#I really hate Silas

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

Is anyone else really disturbed by Breakdown’s end? Like I can’t watch anything zombie adjacent now because of that shit. Like? I respect the hardcore aspect, and it was a deliciously ironic end that, in my opinion, emphasized that no one was a bad/good guy while humanizing the cons. But, mercy on my soul, I STILL can't watch that episode without going into a panic attack.

Doesn’t help that during my first viewing I was young enough that the whole death/torture/desecration concept hadn’t quite hit my little noggin… or the fact that I accidentally skipped a few REALLY important episodes. So I went from “BD is a little banged up, but he’s fine, he’s with his bestie KO” (because child me Sucked at subtexts) to “Why is Breaks strapped down to a table? … why are they looking at him like that? … why is Knocky smiling like that? WAIT- why is he asking Screamy for help? Why is- WHAT THE FICKETY, WHY IS HE VIBRATING AND LOOKING LIKE THIS AND MAKING THAT SOUND?” And noped right out of there as soon as the exorcism vibes kicked in.

Also did not help that this was late at night, I was by myself, and my parents were under the assumption I was sleeping.

I did not, in fact, sleep that night.

I love TFP, I’m still in the fandom, and I’ve done everything but watch the Human Factor and that nightmare of an episode. I've read the scripts, seen reactions, individual clips, literally EVERYTHING but actually sit down and watch it. I tried once, in full daylight, but I had such a visceral reaction that I couldn’t make it past the title card.

I’m not a squeamish person, I’ve seen actual horror movies (more slasher-oriented but the Alien franchise can get me anytime), crime shows, and my major, by default, exposed me to some pretty gnarly stuff for educational purposes.

BTW our bodies are amazingly wonderful things, but please take care of yourselves! Hydrate, take a stretch, take a deep breath.

I’m not squeamish, but that whole thing has made me incredibly sensitive to just this horribly specific vibe of horror. The desecration, sadistic torture, and self-righteous hubris. It makes my skin crawl and I have to physically leave the room. Reading Frankenstein for my English class was a pain until I could figure out a way to mentally compartmentalize it.

My rage at the Doctor may have been slightly biased as a result.

Does anyone else have this? Where a source of childhood comfort also contains one of the foundational pieces that formed your fears?

[forwhump]

a/n: ;-; I feel a little silly introducing myself on a writing post but I feel sillier just starting to post my writing w/out any sort of introduction at all, so hi ! I’m Tina ! I’ve semi recently gotten introduced to the whump community because the content I create has been whump the whole time I just didn’t know it & thought I was alone in it !

now that I realize I’m not, I figured I might as well start posting my blurbs somewhere ! I don’t know if it qualifies as conventional whump, but is there such thing as conventional whump ? so what the hell

I put my two favourite oc’s through the horrors so often I have so much whump content w them & it’s just going to waste in my google docs & my notes app ! I’m chronically shy about posting my work online but I figured somebody out there might see this & maybe even like it so what’s the harm in sharing !

if you do see this & maybe even like it, yay ! I’m so glad ! thank you for even reading it <3

tw/cw for aftermath implied rape, mentions of being gutted

Wren has always been beautiful.

Silas had always thought so. Even at Wren’s worst, even when it wasn’t wholly appropriate to think. Silas had thought so since that very first day, since he was dragged into this place clawing and biting, since Wren had looked up at him from his place in the common room and smiled at Silas, sympathetic, as he was dragged into hell.

It was striking, even then, even disoriented and scared and confused. Wren was a bright spot, a glimmer of light in a bland, grey prisonscape. He’s beautiful like no other person Silas has ever seen, beautiful in a way reserved for the sunrise and the moon, so beautiful it actually gives him an eerie, kind of inhuman quality, even now, even still.

Wren has always been beautiful and Wren is beautiful still. But this —

There is nothing beautiful about this.

It’s ugly. It hurts something low in Silas’ chest.

It’s a film strip that’s been double exposed. Wren’s always been beautiful, and so particular about his hair; Wren has fairytale hair. It’s impossibly long, fairytale long, and the colour of snow, kinda, but he’s always so particular about it, he takes such good care of it, something that’s only his, something that belonged to him before this place, something they let him keep, and his hair always shimmers, perfect, iridescent. Silas has always found it kind of hypnotizing. Wren’s always so careful about how he braids it.

His hair is a mess. It had been pulled up into a ponytail with a piece of pink ribbon that’s gotten mostly lost in the tangles of his hair. Loose strands stick to his face, his throat, his waist, the insides of his thighs with tears, spit, sweat, semen, blood. He’s wearing some demeaning little pleated skirt, the same pale pink as the ribbon, and it’s short, it’s so short, and there’s so much visible skin that Silas can see almost every bruise, big and purple and splotchy and broken, like road rash. He can see all the blood tracked down the insides of his bruised thighs. He can see handprints. Tooth prints.

How is this happening? How did it get to this?

“Wren,” he hears himself say.

“Leave me alone.” His voice is the flattest Silas has ever heard it. He doesn’t lift his face from the carpet.

“Wren.” He doesn’t know what he’s gonna say. What can he say? He reaches a hand out, almost instinctive.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Wren —“

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Wren snaps, almost screams, and he finally lifts his head as he flinches away.

Most of the left side of his face is that same broken, road rash bruise. His mouth is swollen. His eyes, from crying. He doesn’t have hickeys, but proper, scabbing bite marks, bruising his jaw and his throat.

So much bruising. So much blood.

Silas knows what to do.

He struggles with that, sometimes.

Wren was allowed to keep his hair; Silas was, as well. It’s all Silas got to keep.

No part of Silas is the same as it was when he got here; no organ, no arterie. Silas isn’t human anymore, Silas is a weapon, but he tries, oh my god, he fuckin’ tries, if nothing else he tries, and he’s getting better, he thinks. He just struggles sometimes with human emotions, with feelings, thoughts, with what to do, what to say.

He knows now, though. What to do.

No part of Silas is really human anymore, but most of him is all still attached. His left leg, however, isn’t, and the replacement he’d been given, as a massive, inhuman superfreak, is heavy and deadly and fuckin’ uncomfortable. It pinches. Silas hates it almost more than anything. Unless he absolutely has to wear it, he gets around in his chair. It’s how he gets back to his room, where, without even a groan of displeasure, he makes quick work of his superfreak prosthetic.

On his own, he stands. Onto his chair, he piles one of his crewnecks, a favourite of Wren’s because of how cartoonishly large it fits him. Silas piles his comforter on top. From Wren’s room, he grabs his hairbrush and a pair of his joggers. Their clothing is the same dull grey as everything else in hell — prison grey, Silas thinks of it.

He limps his chair back to the common room. He folds the sweatshirt and joggers over the back, brush hooked in one hand as he holds open the blanket. “Okay,” he says. “Come.”

Wren’s head is down again. He’s right where they dumped him, a pile on the common room floor. “Leave me alone, Silas.”

Silas frowns. “No,” he says. “Come. I won’t touch.”

Slowly, Wren lifts his head. He blinks up at Silas with huge, wet eyes. “What?” He says, less sharp but a bit more broken. “What are you doing?”

Silas shakes the blanket at him. “Come.”

He isn’t expecting the way Wren’s face crumples, or the way he sobs. Softly, he says, “Wren?”

Wren turns his face away, but when he sobs, he sobs, “Silas.”

Folding the blanket and the brush back onto his chair, Silas limps around it to slowly, awkwardly maneuver himself onto the carpet next to Wren. Within reaching distance, but he’s careful not to touch.

Wren doesn’t lift his face and sobs into the carpet.

Slowly, Silas lies down, on his back next to him. He reaches out, he doesn’t touch, but he invites, and without looking at him Wren shifts into his arms and sobs into Silas’ shoulder.

Silas covers his back with a massive, gentle hand and lets him cry.

He cries for a long time.

Eventually, his sobs soften to sniffles and the hitching of his back slows under Silas’ hand. He says, into Silas’ grey sweatshirt, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Why?” Silas asks.

Wren’s chest hitches. His voice cracks when he says, “I’m disgusting.”

He frowns. “You’re not disgusting.”

Wren hiccups out a sob.

“Wren,” Silas says, “you’ve held my organs inside my body for me. This is nothing.”

He sobs again.

Silas thumbs slowly across his back, over the stiff, ripped material of his shirt. “Let me take care of you this time, Wren,” he says. “Please.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” he says softly.

“I don’t,” Silas says. “I want to.”

Wren’s small fist curls into Silas’ crewneck. Into his chest, he whispers, “they really hurt me, Silas.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Silas promises. He already knows how he’ll do it. It won’t be slow but it will be painful. “Let me take care of you first.”

Wren doesn’t answer him, but he nods into Silas’ shoulder.

Softly, Silas asks, “can I pick you up?”

He nods again.

Gratefully, gently, Silas lifts Wren into his arms and from there, into his chair. He pulls the grey blanket around his shoulders and Wren sinks into it gratefully.

The bathroom is cold, and the water doesn’t get hot, but it gets warm, so Silas runs it warm before he limps across the bathroom to gather an armful of towels. He held Wren to his feet, and leaves the towels in his place.

“You don’t have to do this,” Wren says softly.

“So?” Silas says.

He blinks up at him, a bit taken aback.

Supporting most of Wren’s weight, Silas says, “do you want my help getting undressed or do you want me not to touch you?”

Wren blinks up at him again, sniffling. “Would you help me?” He asks, so soft he’d barely spoken.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to,” Silas answers.

Wren makes a soft sound, and Silas is careful not to touch any of the bruises as he bumbles through small buttons and zippers with huge hands. He helps Wren out of his ruined skirt and into the lukewarm water. Silas doesn’t undress, but he follows him in, letting Wren lean hard against him as he lathers a washcloth he hands to him before getting to work untangling his hair.

It’s a careful few hours of effort, because Wren has so much hair and it’s so matted, caked with blood, grime, semen.

Silas is meticulous. He brushes it out. Washes it. He isn’t a great braider yet, but June had been teaching him the basics, and he can struggle his way through a sloppy French braid. He tugs the elastic out of his own hair to tie it off, and once he’s done, Wren turns to look up at him and he’s crying again.

“Wren?” He says.

And Wren surges forward, pushing his face into the hollow of Silas’ sternum, arms tight around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispers into his wet sweatshirt.

Silas cradles the back of his head with one hand. “It’s okay,” he says.

In truth, he would die for Wren in a heartbeat. This is nothing.

[doerot]

Ok and on that while I do think having the Option to switch ryan and kaitlyn in chapter 7 would have made a more interesting game, I do value time with the bestie and dylan/kaitlyn bonding time was the best part of the game imo

[whumpy-wyrms]

okay that silas drawing is haunting me i actually cannot look at it but it was too good to keep to myself so i had to share it into the world. sorry guys silas did something to my brain that day. i’m normal now

[seraphim-seeker]

How much do I hate Silas from TFP?

“Death is too good for him” levels are of HATE

[clowningcrows]

accidentally took a fairly objective step away from myself today and went. oh shit. i’m like REALLY hard on myself aren’t i?

[silverspleen]

❌️ or💃for silas or s. green - or one for each!

Every time I draw 90s Silas with floppy boyband hair I lose 40% of my brain cells. hwooguughh

Green has the most boring practical clothing. Man is a boring practical man. I almost socks and sandal'd him.

but I DID draw him with the armor on underneath the clothing, which I thought would be funny and I was RIGHT.

(he can slurp the armor back up into his body since technically it's just his skin, he's just gotta focus real hard about being naked)

[tfemthanatos]

writers fucked over daniel hall so bad i’m tryna make up the most illogical excuses for him because i love him and he’s like me too much for me to hate him no matter what he does

[kasarian]

thing thats really tiring about seeing ur culture on the internet is like. filipinos will hate themselves over it. filipinos will hate seeing their own culture being mixed into a media an artist likes and try to be ironic and shit about it. di pa ba napagod? di na natigil katangahan niyo, nagmumukha nang kakaibang lebel ng papansin. kinnayo. leave artists who have fun with the media they like alone. they didnt comment on their art about pee noise moments or what the fuck ever. god.

[rantblog04]

Idk if it's just me being too sensitive but i don't really appreciate the jokes my friends in college make about me. Sorry po kung mabilis aq magtampo, it's just that dinidibdib ko lahat kahit jokes lang ☺️ Maybe it's just me but my old hs friendgroup really set the standards too high for me when it comes to having friends cause at least their jokes don't feel mean spirited. At least with them, i feel that i can laugh with them, not feel like i'm the one being laughed at...

[meo-eiru]

Since I'm busy working on a valentines day drawing I thought we could do something different until I'm done with that. Trivia night! I'll be writing what's basically a compilation of fun facts we've already established or haven't learned yet. We will also learn more about their backstories.

For tonight we have Silas

Silas has a mom and dad but isn't close with neither of them

As a child he was quite needy compared to other elven kids

Elves almost never stray too far away from the elven village but Silas liked to play in the depths of the forest

He learned about humans from a story book he found while playing in the forest

He was amazed by the colorful imagery and the familial relationship depicted in the book and wanted to have the same, which kickstarted his human hyperfixation

He's currently the most knowledgeable elf in humans within the village

His house is located quite far away from the village, he can still reach there by walking but it's not somewhere where the other elves can just stumble upon

He likes sweet things like fruits or honey but dislikes the taste of meat so doesn't feed it to you much as well

He, just like the other elves, while natural with most other living things, hates all demonic creatures

He's very nice and sweet with you but wouldn't glance twice at other forest creatures and is actively hostile towards demons

Of course he would never let you see him make that kind of face

He thought of using magic to make you live as long as he does but it feels like tempering with your humanity so if you die he's planning to die with you

He's actually not that good at magic compared to other elves, he just knows the basics and relies on books for the rest

He's average height for an elf

He doesn't like leaving bite marks or hickeys on your body because it feels like dirtying your perfect form

But he really likes it when you mark his skin, whether they are hickeys or wounds

While more compassionate than other elves, Silas does have a bit of a superiority complex like them

For example, unlike other elves he does see the intelligence of humans but would still say elves are smarter

He doesn't have any ill intentions with it, to him it's just like saying a unicorn is be better than a horse

He doesn't like eating carrots because he thinks they look like elf ears

He loves learning more about you but dislikes hearing about your family

He doesn't want you to have pets, only the two of you are allowed inside his house

He does have a bathroom in his house but it's just a replica of what he saw in books and isn't actually that functional

If you want to use the bathroom for your baths instead of the river like he does, he just carries the water from the river to his house then uses magic to make it rain on you like a shower head

Even if you don't allow him inside the bathroom he still watches from the window

He has a diary where he writes everything you do in a day, from what activities you did to how many times you blink on average

If you offered to live in a human city with him he would refuse, while he likes humans you are his utmost priority and it's better for you to be inside his house away from everyone's reach

[seithr]

nightly reminder! Liara T'soni my beloved

[the-mercurial-star-o-vesper]

TF2 COMIC THEORY (and Spoilers)

What, did Zephaniah Mann do?

Look, if there's one thing I know about Valve Lore, is that its really hidden, really coded, and TF2 has been fucking TEASING for decades now.

And as far as I'm concerned...

We know who the mystery man in the rip is... That's Gray Mann, the missing brother. Gods knows he's been teased enough over the years.

But here, I'm interested in...

[ Spoilers below ]

... Where the stinger occurs.

Zephy is not an only child.

Because his brother is Silas Mann, the Headless Horseless Mann. Owner of a mansion, haunting that very mansion. Shown in the first picture posted. They ran "Zephaniah Mann and Sons, Quarterly Munitions" Together.

Its a tradition for Mann sons to kill the other siblings. Its why there was such a rivalry between the Mann twins (erm, Triplets).

Our Admin apparently knew already, was already observing the situation...

She was waiting.

What, did Zephaniah Mann do?

Why does the administrator hate him so much?

Does it have something to do with a little girl...

... Who can't remember how her parents died.

The man in the picture wears a Towering Pillar of Hats. While that's just the TF2 Timeline Aesthetic... there is another significant element.

Its in Coal Town, surrounded by Hales. While its the "Booths" hat, it was around, clearly, before Bilious was a baby--in Barnabas Time.

Zephaniah and Sons would become Mann Co, after being given to Barnabas.

What, did Zephaniah Mann do?

Easy.

He murdered the Administrator's father, Silas Mann, and her mother, out of "Tradition", and then claimed that HE was an ONLY CHILD like the selfish self-centered bastard he is.

And Our Administrator ensured, even through vengeance that lasted centuries, to a point where she didn't even remember why she started, that it would Never Continue.

Vengeance of a little girl who lost her parents.

Arguably, in comic lore, the torn picture isn't exactly accurate anymore.

Because that Gray Mann in the center, and our Mann Twins didn't even know there was a Gray Mann, and in fact, most of the people in the picture didn't even know about him. And if they took a picture, then clearly, someone would've known.

So its more than likely, a portrait or lore symbollic only. Only meant for the fans, to know what we're looking for and Who, about the time of the first Halloween Events.

( Look it took decades to get all the comics, mate, its not gonna be a craft masterpiece. We get what we get. )

[vxmpire-cxsh]

considering asking to stay home from school tomorrow 👎

[clowningcrows]

oops i was accidentally really really vulnerable with someone

[neil-gaiman]

This isn’t a question, but I want to thank you for your books and how they’ve impacted my life.

Over thirteen years ago, I read Neverwhere for the first time and it changed what kind of writer I wanted to be. I went on to read more of your books—my other two favourites were The Graveyard Book and The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

About 11 or so years ago, I asked you on Twitter if I could read Stardust on a Twitch livestream, and you responded, “Fine by me”. It was one of my best streams, and while life got in the way of me doing more, I still remember it incredibly fondly.

Ten years ago I had a baby, and while he was an infant, I read him, Fortunately, the Milk, in an attempt to read him a book. He didn’t seem interested. I decided I’d try again some other time perhaps. But I did resolve to get him to read The Graveyard Book someday.

Nine years ago, when I was a mother of a one-year-old, I posted a status on Facebook simply saying, “We do not forget.”

Two years ago, I went on holiday, and I downloaded the audio book version of The Graveyard Book from our local library. My eight-year-old son listened to it as he fell asleep, though he ended up missing some parts, and we shelved it.

Last year, he read Coraline and didn’t like it. That isn’t your fault. He read Charlotte’s Web and didn’t like that either. He just didn’t quite have the understanding for them.

This year, he read Coraline and liked it. I told him it was from the same author as The Graveyard Book. He lamented that he never finished The Graveyard Book, and I said he could always download it from the library again.

Then about a month ago, he and I went through a tough time. I was really stressed about life, he wasn’t doing so well either, and our relationship got strained. I was angry with him all the time. I needed a break from him, or I thought I did. But one day when he was at his dad’s I realised that I wouldn’t get this time back. That I needed to fix it. So I asked him if he wanted me to read to him at bedtime. Just like when he was little. And we settled on The Graveyard Book.

On nights when he got to bed on time, I’d read a chapter. It often meant stretching past bedtime, but I could never stop halfway. It had been years since I’d read it too, and I found myself remembering things I’d forgotten. I’d watch his dark eyes widen whenever things got exciting, and I loved when he would interrupt me with an important revelation. “It’s Scarlett! His friend!” he’d say. “The dog! The grey dog!” “I know what Silas is!” He would tell me that I did the voices so well, that it seemed to match each character so perfectly.

We didn’t read every night, but it was a treat when we did. One night we had an argument and he told me he hated me. That he wished I was dead. And that he wanted to be with his dad. I told him to go take a shower, and that I’d ask his dad to come get him. His dad said no, but agreed to talk to him on the phone. After the shower, my son apologised for what he said. I said okay, and told him to call his dad to chat. After their call, he asked if we would still have story time. I asked if he preferred that or to have some space. He said he wanted both, but wanted story time more than space. So I read to him. It was the chapter when Bod and Silas argued, and then apologised to each other. Halfway through that chapter, my son asked for snuggles. I said, what happened to space? And he said, “I want snuggles more than space.”

We were sad when it ended. We finished it last weekend. I cried as I read it. But it was a beautiful sadness. We’ve talked about it a bit since then, to process it. He says he would like to read more about Silas and Bod’s adventures and asked if there was fan fiction about it. I told him to look, and to write some if there wasn’t. Perhaps I’ll write some too, just for him.

Last night he was at his dad’s and I was browsing Facebook and sent him a couple of his old pictures. Then I found an old post. From exactly nine years ago. And so I sent it to him.

It brought tears to my eyes. I did not remember making that post, and I’ve forgotten a great deal over the years, but I hope I do not forget these little moments with my son. But even if I do, I have them written down here to remind me again.

And thank you. For the words you’ve written and the impact you’ve had on our lives and hearts. I hope that your life holds the same amount of joy and love that you’ve given to others with your words.

That made me so happy. Thank you. I hope you and your son keep growing together.