#and the rot.... well. i shant say it

[northern-passage]

I assume you get a lot of questions of people asking if you have read/played witcher and if tnp is inspired by it, so instead can I annoy you with a different question?

Have you ever heard of the manga(or the unfinished anime) Claymore?

It's about an order of half mutant women who hunt Yoma(humanoid shapeshifters that prey on humans)

Due to having half yoma blood, their powers are very unstable and they can transform into creatures even more dangerous than the ones they hunt, the monster designs in the later parts of the story get very creative.

Not even asking if tnp draws any inspiration from it, just curious if you have ever heard of it.

ah yes.... my nemesis, the witcher...

i was just talking about this with someone the other day actually, i always find it interesting that people compare it to the witcher but no one ever says anything about grey wardens, which is actually where i got most of my inspiration from. it will probably become more obvious as the story continues... but i suppose the witcher did influence it in some way, just probably not in the way most people think... i could never get into it (sorry everyone i find geralt to be the most boring protagonist alive and could never connect with him) and i barely managed to get through even an hour of both the first and third games combined. tnp is kind of my response to a lot of the genre being quite boring and male-power-fantasy centric... so in that way, the witcher did inspire it, hahaha.

anyways, as for your question, i have not heard of it, actually! i can't say i'm a big fan of the human character designs (where are their organs and how is she lifting that sword with those twig arms) but to be fair i feel that way about a lot of animation in general when it comes to female designs. that being said i actually think the art style is pulled off better in the manga than in the anime, and i like the look of a lot of the monster designs. i really like whatever the hell is going on here:

some of the designs remind me of H.R. Giger's work which i always love to see.

i don't really watch a lot of anime or read any manga, unfortunately. it's probably obvious that i have seen and read Fullmetal Alchemist, the way the hunter's transmuational alchemy works is directly inspired by it, but other than that i've only watched Cowboy Bebop and Wolf's Rain, which i both only saw when i was a teen.

thanks for telling me about this, i'll keep it in mind if i ever feel the itch to read some more manga. if nothing else i really liked checking out the art and the monsters :-)

[yeyinde]

No tell us. What 'shant' you say about Zombie Ghost 👀

sorry, this was in my inbox for a minute lmao

but i wanna write zombie ghost but it'll def end up just like my Jason fic w tonnes of living rot and supernatural decay. exposed bones. flesh around his jaw completely eaten away, exposing teeth. his tongue. infected tissue. losing limbs. black blood. absolutely gross. disgusting. maybe he regenerates via consumption and due to personal obligations (re: a contentious relationship w your former superior officer), you take to feeding him. only to discover that the fresher victims, the more "human" he appears until the cycle repeats itself. stuck in an endless loop of slaughtering the only people who can help you in an effort to help the zombie "helping" himself to you.

i just have such a clear image in my head of you trying to push him away when he wraps his boney, rotten fingers around your legs after catching you, only for your hands to sink into his chest, fingers getting trapped in his ribcage, and well. he's not gonna say no to this perfect little bondage scenario you got yourself into. so stop screaming already. like it's his fault your knuckles are stuck in his cartilage 🙄

[meyhew]

any tv series recommendations?

netflix's one day. it's where my header is from and it's rotted me from the inside out. grab a whole box of tissues near the end

suits. it's on netflix now as well but u can also find it elsewhere if u pirate things. i was studying mike and harvey like BUGS

crashing. i watched it with lys on zoom and we got thru the whole thing in one sitting bc it's really quick (i did fall asleep for some of it bc im a sleepy girl but it was really really funny. jonathan bailey is in it <3

station 19 but only until like.... season 3. maybe 4. shant elaborate

og skam if u havent seen it yet. (link) (another link)

obligated to say succession and the bear and hannibal bc they're fucking insane but i havent finished any of them yet

[devitalise]

IMO im sending this so early NOT because I'm trying to beat you (though it does feel nice 🤭) but I'll be offline during our usual end-of-month wrap-up + i SHANT make you wait long!!! HOW DID AUGUST GO! I read ur goodreads review on The Picture of Dorian Gray but I'm dying to hear more 👁️ + do u think you're gonna try and shift into ~fall vibes~ for reading now (whatever that means to you) or continue to go with the flow?

hi cas this was such a jumpscare getting this over a week ago but i'm glad you were able to beat me! of course there's a new autumnal vibe in the books i'll be reading i've even updated my discord profile (goodbye summer kendall you were great)

but i can go into more detail in the

august book wrap up

(2 days early but i'm not finishing a book in 2 days)

The Picture of Dorian Gray (The Original 1980 Uncensored Edition) by Oscar Wilde

well i read a book. there were some really interesting threads in this, i thought Dorian being a narcissistic weirdo was cool to read about, but other than the end of the book taking a much darker turn, i did't find much about this impressive. i don't like reading books expecting them to work harder for me to enjoy them, but i struggled to want to read this.

Must I Go by Yiyun Li

wasn't what i expected it to be, not really a fan of what it was. you give me an 88 year old woman who's survived her eldest daughter's suicide and raised her granddaughter and is looking after her greatgrandaughter and what do we do? we spend almost 200 pages of her dissecting the journal of some random man who ended up marrying his cousin and lived his whole life not knowing he had said daughter? why. i don't care! i don't care!!!!!!! and then when Lila (the character in question) did talk about herself, her mother having her dreams crushed in her marriage, her three marriages and further 4 children, it's just brushed over and kind of shrugged at. none of the "important" men in her life are alive and yet they took up so much of the book. whatever you keep dead people alive in your memory but other than being reminded how selfish and uncaring Lila was there wasn't much about this i felt positive about. wouldn't recommend, went straight in my donation pile.

Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay by Elena Ferrante

i finally did it. what a rollercoaster! i absolutely hate reading first person books when i find the character annoying. not to say a bad person, or morally defunct or anything. just plain old annoying. Elena Greco is annoying. fine in the first 2 as she's 10-22 years old and it's expected, but the third book sees her in her mid 20s early 30s and i genuinely wanted to throw this book at a wall. i struggle to see this as a tale of friendship at this point just because like. they aren't friends??? they're two women who at this point are bound by history and maybe that's the point but i want better for Lila and she remains the star of the show

The Story of the Lost Child by Elena Ferrante

i finished the quartet and feel emotionally wrung out. this was going fine but i think it's around 350 pages in there's a full blown "relationship" between Lila's 24 year old son and Elena's 15 year old daughter???? reading from the perspective of an awful mother was so jarring, too. really enjoyed the series, i just feel like i felt very untethered towards the end and i just wanted it to end

september / autumnal reads

i'm annoyed that i've ended up in such a white reading space so will be fixing that for sure. also need a romance, i haven't read one i've liked this year! something fun is overdue. i have some horror books picked out but that's not for a little while yet. i don't see myself picking up anything new (maybe?) so i'll just be picking from what i already bought, trying some contemporary reads that have been rotting on my shelf for the past year

[kirnet]

tell us about... no i shant say it... kirnet's death. and unnamed paladin!

well kirnets death is (spoilers)... about kirnets death. ya know she's had a good run. im also talking about my headcanons for atton's padawan and what happens post k3 in it since kirnet gets a good decade after all of that to chill but this is part of the opening!

But there is familiarity, too, steady and comfortable repetition. Atton pilots, as always, and Kirnet sits to his right, furiously rubbing her arms to ward off a chill that only she could feel. Even over a decade after they both fell into their familiar places, Atton still can't stop his wandering eyes from sliding over to his copilot as his face remains pointed straight ahead. He’s drunk the sight of her in thousands of times already, but his throat still remains dry when she was around.

Kirnet frowns at the floor, her shoulders up to her ears as she shivers slightly. She’s already stolen Atton’s blaster-burned jacket that’s more hers than his at this point, but the hairs on her bare arms are still standing up straight. Atton fights back a smile as the weight of her gaze falls on the side of his face. He can feel her leaning forward, dark eyes never leaving his cheek as her hand nears the temperature controls. The clarity of the image in his mind has nothing to do with his attunement to the Force.

“It’s hot enough in here already,” he says, and Kirnet jumps at the sudden interjection. Atton gives in and fully turns in his chair to look at her. “It’s always hotter when you’re around.” He throws in a wink for good measure.

Something between a groan and a laugh escapes from her as Kirnet grabs the knob and cranks it up a few degrees. There are lines around her mouth, lovingly carved in with every one of Atton’s quips.

She laughs now, easily and often.

“You spend the whole flight thinking of that one?” She turns to face him, swinging a leg over the armrest as her shivers die down. He didn’t have to. It’s always the same playful dance, and Atton has long since learned the steps. Their appearances may be changing with age, though Atton is sure that Kirnet is winning that process - not that he’s biased - yet their juvenile sense of humor still hasn’t matured.

unnamed paladin is titled like that bc its unnamed lmao! my wip document is just notes, but it follows two modern day paladins who are vessels of two netherworld gods that only they can see. One is a god of decay, while the other is a god of wrath. The paladin for the decay god is a college dropout who works at a feed store in rural montana who gets a cool fucking sword, but also gets haunted by the rotting corpse of 8 different animals mashed together that her god inhabits, while i think the wrath paladin is like a nerdy quiet mechanic who comes out to work in the area. her god is more chill in appearance but im still working that out!

i think it's gonna be just like a serial sitcom style comic, or something with a really short plot, just focusing on the absurdity of being a chosen one while you're struggling to pay rent

[dr-gloom]

What You Wanted (Ch 1)

So this is inspired by @teardroppeddew‘s animatic of Good For You (if you haven’t seen it I HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT IS SO GOOD) I hope I did it justice

I just like, saw it, and I had to write

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: None

Summary:

Words: 1,352

Tags/Warnings: Some unsymp/morally grey Patton this chapter, violence, attempted murder, nothing like gory or bloody though swearsies

Please reblog the version with links

For as long as they cared to remember, it was them against the world. 

Or, more accurately, them against the “light sides”. 

Creativity - split in half at a young age, leaving the “good half” in the light and shunning Remus into the dark - Logic and Morality presided over Thomas’ mind and personality for over two decades. They monitored and suppressed the “dark sides”, making sure their influence only extended to necessities. Necessities which said “light sides” determined as such. Needless to say, this left the “dark sides” in a sour mood, fostering hatred and jealousy the likes of which the “light sides” would come to fear. But it hadn’t always been that way.

Janus - or Deceit, as he was known by most - was a man of cunning, a man of schemes. He was Self Preservation after all, misnamed by a particularly black-and-white thinker he shant name. When they were young, before Morality had taken such a strong hold of Thomas’ mind and all the sides lived equally, Janus had been the one to show the others that they could change shape, or change aspects of themselves. They’d taken to it like a game - how much could they change about themselves to tell each other apart, yet still look like Thomas? Janus had given himself a half-snake face, as Thomas was rather obsessed with snakes at the time. Virgil, or Fear as the others knew him, had given himself mismatched eyes - one teal, one a swirling purple - and laughed at his reflection. Morality had given himself a rounder nose and circular glasses. Logic had kept his rectangular frames and insisted that they could be told apart well enough by their attire, and thus didn’t participate in their “shenanigans” (that had been his favorite word for a solid three months). Creativity, well. He got creative. 

Creativity had latched on rather strongly to the idea of royalty, knighthood, and damsels in distress. He dressed the part, and he always wanted to save one of the others from increasingly bizarre and powerful beasts, dreaming himself to be the knight and prince Thomas needed. It was fun for the others too, so no one really minded. At least, not until he began to change. 

No one knew when the shift happened, as it had been gradual, but no one could ignore it once they’d finally taken notice. Creativity joked and laughed less, instead taking to watching the others like he was studying a foreign species. He spent more and more time in the imagination, until he would only come out if one of the others forced him to. The monsters became less fun and ridiculous, bordering on genuinely terrifying and perverse. Instead of injuries raining glitter and the dead bodies disappearing, blood began to splatter and soak into the ground and cover Creativity’s clothing, the corpse of the slain beast falling to the ground where it would lay until it rotted away to bone. 

And then, being a prince hadn’t been good enough for him anymore. 

Janus tried his best not to recall these times, as even he had found himself disturbed by his best friend’s behavior. Creativity treated the others less like equals, like friends, and more like subjects. And he was not a benevolent king. The other sides had quickly learned to fear him or face his wrath, but the thing about fear is, it could inspire three different kinds of behavior.

Virgil had always looked up to Creativity and held a special bond with him, but the change his friend had undergone had left the smaller side cowering in fear almost constantly. Creativity’s booming voice was enough to make Virgil tremble like a leaf. Despite this, he still believed the two of them to be special friends, and so he’d bravely approached Creativity and had implored his friend to go back to being the prince who saved him from the dragon. 

Janus had no idea what Creativity had done to him - he still refused to talk about it twenty years later - but after that, Virgil would run away at the slightest sound of his voice. 

Janus himself had been struck silent in awe and horror at his friend’s change. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, or what to do, but he figured the best course of action was to do whatever Creativity wanted so no one was hurt. Yes, Janus had done nothing in the face of Creativity’s transformation, hoping that it was just a phase and he’d go back to being their kind friend soon.

But Logic and Morality couldn’t wait. Unbeknownst to the other two, they began to meet in secret, planning and plotting ways to stop Creativity. 

We all know Janus is the plotter, though.

Virgil and Janus had watched, horrified, as Creativity was ripped in half by Morality, letting out screams that Janus was sure would plague his nightmares the rest of his life. Janus had thought surely the side was dead, for he hadn’t been involved in the plan and knew nothing about whether a side could die or not. He’d been frozen to the spot in fear and horror as he watched the happiest, gentlest side he knew rip his friend in two. Virgil, in a rare bout of Fight, had lunged at Morality, causing him to drop both halves of Creativity as he was tackled to the ground. 

Janus glanced between Creativity’s corpse and his skirmishing friends before something caught his eye and he gasped. “Stop, look!”

Creativity’s halves began to move, drawing every side’s attention as a blinding light shone from where they were separated and something seemed to grow from the wounds. In a matter of minutes, two newly-formed sides laid unconscious at their feet, one decked in a white t-shirt with a red sash printed on the front, and the other in a black t-shirt with a green sash printed on it, Creativity’s crown on the floor between them. 

Morality used Virgil’s confusion to push him off, getting to his feet and clenching his fists in anger. Logic frowned beside him. “Well, that is not what we had planned.” 

Morality sighs through his nose. “No, but I can fix this.” He takes the side in a black shirt by the back of his shirt and drags him over to a slate-grey door. Janus’ eyes widen and he races forward, grabbing Morality’s arm desperately. 

“You can’t throw him in the subconscious, he’ll die!”

“I know,” Morality said softly, tossing the unconscious side through the door and shutting it with a grim air of finality. 

Janus and Virgil stared at Morality with twin looks of horror. Virgil shot to his feet with tears in his eyes, stomping up to Morality and shoving him. Morality barely moved. “How could you do that?! He was our friend and you just- you monster!”

That makes Morality flinch. “I was doing the right thing,” he cries. “He was out of control! We needed to stop him and this was the only way! Now we have the old Creativity back!” He gestures at the other unconscious side. 

Janus clenches his fists. “That was a side. That was Creativity, and you just left him to die!”

Morality’s face darkens. “That wasn’t Creativity.” He pushes past Janus and Virgil, crouching beside the unconscious Creativity and brushing his hair out of his face. “Logan is on my side. I did the right thing. If you disagree….” He looks up at his two friends, lips pursed and fighting back tears. “Then you can go, too.” He rises to his feet and Janus steps in front of Virgil, taking his trembling hand. 

“You’re out of control, Morality! That was wrong, and you know it! You’re no better than he was!”

Morality freezes, his eyes widening with rage. Before anyone can say another word Morality raises a hand and the grey door opens again. With another motion, an invisible force is pushing Janus and Virgil through the open doorway, the door slamming shut behind them and cutting off the sound of their screams.

Morality looks down at Creativity’s unconscious form. “He’s wrong. Deceit always lies.”

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Sometime last night...

The night was cold, rain pouring down from the gray clouds overhead, turned amber by streetlights and smog. Anxiety fluttered low in your belly as you lay there, too dazed to get up but too paranoid to sleep. Rain was usually soothing, a soft pitterpatter on widows and roofs, punctuated by hollow booms and deep, distant rumbles. Tonight the rain stung, a ceaseless hammering on the roof above that dotted your vision with a thousand tumultuous echoes that had the audacity to shift in hue each time.

Every sound upset you. Every rustled sheet, every sleepy sigh, every heartbeat and groan. Sleep clawed at the edges of your being, trying to submerge you in the restless, painful dreams you knew he would succumb to within the hour. You did not relish in sleep, no, you feared it. An unwelcome reminder of the horrors you’d faced, forever etched into your subconscious, to be relived nightly and leave you wheezing, screaming, terrified in the dawn with the sheets wrapped ‘round your limbs and your partner’s gazes on you.

You hated that part the most, the looks you drew from them, the pity and concern that twisted your stomach into knots and left you feeling helpless. It hurt you to see their faces in the mornings, it hurt them to see you in such a state. You hated sleep, despite the numerous half-assed naps you managed during the day, you still hated sleep.

Exhaustion kept you down, dragged its clammy hands down your face and tried to coax your eyes closed, it drowned you, it dragged you under and made you beg for the release of sleep even though you knew the dangers that lie there. Your eyes felt like sandpaper in their sockets, lids like lead and limbs like stone.

Giving in wasn’t gradual, no dainty nodding off between bitter glances at the alarm clock, sleep swallowed you whole. The dream was a familiar one, something plucked from the depths of your splintered mind when you drifted endlessly among your alternate selves, before you broke the glass. A garden, a tidal wave of red, an endless array of teeth.

Eyes watched you from the shadowed places, blinking above snarling maws of glistening white teeth that stood stark against the blackness beyond. The garden was a hellscape of twisted plants growing from the pulsating flesh and belched bone of some great beast, the ground was strewn with red-black puddles and undulating patches of fur that seemed to eerily breathe in time with you. Here the dream seemed to glitch and go wrong, something you could practically taste as the air ceased to reek of spilled blood and rotting roses. The wind whispered your name, pushed you forward into the gathering darkness where the corpse-beast’s great jaws should be, and foolishly you went, your body numb and not your own. The air here was cold and stale and stank of rot, like the bottom of a well in December. All you could taste and smell was putrefaction and decay and hatred for all things living, an unfathomable thirst for pain and power overwhelmed you and you found yourself dizzy and sick. You remembered this feeling, this taste and smell.

Try as you might you could not stop yourself from marching dutifully towards the shivering blackness clenched between the Garden’s jaws. It whispered, begging sweetly for your help, promising powers beyond your imagining, the multiverse kneeling at your feet. It sickened you to think about, but you wanted what it offered, more than you wanted to be free from that place. The darkness quivered, whispering, babbling, seething as you drew near. A hand grabbed the back of your shirt and hauled you away, away from the promise of status and power. You kicked and screamed, finally in control of your body again, another hand clapped itself over your eyes and you were met with the smell of rotting roses. A voice like silk by moonlight caressed your ears, doubled, tripled as she, the disgraced Red Queen spoke with power unimaginable.

“You have no jurisdiction here, God Eater, this one is mine.” the hand at your back was suddenly on your chest, pressed against the scar above your beating crystal heart, “I have fought too long to see you bound and suffering, and I shant see you freed, not by my kin and the kin of who bound you to that loathsome stone. Begone from this place.” you could feel her ire lifting the fine hairs on your neck and yet the shuddering thing refused to leave, only whispering and howling pathetically as it sought to bargain with you for its freedom. You shut your eyes and clenched your teeth, clinging to the Queen lest you flung your foolish self into the maw of utter madness.

“Begone!” she snarled, her power tearing the God-thing from whatever mooring held it fast to the Garden, casting it into the chaos between dreams. Something told you it wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. After a moment the Queen shoved you away, her expression unreadable.

“Make no mistake, vessel mine, I did not do this out of affection or love. Should you die or fall to that thing’s madness, we’d both perish.” she said flatly, turning to leave. Green sprang up beneath the paws of her dreamself, the Garden slowly becoming less monstrous and dark as she wandered away, “You were not meant to see my nightmares, but it seems we are too intertwined now for me to complain.”

She sighed then, perching on a mossy vertebra. The Garden was green by then, and sunny, bread-and-butterflies fluttered between branch and bone, alighting on flowers that had teeth in their petals. The Queen looked at you then, somehow harmless and small despite all she’d done to you.

“Your sympathy is misplaced, vessel mine, just because I saved you tonight does not mean I won’t end your life some other time.” she purred, flashing you an obsidian sneer. She was lying, you could taste it, feel it, smell it. She’d never hurt you, not again, she’d feel your pain and see through your eyes as your life was extinguished. She couldn’t hide that from you, no not there in the Garden. You held each other’s gazes for moments in silence, there was nothing more you could say, or wanted to say. She neither could nor wanted to hurt you, hurting her was pointless, she’d just respawn somewhere else a week after death, this was a convoluted double helixed Gordian knot of fuck neither of you wanted to untangle tonight, or ever for that matter.

Out in the waking world your alarm tried to drag you from your dream, and this time you didn’t bother to fight it.