#resulting in a kind of frankenstein

[lifeofsims3]

The Frankenmummy

My creation for @salemssimblr Monster Mash CAS challenge! Frankenstein & Mummy + Saturated + Black Eyes + Flowers + Long Hair + Eyebags & Vitiligo

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[ironiina]

Victor Frankenstein,

London, late 1800s.

[rivilu]

There's pieces of media that alter your brain chemistry and then there's pieces of media that rearrange you on a molecular level

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

Randall's breath hitched at the touch of her Cupid's-bow lips against his bony hands, to say nothing of his heart fluttering at the notion that his presence made his bride's life, topsy-turvy though it was now, a little easier. It was all he could hope for; that after everything she'd been through (then and now), he could be a light for her, just as she'd been one for him.

Wanting to lighten the mood, to move away from this topic (even though she'd reassured him that she wasn't upset, he still didn't want to press it), he instead chose to ask her, "Tell me, darling, tell me about some of your happier memories from...the future. You've told me about all the parties Dorian threw, but what did we do together?"

Although the idea of living in an attic, the very place their lives came to an end, sounded a bit morbid to him (though, perhaps, ghosts had a different perspective on that sort of thing?), he loved what Emily had told him so far, how cozy they made their little home together, turning it from a mere storeroom to a place all their own, adding their own personal touches to it. It was an unusual place to call home, sure, but it was theirs, and all she'd told him about it, it sounded really quite lovely-it sounded like they made some wonderful memories there.

[ineffablefool]

Finally watching Spirited Away, after years of seeing all kinds of people wax rhapsodic about it over the years.

I did... not expect it to make me feel uncomfortable about being a fat person so very, very many times.

[togglesbloggle]

For the Reverse Unpopular Opinion meme, Lamarckism!

(This is an excellent ask.)

Lamarck got done a bit dirty by the textbooks, as one so often is. He's billed as the guy who articulated an evolutionary theory of inherited characteristics, inevitably set up as an opponent made of straw for Darwin to knock down. The example I recall my own teachers using in grade school was the idea that a giraffe would strain to reach the highest branches of a tree, and as a result, its offspring would be born with slightly longer necks. Ha-ha-ha, isn't-that-silly, isn't natural selection so much more sensible?

But the thing is, this wasn't his idea, not even close. People have been running with ideas like that since antiquity at least. What Lamarck did was to systematize that claim, in the context of a wider and much more interesting theory.

Lamarck was born in to an era where natural philosophy was slowly giving way to Baconian science in the modern sense- that strange, eighteenth century, the one caught in an uneasy tension between Newton the alchemist and Darwin the naturalist. This is the century of Ben Franklin and his key and his kite, and the awed discovery that this "electricity" business was somehow involved in living organisms- the discovery that paved the way for Shelley's Frankenstein. This was the era when alchemy was fighting its last desperate battles with chemistry, when the division between 'organic' and 'inorganic' chemistry was fundamental- the first synthesis of organic molecules in the laboratory wouldn't occur until 1828, the year before Lamarck's death. We do not have atoms, not yet. Mendel and genetics are still more than a century away; we won't even have cells for another half-century or more.

Lamarck stepped in to that strange moment. I don't think he was a bold revolutionary, really, or had much interest in being one. He was profoundly interested in the structure and relationships between species, and when we're not using him as a punching bag in grade schools, some people manage to remember that he was a banging good taxonomist, and made real progress in the classification of invertebrates. He started life believing in the total immutability of species, but later was convinced that evolution really was occurring- not because somebody taught him in the classroom, or because it was the accepted wisdom of the time, but through deep, continued exposure to nature itself. He was convinced by the evidence of his senses.

(Mostly snails.)

His problem was complexity. When he'd been working as a botanist, he had this neat little idea to order organisms by complexity, starting with the grubbiest, saddest little seaweed or fern, up through lovely flowering plants. This was not an evolutionary theory, just an organizing structure; essentially, just a sort of museum display. But when he was asked to do the same thing with invertebrates, he realized rather quickly that this task had problems. A linear sorting from simple to complex seemed embarrassingly artificial, because it elided too many different kinds of complexity, and ignored obvious similarities and shared characteristics.

When he went back to the drawing board, he found better organizing schema; you'd recognize them today. There were hierarchies, nested identities. Simple forms with only basic, shared anatomical patterns, each functioning as a sort of superset implying more complex groups within it, defined additively by the addition of new organs or structures in the body. He'd made a taxonomic tree.

Even more shockingly, he realized something deep and true in what he was looking at: this wasn't just an abstract mapping of invertebrates to a conceptual diagram of their structures. This was a map in time. Complexities in invertebrates- in all organisms!- must have been accumulating in simpler forms, such that the most complicated organisms were also the youngest.

This is the essential revolution of Lamarckian evolution, not the inherited characteristics thing. His theory, in its full accounting, is actually quite elaborate. Summarized slightly less badly than it is in your grade school classroom (though still pretty badly, I'm by no means an expert on this stuff), it looks something like this:

As we all know, animals and plants are sometimes generated ex nihilo in different places, like maggots spontaneously appearing in middens. However, the spontaneous generation of life is much weaker than we have supposed; it can only result in the most basic, simple organisms (e.g. polyps). All the dizzying complexity we see in the world around us must have happened iteratively, in a sequence over time that operated on inheritance between one organism and its descendants.

As we all know, living things are dynamic in relation to inorganic matter, and this vital power includes an occasional tendency to gain in complexity. However, this tendency is not a spiritual or supernatural effect; it's a function of natural, material processes working over time. Probably this has something to do with fluids such as 'heat' and 'electricity' which are known to concentrate in living tissues. When features appear spontaneously in an organism, that should be understood as an intrinsic propensity of the organism itself, rather than being caused by the environment or by a divine entity. There is a specific, definite, and historically contingent pattern in which new features can appear in existing organisms.

As we all know, using different tissue groups more causes them to be expressed more in your descendants, and disuse weakens them in the same way. However, this is not a major feature in the development of new organic complexity, since it could only move 'laterally' on the complexity ladder and will never create new organs or tissue groups. At most, you might see lineages move from ape-like to human-like or vice versa, or between different types of birds or something; it's an adaptive tendency that helps organisms thrive in different environments. In species will less sophisticated neural systems, this will be even less flexible, because they can't supplement it with willpower the way that complex vertebrates can.

Lamarck isn't messing around here; this is a real, genuinely interesting model of the world. And what I think I'm prepared to argue here is that Lamarck's biggest errors aren't his. He has his own blind spots and mistakes, certainly. The focus on complexity is... fraught, at a minimum. But again and again, what really bites him in the ass is just his failure to break with his inherited assumptions enough. The parts of this that are actually Lamarckian, that is, are the ideas of Lamarck, are very clearly groping towards a recognizable kind of proto-evolutionary theory.

What makes Lamarck a punching bag in grade-school classes today is the same thing that made it interesting; it's that it was the best and most scientific explanation of biological complexity available at the time. It was the theory to beat, the one that had edged out all the other competitors and emerged as the most useful framework of the era. And precisely none of that complexity makes it in to our textbooks; they use "Lamarckianism" to refer to arguments made by freaking Aristotle, and which Lamarck himself accepted but de-emphasized as subordinate processes. What's even worse, Darwin didn't reject this mechanism either. Darwin was totally on board with the idea as a possible adaptive tendency; he just didn't particularly need it for his theory.

Lamarck had nothing. Not genetics, not chromosomes, not cells, not atomic theory. Geology was a hot new thing! Heat was a liquid! What Lamarck had was snails. And on the basis of snails, Lamarck deduced a profound theory of complexity emerging over time, of the biosphere as a(n al)chemical process rather than a divine pageant, of gradual adaptation punctuated by rapid innovation. That's incredible.

There's a lot of falsehood in the Lamarckian theory of evolution, and it never managed to entirely throw off the sloppy magical thinking of what came before. But his achievement was to approach biology and taxonomy with a profound scientific curiosity, and to improve and clarify our thinking about those subjects so dramatically that a theory of biology could finally, triumphantly, be proven wrong. Lamarck is falsifiable. That is a victory of the highest order.

[dross-the-fish]

Any advice on learning to enjoy making art again?

This is a difficult one. I went through a phase where I didn't make much art for years, at my rock bottom I was putting out maybe 3-4 pieces of art in a single year because it felt like the joy had gone out of it. It really depends on the reason you're struggling to enjoy your hobbies, depression, stress, burn out. If you're struggling with these it can really affect your motivation. I can't say what will help you but what helped me sort of get back into it was remembering what it was about drawing that I enjoyed in the first place. I love portraits because I love telling people about my characters and drawing them feels like an extension of storytelling. When I draw I feel like I'm spending time with them, bringing them to life in a way I can't do with words alone. Also if you're just coming back to it after a long time of dropping it, don't make it into work, doodle, sketch. Draw the same character 1000 times if that's what's fun for you in the moment. At the beginning of 2023 I drew nothing but the Frankenstein creature on everything over and over again while trying to get out of my rut. My partner got so sick of seeing Adam on every sticky note and napkin but working on one comfortable and familiar thing and not taxing myself trying to come up with "content" actually did wonders because I was focusing not on the end result but more on the fun of playing with my character. Don't force yourself, if you don't feel like drawing don't make yourself do it. Art isn't going to break up with you if you're gone to long, it'll always be there for you to come back to when you're ready. You're not failing anyone by being gone for awhile. How ever long it takes, be kind and patient with yourself, there isn't a deadline for picking up your hobbies again. I can say for me that when I burn out I burn out hard and it can last a long time, but even in those low points I know it's only a matter of time before I pick up a pencil again because it's the thing I love most in the world. I could never leave it forever.

[determunition]

i took the switcheroo week as an excuse to finally try my hand at some scrybeswap designs! got a bit carried away as you can see, i love doing character design so much

decided to keep their species/major design elements fairly consistent (e.g. grimora's makeup, mag being vague and indistinct, leshy having nonhuman legs, p03 only having one arm) while still switching up their aesthetics as needed; super happy with all of these as a result!

design notes for each scrybe under the cut! def open to any further questions or curiosities, i always think way too hard about characters while designing them lmao

P03:

scrybe of the dead: i went for a possessed tv vibe; he's still mechanical but those bones do have a living soul trapped in them...also shoutout to @squid-hug for suggesting the x-ray machine, i was very tickled by that lmao

scrybe of beasts: overgrown old bot was kind of a given for this one, but i was also thinking that the plants are part of what's keeping him running somehow

scrybe of magicks: the magic eye is the core powering that top monitor, and the two side monitors display what he's seeing with that eye at any given time

grimora:

scrybe of beasts: she's a witch! like a chill terry pratchett kind of witch, she works with a lot of herbs and such; also her makeup is meant to mimic blood drops

scrybe of magicks: magick grimora is more of a warlock type, her magic is a lot more sinister and she almost never opens her eyes (whereas her third eye is basically always open)

scrybe of tech: tech grimora is kind of a wacky machinist-flavored dr. frankenstein; she inscribes by writing on circuitboards!

leshy:

scrybe of the dead: this leshy is a gargoyle/vampire hybrid! i thought a mirror would be fun for him bc you can get two different cultural refs; medusa (bc stone gargoyle), and the idea that vampires don't appear in mirrors!

scrybe of magicks: i decided to make him a bird guy (kinda harpy-esque) bc he's basically a more whimsical baba yaga hermit; the baba yaga thing carries over from slavic folklore obvs. also he has polycoria!

scrybe of tech: tech leshy was super fun, bc he's steampunk! rather than animal legs i gave him digitigrade robot legs, but other than that he's the most like, normal human guy here probably lmao; despite his well-adjusted appearance though i still think he's got a bit of freaky wonk in him

magnificus:

scrybe of the dead: this one was very ring-inspired lol, got those clump of hair you found in the shower drain vibes

scrybe of beasts: bush magnificus real! i think he'd be a bit more quirky trickster fae in this form

scrybe of tech: one of my favorites; tech mag is an emaciated cyborg draped in so many loose cords and wires that you can't tell what he looks like anymore. a lot of those cords are connected to him, and he plugs them in wherever as needed! he also has a drawing stylus, making him just an average art student tbh lmao

[snowsinterlude]

doll parts.

(coriolanus snow x bella baxter!reader)

summary: having been brought back to live recently, you seemed to have lost your memories and still had a lot to re-learn. with that being said, you were personally intrigued by whatever 'fucking' is. luckily, coriolanus knew exactly how to teach you.

based on this ask.

c.w: horror (based in frankenstein and poor things), smut, coriolanus snow, nymphomaniac behavior (on the part of reader), spitting, p in v, porn with plot, rough sex, slapping (m. recieving), overstimulation, angry sex, squirting, edging, creampie, unproctected sex, innocent reader, naïve behavior, dumbification. casca highbottom is mentioned but he's not the main focus, 'virginity' loss, there's gonna be a lot of 'of course's" here

with the shocks of the electricity running through your new brain, you had opened your eyes to the sight of casca highbottom, a scientist who wanted to prove the point that he could bring people back to life.

of course, playing god wasn't exactly allowed, but what does corruption doesn't do?

with a white curly lock in your lustrous hair being something new to your forgotten appearance, you stared at the man in front of you, whom claimed to be your father. and of course he wasn't. he wanted to prove a point; this point being that he could create the perfect woman and shape her into the submissive obedient element you were supposed to become.

you didn't like that idea, and on the first minute he looked somewhere other than you when he brought you to see the outside world, you ran away, wanting to learn whatever you had to learn without the chains that casca highbottom had you in.

it didn't took long for you to come across coriolanus snow, a renowed academy student who was always against highbottom's experiments in dead people and animals. and he was so gentle to you, probably because of your doe heterochromatic eyes (another result of highbottom's tests on your previously dead body), or probably because of your innocent smile and the way your experience with the dead of living beings was killing mosquitoes and butterflies, saying that "there is no meaning for me to let this thing live if it annoys me."

of course, he took that out of your head with the argument that "then, if i, someday end up annoying you, would you kill me?" and you seemed to thought for a long while (that was his concern and the moment he gulped down), shaking your head, but saying "if you gave me anything other than kisses and books and shelter, i would." and he laughed at the way you said that, your eyes almost jumping out of your skull, always so sickeningly wide. you were so naïve, he truly wanted to open your kull, unspool your brain and sifting through it, trying to catch and pin down whatever it was that passed through your head.

he would never do it, though. not when you looked so pretty when swallowing his spit on that same night, licking your lips after a kiss.

then, in the day before, sitting on the couch on his studies, you looked at the page of the book you were leavmfing through, you saw an image of a woman and a man's silhouette. taking advantage of the few things highbottom teached you, you read outloud:

"mis...sio...neh...ry" of course, you still had a lot of difficulty reading, but nothing that could cause harm, coriolanus still tried his best to teach you how to read. he was always so... kind. you wanted to eat him up. but pretty things sometimes are accessories that can't go into your stomach, and that's what coriolanus told you when you tried eating a ladybug, claiming she was too cute for you not to eat it. "coryo,"

"yes, doll?" he asked, reading the papers he had on his hands.

"what is missionary sex?" that caught him off guard.

so now, after explaining how it worked and why it existed, the platinum blonde man finished by saying it could bring pleasure to your body, but it was mainly used for reproduction purposes.

you didn't really care about that last part, the second you heard him talking about 'pleasure', you immediatly got up, almost abruptly walking to him, your bare feet stepping on whatever it had on the ground, the skirt of your dress, that he got used to seeing you without, the shows you were supposed to wear to an early party that you never put on, his jacket, some papers, and finally, you were in front of him.

"i wanna do it," you voiced, taking the papers out of his hand "i wanna do it with you." and "i wanna have missionary with you." you said, eyes wide open to stare at him, you almost never blinkedat all.

"it's sex, doll. missionary is just a position." he said, laughing. though the thought of you riding him made his dick throb.

"position?" you asked, cocking your head to the side. "then there's more?" he nodded to you.

"there are much more positions on the kamasutra than pages on the bible." he said, and you smiled happily, your teeth showing up as well as your voice echoed:

"show me." you said "sex me- fuck, is fucking, right? fuck me. in the positions of the kamasutra." you said.

and god, he was so happy to take you by the waist, kiss you and lead your leg to wrap around his waist.

it didn't took many minutes for you to be without your bloomers, your panties put aside for him to grind his cock on your cunt, teasing you, and you didn't knew, but you felt like you were soaked up in something sticky- your wetness. "t-that's not missionary," you moaned, bucking your hips back at his teasing moves.

"you're right," he answered, groaning as he kissed your frowning face. "that's the clasp position, doll." with his hands on your waist, and yours on his shoulders, he finally penetrated you, earning a long moan out of your mouth.

you weren't a virgin, though you didn't know that, you used to have a husband on your previous life before you died, but you were never satisfied and you have never been- not until he slowly thrusted inside your pussy, making you feel every inch of his dick inside you.

"fuck!" you cried, a cry without tears as you undid the buttons of his shirt.

"what is it?" he asked, a moan leaving his throat as you ripped the shirt and bite his neck, too impatient to unbutton all of the buttons that were prohibiting you from seeing his body.

"i wanna see you," you moaned, slowly bucking your hips back, mouth agape as you let a rude moan leave your head "i wanna see your body."

he chuckled at your words, his hands still holding your body to keep you still as he fucked you. however, it wasn't bad, but you wanted to see how it would feel if it was fast.

"f-faster, please. just wanna see- s-see how it feels." you pleaded, your eyesight blurry as you looked down, seeing how your bare pussy took him in so well, almost devouring him into you.

he promptly obeyed you, going faster and deeper, a moan leaving your throat as his skin slapped against yours. and to see you squirming under him felt like heaven- a sight that no one but him could capture.

even when your walls squeezed his cock and you came around him, your pussy gushing around him, your stamina was still higher than his, which led to you edging him, not letting him cum until you felt so tired that you'd be passed out by his side.

which didn't happen for a long time. for at least six rounds, you were still edging him, slapping him every time he was ready to cum. you didn't allow it.

and by now, you were riding him non-stop, your eyes shut closed as you yourself abused your cunt on his cock, who throbbed painfully and made him throw his head back when he finally cummed inside you, stuffing you rope after rope.

"hey!" you called out slapping his chest, as he still gripped his nails on your skin, marking small crescent moon phases on your skin. he looked at you with an angry frown. "i don't wanna stop just now! i want more!" you said, not caring about his growling state, you thought it looked cute on him.

"god, you're terrible." he grunted, changing positions. "just this one more time and it's over." you nodded, agreeing with him as he finally slapped your clit, making you mewl and squirm under him. "see? you're too sensible, if we keep going," he thrusted "you're gonna have a difficult time walking straight."

"i can always dance." you said, legs spread to let him pound into you. he chuckled, slapping your thigh.

"let's see." he kissed you with a slight open mouth, his tongue battling with yours as he thrusted into you, letting you be a pillow princess for once in the day as you scarred his back with your nails, his pace was quicker than before, probably quicker than yours, and it made you melt entirely, your breathing became heavy and rapid.

when he pinched your clit, you felt strangely dumber, moaning into the kiss that was soon broke apart.

he spit into your mouth, his eyes boring into yours. "swallow it." and you did, crying from the pleasure as he rubbed your clit. "good girl, doll." he smiled.

"d-don't stop, coryo, please. just a bit more and i'll cum- i-i promise i'll let you rest after!" you mewled, squirming as he pound into you.

"hm, i don't know, doll. when i said i wanted to cum you didn't really allowed me to. why should i allow you?" he asked, pecking your temple.

"please. please! i can't hold it in!" you said, your boobs bouncing into the corset you were still wearing. he got rid of it in the blink of an eye, and you didn't even noticed where it had gone, too focused on the pleasure in between your legs as you cried.

he smiled to the view of your body. of course there was a bunch of scars there and there that were already healed, specially the one that connected your neck, but it didn't really mattered to his dick, neither to him. he loved just how doe eyed you were, how dumbly you asked about things and how you didn't questioned him more than once about something, like now.

"i-i'm sorry, i-i just wanted more. i didn't thought about your pleasure- s-sorry, please, let me cum! pleease!!"

"hm. no" he said, grabbing your ass and kissing your temple oh so kindly as he fucked you raw. "let's see how long you will last since you were so hungry for it."

and you didn't last much, just likenhe thought. the more you concentreated on the feeling of his dick on your cunt and the way his balls slapped against your ass, the closer you were to cumming again, and you did just after he came inside you again, smiling dumbly at him as you squirt on his cock, too sensitive from your previous orgasms.

"i'm sorry, coryo" you said, still teary eyed as you hugged him, hand pawing at his chest.

"for?" he frowned, he had already pulled his trousers up, guarding his dick into the fabric.

"f...for edging you, 'm sorry." you said, sleepy and pouty. he chuckled.

"it's okay," he said, caressing your head "at least you said sorry."

and you slept the most comfortable sleep of your post-mortem life, even drooling a bit on his chest, but he loved you just too much to do something about your innocent, naïve nature other than love and cherish it.

[artbyblastweave]

What I really like about Creature Commandos is that stylistically it's a very Silver-Age-inflected take on the DCU as a superhero setting- EC comics Hammer-horror overtones, scientists getting blasted with radiation and turning into glowing skeletons, geneticists making Fish people, Weird War Two, Silver-Age leave-it-to-beaver Doc Magnus and his Metal Men, weird micronations with superscience, Frankenstein's monster is a real guy, and so on. This is not the kind of adaption where the writers feel a strong need try to hook every superpowered Tom, Dick and Sally back into the same particle accelerator explosion or mutagen-laced tear gas deployment. It's just that the Silver-age nonsense:

A.) is played basically 100 percent unironically as something that meaningfully affects and traumatizes the characters who have to live through it- no sly nods to the camera, no defensive irony in the presentation whatsoever and

B.) is portrayed with a level of ultraviolence that always sort of implicit in a lot of silver age concepts even if you couldn't actually depict it under CCA censorship standards. There's going to be a lot of blood when you shoot a nazi with a machine gun, it won't be pretty when the writers allow the guy whose power is "melting people" to actually make contact with a human opponent for once, you definitely don't want to see how the sausage gets made on a Frankenstein, and so on and so forth.

All of which result in the viewer nodding along, belief suspended, with a level of charity that we would absolutely not extend to a lot of the goofy silver-age fare this is pulling from. All told it comes out slightly north of The Venture Bros in terms of how it pairs these aesthetics with an intense sense of cynicism and pointlessness- even after all of the runarounds and fakeouts and pointless deaths the world is still in a better position at the end than if the team had just stayed home. But it feels like a cousin to that show, stylistically.

[steorrneleom]

BG3 Elven Names: A Watsonian Perspective

Amongst folks who like Astarion as a character, the meaning of his name is a common topic of discussion. The answer is typically that it is a variation of Astērion (Ἀστερίων), a Greek name meaning starry, which makes complete sense considering that he is likely a moon elf, but it is based in a language that does not actually exist in the Forgotten Realms. This isn’t a problem, a Doylist answer is completely valid, but I thought it would be fun to figure out what the meaning would be in Elvish (the D&D version), a Watsonian answer (1). After Astarion's, I set out to see if this could be done with Halsin and Cazador as well. I present here my results, with narrative. I have also included a TLDR at the end for those who want to skip the methodology.

(1) To any who may not be aware: Doylist means that it is what the author was thinking when writing / what their intention was. Watsonian means the in-universe perception / explanation. Example: Why did magic change so much between D&D 3.5e and D&D 4e? Doylist answer is that they wanted to simplify how magic worked to draw in new players. Watsonian answer is that Mystra was assassinated by Shar and Cyric resulting in arcane magic becoming unstable and changing its behavior.

In the Lack of Duolingo

First things first, I needed a resource for the Elven language in D&D. As with many collaborative canons, official uses of the language were spread through many mediums and over the course of decades. This makes hunting down sources difficult, but luckily a wonderful person by the name of Diane Morrison was kind enough to create ‘A Treatise on Espruar,’ which offers a complete dictionary. This is what I will be using:

A quick disclaimer that, also like with many collaborative canons, this language has inconsistencies and gaps which makes a true cannon language impossible until a complete conlang is officially released. What I present is to the best of our current resources.

Method to the Madness

I have the words, but next comes the challenge of using them. These names were not made to be interpreted in the lens I am using, so it is kind of like trying to fit a square peg in anything but a square hole. Some words can line up near perfect but have meanings that make absolutely no sense, like dragon royal world, or some words can have the right meanings but have the wrong letters. I resolved this with the following criteria:

The words used must be as close to the name as possible.

Sound shifts must be minimal and not drastic.

As few letter drops as possible.

A meaning that makes sense in context (as much as possible).

Key

Word / part of word Meaning

Astarion

Something noteworthy about Astarion’s name that I kept in mind when translating it is that it was his ‘child name’, the name that was given to him by his parents and not one he chose for himself (2). This means that the meaning wouldn’t necessarily be one that he himself liked, but rather one that a parent would like to ascribe to their child.

Searching for words, one almost seemed perfect at first: Aasterinian (meaning quicksilver). It was already so close to his name without having to Frankenstein words together, but sadly it broke nearly all of my rules. It had three letter drops and two sound shifts: er to ar and ian to ion. I also was of the opinion that while quicksilver was a fine name meaning, it wasn’t one that felt like it was meant for a child.

So, the next option was a combination of Aestar (meaning together or one heart) and -ion (meaning noble). I was hesitant of this one at first. The meaning I wanted to use for Aestar, heart, had seemed to be reserved for the context of marriage at first glance, but then I saw the name Araestar with its meaning of Goldheart. This is evidence that heart is valid for names as well.

Thus, my Watsonian idea is that Astarion’s name comes from Aestarion, which translates to noble heart. This only has one letter drop and a slight sound shift from Ae to A. I also personally think noble heart is a fitting meaning for a child’s name.

(2) Astarion’s tombstone has his name and states he was 39 when he ‘died’. Elves are typically considered adults and choose their new name when they reach the age of 100.

Halsin

Halsin was a bit of a hard one, where there were tons of possibilities but near all of them just didn’t fit right. Halsin is 350 years old, he would have presumably chosen his name with a meaning that represented him as a person. He, in my opinion, wouldn’t have a name that meant something random like weak brook or red. In addition, I had to find a combination of words that fit my rules.

So, I had to write down three prefix possibilities, five word possibilities, three suffix possibilities, and mix and match until I got something that met my criteria. I won't include my rejected combinations due to their number, but here are some reasons I rejected them: ‘r to l sound shift is too drastic’, ‘the on sound is too different from in’, and ‘though m and n are close in the IPA the sound shift feels too great’. Luckily, I did find a combination I was satisfied with in the end.

My Watsonian idea is that Halsin’s name comes from Halasan which translates to one who is free and wild. The ending of Halasan would likely be pronounced like in already so it would only be a letter change instead of a sound shift. The only other change needed would be a letter drop, the a in las.

Cazador

Now this name I went in thinking that it would be the true challenge, the 'z' felt distinctly non-elven to me, but much to my surprise D&D elven does have the z sound and letter. It was still hard to get a good meaning out of it, especially since it is unknown whether this would be his child name or his adult name and there was only one combination of words that worked.

The collection of words at my disposal were cas which means herald, -adar which means world, and za which means royal, of royalty. From this, I got Cazadar, which is a modification of Casadar that adds za. This would give a direct translation of herald of royalty world, which I feel would be interpreted as royal herald (to the world). It isn’t the cleanest meaning, but I feel like there is ego and world domination vibes to it, so it works.

A slight tangent, it is debatable how valid my overlapping construction is. It is possible that the shift from cas to caz would be seen as just a letter shift and not an addition of the word za. This wouldn’t be a problem, herald of the world is still a valid meaning for my purposes, despite it losing some of the ego. There is also the possibility that the za is seen but it results in the caz being interpreted as ca, a letter shift from ka which means dragon. Since there is no dor or dar in elvish, it is possible that it would be seen either as an ornamentation or a shortening of -adar, in which case the translation becomes dragon of royalty or dragon of royalty world. These meanings aren’t horrible in the case of a wrongful interpretation, but it doesn’t entirely make sense, and Kazaadar breaks the rules I imposed.

With all this being said, my Watsonian idea is that Cazador’s name comes from Cazadar, which can be translated to royal herald (to the world). This is the one name that I created that feels like a stretch, but I tried my best.

Last Names

I originally only did the first names when I decided to make this, but then I realized while typing all this that this probably wouldn’t be complete without trying the last names too... and so, I decided to give them a try. I sat down with the elven dictionary and felt the hope leave my body as soon as I wrote them down on my scrap paper. Ancunín, with a little accent on the ‘i’ and a super rare letter for D&D elvish, ‘u’; and Szarr, with two consonants (S and Z of all things) next to each other. I predicted a struggle, a struggle is what I got, and I fled the battle, unsuccessful. I was not able to find anything that met my rules… yet.

I will revisit this someday, but it will require a lot more research on Faerûn than I am able to put in right now, sadly. Here is the fun thing about last names, they are often more influenced by location as opposed to the ethnic origin of someone. Case and point: in the US a lot of folks changed their last name upon arrival to better fit in, or it was messed up enough times that they changed it for convenience sakes. Examples: Müller turning into Miller (a spelling change), Zimmermann becoming Carpenter (a direct translation), or going from Sadowski to Smith (A complete change to assimilate). They also have a different meaning convention compared to regular names to begin with, where they can be based on the location an ancestor lived, their occupation, or their nickname.

A Watsonian answer may exist for Ancunín and Szarr, but it would be rooted in where their families lived through the eras and other local languages that might have influenced the original elvish version. Like perhaps the location the Ancunín family is from has a predominant language which favors ‘u’ as a vowel. Maybe Szarr isn’t elvish at all and is an occupation name. I don’t know if I will be able to find a satisfying answer, but if I do one day I will be sure to post it.

Bonus

Espruar is the alphabet of the elvish language, which looks really cool in my opinion. Before I even started looking into the Watsonian origins of the names, I thought it would be cool to see what their names looked like written in it and so vectorized all the letters. Below are the character's names and their origin names written with Espruar.

Astarion

Aestarion

Halsin

Halasan

Cazador

Casadar

Cazadar

Little End Note

I want to thank everyone who read through my long explanations and tangents, I hope you enjoyed reading the thought process behind all of these ☺️. I also wanted to let you folks know that I am going to make another post soon with my vectorized Espruar alphabet so anyone can write with it should they want to.

TLDR

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight

As always, I have edits:

This will make more sense at the end.

I came across some theories about this song, and wanted to look at it in depth.

We are reading with the understanding that he may be referring to Eddie.

[A gentle piano and bassoon track begins playing.]

The sun is low, it’s cold and dark,— end of season, but could also be a reference to night and danger after dark

Just wind and snow, I must remark,

The bugs all head to slumberland,—interesting given the use of toyland, also the commercial about remderem/insomnia (some must sleep but Wally is in the opposite state. Too aware?), but could be a reference to death, like “the big sleep”

Some might find it sad, but I understand,—on face value, he will miss his friends, but knows that it is inevitable.

Even if I might not be able to see you,—can’t see Eddie because he is gone/buried

I know it’s for the best, I can’t keep you,—Eddie staying would lead to serious consequences for Eddie

It’s time for all of you to get some rest,—after what we saw Eddie go through, I bet he would be better in a different state

To tuck you all into your arthropod nests,—bug stuff; also Julie's hibernation?

At this point, those last few lines could refer to a sort of death for Eddie. Almost like frank can preserve him in some way by giving him a death in this universe. If we are talking puppet world, which we did see in commercials, most of Eddie’s anxiety happened in that state. So, can Frank give Eddie a suspended or death like state in one of the layers of reality and he is preserved in storybook world or our real world?

With one last check, that nothing is amiss,

I can see you safe into your chrysalis,—this reads that he will put Eddie into a different state of being that he can come back from. The coming back is my interpretation only at this point because I assume frank wouldn’t choose death for him or would for sure be hurt by Eddie’s death. Things would have to be very bad if true death is a better option for Eddie.

Also, it hearkens back to the horror butterfly image. Another also, caterpillar to butterfly, an insinuation of emedging into a new form. I don’t see allusions to Howdy in here, but I suppose it is possible that this could refer to more than one neighbor and Frank is taking them all out.

As you snuggle down into your dirt,—reference to being buried?

I want to assure you that I won’t be hurt.

This clarifies that it is a sleeping type state, not death. Ok, here is we’re Eddie’s Halloween costume comes in. Frankenstein, changed from the Scarecrow in earlier art (presumably from wizard of oz). Interesting thing about scarecrow vs. Frankenstein is that we see scarecrow taken apart during that film and Frankenstein is famously assembled from parts of different people. Interestinger is the fact that they are both afraid of fire. (I love that Young Frankenstein shows up more than the original in a search.)

Frankenstein (and scarecrow) are both put back together, but for Frankenstein it seems more of a new being, not just a reassembling. Frankenstein (aka frankenstein’s monster) is a thinking, speaking individual that was horrified at the situation he was in. Frankenstein in the book murders to punish his creator for the immorality of creating him and the resulting loneliness that the monster feels. As such, the choice is very interesting. If the puppets of welcome home come to be aware or sentient, I wonder how they would feel about Ronald Dorelaine or their situation?

If the movie version is the focus of Eddie’s costume choice, then he would be a potentially thinking and feeling being (he is afraid of fire), but without further evidence we don’t know his thoughts.

Scarecrow is a guy without a brain, with the power of speech, so a kind of opposite. I think they all end up just needing to be confident, which is why some shyster from the Midwest is able to help. This almost seems to be more in tune with Eddie's character--Eddie has a tendency to appear kind of ditsy, is constantly being dismissed by others. In the end, we find out he is actually smart but lacks confidence. I can see that being true for Eddie as well.

If I had to pick out a character for Frank, it would be the Tin Man. Poppy is the Cowardly Lion, Wally is Dorothy. Home is Home. There are more parallels here than I was expecting. Howdy is the Wizard, Julie can be Glenda, and the Wicked Witch...is kind of no one? Sally can be a flying monkey. She works my nerve. Also, the whole spying thing was done by the monkeys in the movie.

But now that I am thinking about it, this comparison makes a lot of sense, in terms of the complex relationships, as well as the levels of reality that you find in Wizard of Oz. A big event leads to a shift in the understanding of reality, and the lead finds themselves in a very colorful world that doesn't much resemble their own, but is very flashy, has songs, beloved characters, and a sense of danger. There are some things when thought about in the context of real life, or the black and white portion of Wizard of Oz, would be truly frightening.

Of course, Wizard of Oz shares a lot of parallels with Alice in Wonderland, which also seems somewhat related. In terms of source material, the Wizard of Oz is considered to be a parable that expresses the thoughts about US economic policy in the 1890's. This is a theory that you can read more about here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_interpretations_of_The_Wonderful_Wizard_of_Oz

It isn't super related, and not everyone believes that this is the case. However, it seems to be a very American type story, no matter what you believe, that touches on the experience of normal people while much larger forces lie and fuck around with everything.

As the holidays begin to approach,

I gently kiss, each and every roach,—kisses for Eddie. We have seen a realistic roach on the secret page with the mishmash of one script where Wally is deciding what to draw

I made sure to keep, my garden cozy,

So you can safely sleep, in fallen posies,—this whole stanza shows a desire to and promise of a quiet death and maybe even a maintained grave. I looked up posies to see where Eddie could potentially be buried. Posies refer to a nosegay, or small bouquet of flowers. It was a Victorian secret code thing, a way to declare love or even reject people based on flower and color. One that sticks with us in the form of red roses signifying love. On the map, there is a cluster of yellow flowers to the side of Frank’s house. Not sure this counts as his garden, since it is on the other side of the house. Julie has a group of flowers behind her house, but once again, not his garden. No fallen flowers that I can ID.

When googling posey, this is what comes up. I felt that there was a flower called a posey, and these do look like the big yellow flowers by Frank’s house. If any flowers fall in updates, I am going to assume someone is buried there.

There is also the ring around the roses rhyme, which could relate, but I don’t really see a correlation.

It’s time to get comfortable in your honeycomb,

take your winter intermission in your garden loam,—dirt, burying again

neatly nestled from the cold in roots and rhi-ya-zomes, — cozy dead

sleeping side by side under stately stones,—2 dead? Headstones is the link I make there--OK, now look at the pic! (I know, it's a reach.)

…And I’ll be inside of my home,—frank is staying to oversee something. It reads like calming the person who will die. This seems to bolster that arguments that I addressed in the post about bugs on the previous website, that Frank is working against, or at least parallel to Wally. With the bugs, the whispering to Eddie, and using his first name, I think it is reasonable to suggest that Frank is working against Wally and/or Home.

Another potential clue is the hidden video with the clothespins where 1 is upside down. I have theorized that it is a reference to Barnaby dying, but it could be Barnaby and Eddie. Only one clothespin is shown upside down though, so Barnaby or Eddie?

Regardless of how I feel you need to go away,

I’ll be the one to tell you, you just can’t stay,—he likes bugs but this is extreme of Frank, if he is talking about actual bugs

Thankfully I lack a sentimental sensibility,—true that, he generally seems calm.

I enjoy my Methodical Mundanity,—why is this capitalized? I looked and looked but I can’t find the origin of this phrase, though it came up a few times in random posts and articles. Clown does have a tendency to capitalize things that seem random. Me below is also capitalized. I listened as well, and I have to wonder why the singing is so bad? I don’t think the voice actors are bad at singing, seems like a deliberate choice to have reedy and unsteady vocals, pitch issues and pacing problems.

Where all that’s left is… Me.

So, this is a bit extreme for a song about hibernating bugs. I think that given our many references to bisecting or otherwise putting people into pieces (Eddie butterfly horror, frank in a pile of body parts, look I made a dog, and slinky Barnaby, now Frankenstein and Scarecrow) that we could be looking at death in a sense that works in one layer of reality. You disassemble a puppet, it is no longer a puppet. So what if Frank = Frankenstein and Eddie is Frankenstein’s monster? Frank can take him apart and put him back together in puppet reality?

If I had to guess, I am sticking with my working theory. Frank, as the smartest guy in the neighborhood, is the resistant force in the neighborhood. Wally/Home is/are the catalyst for the scary stuff. They are central to everything, physically and otherwise.

I have mentioned that in the last update, Sally and Poppy have the appearance of spies or managing Eddie. Given that Poppy doesn’t attend to party, I am anticipating that Eddie was isolated and watched by Sally during this planning period, where Wally and Barnaby walk the neighborhood to find out what Homewarming is. Given that it is said that Wally and Home instigated Homewarming, it is strange that everyone knows what it is except for Wally. It reads more as an attempt to achieve a goal, despite everyone knowing about the holiday. Even Julie is at the party, and she is supposed to be hibernating. Well, they don't say exactly when Julie hibernates (maybe there was something about her doing it after the holiday?) Anyway, Poppy isn't at Homewarming. She could be at home, but the book stating that they are all here seems like an attempt to cover up her absence. What is she doing? Snooping in the Post Office while Sally watches Eddie? Does Eddie want to go home for not feeling well or he has an idea of what is happening while he is gone?

Maybe Frank sees his boyfriend and comrade at arms about to get hit with something bad, so to preserve him and the opposition, he is going to disassemble him (cue Johnny 5) for protection.

In the past, Sonny (the Brazilian bird) was cast as the opposition to Wally, and included in a relationship with Frank. This work in particular comes to mind:

Clown has stated that they removed Sonny from the project due to the story changing from one with a hero, to one without, as that wasn't the story that they wanted to tell. What if, though, instead of Sonny being written out for the hero reason, there was another reason? What if we are seeing Frank taking on being the neighborhood's savior? He is just snarky enough to make it seem less like a hero situation and more because it was impacting his garden.

[the-quaint-quail]

JAMIL-

suggestive, quick make out sesh >:} , Jamil has people in Kalim watching shifts bc he can’t leave him along out of obligation LOL, Jamil is a meanie! and reader is brat coded 🍎

was worried about your ideas, they were ingenious in the same way Frankenstein’s monster was. Complex and messy and usually resulted in an angry mob.

This however, had to be your most outside the box idea yet.

Every time they go on a date (third wheeled by kalim🙄) to the monstro lounge, or reader visits it on their own or even when jamil and kalim go on their own they keep track of their point cards to the point the couple has 10 total combined.

what do they use them for? a kalim baby sitter of course!

during the lively parties at scarabia, reader and jamil would be able to get themselves alone time while kalim was supervised by a trusting, helping hand! azul naturally (jamil made sure the contract had a firm ‘no suspicious dealings and information gathering clause’ to make sure the shady business man didnt pull anything.

but kalim was never far from jamil’s eye when he’d have to check on the young heir.

yes yes jamil knew this wasn’t the best idea and just seeing the naive house warden next to the shadiest wasnt giving him the best feeling in his stomach. something akin to dread gnawed at his intestines and gurgled loudly-

“and you said you didn’t want any grapes”

of course you would hear and tease him about his empty stomach. Jamil sighed, leaning deeper into your lap, your legs on either side of his body as you were supported by a mountain of pillows and fabrics alike. You both watched as Lilia and Cater bumbled into the conversation between house wardens, Azul’s ‘Kalim shift’ officially over as he tips a hat in your direction.

“If we weren’t in public right now, I’d flip him off”

You snorted, smacking his shoulder, he smiled at your whispered ‘Jamil!’

“He deserves it, shady octopus”

He sighed, closing his eyes as you brushed the long lock of hair that usually stuck out from his braid to behind his ear. He took a moment to just appreciate the moment.

Just the two of you in a semi private nook (as private as its going to get, thanks to a glamour spell Jamil set up only Azul and Kalim could see through) in your own world as the infamous Scarabia party roars onward.

The party goes laughing and feasting, dancing and singing to their hearts content as you elegantly pluck a red grape from the bunch, carful not to disturb your boyfriendThe metal bowl they were in nestled next to you as you popped it in your mouth.

He opened his mouth to speak but got a grape shoved in it instead. His teeth bit down on it and almost your fingers as his brow quirked up at you in an unimpressed look. But the lift of his end of his lips gave him and his fondness for you away.

You shrugged, popping another juicy red grape in your mouth. “What kind of girlfriend would be if I let my boyfriend starve?” You leaned back into the stack of pillows, making yourself comfortable as Jamil brought your thighs to his shoulders, his hands were on the outside of your thighs when he started squeezing.

You snorted, looking from the ceiling down to your boyfriend who was trying to suffocate himself between your thighs.

“I want to die here”

A elephant sound came out from your nose, belly aching from the sudden death wish Jamil had. You squeezed your thighs tighter unknowingly squeezing a groan from Jamil who wouldn’t let. up.

“I know baby, you said that last night”

“And I fuck’n meant it” His stormy grey eyes bore into yours like the eye of a hurricane, disrupting your mood and throwing your heart into a chaotic rage.

Your body tingled as a arousing hot flash spread through your lower regions.

“You might just get your wish if you’re not carful Viper” you purred, leaning over to stare at him from above. Your hair curtained you two from the outside world as the air charged with tension.

He slowly rolled over, sliding up your body until he was face to face with you, arms on either side of your head and clothed sexes touching.

You gasped as another bothersome yet welcomed wave rolled over you as Jamil leaned closer, his soft lips brushing yours with each syllable spoken. There was nothing and no one who could ruin this moment right now. Not even Kalim.

“Got no time to talk, I’m deadman walking” you giggled as his lips fell into yours in long passionate kiss.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as your hands traveled across his back where they split up for different destinations. One hand travled up and past his ponytail and to his neck you pressed lightly pushing him into you and deepening the kiss. A soft groaned rumbled theough his chest as your other hand slid down his back until it couldnt stretch any longer, bunching up the black shirt of his Scarabia uniform and slowly, pulled up his shirt exposing his beautiful tan skin to the world.

He hummed into the kiss as his lips slotted into yours, his warm calloused hands engilfing both of yours as he deatched himself from you.

“Heyy” you whined chasing after him and his criminally soft lips, the same lips that were curled up in a smug grin as it was his turn to look down on you.

“Time and place habibi, and this-” he swoops in stealing a kiss like a thief stealing a prized ruby. Swift and out before you could register what he stole from you.

“Isn’t either of them” he laid his whole weight on you in a collapsing laugh. A winded ‘oof’ squeezed from your lungs as Jamil wraps his muscular arms tightly around your waist, his head resting on your breast.

“Then let’s make it one” you huff, hand habitually reaching for Jamil’s braided and loose hair ponytail. Feeling each bump of his braids against your fingers, you sighed grumpily, not content with the pg skinship.

“I wanna fucccccc-“

His hand slapped over your mouth with a clap at you whining, a pointed look directed at you as his head nods towards the guests.

“And have you attract attention? Hard pass”

You scoffed, hitting him with his own hair that comes down in waves, the golden clip hitting his back with a dull thump.

“Oh please, I’m not the one murmuring everytime he’s close”

“”No but you are the one begging-“ He sits up with a smirk, hands on your thighs as he pulls your face closer to his with a gasp. “Please Jamil- right there Jamil- Ahh ahh yes Jamil so good”

Your hand pushes his cackling face away as you hide behind your other hand as a new wave of heat washes down your back like a desert hear flash.

“I’m not the one with a master kink- and I don’t sound like that either”

he stops laughing, “Damn. Kink shamed by my own girlfriend” he ignored your lie and pulled you up by your arms.

You were growing dizzy with how active he was, pulling you tugging you, squeezing you-

“HA!” you laughed as your both on your knees on the makeshift sitting area made for 10 people, not 2. “Looks like someone is hornier than me-“

His eyes widen about to retort when you speak faster than his mind could think of a retort. And that’s pretty damn fast.

“Mr.chatty-mc-chatterson over here only gets riled up and chatty when he wants ta’ fucccccc-“ he smashes his lips into your like a tidal wave.

“Damn right I do”

Scooping you up in his arms was a struggle as you resisted, turning it into a slight wrestling match as you tried fighting yourself out of his strong grip. Melodic laughs and chuckles would be only sounds you two hear as your little bubble kept you away from the scary outside world.

Alas after a good tussle you had lost and Jamil had you in his arms bridal styled, your hands over you face in embarrassment as he smirked down at you deviously.

“See, was that so hard”

You smacked his chest, pressing his laugh button as he was clearly amused at your loss. Jamil readjusts you for a second before taking a purposeful deep breath in and out.

Stepping outside the bubble, he made a sharp turn left into the deserted lone hallway that belonged to the vice house warden and house warden. He was lucky the nook was close to his dorm in times like these.

The two erect pillars stared back at him as the oasis returned back to its mirage the further his strides took him. He had made sure absolutely no one who could see through the glamour could see the inside of the nook, high half walls shielding the sunken in pillow fortress and makeshift couch and if that didn’t work than the two purposefully placed pear shaped limestone pillars would do the trick.

You undid your scrunchie from your wrist when you saw the Jamil’s door come into view through the crevice of your fingers. Opening the door with your foot, Jamil lingered in the doorway as you placed the red scrunchie on the door.

“Sorry Mohammad” you both said to no one in particular as Jamil set you down, your hands immediately reaching for the other as he pulls you in for a kiss, his heel slamming the door shit with a rattle, a thud is heard against the door, then a click.

[fancygremlin]

I love how Warren, Gordon AND Clive are character foils of one another. Interestingly, all three of them is assigned the colour gold. The colour implies relevance… which contrasts pretty well how they are viewed or treated by the other characters.

Warren is the “golden egg”.

He is the most important asset Overhead ever obtained and YET— despite all that, he is not treated like a person... he barely classifies as human by the people working at Overhead. In most instances, people talk for him, over him, and as if he’s not even in the room... and no one (except Gordon) seem to find that bothersome. At the start of the podcast he is set to follow a trail of breadcrumbs to return to the Red Valley Research Facility, which led him to discover that everything he thought he knew (his wife, his co-workers, his job, EVERYTHING) was fake. Overnight, his life was ruined and everyone was treating this event as if they managed to pull off a surprise birthday party for him (there was even cake! Oh, how lucky!). He later drives a scalpel through his own hand and people are worried for maybe a minute about him before they decide to use the self inflicted injury as a fantastic opportunity to test the pod’s potential benefits for medical urgencies. Warren is dehumanised and reduced to nothing at every turn, even before taking part to the project.

Warren is seen as nothing more than just a "fun" science project. Comparing him to a lab rat would be too kind, because that would imply that the people carrying out the experiments care about his wellbeing and are tracking his health (mental and physical) and ensuring his safety at each and every step of the way. Instead, he is simply viewed as nothing more than a test tube, a petri dish, a limited stock of valuable cells to routinely freeze over and thaw.

Gordon has a car that he lovingly calls the “golden bullet”.

He is always shoved in the background, belittled and treated poorly by his colleagues. He receives the most hostile comments from the people around him... quite routinely, too. When he worked at Overhead, he was considered as nothing but a corporate drone. Clive calls him "stillwater" to demonstrate how inconsequential and invisible he was to the company. Later, when he becomes the archivist at Red Valley, he is described as a man-child and treated like he has zero brain functions (he even gets called Igor, in reference to the character of the Frankenstein movie), he is made fun of constantly. No one expects anything of him... and Gordon internalised this, too. No one sees his importance, and as a result Gordon doesn't either. In reality he IS the one at the heart of the story: he was researching the seed vault way before anyone else, he is the one that records everything and subsequently provids the material that sacks Bryony, he is the one that explores the secret tunnel to aid Aubrey's plan and he is Warren's lifeline and only safe space while he continues to go in and out of hypersleep. He is the ONE person that helps Warren realise he doesn't deserve the harsh treatment he had to endure.

How fitting that Gordon, a character that struggles to find their purpose and their usefulness, is not even directly tied to the motif himself... his car is. And how interesting that the car is only lovingly referred to as golden, when in reality it is just coppery in colour.

Clive is the "golden boy".

He is at the front of the Kontinue project, and yet, no one really takes him seriously. He hires assistants for the project putting more importance on their appearance, rather than their qualifications. He dresses up in expensive clothes and suits to show how important he is to the company, only for the actual relevant people to not care what he thinks. During the meeting with Malcolm and Hester he was talked over, ordered around, treated more like a waiter than the important R&D person he is supposed to be... and I can't tell if he actually doesn't see this, or if he is refusing to face this reality. Bryony was fired because she was too smart for her own good and too dangerous, Clive was kept on the Kontinue project because he is being promised status and relevance, if he keeps doing what he is being told. He routinely threatens people, and still he never commits to the extremely graphic (and creative) threats he throws around: he is not the one that used the gun that one time, it was Bryony. After he is shot in the knee, his “get well soon” card is bland, generic and unsympathetic. No affection or warmth was being conveyed from his co-workers, despite the fact that he has been referred to as “the man of the hour” on multiple occasions before. And most importantly… he is recovering (seemingly) all on his lonesome. Just a Blue Sky to keep him company, while eating sad ready-meals and microwave lasagna. Where are his beloved wife and kid?

Clive is all appearance and no substance, all bark and no bite.

These characters seem to not be quite enough to classify as gold, they may be pyrite, or fool's gold instead:

Warren is the pyrite from which a lot of gold can be extracted. However, once all the gold is gone, he is going to be tossed aside, as his value is limited to and tied solely to its gold contents.

Gordon is the pyrite that was found by people who only see value in gold. No matter what, the people at Overhead will never appreciate the properties and qualities and uses of pyrite when they are so hellbent in digging and mining for gold.

Clive is the pyrite that is trying so hard to pass as real gold and wants to be treated as just as worthy. He is able to fool people for a bit, but pyrite might shine as brightly as gold and share some qualities and properties... but he'll never be the real deal... and some people might have started to notice.

[lionwitch]

Tim Drake Edits Reality

Hear me out. Tim Drake has always loved photography, that's wildly accepted and known. But what if he has powers too?

What if whatever Tim edits into his pictures becomes the truth?

The first time it happened, Tim was just starting his photography hobby. His parents bought him a camera and he was so exited! He took a picture of his mom's Rosebush, a single rose in the entire bush, half Withered.

Tim found the picture beautiful, and he started messing with photoshop, editing the withered flower back to the bright red it used to be. He decided it looked lonely and sad, the bush dry and the rose edited to be lively but alone in the middle. So he edited the dry areas of the bush back to the lively green and more roses in it. The picture looked very different from the original, but it was beautiful. Satisfied, he saved the end result.

That afternoon, when he walked through the garden, the very same dry rosebush he photographed looked just like his edited picture: lively, with rich colors and plenty of roses.

It made no sense, but he ignored it.

He kept taking pictures and editing them, though the changes were small, like the lighting and all that. Sometimes he made small changes, and he definitely noticed them and thought it was weird, but didn't quite connect the dots. He was kind of in denial. He couldn't be a meta or anything! Right?

And then his parents left for a few months and he was lonely, but he didn't want to admit it. And at school everyone was talking about their pets, and he messed up and lied. "I just adopted a Border Collie puppy!" he lied, thinking that would be it, people would forget, he would get out of the awkward situation (why did everyone have pets?) and nothing would happen. Well turns out, everyone wanted to see his puppy.

So Tim came home and prepared his camera, in his trusted tripod to look like it had been taken by someone else, and took pictures of himself, a whole photoshoot, with his arms stretched like carrying a dog, and then sitting like he was playing with it.

He searched for a perfect Border Collie puppy, one who had a whole photoshoot just for that one, so he could be sure the pictures were coherent and no one would question them. He carefully edited them and memorized every feature of his supposed dog in case anyone asked, to keep his story straight. Once satisfied, he sent them to those who asked for pictures, and received plenty of "cute dog!" compliments. It had taken him all day, so he went to bed almost immediately after, already past midnight.

He woke up to the very same blue eyed fluffy Border Collier puppy he edited into his pictures, licking his face, the same blue harness and leash hung on his door, and even the bed and bowls he put in the background were on the corner of his room now.

He freaked out, of course, but the small pup didn't seem all that worried. And apparently he now had a puppy? Well, he's always wanted one. He named her Frankie, because her multiple colors and patterns clashed like Frankenstein's monster, like she had been made for from mismatched parts.

He loved Frankie. She was so smart! And Frankie was quite loyal and enamored by him, too. He was her whole world, and she was his heart, his companion and confidant, his best friend and ally in his too-big house.

He did decide to experiment though. He needed more research.

When a boy at school picked on him, he edited his picture bald, and that same day his father shaved his hair. He tried again with another boy who picked on Jason (Jason doesn't know Tim exists yet, but Tim keeps an eye out for him), editing his hair bright barbie pink, and this time he added a date to the corner, writing the date of a week ago, two days before the pictures for his football team were taken.

When Tim saw the football team's pictures displayed at school, the boy had pink hair in them, that he didn't yesterday. He asked around, if the pictures looked different to anyone else.

"yeah, I don't know what persuaded him to dye his hair pink before picture day and the tournament."

"I asked him two days ago, he said he lost a bet."

Two days ago. Tim's mind was reeling. He asked the boy himself when he dyed his hair, and he replied with the date Tim edited on the corner of the picture.

Did Tim just... Edit reality?

He later uses this power to his advantage on patrol, and before that while watching the Bats.

Jason is surrounded? He takes a picture and edits a few goons out of it quickly. They aren't there when he looks up.

Shit Joker escaped? He doesn't have the energy to deal with it right now. He edits tonight's date on a picture of Joker sitting peacefully in his cell and a few more guards for good measure.

His family doesn't understand why he takes a small discreet camera on patrol in his utility belt

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Not All "Victors" are Gold, Some are Silver

Solomon x GN! reader

Summary: Everyone grieves differently. Instead of grieving properly, Solomon spirals after losing you and does the unthinkable to bring you back.

AN: It's Ween time, folks! Whoop whoop! I've had this idea for awhile since I've been rereading Frankenstein (my fave), so I've been working on this for the spooky day. Idk Victor Frankenstein kinda reminded me of Solomon... So, here we are, lol. Do enjoy and have a happy Halloween! 🎃👻

Warnings: dark themes, Solomon pulls a Victor Frankenstein, lots of angst, mentions of gore, blood, nausea and vomiting, grief and loss, death, maybe slightly yandere?, ambiguous ending... I think that's it :)

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, Solomon?” his own voice reaches his ears in a strained and solemn whisper. Denial gnaws at his nerves while dread worms its way into his heart where a sense of longing had burrowed before.

It’s all so mundane and quiet, and yet, the overwhelm in his mind makes him hyperaware of everything within the walls that seem to be slowly closing in on him. Back and forth, his stirring makes the murals of neglected cobwebs in the highest corners sway from the subtle breeze. The rushed taps of his soles on hardwood fall out of time with the infernal ticking of his many clocks. He can even hear the flick of his cloak that follows in his restless agitation and the pulsating of his pumping blood as he presses his palms over his ears – growing louder and louder, it’s all too much!

His bloodshot eyes dart around to loose scattered pages, most of which are piled on top of his desk while some have long fallen to the floor. What had been his life’s work for the past five years and had once been intelligible to him was now indecipherable. Or at least he wishes it was. He moves quicker than he can comprehend towards his desk, tears welling in his eyes as he shouts in anger.

“I’m a fool! Why did I do this?!” In one fell swoop, he clears the desktop, and the rest of the pages with anatomical diagrams, alchemic symbols, and maps full of red markings fall to the floor. In another, tools of the surgical kind clang against the floorboards, making flies that had gathered to feed from the drying bloodstains jump and buzz about.

Solomon doesn’t want his research to make sense. He should’ve let it go instead of selfishly clinging to the desperation to bring back what once was. None of it feels real. It’s like he’d done all of it in his sleep only to wake up to a nightmare of his own creation.

The pitter patter of tears dropping and soaking into the wood of the desk is the only sound that accompanies the ticking now. His Adam’s apple bobs in his attempt to swallow down the burn of holding back more. Curses and names are thrown around in his head looking for someone to blame; someone that had to have noticed his decline, someone that should’ve intervened, someone that should’ve known what he was up to. Though he knows it’s a ridiculous pursuit. Solomon had hid himself away with plans only the mind of the genius – or the bothered – would entertain, refusing to confide in his closest friends of the awful state he was in. He has no one to blame but himself.

With a slow pivot, Solomon turns in the direction of where the result of his madness lies, glaring at the blurred outline of his locked closet. Even though it’s only on the opposite side of the room, the dim lighting makes the closet seem to brood miles away from him, reminding him of the millions of miles his eternity has forced him to endure and the lessons he’s learned along the way. Although this time, he’ll be walking towards his punishment for a lesson that should’ve been learned long ago.

A sigh escapes his lips as he pushes off while wiping his eyes with the back his shirt sleeve. His steps keep their normal confident cadence, but the muffled sounds from behind the door create a storm within that almost forces him to falter. A queasy, sickly feeling squeezing at his gut. He reaches into his pocket for the key as he approaches, pulling it out once he’s right in front of the door. With a hard swallow, he inserts the key, twisting slowly until he hears the “click.” Solomon, before losing what little courage he’s retained through this ordeal, grips the cold doorknob and turns it. The slight creak from the hinges is the last thing he hears before the light pours in to let him gaze upon his work.

There, kneeling on the floor with thick, clunky chains fastened around boney wrists and ankles is his greatest love and greatest loss – you.

He took every liberty in giving you a vessel that mirrored your living one. Though due to late harvesting of your already buried body, most of “your” parts had to be taken from other sources, all “ethically procured” from those who had freshly departed. Solomon figured they didn’t need their useless limbs more than he did to rebuild you. He wishes he could feel pride upon seeing you living freely and healthily, but all he can manage is despair as he takes in your rot and decay.

The scratches you gave him on the night of your reanimation hidden beneath his shirt seem to burn in the wake of seeing his blood and skin caked under your fingernails. His eyes lock onto yours that are so cloudy and pale, and lack a certain twinkle of the living. He smells the sick, rotting flesh that crawls and spiderwebs along muscles that tense under the weight of the chains. And he despairs at the visible pumping organ in your chest that doesn’t resonate with the sound he used to listen to before…

Before you left him.

It all hits Solomon too quickly and he falls to his knees, retching violently. The contents of his stomach are spilled onto the floor, and he tilts his head up between heaves to watch you merely blink in indifference to his misery. This isn’t you. He knows because you lack the humanity you would’ve shown him in a moment like this. But in bringing you back, he’s taken away that part of you – and it’s something he can’t sew on or replace. There’s a reason people warn against necromancy and the like, and this is why; you are not the same as you were.

You are a victim of his selfishness. And he is a monster.

“I’m sorry… Forgive me!” he shouts down at the floor with drool and tears joining the pile of vomit below him. He finally breaks down as the weight of his actions crushes the emotion out of him.

Solomon rolls away to lay on his back while sobbing, staring up at the ceiling as he pictures the life he’s made for himself – feeding and watering you while still in your chains to avoid your animal-like aggression, confining you to a life of captivity and darkness. He’ll have to take care of you; God knows he can’t take this life away from you now that he’s given it back, even if it isn’t you. The guilt would destroy him.

Between sniffles, he whispers out in anguish, “what am I going to do?”