GHAR'THANAUUG AND I BOUGHT A NICE SUBURBAN HOME AND A SMALL DOG SO WE CAN RAISE A BEAUTIFUL FAMILY TOGETHER.
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I haven't done a full-fledged comic page in ages, so I made a comic version of the intro to SIN 34's "War at Home" and took some color palette inspiration from the album cover.
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I dont need no hippie pad I wanna house just like mom and dad
she appears to be losing a fight with a window blind I think im good
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thinkin about when tmn met cad and nott was like “do you need any help there, mr? mrs?” .like Let me get this bitchs pronouns before i call him strange and frightening and then shoot my friend to check if he has healing powers
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There are whispers of things before Battery City.
Of stubby buildings not unlike the skyscrapers modern citizens proudly call home and safety, but adorned with flimsy wood and glass cut-outs, or plaster casts that range from vain to downright obscene. Of wilderness, untamed, smothering clean and orderly neighbourhoods in an onslaught of burrowing roots, web-woven branches, and leaves serving as nothing more than breeding grounds for pests.
The bones of what once were giants now rest on the outskirts of town, hollowed and forgotten, like stalwart reminders of hardship overcome through ambition and human ingenuity. Yet, if one were to take a closer look at these remains, they would find little to no proof of any of the above: no scars left in the pavement or shattered stone ornaments— only scortched earth, shattered glass tinted by years of grime and canned paints amongst pieces of plastic all strewn about and shriveled up in shame.
Instead, the truth lives in glimpses caught between the pages of tattered journals, lost family albums, and long-overdue history books. There once were museums where Battery City now stands. Churches, libraries, and synagogues. Broadcast stations and astronomical observatories. There were post offices and schools, and houses older than the ages of everyone you've known combined, none of which still standing in the age of Progress and Valor (or more aptly known as the Danger Days).
What remains of the past now rests alone and dejected, a warning lost beneath the waves: Make yourself insignificant enough, and maybe one day you'll get yourself to believe comformity will lead you to survival.
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