#which i think is going to be referred to as ouroboros

[keen2meecha]

Picrew dump of the cast of my new heist story!

In order by row (with role based on this tvtropes page):

Épine Leroux (the mastermind), Kai Renault (the partner-in-crime), Zo Durnin (the wild card)

Odilia Dupont (the conman), Tomasa Cano (the searcher), Elowen Vaughn (the coordinator)

Kieran Echeverría (the (other) mastermind), Andrew Hyland (the fixer), Cyril Echeverría (the distraction)

(relationship diagram possibly coming next?)

[rel124c41]

THE LOST ART OF KEEPING A SECRET. jade leech & floyd leech

The aquarium receives new additions perhaps once every two weeks; usually they are cute little things with rainbow fins and gem eyes. These two are not cute little things; they're huge and they have human faces. "Well I've got a secret, I cannot say" - Queens of the Stone Age, Track 2 on Rated R. a gift for @hallowed-father; based on their beautiful fanart 💕

tags: aquariums, late night conversations, captivity, situational humiliation, dehumanization, mutual pining, dubious ethics, kidnapping, vivisection, nursery rhyme references, eventual happy ending

word count: 12,668

The first two times you try seeing them, all you see is your reflection. 

It makes sense unfortunately. With the lack of any light, you are going to have a hard time seeing them. Cloudy black settles over the skeleton and hair shaped vegetation. You can turn your head on a swivel (which you do on the second try) but there is no way to discern what swims through darkness. Instead, all you see in the aquarium tank’s water is your face. 

Each uniquely human feature of yours squints in the nebulous, oscillating dark. To an observer, it would seem that you think if you flatten your eyes into pressed almonds something will reveal itself to you. Nose scrunching, you squint in a grandmother who lost her glasses way that is simply laughable. 

There must be something inside the exhibit.

Nothing. Nothing but your desolate reflection. 

On a small plaque, the words no use of flash photography wags a censure finger at you. Besides the cerulean halo on the corners where the wall meets ceiling, the room must remain dark at all times. Even during operating hours – or so you have heard from Deuce – they refuse to allow any other light in the secluded room. 

Besides the ultramarine ouroboros, the oval-shaped room is dark beyond dark. An extreme that is on another level than what you are familiar with. As a nightguard, you are familiar with the dark. Quite familiar. 

For example, there is one aquatic animal that you managed to see that other people cannot find nine times out of ten. In the shadows, spider crabs hide. They call their environment interestingly enough: the twilight zone, a part of the seafloor that gets little light and is very cold. With only three crabs in a sizable aquarium, it is understandably hard for others to find them. While the guests that linger after hours or closing staff puzzle over their location, you find them with ease. Behind the ship, by those bones, in the left corner no no higher in the left corner;  your eyes have long since adjusted to the nocturnal proclivity of your job. 

(One of the closing staff employees joked you were like a cute, little opossum. You think he meant it as a flirt; you found it insulting. Pressing your shades higher up on the bridge of your nose, you clocked in with your head down, vexed.)

However, in the tenebrous depths before you, you are like a disgruntled archaeologist standing in a desert of Swiss-cheese holes. Unable to locate anything. Tilting your head in a slightly different direction, your eyes squeeze into petite slices, searching. 

The flashlight in your hand is a heavy temptation. If you just raise it, the absence of light will readily receive it. Melted pinks and greens of vegetation will pop, brown and amber of decorative rocks will shine, and whatever colors lie on these new fishes will certainly look like a gorgeous splendor under visible light. It would take the smallest wrist motion. Your reflection held in black water stares back at you, glaring daggers. ‘C’mon, do it,’ your reflection urges.

Light slugs over your sneakers, contemplative. ‘Perhaps not,’ you think with regards to the penlight. You know that you loathe having any type of light in your face; do unto others as you would have done onto you. The button of your tool clicks off. By now, you should already be down by the stingrays. 

‘Third time might just have to be the charm,’ you think with a frown. 

In the fishbowl glass, mummified with shadows, your reflection mimics that childhood disappointment.

‘I’ll try again tomorrow.’

Turning to leave, spine to the aquarium tank, you miss the first instance of light emerging out of dark. 

It pulls upward like an ember blown skyward out of a campfire pit. The movements of it are languid. Flickers of yellow orbit in a whirlpool, lazy like they have just woken up. That clean circle becomes distorted, shrinking and growing like window-shades are being maneuvered over it. Then, a twin of yellow joins the first, a hair keener than the first. Both circles of light hang in the shadows, not brightening or shining beyond an intensity that is noticeable. Shrewd with their intentions.

When the door to the oval room clicks close, the window-shades pull down like a blink and the aquatic water changes from being speckled with playful yellow back to tenebrous black.

As it turns out, the phrase ‘third time's the charm’ holds an eternal merit. Because the next night, which is the third time you look into the aquarium tank, your wish is granted. 

The unluckiest charm; the unluckiest wish.

The aquarium gets new deliveries once every two weeks. As the nightguard, you are not kept on the up-and-up unless Deuce Spade is working. And as an honor college student, Deuce is usually scheduled – during daylight hours of course – on the weekends when exam season is not keeping him occupied. So, you missed the news about this new delivery initially. All you knew about them was from the very insightful texts of Deuce Spade (two in total):

The new deliveries can’t be around light. Think it's anglerfish? 

and

Apparently not anglerfish, those have to live under pressured water. Why do people act like that’s common knowledge to know??

Your available information is: they are not anglerfish. That is all.

You really are left with no hints to what hides in murk. After two weeks, no plaque detailing the species is nailed to the wall or statued on a slanted board. The room is void of identification. Perhaps that is the reason your body seems so magnetized towards deciphering this mystery. No identification by now is unusual. Plus, night shifts drag like limping feet; why not try to stall off boredom?

This time around, you power off your penlight before entering the room. Instead of letting the light stamp a circle of itself on the ground, you enter pure darkness. Blue vibrates above you. Not complete darkness, you correct, stepping on the path that limited blue illuminates. 

The room and tank resemble an egg with a cut-off top. The room is oval shaped but missing a quarter of its full shape, the top half knifed off to make room for a tank full of about five hundred gallons of water. When you reach the wall, the length is forty feet, this sliced egg-top, you place determined hands in your slacks pocket. 

And squint until the muscles in your eyes quiver with strain.   

Penguins must be kept in cold waters. Vents are constantly blowing cold air into the exhibit to keep it under forty degrees. As your breath comes out in a puff of frosty air, you wonder deeply just what kind of species can be kept in such frigidness. Deep sea penguins? That would certainly be interesting. 

Your reflection challenges you with a mimic of your squinting. Keep dreaming, it says. No matter which way you look over tenebrous shadows of vegetation and rocks, nothing is making itself clear to you. This time you risk inching closer. From this distance, you can count the vertebrae-esque leaves of a winding ludwiga. Ice seems to heartbeat off the glass, kissing your features. 

What can you see?

Nothing. Nothing but your desolate reflection.

That is until a little organic lantern – small like a dragonfly– comes alive in the water. Despite your excitement, you keep yourself frozen and still. Your tiny gasp bleeds out your mouth and hits the glass gradually. The dragonfly powers on and off in two blinks. Morse code for ‘I’ but you doubt this animal knows that – you just happened to take a college elective for Morso code. You watch this single, pinprick lantern with great interest.

‘I think it really is an anglerfish. I mean, it makes complete sense. Deep sea water temperatures. The utter lack of light. Maybe, the researchers found some way to replicate the pressures, and the staff just doesn’t know yet. That would be revolutionary.’

Then, a second dragonfly joins the first. On a black-emerald and black-turquoise torrent, the ember dips down low. Glittering like a sun-rays on water, it slithers closer with curious intent. It was leagues keener than its twin, metaphorically hexagonal instead of circular. This dragonfly too powers off and on in quicker blinks. Four blinks which is ‘H’ in Morse code … useless knowledge. 

Anglerfish cannot communicate. The entire ecosystem of a brain from fish to human is different, like trying to compare a tropical amazon to a winter wonderland. Just far too different to understand one another.

But, it is impressive that the aquarium was able to get such a deep sea creature to survive in a simulated habitat. 

“Hi there.” You wave your fingers. Pressing yourself closer to the glass, you wait for your eyes to adjust and register the razor teeth and fat jowls of an anglerfish brown face. Cold air starts to swim under your jacket, your body’s tilt causing the material to slip. Then, you make eye contact.

Eye contact? Eye contact. Turns out those lantern-shaped dragonflies you are looking at are not the bait anglerfish have attached to their bodies. It is not a hunting evolution you openly leer at. Rather, you look them in the eye. 

All the fire of your wonder extinguishes like a pinched match.

As if the vents are working overtime, a sudden chill falls over you. Goosebumps settle over your shoulders. You jump back and misty gray air (your gasping breath) explodes in front of you. It is not your desolate reflection that swims in front of you. Someone else’s face is in there.

There are creatures in there; that is undeniable. What fights to make itself conclusive in your reeling mind is the image of the creatures. Creatures – so completely alien when compared to the mixture of muscles that make up an anglerfish– with human faces. Human features. A nose. A pair of lips. A pair of squinting eyes, staring right back at you. 

One of them throws their head back in laughter when you fall to your ass, reeling inward and outward. What the fuck is a human – two humans! – doing inside an aquarium tank at 2 A.M.!

You climb back up to your feet with all the grace of an injured crab. Your left arm feels longer than your right; you feel like the ground has morphed into quicksand and is suckling on your right boot; all of your world has become disoriented. In your jacket, your penlight weighs down your left side like a brick. Pulled by a mental riptide, you wrestle until you finally stand on two (trembling)  legs like all bipedal humans should. Earth tilts as you watch the one who laughed move forward, blue blanketing him. 

He taps the glass. Exact over the bullseye point of where you stand, reeling, in the glass from his point of view. In intelligent acknowledgment of you.

You two lock spheroid eyes, analyzing each other with hell-bent resolve. Mapping the features of each other in your brain’s fusiform face area so you can recognize each other at later times. His human features settle like all the others before him in your cerebrum. Packaged in the inferior temporal cortex, packaged in the fusiform gyrus. The human visual system that specializes in recognizing faces accepts him. 

‘That is a face. I will recognize it later and recall it as one thing only: a face.’ Just like that, your brain, your fusiform gyrus mails you the annotation. 

A part of you wants to cry and the other wants to puke. You do neither. You react with a different system of your body.

Muscles press your flashlight’s button on and muscles move it up quickly when the second one starts to move closer to the glass. You do it out of fear. And with strange, instant regret. 

The one closest to the glass folds into himself, seething. A webbed, tooth-white-with-green-gradient hand covers his eyes in agony. His other hand slams the tank in a tight fist. It knocks the world back into orientation. You flee the scene with your flashlight swinging wildly back and forth with your sprint. 

This time there is no laughter.

You rush out like they are chasing you, laughing over your shoulders. With a harsh crash to the ground, panting in disbelief, you pull trembling knees towards your stricken face. What the fuck – what the absolute fuck! A carapace cloak falls over your brain to ignore knocking thoughts and rationalization. Wordless beyond three words, they swirl in your head. What the fuck – what the fuck.

Your spine lies on another exhibit. Stingrays lie underneath the aquarium’s sand, sleeping and unaware of you. Part of you knows you will not be able to sleep in the morning. 

“What the fuck.”

You unlock your phone with your face when you get home. 

The lamp glows, allowing your phone to register the face identification. As quickly as the string is pulled on, it is tugged off. Dawn rests against your black-out curtains like zombies pounding on doors sheltering food. Brightness on the screen is kept down to the lowest possible setting. You type the name of where you work into your phone.

‘There has to be information on them. You can’t just have that’ – pale-green faces with matching gold eyes – ‘that living in an aquarium. And if it’s in an aquarium, shouldn't that aquarium be like inside Area 51 or the Oval Office. Anywhere but nowhere!’

You click on the website of your place of employment. The types links are highlighted in white bubbles: GET YOUR TICKETS, WAYS TO SAVE, and ANIMALS UP-CLOSE. Your finger follows the last tab and you come across a Let’s Get Started sheet, asking if you are a member and, if not, to start booking. A colorful curse parts your lips.

You return to the home page. Take in the organization again. Okay, there are some links above too: Visit, Animals & Exhibits, Learn, Research & Conversation, News & Events, Support Us, Shop. 

Gravitating towards Animals & Exhibits, you watch as a list unfurls like a scroll. None of them are unusual animals. From beluga whales to steller sea lions, you are looking at a dead-end list of regular animals which you have passed multiple times on your nightguard route. Aquatic animals whose features do not turn your entire morning full of sleep into restless pacing. 

This is nauseating. For piscine features to be manipulated like that. Sea creatures come in a variety of features that are unique to them; eyes that reveal the innate instinct to survive above compassion or companionship, dorsal fins that branch off their body like tiny mountains, or those puckering lips that circle to suction fish-feed from the surface of their tanks. Those features you can compartmentalize with the aquarium you work with well. They belong there with the other undersea creatures. Your heart pangs in disgust.

This is immoral. For human features to be manipulated like that. A face you might see walking out of a movie theater, hand in hand with his girlfriend. A face you could have the possibility of getting to know if you were not a college dropout; someone in your biology or english elective or calculus class that would ask for help with a certain question. Staring into that man’s left umber eye and right gold eye, you realized how all those features made him human. Your heart pangs in sympathy. 

This is? You take a tranquil breath that soothes you like medicine from an inhaler, and the next thought sets your world back on the correct axis. This is out of your paygrade.

You return because, fucking, of course you do. A job is equivalent to a life. You experience less hardships when you have a good job – which you thankfully do. You have a good job that you must keep.  

One: legally, graveyard shifts pay more than others in your state. Two: it was ideal for the degenerative disease you have. Three: “I need money. Money is good. I need money. Money is good. I need money. Money is good. I need money. Money –'' There have certainly been better mantras sung in your car; though, this melody keeps you sane. Most importantly, it keeps your foot steady on the accelerator. So with three very good reasons – really just two overlapping ones and a single unique one – you return to work the next day like nothing is wrong. 

Thus, you are going to ignore it. Thus, “I’m going to ignore it,” you tell yourself. Thus, you are going to stand in front of the oval-shaped room’s door for the larger half of thirty minutes, studying the steel. Ah, this is far from ignoring it.

It is just … absent of sentimentality, you know that they are only fish. Fish that you see on guys’ dating profiles, fish that you eat with a medley of dipping sauces, fish that shit in the very water they swim in. You are no PETA advocate that will say fish are like the monkeys of the ocean, learning to use rudimentary tools and are sophisticatedly smart because they form social groups. However, despite this, there is a tiny pebble in the river that manages to disrupt the entire flow; the pebble wants you to apologize to them.

Which is outlandish and pure insanity!!

Which is really why you should not push the door open with your hand. And, which is why you glare at your traitorous fingers and listen to the creak of an opening door, bemoaning how utterly stupid you are to be opening this Pandora box of possibilities.

You let the flashlight sway once in an overarching cut across the room. Then, you point it at the ground and squint at the aquarium again. Besides a few layering shades of ebony speckled with blue, there is really not much for you to distinguish in the stomach of shadow. Putting yourself on an even playing field, you flick off your flashlight and step forward. 

Feet shuffle inch by inch. Looking straight, your acuity of vision decreases bar by bar. Gravity shifts like a restless faultline has awoken under your feet. You want to run away while you walk forward.

When you touch a hand to the frigid glass, you finally feel steady again. Once more, your exhale makes itself physical in a small cloud on the tip of your nose. The temperature is graciously grounding. 

“I’m okay,” you remind yourself. You blink to stabilize your vision.

Apologize to the fish then you can finally leave. Simple enough.

Yet, as you wait and squint, no glowing eyes emerge in the dark. You hold yourself there, waiting for just a flicker of motion in what seems like everlasting comatose. 

This is pointless. Why am I even here? I doubt they remember my face, much less hold a grudge over it. Fuck, why did I let myself get sentimental over some eldritch homunculus that is an affront to biological evolution! Why aren’t they at Area 51 or the Oval Office – why did faith push them here?

Inner seething concluded, you turn your flashlight on and the room brightens. For a split second, your face lies its reflection on glass with a resentful aura. You maneuver light towards the door with determination. Your body follows, making a hasty turn towards your exit. There are rounds around the aquarium to be made, iced frappuccinos in the breakroom you want to drink, and momental, life-altering plots to be ignored forever.

Until the glass behind you thuds in tension-raising noise like when a bird hits window-panes with little to no warning.

Breath caught in your throat, you whirl around to make eye contact with him. He wears such a handsome face, one that could belong to a heartthrob actor if not marred by the fins replacing his ears and the mossy green hue of his skin. His playful inquisitive eyes are entirely human in shape and structure; the black pupil and then the color ring of an iris. Too bad they too are disfigured by rare and nauseating colors, olive-umber and gold. 

That right eye reminds you of lighthouses on the coast. Captains are not supposed to stir towards lighthouses; they avoid the light, even if it carries a certain warmth. Why is he looking at you so warmly?

Somehow, you just manage to catch out of the corner of your eye the motion of his hand. An acute nail points down at your beaming flashlight which imprints a halo of light on the carpet floor. Then, he raises his hand up to around his shoulder. His fingers move in the starting shape of someone about to play thumb-war before he starts to move his thumb up and down. Clicking an imaginary button, signaling for you to turn off your flashlight.

Stunned, you numbly do. Light is pulled and magnetized back into the pen’s surface, like an object beamed up into a spacecraft, at a speed unseeable to the human eye. The eye contact between you two is almost an intense lip-lock that both of you cannot part with. 

This is one you shined the flashlight at. Right into those encapsulating eyes. The right one is yellow like liquid spilling out of a pineapple. Bright and playful.

“I- I uh,” you fumble with your apology. He probably won’t understand a word. You purse your lips nervously. Are there any words in the English language that can package up your sympathies from homo sapien to fish; is opening your mouth even worth it? “I wuh-wanted to –.”

Your apology withers when the eel-mer starts to tap on the glass. 

Intentionally, you listen. Yet irrationally, you expect to see or hear more Morse Code. Perhaps it is his anthropoid features that misled you to the conclusion that he might know the coded language. With a needle-hook nail, he taps a rhythm. 

It’s nothing though? The letters are gibberish, with even the number 5 sitting pretty between an O and a C. Of course it is not a code. Coming to your senses, you doubt he could even understand your apology if you gave it to him. There is a fine line drawn in the aquarium’s sand: fish and humans are not equal, one is more intelligent.

With some infinite patience, the fish taps the glass again. You listen and recognize it as the exact same taps and pauses from before.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath. You hold eye contact, scrutinizing him. So used to having zero company, you surmise aloud, “I must be so sleep-deprived and loopy that I dreamed you up … A piece of undigested beef like Scrooge said.” As if to solidify his independent self and independent thinking in your solipsistic world, he taps the rhythm again.

This time – you think because of the repetition – you finally understand why he is tapping. It almost sends you flat on your ass once more. 

Oh. You throw a hand up to your mouth, faintly covering up a disbelieving laugh of joint horror and amusement. Disbelief crystallizes itself in the air; a tiny cloud of your reeling mind dissolves in front of you as you drop your numb hand. “Hah.”

The fish taps a nursery rhyme. One you know from kindergarten. One you would clap the rhythm of with your hands. You remember vaguely the pattern you’d move your hands to play with another child. The vague lingering sense of being hushed and secretive while playing your little singing games, giggling in the back of the classroom, bites your goosebumped flesh. 

How appropriate for a man trapped in an aquarium to know the nursery rhyme A Sailor Went to Sea. He does it again, the lyrics plucked from the cobwebs of your memory: A sailor went to sea, sea, sea; to see what she could see, see, see; but all that she could see, see, see; was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea. 

You don’t know fully how well your sight would fare in the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea. Still, with a hesitant squirm, you approach the frigid glass. The man inside the aquarium waits this time rather than launching right back into tapping.

Raising your arm, you make certain to dig your nails into your palm. A little reality-checking pinch never hurt anyone. One of those pallid nails rises up and taps back. Feeling like you are the spinning ballerina, you listen to the melody of this Pandora box plays unchained and uncaged in the ice cold air:

A sailor went to sea, sea, sea

To see what she could see, see, see

But all that she could see, see, see

Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea

There is no way to get around it. The third shift is lonely. Here in this aquarium? They only require one person to clean all the tanks, turn off decorative filters, and supervise aquatic life. That sole person has been you. With an iced frappuccino and penlight as your pirate’s sword and hooked hand, you have managed the task of protecting this vessel well.

Just because of your longevity of working as a third shifter, it does not make it come easy. Two tabs in your eighteen open Safari tabs are on articles about coping with night work. Coping with solitude when the entire world works in the opposite of you. One article details trying to stay on top of social interactions. All these shifting hours have been mistakenly used up. As you move through hallways like a haunting shark, you roll in your mind all the lost opportunities and all the regrets of having people in your life that you could’ve formed relationships with but never did.

Your metaphorical ailment has been sleep apnea. Eye scorned. Unable to catch your breath. You've been awake for years with no company. Along with being alone, you have been so achingly tired. Circadian rhythms in a body never change.

Your friend plays well in rhythms. The instrument of his disposition is easy to read after a month of ‘knowing’ each other. He has the attitude of a drummer. 

It is hard to get yourself used to his existence at first; he remains uncaring to your fretting. Lacking melodies or harmonies, he seems like the type that would rather keep things easy and simple than embellish. 

You come to visit? He wants to play. You’re too exhausted to play? He can entertain himself. What you have is very plain sailing and hardly involves any talking unless you start it. Besides, he is still just a fish and thus cannot converse with you. 

He really enjoys tapping on the glass. He plays a variety of rhythms; ones you do not know then, very strangely, some that you do know. As night by night moves along in time’s steady march, you grow comfortable enough to play back. He will play a rhythm only once, you copy it back with aid from your memory. You have even started to show him music on your phone, seeing how quickly he can pick up on certain beats and mimic them for himself.

Sometimes though, all he wants to do is simply listen. Which is activity the two of you share in tonight, absent of that third member who you are sure is hiding deeper among the burrows and the oscillating, five ribbed kelp. That distant drummer in your phone floods the cold room with music.

A small booklet covers your heart as you lie wistful. The floor is rough cement. There is no better place to lounge though. Underneath your head, a furry gray seal pup you borrowed from the toy store acts as your pillow. You try to think of yourself weightless like you are in water as you remain close-eyed and contemplative.

Like a siren call, music slithers out of the bottom of your phone’s speakers. Legs crossed over one another, you briefly tap your foot along to the rhythm that you are sure your friend is enjoying. “Look for reeeflections, in yo-our face; canine devotioo-ton, time can’t erase; Out on the cor-ner or locked in your room; I never buh-lieve them and I never assume-uh!”

Speaking of your friend, you have not bothered to check on him in a while. One of your diseased eyes peels open. Face held in a wink, you estimate if your friend is close enough to the glass that you should be able to see him clearly enough despite all the darkness. 

You do not expect him to be lounging right there beside you. It gives you a little shock of surprise. A moment passes by and that feeling suddenly intensifies to a shock of the heart. Not in a romantic way but in the way of a death row prisoner being electrified to death. 

You bolt upright, skull and hair flying off the seal pup plushie. Prescription sunglasses tilt down from their forehead perch, landing crookedly on your nose. The creature waves a sharp set of gradient-covered claws in your face. The only reason that your electric heart runs above its normal BPM is because that glowing lighthouse-esque eye is on the left side rather than the right.

“It’s you.” The creature, who you have not been becoming friendly with for an entire month, smiles at you and your shocked voice.

Though you are certain he has been watching you – not just while you were resting your eyes on the ground for a much needed cat nap, but for the entirety of these thirty-one nights – his eyes still flutter around the space where you sit in observation. He takes in each individual item around you like trying to find certain objects in spot-the-difference puzzles. After a moment, you ask while pointing to your phone, “Do you not like the music?” His wandering eyes are magnetized to your face when you address him.

Hell, they are intense. Intenser than any eyes you have really looked in before, rivaling even the strictest teachers you had or the meanest secretaries you have known. The colors in his gold and umber iris swirl like tiny galaxies of brown dust and broken stars. Intelligent eyes like those are daunting and, thus, terrifying to level your gaze with.

Despite knowing you will not get an answer, you march on in your one-sided conversation, “I get it that music isn’t everybody’s thing. Does it disturb you?” You wait. The newcomer does not talk either. “Ah, not a fan. I get it.”

You may receive no verbal answer, however you sense he does not want to play patty-cake through a sheet of reinforced aquarium glass. “Whatever yooo-u dooo-oh, don’t tell anyone; whatever yooo-u dooo-oh, don’t tell –” The song cuts off as you press the pause button.

“I should have been more considerate,” you apologize, able to steadily carry on this solo because you have grown used to it. You do talk a lot to the other fish. Almost in the same way one can carry on an unbalanced conversation with a pet cat or dog. “You just swim over to let me know and I’ll turn it off. I would never want to disrupt anyone’s sleep.”

‘Just like I would never again want to shine a light in anyone’s eyes.’ You still regret that with each fiber of your being.

For a silent moment, you two observe each other. Though you are a hundred percent certain this is not his first time scrutinizing you. You realize his hair is a mirror-flip reflection of the other fish’s just as he raises one of his hands. 

Maybe he is like the other fish. Despite not giving the impression of a drummer, he might still want to play that rudimentary game of patty cake where you two match and copy each other’s rhythm. Perhaps it is all their fish brains can comprehend. Even though his eyes might seem intelligent, he is nothing more than a piscine creature. However, that thought stalls when a single, black-dyed claw reaches up to his own throat, tapping it delicately.

“Hm?” You tilt your head curiously. 

In response, he takes his index and middle finger and taps once more his own throat. Then, he takes those fingers and depresses them over the reinforced sheets of glass. 

“Do you want me to,” you trail off, eyes stuttering over the items at your disposal. “I can’t sing if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m no singer.”

 Eyes, one of them full of shattered stars and the other full of blown-up planets, stare on. Unchanging and showing you no inclination of what he wants you to do. The other fish will at least whine, squint, or show joy if he thinks whatever words your vocal cords stretch into will entertain him. “Though, I could,” you trail off again.

Trailing off is an awful habit of yours. You rarely can make full, complete conversation after almost half a decade of night shifts. However, those intense eyes encourage you to go on. “I could read to you?” Your fingers point towards the booklet that had fallen off your chest. “If you want?”

Once again, no answer. But, at least you are not staring alone at your desolate reflection. His figure behind the glass – the yellow eye on his left side watching each of your body’s movements – is so very real and alive. At least, you are not alone this time. Though, the company is unorthodox biologically.

“Reading … I can do that.” Only for a little while though. Eventually, your eyes will start to blur at the tiny scripture. However, as you pick up the book and place it in your lap, the first line is big enough that you can read it easily, “Once upon a time –”

As a wedding gift, Pandora received a box from Zeus. Though gifts by definition are simply something given from person to person, the word gift carries with it a subliminal, secondary definition. Gifts are to typically be opened.

Acting against that thought, Zeus warned Pandora to never open the box. You never understood that. 

Why would one dangle temptation in front of another’s face? Why even plant an apple tree in the Garden of Eden? Why even craft a box if it should remain shut evermore? Temptation is a seductive thing. It slithers up into a body with shining honey eyes and lures like a hook. Because of this, it is best to keep it under lock and key.

If Zeus really did not want the box opened, he should have kept it as a hidden secret underneath thousands of layer crusts in the mountains.

As the story goes, curious Pandora opens her wedding gift. From it, the four horsemen of Judgement Day leap and gallop out, thick plumes of disease rattle out of the box in shaking coughs, and envy and greed claws their way out with black, knife fingernails, raping Pandora of her beautiful face and stealing her glittering necklace. Bleeding scratches upon her cheek and lungs filling with disease-ridden smoke, Pandora slams the box shut with a regretful hack. 

Only one thing remains in Pandora’s box. Hope remains trapped inside the wedding gift. Alone, hope paces the perimeters of the box in their curiosity. Marveling at how much room and space they have to stretch out, hope takes a long, peaceful nap for all eternity.

You wish you could take a long, peaceful nap. You have a lot of trouble managing to fall asleep fully without waking up in intervals. When you work against your body’s natural circadian rhythm that is simply what happens.

Today, you have what Doctor Safari’s helpful tabs are telling you is a third shifter headache. To alleviate them you take no pills. Far too smart of an idea to take those. Instead, you take an iced frappuccino out of the break room’s fridge and turn off every single light in the aquarium, down to the blue LEDs that snake on the ceiling.

“Much better,” you sigh to yourself in relief. In nebulous black, your feet carry you to the place where company awaits and has been awaiting for about two months now.

It has been a slow trail of companionship. Progress is not fully linear. Part of you has forgotten how hard it is to socialize after years of isolation. 

To be honest, you feel like a man who has lived up in the mountains alone for years, living and hunting by nomad methods, only to be shown a cellphone as soon as you reach the mountain's descent. However, they must feel the same way. They have lived down in the ocean for years, living and hunting in aquatic methods, only to be brought up and shown the eye of a penlight shining in their face. The three of you are all just struggling along in finding how to make companionship work. 

But God, does it work. You hesitate with it, suddenly remembering the fins as placeholders for ears or the tails under their belly-buttons. Yet, human eyes and smiling lips will restore your content in the next moment. Something about them solves your loneliness.

They may never speak. However, you often have trouble navigating the maze of words.  In the end, you consider them friends in an unease definition of the word.

By the time you make it to Pandora’s box, your coffee is drunk down to the last drop and you use the chilled glass container as an impromptu ice pack across your forehead. Where you come through is not the typical oval-shaped room. Instead, you venture up a tongue of metal steps to the top of their aquarium tank. It is a circle-shaped room. Designed largely like a pool, the only lighting is three spheres on each wall. The room consists of a gaping black hole of water and a slight drop in floor elevation so staff can stand ankle-deep while feeding or caring for them.

At least, you assume. Because the first time curiosity lured you to the top of their tank, your fingers had been nibbled at. Nothing extreme and more like dogs cobbing to show affection, but it still surprised you when the right-gold-eyed one took your hand in his.

Now, you carry along with a plastic bag of treats and tread into the water without hesitation. Walking in the familiar steps of your companionship as you have done night after night. They are eager to see you it seems.

Too bad the world tilts and you are suddenly no longer looking down on them but eye to eye. You realize what has happened with gritted teeth. A careless trip of unbalanced feet, now you sit on hands and knees in inch-deep water.

You also realize something with more horror than before. The prescription sunglasses that were perching on your forehead have been knocked off and are slowly slipping inside the tank’s depths. 

“No, shit!” You cry out before, with one-track-mindlessness, you duck your head underwater like a hungry mallard. 

Your eyes fly open as soon as you submerge yourself. You watch as languid sunglasses drift lower and lower. Ribs tight on the cement floor, you spear out your arm in a panic, missing the edge of the glasses by a finger’s width before they go down further and further.

No, no, no! Those glasses cost a fortune! 

Stupidly, you consider the idea of diving right into the rest of the tank before you realize another thing. It paralyzes you, shocking and binding your heart. The entire sight of the tank is so easy to see. The bottom of the ocean floor is as clear as crystal, enough where you pick out each gradient of sand. It is comparable to being a person putting on their prescription contacts in the morning, everything clearing up with the right correction lens. 

Usually, your vision is always mildly blurry. Enough where you can navigate night to night without any serious medical aid. But that lingering, splitting-headache pain behind your irises dulls like a blanketed sound. 

It allows you to watch clearly as delicate, black fingertips scoop up your ebony pair of sunglasses. 

Relief fills you as the fish with upturned eyes gently brings them up to you. You surface from water just as both fish break the surface too. It dawns on you that you haven’t been this close, eyes parallel to one another with you on your knees. 

No reinforced aquarium glass separates you this time and yet, calmly, you say, “Thank you. I really can’t thank you enough for retrieving those for me.”

A giant grin grows on the one with downturned eyes. Though you hold a hand out to the other, this one seems to think your gratitude is for him for he loops his arms around your neck, squeezing you. He starts to pepper kisses on your cheek, which you suppose resembles how dogs like to lick their owners.

Your outstretched hand never receives the glasses. Instead, the fish with upturned eyes takes to placing your sunglasses back on the perch of your head. The temple tops fit snugly behind your ears. You watch as the fish with shrewdness in his eyes starts to move the tendrils of wet hair out of your face. 

As your hair is tucked and your cheek is kissed, you wonder just once more why faith has brought them to you.

“(Name)?”

You smile at Deuce’s surprised gap. Today, you wear Noir sunglasses. The lenses are as dark as vantablack, refusing to allow any light touch your retinas. Even the artificially colored lights of an aquarium during operating hours is too much for you. 

Deuce is in charge of the photography printing booth today. Twenty or so different families, couples, groups of teens flicker in rows across the screen he stands in front of. 

“You sound almost disappointed.”

“No, no, not at all,” he rushes to amend. “Just haven’t seen you out in –”

“The sun?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Even a vampire needs a change of pace.”

Like an examined showhorse, you show off your plain teeth. No fangs or shark teeth to be found. 

“I’ll tell you though. Driving here? A complete nightmare.” And, it really was. Usually you drive one handed. Your right hand lies on your thigh, tapping along to the rhythm of the radio’s drums. Today, you had to grip the steering wheel with both hands.

“Well, it is a summer weekend after all. Sucks to get stuck in traffic. ” Deuce nods his head in sympathy.

“Ah,” you look to the side. “Actually it was kind of just weird driving with other people on the road.”

Deuce’s eyes brighten in particle understanding. He might not entirely comprehend it but he still goes, “Oooh. Because you’re so used to driving at night.”

It is not that entirely. “Yeah,” you give a small, lying smile. When you remember driving, you remember it like a dream. You drive in a single lane, all alone in your white truck. Bordering you, two lanes of heavy, steady traffic move in succession towards the opposite direction. Going somewhere you are not. 

Your isolated Chevrolet Silverado was so high up on the ground that you felt a bird. The width of your truck was so wide that you felt you were shouldering your way through a crowd. That is only what felt like happened, not reality. “I just felt a little disjointed.”

The photographs on the monitor keep changing in flickers. Your eyes fall on them. Mother with daughter. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Father and mother and only son. Three girl best friends. Grandfather with two girls and one boy. Blank. 

“Did you get your photo taken?” He asks. He must have noticed your gaze. Has to do his job after all. 

“Ah no.”

You look at the empty block of spotlighted blue. Dark cobalt around the edges and white in the center. How many photos do you have of yourself? You feel in that moment … if you ran away somewhere, no one would notice; there’s no photographic evidence that you exist.

“Nah; had to fight to let them let me pass. Oh, it’s just mandatory. Completely free of charge. And then, they started thinking I was insecure or something so they started complimenting me. Had to explain,” you tap the side of your sunglasses in reference, “and then, finally they let me go. So much fuss for just a photo.”

“They’re really that insistent on it?”

You nod. 

“So what brought you out into civilization anyways?”

“Wow, rude.” 

Deuce laughs. You smile strained. Every time you speak, it feels wrong. You are being too mean or not engaging enough. God, why can’t you just talk to someone like a normal person and carry a conversation smoothly? There is no desolate reflection for you to spy on the laptop, just an empty space of spotlighted blue.

“Visiting some friends.” is your reply.

The publicity on them is quiet and hush. So much so that you feel the world has already known about them – two merman pulled from the bottom of the deep sea, sea, sea. It is entirely possible. With how disjointed you are compared to 99.9 % of the population, it is not so far-fetched to think that they have been in the public’s eyes for a long time and wonder over them has died down. 

However, this exhibit is still listed as the first one. Out of how many? Well, you suppose you will find out later if more are to come, if this is going to be a big success. You only found out from working the night shift, seeing the date on the break-room calendar. 

COME SEE, FOR THE FIRST TIME, CREATURES FROM THE BLACK LAGOON! That is the first message you spy on the aquarium walls, following along with the crowd. Must have been put up by the morning crew. In bright letters, strung underneath party streamers, a multitude of phrases bounce and shout. Instead of being in awe over the pictures of them, your mind focuses on each line detailing: unprecedentedly new; for the first time; never seen before!

Yet, no one shrieks in terror at the sight of them in the posters. Even when you and others are filed into the aquarium auditorium, the crowd murmurs to themselves softly instead of shouting. Under the hypnotic spell of voyeurism, everyone seems more anticipatory than agitated.

You fixate your glasses tighter to your face as you scale up metal stairs, looking over your shoulder at the water. This is where they do the sea lion or seals show. You have not seen a single one in an entire decade. Under the shadowed surface, you can spy two serpentine lengths flowing through currents. 

“Bet this whole thing is a scam. We should go back to Disney in Florida next year; it’s warmer there. More stuff to do too.” You cast a glance at the daughter in her early twenties sitting next to her mother before moving further up.

You do not pick the top row but you do pick an isolated section. Sandwiching yourself next to a stone pillar, your butt lands on the rickety metal bench. Just as you are about to readjust your glasses, making sure that sides of the lenses are atom to atom on your skin, you are interrupted by a loud, consecutive ‘woah’ that you are not a part of, that swims through the crowd.

But, you manage to see a glimpse of it just in time.

You are not sure which one of the two it is. Yet, all the same, you watch entranced as one of them breaches that ink pool. Bioluminescence tints his body in glittering blue topazes. It is like watching a shooting star suddenly fly across the dark night skies. 

The porcupine quills of black that make up his fins bend and the dragon tail of sapphire that makes up his lower body arches. Aerodynamic, he flies through the air and manages just in time to snag the large, squirming spider crab that hangs from a ceiling beam on a metal wire. He disappears with the same speed as his appearance, taking with him into the black hole of water his meal.

Yet, before anyone can close their hanging jaws or the water can stop rippling with the impact of the eel-mer diving back under, music blares from the speakers, moving spotlights suddenly slide over the water and crowd, and a man comes out of the backroom and onto the stage.

You are just done wincing from the bright flash of a spotlight surfing over the bench you sit on when the man suddenly exclaims, “How are we all doing?” You stay tight-lipped as the crowd cheers. “C’mon, you can do better than that! How are y’all doing today?” The crowd cheers, claps, and responds in a long Goooood! 

Cringing with shut lips, you suddenly remember why it has been a decade since you watched an aquarium show. The script is always a bit childish. 

“We have two very special guests for you today. The strong guy you saw just a few moments ago was Flotsam. His brother, Jetsam, is here too. Jetsam, why don’t you come out and say hi to everyone.”

You lean forward, enraptured with the sight. Serpentine coils cut through the water, water jetting up with the force of how quickly he swims. Onto the wayward platform that bobs in the black hole, Jetsam pushes his body up onto it. Instead of a pair of flippers, he waves his clawed fingers to the awestruck audience. 

“Flotsam and Jetsam are both eel-mers. Found and rescued from the northern waters, they are the first of their kind and are very excited to show you all what they can do!” Thus, the spectacle begins.

They go through a variety of tricks. From doing a few figure eights in the water, shooting balls into hoops, and even a freeze dance to the music blaring through the speaker, the mixture of tricks they do feels almost infinite. When the staff member rolls out a clownfish mailbox, announcing the birthdays of a few children in the audience, you wonder how long they must have been training. Days upon days of practice drilled into their memory. 

Birthday children come up to the auditorium’s yellow line as the eel-mers hand out little high-fives to them. One child even proclaims, “Ew sticky!” before his dad tickles him under the arms and picks him up, returning to their bench. Even though it is their first show, Flotsam and Jetsam seem so well-versed in social etiquette. 

However, you cannot help but find it a little demeaning. It seems so beneath them to have to perform like this to a leering audience. Sure, the rewards for each trick is generous, a stocky Japanese spider crab tossed and crushed in their razor sharp jaws, but it feels so ignominious. 

Despite the horrified joy swimming through everyone’s gasps and aws, your heart is so sad.

Another round of tricks starts up. This time it involves a dual pair of bongos. As the staff member picks up a squirting spider crab from the cage onstage, he speaks into his echoing earpiece, “Now, our here, Flotsam is an exceptional drummer. We often find him playing something new every morning, completely of his own free experimentation.” Flotsam swims and props himself on stage as the staff member continues, “Today, we’re going to have him show off a skill to you fine folks!”

Your heart buries itself deeper and deeper into sadness. Perhaps, he never was intelligent. Perhaps, he is just another dumb fish. Canine obedience hammered in through reward and punishment, rhythms only learned because it is trained in him. As you two lock eyes, you cannot find anything that would dispute this theory.

You wait, as does everyone else, for Flotsam to start drumming away as promised. In addition, you wait for his eyes to flicker away from your unrecognizable face hidden by your sunglasses. Neither happens.

“A little indecisive today. I understand, there is just so much good music in the world,” the staff member stalls for time. He rips off a crab leg, holding out the reward by Flotsam’s suddenly demure face. “Why don’t we start off with something easy, buddy. A bit of the musical scale. Do-Re-Mi?”

‘You want to watch out for his teeth,’ you think, rubbing your fingers over the little scars you have from his nibbling. They really are such sharp instruments to break through the shell of a Japanese spider crab.

Thoroughly entrenched, the audience watches the repercussions of a box that was supposed to remain closed being opened.

Disbelief ripples through the crowd like one subtle wave. It is the only sound you participate in. Finally, in sync with the crowd of awake people. Someone to your left moans out of a low groan of phantom pain. The volume of interlocking disbelief grows when the staff member raises his hand up into the light. His trembling red hand hovers in front of his face to verify the view, his ring and pinkie finger bitten clean off. 

Poor bastard’s wedding ring is probably sinking down to the bottom of the tank alongside the crab leg that Flotsam spat out.

Volume pitches and rises. A woman screams. Naturally, that rouses up the attendance like puppet strings. The staff member falls on his bottom then crawls backwards. Crawling away from Flotsam like one, big stumbling crab. Since the seatmate to your right is a stone pillar, there is no one to trip over your feet in their rush to leave but you watch hypnotized many individuals shove and trip their way through bodies blocking the stairs leading down to the exits. Then, calmly, you stand on your metal bench to overlook the crowd. 

Flotsam’s eyes are wide as he stares at you. Reminds you of two tunnels branched off in a cave’s stomach. His fusiform gyrus lights up like newly plugged in Christmas lights, recognizing you. The little pea that makes up your fusiform face area– that clocks in every night to a job rarely done, cobwebs on the cubicle's laptop and dust as a seat covering – recognizes him too. 

It already was recognizing him, seeing him as what he really is. Your lips crack open, “Flo -.” Then, you start barreling down the metal steps. 

Weaving in and out of the disjointed crowd, you race down, sometimes landing on the cement floor and sometimes landing on the metal benches in your hopping steps.A shoulder jostles you so harshly that your sunglasses fall off your face. Between rows of benches, they dive to the floor. You trip, trying to make the leap onto a metal bench. The sound you make as you fall onto metal is so tiny in the cacophony. 

The world goes white. It is like flash blindness from a nuclear explosion. 

Tears pour out your eyes. You clap a hand over them in shame and to hide from the bright … too fucking bright … lights. 

When you finally pick up your sunglasses, marks of shoe soles stamped like tattoos on your upper arms and hands, the auditorium is empty of a single soul. Not even they remain swimming in the tank. Someone must have sedated them and dragged them out. You are alone once more.

That night, you dream a dream that is more memory than a mystified fabrication of wonders or terrors. 

Tender like a newborn, you lie on a wafer-thin sheet of paper that unrolls itself from a cylinder like one big, white wave. Perhaps an iceberg is more appropriate. Hospitals are as cold as the arctic. On the paper iceberg, on the fence of girlhood and the fated teenage years, on the tongue of a vivisection, you balance with broken ankles. Under your thin gown, flowing air and goosebump-freckled skin collide. Blue tints your bottom lip.

You are laid down, anticipating future pain.

“Lay down and I will be with you two shortly.” He had said this and nothing more.

The scent at the doctor’s office is ozone with a hint of vanilla. Near your toes, the long neck of a giraffe stretches skyward, painted on the bricks. Under bright, too fucking bright, light, metal tools glitter like slick seashells. You can feel the prescribed numbing droplets in your eyeballs slowly seep in.

You pinch your eyes shut, feeling like there is a cement block lodged and scraping between the bones of your temple. Why wouldn’t they give you something for the pain? When you open them, they are held open by a speculum and hooks like you are nothing past being an animal in a zoo doing your daily checkups. 

Oh, and you are sitting upright on the paper iceberg now.

Must be the dream’s altercations. Time skipping forward in intervals. 

Dreams are always like a pile of bones. The skeleton all jumbled up and disorganized that you move from femur to ulna. You are not graced with a lot of time to think on the analogy as a very big kitchen knife leans towards your pried open eye. 

The muscles in your cheek twitch when it cuts. With the skills of a head-chef slicing an egg, your eye is cut perfectly down the imaginary midline. Both sides are even. 

He scoops out one side of your eye like a person pulling back from a whole cake with a single slice. It is more inky black and sickly gray. The hues of your eye-cake that is. Far from the bright blue or pink frosting of a cake, it stays saturated in montone hues. You always thought an eye would look like the diagrams in school, colorful with reds and blues, but it is a sickly ebon and ashen gray.

The cornea is hard as a freshly cut nail and the half globe of retina slimes in his gloved hand like glue. Now looking at it, it appears the flesh inside an eye reminds you more of a bruised plum’s insides. A muted hue of purple-black rather than full ebon.

It is the lens of your eyes that really captures the doctor’s attention. He takes the half-cut marble in a pair of tweezers. Between those lobster claws of thin steel, your lens which makes up a pupil is rotated back and forth in observation. 

An eye, though entirely soft and vulnerable, has only one hard bit inside like the tough seed of a peach. It can be cut but it will give resistance. With one good eye and half of your other, you watch the hard material between the lobster claws be pinched in and out to test the give and resistance of itself. Steadfast, it does not bend under the squeezes. 

That half-cut pearl glitters.

Time skips again, moving bone to bone like switching channels. Instead of smells and sights, sound takes over the scene. The faint buzzing of the air conditioner as it breathes over the giraffe’s neck. Water oscillating back and forth over rubbing soapy hands cries loud in your ears. Though, faintly, you can hear the blood from your eye that slips down your chin hit the pad of the paper iceberg you sit on.

The tissue in your hand crinkles softly in sound as you wipe away blood tears. In a chair that might as well be across the globe of Earth, your guardian sobs in intervals with a trembling chin. “Guuuh … gah … hu-hu-hugaaah.” You keep soaking up blood, dabbing the tissue against your face as it whispers in light friction. 

After he finishes washing his hands of your sanguine, the doctor intones two words like a priest giving the final prayer at the start of Armageddon, “cone dystrophy.” That is the last sound your ears can bear to hear before you jolt awake.

Your current doctor has given you exactly twenty-one little sheets. Ishihara tests; multiple circles with a number made of circles in the center. They are tests for color blindness. 

That morning, the colors red and orange permanently fuse into one shade. 

You took three nights off work. A little mini-vacation. The first was so you could spend the daylight hours watching the show with Flotsam and Jetsam; the second was so you could attend your doctor’s appointment; the third was so you could clean up what has been neglected in your apartment. Vacations are supposed to relieve the average worker of stress. You find yourself an outlier, once again.

“Blind by thirty? Blind by fucking thirty?” You bundle up the graphic shirt you were trying to fold into a circle and punch your mattress. The pile of already folded shirts tilts and falls in an arch to your right. “That fucking asshole,” you sneer.

Unraveling the graphic-tee-ball, you straighten your hunched posture with a deep sigh. No use taking your frustration out on innocent clothes. The wrinkled shirt joins the tower once you rebuild it. You reach out and grab a pair of socks. Foolishly, you thought organizing your apartment up for a very overdue spring cleaning would help to organize the disorder running rampant in your head. 

Forlorn and desolate, you look at the laundry mountain. Too bad that is far from happening. 

It is just … A person takes a guess at jars full of jelly-beans or what they’re significant other might have made for dinner, those are the true purpose of guessing games. The audacity of a person to guess when someone else is going to blind. You almost tear the sleeve off your cardigan when you pull in from the mountain’s maw. How dare your doctor estimate your finite health with such casualness. 

You suppose it makes sense. The Salvador Dali-esque dream you had the night before, coupled with losing the ability to differentiate between red and orange; all of these were just the bad omens setting up the stage for your doctor’s appointment. 

Mostly a homebody and not a frequent traveler, there aren’t many sights you are dying to see. However, the idea of losing your sight causes you to grieve it prematurely. Mourning the death of yourself. To just wither up inside this box-shaped apartment as a tomb, the thought of that is odious. You shudder and fold a towel.

Across the mattress, you look at your CRT television cloaked in a thin, see-through blanket to dim the lighting. On the square, a blue pick-up truck punches through metal and wooden gating. Even though the movie wrongly uses the sound effect of glass breaking, it is still impactful as you watch the pick-up truck reverse into an open boating harbor connected to the ocean. The whale and little boy harnessed to the back slowly sink in. 

Freeform is playing Free Willy. To be honest, you are just biding time until the Harry Potter marathon starts up. Thank God, this movie is nearing its end because it is putting dangerous thoughts in your head. You just want to see little Daniel Radcliffe under the staircase and be interrupted by commercials every twenty-five minutes.

The orphaned boy pushes the orca whale out to sea. You fold another article of clothing, unsure if it is orange or red. The hope that Pandora kept in her box begs for freedom.

It is an open secret now. That is a little contradictory, if you do say so yourself. 

However, it is the truth. The public now knows them without embellishment. With the shining gandour and seductive metaphorical-lingerie, it comes to their attention that predators are still predators. No matter how human they may look. 

The thought saddens you. Slowly and unsurely, you have been starting to humanize them in your mind. When you wrestle with the locked doorknob of the oval-shaped room, you grow sadder. 

It makes sense though. Flotsam and Jetsam? They should have been kept in the Oval Office or Area 51; instead they were brought to an aquarium in the middle of nowhere, used for publicity. The crux of humanity rears its ugly head. Sharing each fetish and body part to the audience is the sin of being a curious human. Everyone is a voyeur for something. No one can keep their mouth shut nowadays, always needing to post about their lives. So, they brought Flotsam and Jetsam here to do the exact same thing.

To think there was a time when you were disguised by their humanity. And now, it's all you hope to preserve and keep safe. Ascending the stairs to the circular-shaped room, you contemplate if there could ever be an inch of humanity in an animal. As a set of honey eyes peer at you from across the black hole water, you wonder if it is only canine obedience in their faces. 

Two against one, you all take a moment accessing each other. There are no plastic bags of yummy treats hanging from your arms. No thumping rhythms of songs echo on the walls. Instead of familiar friendliness and comfortable companionship, you all seem incredibly wary of each other. 

“Ya can come closer … We wouldn’t hurt ya, Shrimpy.”

Who the fuck said that?

Frozen in disbelief, you can do little besides watch the black hole ripple in violent sprays. A harsh slap echoes off the wall as a clawed hand breaches water only to grab the face with a right gold eye. Both drop under the water as your mind reels, spinning around options like a broken, juiced-up carnival ride. 

You are tired! You are so tired that you must have hallucinated that! Being awake for so long on the night shift … Why, it must be entirely possible to hallucinate every once and a while! An evolved headache of sorts! 

Yes. You grab onto that thought. Those words were hallucinations. Too bad your grip on the thought grows flimsy when Flotsam breaches the water, snarling, “I wanna talk to Shrimpy! Jade, lemme go! Get off!” A clawed hand grips the back of his hair and pulls him right back under.

A vivid hallucination you are having. Yes! A paragon of hallucinations and headaches after so many night shifts!

Despite the fear, you stay rooted in your spot. Not close enough to where the spilling water of the tank touches your shoes but close enough where you can watch the water steadily. Every once in a while, the sound of rocketing water echoes in the room. Dragon tails of green-blue fracture the surface. A clawed hand will rise up like a zombie breaking dirt only to disappear in seconds. Water flies in turrets and towers. 

Maybe because of the fear, you stay in your exact same spot and watch. Things start to calm down eventually. Bubbles pop on the surface like they are conversing under there. But, that is impossible because fish cannot speak.

‘Don’t backtrack (Name),’ you think to yourself. ‘Their entire existence is impossible. It’s been impossible since the beginning. This is just another step into that twilight zone. Another unorthodox secret brought to the surface.’ The thought makes you feel disjointed like a pile of bones.

It had hurt. The day of the show. You do not why but it had hurt to know they weren’t yours alone. That the secret had been open for some time and it was not just you and them. Thus, you stay and wait for them to breach the surface one more time.

They both do simultaneously. Water cutting the visage of the rest of their body from the shoulders down. Red returns to the scene, staining both Flotsam and Jetsam’s faces in thick scratches. You barely get a second to analyze the wounds before Flotsam shouts, “It was haaard, ‘kay? I wanted to tell them the pretty nickname I made for them! And tell them I liked the new rocks they put in our tank!” He pouts childishly. “It’s so borin’ not being able to talk. I got so bored! You’re boring.”

Even when Flotsam snaps his sharp teeth at Jetsam, he remains unpulsed. “Forgive me for trying to look out for your well-being, but both of us agreed in junction that we would under no circumstances talk to humans.”

“But Shrimpy’s different from the rest!”

“Under no circumstances, Floyd.”

“I knooow,” Flotsam? Floyd? whines. Then, his downwards angled eyes slide over your comatose form. An excited grin comes up to his face. “Doesn’t matter now though. Shrimpy!!”

You are barely given a second to gather your thoughts before Floyd barrels towards you. Spindly arms wrap around your neck and suddenly you are down on your knees in an inch of water. The kiss on your cheek this time feels much less like a dog licking to show affection; it resembles more a human kissing you on the cheek which causes you to fluster. 

“Truly, you make things so difficult at times,” Jetsam? Jade? tuts. The sound of him swimming through the water draws closer. His deep timbre sends a cardiogenic shock through your ribcage as he addresses, “I do apologize for my brother. He was a bit desolate without you here the past two nights.”

For some reason, you wonder how Jade felt in your absence too. Hands holding onto Floyd’s upper arms for a semblance of balance, you reply, “Uh, I took — I took a vacation.” The words feel like marshmallows rolling off your tongue. Gluttonous, fluffy, unreal with their texture. This really is happening, and you have to come to terms with it.

“Told ya it wasn’t because they were scared of us.”

“I never made such a connection. Merely hypothesizing.”

“Mmh, hypothesizin’ my ass,” Floyd grins as he turns to … sniff your hair?

Pushing him away to gain a bit of distance, you address the one you find the least distracted of the two. “You — You can talk? Why — Why didn’t you say anything to me before?” The companionship you had? Was it truly so fragile that you two had to keep secrets from one another?

“Well, you see, (Name),” — your name is so tantalizing coming from his voice that you feel like you are being resurrected from a heart-attack, defibrillator pounding away on your chest — “it was a matter of safety for my brother and I. If we were to say anything —.”

Floyd interrupts, “Everyone’s kind of a bigmouth buffalo fishy here so we keep ours shut.”

“The day to day conversations of the staff, the chatter from the people who visited us in the daylight hours, the unending gossip. We figured it was best to keep our lips sealed for the time being. Who knows how they would have reacted.”

“Nothing’s better than having a few tricks up your sleeve, Shrimpy.” Finally, you are done being squeezed as Floyd falls back into his tank. He rests his hands behind his head and floats buoyant.

“It is an epidemic, I fear. Fufu. Secrecy is such a rare trait to find nowadays.” Jade crosses his arms on top of the cement incline that you kneel in, looking at you sweetly. “Almost a lost art of sorts, eroded away after centuries of geological and evolutionary advances.”

Then, ping-ponging back and forth, they start to slip each secret (that others would probably want under lock and key) they’ve heard.

“Your manager’s wife is infertile thus he avoids conversations about children or preschool.”

“Lucas hit a guy with his car two years ago in a hit-and-run. Didn’t kill him but still.”

“Martha’s daughter just had an abortion. She gripes to Tatiana about how to possibly be supportive about this.”

“Ashley doesn’t like her boyfriend and they’re breakin’ up soon.”

“Deuce is going to fail his statistics class if he scores lower than a 95 on his next test.”

“Patrick is proposin’ to his girlfriend on December 1st.”

“We could keep going,” Jade says with a sly grin. “However, I think the point has gotten across.” He trails one fingernail across your thigh and smiles when you do not flinch. “All that useless prattle makes for some divine entertainment. Besides, matching up with more animalistic expectations can mean others are wildly underestimating us. Having the upper hand is better, always.”

Scrutinizing over his wandering fingernail, you ask quietly, “Is that why you attacked that man?” The question is meant for Floyd. Jade pulls his keen nail back all the same.

“Nah,” Floyd does not look at you as he answers, fixated on the ceiling. “It was humiliatin’. Being looked at that way by ya, Shrimpy.”

You blink in surprise. Shame is such a human trait. Born of social circles and social behaviors that are just uniquely tied to the bipedal species you are. The look on Jade’s face seems to agree with the consensus. You watch green-blue muscles glide through the water, simply drifting to a tame current. You watch black fingernails tap on cement in a tiny rhythm. 

Floyd continues, noticing your silence, “Shrimpy’s the only one that talks to us like people. Everyone else just treats us like a spectacle.” 

The heart in your ribcage knocks. You cannot Free Willy the entire aquarium. But, your Chevrolet Silverado has enough room in the bed for a kiddie pool or two.

Faintly, you recall a distant memory, when you read to Jade so many weeks ago, just as you open the oval-shaped room with the stolen key:

“The creatures stung Pandora over and over again and she slammed the lid shut. Epimetheus ran into the room to see why she was crying in pain. Pandora could still hear a voice calling to her from the box, pleading with her to be let out. Epimetheus agreed that nothing inside the box could be worse than the horrors that had already been released, so they opened the lid once more. 

“All that remained in the box was Hope. It fluttered from the box like a beautiful dragonfly, touching the wounds created by the evil creatures, and healing them. Even though Pandora had released pain and suffering upon the world, she had also allowed Hope to follow them.”

For the past decade, photographic evidence of your existence has been nonexistent. You have found yourself to be an outlier; the world operates to a different rhythm that you have not been able to copy, relicate, or even play along to. Living in perpetual sleep apnea of the soul, you have only found true connection with two other people.

The blue ceiling lights are off as is now the new normal. Without the aid of your penlight, you make your way into the space with confident steps. Sunglasses perched on your head, you find that what has been slowly developing has reached the summit of itself. An impromptu, unorthodox Free Willy plagiarism.

The dark is easier than ever to see through tonight. You smile back when they smile at you. 

Floyd is curled up close to the glass, calling for your undivided attention with his placement. Subdued yet stealthy as ever, Jade lingers behind yet close enough to be seen. Floyd crosses his body across the glass-canvas up and to your right. Jade crosses his body to your left, floating demurely lower. 

The glass-canvas is painted with a few smudges of handprints. Some are from yourself and others from the only and only drummer. He depresses his dominant hand on the glass, leaning in close. His right hand waves up in dark waters in a fervent, warm greeting. His excitement to see you is palpable. You raise your own. 

Both of their eyes shine like spotlights. The only light that you have looked into and found it does not hurt. Jade’s anticipatory smile slithers onto your face in a perfect mimic. You are going to rob the aquarium of those glittering gold dragonfly eyes. Tomorrow, there will be nothing for the staff or customers to find in nebulous darkness. 

Nothing. Nothing but their desolate reflection.

[mossy-chaos]

These are all of the codes I could find in the Book of Bill!

The order is decoded message-page-type of cipher

Spoilers under the cut (for those of you who decode yourselves):

Black and white-back of the cover jacket-authors cipher

Even his lies are lies-inside the front cover-theraprism cipher

Praise the fallen angle-first actual page-Cipheric (this is the only time Cipheric is used for some reason)

Olaf was here-same-rune (not sure what this is a reference to)

Remember us-same-Bill's cipher

Let him in and break the seal between what's fiction and what's real-books new master-Bill's cipher

The Axolotl thinks he's won but Ciphers games have just begun-handprint page-color cipher

Irregular-fake covers(very top)-color cipher

The one who writes the codes-about me-Caeser cipher

Glotto/slotheny-Magazine cover(7 new sins)-Bill's cipher (I love the new sins lol)

Not a phase-Stanford pines here(on the goth moth)-Authors cipher-love the jack skellington reference (if thats what that is lol)

Warning/Folding this card may/result in crossovers-the universe is a hollogram-rune (Maybe that's how we finally get an owl house/gravity falls crossover)

My optometrist never saw it coming-What is a human-Theraprism

Paper is book skin/Shave your grandma-Skin-Bill's cipher

Love pain-Bill's tattoo knuckles-Same

Lies-How to trick everyone into loving you-same

Regrowing limbs is Axy's art/but can he regrow a ripped out heart-How to cheat death-Bill's cipher (he must really be mad at the Axolotl)

Eye doctor of a different kind/who wants to make his patient blind-silly straws-caesar

The doctor says/three sips a day/will make the visions/go away-Same

Fussy eater/baby Billy/wouldn't drink/unless it's silly-same (love how this implies that he only drank out of silly straws)

Mason-Embarrassing memories-Bill's cipher (love seeing Dipper's real name again)

Booberry-the meaning of life(popsicle stick)-Bill's cipher

One eyed king-the early years-theraprism

Suck it-The good times(liscense plate)-Caesar

Can warp narrativity/protect fourth walls-Alert from time baby-A1Z26

Lone survivor of the Euclidean massacre-Rune (I wonder what happened during that event and what that event actually is)

Tantrum-Bill's Cipher

Which henchmaniac ratted me out-The shaman-Theraprism (I find this one funny)

Titans blood-the dark ages(Wizards hat)-Rune (Love the owl house reference here)

Suck it Merlin-Never trust a wizard-Rune

Daryll-Cipherstitions(lobster lord of the deep)-Theraprism (love how that's his name)

Curse Wittebane-Witchcraft-Rune

It's all made up-America(the dollar)-Caesar

Countries aren't-Bill's cipher

Rubberhose-Animation-A1Z26

Bill cipher-top secret file-Same

Six fingered freak-Lost in the woods-authors cipher

Stanley would have made her laugh-same (he just rolled better charisma dude)

If lost return to Bill-my muse and me-Theraprism (love how he said this means wise one and also more billford hehe)

Forget the past-A voice from the past page 2-Bill's cipher (this implies that Bill wants Ford to forget Stanley so he won't get in the way)

Hopefully F's gloves will hide what Cipher has done to my hands-I was wrong about everything page 2-Author's Cipher (I love this one <3)

Ouroboros-Wakey wakey here's a snakey (on the snake)-Bill's Cipher (I guess this is the snakes name?)

Miss you-try to forget (on window)-bro's secret code

Have I been too harsh all along?-Should I contact S-Bro's secret code

Hotxolotl-Dimensional authority call transcript (on the sauce packet)-Bill's cipher

I can write codes too it's not that hard!-Dipper's page-Bill's cipher (he do be flexing his intelligence there)

(What a buncha) Love ya bro-Stanley's letter-Bro's secret code (love how this shows that they both still remember the code they made up as kids)

Just fit in (repeated)-SSSSTANNNNLEEEYY-Rune

Holy mackerel-color cipher

AXOLOTLLOTAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLOTLAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLOTLAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLO-Theraprism

Wellwellwellbeing-message from the theraprism-A1Z26

Spheremonger, Eternalor, Bill cipher, The Logicube, Paingorious, Jessica, Shadorg, Mr Silly, The beast-recent inpatient names-Theraprism (the hallucination dog is still creepy lol)

Justice for Scrimbles/Remember Grembley-inside Back cover-Theraprism/Rune (JUSTICE FOR SCRIMBLES!!!!)

Those are all of the codes that are in this book! (Or at least that I could find lol)

[clare-with-no-i]

theogony part 1 behind the scenes

**SPOILERS ahead for theogony and mild spoilers for Outlander!**

this is just going to be a long infodump of all of the things I pondered while writing theog (specifically part 1, part 2 will come later) but never talked about! I'll try to go chapter by chapter, and maybe I'll end up adding more later on, but for now I just think it'd be fun to chitchat and reminisce on some of my favorite tidbits. this story is really my baby idk :")

Prologue - Alalá

one thing that I wanted to establish in the prologue, other than the obvious James-Sirius dynamic, is the presence of otherworldly or spiritual premonitions in this universe. it was always important to me that the first person who actually made any sort of prophetic declaration was James.

so much of the story relies on Lily's status as an oracle, but this little tidbit here helped build the world for me so much; we can't be sure if James's various dreams and premonitions are wishful thinking, or really the Gods speaking to him, or something else entirely. of course, this story deals with time travel, so there's an inherent supernatural element. but Lily and James's conflicting – and sometimes competing – conceptions of God felt like such a necessary tension for me to explore. it was such an incredible shorthand for the tension between modern and ancient sensibilities. and we never get a definitive answer to those looming questions, which I knew I wanted to do from the outset. did the Gods bring Lily back to the past? did James? did she do it herself? does God/the Gods even exist?

also: there are probably moments where I failed to do this, but I tried to capitalize Gods in all of the James chapters but not in Lily's, unless she was referring to the Abrahamic Capital G God. that is, until the last chapter, which I'll elaborate upon later :)

also: i wrote the prologue first, then the epilogue, and then i posted the prologue pretty immediately after. I had the entire story roughly outlined but I absolutely jumped the gun when it came to posting the prologue LMAO I didn't even really announce the story, I just joked about writing it and then posted the prologue, which you can see from the beginning note. i remember Suze was about to go to sleep and she started messaging me like wtf Clare what do you MEAN?

and the rest was history (pun completely intended)!

Chapter One: Ouroboros

the narrative brushes past the other statues in this section pretty quickly, but I always imagined that the first bust is Philoctetes, James's father. I think the consensus on this one tends to oscillate between Philoctetes and Aristides, which is another great interpretation.

The reason I wrote it this way and imagined it to be Philoctetes is because I thought it would have been nice to let Lily 'meet' James's father (in a sense), even before she 'meets' him. when I read this chapter back after I first finished the story, I had a very soft moment where I close-read my own fic (lol) and thought that maybe it was Philoctetes who sent Lily back to the past. maybe he sensed something about her and knew she'd be right for James and for antiquity.

sooo many people forgot about this! which i was hoping for!!!!! I was hoping everyone would forget about James's statue holding something until the Big Reveal. fun fact is I wrote the reveal right after this. I liked the idea that, no, he was never going to actually be holding anything. he'd be reaching for Lily. the choice to accept his hand was always going to be hers.

a fun fact about this chapter is that I had to pull from a bit more Outlander lore than I originally thought. and no I don't mean the 'Jesus H Roosevelt Christ' part lol. It was always hilarious to me how Outlander set up Claire to be the objectively perfect person to go back in time. she was a combat nurse who happened to develop an interest in medicinal botany and Scottish-English history. she also happened to spend her formative years with her adventurous archaeologist uncle after her only living relatives died. like girl. lol.

so I had to really toss up which traits I thought it would be appropriate for Lily to have as she traveled back in time. the biggest one, obviously, is her field of study, which was necessary given the language barrier and the completely foreign nature of social norms in Classical Athens. I toyed around with the idea of making her mum a nurse so as to give her some base medical knowledge, but that felt a) unnecessary given the circumstances of the story, and b) far-fetched that she would have gleaned enough transferable skills to apply in 479 BCE.

it was also fun to give her more reason to go back to the future; she has a sister who, while they aren't in contact, is a significant emotional attachment; she has academic goals; she has a best friend (however toxic we know him to be). it added a layer of conflict that I enjoyed playing up, even if I definitely could have explored her modern life more fully.

Chapter Two: Kinesis

soooo much exposition and worldbuilding in this chapter. oml. it was so much fun to play around with the reasons why James would be in Tatoi in the first place; I can't remember quite how I landed on the Persian auxiliary soldier thing, it might have been from my initial (admittedly extensive) research on the months leading up to Plataea; it may have just been the fact that I KID YOU NOT this story used to take up all of my fucking brainspace. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I'd be doing work for my research fellowship and just daydream about theogony. the initial idea came to me AS A JOKE!!!!! when i was idly pondering before going to sleep (as one does), and then it just wouldn't leave me alone. i kept imagining what it might look like. I thought about how the time travel might work. I thought about James's Greek equivalent. I ranted to my sister and her dog (he did not care) about what the statue might look like and mean (sorry bestie love u).

one narrative decision that has given me a bit of strife was the Dimitrios-James name change. I've had a number of people ask me if I'd ever try to pubilsh theog – and this is one of the (many) reasons why that would be pretty categorically impossible. using James's English name in his internal narration, instead of the name I give him as a Greek man, is something that only translates to fic. it makes pretty much no sense at all if you consider these original characters lol.

honestly putting the word 'practicum' in here caused me SO much pain. in James's chapters I tried really hard to use words which had Greek roots and not Latin roots, even if they're in modern English today. in most of his chapters, I'd try and find synonyms for big/complex words so I could use ones that came from Greek. it just helped me stick to his narrative voice a bit more.

I forgot how much STUFF went on in this chapter. oh my god SO much happens?? we get the lack of the Parthenon as the time marker (felt very clever doing that), Lily processing the fact that she's time traveled (lazy writing on my part to not have this happen in a Lily POV chapter but I'll take that on the chin), the Plataea reveal. OML. tired just thinking about it. lily sweetie i am so sorry

guys, the amount of time I spent wondering if I should Greek-ify Sirius's name is insane. For so long I thought about making him Seirios, which is the original Greek version of Sirius. But I felt like I had already messed with their names too much, and so I left it. but honestly I'm still torn. looking back, maybe it would have been the right move to make him Seirios and have Lily give him the name Sirius, but I guess we'll never know!

one of my favorite Sirius moments, and something that, essentially, sets up the rest of the story. but I wanted there to be a little ambiguity throughout the story about how much of this Sirius actually believes.

we know that James has just confessed to Sirius and Pétros that he was hoping they'd desert the Athenian army. we know that he thinks he's going to die, and he's adopted this sort of fatalist view of his future. and then here you have Sirius, who could never abide such a thing, pretty much leaning into the idea that Lily can tell the future – which would allow him to challenge James's prediction. I always wanted to leave it up to interpretation, and I know it comes up in later chapters (at the komos especially), Sirius's skepticism about Lily's origins. but it's such a fun question to ask: does he really believe that she's the Oracle that James prayed for, or does he just need that to be true so he can try and influence the future himself?

Chapter Three: Peribolos

omg. lol. the chapter three opening academic argument scene. this is a favorite of mine, and something I had so much fun writing. it's actually based on an argument/"spirited discussion" I had with my dad a few years ago about moral absolutism versus moral relativism which forced me to interrogate and expand my knowledge on the subject. I thought it was such a fun way to get into Lily's politics and her character without doing crazy exposition in the ancient world.

it also touches upon one of the touchstone themes of the story: that to study something is, in a way, to detach yourself from it. academia is routintely completely disconnected from its subject matter, and it creates this weird disdain for lived experience versus book knowledge. Lily has spent upwards of ten years studying (in some capacity) the ancient world, but she is so utterly out of her depth when she experiences it herself. as such, she espouses these very revolutionary politics when examining historical conflicts, but she has a blindness to what the real-world realities may have been for the people living in those conditions at the time.

alsooooo, The Return of Martin Guerre is one of my favorite books I read in college, and the easter egg here is that it's about a person of dubious origin entering a community and the politics of how the community might accept or reject them. ha ha!

^^based on something I said in an argument with a Poli Sci major in college and I have to say one of my better moments. was an absolute haymaker. this was very 'author gives main character a zinger' of me and I will not be ashamed of it

this! ladies and gentlemen! this was basically a declaration of love!!!! to be loved is to be remembered!!!

in a very romantic way, the study of history can be such an act of love to those who lived before us. i just adore the idea that, even before Lily developed real romantic feelings for James, she had this itching sort of feeling; AKA, when someone has made such an impression on you, and you know (or in her case, you think) that you'll be leaving them at some point, and you just want to be interesting enough, be impressive enough, that they remember you, that they think of you randomly as time goes on. that is such a giddy hallmark feeling of having a crush, in my book. I liken it to making eye contact with someone or having a brief conversation on a night out, maybe at 3am on your way back from a bar when things are sleepy and dizzy, and you just have this sense that you're being seen in that moment as anyone you want to be. i love this moment so much I feel like I could give it its own meta LMAO

Chapter Four: Hamartia

this chapter really put the pedal to to the metal lol. at the time of writing the story, I generally didn't (and still don't) love fake dating that much as a trope; I don't typically love plotlines predicated on (even harmless) deceptions, it's just a sensitivity of mine that I don't expect anyone to relate to or share. but when I was considering how to structure theog, it just made so much sense for James and Lily's arcs to have them get 'married.' there was no way that Lily was going to be able to navigate Classical Athens as an unsupervised woman alone, and even with the Oracle title offering her some protection, there was nothing really tying her to James. much like Outlander, it really did feel like the last possible resort, which softened me to the idea of using the trope.

fun fact, i got a snarky comment a few months ago complaining that i was trying to pass the story off as historically accurate (lol to the fifteen disclaimers I embedded throughout which addressed that) and one thing they took issue with was that lily wouldn't have been able to own property and the only thing that would have kept her from being a slave would have been marriage.

which! yknow! none of which contradict the story! but anyway I digress.

I was initially nervous about how early on the fake marriage happens; we don't really know the characters that well yet, we're not sure who James is as a potential partner to Lily, or how Lily's feelings for him are starting to bump up against her very rightful and justified desire to get the hell out of dodge. but – we only really see James in canon as a husband and as the father to the main character, so it felt pretty true to the source material to throw him into being a husband pretty early.

I loved writing this scene with Aristides. I've always been partial to his appearances throughout the story, and this one is just so special to me. I think of him as a driving force in humanizing the ancient world in theog, sometimes even more so than the main cast of characters. to elaborate a bit on that: with the Marauders and Lily and the other transplanted HP characters, I think there's this inherent sense that they are already fleshed out people (to some degree) even before they hit the page of the story, because they appear in canon and across Marauder fic verses. no matter how much I make James into Dimitrios and Peter into Pétros and Fleamont into Philoctetes, people know them and love them outside of theogony verse. but not Aristides. he doesn't have a one-to-one HP character. there is some version of him that really existed in 479 BCE (my complex and largely negative feelings on RPF are setting off alarms at this but we proceed) and that's it.

it would have been easy to just give him this very gruff and surly character, to make him a military general who didn't care about anything other than the war. I think that's how we conceptualize historical people sometimes, often without meaning to. but he was a person, and he had likes and dislikes, he probably had a family and maybe he'd fallen in love, and it was such an honor to give him such dimension. not to say that I'm putting that personality upon the actual historical person; but just to really take my time with a character outside of the Marauder canon. in this scene he has this human moment where he reminds James that, yes, love is a worthy pursuit, even to those in positions of incredible power. even when the discussion isn't about romantic love but about James's love for his closest friends. it's this permission that James didn't even know he was seeking but ultimately that changes the course of his and Lily's lives. Aristides is who James might become, in many ways. in the actual Plataea chapter this becomes more and more prevalent. (more on this later!)

overall, I am forever hoping that people come out of reading this story with an appreciation for the humanity of those that came before us. I did a poor job with other characters in this story, and I own that, but I'm proud of how I wrote Aristides.

oh my godddddd I fucking love this part. i am so fucking proud of it. LMAO. achieving wordplay in an ancient language that i have never studied should be on my fucking CV I swear. like this was just perfect I'm sorry I am BUZZING that I pulled this off.

also, a cute way to introduce a phrase to the narrative which will become very important: se filo!

I remember that I wrote this passage, which many people commented on and which I loved writing, in a coffee shop on a sunny day when my cousin was visiting me to introduce me to his girlfriend. there wasn't any wifi in the coffee shop so I was blessedly devoid of distractions and could only focus on the doc, and i was LOCKED IN let me tell you.

when my cousin and his girlfriend arrived I told them I was sending an important email and edited the last sentence of that paragraph about four different times while they sat in silence and waited for me to finish LMAOOO

Chapter Five: Ascesis

a profoundly insane moment in my personal history was reading excerpts from Eudemian Ethics, Nichomachean Ethics, and Memorabilia just to passively mention them in a flashback in a fic. relied heavily on Foucault for this, I will be so honest. why did i do that tho. like girl take a breath...

but in all seriousness this was just a joy to write. i miss being a history student and having these discussions – law school is great, but history classes will forever hold my heart ngl! also, this passage is in some ways an homage to my grandfather, who is one of my favorite people ever. he taught himself Classical Greek and Latin when he was in his 20s, before he went to medical school (and get his pilot's license for fun, he's seriously the most interesting guy alive). he gifted me his leatherbound Great Books printings of Aristotle's works and of the Iliad and the Odyssey shortly after I started theogony, and I cherish them so much. he spurred my interest in ancient greece when i was young. so this is for him :)

one of the hardest things for me to articulate (and maybe something I could have done better) was the war and the balance between James's inherent goodness and his growing feelings for Lily. i wanted her to have plausible reason to think that he doesn't at all feel romantically towards her, even as she's growing to admire him more and more. I hoped, as I wrote the story, that these little interactions where the reader clues into his feelings (this protective 'peninsula' moment being one of them) still walked that line. as in, i wanted lily to reasonably believe that he's just that good of a guy that he would take issue with anyone being taken advantage of, not just her. she's so destabilized in this moment as well, I think that worked to my advantage. or I hoped it did LOL.

from what I remember of writing this chapter, it just came really quickly and naturally. much more than the later ones. this early period of writing was just an outpouring of the ABSOLUTE BRAINROT I was going through after conjuring up the idea for the story. it just flew. the ending scene where they have their little almost-moment was probably about an hour's worth of writing. it's like I couldn't type fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. not sure i've experienced that since!

also, the now, here, alive line reappears in the last chapter, which is one of my favorite callbacks:

:) :) :)

Chapter Six: Kleos

one thing I used to worry about CONSTANTLY is that I was losing the classic (and necessary!) Marauder goofiness to the more somber setting. so it was a jaunt and a boon to write scenes like the opening one here, where it honestly could be copy-pasted into the Gryffindor Common Room and it'd look a lot like my canon stories.

he's just a dude being hungover and embarrassed about the previous night with his bros!

the first time we get a hint of Pétros disappearing to dubious locations!

this chapter was one of the most research-heavy. it was a new setting, filled with new characters, and predicated entirely upon planning the Greek front at Plataea. so if I couldn't nail that down (at least to some degree), I was going to have trouble. of course I took liberties, but I spent a lot longer combing through sources for this chapter than some other ones, I'll tell you that for free. it took ages to find any treatises on ancient athenian sword combat, sigh.

yeah I mean i remember thinking that the subtitle for this chapter could have been 'I am going to create an environment that is so toxically masculine' because that's pretty much the whole vibe. James is not immune to that, either, and that was intentional. he feeds off of the violence and the anger of the men surrounding him, and he exhibits some behaviors in this chapter (rushing off to kill Anaxagoras after he grabs Lily's arm, for instance) which are not ideal! but I do think that there's meaningful conversation to be had about Lily's cultural assimilation into an ancient, misogynistic society, and how there was absolutely no way I was going to get out of this story without giving James some sort of period-typical attitude. now again, I took the liberties I deem necessary, because I have no desire to make my main romantic lead into an asshole. that's not my James Potter. not that that's news [gets taken out by a sniper]

i got CLOWNEDDD for referring to this dude as Dion son of Dion but idk what to tell you!! that's how the old documents referred to him!!! i didn't make that shit up I swear to god!!!!

also - that's the actual text of the Oath of Plataea, except (as Lily points out) it should read Athena Areia. is it likey that she'd remember this off the dome? no. is it possible that she just recognized the missing descriptor from context clues? yes. did i care enough to explain this either way? no, no i did not.

the Big Ticket Item of this chapter, though, is the oh.

and it wasn't just an oh, it was an oh followed by this innocuous conclusion that isn't even about Lily. i made myself laugh so hard with that. he's just like 'oh god my friend is going to wave this over my head FOREVER' and you know what? he's right!

as for the previous paragraph in that passage, I pulled a bit of a bait and switch, but not as badly as you might think! it was a risk to even bring up the idea that James could leave Athens, because I know it spurred some people into thinking that he'd go to the future with Lily (sorry babies that was not on the table). but what I intended for this passage (however successful it may or may not have been) was to just…allow him a moment of real, visceral empathy for the sensation of displacement that Lily's experiencing, and as well, introduce the idea that he might leave the life he's cultivated in Athens. his entire upbringing has been himself, the consummate Athenian man, surrounding himself with people from outside of Athens and drawing from their experiences, but never venturing outside of his little realm. in so many ways, the story questions what Lily's relationship with 'home' is (especially later on), but it always felt necessary to me to reckon with how 'home' may change for James as well.

finally:

yeah honestly i just remember the exact moment i thought of this passage. i had been reading the secret history (shoutout Donna Tartt i idolize and fear you) and i was lying down in my local park in the summer. I just thought about the Greek myths I knew, and the kind of cosmic horror that it is to really admit you're falling in love with someone, that they have this power over you that you didn't anticipate. and that closing line of the scene really struck me out of nowhere – I wrote it down in my notebook and just stared at it for a good few minutes. it's still one of my favs of the story :)

ok! if you made it this far, you are just amazing. this has to be a few thousand words at least. TYSM!!!!

see you all later for the part 2 BTS ❤️

[blueskittlesart]

Do you have any theories/thoughts on why the last dragon tear is on the Rist Peninsula? Like..lore reason wise? Or did they just pick that spot cause it has a fancy spiral? This thought hasn't left my brain for weeks.

this question got me thinking, because there are quite a few spots on the totk map that are significant lore-wise in that they mention locations in other games and/or were significant in botw, but rist penninsula isn't one of them. of the locations that the geoglyphs and tears fall on, a few of their names appear to reference characters and locations in other games, which is a common theme among minor location names on the botw/totk map. aside from the naming conventions, though, none of these places share distinguishing features with any map locations in other games. there ARE certain locations on the botw/totk map that are very clearly meant to correspond to the maps of other games/cycles, but those locations will almost always have both a specific name referencing the other map's location AND distinguishing features which mirror the features of the other map very closely if not identically. the geoglyph locations pretty clearly aren't that, so the names are likely just easter eggs. these locations also don't have any significance on the BOTW map from what I can tell, aside from the occasional shrine location, which is less important to the point i'm trying to make here but this is already full of useless information bc i did the research so i might as well give you all of it. the important point here is that none of the dragon tear locations are present in any other map of hyrule aside from the botw/totk iteration.

why is this significant? because it means that botw/totk era-hyrule is the ONLY hyrule in which these locations exist. this fact, combined with the fact that certain locations seem almost designed with their respective geoglyphs in mind (the most prominent example is cape cresia's shape being perfectly fitted to the scimitar glyph, but to a lesser extent the tabantha snowfield ganondorf glyph and the NW eldin mountains master sword glyph both finding large, flat spaces suited to their respective shapes, and, of course, the final tear dropping perfectly in the center of rist penninsula's spiral, suggests that these geoglyphs and these memories were tied specifically to the version of hyrule that we see in botw/totk. Whether this has greater implications as to how the timeline of totk plays out or if it's just an indication that zelda was holding on to her memories of the version of hyrule she grew up in is up to you.

that's all i've got in terms of concrete lore, but on a more artistic level i think there is definitely a reason the last tear falls in the center of that spiral. totk continuously uses an ouroboros motif--a snakelike dragon eating itself in a continuous circle. the four dragons circle the map in continuous loops, repeating the same route endlessly, likely for thousands upon thousands of years. the spiral of rist is somewhat reminiscent of that repetition to me, but with one key difference--it ends. there is a concrete end point at the center of the spiral. once you go around it a certain number of times, the circular motion stops. you're free of the cycle. the final tear, in which zelda begs link to come to her, to find her, to SAVE her, falls at the center of that spiral, at the end of a repeating pattern of circular motions. zelda, like the other dragons, has been trapped in an ouroboros cycle for thousands of years. unable to speak, unable to remember, unable to do anything but follow her same circular path through the sky. but zelda's fate is not actually so bleak and unchangable--she's not in an ouroboros, she's in a SPIRAL. all she has to do is make it to the "center"--to wait it out until link can find her and save her, and she will be human again, and that circular motion will finally stop, and she'll be free to live her life again, to truly move forward. the act of journeying to the center of the spiral to get the last tear is forcing the player to adopt that same circular motion that zelda has been experiencing all these years, and to find the relief at the end--a microdose of the bigger battle zelda has been fighting, and which they will soon have to fight, to get her back once and for all.

[yaeggravate]

nah sorry but HOW is dainsleif/kaeya STILL so slept on, even after they finally interacted? to the uninitiated, dainsleif is named after the sword of the legendary king hogni, also known as hagen, the son of alberich, a character from wagner's ring cycle, who kaeya is based on. in other words, dainsleif is literally named after kaeya's sword. whatever that means for their future relationship, and whether this is metaphorical or literal is unclear for now but hello that's crazy why are you as a man another man's sword

adding to that, in the previous patch we learned that dainsleif was carrying a ring with him, which is a reference to THEE ring of nibelung, which hagen (yes that guy again) was instructed to steal back by his father. and did you know that in order to use the ring the wearer must forsake love? i think you should know

not to mention the foreshadowing of a tumultuous and potentially tragic relationship based on their constellations. kaeya's a peacock and dain's ouroboros (snek). in hindu culture peacocks are often depicted killing snakes so you could say it's not looking good for mr dainsleif.

so basically you have two ways their relationship can go: either dainsleif is going to become loyal to kaeya, (which I can see happening because kaeya is the only khaenriahn we know of who isn't cursed or evil, and dainsleif would want to keep it that way. dain was also the royal guard of khaenri'ah and kaeya's ancestor is anfortas who briefly took over as regent when the king went awol, so there might be some kind of debt he wants to repay by protecting his descendent.) or kaeya is going to kill him <-obviously the story isn't THAT dark and they'd never permanently kill off a playable character lmao so if he does die i think it would be because he's freed from the curse, which according to zurvan is the reason why he's alive, implying that he died once. ouroboros does symbolize eternity so maybe kaeya is actually the key to breaking the curse of immortality, but what happens if you remove the only thing keeping him alive?

oh, and fun fact, the quest in which they meet is named 'destined encounter'. connect this to mona's prophecy of kaeya's fate catching up to him and you literally have him meeting his destiny. we're also told dainsleif loves alcohol and even mixes his own drinks, it's like they deliberately created him as the man of kaeya's dreams

with all this in mind, it's really strange to not see more people excited about the potential of their relationship, because they are in a unique position of being two characters with no pre-established relationship becoming closer throughout the story, where both of their fates remain a mystery, as opposed to so many of the other characters who remain stagnant and whose stories are already told.

[lime-bloods]

The theory used to be that Caliborn was his own dad. Thematic echoes ring around the story; his followers' obsession with "MOTHERFUCKING" evokes the Oedipal undertones of Yaldabaoth imprisoning and corrupting his creatress Sophia. And Aranea, often misinformed but rarely, if ever - in spite of the school of red herrings surrounding English - intentionally misleading, seems to hint at such a possibility: Caliborn and Calliope's home planet is the former home planet of their father, which is in her words "a loc8tion now conspicuously occupied 8y a truly massive 8lack hole". Now that the comic's over, and we have a more comprehensive idea of English's life and times - he was born, he fucked with the trolls, left to try to kill his sister, and then died - it seems pretty unlikely that he had the opportunity to go back to the era of his birth and spawn himself... in the incarnation we're most familiar with, at least. We've known from much earlier on that there were Englishes in "countless universes", and that the "mobster Hulk" menacing Homestuck itself would never be fully representative of all of Caliborn's crimes. And now that I've spent some more time looking over the mechanisms by which Caliborn is able to exist in so many countless universes, I'm not totally convinced that he isn't his own dad?

Cherub romance is chiefly two things; it's caliginous, and it's incestuous. One way in which it is widely understood to be incestuous is by way of being masturbatory: in its mate, a cherub looks for "qualities its other half once had", seeking to replace the aspect of itself it once referred to as brother or sister. But increasingly, I also think cherub mating is incestuous by way of being cyclical. Indeed, it's difficult to draw a line between 'cyclical' and 'masturbatory' for a race who couple by forming an ouroboros; but as touched upon already, the planet around which Caliborn's father intertwined with his mother was also the planet around which his father's father intertwined. Because cherubs always mate around black holes.

It's easy to fall back on the simplest, most surface-level observation of the black hole, that it's a symbol of Lord English. I have described the singularity in the past as English's mouth, the orifice that swallows suns in the same manner the god of time Cronus swallowed his own son. But once more, English is ouroboros; the mouth that swallows his prey is also the mouth that swallows itself. The number of times I've pointed out the significance of white and black holes in Homestuck could be aptly called ad nauseam: but for the comic's metanarrative purposes, being a gateway out of the story also makes the white hole a gateway forward into progress, and by contrast, the black hole is necessarily a pitfall into regression. Just as the black hole is where the god of cycles is swallowed by his own cycle, and is therefore a signpost of Lord English's resurrection, it is also where cherubs go to enact violence upon their sibling-spouses because that is where their parents, and their grandparents, and their grandparents' grandparents, enacted violence upon each other.

Bruce Banner was transformed into the monstrous green Hulk halfway by radiation, halfway by a brutal childhood at the hands of his own monstrous father. Cronus devoured his son, black hole-like, because he received prophecy that his children would overthrow him the same way he had overthrown his own tyrannical progenitor. Even Oedipus was an early victim of the time loop; had prophecy not deemed him at the moment of his birth to be responsible for his father's death, his infamous transgression upon his mother could never have taken place. Whether we choose to believe English literally stepped through that black hole in some winged incarnation to commit the Oedipal sin, or if the rift through space and time is simply a symbolic wound - the bleeding hole left by generations of fathers traumatising wives and sons - the end result is the same. By becoming the Lord of Time, that god of cycles, and embedding himself in the very story structure cherubs dedicate their lives to upholding, Caliborn must embody that cycle; and the Oedipal is in the cyclical just as much as it is in the incestuous. Whether or not Caliborn's dad is him is irrelevant to the simple fact that Caliborn is his own dad.

[nastasya--filippovna]

WHO IS CROWLEY AFTER THE FALL (PART2)

Here it is finally.

So what is the Leviathan.

In mythology and theology the Leviathan is a sea-serpent and is mentioned in several books of the Hebrew Bible such as the Book of Job and Book Isaiah and Book of Enoch. The Leviathan of the Book of Job is a reflection of the older Canaanite Lotan, a primeval monster defeated by the god Baal Hadad. Parallels to the role of Mesopotamian Tiamat defeated by Marduk have long been drawn in comparative mythology, as have been wider comparisons to dragon and world serpent narratives such as Indra slaying Vrtra or Thor slaying Jörmungandr.

Once again we see the pattern of Biblical creatures being “inspired” from pagan ones.

Thomas Aquinas described Leviathan as the demon of envy, first in punishing the corresponding sinners. Peter Binsfeld likewise classified Leviathan as the demon of envy, as one of the seven Princes of Hell corresponding to the seven deadly sins. Leviathan became associated with, and may originally have been referred to by, the visual motif of the Hellmouth, a monstrous animal into whose mouth the damned disappear at the Last Judgment, found in Anglo-Saxon art from about 800, and later all over Europe.

In the Book of Enoch, The Leviathan is a female giant chaos serpent that lives deep in the ocean, while her mate, Behemoth, is a male giant chaos beast (based off of a hippopotamus or water-ox) who lives in the mythical desert of Duidain, East of Eden.

Ring any bells. Chaos mongering (fomenting), ox, eastern gate of eden…. 

The Hebrew word that translates to Leviathan (Livyatan) appears six times in the Old Testament. One of them is in Job 41. The word is derived from the root Iwy or ‘ twist, coil’ and means ‘the sinuous one.’ So I think we can establish that this creature is at least indicated to be snake-like. Scholars trace the etymology of whale and crocodile 

In the Book of Isaiah it is mentioned that the beast will rise from the water and will be defeated by God on the Last Day. However, quite interestingly nowhere in the Old Testament is the Leviathan written as evil. Only later scholars have equated it with the devil so that the battle between God and Chaos can be interpreted as the battle between God and the Devil.

Now let’s make this more interesting: The Gnostic sect venerate the biblical serpent of the Garden of Eden as a symbol of wisdom, which the malevolent Demiurge tried to hide from Adam and Eve. They identify the Leviathan as the serpent of Eden and in this belief system the Leviathan appears as an Ouroboros, separating the divine realm from humanity by enveloping or permeating the material world.

I mean I don’t even need to say anything further.  

And he does show up in GO Season 2. The matchbox.

Here 

When did this happen, I wonder……hmmmmmm

Oh YES!

Crowley wearing Aziraphale’s face

     

Here’s the rest of the passage from Job

1 Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook? or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down?

2 Canst thou put an hook into his nose? or bore his jaw through with a thorn?

3 Will he make many supplications unto thee? will he speak soft words unto thee?

4 Will he make a covenant with thee? wilt thou take him for a servant for ever?

5 Wilt thou play with him as with a bird? or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens?

6 Shall the companions make a banquet of him? shall they part him among the merchants?

7 Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons? or his head with fish spears?

8 Lay thine hand upon him, remember the battle, do no more.

9 Behold, the hope of him is in vain: shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him?

10 None is so fierce that dare stir him up: who then is able to stand before me?

11 Who hath prevented me, that I should repay him? whatsoever is under the whole heaven is mine.

12 I will not conceal his parts, nor his power, nor his comely proportion.

13 Who can discover the face of his garment? (penetrate his coat of armor)  or who can come to him with his double bridle?

14 Who can open the doors of his face? his teeth are terrible round about.

15 His scales are his pride, shut up together as with a close seal.

16 One is so near to another, that no air can come between them.

17 They are joined one to another, they stick together, that they cannot be sundered.

18 By his neesings a light doth shine, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.

19 Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out.

20 Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething pot or caldron.

21 His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.

22 In his neck remaineth strength, and sorrow is turned into joy before him.

23 The flakes of his flesh are joined together: they are firm in themselves; they cannot be moved.

24 His heart is as firm as a stone; yea, as hard as a piece of the nether millstone.

25 When he raiseth up himself, the mighty are afraid: by reason of breakings they purify themselves.

26 The sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold: the spear, the dart, nor the habergeon.

27 He esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood.

28 The arrow cannot make him flee: slingstones are turned with him into stubble.

29 Darts are counted as stubble: he laugheth at the shaking of a spear.

30 Sharp stones are under him: he spreadeth sharp pointed things upon the mire.

31 He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a pot of ointment.

32 He maketh a path to shine after him; one would think the deep to be hoary.

33 Upon earth there is not his like, who is made without fear.

34 He beholdeth all high things: he is a king over all the children of pride.

The Leviathan is a magnificent creature. And the very fact that God goes to so much trouble to describe the magnanimity of this creature is to show what God has created and hence Her magnanimity must be even greater in comparison for the Creator is always superior to the Creation. And if God can so easily abuse and humiliate this beautiful monster, then God must be worshipped and feared.

Though to the unsuspecting eye these passages may ring no familiar bells, a closer look makes you realize how Crowley-coded they are. And to think that in a story where Neil has never witten or shown anything that wasn’t woven in finely with the characters, I alwsy wondered why he chose the Book of Job for the minisode when he could have included any other one.  

But it reminded me that Crowleys character is truly unrelenting. He’s a nether millstone. He won’t give up that easily. He absolutely won’t submit to anyone, and he’s shown time and time again that his vociferous litanies about running away disappear as soon as someone or something he cares about is in danger (i.e. Aziraphale). And the second coming will also threaten his creation (the universe). His refusal to submit to authority, the refusal to be subjugated is the reason he fell in the first place. And quite interestingly he doesn’t own Hell either. He resists that too. For him it’s not Heaven or Hell that matters but the resistance to Power.  

I also think it’s also fitting that the Leviathan is perceived to be a monster that must be slain or enslaved but in reality is another of God’s creations just like the sun and the stars and the rivers and the mountains.  

And it makes me think of how Crowley has always been labeled as evil because he fell. I think of how, at heart, he is truly gentle and kind, he’s a starmaker. But his fall, his appearance, his desire to be autonomous and his grey moral campus make him feared and a target. And that has made him the embodiment of chaos. His refusal to submit himself to the uniformity of both worlds, to the rules and guidelines that create this illusion of order sets him apart from them. He embraces the chaos that grayness offers, that being ‘human’ brings. And hence the final battle will be between God and chaos with God justifies as being the battle between good and evil because, well, he’s a demon.    

The Leviathan being historically associated with the sin of envy is again I think written into the plot very carefully. He is envious of humanity’s ability to question God, to have choices to not be doomed to heaven or hell for all eternity. He is envious of what Maggie and Nina have. He’s envious of what Beelz and Gabe have.

“I mean if Gabriel and Beelzebub can go off together…..”

And then him rejecting Azirapahle’s offer— he has spent his life (a long, long life) rejecting power and authority. In his relationship with Aziraphale he found his sanctuary, a relation clean of power dynamics. Up till now they were both equal. But this new offer jeopardizes that.

And I love how his ego and pride come to play here. He would never accept being “second in command to anyone”. And his envy of how God’s mercy is free for some but wholly denied to him.

[s-b-party]

Tayzzyronth & Oroboros: Aeons of Deadly Sins

****Honkai star rail spoilers/simulated universe spoilers/swarm disaster spoilers****

*The moment Herta described them as being arch enemies, my mind immediately started falling into a rabbit hole trying to analyze them both & some thoughts have been cooking lol

So who are these 2 Aeons? They recently have made more formal appearances (we finally get to see their forms) in the newest hsr patch specifically in simulated universe

Tayzzyronth is the Aeon of Propagation & Oroboros is the Aeon of Voracity; propagation refers to reproduction while voracity is excessive eating

I’d like to suggest that Tayzzyronth & Oroboros are aeons that represent 2 of the 7 deadly sins: lust & gluttony respectfully

*Note: lust can refer to extremely strong sexual desires but without sexual connotations it simply refers to an extremely strong desire/emotion for something you crave*

Tayzzyronth often self-replicated & the heirs they created eventually became their faction, the Swarm

The reason why they started reproducing was bc they feared being alone since they were the last of the Coleoptera (scientific name for beetle) so they had an extremely strong desire to procreate

As for Oroboros, they devour everything that gets in their way since everything including worlds will simply return to the void in the end

Now that we’ve established how they depict lust & gluttony, let’s look at their dynamic

Both are said to have been enemies & it seems that Tayzzyronth died in a war (which involved Oroboros) at the hands of multiple Aeons according to Kafka

What I find interesting is that (like in my analyses of Lan & Yaoshi and Nanook & IX) they have a few similarities

For instance what they do is mindless (all Tayzzyronth & Oroboros can think of/do are self-replicate & consume; I think it’s important to remember that doing mindless tasks doesn’t always equate to intelligence especially when they do it in repetitive cycles; the word mindless usually gets associated w/ low intelligence which Herta implies that Tayzzyronth & the Swarm have)

They may represent different deadly sins but they are different manifestations of greed in essence, all being forms of excessive desires

They also both have similar color palettes where they use cool colors (various shades of purple) which are paired with some reds or blues; to me this is showing that in spite of their differences they do share some similarities/vibes (not evil per se but destructive)

Now to look at their dynamic from a different light, I want to first point to how them being enemies makes sense if we consider what creatures they resemble

Tayzzyronth as we already know is based off insects, the beetle to be more precise, while Oroboros is based off the mythological ouroboros which was usually a tail-devouring serpent; irl snakes & insects are normally enemies & snakes are the ones usually devouring insects although the reverse situation is also possible

Perhaps it is bc both are representative of different aspects of greed that they both would end up being enemies in the end anyway if they are to fight for dominance in this world (going back to the idea of survival of the “fittest”, meaning the stronger concept would prevail in this case)

If that is the case, the end of Tayzzyronth could imply that the desire to devour is stronger than the desire to procreate but I don’t think that’s exactly how it is because there is some irony to be found here

Even though Tayzzyronth has been deceased for some time, the Swarm still remains & they still are a menace to the universe due to the destruction they can cause, all of this while Oroboros doesn’t seem to leave any trace of the worlds they have devoured so I think that even though the Propagation is gone, their concept still has influence in the universe w/ as much “strength”/importance as the voracity

I’m really glad to have seen Tayzzyronth & Oroboros in the swarm disaster mode of simulated universe bc for me it looks like the Aeons have interesting & complex relationships with each other and I can’t seem to get over them 😂 I also like the designs of the aeons

They just have so much in their designs & stories which fascinate me, it’s just really fun chilling in the pool of aeon lore & dynamics :3

[linkspooky]

WHOOO that was a loaded answer and I loved every word of it OP! I am curious if you've seen the movie hereditary. I know some other post on tumblr talked about how the movie had a massive influence on Gege and it's shown pretty clearly between Megumi and Sukuna, so I was wondering if you had any input on that out of curiosity.

I've seen the movie hereditary. I think you're referring to this post about Hereditary's influence on Jujutsu Kaisen. I wouldn't put it past Jujutsu Kaisen to be inspired by other media, it's also a manga with several horror elements itself from the premise to the existence and designs of the curses.

For those who haven't seen the movie hereditary he's a quick and silly summary:

A woman buries her mother and it's heavily implied that the mother was abusive. Also she was a Satanist who didn't approve of her daughter's non-satan loving lifestyle. The mother Annie has two children Peter, and Charlie. Annie thinks her daughter Charlie is kind of annoying so she tells Charlie to go to a party with her brother and stop bothering her. At the party Charlie eats a weed brownie and has an allergic reaction to it, and so they rush her home in the car. However, Peter is speeding too fast and Charlie's sticking her head out the window so she gets instantly decapitated and dies.

Then - and this is the greatest scene in any movie ever made. Instead of calling the cops, or the hospital, or his parents Peter just drives home, parks the car in the garage, and then leaves his sister's dead body as a fun little surprise for someone to find in the morning.

After that a cult pretending to be a grief support group tricks Annie into using a ouiji board to summon Charlie's ghost back, but instead they summoned the demon Paimon, who takes over her son's body at the end of the movie.

The post I linked above posits the Megumi and Sukuna possession plotline, which has basically been the longest running arc involved with Megumi in themanga was directly inspired by the ending twist to Hereditary where Peter is made to host Paimon. Even if it's not a direct inspiration it's a pretty apt comparison. Hereditary is basically a movie about trauma being passed down through three generations until it culminates on Peter as the last link in this chain of abuse.

It's heavily implied that Grandma Satan worshipper was not a good mother, and at the beginning of the movie before tragedy even strikes Annie is completely checked out on both of her kid's lives. She's not really a mother in this family unit before the family destroying tragedy. You could say Charlie's death happens in the first place because her mother didn't want to put up with her and sent her away instead. Then after the tragedy, Annie's got a clear scapegoat to blame in Peter who caused the car accident yeah, but number one it was a pure accident, and number two he's a teen.

Grandma Mrs. Satan's poor parenting -> Annie not liking her kids -> Neglecting Charlie -> Charlie's death -> Annie scapegoating Peter for Charlie's death -> Peter is possessed by the same cult that Grandma Satan belonged to.

There's a circular quality to this grief because it's implied towards the beginning of the film while Grandma Satan didn't get along with Annie she started to connect with her daughter's children soon after Charlie was born because she saw Charlie as a prospective host for Paimon. So, it leaves the question that this might have been the plan all along, Grandma always planned to take one of the kid bodies and their mother was unable to break the cycle or interrupt grandma's plans because she was too caught up in the circle of grief too.

Ari Aster has gone on record saying the movie is about familiar trauma being passed on through generations:

I knew that I really wanted to make a film about the corrosive effects of trauma on a family unit. I knew that I wanted to make a film that had sort of an ouroboros quality about a family that’s basically eating itself in its grief. [SOURCE]

Megumi, much like Peter is the last link in a chain of trauma. I explore that concept in more depth in this post, but basically Megumi is the last link on the chain that starts with the Zen'in and Toji. Toji is rejected by his clan and basically has no family or support inside of Jujutsu Society. He flees it, finds some stability in Megumi's mother for awhile but after losing her he decides to stop caring about himself or others.

Toji then repeats the cycle. Toji is the famous sorcerer killer but in story we see him victimize several children. He kills Riko Amanai in cold blood for cold cash right in front of Geto and Gojo, the aftermath of which would affect them for years to come. He then absolutely brutalzies both Geto and Gojo who were also teenagers at the time though they were incredibly powerful ones. FInally, he also abandons his own son, sells him to the Zen'in and leaves him without a guardian or adult in his life to take care of.

The trauma that began with the Zen'in -> leads to -> Toji's actions as the sorcerer killer -> leads to -> Toji's abandonment of Megumi and Megumi having no parental figures in his life to take care of him.

Gojo is also a chain link in this cycle. His loss to Toji is something Gojo still remembers to this day, as the first and only time someone ever made him feel fear in a fight. He literally cites Megumi's resemblance to Toji as the reason that he has no problem fighting Sukuna while he's in Megumi's body.

Then, is Gojo trying to overcome this cycle of abuse by intervening in Megumi's case and making sure he wasn't sold to the Zen'in Clan?

Well, Kiiiiiiind of. It's clear is motivation is to try to save Megumi from becoming like Geto. After Geto's defection Gojo comments that being strong isn't enough to save people you have to save people who want to be saved and then goes to find Megumi early, like he's trying to intervene earlier because he regrets not being there in time with Geto.

However, this is where I say Gojo's lost to Toji gave him trauma he has yet to recover from. Ever since Gojo's awakening as "the strongest" he believes that strength is the solution to every problem. Yes, even after he had the revelation that being the strongest isn't enough to save some people. Yes, it's a contradiction. Gojo's brain is a complicated and scary place, us mere humans aren't meant to totally comprehend what goes on inside there.

Since his awakening against Toji, Gojo has always solved his problems by being the strongest, and being the strongest alone. His solution is to raise allies who will be as strong, or even stronger than him. Megumi who has the Zen'in Clan's strongest inherited technique, and one that supposedly killed a six-eyes user with the limitless in the past seems like the natural candidate.

On top of that it's clear Gojo sees a lot of himself in Megumi. They're both child prodigies born to one of the three great clans, with that clan's strongest single technique. Considering Naobito made Megumi the Clan Head in his last will and Testament, if Megumi had been raised by the Zen'in he probably would have been given a similiar childhood to Gojo's (spoiled child prodigy raised as a tool for the clan). However, Megumi is not Gojo and Gojo seems to have trouble ferreting out those differences.

Which is why we see some frustration on Gojo's end that despite the fact they have their respective clan's powerful techniques, at his second year Gojo was already a special class and well on his way to being considered the strongest while Megumi himself has a tendency to coast on his talent instead of applying himself and doesn't think it's even remotely possible for himself to get as strong as Gojo.

Gojo does not understand why Megumi doesn't "swing for the fences" the way that Gojo and Yuji does. Why he comes off as so unomotivated and fails to capitalize on any of his blessings.

However, while Gojo is able to notice the symptoms, he doesn't understand the disease or rather the cause of Megumi's behavior. The first being that Megumi is not Gojo. Gojo may find a lot of things similiar about their situations, but no matter how much Gojo tries to mold Megumi into a successor Megumi is not going to be Gojo.

That's where we get back to the connection to Hereditary. In hereditary basically the cult's grand scheme in the movie is to manipulate events to mould Peter into the next successor to Paimon, and Peter himself is not only a bit of an agenciless victim to all of their schemes as the cult progresses, but because of the failure of their mother they have no parent or adult to protect them from the cult's actions. Peter has a missing parent figure, and another figure trying to actively manipulate him until he's worn down enough to fall victim to Paimon's possession.

Not only is the story a tragedy in the genre sense, hamlet, romeo and juliet, etc. etc. but the victim Peter is agenciless in his actions like most victims in tragedies are. Everything in the world just wears him down, he has no support from adults, and no escape, he has little choice in the things that happen to him until eventually he gets his body taken away from him. HIs agency is literally stolen because he no longer can control even his own body.

Someone on reddit put this better than me:

Hereditary portrays how one might lose conscious control over his or her actions; be overwhelmed by the subconscious: possessed. It's symbolised with decapitation – a separation of mind and body. The body is what keeps the head up top and grounded upright. If they're separated, a person disorientates and loses his/her sense of up and down. Suffering without being able to interpret it is torturous and can make you want to stop trying to interpret all together. If you think of home as a person's frame of interpretation, the treehouse is where the film's themes come together:

Decapitation is a pretty common image used in the movie hereditary. Two characters die from swift decapitation. Is there a clearer symbol for loss of bodily control then having your head chopped off? Losing all five senses? Losing your ability to move your body?

Megumi is also a character who has lost control over his body and actions since Sukuna's possession of him, and the grief over loss of a sister has caused him to stop fighting for control entirely but did Megumi have a lot of control over his own life before that?

There are no adult figures who are trying to protect and care for Megumi. That was his father's job, but Toji abandoned him. Megumi and Tsumiki are essentially left to fend for themselves in the world of adults with little choices.

Megumi is given two choices, go to the Zen'in who are going to raise him to be a sorcerer, or go to Gojo who will raise him to be a sorcerer in a slightly less misogynistic environment. There's no option where Megumi gets to choose not to be a sorcerer because Gojo's "help" comes with the huge asterisk* *If you don't work as a sorcerer for jujutsu high we won't pay for your food.

Megumi was already being molded into being what someone else wanted for him to be - in this case Gojo. He was being raised as one of Gojo's allies and successors with little to no input with what Megumi wanted out of life. In the process Sukuna ends up hijacking Megumi's body and moulding Megumi to be useful for Sukuna's ambitions instead. Which is why this is so similiar to the tragedy in Hereditary it kind of feels like in traditioanl tragedy fashion Megumi has the agency of the main character of a tragedy. No matter what he does he's playing into someone's hands. So many people have plans for Megumi and how they want to use him and Megumi's just some teenage kid caught in the middle of it.

Sukuna sets up his plan for possessing Megumi at the start of the story. Megumi was taken in by Gojo and turned into a sorcerer and his tool against the elders before the start of the story. Annie's grandma always planned on putting Paimon into one of her children, and Annie doesn't figure it out until it's too late and we're already seeing the effects of her grandmother's long game plans.

So yeah, Hereditary and Jujutsu Kaisen are both about this intergenerational cycle of trauma, and how it will always affect the weakest members on the chain (children).

[tumblezwei]

Bear with me I'm about to go insane for a few paragraphs.

Actually scratch that I meant a lot of paragraphs, because this became so much longer than I intended.

A thing that Honkai Star Rail is utterly obsessed with doing is masking the involvement of Aeons in certain events or encounters with their own personal symbolic language. If you read a piece of text and it mentions amber or constructing walls, for example, you can be pretty confident that it's referencing Qilpoth. Similarly, mentions of flapping wings, multicolored material, or things smelling of fruit is likely in reference to Tayzzyronth.

The Swarm Disaster in particular is rife with this shit. You can drive yourself insane reading through Trailblaze Secrets trying to parse through whether this line is meant to refer to something, or if you've been staring for way too long and need to slow down. In particular you can drive yourself insane looking for references to Terminus the Finality.

Terminus in kind of annoying because they don't have an entry in the Data Bank, but they are referenced well enough that we know a decent cursory amount about them. The main facts being that they somehow exist and move backwards in time, they are currently asleep and murmur prophecies, and they have two factions: the Omen Vanguard and the Creed Exequy.

The symbols we can generally look out for when it comes to Finality are concepts of time moving backward, prophecies, and, of course, references to "finality."

And to add more context to what I'm about to say, I have to mention that the Finality is all over the Swarm Disaster (so is HooH the Equilibrium but I don't care about them right now). In one of the Trailblaze Secrets we learn than an Omen Vanguard managed to hear and decode part of the prophecy murmured by Terminus and tried to spread that prophecy to members of the genius Society, but all who learned of it were killed by Polka Kakamond along with the Omen Vanguard. And like, the same part has Finality prophesying Tayzzyronth's death, which maybe implies that this prophecy is what caused the whole Swarm Disaster in the first place. But I'm also not a great theorycrafter so take that with a massive grain of salt.

The point for this post being, Terminus is connected to Tazzyronth in terms of their possible role in the Swarm Disaster.

Why bring all of this up? Because I watched "the "Fables About the Stars" again.

This trailer is unique among the many Hoyo have put out because it's one of the best jumping off points we have to sorting out the different symbols and motifs used by the Aeons featured in it. One of whom is mentioned three separate times without being explicitly shown. And I bet you can guess who.

The final minute of the trailer, after the Harmony, we get a rush of lines and images about the unplayable Aeons that are likely important to HSR's story. The images and titles that flash by are, in order, Aha the Elation, Ouroboros the Voracity, Idrila the Beauty, Tayzzronth the Propagation, Mythus the Enigmata, HooH the Equilibrium, Fuli the Remembrance, and finally, Akivili the Trailblaze.

"But that's weird," you think. "Where are those mentions of the Finality you talked about?" And that, my fellow mentally ill friends, is where this gets fun for me. Because when you turn on closed captions for that video, almost each reference to an Aeon that Black Swan says is accompanied by another phrase in parenthesis. No other Aeon earlier in the video gets this, it's just the Aeons in that last minute.

Now, some of these are in reference to the Aeon that the line in Black Swan's poem is referring to. But others, in my opinion, are referring to one Aeon in particular.

Aha -

Ouroboros -

Tazzyronth -

Mythus -

The first reference to Finality I think appears is right after "the mariner's intemperance" with this line:

"End of All Things" seems pretty Finality-coded to me. Why they are referred to as "the infant" I can't tell you. maybe something to do with how they exist backwards in time. Much like the prophecy given on Tayzzronth, perhaps Finality's existence predates their birth. Another strange aspect of this line is it's transition into Idrila, who doesn't seem to get a reference at all. The glass shattering into their title might imply that they are "the mirror," something suported by the fact that one of The Beauty's factions is called the Mirror Holders, but I don't really know enough to be confident about that. Considering Idrila is one of the missing Aeons, we can maybe take this line as a hint that Finality also had a role in Idrila's disappearance.

The next reference I've already shown. Just after Idrila we have the line introducing the Propagation, and the phrase (as they enter the dream (Consciousness)." If my ramblings about the Swarm Disaster previously were coherent enough, you might have already connected the dots on this one. If Terminus was indeed responsible for Tayzzronth's ascent to Aeonhood, then this line can be ready fairly literally. To put it in less flowery words: "Listen to the Propagation as it spawns into existence."

The third reference is thus:

Now, "the shapeless prince" is a reference to HooH, of that I'm....mostly certain. And what makes me the most certain is the next phrase "Against the Current." The concept of "currents" being another fun little symbolic reference to Terminus.

Reading more into the Swarm Disaster, you can also begin to see that HooH, alongside Ena the Order, is greatly involved in the Propagation's demise. Tayzzronth's appearance disrupted the equilibrium of the universe, and obviously that's HooH's whole shtick. So Terminus (who flows backwards in time) murmurs a prophecy that spawns Tayzzronth into existence, and HooH (Against the Current) participates in Tayzzronth's destruction. You see what I mean?

And that's. Really it. As a closing note, you know what else is fun? Outside of Idrila (maybe, neither I nor the other lore enthusiasts I follow have quite parsed that out), each Aeon mentioned in that last minute of the Fables About the Stars trailer has a role in the Swarm Disaster. Aha, of course, was one of the key players who was brought on by Ena and further recruited Akivili for help. Ouroboros was created because of the Swarm Disaster. Followers of the Enigmata are mentioned creating false histories of the disaster (this one is my personal theory). HooH as previously explained. And Fuli because of this one particular Trailblaze Secret which might have been about Akivili falling into IX and Fuli grabbing their memories before they were consumed, but honestly this post is long enough and I'll explain that one later if people are interested.

But uh, yeah. The Swarm Disaster has made me go a little nuts and so has the Finality.

[spork-supremacy]

Animal symbols

So I started deeply thinking about the meaning of each animal everyone gets as a representation and came up with all this.

Octopus: Amazing at adaptation due to its camouflage ability, suits Jay’s ability to blend into any environment and find a way to gain companions as he adapts, (for reference see: the one time he gained a cult-like fanclub, the ninja reserve team, joining the administration and somehow becoming middle management.) It also demonstrates how his true potential lied in understanding that he didn’t need to change himself because he was okay the way he was. While he is good at adaptation, at his core he is always going to be himself, like how even though an octopus can change colour and patterns, they can never change their shape.

For funsies we can also have the fact that octopi have eight limbs and take it as a representation for how Jay also has probably the most extensive list of hobbies and weapon mastery out of the entire team from what we have been shown. Jack of all trades, master of none. 

Bird: The original phoenix design represented the rebirth and the continuous change of identity that Nya goes through as a character as she tries to be able to define herself, first just being Kai’s sister, to Samurai X, and then finally the water ninja. The change to water in the bird was obviously because of the element she gained, but it could also display her freedom and discovery of new identity, shedding the fire that came from her brother and becoming her own person. Like the phoenix the original bird died and reincarnated into something new as her true potential was reached through embracing of her power and new role.

Lion: fierce, often treated as a leader and protector, lions are often posed as a main character or authority figure in a story, as well as a creature with a considerable temper, and dubbed ‘The king of the jungle’ (despite mostly living in the savannah but I digress). This can refer the Kai’s need to be the protector/big brother figure of the group by wanting to take the mantel of the green ninja, the best of the best, the leader, until his eventual realisation that his true potential lies in being the guard to the green ninja and teach Lloyd as he grows and learns.

Wolf: pack animals loyal to their family, this is the first association when thinking about the behaviour of a wolf, their loyalty and dedication. This can be heavily reflected in Zane once, alone as he wandered around Ninjago aimlessly, dare I say as a lone wolf, before finding his family with the ninja. His true potential was reached once he was able to find his purpose, that he was built to protect those who could not protect themselves, but most importantly that came when he needed to protect his family. Like a wolf Zane is loyal to those he cares about and will do anything to ensure their safety, even if that means dying at least three times.

Gorilla: strong, protective, and courageous, these are the most prominent traits we can find in this animal. Of course Cole has all these traits, he possesses a super strength like no other, he is heavily protective of his friends, and he is one to never backdown from a fight. Most importantly his true potential was reached through gaining his courage and the ability to confront his problems, having the courage to tell his father he’s a ninja and wants to forge his own future not the one forced onto him. While it does take him until at least Master of the Mountain to be able to stop running away completely, in that moment he had all the courage he needed. Like the gorilla he is sturdy and courageous, able to get through anything.

Snake: The snake in the original green ninja gi calls back to how Lloyd was originally aligned with the serpentine, what we can also see it that the snake was an ouroboros. An ouroboros represents the completion of a cycle, or the concept of infinity, which can relate to Lloyd eventually gaining the golden power and fulfilling the prophecy of the green ninja. It can also represent the completion of the mission to restore and maintain balance throughout Ninjago through the defeat of the Overlord, as just another part of an infinite cycle of duty held by all members of the FSM’s family at some point in their lives. That fulfilment of his part of the cycle was what unlocked his true potential as he was able to achieve the ultimate power. Other than that Lloyd isn’t anything much like a snake which might be partially why his symbol was changed to that of a dragon.

Dragon: Often seen as the mightiest of mythical beings, in the context of Ninjago it also represents some of the oldest beings in the existence of the 16 realms. The dragon can also refer to his heritage as he is at least a quarter dragon. The dragon also best displays how mythical the power of green can be perceived as, it’s not a straightforward thing, either energy, power, personally I think it’s about general life force energy. Like a dragon compared to regular animals, Lloyd is powerful and a being above regular creatures, not completely something different but definitely not a normal human or elemental master for that matter. 

Conclusion: Half the team is just about protection and I’m definitely over thinking everything as this was supposed to be just a few lines, not 900 words.

[localsharkcryptid]

More Ouroboros Designs!!

Three leafwings and not one of them looks like a traditional leafwing. Nor does the secret fourth Leafwing.

Agaric (GNF) - Named after the Fly Agaric Mushroom (aka the mushroom 🍄) - Blue Flower phase - I'm probably going to play with his coloration more, to probably add in some browns but overall Im rather happy with him! Also considering making his design become duller or paler during the later arcs of the story.

Ponk (I have no ideas for their name and it is driving me insane) - Autumn phase - Ponk!! While I have no wof style name for them I do have a design that works very well. Debating on making their cowl (I think that's what it's called?? I'm unsure so please correct me if I'm wrong here ^^) cover more of their head/neck to match their dsmp design more but for now I'm happy with this! Also I'm thinking of giving them leafspeak but it's specifically towards their lemon tree.

Magnolia (Eret) - Autumn phase - Them! The Icon of gender! While I am working on the world building for her immortality this is probably the final design, sporting deep reds and golds I think it gives a very 'royal' appearance which plays well with their character. Also I have zero idea for why her eyes are like that, they just are, no sight problems just funky eyes.

---

Also to expand on the Leafwings have color phases idea:

Phases in this case is being used to refer to the "variant", much like how african bush vipers are refered to as having "phases".

The Leafwings of the continent of Ouroboros are incredibly varied in their coloration, due to the large amount of refugees from the tree wars that ended up on the continent their color schemes remain vibrant and varied! In juxtaposition to their Pantala dwelling relatives, who have all but lost the color variations due to the need for survival and camouflage within the poison jungle.

Leafwing color phases are usually either Forest or Autumn, the classic greens or shades of orange, red, brown and yellow. There are also flower phases, which are rarer and show off brighter colors - usually as accents but with some outliers!

Plants come in an absurd amount of colors, so why shouldn't leafwings? :]

[elvenbeard]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Yes I'm actually doing this on a Wednesday wooo :D

I just went back through all my tags of the last month and man, you guys ;__; <3 I'm not good at keeping up with tumblr atm and I don't have something to share every week, so I think once a month a WIP Wednesday might be a good compromise XD Thank you for all the tags!!

@theviridianbunny @dreamskug @ouroboros-hideout @lokiina @therealnightcity @chevvy-yates tagging you all right back!

So, with that off of my list of works in progress, as is answering all the tag games and quizzes, some projects I'm working on atm:

Writing: Love is stored in the olive jar (WT) - Chapter 13

It's done, but still needs a lot of editing, as it got very heavy on dialogue in the end and I want it all to flow more nicely and make it a bit more scenic XD Too many instances of "she looked up again" or "he paused for a moment/second" xD But I'm getting there! Here's a snippet from the already somewhat polished beginning:

“Alright,” Fuentes said as she finally caught her breath again, “I suggest we cut straight to the chase.” “Yes,” V nodded, “Thank you again for taking the time.” “Of course,” Fuentes nodded, “I have to admit, I have been thinking about you and your case a lot these past days. Even with the limited knowledge I have so far, I still believe I may be able to help. If you are willing now to tell me more about your condition now, of course.” ‘Willing’ wasn’t the word V would use, it was more a necessity at this point. “I will,” he said, “But only if you can provide me with a certain level of security.” Fuentes shifted in her chair slightly and frowned, then she opened one of the drawers of her desk and pulled out a tablet. She turned it on and began to search for something on it while maintaining eye contact with V as best as she managed. “You’ve come here today as my patient. As far as I’m concerned, everything, anything that we discuss, falls under the doctor-patient confidentiality. My contract with the Little China MedCenter binds me to treat your data and information with utmost care and discretion. All data we store is locked away securely, all in accordance with your Trauma Team policy. I can resend you the patient information papers and contracts, although I think most of them you should already have…” “I care less about the MedCenter than about what you personally do with the information I’m going to give you,” V said, and Fuentes stopped her search, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I’m not sure what you’re alluding to,” she said, still polite, but significantly more tense than before. “Nothing,” V shook his head carefully, “This is just not something I tell random strangers on the street… no offense, of course. If I have to play with open cards, I need you to as well.”

In which Vince hates doctors but has to trust one now, boo XD

Writing: Some drabbles :3

Inbetween the longfic I still have some ask prompt drabbles to fill that I'm looking forward to tackling soon! And in a sudden burst of inspiration I wrote out a long although not very serious convo between Vince and Johnny the other day xD I'd love to turn it into a (VP) comic maybe, but I'm not sure yet XD

Art: Nothing new since last time, slowly chipping away at some bigger projects inbetween

VP: Currently no concrete plans for a bigger project

Although I wanna do more "days in the life" for Vince!! And I wanna play around more with some poses though and have a very soft set to share that I gotta edit a bit still ;_; Tomorrow probably!

Also, I'd like to turn the interface thingies from my recent "V as NPC" projects into shareable templates, that is also on my wip/ to-do list! Just wanna gather some in-game reference shots first :D

Modding: 👀👀👀

I'm working on a little something maybe, and I'm so excited :DDD Just gotta relearn how to do Archive XL, it's been half a year xD And I fought MLSetup Builder so fucking hard, but now I know how to edit MLMask Setups, so that's a victory at least XD And I have a base for a very kitschy coat :3

But yes, so much to that so far! See you again in a month or so probably with an ever-growing pile of wips xD But maybe some more writing, maybe some more art, and maybe a finished mod after too long 👀

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

I want to hear more about Zero Year Riddler being kind of a loser, please.

Zero Year Riddler is Actually A Nerdy Dork-Ass and I Have Evidence

aka at max ten pictures from the comic books. I apologize now that I had to get selective with photos and that these photos I took myself because I'm too lazy to scan. Includes hcs based on the canon stuff.

TW: Spoilers for Batman: Zero Year also known as Zero Year - Secret City and Zero Year - Dark City

We are going to be jumping around a little with these pictures. So the most basic/stripped down timeline- Edward sets off a massive plot w/ Doctor Death to first black out the City of Gotham while he prepares the Big Guns. Weather balloons filled with toxins to ensure no one is getting in or out of Gotham. He floods the city. Tells the surviving citizens that if they all want to get out, they have to give him a riddle he cannot solve. If you think that last part sounds very folk-lore or fairy tale like, YOU WOULD BE RIGHT. This period where he's setting up this challenge is the titular Zero Year. He is set up inside the Sphinx display in the Gotham History Museum. Batman stops him. onto the actual discussion.

We are first going to start with his introduction. I've discussed this before in a different post but this is meant to tell you multiple things. He has fifteen degrees he's earned. He makes conspiracy theory string boards. He is a dweeb who wears pocket protectors. The important thing to note story wise is that most of the points in this board are important/have a specific role in the story. He's correct about them. They matter. You might be saying "ok Fox/Belle but how does this say he's a nerdy dork-ass?"

look at him. He's described as being "boastful and annoyingly egotistical, but socially he's an egghead." This is not a man who plays well with others. But he genuinely thinks of himself as someone better than everyone else. What do you get? A smokescreen of theatrics, egotism and showing off to hide how socially inept he is.

Next, and sorry the first picture didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped. This is the first meeting of Edward and Bruce Wayne. Of course Edward has already plotted his death. Will try to enact this plot. The page with the snake is a reference to the ancient Egyptian game of Mehen which Edward mentions in passing earlier in the story. Historians currently don't know much about the game other than it's distinctive board- However here it becomes a parallel to Ouroboros. The snake that eats it's own tail. Its known as an alchemy symbol and spiritually represents the unity of all things. Life, Death, Rebirth. In Edward's mind: destruction and rising from ashes aka Gotham in his plans.

The second is post Zero Year, telling the citizens of Gotham his motivations. This is his monologue showing his warped version of the Hero's Journey. The Hero's Journey for those who don't know is a very old archetype on which many fictional stories are all based on (whether they realize it or not.) In it's simplest terms, a hero goes on an adventure. The hero through trauma and hardship, learns a lesson, wins their "boon" and returns home with newfound knowledge that transformed them as a person. Note this sounds kind of similar to the Ouroboros thing, doesn't it?

Edward wants to leave a mark and transform Gotham. Potentially the world. He wants control he never had growing up. He wants all of it.

On the headcanon end... This information combined with his hyperfixation on mythology (mentioned below), this man plays tabletop. Hear me out. God complex. Verbose. Theatrics. Obsession with heroics, the heroes journey and folklore... this man not only plays DnD, he has been a GM countless times. I think he'd play other tabletops as well, but DnD is his bread and butter.

His main race (in traditional) is a gnome because of the intelligence stats. When he does DM/GM, the story is rich and so fucking detailed. He is also mean as hell and will murder all your characters in emotionally devastating ways if you get unlucky. He'll never admit any of this to people he finds cool or too attractive (unless they get to know him first). He has a strong wall up to try and prevent any weakness or vulnerability to show through.

He likes fun facts. Not just about mythology he is the one who spits out statistical data and random fun facts in regular discussion. It's almost compulsive. At another part of the comic where he almost shoots Lucius Fox dead via robot, he states the statistical probability that he was already hit with a bullet, but to reload and shoot again anyways. Then he is in the middle of telling a trivia fact about foxes before Batman comes in to save Lucius.

This feeds into my headcanon that he's neurodivergent. And also was a Jeopardy fanatic as a child. Probably still is. He likes to impress (especially dates) with the knowledge he can pull from seemingly nowhere. Also if you haven't gotten the impression yet, he cannot and will not stop talking. Loves the sound of his own damn voice. You know he's monologued himself to trouble multiple times. Also note how smoothly he's just glossing over his shitty dad/abusive childhood (again.)

Piggybacking on the last point- He has a special interest (read: potentially hyperfixation) on mythology and folklore. On multiple occasions he mentions these stories in passing as an anecdote for the events currently happening around him. Archimedes was a greek mathematician in ancient Sicily. He invented a great many things and would come to be known as one of the leading scientists of classical antiquity. The story Edward references is a rather famous one- Archimedes invented complex pulley systems and was tasked to prove the strength and ingenuity of these pulleys by moving the Syracusia, a luxury cruise ship, in and out of the water.

The second he mentions the story of the Gordian Knot. The tale goes as such: Alexander the Great's time. Whoever could untie the Gordian Knot was said to be destined to rule all of Asia. No one could solve it. The knot was impeccable. It was complex. Alexander the Great showed his great mental genius by doing what no one else had done. He cut the knot. There's more to it but that's the gist. That's the why of why Edward looks to this story and remembers it.

Everything about The Riddler of Zero Year is about proving his intelligence. Creating a name and a culture enveloped with smarts. If we didn't have the lore associated with Egyptian mythology as well, I'd say ancient Greece is his topic of choice but I think he likes all of it. That said, this man likes historical movies, historical texts, museums. If you take him to a museum or any kind of zoo or aquarium, he's going to talk your ear off on what he already knows for at least several hours. Are you impressed? Please be impressed. Tell him how smart he is and praise him like your favorite house cat.

The final pictures with actual analysis. These might seem silly or a rather insignificant detail to zoom in on.

This is him setting off the triggers to flood the city. Note the suitcase. He says this out loud to no one but himself. His own joke that only he gets to laugh at. Then he LITERALLY walks away whistling. A lot of this kind of behavior feeds into him knowing and being so smug about how clever he is. He's watching dozens upon dozens of citizens who have no idea what is going to happen to them, running in fear. And he's focused only on how gleeful he is that it's all coming together.

In the second: this is the final trial. Batman saving the city of Gotham and Riddler getting to have his big villain moment. And from the moment he reveals the lightshow of lasers ready to cut down our hero at will- he begins playing with his cane and hat. To the point that Batman is almost panicked for him to stop and just ask the damn questions.

These both run to one point and that's to him, this is all a game. We don't know this in the story yet, but he has an additional failsafe to blow the city up even if Batman wins (he doesn't expect him to, but he always makes sure to be a step ahead in case). He's lighthearted because, despite his curiosity around Batman and being constantly surprised that Batman keeps surviving, he considers this chess game match and set. His own arrogance supersedes the idea that Batman could be a genuine hero willing to take all the risk to save these people.

Riddler says to "get smart or die." Edward does not expect someone to do just that and more. For these the behaviors are more dorky vs the actual analysis but you get the point.

Bonus: we get the full picture that he constantly has a crown image above his screen in Gotham Square during Zero Year. Sir, Why Are You Like This? A lot of this comes down to: please give him attention he is so desperate for attention and probably physical affection. He's starving for it.

If you actually read through all of this, I'm love you and I hope you're having a fantastic day. Thank you for taking the time to listen to my rambling.

[shallowseeker]

okay so, yesterday I found your spn meta by chance and fell in love with them 'cause more than writing they're like images, like they really depict things and I just immediately understand what you mean instantly + I started to rewatch Steve Yockey's episodes 'cause I feel like I like his writing (lots of queer! lots of rom-com references! but it's all done so intellingently, I love it!) but ALSO sometimes it doesn't translate to me + I just saw you wrote about "Optimism"= I GOTTA ASK: what's your take on "Optimism"? I don't understand what the Zombie story and the Musca one should reveal about the characters. Visually, it looks like the Musca = Charlie, so Harper and the zombie are ??? I'm mad at myself 'cause I don't seem to get what the show is telling me so I'm hoping you can share what the show tells YOU and, vicariously, I can get it as well (lol). THANK YOU!

Hi! Hello!

Oh, really? That's so cool. I still have trouble thinking of myself as a "meta writer." I don't mean to be. I just like to ramble. But cool! It's probably mostly that we think alike and are sympatico in some key ways. :-) Always fun to find kindred spirits!

///

O P T I M I S M

I have so many thoughts on Optimism. It's one of my fave episodes! I actually did a re-watch-slash-convo with some friends on Discord and just transcribed the very, very, very LOOONG bulk of it today!

I haven't written much on the Musca. After spending a lot of time of @scoobydoodean's blog, I've just about decided the Musca plot is actually a Sam's emotions-through line more than it is a true dark mirror. Even AU Charlie is cheeky about it:

AU CHARLIE (annoyed at Sam, about the Musca): Your nifty metaphor has holes.

Basically, Charlie is saying that mirrors aren't one-to-one, and that trying to force-fit them into being one-to-one can be super annoying sometimes.

//

CHARLIE - Every two hundred years there is "bad egg". When a male fails to find a mate, he abandons his community and starts using peoples bodies to "nest". Binding them together with a viscous goo. And when the goo fits...

//

The Musca/fly is at face-value:

A) A bodysnatcher plot: In that regard, it could be like all angels, demons, or anyone inhabiting a body. (Cas, Lucifer, Michael, Crowley, etc.) Ergo, it's a dark, uncharitable Cas mirror the way Dave Mathers outlaw wraith was in Tombstone. It could be saying that Cas "failed" among "his own people" and cruelly took up space in a human body. But that would be grossly oversimplifying the whole situation, saying that Cas "should have stayed with his people," which ofc doesn't work.

It, as Charlie says, "has a lot of holes." @ilarual has written a lot about the totalitarian structure of Heaven. And Sam himself wants Cas around. As far as metaphors go, it's a dud for Cas.

B) It's a failure to thrive plot: Because the Musca "failed" in The Real World with its Own People, perhaps failed to live up to The prescriptive Dream of Success (TM), now it's wreaking havoc on others.

Sam himself "failed out" of Harvard. He "choked." Kevin Train and Patience Turner are also Failed Gifted Students. Losers who didn't live up to their potential. This could even apply to Chuck, binding together his characters because he's a Loser with a capital L.

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ANYWAY, I feel like the Music plot is a "red herring" for a few reasons.

One: The main Harper plot is about breaking narratives, about not relying so much on books. And then Charlie says this:

CHARLIE: Goo. So, yeah. I'd say this is the right place. Now, I'm just trying to figure out what we are dealing with. Thus, books.

Aside: Later Cas says sarcastically in Ouroboros that Sam and Rowena, "Have many, many books."

So, there's this niggling indictment of trying to find too much truth in books...

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Two: Sam has a tendency to see something and, like, imprint on it. He tends to fall into "It's just like me!" instead of speaking frankly about the present situations and emotions.

*In American Nightmare, he sees Madga Peterson, an abused child* -> "She's just like me!"

*In Somewhere in Between Heaven and Hell, he sees someone lying about something completely unrelated to his current situation* ->"Omg, they're lying to them, like I'm lying to Dean! It's just like me!"

*In Lost & Found, he meets Jack Kline, who is Lucifer's son "OMG, he's just like me!" -> *spoiler alert* Jack is not in fact much like Sam at all. -> Sidenote: instead of speaking frankly about how Dean is grieving, how Lucifer killed Cas and likely killed Mary, he uses complex euphemisms with Jack, ones that actually obscure the reality of the situation! This winds up annoying Jack and making him pull away from Sam.

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IMHO...Sam isn't...naturally all that great with emotions.

He tries really, really hard, and he loves patterns, but he's always seeming to force-fit situations and scenarios into neat little boxes so he can passively-aggressively use it to indirectly communicate something he feels about himself.

He has a very cognitive empathy style. Bless him.

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So what's REALLY going on here?

Well. In this episode, he wants Charlie to stay. He wants Charlie to stay and fill a void the other Charlie left behind. He wants Charlie to stay really, really badly. And he beats around the bush about it.

At first, he sidesteps his own emotions by passive-aggressively implying that it's Dean that in fact needs her.

CHARLIE: He'll be fine. Your brother, I mean. He's got other friends, right? SAM: Plenty. Uhm, he used to have a pretty damn good wingman. CHARLIE: So call that guy to check on him. SAM: That guy was you. CHARLIE: No, it wasn't. SAM: Right, I, uh, sorry. I didn't mean that.

And then by trying to make the case fit her.

He's very indirect and weird about it. Because he's Sam. (It's a contrast to the effortless, awkward-but-honest communication style we see from characters like Jack and Dean in this very episode.)

SAM: Charlie, you can't just quit and go live on a mountain somewhere. People need people. CHARLIE: Why? Cause they're the luckiest people in the world? SAM: Look, come on. We just do. We're social animals. CHARLIE: Emphasis on animals. SAM: Yeah, but you're also a hunter. The things that we've seen, it's not so easy to just walk away from it all. Believe me, I've tried. Our Charlie tried. CHARLIE: Yeah, well again, she ain't me. It's my life, Sam. Not hers. And not yours.

Ah, yes. Instead of saying, “I want you here,” it’s, “people need people.”

And Hell, sometimes indirect communication works! Like how Dean and Cas use Felix the snake to indirectly communicate with Jack in Peace of Mind!

But the difference with Sam is...he's not using this indirect communication style to find out how Charlie feels (the way Dean and Cas use the snake to suss out how Jack feels).

No, he's using the whole thing to try to tell Charlie what he thinks is best for her! To tell her things, not find out things.

Eventually, he breaks and says what he actually thinks, but only after AU Charlie is starting to lose her patience with him:

SAM (faux-sadly): Got to say, I do feel kind of bad for the Musca. I mean, he could have been happy if he'd stayed with his people. Didn't have to go off on his own just because... CHARLIE (exasperated): Okay, I get it. I am just like the bug and I shouldn't go out on my own.

OMG, Sammy! It's okay if we want to hit Sam sometimes, right? I too wanted to hit him after he said this to Charlie.

CHALIE: But your nifty metaphor has holes. I wasn't looking for love. I found it and I lost it. And I didn't kill people and literally nest in their body parts so...(Scene cuts to other Musca removing the body of the dead one) SAM: Okay, yeah I know, I know, How about this? Don't leave. 

(Aside// I think this is a cheeky nod to the fact that Cas and Dean weren't looking for love either. In fact, they tried (and keep trying) really, really hard not to love each other. Their real life was faaaar more complicated than some simple "bodysnatcher plot.")

But thank God--Sam finally says outright what he needed to say to Charlie: Don't leave.

Now, it probably would've been better if he's gone a step further: "I don't want you to leave," but for Sam, this is pretty good progress.

SAM: Hear me out. Sure some people can do bad things when they're desperate or scared. But the guy we just saved, he has a wife and children. I'm not saying that all people are good people or even that most people are but if we help people then maybe they'll help people and all that. And that's worth it. Even with all the tears and death. It's worth it. CHARLIE: Just to be super clear, I am not like the fly monster. (Sam chuckles) But, I'll think about staying.

So I think OVERALL the Musca plot is really about highlighting Sam's difficult communication style, and I think it's intentionally being cheeky about it how it's using a "really "dumb metaphor" with gaping holes!

It's about how Sam tries to force-fit the case of the week into saying what he wants it to say...instead of just saying it.

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I think Sam has a little bit of a "mental main character syndrome." He sees a scenario and moves directly into cognitive empathy, reading the situation and thinking:

How can I apply this to myself? Or make it a stand-in for either something I want to believe about myself or a stand-in for something I want to say indirectly?

Sometimes you'll see ppl insist that Sam is the "MC" because every storyline tells you "something about Sam." But I'm more in the camp that it's Sam's inherent cognitive style of empathy at work, desperately reworking anything and everything to make it apply to himself.

Whereas Cas and Dean (and Jack) have a truer emotional style of empathy, connecting with people for who they actually are, as they are.

That's not to say that both styles can't be manipulative when we want them to be. But Sam really struggles with his style in a way I feel like Dean and Cas do not. Dean and Cas perhaps don't even realize what effective communicators they actually are!

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My other thoughts on Optimism: