#and all the unseen comic stuff

[hollysoda]

So obsessed with all the lu discord exclusive stuff Jojo released earlier. I will be thinking about it very hard and digesting it in my mind for many weeks

[loremonster]

Ah hello indecision my old friend

[comicaurora]

i think pacing is THE literary tool that most directly proves that you write good when you've been writting a lot. pacing is a feel, you can and def should read stuff about pacing, but you simply can't develop the muscles for it without hitting the gym.

so uhh, when did you start feeling good about how you've handled pacing in previous works and current one? was there a moment? i feel stuck, and discipline tells me to keep on trucking but its demotivating. sorry for long question aaa

Conveniently it was during the process of making the comic, because I absolutely did not have it down before I started. I had a moment of clarity sometime around chapter 3 that all my artistic practice for the comic had done nothing to prepare me for the invisible substrate of visual storytelling: pacing. Splash panels and big dramatic establishing shots are much more common in those early chapters because I hadn't processed how to fully utilize the space on the page. I had to do some backend reworking of the general timeline as I realized that any amount of narrative backtracking would grind the story to a halt AND take me way too much time to make. I realized I had a lot of unconnected filler in my initial plan that kind of just kicked the plot into little zero-consequence cul-de-sacs that didn't move anything forward, so I began to prioritize story beats that advanced at least one of either the plot or a character arc - I didn't want to fall into the trap of making absolutely everything tie into one singular grand evil plan or not have any room for broader worldbuilding, so I allowed for some outside-context antagonists and threats as long as they let me reveal new things about the main characters. It gave me a feel for what constituted forward motion or broad expansion of the story.

Somewhere along the way - I think maybe around chapter 9? - I gave myself a rule of thumb that every page needed at least one new thing on it. That "thing" could be a piece of new information, a turn of events in the story, a reveal of something previously unseen, a character making a decision - it's not a hard definition by any means, but it helped me stay on track. It also helped balance the two completely disparate pacings I need to account for, namely how the story is paced when you read the archive through vs how the story is paced when you read it as it updates three times a week. "One thing per page" means the people reading it as it updates always get something new to chew on.

When I bit the bullet and started this story, I was as prepared as I could've been for someone who'd never made a longform comic before, but that meant I was completely lacking in experience with the unique and invisible elements of comic storytelling, of which pacing is the most foundational. It's ok if you don't think you're good at it yet; it's impossible to get good at it before you begin. Starting the story is the hardest part.

[non-plutonian-druid]

look guys i actually did some spirit designs

[ID: the Hargreeves' spirits in the Paranatural au - or at least, the five of them that are kids in this au.

Luther's is an ape that looks like his body from the comics. Diego's is a creature that looks a bit like a small porcupine. Allison's is a large snake with its mouth duct taped shut. Klaus' is a blue raccoon with three eyes and a pink tail, and Viktor's is based off of the White Violin from the comics, except its head transforms into reaching arms. End ID.]

sorry, the ID got REALLY long this time. that's a summary for anyone scrolling, theres a more detailed one under the cut!

[ID: Luther's spirit is labelled First Simian In Space: THE MARTIAN APE. He looks like the ape that supplied Luther's body in the comics, drawn in the paranatural style; blue, with one eye. He is wearing an astronaut helmet and sitting in a coin operated rocket ship that is much too small for it. He has transformed the world around him into a scifi martian landscape; cardboard standups with doors and lockers scribbled on them are the only indication of the real world. Luther is sprawled on the ground staring in shock, while the Martian Ape says "Y'know, you should totally just kill your dad".

Diego's spirit is a very small creature that looks a bit like a porcupine.

Panel 1: Diego holds his spirit in his hands and says, "So, what's your name?". His spirit responds "I am called..."

Panel 2: A caption appears; Projectile Extraordinaire: KRAKEN. The image is in full color, focusing on Kraken, which glowers cutely and shows off her spines.

Panel 3: The same shot as panel one, except Diego now looks very skeptical. He says "..." and then "Why." Kraken responds "It sounded cool."

Allison's spirit is a giant green snake coiled around a tree branch, with a pattern down his back that looks like open mouths.

The first two images are centered on Allison, who is scowling in both. Someone unseen says "It can force people to do things, honey!" and "It's too dangerous to leave you alone with it." and finally, "So we fixed it."

The final image is of the spirit. He is captioned Muzzled Mind Controller: THE RUMOR. His mouth has been duct taped shut. He does not look pleased.

Klaus' spirit is a blue raccoon with dark purple legs and a fluffy striped pink tail. It also has three eyes.

Panel 1: The large colored closeup of Klaus' spirit. It is captioned Mystical Conartist: THE SEANCE.

Panel 2: Klaus asks it "With a name like that, what's your power?" The Seance, its nose just high enough to fit into frame, replies, "Oh, I can sense ghosts"

Panel 3: Klaus looks supremely unimpressed. In the background, a ghost says "Hi" to Allison and Luther, and they say "Oh, hey" back.

Panel 4: Klaus asks, "Seriously?"

Panel 5: The Seance, viewed from above, says "Hey, I can sense them even when they're not visible! Like behind walls and stuff!"

Panel 6: The Seance adds "Also I can float." It is demonstrating, floating about eye level with Klaus and emitting a cloud of cyan spectral energy as it does so. Klaus looks more pleased with this and says "Okay, that one's pretty good."

Viktor's spirit is a Wight, a spirit so warped by rage and pain that it has permanently been changed, its spectral energy has become white, and has gained massive, devastating power. It looks a lot like the design of the White Violin in the comics, but it manifests too many or too few arms from where its head should be.

There are three images of it. In the first, it is kneeling. It has manifested six arms in varying degrees of completeness, and all of them look sad.

In the second, the matter of its head has split into many small pieces that almost look like parts of mouths, save for two clawing hands. It screams, in the Wight spirit language from Paranatural, WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME.

In the third, the largest, its knees buckle as it stands and manifests one reaching hand. It is captioned Violent White: THE WHITE VIOLIN. End ID]

[therobotmonster]

So many kid's toys these days just. Arn't fun. They're designed to be COLLECTED rather than PLAYED with. Everything is a fucking blindbag. Materials are flimsy and cheap and designs don't hold up to an actual child throwing them around. And it's all so EXPENSIVE, even accounting for inflation.

To expand on my thoughts here, I'm unrolling a Twitter thread I made about this trend. (with some additions)

The Big H's handling of mainline figs is... distressing, of late. Very little push for show mains, oversupport of already saturated legacy characters, and some frankly unsettling engineering and materials choices (esp in Cyberverse).

Increase in overall fragility, thinner parts, styrene-on-styrene joints that will go floppy in a few months of light play, very little "clicks" or locks solidly... the passion is clearly in the collector's end, and that's just bass ackwards.

This repugnus would have been amazing triumph from Mego in 1970s. But for a mainline big H TF line in the 2020s? This is a backslide. And before anyone brings up that it's from the kids' line, that's the point. They're KIDS, they should get MORE care and effort in their merch.

Every toy you make might be a kid's only birthday gift or holiday present. Toys are /given/ to children, and if the work is subpar, you make a chump out of grandma. You won't be there to blame if it breaks or disappoints.

It seriously drives me nuts seeing how far the stuff-for-kids industries have fallen. There's no brands without the work, but as the poet DMX said: "these cats done forgot what work is."

All your blockbuster superhero empires start in the pulp gutters. Compared to the movies toys, games and comics will never be profitable ENOUGH to be worth it on a billion-dollar scale ledger.

"Give me mighty oaks! There's no profit in acorns!"

If you want the stuff that makes the Michael Bay blockbuster, you have to start with the stupid goofy cartoon no one had seen before where anxiety over the oil crisis was acted out by robotic Punch and Judy puppets. How many studios would greenlight TMNT or TF sight unseen today?

If you make toys and cartoons and video games, your job is to make kids happy. How is that not sacred? If anything is sacred it should be that.

Art is the act of evoking emotion, and fun is an emotion (what else could it be described as?) and it is SO IMPORTANT.

I fear that gets lost in the "what to do over next?" rush. Every artist at those companies has a dozen amazing ideas in their back pocket that won't get a chance to become the next Transformers because a studio is terrified they'll make Jayce and the Wheeled Warriors instead.

Since the world is run by Captain Planet villains, I wouldn't bat an eye if we found out venture capital was a ploy by some disgruntled warlock who just hates the goddamn Care Bears.

Just some dick at Bear Sterns singing "There's no room for joy on a spreadsheet" to a weaselly sidekick.

Cuz guys, we've got companies that make GAMES for CHILDREN hiring the Pinkertons. I repeat. Games. For. Children. That's not normal. That's not a normal thing. That is a very disturbing thing.

And its hard to even discuss without sounding like a frickin' Care Bear myself. Because how do you sum up the creeping dread that the support beams are being mined thin, and everything fun for kids will go the way of Toys-R-Us, dragged down like Artax.

I'm not advocating pure altruism here. There's plenty of money to be made giving kids an awesome experience. It's investing in future fandom. Real Brand loyalty. If you want the blockbuster 15 years from now, get them hooked on the fun cartoon now. The value-add always pays off.

For every Transformers or He-Man there's going to be several Robotix-es or Power Lords. That's a risk. A risk worth taking. New ideas should be easier and cheaper to bring to fruition now than ever. But the system won't let it happen.

[normal-internet-user]

Friendling!!! First off, *offers bouquet* and secondly, my (redacted) was PANICKINGGGGGG but then I got a hold of myself and that's why I'm here now.

I had the Saddest Thoughts™ about the Disaster Triplets, yeah? I had the fluff/crack train going!! I promise I did but then while we were running through the meadows of peace Angst clotheslined me and choke-slammed me into the soil.

Here's what they left me with! Remember when Shelldon essentially got destroyed? Around the end of S2, I believe; noted, I haven't watched S2 but I've seen clips plus some tidbits and stuff through here and I've come to the knowledge that Shelldon did indeed get ... well, deconstructed. 😔

And this is also very much inspired by a TikTok I came across a while ago!! To cut clear, it was a comic strip/fanart video of Donnie's reaction to his brothers breaking the news to him. Of how Shelldon got caught in the crossfire and... didn't make it. :(((

Broke my heart, truly it did. But then I scrolled through the comments and one mentioned how angsty it would be if Donnie found out that Leo's the one who told Shelly to protect Karai (?? I think! Like I said, haven't watched it 😅)

And. It had me thinking.

Angst scenario. So, so angsty. Much hurt. The boys break the news to Donnie. Donnie, of course, devastated. Probably goes into denial for a bit until the evidence is presented right in front of him. But then, Donnie finds out that Leo's the one who told Shelldon to stay behind. (THIS BROKE MY HEART TOOO LIKE MY POOR BLUEBERRY HE DIDN'T KNAUR)

Can you imagine how Donnie would feel? How utterly heartbroken, nay, betrayed he'd probably feel? The heartbreak would be shattering. Then, past the shock, the anger would filter through.

Donnie and Leo are twins. In this case scenario, Donnie and Leo and you are triplets. You're the one who'd be closer to Donnie, hands up in a placating gesture despite feeling extremely delicate yourself. You were so sorry. You were so, so sorry Donnie.

It's okay. It'll all be okay. Just, just don't —

You're probably the one to separate your twins from each other. I can't figure out how Donnie would react precisely; whether he'd become violent or turn terrifyingly cold. Would Leo approach his brother, feeling a rush of emotions just as strongly upfront and reaches forward for both, repentance and reassurance? Or would he shrink back under Donnie's gaze, shoulders hunched over to protect himself from forces unseen, his own realization catching up to him. It was... his fault? Him? No.. no, no it couldn't be. Shelldon was like a son to Donnie — practically was his son. And Leo had...

I don't know how they'd completely react, but I do have an idea of how Reader would. Or rather, completely my headcanon ping-pong tournament. 🤩

I know you'd be caught in the middle. (Someone said Donnie wouldn't talk to Leo for months and it was my 13th reason, basically-) You'd feel so strung between your brothers. Caught between placating Donnie, who becomes even more withdrawn and has an edge to himself that he never did before.

Leo? Leo's... terrified. Leo's so, so sad. Leo's depressed and he doesn't know how to cope and he wishes things didn't happen the way they did but it did and he just wants his brother back. He's still the face man, and his coping skills are still crap. But he's not making as many jokes, his smile is glass, his eyebags are horrendous underneath his mask, which is streaked and stained with tears he cried in the privacy of his room. You should know. You'd walked in multiple times.

The first couple of times, you'd left at his beckoning. The next, you strode right in and pulled him into your arms. He didn't say much outside of a territorial growl and chirrup (an insult to you, really) embracing his animalistic nature for a spell and pushed at your shoulders. But then you wrenched him back and straight up snarled in his face, snout-to-snout, and he broke.

He fully expected you to storm out, maybe spit in his face (get this man some therapy pls), treat him with the hatred he believed he deserved. You called him a dumb-dumb, tone biting in the quiet of the night, and crushed him against you in a hug that washed over him entirely.

He'd begged you not to hate him too in the shelter of your neck. He clung to you, shaking, apologies spilling out from the depths of his broken heart, whimpers and chirps and words slurring together.

You were a rock. Leo's used to you being so soft and warm, and over the time he had pushed you away, you grew cold. He'd misread the situation entirely (you had never left him, you were just waiting.) You didn't hate him, he comes to realize. It's a salve to his entire being. You nuzzle his shoulder, pet down his head and shell, press small caring kisses to his temple, assuring him that the bond between you all could never be broken. The world's big. This family is bigger. The love between you all transcends dimensions. It may seem small and suffocating right now, but it will all turn out to be okay.

And you weren't going anywhere. This is another obstacle- like the skate ramps when they first started out! It seemed big and scary then, hm? But then they conquered it, and now it's his favorite thing in the world. It's one of their favorite things in the entire world.

This is just another obstacle, you murmur as you press your forehead to his. Something you always do to calm either of your siblings down. Leo clung to you as you both settled and cuddled in his bed, and you held him close. Your brother. The color purple flashed through either of you guy's minds, and while it was an obstacle to overcome, you knew you'd all conquer it.

This wasn't like skateboarding at all — but the blueprint wasn't too far off. It'd just take time. This was a very delicate situation, and that's how you would handle it.

You squeeze Leo closer, let him cry it all out until he falls asleep. You'd get through this. Through the winding obstacle of thorns, you'd all get through this. But it was okay to not be okay, and you all were not okay right now.

One thing was for damn sure, and that was that you wouldn't give up on your family.

(The happy part of this is that once all's said and done, Donnie of course rebuilds him in the future because I said so and emailed so and texted so. I'm so spoiled by the au's and fanart on here of amazing artists and such giving Shelldon and Don-Bon their happy ending!! Also. Son™.)

You have RUINED me but I have been plauged by the thoughts... the thoughts...

CONFLICT

◇~~◇~~◇~~◇~~◇

Summary: Being stuck in the middle of a conflict is never easy. Especially when it's family. Especially when it's your twins.

Warnings: Angsty angsty angsty

Requested:

GN Reader!

....................................

How had things ended up this way? Your home was destroyed, your family was in shambles, and the relationship you held so tightly between you and your brothers was crumbling too fast to fix.

"That's not funny." Donnie had deadpanned when he'd first heard the news of Shelldon, "That is not a funny joke in any capacity."

"It's not a joke, Dee." You muttered, easing your hand onto his shoulder, "Shelly's... he's gone.. He's gone."

"That's not... it can't be.."

"Donnie..."

"He was supposed to be out of the way! How is he- He was out of the way!" Donnie shouts, his entire body tenses with an emotion he doesn't know how to express in the moment.

Leo however, seems to making himself smaller and smaller with every word from his brothers mouth, and the ever observant eyes of Donatello notice.

"Leonardo, what. did. you. do?" He asks lowly, shoving you away and stomping closer to Leo, glaring daggers.

"I told him to protect Gram-Gram. I didn't think he'd.. I didn't think this would happen!" Leo defends, trying to back away from Donnie, not daring to look his brother in the eyes.

"You... Shelldon..." Donnie seemed unable to put his thoughts into words, he balled his hands into fists, and you quickly stepped forward to put yourself between them.

"Donnie..." Leo started but Donnie shoved him away, causing Leo to fall back onto the ground.

"No, shut up, Leo! You... you .. Stay away from me! Don't you dare-" Donnie snarls, and you move to stand infront of him, your heart was pumping and tears pricked at your eyes.

"Donnie... please calm down.." you begged.

"Don't." Donnie mumbles, slowly backing up, "Don't." Then he ran off to some unknown hideaway, Mikey went to charge after him, but Raph caught his arm.

"Give him a minute. He'll... he'll come around." He muttered.

God if only he'd been right.

The hours turned to days, the days to weeks, and the weeks to months.

It was tearing you apart having to play the middle man, Donnie refused to even look at Leo, and Leo was heartbroken.

He never said so. But you could tell.

It felt like a thick fog was filling your lungs ans suffocating you slowly, you missed how close the three of you were.

You were triplets, the dynamic trio, the three musketeers- now it felt more like you were strangers, and you didn't know what to do.

The guilt was eating away at Leo, and Donnie spent most of his time cooped up and refusing to speak to anyone.

You quietly entered Leo's room, and he glanced up at you, but looked away quickly. At least he didn't tell you to go away..

You sat next to him, and he leaned over so his head was resting on your shoulder. Nothing was said, but no words were needed.

He just needed someone there so he wasn't alone, but you both knew he'd never ask for help. He didn't need too. You knew.

You rested your head atop his, the two of you sitting in silent comfort with the other. Time.

Fixing this was going to take so much time. But you were willing to take the time to fix it. You needed too...

....................................

Part two...? 👀 Maybe. Most likely. Hehehehe

I literally read this at like 2am last night and passed out right after. THE THOUGHTS PLAUGED MY DREAMS.

[if-lost-please-return-to-maliksi]

Disclaimer: I do not own Emilio(hunter). Full Credit goes to HC -@ask-emilz-de-philz. Please check out their blog for amazing art and the wonderful world of Planet Puto. All involved characters are adults.

Genre: Supernatural, Fluff, Comedy?, Crackfic/ Fic on Crack HAHAHAHHA

WC: 2K

Nothing.

The single word that sums up everything you remembered the moment you woke up in this unfamiliar mansion.

The living room was grand and has numerous framed pictures and certificates hanging on the wall. The furniture was covered and everything seemed unused for some time, except for the library- it's well maintained as if someone took the time and effort to clean it once in a while and make sure the books are properly stored and aren't being damaged.

You were already dead.

How did you know?

Well aside from the fact that it took you days of concentration and sheer will to just hold a single book and turn the pages since everything seems to just pass through you- your lack of hunger, pain, and any other stuff a breathing and living creature needs is very apparent.

You tried going out of the mansion but it seems like you're trapped and is being bound to the place by an unseen force. Is this it? Is this the place you're supposed to haunt forever? You wondered.

What are you even supposed to haunt this place for when you can't even remember a thing? Wouldn't it be awkward to just murmur "Hustisyaaaaaaa-" like the ghosts you read about on the comic books you found on the library? What will you be asking justice for? What if you just died of natural causes? That will be very embarrassing.

You've taken a liking to comics since the pages are much lighter than the normal books and you've gotten used to concentrating enough to turn the pages easily. You usually spent a lot of time reading to your heart's content at the library, wondering if you had the same experiences as the characters when you were still alive.

Your quiet days of being alone only lasted for almost a month when a dark and tall man came with lots of weird tools and what seemed to be weapons. He must be the owner of this mansion. You quickly hid out of instinct before realizing that you're a ghost and he will not see you either way.

The guy was quirky, funny at most on how the first thing he did after getting home was check the library. So this guy is the one keeping all the books clean and in order.

You watched all of his moves- how he checked each shelf as you slowly got nervous when he almost reached the comic book section since it might just be a little disheveled because it takes a lot of concentration from you to move stuff.

Unlike how he looked around on the other shelves, he just took a very brief glance at the comic book section before smiling to himself and walking away while humming some lively tune.

It took him the whole day to tidy up his stuff from wherever he came from and it was almost sundown when he finished. He disappeared into the master's bedroom as you heard the water running from his bathroom. You kept yourself from following him since it felt wrong to violate his privacy in his own home so you just went back to the library to continue reading, making sure to turn the pages as quietly as you can so as to not scare the man.

After a few hours, you can hear strange sounds coming from the living room. You slowly went down to check what it was and found the man slumped on the couch, eating while watching TV. Television. Just like the thing you saw in the comic! You hesitantly walked towards the couch and sat down at the far opposite end to watch what seemed to be some kind of horror movie.

The moment Emilio set foot in his mansion, he saw you right away, hiding behind the furniture- he found it funny. It's not like normal humans will see you, but he's no normal human. He's got this gift ever since he was still a child. The ability to see what the naked eye doesn't. It's not just ghosts, but also other elements and creatures that the others thought were just fragments of the imagination and the mind.

He can see you following him around like a curious child. The first thing he checked was his library where he keeps many of his work's documentation and research. He also noticed the slight mess out of his comic book collections, knowing it was probably you trying to practice moving stuff.

He made sure you wouldn't notice that he could see you so he could continue observing your funny and un-ghost-like antics.

The way it took all of his self-control not to giggle as you politely sat down on the opposite end of the couch to watch TV with him- it was so cute and adorable and the way you looked so invested in the movie made him feel like not wanting to turn it off.

He was tired after being away for a month and he's definitely falling asleep already. Emilio switched into a laying position on the couch, making sure his movements were slow as to not startle you who is currently deeply engrossed in what you are watching.

After the movie ends, you look towards Emilio only to see him fast asleep. Just how oblivious is this human to fall comfortably asleep with a ghost beside him? You softly chuckled to yourself as you politely turned the TV off so as to not have his electricity bill go overboard before slowly retreating to your usual spot at the library.

This encounter has become a cycle- Emilio stays for a couple of days, just relaxing, reading stuff, and tinkering with some small trinkets before leaving again and being gone for weeks.

You've been so used to him that you start to worry when he's gone for longer than usual. Watching TV beside him on the couch has been an activity you look forward to. Upon observing him for months, you finally learned that he is some sort of a hunter- whatever he hunts is something you still don't know though.

Through time, you've also developed more and more control and focus, making touching stuff easier and more natural at this point that you sometimes accidentally knock stuff over. Emilio doesn't seem to freak out or be scared though.

The only thing that's bothering Emilio is the fact that keeping a straight face around you is so hard. He doesn't want you to know that he can see you- but the way you pick up the stuff you knocked over and return it to where it's supposed to be- innocently at that, is just way too funny. You also had the habit of imitating funny faces and even funny dances you see on the tv.

At some point, you ran out of books to read at the library, thanks to the fact that ghosts don't need sleep, so you started following Emilio around whenever he was at home. You find it amusing to watch him study and do errands around the mansion, no matter how simple it is such as repairing some old furniture.

Emilio noticed you following him around more often than usual and the small frown on your face whenever he goes outside to do errands since you can't seem to set foot beyond the mansion's walls, so he started bringing his weapons inside to clean it so you can still watch him.

You were being too nosy, leaning way too closely against his stuff that you accidentally elbowed it, making it fall towards you. Emilio quickly moved on instinct, catching his weapons so it wouldn't fall over you despite knowing that it'll just pass through you.

"You okay?" he worriedly asked before realizing his mistake- he just casually asked you, a ghost a question while looking intently into your eyes.

"Uh, yeah sorry-- You can see me?!" You didn't bother hiding the shock on your face when the man, who you've been living with for the past few months suddenly spoke to you.

Emilio softly chuckled as he shook his head. "Aw, you got me there. Anyway, yes. I've always been able to see you, cutie." he said with a smirk as he leaned his tools and weapons back on the wall securely.

You could've sworn right there and then that you could die for the second time around out of sheer humiliation- all those countless times that you did something really embarrassing replaying in your head. You nervously chuckled before running away, knocking a few stuff over which you immediately pick up and return to its place before successfully exiting the room and seeking refuge in your spot at the library.

For days, you made sure not to make your presence known, spending all your time in solace. You heard the slight sound of Emilio's weapons being dragged on the floor and the brief jingling of his keys as he left the mansion.

"I'll be off and will be back in three weeks. Don't worry about me." Emilio chuckled as he left.

He's a weird human. Like, who even does that? Who just bids their local ghost goodbye?!

You spend your days just chilling and watching tv- which is funny since you saw in a horror movie once how scared the characters get when the television suddenly turns on in an abandoned house.

Rude. What if the ghost haunting the place just wanted to watch their favorite show and everyone is just screaming and freaking out?

Upon putting some thought regarding your current situation with Emilio, and the fact that he can actually see you all this time, you came to the conclusion that you two are basically housemates- just two homies who liked watching movies together. Perfectly normal except for the fact that you are a ghost.

How can he not be afraid of you? How can he not like, ask you to go away? And how can he not call a priest or something to exorcise you out of his mansion? You wondered as you contemplated about asking him those stuff once he comes back. At the same time, you can't help but wonder if he's secretly a loser and is lonely so he keeps you around just so he has some company. Maybe he just wants a friend?

When Emilio came back, you didn't bother hiding yourself as you sat on the couch, a little closer to him than usual.

"Man, we need to talk."

Emilio softly chuckled at your seriousness as he turned around to face you. "Sure. What should we talk about?"

You tried clearing your throat, not knowing how to say it the least offensive way as possible. "Are you kinda...y'know...few screws loose? Cause you not being scared of me scares me."

He looked at you blankly for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. "No, no. I get you. But I'm perfectly normal, thank you for asking."

"Heh, doesn't seem like it to me. Normal people don't talk to...ghosts. Well atleast not so casually like this."

"Normal ghosts aren't as cute as you."

You rolled your eyes as you stared at him in disbelief. "Really? You're gonna go with pick up lines? To a ghost? Man, do you not have any friends? What will happen to you once I see that bright light that will take me to the afterlife? You know, I might go poof! gone, one day."

"Oh, trust me. You won't be going anywhere, Ma'am. You're staying here at our house." He said with a very smug expression.

"How are you so sure? I didn't receive some memo or some contract about me staying here, although you're right. It seems like I can't leave this place."

"A contract you say? We have that one."

You raised an eyebrow as you look at him. "What do you mean?"

"I had it framed and hung up on the living room. Look for the one that says Marriage Certificate." Emilio smirked. "Now, coming home to my wife doesn't sound so weird, right?"

Art by: @ask-emilz-de-philz that's their OC, Emilio del Pilar the local monster hunter. Please support them <3

[partyhorn]

Uploaded some other unseen comic stuff I'd made last year to my Ko-fi... check it out if you want to see it all, and if you stick around you get early access to more comic pages in sketch form (going to be uploading my sketches of the college virtual pet comic I've been hinting about here real soon, they're almost ready)

[caramsels]

tell me more about this "mono isnt a human" theory thats really interesting

Thanks for asking! A few people have asked for my thoughts on Mono’s identity, and because I will take any opportunity to ramble about Little Nightmares, I wrote up my (hopefully intelligible) interpretation of Mono, and why I think he was always a Resident of The Nowhere, instead of a kidnapped human child like most of the LN kids. This theory is super connected to a few other ones I have, so I’ll rattle descriptions of them at the start for context. Also this post is insanely long I’m sorry

The Nowhere

The Nowhere is its own world that real children get kidnapped to, it feeds off of humanity and kinda functions like your local mall. A weird amount of emphasis is put on jobs in The Nowhere, Residents are often referred to solely by their job titles (The Janitor, The Doctor, The Teacher, etc. etc.)

Besides having a job in The Nowhere, a Resident's proximity to humanity seems to give them a higher status as well. In a LN1 interview, it was said that ALL residents wear masks (as opposed to just the Twin Chefs); we even see in LN2 that The Doctor makes and presumably sells these masks. A humanoid appearance is something that most Residents want. The more humanoid a Resident looks, the more powerful they are perceived to be (not always, because of The Ferryman, but he’s just chill like that.)

Kids and valuable teens/adults (like the circus performers and Otto from the podcast) feed The Nowhere kinda like how animals feed humans. Some Residents are given jobs to maintain this system. Some jobs require more power than others however, typically these are the jobs that require a Resident to keep control over an entire area, which leads me to…

The Cycle

The head honcho Residents like The Thin Man and The Lady are more humanoid and more powerful than the others, this is because they are handpicked and raised from birth to inherit these forms that are passed down over time. This one is super important to most of my points about Mono, so I’m going to spend some time defending it.

The Lady (prior to the Six stuff) had 4 predecessors, each represented by a different mask/hat that you can collect in VLN; This means that The Nowhere (at the time of the first loop in LN2) is on its 5th cycle. The Thin Man is also a mantle that is passed down, we see the previous one interact with Mono before Mono has even entered a time loop in the LN2 comics. This Thin Man, when datamined, notably wears a different hat than Mono’s iteration.

Furthermore, when asked if Thinny Lad is a mantle that is passed on or Mono in a timeloop in an interview, the devs had this to say:

The Pretender (VLN) is a good example of what I think Mono is supposed to be, and what the child forms of the 5th cycle Residents were. The Pretender is a humanoid child with supernatural powers and a strong sense of loneliness. She has her own mansion and Resident servants. The Pretender is the heir to a currently unknown position. She has a portrait of her and five past iterations on her wall, followed by another one of her and her two Resident parents. The Pretender is native to The Nowhere.

But… who is the boss of all the Residents? Who assigns these jobs? Who creates the natural Residents and brings others into The Nowhere?

The Eye

(you could argue its the ferryman but i think he works under the eye too. employee of the year)

I think most fans agree on this one so I won't spend too long on it, but basically I think the Eye is the unseen overall antagonist of Little Nightmares, overseeing everything and everyone in The Nowhere all the time. The Eye feeds off of misery and has a fate planned for everyone, it is not happy when anything throws a wrench into these plans. I don’t think we are meant to know The Eye’s motives, not yet at least, but if I had to guess; they have something to do with an extremely misguided and angry feeling of loneliness, as that is a prevalent theme in an insane amount of Residents. This finally brings me to Mono.

Mono’s Familiarity with The Nowhere

Mono is very familiar with Pale City, he is much more aware of his own fate, abilities, and world than he’s given credit for.

In the door/boat cutscene, Mono watches every TV in the water until it exits the frame. This early in the game, Mono already has an inherent connection to TVs.

Before Pale City comes into frame for both Six and the player, Mono is already standing, he is familiar enough with the route to Pale City that he knows they arrived without even having a clear view of their destination. This is because Mono has been to Pale City before, in the sixth episode of the LN2 comics:

In this comic, Mono met (and wasn't killed by) The Thin Man shown earlier. So to list off the amount of things Mono was already familiar with at the start of LN2: His connection to TVs, his connection to The Thin Man, and how to navigate Pale City. Mono having a lot of experience living in The Nowhere is demonstrated somewhere even more prominent too:

Kickass Character Design

Six’s character design intentionally makes her not fit in with her environment. While the color scheme of The Nowhere and its residents is mostly bland, monochrome, and washed out (sans the lighting), her jacket is highlighter yellow. This represents that Six does not belong in The Nowhere, she’s from the human world.

With this information to ride off of, Mono’s design becomes interesting. Mono’s design is a beige button up, tan trench-coat, and tan pants: A monochrome, muted outfit that fits in perfectly with the aesthetic of The Nowhere. Mono’s outfit including a key ring and a useful color scheme for camouflage further implies familiarity and experience with the way The Nowhere works. If Six’s simple, bright design represents her not belonging there, Mono’s muted, practical design represents the fact that he does.

His Mask

We actually know why Mono wears his mask, we have a direct answer:

You can interpret this as a representation of Mono being shy or insecure or a combination of multiple things, but I think it’s mainly meant to represent, as the description states: Mono hiding from The Nowhere, Mono running away from his fate. The Eye wants Mono to grow up and be the next Thin Man, but he doesn’t want to. Mono’s mask represents his fear, his refusal to use his Thin Man powers, his refusal to do anything that connects him to the world that hates him and wants him to fail; he wants to hide from that world, his future, and the reality of what he is. But ….

(straight up a post of Mono running from his fate)

Unexplained Powers

Mono’s OP reveal was the moment that shook me the most when I first watched my sister play the game; I’ve honestly always been shocked at how little it’s talked about in the community. To me, it was a reveal that told us we Did Not REALLY know much about the character we had been playing the entire time, and that was exciting.

When Mono fights the Thin Man and contorts the structure of Pale City, it is with ease. This is not his first time doing any of this, his body language does not match that of someone who just discovered/unlocked a new ability, him busting out the moves is framed more like a choice that he decided on just before removing his mask. The Thin Man boss battle is easy on purpose; because it's not too hard for Mono in universe, all he does after is wipe off his head nonchalantly and then he proceeds to warp reality. The ominous boss theme that plays during this fight isn’t even for the Thin Man, its MONO’S boss music. The Thin Man is the one who helps control The Signal Tower’s influence, Mono is the one interfering with it, he is the “Signal Interference.” The theme continues even after he’s defeated The Thin Man, further hammering in that it is his.

Mono has his own ominously powerful boss theme and the abilities of one of the most powerful Residents at his disposal; he is not a normal kid.

Mono even shares a power with the established Resident heir that we already know; The Pretender.

When The Pretender sees RCG eavesdropping on her crying, she yells so loud that it physically hurts RCG, causing the screen to glitch. I don’t think this is just a visual effect to show how loud it is to the player; I think this is an in universe ability. You know where else we see a powerful child amplify their voice on purpose to harm an enemy with a screen glitch/distortion effect? Mono in Chapter 5.

Mono and the fifth Thin Man

I think that Mono ran away from wherever it is he’s supposed to be, (probably the Signal Tower) and The Eye/ Thin Man want him back; this is why Mono is not killed by The Thin Man in the comic, just pursued by him

Loneliness

I don’t think I even really need to dissect how loneliness relates to Mono’s character, but he’s not the only character who deals with it. A huge recurrent theme with Residents is loneliness; the sense that they need something, they are missing something. The Lady has a bunch of dolls, The Janitor has.. a bunch of dolls in his own way. The Hunter too. The Pretender runs off to cry when her human doll friend gets messed up at her dinner party. The Resident we meet in Chapter 3 of the podcast is the most direct example so far of intense loneliness in a Resident, and not so coincidentally, it has a ton of parallels to Mono.

Narrative

For the rest of this post, I’m going to focus on how I think this theory fits into the story; because I think factoring in the cutscenes and storytelling beats is important when putting together something’s lore.

A little chatter about Mono

Mono is often characterized as a shy little boy who plays the straight man to Six’s feral goblin who loves eating rats, which is a whole other can of worms, but with this characterization I feel like some fun and interesting parts of his character are neglected, such as: The fact that Mono is an ominous little weirdo. His attempt at trying to save and comfort someone is to hack down her door with an ax with no warning, then proceed to chase her through the house she’s been trapped in; Mono is not too familiar with human interaction. Mono isn’t really a dashing hero who tries to save every kid he comes across either. In the comics, Mono finds an area that is away from the monster killing all the kids, but it’s not like he tells the other kids or tries to bring them with him or anything. I don’t think that this means he is a toxic manipulative character or anything because he is. 9 or 10 years old. I think if anything, this is a trait that experienced characters in The Nowhere have: RCG and Mono both know that indifference is the way to survive in The Nowhere, good deeds usually get you killed. It’s the way things are. I think overall Mono is a well meaning boy who just talks and acts ominously, because that’s what he is used to; he’s an eldritch overpowered being who lives in hell if it had a 1940s aesthetic.

I think that Mono doesn’t start the game a sweet perfect little boy whose ending is sad because he gets betrayed, that’s not a character arc. I think Mono starts off relatively morally gray out of necessity, mostly helping Six out because it was kinda his fault she got captured. He develops into someone who is willing to fight his fate, fight the Nowhere and stop resorting to the escapism his mask provides, only to get crushed to rock bottom in spite of his growth. After all, the villain of Little Nightmares is The Nowhere itself.

How this creates character conflict in the plot

Anytime Mono goes into a weird TV trance, Six is horrified. Her body language tenses and she moves away from him. Six has seen first hand that even the kids like her in The Nowhere cannot always be trusted or relied on (RCG shutting the door on her). Some kids like the Pretender aren't even normal kids, they have powers they use to kill people. The one person Six is starting to trust, and he’s showing signs of possessing supernatural powers? Terrifying. Mono notices these reactions, they give him more cause to hide what he truly is from her. Residents scare and disgust Six, he doesn’t want to lose the only person he has.

This conflict leads me to another point; you know those moments of Six being sadistic and angry towards Residents? How an ominous music cue plays when she kills the bully and breaks the mannequin’s fingers? Earlier in the game, when Six first catches Mono, his part of Togetherness II plays briefly to show his feelings in that moment, which implies that the music cues we hear when a story beat happens are Mono’s reactions. I don’t think these scary music cues are because Mono is scared of Six being creepy, Mono himself likes to beat up Residents. I think that Mono is scared in these moments when he sees the extent of Six’s hatred towards Residents, because even though he doesn’t like them either… Imagine how she’d react if she knew about him.

It is only the Thin Man fight when Mono is finally pushed to the point of using his powers, because in the plan to get Mono to the Signal Tower: The Thin Man took Six as bait. Six was constantly pulling Mono out of his TV trances, Six was supposed to die back at The Nest, Six has been a problem for the Eye since the start and now it’s time to kill two birds with one stone, to sentence Six to her new fate and to crush Mono’s spirit so hard that he finally resigns to his.

The drop is its whole own debate, but whatever you think about it, I think at least one factor in Six’s decision is that from her perspective: Mono has revealed himself to be an entity she cannot trust, he didn't tell her either; he's been hiding it this entire time. Why didn’t he use this power to help them all the previous times they were in danger? What are his motives? What IS he? This, mixed with other factors, causes the drop. (a lot of manipulation on the part of The Nowhere is involved too imo but this isn't a Drop analysis)

Mono is crushed, he loses Six and any true feeling of empowerment that he had before. Rather than The Eye trapping him in the Signal Tower and forcibly transforming him into a resident, I think Mono actually accepts his fate because hes just. That depressed. He actually ages pretty normally for most of the sequence (except for being straight up like 12 feet tall, the podcast confirmed that Residents are just super super big as opposed to the kids being really small, bros got Resident genes) This sequence from the art book leads me to think that Mono knows what the hat entails, Mono chooses to run the Signal Tower like The Lady runs The Maw. The chair sequence is not actually him sitting in a chair for that long, I think it just represents his resignation more than anything.

BUT! Mono is an “uncommonly single minded boy,” who also has control over time, i.e. Mono Thin Man slowing down time in his chase just to fuck with you or the clock sounds in The End of The Hall. Whether you think he goes back for revenge or to stop the downfall of everything, he goes back in time. I think it's on purpose, I think every TV in the background of the first scene implies that Mono has gone back to this point in time over and over again, failing repeatedly, leaving a new TV behind and forgetting the past attempt each time.

This could all be wrong, maybe Mono is just a really badass 4th grader from the human realm who got his abilities like Six, just off screen. But one thing I love about LN is all of the different, creative and interesting interpretations of the fans. So here’s mine regarding Mono lore. Sorry this was so long and I write posts weirdly it is 4 AM. I hope you enjoyed

[cosplayinamerica]

Anime conventions and their Yamato roots

by Dave Merrill

���Conventional” (ha ha) wisdom says that the first American convention devoted to Japanese animation was Project A-Kon 1990 in Dallas, Texas. This prototypical event was instigated by a group of Texas anime fans gathered under the banner of Star Blazers’“Earth Defense Command,” a Space Battleship Yamato fan club that grew to embrace all of Japanese animation. As of this writing, Project A-Kon is preparing for its 20th show.

But was A-Kon the first anime convention in North America? No. Not even close. For years, we’d seen references and offhand comments about a “YamatoCon” that was held in the Dallas area years earlier. Were these references true? Our crack team of researchers donned their explorer togs, dusted off their pith helmets, and began the harrowing search for enlightenment. Well, to be honest we sent some emails. Here’s what we found…

The first YamatoCon – that is to say, the first American fan convention devoted to Japanese animation – was held on August 13, 1983 at the Harvey Hotel in Dallas Texas. This one-day affair was the brainchild of Mark Hernandez, Don Magness, and Bobb Waller, each of whom had experience in the Dallas comics/SF fandom community and each of whom put up their own hard-earned cash to make YamatoConhappen. Scheduled the next-to-last weekend before school started, Mark Hernandez remembers the planning being as simple as getting commitments from dealers, finding a venue, and setting a date. Yes, it really is that easy to start a convention.

Programming consisted of the first 26 episodes of Star Blazersrecorded off TV, shown in continuous order (minus commercials, of course) and a bonus Yamato film. This 13-hour Journey to Iscandar (“It was a long day,” says Mark) was a primary attraction at YamatoCon, 1983 being a time when VCRs and blank VHS tape were expensive, collections of Star Blazers on video were hard to come by, and the experience of watching Star Blazers outside the morning or afternoon UHF timeslot was a draw in and of itself.

Star Blazers on video wasn’t the only activity, of course. Like other conventions past and future, YamatoCon had a dealers room consisting of 22 tables of for-sale memorabilia. It might sound small by the standards of 25 years later, but we must remember that anime merchandise of the day – what was available in the States, anyway – hadn’t achieved the tidal wave proportions it would reach in the wake of Robotech, to say nothing of the total saturation of the post-Pokemon, post-Sailor Moon years. Anime merchandise in 1983 consisted chiefly of books and model kits. Roman Albums, Anime Comics, black and white manga volumes, the occasional manga weekly, and other publications streaming from Japan in the wake of the Yamato Boom battled for the anime fan dollar alongside model kits from Yamato, Crusher Joe and My Youth In Arcadia…not to mention the endless ranks of giant robot kits from unseen shows like Mobile Suit Gundam, Dougram, Ideon, and something called Macross.Along with the remnants of late 70s super-robot merchandise sold here as Shogun Warriors, the anime con dealers room in the early 1980s was far from barren. In fact, I still waste my money on that sort of stuff.

Also available at YamatoCon were copies of Mark Hernandez and Don Magness’s Star Blazers fanzine Argo Notes. Future EDC officer/contributor, fan artist and “Between Galaxies” author Logan Darklighter won the model contest with, naturally, a Yamatomodel. It proved to be a pivotal day in Texas anime fandom. Approximately 100 attendees and 8 dealers made the show an unqualified success. Don remembers it this way: “I remember we got to the hotel early and set up the rooms, then went out to breakfast. When we got back, there were 3 young men sitting on the front steps, one of them had a convention flyer. Mark asked if they were there for the con, and they said they were. We went inside and out of their hearing range and had a little celebration. 3 people had come! We had no idea that the place would soon be packed.”

A showing of 100 might not sound like a lot in today’s numbers (“that was about 100 more than we expected,” said Don). However, when considered against the attendance at general SF conventions in 1983 – a time when your absolute largest cons MIGHT draw five or six thousand attendees and your typical Dallas or Atlanta comic book show maxed out at three – YamatoCon‘s ability to nail down that many dealers and customers is commendable.

The show’s importance went beyond the one day; people across Texas and indeed, across fandom as a whole, who were unable to attend or who heard about it after the fact were spurred into action by the mere fact of YamatoCon‘s existence. That such a thing could happen – that Americans could organize and hold a successful anime convention – was both revelation and reassurance. Anime fandom was going to be more than just a video room grudgingly tacked onto the local Star Trek show or a half-page of merchandise in the back of the latest issue of Fangoria.

READ THE REST HERE https://ourstarblazers.com/vault/317/

[mask131]

Since the casting for "Wednesday" season 2 has been revealed, I will only say one thing - and it is the only thing I will say about this show for the entire future because I was disappointed enough by the first season, I won't go back through this again. (Unless there's something really good - after all a second season can be better than the first)

One of the things that truly annoyed me with the first season of Wednesday was the obsession with labels. No, not those labels - about dividing, cataloguing, explaining every supernatural creature. You have the vampires, and the werewolves, and the gorgons, and everything is carefully named and explainable and classifiable. This reflects modern media and modern people's true obsession with simplistic system of classifications (I guess it kind of came out with Harry Potter's four-houses classifications and then went downhill from there)

Except it is very problematic in the Addams Family world, because the whole point of the "Addams Family" franchise is that everything is mysterious, eerie and unexplained. What are the Addams? WE DON'T KNOW and that's the whole point! Are they regular but creepy looking folks? Are they monsters? Are they just half-supernatural or fully supernatural? We don't know. What is Morticia? A witch? A vampire? A ghoul? Or just a very pale and sexy looking woman? We don't know! And that's what the character is about!

It is all tied to the very nature of the comic strips the Addams come from. The jokes relied on the unseen and the unexplained, on this eeriness of stuff you could guess but not be certain off, implications and answers left hidden in the shadow...

So having a neatly classified and catalogued world kind of betrays the family's original idea.

[mxmollusca]

Hello friends! Got a little sneak preview of tomorrow's chapter 8 drop of Wave Hello to the Void. It's gonna be a wild one.

(spoilers under the cut)

✨✨✨

It felt fucking great to get out of the cabin for the day, but the anxiety eventually seeped back in regardless, sinking its sharp little fingers in one by one. Not enough to make him want to stand Stede up—Ed’s desire to clutch at something good and hold it tight to his chest is far too strong at this point, and besides, he might be Mothman but he’s not a fucking dick—but still just enough to sustain that little voice in the back of his head, the one forever trying to caution him away.

But Stede, with his flirty smile and little cinnamon kisses, is making a truly valiant attempt against that stupid voice in the back of Ed’s head, and so now here they both are, on their lovely romantic date, which is… a hike. Sure, okay, at this point, Ed’s pretty fucking sure he’s incapable of saying no to Stede Bonnet, and while he was never much of an outdoorsy type in his previous life, he’s developed a certain wary respect for it since then. His cabin in the woods is as safe a space as he can hope for, sturdy and surrounded by nature—not people, not constructs. Nature is used to ripping and being ripped apart; it’s just another process that shapes the world, and it’s why Ed’s never been able to do much damage to a tree or a rock. When Ed pushes, the earth pushes back.

As they stand in front of the RV and he watches Stede hoist a comically large, well-stuffed hiking pack onto his shoulders, Ed can’t help but think that Stede’s the same way. Ed tugs at Stede, and Stede tugs right back. They give and take, push and pull, but somehow it never feels like a struggle. It’s balance—ease—as if Stede was designed to bend but never break. It’s a sick cosmic joke that Ed’s finally found someone he might be able to grow into, someone Ed’s roots would strengthen rather than rend. But that’s not much of a promise, and even less of an offer. Ed’s a walking disaster, and even if Stede could look past it all—ignore the monster and see the man—at the end of the day, Ed’s still just one sneeze away from tragedy.

He shouldn’t be at a trailhead for a sunset hike up to Bald Knob of all fucking places, but his no always seems to become a yes when it’s Stede asking the question. And as Stede extends his hand in offering, beaming his radiant grin, Ed knows he’s well and truly fucked. He can’t bear to walk away, even though he understands exactly how the story will end. Instead, he takes Stede’s hand, allows himself to be pulled, and follows him into the stretching shadows of the forest.

“Were you a Boy Scout in a past life?” Ed smirks as they start up the path, the final sigh of the sinking sun sliding through the canopy to paint them both in shades of ochre and auburn. His fingers tingle where they’re tangled together, itching for more contact, more Stede.

“Ah,” Stede says. “No, not a past life, actually. This one. Loved all the outdoors stuff, animals and nature. Even liked the community work, soup kitchens and the like. Struggled to make friends, though.” Stede squeezes Ed’s hand, and his voice wobbles. “Would you believe I was a bit of an odd duck as a child?”

Ed watches Stede’s eye unfocus a bit, following some unseen thought as it scampers into the woods. He squeezes back. Maybe he wasn’t an odd duck in quite the same way that Stede was, but he knows what it’s like to be on the outskirts, forever looking in. “You? Nah, mate. You’re super normal. Normal as they come. Totally average. Mean, median, mode—”

Stede laughs, the warmth of it confirming Stede’s return to the present moment. “And that appeals to you? Central tendency?”

“Little bit, yeah,” Ed says quietly as the path begins to gently meander uphill. Stede had claimed the trail was rated “easy to moderate,” but Ed’s already sweating into his henley a bit; he wants to pretend it’s the fault of his leather jacket—armor he no longer needs, not with Stede—and not the man whose hand he’s holding—not the memory of that same man tugging at his shirt and fumbling with his pants, calling him things like curious and funny and breathtakingly beautiful—

His body aches in protest as he disentangles himself from Stede to tug off his jacket and cinch it around his waist. The breath of cool air against his skin does little to lower his temperature. “Feel like I’ve been living a life of extremes for longer than not,” he says with a swallow as he stares at his palm, unsteadied by just how much he can feel the lack of Stede’s hand in his. “Getting a little tired of the fringe—”

Stede cocks his head. “And I’m not the fringe?”

A fresh churn of guilt kicks up deep in Ed’s abdomen—he’s itching again, poking at his surroundings. He can feel himself slipping, mentally digging into rotting logs and layers of shale—but then suddenly Stede reaches out for his hand once more, palms sliding together like plug and socket to deposit Ed back into his body and close the circuit once again. “Not to me,” Ed says, and now it’s his voice that wobbles. He gently swings their hands between them, looking down as the footfalls of his booted feet are softened by the blanket of leaves that have yet to turn crunchy underfoot. He should stop talking; he knows every subsequent word to fall from his mouth will be one that can’t be taken back, but he can’t help himself—Stede’s smiling, yielding, grounding him. “You’re the Goldilocks Zone.”

Stede hums. “Goldilocks zone? Like, porridge and bears?”

Ed huffs affectionately. “More like stars and planets. When astronomers and biologists look for life on other worlds, they have a list of requirements. Availability of things like carbon—”

“And water?”

“Yeah, for sure. But also, the planet needs to be a certain size in relationship to its distance from whatever star it orbits. For life to exist, there needs to be a balance between gravity and radiation.” Ed stops at a large elm covered in scaly circular patches of lichen lined up in a near perfect conjunction, and he taps them gently with a fingertip. “The energy that powers life can also burn it up. Gravity can crush just as well as it can bind. Life needs that little sliver,” he says, the ridges of the bark skipping under his finger as he draws an invisible line between two of the patches. “Right down the center. The perfect combo where everything is just right.”

Stede softly bumps Ed’s shoulder with his own, then raises his hand to trace the same line. Ed feels it, a brief tickle down his spine, as though Stede had touched him and not the tree. “The Goldilocks Zone.”

“Yeah.”

Stede turns, the light catching him just so, and it knocks a soft breath from Ed without warning. He’s almost ethereal like this, eyes a bonfire of ache and longing in equal measure. “And that’s how you feel?” Stede asks, voice small and unsure. “Crushed? Burned?”

Ed turns sideways to press his shoulder into the tree, diffusing his knotted anxieties into knotted wood. “Not anymore. Not since you.”

“And that’s—I—” Stede stammers, growing even pinker in the weak autumn light. “No one’s ever…”

Not crushed, not burned. Stede’s pulling, and Ed lets it happen. Their mouths meet and Stede’s lips soften under Ed’s own with a delicious squeak that quickly slips into a moan. Ed’s scattering again—scratching along the stressed seams of Stede’s bag, snagging the cracked aglet at the end of his sneaker lace—but then Stede’s hands find Ed’s hair and slam him back in his body. Stede kisses back, his teeth catching against Ed’s lower lip with infuriating gentleness, and now Ed’s in Stede’s body, a melange of earnest intent and unquenchable need growing roots and digging, digging, digging into the both of them—

Abruptly, Stede pulls back with a breathy pout. “Hey,” he says, scrunching his nose good-naturedly. “I’ll be the one doing the seducing this evening, thank you very much! And we still have a little way to go. Would hate to miss the sunset!”

Ed takes a deep breath and nods, as much to himself as to Stede. Ed was right before—

He just can’t say no to Stede Bonnet.

[chronically-enthusiastic]

Hello there, thanks for stumbling across my blog!

(Here's a lil comic I made for a school assignment)

I'm going to start putting my social energy levels in my bio... There's a lot of stuff I want to respond to but i currently dont have the energy to do so, and so if I don't respond within like a day, check my bio and see that... I always feel bad about being on tumblr when theres things people have sent me but responding to those things is a different level of interaction than reblogging a post... so yeah... Sorry to the people i havent responded to yet! I will soon <333 (writing this on low energy, sorry for the incoherence)

Who am I / Where else can you find me?

First of all, feel free to call me Eli!! I'm on the waiting list for an autism diagnosis. I am agender and aroace-spec.

I am verrryyy enthusiastic about the things I am interested in (hence the URL hehehe). And currently, those are: podcasts (theres a list at the bottom of the post), good omens, ofmd, bbc merlin, star trek!!!!, lotr, and probably more things that I am too tired to think of right now!

I am a very big fan of the oxford comma and double brackets. Semicolons are pretty cool too. And ellipses are incredible.

i love all of my mutuals dearly!! Making cookies and hot chocolate for you all <33

I try to use tone tags as much as possible!

Boundaries:

Things I am okay with sharing/doing:

My age, gender/sexuality, things about my guinea pigs!!, and most other things

Things I am not okay with sharing/doing:

The city I live in, pictures of me/anyone I know, my full name, my birthdate, my phone number/email address, meeting up with people irl, sending/receiving money/gifts, dms (<- though if we're mutuals and interacted a lot dms are fine!!)

^ this applies to everyone im not in the discord with

I will let someone know if they cross boundaries, and *really* would like other people to let me know if I cross theirs!!

DNI: people who are here to spread hate and anger. Just, stay away. I dont engage in discourse. I know DNIs dont deterr these people, but this is a demonstration of my core values :)

Updated to clarify - I do block the generic tags such as Israel and Gaza, which most of the posts are tagged with by the op, so if you forget its no big deal!!

Tags:

(At the top cause otherwise it will get lost) ALSO #tw body horror

I block quite a few tags but most notably #tw war and other ones to do with the war in israel/palestine. This is not because I don't care. I care so so so much about what is happening and I cry every time I see a post about it. It breaks my heart that such horrible things are happening. However, I really struggle with high empathy, and seeing a post about it can really affect me for a while, and I need tumblr to be a safe space away from the real world problems. If I follow you - please could you tag things to do with war. Thank you <3

A list of all the podcasts I listen to because y'know, its fun:

Fiction:

The Amelia Project

Wooden Overcoats

The Adventure Zone

Sherlock & Co

Alba Salix

Unseen

And a whole lot more that i no longer listen to either because they havent updated or they are a little too creepy (Welcome to Night Vale falls into the latter category)

Science:

The Sci Guys

Lets Learn Everything

Lingthusiasm

A podcast of unnecessary detail.

Comedy/other:

Dear Hank and John

The Unmade Podcast

Books Unbound

Lateral

A book list of recommendations from mutuals for my own use:

abigail by Magda Szasbo (@mack-anthology-mp3)

The Alphabet of Candice Phee (@jamie-dinow)

A list of music reccomendations from mutuals:

in the lap of the gods revisited by queen, why can't i be you by the cure, pyramid song, and lucky & the tourist by radiohead, when the sun hits by slowdive, dancing barefoot by patti smith, tangerine by led zeppelin, autumn sweater by yo la tengo, rubber ring by the smiths, water by pj harvey (from @/mack-anthology-mp3)

imi hendrix’s all along the watchtower (from @/catholickedd)

[cherryrainn]

━━ ✧ 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 {𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫}

.7 - 𝙨𝙖𝙙 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; s3lf harm, depression, bulimia, mental health issues, self hatred, stuff like that, and just like my other stories... lots of angst!

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

─ ✩ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ; here

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

as striker rode off with bombproof, you were left alone in the dimly lit hideout. the minutes ticked by slowly as you sat there, your thoughts swirling with confusion and uncertainty. you couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, and striker's cryptic conversation with his 'client', had only added to your unease.

with striker gone, you decided to explore the hideout a bit more. you gingerly got up from the bed, wincing as the pain from your injuries throbbed through your body. you moved through the dimly lit space, taking in the eerie ambiance created by the rivers of molten lava that flowed nearby.

as you walked, you couldn't help but notice the rather bizarre feature of the hideout—the large statue of striker. it was an imposing sculpture, capturing striker's imposing figure in all its glory. however, what drew your attention was the... unique detail of the statue.

you couldn't help but stifle a laugh as you took in the sight. there it was, a large and rather exaggerated rendition of a certain part of striker's anatomy. the juxtaposition of the fearsome demon and the comically oversized feature on the statue was both absurd and amusing. it left you wondering what kind of demon would commission such a piece.

as you examined the statue more closely, you couldn't help but wonder if it was an accurate representation or simply a humorous exaggeration. after all, demons in hell were known for their penchant for extravagance and eccentricity. the thought that striker might have had a say in the creation of this statue, even indirectly, made you chuckle despite the bizarre circumstances.

.. moving on

the hideout held an odd mix of roughness and comfort. the bed you had been resting on was not surprisingly uncomfortable, and the makeshift saloon had a rustic charm to it. it was a strange place to find yourself in, trapped with a demon who was both your protector and a source of fear.

you decided to make yourself useful while striker was away, partly to distract yourself from your worries. you found some ingredients in a nearby cabinet and attempted to cook a meal. however, it quickly became evident that striker wasn't much of a cook. the result was a rather unappetizing and burnt dish that you couldn't force yourself to eat.

with your failed attempt at cooking, you resigned yourself to waiting for striker's return. you sat by the window of the little saloon, gazing out at the rivers of lava and the eerie glow they cast across the hideout. your mind was filled with questions, but for now, all you could do was wait for the enigmatic demon to come back and provide some answers.

you sat there in the dimly lit hideout, your anxiety growing with each passing minute. striker had left you alone with no explanation, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. the hideout was eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint crackling of the molten lava rivers outside.

suddenly, the silence was shattered by a cacophony of voices singing in an enthusiastic chorus. your heart jumped in your chest as you looked around, bewildered by the unexpected intrusion. who on earth could be making such a racket?

but before you could even process the situation, striker burst into the hideout with a dramatic flair that sent a wave of heat and ash billowing into the room. he looked positively furious, his eyes blazing with anger as he yelled at the unseen singers.

"shut the fuck up! i'm tryna do my fuckin' job! you comin' in here singing about me for the millionth. fucking. time! leave me the hell alone, you freaks!" striker's voice echoed through the cavernous hideout, and you couldn't help but cower under the intensity of his rage.

the singing abruptly stopped, and there was an awkward silence in the wake of striker's outburst. but then, from behind the imposing cowboy, another voice chimed in, "how does one get their own theme song?"

you couldn't see the speaker clearly at first, but as striker turned, you caught a glimpse of a tall and regal figure tied up on the back of a horse. it was none other than stolas, the prince of the ars goetia, looking disheveled and thoroughly unimpressed with the situation.

your confusion deepened. why on earth was stolas tied up on the back of striker's horse? it was a bizarre sight that made no sense at all. stolas' expression shifted from annoyance to mild curiosity as he noticed you sitting there, bewildered and uncertain.

for a moment, you were frozen, unsure of how to react to this surreal scene. the tension in the room was palpable, and you couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble striker had gotten himself into this time.

striker's intentions became painfully clear as he roughly lifted stolas from the back of bombproof and tied him upside down to the nearby train tracks. stolas struggled against his bonds, his feathers ruffled and his dignity in tatters. his eyes, once filled with annoyance, now held a hint of desperation as he realized the dire situation he was in.

"so, my wife paid you for this, hm..? wouldn't a holy bullet have sufficed?" stolas quipped, attempting to maintain some semblance of composure despite his precarious position. he couldn't help but taunt striker, trying to get under his skin.

striker's smirk momentarily vanished as he turned to face stolas. "or could you not afford those?" stolas' words had clearly struck a nerve, but striker quickly regained his cocky demeanor. "i was paid to give you the real royal treatment! your wife must really hate you," he sneered, brandishing a strange-looking knife and twirling it between his fingers.

stolas, still hanging upside down and clearly uncomfortable, sighed dramatically. "you have no idea," he muttered, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for something. they landed on you, and he suddenly seemed even more perplexed.

"who is this?" stolas inquired, his voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity as he looked directly at you. "what are they doing here? are you going to kill them too?" he snorted

striker sighed in annoyance, the tension in the room thickening with every passing moment. "they're just a... guest," he replied cryptically, unwilling to divulge any more information.

stolas continued to observe you, his mind clearly racing with questions. "a guest, you say? in the middle of an assassination attempt? that's quite unusual."

striker didn't say a word to that, but you were even more confused. assassination attempt? no way...

"so... train tracks... really? reems a bit cliché, doesn't it?" stolas remarked, his tone laced with sarcasm. striker shot him an annoyed glance. "it's a classic," he retorted defensively, his irritation mounting.

stolas couldn't resist needling further. "is the giant statue of yourself also a classic or..." he began, his words trailing off as he glanced at the imposing figure of striker's statue. the absurdity of the situation was not lost on you, and you couldn't help but let out a small, involuntary snort of laughter.

striker's patience wore thin. with a hiss of frustration, he removed his hat and flung it up onto the statue's exaggerated anatomy. "are you seriously judging me right now?" he snapped, his voice dripping with annoyance.

stolas, however, was undeterred. "i'm just impressed you seem to want to suck your own dick this badly," he quipped, his sharp wit cutting through the tension in the air. striker's temper flared, and he closed the distance between them in an instant.

"look, not every ring is some fancy-ass city, with some fancy-ass mansion, that only fancy-ass royals get to live in," striker seethed, pointing an accusatory finger at stolas. "some of us have hard lives to live. and some of us have everything we care about taken away by fuckers like you." his tail lashed angrily, and he was now inches from stolas' face, his fury palpable.

"i have no- " stolas attempted to protest, but before he could utter another word, a guttural yell tore from his beak as striker plunged the strange knife into him. your gasp of horror was drowned out by stolas' agonized cry, and striker, after delivering the blow, turned his gaze to you. his eyes bore into yours, not saying a word.

you were left stunned, your mind racing with questions.

striker was relentless in his assault, cut the rope, making stolas roll all the way down. striker's rage was boiling over as he circled around the helpless stolas. the demon prince's attempts to assert his royal status were met with violence, and striker made it clear that he would not tolerate being talked down to.

"you. don't get to talk over me!" striker slapped stolas with his tail, the force of the blow causing stolas to wince in pain. "i don't have to listen to your bullshit!" he jammed his foot into the fresh wound on stolas' shoulder, making the prince cry out in agony. "all you royals ever do is try to talk over us!"

stolas, despite his dire situation, tried to use his petrifying gaze to subdue striker. however, the ropes that bound him prevented his powers from working as intended. striker, seemingly immune to stolas' magic, grinned wickedly.

"don't bother trying to use your little eye trick on me; those ropes ain't gonna let you do anythin'." he turned the knife to stolas' face, taunting him. "got somethin' to say about that, your highness?"

his fury was palpable as he stepped on stolas's open wound once again. "well, you seem to be forgetting; you are working for a royal right now!" stolas retorted, a hint of arrogance in his voice. in a swift move, he kicked striker in the face.

striker's grip tightened as he grabbed stolas's ankle and lifted his foot to stomp down on stolas's leg, breaking it. stolas grunted but refused to show any pain, instead offering a twisted smile. "blitz handles me rougher than that in bed; nice try." striker's frustration grew, and he retaliated by stabbing stolas in the leg. "blitzy's knife is bigger... and hits sooooo much deeper."

striker's patience was wearing thin, and he released stolas's legs. "being a smartass hmm?" he moved to stolas's side, grabbing him by his hair or feathers, whatever was on his head, and moved the knife threateningly to stolas's neck. " 'cause, once i split your neck open and let you choke on your own blue blood, you won't be worth any more than the tombstone you'll be buried under."

you watched in horrified fascination, your fear of striker intensifying with each passing moment. you couldn't understand why you were still here, unable to tear your eyes away from the gruesome spectacle unfolding before you.

but then, stolas uttered words that cut through the tension like a knife. "blitzy says far dirtier things to me with much sharper objects at my throat."

striker's anger boiled over, and with a snarl, he threw stolas to the ground and stormed away in frustration. stolas, now lying on the tracks, shed a few tears.

as striker's figure disappeared into the distance, you found yourself trembling and breathing heavily. the encounter with striker had revealed a darker, more sadistic side to him that you hadn't anticipated. 

turning your attention back to stolas, you found him gazing in your direction, seemingly aware that you were watching him through the small saloon window. despite the dire circumstances, he started to speak, as if he needed a distraction from the impending doom.

"what are you looking at?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

your throat felt dry, and you struggled to find your voice. stolas's eyes bore into yours, waiting for an answer, but you couldn't bring yourself to respond. what could you say in this surreal situation?

stolas raised an eyebrow, seemingly undeterred by your silence. "you're not very talkative, are you?" he remarked, his tone almost conversational. "well, i suppose that's understandable. it's not every day one finds themselves in the company of princes and assassins."

still, you remained silent, unable to articulate your thoughts and emotions. stolas's attempts to engage you in conversation only added to your sense of unease.

before the silence could stretch any further, striker reappeared with a violent entrance, his face contorted with anger. your attention shifted from stolas to the imposing imp, his earlier charm now replaced by a menacing presence in the dimly lit mine shaft.

without a word, he descended upon stolas, his blows landing with brutal force. the atmosphere grew tense as each strike seemed to echo through the mine shaft, punctuated by stolas's pained grunts.

stolas, despite his earlier bravado, was now unable to maintain his composure. he winced and struggled under Striker's relentless assault. every attempt to speak or resist was met with more aggression.

as the beating continued, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the brutal spectacle before you. the initial shock and fear you had felt now gave way to a sickening mixture of dread and guilt. you were an unwilling witness to this display of violence, trapped in a nightmarish scenario that seemed to have no end.

as striker continued to circle stolas, the prince's labored pants and whimpering filled the air. the room seemed to shrink in on itself, the tension nearly suffocating.

"well, this has been fun, but every good thing has to come to an end. shame you won't see your kid, again," striker taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

"don't you dare breathe a word about my daughter," stolas retorted, his voice heavy with anger and desperation.

striker's tail began to rattle ominously as he crouched closer to stolas, their faces mere inches apart. "ohh. finally hit a nerve, huh?" he hissed, his yellow eyes locked onto stolas's.

stolas's breathing grew heavier as he threatened, "i swear, if you go near her, i will destroy you."

without warning, striker drove the knife into stolas's shoulder again, eliciting a pained cry. "big talk. but, just that. any last words, goetia?" striker's voice grew colder with each passing moment.

stolas, bloodied and broken, managed to muster one final plea, "blitz... will..."

a sinister chuckle escaped striker's lips. "that rodeo clown told you he ain't coming," he sneered, lifting the knife, ready to deliver the fatal blow "nobody is coming."

the room seemed to hold its breath, and you couldn't bear to witness the gruesome end any longer. just as striker prepared to strike the final blow, his phone rang, shattering the nightmarish silence. he picked it up with a casual "yello?"

striker's reaction to the unexpected call was a mix of surprise and annoyance. he scratched his head as he listened, his expression growing increasingly irritated. you strained to hear the conversation on the other end, but the caller's words remained a mystery.

the callers demand for a change of plans seemed to unsettle striker. he glanced back and forth between stolas's wounded form and the knife in his hand. stolas attempted to speak, but striker swiftly used his tail to muffle any words.

"i'm kinda in the middle of killing him," striker grumbled into the phone. again, you strained to catch stella's (you thought) side of the conversation, but it remained elusive.

after what sounded like a frustrating exchange, striker relented with a resigned, "yes, ma'am," and snapped his flip phone shut. his annoyance was palpable as he stretched back, still seated on top of stolas. he emitted a few rattles, his agitation evident. he threw the flip phone against a nearby rock with a resounding crash, causing you to flinch at the sudden noise.

striker, now phoneless, turned his attention back to stolas, a dangerous glint in his eyes. he uncovered stolas's mouth and delivered the unexpected news with a cruel twist of his lips.

"well, good news for you, feathers. your royal cunt said she don't want you dead no more." his grip on stolas tightened. "but, she didn't say what condition you had to be in."

the blade hovered dangerously close to stolas's eye, the threat palpable in the air. "i think these reds might be a pretty trophy; can't have you seeing me again, can we?"

amidst the tense standoff between striker and stolas, a distant car horn pierced the cavern's eerie silence. striker's head snapped in the direction of the sound, his eyes narrowing as he scanned for the source.

suddenly, the cavern's stability seemed to crumble as parts of the ceiling gave way. a deafening crash echoed through the chamber as the i.m.p van crashed through the embankment, tumbling and somersaulting until it came to a rest. with the dust settling, the van's door creaked open, and a little imp emerged, gripping a rifle with unwavering aim at striker.

in a swift, almost inhuman motion, striker dodged several bullets, his nimbleness defying belief. with a deft flick of his wrist, he sent his knife hurtling through the air, striking the rifle and causing another bullet to ricochet wildly, hitting a nearby boombox. the cavern was suddenly filled with music, but striker paid it no mind.

just as striker drew two revolvers, chaos erupted as another imp attacked him from behind with a longsword. striker, displaying incredible reflexes, seized the sword mid-swing. the imp, undeterred, abandoned the broken sword and charged with a katana, while moxxie unleashed a flurry of bullets from his two revolvers. it was a whirlwind of clashing metal, gunfire, and desperate maneuvers.

meanwhile, you huddled in the corner, terrified by the sudden eruption of violence. your hands instinctively covered your ears as gunshots rang out, and your heart raced in fear. but as the dust settled and the cacophony of battle continued, your eyes widened with recognition.

amidst the chaos, you realized that the couple leading the assault against striker was none other than moxxie and millie, the very duo you had encountered during the harvest moon festival. the familiarity of their faces brought a strange mix of relief and confusion.

as the battle raged on, you watched with a mixture of awe and trepidation, unsure of what fate had in store for you in this perilous underground encounter.

the brutal confrontation between striker and the couple reached a fevered pitch, each combatant determined to gain the upper hand. the cavern echoed with the clanging of metal, the thunder of gunfire, and the grunts of exertion as they clashed.

in a decisive move, striker managed to kick moxxie down, temporarily incapacitating him. millie, meanwhile, found herself pinned to a rock by her own axe, struggling to free herself. striker's cunning and agility seemed unmatched, and he was relentless in his assault.

spotting moxxie still stirring on the ground, striker acted swiftly. he lassoed a nearby stalagmite with unnatural precision and slammed it forcefully into moxxie's vulnerable back. moxxie's breath left him in a painful gasp as he fought to remain conscious.

with a predatory gleam in his eyes, striker moved in for the final blow. he saw noxxie, weakened and reaching for his pistol, and couldn't resist taunting him sadistically. "oh, i remember how easy you are to choke the life out of, little one," striker hissed, his hands tightening around moxxie's throat.

but then, in a shocking twist, moxxie's response was anything but expected. weakened and struggling for breath, he uttered a breathy, provocative phrase that froze striker in his tracks. "ohhhh, harder," moxxie murmured with a perverse tone.

disgust contorted striker's features, and he immediately released his grip on moxxie, recoiling as if burnt. moxxie seized the opportunity, kicking striker's legs out from under him and lassoing striker by the neck. he spun the sadistic cowboy around and hurled him to the unforgiving ground with a resounding thud.

moxxie, his eyes blazing with fury, spat out words of contempt, "you cowboy piece of shit!"

in the midst of this chaos and violence, you were a silent witness, trembling with fear and disbelief. the deafening sounds of battle, the sight of striker's brutality, and the desperate struggle of the couple left you overwhelmed. tears welled up in your eyes as you covered your mouth, muffling any sound that might betray your presence. your ears rang from the intensity of the fight unfolding before you, and your heart pounded with dread.

then, a sudden and thunderous crash tore through the cavern, and your gasp was stifled by your hand. the source of the noise was a massive statue, striker's own twisted monument, hurtling towards him. you watched in a horrified trance, unable to comprehend the unfolding disaster. did striker get crushed beneath the colossal weight of his own ego? what had just happened?

as the dust settled, your wide, terror-stricken eyes remained fixed on the scene before you, desperately seeking answers amid the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded you.

you huddled in the corner of the cavern, you were a silent, trembling specter of fear. your heart hammered in your chest, a cacophony that matched the chaos erupting around you. ears still ringing from the deafening clash of combat, you clamped your hands over them as if it could somehow muffle the terrible sounds that had assaulted your senses.

tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the dust and dirt that clung to your face. it was overwhelming, the violence and the uncertainty of the situation. all you could do was shrink further into the shadows, desperately trying not to be noticed, praying for the nightmare to end.

striker was dead (you THOUGHT), buried beneath the shattered remnants of his own arrogance. the cavern was fraught with tension and lingering danger, and you were trapped in its midst, a helpless witness to the brutality that had unfolded before you.

as the dust settled and the echoes of battle faded, you watched in silence as moxxie and millie quickly moved to untie stolas. their hurried, whispered words and furtive glances were not lost on you. they were trying to right the wrongs that had unfolded in this dark corner of hell, attempting to rectify the violence that had threatened to consume them all.

once stolas was free, the trio made a hasty exit, leaving you alone in the cavern's oppressive silence. it was a chance to breathe, to collect your scattered thoughts. 

as you sat there in the eerie stillness of the cavern, your trembling breaths gradually began to steady. the ordeal had been nothing short of nightmarish, and the aftermath left you feeling both relieved and apprehensive about what lay ahead.

just as you began to gather your thoughts and process the harrowing events that had unfolded, there was a sudden movement in the shadows. before you could react, striker, seemingly risen from the dead, lunged towards you with surprising speed. his hand clamped over your arm, and he yanked you to your feet with a force that left you breathless.

you found yourself staring into his wild, furious eyes, and his grip on your arm was unrelenting. striker's once-imposing figure was now battered and scratched, his bandana torn and hanging loosely around his neck. he was a mess, but his determination burned brighter than ever.

"come on, sweetheart, we ain't got time for dilly-dallyin," striker growled, his voice strained from the recent battle. without waiting for your response, he dragged you towards bombproof, who stood patiently nearby, unfazed by the chaos that had unfolded.

you clung to striker, holding onto him for dear life, your heart pounding in your chest. the events of the past few minutes had left you in a state of shock, and you couldn't find the words to express your thoughts and emotions.

as striker mounted bombproof, he pulled you up in front of him, securing you with a firm grip around your waist. as bombproof sprung to life beneath you, carrying you both away from the scene of the battle, you couldn't contain the questions that flooded your mind. with a shaky voice, you asked striker, "were you actually about to assassinate stolas? what kind of relationship do moxxie and millie have with stolas? why'd they save him, and who ordered to kill him? was it stella?"

striker remained silent for a moment, his grip on bombproof's reins tight. finally, he spoke, his voice tense and strained. "it's complicated," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the dark path ahead. "there's more to this mess than you know. we'll talk later. right now, just focus on calming down."

[fauxfickle]

With it being confirmed that the “Great All-American Pizza show” ad was by Bob Wilkins Advertising Inc, does that deem Collosal Pictures irrelevant to the search? I’ve been looking over commercial demo reels of theirs

I think that only the live action commercials were produced by Bob Wilkins. A while back someone reached out to Lee Marrs, a comic book artist who worked with PTT in the very early days of the company, and she confirmed that (C)P was involved with the animated advert.

While looking for the animated ad, I noticed that most of their demo reels only go back to the early 80s, at least on YT and vimeo. Since your looking through their demo reels though, I'd suggest maybe looking on auction sites like Ebay for something being sold by someone who worked at Colossal during the 70s. You'd be surprised how often these lost media searches end up with someone just happening upon a DVD, VHS, or even film reels of unseen content.

Websites like this and this are also very useful. I've been using it to look for some other stuff. These collections can't be viewed, but it's at least useful for confirming what is being archived. Sorry if this is a bit rambly

[tenaciouschronicler]

April 25 2024 2009

Yesterday's updates were something.

First a new sound page! this one without a title/prompt. Its also our official title page.

I really went down a rabbit hole on this page specifically so more thoughts and breakdown for the update are below the cut.

The whole sequence is very smooth in its panning zoom to the sky and the following narration is just ... odd. It makes me inclined to say this is another character rather than Hussie just writing. Someone omniscient almost, speaking to us the reader but also to John even if he can't hear it.

The streets are empty. Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox.

Its curious that theres no other sounds in the audio. Just winds and chimes. It should be a Monday based on the calendar from John's room which makes it Easter Monday. We dont know where John lives, but his school must make it a holiday since hes at home being stuffed with cake and so is his Dad, said baker. You would think there would be other dads doing yard work or some kids playing outside but there's no indication of either.

A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

Familiar to whom? And in what way?

Google says Desolation is "a state of complete emptiness or destruction". So is the wind equal to Desolation? I feel like we dont actually hear the note per say. Our narrator only likens the sound to something we could probably comprehend. In reality, the wind over the void space is Desolations note.

It is your thirteenth birthday, and as with all twelve preceding it, something feels missing from your life.

A nice callback to the first page of the comic but also more references to lacking and emptiness. Although a funny gag, the first page also says John is only getting his nane Today. Logically we know that's false. TT uses his name in their convo on persterchum. So what does that mean? Has he only been alive but not actually living?

The game presently eluding you is only the latest sleight of hand in the repertoire of an unseen riddler, one to engender a sense not of mirth, but of lack. His coarse schemes are those less of a prankster than a common pickpocket.

Has Desolation been keeping John from living? Why?? What would it gain from that?

His riddle is Absence itself. It is a mystery dispersing altogether, like the moon's faint reflection, with even one pebble of inquiry dropped in its black well. It is the most diabolical riddle of all.

Googling Absence gives us "the state of being away from a place or person". So his riddle is a state of being away from others... I feel like the following statement gives more but I cant discern what.

"Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire." -Walt Whitman

Yes, you are certain Walt Whitman said that. One hundred percent positive.

We get another quote that is certainly not Walt Whitmans. I'm curious if the mis-attributions are John legit not knowing, which would be strange knowing the quote but not the speaker, or the narrator fucking with John. I like to believe the latter.

Our actual guy is François de La Rochefoucauld, a French moralist with two works published of which this quote is from Maximes. I kinda want to make posts of each wrong quote and author after reading more about what the book is about. For now I think this is good enough.

You have a feeling it's going to be a long day.

The last actual time we saw was 4:26 pm. If we wanna take a guess saying we 'started' at 4:00 pm and guessing based of the times we have been shown, its been no more than 45 min. So yeah, I think its gonna be long indeed.

Two pages later we once again 180 back.

With the previous stuff Im now suspicious of these shift changes. (I could also juat be reading way too into it but *shrug*)

We continue to search for the elusive SBURB and find a package in Dads car. Gandering into the kitchen FULL of steam (is your Dad/the oven ok?) we spot another package and potentially the game?! There's no avoiding your Dad John. Get in the kitchen John.