#i keep almost typing 'symbiote' venom influence

[razmerry]

North! It’s North... he’s my second most boring white man from Freelancer, but he gets extra points over York for me by being overprotective in an interesting way and being a corpse in his first appearance. Let’s go useless king!!

But for real here’s some info about this spotty guy:

- Since North, as mentioned, is dead before the main RvB plotline even begins, I decided to make his “main” drawing of this piece his Pre-Freelancer design. So no scars, or anything, and fancy civilian clothes. Being the 14th host of his symbiont, he’s got at least 600 years of life experience, so just by virtue of being Kalan he’s very well respected. So he’s a fancy little dresser, including me giving him heels. Well, I was tired of drawing boots. 

- I expand more on why this version of North joined PFL in my fic, but he really does become an oddity among the other Freelancers. As a joined Trill with a very old symbiont he’s super skilled, smart, and wise in a way. But critically he’s insecure about that, and probably holds back to try and “blend in” more. I like North better if he’s sort of a charming cool-guy who hides a ruthless and kind of condescending inner self. 

- North has the least Borg tech of any of the Freelancers. I’m not sure if this draws on anything in canon, but I imagine that joined Trills are particularly sensitive to bodily modifications, with the symbiont being potentially at risk. 

- All of the fragments except for Omega are still actual AI in this AU (see Doc for more info), but they’re necessarily a little different than RvB AIs. They’re simpler, small computer programs that help the Freelancers run their Borg mods, and they’re equipped with mini holo-emitters so they can easily communicate with others. They all look oddly similar to the Director... hmmmm, what a mystery. 

Next week is Meta and that’s the last of the Freelancers!

[qwertythepopstarian08]

Feeling Blue, Part 3

The long-awaited third chapter of Feeling Blue.

This was one of my favorite parts of the story... it introduces a new character!

I won’t tell much because this chapter is packed with surprises, but... not much action. It was a bit hard to write for two reasons: The askblog and the overall exposition of this part.

But, it’s done, and I’m excited for what lies in store! I’m planning for this story to have about five to six chapters, and the next chapter will be pretty long! So hold on, we’re not nearly done yet! Enjoy!

Description: Fresh has been gone for days. Meanwhile, Cyan has their own issues to work out.

Description: The calm before the storm, before everything comes to a head.

Cyan stared out the window, watching the rain fall with a bored expression. They were pretty much infamous for their restless demeanor, often finding little amusement in the mundane.

Ever since the Treeangle Incident, normal problems tended to tire them, and they often sought more intense issues to solve. They were a “hero,” after all.

So, when a mysterious new shape showed up, begging for their help, they’d initially been ecstatic to help, if only to find something to do. They’d expected to have to fight a monster, or perhaps rescue a lost shape. Maybe the task would involve a big bad boss…

Prior to meeting with the strange shape, Cyan had pictured a multitude of possible missions.

Sitting in a cafe, listening to an eccentric researcher’s rants, however, were not part of those missions. The odd, violet shape had appeared out of the blue. She called herself, “Composer,” claiming to be a music note, supposedly one of the most powerful types of shapes. If Cyan thought back far enough, they could faintly recall reading about shape power in the distant past, when they’d been more inquisitive, and they’d never read about any music notes.

In terms of power, polygons such as squares and triangles were the strongest. Rounded figures, like circles, typically fell in the middle. Lastly, organic shapes and silhouettes were the weakest, only having access to a few powers, if any.

So, Cyan severely doubted Composer’s credibility.

The heroic square’s attention was piqued, nonetheless, when the purple note brought up the topic of a “pink menace.” Now that was their kind of quest. A tiny, tentative smile quirked at their features, although one factor bothered them deeply.

Careless about how rude they were being, the square cut off Composer mid-sentence, their tone lilting with curiosity.

“Hold up… what was that about pinks?” They tried to keep the nervousness out of their voice as they added, “Those aren’t a problem now, right?”

Composer eyed them oddly, and for a moment, Cyan was afraid that she’d scold them for their ignorance. They were the so-called hero of Paradise, after all; it was kind of expected for them to know about potential threats.

Much to the square’s shock, the music note only smirked, seemingly satisfied with her superior knowledge. Or perhaps, she just wanted the excuse to keep talking, influencing her audience with her opinions.

Regardless of the reason, her smile sent a chill up Cyan’s spine, and they fidgeted under her gaze, taking a shaky sip of their hot chocolate. The rich drink was ice cold by now, but the square took a sip every few minutes, if only to please the shape who’d paid for it.

“I thought that would wake you up.” Composer’s voice was cool, controlled. She had command over the conversation, and she seemed to know it. She reached into her portfolio, retrieving a plain-looking pamphlet. “I had a mission in mind, an objective that I assumed you could tackle quite well. This should explain it well enough.”

Cyan reluctantly accepted the booklet, beads of glowing sweat sliding down their face. Their unease was betrayed by the shake of their hands as they turned the brochure around, staring at the covers.

It was unassumingly simple, a plain grey pamphlet with pinkish accents. The title revealed little to nothing of the leaflet’s contents, which Cyan was honestly afraid to discover.

“Guide to Hue,” they read aloud. Their eyes briefly darted up to glance at Composer. She kept smiling, smug. “A cohesive enchiridion on the subject of natural light, beat magic, and the Treeangle.”

They internally sighed; this would take awhile to digest. As a shape with a fast-paced life, the square seldom bothered with the minute details of things. But with the way Composer was eying them, they felt obligated to at least try to understand.

Cyan flipped through the booklet, skimming through the paragraphs. They felt their boredom increase as they came across several large, complicated phrases, words that made them stop to think, to dredge up whatever education they may have received at some point.

It didn’t help that they couldn’t recall much from their past. Before the famous Treeangle Incident, the heroic shape had been a fairly nomadic being. Surely they’d, at one point, been a normal shape, with a mortal existence, until they had been shattered.

Their old life vanished from memory, and because of their tendency to move from place to place, no one knew them well enough to remind them of their original self. Spontaneously resurrected by the light of the sacred structure itself, they chose to stay in Paradise to watch over it, like an odd, symbiotic guardian.

Cyan’s mind wandered, lost in thought, and they eventually lost focus on what they were reading.

It wasn’t until they came across a paragraph that caught their eye that they snapped out of their musings. They silently read, “The tint of magenta was banished from the rainbow centuries ago. Feared for its deadly power and inherent aggression, the power was expelled, and the pink color of Paradise began to die out…”

Cyan looked up at Composer. Seemingly bored of watching them read, the music note had turned her attention to the actions of the other restaurant patrons, watching them with a scrutinizing eye.

The square followed her gaze to where two shapes sat, near the front of the cafe. They recognized one of the shapes as Lycan, instantly able to tell by their spiky, pink fur and loud, boisterous tone. Lycan was accompanied by their sister, Wolfie, a greenish, mild-mannered blossom who worked at the same event venue as Fresh.

Shockingly, Lycanthropy didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong. They were seemingly content, and judging from the lack of lava, that didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon.

Composer’s smile twitched as she eyed the two shapes, her gaze flickering with a peculiar glimmer. “Such a shame.” She subtly gestured towards the blossom pair. “Even the unassuming blossoms can be twisted into absolute monsters.”

Cyan raised an eyebrow, puzzled. They voiced their confusion, “Lycan? A monster?” A slight smile quirked their features as they shook their head. Sure, the blossom could be erratic, maybe even violent, but they weren’t evil in the slightest. “I think you’re confusing them with another flower? Lycan’s not the only corrupted one…”

At that, Composer turned back to face the square, her smirk completely dropping. She took a sip of her coffee, a judgemental glare landing on the other shape, making a chill go down their spine.

“All corruption is evil.” Her voice was venomous. “It may not be obvious at first glance, but the potent nature of the corruption’s hue only makes it worse, makes it spread.”

“They may still be pink, but they’re not a bad person.”

“You misunderstand. Pink is inherently volatile.”

It was at this point that Cyan felt their anxiety skyrocket. They frowned, shaking their head in strong disagreement. They stood, collecting their things in preparation to leave.

“Actually, I feel like you’re the one misunderstanding things.” They gestured at Lycan, huffing. “Pink may be a bit scary, and I get where you’re coming from, but…”

The heroic square’s hackles rose with their anger. Frustrated sparks jumped from their form, which Composer stared at, her mouth agape in a small, “o.”

Cyan finally found the words to convey their irritation, their voice going shrill for a moment as they growled, “The danger is gone. Magenta, pink, rose, whatever you want to call it. It’s okay, Composer. No one’s evil anymore.”

Composer stared at the frustrated square for a long time, her expression blank. Her violet gaze bored into the hero, nonetheless, and her mouth slowly curved into a tiny, almost disappointed frown.

She finally let out a small sigh, looking out the window with that same, empty stare.

“I am… discontented… with your failure to understand my plight.” Her tone dropped to a condescending hum as she continued, “I should have realized that such an altruistic shape would become biased.” She then smirked, briefly turning to lock eyes with the other shape. “Although, I imagine it must be hard for a shape who was shattered to remain this way.”

Cyan staggered away from the little booth, their expression set into a grimace. Their eyes were wide and almost teary, and the sparks around their form began to intensify in severity. Crestfallen, the blue square found themselves unable to process Composer’s words, the pamphlet clutched in their grasp in a vice grip.

Backing away, Cyan added one last time, “You’re wrong, Composer.” Their tone was resolute. “The corruption is gone.”

With that, the heroic shape left the restaurant. They didn’t even stop to look back as they heard Composer chuckle, nor did they wave at Lycan when they passed. Their mind swam with conflict and anger, bitter feelings that they struggled to subdue.

Opening the door, they halted for a mere moment before breaking into a dash, sparks of blue energy buzzing around their form. They were nothing more than a blur in the dull morning sky, shining brighter than the sun as they rocketed through the air.

Normally, their dash was their favorite ability. They didn’t need wings to buzz through the air. They could just take off, propelled by beat magic. Cyan may not have had much power in terms of offense, but when they dashed, they were invincible.

Quite literally, they might add. For some, miraculous reason, the square’s dash ability was able to zip straight through solid matter, but only for a few seconds. It had saved them quite a few times during some harder fights, when the attacks became too overwhelming to weave through normally.

Right now, however, Cyan wished they could dash to escape their emotions. They clenched their fist, further ruining the pamphlet that Composer had provided them. They didn’t even want to read the blighted packet, afraid to find more of her ludicrous drabble inside. The music note was insane if she thought pink was still bad.

To Cyan’s knowledge, much of the “curse” surrounding pink in the first place had been lifted when they purified the Treeangle. It was still potent, still aggressive, but it was no longer corruptive and evil.

Some blossoms even started popping up naturally pink. It was more of a pastel rose, but pink nonetheless. This solidified the fact that magenta was part of the Treeangle’s light once again, at least in some capacity.

Cyan squeezed their eyes shut as they flew, angrily wiping tears from their eyes. They could get so worked up over this stuff, it irked them to no end. It wasn’t their fault that they were sensitive, but no matter how they tried, bad situations typically left them in tears… and yelling. Which wasn’t exactly a shock, given that they spent most of their time with Blue.

In their blind flight, Cyan didn’t even notice as another shape flew right into their path. Unable to see where they were going, they collided right with the other shape. A startled scream rang out, both shapes panicking.

Cyan’s eyes snapped open, and they flailed, their dash halting midway through. Backing away, they tried to identify who they’d run into, indecisive over whether they should yell or apologize.

However, as they surveyed the other flustered shape, it became clear that this wasn’t someone they were familiar with. For a moment, they thought it was that pest, Fresh, but the stark contrast in hue was enough to dissuade the association.

The overall build was similar, but this strange being was peaceful blue, for one thing. Like Fresh, he had catlike ears, although they drooped with anxiety, twitching intermittently. He stared at Cyan with a single, teary eye, his expression quivering as if he was trying not to cry. And instead of the vest and spiked collar that the pink menace loved, this frightened shape was wearing a simple, soft blue hoodie.

Awkward, Cyan choked out an apology. “Oh… s-sorry. I, um… didn’t see you there.” The newcomer jolted at their words, then averted his gaze, crossing his arms. Cyan hurriedly added, “I don’t think we’ve met. Sorry if this wasn’t the best first impression… I’m Cyan.”

They held out a hand to shake, uncaring of the fact that the both of them were currently suspended about fifty feet in the air. It was never too late to make a good impression. Most of Cyan’s best friends had been made in the heat of battle, or rescued from a chaotic situation. In those moments, the very extremes of their personalities had been on display, yet they were a tight group to this day.

However, the nervous Fresh lookalike didn’t seem particularly keen on making friends. He forced himself to accept Cyan’s hand, using his other hand to wipe away his tears. In terms of personality, the shape was nothing like Fresh at all. Instead of impulsive and rude, the newcomer was timid and fearful, his gaze darting around as if something was out to get him.

“M-my name is…” He hesitated, almost thoughtful. He caught sight of his own arm, his gaze lingering on the blue glow. Shaking his head, he looked back to Cyan, then continued with more confidence, “My name is Chill.”

Cyan nodded happily, glad that the mystery shape was opening up a bit. They laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood, looking around.

“So, are you new to Paradise?” They started to descend, beckoning the new shape to follow. “I mean, you didn’t know me, and I’m pretty famous around here, not to brag.”

He perked up, quickening his pace, although he still seemed a bit shaken up, wobbling in the air. Levitation of any capacity wasn’t that uncommon, but not many shapes could keep it up outside of a battle. Chill touched down softly, eying the grass. Cyan lingered in the air, floating in lazy circles around the other shape.

They repeated their question, “Did you just move here or something?” Something about Chill seemed familiar, yet strange, like a sense of Deja Vu.

“No. I just… don’t get out much.” A brief shudder went down Chill’s spine, and he added, “I don’t get why you call this place, “Paradise.” It’s more of a, well, I don’t know… “Para-DANGER.””

The heroic square chuckled at the pun, floating ahead of Chill by a few feet. Forget his earlier apprehension; anyone who made jokes like that couldn’t be up to anything bad.

“Yeah, but at least pink isn’t the danger anymore. It’s… kinda a big deal, saving the lost color of the rainbow.” Cyan’s tone briefly took on a boastful tone, and they hummed in musing. “Like I said, I’m a big hero here.”

Chill’s expression briefly twitched. His smile dropped for a second, and he tried to change the subject.

“Hey, what’cha got there?” He was pointing at something. Cyan followed his gaze to the pamphlet in their hand, which was crumpled beyond repair.

Holding up the ruined booklet, the square hummed, “Oh, this?” They grimaced as they spied the cover title again, tossing it aside with a groan. “Just some “enchiridion of hue” nonsense. No big deal, unlike me.”

Despite the distasteful description, Chill seemed interested. He rushed to catch the booklet, dashing back up to meet Cyan.

“Why would you just throw that away? I.. I’ve been, um… researching hue… this could be a lifesaver!”

Cyan scowled, rolling their eyes. “I doubt it.” They began to tire of the conversation, listlessly floating in circles, watching blue sparks trail behind themselves. “That thing had more than fact to say about pink shapes in particular. It’s probably just some opinionated drivel.”

Chill shook his head, a glimmer of desperation clear in his gaze. He flipped through the packet, eye growing wide with wonder. He dashed to catch up with Cyan, who had begun to depart, catching them by the arm.

On reflex, they jerked away, glaring at Chill with a threatening leer. He winced, shrinking back. His eyes widened, and he smiled nervously.

“Do… do you know who wrote this?” He held up the pamphlet. “This could really help me, please. I need some info, Cyan.”

His tone sounded despaired, and if Cyan squinted, they could see the other shape’s glow lessen. Cyan didn’t want any shape to have to listen to Composer, but… this guy seemed so upset already. It didn’t seem like even Composer’s words could worsen his mood.

Relenting, the square sighed, turning back to face Chill.

“Alright, see that little cafe?” They pointed towards the building they’d just left, their tone bored. Chill seemed engaged, however, his eye lighting up with hope. “I just left there. The lady who wrote this junk is probably still there. Just look for a purple music note.”

Chill exploded with happiness. He began to glow brightly, like a cerulean spotlight. Cyan had to shield their eyes as the other shape rushed forth.

“Thank you!” He pulled Cyan into a sudden hug, the little square giving a shrill squeak as their bones were nearly crushed. They tried to dash away, until they recalled their inability to go through other blue shapes, letting out a defeated sigh and reluctantly returning the embrace.

Chill let them go as soon as they did, however, already moving on to the restaurant. “Thanks a million, little dude! You’re a real hero!”

With that, he broke into a mad dash, elated. His relieved laughter echoed through the sky like a bell, filled with absolute joy.

Cyan lingered, watching him go. A small smile worked its way upon their features, and they turned to leave. However, one notion still didn’t leave them. That Deja Vu remained, prodding at their thoughts.

The longer they heard that laughter, a dim, fearful recollection swelled in their mind, inundating them with paranoid anxiety. Flashes of wide, pink eyes assaulted their memory, and they shook their head, frowning slightly.

The physical similarities could be dismissed as a coincidence. Lots of shapes looked the same; that was simple geometry. While Cyan had never seen another shape quite like Fresh, it was surely possible that there were others of his species.

But… that laughter.

That laughter was unmistakable, unforgettable. It had drilled itself into their memory, into their nightmares. Although Chill was nothing like Fresh, his voice…

It sounded exactly the same.

Hundreds of threatening notions rushed through Cyan’s mind. They hadn’t seen or heard from Fresh in days, and to their knowledge, he’d had a falling out with Blue prior to his vanishing. Blue refused to give details, but the look on their face when speaking of him hinted at a bigger problem.

Fear won over, and Cyan darted away, intent on warning the others. Fresh was no longer a villain, but if something was wrong with him, Cyan feared that it would spread like corruption.

[softgrungeprophet]

hm this is probably the last/only thing i’ll say about it but i do hope that the stuff that’s being retconned in the current issue is actually just mindgames/the effect of the codex, like a couple of people have hypothesized here and there...

cause like....

(and as always, let me preface this by saying i’m not judging if you liked issue 10 or think it’s neat, everyone’s got their own tastes, it’s chill, i’m 25 and i still listen to three days grace so Rest Assured I’m not out here to judge)

To me, part of the appeal of Eddie Brock’s backstory and its inherent drama/tragedy is that there is no rhyme or reason to it, there is no justice to it, it’s not fair at all, it’s not actually anyone’s fault, he just got fucked over by life over a significant but arguably not fire-able journalistic mistake (compounded by other things out of his control, like his cancer). He’s not repenting for his sins...  (that was, in fact, kind of the entire point of the 2000′s cancer arc and Anti-Venom and the following stuff where he hunted symbiotes, but whatever I guess?)

He’s just trying to make sense of the trainwreck that is his life, and he’s flawed, so the sense he makes of it is often also flawed. that’s compelling imo

and that’s why he acts the way he does, and why he is so desperate to be perfect, and why he helps innocents (he DOES in fact have empathy despite what a couple of writers seem to think), and why he feels the need to find someone--anyone--he can blame it on (except himself) (because he’s flawed)

like... like, basically, Nothing Happens For a Reason, as it turns out, and sometimes life just fucking sucks, but you can still try to be a better person anyway???

You can still change??

Also he’s never displayed any kind of hangups on his dad and I hate that Donny took him back to his supposed childhood home to confront someone who disowned him and who he, in turn, left in his past.

I feel like I also have an opinion on the line about him being a privileged rich white boy but I’m not smart enough to explain why it bugged me in the moment.

Anyway, frankly, as an overachiever-turned-failure with a dad who didn’t seem to give a fuck about my accomplishments, looking at the eddie brock who was bullied growing up and desperate for approval, like... that was... a relatable, flawed character... and honestly i have a HARD time believing he would act in that specific kind of reckless way, growing up. Cause he wasn’t looking for “any attention at all,” he was specifically seeking praise--reasons he did so well in school and with baseball and he tried to build this perfect life.... like...There are different kinds of vies for attention and different kinds of people, for whom these different actions apply... You can’t just copy-paste any random teenage recklessness and say, it works for every kind of character, because it simply doesn’t. 

Eddie is often reckless but his recklessness is also often specifically dangerous to himself and no I’m not gonna accept a retconned backstory as the reason why he’s always throwing himself into danger. You know what my explanation is for that? The fact that Eddie has a history of depression and suicide. It’s almost like someone who has tried to kill himself multiple times, who has little self-regard for his own safety, who has no one to worry about leaving behind, who CANNOT DIE BECAUSE HE HAS AN ALIEN IN HIM, and who--after his life destroyed itself--probably didn’t plan to live to 28 let alone his mid-thirties, might not mind putting himself into danger in reckless ways.

He does endanger other people but it’s on a completely different level of being caused by his desire for “Justice” (whatever his definition of justice is in that moment).

I’ve posted before about how I think his stuff is a lot more inward compared to Flash and I think that holds true for this in particular. Eddie has been shown to be historically bookish, anti-social, bad at talking to people, blah blah blah I just don’t think he would have been that type of teenager. Like, yes I know there are nerds and overacheivers and introverts who drink and blah blah blah but it genuinely feels more like the kind of mistake Flash would have made.

Which, again, is probably part of why multiple people have been suspecting codex shenanigans, especially since references to Flash and Agent V featured so heavily in issue 8...

I don’t know if I’m making any sense at this point. I had a word that started with M that I felt was a very good word in relation to this, that summed it up well, but then I completely forgot it when I woke up in an angry sweat at 7 am after four hours of sleep. (dw, i fell back asleep after a while)

It just all feels weird and so I have to approach it as, in some way, some kind of fakeout or other falsehood because it just doesn’t really make sense. I’ve spent the past four months reading A LOT of Venom comics, some of which I loved and some of which, oh boy, I sure didn’t. And it just feels off. So I’m assuming and/or hoping that none of this is true, and it’s some weird influence from the codex, or some kind of nightmare he’s having, or something.

And if it turns out it’s not off, and that this is a genuine full retcon, then I gotta say Donny Cates is missing the entire point of Eddie Brock as a character.

No offense; i’m not trying to insult him, and i don’t claim to be an expert on Eddie Brock myself. but I really do gotta hope he’s just trying to pull the wool over the readers’ collective eyes for some kind of body-sharing plot twist. (which would probably bring me back, but for now I don’t got the energy to keep up with this monthly back-and-forth.) Cause otherwise? oof.

That’s my summary. TL;DR: “Oof.” and “Something is definitely up (I Hope) but I don’t have the energy to find out myself so I’ll rely on secondhand spoilers”

Anyway I’m gonna go make some French toast.