#some fictional and real life supervillains never get over high school

[sometipsygnostalgic]

I dreamt a kid stole my Switch, so i fucking grabbed him, took it back, and smashed his 3ds into pieces.... i was like "haha im an ADULT so you can't just steal my stuff and get away with it now"... tipsy??? Hello??? Am i scared of children??? How do i explain to the psychotherapist that 80% of my dreams this week have involved me being bullied by children, as a child or as an adult?

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 3:

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

Previous

Read chapter 3 on AO3, or read below:

“Sherlock Holmes.”

I barely have to think about it. “Sherlock Holmes was an omega.”

“No.” Cardan sounds totally affronted. “No way. How can you even say that?”

For lack of anything better to do, we have been playing this game for nearly an hour. Mostly fictional characters, but some historical figures, too, who are up for debate. As much as alphas would love to lay claim to every known conqueror, it just isn’t realistic. Cardan and I have already gone back and forth on Alexander the Great and Ivan the Terrible and Ghengis Khan. Designations live in a kind of middle space between gender and sexual orientation, so people make assumptions based on the way you present in society, but also whether you’re an alpha, an omega, or a mythical beta is, technically, no one’s business but yours. So, especially in older stories, these things go unsaid or are discreetly left for the reader to surmise.

“Why would he be an alpha?” I challenge.

Cardan is sitting in his corner, one leg propped up, elbow on knee, same as before. He shrugs. “I mean, he feels empowered to take charge in crime scene investigations, he’s assertive—”

“You’re thinking of the BBC reboot,” I scoff. “The way Conan Doyle wrote his Holmes wasn’t like that. He was an expert, yes, and knew it, but he admitted it when someone bested him, and he went out of his way to help vulnerable people. People who had been scammed, or… single women.”

As bad as it seems for omegas and women—especially omega women—now, it would have been even worse in the stratified Victorian era. We still have our strata, but they were more codified then:

Alpha men

Alpha women/omega men (depending on the situation)

Omega women

And, of course, it was all way worse when race and class got thrown in. The point is that someone like Violet Smith of “The Solitary Cyclist”—a woman, assumed omega, and poor—would have been in real trouble without Holmes’ help.

“So he’s an omega because he’s nice to widows?” Cardan asks, with a glare.

“No, he’s an omega because he pays attention,” I reply. “Alphas don’t need to pay attention the way Sherlock Holmes does. You just waltz in and traipse all over whatever or whoever and always get your way. Who cares about the details when you’re an alpha? But Sherlock Holmes looks hard at the little things. You don’t do that if you don’t have to, if you’re not used to walking into a room and assessing threats, figuring out the balance of power. All the time. Because it’s exhausting, but you have to do it.”

Cardan is quiet for a beat too long, and I realize I may have actually said more about myself than about Sherlock Holmes. But he spares me by saying, “Surely we’re not all that bad.”

I make a noncommittal sound.

“Your dad’s an alpha, right?” he continues. “He took you and Taryn in after your parents died. He didn’t have to do that.”

I have to keep myself from snorting. No one who’s met Madoc would ever describe him as particularly nice or even giving. “Did you know Vivi has a pet conspiracy theory that he killed our parents in the first place?”

“What?”

“Not himself, obviously. That he hired someone to sabotage the car we were in.” I don’t know why I tell him. The second it leaves my mouth it feels like a family secret, or an in-joke I’m not supposed to share. But I can’t stop talking. “I mean, it was just luck we weren’t killed, Taryn and Vivi and I. But my parents’ car was new. The brakes shouldn’t have given out like they did. Anyway, Vivi thinks he took us in because he felt guilty.”

“I mean, that’s… crazy to think your dad was involved.” But Cardan says it too slowly, and hastens to add, “He isn’t a supervillain.”

“Yeah, I know. Just with everything that happened after, the way he swooped in, she was always suspicious.” I feel my mouth twitch, but I don’t know whether I want to smile or scowl. “I think she wanted us to be like The Boxcar Children and run away to live in the woods.”

“Well, you’re getting the one-room, no-running-water experience now.”

I catch myself smiling—he’s funny—and force my mouth into a frown, scouring our little room again for anything useful. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Even the socket that would hold a bare lightbulb is empty. Finally, my eyes settle on the one tiny window, set close to the ceiling, letting in a meager amount of natural light that does seem to have grown brighter as we talked.

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

“You want to what?”

“Step on your back,” I repeat, exasperated. “Are you tall enough to reach that window without a stool?”

“No?”

“Well, neither am I.” I fold my arms. “So I’m going to need you to give me a boost.”

He arches a critical eyebrow. “Why don’t you just sit on my shoulders?”

I blink at him. “Because… I thought you wouldn’t want to put your head anywhere near my crotch? Given how I reek and all.”

“But you thought I’d want to be stepped on? Jesus.” Cardan rubs a hand over his face. “What do you think I’m into? Look, I’ll crouch down, you get on my shoulders and look out the window. It’s not like I’m putting my face in your vag.” I shudder, and he adds, “We’ll never have to talk about it again. Okay?”

“Sounds great to me,” I say.

He nods and crouches down. I am not prepared for the way my heart thumps in my chest at the sight of the guy who made my life miserable since I was in seventh grade, who pushed me during gym, who whispered vile things in my ear whenever he could, who empowered other kids to do the same or worse waiting for me to climb onto his shoulders with his head bowed. It’s not real power, it’s just temporary, but it is intoxicating.

Then Cardan says, “Taking your time, huh?” and I snap out of it.

“Why the rush?” I ask. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I was thinking anywhere but here would be great.” He looks up at me. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I swing my legs over him and let him hoist me up on his shoulders. I haven’t exactly been invited to participate in a ton of games of chicken fight in the pool, so it’s been some time since anyone carried me like this. Maybe not since Taryn and I were very small, just after our parents died, when Madoc would help us get things from high kitchen shelves. I gasp when I’m lifted. Cardan is strong enough that it seems effortless, but I also hear him let out a small grunt.

“Not a word,” I say, dreading the jab he might make about my weight. “Move me closer to the window.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Cardan mutters, but he obliges.

I am extremely conscious of his hands on my bare thighs, the way his muscles shift under my shoulders. Some alphas, like the guy who tried to grab me at the party, are kind of muscle-bound in an unattractive way. Not Cardan. Cardan has just the right amount to be fit and lean, with the bare minimum amount of body fat, but not so much muscle that he tips over into ungraceful. He’s a sports car of a person, lithe and elegant. It’s no mystery why his shirtless TikToks get so many views.

I get my hands on the windowsill so he’s not bearing my full weight, and then I groan. “Bad news.”

“What?”

“Well, I definitely can’t fit through here. I can kind of see the sky, so I would guess it’s maybe ten a.m. Otherwise there’s just a window well. Plastic and dirt. I can’t make out our surroundings at all.” I sigh. “We’re in a basement.”

There’s an awkward pause, and then Cardan says, “At least we know for sure.”

“Yeah. Put me down?”

He does, and we go back to our respective seats, mentally reviewing what we know. The only door is, of course, locked from outside. The floor is bare concrete, the ceiling exposed insulation and tubing, so we might be in a storeroom of some kind, or an unfinished basement in an older house. Our kidnappers left us with absolutely nothing, so no phones. Even my keychain, with the Swiss army knife Madoc gave me before my first summer at sleep-away camp, is gone.

We are growing hungrier and more sullen with each passing minute when there is a knock at the door.

Cardan and I glance at each other from our opposite sides of the room. “Um,” I say. Are kidnappers supposed to be polite?

Cardan shrugs one shoulder, then straightens up, lifting his chin in a decidedly imperious way. Trying to summon some air of command, some macho alpha-ness that will help us out of this. It could work—it is half working on me, I begrudgingly admit to myself, because my stupid brain is wired that way—if we weren’t both grimy from sitting on the floor and still a little woozy from the drugs.

“Come in,” he calls.

The door is opened slightly, and the first thing to poke through it is the barrel of a pistol. A 9mm, by the looks of it. Cardan’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“You kids willing to behave?” comes a voice. It’s a man’s voice, strangely melodious. I was expecting the sandpapery roughness of an old-school gangster. I know it’s stereotypical, but I’ve never been kidnapped before, and it’s not like they make a manual.

Cardan and I glance at each other again. I’m not sure what we’re looking to find in each other’s faces.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’re good.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate to shoot you.” The man pushes the door open the rest of the way, and I have to press my lips shut to keep from gasping. There are disfiguring scars that cut across his cheeks, down his jaw, even one across the bridge of his nose. I’m not even sure what makes scars like that, jagged and rough-edged. If it was a knife, it wasn’t clean work. Someone was making a point.

I am immediately relieved, though, because his resonant voice had made me think we could be dealing with a real alpha, someone whose words hold command. This man is of average height, average build. If not for the scars, for the obviously broken nose, he would be totally unremarkable.

“Who are you?” Cardan asks. I am reluctantly impressed that he manages to sound haughty in this situation. He’s sitting up straight with his back against the wall, one leg outstretched, the other bent, his foot planted on the floor. He’s resting his elbow on that knee, like it’s all effortless.

“Breakfast service,” replies the man, still pointing the pistol at us. He tosses a McDonald’s bag into the room, then he and the gun retreat, and the door shuts behind him. We hear the click of a lock and then, to my horror, the sound of a deadbolt sliding into place.

Cardan exhales and reaches for the bag.

“Don’t!” I exclaim. “Seriously, it might be drugged.”

“It—what?” he asks. “Now you decide to care about whether the food is drugged? This isn’t Flowers in the Attic, Jude. We’re hostages. They want to ransom us. They’re not going to poison us.”

I blink at him. “Flowers in the Attic? You’ve read a book?”

He rolls his eyes and reaches for the bag. “Well, if you’re not going to eat it, I will.”

When he opens the bag, the smell of sausage grease and egg hit me like a truck. My stomach growls. I am suddenly very aware that the last time I ate was before the party, and my nerves had kept me from eating much then. “What… is it?”

“Two McMuffins.” He looks up at me. “See? They don’t want to starve us. They’re keeping us alive.”

“They could still tamper with them. Sedatives or something. Keep us complacent, keep us from doing what we’re going to do, which is try to escape.”

Cardan arches an eyebrow. “Has anyone ever told you you’re unbelievably paranoid?”

I think of Taryn and purse my lips. “Did you know it wouldn’t kill you to take something seriously?”

He holds up one hand, fingers spread wide. “Okay. How about this. I eat a McMuffin because I am fucking starving, and if they put anything in it it’ll get me and work through my system faster. You can stay up scheming or whatever. If nothing happens after like fifteen minutes, you get to eat yours. Or if you decide to be stubborn, I’ll eat it. Deal?”

“It’ll be cold and gross.” I cross my arms. “But fine.”

“Good.” Cardan takes a McMuffin out of the bag—his hands are so big that it barely looks like enough food for him—and devours it in what must be record time. I turn my head away.

“Where’s the nearest McDonald’s, do you think?” I ask

“Huh?”

“We were in East Hampton. They don’t have one there.”

“Uh-huh. That’s a good point.” I look back to see Cardan sucking grease off his thumb. “Dunno. Closer to the middle of the island, maybe?”

“Maybe,” I echo quietly. Without knowing how long we were out, it seems impossible to figure out where they could have taken us. “You’re right. We couldn’t be in the city.”

Cardan shakes his head. “Nah, don’t think so. Too quiet, and like you said, that’s definitely daylight, so people’d be out and about.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at the window.

He looks at the window, too, but doesn’t say anything, and we lapse into silence. It’s strange, to be sharing space with him, to be quiet. I could never have imagined anything like it, not with our fraught history. There’s no world in which Cardan Greenbriar and I could be friends, but, at least temporarily, we are not enemies.

“Did you like it?” I asked at last, when the silence stops being neutral and begins to make me feel anew how tired and tense I am.

“Like what?”

“Flowers in the Attic.”

“Oh.” He blinks twice, his dark eyelashes fluttering. “I read it a few years ago, but, yeah. I did. You know, it was nice to read about a family that was more fucked up than mine.” He raises his eyebrows. “Spicy, too.”

I scoff. “How can your family be so fucked up you’d read a gothic novel for catharsis?”

Cardan drums his fingers on his knee. “How much do you know about my family?”

“You’re old money. One of those alpha families that claims they’re pure alpha for generations.” Which is pretty much impossible, but everyone in that tier of society tells the same lie. Half the kids in my school claim to be pure alpha, and on paper both of their parents are alphas. But while alpha men and women can reproduce—they have the right gametes—it’s not easy. More likely omega egg donors, and, before that, omega surrogates who were well-paid. It’s no wonder they see us as breeders.

I start ticking off additional facts on my fingers. “Your great-grandfather was one of the great American magnates, but it was his alpha daughter, Mab Greenbriar, who really made something of his millions. Your dad was her only son, so he inherited the whole corporation. You have five older siblings: Balekin, Elowyn, Dain, Caelia, Rhyia—”

Cardan holds up both his hands. “Yeah, yeah. I get the point.”

“It’s all on Wikipedia.” I shrug, and to sound less like a weird stalker, I add, “And Vivi and Rhyia are like best friends.”

“You know, and I know you said it before, but I do forget Vivienne’s your sister. She’s so cool.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”

I get it, though. He probably thinks Vivi’s cool because she’s an alpha, but she also gets points for being the family rebel. Her biological dad, Madoc, adopted us all after the car crash that killed our parents, but she never wanted to be the natural successor he hoped for. Now she plays rugby at an all-girls’ college, has three cartilage studs and a septum piercing, shaves half her head, and is defiantly, unapologetically queer. It’s a different path than I would take, but marching to the beat of your own drum is definitely something that appeals to people.

“By the way,” Cardan says, “it’s been a few minutes and I feel fine. Well, as fine as one can feel having eaten only one McMuffin. I don’t feel any worse.”

“Okay.” I hold out my hand. “Toss me the bag.”

The bag crinkles when he picks it up, then he looks inside. “I think I’m owed a poison taster’s fee.”

“Huh?”

Cardan takes my McMuffin out of the bag, takes a bite out of it, then drops it back in the bag, which he proceeds to lob at my head. I catch it, face wrinkling in disgust. “Ew!”

“What? I need the calories more.”

I shake the bag at him. “I am not eating this,” I huff.

“We split the water bottle. That didn’t kill you.” Cardan sits back against the wall and closes his eyes. “Besides, who knows when they’re going to decide to feed us again?”

“You’re all so gross,” I mutter as I open the bag and pull out my breakfast. He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. I also hate that my hunger is enough to overcome my revulsion, at both the stolen bite and the undeniable fact that my McMuffin is now cold. I stuff it in my mouth, devouring the rest of it in only a few bites.

“Who’s gross?” he asks. “Alphas? Boys?”

“Alpha boys,” I inform him, with my mouth full.

“Big words from somebody whose designation’s known for leaking fluids everywhere.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “We’re not the only designation that leaks,” I point out. “We’re just the only one that gets shit for it. We’re the ones who’re thought of as gross while you and your type get to go around ruling the world.”

“Oh, sure. That has nothing to do with the way you guys are totally incapacitated for three straight days if you don’t take your drugs.”

“If we don’t get out of here, you’ll be just as screwed as I am,” I snap. “Stuck in a room with me? You won’t have a chance. We’re both going to become brainless fuck machines if that happens, so… shut the hell up.”

He does, to my surprise. I do too. I wipe my greasy hands on the McDonald’s bag, then crumple it into a little ball and toss it into the corner of the room. My anger is a living thing, running through my veins like electricity, vibrating under my skin. It’s been there for so long, but I would never have dared to say that to his face before. The rest of our situation is so absurd, so dire, it feels like there are no consequences for mouthing off at him.

That’s dumb, of course. There are always consequences. But at least they won’t be coming anytime soon.

“‘Brainless fuck machines,’” Cardan whispers quietly, and then he snickers.

“You—shut up,” I say, feeling unlikely mirth bubbling at the corners of my mouth. Cardan lets out another huff of laughter, and then I am giggling, and he’s laughing outright, clutching at his stomach. It’s ridiculous, all of my nerves coming out like that, but he’s laughing and it feels like there’s nothing for me to do but laugh too.

“Oh, man,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t know you were a poet.”

“I’m serious!” I squeal, my abs cramping from laughing and trying not to laugh harder all at once. “That’s what happens!”

“God.” Cardan lets his head fall softly into the corner. “We are so screwed.” He points one finger up in the air. “Metaphorically. So far.”

“Jesus.” I cover my face with both of my hands. “Jesus.”

“Jesus was an alpha.”

I peek at him through my fingers. “He was not. He literally said ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega.’”

“I’m just fucking with you.” Cardan grins, his hair flopping in his face, but then his cheer vanishes abruptly. “Wait, you’re not actually religious, are you?”

I shake my head. “Not really.” But I still know that common theology holds that Jesus—and angels, and any other holy beings I don’t know about—are not alphas or omegas, but they aren’t betas, either. They are all things and nothing. Must be a good life. I pull my hands down and squint at him. “Were you worried about offending me?”

“Me?” Cardan shakes his head to toss his hair out of his face. “Nah.”

“Well, good.” I cross my arms again. “Because you’ve never cared before, and it’d really freak me out if you started now. Then I’d know we were both losing it for real.”

“I just thought…” He shrugs. “I mean, it’d be nice if one of us believed in something. That praying could help. I’d like to believe that. Seems tidy.”

“Yeah.” I let my cheek fall against the cold wall, too, and blink away the memories of screaming at the night sky, demanding someone give me my parents back. I can’t fall into that pit. I will not.

I just say, “I stopped believing that anyone was listening a long time ago.”

Cardan scratches at the wall with his finger. “Me too, Duarte,” he said. “Me too.”

Next

[dajokahhh]

Alright, time for some pretentious sociological-esque rambling. This is gonna be long as hell (its 1822 words to be specific) and I don’t begrudge anyone for not having the patience to read my over-thought perspectives on a murder clown. CWs for: child abuse, 

I think a lot of things have to go wrong in someone’s life for them to decide to become a clown themed supervillain. A lot of people in Gotham have issues but they don’t become the Joker. I think that as a writer it’s an interesting topic to explore, and this is especially true for roleplaying where a character might be in different scenarios or universes. This isn’t some peer reviewed or researched essay, it’s more my own personal beliefs and perspectives as they affect my writing. I think villains, generally, reflect societal understandings or fears about the world around us. This is obviously going to mean villains shift a lot over time and the perspective of the writer. In my case, I’m a queer, fat, mentally ill (cluster B personality disorder specifically) woman-thing who holds some pretty socialist ideas and political perspectives. My educational background is in history and legal studies. This definitely impacts how I write this character, how I see crime and violence, and how my particular villains reflect my understandings of the society I live in. I want to get this stuff out of the way now so that my particular take on what a potential origin story of a version of the Joker could be makes more sense.

Additionally, these backstory factors I want to discuss aren’t meant to excuse someone’s behaviour, especially not the fucking Joker’s of all people. It’s merely meant to explain how a person (because as far as we know that’s all he is) could get to that point in a way that doesn’t blame only one factor or chalk it up to “this is just an evil person.” I don’t find that particularly compelling as a writer or an audience member, so I write villains differently. I also don’t find it to be particularly true in real life either. If you like that style of writing or see the Joker or other fictional villains in this way, that’s fine. I’m not here to convince anyone they’re wrong, especially not when it comes to people’s perspectives on the nature of evil or anything that lofty. Nobody has to agree with me, or even like my headcanons; they’re just here to express the very specific position I’m writing from. 

The first thing I wanna do is set up some terms. These aren’t academic or anything, but I want to use specific and consistent phrasing for this post. When it comes to the factors that screw up someone’s life significantly (and in some instances push people towards crime), I’ll split them into micro and macro factors. Micro factors are interpersonal and personal issues, so things like personality traits, personal beliefs, mental health, family history, where and how someone is raised, and individual relationships with the people around them. Macro factors are sociological and deal with systems of oppression, cultural or social trends/norms, political and legal restrictions and/or discrimination, etc. These two groups of factors interact, sometimes in a fashion that is causative and sometimes not, but they aren’t entirely separate and the line between what is a micro vs macro issue isn’t always fixed or clear.

We’ll start in and work out. For this character, the micro factors are what determine the specifics of his actions, demeanor, and aesthetic. I think the main reason he’s the Joker and not just some guy with a whole lot of issues is his world view combined with his personality. He has a very pessimistic worldview, one that is steeped in a very toxic form of individualism, cynicism, and misanthropy. His life experience tells him the world is a cold place where everyone is on their own. To him the world is not a moral place. He doesn’t think people in general have much value. He learned at a young age that his life had no value to others, and he has internalized that view and extrapolated it to the world at large; if his life didn’t matter and doesn’t matter, why would anyone else’s? This worldview, in the case of my specific Joker, comes from a childhood rife with abandonment, abuse, and marginalization. While I will say he is definitively queer (in terms fo gender expression and non conformity, and sexuality), I’m not terribly interested in giving specific diagnoses of any mental health issues. Those will be discussed more broadly and in terms of specific symptoms with relation to how they affect the Joker’s internal experience, and externalized behaviours.

His childhood was, to say the least, pretty fucked up. The details I do have for him are that he was surrendered at birth because his parents, for some reason, did not want to care for him or could not care for him; which it was, he isn’t sure. He grew up effectively orphaned, and ended up in the foster care system. He wasn’t very “adoptable”; he had behavioural issues, mostly violent behaviours towards authority figures and other children. He never exactly grew out of these either, and the older he got the harder it was to actually be adopted. His legal name was Baby Boy Doe for a number of years, but the name he would identify the most with is Jack. Eventually he took on the surname of one of his more stable foster families, becoming Jack Napier as far as the government was concerned. By the time he had that stability in his mid to late teens, however, most of the damage had already been done. In his younger years he was passed between foster families and government agencies, always a ward of the government, something that would follow him to his time in Arkham and Gotham’s city jails. Some of his foster families were decent, others were just okay, but some were physically and psychologically abusive. This abuse is part of what defines his worldview and causes him to see the world as inherently hostile and unjust. It also became one of the things that taught him that violence is how you solve problems, particularly when emotions run high. 

This was definitely a problem at school too; moving around a lot meant going to a lot of different schools. Always being the new student made him a target, and being poor, exhibiting increasingly apparent signs of some sort of mental illness or disorder, and being typically suspected as queer (even moreso as he got into high school) typically did more harm than good for him. He never got to stay anywhere long enough to form deep relationships, and even in the places where he did have more time to do that he often ended up isolated from his peers. He was often bullied, sometimes just verbally but often physically which got worse as he got older and was more easily read as queer. This is part of why he’s so good at combat and used to taking hits; he’s been doing it since he was a kid, and got a hell of a lot of practice at school. He would tend to group up with other kids like him, other outcasts or social rejects, which in some ways meant being around some pretty negative influences in terms of peers. A lot of his acquaintances were fine, but some were more... rebellious and ended up introducing Jack to things like drinking, smoking cigarettes, using recreational drugs, and most important to his backstory, to petty crimes like theft and vandalism, sometimes even physical fights. This is another micro factor in that maybe if he had different friends, or a different school experience individually, he might have avoided getting involved in criminal activities annd may have been able to avoid taking up the mantle of The Joker.

Then there’s how his adult life has reinforced these experiences and beliefs. Being institutionalized, dealing with police and jails, and losing what little support he had as a minor and foster child just reinforced his worldview and told him that being The Joker was the right thing to do, that he was correct in his actions and perspectives. Becoming The Joker was his birthday present to himself at age 18, how he ushered himself into adulthood, and I plan to make a post about that on its own. But the fact that he decided to determine this part of his identity so young means that this has defined how he sees himself as an adult. It’s one of the last micro factors (when in life he adopted this identity) that have gotten him so entrenched in his typical behaviours and self image.

As for macro factors, a lot of them have to do specifically with the failing of Gotham’s institutions. Someone like Bruce Wayne, for example, was also orphaned and also deals with trauma; the difference for the Joker is that he had no safety net to catch him when he fell (or rather, was dropped). Someone like Wayne could fall into the cushioning of wealth and the care of someone like Alfred, whereas the Joker (metaphorically) hit the pavement hard and alone. Someone like the Joker should never have become the Joker in the first place because the systems in place in Gotham should have seen every red flag and done something to intervene; this just didn’t happen for him, and not out of coincidence but because Gotham seems like a pretty corrupt place with a lot of systemic issues. Critically underfunded social services (healthcare, welfare, children & family services) that result in a lack of resources for the people who need them and critically underfunded schools that can’t offer extra curricular activities or solid educations that allow kids to stay occupied and develop life skills are probably the most directly influential macro factors that shaped Jack into someone who could resent people and the society around him so much that he’d lose all regard for it to the point of exacting violence against others. There’s also the reality of living in a violent culture, and in violent neighbourhoods exacerbated by poverty, poor policing or overpolicing, and being raised as a boy and then a young man with certain gendered expectations about violence but especially ideas/narratives that minimalize or excuse male violence (especially when it comes to bullying or violent peer-to-peer behaviour under the guise of ‘boys will be boys’). 

Beyond that, there’s the same basic prejudices and societal forces that affect so many people: classism, homphobia/queerphobia, (toxic) masculinity/masculine expectations, and ableism (specifically in regards to people who are mentally ill or otherwise neurodivergent) stand out as the primary factors. I’m touching on these broadly because if I were to talk about them all, they would probably need their own posts just to illustrate how they affect this character. But they definitely exist in Gotham if it’s anything like the real world, and I think it’s fair to extrapolate that these kinds of these exist in Gotham and would impact someone like The Joker with the background I’ve given him.

I have no idea how to end this so if you got this far, thank you for reading!

[qm-vox]

The Far Realms vs. Obyriths: Cosmic Horror in D&D

Shout-out, once again, to Afroakuma, from whom I learned most of the material I’m about to explain and with whom I’ve had many fascinating discussions about this topic.

It’s ya boi Vox, back at it to complain about RPG shit in an educational fashion again. Remember when I did a whole article about (evil) gods in D&D, arguing that they have more potential than to be used like supervillains? We’re gonna do that again, but this time with incorporating cosmic horror elements into your D&D campaign. Some of this advice may also be useful for games similar to D&D but for the sake of my own sanity I’m gonna confine myself to the one system or I’m gonna be here until my kids are in college.

This article will be broken down into three parts: an overview of cosmic horror’s origin and original thesis (in which we travel my favorite magical land, Full And Complete Context), a breakdown of the Far Realms in D&D (including older takes from late 2e & 3.5, how those changed in 4e, and their ambiguous state in 5e) & how you might use them for a cosmic horror campaign, and a breakdown of Obyriths in D&D and how you might use them in your campaign.

No discussion of cosmic horror is complete without some Content Warnings. Right up front: cosmic horror has its roots in extremely racist fiction, and I’m going to be talking about that straight-up. Also included in this article will be body horror, descriptions of mind control and mental corruption, supernaturally-induced madness, violence, and medical horror, among other things. This is a genre that hit the ‘fuck shit up’ button with its face on fuckin’ Zero Day and does that but again every time we successfully write something in it. Additionally, spoilers for some of Lovecraft’s work will be in here, with absolutely no tags and no warnings before they happen. You have been warned; do as thou wilt.

HP Does A Racism - Origins Of Cosmic Horror

Yeah, I’m about to be like that about it.

In the beginning there was Howard Phillips Lovecraft, an absolute garbage fire of a human being whose personal issues are such a knotted mess that I’m half-sure that the concept of the Ouroboros is just the echo of his bullshit reaching backwards through time. Like many authors of his time, Howie Love here was born into significant wealth, and while his education would be cut short (he had some manner of health problem in high school that ended his attempts at schooling) it was pretty high-quality, as it tends to be when you’re rich and white in the late 1800s. When he began writing his most famous body of work, Lovecraft had three attributes which would shape it: EXTREME racism, an incredible love for the works of Edgar Allen Poe, and every fucking phobia ever turned loose on God’s green Earth.

If you want to know more about that first point, try looking up what he named his cat; Lovecraft was so racist that even other racists thought he was too racist. Mother fucker was so racist that he wrote about the dangers of contaminating one’s bloodline with French-Canadians. His racism made it into all of his works in some way, shape, or form; many had themes of miscegenation, plenty included people of color only as deranged cultists of terrible powers, and as we’ll get into later in this segment the very racism that caused him to do these things also made him write the...let’s say ‘villains’ for lack of a better term, of his ongoing body of work as thinly-veiled stand-ins for white people.

No, really.

Lovecraft’s early work included a few short stories in the American Gothic style, the most famous of which is The Rats in the Walls. It’s a fairly classic story as far as those go, but Howie Love would soon abandon American Gothic for the genre he founded and defined: cosmic horror. Keep the racism and phobias in mind going forward, they’re about to become real important.

Howie Love Clowns On Himself - Themes And Thesis Of Cosmic Horror

While Dagon is generally accepted as the ‘first’ cosmic horror story, I prefer The Colour Out Of Space as the definitive example of the original thesis of cosmic horror at its most clean and clear (it’s also the work of Lovecraft’s that has aged the best; I highly suggest it if you haven’t read it yet!). In it, an alien presence - arguably but not necessarily an entity - crash-lands outside the fictional town of Arkham. Our narrator, a surveyor, coldly investigates the horrors that occur after and learns the sorry tale of a family destroyed by this alien presence as it blights their land, corrupts their bodies, and drives them to madness. The presence leaves, but not wholly; a fragment of itself remains behind, alongside the chilling possibility of a repeat performance.

The Colour Out Of Space, and indeed most of Howie Love’s work, was written at a time in the United States and the United Kingdom where human exceptionalism was the norm. Humans were not merely important, but special, chosen, exalted in nature and placed in a universe whose sole purpose was to be the stage for our domination. The Colour Out Of Space proposed a different idea: that we ain’t shit. Not only is humanity not exalted, but humanity is insignificant, existing at the mercy of fate, able to be casually annihilated at any time by forces we do not understand. It was a shocking proposal when it was published, and though the zeitgeist that gave it power has faded (most people realize we ain’t shit these days, can’t imagine how that fucking happened) it still resonates with many people.

The later works that defined the Cthulu Mythos would build on this theme, introducing powerful beings which claim dominion of Earth or of all reality. You’ve probably heard of most of them - Cthulu is the big one, of course, but there’s also Yog-Sothoth (The Dunwich Horror), Azazoth, Catboi Slim (Nyarthalotep), and many more, not all of which were written by Lovecraft himself. These beings are gods, or else so far above humanity that the difference is academic, and this brings us to the second defining theme of cosmic horror that Lovecraft would lay out, that of forbidden knowledge.

Protagonists in Howie Love’s stories have a tendency to lose their minds. Later authors would chalk this up to the idea that witnessing these gods or their works is so inherently horrifying that the mind simply snaps in their presence, or even that these gods are bound up in the concept of madness (this second one is a rather incompetent reading, not that I’m thinking of any PAIZO in particular that just ran with it in their RPG setting), but Howard’s own work doesn’t always bear that out. The protagonist of Call of Cthulu is not driven mad by that being - he is driven towards the brink by the realization that the Cult is still out there (and coming for his life), and that Cthulu will only rise again. Our viewpoint character in At The Mountains Of Madness realizes he has committed unspeakable atrocities on living beings much like himself by mistake, and that if further explorers come to disturb their slumber they will only repeat the same errors and lead to mankind’s annihilation. It’s not just that these ancient powers are terrifying or even that they are alien, but that to comprehend them is to understand that humans are so far beneath them that their attitude towards us cannot be thought of as ‘benevolent or ‘malevolent’, because we are beneath their notice, lesser in comparison than even a bacterium. In such a context, all humans do is consume resources better used by our superiors, and thus our existence is a profanity upon the divine. The only moral action, the stories argue, is self-annihilation; only ignorance permits us to justify our own existence to ourselves.

Sound familiar? Almost like this is the exact argument chucklefuck racists make about the existence of people of color, Jews, and anyone else they happen to not like? Yeah. This is the part where Lovecraft accidentally made himself the villain of his own work. Congratulations Howie, you played yourself. And since his audience was largely fellow white men also hard up on that whole racism thing, this idea of human profanity tapped a deep well of anxiety. I’m not about to argue that racism is over (it isn’t) and that’s why this vision of cosmic horror is less popular; indeed, it’s retained a pretty solid cult (heh) following, in part because the idea of such beings is inherently kinda terrifying. But I’d be remiss not to bring up the fact that this terror has its roots in racism, so...there you have it.

Other authors also built on the Cthulu Mythos, with Lovecraft’s enthusiastic blessing. These days their works tend to be mistakenly attributed to Howie Love himself, but that’s not actually his fault; they were published on their own, under their own authors’ names, and as far as we can tell Howard never tried to take the credit. These other authors had a tendency to substitute the indifferent divinity and corrupted humans of Lovecraft’s work with direct malice; their vision of these god-like beings was one in which they noticed humanity and did harm to it, creating a movement away from Howie Love’s original thesis (”human insignificance will lead to the unimportant and unmarked event of our destruction” & “seeking knowledge can only lead to self-annihilation”) during his life which only picked up momentum after his death. Indeed, most modern attempts at Lovecraftian horror mimic this overt malevolence, often without even lip service to the original thesis. It’s not necessarily an unworkable angle of horror, and it definitely has bones in with its origins; “God is real and He hates you personally” is a terrifying idea! But this movement away from the cold indifference of stories like The Colour Out Of Space definitely contributed to the current climate of...sloppy adaptations, let’s say.

Not that I’m thinking of any Paizo in particular.

So Should I Use Mythos Content Directly In My D&D Game Or What?

No, because I will cry and tell everyone that you punched my children and kidnapped my girlfriends.

More helpfully, probably not. The presence of other divinities, but especially evil divinities like Erythnul (Greyhawk) or Malar (Forgotten Realms) makes the thematics of cosmic horror pretty fucking weird. If you really wanted to, your best bet is to not use the published system of divinity at all (see the previously-linked article, up at the top of this one) and instead make Lovecraft’s gods the setting’s only gods. That means asking yourself some hard questions about clerics in your game world and possibly divine magic in general - that’s a separate article though - and even then you’re in for a rough row to hoe. D&D’s characters tend to be competent, dynamic, empowered - a far cry from the educated but otherwise fairly helpless protagonists on which cosmic horror tends to trade. Themes of futility in the face of incomprehensible beings don’t really make for good D&D most of the time, not when so much of the system (any edition, it doesn’t matter) is set up to create and reward cunning and heroic struggle. Classic cosmic horror, in the original proposed form, is not a good fit.

Thankfully, we have two solutions to give you what you crave in-house. Let’s start with the one that is somehow both the closer fit and the further fit.

You Have Fucked Up - The Far Realm Overview

Originally introduced in late AD&D 2e, the Far Realm as an idea hit its stride during 3.0/3.5 before getting a major rework as part of 4e’s cosmology, where it became the source of most/all aberrations. We’re gonna go ahead and pretend 4e didn’t happen, not because 4e is bad (and for the love of fuck please don’t start an edition war on my cosmic horror post) but because 4e’s cosmology just doesn’t really fit in with any of the rest. 1e <-> 3.5 is more or less coherent and you can beat 5e into line with a wrench and some harsh language, but 4e...well, anyway.

The Far Realms is outside reality. No, not in another dimension, we know what those are - those are the Planes. It’s outside reality; it is Somewhere Else. “It” is probably even the wrong term, since by definition any place (”place”) that isn’t the multiverse as D&D knows it is the Far Realm. To paraphrase Afroakuma, if the Great Wheel is a Lego brick, the Far Realm is a giant squid; if the Great Wheel is a bowl of Fruit Loops, the Far Realm is the theory that intelligences from Pluto rig the results of major sporting events. The contexts are not compatible. These two things do not go together in any way. Combining the two can only end in sorrow and woe.

So mortals try to combine the two all the time, because we’re dipshits like that.

Every now and again, some truly, monumentally stupid person - usually but not always someone inside reality - breaches the skin that contains reality inside itself, and lets in the essence of Outside. This is a phenomenally bad idea; the immediate result is corruption in both directions as the essence of each form of reality bleeds into the other. Both attempt to ‘scab’ the breach, translating the foreign substances and beings into something more like the reality they have moved to. If a breach happens, there is one of three outcomes. If you are very, very lucky, no being on the other side notices the breach, and you’ve ‘merely’ blighted and corrupted a vast stretch of land, tainting it with something sort of like, but not enough like, Chaos and Evil for millennia to come - maybe even forever. If you’re not lucky, a being on the other side notices the breach and acts to seal it, the ripple of which causes you to not have a nation or continent any more as said corruption absolutely consumes the lands in which you live. And if you are phenomenally unlucky, the being on the other side is just as stupid as you are, and it comes through. The last time that happened the original Gnomish pantheon got murdered. Their homeworld doesn’t exist any more.

There is no ‘good’ outcome. This is the repeated and absolute theme of the Far Realms; whatever your reasons for getting involved with them, whatever you wanted, whatever you were seeking, you don’t get it. Mortals fuck with the Far Realms because our inability to comprehend them leads us to think of them like things we can experience. The scabbed-over beings we meet that are from there (Psuedonatural creatures; see the Alienist prestige class in Tome & Blood and Complete Arcane, as well as the bigger version in the Epic Level Handbook) are Chaotic Evil because that is how reality translates them. They aren’t Chaos, they’re another reality, and their unwilling and unwitting corruption of all around them gets redefined as Chaotic Evil in order to reduce their damage to all of existence to a manageable fucking level. Were you seeking the Far Realms in order to harness power for great change? Get fucked, you can’t control what happens. Were you seeking magical power? Get fucked; the reason people go mad when exposed to the Far Realms isn’t just that the knowledge they gain makes no sense, it’s that the complete lack of context means all of the stuff you killed and stole and lied and cheated for is more or less completely goddamn useless. Trying to escape existence for some reason? One, death is faster, but two, hope you enjoy suffering the entire time you die - and that’s if the breach stays open long enough for you to be able to enjoy death as a concept before you get sealed away in a place where mortality doesn’t meaningfully exist.

You don’t get what you want. This was a bad idea. You fucked up.

5e, the most recent edition of D&D, mainly continues this trend. It has suggestions of the lazier interpretation of Lovecraft’s work tied to the Far Realms, which I heartily suggest you ignore, but some of the other ideas are phenomenal. The Great Old Ones Pact for Warlock has one in particular that I like quite a bit, which suggests that the Warlock-to-be created an unintended connection to a Far Realms intelligence and gained power against both of their wills and possibly without the intelligence in question even noticing. You don’t need to change a lot in 5e’s run to bring out the extant themes of the Far Realms - though admittedly this is greatly assisted by the fact that 5e barely has any Far Realms content to begin with, so there’s not a lot to edit. That also means there’s not a lot to use, so if you want to use Far Realms stuff in 5e you’re gonna have to get ready to spend a lot of time making your own. Which brings us to...

Who The Fuck Funded This Research?!? - Using The Far Realms In Your Game

Considering that all-important theme - “this was a bad idea” - the Far Realms are likely to be antagonistic in nature in your game, even if ‘antagonistic’ isn’t the right term. Published adventures have used Far Realms content as a sort of backdrop (Firestorm Peak comes to mind here) before, and you can easily make Far Realms creatures a more direct problem for your PCs by centering the campaign around a cult or research team attempting to cause a new breach. This could be a great time to engage with player-side themes such as the ethics of magic use, the cost of power, and the burden of responsibility for said power, assuming your group is down for it. Even if they’re not, horrifying monstrosities that by definition have no place in this universe are great to kick in the head(s).

What motivates people to cause a breach? Mainly stupidity, but the special kind of stupidity you only get when someone is highly educated and deeply intelligent. For awhile, in the real world, there was a burst of designers making D20 heartbreakers - successors to D&D 3.5 meant to fix its many catastrophic flaws. Each person thought they had it, the secret to make the system they both loved and hated finally function, and they were all wrong. Causing a breach into the Far Realms is like that. Every sign points to it being a bad idea. Reading the research and spells of the last people who tried it reveals that it’s a bad idea. All of the diaries and primary sources of those who did it and those who stopped them say it’s a bad idea, but that’s okay because I, Wizardhat von Dipshit, am not like those fools. I will be more careful, and the power to reshape the Planes will be mine!

The easiest way to make Far Realms creatures for use in your campaign is to start with an existing monster and fuck it up; rearrange its abilities (adding or emphasizing mental attacks and psychic damage, if you can), alter its physical form, and generally just make that shit wrong and fill its blood with spiders. If you want to get more alien from there or make something original, the best guideline I can offer for you is that aboleths were the result of Far Realms taint in the beginning of this reality (it’s telling that the closest thing reality could translate their progenitor into was a Greater Deity).

No one wants power for its own sake, of course, but what your antagonist actually wants is more or less irrelevant because the important bit is that they had every chance to know better and they’re about to make this bad decision on purpose anyway. This is how the Far Realms brings out cosmic horror themes in a heroic context; power that is beyond both mortal comprehension and control, which has no place in this reality and recoils from us as violently as we recoil from it. Like Lovecraft, whose stories revealed a deep cynicism about knowledge and science, your antagonists will be erudite individuals whose ruinous plans are only possible because of what they have learned and, in turn, chosen to ignore. If nothing is done, unstoppable catastrophe will be unleashed, and with it will come madness and desolation. If only some heroes were on hand, eh?

The disconnect the Far Realms has from classic cosmic horror is also the source of why they fit; they don’t belong here. In Lovecraft’s work, it’s humanity that doesn’t belong - we are a blight upon the rightful property of higher beings. The Far Realms are instead an intrusion, something from Elsewhere which doesn’t want to be here as much as we don’t want it here. That helps those classic cosmic horror themes work much better in this context, but maybe you’re looking for something else, something from here. Do the Planes have cosmic horror from within the shell of Reality?

Yes. Oh yes, they do.

Ancient Evil Survives - Obyrith Overview

In the beginning, there was war.

The primordial War of Law and Chaos is the greatest conflict to have ever rocked the Planes. It was so destructive, so all-encompassing, that it consumed entire Material Plane worlds, reshaped the nature of the Planes themselves, and is still happening, even now. It began in the early days of the Great Wheel and was prosecuted by Chaos, led by the self-styled Queen of Chaos, over a single question: should reality be real? Should effects follow causes, should gravity exist, should fire burn and light reveal, should things age and die, should...

The forces of Law said yes to these questions and fought to establish and maintain an order and logic to reality. Chaos fought for an unbound reality, one in which each individual would be completely free to express their own true essence as tangible changes in the existence around them. The War was never truly won or lost, but the imprisonment of Miska the Wolf-Spider broke the backs of the Chaotic coalition and brought the War to a stalemate of sorts, in a reality which, if not dominated by Law, is definitely Law-leaning. Mortals are familiar with the terrible demons used as footsoldiers by the Abyss, the Tanar’ri, who reign yet in that terrible place. But it was not the Tanar’ri in command of Chaos, and not the Tanar’ri who prosecuted that terrible War. Indeed, the beings we now recognize as demons rose up against their creators, the Obyriths, after the imprisonment of Miska. They overthrew the Obyriths in a great slaughter and replaced them as the dominant exemplars of Chaotic Evil.

The Obyriths are not dead. They plan, and they wait, and they wage war and slaughter upon their wayward slaves in the Abyss. Every last one of them burns to reignite the War and achieve their vision of unbound reality, free of the wretched Law and all too weak to survive without it.

Prisoners Of The Flesh - Obyrith Nature

So what are Obyriths? The easiest answer is that they’re demons - the first demons, in fact, which preceded the more famous Tanar’ri (when you think of demons in D&D chances are you’re thinking of a Tanar’ri), and while this answer is entirely correct it is not the whole story. Tanar’ri are famously Chaotic Evil; they revel in corruption and destruction and are driven to maliciously annihilate or taint all they come across. A demon army marching across the land will stop to personally kick every puppy between point A and point B and they will absolutely mutiny against you if you try to stop them from doing so. What is good and pure must be soiled; what exists must be made to not exist, its foundations shattered, its virtues turned against themselves, its values abandoned. Tanar’ri respect only raw might, and only as long as they think they can’t defeat it.

But Obyriths, their progenitors, are Evil Chaos.

Let’s have some examples. This little guy is a draudnu, a kind of Obyrith made from the bones of chaotic celestials which post-dates the ‘end’ of the War by a pretty significant amount of time. They’re on the weaker side for Obyriths.

(You’ll find this boi in Monster Manual V for 3.5 incidentally.)

Take a nice long look. Really take it in - because that’s not the draudnu. That’s the prison of flesh, the scab, that reality has forced on the draudnu, that the terrible Law has locked it within. The actual draudnu looks like it’s inside me God it’s inside me I can feel it growing and twisting it HURTS get it out, it’s seeping into my blood it’s inside me it’s INSIDE ME -

Let’s have another example. This is a sibriex, recently re-published in Mordenkeinan’s Tome of Foes for 5e with no mention of Obyriths, which is a damn shame. They were instrumental in defining the forms of the common breeds of Tanar’ri.

Fun, right? But again, that’s not a sibriex; the actual form of a sibriex is perfection. Absolute beauty and grace. I am nothing compared to this perfection. I am no one in the face of this perfection. My existence can only profane this perfection. I must serve the Perfect One. I must let it remake me and reshape me, I must appease it, I must make amends for the crime that is my trespass upon the reality made for the Perfect One.

Those two are ‘common’ Obyriths, examples of that race of demons which have peers who are much like themselves, but the Obyriths still have extant Demon Princes. The Queen of Chaos is still alive and nursing her ancient hate. Pale Night’s true form is so profane that reality cannot stand its existence; when she reveals it to you, the multiverse destroys your soul so that knowledge of her truth does not exist. Obox-Ob, murdered by the Queen of Chaos, yet exists as an Aspect of himself - and the Planes live in fear of the rise of the Prince of Vermin, whose truth is agony, rot, and corruption, such that even if you magically remove memory of it from your mind you continue to die from the soul outward.

And Dagon plots within the depths of his palace, sponsoring and advising Demogorgon - the Prince of Demons - and contemplating unimaginable lore of evil. The Demon Prince of Depths looks like this.

This is the form carved on blasphemous altars in the depths of the oceans, where sunlight has never reached. This is the form worshiped by mortals who delight in corruption, destruction, and fear, who dream of a sea where vision is a distant memory and predators hunt by the scent of blood. It is the form sought by those who lust for ancient lore, kept in places far from mortal sight and utilized by an evil older than many gods and mortal races, a form whose mere touch can taint a body of water, mutating & mutilating all within and unleashing their fury, their terror, their slaughter, for ages to come. And it is not Dagon. Dagon’s true form, imprisoned within that flesh, is I’m drowning in the cold dark, I can feel my bones breaking, my eyes are bursting, I’m blind and I’m drowning and I can’t die, my lungs are gone, the water is seeping into my blood I’m drowning and I just want to die make it stop I’m DROWNING.

It’s telling that witnessing Dagon’s true form, his Form of Madness, can give even creatures that breathe water, or which do not breathe at all, crippling hydrophobia.

The true forms of Obyriths are not flesh or matter; they are not, by nature, Material beings the way other Outsiders and mortal things are. Their true forms are that you, personally, are going mad. You, personally, are being assaulted, violated, and infected; you, personally, are being victimized, corrupted, consumed, and betrayed. Imagine if the act of pouring flesh-eating beetles into someone’s eyes had a personality, will, and desires - not the person doing it, the act itself - and that’s an Obyrith. They are evil because what they are is evil, much in the way Erythnul is evil. Unlike their creations, the Tanar’ri, Obyriths aren’t in it to kick every puppy that has ever existed. They want to throw off the yoke of the Law and release their unbound forms. They want an existence of darkness and isolation in which all beings are free to express their true essence to the limit of their might and their will.

They just wanna be themselves.

No matter who has to die.

The Foes Of All Reason - Using Obyriths In Your Campaign

Do you enjoy life’s little conveniences, such as cause-and-effect, linear time, predictable & observable physical laws, not having your body boil away beneath the agonizing will of some random asshole, and the capacity to recognize patterns in nature? Then Obyriths are your enemies. As demons, Obyriths can be summoned and are thus easy to use in the sort of ‘guest star’ role that Tanar’ri are often used in, even if it takes a moon-sized pair of brass balls to decide you can contain one. However, this use - while valid - is not a good way to bring out their cosmic horror themes, and since you decided to read an article about cosmic horror in D&D this far down I’m going to go ahead and assume you’d like to do that.

As one of the Planes’ most ancient and active evils - arguably the most ancient one that hasn’t died or otherwise fucked off - Obyriths are absolutely prime for campaigns that deal with ancient lore, primordial conflict, and unreality. If you like the idea of long-burn plots by masterminds with the patience of aeons, Obyriths are definitely for you. For an example of one such story, check out The Tale of the Whale, written by Afroakuma. The downside to using Obyriths in this way is that if you want to do so in canon settings, you need to be prepared to do some absolute fucking deep dives on the lore, which may require access to books or PDFs as far back as 1e & 2e. If you’re using your own setting this problem is lessened, though at that point you do have to manage to sell the ancient nature of such beings in a way that makes them feel suitably eldritch.

For more...let’s go ahead and say modern for lack of a better word, takes, keep in mind that Obyriths are not Tanar’ri. They do not scheme to overthrow the government of a nation; your pale, fleshly shadow of the Law is nothing to them. The plots of Obyriths upend the Laws which underpin reality itself. Could the great contract that details the alliance between the tribes of Men and Cats be found and perverted, turning each against the other in all reality? Could the insects of this realm be infected with the essence of Obox-Ob so that the Demon Prince of Vermin can feast on mortal souls and effect his own return to power? Could a bridge linking the Deep Ethereal to the Abyss be constructed, permitting the sibriexes and their master, the Prince of the Chrysalis, to shape new slaves from the very essence of raw Potential? Obyriths pervert what is and should be, not just because it suits their end goal of chaos unbound, but because corruption and violation is their very nature. It’s how they think, how they move, what they believe in, love, and value.

Obyriths have a lot to suggest for them when it comes to cosmic horror stories in D&D’s context. They bring out direct themes of madness, terrible truth, malign alien intelligence, and reality-unreality. You can comprehend their motives and even their nature, sort of, but their end goal is completely alien to mortal beings; the reality they want would be completely unrecognizable to the denizens of the current one. They are evil as mortals understand the concept, but not in a way that matches or even relates to their peers, which means they act in surprising and unpredictable ways.

All of this of course damages their ability to fulfill the classic cosmic horror thesis, but there’s something to be said about the idea that an alien intelligence, to be horrifying, needs something humans can attempt to relate to. It certainly makes writing for them easier.

If you’re using Obyriths in 3.5, you’re set to go; look for them in the various Monster Manuals, as well as Fiendish Codex. If you’re attempting to use them in Pathfinder, good decision but you’re gonna have some stat block converting to do. Trying to use them in 5e is gonna be the absolute bitch of a job, and I’m not sure where to even start on those suggestions except to note that the signature trait of Obyriths - the thing that makes them them, mechanically - is a Form of Madness ability, where they reveal their truth to their victims. Forms of Madness are mind-affecting abilities which hit all non-demons near the Obyrith, tainting them in some way. You can see some example ideas above, and the ones from 3.5 in the published books I just mentioned, but here’s hoping I can find an expert on 5th Edition’s mechanics kind enough to lend me a hand here.

I hope this article proved helpful to you! As with all of my work, questions and critique are welcome. Thanks for reading!

[aion-rsa]

The Da Vinci Code: A Better, Smarter Blockbuster Than You Remember

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I didn’t get it. When Ron Howard’s The Da Vinci Code took the world by storm in 2006, I was far from being a professional critic, but I could still be highly critical of something like this. It was an adaptation of the biggest literary phenomenon of the decade not starring Harry Potter, and it was arriving in cinemas with the kind of media frenzy usually reserved for Star Wars. All the while, its rollout suggested it had aspirations to be an awards contender. How could something that high-handed live up to that kind of hype?

As a splashy Hollywood version of Dan Brown’s most popular potboiler, The Da Vinci Code premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in May and was the subject of countless faux-examinations about early Christianity on the cable news circuit—as well as the object of ire for some modern Christians’ growing need for perpetual outrage. Protests occurred at theaters throughout the U.S., while other international markets banned it outright. And all of that cacophonous noise was over… a pretty middle-of-the-road adventure movie. One that features Tom Hanks earnestly looking into the camera to declare “I need to get to a library!” as the music swells. Really?!

So, yes, I missed the appeal. And judging by the infamous catcalls the movie received at Cannes, which were followed by a tepid critical drubbing in the international press, I wasn’t alone in thinking the movie amounted to a lot of overinflated hoopla.

But a funny thing happened when I sat down to watch it on Netflix the other day, about 15 years after its release: I realized what a big goofy delight the movie could be with the right mindset, and what I as a teenager—and so much of the contemporary film press during its time—missed out on.

To be sure, The Da Vinci Code is still a ludicrous story that both benefited from and was weighed down by the sensationalism of its conceit. Written on the page by Brown like any other airplane-ready page-turner, with nearly each short chapter ending to the implicit musical sting of “dun-dun-DUN!,” the book is a pleasantly conceived time-filler. It’s about secret societies, dastardly supervillains, and a matinee idol for the academia set named Robert Langdon. Essentially Indiana Jones if Harrison Ford never took off the tweed jacket, Langdon is an expert in the real world field of art history and the fictional one of symbology, and his monologues give the proceedings a nice bit of pseudo-intellectual window-dressing. It’s all no more challenging to the viewer (or their storyteller) than the background details provided by M in James Bond flicks.

This formula turned Brown’s first Robert Langdon novel, Angels & Demons, into a literary hit, but what made The Da Vinci Code an international phenomenon—and thereby grabbed Hollywood’s attention—was the kernel of a brilliantly explosive idea: What if the MacGuffin in the next story wasn’t some abstract relic from antiquity but something that would challenge our very idea of Christianity today? What if the story of the “Grail Quest” turned out to be evidence that Jesus Christ was married? And what if Christ had children by that marriage?

And, finally, what if the evil “Illuminati” baddies here were an offshoot of the Catholic Church wanting to cover it all up?

Brown derived this twist from the research of Lynnn Picknett and Clive Prince in The Templar Revelation, a highly speculative text which posits the relationship between Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene has been downplayed for millennia by the Catholic Church, beginning with the Council of Nicaea—the ecumenical Roman council in 325 C.E. that essentially decided which early Christian texts would comprise the New Testament and which would not—and continued through Leonardo da Vinci secretly placing Mary Magdalene in his “The Last Supper” mural by putting her at the right hand of Christ. In an era with a growing interest in conspiracy theories, this one was the mother lode.

Brown took these fringe theological ideas  and gave them an erudite sheen in The Da Vinci Code while still essentially writing a piece of fluff. It’s an international escapade where the MacGuffin is the most interesting element.

This made for an addictive beach read, but in Howard and Sony Pictures’ pricey movie adaptation, the pretenses were heightened to operatic levels. Consider the way Howard and cinematographer Salvatore Totino bask in the oppressive shadows entombing the frame whenever Paul Bettany’s murderous Brother Silas appears on screen. As a homicidal albino monk, Silas wouldn’t look out of place battling Roger Moore over nuclear codes. But Howard’s film plays it completely straight by coveting each shot of Silas’ self-mutilations and prayers, and by suggesting the character has something profound to say about the zealotry of religion (or perhaps just the Catholic sect of Opus Dei).

Similarly, Hans Zimmer writes a lush ecclestial score throughout the film, seeming to imply this is some mighty exploration of religion, and a study in the conflict between faith and skepticism. After all, the doubting Langdon is forced to revisit his Catholic School youth when he discovers his new friend is the direct descendent of Jesus Christ.

That all these elements ultimately act as scaffolding for a popcorn movie in which adults can indulge in entertaining a little heresy, or at least give lip service to religious introspection while also cheering the car chases and convoluted plot twists, turned off plenty of critics. Yet it’s fair to now wonder if such middlebrow pleasures simply went over some heads?

As a film, The Da Vinci Code is a lot more basic than its presentation suggests. Nevertheless, there is an intriguing premise at its heart that made it an international watercooler discussion in the first place, and the perfect culture war lightning rod of the Bush years.

While I wish Brown did more with the megaton-potential of his setup, he nevertheless provided an unusually brainy foundation for his potboiler. One in which subjects like medieval history, early Christian theology, and the treasures of the Louvre were put front in center in pop culture, as opposed to superheroes and space wizards.

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It’s still a frustration that The Da Vinci Code and its sequels abandoned his pearl of a MacGuffin right when its intrigue was at its highest. Genuinely, what would you do if you discovered you’re the last living descendent of Christ and can change the world religions with a single DNA test? Even so, rather than relying on ultimately meaningless plot devices like magical space stones, or cursed pirate treasure, Brown’s story caused audiences to examine the foundations of their world, and the origins of the tenets that might guide their lives.

Whether or not the Templar Order really found the remains of Mary Magdalene and realized she was the bride of Christ, the origins of what is and is not Christianity, or Christlike, being decided by a bunch of acrimonious bishops at Nicaea challenges viewers to more seriously interrogate what they accept as handed down gospel. And the millennia-long persecution of women touched upon in The Da Vinci Code ferrets out the enduring realities of modern gender dynamics, even if Brown and Howard tack a wacky and amusing conspiracy theory on top of it.

The Da Vinci Code is popcorn soaked in bombastic media hype, but it still leaves you with more to digest than the type of mainstream blockbuster spectacles that have replaced it in the last 15 years—often while receiving far less rigorous criticism from the modern film press.

Consider how in the pivotal scene on which The Da Vinci Code turns, Ian McKellen makes a meal out of the reams of exposition he’s handed. It’s left to McKellen’s mischievous smile to sell and explain the vast historical background that informs the film’s thesis. In most modern blockbusters, these scenes have been reduced to the perfunctory—bare bone obligations that must be met as quickly and unexceptionally as possible. But the narrative mystique that occurs when such exposition is handled with awe is at the very heart of The Da Vinci Code, and the movie sparks to life within the twinkle of McKellen’s eye.

“She was no such thing,” McKellen’s Sir Leigh Teabing bellows when the misconception of Mary Magdalene being a prostitute is mentioned. “Smeared by the Church in 591 Anno Domini, the poor dear. Magdalene was Jesus’ wife.” The anger in McKellen’s voice perhaps betrays an all too personal knowledge of the mistruths spread in the name of religious orthodoxy. And when he asks other characters to “imagine then that Christ’s throne might live on in a female child,” audiences are likewise invited to conspire–dreaming of the potential real world implications of an otherwise wild fantasy.

It may not be great art or history, but The Da Vinci Code uses both to offer a great time—or at least a pretty good one where Paul Bettany is depicting obsession with God instead of cosmic cubes. And 15 years later, after its era of star-led spectacles has passed, the picture still works as a blockbuster meant to entertain adults with at least a passing interest in issues more mature than what they used to talk about on playgrounds. Given the state of modern Hollywood tentpoles, that sounds blasphemous, indeed.

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[camryndaytona]

Books with Queer Happiness

Since today marks the last day of Pride Month, I thought it might be fitting to share a list of LGBT books that have happy endings.

Wonders of the Invisible World by Christopher Barzak Published by Knopf Books for Young Readers on September 8, 2015 Pages: 352

Seventeen-year-old Aidan Lockwood lives in the sleepy farming community of Temperance, Ohio—known for its cattle ranches and not much else. That is until Jarrod, a friend he hasn't seen in five years, moves back to town and opens Aidan's eyes in startling ways: to Aidan's ability to see the spirit world; to the red-bearded specter of Death; to a family curse that has claimed the lives of the Lockwood men one by one…and to the new feelings he has developed for Jarrod.

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Everything Leads to You by Nina LaCour Published by Dutton Books for Young Readers on May 15, 2014 Pages: 307

A love letter to the craft and romance of film and fate in front of—and behind—the camera from the award-winning author of Hold Still.   A wunderkind young set designer, Emi has already started to find her way in the competitive Hollywood film world.   Emi is a film buff and a true romantic, but her real-life relationships are a mess. She has desperately gone back to the same girl too many times to mention. But then a mysterious letter from a silver screen legend leads Emi to Ava. Ava is unlike anyone Emi has ever met. She has a tumultuous, not-so-glamorous past, and lives an unconventional life. She’s enigmatic…. She’s beautiful. And she is about to expand Emi’s understanding of family, acceptance, and true romance.  

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Not Your Sidekick (Sidekick Squad, #1) by C.B. Lee Published by Duet Books on September 8, 2016 Pages: 283

Welcome to Andover… where superpowers are common, but internships are complicated. Just ask high school nobody, Jessica Tran. Despite her heroic lineage, Jess is resigned to a life without superpowers and is merely looking to beef-up her college applications when she stumbles upon the perfect (paid!) internship—only it turns out to be for the town’s most heinous supervillain. On the upside, she gets to work with her longtime secret crush, Abby, who Jess thinks may have a secret of her own. Then there’s the budding attraction to her fellow intern, the mysterious “M,” who never seems to be in the same place as Abby. But what starts as a fun way to spite her superhero parents takes a sudden and dangerous turn when she uncovers a plot larger than heroes and villains altogether.

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Ash by Malinda Lo on September 1, 2009 Pages: 264

Cinderella retold In the wake of her father's death, Ash is left at the mercy of her cruel stepmother. Consumed with grief, her only joy comes by the light of the dying hearth fire, rereading the fairy tales her mother once told her. In her dreams, someday the fairies will steal her away, as they are said to do. When she meets the dark and dangerous fairy Sidhean, she believes that her wish may be granted. The day that Ash meets Kaisa, the King's Huntress, her heart begins to change. Instead of chasing fairies, Ash learns to hunt with Kaisa. Though their friendship is as delicate as a new bloom, it reawakens Ash's capacity for love-and her desire to live. But Sidhean has already claimed Ash for his own, and she must make a choice between fairy tale dreams and true love. Entrancing, empowering, and romantic, Ash is about the connection between life and love, and solitude and death, where transformation can come from even the deepest grief.

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Love: Beyond Body, Space & Time by Hope Nicholson, David Alexander Robertson Published by Bedside Press on September 30, 2016 Pages: 125

"Love Beyond, Body, Space, and Time" is a collection of indigenous science fiction and urban fantasy focusing on LGBT and two-spirit characters. These stories range from a transgender woman trying an experimental transition medication to young lovers separated through decades and meeting far in their own future. These are stories of machines and magic, love, and self-love. This collection features prose stories by:Cherie Dimaline "The Girl Who Grew a Galaxy," "Red Rooms"Gwen Benaway "Ceremonies for the Dead"David Robertson "Betty: The Helen Betty Osborne Story," Tales From Big Spirit seriesRichard Van Camp "The Lesser Blessed," "Three Feathers"Mari Kurisato "Celia’s Song," "Bent Box"Nathan Adler "Wrist"Daniel Heath Justice "The Way of Thorn and Thunder: The Kynship Chronicles"Darcie Little Badger "Nkásht íí, The Sea Under Texas"Cleo KeahnaAnd an introduction by Niigaanwewidam James Sinclair "Manitowapow," with a foreword by Grace Dillon "Walking the Clouds".Edited by Hope Nicholson "Moonshot," "The Secret Loves of Geek Girls"

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Last Seen Leaving by Caleb Roehrig Published by Feiwel & Friends on October 4, 2016 Pages: 336

Flynn's girlfriend has disappeared. How can he uncover her secrets without revealing his own? Flynn's girlfriend, January, is missing. The cops are asking questions he can't answer, and her friends are telling stories that don't add up. All eyes are on Flynn—as January's boyfriend, he must know something. But Flynn has a secret of his own. And as he struggles to uncover the truth about January's disappearance, he must also face the truth about himself.

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Queens of Geek by Jen Wilde Published by Swoon Reads on March 14, 2017 Pages: 262

Three friends, two love stories, one convention: this fun, feminist love letter to geek culture is all about fandom, friendship, and finding the courage to be yourself. Charlie likes to stand out. She’s a vlogger and actress promoting her first movie at SupaCon, and this is her chance to show fans she’s over her public breakup with co-star Reese Ryan. When internet-famous cool-girl actress Alyssa Huntington arrives as a surprise guest, it seems Charlie’s long-time crush on her isn’t as one-sided as she thought. Taylor likes to blend in. Her brain is wired differently, making her fear change. And there’s one thing in her life she knows will never change: her friendship with her best guy friend Jamie—no matter how much she may secretly want it to. But when she hears about a fan contest for her favorite fandom, she starts to rethink her rules on playing it safe. Queens of Geek by Jen Wilde, chosen by readers like you for Macmillan's young adult imprint Swoon Reads, is an empowering novel for anyone who has ever felt that fandom is family.

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Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, #1) by Benjamin Alire Sáenz Published by Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers on February 21, 2012 Pages: 359

A lyrical novel about family and friendship from critically acclaimed author Benjamin Alire Sáenz. Aristotle is an angry teen with a brother in prison. Dante is a know-it-all who has an unusual way of looking at the world. When the two meet at the swimming pool, they seem to have nothing in common. But as the loners start spending time together, they discover that they share a special friendship--the kind that changes lives and lasts a lifetime. And it is through this friendship that Ari and Dante will learn the most important truths about themselves and the kind of people they want to be.

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Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (Simonverse, #1) by Becky Albertalli, Mathilde Tamae-Bouhon Published by Balzer + Bray on April 7, 2015 Pages: 303

Sixteen-year-old and not-so-openly gay Simon Spier prefers to save his drama for the school musical. But when an email falls into the wrong hands, his secret is at risk of being thrust into the spotlight. Now Simon is actually being blackmailed: if he doesn’t play wingman for class clown Martin, his sexual identity will become everyone’s business. Worse, the privacy of Blue, the pen name of the boy he’s been emailing, will be compromised. With some messy dynamics emerging in his once tight-knit group of friends, and his email correspondence with Blue growing more flirtatious every day, Simon’s junior year has suddenly gotten all kinds of complicated. Now, change-averse Simon has to find a way to step out of his comfort zone before he’s pushed out—without alienating his friends, compromising himself, or fumbling a shot at happiness with the most confusing, adorable guy he’s never met.

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The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon on February 26, 2019 Pages: 848

A world divided. A queendom without an heir. An ancient enemy awakens. The House of Berethnet has ruled Inys for a thousand years. Still unwed, Queen Sabran the Ninth must conceive a daughter to protect her realm from destruction – but assassins are getting closer to her door. Ead Duryan is an outsider at court. Though she has risen to the position of lady-in-waiting, she is loyal to a hidden society of mages. Ead keeps a watchful eye on Sabran, secretly protecting her with forbidden magic. Across the dark sea, Tané has trained to be a dragonrider since she was a child, but is forced to make a choice that could see her life unravel. Meanwhile, the divided East and West refuse to parley, and forces of chaos are rising from their sleep.

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Princess Princess Ever After by Katie O'Neill Published by Oni Press on September 6, 2016 Pages: 53

"I am no prince!" When the heroic princess Amira rescues the kind-hearted princess Sadie from her tower prison, neither expects to find a true friend in the bargain. Yet as they adventure across the kingdom, they discover that they bring out the very best in the other person. They'll need to join forces and use all the know-how, kindness, and bravery they have in order to defeat their greatest foe yet: a jealous sorceress, who wants to get rid of Sadie once and for all. Join Sadie and Amira, two very different princesses with very different strengths, on their journey to figure out what happily ever after really means -- and how they can find it with each other.

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Check, Please! Book 1: # Hockey by Ngozi Ukazu Published by First Second on September 18, 2018 Pages: 288

Helloooo, Internet Land. Bitty here! Y’all... I might not be ready for this. I may be a former junior figure skating champion, vlogger extraordinaire, and very talented amateur pâtissier, but being a freshman on the Samwell University hockey team is a whole new challenge. It’s nothing like co-ed club hockey back in Georgia! First of all? There’s checking. And then, there is Jack—our very attractive but moody captain. A collection of the first half of the megapopular webcomic series of the same name, Check, Please!: #Hockey is the first book of a hilarious and stirring two-volume coming-of-age story about hockey, bros, and trying to find yourself during the best four years of your life.

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The Color Thief (The Color Thief, #1) by Emily Poirier on December 10, 2018 Pages: 420

The King and Queen of Teqell have kept a terrible secret for twenty-seven years. Now, it's killing them. Magic is draining them of their color, and they are dying. Princess Helena is obligated to marry and ascend to the throne, told to ignore what she has learned and accept their fate, but she cannot. Instead, she hatches a flimsy plan with Dresden, one of her Royal Guards, to right this wrong. They must help each other travel across the kingdom that she helps rule but has largely never seen while evading other Guards who would bring them back to the castle and stop short their quest. On the way, Helena must also struggle with her changing and complicated feelings about her own family, keep her first and only friend, and reevaluate magic's role in her kingdom.

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Just Juliet by Charlotte Reagan

Ever wondered what lesbian love between two teenage girls feel like? Read the story of Lena and Juliet. Lena Newman is 17 years old and pretty satisfied with her life. Until her world is turned upside down. Juliet James is the new girl at school and very quickly manages to send Lena’s heart wild. Juliet introduced Lena to a part of herself she didn’t know was there, taking her on an emotional journey where loyalty, friendships and family relationships are tested. Juliet represents the road less traveled. Will Lena take it?

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I Can't Think Straight by Shamim Sarif Published by Enlightenment Press on November 11, 2008 Pages: 216

Tala, a London-based Palestinian, is preparing for her elaborate Middle Eastern wedding when she meets Leyla, a young British Indian woman who is dating her best friend. Spirited Christian Tala and shy Muslim Leyla could not be more different from each other, but the attraction is immediate and goes deeper than friendship. As Tala’s wedding day approaches, simmering tensions come to boiling point and the pressure mounts for Tala to be true to herself. Moving between the vast enclaves of Middle Eastern high society and the stunning backdrop of London’s West End, I Can’t Think Straight explores the clashes between East and West, love and marriage, conventions and individuality, creating a humorous and tender story of unexpected love and unusual freedoms.

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Carry On (Simon Snow, #1) by Rainbow Rowell Published by Wednesday Books on May 9, 2017 Pages: 522

Simon Snow is the worst Chosen One who's ever been chosen. That's what his roommate, Baz, says. And Baz might be evil and a vampire and a complete git, but he's probably right. Half the time, Simon can't even make his wand work, and the other half, he starts something on fire. His mentor's avoiding him, his girlfriend broke up with him, and there's a magic-eating monster running around, wearing Simon's face. Baz would be having a field day with all this, if he were here — it's their last year at the Watford School of Magicks, and Simon's infuriating nemesis didn't even bother to show up. Carry On - The Rise and Fall of Simon Snow is a ghost story, a love story and a mystery. It has just as much kissing and talking as you'd expect from a Rainbow Rowell story - but far, far more monsters.

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Of Fire and Stars (Of Fire and Stars, #1) by Audrey Coulthurst Published by Balzer + Bray on November 22, 2016 Pages: 389

Betrothed since childhood to the prince of Mynaria, Princess Dennaleia has always known what her future holds. Her marriage will seal the alliance between Mynaria and her homeland, protecting her people from other hostile lands. But Denna has a secret. She possesses an Affinity for fire—a dangerous gift for the future queen of a kingdom where magic is forbidden. Now, Denna must learn the ways of her new home while trying to hide her growing magic. To make matters worse, she must learn to ride Mynaria’s formidable warhorses—and her teacher is the person who intimidates her most, the prickly and unconventional Princess Amaranthine—called Mare—the sister of her betrothed. When a shocking assassination leaves the kingdom reeling, Mare and Denna reluctantly join forces to search for the culprit. As the two become closer, Mare is surprised by Denna’s intelligence and bravery, while Denna is drawn to Mare’s independent streak. And soon their friendship is threatening to blossom into something more. But with dangerous conflict brewing that makes the alliance more important than ever, acting on their feelings could be deadly. Forced to choose between their duty and their hearts, Mare and Denna must find a way to save their kingdoms—and each other.

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[atleastputinsomeeffortinuroc]

Rant/Review: Powerpuff Girls D -or- Worse Than The Reboot

(Yes. This gif describes it perfectly. Plus, I didn’t want to disgrace the powerpuff girls’ very image with this shit. So there.)

Ok, I’m not going to lie. My initial plan for this rant was to do a full on review and rant about my gripes and bitterness towards an animated show everyone likes for some reason (which you’ll probably see in the near future,) but something happened. 

And, uh…Ok. Before I start. You ever find something so dumb, stupid and hilarious that once you see it you find you’ve gotta tell EVERYBODY about it? Like it’s so incomprehensible to your mind about what you just saw that you’re left stunned and without words? But not in the good way? In the “What in the actual fuck” way?

WELL! GUESS WHAT HAPPENED TO ME!

I was doing my usual shit on the internet, minding my own business, when I just so happened upon an old webcomic I had read back when I was a younger kid. A little comic called “Powerpuff Girls Doujinshi” by a dude named Bleedman (who the Encyclopedia describes as a man who “shows little talent for drawing, and has no imagination when it comes to storytelling.”) I’m not going to lie to you, I remember having fond memories of reading that as a kid. A kid who didn’t know any better and thought that Mulan II was just as good as the first one. A kid who was honestly a moron. And still is a moron to some capacity.

I snorted and thought, “Hey. I’ve got nothing better to do. Let’s blow a couple hours and read this shit and bring back some good ol’ nostalgia, huh?”

That decision has changed me. For the better or for the worse, I can’t say. But let me tell you, this shitty web comic is both the stupidest and yet oddest reads I’ve had since I read “Face the Strange.” And it left me almost wanting to recommend it in some demented capacity just to see other people’s reactions to this weird ass shit.

Let’s back up, though. What’s this webcomic about? Well, you remember that show Powerpuff Girls? Remember how much you loved it before the reboot shat on it with outdated jokes and corporate memes? Imagine those three (well, I say those three but more of shells of their characters, but I’ll get into that in a bit,) in a city where every single cartoon character you’ve ever seen seems to exist…and in some generic anime plot and setting.

Yeah. That’s what I did with my day. I’m a REAL adult.

But what else do I even say? Already you’ve made a decision in your mind about whether or not your morbid curiosity is going to give this thing the time of day. Recommended or not. Plus, it’s over ten chapters and ten YEARS OLD.  The man who is doing the comic I think is still working on this sunvabitch like it’s his magnum opus. Going at this thing in a single sitting will take the entire website’s bandwidth. 

And yet, I still kind of want to go into it. Because, again, I think this crap is funny. (Though there is some shit that happened in the background that is honestly disturbing, but I’ll get to that when I get to it) Criticism or not, I do technically recommend it as this terrible reverse masterpiece of just…just pure shit, but only in a certain shaudenfruede kind of way. In no ways am I saying this is good. At all. I want to emphasize that. 

So I’m gonna break it down by just using the first arc to highlight the kind of issues prevalent throughout this piece of shit’s run. (Arc being basically a kind of completed narrative structure that spans several comics with a beginning, middle and an end—YOU KNOW WHAT AN ARC IS.)

First arc is what I’m gonna call “The Introduction Arc.”

Also spoilers, I guess. But, y’know, who actually cares? This thing is a decade old.

  Right off the bat. The instant you pull up the comic. You immediately know we’re up shit’s creek without a paddle. The art style is BAD. Like that generic anime bullshit art kind of bad. In fact, I’d go so far as to say this shit looks TERRIBLE. And it’s worse in the actual comic (which I won’t show you, save for the image I’ve already got set up.

And, what’s even worse, is that it starts off EXACTLY LIKE EVERY HIGH SCHOOL ANIME IN EXISTENCE. “OH LOOK! IT’S THE NEW STUDENT! THEY’RE WACKY AND DON’T FIT IN! BUT, WHAT’S THIS?! THERE’S A STUDENT WHO IS JUST AS WACKY AND DIFFERENT AS THEY ARE”—I’m not a fan of this kind of storytelling. Can you tell?

The Powerpuff Girls are going to a new elementary school in Megaville (because fuck Townsville, it’s not like supervillains were tearing that place to shit on the daily, am I right?) And, like I stated before, they’re new and don’t fit in. (Insert *wah wah* noise here.) They go in front of the class and introduce themselves in front of their pink haired teacher (who, fun fact, NEVER SHOWS UP AGAIN AFTER THE FIRST COMIC,) and announce themselves as the superheroes known as The Powerpuff Girls. And the class starts laughing their asses off at them. (I WILL BE COMING BACK TO THIS SCENE IN A MOMENT.)

Everyone’s laughing, save for one person. Dexter. You know. From Dexter’s lab. Because, like I said, this is a big fan fiction comic. Later in the day during Recess, he says hello and demands to see their powers if they are superheroes because, as he says, he just so happens to “be a superhero” himself.

…NO HE’S NOT. HE’S AN ASSHOLE.

Then, when Buttercup starts getting up in his face, he says “Perhaps you’d like to see a sample of my capability and to prove which of us holds true.”

And…no, I don’t really know what language he’s speaking either. Yeah, he wants to fight these guys, and that’s obvious, but what is that sentence even? To see a sample of my capability. So how capable you are of being a hero? How is throwing down going to prove you’re a hero? Is it to see their abilities (which was stated two panels earlier?) Ok. Sure. I get that part. But to see which of us holds true is what confuses me. What holds true? There’s nothing in question. Nothing needed to be proven true or false. You have said this in the most incomprehensible way imaginable. Now, I know what you’re thinking.

Why does this matter?

…Honestly, it doesn’t. I’m just making a needless mountain out of a small molehill, but still. That is a bad line of dialogue.

Ok. Back on track. Buttercup being buttercup wants to brawl with Dexter. And they do. In true, glorious and terribly drawn fashion. But how does Dexter fight a Powerpuff Girl wearing nothing but a backpack? Oh that’s easy. HE JUST PULLS A MUCH OUT OF HIS ASS.

SERIOUSLY. THE PAGE BEFORE, HE HAS HIS BACKPACK, WHICH ASSUMEDLY IS WHERE THE MECH IS IN, AND HE DOESN’T MOVE OR FLINCH WHEN BUTTERCUP COMES FLYING AT HIM, AND THEN SUDDENLY—BAM. MECH SUIT. BECAUSE FUCK YOU.

Anywho, the two start throwing down. Buttercup flying and fighting whilst Dexter in his “fuck you” mechsuit tries to land in a couple hits. And while I can complain about how the negative space and lack of backgrounds make it feel lazy and pointless to stretch the fight scene out to three or four pages, but I want to harp on something else.

Ok, so do you remember back when the kids earlier were laughing at the powerpuff girls for calling themselves superheroes? Well, guess how they reach to this shit?

The answer: THEY DON’T! THEY JUST SORT OF STAND AROUND AND WATCH AS THESE TWO (and later FOUR, when Bubbles and Blossom show up to help whoop Dexter’s ass) THROW DOWN. SO IF THEY’RE FINE WITH THIS SHIT HAPPENING AT THEIR SCHOOL, THEN WHY THE FUCK WERE THEY LAUGHING!? AND FOR THAT MATTER, HAVE THEY NOT HEARD OF THE CONSTANT SUPERHERO FIGHTING GOING ON IN TOWNSVILLE?! BUT EVEN IF THEY DIDN’T, THEY KNOW DEXTER. DEXTER WITH THE FUCK YOU MECHSUIT. THREE GIRLS WHO CALL THEMSELVES SUPERHEROES ISN’T THAT FARFETCHED WHEN COMPARED TO HIM AND HIS ANTICS. AND THEY KNOW OF HIS SCIENTIFIC ANTICS, BY THE WAY. THEY REFERENCE IT LATER. SO WHY THE FUCK WAS THAT SCENE ADDED EXCEPT FOR TO ADD TO THE STUPID ANIME TROPE THAT EXISTS GO FUCK YOURSELF JESUS CHRIST

…

…

…Ok. Ok, I’m back.

So Blossom and Bubbles join in the fight after Buttercup seems out-matched because they’re more powerful together with sisterhood and friendship or whatever bullshit over these white backgrounds that are lazy as shit. And then they release those little energy things at him, presumably to MURDER this motherfucker, when Dexter slams his hands down and does…something? I dunno. They never explain, but they just blow up a good chunk of the ground and knocks the girls on their asses. Dexter gets ready to fight some more when the gym teacher stops them.

Who is this gym teacher?

Samurai. Fucking. JACK.

But in the background, while he’s yelling at them for doing shit, evil forces are in the background “hidden” on a rooftop and state how the girls are “more powerful than I have ever dreamed them to be” and other cryptic bullshit. I say “hidden” because there’s this BIG FUCKING MECH BEHIND THIS DEMON LOOKING THING AND THIS LOLI MOTHERFUCKER. AND I’M SORRY, BUT NO. I DON’T CARE HOW FAR AWAY YOU THINK THAT SHIT IS, YOU’RE GOING TO SEE A MECH THAT’S THE SIZE OF A DAMN HOUSE FROM A MILE AWAY. ESPECIALLY IF THAT SHIT IS PINK. WHICH, Y’KNOW, IT IS.

The next thing is a “joke” issue where it’s this spin off about “oh, Buttercup watches too much anime,” even though it isn’t funny. At all. Like…there is no real punchline. Just a bunch of “lol so random” unfunny shit.

But anyway, enough of that. Back with the main plot. Jack calls the group of four into the…dojo that the school has for some fucking reason, also, why the fuck is Samurai Jack teaching a gym class when he’s supposed to be fighting fuckin’ Aku and saving the future? Wh-what ever happened to that shit? Doesn’t matter—ok, I’ll go fuck myself then.

Anywho, Samurai Jack is not happy with the PROPERTY DESTRUCTION AND NEAR LOSS OF STUDENT LIFE OUT OF WHAT WAS BASICALLY A DICK MEASURING CONTEST, but has decided to LET IT GO. BECAUSE THE GIRLS ARE NEW. And Dexter’s punishment? HE’S GOTTA SHOW THE GIRLS AROUND THE SCHOOL. BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK NOT. (Oh yeah, and Courage the Cowardly Dog is Jack’s dog now. Because his previous owner gave him to Jack to help him feel better, but the owners never came back so Jack, feeling NO RESPONSIBILITY TO FIND THIS DOG’S OWNER OR FIGURE OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO THME AT ALL, decides ‘eh, fuck it. I got a dog now. (And, to be fair, at least Courage is away from Eustace, that asshole.))

And then suddenly, BAM! THE ART STYLE CHANGES.

And when you get there, you’re going to ask the same question I asked which I will just go ahead and answer for you. No, you’re still reading the same comic, and yes, the same dude is doing the art for it. He just changed up his style. And, y’know, to be completely fair, it isn’t THAT bad. It’s not GOOD. But it’s not a pain to look at.

AAAAANYwho, blah, blah, blah, exposition, exposition, exposition. Dexter just lays out that Jack is basically a ninja (which is WRONG. SAMURAI ARE NOT NINJAS YOU FUCK.) And we see another problem that the writer has. An overusage of ellipsis.

And I know that sounds like a bullshit claim coming from ME, but here’s the thing.

My ellipsis? They’re only three dots. I keep ‘em like that.

This guy uses……….twenty……..dots to…..explain……….breaks in………………………………………….dialogue.

It’s something that, whenever I see it, call out for being really juvenile in terms of writing technique. Just use three dots, dude. You aren’t writing a rant on Tumblr. This is a comic. Fan or not.

Anywho, Bubbles is playing outside and alone with Courage, when suddenly this HUGE ASS MONSTEROUS LOOKIN’ THING SHOWS THE FUCK OUTTA NOWHERE. LIKE, OK. LOOK.

You set up a certain tone and art-style. Mainly just some cutesy bullshit. BUT YOU DO NOT, FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, IMMEDIATELY PUT THAT NEXT TO SOME BLOODY AND GORY THING WITH SHARP TEETH AND CLAWS WITHOUT GOOD REASON. Some comics can pull this off, like if it’s a parody or a joke. Courage the Cowardly Dog pulled this off because its tone was always so off the wall and creepy. But PPGD doesn’t have that luxury. It’s a generic high school anime. And what’s worse, is that it’s takin this shit SERIOUSLY. So it’s just JARRING as hell.

Especially when the next scene is immediately Courage doing charades with Dexter, Buttercup and Blossom to tell them that some huge freakin’ monster is outside in another *wah wah* tone.

Anywho, again, OUTSIDE OF THE FUCKIN’ SCHOOL, THERE’S ANOTHER BIG FIGHT. ONLY THIS TIME, IT’S WITH SOME BIG ASS DRAGON LOOKIN’ THING WHOSE DESIGN IS SO HARD TO PIN DOWN THAT IT JUST BECOMES A MIX OF FLESH AND METAL AT THIS POINT. ALSO. I’M PRETTY SURE THAT THIS THING HAS A BIG METAL SPIKE WHERE ITS DICK IS SUPPOSED TO BE.        

Anywho, Blossom topples over Dexter in, again, MORE ANIME BULLSHIT WITH THE BLUSHING AND THE “o-oh. I-I-I-I-I-I’m so sorry” CRAP AS BUBBLES IS ABOUT TO GET EATEN ALIVE BY THIS SPIKE DICK DRAGON MOTHERFUCKER.

Buttercup runs up to whip this thing’s ass when the dragon blasts her and then PRECEDES TO CHOMP INTO HER. WITH BLOOD BEGINNING TO SPUTTER OUT OF HER BODY.

WHAT. THE ACTUAL. FUCK.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BUTTERCUP IS FUCKING DEAD. (No she isn’t, obviously, but it’s just framed in such a way that you’d believe it.)

And then, right before Bubbles gets the same treatment, Dexter holds Blossom back as Jack leaps out of nowhere to slice that motherfuckin’ dragon to pieces. BECAUSE HE’S SAMURAI FUCKIN’ JACK BITCH.

AND HE SLICES THROUGH IT WITH HIS BLADE. AND BLOOD STARTS COMIN’ OUT OF THE STUMPS WHERE ITS HAND-MOUTH THINGS USED TO BE, and Buttercup wakes up in Jack’s arms and blushes. She’s now got a crush on him.

 Because fuck you.

 AND WITH THIS CHILD STILL IN HIS ARMS, AS THIS ARMLESS, SPIKE-DICKED DRAGON STARTS RUNNING TOWARDS HIM, JACK RAISES HIS BLADE AND PULLS THE ANIME SLICING BULLSHIT THAT YOU’VE SEEN IN EVERY ANIME AND MOVIE EVER. AND HE KILLS IT.

The day is saved…I guess? The kids look on from the windows, because the teachers I’m guessing DIDN’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT GETTING THESE JUDS TO SAFETY WHEN THERE’S A FUCKING DRAGON IN WHAT’S ESSENTIALLY THE SCHOOL’S PLAYGROUND.

Now. Who sent this dragon? Why was it made?

WHY IT WAS MOJO JOJO OF COURSE! WHO IS WATCHING FROM A DISTANCE. SPECIFICALLY A COUPLE FUCKING FEET, BUT THE OTHERS CAN’T SEEM TO FUCKING HEAR HIS MONOLOGUE DESPITE THIS OR ARE ABLE TO SEE THIS GREEN MONKEY WITH THE SWIRL HELMET WITH THEIR PERIPHERAL FUCKING VISION.

Another plan of his to destroy the powerpuff girls that, come to think of it, really did almost work it axing one of them, but was defeated through the power of anime bullshit. But before Mojo Jojo can escape without being seen, he’s stopped by that Loli from earlier. “Another powerpuff girl” (never explained as of ten chapters in) named Bell. And as she grabs Jojo by the throat, she tells him that her father wants a word with him as monsters surround her.

Monsters that, again, NOBODY SEEMS TO FUCKING NOTICE OR BRING UP DESPITE BEING IN A PUBLIC SETTING. LIKE. AT ALL.

And with that, that’s the end of the first two chapters and the conclusion of the first arc. And this is just the beginning, my dudes. It gets MUCH stupider.

Mandark is introduced. DeeDee is revealed to be DEAD. Like LEGIT FUCKING DEAD. AND DEXTER IS TRYING TO REBUILD HER WITH THIS BLOODY FUCKING ANDROID. AND THEN THE COMIC BECOMES THE DEXTER SHOW AS BLOSSOM IS KIDNAPPED AND DEXTER HAS TO NOW SAVE HIS WAIFU THAT HE TOTALLY DOESN’T THINK IS HIS GIRLFRIEND FROM MANDARK WHO HAS KIDNAPPED HER SO HE CAN KILL HER TO HAVE REVENGE FOR THE DEATH OF DEEDEE BECAUSE MANDARK LIKED DEEDEE, AND HE BLAMES DEXTER FOR HER DEATH, EVEN THOUGH TECHNICALLY IT’S HIS FAULT.

AND THEN INVADER ZIM AND GIR ARE INTRODUCED. AND GIR IS A GIRL NOW APPARENTLY? OH AND MEGAS XLR IS THERE. AND BILLY AND MANDY. AND A BUNCH OF OTHER CARTOON CHARACTERS THAT ARE JUST THERE BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK NOT. X-J9 IS THERE FOR A LITTLE BIT. THE MEN IN BLACK ARE THERE. TEEN TITANS AND THE JUSTICE LEAGUE ARE REFERENCED (WHICH BRINGS UP A WHOLE NEW CAN OF WORMS LATER ON DOWN THE LINE.)

IT’S A MESS.

It’s a car wreck of different shit that’s trying to be this edgy high school anime with blood and death while also incorporating your favorite cartoon characters from EVERY channel imaginable in this cutesy anime art style, complete with terrible dialogue and action sequences.

And…it’s almost kind of funny? As you’ve seen, it’s frustrating to think about. But it’s that fun kind of frustrating, where you can’t just help but laugh at how STUPID everything is. And how DESPERATELY it wants you to take it seriously the instant it gets dark.

It gets relatively worse writing wise, as you’ve no doubt noticed with that whole shpiel about the Mandark arc. But the characters drift from being themselves to being this kind of former shell of their personalities until they’re completely unrecognizable. Dexter becomes this distant, tortured soul who has a thing for science. Blossom becomes the girl in distress as she’s tied to the hip with Dexter in wanting to understand him. Buttercup becomes a tsundere for Jack…because, again, fuck you. And Blossom is just…there.

Also GIR is there and gets annoying. REALLY. FUCKING. QUICK.

But aside from that…yeah, it’s fucking terrible. Nothing good in it. At all. No redeeming qualities to be found. I only recommend it if you’re interested in going down the rabbit hole and laughing all the way down as you do because it’s just so terrible that it becomes a ball to laugh at.

And that’s all I would have to say on the matter…except for one little, kind of EXTREMELY IMPORTANT THING. And that’s the writer and artist. And how he may or may not be a pedophile.

Now I didn’t know this going into it this time around, I only found out about it while reading up on who the fuck made this shit for this little thing.

Now the art-style itself doesn’t show anything REALLY pedophilic. (Nothing I haven’t seen done far worse in an actual anime that tries to save itself, anywho.) The most you get are a couple high-skirt shots that are more part of the action sequences. There’s a beach section that you are afraid might get REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE, but it doesn’t go that direction. They never get naked. There’s no sex. It’s all just a bunch of anime tropes. With Lolis. Only the Lolis are actually in elementary school. (At least, as of chapter 10. I haven’t read past that. Nor do I really want to.) My point is, it didn’t feel malicious. Stupid and terrible, but not malicious.

But I can’t say the same for the next thing I’m going to look at.

This may have been a fun, stupid and brain numbing romp through memory lane for me (with a couple disturbing realizations towards the end,) but it didn’t do anything that crossed the line into offensive and terrible shit. I don’t think anything I’ve talked about has gone that far. The closest of which being the Barbara thing in the Killing Joke adaptation. But even then...they never went this fucking far. 

Within the pages of the infamous and dreaded “Grim Tales.”

 To be continued…

[dasha-nova]

David Wong ‘This Book Is Full Of Spiders’ Quotes – P. I

Amy and I had “met” in high school, in a special ed classroom for kids with “behavior” disorders. Neither of us really belonged there, she was there because she had a bad reaction to pain medication and bit a teacher, I was there due to a misunderstanding (a bully kept fucking with me until I snapped and gouged out his eyes—you know how kids are).

I don’t know how they catch the birds. I know the Goliath Fucking Bird-Eating Spider can’t fly because if it could, it would have a different name entirely. We would call it “sir” because it would be the dominant species on the planet. None of us would leave the house unless a Goliath Fucking Flying Bird-Eating Spider said it was okay.

I flinched and spun, then realized it was my phone. John had set my phone’s text message ringtone to a sound clip of him screaming, “TEEEXXTT!! SSSSHHHIIIIITTTTT!” I never figured out how to change it back.

My hair looked like I had combed it with an angry cat.

The English language needs a word for that feeling you get when you badly need help, but there is no one who you can call because you’re not popular enough to have friends, not rich enough to have employees, and not powerful enough to have lackeys. It’s a very distinct cocktail of impotence, loneliness and a sudden stark assessment of your non-worth to society. Enturdment?

John, possessing a genetic defect that makes him walk toward danger, strode down toward where it looked like some cops were trying to set up a perimeter around the chaos. Somewhere, Charles Darwin nodded and smiled a knowing smile.

You might have sensed something, just as in your everyday life you might sit in a dark house and feel like you’re not alone, or have a nagging suspicion that something slipped around a corner just a moment before you looked. The feeling can usually be expressed by the phrase, “Of course there’s nothing there. Now.” To be clear, if you’ve actually seen a ghost, that doesn’t make you like us. A ghost sighting is usually nothing more than your brain trying to put a familiar face on something that does not have a face at all.

He nodded. “So you feel like you have to hide a part of yourself, and she doesn’t.”

“I’m saying it’s like that with everybody. There are two kinds of people on planet Earth, Batman and Iron Man. Batman has a secret identity, right? So Bruce Wayne has to walk around every second of every day knowing that if somebody finds out his secret, his family is dead, his friends are dead, everyone he loves gets tortured to death by costumed supervillains. And he has to live with the weight of that secret every day, that tension gnawing in his guts. But not Tony Stark, he’s open about who he is. He tells the world he’s Iron Man, he doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t have that shadow hanging over him, he doesn’t have to spend energy building up those walls of lies around himself. You’re one or the other—either you’re one of those people who has to hide your real self because it would ruin you if it came out, because of your secret fetishes or addictions or crimes, or you’re not one of those people. And the two groups aren’t even living in the same universe.”

“So does anything scare you, doctor? Anything irrational?” “Of course. <...> Are you a fan of science fiction?” “I don’t know. My girlfriend is.” “All right, but you know Star Trek, and ‘Beam me up, Scotty’? How they can teleport people around?” “Yeah. The transporters.” “Do you know how they work?” “Just… special effects. CGI or whatever they used.” “No, I mean within the universe of the show. They work by breaking down your molecules, zapping you over a beam, and putting you back together on the other end.” “Sure.” “That is what scares me. I can’t watch it. I find it too disturbing.” I shrugged. “I don’t get it."

“Well, think about it. Your body is just made of a few different types of atoms. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and so on. So this transporter machine, there is no reason in the world to break down all of those atoms and then send those specific atoms thousands of miles away. One oxygen atom is the same as another, so what it does is send the blueprint for your body across the beam. Then it reassembles you at the destination, out of whatever atoms it has nearby. So if there is carbon and hydrogen at the planet you’re beaming down to, it’ll just put you together out of what it has on hand, because you get the exact same result.” “Sure. “So it’s more like sending a fax than mailing a letter. Only the transporter is a fax machine that shreds the original. Your original body, along with your brain, gets vaporized. Which means what comes out the other end isn’t you. It’s an exact copy that the machine made, of a man who is now dead, his atoms floating freely around the interior of the ship. Only within the universe of the show, nobody knows this. “Meanwhile, you are dead. Dead for eternity. All of your memories and emotions and personality end, right there, on that platform, forever. Your wife and children and friends will never see you again. What they will see is this unnatural photocopy of you that emerged from the other end. And in fact, since transporter technology is used routinely, all of the people you see on that ship are copies of copies of copies of long-dead, vaporized crew members. And no one ever figures it out. They all continue to blithely step into this machine that kills one hundred percent of the people who use it, but nobody realizes it because each time, it spits out a perfect replacement for the victim at the other end.” I stared at him. “Why did you tell me that?” He shrugged. “You asked".