#warning: bad story

[pseudo-hero]

A Little Conversation About Batman: Fortress...

I read this comic some time ago but didn't get a chance yet to talk about it. I have...thoughts.

*Spoilers, I guess*

So first, let's start with the good/ish:

1. Although I'm probably less of an expert on Batman and his media than I am on Superman (who I don't claim to be an expert on either, but I do know and appreciate a lot about him/his media) I know enough about Batman that I think I can say with certainty that he was portrayed pretty well in this book. Especially personality-wise.

2. Some of Batman's lesser known/utilized characters were present, including DC (Detective Chimp) himself! What I presume is an old Green Lantern character was there, too. Just less common characters from across DC Comics tbh, along with two big ones. All brought something to the table.

3. Artwork was strange but in a good way. It was hard to look away, that's for sure.

4. Lex Luthor was there and he was funny, like he tends to be. But he was being the snobby, "extra" version of himself here, so even funnier. Also he's president in it because this alternate universe story takes place during the time period that he was.

Now, the straight up BAD:

This may possibly be the worst portrayal of Superman and/or his origins that I've witnessed or heard about in decades, and JLA: Act of God still exists (that comic probably deserves its own post, tbh).

Not only is he absent for almost the entirety of this 8-issue series until the very end of the final issue (with his sudden disappearance and his being searched for a huge plot point in the story), not only is it revealed that he came from a family of kryptonian technology/bio thieves or genocidal war starters of some sort, whose greed and arrogance led to the hatred of Krypton by other planets/races and its eventual demise (what could have been a cool plot point for another story but was poorly used here and felt just tacked on in this series), but he actually hides from the main alien villains in this story while they travel throughout the area murdering innocent people.

Even worse? His reasoning for doing so. Clark in this story actually thought that if he hid from the big baddies, that they would eventually just leave instead of continue to look for him and be willing to kill anyone and everyone to do so (they didn't kill everyone, but damn if it wasn't made clear that they easily could have). What type of ridiculous thought process is that? Why would Superman ever think hiding was the answer? Did yet another person (probably a Batman fan) with a vendetta against his character write a story, with the express goal to make Clark look as foolish and synapse-defunct as possible?

Also, in the end, Clark decides to give up his Kryptonian powers to Batman as a means of "making up for" his ancestors past crimes and giving these idiotic alien brutes some peace of mind. Like...huh?? So him being a kryptonian/a descendant of kryptonians is the only issue, not the heart of the person who wields his powers or what the wielder intends to do with them or even the powers themselves?? And then Batman says at the very, very end that he's going to do a "better job" than Superman did with his powers by "lead"ing. Uhhh, what is Superman if not a leader?! And what exactly will leading the world look like for you, Batman? He admits he himself was always in the shadows but that he's now leaving them... To do what?? Abuse the crap out of violent villains even harder and quicker than he did as Batman? Good for you Batsy! Joker sure is gonna miss ya though! Maybe a currently chill and happy, de-powered Clark can now become the new Batman in his place.

Also, Lex in this story gets turned into a flesh cube for trying to throw Clark and co under the dum dum bus right in front of the main villains. I don't know how other Lex fans would feel about that, but I know that I found that shit to be comical in super disgusting way. So I thought I'd share that, too.

Yeah. So that's basically Batman: Fortress for you. Looking to read it now? Well, just remember: You've been warned x 1000.

[thedemonscrawler]

Read Chapter 12 Here!

The group is reunited, though tensions are a little high and trust has been worn thin. Everyone wants answers, but when the Daycare Attendant returns from Moon’s patrol, all they bring with them are more questions. Protocol. Programming. If the puzzle doesn’t make sense, are you sure you have the right pieces?

---

Ouugh, it's finally done! I sketched out this cover about a year ago, but their clasped hands gave me a ton of trouble and I shelved it-- until a couple of months ago, when I just banged out the hands and then kept rolling from there!

There's a decent bit of symbolism related to the chapter worked in here, as well as a lot of me learning how water works. Detail shots + textless versions below!

[longmaxsilvarg]

something about the main menu for life is strange genuinely makes me wanna collapse and sob

[cobaltcreations]

Me and my partner @the-good-ol-art-corner collaborated on this AWESOME poster for one of our favorite Bendy Aus @toontiedterror by @dictatortirah !! I am in LOVE with how it came out and I am so excited to see how this story and world develops!!

I put so many details into this, it is absolutely silly, but I had a swell time doing them. Those headshots on the missing posters belong to the staff from our own Bendy project @howdy-folks-its-showtime and we didn't even intend to make two versions. But I put so much into the background... I just had to make a version without the foreground to show it off <3

[typing-catastrophe]

You see me? - part one (stanford pines x hallucination!reader)

masterlist 1k words | warnings: none --------------------------------------------------

'This is new', he thought, looking straight ahead at something that he was sure he shouldn't be able to look at.

"Can you see me?", a beat of silence, "You can, can't you?" there was caution in your voice, almost as if you wouldn't let yourself believe it. "Please say something"

Ford kept quiet.

"Say something."

Nothing.

"SAY SOMETHING!"

Ford sighed, took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. The long hours and relentless work were starting to get to him. He put his glasses back on and turned back to his desk.

"No, no! Please!" you begged, panic rising in your voice.

'Perhaps not entirely new, but certainly concerning.' He couldn't recall if Bill ever did actively made him hallucinate when he was lucid, or if everything he experienced was already in the mindscape, but either way - what was happening in this very moment felt a bit too realistic for his liking.

What was happening, broken down to its very basics, was that a stranger stood in his study. And they simply had no way to be there. Apart from the fact that it was the middle of the night and the shack was closed, the way to his study was hidden and he did not hear the elevator move or open its doors. No one except for him should and could be here. No one was here when he came down here hours ago. There was no place they could've hidden. There was no possible scenario in which the situation at hand could've taken place. So the only option left, in his blurry mind, was that the last 30 to 40 years finally caught up to him and he was going insane.

At that moment he didn't even consider a paranormal explanation. Maybe because he believed the shack was sufficiently secured against all kinds of anomalies and supernatural occurrences. Or maybe because in the back of his mind, he always did ask himself when the time would finally come when his mind simply... snapped.

Years and years of stress, mind fuckery, all kinds of injuries and multiverse jumps must've left their mark on his psyche in some way after all.

But what did surprise him was the... well, normality of it. It was just a person. It would've made more sense to see Bill or any of the other things he saw in his frequent nightmares. Maybe the more severe ones would come later?

He propped open the new journal he had started recently and poured his thoughts onto the paper.

-

You could only watch in confusion and hurt when the man turned away and got back to whatever the hell it was he was doing all the time.

What had just happened? When he looked up from his work, his eyes landed on you. He didn't look through you like every other time and everyone else. This time was different! But why did he act like it wasn't? What was he doing? Why was he ignoring you?

Your newfound hope left you as abrupt as it had appeared. You felt so impossibly lonely again. Empty, distant, cold. Ever so cold with no source for the freezing feeling that seeped deep into your bones.

He could see you. You knew it.

This wasn't like the times when you were screaming and crying and pleading for him - for anyone - to hear you.

He. could. see. you.

And you knew it.

-

For a good minute, Ford stared straight ahead at the blank page. He desperately tried to form a coherent thought he could write down, but when he tried to get a hold of them, it felt like his metaphorical hands moved through fog, swirling eerie patterns into it, but never grasping anything solid.

The urge to let his head sink onto the table got stronger by the second, yet he resisted. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep inhale and straightened his back. He got this. He didn't need to sleep, not yet.

He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, stifling a yawn while doing so.

"Why are you ignoring me?" You had sat down on the floor a respectful distance away from him, legs pulled close to your chest, arms hugged tightly around them. Now you looked up at him with genuine hurt in your eyes.

You didn't know this man, and he didn't know you. The only circumstance that justified the sharp pang in your chest was the fact that he was the only one around actually being able to perceive you, yet for a reason unbeknownst to you, acted like he wasn't.

'Still there, hm?' he thought. He had hoped shifting his focus onto something else would help, but apparently, it did not. The figure was still present, still talking to him. He would like to take a proper look at it, but he was afraid that engaging with it would make the whole thing worse. You were not doing anything at the moment, and he'd rather keep it that way.

He yawned again, cursing himself for indulging in the weakness of his own body. It felt like it was betraying him, lulling him in and tempting him to lay down. But he knew what would inevitably follow. The pain, the torture, the guilt. He could not let that happen. Bill would not claim any more of his time and thought than absolutely necessary. He would not willingly leap into the open arms of whatever terror was already waiting for him.

"You should go to sleep. It's late. And you look tired." Ford almost scoffed at that.

All he needed was some good old, reliable coffee and he was as good as new. So he went upstairs, grabbed a new mug to set down next to all the other mugs on his desk and workbench, filled it to the brim with the dark, hot liquid and made his way underground again.

He was relieved to see that his hallucination apparently showed no interest in following him upstairs, but he was just as disappointed to see that it was still sitting in the same spot when he returned. He sat the mug down and with a defeated sigh lowered himself onto his chair.

It was going to be a long night.

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated masterlist a/n: holy shit i did it! i found the time, energy and motivation yaayy @cynamon-ancymon thought this might interest you ^^ if not just let me know and i remove the tag

[tricoufamily]

look around you, all you see are sympathetic eyes—

prev | next

[driftsart]

Wait so, where does the story for the au take place, exactly? Are the Autobots and Cons still on Cybertron? Are they on Earth? When does it take place? :3

Autobots

The Autobots are divided up to look for Decepticons.

- Team Prime is Sentinel's group that changes location every now and then. Sometimes they're in autobot base (on earth) and sometimes they're on cybertron.

-Ultra Magnus' group of Autobot travel from Cybertron to Earth and back to carry messages, sometimes other autobots from one place to another, etc.

- The Earth Autobots are the autobots who have settled on Earth. Some of these include: Jazz, Prowl, Rung, Drift, etc. They live in autobot base and work alongside humans, except for Drift, who doesn't like to stick around near other autobots for long.

- Other autobots: Many autobots are allowed to travel between the two planets, others are on Cybertron, capturing all the decepticons there and others are on Earth trying to find the remaining decepticons there.

Decepticons

The decepticons are mostly scattered across earth and Cybertron, in hiding.

- Megatron's group, are in hiding since they first landed on Earth. With spare parts from their escape pods, they created a ship-like home, well hidden with Earth's nature. It's somewhere on a very very tiny island, not even found on maps.

- Tarn's group (Tarn, Arachnid, etc.), (Are Decepticons who are against autobots but against Megatron too. They see Megatron as weak and pathetic and they think the decepticons will lose because of his gentleness. They believe Megatron should be replaced) Is on Cybertron, because they refused to cower and escape Cybertron like Megatron.

- Captive Decepticons: Captive Decepticons are those who were unlucky and got caught by autobot soldiers. They're almost always sent to autobot prisons on Cybertron, where they're treated terribly (they're kinda like Concentration camps). Blitzwing's one of them.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Important Time Periods:

These time periods were the ones with most important parts that are important to the story.

⬇️⬇️

WW1

- WW1 was when the Decepticons arrived on Earth. It's when humans first made contact with Cybertronians.

WW2

- WW2 was when the autobots first landed on Earth. Sentinel was the first to arrive alongside Optimus. While Optimus was distracted with humans and trying to become their allies, Sentinel made some bad deals with the wrong allies.

- Blitzwing and many other decepticons were also captured by both autobots with the help of Sentinel's human allies (the axis 😬). Some were given to the axis for experiments while others were taken back to Cybertron to prisons.

Present

- The younger autobots start to become suspicious of Sentinel and begin doing their own research alongside their younger human allies. Some even start talking to some decepticons that are held captive.

- Tensions between the autobots rise and the younger ones refuse to follow orders more than usual.

- The Autobots are getting closer to finding Megatron's group.

[ghostinthetumbchine]

Im just not interested in a story where Galadriel is an "always correct actually" victim that got deceived like everyone else and did not have the agency and active part in the formulation of these events

Its not even about blame or anything, its about what kind of characters and dynamics are actually engaging to me...

[asolareclipses]

Nico knew that canoeing was a bad idea, yet somehow he ended up in the middle of the sound once again. It of course was Wills idea. He and his love for athletic hobbies, Nico would preferred to watch a movie or stayed indoors. But here he was in a canoe.

It’s not like he hated canoes or anything, he wasn’t anti-canoe or whatever. It just happened that every time they rowed out onto this lake something went wrong.

The first time was when they had just started dating. Will had meticulously prepared and over the top date that made Nico feel like his bones were going to jump out of his skin. An image that frequently appeared in Nicos mind for some reason. Unfortunately the date was ruined when a swarm of bees decided to take interest in the honey and peanut butter sandwiches Will had made. They capsized in seconds.

Of course they decided to give it another shot, after Will promised no more honey. And everything was fine, at least it was until a giant statue of Apollo crashed into the water almost drowning the both of them. Looking back, it was definitely a sign for the chaos that followed Apollos arrival at camp.

Still, somehow, Will had managed to convince Nico that this time would be different. The word convince meaning he gave a smile to Nico and all of his stubbornness melted into a puddle of adoration. But of course Nico wasn’t going to admit that.

Instead with each row of the paddle he silently cursed himself for his disgusting obsession of his boyfriend. Each day he impressed himself with how much of a cliche he was. The moments when he’d see something and think Will would like that. Or when something like a yellow flower or particular glare from the sunlight reminded Nico of his smile, a grin that was slightly uneven but set loose butterflies in Nico’s stomach every time he had the pleasure of viewing it. Gods he was so gross. This was totally against his image. Cheesy guy head over heels for his boyfriend? Yeah, no. Those were not the vibes he was trying to emit. Still he never held himself back from his affection, he just didn’t let people see it. Or he thought he did.

When Nico looked up he was almost blasted out of the canoe by the most breathtaking sight. Will had been looking at him, an adoring half smile spread across his face. The sunlight reflecting ever so slightly from his eyes. His blonde hair fell recklessly in his eyes, rustling as a breeze passed by and his face was flushed slightly pink. Which Nico tried to convince himself was sunburn even when knowing how that wasn’t possible for a son of Apollo. Honestly, Will was effortlessly beautiful and he didn’t even realize it. From his freckles to his sun kissed skin he was perfect.

Will titled his head in curiosity as he watched Nico stare, “What?” He said as his smile grew bigger.

Nico heart did ten jumping jacks seven pushups and took a few laps in his chest. “N-Nothing.” Nico lied, the stutter being the selling point.

Will laughed, a sound that blessed Nico’s ears, it was like hearing liquid gold. “You���re cute.”

Nico tried his best to glare at Will, it turned more into a flustered glance. “Okay nightlight.”

“You’re turning red Nico,” Will smirked. He looked proud of himself, it was so attractive.

Now that inner comment caught Nico so off guard it almost made him audibly scream.

“Shut up please Solace,” Nico said. But he couldn’t hold back his smile. Revenge time, he thought. “You know…” Nico paused looking into Wills eyes for a moment too long. He’d long forgotten his paddle, dropping it to the side of the boat as he leaned forward to brush a strand of Wills golden hair from his face. “You might be cuter.”

A quick look of surprise danced across Wills face as the pink flush turned deeper. He blinked, and then blinked again before opening his mouth to speak and then closing it. It was a moment of speechlessness that Nico reveled in. But of course it didn’t last long.

Wills expression soon changed to delight as he smirked, “What about me do you think is cute?”

Nico’s smile dropped. He failed to realize that Will was the king of flirting and would somehow one up him each time. It was probably an Apollo kid thing. Dramatics, romance or whatnot. But Nico was determined to win so he said something cool like, “Um...”

Will giggled leaning forward, they were now extremely close and Nico was hyper aware of his breathing and well, everything else too. “Speechless huh?” Gods the look on his face was so attractive Nico wanted to tattoo it onto the back of his eyes. Woah, too far.

“N-no?” Another killer reply good one Nico, he thought. It took all of his willpower not to shrink into an embarrassed ball on the bottom of the canoe.

Will placed his hands on the sides of Nicos face, he too had forgotten the existence of his paddle. “How can I be cuter when you’re already the cutest?” He asked in a soft voice as his eyes sparkled like gems.

Nico tried to rack his brain for something to say but all he found was a puddle of thoughts. His mind had melted the second Will had touched him. His hands were so warm. He could feel the warmth spreading throughout his body turning him into incoherent mush. He was so in love with Will it was embarrassing.

“I win.” Will placed a peck on Nicos nose lightly.

Those words triggered Nico’s competitive side and he suddenly felt the unwavering need to win. His body moved before he could think as his hands moved to the back of Wills neck and he pulled him in for a kiss.

He could feel the surprise on Wills lips, then he felt the curve of a smile as Will kissed back. He was filled with a warmth that spread throughout his whole body. Nico thought about how impossibly soft Wills lips were as he ran his fingers through his hair. It took all of his mental strength to pull away, but as he did Will leaned forward as if he yearned for the kiss to continue. This pleased Nico more than he’d like to admit.

“No, I win.” He whispered brushing his thumb against Wills bottom lip.

Will stared at his lips then moved his eyes up to meet Nico’s. He stared for a minute, then a minute longer before a sly smile spread across his face. “You sure about that?” He said before rapidly kissing Nico all over, his forehead, nose, cheeks, chin, slowly moving down his neck.

Nico giggled, squirming but not making any effort to pull away.

Will paused for a moment keeping his lips close to the side of Nico’s neck, “Do you give up yet?” He whispered, knowing his breath would send chills down Nico’s spine. He could feel his words reverberating throughout his whole body.

Nico took a shaky breath, opening his mouth to speak but he was cut short by a realization, “It’s leaking.”

“Your heart?”

“No idiot the boat!” Nico tone was twinged with surprise as he pushed Will lightly.

Will looked down to see the puddle forming on the bottom of the canoe, “Oh..”

“Oh?!” Nico looked at Will in exasperation, instantly regretting coming out onto these Gods forsaken waters.

“Thats not good huh?”

“Duh! What do we do?!” Nico began to look for the paddles which had drifted a distance away, now bobbing peacefully in the soft waves.

“Great question babe.” Will looked around the canoe as if looking at it would magically fix it.

“Would be even greater if it had an answer,” Nico replied. He wondered if he was cursed when it came to water, it would make sense, Poseidon hated Hades after all . It was a short thought he had no time to linger on, but its briefness stung with a familiar pain.

“I think we have to abandon ship,” Will suddenly said.

“We what now?”

“Either we sink with it or escape while we still can,” He spoke as if he’d already made up his mind that this was the best option.

“Great.” Nico replied.

Will grabbed his hand as they both shakily stood up, careful not to capsize the canoe. Not that it would’ve mattered.

“In 3…2…1!” Will called out before they both plunged into the cold waters.

As Nico hit the water and the darkness washed over him, he realized he did in fact hate water. Well, not necessarily being on or near water, he hated being in it. It was cold and dark. Two things extremely prevalent in Nico’s life yet the combination that water brought reminded him of his deepest memories. He couldn’t drown in those right now, because he was too busy trying to actually not drown.

He floundered a bit at the surface, he was never good at swimming. He hadn’t actually learned until somewhat recently and he was a beginner at most. Will sensed Nico’s panic and he began to reach out so they could swim to the shore together. He could feel the nervousness start to dissipate as he looked at Will.

Then everything went dark.

Nico thought he had passed out, that was until he felt the salty water rushing into his mouth. This was when he realized he was being pulled down by something, or someone.

He looked down and in the darkness where he could barely make out a hand grabbing his ankle. He resisted the urge to scream, well more like he couldn’t scream as his lungs were quickly filling with water. He tried to regain his composure, realizing that if he didn’t he would drown. Slowly he forced his arms against the current as he reached for the arm, if he could just get it to let go. As soon as he grabbed the creature he knew immediately it was a spirit, a spirit which promptly turned its head revealing several rows of sharp teeth. Then in a split second a searing pain rolled up Nico’s arm, it bit him. The dark water turned a tinge of red, spiraling out in swirls and eerie patterns.

Nico almost let go. But he wasn’t going to let a spirit be what killed him, he hadn’t earned the title Ghost King for nothing.

As Nico lungs screamed for air he ignored the pain and gathered the rest of his energy, still gripping the spirits arm he willed the spirit to dissipate. Suddenly he was no longer being pulled down, but that also meant he had to now swim back up.

Fear filled his body like the water in his lungs. It was so dark. It was so cold. He was going to drown.

Then he saw a splash of light, a yellow glow from above him as a hand reached out. He grasped at the hand, feeling the familiar warmth pull him towards the surface.

He came up coughing and gasping for air as Will desperately tried to keep them both above the water.

“Oh my gods- Nico what was- that,” Wills voice was mixed between splashes.

Nico couldn’t answer as he was too busy trying not to choke to death. He thought they would never make it to shore but soon Will was pulling him out of the water.

“It’s okay, just breathe.” Will said putting his hand on Nico chest, he felt his lungs expand as his breathing became clearer.

“Gee, wish I’d thought of that.” Nico replied still hanging on to his sarcasm despite almost dying seconds ago.

“Are you okay? I- What happened - You- Oh gods Nico your arm,” Will stuttered before his face filled with concern.

Nico had forgotten about that, he was almost shocked to see the wound was much worse than he initially thought it was. Instead of a small bite it was a bunch of large gashes cut deeply in his skin. It was like a shark with knife’s for teeth had bitten him.

“Dam,” Nico said as the blood dripped from his arm making staining the sand with a dark red color.

“Infirmary now.” Will said grabbing Nico by the not chewed up arm. His tone was urgent and so was the look of concern, which was probably better described as pain, that was splashed across his face.

They were halfway there when Nico stumbled, almost losing his balance as a wave of dizziness hit him like a semi truck.

Will reacted quickly slinging Nicos arm around him and holding his waist as he carried most of his weight. Nico didn’t know if it was a result of the blood loss, the use of his powers, or the almost drowning. Probably a combination of all. But he couldn’t focus, the world was blurring together as he thought about the darkness of the water. He could see the image imprinted in his mind of Wills hand, glowing, reaching towards him to save him. Will literally and figuratively pulled him out of the darkness. Turns out a near death experience makes Nico feel really poetic. Or maybe he was just delirious.

They reached the infirmary, Will rushing to grab bandages and nectar as soon as he sat Nico down. His whole arm was drenched in blood now, he had been sure the cut wasn’t that serious. The nectar stung his skin as the bleeding stopped. Nico felt a rush a strength before his mind cleared and the blurriness faded.

Will looked at him with a subtle fear in his eyes, not against Nico but for him. “What did this?”

“I don’t know,” Nico replied as his eyes moved over the cuts. “A water spirit maybe? Something like that. I didn’t see its face, it was too dark.”

Will sighed, “I should’ve known we were too far from the barrier. Of course the water would be more prone to monsters.” He scolded himself in frustration as if he were somehow to blame.

“It’s not your fault Will, neither of us expected that to happen.” Nico said softly as Will delicately wrapped the bandage around his arm. Usually the way his hand would move in expertise as if bandaging was an art mesmerized him.

But now his hands slightly shook, “I shouldn’t have made you come out onto the water with me. You were right, it always goes wrong. But instead of listening I made you do it anyways.”

Nico grabbed Wills hand and looked up at him, an expression of reassurance across his face. “You didn’t make me do anything.”

“I know but-“

“But nothing,” Nico cut in. “I chose to go with you because I wanted to. End of story.”

Will sighed. He brought his head down resting it on their hands.

“I’m okay,” Nico softly spoke, “and you’re okay.”

Will nodded looking up at Nico, his eyes slightly shining. Whenever Nico would get hurt Will would always look like he was in pain too. Whether it was something big or small. Will seemed to feel it twice as hard. It was as if seeing Nico in pain was the worst thing physically possible for Will. Nico felt guilty for always being in pain.

A breeze from the infirmary air conditioning blew past, and Nico shivered. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until now. Will was soaked himself but still he rushed to grab a towel, draping it over Nico’s shoulders.

“I’ll grab clothes, you need to change before you catch a cold.”

“You too.” Nico said as Will was opening the door.

“Right.” Will replied almost as if he hadn’t thought about that.

When Will left Nico was met with a sense of silence. The infirmary was empty. Rare, but it made sense as it was nearing spring and most campers were at school or doing whatever non-summer campers did.

In the silence, Nico thought about being dragged into the depths. The tugging sensation had been so familiar to the one he’d felt many years ago. That same darkness as he was dragged deeper and deeper down somewhere he’d never wanted to go. The feeling had been so identical it made him sick. But this time he had Will to pull him up. Will who lost all self preservation when it came to Nico. Will who cared so much about Nico that it scared them both. He didn’t want Will to drown in his thoughts like he had, he wanted to be his light, to pull him from the darkness too.

A drop of water fell from his hair and hit the ground, just as the door opened and Will rushed in. He hurriedly told Nico to change and Nico made sure to remind him to do the same.

Finally being in dry clothes brought a pleasant warmth throughout his body. But his hair was still dripping wet, chilling his neck as each drop made its way down his face. He noticed that somehow Wills hair had mostly dried already, another mysterious Apollo thing, Nico assumed.

Another drop of water fell from Nico’s hair and hit the ground.

Will noticed and frowned, putting a towel on Nico’s head, he stood while Nico was sitting on the infirmary bed. Will ruffled the towel, making a mess of Nico’s already unruly hair.

After a moment he stepped back and asked, “Is that better?”

Nico shook his head.

Will scrunched his brows in confusion before Nico suddenly wrapped his arms around Wills waist, pulling him closer.

“That’s better,” Nico said. His voice muffled as he buried his head in Wills shirt.

He could almost hear Wills smile as he leaned into the hug, they both shared the warmth of that moment for what seemed that forever.

Nico wanted Will to feel warm too. He wanted to be a light for him. Whatever darkness or pain Will had, Nico wanted to erase it all. Maybe he couldn’t do that. But he could be here, in this moment, so that’s what he did.

After a moment he moved back, looking up at Will. It was a breathtaking sight to say the least. The way Will looked down at him with a warm smile. It was like looking directly into the sun except Nico couldn’t look away. His eyes danced like diamonds and Nico realized what it felt like to be truly loved.

“I love you Solace.”

“I love you too.”

That day Nico thought that maybe canoeing wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

The new scars on his arm may disagree.

[thebramblewood]

An Ill-Fated Afterparty: Part II

Previous / Next

Lilith: Goodness, I feel so exposed now.

Helena: Oh, don't play shy all of a sudden.

Lilith: It'd help if we got you out of that dress. Now... where did we leave off?

Helena: Oh, we're going straight for the neck. You're really committed to this vampire shtick, huh? And I'm weirdly kind of... into it? [laughs nervously] Lilith, I think that's enough. You might actually be drawing blood. [attempts to pull away] Give it a rest now, okay? I said stop, Lilith! LILITH, STOP! Lilith?...

Lilith: Helena? Wake up, Helena! Shit! Fuck! No, no, no! Not now! Not yet! Oh, god, what have I done? CALEB!!!

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[sunshine-and-her-ikevil-stuff]

I fear that Alfons's route will be just as emotionally taxing as Elbert's and I'll miss using my tickets in time just like I did in Elbert's route because my brain's had enough emotions and miss finishing the mission board again

[crimescrimson]

The Main House in Resident Evil 7 (2017)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Okay, random question but in the panel where Lan Zhan & Wei Ying are riding side by side, why is Alan Zhan’s horse sad? Is Little Apple bullying him? :(

PS: I check in daily for your posts, OBSESSED 😭

Alan Zhan (patron saint of when the substitute professor gets your name wrong).

[ideas-on-paper]

A hypothetical look at the childhoods of Carlo and Romeo

Despite Carlo and Romeo being two of the most central characters of Lies of P, what we know about their backstory is next to marginal. We know that the two of them went to school together and were best friends (perhaps even more than that), but their time in Monad Charity House is only presented in snippets and fragmented memories, and despite being highly significant, their characters remain elusive - like shadows cast over the entirety of the story, always present, never tangible.

Thus, many have filled the gaps left in their characterization with their own imagination. As for myself, I was curious what their early lives might have been like, before they met at Monad Charity House - and since it was the closest thing to the game's setting I could find, I did some research on Victorian children and their upbringing.

What I found out, however, left me absolutely shocked and made me keenly aware of just how awful Carlo and Romeo's childhood must have been, going by historic standards. As pretty much everything during the Victorian Era, a child's upbringing was very dependent on social class - however, no matter if you grew up in a rich or poor family, each came with its own kind of suffering, and regarding the question of "What were Carlo and Romeo's lives like before Monad Charity House?", the brief answer would be: "Probably not great."

As for the long answer... I should mention this is my own interpretation of Carlo and Romeo's backgrounds, and none of this is officially confirmed. However, given what we know about the two's origins, I consider it quite plausible, and what we can conclude from it might not only give us better insight into their personalities, but also some of the real-life background behind the original fairy tale of Pinocchio.

Just as a fair warning, though: This is about to get a little depressing.

[Spoilers for Lies of P!]

[CW: mentions of very questionable parenting methods, depression, suicidal ideation, poverty, parent death, child labor, abuse and exploitation of children]

Carlo

For this analysis, I'm going to assume that Carlo was born into a fairly well-off household. (The description of Carlo's portrait calls him "an aristocratic boy", and since Geppetto is the mastermind behind Krat's puppet technology, I assume he'd have his fair share of the profits.)

By the standard of their time, upper-class children were quite spoiled: Unlike their working-class peers, they never had to worry about who was going to provide food for them, and the horrors of child labor were never of any concern to them. You would think that being born into a rich family doesn't leave you a single thing to wish for - you'd have nice toys, fine clothes... and well, everything, except for parental affection.

For the most part of the day, upper-class children wouldn't even see their parents - they were only summoned to appear before them at a set hour of the day, and during these occasions, they had to address their fathers as "sir". Essentially, meeting your parents was more like an audience with a stranger, a rare privilege strictly regulated by formality. Children were expected to act prim and proper, only allowed to speak when spoken to, and thus unable to express their true feelings, thoughts, or opinions. Any show of affection was extremely rare - Winston Churchill (1874 - 1945) once remarked that he could "count the times he had been hugged by his mother" as a child.

The parents were more or less completely absent from their children's lives, and when there actually was interaction between them, the children were expected to unconditionally obey their parents. Osbert Sitwell (1892 - 1969) once commented: "Parents were aware that the child would be a nuisance and a whole bevy of servants, in addition to the complex guardianship of nursery and school rooms was necessary not so much to aid the infant as to screen him from his father or mother, except on some occasions as he could be used by them as adjuncts, toys or decorations." (Can you imagine? Geppetto taking Carlo to some big social event to show off his "perfect little son", and Carlo just standing there and silently enduring the ordeal, looking at his father all the while and wondering "Did he ever realize I'm not one of his puppets?")

So, by the standard of the time period Lies of P is set in, Geppetto neglecting his son isn't even anything terribly unusual - in fact, that's perfectly normal Victorian upper-class parent behavior.

Since they didn't take care of their children themselves, upper-class parents would hire a nanny to raise them. Nannies would be instructed what kind of behavior and morals the parents wanted instilled into their child, and they would be responsible for their education as well as teaching them manners, propriety, how to dress and so on. As such, the nanny effectively acted as a substitute for the parents - and given that maid puppets exist and Geppetto probably wouldn't let any strangers near Carlo, Carlo's nanny was most likely a puppet as well.

The daily life of upper-class children was based on strict routine - some like to say it operated with "clockwork regularity". Breakfast would be served at 8 o'clock in the morning, dinner at 12 o'clock, and tea at 6 o'clock.* Children would very seldom leave their room, except to take short walks in the park with their nanny. Education would mostly be given at home by a tutor, which included basic lessons like reading, writing, and arithmetic, but also "socially appropriate skills" like dancing and playing the piano. (Since we see a puppet giving piano lessons to a child in the intro, chances are Carlo's tutors were also puppets.)

*Eating times varied throughout the Victorian Era; a "dinner" might also be a meal eaten during midday.

The rest of the time, children would have nothing to do but to play with their toys (except on Sundays, which was forbidden). Rich families had the luxury of being able to afford the most elaborate of toys, such as automated dolls, clockwork trains, and jack-in-the-boxes, which were extremely popular among children. In fact, since clockmakers were also the ones to build toys, I could imagine Geppetto actually made the toys for Carlo himself. (However, I feel like this only would have made Carlo loathe them; in his eyes, it would've been proof that "father pays more attention to the toys he makes for me than actually looking at me".)

In short, the life of Victorian upper-class children was lonely, depressing, and stuffy to the point of suffocating. Given these circumstances, I would actually be surprised if this didn't leave mental scars on Carlo. It has been documented that a lack of parental affection causes psychological issues lasting all the way into adulthood, such as low self-esteem, trust issues, anxiety, difficulty with social relationships, and lack of emotional control. Also, considering Carlo was probably surrounded by puppet servants all day, he wouldn't even have had a single human being to interact with most of the time - something which most likely had a detrimental effect on his psyche.

Given this dreary existence, it would make absolute sense for Carlo to look nothing short of depressed in every depiction we see of him. The feeling of emptiness when being pressed into the corset of others' expectations is actually something I'm well acquainted with - it feels like walking beside yourself, like your body moving while actually feeling dead inside. A bit like a puppet on strings, if you will. With his life being a monotonous routine controlled by someone else, it wouldn't be surprising if Carlo had difficulty still seeing a purpose in it. (There have been some theories going around that Carlo committed suicide; at the very least, I think it's highly likely he had suicidal ideations during his youth.)

Perhaps this is where Pinocchio - the character from the fairy tale - might have become something like an identification figure for Carlo. Pinocchio was a puppet, but instead of doing what his creator intended - what his father expected - he did whatever he wanted. I'm sure Geppetto gave him the book as a measure to educate him, but it ended up having the opposite effect. In fact, it might have been what first taught him the concept of freedom: Geppetto's puppets only ever did what he told them to, executing the exact actions he had programmed them with, over and over again - but Pinocchio showed Carlo that it didn't have to be this way. (I've seen a lot of interpretations of Carlo disliking puppets, and while I can see where this is coming from, I don't think this is because Carlo disliked puppets in general. Rather, I think he saw them as "extended arms" of his father and a symbol of his need to control everything around him; otherwise, it would be a little strange for Carlo to be attached to the story of Pinocchio so much.)

However, I think beneath all the pent-up frustration and hatred, there was also the wish for his father to love and appreciate him. At the end of the book, Pinocchio returns to his father after all the hardships he had to go through, and the two reconcile and live happily ever after. Since Pinocchio's father goes looking for him when he disappears, perhaps Carlo believed that if he rebelled against him and put himself in danger, Geppetto would realize that he actually cared for him.

So, if Carlo was very prone to temper tantrums and acting defiantly towards his father, it might have been on one hand to show that he didn't want to be part of Geppetto's perfect stage play anymore, and on the other because he was vying for his attention. Due to his upbringing, however, Carlo wasn't really able to communicate his feelings in a proper way. (I like to imagine Carlo as a very emotional person, but having difficulty to actually express his feelings.)

Geppetto, however, wouldn't have the sensitivity to understand this - he most likely would've tried to rectify his son's "mischievous behavior" by disciplining, as was typical for the time period (in general, it was believed that you had to "beat the evil out of children" for them to become a good person). Of course, that wouldn't have made things better - in fact, I wonder if part of the reason Geppetto sent Carlo to Monad Charity House was that he was just at a loss what to do with the boy. Since all of his educational measures were fruitless, perhaps he thought that sending him to the boarding school would finally put Carlo on the right track - although the result of that probably was also quite different from what Geppetto expected.

Romeo

Meanwhile, poor Victorian children had to live in a completely different, brutal reality - for them, day-to-day life was a literal struggle to stay alive.

We know that Romeo was an orphan, and according to Eugénie, that's not much of a rarity in Krat. Indeed, street children existed in abundance during Victorian times: It wasn't uncommon for working-class children to lose one or both parents - due to unsanitary conditions in Victorian slums, many people died of disease, and given the hazardous working conditions in factories and coal mines, accidents were commonplace. However, the term of a Victorian orphan was actually a little broader than that, also extending to children who ran away from home due to hailing from alcoholic and neglectful families. Often, mothers who were single or had a child out of wedlock would also simply abandon their children. Whatever the reason for their situation, these children were forced to fend for themselves at a very young age.

In the Trinity Sanctum in Krat Central Station, there's a note mentioning a "pickpocket who was overconfident in a gamble" and "had his heart stolen and died". Since Romeo made "a deal with the devil" (the "devil" presumably being Geppetto who turned him into a puppet), people have interpreted this as referring to Romeo. Turing to crime to support themselves was not a rarity among poor Victorian children - in fact, half of the defendants tried at the Central Criminal Court of England and Wales between 1830 and 1860 were aged 20 or younger. There were even organized gangs of child thieves who were trained in pickpocketing by a "captain", similar to those from Charles Dickens' novel Oliver Twist. (However, the items that were stolen most often were actually not purses or pocket watches, but handkerchiefs; silk handkerchiefs had a pretty high resale value, and the thieves would take them from pockets, rip out the initials, and resell them for a good price.)

We can't be sure whether Romeo teamed up with a few other kids or not, but personally, I'd wager he did - it would be much safer to operate in a group in case one of them gets in trouble, and overall, Romeo's personality seems a bit too caring for a lone wolf. (As the King of Puppets, he was not only determined to save as many humans as possible, but also possessed the unconditional trust and loyalty of the other puppets. To me, this means he most likely cared about them, and they cared about him in return - if it was just programming, the puppets probably wouldn't be lamenting his loss after he dies. Compare this to Geppetto, who has to use force and coercion for others to obey him.)

Also, since the notes in the Trinity Sanctums always seem to have a connection to the place where they're located (factory worker -> factory; cleric -> cathedral; "greatest singer"/Adelina -> opera house), that would mean the train station was most likely Romeo's base of operations.* (Train stations tend to be very popular among thieves, since it's easier to pick pockets in the confusion of people boarding or getting off trains.) This would imply that Romeo didn't grow up in Monad Charity House since he was an infant, but arrived there at a later point during his childhood.

*EDIT: I just had a thought that the note in the Trinity Sanctum could also mean the train station is the place where Romeo died. (All the other notes are connected to murder or some other violent action, and since we can assume they were written by Arlecchino, he was probably more interested in that.) Since Geppetto has his secret workshop wagon in Krat Central Station, maybe the place where he built P is the same where he built Romeo.

Since there were so many orphaned children, the few orphanages that existed couldn't receive all of them. Instead, workhouses were established as institutions for all kinds of destitute people - including orphans - who were unable to support themselves and were given lodging and food in exchange for labor. However, many children actually preferred living on the streets, rather turning to crime than going to the workhouse. At a first glance, this may seem a bit unreasonable - surely, not having to run around in worn-down rags and steal your food just to survive would at least be an improvement?

Well... Turns out, not really. The conditions in Victorian workhouses were notoriously awful - they were overcrowded, unsanitary, and cruel places to live. Daily routine was strictly regimented, consisting of 9–10 hours of repetitive and physically demanding labor and very little free time. What little food there was was of poor quality, privacy was basically nonexistent, and the dozens of inmates sleeping together in dormitories often had to share their beds - children usually had to sleep up to four in a bed. The consequences for refusal of work or any kind of rule violation were beatings, deprivation of food, being locked up in solitary confinement in a dark cell, and other draconian punishments.

If this doesn't sound like a very hospitable atmosphere, that's because that was the exact intention behind it. Workhouses weren't meant to support poor people - they were supposed to scare them into finding work and make a living for themselves. Victorians viewed poverty as a self-imposed misery, and if you were a pauper, that was because you were lazy, retarded, or made bad choices in life. That's why beggars, vagrants, orphans, criminals, and mentally ill people were all indiscriminately housed in workhouses, because from the Victorian point of view, they all belonged to the same category of people: A stain that had to be removed from the public eye, either by forcing them to support themselves or by making use of their work force once they had donned the workhouse uniform. They were a nuisance to society, and their treatment in the workhouse was sure to make them feel that.

One of the worst fates for workhouse children, however, was to be hired out as pauper apprentices: Usually from 10-13 years of age, but sometimes as young as eight or seven, workhouses would send pauper children to factories in the countryside for an "apprenticeship". This "apprenticeship" involved factory owners buying children from orphanages and workhouses and making them sign a contract that lasted until they were 21 years of age, dictating that the apprentices had to be provided with food and accommodation, and in exchange, the factory owner was free to make use of their working power.

So in summary, workhouse orphans were essentially sold into slavery. This was all that much easier to do with children who had no parents and no other means to support themselves, and thus were free to be exploited by their employers. Some of the recollections from these former pauper apprentices are just utterly horrific - and in this case, I think it's appropriate to let the victims speak for themselves.

John Birley, who lost his father when he was two, lived in the Bethnal Green Workhouse for a time after his mother died of illness when he was around six. He was sent to Litton Mill as a pauper apprentice, and he had this to say about his experiences in an interview with The Ashton Chronicle in 1849 (source):

The same year my mother died, I being between six and seven years of age, there came a man looking for a number of parish apprentices. We were all ordered to come into the board room, about forty of us. There were, I dare say, about twenty gentlemen seated at a table, with pens and paper before them. Our names were called out one by one. We were all standing before them in a row. My name was called and I stepped out in the middle of the room. They said, "Well John, you are a fine lad, would you like to go into the country?" I said "Yes sir". We had often talked over amongst ourselves how we should like to be taken into the country, Mr. Nicholls the old master, used to tell us what fine sport we should have amongst the hills, what time we should have for play and pleasure. He said we should have plenty of roast beef and get plenty of money, and come back gentlemen to see our friends. The committee picked out about twenty of us, all boys. In a day or two after this, two coaches came up to the workhouse door. We were got ready. They gave us a shilling piece to take our attention, and we set off. I can remember a crowd of women standing by the coaches, at the workhouse door, crying "shame on them, to send poor little children away from home in that fashion." Some of them were weeping. I heard one say, "I would run away if I was them." They drove us to the Paddington Canal, where there was a boat provided to take us. We got to Buxton at four o'clock on Saturday afternoon. A covered cart was waiting for us there. We all got in, and drove off to the apprentice house at Litton Mill, about six miles from Buxton. The cart stopped, and we marched up to the house, where we saw the master, who came to examine us and gave orders where we were put. [...] Our regular time was from five in the morning till nine or ten at night; and on Saturday, till eleven, and often twelve o'clock at night, and then we were sent to clean the machinery on the Sunday. No time was allowed for breakfast and no sitting for dinner and no time for tea. We went to the mill at five o'clock and worked till about eight or nine when they brought us our breakfast, [...] We then worked till nine or ten at night when the water-wheel stopped. We stopped working, and went to the apprentice house, about three hundred yards from the mill. It was a large stone house, surrounded by a wall, two to three yards high, with one door, which was kept locked. It was capable of lodging about one hundred and fifty apprentices. Supper was the same as breakfast - onion porridge and dry oatcake. We all ate in the same room and all went up a common staircase to our bed-chamber; all the boys slept in one chamber, all the girls in another. We slept three in one bed. [...] Mr. Needham, the master, had five sons: Frank, Charles, Samuel, Robert and John. The sons and a man named Swann, the overlooker, used to go up and down the mill with hazzle sticks. Frank once beat me till he frightened himself. He thought he had killed me. He had struck me on the temples and knocked me dateless. He once knocked me down and threatened me with a stick. To save my head I raised my arm, which he then hit with all his might. My elbow was broken. I bear the marks, and suffer pain from it to this day, and always shall as long as I live. I was determined to let the gentleman of the Bethnal Green parish know the treatment we had, and I wrote a letter with John Oats and put it into the Tydeswell Post Office. It was broken open and given to old Needham. He beat us with a knob-stick till we could scarcely crawl. Sometime after this three gentlemen came down from London. But before we were examined we were washed and cleaned up and ordered to tell them we liked working at the mill and were well treated. Needham and his sons were in the room at the time. They asked us questions about our treatment, which we answered as we had been told, not daring to do any other, knowing what would happen if we told them the truth."

In case there were any surviving family members, the children were sometimes deported without their knowledge. In 1849, Sarah Carpenter related the story of her lost brother who was taken away from Bristol Workhouse to The Ashton Chronicle (source):

When I was eight years old my father died and our family had to go to the Bristol Workhouse. My brother was sent from Bristol workhouse in the same way as many other children were - cart-loads at a time. My mother did not know where he was for two years. He was taken off in the dead of night without her knowledge, and the parish officers would never tell her where he was. It was the mother of Joseph Russell who first found out where the children were, and told my mother. We set off together, my mother and I, we walked the whole way from Bristol to Cressbrook Mill in Derbyshire. We were many days on the road. Mrs. Newton fondled over my mother when we arrived. [...] My brother told me that Mrs. Newton's fondling was all a blind; but I was so young and foolish, and so glad to see him again; that I did not heed what he said, and could not be persuaded to leave him. They would not let me stay unless I would take the shilling binding money. I took the shilling and I was very proud of it. They took me into the counting house and showed me a piece of paper with a red sealed horse on which they told me to touch, and then to make a cross, which I did. This meant I had to stay at Cressbrook Mill till I was twenty one.

So, if the situation in the Lies of P universe in any way resembles that during the real-life 19th century, and if these street children are in any way smart, I think it's very understandable they'd want to stay the hell away from the workhouse or any similar institution. Of course, it would be easy to attribute this to laziness, but honestly, I'd say they just wanted to avoid the abuse. (You could pose the question whether there are even any lowly paid jobs for children to do in the LoP universe, since a lot of those were probably taken over by puppets. However, if you ask me, that might only lead to employers trying to underbid the price that puppet laborers would cost, which would lead to serious wage cuts for any human workers - we know there was a violent protest of the factory labor union, which might have happened for a reason like this. Also, I reckon the puppet industry itself would create new branches of "dirty work", like recycling parts from scrapped puppets, disposing of puppet junk, etc.)

In fact, these harrowing stories happen to have quite a few parallels to the original fairy tale of Pinocchio. Did you notice? The children are taken away in coaches and carts, in a way that conceals their presence (e.g. in a covered cart or in the dead of the night), which is very reminiscent of the Coachman picking up boys at night (in the book, the coach is described as having wrapped wheels, so it doesn't make noise and can't be discovered). At first, the children are told they can make a fortune by working in the textile mills and will have plenty of time for leisure - in A memoir of Robert Blincoe from 1828, it's even mentioned they tried to lure children into working in a cotton mill by telling them that "they would be transformed into ladies and gentlemen" when they arrived there, that "they would be fed on roast beef and plum pudding, be allowed to ride their masters' horses, and have silver watches, and plenty of cash in their pockets". This sounds quite similar to the Coachman promising the boys unlimited play time and freedom if they come with him to the Land of Toys. However, as both the pauper apprentice children and the boys from Pinocchio had to realize, all of this was a fraud to exploit them for what is essentially slave labor.

This also suggests that with his depiction of the Land of Toys, Carlo Collodi was doing more than just telling a horror story to scare kids into behaving. He was commenting on a real-life problem - and this, exactly this, is what Collodi wanted to warn his young readers about. In that sense, the boys turning into donkeys might also be a metaphor for what their employers saw them as: livestock, to be used and abused as they pleased.

Because the living conditions of workhouse children were so appalling, there was clamor for change, specifically among the reformist middle class. It was argued that orphans and destitute children should be housed in an institution meant exclusively for them, rather than together with criminals, cripples, and lunatics. The movement really began to pick up speed in mid-19th century, and many orphanages were founded by private benefactors and philanthropists. One of the most influential was Thomas John Barnardo, the founder of the charity Barnardos, who built homes for waifs, strays, and all kinds of children in need to provide them with a place to live, food, and education.

In general, there was an effort to make education accessible to even the lowest classes. Sunday Schools and Ragged Schools were established, which allowed poor children to take classes without having to pay a fee, giving them more opportunities in later life. However, the parents of working-class children were often against them going to school, since it meant that they couldn't work to earn additional income for the family. This is why attending school was made mandatory for all children between 5 and 10 in 1870, with the leaving age being raised to 11 in 1893. (This is also what Carlo Collodi meant by saying "for the love of God, get yourself some education" - because if you didn't, you would be stuck in a circle of bone-breaking labor forever.)

The Monad Charity House fits quite well into this historical frame: We do know that the Rose Estate was originally a charity organization for poor children, but was turned into a boarding school after Lady Isabelle and the Monad family started sponsoring money. Since charities for poor children are a phenomenon of the mid- to late-19th century, it's possible the situation was a lot worse before in the Lies of P universe as well. Romeo might not have gone there willingly (perhaps he was caught during one of his thefts), and truth be told, Victorian schools weren't the most rosy of affairs (if you'd like to know the details, feel free to check out this page). However, given what could've been his fate, Romeo probably considered himself lucky to be alive and not exploited by someone else for donkey work. (Still, one thing that should be kept in mind is that the Alchemists' patronage of the Rose Estate probably isn't based on purely altruistic motives: Since all of the children are trained as Stalkers, Alchemists, or Workshop Technicians, all of them ultimately become part of Krat's economic apparatus.)

It seems almost miraculous that two boys coming from such different worlds would develop such a strong bond. However, despite this, they had one experience in common: pain. Although the way in which they suffered might have differed, they both knew what it's like to be abandoned. Romeo had to grow up in a society that didn't care whether he lived or died, and since all Carlo ever received from his father was scrutiny or cold ignorance, he probably felt the same about him. Living in a cruel world where the odds were stacked against them, it's easy to see why these kindred souls sought comfort in each other.

In any case, if the untold backstory of these characters was crafted with this in mind, my sincerest compliments go to the people of Neowiz/Round8 for not only taking such a nuanced approach to child education in a historical context, but also for doing so with respect to the original story by Carlo Collodi. It may be really subtle at times, but you can't deny how much effort the devs put into the themes - themes that are so universal to human psychology that they continue to be relevant today, and undoubtedly made the story resonate with a lot of people.

[detroit-become-moomin]

Hey there! Completely forgot to post about this here, but - charity project for trans kids!!

POINTY THINGS, a folk horror collection written by me, illustrated by @ehlihr, and edited by @nimagine is now available for purchase online through Pride 2024. All revenue raised during the upcoming year will go to LGBT+ mutual aid orgs defending trans youth! In this collection you'll find:

55 pages & 22k+ words of story

unsettling megafauna

a trans take on red riding hood

fun facts about 16th-century beheading practices!

deeply unsexy vampirism

haunting-as-dysphoria

3/5 stories brought to life in spooky, atmospheric detail by elisar's illustrations!

The charities we'll be donating proceeds to include Equality Texas and the Transgender Education Network, but I'm also keeping an eye out for other mutual aid orgs defending the rights of trans youth in the American Southwest.

🩸PURCHASE HERE (GUMROAD) 🩸

🩸 OR HERE (KO-FI)🩸