCK… FUCK!!! Y-Y-Y-YOU BIT ME?! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!”

With all the strength he could muster, Haise grabbed whatever parts of Saeki he could. Cheeks, ears, throat— anything to cause pain, anything to cause death. Even as Haise’s wrists burned themselves on his wrist, he had to do this. He had to kill Torso because it was the last thing he could do. He would die, and Sen would be free. He would help her, he would—

However, it was a brief encounter. One moment, Haise was reaching for Saeki. The second, he saw a flash of silver from the corner of his vision. The last, he felt unbearable pain crossed from one of his temples to the next. His vision went dark, and he collapsed on his side.

“Bastard… BASTARD!!!”

What happened? Why did it suddenly go dark?!

Why couldn’t  he see?!

“The last thing he saw was the door of his room being pulled open, his sister was screaming, his mother ran out in front of her in her blouse—”

Something wet tickled his cheek. A liquid. What kind of liquid? Something smelled metallic. Something sweet. Like honey. Was honey supposed to be like lava?

“W-Wait… Sh-Sh-Shit! Shit shit shit! Did I—?! Oh, no no nonono—” Saeki’s footsteps stumbled out of the room. There was rummaging in a distant room. “B-B-Bandages, bandages—! Can’t let the hostage die—!”

“Aah… Augh…!”

Stumbling again as Saeki returned. “C’mon, pick up pick up pick up—! PICK THE FUCK UP!!!”

“— stumbling over the skirts she pushed herself to his father, her arms around him, uniting herself with him totally—”

“H-H-Hello?! Mr. Kaiko?!?! Hello, hi!!! I-I-I need bandages sent, r-r-right now!”

“— now Gregor lost his ability to see anything—”

“Treatment, medicine, a-a-anything! I-I-I’ve made a mistake; I’ve damaged him! B-By accident!!! BY ACCIDENT PLEASE!!!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

“H-H-H-He bit my ear off, okay?! I-I-I panicked!!! Shit— Please, please, I just—”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

“WOULD YOU SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!! I’M TRYING TO HELP YOU!!!”

He couldn’t see oh no he couldn’t see he couldn’t see he couldn’t draw he’d never see Sen again and

he was as good as useless she was going to leave he was going to be alone it was his fault

“— her hands behind his father’s head—”

how could he—

A crashing sound. Familiar, light footsteps, like a storm breaking through the windows and doors. Saeki’s voice.

“WH-WH-WHO—?!”

“— begging him to spare Gregor’s life.”

[boxmorelover232]

Batman: TB&TB Infection AU Characters (The Green Beans)

So, I only intended for Green Arrow and Guy Gardner to be a part of this, but then thought I'd add Hal Jordan because why not?

The planet mentioned here is not part of any DC continuity, as far as I know. I intended for Guy to be in the Far Sector, but then figured it wouldn't be the best place for Guy to be. The planet he's on is VERY LOOSELY BASED on Africa, but IS NOT MEANT TO BE PUNCHING DOWN ON AFRICA, ITS PEOPLE, OR ITS CULTURE. I INTENTIONALLY KEPT THINGS VAGUE AND A MELTING POT OF ATTRIBUTES SO OTHER PEOPLE COULD BUILD OFF OF IT.

Green Lantern (Guy Gardner)

Guy was in a fight on the other side of the galaxy when the JLI were called for a meeting, thankfully with a space criminal and not a fellow Lantern. Guy didn't check his ring until after he got the scum to a Sciencell on Oa but didn't get a chance to fly to the Watchtower when he was called by the Guardians. Guy was annoyed, but went regardless; a part of him wishes he didn't.

The meeting with the Guardians had Martian Manhunter on call as well. Guy was a bit surprised but didn't think much of it. He half-expected some big-headed shmuck or news on Sinestro's whereabouts, but that wasn't it. Manhunter had called to inform the Guardians of the Vampiric Outbreak happening in Gotham and of the deaths of the JLI. Guy's jaw hit the floor, but denial was a strong thing; he shook his head, barking out a forced laugh as he asked Manhunter to stop joking. It wasn't funny. No one's laughing, so CUT THE BULLCRAP. Manhunter's brow crinkled, shook his head, and solemnly confirmed it. No. No, that's not true. There's no way that could be true!! Everyone there may not be as strong as Guy, but they can still fight! There's no way they'd let themselves fall to some stupid Vampire. There's no way in hell Batman would-

"Batman was the first to turn."

...what? No. No! Nononononononono- NO!!!!!!!

Guy felt like he couldn't breathe. His heart was pounding in his head, his muscles clenched and shaking, sweat rolling down his temples, and HE COULDN'T BREATHE. Guy doesn't remember shooting out of there, but the vague feeling of flying and the wordless cries of the Guardians and Manhunter lingered in his ears as he calmed down on a far-off planet from where the Lanterns didn't go. Guy doesn't remember how long he spent there, curled up and stubbornly refusing to cry (he did, but refuses to admit it), but when he did, the sun had set and Guy immediately knew he had to find shelter.

Guy's ring was low on energy and in his rush, he had left his lantern back on Oa. There was enough left to translate languages, and Guy just happened to have been found by a local child. Guy was taken into her house, introduced himself as Guy Gardner to the girl's family (a mother, father, and older brother), and explained his situation without getting into details. They allowed him to stay and offered to teach him their language if he helped their farm. Not having any better options, Guy agreed.

The family, the Allexas, were good people (technically they're Staik'its, but who cares?) They lived a simple life, milking Bovins, raising Chi-kens, and harvesting crops; it was something Guy found he appreciated. He spent his mornings getting up early and working to the bone, afternoons helping with the market stand, and evenings with the Allexas. It was a nice change of pace, and learning a different language from scratch once his ring ran out was interesting. He was even able to teach some English to the kids (T'Lea the youngest, and T'Chanka the oldest); he did let loose a few swears in English, however, and the look he got from the A'Dersan (father) and U'Vona ensured he wouldn't make the same mistakes again. (Guy was proud of how well little T'Lea enunciated and secretly patted the girl on the back).

Time moves faster on this planet, so while only about a month has passed on Earth, Guy's been on that planet, Ortiga, for the equivalent of a year. Guy doesn't know this, nor does he have any plans to leave and head back to Earth. That place was filled with bad memories and the old, hot-tempered him; the Guy there was an ass who could never be honest with himself or others, always trying to put up a strong front and never allowed to falter. Now that Guy's made his home in Ortiga, he's free of the burdens of his past and as a Lantern. He's dating T'Chanka with marriage in mind and plans to start a school teaching English to the Ortigans with T'Lea as a tutor (who knew the age to get a job here was thirteen?).

A small part of Guy does wonder what's happening on Earth, but he always shoves that aside in favor of his life on Ortiga. He knows the Guardians would've sent someone to look for him after leaving like that, and Guy knows if that happened (if those blue asses even cared enough to do so), someone would've found him by now. He loves it here and doesn't want to ruin it for a world that's probably forgotten about him now.

Green Lantern (Hal Jordan)

Hal Jordan was there when the meeting was called. Guy didn't notice him, not that he blamed him. The news of the JLI's death rocked Hal, but it seemed Guy took it the hardest. He recalled overhearing Guy talk about a girl he liked on the team, but he couldn't remember her name. Maybe that's why Guy was so upset? Whatever the reason, Guy flew out and ignored J'onn's and the Guaridans' cries for him to stop. Attention was temporarily directed to discussions on how the Earth would need to be under lockdown and how to go about it. Hal doesn't remember the specifics, but he knows he's not the one guarding the planet; Hal had the more important job of finding Guy.

It took about two days, but Hal traced Guy's route and found him on Ortiga. Hal hid himself and tried to find a red-haired human male matching Guy's appearance. Hal found him on the Allexas Farm, where Guy looked...different.

Hal observed Guy from a distance, watching as the hot-blooded, "punch-first-ask-questions-never" Green Lantern worked on the farm. Guy interacted with surprising comfort and relaxation Hal had never seen in the man. Playing with the children, chatting with the locals in fluent Oramo, and being friendly with a male Ortigan. Guy had even grown out his hair and tied it back.

Hal was confused. He asked his ring, and it confirmed the human male to be Guy Gardner with a dead ring hanging around his neck. The ring then elaborated that time moved differently here, as while it seemed only two days had passed, it had already been two months. Hal was torn. His mission was to find Guy and bring him back, but Guy seemed happier here. Guy had built a life for himself here. Guy never complained about being a Lantern, reveling every chance he got to brag about his accomplishments, but Hal suspected Guy was struggling. Maybe not with living situations or fiances, such as with Hal, but he always seemed on edge. Maybe...

Hal made a decision at that moment, a reckless one that could cost him his ring and reputation as a Green Lantern, but he stuck with it. Once one of those kids was alone, Hal convinced her to bring Guy's ring to him; he had to make up an excuse that Guy was being hunted for that ring and if she brought the ring here, Hal could lead away the people after it. (It wasn't a lie, technically). The kid agreed right away, not wanting her "brother's boyfriend" to be in danger. Hal watched as she asked Guy if she could play with his ring for a bit, and Guy surprisingly handed it over without question. The girl ran around the fields a bit, acting out a battle Guy must've told them about before she called for her friends to play "Hide and Seek" in the woods Hal was concealing himself in. It took a few minutes for the girl to find him and hand him the ring. Hal thanked her and was off on his way.

It wasn't that hard for Hal to fake Guy's death. A few minutes spent on a sandy war planet made it look like Hal had been in the middle of a battle and found Guy's ring on a criminal's neck. It was fairly easy for Hal to spin a tale of his capture, the villain's appearance, and death at the hands of the creatures there. Sure, the ring said he was still alive, but the Guardians attributed that to the ring being dead for so long. It was disturbing how the Guardians took his words at face value, but Hal was called away to help with the construction of the Gotham Barricade soon after.

Hal returned to his duties as the Green Lantern of Earth and had time to sort out his life and improve it. Things have changed since Hal left, but they're strangely the same. At night, when everything's quiet and Carol's nuzzled into his chest, Hal wonders if he did the right thing with Guy.

Green Arrow (Oliver Queen)

Oliver was in a bad place when J'onn contacted him about Dala and the deaths of Batman and the JLI. He had a fight with his girlfriend, Dinah L. Lance, a few days prior and ended with them on a break; Roy was busy with Dick and Garth, so he couldn't turn to him. Bats and Green Arrow had a strong bond, and while they'd always had their hiccups, they always had each other's backs. Green Arrow sunk into a depression, one where he was able to still get out of bed in the morning, but a depression nonetheless; Ollie neglected sleep and shaving, so he had stubble on his face and felt exhausted more than usual. The world seemed muted to him, almost like the colors had lost their shine. The news was reporting about the Vampires taking over Gotham, and while J'onn and Etrigan were busy devising a cure to the outbreak, Ollie hadn't heard from Dinah in a while. Maybe she's just busy. Yeah, that's it.

When he got the alert from the Star City Bank, Green Arrow almost wanted to ignore it. But he's a hero, and despite his somber mood, he has to protect Star City. Even though the fighting started to become more of a chore. When he got to the bank, spotting none other than his rival, the Clock King, the last thing Arrow expected was for the Clock King to want to talk. It was almost enough to make him laugh, but the villain seemed genuinely concerned about what was happening, especially with no Batman or substitute in sight. Green Arrow was hesitant to believe that was all there was to it, but Clock King saw them as friends. Or, friendly, at least.

So, against his better judgment (combined with fatigue and a desperate need to just talk to someone), Green Arrow caved. He told the Clock King everything he knew and vented a bit. His best friend was dead, his personal and professional lives were a complete mess, and part of him was just waiting for the Vampires to take over Star City so he could just. Stop thinking. Arrow felt guilty for thinking it, but it was the truth.

When Clock King took his helmet off and proposed a team-up Green Arrow was suspicious. Sure, all the points he made were likely true, and Clock King's plan seemed like it could work, but. Ollie asked why, and his answer seemed honest enough. So, Ollie teamed up with his nemesis.

Clock King- William pulled some strings to get some grade-A material (and some legal papers confirming such) and a high-quality design from the elusive David Hyde, and Ollie called up every contact he could to help with the Gotham Barricade. Thanks to William and Mr. Hyde's efforts, the outbreak was contained and the various systems were up and running. Ollie did think William was going overboard with the guard vetting process, but understood after a long lecture from his enemy-turned-partner.

The entire time, Ollie kept an eye on Tockman's actions and worked his way backward from every piece of info he was given. Everything seemed to check out. Ollie began trusting Will, which allowed them to work well together while crimefighting. Of course, crime rates have dropped since the Gotham Barricade's completion, with several villains turning a new leaf. The ones who don't however, are easily taken down by Green Arrow and The Clock King (Will says he let Ollie have top billing).

Strangely enough, despite Will revealing himself to Ollie, the man doesn't want to know who Green Arrow is. He tried once, but was immediately shut down by Will. Arrow found it odd the man didn't want to know, despite the fact they're friends now and Will has stated he doesn't care who's under the mask. But, Ollie figured he could use it to his advantage.

While Ollie trusts Will, he does want to know the man more; he has some lingering doubt that he wants to cast aside for good. So, he heads to the Clock Shop Will works at, as billionaire Oliver Queen to see what he can find out. Business has been on the uptick and Will's part in the Gotham Barricade is not secret, so it wouldn't be unusual for someone like Oliver to visit. Plus, Ollie did have a few clocks he needed to fix up. Will's usually busy with orders and other customers, so Oliver asks about the man with the other workers present. They all say the same: "Will's a smart guy, the sweetest to be around, best to work with, and he likes genuine German foods." Ollie doesn't know what that last part is about, but it seems like Will's a good guy. He's tried asking Will to meet outside of work as Oliver, but he's always turned down for some reason.

More interestingly, Ollie's been looking into the Tockman family and discovered Will had a sister, Beverley, who died at a nursing home. The COD doesn't state what caused it, but her being sent there coincides with Will's debut as the Clock King. He might have to look into things if Will doesn't give him straight answers.

Ollie hasn't heard from Dinah for over a month and is starting to worry about her. She didn't tell him where she'd be, so for all he knew, Dinah's on vacation in the Bahamas. It'd explain why Ollie didn't see her during the construction. He's been getting static-filled calls for the past two weeks but tries to ignore them. Speedy has started coming around after hearing about his partnership with Will (he's started seeing him as a cool uncle after moving past initial distrust), and sometimes brings Nightwing or Garth with him. They get along surprisingly well, often giving advice to his ward and his friends on gear and potential upgrades.

Next: [>]

Prev: [<]

[powderrblue]

"you're not my homeland anymore"

title from "exile"

Sneeg, Charlie, and Ranboo were exhausted.

None of them had slept in what must have been days. Even Ranboo had nodded off a few times, though they jolted awake every time they leaned against something because of the searing pain that would immediately engulf their senses.

Sneeg intentionally hadn't processed the escape yet, spending most of his time going between all three of their wounds left from their last show to make sure none of them would get infections.

To Charlie, though, every mile further away from Showfall was another mile between him and home. And what about Randy, what if there was still a way to save their dad and they'd lose it if they left his corpse in that building, he questioned in his mind, though he never would have said it out loud. Charlie knew he trusted Sneeg with his life. He always had. That couldn't change now, right? Not for anything-

"Time to go," Sneeg said out of nowhere, and Charlie jumped. He nodded at Sneeg before the older could say anything about it, though. Questioning averted. For now.

"For now" only lasted until Sneeg stopped a couple hours' drive later. Ranboo had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, carefully cushioned on the few ragged blankets Charlie had managed to find in the loft bed despite its being hardly a crawlspace big enough for him. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.

"I can tell you're thinking about something," Sneeg said bluntly, forcing him into the present once more.

"No, I'm not, I'm just tired," Charlie said with more of a petulant tone in his voice than he'd meant. It wasn't entirely a lie, he supposed he could argue if Sneeg tried anything.

Sneeg shot him a look that made Charlie's resolution to keep that lie going dissolve entirely.

"Alright, fine, I'm just not- not great, man! Alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? I thought it would be fucking obvious-"

"Talk to me, then."

Charlie stopped in surprise, looking up at Sneeg. He paused for a moment.

"You know what? No. You already know what I mean."

"Do I?"

Charlie couldn't fathom why or how Sneeg appeared so calm. Why he was being so patient. Charlie was panicked and tired and he didn't even know where to start. He was scared for Ranboo, yes, but he wanted to go home. As selfish as that was, he wanted to go back. At least at Showfall, they could have gotten reset and none of the trio would be hurting anymore by now.

He realized he must have said something out loud, because Sneeg looked him in the eyes a second later.

"You know in the end, everything would just get worse. I know you do," Sneeg said. There was no emotion in his voice, but his eyes betrayed him to Charlie. Charlie, who had known those eyes longer than he'd known how to say his own name. Charlie who could have seen the faintest flicker in his brother's eyes and known when something was deeply wrong. Like it was now.

"You wanna go back, too," he spat at Sneeg. "Don't even lie to me."

Sneeg huffed. "So what if I do," he said defensively, looking away from Charlie.

The damage had already been done.

"Then why-" Charlie laughed, almost hysterically- "why are you upset at me for wanting to go back?"

"I know what this is about, okay? Showfall didn't love you, Charlie!" Sneeg interrupted him. "Sure, you were the favorite our entire fucking childhoods, but at what cost? Don't you realize what they did to you because of that, Charlie?!"

"Well, what do you know about what they did? Huh?" Charlie retorted, his tone biting. "They never loved you."

Silence fell over the dimly lit kitchen as though it were a graveyard.

"I shouldn't have said that," Charlie's voice finally said, sounding smaller than Sneeg had ever heard it.

"No, you're right," the older said, a fake smile plastered across his face as he looked up. "You're right. I know they didn't. That's why I carried my boyfriend's corpse around for who knows how many years. That's why they killed the only two people who ever fucking cared about me. That's why I was a fool for thinking you would be any different, then or now. That's why I tried to kill both of us, I thought it would change something."

Charlie did remember. He remembered the way Sneeg had loomed over him, knife in hand. He remembered the way he hadn't retaliated, partially because he knew the drones would save him before he fully died but partially too because he did feel guilt for Showfall's complete refusal to acknowledge Sneeg's existence. He remembered wondering if this could somehow atone for everything he'd ever done to Sneeg as white-hot pain shot like a firework through his small body. He remembered the look of instant regret on his brother's face as he backed away in terror. The drones had gotten him a moment later, just before Charlie's vision and any further memory of the event faded out.

Charlie sucked in a breath, swallowing thickly as though that would make the memory leave. "Sneeg, I- I'm sorry-"

" 'Sorry' won't bring Randy back, Charlie," Sneeg blurted out. 'Sorry' doesn't fix over ten years of being abandoned by your own brother."

"I know, I- I know," Charlie managed out. He didn't know what else to say, though he knew it was the wrong thing before it even left his mouth.

Sneeg seemed to recognize that in Charlie's expression, and he finally looked down in defeat.

"Charlie, I'm tired," he finally admitted.

Charlie was already hugging him by the time he closed his eyes to take a breath.

"I hate you," he told Charlie, wrapping his arms around him. A chuckle interrupted Charlie's sobs for a few seconds because here, at the end, they both knew he didn't mean it.

Finally, Charlie pulled away. "Ranboo could- could probably use some company," he pointed out, wiping his eyes. "Why don't you go lay down for a bit. At least try and rest."

"You too," Sneeg insisted. "They- they won't find us out here," he said softly.

The younger nodded, knowing without looking that Sneeg needed the company too. Whether to be sure Charlie wouldn't leave or otherwise, he was too tired to decipher.

Still, Charlie figured, wherever Sneeg was was where Charlie himself was meant to be, for good or bad.

And if Sneeg meant to find a way to live without Showfall, who was he to refuse him that after everything?

[malwarechips]

im gonna ramble about little details in my rw designs that i like a lot hold on

spears has sun's marking on the back of their neck !!! and theyre also intentionally designed to be like! the slugcat version of uncanny!!! their ears rest pointing up by default when to every other slugcat that's a sign of aggression!! their snout is just a LIIITLE too long for a slugcat!! THEY HAVE FOUR EYES . not to mention the lack of a fucking mouth but thats a canon thing

SAINT ISNT EVEN A SLUGCAT . THEYRE THE ANCESTOR OF SLUGCATS. THEYRE A PIPESLUG. THEYVE BEEN HERE FOR SO LONG THAT THEIR SPECIES HAS EVOLVED AND PROGRESSED BEYOND THEM. ONE OF THE REASONS THEY CANT THROW SPEARS IS THEIR HANDS ARENT ADVANCED ENOUGH TO GET A GRIP. ONE OF THE REASONS THEY CANT EAT MEAT IS THEIR TEETH ARE FALLING OUT DUE TO THEIR AGE . KARMA FLOWERS WILT AROUND THEM .

riv is based on an otter !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and they have a squid beak !!!!!!!!! theyre just a little wet freak !! maybe i'll even give them cuttlefish pupils !!!! (dude i want to do that now) their hands and feet are webbed and they have a fucking DORSAL FIN like a FISH

this is more of a headcanon than a design thing but THE REASON INV'S CAMPAIGN IS SO FUCKED IS BECAUSE THEYRE LITERALLY CURSED. THEY ENTER A REGION AND IT JUST SPONTANIOUSLY FUCKS UP AND GOES BACK TO NORMAL WHEN THEY LEAVE . YES IT IS CONFUSING AS FUCK TO EVERYONE ELSE PEBBLES WAS SO FUCKING CONFUSED .

NIGHTCAT'S WHISKERS LOOK LIKE SHOOTING STARS . ACKNOWLEDGE THIS PLEASE PLEASE PLEAAAAASE PLEASE . I AM SO PROUD OF IT I LOVE IT SO SO SO MUCH

monk is just a banana :) they have little spots!

GOURMAND ! HAS !! LITTLE CHIN TASSLE THINGS !! KINDA LIKE !!!! SNAILS AND SLUGS . LITTLE GUY! !!!!!!!!!!!

HUNTER HAS A PEARL ON THEIR EAR LIKE AN EARRING ! ITS A DATA PEARL FROM SIG THAT'S JUST SOME BASIC INFORMATION ABOUT THEM IN-CASE THEY SOMEHOW WANDERED TO AN ITERATOR UNRELATED TO THEIR TASK . also their scars are blue because imevil

ARTI . ARTI .F UCKING ARTI . ARTI IS ROUNDED. HER SCARS ARE POINTY. BEFORE HER SCARS SHE WAS VERY ROUND BUT NOW SHES VERY ANGULAR BUT ONLY ON HER SCARS ITS JUST MOST OF HER IS SCARS . TO SHOW HOW HER PERSONALITY HAS CHANGED . SHE'S GOTTEN SHARPER.

survivor is just purple and i like that. thats all really .

sig tore off the main part of his antennae in an act of defiance against the ancients and you can still see the very base of them !! he still has the proper base like the little round part but he also has little sticks coming out of those that were originally what his antennae were mounted to !!!!! also he has little purple accents outside of his clothing and scarf bcz yaay purple yipee yahoo

suns is meant to look kinda like a dragon because why not !!!

wind's antennae are like a little cartoon gust of wind !!!!!

pebbles and innocence have very similar antennae because theyre both gen 3 iterators !!!!!!!!!!!

OLDER ITERATORS HAVE MORE VISIBLE JOINTS THAN NEWER ITERATORS AS THE ANCIENTS SLOWLY LEARNED TO COVER THEM. FOR EXAMPLE MOON IS VERY VERY VISIBLY A ROBOT MEANWHILE PEBBLES KINDA JUST LOOKS LIKE HE HAS SKIN . THE ONLY VISIBLE MECHANICAL THING ON PEBBLES IS THE ARM AND HIS ANTENNAE . and also he has vents on his side all the iterators have that i felt like it

ok i think im done now

[mutedeclipse]

something that bothers me sometimes, as a semiprofessional character designer.

hot take: mermaid bomber from jetters is much better designed than bomber mermaid from online, a tumblr post from an idiot with too much free time... below the cut!

intentionally inflammatory title and thesis statement aside, i have strong opinions and i hope to be heard out here

lets start with the first thing i notice people have a problem with, her colours. the warm green/cool pink used in her design are complementary and don't compete with other characters of similar colour ranges. while i do agree the softer salmon, cooler green and yellow toned orange of bomber mermaid have a more pastel and harmonious appeal... mermaid bomber (i would assume) is coloured the way she is to be clearly visible on an older television and through compression.

pictured above, an example of her being clearly visible in a distance shot, bomber mermaid could never

SURE they may clash at times especially outside of the lighting of a scene, but looks gorgeous in lighting that complements her. lighting that would also render bomber mermaid's colours nigh indistinguishable from the backdrop of any given scene

an example of a scene with extreme lighting i think would be a detriment to bomber mermaid's colour scheme.

I'll admit the sheer amount of colours are a little unnecessary its quite in line with the other characters on the show. ESPECIALLY the other shitennou who are eye catching on purpose for reasons that feel like it further serves the 'they're different from other combined bombermen and don't quite belong' narrative. Mermaid bomber looks like a whole ass character, bomber mermaid strikes me as much more 'villain of the week' with a cutesy spin

moving on to her structure as a character... her design was made to have a DISTINCT silhouette!! both do, actually... but the online portrayal feels quite generic in comparison to jetters' while still following shape language its loose, doesn't indicate much shes a bomber first and foremost. mermaid bomber's design follows the philosophy of what i will call a teardrop type character (a combination of triangles and circles) giving her a quite regal, even cunning edge to complement her round and cute features... which I'd say fits her character well. shes a spoiled daddy's girl princess who uses her cute charm. her much more overt femininity ALSO is important to this fact, its how she gets her way!

the scales on her limbs resemble arm and leg warmers respectively (quite popular with teens at the time) the latter of which popularly being worn with miniskirts, her skirt like fin reminiscent of a pleated skirt. her prominent amount of scales remind me of sequins. hell, her whole vibe REEKS of y2k in incredibly subtle and unique ways its so beautiful now that I've noticed it.. this inherently bold sense of fashion distinguishes her from other female characters (such as misty or shout) on the cast, her tall stature distinguishes her from other bombers.. the only other main character bearing a shadow of resemblance is young momo! which i find neat for a couple reasons I'm sure you could deduce yourself.

her fin on her back makes her look much more dangerous and reminds you that shes meant to be a weapon, along with her belt and much more mask like face shape. along with the sharper points but these details are subtle enough to overlook from an in universe perspective

screenshot from whataboutfractions, seriously guys she has a tail too and it rocks.

i was going to add thunder but the making of this post was so long, i feel like he gets a lot less flack for his design and i wanted to express my love for character design today, that and point out to people who probably agree with me why mermaid's design is important.

[poisonwaterlily3]

Started listening to The Magnus Archives earlier this summer. I am now halfway through season four and it is impossible to stifle the urge to write, especially horror, using this particular frame. And I also have no self control when it comes to not sharing things I've made so... (additionally, the particular institute and Archivist reading this and any future statements I write are unspecified)

A Humble Garden

Statement of Robert Mildew regarding the snakes around his home. Statement given on December 23rd, 2012.

I... okay maybe this is a weird place to start, but what do you know about the ouroboros? Well, it's a symbol in alchemy and in Egypt and a lot of other things. It has a lot of meanings depending on who, where, and when you ask. It can mean the harmony of the physical and spiritual or the passing of time or death and rebirth. I didn't used to think much of it but now... well I see it every time I blink.

I have this garden, right? Just a dainty little hobby I thought I'd take up when I moved back to the states here. Pretty modest thing and that's fine, I don't mind it. Yet modest as it may be, it seems that all of nature has become bent on making it as difficult for it to survive as possible. There's been floods, there's been droughts, one time an entire carrot just up and vanished. Yeah, I counted four carrots one day and then two the next! No hole where it could've gone missing or dig marks from a hungey animal or anything. I suppose something with more power than I has marked that poor four by four square for death, hah! The most recent attack er, well the second most recent now I guess, was an infestation of these terrible little mites that just tore things up. I feared I may have used too much pesticide, but after almost five months of those little buggers... well I had no choice but to empty the last third of the can in one day. It didn't seem to have any ill effect on the produce when it came time to eat, though I sure was worried it had I'll tell you that much!

But those events in particular aren't what brought me to your institute, not really. Not too long ago, I checked up on my garden and found a snake in it. Now of course that's nothing special on its own, it was just a measly garden snake after all I've found a dozen of them in my garden up until then but... it was autumn. Not just that, it was late autumn, practically winter. I was decked out in a rather warm outfit which meant I could continue checking up on my crops with no fear of being bitten but... well it's so odd right? A snake in early winter and it didn't appear dormant at all, just lively circling my garden. And it was then as soon as I realized truly how odd that this snake had appeared out of nowhere to slither laps around some vegetables that it stopped. And it stared at me.

Have you ever looked into the eyes of a snake? I doubt you have. It's weird you know, like you're looking dead into the eyes of another being just as intelligent and sentient as you who has intentionally, very deliberately chosen a life dedicated to killing. I stared into its eye for quite a minute, neither of us moving, until I realized that it did not have the eyes of a garden snake. No, those have always had those big round eyes that made me love when I received a visit from them. This one had the eyes of a rattlesnake. Something that meant me harm. I wanted to back away when I realized this, thinking I had misjudged, but it's gaze just petrified me, kept me planted there like the, well, plants in my garden.

Well while I had this brief staring contest, I ended up letting my mind wander until it itself happened upon an older snake-related memory. My father must have taken me to a sort of reptile showcase. It's a vague memory, really. Part of me wants to say it was a random stop during a long road trip but that doesn't really make any sense. Regardless, we park, hop out of the car, walk over and the next thing I remember was staring at this woman, the guide and maybe a snake handler. I don't remember much about her, though I'm certain that whether an 11 year old me thought she was pretty will surely be a hotly debated subject for your organization's top researchers.

Regardless, one thing that did stick in my mind was her rather fitting tattoo snake tattoo and this, I do believe, is what I stared at her for. The tattoo ended at a tail on her middle finger and crept up her arm with such a meandering pace that my eyes felt like they too slithered just following it. Does an image have a pace? Well, that one most certainly did, there is no other way to describe the delicate, foreshortened detail of it, though maybe that too is an inaccurate description. Still though, my eyes followed the tattoo up her arm, her shoulder, down under neck in a way that made it appear like a necklace before ascending back up her neck and eventually ending with an open, wide, fanged mouth ready to bite down on the corner of her jaw.

Looking at her tattoo filled me with this deep dread, like everything I knew would just vanish the moment I reached the end of it, but I just couldn't help myself. I found myself looking deep into the eye of the tattoo. Suddenly I was back in my garden, the snake now gone and the winter wind chilled my bundled body. I admit I was concerned that I had no idea where the snake had gone—I'm sure you know that feeling when you lose track of a spider—but I was all bundled up and despite that, felt cold and scared, so I decided my work was done for the day and headed inside. Winter crops have a way of enduring better anyway.

I returned to my garden the next day and would you believe it if I told you that same snake was there? A garden snake that had the eyes of a hostile rattler. Looking at it gave me that same sense of finality, of something that cannot be avoided anymore, something terrible that had slithered its way into my world. I did my work though, albeit with trembling hands, and made sure to leave it its personal space, all the while I tried not to trigger another staring contest. Then it was there the next day. And the next day after that. I felt a bit relieved that it had become somewhat routine in a way, just having a weird little hybrid snake friend in my garden. I named him Buddy.

The day after that there were two Buddys. They were identical, both of them circling the garden in perfect unison like yin and yang. Around and around, back and forth. It made my stomach drop. I stared at them on my porch for a little while, unsure of what to do about this, if there was anything to do at all. It was just two snakes. Two really weird snakes out in the middle of winter, but is that really all that big of a concern? In hindsight, yeah sure it is but when you're standing there, dumbfounded and with no idea of what's about to happen you just don't know. Regretfully, I found myself too much of a coward to do my usual garden work with them there so I ultimately turned back inside.

The next day there were three. The two from the day prior continued their circling and I noticed some shifting out of the corner of my eye. There was another Buddy in one of my trees. At this point I hadn't even stepped foot outside, just looking out my kitchen window when I saw them. I decided not to tend my garden that day.

The days after that were worse. Four, five, six, nine, thirteen... it became harder and harder to count as time went on. Eventually I just gave up and decided that the elements had won; I was not going to reach my garden again this year. Every day, I'd just stand at my kitchen window and look out at all of them, the wriggly little things and... the worst part was how they all just stared at me. All of them except the ones which chose to circle my garden like an ant spiral. I never saw them move their heads though, so I can only guess that they all just spent their days staring directly at my window.

I think it was around this point that my devices started to go all wack. It started with my laptop for my job. I work online and thank goodness because my commute would just be too long for it. Side effect of living out in the woods I guess. That and snakes. Still though, once my laptop decided to stop working I had no choice but to email my boss and request an early Christmas. He's a good one as far as bosses go and let me off. I felt terribly bad for him, but I felt I had bigger things to worry about.

It was awful. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how I'd even begin to describe all of this to a pest control or electronic repair person, much less how they'd actually help me. Those snakes all look like common garden snakes, but they can't be. Their eyes just don't belong. They look so hostile, so full of envy. Hate. I think I decided at some point that they Buddys just hated me for some reason. It was just the impression that I got from looking into their eyes, their tongues sticking out and retreating again in disgust. They knew I didn't have any power here.

Next were my televisions, then it was my oven. I wondered briefly what could possibly be responsible for the simultaneous supernatural failures of my technological devices. Another look out my window put that question to rest. I mean, it was a stretch to be sure but Christ, what else could it be? I went ahead and updated my calendar so that I knew what day it was my phone when that decided to fail on me suddenly. It was a good call since it was the next to go on December 18th.

More snakes showed up of course. Twenty, thirty, forty, at that point I couldn't bother counting and I just had to estimate. Fifty? Seventy? Dare I say a hundred? It was impossible to tell really. I only saw them in the backyard. At some point I closed the blinds and curtains to every other window, I did not want to know how many were outside those or if they were staring into my house at me there either. But I couldn't bring myself to blind myself to the kitchen window. I always spent a brief moment looking over my garden; it was still fine, even with fifteen snakes circling it for god knows what reason. What did I say earlier about the endurance of winter crops? Really though, I just couldn't look away from them. I wonder how many hours total I've spent just staring out that window... Not much else I could do with my time but look my impending doom in their eyes. Their hundreds of eyes...

I was running out of food by this point but there wasn't really much I could do. Every electronic in my home had given up on me so I couldn't contact anyone. Well, I guess my thermostat still worked but that wasn't useful for anything besides climate control. I suppose the reptiles didn't have it in their hearts to take the heat away from me. Small mercies? I would've tried getting in my car and leaving but one look out the front window told me that the snakes did surround my house and were looking into every window, blinded or not. I felt terrible just constantly. I could hardly sleep if not from my empty stomach than with the stomach churning knowledge that this was the end. These harmless snakes would be the death of me.

I woke up on December 21st, not really expecting anything different. There were plenty of doomsayers crying out about the end of the world on that day. "December 21st, 2012 will be the end! It was written by the Mayans! It'll be the end I tell you!" None of them knew what they were talking about and yet... they were right. I knew it from the moment I looked outside on the winter solstice.

There were no snakes in my backyard. None in my garden, none in my trees. I looked out the other windows and all the same. The snakes were gone. I took one hesitant step outside in a snug jacket and my old pal Buddy slithered up at miraculous speeds onto the railing of my back porch. I tried to run but could not, instead I found myself in another staring contest with this snake. I was so sure that this was the original snake, my Buddy. I'm still sure of it though I have no real reason to think that. All of them were were identical anyway.

Buddy then began to slither and twist and bend himself, coiling comfortably on the rail. I watched in disbelief as he began to eat his own tail.

I stared this garden snake eye-to-eye in awe and fear when suddenly I completely understood what this was.

It was the first, it multiplied into many, and it became one again. And now it is destroying itself with eyes full of hatred and jealousy and rage. Think on that. It is the little I can do to make you understand.

Because I understand. I understood.

But I cannot possibly tell you what it is I understood no matter how much I wish I could.

I do not have the words to make you understand what the phrase "We will not last forever" really means, the fact that we cannot last forever. You can know, sure, but you cannot understand. It takes a revealing of truth with such enormous gravity that simply cannot be repeated, cannot be expressed, cannot be place into another's head without them experiencing those days—those weeks of hour long gazes and restless nights and starving waking hours. You simply cannot understand.

I do understand.

And it is every moment that I wish I did not.

That is all.

End of statement.

To my knowledge, there are not many statements that regard snakes and even in those they only appear in minor roles. That is to say that their decidedly major appearance here is very curious. I'll be sure to have my assistants find any others that feature snakes and we'll look into any common themes.

As for right now, I will categorize this as an instance of KnowingUnwanted given the focus on how they stare, although the crisis the statement ends on also gives me cause to note it as perhaps Impermanence. It is not unreasonable that it could be both after all. Neither of them are particularly associated with technology though so... *sigh* what a headache this one is.

End of documentation.

[horizon-verizon]

I hate how GRRM use Nettles’s sexuality to undermine her accomplishments just to shake things up. Here’s a 16 years-old girl who relied on her intelligence instead of a pedigree to tame a dragon and succeeded in becoming a dragonrider, but her taming of Sheepstealer gets prefaced by a statement about how “worse was yet to come with dire consequences for the Seven Kingdoms” to preemptively blame Nettles for Rhaenyra’s own cruelty and Daemon’s subsequent abandonment of her cause (a statement not made any better by talking about how “the power young maidens exert over older men is well-known” when discussing Daemon’s affair with Nettles as if to cast her as a seductress), and that’s when her dragontaming is not getting framed as something she traded sex for as suggested by Gyldayn’s speculation about how she traded sex for the sheep she fed Sheepstealer. He makes sure to treat us to his thoughts on the state of Nettles’ virginity when she began her affair with Daemon while he is at it as well.

Likely responding to this post.

You can take a look at this post and this one for more context.

Answer: GRRM has Gyldayn do all that. Gyldayn is the in-world maester who writes Fire and Blood to be published and stored within the Citadel so the maesters could compile knowledge about the Targaryen dynasty. It is meant to show the consequences of Rhaneyra's paranoia.

How is it that we should look at an invisible character GRRM created to be the book's in-universe writer over GRRM to blame for Nettles when GRRM is the real-life writer of Fire and Blood? Didn't he decide that Nettles should receive said treatment in this story?

Fire and Blood works as a pseudo-frame narrative within the larger world of the main ASoIaF series/narrative and has its own unique unreliable narrator from the main series. An unreliable narrator, is when a/the narrator's credibility is compromised by clear inconsistencies of events, perceptions, and their own biases and/or psychological processes. They are more often found in first-POV or limited third/deep third POV narratives because we are in the actual mind of the protagonist and there is no real 100% unbiased narrator because the fictional character or entity narrating has agendas, desire to lead someone/the reader towards a specific perspective, biases, etc.

That underpins the entire narrative. However, when real-life writer intentionally and consciously uses in-world or a voice that is distinct from their own, they are trying to establish that there is another, overarching entity that tells the story with their own agenda and in-world audience.

GRRM's history book is itself pretty unique for a popular audience. Gyldayn is that unreliable narrator with a kind of "3rd-1st person omniscient POV", where the narrator is a character in the world but is still external from the characters being focused on.

I say "kind of" because the omniscient part of Fire & Blood is really Gyldayn's attempt to be as neutral a histographer or collector of historical accounts as possible while making reasoned conclusions from missing or suggestive but ambiguous material--speculating & trying to solve mysteries. But it is seems 3rd person bc Gyldayn is not a participant in the events and stories he's describing in Fire & Blood--he's writing of times he wasn't even a conception of, writing them either right before or during Robert Baratheon's reign that begun in 283 A.C. He is writing in the perspective of a person who has read multiple accounts of multiple events and generations that have themselves been debated over, parts lost, etc. When Gyrladyn writes of characters/past people's personalities, thoughts, feelings, etc., it's coming from external observations of them, recorded dialogue or other sorts of speech, or their own firsthand recordings (Daemon & Otto's writing in The Rogue Prince).

The book is "unreliably narrated" not in the sense that nothing is "true" (thr main series narrators are actually ALL if not mostly "unreliable!!") not because of this amalgamation, the anecdoters' own biases or agendas, & narrative holes in some places, but because it's written by a man who comes from an institution that upholds sexist, classist, mores AND one that has been in opposition to the Targs & dragonlords since its dynasty's inception. So he should be also scrutinized in how he writes about the Targs, esp towards its women who do not, in some way, conform perfectly to Andal-FM gender performance in its patriarchal, feudalist system.

F&B is not actually that unreliable; like most history books, it includes good research of witnesses and contemporary documents on events.

The maesters are not septons, but they--like every other Westerosi--come from the Faith and the Citadel itself rests in the exact same town that the High Septon (a sort of pope) and the cultural/religious epicenter of the Faith resides: Oldtown. Where the Hightowers are based, have patronized the Citadel, supplied both the Citadel & Faith institutions with their own members for generations (like Ceryse Hightower's uncle, who was the High Septon in Aegon's & Aenys' times), and have gathered for themselves high prestige in Westeros for centuries for being the ones preserving the Faith and with it, whatever counts for "Westerosi values".

The purpose of an unreliable narrator is to:

LINK ...create a lot of grey areas and blur the lines of reality, allowing us to come to our own conclusions. Fallible storytellers can also create tension by keeping readers on their toes — wondering if there’s more under the surface, and reading between the lines to decipher what that is. Unreliable narrators can make for intriguing, complex characters: depending on the narrator’s motivation for clouding the truth, readers may also feel more compelled to keep reading to figure out why the narrator is hiding things.

Fire & Blood is not really this, but to just sohow that there are layer sof narration...

A frame narrative is a story told through layers of other narratives like a Russian nesting doll's structure. One overarching narrator tells a story, say to another character, and we do not get details about them as much as we do about the characters of their story:

The Framing Device is a narrative technique in which a story is surrounded ("framed") by a secondary story, creating a story within a story, often through Separate Scene Storytelling. The inner story is usually the bulk of the work. The framing device places the inside story within a different context. Framing devices typically involve outer story characters as the audience of the inner story, such as a parent reading a bedtime story to a child. Other times, the outer story character is the author of, or a performer in, the inner story. Occasionally, the inner story is a hallucination or delusion experienced by one of the outer story characters. The inner story does not need to be a work of fiction from a frame-story character's point of view: letters, journals, and memoirs can also be used as framing devices, often in the form of Day in the Life.

There is a reason why Gyldayn is compiling all these accounts, secondary or primary, bound or loose, into this one book. That's a story right there.

So there are GRRM -> Gyldayn/all the maesters who wrote about the Targs' and their interactions/decisions -> the Targs and those around them, whose first POVs we do not often get and must inspect since the masters are the ones collecting accounts of their words and dialogue. Some dialogue had been recorded in the then-declarations, some are reported by individuals, and some by many individuals at the scene of the event.

GRRM is rather "telling" us stuff--implying, showing, and not just telling--about how the Targs are perceived not just by the maesters, but by larger Andal-FM Westerosi society at their time as well as after their end. Intermingled in that are perspectives of Targs themselves, but you'd have to investigate and weigh the context of their actions.

If you clicked on the link to the post I made a long time ago about how Gyldayn writes and relates Nettle's character, it's clear that he's looking at her as more a young brown, low-classed slut, or allows that interpretation, to subsume her impressive brave acts to explain why she would in any way be attractive to Daemon. And the thing is that this is exactly how misogynist men who've enjoyed male privilege (there are no female maesters) often interpret a female person's value in various ways to discredit them and the men, but more often the women/girls. Rhaenyra nor Mysaria get away with his misogyny either. Helaena could have had a stronger personality, but along with her own family likely sidelining her unless it has to do with kids, Gyldayn also merely characterizes her as "pleasant", "would-be good mom" and "less attractive than most Targs" as if these were the primary qualities they are looking for from a royal woman/Targ woman. Motherhood, socially undisruptive, and looks.

Side note: And anyone else who visits the Citadel could read one of the copies of Fire and Blood, but I think most copies would be in the Citadel because I haven't found evidence of books in Westeros spread to many regions in mass production and cheaper paper or if they use paper, what it is made of and how expensive it is. Without said evidence, they'd likely paint words manually into books and that takes time, so you're not going to see as many copies as you'd see in real-life Renaissance countries and later eras. (medieval books and illuminated manuscripts, pic below, were also made of animal skin [often sheep], called "vellum". Are most, if not all, books in Westeros made of vellum, or paper, IDK)

[candied-rain]

OC ask rb but i intentionally try to engineer them to be as difficult to answer as possible let's gO Kingfisher, 5 For Marron, 8 12 for Corro Lucrecia, 14 And because absurd wildcard/fuck you: Ellie... 18. (that's all a LOT so feel free to just pick a couple, or space them out in separate posts, whatever u feel like)

Kingfisher - 5. What’s one hill your OC will die on (anything from a guiding moral position to a strong opinion about combining mint and chocolate)?

It's absolutely their freedom. They aren't willing to compromise that for anybody or anything.

Marron - 8. What’s something that your OC owns that means the world to them? What’s something they own that they don’t like, but can’t bring themself to part with?

Definitely her violin-- its a weird kinda electric violin that Kingfisher threw together for her years ago and it's her favorite thing in the world (second ofc to King themself). As for the second part, she kinda has mixed feelings about the special radio King gave her. It lets her talk to them more, but she wishes she didn't need it. Corro - 12. What does their bed and/or desk look like? Tidy or cluttered - are they both the same, or is one neat and the other messy?

Oh, her stuff is absolutely a mess. Completely disorganized, clothes and all sorts of junk strewn everywhere. She considers it a Statement (no idea what its meant to be a statement about).

Lucrecia - 14. How comfortable are they relying on other people, and what situations would change their comfort level?

So, at the beginning of Thirst, Lucrecia is really uncomfortable relying on anyone. She views herself as dangerous, unreliable, and self-sufficient. She thinks she can tough through anything alone, and that's inherently better than getting anyone involved with her ever, because of the danger she poses to people.

As for what can change that, well, Ellie, it seems. An extremely gentle older woman who seems to be impervious to the danger that Lucrecia sees herself as. She doesn't trust her fully yet, but she's come a long way since chapter one.

Ellie - 18. If they can or would drive, what would their car be like?

Absolutely something flashy, some kinda sports car, bright red, the works. Lucrecia is embarrassed every time she gets into it because she doesn't like attention being drawn to her but Ellie doesn't care.