#he has not yet seen THE HORRORS

[trustypaladin]

Arthur Lester my beloved 💛

[emmavakarian-theirin]

another lucanis smile post :)

[hhoneycloves]

Various Machines

[hanzajesthanza]

one of the tropes that is soooo disturbing to me but like in a good and interesting way... is when a descendant of a lineage, or an evolutionary descendant of a species, returns "home" after many years, and though this individual doesn't know or recognize this place at all, because its so different and divorced of itself now, that's where it was from... ancestrally...

ancestral determinism is soooo frightening to me like wdym there's ghosts in your blood 😭

and i guess it freaks me out how short the human lifespan is, like (if your family has emigrated or moved) you can have absolutely no connections to and no memories of what is supposedly your "homeland," but everyone insists it's your ancestral homeland as if that would mean anything to you

[c4tspl4sh]

[triglycercule]

all i have been able to think about today is that silly little knife game where you stab the spots between your fingers and try not to hurt yourself and how that silly little game is SO horrorkiller. i cant explain it it bothers me so much that i cant explain it but it just does its so them

they play it when theyre bored. because when in doubt bodily mutilation and the risk of hurt and pain is always an appealing one. and when i mean they i just mean killer because horror wouldn't wanna just hurt himself on the fly like that for funsies. he likes to see others hurt because hahaha FINALLY some damn entertainment!!! but hurting himself???? nononnno hes already got enough body pain as it is oh and killer has already grabbed his hand and started playing (and now horror can't back out because killer's got him sucked in the game)

they sing the silly little song. horror has all his fingers the knife goes chop chop chop if killer misses the spaces in between horror's fingers will come off! and they are both enraptured and both captured in this childishly morbid game. it's so anticipatory because they both know its all up to killer to decide if horror gets hurt. hes more than precise enough to keep the game going for hours long without ever hitting horror but would he want to keep it going for that long? horror doesn't know how long killer would want to wait before getting to see him react to getting hurt

and killer does eventually do it even after theyre sung the song over and over countless times and tried different harmonies and finally killer decides to end this little song and dance and stab into horror's hand. maybe he decides to do a finger. maybe the palm if he really wants to piss horror up. its sudden its surprising and GODDAMN is it painful!!!! horror's trying not to show it but with all the sweat and the way his fingers are twitching killer can see that it hurts him. it's a bit amusing :3

and then horror grabs the knife from killer and they do it all over again but this time horror's the one doing the stabbing. he's not as precise as killer. he hits him a lot more than killer hit him but goddamn it he is in PAIN and wants to let it out because hes annoying and irritated and goddamnit would killer just stop looking at him with that blank smile while he's bleeding out from his hand???? yeah horror's pissy

horror's annoyed and trying to get some form of petty revenge on killer (he likes it when he finally manages to get that stupid smile to falter just a little bit) and killer's watching horror desperately try not to just stab the knife through his oh so very exposed soul that he could very easily hurt if he really wanted to hurt killer. anyways the game finally ends when either one or both of them get bored! but thats fine!!! killer will get bored again and horror will end up escalating it to a messier point than it was before and the only thing that'll get hurt is the surface that they use to stab between fingers. oh and eachother of course :p

[dairyfreenugget]

I could count the amount of original stories of mine that don't have horror elements on one hand and idk what that says about me

[autisticrosewilson]

First of all, you have given me so much to work with, thank you so much. Second of all, I’m really glad you could see where I was going with Grant’s real test not actually being about killing Slade. Third of all, I absolutely love what you’ve suggested with the powers and I am currently designing met gala esque outfits for the trio and Tara’s specifically is really fun to play around with. I’ve been thinking to show they’re becoming more divine I’ll change their hair and eye colours but not their faces for the most part. I was drawing robin Jason with Natalia and decided he should have brown eyes and a crooked nose from breaking it as a kid but once he returns his eyes get weird (eg go blue and occasionally other colours), a patch of his hair went white and he lost all of his scars. Also, I think the closer they get to divinity I’m gonna draw cracks on their body that glow with their specific colours just to hammer home how they’re shedding their mortal forms.

With Tara being able to see the strings of fate, I though it’d be fun to give her a harp and then with Jason having the see no evil trait I thought it’d be fun to give him weighing scales since lady justice wears a blindfold. Idk what to give Grant though. I mean probably a weapon of some sort or maybe a Shepard’s crook that he can turn into a scythe to play into the sheep, wolf, Hunter thing.

With Jason and Tara’s splintering, I love the idea of them making fun of Grant for being the baby god. He hasn’t even had a cult yet, gosh he’s so young. Also them being besties just holds a special place in my heart.

And I just came up with this, of course they have parallels to the trinity but in universe rumours of their existence have been around much longer than Bruce, Clark and Diana. They’re the big three of the justice league but these guys are justice gods. So they start calling themselves the justice trinity but then people get confused about which trinity is which because the justice leagues’ trinity sounds awfully close to the justice gods’ trinity. The new all caste is certainly more distinctive branding but the point isn’t to be distinctive, it’s to be petty.

I'm so glad my unmedicated rambling helped!!! And I'm so excited for the outfits!!! I love when characters start becoming less and less human, when they're stuck in that uncanny valley spot of not quite human but not entirely Other, when they lose control and the cracks start to show...um I should probably give a warning for slight body horror elements. Not in the gore sense, in the "this body is not made of flesh and there is something divine clawing it's way out". Uh also there are teeth. Just. Teeth. I dipped into a little bit of cosmic horror at the end there because I wanted to cover my bases with mixed mythologies

Jason, with his defined splinters, is usually depicted with three faces in ancient texts. The Child, gaunt and dark colored, is said to appear before the downtrodden and impoverished. The few stories remaining tell of kindly people who give him an offering, and in exchange he reveals his true form, with his crown of golden ivy and beautiful strong wings to gift them bounties of food and water and riches. Other stories tell of not so kind encounters, where The Child witnesses an injustice - typically against women or children - and again reveals his true form, one with clawed hands and a mouth dripping with blood. Scholars argue what the wings looked like, but whichever All-Caste member annotated it before has compared their likeness to either a Robin or a Shrike.

There's also The Ghost, He appears young at first glance, but his hair is wirey and gray, his eyes milky and unseeing, in bloodied armor he greets the souls of the damned as they're delivered to him, and with scarred hands he wipes the tears of children taken too soon. Accounts of this face are few and far between, but all of them are entrenched in sorrow.

Finally there is The Soldier, scarred and still smoking from the ruins of battle he emerges, giving voice to the weak and resources to the needy. He champions revolutionaries and philosophers first, a strategist who delights in the liberation of the people from corrupt systems. Accounts of him usually come from times of famine and war, and he was particularly popular with poor villages, who would mark the graves of their dead with the symbol of his sword as offerings. For some reason or other, he got particularly popular with the youth, girls and boys both seemed to pray for him and leave him offerings.

The way these manifest on Jason is subtle at first. I could go the body horror route, but I won't. Yet. Instead I think his splinters show up as reflections, shadows, imprints. The faint echo of bell-like laughter when Jason does a move he learned as Robin, the image of a younger him with longer hair and unblinking eyes staring at him in the mirror. It gets worse when he gets the blades, the white streaks his hair, the swirling mark covers more of his skin every time he uses them, he trails the scent of smoke and blood behind him like a signature. His scars...they should disappear. They have for everyone else who used the pit, but instead his skin starts cracking. Any place he's ever been scarred glowing cracks break up his skin. He can't feel them, but he's always aware of them, the meaning behind them, the divinity literally leaking through his body. His eyes aren't brown anymore. They aren't even green. He looks in the mirror and they are copper, molten and burning. He tries his best to keep his mask on.

What do you think of when you imagine the word divinity? Probably something like Tara. Something with skin carved from stone, with moss and fungus crawling up her legs and snow laden shoulders. They say her hair is made of swirling clouds and the sun and moon are her eyes.

Some say she's a nymph although no one knows what kind. You're just as likely to see her name among the naiads as the dryads. Whether flowers bloom where she dances or waves crash when she sings, she's known to be more vicious towards suitors than her sisters.

Others have said she's a faerie, who takes the faces of lost daughters and lovers, slipping into their places seamlessly, forcing unruly men to pay their dues. Others say she's a shifter of a different sort, with a shawl of feathers and a crown of twine and gems. Stories range from men trying to steal her coat (and paying dearly) to lost children returned safely home on the back of a swan.

Tara doesn't think about it at first, the way gravity tends to cede to her, she doesn't notice how sunflowers turn their faces towards her instead of the sun. She doesn't notice the way her face...shifts. it's imperceptible really, and it's not like she looks in the mirror all that often. But everyone around her notices it, on some level, the way her expressions are off. A little too exaggerated. The way her limbs bend just a little too oddly. The way she never looks quite the same as she did the day before, the way she picks up features from the people around her the way she picks up rocks from ground to add to her collection. Clay molded subtly into the image of those she loves, a museum of everyone she's ever met. She does notice when her hair starts going white at the ends, the strange way her hair starts to curl unnaturally, almost floating. She's not so upset about her eyes, the deep blue of her father that has glared down at her day after day, she has changed her hair, her face, her language but she could not change her eyes. It seems she didn't have to, when she wakes up with one a little too silver to be gray and one a little too gold to be brown. And then her skin starts splitting, a cavern made from a broken rib and ravines made by the slashing of knives. She doesn't even bleed anymore, they never scab over. They crystallize, amber like ambrosia, like ichor. Her body a geode waiting to be cracked open to let the thing within finally break free.

They know the least about Grant, whatever he used to be. Half written scrolls, torn or burnt or simply stopped abruptly, illegible journal entries with symbols never recorded in any known language, half finished sketches where the details are never quite clear. A few things are usually consistent though, signs that he's been there, usually from hunters down on their luck or the particularly old and sickly. First, the howling. Like a wolf or a storm, although later accounts would add that it occasionally sounds like a mechanical whirring. Then the rabbits, dead and gutted, but not a trace of blood. Piles of them left in heaps on doorsteps or windowsills. Some have reported knocking at strange hours or finding teeth in their homes, a mix of human and animal. There is one photo on record, the most recent thing in the archive most likely, of claw marks on the side of a barn, too big and oddly serrated, certainly not from anything native to the area. Elderly that report these phenomena typically pass from heart problems within the week, according to some of the old medical files.

Grant came back wrong. Physically, at least. He knows that he's still himself for the most part, dying didn't make him a selfish asshole he did that all on his own, but...but something is wrong with him. It's the way lightbulbs flicker when he's mad and how cameras, no matter the quality, never quite get a clear shot of him. The way Joey can't ever grasp his features, not fully, the details slipping from his mind like water. The way eyes on his face slide right past, unable to look directly at him. It's in the gray spreading from his roots and his eyes too wide and dark to belong to something human. It's the way death clings to him like a second skin, sickly and pallid turning the tips of his fingers gray. His teeth are starting to feel too sharp for his mouth, and he hears things no one else does, whispers of voices that Are Not and Can't Be. The worst part is the orange, liquid candlelight under his skin, lighting up all of his veins and scars, webbing together like the world's worst game of connect the dots. No, there is no mistaking him for something human, so there is no reason to try. If this is his fate then he will take it, because he is not a sheep and he will not be a wolf, he is a hunter, and he is hungry.

[zeebreezin]

I haven’t gotten very far into Evolution yet (The Naturalist has been chilling in Port Cecil while I do Knifegate) so I’m not gonna speak too loudly on this, but man, it’s really sad how little the Youthful Naturalist gets talked about compared to some of the other NPCs in this game, at least in circles I’m in. Especially in a game where one of the predominant criticisms (and one that I 100% share) is that a lot to characters get underdeveloped/forgotten about in exchange for shiny new NPCs, I donno… you’d think the guy with a whole arc you’re paired up with would have more fans/more people talking about him…

[cuteniarose]

Me: *creates an OC*

Me: *heavily implies OC will meet a bad fate*

OC: *meets bad fate*

Me:

(Alternatively, I may have started it, but @katkastrofa enabled me and now I’m losing my mind)

[grandwretch]

anyway is now a bad time to point out that joe won the break up

[huntedspy]

henry emmilyyyy jumpscare

[accidentally-drank-paintwater]

Spidey doodles to keep the wolves fed

I did all of this without a reference lol so don’t judge me

[sweetmage]

He looks funny because he has a haircut I guess (this was sadly the closest thing I could find to his hair) but it's Inquisitor!Edan time too :)

[welcometogrouchland]

Bee and puppycat lazy in space I love you so so much it's not even funny

[feral-renaissance-cat]

This one goes out to Babette from Killer Condom

Right, considering the current state of corporate politics on this site, and that it seems that only those affected seem to be actively speaking on the matter, it is up to I, the only fucking cishet on tumblr, to drag this out to a wider audience.

REBLOG IF YOUR ACCOUNT IS A TRANSFEM SAFE SPACE.

We need to show these higher ups how much we truly value them.