#and the insane inhuman fiends

[shinjisdone]

My taste in men

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

The Lipless Man: From the casebook of Akechi Kogoro

Translated by Alexis J Brown

[His] thirst for revenge had been inhuman. He was either insane or pure evil. A vampire that fed on fear. How could any harbour such hatred, no matter how badly they felt wronged? Tsunekawa, and even Akechi, recoiled at his speech, which sounded like a curse reverberating from the bowels of hell.

People can bear any horror, no matter how terrifying, as long as it remains in sight. But when something dematerialises before their eyes, like white breath on a frosty day, panic can take hold in an instant.

‘I’ve a funny feeling you’ve both been pulling my leg,’ the Inspector said, strolling in the direction of the temple gate. ‘Both of us?’ Akechi asked, smiling in his customary way. ‘You and the lipless man.’ ‘Ha! What an extraordinary idea!’ ‘It’s like the two of you are playing your own peculiar game. Every hunch you’ve had has been miraculously spot on. And as for the ghoul, somehow he knew it would be you who’d dig up that coffin. He predicted as much in his letter. How could that be, unless you’d both planned it in advance?’ It was not obvious whether the Inspector was joking or not. He looked at Akechi with an unnatural smirk on his lips. ‘Maybe we’re the same person. Like in one of Maurice LeBlanc’s Lupin stories. By day, I’m an amateur detective, by night, a murderous fiend. What a set-up!’ Akechi laughed, long and loud, and eventually Tsunekawa had to join in. ‘Speaking of works of fiction,’ the Inspector said at last, ‘This case has had its own cast of bohemian characters. Artists, writers, and the lipless man himself.’ ‘That may well be intentional. Great criminals have fantastical ambitions...'

There is a dark side to life. An evil lurking in the shadows. Whatever horrors envisaged by the most demonic poet, they're nothing to what takes place in reality.

For hardcore Edogawa Ranpo fans:

One character in this story appears to be loosely based on Edogawa Ranpo himself! Sonoda Kokkō, a writer of detective fiction, is described in the novel as follows:

It appeared Sonoda Kokkō had written bizarre short stories for a select audience with a taste for his brand of grotesque nonsense. He’d produced one piece of fiction a year, often surprising his editors who’d completely forgotten about him. Nobody had known where he lived or what he looked like; not anyone at the magazine that published his fiction, and certainly not the general public. His manuscripts were never sent from the same post office twice, and his fee had always gone back to whatever post office that had been. His landlord and neighbours hadn’t even been aware he was a writer. He’d no friends, and had always kept his doors and windows locked whether he was in or out. All anyone knew about him was that he’d been a loner. ‘The property we searched was in a very desolate part of Ikebukuro. A small detached house. When we looked inside, it was like wandering around a haunted mansion. There were skeletons hanging in the closets, dolls heads, wet with red ink, left on all the tables, and coloured woodblock prints of the most bloodcurdling scenes plastered on every wall. I’m sure you get the picture.’ ‘Fascinating,’ Akechi nodded keenly. ‘His shelves were filled with books on criminology, criminal history, and true crime stories. In the drawers of his desk were pages and pages of unfinished manuscripts...

At one point in The Lipless Man, a story written by Sonoda Kokkō is referenced and used to discover the hiding place of the book's villain. I won't spoil the surprise entirely, but the short story by Sonoda Kokkō is remarkably similar to a famous story written by Edogawa Ranpo!

The Lipless Man was published in 1930, and four years later Edogawa Ranpo moved to a home in Ikebukuro where he lived for the next 31 years. The building where he lived is now The Edogawa Rampo Memorial Center for Popular Culture Studies (The Edogawa Rampo Residence). You can find learn more at their website: https://english.rikkyo.ac.jp/research/research_institutes/rampo.html

[millenari]

you ever think about the difference in how bomba and demeter talk about Macavity in his song and just OOUUGGHHHH

Look. Listen. When Demeter talks about Macavity in the song she mostly touches upon his abilities and achievements to describe him. It almost sounds like she's bragging about him- she mentions twice that he can outsmart Scotland Yard and refers to his reputation as a criminal and also a magical cat. The only time she refers to his appearance is when she says he is 'outwardly respectable' which -as we all know- is either totally untrue or, at the very least, not true anymore.

Meanwhile Bomba focuses on his physical appearance, and when she describes him it sounds like a completely different guy than Demeter's supposed 'respectable' criminal mastermind: he's unkempt, he's uncombed, his eyes are sunken in, etc. Also in almost direct contradiction to the 'outwardly respectable' line, she additionally claims 'you'd know him if you saw him'. She compares him to a snake, an animal most cats sure as fuck don't like, and calls him a 'monster of depravity'. I'd say her descriptions lean towards accusing him of being inhuman, but these are... you know. Cats. None of them are human. But either way she certainly labels him as completely 'other' than the rest of them: he is a 'fiend in feline shape'.

(And certainly this can be explained away as the two of them just having difference preferences. Bomba, as we know, likes Tugger, and she describes him as a 'curious beast' so clearly she has a type here. Meanwhile Demeter is sometimes depicted as having some kind of love affair with Alonzo, but nowadays she's usually paired up with Munk, a guy who doesn't really seem to display much sexuality in comparison to the other male cats, and demonstrates a lot of competence and emotional intelligence throughout the play. So it does make sense that these two specifically would fixate on these two different aspects of the same man.)

However they almost seem to be in conflict about their hot takes on Macavity. Take the middle section I marked off for example: the first time that 'there's no one like Macavity' bit is sung, Demeter sings it. Then later on, Bomba sings it. But when Bomba sings it she changes the second line, which goes from 'He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity' to 'For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity'. She also mirrors Demeter's choreo from the same section as she sings it.

That makes her slight change feel very pointed, especially with the how she gestures towards Demeter during that line.

Demeter, fundamentally, is saying, 'there's no one like Macavity, he can do all of these insane things', and meanwhile Bomba is saying, 'there's no one like Macavity, he's a fucking monster' and she makes sure Demeter knows that's exactly what she's saying too.

& on that note there's even more context there when you look at their demeanor. Demeter seems to have a lot of conflict about her feelings, which is portrayed through her expressions mostly, while Bomba remains almost kind of playful and certainly enthusiastic through the whole song. Demeter --who is vastly conflicted-- tries to talk about Macavity's achievements when describing him. Bomba --who knows exactly what Macavity is and was and feels no shame about it-- is happy to talk about what an abomination he is and how attracted she is to him anyways.

And that makes the 'outwardly respectable/cheats at cards' moment feel really important, because Demeter tries to claim something that may be one thousand percent not even remotely true, (potentially to justify her attraction to Macavity), and Bomba cuts in --sometimes with amusement, sometimes with annoyance, sometimes without particular tone-- and retorts, 'i know he cheats at cards'.

Which regardless of if you interpret that line in the manner that seems most obvious: 'I know he cheated on you' (especially when there's a loaded pause between 'cheats' and 'at cards'), or if you take it to be more general ('I know he's more nefarious than he seems' for example) that line very much seems to be Bomba cutting in there and essentially expressing 'girl, give me a fucking break'. And well, one of Bomba's character words isn't 'frank' for nothing.

I also don't have it pictured in the screenshot, but the third time that 'there's no one like Macavity' bit is sung, it's sung by them both at once, and that notable second line that keeps changing says 'There never was a cat of such deceitfulness and suavity,' which labels Macavity as 'deceitful' but also 'suave', almost as if the two of them decided to compromise on their respective perceptions of the man. Which matches how they, by that point, have begun to dance in sync as well.

[teddyclara]

So if you remember this post, I suggested a possible TWST x CSM crossover, and also listed out just what would lead up to this sort of thing. Anyways, here’s just some general ideas that I have that I have no idea how they would fit into a story

Yuu treats Power the same way that they treat Grim, food as bribery and watching like a parent. This works out because Power and Grim kinda act similar, it’s just that Power’s a human meat bag.

Unsurprisingly, Power and Grim do not get along and get into physical fights very easily.

Watching Yuu deal with Power, Grim, Ace, and Deuce gives Aki the impression that they’re the serious and sane one among their group. Unfortunately for him, Yuu is sane in the sense that they’re pretty grounded, but Yuu is also a teenager and given what happens in the story, they’re kinda an enabler for the insanity that occurs in NRC, even if involuntarily.

Ace plays and cheats at poker with Public Safety, which includes Kishibe and Himeno (and Deuce because why not). He wins 4 games before Kishibe notices that there’s a card up his sleeve.

Aki (watching Ace about to get his ass kicked): Are you not going to do anything about this?

Yuu (also watching): I think it’s funny

Kobeni, as in canon, gets bullied by teenagers.

Denji and Ruggie bond on account of both being (or in Denji’s case, had been) very poor

Rook has the time of his life studying Devils and Fiends. He’s having so much fun checking them out, Public Safety have to get him to leave their Devils and the ones that they encounter alone because holy shit kid do you want to kill yourself?

Fiends are identified by the inhuman features on their heads. So Public Safety comes to the reasonable, but incorrect conclusion that the Malleus and Jack are fiends.

The tech gap of the 90s and today is actually such a funny concept to add in, especially because TWST also has on one end of the spectrum, Ignihyde and robot child Ortho, but also the Diasomnia quartet who don’t have CDs because the Briar Valley is in medieval stasis

Anyways that means you can have the interaction of Malleus trying to use a computer from the 90s

Kobeni (trying her best): So, you have to click the save button so you don’t lose your work... I-it’s the button on the top left that looks like a floppy disk

Malleus (trying his best): What’s a floppy disk?

Power and Denji get a smartphone for communication reasons, but they both break it within an hour. It’s not really their fault, they just didn’t expect smartphones to be so fragile in the first place

Actually, considering the chaos of Devil hunting in the first place, it probably wouldn’t take long for everyone to just break any phone.

Makima: So you all have experience fighting Devils?

The first-year trio (thinking about the Overblots that they had to deal with): Something like that

[menemennpastirma]

Disturbed - Love to Hate [Official Audio]

Lyrics: I can feel the anger building in me time and time again I can see this world of ours is far beyond redemption   This madness has become a part of who we are Everyone just loves… to hate

I hear voices screaming for the ones they want to die I feel my heart rate speeding in anticipation I think all of us have taken things a bit too far   Everybody just loves to hate

Pre-Chorus: You’ll finally know you’re right When there’s no one left to fight  

Chorus: Why do we love to hate   Such depravity Inhumanity is common   Why do we love to hate   This insanity   Now embedded in our hearts  

I can see a battle raging that we’re never going to win I see the junkies fiending for their old addiction I keep hope alive, but tell me where do we begin ’Cause everybody just loves… to hate

Pre-Chorus

Chorus

We have eyes, but we cannot see So blinded by our own obsessions Don’t want to face our reality We are infatuated with aggression

#music #hardrock #heavymetal #alternativemetal #disturbed #lovetohate

(via https://youtu.be/W2RgSoN9mMc)

[adorablele]

@riothae ♡ to my darling table leg 💞 this is to push the doyoung dream boy agenda. and also i’m sorry for not releasing this on your birthday, please accept this belated birthday gift.

☍ pairing; kim doyoung x reader ☍ genre; fluff, romance, a little bit of angst but mostly fluffy // apocalypse!au, zombie apocalypse!au, strangers to lovers!au, soulmate!au, parallel world!au ☍ word count; 4, 210  ☍ summary; you have your very own dream boy, a literal man of your dreams and he goes by the name of Kim Doyoung ☍ a/n;  don’t be fooled by the beginning, 99.9% of this is just dialogue. also I tried my very best to avoid using the word zombies to describe the people who were affected by the virus because...yeah it has something to do with the characters mindset but i didn’t get to explore that because I wanted to focus on the romance lmao ANYWAYS PLEASE ENJOY AND FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED since this is my first ever apocalypse!au and longest fic (in general and for doyoung)

trigger warning(s); mentions of weapons, use of weapons (doyoung uses a machete, mc also uses a weapon to kill the zombies), mention of blood 

This has got to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. 

“Hey!” you screamed, banging together two pots. 

The growling behind you started to multiply. 

You smirked, continuing to clash up more noise, “C’mere!” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw two rotted figures make their way towards you. The adrenaline in your veins pushed your legs to move faster. You heard the growling behind you grow louder, more shuffling of feet syncopated between your own. Out of either confidence or pure insanity―quite possibly both―you turned around to admire the hoard of creatures that you managed to gather.   

Disgust swirled in your stomach. They were ugly with skin so pale that you could see the infected black veins running through their body. They snapped at you with rotted teeth, blistered lips and blood-shot eyes. 

You laughed. “You’re so slow.”

Those vicious, viscera eating monsters didn’t seem to like your taunt. With inhumane twists of their bodies, they started to sprint towards you. This was, without a doubt, the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Still, you shouted at them and banged your pots. Your pace was already outmatched by theirs, but it didn’t help that you were walking backwards. 

“Just a little closer, I know you can do it!” you cheered. 

By now, more monsters have noticed the ruckus that you’ve caused and they decided they wanted to join in on the fun. That’s when you decided to continue running. You could hear their growls growing closer and closer. For a split second, there was a single drop of fear that touched your spine, or rather, a finger. Acting on instinct, you slammed the pan into the head of the intruder. 

You were done for. They were catching up to you. 

And yet, you kept running, faster than you’ve ever ran. Despite the fact that any one of the, probably, hundreds of virus-infected bodies were one step away from tearing you limb from limb, you laughed. 

This was it. This was the end. 

This was where you die.

The maniacal smirk on your face never ceased. You didn’t know how long you’d be able to run for, but you kept going. At least, you tried to until you were suddenly slammed by a body quite larger than your own. The wind was knocked out of your lungs, the buildings behind you a blur until you were pulled into an abandoned convenience store. 

“Are you insane?” the stranger scowled. 

One second, two, three before you gathered up your wits. 

“Let go of me,” you shouted, pushing off the stranger, “and yeah, I am.”

You aimed your gun at the stranger who held his arms up in surrender. 

“A thank you would be nice,” he frowned. 

The tall man was dressed in tattered jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. Around his wrists were newspapers bound by masking tape. He was covered in blood, dirt and grime; chapped lips and sharp eyes; black hair nestled messily on top of his head. Aside from all the cuts and bruises, you would deem him handsome. Although, that’s not of importance right now. 

“What would I be thanking you for?” 

“For saving you,” he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I didn’t need saving.”

He scoffed, “You were about to die.” 

“I’m already dead,” you muttered, “we all are.”

The stranger raised his brows, “Is that so?”

“There’s nothing to live for,” you replied.

He stared you in the eyes. “Then go back out there. Go say hello to your fanclub.”

A brief staredown occurred, his gaze challenging your own. Both of you knew that you wouldn’t walk back out there. At that moment, you wanted to see how close you could get to Death, but when it really came down to it, you didn’t want to die, not to those things anyways, and―as much as you’d like to say otherwise―most definitely not now.  You were on the brink of insanity, yes, but you weren’t completely diving in head first. You also knew that deep-down, you’re relieved that he saved you. 

And he knew that too. 

“Don’t move!” you shouted when he started to lower his arms.

He paused and looked over to the counter, “I’m just reaching for the candy.”

You eyed the counter where a bag of food laid and followed his movements closely as he reached for the opened bag of gummy bears on the counter.

“You’re human, just like me. We’re not like those...beasts out there, but if you really want to become like them, then go ahead.” He reached for the backpack lying on the floor by the counter and slung it over his back, “I already tried saving you once, though your actions aren’t in my controls.” 

He opened the back door of the grocery store and left. 

Your shoulders finally relaxed. You lowered your gun, then glanced out the window at the horde of monsters that roamed around aimlessly looking for the meal that had escaped them. Those soulless creatures were easy to read, easy to know what their intentions were. You turned back to the door where the stranger walked through. Who knows what his intentions were?

Yet, you decided to follow him.

For a block or two you followed him, watching as he slashed through the creatures with his machete. Occasionally, you too, killed the monsters that made their way towards you. Eventually, he entered a building and climbed all the way to the roof. 

You found him sitting at the edge, feet dangling as he stared ahead. His weapon lay next to him and his previous bag of opened gummy bears sat in his hand. You joined him by the edge, and this might be even stupider than attracting a mob of bloodthirsty fiends. 

Rather than shoving you off, he offered you some gummy bears which you accepted. He didn’t turn to look at you once. In silence, the two of you observed the abandoned city in front of you. Rubbled buildings weakly stood, streets filled with crashed cars, various monsters (who were once human) lingered on the sidewalks. The prettiest of all the ruins was the sky. A toxic mix of orange hues. Shapes of clouds filled the sky, providing no rain and no shade. The Sun was half over the horizon. It sent out constant waves of warmth. 

“I’m Doyoung,” he whispered, as if it were sacred to share his name. He turned to you, eyes vulnerable, a soft brown like the fresh soil used to plant a flower, “Kim Doyoung.”

You gasped out your name as you woke up. 

You sat up in your bed, dazed from the dream. Or, was it a dream? Panic slowly tickled your spine and you immediately turned on the news, phone dialing with numbers of your loved ones. 

After constant reassurances from your friends and family, you slumped on the couch. It was all just a dream. It was just a dream! You shook your head and went to wash your face in the bathroom. It was just a dream. A dream that you vividly remember. 

A dream with Kim Doyoung.

-

For the next few months―each month―you had one overly vivid dream that included Kim Doyoung and the apocalyptic, orange skied world. It mostly consisted of the two of you running around in empty fields, abandoned cities and hacking away at monsters. In many ways, it was you and Doyoung against the world. 

“Any updates on dream boy?” Kara, your best friend, smiled, sitting at the bar-counter of the diner you worked at. 

You placed her usual order of coffee in front of her. “You’re still calling him that?”

“Well, isn’t he?” she shrugged.

“Yeah…”

She smiled, “Any updates?”

Your heart thumped slightly at the question, the memory of the dream you had this morning resurfacing. 

The squelch of flesh echoed against the walls of the room as you and Doyoung explored the bakery. 

“Believe it or not, I was a baker,” he shared, slashing at a crazed waitress

“A baker?” you asked, raising your brows, quickly opening the door to the kitchen area. Running towards you was a murderous customer who, you assumed, didn’t receive the food they wanted. After taking care of the virused creature, you frowned at the disemboweled chef on the floor, “Should we bake in this kitchen?” 

“Do you want to?”

“Not with this on the floor,” you mumbled with a pout, “I thought we finally found a place!”

He shrugged, “Let’s just move the body.”

Together, the two of you, while trying not to gag, dragged away all the dead bodies in the kitchen and tossed them out. After another check around the bakery, the two of you barricaded the windows and doors, also checking through them to make sure no more rotted mouths were running towards you. 

Once all safety precautions were taken care of, Doyoung took out a container of sanitary wipes.

You snorted, “Are you really going to clean?”

“I told you, I was a baker, and in order to cook or bake, you need a clean area.”

You didn’t say anything, only smiling in amusement as he started to wipe the counter. 

“Aren’t you going to help me?” he asked.

Your smile turned upside down as you saw the dusty counter, bloodied floors and molded dishes. “Do I have to?” 

Doyoung threw the container of sanitary wipes at you. You caught it with a grumble. After a good three hours, the kitchen was finally clean enough for Doyoung’s standards. 

“I can’t believe you wanted to clean on your birthday. We could’ve just grabbed one of the pastries or gotten a cake from another place,” you sighed. 

“Well, if we did that, then you wouldn’t make me a cake.”

“Aren’t you the baker?” You countered. 

“Yep!” he leaned against the counter, “but you’re the one who promised to make me a cake.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, dragging your feet as you made your way over to the pantry. 

Somehow, you managed to follow the recipe that you tore from a cookbook and not burn down the entire building. You grabbed the cake from the counter, “Let’s hope you enjoy this, Mr. I’m-a-baker-so-I’m-going-to-give-your-novice-attempt-at-a-cake-a-rating-out-of-ten.” 

“Just an FYI, I had my own bakery,” he proudly added.

“Showing off now, I see,” you chuckled, placing a one tier cake with a very messily and unnecessarily large ‘Happy Birthday Doyou’ written on it. “I ran out of space for your name,” you explained as you added a candle, “but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“2 points off,” Doyoung called out, “didn’t complete your decorations, y/n? Not good.”

“No mercy, huh?” you tsked, lighting up the candle, “not even one point for the effort?”

He shrugged. 

“Guess I’ll just have to impress you with my singing skills,” you sighed. 

Doyoung watched with amused eyes, “You can try.”

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Arden- ” 

“Minus another two points.” 

Your jaw dropped, “What, I totally was hitting that high note!”

Doyoung shook his head, “First off, no. Secondly, who even is Arden.”

“Don’t know, maybe it was a classmate of mine whose birthday just happens to be today,” you shrugged. 

He raised a brow.

”Look, I just wanted to say a random name other than yours.” 

“Another point off.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Insulting the judge,” he shook his head, holding back a smile, “another point.”

“Doyoung!” you whined.

He laughed, “Okay, okay. I’ll give back two points if it tastes good.”

“Four if it blows you away,” you bargained.

“Deal.” 

Although you watched with a confident smile, your heart pumped nervously in your chest. You weren’t the best cook, nor baker, so you knew that there was a chance that the cake wouldn’t taste that good. And you were right. 

Doyoung’s face twisted into a sour expression. 

“It’s…”

“Just say it,” you sighed, “don’t hold back.”

“Horrible.”

You sighed and sat down next to him. You took a piece of the cake to taste. Upon the abomination you called a cake landed on your tastebuds, you realized that you deserved a final rating of -54325/10. 

“This tastes like…very salty sand,” you gagged, “did I forget the sugar or something?”

Doyoung got up from his seat and analyzed your ingredients. “My love, I think you did.” He then placed the bag of what you thought was sugar in front of you. 

“It’s salt?!”

Needless to say, Doyoung saved his own birthday cake by making one himself. You insisted that you should help which, reflecting back on it, you weren’t sure was a good idea or not. Multiple times, you got distracted by the way the dim lights of the kitchen seemed to highlight his face, or the way it felt too comfortable with his hand over yours when he would teach you how to do something. It left your stomach flipping, palms a little sweaty, and your heart ready to burst out of your chest. 

“And it’s done!” he smiled, finding the last flower decoration on the cake. 

It was clear who decorated what. 

All the orderly placed strawberries, raspberries and blackberries, along with the prettily swirled flowers and legible font were obviously Doyoung’s expertise whereas the little random patches of unevenly placed blueberries and poorly attempted flowers that ended up looking like dots were your humbly added touches. 

“Wait, I want to add one last thing,” you told him.

You took the piping bag full of royal icing from him and started to shakily draw on the corner of the cake. 

“Is that...a bunny?”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you concentrated, “Yep.”

“Why a bunny?”

“You look like a bunny when you smile,” you nonchalantly confessed.

Doyoung didn’t say anything.

“Alright!” you smiled, proud of the animal that you drew. You turned to Doyoung who you were surprised to see already looking at you. “Doyoung?”

He looked towards the cake and cleared his throat, “You uhm, you ready to sing?”

“I thought we were just going to eat it?” 

“Oh…”

“Well, I mean, unless you want to hear my amazing vocal-”

“Let’s just eat,” he grimaced.

You laughed, taking a knife and slicing a piece. You offered for him to take the first bite. 

“No, no, you taste it.”

“You’re the birthday boy,” you countered.

“And as the birthday boy, I want you to take the first bite.”

You frowned, “Pulled that one on me, huh?”

He only gave you the bunny smile that made your knees weak. 

“Fine,” you grumbled, taking a bite of the cake. It tasted a thousand times better than the cake that you made. “Oh my- This is really good! You need to try it.”

You didn’t get a chance to fully give Doyoung a piece of cake because he gently cupped your jaw, turning your chin to face him. 

“I think I’ll try it now.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you. It was quick, unexpected on both sides of the party. That didn’t stop him from kissing you a second time though. This time, it was less hesitant and a little longer. He pulled away, yet again. 

The two of you took time staring into each other’s eyes. His thumb rubbed against your cheek. 

“You’re absolutely breath-taking,” he confessed.

You smiled, “Doyoung…”

“Completely stunning,” he whispered, leaning closer. 

Your eyes started fluttering close as you muttered his name.

“Yeah?” 

“Kiss me.”

Kara’s smile widened, her eyes glinting with mischief, “Oooo someone did have a dream.”

Your face felt hot. 

“Someone had a dream?” Felix asked curiously. He took the seat next to Kara and placed a plate full of waffles in between the three of you. 

Kara stuffed a piece in her mouth, “Dream boy strikesh ahjain.”

“What?” you mused.

She swallowed her food. “I said, dream boy strikes again,” Kara smiled, “perhaps, a little something happened?”

“Maybe a little something.”

“Like…” Felix trailed off. 

“Like… a kiss.” 

“You kissed him?!” your friends both exclaimed. 

Luckily, at the early hour of 6 in the morning, the diner was always empty except for the three of you. You rolled your eyes. “So what, we kissed,” you shrugged, “it’s just a dream.”

“Y/N,” Felix sighed in an exasperated tone, “it’s not just any dream-”

“It’s a dream with your dream boy!” Kara finished. 

“He could be your soulmate!” Felix gasped, “What if he’s having dreams like this too!”

“C’mon,” you gave your best friend a look of disbelief, “he’s not even real.”

“You don’t know that,” Kara told you, “there are people out there named Kim Doyoung.”

Felix tilted his head and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “You know, his name does sound pretty familiar.”  

You shook your head, “You guys are crazy.”

They continued to converse about people named Doyoung and possible suitors for you which you ignored and, instead, focused on continuing to wipe down the counter. The door to the diner then jingled as a customer stepped in. 

“Welcome in!” you greeted, still not looking up from the counter. Not hearing a response from the customer, you looked up. The rag in your hand dropped onto the counter. At your reaction, your friends stopped talking. 

Doyoung.

The man dressed in all black that stood at the door, smiled slightly, “Hello.” 

You felt the eyes of your friends. 

Clearing your throat, you nodded, “Oh uh, hi. Sit where you want.”

He nodded before making his way towards a corner table. 

“Looks like someone likes-” Kara started, but you interrupted her. 

“It’s him,” you told them quietly. 

“He’s the man of your-” they both exclaimed.

“Shut up!” you hissed before they could finish their sentence. 

They both glanced over at the man looking out the window before turning back to you with wide grins.

“He’s the man of your dreams?” they both asked excitedly.

“You two are unbelievable,” you mumbled, taking a menu and walking over to the man.

“Here’s your menu. My name is y/n, I’ll be serving you today. Just let me know when you’re ready to order,” you smiled. 

When Doyoung, or the man that looked like Doyoung, heard your name, you could’ve sworn that his eyes widened slightly, but you shook off the thought and left when he mutely nodded his head at you. 

“It’s dream boy,” Kara immediately said once you returned back to the counter. 

You shook your head in disbelief, looking over at him before back to Kara. “No.”

“What do you mean no?” Felix quietly whispered.

“Just because it looks like him doesn’t mean it is him! He’s just a dream,” you nodded over at Doyoung, “that guy, he’s real.”

While you bickered quietly with your friends, Doyoung spared another glance your way. It was odd seeing you in normal clothing, ones that weren’t tattered or bloodied. You weren’t holding your usual weapon, and you most definitely weren’t bashing heads. Though, he couldn’t help but admire you in the same way he had in his dreams. 

“Completely stunning,” he mumbled. 

When you dropped the rag, he was sure that you recognized him; recognized him as the Kim Doyoung from NCT. When your friends kept whispering and looking back at him, he knew that, not only you, but also your friends knew who he was. Doyoung turned back to the menu.

He doubted you knew had the same dreams as him. He did feel a bit awkward considering the fact that he dreamt of kissing you without knowing that you were an actual person. Maybe he should leave? After all, he was hoping to come to this diner because it was relatively empty, and he just hoped that the people in here wouldn’t know him. 

He glanced once more over to the counter where your friends quickly turned their gaze away from him. 

“Guys, he’s looking over here,” you muttered, “you’re making him feel uncomfortable.”

“You’re right,” Felix mumbled, “we can’t destroy your chances at dating dream boy.”

Kara nodded, “Yes, we’ll leave.”

“What?” you exclaimed, a bit louder than intended. Lowering your voice, you sent a panicked glance at your friends who were packing up, “Where are you going?”

“Well, I have to go to work now,” Kara sighed loudly, slinging her bag over her shoulder, “I’m going to get going.”

Felix followed Kara’s lead and stood up, “Yeah, I have to go walk my cat.”

Before you could process that Felix doesn’t have a cat, they were out the door, leaving you alone, in the diner, at approximately 6:37 AM with a boy that―just this morning―you dreamt of kissing. Your face felt heated again. 

Shaking your head, you looked over at Doyoung who was analyzing the menu. 

For the first time, you could clearly see him. His hair matched the color of his black long-sleeve turtleneck that was tucked into some black jeans. No blood, no dirt, no machete, just him. Just him and the highlight of the Sun on his cheeks. That reminded you of the dream you had and you shook away the daze, turning your attention to the very interesting tile of the counter that looked like it needed some serious scrubbing (not really). 

“I’m ready to order,” Doyoung softly called out. 

You quickly walked over to him, jotted down his order, then ran away to hide in the kitchen. Your body worked on auto-pilot as you prepared his meal. With his drink and food in hand, you started to walk back towards his table. Doyoung was staring out the window and he was humming. 

As you got closer, you realized that you knew that song. 

“Do you remember what the stars looked like?”

In the middle of an empty grass field, you laid with Doyoung. Your head was rested on his chest, and you felt his voice vibrate throughout his chest. 

“Yeah,” you told him, “they look like your eyes.”

You could feel Doyoung roll his eyes, “I’m serious.”

“So am I!”

He chuckled and brushed his fingers through your hair. “Did you ever stare at the stars and see everything you wanted? Did you ever see your ambitions? Your achievements?”

“Getting deep here, aren’t we?”

Doyoung sat up, “Have you?”

You stared at him for a moment before turning to the endless orange sky. The Sun never seemed to move from its place over the horizon. 

“Yeah, I have.”

A pause of silence. 

“When I looked up at the stars, I saw my future. I saw the plans I had, the answers to my problems, I saw hope. However...” you smiled sadly at the orange hues, “they all went up in flames.”

Doyoung placed his hand on yours. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get that deep,” you crookedly smiled, but Doyoung only pulled you into a hug. And the two of you stayed like that for a while. 

“What did you see?” you asked when the two of you were back to laying on the floor. 

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Me on stage, singing.”

“Singing?”

He sighed, “Yep. It was nothing more than a hobby, but my grandmother would tell me that I was a singer in some other life. She told me that if I looked at the stars, they would show me.” 

You chuckled, “Kim Doyoung, a singer.”

“I’m sharing a heart-touching story and you’re laughing.”

“Sorry,” you gave his knuckle a kiss, “it’s my coping mechanism.”

He intertwined his hand with yours, “I’m just kidding, but is seeing me as a singer that funny?”

You shrugged, “A bit hard to believe.”

“Really?” he asked, sitting up, untangling your hands.

“A little,” you admitted. 

He stood up and lent you a hand. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, taking his offer. 

The two of you were back to traversing through empty fields and abandoned streets (fighting zombies along the way) until you stopped in front of a music store. Ripped posters hung from the window, a broken open sign dangled from the door, and a few savage creatures were lingering inside. Using the power of teamwork, you and Doyoung were finally able to do what you pleased.

“So why’d you bring me here?”

He sat a keyboard, “I’m going to play for you.”

“Doyoung, that’s going to attract a lot of noise,” you peeked through the boarded windows, “is this really a good idea?”

“Aren’t you five kills behind me?” Doyoung asked.

The competitive side of you perked at the mention of your kill counter. You were reminded of the little daily game that you and Doyoung decided to play. It was simply just to see who could kill the most virus-infected barbarians you could in a day. 

But, your smarter side still worried about safety. 

“I’ll sing you two lines,” he told you, “just two lines.”

“Fine,” you sighed.

“This is an original, by the way.”

“Wow, an original song,” you teased, “just for me.”

He winked, “Of course.”

“What’s it called?”

“Lost Souls,” you mumbled, “the song is called Lost Souls.”

“You’re actually my dream boy,” you blurted.

“What?” 

You awkwardly placed his food down on the table, along with his drink, “Uhm-”

Outside the window behind him, you could’ve sworn you saw the setting change and a creature run head first into the window. You gasped as Doyoung quickly turned towards the noise. “The apocalypse,” he mumbled. 

Slowly, the blue sky started to change. “Orange skies,” you announced.  

The tables were rusted, chairs torn, walls peeling. “Empty buildings,” he added. 

Doyoung turned to face you, the same warm eyes as in your dreams staring right into your own. A certain dream resurfaced. 

You looked at the familiar looking convenience store, “Is this the building where we met?”

Doyoung didn’t answer you, only saying, “I hope you like watermelon ring pops.”

“What?” you laughed, watching as he reappeared from between the aisles.

He stood in front of you, unwrapping the watermelon ring pop. He then bent down on one knee. 

“Just you and I?” he asked.

“Against the world.”

[j1080p]

Ignorance & The Unknown: A Chainsaw Man Analysis

In a world like Chainsaw Man, there exists many untold secrets regarding Devils, Hell, or their universe in general. It’s inevitable to arouse curiosity within that world. But in a kind of world like that, ignorance is valuable. I’ll be elaborating the value of ignorance in an unknown world.

1.  Quanxi’s Virtue: Voluntary Ignorance

Let’s define what is ignorance first. Ignorance is a lack of information or knowledge. Therefore, how can that lack of information, be something that is beneficial, whether involuntary or not?

We encounter this virtue from Quanxi, a.k.a the First Devil Hunter. She begins by telling a story. A story about the reporter she liked, then discovering that everything about that reporter was a lie.  

Quanxi didn’t told us what she felt about that discovery, but her quote “Ignorance is bliss.” tells it all. Happiness can be found even in a lie. If she didn’t know about the exposal of the reporter, then she would keep anticipating the morning news. She wouldn’t have to feel betrayed or disbelief. Her normal routine would just keep going on. In other terms, there’s nothing she has to worry about. That’s the unexpected virtue of ignorance.

This is also what she tells to Kishibe. To keep a blind eye, not only for the sake of his happiness but also for the sake of his life.

2.  Denji, the Epitome of Involuntary Ignorance

Denji is the primary example of ignorance. He didn’t experience or even has a knowledge of what modernity is. What’s considered normal for him, is considered as the bare minimum for a Japanese person. All of that is the effect of extreme poverty. He was deprived of education, deprived of the normal life. But despite of that, he showed us that he can still manage to be happy, even because of something so little.  

His ignorance made him contented with settling for the less, because less is something he barely has.  

Even after being granted of a normal life, Denji is still living in ignorance. He continues enjoying his dream. Even Pochita is preventing him to know the truth; he is keeping Denji ignorant to avoid the unknown. The unknown that will eradicate that bliss. That dream. Because knowing what’s beyond that door will be at the expense of Denji’s happiness.  

3. Aki’s Future

We also learn the importance of ignorance with Aki and his future. The future devil tells him that Aki will suffer in an inevitably worst death possible and even offers him to know it. But Aki decides to keep his ignorance and not abide by his curiosity, which is a good decision.  

After he made a contract with the Future Devil, he gained the ability to get a glimpse of his future. Despite his decision to remain ignorant about his future, or the unknown, Future Devil does not respect that decision and keeps bugging Aki about what’s coming.  

Aki, of course, does not achieve joy with this. To have the ability to know what will happen, and what is the unknown, sure is a torture. And knowing that it is inevitable, makes it all the worst.  

The time has come and Makima tells Denji to prevent from thinking anything while they fight with the Gun Fiend. Because if Denji is unaware, and believes that his enemy is just the Gun Fiend, then killing it wouldn’t hurt so much.  

This takes me back where Quanxi advises Denji to think that its dolls imitating humans, to keep a blind eye in order for him to eradicate his enemies. Because in their world, you’re left with only two options: To kill or be killed. With a world like that, Ignorance is considered as a survival tool, whether voluntarily or not. A coping mechanism to cope with the reality. Going back to Aki & Denji’s battle, Unfortunately, it didn’t unfold that way.  

Denji successfully defeats the Gun Fiend. However, with knowing the fact that it was Aki’s body. That it was his FRIEND’s body. Just imagine, if he didn’t think it was Aki, and just some Devil who wreaks havoc, he would’ve saved himself from all the pain and grief he’ll encounter in the future. If he followed Quanxi’s advice, he would’ve kept his bliss. That was just the start of him losing his ignorance, of him losing the title, “Epitome of Ignorance.” It will clearly affect him in the future, or rather, already affecting him in the present.

4. Beyond That Door

This is where Denji’s ignorance was abolished, the moment he goes beyond the door. His bliss has come to an end. He learned that the life, the dream he was living, were all a lie. After all, a normal life is too good to be true especially for a person like Denji.  

His ignorance and naivety were taken advantage by Makima. Whether Denji knew or remained ignorant about it, it is still corrupt and evil. But the latter wouldn’t be so bad.  Ignorance is a paradox. It is evil, but at the same time, it’s mercy.  

It’s evil, in a way that we live in a lie. That we dismiss the truth, whether intentional or not. We become insensitive, inhuman, and heartless. But on the other hand, it’s merciful, in a way that it saves us from anxiety, sadness, insanity, and trauma.

However, this will be a massive turning point for Denji. This will be the time that Denji will acknowledge his ignorance, and that will lead him to the wisdom he will need for the future. A “Socratic Wisdom.”

 “Socrates shows how clearing one’s mind of false ideas, even if it leaves one in a state of self-confessed ignorance, is a valuable and even necessary step if one is to learn anything.”

5.   Ignorance & The Unknown: Why Ignorance is a Blessing

 "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." -HP Lovecraft

When we think of the unknown, what commonly comes into our minds is space. That dark vast unknown space. When we think what’s out there, what we think of commonly are the aliens and planets and such. But to know the fact that we don’t know anything about it, or we do know but only a fraction of it, is frightening.  

To know that there is something in that vast of darkness, something that is abstract, that is beyond our comprehension exists, it fills us with horror.  

Striving to comprehend the unnameable will be at the expense of our sanity. The limitless and unknowable quantum of space is something that could never, and never will annihilate our fear of the darkness, or the unknown.  

There are two possibilities that exist, it’s either we’re alone in the whole universe, and we’re not. Both are equally terrifying and dreadful.  

We, humanity, which is known to go beyond our limits, attempt to shed light in that unknown. That’s where Astronauts comes in. But no matter how many ventures is done, and how many studies and theories are made, we would never truly know what is beyond of our world. And that alone, is mercy.  

Some truths, are better left unknown.  

To clarify, I am not saying having knowledge is a bad thing. What I’m trying to say is in some cases, ignorance is bliss. I love acquiring knowledge but I believe there are things better left unknown.  

[precious-whumps]

a rokka no yuusha/braves of the six flowers whump summary

hey all, i didn’t know there was such a thing as whumplr until recently. my excitement is immeasurable and my day is made, and i thought it’d be fun to join the community with this offering~

i see that y’all know about rokka and gif the boy a lot, but it seems like most don’t even know about anything that came after the anime. i was so obsessed with the characters and the story that i purchased the light novels and was not disappointed — at least on the whump front. the books are kinda pricey since barnes and noble was the only retailer i found that had it and the author never continued after volume 6, so if you happened to want to know the whumpy details, i’ve got them for you right c’here.

be warned though! there’s major spoilers from this, not limited to the identity of the seventh and the climax to the first (lol only...) main conflict since context, at least for me, adds everything to the moment. i also don’t have the books with me, so the descriptions here are just off the top of my head. small plot details might be wrong. once i get my books out of storage, i’m happy to post excerpts if anyone’s interested in that :)

alrighty so vol 2 picks up right after the end of the anime. the braves make it into the howling vilelands (book translation, i can’t remember what they called it in the anime), but they’re soon accosted by tgurneu. adlet has this spike thing with crystallized saint blood on the tip. after some desperate fighting and help from hans and mora, he manages to get close enough to stab tgurneu with it. the beautiful dumbass just stands there though, watching, waiting for that sweet sweet vengeance. tgurneu looks up at him and says, “are you seriously trying to kill me?” then, lightning fast and with inhuman strength, he punches adlet square in the face. the hit fractures his skull, knocking him out instantly, and sends him flying into the woods. he rolls and hits a tree i think. fremy screams for him :’c

mora gets to him first. i definitely remember that she feels his neck for breaks. it might have been my imaginings, but i’m pretty sure she pulls his arm across her shoulder and carries him in a semicircle around tgurneu who hasn’t died yet. hans comes up and takes adlet from her, saying he’ll get everyone to the next checkpoint which is a cave that has a special protective barrier the saint of the single flower made however long ago it was. he runs with both adlet and chamo (who’s been poisoned) on his shoulders all the way there. tough kitty. the others catch up eventually ‘cause they were dealing with more fiends attacking them and having trust arguments with each other, fremy and mora specifically with fremy ending it by outright saying that she’s worried about adlet. at the cave, they’ve laid him down by the spring, and mora heals him with the power of the mountain since bones aren’t rolonia’s forte. he’s still unconscious for a few more hours, until evening i think. she notes his resilience when he wakes up.

this volume also introduced me to the joys of hans whump..he gets my absolute favorite kind here. it’s revealed that tgurneu got to mora some years before, threatening to murder her young daughter if she doesn’t kill “at least one brave.” but she’s smart and dedicated, so she recruited rolonia, trained her to be both a strong enough fighter to be chosen as a brave, but also to be an insanely powerful healer too, because mora’s plan is to kill a brave to free the daughter but then immediately have rolonia resurrect them. she’d decided to use adlet since he was both healthy (had the best chances of being revived) and the easiest for her to deal with (lol), but there’s a hiccup in her attempt to separate him from the group. she ends up with hans instead because he sensed something was fishy, wanted to scope the situation out himself. it’s too late to fix it, so she fights her little heart out with him, finally managing to get a solid, heavy punch to his chest, stopping his own heart. she collapses from the licks he got on her and has to drag herself to his body. she pricks his jugular, all the while rolonia’s freaking out cause she wasn’t in on the plan, and the rest of the team swarms them. mora just yells at rolonia to pump hans’ spilled blood until his heart starts up again even as the others are yelling at her, believing she’s the seventh. i think adlet gathers the situation a bit and kneels by hans’ side across from rolonia, asks her if she needs him to do anything. i don’t remember the dialogue exchange, i just know that he’s holding hans as he comes back to life, and the poor guy, this hardened, i-ain’t-scare-of-no-things assassin, touches his neck where he was pricked, then starts screaming from the realization that he was dead. i love it. i’m so unbelievably salty we didn’t at least get the second season for this scene alone.

oh i also remember a flashback scene from when adlet met rolonia on atro’s mountain, it might’ve been in this book. it was one night, after a long day of struggling just to get nowhere with his training, he lamented that he was born a man, meaning he could never be a saint and have the power he needed to get revenge for his village. rolonia had her own issues at the time too, mainly that she didn’t want to be a saint, so the two ended up sobbing together all night.

~

vol 3 didn’t have a whole lot of…anything really. it was mostly goldov’s backstory (he takes a beating, i think, with nashe by his side for a little bit while he’s recovering) and the braves running around in circles like idiots trying to find nashetania. she loses her arm *shrug*. i guess i can say this one was important since it was showing the first signs of adlet’s strong man veneer cracking. boy’s getting stressed out by this whole leadership thing.

~

vol 4 also didn’t have much physical whump, but the emotional is pretty nice. it’s actually my fave in the series because it made me cry ;-;

the braves push deeper into the vilelands and come across the ruins of human villages. now, there’s a fiend with the special ability to implant parasites into the brain stem of humans and control them. they can still be ‘alive’ even after they should be dead, like this small army of zombies have long since starved to death, but their minds are sort of still there. and one of them just so happens to be adlet’s childhood friend rainer, the kid that he thought died with his sister. rainer heard information from the fiends that he knows the braves need, so most of the book is him trying find a way to tell them. he’s not able to until the very end as he’s lying in the woods, dying for real and singing a song from their village because it’s the last thing he can think of. he sort of recognizes adlet, saying, “you look like someone i know,” just before he’s gone. hans tells adlet it’s okay to cry if he needs to, and he’s all, ‘no i’m fine, we need to go.’ he takes a few steps away then stops and says, “actually, hold on,” then “presses his face to a tree trunk and weeps.”

~

vol 5…i gotta admit, i honestly don’t remember this one very well. adlet gets “beat to a bloody pulp,” but i can’t visualize it since some of the plot was hard to follow, and he’s honestly had worse already so i was barely registering it. the braves suspect him again of being the seventh, and real evidence comes forth showing that he likely is, and fremy tries to kill herself to protect the braves? like it’s just a big dramatic thing. so it’s kinda half revealed that tgurneu, who ~somehow~ still isn’t dead, has some kind of control over adlet involving ~the power of looove~, and it’s starting to be more clear that he has an unnatural compulsion to protect fremy. so like, yeah, he’s having to do a bunch of shit to stop her from killing herself, stop the braves from trying to help her with that, and stop them from suspecting him. i think fremy shoots him in the leg? i legitimately cannot recall. i do remember that he finally manages to craft a lie that convinces them that hans is the seventh and that fremy doesn’t have to kill herself, that her death might actually hurt them. she’s kneeling on the ground for some reason, he runs over to her, just stands there again looking at her, asks if she’s okay. she feels bad about him being injured and gently places her hands on his torso to keep him steady. it’s a super sweet image to me, yeet. he drinks some potion thing goldov uses to keep pain at bay with the warning that he’ll “be in hell once it wears off.” that’s all i got for this one, sorry >.<

~

and finally vol 6. it’s fully revealed that yeah, tgurneu is mind controlling him to love fremy so that she can fulfill her engineered purpose (she wasn’t aware of it. she’s such a brilliant, sweet girl, i love her so much), which is to drain the magic from the braves’ crests while they’re in the vilelands. of course, this will kill them as soon as the protection from the land’s poison is gone. so adlet’s for sure the seventh but he never knew it until now (or he didn’t accept it, i think he did realize it back in 5). his entire life was manipulated for this scenario. most of his POV in the book is his mental breakdown dealing with all of this. like he tries to force himself to stop loving fremy and being willing to betray his friends and destroy the world for her, but he just can’t shake the control, making him cry again from the stress.

at some point, he and hans are cornered by tgurneu’s special forces. they’d reverted to enemies after the previous book’s shenanigans but when hans realizes what’s going on in adlet’s head, he feels bad for him. adlet doesn’t do much fighting, leaving hans to deal with it. “not an inch of his skin is clean of blood” as this fight goes on. later, to keep adlet from causing any problems, tgurneu has one of the big fiends swallow him. he’s stuck in there a good while with its weird prehensile organ cinched around his throat and the potion wearing off.

finally towards the end with the rest of the braves coming to the rescue, he finds the will to escape and attack tgurneu, thanks to some clever situation-manipulation by mora once again.

a good slash to hans’ gut takes him out. adlet holds him again for a minute before chamo has one of her swamp fiends also swallow him for safe keeping lol.

oh i should probably mention that the prologue for this one showed a younger adlet still in training with atro. he’s told to ‘surprise me or gtfo’ because up to this point, he’s shown zero promise or skill, relying only on his need for vengeance. this is when he’s first given the saint blood spike, and it’s also shown that this was when the love spell took effect - a dream about a girl he doesn’t know but wants to protect at all costs. he has to figure out how to use the weapon in a way that no fiend would see coming. so he holds it up and stabs his own chest.

now back to his final battle with tgurneu. he conveniently had two spikes only, used one already that didn’t work because tgurneu is actually a fig-tree thing that controls any fiend that like..vores him, so the saint blood only killed his meatsuit before (he’s now in a large bird-like one). adlet knows he won’t get another lucky stab in, so he lets tgurneu rip his stomach open. he slips the crystal from the second spike into the wound, then grabs tgurneu by the face. his now toxic non-saint blood bubbles up into his throat. tgurneu, ridiculous fool that he is, can only watch dumbfounded as adlet pries his beak open and spits a mouthful of that blood into him. it reaches the fig portion of his body, killing the new meatsuit and forcing him to retreat. he’s helpless like this. adlet only has to go pick him up, tear the fruit-body apart to reach the fiend’s core. adlet stands there, holding the core in his palm. it’s occurring to him that everything he’s become is about to be gone because the love spell was the only reason he became the strongest man in the world. then he crushes the core and collapses, half dead.

fremy goes to him and tries to treat his wounds, but his blood burns her hands. the fiend army is still bearing down on them, so she wraps him in her cloak and carries him on her back herself to the next safe zone. at some point, he wakes up a little bit while they’re still running. his mind is so scrambled, and he feels an indescribable terror that knocks him back out. five hours pass, and when he wakes up to the others arguing about what they should do with him, he finds that he doesn’t feel anything for fremy anymore. he looks at her sitting next to him, says her name like three times, but he can’t summon back that love he felt so strongly.

hans is just in the background sleeping off the second healing session he must’ve had with rolonia. everyone’s pretty worn to the bone.

and that’s basically it. there’s cliffhanger plot stuff that i’m sad i’ll probably never see developed further. oof not to mention the destruction of adlet’s character and his romance with fremy. i can only assume yamagata-sensei intended to rebuild it in the next arc considering tgurneu truly believed that adlet’s capable of achieving the impossible. but yeah, i’ll compile some excerpts for y’all when i can xx

[moirai-au]

11. “Oh god, you’re bleeding” 10. “Please, don’t leave me alone” Anti

Timeline: middle of Arc 3: Aster, a few weeks after he gets his human body.

Warnings: blood, serious injury

@immabethehero @bupine​ @tabbynerdicat @i-maybe-exist @its-ethan-bro @sandinthetardis @honestlyitsjustkenna

Oliver knew of Aster’s weird views on pain; he apparently found it hilarious, being so different than the kind of pain his original body had known, back in his own realm. He and Mars often had to keep an eye on the fiend, or else they’d find him ‘playing’ with a kitchen knife or banging his head against a wall.

Hence why the subject of ‘Aster-proofing’ the mansion had come up a few times lately.

And whenever he went out -despite all their efforts to stop him- he always came back beaten and bloody, a manic, sharp-toothed smile on his tumefied face. Ollie had lost count of how many times they’d dragged the insane demon into Cecil’s new improvised office, the doc looking absolutely done every time.

But today was different. It looked like Aster had pissed off the wrong thug this time around.

The demon was lying prone at the end of an alleyway, hissing and snarling at him in warning. His black shirt was damp, his hands stained with blood.

Ollieie marveled at the sheer luck of the encounter; he’s been on his early evening patrol when he’d spotted the fiend’s writhing form in a dark alleyway. The vigilante usually would’ve left to his own devices -that deranged asshole- but the fact that Aster wasn’t masking his more, inhumane features had tipped him off to the fact that something was seriously wrong.

Ollie frowned, kneeled down next to the fiend. “Jesus, that’s a lot of blood. Did you take the knife out?”

“What if I did?”

“That was a stupid move. Now you’re gonna bleed out!”

Aster growled, curling up tighter around the stab wound on his stomach; his pitch black arms wrapped around his midsection, sharp claws digging into his sides. He’s reverted back to his base form a few minutes prior, not having the strength to keep up his disguise.

Physical pain had been new and strange for him, having been inhabiting this human-ish construct only for a few weeks. He’s been seeking out the thrill of novelty, the high than came with the sharp pain of a cut or the throbbing, dull ache of a bruise.

But this? This was too much. His body felt heavy as lead, compromising his ability to move around. He couldn’t think, couldn’t analyse, couldn’t parse the flow of information coming from his abused nerves. And he hated it.

This pain wasn’t fun. It was excruciating.

“Couldn’t leave it in,” he hissed, “Would’ve healed around it, and then it would’ve been a bitch and a half to remove.”

Ollie swore, fishing his phone out of his pocket and typing something rapidly. Aster stayed prone on the ground, twitching and hissing every so often as his healing factor kicked it, slow, frustratingly slow. Blood kept leaking out of the wound, forming a growing puddle under the demon, staining his clothes and pallid skin.

“There,” Ollie said, putting his phone away before reaching out to Aster. “I texted the doc, he’s on his way. Now we gotta-”

“Dont fucking touch me!” the imp sneered at the red-clad vigilante, scooting back against the wall. “I don’t need the good doctor’s help. I told you, I can regenerate.”

“Does your healing factor replenishes your blood too?”

Aster stayed silent, his black and acid green eyes burning holes into Ollie’s skull. The hero tsked. “Didn’t think so. Now if you won’t let me help, take this,” he handed a large piece of cloth to the injured fiend, “and press on the wound, hard.”

The demon stayed still for a few seconds, eyes darting between the human’s face and the cloth. Finally, he snatched it out of the vigilante’s hand and shoved it against his stomach, using both of his hands to press it in. The pain spiked again, drawing a yowl of agony from his throat, and for a split second all he could see was darkness.

He came back to a very startled-looking hero shaking him, his hands and hoodie smudged with dark crimson. He felt dizzy and nauseous, he noted with disgust; stupid fleshy human body. So fucking fragile and weak.

“Hey!” Ollie snapped his fingers in front of his face, catching his attention again. He let out a breath when he saw Aster’s eyes open blearily, acid green orbs among a sea of black. “Good, you’re still here. I thought you just up and died or something.”

“Why do you even care?” the imp drawled, slurring slightly; he really was out of his depth here, as much as he hated to admit it. ”You hate me.”

“I don’t like you, that’s for damn sure.” the human scoffed. “You stole my friend’s body and made me do a freaky ritual that you knew could’ve killed me.”

“I told you you could do it,” Aster smirked through the pain, “and that was the truth. You never asked me what would happen if you did.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie!”

“I beg to differ. I never lied to you, you humans are just stupid.”

“Fucking hell,” Ollie groaned, running a hand through his lime-colored hair. “You’re such a dick. Do you want me to leave you bleeding out here?”

“Why aren’t you?!” Aster snapped, annoyed and aggravated by the human’s illogical behavior. “You know the terms of our Deal. Nothing in it is binding you to do a damn thing to help me, so why?”

Ollie tilted his head, unfazed by the imp’s anger. “Because I’m a hero!” he said, his chest puffing up with pride. “And heroes don’t leave anyone behind. Even narcissistic assholes like you.”

Aster blinked, dumbfounded. He let out a sharp, mocking “HA!” before coughing, a few specks of blood landing on the ground next to him. “That was the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Doesn’t make it less true.” the red-clad hero shrugged. A chime from his pocket diverted his attention; he grabbed his phone once more, glancing at the screen. “Ah. Cecil texted back,” he explained, sitting back against the wall a few feet from the injured demon. “He’ll be here in five with some spare blood. Don’t know where he got it, not gonna ask. Think you can hang on ‘til then?”

“…I’ll be fine,” Aster croaked out, “you can hang around. But if you come any closer I will rip out your throat, Deal or no Deal.“

“Is that your way of asking me to stay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Bitch.”

[charlemange1]

Ask of the Lesser (Frankenstein/Lovecraft Works): 8.2 Did I Solicit Thee from Darkness to Promote Me?

That overpowering, unnamable stench hit me first, then the chilled stone wet with slick moss beneath me. The intense cold told me I was far beneath the earth. Iron bars several feet above my head trapped me inside a dingy pit within the underground crypt. My left wrist throbbed where a hand had been, and I cradled the stump to my bloodied shirt. That multi-eyed creature Curwen had summoned flashed through my mind and I screamed. The ungodly barking I had heard down here before rose around me, much nearer than I preferred. Within the darkness of the pit, shapes shuffled around with slippery thumping.

“Walton?” I dared to call. “Walton, are you here?”

Slippery clopping struck up as a silhouette both not human and too human lunged at me on all fours. I scrambled up against the wall but there was nowhere to run. Something slimy brushed my leg and I lurched away as an equally appalling fiend reared up beside me with a demonic howl and slashed its paw-like appendage at the other creature. The latter backed away with a sour whine and shuffled further into the dark.

I stumbled away from the creature beside me and collapsed in the small beam of light on the floor. The creature fixed its eyes that were not eyes on me. I held my breath. It turned away and lowered itself to the floor, resting that head-like organ against its paws. Was this what Curwen meant by his attempts at resurrection being warped and inhuman? Walton would never stand a chance against those twisting nails. He was gone, and I would soon follow.

I reached inside my pocket and grasped air where Victor’s journal had been. My fist punched the floor as I howled. Curwen had all of Victor’s knowledge now, whether I had prevented him from resurrecting my brother or not. I had failed. Failed poor Walton, my brother, and possibly the world. How feeble Victor playing god felt compared to these cosmic abominations! A few feet away lay a trampled sheet of paper. I snatched up the relic of familiarity and saw the shredded edges where it had been torn from a book. The letters were written in Victor’s large, looping cursive:

I beg of you Curwen, do not call up Any that you cannot put down; by which I mean, Any that can in turn call up something against you, whereby your Powerfullest Devices may not be of use. Ask of the Lesser, lest the Greater shall not wish to Answer, and shall command more than you.

I hardly processed the words, for beneath the faint light lay more pages from Victor’s journal. Curwen had not found it after all! With my single hand, I frantically grabbed the scattered remnants of my brother’s legacy. I would destroy them so no one could use Victor’s work to inflict further harm! The journal itself was on the edge of the light, badly chewed but still containing a few pages. Halfway through ripping the first one apart, my eyes settled on an entry:

Wretched fool I am! I find myself subjected to a hell of intense tortures such as no language can describe. Curwen has taken me to the depths of Ingolstadt, those catacombs unused since the days of Weishaupt and his accursed New World order. He revealed his wicked work in full to me, which if left unchecked, shall jeopardize all civilization, all natural law and perhaps even the fate of the universe! I only wished to pour a torrent of light into our dark world, and for the sake of all life and Nature, I must thrust Curwen’s monstrous inclinations back into the dark. Forgive me, Mother, for delving into such unhallowed arts! Happier is the man who believes his native town the world than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.

Curwen claimed he had only recently removed the stonework and gained access to the crypt. He had also spoken of using mathematics to traverse the fourth dimension and vanish from his prison cell. If he could disappear from enclosed spaces, surely materializing in others would be no issue for him. My hand trembled as I read further.

Curwen threatens to reveal my grave robbing if I expose his wicked deeds, yet my life and reputation are the very least of things that hang in the balance. M. Krempe and his ever-present disdain for the alchemists laughed off my warning, though it struck the soul of kind M. Waldman. He has offered his assistance.

The next page was barely legible, and I had to speak the words out loud to understand them at all.

It is done. We have set everything in that blasted lab ablaze, God willing Curwen too, though they have yet to locate his remains. The contents found within that lab have left me much changed. I am oppressed by a slow fever and in my agitation even the fall of a leaf startles me. Many have grown alarmed at the wreck I have become, but I might not be mad if Curwen’s accursed tomb-legions had not been so heinous!

If men like Curwen, bent on death and destruction, exist in this world, then my research may be our only defense against such insanity! I must discover the spark of life and use that power to protect the few that remain to me. My work, grizzly as it is, is nothing like Curwens! I shall create a man, not some cosmic daemon, and he will be benevolent and good! Surpassing any mortal man and immoral fiend fixated on tearing the world apart!

The next entry was a nearly identical description of that infamous creature found within Walton’s biography on Victor. The lustrous black hair, white teeth and overall beauty of his creation. Victor’s excitement showed through the sloppy handwriting in a way Walton’s printed report never could. Mankind’s salvation. With the key to life in his reach, he would never lose another person he loved again.

I skimmed the mechanisms used to infuse life into the creature, why linger on the process when I knew the result? To my surprise, the narration differed from Walton’s account when Victor recounted the creature’s watery yellow eyes- the very detail that had sent him fleeing in disgust and sealed the fate of us all:

What horror! Curwen’s influence lingers closer than a familiar. It stains my hands to make my good work an abomination! Those eyes are watery, pulsing with yellow. It is not the candlelight playing tricks, it cannot be! I hoped to perfect man, but I have only raised up one of Curwen’s horrors in the body of my fellow creatures! There is no soul inside those yellow eyes, there cannot be! Oh, it is the same! The same! I chant the incantation to disperse the monster, but it is not enough! I shall inscribe them here and recite again, surely there is more power in the written word?

“OGTHROD AI’F GEB’L—EE’H YOG-SOTHOTH ‘NGAH’NG AI’Y ZHRO!”

It has not vanished! I dreamt of Mother’s corpse rotting in my arms. Oh, I have called up something greater which I cannot put down! I have brought a curse upon my head that cannot be cured. Yet who can I tell? M. Waldman would never forgive me if he knew I continued this wicked research and the rest would call me mad. Both would lock me up, and then who could save humanity from the vengeance of this daemon? I must stay silent and find a way to undo this. I must. I must!

The rest was illegible from ink smeared in a manic fit of agitation. There were no pages after it. I shut the journal, thinking of that accursed mass of tentacles and twitching yellow eyes.

Tears blurred my vision. I could see the horror on Victor’s face that dreary November night as he mistook his innocent creation for one of Curwen’s awful fiends. If I really wanted to, I could also see the shreds of paper caught in the monster’s claws squatting before me. My eyes closed involuntarily at the wretch. It was like a human, but painfully unfinished. The deficiencies were uncanny, and the abnormalities of proportion hinted at obscure cosmic relationships to horrible to behold. Yet I thought of Victor’s creature, the monster who had murdered my family out of spite because of his neglect. His appearance had denied him companionship and turned his heart black. Forcing my eyes open, I beheld the thing before me. Misshapen though it was, there were glimpses of familiarity. The shape of those uneven shoulders, the outline of what had once been a jaw. The blue tint in the eyes that were not eyes.

“You wanted me to read these pages, did you not, Victor?”

The creature released a moan outside the range of human vocal cords. He had slashed at the previous monster to defend me. He was safe. I crept over and touched his jutting shoulder blade. The skin felt like wet leaves mixed with gravel.

“I understand why you did it. I should have believed you before,” I whimpered. “Even if I doubted your claims, I should have taken your fear seriously.”

That which was not Victor sighed.

“I have never been capable of seeing what is right in front of me. Curwen is right, I am a feeble mind, the background character to the grand narratives of you greater men.”

The creature whined and rested his disfigured paw on my hand. I tried to ignore the wetness of the skin. He shook his head with a soft croak. My eyes looked into his. Past the cosmic abnormalities, I sought my brother. I found deep pain, regret, and words unspoken that would never be. I forced myself to smile.

“At least we are together in the end.”

The creature reared back with a hiss. A claw jammed beside my knee and etched C-U-R-W-E-N into the moss before slashing the word with a vicious intensity.

“Yes, yes, I hate him too,” I sighed.

The creature growled and gave me the begging look our old dog had perfected at the dinner table. Again, he slashed the remnants of Curwen’s name.

“You wish to stop him?”

The creature yipped excitedly and pointed to my chest.

“Me?” I broke off in a cough. “Victor, you are the genius! I led him straight to your remains and started this mess!”

The creature grabbed one of the torn pages and shoved the paper into my hand. I reread the familiar lines:

I beg of you Curwen, do not call up Any that you cannot put down; by which I mean, Any that can in turn call up something against you, whereby your Powerfullest Devices may not be of use. Ask of the Lesser, lest the Greater shall not wish to Answer, and shall command more than you.

“Victor, this makes no sense.”

The claw scribbled a new name- Marie Antoinette, into the moss.

“The ex-queen of France? She was executed years ago!” I paused. “By her own people. Commoners. Lesser men.” I traced the name in the moss with an idle finger. Victor’s intent was reaching me. “Some people are born for greatness, and some are not. I am inferior to you two, an insignificant ant. Yet how great is a queen, be it of ants or men, without their subjects? It is the expendables who enable great men to be great, and can tear them down just as easily. Maybe I cannot stop Curwen, but together we may yet win!”

Victor nodded and half-hopped, half crawled to the stone wall and stood on what I assumed were his hind legs. He angled his head to the grate several feet above us. Picking up on the gesture, I climbed onto his shoulders with great difficultly. Leaning my stump of a hand against the rough wall, I stood on Victor’s shoulders and strained up toward the grate. Yipping came from below me as the other creatures emerged to investigate. Growls and barks echoed off the walls as they fought one another with animalistic savagery. My fingers grasped the grate and lifted it easily. Curwen had clearly planned on me being dinner to his failed experiments instead of working with them to escape.

Victor boosted me upward and I scrambled from the pit onto the stone floor. I was in one of the corridors connected to the haunted room of chiseled stone Curwen had shown me before. I had to wonder what pentagrams were original to Weishaupt’ s Illuminati, and what grizzly additions Curwen had added himself? I snatched up a dusty pole and stuck the end into the pit where Victor growled at the circle of monsters closing in on him. I regretted the second look, for horrid as Victor’s appearance was, his fellow creatures boasted far greater abnormalities.

Curwen is improving, I thought with a shudder as Victor clutched the flimsy pole and scrambled up the wall as the others snapped at his heels. He collapsed beside me in a panting heap as those left behind howled and scratched at the walls. It seemed Curwen had not perfected bringing back the minds of his genius men either, and I pressed against Victor’s flank with a shudder as he stared into the pit. Despite his deformities, the drawn eyebrows and puzzled scowl were distinctly Victors, and I thanked whatever governed the laws Curwen rivaled that I had my brother’s mind in full. Victor’s yip interrupted my thoughts as he angled his head toward the pit.

“You want to free them too?” I asked, the only explanation. “Victor, they tried to eat me and I am sure they devoured Walton!”

Victor pawed at the pit impatiently, and I knew arguing was pointless. Then again, if these creatures were Curwen’s failed attempts at resurrecting the dead, surely they retained some form of humanity? Victor nudged me behind him as he lowered the pole into the pit and the remaining creatures pulled themselves up one by one, ten in total. Each one thanked us by lunging at me with snapping jaws, but Victor was more complete than they, and a few swats sent them rushing down the nearest corridor howling with demonic bloodlust. The sound of shattering pottery reached me as they wrecked Curwen’s little stock in the furnace room. As the final one disappeared down the dark hallway, I could only hope Victor knew what he was doing. Victor pointed a claw to the opposite doorway. Nodding, I snatched up the pole and rushed with him back into the light.

[inactiive-shit]

In Perpetuum

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Title: In Perpetuum

Prompt: ghost story

Warnings: Deceit, mentioning murder/death/ptsd, I swear this is actually sweet

Pairings: romantic DLAMP

Words: 2,192

@sanderssidescelebrations​ yeehaw

They say that you can still hear his voice.

They say shades of purple and black move along walls when the sun goes down. They say stomping footsteps still go up and down the steps. They say shadows dance in windows when there is no light to cast them. They say the warnings are true. They say murder happened there, violently, and his spirit wants revenge. They say he waits for someone he once loved and mourns forever.

They say a lot of things. But the only way to parse the truth from decades of misinformation and rumors is to have been there.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxx 1950s xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 The man is wearing a skirt. Maybe that doesn’t strike you as odd, but it is. (Later, this would come to be a dress and make-up and heels, but he doesn’t know that yet.) The man is also wearing boots from a war zone he prefers not to remember. The man is, in fact, a soldier returned home from the Second World War just years prior. He is anxious, and he struggles, but he is lucky and mostly happy. (Later, this too would be distorted to extreme PTSD and anger and insanity, but that’s as far from the truth as you could feasibly be.) The man is sitting in the bright yellow kitchen watching another man cook breakfast. Also a strange occurrence given the time, but neither man has much of a mind for propriety.

The man cooking breakfast has never gone to war. His eyesight is too bad and he has epilepsy to boot. The government hadn’t wanted him, and he is more than fine with that. (Later, he would be distraught he couldn’t serve his country, torn apart by guilt at his in-action, but he hasn’t been told that yet.) He is making omelets because they are his favorite and the man sitting on the kitchen stool needs more healthy food. They can’t survive off chocolate, coffee, and cigarettes no matter how much they both may want to. (Later, this would translate to the dissention that plagued their house, the reason so many terrible things happened, but it’s not bothering anyone now.)

Upstairs, another man is sleeping in the master bedroom. He’s exhausted after a full night of working, but he will get up in a while to come to breakfast so he can see everyone else, and then he will go back to bed for tonight’s shift. (Later, he is the man the husband was cheating on his wife with. He is the reason the house is haunted. But he doesn’t know about all of that, and he’s pretty content where he is.) There is another man sitting at the desk in the master bedroom, writing quickly with minimal light glinting off his glasses so as not to wake his companion before he must. This man doesn’t really feel like a man, and while transgender was a word whispered only in gay bars and around campfires, that doesn’t really fit either. In fact, he doesn’t have the language to describe what he is, so for now he’s decided to stick with man. It is not unbearable. (Later, this gender dissonance will be the reason he was thrown out, the reason he was so alone. He’s never once felt alone, though.)

The last man in the house is smoking on the back porch, scratching absently at the eczema on his face. The flaky skin and heterochromia don’t really bother him anymore because he’s had years to come to terms with it. And in the army, it didn’t matter to anybody. They respected him once he proved himself, and nothing terrible ever came from it after that. (Later, the man’s face will be the reason people claim an inhuman creature descended on the house to bestow their untimely fates. Depending on who’s telling the story, though, he is the man the wife is cheating on her husband with.) He can smell the food cooking inside and he knows it will be done soon. He can’t wait to taste whatever his favorite cook has made this time.

“L?” the one is the skirt asks, eyes focused anywhere but the newspaper laying callously on the table. He hasn’t looked at one since he got sent home because the after-effects of the war and other forms of violence usually encompass the first page. He doesn’t like to be reminded of what he went through for a country that won’t let him exist. (Later, this is resentment and mental illness, rolled into one incurable ball of rage. It is not entirely wrong, though it is less rage than despair.)

“Yes?” the cooking one asks. (Later, the cook is the wife who cheats on her faithless husband. They will debate: can it be cheating if he did it first? There is no satisfactory answer.) In public, he would never accept being called anything but Mr. Abbott. He has the glasses and tie, the indisputable look of self-assured confidence on his face that keep anyone from questioning his decisions. It is a must in their society. (Later, he is called ‘stone-hearted bastard’ and ‘ice queen’, though many then thought the same of him. It is decidedly not true.) Here, he smiles at the other and sweeps the paper off the counter as he realizes his slip. He doesn’t want to hurt this man he loves so dearly with something so mindless.

“Should I go get the others…?” His question trails off like more words should follow. None are forthcoming, and the cook knows that his mind probably just stepped out for a moment. It’s unsettlingly common, but they haven’t found a way to help it yet.

“Yes, dear,” he says. “I think that would be best. The omelettes are almost done.” The once-soldier nods and heads up the stairs. He still walks with a kind of sharp precision he wishes he didn’t have; it is so different from the undisciplined kid he was when he left. He often wishes things hadn’t changed. More often he wouldn’t trade all his bad experiences that lead to this perfect present for the world. (Later, somehow, this is twisted into an unrecognizable shape, some malformed loathing for the people he lives with, the people who do not have those same awful memories. This has never been true. When he hears it, years down the line, he wants to score the walls with his anger at being so misremembered. He would not ask them to take these memories from him for anything.)

He knocks on the door to the master bedroom and sticks his head in. “Hello, sweetheart,” the one at the writing desk whispers.

“Hey, Patty,” he says back, watching the sliver of morning sun sparkle in his eyes. “L’s just about done with breakfast. You want to wake The Prince or should I?”

“I can get him,” Patty says, and he giggles quietly as a snore sounds across the room. “I’m sure Lo will need your help to fend off Dee, the fiend.” He slips out of the room and goes back to the kitchen. Sure enough, Dee is doing his best to steal food whenever their beloved cook has his back turned.

“If you must insist on nicking my food before it is all done,” L says, the hint of a smile playing around his lips, “the least you could do is have some manners and wash your hands first.” He thwaps the back of the man’s hands with his spatula, so the ex-soldier who served with the food thief crosses the room and wraps his arms around his waist. He’s about six inches taller than Dee, so it’s no challenge to pick him up and carry him across the room like a particularly rowdy sack of flour. (Later, this is aggressive, domineering behavior that strikes fear into anyone who witnesses it.)

“I thought L told you to stop grabbing food,” he mutters, nuzzling the other’s hair.

“He did,” agrees Dee. “But I am so incredibly starved, Virgil. I feel like we’re trying to live off rations again. I haven’t eaten a morsel in hours.” Virgil blows a heavy breath onto the other’s head and he shrieks out a laugh, trying to get away.

“You’ll live, snake. You ought to let that last meal digest before you begin trying to inhale something new.” He sets Dee down on one stool and then climbs onto the other himself. They always eat at the table, their perfect little family, but Virgil likes when his feet can’t touch the ground. He likes scuffing the plain wooden bar with his shoes to leave something behind in this house that can’t be easily wiped away. (Later, those marks are said to be friends and family being thrown into the furniture in a blind rage. Nobody knows that yet. They won’t know it for a long, long time.)

“Morning, love,” says the newly-awoken man, wrapping warm arms around Dee. He smiles as the warmth settles into his cold skin and work away the chill.

“Hello, darling,” Dee responds. He wonders how many times you have to refer to someone with love until it becomes a part of their name. He knows he’ll do it as many times as he needs to find out, and he’ll do it many more after that. (Later, this is possession, this is greed, this is ownership. It is made to be something sharp and hard, not all like it is.) “Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough.” He kisses Dee’s head and leans against him.

“To the table, all of you,” Lo says, hands loaded with plates. “It is time for breakfast.”

“At precisely seven fifteen,” agrees Patty. “You’re always so punctual, Lolo.” He twines his fingers with Virgil’s and pulls him to the table. Logan sends around the plates and takes his own seat. Their table is simple, pretty wood, circular so that no one can sit at ‘the head of the table’. It seems an outdated ordeal, and there are five of them besides; none of them want to sit alone.

“Roman, you can’t have my coffee,” Patty says, pushing Roman’s hands back. “You’re going to sleep in an hour, the last thing you need is to be kept awake.” Roman grumbles in protest and collapses onto Patty’s shoulder. Virgil hooks his left ankle with Roman’s under the table, and he links his right arm with Logan’s. Dee holds Patty’s hand with the one that’s not holding his fork, and he kicks one leg up into Logan’s lap as he laughs at the defeated look on Roman’s face. 

“Darling,” Dee says, “could you pass me the chocolate syrup?”

“Are you going to put it on your omelette?” Logan asks.

“Of course not,” Dee says, affronted. Logan raises an eyebrow. “Fine, fine. Only a little bit. But I feel like deserve chocolate.”

“I second that,” Virgil says and slides the bottle across the table to him. It is only then that Logan realizes Virgil has already smothered his own food in chocolate. He takes a sip of coffee and smiles. Logan sighs through his nose.

“Thank you, lovely,” Dee says. He blows a kiss to Virgil and then drowns the egg and vegetables in a chocolate tsunami. Patty confiscates the bottle a few seconds in. Dee pouts, but Patty is and always has been the master of puppy eyes; he’s been granted immunity.

They eat the best they can, all linked together like a human chain, and it’s peaceful. It is peaceful and nice and loving and wonderful. The omelettes are delicious, the coffee is strong, and the contact is comforting. They are warm and happy and so, so safe.

Roman presses a kiss to Patty’s coffee-stained lips, then extracts himself from their gentle tangle and heads into the other room for a moment. The remaining four look at each other curiously, but they stay relaxed around the table, content to wait.

The first strains of Sam Cooke’s You Send Me float through the kitchen. Roman comes back in and takes Virgil’s hand, pulling him up. They begin to sway slowly back and forth as Sam Cooke croons softly in the background.

“Darling, you send me

I know you send me

Darling, you send me

Honest you do, honest you do

Honest you do, whoa,” Roman sings in Virgil’s ear. Logan reaches across their table and takes Patton’s hand, and their spouses are bathed in soft, golden sunlight. Dee rests his head against Logan’s shoulder, and it is a moment in perpetuum.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxx 2019 xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Like most ghost stories, it is twisted and corrupted and tainted. There are many versions of events that never transpired, breathing life into something unreal. The real story is one of love, of happiness, of unashamed living. The world may never know what truths it has lost, but the ghosts of the past will never forget what they have.

And if you look closely enough, watch the curtains just as the sun lights the sky, you may see the silhouette of two men swaying slowly to unheard music and three more sitting at the table, happy and in love.

[thegoldofyourheart]

The Gold of Your Heart Chapter 26

Word count: 2575

Pairings: Romantic Roceit

Warnings: Talk of cannibalism, slight body horror 

First | <== Previous | Next ==> | Masterpost

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Roman had gone insane. Then again, Tony corrected himself, Roman would have to have been sane in the first place to go insane. Thinking about it in that sense meant Tony only had himself to blame for this predicament. Which was in a sense, fair, not that he would ever admit it out loud to anyone. Maybe Thomas if he needed to but on the other hand Tony would prefer if everything about this situation died in a deep dark hole.

He picked up his pace to try and keep up with Roman’s quick strides through the halls.

“You do realize,” he said dryly, “That your plan to find Apathy requires that you first find Apathy.”

“Bah!” Roman waved him off, and Tony fought down an amused grin. “Trust! That is what you lack! Trust in my brilliance and how it will pay off! I can make a way to track down Apathy wherever the villain goes! All it will take is a little blood!”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, fingers twitching with the urge to prod at Roman’s side. They weren't like that. They weren’t friends. “Except, again, to get blood from Apathy you have to first find Apathy.”

“Simple!” Roman throw his hands in the air and paused at the crossroads they came too. “We need bait! My fabulous face should be enough. He will be like a moth attracted to my flame and light!”

“Meaning if we do manage to defeat Apathy when we find him, your brilliant idea won’t be needed?”

Roman’s footsteps faltered.

“Ah, yes, well-”

“We could consider the bait as your brilliant idea,” Tony mused, throwing him a bone. Roman perked up, almost like a puppy given a treat, and Tony wondered what Roman would look like with ears and a tail. It would be nice not to be the only one slightly inhumane. 

“Of course!” Roman sniffed and reached out to shove him in the arm. Tony kept his surprise carefully internal at the easy, casual way that Roman touched him. Of course, Roman had been like that with Tony as a snake too. It had been easy to write off as him being considered a Construct, but now Tony wondered if Roman was like that with everyone.

He thought about the way that Roman treated Virgil and changed his mind. Maybe this was how the older, accepting Roman treated people. He was so desperate to do things right after all Swinging back and forth based off what other people told him was best. Thomas’ dreams, Patton’s directions, Logan’s advice. He had hated Virgil with a fiery passion because he had felt he was supposed to.

Tony had spent years telling Roman that he wasn’t a bad guy. Only now was it taking root against the other’s words, because they hadn’t been right about Virgil either. Tony scowled into the distance. No, they had been right about Anxiety, but then Anxiety became Virgil.

Like how he had become Tony.

Fuck. 

He was never letting Virgil know what had happened. Ever. He’d never hear the end of it, and that would be the best possible outcome to that situation.

“All of my ideas are brilliant!” Roman turned down a different corner, and Tony began to doubt that he had an actual destination in mind. Of course, playing bait would mean that they had to be visible and loud. Wandering around Thomas’ mind would accomplish one of those things. Which meant they needed to be loud.

“All of them? No exceptions?” Tony mused aloud, “I’m sure we could find one or two lumps of coal in the shining diamonds of your mind.”

Roman’s face twitched. Tony fought down another urge to reach out and touch. Distance. They had a distance between them that he needed to remember. He couldn’t fall into the habits he had formed as a snake. No one minded a full snake touching them, or at least no one in Thomas’ mind. Everyone minded a monster like him touching without permission.

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult,” Roman shoved a finger in Tony’s direction. Tony stared at it, and very carefully did not snap at it. “Cease with your games fiend!” Roman’s hand reach towards the ceiling. “I will come out on top in the end!”

“Like how you came out on top in the discussion with Virgil about Disney.”

“Silence!” Roman’s voice boomed out across the hallway and Tony couldn’t stop the chuckle that came from the back of his throat. Then again, he couldn’t seem to stop a lot around Roman lately. He almost felt lighter than he ever had. He’d have called it comfort if it weren’t for the threat of Apathy hanging over their heads.

“But if I’m silent how shall I ever talk about the gems that your mind holds?” Tony’s grin grew as Roman wavered. “Like the idea that  Dory is faking her memory loss in order to have an advantage in survival.”

Tony hummed under his breath as he waited for Roman to make the connection. He doubted that the idea was true, but well, there was a sort of fun in lies winding someone else up. False information could be used to entertain as Roman no doubt knew. The screech that drowned out all other noise filled Tony with triumph.

“How dare-!” Roman’s arms flew through the air as he pulled to an abrupt stop. Tony leaned back against the wall to watch the show. “She- you- Finding Nemo-!” Roman breathed out harshly and narrowed his eyes at Deceit. “How dare you insult such a wondrous movie!”

“Have you ever looked up what short term memory loss entails?” Tony asked. He rather wanted to know. Logan might have but Tony doubted that Roman had looked into.

“No! But she had no reason to trick them!”

Tony stretched his fingers out, studying he ends of his gloves. They didn’t need to be replaced quite yet, but maybe soon. He had a few extra pairs in his closet. The silence wound Roman up even further and Tony smirked.

“Survival.”

“They would have helped her anyways!”

“She had no way of knowing that!”

Roman’s hands sliced through the air in wild patterns. Tony wondered if he ever tried painting like that. Then again, abstract seemed more Remus’ thing. Roman would want it to be perfect and nothing abstract would fit into his definition of perfection. He’d rather copy all the great artists to find inspiration rather than let his feelings out. Tony hummed to himself and wondered if the other Sides had caught on to that yet.

“I- you-” Roman growled. He paced the hallway in front of Tony and ran a hand through his hair. “She agreed to help them out! She spent so long looking for her parents!”

“Survival,” Tony repeated, his voice liting into almost song.

“You can’t use that as your answer for everything!” Roman sounded like a meteor storm. Bright and loud and eye catching. Beautiful and deadly. Tony shook his head.

“Sure I can,” he pushed off of the wall and wandered down the hall. Baiting Apathy meant making sure that they spread their noise everywhere. They just had to be careful near the Mind Palace but Tony doubted Apathy would go there. Trying to face all four Sides would be suicide after all.

“I can use it to explain Wall-E too,” Tony called over his shoulder. Roman’s footsteps hurried behind him and Tony grinned into the distance. Honestly, if he were willing to think positively about Virgil he’d agree about the fact that winding Roman up like a top was the most entertainment he had in years.

Only Virgil wouldn't be about the winding up, or even agree that it was fun. Virgil would be too panicked about upsetting Roman to have fun with it. He argued because he disagreed. He insulted because he hated. Tony shook his head and took a sharp turn.

“Fiend!” Tony focused on Roman’s voice instead of his bitter thoughts. Anxiety was in the past. Creativity the present. “Don’t you dare ruin the foundations of Thomas’ childhood!”

“I wouldn’t be ruining it,” Tony said mildly, “Just explaining where they got all the food they ate in the movie.”

“Greenhouses!” Roman screeched, coming up to his side and looking fit to tear his hair out. “They had greenhouses that grew the plants!”

“But they didn’t know what plants looked like.”

“Don’t you dare! Fiend! Villain! Childhood ruiner!”

“Creative,” Tony hummed and adjusted his hat, bracing himself for what would come next. He spoke over Roman’s offended noise. “But if they don’t know what plants look like they had to have been using something else. There was only one other viable option on that ship-”

“I swear to all things we find holy-” Tony cackled as he dashed out of the way of Roman’s lunge. His cape fluttered just out of Roman’s reach, brushing against his fingertips. “-if you finish that sentence-”

“-is the passengers!” Tony shouted as he broke out into a run. “They had to have eaten-”

“Deceit! Stop!” Tony stuck his tongue out at Roman, “No really-!” 

The world tilted violently and Tony blinked the stars out of his eyes. Ah yes, there was a wall there. His hand brushed against the ground as he reached around to find his hat. He laid back and meet Roman’s concerned eyes. He took a deep breath and smirked at Roman before he could voice his question. Tony knew what he’d ask and he really didn’t want to know what would come out of his mouth if Roman asked if he was alright.

“I haven’t even started on Toy Story,” he said breathlessly, and the concern fled from Roman’s eyes as offence returned. Tony rolled out of the way of Roman’s tackle with a laugh. Roman’s hand clamped around his ankle and dragged him back.

“Oh no you don’t,” Roman growled. Tony kicked out of his grip and scrambled to his feet. Roman lunged at him again, colliding with his side. They rolled across the ground together until Roman straddled him triumphantly, grinning above him. “You’re dark conspiracy days are over Phantom of the Soap-opera!”

“Oh really?” Tony smirked, hooking his leg around Roman’s warm calf. His hands snapped out to grab Roman’s shoulders and with a heave, he rolled them over until he was the one on top. “And pray tell, how are you going to manage that?” he asked as he pinned Roman’s wrists to the floor. 

Their chests pressed together, his cape fanning out around them. Tony could feel Roman trying to hold back desperate giggles as he fought down a smile of his own. Roman’s legs kicked out, struggling against his hold but Tony held his ground. He smirked down at Roman’s flushed face.

“Simple,” Roman said breathlessly. “Apathy’s right there.”

Tony threw himself off of Roman and whirled around. His heart jumped to his throat and his fingers curled into claws instinctively. Apathy would get to Roman over his dead body. Thomas could get by without Deception; Creativity and Passion were needed so much more than him. His eyes scanned the empty hallway and he blinked slowly.

Roman’s giggled broke out into full on laughter.

“Oh my god,” Roman gasped out, “You should have seen your face!”

Tony pressed his lips together.

“Glad to see you taking this so seriously,” he growled out. He smoothed out his clothes. Frustration beat at the edges of his senses. Not at Roman, but at himself. He had let himself get distracted. Running around the halls like they had with Apathy on the loose was the height of stupidity. They wouldn’t have noticed Apathy until he was right on top of them.

He gritted his teeth and stalked down the hall. He could hear Roman scrambling to his feet behind him. Hurried footsteps didn’t slow Tony down at all.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Roman’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Tony yanked his hand away from the soft touch and tugged his sleeve down. It did nothing to help the pleasant tingles against his skin. He didn’t turn to look at Roman, but stopped where he was. 

“I’m sorry,” Roman said softly, “It was just a joke.”

“Oh, yeah, great joke.”

Tony glanced at the frown pulling at Roman’s face and looked away again. His hands curled into fists and he bit down on his tongue. Would it be better for Roman to know how dangerous this was? Would he even get it or would he assume that it wasn’t that bad no matter what Tony claimed?

“There’s no way he can be that dangerous,” Roman protested, and Tony scowled at the far wall. Roman’s voice grew insistent, “No way. Come on. we’ve got my fabulous and amazing self to start off with, and then we have your brilliance and illusions. There’s no way he’ll be able to top the two of us teaming up.”

“We did technically win the trial against the others,” Tony said slowly.

“We did!” Roman hesitated. “Is that a good example? I feel like that’s not a good example.”

Tony waved a hand through the air. Real Roman sounded a lot like his Head Roman. Concerned with right and wrong based off what Patton told him. Tony could push him to something more loose when it came to morals, but having someone to remind him when to back off a bit could be useful. 

“It’s a fine example,” Tony said. He leaned in a bit closer to Roman, not quite touching. He took a deep breath. Roman had a point though. They would do better together than alone. Tony had been the one to suggest a team up. He reached out hesitantly to press his hand against Roman’s arm.

“It’s fine, Roman, don’t worry about-”

His fingers tingled as they passed through Roman’s arm. It lasted a fraction of a second, enough that Tony almost thought he imagined it. The stricken look on Roman’s face said otherwise. Tony felt his eyes widen. The feeling like he had stuck his hand in a socket faded, the horror in Roman’s eyes didn’t.

“Roman,” he breathed, an understanding curling around his heart. Of course Apathy held such power. Passion was dying.

Roman took a step back, shaking his head. Tony reached out again, question on his lips, about when it had gotten this bad, about what Roman needed, about how long Roman had left. Roman spun on his heels and dashed down the hallways. Tony let his hand drop and tugged his hat over his eyes. 

It all added up. Roman lacked confidence. Without confidence, he couldn’t create as much as he used too. Passion would shrivel up without the inspiration, and with the way Thomas kept putting off his dreams. Tony gritted his teeth. Now with Apathy on the loose, Roman was being attacked on all sides. His physical form literally couldn’t keep up. He was starting to unravel. Literally.

No wonder Remy wanted Roman to talk to the others. A boost in confidence was needed. Desperately. Tony just didn’t know if the others could provide it at the moment. He let out a slow breath, eyes on the corner that Roman had disappeared around.

He needed to change his plans. Now. If Roman Unraveled completely it wouldn’t matter if Apathy was caught. 

Passion would be gone anyways.

[lucarioisinthevoid]

I'm very glad I got to name Herny. :)))

Since there's clearly some favouritism going on I would like to hand this to the obviously better Henry, Herny.

PS: I love your stuff I really need to draw more for you! (Submitted by @dayshift-at-jules​ I AM SCREAMING, I SWEAR TO GOD IT’S MY LORD AND SAVIOR YOU DID IT I OWE YOU MY LIFE) (8/10) “Oh so YOU are the fiend who wanted to reduce my whole DEEP, HEARTWRENCHING RELATIONSHIP to Henry to mere HORNINESS. Aha.” He inspected Jules a bit skeptical, but it melted away as soon as he got showered in compliments. “FINALLY! Someone who can ACKNOWLEGDE my amazingness. I suppose I judged you a little too soon. I absolutely deserve this gift and the recognition. Excited he opened the box with the biggest :D on his face, an expression that didn’t fade when the Daveplate emerged from out of the box. “What the everloving fuck are you and what are you doing in my gift :D?” “Why hello there, o l d s p  o  r   t. ‘tis I! Daveplate! I am GOD.” Henry was staring from the side, partially mortified, partially praying that this horrifying William-creature would eat the other Henry. It would be such a mercy. “God? Of what?” Already bored Herny considered to throw him away. What a shitty gift. Who would want GOD? “I am D A V E P L A T E . I AM EVERYTHIN’. THE WORLD IS MADE IN MY IMAGE, A PLATE FLYING THROUGH SPACE. ALL THE STARS ARE SPITBALLS I BUT OUT THERE IN MY BOREDOM. PEOPLE HAVE WORSHIPPED ME UNDER MANY NAMES AND SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME. I AM WHAT DECIDED SCOTT’S FATE, AS I DECIDE EVERY HUMAN’S FATE. YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. FOLLOW ME TO THE HEAVENLY PLANE OF PLATES, WHERE THERE IS NOTHING BUT JOY AND PLATES AROUND. NO HUMAN BEFORE YOU HAS HAD ENTRY AND YOU WILL BE FACED WITH PLEASURES BEYOND YOUR SENSES.” “That sounds pretty boring!” Happily Herny responded. “I only worship Henrys, so… no thanks.” And with that he pushed him back into the box and put it down. From inside inhumane screeches and noises sounded, around every extreme of the range of human frequencies. Herny turned to Jules, pouting. “Your gift sucks! I wanted a Henryplate! Not a Daveplate!” The box started to hover and distort reality, light flashing from out and around the aura of the object- Nobody acknowledged it. Really, they didn’t have the time to give a shit. Nudging the artist, the insane pink guy smiled. “But you DID give me a good idea… let’s make a Henry cult! BECAUSE HENRY IS LOVE, HENRY IS LIFE.” I hate that I had to write that. “WE SHALL ALL DEDICATE OUR EXISTENCE TO THE WORSHIP OF ALL THAT IS HENRY! HENRY IS THE BEGINNING, HENRY IS THE END AND HENRY WILL BRING-“ Henry pepper sprayed him, without ever showing any sort of emotion. While the guy laid on the ground, screaming his throat out for NO other reason than being dramatic, Henry turned to Jules. “… IF you draw more, then for the LOVE of god, draw something that is not making me want to go insane by just looking at it. What fever took over your mind to create this, what the fuck IS this thing and why did you feed it your creative power, I cannot believe you have done this-“ The box simply popped out of existence. Daveplate is too good for this sinful earth. Also, nobody offered him kebabs or attention, so he needs to sulk. All hail Daveplate. AND YES PLEASE. I WANT TO SEE MORE OF YOUR STUFF IN GENERAL AND YOU HECKING KNOW THAT. YOU SET FREE DAVEPLATE. WHEN WILL MUSTARD MAN BE UNLEASHED? WHEN?! GIVE US MORE CREATION, JOIN THE CLUB OF CURSED HENRY, YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO-

[psevd0nym-blog]

I am a writer.

I am a writer.

I am the line drawn between genius and insanity.

I am the distinction- the distinguishing mark between brilliance and madness in humanity.

I am an addict.

Searching for light in the darkest corners of a basement.

Carving words into pages; meticulous in their placement.

I am a graveyard of ideas and an asylum to creativity.

I am a rarity of a boy who thinks Christmas and sees nativities.

I am peaks and I am valleys; I am a collision of emotions.

I am depression and I am angst; I am a collusion of corrosives.

I am the rubber bands that are strapped to snap at the wrist.

I am the teeth that have bitten and broken chapped lips.

I am nine inch nails driven deep into holy skin.

I am anxiety in the physical, creating pain to hold within.

I am an artist

who finds more beauty in the texture and form of letters and storms

than in sunsets and stars wherein love has been born.

I am roses and thorns; I am a hurricane of thoughts.

I am a spark that cannot be generated in watts.

I am a tidal wave of pain, drowning out my aspirations.

I am deathly afraid of failure, yet fiend for admiration.

I am Hamlet imprisoned in my words till I rest in silence.

I am Romeo; I am Hamilton, I am a vault of verbal violence.

I am a King, committing deeds that will break his Coretta.

I am inhumane; a product of the devil’s vendetta.

I am sin; I am the devil, interpreted as by few

As to who I address myself as a crossroads of abuse,

I am self-hatred and pity; a boy forced to hold

onto hope absent in spirit; a broken and tortured soul

I am death to my lovers, my motive: monotony

I am actions upon actions that heighten animosity

I am failure in the liver, existing in dire straits

I am a man whose very pain he claims to hate, he creates

I am a future to be discovered and I am the past that I shun

I am a present to be unwrapped and a-head that may be gunned

I am conflicted with my afflictions; I am desperate for help

I am a soul at war, broken down, and destined for hell

I am a culmination of vices that breed self-corruption

I am one part hope, and ninety-nine parts self-destruction

I am a writer

[thetygre]

30 Day Monster Challenge 2 - Day #14: Favorite Invisible Monster

Some of the monsters on this list are so good at being invisible that I couldn’t even find a good picture of them.

1.      Killer Brain (Fiend Without A Face)

The charm of any invisible monster is proportionate to how bizarre it is when it is inevitably revealed, and there are few monster that can compete with the killer brains from Fiend Without a Face. Even their explanation is unique; killer telekinetic thoughts that possess human brains and feed off nuclear radiation. These things are simultaneously adorable and grotesque; they’re slimy and have the eye tendrils of a slug, and even the way they move is creepy. They use their spinal cord tails to move around and strangle people, making more of their kind. These guys made it into Pathfinder where, frankly, I wish they had replaced Intellect Devourers in terms of being the game’s designated brain monsters (since the Mind Flayer is copyrighted). The killer brains just nail that perfect kind of creeping horror where I don’t want to touch one but I also kind of want to keep it in a tank as a pet. They do not disappoint once you finally get a look at them.

2.      Monsters from the Id (Forbidden Planet)

The artist Francisco de Goya once stated, “The sleep of reason produces monsters.” The Monster from the Id from Forbidden Planet is the living embodiment of that phrase. On the alien planet of Altair IV, advanced aliens used incredible technology to make their very thoughts manifest into beings. But in a single night, the entire race was driven to extinction when their own subconscious thoughts manifested and killed them. Years later, a scientist by the name Dr. Morbius finds the aliens’ technology and uses it for his own, and the cycle begins to repeat itself. The monster is only briefly seen, and even then it’s only by the light of laser-blasts and electricity in what is frankly a perfect embodiment of raygun gothic.

Design wise, the monster isn’t particularly innovative, but I really think that’s to its credit. The id is the primal, brutish part of our minds; it would make sense for a monster based on the id’s subconscious desires to be a bulky, angry brute. And of course there’s also the classical element to the Monster as well; Forbidden Planet can be interpreted as a retelling of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, with Morbius as Prospero. If Robby the Robot, as a product of high intellectual science, is the spirit Ariel, then the Monster is Caliban. Caliban of course represented the elements of water and earth in Prospero’s miniature cosmos, and just as Caliban represented the primitive state of the world, the Monster from the Id is representative of the primitive state of the mind. Both monsters play to humanity’s earlier states. The Monster from the Id is, put frankly, a spectacular monster. Its invisibility reminds us that no matter how much we try to suppress our darker feelings and desires, there is always a monstrous part of us just underneath the surface.

3.      Ghost Wolf (Fables)

Realistically speaking, all air elementals should be invisible, but so far Ghost from Fables is the only one to step up to bat. Ghost is of course the lost seventh son(?) of Bigby and Snow. He’s essentially an air elemental by virtue of Bigby’s father being the North Wind; it’s complicated. At first nobody even knows Ghost is around until he starts asphyxiating people to death. As an air elemental, air is his food, and the air in the inner city is polluted while the air in certain peoples’ lungs is nice and clean, which I think is a neat urban fantasy detail. After his mom sends him off so he doesn’t get killed, he joins up with his dad for some guerilla terrorism. It’s fine, trust me. I like Ghost first and foremost because we just don’t get a lot of air elemental characters, and when we do they tend to stick to the stock elemental character archetypes. But Ghost is an innocent kid, just a child trying to navigate around the mother of all handicaps. He doesn’t mean to be a monster, he’s just trying to survive. All Ghost wants his to be with his family; like all invisible monsters, Ghost’s is confronted with an issue of presence and acknowledgment. Ghost can’t be seen, but he can be felt, and his character makes us question how much that is worth is terms of bonding.

4.      Griffin (The Invisible Man)

There have been a lot of invisible men through the years, but Griffin is still my favorite for his blend of insanity and sadism with a bit of underlying tragedy. Griffin achieved invisibility by use of a special chemical that also drives him insane with its prolonged usage. With that said, it’s hard to know whether Griffin is cruel because of the drug, or if that was always some part of him; both prospects ultimately play in Griffin’s invisibility.

First, while Griffin’s insanity is attributed to the chemicals he uses, it really derives more from his lack of recognition from other people. As an invisible being, people don’t attribute to Griffin all the dozens of minor cues a person receives every day that reassures them that they exist; glancing at them, saying hello, moving out of the way, etc. An invisible man would have to cope with the fact that outside of their own ability to sense the world around them, they don’t really exist. They are a total non-person, dehumanized in the most profound way possible.

This leads to the second point; a person treated inhumanly will begin to act inhuman. A lack of recognition is also a lack of responsibility, a state where you don’t have to be held accountable for your actions. That kind of freedom gives a person the chance to show who they really are. That is the tragedy of the invisible man; Griffin already felt inadequate before he was invisible, and was a complete non-entity with his power, so he used that power to hurt people and lash out, further alienating himself from humanity.

5.      Prisoners (Silent Hill 2)

There’s a prison cell in Silent Hill 2. It’s not unusual to go to prison in Silent Hill; at this point it’s practically standard. And it’s also not unusual for the cells in that prison to have horrible monsters waiting inside. What is unusual is when you can’t actually see the monsters, and they don’t really do anything. They’re just… there. Existing. If you listen closely they seem to be chanting the word ‘ritual’, or maybe ‘are you sure’ backwards; it’s unclear. Like most monsters in Silent Hill, especially 2, all sorts of meanings and symbolism can be attributed to the prisoners. But more than anything, they’re there just to be creepy and add ambiance, and they’re disturbingly effective at it.

6.      The Dunwich Horror (H.P. Lovecraft)

We don’t get enough abominable half monsters anymore. Not enough deformed masses of flesh that were simply never meant to be. The Dunwich Horror is where you can really see Lovecraft drawing from The Great God Pan in terms of influence. Growing up in rural country, I was always fascinated by the concept of the family monster in the cellar or the barn. The Dunwich Horror is too great, too terrible to be in our world. Its invisibility stems from the fact that it simply isn’t meant for our meager reality. Like Lovecraft says, it has more of its father than its mother in it. The Dunwich Horror reminds me of a storm or some other kind of natural disaster, the kind of thing the ancients would say a god was behind. But it also brings to mind the original definition of monster; ‘monstrum’ were omens in the form of deformities in childbirth, given by the gods. The unnamed Whateley brother is just such an omen; a portent of forces beyond mankind.

7.      The Blair Witch (The Blair Witch Project)

Frankly, the Blair Witch could have gone on the witch list, and probably would have if I was doing a solely pop culture list. But I don’t think that should discredit the Blair Witch as an invisible monster, and there are angles to her absence that would be lost if she suddenly just showed up at the end of a movie. Most obviously, of course, is that the witch is supposed to be an ambiguous entity. Her existence could be entirely fictitious, and she might be nothing more than insanity. The Witch being invisible makes her manifest as a kind of madness, an insanity that appears solely through environmental cues. I would suggest that the Witch is invisible because she is a historic figure; specifically, she is a historic evil. She is something terrible that happened in the past, and even if that evil isn’t seen anymore, it’s still there, a part of the landscape. It’s a very basic horror reading, but I still think it applies to the Blair Witch as a monster.

8.      Stealth Sneak (Kingdom Hearts)

I have a lot of good memories of beating up this guy in the Olympus Colosseum. I mean it’s utterly pointless for it to be invisible; the monster’s so huge you can even jump on top of it. But I just love this chameleon monster design! Chameleons don’t get enough play as monsters; they’re always getting upstaged by komodo dragons and iguanas. And obviously the superior color palette is green. I know that shouldn’t matter for a monster that can change color at will, but a line has to be drawn somewhere.

9.      Death Sword (The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess)

This guy almost looks like he belongs on the evil weapons list until you actually get to see him. Then when you finally get a look at him, he’s one of the coolest designs in the game! Just look at this horrible thing. What was he? Why is he locked up in this musty old desert tomb? And what did he do that he had to be bound with all these amulets? There’s a lot of mysteries for this mini-boss, and we’re probably better off not knowing. Just appreciate his design and respect the cleaver.

10.   Intangir (Final Fantasy VI)

This is just sheer nostalgia. When I was a kid, my cousin let me play her copy of Final Fantasy VI briefly, and I kept running into an invisible monster. Whenever I would attack it enough, it would appear and reveal this giant cat-dragon thing. For years, it became my default to assume that any invisible monster was a buff cat-dragon-man. Blair Witch? Cat-man. Cattle mutilators? Cat-man. Forbidden planet monster? Cat-man. This is Schrodinger’s Cat-Man, where every invisible monster is potentially a cat-man until proven otherwise. Years later, I can see now that this thing is a Behemoth palette-swap, but I like to think of it is a lesser subspecies.

[helmetkeeper]

giggles... kicks my feet... omg time to request from soldier after staring at its new carrd for like several minutes /pos

HIIII could i maybe get. neopronouns based on maxwell from don't starve :^))) i REALLY like ones based on horror elements, in particular shadows/inhuman creatures (leaning more towards a demon/shadow monster type thing)-- if that's too hyperspecific though literally any horror themed pronouns will do. also big on cats if that helps any <3

does a little spin out of your inbox heehee ^.^ hope youre doing well!!

- 🌻

RUNS AROUND you are so funny silly. definitely my fav reoccurring anon (i say, knowing full well that you are my only reoccurring anon💔 /silly).

i'm doing good!! have less school this week :] it makes me so very sleepy (derogatory), compared to my normal seepy, eepy self ♥️. i hope you've had a good week, and that your upcoming ones will be funny and silly as well :].

also.... if you know where a good playthrough of don't starve on youtube would be... 👉👈... please tell me :]. i thought of the silly sounds everything makes and now i want to watch it since i can't play it LOL. i might check out if markiplier has any videos TBH. or maybe just a silent playthrough? IDK.

ANYWAY- your PronounsTM are under the cut :D

i'm not so sure i really got the specific kind of horror pronouns you were looking for, but i have a few different categories still :].

in general pronouns:

horror / horrors, horrors / horrors', horrific / horrifics, horrify / horrify's

rid / rids, horrid / horrids

demon / demons, demonic / demonics

petrify / petrifys (or like. petrify's, petrified, etc. 🤔)

investigate / investigates, investigation / investigations

dark / darks, darkness / darkness'

devil / devils

ghast / ghasts, ghastly / ghastly's

para / paras, paranormal / paranormals

atrocity / atrocity's

grot / grots, grotesque / grotesque's

carnage / carnages

hell / hells, hellish / hellish's

beast / beasts

phobia / phobias

dire / dires

dread / dreads

ghoul / ghouls, ghoulish / ghoulish's

ghost / ghosts, ghostlike / ghostlikes

creature / creatures

monster / monsters

shadow / shadows

terrify / terrify's

creep / creeps, creepy / creepy's

eerie / eerie

grim / grims

loathe / loathes

aghast / aghasts

haunt / haunts, haunted / haunted's

noir /noirs

deathlike / deathlikes

evil / evils

mor / mors, morb / morbs, morbid / morbids

sin / sins, sinister / sinisters

spec / specs, spectral / spectrals

foul / fouls

vile / viles

wick / wicks, wicked / wicked's

curse / curses

torment / torments

jitter / jitters, jitters / jitters'

abom / aboms, abomin / abomins, abomination / abominations

agony / agony's

ash / ashes

cruel / cruels

damn / damns, damned / damned's

decay / decays

fatal / fatals

rot / rots

scratch / scratches

shriek / shrieks

terror / terrors

fiend / fiends

abnormal / abnormals

seeth / seethes

hollow / hollows

desolate / desolates

purge / purges

murk / murks

gloom / glooms

bogey / bogies

spirit / spirits

phantom / phantoms

poltergeist / poltergheists

wraith / wraiths

shroud / shrouds

veil / veils

maxwell related pronouns:

experiment / experiments, experimental / experimentals, experimentation / experimentations

magic / magics, magician / magicians

wand / wands

cape / capes

cane / canes

coat / coats, coattails / coattails'

button / buttons

tome / tomes

wax / waxes (waxs'?)

throne / thrones

king / kings

monarch / monarchs

ruler / rulers

master / masters

capture / captures

disappear / disappears

void / voids

brain / brains

mind / minds, mindfreak / mindfreaks

split / splits

puppet / puppets

night / nights, the night / the nights, midnight / midnights

mare /mares, nightmare / nightmares

sword / swords

sanity / sanitys', sane / sanes, insane / insanes

ensnare / ensnares

trap / traps

trick / tricks

codex / codexs', umbra / umbras

silhouette / silhouettes

victim / victims

armor / armors

harmon / harmons, nium / nium, harmonium / harmoniums

banish / banishes

barren / barrens

blade / blades

cage / cages

condemn / condemns

dag / dags, dagger / daggers

doom / dooms

end / ends, less / less', endless / endless'

eter / eters, eternal / eternals

cat related <3 :

dew / dews, dewclaw / dewclaws

claw / claws

paw / paws, print / prints, pawprint / pawprints

whisk / whisks, whisker / whiskers

mew / mew, mow / mows or maow / maows, meow / meows

purr / purrs

fur / furs, furry / furries

hair / hairs

raise / raises

tail / tails

crop / crops, cropped / cropped's

sniff / sniffs

kit / kits, kitten / kittens

cat / cats, kitty / kitties, feline / felines

floof / floofs, fluff / fluffs, floofy / floofy's, fluffy / fluffy's

hiss / hisses

scratch / scratches

yowl / yowls

catfight / catfights

twitch / twiches

blink / blinks

scritch / scritches

rub / rubs

roll / rolls

prance / prances

sashay / sashays

saunter / saunters

swish / swishes, swoosh / swooshes

jump / jumps

nine / nines (nine lives? no? ..okay i'll leave 😿)

patch / patches

spot / spots

stripe / stripes

dot / dots

skunk / skunks, skunkline / skunklines (is skunkline even a real phrase?? i thought it was 🤔)