#quantum clown

[vertigoartgore]

Dean Stockwell (alongside Dennis Hopper) in Lynch's Blue Velvet.

[shiftingvisuals]

So I mini shifted🧍‍♀️

I literally could hear my DR and felt it, but then I got scared and woke myself back up🧌🤡

I used this method by the way

[waveridden]

fic writers self rec

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

@cedardivine tagged me in this a couple days ago and i have been sitting here stewing over what constitutes my favorite things that i've written, and whether i wanted to go single-fandom or recent or deep cut or what. in the end i went through basically everything on my ao3 and pulled the stuff that felt right today. ask again tomorrow and you'll probably get a different top five.

in no particular order:

where the light won't find you (blaseball) took over six months to write, most of which was stewing in the back of my brain instead of actual writing. it's a story about hell, and loneliness, and body horror, and i think it's going to be one of my favorite things for a very very long time.

nurture and the fear of nature (succession) was written for a gift exchange and i love it because it is a prompt i never would've thought of. it's a sophie roy character study and it's rough around the edges and includes a couple insights that i am really proud of. i never imagined myself being a succession fic girlie but if i'm gonna be one, i'm glad that this is the thing i landed on.

what's left of the world (blaseball) was written in a fit of passion. imo it's one of my least lore-y blaseball fics, all you need to know is that blaseball is baseball that kills you, and that this fic is a tour of an art gallery after the artist's death. in a lot of ways it's my tribute to within the wires, a very formative piece of media for me.

dynamite in progress (original fic) is also a gift exchange piece. i am on the record as a superhero enjoyer and i ended up doing this prompt because it pushed me outside of a lot of the tropes that i tend to fall back on; it made me think about superheroes (and supervillains!) differently, and i also really dearly love the characters i came up with.

where the world begins (life series) is my most recent pride and joy. it's a ghost au and a love story and about 90% of the way through it i messaged my partner/beta and was like "is this... about long distance relationships" and they laughed at me. it was a lot of fun, it's my first big project after a lot of small ones, and i'm so happy with it.

if you see this and you want to, please do a self-rec and please tag me in it! it's fun

[antipathy-arsonist]

i/me/myself meanwhile is tricky coded. who is she pining for? god knows

YEAH YEAH ABSOLUTELY!!!

but. may i also suggest. "2econd 2ight 2eer" LIKE

"IM JUST A PSYCHO BABE COME N GO OUT MY MIND I DIDN'T LOSE IT BABE THERE WASN'T MUCH TO FIND"

"BABY, I MAY BE CRAZY BUT I DIDN'T LOSE IT, NO I SET IT FREE"

"I CANT IGNORE WHATS UNDER DANCE FLOORBOARDS, THE RHYTHM OF MY HEART DEAD AS DISCO BEAT"

[bloody-mixtapes]

.... .... 0R94N!C L!F3F0RM D373C73D.... ... HUM4N SP3C!F!3D... ... R3QU357!N9 PURP053E ... ST47E .... Y0UR PURP053...

Frank sighed as he plucked the cigarette from his mouth. Smoke billowed out from between his lips as he gave the. . .whatever the fuck was talking to him a once over. Realistically, he should be shitting his pants and losing his mind over this abomination. But he's been here for so long and seen too much fucking bullshit that the fleshy abomination in front of him is like an every Saturday kinda deal here. You know what? What's the worse that could happen? I get killed for answering wrong? "Mk new guy. . .new thing? Whatever, don't care. My 'biological' purpose is to fuck, eat, sleep, work. Here it's to fuck, kill, do whatever I want. Does that answer your survey question?"

[pukefactory]

•☽────✧˖°˖ TROPICA FOOD COURT ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA X Reader You Both Find A Vending Machine Full Of Strange Drinks

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You spotted it first: an ancient, flickering vending machine tucked behind a crooked lamp post, buzzing suspiciously. The buttons were labeled with things like “Quantum Slush,” “Elixir of Partial Success,” and “Liquidated Memories.” ENA immediately stiffened at the sight, her Meanie side scoffing, “What kind of idiot puts a death trap in a box and sells it for three fake quarters?!” Her Salesperson side, chipper and delighted, started patting down her pockets. “If we play our cards right, we could unlock a fantastic business opportunity here!” she beamed, completely missing the point. You were halfway between concern and excitement yourself.

☆ ENA insisted on letting you pick the first drink, citing it as “user testing.” She even pulled out a fake clipboard, nodding sagely. “This is most categorically doable. Your liver is simply a business expense.” When you hesitated, she leaned down, smiling crookedly, and whispered, “What’s the worst that could happen? Ha ha. Don’t answer that.”

☆ You chose something relatively tame-sounding: “Mildly Unpredictable Tea.” The can hissed open and a bunch of multicolored bubbles floated out instead of liquid. ENA immediately leaned in, trying to “capture the aromas for professional analysis,” only to accidentally inhale one. It popped inside her nose, making her entire left side turn a luminous blue for thirty seconds while she shrieked, “I AM TRANSCENDING STUPIDITY!!”

☆ Her Salesperson side tried to play it cool. “Ahem, minor cosmetic rebranding is normal after product testing.” Her Meanie side immediately clapped her hands over her face and shouted, “MY CELLS ARE COMMITTING TAX FRAUD!”

☆ When it was ENA’s turn to pick, she deliberately chose the most ominous can: “Hot Chocolate, but Worse.” You begged her to reconsider. She did not. The can exploded the second she cracked it open, spraying both of you with a gooey, magma-thick brown liquid that smelled faintly of despair and burnt toast. “THIS IS HELL’S FLAVORED SLUDGE!” she barked, staggering backward. “I’d call it… an acquired taste,” Her Salesperson side added, wiping her eyes and giving you a sticky thumbs-up.

☆ At one point, you noticed that some of the cans had strange little “effects” icons printed on the sides — wings, hourglasses, melting clocks. ENA, squinting at one of the labels, whispered like it was a state secret, “If we drink the wrong one, I might turn into a pyramid scheme.” You deadpanned, “You already act like one.” Meanie screamed, “HEY! MULTILEVEL MARKETING IS A SYMPHONY OF SUCKERS!!!”

☆ You and ENA sat cross-legged in the grass, lining up a few more “experimental beverages” in a row like a tasting event. She made you swirl the cans, smell them dramatically, and describe the “bouquet.” When you hesitated or said they smelled like “wet sidewalk,” Salesperson would encourage you with a very businesslike, “Wonderful, let’s put that in the customer review section!” Meanwhile, Meanie muttered darkly about how “the sidewalk smells better than this rotgut slop.”

☆ At some point, ENA drank a “Lemonade of Emotional Honesty” and instantly folded in half, grabbing her face. “I hate meetings! I hate empty promises! I hate soup that’s too hot!!” she wailed in a confession avalanche. You gently patted her back while she continued shrieking into the dirt about grievances you hadn’t even known she had, like the way clowns tie their shoes.

☆ One drink (“Essence of Charisma”) actually worked. After a few sips, ENA stood taller, glowed slightly, and started rattling off the most absurd sales pitches you’d ever heard — effortlessly persuasive. “Have you ever considered investing in the cyclical futility of your own desires?” she asked an old mailbox. You had to physically drag her away before she sold it a timeshare in the afterlife.

☆ Eventually, you both collapsed under the vending machine’s neon haze, surrounded by half-drunk cans, sticky clothes, and the faint suspicion you were no longer in the same dimension you started in. ENA, lying beside you, lazily spun a can in the air and murmured, “Maybe tomorrow we’ll sell drinks like these ourselves.” Then, Meanie immediately snapped upright to yell, “AND WE’LL PUT A HUGE WARNING LABEL THAT SAYS ‘YOU WILL BECOME STUPIDER’ BECAUSE IT’S TRUE!!” You laughed so hard you almost choked on your own unfinished “Liquidated Memories” soda.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #27

Danny wasn’t trying to become a supervillain’s protégé. Honestly, he was just trying to survive another semester at MIT without spontaneously combusting from stress. At nineteen, between triple-majoring in Astrophysics, Mechanical Engineering, and Paranormal Biochemistry—and moonlighting as the occasionally-glowy, occasionally-exploding, semi-competent vigilante known to the public as Phantom—Danny was hanging on by a thread. A very frayed, very caffeine-soaked thread. So when one of his professors suggested a special “independent study project” with a visiting Latverian dignitary-slash-scientist, Danny said yes without thinking. He needed the credits. He needed the money. He needed the free lunch vouchers. What he did not need, apparently, was to accidentally apprentice himself to Doctor Fucking’ Doom.

At first, he didn’t know. To Danny, “Victor” was just this weird, intense European dude with a crazy sense of fashion (who the hell wore a green cape in broad daylight?) and a laugh that definitely belonged in a villain origin story. But Victor paid well, never judged him for falling asleep mid-sentence, and always had the best coffee imported from who-knows-where. Danny figured he was just some rich old nerd with a lot of quirks. Maybe a little murder-y, but hey, Danny was from Amity Park. His standards for “dangerous mentor figure” were catastrophically low.

“Daniel,” Victor intoned one day, standing over a schematic that looked suspiciously like a laser death satellite. “Tell me: what improvements would you make to a mobile interdimensional particle cannon capable of vaporizing Manhattan?”

Danny, who hadn’t slept in three days and thought this was just a theoretical design, squinted at the blueprints and muttered, “Uh… you forgot the phase stabilizer. Without it, the cannon would rip itself apart before you could fire. Also, your aim’s gonna suck unless you recalibrate the gyroscopic system.”

Victor went unnaturally still. “Explain.”

Danny yawned so hard his jaw cracked. “M’kay, so if you adjust the vibrational harmonics here”—he drew all over the deadly weapon diagram with a crayon—“and rework the mana-infused crystal lattice to resonate at a higher frequency… boom. Stable, precise, terrifying. A+ on your murder machine, Professor Von Evilcape.”

Victor stared at him for a long time. Then he laughed. Not just any laugh. A full, villainous, booming laugh that echoed through the lab and set off three alarms in the next building over. Danny didn’t even blink. He just kept doodling tiny ghosts on the margins of the schematic.

From that moment onward, Victor—Doctor Doom, actual dictator of Latveria, sorcerer supreme wannabe, world-class narcissist—decided Danny was his heir apparent. His secret weapon. His beautiful chaotic son who understood him better than any of the clowns in Latveria ever had. He didn’t ask Danny if he wanted the role. He just started sending Danny increasingly absurd “assignments” that Danny, running on Monster Energy and bad life choices, completed without registering how criminally insane they were.

Case in point: one evening, Danny stumbled into the lab with a Red Bull in one hand and a half-eaten burrito in the other. Victor handed him a device.

“Install this at Stark Tower.”

Danny blinked at the tiny, harmless-looking black box. “Uh, what is it?”

“A signal booster for quantum research purposes.”

Danny, who trusted absolutely no one and also didn’t care because he had a paper due at midnight, shrugged. “Okay, cool.”

He broke into Stark Tower that night with the ease of a sleepwalking raccoon, installed the “signal booster” inside one of Tony Stark’s servers, and left. The next morning, the news was screaming about a massive data breach that almost triggered World War III. Danny was too busy trying to finish his midterm essay on quantum entanglement to notice.

“Good work, Daniel,” Victor said approvingly during their next meeting, clapping him on the back so hard he almost faceplanted into a dimensional rift. “You have the soul of a conqueror.”

“Thanks, man,” Danny mumbled, chugging coffee straight from the pot.

Victor took it a step further. He started introducing Danny at fancy functions. “This is Daniel. He is my most promising apprentice. One day he will inherit my empire.”

Danny, half-dead from exams and not paying attention, just nodded absently and said, “Yup. Love the Empire Strikes Back. Great movie. Big fan.”

Victor beamed.

It wasn’t until six months later, after the “Study Abroad” paperwork (actually an all-expenses-paid trip to Latveria) and the suspiciously grand laboratory gifted to him “for his brilliance,” that Danny realized something was deeply wrong.

He was skimming through some documents on Victor’s encrypted network—because of course Doom had an encrypted network called “DoomNet”—when he found it.

Last Will and Testament of Victor Von Doom: In the event of my death, all of Latveria, my scientific research, all proprietary technology, magical artifacts, nuclear launch codes, hidden doomsday devices, and the title of Supreme Monarch will pass to my chosen heir: Daniel Fenton, aka “Phantom,” aka “My Beautiful Disaster Child.”

Danny read it three times.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Am I—AM I A VILLAIN PRINCE?!”

Cue the world’s most pathetic breakdown.

“NO NO NO NO NO. I JUST WANTED A DAMN SCHOLARSHIP!” He hurled a coffee mug at the wall. It phased through because he lost control of his intangibility again. “THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR TRUSTING ANYONE IN A CAPE.”

Danny spent the next two hours panic-researching Victor Von Doom. It was bad. It was really bad. It was, like, world-endingly bad. Murder records. Wars. Kidnapping Reed Richards’ kids. Banning Beyoncé from Latveria because she rejected his dinner invitation. BAD.

And it was too late. Doom had gone on international television that morning and announced Danny’s name as his successor.

“I have chosen my heir,” Doom declared, standing proudly atop his gold-plated balcony while cameras flashed below. “The boy shall inherit everything I have built. Bow before your future king, Daniel Fenton!”

Meanwhile, in his MIT dorm room, Danny choked on his cereal.

“Oh my God,” Tucker screamed over Facetime. “YOU’RE DOOM JUNIOR!”

Jazz was furiously typing. “Danny, that’s treason. Like, actual treason.”

Sam just stared at him with unholy glee. “So… when are you conquering America?”

“NEVER,” Danny screeched.

Too late. The Avengers showed up at MIT the next day. It was not subtle.

Tony Stark crashed into Danny’s quantum physics lecture, kicked open the door, and pointed dramatically at him. “YOU!”

Danny, hunched over his notes and running on negative hours of sleep, blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, Doom Boy,” Tony said, stomping down the aisle while half the class screamed and ducked for cover. “You hacked my servers, hijacked my satellites, and installed a literal doom-signal into my mainframe. Care to explain, junior dictator?”

Danny held up his hands. “Okay, look. In my defense, I thought it was a Wi-Fi booster.”

Steve Rogers leaned in. “Are you actively trying to destroy America?”

Danny’s eye twitched. “Sir, I am actively trying to pass Organic Chemistry.”

Natasha Romanoff clicked a pen menacingly. “Are you or are you not plotting to overthrow the world?”

Danny hesitated. “I mean… define ‘plotting’?”

There was a long, painful silence.

Tony sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Kid. You’re on, like, several different international watchlists. Half of SHIELD thinks you’re planning to nuke New York.”

Danny’s voice cracked. “I didn’t even know how to do laundry until last month.”

And thus began the most chaotic custody battle in history: Doom versus the Avengers versus Danny versus himself.

Victor, naturally, was thrilled. He sent Danny monogrammed armor. A custom throne. A letter that read “My son, all great rulers are hated before they are loved. However feat not. Seize your destiny.”

Danny sent it back with a post-it note that said “pls stop.”

Tony tried to recruit him instead. “Work for me. You like tech, you like coffee, you’re already better at hacking than Peter—”

“HEY,” Peter Parker shouted from across the hall.

Danny groaned into his hands. “I don’t want to work for anyone! I just want a nap!”

Sam Wilson patted him on the back sympathetically. “Welcome to adulthood, kid.”

Things escalated horrifyingly fast. Latverian officials tried to smuggle Danny out of Massachusetts under the cover of night. Doom built a life-sized gold statue of him in Latveria’s capital square. The Avengers started putting “Phantom Threat Level: High” on their briefing files. Nick Fury cornered him in a diner and deadpanned, “Son, you’re one bad day away from becoming an international incident.”

Danny, shoving pancakes in his mouth, muffled, “I don’t wanna.”

Of course, life didn’t let him off that easy.

When Doom inevitably “died”—allegedly vaporized by a malfunctioning time machine because of course he did—Danny woke up to find a legal team at his dorm room.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” the lead lawyer said with an evil smile. “You are now King of Latveria.”

Danny fainted on the spot.

He woke up fifteen minutes later to find Sam fanning him with a Doom flag and Tucker wearing a Latverian general’s hat he stole from one of the lawyers.

“So…” Tucker grinned. “Wanna invade Canada first?”

Danny screamed into his pillow.

And somewhere, deep in the void between worlds, Doom—very much alive and sipping espresso—chuckled darkly.

“Atta boy, Daniel,” he whispered. “Atta boy.”

[sahdah]

I listen to this more than I care to admit sometimes 😂

Um…clearly I have issues. I also have no idea how to decorate pretend high end houses.

[twisted-dork]

Jason Meets May Parker (AKA The Woman of His Dreams Because She Beat Up the Joker)

Jason Todd wasn’t a romantic.

He wasn’t the type to believe in love at first sight or fate or any of that Hallmark crap. (He may read romance books but that’s fiction therefore it has different rules so it doesn’t count!)

But standing in front of May Parker for the first time—the woman who had, without hesitation, beaten the absolute hell out of the Joker—he thought, Yeah, I’m in love.

He hadn’t planned to meet her like this.

After all, he had questions.

Who the hell was she? How did she take down the Joker with nothing but a baseball bat and sheer rage? Why did the kid she was protecting act like this was just another Tuesday?

So, naturally, he did what he did best.

He followed her.

Which, in hindsight, might not have been his best idea, because when she caught him lingering outside the library where she worked, she hit him in the chest with a hardcover book.

Hard.

May: “You gonna tell me why you’re lurking like a creep, or do I need to hit you again?”

Jason, stunned, looked down at the book she had just used as a blunt weapon.

Jason: “…Did you just hit me with ‘War and Peace’?”

May: “It was the closest thing I had. Want me to try ‘Moby Dick’ next?”

Jason, for reasons he couldn’t explain, grinned.

Jason: “Well I would appreciate it if you didn’t, you pack quite the heat.”

Jason didn’t lie that hit actually hurt which only made him more curious on just how strong she is.

May: “Well from what I’ve seen here in Gotham I think that’s a good thing?”

She smirked putting her hand on her hip.

Once Jason convinced her he wasn’t a threat (and after she made him hold out his hands so she could check them for clown makeup because she wouldn’t be surprised if The Joker sent people after her), May allowed him to sit with her inside the library.

She watched him warily over the rim of her coffee cup, the same way one might watch a stray dog that had wandered in off the street—curious, but not quite trusting.

Jason, on the other hand, was watching her.

Because she was different.

She wasn’t scared of him. Wasn’t intimidated by the leather jacket, the scars, the general air of menace that usually made people keep their distance.

No.

She just looked… tired.

Tired, but not weak.

And damn if that didn’t make his brain short-circuit a little. He had only planned to feel her out. Figure out what kind of person she was.

But then (the boy who was kidnapped,) Peter ran up to her, tugging at her sleeve.

Peter: “Aunt May! I finished my book! Can I get another one?”

May smiled, ruffling the kid’s hair in a way that spoke of effortless familiarity.

May: “Sure thing, sweetheart. You want another science book?”

Peter: “Mmhmm! I wanna learn about quantum physics!”

Jason blinked.

Jason: “…You’re like, five?”

Peter (scowling): “I’m sevente—!”

May m: “Careful. He’ll start monologuing about multiversal theory if you’re not careful.”

May cut Peter off handing him a book and smoothing down his curls.

And that was it.

That was the moment Jason knew he was completely and utterly screwed.

Because the kid was hilarious, and May Parker was somehow both the most terrifying and most comforting person he had ever met.

And Jason Todd?

Well.

Jason Todd had always had a thing for dangerous women with big hearts. He didn’t say it aloud, but he knew then and there that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Not just because May had wrecked the Joker like it was personal (which by the way he sees how much she loves the kid it’s unsurprising).

Not just because Peter was the most sarcastic seven-year-old he had ever met (at least he’s not trying to stab him like Damian would).

But because she reminded him of the kind of person he wished he had when he was a kid.

Fierce. Protective.

Unyielding in the face of cruelty.

And even if she didn’t know it yet, she had just gained an unofficial bodyguard in him.

Because Jason Todd wasn’t about to let someone like her face Gotham alone.

Not now.

Not ever.

——————————————————————————————————————

I’ll be making a taglist soon so if you want to be tagged then just request in my ask

[nymphaura777]

🍁 Celeste 🍁

leo ☼ | INFP-T | Historophile

a lil obsessed with music, history, sketching & art, photography & cinematography, cold coffee, chocolates, makeup, lip gloss, fairy lights, scented candles, fall vibes, henna, oversized sweaters, books, philosophy, existential literature, sleep, halloween, foggy mornings and sweets. basically romanticizing life 24/7....

Read Before Sending Asks:

If I keep getting the same question over and over, i’m not answering it. i’ve already covered it..just scroll through my posts. i promise i didn’t write all that for fun, also I'm here to discuss Law of Assumption/manifestation/void state/shifting/ dr scripts and problems related to void, shifting and loa...also I won't be accepting super long asks, be concise and clear as possible and don't ask me to manifest/wake up in void for you.

also, i’m not answering stuff like:

“can i—”

“how can i—”

“is it possible to—”

“how to—”

Babes, manifestation is not quantum physics. y’all don’t need me to break it down into a million baby steps. you think it, you persist, you get it. stop making it complicated. apply the basics, live your life, and let reality catch up. that’s it.

And this isn't place for hate/antis, if you don't agree with me just scroll away, or if you don't something in my posts just simply send me an ask instead of misinterpreting.

stay winning.

Anons - 🪐, 🍓

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*My posts ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

How to manifest anything?

Law of assumption: Victorian ghost explanation

Embodying desired version

Get rid of procrastination

Why persisting feels fake?

Persisting when 3d isn't showing up

You already have your desires

Shut your brain up when it's being logical

Manifestation burnout

Manifesting money

Myths and manifestation

Time and Manifestation

Revision method

Manifesting Appearance changes

But how do I assume?

Read this if you're tired of waiting for your manifestation.....

Do you actually need methods?

Get rid of Victim Mindset

Manifesting SP - I

Manifesting SP - II

Scripting 101

What if 3d is showing opposite?

Can't visualise?

Manifesting fictional character

Just assume it

Robotic affirming

State Akin to Sleep (SATs)

Manifesting dream life in hard circumstances

Manifesting apperance changes without surgery is possible?

I feel like a clown while persisting

Void section:

Inducing void

The void: puppy explanation

Why are you still not in the void?

Put void off the pedestal

Inducing void through loa

My methods:

Thank you method

Playhouse mode method for waking up in void

Void game method to wake up in void

My success stories:

How I induced void for the first time?

How I manifested my man!

How I induced void for the first time? Pt.2

[pybun]

Dynamo Clown Skin Concept 2

heres the first one

i only have one variant (for now). this ended up coming with a little story.

dynamo has failed the patrons' rituals multiple times. the love of his life that he's doing this for is no longer with him. can he live without her? can he find a new meaning to his life? will inspiring others suffice? would he risk marlowe becoming a distant memory? he could be trapped in his cosmic form for multiple centuries or maybe milleniums. a black hole of his size should've evaporated instantly but i guess he's no ordinary dying star.

at some point in time, after who knows how long he has researched and experimented, he found a way to end it all. he learned a blackhole created by supernatural forces doesnt follow the rules of quantum physics. he's said his goodbyes and gave away all he had before performing one last ritual. he figured he should do this somewhere that cant cause damage to any structures or people, he had to do it alone.

he picked a scenic place so he can get one good look at the world before going. on a grassland bordered by a mountain range overlooking the sunset in the ocean. he took one last imaginary inhale before writing the last rune on his magic circle. he recited his spell, the circle lights up and then he's gone. his metallic body clattered to the ground. it wasnt as destructive as he thought after all.

the earth starts to rumble. birds and critters started scattering. an unseen force manifests all around and then implodes in a ring of light and into the professor's circle. a new star was born. it gently dances over dynamo's spherical body. was his soul affected by the astral gate too?

this wasnt him but something else entirely. he sounds like him but no memories of him. only vague emotional responses to certain things from the life of the professor. they value these things even if they dont know why. they initially sought out to find the meaning behind everything but life had many distractions.

[shmowder]

In case you missed it, Game Rant did an interview with Nikolay Dybowski about Pathologic 3. Here is the link for it.

And here are the bits that stood out the most to me:

Q: The non-linearity of time and how it will be related to the nature of the Town are also core story components. How did this affect design and direction?

A: Connecting non-linear time with a long, narrative-heavy story that involves many characters and cause-and-effect chains would be extremely difficult. We focused on what the player feels in the moment rather than on gathering information in the right order. The latter approach works well in shorter formats like Her Story or 12 Minutes, but in Pathologic, it would be overwhelming.

We wanted players to feel like “everything, everywhere, all at once”—similar to Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse-Five. Different versions of reality coexist simultaneously, creating a “quantum” feeling for the player. Look at the time travel mechanic as an opportunity to correct mistakes, or even to make deliberate mistakes in order to unlock new paths and ideas. It is like a "sanctioned save scum."

-

Q: Conversely, how will it (Pathologic 3) connect to and consider the events and characters in Pathologic 2?

A: Consider it as two subjective retellings of the same events. This is the same Town, the same twelve days, the same participants and events that occurred in the Haruspex’s story. But this is a different perspective. Like two witnesses recounting the same event in Rashomon, the stories vary greatly, each focusing on different details. Finally, we always give our heroes the right to make honest mistakes, forget, and even lie. Every narrator is an unreliable narrator.

-

Q: How did Pathologic’s previous philosophical explorations help inform or play into the narrative and themes here?

A: Everything we now see as true and valuable, we’ve kept. Everything we’ve outgrown, like childhood clothes, we either reimagined and reinterpreted to give these ideas new meaning, or let go of them. After all, we’ve grown a lot (hopefully, along with the industry). When I first conceived Pathologic, I was 21 and completely alone. Now I’m 47, surrounded by incredibly talented people who enrich this universe as much as I do, and that makes a difference.

We’ve kept the idea of the tragedy of utopian projects. We kept the idea that the plague is a voice of the natural order—one that the thinking human mind cannot accept—and that it has its own truth. We retained the belief that evil cannot be defeated with its own tools or outplayed on its field; yet it can be defeated realistically in a different, orthogonal way. In another dimension.

-

Q: It’s mentioned that the Bachelor is searching for an immortal man in Pathologic 3. Can you say if this is in reference to Mark Immortell?

A: No, there’s no connection between Simon Kain (one of the town’s rulers) and Mark Immortell (the director of the town theater). Mark is a clown. He awkwardly mimics Simon, parodying him, which is why he takes on this pseudonym. He's fully aware that he’s a jester, and the gesture itself is ironic.

-

Q: What do you hope players will take away most from Pathologic 3?

A: The hope that humanity remains a promising and capable species.

-

Also, new game pictures and screenshots dropped:

(some are old ones I forgot to post)

[anna-the-undertaker]

Nightmares and Nonsense

This is based on this post. I came up with that idea during one of my insomnia induced sleepless nights. I want to give special thanks to @anunholyabomination for inspiring me with the sheer hilarity of their comment on that post. So this is for you lmao additional tags: @leilakaro @sheep-from-rad

Belphegor's nights were an exercise in futility and simmering rage. Confined within the attic's gloomy walls, his disdain for humans stewed alongside a relentless boredom. The appearance of the human exchange student only served to ignite his contempt further. Yet, a mischievous part of him, the part that delighted in the subtle arts of manipulation and control, saw an opportunity in this unsuspecting human's arrival.

He discovered their dreaming mind by pure coincidence. While wandering the endless expanse of his own subconscious, a new dreamscape overlapped his, leaving Belphie adrift and puzzled. As a demon deeply acquainted with the nuances of sleep and dreams, he rarely encountered a dreamscape that could surprise him—at least he thought none of them could.

The dream before him was vivid, an intricately woven tapestry of colors and sensations that resonated with an unfamiliar yet undeniably human energy. He moved through it with the ease of a shadow, unseen and unnoticed, until he sensed a shift—a ripple of awareness that prickled at the edges of his consciousness.

Turning towards the source, he realized it was the human, and tried to get closer, intrigued by their control and clarity, and eager to exploit this opportunity. But before he could get any closer, a voice, clear and authoritative, cut through the dream’s fabric.

“Did I give you permission to come here?” The voice was neither hostile nor welcoming, carrying a tone of nonchalant power that Belphie wasn't used to being subjected to.

Startled, Belphie had barely a moment to register the dismissal before he was forcibly ejected from the dreamscape. He woke with a gasp, the abrupt return to his own consciousness leaving him disoriented and a single thought crossed his mind, “What the fuck…”

The encounter, however brief, sparked an obsession in Belphie. Night after night, he tried to re-enter the human's subconscious realm. Each attempt, however, ended more ludicrously than the last. The human didn’t just eject him but began to twist his appearances into increasingly absurd scenarios.

One night, he found himself manifested at the edge of a surreal circus. No sooner had he entered he was transformed—his dignified demonic form altered into that of a clown, complete with oversized shoes and a garish red nose. Before he could react, an imposing figure that his dream-altered mind couldn't recognize appeared, tall, bearded and dressed in top hat and singlet, shoving tacos into his mouth while shouting about something called Reese’s Puffs. In the background, aliens, decked out like gangsters, were busy robbing some place called a Chuck E. Cheese, stuffing their bags with what they loudly declared to be diamonds.

Another attempt saw him materialize in a dream-designed version of the wild west, where he was immediately put on a horse that had a mind of its own. As he struggled to maintain his balance, dream-created characters pelted him with bizarre questions about quantum physics—a subject he had no knowledge of, much less in his sleep. The absurdity peaked when the horse decided to join in the conversation, offering insights in a surprisingly sophisticated British accent.

At some point he was a fearsome pirate aboard a sinking ship, desperately trying to scare MC with threats of walking the plank, only to have the scene dissolve into a bizarre beach party where MC forced him to participate in a limbo contest. The dream characters cheered on, including the tall man from before who inexplicably acted as the DJ, blasting 80s pop hits.

And again, he was a villain in a medieval setting, ready to lay siege to a castle. Just as he began his threatening monologue, the scene shifted, turning him into a court jester reciting Shakespearean insults while juggling tomatoes. MC, dressed as the ruler, laughed from their throne, utterly unfazed by his supposed menace.

The indignity of it was almost too much, and he had withdrawn with a seething anger, masked by a forced calm. Yet, Belphie couldn't help but admire the human's deft control over their dreams. It was an ability he hadn't anticipated, one that both infuriated and intrigued him.

After numerous humiliations, Belphie's approach shifted. Perhaps he could weave himself into their subconscious as a constant, albeit ridiculous, presence. Allowing the human to get used to him would make it easier to manipulate them later, but that meant going along with their little game. He knew there would be no way to hide that he was a demon, but that was just a small change to his growing plan. Gradually, his intrusions became less about domination and more about persistence.

Finally, the human seemed to tire of crafting bizarre punishments. Belphie found himself simply present in the dreams, no longer transformed or tormented. He was just another character in the ever-changing tapestry of the human's dream world. This sudden normalcy felt like a cold truce, and while part of him was relieved, another part—a dark, vengeful slice of his soul—simmered with unresolved anger.

When they eventually met in person, the attic's dusty gloom illuminated by the intrusion of this peculiar human, Belphie’s feelings were a complex web of grudging respect, lingering disdain, and a peculiar curiosity.

“You,” Belphie greeted, his voice cool but laced with an undercurrent of amusement and annoyance. “Quite the dream weaver, aren’t you?”

The human's grin was all too knowing, their eyes sparkling with mischief. “Had to keep things interesting. You demons take yourselves so seriously.”

Belphie scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. “You have no idea what you’re meddling with, human.”

“Maybe,” They conceded with a shrug, their confidence unshaken. “But I think I can handle it. Can you say the same?”

The challenge hung between them, and despite everything, Belphie found himself intrigued. Here was a human, capable of turning nightmares into farce, of standing toe-to-toe with a demon in the battlefield of dreams. As much as he hated to admit it, this might prove more interesting than he’d anticipated.

And, of course, he could find a way to use this to his advantage after all.

[zeravmeta]

it is literally so fucking funny. we speedrun all of the calamities that can each independently destroy the planet in under two hours and this metric does include oberon since the collapse was dependent on him in the first place. this is right up there with "we destroyed the russian lostbelt in two weeks!" when at the time chaldea was living out of their car and running on cigarette fumes. like at a certain point i feel like people going from being afraid of chaldea to being fucking bewildered makes sense because these bastards are far too competent when it comes to solving world ending events but outside of are far too carefree. you can summon literally any type of apocalyptic event and They Will Absolutely Handle It (not even ORT basically The strongest nasuverse thing could beat them) but outside of that even with the smartest people alive on their team i think they wouldn't be able to build a cabinet without transmogrifying it into a superweapon to defend humanity. the most powerful threats to chaldea have never been the beasts or demon pillars or calamities but that time the servants made too much chocolate and caused a quantum singularity for valentines, or that time during summer when we were caught in an infinite beach vacation time loop, or the several times during christmas when mutliple dieties invaded because they wanted a taste of the christmas spirit. how did you clowns destroy five lostbelts indeed

[joltning]

here’s idiosyncratic/non portmanteau names for every ship done on rarepair week!(Not including the big ass polyship charts I don’t wanna be here forever.) if I missed you or you want another just ask

feel free to add or remove the ‘shipping’ after tag from these, it’s just to make them more clear. oh and if you’d like explanations just ask

sherry/ohio: sourberry

bitters/matthews: sunflowershipping

bitters/palomo: sunsetshipping

jensen/smith: licoriceshipping

bitters/smith: molten metal

ltsquad: seasonsshipping

bitters/volleyball: hibiscusshipping

ghanoush/mccallister: radioactiveshipping

jones/miller: flourrope

red zealot/blue zealot: from concentrate

ghanoush/mccallister/rebmedic: ultravioletshipping

kimball/dylan: headliners

hutch/wynn: blind judgement

georgia/utah: bubblejet

ct/south/girlie: back to backstabbers

maine/wyoming: pale indifference

carolina/ohio: analogous antithesis

blue fed/randy: festivalshipping. i mean you could also just call them funnelcake

carolina/kai: wallfighter

grey/south: psych and sike

grey/south/dylan: wiped record

south/kai: mardigrasshipping

rebmedic/volleyball: double dose

one/phase: prime integer

kimball/carolina: apex authority

grey/carolina: speedy recovery

jensen/volleyball: runner up

tex/sheila: Gadsdenshipping

chrovos/huggins: quantum gleam

dylan/carolina: insiders info

jensen/simmons: beetrootshipping

doc/donut: sugar pills

sleeves/demo: well I think they already called it iron and smoke but hm…brawnburst?

north/wyoming: sniper duel

locus/lopez: wild misdirection

church/temple: phantom chills

tucker/donut: sugar spike

delta/epsilon: ROM hack

carolina/york/tucker: beach day every day

tucker/lopez: handymanshipping

locus/siris: grapeshipping

donut/lopez/caboose: cobblershipping

kimball/felix: color negative

lopez/caboose: loading time

tucker/north: parental bond

wash/caboose: bullet train

one/danyell: (didn’t know if to separate this one from one/phase but uhh) Golden ratio

caboose/donut: come on. i can’t outdo pastry train

wash/felix: knife play

fake ct/tucker: high and dry

donut/north/south: twin braid

york/tucker: class clown

east/one (again didn’t know but um.) singular solution

sheila/cherry: sweet ride

tex/grey: call me crazy

simmons/doc: middle ground

sharkface/maine: brute-y and the beast

church/north: standard deviation

girlie/sheila: kiss goodnight

felix/jaunes mom: appletreeshipping

tex/omega: anger changer

tucker/grif: incompletely complementary

felix/north: heaven’s favorite angel

locus/wash: farawayshipping

grif/wash: roadkill

caboose/tex: heavy swing

temple/tucker: cryoblade

lopez/locus/donut: nature’s blessing

tucker/wash/donut: heavy duty spin

kimball/filss: revolutionary technology

carolina/kai/479er: flying by wire

jensen/palomo/volleyball: nerd’s tossup

florida/maine: hide and seek

florida/sarge/wyoming: usashipping (duh)

wash/grif/caboose: low speed chase

jensen/dos.0: iron giant shipping

wash/felix/locus: hook line and sinker

wash/sigma: crash and burn

sleeves/demo man/girlie: bloodbath

florida/vic: chillpillshipping

donut/felix: blood sugar

wash/donut: fresh batch

bitters/grif: solar flare

tucker/kimball: sponsored faith

donut/doc/kai: shotsshipping

wash/epsilon: recollectionshipping

texsis: yellowjacketshipping

locus/grif/simmons: mapleleafshipping

wash/tex: eclipseshipping

tucker/palomo: tsunamishipping

donut/lopez: easy bake oven

sarge/doyle: tyrannical bloodshed

felix/tucker: two of swords

church/caboose: engineshipping

[bluesidez]

OKAY I HAD TO HIT YOU W THIS BC I NEED THIS TO COME TRUE 🗣🗣‼️‼️

AcademicRival!Miguel x AcademicRival!reader

where they will do quite literally ANYTHING (legally) POSSIBLE to one up each other.

whether their petty rivalry began in high school or first year of uni/college, IDC- but they absolutely despise each other.

and!!! at some point down the track, they forgot why they were beefing in the first place, only for it to start stemming from a place of 'jealousy' (yk how sometimes jealousy is actually feelings of romantic interest in disguise,, yeah, that) and it gets to the point where they are quite literally making it all their friends' problem bc of it.

like i can imagine reader drinking something that Miguel sees and Miguel going 'i need to have this all the time and sell it out so reader can never have any' and Peter is like '???', or reader finding out Miguel got a certain mark and goes 'nobody speak to me for a month i have to understand everything about quantum physics before that smug asshole opens his mouth' and Jess is like '??? just kiss, fym??'

and then they finally have a moment where they have no choice but to rely on each other- whether Miguel's car breaks down on the side of the road reader happens to drive by and she takes him to his, or if reader desperately needs help in a situation and immediately calls him bc she knows he'll pick up bc she needs scary dog privileges and thats HIM so then they end up having a moment of reflection together with either super fluffy smut or absolute debauchery and fluffy aftercare i totally dont mind either way.

IDK do you know what i mean??? 🫣🫢🤭

anyway LY BLUE-BLUE, thank yew for letting me ramble on 🤍🩵

Are you asking me to write this? 🧐 (I shall add it to the pending ideas list just for you 🐰🩵)

I wrote that as a reply as soon as you sent it, but now I have more ideas that I wanna yap about to go along with this.

SO!! You already have a rivals, enemies to lovers trope going on. What better way to make it even more fun than to add the stoic x chatty dynamic???

Like I’m imagining the reader and Miguel first meeting in middle or high school. He’s a transfer student that’s immediately making the top grades and people are like where tf did he come from?? Reader doesn’t really think anything of it, she just carries on with her school life, chatting away (and getting in on the gossip about Miguel).

It’s not until he ends up in the same class with reader one semester (probably in high school) that reader is finally able to be in close contact with him. He’s so quiet and a little boring, but there’s always random girls coming in and out of the classroom to attempt to chat to him.

They’re always bringing snacks or sweets for him. He always turns them down with a “No thank you. I don’t like chocolate.” type of response. (What he thinks to be polite and cordial)

The guys in the class think he’s a huge jerk. The girls in the class still fond over him. You think he’s an oddball, a weirdo. But you really have no solid information to justify it.

It’s not until one day that the teacher asks this obscure question that he pisses you off. (I havent thought of a weird question yet tho). Everyone else has given crude or stupid answers, riling each other up and joking. You raise your head to give the most out-of-the-box, yet plausible answer that leaves the teacher impressed and the class laughing in shock. Miguel scoffs and debunks it so fast, that you start to feel like one of his rejected groupies. If you thought the laughter for your answer was loud, the laughter for his sounds like the crowd in a football stadium.

You’re embarrassed but you don’t really show it. You just brush it off and joke with everyone else like usual.

Then, one of the class’s first huge tests come. You’re gunning for the number 1 spot although you figure it won’t be too hard with half of the room being class clowns and the other half not giving af. You read over the material once and already have a good grasp on it, so you joke around with everyone else. There’s rap battles and TT routines. You guys even manage to get the teacher in on some of them. From the front of the room, you can see Miguel glancing back at you with such a sour look on his face. Wtf was his deal??

Test day finally comes. You’re the first to turn yours in with a smug smile on your face. You even take a nap until the next bell.

You’re on cloud nine for about a good week. Although, every time you open your mouth in class, Miguel looks like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Then, the time came for the teacher to hand out the papers. He was pretty theatrical and loved to announce who got the highest score.

You were gearing up for him to say your name. And you don’t know of you’re crazy, but you’re certain your mom didn’t put “Miguel O’Hara” on your school registration form.

You frown as you come back to reality, watching as teacher handed him is paper. From your seat, you can see the bright red 100 in the corner, a smiley face to adorn it.

Then the teacher hands you your paper. A 99.5. Just 0.5 points from a perfect score. And what you got points taken off for is something so ridiculous that you could scream.

You can see him in your peripheral as you chat with the other students about the answers. Just as you discuss your silly mistake you take a small look at him. He has a faint smirk on his face, as if to laugh at your downfall.

From then on, you decide that it’s a war.

[and obviously, the story would travel with them as they grow. Once they’re adults, I can imagine Miguel to still be this same stoic, yet more approachable person who has had a ROSTER of hookups and a reader who’s still so flirty and chatty, yet can’t find a good partner to save their life. The dynamic of him knowing exactly how to make reader feel good verses reader being overwhelmed for once would be sooooo good]

What do you think Lexie-bun?? 🥸