#this is my fourth attempt of posting this

[poeticlark]

769 words, my own au i call "doll au", inspired by cyberpunk. everyone is a cyborg yah whatever. enjoy, and yes i accept questions on the au.

-.-.-

Captain Curly’s medical file is 13 pages of technical jargon, schematics, therapy notes and several police reports. It's the longest in volume, outmatching even Swansea’s extensive age and habit of replacing livers when they fail him. 

Before completing a trimonthly diagnostic on each crewmember, Anya must read through their medical records to prepare. All restricted files on the Tulpar are paper, unable to be downloaded or accessed through any cyberware. Locked away in cases and drawers for select crew.

She opens Curly's file on the desk, organises the paper's with a soft shuffling. Slides her glasses on, so the eyestrain of the contacts doesn’t overwhelm. 

Her radio comforts, cello solos for reading while she drinks the Pony Express tea. Tea is a liberal interpretation of dust swept from the factory floor and stuffed into rice paper pouches that dissolve into the water, leaving behind a starchy taste. There’s only 100 packed for the whole trip, and she hates them.

Alas, the urge to drink tea while studying, self-ingrained through her schooling habits, is too strong to beat. Anya sips at her starchy dust water and tries to comprehend what a Systematic Ram Reshuffler is.

The Captain’s body is full of things, full of wires and chips. His files are full of complications from those wires and chips. She reads through the reports from his biomonitor, the watch embedded in his wrist, the bracing on his hand where he broke it in a warehouse accident. The optical enhancements he has, top market for his line of work. The maintainer attached to his heart. A diagram of his brain overflowing with neuralware, stretches of cabling stretching along the rippling tissue.

She jots down a note to monitor Curly for complications, and more stringent psychological evaluation. No wonder he’s so indebted, she thinks to herself. These implants must cost tens of thousands.

She stops in her shuffling, turns the radio down when a note rings out like a squeal. Surely, she misread it. Misunderstood. 

The fourth page is an extensive report of the process of installing a Morpheus Behavioural Chip from Projekt Industries. 

Something's kicking in her chest, something scared. A Morpheus.

The report is not as dramatic as maybe it should be, size twelve lettering on slightly creased paper. Perfectly normal language, probably typed out by a surgeon eager to rush off to their lunch break. Nauseatingly mundane and impassive. Totally typical of a post surgery report. She’s unsure that it’s about Curly, until she doubles and then triple checks his full name at the top of the page.

26th September, 1984: The implant was installed into the client’s frontal lobe. Surgery was 7 hours and 42 minutes. There were no complications.

28th September, 1984: The client woke up from anaesthetic and attempted to decannulate himself. The nurse on duty prevented this from happening, and he quickly regained composure.

29th September: 1984 The implant appears to have integrated with the client’s nervous system and frontal lobe without complication. No inflammation beyond standard medication. Diagnostics by a software engineer shows full functionality has been achieved.

13th October, 1984: The client will be discharged tonight, and return weekly until the end of the month for monitoring. Prescription for courses of medication sent electronically: immunosuppressants, antibiotics, antiinflammation and antiemetics will be supplied in courses  

A Morpheus chip in the frontal lobe of Captain Curly. Anya leans back, spine slamming into the back of her chair as her vision seems to fizzle at the edges. Curly, in charge of The Tulpar and the wellbeing of every single person on board, has a behavioural chip. Curly is a doll. 

Scolding herself for that kind of language, she lets the paper down on the desk like it stings to touch. Curly’s a person, a person with independent thoughts. Not some meat machine, and she’d be able to tell if it wasn’t him. His opticware is connected to the implant, an alert to anyone he talks to if it's active. Curly is himself, and himself is a person. A Morpheus chip doesn’t mean anything.

The cup of tea, wobbling precariously in her unsteady hand, tips onto her. It scalds, soaking into her uniform’s trousers and the pants underneath that.

“Fuck!” 

She stumbles to her feet, stumbling to get out of her uniform and shoving the papers across the table. It burns, bringing angry tears to her eyes as she stumbles to the sink reserved for handwashing. At least the medical room can lock, she bitterly recalls while stripping down to her underclothes and splashing water onto her angry, red skin. 

She's lost her appetite for pony express tea even more, now. Behavioural chip interfaces with all programs in functionality tests, the report read, and the dead pixel flashes at the back of her skull insistently.

[fieldofheathers-stuff]

The Silco saga, Part 3: The Eye

*This is the third (well, actually fourth) post in a series I’ve lovingly dubbed “The Silco Saga, a retrospective after Season 2”. It’s halfway between flow of conscience, meta, headcanon and review, spawned from my Arcane brainrot (and recent S1 rewatch) and vaguely aimed at trying to reevaluate the entirety of Arcane with a focus on my Main Man™ Silco. Here is Part 1 (on how S2 handled Silco and Jinx’s relationship), Part 1.5 (miscellaneous thoughts regarding timeline issues and Silco’s actions towards the kids in S1ep3), and Part 2 (Vander and a bit of Zaundads, yaaay).

Please feel free to comment! I love hearing different perspectives on this show.

----------------------------

This will be a short one, but I need to get it out of my system. I just... love, love, love Arcane's use of visual language (and specifically character and environment design) to wordlessly communicate story beats. The whole show is just a perfect synergy of writing and artistic talent, where both contribute to craft a deeply layered and meaningful story.

Silco's eye is such a perfect example of this. To use the eye as a symbol of his corruption post-drowning is such a genius intuition, because it's symbolism is so immediately understandable yet also layered with meaning that is incredibly specific to his character.

There are plenty of characters in popular media where facial disfigurement is used to convey duality and corruption (the most obvious example being DC's Two-Face), and Silco could have easily gone down this well-traveled path of character design. However, by focusing on the corrupted eye in particular, this element instantly specifies the meaning of his mutilation.

Vander's violence didn't just impact him phisically. His scars don't serve just as a constant reminder of the ways in which he (and the world, since the Pilt's toxic waters are an effect of Piltover's exploitation of the Undercity) wronged him. The violence inflicted upon him distorted his vision of the world, metaphorically and literally. He is forced (first by Vander, and later by himself) to view the world through a monstrous filter.

I wonder whether him having to constantly inject Shimmer into his eye is meant to symbolize - or rather mirror - the coping mechanism he uses to deal with his trauma. Silco is shown constantly revisiting The Drowning™ as a crucial moment in his development as a person, and while in his personal narrative he reframes it as a positive and cathartic experience, we are aware, through his flashbacks, that the moment was anything but. Him needing to constantly inject Shimmer into his eye is the physical equivalent to the psycological ritual of "healing" he performs by reframing his trauma as a moment of self-improvement (and literally dunking himself in the Pilt, Silco you madman).

It's only logical, then, that the injections don't seem to work long-term. It perfectly mirrors his psychological state: as the story goes on, we see how his narrative of death and rebirth is just a superficial fix, a solution which could perhaps be sustainable for him alone, but inevitably crumbles as soon as he attempts to apply it to another person (Jinx). Jinx's tragic arc in S1 reveals the fault in his vision: there is no healing to be found in rewriting your past by cramming it into a narrative that suits your feelings and "killing" (denying, hiding, repressing) the bits that you don't like - or that are too painful for you to face.

It's deeply symbolic, then, that he still keeps his scars in the Best Timeline™ of S2ep7, but there's no sign of infection or (what I assume is) Shimmer corruption: the wounds are still there because the past can't be changed, but he is shown to have been able to shape it into something stable, manageable. It's what healing actually looks like: it's neither a return to an umblemished state, nor a rebirth into something completely new, but rather an integration of the past and present self into a whole that is not just the sum (or, in his case, a subtraction) of its parts.

[koallebear]

i love how copper ages, the colors are so pretty! do you think a part of pearl still twinkles every now and again?

[lalalychee]

closer than you know

i've been working on this painting for over 3 months and i am exhausted 💀 so excited to be done with it. i'm really proud of it though!! it's definitely the most detailed painting i've done in quite some time.

(please be sure to zoom in to see all the little details i worked so hard on!)

[beatleswings]

[running-with-the-feels]

I finished it.

I couldn't manage to use the whole song (mainly bc there aren't enough images of Fox in the comics) but I got most of it (song is: Harpy Hare by Yaelokre)

[website-enjoyer]

saw 3 posts abt pit hair on my dash today so have an old pic

[cookies-over-yonder]

let me in, you must know where i've been (won't you tell me at last who i am?)

Normal knows Hermie isn't coping well with what he learned at the church of the Doodler. Halfway through their trip back home, Normal finds Hermie sitting on the ground, knees drawn to his chest, wide awake in the middle of the night, and his concern only grows stronger.

[title from The Ballad of Jane Doe from the musical Ride the Cyclone]

this fic is dedicated to my friend @llumimoon :) <3

ao3

☆

Normal's eyes snap open and he stares up at the ceiling of the cat bus. Through the window, he can see the void-portal-thing that surrounds them.

There should be one week left of their trip back home.

All Normal can hear is the sounds of snores…

But then he hears a breath hitch.

Sitting up from where he was laying on the seat, Normal turns toward the noise.

A bright swirl of multicoloured hair meets his gaze. Hermie's sitting on the floor of the bus with his knees drawn to his chest, and his hands raised in front of him. He's staring at his palms.

"Hermie?" Normal whispers. Hermie doesn't move. Not sure he heard it, Normal scoots a little closer, looking down at him from the seat. "Hermie?"

Still no response. His eyes are open, but it doesn't look like he's all there.

Normal slips down to sit across Hermie on the floor. His breathing is slightly staggered. It's at this moment Normal notices his eyes are different colours. One is green, and the other is red. 

But then he sees them shift. Green turns to teal, and red turns to pink.

And then they shift to yellow and purple. Normal watches the colours in his eyes dance and change. It's hypnotizing.

They continue to flick from colour to colour faster and Normal finally snaps himself out of his trance.

"Hermie," he tries a third time. No response.

Normal taps him on the shoulder.

Slowly, Hermie's gaze lifts from his hands. He locks eyes with Normal, and both his eyes turn hazel.

"What…" Hermie trails off. "Why… why aren't you asleep?" 

"'Cause I woke up," Normal answers. This answer doesn't seem to clear anything up for Hermie, based on his confusion. He looks like he's in a daze. "Are you okay?"

"I'm… good. You shh…should go to sleep," he mumbles. His words are slow and slurred. It's different from how he normally talks. It's like the words are stuck on the tip of his tongue and he's straining himself to force them out.

"You don't look so good, Herm."

Hermie looks back at his hands with a thousand-mile stare. "Uh…" he lets out a shuddering sigh. He's blinking rapidly.

"Okay, okay, let's sit up here," Normal stands up and stretches out a hand. When Hermie doesn't take it, Normal clasps Hermie's unburnt hand in his own. "Up we go," he says, pulling him up to his feet.

Hermie stands with Normal's support, but after a second, his knees buckle, and when Normal catches him, he doesn't make a sound. Normal feels himself blush with Hermie in his arms, but he shakes it off and guides Hermie to the seat, sitting beside him.

Hermie is silent and staring at the ground.

Turning his body to face Hermie, Normal says, "Um, so, I don't know what character you're in now, but I'm getting kinda worried."

"This—this isn't… just… don't concern yourself."

"But, I am concerned! What happened back there was really heavy and I know you're going through a lot right now, with finding out about your dads and everything."

Hermie tries to say something but all that comes out is a squeak. Burying his head in his hands, he starts trembling.

Then Normal realizes he's muttering something to himself.

"Who is Hermie?"

Over and over again, just like in the church.

"Hey, hey," Normal leans in. "Hermie is you."

"I don't know who that is!" Hermie lifts his head up and turns to Normal. "I don't know who I am! I can't just—I'm—I don't…"

There's that thousand-mile stare again.

"Herm—"

Hermie stands up suddenly and starts pacing back and forth in front of the seats.

"Just—I… I'm… I don't know… I need to… Who am I, Normal?" Hermie turns and locks eyes with Normal. His eyes are colour-changing and wide and scared. Then he continues to pace, his whole body is trembling violently, and Normal can hear him starting to gasp for air.

Normal stands up and puts his hands on Hermie's shoulders, stopping him in his tracks—it's partly to ground him, and partly to prevent him from falling again, because he looks pretty close. "Hermie, breathe."

"Tell me who I am, Normal," his voice is weak and strained and desperate.

"I can't do that, Hermie."

"Why?" Hermie whines. He's gasping and wheezing and the look of panic in his eyes is enough to make Normal fight to hold back his tears.

"Hermie, you're spiralling, you need to breathe." Normal runs his hands up and down Hermie's arms.

A whine escapes Hermie, and Normal can see tears starting to slide down his face. Hermie immediately averts his gaze, staring at the ground once more.

"I… I… uh… uh—" Hermie stutters between breaths.

"You don't need to say anything. It's okay. You're okay."

Hermie shakes his head so hard he starts tipping over a little. Normal tightens his grip on his arms.

"Okay—sorry, uh, maybe you're not okay right now, but you will be."

That makes him lose the slightest bit of tension in his expression, but he's still trembling and not breathing right.

Normal tries to think of what he would need if he were in Hermie's shoes.

Not knowing who he is or who he's supposed to be… finding out messed up stuff about his parents… feeling lost and panicked and scared and alone…

"Hermie I… I'm gonna hug you, okay?"

Hermie nods.

And with that, Normal carefully wraps his arms around Hermie. He can feel Hermie melt in his embrace, and it's silent for a moment.

Then Hermie breaks. He buries his head in Normal's shoulder and a sob rips through him. Hermie's hands wrap around Normal's back tightly, and Normal tightens his grip on Hermie to match.

"I've got you, Herm," Normal says, putting a hand on the back of Hermie's head, running his fingers through his hair as he cries.

Hermie is holding onto him so tightly and crying so hard… it makes Normal wonder whether he'd ever let himself be so vulnerable…

And suddenly, Hermie quickly pulls away and clears his throat. He stumbles backward a little, and Normal catches him again by the forearms.

Hermie sucks in a breath and holds it. He swipes at his tears, gets that faraway look again, and finally lets the breath out.

"Hermie, you don't have to, like…"

Normal stops short. Telling Hermie not to play a role would probably do more harm than good. Telling Hermie not to push away his emotions might sound accusatory. Telling Hermie to open up might make him less inclined.

Hermie steps out of Normal's grasp.

"You should. Um. Go back to sleep. Now," he says, starting to walk back to his spot on the floor.

"Hermie, wait—" Normal grabs both of Hermie's hands. Stopping in his tracks, Hermie is wide-eyed and staring right back at him.

"Just… you can always talk to me okay? Or if you don't want to, that's, like, fine, we can just… be together—"

Hermie blushes.

"I mean—" Normal chuckles nervously, "like, you're not alone? Sorry, I, yeah. Uh, I'm tripping over my words here, but do you, uh…"

"I understand," Hermie says, looking down at their interlocked hands.

"Okay…"

And Hermie looks back up at him. They lock eyes, and Normal can see him. Hermie's eyes are brown, and his face is stained with tears. His lips are a little chapped. Heat rushes to Normal's face, and he tears his gaze away from Hermie's lips and brings it back to his eyes. "I appreciate it," Hermie says.

There are bags under Hermie's eyes, too, and his eyes, once wide, are now half-lidded and droopy.

"Were you sleeping before, uh…"

"I've been awake all night."

It's what Normal expected, but hearing it pains him nonetheless.

"Okay, well, you can take my sleeping spot. I'm not that tired anyway…"

"I need to sit down," Hermie says, looking back at where they were seated before.

"Okay, okay, we can sit."

Letting go of one of Hermie's hands, Normal brings him back to the seats.

Hermie sits closely beside him. Neither make a move to disconnect their hands. Normal is staring at their interlocked hands resting on his thigh when he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder.

…

Normal feels his stomach flip, and his heart beating fast.

Asleep on his shoulder, breathing slowly, is Hermie, looking more peaceful than he had in a while.

Normal carefully slides Hermie's tear-stained glasses off his face, folds them and puts them in the cup holder next to the seats.

Eventually, the ever-persistent loud thumping of Normal's heart gets fainter, and he finds himself calm, resting his head against Hermie's and letting his eyes fall shut.

♡

[sortanonymous]

Of all the NASCAR series to have the "yellow before checkered = restart" rule, they seriously have that rule in ARCA? ARCA?!?

[crescentmp3]

hi hi hi. drawings

[ethereance]

A short allurance fic.

[exhausted-enby-vibes]

hey friends! j here! i’ve tried once again to make an introduction post, maybe this one will last longer :)

hello! my name is j! my pronouns are he/they, and i’m queer, asexual, and transmasc!

i’ll put my current interests/hyperfixations under the cut but feel free to talk to me about anything!

@thatonesongyouretryingtoremember is my tumblr spouse! we are matching icons <2

i also have an art blog - @exhausted-artist-vibes - but i don’t post over there very often

current interests (this list is subject to sudden changes):

pjo (and the rest of the riordanverse stuff)

good omens

stranger things

the owl house

avatar: the last airbender

sanders sides

lilo and stitch

various bands and artists that i will happily talk about if you ask (the crane wives ask me about the crane wives-)

feel free to talk to me about anything, though! im always up to talk, whether that’s through asks or private messages :) although please be respectful of course, and im a minor so keep that in mind

[cultivating-wildflowers]

I have decided to start this crochet project over for the fourth time.

[roxysvoid]

i’m new to this site and i hear people normally have their general info like likes/dislikes, fandoms, interests and stuff in their pinned post but i was always too lazy to make a carrd so i will just start venting uncontrollably instead

[visibun]

i'm sorry but with that censoring choice going on there how can i be expected to read this in any other way aside from "he was shit in the head"

funny as hell next question

[unforth]

Everything feels awful right now but it isn't really. We still don't officially have a winner, but regardless of how the presidential election ends up, I wanted to take a minute and find what lights I can in the 3 a.m. darkness. Here's what I know:

* Kentucky overwhelmingly rejected an attempt to undermine the public education system by offering private school vouchers:

* Delaware has elected a transgender woman to the House of Representatives, the first out trans person of any gender ever elected to congress:

* For the first time in history, two Black women will be serving in the senate at the same time, and they are only the fourth and fifth Black women ever elected to the senate:

* New York State has passed a constitutional amendment enshrining the rights of pregnant people (including the right to an abortion), LGBTQIA+ people, the disabled, immigrants regardless of legal status, and other at-risk groups:

* Democrat Josh Stein has beaten self-avowed Nazi Mark Robinson to become governor of North Carolina:

That's everything I know off the top of my head. It's not many bright spots, but it's not zero. I'm going to try to find more and I'll add them to the post. It's the only thing I can think of to do that isn't sobbing and throwing up or looking up Canadian immigration rules.

If you know more good news, I encourage you to add it in reblogs.