#amalgam assembly

[shootingdio]

i went back and forth on whether i wanted to do artfight this year but i decided i will!

https://artfight.net/~demonskull

[riversebb]

to assemble bicycle, step one: bicycle assembly requires great peace of mind.

[greatquestionidontknow]

yall ever see someone and just know they have the most annoying accent before they even speak?

[ohnoitsjetster]

Didn’t Herbert West technically TECHNICALLY try to baby trap Dan in Bride of Reanimator?

Thoughts?

(Im sorry this took forever to respond to. life got in the way, of my silly little words)

technically, yes. The main intention was the same. But "Baby Trap" does not even start to explain the shit Herbert pulled in Bride of Reanimator.

thoughts? you want THOUGHTS? alright how about let me break down exactly what Herbert did here:

That man stole Megan's heart from an evidence locker and stored it in his fridge. When Dan tried to leave Herbert, He offered the heart to Dan with every ounce of reverence he could deliver without getting down on one knee.

that is to say, Herbert anticipated that Dan would leave him and saw that he loved Megan. So his reaction was to steal Megan's actual physical HEART, and give it to Dan as an offering to force him to stay.

He vaguely explained that he was about to baby trap him with it, to which Dan agreed because of his blind love for Meg, and his blind love for Herbert, and because, in the words of Bruce Abbot, "no one will ever get rich overestimating Dan's bad taste."

(This could maybe be because the world of Reanimator uses weird sci-fi logic where the heart contains the person's personality or life or whatever, and it'd actually bring Meg back (even though these movies seemed pretty brain-focused thus far), in which case, pretty good manipulator leverage! nice job, Herbie! Otherwise, its either because Herbert knew Dan would like this weird creepy gesture of love, or because Herbert thought this weird creepy gesture of love was a normal and good idea, and coincidentally Dan was that same wavelength of out-of-touch freak as Herbert, because they're just meant for each other or something. That last option is my personal favorite)

So, then Herbert goes around the hospital STEALING more body parts off corpses (former patients who also presumably received some form of care and attention from Dan), trying to create Dan's perfect woman based on his shallow perception of whatever it is that straight, allosexual, relatively neurotypical men like (maybe since Herbert can't be what Dan wants romantically, he can create it for him and earn love that way (that cannot be good for His internalized transphobia)).

so then he meticulously assembles a woman like an Ikea cabinet and proceeds to give Dan the worlds most sensual elevator pitch, using... a line that he heard Dan use with his girlfriend when he was eavesdropping on them having sex. He tries to explain why this is the perfect woman for all your woman needs! Like uhhh sex, and... sex, and lawyering? maybe murder? (I guess he thinks it'd be nice to have a woman who can kill for you and defend your crimes in a court of law. That does sound useful in their situation)

Then he watched the Bride fight Francesca like some sort of underground girlfriend fighting ring, as if the larger and stronger girl would win ownership of our poor pathetic Dr Cain. Unfortunately Herbert's creation broke down to nothing when it removed its own heart to give it to Dan in the same exact gesture with which Herbert showed Dan the heart earlier.

Pure heterosexual coincidence, of course. There is absolutely nothing odd about Herbert's gift to Daniel being a grotesque amalgamation of everyone Dan loved instead of him and everything those people had to offer Dan, fueled by the pumping of Megan's heart (whom Herbert had hated and competed with), a heart both stolen and offered willingly, one both frozen and thawed, both beating and dead. There Dan stays, too close, yet too far. (am i reading into it- You Bet)

Yup. Pure coincidence. And also nothing suspicious about it being a creature created of such concentrated love, reverence, devotion, and bitter fear of rejection, that at the moment of being pushed away, it entirely self destructs because its only purpose was to love Dan and be loved by him. Its only purpose was to be perfect for Dan, to be enough for him, to be some action of Herberts blood sweat and tears that could ever be wanted by him. But of course Herbert doesn't understand Daniel - understand people - as well as he hoped too. Dan is horrified. No clearer rejection than that. If we see her as an extension of Herbert, it's obviously the last straw. Herbert truly did everything for Dan, not only was he still unlovable, but repulsive, an affront to... what have you; god, nature, some simple short-sighted ideal of what a human should be. Above that Dan could see the seams of the uncanny imitation of his past loves, and the love that laid beneath was too much for him. Too loud, too fast, too raw and bloody. So it dies. The heart is given, and thrown away.

What I'm trying to say is that shit was crazy. Herbert could have done a much more cut and dry baby trap. He could have reanimated some random kid, forcing Dan to stick around and protect it. That would have been its own special kind of fucked up and is probably a good fanfic prompt. But noooo, Herbert had to do the most psychosexual, convoluted, batshit, traumatizing, bloody, gory, and frankly unnecessary declaration of love that could be achieved by one little scientist with nothing to his name but a little green potion and every mental illness. I for one think it was a fantastic idea.

No tldr, ur just gonna have to match my freak on this one. Hope my mad ramblings made some sense. Peace and love

[neuroncryptid]

With the recent reveal of several Phoenix Lords (RIP Karandras) I've been kept up at night, stuck on just understanding what it means to don their armor and what it says about the Eldar. As evidence by the Harlequins, an army of clowns is many things but subtle is not one of them, a lot of Eldar identity is defined by theatre. Its all so. . . enticing.

The Craftworlds, the traditional "vanilla" flavored space elves, live lives in the neat constraints of the paths. In order to stave off the ever hungry gaze of Slaanesh, the Aeldari dedicate themselves a particular craft or occupation. This is shown on the tabletop most clearly through the Aspect Warriors: Striking Scorpions, Warp Spiders, Howling Banshees, Dire Avengers, and more. They are masters of a particular art of war, individuals who dedicate themselves to replicating an aspect of Khaine, the god of murder. But do not be mistaken. The paths are not just a warrior thing. The poet, the musician, the painter, the sculptor, all of these things are represented by a path. They each are incredibly specific.

An individual Eldar may spend a century, maybe even thousands of years, on a singular path. But they might also just simply dip their toes into one only to hop to another after a short time. The goal of the paths is not to lose oneself to one or even master a particular thing. The act of a repeated task is enough. That, the self control, is the purpose of the paths.

Most captivating to me is the getting lost though. We are told this is a tragedy but being lost to the paths is nonetheless shown in both lore and tabletop to produce the best at a task or role. This of course makes sense. Should you spend a thousand years on one thing, have it become your person and you will become the best at that thing. But I can't help being stuck on what's lost.

The 1995 animated film Ghost in the Shell depicts a world of cyborgs and cybernetics. Every body contains some artificial product. The physical self is produced piecemeal on an assembly line. Some, like Major Motoko Kusanagi, have their entire bodies replaced. Only the brain remains, but even that is enhanced, probed, has metal shoved into it.

Of course these artificial bodies are designed with aesthetic in mind, but the individual is housed in an impressive array of augmentation and precise tuning. This leads to bodies being specialized for the tasks they need to fulfill. The Major is made for police work, her entire being curated to the application of force on behalf the state.

Not even the sparks of electricity in your brain is safe from this sense of artificiality. The thoughts that race through your skull can be manipulated, reprogrammed, hijacked. If this is what it means to exist in this imagined future, then what does it even mean to be a person.

This brings me back to the concept of the Phoenix Lords and the Aeldari. The Lords are in a way, just sentient suits of armor. But when they are worn they do not just speak to the individual. The individual becomes the person in the armor. To wear these plates is to cease to exist. You die so an individual "great hero" may walk again.

This is seen too, though in a less destructive to the individual form, in the Exarchs. These are the "sergeants" of the aspect warriors on the tabletop. They are those who lose themselves to the paths, those who become so dedicated to a form of murder that the act becomes more themselves than whoever took the first step into the shrine. Like the Phoenix Lords, Exarchs are kind of a sentient armor but unlike them, a person donning it is not completely lost. They are subsumed into the gestalt of past wearers. They become amalgamation, reshaped into a more honed individual.

But this doesn't just end there. Even the non-war focused Eldar see a form of this loss of self. When a conflict requires the conscription of the civilian population, the people take on a "mask" that separates the mind from the excess of war. The individual is hijacked to better suit the role. Of course, once any eldar leaves an aspect or the battlefield they are returned to their former self.

The Aeldari culture sees this as normal. It is made from the ground up with systems which facilitate the donning and discarding of a self depending on the role they find themselves in. There is of course tragedy in this from their perspective, but its only in the complete loss of self. The narratives of 40k place the war mask and the exarchs as separate things, diametrically opposed but they're not really are they? In a way the craftworlds are an assembly line producing bodies who's particular inhabitant is repurposed, reshaped for whatever path they find themselves on.

This. . . implied lack of actual self is so interesting by sharing space in the same civilization which has each of its citizens wear a spirit stone, a device which may save the soul from the jaws of She Who Thirsts by containing it in a gem. Clearly there is something, someone who is contained within them; the Wraith constructs show this. But who are these stones saving? Who is that self, the individual being kept?

[gomzdrawfr]

yall are cute

Owlie! pick an accessory for your owl/penguin thingy 1 2 3 GO!!

SOMETHING PIRATICAL!!!! an eyepatch or a pirate hat or a cutlass 🦉

[dmwrites]

Gem wasn’t sure how she’d been roped into this, but she was standing outside, at night, with a flashlight and a hoodie from Pearl over her dress. Grian, Scar, and Impulse were gathered around a map as she approached the bridge between Grian and Mumbo’s bases.

“Ah, there’s our other G!” Grian said, turning when he heard her footsteps and waving Gem over.

“Guys, what on earth are we doing? Old houses and buildings are one thing, but Hermitcraft? Nothing here was built over two years ago! What kind of ghosts could you possibly think exist here?”

“I don’t know, but there is some serious evidence that there is a ghost on this server.” Impulse said seriously. “We have freezing temperatures in some places-”

“What, like on top of mountains? Or in ice biomes?” Gem scoffed.

Impulse gave her a withering look and continued. “Scar swears he’s seen ghost orbs-”

“I saw them with my own two eyes!” Scar said.

“I thought you could only see them through cameras?” Gem asked.

“And, most importantly, we have a witness.” Impulse said proudly.

“A witness?” Gem asked.

“With bottled proof of this ghost’s existence.” Impulse continued proudly.

“If this witness has actual, real proof that ghosts exist, this could be groundbreaking for the world of ghost hunting.” Grian said, zipping up his backpack. “Okay, let’s go! Lead the way to the witness, Impulse!”

——

The second team GIGS landed in the hole in the ground, Grian made his thoughts known.

“Zedaph is our ghost witness? Impulse, please, you’re supposed to be the brains here. It’s not that I don’t like Zed, but he’s kind of…”

“How do we know he hasn’t been sniffing his test tubes as a zedvancement and hallucinated this all up?” Scar finished the sentence for him.

“Just wait and see.” Impulse replied.

Zedaph came out of a side tunnel moments later, holding a lantern in one hand and a small jar of fluorescent green liquid in the other. He was wearing a frankly horrifying dress (or just a really long shirt) that consisted of stitched-together clothing of all the other hermits.

“Hello, hello!” Zed called to them. “If it’s ghosts you’re looking for, I’ve got the spooks!”

“Zed, what on earth are you wearing?” Gem asked.

“Oh, this is my Halloween costume! I’m all the hermits, in a horrible amalgamation of cloth!”

“Well, he’s got the horrible part down pat.” Grian muttered to Scar.

Zed didn’t seem to hear the comment, as he looked at the four ghost hunters, counting them two times over.

“My friends, aren’t you missing someone?” Zed asked. “Where is the ‘S’ in GIGGS?”

“Skizz isn’t whitelisted on this server, duh.” Scar replied.

Zed grinned, and pulled a square-shaped item from his inventory. “Well, lucky for you, I have him right here on this i-pa- hi- hi-pad. A hi-pad, yes, that’s what this is.”

“Hi there, friends! Who’s ready to hunt some Hermitcraft ghost ass!” Skizz exclaimed from the screen, waving at his friends.

“Skizz!” Grian, Gem, and Scar exclaimed.

“Now that you’ve all assembled, I can tell you my spooky tale.” Zedaph said mysteriously, handing the hi-pad to Impulse. He pulled a campfire out of his inventory and set it down on the ground between them. “It was a dark and stormy night. I was up late, finishing up wiring my newest zedvancement trophy display. I came out to stand right in this very spot, on this ledge, looking over my hole, when something flew past my face!”

Gem gasped as Zed leapt forward, wiggling his fingers at his audience. Grian rolled his eyes. Scar was looking at the dangling animals, clearly not paying attention.

“It was glowing green, and this thing fell directly into the water feature around my bed!” Zed continued, pointing down into the hole, where his bed was. Around the bed were small streams of water, clearly so Zed wouldn’t take fall damage getting down. “I, of course, scrambled to get a lead, thinking it must be dangled at once.”

“I don’t like that your first thought when seeing anything is ‘can I wrap it up in rope and dangle it’, Zed. I would hate to psychoanalyze you.” Grian said.

“But when I got down there,” Zed continued, still acting like he didn’t hear Grian’s comments, “the lead went right through it! It was translucent, clearly a ghost! A green ghost of a man covered in chains! He gave me such a fright, speaking to me with a frankly grating American accent about pinball machines and other odd things. And then he left, floating up into the air and away! And all that was left behind was… this mysterious ghost substance.” Zed finished his story, holding out the bottle of glowing green liquid.

“Mysterious ghost substance?” Impulse asked.

Skizz gasped. “Dude, maybe that’s like the ghost’s sweat, or his p-”

Impulse muted him before he could finish.

“Scar, I dare you to drink that.” Grian said, pointing at the glass.

“Okay.” Scar said, and took the glass from Zed’s hand, popped the cork, and downed the whole thing in one gulp.

“SCAR!” Grian, Impulse, Gem, and Zed cried.

“Grian, why did you dare him to drink it?” Gem asked, smacking Grian’s arm.

“I didn’t think he actually would do it!” Grian cried.

“Don’t lie, you knew he would.” Impulse said, shaking his head. “Oh, sorry Skizz, did you want to say something?” He unmuted Skizz again.

“Is Scar okay?” Skizz cried. “And also, what does it taste like?”

They all looked to Scar, who was smacking his lips thoughtfully. He looked up at all of them. “Why is everyone looking at me?” He asked.

“You just drank ghost bath water, dude.” Skizz said.

“Ohh…” Scar said, looking at the empty glass. “I zoned out, sorry. So this was the ghost evidence?”

“And you drank it, yeah.” Gem said.

“This tastes familiar. I know where the ghost is.” Scar said. “Follow me.”

He took off, leaving Gem and Grian to stare at each other in disbelief, then follow, followed by Impulse thanking Zed for his help before taking off too, holding Skizz on the hi-pad. The ghost-hunting group followed Scar all the way to the middle of the ocean, to a huge pinball machine that lit up the night sky. They landed on the top, looking around.

“Why are we at Joe Hills’ place?” Grian whispered.

“Because that’s where the ghost is.” Scar said, pointing down at a glowing green ghost on the pinball playfield, moving around, placing blocks, trailed by chains. “It’s the Beetlejoest, it’s what Joe Hills turns into sometimes. Bit of an odd guy, but he still bleeds if you use the right arrows.”

“Wow, a real ghost! On Hermitcraft!” Impulse exclaimed. “Let’s set up our ghost hunting equipment, get as much information as we can! Quick, someone grab the parabolic mic!”

“So are we just going to ignore the part where Scar knew what Joe Hills’ ghost tastes like?” Grian asked. “Was I the only one that heard that?”

[exodusrpg]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐄

In the 25th century, Earth is a distant memory, a lost relic of the past. Humanity has mastered the art of space exploration, weaving through galaxies with the grace of seasoned travelers. Among these cosmic voyagers is the ship Apeiron, a vessel carrying the last precious plant specimens from Earth, a fragile hope for cultivating new life on untamed worlds. When an urgent distress signal echoes through the void, a special force is assembled, driven by a mission of profound importance: to retrieve Apeiron and its invaluable cargo, a beacon of life for a new homeland. Yet, beneath the surface of duty lies an amalgamation of personal stakes and hidden motives. Each member of the rescue crew is drawn by more than the promise of salvation. They seek answers, redemption, and the unraveling of mysteries shrouded in the silence of the drifting spaceship. In the vast expanse of space, where stars whisper secrets and shadows hold the past, their journey intertwines destiny with the echoes of lost worlds. EXODUS is a 21+ literate sci fi roleplay inspired by the three body problem, interstellar, 1899 and love death and robots. Join a small crew of 13 people aboard the Exodus to uncover the mysteries left behind on the Apeiron. This game will include interactive mechanics and be played on discord.

[ ∅ REBLOG FOR EARLY GAME DOC ACCESS ∅]

[lowlydogs]

PROMPTS. (cod dudes and shenanigans)

Some weird amalgamation of prompts, drabbles, and headcanons all at the same idea. This threeway may not quite be the best idea. Varying from sfw, crack to nsft. Gender neutral.

> PETNAMES. (and pets.)

Ghost: Petnames are not his suit. Dear, darling, it's words that simply don't come out of his mouth. Likewise, not affected by pet names. It's not about the words that matter, but the cadence, the intent, the intonation. Distant and cold, or respectful and playful? You'll need to get a master's in Ghostology to discern those small, imperceptible changes. The slight pause before he drops a name, the loudness of his restrained voice, the most fickle of reserved affection.

His true weaknesses lie not in the words, but in how you speak them. Softly, gently call him "Simon" in the morning for the desired effect. (Blatant black cat who knocks over mugs. Could present him with the most luxurious bed and he'd be found sleeping in a moldy box. Looks utterly uninterested when given affection, but wait for you the entire day when you go to work)

Konig: This man. This man is a raving hopeless romantic and an obnoxious clinger. A severe case of "Baby's first serious relationship", he's launching all romcoms he watched onto you with the boasting energy of ten suns. For a long, long time, prior to meeting you, repression was a good antidote of his. In the face of failure, in losing things for devoting himself to his career, he jarred those fears and strode with silence.

With that gone, he comes to feel. And boy, does he feel. The man clumsily, enthusiastically, impulsively showers you in love. Schätzchen, Schnuki, and of course, Liebling. Would try to learn endearment from your native language if you’re foreign. Even amidst the honest blunders and overbearing presence he has, certainly, you won’t be in any short supply of loving talk around him.

However. You’ll need to learn some restraint around him. One simple endearment, even something stupid as bae, would have him explode on the spot. Buckling knees, gleaming eyes, near heart attack from dopamine hyperdose. Treat with caution. Lovingly. (Octopus. The big majestic sea beast with knack for vengeance, but deep down, in his most authentic self: A dumbo octopus. Would cling to you for hours on end with those big, dumb eyes looking at you reverently the entire time)

Roach: Would call you pookie. (Cockroach with a bow tie who somehow has an personality and follows you around) (I just love him, he deserves an entry)

> ALIENLOVERS.

It's a flying saucer! It's a green blob with sexy abs! For a game of switcheroo, this round, you're the monsterish, ghastly alien this time. Various scenarios toying with this idea, described below.

1. You are an alien. An alien who, out of all things, takes the shape of a broom. A simple broom with a wooden handle and a hay head.

You may not speak or harbor sentience in your form, but one thing could be certain: You're a smoking hot dreamboat. Ghost is suddenly very adamant about janitorial duties. Soap leans against you, tilting you against his shoulders, asking if you come around often. Konig sensually holds you down and lowly murmurs to you about the time he got beaten with a broom when he was a kid. The entire team that retrieved you can't help but bend a knee, and the only one spared of your charring good looks is Price.

In the tiny tinfoil hat that protected him from whatever mind herpes you seeped, he is very stressed and disturbed, trying to ensure no man-on-broom action happens on base. Crack, can nearly include everybody on the list. Potential crack smut.

2. You are an alien. You are big and grotesque, a pulsing form of lifeform assembled of veiny, thick tentacles, resembling the mythological werewolf- And, yeah, yep yep, you fuck.

Think you understood where this was going the second I dropped the word tentacles. A different scenario, where the team sent to retrieve you gets poached one by one, until there's only one man left standing.

Each different soldiers get a different last standing. [ Saucy content and Dubcon on forward. ]

Ghost would defy till the end, keep running till he's literally slammed down by the throat. All "last moments" bravado, spatting venom and clocking even his empty rifle, all unit; a tentacle ram down his throat. Heavy Dubcon, lots of fighting, blood kink and fuck-and-die situation. Eventually, it lasts for ends and Ghost's adrenaline fades: Orgasm torture sets in. Where Ghost wilts from an unshaken, respected serviceman to a convulsing, jolting, fucked out mess on the floor.

Konig on the other hand, similarly fights, but not to the sheer ferocity Ghost does. Mostly because he's shaken by the death of his crew, and the fact that he, a nearly 7 ft tall man, is held down like he's a frog. His stature had assured him the comfort of leverage, where any one-to-one scuffle leveraged to his favor. But now, even the simple act of turning his head and looking up at you is revoked.

He's chest-down against the floor, wrists bound behind his back by tentacles and so much more over him. He can't even breathe. The sheer futility, the complete constriction of his form. You can see where this goes. Heavy Dubcon, bondage, and potentially, oviposition/breeding. Potential tears and choking included.

Many more examples and characters would've been written (Keegan, Roach, etc), but for the sake of not stretching this section too long, I'll cut it here.

---

It’s 2 in the morning and for now, have these thoughts that’s festering in my mind for a month. Would come back next morning to fix this up, since you could probably tell I wrote this sleep-deprived.

Except some of these tangents to be expanded into an actual full story someday, or get an electric boogaloo to this post where I explore other characters I missed instead.

Entirely feel free to hijack some ideas and write them: The only thing I'd ask is you to tag me so I may read them.

[anonymouspuzzler]

Im curious, as someone who monster woman oc's, i gotta ask,

What would monster versions of your oc's would look like ?

i LOVE!!!!!!! weird monster Guys (gender inclusive) but am not necessarily the best at translating to Designs and Ideas For Designs so to answer this i assembled The High Council Of Monster Lovers (read: my friends jay and jake who are So damn smart and wise) and they gave me permission to share their thoughts. jay also did some Fucking Killer Original Designs as he is wont to do and That i will leave to his discretion to post or not but i Did get permission to share the discussion points from The Council

for buck: ideas included some manner of amalgamation type creature or Construct. elemental themes of rock and ice. dragon was proposed, specifically something "barroth-esque", with some kind of visible damage such as a docked tail or cut-off wings - some outer part of him torn off despite heavy armor. minotaur was proposed as a more "traditional" type of monster, both for the themes of monster of circumstance/monster as victim/monster as cursed and spurned by his own family, but also more importantly Fat Milkers Titty Joke.

for davey: cyborg was discussed right off the cuff as an easy answer, so naturally we decided to focus more on the deeper cuts. siren was a big agreed upon point, specifically something with influence from creatures like dolphins or sea lions - animals with a public perception of being friendly and cuddly and carefree, but that are, at their hearts, Large Carnivores. alternatively, influence of deep sea animals or gulper eels - something strong with bright, hypnotizing eyes. water as an elemental theme generally came through strong as a concept for him.

for minnie: Armored Creature of Some Kind was the prevailing theme. construct, amalgamation, what have you. themes drawn from hermit crabs, something carrying a heavy armor but also at constant risk of outgrowing it, themes of Growing Wrong. some kind of protective "false face" got brought up too. medusa was brought up as a more "traditional" monster type, for reason of "just vibes".

[julesofnature]

The quietude and outer simplicity of the lichens hides the complexity of their inner lives. Lichens are amalgams of two creatures: a fungus and either an alga or a bacterium. The fungus spreads the strands of its body over the ground and provides a welcoming bed. The alga or bacterium nestles inside these strands and uses the sun’s energy to assemble sugar and other nutritious molecules. As in any marriage, both partners are changed by their union. The fungus body spreads out, turning itself into a structure similar to a tree leaf: a protective upper crust, a layer for the light-capturing algae, and tiny pores for breathing. The algal partner loses its cell wall, surrenders protection to the fungus, and gives up sexual activities in favor of faster but less genetically exciting self-cloning. Lichenous fungi can be grown in the lab without their partners, but these widows are malformed and sickly. Similarly, algae and bacteria from lichens can generally survive without their fungal partners, but only in a restricted range of habitats. By stripping off the bonds of individuality the lichens have produced a world-conquering union. They cover nearly ten percent of the land’s surface, especially in the treeless far north, where winter reigns for most of the year.

[artandtheirstories]

The Spanish Series: El Dos De Mayo 1808 - Francisco Goya (1814)

"There was an insurrection in Madrid on May 2. Thirty of forty thousand persons assembled in the streets and in houses and fired from the windows. Two battalions of fusiliers of the Guard and 400 or 500 cavalrymen brought things back to normal..."

Letter by Napoleon Bonaparte to his son, 6 May 1808

In the French emperor's view at the time, the 2nd of May was a disaster for the Spanish rebels. He would quickly learn that it was in reality a disaster for him. The ensuing Peninsular War became the disaster before the disaster of Russia, the straw that only fractured the camel's back.

One particularly interesting aspect of Goya's painting is the amalgamation between the rebels and the French soldiers. It is somewhat difficult to tell which side will emerge victorious, as one can see both French soldiers and Spaniards lying on the ground in pools of blood. The painting is chaotic, disorderly, and almost overt in its graphic depiction of gore.

Perhaps what Goya truly wanted to do was paint a very real form of war at its worst. The battles of the Napoleonic Wars were often painted with a more orderly manner of warfare, in which Napoleon sat on his horse, victorious above the fallen soldiers of the Coalition.

[360degreesasthecrowflies]

I’m afraid I’ve come more and more around to the opinion that Rowling is the kind of author who simply doesn’t think. So to look for an analytical interpretation of anything in the series is probably an exercise in frustration. She paints what is intended as impressive word pictures — essentially vignettes — mainly on the basis of how they are supposed to push your buttons and make you feel, without ever considering how they are supposed to fit together. This sometimes produces a considerable emotional impact, if you are at all sensitive to that kind of jerking around, but it doesn’t necessarily make sense. And sometimes they just plain backfire. Quite a few of these issues are still slowly coming into focus. And one of the sharpest is the awareness that the world Rowling assembled is simply a lot bigger than the narrow-focused, smug, anglo-centric view of it she gave us. Because when you come right down to it, it becomes clear that she never really intended to build a solid secondary world to put her story in. She simply didn’t do the groundwork. Instead, she has ended up with this weird amalgamation that she threw together — which is highly detailed in some areas, and only vaguely sketched in elsewhere with several great gaping holes where you least expect them, to fall right out of the story through. But, back when she first assembled this pretend world, she used the best possible materials available. She mined folklore, and classic (written) tales that have been pretty fully absorbed by the culture, as well as ancient myth, and symbolism that has been around for centuries, she mimicked the authentically traditional “tropes” of how stories are put together and how they work, and she did it with a free hand. But I’m no longer convinced that she did it all consciously. I think she slung a lot of them together because they just “felt” right together. Sure, sometimes she tweaked them before she deployed them, or renamed them, or trivialized the hell out of them, but she hardly ever invented anything new. Most of her elements already existed. The only thing in the Potterverse that is really original are some of her combinations. And, of course, the Dementors. Consequently, as I say, she ended up with something that is a lot bigger than she is. And which upon first encounter comes across as a lot more erudite than she probably really is too, because all of the elements she used to build it came already equipped with their own baggage, and a whole pre-existing collection of associations which all originally led someplace. And most of them are so widely known and/or so universal that even with a 2nd or 3rd-rate education, you are able to recognize them, and are at least somewhat aware of what those particular elements usually mean. And the components are all thoroughly documented, so you can readily find out what the original source meant if you are at all curious. But that doesn’t mean that she ever intended to use any of that material. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. It is certainly bigger than the shallow, petty, and mean-spirited viewpoint that she keeps pushing into the foreground and expecting us to use as a lens.

via Red Hen's restrospective review of Deathly Hallows, 2008

[carnocus]

WIP INTRODUCTION: THE AGE OF CARNOCUS

genre: sci-fi, horror, dystopia, dark fantasy, speculative biology (yes. all of the above)

status: planning/drafting

type: novel series and worldbuilding project

In the near future, an alien has taken over the earth. With it, come its monstrous servants: amalgamations of flesh and bone. Desperate in this new world, people worship the alien as a god named Carnocus, and it gives them a gift: the ability to create their own amalgamations, but only if they eat raw human meat first. Centuries later, a theocracy hides the true nature of the gift, pretending that it is given only to a select few chosen by god. Only those who know how to activate the power have it, and thus only those part of the Clergy government have control. Yet, despite its already immense power, the Clergy wants more. A group of aspiring scientists is assembled at an academy that studies the gift. Their mission, as established by the Clergy, is to expand upon this gift and learn how to manipulate living tissue. As the students do their jobs, danger creeps up from the network of dungeons beneath them. Past Clergy experiments walk and talk, and Carnocus' own creatures sneak inside. Among them is a serial killer who can do what the Clergy cannot. As the students unravel the depths of Clergy conspiracy and of their own abilities, they must grapple with the question of what to tell and what to hide.

ahhh I love this project so much, I've been working on it for a while now and it is my current main project. It very much reflects my love for both horror and science, and explores themes of unethical experimentation, the concept of "the greater good", and more!

Featuring enemies to lovers, found family, haunted houses, and made up creatures.

Inspired by a variety of my favorite media, including NBC Hannibal, The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir, and Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

Ask to be added/removed from taglist! I hope to be posting more soon, thanks for reading! Moodboard made using Canva with images found on Pinterest.

[catkyunie]

The Flicker of A Flame ♡

Happy Mingi Month Day 2 of 31 ✧˖°.

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: After passing away in a fatal accident, your ghost lingers. Watching as Mingi falls apart at the seams, you do everything you can to try and reconnect and help your beloved remember what it means to live. 

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: song mingi x fem!reader

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: a whole bunch of angst 

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): car accident, ghost reader, reader death, established relationship, anxiety, depression, grief, alcohol consumption (if I missed any please let me know!)

𝚠𝚌: 4.1k

What surprised you the most about dying was how weightless you felt. That's the thing with death; no one can ever really know what to expect when that moment happens because no one ever truly returns. This wasn’t a case of seeing any light at the end of a tunnel or having a reel of your entire life play out for you in a moment that seemed to last an eternity. This was instantaneous. One moment you were alive, breathing, anchored down by the weight of Mingi’s hand on your thigh. The next, you were gone, snuffed out as quickly as a candle flame. In a blink, you went from basking in the warm afterglow of an evening with your beloved to the incredible expanse of space that left you levitating in what felt like the deepest pool of water with no beginning or end. There was no pain or clear memory of what had happened. Flashes of light quickly played behind your vision, and you could hear the scrape of metal on metal. And then, with another blink, you were standing in the middle of an intersection. 

An accident had left both cars mangled and fusing into an amalgamation of twisted and gnarled steel. Pedestrians had begun to gather on either side of the street, some vehicles stopping to assess the damage, far-off voices calling out to anyone who may have survived. In the distance, you could hear the wail of sirens as they closed in on the scene. Try as you might to peel your eyes away from the tragedy, despite the confusion and terror that seeped into your bones and rooted itself at the base of your spine, a detail kept you transfixed. The car that had received the brunt of the impact was the same make, model, and color as…

That’s when you heard it. What played the most clearly for you, like the chime of a bell down an empty hall, was Mingi’s scream. It rang and reverberated in your bones, penetrating your very spirit. You had never heard that sound come from him. And the only thing he repeatedly howled into the apex of the fused vehicles was your name. Over and over and over, he called for you, each iteration of your name becoming more desperate and helpless than the last. Finally, you peeled your eyes from the accident scene and looked down into the palms of your hands. The appendages felt alien to you as you watched the way they trembled like leaves in the wind, here yet not entirely. You knew with certainty that they were your hands as you turned them over, your eyes landing on and fixing themselves to the ring that adorned your left hand. That’s right. You and Mingi had been on your way home after a team dinner, which he had orchestrated under the guise of business to assemble your closest friends and members to ask you to be his bride. 

No. No, no, this couldn’t be right. This had to be a dream. There was no way. You felt your body begin to move before you were even sure of where it was going, your voice passing through your lips like a whisper. You were stumbling your way to Mingi, his wails of panic still just as gut-wrenching and blood-curdling. He was being pulled from the wreckage as you approached, the firemen trying their best to calm your partner’s panic while also attempting to restrain him, informing him that the more he fought them, the more he could exacerbate his injuries or even spring new ones. But Mingi was in blind hysteria, his eyes never leaving the passenger seat, a mixture of blood and fresh, hot tears contorting and twisting his face into the very definition of pain. 

“Mingki, jagi, please, I’m right here! Look, I’m fine!” you babbled, in desperate spurts, your hands reaching for him. 

You needed him to see, to understand. It was a dream. He had to wake up. Stepping to his side, then, you made the mistake of following the line of his vision and was greeted with the source of the mania he had become so lost in. In a mess of flesh and steel, your head lulled over on one shoulder, eyes sparkling with tears and happiness only an hour before, now lifeless and cold. While the scene itself wasn’t necessarily gruesome, it was the hollow expression that colored your features, the pale stretch of skin over your cheeks that were usually so vibrant and brightly colored, that genuinely sealed your fate. This wasn’t a dream. This was very much real. There, in that intersection, somewhere on the streets of Seoul, you had died. And so did Mingi. 

____________________________________________________________

The first two weeks were the hardest. Having Mingi within arms reach, extending a hand and running your knuckles over his, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his muscled back, and feeling his heartbeat, yet knowing he could feel none of it. The methods in which your physical touch had comforted him prior were now doing nothing. It left you feeling hopeless. There had been a few instances where he would respond to your touch, a subtle turn of the head, or a questioning gaze that lingered too long on your general direction to be a coincidence. But, each time you felt your chest blossom with the silent wish that you had made that connection, he’d simply turn away from you and fall back into his stupor.

That was the hardest. Death, in comparison, had been like the dream you had so desperately wished it to be. The death of drive, motivation, and will of your partner made it real. Seeing how he sunk in on himself and became a shell of the man you envisioned spending your life with hurt the most. Immediately following your death and with the guidance of his manager, Hongjoong, Mingi went on an indefinite leave of absence from their company. The only time he ever left the house was when he was left with scraps of food, and even then, that was only after his team members and best friends had stopped frequenting your home with delivery and takeout. At least once a week, someone from the team would come by to check on him, usually either Yunho or San, and sit with him. Words were rarely ever exchanged. It was mostly extended periods of silence with the occasional break in the form of your friends commenting on their current business proposals or the change in weather. Only once had they made the unforeseen mistake of mentioning you. 

It was a few weeks following the accident. San and Wooyoung had both visited, bringing over beer and soju. It was the first time that Mingi had done more than sit idly on the sofa, tea going cold in his hands as he stared at his reflection in the strained liquid. He was engaging, albeit quietly, and had said more than hello and goodbye. As the night continued, with more booze being introduced into everyone’s system, Wooyoung had chosen to break the silence with a thought. 

“You guys remember that one night we had taken y/n out for her promotion within the company?” he mused, eyes transfixed on the last sip of alcohol that he swished lazily at the bottom of his glass. San’s eyes immediately shifted to Wooyoung, observing him and listening closely as the younger of the two continued. “She had maybe two drinks and was already flushed and giggling at every stupid joke we told. Even the bad ones.” 

“Woo…” San spoke cautiously, his gaze now jumping between the two men seated on either side of him. 

“Even you don’t get drunk that quickly, Sannie.” Wooyoung laughed, throwing his drink back and finishing it with a quick gulp. “I’m convinced she played all of us for a fool at the team dinners and took water shots instead of soju.” 

San reached around Wooyoung then, feeling the tension as it began building in the room, his hand finding and pulling the bottle of booze away from Woo’s reach.

“Alright, buddy, I think you might have had enough–”

“You remember, don’t you, hyung?” Wooyoung said quietly.

A beat of silence permeated the room before he continued, eyes glassed over and lost in a memory. “She clung to every word we said. You could’ve told her you hung the moon, and she’d have believed you.” He turned his attention to Mingi, who had gone quiet, head lulled forward and lost at the bottom of his glass. “Then again, y/n didn’t need to be tipsy to believe that. She loved us fiercely, even when I felt we didn’t deserve it.” You had watched from Mingi’s side, your hands clinging desperately to his own, tears stinging your eyes and threatening to spill forward. What Woo said next, though, caused the thread to snap. 

“But that was nothing compared to how much she loved you, Mingki.” 

Slowly, Mingi set his drink down on the table and rose from his seated position on the floor. With a stiff bow, he thanked San and Wooyoung for the company and drinks and exited the main room. Sidestepping into your bedroom, he slammed the door behind him with enough force to shake the picture frames hanging along the walls. Without a word, San gathered up Wooyoung, whose cheeks were now stained with tears, and they saw their way out. You followed closely behind them, choking on your sob, wanting so desperately for them to understand how much their friendship had meant to you, how much it still meant to you. The exchange between them as they put on their shoes and shuffled out of the door stopped you dead in your tracks.  

“I’m sorry, Sannie. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know, jagiya.” 

“I miss him. I miss her. It feels like we’re mourning both of them.” 

As San helped Wooyoung with his shoe ties, he thought carefully about his following words before speaking them out into the space between them. “That’s because we are, Woo.” 

Mingi stopped accepting visitors shortly after that. 

____________________________________________________________

The weeks had bled into months, the seasons changing and soon sweeping out the hot weather and introducing the cold. And with the warmer days went your confidence that you’d ever be able to bridge that invisible limbo between you and Mingi. Every night you had curled up beside him, holding him as best as your phantom limbs would allow, clinging to him and the life eddying out of him increasingly with each passing day. Admittedly, some days were better than others, especially when he resumed working with Hongjoong and the team. Any mention of you or your time with them was left strictly to quiet conversations amongst the men, clear of earshot from Mingi, which seemed to serve him just fine. He was falling back into his routine, pouring most of his time into his continued work and finding ways to keep himself busy when he didn’t have a project he was overseeing. He had started to spend more and more of his free time with the guys, once again opting into team dinners and evenings spent at someone’s home with drinks and games. But, despite the leaps and strides he made to appear as ‘normal’ and put together as he could, there were still times that the mask would falter, and he’d find himself breaking down and coming apart at the seams. It could be something as small as the smell of a woman’s perfume that he passed on the sidewalk, the brand reminiscent of the scent you favored, or the sound of a voice across the restaurant close enough to your timbre to have him snapping his neck with expectancy. While everyone noted and played into the charade that Mingi had painted for himself, every one of you knew that, eventually, the facade wouldn’t be enough to keep him together. He still refused to talk about the accident, let alone mention your name. And every night, once the quiet had settled over him and he was left alone with an empty apartment and his thoughts, he would still cry himself to sleep, clinging to the pillow that had long lost your scent. But, unbeknownst to you, and even Mingi, the falling of the year’s first snow would bring the pivotal turning point in his story. 

It was late October, a week before Halloween, and the members had decided to celebrate the end of another work week with drinks and budae jjigae at Hongjoong’s apartment. Mingi had been tasked with collecting the ingredients needed for the hotpot, as he would be the first one leaving the office for the evening. Begrudgingly, he had agreed and bundled up accordingly before grabbing his suitcase, and the scribbled list Wooyoung had put together. The walk from the office to the supermarket was relatively short, but the time he would spend collecting the food needed for the evening would give the others time to reconvene at Joong’s place. 

It was as typical an afternoon as any. Your new normal had consisted of following closely behind Mingi, amiably existing in his space as he went about his day-to-day tasks. You had long given up on the idea of him ever being able to see or feel you and, in doing so, had allowed yourself to be content with the opportunity to simply be an apparition that tagged along and watched over him. Stepping into the market with a quick bow to the attendant at the door, you walked beside him, arm crossed delicately around his, as he began pursuing the shelves and filling the small basket he had acquired. It wasn’t long before Mingi wandered into the produce aisle, bent at the waist and closely inspecting the quality and prices of the enoki and king oyster mushrooms they would need for the hotpot. As he did so, you looked around at the sea of people as they shopped. While most wore masks and weren’t necessarily decipherable from one face to the next, one woman, in particular, had caught your eye. Her stature was similar to yours, and she wore her hair long and down, bangs curtaining her face in a way that you found lovely. Absently, you reached up to your bangs and quickly fixed them, though you knew it would matter to no one but you. It wasn’t until she turned towards you and Mingi that you felt your heart drop to your feet, your fingers midstroke across your forehead. Mingi had corrected his spine then and had turned to face out into the store, and his eyes still focused on the pack of mushrooms he had selected when a quiet voice called out timidly, “Song Mingi?” 

Instantly, his head whipped up in response to his name, and it was at that moment that you knew he had recognized the young woman that stood before you. A shy smile played at the corners of her mouth as she bent forward in respect, her hands gripping the basket she held between her fingers tightly. As she corrected herself, a quick flick of her chin caused her hair to fall away from her face as she said affably, “It’s been a long time.” 

You could only watch in awe as Mingi bent at the waist and returned the bow, the tremor in his hand not passing your detection. Nodding as he stood straight, he quickly threw the pack of Enoki into his basket before responding with a clear throat, “Yes, it has. How, uh…how have you been? Are Omma and Appa doing well?”

“I’ve been well, thank you. And yes, they’re in good health. They’ve already started preparing for Christmas if you can believe that.”

With a chuckle, Mingi replied,” That doesn’t surprise me.”

There was a pause of awkward silence that filled the space before the young woman dared to take a step forward, her dark eyes cautious as she continued. “Have you been well?”

With a quick shrug of the shoulders, Mingi pulled his attention away from the woman and began scouring the shoppers. You could sense from his body language and the way his eyes darted that he was looking for an out, for any excuse to escape and avoid this conversation. 

“As well as I can be,” he said simply. 

“I see. And the members?”

“They’re in good health.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

You could feel the tension as it teetered on the edge, knowing and anticipating where the conversation led. He couldn’t run from it. Not this time. 

“We’ve been trying to get in touch with you. With the holidays approaching, we wanted to extend an invitation for when we visit y/n’s gravesite.” 

And there it was, the shoe you had been waiting to drop. You watched as Mingi swallowed down the anxiety you knew had been bubbling and building in his chest. It was one thing to avoid and sidestep conversations with the members and their shared friends. It was another to evade your older sister. 

Bringing a trembling hand to the back of his neck, Mingi averted his eyes and chose instead to take a particular interest in his shoes, doing whatever he could to avoid the kind gaze of your sister. “My apologies, Noona. It’s not long since I’ve returned to the office, and Hongjoong hasn’t given me any real room to breathe with the projects we have coming up.”

A nod in understanding, followed by,” I understand. It must be challenging to balance everything now with what you’ve been through.”  

“Yes…it has been.” 

Another beat of silence passed between them before your sister’s shuffling drew your attention away from Mingi. You watched the bag over her shoulder as your sister retrieved a small tea candle pack and extended it to your partner. 

“Omma poured these for us to burn for y/n over the holidays. She had poured you a set, as well. Take these, in case you aren’t able to make it.”

Pulling his eyes from the ground and finally meeting the sympathetic gaze of your sibling, Mingi’s brown eyes flitted to the pack of hand-poured candles she held outstretched to him. You stood with bated breath, your hands tangling in and fisting the cardigan that hung loosely at your sides. You knew the weight those small tea candles held for you and Mingi. Accepting this kindness would mean accepting what had happened. It would squarely place him face to face with the reality that he had spent these months so desperately trying to escape, even though it followed him in every aspect of his life. The reality that you weren’t coming home. That this would be his first Christmas without you. You weren’t there to comfort him after a hard day at work or on the nights when his anxiety had reached a particularly cataclysmic point. You weren’t there to join him and his brothers for nights of drinking and reminiscing, to laugh at their poorly times jokes. He could no longer outrun a past that included you. He had to face the present and accept that he had had a life with you. And that that chapter had ended. 

Reaching forward, Mingi took hold of those small candles and finally allowed the tears to break the well that had been collecting. He didn’t try to swipe them away or hide his vulnerability or pain at that moment. In the middle of that grocery store, face to face with the young woman that so closely resembled you, he accepted her kindness and allowed himself to feel the heaviness of it. Clutching the candles tightly to his chest, Mingi bent at the waist in a deep bow.

“Thank you, Noona…” 

___________________________________________________________

Mingi didn’t utter a word of his meeting with your sister to the boys as they progressed with their evening. As usual, he went about their time together, enjoying drinks and laughs with everyone as they gathered around the table to enjoy their dinner. There was a palpable difference in how his body moved, his limbs looser and his laugh more vibrant than they had remembered hearing it in recent weeks. None of them commented on the change, though, and reveled in the refreshed version of their brother that they had been blessed with. As the evening drug on, Yeosang and San stared out over the glittering lights of Seoul while the others took their respective turns on whatever game they had loaded up. It was then that the oldest of the two stepped forward and pulled open the sliding door of the balcony, Yeosang’s voice light as he exclaimed,” Looks like we get snow early this year.” 

At the mention of snowfall, heads flicked over to the pair, Jongho and Yunho abandoning their places on the floor to join San and Yeosong out on the balcony. Eventually, all but Hongjoong and Mingi had assembled on the deck and sipped from their drinks, taking in the sight and simply choosing to exist in the moment. Your head rested easily against Mingi’s shoulder as you watched on, a content smile playing at the corners of your mouth when you heard Hongjoong speak from your partner’s other side. 

“Maybe this is a sign of good fortune to come.”

Mingi was quiet as he looked on and simply nodded in agreement as he watched his brothers sling arms over one another, Wooyoung sticking his tongue out to attempt to catch a snowflake or two. You felt him shift beneath you shortly after that, adjusting your body into a seated position as you watched him reach around the table for his bag. Digging into the depths of it, your breath caught as he pulled forward your mother’s tea candles. Joong watched him now, not daring to speak as Mingi turned the packed candles over in his hands a few times, contemplating them. Standing then and stepping into the kitchen, Hongjoong returned with a small pack of matches and an extra glass and set them softly on the coffee table. It was an offering he would not push his brother to take but one he felt the need to extend.

After another beat, Mingi carefully peeled the plastic away from the first candle and set it on the table. Reaching for the box of matches, he quickly struck the wooden stick against the side of the box and watched as the fire licked to life and cast shadows over the planes of his face. By this point, everyone had turned their attention to the young man, the excitement of the snow paling compared to what they were witnessing. Carefully, Mingi navigated the tiny flame to the wick of the candle and waited for it to catch fire before pulling it away and flicking his wrist to extinguish it. He reached for the open bottle of soju to his right, pouring a shot into the empty glass and waiting. A moment of reflection, you realized, as all eight men watched that tiny flame dance along the candle's surface, the booze in the glass catching and refracting light back as it glittered over the table. 

To your surprise, Mingi was the first to break his silence as he lifted his glass in a toast, the lining of his eyes burning with a molten shimmer as he breathed the words you had silently wished for. 

“To y/n.”

“To y/n,” they all parroted in quiet unison, tipping their glasses back and finishing their drinks. 

The remainder of the evening felt like it had been pulled directly from your memories. Direct references to times you drank together, each of them taking their time to laugh, cry, and remember the bonds you had forged with each of them individually. You realized then, as you found yourself lost in the sounds of their friendship, your eyes only leaving that tiny flicker of a flame to gaze at the face of your beloved contentedly, that it wasn’t up to you to reconnect with your betrothed or even the brothers that sat around him. The connection had never been severed. It had simply been tangled along the way. Their patience and guidance and a single act of genuine kindness are what it took for him to find his way again. Finding himself at a crossroads and choosing to walk the path you had forged together, even if it now meant having to traverse it alone. As you leaned into Mingi’s side again, the flicker from the candle dancing behind the deep color of your eyes, you silently agreed with the sentiment Hongjoong had stated before. This was a sign of good fortune and much more fortune to come.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: Hello everyone! Day 2 has defintely taken a deatour from the fluff I introduced in Day 1 but I am very pleased with the structure and how this one-shot came together. I hope you enjoy and I’ll see you tomorrow with more fluff and happy Mingki! this particular fic has not been proofread✧˖°.

[thenten]

Restoration HQ had been adapted to shockingly quick by it's newest, albeit temporary, occupant- even with him usually standing more than a head-taller than anyone else there as the only human present. The newcomer had made it earnestly clear he was used to both secret bases and being a bit of a fish out of water.

While Ben was stranded in this world by complete accident, he was certainly making the most of his presence here, helping out in any ways he could (which, as it turned out, was a lot), in between his own work in figuring out a way back to his home universe.

As he was doing work on right now, in his new wolf friend's workshop; the stolen ring that had whisked the hero here in the first place being setup amongst applicable tech in it's use & study.

Tech which, after an at this point familiar FLASH, was now being pounced upon by a feral red gremlin cackling maniacally.

"FIIIIIIIX!!! FIX, FIX, FIX!" The Planchaküle screeched as he moved as a red blur between all the available materials, rapidly assembling what to most engineers would be an utterly nightmarish amalgam of machinery, framing the ring in the most backwards way.

A backwards way that, despite everything, worked perfectly- Juryrigg flipping a switch and activating the ring, forming a portal through space and time. Even better, this time it was stabilized, and without the fierce gravitational pull that would threaten to tear apart the room and everyone in it to force them inside.

"Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy!" He proclaimed with pleased laughter, twirling a wrench in his hand. "Inter-dimensional travel, complete with an environmental stabilizer! WOO-HOO!"

He turned to face a flat wall with a hand proudly on his hip, tapping a clawed finger at his waist, projecting his holographic communications onto the wall. "How's things on your end, guys!?" He asked with clear excitement, only to droop upon seeing the two Galvans staring back at him completely aghast.

"We... haven't even located your beacon yet? It's been two minutes..." Driba said, recoiling at the sight of Juryrigg's creation. "Should'a picked Grey Matter. You'd be more in-tune with our process." The lankier Blukic continued, doing a slow blink. "Not to mention more sane with your design... Planchaküles unnerve me..."

Ben merely rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh at the duo, shutting off the display and collapsing into a chair. "Well, I think I did a good job. A great job! Guys, I did an amazing job, right?"

He asks, peeking over the back of his seat at Whisper (and her Wisps) who'd paid silent witness to the whole crazy thing.

// An Unprompted Starter for @fstbmp //