#Just Concepts Pondered....

[letheology]

Presenting: the two sequencer OC's that have been slowly forming in my brain over the course of the past couple of months. Because I cant stop making sequencers I guess!!

The Keen-eyed Chemist - Kelly Connolly

Chemist and sometimes nurse at the Grand Geode, Kelly's jobs are numerous and wide-ranging. He prepares medicines. He tests incoming food shipments for poisons. He invented a method to check the colour of fabrics to ensure his fellow Sequencers' outfits are actually matching because everyone on this damn island sees in shades of gold. Oh, and he invented HRT for his daughter. It's well-known that before the Sequence, he had been a grifter selling fake cure-alls, but those days are far behind him. In the Dawn Machine's radiance, he has learned to thrive rather than merely survive, and his habit of making silly little potions developed into actual skill as a scientist. Kelly joined the New Sequence nearly two decades ago after a chance meeting with @zeebreezin's Laurence. He needed to flee London, he needed a reliable job, and he needed support for his daughter. The Sequence promised that, and more. He's never looked back.

The Affable Ensign - Bríd Connolly

Bríd is Kelly's daughter, first and foremost. She was raised on the Grand Geode from a young age, and as far as she's concerned, it's been lovely. She's bubbly and curious and always happy to help. She's tried out a lot of jobs at the Geode so far, and she hasn't found her place yet, but she's sure she'll figure it out eventually! Next on her list: a term serving aboard Captain Trieu's ship and then a visit to London.

[astrolotte]

i haven't been able to get into perirep but tbh looking at it from a QPR angle... I can see it

world's first toxic yaoi queer platonic relationship

[7cfc00]

you ever think about how similar Ron and Glenn are... like you ever think about how their arcs almost mirror each other, but in opposite directions? Like, ron gets better but Glenn gets worse. you ever wonder what would have happened if they swapped arcs and ron was put on trial and the dads had to go into glenn’s memories instead? how would that have changed things? (would it even change anything?)

because i have not stopped thinking about this idea... like, would glenn’s struggles be seen as more sympathetic if he was not literally being judged? would ron have been found guilty of being a bad dad/bad person? 

because why were they treated differently? (not a rhetorical question) why was one punished and the other understood? is there a possibility that it could have worked out differently? it is so so interesting to me to prod at ron and glenn’s differences, and i think examining their characters in relation to each other via swapping their arcs (either just the anchors or both anchors and finding sons) is like. really cool i guess. 

[feroluce]

When Al Haitham dreams, it's in shades of sandy blonde and red, metallic gold and feather-blue. His nightmares are colored much the same.

Kaveh leisurely strolls ahead of him, shoes leaving deep treads in the soft desert sand. He keeps a careful distance, arms length, and in return Al Haitham keeps an eye on him, the other man's back dead center in his sights.

He curses the sand in his boots and the long line of footprints he steps into, already the exact shape of the soles of his shoes.

They aren't lost. Al Haitham knows where they are. They've been here before. They are still here.

Kaveh doesn't watch their feet. His head is constantly tipped back with his eyes on the stars and their constellations (of which Al Haitham only knows two, Vultur Volans and Paradisaea). He'll walk right into a cactus like that. Al Haitham yells ahead for him to watch where he's going.

Kaveh reaches up to touch the side of his head in a strange motion, but otherwise there's no acknowledgement. They press on into the dark of night.

Something squelches beneath Al Haitham's boot.

It stops him short, pulls his attention like a magnet and as much as he wants to, he can't ignore it. He doesn't want to lose any more ground. But something won't let him move on. Al Haitham watches as red seeps into the golden sand, spills beyond the border of his bootprint until he slides his foot aside.

It's an ear.

It's a human ear, and there's a heavy earring attached, metallic gold, gems red and green, a familiar shape, a familiar shade-

Al Haitham opens his mouth to yell. Chokes. Swallows the lump in his throat as he quickly restarts his pace. Tries again.

"Hey!"

Another squelch under a hurried footstep. He doesn't stop to look. Al Haitham is pretty sure he knows what it is.

"Kaveh, hey!"

The path becomes littered, little slices and small pieces, fingertips and knuckles, Kaveh's arms once held casually behind his back now strewn along the sands. Every time Al Haitham extends his hand to him, reality warps and bends like the twisted image in a broken mirror, lines mismatched and edges jagged. Kaveh flits just beyond his grasp, fleeting fae, no longer able to hear him or to reach out to him. Al Haitham can only grit his teeth and follow.

His right foot marches forward. His left follows. His right again. His left suddenly doesn't follow, and Al Haitham is thrown off balance and pitches forward, swinging his arms outward to land on his palms and keep his face off the ground, because he's been in the desert enough times to know what a foot suddenly being stuck can mean.

Quicksand.

Al Haitham curses and swears in just about every language he knows as he tries to spread his weight as evenly as possible, stay afloat at the top of it because if he sinks, he knows he'll be done for, and shit, Kaveh.

His neck cranes uncomfortably in his search, Kaveh had only been a few feet in front of him, he can't be sunk much further, and he's in the desert much more often than Al Haitham anyway, he'll be familiar with what to do-

Kaveh stands in front of him, empty sleeves fluttering loose. Still just out of his grasp, still watching the stars. The quicksand is already up to his calves.

"Say, Al Haitham..." It's the first he's spoken this whole time. His voice resonates somewhere deeply nostalgic in Al Haitham's chest, produces a ripple that momentarily stuns his heart.

Kaveh is sinking.

Al Haitham stretches out on his belly as far as he's able, it's quickly up to his knees, Kaveh isn't even trying to redistribute his weight or pull himself out, it's at his thighs, Al Haitham sucks in a breath and yells for him, his hips, yells louder, his waist, Al Haitham's trembling fingertips can almost reach, his chest, Kaveh drops level with him, quicksand about his neck like a noose.

Kaveh's head tips back, back, impossibly far back, until it hangs, angle awkward, and he's looking right past Al Haitham with his tired smile and gouged, blinded sockets full of starlight.

"Do you believe in karma?"

The quicksand swallows him entirely and Al Haitham dives, shoves his arms deep and pushes off with the one foot he'd had left on safe ground, because he can't, he can't, it's not the same without Kaveh, not anymore, he needs him, no one else keeps him sharp, no one else challenges him like Kaveh, if he can just grab him, if he can just pull him back up-

Al Haitham thrashes, against the sands, against gravity, against the hardwood of his bedroom floor. Clumsily scrubs the back of his hand across his face to rub the grit of quicksand and sleep out of his eyes.

Sometimes he thinks he preferred it when the Akasha was still harvesting his dreams.

He pops his head out from under his weighted blanket and lays where he'd fallen out of bed for a moment, blinking blearily against the lamplight shining from his desk in the corner. Deep breaths. His consciousness shifts along the blurred line of nightmare and reality, crosses over the slow transition into wakeful awareness.

He's home, Kaveh is home. It's dark out. The house is dead silent.

He's just going to go check, he tells himself as he peels himself out of his sweat-soaked shirt and roots around for a replacement. He's already losing memories of his nightmare, the details spilling away from him like wet ink, but he knows he needs to see Kaveh. It'll feel better to do something, anything, than try to go straight back to sleep.

He's quiet when he slips out of his bedroom door, because they both keep late hours but their bedrooms are right next to each other, and Al Haitham will never hear the end of it if he wakes his roommate up.

Lights off, door shut. Nothing conclusive. He moves out to the main room.

Kaveh sits on one of those ridiculous sofas he'd ordered three of for some reason, back to him as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. A mostly-empty wine bottle stands tall on the table, next to the cobbled-together remains of an architectural model that's been picked and fussed over for four days straight now.

"Kaveh? What are you doing?"

This earns him an exaggerated startle, but Kaveh doesn't turn to look at him, preoccupied with whatever new sketch or blueprint he probably has in his hands. "Ohhh, nothing," he slurs cheerfully. "Just working. Just thinking."

Kaveh has always been the world's chattiest drinker. Al Haitham waits for the rest of it.

"Say, I think...I think I asked you this years ago, back then, but you never answered me." Al Haitham feels all the blood drain from his face in ominous familiarity, drip cold down the length of his spine. Kaveh sinks into the couch until he can tip his head over the back of it, looking up at him with a tired smile and exhausted eyes.

"Do you believe in karma?"

[cakemoney]

brennan: so you're in the last standard exam in an alien realm and in the stands you see a bunch of arthur agueforts, they're cheering for you, they're talking to each other, they've got your names written on their chests

editors: zooms in on the two arthur agueforts who are making out because they know how we are

[sneakydraws]

Since that gothic anthy piece I've been thinking about a whole gothic rgu au... I'd really have to dig in deeper into indian-british history in order to develop this further (and to dress everyone more accurately) but I'm tentatively placing this in the 1830s... Akio could be an indian nobleman who worked with/for the east india company... Maybe did some shady stuff for it and was rewarded with a lavish mansion in the uk... Utena is some plucky orphaned girl who becomes his protégé... Anthy is the woman hidden away in the attic... But utena glimpses her at night... Mrs rochester core...

[regina-del-cielo]

With the in real life precedent of Jack Doohan being the son of a MotoGP champion and going into Formula 1 to avoid the comparisons, I pose this scenario to the community:

AU where Carlos Sainz jr, in order to avoid any possible comparison to his father, decides to skip cars altogether and goes into MotoGP

[verflares]

always feel a lil guilty when i get kudos or comments on my fics because i appreciate them sooo much and looking back on my own work makes me feel so proud.. but at the same time the truth is that writing is so hard always and forever 💔

[w1lmuttart]

Tw for blood, death, violence and war ⬇️

“Aren’t you tired? Won’t you rest already, for as long as you’re here I won’t know peace” said who?

Hi I had a comic idea for one of the cursed Links I created, specifically the hero of death and his outdrawn battle with Ganondorf

[silusvesuius]

traditional pencil art is the only form of art that won't have you ripping your hair out trying to make colors interesting in any way. how pure is that

[vroombeams]

a horror so holy? 👀

cc: @tiredeg!! <3

soOOOOoo in the simplest sense this is a heavily constantine-inspired au. mark's an exorcist, oscar's his apprentice and............... lando is a succubus SHOCKING!

at that point the au sort of splits because i've barely written or planned it but i do know there is one version where it is just angst and smut and everything goes badly the whole time. lando feeds on oscar for ages before mark can do anything about it and then SOMEONE probably dies. not telling who (i don't know who)

the more plotty version? i guess? is a version where lando is not a full incubus/succubus/whatever but a cambion, so... half! this version would regrettably require so much brain power to plot out but would involve oscar trying to save lando from some outside force and mark being like nOoooOoo we have to get rid of the demons not help them noooo and oscar's like but i LIIIIKE him and lando is like [vague hissing noises] probably

anyway. i'm leaning toward the second option atp because, you know, i don't REALLY want to kill anyone off at least this time

here is the only clip of it that exists so far!

It descends on him, feather-light, broad palms pressed to his shoulders to keep him still. As if he had any intention of moving.  “Pretty good dream,” Oscar says, mostly to himself, a compliment to his own subconscious for coming up with all of this. The thing perched atop him grins. All Oscar can see of it is sea-glass eyes, ivory teeth, both scalpel sharp. “Oh yes,” it says, “Not a bad dream at all.” It kisses him deep and slow, like it’s drinking him in. It’s so light where it’s straddling him but still he feels pinned to the mattress, pressure where its hands rest, like a weighted blanket or maybe sleep paralysis. It licks into his mouth. Oscar sinks into it.

ask me about my wips!

[carnivalls]

writing some of eve's relationship with her dad. did you guys know it was this bad

[theartisticcrow]

At what point are the means no longer justifiable by the end, no matter how 'worth it' things may seem? How many people shall have to die for the world to become a better place? And if such a thing occurs, should we be at all grateful? What makes a person good or bad anyways? Can one thing outweigh the other? Can we truly define the difference between good and evil when there exist so many different versions in the individual minds of those who inhabit our society?

At what point does Virtue become Terror?

[byanyan]

noticing a trend wherein byan is fiercely independent, but once they get close enough with someone, they sometimes lowkey end up a little codependent? not in an incredibly severe way, but also like. obviously not super healthy, either. and i'm not talking specifically romantic relationships, i'm talking platonic ones too. something about them being so deprived of acceptance and love and trusting relationships means they lean harder than they mean to into another person when they finally do fully extend their trust to them, and i think subconsciously that's probably part of why they're so afraid to rely on anyone. —not the only reason, of course, given their mountain of trust and abandonment issues, but i do think part of them recognizes this tendency they have and the potential for them to be hurt by it.

[spotsupstuff]

If a mobile rot cyst was killed, would it come back alive next cycle?

no, because of the lack of the spirit within it. it's just an empty sack of sickness whether it moves or not

[purbsi]

Haunting Ground and Thumbelina have a weirdly similar narrative.