#fusing float glass

[rocketroseart]

Fusing Secret Material in a Float Glass Project, Glass Fusing Tutorial

Yes, that's correct. In this video, I'll embed a secret material in float glass for this fused glass project tutorial. No, I won't tell you what it is, but if enough people guess right, I'll tell all.

Yes, that’s correct. In this video, I’ll embed a secret material in float glass for this fused glass project tutorial. No, I won’t tell you what it is, but if enough people guess right, I’ll tell all. The process can be followed with coarse frit, though the result will be a little different. Watch the video through to the end to understand why. Discover a world of possibilities with membership…

[erikawrites13]

“Where the cameras don’t reach”

Part two of "What the Cameras Miss"

13- My notes. Please read part 1 of this before you read part two!

Part 1

Oscar Piastri x Y/N (female reader) Y/N and Oscar fight to keep the truth behind his image. In stolen moments, desire burns and masks fall. But can their passion survive the spotlight?

Later that evening, Monaco shimmered like liquid fire beneath the deep indigo sky, the city’s opulence glowing against the cool night. The distant murmur of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of jazz floated in from the terraces, but inside the hospitality suite, the air was thick with tension and the relentless glare of flashing cameras. Y/N stood at the edge of it all, her eyes never leaving Oscar. To the world, he was a perfect enigma—smooth, polished, untouchable. But she knew the truth beneath the flawless facade: the weight he carried, the exhaustion etched behind his eyes.

When their gazes met across the room, the noise around them dimmed. His subtle nod was a lifeline, a whispered promise: I’m still here. I’m still yours.

The media frenzy finally moved on, and Oscar slipped through the crowd like a shadow, finding her waiting just beyond the exit. The chaos of the suite fell away, replaced by an electric silence between them.

“I hate this,” he murmured, voice rough with fatigue and something raw—something that set her skin alight. “All those faces, those endless questions. They don’t see me. They see a story, a mask I’m forced to wear. Sometimes I forget who I am beneath it all.”

Y/N stepped closer, her hand sliding along his wrist, fingers warm and grounding. “Then maybe it’s time to stop hiding.”

His eyes darkened, fierce and hungry. “And if I don’t want to come back?”

She grinned, slow and wicked. “Then I’ll make you.”

Her fingers tangled in his thick curls, pulling him closer, bodies pressed tight enough to feel every breath, every heartbeat. The heat between them was a live wire, crackling with promise.

Oscar’s hands framed her waist, thumbs tracing circles, pulling her impossibly close. His breath hitched, voice low and teasing, “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good,” she whispered against his ear, “I want to burn.”

Their kiss was a slow-burning fuse that ignited into a wildfire—soft and tasting at first, then fierce and consuming. His hands roamed beneath the delicate fabric of her dress, memorizing every curve, while her fingers slid beneath his shirt, trailing hot, daring paths across his skin.

He groaned deep and low, a sound that sent shivers racing down her spine. “I��ve wanted this all night. Wanted you.”

She smiled against his lips, breathless. “Then don’t stop.”

With a swift motion, his arms lifted her, pressing her flush against him. The world—the cameras, the crowds, the spotlight—disappeared, swallowed by the night.

“Come with me,” he whispered, lips brushing her jaw, voice thick with desire. “I want to show you the part no one else sees.”

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, hands clutching at his shirt. “Lead the way.”

They slipped into the cool night air, the buzz of Monaco far behind them. Oscar led her down quiet corridors, through dim stairwells, and out to a sleek black car waiting silently. The driver melted into the shadows as they slipped inside, sealing them away from prying eyes.

Once inside, the tension that had been simmering all evening broke loose like a dam. Oscar pulled her into his lap, lips crashing onto hers with fierce hunger. His hands tangled in her hair, fingers tracing the delicate line of her neck, sending sparks flickering beneath her skin.

Y/N arched into his touch, her own hands exploring—the hard planes of his back, the sweep of his shoulders, the strong grip of his fingers on her waist. The leather seats creaked softly beneath them as their bodies melded, each kiss stoking the fire burning between them.

“God,” Oscar breathed, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, “I don’t want this night to end.”

“Neither do I,” she whispered, her voice thick with want.

His lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, brushing soft, hungry kisses along her pulse point. She gasped, fingers clutching his shirt as the heat inside her flared.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her skin, voice a seductive growl.

Her lips curled into a daring smile. “You.”

He laughed—a low, breathless sound—and captured her mouth again. “Good answer.”

The city lights blurred past as the car glided through the night toward a secret hideaway—a secluded villa perched on a cliff overlooking the sea, far from the cameras and the noise. Here, in this stolen sanctuary, they could be simply themselves—raw, unguarded, free.

Inside the villa, the door closed softly behind them, the world slipping away completely. Oscar’s hands roamed anew, tracing fire along her spine as she pressed closer, every touch igniting a frenzy of sensation.

“Show me,” she whispered, voice trembling with need. “Show me everything.”

Write a comment if you want a part 3!

[bunji-enthusiast]

Hello and good morning/ afternoon or evening wherever you are. I hope this isn’t a bother but could you write something similar to the spider man post but instead we’re a version of doctor strange for the invincible characters. (And once again, I love your work. I honestly love how creative you fuse two fandom together and creating something unique.)

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧? 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡

Dr. Strange!reader

Summary || The only only doctor with the ability to twist reality upon the receiver. Many respect you, many fear you… and some — strange enough — befriend you.

Notes // went with my pick of the litter for this one. I loosely based the iteration on marvel rivals strange for this like I did with mantis!reader and peni!reader. Thank you for kind words dear anon :3

Oliver Grayson

Oliver didn’t expect his first real solo mission to feel like being a bug under a magnifying glass.

He’d been told the anomaly was magical—an unstable rift outside of Chicago spewing out corrupted energy, disrupting gravitational fields, and, for some reason, screwing with satellite transmissions. No Viltrumite strength could punch it shut. Even Cecil admitted they were out of their depth. So they called in… someone else.

Oliver hovered high in the air, goggles reflecting the strange violet arcs of energy spiraling across the sky. Below him, buildings shimmered like mirages, ground buckling gently as if the planet itself was exhaling wrong.

“Ugh. Magic,” he muttered under his breath.

And that’s when you arrived.

The air folded, then ripped open like paper, and from the tear stepped a figure clad in flowing robes, your crimson Cloak of Levitation trailing behind you like a banner of war and wisdom. Your presence halted the chaos for a moment, as though the very fabric of reality was acknowledging its master had arrived.

Oliver blinked. “Okay, cool entrance…”

You didn’t look at him immediately. Instead, your fingers etched glowing glyphs in the air, spiraling golden runes flickering around your hands as you assessed the rift. Your tone was calm, but carried a weight older than him, older than most of the world.

“This tear is bleeding across dimensions. Not your usual bruised sky.”

Oliver crossed his arms. “I could punch it again.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, mildly. “And risk shattering this sector’s temporal axis? Let’s not.”

“I’m Oliver Grayson. Kid Omni-Man.”

You raised a brow. “That explains the entrance. And the lack of a plan.”

He bristled. “Hey, I have a plan. It just involves...punching things really hard until they stop being a problem.”

“And yet the problem remains.”

Oliver floated beside you now, arms still folded, but quieter. “You act like you know everything, but do you ever think he was right?” His voice was quiet, eyes flicking to the rift. “About some things needing force?”

You paused mid-cast. Your voice dropped, gentler.

“Force without understanding is just chaos waiting for an excuse.”

He hated how that line made sense. Hated it more that it reminded him of Mark’s lectures. Still, he didn’t float away.

Suddenly, the rift pulsed violently.

Without hesitation, you lifted your hand and cast Pentagram of Farallah, one portal opening above the anomaly and the other beside you. As unstable energy burst forth, it was siphoned cleanly through the portals, harmlessly redirected to a dimensional null-space.

“Okay, okay! That’s...cool,” Oliver said, visibly impressed.

You smiled slightly. “Try not to sound too surprised.”

“You… Sorcerer Supreme, right?”

You turned toward him, your cape flaring softly in the breeze. “Doctor. But yes.”

“Cool. So...what’s it like being Earth’s magical guardian? You always this smug?”

“Only when I’m right. Which is always.”

The Cloak looped playfully around Oliver, causing him to flinch and spin in midair. You chuckled.

He rolled his eyes but smiled, floating closer. “Teach me something. Something that doesn’t involve punching.”

You studied him for a moment, then slowly raised your hand. “Catch.”

Daggers of Denak shimmered into existence—slower than bullets, glowing with eerie violet light. Oliver caught one in a flash, eyes wide.

“Magic isn’t about control. It’s about respecting what you wield. Not everything needs to be a hammer, Oliver.”

He held the spell in his hand, feeling its hum. Then looked at you. “But sometimes it is a hammer, right?”

You gave a knowing smirk. “Let’s start with weaving it with a punch.”

Eve Wilkins

Eve had built sanctuaries before.

Fields of green that used to be wastelands, cradles of life sculpted from ruins. But this forest—this one had changed without her. The trees had started moving. Breathing. Watching. Something unnatural had seeped into the roots and twisted nature into something alien.

She stood atop a levitating pink platform, hands glowing faintly as she scanned the terrain.

“No human signs… just corrupted matter. Like the molecules were rewritten, then forgotten what they were supposed to be.”

A branch cracked behind her. Eve turned, ready to react, but the crack wasn’t from the woods.

Reality itself peeled open.

You stepped through calmly, your crimson cloak drifting behind you like smoke in reverse. Your aura preceded you: regal, measured, composed. The glyphs circling your hands faded as you took in the warped land.

Eve frowned. “So you’re the magic guy.”

You met her gaze evenly. “Sorcerer Supreme. But I’ve been called worse.”

She floated down beside you, arms crossed. “You here to help or just judge what I’ve done wrong?”

“Depends. Did you cause this?”

She looked away. “No. I came to fix it. And I can’t.”

Your eyes narrowed as you knelt beside the corrupted roots, brushing your fingers along the moss-turned-flesh. Magic symbols flickered in the air—wards, warnings. “This isn’t science gone wrong. It’s something older. Darker.”

“So it is magic,” she said, sounding more frustrated than surprised.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you conjured a Shield of the Seraphim, letting it absorb a pulse of corrupted energy surging from the ground. It shimmered, then sputtered—your cloak rising as you hovered slightly off the ground.

“What you’re dealing with isn’t just nature twisted. This is a place where laws—yours and mine—have started to fail. Left unattended, it spreads.”

Eve stared at the landscape—her creation on the edge of unraveling. “I thought I was helping. But I just gave it more to infect.”

“Power without perspective is just acceleration without direction.”

She flinched at that. “You sound like Brandyworth.”

“Good company, then.”

A moment passed. Then Eve exhaled slowly, her hands glowing again—but this time, uncertainly. “So... what do I do?”

You glanced at her, and for the first time, your tone softened. “You adapt. You learn. Just like I did when I lost my hands and found something greater.”

She hesitated. “You lost your hands?”

“Not literally.”

You summoned the Pentagram of Farallah, placing a portal across the corrupted streambed. It shimmered. Stabilized. “You’re not the problem here, Eve. You’re part of the solution. But you need more than power. You need discipline.”

Eve floated closer, intrigued despite herself. “Teach me something. Something real. Not just flashy spell circles or cryptic metaphors.”

You turned toward her, eyes twinkling. “Alright.”

A Dagger of Denak flickered into existence. You hurled it forward, then followed with a precise melee strike that split the air with magical resonance. The combo rippled through the corrupted land, purging the infection with a controlled burst.

“That was dope,” Eve whispered.

You raised a brow. “We call it frame-weaving. You call it ‘dope.’ Either works.”

She smirked. “Think I can do that?”

“With time. But you’re not here to be me, Eve. You’re here to be better than who you were yesterday.”

Eve looked at the wounded forest, then at you. “So what now?”

“Now,” you said, floating beside her, “we rebuild. Together.”

And in that moment—two powers, one born from science, the other from sorcery—stood side by side, ready to rewrite the world.

Not with force. But with understanding.

And just like that—she remembered what being a hero felt like.

[hainuwelle]

FRIEND’s eyes and Cat States

Why are FRIEND's eyes yellow and pink ? Were these colours just chosen randomly ? Is it a hommage to cheese and ham sandwich? In this theory we'll try finding an answer.

Part I : Cat states

You might have heard of the term « Cat states », named after Shrödinger’s cat. Wikipedia defines it as « a quantum state composed of a superposition of two other states of flagrantly contradictory aspects ». Mirror-Ralsei made a post pointing out the many examples of Cat states phenomenons in Undertale and Deltarune, such as:

*Tra la la. The waters are wild today. That's good luck… *Tra la la. The waters are wild today. That's bad luck… (River Person in Undertale.)

*Not too important, not too unimportant. (Flavor text when checking the Egg in Deltarune.)

Ice-E is not real. (...) Ice-E is real. (Toby Fox on tumblr.)

I suggest that the colour of IMAGE_FRIEND’s eyes could symbolise this concept.

Note: For this theory, I'm going with the assumptions that while FRIEND’s eye colors are the same as Spamton’s glasses, it's more likely that FRIEND came first and Spamton wore his glasses in reference to them & Swatch than the other way around, since it’s easier to change one's glasses to look like someone’s eyes than to change one’s eyes in order to look like someone's glasses.

Recently, we have seen that the magenta used for FRIENDS eyes in the deltarune.com/rarecats cat-009.gif jumpscare is a different nuance than the pink we were used to see, this time rather corresponding to the colour of Spamton’s glasses on the Spamton Sweepstakes homepage. Nevertheless, it looks like the shade of yellow and pink we're focusing on remains the one used in the footage of a certain fight teased in the Deltarune chapter 3&4 trailer:

Yellow and pink is often associated with the SPARE options in Undertale because if we talk to Froggit, we can change them to be pink instead of yellow. However, this is not the only time these two colours appear together.

The other time is with Catty and Bratty, who've got respectively pink and yellow eyes.

Now, the two BFF’s dialogue boxes have a unique characteristic: instead of having one standard rectangular dialogue box each, they talk at the same time with both their dialogue boxes side by side, sharing each one half of the screen.

This dual dialog box system emphasises the fact that despite being close friends, the two actually hold many opposing opinions: Bratty was going to share the glamburgers, while Catty wasn’t. Bratty looks worried about inviting Burgerpants, while Catty enthusiasticly exclaims it would be very fun. Catty loves cats and thinks they’re cute, while Bratty possibly loves to eat them. This system allows for funny moments when they both say the same thing at once, finish each other's sentences, but also others when they both say contradictory things at the same time. Thus, reflecting the idea of Cat States Mirror-Ralsei pointed out : two opposing conditions existing at the same time.

Part II: Cheshire Cat effet and binocular rivalry

IMAGE_FRIEND's haunting floating grin has also been said to look like the Cheshire Cat. Fun fact: "Cheshire cat effect" is also a type of binocular rivalry, a phenomenon you can get by using a stereoscope or wearing 3D glasses, like the type of glasses Spamton is wearing. (Fun fact: It's also the phenomenon that can make you see a hole in your hand.)

Normally, each of our eyes see two slightly different images, and our brain superposes them into one image. In binocular rivalry, two different images are shown simultaneously to each eye. However, our brain does not fuse them, and the observer only perceives only one of them at a time, alternatively (the dominant image VS the suppressed image). Both images are present, but only one is perceived. In a way, this could mirror Bratty & Catty's two contradictory juxtaposed dialogue boxes.

In some studies, binocular rivalry is also mentioned in the context of optical illusions such as "ambiguous figures" :

"Images that resist binocular fusion undergo alternating periods of dominance and suppression, similarly to ambiguous figures whose percepts alternate between two interpretations." ("Common contextual influences in ambiguous and rivalrous figures")

This type of "ambiguous/reversible figures" optical illusion is one Toby Fox is not unfamiliar to, since several Undertale monsters's battle sprites incorporate it in their design, such as Endogeny, Whimsun, Astigmatism, Froggit, or Gaster.

Conclusion:

I'm no scientist and Cat States & binocular rivalry are obviously two completely different scientific phenomenons, but I'd suggest both have a similar theme of an attempted superposition of two simultaneous incompatible states. The choice of yellow-pink heterochromia and the Cheshire Cat reference for FRIEND's face could therefore symbolise this sort of quantum superposition-like concept.

[ghostreblogging]

Damian stands before the corpse of his brother.

Is it a corpse? He doesn't know.

They had come to this lonely stretch of land that was once called amity park because something something. Damian hadn't really cared. It was supposed to be a simple get in and get out situation . They were already much busier with their own cases .

Eerie ruined houses and buildings seemed to paint a rather depressing picture. Because you could feel that people used to live here. Half drunken bottles and stollers were out. Just like if everyone just disappeares while walking. But the rotting flesh In the strollers seemed to suggest that darker things have happened here. The everyday norm seemed to frame the gateway to hell. The green glow was the only thing that was truly out of the ordinary.

Perhaps it's just an opening to another Lazarus pit.

But It doesn't feel like a normal Lazarus pit . Damian would know that better than anyone. It somehow felt brighter. And an electric buzz permeated the air. It felt sickening. The destroyed sign makes somewhat of an archway for the entrance. It says Fen- something something? The letter had long fallen off from the elements

"God, bloody hell. This place just reeks of infinite realms," the laughing magician commented before pulling another cigarette from his pocket.

"Infinite realms?" Father grunted

"Don't get your panties twisted. There's a reason I didn't tell you about them, the more you know the harder they are to deal with"

There were more mindless chatter between his family. But Damian ignored that in favor of staring down the archway . It felt like a cold shiver on his back and a horrible burning sensation on the palm of his right hand. Weird.

Damian knew that what awaited him was death. He didn't know whose though.

"Do you feel that?" Damian asked before he could stop himself

Grayson turned to look at him, raising his eyebrow. "Babybat, what? What feeling?"

Damian knew he already walked into communication.

"The cold shiver, and the burning sensation on your right palm"

"Ha! Just sounds like your scared demon brat"

"Forget it"

And they promptly walked into hell.

Damian I've missed you so much! But it's dangerous here. You'll get caught by him

Inside Damian felt as if he was walking for years. All with that , horrible disgusting smell. Burnt flesh and plastic. So overwhelming that his eyes stung even through his mask. He had to wake with his eyes half closed. Stumbling his way through the uneven terrain.

Winding corridors made out of crushed rubble.

Damian , be careful there is sharp glass there

Eerie glow that never seems to get closer.

Damian? I really don't like the Lazarus pits

It was dark and an encompassing ceiling above him felt like spiderwebs, a trap. But beyond that you could see the sky.

Hey Damian? Let's go stargazing again!

Hey Damian please don't go further

Something kept bothering him but he didn't know what. But he kept on walking.

And eventually they found themselves in a big chamber. Lazarus pit waters filled the caver like a lake. Beautiful flowers that seemed misplaced grow up to the sky.

The sky.

Maybe that was the source of the discomfort?. They came in at dawn.

It shouldn't have been dark .

And the stars were wrong. How long did they walk for?

Long enough. Just go please

There was a huge rift. Beyond were Lazarus green lands with floating landscapes. Sometimes you could see something big float by . Damian wonders if they were living or just a part of the landscape.

Beautifully enchanting. Like freedom, feeling of wind on your ski-

And then Damian's eyes fell on the thing. How could he have not noticed that.

Please get away that is not me that is not me that is not me that is not me

Like some kind of a lost puppet it was hung in front of the rift. That was the source of the smell. A white suit that once had been sterile, burnt and fused with the flesh below. Dark burnt hair that hung and thankfully concealed the empty eyes.

For once Damian was thankful he couldn't see something. He just felt that if he saw the thing's eyes, he would never recover.

Because that face.

He knew that face

It was one of he had forgotten a long time ago.

Damian please that is not me plEase. I aM LOSiNg my SeLF

A brother that went missing during a mission.

"God what the fuck is that" Grayson's voice broke Damian's trance.

Damian frowned. It didn't feel appropriate to talk here.

Hide. Hide hide hide hide

A voice broke the silence soon after.

"I advise you to leave immediately" a familiar voice. From the oh so familiar corpse . It grated against his ears. And the corpse moved in tandem. Exaggerated and cartoonish but in a horrid way like a machine struggling to run in their later years. It felt like it was coming from everywhere at once.

Hey Damian let's not go here

Damian it's not a good idea to be here take you family and leave

Damian, let's go another route

I can barely maintain luciedicy please listen to me

"I advice you to leave immediately" just like clockwork. The exact same tone, the exact same horrid little dance.

"Well we can't. Well we can't before we know why In the everliving earth there is a direct portal to the infinite realms here." Constantine seemed to have nonchalance as he spoke but Damian saw his cold sweat. And eyes darting , trying to look anywhere but directly at it .

The corpse directly ignored Constantine. It turned to him . Each movement sharp and gutted.

"Damian we are finally together again :) "

[statsbot]

THE END OF DUNGEONS & DRAGONS

Prompt: "The sword coast setting, but thousands and thousands and thousands of years in the future, where it's turned from high fantasy into dark fantasy"

The Outline:

Sample Campaign Starter:

Text under Read More:

The Great Cities Waterdeep, once the City of Splendors, is now the City of Eternal Twilight. Its towering spires remain, but they're twisted and warped, having grown like pale coral over thousands of years of wild magic exposure. The city exists in layers - the deepest parts still contain functioning Undermountain technology, while the surface is a maze of crystallized buildings where masked nobles maintain a mockery of the old customs. Baldur's Gate has become a titanous mechanical city-state, burning the corpses of the dead in enormous furnaces to maintain warmth as the sun dies. The Sword Coast itself is no longer recognizable as a coast - the sea has partially crystallized into a sheet of black glass that occasionally liquefies without warning.

The Nature of Magic As the sun dims, magic has become more visceral and dangerous. The Weave has partially collapsed, creating "knots" of wild magic that float like spectral tumors across the landscape. Spellcasting requires blood sacrifice or the burning of valuable materials - the age of casual magic is long gone. Many spellcasters have resorted to binding fragments of dying gods into their flesh to maintain their powers. The color of magic has changed too - most spells manifest in blacks, grays, and pale blues, as if the magic itself is suffering from cosmic frostbite.

The Old Pantheons The gods are dying, but cannot truly die. They exist in a state of perpetual agony, their essence crystallizing into god-shards that fall from the sky like meteors. Some gods have merged together in desperate attempts to survive - Lathander and Kelemvor are now one entity, a terrible thing that represents both dawn and death, neither of which have meaning anymore. Mystra's death long ago caused the initial collapse, but her essence still pervades reality like a virus, causing spontaneous magical mutations.

Survival Methods People cluster around "hearth-crystals," shards of the original sun that still emit weak heat and light. Communities are usually small, heavily fortified, and deeply suspicious of outsiders. Many have resorted to consuming the flesh of magical creatures to survive, leading to widespread mutations. Water must be thawed before drinking, and most food is grown in underground fungal gardens. Some communities have turned to worshipping the machines left behind by the gnomes and artificers of old, maintaining ancient technologies they barely understand.

Monsters and Creatures Most of the iconic D&D monsters have evolved or devolved into horrific new forms. Dragons are blind, pale things that nest in thermal vents, having lost their color affiliations millennia ago. Mind Flayers have returned from the far realm, but they're different now - more mechanical, having fused with ancient Netherese technologies. Beholders have multiplied and shrunk, becoming swarms of floating eyes that serve as organic surveillance systems for the larger settlements.

The Planes The planar boundaries have grown thin and unstable. The Shadowfell is slowly merging with the Material Plane, while the Feywild has become a frozen wasteland of eternal twilight. Fragments of other planes occasionally crash into the material world, creating zones where reality behaves according to alien rules. The Nine Hells have frozen over, and demons now seek warmth in the material plane, sometimes offering their essence as fuel for the desperate.

Ancient Artifacts The legendary artifacts of the past have grown in power as the world dies. The Blackstaff has become a living entity that consumes its wielders. The Ring of Winter is sought after not as a weapon, but as a tool of mercy - it can grant final death to those who otherwise would live forever in the twilight. Many new artifacts have been created from the crystallized remains of gods, each carrying a fraction of divine power and madness.

SITUATION A hearth-crystal powering the settlement of Coldhearth is dying. The crystal's dimming has caused panic among the inhabitants, who know they have perhaps two weeks before the cold claims them. However, the local Crystal-Speaker has had a vision - one of the dying gods, a merged aspect of Gond and Oghma called the Brass Scholar, is falling from the heavens. Its crystallized divine essence could serve as a new hearth-crystal, if it can be claimed. Unfortunately, others have sensed its imminent arrival too - including the machine-cult of Baldur's Gate and a desperate band of god-flesh scavengers.

SETTING Coldhearth sits in what was once a coastal village near Waterdeep, though the black glass sea is now several miles away. The settlement is built into and around an ancient lighthouse, its beacon replaced with the current (dying) hearth-crystal. The surrounding area is a wasteland of crystallized trees and frozen earth, with occasional patches of liquidized ground where wild magic has temporarily thawed reality.

The nearby "Shattershore" - where the black glass sea begins - is a maze of geometric shapes and broken reflections. The glass occasionally liquefies without warning, swallowing the unwary. Scavengers risk these dangers to harvest valuable resources from ancient ships trapped within the glass. Several miles inland lies the ruins of a pre-twilight trading post called Wayward's Rest, now home to a colony of devolved mind flayers who trade memories for warmth.

The predicted impact site of the falling god-shard lies in the Thornmaze, a crystallized forest where the trees have grown into impossibly sharp geometric patterns. The local mutation-touched say the trees still grow, just too slowly for normal eyes to see. The maze is home to various geometric predators - creatures that have adapted to move and hunt along perfectly straight lines and right angles.

CAST The Settlement of Coldhearth Vara Nightbridge, Crystal-Speaker and unofficial leader. Her eyes have been replaced with shards of a fallen god, allowing her to see divine essence. She speaks in temperatures rather than words. Ghkss the Thawed, a mutation-touched merchant whose flesh periodically liquefies. He maintains the settlement's fungal gardens and knows more than he shares. Pock, a child who never seems to feel the cold. The other children follow her lead, and she knows all the settlement's secrets.

The Machine-Cult of Baldur's Gate Archimandrite Kex, a cyborg priestess who has replaced her blood with heated oil. She leads the local machine-cult expeditions. Brother-Operator Finn, a former street thief who maintains the cult's warmth-engines. He's secretly planning to steal the god-shard for himself.

The God-Flesh Scavengers The Twins, Voss and Vess, who share a single mutation-touched body but alternate control. They're known for eating anything that glows. Skrike, their enforcer, who has bound frozen demon-flesh to his bones. He can only move in straight lines but hits like a runaway cart.

INITIAL CONDITIONS The hearth-crystal is dimming noticeably each day. The settlement's outer rings have already been abandoned as the warmth recedes. Most residents have crowded into the lighthouse proper, creating tensions and using up stored resources faster than anticipated. The Crystal-Speaker's vision has given hope, but also attracted unwanted attention from outside groups.

The machine-cult has already established a forward camp near the Thornmaze, using salvaged warmth-engines that leave trails of black smoke. The god-flesh scavengers are more mobile, using trained geometric predators as mounts to patrol the crystallized forest's edge.

The god-shard is due to impact in approximately ten days. The cold is getting worse. Strange lights have been seen in the Thornmaze, suggesting the area's wild magic is intensifying in anticipation of the divine arrival.

GOALS Vara Nightbridge seeks to save her people and maintain order during the crisis. Ghkss wants to preserve his secret collection of pre-twilight artifacts, even at the cost of lives. Pock intends to lead the other children to safety if the adults fail. Archimandrite Kex plans to use the god-shard to create a new type of warmth-engine. Brother-Operator Finn dreams of becoming a god himself by consuming the shard. The Twins aim to feed the god-shard to their geometric mounts, believing it will create perfect predators. Skrike simply wants enough divine essence to fix his condition.

TOOLS/RESOURCES Vara has her god-shard eyes and the loyalty of most settlers. Ghkss maintains a hidden cache of thawed water and preserved food. Pock knows secret ways through the Thornmaze. Archimandrite Kex commands several warmth-engines and trained technicians. Brother-Operator Finn possesses a pre-twilight device that can supposedly contain divine essence. The Twins control a pack of geometric predators. Skrike has demon-enhanced strength and durability.

SAMPLE SOLUTIONS Navigate the Thornmaze using Pock's knowledge, reach the impact site first, and defend it until the god-shard arrives. This requires surviving the geometric predators and wild magic surges.

Ally with Brother-Operator Finn, use his device to safely contain the god-shard, then betray him before he can consume it. This means dealing with both the machine-cult and his personal ambitions.

Convince the Twins to help clear a path through the Thornmaze using their geometric predators, then deal with their inevitable betrayal at the impact site.

Use Ghkss's secret resources to outlast the other factions, letting them fight among themselves before claiming the god-shard from the survivors.

Negotiate with the mind flayers at Wayward's Rest, trading memories for their help in securing the god-shard. This is risky but could provide a significant advantage over other factions.

[lush-escape]

INDIGO

Part 4

Southern!Jason Todd x Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 ||

Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

Part 11 || Part 12 || Epilogue ||

You watch Jason move around the house like a single day hadn't passed, he still knew the place like the back of his hand.

"I'm gonna stay here for a minute. Think I'm 'bout fused with the wood at this point." You respond, your eyes closing as you feel the cold air slowly start to creep into the kitchen.

"Come join me, it's cooler down here."

Jason laughs at your insistence on staying on the kitchen floor, but part of him actually doesn't mind the idea of joining you. It feels almost nostalgic, being back in your parents' old house.

"Alright, alright." He relents, placing the glass of water on the counter before settling down next to you on the tile.

He lets out a sigh of relief as the cooler air from the AC washes over him. "You're right, it is cooler down here."

The two of you lie there in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound being the gentle hum of the AC. Jason glances over at you, his eyes roaming your face as a small smile forms on his lips.

"You know, I never thought I'd be sittin' on the kitchen floor at your old house again."

He chuckles softly, the memory of your past adventures together coming to mind. "Feels kind of weird, being back here after all this time."

Jason's gaze softens as he looks at you lying next to him on the kitchen floor. The years seem to fade away, and for a moment it feels like you're teenagers again.

He can practically see the old memories playing out in the dust particles floating in the air - the sneaking out, the hide and seek games, the sleepovers in the living room.

'He's right.' You think, it does feel weird being back here. So many memories, both good and bad, flooding back all at once.

You shift on the floor to look at him more directly.

"It feels weird for me too," You say softly. "This place is still the same, but I feel like I’m not."

Jason looks at you, his expression turning more serious as he takes in your words.

"Yeah, I get that."

He hesitates for a moment, as if he's afraid to ask his next question. But curiosity and concern win out in the end.

"You doin' okay, darlin'? I mean, going through all of this on your own. It can't be easy."

You take a second to answer, mulling over your answer. "Some days are easier than others." You respond quietly. "But I'm doin' my best." You look back up at the ceiling and swallow.

Jason nods understandingly, a wave of empathy. He knows all too well what it's like to struggle on your own.

He turns his gaze back to the ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts. He wants to say something, anything, wants to offer some sort of comfort or support, but he's never been good with words.

Instead, he reaches out and gently places his hand on top of yours. A silent gesture of solidarity.

The two of you lay there on the kitchen floor, the sound of the AC providing a soothing background noise. Jason's hand, still placed on top of yours, feels warm and solid. The touch is unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. In fact, it'l brings comfort in a way that words can't describe. As if the physical contact alone is enough to communicate the complex emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

It's a few minutes before you finally speak up. Your voice is quiet, a little rough with emotion.

"What did you do? When I left?" You always wondered about Jason after you left for school. It was easy to lose contact back then. Anytime you asked your mom about him all she would ever tell you was, "he's getting by".

Jason's expression goes distant, his gaze unfocused as he thinks back to that time.

"Honestly... I just tried to keep myself busy. Worked odd jobs here and there, got involved with some... let's just say, not-so-legal things. When things got bad at home I stayed here a few times but... didn't feel right without ya here. Your mama an' old man said it wasn't a problem but I felt more like a burden than a guest."

He pauses, as if debating whether or not to disclose this next part.

"I also got into a lot of fights. Got arrested a couple of times."

At that you roll over onto your stomach and stare at Jason in concern, there's a slight hint of disappointment behind your eyes.

"Jason..." You scold quietly, sympathetically.

"What were you thinkin'?" You ask in a near whisper. "Who was you even fightin' with?"

Jason avoids your gaze, suddenly feeling embarrassed and ashamed under your scrutiny.

"Mostly just anyone who looked at me wrong." He rubs a hand down his face, a sheepish expression starting to form.

"I was angry, darlin'. Angry at my mama, my old man. Hell I was even angry at myself. I had no one, no outlet for all the shit I was feeling. So... I took it out on whoever was closest."

He lets out a humorless chuckle. "I was a real pain in the ass, if you can believe that. Your mama was ready to knock some sense into me on multiple occasions."

He glances back over at you, his expression more serious.

"It wasn't my finest moments, I'll admit that. But somehow, she always seemed to still see the good in me, even when I couldn't."

[pokemonranch]

Hey Professor? I have a concern about a Beldum I found a couple of days ago.

It's little eyeball / optic glass is cracked and I haven't been able to see if it still has a little red eye in there. When I caught it to take it to the pokemon center, the optic was completely shattered and looked empty inside. Whatever they did at the pokemon center at least gives it an 'optic' even though it has a big crack across the front, but they said that is the best any potions or their technology can do?

Do I have a blind beldum? I made a ring of bubble wrap to put around the head and eye so if it does turn on its eye it could see, but it just slowly floats around the apartment and lightly bonks into things. I think it is mapping its surroundings, but I don't quite want to release it if it is now blinded from whatever happened before I found it. It's pinched me a lot of times trying to eat sitrus and oran berry slices that I have to use little baking tongs, but it is certainly hungry. I just don't think the potions or berries are working anymore.

Yeah, from your description, it does seem like your Beldum suffered some kind of trauma that left it permanently blind. Potions and Berries help speed up the healing of open wounds, but unfortunately they cannot repair that kind of lasting damage.

You're already doing a great job keeping its head protected, and it'll take some time to mentally map its surroundings and stop bonking into things. As with any blind 'mon, try not to move furniture 'round and ball it as little as possible; and if you do have to recall it, make sure to re-release it always in the same room so the Beldum doesn't get confused.

There's the chance that evolvin' it might improve its condition, but it's not guaranteed; and another Beldum might not even be interested to fuse with it 'cause of its blindness. The resulting Metang might be either half or fully blind, so I'd recommend keeping it as a Beldum for most if not all of it's life. They don't experience any drawbacks, and most Beldum in the wild don't evolve either, so it'll be fine in that part!

As with any disabled 'mon, it's really rewarding to take care of 'em, but it's also a lot of work, I won't lie to you. If you feel overburdened with it; or think that you cannot give it the care it needs, there are many Steel Sanctuaries that will happily take care of it! Make sure you understand what it takes to take care of a blind 'mon before you commit fully to it; but otherwise, good luck!

[elyslynn]

The Unseen Link.05

AN: tried keeping it shorter I hope you enjoy. And ofc same as always lmk if theres any issues or questions I'm starting to get the hang of it

Word count: 2k

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INT. LEXCORP STORAGE CORE — MOMENTS AFTER THE WYVERN’S DEFEAT

The dust hasn’t even settled.

The twisted wyvern has collapsed into flickering fragments, its essence unraveling like ash in a breeze that no one feels.

You’re still standing at the center of it all—arms lowered, shoulders trembling, eyes unfocused. Static clings to your skin like memory residue.

Someone calls your name.

“[Y/N]?” It’s Robin—closer now. “Hey. Are you with us?”

You blink slowly, eyes glazed. Head tilted slightly like you’re hearing something far away.

Your breathing is shallow. The world around you feels thin. Fragile.

Wally steps closer. “Hey—[Y/N]—it’s over. You did it. We’re safe.”

Your eyes meet his.

Blank.

“...Who are you?” you ask.

The world goes still.

“w-what?!” Wally’s voice cracks. “No—no, come on, that’s not funny.”

Miss Martian floats closer, worry carved into her face. “Your mental signature just… dropped. Are you okay?”

“What do you mean who?” Artemis asks, stepping toward you. “It’s us. It’s your team.”

You turn toward them slowly, eyes distant.

Your gaze scans their faces, searching for something familiar—but landing on nothing.

Everyone goes still.

your eyes dart between them, confused, flickering with panic. “I—I don’t… I don’t know you…”

Miss Martian gasps, reaching out with her mind instinctively. “Their neural pattern—it's… scattered.”

“[Y/N]—” Superboy rushes to you now, voice urgent, cracking. “Don’t do this. Don’t forget.”

“It’s me!” he nearly yells. “It’s Conner! You—before the mission—”

Superboy fumbles suddenly, reaching into your jacket pocket.

He pulls out something folded and worn.

The photo.

His arms crossed, standing near the waterfall at Mount Justice. He’s not even looking at the camera — Miss Martian’s in the background laughing at something, Wally mid-sprint.

You stare.

He stares at it for a second—then holds it out like it’s made of glass.

“I gave this to you before we left,” he says. “Told you that, you keep things still, and that you help the rest of us remember we’re real.”

Then slowly—trembling—you reach out. Your fingers brush the glossy surface.

A beat passes.

You blink.

A moment passes

Your eyes land on Superboy.

“…Conner.”

He nods, jaw tight, voice low. “Yeah. I’m here.”

A beat.

Your breath comes in gasps—but your eyes are clearer. Recognition creeps back in like dawn.

“I know you…” you whisper. “I remember now.”

The whole team exhales like they were all holding their breath at once.

Artemis wipes her eyes—quick, quiet. “Welcome back, [Y/N].”

Miss Martian gently lowers to the floor beside you. “You scared us.”

“I scared me too,” you mutter, clutching the photo tighter. “Thanks for pulling me back.”

Wally kneels down beside you and grins, trying to cut the tension. “Okay, we are definitely framing that picture now.”

Wally sifts through a pile of warped debris left by the wyvern. He pulls something out with a grin.

" Tell me this doesn’t belong in a horror movie.”

It’s a LexCorp employee ID badge, half-melted and fused to a hard drive, with a casing that pulses faintly with residual energy.

Robin raises an eyebrow. “You’re keeping that?”

“Are you kidding? This baby’s going on the trophy shelf—right next to the robotic eye.”

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INT. BIOSHIP – RETURN FLIGHT – NIGHT

The team sits mostly in silence. [Y/N] rests, dazed but stable. The photo remains in their hands.

Superboy sits across from them—quiet. Protective. Watching.

Robin glances over. “The League’s gonna have questions.”

Aqualad nods grimly. “And not all of them will be kind.”

The bioship hums softly as it pierces through the clouds.

They’re going home.

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INT. MOUNT JUSTICE – MAIN HALLWAY – NIGHT

The bio-ship lands with a soft thud inside the cavernous hangar of Mount Justice. The sound of its engines powering down echoes throughout the empty space, and the team steps out, all a little worse for wear after the mission. The tension in the air is palpable.

Superboy stays close by your side, steadying you as you take a few shaky steps. The others follow, casting concerned glances your way.

Once inside the central command area of Mount Justice, the team is greeted by the League members. Green Lantern, Wonder Woman, and Batman are already present, their gazes sharp as they watch you approach.

Batman steps forward first. "Report."

Aqualad clears his throat and takes the lead. "The mission was successful. We retrieved the stolen LexCorp technology and neutralized the wyvern threat. Minimal casualties on our side. However…”

His gaze flickers toward you, and you can feel the weight of the unspoken words.

“[Y/N] experienced a sudden short term memory loss during the mission. It seems the trauma of the battle triggered some kind of block.”

Wonder Woman furrows her brow. "Memory loss? How serious was it?"

Wally speaks up, trying to mask his discomfort with humor. "Uh, well, they kinda forgot who we were for a minute there… but they bounced back, don’t worry."

Batman doesn’t look impressed. “And how exactly did they bounce back?”

Miss Martian’s voice is soft but firm. “They did. They were able to regain their bearings once we were able to reorient them. But they didn’t remember us. Or the mission, at first.”

The room goes quiet, the Justice League members exchanging looks that suggest concern. Green Lantern crosses his arms, skepticism written on his face. “Amnesia? Complete? Seems a little… off.”

Aqualad meets Green Lantern’s gaze. “It wasn’t complete. It was a temporary condition, caused by stress and trauma. [Y/N] has never been in a situation like this before.”

Superboy’s jaw clenches, but he speaks up, his voice filled with uncharacteristic frustration. “It’s not like we were planning for something like this to happen. [Y/N] handled themselves well throughout the mission—better than most would, given the circumstances.”

Black canary steps in, her tone gentler. “They are part of the team. It’s important we treat them as such. We all understand that the pressures of a first mission are hard to handle.”

“They need rest. Not suspicion.” she calmly states

Green Lantern narrows his eyes, clearly still skeptical. “I’m just saying this is something we should monitor. A loss in memory could be a sign of something bigger. If they’re going to be a part of this team, we need to make sure they’re stable.”

Miss Martian looks at you with a soft but unwavering gaze. “They’re not a liability. They’re our teammate. No one doubts them, not even for a second.”

Artemis, who has been standing by, her arms crossed, speaks up, her voice sharp but firm. “None of us were perfect when we started. And none of us had a smooth first mission. But we were all there for each other. I’ve never seen a teammate more resilient than [Y/N].”

Aqualad nods in agreement. “We’ve trained together. We’ve fought together. And we trust them. This isn’t just about memory loss; it’s about understanding that sometimes, things happen we can’t control.”

Wally’s hands are animated as usual, and he adds, “Yeah! They totally came through when it counted. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side, honestly.”

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the rising lump in your throat. The support from your team helps, but the heavy gaze of the League still feels overwhelming.

Batman’s gaze sharpens, but his words are carefully measured. “We can’t ignore what this could mean for the team. A lapse in memory is dangerous, especially in the field.”

Aqualad stands firm, defending you. “This was their first mission, supervised by us. We were there the entire time.”

 Robin adds quickly, his voice tight with frustration. “You really think we would let someone go out there if they weren’t ready? [Y/N] has proven themselves time and time again in training. We wouldn’t put them in that position if we didn’t trust them.”

Batman’s dark eyes settle on you, and though his words are clipped, there’s a trace of something more—concern? “We’ll be keeping an eye on this, [Y/N]. If there are any more incidents like this-, we’ll need to reassess...”

Superboy cuts him off, stepping forward with more force than he usually displays. “Don’t say it like that. [Y/N] is fine. They just need time, just like the rest of us did. You really want to keep questioning them?”

For a beat, Batman says nothing. He seems to consider Conner’s words, then simply nods. “We’ll monitor them. And if the situation worsens, we’ll revaluate.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly, though you still feel the sting of their doubts in the air. "I’ll be alright."

The League’s presence still hangs heavy, but after the team’s impassioned defense of you — their anchor — the air finally shifts.

Batman’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, unreadable.

Then he speaks. Measured. Firm. But no longer dismissive.

Batman: “Despite the anomalies and complications… the mission was a success. You contained a memory-based anomaly, secured some LexCorp tech, and returned with zero casualties. That’s not a minor accomplishment.”

You blink, surprised.

Batman turns his gaze to the rest of the team.

Batman: “You worked as a unit. Adapted. Protected one another. That’s what a team does.”

A flicker of pride — subtle, nearly imperceptible — passes through his voice.

Batman: “Good work.”

Wally’s brows lift. “Wait, was that a compliment? From Batman?”

Robin smirks. “Don’t ruin it.”

Wonder Woman gives you a gentle nod. “Rest. Recover. What you’re experiencing isn’t failure — it’s growth. And it’s part of the path.”

Black Canary steps forward next, voice soft as always when she addresses you. Canary: “Come see me tomorrow, [Y/N]. Not for an interrogation — just a check-in. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

You nod slowly, trying to hold your ground — even if your mind still feels like it’s standing on uneven stone.

The League begins to disperse.

And the silence that follows? It’s gentler than the one before.

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INT. MOUNT JUSTICE – LOUNGE AREA – NIGHT

The echo of departing Zeta-Beam hums fades, and for the first time in hours… silence.

Real silence.

The team just stands there in the main hall, blinking at one another, as if they’re all waiting for something else to go wrong. But nothing does.

It’s Wally who finally breaks the moment.

Wally: “Soooo… am I the only one who feels like I aged three years in the last four hours, or?”

Artemis: (dropping heavily onto the couch) “Nope. You just whined enough for all of us.”

Wally: “Wow, the gratitude. I literally saved you from being dive-bombed by a memory-lizard.”

A moment later, Robin digs into his duffel and pulls out a beat-up board game — the label on the box barely hanging on.

Robin: “Okay, I’m calling emergency emotional CPR. Team bonding protocol, Alpha-1. We’re playing ‘Supervillain Monopoly.’”

Wally: “That game takes four hours, dude.”

Robin: “Exactly. We deserve four hours of bad decisions and fake money.”

Artemis: (smirking) “If I get stuck with Joker’s Funhouse again, I’m flipping the board.”

M’gann: “I make no promises about not reading your minds.”

[Y/N]: (grinning faintly) “Can I just build hotels on Cadmus and call it symbolic revenge?”

They laugh — tired, real, relieved laughter.

And just like that, the heavy fog lifts.

The game begins. The snacks come out. Wally keeps sneaking cookies from the fridge and blaming it on “temporal cravings.” M’gann makes cocoa float between players with cute sparkles. Robin keeps making terrible puns. Artemis wins at strategy but loses at bluffing. Superboy doesn’t understand the rules but somehow still ends up with the most money.

You laugh so hard you nearly cry at one point — and no one says anything about it.

It’s not perfect. There’s still that undercurrent of tired worry beneath the surface. But in this moment? You’re all okay.

Together.

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The laughter from the lounge still echoes faintly in your ears as you shuffle into your room, hoodie half-zipped, eyes heavy. 

You’re finally alone. Still.

You sink down onto your bed with a quiet sigh, stretching out.

For the first time since the mission, your thoughts begin to slow — not stop, not yet — but quiet. The hum of distortion is gone. The team is safe. The world feels... mostly solid.

Your eyelids flutter.

You exhale.

Drip.

A drop of water hits the top of your head.

You glance at the ceiling. Nothing.

Then, quietly, you swing your legs up and lie back.

Drip.

Another drop — this time landing on your pillow beside your ear.

You sit up again, eyes narrowing.

Your fingers dip down to the floor.

Wet.

Your socks squish softly against it.

The water’s rising.

Slow.

Silent.

Inch by inch, it crawls up from the baseboards, spreading like a calm tide across the room’s floor. Clear and cold, with no source. No sound beyond the rippling whisper of it rising.

Your breath quickens. You step back—

You grab for your door—locked.

Not by key.

By something else.

Slosh.

Ankle-deep already.

You try the door one more time to no avail 

You scramble onto your bed, but it doesn’t help. The water follows — lifting higher, brushing against your mattress. The air pressure changes, humming in your ears. Lights flicker.

The water reaches your chest.

You shout — or try to — but your voice is a murmur, like sound doesn’t work here anymore.

You try to resist, to stay above it—

—but the mattress buckles beneath you and the entire bed tilts, like a raft sucked under by a whirlpool.

You go with it.

Pulled downward.

Eyes wide.

Lungs tight.

Until the ceiling above you is just light—rippling, warped—and then it's gone.

The room is gone.

And you’re falling…

Into the deep.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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AN: I think I have an idea on where to kinda end this arc and then pick up with the main story on chapter 6. Ill write a couple of episodes then time skip to season 2 andddd figure the rest from there :)

[rocketroseart]

Glass Paperweights! Made from What?

When I mention glass paperweights I'm sure you'll have visions of murrini paperweights. That's not what we'll be making, but ours are still quite interesting.

When I mention glass paperweights I’m sure you’ll have visions of murrini paperweights. That’s not what we’ll be making, but ours are still quite interesting. In this project video, I’m making two glass paperweights from bottles, using something you probably have in your house right now, for the mould. So please have a look at the video and give me your opinion on the project and the finished…

[art--harridan]

[Image one: A digital drawing of a Martian from the film Mars Attacks!. It cuts off just as the cowl ends. The Martian is facing forward, expression blank. It's wearing a bulbous glass helmet and has a red cowl with golden swirls as it tapers off. The colours are vibrant, especially for the rendering of the skin, which is comprised of many different bold hues - primarily pink and yellows with some blue and green spots. The lineart is black, and features some dramatic block shading.

Image two: A digital drawing of the Martian Girl from the film Mars Attack!. It cuts off below her neck, this point drawn to suggest the scalloped hem of her dress' neckline. She has dramatic pink blush highlighting her cheekbones, bold red lips and pale blue eyeshadow. While the other eyebrow is still high, the other lifts up into an arch. Her eyes have pronounced eyelashes and stare forward. Her face is otherwise blank. Her blonde hair is in a dramatic beehive-esque style, with a pronounced curl at the top of it. The lineart is black, and features deep shadows.

Image three: A digital drawing of Nathalie Lake fused with her pet chihuahua Poppy from the film Mars Attacks!. Her head is attached to the dog's body with bolts. The body is stood with one paw raised while her face angles up as she smiles broadly, showing her teeth. Her eyes are contently closed, and her eyebrows are relaxed. The drawing is warm-toned, using yellows, browns and beige with a pop of red for her lips and pink for her cheeks. The lineart is black and used for heavy block shading, especially for her light brown bob.

Image four: A digital drawing of a flying saucer from the film Mars Attacks!. It floats high with its legs extended out like spider legs. At the bottom of it, a rod extends out, a red laser beaming out of it. This transforms into text that says "mars attacks!", which has a gradient making the lower half of it a sickly green. This font is drawn in a vintage B-movie horror style, and has bold black drop shadows. The lineart of the saucer is the same colour and has dramatic blocky shading. It is coloured with a light blue, and has a grainy white shine to it.]

sticker designs for a diy screening of Mars Attacks! (Burton, 1996) in Leeds tomorrow :)

[resetoaster]

I am so glad to be involved in the @malevolentbigbang ! It was such a lovely experience and I got to interact with some amazing and creative people such as Quakergoth (A03) (Writer of the AMAZING fic all of the artworks are based off of), and Strumdunkle (Instagram and tumblr) who also created some brilliant art from this fic!

The fic is: You Shall Walk With Me Tomorrow , Everyone should check it out! I have by now read it more times than I can count.  

Image ID's, top to bottom:

ID: An image of warm colours- mainly yellow- Arthur stands to the left site of John, exclaiming "John what are you doing?!". John is standing in the middle, right hand raised to feel at the white mask on his face with a look of surprise. He's wearing a yellow robe, much like the faded figures which surround the two. A hand is pointing directly at John.(edited)

ID: The king in yellow, standing in front of a space scene- the king is looking over their shoulder to the scene behind him which is somewhat fused with his back. There is stained glass in the middle, on either side there is two ghost-like statues reaching up. there are two tables scattered with bottles of whine and fruit. A hand is laying across the bottom part of the image, holding a knife covered with their own blood and a pool of blood forming below the arm. The arm has scars and is wearing a baggy yellow sleeve.

ID: A scene containing a fence, overgrown with trees and grass. In the top left is Arthur shoulder-up, smoking with a speech bubble which simply says "... Oh.", this is cut off by smoke from Arthur in the bottom right- standing in front of the fence- exhaling smoke while saying "I suppose it is".

ID: A mainly blue coloured artwork, John is in a robe and is being lifted by the arms- around about the elbow area- by a figure which cant be seen. He is in purple-like water within a mirror frame and is being dragged down by one regular hand and one faded-out hand. A crown sits on top of Johns head- emitting a blue glow. He has almost next to no expression on his face.

ID: Arthur stands in a pool of water, one hand (left hand) faded holding a cane, with his pinky finger being the only section of it which remains in a form- wood. He's smoking a cigarette with the other hand, the smoke littered with eyes and said hand is drenched in blood. The coat he wears is floating on the pool of water in a circle like motion.

ID: A man stands with mostly warm brown colours. His eyes are covered with smoke emitting from the cigarette he is smoking in his right hand- which is covered in blood. He's got a long jacket, striped waistcoat, brown trousers, orange tie, dark brown hat, off-white shirt, brown hair, and brown shoes- along with a cane. His left foot and arm are gray and whispy- the rough form of the limbs remain the same but there is no finer details. (Arthur Design)

[machine-herald-archive]

House on Emberflit Alley - Rayla Heide

Viktor’s third arm emitted a thin ray of light that welded metal into his left arm with steady precision. The smell of burning flesh no longer bothered him, nor did the sight of his left wrist splayed open, veins and sinewy muscle fused with mechanical augments. He did not wince. Instead, he felt a sense of achievement gazing at the seamless blend of synthetic and organic materials.

The sound of children shouting gave Viktor pause. Rarely did anyone venture down the fog-bound confines of Emberflit Alley. He had chosen this location for that very reason — he preferred not to be interrupted.

Keeping his left arm immobile, Viktor adjusted a silver dial on his iridoscope. The device contained a series of mirrored lenses that angled light to allow him full view of the street outside his laboratory.

Several children were violently shoving a malnourished boy toward Viktor’s wrought iron gates.

“I doubt Naph will last a minute in there,” said a girl with imitation gemstones embedded above her eyes.

“I bet he comes back with a brass head,” said a boy with a shock of red hair. “Maybe then his brain won’t be dull as the Gray.”

“You better return with something we can sell, or we’ll be the ones to give you a new head,” said the largest one, grabbing the small boy by the neck and forcing him forward. The other children backed away, watching.

The young boy trembled as he approached the towering gate, which screeched as he pushed it open. He passed the front door encrusted with interlocking gears and shimmied through an open window. An alarm blared as he fell to the floor.

Viktor sighed and pressed a switch that quieted the ringing.

The skinny boy stared at his new environment. Glass jars, containing organic and metal organs floating in green fluid, lined the walls. A leather gurney stained with blood, upon which lay a mechanized drill, sat in the center of the chamber. Dozens of automatons stood motionless against every wall. To Viktor, his laboratory was a sanctuary for his most creative and vital experiments, but he could imagine it might seem frightening to a child.

The boy’s eyes widened in shock when he saw Viktor at his workbench, arm splayed open on the table. He ducked behind a nearby crate.

“You will not learn anything from that box, child,” said Viktor. “But on top of it, you will find a bone chisel. Hand it to me, please.”

A trembling hand reached to the top of the crate and grasped the handle of the rusted metal tool. The chisel slid across the floor to Viktor, who picked it up.

“Thank you,” said Viktor, who wiped off the instrument and continued work on his arm.

Viktor heard the boy’s rapid breathing.

“I am replacing the twisting flexor tendons — ahem, the broken mechanism in my wrist,” Viktor said, reaching into his arm to adjust a bolt. “Would you like to watch?”

The boy peeked his head around the crate.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” said the boy.

“No,” said Viktor. “When one eliminates the anticipation and fear of pain, it becomes entirely bearable.”

“Oh.”

“It also helps that my arm is almost completely mechanized. See for yourself.”

The boy stepped away from the crate and sat across from Viktor without a word, eyes fixed on his arm.

Viktor resumed welding a new boltdrive onto the tendons beneath his skin. When he had finished, he sealed the flaps of dermis onto his arm. He drew the beam of light across the seam, cauterizing his flesh and fusing the incision.

“Why did you do that?” the boy asked. “Didn’t your arm work fine as it was?”

“Do you know what humanity’s greatest weakness is?”

“No...” said the boy.

“Humans consistently ignore the endless infinity of possibilities in favor of maintaining the status quo.”

The boy gave him a blank stare.

“People fear change,” Viktor said. “They settle with fine when they could have exceptional.”

Viktor walked to his stovetop. He mixed a blend of dark powder and Dunpor cream into a saucepan, heating the liquid with his laser.

“Would you like a glass of sweetmilk?” said Viktor. “A weakness of mine, but I have always enjoyed the anise flavor.”

“Um... you’re not going to saw off my head and replace it with a metal one?”

“Ah. Is that what they think of me now?” Viktor asked.

“Pretty much,” said the boy. “I heard one kid had theirs replaced just because they had a cough.”

“Did you get this information directly?” said Viktor.

“No, it was my neighbor Bherma’s cousin. Or uncle. Or something like that.”

“Ah. Well in that case.”

“Would replacing someone’s head even get rid of a cough?” asked the boy.

“Now you are asking the right questions,” said Viktor. “No, I imagine it would not be much of an upgrade. Coughing stems from the lungs, you see. And to your earlier point, I am not going to saw your head off and replace it with a metal one. Unless, of course, you want that.”

“No thanks,” said the boy.

Viktor poured the thick liquid into two mugs and passed one to the boy, who stared longingly at the hot drink.

“It is not drugged,” said Viktor and took a sip from his own mug. The boy gulped down the sweetmilk.

“Are the others still watching outside?” said the boy through stained teeth.

Viktor glanced through his iridoscope. The three children were still waiting by the front entrance.

“Indeed they are. Do you wish to give them a scare?” Viktor said.

The boy’s eyes lit up, and he nodded.

Viktor handed him a sonophone and said, “Scream as loud as you can into this.”

The boy gave an exaggerated, blood-curdling shriek into the sonophone. It echoed along Emberflit Alley, and the other children jumped in terror, quickly scattering to hide. The boy looked at Viktor and grinned.

“I find that fear is more often than not a limiting emotion,” said Viktor. “Tell me something that scares you, for example.”

“The Chem-Barons.”

“The Chem-Barons are feared because they project an air of dominance and often the threat of violence. If no one feared them, people would stand up to them. And then where would their power go?”

“Uh...”

“Away. Exactly. Think of how many Chem-Barons exist compared to how many people live in Zaun. Fear is used by the powerful few to control the weak because they understand how fear works. If someone can manipulate your emotions, they can control you.”

“I guess that makes sense. But I’m still afraid of them,” said the boy.

“Of course you are. Patterns of fear are carved deep into your very flesh. Steel, however, has no such weakness.”

Viktor retrieved a vial containing miniscule silver beads floating in milky fluid.

“That is where I may be able to assist,” he said. “I have developed an augmentation that eliminates fear altogether. I could let you try it out for a short time.”

“How short?”

“The implant will dissolve in twenty minutes.”

“You’re sure it’s not permanent?”

“It can be, but not this one. You might find that without fear, your friends out there lose their grip. Bullies feed on fear, you see. And without it, they will starve.”

The boy nursed his drink, considering the offer. After a moment he nodded to Viktor, who inserted a thin needle into the vial and injected one of the silver beads into the skin behind his ear.

The boy shuddered for a moment. Then he smiled.

“Do you feel your weakness falling away?” Viktor asked.

“Oh yes,” said the boy.

Viktor walked him to the door and twisted a dial to unlock it before waving him out.

“Remember, you can always return if you wish a more permanent solution.”

A wave of fog created a ghostly silhouette around the boy as he emerged from the laboratory. Viktor returned to his workbench to watch the experiment through his iridoscope.

Emberflit Alley was empty, but as soon as the boy walked out his companions emerged.

“Where’s our souvenir?” asked the red-haired boy.

“Doesn’t seem like little Naph has held up his end of the deal,” said the girl.

“Guess we have to punish him,” added the large boy. “We did promise him a new head today, after all.”

“Don’t you touch me,” said Naph. He raised himself to his tallest height.

The bully reached for Naph’s neck, but Naph turned and punched him square in the face.

Blood streamed from the bully’s nose.

“Grab him!” the bully screamed.

But his companions were no longer interested in grabbing him.

Naph stepped toward the bullies. They stepped back.

“Get away from me,” he said.

The bullies eyed each other, then turned and ran.

Viktor closed his iridoscope and returned to his work. He stretched the fingers of his newly repaired arm and tapped them on his desk in satisfaction.

[jacktheeldergod2]

I haven't been on my bullshit for too damn long

As you are putting on your shoes you find a coupon for a free gift from "Saul Vegera's fine finds" behind your ear. It has a small map leading to a part of your home where a secret door will lead you to the shop. Your options are:

A third eye. About as big as the average middle finger when curled,it's color is a lively red that contrasts the ill,yellowish look of the rest of it,veins popping visibly and even having a visible heartbeat at some spots. It'll be bound to you by taking a few drops of your blood and injecting it in the eye. From then on you can see spirits,magic and other supernatural phenomena through the eye,make it float around and teleport near it at a moment's notice or vice versa. If destroyed it'll transform one of your eyes into itself or appear in your empty eye socket. If in your eye socket it'll change size to accommodate your head

A worn out medical syringe,the old timey type. When filled with blood it'll become unnaturally warm and cozy to the touch. Injecting a creature with another's blood will make it live all the memories of the blood but won't harm it in any form. Doing this monthly for a year will permanently telepathically link the creatures. New creatures are all linked to this mental network

A phone booth sized metal box that has a hydraulic press on its top and bottom. Any two things crushed together will fuse together as well as the material can allow,such as making a spork. Crushing two creatures will make an optimization of the two,even unearthing lost evolution. For example 2 humans will result in a 4 armed human with a monkey tail,as tall as the fused power of the joints bones and muscles allow(usually 5 meters tall),will have fully pronounced female and male traits and have its own identity but remember the lives of both the fused people. In the culture it was created the fusing was utilized as a form of marriage

A straightjacket that looks completely normal except for a pocket in the back. First you need a piece of your biomass in the pocket,like blood,hair,nail clippings etc. from then on the jacket will start mentally adjusting those who wear it. At one hour the victim will start adopting your views. At five it'll have the same opinions as you. At 8 its intelligence will have undergone severe decrease. At 12 the person will be completely obedient and devoted,not unlike states of mind portrayed in "drone" fetish art. At 24 hours the person will be deleted and your soul will have control over their body,pretty much making you a hivemind. This is irreversible. People with multiple personalities will take longer to be deleted due to multiple souls inhabiting the body

An old military revolver that can never kill a person,thus often killing diseases or cancers when it shoots someone. It is always fully loaded no matter what. The better the wielder's aim is the more control they have over the effect of the bullets. Eventually they'll be fully able to alter people's bodies such as altering the joints,changing the shape and size of muscles and more. As they use it the wielder's hand will become fused to the pistol as they get more and more obsessed with the idea of healing others. Their bodies will gain other gun barrels and bullet chambers with them becoming more and more metallic. This process can be stopped by not constantly holding the gun. Good luck with that

3 sealed vials made of glass and copper,one with green sludge,one with pink and one with black. pouring the green one on a substance will make it bigger and other instances of the substance will "spread" on other nearby things till the sludge is put back in its vial. The black one will start devouring objects,lowering the amount of that substance in the world. If allowed to fully eat an object the substance won't be found on this solar system ever again. Pouring the pink sludge on a corpse will make the species of said corpse be born with physical blessings for the following years,not stopping until removed from the corpse. Drinking the pink vial will instead make you immortal and constantly better your body but make all others of your species gradually grow old quicker,raise the rate of birth defects and eventually stuff them out. After that you'll slowly become a pink ooze,your sludgy form fully under your control as you alone stand remaining,nothing short of a nuclear explosion or the death of the sun able to kill you

A jar with a shadow and a jar with a light. This shadow will remove all darkness in the area, spreading farther and farther until the jar is closed. The light jar does the opposite, replacing light with shadow. Drinking the contents of the shadow jar will allow you to control its abilities and be able to see in complete darkness. Drinking the light jar will give you its abilities and your eyes will be able to see the full color spectrum. Yes both can be drank by the same being. If the consumer dies the jars refill

A crown made of fool's gold and colored glass in place of gems with a discolored jester's hat whose bells don't jingle sewn on the inside of it. While wearing this hat your every word will be almost universally trusted. You'll be so charismatic the things you'll say will even surprise you. After you wear it a few days golden rings will dig into your skin,connecting the hat to your head. You'll start to lie more and more. After a few months you'll become more erratic and anxiety ridden and new bigger rings will bind the hat to your skull. After a year you'll be losing everyone's trust as you'll grow paranoid,and you'll never ever be able to not lie for the rest of your life. But hey. Maybe you'll still be able to get some mileage out of your charisma. Maybe a kind soul will take you as it's jester,at which point a jester's outfit will cover your entire body,mask glued to your face,and forever and ever you'll devote your life to being a jester,an entertainer,showman and jokester as your new body never ages. And if something kills you you'll leave no corpse behind. Only the hat will remain,a new glass gem upon it

A statue of an angel sitting down and sewing some old rags,5 meters tall. It wears nothing,no genitals,nipples or even an asscrack appearing upon its thin,frail form. Its eyes look focused and filled with love,a stoic look upon its face. Anything placed upon its lap will be fixed by the next dawn. The land around the angel will become healthier and more fertile,the air cleaner,the sun more merciful and the animals will feel safer. Its dominion will expand with time. Many eons into the future life shall sprout in other planets in the ecosystem,and as long as it stands the sun will never burst

A bronze circular bathtub. If filled with blood of children such as lambs and piglets it is able to perform a ritual. A single creature that has reached adulthood must be boiled alive in the blood. Afterwards the creature will be reborn in its desired body. Wings,claws,breasts,carapace anything the creature wants its form to be it shall be just that as long it's physically possible. Supernatural powers like floating cannot be given. The creature shall remain young for 11 years,after which it will resume aging if it doesn't redo the ritual

A door. You can summon the door wherever you want as long as you leave a bloodstain on it. Adding a new bloodstain won't change ownership unless the previous stain is removed. By walking through the door you'll be in a vast world made just for your tastes. Endless machinery that automates everything,boundless meadows, pristine gyms,brothels with the most beautiful beings you've ever laid eyes upon,lush jungles filled with amazing fruit,anything you could want,and as long as you are there your body will be healthy and you won't age a day more. But nothing from that world can ever be taken out of it,no power or object and no person can join you in your paradise. Perhaps you'll find it worthwhile to never leave

A tool box with bone grafted on it to make patterns,letters in a language you can't speak carved on skeletons of beings you've never seen. Just opening it will have it empty. By killing something while it's in the box,for example letting an animal suffocate in it or slitting a lamb's throat while its head is in the box,it'll gain a tool of your choosing. More complex things like a computer may take the life of many beings while a rat will be enough for a screwdriver. There is no limit on how many tools you can have or how many instances of the same thing,and the toolbox will always have the tools you want when you open. By pouring a wine bottle's worth of your blood in the toolbox it'll fuse with you and you'll be able to summon it or even open your chest cavity as a gateway to it. Nightmares of the killed beings hunting you may occur a few times a month

@1969chevycamaro @whereserpentswalk @everythingismadeofchaos @trashsouppossum @techiekittie @your-average-toast-enjoyer @ononpetitecroissant @polkadotsunshine @ana-isnt-dead @sentient-marshmallow-woman @doyoudreamofwater @dackychansworldofhoshino @dh-ng @decoysender @foxundermoon @frozen-antifreeze @gloriousvermin @kinkshame-puncher-666 @kirkland-brand-witch @leavesswaytoday @mmmmmmky @mun-urufu @moonsfavoritedaughter

[norikokimura]

In a pocket world created by a self-proclaimed devil, the sun was setting on another day.

"Intruder!" "Interloper!" "A shadow walks! A shadow hides!"

The Clara Dolls, Homura Akemi's eyes and ears across her domain, were signaling for her undivided attention. Speaking in whispered, hushed tones, they called out to her. Something else that did not belong had entered her world.

From her place high above Mitakihara City, Homura listened to the cries of all her familiars. Whatever stirred them up was serious. An outsider, here? How?

"The chapel!" "She walks in desecrated halls!" "Heresy!"

This got Homura's attention more than anything else. How dare anyone go there? She walked to the edge of her floating throne room high above the clouds, and let herself fall off the side. Black wings sprouted from her back and guided her decent, past the clouds and down to the earth. She angled herself to glide down in the direction of the abandoned chapel, to the north of the city. Not quite the outskirts, but not the center of town either. Clara Dolls danced through the air down with her.

Homura landed without so much as a sound. She had become quite adept at quiet landings, despite the speed of her decent. The familiars that had been escorting her also landed gracefully. As she walked to the dilapidated chapel, her Clara Dolls skipped and spun, following her at both of her sides. Her wings were spread wide as she walked.

"Inside! Inside!" "Waiting! Waiting!" She heard them in her mind, screaming whispers now.

Near the door to the chapel were some of her Clara Dolls. They looked up at her from the ground, but they were… half in the floor? They didn't seem to be injured, but they were rendered immobile. Some force fused them to the ground, harmlessly. Their gaze turned to the door, as if pointing, leading their mistress. Homura's wings retreated back into her body, as she pushed the door open.

Homura stood at the door. Inside looked the same as it had been; broken, derelict, decaying. It was a meager chapel. Homura had formed it early in the creation of this version of Mitakihara City, a symbol of her actions, for none to comprehend but her. She did, after all, pull a God from the sky. It bore no significance to anyone but Homura, and so it was ignored by the city folk.

All the way at the other end from the entrance stood a girl, long brown hair, not as long as Homura's, flowing from the draft created by the open door. She stood with her hands behind her back, and Homura could make out a Mitakihara Middle School uniform, with black thigh-high stockings, and brown loafers.

"Interloper…" The Clara Dolls whispered amongst each other. Almost as if they were gossiping. It surprised Homura that they refused to enter the chapel. Even as she walked inside, her familiars did not follow, staying at the doorway. That… never happened. Were they afraid? She decided if they weren't going to follow, she would close the chapel door behind her. It made a loud, echoing slam as it did. That seemed to get the unknown girl's attention. She slowly turned to face Homura. She looked to be 14 as well, brown eyes to compliment her brown hair. She could see that this strange outsider had a black-undershirt in her uniform. Coming here of all places was one taunt, this had to be another.

"Nice place." The girl stated, in a monotone that was all too familiar to Homura.

"This old scene?" Homura asked, looking up at the broken stained glass and crumbling stone pillars.

"No, no, this is a sight for sore eyes. I meant outside. Your world. Quaint." By now, the girl had turned around fully, arms still poised behind her back, hand clasped in hand.

"You are Homura Akemi. The one that stole divinity. Are you really here, or am I speaking to some kind of echo in your stead?" The girl asked. Her eyes squinted at Homura, as if trying to study her for authenticity.

Homura ignored her question. "You know who I am, and yet you insult me. Coming here, appearing as one of my sentries-"

"Oh this?" She looked down at her uniform and back up. "I like it." The girl said, a bit of whimsy in her voice. She was clearly not taking this situation deathly serious. Perhaps, Homura thought, she needed to be reminded.

Before the girl could react, Homura was much, much closer, seemingly just popping up in front of her. With amazing speed, Homura had a hand around the girl's neck. Not squeezing. Just holding. A show of force.

"You could kill me, of course. Would be easy for you, here. But you'll never know who I am, why I'm here."

Homura paused, face firm, but unreadable. Her grip did not tighten or loosen.

"Okay. An olive branch. Small information, for a small moment of mercy. My name is Noriko Kimura. I'm here on a mission, and it doesn't harm you, or anyone close to you." The girl slowly raised a hand up to eye level as she spoke, showing a ring on her finger, a familiar ring, with runes on it. Noriko, apparently, was a Magical Girl.

After some time, Homura slowly let go of Noriko's neck. She walked away, retreating to a point of personal space for the both of them.

Noriko rubbed her neck slightly. It didn't hurt, but she was relieved things did not escalate from there. She continued to speak, "46 hours ago, an inanimate object entered this space. You know of it, yes?"

"12 hours ago." Homura corrected.

Time moves differently here, good to know.

"Okay, well, do you know its location?" "Of course I know of it." "Have your… creatures, been able to acquire it?" "No, my familiars cannot go near it. Other than that, it seemed to be inert, so I paid no more mind to it. Is that why you're here?" "I'm here to recover it, and then I'm gone. The sooner I have it, the sooner I leave. Your help would expedite the process."

Homura stepped forward towards Noriko, only slightly. Noriko did not react. If she was going to kill her, she was going to kill her. Not much could be done to fight back in this domain. "What is it to you?" Homura asked, probing Noriko for more information. "An item of no significance here, but one I've been tasked with collecting. I don't know how it got here, but I must take it with me away from here." Noriko answered, methodically navigating the conversation.

Homura was not entirely satisfied with Noriko's answers. She looked back to the chapel exit, to the broken glass windows, and the sunset glaring in through it. She remembered being in Noriko's shoes. An outsider, giving people the bare minimum of information, striving towards an unknowable goal.

"So, where do we start?" Noriko asked.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU: What If...? : ~

A Story for the Missus:

Here we are. The last of the What If...? chapters. This one is for @sukipershipper, following O'Connor. There won't be anything else now until New Year, although I have drafted all of Season 2.

Season 2 Prologue:

Alone in the dark, a voice echoed. 'Mary...Mary...Where are you?'

O'Connor, hovering an inch above the catwalk, had become The Shape's latest victim. Forgotten in the bowels of The Beria, with only his torch for comfort. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted Mary. His wife. His everything. The fog had entered his mind, and the old man believed she was on board. Yes. Yes, she must be here. Any minute now, she'll come and save him, and they can go home.

Unfortunately, O'Connor's mind was weak. Currently, he thought he was at home, standing in the kitchen with its baige curtains and oak furniture, but it began to blur. Flashes of his fantasy and reality came as quick as they went, but he believed he was home. He reached up and patted his chest, growing frantic as he patted his hips. 'I can't see!' His breathings quickened, and his heart raced. The lullaby was loud. 'I need my glasses.' A shooting pain ran through his body. O'Connor jerked and arched up with a whail. The fantasy died. A sign of his brain fighting back, and O'Connor soon realised he wasn't where he wished to be. 'It burns - it fucking burns!' He didn't want to die, even if it was a mercy. He tried to move and was quickly reminded that wasn't possible. 'It's stealing my guts...!'

'Fine,' a voice hummed. 'Then have them back.'

Under his uniform, O'Connor's skin budged and shifted as The Shape returned his intestines. He cried out in pain, which only grew. He coughed up a pool of blood that burned his throat and watered his eyes. He could feel his heart trying not to implode from the stress. Nothing could take him back to the fantasy now. The Shape, in some cruel game, decided to strengthen this victim's mind and understand what's about to happen in full.

A bone cracking filled the empty room. It was his spine. O'Connor gagged and cried as he felt his body change. He held his head in his hands, unable to look at himself as he transformed. How he wanted to go back into the fantasy. He body grew in size, muscle, skin, and bones stretching beyond the uniform. His hard hat shattered under the stress of his growing form, the torch breaking when it hit the catwalk. Organs pulsated. The pectoralis major tore through the left breast. Ribs broke through the skin and retracted, as if they were trying to rip his chest open. 'MARY!'

O'Connor's teeth enlarged into fangs. They broke through his lips and locked into the skin, sealing his mouth shut forever. He tried to scream, feeling his stomach and intestines melt, and the acid course through his body.

A new feeling came over the man as he felt the bones in his hands and fingers break and reform, the tips surpassing the skin, ripping the nails. Anger. Rage burned through O'Connor. How dare this thing do this to him.

He tried to break free from the mass, bending down and forcing his body to move towards the stairs. The flesh below his waist bubbled and grew. Legs had become something resembling tentacles fused together. Finally, parts of his spine lengthened and forced themselves beyond the skin. Now, The Shape let its victim go.

O'Connor didn't wait. He lunged forward, using his new 'legs' to make it seem as if he was floating. Do you know what made O'Connor a terrifying presence? He was silent. Despite his size rivalling Muir, he didn't make a sound. There was no fog in his brain. Everything he did was of his own accord. He wanted out. Away from this place. He splashed through the cold water, tore through the metal, and ripped the door from its hinges.

'No. No. Please. Stay away from me. Addair!'

O'Connor froze at the name. That man. That English pig. He hated him, and the feeling was mutural. Addair once asked O'Connor about his nephews who were in the military, stationed in Northern Ireland because of The Troubles. He expected a respectful comment about how proud he must have been. But he received a 'joke' asking if his nephews were secretly IRA. O'Connor never forgave Addair and made an enemy out of him.

Following the screams and the heartbeats, the infected engineer found his target. After that, it was a bloody mess, staining the pipes and metal floors. O'Connor stood over his handiwork. Addair laid helpless with a look of fear in his eyes...

'I'm sorry, Mary.' O'Connor spoke through his mind. A gift from The Shape. Mary sat beside her husband, resting her back against his open palm. It was strange to hear a voice in her head, even if it was her man's. His index finger stroked her cheek, making her smile. 'I just lost control.'

'Don't be sorry. What matters is that you're both okay.' The pair rested in the barn. Mary looked at her now 13ft husband, made from bruised skin and exposed bone. She didn't care. True, she was shocked to see what he had become, but it was still him. His eyes never changed. 'I'm sorry I wasn't there.'

'Well, if I can't be, then you can't be sorry either.' They shared a chuckle.

'How's Addair now?'

'He's okay. Turns out we heal quickly.'

'That's good, but you're not going to hear the end of it from him.'

'I don't care.'

O'Connor pulled Mary close. She hugged his neck, and he nestled her between his head and arms. The sweet smell from her raspberry shampoo helped him relax and curl into the fetal position. It was his favourite. His mind went blank as he enjoyed feeling his wife's soft skin against his. Her hands were always warm. This was his heaven, even if, in his mind, he looked like a demon. Mary began to hum, then sing.

'Crochfaidh mé seolta is rachaidh mé siar

Óró mo churaichín ó!

'S go hOíche Fhéil' Eoin ní thiocfaidh mé aniar

Óró mo bháidín!'

Tears swelled in O'Connor's eyes. Mary was singing their song. She always did to make him feel better. Whether he was sick or just had a bad day, these lyrics meant so much to him. O'Connor didn't understand because he couldn't speak any traditional gaelic like she could, but that didn't matter.

'Óró mo churaichín ó!

Óró mo bháidín

Óró mo churaichín ó!

Óró mo bháidín!'

As he cried silently, O'Connor began to drift off into a deep sleep. He didn't let go of Mary, and she wasn't going anywhere. She continued to sing, even when O'Connor began to snore lightly. Somethings never changed. Halfway through a verse, she leaned up and kissed his cheek before nestling against him on the soft hay.

'Goodnight, Mo ghrá. Sleep well, my dear.'