#not sure if this is actually 'gory' but. his organs are kind of visible so just in case

[foster-the-moths]

"Adam stared up at the figure stuck in the wall, seeing that it was eerily still, though Adam almost wished he wasn’t breathing. He hated that the man was alive."

Some art of Home Sweet Home AU Mark!!! i read Barotrauma and i just had to draw this guy. AU is by @shmorp-mcdurgen and @anotherr-side , go check them out!! and the speedpaint is below

[argentdandelion]

HorrorTale Papyrus: Neither Insane Nor Sadistic

SourAppleStudios' comic, HorrorTale, is set eight years after the Empress Undyne Neutral ending. The CORE, which makes the magic for all/almost all the Underground’s food supply, stops working. Nobody can fix it, and the Underground faces an extended famine. Sans, having received a gruesome head injury, tells Snowdin residents Undyne’s new “policy”: any humans that fall underground will be “harvested” for food, not SOULs.

Sans believes this is the only way for Snowdin’s people to survive, but kind, compassionate Papyrus refuses to go along: he’d rather starve to death than eat human flesh. So Sans tricks him into cooking and eating a human organ. Papyrus makes it into “crooked spaghetti”, causing his teeth to become long, jagged, crooked and bleeding, and his mind to apparently warp to that of an insane, sadistic person.

Except...he is neither insane nor sadistic.

Behavior

Some of Papyrus’ behavior seems to support the idea Papyrus has gone insane and sadistic. In brief, Papyrus’s behavior is disturbing not simply because he kills, but how he kills, how he acts as he kills, and how he interacts with others outside of killing. Unlike other characters, Papyrus tries to kill Aliza in an indirect, orderly way through his “puzzles”. He gives very basic information about each puzzle, saying nothing of each puzzle’s danger, and acts as if running kids through a gauntlet of death traps and sickening choices is a normal, cheery occasion.

The first puzzle is an oversized bear trap that decapitates Aliza. (she comes back with Determination) When Aliza sinks into the tar-like quicksand-snow of the second puzzle, Papyrus’s full face isn’t seen, but he seems to be smiling and he doesn’t respond to her screams. For the third “puzzle”, Aliza must make a seemingly harmless choice between hot dogs and spaghetti. The correct option, spaghetti, has Papyrus feeding her human meat, and she only realizes the ingredients after solving the puzzle. The fourth “puzzle” has Papyrus telling Aliza to go to Grillby’s, telling her the patrons are friendly. Yet, after hearing their sad tale of starvation, the patrons try to fry her alive, and Aliza only escapes by using one of her “freebies” (ability to pass a puzzle) to escape what was secretly a puzzle. As she does so, Papyrus gives a big, suspicious grin.

His prolonged, rule-bound, impractical methods can be contrasted with Toriel and Sans’ methods. When Toriel knows Aliza is escaping the Ruins, she calls out for Sans, who instantly kills Aliza through bones springing out of the ground past the Ruins door. On different occasions, Sans horrifically injures or kills Aliza: just for kicks in a warped joy-buzzer prank, because she made the wrong choice the third “puzzle” (selecting hot dogs instead of spaghetti), because he suspects she cheated in a puzzle (due to reloading), or because he couldn’t resist trying to eat her when she was half-fried and smelled like food.

Outside of killing, Papyrus seems odd in easily catching Aliza, but letting her go anyway. Rather than hiding behind a lamp, as in-game, Aliza hides behind a corpse suspended from a branch. Papyrus joyously, easily captures her, but then he gets suspicious, believing her behavior is part of a devious plan to outsmart him. To this, Sans says: "Whoa paps. sweet deduction skills. might be wiser to, uh. skip the puzzles...and take her straight to #5." However, Papyrus believes it's too risky to progress to Step 5 in his plans, and goes through his puzzles as usual. Papyrus also seems to forget what a “freebie” for a puzzle is, that he made up the rules, and why he chose three. He even argues with Sans that giving three freebies is much too high (confusing “freebies” with “frisbees” in the process), making Sans remind him the number was adjusted up because no one got to the "grand finale".

Rebuttals

Based on these deeds, it’s easy to describe HorrorTale Papyrus as “insane” and “sadistic”, and explain his behavior by those properties. Yet, that’s neglecting one crucial detail: anyone can become messed up in such awful circumstances. Believing Papyrus’s actions are only possible if he were estranged from reality or found inflicting pain pleasurable shows ignorance on how people act in horrific situations. Certainly, if Papyrus had a good life with plenty of food and acted the same way he did in HorrorTale, he probably would be insane and sadistic, but he had to endure eight years of famine, and the deaths of humans ensure his and his neighbors’ survival.

Papyrus is Not Sadistic

According to Merriam-Webster, “sadistic” means “taking pleasure in the infliction of pain, punishment, or humiliation on others”. Although Papyrus is willing to kill humans, and uses painful traps to do so, and most of the evidence for his sadism is lacking (since Papyrus’s face isn’t seen) or doesn’t match up. Only one piece of evidence, Papyrus smiling as Aliza dodges being fried alive, suggests he enjoys suffering...and it could be that it’s just his neutral expression, since Papyrus often smiles. While Papyrus also seems to be smiling as Aliza screams as she sinks in the second puzzle, his face is not fully visible. He may simply have been spacing out, or using his default expression of a smile as Aliza sinks. If anything, it’s Sans who’s sadistic, due to his methods of killing, inflicting pain, and punishing.

Furthermore, it’s not necessarily sadistic to offer humans human meat. One explanation for Papyrus giving Aliza spaghetti with human meat is that he feels sympathy for her: he knows what it’s like to be very hungry. (and human meat is the only food he has) It’s not out of the question he would want to minimize her suffering, even if he’s trying to eat her. After all, when slaughtering animals, people often care that the animal does not suffer unnecessarily. It’s also possible he wanted the human-hunt to be “fair”, even if he was desperate, and he believed Aliza couldn’t properly “compete” if she were starving. Papyrus doesn’t seem disappointed when Aliza survives puzzles, though he was annoyed she (apparently) did not even try the second puzzle. Papyrus even compliments Aliza on her "exemplary performance” before the third puzzle.

Papyrus is Not Insane

If one defines "insanity" as meaning "unable to understand reality", then HorrorTale Papyrus is not insane. He fully understands what is going on, and the consequences of his actions. He surely added “freebies” to his puzzles because he knows his puzzles are lethal, and adding freebies is the only way to make them hypothetically survivable and therefore “fair”.

One might suggest he is insane to not kill Aliza as quickly as possible, as he is very hungry. Even Sans, who’s somewhat less patient now, suggests skipping most of the puzzles in favor of going to Puzzle #5.

Furthermore, it might seem insane (or sadistic) to not kill her painlessly. When Aliza is about to escape the Ruins, Toriel signals Sans to kill her. Sans’ bone attacks spring from the ground, and Aliza dies near-instantly. This quick, unexpected death would surely minimize Aliza’s suffering: it shows Toriel’s harsh but merciful choice to keep Aliza’s SOUL out of the war-obsessed Empress Undyne’s hands.

Although Papyrus could quickly and painlessly kill Aliza by sniping her from afar, he may have such a strong sense of integrity and self-control as to delay eating a delicious meal (to him) for several hours, even in famine. His sense of integrity may override his compassion...if he’s even thoroughly thinking about his motives at all, as his hunger may have clouded his thinking.

Perhaps one thinks the very fact he’s resorting to killing and eating sentient beings (and a harmless child, no less!*) shows his insanity. However, even humans have eaten other humans in extreme situations, regardless of insanity or sadism. Often, this is after starving people have tried every other option. Given Papyrus’s compassion and the fact HorrorTale takes place eight years after the Empress Undyne Neutral ending, he’s surely had time to try everything else.

Red Herrings

Some of Papyrus’s behavior might seem to support his insanity, until one realizes he had strange personality quirks at the start. He seems more forgetful than in Undertale, as he debates his freebie system and confuses it with “frisbees”. Still, his immense hunger over the years may have worn away at his memory. In-game, Papyrus bizarrely believes Frisk is insulting him so he can feel better about fighting Frisk, and that the insults hide a hidden affection, making Frisk an “emotional cactus”. Thus, Papyrus’s belief Aliza was suspiciously easy to capture isn’t out of character for him, and not a sign of insanity.

Papyrus defends his use of puzzles, rather than directly killing humans, by saying: “But then how would we pass the time?" As bizarre as this seems, even people in horrific situations may try to find games to play, such as playing card games or making chess sets from crumbs, stones, wood or candle wax. After all, it’s not as if Papyrus can control when humans arrive, so he’d need to do something while he waited. Since he spent so much time setting up puzzles before the Empress Undyne ending, he may very well be trying to cling to normality by configuring his puzzles.

Conclusion

The Drunk Bunny NPC at Grillby's claims "years of hunger have gnawed all the kindness right out of [Sans’] bones”. The same may have happened to Papyrus, if not so thoroughly, for although Papyrus is undoubtedly messed-up, he is neither insane nor sadistic. Rather, the horrible situation probably tipped Papyrus’s psychology into whatever helped him (or others) survive, and so drained his empathy and made him more numb.

As the HorrorTale character sheet (made in 2016, but still relevant) points out, he “Doesn't dislike humans, but is highly motivated in feeding his friends one way or another”. While it’s possible Papyrus would rather starve to death than kill humans, he might kill anyway to feed his friends. His impractical methods are surely caused by conflict between his principles and motivation, rather than sadism. Rather than being insane, he might be strangely principled: a HorrorTale character sheet even emphasizes he’s “the only character with some sense of morality.”

Those who have been forced to kill, and those who have eat human flesh out of necessity, can eventually recover and become functional (if not quite psychologically intact) individuals. Should HorrorTale's Papyrus ever get to the surface, his sheer self-control and principles should give him the happiest fate of all the characters.

Related Reading Reasons Papyrus Would Kill a Human

[kellanved-ammanas]

Space Mercs AU: Halloween Party Part Two: Party

Spy went back and forth on whether or not he was going to attend the team Halloween party. It would be silly to celebrate a holiday typically only celebrated by humans especially on a planet humans weren’t native to. But… it was one of Ellen’s favourite holidays, she’d always insisted that he celebrate it with her. That had been a long time ago though, he… sort of missed it. Which meant it’d be dumb to go; he missed it because he still missed her. So it was decided, he was not going to go.

Despite that seemingly final decision, he found himself hiding invisible in the corner of the common room as Scout prepared it for the Halloween party that evening. That didn’t mean he was going to the party though. He was just curious to see what was being done for it.

Scout had enlisted the help of Demo, Engie and Pyro, in the making and hanging of the decorations. Mostly black and orange ribbons, probably cloth bought from the store in town and cut up. But he’d also used his artistic skills to make a big ‘HAPPY HALLOWEEN!’ banner, decorated with little spiders, ghosts, bats, and a couple skeletons peeking out from the corners.

Somebody – it certainly wasn’t Scout – had figured out how to make bat shaped cupcakes and ghost shaped cookies, they were all a little lopsided. Some more than others, but only a few of them were unrecognizable. There were chips and dip too. Whatever the dip was, was dyed bright red, possibly trying to resemble something gory in the theme of Halloween (?) but failing miserably – not every food experiment could be a winner. But of course, there was alcohol, tons and tons of alcohol, enough to take up half the table. Spiked punch and just straight bottles of liquor next to the two-liter bottles of soda. There was even a few bottles on liquor from the town, obviously brought in by Demo, Scout had refused to even touch the stuff since it had killed him.

A lot of work had gone into all of it and it was quite impressive. And the whole thing was orchestrated by Scout, he was even clearly in charge of where everything went. He’d inherited his mother’s love of Halloween all right. Not surprising, she had a way of pulling people into things she was passionate about and making them love it too.

Holding back a groan, Spy slunk out of the room, hugging the wall lest he bump into anyone by accident. He was going to have to attend the party now, wasn’t he? Out of obligation because he was – did he dare even think to himself? – proud of the work his son – thinking about Scout, using that phrase was probably risky, if he did it too often, he might accidentally say something out loud that gave away his secret – had put into it. But also, because he did enjoy Halloween, he wanted to celebrate it again. And so, he would even if it did go against his better judgment.

 -

“You showed up!” Scout said as soon as Spy stepped into the room.

Spy had actually shown up first but had remained invisible hidden in the corner while everyone else arrived. He’d then waited a few more minutes after Sniper – the true last person to arrive – came in to sneak out and reenter visible. “I was bored and had nothing better to do so I figured I might as well show up see what was going on in here.”

Scout’s exuberance was unaffected by Spy’s feigned apathy. “That means everyone’s here, yes! Even Miss Pauling showed up.”

“Well, the Administrator’s not here so technically, not everyone’s here.”

“Well, she doesn’t count. For all we know she might not even be a real person because she’s just a voice over the speakers from our point of view. So, yes, everyone is here and it’s amazing. I’m not letting your garbage attitude ruin the party. We’re going to eat and drink and watch scary movies until our socks fall off. I don’t even really know what that’s supposed to mean but we’re going to do it anyway.”

“Okay, all right.” Spy hadn’t come here planning to be contradictory, it had just kind of happened out of habit.

“Good. I’m glad you showed up. Demo said you wouldn’t but then Medic made a bet with him that you would. So if Demo’s mad at you, that’s probably why. But now that everyone’s finally here… it’s scary movie time!” The last part was addressed loudly to the entire room.

The TV they were presumably going to watch these scary movies on was now set up in the middle of the room with two midsized couches and some beanbag chairs, setup in front of it, exactly enough room for ten people. Engie, Pyro and Sniper were already hanging out one of the couches while everyone else hung out at that food table right behind them.

Surprisingly, they all gathered around the TV – bringing plates of food with them of course – with no further prompting from Scout or anyone else. Even Demo left the ready supply of alcohol behind, bringing only a single bottle of it over with him to sit in one of the beanbags next to Soldier. Spy quickly grabbed a drink and snagged a spot on the outside end of a couch before anyone else could, ending up next to Engie.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” he whispered while Scout chose what movie they were going to watch first.

Spy shrugged. “I had nothing better to do.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.”

Spy almost asked ‘why?’ because it made some sort of sense that Scout wanted him here – he was the one organizing the party so naturally he wanted everyone here just for the sake of it – but why would Engie be glad Spy showed up? It didn’t really matter though and wasn’t something Spy wanted to get into right now. So, he didn’t respond.

As the opening credits of the first movie began to roll, Scout ran to dim the lights. He then ran back to reclaim the center beanbag chair as if it were possible he might miss something important by being away for five seconds instead of two.

 -

The first movie was one Spy had seen before a few times, back when it had been Scout’s mother who insisted he watch scary movies with her. He wasn’t sure if that made him more inclined like it or dislike it. Either way though, it was more interesting than the second movie which was so stereotypical it wasn’t scary at all. In Spy’s opinion anyway, the others didn’t seem to mind. Though all of them, except for Pyro, were drinking more than him so that might have something to do with it.

The third movie and fourth movie were pretty decent, nothing too grand but satisfyingly spooky. But three quarters of the way through the latter, Demo finally passed out. Soldier had either been matching him drink for drink and also passed out from alcohol consumption or had fallen asleep because of how late it was. They leaned into each other snoring softly which is what had drawn Spy’s attention to them.

After the movie ended, Miss Pauling had to leave, the fact that she’d been able to stay as long as she had was surprising, it was past midnight after all. At some point Heavy and Sniper had fallen asleep too. Pyro looked to be sleeping as well but it was hard to tell for sure, he might just be very relaxed, leaning into Medic’s shoulder, who surprisingly didn’t seem to mind.

But despite all that and the tiredness mixed with the obvious effect the alcohol was having on him, making him groggy and unsteady, Scout insisted they keep going. Medic was of course all for it, he was loving the gore and routinely stayed up until stupid o’clock in the morning anyway. Engie didn’t look tired either for the same reason as Medic, staying up all night was a frequent thing for him, he was used to it. Spy was starting to feel sleepy but he wasn’t going let them know that, he could stay up all night if he had to. So another movie it was.

“I think Scout might’ve finally fallen asleep,” Engie whispered a bit more than an hour and a half later as the credits rolled across the screen.

“Really?” Medic said as he stretched out a leg to prod Scout with the toe of his slipper. Scout didn’t respond even when Medic poked him a bit harder. “Weak.”

“I guess that means the party’s over,” Spy said as he stood up. Finally he could go bed.

“Yep, looks like.” Engie stood too. He bent down to gently take the remote out of Scout’s hand to turn off the TV before going over to the light switch to turn the lights all the way back up. “Now uh… you two, before you go off to bed, help me get everyone we can up so we can send them off to their rooms, this ain’t no place anyone should be sleeping in. We’ll clean this mess up tomorrow sometime.” He gestured towards the table, now a mess of mostly crumbs and a few left-over cupcakes and cookies. At most maybe one quarter of the various alcoholic drinks were left over, Pyro was the only one who hadn’t drunk anything, which was a contribution to why most of the team now was now fast asleep.

Spy didn’t want to stick around to help wake everyone up but… he did anyway. But only because Engie had asked Medic to help too and Medic seemed to be staying.

Everyone but Demo and Scout woke up to a small amount of prodding, shaking, or poking. Not surprising, Demo was drunk off his ass and Scout had literally slept through a fire alarm once.

“We shall have to slap them to wake them up,” Soldier said. Before he could make a move to do so, Heavy put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.

“No slapping, we can carry them to bed,” he said.

“I’ll drag Scout to bed,” Spy volunteered with a sigh. “His room’s right next to mine anyway.”

“Oh, interesting,” Medic said with an evil smirk, rubbing his hands together.

Spy ignored him; a reaction was what Medic wanted. Instead, eager to be done with this business and in bed, he bent down to pull Scout up and hoist him up on his shoulder like a sack of grain. Scout didn’t even stir. “Now I must bid you all a good night.” He bowed slightly to everyone in the room before heading out. Normally he would’ve gone invisible too because it had a better affect, but whilst carrying another person it would’ve just look silly.

Unfortunately, their sleeping quarters being on the ship to make things more convenient when they moved meant the journey to their rooms was quite lengthy, even while going at a fast walk to leave everyone else behind. Luckily Scout wasn’t too heavy so the burden wasn’t as bad as it could be.

He reached Scout’s room and picked the lock to gain entry. He placed Scout on his bed and… against his better judgement, tucked him in. In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have volunteered to do this but it was too late now. But it was most likely the first and only time he’d ever put his son to bed.

“Good night,” he whispered, almost just mouthing the words, before retreating out and to his own room.

Previous

[ckcker]

My Backsplash

The sun was out then for a second was covered and a second later reappeared like a fadeout that gave up, it was enough action to make me look out my window and enough environmental pressure to stick a leg out through my thoughts.  Feeling the way my skin pulled tightly over my face as I often did, I prostrated my nurdlescape wisdom before an inner monologue consumed by detecting evil in the actions or statements of other people. I collected these kind of events, unsure as to what actually is evil but hypervigilant about detecting it, guzzling the inner monologue. It refuses to name the behaviors of others as ‘evil’ because it claims to not believe in a supernatural arena of judgment, but the ‘negative’ behavior it searches for, still, in the part of the body where solutions are emotional, takes on the feeling of experiencing evil. Let’s say this affected communication. The physical-mental feed tube moves so fast, it is hard to grab it, to behead it. Another undetected speed. There should be a word for the period of time in which early users of a new technological device appear insane before the device becomes extremely popular.  

From some rapidly opened crypt came the suggestion, ‘I just feel like it’s time for me to date again, to get out there and meet people,’ a popular summary given by those recovering from a bad romantic calculation. Somehow everyone knew the location of that ‘there,’ and I began to think of it too since I also could say I knew where to access ‘there.’  The ‘out’ was hard, I did not want to go out.  Work forced it and at least gave the ‘out’ a knowable structure, but the other conditions of ‘out there’ shared certain aspects also found in the haunted house portrait with the moving eyes.  And I wanted to be that portrait, steeped in outdated inertia, spraying the room with unacceptable stares, not human but rendered in human form, accepted as a condition of the space.  It was difficult to be noticed against my will.  My apartment, though only on the 2nd floor, still gave me a view of urban space that was elevated, and so I felt a certain amount of reflection-conjuring power when I looked out my window at buildings, businesses, dogs that couldn’t see me, people looking down at their hands, streetlights and building lights in the cruise of twilight and the lights of businesses, and people with bum backs or legs moving temperately down the sidewalk. Even from the 2nd story window I could look at the components of an urban area and feel like I was above it, both subject to its expectations and laws and electric bills as well as the distant surveyor exploiting its pervasive electricity and improvisational arrangements of shapes as the overabused cinematic container for my longings, lunges and literal hurls. My skyline consisted of a hardware store with a parrot living in the front window, a few backyards connected by weed smoke and in the distance a tall supermarket that people said was not organic but had some good organic items, a billboard unpeeled displaying a solution for upside down credit, beyond it all the upper 1/5 of a prominent downtown building that relieved the panic of not knowing what city I was in, and over it all the far away voices of a mentally disabled singing group rehearsing guitar-accompanied pop/rock standards from the last 60 years at the community center catercorner from the dead spider I did not kill lying legs up on my bathroom window sill.  I had seen many things from this window in the brief time I had lived there, I saw a man fall into an abandoned Chipotle once. If one continually expects a problem (aka evil) in the voices and actions of others, always looking for the barbaric silica packet that helps covertly maintain some image of ethical, sensitive, open, accepting person, the ‘out there’ will move on to someone that appreciates it.  How obvious, and difficult to learn when you find your identity drifting towards the high cenobite of backsplash.  

“Slay mignon” I heard Rob say through the apartment door and then a different voice responded with something less interesting, it meant there were at least two people entering Rob’s apartment next door and that they were using a joking tone as they entered.  It was possible to joke around with friends: it was possible to fall into a Chipotle.  The reaction I communicated towards the front wall when I heard the knock on my door was jazzy reluctance (muted terror).  I answered the door, taking in the image of Rob and similarly young friend, who perhaps was trying to rehabilitate the toupee, in the 8:30pm apartment walkway light.  

“How’s it going?”

“Not bad, how are you?”

“Tired.  We’re having a bunch of friends over next door though, to let you know.  I hope it’s not too loud.”

“Oh that’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“This is my friend Q.C.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“We’ll try to keep it down. But no promises, hahaha. Feel free to stop by if you want.”

“I mean, not sure what you’re doing tonight, or.”

“Thanks, I. I am just gonna do something low-key tonight I think. Thanks for asking.”

“Ok great. What’re you getting into tonight?”

“Well,”

“Oh sorry, you just kinda answered that.”

“Yeah, I, there’s that new nature documentary everyone is talking about. I’ll probably watch that.”

“Cool.”

I closed the door. I thought of the slightly crooked curtain dowel in the back right frame of a neckplay fetish porn still.  I thought of the crumpled top 1/4 of a straw wrapper on the oak floor of an upscale espresso bar.  One must be brave enough to forge one’s own backsplash. I didn’t know what I meant by that, I looked out my window. The skyline at dusk, I aggressively remembered a time.

I thought, ‘all that’s left is the practical and measured execution of plans I previously laid out under uncontrollable feelings.’  The feelings had passed but the structure of living developed during those de-cablings stuck around.  Now meaning nothing, their former dominance must be honored. I needed extensive plastic surgery asap.  My memory was too personal, gory, smelling of rain-scented incense. I fast walked from my room to a place where a TV played, which joined the space with testimony of a woman who somehow escaped her potential murderer.  She described her final maneuver in warbled tones, we are with her running alone through the California desert at night as she tries to find a road and a passing car.  This type of flashback people might find interesting, there are no cars nearby, her recollection voice was high and childlike.  Though I may stare so hard at my phone to make sure it will forever remember me, I never feel more powerful than when I close my eyes in public.  The story finished with her finally waving down a car on the highway; a couple picked her up and listened to her story in shock, as related by her and by then the killer had disappeared.  

The cool underside air of dusk in July on exposed skin, calm weather re-routing every thought or experience towards a positive conclusion was its own kind of repression: healthy.  It was possible to look at things during the sunset.  Sunset had something to do with the way restricted natural light made faces feel diminished with retreating red and less visible, and the time limit on how long was left for someone to be able to see was enough narrative intensity to leave a scratch in the head, if combined with some other high octane action, for instance walking near a pond with friends and viewing a deer.  I had not spoken with friends in months, I had not told them more than a present location, Missouri. That I lived in the side of the city that is Kansas seemed to be some sort of rotting occult intel that I kept totally to myself.  

I had no intention of watching the new nature documentary everyone was talking about. I decided again to try and experience the city. I closed my apartment door, turned, and, after several steps, read “What is PAIN Music?” typed on top of an unfolded piece of paper. It was lying alone on the roasted teal carpet and thus an object that I could view.  Underneath this title was one full page of description meant to answer the question and define PAIN music; it read:

“Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif  oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif  oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif  oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif  oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif  oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif Dghdhdfj dfloifkij oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif  oifj kidfjg adfupifgj Dghdhdfj dfloifkij,” and ended “oifj kidfjg adfupifgj adpoifg adsoif dfpoifgja [poifj apijf.”

What was most clear to me on seeing this text was that I didn’t and would never have any interest in trying to decipher or decode the definition of PAIN music. I did not know if it was even possible.  But I folded it back over and then again and put it in my pocket to walk with me.  

As I moved through the outdoor hallway from my apartment, I brought viewings into my head of the piece of paper, focusing on the detail I had seen in the lower middle-left corner: “The Coolest Music Ever” in dark font and gassy drop shadow.  This was an important clue that I had decided to never interpret or care about.  If the piece of paper had unfolded itself for me and only me, it would not receive the pleasure of my humiliation in tracing its undoubtedly core-tearing motives.  If it was meant to curse me with an assortment of serrated traumas and thus make new life paths available to deflate myself in and then be educated by, I would not meet it halfway to know why.  But I had decided to take it with me anyway, I did not interrogate my reasons for this, and neither did I ask myself why I considered “The Coolest Music Ever” to be an important clue.  Maybe because my days of pursuing an acute pleasure had passed by, had been “completed,” crunched by a mania for self-direction and fully shaved of shallow mysteries, like PAIN music. I had dropped my body parts in the mouth of a man in an empty field during a music festival, I had stared at the uptempo lonely dance music video playing on multiple screens at the club meant for young people and had sopped up the vulgar hypnotism, I had held the funneling friend too drunk at the party to not hear longing in any song with house chords and a gay male vocal. Amicable-disabled, part LARP, marshy, far, bloated as forensic bodies, hanging out menacingly, far away, deciding to try and drive along the spilling highway brush, more drooling light the color of mango and then new sustainable light, white and incapable of drool.

Luckily I have a second set of actions that play out in my mind during an action of my body, lucky for me that no one can read them, though I listen for any distant sound that might indicate a second set of actions in a person standing near me.  As my finger points at a happy hour menu, it also points at my shredded bed sheet that I will never replace.  The sheet that shredded wholly on its own, all it took was a sustained propulsion of my fatefully wound body in sleep over several years to cause a rip and days later a completed tear.  One has dual purposes, sometimes one’s purpose is to lose consciousness and rest the body, while one’s purpose is also to interrupt the body’s rest.  Sometimes one’s mind considers, ‘it would be more illuminating to challenge a command that this be the time for the body to rest.’  Two drinks in, the happy hour is passing and buy one get one free, and the young woman who is bartending has the look of someone reeling in a fantasy.  A cup of hot water fell off the counter and landed on the floor upright yet the black tea bag inside, briefly resembling a violent mid-launch health store fig, whacked against the bar wall with the sonic clarity of a professionally-recorded sound effect. Afterwards, her voice, direct and lifeless, responded when I asked for a lime.  When I opened my mouth very very slightly, my teeth touched each other in a light shake that was uncontrollable. My body did not want to talk, but my mind could not help but announce it was at work.  It caused my jaw to move although there was no content it considered to be worth releasing.  My teeth softly struck each other and it was because my second set of actions were reaching a stealth crescendo; whether a result of the bar music or not I couldn’t tell.  There are certain ways one can react to popular shriveled leprechaun vocalists building up hearts of listeners with irreversible we will hope’s and oooooh, don’t you know?s over simple creamy synth and a delirious light tone. One must pay attention to the background world, it is a dangerous dimension that sprays its mechanisms onto thoughts and senses even if you are in focus and obviously the more interesting subject. Therefore, background music must be monitored at all times. Atrocities incubate under background music, background glances, moments on the way to being busy, sounds on the street on the way back home. 

[uglymanchronicles]

UMC:R Chapter 3: Reinstall

Exposition time!  This one gets a bit gory in places, so be forewarned if that sort of thing gets to you.

“Monsters exist.”

It was, by all means, a useless statement.  It sounded stupid.  It sounded like something a little kid telling a ghost story would say, or something one of those wannabe Banksy types would spraypaint on the side of a police station or something.  But, nonetheless, an electric shiver, so potent that it made his breath catch in his throat, ran through his body.  

Because it was him saying it to himself.  He knew his own tells, his own voice… he was being sincere. While it was possible this was all a trick, that password…

“I don’t mean that in a metaphorical sense.  You’ll probably eventually notice some big scars on your back. Those are from a wendigo.  Or is it pronounced when-dee-go? I don’t know, not the point.  Superhumanly strong cannibalistic former humans.  Tough, but they still die if you cut their heads off. Try not to freak out when you see the skull in the bedroom.”

“WHAT.”

“So yeah, there’s all kinds of really bad things out there.  I’ve kept notes.  But there’s also so many good things!”  Old Evan’s eyes lit up and he scooted forward on the chair.  “New things we couldn’t have imagined!  Things outside of physics!  New sciences!  Actual, real magic!  I saw a guy actually jump over a building! Superpowers exist! And here’s the best part: I’ve—shit, we’ve—got one!”

Evan felt his face slacken into an expression of incredulous confusion as the recorded Evan stood up and walked towards the camera. His form loomed over it and ate up most of the frame, but he held the fingertip of his right hand up in front of the lens.

“Watch this.”

From offscreen, a small knife appeared and Evan watched himself drag the blade across his own fingertip. There was an irritated-sounding hiss of discomfort—Jesus, he was cutting deep! His past self shook out his hand, then held up the wounded digit to the camera.

Evan covered his mouth in shock as he realized how bad the cut was. The other him’s bone was visible through the pooling blood. It would require stitches, at least! But…

He looked down at his own, present-time finger. Aside from familiar little cuts, calluses, and blemishes that had been there for years, there was no sign that anything was amiss. Even if this happened months ago, there would still be a scar from it, surely! But there was nothing new.

“Look, here it goes.”

His attention was drawn back to the screen by his own voice. The gashed finger was still front and center, but something was different.

The blood was barely flowing any more. The bone wasn’t visible. As Evan watched, the wound began to visibly narrow, the skin creeping along the edge of the cut like a time-lapse video of lichen growing on a rock. When the opposite edges of the cut grew closer, raw pink skin grew across the gap. Evan swore he could see fibers of skin reach across and connect to the other side. In less than a minute, all that was left of a pretty serious self-inflicted wound was some slightly discolored skin and a scab that looked like it was days old.

“I don’t know why I’m like this, but I don’t think it’s something new,” Old Evan said, sitting back in the chair and idly picking at the skin. “Remember all the times we got hurt and it didn’t seem as bad as it should have been? Getting gored and stomped on by that bull? Getting lost in the woods and finding our way out with that broken leg? The cancer surgery? All the shit Mary did to us? We heal! We heal fast! And from a lot of stuff, too…”

Vid-Evan paused, sounding slightly troubled. “Look, I’m not sure how strong this is yet, but… okay, if you haven’t yet, you’re going to notice there’s a gigantic, awful-looking scar right here on the left side of your…our…dammit, these tenses are fucking me up. Here.” He ran his fingers along his left side, a few inches below his pectoral… right where the mangled hoodie had been repaired.  “I can’t go into all the details, but someone I was hanging out with got…enchanted, mind controlled, something like that.  It didn’t work on me for some reason, but I’d probably have been better off if it did, because he came after me.  And he was a HUGE guy, plus he had superhuman strength, so... I didn’t stand much of a chance.  After he beat me down, he took this huge ax he carried around and…” The recording pantomimed an overhand swing.  “If I hadn’t rolled he’d have split me in half.  As it was, the cut stopped just a couple inches from my spine. Organs pulped, bones shattered… I was out in seconds.  I woke up about an hour later and, well, it still hurt and my shirt was ruined, and I got a MASSIVE scar from it, but…” he spread his hands in front of him.  “I was alive.  Breathing, blood pumping, the whole nine yards.  And that’s not all.  I’ve been shot a few times, stabbed, clawed, punched by things a lot stronger than people… it heals in less than a day.  I don’t know why some of them leave scars and some don’t, but… well, let’s just say we’re not gonna win any beauty pageants.  Sorry.”

 The image on the screen raised his hand to his cheek, and Evan suddenly felt a deep sadness coming from his doppelganger.  He could see something sparkling in his own blue eyes, and realized it was the backlight reflecting off his tears.  The recording took a deep, shaky breath, and continued.

 “Look, I have to get to the point.  There’s a lot of bad shit out there, but there’s a lot of good, too, and I want to be a part of it.  With all the things we know, the things we know how to do… with the right tools, we could really make a difference.  Save people from things they can’t protect themselves from.  But don’t just hunt things down if they’re not hurting anyone. Everything’s got a right to exist as long as they don’t impede on that right of others, right? And go out and make the world better, don’t just fight, y’know?  We’ve always had big ideas.  We’ve got money, we know how to fight.  And we were bored, just tooling around staying out of trouble.  Let’s put all our skills and talents to good use, yeah?  Um…”  

 Film-Evan’s gaze drifted away from the camera.  He pursed his lips and shifted his jaw, twisting his expression as he seemed to struggle with what to say next.   After a few seconds of silence, he reached behind himself and pulled something out of the back pocket of his pants.  He stared down at it for a few moments, then held it up.

“Just being able to heal fast won’t be enough to make a difference, though.  I’ve built some weapons and gathered supplies—there’s an inventory on this computer—but this is the key to us really making this whole thing work.”  

It was a small, worn-looking book, bound in faded leather with a cover decorated with several small inset beads.  It wasn’t much bigger than the average paperback novel and a little over an inch thick, and some of the pages were clearly made of different materials than others.  It had a distinctly cobbled-together look, but the man on the screen ran his fingers over the cover with something resembling reverence.  

“This thing’s had a lot of names, but in more recent times it’s referred to as the Book of Fate.  Kinda cliché, I know, but it’s the real deal.  This thing is both the instruction manual and a key reagent for a magical ritual that’s been in development for centuries.  No, make that millennia.  And, like, tons of cultures.  Most of this thing isn’t in English.  Some of it is later translations, but… anyway, a whole lot of people have been working on this thing for a very long time, but it’s never actually been cast.  Performed. Whatever.

“But what this thing is intended to do, as far as I’ve been able to decipher, is to give the, uh, ‘target’ probably isn’t the right word, but you get what I mean, right?  The target of the ritual.  It’s supposed to give them the ability to develop their own… powerset?  God, it feels weird to use that term to refer to a real thing, but that’s the gist of it.  It’s a bit vague on how, but… well, I always wanted to be the first one to try to do something, didn’t I?  We? Fuck.

“Anyway, I don’t have time to explain everything here, but I’ve got tons of notes and personal research stashed away on this computer, and there’s backups in the filing cabinet in the bedroom if something happens. I’ve gathered most of the ingredients for the ritual, and I’ve got all the steps written down.  Do it.  Go through with it.  And after that, well, don’t worry.  Trouble will find you.

“So why am I telling you this instead of you just remembering it? Well, I can’t go into any details beyond I learned something literally dangerous.  Just me having the knowledge in my head has the potential to make something very bad happen.  So I have to get rid of it.”

The recorded Evan stood up and pulled the cloth off the chair.  The chair was huge, made of dark wood, and clearly very heavy. The angle of the lens cut off the bottom of the legs, but Evan thought he could see angle brackets anchoring the bulky thing to the floor. There were straps, made of leather even more aged and ragged than the book’s cover, on the arms and legs of the chair. Attached to the top was a strange colander-shaped device studded with wires, lights, and glass tubes filled with several colors of liquid. Topping it off was what seemed to be the innards of a power drill, tipped with a strangely gleaming bit and angled to point straight down towards the top of the wearer’s head.

Evan suddenly felt a wave of nausea as the twice forces of confusion and understanding smashed into each other in his brain. He suddenly knew what he was about to witness. He realized why his head was so empty. He knew the path he’d set himself on and was, in a sort of giddy, manic way, excited about what he’d told himself. He knew everything he needed to know. But he couldn’t stop watching. He didn’t even realize he’d been squeezing Mr. Nex like a stress ball until his knuckles cracked from the force. He could hear himself on the recording: “blah blah combination of drugs and corrosive chemicals blah blah specially coated enchanted drill bit blah blah many calculations blah lots of expert help blah blah prevent regenerating brain tissue from retaining recent memories blah blah reset pattern of consciousness upon completion of healing process blah”, but Evan was focusing on very gently setting Mr. Nex out of his arm’s reach. If what he thought was coming was indeed coming, he was worried that he might accidentally pulp the stuffed giraffe between his fingers.

After setting his old friend well out of reach on the passenger’s seat, Evan sat back down in the kitchen just as his recorded self finished strapping himself to the awful machine. There was a small remote control clenched in the shaking fingers of his left hand, and his head had been fixed in place by several thick straps.  He locked eyes with the camera again.  

“I’ve been wondering if this counts as me actually dying, since this portion of my consciousness won’t be sustained.  I honestly haven’t come to an answer, but…” Decisively, he thumbed the button.  The drill began to whir.  Somewhere off-camera, something large and volatile crackled to life.  “Fortune favors the bold!” The vials on the helmet started to bubble and drain.  Already shaking slightly from the electric charge, Film-Evan reached out with his tongue and pulled a block of wood on a string between his teeth.  Evan watched his own eyes bulge and start to roll wildly. The drill had hit bone.  

Since his head was strapped in place and largely obscured by the helmet and bandages, there wasn’t much to watch.  The sound was the bad part.  The former Evan was screaming as the bit ground noisily through his skull, the gag doing little to muffle the sound.  The machinery, the screaming, the wet crunching of pulverizing bone—it all blended together into a nightmarish vomit of noise, and Evan realized he was screaming, too, a low, guttural scream, one of low volume and pitch but utterly panicked intensity.

 The background noise suddenly stopped and Evan found his scream lowering to a drawn-out groan. His digital counterpart had stopped screaming and the drill had gone silent; as he watched, the machine slowly withdrew the bit, dripping with blood and pink-gray pulp, from his own ruined skull. The other him groaned softly and spit out the gag, his eyes struggling to focus on the camera. Though blood was leaking from his mouth, he managed to grin. His lips trembling, he took a breath and slurred weakly:

“It’ll be worth it. We’re going to make a real difference. We’ll be a force to be reckoned with, I just know it. I believe in myself. I believe in you.”

He’d just taken another breath, perhaps to try to continue his inspiring farewell, but suddenly the lights on the helmet lit up and there was a soft sound of liquid sloshing. A split second of a sharp hissing was audible, then old-Evan shrieked as wisps of smoke began to rise from the top of this head. The scream was so sudden, so shrill, so agonized, and so ear-piercingly loud that it only lasted for a couple seconds before a hideous gurgling-tearing noise preceded the noise lowering to a hoarse wail.

Despite what he’d seen thus far, the scream took Evan by surprise. He involuntarily jerked backwards, the chair’s legs caught, and he toppled over backwards. Luckily, the corner of the kitchen counter was waiting to break his fall, and graciously did so with a tap to the back of the head. Pain surged from the impact, but was rapidly overtaken by surging, suffocating darkness.

Just before it all went black, Evan found himself thinking:

Well, I’ve had worse.

[exsanguisdraconis]

@roselioncourt forgive me I am garbage and this is rly long

On top of a mountain of treasures, in the bowels of an enormous temple, at the heart of a winding maze of dark corridors and ancient catwalks, Verena was sound asleep. The steady rise and fall of her chest had shifted thousands of coins over the length of her death like sleep, and left her nestled in a valley that was slowly but surely getting deeper with each sigh. Jewels nestled in the cracks of her scales. Coins snuggled into each crease of her wing. Silks and satins danced like ghosts; caught in the horde and whipped forwards and back with each breath.

She had no intention of waking from her extended nap. It was only the smell of blood and smoke that eventually grew so strong, her silver eyes cracked open. 

The dragoness stood to her feet and a roar of coins louder than the rush of a dozen waterfalls echoed through the room. They clinked and jingled and clanged with every lumbering step she took; her weight sending tremors throughout the piles from the force of her great black paws thudding against the ground. Verena did not shake off because she was not a dog. Chains of gold and silver still cling to her spines and coins or gemstones stayed wedged on the tops of her folded wings or in her horns. It would have made anyone else look ridiculous and perhaps, by sheer weight of the wealth draped along their backs alone, important. Verena was neither. She carried the treasure with the cool indifference of a true dragon. It may as well have not existed at all for as much attention she paid it; it crusted into her flesh and looked as if it fused with the scaly armor of her hide.

The hallways were quiet down below the temple, but the more she followed her nose, the louder they became.

She wasn’t alarmed by the smell of the elves. The elf people lived outside her door. Usually they stayed across the bridge, whispering prayers to her that she would never hear because, first and foremost, she was not a goddess, and secondly because she was practically deaf in her left ear. She neither understood nor encouraged their devotion to her at first, but over the years she’d come to respect their strange religion that was based, for the most part, on her. The leader of the clan, a tall, dark skinned man with amber eyes was named Volunthor, and she’d come to regard him as a friend.

It was Volunthor that she saw as she rounded the corner, standing in front of an open door. Beyond him stood a sea of elves, packed like sardines into the grand arena that took up most of the west courtyard. The elves stood outside of the arena floor, where three lone men stood, shouting in their native tongue. The men pointed their long sinewy fingers up above an enormous fire. One that produced so much smoke and shadow, not even her keen eyes could pierce through the ever changing array of darkness and light cast by the inferno. What they were pointing to was a raised platform, where three humanoid figures (which Verena assumed were elves) were hanging by their bound feet.

“What is this?” She rumbled; her deep, sexless tone devoid of any emotion. Only a few elves, including Volunthor, heard her over the racket.

The old priest raised furious amber eyes to her. “They are mad men! Not part of our clan. At dusk they breached the camp and declared me a heretical lunatic. They claim that you have spoken to them in dreams and told them of my weakness.”

“Now they have come to kill your faithful to prove that you are weak?”

“No.” He shook his head, lifting an arm to point to the hanging figured. Two of the elves that had been on the arena floor had scaled a couple of pillars and now stood on a platform over the fire, which floated in mid-air so that they were eye level with their captives. “They are not my men. They are not even my kind.”

Perturbed didn’t begin to express the level of agitation swirling inside her. A fire of her own was growing, turning the peaceful emptiness that had filled her in her sleep into a raging fire. She stepped out into the crowd and they parted with a mixture of gasps and cries of joy or anger. The sound of them only pissed her off more.

“Behold! The great mother herself awakes to the smell of blood that flows from her enemies!” One of the men in the dark robes howled joyously, bowing to her from the platform. He from the sleeve of his coat, he produced a silver dagger, held it up for all to see, and then plunged it into the gut of a man, who screeched and convulsed pitifully in agony. Blood squirted from the wound; spraying like droplets of water from a hose that had been mostly clogged by a thumb. Now that she was closer and the blood was so fresh, she realized she knew the scent. It was vampire blood.

All of the captives were vampires. Two men and one woman, whose hair had been crudely sliced off. Below them, she could see more than a dozen other figures now, encased in the flames; their bodies twisted and frozen. Bound by their own shrunken skin. Their lips were pulled back to expose their teeth and the skins of their eyes had been peeled back. She imagined that if hell were real, the hell the mortals all feared, this would be what it looked like. Even worse, she slowly reached the conclusion that these twisted beings were not actually dead. Each was screaming. Their voices made up a terrible choir that made the fire seem like a living thing. What magic had these elves used to torment those poor creatures.

“We say no more!” Verena assumed the man had continued on with his rant after she’d stopped listening, because when she tuned back in he appeared to be in the middle of another sentence. “The creatures that sent our great mother into the flames shall join her in the fire that does not die! But rather than rise as she did, they will see no rebirth! Only suffering and death!”

His speech earned a round of jeers from the crowd. Verena wasn’t paying enough attention to understand if they were supportive or not. A thousand eyes at least were glazed over, shoulders pressed against each other, mouths agape. They were enthralled by this gory display. 

Before she could respond, the one vampire was sliced in half. In pain and desperation it managed to grab the hand of the other male dangling beside them. From its open chest bits of organ dangled like snakes. The two held on to one another out of sheer terror, each refusing to release the other when the mad elf demanded it. So, with a sweep of the cultist’s dagger, the feet of the other male were severed from his body and both of them fell into the fire. The attention turned to the woman; her face was smeared with soot and blood, her hair was a complete mess.

“Enough of this.” It took very little effort to raise her voice above the crowd. They hushed at the sound of her voice. All but the mad elf, who begged her to speak to them. “How dare you invade my home and sate your blood lust in my name! If I wanted the vampires dead---I’d have done it myself.”

She was eye to eye with the platform now, such was the enormity of her size. She took the rod that held the remaining creature in her mouth and effortlessly wrenched it from the sides of the platform. Then she turned, dropped the woman onto her back, and swished her tail behind her. The resounding blow hit the platform and sent the cultists careening through the air, smashing against a pillar in a chorus of snaps and cracks. Then they slid into the fire and as they died, so did the flames; along with everyone trapped within them.

“You will leave my home. You will follow your high priest across the bridge. Any that remain when morning breaks will meet no kinder fate than the one that befell---them.” Verena wasn’t sure what to call the men. Nor did she care. That was all she had to say.

Through the ornate halls and into the man sanctuary, Verena carried the bound vampire on her back. When she laid down upon the massive alter, she turned to look at the battered creature. 

Verena had eyes like opals. But rather than flecks of red or blue, they danced with a thousand different shades of silver, and seemed perfectly illuminated in the the dark room even as her face was distorted by shadow. She focused those strange silver eyes on the woman; no visible emotion on her face.

“Who are you, woman?” She asked, tilting her gargantuan head to the side. Then, feeling as if she owed the woman a bit of a favor she said. “I am Verena and this is my home.”