#a real mix of mediums on this one

[crow-eyed]

I'm unironically like 😍 every time she's on screen help

PLEASE click for better quality- wip and a closeup under the cut

(see more of my stuff here)

[ancha-aus]

Ghost & Medium AU Drabble - The Necromancing Medium

Remember how I said I had an idea? That was angst and heartbreaking? This is the idea :D Again, still not sure if they will become a whole series thing.

The drabble is both a thank you for everyone being nice and drawing stuff and writing stuff! And also because I had an idea and as all of you know. I don't have self control :D

This one again includes a lot of my own headcanons for this idea/AU and even Dust. The most obvious one that I should probably mention? That Ash is the older brother and Dust is the younger brother.

Anyway. How Dust got so into necromancy and medium stuff and the tragedy that was his and his older brother's life.

WARNINGS: Child death. Survivor's guilt. implied child abuse. Child Neglect. Mention and implied child harrassment and molestation. attempt at child grooming (the bad BAD kind). technically attempted suicide. nothing is graphic or overexplained but it is implied and slightly mentioned.

I am serious. This one is angst and trauma filled and I am trying to not make it too triggering for anyone but please be careful, mind the warnings and if you aren't 18+ don't read.

*------------------*

Dust rubs his hands down his pants and checks the circle he made.

This has to work.

It just has too.

If this doens't work then... then...

Dust quickly grabs the book near him and squints his sockets at the writen words. It is old and written in another language but Dust has figured out most of it.

He is very lucky the library is open for eveyrone or else he would not have had a place to reasearch... or sleep... or wash up...

It doesn't matter. This ritual should fix everything.

Ash appears near him and glares at the drawn circle "Oh for crying out loud. Not another one of these."

Dust hugs the book closely "This one will be different..." It has to be.

Ash sighs as he floats near Dust "look... I appreciate it.. but i don't want to feel like i am being thorn apart again okay? It is about to rain soon anyway...." he looks up.

Dust nods "It has to rain..."

After all... it had rained the day Ash was murdered. It is part of the ritual to help the soul return.

Ash sighs and shakes his floating skull. He is clearly disappointed.

Dust frowns and tries to focus on the circle he is making. It has to be perfect. How else will he get Ash back?

He still remembers it so clearly.

Dust waits in his room for Ash to return from his after school activities. He is the star gymnastic at school and has a scholarship lined up for him for when he goes to college and to continue training.

Dust knows that it is just a matter of time before Ash is requested for the olympics. Ash is just that amazing! Even at fifteen Ash is many times better than most!

Dust himself doesn't have any after school activities. He normally just watches Ash and walks home with Ash afterwards. Dust gets why of course. He has no talents whatsoever. His parents have told him that many times.

At least Ash likes having him around and giving him ideas for tricks!

Dust looks at the clock and frowns. It is well past dinner time... their parents having gone out for food themselves.

He... he had hoped that when Ash got back Ash and him could make something together. ash had been teaching him how to cook. Said that it was an important skill for him to learn even if he was only ten.

More time passes. No one comes home.

It is half past eleven when the front door opens and Dust peaks out only to quickly disappear into his room again. His parents are home. Why isn't Ash home yet? Did he have another meetup? extra training? Did he go out wiht friends?

He goes to sleep uneasy and hungry.

His guts twist together and his dreams quickly form. Visions of lives never his own. of the restless spirits who try to speak to him and pull him along. Take his body and his energy.

Ash is the only one who believes him. When Dust told him that Dust hadn't thrown over the glass vase but a ghost had done it. When something went missing Dust swore he hadn't touched it. No one ever believed him. Except Ash.

The Dreams change and suddenly Ash stands before him. Looking angry.

Dust doesn't get it... Why is Ash angry? Ash is never angry with him.

Dust reaches for him "Ash?"

Ash pulls away from him. He looks furious "find me."

Dust blinks but takes a step away from his brother "what?"

Ash groans and waves out his arms "Find me! Use your stupid powers and find me!"

Dust doesn't understand. Why would he need to find him? "But.. you were at practise?"

Ash groans "Fuck you are just so stupid sometimes!"

That hurts and Dsut hugs himself "I... I will search?"

Ash goes to say something else but then he is gone.

Then Dust wakes up. it is still early but he grabs his few school things and escapes the house before his parents wake up. He rushes to school and looks around. Searching.

He isn't sure what he is searching for. But if Ash tells him he needs to find him he can. He will figure out why Ash would appear in his dreams like other spirits but that is for later. He needs to find his brother. Maybe he got locked in somewhere? Or maybe he got hurt and can't move?!

Dust rushes towards the gym

He quickly gets inside but every light is still off. Everything is cleaned up and empty. Then again it is only 6 and the morning workouts don't start until half past 6.

Still. Dust rushes towards the locker rooms and searching both sides. Finding nothing there he searches the toilets next before returning to the empty gym.

"Dust! what are you doing here?"

Dust jumps and turns quickly. It is the coach. Dust can never remember his name and honestly he never wants to. Dust... doesnt like being near the other. Something about him is off. Maybe it is because the spirits seem to glare at the coach whenever they pass. Maybe it is because Dust thinks the man stares too long when his brother practised.

Dust told Ash once. How he doesn't like Coach and how the spirits dislike him too. Ash had just smiled and said that Coach was actually always very nice and took them all serious and treated them as adults.

Dust shrugs at the teacher as the other waits for a reply. He mutters a weak excuse "wanted to see brother practise..." he rubs his arm.

Every spirit is screaming at him. He doesn't understand what they say. he thinks spirits need to be strong for him to be able to hear or see them but he can feel them still. The spirits are tugging at him. To go. to leave. to go with them? Dust doesn't know what they want.

Coach nods "I see! I am sorry to disappoint. I haven't seen your brother yet. Not since yesterday morning practise!"

Dust frowns "Ash doesn't skip." Ash never skips. He has more determination than anyone.

Coach nods "I agree. I was going to see if Ash joins us for practise today. If he didn't i was planning on calling your parents. Do you wish to wait with me?"

Dust shakes his skull "No that is okay... I am going to keep searching..." and he rushes out of the door before Coach can answer.

Dust can't believe he was that stupid. two years and he still feels like kicking himself in the skull for not seeing it sooner. To not realise it sooner. Maybe if he had noticed the obvious clues...

Ash wouldn't... He wouldn't have...

It doesn't matter.

Dust lays down another line and checks the ritual in the book. That all looks right and the same. He nods and reaches for his necklace.

Ash looks alarmed "Hey! What are you doing? Stop that my dust is in there!"

Dust freezes and mutters "I don't need all of it... just a tiny bit for the ritual..."

Ash looks deeply unhappy as he mutters "But it makes sure i am anchored to you still... at least until you can do the whole haunting bond thing."

Dust shrugs "if this works you won't need to anchor to your dust or me anymore." this will fix eveyrthing. He will make it right.

Ash looks unsure but floats near him as he gets things ready.

The news of Ash's disappearance shook the school. Dust swore he searched everywhere! He tried to get answers from Ash in his dreams but all the dream Ash told him was to 'search' and to 'actually think for once.'.

His parents were inconsolable. Neither were the teaches adn other students. Ash was loved. Ash was wanted. Ash had a bright future ahead of him.

Dust... Dust was lucky that Ash liked him...

Though... dream Ash didn't like him at all it seemed... dream Ash was just angry at him.

Dust knew what they whispered of course. It wasn't as if anyone tried to hide it. People spoke about how it was a shame that Ash had disappeared. How it was a shame it hadn't been Dust instead.

Dust tried not to let it bother him. He was always the weird kid. He had always been the weird kid. He spoke to people not there. strange things happened around him. Dust seemed to lie about thingsthat he obviously did because no one else was near to could ahve caused it.

He hadn't cared much before even if it hurt to not be believed becuase at least Ash had believed him.

His parents hadn't been for whispers however. They just looked at him and sneered that it should ahve been him who disappeared. not their dear golden boy who had such a bright future and would have made them proud. instead they were stuck with him, the disappointing freak.

Dust hadnt gone home since Ash didn't return home.

others whispered that Ash ran away.

But Dust knew that wasn't the case! It couldn't be! Ash... Ash wouldn't just leave! Not without him!

When their parents argued and on nights after they yelled at him. Ash would hold him close. promise that once he was old enough the two of them would just disappear. that Dust just had to be patient. Once Ash went to college he would take Dust wiht him and they would never have to see their parents ever again.

Ash... ash wouldn't break that promise. Ash was honest! Ash kept his promises! always!

Dust sobs as he hides beneath the seats. Hiding.

"Dust? Waht are you doing here?"

Dust blinks through the tears and looks up. He sobs as he pushes himself upright. Ash. Ash. IT IS ASH! He jumps to hug him only to go right through him and land in the mud leftover from the rain.

He turns and realises... he had been so focussed on his face that... that is only a floating skull and hands... but... but that can't be...

Ash flickers in and out of view. He moves his mouth clearly speaking but Dust can't hear anymore.

No... no no no no. He needs to tell people. Something terrible happened to Ash!

Dust finishes the last view lines and reads the information given in the book.

Ash frowns as he flies over and around it "It looks complex... Waht ritual is this even?"

Dust rechecks the text "A Life force transfer."

Ash blinks and turns sharply "what?"

Dust nods as he checks the different tinier circles to signify where eveyrone has to stand "I think... the reason why the other spells failed was because you don't have enough life force. which i think is just soul energy. You died and are just your left over soul energy now. that affects how you look and everything. It is why we need to anchor you with your dust." he taps his pendant. "Which is why we even use this."

Ash frowns and looks at the ritual considerate "So what... you think we just need to boost my life force and i may be able to be resurrected?"

Dust nods "That is the plan."

Ash frowns "I don't know about this Dust... stealing someone else's life?"

Dust shrugs "It is fine. The one who gives it needs to be willing."

Ash snrots and shakes his skull "Who would be an idiot big enough to give their life force awya freely?"

Dust shrugs "don't worry... i got that part of the ritual covered. Mind going over there? I need to check if the runes to transfer the energy to you would work."

No one believed him.

Everyone just looked at him with pity when he told them he saw his brother's spirit.

that his brother had been murdered or got into an accident.

He wouldn't have left him otherwise!

No one believed him. No one.

The funeral was terrible. He hated every second of it as they jsut spoke some words. They didn't even have his brother's dust to spread on his favourite things.

his parents wanted to do a burial. Even though Dust knew Ash hated the idea of being underground. All that meant was that most things important to Ash were being burried.

forever out of reach. Now he can't even get comfort out of those things.

Dust goes home wiht his parents but neither look at him beyond this dirty look. Dust doesn't care. He has a mission.

His brother's spirit is weak. very weak. He can do some rituals to strengthen it maybe. normally offerings and stuff like that works to get spirits to be stronger, at least for a little while.

If Dust wants to find his brother he needs to do that.

He grabs what he needs and goes back to the school. It is where Ash spend most of his time and most liekly has the strongest imprint of him. Not to forget dust saw him on the sport field. He gets there and makes the offering.

A flicker. Dust smiles but Ash just looks panicked. Telling him to go. let him go as well.

Dust shakes his head. he can't let go of Ash.

Ash is still too weak to say a lot but a tiny bit gets through "... stay away... coach..."

oh. it is so obvious! Of course the creepy coach had something to do with it! Dust stands up and looks at the gym. So that is where the answers lie. Ash looks more panicked but Dust just smiles at him "It is okay Ash... I swear i will fix this!"

He will find out what happened. make sure Coach got what he deserved for hurting his brother and then... then... Ash can move on... Ash will be able to rest...

Ash will leave him...

No. don't think like that. Ash deserves to move on. Ash deserves to find peace! even if it means Dust will lose him forever. He won't force Ash to become a wandering restless spirit.

Ash is shaking his skull at him and trying to keep him from going towards the gym. That is fair. it ist still night. He will need a better timing for this. luckily it is the weekend soon and he will be able to get to work.

Dust nods and smiles "ther. everything is in place."

Ash frowns as he floats above it "so let me be clear." he points to one spot "this is the spot of the life force giver." he floats to another spot "This is the spot of the life force gainer, me?" Dust nods and Ash floats to the small circle wiht the tiny bit of dust "why is the dust needed?"

Dust looks to the side "To make your body... I had to combine the ritual to give you life force and to give you a body... otherwise you would just get m- the giver's body and i doubted you like that."

Ash blinks and snorts "I thought you tod me that performing two rituals at once is too dangerous for mixups or to drain you." he grins at him "You can be so forgetful sometimes."

Dumb and stupid and useless-

Dust shrugs "It is better if it is done at once..." he mutters softer "only get one chance at this..."

Ash frowns at him and flaots over "hey... i know i made a big deal of the whole... it hurting thing before... but if you mess up and mix up words we can try again." he grins "I am already dead anyway. can't get much deader!"

Dust shrugs "maybe..." No. there is only one chance at this. It has to be perfect.

He gets one chance at this.

Dust stands before the office of the coach and takes a deep breath. trying to ignore the panicked flickering vision of his brother.

He was such an idiot. his brother had tried to warn him before in his dreams. yet Dust hadn't seen the signs. if he had done this that day... Ash may still be alive.

It is oaky though. Dust can do this.

He knocks on the door.

everything in the air is screaming at him. spirits of his past victims maybe? All trying to warn him to run and hide. Dust will not let his brother become just another wandering spirit. stuck to this disgusting excuse of a person.

The door opens and the coach gives a wide smile "Dust! I am so happy to see you. How are you doing? The news of your brother must have devastated you."

Dust nods and mutters "I miss him.. a lot.. but he liked gymnastics... i was wondering... could i get some training?"

The man blinks before his smile grows and he looks very excited "of course! It is an amazing thing to want to connect with your brother that way. such a grown up thing to do to!" he steps aside.

Dust is about to take a step when ash appears in the doorway. his arms crossed and him shaking his skull.

Dust takes a deep breath and walks into the office.

Coach and him... talk... it is mostly about ash. How ash was so far ahead of everyone. the hardest worker and how he was admired by everyone around him. How he enchanted people.

Dust agrees of course. his brother is the best. Which is why he is here.

Coach mentions that it may be hard for Dust to do what Ash did. As ash was older and had been training from a young age. But that he was willing to give Dust private lessons and tutoring to get him ona level where he can safely join the others in class. That the Coach would be happy to guide him and teach him anything he could want.

Dust mutters it sounds interesting and that he just wants to be closer to Ash. at least feel closer to him again.

The coach smiles and petted his shoulder as he stood behind him, it raised every instinct in Dust to run but he stayed put. The coach muttered about how that was a very grown up and honourable thing to do. Asking him again how old he was.

Dust answered truthfully that he is ten and the coach hummed "You act much older." he smirks.

Dust mentions that he should go to class but the coach just pats his shoulder. saying that he will have a word with his teachers and see if Dust can skip a few days of class to get some training and practise in. get those private classes started right away.

Dust eaisly agreed and nodded when the coach told him to stay put before he rushed out.

Dust immediantly got off his chair and started to search through the office. It didn't take long until he found a locked drawer. another weak spirit. one of a young human girl appeared before him. and held up numbers wiht her fingers. 4. 5. 3. 9.

Dust entered the numbers and the lock springs open. He looks inside and finds a file and a camera. He takes out his own old phone, a gift from Ash for emergencies. and takes a picture of what he found.

then he looks through the file and... oh... oh god.

Dust shakes as he feels vomit crawl up his throat. No. focus. he aims his camera and snaps a picture. Of every picture in there. of every child in tears and bond as the coach... touches... them...

He is shaking by the end before he reaches for the camera. searching and snapping pictures.

Find him. find him. find him. he has to-

found him.

Dust manages to take a picture before refering to his very first picture. he places everything back in the same place nad relocks the lock. and then he waits.

The coach returns with his homeroom teacher who gently reminds him that he can't just skip classes to learn gymnastic. but that he could look into getting him into it as a past school activity.

Dust nods nad mutters that he understands. trying to remain calm and hoping everything about him just screams disappointed over sick to the stomach.

He walks out of the office phycially fine.

But this isn't the end. He has one more thing to do.

Ash yawns as he looks up at the sky "Rain is still coming."

Dust hums "need rain. It was raining when you left your body. Need stuff to be alike."

Ash hums as he floats near the book wiht a frown "Hey Dust."

Dust nods "yeah?"

Ash speaks "I am not fluent in this language... what does this whole paragraph about pain passing?"

Dust feels his hand shake but forces it still "oh... it is part of the life force ritual... the giver... gives the life force... but to make it work to strengthen the one who gets it... well. the trauma of the one receiving it needs to go... so when the life force gets given the one who gives also takes the pain of the other... so waht they felt when they died. i think." Dust isn't looking forwards to that part. but maybe it is for the better.

After all.

It would ahve been better if Dust had died instead of Ash.

He is just righting a wrong.

He doesn't take this information to the teachers. or his parents. or the principle.

Dust walks 10 miles towards the police station. He goes right to the man at the reception and laid down his phone "Got the proof you needed that my brother was murdered."

It would be an udnerstatement to say that brought chaos.

The policeman behind the counter had at first looked amused but then he grabbed his phone adn started to scroll through the pictures. Each one making the other look more horrified.

Dust was rushed into a room with a very nice lady who asked him if he had any allergies or any health issues. Dust shook his skull.

another policeman returned with his phone and thanked him for his brave actions and that he was asking a lot of him that he would need to continue to be brave.

Dust didn't see it as being brave but answered the questions. Why he searched. He was honest. They looked sceptical when he mentioned ghosts.

Dust was ready to start crying. after everything. everything he did. would they not believe him? He was being honest. he doesn't know what else to do and-

And something had appeared on the white board. a pen floating and slowly writing the words "My brother is right. I am here. please... please listen..."

if there was chaos before it was nothing compared to this. the people working there got to work in a frenzy. They send people to the school to investigate. they called in professionals from the bigger cities and priests as well.

They asked him so many questions. if the coach had hurt him. if he had seen anything else. noticed anything.

Dust told them what he knew and noticed before just having to wait.

An high priest of some church came by. someone who could speak wiht spirits. the priest took one look around the room and spoke about how there are many spirits nearby. the priest than looked at Dust and nodded. saying it is nice to meet a new medium. something about him having talent for it and being a strong medium.

Dust didn't feel strong. he said as much. if he had been strong he would have known ages ago that something was seriously wrong with the coach.

The priest tells him he did amazing. more than amazing. but that this burden shouldn't have been his. that others should have notified people specialised in things in this nature as soon as Dust showed promise.

In the end it was anticlimatic. the coach was thrown in prison but he wouldn't admit where he hid Ash's body.

In the end Ash showed Dust where he ahd been burried. right under the playing field. and there were more hallow graves under there.

Dust hadn't been able to stop himself. as soon as the thing holding his brother's remains had opened he had thrown himself in. Only dust. of course there was only dust and left over clothes left.

scratching marks on the coffin. Ash had tried to get out...

Dust finally cries.

Dust nods and steps back "all ready. Ash? can you go to your spot?"

Ash floats over lazily "finally. I am honestly getting impatient. I think you actually got this one Dust." Ash looks excited "It would be awesome to be alive again."

Dust smiles as he slowly inches towards his spot "You could pick up gymnastics again?"

Ash groans "maybe. Coach kinda ruined that experience though... but college is still fun. What do you think? Think i can still be a cook?" he grins "You can also go back to highschool then. actually finish your own schooling."

Dust smiles as he gets near the offering circle "of course you could."

Ash nods as he looks around "so... who did you manage to convince to give over the life force and stuff? Someone already sick? someone very old?" Ash grins at him.

Dust is hoenstly trying to smile for his brother. but he is so scared. his whole arm is shaking.

Ash frowns "Dust?"

Dust takes a deep breath and steps in his circle.

Ash's sockets widen "what are you doing?! Get the fuck out of there!" he goes to fly over but the circle keeps him in his spot. a safety meassurement. It had been to make sure ash didn't accidentally leave his circle.

Dust slowly raises his hands as he tries to keep his panicking soul calm "it is okay... should be quick."

Ash shakes and looks furious "NO! YOu get out of that circle right now or so help me! I don't agree with this! I don't! This is not willing! I don't want this!"

the ritual circle that had all been glowing a soft green turns red and Dust can feel the affect that had been slowly starting to take place stop. Dust stares down adn glares at Ash "what are you doing? I am fixing things!"

Ash shakes his skull "this isn't fixing shit! You would be dead!"

Dust glares "So?! Everyone would be hapyp with it!"

silence around them.

Ash reaches for him "Dusty..."

Dust shakes as he tries to calm his shaking. stop being dramatic. you are twelve now. get over it. Ash can come back now. as seventeen and still pick up his life again.

Don't ruin this.

Dust rubs the tear away as he mutters "Just let me fix this..."

Ash shakes his skull "I don't want this..."

Dust glares "since when not!? You are always telling me how much you miss being alive. How much you wished you could ahve just amde a run for it when you were alive! How you would eat better food! Visit cooler places! Actually go to college and make something of your life!" Dust shakes "I know this is wasted on me... This chance... jsut take it!" he is shaking and crying "Just let me fix this... let me do soemthing that makes you love me again..."

The shaking gets to back and Dust just grumbles to the ground. He is so tired. everything is hard and no one likes him. No one trusts him. His parents left him as soon as Dust had to stay at the police station. Is it so bad? so bad that he just wnats his brother to love him again? if only for a few moments? and then just sleep forever?

the glow disappears as his concentration breaks and Dust tries to pull hismelf together. Rub his tears from his sockets as he tries to mutter the start of the spell again.

He feels Ash close and he flinches "sorry... i can do it and..."

"don't... please don't..." Ash looks heartbroken as he floats near him "damnit i wish i coudl hug you..."

Dust sobs and nods "me too..." his last hug was the mornign before Ash went to that last faithful practise.

Ash speaks softly "you don't ahve to fix anything..."

Dust shakes his skull "but if i hadn't been so dumb i would have known it were other victims. i could have warned you!"

Ash just shakes his skull "Not your fault."

Dust sobs "If... if i had searched faster i could ahve found you sooner."

ash shakes his skull again.

Dust looks downa dn mutters "i messed something up... and now you can't move on... I keep you stuck here because i don't want to be alone..."

Ash snorts and shakes his skull "Dust... you did everything right. You got my murderer brought to justice and you guys found my remains. I had felt it. I had been able to move on right then and there but... well..." he looks at dust "I wasn't going to leave you after that.."

dust looks down and rubs his tear angry "so... you feel like you ahve to stay because i am weak and pathetic..." he needs to do this ritual. give ash the life he deserves and-

Ash laughs "no you dum-dum." he grins "I am here because i don't want to move on without you." Ash floats around him and rests on his skull. Dust can't feel pressure from him but he feels the energy of his brother near "there was no way i was going to leave you because i don't want to leave you. It is just as much for me as it is for you dusty. You are my brother."

Dust feels hismefl relax "i am sorry."

Ash gently hushes him "hush. No need to feel sorry, well aside form the fact you scared the unliving daylight out of me. Promise me you will never do something this stupid ever again. No giving your life or soul or any of that or the energy of either to others. you hear me?!"

Dust laughs and nods "promise..."

Ash hums "good. Now. Mess up this ritual circle thing. and burn the pages of the book detailing it."

Dust frowns "but what if we actually ened it and-"

Ash hushes him "no. None of that. No life force trading."

Dust sighs but does as told. messes up his circle. retrieves his brother's dust. and he uses a lighter to burn the page of the book holding the ritual.

Ash nods "much better."

Dust sighs as he starts to leave the forest "I don't know any other way to bring you back."

Ash shrugs as he floats with him "we aren't in a hurry."

dust frowns "you will miss things you could do in life?"

Ash grins "that is the great part. you can always catch up. I don't ened to be young to go to college. to start to learn how to cook. or any of that." he floats around him and it now looks like they are both wearing the red scarf "so no hurry."

DUst sighs and nods before muttering "we are going to have to find a stronger anchor for you. at least until i am old and strong enough to be the anchor myself."

Ash nods "much better. Time yo go to our favourite spot the library and do some research. AFTER! You ate and showered. You are soaking wet and don't think i didn't notice you skipped breakfast again."

Dust nods and sets into the right direction. Maybe one day he will figure it out. For now he will jsut learn what he can.

*------------------*

[mollysunder]

Shimmer & The Glorious Evolution: A Love Story

We can see how a specialized high quality strain of Rio's shimmer can alter the biology of living organisms to make users produce their own shimmer, as is the case with Jinx. So what will happen now that Rio's specialized shimmer has been exposed to an artificial life form, i.e. the hexcore?

What Has the Hexcore Done Without Shimmer?

Prior to the hexcore's exposure to shimmer infused blood we've only seen it capable of releasing short bursts of massive energy when Viktor experiments with it.

When exposed to human blood the hexcore reacted by "consuming" a drop of it. The blood effected the entire magical dimension the hexcore connects to by turning it to a shade of purple similar to the plants found in Singed's cave.

Later we see that this newly blood infused hexcore's magic turned purple and is able to not only react to organic matter such as plants, but stimulate their growth in turn (not for long of course). The affected plants also take on the purple tinge similar to the hexcore's magic.

What Have We Seen the Shimmered Hexcore Do So Far?

Once Viktor exposed the hexcore to his shimmer infused blood it was capable of producing a longer lasting stable state with its test subject twice. Initially, what exactly happened to Viktor's leg was up to interpretation, but later on animators in Bridging the Rift confirmed that Viktor's new leg and hand are made of metal.

This means that the hexcore took Viktor's flesh and shimmer infused blood (more than the first time) and exchanged it for an arcane/shimmer configured metalic replacement. His skin is gone and we're looking at what his muscle has been converted to.

The transmutation of Viktor's hand and leg into metal could have only been facilitated through the use of shimmer. It was likely the remaining shimmer in Viktor's system that prevented him from being absorbed into the hexcore. Without a sufficient amount of shimmer, a regular human hand does not equal a shimmerized arcane metalic hand. The flesh, bone, and blood of an entire adult woman and a pitance of shimmer is worth the hand it provides.

What Will Happen Next Season?

The further the hexcore directly interfaces with organic matter the more similar it becomes in appearance and ability to shimmer. Where it improves health and strength at increasing biological costs. Once Viktor realizes that he's missing the "Inspiration" rune, the rune matrix will finally be complete and reach a "stable" state.

A "stable" state could mean the hexcore could reliably interact with and alter organic matter like Rio's shimmer is capable of. Based on the notes Sky left behind, her research focused on plant biology. In theory, a "perfect" hexcore could not only stimulate plant life to grow impressively, they could be durable enough to survive in extreme environments like Zaun.

While there is evidence that shimmer and its byproducts can enhance plant growth, especially in Zaun, there is a catch. Any plant affected by a hexcore corrupted by Rio's specialized shimmer would be altered in a way that makes them capable of being producing shimmer independently.

Just from Viktor's experiment with a hexcore exposed to a single drop of blood, the plants began to glow purple like the plants Rio would eat and break down into shimmer. Except, like Jinx the hexcore would pass down its own strain to the plant subjects that's compatible with the hexcore's "exchange" requirements.

But why would Viktor want to create plants capable of producing MORE shimmer for Zaun. Simple! Without shimmer you can't get... The Glorious Evolution. It's already been mentioned that Viktor's limbs have become metal, and to make his transformation complete he'll need more shimmer. For others to become like him, he needs more shimmer.

but...

Who Would Be Willing to Follow the Herald's Path?

Shimmer addicts like Huck and those who live in the sump with dying flesh and residual concentrations of shimmer in their bodies could be "healed" from their state of deterioration through the hexcore.

In Bridging the Rift we actually saw an unfinished clip of Viktor reaching his metalic hand to reach out and grab the face of a shimmer addict. Upon further inspection of the unidentified character's scars, we can guess this is Huck.

There's also the underlying culture of flesh sacrifice in Zaun, which is actually in the same vein as the Church of the Gloriously Evolved. In League, specifically through Camille's lore, the Church of the Gloriously Evolved actually exists outside of and likely before the Machine Herald came to the scene. The Church's roots even stretch into both Zaun & Piltover.

They believe that you must sacrifice something close and dear (like diseased flesh) with the faith that something better will take its place. Splinters of this organization likely made Silco an object of worship admiring his power and assuming the shimmer he brought was the miracle they sacrificed so much for already. Without Silco and his shimmer, Viktor and his hexcore would become the Church's new object of adoration as they bring shimmer AND immediate transmutation.

Finally, there's Sevika. In the tarot seen, Sevika drew a winning hand with a pair of card, Death and The Magician, that resemble Jinx and Viktor respectively. The scene may foreshadow that Jinx and Viktor will be the trump cards to win her Zaun's independence. But How will that work with Viktor?

You could argue that Sevika could bring Viktor in to repair her arm, but there's an entire industry backed up by a chembaron, Smeech, to fulfill that need. Viktor's going to need to bring something new to the table to be brought into the fold, and that could be shimmer infused plants and the "healing" properties of the hexcore. And I'm sure Sevika's pragmatic enough to know that for Zaun to survive Piltover's retaliation she'll need to bolster her resources in manpower and shimmer... lots of it.

Whether Sevika will be able to handle the cult of personality around the Machine Herald, especially if Jinx ends up siding him is a whole other discussion.

[beneathsilverstars]

my kid is getting so into the warrior cats it's so cute. she gets all dismayed whenever the cats do something mean or strict, she's always like "if i was there, i would let firepaw eat something, i would catch a mouse and give it to him." or "wow, yellowfang is SO mean, if i was a cat i would hiss and scratch her!" like yes queen go off!!! you would be the nicest warrior cat in the clan!

[bunnyboy-juice]

i legit had a dream about a lasagna i made last weekend and meatballs i made last YEAR

[thorne1435]

True, true. Essay time!

For the sake of writing, the offensive part is in how your characters act and react towards your clockable trans person. If they're respectful about it, then everything is fine. It's just realism, at that point, and that sort of positive portrayal might make it a little easier to encounter someone like that in real life.

The same can be said of a visual medium: draw women with adam's apples or slight beard-shadow or strong jawbones, because some of us have those traits, cis and trans alike. Then, someone who's never seen a trans woman before sees your artwork and if they finally do see a trans woman in the wild (or just a cis woman with masculine features), they'll be less taken aback by the fact that some women have adam's apples and/or etc. This is an important part of destigmatization.

Must I, once more, direct our attention to Ticker (Warframe)? She's very masculine, and y'know what? It's not a big deal. Nobody fucks with her. She's unabashedly a woman in spite of the clockability, and that fucks severely. Because it's real. It resonates with people who are like her. It gives them hope that there are people out there who are willing to accept them in spite of it, while simultaneously creating those accepting people in the first place.

As cliché as it is to say, representation matters. Especially when it's realistic and respectful. I remember when I was still cis and transphobic, I absolutely had my world view move slightly to the left when I had to accept that she was a woman and there was no issue with that. And that's pretty impressive given how little dialogue Ticker actually had when she was introduced. Imagine what can be accomplished with an obviously-trans character who's thrust directly into the spotlight as a side-character who is frequently interacted with and maybe even talks about they're experiences! But if we can't have that, just give the women an adam's apple and the men a soft face every now and again. Just for us.

to cis artists, yr allowed to draw trans characters to be clockable, in fact i encourage it. it's not politically incorrect or offensive to depict trans people as being obviously trans, especially if you're drawing cartoons. its not a stereotype a lot of us just look like that

[satan-ryoasuka]

Siding Exterior

[joltrify]

experimentations ft. the Artpop queen herself

Silly little (not so little) unrelated HC I developed later under the cut

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

🎀- HC that EVE's most normal hobby - when not occupied with other things - is repainting dolls 🎀- Like in a blue moon you can catch her at the hobby lobby in mom jeans and a cardigan just looking for materials

★- In her down time (which is a bit rare these days) Nadia'll pick those ball-jointed Barbie/Bratz/MH dolls and give them a complete makeover ☆- While she's making them she's fervently thinking 'I will love you in a way that no one else EVER has' and she treats them all that way ★- She'll repaint them in the most unconventional ways possible but they're still gorgeous; a perfect reflection of her studio artwork on a body that isn't her own ☆- Sometimes if she's low on fabrics, instead of making a full-sized mockup of her exhibition fits she'll use her dolls to test the outfit design and make a mini version of the fit with small pieces of the final material ★- She's got this HUGE shelf on her pad that's got these fashion icon dolls displayed with their name and inspiration on a little plaque ☆- Whenever something significant happens and she doesn't want to paint, she'll hold onto the feeling, good or bad, and jot down an idea for a new doll's look ★- and she DOES truly love each of them - though she may have had to learn to love one in particular

🎀- She picked up the hobby in college (before she met Zuke) but didn't really think anything of it 🌸- It was just a means to practice different makeup looks and pencil techniques without sculpting something - and it was fun! She liked having a cute little gal at the end of the process 🎀- When she came up with the idea of using the dolls as models, she created a doll of herself but made the decision to make its skin completely white 🌸- When Nadia met Zuke, she sort of put the hobby aside to focus on her other art mediums, but she looked at the doll of herself and felt comfortable enough to repaint the right side pink (and she laughed a bit to herself looking at the final result, because it looked... Cute! Just like her other gorgeous dolls...) 🎀- After Rapturica, she didn't feel the need to create a doll based on her feelings as she didn't feel as hurt as she expected, but she did find it really, REALLY hard to look at the doll of herself, so she hid it away... 🎀- she picked up repainting again later but went in HARD - they began to look more artsy and alien, just like her other art pieces 🌸- After graduating she didn't really have time to repaint dolls and focused on creating other arts/music again, only occasionally using them to test outfits (but never the one of herself) 🎀- After the events of NSR though, she picked it up again as a form of self-care. It's something she doesn't have to create for the public eye, and she's rekindled the joy of creating a strange little gal and loving them despite their bizarre quirks. 🌸- ... I think she feels a bit more comfortable looking at the doll of herself now, too.

★- She's probably still got doll repaint videos up on her channel from her college days, hehe. ☆- (She's debating whether or not to make a mini exhibition about the concept of dolls.* Likely not, as she doesn't want to taint the tranquility of the act, but she still likes the idea. It's better to not mix work art with home art, anyway.) (* (How they can reflect their caretaker, they exhibit both confidence and vulnerability, they can be broken and discarded but repaired, they're still images that can be moved in a 3d space however you desire, they rely on a person to actually be 'real' ykyk that kind of thing. the symbolism of dolls.)

The doodle I made in the 3rd picture (above the cut) is inspired by those really pretty doll repaints... I think that that look in particular is one that she tested on a doll first... pre-ugly cry, that is.

Thanks for reading my very silly idea... decorated the bullets with Bows and stars because I felt like it, haha. Have a lovely day~🌸

[fallingsatellive]

“It’s obviously valid to be bugkin but you also can’t just expect people to get over it when they have a genuine fear!”

I’m afraid of dogs.

Dogs put me extremely on edge. I avoid them while outside and if one’s in a room with me I’ll try to leave or else start to panic. Especially medium-sized and larger breeds. Mere images of dogs may not give me a panic attack, I will admit that, it's not a phobia. But if you want to talk hypocrisy, if you're opening up that discussion:

Hey dog therians, dog otherhearted folks and clinical cynanthropes, what if everywhere you went, the unspoken attitude of the alterhuman community was—

Don’t post dog photos or talk about being a dog in the main alterhuman tags. Don’t talk about your shifts, your instincts, or your kind in the main tags. If you’re a CZ, don’t talk so openly about your biological reality. It’s extremely triggering for people with cynophobia. The idea of physically being or becoming a dog grosses them out to briefly think about, so try not to discuss your literal existence. If you must, at least trigger tag yourself with #tw dogs or #tw dog mention so people can stay safe by censoring things that will hurt their mental health. It’s okay if you’re dogkin but in my DNI I'm going to write something like, don’t follow me if your blog hosts too many graphic close-up images of dogs doing dog things, even if you censor them. Don’t add dog photos to open posts in the alterhuman tags, you have no idea who might be sent into a panic attack by images of yourself so you should play it safe and only put them on your own posts. And stop being so offended by people who comment on posts about pet dogs or dog facts saying they want to bleach their eyes or kill it with fire, they can’t help having a phobia.

Not great, is it? Fortunately, and I do genuinely mean that, this is a sentiment you will only see once, on this post, completely satirically. Except it’s just a real sentiment for bug therians/hearted and other invertebrate alterhumans. Of course what I said was satire. But if it pissed you off when you thought it might not be, please, contemplate on that reaction, really spend some time on it.

Also, if you're wondering what I mean by "other invertebrate alterhumans", (and I'm sorry for how heated I got when I was writing this part last night even after editing it down)

You know I’m a bug zoanthrope too, not just a bird? And see above if you're wondering why I never said shit about it, just said I was a centipede therian and even then said I was just questioning and didn't really talk much about it. Am I allowed to talk about it without tagging it #tw body horror, even though I obviously don’t fucking find my own body to be horror? Can I talk about it without tagging it #tw bugs like just the very thing that I am needs to be censored for people's well-being? I'm sorry if I come across judgmental. Offline I constantly interact with people saying they’re a nature lover but centipedes are the only thing on Earth that they still hate. And I have to come online knowing that any of those people could be bloggers in the alterhuman tags and it’s my responsibility to tiptoe around them. “Because centipedes are scary and disgusting.” Because I’m scary and disgusting. My brain is not capable of hearing a difference and I can’t change that. It is so much my reality that it's the same emotional mix of anger and anxiety and hurt that would be (has been, lol) triggered by someone ranting about how much they hate Jews or trans people to me.

[fzzr]

Is this what gender euphoria is like?

Over the last few weeks I bought an adopt and then commissioned a refsheet for my longtime fursona. Just seeing it even before commissioning any art filled me with a feeling I don't quite have words to describe, like suddenly things are right in a way they never have been before.

If this is what gender euphoria is like, holy crap, no wonder trans folk will fight so hard to get it. Everyone everywhere should experience this at least once and if possible always.

Hi, I'm Fzzr. It's nice to meet you. This time, for real.

Thank you @kolaepup, for being the person to bring me truly to life. Though serendipity and a few hours' work, you made me feel more like myself then perhaps I ever have.

[Image ID: A portrait of an anthropomorphic tiger. His fur is light green, with calico-like markings in dark green with black stripes. There are two big stripes on his left cheek and one on his right. His hair is medium length and wavy, in a mix of white, light green, dark green, and black. His tongue is sticking out playfully. His tongue, nose, and inside of his ears are light blue-green. His whiskers and eyebrows are dark blue-green. His eyes are green. He is happy. ./End ID]

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 7: A Father's Gift

Mr. Jacobs was proud of his son. He was everything he wanted, if only his son, Derek would realize this.

But with the gift he was about to obtain, perhaps he would realize this.

Mr. Jacobs heard about a mysterious shop that was able to fix certain issues; of the bodily kind. Before he knew it, he was standing before its doors.

He scanned the surroundings before going in. It was wet and lightly raining, two tall walls of red brick, a reminder of the post WW2 era, flanking the doors on both sides. The door was wooden with no sign of paint or finish on them, and there was no sign save a strange symbol etched at the top of the door. Small enough to miss if you didn't notice. He couldn't make out the of the building, it seemed to never settle on a shape, style, or material. Mr. Jacobs soon put that out of his mind and walked through the door.

The room inside was darkly lit, but it had grayish carpet, dark green wall paper, and two Japanese style doors in the back. In front of them was a receptionist area that blocked access to them.

There was a man sitting behind it looking at him. His hair was concealed by a white turban, but his facial hair; medium sized eye brows & a carefully shaped mustache, revealed that his hair was jack black. He had striking green eyes. He was wearing a black shirt that had a galactic print on them. He could swear that he could see the stars twinkle & the galaxy itself slowly turn.

"Hello sir, I take you are here to take on a new look? You can be anything, or are you looking to heal some hurts that modern medicine has failed to heal so far," the receptionist asked in an confident tone.

"Not for me, but my son," Mr. Jacobs replied.

"How does this work? What do you charge?"

"What I charge depends on the reasons for the change, typically for men like you looking to change their sons, often for vanity reasons, I do not come cheap. I can't tell you how many "wimps" I changed into world class athletes," the receptionist replied.

He continued: "As for how, you go through the door to my left, pick the traits you want, and then get back to me & I'll handle the rest. Now give me your right palm, Mr. Jacobs." He came out of the receptionist desk & brought two chairs for both to sit.

He sat & so did the father.

He stretched out his hand.

As if instantly, Mr. Jacobs did as he was asked.

"How did you know my family name," he pondered.

"Oh forgive me, my name is Corsair, as for how, I would not make it as far as I did in my line of work if I didn't know who may prospective customers are," Corsair retorted.

Must be because my information is available online due to social media he thought.

Corsair had Mr. Jacobs's hand grasped in an embrace of both of his hands. He then moved his forehead to touch this embrace and closed his eyes. His secret revealed, he could read minds!

He saw the real reason for the visit. He did in-fact come to help his son. It was not to make him a star or make him more palpable to the marriage market or for some desire to use him for social gain. His son had confidence issues.

He dug deeper. Ah, there he is:

I see, from their conversations, the son feels mixed matched. He worked on himself hard both academically & physically and achieved a great result. One more year at university, and quite the healthy body with the aesthetics to show it. But he hates his face. Nothing he has done has ever worked. He considering plastic surgery. Mr. Jacobs supports his son, but wants a more natural way than the scalpel. My way is...magical if not natural. He just needs a little bump to bring out his features.

Corsair moved his head back up to face Mr. Jacobs & unclasped his hands and rest his on his lap.

"He doesn't need much. One measure. $1000," he said in a deadpan manner.

"Deal," Mr. Jacobs said quickly.

Corsair smiled, "Through this door."

He handed Mr. Jacobs a cup.

"Pick one to fill in that cup. The turn knob & valve is located under the giant cylinders. Keep walking forwards after you are done,' he said.

"Just like that," Mr. Jacobs replied.

"Just like that," Corsair replied with a big smile.

He opened the receptionist area to let Mr. Jacobs in, and he went through the door. It closed behind him.

The area was pitch black, but soon a green light, no a series of green lights sprang up. They were next to each other with some distance, but orderly. They were lined up on both sides of the room, forming a hallway.

He walked up to the first pair. They were giant green clear glass canisters. There was a glowing green liquid inside and to his shock; unconscious men with their eyes closed floating inside of them.

They seemed to be sleeping. They had a calm expression about them. Each canister had a distinct person in each. No matter the size, face, ect, they were all good looking & fit. It was a hallway of models.

Pick me. No me. No over here!

The men inside were mentally communicating with Mr. Jacobs.

"Wait you can speak without moving your mouths? Wait, are you being held against your will," he asked out loud.

In unison: NO!

Do not worry for us, for a part of us gets to live on in others. We get to live through others in more lives than what has been recorded in history. Choose.

Telepathy he realized. Fine, he would choose.

"I don't need much, I just want my son to be more confident himself. Realize his potential," Mr. Jacobs said loudly.

Far off in the back a canister glowed very brightly while the others dimmed.

After 10 minutes he approached the canister. For some reason he put his hand on it, and then a flash of the memories of the person on the canister flooded him.

A young soldier, living life. He was always positive no matter the situation. On track to a long distinguished career. About to go home. And then a large explosion occurred. A terrorist attack, killed his most of his platoon, and he layed on the ground suffering about to meet his maker.

Corsair appeared. He healed the soldier's body, but the soul was too detached to keep him going.

He was given an offer:" work through him to help others in need of help. You would live on by merging yourself with others to change their life trajectory in positive ways. You would still be considered dead to the public."

The solider, named Caleb agreed without hesitation, not caring for the life in the canister.

On the bright side, the canister men were given a new purpose & would join their new mental powers thanks to the green liquid that also anchored their souls to their bodies & gave them eternal youth. They created a gesalt mind palace where they could get to know of each other & live new lives in their perfect worlds.

Mr. Jacobs chose him. After he wiped a tear from his eyes, he looked down and found a water jug like hatch, the kind you find in barrel shaped drink dispensers, and pressed the release valve down. Green liquid filled the cup & he was done.

"Thank you for your service," said Mr. Jacobs. He bowed.

The serene body cocked a smile.

Mr. Jacobs wanted to take him home, but he knew he would die outside that canister and promptly left. He kept walking forward, not backwards as instructed, and came across a door.

He walked through it. He came out to the same receptionist area he used to come in. He turned and saw it was the first door he used to get into the hall way of perfect, to him, men.

Space time shenanigans.

He walked past the receptionist desk, turned towards Corsair.

"I take it you will keep the secret," he wondered.

"If this works, my life is yours," the father replied.

"The money has already been deducted, hand me the cup. The final step is near," Corsair said & then took the cup from the father.

He could not see what he was doing, but he heard shaking & swirling noises. They stopped. He pulled out a bag & In the bag was a green pill.

Corsair handed Mr. Jacobs the bag.

"Have him swallow it over night, right before he goes to bed," he said.

"Thank you so much, how do you take payment," Mr. Jacobs pondered.

"Payment is automatically deducted as I said before," Corsair replied.

They both wished them a great day & Mr. Jacobs went home.

His son was home the weekend before spring break, determined to do nothing. Maybe some extra studying.

His father gave him a bag with a green pill in it. Told him to take it before bed. Maybe an anti-anxiety pill? Some supplements?

He pondered. His dad has never given him anything bad. He did as he was told. He went to sleep.

His body began to float. He wanted to wake up and see what was going on, but he couldn't open his eyes, move his limbs, or get out of his dream. Did the pill he took induce sleep paralysis?

He had a mouth, but he could not scream.

He was floating about 3 feet above the bed, and then the bed sheets slid off, exposing him to the air from all sides.

Above him was a specter or ghost. It was Caleb. He was floating even higher than Derek was. Situated above Derek in the same resting position, he started to descend. Derek didn't move, couldn't move. Soon Caleb was occupying the same space as Derek.

Swoosh. A burst of wind flowed out from Derek's body.

Caleb faded away into Derek, and Derek soon glowed green.

In Derek's dream space, he met Caleb. Derek was scared at first, but he was able to be calmed down. He explained the situation. Derek was mad at his dad at first, but understood his good intentions.

"How much of me will change," Derek asked.

"I don't know, but you will still be driving the wheel of whatever it is we turn into," Caleb said.

Derek let out a sigh. It was probably too late to go back. He swallowed the pill after all.

"You will ride passenger seat no matter what," Derek said in confidence. Some of Caleb's mental aspects where seeping in.

Caleb smiled. Both of the men turned into tornadoes that then merged into one twister. It settled into a new person.

The green glow went away.

For Caleb's physical body, it began to change. During the mind meld, Caleb's DNA transfused into every part of Derek's body.

He grew more hair, eyebrows got thinner, his lips a more flush with blood getting pinker. His eyes reshaped themselves, while his ears changed angle a little to move towards the skull.

His chin and cheek bones thickening gave him a much stronger jawline. His skeletal changes generated new sensations, like the feeling of pops and pressures. From this moment forward, Caleb grunted. Not in defiance, but in acceptance of the new changes. You could hear "mmm" come from him.

With a suddenness & popping sound, his neck, shoulder, chest, arms, & legs exploded with new muscle at the same time as if he was hulking out. His fingers changing to meet the new proportions. His legs lengthened.

He let out an sharp "ahh" at the sudden changes. His body from his waist jerking up to make a weak triangle before settling flat.

His abs changed as well. He began to groan. He had a cross between his own and Caleb's. He could feel his abdominal muscles merge into one. The skin then constricted and reshaped them, giving form to each of his stones.

His nether regions were a 1 to 1 copy of Caleb's. Bigger & longer. Harrier too. As the changes came in, he could be heard breathing hard through his nose.

The changes were done. His transformation complete. He slept the rest of the night.

He got up before his father & went to the local gym: he needed space & a different environment from his father's home. No one saw him as a different person to his shock. He went to the locker room to get a full look of his changes:

He was bewildered. He was like a new man. Did he have to change this much? He loved the muscles, the power,....the confidence? He remember that Caleb was inside him now. Caleb was a soldier. A flood of memories hit Derek. Caleb's training & missions as a soldier, his buddies in the air force.

He returned home. His father was also shocked by his son's changes. They talked and found a happy medium. He wanted to know where this clinic was located, but his father forgot. No third chances.

He decided to go travel for this spring break. A visit to Caleb's platoon. The ones who survived. To the graves of the ones who didn't. They all deserved respect.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Reading the book, and I'm already loving it. I agree with a lot of the things y'all say in it (players control the characters, not the narrator, etc.), but I was surprised at the strong insistence on 3rd person play.

Personally I like 1st person play because it helps me with immersion. If I play in 3rd person then my mental camera goes 3rd person, which feels more like playing a video game and removes that thrill of embodying someone else and living in a new world.

Usually I see people either take a strong pro 1st person stance, or a noncommittal stance, but this is the first time I've come across a game that insists on the 3rd person. I'm curious about the reasoning behind it. Was it just a philosophical decision, or did it bear out in playtesting that 3rd person was the better method? In the book y'all acknowledge that 3rd person play doesn't eliminate the threat of griefing from bad faith players.

Y'all clearly put a lot of thought into the game, so that really interested me. Could be a good learning opportunity!

I passed this on to one of our team and this is what she had to say:

In addition to our own home table just preferring to play in 3rd person, we believe that perspective is an important element of TTRPGs that doesn't get explored very often in the modern landscape. The games we play are composed of language - not just the words on the page, but the words we say at the table. Changing the verbiage will create a different emotional space, and a different experience. That zoomed out mental camera you describe is part of the point! In any TTRPG, players are always two things: participant, and audience. The narration we employ at the table affects the game world, yes, but we are also the only people there to see it play out. Eureka strongly emphasizes the "audience" side of that equation, and wants to frame the "participant" side as an act of authorship and discovery rather than one of inhabiting the world.

Just on a fundamental level, perspective is a defining part of any media - the camera angle in a movie or video game, the person of a book's prose, who tells the story, and who they tell it for. The way we frame a story changes the response it evokes. As you say, you've seen either strong pro-1st-person stances or neutral ones, but not a strong pro-3rd-person stance. I don't think that's because 1st person is inherently better for this sort of game, I think its because there is a tendency in the hobby right now - for a variety of reasons - to treat TTRPGs like a form of improv theater. That's not a problem in isolation per se, but I think it's one that limits what the medium can be or do. TTRPGs can be improv theater, but is that all they can be?

On a final note, we have also seen the insistence on 1st-person play and the approach of "embodying" a character occasionally cause real harm when the people involved have trouble separating player and character. That's also part of the reason we're so insistent about these being two separate people, because investigators tend to do some pretty messed up things (this being a horror focused game, after all), and we don't want people equivocating their friends with the characters they play when that level of emotional intensity is involved. Many people who play in 1st person are able to engage with that in a healthy way and understand the difference, of course, but I think it's hard to deny that the language makes that equivocation easier.

- @ashweather (person from out team who doesn't normally run this blog)

Adding on myself, another thing that I always like to bring up in this discussion is that first-person verbiage did not used to be so universal! Playing in the hobby even 4 or 5 years ago, you'd see (or at least I would see) a mix of third and first person verbiage at tables, and even people who used both interchangably. It's only in the past few years that third-person verbiage for TTRPGs has gone practically extinct, and i think most of the blame lies at the feet of big-budget "actual play" shows like Critical Role being many people's only reference for how a TTRPG can be played. Critical Role uses first-person, so therefor that's how TTRPGs are played.

I've even had people tell me on multiple separate occassions "that's wrong" when I'm trying to use third-person verbiage for TTRPGs, when playing with rulebooks which explicitly say in their text early on "you can use 1st or 3rd person to describe your character's actions"! (most, if not all, D&D edition rulebooks say this!)

In closing, yeah, if Eureka were a video game, it would be in third-person. Eureka doesn't want you in its world, it wants a character.

[selineram3421]

*stumbles in and door slams into the wall* Ding-dong💘

Soft Love

Alastor X Chubby Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ food mention-desserts and strawberries, hurt/comfort, italics=thoughts, insecurities, mentions of murder, mention of cannibalism, slight implied/suggestive ⚠

Life in Hell was hectic.

Love in Hell? Nearly impossible to find.

Especially if its real.

Alastor knew you as the kind, soft demon that everyone got along with in the hotel staff.

Kind even to him.

Your work at the hotel was mostly in the arts. The Princess has you in the therapy area to help sinners express their emotions with different mediums.

Such an interesting demon you were with many hobbies. Painting, singing, dancing, baking, designing, cooking, knitting, photography, drawing. The list could go on possibly for a while, you haven't shared all of them.

He was curious, wondering exactly what damned you to Hell.

"Alastor!"

Speak of the devil, you called.

"Yes dear?", he looked up from his book.

He sat on the lobby couch that was just across the bar, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"Could you try something for me? I made some lava cake for desert but I want to make sure yours is the right amount of bitter."

Yes, you were also very considerate and attentive.

"Of course dear!", he stood from the couch and whisked his book away into the shadows. "You know I always look forward to your baking."

He followed behind you, smiling a little wider at the pep in your step.

The Radio Demon knew that he had feelings for you. It took him a while to come to terms with it but let it happen anyway.

You were also the only person that he touched (respectfully) often. Holding your hand, linking your arms together, squishing your cheeks, holding you close for a dance. All excuses just to feel your warmth and softness.

Sure, he's let his friend Rosie touch him but she knew that he didn't like physical contact too often unless it was needed for dancing.

"I made your cake less sweet too!", you turned to look back at him with a smile.

"I appreciate it."

Once both of you entered the kitchen, you showed him the cakes and got out two different chocolate mixes.

"The lighter one is the sweetest, and the darker one is quite bitter.", you placed the bowls on the counter. "I actually want to try it with strawberries too.."

"Sounds appetizing!", he stepped closer and placed his hand on your lower back, leaning forward. "I wouldn't mind having a bite."

You blushed and avoided his gaze.

How adorable.

"I'll get a spoon for you to try the chocolate.", you said before walking out of his hold and over to the drawers near the door.

One thing he noticed was that when it came to his touch, you'd shy away. When he gave you compliments regarding your appearance, you would brush him off or put yourself down.

It upset him greatly.

Somewhat impatient, he swiped up some of the dark chocolate with his finger and tasted it.

"Alastor!"

Like a child, he quickly held his hands behind his back as if to hide something.

"Yes?"

You sighed and got a napkin before walking up to the red man.

"No use in hiding what you did.", you held out your hand.

"But I'm not hiding anything.", he shows you his hands by placing them on yours. "See?"

You hum and pull him down by his hands. "You've got chocolate on the side of your lip deer.", you point out and laugh.

He let's you clean him up with the napkin.

When you pull back, he stops you by taking a hold of your hand with the napkin. Calling your name, the Radio Demon looks you in the eye.

"I have a question for you"

"What is it?", you ask.

"Why is it that whenever I give you a compliment, you disregard it?"

In a second you stiffened and stared at him wide eyed.

"W-what? I don't do that..", you tried to pull away.

Alastor places a kiss on your fingers, still not letting go of your hand.

"Don't lie to me my dear, I always remember everything about you."

You look away with a sigh.

The frown on your face makes his unbeating heart ache.

"I don't like to talk about it.", you say and pull away.

Instead of leaving, you move the bowls and hop onto the counter to sit. Then you take a moment before speaking.

"I wasn't always treated right because of how big I looked.", you said with a sad smile. "I wasn't beauty standard perfect, or had a body that someone could ogle."

The red demon listened.

"When I did get into a relationship, it wasn't good. I was belittled, abused, and cheated on. But I still loved with my whole being..", you moved your hands onto your lap. "I was stabbed to death by them."

Alastor had to hold back his anger.

He wanted to find the person who dared treat you like nothing. To torture and rip them apart. To eat them alive.

"Silly, isn't it?", you smiled sadly, staring down at your hands. "Its what got me killed in the first place but yet I'm still chasing after it."

The Radio Demon slowly took your hands and gently rubbed them.

"You just put your heart in the wrong hands.", he said and lifted your hands to kiss your knuckles. "If I was the one who you loved, you wouldn't have to worry about any affairs."

He kissed the inside of your wrist.

"I'd compliment you everyday."

You were blushing madly at this point, too shocked and flustered to stop him.

He kissed your shoulder.

"I would never hurt you.", he says and kisses your cheek before whispering. "Unless you asked me to."

"Alastor-", you got one of your hands out of his hold to cover your mouth and some of your red face.

He leans back a bit to get a good look at you.

"I don't know how they couldn't see you for who you are. You're absolutely divine and worth so much more than anything anyone else could offer me."

You were tearing up at this point, still covering your mouth.

Carefully, the deer demon moved your hand away and caressed the side of your face. Wiping away a stray tear from your cheek.

"I love you."

You start tearing up more and he sees them start running down, some wetting his hand.

"I love all of you.", he smiles genuinely. "And if anyone dared try to insult or belittle you again, I'll make sure to torture them a million times over until you ask me to stop."

You've begun to quietly sob, wiping your tears as best as you could with your free hand.

"May I kiss you?"

You laugh at that.

"I'm a mess!", you say with a breathy laugh before sniffling.

"No, you're adorable.", he kisses the top of your head.

He let's you take a minute to calm down and helps you wipe your tears and snot away.

"Can you ask again?", you give him a shy smile.

"May I kiss you?", his smile widens.

"Yes please."

Both of you share a soft but long kiss.

I found the merch!

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

None for right now until I can fix how to add more tags.

ML for Alastor🎙

Extra:

You confess to Alastor that you've had a crush on him for quite a while.

"How long?", he asks, deer ears perked up.

"Uh..haha.", you look away with a blush. "After a week of joining the hotel.."

Doing the math, he realized that you've fancied him four months before he started growing feelings for you.

"Is that why you would ask what my favorite meals are? And how much sweetness I could tolerate?"

You nod.

"I can't believe how oblivious I've been. You've been gifting and making things for me.", his deer ears droop down and his brows furrow. "I must make up for all the time you spent on me."

"It's alright love.", you smiled.

"No, you can't change my mind.", he says and steals a kiss. "I'm going to spoil you."

🫀

[atlaswav]

EMPYREAN ☾

INFO: 4385 words, dr ratio x gn!reader, college au SYNOPSIS: Art is the practice of capturing life in still motion, and yet Dr Ratio can never seem to capture your beauty in its entirety in his sketches. His waking thoughts are clouded by images of you, the bane of his existence. He hates it, but can't resist. The Gods - if there are any - are cruel. WARNINGS: none! for once! except attempted kiss. AUTHOR'S NOTE: my head hurts so bad rn and i need sleep but there were thoughts in my mind. also i think its really boring lowkey but hey! i said i'd publish something by sunday! also i think his characterisation is really off today but oh well.

Divinity wasn’t real. There were no real Gods, they didn’t exist – couldn’t. Science proved such. Miracles were situations of insurmountable luck, and no one’s fate was “ordained” like astrology maniacs liked to think. 

But when Icarus fell from the great skies of myth, reaching for the sun and Gods and the heavens beyond, Veritas Ratio was sure that the gnawing terror and morbid awe that seized that man at the sight below was familiar to him. That sprawling city touched by the sublime sun, smiled upon with the benevolent God peering through the clouds whose gaze melted fragile wax. 

He was sure that that fear and unprecedented awe was the same as when he first glimpsed you. 

His fall, however, wasn’t graceful or worthy of any legend. 

“Oh– you alright?” 

“My apologies, I–” he glanced up, leaning down to immediately pick up his sketchbook which had fallen to the ground, then he froze. 

“...Are you okay?”

This, he wasn’t certain. You helped him gather his supplies again, and he thought he’d never see you again – there were so many buildings and so many classes, why would he? But as if fate was stringing him along, he wound up sitting next to you for his art studies class. The class he convinced himself he needed to take for a proper education.

Icarus’ fall was met with swift demise, and he was so sure that he would too. But who was he to compare himself to legends? Even still, why else would he be stricken by the malady of your existence, if you weren’t some overwhelming beauty that his greed desired to capture? 

Art, however, could not capture life as any man would like. It could never catch the way light reflected in the eyes, illuminating the soul. Neither the delicate intricacies of a smile, a twitch of muscle, a beating of a butterfly’s wings, the delicacy of life.

Try as one might, however, Dr Ratio aimed to do this, anyway. Charcoal was his chosen medium, pervading clean paper, marking intent, focus and desperation. 

He remembered you casting him a smile before seating yourself beside him, and all his doubts in taking the art course dissipated from his mind – despite your literal run in moments before. 

You became immersed in the artwork at your fingertips as the professor chirped about something he should’ve probably been attentive to, but to him, it was now entirely meaningless. Your cheeks lifted when you smiled, creasing the corners of your eyes. Your hair fell over your face in graceful lines that framed your features, and your hands moved with such gentle dexterity that he yearned to capture them in his drawings. Your eyes narrowed in the slightest as your brush met the canvas, mouth agape with your fixation on your art. 

The charcoal snapped, and Veritas Ratio likewise snapped from his immersion, frowning at the dark lines that marred the page. 

In his sketch, your eyes were obscured by a wall of smudged black ash instead of the curtain of hair that covered your features. Ratio sighed, leaning back from the desk. Your eyes were now downcast on your palette as you mixed paints. 

There was a divinity in you that he yearned to capture, like sunlight in a jar. Futile, but with noble intention, he swore to himself. 

Then, there were more classes. More days that passed, more instances where he observed your habits, your artwork that had you enrapt, just as he imagined his own perverse captivation with you. There were more charcoal sketches in sketchbooks that never saw the light of day, ones where your smile was too wide, didn’t meet your eyes, or didn’t carry the exact expression that yours projected. 

Art could never imitate life – Veritas was simply mortal. But mortals could always dream of something divine.

There were times where he left the classroom for a moment, and he feared you might glance over at his sketchbook to see the hundreds of sketches of yourself. Smiling and frowning and focused, the end of your paintbrush sitting absently between your lips, your gaze cast to the side, small splatters of paint smudged under your eyes and on your fingers. It was unsettling. He knew it himself. There had to be an extent to his observation when it became invasive, yet he feared losing your presence without ever capturing it in still motion. 

This is when a man grows desperate. 

“May I draw you?”

“...draw me?” you glanced towards him, reluctantly tearing your gaze from your own work. “Why?”

“A study.”

You smiled a half smile. An expression that he was familiar with, given that you were already halfway through the semester. Still, there was nothing to your encounters but smiles of courtesy and niceties (he’d never admit that he so desired more).

“Sure. Show it to me later.”

Now, Dr Ratio discovers, there are few things that may disturb a man’s endeavours when he is enrapt in his studies. None of which affected Veritas in the slightest as his charcoal became dust on his fingers and he clicked his tongue at the material’s reluctance to bend at his will. 

None of which can successfully capture the being that is you, and he isn’t sure he wants to, anymore. Art isn’t made for the eyes of greed, it’s made for the soul that yearns for the cure of the senses. Or so the greats all say, but he thinks he cannot be one of them. He couldn’t imitate life, he was versed in the calculations of life instead. 

Caught in his thoughts, he taps his – new – stick of charcoal on the edge of the drawing pad, frowning at the new sketch he was pondering. 

“You’re really good.” your voice echoes from behind him. 

He turns abruptly to find you standing behind him, head tilted as you examine his sketches. Your nose scrunches the tiniest bit, and your eyes crinkle with a hint of mirth.

“Does my nose really look like that?”

“Of course.”

You laugh at his blunt reply. “Can I see your other drawings?”

There are over seven thousand languages that still exist in the world, and Veritas Ratio cannot think of a better, more dire way to say no than to agree completely. 

“Of course.” He flips through his sketchbook quietly, letting you glimpse his insanity. You were making him lose his mind, really. He watches your expression – how your eyes widen, your lips part, your brows furrow. 

“Did you do all of this since the last lesson?”

No, but he wouldn’t say that – 

“No, I've been studying you for a while.”

– Or maybe he would. 

Your laugh is another divine thing that he wishes he can capture. “Oh God, I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. You make a good muse.” 

“Do I?”

He nods, biting his tongue. He doesn’t want to incriminate himself any further than he already has, and he’s already become a stalker to you. 

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yes. Undoubtedly.” 

“Consider me flattered, then…” 

“Dr Ratio. Veritas. Veritas Ratio.”

“...Veritas.” 

He loves the way your lips mouth his name. He’d never say it to your face, though. This, at least, would die with him. 

“Well, thank you. You may return to your painting.”

You huff a laugh. “So formal. I’m nearly done, so I don’t really have anything urgent to worry about. Meanwhile you…”

He’s inclined to agree. The professor was checking everyone’s progress the next lesson, and he still hadn’t grasped what he thought to have been perfect. 

“Ah. Right.”

“Do you want me to like… pose for you or something?”

He hesitates. Why? He doesn’t know. Maybe something about morality and art and the truth, but he doesn’t care anymore. “That… would be ideal.”

“Alright, but you’ll owe me as well. Deal?”

This is how Veritas Ratio finds himself pacing his apartment, fixing his hair in the mirror, dusting the tops of the bookshelves that line the walls and polishing the kitchen counter so that each surface is devoid of any evidence of his own guilty conscience. 

His anxieties were immediately multiplied hundredfold when you knocked. He waited a couple of seconds – to not seem too desperate, with his heart racing out of his chest – then finally opened the door. 

You stood there, smiling with such casual ease that he found himself wanting to know everything about you. 

It was absurd. 

A tiny, suppressed part of him welcomed it. 

“Hey, Veritas,” 

There it was again, the unfamiliar way you said his name, smile widening. He decided against a verbal reply, instead nodding and guiding you into his living room. 

“You’re so… clean.” you glanced about the apartment, marvelling at how almost every surface had a shine to it. But it made sense, once you saw him sitting at the couch, already observing you with the unshakeable gaze you’d felt since that first class. 

You weren’t entirely oblivious to his stare, just as you weren’t unobservant with the way his cheeks dusted with pink the day before – and today, it seemed – as he made eye contact. 

You smiled, and watched him blink a couple of times before turning away with a cleared throat. 

“Yes. I can’t stand a mess of any sort.”

“Figured.” you shrugged, standing next to him. “So, where do you want to start? What should I do?”

He hesitated for a second before directing you to the armchair across from him. “Just sit there for now. We’ll start here.”

You complied, allowing him to hurriedly arrange the folds of your clothes and angle of your limbs with fleeting touches. 

He appeared nervous, but it was endearing. 

Minutes pass by in silence, faint scratching of charcoal on paper filling the space between you. The sunset’s light poured in through the balcony behind you, casting a dramatic shadow over the armchair. Purple, orange, yellow – you wondered if that scrutinising look he gave you was disapproval or awe. There was no way of telling, with his complex set of facial-expressions. 

But interpreting him through guesses wasn’t how you envisioned this would play out. 

You cleared your throat, but he didn't glance up. He held the sketchbook up next to you, but quickly returned to the page, making harsh lines across the page. 

“So… Veritas?”

His head snapped up, stray strands of violet hair splayed across his forehead. “Yes?”

“Why did you take art?”

His eyes narrowed on you. Examining, maybe. “I felt as if I needed to. For a well rounded study, of course.”

You laughed. “Of course you did.”

At this, he paused. “What do you mean by this?”

“Your reputation on campus. You have… what, four degrees? You’re famous.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, never putting down the charcoal, but tapping it against his fingers instead. “Oh? What else have you heard?”

“Well, they say you’re insanely smart, but you’re also pretentious.”

He frowned. The way his brows scrunched was endearing. “I’m not pretentious. Everyone else is simply far underqualified.”

“They also say that you’re an elitist.” you laughed. 

Concern only grew on his expression. “Do you think this of me?”

You shrugged. “I’m yet to form an opinion.”

He nodded. “Good. Wise.” he said, almost as if reassuring himself. 

“...How long will this be, though? I can only sit still for so long.”

He blinked, turning to the sketchpad again. “Not too long. I promise.”

“Can we go out to dinner, afterwards?” 

At this, he choked. You stifled a laugh at the renewed blush on his cheeks. 

“Dinner? Why?”

“You owe me, don’t you?”

This is when he realises that he was a fool in allowing you in, to allow the muse of his most divine visions to become human. 

He’s greedy, though. No one and nothing can change this. He wanted more of you. He wanted to hear each thought that crossed your mind and know each little item that occupied your attention. He wanted to dissect your mind and examine your memories and behaviours like an insect splayed under a glass, and he wanted to understand you so well that he became sick with the thought of you. But in his mind, you could do no wrong. You were so divine; with your secret smiles that held secret thoughts, and knowing glances that examined his frame with an artist’s scrutinising eye. 

“Fine. Just let me finish up.”

So you stay put, and you return to the thick silence that envelops the room. The clock ticking above the armchair only taunts you as your limbs begin to ache from lack of movement. 

Scratching on paper, huffs of exasperation, the occasional tearing of a page, and he finally sighs, rising from the couch. The sun had long since set, only remnants of daylight still lingering on the sky’s deep blue. The light was gone. You wondered if he’d captured the sun in his drawing, as well. 

“It’s done. Not good as the professor would like, but it will do for now.” he said, running a hand – dusted with black – through his hair. His forehead was coated in splotches of black thumb prints. 

You similarly rose from the armchair, stretching, and walked over to the drawing on the coffee table. 

You didn’t realise this was how you looked to him. Your features were only emphasised in the dramatics of the sunset, the slight turn of your lips and curve of your cheekbones accentuated with the shadows. He’d taken artistic liberty, you realised, in painting you within the sun’s dying light. 

You almost looked divine. 

“Holy shit.”

“Does that hold a negative connotation?”

“Veritas, you’re crazy.”

“...negative?”

“It’s so…” you met his gaze which was already searching yours for a reaction. “It’s brilliant. It’s so, so good.”

His shoulders relaxed as he sighed. “Good. Let’s go to dinner, then.” he turns to leave, but you stop him, grabbing his arm. You found that it was hard as chiselled marble, and almost want to find out exactly what’s underneath, but you dismiss the thought. 

“You have something on your forehead.” you point. 

He frowned, rubbing his forehead with the same hand that had been gripping the charcoal for the past hour. Smudged it even further. His forehead was thinly coated in black ash.

You sighed. “Here, let me.” 

He leaned down for you to wipe the stains, hair hanging over his eyes. He smelled faintly of the library with its old books, and partly of ink with something deeper. His eyes darted around to meet anything but your gaze, long lashes fluttering, crimson red eyes matching the shade of his complexion. 

You make him nervous, you confirm with delight. 

“There. That’s the most of it.” you withdrew, and he stood back up quicker than you thought possible. 

“Alright, dinner, then.” 

“Dinner.”

“I’ll go and… wash up.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

He realised how much he was doomed as the sky started to pour with rain, just as the two of you stepped outdoors, beyond his apartment complex. 

“How far is the place you wanted to go?” he asked you.

“Not too far. Let’s just keep walking.”

He shrugged, falling into step beside you. His steps were terrifyingly large, as would make sense with his tall frame. 

“So what are your interests?” he blurts out, staring at the ground as he walks. 

“Well, art, obviously,”

“Yes, of course, do you think I’m dense?”

“Maybe a little.” 

“I will interpret that as sarcasm.”

You laugh, and as if the heavens had heard you, the rain began to fall heavier, darkening the landscape, tingeing the air with smells of petrichor and a cold that wasn’t there before. 

Ratio thought it was ironic. A pathetic fallacy of his doomed fate. 

“You have to be kidding me.”

He sighed, massaging his temples with his fingers. “We are unfortuitous.”

“...You could’ve said unlucky.”

“I choose not to associate myself with idiots.”

You chuckle as you attempt to cover your head with your arms, running to the nearest block for shelter. The rain, however, doesn’t desist. It continues to pour until you’re both soaked through – his hair soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, white shirt clinging to his carved abdomen that you desperately try to avoid looking at. 

“Should we just go back?” you move your hair out of your eyes, squinting in the relentless downpour. Through the slight shelter of the building behind you two, the rain pours heavy as ever, unlikely to cease soon. 

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion.”

“...Why didn’t you offer it first?”

Because he thought you looked good in the rain with wet hair. He wanted to remember the image – burn it into his eyelids – before he returned to sketch it. Number of things he’d never say aloud: two.

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion yourself.”

“Pretentious.”

“Thank you. Now can we hurry? It’s only getting heavier.”

His situation, ironically, then becomes even more perilous. A series of unfortunate events, unfolding like a train of misfortunes. First, your meeting – strikingly uncomfortable for both of you, he imagined (it certainly was for him) – then your failed attempt at dinner, interrupted by an unforgiving rain storm. He didn’t think it could get much worse. But there was always room for improvement, as he knows better than anyone, the academic that he is. 

There are, now, puddles of water throughout Dr Ratio’s apartment that he hadn’t bothered to clean since you got into his shower.

You, in his shower. 

He wonders if there is a God, somewhere out there, delighting in his torment. It was never supposed to devolve into such interactions, only observing you long enough to capture your beauty on the page. 

He wonders if you know he is thinking about you often as he does. Thinks you’d be completely repulsed by him. This is what frightens him. 

“Veritas?” your voice echoes from within the house. 

He gets up from where he’s sitting in a puddle near the kitchen, racing to the bathroom at your call. Did he manage to miss something incriminating in his bathroom? He’d made sure that every surface was bare before you entered, had he not?

“Yes?”

“...This is embarrassing. Can you please get me a towel?” 

This felt like one of those cliches in romantic comedies that Ratio’s colleagues liked to watch. Mindless scenes of dry humour and burlesque attempts at “comedy” he found appalling. It was happening to him, now. Spiting his academic rigidity. 

“Of course. One moment.”

He tries not to think about you, standing completely bare behind the door, as he sticks a hand into the bathroom, head turned away. If you looked closer, you’d have seen the bright red shade of his ears – but to his merit, you take the towel, shutting the door, a muffled “thank you” audible through the door. 

He sighs, sitting on the floor beside the bathroom. 

Whatever Gods there were, were bestowing great suffering on him today. 

It takes a couple minutes for you to finish up in the bathroom. Another few more for him to wash up, and another handful of minutes for you both to be seated on the couch together in awkward silence. 

You wear one of Ratio’s old shirts and shorts, scrolling on your phone, and he is sitting, arms crossed, on the opposite end of the couch, staring at you again. Outside, the rain still pours in unceasing rivulets, dissipating any ideas for going out for dinner. 

He thinks his clothes look far better on you than on him. Thinks that you were made for this world and its inhabitants, crafted so perfectly. Wonders what wouldn’t suit your wear, because he can’t imagine anything that you couldn’t look good in. 

“Okay,” you say, turning off your phone to stare back at him, “I ordered. Should be here in about ten minutes.” 

He nods, and averts his gaze. 

You smile. His behaviour is amusing.  

“Veritas?”

“Yes?”

“What are your greatest fears?”

“Excuse me?”

You shuffle closer, and he notes a glint in your eye that suggests mischief. Teasing, as he’d seen before. “What are you afraid of? Like, the dark?”

“Nothing.”

“Boring. Come on, there’s gotta be something.” 

He frowns, brows bunching together as he stares at the wall. An easy, natural habit. “Nothing. Fear is irrational.”

“Right.” you laugh at his blatant refusal to cooperate with you. 

“Am I being funny?”

“No,”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being so… unexpectedly childish.”

“What?” he seems to prickle up with indignation. “What do you mean?”

“Your stubbornness to just answer my question, and the way you’re…” you gesture to his posture, the way his arms are folded and he glares at the wall. “Behaving. It’s childish.”

“Well, what are you afraid of? Nothing, right? It’s a stupid question.”

“I’m afraid of insects, the dark, I could go on, really,”

Veritas glares at you, meeting your eyes for a second. “Fear is stupid.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you scared of holding eye contact?”

At this, he blinks. He turns to face you, still frowning, but his gaze flickers between your eyes and the rest of your face. Your laugh only makes him roll his eyes. 

“You really can’t hold eye contact, can you?” you say through a fit of giggles. “Have you ever dated?”

“Yes, I can hold eye contact,” – but not with you, it seemed. You intimidated him – “And no, I haven’t, it’s a distraction.”

“From what I’m seeing, you can barely even be near me without blushing.”

He blushes, breathing a sigh of exasperation. 

“Dr Veritas Ratio’s one fear is making eye–”

Then he grabs your shoulders, forcing you closer, and holds your gaze with such intensity that the words disappear from your lips. You blink as his stare bores into yours, crimson eyes deep, shining with something unfamiliar to you that you realise you want to decipher. 

People like to say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and Veritas Ratio’s was ridden with something that burned like the sun's dying light. 

It’s then that you realise how close you are to him, how his firm grip on your shoulders softens and his touch drifts to hover above your jaw, how he smelled so inviting, familiar and distant all at once, and how his lips were slightly parted, how they looked so soft –

Knocking, at the front door. 

You both tear away, and he stumbles to the front door to collect your delivery. 

You never regret anything more than this moment. 

“Delivery.”

You nod, obscuring your face with your hair as he sets down your meal on the coffee table. 

You’re both back to silence, pleasantries and common niceties as the meal passes. 

Neither of you meet the other’s eye. 

Time ticks away as you finish your food and clean up, wiled away by carefully weighed words and half-met glances. 

He hates it. 

He hates how you were looking at him with such curiosity, and he hates how he let you tease him. He also hates the delivery man for not being delayed by the rain, but he also hates himself for not ignoring the knocks on his front door. 

“I think I should go now.”

Yes, that would be best. “Why? It’s still raining, you could stay.”

“Well…”

He knows your dorm is far from his apartment complex. He knows that you’ll have to trek through the rain, and yet he also knows that if you stay, he won't be able to sleep. He still has images of you – fresh in his mind – to sketch onto the page. 

“It’s no trouble.”

“Okay. I’ll stay the night.”

“You can sleep in my room.”

“But–”

“Don’t argue.”

Somehow, you’re inclined to do as he says. 

Time, like all things, passes too quickly and too slowly all at once. Without time, nothing exists, but with it, it’s all too agonising to live through. 

This is exactly how Dr Ratio feels as he sits at the coffee table, the small space dimly illuminated by a lamp, as the entire apartment is still. You’re probably sleeping, as he reminds himself, tearing another page out of his sketchbook, unsatisfied with his own hand. 

The rain was now tame, a steady rhythm to his never-ending endeavours to capture your beauty on the page. 

Maybe it’s when the charcoal snaps in his hands, or maybe it’s when his lamplight flickers that he decides that capturing life in still motion is helpless – a pointless and impossible venture that can never succeed. 

You’re too deific to fit into a world of his creation. 

What are supposed to be your eyes – painted with fervour, but lacking depth – stare up into the ceiling as he dozes off, charcoal falling from his hand, eyes drooping closed. Slivers of moonlight cut across your painted face as he slumps onto the table, snoring softly.

—

You wake to sunlight in your eyes, blinding and harsh, and realise where you are. 

It all smells like him – that scent that you can’t place that smells good, and a lingering smell of the library with all its papers. It all smells like him, and when you walk into the living room, you find that his own apartment is completely devoid of any sense of himself. 

But when you find him slumped at the coffee table, lamplight still illuminating the space with its curtains drawn and rays of sunlight peering through, he’s obsessed with you. 

You’re unsure what, exactly, to feel. There are abandoned pages scattered all throughout the space, and unfurling one, you recognise your own face staring back at you. 

Each and every drawing is of you – your hair wet, clinging to your skin, you drowning in his clothes far too large for you, or your face painted with curiosity and entrapment. 

It’s you through Veritas’ gaze, and you think that beyond all else, he made you look divine. 

When Veritas Ratio wakes to his papers – all wrinkled and partly torn – sitting in front of him, neatly arranged with a note on top, realisation hits him, but he can only laugh. 

“Veritas Ratio’s greatest fear: eye contact with the person he’s obsessed with. Completely irrational – even though he can draw me perfectly from memory. A shame, really. Looks like you’ll have to invite me over to pose for you again.

So you can get my eyes right, of course.”

written by @atlaswav , published 26th of August 2024

[bogleech]

a lot of zombie movies and games make the infection a fungus in the cordyceps genus for some reason. why is this a thing? which movie/game/book/whatever do you think pulled it off best? i saw the girl with all the gifts yesterday and i thought it was mid but i liked how the fungus in that movie does eventually kill its hosts and sprouts massive fruiting bodies

Cordyceps basically went steadily viral over the last decade or so as an example of a "real life zombie infection" in ants, so the horror genre quickly latched onto that, and it's understandable; it's one parasite that definitely works a little closer to our idea of zombies than almost anything else in nature. I'm gonna say any setting where the end stage is an actual big mushroom like you mention is coolest, but I do like how the Last of Us incorporates the existence of an underground mycelial network into zombie behavior. It's also not far fetched, because cordyceps actually can grow the traditional normal way of a fungus as well. Like it starts off in an insect host, but it can still spread from the insect corpse to a surrounding medium and a lot of people who grow it medicinally don't even use insects or insect materials! It's apparently kind of tricky and sensitive to collapse but you can get it growing on the right mix of rotten wood fibers or something like that.

Beautiful animal beast creature

[hoodedjelly]

Nicktoons unite main 4 in their respected styles ( minus jimmy neutron i'll explain more below)

i feel very mixed about these but it was still fun either way studying all of these cartoons respected styles. the final does make me happy, seeing all of them together ^__^ 💞

below i will explain my thought process working with each style so get ready for a wall of text:

first before anything you may be asking: why no jimmy neutron style!? it's because i tried and gave up! i was starting the rendering process for timmy and i hated it so i just didn't continue! no point of making myself miserable for something thats harmless fun style studies. but have these as a little treat:

Fairly Oddparents style: the easiest style to work on and research for, fop style is not that complex. i should also add i didn't draw each style in one sitting i drew each character together and then edited them all, so that might be the reason why some look better then others, i just got good. but i'm saying that because the character i started with was spongebob! specifically because i was tired of ppl thinking dp style and fop style are the same and how spongebob would look the same in both styles, just a flat square. which is wrong! fop style is very different! i would prob describe it as a flat paper style. has sharp and rounded thick lines. the main source of research i used for it was the designer for fop was Ernie Gilbert. he has designed a lot of iconic characters for the show and i highly would check out his work, this is his website

Danny phantom style: now this one was tricky, prob the hardest one to figure out and i honestly don't think i really DID figure it out. the possible reason is i am still trying to go through the show atm myself, but i'd doubt it. they all just look off to me, just a little. which no need for me to work myself in a circle trying to make it "perfect". im no professional character designer! especially not Stephen Silver.

Spongebob Squarepants style: this one was tricky but in the opposite way to dp style, where i didn't know what to reference! to start off the show is mainly nonhuman characters, so finding character refs were hard. the refs i did use were the mermaids and the superheros, so i used that for timmy. but in the middle of working on jimmys i was watching a video of someone ranking every single spongebob ep and TURNS OUT in the later seasons, i think season 13, there were human designs! (technically elfs but whatever).

and weirder thing is how they draw patchy but im not going to get into that. i am assuming that style is for characters that are supposed to be real life humans up on land in that universe (but why not just use real life humans? idk, maybe tom kenny is getting to old for the role). BUT ANYWAY, i used the elfs for a main source for jimmy and danny, they turned out a lot better then the timmy in my eyes. i wanted at least one of them to have the black eyes but they all have bright blue eyes and the show usually always colors blue eyes. i get ahead of myself cause there was a lot more factors i still had to figure out. like the line art. the show doesn't have a clear line style like dp or fop, its just relatively consistent medium lines. so i just went with more recent show stuff then older stuff since it's HD.

ok but thats basically it, i can prob go on more but i'd feel no one gaf. i made these for fun and it was fun making them! i love all of these shows a ton so it was nice looking up the designers and artist for these shows. support the artists!!! fuck bitch fartman!!!!!