#rip to all the songs I had to sacrifice for my own sanity

[nomsfaultau]

SBI Whumptober prompt 3) Dehumanization and 26) Shock (but only as a pun)

Disclaimer: this blurb is set in the SCP SBI AU I have called Fault, specifically prior to Part 1. Explanation of AU; tldr. 

(Wilbur)

[Exposure to object: ████’s voice may result in physical harm to ear drums. In extreme cases, it causes severe psychological distress that necessitates the termination of Foundation personnel. The objective of this treatment is to reduce the lives and sanities lost containing this anomaly, as its escape would cause countless casualties. 

As it is dangerous to check the content of auditory recordings, success will be measured based on the audio level in room 15021. Report attached below. For further information contact the archives division, but proceed with caution. 

(Legend: 60 dB is normal speaking range; 90 dB is a human scream; at 150 dB ear drums rupture.) 

Treatment introduced at 8:57 AM. No injuries were sustained. Post 9:23, object ████ did not produce volume above that of the 30 dB threshold. Treatment was suspended to permit sustenance intake. Early results are promising.]

— — —

The calming song he’d been humming pooled into the air. Velvety low notes, meaningless lyrics. Wilbur found it soothing. For all that he’d grown up with nothing to his name, music was always his if only because no one could rip it out of his hands like they did everything else. A small rebellion, but it was Wilbur’s, and it was a well-honed act of honey-sweet spite. 

It was a song to forever remain unfinished as footsteps echoed closer. A faint sound, but his gut was well-tuned to it by now. He backed away from the entrance as employees poured into his cell. “Stay still and make this easy or you’ll wish you had, ████.” 

Wilbur bristled at the moniker. “My name is Wilbur,” he snarled, jaw ripping apart into a horrendous, seething mass of teeth. He refused to let them steal his name, too. He wasn’t an object, or an it. For all that the Foundation refused to admit it, Wilbur was a person. 

“Unless you’d like to be tased again, cease the threat display.” The voice was bored for all the fear their words stabbed in Wilbur’s guts. Scowling, he wrenched his jaw back into place, shoving the mandibles to proper alignment with the rest of his skull. 

“So what’s up? Want to stab more needles in? Or, oo, you’re going to send more criminals in to see what happens? You humans really are eager to sacrifice your own,” he said conversationally even as he retreated from the sprawl of guards. Hands seemed to grab him from every direction and Wilbur just had to grit his teeth and bear it. “Come on fellas, there’s really enough of me for everyone, no need to get handsy-” He was scruffed, head shoved down. He suppressed the instinct to rip every one of them to shreds. Unfortunately, by now Wilbur was incredibly familiar with just how extreme Foundation punishments were, and he wasn’t eager to taste them. He’d been behaving, even, which was a tall order for him. All he’d been doing for days now was lay in his cell and hum stupid little songs to himself. Not jeopardizing people or devouring the world whole or anything! It made everything inside him howl, but even Wilbur could learn to submit to authority if the repercussions were extreme enough. 

So when they ordered him to shut up, Wilbur did, even if he had to bite his tongue to manage. Something snapped shut around his throat and he managed to make zero (0) snarky remarks. Phil would be proud. 

Almost immediately, the employees fled. Huh. That was a weirdly short experiment. Wilbur sighed in relief. Eventually, he prodded curiously at the thing around his neck. It was oddly bulky, tight enough to make him conscious of his pulse. What the hell?

A…collar? 

“What th—!?!” the world dissolved into pure agony. A horrific scream tore from his throat as electricity poured through it.

— — —

Legend: Asterix indicates when treatment was applied. Shaded areas average periods where object: ████ was in an inactive state and treatment was deactivated. 

Notes:

Day 1 offers a baseline for audio levels prior to treatment.

Treatment was introduced Day 2. 

Day 2: Volume spike at 21:41. If object: ████ is presumed to have a REM cycle akin to that of a human’s, it is hypothesized the initial increase in decibels was the result of a nightmare. This was an irregularity not accounted for when planning the procedure and thereafter was rectified by discontinuing treatment applications when it slept. 

Object: ████ is not given an artificial night block for obvious reasons and has an irregular sleep schedule. It tends to sleep whenever it collapses from exhaustion. Post 22:00 it was monitored for consciousness.

Day 3: At 3:20 AM it screamed in its sleep again. It did not immediately resume sleeping, instead staying up and continuing to produce sounds. Researcher █████ ███████ bravely volunteered to check the audio in case it was a security risk. Fortunately, researcher █████ ███████ was unharmed and reported it was mimicking vocal sounds ranging from soft humming to crying. It would not cease. At 4:10 treatment was applied to disincentivize exploiting the choice to leave the treatment device inactive during periods of unconsciousness. 

Conclusion: Object: ████ self-regulates volume to levels below 30 dB threshold, which drastically reduces the chance of harm for personnel. 

This Special Containment Procedure has been deemed a success.]

— — —

Wilbur rubbed his aching throat. It hurt, but it felt good to have the shock collar off his neck. Unfortunately, he reckoned the respite would only last the duration of the coming visit with Philza.

The Foundation hated the visits for their security risk. But the threat to humanity was far greater if Philza went unchained, and so they lured him in with promised glimpses of his stolen children. Wilbur hated to be a pawn, but there was nothing any of them could do. Still, he was grateful for the visits. He wouldn’t have lasted this long without them. 

He needed this to be normal. Jokes and quips and jabs and everything he needed to say before his voice was locked up again. Wilbur smiled brightly the moment the door opened and revealed Philza. 

And yet one look and concern spooled in his features. “Are you okay?” 

Yes. But the word never fell from his tongue. It should’ve been an easy lie, but Wilbur’s throat constricted, expecting punishment. Panic set in, this was supposed to be the one time Wilbur was safe and yet he couldn’t speak. His fingers jolted to his throat as if anticipating a shock simply for thinking of trying. 

Philza surged forward, wrapping him in a warm hug. “Hey, hey, I got you. What happened?” Wilbur tried to force out an answer, choking on it. Nothing came out. He tried over and over to speak only for his vocal cords to lock on him. It grew tight to the point of pain as his distress spiked. Philza ran a comforting hand down his back even as Wilbur clawed into him desperately. “You don’t have to tell me, that’s perfectly alright mate. Here, I saved some extra food for you…” 

He curled up with Philza the rest of the visit, sheltered in his arms. It was the closest he’d had to anything resembling safety in weeks. Philza’s heartbeat thumped comfortably from where Wilbur rested on his chest. Quiet, not loud enough to risk a shock. That was safe then. A low, sweet rumble began to vibrate in Philza’s chest, an ancient lullaby spilling over its gentle aegis. 

Wilbur shoved Philza away, terrified the current pouring through his body would be shared. It took a beat to realize there was no voltage forthcoming. Phantom electricity trickled down his spine, but it was all in his head. 

The lullaby stilled on Philza’s tongue. How often had Wilbur heard it as a child, the familiar tune used to lure him to peaceful slumber. It felt like a betrayal that a song that had soothed him so many times before now kindled only fear. Wilbur swallowed roughly, unable to look at Philza. 

“Sorry,” Philza murmured, confused. “I can be quiet?” 

Wilbur shook his head. He didn’t want the Foundation to win like this. Wilbur buried himself in Philza’s embrace, shoving the panic down and forcing himself to feel safe. Claws stroked through his tangled hair, lyrics half tumbled into gentle assurances. Slowly, the vice on his throat eased. Tentatively, he joined the song, so quiet it hurt. His throat ached from all the abuse poured into it, hoarse from disuse. Too far above the echo of a whisper and the fear returned, seizing his voice once more. Still, it got a little easier as the hour spent itself. 

But then the visit was over, and the panic spiked, knowing this might be the last chance he got to speak for the rest of the month. Wilbur pressed his mouth to Philza’s cheek in a parody of a farewell kiss. His words came out ragged and husky and so, so scared.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dad.”

[lilflowerpot]

𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔡𝔢 ♠ 𝔎𝔢𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔡𝔢 ♠ 𝔏𝔬𝔱𝔬𝔯 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔡𝔢 ♠ 𝔎𝔢𝔦𝔱𝔬𝔯 (intermingled master playlist)

Surprising absolutely nobody, I caved and made not one, not two, but three incredibly self-indulgent keitor playlists. “Why three?” you ask; well, I very quickly realised that the songs were dividing themselves into the distinct categories of “Lotor’s romanticism” and “Keith’s sensuality” of their own accord, the ultimate outcome of which was my mind latching on to the idea of complimentary ~aesthetic~ album covers… et voilà. The third playlist splices both of the above together into a very specific listening experience that directly correlates to Lotor’s / Keith’s pov throughout the entire narrative - and yes, I do mean the entire narrative - so for those of you who like a good puzzle, I have been EXCEEDINGLY particular with the placement of each and every song ♡

[helliontherapscallion]

Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it. 

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends. 

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart. 

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years. 

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same. 

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin. 

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence. 

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony. 

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed. 

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living. 

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again. 

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it. 

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that. 

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again. 

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him. 

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears. 

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book. 

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails." 

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down. 

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed. 

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly. 

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here." 

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying." 

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred. 

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks. 

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury. 

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move. 

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting." 

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top. 

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks. 

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few. 

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so. 

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief. 

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading. 

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks. 

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive. 

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks. 

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?" 

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void. 

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this." 

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you." 

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace. 

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you. 

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing. 

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him." 

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen. 

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void. 

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying. 

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors. 

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible? 

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless. 

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air. 

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?" 

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?" 

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?" 

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance. 

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me." 

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded. 

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just- 

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss. 

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto- 

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve. 

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition. 

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice. 

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years. 

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.” 

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.” 

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.” 

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur. 

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay. 

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost. 

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears. 

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement. 

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!” 

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands. 

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.” 

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person. 

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right? 

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy. 

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes. 

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot. 

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust. 

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy. 

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin. 

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction. 

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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[beyoncesdragon]

an introduction of VICTON♥︎༄

my favorite emo punk fairies of kpop, @aixy-hpsa bub buckle up.

-`about victon´-

Victon actually means Voice to New World or some, and we, the cult-followers, are to be yelled at by the name of ALICE. They debuted 2016 and have so far produced a bunch of mindblowing, amazing, superior, beautiful, showstopping (...) bops:

-`studio albums´-

Voice : The Future is Now (2021) *scream*

-`mini albums´-

Voice To New World (2016)

Ready (2017)

Identity (2017)

From. VICTON (2017)

Nostalgia (2019)

Continuous (2020)

-`single albums´-

"Time of Sorrow" (2018)

"Mayday" (2020)

they are amaaaaazing oke. look here have my favorite songs of them. (Yes I’m forcing my love for them down your throat now I’m sorry)

♥︎ - KANG SEUNGSIK - ♥︎

♥︎ 16. April 1995 ♥︎ 🐶 ♥︎ 🇰🇷 ♥︎

Leader!

He became Victons leader after Seungwoo started participating in Produce X 101 and then officially became Victons leader when Seungwoo came back from X1.

Vocalist! VOCALIST. VOCALIST

This man is blessed with a set of insane vocal chords and we all love him for it.

congratulations to Victon for being the only group with Kang Seungsik

He’s the mom of the group :,)

Supa caring dude, cleans up the mess of OT6

Is “Health” in persona, which kinda fits doesn’t it.

Naturally gets bullied by the younger ones.

EYE SMILE GANG

Also has dimples

Great leader and we should all respect him for it and give him never ending credits, victon wouldn’t be victon without him periodt.

♥︎ - HAN SEUNGWOO - ♥︎

♥︎ December 24, 1994 ♥︎ 🦊 ♥︎ 🇰🇷 ♥︎

Lead rapper, lead dancer, lead vocalist lead everything

Except Leader.

He gave that position up after he returned from X1 (where he by the way also was voted leader)

YOOO the members missed him so much they cried when he was gone

Visuals✨

Oh boy that man...dangerous

He has the funniest laugh? Like u would never expect that laugh to be his???

He. Has. His. Own. EP. And I dare everyone to listen to „Sacrifice“. It’s a masterpiece.

Seunggu also has tattoos!! 3 in total.

This dude is ripped yet u will probably catch him imitating goats and pikachu...?

Will roast the maknae but with love

Hes so much more than just his face.

♥︎ - DO HANSE - ♥︎

♥︎ 25. Sept. 1997 ♥︎ 🐱 ♥︎ 🇰🇷 ♥︎

Hello you’re looking at the loml

Main rapper.

(Of victon and of Kpop ex.1 and ex.2)

Sese ♥︎

Puts the sweet in sweetheart and really, he only looks like he could kill

TATTOOOOOS. SO. MANY. OF. THEM.

Semicolon on his wrist; cross on his left shoulder and chest (he church boi); roses on his arm: writings on his collar bone; so many more

bestest sense of fashion hands down

Iconic lip ring

His own solo EP is on the way!!!

Somehow this man is also main dancer

MIC FLIPS OWO

Talented boy.

♥︎ - LIM SEJUN - ♥︎

♥︎ May 4, 1996 ♥︎ 🍓 ♥︎ 🇰🇷 ♥︎

You are looking at an icon here

Most coziest-est VLives in history of Vlives

Easily scared (victon does enjoy that, naturally)

Very whiny but it’s oke

Lead Vocalist, Visual, Face of the Group

Insane vocals too, here ex.1

Another member of kpops cucumbers-anti squad

He’s very much BTS fanboy (not as much as Wooyoung but that’s hard anyways)

Competitive eater (listen, the maknae said that and we will believe him)

Will never leave Subin do a Vlive in peace ever

Will Never leave Subin live in peace ever either

Clingy boy

Walking noise-machine, he goes “ouh? Oh? Eh?” Like 372892 times a day

So much love for the dimple-prince

♥︎ - HEO CHAN - ♥︎

♥︎ December 14, 1995 ♥︎ 🦖 ♥︎ 🇰🇷 ♥︎

May I introduce...SUNSHINE OF VICTON ☀️

Mood maker of the group!

Mr Main Dancer and Vocalist also has dimples

And even tho he wanted to be a dance instructor, he somehow ended up becoming an idol

He even trained with TBZ mr leader sir Sangyeon

Mans can drive!!

Like Lee Know, he once was a backup dancer. For A-Pink tho, which is pretty cool

Hes considered the uncle in our lovely family dynamic

Expensive boi be collecting sHOES

And he said he polishes them from time to time and I do think that’s adorable

He’s also allergic to cats (unless it’s Hanse. That’s okay ig)

Cutest sunny boy, will take good care of your heart always☀️💛

♥︎ - CHOI BYUNGCHAN - ♥︎

♥︎ November 12, 1997 ♥︎ 🐥 ♥︎ 🇰🇷 ♥︎

Welcome to Victon where everyone has a mandatory crush on Byung

Like he doesn’t even have to enter your biasline

You will still have a crush on him because Byungchan

Softest biaswrecker i have ever had 112/10 would recommend

Tall boi. Like really tall and really broad👀

I keep forgetting he’s maknae line tbh

Prettiest Dimples ever.

Very active on his Instagram and we love him for it

Top tier bf material

Hes the softest boy and yet only one who isn’t scared of fucking bugs (victon scaredy cats)

Try not falling too hard for the mister

He knows so many girlfroup dances

He also shows them off quite always

He’s a bit tinie liddol but clumsy sometimes

Gosh I love him

♥︎ - JUNG SUBIN - ♥︎

♥︎ April 5, 1999 ♥︎ 🐰 ♥︎ 🇰🇷 ♥︎

Vocalist, Rapper, Heart-stealer, Actor...

AND MOST LOVED MAKNAE EVER

Like I don’t know if any maknae ever received as many kisses as this one

Gets (rightfully) babied to the Max by every. Single. One. Of. Them.

24/7

He’s also a babie. Like yes he’s a grown man and he looks hella intimidating on stage but-

It’s Subin

He’s also the smolest in Victon (uwu)

At the same time, maknae on top, this man gets everything (except his own room lmao) he wants

Sometimes not so baby (ex.1)

Saiubin-bby was supposed to debut with Pentagon but he yeeted last minute (we thank)

The child himself has children too: dog Toto and 2 cats: Mimi and Jaws.

He’s close friends with my favourite, formerly pink-haired elf-twink Yeonjun of TXT

Chairman of Victon.

he has the BEST insta user: subsubey.

Best boi.

-`very valid victon-moments to begin with´-

- because its pride: 🌈

- general victon-feelsies: 🌸

- for bad mood: ☀️

- moments when you want to question their sanity: 🌻 🌼 🌺 🌹

- victon being talented on studio CHOOM

- victon being talented whilst covering kehlanis "Gangsta"

alright that was long. and yes they are exactly as loud and noisy and annoying and time consuming as they seem but they are also best boys who can bring very much happiness into ones life, so they are very much worth it

[i-am-parsec]

Page 4

Henrik has gone from ignoring me for weeks to monitoring my every move 24/7. Stacy goes around the house making jokes about the benefits of having an live-in doctor since she may go into labour any minute now but I can't tell she's just as worried as me about the Doc. Worried because he's not explaining himself. Worried because he won't tell what's in the goddamn book. Worried because of his reaction when she "dared" to use Google to translate the first page. Henrik claims it's ancient German, too hard for him to understand, "after all, Chase, I only lived in Berlin for a few years as a kid, I barely speak modern German!, but you can't bullshit the bullshiter, Schneeplestein.

He's scared, and while I keep telling myself I don't what of, I think it's time to face up to the facts. It's time to call mom and ask what the fuck happened the night Charles broke his arm and I met my wife.

***

I have two uncles. Both of them in prison. One of them for murder, the other for rape and murder. I had no idea they were in prison or that they existed at all. My mother told me as that trying to contact them was pointless, she swore to my father I would never meet them. Apparently delivering that fucking book wasn't his only deathbed wish, knowing him, the fucker probably made a list. I want to be mad at him, I really do, but I can't, right now I can't feel anything. There's so much going on inside my head and at the same time, it's blank. It reminds me of our time working in Arizona, the attempted robbery - when Stacy shot at that guy with the gun so close to my head, I felt the whole world going completely mute while simultaneously exploding. The ringing right after, that's how I feel now. Silenced terror.

I go back to how mom greeted me and it makes me want to scream.

"I'm glad you called, dear. You have no time to waste; now, listen carefully and everything will be alright, you are the one who's gonna get it right, son."

Reassuring words as she holds me in the monster's den. Nothing but lies, that's all this family is. She asked me to record the conversation. I should have hung up right then and there

Triplets. Dad was born first, then Lucas, then Matthew. The three of them seemed like healthy, happy boys despite their father's distant behavior. If what my mother says it's true, that grandfather I never got to meet only held his children once for a picture after they were born and never again touched them, not a hug, not a caress, not even pat on the back. Their mother tried really hard to make up for their father's lack of affectionate gestures, in other words, she spoiled them. That alone could explained my father's addictions and his brothers' criminal tendencies but mom insists there's more. She insists there is a curse.

I am going insane, aren't I? A sane person would suggest their mother to get herself checked after listening to what I did, yet here I am writing it all down, going over the recording again and again, afraid I might miss some details. This is ridiculous...

A curse has followed the Brody men for at least 6 generations. Someone, somewhere made a pact and apparently screw all of us up; with who or what is up to debate but what my family has deduced over the years is that this entity preys on all of the males who descend from that poor fucker and that it feeds off our pain (either emotional or physical) while working its way into the brain of its victims. Once it achieves this, it starts controlling the victim's body until it completely destroys it and then proceeds to start the same process with the next generation, i.e. It drives you insane and, after killing you, it starts torturing your son.

I've always doubted my mother’s sanity but this certainly sounds like reason enough to lock her up in an asylum - although, given the fact that I might go crazy myself in a matter of months, maybe that's a not a good idea; last thing I need is to end up trapped in a mental institution with her. That could totally happen, I'm unlucky like that, as time has proven more than once.

From here on, I'll just write down her exact words, I'm done with trying to process all this crap, it's obviously not happening. 

"Your father loved you and me more than anyone has ever loved anyone in this world. He made the biggest sacrifices so you and every other man with Brody blood on their veins could get an actual fighting chance, a shot at happiness. He went through Hell, and back for us, my love, and maybe you think ‘no, that's not right, he put us through Hell, he was the devil himself’, but that's just not true and you know it. Maybe that thing managed to slip away from your memory but it’s not an easy sight to forget, once you see it, it sticks with you forever, and you saw it, son, many times. Every time your father pinned you down on the floor, every time he burned your skin with a cigarette, every time he threaten you or me to kill us, there it was, relishing in our fear. You have to understand, Chase, that while all of us could see it, no one knew how to stop it, no one was brave enough to find out, except your father and his brothers. He wasn't the horrible man everyone saw from the outside, he was and will always be the tender boy I fell in love with so many years ago.

He didn't know what was going to happen to him as he grew older, his father never warned him - you see, that was your grandfather’s strategy. This thing needs the victims to love and be loved, to have hope and dreams, it needs them to be happy, so he can rip their happiness apart. Your grandfather learned this from the old book I sent you and he concluded that if he stayed away from his sons and never allowed himself to love anyone, he would be safe, he could starve the demon and maybe even destroy it. But there's no escape from love, no matter how bad it hurts. He suffered just as much as your dad did, but got nothing out of it. When your dad and uncles found out about this curse of sorts, they realized there was no point in trying to fight it, so they didn't. They let it consume them completely, so they could learned as much as possible from it, what it was, how it behaved and especially, how to kill it.

I knew your uncles. They were good men, and they loved your father very much. By the time your grandfather died and the truth came out, Matthew was engaged, Lucas was a successful singer (you won't find his songs on the internet but trust me, he was gifted, just like you, dear) and your father, well, he and I had just moved in together and I was pregnant with you. It is truly a shame you never got to meet Matt and Luke because they would have been the most wonderful uncles any kid could ever have. In a way, they are. They decided your dad was the one who had the most to lose, so they sacrificed themselves, hoping it would prevent the monster from attacking him too. That's how they ended up in jail. They were the kindest people I had the honor to meet, they would have never hurt anyone, but they thought if they became the evil puppets this thing wanted them to be, it would leave your father and his new family alone. They loved you a lot, Chase, if your father made me promise you will never to see them, it's because they are no longer the lovely men they once were. This thing consumed them. You must remember them as the smiling kids in the pictures I'm sending you. You should be getting them soon. That's who you uncles are, not the emotionless shells who are in prison now.

Just like them, your father was not the beast you sadly had to grow up with, he was kind and creative and he would have let this thing eat him up alive if it meant finding a way out for you, son, and I think he did. The book is mostly notes from your great grandfather, the first one to "investigate" this thing, but on the back there are your father's own findings. Read them, dear, prepare yourself but most importantly, don't make your elders' mistakes. Don't try to ignore it or hide it, this is a fight you can't avoid or win alone. I'm glad you married the Walter girl, she always seemed so strong and determined, I know that if you tell her the truth, like your father did with me, she will stick with you.

I'm sorry it took me so long to tell why we could never leave, my love, I really am. I hope, one day, you can forgive us all.”

I want to tell my mother to fuck off, to stop making shit up and accept the fact she married an abusive drunk worthless piece of shit who happens to be brother of two equally fucked up pieces of shit and that maybe now that he's dead she can finally get some professional help to deal with it, but I can't. I want to put this pen down and go to bed and hold my beautiful wife, tell her everything is alright, but I can't. I want to call Henrik and tell my friend there's no need to lie because whatever is written is that book is nothing but some drug-induced crap my great-grandfather wrote many years ago, but I can't.

Because I know it's not true. Because I remember my father's true voice. Because I can see the void in the window's reflection, hovering over my shoulder, reading these rushed words. Taller than a human, wider than my desk, I can feel its freezing breath against my back. I don't want to turn around. I don't want to stare at it and listen to its heinous scream. I don't want to tell the truth. I don't want to admit my father was a good man controlled by a fucking demon because then that means my monster is not gone and I'm still not free.

It means my monster is standing right here with me and this time there's no one to hold it behind a shut door. This time, I have a son on the way, and it's my turn to hold it shut.

4 pages left. Page 3 // Page 5

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[respect-the-king]

LIST FOUR SONGS THAT REMIND YOU OF YOUR MUSE. repost, don’t reblog. tag others!

Hail To The King- Avenged Sevenfold

Watch your tongue or have it cut from your head Save your life by keeping whispers unsaid Children roam the streets, now orphans of war Bodies hanging in the streets to adore Royal flames will carve a path in chaos, Bringing daylight to the night Death is riding into town with armor, They've come to take all your rights Hail to the king, hail to the one Kneel to the crown, stand in the sun Hail to the king

Blood is spilt while holding keys to the throne Born again, but it's too late to atone No mercy from the edge of the blade Dare escape and learn the price to be paid Let the water flow with shades of red now Arrows black out all the light (light) Death is riding into town with armor, They've come to grant you your rights.

2. Flick Of The Wrist- Queen

Dislocate your spine if you don't sign he says I'll have you seeing double Mesmerize you when he's tongue-tied Simply with those eyes Synchronize your minds and see The beast within him rise Don't look back Don't look back It's a rip-off Flick of the wrist and you're dead baby Blow him a kiss and you're mad Flick of the wrist - he'll eat your heart out A dig in the ribs and then a kick in the head He's taken an arm and taken a leg All this time honey Baby you've been had. Intoxicate your brain with what I'm saying If not you'll lie in knee-deep trouble Prostitute yourself he says Castrate your human pride Sacrifice your leisure days Let me squeeze you till you've dried 

 Work my fingers to my bones I scream with pain I still make no impression Seduce you with his money-make machine Cross-collateralize, (big-time money, money) Reduce you to a muzak-fake machine Then the last goodbye It's a rip-off

3. Hate On Me- Jill Scott

[Verse 1] If I could give you the world On a silver platter Would even matter? You'd still be mad at me If I can find in all this a dozen roses Which I would give to you, you'd still be miserable In reality I'm gon' be who I be And I don't feel no faults for all the lies that you bought You can try as you may bring me down when I say That it ain't up to you, go on do what you do [Chorus] Hate on me hater Now or later Cause I'm gonna do me You'll be made baby (Go head and hate) Go head and hate on me hater I'm not afraid of What I got I paid for You can hate on me [Verse 2] Ooh if I gave you peaches out of my on garden And I made you a peach cobbler, would you slap me out? Wonder if I gave you diamonds out of my own womb Would you feel the love in that or ask "Why not the moon?" If I gave you sanity for the whole of humanity Had all the solutions for the pain and pollution No matter where I live, despite the things I give You'll always be this way, so go ahead and

[Bridge] You cannot hate on me Cause my mind is free Feel my destiny So shall it be You cannot hate on me Cause my mind is free Feel my destiny So shall it be You cannot hate on me Cause my mind is free Feel my destiny So shall it be You cannot hate on me Cause my mind is free Feel my destiny So shall it be

4. Don’t Mess With Me- temposhark 

How it all began, if truth be told Had a master plan; now I rule the world Took them by surprise, worked my way uphill They looked into my eyes; I became invincible No one can stop me, for only I am in control If you want me you'd better contact my people In my crown I am king I love their endless worshipping I am raw, a dinosaur, but I will never be extinct So don't mess with me; I'll shoot you down Don't mess with me Show me sex appeal, get on your hands and knees Forget about the meal, it's best to keep me pleased Imagine if you will, our meet on the block I've got time to kill, so how about a quick fuck? I've come, it's been fun But won't you please disappear? Something tells me that you can't further my career

tagged by: @all-my-potter-babies

tagging: @hellsmother  @cornelthecursed @mastersofhell @red-eyes-minnie @bullshituberalles @dontfxckwithbaby @lilahemorgan @aldrnaari  

[tumbalumps]

Gein Memes

Unfinished, I wrote this while flipped on amphetamines and I need more to finish it; it’s one of those that cannot be written sober. Plus I am really unsure of how I should end it 

"Grr... fuck you..." a battered Raiden muttered through gritted teeth after being beaten by Armstrong for the 100th time. Damn, he was tough on Revengeance mode. Raiden had been retrying him for hours determined to get nothing less than the perfect S rank but to no avail. He was exhausted, frustrated and badly wounded. He needed a few hours to recharge before he tackled him again. He limped away in retreat as Senator Steven Armstrong looked on with a sickeningly smug grin. "Child's play!" he laughed. "Fuck you... your mum," Raiden grunted, his comebacks being poorer than usual because he simply didn't have the energy. He staggered back to World Marshall HQ as stealthily as he could in desperate need of a healing item. A nanopaste was useless to him; he'd gone through that many that his tolerance had built up to the point where he was pretty much immune. He needed something new and stronger or at the very least a few hours sleep. Finally he found a deserted dark room he could hide in and as luck would have it, it just so happened to be the Nanomachines storeroom! Ha! Now he could give that smug bastard of a senator a good beating. He rifled through the boxes until he found the rock solid, super strength ones that Armstrong used. "Nanomachines be fucked!" he chuckled as he helped himself to a heap of them. He was about to leave but realised that the half empty box would arouse suspicion immediately. He would have to bulk them back up so it would look untouched but with what? Ahh... those bathsalts he had picked up in Denver as a gift to Rose for a romantic night in. He had found a better use for them to enhance his Ripper mode but he'd descended so far into his true nature he didn't even need them anymore. They were perfect for cutting with the Nanomachines and it was impossible to tell that they had been tampered with. Now Raiden was the one to be smug!

Meanwhile, out in the Japanese gardens, Monsoon was relaxing under the trees after a hard day throwing helicopters and shattering peoples' realities. There was nothing he liked more than trawling the net for memes and listening to music and that was just what he intended to do with his evening. Peace and quiet and much needed time alone. To make things even better some mushrooms had just sprouted at the foot of the tree, which could only mean one thing: destination utopia! "Mmm nature," he said, stuffing handfuls into his mouth. Being Cambodian and a former worker in the drug trade, he was no stranger to getting high and natural highs were the best. When he wasn't hacking people to bits, he was a peaceful, enlightened being who loved expanding minds. Tonight's musical choice was Songs for Sanity by John 5, the legendary guitarist (Monsoon loved an awesome guitar solo). "Exquisite," he mused. As he guzzled down mushroom after mushroom he got thinking about the song meanings on the John 5 album. The theme seemed to be Ed Gein... The serial killer that had robbed graves and used body parts as furniture... He had most certainly lost his mind. Had he grown up on killing fields too? Were there killing fields in Wisconsin? He must have been exposed to some pretty ghastly memes to have done something like that. What was wrong with people? They really were diseased... Was there any hope for humanity? Further investigation was needed. He tapped Ed Gein into Google and to his sheer delight an Ed Gein meme popped up! 'I want to make a lampshade out of your flesh... because you light up my life!' A huge, slightly twisted grin spread over his face. Those mushrooms were kicking in now and he found himself giggling like a little schoolgirl. "What are you laughing at candy ass?" Armstrong's loud bellowing voice interrupted his thoughts. "Oh, nothing," he answered, hiding the screen on his laptop and trying to compose himself. He figured Armstrong more than likely did not share his sadistic, mushroom-induced sense of humour. To his annoyance, he sat down, loosened his tie and sparked up a cigar. It seemed he planned on chilling with him for a while. Monsoon hoped his loud, opinionated nature wouldn't interfere with his mushroom-meme buzz. Armstrong opened up a fresh batch of Nanomachines that he had got from the storeroom, (unbeknownst to him they were laced with bathsalts) and injected a huge shot into his bulging arm. Ugh... his Nanomachine habit was getting worse every day and they seemed to be making him more and more angry. "Ahh... that saucy Jack. I'm gonna knock him out again later," he said. "Yeah..." Monsoon mumbled unenthusiastically as he discreetly slipped a headphone in for more John 5. Armstrong didn't understand, there was a war going on underneath his shiny red dome. A war between the intensifying mushroom cloud and keeping his maniacal grin under control. He didn't have any mind power left to listen to his boasts. The Senator puffed on his cigar as a cherry blossom fell from above and landed on his shoulder. He grunted in disgust and flicked it away then began ranting and raving about the trees again and how the people who had designed it were pansies and that he could snap the president in two... blah blah. And to think, he was the one always being accused of waffling on! Monsoon couldn't help noticing he was grinding his teeth a little and spoke with a touch more aggression than normal but he just put it down to Raiden winding him up. He nodded politely and pretended to listen. His concentration drifted further away as the mind altering plants seeped through his brain. The memes... The Ed Gein meme was most amusing. No! The corners of his lips began to curl as his grin refused to be tamed. Magnetised back to the laptop, he could not resist lifting the lid for another cheeky peek and there before his artificial eyes, was another meme! 'The awkward moment when Ed Gein gives you a lampshade.' That was it. Defeated by nature, he burst into fits of uncontrollable, maniacal, psychotic laughter. Armstrong turned and glared at him, beads of sweat forming on his oversized forehead and chest beating hard. His jaw appeared to have been wound as tightly as possible without it snapping off and behind his specs, his eyes were glowing red and wild. Monsoon was unsure whether or not he was hallucinating or if Armstrong really did look like a wild feral beast. "What's so funny you little shit?" he bellowed in his face, his cheeks flushing as red as his eyes. He snatched the laptop off him and saw the screen full of Ed Gein memes. As Monsoon suspected, he wasn't a fan. His face was so tightly contorted that he probably could not have laughed even if he had wanted to. "You freak," he snapped at him. "You've gotta stop hanging around with people who do drugs." Monsoon giggled, "Wind blows... rain falls... and the strong make the weak into furniture." Armstrong looked unimpressed. He ripped his tie off and unbuttoned his shirt as the sweating intensified. He was as red as a beetroot. "Grrr... hungry," he uttered what sounded like a growl. "There's some mushrooms left," the shroomed Monsoon grinned. "Hmph. Pansy! I don't want that candy ass hippy shit. Meat. Grr..." "Meat?" did he just hear him right? Armstrong was certainly behaving very strangely. He continued to grunt incoherently about meat while his eyes darted around wildly.  He couldn't figure out why he was feeling this way. His senses seemed to have abandoned him and all he could think about was food, the raw, fleshy kind. Yet despite devolving, an intense energy was rushing through him that made him feel almighty and ready to conquer the world... with his bare hands. He would happily sacrifice some of his sense to have this supreme power! He studied the psychotic cyborg sitting next to him scanning him for food. He didn't look very appetising at all. He was mostly made of magnets, which wouldn't digest very well even with his Nanos. The only part of his flesh that was visible had a slightly demonic looking drug-addled grin spread across it. Plus he had that weird purple Lorentz aura about him. And the hair. Too much hair. He decided to pass. What the hell? Why was he even considering eating Monsoon? Something had gone seriously wrong. "Would you mind not looking at me like that?" Monsoon asked, unnerved. Armstrong stood up and turned away, trying to distract himself from his craving for flesh but instead tripped over the stump of the tree and face planted the floor. This sent him into a whirlwind of unstoppable fury as he spewed more profanities over his hatred of the layout of the Japanese garden. "FUCK! This fucking fancy pants reception area makes me sick! ARHHHH!!! GRRAARHHH Meat! When I get my hands on that candy ass! Grrrflesh!! I will tear them apart with my bare fucking hands and feast on his flesh! ROOOOAAAAAARHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Monsoon shook his head in despair. Armstrong was overly masculine and aggressive at the best of times but whatever was in those nanomachines had transformed him into a monster firing off nothing but bad vibes. Bad vibes and mushrooms were not good bed fellows. "If you feel that strongly about it, why don't you redecorate? It's up to you to take charge of your own life and change the things you are not happy with. Don't be a pawn, you are the boss here, is that correct?" "Hmph," grunted Armstrong who had stopped listening after the first sentence (Monsoon did tend to waffle a bit) he responded with, "Meat." "Yes, we could revamp the place. A little dining area near the pond would certainly look exquisite." Suddenly a dark epiphany flashed in his mind. The memes. The Gein Memes. Furniture. Made with body parts. A mischievous smirk appeared on his face... Why not pass a meme on to Armstrong? "I was just looking at a unique style of furniture online. We could do our own Desperado designs - Lampshades, tables, chairs, accessories; whatever you wanted. They would be one of a kind: limited edition. It could be good for business. That's definitely a pretty meme!" Armstrong pushed his specs up his nose and rubbed his chin as he pondered the suggestion. Monsoon could hear his teeth grinding together as his mouth watered. "Flesh. Yes!" he bellowed triumphantly raising a flaming fist.  "I have a dream! I will control my own destiny and shape this garden as I see fit! Wipe the slate clean! BURN IT DOWN!!  ARRHH I'll rebuild this garden following my own rules and what I believe in! From the ashes, a new Japanese garden will be born evolved, untamed with the weaklings we purge as trophies! This garden will be great again!! Grr.... RAAHHHH!" He raised his leg up at an 180degree angle and slammed it down in defiance. Monsoon smiled in agreement. Holy shit, even he had the fear driven into him by Armstrong's bloodthirsty, violent mood. For once, he was thankful that he was cyborg or he may have been on the menu. "What do you think son?" Armstrong's tone softened as he sparked up another cigar. "What do you say me and you enjoy a banquet tonight? We will feast on the weak! You know Monsoon, you do babble on sometimes and you're the most ambiguous person I've ever met but you're a real asset and your guidance more than makes up for your flaws. You are a cruel spirit guide, but an effective teacher. I think you deserve a reward." Monsoon's face lit up. A new set of armour? His own Metal Gear perhaps? His joyful expression soon fell as Armstrong pulled out a shot of the dreaded Nanomachines and held it out to him. "Nanomachines, son. Limited edition, take a shot and become indestructable!" Monsoon hesitated. He switched to augmented reality mode to examine the syringe because nanomachines sure as hell weren't meant to transform the subject into flesh hungering raging beasts. Armstrong may not have cared about his dignity but he did. What... No way! How was that even possible? 50% Nanomachines (super strength) 60% Bath salts!!! "No!" he cried but it was too late. Armstrong had injected the concoction into his neck. Monsoon sighed in despair. He would fight with every ounce of his being not to turn into a bloodthirsty cyborg 'zombie'. Hopefully all the magic mushrooms he'd eaten would be counter productive of them. In any case, it was done now, he may as well enjoy the ride whatever it entailed. Armstrong wrapped his arm around his shoulders, almost crushing him under the weight, "Kindred spirits... you and I."

An hour passed. The World Marshall HQ was ominously quiet. Sundowner was in the server room giving his pincers a polish and enjoying a beer. Nothing was out of the ordinary and he was about to clock off when suddenly his codec rang: Senator Armstrong. Damn, what the hell did he want? If he wanted him to do more overtime, he could forget it. Sometimes he wished he had stayed on DLA (disability living allowance)... Still, he couldn't ignore it. He pressed the accept button and looked at the screen. What he saw startled him, he dropped the codec and leapt back. "CHRIST!" Armstrong's face was pressed against the screen, every Nanomachine in his body hardened and black. Sundowner had only seen him like this when he was in battle. Why was he like it on the codec? His trademark smug look had been replaced by a contorted, scowling, snarling lunatic. Sundowner had seen many horrific things in war and committed sadistic warcrimes so it would be fair to assume that nothing could scare him. Wrong. This feral Armstrong on the other end of the line made his cyborg blood run cold. "'The fuck..." Armstrong growled like a rabid dog. It took him a few moments to tear his rigid jaws open so his chilling words could be unleashed, "Grr... Oooh arhhh you listen to me Sundowner. I'm gonna be hiding by your bins. I'm coming for your fucking solar panels!" He assumed the squat position and slammed his leg down demonstrating to him that he really meant business. In the background some kind of cackling laughter could be heard that sounded like it could have been Monsoon, only much more maniacal and demented than usual. Whatever little humanity he had left in him sounded like it had finally died. "Christ..." Sundowner whispered anxiously to himself. The fear was setting in. But if the solar panels were all he wanted, that was OK. He would gladly part with them if the crazed lunatics stayed well away from him. It was a small sacrifice in comparison to his life. Fear descended upon him like a dark, black raincloud. It was the first time he had been scared in a very long time. Armstrong looked like he would be more at home in an Umbrella lab. And as for Monsoon... That high-pitched laugh he had heard could only be made by a demon, or perhaps a character from Wrong Turn. It sent shivers down his spine. They had obviously taken their body modifications a step too far and crossed over to the other side. He stepped onto the heliport. A clap of thunder sounded and the first drops of rain fell. He couldn't see Monsoon or Armstrong but was filled with a sense of impending doom. He disarmed his solar panels and laid them on the ground ready for collection. The words 'I'm fucking invincible' rang empty now. He turned to head back inside when he saw Monsoon standing upside down on top of the doorway. Huh, he was always showing off his tricks. It was just as well he had that big dome on his head to contain his inflated ego. Still, Sundowner relaxed a little knowing that he was the lesser of two evils. "Yeah, yeah Monsoon, we all know you're magnetic and can do weird shit," he said brashly. He looked at the cyborg more closely and it dawned on him that there was something different about him. His huge toothy grin was spread earpiece to earpiece like a psychotic cheshire cat but there was something else too... "Christ Monsoon! Why the fuck are you green?" Sure enough, the red patterns on his armour had changed into a dazzling neon green as a side effect of his mushroom, Lorentz, Nanomachine and bathsalt cocktail. "Well this is my terrifying true form, Sunlounger!" he shrieked at him then burst into fits of laughter. What was once a chilled, mushroom induced giggle had morphed with the deadly bathsalts into a high-pitched blood-curdling cackle like a maniacal hyena. "What the fuck did you just call me?" Sundowner raised an eyebrow. "Seriously though man, you've gotta leave off those shrooms." "Shrooms? Hahaha! Are you that stupid? It's back to the garden for you Sunlounger hahaha! I am going to feast on your insides!" "Asshole. Talk to me when you wanna make sense. I ain't got time for this shit." He was about to go back inside when suddenly the whole helipad shook. Sundowner's first thoughts were that it was an earthquake until he saw the terrible abombination that was Armstrong. Eyes red, glasses crooked, black from head to toe in concrete Nanos and foaming at the mouth, Sundowner didn't need to be a mindreader to know that he was out for blood. "Wait..." Armstrong growled, his eyebrows darkened and he wound up his clenched fist to strike. Fully charged, one strike would be instant death and even if by some miracle he escaped, Monsoon was prowling like a vulture from above with his Sai's drawn ready... Sundowner drew his pincers ready, although he knew they were as much use as a chocolate fireman against these two, especially with whatever disease they had contracted that had made them flesh hungry psychopaths.  However, the fact that they were not in their right minds was little comfort to him as Armstrong landed a skull crushing blow knocking him to the floor. He was conscious long enough to feel Dystopia swoop down and claim his arm just as Armstrong sunk his teeth into his jugular. Christ... zombie cyborgs... what a way to die...

On the other side of the building were Mistral and Jetstream Sam, blissfully unaware of the approaching danger. By now Armstrong and Monsoon were so far gone, they were communicating in one syllable words and grunts, driven by their burning desire for one thing alone: flesh. Monsoon, who looked more and more like a demon every minute, had his sights set on Mistral and Armstrong on Jetstream. He had always harbored a bit of a ‘thing’ for the cheeky Brazilian. They let themselves into their apartment. Mistral and Sam had no way of knowing about their transformation so would have no reason to fear them. They were simply going about their daily business just like any other night. Sam lay stretched out on the couch, glued to his phone as he fed his Candy Crush addiction. Upstairs, running water could be heard as Mistral was in the shower. Monsoon decided he would have some fun with her. With his memes in mind, he crept up the stairs and was greeted by a group of Dwarf Gecko who were standing guard at the bathroom door. They did not stand a chance. against him; the illicit glitchy aura about him had transformed him into a walking chaff grenade. Having been alerted to his presence, the Geckos sensors were sent into a frenzy and their circuit boards simultaneously blew leaving them nothing more than smoking scrap metal. Monsoon smiled smugly as he stepped over the mechanical carcasses; he didn’t even have to do anything: his presence alone was enough. The first she knew of his presence was when she felt his disconnected metallic hand caressing her breast. "Hello there handsome," she said. Monsoon pulled the curtain back and boldly stepped into the shower with her. "Mistral... I have a confession to make," he said to her putting his hands on her face. "You light up my life." Mistral's eyes lit up and her body tingled. She had been waiting to hear those words for what seemed like an eternity, "Oh Monsoon! I had no idea that you felt that way. You have made me a very happy girl."

Monsoon grinned, "Yes… you light up my life… so I am going to make a lampshade out of your face! Ah hahaha!" He whipped out Dystopia and delivered a deathly blow to her throat, severing her lifeline and capturing her confused wide eyed look forever. He licked his lips as he watched her crimson blood flow down her tall curvacious body like a waterfall and swirl down the plug hole. Exquisite. As her body slumped into the tub he knelt down and looked her up and down with a lustful yet hungry smirk on his face. A strange clash of emotions were simmering under his dome at the glistening perfectly rounded breasts. Did he want to eat them or molest them? Well it wouldn’t hurt to get a cheeky feel of the goods before they were manufactured into limited edition Desperado furniture. He squeezed her round bosoms; they were soft like finely made cushions just begging for a head to be nestled between them. He happily obliged and slopped his lips upon them to satisfy his curiosity for her taste. Now he was totally confused – food or furniture?