#TW Referenced Cult

[konjkitkatty]

merry october (i know im late) i come bearing actual shuffled bishops content🕷️🐈‍⬛

[bugflies00]

sorry this is referencing a few month old post/s you made about the dream situation and a question you’d asked about dream stans, you can delete this msg if you want since it’s not as relevant anymore. Again I’m sorry if this is weird or you don’t gaf (that’s fair bc who does lol)

TW for grooming and dream being fucking gross. You can just scroll fast and delete if you don’t want to read or deal with this, I understand that

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To preface Im about Tommy’s age now, when I was 15-17, used to be a huge dream stan, and I was very vocal about defending him online. —I was extremely parasocial and weird, and looking back on it I really regret how I acted.

So. Idk how much people who weren’t stans of his saw, but dream- as stupid as it sounds- was our friend.

He had bath calls with us, sleep calls with us, he told us in depth about his personal life and his health issues and his trauma and his moods and his habits and just basically everything. Most of his interactions with us was through his discord, and then someone in the fandom would stream his discord calls for people who weren’t there. A running joke was that dream had a parasocial relationship with us. there was absolutely no gap between creator and fan, he followed me more than once, he brought fans onto his discord streams and talked with them and he knew a good amount of us by name. He called us cute and talked about how much we all (as individuals) meant to him,

when drama happened he’d usually either do a space/call or go on his private and vent to us, there were I think two separate times he’d have full panic attacks over drama happening, and we’d have to talk him down. He also would, when responding to callouts or accusations, use arguments that his fans were making.

He did this during almost all his pitfalls, including the grooming allegations, his wording was often taken word for word from tweets by people I was friends with. I dropped him after the initial allegations, but for a while after i still checked in bc i was really hoping he’d be innocent (he wasn’t) and i can confirm he still does this. He also regularly dmed his fans, mostly his black fans, to ask for “help” on being less racist.

I don’t use the word “grooming” lightly, but dream was and is absolutely grooming his audience. Thats why dream stans seem so cult-like these days. The amount of guiltripping, lying, forcing an us vs them mentality, and manipulation I saw this man pull was actually sick. He’d frequently, privately, to us, vent about tommy or quackity, and about how “all his friends hated him” and “we were all he had left” (legit, not joking). He is extremely good at emotional blackmail, he is good at making his fans hate other creators and turn on them, he is very good at utilizing his tears and using wording that he knows will make his mostly teenage fanbase think he’s a good kind person.

He wants to impress on his fans that he really was just a kind person, the only kind person and the only voice of reason. That’s why when the Cantu thing happened, he started posting “messages” of him being so kind to the Uber driver. He needs his fans to think he’s a kind and loving person, and that Tommy and quackity and literally everyone who’s pulled away from him was just a fake friend who couldn’t be trusted. He somehow was always, always the one being fucked over.

I remember when I told my friend about dream (this friend had a completely neutral opinion on him and barely knew the guy beyond his manhunts) and he told me that sounded like grooming.

He gradually isolated his (primarily young, female) fanbase using private accounts, discord calls, Snapchat, and whatever else. He got extremely personal with us far beyond the level any creator should be, he used kindness and flattery (like calling us “mature”. Also legit) to make us feel genuinely loved by him, again, NOT in the way a creator loves their fans. In the way a friend loves their friends, even in the way a partner loves their partner. He lashed out at us and had panic attacks when we did criticize him, he used tactics to make us think he was always right and good, and more than that, make all his detractors seem like terrible people out to get him AND us, he played himself out to be the perpetual victim and used carefully cut clips and emotional manipulation (like how he brought up his ~poor innocent family~ when harassing quackity. Weaponizing trauma like that was something he did ALL THE TIME to us whenever he was criticized.) in order to use us against people he didn’t like, making us take the bullet for him.

He uses his kindness and supposed goodness as a weapon, he used Tommy’s own trauma around doxxing against him when Tommy dared to criticize him (“I supported you when you were getting doxxed, yet you won’t do the same for me?”)

He used trauma to relate to his audience, making us feel like he was the only person who got it.

It’ll sound stupid, but it was genuinely really scarring. The way he made me and my friends feel was so confusing. I often found myself feeling used and violated, but also like I was in debt to him. I dreaded when he’d have fans on call, I dreaded him but also he felt like all I had. The tone of him and the fandom was that “we have to defend him at all costs, they’re out to get him and we’re the last line of support he has”. It was embarrassing, it was stressful, it was horrible. I wasted so much fucking time and energy on him.

it was really traumatic and distressing, especially as a teenager who’d already been at a vulnerable point and used him as an escape originally. I know that sounds melodramatic but I mean it.

He is a groomer through and through. He’s barely getting any new fans, but he’s barely losing any either bc the grasp he has on them is so tight.

Worst of all, if you leave the fandom, you’ll lose your friends and become an enemy. He encourages that behaviour and that mentality. He encourages harassment of his ex-friends, he encourages harassment of anyone who doesn’t like him. He wants you to feel like he’s the only good person, and like he’s the only one who will care about you. And I know at least in my experience that the way I acted when I was a fan of his did genuinely cause me to feel alienated in my social life. I lost friends, I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone “safely”. That’s how he wants his fans to feel, because at some point he really is all you have.

And that’s why dream stans are still sticking around. It’s at the point where the only way they’ll leave is on their own volition, and the more publicly fucked shit he does, the less hope I have that they’ll do that.

i don’t have much to add but i agree, and several people i know who used to be big dream fans also agreed that there was a heavily insidious ‘us vs them’ atmosphere

[sunniedesi]

In Defense of Future Diary...

TW: lots of yapping.

Making a small essay for Future Diary is something I’ve been meaning to do for a while. Since my entire blog is dedicated to the series, it only feels right to put something like this out into the ether. However, I’m never sure of the topics that I want to discuss the most. Do I write a defense for the show? My reasons for loving it so much? Its relevance and importance for anime culture? An analysis of Yuno’s character? There’s so much I feel you could say, but I never find the right words to express my feelings coherently. Today, I’ll make the attempt, though. I’ll go over all of the aforementioned questions here, mostly focusing on my personal opinions and feelings regarding the show. I don’t have much experience writing essays or analyses of media, so sorry in advance if my yapping is all over the place.

To begin, I should probably address the elephant in the room: Future Diary, despite its popularity and almost cult-classic status, has turned into a show people love to hate. You see it everywhere, when it comes to reviews, comments, opinion pieces, you name it, if it has Future Diary on the title, people will let you know all the gripes they have with the show. And while I tend to feel defensive or even saddened when I see so much hatred directed at my favorite show… I don’t necessarily blame anyone for feeling that way. I don’t want to be one of those people who pretends to hold the intellectual high-ground, acting as if everyone else is media-illiterate and I’m the one who truly gets the meaning of the series. At the end of the day, it’s just an anime, it’s not that deep. Everyone’s gonna like what they like; we all have different tastes and interests, so it’s only natural we all hold such different opinions about the show, especially given its campy, gory and almost edgy nature. Future Diary is definitely a product of early 2000’s trends, which some people (me lol) appreciate, and others certainly don’t.

That being said, while I respect people disliking the show for personal reasons, there are certain criticisms I see thrown its way that are not necessarily warranted. These issues can be boiled down to the following categories: “plot-holes,” a weak protagonist and toxic pairings. I’ll delve into all of these in a second, but I must say, the amount of times I’ve seen these specific points parroted over and over again makes me believe that many of the people making these arguments are piggybacking off of one another. It’s almost like they’re following a trend, repeating how the protagonist “sucks ass” and that the plot makes zero sense, without showing any examples as to how. 

It’s really common to find shallow arguments like those in comments sections and forums, but since I don’t want to feel like I’m barking up a tree in writing this essay, I decided to look for a source that encapsulated all of the common criticisms, while also backing them up with examples. Now, there are many good video essays out there on Future Diary, my personal favorite is by The Hot Box. But as far as critical pieces go, the one I found that goes the most in-depth is by the creator NezumiVA, titled: Mirai Nikki is Garbage, and Here’s Why. I’ll be referencing the video as I go along, but please note that while I disagree with many of this creator’s arguments, I don’t intend this to be a personal attack. As I said earlier, we’re all entitled to our different tastes and opinions, I can respect them disliking the series while having my own criticisms to give regarding the video. Just a little disclaimer so my intentions aren’t misconstrued here. 

With that out of the way, let’s take a deeper look into the main three arguments I mentioned before:

“The plot-holes eat up the show”

If you’ve been in the fandom for a while, you know that this is probably one of the most common criticisms levied towards Future Diary, and perhaps the one that holds the most weight. Or at least it would be, if it weren’t for the fact that “plot-holes” aren’t exactly the issue people are pointing at here. To explain, I believe people who dish out this claim all have different understandings of the definition of “plot-hole,” so to clarify: a plot-hole is an inconsistency, a contradiction in the narrative. For example, Yuno’s diary is all about Yukki, if she were to have diary entries not about him, that could be considered a plot-hole, as it contradicts the original narrative. A smaller detail being unexplained or overlooked for the sake of pacing is not a plot-hole. A flaw, yes, but as long as it doesn’t contradict what’s already been established in the story, it’s not a plot-hole. 

On one hand, it is true that there are certain Deus Ex Machina moments that aren’t properly explained in the show (heck, the god of this universe is called that for a reason), such as: how does 5th acquire all of his booby traps? Or where did 9th pull that motorcycle from? Why are characters so quick to forgive/forget certain events? These are smaller details that aren’t properly justified on-screen for the sake of pacing and making the show more interesting. You could possibly count this more as a case of poor characterization, particularly with 5th’s character having a lot of knowledge despite his age or Hinata quickly accepting the coin toss challenge despite having an advantage. Given the show only has 26 episodes, it’s only natural that detailed explanations for smaller details are omitted to make the show flow quicker and be more entertaining. While this may bother some people, I don’t find it to be such a big deal, or at least not a reason to dogpile on the show, when many other animes with shorter runtime fall victim to poor characterization as well. 

Many deem the plot nonsensical for missing these smaller explanations, but again, I find that exaggerated as they’re much, much trivial details that the majority of people don’t think of or focus on when watching the show. The video I referenced touches on the plot being illogical several times, not necessarily mentioning plot-holes per se, but complaining that many of the justifications behind certain plot points are unrealistic or contrived, though let’s be real here… since when is anime realistic? Future Diary, I would argue, does a good job of balancing very unrealistic scenarios with some realistic characters (like Yukki, but we’ll get into that later), which is what makes it interesting to watch. After all, what’s the fun in watching a fantasy show if it’s completely grounded in reality? Not to mention that many of the points brought up in the video aren’t contrived, especially if you were paying attention to the show. For example, the scene of Yuno meditating to figure out Reisuke’s plan. This wasn’t a Deus Ex Machina moment, it was foreshadowing of the fact she has her first-world memories locked away, and the meditation was her trying to access those memories. Same thing with Bacchus having an overpowered diary, it isn’t for the sake of it, he literally designed it to be that way, because he was the one who presented the idea of the diaries to Deus in the first place.

I’m getting a little side-tracked here, but you get the point. Ultimately, the worst sin a show can commit is being boring, and while Future Diary has its flaws in pacing and characterization, it contributes in keeping the viewers hooked to the action, packing its small run of 26 episodes with quite a bit of entertainment. Moreover, a lot of people overreact to these so-called “plot-holes”, yet they also fail to pay attention as to why things happen as they do in the show. Many of these criticisms can be summed up as either: trivial details that are omitted since they have little relevance to the plot and/or people not paying attention to what’s going on. 

Moving on, let’s tackle another very, very popular argument:

“Yukiteru is a total pushover (to put it nicely).” 

This is, without a doubt, the most common criticism I’ve seen people have of the show. I’m not sure if this is because people are used to the upbeat, overpowered protagonist trope in anime, but people don’t realize that Yukki being frustrating, awkward and terrified is an important part of the show’s storytelling, not to mention relatively unique. Very rarely do we see a realistic portrayal of a teenage protagonist in anime, and it is important for the show since it serves as a contrast to the other characters, all dark, callous and obsessed with the goal of becoming a God. Yukki is the only character not interested in any of this at the beginning. All he wanted was to escape reality with his phone and imaginary friends, and he's now thrusted into this terrible and hopeless situation. How exactly is a young boy expected to react under these circumstances? 

Teenagers are naive, dumb, selfish, all characteristics portrayed in Yukiteru, and these characteristics are put under scrutiny by every one of the diary owners, constantly telling him to grow a pair and stop using Yuno. This is easier said than done when you’re used to avoiding every little bit of responsibility in your life, and a girl who’s self-reportedly “crazy good at killing people” suddenly thrusts into your life ready to do all the work for you. Yukki is indeed a very flawed character, but that isn’t an accident, it is an intentional addition. It’s what makes him interesting; it pushes conflict into the show, and most importantly, drives home one of the main lessons of the show with Yukki’s development: fear doesn’t mean you’re not brave, it’s having that fear and pushing forward that makes you brave. A little corny, I know, but a valuable lesson for the Survival Game. 

Every character has an incentive for becoming God, and they’re utterly consumed by it to the point of insanity. Even a character like 4th, who was originally concerned with the goal of bringing order and justice rather than more carnage to the game gets carried away when a proper incentive for God’s seat comes into play: saving his son. In a Survival Game where we're surrounded by the most cunning and twisted of characters, killers, terrorists, people in corrupt positions of power, Yukki stands out like a sore thumb for retaining his humanity throughout it all, unwilling to get his hands dirty, rather willing to see hope in everyone else. It comes across as naive and all-too trusting. This is especially true for his father, but considering how little people he has to rely on, plus his childish hopes of seeing his family back together, his forgiveness towards him makes sense. And the same can be said for Yuno, the one constant he’s got all throughout the game. Despite the abuse and manipulation, she’s ultimately got his best interests at heart, but I’m getting ahead of myself with this point.

Eventually, the circumstances that Yukki goes through (namely his parents’ death) put that humanity, kindness and mercy, the staples of his personality, to test. It’s a testament to how desperate situations can corrupt even the most innocent of individuals. Yukiteru goes from a hopeful individual to a callous killer, no different from Yuno and equally as selfish. Similarly enough, we know thanks to her third-world-self that Yuno was originally a normal, happy girl with the hopes of finally having a loving family taking care of her. All of this, to then be tortured by the people who were supposed to bring that peaceful family life to her. 

Yukki being a weakling may be frustrating to some, it is certainly brought up many times during the video essay, but it’s an important factor that drives the plot and many of Future Diary’s lessons about growth and accountability. Besides, the anime certainly wouldn’t be as interesting to watch if every character was just an OP know-it-all like Akise. Which no hate to him, but the show wouldn’t be the same if every character were like him.

And speaking of Akise, I’ll take the opportunity to mention a point in the video essay that bothered me a bit. The creator says the show is “queerbaiting” with his character, because Akise’s attraction towards Yukki is forced, but I don’t see exactly how this is queerbaiting. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t queerbaiting when a character is insinuated to be gay, yet it’s kept ambiguous enough to never address it? The show straight-up explains the reason behind Akise’s attraction to Yukki. His love is forced because it was created by Deus to further his investigation about Yukki and Yuno. Akise himself is a fabrication of Deus. It is literally explained in episode 23. You can’t bait the audience into believing a character is gay if you explicitly tell the audience the character is gay lol.

But that’s one of the smaller issues I had with the video’s criticisms. My biggest gripes were actually the following: at the beginning of the essay, this creator talks about how many of the plot points in the show are contrived and illogical, but at the same time, they dislike the characters having tragic backstories that explain how they went on to become twisted individuals. Isn’t it a little contradictory that you complain about a character acting unnatural, yet when the explanation for their behavior comes up, you completely disregard it? They go as far as to say Esuno hates women and is misogynistic for his portrayal of female psychosis, and the use of SA as a tragic backstory being distasteful. Because, according to this creator, people who have been victimized never go on to become terrible people themselves, and that this is a “problematic stereotype.” 

To say that this worldview is incredibly simplistic and naive is putting it mildly. Being a victim doesn’t exempt you from the capability of hurting others, and in fact, the opposite is often true. Hurt people hurt people, that is another main theme in Future Diary, and one of the things I love about it so much. It doesn’t make its characters victims of terrible situations for the sake of pitying them, but to portray their natural descent into madness from being corrupted by a cruel and unrelenting world. Yuno, Yukki, Minene, Tsubaki, these characters all started out as normal until life turned them into the nihilistic monsters they became. They’re morally gray, an example of what you can become when your ethics and moral worldview is tested by society so many times, it ultimately turns you into a societal outcast. Which only makes it funnier that one of the questions asked in the video is “are we supposed to like these characters?” Yes and no, that’s the fun of writing morally gray characters.

I often see these takes with people who fail to understand that the portrayal of something in media ≠ endorsement. It’s the crux of people who lack media literacy, the failure to understand morally gray or just straight up evil characters as protagonists. The media itself isn’t telling you to repeat their actions, it is an exploration of how these actions manifest in the first place, a cautionary tale, if you will. I know that having evil or twisted protagonists isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but to accuse the story or the author of malicious intent would be completely missing the point of the story’s purpose. Not to mention, that it is important for stories like this to exist, to put us in the shoes of those who enact harm, to understand why they do it and keep us from becoming like them.

The show doesn’t justify any of their actions, in fact, it often shows them for what they are: twisted and morally corrupt; it is on the characters themselves to bear the burdens of these actions. A clear example of this is the confrontation that Yukki has with his friends nearing the end of episode 22. It is probably one of my favorite scenes in the entire show: Yukki being forced to face all of his demons at once, realizing just how much damage he has caused, damage that he later has to mend in his final confrontation with Yuno to finally put an end to everyone’s suffering. It is dense, crude, and it is certainly necessary for both him and Yuno. 

Funnily enough, this youtuber goes on to say the following about Yuno’s background: “I really don’t care what her (back)story pans out to look like… her actions are still not excusable.” Which is true, just because someone was abused doesn’t justify them perpetuating the same abuse later. However, they then crush their own point by claiming that Yuno’s obsessions started all because of “a passing conversation.” I guess they weren’t lying when they said that they didn’t care about Yuno’s backstory… because chalking up her obsession as solely a result of that scene is completely disregarding her background. That conversation in the classroom did start Yuno’s fixation towards Yukki, but it is not the root of her obsessive tendencies. Yuno herself believes it to be, but this is an idea that is squandered by Yukki in his final confrontations with her. Moreover, if you paid attention to her backstory, you would understand it is all due to her childhood neglect. And similarly, Yukki’s attraction towards Yuno stems from this as well.

This brings me to the final criticism:

“Yuno and Yukki’s relationship is problematic, toxic and makes no sense.”

There is no denying that Yuno and Yukki start out as an incredibly toxic and troublesome pairing, using each other for their own selfish wants instead of working with each other. This is the Achilles heel in their dynamic, and it is often the cause of their troubles. Yuno acts impulsive, unstable and manipulative towards Yukki due to her insecurities and debilitating obsession, while Yukki pushes all responsibility to Yuno due to his own lack of a spine. They hurt each time and time again, yet they can’t help but be with each other. And this is because, in a twisted way, they compliment each other. 

On one hand, we have a social outcast, ignored by everyone including his family, visibly alone and afraid of being hurt by others, but still seeing the best in people. Then on the other hand, we have a popular girl from a prominent family, visibly perfect, but in reality just as alone due to abuse she experiences at home, making her view people as fundamentally cruel. On the outside they’re opposites, but deep down, they’re both lonely, and terrified of said loneliness. It is only when they meet, when Yukki shows her the kindness she was missing for years and when Yuno gives him the support he had always craved, that they fulfill each other’s needs. By becoming acquainted with Yuno and the Survival Game, Yukki becomes increasingly darker, eventually maturing at the end of the show, while Yukki awakens Yuno’s empathy and pulls her back from the darkness, as we see when she falters to hurt third-world Yuno and her parents. 

Their complementary personalities are even referenced by their diaries, which only work seamlessly if paired. They balance each other out perfectly, bringing out the best of each other, but only after learning to push back on their worst characteristics, which is also true for real-life relationships. In truth, just like these two, people are flawed, traumatized and generally toxic to one another. There’s no such thing as people or relationships that start out perfect from the get-go, they need to learn to grow together. 

In that sense, this is what makes the ending of the show so powerful to me. Yukki isn’t set on killing Yuno or becoming God anymore. He’s finally taking responsibility, coming to terms with the awful deeds he’s done, and the fact that he can’t undo them. Instead, he wants to help Yuno come to terms with her own demons, finally giving back to her what she needs and not something for his own benefit. Similarly, Yuno realizes just how off the deep-end she’s gone when she meets her past self, acknowledging that she’s lost her original goal, and that repeating the cycle of hurt won’t fix her already broken spirit. That world isn’t for her, and so she finally ends the hurt, giving her and Yukki the peace they need. 

Many people don’t like Redial because they see it as an undeserved Happy Ending for two awful individuals, but the way I like to see it is as a form of redemption. Both characters, in the end, do what they have to do to restore order in the world. Yukki pays for his sins in the void, finally a God but at the cost of mourning what could’ve been. First-World Yuno ends the suffering she’s putting herself through so her new self can thrive, almost akin to breaking free from her past traumas to finally heal. The new self regains those memories, not to sulk, but to build from them, going back with Yukki to start a new world that isn’t characterized by their original hurt. In a way, it's a story about how the most downtrodden of individuals can find solace in love, break from their past and learn to heal together. For me, it’s cathartic and fulfilling to watch.

To finish this lengthy post, I feel it’s appropriate to mention the importance of Future Diary’s characters, and more specifically, Yuno. The video describes her writing as shallow and contrived, but I’ve already addressed that in the previous paragraphs. Many people love chalking her up to “cRaZy YaNdErE gUrL™ 🤪​,” but she’s so, so much more than that. Her character actually has a lot of depth if you pay attention to her story: she’s a girl, an orphan who went on to be neglected by her foster father and abused by her foster mother, resulting in complex trauma, insecurities and fear of abandonment that she tries to hide and overcompensate for in her overly aggressive tendencies. Her obsession in avoiding the loss of the only person she has becomes her demise, as she lives in a loop of torment all for the sake of not being alone again, a cycle of hurt only she has the power of breaking if she finds the strength to do it. Whether it was intentional or not, Yuno portrays a lot of the issues people with mental illness, such as BPD, struggle with. 

Now, claiming that Yuno is a perfect, one-to-one representation of BPD would be reducing this disorder to a caricature, there’s obviously so much more to BPD than what you see in this portrayal. But, I feel like out of the huge list of characters that fall under the “yandere” or crazy girl trope, she’s probably one of the best written ones in anime. I know she’s often dubbed the “yandere queen,” but seriously, it’s rare to see media committing to this trope and properly characterizing it. I would go as far as to say she’s the best character I’ve seen written in this genre, only sharing that spot with another character from a certain game (but given that the mere mention of its name is enough to ensue controversy, I’ll abstain from talking about it here 🙄​). A big portion of characters within this trope are quite two-dimensional, without clear motives for their obsessions, or having their issues played up for laughs (I’m looking at you, Anna Nishikinomiya). Heck, many of the characters associated with the trope aren’t actual yanderes, like is the case for Shion Sonozaki or Lucy from Elfen Lied. 

Yuno’s character is rich and interesting to watch, she isn’t just some “crazy girl” for the sake of it. She’s a product of tragedy, only motivated by the hope of finally having Yukki alleviate all of her insecurities and sorrows. I’ve always found the “yandere” trope interesting since it delves into the lengths people are capable of going over an obsession, and how these form to begin with. Given how complex, sensitive and even personal this topic can be, it’s important to have characters like this be properly written, and I’m glad that Yuno set a standard for this back in her day, even if many people don’t take her character seriously. 

I think it’s important to close up this post repeating the sentiment I had at the beginning. My purpose in writing this defense isn’t so much to force people into liking the show, and even opinions I disagree with like the ones in NezumiVA’s video are valid in their own right, as everyone has different perspectives in interpreting media. This is simply my take as someone who’s been a fan of the show for a really long time, since I don’t see many in-depth essays for Future Diary out there. It is a show that has stuck with me for its lessons on learning to be brave, healing from the past and selfless love. As silly as it may sound talking about an anime, it’s something that I can always look back to and smile, laugh or cry along with. Despite people’s conflicting views and endless criticisms, it will never fail to have a special place in my heart. Given how much time I’ve dedicated to this series, it’s only fair I dedicated a little bit of that time explaining my love for it too. And if you made it this far down the post, I would also like to thank you for dedicating a little bit of your time to my shower thoughts as well!

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Honey Lemon Crescendo

Pairings: Trey Clover/Vampire MC

Summary: The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

The days you pray for the abolishment of your abhorrent form are rare in the centuries you have lived since your family's death, and your turning. Sharpened claws and teeth, the hellfire of your gaze are concealed for your own convenience, you tell yourself, especially as you enroll into NRC. The tonic of human affairs rarely interested you, yet when you find the truly curious case of Trey Clover, someone who is made only of that plain sort, you cannot help but to promise yourself one conversation, some several hours of the thousand thousand you have lived to taste what it is like to be treated, and be human again. But you're a fool, and a hypocrite‒ you find yourself breaking that promise over, and over, and over. Your fragile resolve frays at every sunbeam smile, every ringing laughter of his. 

MC is a vampire, unique magic is telepathy, being able to unconsciously hear everyone's thoughts 

Notes: Once again I am alive lol. Barely. Just finished my first semester in my Master’s program so I’ve been experiencing a bit a burn out, so I apologize if this isn’t my best work. Also, every time I'm like "hm is this too much trauma?" But then I remember the child murder, kidnapping, and child endangerment that's canon in twst and I'm like ooh wait right nvm I’m good. Fits within the canon. Anyways, I would have liked to explore the concept of BPD and its allegorical connections to Vampirism more in depth, especially due to the social sigma associated with it‒ but I feel that it would be waaaay too long for a one-shot if I did so. 

Also, all stand alone quotes that are in italics represent inner thoughts (with some exceptions depending on your personal interpretations)

TW: References to depression, references to religious trauma, exorcism, and cults; references to child abuse; survivors guilt; referenced to verbal abuse; anxiety; panic attacks; slight mentions of eating disorders/disordered eating (suppressing appetite); BPD 

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

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“There is no sin within this child. Only the devil which lives within them.” 

Those were the words that had prevented your burning during the trial, among other things. 

Perhaps it was also the way you would keep your claws obscured under thickset leather gloves, conceal your crimson gaze under obsidian shades, or the terror that seized you every night that left you so evidently unraveled in all of your unforgiving guilt and abhorrence for your new form. The pity that could be provoked by the wetness and flush of a child’s face was something many adults in the future instructed was a bias you should have been more grateful for‒ as it triumphed over whatever horrors people held when you spoke a decibel too loudly to show your sharpening fangs, moved too swiftly to confirm the power that swelled within you like simmering, spoiled blood‒ pungent, and nauseating.

It reminds you of the smell at the state of decomposition you found your family in when you returned home from a several day trip with your cello instructor‒ and the smell of its mouth when its sharpened teeth lurched towards your neck, before you felt the metallic taste drip cold into your gasping mouth. 

It was first the elongated fangs. Then came the claws, the lack of reflection, the original color of your eyes draining, replaced with a bright vermillion. The enhanced senses and physical power were less noticeable‒ but the subtle power that swelled in your hands when you broke skin and meat with your own grip upon your arm did not go unnoticed by the Supreme Leader who examined your body and soul during your trial. 

“This thing should be useful to me, I hope. I was right to send that “Cello Instructor” with them to take care of business here. I’ll continue my divine plan as usual.”

The words themselves terrified you. Should you run? Hide? Die? Where would you go‒ with your small feet and hands? What could you do? The more oppressive horror lay in the confirmation of the whorling suspicion inside of your small, ten-year old mind that your new form allowed for telepathy‒ the exact “usefulness” the Supreme Leader had suspected lapped inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it, days later, when you read the color of the townspeople faces‒ their leering eyes and curled lips, squeezing their children close behind them‒ back towards your home, set ablaze by their torches and oil. The scramble of noise wasn't needed to confirm their disgust of you, but it came anyway. 

“Hideous.”

“Demon. Probably killed that poor family.”

“That disguising appearance‒ must be the child of the devil.”

“Murderer. Things like you deserved to be burned. Supreme leader is truly a blessing to take care of such vile things.”

You cowered at their stares‒ but you remember considering it distantly for a moment, even in the midst of your situation. That night you had been found by shaking candlelight, your mouth drenched with blood and fear, palming numbly at your family's cold bodies. You couldn't blame them, you supposed. The townspeople feared you. You feared you. Stay with me . The Supreme Leader told you. And you did. 

He defended you during your trial with a kind smile, tying the rope around your wrists loosely with gentle hands, spoke softly of good deeds, good gods, all forgiving and loving. When he convinced the council to graciously join his family , you didn’t run. 

“Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You shakily rolled the breath that seized in your lungs, your small hands clutched in a prayer against the heartbeat that thundered against your bones. 

“How pitiful child, that you choke on your sorrow. You, abhorrent creature, abomination of god‒ let me love you .” 

“Let me be your god.”

He held a copy of Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Vampires of Wonderland in his hands‒ he pressed a finger onto each part of your body, comparing it with his‒ what made him human, and what made you not. He gifted you your own room‒ different from all the other children, deep at the belly of the earth. The cobblestone walls reached high into the heavens where you could not see, even with your enhanced vision‒ the light falling just where your vision could reach. One of his attendants presented him with a pair of cuffs, made specially for your size. The ones they had did not yet fit you. However, he placed them on the ground‒ crescent smile and blackened eyes. You would not escape. 

You kept your secrets for a while‒ despite the unquenchable jealousy, festering sin, and violence that sprouted abundantly in the minds of his chosen advisors, who pinched your skin and snaked their cold hands under your shirt. In your ever dwindling, coastal town‒ you'd seen denial was the first reaction to loss. You'd felt a modicum of humanity in your ruthless rejection, letting the inner noise of others curdle in your mind. 

Their words on the surface stuck of cheap, saccharine perfume, ones you recognized in the town's alleys and such. Yet you swallowed your nausea down, digesting their words one by one. You still had faith then, capable of religion . So easy to fool back then‒ you think now‒ children rarely doubt the material world. Why would people hurt you on purpose?

You were still a child then‒ an infant in vampiric years.

“ Don’t you want to be loved by god?” 

“To be useful to god?” 

"Useful to me?"

“They’ve done so much for you.” 

“I’ve done so much for you.” 

“Don’t you want to repay that?”

You revealed it all, in your childish trust, and his soft hands. You thought perhaps, that adults, despite their true intentions, would help you somehow. Belief in good will. Faith. It grips you with force. 

It wasn’t all violence at first. But you began to fear the day where their actions would finally twist into something reflective of their actual intentions. That day came rather quickly, or so you think. Time did not matter in the small confines of your chambers below ground. The bloodletting, lashings, the vivisections were then all to vanquish the spirits that germinated inside your sinking flesh, possessing you to reveal such “impure things” in front of the people. Purification , he called it, no matter how many times you dried your throat from apologies, or promised you would do better next time. Next time I will speak your truth. God’s truth . You say the way their desires for a monster began to shape every laceration, every break of the bone. 

Still, you couldn’t be their monster, nor a human. It seemed that the seeds of sacrilege had been sown firmly into you, and flourished each passing decade in its grotesque power. 

The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

You’d beg through a dried throat and spinning vision for forgiveness and to appeal your usefulness‒ you knew the moment the priest resumed his kind smile, gentle hands, and his flowery voice‒ that he had found a use for you. Work for me , he said‒  and you obliged. He held your hand again, with a firm grip, and brought you to trials, his grand meetings with thousands of his followers‒ and you’d do his bidding, pointing a shaking finger at “non-believers” and spies‒ watching closely, where the supreme leader’s eyes leered and narrowed in order to anticipate your next move of survival . By then, you had learned to tune out a significant portion of the noise of people, to live in ignorant bliss for the few hours he would spend mending your gashing wounds, let you fiddle around with your cello that had survived the angry mob that burned down your family’s bakery, and home. Soft touches, sweet voice, he spoke. 

"Good child, one of god, of forgiveness, of love. "

And you could tell he had meant it‒ knowing that when he lied to you‒ he always clasped his hands unconsciously in prayer. If there were opposing intentions twisting below his perfumed words that you had somehow failed to pick up with your trained senses‒ you couldn’t be bothered to unravel them. It was just nice. To be held again‒ forgiven . By someone at least, if not yourself. You were good. You were good again. 

Decades pass‒ the people and the landscape move and breathe. It was only a matter of time your hometown would dwindle into a ghost city, being built on scrappy mines and poor fishermen, controlled by a con-man and his desperate believers. Even with nothing to lose, the remaining residents exiled you. Perhaps it was their humanity that they grasped onto with that final action. 

You stand against the passing aches after aches‒ drinking it all from your chalice‒ vessels gilded with gold and hammered with human desire, sitting high to the heavens on altars to hold the blood and wine offered to the gods. You’d been hollowed much like that grail, gouged from the sharpened image of your still, immutable face against the shifting harmony of the world you could not enter. You have no reflection, no face, no name people would call out to take shape as your own, no proof of your corporeal form but your own, cold touch. And the hunger. The hunger seized you at every moment‒ aching through the gums of your fangs, and pounding your heart with the lifeblood that chased it. You were at least alive in your 

You'd fashion something from the use you'd have to other people. A frankenstein skin stretched over your bones. You still feel the Supreme Leader’s gaze hollowing your senses. 

"It's like they're reading my thoughts."

"Those sunglasses and gloves, what are you trying to stand out? So annoying."

"Why don't you read the atmosphere for once?"

"Arrogant asshole."

"What are you, pretending to be all high and mighty."

"Liar."

The noise never stops completely. But you've learned to shut the world out, better now with the advancements on potions and ear plugs‒ courtesy of the Night Raven College’s curriculum‒ hands free to grasp at every opportunity to prove you had existed in some way‒ a being that was real enough to feel the light of gods' love and forgiveness. Useful. Good. 

“How did you know I used browned butter?”

Light‒ feather soft, honey sweet music that streams into your mind. 

You always sat alone in the end. There was a composition to everything, as you saw it. And you had perfected the score of distance‒ being able to orchestrate a friendly, carefree facade, an absolutely stupid and undoubtedly shallow passion, pruning the space between you and the world. A gothic mirror to parody themselves, so they could not truly look at your monstrous, yet absent form‒ something you were sure would absolutely rupture the thick skin you've fashioned together out of pieces of the real people unlike yourself. You'd break apart into nothing but dust. 

It was like the volume, moods, and rhythms created in the scores you played‒ you charged the room with boisterous laughter and directed the eyes at that, instead of your fervent efforts in composing the most fantastic detachment. In the end, you were almost giddy to see that no one saved you a seat, or spared you a glance when you slipped outside for a cigarette wedged hungrily between your fingers. The nicotine was enough to starve off the ache beginning to turn swiftly to nausea between your wobbling footsteps, and you were glad, you think, to have served your use in the social spiral to be afforded a moment of peace. 

Or, you thought. 

“Huh?”

“You forgot your prize.” The boy in front of you thrusts a frosted cupcake towards you, prompting you to switch the cigarette to your other hand to receive it. In the subtle moonlight, you see the sugar melted into the cream glitter a bit when you inspect the pastry. 

He adjusts the hat on top of his green head of hair as he continues. “The competition to see who could guess all the ingredients in the cake correctly‒ you won, it was perfect, actually.” 

You stare at him dumbly and you find yourself scooting over to make space for him. His eyebrows are tilted in a way that made his face a little sorry, a little roguish‒ a combination you found curious raised above those soft honey lemon eyes that hung like that summer fruit above the lush curve of his lashes. 

“So‒ how did you know? I’m curious.” 

You exhale the rest of the smoke resting in your lungs. “I…used to know people who were bakers. Their secret ingredient in their famous brownies was browned butter. I’ve eaten so many trays I’ve come to know the taste. The rest is just luck.”

He laughs. Not like you had seen out of the corner of your eye when he had been talking to all those people, but a loose, genuine chuckle. “I’d hardly call it luck‒ you got the measurements down pretty close. Impressive, if you ask me. May I ask‒ are you a baker?” 

“I…” You find yourself smiling through the cigarette pushed to your lips, careful not to show your teeth. “I used to be. I used to spend a lot of time there, they must have rubbed off me.”

How long has it been since you’ve thought about them? You could remember the distinct nutty smell from the pounds of brown butter your sister was in charge of making‒ the click click click of your mother’s footsteps as she worked from the counter to the rack of trays, preparing the bread dough for proofing. Your father in the background, fiddling with the radio, beaming when he heard a recording of your cello performance on the morning radio. Warmth, sunlight. The beat of your heart, and the heat of your blood. 

“You’ll have to give me the recipe then. I’ve been looking for a good brownie recipe.” 

A moment to contemplate if you should end this conversation here. Something switches inside of you, perhaps a remnant of that warmth you remembered. 

“You have something to write with?” 

His face flowers gently into a brightened expression before he pulls out a small notebook from his breast pocket. 

“...Thank you.”

You hum apathetically to work through the dreadful loom of warmth you feel when you hand the paper back to him with the recipes you’ve committed to memory from your laborious days at your family’s seaside bakery. The smoke still hanging in the air shifts sharply when you stand, and you flick the cindering cigarette to the pavement to stomp it out. You can tell there is more he wants to say that sits bubbly on his tongue, but you turn towards the door leading back to the Heartslabyul dorm before the words can take form through his smile. 

There’s a moment that you stand by the door where you reflect on what you saw of him while he was inside, mingling with other humans. 

“You should loosen your shoulders more when you smile, like that." Under his hat, you see his eyebrows raise up in slight surprise. Surprise isn't enough, you decide, and add, "If you want to convince people." 

You hope those words leave him a bit cold, a bit cruel that he doesn’t come seeking after you anytime soon, feeling the scramble of thoughts threatening to pool into your ears through the plugs. It’s all noise to you. You step inside once more‒ feeling a little less sick, a little less raw to be able to orchestrate again. 

Trey finds your handwriting as pretty as you were in the noise of the room, inspecting all the curls and loops of each word. It takes him a moment before he notices what you left behind. 

“They forgot their prize…” 

------------------------------

The next time you meet him is during band practice. Or, more precisely, hear him would be a better descriptor. 

"Have you seen (Name)?"

The thick walls of the storage room muffles his voice, but you still hear it loud and clear as you lean against the door, cello in hand. 

"I just saw them a minute ago. I think they went to run a few errands or something since the school festival is soon." Carter replies. 

"Ah it seems like I'm on a wild goose chase. I'm starting to wonder if such a person even exists…" 

“They’re everywhere and nowhere all the time.�� Carter chuckles. "I didn't even know you two were like that."

"Hm. I guess. We only really talked once." He hums. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better ."

The sharp inhale you suck in makes an audible sound when you hear those words brush the back of your neck. You press the palm of your hands flat against your ears in panic to prevent any sound‒ voices, noise, the world‒ all of it, from entering your mind. 

Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet‒ 

You time his steps, the pleasantries he's likely throwing at the rest of the members, the time it takes for him to get far from your radius of power. Slowly, you release your hands from your head, and take a few moments to gather yourself before exiting the room. 

Carter is the first to notice you. "Eh? (Name)? Since when were you there?" 

"Since 10 minutes ago, dear. I told you we were going to take a break from group practice today and do individual practice today didn't I? We've been rehearsing so much for the festival I figured we could take a break for today."

"Really?? How did I miss this? I totally just sent Trey to the wrong place." 

Lilia continues to tune his bass. "You were on your phone when (Name) briefed us on the schedule 3 weeks ago, Carter." 

"I wanted to do a group rehearsal today! I feel like I finally got the hang of the last couple measures this time!" Kalim interjects. 

"Don't pout, my dear president." The hand you place on his head is as gentle as ever. "You can practice without a vocalist for today, can't you? I have a lot to catch up on the Monstero Lounge gig I have coming up." 

You bid your fellow members goodbye, dragging the instrument all the way to one of the empty classrooms. 

Finally, a moment of peace. 

You shuffle through your folder, fishing out the piece you had picked to play for a talent night that Azul had insisted you come and play at, excitedly chattering about how it was going to be brilliant for business. 

Chopin's Cello Sonata in G Minor, Largo . 

The cello sonata was one of the composer's last pieces. It was spectacular to you. A final, dazzling eruption before dwindling to the mere echoes of what had once been there‒ a fantastical piece with a pressure combed through every measure that would well an incomprehensible rawness that began at your chest, and would weave through the fibers of your throat that clenched in its emptiness. 

But perhaps it was not so incomprehensible‒ humans in your life had been much the same. The ones you held dearly would rupture from this world, leaving you empty, aching with the sharpened, receding fragments. 

When you slip off your gloves to press your bare fingers against the strings, you try not to let this thought consume you. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better."

Bitterly, it seeps. 

You know it's wrong‒ the piece is supposed to be for a simple, ten minute performance‒ a monotonous activity of human affairs that you would be pleased to check hastily off the list with a presentable smile and lightness. However, the decades you have lived until this day weigh upon you at once, spinning your hands in such a way that threads your grief heavily into the mellow air. The murky rust of the setting sun swells with the florid volume of your own misery, and the silence of the world that ripostes it. 

The song falls softly, a slow stroke that gradually quiets until there is nothing. A diminuendo‒ to shatter, to finish. There's a small comfort, that unlike living things, the scores that stood on the iron music stand could be revived time after time, on trembling strings and resin scented maple. But, not much. 

The flesh at the back of your eyelids are sparked with purple and blue stars as you squeeze your eyes shut, head leaning against the body of the cello to steady your breaths. It may have been the dizziness steadily climbing from the ache of your empty stomach to your head, but you felt like you were swaying in that concoction of color and bursting light. 

"Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You're afraid that if you open your eyes, the world may still be there. The noise, it will still exist, and reel you in‒ tangling you among its grotesque allure until the moment you reach towards it. Then, it will furl inwards, somewhere far from where you could detect it. The air feels sharp in your lungs‒ you feel like if you take too much in, you’d burst. The bow splinters in your hand, drawing blood. 

"Pretty ."

A voice strikes through your bleakness, a gentle, but clear sound. 

Trey stands at the center of your view. His face holds a glossy look for a moment, before he shakes his head and apologizes. 

"Sorry‒ I just‒ I just heard you in the hallway, I thought you sounded really…" He laughs, shifting his gaze to the side. " Pretty ." 

You look down at your instrument, and notice your bare hands, you remember you don't have your sunglasses on either. The cello echoes when you lean it against the desk, turn away from him to slip on your gloves and glasses. 

You clear your throat, feeling each word stumble in staccato breaths.  "Ah. Well. Um. Thank you. It's all, rather, very wrong though."

"Wrong? But it was incredible." 

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

The thoughts that enter his mind that churn into yours are ignored best you can before you swivel, veiling yourself in your disguise once more. "Perhaps wrong is not the best term. It's not tasteful for the audience, I suppose. There was no control."

"Control?" He parrots. 

"Yes, you know." You wave your hand in flutter movements. "If someone like me performed like I just did‒ ha! I’d become the laughing stock of the entire school. " You clasp your hands together. "Now, darling. I must get going. Did you want to marvel at my music some more, or is there anything else you needed?"

You work quickly to gather your things, expecting Trey to leave after you've dismissed him. But when you drag your cello case around to leave, you see him still standing in the doorway, leaping towards your hand that rests on the cello case. 

"Can I help you? It seems heavy."

"I'm alright. I've dragged this thing around this school, I am perfectly capable‒" When you go to lift the full weight of the instrument however, a dizziness digs into your temples, nausea quickly following suit. 

"Oh‒ are you alright? Are you not feeling well? Let me at least help you with your instrument back to your dorm."

You stare at him, feeling your power rise within you, waiting for his thoughts to flood through your system‒ a confirmation to your suspicions you filter every person through, to pick them apart. 

“You’re hurt.” He goes to examine your hand, you pull back. 

"They don't look so well. Maybe they need something to eat? I should whip them up something after I help them carry this back to their dorm. Hm. Yeah. That sounds good. Something hearty."

Those words are inspected with great skepticism in your mind before the dizziness takes over, muddling your brain to a jumbled mess. Whatever, you think. He seems harmless enough. 

“Fine” As soon as that curt response slips from your lips, you cringe internally. You clear your throat, attempting to redeem yourself. “I’ll take up your offer if that's alright with you. Pretty boy .”

He seems to hold the air in his throat when you give him that name, before he releases it in a puff of laughter. "Pft. Alright, yeah. Let's get you back to your room before you spout any more nonsense."

"Me?"

You're a bit taken back from his internal response. But you trail behind him, the weight of the nausea lifting slightly off your steps. 

------------------------------

"What kind of cocoa powder did you use?"

"I think…just the regular brand stuff."

"Use Dutch processed next time. If you activate it correctly, the alkalizing process gives the batter a richer color and flavor."

He had somehow used his devilish charm to string you into this, you tell yourself, sipping on the tea you brewed for the both of you. But it would be rude to kick him out of your quarters without a proper thanks. You're no longer human, but you'd at least act civilized. 

The tea has run a bit cold from the two whole hours he's managed to rope you into a conversation on baking techniques‒ slipping out the same notepad and pen he pulled out that night you met, and a box of various pastries and baked goods that he seemingly prepared out of nowhere. Truthfully, you weren't supposed to eat human food without proper sustenance from blood‒ however the look he gave you had absolutely pleaded that you do. So, how could you refuse? 

You clear your throat to break through your endless flood of doubts and excuses. "I heard you were looking for me during band practice. Now that you've wormed your way into my life by bribing me with sweets‒ what did you want from me?"

"Oh!" He pulls another, smaller box from the bag you saw him rummaging through for the sweets laid out before the two of you. "Ah‒ I forgot about this. It might be a bit melted since there's ermine cream on the top."

The simple white box is opened, revealing a similar cupcake that you (purposefully) forgot the night you met him. 

"It's not the same thing‒ it might be better actually‒ I used buttercream last time but it's pretty heavy so I substituted with ermine cream this time." He remains composed but you can tell something is bubbling below it. "Tell me what you think." 

" I'm so excited to see what they think…I worked hard on this recipe since it seems it wasn't up to their tastes last time."

You make a face when you hear his thoughts, wondering how absolutely normal someone can be. “You mean to say you came all the way here to deliver me…this cup cake?” 

"Yes I mean‒ I don't mean to pressure you into eating it, obviously." His eyebrows bunch upwards in his usual sorry expression. "I just. Wanted to hear your thoughts. Since I haven't met someone this knowledgeable on baking techniques at this school."

People usually had ulterior motives when approaching others with gifts, kindness, words slathered in polite niceties and compliments. You eye him suspiciously as he calmly sips his tea, scribbling away in his little notepad.

Drawing a little closer to him, you lean against the table, feeling the heat of your crimson eyes when you concentrate your magic to wade through the noise‒ pulling the thread of his thoughts from it all. It requires a bit of power through your ear plugs and rising nausea, but you manage to unravel it. 

" I'd really like to get to know them better. Friends, maybe . Cater says I should get out there more, this is what he meant, right? "

It was impossible to ignore the truth of the matter‒ that the person sitting in front of you is so absolutely unbearably bare, plain. You'd thought you'd seen clarity before, in how salient the cruelty of people was, but you had been wrong. No doubt this was true clarity‒ the candor of normal, mundane life that you normally blocked out with the rest of the noise of the world. The tonic of human lives rarely interested you, but it seemed like all this person was, and it seeped deeply into his treatment of you. Normal, bare, plain. 

Human . 

It was so baffling you could not suppress the smile that spread on your lips. 

Ah, maybe just for today, you think. Just this one conversation. Just one moment, and I'll forget the taste of human life again. 

"Hm, alright. Just this once, pretty boy ."

The sugary cream melts instantly in your tongue, and the airy sponge is sweet when you swallow your determination to forget this honey sweetness he brings. A hint of vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, spice, and everything nice. You let it settle deep in the dark of your belly, feeling the warmth still lacing through your blood from the tea you've sipped with him slowly cool under your flesh. You devour it all, with his words and smile, hiding it deep inside so you can’t remember its sweetness. 

But the honey you've added at his request still runs golden sweet on your tongue. You roll it through your mouth, trying to extinguish the taste, but it spreads further, coating your throat as you swallow it. Unlike the contents of the cupcake, it runs raw against your flesh, and you must wait until it seeps deeply into the fibers of your throat before it dissolves. 

The hours pass as you talk with him, but the sweetness does not fade. 

------------------------------

"You alright?" 

The silvery tone of your voice breaks through Trey's thoughts. He had been lagging behind the Heartstlabyul group to take a break from all of the frenzy of today. The responsibility, the pressure. You'd been with them a moment ago, mingling as you always did, but now you've slowed your footsteps to match the slight drag of his own‒ something he's sure you've noticed. Heat tingles at his cheeks‒ he doesn't know whether it's from the way you've broken his image so swiftly with your keen eyes, or if it's from, simply, your thoughtfulness. For him, of all people. For him. 

"Yeah, fine. Just tired. Today has been such a long day with these underclassmen." 

His laughter rings clearly, even though the obstruction of your ear. With each note emanated from his lips, you feel it slipping through the cracks of the foundation of your feeble resolve, crumbling so endearingly that you smile sincerely when he speaks. It had been disgust, revolt at first, feeling the distance between your world and his inching closer and closer‒ but before you could notice the absence of nausea stinging through your chest and stomach, you felt the feather-lightness of your own smile chiming with his own, completely eclipsing the discomfort you had felt previously in the proximity to other lives. To him. 

"You need to relax more. Stop fussing over these no good children." You massage his shoulders in a playful manner. 

He feigns pain then quirks that smile on his face‒ you know the one, the one where he bunches his eyebrows and laughs with the back of his throat. In that moment, you're as confident as ever, charging him with laughter‒ letting your inhibitions lose. Control didn’t matter, for a moment. The world doesn’t seem so sharp at that moment, like you were going to tip over the edge. 

When the pads of his fingers brush against your fingers, all that sense you had withers so easily in your chest. Through his shoulders, you can feel the vibration of the hum he emits in agreement, a musical accompaniment to the warmth that radiates from his hands. 

"Maybe. They're good kids. You're right‒ maybe I do need to relax." You retract your hands from him, allowing him to toss his head over his shoulder. "Any tips?"

The seconds you weigh out whether to lie or not seem to shorten with every moment you spend with him. "I guess…music. I like to sing some of the warm-up pieces I used to know.” 

"Warm up for what?"

"Ah for the…church choir." 

Liar . 

He makes a face, an airy laugh escapes your nose. "What?" You ask. 

"...you just don’t look like a religious person.”

You look down at your feet, a slight smile as a comfort to him. “I haven’t been in a while. I don’t think I’ve had faith in anything in a long time.” A quiet lull in your words. 

Your stomach turns. It's always a look of pity, or some casted look that drags you as some pathetic creature, cold and inhuman. The words die in your throat, you quiet your breaths, feeling then stick to the prickly flesh of your lungs and throat. 

“I get it.” 

But the look Trey gives you as he digests your words is a sadness as sincere and clear as water. It was not such a clawing, dried look that transformed you into something you didn't want to be. Instead, he swallows your words whole, as they were, his gaze reaching far beyond the pain. His sound‒ clear as a summer's day, dotted prettily with the honey lemon droplets of his gaze‒ finds you. 

“I got you.” 

A tranquil, silvery symphony‒ each sweetened thread weaving itself magnificent, deep within your nerves. It takes everything to pull yourself from it.

"Now, I have the perfect blend of tea for you then, darling. It goes wonderfully with those lemon shortbread cookies you made yesterday‒ absolutely divine."

Quick to shake the feeling off, you mask the dread of warmth with your usual stupid passion and fire that carves an expression of slight surprise into Trey's face, just for a moment. But it surprised you, instead, to see that it dissolved completely, and replaced with an elated burst of laughter. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and many more for you to do the same with the words he says. 

"You're actually a really good person, (Name)." 

The feeling returns, swiftly. 

You don’t want to breach into the borders of his mind, but you found yourself reaching for the silvery thread of his sound from the noise, picking apart the gray mess of things to find that glimmering thing. Your mind had learned the scent, the exact hue and melody of his inner voice to be able to pluck it so naturally from everything else, and you were growing fearful that you had committed yet another thing to memory that would eventually be lost to time. But the words that you hear from him‒ you think it will consume you for the rest of your eternity. 

"God. You're wonderful."

It nearly chokes you to hear such clarity in that declaration. Foolish . You think. Only a fool would say such a thing. You fix the shades slipping down your face, turning your energy to block out any sound and voice.

"You flatter me, my dearest." 

Lucid, pure. His voice. His laughter. It wasn't just noise to you anymore. You think of what chord his voice would be, how it would sing against your fingers on your cello. Or perhaps a heavenly instrument would be more befitting. 

"But you've got me all wrong."

You smile. Perhaps you were the fool. 

A few weeks later, he admits: "Truthfully, I tried to avoid you best I could before we officially met. Because of your blase attitude and the rumors about you‒ I thought I wouldn't mesh well with people like you."

"Is that so?" A wolfish smile curves onto your lips, eyes turning crescent. You fiddle with the flier for the monstero lounge show coming up, debating whether or not you should have really accepted Azul’s request. "It seems most people think I'm that way." 

"Yeah. But I'd like to think you opened up to me a bit, and I discovered something about you that made me want to talk to you. You're real strange, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm the weirdo? I'm not the one whose hobby is brushing their teeth."

"Dental health is important." He states matter-of-factly, before his hardened look is broken with a breathy laughter. "But really. I would have liked to be friends earlier in my life if I had just known you were the way you actually are."

You remember his words, turning your eyes downwards. "I'd really like to get to know them better."

Hesitation curdles in your mind, but the words come instantaneous, eager to his statement. "Which is?" Perhaps too eager, you shrink. 

He hums, thinks for a minute. "Just‒ kind ." He says. "I never noticed before, but you're always making sure people are included, checking on people. It's like a sixth sense‒ you can easily pick up what people are thinking, but also feeling. Like a guardian angel or sorts."

You stare at him with a blank look, a breath in your lungs that doesn't make it past your parted lips. Then, gaze downwards, again. 

"I wish more people would know how much good you have."

It takes great effort not letting his words sink deeply into your heart, constricting it. Sometimes, when you replay the scene in your head at night‒ an inevitable occurrence when he's on your mind‒ you try your hardest not to let it well something inside you so floridly that it bleeds heavily in your chest, and sprouts the salt in your eyes. But, it does. Idiot , you think, if only you knew what I really was.

You make a noise, unclear yourself as to your response to his statement, crushing the flier in your hand. Attempting to redeem yourself, you casually begin rolling the balled up paper in your hands, giving Trey an exasperated expression. 

“What’s that?” He points to the paper. 

“Oh‒ nothing. An Azul thing. Or a Monstero Lounge thing. Whatever, I’m probably going to bail on it anyways.”

“An Azul thing?” The hint of disappointment in his tone confuses you. “Oh! the Monstero Lounge show that’s coming up? I’ve been looking forward to it‒ you’re bailing? Don’t let Carter hear you say that‒ he’s been talking about wanting to be in it for weeks.”

A smile quirks on your face. “Has he now?” 

Trey nods. “Why are you bailing? I thought you had a real passion for playing?”

“Performance is another matter. You know, the difference between baking for yourself, and baking for other people.” Trey nods in understanding. “Besides, what makes you say that?” You make a face which fails to fully contain the disgust towards yourself. Passion. It curdles on your tongue. 

“How do I put it…You…” He pauses, thinking. In a moment, his words flood forth. “Your expression seems heavier when you’re playing. But, maybe a good kind of heavy. You always seem light and bubbly, but now that I think about it, you never talk about yourself.” 

“I don’t.” You confirm, a sweet smile. 

“You don’t.” An averted gaze. “I never asked.”

“How unusual of you‒ mother of Heartslabyul.” 

“So,” His gaze pulls you in. “What’s your favorite color?” 

You take a moment to reply, a bit surprised that he would actually follow through with his words. You’re reminded of the reason why you were so taken with him in the beginning‒ despite his sheepish deflection of compliments, despite the playful smirk that curved on his face‒ his words always matched his actions, his gaze, his expression. 

“Yellow. A lemony, summery yellow. Reminds me of the flowers my sister used to grow.”

“You just have one sister?”

“One and only. My older sister.”

“I’m envious. I’ve always wondered what it was like being the younger sibling.” 

You chuckle, searching the vast landscape of memories stored inside you. “You know‒ teasing, fighting, hand-me-down clothes, the like. But I love her, especially when she makes her brioche bread.” 

“You’re close with her?”

Time, space‒ the difference between you and the world, him. It comes in waves as always, flooding you, and your hands which search for distant memories. You’re not sure if it was his ignorance towards your nature, or plainly his presence that seemed to pull your discorporated humanity closer to you once more. 

“Very. She’s my rock. She was the first to encourage me to pursue music.” 

“Do you play other instruments?”

“Of course. Cello, piano, guitar, accordion, harp, violin, flute…” You trail on. 

The conversation goes on, until the two of you notice you’ve been walking around the campus, completely separated from the others. You laugh about it. 

When you separate, you watch him walk across the hills, his form roaring against the sunset. There’s a twinge in your stomach, which you swallow with great effort. The distance between you and him seemed like it didn’t matter for the vivid moments you spent conversing with him‒ but now with his back towards you, as he headed towards the light‒ the feeling wades back. You search through the flood as you always do, but you cloud your own vision when you look back to the things you said, the faces you made, the memories you shared. Blackened, like yourself. The sun hisses against your skin. At times like this, you’re reminded of your stunted development‒ you had forgotten what the sun does to creatures of the night. 

It scorches your retinas as you look at the heart of the sun, but you let it‒ reminded of the sweetness of his honey lemon eyes. 

Bitterly, it seeps.

------------------------------

Every time Trey stands by your door, for some reason, his nerves rise to the surface, tingling at his feet and the hand that raps at wood. He doesn't understand why his body gets this fussy every time‒ he's seen you a dozen times before. That crooked, fanged smile; the delightful way your hands move in conversation, the charming little way you hum when pouring him tea (2 sugars, a touch of cinnamon, just the way he likes it)‒  these are all things he's almost gotten used to that he doesn't feel near faint when you grace him with such pleasures. 

" Pretty boy ."

He remembers the nickname you call him, along the standard " darling "s and " my dear "s you seem to call everyone else. Just for him, you've fashioned something that can instantly unravel him, much like now, as he waits in front of your door with fresh pastries. He feels special when you call him that‒ but it feels good, unlike the times he tries to undermine himself under a barrage of flattening statements that stomp out every potential for expectations . Like he could make a difference, a change in anyone or anything. He’s just a normal guy. Nothing more. Riddle was a vivid reminder of that.

Except when he’s with you‒ it feels extraordinary. 

The millions of things that seem to arise out of conversation‒ the sheer possibility of what wonderful things he can share with you beats like thunder in his chest, reaching the tips of his ears where they flush. That fullness he felt before returns‒ the only way to alleviate it it seems is to converse and spend time with you. He hopes the redness at least dies down when he's around you, all his senses seem to fly out the window when you're by his side. 

We're just studying together. That's all. He tells himself. 

He secretly holds his breath when you open the door with the creak‒ but he releases it when his lips part in surprise at your state.

"O-oh. Hello, Trey." Rather than your usual, slurry, elegant demeanor, your voice scrapes against your throat‒ the sound coming small and frail, something Trey had never associated with you before. Elegant, honey-like, and sure of yourself‒ it was never like this. Diminuendo , he remembers from you, and his favorite piece that you play. Like you'd depart from him, where he could not follow.

You fix your glasses, feeling them slipping on your nose, before you run your hand through your knotted hair. The cigarette wedged between your fingers weaves smoke between the two of you, mixing with the smell of alcohol on your breath. "I'm afraid something came up, darling. I have to cancel today, I'm sorry I didn't ring you in advance." You go to close the very small gap you've allowed yourself to open‒ Trey stops you before you can. The bold move surprises even himself. 

"...You're sick? In that case I could‒"

" D-don't touch me." A crackle in your voice, fear striking your expression. "A-apologies. No. It's fine. You musnt do anything for me." 

"But I want to?" 

The prickly air that had been kindling on the inside of your lungs flares all at once at that moment, puncturing something inside.

"You don't know what you want." You spit.

" Oh‒ what?" 

"I said you don't know what you want. But allow me to make it easier for you. You don't want this. So go away‒ get out of my sight ."

Hellfire. It stains you. 

"I‒" He swallows the lump in his throat. "I-I don't understand?" 

"I said . Get away from me, Trey ." His name comes cold on your tongue. He feels it coil around his spine. 

What are you saying? 

"But‒"

You launch the door open, almost breaking it off the hinges. The crimson of your eyes glow in your power as you bare your fangs, clawing the wood of the door with your sheer grip. A lurching feeling wells inside you, as you grow in size, in power, in sharpness. All the qualities that separate you, from him. 

"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME."

You don't recognize your voice. Trey's feet crumble from underneath him as you tower over his form. With the fear that seeps into his eyes, you decide it's enough, and shut the door with a slam. 

You swallow the breaths that come faster than you can handle, looking down at the chips of wood that embed into your nails and fingers, beginning to bleed. You lean on your table, raising one hand to grasp at the root of your hair, catching a glimpse of the crimson glow that emanates off your eyes. The hair that falls in front of your face cages you in that bloody vision‒ red, and violent. 

This is what you are, it's what you've always been and always will be. A monster . Fanged, clawed, hideous‒ thick, violent strokes of inky black on one of those books the priest used to carry around with him. Swirling into a void so corroded of color‒ the truest black‒ immortalizing your revolting form, permanently baring your fangs, carrying hellfire in your eyes and throat that you’d swing senseless with an animal violence. Fixed in that abstracted abyss, forever‒ eternal as you are. How pitiful that you choke on your own sorrow. 

You fall into a rage, your body dragging itself by the spine‒ swinging your hands and legs throughout the room. A sound tears from your throat, far from a human cry. Music scores from missed practices fly, used plates and cups tumble to the ground, chipping. Your ashtray falls heavy on the grand piano that sits at the center of your room, slamming down the heavy lid, reverberating the strings, hammering into the air a chaotic symphony of ash and disorder. 

For a moment you think to pick everything up, tidy yourself up and make amends with Trey‒ but you know the drill by now. In a week, you'd come to terms with yourself again‒ all the things you make and destroy‒ and sever yourself from this place, and its people. In just seven days you'd swallow the bitterness of your own self as you always had, clean your mess, throw the pieces you'd broken away. It ends all the same. 

Before you know it, you have a half empty bottle in hand, the days old wine weighing heavily in your palm. You twist your body furiously in attempt to rupture the surfaces of rage you have rising like fire inside of you, to at least reach to the gnawing feeling inside your chest. But it grows even restless, even hungrier‒ eating away at the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart when you come face to face with your reflection. Nothing. 

What sort of monster doesn't have a face? 

You couldn't have even be given that, to be remembered and touched‒ even if it was fear and abhorrence‒ to exist as a creature who is seen, and heard on their own. You were merely an image created by others. 

Control‒ you never had any of it, ever since your mouth was held open by its hinges and forced to down that creature's blood. It was laughable to even call yourself a musician, a conductor, a person. There was not a moment in your life where you had genuinely orchestrated the fullness of musicality, or anything. When you plucked on the strings of your cello‒ it was always just that. Noise. There was nothing inside of you that could transfigure that dead noise from the strings into something meaningful, something that could exist in the realm of adoration. Loved . 

Don't you want to be loved?

How could you be? You're just‒ this . 

Crumbling to the ground, you sob, remembering the fear laid plain on Trey's face. 

Surely‒ he’s gone. If you had ever held him in that way, at least. Arm’s length, prickled air‒ you had been weaving this inevitable goodbye yourself. Regret curdles heavily in your stomach as you bring your knees to your face on the floor.

I was doing so good. I was good again‒ I am good. You clench your jaw, imagining those portraits of violence from the Supreme Leader’s book. A realization‒ fuck . Nausea rises to your throat. 

You want to sleep. Or drink. Or smoke. Something to sedate you out of this emptiness clawing itself all over your insides. 

A knock startles you out of your daze. You assume the door is broken by the sound of the rusty hinges creaking open, the light of the hallway pouring behind you. A silhouette‒ but you don’t want to be found, or seen. You stay quiet, hoping he just leaves. Forever, maybe. 

“(Name)?” 

His footsteps creak against the floorboards, inching closer and closer. You wish you had the energy to tell him to leave again. Instead, you bury your face in your hands. 

You hear him shuffle a bit, close to you on the floor. 

His breath tickles the hairs on your arm, his voice reaching far into your head, the vibration from his throat rippling to your empty chest. “I’m not leaving.” 

With some kind of divine courage, you speak. “Why won’t you?” 

He shuffles closer, lacing his fingers through your tangled hair. “Because it seems I like you too much.” 

“You’re a fool.���

You were the fool. 

“Birds of a feather flock together.” He says, matter of factly. “Because you’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to leave you here. You…” 

You feel him swallow, pausing his hands to hold your head at the crook of your neck. “You’re special to me.” 

“I’ve got you.” 

It feels like you're being enveloped completely by him‒ his smell, his sound. It smells faintly of candied violet, vanilla, and your honey lemon blend of tea. Trey thinks it complements well with your smell. Old books, and well-read letters tucked preciously into cookie tins. Faintly, iron. 

In a shaky voice, you apologize. Over and over. "I-im so sorry.There's something wrong with me." He rubs your shoulder, measuring his movements carefully so as not to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry I'm this way. I-I didn't mean to yell. I didn't mean to send you away. I want you here. I-I'm sorry. I lied. I’m a liar.” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. We all have our things‒ we’re human, right?” 

You cry harder. "No, you don't understand."

"Are you fae?" He asks, looking at your pointed ears and teeth he'd seen in the students in Diasmonia. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're still‒"

Wonderful . 

He chooses his words with care in your state. “- my friend.” 

You swallow the bitter taste in your mouth. "N-no. I'm nothing of the sort. I-I…" Everything is so unbearable‒ you're unbearable . Your fangs pierce into your lips when you bite down, suppressing the wailing pressure that threatens to leak from deep inside your throat. It burns all the way down when you swallow it, only leaving you with a portion of your dwindling volume. 

" I'm a monster ." You spit, looking directly into Trey's eyes‒ like you did moments before‒ hellfire stirring within them. The palms of your hands face him, framed with the sharpened claws of your hands that spot with blood from the splitters still embedded within them. Slowly, you furl them onto yourself, drawing red upon your palms when they ball into fists. "A vampire‒ like the ones you know from books and stories. That's me ."

That is all I am. 

Your vision blurs, and you tuck your limbs into yourself as if you brace for impact. 

Instead, softness‒ honey lemon eyes, sweetness, golden. 

"You're hurt."

You make a sound through your sobs when he takes your hands. Impossibly soft, feathery under your own, he picks the sharpness out of them. The blood is wiped away with his handkerchief, staining the light clover green fabric with blots of red. Now it's dirty , you think. I’ve poisoned it.

"You're not a monster." He says, unfurling your hand further, prying apart your sharpened fingers from your palm. They twitch at his words.

"I tried to hurt you‒ send you away.” You feel like your throat is going to collapse. 

He’s quiet for a moment, you can see him roll his saliva through his mouth, and the doubt and anxiety which passes across the movements of his downwards eyes. A barbed look‒ you feel it prickle familiarly against yourself‒ so you ever so slightly inch your pinky towards his hand that rests near your own, making a small gesture with your pinky to intertwine it with his‒ I’ve got you .

A heavy breath pushes past his lips. “People do that all the time. I get it‒ I mean‒ I know how it feels to be anticipating the color and tone of people’s faces. I grew up doing the same. From a certain point‒ you can kind of sense when people begin to tear themselves away from you‒ like you thought they would do eventually‒ it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? To confirm that the distance you were placing between people at least did something .” 

You nod, giving him a small quirk on the lips to agree. He continues. “I’m really just a normal guy‒ you know? I don’t really have the power to change things, or have an effect on people. Like you do.” 

“Me?” 

He hums, rounding his expression with a small curve on his lips. “You light up the room. You charge everyone with a certain energy. A je ne sais quoi .” He jokes‒ you laugh. “It’s probably a lot of pressure, a lot of fear. But you face it. I like that about you.” 

“ I’m not like you .” You hear from him. You want to remind him‒ you're a fool. 

“You-” You gulp. “You do that for me too. You light up my day. But‒ I don’t know. I feel bad feeling these things. It’s like I can’t wait, you know?” 

Trey scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “Can’t wait for what?”

“I can’t wait. For the moment you‒ or people‒ leave, like you said. I’m always anticipating it. I digest people inside of me‒ pick them apart. I’m really not a good person. Sometimes there’s just something inside of me that switches when I’m faced with anything pointing to people confirming my suspicions‒ like I’m always tipping off the edge. I don’t know‒ people are…” A baited breath. “Bad. And I’m something a lot worse.” 

Trey takes your hand again, drawing circles with his thumb. 

“I don’t know who I am. I have no reflection, no substance, no form‒ nothing . All I know is that I’ve been emptied to carry this filth that terrorizes me‒ and whenever I lash out at it, I end up hurting other people.” The afternoon light that weaves in between the curtains illuminates a streak of dust and smoke in the room. “My story ends all the same. Like any good fabled monster.” 

“What if this time it ends differently?” 

A weary smile wobbles onto your lips. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stand, dust yourself off, and offer a hand to him. He accepts. 

“It will.” His assertiveness almost surprises himself, but he reminds himself why‒ it’s you . 

“Why‒ aren’t you certain?” Bitterness seeps your tongue.

“You’re the reason for it. You’re all that.” 

There’s a feeling that wells inside you that replaces the tension that slips from your shoulders‒ something a tinge sour, sweet, and warm. You don’t search for the underlying tones and clandestine beats of his words. Clear as day‒ you accept this feeling. Hesitantly, you lean against him, soaking with the feeling that seems to also radiate from him. 

“You’ll stay today?” 

Trey feels you relax against him.

“For as long as you'll have me.”

He doesn’t let you go.

------------------------------

"I've never seen snow before I came here." You watch the soft speckles of white float gently down from the skies. "I'll never get tired of this scene."

Trey slows his pace a bit, so you can linger on the white landscape. "Really? Not even in the Queendom of Roses?" 

You nod. "The island I lived on before I was exiled was exceptionally warm. I wasn’t allowed‒ ” 

Quickly, you shift your words. Control.

“-I wasn’t much of an outside kid, on account of the whole sun thing before potions could handle it. And after I had left I hopped from one island to another‒ most of them were too warm to have snowy weather. And when I visited the main island it was always during the warmer seasons.”

You remember the supreme suggesting warm climates‒ quiet, sunny peaks in the outlands, away from people. Those suggestions grew on you with time. You liked warmer climates anyways, . The room you had at the temple had always been cold and damp, the only light that would peek through snuck in through the stone that had eroded over years of negligence. You shiver. 

"I don't like the cold, too much. But the snow is beautiful." 

You suddenly feel wool, warmth on your neck. Trey fixes his scarf on you, you almost jump away, but after the initial moment of surprise, you relax into his scent that has melted into the wool. Lavender . He always smells like sweet floral, you note. It reminds you of the patches of grass and wildflower that would sprout sparingly in the parts of your room where the sun would kiss‒ the dew that would form on them like opals would be sweet like the fragments of light that wove in soft petals on the hard stone flooring. When you touched that light refracting in honeyed rays in those small drops of water the morning chill brought, you could remember a fraction of your humanity. Summer like a warm blanket and the crickets that chirped outside while you and your sister sat beside the window sill, giggling at the lantern light. The verdant coolness that swept the bakery while you helped your papa prepare the bread rolls for proofing. Silly, small things. It could make you cry, even now, as Trey diligently wraps the scarf around your neck. 

“...You were exiled?” He chooses his tone, his words very carefully, softness like velvet honey. 

You smile, a shape meant to comfort him. “I was. My hometown was very poor. People needed something to believe in, and they already had their hero.” Supreme leader, in his gilded cloak. "You're going to catch a cold‒ and this scarf‒ it's from your siblings, is it not? I feel bad, you shouldn't give stuff so easily to people." Despite your words, dive your nose deeper into the yarn, threading your claws carefully within the chunky pattern. 

"I’m warm enough‒ besides, you wear things like this well.” He finishes fussing with the scarf. The warmth that had welled into the wool from his skin melts into you like cotton candy‒ sweet and soft. “And you’re cold, aren’t you? If I catch a cold I’ll just have you take care of me.”

You press your cold fingers onto his bare neck to hide the rosy heat coloring your cheeks. With a shiver and a smile, he yells "Hey!" while laughing. 

"Well I guess I have no choice then.” 

A moment of silence after your laughter dies down‒ Trey hardens his expression. “You’re still shivering. The blood supplements haven’t helped?” 

A sigh pushes through your nose. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t feel too keen on asking hospitals for donations either. I’ll be fine, pretty boy.” A curt smile curves onto your lips to reassure him. 

Trey makes a face. “What if you get sick again?”

The smile you wear tightens. “I’ll be fine .” 

“It’s worrying.” 

“I don’t need it.” 

The silence of the snowfall roars against your ears when he says‒ “What if you fed off of me?” 

The dense crunch of your footsteps packing the snow stops as your chest rises and falls with a thickened rhythm.  

“Don’t joke about such things.” 

“I wasn’t.”

"Then don’t say stuff like that. I said I don’t need it." 

"But you do! Look at you! You're emaciated‒ a few days ago you were barely standing!"

"That's‒"

"It’s not healthy, you know. You need blood to survive."

“It’s scary to see you like that.” 

You’re genuinely taken back from his internal voice, a slight treble which rings against your ears. “I don’t understand. Why would you be scared?” 

His answer is instantaneous, exasperated. “Because you’re my friend.” 

You bite the words climbing your throat. As much as it pained you to see Trey like this, you could not swallow that thought threatening to simmer through your lips, a burning notion that had engraved itself into every piece of yourself. 

I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need I don't need‒ 

"Why won't you accept this offer? Accept me?" It chokes you to hear him like this‒ but the familiar nausea that seizes your throat overpowers it. 

Because I could never make up for it. Make up for it being me that you choose. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t.”

“ Fuck‒ yes I will!” You hiss. Quieter, you muster. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. I’m made that way.” 

His silence drives a hot coal down your throat‒ prompting you to push down that blackness that gnaws at you. 

“Sorry‒ I‒” A release in the tension of your shoulders. “I apologize. I was just…overwhelmed. It’s a serious proposition‒ you really shouldn’t take it so lightly. I haven’t interacted so much with my own kind but from what I heard, it would be almost a lifelong commitment. At least for you that is. When you die, I will..." You attempt to swallow the tightness in your throat- a hunger. "I will not forgive myself." 

“I’m sorry‒ I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. We should talk about it more‒ alright?” He rubs circles with his thumb across your skin, and you feel the ridges of his fingers drawing shapes. “But if it’s regret you worry about‒ know that I would never regret spending my life with you. At any capacity.” 

There were stories you heard of centuries after you were reborn as a vampire about beautiful things spun by poets and artists. To reach to the monster‒ approaching it with gentle softness rather than stakes and silver. Risking sharpened teeth with lethal maws, defying the hardwired fear and repulsion against something that has tremendous capacity for violence. Saintly, divine touch. You had deemed it one of the most beautiful things‒ sublime, and completely unfathomable to you. 

But when Trey reaches to you in that moment‒ in your moments‒ you think‒ this is what it is. This is what it must feel like to be touched by something beautiful. This is what it must feel like to be touched by god. You almost understand the Supreme Leader, in a way. You understand faith ‒ it’s a terrible thing. 

He cools the tindering hellfire in yourself with his touch. It burns as a searing stake through your chest. 

He doesn’t let go as you walk through the ashen landscape.

------------------------------

He makes you promise you’ll talk about it. And you do‒ hesitantly accepting his proposition with a box in hand. 

“I think it’s a good time to give you this.” 

The smell of oak flushes his nose when Trey draws closer to inspect the intricate honeysuckles that weave through the wood. 

It’s an old, tattered thing‒ something given to you when you were young by your parents. The flowers were meant to be a gesture of nostalgia and deep affection‒ and you manage to remember the fragments of your mother’s many sayings‒ something about always been meant to be with you, how she felt a strange sense of reunification when she had bore you and your sister. 

A bitter taste spreads on your tongue when you move the box towards Trey, and the contents inside clack against the wood. How furious she would be if she knew what you had done.

"What is it?"

“ Insurance .” you answer, quickly. 

He gives you a confused look before taking the box into his hands, opening the rusted latch on it. You only hear the eroded hinges creak as he cracks open the chest, the speckles of rust falling onto the table. 

You made sure there would be enough to pack the box‒ but it seems that there is still some air when they rattle against the walls of the box. Sharpened to perfection‒ you hope they won’t wear down too much from this motion. 

After a minute, there’s the same sound again, then the closing of the box before it’s shoved towards you‒ back fully in your vision once more. 

“I don’t need this.” Strained, his voice comes thickly between his constricting throat ‒ a similar feeling proceeding to his chest, flaring at the ends of his fingers which tuck tightly into his palms. 

The face he makes worries you. 

For him, of course, but for yourself as well. You're afraid you're going to break right then and there, throat etched in silent shame‒ but you pull yourself together with a sharp, willow breath sucked into your lungs. You feel the air settle cold on your tongue, and it almost shakes. 

"It's just insurance ." You say, opening the box. A wooden stake is rolled across the table to him. He averts his eyes as if it burns him. "If the time ever comes‒"

"If it comes?" The voice pounding heavily at the back of his throat raised with his breaths. He parrots your words angrily. " If the time comes? Then what‒ I have to kill you? I have to be the one?"

"I would like it to be you, yes."

He gathered his eyebrows further into the center of his forehead. "Me?"

"Only you. It could only be."

You hear his shaky breath. No‒ you feel it press deeply into your bones, a vibration that makes its way from the tremble of his fingers, through the table, into your own flesh, far inside you that its precise throb stretches the growing cracks he's made in your resolve. 

"I can't."

"You must ." You feel your claws scratching against the leather of your gloves. "To protect yourself."

He feels terribly selfish, childlike for the quiet volume of his voice. "From who?” 

You feel the hungry thing inside of you flourish at your own words. “From me.” 

He calls out to your name. “I don’t think I could ever be afraid of someone who is so afraid of themselves.” 

You have no response to that. 

An inhale‒ before he continues. “You’re the reason to the certainty in my words‒ that’s not really something I had before. Nothing feels normal with you‒ but it’s the good kind. You‒” despite the situation, he laughs, cracking the expression you love. “-you really don’t know what you do to me, do you?” 

A sharp finger presses against your palm to confirm this is truly‒ really‒ actually real. You doubt yourself, telling yourself that you somehow tricked him into thinking you were this good. It must have been all those pet names‒ the saccharine composition that had somehow trapped him into your siren spell. 

He faces you with all his sincerity‒ revealing the sharpened claws of your hands when he slips the leather off of them. He holds them softly, hoping if his words don’t reach you‒ at least this language that you had both curated against each other, might. You feel that it does, unable to find a trace of deceit, doubt, or anything besides the honey lemon hue that basks you in all its sweetness.

For the first time in centuries‒ you feel the blood inside you churn warmly in your cheeks, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“I suppose I didn’t.” 

So of course, when he first allows you access to his blood‒ the first action you do is to cover his eyes above all else. He makes a small noise when your cold fingers fall softly on his eyelids. 

Without even thinking, he reaches towards your hand‒ he sees the crimson light that weaves through your hands that eclipse into pitch darkness when he lays his hand on top of yours. In the darkness, his voice seems louder when he calls out to you. 

"Can you move your hand?" 

The fibers of his neck tickle against your stiffened breath. 

"Not yet."

He feels your teeth open his flesh, his skin parting like a ripened fruit. The curve of your soft lips that cup warmly around the wound, leaning deep into his scent‒ to dive further into the sweetness of his blood. He groans as a moment of pain passes, but his sound relaxes‒ slurry‒ in his throat when he feels sweet pleasure, thick as honey, feathering from where he feels you feeding. His breath quickens, and you feel the warmth of his exhales. As close as a lover’s breath. 

He lets out a shameless sound of pleasure‒ a whisper you drink in with his sweet ambrosia. 

"Ah, this isn't so bad."

He feels the fingers you keep firmly on top of his eyes twitch. 

"Sorry. 'M sorry." You mumble against his skin. His senses feel so jumbled, flooding as thick and raw syrupy mountains. He blindly accepts them‒ unlike your words, which he makes sure to affirm should not be so. I am not sorry, he thinks. You do not have to be either . There’s a tremble in your lips when he slips those words into the air, humming sweetly against his skin. 

He doesn't trust his voice, but the heaviness that clouds his mind barely filters his thoughts. 

"A-are you done already?" 

"Mhm. Sorry, are you alright?" 

"I'm fine. I just need a minute." His chest slowly rises and falls. He notices he's gripping your hand. "Can you move your hand now?"

"Let me see you. I want to see you."

"Just a moment." Even in the sensory deprivation, your voice feels particularly far off. "Not yet."

Trey closes his eyes, waiting for the tight pleasure that still prickles under his skin to pass. When he opens his eyes again, he finds your hand gone, the sun seeping through his fingers. You're facing away from him, sitting at the edge of the bed, bloody handkerchief in hand, unnervingly quiet. 

"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain. I'll go get bandages and some pain killers for you."

You turn a bit towards him, but he doesn't see your face. He grabs your hand before you could walk away‒ calling your name.

A beat of silence. "Yes?"

"..."

It seems his senses have returned to him when he confirms the weight of your trembling hand‒ how it feels a fraction of a degree warmer than before. 

"Why can't you look at me?"

" Why won’t you show me your face? 

Your expression? 

You? 

Are you smiling? Are you mad? 

Why can't you show me? 

Am I‒ "

"No ." Your back gives out as you press all your force into that word, making the bed creak when you fall into it. "No. It's not you. It's not you. I just‒" A breath. "I don't want you to look at me. While I’m like this. It is a mercy. ”

Waves of scrambled noise crash through you. You want to squeeze your hands over your ears, shut your eyes until all you can feel is the vast darkness, and your fading form within it. You’d congeal with that void, rot until there is truly nothing left of anything you had‒ to to the dust as dead and far as the remains of your home. 

"I don't want to just look at you. I want to see you."

You don't trust your voice, so you shake your head. When you swallow the lump lodged in your throat, it tangles in your shaky breath when you feel his hands wrap around yours. 

"I want to see you." He repeats. 

The noise parts with the lightness of his voice. Slowly, you turn towards him. Instantly, his hands are molded to the curve of your shape, as if they were forged by the decaying whispers of your labyrinth heart. In secret, they were cast by your hearth, and now they are cooled, and formed around the salt and tears that etch florid down your face. These hands are made for you, you think. Only the starlight has come this close to your monstrous form. Only the starlight. 

"I'm sorry‒ I shouldn't be so‒ this right now. But I just can't‒ I'm so sorry." The apologies bubble from your trembling lips, as you try to form a coherent thought. But the softness of which he touches the cruel sharpness of your form‒ it wells a crescendo symphony of desire that you withheld, lurching upon you all at once. 

He pulls you in, tighter. 

This was home. You had always stood at the edge of it, drawing a line before the entrance to remind yourself‒ you had not been welcomed yet. But he had always welcomed you. It felt as if some speck of his soul had always done so, with the relief you feel when you step within it. The room inside your heart when you merge your warmth with his does not feel so full‒ nor so empty. It is filled with potential. Future. Something that had risen from him, infinitely. 

"Don't‒" you place your fingers over your mouth. "Not while I taste like this." 

He breaks your lips with his words. “Trust me?”

The warmth that folds over you feels like a prayer. Have faith . When you open your mouth, flesh is at your mercy, but you do not bite down as you expected the thirst inside you would have. Stars, the world stripped of its layers until it was only you, and him. For once infinity does not seem so much of a curse. 

You must be intoxicated by the sweetness of his blood. Bittersweet‒ it seeps.

"I'm not…" You gulp down the swaying warmth. "I'm not supposed to like you." 

"But…?" His smile curves so high the whites of his eyes are almost completely eclipsed by his honey lemon hue. 

You intwine your hand with his. Another prayer. "Foolishly, I do."

“It isn’t foolish at the slightest.” 

“It’s alright.” You smile. “I’d like to be the fool for once.” 

------------------------------

You fidget with your suit steps away from the spotlight, holding your cello with your other hand. 

“Stop fidgeting.” Trey instructs you, flattening the creases you’ve made to your suit jacket. He smiles. “It’s just nerves, they’ll pass when you get up there‒ you’ve told me so before..” 

“I don’t‒ I don’t know if I’ll be able to play it right. I haven’t been this nervous in ages.” You still straighten the tie around your neck. “Maybe I should tell Azul‒”

The cloth is straightened again, before he glides his hands to your shoulders, bringing you an inch closer to feel the warmth that radiates off his skin. “You’re going to be amazing.” 

Your eyebrows crease. “How can you be so certain?”

“You’re all that.” 

His hand guides you towards the curtains, lingering when his fingers reach yours before you step into the spotlight. Azul finishes your introduction as you look towards the audience, searching for a familiar face. You find his eyes, and there is no need for any magic, any power‒ for you to find the faith in his eyes. You let it guide your bow, and the strings vibrate like golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, marrying sweetly‒ your internal harmony guided by his sweetness. 

The music swells, breaks, heaves‒ before it dies out once more. The lounge fills with the sound of applause, and you sheepishly smile again the few whistles and whoops your club-mates send your way. Each and every thread of sound resonates within your body, vibrating with color. 

Once you get off the stage into the crowd, you see Trey march towards you, before almost knocking you down with the force of his embrace. You allow a bit of your power to spin him off his feet, before you separate‒ wanting to see the look on his face. 

"Will you come with me?" You pull his hand away from the crowd, breathless in your excitement. 

"Where?" He asks, similar in his bursting fruition. 

"Out there. Here. Over there. Wherever."

He smiles, the warmth moves the beat of your heart to the tip of your fingers, back into his palm when you lace your other hand with his. You think‒ I'd be a follower, a devotee, a dog for this. Have faith. I've got you. It’s terrifying, and it shakes you with excitement. 

"I can't wait."

------------------------------

Notes:

The book I mentioned the priest had is based on the real Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Ghosts, and Concerning the Vampires of Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia that 18th-century Benedictine monk and distinguished biblical scholar Antoine Augustin Calmet wrote. It was actually a large source of inspiration to Bram Stoker's dracula. Basically a collection of reports and examinations of vampire/monster attacks emerging in eastern Europe during the late 17th to early 18th century. The accounts of the undead rising and infecting whole villages, reaping of their health and blood that were recorded in this compendium of monster attacks formed a lot of the imagery and characterizations associated with vampires. 

Historically, bloodletting was a popular method during the 19th century to cure medical conditions, especially psychological‒ as it was based on the concept of humors. Fun fact, this is why there is a distinction between surgeons (“barbers”) and physicians, and is why the striped barber sign is red and white‒ red symbolizing blood and white the bandages. This method was used from everything from hysteria, insanity, and heartbreak, to things like scurvy and epilepsy. 

Bloodletting, transfusions, and vivisections (experimental surgery) both appear in Dracula because they were the hot new science of the Victorian era. Stoker's father was actually a physician so a lot the medical cures and information in the narrative frame the work very closely to the social, religious, and medical attitudes during the period. 

Though Victorians still believed the world of humors (ie blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, or more commonly known by their four counterparts: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic)- the era began to see a rise of Heroic medicine which sought to shock the body of its ills (ie bloodletting, drinking blood, etc etc)

During the New England vampire panic of the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead”, because of the seemingly unexplained rapid spread of this disease that would “consume” its victim and its family at an alarming rate (this was mostly just due to general hygiene issues and the cures for TB being syrups and elixirs of like literally just morphine and cocaine). TB victims usually had pale, emaciating skin, and in combination with how to identify a suspected vampiric corpse (ie grown fingernails = sharp claws; plump skin = immortality/fast healing); the common cures to TB other than those concoctions during the period such as bloodletting, blood drinking, and the “climate cure” (spending a lot of time outside in sunny, warm climates = aversion to the sun); as well as the spread of TB (highly infection, if one person got it in the home, it would spread rapidly to other members of the family = seems like that originally infected person was “consuming” the rest of the family members) kind of makeup the symptoms, physical aesthetic, and indicators of vampires we know today. Pre-Christian notions believed that a body could be “infected” by evil spirits, the concept of evil, etc.. if not buried properly, which translated into the Christian context as demonic or satanic influences entering the body. And because Churches were often the ones dealing with burials, and setting the precedent for burial rituals‒ they had a lot of influences in setting the precedent for burial rituals, how dead bodies should be handled, etc

Because of the strong religious influences during this Victorian romantic period, and the seeming “failings” of empirical science and thought‒ a lot of people turned to the church 

Historically, during the New England vampire panic in the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead” because it would “consume” the entire family, beginning with one of the family members, then spreading to everyone else because it was highly infectious. This is why things like pale skin, and vampires needing to feed off of blood is a thing because it is connected to the symptoms and infection of TB (blood drinking was also a cure at some point??)

Everytime I'm like "should I add this ultra specific detail with an irl artist's name??? Does it make sense with the twst universe?? Ah whatever‒"

Anyway I choose Chopin for a lot of reasons. The primary reason was that his music moves me deeply (please listen to the piece if you haven't heard it before). He also suffered from TB (aka consumption), and most likely suffered through a chronic version of it his whole life, which caused a lot of suffering and medical complications through his youth, and into adulthood when rising to fame as a composer. This cello piece was the only sonata that wasn't on the piano, and was played at his very last public concert in Paris. He also had kind of a miserable love life because of his weak health (a condition he could not fix), I thought it would be an interesting connection with MC along with the emotional value the song has on its own. 

BPD is very misrepresented and incredibly stigmatized in media especially but also the mental health and treatment spheres in general so I did a lot of not only personal introspection but also research on it as well. I thought vampirism would be a good metaphor for BPD because I imagine the concept of eternity and also having to physically drain someone of their life source would cause a lot of attachment and abandonment issues in addition to the feelings of shame and guilt that often come with having BPD (“why am I this way?”). The monstrous appearance described and often visualized in Dracula/vampire related films and media, as well as the myth that vampires don’t have a reflection also not only conceptualizes BPD and its affect on self image, but also visually narrates the aspects of mentioned shame, guilt, and self hatred that come with BPD and the emotional regulation issues that affect relationships. Anyways I not only wanted to do BPD justice because I feel like its very rarely represented in media accurately and with a happy ending, but I also wanted to explore 

I didn’t want to go too in-depth with the cult stuff because I feel that could veer off track. I drew from my own experiences (I have a close family member in a cult), as well as some research + some inspiration from a game series called Faith: The Unholy Trinity. But of course the central ideas of isolation, salvation (under a specific pretense), and dependency are there.

[theladyinablack]

Ok but this is why you don't have a cult!!! Even our stupid goody two shoes sisters over in the White part have the love of *blegh* Clivesdale. If Ted doesn't worship you then what's the point?

My brothers in order of how much i like them, from most to least:

Blinky (we both LOVE drama, though granted he's more interested in boring old adults. He just watches stuff a lot of the time so he is automatically the least annoying)

2. Nibbly (he's the youngest. He can get a little extra annoying around Honey Festival time but at least it's only once every human year. Other than he really just has baby brother privileges.)

3. Wiggly (he's bossy at the best of times and I will forever be annoyed his stupid doll plan actually worked. But at least he isn't annoying about anyone. Plus he got me Max Jagerman so yay)

4. Pokey (I'm still mad hatchetfield high got affected in his apotheosis. A whole Alien invasion WASTED on The Most Boring Man Alive)

5. Tinky. (HE NEVER SHUTS UP ABOUT TED. GET A DAMN CULT ALREADY DUDE. IT GOT WORSE AFTER HE FOUND OUT TED HAS A LITTLE BROTHER. TINKY I HOPE YOU SEE THIS AND KNOW YOU ARE THE MOST ANNOYING BROTHER EVER

[thinkin-bout-milgram]

Purge March: Initial Thoughts

Hello everybody! Sorry this took so long to get out, I got more distracted by real-life stuff than I expected since the drop. I made the decision back on the night of the Amane drop to wait for the audio drama and give myself time to think, and I'm glad I did, because in my opinion, Amane's case is really complicated.

I used the audio drama translation done by @/muu_kusunoki on twitter, which I'll link here, I'll also be doing a lot of referencing both the Purge March (PM) MV and the Magic MV. This is still going in as my Initial Thoughts rather than a synthesis theory, but it'll definitely be closer to synthesis than normal.

As usual, I'll be making bolded claims and then discussing them. Let's get started!

TW: Many kinds of abuse, indoctrination, murder, animal death suicide

The person Amane healed WAS actually a cat.

Truly insane. I'd assumed the whole time that the orange cat was symbolic for a human, but it's actually genuinely just a cat. That sort of throws out the whole theory from Magic that Riyone didn't have a role listed because their role related to the falling stage light, meaning that the injury on the cat was staged.

...Wait.

I think it still makes sense that the cat's injury was staged. Rather than being staged because the cat did something inherently wrong, though, I think it's more likely that the cat was staged to test Amane's belief of cult doctrine. She knows she's not supposed to heal using medicine, but here's an injured cat, just waiting for you. Amane takes the bait and heals the cat (the good thing to do), and as a result, she gets punished. Tased, it seems.

Riyone is the one responsible for electric torture. Because of that, I'm going to make the claim that Riyone was the one with the taser in the MV.

I've seen a couple different posts floating around say that they believe this is Amane's mother. The most convincing piece of evidence I've seen is from this alleged picture of the storyboards, but I have no idea how this was procured or if it's legit.

I think Riyone being Amane's mother makes a lot of sense, though. I mentioned earlier how Riyone doesn't have a listed role at intro like everyone else; that's probably because, to Amane, the role is just "mom." We know Amane's dad is frequently gone, so this probably isn't him. Additionally, it seems like Amane may live in this house we see in the MV, and as soon as she gets home, this other person is there. It would make the most sense if this person was her mother.

So, based on that, Amane's mother (Riyone) would have placed an injured cat right outside of their house to see what Amane would do. Amane heals the cat, and that results in Amane being punished for it. Punished, in this case, for interfering with divine will by using medicine to counteract fate.

Being the flag associated with destiny, it makes sense if Riyone is the one upholding the torture related to the cat. The cat seems to be dead and gone later, too, so it's likely that Riyone "fixed" destiny by killing it. But, in that case, who's that other guy?

Gozake is responsible for the water torture.

Safe enough claim. It's right there.

Anyways, the important thing is that means the hand you can see here is Gozake's.

This seems like it's in the same house as before, which I've theorized as Amane's house. If I'm right, that means that either Gozake is her dad, Gozake has access to her house despite not living there (the most plausible imo), or that all the cult leaders actually live here and it's more of a shared housing situation. In any case, what's important is that Gozake was in Amane's living space and tortured her there.

For what, though?

If I'm right that Riyone was the one handling torture related to the cat, that means Gozake was focused on something else. Let's check out those flags.

"Discard vulgarity" just kinda sounds like not swearing at first glance. However, vulgarity is defined as a more general lack of sophistication. I take this one to mean something like, "Behave in a way that is befitting of the cult."

Gozake seems to be in control of the cult's image and what they say to the public or something like that. So, to me, I think this means that Gozake punished Amane for outwardly doing something that the cult didn't approve of. Could also be the cat, could be something else. From Gachata flicking Amane at the beginning, it seems like the torture wasn't limited to "big mistakes" in the cult's eyes. Anything she did wrong could result in intense punishment.

Gozake is the one she killed.

If it's one, anyways. I'm still not fully convinced that she only killed one cult leader, but that's doesn't matter at the moment. Right now, my job is to convince you that Gozake is extremely dead.

The biggest point against him is the fact that Amane's prisoner card in UNDERCOVER shows that her murder took place in the shower.

It's kind of hard to see, but that's a bathroom. Based on the other prisoners' cards, it seems like the location on the cards is the location that their murder/related death incident occurred. Because Gozake was the one who tortured Amane in the shower specifically, that's a pretty bad look for him.

There's also plenty of reason to believe that at least one of the cult leaders is the one who died. All of Amane's lyrics about how she was sorry, but now the roles are reversed, makes total sense if a previous abuser of hers was begging for her mercy against being killed. Plus, there's the scene towards the end of Purge March where she's twirling her baton. It goes from clean to bloody at around 2:17.

Notably, this shot is taken from between times it shows the four cult leaders up on the cloud. We never see them again after this. (That's part of why I believe all four could possibly be dead, but I honestly don't consider it very relevant.)

We already know that Amane's murder weapon is a pole of some kind based on her kill shot of Es in UNDERCOVER.

She also uses her magic wand in Magic similarly. The point is, we know that Amane killed someone via whacking them with a pole. That's what we see in the end shot of Purge March.

That person? That's Amane's victim. Or, one of them, anyways.

Amane may have had multiple victims.

Again, I don't know how much it really matters, but it's definitely possible. That person looks like they're killed in the bedroom or something, right? And there's the light on in the bathroom.

I've seen some people say that they just think the person (Gozake) crawled from the bathroom to the bedroom before Amane finished them off. However... why?

What situation would that help in? I'm under the impression that the door out of the house is the other way, so if the victim crawled to escape, they'd likely head the other way. Additionally, Amane is still a twelve year old girl. If there were a prolonged fight, it seems like it would favor the grown ass man. So, this would have to mean that Amane would partially damage him before he crawled, out of the bathroom but AWAY from the front door. That doesn't make sense to me.

There's also the question of what Amane's murder weapon is. Let's look at that shower scene again.

A clothes washer (I think), a sink, some sort of pole thing (is that part of the clothes washer? Or is it more of a vacuum or something?), and some conspicuous bleach.

A big question for me is what that pole thing is. Could that be Amane's murder weapon? Is it detachable enough to bring to the bedroom? That's really relevant.

Basically, I think there's two options based on this.

The pole is detachable. Amane hits the guy's face with bleach and he tries to crawl away, but can't see where he's going. She then carries the pole over to the bedroom and finishes him off there.

Amane uses the bleach to kill him in the bathroom, leaving him there with the light on. Then, Amane uses either that pole or a different one and heads to the bedroom, killing whoever else is there (probably Riyone, if I had to guess).

I'm honestly kind of partial to 1 now that I've written it out. However, there is also this:

This is Amane's associated image from UNDERCOVER. We don't know what it relates to, exactly; we just know that it's something to do with her.

I would... assume that this is someone in the shower, based on the water torture. However, when I first saw it (and I know this is true for others, too), I thought it was rain. The way the water drops fall looks more like rain to me. And, based on what we saw, Amane was kneeling on the shower floor. That means that it should be Gozake in the shower, thus invalidating the theory that Gozake crawled out of the shower before getting finished off in the bedroom.

Except, what if it is rain?

If it is rain, that makes this matter a hell of a lot more. Because, if that isn't in the shower, that means that someone ended up on the ground like that outside of that house. Possibly someone who never entered the house, possibly someone who never entered the cult. Who knows!

...Possibly the little girl with the balloon?

Obviously if that's the case, it's someone related to the cult. Still, the sky is clearly the same sky, at least. There's the same rainbow despite the same clouds. Plus, we see the little girl's balloon wander off later in the MV. Maybe something happened to her?

I don't know what her involvement is otherwise. I don't know why she's important enough to be depicted. Interestingly, I believe Amane is the only one who hasn't gotten the reveal of someone important's actual face in the second round. We've seen a LOT of people with impact on her life, but none of them have been singled out with actual facial detail. Unless you count the swarm of Amanes, I guess.

Amane has or expects to take over a cult leader role.

She sees herself leading the Purge March. She seems to place herself in a position of authority. This, I'm sure, also relates to a very complex self image she likely possesses, but the fact of the matter is, she's the one leading it.

If she killed at least one cult leader (likely, Gozake is so dead), she might believe that she'd be the one to replace them. We don't know if this is true or not; Mu doesn't know what happened to her surrounding any legal punishments or authorities or anything, so it's possible that Amane doesn't actually know what the aftermath of her murder would end up being.

Still, it's something to consider. If Amane, unchanged, returned to the world, she could very believably recruit others into the cult and continue the cycle.

Amane wants to be innocent, but she has changed the meaning of what an innocent verdict is.

Amane is pulling a Trial 1 Kotoko. She's offered Es a deal surrounding verdicts. That makes it much harder for us to communicate with Amane, because she changed what the verdict means.

Much like Kotoko in Trial 1, Amane's Trial 2 audio drama is her guiding Es through the discussion she wants to happen. She tells Es that she wants Milgram's forgiveness so she can turn it into the ideal world for her cult.

That means that, if we vote Amane innocent, she likely will take it as Es approving Milgram for her cult. That's obviously bad, but the other prisoners (other than maybe like Haruka) are hopefully not impressionable enough for it to be a problem?

However, I still do believe Amane wants to be innocent. She asks Es to remember her pleas for forgiveness at the end of the Purge March MV. We all forgive Amane; the question is how to tell Amane that we forgive her disobedience and we're sorry for the situation she grew up in without approving the cult's beliefs.

It's wrong to torture a child in order to get them to conform to your beliefs.

This is what Amane's story is about. The cult leaders tortured Amane until she was brainwashed into their beliefs. Amane insists that, just because her beliefs aren't the norm, that doesn't make them wrong.

Arguably, a guilty verdict could be seen as doing the exact same thing. We'd be subjecting Amane to audio torture, at least, given that we know guilty prisoners are bombarded nonstop with the reasons why people voted them guilty. She would also be restrained, and due to Kotoko's attacks, we know it's at least hypothetically possible she could get physically injured from it to.

That's obviously not cool. Don't like that part.

Amane wants to kill Shidou.

Amane warned us that Shidou's actions (saving Mahiru's life and healing up Futa) disobey with her beliefs, and if we don't do something about it, she'll have to take action. It's not entirely clear whether that means she'll punish Shidou as she was punished, or if she'll attack Mahiru to kill her as God intended.

Either way, it's bad news for Mahiru if that happens. It's been directly stated that Mahiru is in a critical condition, and it's possible that the removal of Shidou as her doctor could kill her even if she doesn't get hurt again. If Amane killed Shidou, it could mean both of them could die.

However, Kazui has also promised that, if he gets an innocent verdict, he'll protect anyone he can from harm. Kazui could take Amane in a fight (I forget where but somewhere it's established that Kazui is the strongest in a fight, plus he beat Kotoko who I assume could easily beat Amane), so hopefully Kazui will be able to protect Shidou.

That also opens up the door for a weird possibility, though, which is the case of Haruka. Given that, in this case, Kazui would be focused on protecting Shidou and/or Mahiru from Amane, that means that Kazui would likely not have time to look after other prisoners, such as Haruka, who's threatened suicide if we voted Mu guilty. Which we did.

So, basically, the whole thing's a mess and voting Amane innocent makes it much more likely that someone dies, whether that someone is Shidou, Mahiru, Haruka or some combination.

VERDICT: ???

If you couldn't tell, the last four sections are me deliberating on which verdict to give her. In my opinion, there are a lot of arguments in both directions, which makes it difficult to decide. If I was ignoring meta voting, I'd obviously vote innocent, given that Amane is a highly traumatized child and she killed her abuser(s). That's forgivable. However, given other circumstances surrounding the dynamics of her vote, I have doubts on if it's really the "right" move.

I think that with Amane, there's no good option. To be clear, I don't regret the Trial 1 guilty verdict. I've seen a lot of people saying that this state of no good options is a result of stupid people thinking guilty was right last trial. I think that an innocent verdict would just mean that she'd be like Kotoko is right now, believing that she's right without a shadow of a doubt. Milgram is mean, intentionally. They weren't going to give us good options either way.

As a result, given that I can tell a lot of people have WAY stronger opinions on this one than I do, I'm currently not actually voting. If the margin gets close enough, I'll probably commit to a direction, but for now, I'm letting the rest of the fanbase steer the verdict. I was fully team guilty when I was worried about Kazui getting a guilty verdict. With Kazui innocent, I'm much more open to the possibility of forgiving Amane, because that verdict hopefully won't cost Shidou and/or Mahiru's lives.

If you have a convincing theory or argument in either the innocent or guilty direction, please let me know! If I'm ever convinced enough, I'll probably start voting, but for right now, I'm honestly neutral on the verdict.

NOTE: don't yell at anyone. Do not insult anyone else or get aggressive when pushing for a verdict. This is a fan blog for a fictional series that exists to have fun solving mysteries and calmly discussing ethics. Please, have fun and don't take this too seriously.

[trevorendeavors]

HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE

Now pass the phone to me.

GUYS.

There is no way these parallels are a coincidence.

I am 99% sure that Dana Terrace was referencing Kirby when making the Collector. For context, I've not seen For the Future yet, so please no spoilers beyond the trailer. I haven't seen anything other than Luz's palisman, that one thirty second clip from the owl club, and an irrelevant screenshot of Hunter.

Also plz don't spoil FTF in the comments or reblogs :(

That said,

TW: Discussion of Cults

Canonically,

Kirby:

god or godlike being

heavily associated with stars. As in, Hoshii no Kaabi (Kirby of the Stars)

ambiguous gender (referred to as he in American translations, gender neutral pronouns in Japanese)

rides on a star

The Collector:

god or godlike being

heavily associated with stars. "Child of the stars"

ambiguous gender, canonically a he/they

rides on a star

Still not convinced? Well I believe there was a specific game Dana was referencing: (MAJOR KIRBY SPOILERS AHEAD)

In Kirby star Allies, Kirby gains the ability to turn enemies into friends by launching friend hearts on them.

It’s an ability unlocked by a botched resurrection/rebirth of a dead god accidentally granting Kirby that ability.

No seriously, that's how it happens.

Here's a short summary for those not familiar with the Kirby franchise.

Basically, cult leader Lord Hyness and his closest followers once managed to stop an out-of-control being named Galacta Knight (shown below)

However, the people eventually began to fear LH and his ilk, so they preemptively tried to seal them away and erase their existence from history (rude). LH and his people survived and managed to obtain a vessel containing their Dark Lord (basically, an egg that housed a god or godlike being) Cult leader Lord Hyness then attempted to resurrect the god Void Termina.

But the ceremony went horrible wrong, shattering the vessel into friend hearts and dark hearts that were scattered to the stars. One such friend heart landed on Kirby, granting him the ability to quote-un-quote, "befriend" his enemies...

...

... by which I mean brainwash smaller enemies into doing his biddies while exorcising dark-heart-possessed individuals by beating the shit out of them until they were no longer usable vessels for possession. I'm not even kidding, this is actually canon.

Eventually, Kirby, with his amassed allies, confronts Belos, Hyness, who has this to say:

We are the masters of a power driven to the far reaches of the universe, and we have but one desire! Can one such as you possibly fathom how dearly we have clung to this dream across the aeons? How could you! You couldn't! Never ever ever! We who once faced those who were in such fear of our power that they sealed us away and banished us to the edge of the galaxy! US! As if THAT loveliness wasn't enough, they tried to erase our very existence from history! RUDE! Only through our magic were we able to overcome their science and achieve great prosperity! We alone were responsible for stopping that repulsive nightmare of a galactic crisis, yet this is how you repay us! This won't stand! It won't be forgiven! It won't be forgotten! Never ever EVER! Those who called us mad, are you listening? You left us at the edge of the galaxy to be forgotten, then went along your merry way, probably living somewhere pretty and peaceful! But know this! Your future is a farce! You have none! We, masters of a matter most dark, vow to be restored, as foretold in the book of legend, which everyone thought was just a fairy tale! It WASN'T! We have already obtained the vessel that contains our Dark Lord, and he will soon awaken and shower us in compassion! Look! The vessel of our Dark Lord is filling up even as we speak! Now the time for his greatness to enter our world has come! Welcome to a new history! A new age! The age of awesome! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARK LORD! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Grace us, Gloriously Dark Looooooord!

And when cornered, he drains the life source of his closest followers, his priestesses, and uses them as fucking battering rams.

Oh and btw they're all conscious when this happens. If you listen closely, you can actually hear their grunts of pain when they hit the ground.

When that fails, he forces the god-resurrection to fruition by tossing in the priestesses' bodies and his own into the alter, bringing foooooRTH!!!

VOID TERMINA.

A morally neutral being who also uses the same tactics as Kirby to defeat his enemies (except somehow Void doing it makes it evil or something *shrug*). Oh, and Void's implied to be born from the same material as Kirby (or vice versa).

Upon Void's defeat, it's said he may be reborn in another form and perhaps someday... a friend.

AND THEN THERE'S THE OWL HOUSE

In which The Collector, a god or godlike being, was sealed away by a Titan (probably because of their destructive, reckless nature - idk for sure I haven't seen the episode). As an act of revenge, the Collector made a deal with the inhabitants of the titan trapper witches: he would grant them (or more specifically Bill - not GF Bill btw) power in exchange for slaughtering the Titans. The blood of the last Titan (King) would then be used to revive The Collector from his prison.

Then along comes a scrunkly dunkly old human who winds up trapped on the Boiling Isles, a realm populated by witches and demons living atop a carcus. Convinced of the inherently evil nature of the inhabitants, he deceives them into aiding him in their own execution.

In order to pull this off, he enlists the help of The Collector. In exchange for promising to release them, The Collector teaches Belos magic "stronger than anybody's." That is, the Draining Spell.

Belos then professes himself to be able to commune with the dead Titan (the Boiling Isles itself) and thus convinces them to brand themselves with the sigils that would serve as their metaphorical nooses.

The draining spell works, but Belos breaks his promise by using up the last of the Titan's Blood to (attempt to) travel home, only to thwarted by Luz, who traps him in the draining spell.

Meanwhile, King makes a deal with the now-betrayed Collector: stop the draining spell in exchange for their freedom and a game of "Owl House." The Collector agrees, and King follows through on his promise. Well, part of it anyway. He frees the Collector, they stop the spell, but he attempts to escape with Luz to the human realm. The Collector stops this; Luz, her friends, and unfortunately Belos manage to escape to the human realm.

There, Belos goes around possessing and consuming various woodland creatures until he has enough sustenance to possess Hunter, one of his former second-in-commands.

This ultimately fails, which leads to him fleeing back to the Boiling Isles, where For the Future begins.

NOW LET'S TALLY UP OUR PARALLELS

WE GOT:

Horrifically misguided religious leader? Check.

Masked at some point? Yep.

Drains their closest followers and uses their bodies for their own gain? Yep.

Particularly brutally betrays their second in command?

OH YEAH.

Winds up sucked into that very spell themselves? Sorta.

Hyness intentionally sacrifices himself to the spell in order to resurrect Void Termina, whereas Belos is tricked by Luz into getting drained by the spell.

Not to mention we got the fuckin uhhhhh GODLIKE BEING WHO MIND CONTROLS FORCIBLY BEFRIENDS PEOPLE

This could be Void or Kirby paralleling the Collector depending on how you read it. However, Void and Kirby are definitely two sides of the same coin, and if my interpretation is correct, I believe The Collector is meant to be a parallel of BOTH. Neither good nor evil: simply raw power put in the hands of a child too young to comprehend or manage it.

-

Now I'll admit, TOH doesn't follow the KSA story tit for tat. I believe that Titan-trappers take the role of the people who sealed away the eldritch power. The placement of Galacta Knight vs the Titan as who fits in what role is harder determine.

Despite this, there are definitely some pretty solid inspirations.

The aesthetic of FTF very clearly draws inspiration from KSA. Hell, KSA was originally released in 2018, around the time Dana was developing the series. It's very likely she drew inspiration from this video game, if not played it herself. There are simply too many parallels to count.

[peaches2217]

Look, I hate to be the one to say it, but if you grew up in a cult and you’re still religious, you never escaped your cult. You’re not a cult survivor, you’re literally still a cult member. I hope you get the help you need.

(I’m assuming you’re referencing my tags on this post?? Lemme know if I’m off-base! 😅)

Oooookay! Little rant under the cut, because while it is a bit of a sensitive topic, I think I have the right to answer honestly!

TW: Religious trauma, abusive relationships, homophobia, just generally deep shit about toxic religious culture

Friendo, with all due respect, you don’t get to tell me what I am or what I’m not when it comes to my religious beliefs. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but I’ve spent the past five years navigating my own thoughts and beliefs after twenty-odd years of being told exactly what to think and how to believe, and that’s something I won’t allow to be belittled or diminished.

I did grow up in a cult. My lifelong church was an Assemblies of God church, which is a denomination already known for being… kinda intense, but I got the “privilege” of seeing it morph into a fledgling cult as I grew up; gradually cutting all associations with all churches outside the denomination, thinly-veiled messages of fear and hate becoming less and less veiled, increasingly vigilant calls to action against “The Enemy,” which went from a vague way of referencing Satan and his influence to referencing literally anyone who wasn’t part of the congregation. I dated a guy who sincerely believed, and preached to a room full of “Amen!”s, that Catholics are all Hell-bound and non-Evangelical Protestants weren’t far behind. I didn’t even think twice about the logic of suggesting a 2000-year-old religion was wrong and illegitimate prior to the past hundred years or so. I was just enamored by his devotion and wisdom.

I was always queer and suppressed it to varying degrees of success before getting my first taste of freedom in college and falling into a relationship that became abusive. I came back home after dropping out, broken and confused, and ran back to the only place I’d ever felt welcomed, but realized pretty quickly that I’d been deemed one of the very same outsiders I was warned about growing up. I threw myself into repentance. I desperately tried to regain favor in the eyes of the church and the God I was raised to believe in. I made the mistake of finally opening up and trusting the pastor enough to confide in him about my abusive relationship, to which he responded with a lecture about MY wrongdoings, followed by him outing me to the entire congregation. One day after service when I was about 21 or 22, I approached my dad while he was talking with the pastor’s wife, and she stopped mid-sentence when she saw me and just walked away in the opposite direction. That was a pretty common reaction people had to me after being outed, but I think that was the moment I realized I had failed to atone and failed as a Christian.

Through it all, my dad spoke with conviction of a God who was gentle, loving, merciful, and kind. I realized late in my teenhood that, for all his devotion to our church, the God he spoke of wasn’t the same God our pastor spoke of. My dad remains a victim of the cult because he was raised to believe all figures of authority are well-meaning — a few months back, my mom tried to sit him down and explain plainly that several of my psychological issues are a direct result of religious trauma inflicted by the church he raised me in, and he sincerely couldn’t wrap his head around the notion. But even as that church has morphed into a cult, he’s held belief in a God and a Christianity more forgiving. I realized during my last few visits to the church, spread over the course of a couple of years, that he’d also been othered, if not quite as hard and suddenly as I was. Even now he’ll express frustration that no one seems to consider his ideas or opinions when he used to be considered a go-to decision maker.

My dad’s no leftist; he’s proudly conservative, supports Trump, and hides his homophobia behind a veil of sympathy for those “called to celibacy” or with a “propensity towards sodomy” (both terms he’s used to describe me, to my face). I love him, and we have a good relationship, but I sincerely worry about what might happen when he finds out I’m trans. His one deviation from the church, his belief that God’s much more willing to love and forgive than the pastor tells us, is nevertheless enough to have him considered an outlier. Being ostracized and forced to look from the outside in allowed me to see that and realize “Hey, hold up, that doesn’t make sense.”

So for the past half decade, I’ve been doing something that goes directly against everything I was ever taught: examining my beliefs and determining what I truly believe and what I only believe out of indoctrination and fear. Looking at the Scriptures in their original forms and historical-political contexts, and examining its English translations through the same lens. Discerning the difference between what’s biblical and what’s Christlike, how much of Christianity is God’s true word and how much is the agenda of men, challenging myself to question everything I’ve ever known and acknowledge that maybe what I learned was just wrong.

It’s… largely been uphill, but it’s a battle I’m not fighting alone. My girlfriend is a huge source of support; having someone that’s so close to me yet so far removed from the system I was brought up in has been invaluable in opening my eyes to just how fucked up some of the stuff I’ve been taught is. I just earlier this year learned that the Rapture isn’t a widespread belief outside of American Evangelicism, and that it as a concept isn’t even an ancient prophecy, but a relatively recent (like, 19th century, popularized in the 20th century) man made doctrine. My girlfriend, who lacks strong religious affiliation but nonetheless knows her Scripture because she’s from the heavily Catholic Slovakia, was absolutely baffled when I explained what I thought was common knowledge to all Christians. She calls the doctrine “UFO Jesus”.

Since I was at least twelve, I’ve lived in constant fear of the Rapture because I was convinced that, as a “sodomite” who couldn’t bring myself to condemn others like me, all my friends and I would be damned to Hell at any given moment. It’s always been a double-edged sword; fear of damnation is what’s kept me from offing myself several times, but the belief that the Rapture will happen any day and I’ll be tortured for all eternity no matter what I do so there’s really no point in living is a huge part of what got me to the point of wanting to off msyelf in the first place. And I’m learning now that it’s not even a common belief within one of the world’s largest religions, least of all to the extent its importance was pressed within our church. I still struggle to say “I was taught a lie” because that fear of being wrong and suffering greatly for it was part and parcel of my participation in church growing up, but dammit I’m striving to find my own truth instead of the supposed truth drilled into me.

So yes, I’m still religious. But I no longer believe in the God I was taught to believe in. I still haven’t quite figured everything out, and I still struggle thanks to a lifetime of indoctrination, but I’m learning to define my own beliefs bit by bit, and I believe in a God of radical love who mourns what so many oppressive sects of Christianity teach and enforce in His name. And if you don’t believe that, that’s fine! There’s reasons aplenty to be atheistic or antitheistic or religious/spiritual but unaffiliated with Christianity specifically.

But don’t you dare fucking tell me I’m no better now than I was while I was trapped, just because you personally don’t find religion to hold any value. I’m not perfect. I was raised in a deeply flawed ideology and still suffer from holdovers. I’m doing my best to hold myself accountable for those biases as I move forward. But I am, in fact, a victim and a survivor, and I‘ve fought like hell to undo the damage done to me and that I did to others while trapped in that system, and I have every right to be frustrated at those efforts being belittled and to be proud of myself for how far I’ve come anyway.

[pianocat939]

I was wondering what your head canons for “the turtle kidnapping the reader platonically but then developing feelings for them while they are being kept by the turtles.” It would make the most sense in a yandere setting obviously. But like would it affect how the turtles treat the reader compared to if the feelings developed normally.

Btw love your writing!!

I am not 100% sure if I understood this correctly, but I think I did. If it isn't please do ask again.

Thank you. 99% of my writing is done at midnight with little to no sense of direction so if you think it's great then I'll take it.

Tw: brief mention of manipulation, trauma (it's Raph), obsessive glorification, isolation, possessive characteristics

So from what I understand, you're asking: How would the turtles treat MC differently as yanderes after developing feelings?

In the post you referenced, I did only do a platonic reaction so I suppose this can be considered the romantic version of it (because that's what you asked for right???)

I would say the most noticeable changes in behaviour when it goes from platonic to romantic are Leo and Donnie. Raph and Mikey just tend to be much more prone to physical affection as well as needing more of your presence.

Leo:

I think the easiest way to describe this is his behaviour becomes more extreme and maybe even introduces a new characteristic: possessive.

Now I might've put in this possessiveness with my platonic works before, but romantically speaking, he will more likely be possessive rather than the times he's platonically obsessed with you.

Sure he might ramp up his manipulation and try to be more useful to you but nothing is more prominent than how easily jealous he gets when anyone else tries to take you away from him (on some occasions even his family).

He'll hold you close, a certain madness in his eyes, and assertively states, "No one can take you away from me" or "I'm the only one you should rely on".

He isn't saying such things to intimidate you, he means them with his entire heart. If someone tries to intervene, he's going to kill them. If you rely on other people more, he'll isolate you so only he can take care of you.

Donnie:

Like Leo, I think another characteristic will be introduced as well: clingy. Now when I say clingy, I don't mean physical affection clingy, I mean "spending time with you every moment" clingy.

He wants to spend every waking moment in the same room as you, to not only ensure your safety but so he can satiate the unease he feels when he's not with you (he has separation anxiety but again wouldn't admit it). The fact he's close with you is a lot to say, but harbouring romantic feelings is a whole new level.

Whenever there are moments he's not near you, he feels like hiding in his shell sometimes. It's like an itch you can't scratch so it stresses him out. He's not like Raph who literally goes on a rampage or starts crying, but he definitely got the annoyance.

The reason this clinginess develops is 1. romantic feelings and overall closeness 2. he covers it up with the excuse of "keeping you safe"

He may be more attached to you, but that doesn't mean he's going to willingly admit his true feelings (unless he feels the time is right)

Raph:

As I said before, Mikey and Raph don't change too much.

I think Raphie tends to be more open with his feelings instead of hiding them away. He won't cover it up with some excuse from the interference of his eldest sibling syndrome.

I suppose he might want to keep you safe but even then I think it's a mindset that he gained from his syndrome.

(I apologize for the lack of ideas. I really can't see any difference)

Mikey:

Maybe more prone to physical affection. Like pecks and nuzzles. He's more confident doing such things.

You know how he's like the "cult member" of the brothers? (Not in the show obviously, I mean with my writings). He's more meticulous with his details on romantic gestures.

Shrine maybe? Takes more intimate things like idk, shirts, and jackets.

(I'm struggling help)

So here are some basic ideas on how they would react.

——————————————————

Need to sleep.

- Celina

[not-alien-girl-v]

Hello, could you write one about the love language like the one with Kit and James but about Kai Anderson please?

warning: tw kai anderson, language, sexual themes

note: i had a fucked the fuck up dream last night. anyways this one isn't as fluffy but its kai anderson what did u expect

words of affirmation: he's fairly into this in like a manipulation kind of way ok so like. if it's your love language he knows what to do to use it for his own gain like just to get what he wants out of you, he'd praise you for certain things that he knows would hold more weight than others. and he's the kind of guy who doesn't need any compliments or verbal reassurance (not that he needs no reassurance, see AHHHH for that) and it hardly makes a difference if you say nice things to him or if you don't, to be honest, your entire relationship could probably survive with no words shared between you at all. and with how rude kai can get sometimes, it would probably be for the best.

quality time: he's really into this. like a lot. like a lot a lot. one thing about being an app developer and a side hustle of leading a cult is that he has flexible hours, and as you met him through being a devoted cult follower, he basically has all the control he wants over your entire life, let alone your schedule. it's an intense thing. it's scary. but luckily, the divine leader is soft for you, being in love, and all. he lets you spend as much time as you want just hanging out at his house, in the basement, wherever you want, and of course, this is all time spent together, but i think he sees it as he's doing you a service by letting you spend so much free time in his presence, so maybe this falls under acts of service. idk. he rarely ever takes you on dates, but when he does, they're simple because they have to be inconspicuous, and he never tells you it's a date he's taking you on, he just tells you to get dressed and get in the car and a few minutes later you're on a romantic stroll in the park after hours.

gift giving: he's not too into giving you fancy shit like james is, no jewelry, no clothes, he likes giving gifts, but in more practical ways. things like food, mostly meals and shit, like if he's out, he'll pick you up some dinner on the way home, maybe a snack from the gas station if he's feeling nice. it's mostly in a 'i wanna take care of you' way, because he has so much control, he knows that it's his job to be the one who pays your bills and whatever. he also is kind of into buying you books, ones that he reads and has some kind of revelation over, he kind of wants to share the knowledge with you, like he wants to be able to have intelligent conversations with you, referencing books that he's read.

acts of service: like he said before, he takes care of you. he pays your bills, keeps you fed, he also gives you money, most of the times, when he knows you need it, but also sometimes just cuz. if you don't accept it during these times, you'll basically have no evidence that kai sees you as any more than a member of the cult, as he'd never leave you a silly little love note with your lunch or anything. he just lays out a wad of cash on your bedstand and that's his unanticipated form of affection for the week. maybe the month. he washes your hair. he claims that it's no big deal, that he was going to take a shower anyways, so you might as well just join him to save time and water but unbeknownst to him, you see right through his nonchalant façade. you know he likes it, the closeness, the nakedness, the messy shower sex it usually leads to.

touch: if you want to touch him, you have to be the one to initiate it, and you have to deal with how he calls you clingy. to be fair, he doesn't mind physical affection like a lot of people think he does, it's just not his favorite. and he's not an idiot, he can tell how much it means to you, being held for a little while after he brutally fucks you, sitting on his lap during a cult meeting, snuggling up to him on the couch after a long day. any time he initiates a form of touch, it's in a protective 'she's mine' kind of way, in times when he feels threatened by another man for your attention, he'll come up and put a hand around your waist, your shoulders, maybe grab a handful of your ass to catch you off guard, but it's not about being close to you, it's just to reinforce the ownership he feels he has over you.

[thevegasystem]

please read

tw syscourse, grooming, and cults we went through all of those sources provided in that thread sent to us yesterday, and we wanted to follow up. this will be a long post, but regardless of if you are a traumagenic system or an endogenic system, we believe you can find some benefit from hearing us out. let's start by listing our takeaway's (again, based on the sources provided to us)...

plurality exists beyond did/osdd (with udd only being implied by relevance).

hypnosis/hypnotic states (specifically through hypnosis and mediumship) are possibly responsible for this divide between aversive plurality (often dubbed traumagenic, but not stated as such in the source materials) and non-aversive plurality (often dubbed as endogenic, but also not stated as such in the source materials), as argued by Dr. Nijenhuis (looks to be a Doctor from the Netherlands) and Van Der Hart (looks to be a Professor, Psychopathology of Chronic Traumatization from Utrecht University, also from the Netherlands)

Dr. Richard Loewenstein (looks to be a Clinical Professor, graduate of Yale University School of Medicine) stated the symptoms that a relevant individual is going through presents itself similar to an individual with dissociative identity disorder, but due to lacking aversion ("distress"), does not qualify for a diagnosis

separately, the icd-11 states the following...

The presence of two or more distinct personality states does not always indicate the presence of a mental disorder. In certain circumstances (e.g., as experienced by ‘mediums’ or other culturally accepted spiritual practitioners) the presence of multiple personality states is not experienced as aversive and is not associated with impairment in functioning. A diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder should not be assigned in these cases.

however and separately, the dsm-v-tr states the following...

Dissociative amnesia, dissociative identity disorder, and depersonalization-derealization disorder may or may not be preceded by exposure to a traumatic event or may or may not have co-occurring PTSD symptoms. When full PTSD criteria are also met, however, the PTSD “with dissociative symptoms” subtype should be considered.

[besides some contextual information clarifying details on trauma, etc. in the dsm-v-tr, we could not immediately find clarifying information on what is meant by "(dissociative disorders) may or may not be preceded by exposure to a traumatic event"]

regardless of how previous debate was handled, with the information now in hand and understood by us, we wanted to layout some things...

we are firm in our interpretation of what the icd-11 meant by referencing cultural or spiritual phenomena, HOWEVER...

it is very apparent that non-aversive plurality (often dubbed endogenics) is a growing field of study with scientific backing.

we (our system) were wrong to write off the entire endogenic community as a cult / religion ("neocult" and "neoreligion"), and we will be deleting / editing that original post and anonymous question responses, HOWEVER...

we believe traumagenic and endogenic systems alike NEED to be critical of ANY system that is attempting to misrepresent information relevant to plurality, such as calling endogenics a diagnosable condition, or that it should be treated the same way as aversive plurality, such as with did/osdd/udd.

we understand that there are already systems present in the community that have already been doing so, but we wanted to take this opportunity to make that a focus here in order to further encourage it.

we need systems (both traumagenic and endogenic) to be vigilant to not give in to delusion (no we are not referencing any previous debates).

we believe systems (both traumagenic and endogenic) need to be vigilant of ANYONE attempting to label and diagnose others, and to encourage individuals requesting mental health assistance to seek professional guidance.

finally, and most importantly, we believe systems (again, both traumagenic and endogenic) need to be EXTRA vigilant of predators among our community as plurality poses a unique challenge in that regard.

thank you to all dissos and endos that have assisted in helping our system reach this understanding. again, we are sorry for being so hostile. hope to get to know and understand endos more as time goes on. we're removing our "dni endos" tag from our bio and will be working on removing strictly anti-endo content from our blog. Sincerely, 🌟 The Vega System edit: we've also gone ahead and unblocked a bunch of blogs too! hoping to talk with all systems!

[rewrittenwrongs]

Whumptober day 4: hallucinations / “you’re still alive in my head”

Chapter 1 of 3 | chapter 2 coming soon | read on Ao3 (registered users only)

Whumptober masterpost | day 3 | day 5 coming soon

TW: hallucinations (who’da guessed), (non-graphic) aftermath of a panic attack, referenced alienation

Tim… took a deep breath. Panic attacks aren’t fun, but he knew what to do after coming down.

Running through the exercise is mechanical, repetitive, not quite comforting in its familiarity. His breathing stayed elevated. He continued hearing Dick talking him through the steps, encouraging him, even though Dick was in a different country and he and Tim haven’t been on good terms for… three months, now? God. It’s been three months.

That means it’s been five since Batman was killed.

But he isn’t dead, Tim assures himself hurriedly. Bruce is alive. He was killed, but he isn’t dead.

Granted, Tim and Ra’s al Ghul are the only people on earth that think that, and Ra’s is more curious if he’s right than in agreement.

God. Tim isn’t used to being this lonely anymore. The ache of missing Dick and Alfred, of missing Bruce, Kon, Bart, Jack, Dana—when did everyone he love start dying? What primordial deity did he piss off? If there was a way to beg for forgiveness, for all the constant losses and grief and pain to stop, he would do it in a heartbeat.

But there isn’t any deity he can appeal to right now. He’s at the mercy of fate and Ra’s al Ghul now, the only thing left to do is keep looking, searching, exploring for more proof and a way to get Bruce back. He will find it. He will. He has to.

“C’mon, Tim, take a break,” the devil said with the face of Dick Grayson. This hallucination was much more accurate than the last one, down to the scar on his cheekbone, the gash where an earring used to sit, the circles under his eyes, the wisps of premature grey in his hair. The only inaccuracy was the Nightwing suit. Tim chose not to think about it, and continued wilfully ignoring the hallucination as he shakily sorted papers.

Pru was a surprisingly disorganised person, despite being an assassin. She was good at logging information, when motivated, but keeping tract of it? Never. Usually Owens did that, but he was scoping out tonight’s hit with Pru, and Z was out ordering food or something.

They didn’t quite believe in Tim’s quest, but they believed in the cause, maybe, and were plenty motivated to help him. Not only thanks to Ra’s instructions: Tim was starting to think they began to like him, in the five or so weeks they’ve been working together. It was, regrettably, mutual.

Also, he’s fairly certain Pru has been hitting on him, so that might be why she seems happy spending time with him.

“Now is not the time to be dating someone, Tim,” Dick said amusedly. As if Tim was interested in her. As if this situation wasn’t Dick’s fault in the first place.

If it weren’t for Dick, Tim wouldn’t be halfway around the world working with rambunctious assassins and a maybe-immortal cult leader. He could be finding his not-dead adoptive father with the Justice League instead, or maybe they already would’ve succeeded, and everything would go back to how it should be.

Still with some teenage hero-shaped holes, unfortunately.

Hallucination-Dick sighed like he had heard Tim’s thoughts and was disappointed by them. Which was possible, he was a figment of Tim’s imagination. Then he followed Tim to the bed and pantomimed sitting on it, appearance wavering at the edges. “You need to come home, Tim. We can get you help.”

Tim said nothing. He continued organising the files; photos mostly, documentation of various ancient artefacts that could’ve been left by Bruce. They only had one place left before they would, hopefully, have enough proof of Bruce’s existence to hand over to the League.

He tried to ignore the anxiety—what if they wrote him off as mad again and didn’t even look at it? What if something horrible happened to Tim and they weren’t able to drop off the evidence? What if they still couldn’t get Bruce back? What if—

“Come on, Tim, come home.” Not-Dick’s voice gained a desperate edge, brows pinching in a way that looked almost pleading. “You can heal from this.”

Tim huffed. “You say that like believing in the truth is an illness,” he hissed quietly. The hotel they stayed in was upscale, but the walls were still thin, and he’d prefer not to be written off as crazy by anyone else today.

“Bruce died, Tim. Kal heard his heart stop. You saw the body. Giving in to your delusions—“

“Delusions?” Tim chuckled. “I’m not delusional. I may be crazy, but I’m still right. Bruce is alive.”

“I know you want to think that—“

“Boss!”

The door to their suite unlocked and swung open. Owens and Pru entered, toting bags of surveillance equipment. “Honey, we’re home!” Pru called. Owens snickered.

Tim left his bedroom and entered the suite proper, greeting the two of them with a roll of his eyes. Pru was wearing sunglasses and had her shirt unbuttoned perhaps more than strictly necessary; Owens looked fondly exasperated as he set down the equipment.

“I see you’re still on one piece,” Tim said with mock disappointment.

Pru took off her glasses and pointed with them at him. “No need to sound so excited.”

Hallucination-Dick sighed and followed him into the room, wavering at the edges like a distorted hologram, but only when Tim glanced directly at him. Tim avoided looking at him.

“Z have an ETA?” Tim asked.

“Ten minutes,” Owens reported, lowering himself into an armchair. He looked ready for a nap.

“After dinner we can shove off,” Pru declared. “Museum’s already closed for the night, the security is lacklustre at best.”

“If we find what we’re looking for we’ll be done.” They all already knew that, but Tim just… needed to say it. It hasn’t sunk in. “We only need one more thing, then we’re home-bound.”

Pru and Owens shared a knowing look, not quite sad and not quite triumphant. “What are we doing if tonight’s a bust?” Pru asked.

Tim grinned slightly for reasons unknown to him. “We head to Iraq.”

Not-Dick sighed, and disappeared.

[aftgficrec]

Hi!!! Do you have any recommendations for Kevin/Jeremy/Jean fics? Both more canon compliant ones or AUs are fine. Thanks!

I’m pleased to say there are some fabulous fics in our previous recs, and I found quite a lot more Kerejean for you here. - S

Previously recommended:

In the Light of Day here

‘when i kissed the teacher’, ‘Lap Sitting’ and ‘Spice the Eggnog Ch.8’ here

‘Daylight, Sunsets’ here

‘Belief’, ‘Our First Christmas’ and ‘Kerejean soulmate au’ here

‘Funeral Pyre’ here (updated)

‘Best of you’ here (updated)

‘To Be Certain We'll Be Tall Again’ here (completed)

‘Coming Home’ here

‘Enby Kevin/Kerejean Request’ here

text me (when you're home) by Anonymous [Rated T, 11007 words, incomplete, last updated Sept 2024]

After a summer of radio silence Jean finally reaches out to Kevin in form of a text. It goes from there. or a kevjerjean texting fic

'tis the damn season by footnotesforfoxes (y2beans) [Rated M, 7155 words, incomplete, last updated Aug 2024]

BREAKING NEWS - Exy star Kevin Day suffers extreme knee injury! Will he ever play again? Kevin Day, Jean Moreau, and Jeremy Knox have never been able to leave each other alone. That is until five years ago when Kevin chose his future in Exy over making a life for himself with a couple. After a career-altering injury, he is forced to face the mistakes of his past and find that love that still waits for him.

tw: negative self image

So Dark the Hunger, So Sweet the Ruin by NikNak22 [Rated M, 7233 words, complete, 2024]

This is a story about a boy, a monster, and a curse. It is about a sun, a moon, and some stars. It is about longing, words unspoken, and scars that never heal. It is about things scuttling around in the dark that should never be seen. It is about wanting something so badly that you would sacrifice everything to keep it safe. Even from yourself. Aka in a world where Kevin doesn't have a soul mark, what is the point of him falling in love?

tw: depression, tw: self esteem issues, tw: negative self talk, tw: implied/referenced suicide attempt

Haunting Spirits by fullyvisible [Rated T, 13637 words, complete, Daylight Savings Fest 2024]

Kevin's life is going wonderfully until the fifth anniversary of Riko's death catches him by surprise, and he realizes his happiness--and his sobriety--may be more precariously balanced than he had thought. Kevin is desperate to keep it together well enough to prevent anyone from noticing, but Jean and Jeremy know him better than most.

tw: alcoholism, tw: ptsd

Because, Despite, Still by codename_adler [Rated T, 11047 words, complete, Daylight Savings Fest 2024, locked]

"No matter what Jeremy thought he knew, no matter his meticulous observations and incessant pleas for Kevin to come and fix Jean, Kevin could see plainly that perhaps he should not have trusted the USC Captain on that one. Every time you show up on TV or any of us talk about you, he shuts his eyes for a few seconds. Like… Like he’s looking for you, inside himself. There’s nothing… There’s nothing else I can give him. I swear to you Kevin, I would if I did. I’m well aware this is most certainly going to get uglier before it gets better, but that’s a knife I can’t remove myself. Only you, Kevin. Only you. Please come home to him."

tw: implied/referenced abuse 

NB: you can find a link to a playlist for this fic on the author’s tumblr post

The "Ex" Protocol by KweenDay [Rated M, 14151 words, complete, Daylight Savings Fest 2024, locked]

Jeremy has heard about Jean's high school boyfriend, Kevin, of course, but he's not jealous. He doesn't get jealous over exes. Except... he didn't know ex-Kevin was THE Kevin Day, Exy royalty extraordinaire. And no, he's still not jealous... or obsessed with him. So what if he keeps finding a way for the three of them to be in the same room time and again? It's for research! Obviously.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced cult membership

In The Middle by KweenDay [Rated E, 6894 words, complete, 2024, locked]

Jean has always looked at his life in two segments - the one when he loved Kevin Day and both, pleasure and pain, were inextricably linked; and the one when he loved Jeremy Knox and he learned that loving someone could come without the threat of pain looming over his head. But in the past few months, both of those segments are bleeding into each other. The shadows of the past mixing with his present, and Jean thinks maybe this is a whole new chapter. Something different. Something good.

tw: explicit sexual content

Break the Ice by noNic02 [Rated E, 25396 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2024]

Things are finally looking up for Jeremy Knox. He moved to a new city, he likes his university program, his roommates are great (mostly), and he started hooking up with one very attractive Jean Moreau. There's really only one problem - Jean's roommate hates him.

tw: explicit sexual content, tw: scars, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Tell me where it hurts most by xxhearttommo [Rated T, 1828 words, complete, 2024]

Jeremy is on a date with his boyfriends when he answers a call from his mother and finds out his father has passed away. Jeremy is hurting. Jean and Kevin help him get himself together and go through a rough patch.

tw: death of a parent

suneater by REDRAGEOUSED [Not Rated, 11371 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

Jeremy reaches over and messes with Kevin’s hair, nails scratching his scalp lightly, and he leans into it hard, barely noticing it when he turns to whisper to Jean that “they should probably get him home.” Then the car is starting and Jeremy’s hand pulls back and this time, this time Kevin holds back the whine, but he’s still feeling fucking ridiculous because what grown man enjoys being pet. Kevin is not built for this, he is not built for affection and soft touches, he is built to be hit and bruised and pushed to his limits so this is just all fucking wrong. kevin day is desperate and fucked up and everything wrong with the world. he's not sure how they haven't realized yet.

tw: implied/referenced eating disorders, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse 

through numb lips by REDRAGEOUSED [Not Rated, 2494 words, complete, 2024]

Kevin isn’t really sure why they’re whispering, but given the way he has to swallow, thick and heavy, to answer, he thinks it's probably for the best. He says “I think- I think I’m high.” He doesn’t know why he says it like that, but then Jean, vaguely somewhere up laughs, and he’s glad he did. kevin day gets high & gives the best blowjob of his life

tw: explicit sexual content, tw: recreational drug use

Lagom by NikNak22 [Rated E, 19399 words, complete, 2023]

When his kingdom falls, Prince Kevin Day is ripped from his golden cage and thrust into reality. With no skills to speak of and his title gone, he has to work long and hard to learn how to survive. It is only through the grace of his teachers (or captors or liberators, depending on how one looks at it) that he has succeeded, allowing him a kind of freedom and self-sufficiency he's never known. Together, Jeremy, Jean, and Kevin form a tenuous bond of loyalty and obligation, allowing them to co-exist peacefully. It is a partnership built on mutual understanding and respect. One with clear lines and boundaries. One that reminds Kevin daily of his place. Until one day, it all starts to unravel.

tw: explicit sexual content, tw: self esteem issues

The Love We Unravel by fullyvisible [Rated T, 10049 words, complete, 2023]

Jeremy deserves a comfortable, safe life; Jean knows he can't give it to him - and neither can Kevin. But they don't consider whether Jeremy thinks they're a risk worth taking. Inspired by Midnight Rain by Taylor Swift.

Birthday Wishes by fullyvisible [Rated T, 2595 words, complete, 2023]

It's Jean's birthday, and he expects to spend it alone - which would be fine, if he hadn't gotten so used to spending his time with Jeremy and Kevin.

Beach Trip by fullyvisible [Rated T, 4592 words, complete, 2022]

When Jeremy finds out Kevin and Jean have never been to the beach, he decides to take them for a day in the sand, sun, and waves.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced scars

Optimiste by mitigates [Rated M, 28838 words, complete, 2022]

“Riko is- is dead. I am- I am- I am alive-” Jean sucked in a gasping breath that made his chest ache with the force of it. He gripped Kevin’s collar until his breaths calmed into a slow aftershock.  A soft gasp in the doorway revealed Jeremy’s presence. Jean turned on him, eyes flashing. He said the words harshly in French, “This does not concern you!” - or - Jean loses his memories after an accident. In his mind, he's barely survived Riko's last beating, Kevin left him alone at the Nest, and Jeremy is nothing more than a strange captain from another team.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: major character injury, tw: nightmares

can you show me how to make it true? by Flowerparrish [Rated E, 11071 words, complete, 2021, locked]

It’s not that Kevin and Jean don’t text. But one day, Kevin gets the text.

tw: implied/referenced alcohol abuse

doomsday by erosandhades [Rated T, 4810 words, complete, 2021]

He remembered every drink Kevin had thrown at him, then the shots, then moving to the next party, then Jean. He remembered thinking “fuck it”. He remembered doing three more shots with Kevin and two with Jean. Now, he didn’t remember how he got there. Or that tweet "one time at a party i kissed someone's girlfriend and to make sure he wasn't mad about it i just kissed him too... i blacked out and woke up to a text in a groupchat with both of them that said "did you make it home safe baby? <3"' but make it Kerejean.

One, two princes kneel before you by moonqueerdom [Rated T, 10084 words, complete, 2021]

Once upon a time, on a cold, dark night in the Central Court of Arcane, the annual winter masked ball was held. Faeries danced majestically all over the place, for the song being played by a charming group of faeries was enchanted (more literally than not) and the folk wouldn't miss the opportunity to celebrate the solstice. The winter flowers were blooming inside the castle with all the magic bursting from the Land and from the folk, and snow was falling outside the transparent plasma-gloss walls. And, last but not least, two princes and a guard were about to meet among all those partying people. A fairy tale about three faeries who meet at a masquerade ball and accidentally start a new folklore. And they're a chaotic mess.

Ask me to kneel by moonqueerdom [Rated E, 15404 words, complete, 2020]

Jeremy Knox meets Jean Moreau and Kevin Day in a BDSM club after some time without seeing them and finds that they have quite a Dom/sub dynamic that interests him immediately

tw: explicit sexual content

Stuck With U by moonqueerdom [Rated M, 21198 words, complete, 2020]

Jeremy and Jean go to Denver and stay at Kevin's apartment, but then the quarantine starts and they are forced to spend much more time than they expected in the city. And at Kevin's apartment.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: anxiety, tw: implied/referenced suicide, tw: alcohol abuse

Art

cuddly kerejean by @ohsleepie on X

cold weather is better if you have two boyfriends to be your personal heaters🧡❤️💛 by @princesoleil29

highkey in love w them ? by @redrageoused

I’m supposed to be working but I needed everyone to see my vision by @thepriceofsurvival

Hockey is rotting my brain , but so is Kerejean  by @jeremy-knoxs-on-wood

[boywithskull]

any film/book/tv recs?

ooh thanks for the ask! Honestly I consume media across all genres, so I'm not sure if there's a specific vibe you're after, so I'll just list a couple of different things I really enjoy:

books:

all of Donna Tartt's books obviously :) TGF and TLF are my favourites, but TSH is of course a classic

Wind, Sand and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (referenced in TGF and is the most beautiful prose work I've ever read, no joke)

Illuminations by Arthur Rimbaud

Orlando by Virginia Woolf (incredibly funny but very heartfelt and is a beautiful reflection on humanity, time, youth, and identity)

The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton (can't believe I only read that for the first time this year)

Max by Avi Duckor-Jones (written by a New Zealand author and is a wonderful coming-of-age story featuring themes of sexuality, family, art, and indigenous NZ culture)

Wir Kinder Vom Bahnhof Zoo by Christiane F. (English title: Zoo Station) - memoir concerning the crisis of teen heroin use in West Berlin in the 70's. Big TW for many topics, so please look them up if you're thinking of reading it

Mysterious Skin by Scott Heim (many TW's also apply, but it's a beautiful novel)

Boy Swallows Universe and Lola in the Mirror by Trent Dalton - Australian contemporary litfic, the first is semi-autobiographical, and the latter features a young woman protagonist and centres topics of female homelessness and domestic violence against women

These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever (perfect for fans of The Secret History)

The Inseparables by Simone de Beauvoir (only recently discovered a few years ago, and is semi-autobiographical account of her and her best friend's friendship growing up)

movies:

Let the Right One In (2008) - Swedish, fantastic vampire film

Napoleon Dynamite (2004) - hilarious, cult classic, what else is there to say?

Running on Empty (1988) - very gentle, I love River Phoenix

Dating Amber (2020) - funny and heartwarming comedy, with mlm/wlw solidarity and friendship at its heart

Thelma & Louise (1991) - such a rollercoaster, with amazing women as the leads, good focus on friendship, purpose, and self-actualisation

The Lost Boys (1987) - iconic, summer vibes are amazing, love me some campy 80's films, the Walk This Way hazing scene lives in my head rent-free

My Flesh and Blood (2003) - a documentary film about a woman named Susan who fosters a group of children, many of whom have disabilities or terminal illness. I love the way it was filmed and how it portrayed the realities of the situation, neither glamorising it or revelling in misery.

Mysterious Skin (2004) - adaption of the book I mentioned before. HUGE tw for sexual abuse/pedophilia. It's extremely respectful of the issues at hand, and is overall a beautiful work of art with incredible performances

tv:

honestly I haven't been watching many TV shows recently, but my favourites are:

NBC Hannibal

Twin Peaks

Gravity Falls

Druck (Skam Germany)

there are others but for some reason I can't think of any sorry :((((

[macabre-macaroni]

I’ve got gore on the mind. Specifically Eyeless Jack! Tws before I get into anything, cults, gore, referenced/implied human death, explicit animal death in the context of hunting for food, I’m going to get pretty descriptive of viscera (because I’m autistic and if I don’t verbalize my brain soup in excruciating detail I will burst into flames) Go ahead and scroll if none of that’s your thing, and have a cookie on your way out! 🍪

So this sign came across my Pinterest recently, and my immediate thought was Eyeless Jack. He is occupying 102% of my brain space and the other .3% is the 1994 Frankenstein movie.

Anyway. Medical murder man. Imagine if you will, recently a med student, freshly traumatized, your friend’s blood on your hands and it just smells so good. The story I read had the cult sacrifice in a forest clearing; rather than try to stumble back to a college campus where there will be…consequences of some kind, why not just stay in the forest. At least until your stomach stops growling.

Blood on your hands, your cheeks, sticky on your lips and teeth, and something moves. It doesn’t take long to actually catch up to the deer and the bite out of its neck stops it thrashing pretty soon.

Okay hard stop narrative flow, an average deer weighs between 120 and 160 pounds (abt 54-72 kg), in “edible meat” alone an Ohio whitetail averages 55 lbs per deer (25kg). I’ve picked up roadkill before and I will confidently say, intestines are one of the heaviest organs, partly because they’re so long and part because of what they are and what they hold. I can imagine a starving freshly undead something finding deer, stopping it, tearing through the flesh (taking good bites out of it at the same time), and recognizing the slimy things in his hands and which ones will hold the most blood.

Kidneys filter out the blood, taking excess water and waste and running it to the bladder. There are plenty of organs that hold plenty of blood; the heart obviously, the spleen acts as a reserve for blood and discards old blood cells, or just based on surface area and the amount of blood it would need to run. But, when you gut a deer, the intestines practically fall out and the kidneys take significantly less digging and bone breaking than the spleen or the heart.

I also just have a mental image of Jack dragging a gutted deer carcass up a tree with him and pulling off a whole leg to eat like a drumstick. Kicking his feet and everything , blood up to his elbows and no longer starving.

Thanks for reading this whole thing! Have a cupcake!🧁

[hidden-in-the-soul]

Hello?

Oh, this works

Hello there, outside world.

I shouldn’t have this blog, I shouldn’t even have a phone, but I do.

I suppose I should… tell you a little about myself.

My name is… Hecate. My chosen name. This may be the only place I can use it.

I would prefer… They/Them pronouns. This is the only place I will gain validation.

I have identified myself as a trans feminine person.

I… am still debating on my sexual orientation and romantic attractions, as well as my preferences for monogamy. All I know currently is that I am not heterosexual.

I am looking forward to interacting with others.

[OOC info and blog TWs under the cut]

Hey, moderator here! This OC is one I’ve loved for a while and wanted to give them their own blog. If you have any OOC questions about the OC, make sure to label them as such! Any questions not labeled OOC or towards me will be considered asks for Hecate.

This blog is based around a character who is trapped in a strictly religious cult town.

Common TW’s on this blog are:

•Homophobia

•Transphobia/Deadnaming/Misgendering

•Abuse in many forms, including but not limited to neglect, physical, psychological, verbal, sexual, emotional, and religious

•Addiction

•Referenced torture

•Brainwashing/Programming

If any more come to mind, I will add them, so check this section regularly before interacting. Interactions both in and out of character are allowed and encouraged!

Have a good but safe journey through Hecates story.