#where my horror writers at?

[evilminji]

For once! Purely BNHA! Because I CAN NOT stop Pondering It!

Quirk: Transfer.

Vague name, right? Well it would have to be. Because NO ONE would believe a Self Insert, even in a world of Quirks. They wouldn't WANT to believe. Because? The prospect would be horrifying and terrible.

It's far easier to say it's "Quirk Related Neurosis".

Because "no, no, you silly child! Your Quirk can't POSSIBLY have grabbed a random soul from another dimension, which it now holds, as the ONLY thing powering your body! You can't have died, with all the trauma and loss that entails, only to be shoved into the body of a toddler! Silly baby, such wild imagination! Maybe your Quirk 'transfers' memories, too!"

Except NO, asshole. They are the one with the metaphorical arm here. THEY are the one who would know which way it does and does not "Bend". But trying explaining a something to someone who doesn't want to hear it. Something that makes them uneasy, that is outside of their world view.

That touchs on the random, unfeeling, chaos of the Universe and how it relates to their soft and supposedly sensible lives. What do you MEAN sometimes Bad Things happen to good people? What do you MEAN sometimes, even if I do everything "right" and take every precaution, terrible calamities can occur?

That I could Die?

That my very Soul could be ripped away from it's rightful rest, too some far off land?

That can't happen! That's not FAIR. It's not RIGHT. Crimes are Illegal! You can't be telling me that sometimes people DONT uphold their duties! Abuse their power! That things are unfair and injustice can strikes, no matter HOW safe I think I am!

That's Scary!

I'd rather believe you were wrong.

That things Make Sense and there are Rules I have to follow. That I am Safe and you are just a liar. Bad things happen for a reason. Bad people are bad BECAUSE they are evil and bad. Let's not think about this any more. Let's talk about TV shows and take-out.

What a terrifying Quirk.

To be held, at the nonexistent mercy, of the Universe's randomness and decay. Reliant on the compassion and understanding of Others, to cope with what has occurred.

Because while the Universe is uncaring, your fellow man SHOULD be. Bonding together against that great and frightful void. Making sense of it all. The compassion of stardust and all that. Children born of this universe, who in turn look back and observe it. Yet? To them you are either mad... or a liar.

Do they hide it fast enough? Do they even think too, in time?

Or is their's a childhood being told "your past is nothing more that hallucinations and stolen memories" before being fed pills, for illnesses they do not have? Do they doubt? Break down and believe. After all, everyone around them is telling them their memories are false.

Not to trust their lying mind.

Children have so few rights. Madmen even fewer.

Do they lie? Smile, nod, and agree with whatever the doctors say? Do they know their mind or does this destroy them? Perhaps... they are lucky. Good doctors and better care. Long talks and learning to cope, with no one believing. After all, hallucinations don't "go away" just because you know they aren't real.

Why would their memories?

A childhood never quite forgiving the ones who locked them away. Being treated as "insane". Being alone. Not sure if you WANT to "make friends" but trying anyway. Because humans are social animals. Because you know what an alarmingly intelligent and self disciplined child, who ALSO happens to be notably asocial, looks like to people.

A life of fear and lies.

The chronic, extreme, stress, and what it must do to their health.

Does Transfer grow with them? Most Quirks do.

What a terrifying childhood. To know, one day, it could just... quit. A straining muscle that finally gives out. The Quirk that binds you into this body just... running out of strength. Letting go.

Maybe grabbing a different soul.

After all, no one ever said YOUR soul was special. And no one believes you. So no tests have ever been done. And that hold? How strong, you must wonder, IS it?

Do they drift? In and out. Does their body suffer, from stress and a soul barely bound to it? Poorly transfered, by an Infants first manifestation? Why was it a SOUL? The first thing they Transfered? Was it based on need? Or was it always meant to be this way?

Can the Transfer other things, now? Or still just themselves? Still nothing but Souls? Is it even a transfer at all?

And what happens if it stops? Or gets copied? Influenced in anyway? Do they have a moral obligation to avoid those they know could be potentially killed by them? Who could potentially kill them by accident?

And, oh! Oh the QUANDARY of children! Quirks are GENETIC. Any mutation or variation of their Quirk? Will bring about ANOTHER. Do they have that RIGHT? Too kidnap another soul? Even if it's just to no longer be alone? Too condemn them to live when they may not wish too?

Their whole bloodline would be Self Inserts. No guarantee they'd be from the same universe! But they would be Reincarnations just like you. Born into a Story. One you KNOW, by nature, can never be peaceful.

Because a peaceful world is not an interesting Shonen Story.

Just as Batman can never truely win, just as the day never truely stayed saved, so too will this world forever decend back into chaos. So a new Protagonist can rise to meet it. What RIGHT would you have, to knowingly bring an innocent person into such danger, trapped in the body of a child?

I ponder the Self Insert Quirk.

How horrifying and numbing it must be. How crippling, the terror that, this? Is merely the beginning of a Tale that will destroy them. To be inserted into story's they long ago forgot, again and again, with no way to stop it. Forever.

Damned to be set dressing in another's grand campaign, even as they slowly go insane.

What a horrifying Quirk.

The Self Insert Quirk: Transfer.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @lolottes @babbling-babull

[bazpango]

The outcome of the American election has me deep in regressive-nostalgia-comfortcore. I’ve had a 2005 DN Warped Tour AU in the drafts for months now, but after listening to fall out boy’s sophomore album my outline just hit 5k 🤦

[uncleardyn]

(alan wake-gravity falls crossover) man i love that character. you know, the deeply paranoid author who made a pact with a dark entity that ultimately ended with him stranded in another dimension separated from his loved ones for years at a time? takes place in the pacific northwest? has twin imagery associated with him and a reoccurring specific piece of symbology related to the unfortunate situation they're in? doesn't ever explain the reasoning behind his actions and instead just kinda goes "bro trust me"? yeah he also wears an outer layer of clothing with elbow pads on it, that one.

[rhcenyra]

YELLOWJACKETS ⇢ 1x01 | PILOT

[murdleandmarot]

A quick bluebelle painting :))

[ansburg]

[xiii-e]

//ooc posting: I NEED to find more fun/silly things to do with my two they are Not meant to be all agony all the time I swear- I just have a penchant for the dramatic and they're a little in the torment nexus o(-< but on god they will Have Fun too

[crmsnmth]

Where Do Monsters Go in the Daylight?

I'm not afraid of the dark, yet I sleep with a lamp on, and a TV playing bad sitcoms from the nineties. It's what hides in the shadows The things that watch me as I try to sleep I can see them walking around my room biting at my feet every so often just to keep me on my toes

I see red eyes in the space between my bed frame and the floor Sometimes there's yellow jagged teeth as well But as long as I stay safe on my mattress It will leave me alone

Where do all the monsters go in the daylight

I keep my closet door locked because behind it are shadows that dance late at night, a tree tapping on my window wakes me to see piles of clothes during the day now human like shapes, swaying in the dark And I always let a sharp yelp before laughing at my own irrational fears but as I lay my head back upon my pillow I swear I can hear breathing in my ear and the clothes shift and move Somewhere outside, a coyote howls

and chills run up my spine

[clownprince]

*gently places these panels in your hands* here have these curated baby joker images that i collected from streets of gotham: house of hush

[vivi-scera]

was reading a gofushi fic the other day and it was so uncanny like the undercurrent of grooming was there very clearly but the narrative refused to acknowledge it? and even if it did it was guised as something romantic or silly. remember that time i raised you and now your romantic affliction is a reflection of my own tastes? silly of us colleagues on equal footing. and then the scene would just move on as if i hadn't just read a 2 sentence horror story. as if the grooming was a mundane part of the backstory/meet-cute as relevant as idk hair color. which is kind of slay actually. schrodinger's grooming up in here

[yappacadaver]

you know they were about to go so hard on emmy's personal quest. they didnt. but at least someone in that writing room wanted to give us that good good

[vampirebiter]

one good thing about reading a lot of bad books is it inspires you that maybe even you could be successful telling stories since people like these shit ass books and there's no way what you make can be worse

[beeing-stuupid]

you thought i could only write poetry?? we’ll think not i wrote the intro of a story i’ll never carry on.

and yeah i shocked myself writing this in first person. it was a big bridge i had to cross to complete this. first person and original characters and all, be proud.

tw for blood, (pretty much) gory stuff and a low-key creepy ass guy

———————

To say that I met Nicholas Brisbane over my husband‘s dead body is not entirely accurate. Edward, it should be noted, was still twitching up on the floor. Ergo, not a dead body. That was until my hands found themselves lunging for his neck. His skin was cold to the touch, like metal, making my fingers burn from the contrast when Edward was alive… and now.

My eyes were locked to his; the once lively emeralds were glazed over and his soul was being clawed, desperately, downwards. The twitching had already ceased yet my fingers remained locked onto their prey. Slowly, my gaze climbed from the floor to the man a few feet ahead of me. My grip tightened. I try to let go. Thoughts were crushing against the boundaries of my mind, begging. Just let go. It felt as if the flesh was being moulded to the shape of my hand. A perfect fit. The man’s shoes were… ordinary. They were nothing whimsical or extravagant, but my mind could not supply any word but ordinary. The same went for his trousers. Pieces of material that was sewn together and bestowed unto him. Simply an ordinary sight.

Digging deeper my hands were clutching the bone of my dead husband's neck. The edges poked my skin but I did nothing but squeeze. His joints groaned under the strength I didn’t know I possessed, closely mirroring the echoes of pain pried from his mouth moments prior. The man did not move. He stood, ordinarily, as I strangled life from a corpse. The man with his ordinary suit that clung to his ordinary frame. He was just ordinary. Why could I not describe this man? I knew many words but only one matched his description.

My head rose. It was now not just my eyes looking but my whole face. The man… was this a man? Just above the shoulders, there was a head. There was a face but… I could not see it. I knew there was a face and features, but my eyes could not make sense of the signals. The sight was too much yet too little to comprehend.

I strained my eyes in an attempt to uncover the confusion clouding my mind. I heard a wet snap from below me. A soft thump followed. Wet… my fingers were wet. Just as reluctantly as they had left, my eyes returned to the body.

Crimson painted my hands and the broken ivory in the neck of my husband. The liquid from both severed parts leaked like a tap. It kept flowing… flowing till blood stained the skin of my hands and the body was wrung dry.

My hands shook, twitched, trembling but still trying to latch on to the heavy air. Before my head lifted to see a face — that was not a face — branding its stare into my pupils.

[morningstarnomore]

the horrors are incomprehensible. to YOU. they come to ME in my dreams.

[stinkbeck]

my terror of accidentally offending someone by praising them for something they dislike is ruining my fucking life

[scribe-of-stories]

Once upon a time I had a nightlight in the neighbor's lawn

I live on the second floor of an otherwise average suburban home, a rented room from a childhood friend. It's quite spacious, more like a loft than a room; and curiously it has the only round window in the house. A port-hole looking thing with six frames crossing it, colliding in the center and forming a wooden circle in the middle of the glass. It also happens to be the only window in my room facing the street.

You'd be hard-pressed to really see anything out of the window. Between the frames and the height of the wall it sits at, it really only shows the tree line and sky. That said, you can stand right in front of it and get a rather pleasant view of everything bellow. I've rather taken to giving the view a few moments of my time here and there. Usually when it rains, or when the sun is setting, or late at night.

And from my window, perfectly in frame, is a lamppost across the street. Tall, black metal, dome of glass with no framing; bright white light that really doesn't travel so far. Feels more like a light house warning everyone "hey there's grass here" rather than doing anything to properly light up the yard. It's pleasant though. Only one of its kind I've seen in the neighborhood, and the only source of light outside of a house at night.

A couple months ago I was up late at night, as per usual, and decided to brave the downstairs for a cold glass of water. Now to access my kitchen I have to cut through the dinning room; and the dinning room has large windows looking out the front of the house. I didn't notice it till I was on my way back up. It was dark outside. Strange, the lamp must be dead or something; that's a shame.

I went back upstairs, spent time on my computer, paid it no mind. But then I heard rain on my roof. "Oh, lovely, night rain is beautiful." So I go to the window to look out and enjoy the scene. And I see it: the short white light and the tall black lampost. Huh, must be on a strange timer. But obviously this all doesn't really stand up to reasoning. It's like 2 am right now, and I got my water well after midnight. I've seen the lamp on much earlier in the day.

So I go downstairs again. The front door is glass, and it's pitch black outside. Maybe a bad angle; but no! I come into the dinning room and there it is: complete darkness outside and the pitter patter of rain. I remember a sort of panic setting in. Something was wrong and I had no clue how to fix it. If there even was something to be fixed. I checked multiple times throughout the night and got the same result. Through my window I could see the lamp, but from nowhere else.

I didn't sleep that night till the sun came back. But it was still there when I woke up, and gone again when I was downstairs. There was a day or two that I thought that this was it. This was going to become my quarter inch. I was going to obsess over this till it lead me down dark paths and into the bowls of hell.

But the attic door never lead somewhere new, the only night time noises in the house were the cats, and the only scary things in the walls were the electrical wiring. I've come to the conclusion that humans, or at minimum myself, are rather capable of coping and turning anything mundane. Not to say the lamp went to the background, more so that I grew used to it. I imagined where it was when I passed it on the road, often saying hello or goodbye. I came to treasure the view from my room, something literally no one else had.

I've spent more time looking out my window the past few months, basking in the light of my own little anomaly. Which is why I was watching when someone else finally noticed the lamp. He, or maybe they or it would be more precise, walked right up to it one evening. It came out of the darkness and into the lamps' light as if apparating into existence. Long coat, rimmed hat, vaguely human looking but a human wouldn't be tall enough to reach the lightbulb without a ladder. Much less reach through glass to touch it.

It's touch took the lamp's light, and the lamp hasn't been back since. Now, I don't think it saw me watching, but I don't know. The darkness outside seems worse. Morning brings with it the sun's light which takes away my fear. I find myself incapable of sleeping till then. Once upon a time I had a nightlight in the neighbor's lawn, but now I can't shake the feeling that whatever took it is still out there.