SynthV AI Yuma Fan Design

SynthV AI Yuma fan design

“oliver eats dirt” this “oliver eats spiders” that oliver literally eats fucking rocks

finally finished this painting i sketched out months ago… please click for better quality i know tumblr is gonna kill it (reference used)

OC intros

Your birthday is a quiet one, passed in silence. If it wasn’t for the brain numbing prickles that had started to edge up your hands, it would be the quiet whisper in the back of your mind.

“What age is it, James?”

You are 20 years old, when death comes to heed your call. Despite the world remaining still under the sun, a cold sweat tickles down your neck, you really didn’t think it was real. 

Your brothers, your sisters, your friends, and enemies-- even they couldn’t make it- but you did. You and a thousand of the rich men in the skies.

You laugh.

Every man and woman who said they “would live eons.”

That was not a loophole.

You’ve seen them before- what death could be worse than a slow one? Wrinkled and aged, with bodies that could barely stand on their own. You’ve never been the bookish type-- to preoccupied with more pressing matters-- but a part of you wonder if infinity was a brutal death in itself. Whether they had send numbers so vast they hardly mattered or infinity itself, you didn’t know. You probably would not find out, either.

You didn’t want to live so horribly, not if it meant you would not live much at all.

Then, there were those who... couldn’t love living much at all. Those people were mostly whispered about in legends and rumors-- those who tried to die younger than they were.

You could also be one of them. But what would be the point of making it so far if you did? A quiet slip into the tranquil night would be easier younger than it was old.

Death swirls in the back of your thoughts. Not answering wouldn’t be an answer. lest you’d rot in it’s cold steel grip on your mind.

You lick your crack lips before answering.

“You’re not much for pleasantries,”

Death doesn’t reply. Why should it? It was not human, and it had no need for courtesy. All Death needed was patience. You can feel it’s grip tighten.

You pause. No, it would be far too easy if that was the answer to this-- all those charismatic idols and vastly wise scholars? What made you, who lived in the depraved aftermath, special?

You really should have thought of this earlier. But when resources run dry under those who could not die, and when your peers were killed before they could even choose their death--

No, that would not be on you.

You swallow, and along with your spit was a dry truth. Mouth sliding into a kind-of smile, you think of something else.

Death was constantly new and fresh, yet old as time itself. You could have said like time-- but that would just be infinity.

When does Death die?

“I would like to be as old as you.”

The cold grip around your skull releases. You didn’t think that would work- surely it would be more difficult, like knowing the actual age or not working at all.

A pause the length of a glass’ shatter, and everything burns.

You’d think you were dying, if it wasn’t impossible. A part of you wonders, how exact the system is. Why would you know all the semantics of such a nonsensical world?

You’re screaming, but you’ve never felt so refreshed-- your lips no longer dry yet burning in desperation for something-

Why? 

You don’t really know.

A hazy eye could only peer at what you thought of as your fingers as your visions split into fractals- both viewed with clarity and yet a layer of incoherence. 

You feel yourself lose it’s tether to the ground and fall.

In those falling moments, you see everything- the gluttonous elderly feasting upon the young- the children crying while adults were taken away.

What you thought was your heartbeat stop.

“What age do you want to die?” You wonder. You gently hold their hands, their brains, their necks as they’re wrangled dry.

Infinity, 30, 20, 0.

You hear everything.

“I would like to die like you.”

You haunt the footsteps of every man, woman, child, dog. Their breaths quickening before they fall into their own demise.

“I would like to live as long as death.”

Mostly, it’s the philosophical type, that joins your ranks. They don’t think so much, afterwards.

It’s only human, to be likeminded. It’s a tale as old as time, afterall.

-

A young adult wanders through empty ruins. He would be turning 20 soon! Not a lot of people would be celebrating, but that’s fine. He had the friends to make up for it!

He knew he wasn’t too ambitious. Maybe a good age of 50 would be nice enough without being burdensome. He hears all the talk of those who wanted to beat death or didn’t feel like continuing anymore. He’s never been all that ambitious, he thinks.

Finding wild fruits on a tree, he climbs it. Or maybe he found those kinds of thoughts to only be scary-- he couldn’t help it when he saw the remains. He’s been hired by the elder riches, and seen their decaying bodies- but...

It was scarier, those who tried to cheat it. 

Taking a bite of a sweet fruit, he glances at the roots caging in flesh.

He’s gathered the bodies of those he found, to not be laid bare to the elements, but there is an uncanniness in the way they were constantly aging-- yet be born anew like a phoenix. Wrinkle and aged skin exploding into tender and soft flesh that couldn’t stand the elements- 

It could only be described as unnatural in every way.

He thinks 50 was a nice age. 

When you turn a certain age, you get to choose the age you die. But the older the age the more brutal the death will be. Somehow, you find a loophole, but your punishment is even worse for the discovery.

hsy driving yjh to class at his shitty liberal sword arts school because kim dokja is sick with the fableflu and yjhs too much of a gamer to drive