#humans are monstrous

[conjcosby]

Scaredate: 202310.30 ▫ It's the eve of Halloween so here is the last monster of the week: Humans. 🙏 #human #humans #humanity #humansaremonstrous #humansaremonsters #humanmonster #humanmonsters #humanitymonster #humanitymonsters #monster #monsters #monday #mondays #monstermonday #monstersmonday #monstermondays #monstersmondays #mondaymonster #mondaysmonster #mondaymonsters #mondaysmonsters #monsteroftheday #monstersoftheday #monsteroftheweek #monstersoftheweek #monsteroftheworld #monstersoftheworld #worldmonster #worldmonsters

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Con J Cosby (@conjcosbyofficial)

[violottie]

This is what 5 months of intentional starvation looks like.

"Palestinians in Gaza demonstrate the impact of the Israeli and Egyptian blockade by stepping on scales to reveal their weight loss." from Mint Press, 15/Mar/2024:

[platoapproved]

Follow up with the vampire Armand about diet and exercise.

[ragsy]

me designing OCs: "okay this one's a monster because she was born that way and doesn't know any other way to be. and this one's a monster because of circumstances out of his control and a lack of skills with which to cope. and this one's a monster because of her blind dedication to an unjust cause. and this one's a monster because she was complacent to a loved one's suffering. and th

[cirr0stratus]

You fear tomorrow, and you've made your fear your god.

.

.

.

heavily inspired by THIS post

[raptorrobot]

i feel like i'm fighting for my fucking life here

[wilkoakdraws]

everyone out here drawing beautiful displays of ounconditional serene love for those two. well here's tentacle makeouts + A fic drabble by @tacky-tramp that they graciously left on Xitter post , under the cut: ->

"I'm not frightened of you, John."

"You should be!"

"Tough shit."

Arthur searches the face that's so close to his own, and cups it with gentle hands.

John stiffens. "What... what are you..."

He only has to lift his head an inch to press his lips to John's. The being pressed against Arthur grunts in shock, golden eyes going wide, but he doesn't pull away. Neither does he reciprocate. That's alright. Arthur isn't doing this in order to get anything in return. He just needs to show John his affection -- his *trust*.

He kisses John softly, although John is not soft. He kisses him tenderly, almost chastely, stroking the smooth, hard cheeks with his thumbs as he does. John's many limbs hover around Arthur's body, hesitant. Then one tendril curls over his shoulder and brushes his throat.

It's almost ticklish, and it makes Arthur sigh, tilt his head, and deepen the kiss. John makes a strangled, wounded sound. For a half second, Arthur considers pulling back, checking to see if he's crossed a line. But then John opens his mouth, suddenly ravenous, kissing back. The tendril wraps around to hold Arthur's head like a lover's hand. John's nearly lipless mouth opens, and his tongue emerges, and Arthur opens, too, to welcome it inside. It only takes him a moment to realize -- oh, fuck, the tongue is just another tendril, long and clever.

There's a lightning-quick flash of fear, then, as it hits home how utterly alien is the body he's pressed against, wrapped up in, surrounded by. It's a curious kind of fear, though. It enlivens all his nerves with shivering sensitivity. It makes him *want*.

Thank you Tacky jhjsfjd go read their fics they are very good.

[dontbelasagne]

thinking about Jonathan "I dont want to become a mystery" Sims who's only legacy is a disembodied voice enacting the one thing that brought forth their inhumanity, and a title thrust upon them that doesn't care for the person it has marked and maligned in favour of voyeuristic hubris.

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

My controversial opinion about Hob Gadling is that I believe he’s absolutely the sort of guy that “puts things behind him”, and tries to wash his hands clean of the things he feels icky about. This is implied pretty well in the show, with him blithely moving from soldiering and robbery to printing, from slaving to… whatever it was he was doing in the 19th century instead. That being said, this is not at all the same as actively trying to atone, or even making a concerted effort to be a better person, and I really wish fandom could tell the difference!

[ricky-mortis]

I have a lot of thoughts about Tinky fucking Ted up- have some doodles about it

[flowercrowngods]

something so monstrous pt.2

(in which kas feeds from steve and triggers a bad migraine pt.2)

🤍🌷 read part 1 here this part gets really intense on the migraine. descriptions of immense pain, fever dreams, and vomiting, some body horror imagery bc pain can be fun like that

Time and space lose all meaning as Steve remains on the precipice of something that is too violent to be called sleep, but not harsh enough yet to be unconsciousness. Real sensations evade him as everything turns into pain immediately. Even the twitch of his finger becomes a thundering blaze of blinding pain shooting through his body and settling behind his eye until he is sure he will wake up blind. 

The fear of that is everpresent, the blind spots too real to ignore every time it goes like this, and he imagines how they will grow. He imagines how they get worse every time until one day the pain inside his skull will be so immense it will take his eyesight in exchange for alleviation.

And even though it is unbearable, he opens his eyes whenever he can, just to make sure he can see still. It’s an added veil of terror that covers him whole and consumes him slowly but continually. 

At some point he notices something cold and wet being placed over his eyes, adding another layer of darkness that is welcome, even if it leaves an imprint of pressure and sensation on his forehead that makes his skin tear around it, his skull cracking and caving in beneath the touch. 

And still it helps a little, pulling him further toward consciousness but not further toward the pain itself. But Steve can only whimper weakly in response, six feet under a thick cloud of cotton-filled smog that even turns breathing into a chore, polluting his lungs with fear and horror and agony without compare.

He does fall into a fitful sleep at some point, grateful for the short reprieve, but it does nothing to alleviate his exhaustion. 

It feels like his eyeballs are being pushed into his skull for what must be hours upon hours, and the pain is so unbearable, so horrible, that he's not at all surprised when nausea rises in his chest, his body responding to its current state with confusion and a hard-reset. 

Steve keens, trying to roll onto his side, groaning at the flares of pain shooting up into his skull and down into his limbs. They only worsen the nausea and it's pure instinct that gives him the strength to sit up. 

"Kas?” he whispers, swallowing thickly against another wave. "Bathroom?” 

Instead of giving him directions or pulling him up to drag him there, Kas wastes no time. He gets up off the floor, approaching him with shuffling steps once more, and gently but quickly lifts Steve off the bed in a hold — firm, yet gentle — that brings another sting of tears to Steve's eyes. Pain and vulnerability and the need for everything to be over. That’s what makes him cry.

Still he manages to hold on, his head rolling onto Kas's shoulder, the skin of his neck blissfully cool against Steve’s overheated forehead pressing into him. 

Make it stop, he thinks. Longs. Aches. It’s supposed to be over. It’s all supposed to be over now. 

He whimpers again, and imagines that Kas is the one to softly shush him this time.

The coolness of Kas's neck is gone all too soon as the vampire sets Steve on the hard, uncomfortable bathroom floor. He doesn't go far, though, crouching down beside him and holding him up over the toilet. Steve can't see anything, but still he’s grateful that Kas left the lights off, the bathroom tinged in the same darkness as his bedroom. 

Pathetically, Steve rests his forehead on the toilet seat, chasing the coldness of it as pain and nausea reach their peak. It’s disgusting, but be’s not strong enough to care. A whine breaks from him, and he wishes Kas would leave. Even though the cold hand on his neck feels good, and even though he knows he wouldn't be able to hold himself up right now. 

I'm not weak, he wants to say. And maybe he does. But he can't recognise his own voice right now. 

"Not weak, maybe, but pathetic." 

No. 

"You know you are." 

Shut up. Go away. 

It doesn't make sense for Mr Munson to suddenly be here with them, to stand in the doorway and watch his nephew, who is more monster than human these days, holding up the pathetic form of Steve, who is more pain than human. More smoke than human. More vulnerable weakness than remotely human.

Go away. Eddie? I want him to go away. Tell— Go ‘way. 

The hand wanders, pulling Steve against cool skin again so his forehead rests against the toilet no longer, basking in the cold touch and the warmth of a body to hold him. 

"Safe," Kas says, and Steve wants to badly to believe him. Wants Wayne to leave, wants everyone to leave and just let him suffer in silence and solitude like always. 

Wayne starts talking again, but Steve can't hear him this time as he suddenly heaves and retches, throwing up what little he had to eat today. Over and over and over.

It goes like this for a long time. He has no idea how long. Has no idea where he even is anymore. 

The world tilts a few times when he loses his grip, his arms buckling, his hands spasming and giving out, and still he never falls. Only ever feels the cold, damp skin of Kas’s neck. 

Kas has to carry him to bed when he's done and on the brink of passing out again, and Steve doesn’t mind this time. Kas also hands him a glass of water or two before pushing him back to lie down again. That’s nice. 

The wet cloth returns, and Steve isn't aware of his surroundings for much more after that.

—— 

The next time Steve comes to, he feels like he was freshly dragged through Lover’s Lake until his lungs gave out. His head is pulsing violently, his senses are sluggish and everything feels foggy. He has no idea where he is, the room pitch black around him as he lifts a lukewarm damp cloth from his eyes. 

A soft groan falls from his lips as he stretches his aching, cramped limbs, rubbing his hands over his face and regaining the feeling in his body. Little pinpricks of phantom pain shoot through him, his mouth tastes like ash and his head protests rather violently against his pathetic attempt at sitting up. 

He is disoriented and something about his vision is still messed up, something in the depths of the room not quite right and leaving him with a dizziness he can’t quite shake, followed by a wave of anxiety that something’s wrong with his eyes. 

He blinks. Blinks again, finding more things in the strange room as he does, his sluggish brain slowly catching up and filling in the blanks.

It all comes back to him like a tidal wave when he suddenly finds himself blinking at a pair of red eyes, softly glowing and wide open. 

“Kas,” he croaks, his throat absolutely parched. 

One second he’s wincing at that, the next he finds a cool glass of water pressed into his hands before the eyes and the shadowy form they belong to retreat to the foot of the bed again. 

 “Thanks,” he murmurs, stalling as he takes a sip. Embarrassment rises in him, but he doesn’t want to apologise. The thought of that somehow makes the vulnerability that much worse, so he tries to ignore it. It’ll all be fine if they simply not acknowledge it. 

He wants to ask for the time instead, wants to know how much the migraine took from him this time, but he knows Kas doesn’t really understand the concept of it all, let alone know the numbers. 

A silence settles between them and it’s somewhere between welcome and uncomfortable. Just like everything that happens in Hawkins. It makes Steve feel like a ghost again, but this time he’s a ghost in the room, not just in his own head. He’s the one who’s out of place.

With a little sigh, he places the glass on the makeshift nightstand again and falls over onto his side. His head is mad at him for it, still feeling too fragile for sudden movements, but lying down feels better than sitting.

There’s a huff from Kas that sounds more amused than derisive, so Steve looks at him. Looks at the shimmer in those eyes before closing his own again, not wanting to be looked at right now. Not wanting to face it.

“You,” Kas says then, his voice quiet and without the edge of that animalistic growl. The sound of someone who’s not meant to speak at all. The souvenir of someone who was human once before Evil grabbed him and modified him to His liking. 

“Me,” Steve says, an automatic response, just as quiet. He’s listening. 

“How… How are…” Kas struggles, huffing in frustration at the words that refuse to come, but still it’s the most coherent Steve has ever heard him. It makes him sit up half way again; leaning his weight on one arm to focus all his foggy and cloudy attention on the vampire trying to ask him how he is feeling. 

No more words come, though, the question half finished in the air between them. But somehow it makes Steve smile. Just a little bit. This feels important. And huge.

“My head hurts,” he answers truthfully, amused when Kas’s eyes snap back to his. To search them. To communicate something.

“Hurts?” 

“Yeah. It will, for a while. Always does. Nothing to do about it, really.” He wishes he felt as indifferent to it as he sounds, but that’s just the tiredness clouding his tone. It’s fast approaching now that he knows he’s relatively safe. Now that he knows he can rest. His arm gives out and he slides, slowly this time, back to lie on the pillow. “But it’s not as bad. And the other pain is gone, so…” 

So. He could go home now. He should, probably. Ignoring the weakness in his bones and the exhaustion in his every fiber. If he closed his eyes again right now, he could fall asleep. Still, maybe he should—

“Stay,” Kas says again, and Steve really should have figured. He’s not quite well enough to really fight him on that, though, so he shrugs. 

“Fine,” he mumbles into the pillow, halfway back to slumberland already. 

There’s movement on the foot of the bed, and before he knows it Kas has tucked him in again, draped across the pillows as he is. It’s still unreal, that, but Steve won’t complain. What’s even more unreal, though, is the image Steve gets of Kas curling up by the foot of the bed in a similar position. As if he still means to keep watch. 

It’s ridiculous. A little weird. And sort of endearing.

——

The next time Steve wakes, everything around him is a little brighter, daylight fighting weakly to fill the room, but it stands no chance against the large wooden planks and thick curtains meant to block it out permanently. 

He blinks away the heaviness, taking stock of his body. There is a crick in his neck and burgeoning cramps in his side and hip from the position he’s still in, and this head still is a pulsing, aching mess — but no more than usual. 

He taps the pads of his fingers to his thumb before flexing his hands. Only then does he stretch the rest of his body and announce his wakefulness. 

Opposite him, at the foot of the bed, Kas is already awake and still in the same position that Steve saw him last. Did he even sleep? Does he need that? Or has he just been staring at Steve, watching him, ready to carry him to the bathroom again for round two. 

The thought of that makes his skin crawl.

“Hi,” he says to fill the silence that is all too inviting for his spiralling mind.

Kas grunts, but it sounds more like a hum. Sort of gentle around the edges. He doesn’t move, doesn’t seem at all fazed that they’re just kind of staring at each other. Steve swallows, not really sure how to go from here.

He fists the blanket and rubs the linen bedding between his fingers, feels the rough fabric catching on the callouses along his hands as uncomfortable seconds tick by. Still Kas doesn’t move. 

“Listen, man,” Steve says at last, thinking back to yesterday’s events and the vampire’s sudden care. “Thanks, alright? What you did, that was, uh. That was nice. You didn’t have to do any of that.” 

Another hum, and it occurs to Steve that Kas is back in his normal state, retreated back into his mind, hiding from the world himself now that it no longer needs him. It’s a strange thought, that Steve being hurt would be what brings him back. If at all. Maybe he’s reading it all wrong. Maybe it as just a coincidence, or maybe Kas tasted something in his blood that made him want to improve Steve’s physical state for selfish purposes. That’s probably more likely.

But it makes him feel even more wrong-footed than before, and it leaves him hyper-aware of the situation. Of their dynamic. Indifference and annoyance and… He doesn’t want it to change, doesn’t want some kind of debt between himself and Kas — especially not when Kas has no means to really settle it. But he also can’t feign some kind of gratitude when what he feels the most is mortification and embarrassment; and he sure as hell doesn’t want Kas to know that either. 

So he throws back the blanket and gets out of the bed, a little dizzy at first, but he doesn’t care as he slips into his shoes and hurries out of the room. 

He just wants to leave. Get out of here and go home, go back to bed and get over the mortification of having been seen like this. Of having been taken care of. By someone who doesn’t even like him. By someone who hissed and snapped at him one moment and then carried him to the bathroom the next. 

“It looks like there’s nothing human left in him, but we do have data that suggest otherwise.” Owens’s words echo through his mind as he crosses the living room. “It seems to be in hiding, the Munson part of him; that’s our hope at least. That you can get him back out one day, make him win over the vampire part. It could be like a self defence mechanism, I guess. We hope he can still be coaxed back into the land of the living. How, though, we don’t know.”

Was this what happened? Has Steve’s weakness triggered the human part of Kas’s tortured brain to take over? No, that can’t be. 

It seems unreal. Unlikely. Wayne telling him stories or Dustin talking about their campaign, that should have helped. Even Mike playing the guitar, or Robin rambling about something or other; all of that was much more close to who Munson was. Or used to be. Eddie Munson never struck Steve as someone who took care of people naturally. Someone who stepped in. He stepped up, sure, but only ever for the wrong reasons. 

It makes no sense. So it must be wrong; just Steve’s exhausted brain grasping at straws. It usually does that, anyway. Nobody knows if Eddie is even still in there. Part of Steve hopes he’s not. 

Just as he reaches for the front door, ready to just get out of here and pretend like nothing happened, he feels a presence behind him. Kas followed him out of the bedroom, standing in the doorway now with an unreadable expression. It's the blank one he usually takes on, but where before it was normal, it throws Steve off now. Maybe because he saw how Kas can look at him. How expressive his eyes can get.

He holds them, the red shimmer a little dimmer out here in the brighter living room. 

And maybe it's the blankness in those eyes, or the lack of judgment in Kas's every action, but whatever it is, it makes Steve let go of the door and turn to face Kas properly. 

"Why'd you do it?"

The vampire inclines his head. Listening. Always listening. Steve doesn't know how he never noticed that. It seemed so primitive before. Like how a dog will react to its owner speaking, but never process the words. Kas processes, though. So Steve keeps going.

"Why'd you... You kept saying that word. Safe. Do you, uh. Do you know what it means?" 

Slowly, his eyes growing a little less blank, Kas nods. 

Steve looks around the cabin, swallowing thickly, still feeling so out of place in here, still feeling the need to run and leave it far behind. But something makes him stay. Makes him want to understand. 

"You wanted me to feel safe?" Again, Kas nods. "Why?" 

There is hesitation there, and Steve wonders if it's because he doesn't want to tell him, if he doesn't know the answer, or if he doesn't know how to answer. It's a loaded question, maybe. 

"Pain," he says at last, his voice barely discernible from a growl, but somehow Steve seems attuned to it now. Maybe because he listens now. Because he wants to know. To understand. 

He waits, watching as Kas struggles for more words once more. Just like last night. 

"Know... Know... pain. Know.” He taps his temple with a clawed hand, and Steve's heart falls, his chest aching with realisation. 

Right. He would. He would know pain like that. If what the doc says is right, if what Vecna taunted them with is right, if every working theory the kids have is right, then… yeah. Kas would know. He’s know something about pain. More than any of them. Pain so intense it splits you apart from yourself. 

"Shit," Steve whispers more to himself than to the room, crossing his arms in front of his chest to hug himself and keep from digging deeper, keep his heart from falling further, and keep the horror at bay. 

He doesn't want to imagine the kind of torture Kas went through. Is still going through, if what the doctors say has even more truth to it. If Munson is still in there, still suffering because human minds have a way of holding on to pain — Steve knows soemthing about that, too. 

"I'm sorry," he offers. It's all he can offer. In the end, it’s all that’s left.

And still it's so lame. It's not enough. 

But Kas just nods again, a pained shadow of a smile appearing on his face. Something transpires between them in that moment, Steve can feel it, but he can't really define it. Maybe some kind of understanding. Some kind of safety. 

"I gotta..." he starts, motioning to the door behind him. "I gotta go. Will you be fine? Did you have enough, y'know, to drink?" 

Another nod, and the smile widens a little. Looks a little less pained this time. 

"Good," Steve says, stuffing his hands into his pockets, lifting his shoulders to his ears, trying and failing to seem casual in the face of those glowing eyes. "I’ll– I'll see you around, yeah?" 

And then he's out the door, his head spinning and aching, his steps heavy with the weight of whatever has changed between him and Kas in the past twenty-four hours. 

... sooo. part 3 anyone?

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently) 🤍 tagging for this work only: @forestnymph-666 @little-trash-ghost @jupitersgonemissing

[greenlaut]

i hope you suffer.

my take on pre-war abm michael (the michael lucifer fell in love with) angels before man written by @nicosraf

[snekberry]

I know you are absolutely silly with the kitchen nightmare/Gordon Ramsay au but have any reference sheet of F!Jon/F!Martin for the time travel stuff? 💦🫶🥹 I want to make some fanart and it will be amazing having some references other that comic panels

reference sheet for future!jmart and their monstrous selves!! :DD

[lordsovorn]

A few interesting details about Turbo Granny I've only noticed when they have been adapted into anime (some light spoilers, I guess):

Despite a minute later calling Aira's death not surprising and every effort to revive her useless - in a very blunt, cold manner at that - she is the one that brought it up in the first place as something more important than the ball. If it was so expected and now not worth the effort, you'd think it wouldn't distract her from "practical concerns" that much.

She does actually call an ambulance. With her little doll paws.

None of that is earth-shattering in any way, but it does flesh out the kind of person she is - someone who cares (we know she cares a lot), but can't express it sincerely at all. Who then talks rudely, pretends to be cool-headed and heartless, and dunks on others for caring.

And someone who is so profoundly scared of being useless and abandoned, of not doing or not being enough, she takes every opportunity to do whatever little things she can. She never actually stops helping them out despite the incessant grumbling and despite no one really expecting anything from her. And then she narrows her eyes and strikes a cool pose whenever she is helpful.

[lvlyyoonji]

just saw someone reading a devils minion quote and there is something to say about how the characters in iwtv/the vampire chronicles are able to look at the absolute worst most evil sides of each other and completely love each other anyways. not that things like abusively dropping someone from the sky should ever be justified, but with the loneliness they feel is this huge capacity to love that feels very human to me

[bumblingbabooshka]

I think Seven would tentatively confide in B'Elanna about dissociation problems and B'Elanna would be like "Seven, everyone deals with that kind of thing! Don't worry about it too much, okay?" and they'd both be like, quietly relieved that they're not the only one and thus think that it's normal when in reality they should both talk to like, a professional. AND THEY WON'T! Bc they both kind of know in their hearts that it's weird but it's ok, bc they found someone else who understands and won't try to analyze them about it <3 Seven Dissociation: Fragile sense of burgeoning identity. Goes between feeling 'too empty' (you're not supposed to be alone) and 'too crowded' - as if she can feel multiple identities within her. Feels as if the 'original' her has died and she is a completely different person than the pre-borg her, not as if she IS that child just grown up. At times of high stress, she sometimes has memory lapses which freak her out. Not connected much to her body. Is this body hers? Where did she come from? She was born when she was severed from the collective and she was born when she emerged from the maturation chamber and she was born at some distant point in the past beyond memory, to a Human woman she once called mother. At times she listens back to her personal logs and feels as if she's listening to someone else's thoughts and opinions. Sometimes she remembers saying these things but still feels this way. It reminds her of being Borg, where she can remember things she did but can't really...reach it. Can't empathize fully. Who is Seven? Is she that child, the Human? Is she Seven of Nine, the borg? No. No. Who is Seven? B'Elanna Dissociation: Has a very 'insecure'[?] sense of identity. Easily hurt by and conscious of what others think of her though most wouldn't think this is true. Long periods of feeling completely detached from her body and the world, though she's still going about her daily tasks. Looks into the mirror and doesn't really recognize herself or sees herself as revoltingly ugly in ways others don't see or understand. At times self-harms in an attempt to 'return to herself' if she's dissociating too long as it starts to scare her. Often goes back and erases personal logs made while she dissociating. As a child had an internal habit of blaming things on one 'half' of her, heavily demonizing "The Klingon" girl and this has persisted into adulthood. Views herself in a very 'split' way - "My Klingon side protected me from X" etc. Does not have a cohesive whole vision of herself but instead sees herself as essentially "Good Half" and "Evil Half". I can picture her saying it was like she had a twin sister growing up. This began further back than she can remember but solidified totally after her father abandoned her family. At times she feels she is the "good" version of her, berating the "bad" one and at other times she's the "bad" one being berated. Her body is ugly and she is half evil and if only she could get rid of it, disengage from it, escape herself totally....