#distortions monster world

[friszil]

the golden ratio

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

ok so

the instructions were for Wally, not the whrp/qa/You. which is especially interesting, because I think we all assumed they were instructions from Wally - after all, he's the one telling the whrp that they have work to do, he's sending envelopes (assumedly), he's sort of the driving force behind the whole in-universe project. he calls the shots, in a way. he's the one with the phone.

so who the hell is giving Wally instructions?

is it related to the distorted "extra" voice under Wally's in some of his hidden record audios? is it related to Sally's "monster"? is there someone else in Home?

just... there's a whole 'nother layer underneath Wally that i think is really scary. there's something else there, i feel. i Fear. i wonder if Wally is aware of it, or if he isn't quite as aware as we all - including him - like to think. how aware can a puppet be if they can't see their own strings (so to speak)? it's one thing to know what you are, and another entirely to understand what that entails.

[coleomegilla-maculata]

Best part of being an artist is that you can combine interests and nobody can stop you

Tried doing some effects with the first one too but I wasn't too sure about how it turned out? Here it is anyways. I haven't really fiddled with the filters in FireAlpaca too much lol

[dyke-in-crisis]

haunted by the knowledge that the second we get an important (alive) female character it’s just going to be harlan in a wig again

[kandicon]

Actually I really wanna write a role reversal gerrymichael au and let me be so, so transparent when I say it is literally just bc I wanna fantasize about the tall, gangly blond man beating monsters to death

Everyone else has the same roles. Mary Keay is still Mary Keay in all her abusive and obsessive glory; Gertrude is still the Archivist.

Vaguely spiral aligned Michael who Does Not Like It. Pretends his connection is a hell of a lot looser than it is.

The only benefit (that Michael thinks of the Spiral) is how he can move around the Institute with relatively little interference and watch, after all, it is hard to behold something that is both nothing and everything and never was all at the same time.

Gerry ran away from home really young and actually succeeded. Spent a few years fucking around and learning what kind of benches are best to sleep on before applying to the Magnus Institute because that's what his dad did. He lied to hell and back on the application, but was hired quickly because of how thoroughly touched by the entities he was (thanks Mary) and Gertrude was running low on assistants. Gerry also felt completely justified in faking stuff and that he was perfectly qualified bc he grew up in a bookshop and how much different could it be (very different, as it turns out).

They first meet each other when Michael is prowling through artefact storage like it was a shopping mall, and pocketing everything he saw that didn't immediately mesmerize him. He was nervous and jumpy as all hell, even though this was not the first time he's done something similar and he's fairly certain Gertrude doesn't care, so when Gerry first spotted him from behind, he was immediately suspicious even before he saw Michael try to shove a lamp into his jacket pocket. This led to an altercation that eventually led to the lamp being accidentally turned on, Michael smashing it to pieces with a hammer Gerry had not realized Michael had, and Gerry suddenly being a lot more consciously aware of the supernatural than he was.

Gerry's mother was still obsessive over Lighteners, and she didn't make an effort to hide what she did, but she didn't actively try to educate Gerry on anything to do with the Fears. So he is fairly knowledgeable on the supernatural, but he doesn't know anything concrete about the Fears themselves and their categorization. The role of a stand by sacrifice instead of an errand boy and heir.

Michael still trusts Gertrude, but this time he knows he shouldn't and hates himself for it. Gerry wants to trust Gertrude, and she does hide him from anything Fears related and behaves around him like she did Michael in cannon, but he just feels something off about her and doesn't like it. She's just a bit too much like his mother for him to let his guard down.

Michael gets referred to by "it/its" pronouns once by Gerry as a teasing joke before Gerry fully knows what he is and is absolutely terrified by how happy the pronouns make his feel. (He thinks, maybe, that the Michael of his childhood liked something similar, too, but everything too far back is all twisted and he doesn't know what has been touched by the Spiral and what hasn't, so he doesn't trust any of it). He/it Michael ftw

At one point Michael just started putting black lipstick on himself because some of Gerry's always stuck to him when they kissed anyways n this gave them plausible deniability. Michael will never admit to the little spiral thrill it gives him when people do a double take upon seeing his face, the black lipstick contrasting literally everything else about his style.

Gabriel attempted to track Michael down exactly once, a few years before he joined the institute. He had heard about Michael's unsavory... Hobby... (<- reckless destruction of artefacts and throwing himself at all monsters and avatars he sees with a murderous rage regardless of their affiliation) but spiral avatars capable of holding a conversation are so few and far between and the Great Twisting was almost prepared, so he thought a meeting would be worth it. He showed up at a cafe Michael frequented one day expecting lovely, but tense, conversation, only to promptly lit on fire (mostly) in the back alley behind the cafe after he introduced himself. Gabriel survived, but some of his clay body still hardens unexpectedly or shows signs of firing from time to time.

Occasionally Michael's eyes will change colors and shapes, so he likes to put contacts in (he used to just use tinted glasses, but after one time of Gerry getting lost in his eyes in the far too literal, not at all romantic, sense, he decided to invest in smth a bit harder to take off and forget about). Unfortunately, this sometimes means other, very much not his original eyes will pop up around his body and in his hair as protest when he puts them in. It's not very fun to have to chase off eyes at 6am, but he does it regardless and complains the whole time about how he shouldn't have to deal with eyes when he very clearly isn't of The Eye.

Gerry: Oh hey you were running pretty late. I was starting to get worried.

Michael, not about to admit he spent an extra thirty minutes to get ready yelling and brandishing a lighter at a door that was following him around like a lost puppy: Ummmmmm I forgot my wallet. :((

[liquidchocolatecake]

currently captive audience to a knock down drag out fight in my brain between desire to respect the wishes of the creator and not look for anyone redistributing the comic and god i fucking miss wonderlab i miss wonderlab so much you have no idea i want wonderlab back so bad

[evilhorse]

Fantastic Four #10

[giantkillerjack]

What up everyone Jack's talking about the croissant thing again:

In 2019, I was very mentally and physically ill, and I was recommended to an IOP program, or, as I often called it, Suicide Prevention Daycamp For Grown-Ups.

It was technically a 4-6 week program, but I was not in a place where the counselors and I agreed that I was safe to graduate the program until about week #22 or so. So I was going to intensive group trauma therapy (to say nothing of all the other doctors I had to see), for 15+ hours a week for 5 months.

And one of the things that helped me regain and strengthen my will to live more than anything was going to the nice little bakery beside the hospital in the mornings before session started; buying 3-4 pastries, a banana, and a Lara bar (a gluten-free vegan* snack bar); taking one pastry for myself; and then walking around the morning meeting room at IOP giving away everything else.

* I'm not vegan or gluten-intolerant, but at least one person in my program was.

I did this once on a whim after about a month at IOP, and I liked doing it so much that I then continued to do it every single day I was there for the next 4 months. (I didn't have a lot of extra money, but it was some of the best spending I've ever chosen to do in my life, and I have never regretted it.)

There were about 12-20 of us there in the mornings, depending on the day, and the interactions generally went like this:

Me: Good morning! Have you eaten?

Them: Uhh no.

Me: Okay cool! *I open up my white paper bakery bag like I'm a semi-suicidal Santa* So I've got a chocolate croissant, an almond croissant, and a banana left! Which one would you like?

Them: Ohh, you don't have to do that, I don't need anything...

Me: I didn't ask if you need anything, I asked which one you'd like!!

Them: Someone else might need it more...

Me: I have bought these items for the purpose of giving them away, and if no one takes them, I will have to throw them out.

Them *with the most grateful look I've ever seen on a person, knowing they haven't been completely forgotten and that it IS easy for at least one person on this fucking planet to be goddamn kind to them*: ...the chocolate croissant. :)

Me *realizing that I want to spend the rest of my life chasing this feeling and showing people I care that they are okay and then realizing that I've suddenly started thinking of "the rest of my life" in the long-term again*: Awesome, here you go! :,)

---

And I like this post because it made me remember how grateful I am that those folks let me be kind to them because just by taking a banana from me and saying thank you, they literally helped me build up the will to live and to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

It was also a great way to remind a lot of thoroughly abused, invalidated, and neglected people [read: generally, most of us that end up at mental hospitals] that someone gives a fuck about them in a tangible way, and that at least SOMETIMES people offer help without secretly expecting guilt or repayment.

More than once, someone told me that when they came in on their first day, terrified and not knowing what to expect, they felt instantly more at ease after seeing me bustling about giving people high-quality snacks! And in a suicide-prevention program, feeling safe to stay in and be vulnerable in a space means a LOT.

- Comments like that one changed my entire self image tbh. The "croissant thing" gave me a tiny sense of control over my own life when I was close to death, and it showed me how just the tiniest amount of kindness and consideration can mean SO MUCH to people.

And none of that would have happened for me if all those folks hadn't believed me when I said I really wanted to make sure they had something to eat! What a kindness it is to be allowed to do a kindness!!

some of y'all need to learn how to accept hospitality. stop assuming people are only offering to look after you out of twisted obligation that they don't actually want to do. when you assume that, you are often denying someone the opportunity to genuinely show a friend or stranger love. even if you don't really care about what they're offering, it's respectful of their desire to be kind to accept it anyways.

i had a bunch of girls i've never met over for a women's group. every single one of them denied my offer to make them tea (despite already making myself a mug anyways), get them water, a scone, etc.

i can tell when people refuse to let me be a good host because they "don't want to be a bother". like no!! please be a bother!!! i want to serve you and make you comfortable in my home!

not to be like "we live in a society" but really do live in a modern culture than emphasizes individualism to the point where people will reflexively deny any help or kindness from others for fear of treading on their independence. newsflash: dependence on each other is what makes a community. next time someone offers you kindness, accept it instead of making excuses for why you don't need it. otherwise you've robbed both yourself of being loved and someone else from showing love.

[greenglowinspooks]

The way that I’m brainrotting over a DCxDP crossover with a Danny who’s a vengeful villain rn

Like, let’s just say that the GiW finally get into contact with the JL. They need help neutralizing a threat, you see, and they’re on their last limb trying to keep civilians safe.

They have video evidence! They have studies to back their claims! The JL have to help them!

Unfortunately, the JL believe them. They join a fight against Danny, and defeat him due to being far more experienced than he is. Danny is locked away and experimented on by the GiW.

That would CHANGE a person. Your heroes turning against you and seeing you as a monster, being experimented on for who knows how long, not knowing if your friends and family are safe.

Danny gets out due to a simple mistake on the GiW’s part; having Blüdhaven as part of their transport route.

Of course the trucks were attacked, they’re government property!

So now, whoever decided to raid the government transport trucks (the Penguin or something) has a ton of experimental weapons with no idea how they work, and a heavily traumatized teenager.

Danny knows how they work. Danny can be useful! They won’t throw him out if he’s useful! And so, now Danny is working for the Penguin, altering the ectoplasm weapons to make them work on humans.

It’s a good deal for both parties. Danny gets to neurotically imprint on the Penguin like a small baby animal, and the Penguin gets a brilliant mind who will stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

But eventually, Danny finds out what happened to his family in his absence.

Jazz is in Arkham. Not as a psychologist, but as a “patient.” Apparently, she snapped and completely destroyed the house, leveled a few blocks of Amity Park, and conducted organized attacks on government bases (mostly GiW) for months.

Sam and Tucker helped her, eventually splitting once Jazz was captured. Sam travels to areas of extreme pollution, completely overgrowing them with her plant powers. Currently she’s in the Amazon rainforest, engaging in an ongoing feud with logging companies. Sam is winning.

Tucker faked his death, and Danny has no idea where he is. He only knows that the death wasn’t real because of a code that the three of them made together, just in case.

Ellie’s trapped in the Infinite Realms. Danny had a failsafe in place so that if she was ever cornered by the GiW, she would be sent to her haunt in the GZ. However, with the portal destroyed, she can’t come back. Danny just hopes she’s okay.

His parents are now top GiW scientists. They’re traveling the country giving speeches. They’re working on a battery powered by ectoplasm, but apparently started “having difficulties” around the same time that Danny escaped.

None of it is fair. None of it is right.

The Justice League destroyed his life, the lives of his friends, and they’re doing as good as ever. The GiW is respected, and his parents are happily working away for them.

Danny takes up some of his more experimental weapons and breaks Jazz out of Arkham. She’s a little different now, colder and more quiet, but she still loves him all the same. It’s an unimaginable comfort to him to see his sister again.

He can’t use his powers anymore. He’s so used to associating them with pain that even transforming into his ghost form is enough to take him down for hours.

However, he understands ectoplasm more than anyone else in the world. He knows how to use it in virtually everything; how it can become a weapon, how it can be used as a supplemental ingredient in poisons and nerve agents, how it can twist and distort the mind if applied correctly.

He doesn’t care what happens to him. He’s going to take down the GiW, and destroy the lives of the JL members who helped lock him away, just as they did to him.

No matter the cost.

[plutonianeris]

Medusa

Then Athena proclaimed, “I will turn you into a Goddess in your own right, a deity of monsters.”

Medusa in the 1st house

Medusa in the 1st house and/or conjunct ascendant feels like walking into a room and knowing people are immediately drawn to or threatened by your presence. There’s something about your appearance, the way you hold yourself, that has a piercing effect on others. You might remind people of the untamed, the powerful force within that they can’t control. You are a storm rolling in over the ocean, dark clouds swirling, mesmerizing yet dangerous. You are both the calm before the storm and the storm itself. People can't look away but are afraid of what they might find in you or themselves. You turn heads wherever you go, but not everyone can handle what they see.

Medusa in the 2nd house

Here, Medusa’s energy connects to how you value yourself and what you own. It may feel like you have to fiercely protect what’s yours whether that’s money, possessions, or your sense of self-worth. There could be a fear of others trying to take what you’ve earned or distort your value. You are a dragon guarding its treasure in a cave. People may see the gold, but they don’t understand the cost of reaching it the sacrifices, the scars, the inner battles. You’ve fought for every bit of worth you have, and no one can devalue it without facing your wrath.

Medusa in the 3rd house

In the 3rd house, Medusa speaks to your communication style and the way your ideas are received. You might feel misunderstood, as though your words have a sharpness or edge that makes others uncomfortable. But this is also where you wield power your voice can cut through illusions and lies. You are a lone raven calling out in the forest at dusk. The sound pierces the quiet, sending a chill down spines. Your words aren’t just heard, they echo through people’s minds long after you’ve spoken. Your words have a bite to them they’re sharp, unsettling, but impossible to ignore.

Medusa in the 4th house

Medusa in the 4th house can feel like haunting your own home. Family dynamics may have made you feel judged or like an outsider, leading to a feeling of never truly belonging. The power here is in reclaiming your roots, creating a sanctuary for yourself that no one else can taint. You are an abandoned mansion on a hill, overgrown with ivy and hidden from the world. Inside, it’s full of secrets and memories, but it’s your sanctuary. You’re both haunted by the past and the keeper of its mysteries.You carry the weight of your ancestors’ stories, but you’re the one who decides how they’re told.

Medusa in the 5th house

In the 5th house, Medusa’s energy can come out in your creativity and how you express joy. There’s a wildness here, an uncontrollable need to create art, love, or experiences that challenge norms. Others may see your expressions as rebellious or too raw, but that’s where the power lies. You are a bonfire on the beach at midnight, flames licking the sky, with music and wild dancing. It’s primal, untamed, but full of life. People are both drawn to and wary of this raw energy. You create without boundaries, and your fire burns brighter because of it.

Medusa in the 6th house

Medusa in the 6th house brings her energy to your daily life, your work, and how you serve others. You might feel judged or criticized in work environments, as though your efforts are scrutinized more harshly than others’. But this also makes you a fierce protector of justice and integrity in your routine.You are a blacksmith at their forge, hammering metal with intensity and focus. The heat is overwhelming, but you thrive in it. Your work isn’t just a task it’s a transformation, bending the world to your will, shaping it with your hands. Your work is your battlefield, and you wield both hammer and shield with precision.

Medusa in the 7th house

Medusa in the 7th house reflects how you experience partnerships and close relationships. There’s an intensity here people may project their fears onto you, seeing you as too powerful or difficult to handle. But this placement also means you have a gift for seeing through others' facades. You are a mirror that shows not just a person’s reflection but their deepest truths, things they would rather keep hidden. You reveal people to themselves, sometimes in ways they weren’t ready for.In relationships, you’re the mirror people are afraid to look into but they can’t resist.

Medusa in the 8th house

In the 8th house, Medusa’s energy goes deep into the underworld of transformation, power, and hidden truths. You’re no stranger to the darker aspects of life whether it’s dealing with issues of death, intimacy, or shared resources, you often find yourself walking through the shadows. A shadowy forest, with deep pools of water reflecting moonlight. The air is thick with mystery, and danger lurks behind every tree, but you know how to navigate it. You see what others can’t, and you’re not afraid to go there. You’ve walked through the shadows and made them your allies.

Medusa in the 9th house

Medusa in the 9th house brings her energy to your quest for knowledge and belief systems. You may find that your views challenge traditional wisdom or that others find your perspective unsettling. But this is where your power lies you’re meant to shake up the status quo and introduce new ways of thinking. You are a lighthouse perched on a cliff, shining its light far into the stormy sea. You illuminate the path ahead, but not everyone wants to see the truth you’re pointing to. Still, your light keeps cutting through the darkness. Your truths may be unsettling, but they light the way for those ready to see.

Medusa in the 10th house

With Medusa in the 10th house, the energy shows up in your career and public life. You may find yourself in positions of authority or power, but not without facing judgment or opposition. People may see you as intimidating, but your strength is undeniable. You are a fortress on a mountaintop, standing strong against all who try to breach its walls. Your reputation is both admired and feared people respect your power but also fear your judgment. You stand strong in the spotlight, unshaken by the winds of judgment.

Medusa in the 11th house

Medusa in the 11th house connects you to groups, communities, and collective goals, but you might feel like an outsider here. Your vision is often ahead of its time, and others may struggle to understand or accept it. But this is where your magic happens you’re meant to challenge the norm and lead by example.You are a lone figure on the horizon, walking ahead of the group, leading them toward a future they don’t yet understand. You’re the visionary who sees where others can’t, but you may walk alone for a time. You’re the visionary who doesn’t fit in but that’s exactly why you’re needed.

Medusa in the 12th house

Medusa in the 12th house brings her energy to your unconscious mind and hidden realms. You may feel misunderstood on a deep, spiritual level, but this placement also gives you access to profound wisdom and hidden power. It’s the energy of the sorceress, working in the shadows to heal and transform. You are a hidden temple deep in the mountains, shrouded in mist and mystery. Few know it’s there, but those who do seek it for its hidden knowledge and power. You’re the keeper of secrets, the one who understands the invisible forces that shape reality. You wield a power that is unseen but felt by all who encounter you.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Ẁ̴̧̼̟͕̱̜̞͈̩̱̤̺̖̗̌̌̓͒̓͂̇ͅò̸̟̯͂̍̀̈́̂̚ͅǘ̷̢̧͈̦͙̖̼̟̮̯̝͎̒̈́͜ͅļ̴̮̲͈̤̲̣̊̈́̎̃͆̈͆̔͆̑̇̅̋d̷̢̛͈̲̳͕̮̟͍̬͍̪͖̈̄̓̇n̵̳̫̹̥̼̄̊̽͜'̶̢̛̳̘̗͔̯̖̥̝̙̥̲͍̩̝̍̒̎̃̑̅͊̂͊͝t̷̨̧͉̫̠̻͚̣͉͖͐̊̊̀̈́ ̵̦̬̫͐͐͊͑̆̓͆̏̄͆̇́̚͘͠Y̷̨̢̡̱͚̼͚̰̠̱̤̖͍̑͊̉̽́ͅơ̶̡̦̫̬̪̯͎̹̈̍̊̇͛̅̚̚ü̷̜̞͇̳̯̯̺͎̦̠͈͕͕͎̑͒̍̌̅͛́͌̅̃̽̕͝ ̶̡̝͙̟͖̠̯̹̤͖̣̎̋̄͐̂̚͠L̸̠̞͕̳͖̥̩͙̬̰͈̱̩̳̍i̸̫͙̍́̏̎̓͊̌͑ͅk̶̩̞͈̖͔̓̏͘ẻ̶͈̱͇̪̺̬̑̈̂̑̾̐͐̿̌͜?̷̧̭̖̺̻͖̣̖̺̻͂͝

Original Post Storm

The water was slow to rise.

That didn't mean that it wasn't a threat, but it was a slow one. The rain was much worse. Burning upon contact with skin, the rain poured down on Gotham, and left Damian and Grayson isolated from the rest of the family. Civilians scattered like rats under the burning rain, hiding under awnings that were already starting to dissolve and in buildings if they were lucky.

Grayson had taken the initiative to steal a few umbrellas that they used to jump from roof overhang to overhang, the flimsy fabric barely protecting them in the moments under open sky.

Damian tried both his coms again, then his phone. Only static remained. "There's still no signal. Richard, we need to hurry back to the Manor; if Father is in danger--"

"We wouldn't be able to make it," Grayson said, eyeing the streets. Lazarus water bubbled from the storm drains, flooding the roads. They hurried on. "Our tires would melt before we could get halfway to Bristole. There's a safehouse nearby where we can regroup--"

"Richard!" It was hard to see through the glowing rain, but just beyond the building they were hiding under was- "There's a break in the rain in Robinson Park." While the flood was lapping at the grass, not a speck of water fell over the park.

Richard frowned. "That's suspicious."

Damian and Richard, speckled with burns, made their way through the eerie silence that had settled over Robinson Park. Not a sound could be heard inside the park, like the world had gone silent. No other people had made it here yet, and there were no animals around, Damian noticed with a pang of guilt.

Then... a laugh.

His hands quickly found the knives tucked away on his body. "Who's there!?" Damian demanded despite Richard's protests that it could be a civilian. It laughed again with that same distorted quality that Danyal's voice gained in the Pit. "Show yourself."

"I must say! I didn't think you'd make it this far." Behind them floated... a woman. A girl, younger than Damian, yet she looked just like the monster pretending to be Danyal. She smirked. "You're very stubborn."

"Who are you?" Why does she look like-

"Just a friend!" She quickly reassured. "You could say I'm... invested in the continued survival of Gotham."

"So, you know what's happening?"

"I know what's happening, why it's happening, and what you can do to stop it." She floated onto her back, the picture of faked relaxation. "Though, at the moment, I'm not particularly inclined to spill. Sorry."

Damian's grip tightened on his knives. "If you know how to stop this, then tell us," he demanded, his voice laced with frustration and urgency.

The girl—this eerie mimic of Danyal—rolled her eyes playfully, kicking her feet as she floated in the air. "Impatient, aren't we? But where’s the fun in just handing over all the answers? You’re on the right track, though. Keep going, and maybe you’ll figure it out."

"Enough games!" Richard snapped, stepping forward, his fists clenched. "This city is drowning—people are going to die! If you can help, then help us!"

The girl’s smile didn’t waver, but something in her eyes hardened. "Oh, I am helping. You just don’t realize it yet." She flipped upright, hovering just above the ground now, her gaze locking onto Damian's. "You see, big brother, this isn’t just about you or me. This is about Danyal—he’s lost, confused. And unless you do something, he’ll destroy everything."

Damian stiffened at the word "brother," his mind racing. "You’re lying. Danyal is—"

"More than the Danyal you knew," she finished for him, her voice softening with something like sympathy. "He’s changed. Did your mummy ever tell you that she put him in the Lazarus Pit your grandfather has?" Damian could feel Richard's questioning gaze. "No, she probably didn't. Not after he never resurfaced."

"Then... that's the real Danyal?" Damian asked quietly.

She shrugged. "As real as he can be. But he's not the one you knew. Older. Younger. The Pit did something to him, something that made him… different. More powerful, more dangerous."

Richard exchanged a wary glance with Damian. "If that’s true, then why are you here? What do you want from us?"

The girl chuckled, floating closer. "I’m here to make sure you survive this. After all, if you die too soon, the story ends, and we can’t have that, can we?" She circled around them, her movements languid, almost lazy. "The city will return to normal once Danyal gets what he wants. And what he wants, dear friend, is you." She reached out to poke his nose, but Damian slapped her hand away.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. "Why are you helping us? What do you gain?"

She paused, considering the question, before shrugging lightly. "Let’s just say I have a vested interest in keeping the balance. I’m not your enemy, Damian. I’m just… an observer. A guide, if you will."

The rain continued to pour just beyond the borders of the park, the glowing drops hissing as they hit the ground. Damian could feel the heat from the Lazarus Waters creeping closer, the edge of the park growing dim and distorted.

"You said you know how to stop this," Damian pressed. "What do we need to do?"

The girl smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye. "First, you’ll need to survive. The Lazarus Waters will burn you alive if you don’t take precautions. Deeper in the park, you’ll find Blood Blossoms. They are an extinct plant that has power over the undead... and will prevent the water from hurting you. Eat them—they’ll protect you from the worst of it."

Richard frowned. "Why should we trust you."

She shrugged again. "Trust me, mistrust me. It's up to you. But the longer you stand here arguing, the closer those waters get, and the sooner you’ll be dead." She pointed toward the heart of the park. "The Blood Blossoms grow there. Hurry, before it’s too late."

Damian hesitated; all of his training screamed at him not to trust her. But she was right. They really didn't have a choice. With a curt nod to Richard, they turned and sprinted deeper into the park, the eerie silence swallowing their footsteps.

As they disappeared into the shadows, the girl—Dani—hovered in place, watching them go. Her playful demeanor faded, replaced by something darker, more serious.

"Danny," she whispered to herself, a hint of sadness in her voice. "I hope you know what you're doing, Damian Al Ghul. I hope you know what you need to do to save him."

With a final glance at the retreating figures, she dissolved into the night, her form flickering out of existence as the rain continued to pour down on the drowning city.

[viloxity]

Fluctuating Skies (Part 1 of 2) — Yandere! Sung Jinwoo x Female Reader

Part 2

Synopsis: The scenario where the Monarchs rule Earth and the Shadow Monarch finds you in the New World.

A/N: this is one of two parts (he’ll get more unhinged, don’t worry). additionally, this is cross posted on quotev under the same name (viloxity). Any and all feedback or comments are greatly appreciated!!!

You loved the sky.

The sky was beautiful, and perfect. It was never-ending; even when you stared until your eyes burned, you could never find the ending—or the beginning. You would stare, and stare, until you noticed the clouds. The way the clouds explored the skies’ vastness, steadily drifting towards their next unknown journey, gave you hope in this fickle world—a world where you were not sure if a tomorrow was guaranteed.

Each distortion that filled the skies—the skies you have started to despise—spelled an inevitable demise as humanity endured even worse losses. As you took exams at college, there were lines outside of hospitals. The day of your graduation, as you walked the confetti covered balcony, there were bodies lining graves—the A-rank dungeon break nearly flushed out a small city an hour away from you. That day, your supposed ‘celebration’ encompassed hesitant smiles and reluctant whispers that congratulated you on your success.

“At least we are still here.” You recalled a woman saying, scolding the looks on her family’s faces.

You looked at the sky, your tassel gently flowing with the motion of your head. Eventually, the monsters will take over this land. They will overwhelm humanity’s strongest fighters and wipe out the population in clusters. You could feel the anger pooling, then, at your helplessness. Average civilians were so weak, so useless. It hurt that you couldn’t even protect anyone, let alone yourself. Why, why were you born so weak—

Your emotions stilled at a cloud that slowly passed over the sun. Your heart was calm, beating slower.

Even when the world ends, the sky will remain unchanged—unchanged, vast, and still beautiful.

Then, the world ended.

You still remembered the day as if it were just yesterday, when the gates appeared—the roaring sounds oscillating across the entire country and its diameter devouring the peaceful summer sky. The action of itself was unjust—not because it triggered the apocalypse, but because it tied in a pacifist to the unyielding destruction of the entire world. There was a brief intermission between the gate openings and the flow of monsters; realization of the situation propelled Darwin’s theory of natural selection into motion. You were lucky to have broken out of your stupor, yelling out that everyone should run—maybe you saved some lives that day.

The screams were just as loud as the tremors that shook the earth once the rampage began. You could not focus on anything else but the shrieks, and the vile sounds of slicing of innocent faces you would now never get to meet in this lifetime. Once again, you were helpless to the world around you. No awakening, no power, no ability to do anything. The best you could do was silence your whimpers and hope it all stops.

Was your family okay? You thought as another scream fell silent. Where were they?

You looked at the sky for a miracle, but all you could see was that damned gate.

“Thank you.” The stranger’s trembling hands folded over the small bread bun, his eyes full of shame and gratitude.

You nodded, then smiled. “You can pick up water from the well just North of here.”

The man nodded his head, repeatedly murmuring ‘thank you’s’ with his voice growing hoarse as tears dripped down his eyes. He had not moved to start eating yet; you could feel his hesitance even after you gave him the bun. You nodded once more before making a swift exit. From a few meters away, you could distantly make out the sounds of biting and chewing.

Your heart felt content. It was warm, sometimes, but it was hard for the heat to linger long. It was hard to fan the flames in the first place; humanity had dispersed into fragments, with remnants of a sound society lost long ago. You also had not heard of a single word regarding your family, no matter how many villages you crossed or people you asked—you assumed them dead on the day of the Parade.

Yes, the day of the Parade. The day of the nightmare you wished to forget, the crossing of endless monstrosities, and the mark of the end of humanity. By some miracle, despite the constant onslaught of dragons and beasts crossing the gates, you lived. Back then, people agreed how fortunate you and others were to be able to hide—after all, if you didn’t hide, you ran. Yet, all you could feel was turmoil brewing within you.

Was it really something fortunate?

The people you loved; your family, friends, they were all gone. Your accomplishments, career, vanished the moment the gates flooded open. Back then, you were playing a game of ‘pretend’—those serene smiles and unsaid thoughts renounced the oncoming catastrophe as a tale of make-believe. You wanted to shout at the survivors that nothing was ‘fortunate’ anymore, that you all were apart of scrapped pages ripped from a fable that deemed your lives forfeit after its story reached the end. You were dirt on the ground, now; organic matter that existed as sustenance for better life forms.

Then, there was the sky. The sky you had loved and cherished deeply, was an entity that you blamed. It was the sky’s fault; something that symbolized tranquility and freedom was replaced as a symbol of the beginning of the end. Beautiful, were the bright explosions that blinded and wrecked cities. Vast, the lines of gates that it held. Limitless, the rows and rows of monsters it brought from within. No longer a constant variable in your life, it was something that reminded you of the day you lost everything.

At least, that’s what you thought back then.

There was more to life than you realized when you found the first village. You had trekked far from the city, and far from your home. You did not know where you were walking, and it looked fruitless based on the lack of your supplies. By a stroke of luck, a group came across you while you were slumped on the floor. They pitied you, offering to take you to their sanctuary—the last of humanity’s efforts to survive.

Upon arrival, you noticed the structure itself looked flimsy, with a handful of people walking through rubble and around deep holes in the ground. It also looked poorly built; houses were built from logs and leaves, with some looking as if they could fall over any moment. But, that didn’t matter—what mattered were the people. A person stood in the middle of the village; you could only make out his shouts and pointing in different directions to assume he was the leader of the village. You watched as men moved to build another house, the same poorly structured house, as others ran away to seemingly get supplies. The women occupied their time by cooking and playing with the children, and you nearly cried at how carefree the children looked.

Despite everyone’s losses, they still moved on. You all were specks of dirt in the ground, but together—as soil—you could erode even the hardest of rocks.

You stopped momentarily, turning behind a piece of wooden wall that was left from a now-destroyed-shed. You peeked around the corner, seeing the man feast on the tiny bun. Good, he was eating. You originally volunteered to assist outsiders, thus had been handing out bread buns the entire day to lone scavengers roaming the outskirts. Although you could no longer take care of your family like you used to, at least you can try to ensure the nourishment of others.

You sighed, relief sifting down your body. You shifted through your bag, feeling the weight of a singular item. You had one more piece left, meaning your work wasn’t over, but you had exhausted nearly the entire outskirts. Perhaps you should take another lap around again—

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw what looked to be a dark, blackened figure. It reminded you of the black spots you would get when you were dizzy or fatigued, so you turned your head for a better view.

There was… nothing. Everything was dark, covered by a half-broken roof and the rapid growth of moss and vines. You felt as if… something was staring at you. It was like a sharp pinch, as if there was a pair of eyes piercing like a needle into your soul. At the same time, you felt tired; enough so that if you were to close your eyes right now, you were sure the abyss would greet you in response.

Your eyes swept the shed, noticing a faintly drawn outline that was swaying within the void of darkness. You made contact with a pair of dimmed gray hues, its stare so bold and cold that a shiver quaked through your body. It was tempting to conclude that it was just some illusion, some petty trick on your mind so that the pill was easier to swallow. The longer you stared into the gray depths, the more you couldn’t look away.

What was this feeling?

It was not only that you felt your heart pump strenuously, but the surreality of your condition. You felt and heard your heart pump simultaneously with the feeling of adrenaline hitting your bloodstream. Your arms and legs tensed out of instinct, causing you to wince as your muscle fibers moved and pulled across your bones. The several cracks under the soles of your feet trembled slightly, as if matching your fear.

You wanted to look away so badly. You are too entranced now; a rabbit trapped under sharp claws as the wolf stared down its prey.

Please, please, please, look away.

No, this feeling—

You are remembering that day again. God, why even remember now?

It must be a coincidence—but it couldn’t be. It feels so much like…

Like…

Like those beasts.

Those beasts that walked where the sun did not follow.

They appeared in shaky and inky black forms. They would appear, and whatever they would do, would always result in a calamity. You heard the most screams from them, always.

“I’m paralyzed.” You thought, realization sinking in.

Is this the end?

Then, a sigh.

A deep, long, aired out sigh.

In an instant, all the pressure building within your frame vanished. The tension on your sarcomeres lessened, like a weight slowly floating off your shoulders. As the rush dissipated, you are left with trembling hands and shaky legs. Your senses came back to you, one by one.

Your head shot up, fearful eyes meeting wary ones. You see a figure, now—which looked to be a man—but it was odd. His frame was fluctuating between reality and obscurity, like he was struggling to pick the right balance of tenebrosity or to succumb entirely to the veil of night. His stare engraved holes into you; it was lucky that you hadn’t deflated into a balloon, most likely due to the restraint on his aura.

Aura… his sheer presence is powerful enough to knock you unconscious, that much you could tell.

To be truthful, you were clueless as to his actual thoughts. Initially, his presence was concealed—only emitting essence that you now thought was a warning. Maybe you pushed a button or two, seeing as he actually appeared in front of you. If anything, you were slightly grateful to know that you weren’t entirely crazy and that there was an actual person in the shed. However, you couldn’t read his expression at all; firstly because he wasn’t conveying anything, and secondly because you were too scared to try.

Neither of you moved; the shock having knocked the breath out of you and the stranger seemingly studying you.

Then,

“Go home.”

His voice was deep, so low in octave you imagined the sound waves still bouncing around your ear drums. In any other situation, it would’ve soothed you, as you envisioned singing lullabies or the humming of baritone tunes.

But, you also weren’t stupid. The man’s wording was specific—a demand. In a sense, he was a king; a ruler who offers you mercy after finding you in contempt of the sovereign because you tried stepping on his land. Unconsciously, your legs moved, recognizing that the lord gave you permission to leave—words your being waited on with bated breath to live another day.

So, you ran, not realizing that you dropped your bag of items, nor the growing smile on the stranger’s face.

That man, he never left your mind.

Somber gray eyes, and a complexion that rivaled Greek gods. His hair was as dark as the shadows devoured under his silhouette. He was more than ordinary, representative of a being that practices and deals in absolute power. There were only a handful of people who were gifted with abilities like that, back when the very first gates opened.

Right, now you remembered—they were called hunters. Hunters were classified into different rankings, all the way to S-rank and even national level hunters. To be a hunter, you were granted a certain seed of power.

If he were to be like anything else back then, could he have been a hunter? An S-class, even?

It was rare to come across ‘hunters’ anymore, the label long disbanding alongside the association that coined the term. When they appeared, it was considered a bad omen. Either they were chased by the Monarchs of the New World (for the risk they held) or isolated by the unawakened out of fear. Perhaps, the man was the last of the hunters—of the humans who could fight back at all.

Either way, you wanted to see him again. The more reflecting you did, the more you registered his seclusion; he is far, far from the remnants of civilization.

Regardless of the fear you felt, or the possibility of death, he was still human. He was someone who lost everything, just like you and everyone else.

The destination was a long and grueling walk from the current village you stayed at. Passing by outlanders, you gave out food and supplies as normal, while steadily making your way towards the shed.

Would he still be there? It was hard to say. Most remaining hunters were known to be nomads; staying in one place for longer than a day was like shooting fish in a barrel for their next enemy. You were not sure if he was a hunter in the first place, too—it was your latest profound superstition to be proven by whatever little luck you had left. As you treaded further, the familiarity of your surroundings fill you with perpetual dread. You began to second-guess your courage to embark on this trip in the first place, thoughts clouded and eventually drowned out by faint whispers inside decaying wooden walls. The moment your final step reached the broken shelter a hush filled the air, the shed girdling the edge of the forest encompassed by a heavy silence.

“Hello?” You called out to no one in particular.

You nearly surprised yourself with the surge of bravery to make out your greeting. You peeked into the shed, hands waving through vines. There was no one around the entrance, despite you hearing multiple voices.

Odd.

You weaved through a few cracks in the floorboard before being greeted by gray eyes. You jumped, obviously, because you did not expect him to be in such close proximity to you. He was a till a few feet away, but you could have never spotted him if he chose to sit closer to the wall. He was indeed discernible now, sitting under a small stream of light gifted by the sun. His shadow dragged along the box he sat atop of, sinking behind its crevices before pushing itself onto the wall and absorbing its shade. In any other universe, you would’ve described it as strange. In this case, you thought it supported how outlandish—and isolated—he must be.

“You’re back, what a surprise,” The man said, expression clearly detached. “I thought I scared you off.”

This was going to be difficult.

“Right. I was, but I thought it would be better to introduce myself since we got off on the wrong foot—“

A half truth, but you were also cautious.

“—my name is Y/N.”

He was burning holes into you again—the stare wasn’t any less discomforting than the previous time. His silence, too, was deafening. A sudden urge to scream to at least get a reaction out of him rose within you, but you quickly simmered it out.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly as he let out a faint hum.

You winced. “I wanted to give you something that I couldn’t last time.”

You quickly plucked out a wrapped item, hastily tearing through the covering to reveal a bread bun. You weren’t able to catch a glimpse of his face, opting to shift the bread onto an elevated surface so he wouldn’t be incentivized to lunge at you.

“I hope that this helps you, even if it isn’t a whole lot.” You said, nervously picking your cuticles.

The silence was very, VERY heavy, and—can he please say something?

You looked up and caught the man’s wide eyed, dazed state as his eyes lingered on the bread. It reminded you of a skeptical stray cat at a crossroads when offered an open-hand. The man’s eyes met yours, then, and all you could think was how much better he looked without baring his teeth at you.

“You’re funny.” He dryly chuckled, faint smile betraying his nonchalance.

You offered a small smile, blissfully unaware of his next few words.

“I’m Jinwoo.”

And,

“See you tomorrow?”

“Are you a hunter, Jinwoo?” You asked after placing down the wrapped bread.

You wanted to use his name in some way, lest you forget it or say it wrong. It was ironic you carried over some of your social habits after the end of the world, like a puppy you once fed.

“You could say that,” Jinwoo replied simply.

“Could?” You echoed.

He must’ve noticed your frown, adding, “Not like it matters now.”

He had a point; the name lost its meaning awhile ago. Still, you were ruffled by his restrained disposition. Surely, the label still had meaning to him.

…No, that was an unfair presumption. Jinwoo knows his own memories and emotions better than everyone, especially you. Besides, it wasn’t worth arguing the semantics on the basis of mere suspicion.

Thus, you decided to let it go.

Ah, that reminded you—he never told you his last name.

“You don’t have family?”

“I did.”

You perked up. “…You lost them, too?”

Jinwoo closed his eyes, licking his lips. “Because of the Tragedy, yes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Then, he squinted his eyes curiously. “I’m more interested in your story.”

You coughed suddenly, shocked by his gravitation towards you. Maybe it was because all you had to offer was bread and stories, or because you never took the chance to settle with your memories, but you felt compelled to talk.

And talk, you did.

Jinwoo was an excellent listener; he was levelheaded and passive, allowing you to just… talk, and talk, and talk (with a tendency to sigh or huff as remarks). You were spilling your family’s entire life story, grasping this fact in the middle of talking about your sister’s fiancé’s secret affair, but you found that you didn’t care. If you weren’t able to come to terms with your family’s passing before this, perhaps someone else can remember in your stead.

Did he care to remember every single detail, anyway? Probably not.

“Hold on—I lost track of the time. Crap, it’s getting dark.” You said, rushing to readjust your cloak. If you started the walk now, you might make it before it’s fully dark.

“It’s rather late, it wouldn’t be safe for you to leave.” Jinwoo said, rough voice clipping louder than your hurried shuffling.

“Did you like my stories that much?” You joked.

You waited a few beats of silence. “Sorry, bad joke; I wouldn’t have any place to sleep if I stayed, anyway.”

The shed violently shook at the end of your sentence, causing your heart to lurch in your chest. You latched onto the metal pole next to you, clutching tightly as you waited for the shaking to cease. Within seconds, Jinwoo was next to you, gently but firmly holding your arm; in moments, the quaking stopped.

“Must’ve been an earthquake.” Jinwoo noted, tone and expression laced with unconventional serenity.

Your quivering hadn’t stopped after the vibrations ceased. In fact, it increased exponentially because you were still trying to comprehend the glimpse of Jinwoo’s vibrant, deep purple eyes etched with absolute unadulterated fury.

You were deluded, you thought quickly as your breathing hastened. You were tired, surely.

“I should go home.”

His breathing stilled.

“Don’t forget about me tomorrow,” Jinwoo said, sounding strangely hollow as his iron grip slowly released you.

Once again, you ran away from his grasp.

[sunboki]

— HELLION INN. (TEASER) a Stray Kids fiction

🌖 : Lee Minho x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. dystopian! au, enemies to lovers, monster! au, apocalypse! au, “we have to get along to survive” au, angst, high stakes

WORD COUNT. estimated to be around 5k - 10k words

WARNINGS. gory descriptions, cursing, descriptive violence, implied intercourse, death, murder, usage of guns, injury, knives, reader and minho are “hunted”, mature themes

AUG'S NOTES. hi everyone! say hello to my long-rotting draft, turned fic! i tried something a little spooky for the october season, hopefully it’s to your satisfaction! i’m really looking forward to finishing this piece :)

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Receiving an ominous letter in the mail, a monster invades Seoul minutes later, carrying an uncanny sense of smell despite its blindness. Countless people have been slaughtered already, and with your letter as the only meager explanation to this madness, you find your feet leading towards the one place it said was safe: Hellion Inn.

or alternatively :

Minho won’t let you die. Not if it means letting this Monster get him or hell’s dawning itself. You’re going to survive. Together.

Run, something is coming. Go to Hellion Inn, you’ll be safe there.

Something? What is something? A terrorist attack? War?

Never had such a letter arrived at your doorstep other than this Tuesday, with the morning sunlight peeking through half-opened blinds casting your pajama-clad frame in its cascades.

And again, you reread and reread, questions raging in a distorted frenzy amidst your once just-wakening mind. 

Little were you aware what would come. What already roamed Seoul’s streets, approaching closer, closer. 

One objective resides in too many possibilities. 

Find Hellion Inn. 

.

.

.

Stuffing the letter in your pocket serves as the most sensible solution while you go over your options. If you didn’t have a clue about what dishes would be cooked, you’d check the ingredients first.

And yet, upon turning on the TV, you find your meal already served. 

On a platter, dripping with blood.

“This just in, an unidentifiable entity is making its way through Seoul in a rampage. The creature is highly dangerous. It appears to lack vision, and speculation has deemed it relies upon its smell to discern other beings. The creature has not been detained at this time. Under no circumstances should citizens leave their residences, and in the case you’re on the street, please evacuate to the nearest shelter immediately. Further information will be released.”

Your blood runs frigidly cold, enough you swear you could’ve turned to ice.

All of a sudden, war or a terrorist attack doesn’t sound nearly as daunting as before.

A monster. Ruthless, bloodthirsty. 

Monster. 

Instantaneously are news sites everywhere exploding, posting footage, pictures, and accounts of the creature each second. 

More and more and more until-

It all goes dark, your home plunged into a black abyss meagerly sustained by the sun’s rays, phone in hand ultimately powering off. 

Electricity down. Fully.

This isn’t like a usual predicament of a public threat, not something you’re prepared for, nor something anyone was prepared for. There’s no drill for a monster, no tsunami shelter or high rise building to reside upon. 

Was it obliviousness? Or were you all simply sheep to a ravaging wolf?

The latter seemed most convincing.

An exhale. No, a growl is what breaks your train of thought. Like the chuff of a tiger, curdling in its throat. 

Above. 

You can’t even bring yourself to move, can’t bear to breathe in fear you’d give yourself away as a shadow covers that once hopeful sunlight.

No shadow, but a thing. A monster. 

How did it get here so fast? How.. how the hell is this happening?

The sound of tiles shifting on your roof makes your fingers twitch, eyes stuck wide. 

The worlds apex predators turned into the prey. 

Each pound of your heart lies evident in ringing ears, listening to those low, horrendous gurgles, repeating that same chuff before it shifts again.

Again and again, and you’re unmoving.

Leave. Run. Anything. 

Yet, you can’t move a muscle, glued in place.

Until you do, and your legs act before you can process a thing. Grabbing for items, whatever it may be. Mind unable to process in its frantic state.

No. No.

A plea as your hand wraps around the doorknob, beginning down the apartment complex’s stairs in rapid descent, listening to the slow growls of the creature.

Don’t look behind, just go.

A mistake you find yourself making even when a life is on the line.

Your life is on the line.

And when you spare that single glimpse, murky lifeless eyes stare blindly back at you, bulging from its skull as if they never were intended to be there. Skin a hallowed, fleshy tone — ligaments hung awry. 

Disorderly, distasteful. If you look close enough, you swear you could’ve seen a beating heart, watched the oxygen cells rush through a pumping bloodstream. 

Gaping jaws hold copious teeth, ant-like incisors residing on either side of a ceaselessly smiling mouth, the corners of what appears to be lips ascending all the way up to nonexistent ears. 

Four legs, two antennae atop its head. At least two times the size of a human.

Horrific.

Never had such a thing appeared so terrifying.

With the letter clutched in one hand and your powerless phone in another do you run, praying that nonexistent vision truly is nonexistent.

Well, until a car alarm begins to ring, and you feel your stomach climb to your throat simultaneously.

Because it twitches. Not even a glance-sort of reaction. The entirety of whatever neck that monster hones twitches to look at you with a nausea-worthy crack! of its ligaments. Those jaws parted, a flattened nose breathing in.

And then it lurches, and you don’t think you’ve ever ran as fast as you did now.

Far, far. As far as you can go. 

It’s futile listening to gargled cries for help amongst rubble, the reaching of hands for your feet you can’t even spare a moment for as those scraping claws continue their perilous dance after you, scavenging on people as they go. 

So the second an intact person comes into view—a boy, looking about your age (and freakishly calm at that) with fluffy hair and rounded cheeks retaining such youth—you’re racing ahead before you can even think, ramming through those convenience store doors in a flurry of panic and fear.

“Monster— Monster- there’s a monster we have to go-“

“Do you like grilled cheese?” He mumbles, and you wonder if he’s talking to himself or you, no less asking such a question during this downright apocalypse.

“No, no there is—“ A shriek pierces the air in the distance, the clutter of debris alerting the monster’s proximity.

You, in a frantic attempt to redirect his attention, place either hand on his shoulders.

“A monster. There’s a monster out there and if we don’t hide, it’s going to kill us.” 

The boy licks his lips, cocking a contemplative brow before looking toward the freezer section. 

“Freezer?”

At this point the creature might as well be turning the corner, and you don’t need to respond for either of you to go running as fast as your legs will carry you, stuffing yourselves into the biting cold just as the bells above the entrance door ring.

Scariest part is this customer is intelligent enough to open doors.

This customer isn’t human. 

Like slow-motion you hear it. The pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, the lack of air in such a tight space, the monster’s rumbling.

Your hidden counterpart lodged himself into a freezer opposite to you, eyes squeezed shut the nearer clicking footsteps on tile sounded.

Click.

Click.

Click.

You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you open them, met with the monster’s face, hundreds of razor-sharp teeth lining its mouth, stretched into that same, chilling smile while it stares at you through the glass.

It can’t see you. It can’t see you. It can’t see you, You internally plead like a mantra, suffocating on the scream rising in your throat.

The loud clanging of a soup can the boy throws has the creature’s disfigured face whipping around, and you wordlessly communicate through mere terrified-eye-contact what either of you are thinking:

Run.

Without conscious you go flying, ramming past discarded groceries and tormented bodies into Seoul’s open roadway, void of any vehicle whatsoever.

Except for one.  

It’s a tow truck, key still lodged into the ignition, window broken with streaks of blood lining the door where a middle-aged man’s body had been dragged out. He rests lopsided below the front tire, abdomen severed in half.

Grotesque. 

“Car- Car!” You cry out, wildly gesturing for him to follow suit while you pry the driver’s door open, the monster’s frustrated growl enough motivation for the stranger to throw himself in as well.

In the nick of time you press down on the pedal, winding the wheel in a quick motion just as the hell-sent smashes itself from the shop, evidently angered.

“I’m Han!” The man occupying the passenger seat shouts, the hole through the windshield causing enormous amounts of wind to soar through the car and synonymously blur your senses.

“What?!” 

“My name is Han! Han Jisung!”

Squinting whilst looking through your mirror at the wickedly approaching Monster, you veer past as many obstacles as possible — most being corpses — as fast as the engine will let you.

“Oh! Uh, I’m Y/N!”

Han nods, grasp clutched onto his seat the more you speed increases, recklessly maneuvering left and right as if dodging a crocodile. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a crocodile, but a blood-thirsty beast wanting nothing more than to behead you. How sweet.

“Do you… Do you know how to drive?” He yells, and you raise your eyebrows, narrowly shifting past a shopping cart.

“If you count Mario-Kart as driving, I’m a pro!”

Han audibly squeaks his fear in response, eyes squeezing shut as if to not stare at the monster’s face nearing the mirror.

The speedometer cries out, vehicle shuddering as you near train tracks just at the edge of the city. 

Hopeful. 

Fleeting hope when the roar of a train’s whistle soars through the air, the look Han gives you doing little to sustain your already thinned sanity.

Perhaps you’ll die getting hit by a train than this monster.

Perhaps it’s better that way.

“We’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make i—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP—-“ You screech, foot slammed as far down on the gas pedal as possible, the rumbling of the train’s engine deafening. 

“HOLY SHITTTT—“ The man screams, mouth ajar as you soar over the tracks, preparing for impact only for a hair of the train’s front barely brushing over the car’s bumper. 

Currently realizing you’re still breathing and not dead, you floor the brake, either of you launching forward in your seats while the endless train keeps the monster at bay on the opposite side. 

Both panting hysterically, you place a hand on your chest, hoping to slow down the terrifyingly fast pace of your heart — close to bursting out of your chest. 

Your passenger, Han Jisung, turns to look at you, eyes wide as saucers, a gradual open-mouthed smile growing upon his flushed, sweat-stricken face.

“That was.. sick.”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[jawbone-xylophone]

Okay time to be really opinionated: I think almost the entire TMA fandom writes Michael Distortion wrong.

Every time I read a fic about him people are emphasizing how swirly and elongated he/it is.

What's scary about Michael is that it is essentially the living personification of gaslighting. He makes everything else metaphorically swirly.

Sure there's "nobody would believe you", but most people who meet Michael think he looks angelic. He only looks scary out of the corner of your eye, or if he's feeding you just enough truth to get your guard down. He's fun to draw and describe as a psychedelic nightmare, but he is basically the gaslighting demon. It's a polite young man with curly hair and a beautiful smile who you could absolutely take home to meet your mother.

You only know he's a monster because your lizard brain starts screaming.

On a related note, its portfolio also includes dissociation and hallucinations, and nobody takes enough advantage of that– like, kissing Michael. Lots of people describe kissing Michael as a very physical event with notes of static and that tingling sensation of limbs falling asleep. A good start, but my argument: you feel him smooching your cheek and giving your hand a cute little squeeze, despite the fact that he's across the room ordering a coffee. It feels so real. You can feel his callouses catching at your fingers, but no matter how you flex your hand there's nothing there but air. You don't know if you just want it that badly and your eyes are lying, or what. He brings you a coffee and the sensation vanishes.

I know exactly what that episode about "the man who wasn't there" was because I've experienced it, and nobody utilizes that enough. Have you ever closed your eyes and tried to walk through a room, and been Firmly Convinced there was an object in front of you you were about to run into, despite no evidence of such an object when you open your eyes? It's a little like that. Any sort of relationship with Michael Distortion (not recommended and likely a way it has killed many people) would involve you getting comfortable with the fact that your senses are lying to you at an exponentially increasing rate, like a frog slowly being boiled alive.

Is he there? Is he not? Does it matter? You feel loved. You remember being told good morning and eating a homemade breakfast. Did you actually? Maybe it's a memory from a year ago you only think is from this morning. He's adorable even if his laugh gives you tinnitus. Maybe you've always had migraines. He takes care of you through them. Can you remember what he does to take care of you? ....normal people stuff, probably. Ice packs. You think he brought you ice packs once. You're sitting at a bus stop, going... somewhere, for a reason you're sure, and your body is telling you you're sitting on his lap but you keep checking, tapping with your nails, and the seat is hard metal. Does it matter? Maybe it really is him. You'd prefer if it was him. These cute little hallucinations are his way of showing affection. It's comfortable, even when the city shuts off your water because you only thought you paid your bills. He gives you his coat in the rain, and you laugh together and run through the weather, but when you get home you're holding a stranger's purse full of cash instead of a coat and you have no idea why. It's his idea of affection, though. He says he loves you when you ask about it, anyway, and don't you need the money now?

He's a lovely young man and the only normal thing in a world gone mad. The gloves only come off when it's done playing with its food.

[blaiddraws]

and another fic doodles, this time for @critter-catch-them-all-fella for the fic where. ingo gets exploded by the distortion world but giratina does him a solid and stitches him back together <3 don't worry about the fact that it's never created anything before and knows absolutely nothing about how humans work, ingo looks about the same as before so it's okay right? :)

it's trying its best

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied non/con, nonconsensual drug use, obsessive behavior, and gn!reader.

It was starting to rain.

When you’d let yourself into Neuvillette’s office, the sky had been clear and blue, the sun shining so brightly that you’d had to squint whenever you were facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall behind his desk, but clouds had gathered since then, smothering the light and casting the world in a dull, grey hue – only interrupted by the occasional bolt of webbed lightening or crack of thunder. It hadn’t started to fall yet, but it would. You’d lived in Fontaine long enough to know that storms never stopped at just an overcast sky.

You tried to find a window, to check if you could see the haze of rain in the distance, but your body ached at the thought of moving, a sharp shock of pain running from the pit of your stomach to the back of your throat. With some difficulty, you managed to turn your head, but a gloved hand wrapped around your chin and dragged you back into place before you could so much as hope to check on the storm’s progress. You let your eyes drift back to Neuvillette, a small frown tugging at the corner of your lips, but he seemed unaffected, too busy rutting his hips against yours and groping at your waist to notice your disappointment. He was probably distracted. Even in his best moments, he tended to be more oblivious than his stoic demeanor would let on. You loved your job, treasured the opportunity to tend to such an extensive archive, but your boss could be airheaded, prone to burying himself in his work for days at a time and taking hours to do little more than admire the way the sea broke against the shore. Things like your petty, mortal concerns weren’t really worth his attention.

…it was Neuvillette above you, right? You were still in his office, splayed across one of his velvet-lined love seats, and you could remember sharing a cup of tea with him after you stopped by to drop off the case files he’d requested, but this didn’t feel like something Neuvillette would do, and it didn’t look like Neuvillette above you. You could recognize a few disconnected features – silver hair, fine clothes, porcelain skin – but they were all misplaced, all distorted to the point of complete unrecognizability. His hair was unbound, falling around you in thick curtains and casting the world around you in a bleary haze of ivory, and his clothes were in a similar state of disarray, silk and leather wrinkled and disheveled, his shirt and undercoat torn open to reveal his heaving chest. His skin was worst of all, stained with a dull pink flush and marred with sweat and drool. His lips were bruised, swollen, and you could see a thin line of azure scales creeping up the side of his throat, slowly infecting his—

That pointed, acidic pain ran through you again, but you tried to ignore it, to block it out, to think about other things. Things you could understand. Things like the rain. You could hear it, now – pattering against glass, creating a near-deafening fog of numbing white noise. In the absence of anything else to occupy yourself with, your mind turned backward, first to the strange, bitter taste of the tea he’d served you, then further, to when you started your work with Neuvillette and how comforted you’d been by his steady hand and gentle smile. Eventually, you uncovered a well-buried conversation you’d had with your neighbor when you first came to Fontaine, something about a saying her children liked to repeat to the point of nausea when the rainfall forced them inside. It was about a monster, or... was it a dragon? It was hard to remember. It was hard to think.

You felt something wet fall onto your cheek. A raindrop, you figured, even if you couldn’t imagine the Palais Mermonia ever springing a leak. There was another, then another, raining down freely until you managed to lift a hand, finding Neuvillette’s cheek. “Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon,” you mumbled, your voice rough, hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t cry.”

A hitched sob, a face buried in the dip of your shoulder, Neuvillette’s skin cold as ice against your own. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the chill, the dampness, the throbbing ache now stitched into the fabric of your being, what little energy you still had waning until you couldn’t bear to keep your eyes open, until you were just some limp item underneath him. It was all you could do to hope that, by the time you woke up, the Neuvillette looking after you would be your own, that you’d be able to do more than blink and dream.

It was all you could do to hope that, by then, the storm will have passed and you’d be able to see the sun again.