#possibly writing

[possibly-art]

"...my eye never actually worked." "What?" "After I got uh..." he gestures lazily with a hand, leaving the other in yours; "blinded, I guess, I couldn't really see out of it at all. Kept trying though." "Why..??" "..." "Jon- you don't need to answer just... you could have mentioned it before now." "...yeah. I probably should have." ... "...it was a denial thing I think." "You think so?" "I mean... I know so, just... y'know, being vague about it... makes it a little easier." "M'kay... a 'denial thing' in what way?" "I uh... I mean you saw how uh... not... great I was doing after." "Yeah." "It was kind of related to that, I think. Lots of stuff went... pretty awfully in a... relatively short amount of time, I guess, and losing half of one of my senses on top of the rest of it was kind of... a line I didn't really want to acknowledge, maybe. Though I guess it was kind of pointless. Stupid." ... ... "And you say therapy wouldn't work for you, look at all that self-reflection." "Shuuut up." He flicks your forehead and you stick your tongue out at him. He still has your nail polish on. You're wearing one of his hoodies. It's nice.

This is nice.

[your-official-gingerartist]

I’ve found a space themed playlist yall know what that means 😎🤩

[possibly-art]

SO. pinion has a dissection scar spanning essentially his Entire torso (to allow for implantation of organs), and has a lot of incisions on the inner-parts of his limbs (from shoulders to wrists, and thighs to ankles) to sort of Seed the nerves and blood vessels, and have them develop. also the humble Craniotomy (but like. essentially the circumference of his skull. to stick a brain in there). dunno what to do about the eyes (if they should be transplanted somehow or. Grown)

undecided on whether or not his organs should be sourced from. various places. or if they should be artificial in some way. i feel like itd make sense for all of his abdominal organs to be sourced from Somewhere but. much to consider in regards to the brain.

also dude alchemy and magic-stuff would allow for SOOOOOOOO much medical nonsense. its actually really fun to think about

also some more things about homunculi under this lil readmore because. i dont want to make this too long and subject you to my Garbage unwillingly

i feel like itd take a WHILE for a homunculus to be like. finished. done. usable. cause, especially for pinion (since his would be the first uh. flesh and blood homunculus. technology-based ones would be a lot easier to make) so the process for making them is like.

frame. being the bones. Dunno where theyd get just. whole-ass bones. probably have to be artificial.

flesh layered atop the bones. probably similar to how the blood vessels and nerves would be done (so. weird little starter portion of whatever it is you need developed, and then it just kinda. grows.)

nerves and blood vessels would be seeded After the flesh because i feel like if you tried to do that Before itd be more like. difficult. or maybe not who knows.

skin :thumbs_up:. also seeded.

organs

and then youd have to wait for everything to like. heal. and make sure the body is responding properly to stimuli (or at least. as well as it can, considering it is essentially comatose. no soul in there yet)

and then finally! body obtained! and then you have routine medical checks for an untold amount of time to make sure it doesnt spontaneously implode because, being in some part a product of alchemy, it could just. stop working at some point. it's a lot more stable though, because its process is Very drawn out and bolstered by more concrete medical practices but. yknoowwww.

also. reason pinion has so many blood related issues upon first getting his homunculus. the universe (being. Universe-E. our one. might split it up so the Universe refers to specifically Otherside, and Earthside is The World. just so its a bit easier) thinks hes got just . a comical amount of extra blood in there. because pinion Is Made of blood. and he is sorta just Hanging Out in there, even if it's not like. physical. and obviously the world doesnt really know how to deal with that so "fuck it. bleed all over the place. haemolacria. You Have Too Much Blood" but he also cant donate any blood (which is the standard. treatment i guess? for excess red blood cell production im pretty sure) because he doesnt Actually Have excess blood. so he just kinda has to wait for it to stop. thumbs up

[possibly-art]

shitty little thing for milo. smiles.

Everything hurts. There's a thick haze of fatigue coating you like tar, pressing in on your bones. Your eyes strain against the bright, bleeding red of the sky, the mind-bending gaps in its face breaking your focus. You brace against every pull of the universe coming undone, the feeling of it making your skin buzz. You are going to die. You're all going to die, probably. You can see Lina in the corner of your eye, frantically reloading her gun. There's a burn crawling up the side of her neck like broken glass, weeping blood. Her hands are shaking. You've never seen her this scared. You've never been this scared.

You tighten your grip around the gash over your ribs. You can feel the bones underneath. You're more disgusted than you are pained, but it occurs to you that that's probably not a very good thing. The nerves in your hands have begun to tingle.

The pulse in your ears drowns out the sound of crackling electricity. You don't have time to cover yourself before it finds you. It strikes you, piercing you like a spear. Your nerves are the first to go; burnt by some untold voltage. It's a small blessing when the screaming, blinding pain falls away. Then it's your eyes; you don't feel it, of course not, but you know they've burst. Like eggs with their shells pushed in; the all-consuming hue of the sky, the grey ash of the wasteland, the distant looming figure of some terrible god is gone in an instant.

You barely have a second to think before you feel your heart skip. Once, then twice. A few stagnant moments before it's singular, final beat. Then that's it.

At least you died useful, for the most part. You were helpful, right?

God you hope it isn't for nothing. God, you hope everyone else is okay. God you hope they don't forget you. God please be okay please be alright please

[possibly-art]

bullshit mid draft-one writing go

"I used to be a lawyer." It's sudden; you try your best to nonchalantly move your hair out of your eye when you turn to look at her. She never talks about herself, especially not unprompted. You're surprised.

"Yeah?" "I failed my first bar exam. Spent weeks agonising over it after. Took it again, passed, got liscensed." There's an odd silence when she stops. She looks uncomfortable; rolling a pen between her fingers while she stares at her notepad.

"...I had a husband." Pause. "Before all of... this; I met him at a friend's wedding. We were the only two people with the same eye colour, and he thought that was interesting." She grimaces a bit, eyebrows creasing as she flicks through various pages. "Spent nearly nine years married... and then I went to... I guess the wrong place on a hike once and... ended up in Otherside.

And... I mean, I tried to... ignore it. But it's one of those things, really. Accidentally traveled between universes on a Saturday afternoon and... I didn't want to tell him. Because what if he thought I was... I don't know, crazy? What if I brought him to where it was and nothing happened? I felt fine, beyond the knowledge of everything so... I just didn't tell him. I liked my life. I didn't want to risk it."

Her hands have stilled, pen resting on the notepad on the desk in front of her.

"He divorced me. He asked me what was wrong, said I'd been acting distant, weird... And at that point, I just. Couldn't tell him. No matter how much I wanted to. So I lied. Told him I was cheating on him, that I fell out of love with him some... arbitrary amount of time before. Because how are you supposed to explain to your husband that you've been hiding the knowledge of an entire other universe from him because you... didn't trust that he'd believe you.

And looking back on it now that makes no sense... he would've understood if I explained it to him but... it was the only way out that I could really think of. None of this" She makes a broad, sweeping motion with her arm, swiveling around in her chair. "was even an issue. As far as I knew, he wasn't really in danger. But I didn't tell him. I couldn't tell him. I don't know why."

She loosely crosses her arms, leaning back in her chair to stare at the ceiling. She looks so tired; there are small strands of grey in her hair, now, that you've never noticed before. You don't really understand why, but it scares you more than anything else has so far.

[possibly-art]

There's an interesting kind of guilt when you kill someone you feel like you know. You never met him, not really. You knew nothing about him until people he knew started talking about him, in radio interviews and confessionals. There's no reason for you to feel so... sad. You're not even the one who killed him.

...

Nobody wanted to bury him, afterwards. You don't blame them; if you were anyone else, you'd probably have left him to rot in the wasteland. But you felt like you had to. Nobody from your group was available or willing, so you had to beg strangers to help you. Dug his grave yourself. Dragged over the headstone. Covered him in his cloak and the hoodie you were wearing. A small piece of you.

The primary difference between souls and demons is their resilience. Pinion mentioned it once, a while ago. Demons are designed to function independently of an anchor, while souls can't. When a person dies, that's it; unless there's some sort of interference postmortem. There is nothing left of him. When you talk to his grave, you are talking to no-one.

The only one in the world who knew what it was like. The only other person to be dragged by the heels the way you were, and he's dead. And you are the only person who will ever mourn him.

[possibly-art]

It hurts it hurts it hurts. Your right eye is screwed shut, the nerves surrounding it on fire and your hands are covered in blood, both yours and his, mixing into some strange copper colour.

You won. You can't stop staring at his body, curled up on its side. You can see his organs through the wound, a rotten sort of dull red. One of his eyes is split, a deep set of gashes carving his face almost in half. He didn't see it. Ha.

You push yourself up on shaking legs, and feel blood flow down from your neck. He nearly killed you. You nearly died.

Ah, but you didn't. You didn't. He did. Of course. This is how it should have been, a sort of karmic execution. You need to save existence; of course the Universe would favour you.

You brace yourself with your scythe, leaning on it when the dizziness sets in.

Electricity crackles in your palm, burning your skin, singeing what remains of your fingertips. You can see it glowing through the hole in your hand, blinding. You set your shoulders and raise your hand. Twitch your fingers, and it arcs across the area, its light caught in the blood on the ground.

You hit nothing. No-one. Blood drips down from your mouth, where you've bitten a hole into your lip.

Your hand shakes. You try again. Wait. Aim. Miss. Blood vessels in your right eye burst. The world is tinged gold.

You try again. Wait. Aim.

Miss. You lean more on your scythe, your knee buckling. You catch sight of the corpse at your feet.

You try again.

Wait.

Aim.

. . .

Miss.

You should stop. You need to stop. You're going to die, you can feel it in your skin. You can't see much of anything anymore; everything's dull. Your ears are ringing. You keep spitting blood out of your mouth, trying to wipe it from your face enough to see your targets.

You can't die. It'll ruin everything.

. . .

You raise your hand. And try again.