#the perspective on his face is wrong in the last one but the colouring and lines are still cute to me

[homunculus-argument]

I don't actually know exactly how frequent, rampant and intensive the inbreeding in my family line has been, exactly, nor how many of my problems can I really blame on that in good faith, but there is one thing I can definitely say: My face is unsymmetrical. The two halves don't match. If you've ever read the book The Children of Men, and you're thinking 'oh, like that one character in it', then yes, just like that. It's not obvious enough that anyone would consciously notice it. There's just something off about my face that people can't exactly put their finger on. My partner had been with me for five years before he observed that one of my eyes is higher up than the other.

But where it is more obvious is in photographs.

This one time when I was like 15, I was experimenting with art and how I want to look, and I took a selfie with my old phone camera and traced over it on GIMP, colouring it in. I showed the final result to an online friend (back in the day kids were told to Never Post Pictures Of Themselves On The Internet), who said that the picture is pretty cool, but the perspective is off. Not wanting to blow my cover immediately, I asked him what he meant. He said that the perspective of the face is wrong, the face looks unnatural. The eyes and the nose don't angle right.

I double-checked the original selfie and compared it to the traced artwork, and saw that I had done everything exactly as close as I could, and kept arguing that no, it's not off, while he insisted that yes, yes it is, and step by step I gave more ground by admitting that it's not just referenced from a photo, but downright traced from one. That's traced from a photograph. The face can't be off, that's literally my fucking face. He wasn't buying it, no fucking way, no way I got that right. So as a last resort, I broke The First Law Of The Internet and sent this person I didn't know irl a picture of my own face. His reply was quick and simple.

"Oh :/"

[bigification]

Careful What You Wish For

I lay the cheap looking lamp on my bathroom counter as I get ready for a bath. I can't believe I caved and bought it, it's obviously a scam. This stupid lamp isn't gonna grant any wishes, that old man just got some free cash out of me. It doesn't matter, I'll just take a relaxing bath and throw on some Netflix later.

I get undressed and run some hot water into the bath. Some scented candles set the mood for relaxation, and I throw on some music. I dip myself into the warm water, and lay back.

My relaxation doesn't last long however, as a rumbling catches my attention. It's the lamp. It's vibrating with enough force that I can feel it from across the bathroom. Suddenly a purple smoke emerges from the lamp.

"I may grant you one wish." A soft whisper echoes out of the smoke.

What the actual fuck. This isn't possible. Did that guy drug me? Maybe I should just say a wish to see if it's true.

"I wish to be a more mature looking guy who likes sports." I blurt out. I've always hated how much I look like a teenager despite being a full blown adult, so this could fix that. Also I wouldn't mind being a fit guy who likes sports, it wouldn't hurt.

The moment I say it, the smoke starts to travel towards me. All the smoke spirals into my mouth and nose. I should be scared, but it kinda feels nice. A warm feeling sprouts in the core of my body, making me feel relaxed again.

As the smoke fills my body, I feel my muscles twitching. It must be true, my body is changing. My twig like arms thicken, with bulging biceps and defined forearms. My soft hands grow twice as big and fill with rough callouses. My chest puffs out into two juicy pecs and my stomach flattens into a cut six pack. My thighs thicken as I feel my ass plump up. Even my feet look like they've grown a few sizes. I also have to start bending my legs, as Ive become too tall for the bath tub I'm sitting in.

I look at my reflection in the water and see a handsome man in his late twenties. Holy shit, I'm hot! I've got a chiselled jawline with a dark beard covering it. All my features seem more angular, more manly. As I'm observing my reflection, I notice a pelt of dark hair grow all over my body. My chest, my arms, my legs, everywhere is dusted in a coat of hair.

This is everything I wanted. Even the sports. Memories of playing sports all throughout school flood my mind. I especially liked soccer, though I also really liked weight lifting. More memories of my extensive sex life flood my mind, people are almost hypnotised by my good looks.

Just as I'm reminiscing about my past, I remember I should be working out right now. I can't skimp out on my workout routine. I go to get out of the bath and notice I've got my underwear on. Huh, I must have forgotten to take it off before getting in the bath.

As I'm stepping out of the bath, something feels wrong. A warm feeling once again fills my core. I look down and see my six pack fade under a belly of fat. It continues growing until it sags over my underwear. My pecs swell into a pair of man tits, though they still have a solid base of muscle. My arms double in size, though with a soft layer of fat now covering the muscles. My hands thicken until they look like stuffed sausages, as more rough features cover them.

I feel my underwear tighten around my waist as my ass fattens. My thighs thicken until there is no gap between them, and my feet grow many sizes. I even feel my perspective shift higher, as my height increases.

The dark hairs on my body fade to an almost white colour as the hair thickens around my body. As I'm looking down at my body, I notice hair on my head fall to the ground. I look in horror at my reflection in the mirror, I have to duck just to fully see my face. My hairline recedes all the way to the back of my head, leaving me practically bald. My once sharp facial features have softened under a layer of fat. And a double chin has formed under my beard. I look so old.

Though the more I stare at my body, the more familiar it becomes. Memories flood into my mind of my career in soccer. I was a high level player, and a popular one at that. But you age out of professional soccer in your late thirties. I started focusing more on the weight lifting and less on the cardio. There was only so long I could keep that six pack, and turning 50 certainly didn't help with that. I don't mind it though, it makes me feel more manly. And it makes the team I coach more afraid of me.

I snap out of my trance. I grab a towel and start to dry off. Damn I forgot to take off my underwear again, I should get rid of this one anyway, it doesn't fit me anymore. I duck and look at myself in the mirror.

"Lookin good coach." I say as I smile at myself.

I turn to the other side of the bathroom and step on my scale. It reads '350'.

"Damn, I've really let go of myself, huh." I say as I jiggle my gut.

I also measure my height, it reads 6"6. I should have gone into volleyball with the build I had.

I dry off and leave the bathroom. I grab a family sized bag of chips and lay my fat ass down on the couch. I open the tv and it's already on the world cup. I really wouldn't want it any other way.

[marchsfreakshow]

Comforting A Murder [James Patrick March]

Hurt/Comfort // Smut. (I guess?)

Well you did it. You finally murdered someone, but right in the middle of a mess James wants to clean up. You attempt to comfort eachother...

18+ MINORS DNI!

Warnings: dub-con, PnV, quick fuck?, James being James.

Brb inspiring this off of ep.9 and 10. Had no ideas anymore so I figured basing this off an episode or two would help me write this.

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Oh, your pretty red dress. Ruined by the darkness of fresh blood. Arms and legs decorated by splashes of someone's else liquid soul. A beautiful decorated purple gun, turned black, dripping. Eyes widened; scared, confused, joy? Your mind racing with thoughts of what others would think.

Others? Each ghost more insane than the last? They didn't care. Most, happy by your calling. Liz, your best friend, daring you to talk to someone. "Talking to James will do good my dear. I understand he is in love with the countess still, but you know he takes interest in you as well."

"Sure.." A shaky word left your brain as you stood straight, gripping onto the used gun like it was a dying breath. "But... Jesus Liz, he's so... intimidating."

"Only if you don't talk to him." She stated. You took a deep breath and a step back, staring at the now decomposing lady that you laid bare. Flesh, body and soul ripped down the middle after a shot in the head. "A wonderful killing. Just like you." Liz was never too interested in the killing around the Cortez, but the way you killed... invigorating.

" 'suppose." You undressed as quickly as you killed, picking up a purple dress. The same shape, size and glimmer as the one you had murdered in. Your body still dripping in red.

"go like that. Go and find him right now."

"like this? No. Liz no! I can't. I have to wash myself. And my gun."

She shook her head and took a small drag of her cigarette. "No. Go find him. Now."

After a long silence, you took a deep and long breath, debating whether or not you should find the prolific killer. So you agreed. Walking out of the room and leaving the open torso to bleed dry, Liz watched, maybe silently judging you. You could never tell. The still image ran in your head as you walked. The heart slowing down, and the stomach just sat there, begging to be opened so the acid could dissolve everything else.

"...James." You saw him standing there, looking bewildered. He had been slapped, in front of an open hallway. An open hallway? Why on earth...? But you whispered his name as you took a step closer, transferring your gun from one hand to the other. "James.." you cleared your throat, looking down to the ground, feeling insecure. The killer looked at you, and smiled, taking his hand off his face.

"Ah, love. You look...ravishing, and a gun? My." He started, his smirk coming back to him. Nervous and worried, a blush appeared, and your hands were shaky again. The gun was still coloured darkly, leaving little trails of blood behind you. If there was any more blood on you, you would look like Carrie, an icon to you and your deranged but silent mind. "May I ask, your kill you have come back from?"

"a lady. Insulted my dress. Shot her head, then...ripped her torso. Neck to crotch." You admitted, looking everywhere but in his eyes. Another step towards you. He took your hand and looked lovingly at the gun.

"I'm so proud my dear." A teacher, smiling widely at his student, blood smearing itself over both your hands. You stared at his hands. Such precious jewels, covered in a dark thick liquid, a gun being shared between two. A small gulp and another deep breath. "What are you nervous about?" He asked as you looked up to the open hallway, a looming darkness. It scared you, but you never showed it. You wanted to impress James, being scared would annoy him.

Oh just how wrong you were. James could tell you were scared about what could have been lurking in the hallway. What a wonderful thing to use to his advantage. "This hallway is empty my darling. Nothing exists here." He simply stated. Innocently looking back up to him and seeming like you didn't understand anything he was saying. Like you didn't believe him. "Go on. Walk in. You have your dear gun, use it if need to." Absolutely not.

But a cold hand on your back, pushing you in. It left a faint handprint on you, and James noticed, letting out a small chuckle. It rang through the looming hallway, making you shake more. Holding the gun in front of you, worriedly looking around. Then a shot. You shot something. You think. Maybe? But you turned and ran. Ran into James' chest, even if he didn't wrap his arms around you as you secretly hoped he would. "You found something?"

"I think...I think so?" Your voice was hurried, and resting your head on his chest.

"Come dear. Let's take you away from this." He placed a dead hand on the small of your back, still bloody. The blood on you was decently dried now, feeling unable to wash it off. Eyes always straight and front as you both walked. Meeting anyone's eyes would increase your guilt about the murder. Such a beautiful but meaningless kill in James' mind. Killing someone for insulting your pretty red dress? Insanity.

James' room appeared before you, and you were led into it. Cold but comforting. A room you had wanted to go into. Forever. Everything interested you. Mindlessly, you started to wander around. Leaving gentle touches over every surface. The interest you two had with each other, coming to light. Your wonder and innocence, lit up when you walked around. Going in circles, your hand loosening around the firearm you held so dear. A beautiful thing, all based on your personality. James picked it up as you stepped in another circle, staring out of the window.

Ah, the open world. Nothing you missed. Bullied for the way you worked, and how you carried yourself. You left the daylight alone and stayed in the Cortez. Liz and Iris helping you with anything you need from the open world. "Dear. You are lost again." James murmured, standing behind you. A breath? Maybe? By the crook of your neck. "Ah yes, the life outside of this hotel. You should not worry about it, my dear. You are here now. You are here forever, murdering just because?"

Words that left him, and made you shiver. "But, I want the life again."

"I understand darling, but you must understand that this hotel can offer you more. Offer you something you could not find outside." A hand, gripping the front of your neck, thick fingers finding a vein and pressing on it, hard. "The people here are dangerous, wonderful. Full of deprived attraction." A hitch in your breath as the pressure got harder and harder. The stopping of your breath and its effects on James were pressed against your back. Was he really getting hard at this? Really? Okay...

"James..." All you did was lean against him, your neck open to him again, so many possibilities, and so many things he could do to you. A low groan, maybe a snarl leaving him. His free hand exploring your side, gripping at the dress fabric and feeling the dried blood on you. Every touch felt odd like you shouldn't be enjoying it so much. But your love for James, and the way your need for him manifested as killing for him. Innocents who did nothing to you but make a snarky comment, a little joke. Why was he so irresistible to you? A killer who died nearly 100 years ago, who loves murder, fine absthine, and his students.

Wandering hands trailing down your back, pulling down the zipper. The purple fabric fell swiftly off you, pooling around your flats and the blood-covered legs of yours. All this talk and touch of murder, blood, opening someone up, it was nothing but erotica turned real to him. Such a need for someone he did not know too well. Who was he to deny such a gift? Deny the chance to make someone feel something other than rage and upset.

Such moveable skin in front of him, the way he touched and practically groped you, making you feel mindless already. Your head, silently thrown back onto James' shoulder, feeling every touch he gave. The way he gripped onto your hips, such a need and desire in him. You practically threw yourself onto the bed, but sat on your knees politely. Even when a feeling of warmth spread through you, nerves were still there and you never wanted to upset your dear so. Shy, doe eyes watching a ghost undress. A quick coyote, readying himself to catch the doe it craved.

Silence in your voices, but catching breaths, underwear ripped off of you. You were being pulled up from your knees and pushed down onto all fours. He fucked like you were going away that night. Barely any time to catch your breath as he kept going.

Faster.

Harder.

Fucking you like the world was ending. Your moans; loud, unfiltered, they could be heard anywhere in the Cortez. His were reserved but animalistic in nature, never giving you a break. You screamed his name, as he yelled yours. Bruises were appearing on your neck, hips and thighs.

When had the dam been broken? You wondered as you cleaned yourself up, starting to sit up. Looking over to your side, James was half-dressed already. "I will admit my darling, that blood drying itself on you truly is enchanting." He nonchalantly mentioned, walking over to where you sat. A little hum in response, looking to the side where James was not. The ghost pulled your face towards him and left a kiss on your wanting lips. Pushing yourself forward to try and kiss him again, only to be denied.

Only to be denied as he picked up that purple gun you adored.

Only to be denied as he reloaded it.

Only to be denied as he aimed it at your worrying face.

BANG.

Only to be denied one last breath, one that you could've kissed him again with.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tag: @babygorewhore @taintandviolent @coentinim @bluerthanvelvet444 @nahoyasboyfriend @slutforgarlogan @slvt4jamesmarch @tatelangdonsweater @feefymo @fear-is-truth

[webxgal]

[Ⅰ] memento mori

remember, you will die.

You were born into the world by two callous hands, a mother and father whose eyes were dulled by the colourless world they bore witness to. You were something that had to happen, another meaningless event, before death would greet them in its clammy but welcoming embrace. It was only when you were older that you realised that your parents had no real destination that wasn’t just a grave. They were merely waiting for life to end without the stigma that followed suicide.

You will not praise them for the bare minimum but you can acknowledge the fact that, at the very least, they never forced their monotonous perspectives onto you. They didn’t say a word when you bought a camera for your 10th birthday after you had visited a friend’s house and noted how her hallway was decorated in family pictures that your bleak walls had been missing. You never ended up using it on your parents. Instead, polaroid photos of butterflies, flowers and other things you found pretty had lined up your living space. They never said a word, but your chest did feel a little lighter when you noticed your father pause to look at the photos before heading off to work. In your young, naive mind you sincerely believed that maybe you could change the inevitable highway to death your parents insisted on driving in. So you took more pictures.

It was on your birthday, a year before you found your mother submerged in a bathtub, that she told you that she was happy for you. You asked her why in mild surprise, but she went back to washing the dishes and you never got your answer. The day of her funeral was the same day you ever saw your father express any emotion that didn’t look unnatural and stretched on his face. The tears in his eyes made you uncomfortable, so you refused to look. Thinking back to it now, you never knew anything about your parents or the context of their relationship. So you keep your eyes trained on the coloured sneakers that you clumsily paired with your black dress, the stickers you adorned on it dirty and peeling off. Only once did you look at the framed photo of your mother, missing her deep-seated wrinkles and eye bags that you were accustomed to. She was smiling widely, considerably younger, and you almost wanted to ask if they got a picture of the wrong woman.

Despite the fact you always expected your father to follow after your mother, for all his flaws he stayed. There was barely any distinction between him and a zombie, but he stayed. You think back to your puritanical grandmother, whose dour face is a hazy memory. He was no believer, but the values beaten into him left clear scorching marks in his mind. You think he fears her more than the idea of a God.

You didn’t find any guilt in admitting nothing much has changed in your house, aside from the missing noise of the old radio your mother would play as she cleaned. Your teachers reassured you that you didn’t have to come to school immediately, and to take your time in grieving. You showed up two days after the funeral in your press-ironed uniform, with last week’s homework completed and sitting in your book bag. You ignored their inquisitorial stares and their invitations for you to visit the school counsellor with them.

You will continue to take pictures, with a newer camera you got from the condolence money slipped to you by unnamed faces. This time, your pictures will stay within the confines of your room instead of serving its place to decorate the empty hallways, because you will become older and know there was no one left to stop and look at them before heading to work. Eventually, even your room will become barren of its colourful decor once high school creeps closer and you apply for a school all the way in Tatsumi Port Island. Just far enough from your home in Sumaru City where you can excuse your need to stay in the dorms. On the first night after your departure, your father will sit on your empty bed and pretend you are still 10 years old, fiddling with your camera as you excitedly explain to him about photography techniques he didn’t care for at the time. You will receive news of his death four weeks later. You will not cry.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Where Are We Going? (And Where Have We Been??)

@littlemissartemisia @tmntaucompetition

Prev || Next

Dee-Dee -- er, Donatello took Misa to a small side desk in the far corner of the room while April and Karai took the three boys into the bathroom to wash their faces and brush their teeth.

Misa was so confused and nervous. She wasn't sure why she felt so anxious about this whole situation. It was only Donnie... It was just "DvD". Huh. She'd forgotten that nickname...

"Alright then, Misa, sit down," he instructed. His voice was stern, commanding, but not at all scary like she'd figured he would be. He seemed pretty steamed when he'd first seen her.

Misa sat down at the corner of a bed, while DvD got the chair out from the desk and turned it around, sitting the wrong way down on it so that he could rest his arms on the back, his legs dangling out from the edges.

"So," he said, pure exhaustion in his voice, "How. Did. This. Happen."

"I don't know," she responded. "Last thing I remember, I was with my dads --"

"Wait, what? What do you mean, 'last I remember'? You were here with us the whole time."

Misa stared at him.

"...No, I wasn't. I was home with Hypno and Warren, we were getting ice cream, when suddenly a pink cloud exploded around me and then I was here!"

Donnie's eyes went wide. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to understand.

"Okay, so either you just somehow... got pulled through time, or the magic that turned you into an adult transformed your memories to fit accordingly. Which means you're either a time-traveler, or a precognitive clairvoyant. Both are equally terrifying and incredible."

Misa swallowed, her fingers twiddling as she looked around the room.

"Where... where are we?" she finally asked.

"The TMNT AU Competition. More specifically, the apartments they give to the contestants. Do you... remember that?"

Misa thought hard.

"I... kind of remember the competition. It was this big arena, right? Lots of stalls and stands selling all kinds of stuff, and people giving out gifts, and the med ward where I met --" she froze, suddenly remembering it all. "Mikey. I met Mikey in the med ward. I gave him..."

Her hand went down to the friendship bracelet on her wrist. It was old and frayed, the colours were slowly fading, but she wore it every day. Even after she'd forgotten who she'd given the other bracelet to. She made so many and gave away so many as a kid, she couldn't keep track after a few years. But each one had signature colours, and this one was a mix between bright orange and cotton candy pink.

"...I gave him a friendship bracelet and 'adopted' him. I forgot that, I can't believe I forgot that." She smiled before her eyes started to sting with tears. She looked up at DvD. "Why did you leave me?"

"What are you referring to?" he asked, obviously confused. "Misa, you've been with us the entire time!"

"I... what? No, I told you, I--"

"Based on what you've told me, from your perspective you left the competition and went back to your own home dimension?"

"Well, yes!" she exclaimed. "Most of my early childhood is kind of a blur... hopping from one dimension to the other... but I did go back to my own world, where I was taken in by Warren Stone and Hypno Potomus! They raised me, pretty much."

"You mean... that mutant hippo and the worm guy? I think I remember them from my universe..."

"Yeah, Hypno took me in to help me learn how to control my powers."

"What powers?" Donnie asked, eyes wide as he stood up suddenly. "You never said you had any powers!"

"You didn't know?"

"No! Of course not! Obviously not!" DvD calmed himself down, smoothed out his shirt, and sat back down. "You were four years old... possibly you didn't know that you had abilities, or more likely you just didn't think to tell us. Perhaps you purposefully didn't tell us..."

"Has it really been nine years?" Misa wondered out loud. Wow. So much could change and be forgotten in only nine years...

"So you're thirteen now?" DvD asked.

"Yup."

"You're the same age as Mikey is-- was."

Misa looked up in fear.

"Was?? What happened to Mikey?"

"Didn't you see the kids go into the bathroom?"

"THAT was MIKEY?!" she yelled, standing up and looking back to the door, behind which three toddlers were getting ready for bed. "He's... he's teensy! What happened to him?!"

"The exact opposite of what happened to you," Donatello said with irritation, as he slapped his face and slid his hand down his face.

"That doesn't explain much..."

"I suppose not. Basically, there's been a weird epidemic of people being turned into different ages. So far, it turned Leon, 'Phael, and Mikey into 7, 6, and 4-ish years of age. Apparently, it turned you into a 13 year old."

"That's weird."

"No weirder than a talking mushroom with a musical fetish."

"OH MY GOSH, I FORGOT ABOUT THAT!" she laughed. "I thought I dreamt that up!!"

DvD smiled softly as she cackled at the crazy memories.

She could just barely catch the dark circles under his eyes, the weak hold he had on that fragile smile. When she was a kid, she remembered seeing him and thinking he was kind of scary or grumpy all the time... Lee-Lee Leo had called him 'Grumples' once, didn't he? But she remembered seeing him sometimes with a wide grin and strange smile. He would say funny things about arson and world domination. While she hadn't understood it at that age, it made her giggle. She smiled at the memory...

"So your brothers are basically toddlers now?"

"OUR brothers, yes."

Misa smiled.

Well, at least one thing never changed. Once a family, always a family.

She had assumed that because they'd never visited her world, that meant maybe they hadn't cared after all, or they'd forgotten her. But that didn't seem to be the case after all... if anything, it might have been the other way around.

"So... we should probably catch each other up to speed, hmm?" Donnie suggested.

"I guess so..."

"Alright then, you start."

Misa began giving him the gist of her life, her abilities, her friends and family and the many adventures she'd been on during her 'absence'. Donnie filled in some details about their situation afterwards, how the pink mist had transformed their little brothers into little-er brothers, and even helped fill in the blanks from some other memories, such as Karai's arrival, the fear fungus, the other competitors that met her, and so on. After a few minutes, Karai and April took the boys out of the washroom.

Misa couldn't help but stare at the boys. Mikey was all smiles, and had to be held back to keep him from running up to her and slamming into her knees for a hug. Raph looked at her with curiosity, but held onto April's leg with desperation. Leon just simply glared at her, half-hiding behind April and Karai.

"Hi, guys!" she said with a smile, kneeling down on the floor to get closer to their height.

Mikey wriggled himself free and pounced on her, giggling like a madman as he wrapped himself around her like a monkey.

"Meezie!"

She laughed at that nickname. The vaguest of memories came back, of a tiny toddler in rags calling her that...

"Is it really Misa?" Karai asked. She hadn't apparently witnessed the transformation, having been in the kitchenette making some tea.

"Yep. It's her," Dee said with a nod.

Leon grumbled angrily.

"Traitor..."

"Leo, be nice," April rebuked.

Raph slowly meandered out from behind the teenage girls and crept towards her.

"Misa? How'd ya get so big?"

"Magic, apparently," she said, rubbing the back of Mikey's shell. He was still clinging onto her.

"Stupid, bad magic," Leon grumbled again.

"Aw, c'mon Lee-Lee, I'm the same as before! Just... taller."

"You're a stinky grownup now," he said, crossing his arms and pouting. "You're a traitor."

"You'll have to grow up one day too, ya know."

He pouted again, hot tears in his eyes. Tears? Oh, he wasn't mad that she 'betrayed' him and grew up. What was he mad about?

"I don't wanna be a stinky grownup. They're mean."

Misa slowly recalled his adverse reaction to Raphael when he'd first been turned into a tot. He hadn't even trusted Mikey when he saw him! He'd said something about... what was it, a mean place? The orphanage! He'd grown in an orphanage. With mean adults... and now Misa was an 'adult'. So to him, did it correlated that since she was now a grownup, she was automatically going to be mean to him, just like all the others. He thought she was a 'traitor'...

Misa tried to smile at him, to reassure him that she wasn't going to betray him or hurt him. Leo refused to meet her eyes.

"Hey, I promise that I'm not a stinky grownup," she said, scooting closer to him. "You're still my big brother, okay?"

Misa held out her pinky to him. He eyeballed it with concern, trying to decide whether or not to trust her... Well, if he could trust Miss Karai and Miss April... he could trust Misa again, right?

He wrapped his pinky around hers.

"Okay, big sister."

[thatone-highlighter]

I just got through the Earthlings arc during my SU rewatch and im absolutely facinated by Jaspers character

She’s such an effective antagonist for so long because she clashes with every other character so fundamentally. She’s got this completely foreign to the show worldview that is shown to be contrary to what the rest of the show is trying to say but she still feels like a real person and when you think about her she’s just as much a product of her circumstances as anyone else. She doesn’t want to talk it out with Steven because why would she? She was literally born to fight as has been doing so since the second she was born, it’s all she’s ever known and has been drilled into her head that that’s what’s expected of her, she’s rewarded for fighting well and watches as others are punished for doing badly, either by losing or by facing consequences for failing.

And then there’s the whole “perfect solider” part of her character. She was literally born more capable and with a higher status than everyone else. But because of the way home world is structured to reward her and punish people like the off-colours, she’s been indoctrinated into thinking that the reason she came out on top had nothing to do with how she was made and everything to do with her behaviour and attitude. Peak “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” type person but because it’s a fictional story you can see what happened to make her this way. Her and amethyst are fundamentally different, they’re different quartzes, they were born in different places, they were just created differently, from the start jasper was always going to be better at some things than amethyst and amethyst would be better at others than jasper. But because of the way jasper has been “raised” for lack of a better word she doesn’t see that, she doesn’t understand that her and amethyst are simply different gems who were made different, she’s better at fighting and is picture image of what a quartz “should” be so that means it’s possible and anyone who can’t live up to that standard simply isn’t trying hard enough. And she even manages to get that into amethysts head, if jasper is capable of this then that means that amethyst must be too, even tho that’s simply not true. Through no fault of her own amethyst would have to try infinitely harder to achieve even close to where jasper is, jasper started out with a huge head start and trying to play catch up does nothing but hurt amethyst. It’s such a good analogy for so many things I think

Her main role in the story is serving as a character who simply refuses to talk it out with Steven, but again, why would she? From her perspective the entire reason her life is like this, she reason shes spent her life fighting endlessly, all the suffering shes lives through, its his fault. Rose Quartz started the war she was quite literally born to fight in. Rose Quartz also ended that same war by killing the only person jasper ever had to look up to, forced her out of the only reason she had for existing (both as in to fight the war and to serve Pink Diamond). And then heres Rose Quartz once again, saying she wants to help her? Where was she offering help when jasper when she was living to fight as much as she was fighting to live? Where was this „help“ when she shattered Pink Diamond and Jaspers entire world with her? „Help“? Help my ass shes the reason everything thats gone wrong in jaspers life went wrong in the first place

And then she gets poofed at her lowest point, gets removed from the story entirely until Future, and Future does nothing to make anything better for her! Last jasper knew the person shes been seeking revenge on her entire existence cant even be bothered to remember what she did, and then she loses herself to the Earth and corruption, the very things she prided herself on being better than.

And then suddenly shes brought back and „hey guess what! That war we created you to fight in? The one you created your entire person around? The one you lost Everything in? Yeah so it was pointless. Actually the person you idolised for the past 6000 years is the same person who you thought killed her and have been seeking vengeance on for the same amount of time. Crazy how that happens. Anyways so do you wanna come hang out with us now that we sorted that out and were chill about it?“

Can you even IMAGINE what that feels like? No wonder she runs off into the woods and becomes a hermit what else is she supposed to do! Shes got nowhere to go! Her entire life has been turned on its head and she’s expected to just move on! That’s ridiculous!

And thats just the backdrop for her appearance in Future. When she finally does appear they kill her and thats the first and only time we ever see her happy. Someone Finally speaks to her in a way she can understand and she actually dies, and uses that to find herself a purpose. If steven is powerful enough to shatter her, a feat never before seen by a gem, then sure she can serve him, anything to give her life purpose again. and then they just forget about her! Steven literally ditched her in his house! They pull the rug out from under her Once Again. but now she can be „normal“ now she can do what other people want her to do so they all assume shes „better“ now.

I think future did her so dirty the original show handles her character So Well and im not really sure how else they could have gone further with her character because people like Jasper in real life dont really change. And if she were to change and agree with steven it would feel like the show saying steven was right and jasper was wrong and she should have listened to him from the start. Shes such an interesting character to delve into because shes the antagonist yes but shes a very specific type or antagonist that doesnt appear very often and when it does its not with as much backstory, even if just implied, or delving into the thoughts behind the actions. Its so interesting to me

[inklessletter]

I absolutely love following along with your art and the process behind it! I'm curious about more behind the scenes stuff, as I have picked up digital art after not having drawn regularly in 10+ years.

When you do your drawings, what steps do you take? Do you use real references? Skeleton sketches? I'd love to know more about how you approach things digitally!

Oooh, first of all, thank you so much @emeraldzephyr! It is such a lovely thing that you decided to pick it up again!

As for how do I organize myself for drawing, every person works with a different procedures and it is important to know what works for you. For me is organization and inspiration.

For me, the most important thing is having references. It is more important than experience, more important than skill and even than inspiration. When you start messing with a blank canvas you need to know first hand where you want to go, or at least, have an idea. I won't likely start drawing without some references pictures. I learnt this when I took classes last year and this is probably the only thing that actually fully stuck.

My main resource for them is Pinterest, and I navigate through it with intent. I also have multiple packs of pictures of models and references that I have purchased in Artstation. Either way, references, to me, are essential and necessary. In Pint for example I have different boards, some for poses or compositions, some other for finishing, some other for colors palettes, or effects, or styles. I may have (and it is likely to be that way) multiple references for a single illustration ("I like the composition of this one, but the color palette of this other one, but the light works incredible in here, and wait, how was exactly the curvature of the nose of Joe Quinn in this perspective...? Shit! Keery's moles!! How were them distributed in the right side of his face? asdfadfs").

So you see, this is the first and the main thing I do. And I am also fattening with pins all my boards anytime I've got the chance (on my way to work, in public transport, waiting in lines, etc.), so I don't run out of ideas.

When it comes to actually drawing, I always make my canvas extra large and fit the main reference there so I don't get it out of sight (probably the one I'm using for composition) and make a first sketch than I later proceed to fix because it is often that I get wrong the proportions or the perspective, and that's okay. I can do five or six layers of sketches and then I do a first lineart that is messy, but it compiles everything that I have from different references. I spend a lot of time with this. Before shit gets serious and you start with colors, it is important for me to be happy with the sketch, or I may work a lot of hours on this particular illustration and you will end up hating it because "fucking shit, that ear is too small, how didn't I see it before!!!! [yes, I have no shame in showing what I think I failed miserably, the next piece was better, and so on. I keep learning everytime. I trust the process in broader aspects of art, not only in piece by piece]).

I create folders for the color process and try to organize the layers in it, first painting them with plain colors in separate layers and then adding layers once the whole illustration is fully coloured, first starting with shading, and then to light.

For me it is really important to play with the different effects of layers, play with opacity, gradients, brushes, tools, etc etc. I always find some effects that I wasn't expecting and the quality of my work will rise up just because I just found something interesting that weren't expecting at all, so, yeah. I play a lot with my software. All the time.

And finally when I am happy with it as a whole, I add a few filters (noise, blurs, etc.) If I want a very specific effect and I don't know how to do it, I have no doubt in stopping for a minute and finding a tutorial that teaches me how to do it (like the flare in this illustration, or the video effect moving color channels in this one). I always keep in mind that I should not get frustrated when I don't know how to do anything because I can always google it and it is a great opportunity to learn something new.

I am so so so sorry if this was too long, and probably it wasn't interesting enough, but that's what I do. And again, I want to make myself clear when I say that there is not a correct way to do things when it comes to art, this is just what works for me. I am no expert, I had to try and fail many many times to find the right approach for me without getting sad or frustrated. I, myself, have reconnected with art not that long ago after a decade, too.

I wish you the best of luck with your reunion with digital art!! Looking forward to seeing your pieces <3

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay Visuals: Kidnap The Sandy Claws

This video (a Halloween release in 2020) is not one I watch a whole lot. Don't get me wrong, the arrangement is of course amazing, and both the song and video are very fun, but, well, lemme just say that I can promise that there will be no simping/fawning over Geoff in this one! 😅

*Long, deep sigh* Alright let's get into this!

The bathtub made a lot more sense after I actually watched The Nightmare Before Christmas last year ngl (and apparently the reason they did this video sitting down like so was because Rachel was in fact Quite Pregnant during this)

Apparently this was filmed at some location (studios?) called 1010 West, where they also filmed their Superstition video earlier in the month.

(Okay but seriously I can definitely appreciate the thought and effort that went into set design here, like the big black face in the background representing the tunnel in and out of Oogie Boogie's lair!)

We're getting introductory title card things again, like in the Moana Medley, Get Back Up Again, and the Queen Medley! (Though the latter just said their character name)

Great masks, I'm assuming they bought from somewhere?

Layne Stein as Dr Finkelstein 😉 (the "mad scientist" kind of character type kinda suits him ngl)

And Geoff as Mr Hyde...

I can't fault him exactly for his get-up (see the first pic for a better visual), because that's literally what the Mr Hyde character in the movie looks like, see below

The red lips, the green skin, the top hat, everything, but like... why him? Did Layne decide on the characters for everyone?

But anyway, that's out of my system now. I'm not actually criticising, it's just...unusual? 😅 (Also this is the third time in just over a roughly 12-month period that Geoff has had a full face of makeup/paint for a Voiceplay video!)

But with that being said, I love the makeup for Eli, Rachel, and J in this video (shoutout to Rick Underwood and Steven Puerta!). They got the designs on point, but even more vibrant! See comparison image below:

(Yeah Voiceplay went heavy on the saturation for this video, not that I'm actually criticising)

Rachel's acting is as brilliant as ever, and I love her whole look. Style icon!

That (fake) praying-mantis-looking thing is in fact a genuine reference to/moment from the movie, so I learned.

Firstly, I love that Eli, Rachel, and J are wearing shoes that match their outfits, and secondly, I can tell that I haven't watched this video a ton (and haven't paid a lot of attention to Geoff when I have) because for some reason I remembered his outfit being a lot more black (and in all due fairness, he does wear black a lot in videos), but actually he's wearing a dark green long-sleeved shirt I believe, plus some weird baggy vest thing that looks like it might have been made or altered for the purpose of this video. Also that's probably his actual hair? Hard to say, it looks a little lighter and shinier than usual, but that could be due to the lighting and/or having some sort of colouration product in it.

(Also Geoff and Layne look just a little extra big compared to the other three in this shot. It may be at just partially just some perspective/camera trickery (though they are of course the two tallest of the group))

First of all, love the facial expressions, and second of all, Oogie Boogie here is played by Tony Wakim, aka Voiceplay's previous baritone before J joined the group! He now co-owns PattyCake Productions with Layne, and helps out behind-the-scenes with some of the videos, especially in regards to stuff like providing filming spaces, setpieces, and costuming!

Eli: "because Mr Oogie Boogie is the meanest guy around!"

(followed by a sudden cut to Geoff 😉)

Not going to post a screencap of the Mr Hyde's Hat thing, but basically when I saw that moment in the original movie I was like "OHHHHHH I get it now!"

Eli/Lock is looking suspicious, Rachel/Shock is trying to look like a perfectly adorable angel, and J/Barrel is looking like he is Planning Mischief 😁

"We do our best to please him, and stay on his good side!"

(Ngl I do the same thing as Eli when singing this part of the song 😝)

"SHUT UP!

Love Eli's grumpy face here (even funnier when he's still vocalising while looking grumpy!)

Are those fake teeth or did Layne literally colour some of his teeth black for this?

Also I know this video came first but Layne with the wooden spoon is definitely reminding me of the video for Drunken Sailor for last year (see my profile picture!)

Rachel and J doing chopping motions during the "chop him into bits" part

Also it's very blink-and-you-miss-it (especially when again, you're not actually looking in his direction for a lot of the video), but a comment on a reaction video pointed out that when Geoff sings "Mr Oogie Boogie is...", he freaking winks! Which is of course a cheeky reference to the fact that a little over a year earlier, Geoff was Mr Oogie Boogie (and he kinda sorta reprised the role in December 2023 for the Jingle Bell Rock video, though full-body costume for that one).

The shoulder movement that Geoff does when he hits a subharmonic on "kicks", like even his self-conducting movements are a extra creepy/character-y for this video! 😅

Genuinely not sure whether Layne nearly falling over on his seat/stool thing was deliberate or a "nobody broke character so might as well leave it in there" moment 😂

Well, Voiceplay aren't called The Theatre Kids Of Acapella for nothing! And also their arrangements and vocal performances are so good that you can honestly forget sometimes that their songs don't use instruments! They basically don't need them!

But anyway, this is the last Nightmare Before Christmas song I will be talking about until I eventually get around to talking about Geoff's cover of Jack's Lament (which might take a while, but boy am I looking forward to it!).

[ayyponine]

much like last year i got to enjoy some studio visits this weekend B)

(commentary in addition to description linked to each photo individually)

started out fresh w an art gallery (1, 2, 3) w some cool, colourful, eclectic and playful pieces on display. made a quick stop at work to say hi to a colleague i hadn't seen in a while before making my way to

my second location and biggest must-see (4, 5). Had a nice chat w artist who saw me look at one of her canvases frm the side so she was like lol do you paint or smth. bc i recognise how you're viewing these works when i go to a museum i do the same exact thing. I loved getting her perspective and a glimpse into her work process even if it's so different from mine idk it was cool! There was a whole collective of lil art studios scattered about the building surrounding a courtyard so i also entered a diff place and look. they were all about making zines. a group of ppl was chatting and making em. so i entered and was like hi ja sorry i kom ff binnenvallen maar ik weet niet goed wat er..... te bezine valt. which instantly made me cringe so hard i was ready to leave but the girl leading the workshop seemed thrilled to have me and explain the setup even if internally i was still like oh god why am i like this rip. i think i missed out on some more ateliers but mostly bc a lot of the artists were gathered in the lil courtyard having drinks and chatting and i was too intimidated to ask fr info or be spotted looking lost like some IDIOT so on i went rip.

quick stop at kids clothing shop which always cheers me up it's so whimsical and i want their stuff fr

Then onto 6, 7 where they had some cool stuff fr sure but the location was such a cramped and cluttered old row house and i had already spent my whole day walkign around in a T-shirt so especially trying to navigate around other visitors this was just not it babes. i moved on before having seen it all despite being interested bc i just needed to get tf out.

Managed my good deed fr the day when i spotted a confused looking older couple w a wheeled suitcase and personally guided them to their hotel

THEN on to this hidden lil atelier where i also went last year + attended a grand total of 2 life drawing sessions in the months after. again while arriving i was faced w the distinct feeling of having barged in on a private party of artists all at a table sharing a leisurely drink on a dreamy sunday afternoon rip BUT. the artist i talked to last time/followed the drawing sessions with was there, still knew me by name and made some small talk to help me feel welcome what an absolute gem. he even proposed i sit w them at the table & hang out fr a bit, when i said like hmm thank you but to just join up w a group of friends who all know each other it's a lil daunting he even said like but i know them, and i know you so its all ok :) i was internally like cool. i would takea fucking bullet fr you btw this is totally fine and i can not believe you are still willingly talking to me, the single most embarrassing person to ever exist in the world

anyway i did not accept the offer to stay fr a while but did chat w some of the other artists which was again super cool, to get more info on the diff works on display. they seem like a rlly sweet and charming collective of people and i wish i didn't feel so ashamed of myself so i couldve spent more time with them all but aint that the way. debating atm whether i should sign up fr another life drawing class or if the guy was only being nice bc he felt obligated and would actually prefer i keep my flustered and off putting vibes tf away from his personal and professional work space idk.

anyway. i had the wrong address so almost missed out on my last visit but in the final hour it was still possible i did manage to find the last location (8, 9) w an exhibit on themes of europe, durability and the meaning of home. there was a really cool piece on trees & difficulty in their sap stream where you could touch a chunk of wood and feel clicks resonate through a speaker mounted on the back, a glass installation on koekhappen re: jumping through hoops fr resource accessibility & probably my fave: the audio of welcoming messages. esp smth about the french speaker was so warm idk there seemed to be genuine relief in the confession of "je suis tellement heureuse de te voir, que tu m'as manqué" which also btw. god ive always loved that expression. ive missed you you have been missing FROM me or smth more in that direction of semantics i. insane

then biked on to my moms again to get some got damn. peace and quiet. and a cinnamon roll w vanilla ice cream <3

[zoroara]

So, yesterday, at really an ungodly hour because there’s something wrong with me. I got to writing a rewrite of the rain battle, I didn’t feel like writing dialogue at *checks notes* 2 am. All of this is in Yamamoto’s perspective. What my goal in writing this was, was to make Squalo more consistent within the narrative and the fight but still have him lose. He goes from perfectly predicting movement to just straight fumbling shit. Going from surviving a 2 day battle with Tyr still standing with extreme injuries, to being dropped by one good thwack on the back of the neck.  I also wanted to a get a bit of how much more crushing it would be to Yamamoto if it went this way, Squalo being both a tale of caution about pride, but also a solemn reminder that it’s not a game. (Note, in this narrative Squalo likely isn’t dead, I’m just using things that happened in canon for the same fake out death. That doesn’t mean however Yamamoto doesn’t have to deal with that feeling for like at least 3 days till it’s revealed Squalo’s still alive and at that point it’d be damn hard to shake even if he is alive) This is long enough so the story is under the cut:

      It was a fight that Yamamoto was looking forward to, to re-challenge the man that had so thoroughly wiped the floor with him and his friends. The previous battles they were a grim reminder of just how dangerous this would be. He was both excited and nervous. But he wouldn't let it show. Plus he had a new skill set, his dad's sword style, it was perfect. It couldn’t be beaten. He had been re-assured of this, he was proud of it.

      Entering the battlefield was simple enough but there was pressure in the air, the sharpened teeth of the other swordsman glinted in his crooked smile. It was enough to send chills into anyone. The two of them readied their blades and within seconds there the fight went from 0 to 100, it was disgustingly one sided, all Yamamoto could do was make light attacks against him in the hopes of damaging Squalo at all.

      The man could see his sword movements even before he had fully committed to them, his movements were as quick as lightning and his reaction time matched his speed. The shark was a absolute monster. Varia Quality, indeed. As they fought it didn't take long for Yamamoto to forget about the real shark that would release as the water rose higher and higher. He just needed to survive now. While he had once thought this as a game he couldn't help but feel nervous, no.... scared.

      But he couldn't let that creep in he needed to focus. Every sword strike either dodged or countered, it didn't matter whether Squalo had seen the move before or not, he'd react all the same. Finally the Captain of the Varia kicked Yamamoto over, only for Yamamoto to find that he was floating. As he stood once more he could only ask himself.

      When did the water get so high?

      It was to Squalo's waist, and as the swordsman laughed Yamamoto spotted a shadow in the water. Before he could warn his opponent.... He found the words caught in his throat as he watched the smile on Squalo's face sour and become a painful twisted grimace as a giant shark crushed his lower half in it's jaws.

      They lock eyes as the massive beast drags the long haired man into the water. in a quick move he grabs the ring off his neck and throws his ring to Yamamoto. Forcing a crooked smile despite the pain he was in and yells at him.

"Your swordskills aren't bad, next you should get rid of that naiveness of yours."

      That was the last thing Yamamoto heard before Squalo was dragged underwater and it was coloured with the captains blood. In a panic he grabbed the ring. It was the last thing that Squalo did. Throw that ring for him. He had to now. Didn't he? He had to take this seriously.

      He was frozen when he returned to his friends side only, to hear the now ex-captain’s boss laughing. How could he not care. How could he find it funny. Yamamoto once thought this was a game. But clearly... So did that horrible person. How could he have taken this so lightly. Hearing later that the only thing of Squalo recovered was his prosthetic arm... only made it ache more. That's when he decided. This is something he needs to be serious about.

No matter how it feels. Right?

[zeichannnnn]

Depression really hits you hard when the 2 people up really looked up to, as you grow older, have hit the gutter

I don’t mean to drag on the name but I really haven’t gotten over Technoblade’s death. I’m used to people around me dying, young or old. But the key difference here is that they’re ready for it. They had no long term plans for the future, nor was there any future for them. They knew their end and they were content with what they had. Techno on the other hand… he had so much more, so much potential. He had many ideas, many plans, many projects that all went down the drain because of his end. Unlike the others, Techno accepts his death and had prepared not because he was ready, but because he had no other choice. Faced with an inevitability that was already set in stone, there’s nothing you can do but prepare …and prepare he did. He bid his final goodbyes, enjoyed his last moments, he even spared us, his viewers, a moment by leaving us a video and a note and a legacy, his legacy.

I think that’s why I never truly got over his death because, unlike the others, he had a potential to be more. He was destined to do more, to create more, to build more, to rise more… but I guess our assumption of his destiny was wrong. He still had regrets, I bet you, before leaving, but he has no choice to let those go, to let them go so that the burden he leaves will be lessened.

I still think sometimes that he’s just with his usual horrendous upload schedule or that he’s just busy doing Techno things. I still sometime look forward to seeing a notification from YouTube, or Twitter about his activity. I still sometimes instinctively check the techno update on Twitter to only be greeted with Technodad updates (no hate for the guy, absolutely love him, he’s helped us so much despite healing from grief himself too) I sometimes even trick myself after rewatching old contents that he’ll make more in the future. I don’t know how to deal with grief because I never had the chance to ever experience it. I’ve experienced death, but I never experienced a death that was not “meant to be.” I miss Technoblade, I miss the vibrant community of Technotwt, I miss the active and chill vibes of Technotwt’s SMP, I miss how the community would laugh, and joke, and cry (satirically) over wanting Techno-content. I miss him, and I miss everything that he brings.

The second person that I admire a lot was my old art teacher from elementary school. After catching up with my senior, an old friend of mine, he had told me that my old art teacher have passed away. I wasn’t surprised since he was old and was nearing his time, but I mourn his death all the same. I mourn his death not for the same reason I mourn Techno’s death. I mourn my teacher’s death because I never got to tell him what I did, what I’ve made, what I’ve become, what I’ve created, and what I’ve reached. I never visited him nor told him how grateful I am for his cheating during my years of being taught by him. I never thanked him for always putting in my name in every art competition to represent my class, my year, my school. I never thanked him for cheering me on and giving me advice on what to do with my art. I never thanked him. I never got to tell him how much my art has changed, how I can now draw perspective, how I can now draw a variety of things other than people, how I can now apply colour theory to my art.

I mourn for his death because I never got the chance to see his proud look, the same look he gives me whenever I won a competition, whenever I finished first in class, whenever I show him my art for the period. I never got to tell him that I got a scholarship to one of the best art school in my country, how I’ve joined an artist project and even dabbled in animation.

Growing up, I never really had a parental figure I wanted to make proud of. My father’s a dick and grabbed milk with his new family whilst my mother and I’s relationship was always strained. Especially with how much she wished I wasn’t me. I never really had a parental figure until he came into the picture. I never really saw him as one until I read all of those fanfics where either Phil or Sam became the teachers that the kids would want to make proud of. I never really thought I needed his validation until my senior mentioned it to me and oh how my heart broke.

[polar-jake778]

New profile picture inbound everyone!

This looks amazing! Although he is drenched in blood, miserable as the senate of America, and the size of a continent, he is beautiful!

Let’s shape his lore a bit, shall we? Okay, so here are my initial thoughts.

Stoic.

Killer of anxiety and internal demons.

He wields a weapon forged by his mother, Sinopolese. Not only is it deadly to internal foe, but as one dares to wield it, no matter a familiar or stranger, it toys with your mind by promoting the repressed to light. It brings out the things you feared. Hated. Regret. And as it tempts you each hour, it nudges you closer to facing your past unlike any form of inspiration, or hope..

This guy is the killer of cruel pasts, birth of respite, provider of peace, and a symbol of the polargarchy as it rises beyond inhibited lives.

To many, he is just a mercenary, others think of him as a missionary on a quest to cleanse those plagued by the disease of discontent.

From his perspective, he does we he can in light of all that is wrong with the world. The world never was a nice place to begin with. He knows he lost the joy of childhood ignorance when this blade entered his life, because ever since, he hasn’t smiled. It is all black and white now. Cruel monochrome.

And yet it feels as though it is the weight of responsibility that rests upon his shoulders. Looking to others in fear and quarrelsome lows, there is an expectation to rid those demons.

————

That is a lot for now. I’ll add to this ever so often.

Oh yeah, I found a cool song - it’s ambient - called When by Subheim. I listened to this a lot when I was last in Canada. I hope you like it too!

Well, back to the foundation of frivolous formulation.

Here are the other two colours. I’ll decide in time which one to choose for this blog.

[pluelzero]

My Omori theory: Basil is a metaphor for recovery

CW: death, child neglect, mental illness talk, Omori spoilers

Going to try to make this sweet and simple, but I could talk about it forever.

Read more

So, we all know Omori (the character) is a metaphor for depression.

If you didn't, here is why:

He is black and white, for all or nothing thinking, something common in depressive thinking.

He does everything possible to separate the crew from Basil (who is a metaphor for recovery). Omori is TERRIFIED of recovery because it means his death, and a major aspect of sunny's life so far after Mari's death.

He does not have light in his eyes, while others do. Sunny does this in the real world too, and only gets the light back in his eyes after the ending. This is a good visual metaphor for having a light in your life (something to live for)

He is the one telling Sunny he's worthless, etc, especially during the final fight and that he deserves to suffer. Can't get much more obvious than that.

Now, why do I think Basil represents recovery?

Basil is often associated with gardening, a hobby about nurturing something to help it grow. It is hard, dirty work, like recovery. Gardening takes a LONG time, and has slow results.

Basil says he wants to be someone who always sees the positive side of things, and thats why he likes sunflowers. (Even though its a myth sunflowers always face the sun, like its a misconception that recovery is linear)

Basil's colour scheme is blue in the dreamworld - often associated with being calm, but can be referencing "the blues", feeling sad. Recovering often means coming to terms with different aspects of your depression that can often times make you even sadder, such as realising how mental illness has damaged your relationships, body, time, etc.

Basil's dreamworld also has a flower crown, which is a core positive memory Omori has.

Basil has already suffered mental illness BEFORE everyone else. Basil's parents abandoned him when he was young, and so he already has some coping skills because of this.

I think it's important to note even though Sunny is mad about what Basil did, he still cares for him deeply. There is proof of this: in the photo album, Basil prefers strawberry over banana. Stawberry is one of the rarest smoothies in the game and heals much more compared to banana smoothies. This is important because in Memory Lane, Sunny thinks about how he would make Basil smoothies from blender flavour text. He was inspired to cook from Hero, and has his own cookbook in the toybox as seen doing chores in the Hikkiomori route. Omori knows sunny loves basil as a friend, so he can't completely erase Basil - thats why everyone but Omori forgets and tries to distract him from it. Thats why Basil is always punished by Omori for bringing up recovery could be good, like the imaginary friend who is locked up in the abyss. Thats why Daddy long legs hints that this dream world cycle could be the one that breaks it, and why Basil is always at the end, waiting for him.

Omori on the other hand, hates Basil. He associates Basil with what happened to Mari, and represents Sunny's repressed anger and fear at Basil for mutilating his sisters body.

So, if Basil represents recovery, why would he do that? Thats really screwed up, right? Recovery is about growth and getting better, not about triggering even more trauma? WRONG !

I don't disagree what Basil did was extremely wrong. However, through Basil's perspective:

His parents neglected him, and this lead to pretty severe abandonment issues.

His grandma is dying. Even as a child Basil probably knew grandmas don't last forever, right? I mean I remember my friends crying about losing their grandparents as a child and hugging my grandma tighter next time I saw her.

Basil cares about his friends well being more than his own - he is constantly worried about being a burden. He doesn't want to kill spiders. At his core, Basil is a very gentle, nuturing, kind person.

Basil got his own something that day, so he went into protective mode. He didn't know what he was doing. He was terrified his best friend would go to jail, they'd be separated, perhaps he was even terrified of what police/the law would do to Sunny. He was so terrified he convinced himself later that sunny wasn't the one who did that.

SO; how does that all tie into recovery?

Mental illness is an illness. I know this coz I got it. Many of them.

A core part of recovery is understanding your brain is trying its best, even if its not very good. Emotions are a way to respond to your body: panic attacks, fear, sadness, anger are your brains way of saying something is wrong. This is why numbing yourself doesn't work long term: you need to fear, anger, sadness, happiness to let you know whats right and what to keep doing and not doing.

Basil is like a panic attack: he was trying to save sunny. I assume he would've tried to save Mari too, but tragically he arrived too late to de-escalate that fight.

Panic attacks are deeply unpleasant, and when you have one, it doesn't feel like its helping at all. In fact, from experience, its very easy to think you're dying and panic attacks are the reason why youre miserable. But if you were being chased, a panic attack would give you the upper hand with an andrenaline rush. If we didn't have fear, we wouldn't know when we should run away and save our tails.

Recovery is messy, its not linear, and sometimes it gives us even MORE trauma. Basil is the same way.

;_;

[tothedarkdarkseas]

sooo we know what kind of stu look/vibe you prefer, is there a murdoc equivalent to that? i'm curious because you've recently gotten me on the lad stu bandwagon haha. there's definitely a "version" of murdoc i picture in your writing, but it's a bit difficult to articulate. so i was wondering if you had an intended effect in mind and if i'm anywhere near the mark!

Thank you, and welcome aboard the Lad Stu bandwagon! You may not find yourself drowning in content but you'll have a good time! It certainly hasn't eased up on me yet, and despite some fully self-inflicted misery at times I still think there's plenty of reward to be found, haha. He's just neat!

Murdoc is tricky, as I see him as a bit more of a shapeshifter than Stu is, simultaneously more aware of himself and less loyal to who or what that is. My rule of thumb is that Murdoc is adaptable and Stu is malleable, and these are two very distinct ways to affect and be affected by the world around you, even if both ultimately result in the birth of unhealthy self-gratifying habits. Murdoc has the survival experience to know what a situation requires, and how to play it toward his benefit-- and he's comfortable with (or settled more deeply into) the knowledge that sometimes it's bending, and sometimes it's biting. Sometimes you get what you want by removing the capacity to be punished. An inability to be pinned down is a fundamental part of that, I think. By no means do I think that means Murdoc is always sincere in these perspectives, nor do I think he's always if ever been completely honest with a microphone on, but I think he'd see the sort of nihilistic reason to it and lack of reason in splitting those hairs over concepts. Behind his manic showmanship Murdoc has a strange pragmatism to him, but you could turn him inside out without seeing it. He's also just, you know, unwell in less digestible ways. Honestly, you'd have to read every post on this blog back to 2018 to relay back to me what I've said about Murdoc and I probably still couldn't parse it, haha.

As far as looks, that is a bit easier to tackle! I don't mind artwork that depicts Murdoc with his greener skintone and it doesn't register as "wrong" to my version of him, but in writing I'm generally picturing he and Stuart both a bit more human than they're typically drawn with a stronger leaning toward their respective pop cultural muses, and so Murdoc probably resembles P1-P2 models more. Jaundiced and sickly in undertone, but not cartoon-coloured. The broader silhouette of his face and hair borrowed from Keith Richards or Richard Ashcroft. I see him as sinewy and slight, but not proportionately railish and lanky as Stu is; he has some give in the thighs, to put it one way, haha, but in general he strikes me as "the runt of the litter." Small in the way that doesn't entirely carry in photographs. I do like some of the softer-figured Murdoc artwork and definitely enjoy it over a bizarrely muscular depiction (looking at you in that one specific P4 piece, Jamie) but I think my characterization of him has always been scrawny, booze-bellied, making his size something that fuels gratification and in fact prompts comparison/insult rather than downplays it, because that co-opting of his own degradation returns the satisfaction of it to his hands and not Stu's. (Though rarely would he rather anything be out of Stu's hands, given the choice.)

Vibe-wise, I hope the above paragraphs paint a picture, as I'm not sure I'll be able to-- at least not without making it even more confusing, haha. I see Murdoc as more punkish stylistically, not so entirely devoted to the sartorial extremes as he was in his early 20's playing in 7 different Stoke-based bands but rooted within it. I tend to say "punkish" and not just punk to make some distinction, hopefully, that he is informed by a lot of alt British youth culture, Northern culture, poverty from birth through the total establishment of his adult life, and at last in well-fucking-won gluttonous defiance of that, the excesses of rockstardom. He settles easily into topless lounging, or crusty old band t-shirts with coats from the charity shop, or a leather jacket a size too small to keep him from swimming in the sleeves, separate enough from his beltline for Stu to notice. (Again, looking at a different P4 Jamie piece; he giveth and he taketh away.)

[hlvrfreakyfriday]

HLVRFF: Chapter 8

That can’t be right.

There’s gotta be some kind of mistake, right?

That’s what Gordon would like to think, but the more he looks at the picture, the more obvious it is that there is no mistake here. This is a drawing he did as a child. Of him, standing by a mud puddle, with a little monster kid surrounded by floating orbs of colour.

A little monster kid who is very clearly Benry.

‘playin’ in the mud all the time. great friend,’ Benry had said to him, back on Xen. Gordon didn’t believe him, yelled that Benry was just making shit up to mess with him.

It’s only now that Gordon’s realizing the brief hurt expression on Benry’s face at his words was genuine, and not just something he had imagined.

Setting his phone down on his night stand, Gordon lets himself fall back onto his bed. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, before slapping his borrowed hands over his face and groaning into them. This… is a lot to process. And something he should probably talk to Benry about.

He glances at the clock. It reads 12:23. He’ll have to save the talking for in the morning. For now, Gordon decides that he should try and get some sleep himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He giggles to himself as he carefully pokes around the woods, in the middle of playing a game with his best friend. It’s kind of like 'Marco Polo,’ only they’re not in a pool and not saying 'Marco' and 'Polo.'

Instead, they’re singing.

“Ahhhh~!” he calls out. His singing isn’t nearly as pretty as his friend’s, but that’s okay. He listens closely for their response, waiting for that pretty high note.

"aaaaaaaaa,” rings out clear as a bell. Off to the right! Giggling, he runs off through the trees, towards the source of the pretty sound.

After running for a bit, he’s about to stop and call again to make sure he’s heading the right way, when he catches sight of something in the air- little floating balls of blue light. However, his attention is drawn from the lights when another high-pitched tone rings through the air. And then another. And another. And another, still.

Something is wrong.

He backs up, legs sloshing through the knee-deep water. The cacophony of song and rattling bones is getting too loud to bear. He looks around frantically.

Where is he? Where is he!?

A deep rumbling fills the chamber, small waves of red crashing against him as the monstrous figure rises from the depths. A dozen piercing eyes stare down at him, fang-filled maw twisted into a snarl. Purple and red seeps between its teeth, dripping with malice and staining the torn security uniform. Fear shoots through him at the sight, down to his very bones.

He raises the devil gun defensively, but is much too slow. The skeletons wrap him up with their song, allowing their master a clear shot.

The last thing he sees is a single large orb of blinding energy, before all his senses are overwhelmed with pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Benry jolts awake with a gasp. He sits up, panting, brow wet with sweat as his eyes scan the blurry room for the danger. It takes a bit for his brain to catch up and realize that he’s just in his bedroom, safe. That was just a nightmare.

…One of Gordon’s nightmares.

When Benry was in Gordon’s head during his nightmare the night of the switch, he could feel a lot of the human’s emotions secondhand. That was already pretty bad. But this? Feeling them all firsthand? Seeing it all directly from his perspective?

Benry… feels really, really bad.

He did that. He fucked Gordon’s head up so much that he still gets nightmares about all that went down, long after the fact.

…Shit, Benry being here with him is probably just a constant reminder of that stuff, too, isn’t it?

Benry looks down at his borrowed hands. His eyes drift to the scar on Gordon’s right arm, the lighter tissue still visible even with his blurred vision. He's seen the way Gordon looks at this scar every now and then.

He wonders if Gordon looks at him like that sometimes, too.

Benry flops back down onto his mattress, head hitting the pillow with a fwump. It’s too early to be thinking about this shit. He needs to go back to sleep. He’ll… think about it in the morning. When his head is clearer. Yeah, that’ll work.

When morning does come, however, Benry’s head isn’t any clearer. Still muddled up with too many feelings and thoughts he’s not sure how to get out. And Gordon’s not helping with things, either- he keeps trying to start up a conversation with him, but he just brushes Gordon off. He’s not sure what's got Gordon so chatty this morning, but he’s just not in the mood for it. Head too full, can’t think good. Eventually, Benry decides to just hide away in his room with the door closed, in hopes that Gordon will just give up. It seems to work.

Doesn’t do anything for his tangled-up thoughts and feelings, though.

Uhhhhhg, this blows SUCH chunks. Normally, he’d just sing out all his thoughts and feelings, getting them out in the form of Sweet Voice. But stuck in Gordon’s Voiceless body, the emotions are just all… bottled up in there. His emotional baggage is way over packed and the zippers are all stuck. Buh. How the fuck do humans deal with this?

Hmmm… Going for a walk is something humans do while trying to sort their shit, right? Something about the fresh outside air making thinking easier. Maybe he should do that.

…Of course, Gordon probably won’t let him leave the house alone right now, even if alone is what he really needs to be. He’ll have to be sneaky.

And so, Benry slips on some shoes, and out his bedroom window, taking care to do it all as quietly as possible. It’s not long before he’s off the property and heading towards town, with a whole lot of thinking to do.

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

The plan for today was to have a nice heart-to-heart with Benry, explain that he really honestly forgot that he and and the entity were apparently friends as kids, and maybe apologize for some of the stuff he said when Benry first tried to tell him about it.

Unfortunately, that plan turned out to be a complete flop, as every time Gordon tried to start talking with Benry, he just kept brushing him off or flat-out ignored him. Now, Benry’s holed up in his room, while Gordon’s flopped on the couch in defeat.

What’s Benry’s problem? Something must be bugging him- he’s usually not this standoffish. He hasn’t even been engaging in their usual banter, either.

Maybe Gordon should call Tommy. Benry’d probably be more open to talking to him. Gordon could tell Tommy about his big ‘childhood friends' revelation too, while he’s at it.

Grabbing his phone, he brings up Tommy in his contacts, taps the call button, and lays back down as it rings.

“Hello!” Tommy answers the call cheerily.

“Hey, Tommy. Still no word from your dad?” Gordon asks.

“No, sorry, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy responds with a little less cheer.

Gordon sighs. “Don’t sweat it, man. Look, I actually called to ask you if you could maybe talk to Benry sometime here? He’s been real avoidant all morning like something’s bothering him. You’re a lot better at talking with him, so I figured I’d ask.”

“Oh? What do- what do you think might be bothering him?” Tommy asks.

“Dunno,” Gordon says, “he was being weirdly quiet yesterday, too, but wouldn’t tell me why when I asked. And I’ve also been trying to talk to him about something all day, with no luck.

“Speaking of the thing I want to talk to him about… Do you remember, when we were in Xen, and he claimed me and him used to be best friends? I didn’t believe him then… but just last night, my mom sent me a photo of a drawing I did as a kid. It was of me next to a monster kid that was… very obviously Benry.”

Tommy just makes a little hum of acknowledgement.

Not exactly the reaction Gordon was expecting.

“Uh…” Gordon starts. “You don’t… sound real surprised to hear this.”

“I already knew you two were- were friends as children, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy states. “Benry used to talk a lot about how much he missed you when we first met.”

“Oh,” Gordon says dumbly. “Hold on, if you knew he was telling the truth about the friends thing, then why didn’t you ever correct me?”

“'Cause I knew how much you, uh, how much you disliked Benry would make you not wanna believe me, either,” Tommy answers honestly.

“I- …Yeah, okay, fair…” Boy does he feel sheepish. Gordon shakes his head at himself before speaking again. “But, you know, one thing I don’t get is, we were friends like, two whole DECADES ago, and not even for that long I don’t think? Why'd he get so hung up on that?”

“You were his very first friend, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy begins to explain. “And- and also his only one, until I met him about nine years after he… y’know… Being alone for- for such a long time, it’s no wonder he clung on to the memories of you.”

Gordon’s borrowed brow furrows a bit. “After he what? What happened to him nine years before you guys met?”

There’s a beat of silence before Tommy answers. “…Has Benry- did he never tell you? He was a- a research specimen at Black Mesa, for most of his life. They took him there when he- when he was just barely five. It was only last year that- that they’d put him on the security staff, to give him more space to roam as, uh, as a reward for ‘good behavior’…”

Oh.

Oh, holy shit. That… kind of explains a whole lot. Like that fucked up vivisection dream, for one. It must’ve been a memory of Benry’s that he was seeing thanks to being in his body. However the hell that works.

This explains Benry’s request for Gordon to not be ‘all scientist-y' at him, too. And why he reacts so badly to being stuck in a room or other small space… And if he’d been stuck in Black Mesa as a lab rat since he was just a tiny kid, that’d also explain why his social skills are so lacking... And why most of his knowledge of the world seems to have come from video games and movies…

And… it might even explain why Benry killed those guards and scientists he did back in Black Mesa. Being humane with their living specimens didn’t seem like a top priority, going by how they felt the need to block out Bubby's memories of Sector E's bio research labs, and from what Gordon saw when they all went through said labs during their escape. The way some of those poor crabs and peeper puppies still in the cages looked…

Gordon’s not sure why it never occurred to him sooner. All those obvious-in-hindsight signs, and plus, why else would something like Benry even be at Black Mesa in the first place?

“I… am the most oblivious motherfucker,” Gordon says, feeling like an idiot.

“Yeah you- you kind of are, sometimes,” Tommy agrees, and thankfully makes no further comment.

“You’d think he’d have told me about something as important as that after living with me for four months…”

“Maybe… maybe he didn’t want to ma- make you feel bad for him?” Tommy offers.

Gordon hums in response. “Yeah, maybe.” That does make some sense. He could see Benry as the type to not want anybody’s pity. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Man… we ALL got pretty fucked up by Black Mesa, huh?” Gordon muses. Tommy makes a sound of agreement.

One more reason to be glad that place got blown the fuck up, Gordon thinks, and shakes his head. “Well, anyway, try seeing if you can find out what’s eating Benry, will ya?” he then asks, changing the subject back to why he called in the first place.

“Yeah. I’ll hang up here and give him a call right now,” says Tommy. “Talk to you later, Mr. Freeman!”

“Later, Tommy.”

Not long after Gordon hangs up, he hears Benry’s own phone ring- some happy hardcore song he set as his ringtone for Tommy.

And it keeps on ringing.

Which is a little weird, as Benry pretty much always answers Tommy’s calls. Maybe he’s asleep? Gordon decides to go sneak a peek into the entity’s room to see, and tell Tommy to try calling him later if he is.

When he tries to open the door, he finds it’s locked. Weird, Benry doesn’t usually lock room doors… Undeterred, Gordon decides to take advantage of Benry’s ‘no-clip’ power, and wills himself through the wooden door. When he pokes his head through enough to see the bed… he sees that there’s no Benry on it. He phases the rest of the way through and scans the room, only to find it equally Benry-less.

He also sees that the window is open. His borrowed guts writhe anxiously at the sight.

Grabbing Benry’s still ringing phone, he mashes the answer button and says before Tommy can even get a word in, “Benry’s gone.”

[verecunda]

@irisseireth, this got a bit long to put in a reply, and I didn’t think it was fair to hijack the op any further, so:

#I'm always ready to jump on the 'Finrod is a dick on the Athrabeth' train but #he is being callous to her even if he means well#he does treat her dismissively #and doesn't quite understand her existential horror because things are quite clear cut for him #but yeah how i wish we got Aegnor's perspective on the whole thing #i very much doubt Finrod was telling the entire truth to either of them#and that bit on LaCE that explicitly contradicts him...

I’d hesitate to call Finrod a dick in the Athrabeth, because he is genuinely trying to get his head round Andreth’s position, and what she says about the Old Hope does start him off with his theory of Arda Healed, so there is some genuine give and take happening. But he is, as she calls him, “lordly”, and one of the purposes of the whole story seems to show that despite the friendships and romances that can blossom between them, there are several fundamental places where Elves and Men just do not get each other.

His position re: Elven/human romances is interesting because I don’t think the Athrabeth is something any reader of Tolkien would come across without already being familiar with the story of Beren and Lúthien, and Finrod’s role in it; so from the very first, we know that while his arguments may be strong, he’s not infallible.

I can believe that he may have brought his big brother/head of the family in exile/overlord clout to bear on Aegnor when it came to his relationship. (I don’t have the book to hand, but isn’t there something in LACE where it mentions that generally, marrying without the knowledge/approval of the family is considered an insult? I think someone as duty-conscious as Aegnor seems to be would definitely take that into account.) And I agree that Finrod is very capable of lying by omission - we see that in the Silm, after all, when he and Galadriel are staying with Thingol. So yeah, it seems in character for him to tell Andreth that it isn’t Elvish custom to marry in wartime, while omitting to mention that there are some who do all you need is to make vows and find a decently stable surface. ;)

But to be fair to him, I think his view is coloured by his own experiences with loss. He’s been a friend of the House of Bëor since the beginning, and has therefore seen a whole succession of his friends grow old and die. (That’s how the Athrabeth opens, after all.) So even though he doesn’t get Andreth’s dread of mortality, he does have experience of grief.

And there’s also his own parting from Amarië. Although he has a presentiment of his own death (”An oath I too shall swear...”), he also knows he’s under the Doom of Mandos, the wording of which really doesn’t encourage the idea that any Noldor who die in Middle-earth can expect to be reborn any time soon. And I doubt he expects the special favour of reincarnation that is granted to him in the end. So, essentially, from where he’s standing, he and Amarië have suffered a parting that will last beyond the end of Arda. And now his brother and his friend are facing the same. So I can’t blame him for wanting to spare them that, even if I think he was in the wrong.