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beastlybardou · 4 months

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Been seeing more posts about darker/dirtier urges in the nonhuman community - so I thought I'd pitch in as someone who's generally a pretty nasty animal.

I've seen lots of the usual hunting urges posts come up, but one thing I experience differently than those is that a lot of those posts seem to have a focus on being really gruesome and vicious to prey. To be honest, I don't feel that much. Sure, I do want to hunt and for me that would be killing a whole deer with my mouth, but the purpose is to just get it over with as fast as possible and enjoy my meal. I don't think much about a drawn out gory kill. That whole part kind of feels like when you're trying to open a canned dinner and your can opener isn't working. Open up and give me the food already y'know? Not to say I don't get hyped about hunting urges, but for me its more like the excitement of going out to eat at a good restaurant when you're really hungry.

What I do get downright vicious over is defending territory, packmates, or myself. When I feel that one of those are being threatened that's when my fantasies turn to teeth shearing through flesh like paper and bones cracking in my jaws. The gore and cruelty being an important part of a kill only really emerges when it is an emotional reaction spurring on my lycanthropic urges. I feel like you can see this some in wild wolves too. When hunting they aren't usually snarling and snapping left and right, they're focusing on a task. Their tails are wagging and they're mostly silent during the kill. Those videos and pictures of them teeth bared and eyes blazing are almost always during a conflict with other wolves or predators. I think this idea of the angry brutal hunting kill filled with contempt for the prey comes from the human train of thought that you have to really hate something to kill it.

Being nonhuman I do sometimes perceive humans as prey. Granted, they're something I have to be getting pretty desperate to feel that way about. Like most other predators these days have learned, I know they're not worth the effort. It doesn't stop me from noticing who the "easy catches" in a group would be though. Someone walking with headphones too immersed in their phone to notice me. Someone who's shoes are untied or not fit for running. Someone that looks like the heat is beating them down to exhaustion. These all jump out to me and I feel that twinge of prey drive smothered by the knowledge that I shouldn't and don't truly want to. In a way this can actually be helpful. The people that stand out as easy prey are usually struggling in some way and I can sate some of that hunting urge by noticing this, "hunting" them down, but just offering some help with whatever the problem is when I reach them instead. Tell them there's a water fountain in the building over there or that their shoes came undone, or whatever else it is.

I know there's been a lot of hate recently for those of us that experience the less pretty sides of being an animal too, but just remember you're not alone and that thought crimes don't exist. Feeling the raw edges of your animality is morally neutral, you just have to stay in control of your actual actions.

#therian #nonhuman #otherkin #alterhuman #gore ment tw

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down-in-the-rainbow-square · 10 months

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Hi, i just like to say that i loved the concept of welcome home- housemates. And i was wondering if you can do more of it? Or maybe make ut into a series? But i hope y oh you have a good day/niget/aftternoon 👍

Drink your food and wat your water t and getyour pre-sleep-nap in bbye

(Sowry for spling mstakes i tird and it 3am)

Welcome Home x Reader - Housemates (Pt. 2)

(Part 1)

Hello! You're lucky, I just got my pre-sleep nap in yesterday! Sounds like you need a bit of a reminder for a nap yourself, though, haha! Anyways, the person who requested the previous installment of this series also asked if I could continue it, so here it is! Lowkey this reminds me of that AU I've seen floating around of the Welcome Home crew meeting an ex-Playfellow worker.

Also, I changed Eddie's colour to orange to keep him unique from Sally.

Not proofread!

Words: 2685

Type: Fic, platonic

Tw: Death mention, murder mention, gore mention, swearing

You sat on the couch in your living room, scissors still in hand. You said nothing. Looking around you, eight puppets of varying sizes and variety stood before you, all staring back. The smallest was a yellow puppet with a spiraled blue pompadour. The tallest was a mostly-red-partly-rainbow bird... Thing (you couldn't quite make out what she was supposed to be), whose neck was forced to bend down just to fit in the house. And by far the largest was a giant blue beagle dog that wore a vest and stood on its hind legs.

The puppets stared at you with varying degrees of nervousness. The bird was probably the most nervous considering she was actively shivering looking between you and the scissors. You reckoned the least nervous was the blue pompadour puppet, but it was hard to tell since he had the same dazed smile he had since you first saw him.

The puppet in the middle - about five feet, yellow with orange hair, wore a mailman's uniform - raised his hands. He was the one who had coaxed you to the couch, and the one you recognised as the voice that had spoken to you when you were under the bed. It was quite the ordeal getting you to the couch, actually. Involved a lot of screaming.

The puppet took a deep breath and spoke. "So," he said, "we obviously are not from here."

"Yeah, I guessed that," you replied, gritting your teeth. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and your mouth turned down into a deep frown. Truth be told, you were really scared. But you thought it was best to assert dominance in this situation.

"And we would really appreciate your help in getting back home," he continued. "We- we don't know how we got here yet, or what this world is, but we just want to go back to Home. Please."

You stared at the puppet. He looked you dead in the eye before glancing down and away, fiddling with his three-fingered hands. Next to him, a grey puppet with dark blue hair and a black unibrow sighed and took a small step forward. They stepped back as you grabbed your scissors tightly.

"We can't tell you why we're here of all places, or why it's us," they said. "Frankly, we barely remember anything at all. This world is... Strange. First of all, there's the lack of colour in the nature - have you ever seen so much green and brown? Secondly, there's you; I don't know what you are, but you're clearly not one of us. But you're intelligent nonetheless, and that's frankly quite scary."

You crossed your arms and leaned back. "Why should I help you?" you asked. "You could be murderers, vicious monsters that will tear me from limb to limb. Why should I trust you?"

"Don't you have any compassion?" another voice called. Looking to the source, you saw the yellow creature you had spotted in the stairwell earlier. Now you knew she was some sort of star puppet, and quite a short one at that. "We are from a distant land; one far beyond your wildest imagination. We come from a land of wonder and peace, now ripped from our grip and tossed away who knows where! And we come to you for support, for help, and yet you toss us aside like nothing! Where is your humanity?!"

You paused. "Wow, you sure are theatrical," you replied. The puppet huffed and crossed her arms. You sighed and leaned back into the soft red cushion of the couch, hand pinching the bridge of your nose. You sighed, "will you even tell me who you are?"

"Well, I'm Barnaby." You looked up to see the dog puppet talking to you, hand - or paw - resting on his chest. He pointed to the bird on his right. "And this is Poppy, and next to her is Frank." He pointed to the one with the monobrow. "And then there's Eddie, Wally, and Julie," he said, motioning to the yellow mailman, the blue pompadour puppet, and another puppet with ridiculously long blonde hair and a bell-shaped red dress. Next, he motioned to the star puppet and the green puppet you recognised a the one you saw outside your front door. "And that's Sally and Howdy."

"Okay, well, I'm Y/N," you responded. "And I'm a human, in case you didn't know."

"But I'm a human," Wally stated. "Are you sure you're a human?"

You looked at the puppet confused. "What? Yes, I'm a human. You're a puppet."

Wally stared at you before replying, "am I a puppet?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Okay, let's move on!" Howdy exclaimed, rushing to put a barrier between the two of you with his arms. "Anyway, there's one neighbour we haven't mentioned." You raised an eyebrow.

"And who would that be?" you asked. Suddenly, the floor lamp turned on. "Oh, right. So, is that like, a ghost or something?"

"Nope! That would be our very own Home," Barnaby explained.

You scoffed, "what, like a house? You're telling me a house possessed my house?"

The group paused.

"Well, I'm not quite sure what else to tell you," Frank deadpanned.

"Bloody hell," you groaned. Standing up, you began to pace around the living room, trying to take all the new information in. "Alright, so, there's eight puppets and a house in my house. Or eight puppets in my house and a house possessing my house - I don't know. And these eight puppets and one house expect me to magically send them back home to... Where do you live again?"

"Home," Frank answered.

"Right, Home. Uh, so you expect me to take you home to Home despite me having no knowledge of what or where that even is." You put your hands to your face and sighed. "You know, this was supposed to be my mental health break today. I'm supposed to be eating popcorn and watching Dirty Dancing, not dealing with this."

The group didn't say anything. Looking at them, you saw none of them wanted to meet your gaze. Each puppet looked elsewhere; either out the window, at the roof, or admiring the old school furniture cluttering up your living room.

Suddenly, you were sparked with an idea. Hurrying to the back of the house, you opened one of the many dark wooden doors and entered your study. The room was lined with a variety of colourful wooden bookshelves filled with a vast collection of books and other knick-knacks. Facing away from the window was your main desk, featuring a pen cup, a stack of paper, and a typewriter. And lining the walls were several maps, a bin full of other rolled up ones below it.

Hurrying over to the wall, you ripped the maps off the Blu tack holding them to the wallpaper. Also taking the bin of leftover maps in your hand, you speed walked out the door and back to the lounge room. Dropping most of the maps to the floor, you spread the world map out on the coffee table.

"Okay, this is the map of this world. Do you recognise anything?" You said. The puppets crowded around the table, a little too close to you for comfort. Frank leaned down and dragged his index finger over the map, stopping every once in a while to read the names of the countries. Eventually, he straightened up and spoke.

"No," he said.

"Are you sure?" you asked.

"I'm sure."

"Are you sure you're sure?"

"I'm certain." He furrowed his eyebrow slightly.

You sighed, "well, I'm out of ideas then."

The group shared a worried look before staring at you. Howdy opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it. Julie played with her hair while Eddie adjusted his tie. Finally, Eddie stepped forward.

"Can we please stay for the night, then?" he asked. "It's just- we have nowhere to go."

You looked at Eddie. He seemed... Genuine. The way he gripped his hat in his hands and held it to his chest reminded you of the period dramas you watched on television. You noticed him fiddling with the brim of his hat every so often and adverting his gaze for just a moment. Looking at the others, you could see the worry in their eyes. Sally, who you had assumed to always be loud, was silent. And Howdy had his many hands behind his back and looked out the window. Even Wally, who seemed to be perfectly content, had a vibe about him and a look in his eyes that spoke otherwise.

You couldn't believe you were about to say this. "Fine. I'll let you stay. But this is my house, and you have to follow my rules, got it?"

"Really?" Julie exclaimed, jumping up onto her tiptoes and interlocking her fingers in front of her. "Thank you!" She ran the short distance between the two of you and enveloped you in a tight hug.

"Hey!" you yelled, pushing her off.

"Sorry," she replied.

"Anyway, you got what I said? My house, my rules. And that goes for you two, house that's possessing this place. I don't care what you are, you're doing as I say until I can get you out of here." You pointed a finger at the roof. You got a cacophony of creaks in response.

"He agrees," Wally said. You gave him a confused look before quickly brushing it off.

"So, what do we do first?" Julie asked. "Cooking, baking, gardening? Oh, we could even play a game of tag!"

"No! No, no, no. No games, no cooking, no gardening, no nothing. We need to work out where you're going to sleep, first of all." You waved your hands in front of you. "I only have two beds and two mattresses, and there's eight of you. Three of you are going to have to take the shed."

"The shed? My feathers!" Poppy shivered.

"Don't worry, it's not that bad," you replied. "Just follow me and I'll show you."

Walking out of the lounge room and into the kitchen, you headed out the back door into the yard. Instantly, you were hit with the fresh air of the countryside: oxygen with a hint of pine and wildflowers. Looking out over your vast expanse of land, you took in the sight of the bright green blades of grass bordered by tall middle growth conifer trees. Almost immediately, you felt relaxed.

Stepping down the concrete steps and onto the steppingstone path, you walked around to the side of the house. You brushed your hands against the white wooden exterior of the house, taking in the feel of the chipping paint and wood. Behind you, you heard the sounds of the group of puppets making their way out the door and talking.

Finally, you came to the front of the shed. It wasn't quite the size of your house, but could constitute as a small one, nonetheless. The wavy metal roof combined with the metal sheets of the walls made quite the start contrast to your rustic farmhouse. There were few windows, and what ones there were were high up and small. Flowering shrubs dotted the outside, bringing a bit of colour to the otherwise grey building.

You turned around to face the puppets, saying, "voila! Isn't she a beauty? Stainless steel, insulated, cost me a fortune to build."

The group stepped forward towards the building. Heading to the door first was Poppy, who gripped the door handle with her wing and slowly opened the door. Ducking her head inside, she gasped.

"My feathers!" she exclaimed.

Pushing her way past Poppy was Sally, who also gasped when she saw the inside. "It's so dusty!" she yelled - and sneezed.

"It's a little cluttered, yeah, but I make good use of it." You walked over to the shed entrance. "I store all my old stuff in here. Better than getting rid of it."

Squeezing your way past Poppy's mound of feathers, you stepped inside the building. Inside, each inch of the floor and walls were taken over by boxes and furniture. Everything was retro, from old floral print couches to tacky ceramic animal-themed salt and pepper shakers stored on the shelves. And Sally wasn't wrong; it was covered in dust.

"Who is supposed to sleep in here?" Frank asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

"Not it!" Sally yelled, quickly followed by Julie, both of them putting their fingers to their noses.

"Not me, either," Frank said, repeating the action.

"Or me." Barnaby followed suit.

"I'd prefer not to, sorry," Eddie apologised as he put his whole hand to his nose.

You were a little offended, to say the least. "Well," you began, "I guess that just leaves you guys." You motioned to Wally, Howdy, and Poppy.

"But I don't want to stay in here," Wally said, still somehow smiling.

Barnaby shrugged. "Sorry, bud, but you didn't say 'not it' quick enough."

"Oh..." Wally looked down.

You watched as Howdy walked around the shed. He leaned down every now and then to wipe some dust off the furniture. He turned around to face you with a smile on his face.

"This isn't so bad!" he said. "If we were to just..." He lifted up one of the boxes and stacked it on another. "See? Already making progress!"

"Oh, I know! Why don't we make this a game?" Julie suggested. "Whoever can clean up their area first wins!"

"Julie, I'm not quite sure that cleaning counts as a game-"

"I'm in!" Sally yelled, cutting Frank off. She ran over to one of the boxes labelled 'Grandma's clothes' and picked it up, stacking it on top of another box in the corner. She then repeated the process, jumping over chairs and around shelves to get where she wanted.

Barnaby laughed, "don't leave me out of this!" Walking over to a stack of three large boxes in the corner, he leaned down and picked them up with his paws like it was nothing. Walking over to the corner where Sally had dropped her boxes, he placed them down.

"Hey!" Sally called out. "No fair! I can't pick up that many boxes at once!"

Soon the whole group was in on the game, picking up boxes and moving furniture to the sides of the room. You watched from the door as they hurried to get the most boxes down. Barnaby and Howdy had the clear advantage with their strength and Howdy's extra arms. It occurred to you that you hadn't even asked him why he had those in the first place, or why there was yellow and orange antennae on either side of his forehead. Perhaps he was a bug.

Eventually, you were so lost in thought you didn't even notice the group of puppets standing in front of you with wide smiles on their faces. They each high-fived one another (or low-fived, in the case of Barnaby, Howdy, and Poppy meeting the others). It was only when your gaze drifted to Julie's flapping arms did you snap out of your trance.

"Uh- what?" you stammered. Looking around the shed, you saw they really had cleaned the place out. The room looked... Nice, for a change. Now, normally you took pride in the shed either way, but that was more based on collection rather than presentation. But now, with the sofas set up facing each other, shelving units used as room dividers and boxes stacked neatly in the corner the space looking liveable.

"What do you think?" Julie asked.

You paused. "It looks... It looks good."

The group looked around at each other and smiled. Howdy patted those closest to him on the back. You looked down at your watch; it was only eleven in the morning. You still had plenty of time left in the day.

"Well, um, I'm probably going to go scroll through social media now," you said, turning to walk out the door. "Don't cause a mess, or I will kill you." You walked out of the shed, shutting the door behind you.

I will make a part 3 to this! Hold tight!

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last-in-line-for-hell · 2 years

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Townsperson: -And then the monster stabbed him in the stomach and his organs had to be held in!

The juniors: *various degrees of horror*

WWX: oof yeah last time that happened to me it was pretty annoying to walk with haha

Townsperson:

The juniors:

LWJ:

WWX: ...what?

#brought to you by ‘wwx your experiences are a bit fucked up’#mdzs shitpost not art #mdzs #gore ment tw #injury ment tw

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thermodynamic-comedian · 2 months

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if i ever do end up writing a horror novel of some kind, it's gonna at least include (if not center) the idea of a human body stuck inside a machine of some kind.

i'm not a big fan of when the horror is acting out of malice or resent. i think i much prefer the horror of being taken apart by something cold and uncaring, an inanimate object that you just happen to be stuck inside of. gears crushing your bones not because they hate you, but because all they know is how to turn, and you just happen to be stuck between them. your body, torn apart and twisted by something that never even knew you were there.

#i doubt it's ever gonna actually happen but a girl can dream #also i dislike the idea of making money off of my writing. just feels intrinsically wrong.#so if i ever do end up writing something other than fanfiction im not gonna sell it or whatever #im just gonna post it on ao3 or as a free pdf or smth lmao #cw description of gore #gore ment tw #writing #yeahg. mutuals let me know if you'd read a horror novel written by me i guess?

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evilkitten3 · 11 months

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not blorbo as in "my favorite character", blorbo as in "help me chain him to the lab table so i can cut him open and look at his organs"

#the litter box #shitpost #gore ment tw #vivisection tw #it's weird how most of my blorbos aren't actually my favorite characters #usually they're like second or third #hell some of them don't even make the top five

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ratburg3r · 1 year

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It’s Christmas Day and I feel pressured to post something Christmas related so here’s some Two of Us AU Christmas headcannons!!

TW: very brief dead body mention

~~~

•David is fucking terrifying at Christmas time

•Well he’s terrifying all year round but specifically Christmas, he really likes Christmas

•He’s got those Dead Parent Funds™️ so he buys presents for practically everyone he knows, even the people he doesn’t like much, which is almost everyone

•The problem is he gives people very personal presents, like presents that he would only know they would want if he stalked them or something

•Like if three months before Christmas you lost a dvd of your favourite film and didn’t tell anyone about it because it was like a really embarrassing movie or something, somehow David would know and would get new a new one!!! Scary!!

•And sure people are happy to have David’s weird presents it’s like exactly what they wanted but it’s still absolutely horrifying, no one says anything about it tho since most people find David weird and generally avoid him anyways

•Red really doesn’t give a fuck about presents

•He doesn’t get people stuff unless he talks to them every day. and even then it won’t be anything memorable, probably just chocolate or biscuits

•The only remotely personal gift he’s got for someone who isn’t family is sewing gloves and little pin cushions for David because he kept using his hands as pin cushions and Red was really concerned

•Lesley and Roy always got David loads of presents: stupidly expensive toys that he had asked for, board games he’d never get to play because there was no one he could play them with and his parents didn’t want to, the usual only child stuff

•The two would get each other little stuff when David was really young but they stopped get presents for each other all together when their marriage got messy.

•Buuut then they died!! and their rotting corpses got stuffed into puppets! That changes a lot :))

•In the weird purgatory house Roy is the only person who get excited for Christmas minus the teacher who’s assigned to tell them about the holiday

•He can’t buy anything for Lesley since they’re stuck in the house so he makes her something homemade and she pretends to like it even though it’s just a hodgepodge of tape, paper and blood

•Lesley buys him something on the computer months in advance

•She finds wrapping gifts really difficult so she just stuffs it under her bed until Christmas and gives him whatever she bought on the day, sometimes she finds a box to put Roy’s presents in if he’s lucky

#I’m fully guessing these characters personalities btw #I have no clue outside of Bunnieswithknives’s posts #this is really long but it’s alright it’s fun to ramble #two of us au #dhmis #dhmis headcanons #christmas #dhmis lesley #dhmis roy #dhmis roleswap au #gore ment tw #dead body tw

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bongo-clash · 2 years

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I Wonder if I Would Delete You

Ectober week prompts: Forest He thinks about the corpse in the woods sometimes. Hard to forget where you are buried.

'Valerie Gray finds out that the resident ghost kid was never buried beneath a grave. Valerie Gray finds out that there’s a body in the woods.'

(Content warnings in tags || fic under cut!!)

Valerie remembers, very vaguely, the look on Sam and Tucker’s face on the first day of highschool.

They usually had a third kid with them, she knew. Danny. She’d seen the briefest glimpse of his face in the newspaper near the end of the holidays, the offhand worry of her father when he brought it up once and never again. Nothing substantial, just ‘You know the Fenton’s youngest? Danny, I think his name was, in your year. Apparently he went missing on Tuesday and they haven’t found a sign of him since.’. He slipped through the cracks of freshman year, and the ones who’d known him since elementary school noticed (Dash, in particular, had whined at the absence of his favourite punching bag, made a face at the news, and stopped talking about it when he didn’t show up after a few days), but very few others did.

He was just one of those kids who’d never really made much of an effort to cross anyone’s radar beyond his limited social circle. He just wasn’t someone who’d made themselves all that memorable, after all, plenty of kids from middle school weren’t going to Casper High; for all that it felt weird not to see them anymore, there wasn’t much to dwell on.

His parents (the only thing he’d really been known for), though they were unnaturally quiet for the first few weeks, soon fell back into their obsession. His sister was still hoping he’d turn up again, but she was also a budding psychologist, and it was clear she was trying not to let it impede her when there was nothing she could do. It was just… such a non-issue for everyone else, in the end, even if no one knew why he went missing. (Even if Sam and Tucker sometimes made faces at each other, like they had something to say but couldn’t share it.)

It was all the more easy to forget when ghosts started showing up in Amity Park. Many regularly, one constant: Phantom.

Valerie hates his guts more than anything else, if she had to pick. Even if no one really got hurt in the fights, property damage skyrocketed, their day-to-day became chaos, and especially at first, everyone was scared. When the ghost kid ruined her life, hatred bloomed like hogweed in her chest, but the people in her class loved him. A mysterious superhero, with cool powers, flying around town every day and every night to fight off creatures from another dimension in a weird, glowing costume? It was like something out of a comic book, of course they loved it, but all she could think about was how much collateral was left in the wake, the image of that ghost and his stupid dog tearing through her life and leaving nothing but fragment pieces behind, spilt like a stain in her memory. Green, ugly, and hard to wash out. It was only natural that she took up the opportunity to get revenge when it found her, even if she didn’t trust Masters as far as she could throw him.

This is all to say: the last two years of her life have been busy. It’s a hard wire to walk on- between staying afloat enough to pass her classes, keeping up with her job to help her dad, trying to keep violent ghosts from invading the town and desperately trying to get people to see that the worst one of them all is the one that keeps attempting to earn their trust- she barely has time for anything else. Sometimes, she even lets Phantom deal with the ghosts if they’re pathetic enough, because she’s sure he’s playing the long game with them but it’s been a long game, and she really does need to keep living her life. She’s a junior, now; she’ll be seventeen in the new year, and her dad’s so excited to teach her how to drive. She’s not going to let the world stop turning for a couple of ghosts.

It’s one of those days, though, where she figures Phantom’s been flying around for a bit too long, and it’s time for an intervention. Can’t let him get too confident in his welcome. So, she’s suited up and following his signature with a tracker, listening as the thing ticks like a Geiger counter to signify the proximity, scanning the horizon for a familiar glowing silhouette and keeping her ectogun clasped in one hand, ready to shoot first and never ask.

Over the course of her flight, she finds herself much further from the centre of town than the ghost is usually spotted, but his signature is lit up green on her scanner, and it’s not moved once. By the time his figure comes into view, she’s barely in Amity’s borders at all, hovering on the cusp of thick woodlands and wild, uncut grass on its edges.

She spots a complicated look on his face as she lands. Valerie doesn’t know who he’s pretending for.

“What are you doing here, ghost?”

Phantom doesn’t dignify her with a face-to-face conversation. His head tilts like he’s trying to look at her without eyes, and his hands lift to protect his chest even though she’s facing his back; if she had to try and describe his posture, it would be ‘troubled’. Still, though, she can’t forget this is a ghost. Hard to with the glow and the slight transparency and the unnatural white shade of his hair, but still, the thing she’s talking to here isn’t a person no matter how much his figure suggests it.

His shoulders keep making weird shrugging motions, half failing on the way down and sometimes jerking backwards, and she thinks he’s trying to figure out how people breathe. “Hi, Red.” He says, something imitating a sigh, and his behaviour is as unusual as it is fascinating, but he’s deflecting and she won’t have it.

“Answer the question.”

“I- it’s nothing you’d find interesting. I’m not gonna do anything.”

Her eyes narrow with suspicion, hold on her ecto-gun tightening near the trigger. “And I’m supposed to just believe that? Let me guess: that dog ripping my house apart was you ‘doing nothing’ too.”

“No!” He retorts, finally turning around, eyes wide. His hands are twitching at his side, half-trembling, and the underneaths of his nuclear-waste eyes are oddly shadowed- as if ghosts can even sleep, let alone get tired. “No, that wasn’t nothing, and I’ve been sorry about that ever since it happened, but I- this isn’t about that. This isn’t about anything- it’s just… complicated. And not your business.”

Well, that’s not worrying at all. She doesn’t know what he’s trying to achieve by spouting such ridiculous crap, but she’s not picking it up regardless. “What are you doing, Phantom.” It’s not a question.

“I just said-“

“That was not an answer.” Valerie snaps, lifting up the nozzle of the ectoweapon from the ghost’s torso to point right between his eyes. “You know I won’t hesitate to pull this trigger, Phantom; you know I’ll tear you apart. Tell me what you’re doing.”

The part of her that’s read all of the Fentons’ academic papers knows ghosts don’t feel real emotions, knows any features can be manipulated to their liking for whatever ridiculous goal they’ve set their sights on. The part of her that picks at her old bleeding heart twinges at the look on Phantom’s face, no matter how superficial. The shadows under his eyes look like bruises in this light. Tired, tired, tired.

He sighs: a thing he has no need for and probably only does to make himself seem more human. “You really want to know?” He responds, turning around once again so he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes. Stupid, too, considering he’s turning his back to the gun. “Fine. Follow me, then.”

She doesn’t deign to give him an answer, but he seems to interpret the silence as one either way. He goes forward into the thick, and before he can disappear, she follows.

The ghost isn’t floating, is the first thing she notices.

It’s their natural instinct, she’s sure; half of them probably don’t even remember how to walk, with all the time they spend up in the air or drifting about in whatever version of Hell they come from. But Phantom walks now like his feet are tethered to the ground, forced into it with something deeper than gravity. For all that he usually never shuts up, he doesn’t say a word. It seems he doesn’t even notice she’s still aiming a blaster at the back of his head, doesn’t even care.

Time passes between steps. Slowly, as if the further they walk the deeper into space they go, the sunlight overhead is shut away by canopy cover. Oak and ashwood trees disperse themselves along a nonexistent path, roots hidden beneath the browns of old leaf litter and dirt, an imitation of tripwires as Valerie tries not to catch her feet on something. The forest is too dense for her hoverboard. She’d crash into all the low-branches if she tried. Grounded as he is, though, Phantom doesn’t trip once; there’s got to be a reason he has the route memorised, if he’s not just leading her in circles, but she’s never caught him around this area before. Is this where he goes after fights?

An artificial night surrounds them by the time Phantom begins to slow down, stars in the form of microscopic sunspots and the vague shine of lichens. It comes through something silver in the place they’d stopped- just underneath an oak’s armspan. Old leaf litter covers what looks like a molehill.

Phantom sits down, but she doesn’t bother to do the same, too wary. “What is this?” She questions. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll told you I wasn’t gonna do anything.” He says, posture hunched over. “I just wanted to… y’know, sit for a bit.”

Yeah, not buying it. She rounds his figure, not quite putting herself in his direct line of sight, but enough that they can both see each other’s front, and enough that she can gauge his expression, for as little as that counts for.

…Maybe a little more than she bargained it counting for, if she’s being honest. His lips are pinched to a downward-curving line, like he’s trying to hide the shape by pursing them but failing. His knees are pressed to his chest, arms wrapped around and gripping each other like a lifeline, jumpsuit creasing oddly around them for all that it shouldn’t, with ghost fabrics not adhering to normal physics. The eyes are worst of all, though. Seeming duller, somehow- less green and more turquoise, maybe- shining with something Valerie can’t parse and doesn’t like. Something familiar on an unrecognisable face, settled onto the slight bump in the dirt.

There’s a direction her brain his heading to in its conclusion, because this is a ghost looking far too intensely at raised ground, and really, there’s only so many conclusions she can reach, no matter how much she hates it.

It’s rude to ask, she knows. She lets it slip anyway. “Phantom,” She starts, oddly absent of her usual barbs past the dread. “What’s under there?”

His gaze flicks briefly towards her, shoulders tightened and wary of the questioning. She’s never seen him this closed off before. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Tell me.”

“Idon’t want you to know.”

“Phantom.”

Phantom’s expression is awful, awful, awful. “I died two years ago.” He says, voice devoid. “No one’s found me yet.”

Oh.

Oh God.

This is still in Amity Park borders. It’s on the cusp, near the edge, but this is still Amity. This is about a thirty minute walk from the other end of Casper High; if you turned left from where she’s standing and kept going, you could probably come out the other side near the Nasty Burger, its back some distance to all the trees. This is Amity Park, and she’s been living in its vicinity all her life, and there’s a body in the woods and no one knows it’s here.

Briefly, her mind brings forth the image of something beneath the soil, and she closes her mouth around the bile it sends careening up her throat. She doesn’t know what Phantom might have looked like before he died, but she’s certain that if she tried to look, all she’d find would be bones. It’s been more than long enough for the rot to set in and run its course, anything more than that melted away and chewed through by whatever insects buried themselves with him in the decay. She feels like the smell of something foul is caught in her nose now that she knows what she’s practically standing on. She wonders if he’s buried shallow. Guesses at the answer lying idle in the turned soil.

He takes in her speechlessness with a strange mix of fear and exhaustion. “Red? You still in there?”

“You- I- two years ago?” And it’s not like her, but she can’t help it. There’s nothing she can say in the face of this, nothing she can feel beyond the roiling wave of nausea and catatonic shock. They looked about the same age when she started out, and he died two years ago. He looks younger than her now.

“I’d be sixteen this year.” He says, helpfully, as if that makes anything easier. She got her provisional driver’s license in the mail a few months ago and she’ll be old enough to take lessons next year, and he’d be doing the same thing as she is around now but he’s dead. He’s dead and she’s not heard a thing about a kid dying in the last few years. He’s dead and buried shallow.

There’s not many other conclusions to reach. She’s not sure how it’s never crossed her mind before now, but for the first time in two years, Valerie wonders who Phantom used to be. Wonders what he did to get murdered in secret.

Wonders if who (or what) did it is still around.

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controversial-blorbo-bracket · 9 months

Note

Zenos Yae Galvus Propaganda? One of his first (and most iconic) lines to the player character:

Also, his dump truck:

This is the first I have ever seen this man speak why is he so horny

#what is the cw for gore in text?#cw gore text #gore ment tw #not a poll #propaganda #zenos yae galvus #ask #neededaccounttosendasks

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one-black-rotary-phone · 7 months

Text

Griffin Stagg Headcanons

Headcanons for the youngest boy in the cast: Griffin Stagg. No reader. Will update as I think of more.

TW for bullying, kidnapping, violence, death, gore (mentioned), does teeth count?.

Griffin is max eleven years old; probably ten. He's easily the youngest of the group. In fact, I headcanon he's a few months younger than Gwen. He uses this to his advantage, though, always bragging about how he'll live longer than her because he's younger. Not quite how it worked out, unfortunately.

I headcanon he's got an older brother who went to university/college recently before his kidnapping/death. He was pretty close with his brother; he always took Griffin out to play games or get food or just hang out. His brother was his closest friend, considering he barely had any friends of his own. His brother immediately came back home after he went missing to look for him, too.

This doesn't stop typically sibling fights, though. If you read my headcanon on who's the biggest tattletale, Griffin is number one. And his brother is not exempt from that. Growing up, they would constantly threaten to tell on each other for stuff and kept their word about it, too. Still, they always felt at least a little bit guilty about it, and would apologise and try to get each other out of trouble if the punishment was truly that bad.

Since his older brother's in college, his parents are on the older side. I don't know why but I feel like his mother would have arthritis in her hands, so as a little kid he had to be careful to not yank her around too hard. His father, on the other hand, is as fit as anything. They both take on pretty stereotypical roles in the family; his mother being a bit of a housewife (she still has a job, though) and his father doing all the handiwork.

Griffin's also had a lot of pet fish growing up, partly because he's a bit scared of dogs and is allergic to cats. They've always been some variation of goldfish or fighter fish, and always have the most classic names possible. "Goldie" or "Sunshine" or "Bluey" or some name based on some famous boxer were the most common. Strangely, no matter how similar they looked, he could always tell them apart. Or so he thinks, at least.

However, life wasn't all Lesley Gore's Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows. He was bullied a lot during his early years of school for having no friends. In turn, the bullying pushed people away from wanting to be his friend because they didn't want to join in on getting bullied. It only really died down because Griffin just didn't become a fun target after a while. He was too boring and didn't have as much of a reaction as the bullies wanted. He wasn't emotionless to it--don't get me wrong--but he just wasn't as explosive as they wanted.

Still, people didn't really want to be his friend after it. Griffin wasn't exactly considered cool either, so that tarnished his reputation a bit. He pretended to like being left alone, but it did get to him. Still, he's a "two's company, three's a crowd" type person. He just wants one friend outside of his family. Is that really too much to ask?

Ankle-biter of a child. If he gets forced into a fight his first weapon of defense is his teeth. Will sink those guys into whatever he can get to first. And they're sharp, too. He will draw blood if he's not careful.

Speaking of ankles, when he was a little kid he'd cling to his mother's leg when being dropped of at kindergarten/preschool. He'd cry and cry about having to go (something that would come back to haunt him in the future). Griffin definitely had some separation anxieties as a kid. Nowadays he's just lonely. Poor guy.

This kid loves candy apples. What more can I say? They're tasty. It's his favourite treat.

He also is a big Halloween fan. He loves to watch whatever horror movies his parents will let him. He barely even gets scared during them. The only thing he doesn't like is massive gore. It makes him feel uncomfortable. Though, he also likes to dress up the skeletons in his front yard with silly outfits. And there's always the love of trick-or-treating, too.

He gets good grades naturally. He's in an easier stage of school, so he'd definitely have to study more in future grades, but for now he's cruising.

Okay, now for some I'm taking from @tnmdfhgkg. 1), He'll do anything for a dollar (a dollar was worth more back then okay). 2), he's a shit-talker about other people, but 3), he's very nice once you get to know him. 4), he gets a lot of bug-bites during summer (mainly mosquitoes), and 5), he's a messy eater. Oh, and 6), he's the silliest goober in town; takes nothing seriously when he's in a goofy mood (always). Hope it's okay to tag you!

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Will update this as I think of some more!

#also what should we call his family members?#i'm thinking of calling vance's mother Marissa #the phone rings #bullying tw #violence tw #kidnapping tw #death tw #child death tw #gore ment tw #tbp #the black phone #the black phone 2022 #tbp hcs #the black phone hcs #tbp headcanons #the black phone headcanons #griffin stagg #tbp griffin #teeth tw

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