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polyoliesther · 3 months

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Sinclair is often characterized in the fandom as something of a woobie softboy (affectionate), pining for a childhood love in the aloof and mysterious Demian who teases and dances in answer to that yearning. However, Sinclair's source text is about his self actualization in a way that includes Demian but also evolves past him, into an independent strong-willed person who cannot be domineered by anyone. Hints of this can be seen in-game: his competence across mirror worlds, his capability for violence, and his steadfastness in the face of terror following Kromer. It's also important that Demian in both texts wants this metamorphosis for Sinclair.

I don't know if the fandom is ready to hear this, but I believe this points to Demian being a secret submissive who recognizes Sinclair's capability to become the ultimate twunk dom, potentially even a zaddy. In this essay I will

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polyoliesther · 6 months

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Heavily inspired by the game “Just a Peep”.

A Castle Under Siege.

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I took a peek outside my apartment today. It wasn’t a long one, I just stepped out onto my balcony for a moment, to take in the view. I saw the couple across the street arguing more fiercely than yesterday, and I wondered how long it would take them to finally be done. I saw the old veteran polishing one of his many medals with a dour look on his face, and I saw the sad old crone turn on her television and resume wasting away. And then, I caught a glimpse of something else, out of the corner of my eye. In one of the long uninhabited apartments of their building, a light I hadn’t seen turn on in years had apparently flickered to life of its own volition. I thought this was peculiar, so I took a closer look.

I took my binoculars and I zoomed in on the room. There was a figure inside, but it didn’t look like a person. It had too many legs, too many arms, and its skin was a sickly green color, but the biggest giveaway was that it was standing completely, unshakably still, gazing off into the distance as I was. As I zoomed in, I saw that it didn’t just have too many limbs; it had four eyes and a far-too-large smile, as well. I was just beginning to take in the complete image of the thing when it abruptly turned its head to look directly into my eyes. In a moment of panic my binoculars clattered to the floor, and when I looked again the thing was gone. Did it leave because it saw me?

I performed my nightly ritual and went to bed, but I couldn’t shake the unsettling thoughts that the thing’s image instilled, and sleep did not come easy. I woke up in the middle in the night and saw that there was a large shadow cast on my wall from the balcony. I couldn’t bring myself to look at what was casting the shadow, because I knew what it was. The shape was already burned into my memory. I prayed that it would be gone in the morning and went to sleep. It wasn’t.

Days passed, one after another after another and I never left my apartment because it was still out there, waiting for me to no longer be shielded by glass, or maybe it just wanted me to acknowledge it was there once more, but I couldn’t. Some days it sat on my balcony window for eight hours, completely unflinching, other days it crawled by so fast that I could barely see the shadows move, but it always gave me a sign that it was still there, waiting. I called the police, and they told me to seek a therapist. I told them that it was right outside my window, and if they came they could see it themselves, but they told me I was a liar, because the neighbors would have said something.

Before long I ran out of vitamins. It was still there. I ran out of toothpaste, it was still there. My bills went unpaid; my electricity and water failed. It was still there. It was still there. Every day, I woke up and it was still there. Even when I ran out of food, it was still there.

#horror #short story #writing #storytelling

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polyoliesther · 6 months

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Pink Spiders; or, An Incomplete Dream Journal.

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Last night I woke up at 3 AM, to the sound of chittering. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant noise—not nearly as gut wrenching as a chalkboard or record being scratched, at least—but it wasn’t exactly comforting, either. I was only eleven years old at the time, so I went to go wake up my mom. She didn’t wake up—not at all unusual for her, she was hardly a night owl—so I gripped my father’s wrist and shook it until his eyes opened.

A few nights prior, my father’s face had been that of a monster; a single large mouth running vertically down his face with black eyes on either side, and his neck contorted unnaturally to look at me even though I was lying behind him. He didn’t look like that tonight, thankfully.

He crawled out of bed, with a bit of lethargy. I never got the sense that my dad liked being woken up, but that didn’t stop me from begging to sleep with him, so that I could pretend not to notice as his face contorted and stretched and gazed into my soul.

Enough about his face, what was I saying? Yes, he crawled out of bed, and led me into our indoor garden—a garden which hadn’t been there in the daylight—to show me that it was all okay. Inside were several six-foot-long pink spiders with gnashing mandibles. I understand that might sound silly to those of you who aren’t afraid of spiders, but I must note that they were a color that no prey animal would dare take on in the wild.

The spiders were all facing away from us, preoccupied with devouring something, but I couldn’t quite see what it was, and I had left my sense of smell back in the bathroom along with an old horror game called Paranoiac. I had watched some YouTuber or another play it a few nights ago, probably when I was seven or eight. The monster of the game was a rather generic zombie, but it had stuck with me far too long on account of its rank smell, like that of rotting meat, or perhaps the contents of that rotting meat’s trousers.

The point is, my dad—or was it my mother? Come to think of it, I think I had gone to wake up my grandmother instead, so terrified I was of the face my father occasionally made—my grandmother led me deeper into the garden, the smell of that decaying zombie’s flesh so vivid in my sinuses that I figure the spiders must have been devouring it.

Eventually we made a noise—perhaps we stepped on a twig, it doesn’t really matter—and the pink spiders turned to face us. They snarled with their mandibles and spit through their skin. My father—or perhaps my grandmother—was dead before I knew what was happening, and so I ran. The horn of a beleaguered train chased me up and down and in a loop around my house until I returned to my bedroom, with pink spiders hot on my heels.

There were more of them, now. Hundreds of pink spiders, surging into my bedroom. At times like this I would have liked the cold blue glow of my television to scare them away, but I had thrown it out when I saw glimpses of the fire of Alexandria within the cathodes. Instead, I hid under my thin blanket, hoping that it would protect me from the witches and spiders that roamed my house every night. Before long their pincers pierced my pointless shield, and the night ended the way all of my nights end. With a proverbial slap on the wrist, and a swan dive off a cliff.

I woke up at 9:05 AM in a cold sweat and with a sunrise outside my window. Relaxation soothed my muscles and cradled my bones. The world made more sense when it was light out; the house belonged to me and my family, not the wretched pink spiders. But tomorrow night the shadows would come again, and my father’s face would contort again and I would smell the meat again and I would see the spiders again and I would hear the train again and I would see the fire again and tomorrow night I would fall off a cliff again. Just like every night.

#short story #dreamcore #dreams #arachnophobia #writing

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polyoliesther · 9 months

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the body count in this case is, in fact, murder

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polyoliesther · 1 year

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If anybody calls you a simp, stick it to them. Simp harder! Simp like you’ve never simped before~!

Don’t listen to the mean internet people. Fawn over that smoking hot emo cosplayer! Nobody on the internet genuinely cares who you simp for, all they want is your reaction or to feel smug in the knowledge that they’re always right.

Do not offer prayers to uncaring, unfeeling gods. They do not deserve your attention.

Also don’t harass cosplayers, please~

#im a simp #free speech #yes I do in fact know that this isn’t technically free speech get off my case okay #fuck cringe culture #dollar store anarchy #God Damn the internet #truthoflife #no I will not pretend that any alternative opinion is worth considering because #cringe is dead #emo girl #cosplay talk

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polyoliesther · 1 year

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Limbus Company has the funniest version of soulmates in which these twelve people, across myriad possibilities and timelines, through every possible contrivance and circumstance, are still coworkers in every universe.

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polyoliesther · 1 year

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