#the man has cataracts!

[swannkings]

never met a more internet, phone addicted person than my father. my mom tells me they don’t even have conversations anymore when they go out to eat because as soon as they sit down he pulls his phone out and doesn’t put it away until they leave. she just sits there in silence while he scrolls like a antisocial teen. this afternoon the technician came out to install fiber and when all the wireless things had to be reconnected my dad was fucking fiending and i swear he would’ve chased the technician down the street if nothing immediately connected.

[mudvi]

[strigops]

both love and hate knowing these two will be 11 this year and realizing bunny has always looked like a year-old kiddo and casper has always looked like a chunky old man

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC PROMPT #27

(Time for something a little more lighthearted/found family. Could probably also make this a crack prompt instead.)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

✦

Visitation Rights

When Danny went to list Dani/Ellie as his heir after she'd come back from her years of traveling the world, he was quickly informed that he already had one in line for the thrown.

"What? Since when?!"

The pretentious, floating eyeball looked like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here, providing information to King Phantom, but explained anyway.

"The day you officially achieved royal status, you permanently linked your being to the Infinite Realms. When this happened, however, a child was in the process of being created with the assistance of ectoplasmic runoff that's been leaking into the mortal world for centuries. As a result of your power being incorporated into the Realms at such a time, this human child retained an imprint of your core signature. The Infinite Realms itself has recognized this child as your offspring. Your... other offspring has yet to be recognized in such a way and would therefore be considered your second heir once claimed."

Danny stared at the Observant with wide, blank eyes that were slowly filling with dread and panic.

"Why are you just telling me this now?? My coronation was over a decade ago!" He held his face in his hands and gave a horrified groan at what he just learned.

"If you really wanted that clone as your heir, I'm afraid it's too late to change it-"

Danny's head shot back up with a snarl and furious green eyes.

"That's not what I'm upset about you walking cataracts! Eleven years! I've missed eleven years of this kid's life!! How could you think I-"

At a loss for words, he growled deep in his chest. Deep enough that it echoed throughout the halls and rattled the floors.

"Who is this kid, and where can I find them?"

Once given the information and learning of the child's other parental figures, he gets to work. A few weeks later, he appears in the home office of a well-known billionaire with a stack of papers that he promptly slams onto the desk in front of the startled man. (1)

"I demand visitation rights to our son, Damian Wayne."

✦

(1) Danny actually visited Talia first to get visitation rights. Needless to say, that didn't go very well. He's still got a couple knives floating around in his chest cavity because of it.

(*) ALSO! I'm not sure how this lines up with the DC/Batman timeline. All I figured out is that if Danny waited to be crowned until after he graduated college as an astrophysicist, which take 5 to 7 years, he'd be about 36 years old when he finds out about Damian. Bruce would be about 41, so the age gap is only 5 years. If y'all wanna make this Danny/Bruce, go ahead!

[sanchoyo]

my dog turned 14 the other day!!! 14 years old in human years... I've had him since he was a pubby and hes 14... woaw....🥺

[saszor]

image description both in alt text and copied below!

another drawing of disabled* people hanging out chilling living life etc :-)

*technically the carer of the person in the pink wheelchair isn't disabled but carers are a part of the disabled people living life experience sometimes. so it counts 👍

previous drawings of this series

[1] [2] [3]

[image description copied from alt text: drawing of 13 characters on a blue background. on the left side is a fem-presenting Asian guy with spina bifida in a wheelchair. his wheelchair has a much higher footrest to accommodate his short legs. behind him is a man with cerebral palsy using crutches and an AFO. he is wearing a tank top showing his top surgery scars. he has an uneven smile and strabismus. behind them is a drawing from the chest up of a Brown fat man reading in his bed with a CPAP mask on. he's smiling and shuffling the pages of the book. in the center part of the image are three people holding hands with hearts above them. the one on the left is a Black girl in a blue skirt using a cane. she is smiling and looking to the side. the one in the center is a fat Black person wearing a matching pink top, leggings and knee brace. they have a large heart surgery scar going across their chest and a smaller one on their forehead. they are smiling and looking at the person they are holding hands with. that person is an agender person with albinism wearing a hat with a wide rim, sweater and jeans. ze also has a pair of sunglasses hanging on hir collar. hir eyes are unfocused and looking in opposite directions. ze is smiling. below them are two Deafblind people. they are talking using the Deafblind Manual, with one of them finger spelling on the other's palm. the character doing the signing has congenital rubella and cataracts. they are white and have gray hair, acne and a focused expression. the person they are signing to is a white woman with ginger hair. she is smiling and staring forward. she wears a hearing aid. on the top right of the image is a Black man in a large pink power wheelchair with a trach tube. he is sitting still with one eye visibly open. next to him is a white guy with a bottle in one hand and feeding tube in the other. there are speech bubbles with icons indicating 1 eye closed for "yes" and both eyes closed for "no". below them are three kids playing with plushies. the plushies are a crocodile, belonging to a Brown girl with a C-shaped scar on one side of her head, a purple cat with one of it's paws missing belonging to an East Asian girl with an upper limb difference, and a rat belonging to a white girl with intellectual disability and small, spread out eyes wearing a scoliosis brace. they all seem happy.]

[phoenixyfriend]

Saw this post about Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and:

I think we need to turn Vader into a cat that, for reasons, is stuck with Leia Maybe before Alderaan explodes

@professorsparklepants: SCREAMING Leia, day 1: I hate this man and everything he stands for but I can't kill a cat. Like come on. Leia day 100: (with Cat Vader standing on her shoulders) I hate this man and everything he stands for

I can't decide how many of his limbs are still mechanical. I know it's at least one (the one Dooku cut off). Tiny kitty prostheses.

I do know he's a little bit blind (not fully, but idk kitty cataracts to parallel whatever burning alive did to his corneas), and at some point starts 'grooming' her by licking at her hair and she hates it but also laughs at him, meanly, because he hates the fact that he was too distracted to stop himself from trying to groom her like an actual cat.

He can talk, but he has Anakin Voice.

Which freaks Leia out a bit because she didn't expect him to sound so… normal.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

A bit of diary

my father just got diagnosed with liver cancer. He had a stroke back in May 2023, which semi-paralyzed his left arm. After that, he's been fighting seizures, tuberculosis, and eye cataracts. It's such a long, long, long journey. We felt every single day. After a year, we thought it's going well, his seizures subsided, and showed some development on his left hand.

But lately he's had some pain in the stomach and nausea, and got CT where they found a tumor in his liver, 7 x 5 cm. After coping that it wasn't maybe it was just benign. They just announced that it was liver cancer, which 5-year survival rate is one of the lowest ones.

I prayed to God. What did he do? He's such a brave, kind, loving, and the most generous, best dad to me and my siblings. He's a man of God through and through, hard-working, and has a high pride for his family, a man whose work has such an impact to the people around him.

I told my dad, he should be the one to give me to my husband when I marry. He should be there to watch and cradle his grandchild. But it's most likely that he isn't going to be there to watch me do any of those.

I mainly write this to release out my heart. I couldn't draw with complete joy this past year because of my father's health. He's been hit with disease after disease after disease. I feel so terrible for my father, the pain he has to endure all this time is too overwhelming, especially on my mother.

My mother has been the constant companion for my father in his battle with disease. She rarely cries, very optimistic that every disease, we'll fight them together, a woman of Psalm through and through. But after receiving this news, she cried in my arms. She cried and cried, sobbing in my shoulders, asking God to spare her husband from this barrage of sickness.

All I can do now is pray that my dad be comfortable. Be surrounded by his family and the people who love him. He's given his life to God, and the time is ticking.

He still have time. We're going to do any procedures and any treatment that can be done. I will make sure that he'll have the best days. So I'm sorry if I may draw less, but if you read this, you'd know that I'm with my dad.

[fever-dreamer97]

Bakugo, sitting in the back of a car blindfolded: Nerd! This old coot is gonna kill us!

Izuku, also blindfolded and terrified: G-Gran Torino is driving us to a surprise, so don’t complain.

Bakugo: Hey old man! You’re driving like a maniac! Are you blindfolded too?!

Gran Torino: Ha! No, but with these cataracts, I might as well be! What is that, a woodpecker?

Gran Torino, drives off the road and through a giant sign:

Izuku and Bakugo: AHHH!

[socks-nb]

“I saw someone comment how ford was forcing himself to hate stanely bc the moment he got burnt, ford immediately asked if he was okay as a reflex”

POOKIE (hiii POOKIE <<33) Sent me a comment on a tiktok video that had me sobbing at work and I’m not letting this character analysis get lost to the void because god dammit stan deserves so much better than the fucked up cards he was handed in life.

Ford definitely had to force himself to hate Stanley. Every time he started writing anything positive about him in journal 3 he’d immediately cross it out. I think that if he put any thought into it hat happened between them and his part of what he’d done it would have broke him. Because really what did he expect to happen to his brother after he got kicked out at 17? He knew it would be nothing good, but if he wasn’t angry he’d have to feel bad instead and that anger was a lot more palatable than the alternative.

Stan’s entire life has been nothing but living for and loving ford. As kids it was him who protected him from the other kids. It was Stan who was always so proud of him when their father couldn’t give a shit. It was Stan who after 10 years of being homeless. 10 years of being ignored. 10 years of his other half seemingly not caring where he was dead or alive. 10 years of horrors that “I had to chew my way out of the back of a car!” can only elude to. 10 years of either being chased out or chased down. But when he got that post card from Gravity Falls? He dropped everything and went straight there in the middle of winter. He had to travel several states to get there with what little money he might have had, gas alone must have been a nightmare. It was cold, his jacket was old asf, the Stanmobile couldn’t have been in the best of shape, and neither was Stanley himself. But he still came. And after all that he was just?? What? Threatened with a crossbow, immediately told to fuck off again, and then branded for fucks sake?

(Who else thinks about the fact that Stan probably never went to a hospital to get it treated so he had to deal with the infection on his own 😍🔫)

I’m surprised he didn’t have an even bigger crash out than he did in canon tbh.

And then when all was said and done, this highschool drop out spent the next 30 YEARS teaching himself quantum physics with a third the notes he needed, filled with ramblings of a paranoid lunatic, all to bring the only person who made his life worth something home.

Not just bring him home but making sure Ford had a home to come back too. Yeah he converted part of it to the shack but who does ford think was paying the electric bill? His mortgage? All of it was Stan. And what did he get in return? A fist to the face before later being told that at the end of the summer he’d be back on the streets. A 60 year old man, who’d lived in gravity falls, lived in the shack, for longer than he’d ever lived anywhere. Longer than Ford had even lived there. The first and only stable place he’d had since glass shard beach. He’d be back where he was all those years go, accept he wouldn’t have what he had the first time. Specifically, he wouldn’t have his youth, and he wouldn’t have his reason. The only thing that kept him going all those years was the thought of his brother and a blatant refusal to die. 60 year old stan has a hearing aid and cataracts, and is also legally dead. He wouldn’t have made it out there. Stan would have died.

Stan never got to have a life of his own. His life is and always has been his brother. Sure Ford didn’t get to go to the college he wanted, but he had a life and a pretty damn good one at that. He was never even guaranteed to get into that school in the first place.

As smart as Ford is, a perpetual motion machine is impossible. Physically and mathematically it can not happen. It was never going to happen. It would have never worked. Weather Stan was there that night or not, it would have stopped eventually.

Ford went to college, made a best friend, got 12 PHDs, got a large enough grant that he was able to move states again and build his own custom home from the ground up AND STILL ended up studying what he’d always dreamed too. And with bill he got to experience shit that he assumed no one else ever had before. His life really only god fucked up after bill showed his true colors.

Yeah, pushing ford into the portal was a fuck up. A MAJOR fuck up. But Ford acts like he’s not the reason fiddleford fell in, another person he had to lie to himself about and convince himself that they were the problem. He never even checked on fiddleford afterwards and Ford ruined his life. He took a father away from his wife and child, he made Tate grow up watching his father slip further and further into madness until he was unrecognizable. His mind was so fucked not even bill could handle being there. Or he acts like he doesn’t understand how easy the roles could have been reversed. How easy it would have been for Stan to fall through the portal instead of him. After going through the portal I don’t believe for a minute he didn’t run into at least one portal stan.

They both fucked up, but the difference is that Stan spent his entire life trying to atone for what he’d done, and Ford spent his entire life blaming Stan for everything that had gone wrong in his life, (which was practically nothing before he decided to make a deal with a demon because he thought he knew better than anyone who had ever met bill before) for a mistake he made when he was 17, like he everything Stan did for him before that point meant nothing. One fuck up was all it took for him to look at Stan the same way their father did.

I think allowed himself a minute to think even for a minute about the situation in its entirety he’d break. Being angry is easier than being hurt and afraid. It’s easier to deal with than guilt and regret. It’s so much easier than looking at yourself and having to question where you went wrong and acknowledging than you fucked up and hurt someone. But Stan spent his entire existence doing just that. Looking at himself and knowing that he fucked up and had no way of making it better. Feeling guilt and regret for a fuck up anyone could have made. Because he was a teenager and afraid of losing the only person he had, and he had t even meant to touch his project!! He hit the table and that was enough to make fords machine explode into nothing???? That always seemed strange to me. I genuinely believe that even if Stan hadn’t been there it would have broken anyways. Not that it makes it right what happened. Stan should have told Ford when it all went down. But Stan didn’t deserve what happened to him for the next 40 years after than.

These old men own my entire soul. All of it. I love their relationship so much despite how bittersweet and tragic it is but god I could talk about them for hours. I don’t know what I would have done if they didn’t get their happy ending.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A year in illustration, 2023 edition (part one)

(This is part one; part two is here.)

I am objectively very bad at visual art. I am bad at vision, period – I'm astigmatic, shortsighted, color blind, and often miss visual details others see. I can't even draw a stick-figure. To top things off, I have cataracts in both eyes and my book publishing/touring schedule is so intense that I keep having to reschedule the surgeries. But despite my vast visual deficits, I thoroughly enjoy making collages for this blog.

For many years now – decades – I've been illustrating my blog posts by mixing public domain and Creative Commons art with work that I can make a good fair use case for. As bad as art as I may be, all this practice has paid off. Call it unseemly, but I think I'm turning out some terrific illustrations – not all the time, but often enough.

Last year, I rounded up my best art of the year:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/25/a-year-in-illustration/

And I liked reflecting on the year's art so much, I decided I'd do it again. Be sure to scroll to the bottom for some downloadables – freely usable images that I painstakingly cut up with the lasso tool in The Gimp.

The original AD&D hardcover cover art is seared into my psyche. For several years, there were few images I looked at so closely as these. When Hasbro pulled some world-beatingly sleazy stuff with the Open Gaming License, I knew just how to mod Dave Trampier's 'Eve Of Moloch' from the cover of the Players' Handbook. Thankfully, bigger nerds than me have identified all the fonts in the image, making the remix a doddle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/12/beg-forgiveness-ask-permission/#whats-a-copyright-exception

Even though I don't keep logs or collect any analytics, I can say with confidence that "Tiktok's Enshittification" was the most popular thing I published on Pluralistic this year. I mixed some public domain Brother's Grimm art, mixed with a classic caricature of Boss Tweed, and some very cheesy royalty-free/open access influencer graphics. One gingerbread cottage social media trap, coming up:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

To illustrate the idea of overcoming walking-the-plank fear (as a metaphor for writing when it feels like you suck) I mixed public domain stock of a plank, a high building and legs, along with a procedurally generated Matrix "code waterfall" and a vertiginous spiral ganked from a Heinz Bunse photo of a German office lobby.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/22/walking-the-plank/

Finding a tasteful way to illustrate a story about Johnson & Johnson losing a court case after it spent a generation tricking women into dusting their vulvas with asbestos-tainted talcum was a challenge. The tulip (featured in many public domain images) was a natural starting point. I mixed it with Jesse Wagstaff's image of a Burning Man dust-storm and Mike Mozart's shelf-shot of a J&J talcum bottle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

"Google's Chatbot Panic" is about Google's long history of being stampeded into doing stupid things because its competitors are doing them. Once it was Yahoo, now it's Bing. Tenniel's Tweedle Dee and Dum were a good starting point. I mixed in one of several Humpty Dumpty editorial cartoon images from 19th century political coverage that I painstakingly cut out with the lasso tool on a long plane-ride. This is one of my favorite Humpties, I just love the little 19th C businessmen trying to keep him from falling! I finished it off with HAL 9000's glowing red eye, my standard 'this is about AI' image, which I got from Cryteria's CC-licensed SVG.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/16/tweedledumber/#easily-spooked

Though I started writing about Luddites in my January, 2022 Locus column, 2023 was the Year of the Luddite, thanks to Brian Merchant's outstanding Blood In the Machine:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When it came time to illustrate "Gig Work Is the Opposite of Steampunk," I found a public domain weaver's loft, and put one of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes in the window. Magpie Killjoy's Steampunk Magazine poster, 'Love the Machine, Hate the Factory,' completed the look.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/12/gig-work-is-the-opposite-of-steampunk/

For the "small, non-profit school" that got used as an excuse to bail out Silicon Valley Bank, I brought back Humpty Dumpty, mixing him with a Hogwartsian castle, a brick wall texture, and an ornate, gilded frame. I love how this one came out. This Humpty was made for the SVB bailout.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/23/small-nonprofit-school/#north-country-school

The RESTRICT Act would have federally banned Tiktok – a proposal that was both technically unworkable and unconstitutional. I found an early 20th century editorial cartoon depicting Uncle Sam behind a fortress wall that was keeping a downtrodden refugee family out of America. I got rid of most of the family, giving the dad a Tiktok logo head, and I put Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes over each cannonmouth. Three Boss Tweed moneybag-head caricatures, adorned with Big Tech logos, rounded it out.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/30/tik-tok-tow/#good-politics-for-electoral-victories

When Flickr took decisive action to purge the copyleft trolls who'd been abusing its platform, I knew I wanted to illustrate this with Lucifer being cast out of heaven, and the very best one of those comes from John Milton, who is conveniently well in the public domain. The Flickr logo suggested a bicolored streaming-light-of-heaven motif that just made it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/01/pixsynnussija/#pilkunnussija

Old mainframe ads are a great source of stock for a "Computer Says No" image. And Congress being a public building, there are lots of federal (and hence public domain) images of its facade.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/04/cbo-says-no/#wealth-tax

When I wrote about the Clarence Thomas/Harlan Crow bribery scandal, it was easy to find Mr. Kjetil Ree's great image of the Supreme Court building. Thomas being a federal judge, it was easy to find a government photo of his head, but it's impossible to find an image of him in robes at a decent resolution. Luckily, there are tons of other federal judges who've been photographed in their robes! Boss Tweed with the dollar-sign head was a great stand-in for Harlan Crow (no one knows what he looks like anyway). Gilding Thomas's robes was a simple matter of superimposing a gold texture and twiddling with the layers.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/06/clarence-thomas/#harlan-crow

"Gig apps trap reverse centaurs in wage-stealing Skinner boxes" is one of my best titles. This is the post where I introduce the idea of "twiddling" as part of the theory of enshittification, and explain how it relates to "reverse centaurs" – people who assist machines, rather than the other way around. Finding a CC licensed modular synth was much harder than I thought, but I found Stephen Drake's image and stitched it into a mandala. Cutting out the horse's head for the reverse centaur was a lot of work (manes are a huuuuge pain in the ass), but I love how his head sits on the public domain high-viz-wearing warehouse worker's body I cut up (thanks, OSHA!). Seeing as this is an horrors-of-automation story, Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes make an appearance.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Rockefeller's greatest contribution to our culture was inspiring many excellent unflattering caricatures. The IWW's many-fists-turning-into-one-fist image made it easy to have the collective might of workers toppling the original robber-baron.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

I link to this post explaining how to make good Mastodon threads at least once a week, so it's a good thing the graphic turned out so well. Close-cropping the threads from a public domain yarn tangle worked out great. Eugen Rochko's Mastodon logo was and is the only Affero-licensed image ever to appear on Pluralistic.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/16/how-to-make-the-least-worst-mastodon-threads/

I spent hours on the sofa one night painstakingly cutting up and reassembling the cover art from a science fiction pulp. I have a folder full of color-corrected, high-rez scans from an 18th century anatomy textbook, and the cross-section head-and-brain is the best of the lot.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/04/analytical-democratic-theory/#epistocratic-delusions

Those old French anatomical drawings are an endless source of delight to me. Take one cross-sectioned noggin, mix in an old PC mainboard, and a vector art illo of a virtuous cycle with some of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes and you've got a great illustration of Google's brain-worms.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

Ireland's privacy regulator is but a plaything in Big Tech's hand, but it's goddamned hard to find an open-access Garda car. I manually dressed some public domain car art in Garda livery, painstakingly tracing it over the panels. The (public domain) baby's knit cap really hides the seams from replacing the baby's head with HAL9000's eye.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Naked-guy-in-a-barrel bankruptcy images feel like something you can find in an old Collier's or Punch, but I came up snake-eyes and ended up frankensteining a naked body into a barrel for the George Washington crest on the Washington State flag. It came out well, but harvesting the body parts from old muscle-beach photos left George with some really big guns. I tried five different pairs of suspenders here before just drawing in black polyhedrons with little grey dots for rivets.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

Illustrating Amazon's dominance over the EU coulda been easy – just stick Amazon 'A's in place of the yellow stars that form a ring on the EU flag. So I decided to riff on Plutarch's Alexander, out of lands to conquer. Rama's statue legs were nice and high-rez. I had my choice of public domain ruin images, though it was harder thank expected to find a good Amazon box as a plinth for those broken-off legs.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/14/flywheel-shyster-and-flywheel/#unfulfilled-by-amazon

God help me, I could not stop playing with this image of a demon-haunted IoT car. All those reflections! The knife sticking out of the steering wheel, the multiple Munsch 'Scream'ers, etc etc. The more I patchked with it, the better it got, though. This one's a banger.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

To depict a "data-driven dictatorship," I ganked elements of heavily beribboned Russian military dress uniforms, replacing the head with HAL9000's eye. I turned the foreground into the crowds from the Nuremberg rallies and filled the sky with Matrix code waterfall.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/26/dictators-dilemma/#garbage-in-garbage-out-garbage-back-in

The best thing about analogizing DRM to demonic possession is the wealth of medieval artwork to choose from . This one comes from the 11th century 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros.' I mixed in the shiny red Tesla (working those reflections!), and a Tesla charger to make my point.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Yet more dividends from those old French anatomical plates: a flayed skull, a detached jaw, a quack electronic gadget, a Wachowski code waterfall and some HAL 9000 eyes and you've got a truly unsettling image of machine-compelled speech.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

I had no idea this would work out so well, but daaaamn, crossfading between a Wachowski code waterfall and a motherboard behind a roiling thundercloud is dank af.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

Of all the turkeys-voting-for-Christmas self-owns conservative culture warriors fall for, few can rival the "banning junk fees is woke" hustle. Slap a US-flag Punisher logo on and old-time card imprinter, add a GOP logo to a red credit-card blank, and then throw in a rustic barn countertop and you've got a junk-fee extracter fit for the Cracker Barrel.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

Putting the Verizon logo on the Hinderberg was an obvious gambit (even if I did have to mess with the flames a lot), but the cutout of Paul Marcarelli as the 'can you hear me now?' guy, desaturated and contrast-matched, made it sing.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/10/smartest-guys-in-the-room/#can-you-hear-me-now

Note to self: Tux the Penguin is really easy to source in free/open formats! He looks great with HAL9000 eyes.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

Rockwell's self-portrait image is a classic; that made it a natural for a HAL9000-style remix about AI art. I put a bunch of time into chopping and remixing Rockwell's signature to give it that AI look, and added as many fingers as would fit on each hand.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

(Images: Heinz Bunse, West Midlands Police, Christopher Sessums, CC BY-SA 2.0; Mike Mozart, Jesse Wagstaff, Stephen Drake, Steve Jurvetson, syvwlch, Doc Searls, https://www.flickr.com/photos/mosaic36/14231376315, Chatham House, CC BY 2.0; Cryteria, CC BY 3.0; Mr. Kjetil Ree, Trevor Parscal, Rama, “Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Center, Russian Airborne Troops Press Service, CC BY-SA 3.0; Raimond Spekking, CC BY 4.0; Drahtlos, CC BY-SA 4.0; Eugen Rochko, Affero; modified)

[cherubispunk]

NEPHILIM - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the disturbing comforts the disturbed.

a note from Lucy: I swear there is fluff! I swear, I swear, I swear! You just have to squint *reeeeaaaalllly* hard. Yes, I read the book of genesis and the book numbers along with some extensive Wikipedia deep diving for like…a paragraph of lore. But is it really ever enough?

playlist | moodboard

wc: 2498

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DARK CONTENT! no use of y/n, I tried to keep her body type as generic as possible but he might be slightly skinny coded so please let me know and I’ll change it in edits, reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, verbally constipated Joel Miller, brief gore descriptions, heavy religious imagery and references to the bible, biblical lore, bombastic age gap!!! yahhhhh! (reader is in her 20’s/ Joel is in his late 50’s), smut, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, rough sex, possessive!joel, dom!joel/sub!reader dynamic, you know the drill with my writing, there’s probably some form of cannibalism as a metaphor, or brutal violence as a metaphor, religious imagery as a metaphor, etc. (aka, fancy word vomit)

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Genesis 6:4 The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown.

The reality of it was, you and Joel were two people who lived in the same small town. Who’s paths crossed once to save your life, and the others when coincidence would grant you that small pleasure. He carried you to the care of an old man with blue eyes now milky in cataracts. Jude. Who nursed you to health in a metal framed bed of an old family home— now the town clinic. The knife that sliced open your side had been dirty, and sepsis soon spread in the bloody gash. Only with Joel finding you in the snow, and Jude delivering you antibiotics, did you recover back to health.

He wouldn’t visit you directly. He would visit Jude and glance at you through the doorway as he passed the hall to the elderly Man’s office. To distract from the man you read stories when bedridden. Parts of biblical scripture; Read the book of Genesis; Read the book of Numbers. Jude being a religious man who had the fortune of holding God in his heart, kept them among his medical journals and books. And the former was far more interesting than the later in your opinion. For in them were mentions of anthropomorphic creatures born of flesh, blood and divinity. Towering tall over common trees and temples built in the name of Lord God. You were no religious woman, but you found comfort in the fables of the Old Testament. And likened Joel to the Nephilim in all ways.

Joel Miller was something of a biblical figure to you. A small glimpse into the past of something archaic, untold, and harbouring on the dangerous. You liked to imagine him as one of the Nephilim. A son of god, offspring borne of a fallen angel and man. A giant of misunderstood nature. Who’s soul had been cast down on earth in punishment. His large hands had bloodshed on them, or so people had said. They whispered it quietly in the spaces between. The places he didn’t occupy often. But he was always on your mind…so there was no place for those whispers there. If he was all that bad…why did he save you? You saw his need to care, protect, understand. Not be understood. But just understand. You would let yourself dream of taking his rough edges to the smooth plane of a whetstone. People claimed you cannot buff brass into gold. That it will only be as such in your head. That it was a fools game, but the fool is rich in content, and poor in sorrow. For the fool has little to worry about while they live in ignorant bliss.

What wasn’t written in any of the books of the holy scripture was this; ‘The disturbing comforts the disturbed.’ But it might as well have been. It was practically the way god intended life to be. You are shaken, and you are weaned on being shaken, until stillness is a discomfort and your body begs to be rattled again. But harder.

—

You took a while to find your feet. Joel took it upon himself to wordlessly help you with any medial or manual task. You were given a house on the edge of town, up a hill in some remote street that was always quiet. It seemed the less social souls resided there. Not that you minded. It was jarring to say the least. Being cast out into the hostile wild. And then brought back into the warmth. Here you had clothes, food, a roof over your head, and community. It stung in the same way it does to run your hands under a scalding tap after labouring out in the cold. It made your fingers numb before they regained feeling. Stiff. And a trouble to flex them back and forth, closed fist, open palm; Closed fist, open palm.

It’s how you earned ‘Bambi’. A name only Joel would ever call you. Dear doe on her wobbly, spindly legs. He’d keep you upright. Despite being a good thirty year sicker than you. Dirty old man. Ditsy little girl.

Your time together was silent. And while he never said he cared, he showed it. By waiting for you each time you were in the stables. And he would walk through town with you a safe distance from his side, up to the top of the hill your house was on. The snow would crunch under his heavy boots and he wished he was lighter on his feet like you. Not a large bulk of a man with heavy feet and even heavier hand. Maybe Joel wasn't large by the world's standards, but he was still a giant to you- muscular, and broad shoulders. With hands that could engulf yours, or cradle the entire crown of your head with a single palm. His arms were strong, and large from manual labour, and tightly knotted with tendons and grizzly muscle like thick twisted ropes that held up sails. What you liked most, however, was his softer belly. Perhaps the only soft thing about him from what little you had seen, or heard, or assumed. You felt an intrinsic satisfaction in knowing he was well fed. And Joel didn't mind it either. It was a reminder to himself what he was in fact as safe as he could be. Anything to not go hungry again. He still kept his brawns either way. Kept his hands and mind busy with patrols and the odd job around town. Fixing roofs, garden sheds, building tables with spare lumber from the woodhouse, and chopping firewood for the colder months. At the beginning of winter he would spend most of his free time ensuring you had enough. He spent hours out in his backyard, swinging that axe down on log, after log of wood. Then carry it up the hill in a wheelbarrow to your front door. He did it for nothing. Nothing but the peace of mind that grew from the seed of knowing you were warm. But he was greeted with something you had baked, or sewn, or knitted, or grown in your empty hours alone. Apple and rhubarb pie, thick woollen gloves, sourdough bread with crunchy, thick crusts that crunched when he broke his bread.

“It’s nothin’.” He would say, and shrug, hands on his hips while he looked back at the finished product of whatever work he’d slaved over that entire afternoon. Be it a pile of firewood, raised garden beds, or a fixed gutter. “Just…do me a favour?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Keep that smile on y’face, Bambi. Don’t let anyone take it away from ya.” His face was stern. As if he was telling you, not asking you. But if you were to ever stop smiling he thought he’d keel over and die a little bit inside. Or part of him would anyway. The part of him you now had in your chest unwittingly.

You watched the mountain of a man, Big Bad Joel Miller, warm up. Day by slow day. He was on the threshold of it. Right there. But the toe of his thick winter boots never ventured onto floorboards. He stayed out in the cold. After a while you dared Joel to touch you. Tired of him only meeting halfway. He was a man of few words, but a man of so much action. And when you challenged him with your tongue, he countered with his touch. That night was hell under the guise of heaven for his restraint.

“Y’so bad for me, Bambi.” Joel grunted, his entire weight smothering you against the mattress of his bed. His cock dragging in and out of you slowly. “Old sinner like me ain’t made for you.” So slowly the anticipation ached in the joints of your toes that curled. His grip on your hips casting his handprint in a watercolour bloom. “That’s it, fuck– takin’ me so well.”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, back arching in a deep curve off the bed while his hips altered their pace. Just a tad quicker as you bucked up into him. The two of you climbing in tandem to the high. “That's it,” He repeated in a hiss, followed by a growl into your neck, “Keep archin’ that back for me.” You did just that, holding onto his forearms for leverage as you curled your spine a little deeper. A word came to mind. One you’d heard once before. Only once. But I held such a comfort to be able to label it. Hiraeth. He was that. And what you felt was that. A longing for a home. He treated you like you wouldn't break. But spoke as if words would lacerate you. One punctuated thrust, aided by your own slick was all it took, a moan for him deeper. A tear slipped from your eye and you let gravity do its work, pulling it from you. It slipped from the corner of your eye, and down your temple. “Good girl, Bambi.” He crooned, splaying both of his palms over your hairline and sweeping the hair that stuck to your forehead in the sheen of sweat atop your skin. His large hands dragged over the top of your skull to the crown of your head, down the back of your neck, and gripped. That soft fleshy part at the base of your skull and the top of your still curved spine.

It hurt. It deeply hurt. His calloused fingers, textured by the trigger of a gun, or the handle of an axe, pressing into your malleable skin. But you’d let Joel drag you to hell if it meant he would hold your hand. You didn't care how he touched you– how he was inside you. He could be buried to hilt in your cunt, or knuckle deep in an open wound. As long as he was there. You'd give the heavens, and the earth, and rot in hell if it meant he stayed. Joel swore you had the space for his heart next to yours. But you didn't have the stomach.

You gripped the skin of Joel’s back. Searching for a part of him to hold that would turn off the cynic in him. Or at least try. You gave up on that idea. Because the man that fucked you— the man that loved you in action and not words— was not kind. He was not gentle. He was bold, and sharp as broken glass, and blunt all in the same being. You knew the crease of his brow. You had it memorised.

He hooked a leg over his shoulder, opened you up to his greedy eyes. They misted into dark hickory at the sight of you taking him so well inside of you. Messy little cunt for him to play with whenever he pleased. His nostrils flared as he pressed deeper. And your reaction was as he planned. A cry of his name. Your sex drenched and accommodating every inch. “A cunt made for me.” He gritted through his teeth, leaning forward to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick into the wet cavern of your mouth; Take the taste of you back with him when he retreated again; Righting his hips and the angle he fucked you in.

“Made for you.” You agreed in a garble and a slur. As if drunk off the last dregs of his kindness that lay at the bottom of the bottle. Licking it dry for all it was still worth.

“Say it again.” Joel grunted, demanded.

“Made for you.” You repeated.

“Good little Bambi.”

From there it was the crescendo. And it came broken in two halves of two separate waves. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And the second was the one that broke you. Had you shattering. It tightened in your womb, behind the mouth of your cervix, and then released in slow flutter; Your walls relaxing and then contracting. And he came after with a groan and spilled inside of you.

He was no gentle lover. In fact, he wasn’t a lover at all. When he fucked you that night…it felt like he was trying to love you— but couldn’t. He was too conditioned to violence. It showed the ache he left behind. Nevertheless, you would take more than he was willing to offer. But what he dropped in your palm you stored away and hoarded like a greedy magpie with shiny little trinkets. He was warm. But not warm like a campfire. He was warm like hellflame. And you were okay with that. You would take your time with him, and slowly pry open a gap in his ribs to slip past. To love him to the marrow. Even the mangled parts. Find him at his very worst — The part humanity suffocated in. And love him there. Silently.

Joel ran a hand over the flank of your ribs and then curled around your navel to pull your back to his chest. Then kissed the crook of your neck in a silent apology to your skin for each mark or tender bruise he may have left. One that wasn't really needed, but you accepted it by reaching behind you and running your fingers through his thick greying curls. In times like these after it all, in the clot and space in between, you came to realise loving him was like loving being hungry. It felt good to want things. To feed yourself you swallowed your fear instead. You lay there, exhaustion heavy in your bones, a hand of his slipping between your legs to feel the evidence of him being there inside you. His spend sticky and thick and warm between your legs. You couldn't fight the impulsive twitch that jolted your spine when he pressed on your swollen, slick clit and drew lazy circles. “Mine now, Bambi.” He murmured into the skin of your shoulder. He didn't kiss the skin there, but rather trailed his chapped lips over your flesh in such a light touch it felt like it was hardly there. More a trick of the sex hazed, lust crazed mind. “Understand that?” And you nodded in silence with a small smile, watching out the frosted up window pane as the dawn stained the sky a burnt orange and angry red. It refracted and smeared in the crystallised ice. A thin sheet that obscured the image of the sycamore tree outside his bedroom window. The bare branches looked far more like the bones of skeletal fingers than a tree bare of leaves. Its bleach white bark only emphasised your image of it. Your vision. Nevertheless; The blackbird would sing, once again on its branch, a morning song you knew by heart.

[chernabogs]

AMES WHAT IF 46 WITH MALLEUS WHAT IF MALLEUS WHAT IF HELP AAAAAAAA

yeah yeah YEAH... I rescinded my usual angst for something sweeter bc ik we're all out in the trenches rn with the c7 update <3

SACCHARINE

Inc: Malleus, Reader, an old bookkeeper guy WC: 2.7k Warnings: Noneee this is nice i promise LMAO. A little Malleus x Reader, but you can def take it as platonic banter or romantic undertone (reader's just out to poke fun) Excerpt: He leans back ever so slightly to peer around the shelf at the new arrival. When his attention locks on them, his eyebrows raise in surprise as he sets yet another book aside. Oh, you.  He didn’t know you knew this store.

The bite of winter is a sentimental reminder of home as he pushes open the glass door, listening to the chime of the bell above signify his arrival. He’s almost immediately assaulted by the scent of leather and old pages, mixed with a dash of something cinnamon-like from further within. His footsteps cause the floorboards beneath to groan in protest—how humbling—as the elderly man from behind the counter turns his cataract-clouded eyes Malleus’ way. 

“Back so soon?” His voice is as frail as the books his store contains, straining with over seventy years of speaking as he sets his newspaper down. Malleus raises an eyebrow before letting the front door swing shut behind him. He frequently fears the frigid air from outside may take the bookkeeper down. “I could have sworn you just visited yesterday.” 

“Did I?” Malleus’ voice is light as he begins to circle the front of the store, his ease making it apparent just how familiar he is with the place. “I fear we’re both losing time, in that case.”

The bookkeeper snorts before lifting his paper up again and adjusting the glasses which perch precariously on his nose. “You’re too young to be talking about losing time.” 

“And you’re too old to be bemoaning it,” Malleus shoots back with a slight grin on his lips. Before, he may have been reluctant to exchange banter with the man, lest he offend him somehow. But almost three years of visits has now reassured him that the old man can take whatever Malleus throws—and give it back tenfold. 

A chuckle leaves the bookkeeper, followed by a wheeze and a coughing fit. The sound brings Malleus to a pause until he receives a wave of reassurance. At that, Malleus focuses his attention on the books, moving swiftly to the back of the store where the first-edition copies reside. Because money is no issue for him, he’s taken to indulging in rare purchases to sate his curiosity (and to keep the bookstore afloat, although he’ll never admit to such). 

He’s starting to form a small pile on the table next to him when he hears the bell chiming once more. He can’t see the front door from the corner where he hides, but he can hear the creaking of floorboards as someone else enters. The bookkeeper coughs again before speaking a greeting, which is echoed in turn by a voice that captures Malleus’ attention further. He leans back ever so slightly to peer around the shelf at the new arrival. When his attention locks on them, his eyebrows raise in surprise as he sets yet another book aside.

Oh, you. 

He didn’t know you knew this store.

Your voice is cheerful as you approach the desk, speaking with the bookkeeper about where you may find the textbooks in here. Malleus isn’t trying to listen in—after all, that’s a terribly rude thing to do—but it’s hard for him not to completely lock in on your voice any time he hears it. He’s taking books off the shelves and setting them aside now without even registering it as he continues to listen in. 

“—alchemy books. I have a textbook for the class, but some of the concepts are still quite unfamiliar to me, so I’m hoping for… supplemental reading, I guess?” You sound almost bashful as the bookkeeper shuffles out from behind the desk, hobbling his way to the shelves near Malleus and leaving you to trail behind. For some reason, the proximity makes Malleus sink further into the corner, as though he’s trying to hide from you as he grabs the books. 

It isn’t that he’s avoiding you like he would Sebek or Silver, should they try to hunt him down in here. More that… well. He feels it slightly embarrassing to be caught holding himself up in this store, even if by the likes of you. He begins to move along the shelves in his bid to escape before being spotted. He would simply leave more than enough madol on the counter to pay for the books and depart into the blustering streets with no further incident. 

“Well, I’m not too familiar with what you NRC students need…” The bookkeeper sighs, the sound of books being shuffled around indicating what you’re both up to right now. Malleus is close to rounding the corner to get out of this section when he hears a thoughtful hum.

“But I know someone who is. Malleus, would you mind helping us out for a moment?” 

Exposed! 

Malleus draws to a short stop with the books cradled in his arms as he reluctantly peers over his shoulder in your direction. He sees the bookkeeper looking from around the shelf at him, and then he sees your head poke out as well. Your eyebrows shoot up and you half-point his way.

“Malleus?” You repeat, confusion lacing your words. Understandable. No one expects the Housewarden of Diasomnia, as you know him, to be trying to creep out of a bookstore on a dull Saturday afternoon. He clears his throat and straightens up before facing you both. 

“Prefect. How surprising to encounter you here.” He hums, his voice definitely not betraying the silent yelling of protest that’s playing in his mind. The bookkeeper's face lights up when he realizes you both know each other, and then a cunning glint appears in those milky blue eyes, of which Malleus knows spells out his inevitable demise. 

“You two know each other, hm? That ought to make it easier, then.” The bookkeeper moves to return to his desk, but not before patting Malleus’ arm in passing. “I appreciate the help.” 

“I never…” Malleus mumbles, before sighing and simply choosing to nod instead. If there’s one thing he’s come to learn from dealing with both his grandmother and Lilia, it’s that when the elderly decide on something, it’s near pointless to argue otherwise. He watches the bookkeeper depart with a scathing look at the man’s back before his expression eases and he turns his attention back to you. Then, he sighs. “What is it that you’re searching for?” 

You’re still gawking at him, but it’s with his words that you quickly right yourself again and clear your throat, tugging at the scarf around your neck. “Alchemy books. I have it next term and I’m dead terrified Crewel will end up keeping me after every class. Ace and Deuce have the basics down, but I…”

“—are not from here, and therefore failed to receive it at the elementary level.” Malleus finishes off as he comes to stand by your side. He peers up at the textbooks available with a slight frown. Most of them are so outdated that trying to learn concepts would be pointless, while others have little relevance at all to what Crewel teaches. He hums to himself as you alternate between peering at him and at the shelves. 

“Bad selection?” You finally ask, and he nods sombrely. 

“Terrible selection.” He speaks louder than necessary and leans back to give a pointed look at the bookkeeper, who once again returns it tenfold. The exchange does make Malleus’ lip twitch up in amusement again before he looks back to the shelves. “I’m afraid that these novels would serve better in aiding you for a history paper than an actual alchemy class.” 

“Damn.” You press your hands on your hips as you look at the options despairingly. “Might have to pay out for tutor lessons at this rate…” 

Tutor lessons? Malleus isn’t entirely sure of your financial situation, but considering the dorm that you live in, he bets that you sit on the lower end of the wealth spectrum. Paying for additional lessons would be sure to create a dent in your wallet that may become dangerous over time. His smile fades slightly and he narrows his eyes. 

“I have a few books back in my room that you can take. They are textbooks, but they are ones that the course no longer uses. I’m not sure how much they’ll help, but they may at least keep you from paying additional costs.” He adjusts his grip on the small library he holds as he looks back your way. “I likely would have thrown them out when I finished at NRC anyway.” 

Your shoulders relax as a relieved grin spreads across your face. “Seriously? How much for them?” 

“Don’t concern yourself with paying me.” He nudges you to follow him to the front of the store. The bookkeeper watches keenly as he sets the books down to be checked out. First editions, with a few second reprints in the pile. You stand close by his side as you gaze over his selections. 

“You got a lot of fantasy books there,” you muse as you begin lifting the books to peer at the covers. Malleus raises his eyebrow while focusing on pulling his wallet out to pay. “Fantasy, fantasy, a harlequin romance looking one,” 

“What?” His attention snaps back to the pile at that comment as you laugh over his reaction. He’s sure he put those ones back before checking out. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Although I wouldn’t judge you if there was one or two—a lot of people are suckers for that happy ending.” You nudge his side playfully as the bookkeeper scans the last of the novels. When he reads out the total, Malleus ignores the wheezing sound he hears from your direction before paying it with debit—something Lilia was dead insistent he got. It’s only when the two of you are leaving the store that you finally speak, your voice sounding as though in pain from the words you just heard.

“Seven hundred madol dropped just like that?” You sigh as you put your hands in your pockets. The two of you come to a stop just outside the store as Malleus adjusts the bag he holds to pull on his gloves. 

“Well. It was for a good reason.” Snow is beginning to fall around you both in the form of large white flakes as you wait patiently for him to finish. Your red scarf is the brightest thing in this land of bleak white, gray, and orange from the shop lights that you stand in. He thinks it suits you—to be a splash of color against the monotonous world. 

You seem to disagree with him as you laugh, your breath escaping in the form of mist that dances to the skies above. “Right. Are you in a rush to head back, or can you spare a few more minutes?” 

The question intrigues him enough to look up from where he’s wrestling with his one glove to your expectant gaze. Your expression becomes more amused as you move forward to help.

“I have time. Why?” He allows you to touch his wrist and fix his attire because it’s oddly endearing. The casual compassion that you seem to show for everyone around you is something he can’t relate to—perhaps it’s a uniquely human thing. All the Fae he knows tend to be reserved in everything they do, and yet upon coming to NRC, he’s discovered this is not quite the norm. 

_____________________________

Never Peak is precisely the kind of place one would read about in a novel. It’s a quaint location, with murals painted on the walls within and enough windows that the space is flooded with light. Malleus appreciates the warmth that fills his body when he enters the cafe behind you, moving to a nearby table to take a seat. A few patrons send him surprised looks as he settles in and you dart off to the front counter, insisting that ‘you’ll get him something nice.’ 

He isn’t overly bothered by the looks. He can only hope they won’t turn into questions as he props his chin in his hand and pulls out one of his books. It’s a first edition tale written in a language he doubts many know anymore, if any at all. Blessed be that his tutors drilled these things into his head, lest he ever ‘encounter someone who speaks it!’ down the line. He opens the front cover, wincing at the way the spine creaks in protest and the pages flutter up, before beginning to read the first chapter. He’s vaguely aware of your presence at the front counter, and he keeps a part of his attention on you while waiting for your return. 

Fortunately, the line is short enough that you return moments later, announcing your presence by setting down a large porcelain cup in front of him.

“Okay, so.” You also set down a plate with an array of little pastries on it as you throw yourself into the seat across from him. “The guys and I discovered this recently and it’s been blowing our minds ever since. What you need to do is bite into one of these pastries, right? And then don’t swallow the pastry, but instead take a drink of the thing I bought you and swallow it all at once. It’s like abstract art in your mouth, I swear.” 

The cup you’ve set down is so full of whipped cream that he can’t tell what kind of drink you bought. He looks between it and the pastries in interest before grabbing the cups handle. “Abstract art in my mouth?” 

“Yeah like, pop! Bang!” You explain eagerly as you grab your own mug. You pick up one of the pastries and take a generous bite before following up with a swig from your mystery drink. Malleus stares at you in both amusement and skepticism as you nod your head and wave a hand. “It’s worth it, believe me.” 

“Pop, bang.” He mumbles under his breath before following the steps you just demonstrated. He takes a bite of a pastry, his brow furrowing at the creamy sweetness that floods his mouth, before taking a drink from his mug. Whatever you bought has a spicy taste to it, and when it touches the pastry, it creates an explosion of flavor so saccharine that he leans back into his seat in surprise. “Oh?” 

“Right?” You’re grinning ear to ear as you wave your pastry. “It’s like the sweetness is amplified by ten.” 

You seem so excited to share this moment with him that he doesn’t want to tell you he isn’t exactly a fan of saccharine flavors. The sweetness can be overwhelming to his senses and make his stomach-ache in the aftermath. But you look so eager, and he knows that this makes you feel better for taking the books he offered, that he takes another bite of the pastry and repeats the process. If this will make him curl up on his bed for the next few hours with stomach pain strong enough to cripple a bull, at least it’ll be worth it for the joy you seem to feel in his presence. 

“Do you like it?” You ask once more, leaning on the table as he swallows. Malleus takes a breath and sets his mug down. The snow still falls outside, the faint smell of leather from the books still permeates between you both, and warmth is beginning to flood his body from the spiced drink he’s downing in your honour. He looks to your face, to the sunny smile on your lips and the joy in your gaze, and exhales softly. 

“It’s wonderful, Prefect. Absolutely wonderful.”

[bahnloopi]

[OC] **Long post ahead

Meet Orran (Orang "yeti, ape man"). The Legendary Saiyan of the Sento Saiyans. Though he looks poofy and harmless, he's pretty violent. An anarchist against the peaceful society the Sentos try to uphold. The Elders elected to banish him to the arctic regions of Planet Sento.

He believes the ancestor Saiyans of the mother race (U7 Saiyans of Planet Vegeta) were right to use their Oozaru powers to destroy and roam free. That's true freedom to him. He doesn't think his people should be pacified and laxxed to their chaotic nature.

The problem is that if the Sentos were all allowed to collectively transform into Oozarus en mass, they could destroy the planet. He doesn't care if it'll kill him too in the process. He deems that as his ideal "freedom of identity" or "to be oneself in their purest state".

He's deemed as a danger to their society so he's kept subdued to a massive boulder in a cave underground. His hands and feet are bound by the ankles to wrists, arms to rock. His tail is clamped under the rock to keep him weak enough so he won't break the bonds unattended.

There are some troopers stationed around to watch him and unbound him for daily breaks but they keep a restraining pressure on his tail at all times while roaming at a short-distance.

He'll always ask the Transporters that come to bring him food and resources when he can "come home". They don't want him to return to the tribes since he'll end up offing the Elders and inciting riots and cause them to shift into Oozarus from under stress. He's very manipulative.

When a trooper steps away, he'll constantly bang the back of his head against the boulder to try and soften the pressure on his tail to gain his strength back while he plans his escape. The troopers will see the dents and have the boulders changed out.

He has cataracts in his eyes so his vision is slightly blurred. His other senses are heightened. He'll occasionally use the beads on his drapes for echo location of the trooper's positions to study their patterns.

He is the ONLY exception to my "no transforming into a super forms (recolor)" rule since he is a legendary. He transforms into a Golden-Legendary Oozaru as natural but I'm looking to put a spin on the super form I'm deciding to give him. I'm still developing in that aspect. He himself does not know he is a legendary yet.

The Therapies have tried to help him but he scares them too bad. He'll constantly ask them aggressively when he can come home or tells them to stop pacifying the people who turn into Oozarus and let them run free.

It got to the point the Therapies refused the call to do wellness checks on him because he stresses them out and they themselves may turn and they have to make the extra effort to keep themselves in check.

**He's 6'4. His proportions and body shape are intentional. I want him to stay wide, poofy, and elongated.**

(He hates to be touched)

[gold-pavilion]

An analysis of Kakucho-related changes in S3E01

So it turns out that the first episode of Tokyo Revenger's 3rd season differs a bit from the manga chapters it covers. Mostly, around Kakucho's introduction.

And I'm all for those changes! Whew! I believe very very strongly that those small choices improved the script, straight up. So, here's a rundown of what's different and why I like it so much.

Firstly,

The anime turns Kakucho's matchup against Smiley into a challenge to Takemichi. As much as Smiley was totally up for it, in this version, Kakucho himself zeroed in on Takemichi and requested to face him.

And, man, I adore Smiley and looked forward to seeing them fighting. But this change eases into the conversation Kakucho and Takemichi have after the fight much more smoothly, doesn't it? 

As a plus, we can perceive Kakucho being more active about what he's interested in here. Not just in his approach, but in the whole following conversation, where he exposes his thought process and strategic stance with a ton more clarity.

Reviewing how that talk goes in the manga:

- Kakucho reconnects with Takemichi, messing with each other amicably.

- After that, having established that Takemichi is Toman's First Division Captain, he asks him to save Izana.

- He explains that Izana is surely being used by Kisaki, for a conflict he doesn't agree with.

And that's kind of it. The conversation is flashbacked (Takemichi reminisces about it afterward, when headed to the next Toman meeting) so we could guess that they talked a bit more, but that's all we get from it.

Now, in the anime version:

- They still reconnect and mess with each other, wiiiiiiiith the addition of this tidbit: 

A nice detail imo, as it always struck me as odd that Takemichi didn't notice it/react to it in the manga. He tends to… not be great at observing things LMAO, he misses a lot of stuff, but this is someone he remembers from his childhood, who showed up now with a HUGE facial scar and a damaged eye (personally, my take is that Kakucho's white eye is from cataracts developed after his accident). It's something that sticks out. Takemichi asking about it gives me the impression that he's more invested in his reunion with Kakucho, displaying care for an old friend and also giving Kakucho the chance to show he doesn't like to talk about the scar, which is nice to add to his character.

- Instead of asking Takemichi to save Izana from Kisaki, Kakucho asks his own questions about the guy. Which makes perfect sense!! Kisaki joined Tenjiku just recently, Kakucho has his doubts about him and found someone he can ask, so he takes the chance. Maybe he does already suspect that Kisaki is using Izana, BUT…

- Takemichi asks for help reaching Kisaki, and Kakucho refuses. Right now, Kisaki is a high-standing officer in the gang. It's Tenjiku's/Izana's internal affairs that Takemichi is trying to disrupt, and Kakucho is too loyal to go with that. Rather, being enemies, what Takemichi should do is fight and achieve his way through; despite the situation, that's the fair and square way Kakucho knows things must be done.

- Kakucho keeps to himself his distaste about the conflict as a whole. Instead of asking for Takemichi's help or telling him more about the situation, he just advises to be wary of a certain traitor he can't name (Mucho, most likely), and leaves it at that.

End of "spot the difference"!

Now, I'm not gonna say "the anime did it better", like a short-sighted dummy. The manga is the original material, the blueprint, the birth of all these delinquent dudes and their story. Manga is also its own medium, inherently different from the audiovisual version. Anything the anime adds starts from that source material.

But what I can and want to say is that the anime did a great job making adjustments to expose Kakucho's character to us sooner. It exposed him efficiently and profoundly.

Thanks to the changes to the script, we got a much bigger window into where Kakucho's standing, what he's wondering right now, and what he's trying to do on his own while everyone else is chasing other objectives. We can see him try to be an active guardian to Izana, making his own moves. However, we can also really really appreciate the depth of his loyalty and sense of honor, as he's respectful and careful even when it comes to someone he doesn't like at all, 'cause that someone is his current staff officer and Tenjiku comes first. Likewise, even though he knows Mucho is about to act traitorously to Toman as he switches over to Tenjiku, it's not in his power to snitch, much less to the enemy. The separation between him, loyal to his king, and the outsider to the gang that Takemichi is, also reflects the same values of loyalty and honor.

As a huge huge fan of Kakucho, I'm super pleased. As a lover of storytelling in general, I'm applauding the smart little changes and how effective they were.

It's not the first time the anime adaptation differs a little or adds something, so it probably won't be the last. Those touches have always been great so far, so I look forward to watching the rest of the season and seeing if any more new content appears!!

[saszor]

image description both in alt text and copied below!

I haven't posted in so long that summer ended 😓 just pretend i'm totally on time thanks (also first time drawing a beach wheelchair? not great but an Attempt was made)

previous drawings of the series; [1] [2] [3] [4]

[image description copied from alt text: digital drawing of multiple disabled characters in swimwear hanging out on a sandy beach. in top left corner is a tall Brown person using a crutch with a scar across their spine shown from behind, talking to a skinny Black trans man with cranial nerve palsy and a head tilt, who is gesturing to something off canvas. next to them is an elderly couple relaxing under the sun on a towel; a Black man with achondroplasia is holding hands with a white man with top surgery scars and a rotationplasty on his right leg. below them is a tan autistic girl wearing a chew necklace and having an AAC device on her lap. she doesn't have much expression on her face and looks at something to her side while her friend is talking to her. the friend is a Black female amputee wearing a full body swimsuit with burn scars visible on her stumps. she has dark skin and a big smile. on the right side of the canvas is a white older woman with a large scar on one side of her chest pushing the beach wheelchair with a younger woman in it. the girl has cerebral palsy and contractures in all of her limbs. she has long hair with choppy bangs, an uneven smile and strabismus. from the bottom left to the top right is a scene of three characters in water throwing a beach ball. person holding the ball in the left corner is a fat nonbinary masc-presenting person with a grin and without an eye. their skin is brown and their hair is dyed to very light blonde while their facial hair is black. they are about to throw the ball to a girl in the top right. she has both of her hands above her head. she has a big smile and big eyebrows. most of her fingers are very short, missing, or connected with each other. behind her is a fat feminine-presenting person with neurofibromatosis and a lot of tumors on hir body. ze has short pink hair, a cataract, and a matching swimsuit. ze is smiling while looking at hir friend. most of the characters on the drawing have either body hair, stretch marks, or both. background is mostly yellow. end image description.]