#{ Grisly Delinquency }

[twoafflictedsouls]

" Guys I think the residents are evil... "

[sceav-old]

Scarred By Heaven is an upcoming beat-em-up/visual novel aiming to combine fast-paced 2D brawling with a compelling otherworldly murder mystery and a character-focused narrative. You can read more on the website, or under the cut below.

The game is still relatively early in development, and is being solo-created as a hobby by me. This is a blog I've created to share updates and my thoughts during development.

You can download a short demo for the combat system from the site, or from itch.io. I'd appreciate any feedback. :)

STORY

For the past year, the coastal city of Jadewater has been plagued by a string of grisly murders, with the bodies of five unrelated victims left lying lifeless in the city streets, completely drained of blood.

Sakiko, a young delinquent recently kicked out of her childhood home following her eighteenth birthday, arrives in town one night by pure happenstance. However, she soon finds herself at the center of the city's paranormal mystery.

After a seemingly ordinary street fight takes a bizarre twist, Saki awakens to a strange supernatural power that's connected to a new, discolored mark over her eye. It isn't long after this that she also discovers an alternate dimension containing a fog-covered, hollow replica of the town, and realizes that the cause of the murders may not be entirely of this world.

However, Saki also soon realizes that she's not the only person to have obtained one of these 'scars', and that many others, both friend and foe, have their own unique powers, as well as their own agendas...

Follow Saki's journey as she fights her way to the truth, all while struggling to come to terms with her identity and the newfound independence granted to her by adulthood.

Read more about the characters here...

List of content warnings here.

COMBAT

Scarred By Heaven aims to feature a modern and unique 2D beat-em-up combat system, focused on aggressive, fast-paced brawling and racking up brutal combos--combining inspirations from beat-em-ups like Yakuza and fighting games like Guilty Gear.

Use an ever-growing moveset of light attacks, heavy attacks, and grabs to unleash powerful combos on your enemies. Beat down on airborne enemies freely by 'juggling' them,and deal extra damage by launching them into objects, or even other enemies. All the while, build up a high damage multiplier by combining a wide variety of different attacks and maneuvers into your fighting style--you can even use weapons you find in the environment!

Parrying is your primary form of defense. Performed by guarding right before an enemy attack hits, Saki's power allows her to rob enemy attacks of all their momentum and repel blades and blows with only her hands! By timing your parries correctly, you can get through any attack unscathed and stay on the offense at all times!

By attacking and parrying your foes, you also build up Spirit (SP) which you can spend to unleash powerful attacks and perform special abilities, such as an evasive dodge that can preemptively cancel your attacks. Not spending it is also an option, as a full bar of SP will allow your attacks to 'leech' HP from your opponents to restore your own!

Scarred By Heaven aims to provide a wide variety of enemies. Go to hand-to-hand with gangs of local thugs in the real city, and monstrous 'phantoms' in the Otherworld. Between it all, have 1-on-1 battles with fellow 'scarred' individuals in unique boss fights that pitch your powers against theirs. Memorize their attacks and get a feel for how they fight to come out on top!

Combat aims to provide a lot of potential depth, but still be enjoyable at all skill levels. The game will feature a robust set of difficulty modifiers, allowing you to pick from a selection of setting presets, as well as customize and fine tune details about the game like enemy damage, enemy health, the leniency of parry timing, and more.

THE CITY

The strongest warriors know what they're fighting to protect.

Outside of combat, Saki can explore the city of Jadewater--a small but content rich sandbox inspired by games like the Like A Dragon series. You can go shopping, help the locals out in unique side-stories, go fishing at the beach, practice fighting games at the arcade, or catch a movie with a friend--there's no shortage of distractions!

You'll earn small amounts of XP from exploring (as you also do from combat) that you can use to upgrade your combat abilities. There's also various other small rewards to discover that can help you become a better fighter, and further enrich Saki's life outside of combat.

[dxrknessembr8ced]

Few hours Later

A heavy snow storm hit through metro city covering everything with the sheer cold silence in darkness rapidly decay into a twisted nightmare as a very powerful inga gate in the form of a large mass of flesh and gore fused with the helpless victims taken by the makai beasts and fused their corpses for creating the most grisly sight of an inga gate. The large orb of gore and screams of helpless victims began to crack open slowly for something has hatched from this horrid egg. It tears apart as their screams become more frequent and loud, shattering bit by bit as in all their horrific glory have awaken the ancient enemy forgotten along with the tale of the makai order. The monster that is born with hatred for one individual so powerful it tears the whole world around them. This, is the ancient horror Zaji. The original creature that had formed the Zaji family up from the ground up thousands of years of makai till the present. Accumulated with the mutual hatred and sheer rage of the horrors that have been slain by one individual that is the golden knight Garo. Their motivations of this realm are simple, to kill the one who is chosen to continue the garo lineage and permanently extinguished the light forever, restore the family's lineage ending their war between makai and Jedah.

This is the night where nightmares of the past have resurfaced, the night dark hunters will know true fear for the darkstalkers have the ancient horror that had awakened. All of the darkstalkers upon Zaji's presents have bowed before them as the creature steps forward while they move allowing them to past. Zaji's human appearance hasn't look the same from their prison since his defeat years ago. It appears that they're reborn as a mere juvenile proximately appearing to be a young teenager, even their mind is replace with that of a delinquent and it aggravated them. Though they didn't care about their new appearance anymore for they became curious around their surroundings for they stray from the group of makai denizens and explore the ruins while focus on their quest to find and kill garo while also searching for prey to consume. Despite their deep desire to kill him, they see that everything in the human realm has changed or in the state of changing. All sorts of creatures not worth a damn to eat, they're not human. They need the flesh of humans to survive and grow stronger, though he'll grow stronger on their own with age which it'll take a long time for a juvenile horror like them to grow so he'll take the way.

[coiledqueen]

"No one, huh...?" Lucy's dismissive scoff echoes around the dingy elevator as the pair continues their descent, muffled casino sounds growing ever louder from outside. The Pike Queen's attention turns back towards the bloodied glove-tourniquet, and--despite their grisly condition--she even holds Sharlene's arm steady until the rusty carriage shudders to a stop.

"Well okay, Sharlene. My name's Lucy, and I'm definitely somebody," she murmurs with the edge of a smirk curling her lip, still exuding her usual aura of quiet, razor-sharp confidence. "You can ask around once you stop bleeding everywhere, yeah? Come on, focus up--"

The elevator doors finally slide open, revealing Lucy's underground casino in all its glory. A dimly-lit bar and tables line one end of the sizable room, everybody huddled in secretive conversations with each other. Across the way, gaming tables--Voltorb Flip, poker, and blackjack--are illuminated by oily lamplight, complemented by the plinking of coins in old slot machines along the back wall. All things considered, it's quite quiet in here, as if everyone is determined to mind their own business and stay out of the way. Despite all the blood, Sharlene's injury only earns a couple lingering stares and arched eyebrows. Some of the patrons nod knowingly up at Lucy. Another one, Luce?

As if on cue, an elderly woman in glasses comes tottering out from one of the space's back rooms, already gloving up as a Chansey follows close behind in a rumpled nurse's hat. The woman wastes no time getting right into Sharlene's face, her wrinkled features squinting with concern behind the oversized lenses.

"Was told you needed medical, poor thing. That looks baaaad," she tuts, clicking her tongue disapprovingly down at Sharlene's 'wrapped' arm. "Come come, we'll get you stitched up in a jiffy--prepare a glass of cold water for 'em in the meantime, Pike Queen. Lucky you got here when you did--"

And just like that, Chansey carefully leads Sharlene away by the hand, a healing pulse emitting from her touch. The older nurse is already headed with surprising speed towards the back area--a converted examination room, of sorts.

"You're in good hands--that Joy's a miracle worker," Lucy calls out after the delinquent, stripping off her other bloodied glove with a shrug. "Meet me over by the bar when you're done for that glass of water. Doctor's orders."

Their response explains enough to Lucy, who nods in confirmation as she helps them to their feet. Her response was curt—really, everything she'd said had been rather straight to the point—and they couldn't help but wonder if she was annoyed by them, or just... Like this. It didn't really matter in the moment, because she was willing to help them, and they were scared. She wraps a supportive hand around their waist, and they were off.

She takes them to a building Sharlene had certainly seen before, but never actually bothered to explore—She'd assumed it was abandoned, like many of the buildings in this part of Lilycove. Lucy opens the old doors, and they're met with a Hariyama, and... A Pokemon they didn't recognize. They stared at it curiously as the woman gave them a simple pass code of sorts, and the two Pokemon move out of the way, allowing them to enter the rather creaky elevator.

"This elevator is a little spooky..." They mutter, mostly to themselves as they're shrouded in complete darkness, strange sounds and various chattering growing in volume the further down they went. Sneeze nudged their leg nervously, and they let out an anxious sigh. Don't think about the possibility of the elevator breaking down on them, they had enough to worry about as it was. Hopefully they weren't bleeding onto the elevator floor. That would be embarrassing.

Lucy explains the situation, and it doesn't take a genius to realize that she's leading them to an underground casino. That said, there was a chance someone with medical knowledge would be here to help them, which somehow made Sharlene both nervous and a little relieved. For whatever reason, she'd made the decision to help them, despite them being strangers, which... Her last little comment made quite clear.

"M-Me?" They question. "I, uh... I'm no one, really..." They look down at their feet, which they can barely see in the dim light of the elevator. They could be snarky and ask who she is, considering she's the one leading them to a possibly illegal casino, but the anxiety in their throat keeps them from speaking. They could be sassy once the bleeding stops.

God, it was all over her arm and clothes, and it was making them feel rather woozy. They close their eyes, taking in slow breaths to try and calm down. It was sticky in her hand, and it felt disgusting.

"...Sharlene," They eventually say. "That's, uh, my name. Sharlene."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Ooh! Requests are open! Can I have first years sharing scary stories for Halloween? Who do you think could tell the scariest stories ?

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Ace is the type of guy that makes up petty scary stories on the fly. (He has lots of practice with keeping on his toes, since he’s always giving excuses to the teachers or to his Dorm Leader about why he’s late or why his assignment isn’t done yet.) He also has the tendency to give funny voices and falsettos when he’s speaking character dialogue.

The longer you listen, the more you put two and two together. A lot of the events and characters that he describes have direct parallels to things that have happened to him before, or to people he knows. (You’re particularly suspicious of the story of the��“Crimson Tyrant” who supposedly chopped off the heads of anyone that disagreed with him.)

When you confront Ace about these similarities, he denies it all. “You’re insane,” he tells you with a stubborn pout. “If anything sounds familiar to you, it’s just a coincidence!”

Thanks to the magic of comedically poor timing and Ace’s bad luck, Riddle happens to be passing by while he’s in the middle of telling a story. He catches wind of the “Crimson Tyrant” and, scepter in hand, angrily demands, “And just who might you be gossiping about, I wonder?” (... Well, it’s off with Ace’s head.)

Deuce’s stories aren’t really scary. In fact, they’re pretty... mundane and anticlimactic. His idea of a “scary” story is something like opening a carton of eggs and finding one cracked. Only Deuce seems to think these kinds of things are gruesome (which makes him a target of Ace’s teasing).

“You guys just don’t get it!” Deuce stubbornly insists. “Don’t you think it’s sad that those eggs will never get to grow up to be baby chicks and chickens?! That’s just as bad as any serial killer coming at you with an axe or a chainsaw!” 

Ironically, he has much more frightening stories of his days as a delinquent, especially when he’s retelling the times he beat others up with his bare fists. (... But for some reason, Deuce doesn’t find those scary, they just leave a bad taste in his mouth.)

Like the good boy that he is, Deuce likes to end his stories on a positive note! It could be a moral or a way to avoid meeting the same grisly fate as the characters in his story... but, above all else, Deuce swears to protect his friends with his own strength!

Jack’s a man of few words, so his style of scary storytelling is limited to short one or two sentence tales. He’d rather be doing something productive like studying or exercising, but if you’re going to make him sit down and tell a story, he’ll want to get it over with as soon as he can.

He’s a stronger listener than a storyteller. From how intensely he stares at his friends, you’d think Jack was angry at them for something. But nope, he’s just listening intently, granting them his undivided attention.

Admittedly, Jack is the buzzkill of the group. He’ll sometimes stop his own story to explain something, or point out what doesn’t make sense in others’. (”... Why would they open the door when no one’s there after ringing the doorbell? That sounds suspicious as hell.” “They’re splitting up? At least go in a pair so they can watch each others’ backs... The first to get killed always goes off alone.”)

As the voice of reason, Jack steps in when he senses that his friends are too scared by the current story to change the topic or suggest a break before continuing. He’ll never admit to his niceness, though--he’ll just excuse it as “not wanting to hear people shouting in my ears the whole night”.

Epel’s specialty is urban legends and myths! There isn’t a lot to do in his hometown, so he used to trade stories with his school mates in his free time. They’re all native to the Village of Harvest and the people there, so even Jack ends up hearing new stories from him.

“Its like playing one big game of telephone, with each retelling adding new details or making a new version of the story,” is how Epel describes it. “It’s neat to see how a story can be spread and changed over time, isn’t it? Kinda like a seed that grows into a tree that’s way bigger than anyone expected it’d be.”

Epel also tells you stories of his real life experiences with the strange and the paranormal! (... And by that, he means the times he got so bored at home, he went exploring old abandoned houses rumored to be cursed.) He acts all tough (and maybe exaggerates a few points), but he’s really enthusiastic to share more about his life with his best friends!

Epel’s really good at setting the atmosphere for scary stories! Lights out, thick blankets, snacks, candles, and flashlights to shine for enhanced dramatic flair. It’s like having a sleepover with all of your closest friends.

Sebek boasts a wealth of knowledge in scary stories, thanks to hours spent studying and reading novels in his leisure. He can perfectly recall the details of any thriller, mystery, or true crime novel for the group, taking great lengths to build up the suspense before dropping the plot twists on you, much like how lighting strikes come quickly and without warning.

Of the first years, Sebek gets the most “in character” while he’s telling his stories. He not only attempts to put on fitting voices for every character, but also motions with his hands, acting out entire scenes like a one-man stage troupe.

You’re not sure if it’s pure coincidence or not, but when Sebek’s turn comes, there’s a heavy downpour. Oddly enough, the lightning also seems fo strike at the best of times—at the climaxes of his stories. Sebek seems to be the only one overjoyed by this, claiming that it’s a divine blessing from Lord Malleus himself! “HMPH!! Be thankful for the Young Master’s kindness, HUMANS! ... And beastman!”

Though Sebek’s retellings are scary enough as they are, nothing compares to the horrors of his childhood spent with Lilia. A noticeable chill descends upon the room as he recalls his time training in the wilderness and being terrorized by his mentor. By the time the final world has been said, even Sebek is left trembling in fear.

[fantasmaz-arc]

okay. alright. i overhauled my carrd. i also added more muses, some new, some old. and a good amount. if you’re reading this ... send them memes, do random starters, plot with me, idc. anyways. update under cut ( and boy is it a doozy !!! )

DARCY DECAY  : fandomless,  FACE CLAIM : brody dalle. late 20's / immortal. she/it. early 2000s punk rocker turned vampire + werewolf hybrid, doomed to immortality but absolutely loving the party. 

WILLOW QUINN  : fandomless,  FACE CLAIM : belissa escobedo. early 20s. she/they. ex teen delinquent turned rowdy ranch hand with a heart of gold.

WYATT BYRNE  : fandomless,  FACE CLAIM : paul mescal. 25. he/him. small - town mechanic trying to make ends meet and help keep his father's ranch afloat ... and fend off bloodthirsty developers.

GUNNER BAUER  : fandomless,  FACE CLAIM : lights bokan. mid - 20s. she/they. drummer of BABY JANE by night, bartender of THE JACKRABBIT also by night, and kind of a couch surfer by day. originally hardhittr.

MELINDA DOMINGO  : fandomless / lost boys,  FACE CLAIM : kiana lede. early - 20s. she/they. hellbent on killing the head - vamp to turn back her own transformation, and to save her neighborhood from anymore grisly murders.

PEACHES  /  THE COWGIRL FROM HELL  : dungeons & dragons based. she/they/it. a singing cowgirl tiefling condemned to roaming the desert wastelands, typically sending any disobedient infernal creatures back to where they came from. not without her trust steed, tho : a hellish longhorn named stanley <3

ELDA GLITTERBOTTOM  : dungeons & dragons based. she/her. tiny barbarian dwarf coming from a gladiator family who just wants to escape her life as a violent entertainer and adventure ... maybe pick up a few shiny rocks here and there.

SWAMP THING  : the true lives of the fabulous killjoys. 23. they/them. rowdy killjoy with a penchant for explosives, gummy worms and neon green hair dye. originally on vformed. 

ULTRA MAG  : the true lives of the fabulous killjoys,  FACE CLAIM : michel duval. 28. he/him. lead singer of the ummm's ... and car body-art legend. originally on vformed.

VERONICA SAWYER  : heathers,  FACE CLAIM : winona ryder. 17. she/her. mix movie && stage adaptation canon.

JOSH WHEELER  : daybreak,  FACE CLAIM : colin ford. 17. he/him.

ECHO  : polaroid stories,  FACE CLAIM : willow smith. late teens. she/they. teen runaway wrapped up in the underground rave scene, tied to narcissus.

JASON "J.D." DEAN  : heathers : the musical,  FACE CLAIM : devon bostick. 17. he/him.

and here’s my other recent addition of mixed ocs and canon <3

[wolfnovak]

[  peter gadiot  —  thirty - three  —  he / him  ]  Introducing  WOLFGANG  ‘  WOLF  ’  NOVAK.  Word  on  the  street  is  they  are  a  SICARIO  and  member  of  the  CORTÁZAR  CARTEL  for  the  past  THREE  YEARS.  Though  they  are  FORBIDDING  and  MORDANT,  they  can  also  be  PRAGMATIC  and  TACTICAL.  In  the  chaos  of  New  York  City,  they’re  sure  to  fit  right  in.

— BASICS

Name:  Wolfgang  ’ Wolf ‘  Novak.

Age / D.O.B.:  Thirty - Three  /  November  7th

Height:  6'1.

Gender, Pronouns &. Sexuality:  Cis  Man,  He / Him,  Demisexual / Demiromantic.

Hometown:  Brussels,  Belgium.

Affiliation:  Ex  Military  /  Cortázar  Cartel.

Job position:  Ex  Special  Forces  Sniper  /  Sicario.

Education:  West  Point  Admitted  (  did  not  attend  ),  Bachelor's  Degree.

Relationship status:  Single.

Children:  N/A.

Positive traits:  Autonomous,  Dauntless,  Perceptive,  Pragmatic,  Tactical.

Negative traits:  Caustic,  Forbidding,  Lethal,  Mordant,  Taciturn.

— BIOGRAPHY

Trigger Warnings: war, violence, shell shock, death, child neglect, mentions of alcohol and drug addiction.

Wolfgang Novak was an omen from birth, but far from one found in hallowed parables. His mother had been Valéria Aguilar, a stunning Mexican woman charmed by a Dutchman stationed in El Paso, Texas. His father, Wilhelm Novak, was a man forged from an extensive background in Military service. Though Wolf stole Valéria’s life upon his birth, her death didn’t prove to be a fatal blow to Wilhelm, but an inconvenience, as the responsibility of a child lacked the necessary space in the man’s plans. Being the product of careless interaction, he was not a father’s treasured kin. Instead of a son, Wilhelm treated Wolf as a Commander’s protege. He expected nothing less from the acquired boy but the same militarized skill-set he himself had honed and possessed. As such, Wolf began to assume the life of a soldier before he was able to understand what life a boy should have.

With his patriarch deployed often and no relatives left to shelter him, Wolf spent the majority of his adolescence passed between generous military families, though eventually became a ward of the state due to combative behavior. He raised himself, battled a self-proclaimed lawless environment and challenged its particularly brutal consequences. He became a violent young boy, prone to rage and introducing himself with a legendary bloody nose. Volatile tendencies, however, didn’t get you very far in education or with a figure such as Wilhelm. His insurrection was personal, and he challenged Wilhelm with every breath of his being. It wasn’t until an arrest for hijacking vehicles with nefarious company that Wolf swapped tactics. But it was difficult not to return to a life of delinquency when your caretaker exhumed neglect. When Wilhelm was present, he was often impaired by both alcohol and drug intoxication, shielding himself from the horrors Wolf was yet to comprehend. With age came an inkling of understanding, but not forgiveness.

Wilhelm Novak was a strict man with selfish intentions, yet Wolf was determined to unlock some form of residual pride. Because of this, he began to excel in his studies. His brilliance was refocused and trained on subjects that could aid him instead of ail him. The plan soon backfired. Wilhelm was impressed — perhaps too enthralled — and became involved as he wished when he were younger. The boasting rights Wolf fought for from Wilhelm were responded with a ship off to military school. Harboring a severe distaste towards authority, Wolf’s beginning was a cataclysmic revolt. Forced to adapt to a life of grueling training, often being pushed to carry out seemingly impossible feats that drove the wedge further between he and Wilhelm as the goal of prodigy was reached. Top of his class, he was accepted into West Point, yet did not attend due to mortal circumstance.

He attended Wilhelm’s funeral. Vanquished overseas, Wolf was told the man perished as a hero. He found it difficult to fathom, when he had been privy to a considerably villainous adversary. Aside from comrades he held no notion of, the recently graduated youth was the only one to stand before a fresh grave. Wolf found himself with little remorse, but a voluminous sense of solace. He would no longer be the puppet to a puppeteer, or rot within a lying semblance of kinsman. Unearthing Wilhelm’s life, everything that had been hidden from him throughout their explorations had been unleashed, leading to an honor which Wolf hadn’t the knowledge of. He had been the witness of a demolished man, and not the pillar evidence proved he’d been before. It was for that reason that Wolf kept his surname, and allowed the continuance of a loathed man’s legacy.

Eighteen, he had successfully been inducted into the Army. He felt reborn, and trained vigorously. Despite its grisly work and grueling actions, it would seem he’d been sculpted for war. He was robotic with a weapon in hand, and carried out orders as quickly as he received them. Wolf had reached the pinnacle of his life. Ribbons, medals, ranks — even his name became adorned by others. Wolf remained unattached to his escalating position, and merely focused on the duty he swore to uphold. When he received a contract from the Army to enter their Special Forces as a sniper, he accepted, and pursued a subsequent, more lethal chapter within the armed forces. His name was a known one. Novak, it turned out, had taken a place among the Special Forces for quite some time. Among them, Wolf had finally laid claim to the family he had unknowingly longed for. The Commander of his own unit, he was a piece of an unmatched brotherhood.

For years, Wolf and his elite team were unconquerable. They suffered through losses, but prevailed. They were the victors of unspoken wars, and safeguarded their country without credit. But Wolf was a sinister omen from birth, and the clock was ticking. It was a rescue mission that ended his reign — a supposed simple grab and go — that his unit had experienced more than once. They were to recover a soldier under apparent heavy fire. The claim had been false, leading to a disastrous airdrop and loss of chopper. The team was trapped in the midst of an ambush, and it swiftly turned into a futile effort as a grenade invaded the space near his comrade. He leapt toward the role of savior as a man responsible for entrusted lives would. What he found was a flash of red light, and an ephemeral god complex pursuing the dark abyss.

The accident left Wolf in extensive recovery that resulted in an honorable discharge. They told him he was fortunate to survive, sporting shrapnel and nerve damage that left him in critical condition for months. He lost feeling in the majority of the injured area, and felt deceased despite the rise and fall of his chest. Wolf shut down and reverted to the eruptive youth he’d been. He did not permit the remainder of his team to visit him in recovery, refusing them to see the failure he felt he’d become. His career — his world — had imploded. After his initial release, Wolf was sent to an Army rehabilitation facility, where his psychiatrist urged him to find somewhere quiet, somewhere without the noise.

They told him nothing heals like time; a statement which initially drew forth a sharp snort and caustic remark. Having gone off the grid post his discharge, Wolf found little reason not to vanish further. Tipped off by an old friend who’d recently come into good, albeit dirty money, he headed for New York, hoping to secure funds in which the government screwed him out of. Unable to afford further treatment or life’s necessities on his career’s felled pension, he struck a deal. For the Cartel he would be a crackshot, a deadshot, harboring the particular cold - blooded patience which constructs a sniper, a kind of violence associated with coldness, deliberateness, ruthlessness. Unlike so many of its members, Wolf was quiet, attentive, focused, and emotionally intelligent whilst being extremely capable of violence. Not cocky, showy, or quick to anger, he worked best alone, only being contacted when someone was in need of silencing. Currently entering his third year as the Cortazar Cartel’s Sicario, he’s proved to be a vital force, yet his mental synapses remain obscured and un-mended by a turbulent past.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

Brother  /  Sister  relationship.

Brother  in  arms  /  Till  the  end  of  the  line  deal.

One  night  stand(s).

Ex  ‘  lovers  ’.

Drinking  partners  /  Drinking  partners  that  only  like  each  other  while  drinking  and  hate  each  other  outside  the  bar.

Late  night  diner  buds.

Doctor  /  Psychiatrist  /  Someone  in  the  medical  field  he’s  forced  to  speak  to  as  part  of  his  ptsd  treatment  as  well  as  following  up  on  physical  ailments.

Someone  he’s  casually  sleeping  with.

Consequential  victims  of  those  he’s  assassinated  for  the  Cartel.

Those  he’s  met  whilst  enlisted,  traveling,  any  prior  connection  before  his  work  for  the  Cartel.

The  one  who  officially  got  him  involved  with  the  Cortázar  Cartel  as  mentioned  within  his  bio.  (  Johannes  ‘ Hans ’  Starke  )

[ts-unsolved]

The night we met

((i got carried away imagining this scenario, so here’s the conversation that lead to dee joining aboard the Investigation Station))

Summary: On principle, Dee tries to not let his major life choices be ruled by what happens over highly-priced drinks in crummy bars, but flying too close to the sun that was his old college rival had never been part of the equation before.  

Aka: Roman tries one last time to convince Dee to hunt ghosts with him, and he finally says yes. (Aka^2: can you believe Dee has been pining for two whole years? lmao get it together boi).

Content Warnings: Drinking, mentions of smoking, allusions to drug-dealing and generally shady/unsafe atmospheres, mild swearing, references to fights/stabbing/being killed, food descriptions/eating.

Word count: 2.4k – I am not the only traveler Who has not repaid his debt I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met –

[February, 2015. Los Angeles, CA.]

With a languid roll of his wrist, Dee swirled the peach-colored liquid around his glass for what felt like the hundredth time since he had sat down at the round rickety table. Blame it on his keen intuition for arduous conversations, but he had not managed to settle his nerves since he and his companion had entered the dim and dusty bar, and something about the location they had found themselves in was only lending itself to his growing headache.

It wasn’t a secret that Roman’s family was loaded; Dee knew this for a fact, and yet out of all of the establishments in the city they could have gone to, the man had chosen such a lowkey place for them to meet. Perhaps in his mind the discrete look of the place was appropriate for a supposedly momentous conversation, although whatever grand idea Roman had of a ‘private business discussion’ definitely didn’t match the reality of what was going on in the shady establishment, all of which spoke of illegal activities with the subtlety of a glowing neon sign. From what he had already managed to discern from a quick glance, there were hands dealing under the tables, side-glances from couples locked in suspiciously hushed exchanges, not to mention the laundering scheme this place seemed to operate as a front for, barely even camouflaged under the displeasingly unkempt storefront with furniture that looked like it dated back to the 60′s and the pervasive smell of cigarette smoke to match.

Dee suppressed a grimace as he forced his attention away from surveying the landscape of the bar and back to the man sitting opposite him. By all means, this was the exact kind of place he would choose to hang out in if he were to catch up with some of his old high school friends, and yet being here with Roman Kingsley of all people somehow made him want to reevaluate the decisions that lead him to being in this clearly cursed timeline, because there had to have been a horribly wrong turn made somewhere.

As if sensing himself being at the center of Dee’s thoughts, Roman looked up from where he had been prodding at his unusually soggy plate of nachos (“…I was hungry, though I’m not so sure I am anymore.”), and shot Dee an unguarded twist of a smile. It was the kind of expression Roman clearly wasn’t used to wearing; which was to say that it was less of his usual brand of over-compensated arrogance and more hopeful uncertainty. Dee stared blankly back, being struck with a realization as he took in the figure that was bathed under the terrible lighting of the bar:

‘Ah. One way or another, this guy is going to be the death of me.’

Surprisingly, the thought didn’t perturb him as much as it should have. Sure, being mugged and/or stabbed in the alley out back because he had willingly accompanied this walking hotspot of disaster to one of the more dangerous parts of the city wasn’t exactly ideal, but in all honestly it didn’t feel like it would be much of a surprise for him to meet his end in such a dumb and grisly way. Of course, with his baby snake waiting for him back home he was hardly looking for trouble, and especially not at the expense of somebody he didn’t even send Christmas cards to. Even so, his gut told him that dead or alive, he wouldn’t be walking out of this bar without a semblance of trouble following him; a prospect he wasn’t sure if he found exhilarating or exhausting.

And so there the situation currently was, in an uneasy limbo. With a sigh, he pushed his nagging thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment and took a sip of his drink, finding brief refuge in the sugary film that coated his mouth and the back of his throat.

Roman tracked the glass with his eyes as it was set against the table and quirked his lips in that infuriatingly smug expression only the two of them could truly pull off. “I didn’t take you for a mocktail kind of guy. Lost your edge over the years?”

Dee simply raised an eyebrow in response. It wasn’t a surprise that Roman remembered his delinquent past, what was a surprise was how this was apparently not a determining factor in eliminating Dee as a potential co-worker given the goody-two-shoes friends the other loved to hang around. “What can I say? In my wise age, I’ve learned to value substance over a cheap high. I’d have assumed you’d have shared that viewpoint given our similar tastes for the unconventional, and yet...” He gestured to the very stereotypically masculine pint that sat in front of Roman, not untouched and yet not being attended to either. Roman scowled in response, more at the menu than at him.

“Normally I’d agree with you, but despite what you think, I don’t actually have the money to drop on overcharged garbage like some kind of idiot. I mean, look: the Merlot is $50 here, Dee. $50. For Merlot. That is borderline criminal!”

For a moment, the air in the bar stilled. Dee soon realized that Roman’s voice had gotten a tad too loud and wow he really did not want to get beaten up because this pipsqueak couldn’t figure out what the exchange of dirty money looked like even when it was staring him in the face. Time to move the subject along to something less contentious, because he really did not like the way the dead-eyed look the bartender was giving them.

“Please, you only have yourself to blame for your poor judgement calls. We’re not here to have a lovely evening out though, are we? Let’s just cut to the chase already.”

Roman simmered down with a click of his tongue, pausing to pick up a tortilla chip and eat it, only to look disappointed by the lack of crunch. Nevertheless, as asked, he dropped all pretenses of small talk. 

“You read my text, then? Have you thought your decision though any more?”

There it was, the million dollar question. While he had been acting nonchalant about the matter ever since Roman had first approached him with his offer, the truth was that he had been weighing the pros and cons of this decision for days now, to no end. Remus, that absolute bastard that he was, was probably having a real laugh at his expense right now, knowing fully well the position he had put his old pal in by pointing Roman's attention his way. Perhaps a little payback on Remus’ end was warranted for their less-than-stellar parting conversation, although Dee couldn’t help his ire at his friend (ex-friend? frenemy?) for setting him up for this infuriating no-win scenario. Years ago he, young and foolish, had hoped that Roman would have dropped his inane obsession with the paranormal by college graduation, but given his current predicament it seemed he had underestimated the tenacity of Remus’ brother. Time to test the waters of that commitment, he supposed.

“About the wacky little ghost show you’ve been raving about since the dawn of time? Can’t say you’ve really sold me on it. I am a rather busy guy, you know; I can’t just drop everything for a show pitch I’m not even convinced on.”

This was a slight twist of the truth. He had been between jobs for months, a lack of inspiration and not being able to stand his bosses and coworkers being the reason he just can’t seem to stick to one place. He had long-since given up on his dream of going into show business, so for a long time he had settled on just doing what he could to maintain a living. It wasn’t a fulfilling way to live, but he was surviving, and that was all that mattered.

Nevertheless, Roman was not thrown by the negative response and instead puffed out his chest in a show of indignation. Clearly he would not be taking no for an answer without a fair fight, which likely spelled bad news for how this evening was going to go. “It’s not ‘wacky’, it’s a serious show for serious investigations! I’m really trying to prove the existence of ghosts here.”

“Right…” Dee squinted his eyes skeptically. “And you are aware that I don’t believe in ghosts, yes?”

“Obviously. Did you think I missed the three years of you being a dick about it?”

Ah, memories. Dee didn’t bother to hide his amusement at Roman’s grumbling. “My my, you’re still holding a grudge about that? Here I thought my depiction of Hamlet’s father was enough to wipe the slate clean. Didn’t it please you to see your greatest enemy play one of the spooky creatures you like so much?”

Rather delightfully, frustration gave way and the corners Roman’s eyes crinkled with the beginnings of mirth before he quickly hid the expression away by shoving another chip into his mouth. It was the kind of reaction Dee was still growing used to seeing from their back-and-forths, not quite being sure when their exchanges of teasing remarks had crossed the line into something more friendly. That said, it was certainly not an unpleasant development; in some senses, it felt rather rewarding to catch a glimpse of something less refined behind a curtain of perfectionism, much like seeing the behind-the-scenes of a broadway production. 

“Oh don’t get me wrong, you really did give an excellent performance. I can still remember act one scene five like it was yesterday. 'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark is by a forged process of my death’!” Roman dramatically reenacted the performance, hand pressed to his heart, and Dee preened under the praise.

“Why thank you. The dull lead was quite a letdown, though we certainly outdid ourselves in spite of the poor casting, didn’t we? Still, I can’t say that flattery will convince me to hunt ghosts with you or... whatever it is you were hoping for. The point still stands that it’s not exactly the sort of thing I’ve ever pictured putting on my resume.”

Roman’s smile faltered and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Without the comfort of dancing around their thoughts with friendly banter, things got uncomfortably serious a tad too quickly, it seemed. 

“I get that it’s... not ideal to you, considering how you always had high aspirations for your career, and a webshow is probably too low on the radar for your pompous-self. Heh... To be honest, I’m not sure why Remus thought you’d be a good candidate for the job,” Wow, rude. “But he did, and I’m kind of out of options here.”

Roman paused, the buzz of bar filling the silence between them as he clearly struggled to speak what was on his mind.

“Actually, the more I think about it, I can’t come up with anyone else I’d like to join more than you. You’d be a great host! You’re good at talking to crowds when you want to, you know how to improv, you’re one of the funniest people from our class, and as much as I hate to admit it, I always enjoyed acting with you on stage-”

At some point during Roman’s rant, Dee’s brain short-circuited with the words, and even as he tried to process they just kept on coming, to his absolute befuddlement.

“-And I guess I feel like you’d co- ...Hey, phantom of the opera, are you even listening to me?! I’m pretty much singing your praises here, which let me tell you, is rare for me, and you’re staring off into space! If you’re that disinterested, you should just say so.”

“Sorry. I was paying attention, I just...”

Dee scrunched his eyes shut as he tried to work through what Roman had said. Maybe it shouldn’t be such a shock to hear the compliments coming from someone he regarded as being an equal in terms of talent, yet part of him still screamed at him that it was only empty flattery to sway his decision. Sure enough, while it may be true that his cynicism had never failed him in the past, he still yearned to ignore the knee-jerk judgment and choose the better option, the one which meant that he was considered the first choice for something and his presence was wanted. Unbelievably, even to himself, he found himself tempted, if only by the warmth that came from such a thought. Perhaps if he was without the greater knowledge that he had, he would have jumped at the opportunity in a heartbeat, however the fact still remained that he was tired and worn from years of strife. At this point in his life, self-preservation was the only thing keeping him going, and so the idea of leaving the peaceful bubble he had built up itched like nothing else. But then, his thoughts drifted back to what could happen, of letting down Remus who had obviously entrusted him in this, despite everything they had gone through.

He truly must be growing soft, if he was willingly jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

(And was that so bad, to try to feel some warmth again?)

Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes to Roman’s concerned face. 

“...Alright. Perhaps flattery does get you some places. With such a compelling argument, how could I possibly say no?” He drawled, as nonchalantly as he could possibly muster.

Already flustered by his decision to agree so readily, he picked up his overly-sugary drink as a means to avoid eye-contact, though when seconds passed with no audible response, his focus still ended up being drawn to the other man for his reaction. Roman’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates and simultaneously filled with joy; despite the muddy brown of the lighting that had washed out his features into a pool of shadows, they looked as if they were sparkling.

Dee felt the wind knocked out of him at having that expression pointed towards him. It seemed like it had been so long since somebody had been brought that much happiness because of something he did. This...wasn’t a terrible feeling, he decided in that moment.

“That wasn’t sarcasm, was it? You really want to join?!” Roman just about yelled, drawing back the eyes of a few of the other patrons. Dee chuckled nervously, wondering how he could get them out of the building as swiftly as possible without causing further ruckus. If they would be working together, the last thing they needed was to get into a fist-fight, after all.

“I do. Please don’t make me regret my decision.”

In return, he was given a beaming smile, one that equally eased his uncertainties and spoke of future trouble.

“You won’t, I promise.”

[twoafflictedsouls]

" Ryuko you a bitch ! "

" Go fuck yourself Li-Liang you sack of shit fruit loop looking ass!"

" Oh god there's two of you.. "

" ..... Yeah. "

[austintexas-rp]

DESMOND MORAVEC

Age: 35

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He / Him

Neighborhood: Downtown

Occupation: Homicide Detective & Former Special Forces Marine 

Triggers: War, Violence, Death (Parental), Alcoholism, Neglect, Drugs

BIOGRAPHY

Desmond Moravec was an omen from birth, but far from a benevolent one. His mother had been Miroslava Moravec, a stunning Czech woman charmed by a Czech-American stationed in her country. His father, Alexandr Moravec, was a man forged from an extensive background in Military service. Though Desmond stole Miroslava’s life upon his birth, the death didn’t prove to be a fatal blow to Alexandr. To him, it proved an inconvenience, as the responsibility of a child lacked the necessary space in the man’s plans. Being the product of careless interaction, he was not a father’s treasure. Instead of a son, Alexandr treated Desmond as a Commander’s protege. He expected nothing less from the acquired boy but the same militarized skill-set he himself possessed. Desmond began to assume the life of a soldier before he was able to understand what life a boy should have.

With his father deployed often and no family to shelter him, Desmond spent the majority of his childhood passed between generous military families. He raised himself, battled a self-proclaimed lawless environment and challenged its particularly brutal consequences. He became a violent young boy, prone to rage and introducing himself with a legendary bloody nose. Volatile tendencies, however, didn’t get you very far in education or with a figure such as Alexandr. His insurrection was personal, and he challenged Alexandr with every breath of his being. It wasn’t until an arrest for hijacking vehicles with the wrong crowd that Desmond woke himself. It was difficult not to return to a life of delinquency when your caretaker exhumed neglect. When Alexandr was present he was often intoxicated or drugged, shielding himself from the horrors Desmond did not yet comprehend. With age came an inkling of understanding, but not forgiveness.

Alexandr Moravec was a strict man with selfish intentions, yet Desmond was determined to unlock some form of pride. Because of this, he began to excel in his studies. His brilliance was refocused and trained on subjects that could aid him instead of ail him. Desmond’s plan backfired. Alexandr was impressed — perhaps too enthralled — and became involved as he wished when he were younger. The bragging rights Desmond fought for from Alexandr were responded with a ship off to military school. Harboring a severe distaste towards authority, Desmond’s beginning was a cataclysmic revolt. He adapted to a life of grueling training, often being pushed to carry out seemingly impossible feats that drove the wedge further between he and Alexandr as the goal of prodigy was reached. Top of his class, he was accepted into West Point, yet did attended late due to unfortunate circumstance.

He attended Alexandr’s funeral. Vanquished overseas, Desmond was told the man perished as a hero. He found it difficult to fathom, when he had been privy to a villainous adversary. Aside from comrades he held no notion of, the recently graduated youth was the only one to stand before a fresh grave. Desmond found himself with little remorse, but a voluminous sense of solace. He would no longer be the puppet to a puppeteer, or rot within a lying semblance of kinsman. He uncovered Alexandr’s life. Everything that had been hidden from him throughout their explorations had been unleashed, and everything led to an honor which Desmond hadn’t the knowledge of. He had been the witness of a demolished man, and not the pillar evidence proved he’d been before. It was for that reason that Desmond kept his surname, and allowed the continuance of a loathed man’s legacy.

Eighteen, he had successfully been inducted into the Marine Core. He felt reborn, and trained vigorously. Despite its grisly work and grueling actions, it would seem he’d been sculpted for war. He was robotic with a weapon in hand, and carried out orders as quickly as he received them. Desmond had reached the pinnacle of his life. Ribbons, medals, ranks — even his name became adorned by others. Desmond remained unattached to his escalating position, and merely focused on the duty he swore to uphold. When he received a contract from the Marines to enter their Special Forces program ( also known as MARSOC ), he accepted, and pursued a subsequent, more lethal chapter within the armed forces. His name was a known one. Moravec, it turned out, had taken a place among the Special Forces for quite some time. Among them, Desmond had finally laid claim to the family he had unknowingly longed for. The Commander of his own unit, he was a piece of an unmatched brotherhood.

For years, Desmond and his elite team were unconquerable. They suffered through losses, but prevailed. They were the victors of unspoken wars, and safeguarded their country without credit. But Desmond was a sinister omen from birth, and it could not last. It was a rescue mission that ended his reign— a supposed simple grab and go— that his unit had experienced more than once. They were to recover a soldier under apparent heavy fire. The claim had been false, leading to a disastrous airdrop and loss of chopper. The team was trapped in the midst of an ambush, and it swiftly turned into a futile effort as a grenade invaded the space near his comrade. He leapt toward the role of savior as a man responsible for entrusted lives would. What he found was a flash of red light, and an ephemeral god complex pursuing the dark abyss.

The accident left Desmond in extensive recovery that resulted in an honorable discharge. They told him he was fortunate to survive, sporting shrapnel and nerve damage that left him in critical condition for months. He lost feeling in the majority of the injured area, and felt deceased despite the rise and fall of his chest. Desmond shut down and reverted to the eruptive youth he’d been. He did not allow the remainder of his team to visit him in recovery, refusing them to see the failure he felt he’d become. His career — his world — had imploded. After his initial release, Desmond was sent to an Army rehabilitation facility in Austin, Texas, and assigned a service dog to combat a barrage of ptsd. A black shepherd named Zeus, Desmond loathed the dog for being a reminder of the career he’d lost. Though he has learned to become more accepting, his emotions toward the brute are often controversial.

They told him nothing heals like time; a statement which initially drew forth a sharp snort and caustic remark. Encouraged by both his physical therapist and military psychiatrist to delve into the criminal justice department, Desmond eventually found his way into Austin’s investigative departments, working through the necessary departments until bearing the honorific of detective. Due to his extensive background and being a veteran, the newfound occupation came with ease. Though he’s worked missing persons, organized crimes, narcotics, vice, criminal intelligence, etc, homicide tends to be his preferred focus. Currently entering his second year as a detective he has proved to be a vital force, yet his mental synapses remain obscured and un-mended by a turbulent past.

PERSONALITY

( + ) Autonomous, Dauntless, Strategic

( - ) Caustic, Forbidding, Letha

[pinerboomer]

The outer worlds secrets

You will get this quest by talking to Velma Ballard at the warehouse in Stellar Bay, Monarch. She'll want to know what happened to him. The people living here are cannibals.Įdgar and his family won't let you leave alive You found a butchered corpse with an ID for Braxton Hecht in Edgar's house. You can't discern the body's identity at a glance, but it may carry some form of identification. There's a headless corpse in the third-floor room. The people living here say they don't know of anyone named Braxton Perhaps you can find him or an indication of where he might have gone next. She asked you to go to his apartment and send him back to the saltuna fishery.īraxton was making a delivery to a house south of Stellar Bay. The Secret People Objectivesīraxton hasn't shown up to work in a couple of days, so Velma's pulling extra shifts. Side Quests are optional quests that players can chose to complete in order to obtain special rewards, XP, or reputation.īraxton hasn't been to work in a few days. Loot the corpse to get Braxton Hecht’s Work ID, then grab the unique weapon Supper Time.The Secret People is one of the Side Quests in The Outer Worlds. Pick the locked door and you’ll find the corpse of Braxton on a bed. At a cursory glance it seems fairly nondescript, but you can look through a hole in the wall opposite the bed to see the hints of a fairly grisly scene. Note that there’s a lock door just opposite (southeast of) the stairs which will take you outside and two bedrooms here, one contains a bin (Lizzie will get angry if you snoop around in here, accusing you of stealing her “rocket candies”, although nothing comes of it) and the other has a journal you can read, which is an indictment on the Mather family’s declining literacy.įrom Lizzie head northwest up another flight of stairs and into a bedroom to the southeast. Pass a check for some XP, after which she’ll talk about some man from the city who delivered these “candies”, who they apparently had a falling out with. Head upstairs and turn northeast to find Lizzie Mather, who will mention some “rocket candies”. You can chat with Levi Mather and Martha Mather and they definitely seem… weird, and have an odd infatuation with your presence here, and dinner. Go through the first door and you’ll be greeted by Edgar Mather, who will kindly invite you to dinner and attempt to deflect on getting the front door opened. Enter it and note that the front door has been locked behind you, requiring a key to escape. The house you’re looking for is just southwest of the bridge that divides the western ruins and the southern ruins. He clearly expected to be back soon - another quote from the note - so you’ll probably find him in the belly of some raptidon along the way.Įxit out the southeastern gate and follow the road south, then west to reach the marked house, blasting canids and marauders as you go. Read a note on the desk to find out that Braxton was dropping off a “care package” to the Mathers, who somehow dwell in the “old runs south of Stellar Bay”. Head to the apartment complex along the southern edge of Stellar Bay and search the southeastern apartment upstairs - that’s right, the apartment of the delinquent worker is right above the crime scene in the apartment below (see The Stainless Steel Rat). The first lead in this quest is sensible enough: go check his apartment.

[twentythreemillionstories]

Tuesday 23rd March 2021, Paris, 3.50pm.

#113,065 — A delinquent on the run meets an innocent, honest girl, and because of her he wants to stop being a criminal, and become an honest, hard-working citizen, and start a family. The anatomy of the grisly crime followed the same manic path. He accepts it.

[randomnessunicorn-imagine]

UT and UF sans and US and SF Paps with an s/o that is a detective? They investigate crime scenes, grisly or otherwise, and bring killers to justice. But at home, they are shy, easily flustered, and a total sweetheart. Sorry, was reading Sherlock Holmes and this popped up in my head.

{ SherlockHolmes is really cool, it has been one of the first books I have read, it mademe love reading ~ }

✧ Sansy ✧

“Elementary,Doctor Watson”~

He is the onewho wants to investigate with you to the scene of the crime, but then heremembers he is too lazy, so he gives up and let you alone doing your job. Heis captivated by your intelligence, since it is a job not anyone could do becauseit requires logical abilities, courage and a lot of determination, all the qualitiesyou have.

Actually, he isso proud of you –even if he doesn’t say anything about it-, because you areprotecting people, bringing criminals to laws. Something he did in theUnderground, in different ways but he has never tolerated injustices. Maybe,sometime, he is worried because nobody knows what could happen and what kind ofcriminals you will find so, if you need some help he will be here for you (hehopes you can do it by yourself anyway).

In that case, beprepared to a lot of detective’s puns, and maybe some Sherlock’s quotes becausehe is also a fan of the BBC’s series and he has read all the books of Arthur ConanDoyle.

✶ Reddy ✶

The first timeyou confessed to him you were a detective as profession, he laughed in front ofyour face because he thought it was a joke, and you have seen so many animelike Detective Conan or too many episodes of Scooby Doo (yeah, he has to makefun of you in any way possible). Then, you have explained to him that youactually fight the delinquency because you have a justice’s soul and you couldnot leaving the criminals unpunished. In that moment, he freaked out because heunderstood the gravity of the situation. That was a big deal and he started toworry so much because his mission is to protect you and it will be moredifficult if you have a dangerous job like this. In addition, you are a cuteand sweet person, he could never imagine you in those habits (he has never seenyou at work; he does not know you change drastically there, but you are justprofessional).

He will followyou hidden by the shadows while you are working because he doesn’t want toreceive any call from your boss saying you were dead on a operation or killedby some bad fella. Then, he sees how prepared and brave you are, understandingyou can deal alone the job –no, he will keep seeing you from the dark becausehe is too anxious-. Maybe you will figure his behaviour out alone- you are adetective, after all-.

☼ Stretch ☼

Papyrus finds itso funny but, at the same time, he is worried even if he never shows it.

He often asksyou to dress like a detective; he buys to you the same Sherlock’s dresses: thepipe (but the one that blows soap bubbles), the hat and the mantel. You are socute that he can’t stop to awww~

He says you arethe sweetest and kindest version of Holmes (considering the weird personalityof the character), so he calls himself Doctor Papyrus. You have to say “Elementary,Doctor Pap ~” (you must use the pet name because you are the cutest version ofSherlock, so everything has to be lovelier ~).

He does allthese things for minimizing the tension, your job is still dangerous and he preferskeep his cool up.

✤ Rus ✤

You enjoy somuch to make him worry, isn’t it true?

Papyrus is themost anxious of the anxiety club here. He will become your personal watchdog. Thecriminals will run away after seeing his threatening gaze. When you have troubleto track some delinquent down, Papyrus, hidden by the mysterious shadows, willcatch the said criminal for you. You don’t have any idea of what is happenedto them and Papyrus will shake his shoulders smoking a cigarette.

He thinks yourjob is honourable and all, but he is still preoccupied about your safety evenif you are a professional.

[ofnailbatsandaxefives]

any thoughts on possible parallels between the occupation of that room to not be taken by jaha and the occupation of the level in mount weather? Like, are there parallels? because it reminded me of that, jasper once again filling out some kind of leadership role, trying not to be taken, etc- (this whole season mirrors season 2 in all kinds of ways, i think)

yep, nonster, there are definite parallels. Of course the goals/reasons for the rooms are different

First the one thing they both have in common is that Jasper is sort of the ringleader of the group.

Then we have the purposes of the occupations

In S2 the delinquents occupy the level in Mt. Weather, barricading themselves in the room, to keep the Mt. Weather guards from coming in. Their doing so here is in an attempt to stay alive. The guards on the other side of the door are looking to get in in order to take them down to be drilled into, and ultimately to their deaths.

In 4x09 the delinquents (plus Riley and maybe some other young people) have sealed themselves in the room to keep Jaha and the guards from coming in because they don’t want to survive. At first Jaha wants to go in by blowing the door aka using force, the same way that the guards used force to get into the room in Mt. Weather. Of course he wants to get in to save the people inside, and not kill them. 

Then, we have the preparedness of the delinquents

In S2 they’re barricading the doors, finding anything and everything they can to use as a weapon, taking out cameras, filling water for the smoke bombs, etc… 

In 4x09 we have Monty telling Jaha what Jasper’s plan was with the smoke canister bomb things back in Mt. Weather, and that Jasper would be ready for that. We also have Jasper with Harper’s gun, though I’m not entirely sure Jasper would have used it on any of the guards if they would have come in.

Now here is where the parallels truly diverge

In S2 the Mt. Weather guards take the door down and enter the room. Here they are met with a pretty grisly demise, seriously that scene is fucking intense. 

In 4x09 Jaha and the guards stand down, leaving the delinquents to their choice.

So, nonster, in short

S2 - The Occupation of the Level in Mt. Weather is about the delinquents barricading themselves inside in order to stay alive, while the people on the outside try to get in in order to sacrifice them for their own good.

S4 - The Sealed Room in Arkadia is about the delinquents sealing themselves inside in order to stay behind and die on their own terms rather than go to the bunker, while the people on the outside are trying to get in to save them.

S2 - Is about survival

S4 - is about having a sense of agency 

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Banned Horror Comics Rise from the Dead

Four Color Fear: Forgotten Horror Comics of the 1950s (all images courtesy of Fantagraphics Books)

The charges that Fredric Wertham made in 1954’s Seduction of the Innocent: The Influence of Comic Books on Today’s Youth — that a relationship existed between comics reading and “violent forms of juvenile delinquency” — didn’t materialize out of thin air. The oft-vilified German-born American psychiatrist gets a lot of credit for a censorship campaign that had legs long before his articles and book were pinned to it. Critics and clergymen were blasting all kinds of comics as “objectionable” for years, singling out depictions of gun violence, gore, and a broad range of fare they deemed offensive. Church bulletins and hyperbolic magazine features laid the groundwork for a national panic over comics, but the war on the medium gained steam in postwar America, just as some comics became increasingly violent and grim.

“The debate over comic books hopped from the back of the newspaper to the front, section by section — from the book reviews and religious columns to the ‘women’s’ department to the hard-news pages,” writes David Hadju in The Ten-Cent Plague: The Great Comic-Book Scare and How It Changed America. Ordinances criminalized newsstand comics sales in the late 1940s in Ohio, Pennsylvania, and more. “Comic Books Banned in Detroit as ‘Corrupting'” blared a headline in The Washington Post in 1948, when somewhere between 80 and 100 million comics were being sold monthly.

Wertham scored a seat before the Senate Subcommittee Hearings into Juvenile Delinquency in April 1954. When governmental regulation loomed, the self-regulatory Comics Code Authority emerged that fall. A problematic and sweeping set of vanilla rules instituted to police comics’ subject matter and art, the Code sank publishers and killed off the kind of crime and horror books for which readers crowded newsstands. Hadju reports that by the early “pre-Code” 1950s, horror comics in particular had grown “ever more gruesome and lurid.” And they were everywhere.

“By the end of 1952,” he writes, “nearly one-third of all the comics on the newsstands were devoted to the macabre.”

From Four Color Fear: Forgotten Horror Comics of the 1950s

Swamp creatures and animated but still-rotting corpses swarm the 40 stories collected in the new edition of Four Color Fear: Forgotten Horror Comics of the 1950s, a survey of grisly pre-Code comics that hasn’t been in circulation since 2011. While reprints of the prestigious and oft-imitated EC Comics titles over the years have cemented a sterling reputation for series like Tales from the Crypt, scholars Greg Sadowski and John Benson mine less-well-known ten-cent anthologies like Black Magic, Weird Adventures, and more, heralding a time when cheap four-color printing processes meant that an easily reproducible palette would be manufactured from hand-separated colors. These comics feel like dessert, and they should. Benson, an EC aficionado with his own fanzine to prove it, suggests we make-believe we’re adolescents of the era, “reading these stories slowly to savor every chilling moment.”

Yarns excerpted from Beware Terror Tales and others will read like nonsense to most folk. Their smudgy aesthetic will confound today’s devotees of Marvel’s digitally polished relaunches, too, while racist caricatures like the brown-skinned people and Haitian “voodoo” in 1952’s “Drum of Doom” haven’t aged well, either. But for every predictable zombie plot, there is a hallucinatory murder mystery like “Colorama,” penciled by artist Bob Powell in 1953.

Authored by Harvey Comics editor and admitted EC fan Sid Jacobson (who reportedly directed Chamber of Chills artist Howard Nostrand to just “copy” the work of EC’s illustrators), “Colorama” has Powell playing generously with perspective and color. The direction is clever for a disorienting first-person narrative about a colorblind killer, in which the cosmic swirls representing his protagonist’s blurred vision bump up against Powell’s realist urban backdrops and assured landscape drawing. Elsewhere, MAD cartoonist Basil Wolverton, whose absurdist productions had a clear impact on underground comix artists, crafts nasty bald-headed gargoyles for Weird Tales of the Future, their leathery olive-green skin flecked with innumerable short dashes that lend a convincing illusion of ripples of movement.

From Four Color Fear: Forgotten Horror Comics of the 1950s

Ludicrous storylines aside, Four Color Fear‘s selection and archival research add critical context to a fascinating age for comics in North America. Benson’s insights reveal that the book’s frequent nondescript Iger Studio credit (an outfit founded by Will Eisner and Samuel “Jerry” Iger) likely refers to the sole work of an editorial powerhouse named Ruth Roche, who cranked out horror scripts and lots more for the publisher. Roche’s framework subsequently went to pencilers and inkers like New Jersey–born artist Jay Disbrow.

In an interview with publisher Craig Yoe that prefaces Jay Disbrow’s Monster Invasion, Disbrow connects his comics career to a consumption of Sunday supplements as a kid and remembers tiring of commuting from Asbury Park into Manhattan for inking and penciling gigs at Iger in his 20s. After a year, Disbrow traded up for freelance assignments as a writer, artist, inker, and letterer of horror and romance for Star Publications editor Leonard “L.B.” Cole. Jay Disbrow’s Monster Invasion culls mostly from this pre-Code horror work, specifically the creature-centric stories he did for supernatural- and suspense-themed anthologies Ghostly Weird Stories, Blue Bolt Weird Tales of Terror, and more.

“Cole wanted ghost stories,” explains Disbrow of his Star comics tenure. “I said to him, ‘That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. What we oughta be doing is monster stories!'”

Jay Disbrow’s Monster Invasion images( © 2017 Gussoni-Yoe Studio, Inc.)

There’s no supplementary material aside from the interview here, and unforgivable book design decisions give way to tacky fonts and fake blood splotches in the margins. But Jay Disbrow’s Monster Invasion adds weight to the legacy of an artist best known for “jungle comics,” science fiction such as The Flames of Gyro, and the gorgeous, full-color “syndicate-type” webcomic called Aroc of Zenith that he started in his 70s.

Like a lot of Golden Age creators, Disbrow could’ve used a watchful editor. Loads of copy swallows up word balloons and captions, and lines and lines of the artist’s hand-lettered text are given little room for legibility. His figure drawing needed practice, too. The often wooden movements and overlong, flat-looking limbs rendered his humans even less likely to succeed in battle with the monsters he loved to draw. But the inventive layouts, sinister terror, and wealth of beasts here are things of beauty.

Jay Disbrow’s Monster Invasion images (© 2017 Gussoni-Yoe Studio, Inc.)

Panels dart inward at strange angles in “A Stony Death,” allowing for worming gutters and the provocative inclusion of an odd center panel. “The Ghoul of the North,” like every creature here, is enormous amid puny mortals. Giant fanged ogres from “the bowels of the earth” terrorize a novelist in “The Insider,” while a red-eyed specter towers over his prey in “The Unknown Presence.” Cinematic shadows blanket caverns and crime scenes, and action bursts out from under audacious type in title-page headers as graphic design and vintage movie posters figure into these pages as frequently as Alex Raymond’s Flash Gordon strips do. Disbrow’s action sequences are explosive, with hulking abominations reaching out from the back corner of a panel toward a helpless character in the foreground. All of your pre-Code goods are here: blood and guns and tentacles and stranglings and hell demons.

And then … nothing.

Fredric Wertham took aim at Star’s Spook and more in his book, and the company shuttered shortly after the Senate Subcommittee hearings on comics. In Disbrow’s talk with Yoe, he recalls the “comic book crash of 1954,” owing to the good Christians who gathered around bonfires to torch comics in Wisconsin and New York, and the tarring of publishers as Communists and smut peddlers. Although University of Illinois professor Carol Tilley would find that Wertham’s “research” relied on omissions and manipulated data, the campaign to censor comics took a terrible toll on the industry. Awash in publicity, the hearings and resulting Comics Code effectively crippled then-thriving studios. Publishers killed titles deemed disagreeable and sent their staff home. There were other factors, but suddenly, hundreds of comics professionals in the late 1950s would never work in the medium again.

“Unlike their rough counterparts in the Red Scare, the artists and writers caught up in the comic-book controversy were never charged with espionage, treason, contempt of Congress or court, or obstruction of justice,” writes Hadju in The Ten-Cent Plague. “What they did was tell outrageous stories in cartoon pictures, a fact that makes their struggle and their downfall all the more strange and sad.”

Four Color Fear: Forgotten Horror Comics of the 1950s is available from by Fantagraphics Books. Jay Disbrow’s Monster Invasion is available from Yoe Books.

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