#like if youre doing worse than a half feral barn cat why are you even raising cats

[zooophagous]

I'm in a lot of fancy bastard cat groups on Facebook and every now and then I see someone asking for help because their new kitten is terrified and hissing and acting feral and I see a lot of "oh just give them time to decompress" and while yes these kittens will eventually come out of it, nobody ever seems to point out that this is sort of a really bad sign about the breeder?

I mean shit, feral barn kittens from a shelter come out cheerful and purring and happy to see you and you're telling me it's normal for a baby kitten, who hasn't grown up feral, that came from a breeders home to act like it's never been touched before?

Like this is a kitten someone raised??? What the fuck did they do to it???

[dotthemagpie]

A weather-beaten Journal

The world gone to shit, it has Fallen.

A virus have knocked out most of the humanity and in a bid to survive had to fall into “serfdom".

The monsters starts to live out on Farms, and our favorite have one such farm.

The virus that knocked out humanity have the potential to turn monsters Feral, making them more like beasts than Monsters.

One day a servant finds a red and black journal, stained with yellow spots and smelling vaguely of mustard.

Since she was done with her tasks for today she decided to find a secluded corner and started to read.

Dec 16th, 6 years after the Fall

** **

My bro got the virus. He have been trying to hide it, trying his best to control himself, but today he lashed out and killed five servants when they got on his nerves. He growled and snarled like a beast, using his fang to tear out the throat of two of them before tearing the other three apart._

It is soulrending to see him act like this. He has already chosen a spot for himself in the barn, making himself a proper den before he loses his mind to his feral side. (There are smudges on a few words, as if tears had fallen while the person were writing it.)

…We are eating lasagna tonight, and it is the tastiest lasagna I have ever eaten. It seems like my bro have suddenly become the perfect chef. Not even Black, the critical fucker were praising the food a lot. Puzzle even said that he could never make a lasagna as good as that.

Skull devoured one and a half himself and pouted like a wounded puppy when he didn’t get any more.

My bro was so proud.

**Dec 20, 6 atf **

He tried to attack Blue today. Went right for his soul. Stretch almost killed him, and I had to beat the fucker until he learned that no one touches my lil’ bro. Blue just brushed it off like the damn tank he is, saying that it was his fault for getting too close to his room.

We had a meeting afterwards. Vanilla said that bro had to stay in the barn from now on. I almost beat the bastard, but I can’t deny it any longer. Edge has turned completely Feral. 

(There are a few more blotches of faded tears on the edge of the page.)

** Dec 22, 6 atf **

The snow falling is nostalgic, although it is white instead of gray like it was Underground. Edge has settled in the pen, only letting me, Papyrus or Puzzle close. Papyrus is a literal ray of sunshine that he somehow tolerates, and he seem almost afraid of Puzzle, even though he is the kindest of them all. 

He seems to remember who we are, but it is if he is more instinct than monster now. No wonder we call it the Feral Virus. Humans often die when they get it, but if they survive they turn immune. 

** Dec 23, 6 atf **

Those fucking slaves. Throwing shit and manure on my bro? They have a fucking death wish.

I now know why my bro always been so nervous around Puzzle. Watching that smiling tall freak cut the throats of those humans like they were cattle shows how different he actually is from Papyrus.

I almost forget how both he and Skull survived a hell that was far worse than me and my bro lived through.

We gave the last slave that acted up, the leader to Edge. It was… liberating watching him play with him like a cat does with a mouse. I made all the servants watch, to show them what happens when they think that our kindness is a sign of weakness.

**Dec 24, 6 atf **

Merry fucking Gyftmas.

** Feb 12, 7 atf **

Black got himself a Pet. A cute little thing with attitude like no other. He seem to enjoy the distraction, and her need for cleanliness around her seem to get his approval.

Heh, he almost tried to kill me when I started to flirt with her. Fine fine, I get it, she is yours you caffeinated, uppity bitch. 

** July 2nd, 7 atf **

Skull is turning Feral. It was hard noticing due to his wound and how quiet he tends to be, but he has become more and more territorial recently, and he even tried to bite Rus when he shortcutted too close to him.

Vanilla and I started looking for a cure the moment Edge started to show symptoms, but we had no headway so far.

**July 4th, 7 atf **

… I saw Puzzle cry in the kitchen last night when I went to look for some mustard. Black was there, trying his best to comfort him.

…I understand how he feels. When I visit my bro it feels like he doesn’t truly recognize me anymore. It hurts my soul.

July 15th, 7 atf

Skull moved into the barn. He took the largest one, as far away from Edge as possible, in order to not start any fights.

Smart of him, because my bro is territorial to a fault.

In other news, my bro has allowed Blue into the pen, and seems to enjoy his company from time to time.

Blue has decided to become the one to care for those that turn Feral, like the fucking goody two shoes he is.

Of course Stretch did not like this, and for the first time I saw them fight, loudly. Stretch hasn’t left the sheep pen in two days since the fight.

Rus and Puzzle delivers food to him, but when they come back they look like he had been mean as fuck to them.

Maybe I should tell Skull that Stretch has been cursing out Puzzle. He hasn’t turned completely Feral yet, and it would be good for the research… and put that lanky fucker down a few pegs….

Fucking Vanilla laughed at the idea, but said it would not be good if Stretch died. I don’t want to take care of the sheep, they freak me out, and Sans is always stuck in his lab, so he can live.

Aug 14th, 7 atf

…I think I am turning Feral.

There is a urge in my mind, like a fire of… something in my mind.

I told Vanilla, and he seemed to age in front of my eyes. He asked me to fight it as long as possible, and write down all the symptoms that I get.

I have already started a separate journal, writing down everything that happens to me.

I hope that it will help in some way at least.

I am going to treat this like a extra long vacation, if anything I will be finally sleeping as much as I want.

Although if Blue tries to do those exercises he does with Edge I will fucking blast him to pieces. 

 sep 3rd, 7 atf 

…I have to move to the barn.

I am nearing my heat, and I almost went after Black’s Pet.

I held myself back before I did anything, with the help of Puzzle distracting me with his talk about food.

The girl is a sweet one, giving Black the peace he needed from that Hell Underground we both have lived through.

I may be a asshole, but I would never hurt his beloved little Pet willingly. Not even I would go so far.

Luckily she sees me like the perverted, teasing other master, and I will make sure that is how she will remember the non feral me.

If you ever read this girlie, know that what I do as a Feral is not the real me. I would never hurt family by my own will.

sep 9th, 7 atf

This will be my last entry in this journal.

I have chosen my pen and renovated it to my liking.

I took the one between my bro and Skull, because I have to be close to my bro, and I don’t mind Skull. 

There is splotches of tears on this page.)I will never admit it, but I am scared of losing myself. What if that vanilla bastard never finds a cure? What if he gives up? What if I hurt anyone? What if I dust myself, or my own brother?

I hope when I return from my “vacation”, it won’t be too far in the future. One of the few perks being a Boss monster, not aging until we die.

Red out, going on vacation.

[chrysalispen]

xxiii. where even the little brambles would not yield

AO3 link is HERE

===

Third Astral Moon, 26th Sun, Year 1 of the Seventh Umbral Era

He was painfully aware that he was the only man standing between the elementals and disaster. Their enemy awaited their arrival atop the craggy perch, his wicked gunhalberd brandished aloft and aimed at the hapless party still struggling to ascend the treacherous inclines of limestone and moss. The legatus’ chin tilted proudly upwards as he stared down his foes beneath his imposing helm, lips stretched in a wide rictus and his triumphant laughter erupting forth in great, high-pitched ringing peals to break the quiet of the forest. 

“I claim the Black Shroud in the name of the Empire!” 

Hugh Miller, intrepid guardian of the Twelveswood, would never have a better chance with his target so thoroughly distracted. His grip tightened upon his blade and taking care not to alert the mad general, he approached with slow and careful footsteps, took aim-

-and missed. The swipe only knocked the legatus’ winged helm from atop his head, sending it flying (well, not quite flying, he amended silently; fluttering was perhaps a better word…) to the ground several fulms below. 

Hugh gulped, regretting his miscalculation as the fearsome legatus rounded on him with a scowl.

“Ha! You dare to oppose me?” 

For a moment he nearly faltered. His sneering enemy was a full head and shoulders taller than him, even without a growth spurt taken into account, and he had better reach with his halberd than Hugh did with his short sword. How could he possibly win…?

At that moment a chorus of voices erupted just out of sight:

“Get him, Hugh! You can do it!”

“Aye, clip his wings!”

“You got him right in his bleedin’ face, you can do it again!”

His friends, cheering him on. 

Hugh grinned, his courage returning. He adjusted the makeshift pot helm he wore and held his sword aloft. “The Garlean Empire will never have the Twelveswood, White Raven," he declared. "Not while this Wood Wailer still draws breath!”

“Very well,” Nael van Darnus growled, “then a fight to the death it shall be! Have at you, foul adventurer!”

Helmless but still well-armed and armored, van Darnus wasted no time in attacking, offering a brutal thrust of his wicked lance. Hugh spun to his left and made another swipe, this one glancing off the legatus’ breastplate but catching in his homespun shirt.

“Ow!” the legatus complained. “Come on, no fair throwing rocks, Cecilie!”

“All’s fair in love an’ war, Da said,” retorted a sharp voice, and Hugh himself had to dodge a volley of pebbles that came flying over the precipice. There was a small, feral roar, a flurry of skirts, and Nael van Darnus let out a most unwarrior-like yelp of surprise when he was tackled to the ground by another boy and two small girls brandishing long staves. 

“He’s down! Get him!”

“Ow! Hey!”

“Back, foul creature!” chirped the smaller girl. “Eorzea is ours!”

“You’re mages! You’re not supposed to hit him with your staff- OW!” the legatus cried. “No biting either, you cheaters!” 

“We are not cheating!” 

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too! Hugh, make your cousin stop hitting me--ow!! Get off me!!”

Hugh took advantage of the chaos to rip the halberd from their foe’s hands, push the girls aside, and pin the White Raven to the ground, straddling the legatus’ chest with the edge of his blade pressed to the man’s throat. 

“Do you yield, imperial?”

“Seven hells, four against one isn’t fair, Hugh-”

“Do you yield?” he repeated.

A long and extremely sulky sigh from the Legatus of the VIIth Imperial Legion.

“I yield,” Nael van Darnus grumbled, shoving the trio aside and beginning to remove his armor. “You lot can keep playing if you like. I was getting bored anyroad.”

“Oh, come on, Enguerrand, it’s not any fun that way. We can’t have a full group of heroes with only three of us,” Hugh began, but his friend was already standing up and plucking stray leaves and dirt from his sandy hair. “You get to be the party leader next now that I beat you, that’s the rules, right?”

“Why can’t your brother play?”

“I told you already, Mum sent Bran to help Miss Aurelia collect moko grass.”

Enguerrand made a face. 

“Again? She really oughtn’t be so trusting of outsiders.”

“Miss Aurelia isn’t that much of an outsider,” Hugh pointed out. “She’s still Gridanian.”

“Her? Not likely.” The Elezen boy let out a sullen grunt as he jumped down from his perch to a nearby lichen-crusted outcropping, then called out, “Da knows folk from the city, and he said she doesn’t act or talk like a Gridanian at all.”

“What’s that even mean?” Hugh retorted. “Your dad’s from the wood just like the rest of us. How would he know what Gridanians are like?”

“Are you stupid?” Enguerrand’s voice was laden with contempt, enough to make the smaller boy flush. “He has to travel to Quarrymill sometimes with his reports. Lots of Gridanians live there. And he said she doesn’t talk like any of them.”

Hugh considered this. He knew Miss Aurelia on sight now, of course; all the villagers did. She was very pretty and very quiet. Rather tall for a Hyur, in his opinion, but he hadn’t found her to be all that suspicious beyond the simple fact that she wasn’t from Willowsbend - something which, his mother had said sourly, was enough reason in and of itself for folk like his friend’s father to look askance at the poor lass.

“All right, fine. How does she talk? And what does it matter? She’s a conjurer, isn’t she?” 

“A novice, Da says. Not a proper conjurer.”

“Novice just means she’s training.” The taller boy grunted but didn’t say anything, just jumped down like one of Hugh’s barn cats to land upon the leaf-strewn forest floor below and reached for the helm that had flown off his head-- though in truth, it was little more than an old basket with a couple of stray dodo feathers stuck into the weave (and now looking decidedly the worse for wear). “Wait, where are you going?”

“Home,” he said flatly. “Come on, Cecilie. Da’s going to wonder why the shearing isn’t done if we aren’t back soon.”

“But I still wanted to play!” Enguerrand’s younger sister protested. Hugh felt the rock beneath them vibrate when she stamped one patten-clad foot upon its mossy surface in resistance.

“Fine. You stay here and I’ll do the chores myself.”

“Enguerrand,” Hugh began, but the boy was already stalking out of the clearing, back in the direction of the village. 

Cecilie placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Let him go, Hugh,” she sniffed with a defiant toss of her long black curls. “He’s just being a sore loser ‘cos we all gave him a sound thrashing.”

“For the glory of the elementals,” he grinned, but his mirth wasn’t returned. Cecilie’s smile faded in turn.

“He isn’t all wrong, though,” she said. “Da did tell us to be wary of her. He talked to Conjurer Trevantioux, Hearer Ewain’s real assistant. And, well...”

“And what?”

Hugh never got to hear the rest of what Cecilie meant to say. The alarmed cry that echoed from the edge of the tree line shocked them both into silence.

“Cecilie!” Enguerrand’s howl arose from somewhere not too distant. “Hugh! Both of you go get the Wailers right now! And take Amicia and Larkin back with you!”

“What?” she shouted. “Why? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine! Just hurry!”

The four remaining children stared at each other with wide, shocked eyes for a brace of seconds, then scattered from their “cliffside” like frightened mice to make a run for the gates.

~*~

Some few malms distant on the opposite side of the village, Aurelia was traipsing her way through the undergrowth near the creek with Ewain’s scythe to look for moko grass and lavender. The one was easier to find than the other; moko was a common weed and one Frieda liked to harvest to prepare its fibers for spinning. 

Presently she realized that she was alone. Her timid young assistant lingered at the edge of the tree line and stared at her with enormous dark eyes-- what she could see of them beneath his overgrown fringe. 

"All is well, Bran," she assured him. "There's naught in the forest that would do you harm while you're with me."

Doubt lingered in the boy's small face. Aurelia steeled herself for rejection - expecting yet again that his reluctance had to do with her outsider's status - and was surprised when he replied, "The adults won’t give none of us leave to go into that part of the forest, miss."

"Hmm? Why not?"

"We just aren't. 'Tis mooncat territory. And there’s bandits. And..."

She waited, patiently.

"....and ghosts," he mumbled.

“Ghosts?”

“Aye, Miss Aurelia. Them what’s in the ruins.”

Searing pain lanced through her temples, and Aurelia pressed the heel of one palm against her head with a soft hiss-

The mood of the gathered villagers is one of anger and fear, and all around is the stench of old leaves and burnt wood. From his perch atop his Da’s shoulders, Bran Miller, six summers and the third of four sons, leans into the comforting warmth of homespun and straw and sweat and the smell of the forest, and watches the adults.

He understands only that they are arguing about something. The wall. Something about the wall.

“By the Twelve, Rowland, have you lost what little mind you have?” Hearer Ewain spits contemptuously. “All who know about that ruin-”

“Aye, that’s the point, Hearer!” The Midlander Wood Wailer, little more than a boy himself, gestures excitedly. “That ruin’s naught but rubble. We can patch the wall with stone that’s come loose from the mortar. Surely the elementals won’t object as long as we don’t touch the ruin itself.”

"Enough, boy! I'll not hear another word of this utter folly. Have you any idea how much it took to protect this place from the Greenwrath? That was only two moons past!”

“And what else would you suggest?” the Wailer named Rowland snaps. Bran cannot see his face but the anger in the man’s voice makes him quail away, burying his face in his father’s hair. “Half the forest has burnt straight to the ground and the elementals won’t let us touch so much as a bloody sapling without a man feeling their wrath. We can’t just sit here out in the open, like, not with the Ixal practically knocking at our doors!”

“The elementals placed a curse on those ruins,” the old Hearer replies. “You know that full well. There’s a reason they’ve not been touched since Amdapor breathed its last-”

“Bugger them and their curse,” Rowland retorts, scowling. “The birdmen won’t wait for us to ask the forest’s permission, old man. We need to see to our defenses now.”

Wincing anew at the man's angry tone, Bran whispers just loud enough for his father to hear:

“Are the ghosts in the ruins going to come to the village, Da? If they use the stones?”

“Never you mind all that,” his father murmurs. “All this talk of ghosts and such. ‘Tis naught but idle chatter and I’ll not be having you or your brothers taking foolish notions over it.”

But he does not miss the way one big hand tightens on his knee, nor the way the other squeezes his mother’s hand, near-hidden alongside in the folds of her dress. The lingering stink of deadfall and woodsmoke winds its way into his nose beneath the green smell of leaves, alongside the ugly scent of fear, and Hearer Ewain and Rowland only get louder as they argue about something called Amdapor and whether or not the elementals will be angry if they touch even fallen rubble from the ruins.

Bran decides he doesn’t want to hear any more yelling. Ever since the red moon fell and destroyed part of the village, everyone has been so afraid of the Twelveswood. He hates it. He wishes the wall hadn’t burned down. He wishes the forest hadn’t burned and angered the elementals. He wishes his mother would stop crying over her distaff late at night, when she thinks Bran and his brothers are asleep.

He wishes things would go back to the way they had been before.

Beyond his limited perception the adults’ argument continues, unabated.

“....Miss Aurelia?”

Her hand dropped back to her side. She blinked to clear her swimming vision; the boy was staring at her with a mixture of confusion and concern. A strained smile found its way to her face. 

“Don’t worry about me, Bran. All is well.”

Well, she thought, that explains the wall. 

Bran must have been present for what appeared to have been a town meeting to decide their course of action. None of that had explained why she’d seen what she’d seen, of course, but that didn’t shock her either. Her strange and painful flashes of occasional insight often as not bore no clear connection to current events. 

Still, Aurelia fancied herself a practical woman, and her first impulse was to dismiss talk of ‘the curse’ as little more than superstition, one the ruling Council of Hearers had a vested interest in reinforcing (although she would never have said so aloud). The Greenwrath was one thing, but she doubted the elementals would ever be so indirect as to levy mysterious curses upon half-eroded ruins. Not when they could turn the entire Shroud on the mortals within it if they so desired.

"I don’t think the elementals would lightly suffer restless spirits to dwell within the Shroud," she pointed out in as lighthearted a tone as she could muster, "if living people like you and I must needs petition for the privilege."

The boy’s brow knitted and his lower lip thrust outwards in indignation. 

"You're making fun of me," he accused.

"I would never do such a thing, Bran, I promise,” she replied with a straight face. “But for all the talk in the village of evil spirits, I have never come across a ghost in these woods myself, in the ruins or anywhere else. Have you?"

“No… but my brother said he’s heard voices out here before.” 

“Be that as it may, I don’t think we’re in any danger.” Perhaps rather more from the mundane than the supernatural- not that she was about to fill his head with a set of worries entirely too old for him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

“No, miss. I’m too afeared of the ghosts.” He shook his head. “I’ll stay here on this side with Mama’s basket.” "Alone?"

"Mama lets me play here as long as I stay in sight of the house."

“Very well.”  There would be no convincing him, it seemed. “But you mind your mama and stay within sight. If I'm not back by sunset you go straight home, understand?”

“Yes, Miss Aurelia.”

She shouldered her bag and ventured into the undergrowth, feeling the boy’s gaze boring into her back. 

As ever there was a certain comfort in the haze of solitary and mindless routine: keeping her hands busy while her mind wandered, and before long she had left the clearing behind. 

Thorns tugged at her leggings and headwear as she worked her way through the underbrush, and ilm by ilm the sunlight crept lower on the horizon. Aurelia kept about her work, heedless of how far she had ventured until she reached to pull back the leaves of a large bush and her eyes met mortar and white stone instead of the tree bark she’d expected. 

A thoughtful frown knitted her brow. 

Slowly she released the handful of brush and stood, wiping her gloved hand on her thigh. The section of wall was difficult to see, mostly covered in moss and lichen and shielded by overgrowth and the deadfall of a massive oak tree, but she could make out the heavily rounded arch and part of a hefty column. 

Having spent some moons in this part of the Shroud now, she was well aware of the ruins scattered throughout the settlement’s vicinity. Most of it was rough-hewn stone visible within the large sinkholes that had opened up after shrapnel from Dalamud had impacted the ground. Ewain had said that they were part of old Gelmorra, an underground city where people had dwelt for long years in which the entirety of the Shroud was not habitable. 

The other was all that remained of a city so lost to the annals of history that no one recalled its name. Even Hearer Ewain only knew that it had been a part of the civilization of Amdapor, submerged in the great flood that marked the end of the Fifth Astral Era. Part of the story she knew from her own training in Gridania; according to the Conjurers’ Guild, the white mages that ruled Amdapor had overstepped themselves in their hubris and invited the wrath of the elementals, which had caused the flood in the first place. 

One of her mentor’s myriad duties was to aid the Wood Wailers in ensuring that the secrets of the Amdapori remained hidden. For long years that had been a simple task: much of its ruins lay so deeply buried beneath bough and root in this age that they were impossible to discern from any other part of the forest floor. Or they had been, until the havoc Bahamut had wreaked had uprooted portions of the old structures with the aetheric upheaval against the land. 

Her fingers lightly traced the lacy patterns of lichen over stone, the smoothness that two ages and a great flood had worn into their surface. Other than the calls of birds and the sighing whisper of wind through the tree leaves, silence reigned. 

There was nothing to be seen here. No wild creatures, no voidsent, nothing.  

All right, but you know that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything here-

“Oh, stop,” Aurelia muttered aloud in disgust. “Just stop it.” 

Four years more of living more or less alone in the middle of an enchanted wilderness serving this blasted labor sentence and she suspected she’d be as superstitious as any Eorzean who’d never left the Shroud. She removed her hand from the stone and adjusted the hand-scythe in its loop on her belt. Bran was going to worry if she wasn’t back before the sun-

A shocking chill prickled its way down her arms, enough to make her shudder, a sense that something was terribly wrong-

-and in the same instant a high-pitched, terrified scream split the air.

~*~

The sun sat low in the trees. He'd only have another bell or two to look over the area before duskfall rendered it unsafe and the others retreated behind the settlement walls.

Keveh’to knelt in a pile of wet leaves and rock, his lips set in a flat and unhappy line as he examined the body. The Elezen boy who’d found it - stumbled across it, really, he suspected - had been near beside himself with fear. Laurentius, the most junior of the three Wailers that regularly oversaw matters of village security, had at least had the good sense to guide the gaggle of children away from the site before they managed to clap eyes on the corpse.

Just as well, he thought grimly. No one needed to see this. He wasn’t sure *he* had needed to see it, truth be told. 

The Ixali scout had been dead nearly a sennight by Keveh’to’s reckoning; the stink was enormous and the gaping hole in his chest was already crawling with nesting maggots. His weapon lay a few fulms away, the obsidian refracting the light from the afternoon sky with a wink - which was how the lad had chanced to see it at all. 

A lanky shadow fell over his back, briefly casting the grisly scene in shadow.

“Have you found anything, Lieutenant?” Keveh’to asked. He didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder. The Wailers, displeased with his insistence upon viewing the scene first, had been stalking the perimeter like sullen wolves starved of their prey.

“Not that I understand all the fuss you’re making over one dead beastman,” the Elezen stated, his tone decidedly acidic, “but yes. I found an arrow in the ground nearby. Likely it’s what killed him. If you want to have a look for yourself, that is.”

“I would. Hand it to me, please.”

“Gladly.” 

Almost immediately Keveh’to came face to face with the bloodstained shaft of an ash arrow less than an ilm from his nose, as the other man all but shoved it at him. Annoyed, he blinked, plucked it from the man's fingers, and turned it thoughtfully over. "...This is of Keeper design."

"Yes."

"And? That doesn't strike you as even a bit strange?"

"If poachers are taking it upon themselves to keep the roads clear of Ixal, so much the better for all of us," was the blunt response. "Now if you please, I must needs have a chat with my son and daughter to find out why they were playing games instead of tending to their chores.”

Keveh’to watched the man take his leave, and saw the pained expression on the Elezen boy’s face, the look of one staring down his oncoming reckoning. He chuckled; he’d worn that same face a time or two at the same age, when he’d made some wayward decision and decided it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.

His attention returned to the business at hand and his smile faded. 

Something was off, he thought. He couldn’t put a finger to why it might be, but something about this wasn’t making any sense. The hole in the Ixal’s chest was the cause of death; of that there could be no doubt, and there were no drag marks, nothing that would indicate the body had been displaced or thrown in the leaf-pile to rot. 

It was entirely possible, he thought, that someone might have shot down an Ixal scout that had ventured close to the settlement. Not likely, given the reclusive nature of his people, but not out of the realm of possibility either. The logging habits of the beastmen threatened Keeper hunting grounds even as it invited the wrath of the Twelveswood, and although the tribes didn’t maintain any sort of official coexistence with Gridania’s Wood Wailers it wasn’t unheard of for them to hunt birdmen who got a little too cozy and a little too zealous with their deforestation.But this wasn’t that. This was something else. 

Keveh’to’s eyes flickered once again over the decaying form of the dead beastman, then at the arrow in his hand. The head and the shaft were both stained brown-red with old blood. Besides that obvious marker, there were no identifying marks other than the fletching. He ran his fingers over the notched wild bird feathers, admiring the pristine smoothness of them, and the arrow shape that told him it was made by a Keeper with some knowledge of traditional craftsmanship--

His eyes narrowed and his fingertip paused mid-stroke.

“Epocan,” someone called. “It's close to dusk.”

His grip upon the arrow tightened. He spared a brief glance over his shoulder, then at the assorted watchmen and Wailers on-scene before continuing as if he’d heard nothing. 

“Epocan!”

“Yes?”  

“Seven hells, man, get your wits about you! I said it’s nearing dusk. We need to dispose of the body before nightfall and we can’t do that until we get the children back to the village.”

He had to make a decision, and quickly.

“A moment, pray!” Acting on sheer impulse he untied the hempen scarf he wore about his neck, hastily wrapped the bloodied arrow in the fabric, and tucked it into his gambeson. The Miqo'te regained his footing with ease, wiping his hands on his breeches and offering the Wood Wailer a calm smile as the man drew near. He didn’t smile back.

“Are you satisfied now, Epocan? Can we finally burn the blasted body before it attracts half the vilekin in the Twelveswood? All we bloody well need on top of aught else is the creeping death.”

“Aye, right. Sorry.” Keveh’to assumed the most sheepish expression he could manage. “Not something we worry about too much in Gridania, I suppose.”

“What were you staring at?”

“I thought I saw something else in there. Another arrow,” he said with a cheerful shrug. “But it was naught -- just a trick of the light. A beetle, I think.”

“As if you could tell beetles from blowflies in that mess." The man's nose wrinkled with distaste. “Hells. I’m going to need a soaking bath tonight just to get the stench out of my linens.”

“Aye. Well,” Keveh'to grunted, dusting loam and leaves from his knees, “let’s get the little ones back to their parents.”

He’d be back, all right, he thought as he followed the rest of them in herding the children and onlooking adults away from the site. This was a matter that warranted closer inspection. Had he the authority he'd send a summons for the Twin Adder, but he didn't, and the Wailers were more likely to tell him to shove off and shut him out of the loop if he went to them. 

Perhaps he'd ask Aurelia along, could he convince the old man to spare her for the day. It'd be the two of them again, he thought, on an adventure of sorts for the first real time in five moons.

He grinned.

[tessatechaitea]

Team Titans #24

Zero Hour is here, business itches!

Ending sentences with "bitches" has always been a super fun way to emphasize a sentence and pretend that you're about to cap a motherfucker in the ass. But since I'm trying to stop using the word "bitches" and my friends all keep yelling at me that my replacement word, "retards," is way worse, I needed to come up with a word that rhymes with bitches. I'm not sure "business itches" works perfectly but it almost sounds like I'm jazzing up bitches in a white person trying to be more urban kind of way. And I don't mean "black" when I say "urban," although I wouldn't argue with somebody who says I did just that. I don't have time to go to law school at one of the top fourteen elite colleges just to learn how to argue that lies are truth and truth are lies! But I do have time to say, "We'll just have to agree to disagree!" What about "Zero Hour is here, Quidditchers!"? No? You know who the most tiresome people in the world are? People who constantly declare that we can't say anything anymore. You can say whatever you want! But you're expressing something inherent in yourself when you go to bat for specific things you want to keep saying. I don't know what the things people can't say anymore are because they never tell you specifically the things they want to keep saying that they can't. Which seems telling, doesn't it? It's as if they want their argument to seem reasonable by including a bunch of things that they can't comprehend people being angry at them for saying. Maybe things like "kittens" or "can of beer" or "onstage masturbation cage." But they never say anything that makes me think, "Whoa. You shouldn't say that," when they say that people can't say anything anymore. Give me some examples! But you know you won't get any examples because then they'll have to defend wanting to say some things that might make people ask, "What kind of person wants to keep saying that?!" Some dumb people might feel the gears in their brain beginning to spring to life, leading them to respond, "But didn't you just say you're not going to say 'bitches' and that your friends yell at you for saying 'retards'?! See? You can't say anything anymore!" To those people, I'd just like to point out that A. I just said both of those words so you're wrong and B. I've made the personal choice not to use certain language in casual ways. My use of the word "retards" in the previous context was carefully chosen for the joke. You'll notice I didn't call anybody that no matter how slow the gears in their brains took to spring to life. Plus, I have also used the word "dumb" at the beginning of this sentence which would get some people up in arms at me. But even if they messaged me and said, "You're an ableist motherfucker, you motherfucker!" (but with a word that probably isn't shaming people who fuck mothers. I actually don't know any curse words that somebody can't make problematic with a hot take!), remember that thing I said about law school? I don't have time to learn to argue these things! Maybe at some future date, I'll come around to their way of thinking and stop calling stupid morons dumb (and maybe morons too (and stupid? Is stupid bad?!)) but until then, I don't feel like I can't say it just because some people get mad at me for saying it. I'll take the verbal haranguing and just get on with my life. And if I feel that they've made a great point, maybe I'll apologize. I mean, I won't apologize or admit I did anything wrong! But maybe I'll surreptitiously change my behavior in the future! We can't all be fucking Tumblr saints like Wil Motherfucking Wheaton! Man, I really heard it that time. The term "motherfucker" is really problematic! The people with the slowest gears in their brains probably just finally spat out the term "virtue-signaler" after reading all of that. Interesting how a certain type of people who think they can't say anything anymore have come up with a specific term to shout at people saying things they'd rather those people didn't say. It's weird how they ignore how being angry that they can't say certain things sort of signals their anti-virtue? I mean, that might not be true but there's an easy way to prove me wrong: be specific with the things you can't say when you say you can't say anything. If you just want to call your dog fat in public, you might want to realize that, by not expressing that specific expression, people might think you want to spout the n-word willy-nilly. See how maybe you'd want to clarify that? Unless, I mean, is it possible you just want to go around saying the n-word? Normally, I'd actually type out the n-word in a conversation like this. But you can't say anything anymore! Without consequences, I mean! You know, I think I'd be fine with their argument if they just added "without consequences" to the end of it. It would be a hell of a lot more honest. "But it makes life so hard when you have to deal with repercussions!" For transparency's sake, I just did a search of the word "nigger" on my site and found it used in seventeen different reviews (eighteen counting this one now too, I suppose!) which seems like an awful lot (even considering I've got over four thousand reviews. That's less than half of a percent! I guess I have to admit to being 0.5% racist now. Hmm, that seems like a lot written out like that. I am the monster everybody has been telling me I am!). Most of the entries seem to be discussions on the conservative use of the word thug as a stand-in for the n-word or discussing the "euphemism treadmill." A few of them are discussing Quentin Tarantino. At least one was me parodying Xbox users. Obviously none of them were derogatory or meant to be hurtful. But a few may have been too casual and edgelord-y in the mentioning of the word. I'd say out of those seventeen uses, only one really made me cringe. It was less the usage of the word and more the anti-Tumblr rant I went on that day. I almost sounded like one of those assholes who blames their retreat into right-wing fascism on being called out by social justice warriors! I must have had a bad day where somebody complained that I called a woman a barn owl and I had and I knew that I shouldn't have and I was acting defensive. Sorry about that, Internet! I'll do better! I was going to link to some of those posts but then I thought, "Why should I?! If somebody is so obsessed with my use of a word, they should have to damn themselves by typing it into the search bar!" See? Sometimes using a word is a necessary evil! Now that I've completely ruined my reputation and confused people with my personal non-rhyming slang "barn owl," I should probably read Team Titans #24. According to the cover, it has dinosaurs!

The weirdest part of Zero Hour was the laugh track.

Proclaiming the story you just spent years writing was so terribly written that only idiots would enjoy it might not be the great meta-dialogue you thought it was. The editors at DC were like Australians importing foxes and cats to get rid of their imported rabbit problem. But instead of using invasive species to manage other invasive species, they decided using time travel and alternate timelines were the best way to cure the DC Universe of a time travel and alternate timeline problem. You would have thought destroying all of the alternate Earths would have taken care of the problems with alternate timelines. But you and the DC editors forgot that terrible writers would still use alternate futures of the same Earth to prop up their inability to write well. But also, since Crisis fucked up so many characters' points of origins (see my non-existent Infinity, Inc. reviews in an alternate timeline where I actually purchased those comics), Zero Hour was needed to just restate all the origins of all the characters. What better way to do that than to fuck with the main DC timeline?! What could go wrong (aside from losing all of the Hal Jordan fans)?! Monarch explains that to create a world where he controls everything, he had to send 600 Team Titans into specific points in the past to change things just the right way for events to bring him to power. It's a good thing that, naturally, events happened to bring him to a point where he could send 600 Team Titans into the past to change the future that made his future control of everything possible! Fucking time travel. Suck every dick! The issue begins like any other confusing, contrived, and convoluted Team Titans issue:

With a boy just recently resurrected getting trampled to death by mammoths.

The randomly resurrected people and feral mammoths probably weren't specifically part of Monarch's plan. But when you fuck with time, you're going to have to deal with some truly fucked up consequences. Herald and Bumblebee save the rest of the pioneer family from being killed. But afterward, the racist pioneer calls Herald a derogatory name and he's all, "Their remarks were offensive as hell!" And Bumblebee's response is, "You've become so political since you reached legal drinking age." What the fuck kind of response is that?! How is not wanting to be called a racial slur political?! And why the fuck would turning twenty-one make any difference?! Maybe it would make more sense if I knew anything about Herald and Bumblebee. I think they were important to the Titans in the early series which I never read. Meanwhile, dinosaurs are rampaging around Seattle's Capitol Hill district. And then Hero X, a Team Titan, gets eaten by a pterodactyl. I feel like it's supposed to be a funny moment but the laughs from the laugh track are missing and, I mean, a character just died. And that shouldn't be funny, even if the character was some jerk named Hero X. Unsure what might be happening, Bumblebee and Herald decide to take the Team Titans back to New Jersey to regroup with the other teams.

Ha ha! Automation! Artificial Intelligence hasn't gotten any better in the future if it's coming up with terrible super-hero names like that. Also, not everybody is there, Herald. Have you forgotten about poor Hero X already?!

Ugh. The same boring dinosaur fights around earthquakes with Titans saving people at the last second happens over and over and over again. Finally, Terra says, "I think we were being manipulated like pawns on a chessboard!" And, in the future, Monarch answers her! "Oh, if you only knew the extent of it, Terra! How my confusing and contrived and convoluted plan worked to a tea! Or is that a tee? Oh, fuck it! Who cares?! I am Captain Atom and I will...I mean, I am Hank Hall, also known as Haw, and I now rule the world! I think. How does time work again? Shouldn't my plan have already come to pass since I'm in the future? Why am I the future me that existed before I changed the past and still exist now that I've changed it? No, no! Don't think about it for too long! Just think about the name I'll use after Monarch. It has to be dignified and glorious and intimidating! So far I'm having a tough time picking between Bloodfestor and Extant!" Team Titans #24 Rating: F. What a terrible fucking end to a mostly terrible comic book. And I don't feel like I'm being mean or that my rating would hurt Jeff Jensen's feelings. He's the guy who called his own run on the Team Titans "confusing, contrived, and convoluted!"

[sanctferum]

Steven Universe – Legs From Here to Homeworld reactions

Another episode so soon! Here we go…

First of all, I’m gonna hazard a guess that the legs in question refer to Pink’s ship. Pretty obvious, I suppose.

OK, starting the episode now…

Hey Blue! Crying as usual…but these are tears of happiness.

Blue’s aura apparently runs on strong emotion in general, not just sorrow, cause everyone else is still affected. (Except Connie)

Garnet would obviously not wanna trust Blue. Surprisingly, when it comes to not attacking the Diamonds, Bismuth is a voice of reason. As opposed to the exact opposite.

Meanwhile, Yellow Diamond has telekinetic powers of some sort that she’s using to retrieve her ship. It’s not going very well, and the ship is not in very good shape even if she did get it over to where she is.

The ship just keeps falling apart the more she tries. RIP hand ships (and the barn and Rose’s sword, while we’re at it). I wonder if Yellow Pearl is inside?

Aaaaand, “Pink Diamond” interrogation time.

Yes, please stop with the tears, Blue. Even Yellow is aggravated. (And notably affected by Diamond powers despite being a Diamond herself. We might’ve already seen that at the trial on Homeworld, though, I’m not sure.)

Steven they’re not gonna know what a mom is, or that you and your mom aren’t quite the same person.

“[Pink/Rose] kept it secret from everyone.” “AHEM.” “Almost everyone.” I love that Pearl is so offended by the implication that Rose didn’t confide in her (not that she needed to).

Yup. There’s the catch. For all intents and purposes, Pink Diamond as the other Diamonds knew her is as dead as they thought she was beforehand.

“I’m sure your memories are in there somewhere, Pink.” “Actually, I go by Steven.” This is gonna be Jasper calling Steven “Rose” all over again, isn’t it

Next topic of discussion: How did Pink Diamond survive? Even if she wasn’t shattered, she was still on the surface of the planet when the Diamonds unleashed their combined powers. I saw the preview for this episode at the end of Reunited, so I already saw a bit of this discussion. I don’t remember if I pointed this out then, but apparently the Diamonds didn’t intend the corruption to be a thing. They thought their powers would just straight-up wipe out everything. But it didn’t affect anything or anyone besides the gems, and they weren’t shattered, just corrupted. Hmmm.

Field trip time, to the Nephrite drop ship! Steven opens up the door and Centipeedle comes out, and Steven bought that one brand of chips Centipeedle really liked, too.

Funny you should ask that, Yellow. You, Blue and White are all responsible for what you’re looking at right now.

Steven gets Yellow to agree to try and help Centipeedle. She lifts Centipeedle up, channeling energy into her, and…huh. It seems to have worked. (For now.)

Nephrite’s insignia shows that she wasn’t someone bought in by Blue or Yellow, but was under Pink Diamond’s domain. Huh.

Nephrite’s form has been restored, but her mind is still broken. So the theories were right – Yellow’s energy was what caused their bodies to become corrupted, and Blue’s were what caused their minds to become corrupted. Then…what damage did White do…?

Indeed, Blue’s touch and energy does nothing to Nephrite’s body, but it does stop her from drooling acid, and causes her expression to change into a serene, less feral one.

But even with her mind restored, Nephrite’s still traumatized beyond belief, and can only cower in horror while repeating the line “No please no, we’re all gonna be…” over and over again. I can’t tell how much of that is related to the actual trauma and how much of it could be because of whatever White Diamond did.

Steven licks his hand and sticks some healing spit on her back, but I have my doubts it will completely undo what happened to Nephrite. Besides the actual trauma being something she wouldn’t be able to get over that easily, Steven has Pink Diamond’s powers, but Pink wasn’t one of the ones who caused this. It’s gonna take his healing in conjunction with all three other Diamonds reverse-engineering their powers to fully and permanently heal the Corruption. And there’s no way the other Diamonds will want to do so for each and every individual gem, especially the ones that, unlike Nephrite, used to be Crystal Gems. There’s gotta be some way for Steven to be able to do it himself, but for now, the power of all four Diamonds combined is the only way available – and one of those Diamonds isn’t even here.

But it does seem to work for the time being–

OK WHICH ONE OF YOU IS THE FILTHY HOMESTUCK WHO DECIDED HER NUMBER WOULD BE 413

(seriously though, as refrances go, that was pretty incredible)

Nephrite 413’s commander was a Hessanite. Not important or anything, but.

Yeah about that Nephrite…Steven’s right behind you. I wonder if she even remembers Steven from her time as Centipeedle.

And immediately upon Yellow and Blue removing their hands, Nephrite returns to Centipeedle. Perhaps whatever White Diamond did was something regarding not whether their minds and bodies worked, but something regarding whether they continued to work. Did her energy beam thing affect the gems’ stability…?

Aaaaand, nice moment over. Yellow’s back to being annoyed with “Pink”, and Blue’s attempt to calm her down is very condescending towards the life, gem or non-gem, on Earth. And with Centipeedle’s return to being a monster, Steven’s once again been reminded of the horrors of corruption, and of who caused it, and that even with Blue and Yellow’s help, he’s powerless to permanently undo it…

“If it was the four of us…” “Oh no…we can’t let her see this…” OH SHIT WE’RE DOING THIS WE’RE GONNA DISCUSS WHITE DIAMOND

(It’s been an awfully long time coming…)

Huh. Garnet, Bismuth and Pearl all seem somewhat horrified by even the prospect of White Diamond. Pearl in particular…I’m pretty sure Pearl was a gift from White to Pink, so this bodes ill.

“White Diamond isn’t like us. She isn’t even like [Yellow and Blue]…” Pearl…?

“You have no IDEA what she’s capable of.” Yes, that’s why we want to have an idea of what she’s capable of. Tell us more.

Apparently White hasn’t left Homeworld in forever…I can’t help wondering, once again, if that giant statue of her in the Homeworld skyline was just a statue, or whether it was White herself.

Steven’s new mission: return to Homeworld, speak to White Diamond. And with both hand ships destroyed, he’s taken the Diamonds to Rose’s junk pile. You know, where the giant pink knees sticking above the sand are.

“It’s just past these pink pyramids!” Oh Steven…

Steven gives everyone a pep talk, while accidentally activating the ship he’s looking for. “Oh, heh heh” indeed.

Why did the people of Beach City return so soon after the events of last night? Well, regardless, Ronaldo’s taking a video of the event, so now the whole world will know, and be convinced that Ronaldo has a very good special effects team. Which he does not. His special effects are terrible.

Thankfully, the feet of the ship are high heels and not weird pom pom slippers. Thank goodness for small mercies.

OK, so the ship is a pair of legs with a butt on top. That weird statue of White Diamond must be her own ship then – the rest of the torso and the head. I’m not ruling out her literally being the ship yet, though.

Steven’s dead set on going to Homeworld, but this time Connie doesn’t want to be left behind. How she got her parents to let her do this, I don’t know, but they seem supportive enough, if also very worried (as they should be).

Reforging a sword for Connie can wait, since this is gonna (supposedly) be a diplomatic mission. Pearl’s also going! I wonder if Garnet and Amethyst are too, or whether they’re gonna stay behind. Even if they go, Greg can look after things, right? Peridot and Lapis’ gems, Pumpkin, Lion, Cat Steven, what remains of the temple and house, etc. And if Bismuth stays with him, she has plenty of time to make Connie a new sword.

Homeworld does have an atmosphere capable of human survival, weirdly enough.

Doug Maheswaran stop getting distracted by the spaceships’ huge ass

Ah, Amethyst is coming along. Still not sure about Garnet or Bismuth, though.

Amethyst is excited about the prospects of meeting more of the Famethyst, but IIRC all of Pink’s amethysts are at the Zoo? I could be wrong though.

OK, Garnet’s going. Cat Steven and Lion are staying. What about Bismuth?

Bismuth is okay with Steven going if it brings back all her Corrupted friends. But actually joining the Diamonds herself is too far of a thing for her to do. Understandable. Also, Bismuth warns Steven that he’s gonna need to stand up for himself if the Diamonds try anything. Good advice.

Ah, there’s Peridot and Lapis. Or their gems, at least.

So, Greg will take care of Cat Steven, Bismuth will take care of Lapis and Peridot, and Lion will take care of himself as he always does. And now it’s time to leave!

Show some enthusiasm, Yellow? No? OK.

Apparently, the legs are controlled via Steven’s actual legs, once he’s standing in the right place inside the ship.

Steven that is not how people walk! That is ridiculous!

Pearl is just sweatdropping at this

Yeah, I think Pink taking off would have been somewhat less ridiculous.

…Or not. Thanks for the info, Pearl

Steven worries about making a good impression on White Diamond, but Yellow scoffs and says that they’ll be lucky if White even speaks to Yellow or Blue, much alone any of the others, after they drop in like this.

White is a tough customer, sounds like.

Would she really go far as to bubble fellow Diamonds, though? I’m not getting a very good feeling about this at all…

And with that and a few more seconds of reflective silence, the ship arrives. And Homeworld looks in even worse shape than it looked like from the inside. It’s been so hollowed out that what remains of the planet is split in half…

Yellow and Blue make plans to go see White and calm her down, letting the others not be instantly slaughtered by her or whatever.

Garnet hears a sound as the Diamonds start to get up. Cheering?

Uh…I think that’s some kind of arena, maybe? Filled to the brim with members of each diamond’s court, including Pink’s, all arranged by color in a two by two pattern? And yeah, as I suspected, White’s ship has no arms or bottom half.

Yeah, that’s a crowd all right.

Just as Steven starts to think things might turn out all right, an orb emerges from White Diamond’s ship. It isn’t a large orb, so it’d be weird to think White Diamond is inside, unless she’s even smaller than Pink was.

It’s not White Diamond. It’s White Pearl. Perhaps she’s always been White’s Pearl, or perhaps she’s a replacement Pearl after the original was given away to Pink? Or I could just be wrong about Pearl originally being from White’s court. She certainly looks unnerving…are those “veins” where he left eye should be, or fractures?

White Diamond is apparently powerful enough that even the other Diamonds can’t refuse her orders – even when delivered via a Pearl. White Pearl primly dismisses Blue and Yellow, and reforms her orb with Steven inside before taking off back to White’s ship, much to Connie, Pearl, Amethyst and Garnet’s dismay. Immediately upon depositing Steven into White Diamond’s chamber, White Pearl promptly slips back through the wall, vanishing.

And here is White Diamond.

White keeps talking over Steven’s attempted explanation. She’s treating Pink’s rebellion and betrayal like a mere child’s game. Well, Pink was kind of the Diamond equivalent of a child, but I get the feeling she’s like this with Yellow and Blue, too.

“Did you get everything out of your system? Everyone is so relieved.” She hasn’t even heard what Blue and Yellow think about the situation. I don’t think she cares. If she says they’re relieved, then they’re relieved. It doesn’t matter if they say otherwise. And it certainly won’t matter what Steven says…

It sounds like she expects “Pink” to get right back to work being a Diamond. Uh-oh.

Another orb swallows Steven before he can even begin to make his case. And it takes him to what looks like the inside of a Palanquin.

As he looks out from the opening of the Palanquin(?), he can see White Diamond’s ship across the way.

End of episode.

Woah. Well, we’ve finally met White Diamond. And I thought Yellow was final boss material…White’s so condescending, she makes Yellow looks like a warmhearted angel. Jesus fuck I hate her already.

I guess this is the end of season 5? Maybe? Holy fuck.