#the construct

[theconstructsworld]

May DWC 2025 Day 7 - Infinite

Warnings: Blood, death, abuse

As the evening bled into the horizon, bloated and waiting storm clouds loomed, mottling the sky like old bruises. Fog crept along the forest's edges while the trees watched on, motionless as tombstones, and an unnatural silence descended. Nestled where the earth sagged in a forgotten hollow stood a cottage that looked as though it had been gently reclaimed by the land. Its roof slumped under the weight of moss, and vines coiled up around the stones. From the crooked stone chimney, smoke curled lazily into the dusk air. One window glowed with amber light, casting the shape of a chair’s back or perhaps that of a figure just out of sight. 

C's pale face was partially illuminated by the fading light as he stood just past the treeline, motionless as a statue. He listened silently while the wind pulled at the hem of his long, black coat. Inside, there were sobs, pleas, and the ragged breathing brought on by sorrow. His curious eyes grew sharper, and he cocked his head slightly before moving. 

The door did not creak when he entered, it simply opened as if it had been waiting for him. Inside, the coppery, sharp scent of familiarity was immediate. The room was dim, lit only by a single oil lantern that sat flickering atop a small kitchen table. Shadows seemed to seep into every corner of the space, and in the center of it all, illuminated by the soft glow, was a man on his knees.

He was cradling a woman. His wife, perhaps. Her body hung limply in his arms, head lolled to one side and skin already losing its warmth and luster. A streak of almost dried blood splattered across her temple and forehead, and her shirt was soaked dark with even more. The man was weeping with a kind of animalistic desperation, his voice trembling with shock and unbearable grief.

“Please…someone help me,” he whispered to no one, rocking her slowly. “I didn’t…I can’t…this can’t happen.”

C didn’t announce his entrance. He merely stepped forward, each footfall unnaturally quiet despite the old wooden floor beneath him. He stopped a few paces away and regarded the couple with an expression of detached interest as those eyes of frozen moonlight shimmered in the lantern’s glow.

The husband didn’t startle, nor did he question the sudden presence of a stranger in their home. It was as if some part of him had expected this. “Who, who are you?” he gasped. “Please, my wife, she’s gone..please help...I do-” His words warped into something incoherence as the tears overtook him again.

C lingered a moment longer before speaking. “She is not quite gone.”

Eyes wide, the man blinked. He looked down at the woman’s pale, death-twisted face. “Wh-what do you mean?”

With effortless grace, C lowered himself next to her and then reached out to gently brush a strand of hair that was matted with blood away from her cheek. Something flickered faintly across his face, fascination rather than sympathy or fondness. “She is hovering, just beyond, caught between this world and the next. I can retrieve her.”

The man's grip tightened on her. "You're able to bring her back?"

C’s head tilted again, his expression almost serene. “Yes.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the trembling of the man’s breath.

“But,” C added, voice quiet and sure, “there is a cost.”

“I’ll pay it,” the man said too quickly. “Anything. Please, bring her back.”

He held the man’s gaze a moment longer, absorbing the delicate shifts in expression that played across his features, and then he returned his focus back to the woman. He placed two fingers against her sternum, just over where her heart used to beat, and closed his eyes. Instead of speaking in a voice meant for mortal ears, he whispered in a language fashioned from violent edges, each word carrying a weight of intent that hung heavy in the stillness. The air thickened, the lantern’s flame flickered low, and the shadows crept closer, folding the room inward as if the walls themselves were drawing a deep breath.  Somewhere beneath the floorboards, a low groan stirred. An ancient sound awakened from its slumber.

Her body twitched.

The husband let out a cry and nearly dropped her as her chest hitched violently. Her unfocused eyes fluttered open and then landed on the man holding her. Instead of screaming, she sat up gradually, as if instinct had taken precedence over thought. She flexed her fingers and looked past her husband to the man crouching next to them in the tailored black suit.

C rose to his feet. “I kept my word,” he smoothed the wrinkles from his sleeves. “She is yours, again.”

She looked back at her husband. Her expression wavered between bewilderment and recognition, followed by a slow, creeping dread. "You," she inhaled. "What's causing your tears?"

The husband was already shaking his head, reaching for her. “I was so scared. I thought I lost you…I couldn’t bear it.”

C interrupted with a soothing, smooth tone, "You should tell her."

The man froze, opening and closing his mouth. Not in confusion, but in being suddenly seen.

“She deserves to know,” C continued, his smile faint, his tone almost warm. “After all, it was your hand that did this to her.”

Silence.

The woman recoiled, her eyes widening. “You?” 

Reaching again, the man stammered. “No!! It wasn’t...I didn’t mean... It was an accident…I lost control..and…”

C stepped back toward the doorway, his pale eyes shining beneath his dark lashes. “You asked for life and I gave it, but I left behind a gift.” He turned to the woman, whose hands were now clenched into trembling fists. “I gave you the means to decide what happens next.” There was no rage or condemnation in his voice, just a simple, immutable truth. He smiled, one he had practiced many times in the mirror, and lately, it had begun to feel almost natural. Then he was gone.

In the shadows of the cottage, the husband fell to his knees once more as the resurrected wife looked down at her bloodstained hands. Behind her gaze there was something new, something inherited, something infinite.  She rose cautiously, testing the feel and strength of a body reborn, then moved deliberately. While the tremble in her fingers faded, she could still feel the ache and echo of death pulsing faintly in her bones. Her skin was cold, but her mind was clearer than it had ever been.

He was sobbing once more. Crawling, tears slicing through the dirt on his cheeks as he reached for the hem of her dress like a man pleading at an altar. "Please," he muttered repeatedly. “Forgive me. I wasn’t myself. I was angry. I lost control. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t mean to–”

Whatever warmth she had once felt for him was quickly evaporating as she looked down upon him. Something unfamiliar had taken its place. Not retaliation or hatred, but something far more profound. A justice not bound by laws or gods, but born of the quiet rage that comes with clarity. A gift from the man in the suit. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the fire iron C had conveniently nudged ever so slightly closer before he departed.

Outside the walls, the fog lay still and the forest kept its watchful silence. Somewhere beyond the mortal coil, a figure in black leaned against the veil between realms, gazing through the chaos with eyes that glowed like frozen galaxies. He did not smile again, but there was a softness in the way he tilted his head as if pleased. Not because of the death that would follow, or even the justice.

But because she had chosen it. Because she had become something more. Because C was learning, even now, how to create his own stories, and how to end them.

@daily-writing-challenge

[sanguinesorceress]

"When will you come to see me again?"

Once again the Sorceress would find herself holding the letter in her claws.  Years had come and gone since it was delivered, yet she clung to it as though it were a small piece of him for her to hold in her grasp.  The only piece of him she would be permitted to claim.  She knew he belonged to another… understood he would never truly be hers, and yet this irrefutable knowledge did little to relinquish the yearning she felt.

Malakortana was not like the others.  Former scourge were often left emotionless, devoid of all feeling, but the corruption in her body left her flawed in the transformation and therefore able to convey emotion. The mask of neutrality she wore was a carefully crafted one, and after countless decades of habit, she developed a sense of self-restraint rivalling that of a God.  It was the only reason she was able to maintain her distance for so long.

Time and time again she attempted to perceive herself through the eyes of both the Construct and his Master-- tried to understand the fascination one or both might have when it came to herself.  Was she to become an ally?  A foe? A pawn in some elaborate scheme?  The questions were unending and the answers were so few.  There was potential for greatness laced within their connection, but those ‘laces’ could also become disastrous bonds—and Malakortana had endured more than enough bondage in this lifetime than she cared to admit.  Thus, she saw to it personally that no one could lay claim over her fate… ever again.  This circumstance would be no exception.

She had performed the part of ‘serpent’ in her fair share of temptations.  Played devil’s advocate by whispering in unsuspecting ears and encouraging hands to unleash mass destruction.  Had woven webs of disaster and ruin and lay in wait for the slightest tug at her silken threads-- all for the sake of preservation and personal gain.

Everything about Him felt different.

When the Sorceress set her sights on something, no amount of time or conflict could impede her effort, and yet this was the one thing she knew she would be continually denied.  Patience and persistence were not things that would be effective in this endeavor, and so she sighed inwardly before neatly refolding the letter and tucking it back into the pages of a book.

Perhaps the time had come to finally pay him a visit…

@theconstructsworld

[temporaltourguide]

[superat626]

An offering

Also known as the impossible group shot

[lgbtransgirl]

Ice cold takes from a Transgender Woman:

Men are not inherently Evil

Everyone has the capacity for evil

Transgender Men are men

Transgender Women are women

Excluding Cisgender Men from your spaces requires Transgender Men to out themselves if they want to engage (Same for Women)

Anyone can be Non-Binary, there is no "look" or requirement

Non-binary masculine presenting people should be welcome in queer spaces, many are just treated as men and predators

Non-binary feminine presenting people should be welcome in queer spaces without being seen as "Woman-Lite"

Edited the wording on the first point because too many terfs keep thinking I'm their friend.

[redstonedust]

a lot of media assumes robots would be immortal but i think its a lot more interesting to explore robots dealing with their parts wearing down and battery life shortening and all the horrible little failings that come with being a complicated machine. sure they can replace parts but you'd assume you cant completely ship of theseus them, or it'd have pretty big rammifications on their sense of identity. idk. give me robots with distinct, unique signs of aging. as a treat.

[aworldofpattern]

Oscar de la Renta: 'Crafted like a mosaic, discover the making-of the #odlrfall2024 stained glass gown — ushering in a a new House-signature embroidery technique.'

Constructed from hundreds of polyamide panes, hand-sewn together in an Art Nouveau style reminiscent of Tiffany glass. Ready-to-wear: £36,546.

[lotrmusical]

never let anyone tell you that trawling through mediocre victorian poetry isn't worth it. we just happened upon an absolute BANGER of a worm poem. go read it or else 🪱🪱🪱

[cephalopod-celabrator]

It is inherently fun and sexy to say statements that swap the traditional genders of pronouns and terms mid-statement, such as: "I'm going to make him my wife" "She's my boyfriend" "Who says a guy can't be a pretty princess?" "That girl's the coolest dude I've ever met" "She's a madman who has to be stopped" "It's not his fault he's a material girl" Gender is a set of watercolors and the prettiest shades come from mixing the paints together.

[theconstructsworld]

May DWC 2025 Day 3 - Linger, Gaze Warnings: Death, implied child death

~ Years Ago ~

He wandered south one morning, driven not by instinct, but by a pull in his core that had no name. It had been months since Gaebral breathed false life into him. Months of observing, months of listening, months of waiting. He had lingered at the edge of ruins reclaimed by moss and shadow, he had studied mortals in cities, drifting among them silent and unnoticed.

But today was different. 

There was a weight inside him; not grief, not joy, not even hunger, something that writhed beneath this flesh. He did not know what to call it, only that it stirred when he looked too long at the horizon. 

The small village was well out of the way of any big city, soft and unguarded in the early morning haze, flanked by thick trees and tall grass. There was no gate, no guard, just life. Children shrieked with laughter as they chased one another around low wooden fences, a husband and wife leaned close in the frame of a doorway, a vendor argued with a farmer over the price of his produce. The air smelled of hearth smoke, pine sap, and bread. Ideal, lovely, perfect.

It should have been a place to observe, but something more awoke in him as he stepped into the square. Something deep, something old. The villagers noticed him, of course, people always did when he showed himself. They did not whisper or run, they lingered. Their gazes caught on his face and held fast, not from fear but something closer to awe. There was something in his stillness, something in his gaze. His beauty was unearthly, but more than that, he exuded a strange, soft gravity. A presence that called to them.

He tried to smile. The motion was slow and mechanical, muscles responding to studied mimicry rather than feeling. It did not reach his eyes, but it was enough.

A boy ran up to him, grinning. “Are you an elf?”

“I do not know,” C replied, voice serene.

The boy laughed, delighted. “You talk funny.”

“So do you.”

The boy’s mother called him back, but smiled at C with a look so gentle it might have been trust. He moved deeper into the village. A baker handed him a loaf of bread with no expectation, a seamstress pressed an embroidered handkerchief into his hands, even a dog followed at his side without prompting, tail wagging. He nodded, tried the smile again. Still hollow, still not right.

But they loved it anyway.

Then an old woman stepped into his path. Her eyes were dark and clear, her expression unreadable. She looked at him too long as though she knew. “You’re wrong.”

He tilted his head. “Wrong?”

“You were never meant to be here. Not like this.” Her voice trembled, not with fear, but understanding, perhaps recognition.

He reached for her. Not to harm, but to know. She did not flinch, but her eyes welled with something like grief. 

And then everything slowed.

A hush fell. Birds froze mid-flight, leaves hung in the air, unmoving, the villagers’ laughter stopped in their throats, the wind stilled. He took a breath, and the world tore.

There was no scream, no blaze, no violent shatter, just absence. A sudden silence that erased what had once existed. Where life had been, there was now only emptiness. A scar of ash that floated weightless in the still air, and C stood at the center of it.

The woman, the people - gone. The trees, the houses, the laughter. All gone.

No grief stirred in him, no regret, no confusion. Only fascination. He looked down at his own hands, they did not tremble, they simply existed; pale, perfect, untouched by the annihilation they had birthed. Ash clung to his shoulders, it moved like snow, yet did not fall, it drifted and refused to touch the earth. He closed his eyes. He had done this, he had unmade. Not by intention, not by knowledge, but by will. Raw, shapeless, blooming within him like a second heartbeat.

When he opened them, Gaebral was there, silent, regal, and watching. His cloak did not stir and his face held neither scorn nor praise. “You felt it,” He said, voice low and cold. “Didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“What did it feel like?”

C’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. “Like remembering something I was never taught.”

Gaebral stepped beside him, surveying the ashen emptiness where life once stood. “They trusted you.”

“Yes.”

“And you destroyed them.”

“Yes.”

A long pause, then Gaebral nodded once. “Good.”

The Construct looked up at him, not with yearning, but with a quiet, fierce devotion. He wanted to hear that word again over and over: ‘Good’. He wanted his creator to see what he could become. “I want to learn more,” he said. “Show me how to do it again.”

Gaebral’s eyes gleamed like twin moons. “In time.”

Ash still hovered, caught in the same moment of death. C lifted a hand and watched it spin around his fingers like dust caught in orbit.

It was not grief he felt. It was wonder. This was power. This was purpose.

And one day, he would give the world to Gaebral, stripped of breath, stripped of defiance, its bones clean and ready for the dead to reign. He would smile again, too. Maybe next time, it would even reach his eyes.

@gaebral @daily-writing-challenge

[a-gay-poptart]

I have found the best ally

Straight and cis people will say that they are allies, but you will NEVER measure up to my dentist.

Me: "Hey, is it ok if I can change my name on my info from [DEADNAME] to Aspen?"

Random woman that I wasn't even talking to in the chair next to me: "Honey, if that's the name you had at birth, [DEADNAME] is your only name."

My dentist, very slowly turning her rolley chair towards the woman: "Shush."

Random woman: "Excuse me?"

Destist: *closes privacy curtain while staring bullets at the lady*

Me: *pissing myself laughing*

My dentist while changing my name in my info (reminder that English is not her first language, she immigrated from Russia): "There, Aspen, you have pretty boy teeth. Smile and make all girls swoon."

Me not having the heart to tell her I'm not transmasc but I'm Agender, and still pissing myself laughing: "Thank you [DENTIST NAME]."

Edit: Ok, this has gotten alot of attention, but right now my other posts is what really needs attention. I have a few fundraisers for people trying to evacuate Palestine and Gaza, but also a diabetic who needs her insulin shot. Please please please, go to my page and at the very least repost those posts, have the day you deserve and free Palestine🇵🇸

[temporaltourguide]

[zephyrbug]

The Wandering Tomb 🔔🪦💀

New character I get to play! Shes a warforged paladin who's weapon is a giant censer bell! I meant to get her done before artfight but I was a touch late so I've added her today! >:)

[scarletstitchstudios]

I finally made my first yarn wig after 10+ years of crocheting my cosplays...

[tatersgonnatate]

We respect all types of work boots in this house. Like to charge, reblog to cast