#one of these is going to get obliterated.

[witch-hazels-musings]

seeing you get hit

Genre: angst/comfort NEUVILLETTE x GN reader  |  Anthology warning: the reader is punched in the face, kicked (2xs), mention of pain and discomfort / Mesulines are treated unkindly and spoken too derogatorily / Neuvillette obliterates a guy (oh also you wake up in his bed -- fufu) Synopsis: *character* becomes progressively worried about you not returning - as the hours tick by, they notice a commotion has started and find you in distress as they check it out. Quickly they head to where you were and, well, their reaction to seeing you being accosted by someone in the middle of the city, let’s just say they took matters into their own hands

"Sir, please calm down," you said, raising your hands to appease the irate man waving about. You moved to position yourself between him and the Melusine and could feel her trembling as she latched onto your clothes.

"How dare you raise your voice to me!" he shouted, swatting at your hands, forcing you to shuffle backward toward the canal. With how tightly the Melusine stood beside you, it became increasingly difficult to not trip over her.

"I can see you're angry -"

"I'm not angry, I'm annoyed. I want an apology from that - that thing, now!" He jutted his hand toward the Melusine and she hid further behind your leg. Rage billowed off him like salty wind on the high seas, every transgression equalling small cuts that made you wince. You knew there were those who dislike the Melusines, but you never had the disgusting privilege of meeting one - until now.

"I did say I was sorry, sir," she mumbled, to terrified to speak louder than a gentle caress of water over shallow rocks.

"There, will that satisfy you?" you asked, hand against his chest to keep him from moving closer. He locked eyes with you, shoulders heaving, face flush and red. His stare darted between you and her, back and forth, increasing in frustration. You moved until he couldn't see her at all. "Leave."

His lips curled into a feral sneer. "You think you're bravely protecting it, huh? If it's so important, let it face me-"

"Her."

"What?"

"I'm protecting her."

Rage swept over him and, without thinking, you shoved the Mesuline to the side and took the full force of his blow.

---

Neuvillette made his way through the crowd, chin lifted as he carefully took in the people. Some smiled at him, others bowed their heads in dutiful respect. He minded neither, but returned their gestures with a kind nod.

He rarely had intentions when he wandered through the city. It was typical for him to meander like a slow moving river carving a lazy path to nowhere in particular but today he felt a strong desire to happen upon someone. You. One who had grown rather close to him over the last several months, one who, at times, would come by to, 'check in on him,' while he worked, one who found a habit of leaving bottles of mineral-rich water on his desk when he was away. He found your company, pleasing.

Though, so far, his unassuming searching had come up empty. Did you make mention of leaving Fontaine today? He couldn't remember.

Near the canal, frustrated voices billowed on the wind. A crowd had formed in a rather unusual way. He stared, unable to see through the bunched people when something tugged on his leg.

Neuvillette pushed through the crowd. They jumped out of the way and tripped over themselves to allow him through while he looked ahead at the sight beyond their breach and felt the blackness of the sea consume him.

"Monsieur Neuvillette!" the Mesuline shouted, her eyes filled with worry.

---

"Are you okay?" The Mesuline asked, her face inches from yours as you coughed and blinked through the white. A high-pitched ring clogged your ears so you opened your mouth to clear the noise only to gasp at the pain it caused.

"You stupid -- so desperate to go down with those fucking things? Fine!" The man shouted. You looked his way just in time to see his leg fly toward your stomach. It sent you careening into the stone pathway and knocked the Mesuline halfway into the water. You tried to grab her, but she slipped from your grip when you landed on your arm, it bent unnaturally in your tumble. You cried out but that didn't stop him from slamming his foot into your chest.

Gasping, you rolled onto your back and stared at the blinding sky. It hurt to breathe, hurt to think. The Mesuline rushed toward you and you lifted a shaking arm to block them from the man's wrath.

People screamed and rushed forward to grab the man as his foot came down toward you but all you saw was radiant blue rising toward the sky, and from its shimmer came the rain.

A massive wave rose from the canal and covered the land in a shallow, unmoving layer of crystal-clear water. You could make out the bodies of onlookers but they seemed frozen, more like mirages, glistening in quiet stasis. The buildings of Fontaine reflected in the mirror-like water, making your stomach flip, but the hovering figure in the eerie blue turned your skin cold.

"What is - what's happening?" the man asked, panic seeping from him as he searched for familiar ground. He looked at his feet only to shout and stumble onto his backside. "Monsters! I told you! Those things are monsters!" He pointed to the Mesuline who was now securely tucked against your chest. She trembled, buried her face against you and held on so tightly it made you wince.

"You are mistaken," a voice said and the water fluttered, every droplet alight with energy it couldn't bear. "I am the monster you seek."

Through bleary, rain-blinded eyes, you watched the figure descend before the man and, when it was close enough, you recognized its face.

Neuvillette.

Beads of water lept from the basin to reach him like hands pawing to touch even a thread of their so-called God. You could sense the energy in the shallow pool, feel it in every drop of rain that cascaded across your face but none of it touched Neuvillette. He remained - unaffected.

"Iudex ..." the man said, his voice barely audible even in the strange quiet. Senses returning to him, he scrambled to a low, deep bow and splayed his hands beneath Neuvillette's hovering feet. "Monsieur, please, this is all just a terrible mistake."

"Have the rules of Order been unclear to you?"

"I - I don't understand."

"Your crime has been witnessed by many and yet, you stand before me, denying all accusations?"

"P-Please, Monsieur. T-they attacked me, I was just defending myself."

"It appears communication with the accused is going poorly. I shall afford you one final chance before I render judgment."

"Judgement? What-you can't!" The man stood and came up to Neuvillette's hips. "You may be the Iudex, but you can't sentence me! I deserve to be tried. You'll see - you'll see then it was all a mistake."

Neuvillette glanced your way, his eyes narrowing. When he looked back at the man, all the color drained from his face. "By order of -"

"No, wait! Please!" The man raised his hands and Neuvillette did the same.

"I render you, guilty." Power boiled below the surface and set the world rumbling. "Bow your head, and be sanctified," Neuvillette said and with his judgment, a pillar of water burst from below and consumed the man until there was nothing left.

When the waters receded, Neuvillette made his way to you. Each step steady, measured, undisturbing of the waters beneath him. He knelt at your side, laid one hand on your forehead and another on the trembling Melusine who hid further against your body.

"Neu --" you said, pain taking your voice.

"I am here," he hummed and you fell away like the tide.

---

When you awoke, you found yourself surrounded by lapping silk. Cool fabric warmed by your body heat. It hurt to lift yourself up, but only slightly. It seemed your mind remembered the pain of the day before while your body didn't. You touched your chin but it felt normal.

"I see you are awake," a voice echoed in the room but you couldn't see them. Giant rods on each corner of the bed held up a royal curtain that obscured your vision.

You were tempted to slip free from the sheets when the pitter-patter of feet held you in place and from the nothing several Melusines rushed to greet you. Each was more excited than the last. They swarmed you with thanks and laughter, sweeping you up in their joyous voices.

Another being appeared near the edge of the bed, except his presence made you go still. He moved gracefully to sit beside you and instinctually you moved so he had more room. He noticed.

Neuvillette frowned. "I have frightened you," he said, sorrowful as dropped his gaze.

"What? No, I'm not -" You reached for him then pulled back at the last minute. He noticed. "I'm not afraid of you. I swear."

He contemplated your reply for what felt like forever before nodding in acceptance. "I hope you do not mind the accommodations. I had little place else to take you."

You tried to not think about it too much. It was almost certain this was - as you now suspected - his room. "It's fine," you replied and hoped the shadows didn't betray the heat rising in your cheeks.

"I am pleased to hear." Neuvillette smiled and let his eyes drift to the Mesulines surrounding you. "I believe thanks are in order."

"You're the one who saved me though."

"That may be true, yet it was you who protected the Mesulines, was it not?"

Your palm went flush against one of their backs. You didn't think much at the time, it was just - "It was the only thing to do."

"Indeed," he said, his eyes soft, kind, and fixed on your own. You dropped them under the pressure only for your heart to stop when his hand cupped your chin so he could look at you again. "I am grateful."

You looked at him, tried to breathe, tried to force words - any words - through your throat but all you could manage were several shallow nods to which he responded by running his finger across your cheek - leaving you drowning.

[spookythesillyfella]

remember when i had that dream where you [Y/N] have a sleepover with tumblr sexyman tony and sketchbook where you guys just end up in a polyamorous relationship ??? well . i tried to find a fanfic that would even slightly line up with the description. even if it was only vaguely

but uhhh ....

there were none . so i had to do it myself

[ahyperactivehero]

i asked on election night if anyone wanted a little drabble to help with the stress, and unfortunately it has taken me a little longer than i would like to get them out!

@det-agency: please write Edwin getting turned into an orb for the first time pre-canon and Charles freaking out i think itd be so fun

(fun fact, this is my first orb fic! i've wanted to write one for a minute, but this is the first that i've actually sat down and wrote out!)

Drabble 5 (Orb Fic)

London, 1991

Getting chased by a vengeful ghost was not exactly what Charles had planned for when they’d set off to speak to their client, but he supposed that’s what you get being a ghost detective.

Edwin sprinted ahead of him, his long legs easily giving him the speed that he needed to leave their client in the dust. 

“Who woulda thought our client was the guilty one?” Charles yelled out to Edwin, who glanced over his shoulder. 

“It is certainly a twist,” Edwin said. He suddenly veered off to the right, racing towards the bedroom mirror they had come through earlier. If they could get there, they could head back to their newly established office and regroup. They’d certainly need to think of a better plan now that their client had turned on them and absolutely wasted their original suspect.

Edwin reached the mirror, his hand outstretched as he concentrated on getting them back to the office. Charles turned around, his hands immediately finding comfort in his cricket bat. If that bastard even thought about getting close to them he’d smash him.

“Come on,” he heard Edwin mutter under his breath. “Find it, find it, find it.”

Mirror travel was something Charles had yet to master, but Edwin was aces at it. It would probably only take him a second before–

A choked, gasping sound came from behind him, followed by the tell-tale sound of someone stepping through a mirror. He spun around, worried for a moment that Edwin might have fallen through the mirror and been separated from him, when he felt his soul go cold.

Their client, Geoff Mann, stepped from the mirror. His hand was already through, and in his fist was an iron knife.

An iron knife covered in ghostly blood.

“Edwin!” Charles yelled, rushing forward just as Edwin staggered backwards.

His hands were on his throat, blood seeping through his fingers. Charles felt panic like he never had before. Iron hurt ghosts, but could it kill them? Was stabbing enough to obliterate a ghost? Maybe not, but what about cutting their throat?

Edwin fell straight into his arms, and Charles would have dropped his cricket bat if it weren’t for the vengeful ghost of their client standing over them. Blood dripped off of the knife and pooled on the carpet and it seemed wrong that it wouldn’t actually stain it. Not that Charles wanted anything to be stained with his best friend’s blood, it just seemed wrong that it wouldn’t.

“Hold on,” he said in what he hoped was his most reassuring voice. Gently, and without looking away from Geoff, he slid Edwin to the floor. He ignored his hand dragging down Charles’s arm, begging him to stay– to not leave him alone.

This would only take a moment. Besides, he needed to take care of the threat before he tended to Edwin.

“You fucked up,” Charles said, twirling his bat. Geoff didn’t even have the decency to look the least bit frightened. 

“You’re gonna make me move on,” Geoff said. “And I ain’t doin’ it.”

They weren’t. That’s not what their Agency did. They couldn’t force someone to move on if they didn’t want to. It wasn’t even what Geoff had originally hired them for!

But none of that mattered now. Not when Edwin was behind him, gasping and potentially dying. 

(He wasn’t even sure what dying would mean for a ghost. Would he go back to Hell? Disappear?)

He didn’t even give him a chance to respond. He swung his bat against his arm, almost enjoying the way it cracked and forced him to drop his knife.

Charles wasn’t a violent person, no matter how much he feared being like his father. But the satisfaction he got from seeing that man drop to his knees in pain after what he’d done to Edwin? Well, he might need to reflect on that.

The urge to keep going was strong– after all, what was to stop him from coming after them later? – but he forced himself to stop. 

“If anything happens to him,” Charles warned, holding out his bat against the other man’s head. “I’m comin’ back.”

Quicker than the other man could react, he bent down and picked up his knife and turned back to get Edwin. 

He laid there, air and blood gurgling as he tried to keep his wound closed. At some point his eyes had screwed shut, like that might help block out the pain. They sprang open at the first sign of Charles’s touch, that faint bit of panic he’d seen when something reminded him of Hell shooting across his face before flattening out into something more manageable.

“Let's go,” Charles said. He put his hands under his armpits, intending to haul Edwin up if he had to, but a flash of light overwhelmed his vision and Edwin disappeared.

“Edwin!” he yelled and looked from hand to hand as if he might have somehow been hiding there. 

A small orb, just a bit bigger than a cricket ball, floated there in front of him. There was no trace of Edwin, just the small, pulsing yellow orb.

“Edwin?” he asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

The orb bobbed for a moment, as if it were answering. The yellow seemed to glow brighter for a second before dimming until it was a faded, off-white color. 

Forget it. Charles had no clue what was going on, but he didn’t have time for this. He snatched Edwin up and booked it through the mirror,  no destination in mind– only intent on getting them as far away as possible.

It took several tries before he got back to the office, and by then his nonexistent heartbeat had slowed down to something far more bearable. Without even thinking he tossed his bag and bat to the floor and uncovered the ball of light he’d been keeping safe in his hands.

There was an unexpected feeling to it, not quite a weight but certainly a warmth. It reminded him of when he was alive and he’d stick his cold finger next to a heater or run them under warm water once they’d gone numb.

It was the first time he’d felt warmth since he died.

He held the orb closer to his face and chest for inspection. It was perfectly round, the edges of it reminding him of an impossible mix of glass and a cloud. It wasn’t solid, but he also couldn’t put his hand through it, even if he tried.

“Edwin?” he asked again. Could this really be Edwin? What had that ghost done to him?

The orb pulsed, yellow light coming back to it before fading again into that cool, white light.

So it really must be Edwin. 

He glanced over at Edwin’s slowly growing collection of books and wondered if there was something about this in one of them. The subject of orbs had never come up before, but then again, neither one of them had ever been as hurt as Edwin was before. 

Was this what happened when something hurt them? How badly did they need to be hurt in order for it to happen? 

“Hey,” Charles said as he ran his hand over the orb. “Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

There was another pulse. The orb seemed to hover above his hands for a moment before gravity seemed to take over it and it dropped back down. 

In a sheer panic, Charles caught it. Or not it, he supposed. Because this thing had to be Edwin. If it wasn’t that would mean that either Edwin was gone or he’d left him behind with their insane client. 

The idea that he might have done that nearly sent him into a tailspin. Should he double back and check? What if this was a trick and the real Edwin was somehow still there? Or what if there was something special about his knife that had turned Edwin into an orb?

Gently, he cradled Edwin to his chest as he turned to look for his bag. He’d picked up the knife, hadn’t he? Thankfully, it only took a few tries before he successfully pulled it from his bag. Ha, take that Edwin, he was getting better at using it.

“See, mate,” he said, his voice low and soft as he spoke over the orb. “I told you this bag was worth it. Already earnin’ its keep, hm?”

The handle of the knife was thankfully not iron coated. Charles hadn’t even thought about that earlier when he’d grabbed it. All he’d been thinking about was that Edwin was hurt, and he’d needed to disarm the guy.

Blood covered the blade, but aside from that there seemed to be nothing interesting about it at all. Not strange markings, no traces of magic that he could tell. It looked exactly like every other boring knife out there.

Except this one had hurt his friend.

The orb– Edwin, Charles supposed– pulsed again, the light from it peeking out between his fingers. Had Charles squeezed it by accident? He’d been so focused on the knife, so caught up in thoughts of their client hurting him that he hadn’t really…

Slowly but with more force than Charles anticipated, the orb pulled free from his hand. It bobbed around the room, floating here and there as if it were looking for something. It lingered above Edwin’s chair, the space where the other boy spent most of his time in the office. 

Yet there was nothing for it to do. It’s not like the orb had hands. It couldn’t hold a book or write or do anything that usually interested Edwin. 

As if it had realized this, it lazily floated back over to Charles. That yellow light seemed to be getting even stronger, calming Charles’s nerves just a bit. A strong light had to be a good sign, yeah? Surely that meant that Edwin was fine. 

Except what if he wasn’t fine? What if yellow was bad and he was trying to warn Charles? What if he needed help, and Charles couldn’t understand him? How was he meant to do anything if Edwin couldn’t talk to him anymore?

The orb bumped into his head, the softest, gentlest headbutt Charles had ever experienced. His thoughts slowed down as he lifted his hands up to cup the orb again.

“Well, mate,” Charles said. “What do you think we should do?” 

Edwin didn’t answer. Not that Charles thought he would.

“What if I read to you?” he asked. “I love it when you read to me. Helps me relax, yeah?”

Edwin seemed to warm up in his hands again. Charles took that as a good sign.

He strolled over to Edwin’s bookcase (our bookcase, Charles, the Edwin in his mind reminded him) and browsed their selection. Most of them were detective novels, but Edwin had recently started to collect more on magic and the supernatural.

No, he thought, should really stick to a classic.

“What about Sherlock Holmes? You love him,” he said, as if Charles didn’t also love him.

He grabbed one of their Sherlock Holmes books at random and made his way over to the couch. “Might as well get comfy, eh?” he asked and sprawled out.

For a moment, Charles was sure Edwin was going to float away. Maybe he hadn’t been as interested in reading to him as he’d thought. Instead, Edwin merely rolled down until he was resting on Charles’s chest, that warm, familiar feeling spreading all over him.

So Charles read to him. He read to him until he had finished one book, and then started on another that he could reach. His voice was a low rumble, the sound fading into the background as he split his attention between the words and Edwin. Time passed slowly and hazily, the sort of dream-like quality that only came when it didn’t really matter.

Eventually, when he thought he might go insane from reading so much, he talked. He told Edwin how he was sorry he hadn’t been fast enough to stop him– because really, Charles had been right there after all– and how he hoped that Edwin forgave him. He told him that when Edwin felt better, he would do anything he wanted. He’d even go see that play he’d been talking about that Charles couldn’t remember the name of if he wanted. And there was a show that Charles was interested in going to, but they could stand at the back where it was quieter and they were less likely to get stepped on if Edwin wanted to come.

He told him how much he missed him. How worried he was about him. How he knew that it had only been about a day since he’d gone into this form, but he didn’t think he’d missed anyone this much. Not his mum or dad, not his friends or teachers. No one.

Finally, he fell silent. He was sure that if he dug down deep enough there was more for him to say, but what was the point? Edwin was still stuck looking like the world’s brightest cricket ball, and he had just spilled about everything he had in him.

“I’m just worried,” Charles said. His arms wrapped around the orb so tightly it doubled as a self-hug. “Y’know I worry.”

Then again, maybe Edwin didn’t know. Charles loved to portray himself as this confident, friendly guy. Sure, he could be protective, but did Edwin know he was serious enough that he could worry?

Something shifted. The solid, golden color the orb had been since he’d started reading to him briefly changed. It flashed blue, a color that Charles normally loved but reminded him too much of Death in this instance, before it faded, and the orb was gone.

Before he could worry whether or not Death had actually come for them, he felt a solid weight pressing down on him. And there, in his lap, laid out across him, was Edwin. His feet were tucked up, allowing his long body to fit neatly onto the couch, his head cradled against Charles’s chest.

“Edwin?” he breathlessly asked.

Edwin shifted, his head tilting back just enough to look up at him. Charles had to loosen his death grip on him to allow even that. “Charles?”

Immediately, Charles hugged him closer. He smashed Edwin’s face into his chest and pressed his chin to the top of his head. “Don’t ever do that again, mate,” he said. “I mean it.”

For a moment, Edwin was frozen. Then, he thawed and relaxed himself into Charles’s hug. “I did not mean to worry you,” he said softly.

“Yeah, well, you did,” Charles said without any heat to it. Finally, he let his arms slide away from Edwin and allowed himself to get his first real look at his friend.

The first thing he noticed was that he looked tired. Dark bags lined his eyes and blood still smeared his collar, although whatever wound had been made was gone. He seemed paler than normal as well, but Edwin was always so pale it was hard to tell. 

“Alright?” he asked, still looking for any sign that he wasn’t.

Edwin nodded. “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded stronger than before, and God if it didn’t sound like Heaven to Charles. The idea that he might never have heard his friend speak again hadn’t truly hit him until this moment. “I believe I am unharmed.”

Charles’s eyes darkened. “You were stabbed. In the neck,” he said. Or close enough, anyways. “And then you turned into this glowing ball, and… well, I didn’t know what to do.”

Edwin flinched at the mention of his wound before soothing his expression into one of fondness. “Yes, I… seem to remember that,” he said. His hand came up to touch his throat, only to find no wound there. “It would seem I have healed.”

“Maybe that’s what that was?” he asked and made a gesture with his hand to show orb-sized Edwin. “Maybe that was like ‘ghost healing’?” 

Something between annoyance and acceptance flashed across Edwin’s face. “I believe you have it right,” Edwin said. “It would seem that would be the form ghosts take when they heal.”

Charles nodded. “Kinda brills, honestly. Like a turtle goin’ into their shell or something.”

Edwin squinted his eyes at the comparison. “I suppose,” he said. And then almost immediately collapsed when he tried to get up.

“Oi!” Charles said and wrapped his arms around him. “What’re you doing? You wanna be an orb again?” 

Edwin huffed as he settled back down. His face had washed out even more after his ill-advised attempt. “No, I do not,” he said. “But it hardly seems appropriate for me to just… lay all over you.”

Before he had died, Charles might have agreed. There was a certain amount of weirdness to it, he supposed, but that didn’t mean that he wanted Edwin to get up. In fact, he wanted Edwin to stay right where he was until he was strong enough to stand without passing out again.

Edwin rolled his eyes when he said this. “I did not pass out. Ghosts cannot do that,” he said. Yet he laid his head back down against Charles’s chest, his now ruffled hair tickling Charles’s chin. 

“Go back to sleep,” Charles said. Before Edwin could argue, he held a hand up and used it to gently bop him on the arm. “And don’t say ghosts can’t sleep. That’s basically what you were doing before.”

Edwin started to shake his head, but the motion quickly became him snuggling down against Charles. “I am merely resting my eyes.”

Charles grinned, a sudden wave of fondness he’d never felt for anyone else overtaking him. “Yeah, well rest your mouth too.”

Edwin tried to flip him off but failed. “Almost had it,” Charles teased.

“I’ll figure it out one day,” he said before fading back off to sleep. 

At least this time he stayed a ghost.

[alexanderwales]

I finished rewatching Death Note. I always forget how short anime is, with episodes that aren't much more than 20 minutes when you skip the intro/outro.

I hadn't remembered how much of a sniveling wreck LIght was at the end of the show. There's something about the ending that makes it feel like it was written and directed by a different person, not that Light wasn't always a little weird and pathetic, and not that the show didn't consistently go out of its way to let us know what a piece of shit he was (particularly his absolute lack of loyalty or empathy to anyone, even aside from the megalomania). But he takes the loss like a loser, snot dripping from his nose, voice cracking, begging, and it's so pathetic that I almost felt a little sorry for him.

I've always found the Death Note to be a very interesting prompt, one of those hooks that's so good I'd want to watch it even if it was bad. But in writing something like Death Note, the author has to make decisions about what to show and what not to show, and also make decisions about how they're going to portray the public at large.

There are two big things that stand out for me.

One is that we never get someone arguing against Kira. We get people who are actively trying to hunt him down, but they're mostly not stopping to say "this is why what he's doing is wrong" except a few lines about how he has a childish sense of justice, which is never expounded upon. Kira, on the other hand, we hear a lot from, not just the megalomaniac stuff, but the notion that criminals must be punished, that this is what people desire in their hearts. I get the strong sense that L does not actually care and just views this as an interesting puzzle for him to solve, but for everyone else it's largely left as an exercise to the viewer, and even then, there are moments when some of our task force members come dangerously close to endorsement.

To the extent the show has an answer, it's that (to quote Kanye West) no one man should have all that power, or that Kira has crossed a lot of lines, but no one argues in favor of rehabilitation or clemency or just fundamental humanity. Kira seems to largely be killing prisoners, who have already been sentenced, and are wards of the state, and he says "this is what people want deep down, they will give you the politically correct answer but they actually want the criminal class to be obliterate", which ... there's no character who actually voices any opposition to through the whole series. And I find that weird, because yes, the show has its own answers in terms of how it plays out, but in a show filled with people possessed of immense conviction, most of the people in opposition to Kira are just intellectuals who don't actually give a shit about the ideological question.

(The one big moment when it comes to a head, IMO, is when Soichiro Yagami refuses to write Mello's name entirely because of his principled objection to killing someone. I thought this was great, and I wish the show had more of it.)

The other big thing is that we don't really get a viewpoint of the criminals, with a few exceptions. One is the is Yotsuba group, who are killing people with the Death Note, and the second is the (somehow still functional) mafia that Mello hangs out with. There's also one other scene somewhere after L's death where we see a criminal begging with the police not to have his name written down, and that's about it.

The naive view here is that the show really does believe in Criminals as being a part The Other, a different sort of human being who walk among us. The criminal class are described as rotten and evil, they're shown as grotesque and with exaggerated features or bestial characteristics, and they're generally leering and impulsive. There is no consideration of their humanity.

There's a more nuanced take here, which is that we have a criminal as one of our main cast, Light Yagami, along with everyone else who takes on the Kira mantle. So what is the show saying about criminality through how it portrays them? And here ... I don't know. I kind of don't think that it views them as criminals in the same way? When we look at the ways that Light kills, I genuinely do think that the show thinks that this is different from the way that a capital-C Criminals kill. It's reactionary rather than criminal in and of itself, a response to the injustices of the world rather than being in the same class as those injustices. Light is narratively exempted, and Misa is to. Which isn't to say that I think the show thinks highly of Light, it clearly doesn't, especially in its ending, but I almost think that in the end it Others him too (and also has Teru Mikami drawn in particularly 'evil' style, like a creepy deviant gremlin).

So I enjoyed the rewatch, but there are things that sit a little oddly with me as far as the central themes go. There's probably some discourse I should read that's come out since I first watched it in ... 2010 or whenever, but I think I'll give that a skip.

[anheliotrope]

Let me explain what happened. I'm going to work through events one by one, ending with the state you see in the screenshot.

I am playing Ironman (basically no saving or loading except as needed to restore the game state after program shutdown).

I am playing on Genius difficulty (4/5, I didn't want to get my ass turned inside out by Superhuman difficulty)

I am besieging the enemy UFO.

I am 90% convinced the map is empty of aliens, save for the UFO.

I carelessly explore the map with the XCOM soldier seen at the bottom.

At 1 TU left, the XCOM soldier makes Line of Sight with an alien.

My reaction: Oh shit, oh fuck, uhhh.

1 TU is not enough for the XCOM soldier to scratch their fucking ass, let alone retreat or fire.

On the next turn that alien is going to turn around and without fail obliterate my soldier.

Nobody else has LOS on the alien and nobody, even if they spent their entire turn's worth of TUs could not possibly move into a position that can allow them to shoot the alien.

I select the XCOM that you see still selected in the screenshot -- Jungo Chiba.

I contort all of my brain muscles to try to find a way to save my beloved anti-xeno legionnaire.

Jungo Chiba has exactly enough moves to face up against the wall on a trajectory towards the alien.

I use ctrl+click to force Jungo to shoot in the direction of the wall in 3x Auto mode.

The first shot destroys a section of yellow-brownish brick wall.

The second shot destroys a section of wooden wall.

The third shot destroys a wooden door and the same shot hits the alien in the side, obliterating them immediately.

I pog so ungraciously and take this ugly ass screenshot.

(I move him one tile away from the hole he just shot for no reason.)

What a fucking legend.

Thank you for your service, Jungo Chiba.

[bardic-tales]

Spread Kindness Celebration: Day 1: Choices Fandom Shoutout Day

This event is hosted by @choicesfandomappreciation. When I signed up for this I didn't realize it was for a game fandom, but I still want to participate, since most of my mutuals know I am huge on spreading positivity.

Today, we are suppose to give shoutouts to readers, supporters, event hosts, and creators. With that in mind, I thought of one mutual / friend who has been there for me since I have started this writeblr: @littleshopofchaos. I look forward to seeing your RP and your diamond paintings, etc, on my dash.

With that in mind, I remembered what you said about wanting to RP with me. While I don't RP -- which I may change in the coming year -- I did write a little fan fiction between Bianca and Cain. I hope I didn't get Cain too out of character. I did try to incorporate what you said about him in this post.

Acquaintance / Friendship: Cain (Chaos) & Bianca Moore (Harbinger of the End)

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 704

Fandom: Original World

Content Warning: betrayal, cosmic themes, emotional trauma, existential themes, isolation, moral conflict, philosophical discussions, self-doubt, self-sacrifice, unresolved emotional wounds.

Summary: Bianca and Cain discuss their diverging paths and philosophies on destruction, redemption, and purpose.

The stars spun in slow, rhythmic circles above Bianca and Cain. Their light fractured across the swirling nebulae and distant galaxies of the worlds beyond the Ethereal Nexus. They stood on the edge of existence, an unsteady platform towering above the forgotten town below. The platform cast long shadows against the cosmos.

Cain looked up at the vast, undulating sky. His tone was soft as he glanced at Bianca. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? This is everything that’s worth protecting, Bianca.”

Bianca crossed her arms. Her gaze never wavered from the stars. The universe, so easily manipulated, was so fragile beneath the weight of her ambitions and power.”

“It is beautiful.” Her gaze still watching the path of a planet float by in the sky above. “But beauty and weakness often go hand-in-hand. For too long, I’ve been bound by my past, my wounds, and my mother's self-imposed duty to safeguard a creation that has betrayed me over and over. This kilonova — it’s a way to bring new purpose. To end the cycle of suffering that has followed our kind like a shadow.”

Cain looked at her carefully, as though searching for the woman he had known briefly on Earth: the woman beneath the ambition. “I used to think the same way. Chaos was my path. It shaped me. I lost the people I loved, leaving only emptiness behind. I thought destruction would fill it.”

“You believe the answer is redemption, don’t you, Cain? You think I should seek the goodness that was denied to us both and that you are trying to find in others?”

“Yes, because I found that path. I had the opportunity to change, to become something more than a weapon of chaos and ruin. People like Darcy. They taught me that creation can rise from the ashes of destruction, not through obliteration, but through choice.

“All this — life and beauty — it’s fragile, yes, but that makes it precious.” He gestured around them, as the galaxies above their heads spun lazily in the ether. “If you destroy this, Bianca, it’s gone forever. My brother, Darcy, and everyone. Gone.”

“My path is not yours, Cain.” She whispered, her voice quiet, but there was no bitterness in it. There was just resignation. Her black wings relaxed against her back and cascaded down like a dark feathery cloak. “I have no place in a world built on false promises and broken oaths. I’m no guardian of the light. My role in the grand scheme of things is to change the omniverse through destruction. Only then can it be cleansed, so that something better might be reborn.”

“And if that something better never comes? Bianca, you have a heart. A wounded heart, yes, but it’s still there underneath the scars. I wasn’t too far gone. You aren’t either.”

“Maybe you’re right. But I’ve walked in shadow for a millennium now, as an abomination that shouldn’t exist. I don’t even know if I would recognize the light even if touched me.” Her gaze shifted back to the stars. “I want to believe what you are saying. Maybe, somewhere inside of me, I even envy you for it. But my fate was determined long before Creation. For me, there is no other choice.”

The shadow of sadness, a fleeting flicker of understanding, momentarily crossed Cain’s face. He nodded. “Maybe one day, you’ll see things differently. I hope you do, Bianca.”

“I appreciate your words, Cain. Truly. And I wish you well on your path of redemption. I hope it brings you the peace you deserve.”

He gently touched her shoulder. “If you ever find yourself wanting more, reach out. There are people who care about you and welcome you with open arms.”

With a final look back, he raised his hand and opened a swirling portal back to Earth. His outline shimmered against the starlight, as if he was a figure caught between realms.

“Take care, Cain.” The light of the portal flickered and died, and Bianca felt the familiar chill of solitude as Cain disappeared, leaving her alone once more. She gazed up into the spinning stars and galaxies of the Ethereal Nexus: an agent of chaos and a keeper of her own destiny wherever it should lead.

[cynthiav06]

I am so sorry op but I think it's more on the inverse side. Percy's powers are so in tune with him that even with limited time, he was able to access a large arsenal of them. Sure he hasn't specifically trained to fine tune his powers but unlike the other big three children who have all experimented their powers before, he always ends up in mortal peril everytime he has to come up with something new. So unlike others who have kind of tried and tested and put a few limits on their powers, Percy just goes with it. He doesn't think about whether he can or not, it's always a case of "I must".

Iapetus is going to kill Thalia and Nico, so I have to find a way to stop him. But I am half poisoned and bruised, I can't fight him. Oh okay so I will just use the rivers in Underworld for help. They are water right?

Akhyls is going to kill me and Annabeth here, we aren't strong enough to fight a primordial. She is going to choke us with poison. Annabeth's going to die. I am going to die. Annabeth's going to die. Wait poison has large amount of water or even liquids. I can control it!

And each time he proves himself right he goes Oh cool, that's helpful. With no idea how world transcending his own abilities are. Were it anyone else they would have let their training and mindset of myths limit their imagination and their ability to fight. But Percy hasn't been trained traditionally, he has never put a limit on his own power. He does with it whatever he needs to and he doesn't let a pre defined set of rules or ways inhibit him. "What do you mean I can't overpower a Primordial in her own domain with her own poison? Of course I can. Poison contains water, it's liquid. I can totally do that."

I think Percy using less powers in the first series has more to do with his trust issues with it. See Percy has deeply internalized his self loathing and self esteem issues. He sees himself as a burden, a troubled kid who only causes problems. He doesn't want his powers to do that, to destroy everything in their path. So he keeps them coiled tight and shut. He needs it to do precisely what he wants, which it does almost always. He starts trusting them but but then at times when he he lets a leash loose, his powers do crazy shit like, blow up a volcano, lift an entire river bed from its roots, level a creek, start a hurricane or other disasters, so he keeps them tightly leashed.

We can see evidence of that with words like "a pull in my gut" "I felt something inside me break" "something uncoiled" and so on.

Whether he does it consciously or not, it only serves to benefit him because everytime his opponents foolishly think,

Enemy: I know all that you can do Perseus Jackson.

Percy: ........

Percy: Damn, even I don't know everything I can do. It's cool that you think you know all I can do though.

*obliterates the monster with something new he comes up with*

Percy: Ha didn't know I could that but boy am I glad it worked. See this is what I was talking about.

Either way I do agree with op on a few things like children of Hades have the most potent abilities, most broken ones but I think their lack of stamina does hinder them. And I mean Nico has known about his powers for even less time than Percy while neither Thalia nor Jason are very creative.

I think Hazel comes really close due to her versatility and creativity. Magic, mist and her own powers along with her fighting prowess. Her and Meg McCaffrey should have been compared to Percy more so than others given they were in similar situations and have such strong abilities. Technically Meg is a child of the Elder Gods.

I think Rick should have explored a bit more on the big three children and their powers.

The point I was trying to make is Percy is so powerful because of his lack of traditional training or traditional fighting knowledge. He learns by hands on experience, adapts on instinct and improves by finding loopholes or getting a better grasp of his already present abilities.

can we/rick talk more abt how extremely inexperienced percy is with his powers in comparison to many of the other big 3 kids

like it’s actually very interesting to think abt if you think abt the connection they each have as a scale to how connected they are to their godly parent (not like emotionally lmao but their godly heritage if that makes sense)

like if you think of nico and hazel those two are arguably the most like in tune with their powers both having used their powers since they were very young and being forced to kind of connect with their godly side much sooner/faster then the others

thalia and jason being second since thalia is literally the second in command to a literal goddess and as a soldier camp jupiter would definitely push jason to know his limits but they both haven’t reached that ease that nico and hazel have — thalia probably could’ve reached it if she hadn’t been snubbed at 15 and wasn’t scared of heights lmao and if jason had probably any type of support that wasn’t pushing him to just be better or focused more on his powers then physical strengths

both thalia and jason also started very young with using their powers yet both had that small blocker of other mortals/people around in comparison to hazel and nico

like hazel and nico are both so small that they’ve been taught to mostly use their powers not that they can’t fight but they rely a lot more on that rather then a sword unlike jason thalia or percy but i think that also just goes with the age that they are since their so young and were taught at that young age to lean on their powers that’s simply what’s easier

then you have percy who literally just found out half this shit was real like 5 years ago and knows nothing abt his powers like genuinely the amount percy leans more on his physical strength bc that’s all he’s had up until he was 12 in comparison to how much he leans on his actual powers is crazy especially if you look at the difference between how much jason or nico rely on their powers at their ages in comparison to how much percy did at those ages

it’s also interesting how that plays into people not taking him very seriously people see him as much more mortal and “weak” bc of it

not that any of them are doing it wrong obv it’s just very interesting to think abt

i think this also plays into percy’s morals a lot ? i recently saw a post saying nico wasn’t scared of percy when he was taking down an army and had hades with a sword to his neck yet annabeth was when percy was choking that goddess in tartarus even tho it was self defense which is all true but if you boil it down to those key points you can really see the clear distinction between the morality of nico and annabeth in those moments and how they know percy in that way as well

nico who’s on the cusp of godly hood in a way - being hades ambassador and spending most time in the underworld - he looks at percy as this hero who fights and kills and wins so that’s what he was letting percy do and he was watching it in awe

yet annabeth knowing percy stopped him yes in fear but in fear of the fact that that is simply not percy percy is the most mortal demigod we’ve met (him and piper tbh) he’s lived his life with mortal morals and he barely uses his powers bc of it so when he’s using his powers to literally kill a goddess like who tf is that ?? and who would he have been if he had gone through with it

i think that’s a pretty easy summary of why percy doesn’t really use his powers much as well he’s always seen himself as just some guy he doesn’t really like ppl calling him a hero he doesn’t really show off (on purpose/without reason) he’s just fighting to survive or to get shit done which is a very human trait percy is a very humble guy and it would just be crazy to see how much more powerful he’d be if he wasn’t bc ik a lot of that is what’s holding him back

also i think it’s interesting to point out the fact that percy used a sword when fighting hades in comparison to tartarus when he used just his powers id be interested to see what nico/annabeth would’ve thought if they were in each others shoes in those moments

also interesting that in both cases he doesn’t go through with it (killing a god/goddess) for 2 different reasons but what would they have done if he did …

i’m realising the purpose at the start of this is very different then what it ended in but i’d like to hear what ppl think if i’m just yapping or if anyone else knows wtf im talking abt lmao

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SET SIX - ROUND ONE - MATCH TWO

"The Blood Mirror" (2015 - Jordan Eagles and others) / "Nighthawks" (1942 - Edward Hopper)

THE BLOOD MIRROR: The blood is encased in resin and preserved in the form of a reflective mirror that visitors can view themselves in, seeing their images in blood that could have been used to save lives but due to the FDA bans was wasted. Even now, there is still celibacy bans on queer donations and the Blood Mirror forces you to see your own life in the blood of the community that is not being used to better society by prejudice. (weeweewhirlwind)

NIGHTHAWKS: The feeling of loneliness and isolation in this piece just gets to me. You’re outside of the diner. You can’t get in. It’s blue out there and the room is warm and alive and they’re all look at each other and not at you. It’s like the viewer doesn’t exist at all. (envelopedbyoblivion) (also submitted by anonymous)

("The Blood Mirror" is an installation piece made of glass and the blood of 59 queer men who donated to the project, organized by Jordan Eagles, a gay American artist. The piece was made in retaliation to the FDA ban against queer blood donors. It measures 84 x 28 x 28" (213 x 71 x 71 cm).

"Nighthawks" is an oil on canvas painting by American artist Edward Hopper. It measures 84.1 × 152.4 cm (33 1/8 × 60 in.) and is currently held at the Art Institute of Chicago.)

[kuromi-hoemie]

was drunk at my friend's place yesterday and her bf was given some throwing knives, played around for a bit and i still got it 🧐 that was my last push to get back into knife throwing, haven't been into it since i was 17/18 lol. i ordered these ૮ ᴖﻌᴖ���

edit: if ur here from my top posts you can see me throw them here!

[musical-chick-13]

This is the only thing I'm going to say about the election until it's over:

Anyone who did not vote for Harris or who attempted to dissuade people from voting for Harris, you are indirectly responsible for whatever shit Donald Trump does if he gets elected. That blood is primarily on his hands, yes. But it is also on yours. I hope you can live with that because I sure as hell wouldn't be able to.

[undistortedworld]

Lan Xichen is dead. Jin Guangyao holds his body.

for @crithir for the @xiyaogotcha4gaza !! i really hope you like it!!! :D i got a bit carried away with this one but i couldnt help it, its SUCH a good and crunchy prompt, i live for the angst <333

ID under the cut! (ive not written a video ID before so i apologise if its not great and welcome feedback!)

[video description:

frame 1: JGY holds LXC's limp body in his lap, one hand cradling LXC's head and the other clutching LXC's own hand against his bleeding abdomen. LXC has a vacant expression and JGY looks shocked and horrified, unable to process what he is seeing. There is blood coating JGY's hands, LXC's robes, and pooling out of LXC's mouth and nose. The animation style is wobbly with sketchy hatched shading.

frame 2: The perspective is angled upwards towards JGY's face from behind LXC's head, highlighting JGY's expression. JGY continues to look horrified and blinks as tears stream down his face.

frame 3: The perspective switches to look down on LXC's expression from above JGY's head. His eyes are clouded over, mouth slightly ajar. There is blood staining his forehead ribbon, trailing from his mouth and nose, and splattered on his cheek.

frame 4: The perspective returns to how it was in frame 1. JGY blinks the tears from his eyes and looks distraught, before ducking his head to hide his expression. Lines indicate he is shaking. He clenches LXC's hand tighter for a moment before letting go to grab LXC's opposite shoulder to pull him closer and more securely in his arms so that LXC's head is by his chin. The perspective zooms in as JGY raises his head to show an expression of murderous rage towards the viewer. The screen gets darker and vignettes as it zooms in. JGY's face is dark, the only facial features visible being his eyes in bright contrast. Red lines of light shoot from the corners of his eyes to indicate the power of his rage.]

[petite-phthora]

Can I kiss you?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 1]

Next >>

Ao3

---

“—so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to kill him! It was an accident! He just jumped me out of nowhere and I have had bad experiences with clowns in the past so when I saw it was a clown trying to kidnap me I kinda just panicked and punched him! I swear, dude, I didn’t mean to hit him so hard—“

Jason, much too calmly, likely in some form of shock, rises from the crouched-down position he had been in to check the clown corpse’s pulse.

He had seen the poor, still rambling, twink getting grabbed from a distance and was about to step in as Red Hood, not even having been aware it was the Joker who —shouldn’t he have been in Arkham? There has been no announcement of him breaking out yet— had grabbed the guy until he had run close enough to the scene.

Which was after the guy had already been startled so badly by the Joker trying to kidnap him that he sucker punched the Joker into the wall of the alley so hard the clown died.

Said twink then realized what he had done and that he had a witness, that witness being Red Hood himself, and had started his frenzied speech on how it was an accident and to please don’t take him to jail he’s only just started his scholarship at Gotham U. and he can’t have murder on his track record yet.

Breathless, Jason looks at the nervous twink in front of him, who's still trying to plead his case, and who just obliterated the Joker with a punch.

Before his brain can catch up to his mouth, he’s already cutting the distressed monologuing off.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts out.

Danny, taken off guard, breaks out of his panicked—oh, Ancients, I just killed someone— stupor and lets out a startled laugh.

“Take me out to dinner first” came the automatic joking reply, Danny still largely in shock of what he did.

Jason, either not picking up on the joking tone or ignoring it, nods seriously, already trying to come up with the best place for a dinner date with the cute twink to thank him for his service to the city.

Danny, who has calmed down slightly by now, glances between the red-helmed vigilante and the clown corpse. His gaze lands on Red Hood and he hesitantly speaks up again.

“So, uh, what happens now? Do I need to go to the station to make a statement orrrr?” He pauses awkwardly.

Jason, who’s still trying to figure out whether the Bat Burger would be a good place for a first date or not, doesn’t reply.

“I’ve got school in the morning and I only have like,” he pauses to check his phone for the time, “3 more hours before I have to be up for my first lesson. Soooo, I’m just gonna go. That cool?”

Again, he waits for a reply. But it doesn’t come.

“Right. Cool cool. Uh, see you later? Mr. Red Hood dude sir?” Danny gives a clumsy and awkward salute before turning tail and speed-walking away.

It’s not until 30 minutes later, once Jason has finally decided on the perfect place to take the guy to dinner to, that he realizes the twink is gone.

Fuck, he forgot to ask for the guy’s name.

…

And number.

[contaiinedarmageddon2]

Sollux is half dead but the alive half isn't going to let him look away from the wet, soft sound of Joey pulling her top off and the countermovement it causes. Sizable's an understatement.

"0f course it will. but y0u're already sans one shirt, y0u think you were getting 0ut if it with anything less than messy?" He snorts.

"delicacy isn't my str0ngest suit. obliterating is. s0 in the interest of making it as easy as p0ssible you mind if i expl0re a bit first? less to map 0ut with my thinkpan after the fact. i won't try and squeeze, pr0mise."

The troll explains by leaning closer, reaching out with hands but stopping short of touching her, but not far enough away she can't feel the heat off his palms. He means to feel her up first with his hands before trying to start moving with his mind.

what's g0ing down?

Tried ignoring the problem

Didn't help. Now theyre too sore to even touch.

[aerithisms]

so many thoughts about the last couple chapters of ff7 rebirth but one thing i love is that the speech aerith gives in the temple of the ancients about looking to the future seems to heavily draw from one of my favourite lines in the og ff7, where tifa tells cloud that she doesn't think aerith ever intended to die, because aerith talked about the future more than any of them. i always loved that tifa understood this about aerith more than even cloud did and i love that they're doing justice to that

[way2gosuperrstarr]

watch my body disintegrate into a pile of ash like a cartoon character who just got struck by a lightning bolt (JOINT PAIN JOINT PAIN JOINT PAIN JOINT PAIN) (just got off work)

[spotaus]

Dang, that redraw hits hard in 2024 🙏

Below are the old versions! (The left is my very very literally first drawing of Ichor! The others followed a few months/years later-)

Some design breakdowns under the cut!

Okay, okay-

^this guy!! I drew him on my janky old laptop with a tiny lil drawing pad right after my Mlp phase in middleschool. He was one of my first designs and I'll confidently say the first utmv oc who made it onto a drawing format. At the time I refused to draw hands correctly and drew claws instead- Ichor here still had his name "Ichor" and was supposed to be a combo between Reaper and Red. He had his chains because he was a fickle God of death who needed to be held back by his fellow gods lest he wreak havoc on the surface. I love this design to death, mostly because I always think back on it to see how far I've come and how Ichor's been here forever! (Note that here he doesn't have his iconic gold tooth or purple arm. His clawed hands inspired me for the purple arm though, and the one spiked white tooth eventually became his gold tooth!)

^ This is post iPad acquisition thanks to my school getting some new funding. I don't think I drew this on procreate but I can't remember the name of the app smh. This version of Ichor was similar to the old one. Less bent on destruction, more just a trickster. (This one and the other one always fell into 'Teenage' vibes). Now he has shoes, the gold tooth, and the arm! Though he still has both eyelights and the 'crack' in his socket is still a gold scar instead. This *is* where I gave him his gray pants, but the slash on his jacket... uhh... swapped directions?? Idk about that one- But fun fact! The spot on his jacket is a mark of how he'd be killed one day if that came to pass! He doesn't know, no one does, but it's true! Old prophecy locked up somewhere in the Ruins. (Actually, Toriel might be aware.) His arm here is super desaturated because I wanted to keep it a minor detail. That changes very quickly 👀

^ He's lanky af!!! I always go through a phase of drawing things too short, then too tall. Welcome to Ichor's Way Too Tall phase! I wanted him to be big and chunky but uhh. That 'silhouette' talk got to me. Here the biggest differences? The hand is out of the pocket and includes his sword! (Which is Canon still) The scarf is here too! At first the scarf was a gift from Reward, then it was from Reward being killed, then it was just a bold fashion choice?(I settled on it being a gift from Reward again, to help him cover the collar) His socket is finally empty, the crack is there too. His teeth are all straight besides the one gold tooth, and the hand is very purple this time. The lore I wanna mention in this bit is the soul! It's constantly been a pale yellow, but here it has a hole in it! This isn't something that stocks, but the idea of it does. Ichir's chains prevent him from healing with his godly magic, so he's stuck on 1 hp. The god's souls are naturally gold, abd here, Ichor's soul was wounded when he was captured, so he's slowly been fighting off death. (In the final version his soul is white with fading gold, showing how his magic is restricted)

^Honorable mention jumpscare because this is actually a sticker I made about 2 years ago? Not exactly the same pose but it was definitely inspired and it shows how certain elements have stuck around since the last doodle. (This sticker is currently on a sketchbook at my house lmao-)

^And then current! I used to be allergic to using the same colors twice, so he used to have different shades of yellow abd gold everywhere. Now the yellow/gold is all the same! His eyebags (which started in the Lanky era) are more pronounced, he's more classic-shaped than he's ever been, and as per usual I don't think I drew his purple hand right. But! He's my boy, and that's what matters! Side note: His chains aren't visible here, but that's because I've decided that he prefers to hide them. His sleeves are puffy so he can tuck them away, his scarf covers the length of the chain on his collar, etc. It just doesn't make narrative sense that he'd leave them exposed like that. He's also in his old man era finally! Been trying to draw him like this fir years!!!