#i can co exist i know this in my head but the parasite in my hear says i'm alone 😞

[kevindavidday]

no matter how much i love there will always be someone who does it ✨ better ✨

[azucar-skull]

SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS IN MY DRAFTS

Wow okay a lot more ppl asked for this--

How I built a Kraang Society:

Ppl talk about all different kinds of tips for world building a society. But I have a different technique called "I have vivid nightmare disorder and wrote down the shit I've seen in that one dream that inspired FCAU."

So let's explore!

Starting with the baseline Kraang structure that is canon in the show. GEM readers will know this structure btw. Apocalypse lasted 22 years from 2022 to 2044, there are 7 Kraang types, 3 aliens developing these types, at least one Kraang laborcamp, no more ocean, cloudy skies, infection by contact and spreads fast, hive mind, stronger with empyrean, and others I can't list off the top of my head.

FCAU not only follows the baseline as seen in the movie and GEM but we also add new features.

Starting with new Kraang types:

(From lowest "rank" to highest, brief explanations, potentially making more if I feel like it.)

Parasite: Canon. Those little bitey fucks from the subway tunnels.

Mound: New type. Evil quicksand that feasts on your rotting flesh.

Zombie: Canon. Partially possessed animals (including humans and yokai).

Hybrid: New type. A human with the ability to transform into any Kraang type. Only one exists. And his name is Casey Jones Jr.

Canine: Canon. Aka hound or dog or whatever. Fully possessed animals.

Howler: New type. Imagine a canine with a tuba for a head. But the tuba can also kill you.

Mimic: New type. Outlier of the Kraang types as it is not a part of the hive mind but is still loyal. Mimics injured loved ones to lure in prey. Considered quite rare.

Snitch: New type. Literally an eyeball with wings that keeps an eye on lower class Kraang to keep them in line.

Decoy: Canon. Possesses inanimate objects (plus plants). (i.e. the Kraang Train or Kraang Helicopters)

Minion: Canon. Specialized canine type that Brother Kraang possessed himself that directly obeys Kraang Prime, Brother and Sister. Mainly consisting of the Foot Clan and the Metro Tower Victims.

Droids: Canon. Reanimated corpses of fallen Kraang from the prison dimension and brought back into Earth.

Sister Kraang: Canon. Domain over lower class.

Brother Kraang: Canon. Domain over upper class.

Kraang Prime: Canon. Domain over all.

Now the Kraang are separated into 3 classes: Lower, Upper, and Regal.

Lower class are Kraang of Earth origin or residue. (Parasites through howler as seen above.)

Mimic is not considered in a class as it is an outlier.

Upper class are Kraang of true origin or inanimate objects. (Snitch through droids as seen above.)

Regal are Kraang aliens. (Prime, Sister, Brother. No other aliens exist. These 3 are the sole survivors of their kind.)

Just like class in our society, these guys are also separated by location.

Kraang Biomes:

Aside from abandoned ruins and empty ocean floors, the Kraang have made the Earth habitable for them.

Infested ruins: Abandoned cities overrun with Kraang. Oxygen levels low.

Kraang forests: Heavily infested areas resembling a "forest" of Kraang trees and bushes and wildlife. Oxygen levels very low.

Kraang Caves: Caves in which lower class Kraang resides in, mounds (and occasionally mimics) on the outskirts. Oxygen levels normal.

The Hellspot: The only place on Earth that has heat. Kraang do not reside here. Oxygen levels high. COs levels also high. ;)

Floating Archipelagos: Groups of floating islands ripped from the ground (referring to Dimension X, wink wink). Consists of laborcamps, incubator pods, and upper class Kraang. Oxygen levels very low.

Laborcamps: Domes in which Humans/Yokai in captivity being put to work for the exchange of "sparing" their lives. Oxygen levels normal.

Incubator pods: Used for correcting defective Kraang. (Defective meaning any Kraang (lower class) becoming sentient again.) Oxygen levels very low.

Technodrome: The mother ship. Consists of Regal class. Meetings are often held in here. Oxygen levels low.

Now that you have learned the types and locations, you can make a few conclusions.

For instance, if you see mounds, you are near the outskirts of some Kraang caves and should probably get the fuck out.

If your oxygen levels start depleting, you should probably leave. Those who venture further would require an oxygen mask. As the years progress, almost everyone has one.

Kraang don't need oxygen, the exception being zombies who are still somewhat alive inside and the parasitic host needs them alive so uh yeah they'll need oxygen. For now. Over time, they build a tolerance.

Kraang also like it cold. They covered the Earth in thick permanent layers of clouds and removed the ocean in order to drop the temperatures wayyyy down. People would need to bundle up. A lot of nature would start dying. Without the ability to use GPS in a world of no WiFi and being unable to map the stars, travelers would get lost and die before reaching their destination. (Luckily Donnie has a fix but that's lore for another time).

Lower class and Regal being alive need substance. Any living thing will do. Plants, animals, human/yokai flesh. Last resort being other Kraang. (I am assuming cannibalism took place in that Prison Dimension in order for those 3 to survive. Kraang Prime be like "I ate my grandma"--)

Casey Jr being half Kraang is half affected. He still needs oxygen but it's kinda like Ellie from TLOU where he doesn't really need a mask. He also prefers the cold and is very sensitive to heat (Like Will in Stranger Things 2). Pre-rescue, his diet consisted mainly of raw meat from a successful hunt. Which yes, does include human/yokai flesh. And also he is not connected to the hive mind unless in contact with another Kraang, usually his mom. (And further more, post-rescue, if he touch Kraang then Kraang discover Resistance and that is a very bad no no).

And now a shoutout to the culture:

Upper class culture is practically non-existent. Just obedient soldiers designed to obey the top 3. Their culture mainly consists of playing their roles and following orders to a T. They aren't sentient after all so why bother with retaliation in this dystopia? Also, their language skills don't exist, relying solely on the hive mind to communicate.

Lower class culture is freaky but remarkably beautiful in its own twisted way. Their language skills are still there inside and would communicate through words or animalistic sounds (barks, screeches, clicks, hissing, chrips, etc). In the watchful eye of the snitch, they act as obedient as the upper class. When the snitch is away, they like to let loose.

For example, there is song.

Kraang aren't supposed to be into music. Music is a distraction. But the lower class indulge in it. In their own unique communication, it's like they're saying "I'm still alive inside. Please don't forget me."

And like music, there is a practice around it. The practice is called the Siren Song.

The howler starts it, using its howling siren/alarm sounds to create a melodic note. Each Kraang pack has at least one howler, if there are more then the others would harmonize.

Then the canines join in, howling along or stomping their feet to create a beat. Mounds click and hiss to create a rhythm. Zombies begin to sing.

To an outsider, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Kraang noises aren't pleasant after all. But if you were to listen closely and study them, music can be heard.

In the practice, everyone joins in. They reach out to each other to let them know that they are still here, still alive, still sentient. Those who don't join, usually old canines, are the ones who are no longer sentient inside.

.

Occasionally, the Regal would hold meetings in the Technodrome. They send a message through the hive mind and the packs will start moving to wherever the mothership is. The upper and lower class excuse their borders and merge as one as they file in. During these meetings, usually Kraang Prime holds them and explains to the Kraang about their further plans of invading and conquering Earth.

And in these meetings, there is etiquette. You must bow properly, speak properly (depending on your type), you must follow orders and be in perfect synchronization with the others, you must not defy Kraang Prime and always respond with "Yes, brother.", and much more.

.

Defective Kraang are typically Kraang zombies who fall out of line. Mimics are also debatable defective despite their loyalty. When a snitch catches a defective Kraang, they...snitch. Minions would enter the Kraang Caves to apprehend the defective and take them straight to the Technodrome where they are put on trial before Kraang Prime himself. Kraang Prime would evaluate the severity of their defectiveness to determine how long they would need to spend in the incubator.

Typically, the incubator "cures" the defectiveness and the Kraang returns to normal. Some...take a few sessions.

.

The Kraang also have rules and societal standards. They are the "apex species of the galaxies" after all. They must all be perfect. In unison. No mistake. No failures. Only success. Perfect working cogs and gears in a well oiled machine.

This means that the defective, disabled, the mimics, and other outliers are discriminated against. They are not perfection.

Music is a distraction. Family is a distraction. Love is a distraction. Emotion is a distraction.

Humans/Yokai are inferior. Pests. Weeds. Must be eliminated. Kraang supremacy. Case closed.

Fall out of line, incubator. Question authority, incubator or even death. Too weak, eaten alive.

Kraang must cull the herd. Kraang will prevail.

Kraang don't believe in gods. They are the gods.

.

Cassandra did her best to protect Casey Jr from it all.

What does this mean for Casey Jr?

I don't think I need to even begin to explain that obvious child abuse and trauma is involved. Colonization and genocide are at play. War is upon us on this fucked up Earth. It's all very...metaphorical to our reality. Just keep this in mind for how dark the story may get, for those who don't like dark stories. (There is a lot of fluff, dw.)

You can expect to notice things in his behavior here and there as he is rescued. At first, it'll feel like kidnapping. These people are supposed to be bad but yet they're feeding him, treating his injuries, and giving him a bath and fresh clothes. His speech is half developed, being raised by lower class Kraang. He doesn't want to sleep with blankets or properly bundle up. He kneels when he is in trouble.

Conclusively...

All of this is still a WIP for Feral Casey AU. May more ideas are being put in every single day.

But still, the advice I can give you on how to build a society, just start somewhere. The Siren Song is where I started. I have even been working on composing the music just for the fun of it.

It also helps that I am a specialized VA. It's a stim now to make Kraang noises, and it helps me translate them into my story and design the types too.

Then things will keep building from there. =)

[angelmichelangelo]

on my hands and knees give us more crumbs from your human au pls

AH thank you!! im so glad you’re interested because it’s all that’s basically been on my mind for the longest time now :’) im up to like 38k words now? im currently working on chapter nine :] there’s still some big plot beats i still gotta work through but im very much excited to get round to it :)

i still kinda flip flop on the whole thing just cos. it’s got some pretty heavy themes. i know that’s not everyone’s thing when it comes to reading fic and i totally get that but it’s still pretty scary putting that out into the world, not wanting to feel,, idk judged in a way? writing this fic has been super cathartic in a sense. plus, sometimes darker themes are a way to kind of expand how you write — not everything is sunshine and puppies all the time and i quite like a bit of heavy hurt/comfort so yeah! hopefully other people enjoy it in that sense but it’s still a bit. EEK having to think about other people eventually reading it lol

here’s an little sneak peak, fair warning it IS angsty and unedited lol but hopefully you enjoy :D thanks again for your enthusiasm on this, it’s so super appreciated !!

x

He returns home before Raph and Alopex do, drowned out by the rain, it’s still not nearly enough to wash away the thousands of sins that seem to burn hotly against his skin as he’s reminded of what he had done with each step towards home.

He’d done so much for so little. He’d pushed and pushed, teetering until his toes were balancing over the edge. He’d let someone like Hun get right under his skin and latch on like a parasite.

He heads for the shower to drown away more of the mistakes he’d made so far.

When he’s finished scrubbing his skin almost red raw, he stands in the middle of the boxy little room, dripping wet, he reaches a hand out and swipes it through the condensation that clings to the mirror, revealing his sad little face from beneath it.

Ms Katri had told him once with a lot of conviction that most older people carry, that he was a frightfully handsome young man. Leo used to say it all the time too when they were little, tracing his fingers over the lighter patches of his skin over the bridge of his nose, telling him that each one was a kiss from an angel, because that was where he’d come from.

He wasn’t spat from his mother’s womb on a cold, dirtied kitchen floor. He wasn’t a child unloved and unwanted by a mother that bore the same sickness he’d inherited from her all these years later.

To Leo and to his brothers, his existence was still, somehow, supposedly a blessing.

His cheeks are drawn in and hollow, his eyes empty and dark. His hair is limp and untended to and looking past the bruises that still wrap around his skull and the red raised line that cuts through his bottom lip, looking back at the boy in the reflection, he can spot a thousand wounds and scars that he’s already had to carry in just nineteen, short, dreadful years.

It doesn’t feel like much of a blessing. It feels very much like a curse.

[gingerpeachtea]

20 questions for 20 writers !!

ty for the tag @aaronstveit :D <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 13 so far

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 19,163

3. What fandoms do you write for? graceland, braindead, and whatever musicals have crawled into my brain like a parasite and won't leave. i used to write a lot more for aos but i've been slacking </3 daisy johnson i miss u!!!!!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? i already know exactly what these are gonna be lmao

sweet words and fevers (143 kudos, aos, quakerider) lose your faith in me (67 kudos, aos, staticquake) somewhere in the haze (43 kudos, graceland, mike sickfic) wrap it in gauze and light the way home (29 kudos, graceland, mike whump, 10 year anniversary fic :3) if i make it to the morning (28 kudos, graceland, mike/charlie/briggs ot3, mike whump)

5. Do you respond to comments? yes!!!! i looove comments i love talking to people about my fics!!! i love fandom i love community!!! peace and love on planet earth!!!!!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? out of what i've posted so far, definitely trial by fire, because the point of conflict between mike and paige/their guilt doesn't really get resolved so much as just...they go on with their lives. almost all my fics are hurt/comfort but tbf leans more towards hurt/no comfort. HOWEVERRRRR i do think that once i post something's in your eyes then that will be the angstiest bc i just find the last scene to be really sad

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? not an option for me NEXT! jk it's pillow

8. Do you get hate on fics? naur <3 yay

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yes. gay👍. if the characters are a man and a woman no they aren't. not to me. also it has to involve some kind of deep psychological issue or else i get bored LMFAO

10. Do you write crossovers? naur

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i'm aware of !

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? nope, but i would absolutely be open to it if someone offered

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? no BUT there is a doc titled MIKEJOHNNY FOREVER where reese (@cemeteryklaus) and i planned out a co-written mikejohnny fic and even started it but she is lost to the depths of my google docs </3

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? you absolutely cannot make me do this. if there was a gun to my head and u asked me this question i think id just let you shoot me

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? OH GOD. UM. to be so honest........ bus kids existence of all time :( just because SOOO much of it has to be rewritten since i started it YEARS ago and have changed soo much as a writer. i love her so much like that's my BABY that's my actual physical tangible child in a bassinet but....... goddd it's just sm longer than my fics usually are so there's so much to do and so little time </3 and even if i finish it the sequel is definitely not seeing the light of day just bc there's like three missing scenes i still have to write and have 0 ideas for lmao

16. What are your writing strengths? LOOOOOOVE a good metaphor. so sexy so fun to write etc shes my best friend. my silly rabbit. i also think i've gotten really good at showing and not telling :)

17. What are your writing weaknesses? keeping dialogue in character!!! the way i speak irl is so specific and strange and i usually tend to default to my own voice and then i have to go He Would Not Fucking Say That and fix it. also i am so violently indecisive, i usually have 9238642879845 versions of the exact same paragraph or phrase and i can never choose which one i like the most. 70% of the editing process for me is choosing between different versions of something

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? i don't know any other languages so i can't rly do this lmao. i like it tho!!

19. First fandom you wrote for? h*rry p*tter WE DONT HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT!!!!!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? FUCK um. okay so like. let me do one per fandom because i am so violently indecisive.

for braindead it's a no-brainer (hehe) it HAS to be when memories snow bc i LOOOOOVE giving characters my very specific issues and writing laurel's recollection of her finding abby's body and writing the last two paragraphs literally felt like unlocking something in my soul it was so much fun!!!

for aos, bkeoat (bus kids existence of all time) is so self-indulgent and every time i read it it's like OGH OGH OGH OGH OOGA BOOGA AWOOGA many consecutive shots to the chest etc etc and so on and so forth. bc i cooked it specifically to have that effect <3 but out of currently posted fics it has to be lyfim <3333 for the same reasons.

for graceland TRIAL BY FIRE!!! i'm so proud of it and it turned out basically exactly how i wanted it to and i just!!! aaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!! HOWEVER something's in your eyes will in fact be tied with it when i post it so. get scared

i don't know 20 writers so i'm just gonna tag a random number of mutuals: @emeraldelysium @dandelion-writes @the-sparkling-diamond-satine @jortspheus @wheelsup-sevenup @acerobbiereyes @cemeteryklaus @saint-ossifrage <3 and anyone else who wants to do this!! :D feel free to tag me if u do!

[deepfriedseagullfeet]

my anti! lore under the cut: 

1-4 (literally), male, or at least tries to be (he him), pansexual? 5’7” (jack)

i fucking HATE this guy.

basically, i wanted to make an antagonist that personally scared me/made me very upset. and my anti isn’t perfect by any means, but i do feel that he’s powerful enough to ruin the lives of the other 5 egos in his own special ways.

so canon comparisons, or at least the comparisons i can make, since we still dont know what anti is. i always saw anti as a parasite. a parasite that needs a host. thats why he’s always trying to possess jack, because he needs a body to do stuff in the physical world. and thats what happens in my lore!

when anti was created by jack, it was more of an accident, and jack hated anti. he would keep anti locked up in his own body before casting him out to die when he figured out how to separate them. none of the other egos knew that anti existed for awhile, EXCEPT FOR JACKIE, when he saw anti trying to fight for control, but jack gaslit him into thinking it was a hallucination, and all that is a conversation for another time.

so jack thought that anti was gone for good. until he came back. again and again. he would seize jack’s body for control, and jack would cast him out again. jackie and henrik didn’t know what was happening, until anti ended up possessing henrik out of desperation, which is when jack admitted that anti was something he created and wanted to kill all of them.

but the thing was, anti DIDNT want to kill them all, at least at the time. what anti wanted was family. what anti wanted was love. what anti wanted, was to have a body, a home, and he still loved jack, even after everything he put him through. and he was desperate to get it. and as jack created chase, he was realizing that anti wasn’t going to leave him and his creations alone, and so he decided to make anti a body. someone to love anti. someone to keep anti occupied so he would leave them all alone.

and as you might’ve guessed, that body, that somebody was jameson. jameson was hand-crafted, specifically for anti, and presented to him like a present. and uh, anti ended up taking jacks body anyways. he came back for jack, stabbing him in the back even though jack had AGREED with anti that if he made him a body, he wouldn’t do this. but he did, and he took jameson away.

i could go on and on about jameson and anti’s relationship. about how they had a metaphorical wedding, how the went from being awkward, scared kids to lovers, how anti gave into his anger and sadistic urges and ended up making jameson’s life hell. but this video would get VERY long so lets just keep the topic on anti.

essentially, he and jameson shared a house out in the woods and lived “normal” human lives. a big thing with anti, though, is that he became a psychiatrist. he was fascinated with humans, and wanted to dig into their heads. and so he studied up, and with some manipulation (and probably some murder) he wormed his way into the system and became a licensed therapist.

he did eventually get taken down by jackie as his grip on his situation spiraled out of his control, but for a good while, he enjoyed a life of being a white man with power in todays society.

so thats all the backstory. and yes, its a lot, and theres definitely more stuff that happens, but ill talk about that when they become relevant to the other egos.

now as for anti as a character. hes very naturally charming and clever, likeable almost. he likes watching tv with his husband, maybe indulging in a good beer or dr pepper. he also loves weapons and collects knives, while also illegally owning a gun. he likes to go out and hunt animals when hes bored. he likes hurting jameson when he’s bored, too. hes naturally sadistic and enjoys hurting others, manipulating everyone around him with his powers to keep that “hobby” of his quiet.

to put anti as simple as i can, he wants to be human so bad, he wants to live a human life, but he craves complete control so badly that he does anything he can to get it, and thats what makes him scary, abusive, manipulative, and the clear antagonist of the egos.

[awellboiledicicle]

Do you know any cool but surreal headcanons about Bioware games? Like cool but out there?

I mean surreal in what way?

If you just mean wild shit you can conjecture about in bioware, theres a lot. If you mean "no basis whatsoever" idk if I can help with that. But the first one? I have a few.

Because Mass Effect has a whole side quest where you collect a couple random items and connect them to a random artifact on a middle of nowhere planet.. that knocks Shepard out and makes them experience being a neanderthal being abducted and implanted with a chip.

And then it's never referenced again.

So that plus the fact we know Protheans were fucking around means you could reasonably assume this was some sort of memory record taken from experiments on humans, but its... not even in the same arm of the galaxy. Theres no real prothean presence there and the text the artifact shows 0 reference to the actual protheans, which Shep would recognize by vibes if nothing else.

So.

My headcanon is that a sample size of humanity was seeded onto a habitable world for study. Possibly by the Protheans, possibly by one of their various member species. This was, obviously, a short term experiment and it didnt help that the Reapers were probably starting in earnest-- the empire had other things to worry about. So they dismantle the light observation systems they have and let the humans do what they will. Record left behind in the hope they could pick up later.

The problem with this idea is that the planet is hostile to life. You need filter suits to go outside the Mako. Even Krogan need suits, even if it would take longer for the fungal infection to get at them because. Well. Krogan. But there is life-- namely the sneaky space cow. That's another post. But this problem is actually easily ironed out: the planet wasnt always like this. It's totally possible a researcher was Indoctrinated and altered an otherwise innocuous fungal growth that rapidly outgrew its incubator. Given the air is the mechanism of propagation, global spread is a simple matter and then a niche being established with little other competition that can match it.

I'm a bit behind on Dragon Age, since Inquisition pissed me right the fuck off, but I always just assumed that the dwarves do dream they just do it like we do. Since everyone else has their souls pop out for a wander through the Fade, they probably went "wtf no we dont do that" and thus.

Or my theory that Blight is in the groundwater p much everywhere in Thedas and the soil, but weird magic aside it is a disease. A debatedly sentient one, sure, but a disease. So people can fight off this background radiation of it up to a point.

Same with Lyrium tbh. Though Lyrium is an opportunistically parasitic blood thing, more so when itself is infected. It just kinda sits and grows and erodes like a standard mineral until poked in some way. Blight, however, has a mind of it's own if from a Spawn directly. Its said to spread of it's own accord, which I'm choosing to imagine means it acts like Ferrofluid when outside the body, kinda like Venom if Venom melted your brain out your nose and co-opted your vital systems to produce more of itself while connecting the husk of a body to a hive mind with no real directive beyond Kill and Dig and Convert.

Uh surreal, surreal... um.

Mass Effect and Dragon Age canonically exist in the same universe, shown both by the planet from DA being on ME3 as a quarantine planet, and a stuffed Ogre in a dlc, while theres a Krogan head mounted on a wall in Inquisition.

Logically first contact had to have happened, possibly with the Elves or another species on the planet, because they wouldn't need to add a "dont go here" if the contact wasnt pre-Blight. Because it would otherwise be assumed due to the whole uplift/leaving planets to progress thing the Council has in place. And they have to be monitoring it to know if the planet has disease on it still. And theres the implication that either smugglers obtained AND COMPLETELY STOPPED THE RESSURECTION OF an ogre during a blight. Because they otherwise are underground digging. OR some crazy son of a bitch saw people come out of the sky and sold them an ogre.

The last blight that could have been, to tie it to the stuffed Krogan, could have been the blight before Origins-- while the Archdemon was killed in the Free Marches, it was one of the larger blights which had made the Grey Wardens killing so many Spawn so impressive.

Alternatively the vision Shep has with the weird orb is from a human on the DA planet and thus the poking at things.

Ok no but killing an ogre and keeping it dead requires burning the body, otherwise it can fully regen. So to kill and stuff one would be a process of constantly regutting the thing and severing muscles before stuffing it full of so much stuff it cant reform. Or they used lasers to cauterize it all so fast it couldnt regrow. Or they skinned one and then left when it started moving. In any case theres a nonzero chance blight broke the quarantine and is just. Out there.

Shit. Guidelines Unclear, Now Pondering Blight In Space

EDT: i might be wrong and it might be a statue of an ogre, but if i’m not the point stands

[createandconstruct]

Wait, Garland

So. I started this reply, worked on it for two hours, and then moved my window and tumblr eviscerated most of it. Safe to say after that I had to mourn what I lost for a bit. I hope I can channel my original thoughts and words! Maybe it’ll be even better? We’ll see!

Anyway let’s talk about the wrinkly genome himself. Buckle up this one’s a doozy (enjoy some required reading music that fits the man of the hour). 

favorite thing about them: 

His design. This all knowing watchful eye of Terra is as lifeless as he is old. His eyes are blank and empty. His face is withered. His body, without the imposing cape, is like an emancipated black skeleton, where at its center lies the only light and color of Garland’s entire form. He is entirely black and white, except for the red glowing sphere at his center. At first look when I saw it I felt that it’s very much a metaphor for the role designated to him by the Terrans. In Garland’s chest lies the red glow of Terra, the exposed ribs of his black, armorlike chest, keep it within - protecting and hiding it from the outside world of Gaia. Until the time is right. Garland is nothing more than what the Terrans made him to be. An eternal servant that takes every breath for the protection of Terra as that is the reason he was given for living. Every inch of his body was designed for such purpose. Its only right he was designed to aware like a living cage, protecting that last flickers of Terra and its souls that lie within.

On that note let’s look at his design another way. Terra’s revival is Garland’s only reason for living. Zidane questions Garland’s own wants and desires to which he can only claim they are the restoration of Terra and its souls. He has nothing except the words he was fed by the Terrans millennia ago. Garland is the true hollow shell of a man you find in the remains of Terra. He is worn, withered, and ancient. He has lived so long for one reason only, a reason that was never even his own. The light of Terra - the light of the selfish, arrogant, and greedy souls of Terra - are stuck within his opened chest, powering him like an exposed heart or soul. Terra is his power source. Garland cannot rest. He was not created to rest. He was created to follow the reasons the Terrans gave him for his existence. (I exist only to kill) Garland exists and has existed unable to find his own reason for living - Terra’s forever trapped within him. A constant reminder. On the outside, Garland has withered away through his taste of eternity, while Terra’s light has remained strong within him, still forcing, powering, and pulling him forward to the ultimate goal. Perhaps that’s why Garland is only able to voice his own thoughts in death (even calling their failures towards their planet arrogant, and reflecting positively on his chance at existence despite his purpose), after the light of Terra inside him has finally gone out and he is beyond his creators’ reach. 

Though, my final, and favorite, interpretation of his design begs a question… are there truly even any Terrans left? Memories and experiences make the soul, FFIX tells us. Garland cannot take Zidane’s soul from him as his soul is no longer the power source Garland gifted him. It is the laughter, tears, and memories Zidane shared with his loved ones on Gaia. Zidane is of Gaia. He is Gaian. So then who is Terran? The genomes, even Kuja, are not of Terra. Not the true Terra, anyway. The Terra the sleeping souls tried to preserve in the face of mortality and the wasting away that comes with time. The people we see are from the planet’s remains. The true Terrans are those who know the history, who know the culture, who lived and walked and experienced the planet when it was its own, and not a parasite latched inside another. The genomes know nothing of these things. If we call them “Terrans” it’s only because they were created on the fragments that were left inside of Gaia. In reality the Genomes were finally born on Gaia, once they began to experience - began to create memories of their own. There’s a reason Terra’s water does no flow. The world we visit within Gaia is just a frozen memory of a long dead planet.

And when those sleeping souls of Terra... when they finally arise will they even be Terran? They will have no memories of the planet or crystal where they originally cycled. Even if Gaia was assimilated, they will have bodies born on the planet of Gaia, where only remains of Terra lie, from the failed merging of the crystals. Even if the crystal of Gaia turns red the memories of these new “Terrans” will be of their new planet. They will essentially be Gaian and will likely consider themselves so as there is no plan to pass down memories to these new people from Garland. Garland is restoring the Terran souls into a new cycle, as if trying to return things to how they were before Terra’s death. It’s like a child trying to get a deceased loved one to play or react to them like they always do, not understanding things will never be like that again. Garland can never truly restore Terra or the Terrans to the they were. Those people, the original Terrans, even if their souls remain, have been lost to death and time. Perhaps their memories could have been passed on much like Vivi’s at the end of the game but because they were so desperate to ensure that their “superior” life, history, culture, and race endured forever, they lost the chance to truly persevere such things by passing it down to others in the present for the future. Instead such things were lost when they tried to allow themselves to endure by erasing the life from another planet. 

All this is to say that, the only true Terrans are those who hold one of their souls, who know the history, and the culture and the only such person who exists, is Garland. He is the last true Terran. The remains of Terra have been cast with the blue of Gaia’s light. The Terra we see, that we visit? That’s not Terra. Terra is gone. Only one of its people remains. And the tragedy is that while Garland says his goal is to restore Terra, he’s going about it in the wrong way. In reality, Garland, an almost immortal being, who carries the last true light of Terra within himself, always had the means to truly preserve Terra and its people’s memories: by simply sharing them with the future. Instead, the Terrans doomed Garland and their planet with their plans of grandeur and eternity. A doomed fate that follows all who attempt to escape death. Which is why it is perhaps so appropriate that when Kuja destroys the remains of Terra within Gaia it is only fitting that Garland has died along with them too.

least favorite thing about them: 

Like Kuja, as an antagonist, there’s a lot to dislike about Garland, but that’s intentional. He’s a good villain, I like him. I rather mention something that kinda annoys me writing wise? Not even annoying, just something that gave me a raised brow the first time I played the game and now gives me a headache the more I think about it: Omnipresent Garland voice. 

Now Garland speaking to Zidane in Memoria I can deal with. It can make sense, even though it’s not explained. He’s a timeless being who existed before the current civilization on Gaia began. You could argue through his soul experimentation and millennia existence he has found a way to keep a level of consciousness as his own soul travels to the crystal. We know the cycle of souls is slower due to the manipulation of the crystal by Garland so it makes sense his souls is traveling slowly in the cycle towards the crystal after his death, allowing him to find Zidane and chat. Its also an interesting parallel of Zidane and co. traveling through Memoria, deeper into the crystal, while Garland’s souls travels too. Memoria is almost like Garland’s 5000 year life flashing before his eyes. Until he eventually reaches the end. The void of space. Perhaps the void of death. It’s the place his voice finally leaves Zidane. Is Garland’s voice disappearing into that void an indication of him stuck in a purgatory like state? Never return to a crystal? Or perhaps that void is the end of himself (of his consciousness), as we know him, but his soul continues on like Zidane and the others do as he is accepted into the cycle of Gaia’s Crystal?  Whatever the case I can deal with Garland’s bodiless voice in the end game. I like it honestly.

What bothers me a bit is Garland’s voice appearing right after Kuja kicks him off the cliff. I get it. Kuja has to feel on top of the world before he spirals and crashes. He finishes off Garland and gets to dance about in victorious glee only before Garland’s voice resounds in everyone’s heads. His presence still lingering even after death to inform Kuja of his own impending fate. But it’s still a little jarring when it happens the first time you play it. Garland falls to his death and then he’s telepathing through the force. There’s a moment of “wait he’s alive?” then “wait he’s not” and then “how’s he doing this?” It can take you out of the scene which should very much be about Kuja. This is very much a nitpick and something that can be explained away because of Garland’s character and capabilities but whenever I play I’m like oh here comes ghost Garland. Though maybe it’s better to think that Garland actually did survive the fall and as he lies dying in the abyss beneath Pandemonium, with his remaining strength, he speaks to Kuja and others in the same way Kuja speaks to Mikoto and Zidane at the end of the game. Yeah I like that. Seems I fixed my own gripe. And now the essays are over and we can get to the fun stuff.

favorite line: I have some favorite villain lines of Garland and some favorite sentimental post-Mufasa’d-Garland lines. We’ll start with villain: "Forget all that. You are destined to live among the stars for all eternity.” I love this line, it’s kinda haunting that this is not just Garland’s motive but the motive of the Terrans. I then love Zidane’s retort. Their whole back and forth is just William Shatner Shakespeare drama father vs very angry teenage theater kid son. Number 2: "Don't you know what it means to meet your maker?" Something about this line real hits home the clashing between Zidane and Garland in Pandemonium. It always stood out to me, especially the first time I played. It’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Garland. He is Zidane’s creator who was so ready to erase him with barely a snap of his fingers. As for sentimental lines, I’m predictable: “Zidane… take care of Kuja.” and “Even if I were created to serve one purpose alone, I do not regret being born to this world." Shout out to - despite my earlier ravings - Garland’s narration over the scenes in Memoria. When you encounter each memory and then get the fade to black with his objective description, it’s like the souls who have experienced each memory I talking through him. Both Terran and Gaian.

brOTP: Garland has no bros. He has no friends. Though I would have liked to see Mikoto and Garland interact. I wonder what her feelings were towards him as she was his third project, a last resort, who would easily be replaced if she went wrong in the same way Zidane replaced Kuja, and she replaced Zidane.

OTP: Garland x the eternal sleep

nOTP: Do people even ship Garland with anyone

random headcanon: I always thought that after Garland attempted to steal Zidane's soul he carried him in his arms to inside of Pandemonium and placed him in that chair. It felt disturbing and poetic to me. This idea that when Zidane is at his most vulnerable - his soul literally being pulled from his flesh - Garland, his creator, carries him away like a father would a son. Yet Garland brings Zidane to the deepest part of Pandemonium to place him on a throne where he’ll sit alone, as everything that makes  Zidane, Zidane, slowly slips away. A creator - a father in some sense - drops his son into solitude never expecting Zidane’s true family to come through, reigniting Zidane’s very soul. Perhaps at that point when they come to face him, Garland already had an inclination he’d lose. 

unpopular opinion: Not sure I have an unpopular one? Something I realized though is Kuja’s purple/silver/white hair may very well be his natural color as it matches Garland’s hair. I’d like to think that Kuja, as Garland’s first unique, soul-filled genome, was created in Garland’s image. Garlands also a great villain who is built up well by the entire game and he does not come out of nowhere. That may be a hot take for the non-ffix appreciators 

song i associate with them: Copied City by Keigo Hoashi and of course, Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (though this piece also has a distinctly dramatic Kuja vibe as well). If Garland got his own unique boss theme I’d imagine it being something dramatically played on the organ. Though nothing fits Garland like and Mourning by Keiichi Okabe. This piece is just incredible in general but it's insanely powerful and well, mournful. (And you KNOW WHAT I just found the ARRANGED piece of mourning and hOLY ORGAN: Mourning Arranged by Sachiko Miyano. I am now adding it as required reading music for this post.)

favorite picture of them: This piece by @spoonybart​ is haunting. The colors and lighting form the center glow of Garland’s chest really give him the other worldly and imposing presence he has in game.

Also this art by @oeilvert​ Literally so incredible. It is ingrained in my experience of playing FFIX for the first time. When I got to Terra and experienced Pandemonium for the first time I went searching for art that captured my feelings and found this piece. It is perfect. 

And then there’s this piece by もりもり on pixiv. I found it and can’t stop thinking about it. Absolutely incredible. It makes me wheeze whenever I see it. Garterbelt Garland. Amazing 100/10 everyone else go home.

[prokopetz]

The present tabletop RPG resurgence is great, but I can’t help but feel that a lot of the received wisdom that’s developing about how to run tabletop games is leading new GMs to make things harder for themselves than they needs to be.

Stuff like “I ignore 80% of the rulebook and constantly fudge dice rolls, that means I’m a strong independent GM with a clear vision for my game” -- like, yes, that may well be true, but that you’re having to do all that is a pretty clear sign that you’re using a wildly inappropriate system for the kind of game you want to run.

Basically, game rules are not unopinionated. Any game that claims to be universal is lying to you; yes, it’s true that a given set of rules can be reasonably setting neutral, but even the simplest rules bake in a huge number of very specific assumptions about how the game ought to be played. They have to, because that’s what rules do.

Of course, whenever the rules and the GM disagree about how the game ought to be played, the GM is going to win, but that’s not necessarily an argument you need to be having. To draw a parallel, it’s totally possible to start with the rules of soccer and gradually rewrite and pare away bits and pieces of it until you have miniature golf, but you’d have saved yourself a lot of headaches if you’d just started with miniature golf in the first place!

And the thing is, I don’t think most novice GMs are getting themselves into this position on purpose. A lot of folks seem to be getting misled -- sometimes by overzealous advocates of this or that popular system, and sometimes just by their own inexperience -- that there’s basically only one kind of tabletop RPG, and if the the game they want to play is anything other than that very specific game, it’s on them to figure it out from first principles.

Which just plain ain’t the case. Tabletop RPGs are a hugely diverse hobby, and whatever your perfect game is, there’s probably something very close to it out there already, no matter what it is you’re dissatisfied with. There are tabletop RPGs without dice, tabletop RPGs without GMs, and even tabletop RPGs without player characters -- and all of those are totally separate considerations from how complex the rules are. If your ideal game is a highly structured three-hundred-page tome about Regency era comedies of manners in the mode of Bronte and Austen?  That game actually exists -- as do countless others.

(Plus, even if you prefer to hack your own systems, you can benefit from expanding your horizons and seeing how other people have approached the subjects you want to take on. As a game author myself, I’ve frequently found myself in the position of having spent weeks or months bashing my head against a particular piece of game design, only later to discover that some game I didn’t know existed had solved that problem thirty years ago!)

And just so nobody can say I’m being a grump without offering any constructive alternatives, there’s an annotated rec list of forty-odd free or pay-what-you-want tabletop RPGs under the cut. If you want to take my advice but have no budget for expanding your library, check any of these out!

Abnormal - A scene-structured body horror game about a human being slowly consumed by an alien parasite. Uses a mix of dice and print-and-play cards, and supports solo, co-op, and three-player modes, none of which require a GM.

Adventures of the Space Patrol - A self-proclaimed “retro cute” RPG about a group of rather goofy pre-generated heroes having G-rated adventures in space. Based on a modified version of Fate Accelerated Edition, discussed below.

Always/Never/Now - A game and campaign in one, this cyberpunk RPG is intended to be played with a pre-made cast of characters, much like Lady Blackbird, below -- in fact, the two are based on the same core system, though they take it in very different directions.

Among the Beautiful Creatures (warning: direct PDF link) - A game about a world that’s forever ending, populated by shape-shifting muppety things -- picture Jim Henson does Fritz Leiber and you’ll have the right idea. Content warning for child abuse in the opening fiction.

Archipelago - One of the few “Norwegian style” RPGs available in English, this one uses card-based prompts to guide improvisational freeform play. The price listed at the linked page is for a charitable donation; the free version is linked in the description.

All Outta Bubblegum (warning: direct PDF link) - A dumb-as-hell 80s action game that uses actual sticks of bubblegum to track your character’s emotional state; when you’re All Outta Bubblegum, things are about to get real. You don’t have to play drunk, but it helps!

Anima Prime - A narrative high-action title in the mode of RWBY or Final Fantasy XIII. Something of a tactical exercise, but it achieves it via linked dice pools that can be wagered and spent on various effects rather than through miniature figures on a grid.

Atomic Highway - A Mad Max inspired post-apoc game about people with big ugly cars struggling to survive in the wasteland. Can scale from entirely human drama to settings with anthropomorphic mutant animals and weird psychic powers.

Blowback - A low-rent superspy intrigue game inspired by media like Burn Notice (and, to a lesser extent, the original Bourne trilogy), this one’s rules focus mainly on your relationships with NPCs, and how far you can push those bonds in service to your goals before they break.

Danger Patrol - An unreleased playtest draft of an atomic-age sci fi game whose big idea is mix-and-match character creation where you literally staple two randomly drawn half-character-sheets together to get your Atomic Professor or Psychic Robot player character.

Dragonfly - Self-described as a cross between Pokémon and Starship Troopers, this one’s a military action game where soldiers capture and train giant bugs to serve as weapons platforms, flying mounts, and other battlefield roles.

Encounter Critical - Created as a parody of the tabletop roleplaying hobby’s early days, this is purportedly a “lost” sci-fi action game from 1978 (in reality published in 2004) that transparently draws from Star Trek: The Original Series and Star Wars: A New Hope. Almost playable!

Engine Heart - A rules-medium survival game about goofy little robots searching for meaning in a world where humanity has gone extinct. It’s been described as grimdark Wall-E, and while it can certainly be used to do that, it’s more tonally flexible than it might initially appear.

ERA - An epic fantasy game designed for a GM and one or two players, this one frames scenarios with a formal seven-scene structure that can pack an entire adventure into as little as an hour, once you get the hang of it. 

Fate Accelerated Edition - Fate straddles the line between old-school “the GM says what happens” games and new-school shared narration games. There are dozens of versions out there; FAE is a good entry point, and a good primer for the more full-featured Fate Core.

Genius: The Transgression - A Chronicles of Darkness fan-game (i.e., using the same system as Vampire: The Requiem) where you play as mad scientists. The central theme could be described as “epistemological horror”, examining what it means to know things.

Hall of the Dwarven King - A solo logistics game that’s arguably more of a solitaire board game than a tabletop RPG, but I’m throwing it in because my post, my rules. It’s, well, it’s basically tabletop Dwarf Fortress. More playable than that makes it sound!

Henshin! - A super sentai (i.e., Power Rangers) themed game where a token economy based on “strong” moves (which cost tokens) and “weak” moves (which grant them) takes the usual place of dice. The link is to the original PWYW playset; a proper core rulebook is in development.

Honey Heist - A two-page RPG with a simple premise: 1. you are planning a complex Ocean’s Eleven style heist at a honey convention; and 2. you are a bear. No, not, like, an anthropomorphic talking bear; just a regular bear. Events proceed as expected.

Ironsworn - A Viking-inspired adventure/survival RPG that supports both guided play with a GM and GMless co-op play, the latter using a mix of shared responsibilities and random tables to let the players act as their own GM. Interesting use of printable cards for chargen, too.

Lady Blackbird - A resource-driven minigame built around a fixed scenario and pregenerated characters, concerning an exiled noblewoman-slash-sorcerer -- the eponymous Lady Blackbird -- travelling to meet her pirate lover in a spacefaring steampunk setting.

Lasers & Feelings - This Star Trek: The Original Series inspired romp is a microgame in the truest sense, managing to pack character creation, rules of play, a random scenario generator, and even an illustration into a single letter-size sheet of paper.

Mist-Robed Gate - A wuxia-themed game that replaces dice with the “knife ritual”, which involves a series of gestures culminating in stabbing each other’s character sheets with an actual knife. Playing on a surface you don’t mind getting holes in is recommended.

Motobushido - A playing-card-driven game about samurai motorcycle gangs where conflicts are decided less by strength or skill and more by how far you’re willing to push the boundaries of honour to win. Note that the pay-what-you-want version is available in ePub format only.

Mutant Future - One of two old-school D&D retroclones on this list, this one is basically Gamma World with the serial numbers filed off, which means gnarly mutant anthro animals getting up to shenanigans. Note that the free version does not include illustrations.

Mythender - A god-kicking game where everybody is basically Kratos from God of War. Highly structured; while the actual rules could be squeezed into a couple of pages, the interactions between them are complex. Most of the core rulebook consists of a guided tutorial.

Oculus v2 (warning: direct PDF link) - A solo guided writing exercise in tabletop RPG format, this one casts you in the role of a wizard magically scrying on your own player character. One of two similar games of the same title; the other doesn’t appear to be online at the moment.

Perfect Unrevised - A psychological horror game about heroic criminals in a steampunk dystopia that examines what taking the Victorian ethos to its logical conclusion actually implies. Uses a rotating scene structure where each player serves as a different player’s GM.

Poet Glorious - A game about heroic and doomed warriors where the conflict resolution rules play out essentially as a cross between the Prisoner’s Dilemma and a haiku poetry slam. Make sure your friends are cool with casual betrayal before playing!

Pokéthulhu - A parody game about capturing and training miniature Lovecraft beasties that actually does a better job of its source material than most serious attempts at a Pokémon RPG. Well suited for one-on-one play owning to its duelling-focused combat system.

Risus - One of the great-grandparents of the modern rules-light ethos, this comedy-themed game breaks down characters into a handful descriptive clichés that serve as both stats and hit points. The basic game is free; the supplement is not.

SCrawl - Short for “solo crawl”, this one is an old school kill-the-monsters-and-take-their-stuff dungeon crawler designed to be played by one player, no GM. Honestly not my cup of tea as far as solitaire gaming goes, but it’s very good at what it does.

Sea Dracula - I’m breaking my own rules here, as this one is neither free or pay-what-you-want, but it only costs a dollar. It’s about animal lawyers having courtroom battles that are resolved via dance-offs -- by which I mean the players must literally get up and dance!

The Shab-al-Hiri Roach - A competitive, GMless game of campus politics in a New England college town that’s been infested by a soul-eating telepathic cockroach from the dawn of time, whose commands are represented by print-and-play cards written in ancient Sumerian.

Stars Without Number - A space opera hack of original flavour (i.e., pre First Edition) Dungeons & Dragons. The free version is basically feature complete, though there’s a paid version that adds rules for transhuman tech, giant robots, and a few other bits and bobs.

The Storybrewers Free Game Library - A collection of six GMless minigames, some collaborative and some competitive, running the gamut from heroic archaeologists in the mode of The Mummy (1999) to Game of Thrones style dynastic backstabbery.

Sufficiently Advanced, Second Edition - A diceless transhuman space opera game where “sapient city” is a valid starting character concept. Maintains spotlight balance between baseline humans and unfathomable space gods using player facing plot-editing rules.

The Tragedy of GJ237b - Describing itself as “a role-playing game for no players”, this one is unplayable in the strictest sense of the word. A good conversation piece for the games-as-art crowd, though most of those conversations will be arguments over the definition of “game”.

Wisher, Theurgist, Fatalist - A sort of meta-RPG about the process of writing RPGs that, in practice, works something like a cross between a guided writing exercise and a nomic. Whether it’s playable (or even meant to be played) as written is a matter of some debate.

WitchCraft - One of the original contemporary urban fantasy RPGs. The rules -- an early iteration of the system that would later appear in games like Conspiracy X -- kind of show their age, but if you’re, like, a huge Mercedes Lackey fan, this game is written especially for you.

Wizards - A game with a straightforward premise: you and your friends are a. nigh-omnipotent wizards, and b. just awful, like seriously the worst. A simple shared-narration game where most of the fun comes from getting to describe the consequences of your fellow players’ mistakes.

Wushu - A high-action martial arts game that strips the rules about as bare as you possibly can and still have something that qualifies as a “game”. The PDF version will set you back a few bucks, but the web version is free to read.

Young At Heart - Now here’s a specialised piece of work: a 1990s style sports drama oneshot game whose central conceit is that each session is framed as a series of flashbacks that occur entirely within the span of a retiring baseball player’s final pitch.

[mirrerover]

Big Plans

“You know shit’s never gonna fucking change, right?” Jason makes to grab for his Zippo. Remembering Dick will happily remove his nuts from his waxed sack for even contemplating smoking inside Dick’s apartment, he stops. His fingers twitch with irritation, nothing like a little nicotine deprivation to start the day. “Gotham’s a gothic nightmare where corruption runs thicker than blood and Blüdhaven’s worse, somehow. Like looking in a funhouse mirror. Uglier. More warped.”

“I really do enjoy our little morning pep talks,” Dick replies, closing the last two buttons on his dress shirt before tucking the fabric into the waistline of his pants. In general, Jason would say he prefers the Kevlar-enhanced, ass-hugging suit Dick prowls the night in—but there’s something to be said for a crisp, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, forearm veins on display. He doesn’t know how the Blüdhaven criminals are faring but, personally, he wouldn’t mind letting Detective Richard Grayson slap some cuffs on him. Let Dick work him over hard in a surveilled box until Jason cracks, raw and bloody under the harsh fluorescent lights. 

“These fucking places,” Jason grumbles, tired and cranky from watching Dick getting ready to leave, all that warm, gold skin about to slip right out the door. “It’s not something anyone can fix. Nothing short of dropping a bomb on the damn place and razing it to the ground.” 

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer, strands brushing the bone of his jaw. He’s no stranger to this; Jason and the trash he talks. Words pouring out of him sharp as knives, the blades full of blood. Just endlessly spewing shit.

“No point to it all, huh?” Dick leans a hip against the dresser, arms folded, eyebrow raised. There’s an ease to him that’s inherent; the way he owns his body, his space, every room he’s in. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to lure me back to bed.”

 Jason thinks it over. Admits, “not originally,” and lets his legs fall apart slowly. Nude body lounging against cheap, synthetic pillows, he’s got Dick’s low-rent sheets strategically draped across his crotch, all tasteful and shit. Just like the Renaissance paintings cluttering the hallways of the Wayne Manor. None of the shameless, naked peacocking Dick gets up to after sex. No, Jason’s classy. Artful. The signature Jason Todd brand. “But are you feelin’ down to fuck?” he asks. 

Dick throws his head back and laughs. Really fucking laughs. Eyes scrunched up and shoulders shaking, all charisma and beauty and warmth. Laughing like that, it’s suddenly easy to see how a group of metahumans chose Dick as their leader despite his lack of superpowers or how the Blüdhaven Police Corps would accept him as their own despite him being the ward of Gotham’s favourite billionaire asshole. There’s something about Dick like there’s something about Bruce. Something captivating and inescapable that would make you launch a thousand ships for them. Burn down entire worlds for them. Jason’s not sure Dick’s aware of that. And in a way, Jason thinks he understands the Joker better than Bruce ever could. 

Dick’s laughter fades too slowly, and Jason would be annoyed but there’s a tightness to Dick’s pants that wasn’t there two minutes ago, and Dick’s always laughing. Joyful and happy. Like those are easy feelings to conjure and easy feelings to have. As if getting out of bed isn’t like crawling out of a dark pit every morning and as if life isn't like taking a suckerpunch to the gut, over and over.

“Wish I could,” Dicks says, and Jason swears he sounds like he means it. “But I got big plans today. Gotta save a city.”

“‘Save a city.’ Jesus Christ. More like go get shanked in the gut.”

Dick shrugs and slips on a watch. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The other bats all have their day jobs. The Police Detective, the Socialite, the rising Tech Wunderkind, and Jason’s personal favourite: the Student. Jason derives no small amount of pleasure from knowing that Bruce and the Demon Spawn get to suffer through the worst of it. Like an ill-fitted suit, Jason hopes it pulls and itches every time they’ve got to slip their disguises on. It shows how removed they are from the rot and the grit and the filth of what is Gotham. The gore at the core of it all. 

That’s where Jason lives, at its epicentre. 

He’d fallen into it naturally, being a crime lord. It had been a logical first step when he’d come home, head full of green fumes and rage. He’s proud to say, he puts the organized in organized crime. Outshines even the worst of them in calculated vicious violence. The crime part of the job, Jason can admit he’s gotten more discerning about. There’s no peddling drugs to kids or bleeding junkies dry, no people traded like cattle, and he doesn’t like selling guns to the lowlifes clogging Gotham’s streets. So, he’s become a parasite instead. Infiltrates a crime organisation and eats it from the inside out till it finally collapses. Scraps the dead beast for parts and money.

It’s not something Jason talks about with this version of Dick. His shady deals, his underground moonlighting. Never with a cop like the one making his way to the bed right now, uniform tight over thick thighs and a sway in his hips that’s nothing less than sexual warfare. 

“Try smoking in my bed again, Todd,” Dick warns, looming over him. He stops whatever threat he was going to utter, disrupted by Jason grousing at him to fucking let that go already. Perfectly pleasant, Dick does exactly that. Just stares at Jason with a face far too naked and utterly too fond. Something’s creeping under Jason’s skin at the sight of it—an itch he doesn’t know how to scratch, unable to decide whether he wants to kiss the prick or break his perfect face instead.

A little lower, there’s a bruise peeking out of Dick’s collar that looks like a handprint. Jason had put that there last night. Violently. Not even the fun kind of violent but the messy kind. The kind where something hunts Jason through nightmares and his body acts before his sleeping brain has had the chance to catch up—that kind of violence. Maybe a better person would wallow in the guilt and remove themselves from the situation. Not Dick and Jason. They just get better at hiding the batarangs and guns. The 200 pounds of well-trained muscle and murderous reflexes are a little harder to counteract but Dick’s no babe in the woods. Besides, Jason’s not exactly the first lethal bitch between Dick’s bedsheets.

Dick smiles. A teasing thing full of soft edges. “Mornings are hard. Aren’t they, Sugarplum?”

“Fuck you to hell.” Jason groans with feeling, hating the hard lumps of Dick’s mattress when he sinks back into them. “Just get lost already, Birdbrain. There’s no fucking point to you with your clothes on.”

“Nice to know I’m not completely useless.”

Jason wants to fight that far too favourable self-assessment. Would fight it, were he not half a pack of Lucky Strikes and three cups of coffee short of mustering the energy. Which is also the only reason he’s letting Dick press an off-centre kiss to his forehead. A shitty place for a shitty kiss from a shitty person, if you ask Jason. Very much Dick Grayson’s style.

“Try and behave, Little Wing.” Dick’s already moving away from the bed and shrugging on a jacket. “I really like this place. Got three South facing windows and none of the neighbours run a meth lab.”

“Prime Blüdhaven real estate,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Dick takes one last look at himself at the mirror, shoots Jason a tacky wink because his existence is a curse, and promises under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like I’ll be back or I’ll miss you. Another twenty seconds later and Jason hears the front door lock click back into place.

His day is wide open now. 

There are things to do but there are always things to do. At any time, Jason’s got about forty things in various stages of motion. Always working on something. Someone. Bigger games than the one he’s running on Dick right now, lighting one up in his bed.

Blowing smoke up into the air, Jason decides that today he’s going to crack the safe Dick keeps behind the panel in his closet. Perfectly harmless, really. Just him fishing through some of Dick’s case files—maybe even solving a few, if he’s feeling charitable. And for tonight, there’s that Malaysian place three blocks over that does a better Rendang than anything he’s found in Gotham. Dick never shuts up about it. Like he’s never going to shut up about the cigarette smell seeping into the wallpaper.

Jason smirks. Solid options. He still has last night’s terrors painted on the back of his eyelids and the feeling of Dick’s neck under his hand but they’re slowly fading. And Dick’s got him covered, said he’d take care of the big plans, so Jason doesn’t have to. And next time, when Jason’s Dick and Dick’s Jason, he’ll have Dick covered too. Jason will tackle the big plans while Dick raids Jason’s fridge and leaves wet towels all over his apartment. Jason knows it’ll happen. It has happened. Just not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

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

@wethatake thanks for being the beta and basically a co-writer. You suck but I love you. <3 Here’s to hoping that your sad little sack of a co-worker doesn’t kill you. XD

[crowdvscritic]

best picture project // THE ‘40s: WARTIME + PRESTIGE

In the immortal words of Don McLean, a long, long time ago, I can still remember how I wrote about the 1930s for my Best Picture Project. (Don’t fact check those lyrics to “American Pie.”) I titled that overview of the decade “Chaos + Influence” in that order—chaos led the Academy’s way through the Great Depression. In the 1940s, though, the motion picture community embraced the organization, and in many cases, it was because they realized how helpful it could be to their own reputations and pocketbooks. 

At the ceremony honoring 1940, Jimmy Stewart was the only Best Actor nominee to show up, and Katharine Hepburn said on losing for her work in The Philadelphia Story, “Prizes are nothing. My prize is my work.” By 1943, the Golden Globes launched as a copycat show, and by 1945, Joan Crawford was campaigning to win for Mildred Pierce. Henry Rogers, who ran her campaign, said, “You know as well as I do that members of the Academy vote emotionally…I’m confident that people in our business can be influenced by what they read and what they hear.” He’s on record calling acting awards “more of a popularity contest than a talent contest” with “emotional and sometimes practical considerations, none of which have to do with the quality of the performance.” Studios began taking out ads for nominees they had under contract (even if they were nominated for pictures from other studios), and formal betting began in Las Vegas on odds-on favorites.

When Joan Fontaine defeated her sister Olivia de Havilland for Best Actress 1941, her salary didn’t see a change, but her studio, Selznick International, did. The fee for other studios to borrow her talents bumped from $25,000 to $100,000 after her 1940 nomination and to $200,000 after her 1941 win. Never mind that Fontaine had mixed feelings after her win. “Winning an Academy Award is undoubtedly a great accolade, supreme praise from one’s peers, a recognition to be accepted gratefully and graciously,” she said. “It can also damage irreparably one’s relations with family, friends, co-workers, the press…It was a fishbowl existence until the next year’s awards, when a new winner would occupy the throne. Naturally, there was many a doubter, many a detractor, many an ill-wisher. It’s an uneasy head that wears the crown.” 

Still, success wasn’t a given for the industry during wartime, and the Oscars had to pivot like the rest of world. Statues were made of plaster for a time to prevent stealing metal from war efforts, and the 1942 ceremony was almost cancelled because of the U.S. had just jumped into World War II and Carole Lombard had just died in a plane crash while selling war bonds. But the show must go on, so the Academy pared the evening down, hosting a “dinner” instead of a “banquet” and discouraging fancy dress. The format of the show changed several times through the decade, eventually nixing the meal and moving to a theater for good. The Academy might invite soldiers for a variety-style evening, President Roosevelt might make an address, or Jack Benny might host a radio broadcast for soldiers abroad. Special awards were handed out for war-related service, including to Noel Coward for his war film In Which We Serve, the British Ministry of Information “for its vivid and dramatic presentation of the heroism of the RAF” in a documentary, and to Harold Russell “for bringing hope and courage to his fellow veterans” in The Best Years of Our Lives. (Russell also won Best Supporting Actor, making him the only person with two acting Oscars for the same film.) Also of note, Winston Churchill praised Best Picture winner Mrs. Miniver as “propaganda worth a hundred battleships,” an unusual but powerful endorsement of the voting body’s picks.

Wartime adjustments weren’t the only new features. The Academy saw more than one big first:

ABC began broadcasting the show on the radio

New categories were introduced, including for documentaries, foreign language films, and costume design

Ernst Lubitsch won the first Lifetime Achievement Oscar

The Academy started keeping winners secret until announced on stage

Barry Fitzgerald earned noms both for Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor in Going My Way—oops! A new rule was added to prevent that from happening again

Hamlet became the first non-American Best Picture win, overcoming attitudes like that of one studio exec who said noms for foreign films were “an act of treason.” (Heaven forbid we learn what that guy would think of Parasite!) The Academy had tried to prevent this with special awards for international films, but basically Laurence Olivier would not be denied (to oversimplify it)

And a few moments qualified as blink-and-you-might-miss-this-didn’t-happen-yesterday: 

Fortune reported The Best Years of Our Lives and Gentleman’s Agreement made $2 million more at the box office than they would have if they had not won Best Picture

When How Green Was My Valley won Best Picture, some speculated it was due to recency bias as the last nominee to be released. Today that film is best remembered as the one that somehow won over Citizen Kane, so, um, its reputation has not aged any better

At least two winners, Michael Curtiz and Greer Garson, acknowledged they didn’t have speeches prepared. Garson’s 5½-minute speech pushed the party past 1 a.m., which Jack Black and Will Ferrell would have something to say about

Bottom line: The Academy started as a body with middling influence and transformed into a prestigious organization, not just strong enough to withstand a world war but perhaps even bolstered by it.

Photos: 

1950: The Pantage Theater outside the Academy Awards honoring the films of 1949.

1942: Burgess Meredith watches Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine in a happier (maybe?) moment the night Fontaine bested her sister for Best Actress. When de Havilland passed away last year, you might have seen stories about their rivalry resurface.

1947: Samuel Goldwyn, Harold Russell and William Wyler celebrate eight awards for The Best Years of Our Lives.

1942: Bob Hope hosts for his third time. He hosted or co-hosted the event 19 times between 1940 and 1978.

Resources:

Behind the Oscar: The Secret History of the Academy Awards by Anthony Holden (1993)

Oscars.org (including all photos)

“Oscar Hosts: Performers Who Have Hosted the Academy Awards,” GoldDerby.com (2020)

[fides-regnat-aeterna]

Hanahanu Reborn

"Bring him in," a voice announced. It was strong, albeit a bit concentrated in the nose. It was one that wouldn't be too out of place within his home Legion. But here? It was one of the many markers that made him so distinct from his newfound kin.

"Yes, lord," a second voice said, a figure bowing and moving from the threshold of the door that was barely cracked open. This one was firm, a bit hardened by yelling orders to his warriors, though a note of unease was easily able to be noticed. The figure was dressed in full warplate, crimson and edged in steel, with the armor itself carved and inset with symbols taken from the Book of Lorgar. Upon one pauldron sat the icon of his Legion, the Latros Sacrum, and on the other sat the icon of his Host, a bloodied handprint over a leatherbound book. The Host had no grand title or name -- few did, nowadays -- and was simply known as the 17th Host. He was bare headed, with tanned skin, black hair styled with an undercut swept to one side, and dark eyes that betrayed his worries. His name was An-Ishkur, and he had been asked to assist in the rejoining process for his brothers within the Legion.

He strode into an adjacent chamber, where a number of warriors bearing similarly-colored warplate currently sat. It was quite barren, as the newly-named Master of Possession had asked it to be, with benches lining the walls and warding sigils carved into the pale walls. The floor was a mosaic of white and black, marking out the sacred octed beneath their feet. The warriors within tried not to show their overt discomfort. Most were able to mask it well. But some were pawing at their faces, snarling with annoyance, tapping their foot, or reciting prayers and litanies under their breath. Within each one sat a creature of the Empyrean, one of the revered Neverborn. Daemons, as many called them.

"Hanahanu Elil," An-Ishkur said from the doorway. A few heads came up, and he locked eyes with the one who was destined to go next. "Your time has come, brother." The eyes looking back at him were a tawny grey tinged with amber, a testament to how much the daemon within had changed him. He was just surprised to see that Elil was able to even take his helm off -- several of the other Legionnaires could not. The face looking back was darker than his own, with the same handsome, almost patrician features found amongst most of the Legion. His hair was a short, messy crop of black that almost edged on a very dark grey. He reached a gauntleted hand up to brush some of it aside.

"We're ready," Elil said, standing. As he spoke, An-Ishkur noticed his teeth were becoming sharper. If all went well, like it seemed to with the two who had gone before, then hopefully the beast within could be quelled.

Hopefully.

An-Ishkur nodded, making a gesture and leading him to the door. The door itself was decorated and ornamented, with some more recent carvings and wards having made permanent marks within its surface.

He raised a hand to knock, before the man within impatiently said, "I know who you are and who you are with, just get him in here."

The two traded glances, and An-Ishkur shook his head before opening the door and allowing Hanahanu in first. The room still smelled of burning flesh, blood, and incense. The only other figures within the vaulted chamber was an Astartes clad in robes of red and white, followed by two smaller robed humans as he renewed the circles and prepared for his next experiment. The room was approximately fifty feet on a side, with braziers of burning incense set about ten feet apart to the duo's left and right. Towards the front of the room sat a raised dais with a lectern, and upon it sat a book bound in skin with yellowed pages. An-Ishkur suppressed a shiver as his eyes passed over the book. Something... else felt as though it brushed his consciousness as he did.

The man in robes finished speaking an invocation and finally drew himself up, turning to face the two newcomers. With the two of them arrayed in battle plate, it almost made him look smaller and slighter in comparison. He was still formidable compared to the two humans beside him. He brushed aside his sandy-colored hair, his odd sky blue eyes staring into Hanahanu. He clasped his sun-kissed hands together, a smile plain on his face.

"Well, Hanahanu Elil, it is my pleasure to formally meet you," he said. An-Ishkur had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "And a pleasure to meet your partner as well. Do they have a name?"

"Hersyaf," Hanahanu growled, his teeth half bared. He shook himself out, closing his eyes and letting out a breath. "... Hersyaf. He calls himself Hersyaf."

"Hersyaf," the man said with a nod. "I am Zikar-Sin. Formerly of the Thousand Sons, now taking the position of your new Master of Possession as the Apostle wills."

Formerly was an interesting word to use. To An-Ishkur, it was blatantly obvious that he had not entirely eschewed the ways of his old Legion, and that he still considered himself one of them.

"Do you know why I have called upon you, Hanahanu-Hersyaf?" Zikar-Sin asked.

"You want to make us more 'whole'," the warrior answered. An-Ishkur could hear the growls of the beast under the careful voice of his friend and brother. An-Ishkur looked to him, trying to hide his worry.

"Are you sure you want to volunteer? Maybe you should wait until we know it works," he had said when the sorcerer had first announced his intentions.

"An-Ishkur, we've been over this. If something isn't done, Hersyaf is just going to take over and rend us apart anyway. This can be a chance to give us true balance, rather than having this more..." Hanahanu trailed off. "... parasitic relationship we have together."

"Hopefully it won't be more than a few weeks of waiting and testing," An-Ishkur protested. He sighed. "Look, I get it. Hersyaf is getting stronger and bolder, but he's always been a bit of an arrogant blow-hard. It hasn't always been easy calming you down."

"That's the point," Hanahanu said. "This can make it so I can have more control, too. That way we both benefit, and the bond is less one-sided. I don't want to just be a vessel to feed a daemon, An-Ishkur. I am my own man, with my own thoughts and my own devotions of the Powers."

"I know, I know. I'm just worried something will go wrong."

"And if it does, I know you'll be there to take care of me." Hanahanu rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We've been side-by-side ever since we first strode the sands of Colchis as aspirants. And we've been there for each other in all other miserable exploits of ours. Remember the wine raid in Tizca?"

"Hey, that was your idea," An-Ishkur replied, finally breaking into a small smile. "But that was much different to this."

"Even though we had one of our cousins scolding us for ages afterwards?"

"Hanu, come on. I know you want to make light of this, but this is a serious decision."

"I know it is. And I know why I've made it." Hanahanu removed his hand. "It's for the benefit of us both. Even if Hersyaf is impatient and doesn't want to admit it, we spent some time discussing it and we both agreed." He offered his friend a kind smile. "But I appreciate the concern." An-Ishkur tried to smile back, but he knew it read false. His expression turned into obvious concern as his brother walked back to his own personal chambers to prepare for what was to come.

"I am indeed." The words of the sorcerer shocked him out of his memories. "I am going to make sure that both of you can co-exist in a mutually beneficial relationship. Already, two of your kinsmen have walked away as one. I can see the strife within you both." He reached up one hand, reaching towards Hanahanu. He growled and gnashed his teeth at him.

"Sorcerer," he hissed.

"Hanu," An-Ishkur said. "Please." The other warrior turned, his eyes looking unfocused for a number of moments, his face locked into a snarl. It took some effort for him to nod. An-Ishkur's concern only grew.

"Ah. Feisty one. Not an uncommon reaction," Zikar-Sin said. "Well. We should be getting started, now shouldn't we?" He turned his body and gestured to the center of a number of concentric rings. Hanahanu looked apprehensive of them, but An-Ishkur nodded his approval. Once more, there was a pause before he moved, carefully avoiding the salt and chalk that marked them out on the ground. Once he was standing, the Master of Possession made a gesture for him to sit. Hanahanu obeyed. "You may wish to put on your helm. Or don't, it's not very relevant to me," he said to An-Ishkur. An-Ishkur nodded, trying to give his brother a smile one last time.

"I'll see you on the other side, then."

"We'll be made as one," Hanahanu said with a nod. An-Ishkur took the helm at his belt and fit it over his head, taking in the new view behind his jade-colored eye lenses.

"You will be called if you are required," Zikar-Sin told him. "Close the door on the way out, don't pay attention to the whispers, blah blah blah, this is your third time hearing me say this." He made a dismissive gesture towards An-Ishkur as he moved towards the lectern. An-Ishkur was glad the helm could hide his face, so the sorcerer couldn't see his grimace and his eyeroll.

He moved back towards the entrance of the chamber, casting one last look over his shoulder at his brother as he knelt there. Once again, they locked eyes, but instead of only seeing the eyes of the man he'd known for centuries, something else looked back at him, too. With a breath, he left the room, letting the great door creak close behind him.

It was eighty minutes before they opened again.

Eighty long, torturous minutes. Eighty minutes holding a vigil at the door, one hand planted on the pommel of the chansword belted at his side. Eighty minutes left wondering if anything would go wrong, wondering if his brother would be the one to fail. He never had the control his predecessors had over his daemon -- Hersyaf was infamous for his hungers and rages, and notoriously difficult and reluctant to relinquish control -- so would this process even work?

His answer would come to him in a way he had dreaded since Hanahanu had volunteered himself for the process.

A ghastly, snarling howl erupted from the room behind him. An-Ishkur moved, drawing the chainsword as he faced the shut doors. From within he could already smell flesh cooking, and he could hear the chanting of Zikar-Sin within. He stood there, tense and waiting, for fifteen seconds.

+GET IN HERE AND HELP ME!+ a voice thundered through his mind. An-Ishkur doubled over from the force of it, clutching his helm, but he soldiered on and threw the doors open wide, his chainsword revving.

He froze at what he saw.

Within the circles, with blood covering its ragged maw, stood a beast. Its head was lupine in form, with large fangs and teeth that constantly salivated, milky blind eyes, and spines starting from its forehead and continuing down its body. The armor of the beast was the same deep crimson of An-Ishkur's own, though it had been moved and formed into natural armor. Mangled fur sprouted from where the plates had buckled, sitting atop mutated musculature. Its arms were twice as long as they should've been, the hands having grown to triple their natural size and ending with curved and wicked claws. A long, almost serpentine tail, ending in a wicked thagomizer lashed. The legs were armored, wolf-like in form, with claws sprouting from the crimson ceramite boots. One of the circles was pulsing a sickly pattern of red. Zikar-Sin had a trail of blood coming down one side of his face, his clothing a messy ruin. The only other figure was a robed human, who was cowering away in the corner.

The bloodied rag of a robe that laid at the feet of the beast was all that remained of their companion.

The beast let out another ragged howling snarl, its sightless eyes staring into the ceiling.

"What have you done?" An-Ishkur demanded.

"It was not me! The daemon was too strong, it overpowered his soul!" Zikar-Sin shouted. He wiped blood from his forehead, drawing himself up and keeping his hands loose before him. "Thanks to the wonderful thralls provided to me, it was able to breach one of the wards against my distinct command!"

"It seems your thrall has paid the price for it."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, now help me!" Zikar-Sin said with an eyeroll. An-Ishkur approached the raging monster, keeping his weapon leveled at it.

"Hanahanu Elil!" he spoke, keeping his voice as strong as he could. "I know you are in there, brother. Hear me! Come back to us! We shall try again at a different time!"

"We are not using that weakling's name!" the beast spoke, resting its weight on its hands. Its tail lashed.

"You can speak?" An-Ishkur asked, lowering his weapon. He glanced to Zikar-Sin. "What shall we call you?"

"I am HERSYSAF!" he roared. "WE shall be HERSYAF! Not a weakling, soul-bound MORTAL!"

"Where is my brother?"

"I am your brother now, Captain An-Ishkur," Hersyaf practically purred. It came down to rest its weight on its hands. "The bitter whelp is going to be sleeping for a while. But I like him enough to not destroy him entirely. Not yet. He feeds me well." The two locked eyes. Through the milky film, An-Ishkur could swear he saw the same old tawny eyes of his oldest friend looking back. Hidden. Repressed. Pleading. The creature grinned, and An-Ishkur turned on Zikar-Sin.

"You have explaining to do. Lots of it." He revved his weapon, anger clear in his voice and in his posture as he stalked over to the sorcerer. "Start talking, or I'll rend you open myself. What have you done?"

"Those are questions best left answered for me, Captain," said a dangerous and deceptively soft voice from the doorway. Both An-Ishkur and Zikar-Sin diverted their eyes to the floor. An-Ishkur dropped to a knee.

"My Apostle," he practically whispered.

"Captain. You may look up, your obedience has been recognized." Eyes of flint locked onto the robed Master of Possession. "Zikar-Sin. I sensed that something had become altered," said the newcomer. "Look at me."

"Yes, lord," said the sorcerer, his voice actually sounding shaken, for once. Both looked up to see the unarmored form of the Dark Apostle of the Host, flanked by four members of the Annointed. Even Hersyaf seemed to be attentive, his nose sniffing at the air. A soft whine came from him.

"We shall discuss the ramifications of this failure and you shall discuss how this happened with me," the Apostle stated.

"Aposte Ans'ar, I-"

"You," he said, shifting his attention. "Captain."

"Yes, lord?"

"You know the brother whom we have lost?"

"Not yet lost," An-Ishkur said quickly. "I-I can still see him, my lord, though he has been pushed down. I think I can help save him."

"Do you?" His head was gently cocked to one side, his eyes intense and searching. He glanced back at the creature stuck beyond the wards.

"I do, Apostle." An-Ishkur nodded. There was silence. The tension was palpable. He could hear Hersyaf clawing at the ground.

"Then he shall be put under your command, if we decide he is to live." Ans'ar crossed his arms, making a gesture to one of the heavy-plated Terminators behind him. "Zikar-Sin, you are to come with us. You will explain what blasphemies you have created."

"Yes, Apostle," Zikar-Sin replied. The two Annointed came forward, with one seizing his arms and putting them behind his back.

"As for you," the Apostle once more looked to An-Ishkur. "You and your coterie may begin the rites of mourning. The Legion will join you." He turned to leave, but the captain's voice stopped him.

"Apostle, if I may?"

The Apostle stopped. "Speak, Captain."

"Please, let him live. Hanahanu and I have been together since we were aspirants. I know I can reach him. I know he's still in there. I can deal with Hersyaf. I promised him I would help him, no matter what happened."

The silence that followed made him feel as though he was balancing on the blade of a knife.

"Very well," the Apostle said with a small sigh. "If this is what you wish to pursue."

"It is."

"I can reverse this!" Zikar-Sin called as he was being taken away.

"Silence, sorcerer," Ans'ar called after him. "Then he shall be considered a member of your coterie. If he acts in a way that puts the Legion at jeopardy, he will be punished."

"As would any of us," An-Ishkur said quickly.

"Indeed," the Apostle agreed. He turned once more, making another gesture as he walked out with the Annointed, leaving An-Ishkur alone with Hersyaf in the circle.

"He wanted union," Hersyaf said in a snarling whisper. "He wanted the two to become one. And, well..." he grinned. His acidic saliva splattered and hissed on the salt making up the wards. "This is what our unity looks like."

An-Ishkur watched his Apostle leave, standing and facing Hersyaf. "Hanu never would've wanted this. But I swore to him I would help him no matter what."

"When did I ever say it was he who desired this unity?" the daemon asked with an all-too-knowing grin.

[asingleheart-shapedbraincell]

Parasite (Prologue)

I watched Venom last night, and now this exists. I have co-opted the plot for fanfiction with some added occultism and Halloween flavour for Spice™ .This is part one, basically works as a prologue, and then it’ll split into a chapter for each brother.

tw: implied drinking, occultism and demonic possession

GN!MC

Prologue

‘Twas Spooky Season and you were dressed as a shitty zombie because Halloween parties have the best snacks. A girl with long acrylic nails painted to look like candy-corn passed you a bright green jello shot. It tasted like limeade and cough syrup, yet somehow worse than both of those. She laughed at the face you pulled and passed you a can of lemonade to chase the taste away. When you cracked it open, it fizzed over slightly - not enough for you to suspect foul play, but enough that you were going to have a sticky hand. Still better than another jello shot though. It was quite crowded inside the house and the loud music was starting to get on your nerves a little bit, so you pointed out the door and mouthed ‘I’m gonna go outside!’ The girl gave you a smile and a thumbs up before turning back round to the shots table.

Outside the air was crisp and cold and full of the smell of woodsmoke and apple cider. A small gathering of people were sat around the bonfire nursing steaming mugs and chatting by the firelight. You wandered over to the punchbowl and scooped yourself a mug of cider, pulling the sleeves of your ratty, zombie-fied jumper over your hands to hold the hot mug before heading over to the group and settling yourself down next to them. 

‘- but when she left the tent, she realised that it hadn’t been rain dripping on the tent, it had been blood,’ one of them was finishing a scary story and you settled in to hear the end of it, ‘and above her tent was her husband’s dead body.’

‘What killed the husband?’ You quietly asked the person next to you.

‘Demon,’ he replied.

You nodded and took a sip of the apple cider. It was delicious - not too sweet, well spiced, and the perfect hot drink for an autumn night (though you did have to strain small pieces of cinnamon bark through your teeth).

You leant over again to whisper: ‘Who summoned it?’ 

‘The wife.’

‘That’s one way to collect the life insurance,’ you mumbled back, causing him to laugh into his drink.

Someone flopped down next to you, ‘he’s not telling that stupid demon story again, is he?’ You looked over to see candy-corn nails roll her eyes at the storyteller before giving you a smile - ‘he’s a one track record.’

‘Any good story is just as good during a retelling as it is during the first,’ he huffed.

‘That’d be a fair point if you’d been telling a good story,’ she replied.

The group ooo-ed at that.

‘Well, you tell one then, if you’re such an expert.’

She ignored him, ‘Demons are just such a cop-out! The story’s always the same - you summon them, they go on a rampage, then someone sends them back to Hell. It’s too predictable!’

‘What are you talking about?! That’s still a great story!’

‘I refuse to be scared of a monster that can be beaten by a nun.’

‘Oh please - you’d be terrified if you ever met a demon.’

‘No I wouldn’t!’

‘Yes you would!’

Their argument rather revolved from there into bickering, which no-one bothered to interrupt because it was as entertaining as a scary story. You leant over to your neighbour again - ‘my money’s on her to win.’

‘You’re on,’ he said with a grin.

‘Then prove it,’ the challenge grabbed both of your attentions, ‘go get that ouija board from inside,’ the guy said.

‘Ouija boards are for ghosts you idiot,’ she replied.

‘We need to draw a pentagram,’ your neighbour said.

‘Oh, don’t get involved, Solomon!’ Someone sitting across you said, but he just smiled in reply. Well... this was going to be an interesting evening.

~~~

‘I got candles from the kitchen!’

‘Excellent!’ Solomon replied, ‘we need them at all five corners of the pentagram.’

You watched on as Solomon instructed people on what to do for the summoning spell and he seemed pretty confident for someone attempting to summon a demon on Halloween. So someone could win an argument. Some of the more superstitious people had left to go back to the party, but it’s not like you believed in demons and anyway - this was more interesting than jello shots and loud music.

Candles were being shoved at the points Solomon had drawn with a stick from the bonfire - five points, with the bonfire in the centre. It was certainly very theatrical, you had to hand it him.

‘Okay, now you stand here,’ Solomon said, positioning someone behind a candle, ‘and you stand here.’

He turned to look at the other points of the pentagram. There were two left. his eyes fell on you - ‘What was your name again?’

‘MC.’

‘MC, you stand behind that candle for me?’

You obliged, making sure not to kick it over, and Solomon walked over to the final candle next to you.

‘Do we hold hands or something?’ You asked.

‘Why?’ Solomon asked, smirking, ‘Are you scared?’

You rolled your eyes, and Solomon started murmuring in what sounded like Latin, but is was very faint and it wasn’t like you were fluent enough to know if he was faking of not. You turned to look at the bonfire at the centre. Just beyond it you could see candy-corn nails flipping off her storytelling friend, but then something in the bonfire caught your eye. Or maybe it didn’t? The bonfire didn’t look any different, but it had captured your attention fully. Probably Solomon’s showmanship. Was it bigger? A log collapsed inside and a shower of sparks and woodsmoke plumed out to stain the night sky - the wood inside popping and snapping like breaking bones and for a moment you thought you could hear strange music...

Your vision felt hazy and you tried to clear the smoke from your throat - your overactive imagination and those gross jello shots were mixing together poorly. And the heavy smoke wasn’t helping. You felt queasy and dizzy and no longer in the mood to play pretend for the sake of someone else’s argument. You scrubbed your sleeve over your eyes - not caring about the Halloween makeup - you just wanted the smoke out of them long enough to feel steadier. But it didn’t work. In fact, you felt decidedly unsteady.

‘I think I’ve had too much,’ you manage to mumble out, before everything went black.

~~~

When you woke up, you were in an unfamiliar bedroom, the sound of the party still going slightly muffled. The girl with the candy-corn nails was sat at the foot of the bed, she had put a pair of small costume horns onto a teddy bear and was half-heartedly playing with its little paws. You shifted and she jumped slightly, looking at you and breaking into a grin -

‘You’re awake!’ She said, sighing in relief, ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Still a bit dizzy, but a lot better.’

‘The wind was blowing the smoke right into your face - I probably would have passed out too. I got you a glass of water, by the way,’ she said, pointing to the bedside table.

‘Thanks,’ you said, talking a long drink - your throat still felt itchy from all the smoke.

‘I’m sorry, by the way - it was all because of me and Jessie, I shouldn’t have let Solomon drag us into that whole ritual, not without making sure everyone was safe.’

‘You scared of demons all of a sudden?’ You asked with a half-hearted grin.

She snorted, ‘No. Demons aren’t real. But people getting hurt - that’s real.’

‘Apology accepted.’

‘Can I call you cab? I’m guessing you want to head home. I’ll pay for it - it’s the least I can do.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ you said, finishing that water - you still felt kinda dizzy, ‘thanks.’ 

~~~

Who’d you get possessed by?

Lucifer

Mammon

Leviathan

Satan

Asmodeus

Beelzebub

Belphagor

(Links will be added as the chapters are written - be patient, I have no concept of time, and also university work to be getting on with, but feel free to send me a reminder if you feel like it. I shamelessly thrive off of audience engagement)

[ninjapaste]

Alongside the story I have been concocting involving Twig and co. (which I have yet to name surprisingly) there is another story, which although I spend less time on now, am hoping to do so in the future as I get further into fleshing out my Fantasy story and completing most of the work on my practice comic.

This story is sci - fi rather than fantasy and the primary character of this one is probably my first original character that I labelled as OC (also the first OC I drew digitally). Twig comes second, but in the way that the original was completely different to what is seen today; she has gone through so many changes in design and personality to fit with the universe she is in (which also changes a lot).

In regards to my first OC, they have developed in design but not as much as Twig. I actually remember the two characters originally meant to be a duo upon their earliest conception but the strong contrast in themes left me to decide putting them into different universes/stories altogether. I also remember the original Twig (which was not called Twig back then) being created from my first OC.

Now on to this sci - fi story. This one is currently titled 'Alpha - Star Voyage'.

Alpha - Star voyage surrounds the event in which a powerful sun from one universe is transported to an alternate one by a multi - planetary organisation investigating the nature of different planes of reality and foretold windows within it. The unexpected arrival of this sun destroys the organisation's HQ and thousands of its labs due to the overwhelming power of the star. Not in its optimal environment/plane of reality, the sun began its six phases into explosion, which altogether took 300,000 Earth years. The sun then broke into trillions upon trillions of shards, eliminating all life within the galaxy in the process. These shards were then shot through the universe into many galaxies and had the potential to morph into complex organisms. Most of the shards ended up in the galaxy Gnon3. The main character, Xelicon (or Xel for short) was created from one of these shards.

This is Xel.

Xel, unlike Twig, has no innocence or special charm about them; their face has 'serious' written all over it. In fact, they had lost such innocence shorty after their conception. They were found and caged by crooks on a trade planet (a planet that acts as a hub for trading and travelling merchants), who took Xel's hair, teeth, appendages and even organs for large sums of cash. It wasn't until they cut off Xel's hands and feet when they left them (Xel) to die (I might have made this too dark, oops). This is why Xel bears artificial gloves and feet, as well as a pack biologically stuck to their back that takes the function of their lost organs, which were present to allow the body to adapt to the atmosphere/environment of different planets. All of these parts were either crafted or bought by a travelling merchant family, who let Xel wander free after their recovery. The first thing Xel did was take their revenge; they broke the crooks' arms, crapped for the first time and stole one of their spaceships (the one hoarded with all their profits). Xel, inspired by the family that had saved their life, set themself on a voyage to find other shard beings in hopes of finding or forming a family or friendship. Xel has a personal duty to help, protect and serve others who cannot protect themselves, but also seeks to quell their own loneliness in life.

Xel is generally not one to joke around and is utmost loyal to those they respect. They will tend to show negative emotions over positive ones; their joy often goes hidden within a blank, still figure. Xel cares a lot about their own power, figure and height, being quite weak, short and lanky (naturally and due to circumstance) bothers them when it becomes relevant.

In combat, Xel uses their gloves, feet and any extra artificial applications to enchance speed and attack power, mainly set in melee. However, the gloves can be used as projectiles and the feet as rocket shoes that are energized from Xel's own solar energy (thanks to them being a sun shard from anither universe and such). However, this means that using these solar attacks drain Xel's stamina, making them even weaker than normal, so they use it sparingly.

Some concept art of the hijacked ship.

As Xel gets well within their travels, they stop at a moon bar (imagine those little food courts , hotels and bars you see by the motorway but they are on moons instead). In this moon bar, Xel comes across their first ever travelling companion, or should I say, companions...

Enter, Reed (and Bark)

The unfortunate soul of the two in this pairing is Reed - taken tens of thousands of lightyears away from their home planet by a sun - shard parasite that knows only chaos, primal desires and its self - chosen name, Bark.

Reed is the prime example of a man who has lost almost everything and has nothing left to live for. He was once relishing on the highest sides of life back on his home planet: a prestigious position in the entertainment field, a 6 - digit salary and worldwide fame and respect for his authentic charm (Xel could've learned a thing or two) and confidence. Of course, this life came crumbling down when Reed was backstabbed, framed and humiliated by competiton and even part of the government. After being kicked down some more in a game of 'beat the dead horse' and disowned by everyone he loved, Reed had settled in a life of seclusion, watching the rest of the world forget his entire existence as fast as his balding hair fell off. Reed had come to realise the genuinely toxic and judgemental nature embedded in the system he blindly relished in (omg society) and with that, lost his charm, self - confidence, positivity, pride and hope.

Bark has no such deep and harrowing life history, technically a parasite looking for the right body to inhabit and conquer. Sure, a dude in his 30s who looked well in his 50s and sported socks with sandals would never seem the cut to most, but his vulnerability made him the perfect host. Reed's home planet did not know 'aliens' existed, so when Reed saw a blood - red toothy creature clawing towards him, he was frozen in shock. From there, Bark took an unconcious Reed's body and used it to cause great havoc across Reed's home planet before somehow hopping planet - to - moon - to - planet, seeking sustenance and chaos. It is only when Xel finds Bark terrorising a bar and slapping the goofy out of the mutt - headed specimen does Reed regain control and struggle to figure out where and what he is.

Bark tries to manipulate Reed, but simply cannot due to the nonexistent emotional bond between them (only physical). Xel and Reed get along ok, though.

There are some perks that came with being the host of a parasite; Reed's lost eye (from an early age) and severed arm (from some nutcase a month before the encounter with Bark) have been completely regenerated, but with some of Bark's DNA. The newfound powers that Bark has brought allows Reed to defend himslef and Xel, but usually only when Bark is willing to cooperate. When Bark takes the wheel, they do tend to stick with Xel, them being sun - siblings and all, but some cases just needs to be knocked out. Reed always follows Xel's lead on things, his more nervous, less confident self and little knowledge of outer space life being the cause of this. However, often when encouraged by Xel, Reed takes charge in things he specialises in and tries to act more like his former self, showing more and more glimpses of that gradually.

Heres some extra Xel sketches + a page of concepts/brainstorming when I was developing Bark/Reed.

[sebastianshaw]

Shaw & Skadi for the kid meme!

Name: Sigvid Skadisson Shaw. I know it should be Shawson BUT FUCK THE RULES. “Sig” is a pretty standard prefix for a lot of Norse names from the word “sigr” meaning “victory” and “vid” from the Old Germanic “widu” for forest. Gender: Masc and male-presenting but beyond that I’m not sure? Trans man? AMAB non-binary? Look, he uses he/him (maybe they too) and people THINK ‘man’ when they look at him, that’s all I know General Appearance: Tall and beefy, he couldn’t NOT be. Medium pale skin that gets even paler in winter but tans easily in summer. Black hair, or so dark brown it might as well be black, and very dark eyes. His hair, unlike both parents and most of his Asgardian brethren, is actually kept short, and while he has a beard, it’s not the big one. The reason for this is functional; short hair is better if you’re spending a lot of time in the wild. Stuff gets stuck in long hair, it can get tangled in branches at the worst times, it’s hot in the summer, and it can literally freeze in the winter if it gets wet. His attire is very much out of a Viking fantasy, but less on the “heavy armor” end of things and more on the “wearing lots of furs and skins” side. He doesn’t look like someone you want to fuck with, but he also doesn’t look like he’s going to war. He carefully avoids any kind of dangling amulets, charms, or other jewelry that could get caught on anything, but he’s got a sort of leather toolbelt containing various survival tools made from wood, bone, etc. Personality: Sigvid, as you might guess from his attire and the reasons for it, is an outdoorsman. Not as a hobby, not as a lifestyle, but an EXISTENCE. He thrives in the natural world as Sebastian does in the business world, finding ways to survive in even the most adverse of situation. Whatever Mother Nature is doing around him, he can not only make it through it, he can work it to his advantage. His closeness to the natural world, his close observation of it, means that he sees both the facts and errors in his father’s mentality. He sees that the strongest predators will pick off the weakest prey, that the winter will take those who do not prepare, that mother animals will neglect and even devour their young if they’re sick or runty. He also sees that prey are more aggressive than predators, how some creatures will adopt and nourish infants that are not their own or even their own species, how some will share their kill with no benefit to themselves, and how even the smallest and most humble animals can make it through things that the larger, so-called stronger ones did not. Sigvid is very pragmatic, like his father, very practical, very self-preservationist. He has to be. But he’s also very spiritual, not in a way that connects to some distant god, but the world around him, to earth and nature. Not some idealized hippie-dippie conception of nature as a loving mother that is always in balance, but an acceptance that it is a greater power that he cannot control, he can only hope to survive at best. It keeps him humble. It also gives him a much wider, more relative perspective on things that is not human-centric, or Asgardian-centric for that matter. My Shaw often says that he admires human accomplishments above all else, that no other animal has built cities, computers, cars, and so on. And he is correct in this. But Sigvid always points out, how many termite mounds has man built? How many times do humans migrate thousands of miles using an innate sense of the Earth’s magnetic fields? How many fish have we hunted by literally sensing the electricity in their bodies? Yes, humans are “the best” if we judge them by standards HUMANS MADE. Judge us by the base standard of any other species, and we flop. Same for judging any species by the standards of any other. Nothing is “more” or “less” evolved than anything else, more complex does not mean better, and nor does being bigger, stronger, meaner, or even smarter mean a species is “better” or “more evolved” either. Survival of the fittest is not about that, nor about individuals; it’s about how well a species fits its environment and niche. A slime mold is just as evolved as a person. Sigvid is very passionate about this, though he’s not the type to speak up most of the time; he’s stoic and saturnine, used to keeping his mouth closed and his thoughts to himself, because most of the time there’s no one to talk to. And that also means he’s learned to exist without the validation and approval of others---ironically, something that is much like his father, learned in a completely different environment.

A lot of this, obviously, comes from Skadi. He was at side her since infancy learning to hunt and track, learning the difference between wood sorrel and white clover, how to tell when a moose is about to charge, and what it means when the woods go quiet. This connects deeply to Skadi’s Jotunn side in particular, which in Norse lore are thought to have symbolized the inherently chaotic and uncontrollable nature of, well, nature! Though Sigvid would not, nature it’s chaotic, it’s actually very ordered, people just don’t bother to understand what’s inconvenient to them. But where he differs from Skadi is that he’s not a Disney princess. Animals don’t hang out with him. He doesn’t nurse injured creatures back to health. He doesn’t keep pets. He does not see them as friends. They are not less than him, but they are not allies, they are beings he co-exists with, avoids, or eats. At least, until a thylacine started hanging out with him. Yeah, a thylacine. The extinct Tasmanian tiger. Who knows where it came from or why he’s attached itself to him, but he’s very adamant she’s not a pet and he hasn’t named her, but she is THERE. Sometimes. She isn't at his side like a dog, it's more she's following him from a distance and she pokes her head out from the trees somewhere. She's not a pet. She's more a parasite. But unlike Shaw, Sigvid doesn't use that term in a bad way, and he's fine with her presence. He's just curious where the hell an extinct Australian animal came from? Obviously, Sigvid is not interacting with people a lot, but when he does, he’s far less awkward or boisterous than people expect. He doesn’t have the overt weirdness people expect from a hermit, nor the bombastic warrior cliché of an Asgardian, or the vicious stereotype of a Jotunn. He has a quiet but overwhelming elegance, not like an aristocrat but like a great stag emerging from the forest. He chooses his words carefully, and can say much with just a few. He walks the middle ground between judging by individuals and judging by species; he does a little of both. He has preconceptions and generalities that he believes in about each group, but also believes in room for exception. After all, he’s not what a lot of people expect, is he? Despite this, he’s frequently misread as disliking people, but he doesn’t. He is utterly neutral on them, he just prefers his own way of life. Likewise, he tends to be very neutral towards individuals, and this also is often misread as dislike. One thing he does dislike though, is when people try to endear themselves to him by talking about how they agree animals are better than people, or say stuff like you know only man kills for pleasure. . . .this actually just annoys him. Firstly, a lot of animals do kill for pleasure. Secondly, when people say animals/nature is better than people. . . .they’re forgetting that people---humans, Asgardians, Jotunn---are animals too. This is just another way people, of any sort, try to insist they’re something special and different, whether in a negative or positive way. It doesn’t impress him. What impresses him tends to be how well people work within their niche, whatever niche that is. Like Shaw, he doesn’t really judge in terms of conventional morality, but a person’s success----Sigvid’s definition of success is just much wider. Like, maybe you dive for a living---are you a good diver? A great cafeteria worker? The best toilet cleaner in the tri-state area? He admires that and he commends you. When he is angered, he stays quiet, and his response is swift and physical; he either leaves or strikes physically and then leaves. When he feels sufficiently bonded with someone. . . he is still quiet. He appreciates a person who doesn't need to be filling the silences between them to feel comfortable and kinship. And kinship for him is rare, but he's not lonely----just also not adverse to it, as many assume he is. People assume a lot about Sigvid, and most of it is wrong, but he's also very chill with it. Sigvid is a very chill guy.

Special Talents: Besides the obviously mentioned talents for hunting, tracking, foraging, survivalism, and nature knowledge? Many people think he’s some kind of seer because he’s good at predicting storms and such, but actually he’s just very good at reading the signs most people aren’t attuned to. He also presumably has the attributes of Asgardians and Jotuns (super strength, etc) but if he has a mutant power, it has yet to manifest. Also cannot assume a Frost Giant form. Who they like better: Skadi, though eventually he does respect his father for performing so well at what he does

Who they take after more: I think both equally in different ways Personal Head canon: -He really likes amethyst geodes. -He finds a lot of manufactured foods, like chips or snack cakes, to be WAAAAY too strongly salty or sweet for him to stomach, is allergic to Red Dye #40, and he finds the taste of domesticated animals to be weird. - Not much of a dairy person, but ghee is good -Dislikes when people stereotype hillbillies as stupid; as in like, people who are genuinely living in the hills and mountains of the American Southeast, they're an interesting people with their own unique culture like any other group that lives off the land in isolation---which he respects---and not interchangeable with typical rednecks. -He doesn't typically carry anything with him that's not a necessity, if he knows he's going to be seeing people soon, he will pick up knick-knacks he finds in abandoned places and distribute them like a weird Santa Claus. Who, he's met, by the way, and according to him, Father Christmas is something of a badass. - He will always buy your homemade soaps, and I have no idea what he's doing with them. Yes, maybe he's using them in the normal intended way but IM NOT SURE?? - Pops up in art museums. People never expect him to be here, in these cathedrals dedicated to human creation, but he is. I think he views art a bit differently than the average person, but he's there all the same. - He's an Aquarius but there is a LOT of Saturn in his chart - The first Midgard movie he saw was Forrest Gump. He was expecting it to be about something else because of the title, but he enjoyed it and LEARNED THIS DANCE Face Claim: n/a

[moist-astronaut]

things my friends and I have said over the last year

“I’m verbally illiterate” “Isn’t that called dyslexia”

“I’m going to chemistry and I’m gonna light myself on fire” “No” “Damnit let me burn like the witch I am!”

“Don’t worry it’s not anti-Christ it’s just anti-government”

“I’ve been getting migraines everyday and I’m considering chopping my head off” “But that would kill you” “Two birds one stone!!”

“I swear to god I will hug you” “My house is 5 miles away and my doors are locked” “Your locks are FEABLE”

*writing an email* “Bitch comma”

“Ok but I could be a top” *laughing* “What I totally could be!” *laughing and crying for literally 6 minutes straight*

*on a group call, friends cat misha walks into the room* “Tell misha I would live and die for her, whichever she prefers” “She says thank you” *cat noises*

*joins discord vioce chat at 11:26 pm* “You guys are gae but I love you” “Thank you saeren very cool” “Goodnight” *leaves chat at 11:28pm*

“Jake jake jake jjjake -j-jaaake hey jake” “W H A T” “Can I eat your pens” “I literally have a restraining order against you”

“I’m educatn’t”

“Me calling you to dumb to be a slytherin is payback for you leaving multiple handprint bruises on my legs” “It’s not my fault your skin is weak”

“He’s rolling so that we can walk” *rolling in the grass and collecting leaves on his jacket* “I’m rolling for your sins”

“There are 7 of us so we can each be a deadly sin” “I wanna be Ross” “You mean wrath?” “No that dude from Friends”

“Ok but other than his strict attraction to women, his multiple wives, his hatred of gay people, and the fact that he is dead, what is standing between me and Joseph Smith the All American Hottie from being happy together”

“Consider: Mullet” “No”

“I do my homework while loudly eating a pop tart asmr”

“No no listen, he’s my brother, he’s a bastard of my dynasty…I might just ransom him off”

“These Norwegian bastards indroduced a fucking PLUAGE to my COUNTRY”

“Ooooo meth”

“Half of my life is me resisting the urge to sing the zaboomafoo themesong, the other half is me actually singing the zaboomafoo themesong. So either way my entire life revolves around zaboomafoo.”

“I just don’t think I would hire a gay man-wait no I’m not homophobic”

*chucks half a gallon of milk in a gas station* “-ah- got milk?”

“Gimme your sternum boy”

“Nooooooo he stole my sternum!!!” (Side note these were two separate occasions)

*being force fed milk duds* “No!! This is the worst way to die!!”

“Hey babe come over I have a hammock and a heated blanket”

“Be afraid, be prepared- IN THE WORDS OF SCAR”

“Stress eating stress gummies Stress eating stress gummies Stress eating stress gummies stress eating-”

“I thought to myself ‘Y’know if I die today this is how I want to be remembered- a leather skirt and leg warmers’”

“I think I’m telling you to go to sleep” “You’re gonna have make me” “I can’t tell if this is cry for help or flirting” “Yes”

“This is at best cannibalism and at worst being straight”

“Oh look Percy Jackson’s here now, ooh they replaced every character’s face with Mr. Bean. I hate it”

“You can’t be mean to me! I’m gay AND a woman! That’s a hate crime!” “Yeah well I’m brown and Muslim! Square the fuck up bitch!”

“Babe it’s not very metal to be afraid of your hair dresser” “It’s not very metal to have a hair dresser and yet here we are” “It’s fine you’re into glam metal”

“Hey augie, got any grrrrrrapes?” “I’m doing IXL :(“

“Can I come?” “No” “What if I bring watermelon?” “You can come, leave the watermelon, then leave” “:(“

“What in the jersey shore”

“Rad’nt”

“Ok but consider: Mullet-hawk” “I can and will divorce you”

“Dee-vorce 👏 Just to 👏 re-vorce 👏 👏 “

“Ah yes, that’s why I’m fat…for combat reasons…”

“You fool I consent!”

“My Boston fern is being a bitch but that’s because it’s winter and that’s BITCH season”

“You walk through the rest of the house and it’s like ‘ooo witchy and aesthetic’ then they’ll get to the guest room and it’ll just be a tacky twink Fever dream”

“Who needs a scalp”

“HeHe, sexing”

“Council has decided, your vibes are rancid (and not the band)”

“You’re never to young to hate women”

“Look at me I did the dishes I’m a 1950s housewife with a strangely new jersey accent and affinity for lesbianism”

“Well look who has the table now”

"contrary to popular belief, fuck you"

"There's nothing here that requires whisking, i'm just problematic"

"If you could go anywhere in the world with two people, who would you choose?" “New Orleans!”

"So he proceeded to bite me on the butt...like, really, really hard."

“I don’t cheat, I win. It’s not cheating if it’s consensual.”

“My mouth, my choice”

“Do you like my ombré of a tan"

“Who’s the cutest in the chat right now then?” “It’s Paige!” “No, it’s obviously Augie.” (paige's boyfriend)-said by a straight man

“Francis is just a one and done.”

“Would you ever have a threesome?” “...yes...” *To Francis* “Sure!”

“How do you feel about anal sex?”

“Of the people in this room, who would you most want to make out with?” “Augie” “The answer is yes, but only if it’s 6 feet apart.”

“Square, flat, and overcooked.”

“The virus would be over if everyone would breathe underwater for 5 minutes.”

“I have daddy issues, but not with my father.”

“You’re a ladies man but you have two boyfriends.”

“That means lesbian in sign language” “No, that means fuck boy in American”

“I’m like a parasite, you can’t get rid of me. I’m here forever.”

“You’re like my long term hit man”

“Is it Jake?” “No, why would the evil Russian man be Jake?” “Because he would never hire a gay man and you don’t look like a gay man”

“Jake is homophonic, Augie is racist, and Francis is a woman hater!”

"Grew a korean radish, 1 star"

"I've got more cause i'm a rich boy, and by that i mean my father sometimes buys avocados. And that's on what? Upper middle class"

"Tell your good for nothing boyfriend to stay away from my mom"

"It's not inciting violence it's just ~inspiring it~ "

"Listen bitch just because you have avacados and a roomba doesn't make you better then me"

"i would totally let narthex ruin my life. and that's on what? daddy issues and bisexuality"

"who is titty"

"how is he racist" "he hates the french and russians right?" "don't forget italians" "that's just self loathing"

"This is the last time i wear a thong- it's for educational purposes"

"babe come over i'm a burrito"

"he put bread with milk. luckily he passed away"

"you touched my wiener!" "you offered it!"

"foot'nt"

"i took a shower and realized the floor doesn't bounce"

"i love ass whoooaaaaaa i meant cassie"

"Rosalie you're the deciding vote. Be decisive." "Dude i'm bisexual and a gemini. what're you talking about?"

"Okay so to recap: jake is homophobic, augie is racist, francis is a woman hater, and now paige is a bunny abuser?"

"Just bring a watermelon keychain and it'll be fine" "Whooaaaa i'm gonna need a big key then"

"If you were blind what would you even see"

Post Traumatic Youth, plus D for danny's disorder"

"i think she's past the phase where she likes people just because they're russian"

"francine is a lesbian, but only during quarantine"

"don't be a home wrecker!" "i can't help it!"

"we are not doing coed tents" "i wanted to go purple-ing though"

"if it's not perfect i'm gonna through hands" "with who" "i don't know, the CEO of stupid"

"don't make me feel guilty for bullying you"

"it doesn't look very cash money cool but okay"

"slinky cat" (ferret)

"The pond behind my house didn't freeze all the way through this winter, so i couldn't go ice skating" "okay, so i have an idea. we can go to walmart and get-" "ANTI FREEZE!" "well, yes- wait, no. No, the more i think about that definitely no."

"The amish will win, the amish will prevail" "the amish will conquer us all!"

"He do be kinda mafia doh"

"i'm being sneaky sneak. stairs go creaky creak. and i need. DRUGZ"

"brain on shutdown, power saving mode"

"Somebody go tip her, she's dancing like a stripper" "thatd be nice- oh wait no!"

"fellas, is it gay to lick your homies eyeball?"

"it's not racist if you're only targeting one group of people" "that literally racism" "but what if they're french"

"i'm not racist yet but the option is available, and it's good to have options"

"they don't call me Mr. Steal Yo Boy for nothing!" -a straight man who has a girlfriend

"i think he has a bad habit of not dating girls"

"kinda hot tho 🥵 in a Santa Claus kinda way...hoe hoe hoe"

"i'll be your hot jacuzzi bubble dealer"

"when deceit and doubt fills you up, you cleanse your mind through creative activities, such as making organic soap"

"friendly reminder #4: you're never to old to eat a freezie-pop"

"sorry i'm just nervous" Chinese Teacher: (Waving her hand in front of her face) “Just pretend I’m cabbage.”

"me when my dads name is publicly broadcasted on the radio for his 14 felonies and assorted war crimes"

"<@!523669420435046401> I sentence you to a solid nine by the banhammer. For your crimes against Humanity, God, Satan, and Matt Frank. See you in hell."

"Danny, just because you're playing *Just Cause* doesn't mean you need to Just Cause our friendship!"

"Silly Matt! You fell for the ole’ Heimlich maneuver!”

"i got a bunch of new shirts over quarantine" "you would"

"Ok, there's a 32 year old doctor in new Jersey dying right now" "Yeah, but to be fair everyone in new jersey has a pre-existing condition"

“This is the longest period of time we’ve had without a Nintendo direct” “Maybe they’re gonna make a Nintendo indirect?”

"you’re looking extra white today.” "thanks i've been practicing"

"do you have any batteries" *looks inside shirt* "not yet"

"let's go colonize the middle school!" "yyayayyayayay!!!" " wait I gotta ask my mom first" What happened next is know called the *Juniors burden*

"oh so you're a DOWNSTAIRS milk kinda guy"

"you are literally the human embodiment of crumbs in a bed"

"The Berk-ey Creamery isn’t a place, it’s a people!”

 "He shoved a floating joy-con straight up his flux-capacitor.” "great! now it's paired"

"No, that isnt armor, the real armor are the friends you made along the way"

"This one goes out to all my lady friends out there *proceeds to kill himself in game*

"i'm a coward" "that's what a coward would say!"

"rest is for cowards and fools"

"every time you speak you take years off my life"

"Shark dick hoo ha ha"

"Me and the boys brushing our teeth at 3 AM"

"remember if you kill yourself the fascists win"

"The Beatles aren’t real. Have you ever seen a beatle? No? Exactly." "Babe” "Shut up I’m right."

*reading over these quotes* "god i hate that" "you said that!"

[morsking]

Got around to starting and finishing Old World Blues in the past couple of days. I think it’s the strongest of the game’s DLC I’ve played so far.

At first, it feels like you’re in for some wacky science fiction b-movie shenanigans once you’re introduced to the Think Tank. They’re all whimsical idiots who forget what words are, repeat themselves to elongate their sentences to look smart, and even one of them is bizarrely horny and has a fetish for... innocuous human behavior? Stretching? Yawning? They are neurotic brains in machines who take stuff apart and break it without really creating anything with it, just replicating the same results over and over and none of them seem to notice how stupid they are and it’s amazing. They took your brain, spine, and heart out of your body in an attempt to turn you into a walking vegetable, only for them to become so fascinated with the damage you took from Benny’s bullet that they fuck up the surgery and end up finding a way to keep your intelligence about you with a remote device that connects your brain to the tesla coils in your skull. Their biggest scientific discovery since... who knows how fucking long, was an absolute accident. It could only come about by chance, because you, as an existence alien to the static Big MT, shook things up tremendously. 

But as funny and baffling as all these things could be, the more you explore Big MT, the more apparent it is that for all their quirks the Think Tank are also responsible for some of the most heinous crimes against humanity you can witness in Fallout: New Vegas. They experimented with carnivorous, parasitic plants on human beings, spliced humans, dogs, and robots together, developed nightstalkers and cazadores you see in the base game, used the Sierra Madre casino and its inhabitants as a petri dish for holograms, the claustrophobic hazmat suits, and the poisonous Cloud that killed everyone and turned them into zombies. Their experiments killed all their staff, and not one of them batted an eye to what they did. And their most shocking crime is the repetition of Japanese internment with Chinese hostages, who you can find ghoulified from radiation and are forced to kill them. These prisoners can’t be reasoned with or saved because the Think Tank stripped them from their humanity long ago along with any humanity or rationality that was left in the Big Empty. The only thing they can do as being robbed of their humanity is lash out at anything that still looks human. All throughout the DLC, you are subjected to displays of the Think Tank’s obsessions and cruelties and aimless ambitions, and you wonder why. How did things get this twisted and distortioned? And then you meet Dr. Mobius, and you find out why.

In his introductory segment when you start the DLC, he seems like the parody of the crazed mad scientist terrorizing the slightly less crazy eccentric scientists and the bastard who kidnapped your brain. But when you meet him, he’s like a sweet, confused, senile old man. He’s got an endearing if a little weird addiction to radioactive snacks despite him being a brain in a machine who has no mouth to eat them. He forgets he keeps a giant killer robot scorpion with a OHKO death laser of infinite... death powered on and sucking up energy all the time and that’s why his shit never works. He uses the wrong words on his sentences because they sound like the actual words he means to use. He didn’t just steal your brain, he kept it safe for you. And also, he’s the one who lobotomized the Think Tank into the witless abominations they are now. 

Dr. Mobius witnessed his co-workers, his friends, pushing the boundaries of science further and further into dark places. Terrified for what they might do, he robbed them of their sanity and created an army not to terrorize them, but to keep them busy and from getting out. Dr. Mobius feared for the world, that it might be subjected to one new horror after another. There is great compassion in his actions but also great cruelty. He was so afraid of his friends the new world he trapped them in the old one. That’s where obsession and abhorrence belong, in the big emptiness of the past. It’s so appropriate, that Big MT is misread as “the Big Empty”. Because obsession and madness are an abyss, and also because everything that happened there was meaningless and hollow. There was no purpose to the Think Tank repeating its process of lobotomizing and observing the lobotomites. The great irony is that. That they don’t realize that what they do to human beings is what’s been done to them. Like the nature of all their names, their actions and their philosophies are cyclical and self-consuming. (Ouro)Borous. Zero. (Man)Dala (circle in Sanskrit), 8, Klein and Mobius. They are concepts that loop into themselves, symbolic of the futility of holding on to the grudges and ambitions of the Old World, a world that new only conflict and supremacy and paranoia and hostility. The fact that Mobius had to resort to brainwashing his own colleagues itself is evident even he didn’t know how to let go of the brutal utilitarian methods of the Old World in an effort to save the New One.

And what’s even worse is that didn’t matter anyway, because the mutated abominations that Borous created still found their way into the Mojave anyway. Are we supposed to accept that as a mercy that night stalkers, spores, and cazadores are the only things that slipped through the crater into the desert and be thankful for it? The only thing you can do about it now is say “Enough.” Enough of the Old World and its curses. It has no right to turn this world into a graveyard with it. It has no write to take from it and toy with it. Many times that attachment is played for laughs in Old World Blues, particularly Borous’s anti-communist fixation and enactments of his high school trauma being the basis for a training operation. But when you truly look at it it really feels like gallows humor. How many people do you reckon died in those tests at Lab X-8 because he used the test subjects as a means of catharsis? What was the human cost of that myopic insecurity and resentment? You only have to look around you. The facility is littered with guts. And it’s not the only one that looks like that. Not by a longshot.

So it came my time to also say enough to the Think Tank. I chose to kill them (more like stumbled my way into killing them because you have to thematically cycle through speech and skill checks for Mobius to give you the option of sparing everyone). It was both a roleplay gesture of revenge as much as it was a choice from me as a player to put the Big Empty out of its misery. It was already a graveyard in concept, it had to be made a graveyard in reality.

So that’s it for my review of the story. As for the more physical aspects of the DLC, I’ll say the Big Empty is probably the most interestingly designed setting I’ve ever seen. From the moment I woke up at the top of the Sink’s balcony I fell in love with what I was seeing. The layout includes some interesting platforming and traversal of the terrain from labs to cliffs to caves. Every laboratory houses something useful for you or relevant to the story and it’s easy to circle around the entire map and unlock everything as you go. The exploration comes naturally and you’re always encouraged to go back and look to see if you missed something (which you probably did, because it sure happened to me). One of the best things I found was the stealth suit. I’ve written about it already, but it is simply adorable, quirky, and also very helpful. Getting all its upgrades is worth it and not all that difficult even if it looks like a case of trial and error. There are some neat unlockables in terms of weapons as well like the stuff Elijah and Christine left behind, and lore that elaborates on their time there and Christine’s chase of Elijah to make him pay for his crimes. There is also the excellent set-up of your encounter with Ulysses in Lonesome Road, since he’s left his mark everywhere for you to see, as if luring you and taunting you. The dialogue is some of the wittiest and funniest Fallout’s ever been. The personalities in the Sink’s assistant appliances are so varied and interesting. You have the weirdly horny and seductive seed processor, the germaphobic water sink, the pessimistic and exhausted Muggy mini securitron, the jealous bickering light switches, the radio man juke box, the brave little toaster that could (murder everything), the ultra-patriotic and self-unaware book chute, the compassionate level-headed Auto-Doc, and finally the neutral, loyal, and polite Central Intelligence Monitor. Old World Blues had such an interesting and loveable cast. There is not a single human character in the entirety of the DLC, yet all of those feel vivid and alive. 

Those are my two cents on Old World Blues. A beautifully written, poignant, and entertaining piece of gaming. Now, we move on to Lonesome Road.