#in the good old eldritch monsters section | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

non-plutonian-druid · 2 years

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hi taking my opportunity to ask you about your snicket five au

I don't know anything about that universe bc I never got around to reading it but I am very interested

Hello!!! i am glad i mentioned it in that one ask i got bc i got a few people asking me about it!! and i am so happy for the interest, thanks yall so much

TBH i debated how much i wanted to give away since not everything is decided and i kind of wanted to reveal it alongside art i make for it? but that's been slow going, so i shall reveal some of my cards now

first. the posts that exist: five invades elliott's shop and ben gets experimented on (cw for medical horror). Those posts, this post, and any future posts will be under my snicket five au tag

Most of the time I've been assuming people are at least aware of A Series of Unfortunate Events' whole deal, but given that you said you don't have any, I'll explain the relevant bit quickly: Lemony Snicket is the pseudonym of the author, but is also a character within the narrative, researching and telling us the story of the Baudelaire children after their parents are killed by the "villainous" section of a secret society called VFD. He's a very unreliable narrator, and is a part of the "good" side of VFD, kind of. My au is of the prequel series, All the Wrong Questions, which stars Lemony Snicket as a snarky asshole child instead of a snarky asshole adult

A collection of other relevant bits:

VFD, at this point in Lemony's childhood, is divided and the cracks are showing, but has not yet actually Schismed. That happens later.

Daniel Handler (the author) is Jewish, and I know just enough about that to know that it has a huge influence on the themes and texture of both atwq and asoue (things like "the eldritch monster is a metaphor for death, but specifically a very jewish concept of death"), but nowhere near enough to then take those themes and play with them in an interesting and informed way. I wanted to mention it because, lacking the ability to do that part of the series justice, i wanted to at least inform you all about it bc I think the au would be more interesting if i could

VFD is a cult. yes, all of it. yes, even the side that puts out fires.

I actually need to go through and do a ton of work revamping the premise and making events shake out differently, because at the moment it follows ATWQ really closely and I'm not fond of that. Things need to be different! But for the moment, the following is what I have.

Five is an actual 13 year old who has just completed his training with the Commission (a mysterious organization with mysterious purposes but which, in this case, probably doesn't involve teaching a child to murder) and is now an apprentice! He has to pick a chaperone, a word which here means "someone like a mentor except without the obligation to actually teach him anything or really to take care of him in any meaningful way". He picks the Handler, hoping she will leave him to his own devices enough that he can carry out a heist he has planned with his associate and not at all his friend, Delores (who gets to be a real person! good for her).

Unfortunately, the Handler immediately drags him out to a dying town that has the interim name DS, to leave him to his own devices enough that he could carry out a heist in that location instead. Too bad that's not where the heist is planned.

(Delores proceeds to try to do the heist on her own anyway, and spends the rest of the series arrested)

DS are the initials that i will be using to refer to the small town of the au. It is replacing a town in the series by the name of Stain'd By the Sea (you'll notice that is a parody of a naming convention in New England, because This Noir Flick Has Lovecraft In It, Baby). I haven't decided what D.S stands for because TUA has unhelpfully not given me anything to work with, but the town is a dying company town that used to manufacture umbrellas. In it, there is a now-defunct school that used to teach the children of the workers/citizens. Like some kind of.... umbrella academy.

(The school is plot relevant in ATWQ too! I'm not just having fun.)

Nowadays, DS is dying and most of the inhabitants have left to set up lives in The City, leaving their children behind to close up shop until things are more stable, which results in Just So Many undersupervised children. Meanwhile, a mysterious villain called the Monocle is doing mysterious villain things.

'Mysterious villain things', at the moment, means committing a series of seemingly unconnected crimes across DS and also reopening the school, saying that tuition is free for citizens of DS! The kids that go there don't come out.

That is our setup; now what are our beloved characters up to?

Luther in this au is an adult (barely). He was a boxer in the city but had to retire after an injury and left to DS where it was quiet. Since then he’s made friends with Allison Hargreeves, an up-and-coming actress who has returned to DS because she feels obligated to help her parents get ready to leave.. Luther lives in a refurbished observatory on the outskirts of town, and spends many of his mornings at the local diner, Griddy’s, where he frequently sees and occasionally chats with Five. He gets first embroiled in the plot when Five asks him to come along to look intimidating while he solves a mystery. He gets worried about this little guy!

Diego and Patch are approximately 15. Patch’s dad used to be a police officer before he retired, and she and Diego are very unimpressed with the current state of the police department, which is made of two mean and unhelpful people named Hazel and Cha Cha. So they’ve taken matters into their own hands! They’ve set up a detective agency-slash-vigilante-justice and are Determined to solve crime in DS. Diego is VERY suspicious of Five. He definitely knows more than he’s letting on! Why won’t he tell us! Diego does NOT want to be his friend shut up Patch!!

Allison’s parents want to shut down the company they run, but to Allison that’s quitting! She wants to revive it. This, combined with the fact that her plan actually has a chance of succeeding, means that she is a threat to the Monocle’s plan. He needs the town to be dead and full of children that nobody cares about! The Monocle is trying to get rid of her, but with the help of Five and Luther in particular, she’s been thwarting him thus far.

Klaus and Ben are a pair of unsupervised children, but unlike most children in DS they’ve been unsupervised for a very long time. Klaus takes an assortment of odd jobs at different times, and Ben likes to read in the library (and has a giant and obvious crush on the librarian). Normally they're inseparable, but the school recently opened! and its free! Ben has always wanted to go to school. He promises he'll write Klaus every single day.

Klaus hasn't heard from Ben in months. At first he was angry, but now he's getting worried

Viktor's parents run an instrument store. Well. Used to. Now they have left to set up their life in the city, leaving behind what they think is their dutiful daughter to close the store. Viktor's real passion is writing, and he's never seen without his typewriter. I'm not decided on how many people Viktor is out to. Everybody? Only Five because this is a new person to introduce himself to with his chosen name? To Be Determined.

Lila is searching for her father. She will do anything to find him. The Monocle kidnapped him, she’s certain of it. He was a professor of quantum mechanics at a university outside the city and he’s been gone for almost a year. She’s tracked him to DS, and she’s certain he has to be here somewhere. Has Five seen or heard anything about him? His name is Reginald Hargreeves and she misses him so much.

Elliott is a nervous 20-something who runs a nearly-closed television store in town. The character he’s a replacement for is actually a librarian, but I like the aesthetic of the television store, so someone else is the librarian. He has conspiracy-theoried his way into figuring out that the Commission exists, but is wrong in some key way. Five breaks into his house and forcibly adopts him and now the store is Five’s hideout, and Elliott is kind of his adult supervision and kind of thinks Five is an alien. Elliott makes good coffee, is very mousy but likes Five a lot,

Since the librarian man is now a television salesman, we need a new librarian. I nominate Jill! Shes a college student working at the library as part of her internship, except she doesnt have any supervisors on location so shes just… running the place. Five is trying to recruit her for the Commission.

Griddy’s was once run by a woman named Agnes, who has since retired. Now it’s being run by a woman named Grace, who is her… sister? Daughter? Sister in law or niece? Five can't figure it out; everyone seems to have a different idea of who she is. She’s very pretty, and at first seems perfectly normal, but at some point, something about her seems… off. Is she okay? If Five didn’t know any better, he’d say it's like she’s malfunctioning.

While Five is running around solving mysteries and meeting all these people, the Monocle is enacting his evil plan. He’s trying to grow a tentacled eldritch monster called the Horror, and he’s been using kids as dirt to grow little tentacle monster sprouts in. He’s based his operations in DS because it’s a dying little town that no one cares about, full of kids left on their own while their parents move out. He reopens the old school, and promises to educate any of the kids in the town for free (and also inject them with baby horror growing particles). Despite his many experiments, all of his attempts to grow the horror so far have eventually failed and the Horror died before it was big enough to use for world domination or whatever (or even before it was big enough to kill one measly human). But Ben…. Ben has been promising...

#tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #lemony snicket #i COULD list all the characters i talk about but i dont feel like it so i'm not going to #for the void #i am truly SO happy that my mention of this au piqued people's interest in it #its niche but i love it!!!#i need to do work on the setup bc rn it follows ATWQ too closely which i dont like #i need to twist around the premise enough that the dominos all fall differently #but this is where its at right now #sorry about the delay on replying! and same to the other people who were looking for more #i had to wait for a period of time where i'd have time and energy to write this out bc i knew it would take me a while #and then after i reached a period of time to write it out.... it did in fact take a while to write #snicket five au

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kinetic-elaboration · 1 year

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January 10: Cabinet of Curiosities 1x05

Some quick thoughts on Pickman's Model, because I am sleepy and want to get to bed.

Undoubtedly the best of the first five, even though it did not end strong. I was really digging it in all respects and I had a pretty good idea, I thought, of where it was going. Then it kinda... just disintegrated into randomness without ultimately explaining anything or drawing anything together. Just ooooh creepy imagery, eldritch monster (...inevitably, my fault for giving something based on a Lovecraft story a chance I guess), darkness, death, pessimism, oooooh.

So I'm a little annoyed with that. But everything else was really good: the sets/costumes/mood, the casting (only Crispin Glover could make on-and-off Mass. accents sound consistently creepy), the build-up, the direction. In the early parts in particular, I felt like I could never guess where it was going to go next, and the constant twists in the imagery, and the...not quite jump scares? were sooooo good.

One of my favorite parts was the first visit to Pickman's studio, because I thought it used the visual medium really well--the twisting of the painting, the cackling and groaning and chanting, the claustrophobia, the creepiness of the narration making you feel like you're losing your mind--I don't think that's easy to accomplish, to make just a story and a painting so viscerally WRONG like that. Especially when the story is so...typical? Yeah, witches, old New England, demons, cannibalism, we've all heard it. Similarly, I really loved the section right after, when Thurber is wandering through the streets and then going to the garden party. So much unexpected and weird imagery just really throwing me off. I think that's the kind of stuff I find the scariest, tbh. The uncanny, the Not Right. The first meeting of Thurber and Pickman was also expert: the mystery of Pickman's drawing, the rage of his technique, the slightly perceived reveal, the way Thurber seems to imitate it... There's a lot there to contemplate, I think.

I also liked the line about "family portraits," paired with the beast, but I liked it best, as I expected I would, when it was just a hint in the open, because when it came up again in context it was around the time the whole plot fell apart, for me. So he's related to a witch but also a demon or monster but also everyone sees demons when they die...idk, I don't know what was going on there or at any point from then on.

There's a lot of interest about Thurber too. Why was he drawn to Pickman and his art? Because he's also a talented artist? Because he pushes down the pessimistic and the fearful (always trying to focus on the beautiful, as he says to Rebecca) and so he's both intrigued and repulsed by the monstrous art? Because he's an alcoholic? Because Pickman picked him? (As an aside, I could not decide if I thought Pickman was evil/actively malicious or sincere in his friendship but just...playing with dark stuff etc.) Because he's an ex-soldier? Although WWI would have fallen after their first meeting, before their second, and so I'm not sure what to make of that. Thurber himself blames the visions he sees on "shell shock" and funnily right before he said that, I was thinking 'twist! the art is just art and he suffers from hallucinations and/or paranoia,' which I didn't think was where the story was actually going to/the intended reading but would have actually fit, since we see everything from Thurber's POV. Anyway, I AM a modernist and I like this period artistically so I am intrigued by this angle of the story.

For a while, I really thought there was a pretty simple and classic but compelling story being told here and I was so into it, as someone who's into art and creating etc. I thought the idea was that Rebecca was a witch and her family was evil, and Pickman and the power of his True Art open Thurber's eyes to this reality: that Rebecca is another old New England Witch Woman who wants to sacrifice him (the Husband figure) in a late night Satanic ceremony. Hence, why he sees her father in a vision before he knows who her father is, why he sees the witch woman dressed in black at the garden party, why Rebecca takes him back and marries him even though she appears to leave him at the party, why he has prophetic dreams that seem to bring him ever closer to the Satanic Feast, and why in his last dream he is literally decapitated. It would also make the (otherwise still excellent) scene of her bonding with Pickman over her seance experiences even creepier.

All of this was making sense to me and seemed compact and clear as a narrative, revolving around the idea of Prophetic True Art, until the point where Pickman started talking about his snarling family member. What happened to the witch? The cannibalism? Who is the furry demon/monster? Does he mean literal family or something more generic? How did the unfortunately named Joe Minot and Rebecca get infected with the need to be Devil worshippers? By looking at the paintings? If so, then why isn't EVERYONE gouging out their eyes and why did Thurber himself hold out in such a Protagonist Way against their influence? Joe I could see being a sort of sleeper agent, but Rebecca? Was my theory right but just not explained in so many words? Why did we have to go the grotesque route of child sacrifice for no reason at the end? Was it just as a twist? Like, everything is leading you to believe X so even though X would make perfect sense and be really satisfying, we're going to throw you a curve with Y just for the sake of the curve itself? Is this, like The Outside, an example of the adaptation feeling compelled to use (admittedly iconic) details from the original even though the adaptation itself has developed quite far away from those details and they no longer fit?

I don't know. But I really need to sleep.

#the year 2023 #2023: fandom thoughts #2023: cabinet of curiosities

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onecanonlife · 3 years

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careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 7,402

Chapter Warnings: swearing, referenced (temporary) character death, slight manipulation

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur tours the stronghold, meets DreamXD, and watches Tommy and Techno move a few very reluctant inches closer to reconciliation.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Fourteen: wipe the dirt off of your hands (ii)

Phil and Technoblade found the server’s stronghold. Because of course they did. Nevermind that the End is closed off here, the one rule of this server that hasn’t been broken and flaunted in front of everyone’s faces. The one rule that might actually sort of mean something. But evidently it doesn’t mean enough, because Phil and Techno not only found the stronghold, but decided to use it for a secret anarchy base.

When he voices all of this aloud, Phil just shrugs.

“Techno won me over to the whole anarchy thing, a bit,” he says, completely unrepentant. “We wanted a base, and the stronghold was literally right there. Not like anyone else was using it.”

“I really feel like that’s not the point,” Ranboo says weakly. He understands the significance, apparently. “Phil, even I know what a stronghold is.”

“Okay, it’s not nearly as big of a deal as you two are making it out to be,” Phil says, even though he is wrong, completely dead-wrong. “Just, c’mon, I’ll show you how we get there.” He starts walking, heading for the door, and he and Ranboo are given no choice but to follow. “We found an old library in it, lots of books in surprisingly good condition, considering. I haven’t even begun to go through them all. I’m thinking if it’s information on ancient, slightly eldritch beings we’re looking for, that’s our best bet in finding anything.”

“Right,” he says. “Sure. Why not?” He hopes Phil can hear the utter frustration in his voice. The smirk directed his way tells him that Phil did, indeed, hear it. Bastard.

But there’s nothing to do but go with him, at this point. It’s not like he’s going to pass up the chance to see one of these; he’s been in strongholds before, of course, but this feels like it holds more significance, somehow, on a server where the End is forbidden to all. Phil leads them through a convoluted series of passages, hitting buttons that reveal secret doors, and there’s a long hallway of ice, and then more buttons, and the air gets cooler and cooler, musty and still. Old. Tense. Like the rock itself is waiting.

And then, Phil opens up one final door, and a different hallway greets them. One crafted with intent, not carved carelessly out of stone. Bricks placed purposefully, rough though the detailing now is, and the air is stale here, and strangely damp. They’re underwater, then, and he casts Phil a glance. He seems unconcerned, and Wilbur chooses to believe that means that the roof won’t cave in under the pressure of the ocean above.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in one of these,” Ranboo says. His voice is hushed, quiet, almost awestruck.

“It’s not much,” Phil says with a shrug. “Normally wouldn’t bother with it, in a server like this, but like I said, Techno and I wanted a base, and it happened to be close. Not much of use here, but there is a library. More cobwebs than books by now, but a lot of what’s left seems legible, at least. I haven’t gone through most of it. Here, this way.”

Phil keeps walking, and for a moment, Ranboo doesn’t follow. He looks a bit taken aback, perhaps by Phil’s casual attitude toward a place that in any other circumstance, to any other person, might be something approaching sacred.

Wilbur sighs.

“Phil’s just like that,” he murmurs. “Plus, he’s been on dozens of servers. Seen dozens of these. And he’s ancient, too, so there’s that.” He goes along after Phil, and Ranboo, after a second of hesitation, hurries to catch up with him.

“How ancient are we talking here?” he asks.

Wilbur feels his lips twitch upward. “Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually asked for the exact number,” he says. “Centuries, at least. Maybe a few millennia. No one really quite knows what Phil is. I’m not sure he knows himself.” He shrugs. “Growing up, he was always just our dad. That was enough.”

“Oh.” Ranboo chews on that for a moment, and then nods. “Okay then. That actually explains a couple of things.”

He hums. “How did you come to live by him, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh, well, it was after—you know about Doomsday, right? I mean—”

(destruction raining from the sky and the terrifying shriek of withers and his home is gone the history is gone and Friend, Friend is gone, his dearest Friend and Phil knew, he knew, he knew and he did it anyway but only a few minutes later the memory is gone because he does not want to remember this and it is a blessing, being able to forget, because what use is carrying pain that he can do nothing about, what use is holding it close and letting it make a monster of him because even dead he cannot manage to ask for help must keep up the facade but at least let it be a happy one)

(and yet looking back on it, looking back on it now, he feels barely any anger at all. like son, like father, after all)

He smiles tightly. “I know about Doomsday,” he agrees, and then tilts his head. “That’s right, you were—you were living in L’Manberg at the time, weren’t you? I—Ghostbur saw you there.”

“Yeah, I lived there,” Ranboo says. “Right up until it turned into a crater, I guess. But, um, after all of that, Phil knew that I didn’t have anywhere to go, so—I don’t know, I guess he felt bad for me or something? He invited me to stay up here with him and Techno, and I guess I never really left.”

That’s such a uniquely Phil thing to do. Destroy a country, then pick up one of the kids he rendered homeless. Wilbur can imagine exactly how that went.

“Well, I hope you know that you’re not likely to be rid of him now,” he says, and then the two of them step around the corner, and right across the way, there is an open doorway, and even from here, he can see the rows upon rows of bookshelves, some of them half-empty and all of them covered in cobwebs and a thick layer of dust. He glances at Ranboo one last time, and then the two of them step into the room.

He is not one for claustrophobia,

(was not, though now tight spaces and dark rooms remind him of one place and one place only)

but the room feels close, crowded, the shelves towering over him, and even over Ranboo, who has more than a foot of height on him, tall and lanky and half-ender as he is. And more than that, the room feels old, feels weighty, moreso even than the rest of the stronghold, because here are books that must have been written hundreds of years ago, before the server passed into Dream’s hands, that have not been touched since, that have been left to gather dust and mold in an ancient ruin under the sea. In these books are the words of people who came years before him, their words reaching out to grasp the long arm of the future, and it is nothing that he has not seen before, but he never gets used to it. He is no scholar, really, no Technoblade, but he can appreciate this for what it is, can appreciate the history here, the circle that never ends.

(he has always fancied himself as part of a story, has always been able to look outside of himself to see what role the history books will have him play. moments like this only make him more aware of it, more aware that someday, he will be long in the ground and only his words will live on, his words and the words of others, a legacy, a garden growing and fed on the dust that was once him)

(it should already be so. stories are not supposed to be picked up after the last thread is snipped and yet here he is, and the whole narrative has been thrown into disarray)

Phil’s head peers out around one of the shelves.

“Took you long enough,” he says. “We can start anywhere, I suppose. I didn’t get around to cataloging any of this shit, so your guess is as good as mine as to where the important stuff is.”

“Great,” Ranboo says, sounding thoroughly unenthusiastic. “I love having absolutely no idea what we’re looking for.”

“We have to start somewhere,” he says, though looking at the shelves around them, he thinks that Ranboo might have a point. But nonetheless, he grabs a random book off the nearest shelf and opens it, frowning at the mold that dots the pages. But as Phil said, it’s legible, and his eyes scan over faded words, printed in an older dialect that’s just barely understandable.

They split up, each taking a different section. But it only takes a few hours for Wilbur to get frustrated. He’s more patient than this, normally, unless that’s another aspect of himself that he lost somewhere along the line. But he thinks he’s justified—perhaps under normal circumstances, they would have all the time in the world to find the information they need. In normal circumstances, a strategy like this would work. But they don’t have that kind of time. And they especially don’t have that kind of time to search for knowledge that may not even be here at all.

He snaps the book he’s leafing through shut and stands.

“I’m stretching my legs,” he calls, and doesn’t wait for an answer before striding out of the room. Too late, he remembers that they’re still underground, underwater, and the air outside of the library is barely any fresher than the air inside, which does not improve his mood. But a walk might help clear his head, so a walk is what he takes, wandering the corridors as he did in the castle earlier, that same restlessness returning.

It all comes down to a feeling of helplessness, in the end, of powerlessness. He was powerless to stop the Egg. Powerless to save Techno, and then later, powerless to help him. And he is powerless now, skimming through century-old books with barely a hope of a payoff. And yet, it’s all he can do, is the best plan they have, and how is it possible that this is the best plan they have?

He used to be good at this. He has been presenting himself as good at this, pulled on his old general’s strength to present confidence to the others, surety. And yet, here they are, and it’s too soon to give up, he knows, but it’s been a few hours and they have found nothing, and he can’t help but feel like they’re going to continue to find nothing.

You are nothing, and you may as well give it up, give in, throw away yourself for a chance of saving what little you have not already lost, something whispers, and it is not him, and there is translucent red lining the edges of his vision, for if you pass up this chance, who do you have to blame but yourself?

“Shut up,” he mutters. “Shut the fuck up. You’re thousands of chunks away, shut up.”

Distance is no matter to one such as I, and you ought to know better than to hope for it, it says. You ought to know better than to hope for a great many things. Powerless as you are, why not take into your hands the only choice you have left to you, take back your peace and save your brother, save them all from the encroaching choke, save them all and yourself most of—

He steps into another room, and the voice abruptly stops, leaving his head blessedly silent. He catches himself holding his breath, and he releases it all at once.

And then realizes what he’s seeing. It’s a meeting room, clearly, decorated far beyond what an untouched stronghold would look like, and this has Phil’s interior design choices stamped all over it, but—

They’re using the End Portal as a table.

Because that is undoubtedly the End Portal. Even if he hadn’t seen one before, once or twice, on different servers, he would be able to recognize the blocks for what they are: something other, something that belongs to a different place entirely. They fill the room with a low, buzzing hum, and underneath that, there is a melody hovering just beyond his perception, a melody that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard before. He hums, trying to match the notes, and finds that he can’t, that he always lands above or below no matter what pitch he vocalizes. And yet, even still, there is something about it that is eerily comforting.

Perhaps it is simply the way the Egg fell silent as soon as he stepped inside. He appreciates that.

But still. They’re using it as a table.

“Do you like the décor?” Phil asks, amusement clear in his tone. Wilbur doesn’t turn to look at him, but Phil comes up beside him soon enough, and Ranboo trails behind, staring at the portal with wide eyes.

“Is nothing sacred to you?” he asks, and the teasing note comes out naturally.

“Eh,” Phil says, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “You know how it is.”

“I know what that is,” Ranboo says, sounding far, far away. “I know—I know this, I—why do I—?”

(a question: if he could sense the music, human and just barely void-touched as he is, then what must it sound like to one who has the End itself in his veins?)

Ranboo takes one step forward, and then another, until he’s standing right next to the portal-table. One hand hovers above it, and he hesitates before placing it down. Wilbur glances to Phil, wondering if this is a thing they should be stopping, but Phil is staring at Ranboo, head tilted and eyes slightly narrow.

“Have you never seen one of these before?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Ranboo says, still distant. “Maybe? I don’t think I remember. But I—I don’t know where I come from, but this feels like—”

“Well, it is an End Portal,” Phil agrees. “I wasn’t sure if it was still functional, but I guess that answers that question. You’re probably sensing something from it that we’re not picking up on, with you being half-ender and all.”

“I guess—”

“Why wouldn’t it be functional?” Wilbur interrupts. Maybe that’s not what he should’ve gotten out of that, but he’s satisfied that this is an enderman thing, not something to be concerned over. But that offhand remark, said in that infuriatingly casual way that Phil so often has, draws his attention, because he’s never heard of a non-functional End Portal before. He didn’t think that such a thing was possible; everyone knows that portals are the one sure fixture of almost every server, unable to be tampered with or destroyed by any means.

“Oh, that.” Phil laughs. “There’s an interesting story there, actually. When Techno and I first came through here, we—”

But Phil gets cut off.

Wilbur senses it before he sees that anything is changed: the pressure in the room shifts, suddenly, becoming greater, more. All the hair on the back of his neck stands on end, and the next breath he takes, he gets a lungful of ozone, sharp and electric. He coughs, and finds that the noise falls strangely flat, and then there is someone hovering over the portal-table. Not standing. Hovering, a good six inches from the table’s surface.

Ranboo stumbles back, and Phil takes several strides forward, arms outstretched as if to shield them both. His cloak twitches, though his wings do not spread.

Wilbur’s not sure what he’s looking at.

They are a person, he thinks. At least, they are person-shaped, though it is somewhat difficult to tell; most of their body is covered in a long green cloak, one that drifts around them despite the stillness of the air. They have no visible feet, and their hands are hidden, if they have them. But under their hood, there is nothing but shadows, and those shadows do not seem to fall across a face. Instead, it is as though they are made of void, black and cold, and he finds himself leaning in, straining to see if there is anything past that, and the hood twitches in his direction and he gets a glimpse of

(twin halos circling circling like a tear in the world and a tear in the void a tear in the nothing and the everything and a circle half filled in and half open and you know something in you knows)

He freezes. His spine locks up. They do not have eyes but they are looking at him, and the only way to describe the feeling is prey studied by a predator. The Egg didn’t make him feel like this. Even Dream didn’t make him feel like this.

(or he did, but it was tainted by darkness, tainted by corruption, a predator studying prey if the predator was malicious rather than just an animal, acting on cruel whim rather than nature and instinct. this is something different. this is something vaster. this is the regard of a)

“The End is closed,” the newcomer says, and Wilbur stiffens further, because their voice echoes and vibrates and buzzes in his skull, but underneath that, underneath all the white noise, the voice sounds like Dream. But that cannot possibly be right. This—person, whatever they are, they are not human, but they are not the same as Dream, do not give off the same impression of oozing corruption, of a black pit at the core, sucking in all light to be snuffed out, stamped upon.

“We weren’t going to the End, mate,” Phil says, calm. “Just talking. Not against the rules to talk, is it?”

“The End is closed,” they repeat, their voice grating and twisting and pulling at the reality around them. Wilbur feels a headache begin to form behind his eyes, a dull throbbing.

“Right, one trick pony, you are,” Phil mutters, and then glances over his shoulder. “This is what I was about to tell you about. Seems there’s someone to enforce the End rule here. They almost took away the portal entirely before Techno and I swore we weren’t gonna use it. Nothing much to worry about, I don’t think. Look,” he tacks on, turning back to them, “we were really just having a chat. Don’t need someone looking over our shoulders for it.”

The hood of the cloak moves again in what might, possibly, be considered a head tilt.

“You may not open the way to the End,” they say. “Not even for his sake.” A hand snakes out of the folds of the cloak, gloved in black, and makes a quick gesture in Ranboo’s direction. Wilbur blinks, hard; the motion is difficult to track, and it’s as if they slice open the very air itself just by moving.

Phil scoffs. “Is that what this is about?” he asks. “Mate. He’s an enderman hybrid, he can’t help but be drawn to it. But he’s not stupid enough to try and go through. You’re not needed here. Promise.”

Ranboo nods in agreement, head bobbing rapidly as he makes a few noises of agreement. Wilbur might be amused by it, if it weren’t for the fact that every inch of his skin feels like a live wire, being in the same room as this thing. He’s not sure why Phil is being so nonchalant about this, as if this is normal. This isn’t normal. Or perhaps he’s the strange one, is overreacting to something that is undoubtedly odd but no reason to worry, but he doesn’t think so. He really, really doesn’t think so.

They drift a few inches back, almost absently.

“He watches from behind your eyes,” they say. “He above all others must not be allowed access. You will forgive my insistence.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Phil asks, and Wilbur wants to echo his confusion, except the Egg was in his head not even ten minutes ago, and he has a sneaking suspicion as to what they might be referring to. The Egg was in his head, but they are not looking at him, he’s sure, because when they were looking at him, he could feel it, just as he could feel Dream’s gaze sliding across him like the touch of a razor and yet not like that at all. And Ranboo has tensed, so perhaps this is directed at him, but Wilbur pushes that aside and steps forward, evading Phil’s outstretched arm, because if no one else is going to ask the questions he wants answered, then he will.

“What the fuck are you?” he says, blunt. Perhaps it’s not the wisest move, but he’s tired and irritated, and when Phil goes to grab his shoulder, he shrugs him off. “No, I’m not—stop that, I’m done with things yanking on my chain. This guy wants to appear in front of us and be all cryptic and shit, I’m not having that. Not today. We don’t have time for this. So what the fuck are you?”

For a moment, they go silent. His breathing is loud in his own ears.

(he’s not sure why he’s stuck on this, not sure why he’s stuck on them, for he has tangled with gods and monsters and this being should be no different, really, from what he has dealt with over the past few weeks, should be better, even, since it seems that they are not here to try to kill him or his family, but he looks at them and sees beyond them, sees a break in the world and crack in the code and it is like and not like anything else he has seen before and perhaps they will not find what they need to know in books)

“I am the protector,” they say at length. “A fragment and a failsafe.”

“I didn’t ask what you do,” he says, “I asked what you are.”

“Wil—”

“Stop,” he insists. He’s standing in front of both of them now, and he doesn’t look back, doesn’t take his eyes off the figure floating over the table. “We’ve got some, some otherworldly being in here with us, and you don’t think this could at all be relevant? Please tell me I’m not the only one who realizes who he sounds like.” Without waiting for an answer, he addresses the being again. “What are you? And how are you connected to Dream? You can’t tell me you’re not, I don’t believe it.”

Behind him, Ranboo makes a little sound, like he’s been punched in the gut.

They are silent once again.

And then:

“I am a shadow,” they say. “A shadow of the original. I am what he rejected in his last moment of clarity.”

“What are you—are you trying to say you know Dream? Or that you came from Dream?”

They drift closer. “I am of him but not him. My task is to prevent the worst. The final task he set me. I can do nothing else.”

“Is the ‘he’ in that sentence Dream?” Ranboo asks, a frantic whisper that is very loud. “Is the—I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all. Can we go now? I think we should go now and leave the mysterious floating guy alone.”

“Could you speak in anything but riddles?” he snaps, ignoring him. “I want a straight answer. You haven’t given me one yet.”

They drift closer still, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh, static energy crackling across it. He resists the urge to step back.

(this reminds you of another time another time long ago and this surge of confidence is true truer than any you have experienced yet since they dragged you back into this world by your trailing fingertips and it is true because you remember standing on the walls and facing the ruler of the server and holding your ground for what you believe in for the people you fight for and this is different but it feels the same feels the same and you will not give in not even to a)

They are looking at him, right at him,

(twin halos circle slashing wounds into the world and this is something that was never meant to be)

and they say, “It is not of you to demand of me. I am the protector. That is my task,” but that is not what Wilbur hears, because suddenly, there is something in his head, something poking at his thoughts, but it does not reach in as the Egg did, does not pull at the threads of his mind and attempt to twist them into something new, but rather just exists on the edges, touching but not pressing, and there is a pressure and he doesn’t like it at all but it doesn’t hurt him.

And what they say is not words, but rather impressions, imparted to him all at once, impossible to pick apart, and

(the beginning and the end all wrapped up in one as the universe looks on and this server is a home he will make it a home he did but he is gone and this is what remains of the divine fabric the crown of the world and they wait and wait and the universe looks on and they are nothing but a shell all the love taken by the other and broken corrupted drowned twisted and they wait by their task they do what has been set and only once do they not only once do they act there is a man and he asks and he is cloaked by the universe and the thrall of the empty and time in its mercilessness and that which is inbetween and he asks and the universe says yes so they do not refuse and they drag you back into this world by your trailing fingertips for the better or for the worse and the man is gone and the universe cannot be contained by this but the universe says)

he doesn’t understand a bit of it, but he reels back regardless, and his head feels like fireworks have gone off within it, like a thousand thunderclaps sounding overhead. Hand land on his shoulder, on his arm, and he does not push Phil away this time, nor Ranboo when he suddenly appears on his other side. He blinks the spots from his vision, and looks up. The figure is gone.

“You alright?” Phil asks quietly.

“What the fuck?” he says instead of replying. “Phil, what—what was that?”

“I second that? I would also like to know?” Ranboo says, voice tilting upward.

“I would’ve told you not to mess with them, but I figured you should get it out of your system,” Phil says, still quiet, deadly serious. He stares at the table rather than make eye contact, and Wilbur follows his gaze. The End Portal still hums. “I’ve been around the block enough to know a god when I see one. I don’t know what the fuck this one is or what connection they have to Dream, but all they seem to want to do is make sure that no one goes to the End. Like I said, that’s what I was about to tell you before they showed up. Techno and I had to swear five times over that we wouldn’t use the portal for anything other than decoration before they’d even let us keep it. I figured it was best to leave them the fuck alone.”

“A god?” Ranboo echoes. “Like, an actual god? Divine smiting and all of that?”

Wilbur has never been much of a believer himself. Or at least, not one for worship. Gods may exist, but he’ll pay one homage when he decides it deserves his respect, and that day has never arrived.

But this one

(was in his head and he wanted it gone wanted it gone because he has had enough of things dragging their fingers across his sense of self but this one did not push and more than that it felt familiar almost like)

is important.

“There’s plenty of different kinds of gods,” Phil says, “but essentially, yes.”

“Dream’s not a god, though,” he states flatly. Phil glances at him.

“He’s never felt like one to me,” he agrees. “But I never picked up on the demon thing either, so I probably know fuck-all.”

“This feels important,” he says, and runs his fingers through his hair, trying to settle his nerves. “This feels—fuck, every time I think I’ve got all the pieces laid out, it turns out that I’ve made the framework too short, and there’s components I didn’t even know existed.” He shakes his head. The headache has mostly abated, so that’s something. “I don’t suppose they’d come back if we asked them nicely?”

“Do we want them to come back?” Ranboo asks, his voice rising in pitch even further. “Is that a thing that we want?”

He runs a hand through his hair again and doesn’t reply. Phil doesn’t either, though he’s not sure it’s for the same reason. Because frankly, yes; he wants them to come back. He asked them questions and didn’t understand a word of their answers, and he feels like he’s barely scraped the surface of what’s actually going on here. But one thing has been made clear enough: the nature of the connection between Dream and this being, this god, is uncertain, but the connection exists. And considering everything, that is something that’s relevant to them.

He’s beginning to think that they might get some information out of this after all. But he doubts that it’ll come from any book.

----------

They don’t find anything. They go at it for another few hours, flipping through musty pages until his eyes swim, and they come up with absolutely jack-shit. He wishes he could say that he’s surprised. He decides not to say anything about it at all, because Ranboo is wavering on his feet and Phil’s face is held in tight lines, and his negativity won’t do either of them any good.

“We can try again tomorrow,” Phil says, “but we need to turn it in. It’s been a long fucking day.”

It doesn’t feel like it’s been one day. Doesn’t feel like just this morning, they were marching into the Egg’s chamber, intent on taking it down once and for all. Doesn’t feel like they were chased out less than an hour later, battered and with one less than they started with, Dream escaped and everything gone to shit. It doesn’t feel like one day, and yet, it has been, and it reminds him of the war, at the end, when everything was happening so quickly and there was barely any time to process one event before something else was going wrong.

He doesn’t miss those days.

“How long can we afford to do this, Phil?” he asks, and doesn’t bother to hide his weariness. “How long can we afford to fuck around out here with nothing to show for it? We can’t even be sure that nothing’s happened in the Greater SMP, not with comms down.”

“I wish I had a good answer to that, Wil,” Phil says. “I really do. If you’ve got a better plan, I’m all ears.”

(does, perhaps, but it’s not one that Phil will like)

doesn’t, so the rest of the walk back out of the stronghold is made in silence. It’s a relief when they make it to the surface, the cold, biting air fresh on his face. He turns his face into the wind just to feel it, regardless of the sting. Night has fallen, the sun just the barest hint of purple-orange on the western horizon. Overhead, stars twinkle, bright and distant. Techno’s house is lit, now, an orange glow emanating from the windows. Tommy must have gotten a fire going.

Tommy. Right. They’ve left Tommy alone with Techno all afternoon. He’s too tired to be concerned about it right now. The house isn’t burning down, so they’re probably fine.

“I think I’m gonna go home for the night, if that’s okay,” Ranboo says. “I’ll meet up with you guys again in the morning?”

“Sounds good, mate,” Phil says, a bit distractedly; his eyes are roving over the cottage, probably searching for signs of property damage. But Ranboo takes it for agreement, so the kid nods, and then waves awkwardly to him, and then he’s walking across the snow toward the nearest mountain. For the first time, Wilbur realizes that there appears to be a house built into its side, not particularly pretty, but functional.

“With luck, they’re both conked out,” Phil mutters. He gathers his robes around him and heads for the door, and Wilbur trails after him.

Phil opens the door, and they’re greeted with silence. It is not the same silence from before; a fire crackles merrily in the hearth, now, some evidence of life. The house no longer gives an impression of a grave. But there are no voices that he can hear, nothing from the house’s two inhabitants, and perhaps Phil is right and they’re both asleep, but Wilbur doesn’t trust silence.

So as Phil goes over to the fire to stir up the coals, he makes a beeline for the ladder, climbing up as quietly as the creaky old thing will allow. The muttering hits his ears as soon as he pokes his head above the floor, hushed and furious, as if they both want to be shouting but are held back by some unspoken rule, some agreement not to break the peace of the rest of their surroundings. Or maybe that’s bullshit; Tommy isn’t one to care about things like that, after all.

He doesn’t step off the ladder, choosing to hang there for a moment instead, gripping the rungs uneasily. The wood is rough, and vaguely, he wonders if he’ll get splinters.

Technoblade is awake, and more than that, he is aware. That is the first thing his mind locks onto, the fact that his brother looks far better than he did earlier. He is still shaking, but far less, and his eyes are bright and present rather than fogged with pain. He sees no sign of gold, no lingering flickers and flashes of magic, and the relief is heady. He is not yet completely well; the fact that he is still in bed is evidence enough of that. But he is sitting up, and he no longer looks like death warmed over,

(too soon too soon)

and his face is twisted in irritation rather than pain.

Tommy has scooted his emerald block closer to the bed, is leaning forward, feet planted on the floor and hands planted on his knees, all bristling anger, indignation, face flushed and red. He puts Wilbur in mind of a cat, hissing and spitting at the object of his ire, making himself bigger than he truly is.

“—the fuck you want,” he’s saying, and his whisper is harsh, but it’s certainly a whisper. “I don’t fucking—I don’t owe you shit, you got that? I don’t owe you shit, so you can, you can fuck right off, you hear me?”

Techno blinks. “When did I say that, Tommy? Please tell me exactly when I said that,” he says, and—oh. Wilbur gets it now. Because Techno’s voice is quiet and rough, still thick with exhaustion, and he’s probably only a few minutes out from waking up. So, Tommy may be angry, may be positively irate, but whether he’s aware of it or not, he’s holding himself back, refusing to unleash the full force of his fury on someone who has objectively been through hell today.

(and Tommy is brash, and Tommy is loud, and Tommy performs being an irritating little shit like nobody’s business, but above all else, Tommy is good, and Tommy will never admit it, but he is kind, and it is a miracle that it hasn’t been beaten out of him along the way, that despite it all he has managed to keep his spirit, but he is kind, he is. and it is more despite him than because of him, but it is little moments like these that remind Wilbur why he is so proud of him)

“You don’t have to say it,” Tommy bites out. “Mister, mister violence is the only language or whatever the hell, mister vengeance, you’re big on favors and repaying them. But I—I didn’t ask you to do shit, you did that all on your own, so I don’t owe you. I’m saying it right now, I don’t owe you.”

There is an edge to the words. A fear. An expectation. Wilbur doesn’t expect it to hit him as hard as it does, but there is a pang in his chest, and he wonders if this is yet another lesson he imparted on his little brother. To expect no kindness without an ulterior motive.

(that was how he was, in the darkness of the ravine, seeking out the duplicity of everyone around him, even when there was none to be found, but it is one thing to look back and see clearly, now, what he was like, the slope he slid down, the spiral he entered, and another to continue to be confronted with the evidence of the hurt he caused, the hurt he has yet to truly make up for)

(here is a certainty that has not left him: he does not deserve Tommy’s forgiveness. that is another thing that can be attributed to his kindness. the kindness that somehow, between the wars and the country and the shadows, he did not manage to take from him, not like he took so much else)

“I didn’t do it so that you’d owe me,” Techno says. “Give me a little more credit than that.”

“Why should I?” Tommy erupts, though it is the quietest eruption that Wilbur has ever heard from him. “Why—give me one fucking reason why I should believe a word out of your mouth.”

“I don’t lie,” Techno states, flat. “I have no reason to.”

“Oh, right,” Tommy says, “because you’re so fucking honorable. You’re so fucking—I can’t deal with you, you know that? You’re a fucking hypocrite, and I don’t care what your game is. I don’t care. You’re the worst, and I—”

“I don’t want you dead,” Techno says. “That’s it. That’s why I did it, Tommy, simple as that.”

“Bullshit,” Tommy snaps. “Then what the fuck was Doomsday, then? What the fuck was telling me to die like a hero, then? You are just talking complete shit, shit out of your mouth, out of your arse—”

And then, Tommy, cuts off, because Techno tenses, seizing up, a sudden glimmer of gold in his eyes, and he grunts, hands curling into his bed sheets, his face blanking. Tommy moves forward, seemingly on instinct, hands reaching out to steady him, and there is is again, that kindness, that kindness that Tommy would rather die than allow anyone to point out.

The fit subsides, Techno breathing heavily. Tommy lingers for a moment, and then jerks back, scowling, as soon as Techno makes eye contact with him.

“Fuck off,” he mutters.

“At the end of the day,” Techno says, slowly, “it doesn’t really matter whether you believe me or not. I’ve been angry at you, Tommy. I can’t say that I don’t feel like it was justified. I’m sick of—” He closes his eyes, inhaling sharply, and then opens them again. “I’ve said all this before. It doesn’t matter. But I don’t want you dead, and I wasn’t about to let Dream kill you in front of me when I could do somethin’ about it. Between my first life and your third one, it was an easy choice.” He sighs, settling further down on the pillows. “Take it or leave it. I’m not arguin’ this right now.”

Tommy’s mouth works. Several emotions flicker across his face, and Wilbur can only pick out a few of them: disbelief, more anger, but perhaps something that might be hope. Perhaps. But if it is, he doesn’t get the chance to find out, because at that moment, Phil calls up from the base of the ladder.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and that’s right, he’s just been standing here, on the ladder, for the past few minutes. He can see why that would make Phil concerned. But that means that Tommy and Techno are both suddenly made aware of his presence.

“What—how long have you been there?” Tommy sputters, and he shrugs, clambering up the last rung or two and stepping fully into the room.

“Not too long,” he says. “Glad to see you cognizant, Techno.”

It’s all he can think so say, really, though there are a plethora of other statements crowding his mind. That has always been a weakness of his, his inability to allow himself to be emotional when it really counts, his habit of hiding everything beneath layers of deflection and a cool exterior. He and Techno aren’t dissimilar on that front, though Techno has a different way of going about it.

(so here is what he does not say: I’m so glad you’re alright, I saw you die when you’re supposed to be deathless and it terrified me, please never do that again, I know we’re broken and fucked up and maybe we’ll never be what we once were but I can’t imagine a life knowing that you won’t be there when I need you to be, so please, please stay alive)

“Can’t say I’m having a great time with it,” Techno mutters, and he’s definitely falling asleep again. “But thanks. Glad you’re not dead too, Wilbur.”

The ladder creaks again as Phil comes up, and he pauses a moment to survey the room before stepping in, eyebrows raising as he takes in the scene.

“Nobody bleeding or dying?” he asks wryly, and then crosses the floor to perch on the edge of Techno’s bed. “Hey, Tech, how you feeling?”

“Absolutely fantastic,” Techno says. “Top form, point me at the orphans.”

Phil laughs, more relief than anything else, and smooths some of Techno’s hair away from his face. Techno huffs out a sigh, but allows the gesture.

“Great,” Tommy says. “You all get anything, or was this whole thing for nothing?” There’s more hostility in his voice than necessary, though whether it’s genuine or to cover for his earlier emotion, Wilbur can’t tell.

“Nothing yet,” Phil says, unfazed. “We’ll spend the night here, get back at it in the morning. If we still don’t find shit, we’ll discuss where to go from there.”

Tommy crosses his arms, looking away, and he’s displeased at the concept of staying here, Wilbur can tell. So as Phil continues to lean over Techno, he slides over to him, nudging him in the arm. Tommy flinches, and then relaxes, eyeing him up.

“You good?” he murmurs, keeping his voice down.

“Fine,” Tommy replies. “Are we actually going to get anything out of this, or was this a big fucking waste of our time?”

Again, vitriol, and he remembers the conversation between him and Tubbo, overheard and unmentioned. After everything they’ve been through, a separation can’t be easy. On either of them, but especially on Tommy.

(a memory: buzzing excitement at doing something good, at helping, shining compasses, an inscription: Your Tubbo)

“It won’t be a waste of time,” he says, and the plan that’s been formulating in the back of his mind solidifies. It’s not a very good plan. But it’s something, and it’s more than they’ve got. “I’ll make sure of that.”

It is a general’s responsibility to lead his soldiers to victory, after all. And in the case of a half-baked, reckless plan, to take matters into his own hands.

And it is more than the general’s responsibility. It is his. For better, or for worse.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #philza #ranboo #dreamxd #tommyinnit #technoblade #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #pogtopia ref tag #minor but it's present

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missputotyra · 3 years

Text

Monster boy Encyclopedia- MDZS- Gusu Lan 1

“Welcome to Gusu Lan I assure you there is nothing wrong , I just don’t think humans and non-monsters can handle what the Cloud Recesses has become all at one .Please take this Stone and experience our true home at your lesiure . - Lan Xichen , Current leader of Gusu Lan.

- So Gusu Lan’s main base The cloud recesses is an Eldricht Demon realm . Which is why Xichen has filter over it for someone who is a good Cultivator like him it’s pretty easy to look at Gusu Lan in its full warped Eldricht Beauty with out going insane .

- They have a lot of Harpys and Were rabbits around the

- this dose Bring Concerns about about Sizhui the only human there who sees the true Cloud Rescesses everyday and is still sane . There are. Many theories that people have which includes Him actaully having a personal Filter , him being adopted at an age were he could adapt to it and the most ridiculous being Sizhui being a higher Eldricht Being hiding using Sizhui’s body as a way To manifest itself.

- Kamen Riders , Lilim and Patron Librarian also seem to be able to by pass the Filters on Cloud Recesses and not go insane.

- the Realm is described as A visual depiction of Music the Fauna is often as Living Lyrics, notes that’s Fly ,walk like normal creatures and the Scales move like snakes across the Sky and thier are constant beautiful mesmerizing voices singing the music of Gusu Lan

- but inside there a grating dissonance takes over the Mind of those unprepare for Gusu Lans True beauty. You’ll want to stay there forever and Turn into one of them an You’ll become a Slug , a Shoggoth , An Eldricht priest Or Very rarely a Mindflayer

- Shoggoth and mindflayer seemingly lose thier natural Pigment and turn white and Blue when joining the Sect. Shoggoth also lost thier Butler like devotion for a more familial devotion

- Though many of these Shoggoth were abandoned by thier masters to dry out on the mountain and thus felt betrayed

” what about these Slugs . Well the Slugs were originally Human members of Gusu Lan.”

Xichen seemed to change hes serene Tone for a more Melancholy one looking at one spefic Slug person with two Juniors one was a Slug like Him and other completely human . The Slug Junior seemed to have done something wrong as he was being pulled the older slug .

“Who was that you asked ? Hes my Younger brother Wangji…. I mean Lan Zhan .Wangji is a courtesy name.”

- Wen wanted to Assert Dominance . Basically in an Archery match the sects have every year in Wen sect no body from Wen sect came in the top 4 Lan Wangji came in 4th despite throwing the competion halfway ,He's brother Xichen came in second ,Jin Zixaun was third and in first was JC's Adopted Brother Wei Wuxian . This made Wen worry

- The first thing that Wen did was attack the cloud recesses of Gusu Lan .However Wen didn't just stop at forcing them to burn the place down not they did something worse after they had burned the Cloud recesses they then release a Large amount of Parasitic Slugs on the poor sect and since thier Home was burned they had no where to go , since Wangji 's Leg was broken and everyone left to run Wangji was infected more severely than most of the sect .

- However Lan sect was Surprisingly resistance. to Changes these Parasitic were making to thier bodies and Lasted a long while until Xichen came back with allies .Where Qiren inform him of the state Gusu Lan was in , If the slugs weren't removed they'd all sex addicted feral frankly ugly eldritch Slug creatures known as Deformers and says some have already transformed and left the sect in search of what ever unfortunate partner they can get thier hands on.

- Luckily, the Order of the Chief god heard the Plight of the sects fighting against Wen's sect and thier healer/doctors could help them . Not really ...the order of the chief god are kinda horrible people when it comes to monsters including the Chief god himself and When Xichen asks for help removing parasitic monsterizating slugs from members of his sect most healers/ Doctors from the order turned him down saying Gusu Lan was a lost cause and Xichen couldn't get help from healer's or doctors from the area even with help of Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue asking around when they weren't fighting no one would take the Job as it would require a skilled surgeon and Gusu Lan's resitiance to the change was dwiddling .

- Xichen started to notice that his own brother would sometimes attack him in a brief feral Lust fuel rages before snapping out it as if Wangji couldn't discern Xichen as his brother .

- Xichen was getting desperate he didn't want anymore of his Sect to become these feral minded sex fuel Monsters that barely any remembered who they were. Even if they did win the Sunshot campaign , Wen would still have the last laugh .Xichen even consider infecting himself with the slugs so that he'd aleast be able suffer with his sect in thier final moments of being human and being capable of having rational thought .Even though Jin Guangyao and Mingjue protested him doing this they both knew thier was no point Xichen was going to go down with his ship . “That was until a strange man who was eating cake at the other table put down his fork he seemed to have be from Zipangu“ Xichen countined his Story ”however Mingjue got more defensive when he saw the strange belt around his waist the man was a Masked Rider one the orders many Hero's several of whom help us out in the fights against Wen. “

- However this rider stated that he meant no harm as he hand over heard Xichen's plight about the parasitic slugs and give the men the hard truth ,The order doesn't operate on people with these Parasitic slugs inside them because Removing doesn't prevent people from becoming monsters.But it dose save thier ability to think rationally though they become an entirely different monster from a deformer .

- The rider then said He'd offer to help as he's known through the order as being a Master surgeon able operate on any organ. Xichen accepted his offer with tears of joy and hope it wasn't to late to save his brother and Uncle .

The Rider called his two female assistances over and told them they were headed to Gusu lan's Section of the battle field and then to the cloud recesses itself

- The Cloud Recesses now regard this rider and his assistances as a hero who selflessly put themselves on a the order's chopping block as they resisted the order commands not to help them .

” The Rider told me to call him Brave as to not give The order any reason to attack Gusu Lan .” Xichen snapped out his Reminescening when you ask a question “ What are the Slug people called now well Beforers .”

Beforers

- Beforers and Deformer are a Type of Eldricht Slug monster That was an Idea that me and a friend came up with during her Recent Star Wars obsession . I expanded upon Cloud Recesses and Beforers After taking a look at Junji Itos Uzamaki you know the story where people turn into snails and spirals .

. - yes Gusu Lan being Eldricht beings is inspired by the Eldritch Lan Au I personally found it on@angstymdzsthoughts

- Anyways beforer just like Other Eldritch monsters are Weird . Beforers and Deformers are classified as Tritionia subspecies as they look like Sea slug though thier body structure mimic The struture of blue Dragon sea slugs( though they often are seen with legs ) they can have the Look of anything kind of sea slug.

- Deformers come from a Parasite . Deformers are basically Feral Eldritch beasts that basically Attack anyone the see as a potenial Vessels For the slug parasites and Taking them out is A basically only one way to become a Beforer as previous Said Gusu Lans Music can also cause humans to become beforer .

- So Beforer don’t manifest Genitals until they take partners. but they do Birth Asexually little slug creatures That eventually turning into Beforers basically cloning themselves

-Yes Beforers are Hermaphrodites like Normal slugs .

- They a look plumper and Gain Long tentacles like appendage that grow from their lower back that seem to have mind of its own after Taking a partner.

-yes The Tentacles are infact Their Partners dont worry they can change back at will . They do the weird Transformation thing all eldritch monster do.

—-

“ What Am I ? ” Xichen looked in confusing “ I’m A Kind of Subspecies of the Dark Priest , I guess you could say I’m an Eldritch Priest.

“ A few month Of living in this Realm I start having dreams I was in the water in the deepest Depths of the ocean and a voice saying that I should Join my people and teach them of the Great old ones. ”

Eldritch priest

- a Subspecies of the Dark Priest Who are more connected to the the Great Old one .

-They are more Cultish in behavior than the Dark priest of the Fallen god.

- usually keep doing thier Jobs of recruting people into the great church of Cthulhu even after obtain partners.

- What Eldritch priest transform thier Partner into is Entirely thier Choice Among the Eldritch Monsters .

You notice the strange almost Mint green colored cloak or was it a pale Yellow it was twice as Large as Xichen and it was really dark inside but , Did you see two scary looking yet familar Faces in that cloak . Your suspicions were confirmed by a hand Coming out and stroking Xichens Face it’s had Yellow sleeves so they had to be from Jin .

——-—

Notable individuals In Gusu Lan

Name: Lan Xichen

Species : Eldritch Priest

Notes: He’s smiles all the time and it’s kind of unsettling . Their are often Golden and/or Green Masses attached to Xichen so hes Most likely Taken .

Favorite color: …White I’ll describe it as white

Favorite Types: Caring and tender people

Status: Taken?

-———-

Name: Lan Qiren

Species : Beforer

Notes: He’s Apparently Lan Xichen and Lan Zhans Uncel

Alot people like the “Moustache”

looks more like Chromodoris willani

Favorite color: Navy Blur

Favorite Type: …he hasn’t really thought about that I guess Mature and Gentel

Status : Singel

————-—

Name: Lan Zhan

Species : Beforer

Notes:

He looks so Sad

he Hates the Leader of Yunmeng Jiang with hidden burning Passion and Lan Zhan wrote down he wished that “ The Leader of Yumeng Jiang be put to sleep like the dirty mutt he is.”

Lan Zhan also wonders why BoJian( MDZS oc) is Even friends with Yunmeng Jiang‘s Leader

Likes rabbits

looks like Glaucus Aka Blue Dragon sea slug

Favorite color: Red

Favorite Type: he Drew a picture that looked similar to current Yiling sect leader if he was human . When we mentioned this he immediately tagged along with us to Yiling .

————-—

Name: Lan Jingyi

Species : Beforer

Notes: He was Born a Beforer it’s believed he split from Lan Zhan

We thought He and Sizhui were twins but they arent

sweet kid ,Huge mouth ,forgetful

Looks like Chromodoris elisabethina

Favorite color: Blue

Favorite Type: I don’t know someone like Jin Ling !?

Stautus : I’m not ready to marry yet !! ;-;

———-—

Name:Lan Sizhui

Species : Hes Human

Notes: The only Human Gusu Lan

Lan Zhan says he came from Wen

As Said before This is Strange because He’s only a Junior and hasnt Gone insane for Gusu Lans Beauty

Favorite color: Periwinkle

Favorite Type: I have no idea I guess I follow Jingyi and Say someone like Jin Ling

status: Not ready

#eldritch #eldritch!lan #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mo dao zhu shi #lan xichen #gusu lan #lan sizhui #lan zhan #lan wangji #kamen rider #kamen rider ex aid #monster boy #monster girl encyclopedia #alternative universe #crossover au #crossover

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thessalian · 3 years

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Thess vs Systems of Choice

I know that some people - hell, a lot of people - are like, “Try something besides 5e! It’s not as good for combat as some! It’s not as good for characters as some! You could do better!” Which is a laudable sentiment, for the most part. Trying new things is good. Just ... there’s a focus on “you could do better” rather than “you might find something you personally like better” in these posts that kind of gets to me. So, for the record, a few notes from someone who found D&D late and never looked back.

See, the first system I tried was GURPS, back around 2000. Didn’t do it for me. Was too complicated for most of my players, and didn’t work online back then anyway. Then I got my first shot at an in-person game and we played 7th Sea - first edition, not the Swashbuckling Adventures version made by the d20 rules of the day. Back then, D&D was 3.5 trending to 4. THAC0 was troublesome to calculate for anyone not mathematically minded, and 4 had some balance problems, but honestly, that’s not the moderately tame take on D&D I got from my little Panache System pigeonhole at the time. What I got was, “D&D is only good for dungeon crawls and min/maxers!” and an admonition that “RPers who like actual roleplay and story don’t play that”, more or less. So I avoided it. Instead, I fell into old World of Darkness, and a few other systems for one-shots. Big Eyes, Small Mouth was an interesting one, but the WoD was basically my jam. Even then, I’d argue that it makes combat more complicated than it needs to be, particularly in how it establishes combat order and damage, and Mage in particular was a bit too open-ended for certain sorts of people. I mean, really - you look at a WoD character sheet and there’s a lot going on. Still, with the right group, it can work. Probably a little too complicated for most of mine, though.

I played WoD for a long time and didn’t really discover D&D until 5e hit. And 5e struck a really good balance for me. Compared to what I was used to, things like combat order and action economy, an actual spell list for casters, and a streamlined set of non-martial skills was such a relief. Character creation allows for both the min/max approach and the “character is all“ approach, and just about anything in between those two extremes, and there’s enough wiggle room to do a lot of pain-free homebrew as well as some nice set modules for those who don’t have the spoons to homebrew a campaign but still want to let people make characters of RP awesome and / or just hit monsters until money comes out like squishy, occasionally eldritch pinatas. But I was still up for trying other systems, as much for the settings as anything else.

And then I tried Shadowrun and if that book wasn’t so fucking pretty I’d have thrown it on a ritual pyre by now. The book itself is a problem, because the new edition was written for fans, by fans, and is not laid out for the novice to properly understand. I mean, WoD books used to break up sections with little fiction snippets to give the mood and tone of the setting but then went straight clinical for the descriptions. The Shadowrun book does not do that; the fiction and art are thrown in willy-nilly, they scatter sidebars through the thing like a couple of rounds of buckshot, and it’s just hard to read. Plus, again, you’re getting into issues with action economy, damage numbers ... I’m sure some people love it but dear gods it was not for me. Wasn’t really for my players either.

At the end of the day, I do recommend trying other systems to see what works for you. I just won’t say that any one system is objectively better or worse than any other. Some people want something that focuses combat entirely. Others want one where combat is effectively a sideline. For me? 5e’s approach of “Jack of all trades, master of none” works pretty well for me and my players, because we’re all far away from each other, we have limited play time, we’re not all of us neurotypical and sometimes it’s nice to be able to swap tracks from “Intense RP Scenario” to “Dungeon Crawl” to “Epic Battle Against Huge Loot Pinata” really easily. I don’t need it to be perfect for any one thing; I need it to work well enough to do everything I need it to do. I want relatively minimal maths, a reasonably solid foundation structure with the flexibility to withstand a lot of homebrew, decently balanced action economy that keeps combat moving while still allowing people to do something badass, stuff like that. 5e gives me that in a way I haven’t found in other games so far. It may not work for others, but it works for me. Maybe there’s a better game out there, one that gives me more of what I want ... but y’know? I have such limited RP time and have so few spoons that I don’t have it in me to look for something ‘better’ when what I’ve got works for me.

I mean, I miss WoD sometimes, for all the system got a bit complicated (though I feel that the nWoD setting was great but the mechanics need a serious homebrew before I’ll love them). And I get not wanting to give WotC money; they are not a good company, and a lot of indie companies are better. Thing is, EA’s not a good company either and while I’ll say to try indie RPG video games, I’m not going to say that there’s objectively better games than Dragon Age, or that Dragon Age is somehow bad, while trying to make my point. I just wish people could talk about how much they love a system or believe in having a diverse range of RPG systems without insulting a system that some people love not because it’s popular but because it’s exactly what they or their group needs.

(As for trying older versions of D&D? If you want it, you’re welcome to it, but don’t even think about suggesting that I calculate THAC0. To Hit Armour Class 0 is, in my view, an overly complicated way of figuring out whether or not you hit something.)

#Thess RPs

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lethargic-caterpillar · 4 years

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Let’s try this again (SFW)

Gender Neutral Shadow monster x Gender Neutral! Reader

I went a teeny weeny bit off script but it’s still a nervous reader that is reluctant to fall for another monster after their last rejection.

@exxo-potato

---

Your cat had been acting rather strange as of late. Keyboard seemed to be rather sad, despite treats and some snazzy new toys you could not get him away from the window. He wouldn’t even get up for your best friend, who was his best friend.

“Maybe he’s reflecting your mood,” she had said when she came over for a visit. “Like that whole thing about animals being like their owners. You have been a little out of sorts since...”

You stop her with a look, Paisley falls silent and takes another sip from her water bottle. You knew already that you were off, you just didn’t know how to stop. How to go back to normal after the whole anthropophilic naga incident.

It was pretty common for a human and a monster to be in a public relationship nowadays, but there were still some naysayers. You were alive during the protests that used to happen when the government had finally legalised monster human marriage.

You thought that your workplace was safe from that kind of discrimination, but the naga you used to crush on proved that theory wrong. Her words had stung worse than any bee, not only were you rejected, you were also insulted by the personal comments she made. The slump that the situation had put you in got so bad that your boss gave you a week off in pity as it had resulted in non-efficiency.

Of course your boss didn’t know why so eventually when you go back she’ll be there too.

"You should get a cat behaviour consultant," Paisley suggests as if it's the most normal thing ever.

"A who and a what now?"

"Oh yeah, there's this totally legit consultant that I hired when Jordan started eating socks," you snort, you'd forgotten about that whole ordeal. Paisley had never told you how the problem stopped, but a cat behaviour consultant seems as likely as anything when your cat is swallowing socks.

Paisley gives you the website as well as the business card she kept in her overflowing wallet. You look at Keyboard, who was still sitting in the window, and pull out your laptop with a sigh.

It's a pretty legit, local company. It also says that this is a side profession though, what an odd choice. This person must really love cats. The only sketchy thing was that there were no pictures of the actual consultant.

After having an argument with yourself, before going to sleep, you called the number provided in the contact section the next day. Every few minutes, you look towards the digital clock on your oven to see if it had suddenly become 3 o'clock.

"Keyboard, you silly kitty, I do these things for you and you alone." you point at your orange tabby and give him a look when you hear the doorbell ring. You aren't sure what exactly you were expecting, but this definitely was not it.

They were shorter than you by about four inches or so. At first glance, you'd assume they were a slime monster, but with a closer look, you saw that shadows were coming off of their matte skin. Definitely not slime. The little spots drifted towards the floor and disappeared immediately. Their hand was unusually warm, bordering on hot, but the shadows that transferred from their fingers to yours were cool.

"Hello! I'm here to see Keyboard?" the voice of the monster sounded like it was actually three voices. They hesitated when they said your cat's name as well, which wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

"Yes, he's on the windowsill and has been for nearly a week," you step aside so that they can walk in... or glide in? "This is embarrassing but, I don't actually know your name?" There was a name on the website, of course, you knew that you would have butchered it six ways from Sunday if you tried to pronounce it though.

The Eldritch horror like being laughed in that strange voice, and it sounds like a weird Snap chat filter. "You can just call me Chess!"

When Chess knelt down next to your stationary cat, they took off their square-framed glasses and their eyes started to glow purple, eyes that were not previously visible. You shivered a bit, feeling oddly drawn to the light.

Keyboard obviously felt it as he stood up and stretched, mewing softly. He stood on the lap of Chess, his little paws sank a little bit into the shadows collected there. The consultant puts their glasses back on and their eyes become little semi-circles. They must be smiling.

“What a pretty kitty,” Chess rubs under your cat’s chin and between his ears. “He’s giving off some very… unhappy energy. I think it’s his stomach that’s bothering him.” you nod, unsure of what to say.

“May I see what food brand you buy?” They set down Keyboard and stand back up from their position. You rush into the laundry room that doubles as the station for all of your cat's needs. The bag of food sits in the same cupboard as the kitty litter, it wasn’t anything fancy. It was the same cat food that you fed him for nearly his whole life.

You show the bag to Chess and they hum, which is just as weird as any other noise they make. “This one is quite fine, though it is dry… How old is Keyboard?” they look up at you and you look at your cat, the eye contact makes you feel warm.

“I think he’s 17? I can’t remember,” you laugh awkwardly, and Chess’s semi-circles return. They pass you the bag of cat food.

“Then perhaps it’s time to switch to a senior cat formula,” Chess says and looks towards the cat who is still purring in the windowsill, but instead of looking outside, he’s looking at you both. The grin on his face is contagious.

Chess gives you the name of a brand to try and you schedule another appointment in a week. They tell you that they’ll send an invoice, and you close the door behind them with a sigh. You sit down and pet Keyboards head when he comes to say hello. They were so nice and weren’t too bad to look at, sort of cute in a nerdy, cat-person way.

NO! No, no-no-no. No feelings. Not for a good long while. Especially not for a monster. You did that one too many times.

You had stopped yourself from focusing on them until Thursday came around, you were taking back the open bag of cat food as the store you had gotten it from a program for returning opened bags. It was a nice way to get rid of unwanted or unused food.

You’re standing in front of the wall of cat toys, thinking it would be nice for Keyboard to have a new friend. His favourite had dropped it’s last feather last month and you’d meant to find a replacement earlier. You pick a green and pink mouse with a feather tail that looks durable enough and without looking, you turn around to walk to the checkout.

You bump into someone and drop the mouse. A familiar voice apologises and an equally familiar, shadowed hand picks up the cat toy. “Sorry about that!” they say cheerfully and pass the colourful mouse back to you.

“Oh, no. It’s my bad. Should’ve looked where I was walking,” you push out those words, your face feels really warm and you know that you’re ruby red. Chess wobbles and you think that that was them shaking their head.

“I’m a little hard to spot,” their hand gestures to the bit of height difference between the two of you. You chuckle, but you also notice that they seem even smaller than the first time you met. You brush it off, it must just be your imagination.

“Still though,” you shrug and Chess grins, their eyes, which are visible, becoming half circles. “Have a nice rest of your day, see you in a few days!” you let out a breath and turn on your heel, home time. It was such a long day of actively avoiding the naga at your work and the rumours about your rejection that were travelling at light speed around the office.

“Wait! I’m so sorry, and feel free to say no, but… do you think maybe we could meet before then?” Chess’s eyes dull and their shadows expand out a bit, to hide, you assume. “And not to talk about your cat, unless Keyboard came up of course then I would totally talk with you about him. Such a nice kitty,” they start to mumble, spacing out a bit. You bring them back to reality.

“Yes. Yes, let’s go out,” you smile at them, feeling a great weight being lifted from your chest.

---

They were supposed to be some sort of shy eldritch horror with an ability to attract cats (and sometimes people), and feel the energy that certain things give off (mostly just cats). I think that this does a fine job. Might just expand later.

My posting will slow down even more due to some personal problems that don’t have a real or permanent solution at the moment. However I do have some ideas and will try to get them set up for the future, perhaps as less of a short story and more like headcanons: A Worn-Out Caterpillar~

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #monster s/o #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster imagine

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monster-bait · 4 years

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Monster Match: Ellis the Minotaur, SFW

For @hina-chans-stuff: I'd love someone big, like tall and broad, to just cuddle and be soft with. Someone caring. Doesn't have to be built like a model, a little bit of belly is always appreciated. What I don't like would be someone really rough/mean. Being an asshole is never good.

Your favorite chair was near the windows, tucked in an out of the way corner.

Bookstores had always been your cryptonite, but your small flat was fit to bursting. Even one more little trade paperback might prevent you from being able to open the door, and you knew you had to ease up on your habit. You passed the community library on your way home every day, and it made no sense to not take advantage of its stacks, you’d decided.

The first time you’d dropped in had been a perfect reading day: grey and chilly, with a steady drizzle slickening the streets.

The coziness of the space shocked you. The library at your university had been a cavernous building with soaring ceilings and shelves that towered at least twenty feet in the air. It had been cold and uninviting, and you’d hated spending time there. This library, by contrast, was full of shadowed corners and dim little alcoves, beckoning you to explore, and explore you had.

“Was there anything I can help you find?”

The voice behind you was low and friendly, and as you’d turned, you’d found yourself staring up...and up...until you met the speaker’s wide brown eyes. He was a minotaur, tall and impossibly broad, his wide shoulders nearly completely filling the doorway where he stood. His horns were extremely impressive, and shaggy auburn hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes, which had been crinkled with a smile.

“Umm...fantasy, maybe?”

He’d led you to a tucked away corner near the windows, adjacent to an overstuffed armchair. “I just finished this one” he said, tapping the cover of a thick book featuring a young girl standing on the beach, feet away from a writhing eldritch horror in the water. “It was a fun ride, if you read it you’ll have to tell me what you think of it. The occult section is right down that hallway,” he pointed, “and yes, it’s definitely haunted.”

He’d grinned down, and you were struck dumb by the sparkle in his chocolate eyes. His attention had been diverted to another patron hovering nearby a moment later, and had turned away with a wave.

You’d curled into the comfy chair with the book he’d recommended, your attention caught by his wide shoulders and wider horns every time he passed through the room. You’d felt heat, all the way up to the tops of your ears when he’d passed by you at the check-out counter, nodding at the book.

“You need to come back and let me know what you think!”

“I-I will,” you stammered, flushing as he grinned. Big and handsome with a friendly smile and kind eyes...exactly your type.

“It’s a date then!”

“Chocolate chip or snickerdoodle?”

A broad form cast your chair in shadow, and you grinned up. The little bakery was bustling as always, and you sipped your bubble tea, mulling over the choice. “Hmm...I think chocolate chip, but snickerdoodle is fine too.”

Ellis dropped to the chair beside you, breaking each of the cookies in half. “There, best of both worlds. What’s the liquid dessert today?”

You laughed at his accurate assertion, passing him his cup. “Almond turtle. There’s so much syrup goo at the bottom, the cup is actually heavy.”

He moaned in delight, sipping at the coffee confection. “Perfect.”

It had been several months since you’d stepped into the little community library. Several months of getting to know the reference librarian, several months to discover his sweet tooth, the cowlick in his auburn hair, to appreciate the wide span of his back and the soft paunch of his belly; the way he loved science fiction and thrillers, and the way he’d tug on one of your curls in parting every week.

You were smitten with the big minotaur, but you didn’t know how to tell him so.

You’d ran into each other at the little bakery around the corner several weeks back; you on your way home, and him on his lunch break. He’d insisted that you sit with him and finish the coffee you’d ordered, discussing the books you were both reading, and the grant the library had just won to expand the building.

After that day, strolling to the bakery had become a part of your weekly routine. Coffee and a cookie, sometimes hot chocolate and a meringue, or lemonade and a shared cupcake. He considered you a friend now, and you knew you ought to be happy with that.

“Mystery Science Theater 3000 is the midnight screening at the Paramour this weekend,” he mentioned casually, sipping his drink. “I think it’s the one with the screaming skull.”

You loved the way he snapped his fingers when he was deep in thought, you thought dreamily, and the shift of his big hips as he leaned over the old fashioned card catalog, showing school children the antiquated system.

You jumped when you realized he was repeating your name, an amused smile on his wide mouth. His lips were pillowy and pink, and you wondered what they would feel like, pressed to your own.

“So, uh...what do you think? Too weird? Did I just ruin everything?” Ellis shifted anxiously in his seat glancing up to you with a furrowed brow.

“Wha-what?”

He squinted in disbelief and your face flamed.

“I um, I was distracted...what did you say? What did you ruin?”

His big head dropped back, blowing air through his lips in a noisy exhale.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re so cute. I asked if you wanted to go to the movie tomorrow. We can grab some dinner beforehand, there’s a really great place on the same block as the theater that does awesome vegetarian tacos...you know, like a date.”

The world seemed to come to a grinding halt then, life in the bakery freezing, and nothing existed but your pounding heart and the slow blink of the chocolate eyes before you, the object of your crush asking you out.

“That-that sounds amazing,” you whispered. A slow smile spread on Ellis’s face, and a giant hand reached out to gently tug on one of your curls. You had an image then, rainy Sunday afternoons, his day off, spent snuggled on the sofa, cuddled against his big chest, baking cookies, reading together, going to museums.

“Good,” he sighed, chuckling in relief. “I wanted to ask you out weeks ago, but...this has been really nice, and I didn't want to ruin things.”

Your hand was warm in his as he gripped it, walking the short distance up the block to the library. “So I’ll pick you up tomorrow around eight? We can grab an Uber if the weather doesn’t cooperate, but it’s a nice walk otherwise.”

He was stupidly tall, and you were obliged to grip his shirt and drag him down, but his cheek was soft, soft and warm beneath your lips.

“It’s a date.”

#Exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #minotaur #minotaur boyfriend #monsterbait writes #monster match #monster matchmaker #monster matches #exophilia writer #exophilia creators #The book he recs #Is one I plan on writing

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arce-elliot · 3 years

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Magnus Archives - First Impressions (Ep. 26-50)

Into Season 2 now! More reactions from someone who had 75% of the series spoiled for them.

EP 26 (A Distortion): - !!!Sasha Statement!!! - reaching INTO her shoulder??? fucking no?? michael can you chill??? - OH okay he was helping nevermind

EP 27 (A Sturdy Lock): - this is just a sad old man

EP 28 (Skintight): - MELANIE!!!!! - G E O R G I E N A M E D R O P

EP 29 (Cheating Death) - Wowee another war one - Fiona Law sounds familiar from somewhere - AYYY Gertrude you old hag

EP 30 (Killing Floor): - Meat 2 Electric Boogaloo: this time with more meat - Remember that one scene in "What Remains of Edith Finch" yeah i get those vibes

EP 31 (First Hunt): - HUNT EPISODE HUNT EPISODE - Oh America? Nice - "i heard whistling" FUCKING BYE - Jon is so tired I'm sorry little bastard man

EP 32 (The Hive): - GOD that was so unsettling wtf - Jane Prentiss is terrifying - Also OLIVER BANKS i think NEAT

EP 33 (Boatswain's Call): - TIMOTHY MY BOY - ah shit peter lukas time - Elias: "research the statements no not that one"

EP 34 (Anatomy Class): - "bone, blood, fruit" IS THIS THE FUCKING APPLE TEETH THING - lmao gimme ur bones - these poor eldritch horrors just wanted to learn :c

EP 35 (Old Passages): - "teenager in all black" ah yes hello Gerard - listening to regular people just dealing w/ Gerard is hilarious - BREEKON AND HOPE??????

EP 36 (Taken Ill): - aww poor old people - Trevor and Julia up to some bullshit I see - ah shit here's that fuckin table

EP 37 (Burnt Offering): - Jon being annoyed at Martin, nice start - Ayy old lady that's Gertrude - DING DING DING i'm a genius - Jon take a nap good lord

EP 38 (Lost and Found): - OH HELL YES HOMOPHOBIC VASE TIME HERE WE GOOOOOOOO - every time Sasha speaks I get so sad I don't want her to go :C

EP 39 (Infestation): - not the bye bye sasha episode :c - stop YELLIN u nerds this is CHAOS - Martin and his fuckin corkscrews lmao - "i refuse to become another goddamn mystery" jon bestie i'm afraid to tell you this - "i don't know what happened to gertrude, she's officially still missing" yet again, jon, bestie, i'm afraid to tell you this - someone right "tim over here" on a piece of fuckin paper and slam it on the window - SASHA NO YOU DUMB SHIT - YES MARTIN GET HIS ASS - oh nice we're trauma bonding - Timmy to the rescue! - SASHA NO MY BABY - this podcast sucks i'm crying i hate it here

EP 40 (Human Remains): - I LIVED THROUGH THAT AND THIS IS MY REWARD, A STATEMENT FROM RAT BASTARD??? i hate it here - hey jon? yell at martin one more time see what happens - your boss is an eldritch monster but oh no scawy gun

EP 41 (Too Deep): - jon really soundin like a whole dumbass here ngl

EP 42 (Grifter's Bone): - *Holt voice* BONE??? - hey lady maybe dont do -gestures to the entire episode- - LEAVE MARTIN ALONE YOU SHIT

EP 43 (Section 31): - wait do i know this voice? she sounds familiar might be from tiktok tho - BASIRA! BASIRA! AYYYYY! FINALLY ANOTHER BRAIN CELL! sasha: dies elias: shit fuck Jon needs a brain cell basira: -makes a statement- elias: perfect are you currently employed - wait is this the fucking uhhhhh other burned dude in the gerry hospital episode???? - B O O K - OH FUCK DAISY - supplementals be like "dear diary, i am still paranoid as shit, end supplemental"

EP 44 (Tightrope): - GERTRUDE! - this statement giver is a clown purist - ah shit circus of the other lol

EP 45 (Blood Bag): - mosquito stinky - stop spying on Tim damn it - HE'S YOUR FRIEND YOU FOOL

EP 46 (Literary Heights): - MIKE CREW AYYY - Run boy run the enderman's gonna get ya - Jon continues to be a Perfectly Reasonable Individual

EP 47 (The New Door): - Michael time? Please Michael Time - OH HELEN? - helen being a real estate agent makes everything i know about her make sense now - MICHAEL THERE HE IS! THERE'S MY BOY!

EP 48 (Lost in the Crowd): - "there's a purity in being alone when you travel" must be nice to be a cishet white man - WAIT IT'S A WOMAN WTF LADY UR GONNA DIE - "long black hair" oh lord hello my dear Gerard gerard: i'm going on holiday this lady: -reeks of the lonely- gerard, grumbling: i swear I have to do everything my damn self

EP 49 (The Butcher's Window): - "Butcher's Window" oh boy we love a good flesh episode - Ah yes the other Jared - we love bi king Tim

EP 50 (Foundations): - I wasn't paying attention to the date so when the statement giver said "Dear Jonah" I about shit myself - Tim no I like Basira

#magnus archives #the magnus archives

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mossy-covered-bones · 3 years

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The Abyss: Xanthar’s Tale

Part 4

(Introduction)—(Previous)—(next)

I kinda zoomed through the last part of this part as soon as I sat down to start writing, so here. Was gonna make it longer but I wanted to break it up and put the last section in the next part.

Anyways here!

—

“You have been more reserved as of late, X. Are you alright?”

(———) shrugged, readjusting the beanie * had tucked *s hair into that morning in the mirror. An experiment, to see if hiding *s hair would help. “Yeah, just… thinking more.”

“About?”

“Well…” (———) hesitated. “I’m thinking of cutting my hair.”

Asterisk hummed it’s agreement. “Shorter hair would look very good on you, yes. Have you looked into styles you would like to try?”

X nodded, pulling out *s phone and shifting closer to the mirror. “There were a few i found last night—“

“Do not touch the glass.”

“Right, sorry.” * leaned back on *s arm, angling the phone so Asterisk could see. “Something like this.”

It hummed, low and gravely in that odd, tinkling-glass voice. “That is very short. You are aiming for a dramatic change?”

“Well… you think that’s too short? I knew I should’ve looked into longer cuts, maybe I’ll just get it cut to my shoulders—“

“I was simply asking, not remarking on your choices. Do not worry, I think your choices would suit you.”

“Ah, okay.” (———) clutched *s phone to *s chest, scooting away from the mirror to where * was before.

Asterisk blinked. “When do you intend to cut your hair?”

“This weekend, when I have a day off. Figured the sooner the better, yeah?”

“That is wise. I wish you luck with that.”

“Thanks. Hey, so—“

Oh, gods, X had forgotten how much * hated getting *s hair cut. It was always such a hassle. And so expensive.

“Hello, I’ll be cutting your hair today. What are you looking for?”

(———) pulled out *s phone, showing the hairstylist the photos * had saved. “Something like this?”

She nodded. “Alrighty then. Follow me, miss.”

(———)’s stomach turned in a way that wasn’t quite related to the stress of social situations. * trailed after her regardless, following the stylist to the chair she sat * in.

The hairstylist frowned, glancing over *s head. “Are you alright with keeping your bangs? I can’t really change that.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“You’re getting a pretty big change today, uh?”

(———) hummed an affirmative, and she started to cut.

* tried not to wince at the sound of the scissors cutting hair. It was one of the worst sounds, even when it wasn’t *s own.

Clumps of auburn hair fell to the floor.

X wasn’t sure how long * sat there, air filled with the sound of scissors cutting hair and the chatter of other people in the salon, before the stylist stepped back, humming approvingly.

“Alright, I think we’re done here.” She spun the chair so that (———) could see *self in the large mirror in the stylist's workspace.

It…

It looked good.

X carded a hand through *s hair. It was just so light and short and fluffy—

“Woah. Almost didn’t recognize you there, (———)!”

“Oh, hi, David.”

He smiled. “You didn’t really strike me as the short hair type. It looks good on you, though.”

“Oh, thanks,” (———) mumbled, picking at the fabric of *s sweater. “I should probably get to work, I’ll see you around… or something.”

“Alrighty, see you later.”

(———) gave a slight wave, before ducking away to the archives to get started.

X cursed to *self as * stood outside the door to Asterisk’s room. * had forgotten to grab a spare set of batteries, and the lantern * normally brought with * wasn’t turning on.

* sighed, pulling out *s phone instead. It probably wouldn’t live long enough, but the last thing X wanted was to be in that room in complete darkness. Even if * did trust Asterisk.

It wasn’t as creepy as the first two times they had come in here, at least. Not when * knew Asterisk was really the only thing in here. Well, besides all the things covered in white sheets. The white masses formed monsters at the edges of (———)’s vision in the low, uneven lighting, making * jump and yank the light over the room.

(———) definitely took longer to reach Asterisk’s mirror this time, rubbing *s arms in an attempt to smooth away the goosebumps under *s sleeves as they sat in front of it.

“Hello, X. Where is your lantern?”

* shrugged, despite Asterisk probably not being able to see in the poor lighting. “The batteries were dead, and I don’t have any spares. I’vestill got my phone, at least.”

It hummed it’s disapproval, voice high and gravely as it began to speak again. “I would not trust that. Not here, at the very least.”

“Why, are there other eldritch horrors trapped in mirrors here?” X asked, a slight smile on their lips.

X barely saw Asterisk’s eyes narrowing in the unreliable light. “You should be glad we were the first being you encountered down here. I do not doubt that an archive this hold and vast would not have acquired more. Be it my kind or otherwise.”

“You’re really nice, who’s to say any others wouldn’t be?”

“Xan—” Asterisk stopped itself. It’s voice dropped to a low rumble as it continued. “X, I am a very old, very powerful thing. Even trapped in here, I could cause untold amounts of damage to you or this place. If I so wished.”

(———) swallowed, pressing *s hands into the concrete floor to keep them from shaking at Asterisk’s tone. “But you don’t want to. Right?”

“No. But we could. There is no guarantee that any other beings you find here would have similar reservations. I have accepted my… role, one could say. You would not have the luxury with them.”

* huffed a sigh. “You’ve been so vague about all that. You’ve mentioned the one person you met before me, and you’ve refused to tell me anything about them. Your role. That has to do with them, doesn’t it?”

“We have been over this. I will not tell you of my interactions with them and what they asked me to do until you stumble upon the realization of what drew you to me to begin with.”

X scoffed under their breath, looking down at the phone in their hands.

“By the way, that haircut looks very good on you, X.”

* paused.

“Thank you.”

@definitely-a-living-human @catdragonunicorn @genesiscaveat

#I’m really curious about any theories you guys might have about where I plan to take this 👀#I already have the gist of it plotted out #idk I am very obsessed with my OCs #the abyss #xanthar #oc #original character #original story #original writing #writing

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limeinaltime · 3 years

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The Limeverse is basically a timeline that split off from Homestuck so while everyone’s trapped in canonically dubious hell, the canon characters in the Limeverse are vibing and living their best lives while Lilith and Lyerre Neon Genesis Evangelion their way to the top of the eldritch heirarchy so it can stay that way. I am open to suggestions, but here’s what I have in my head so far:

- June becomes a stand-up comedian, but sticks to small shows instead of going big

- Rose’s main work involves grub adoption and the healtcare of the Mother Grub, but she also ends up making a few novels in the future

- Dave ends up working for the defense force Earth C set up during the absence of the gods and the uprising of eldritch horrors from the void, and mainly works as a trainer for the rookies. Dude’s kind of awkward with them, but is very encouraging and understanding. Also he makes SBAHJ a youtube animated series or something in his spare time SBAHJ cinematic universe real

- Jade works in nuclear physics, but also has her own garden/flower shop that she runs with Davepetasprite. They built their home in the field that borders the city and live a nice life. Since she’s the second most powerful being on Earth C, Jade and Lilith work together sometimes, mainly in the evacutaion of citizens in case of an emergency, as well as damage control.

- Jane basically tears Corckercorp to the ground and makes her own baking business alongside the Nanasprites, her dad and Jasperose. It’s a hit, and she learns to make the healing cookies and sells them to hospitals. Make a living, save some lives :D While she says she’s not focusing on romance atm, there’s definitely something forming between her and Jasperosesprite ;)

- I don’t have any ideas for Roxy, but she’s happy with where she is and still stays in touch with her friends

- Dirk is a mechanic, but also collabs with Dave on SBAHJ

- IDK what Jake would do for a living yet, but it would involve traveling Earth C and rediscovering the old world

- Aradia becomes an archeologist and helps recover stuff from the Old Earth alongside Jake. Since she no longer has to worry about her short lifespan (with the defeat of the Condesce, the age effects of the caste system vanished with the new generation of trolls, and she’s immortal so yeah) I feel like she’d end up teaching a college course on anthropology in the far future and when her students ask if she was really there as a joke she just does that signature Aradia smile and continues with the lecture.

- Tavros breaks off from the friend group to do his own thing and gets a job as a zookeeper. He’s still better with animals than he is with people, but he’s a lot more confident and happier than he was before. He probably looks the most like his ancestor.

- Sollux was an IT worker before Lilith came to Earth C, hated it, worked at Starbucks for a bit, got called up by Karkat and became a pilot. He’s the “youngest” of the goldbloods (minus the 5000-year time skip) but the best flier and had an easy time passing the entrance exam. He and Karkat are still good friends/rivals, and pretty much everyone in the entire force knows he’s got it bad for their eldritch ally. Everyone in the force is a Solith shipper lol.

-Lyerre is a pole dance instructor, but also works as a stand-in guardian while Lilith’s off doing DF work. He usually teams up with Horrorterror and can kick ass just as well as Lilith can. He also takes on gigs as resturants and bars as a singer, but Lilith usually tags along to keep his siren powers from getting too out of control.

- Commander Karkat is canon in this AU, and he’s one of the main heads of the defense force. He’s long given up on trying to be like his ancestor, and instead leads in his own snappy but well-meaning way. He works with Lilith a lot to help keep the citizens safe when she has to toss a giant monster into the stratosphere, and she trained him to fight on the side. Yeah, he can try to come off as cool and tough (dude hit one hell of a growth spurt during his adult molt and still lords it over his friends) but everyone knows that he’s a total softy deep down thanks to Dave.

- Nepeta also joins the defense force and is one of their best fighters. She and Equius are roommates and he frets constantly when she goes off on business trips and stuff. She has a huge celebrity crush on Lilith.

- Kanaya works with the Mother Grub, but also makes clothes as a side job. She’s gotten offers from companies, but so far has turned them all down. She doesn’t work with the defense force, but Karkat will call her up if the threat is small enough in size for her to handle. When they first met her, his squad mates thought she was his mom.

- Terezi went to law school and pretty much turned the entire justice system on its’ head overnight. She is Earth C’s most insightful, un-biased, cutthroat, take-no-shit judge, and every defense attorney and lawyer trembles in her presence because no amount of defense is getting your child murderer client out of this one Jimmy don’t even try her. They say she can smell a lie from a mile away, and they are 100% right.

- Vriska also joins the defense force and is possibly the scariest soldier they have. She mostly deals with normal threats and is head of her squadron, but also helps with planning and strategizing. She has a one-sided rivalry with Lilith, who keeps unintentionally one-upping her by putting yet another giant monster in a chokehold. Oops.

- Equius works with Dirk at the mech shop. He’s learned to better control his strength, and lets off steam by going to the gym and working out. There’s a specific section built exclusively for indigobloods since they’re naturally stronger than the average troll, so he goes there and has made some new friends. Nepeta tags along a lot and is happy that her moirail is branching out socially.

- Following the removal of LE and Apofis from his mind and going into rehab for the effects of the sopor (new planet, new medical practices ye), Gamzee kind of drifted around for a bit before tagging along with Tavros. He’s still figuring himself out, but he’s doing much better with the help of Tavros and occasional check-ins with Lilith to make sure LE and Apofis are gone for good. He also works at the zoo atm.

- Eridan “begrudgingly” joined the defense force and got a job in the maritime squadron. He’s their main navigator and is usually the one to plot out courses for patrols and go along on marine-based missions.

- Since she’s no longer obligated to become Empress, Feferi’s been able to branch out and ends up getting a job at the aquarium. She takes care of the animals and secretly uses her healing powers to patch them up if they get scratched or bump into things. She gets really emotional when she has to release the ones she takes care of back into the wild but has learned that sometimes it’s for the best. She helped Aradia find some stuff from a submerged section of what used to be New York and they’ve been close ever since.

-Lilith’s job is basically get beat up and keep everyone from dying. Luckily, the eldritch entities pay her well.

Everyone gets therapy

#homestuck #limestuck #lore bitties

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robbyrobinson · 4 years

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I haven't the faintest idea how I ended up getting into this position, but I am forever grateful that I managed to escape it. Ever since I was a child, I was an avid reader. I read just about anything: newspapers; comic books; obituaries, you name it. I'm certain that you had the same feelings I had. Of reading whatever you could get your grubby hands-on, you find yourself in a bind. Craving more knowledge, I am assured that you would've done anything to satiate your hunger.

When I was allowing my mind to humor the imagined solutions to my plight, it happened. While I was browsing the town's bookstore, I bumped into a strange man. He was the spitting image of a walrus. He was a rotund man in the perfect shape of an egg. He had a double chin that was partially covered by the thick, wintry whiskers of his mustache. Whoever this man was, he clearly was of some form of nobility. He was dressed in the finest black tuxedo that money could buy...if not for the fact that his paunch peeked through the bottom of his shirt. His arms were of a gargantuan frame with rolls of fat jiggling from the slightest movement.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," I said. I had about four books in my hands at the time. I gazed down at them and collapsed on my knees to collect them without hesitation. The man tentatively wiped his shirt off with his pudgy fingers.

"It's quite all right, my good fellow," he said in an understanding tone of voice. While I should've been relieved that he wasn't going to take vengeance on me for my mistake, I felt the heat of his stare. He observed the books on the ground with a passing curiosity. "A fellow book connoisseur?"

"Well, yes," I answered while still being intimidated by the sudden interrogation.

"That is very good news," he replied. His smile shifted down into a frown. "But these books just won't do."

My interest peaked. "You know more appropriate literature for me to indulge myself in?"

"Yes. Just between you and me, let's just say that I have a collection of forbidden literature."

That proved to be the most intriguing part of the discussion. This man I had met on accident had access to literature that was assuredly banned by the government. I've heard stories of such books containing such unorthodox material, they were buried away, never to be seen by the light of day. The opportunities were limitless. I could barely conceal my excitement as I almost glossed over the gentleman providing me with his address. He became like a penguin and wobbled away, throwing his weight on his legs. Before I walked over to the counter, for a moment, I could've sworn that I saw a large, monstrous anomaly acting as the man's shadow.

Not too long after my realization that I neglected to ask the man of his name; a series of disappearances befell the city. Children between the ages of 10 and 16 were reported missing. They each disappeared not too long after the other. Approximately, there were six missing children. I thought back to the man I met at the bookstore and how eerily his shadow matched the news reports of the children complaining about being relentlessly pursued by a monster shrouded in darkness. It sent a chill up my spine whenever I weighed more on it.

The day of my little get-together with the man from the bookstore arrived. I fidgeted through my important papers until I fished out the note with his address on it. His home was a decent walking pace from mine. With my briefcase in hand, I traveled down the path. When I reached the house, it did not resemble anything I have imagined for a man of such a high status. The outer layers of the house contorted and shifted. The outer layer was transforming into indescribable shapes unknown to man. The trees around the settlement transformed into scaly talons. I turned to leave, but the voice of the fat man was calling out to me over the onslaught of chaos.

I walked through the shifting front door and trudged down the hallway. The walls were now a fleshy mass of red meat. They shook violently so much so; I was afraid they would leap at me. The other sights were…unappealing. In one room, what I could only describe as the most horrid of debaucheries was transpiring before my eyes. A wave of men and women bereft of clothing were committing the most audacious of sins. They danced around in a perverted succession and clawed onto each other in large orgies. Their incessant moaning disturbed me. “Lust,” I thought. It was undoubtedly a section dedicated entirely to the deadly sin of lust.

The next room was worse. Inside, chains of people were wrought with hunger. They tore into each other as wild dogs looking for scraps. Limbs were ripped off and fingers were plucked one by one like feathers. Not once did they grant me a passing glance. Instead, they continued to indulge in their cannibalistic rituals, never once feeling their hunger subsiding. What I have experienced was the sin of gluttony in its most perverted form.

Sloth was next. It was another guest room. It was relatively easier on the eyes, but that would be comparing a severed arm to a paper cut. Fat blobs sat on the bed and floor without rhyme or interest in anything currently happening. They were of people who were so corrupted by their slothfulness, they were reduced to creatures even below the worms.

The further I glanced into the rooms, the more I felt my mind crack from my incapability of understanding it. A hand reached out and touched my shoulder, sending me over the edge. “Glad you could make it; the festivities had just begun.”

It was the fat man again. But something was horribly wrong. He did not have any noticeable change in his demeanor. He still was just as jolly as he was when I first met him. In fact, he treated the unholy nightmares festering in his home with seeming indifference. That kind of indifference a man may feel when he views the same events daily. I now felt uncomfortable being in the same room as him.

Before I could respond, he whisked me away into the kitchen where he had a lavish array on the table. It looked normal at first glance, but after seeing all the bizarre, surreal nonsense in the respective rooms, I couldn’t help but be suspicious. The obese man sat at the head of the table and glutted himself on fattening foods from turkey legs and mashed potatoes. Thinking back, he looked even more massive than I gave him credit for. He looked up from his many plates and eyed me inquisitively.

III

“So, how are you enjoying your stay?”

I slammed my fists on the table in a dazed frenzy. “What in the name of all decency is going on here!?”

He frowned and sighed deeply. “I see you don’t understand. Such a shame.”

“Shame?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, “I’m sure that you noticed by now that I am by no means an ordinary man.”

My mind became a blank. Not human? What is he suggesting? I knew he was insane, but what the hell did he mean by those cryptic words? I hushed my thoughts when he began to speak again.

“I am of a race of gods eldritch to your thought processes. Please, call me the Defiler.”

“Where are you going with this?” I asked now in irritation. Great; this man was insane, and he also believes that he was some powerful deity. I rubbed my throbbing temples in bewilderment. If this were a dream, I very much would’ve loved to wake up. I’d imagine waking up in my bed in the early morning going about my day and then indulging in my cherished hobbies. Instead, I was currently in a grotesque house filled with unspeakable perversions getting lectured to by a deranged man who may as well have escaped from a mental asylum not too far from here.

“I see that I am boring you, boy,” he said. His face was contorted into a vengeful scowl. “I am here speaking to you, but I am also far away.”

“How far, fat man?” I asked.

“My body is indescribable to you mortals, but I am confined behind a stone wall.”

I listened tentatively despite my disbelief. What he said next horrified me. If the idea that he was locked away behind a stonewall was already unbelievable, what he spoke of still to this day greatly disturbed me.

“Do you like my latest body?” he asked, “after all, this freak was just like you before I found you.” He told me that there was a man who was much like me who hungered for knowledge. After he grew bored with the typical literature he read, he sought more. In his endeavor, he met a member of an underground cult who told him that he could have access to the more problematic pieces. He was exposed to the depravities that the cult performed in dedication to some Great Old One or something of the sort. Despite it, he nevertheless allowed his cravings to overpower him, and he read a book that summoned that unearthly presence to him.

“It’s a pity that this body is going to waste,” the fat man bemoaned. “It’s about time I parted with him; we had so much fun together.” He feigned a single tear. “Those children were my favorite part.”

“Children?” I said.

He wordlessly took me forcefully out of my seat, and we both walked to the basement of the house. The remains of the missing children were spread astray. I choked back vomit as I took a closer look at them. Large chunks were noticeably taken from the corpses. I looked back at the fat man, his grin only growing larger with a more deranged glaze in his eyes. His smile circled around the tips of his mouth.

“What? What can I say; after I had my fun with them, I got hungry. Can’t blame a Great Old One becoming famished.”

My fists clenched. After everything, I was mentally preparing myself to punch this “god” back towards whatever plane of existence he originated from. “What else did you do to that man?”

He smirked. “When I possessed him, I cast his soul aside. He will forever be trekking that long path between life and death. I maneuvered him like a flesh puppet subservient to my rule. I do wonder though if he ever was made to watch his body cozy up with strangers?”

“What are you wanting from me now? And what is the reason behind any of this!?” I finally yelled.

He shrugged his shoulders. “After about three hours or so in my home and you still fail to understand?” He sighed. “I live for the carnality of you simple humans. I know all of man’s depravities and abominations, and I bask in it. That sense of pleasure mixed with pain is intoxicating. But what I desire the most is to be free from my prison and walk among you simple humans!”

The man’s disguise was wearing thin. His skin became papery with small cracks forming all over. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, his disguise cracked open. Underneath was displeasing to man’s eyes. An abnormally fat, headless man burst through the skin and towered over me. His hands were large and enshrouded my head. What sent me the most alarm, however, were the two mouths within the palms of his hands. Hot drool dripped down from his serpentine tongues. The room transformed into a chasm of red meat with oozing slime. A book manifested before me. It opened to the section that mentioned the fat man, the Defiler’s, name.

“Say my name and free me!”

My eyes darted towards his name. I tried my darndest to fight, but once my mind was set on the name, my tongue began to betray me. “Y…Y…”

The Defiler stiffened up in anticipation. “Yes! Yes!”

I grasped my throat and grunted. My attempts at choking myself were also proving to be unfruitful. “Y’gol…”

I immediately stared down on the floor of the basement. Beside one of the bodies of the slain children, I saw a carving knife. With my little time, I made a grab for it. The Defiler was perplexed, though because of lacking eyes, he could only express it through his mouths. I grabbed the knife and held it in front of him. My tongue slid out unconsciously from my mouth, and I grabbed it with one hand.

“No, no!” he screamed.

It was painful, but I sliced my tongue off, allowing half to fall on the floor. The Defiler shook violently. I was running out of blood quickly, but I ran forward with the knife and tussled with the Great Old One. He pinned me tightly with one of his hands and he tried to shove me up his other mouth. I clenched my knife and I rammed it into his chest cavity. He loosened his hold on me and tumbled forward. Blood was leaking out onto the floor. Nevertheless, he laughed. Despite the pain and blatant loss of blood. He was still laughing as if he was having the best day of his life.

“Don’t think that this is over, fool,” he said, “I can never truly die. Shame we won’t be able to play some more, though. Oh well, I guess I’ll go defile some other poor sap.” He laughed through his hands and contorted into dust. Without its owner, the house began to collapse, and debris came raining down. From the sound of the bloody screaming, the Defiler’s followers were also being buried alive. I staggered my way through the horrific freak show and exited the house. The house imploded, burying itself deep into a crater in the ground.

Even though it was a few months ago, I still find myself thinking back about how my lust for reading nearly cost me my life and the threats of that beast getting released. But he also said that he would try to corrupt some other hapless victim. I just wonder who will be the next to fall, victim?

#ramsey campbell #cthulhu mythos #y'golonac #short story #eldritch abomination #great old ones

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