#if you are born to be the murder incarnate the destroyer of the world

[maegalkarven]

Like, no one argues with the fact that pre memory loss Durge is evil.

We are simply interested WHY they're evil.

And how much work seemed to go into making them that way.

[harbingrs]

Stream-of-consciousness thing. I'd keep this to turn into 'real writing' but I don't think I can ever revisit it.

Content warnings: child abuse, implied relationship abuse, miscarriage, premature birth

Very specific warning for attachment therapy / rebirthing / holding therapy (an abusive and violent 'therapy' technique)

The very reason I thought I’d be cherished was the reason I wasn’t. When I found you, I’d been longed for, awaited and adored. You made a place for me before I arrived, and I thought I was coming home. For the first time, I was going to be something worthy. 

A fantasy is a hard act to follow, it turns out. A fantasy is always what you need it to be - no more, no less. 

-

I thought of the way I came into the world. Miscarriage after miscarriage, arrived too early, but I was the one who made it. You were so wanted, she said, and spent 16 years making me wish I’d never been born. 

It was decades before I learned the truth. All she ever wanted was to be a mother, he told me. When you were born, you were so fragile. You didn’t want to be held. I was never forgiven. 

She believed I was a monster, filled with nothing but malice and spite. I must have been: at six weeks old, I used all the strength in my tiny body to take her dream away from her. 

My survival was an act of cruelty. She asks God how He could allow such evil into her life. She tells me that I am the Devil. I’ve done nothing but love you, she says. You were born hating me. 

I sit with her in a car one winter. I’m an empath, she confides, between sips of coffee. I can always feel other people’s emotions. All at once, I understand what it means when she tells me I don’t have feelings.

Your child has attachment issues, they tell her. Your child failed to bond correctly. I’m not grateful enough to have been born, so she tries again. Her weight crushes the life out of me until my lungs stop working. I am meant to be back in the womb - safe, held, loved. 

The fantasy is safe, held, loved. I know that I’m going to die. 

I am not the fantasy. I am the one who killed her, destroyer of dreams, punisher and punishment. An act of cruelty incarnate. You hoped for so much, and all you get is me. Did I do that, mom? When the cord wrapped around my neck (our neck) did I murder your dream? Did I choke the goodness out of me? Did I do it on purpose? Did I want to die? 

I don’t die. Everything goes black, and she lets me breathe again. I am not grateful. I wish I’d never been born.

-

When I meet you, I am grateful. When I meet you, you tell me I am so wanted. 

[jupiaria]

Jack Parsons' Freedom is a Two-Edged Sword

Chapter Four

The Woman Girt With the Sword

It is to you woman, beautiful redeemer of the race, whom I address this chapter. That which stirs in you now is not madness, not sin, not folly – but Life! This new life is the joy and the fire that will beget a new race; create a new heaven and new earth. When you were a child, did not the wind and the sun speak to you? Did you not hear the mountain’s voice; the voice of the river and of the storm? Have you not heard the whisper of the stars and the ineffable voice in silence? Have you not gone naked in the forest with the wind on your body and felt the caress of Pan? Your heart has swollen with Spring, blossomed with Summer and saddened with Winter. These things are the covenant and in them is the truth that is forever.

You have sought companions as high-hearted as yourself and found them not save in the elusive memories of dream and song. For you found a blight over the world; a blight of silence and sorrow. Your companions walked in guilt and shame, in fear, in hate, in sin and in the sorrow of sin. There was only nervous laughter and furtive pleasure; unsatisfying and shameful – But be no longer sad, my beloved. Be joyous and unafraid for within you is the song that shall shatter the silence, the flame that will burn away the dross.

It is you who are the redeemer from sing and sorrow, from guilt and shame. WOMAN; oh splendour incarnate! How long have you served in chains, a slave to the lust and guilt of pigs? How long have you writhed under the degradation of your Holy Name, “Whore”, or suffered silently under the degradation called, “virtue”? How well you have known the stake, the rack, the whip, the chains of imprisonment and even entombment in the service of your master.

And was the bond fear, was it weakness, was it cowardice and inferiority? Oh shame of man, it was none of these; it was love. A man was once crucified in a redemption that failed, yet if ten times ten million men were crucified, this infamy could not be redeemed. Husband, father, priest, jailer, judge, executioner, exploiter, seducer, destroyer – so has your lover mastered and defiled you. Yet pity him for he sought love… But finally there is an end and then the beginning and all the future will be with you. For you are the mother of a new race, the redeemer and lover of the new men; the men who shall be free.

I shall speak to you of men. Men desire three things of a woman: a mother greater than themselves, a wife less than themselves and a lover equal with themselves. Against the mother they are in revolt, the wife they hold in contempt and the lover ever eludes them. Consider the husband; how he throws his clothes about, eschews dirty dishes and housework and asserts himself in a loud voice. Consider the homosexual; how he hates woman and flees himself, fearing that he will slay her. Consider the great lover; how he grasps for love and his hands close on nothingness. These are bewildered, frightened children playing games against the dark. And those who wear brass and swords, who strut and slay, are they not the most frightened of all? Therefore pity them and forgive them.

In the ancient world there were men for a season, before cities arose and they turned to gilded popinjays, gracefully accepting futility. Then came Christianity, an anodyne for slaves, an enteric for barbarians whose deeds gave them indigestion – and ultimately, a whip for slave masters.

Faust was the prototype of the Middle Ages, but not the Faustus of whom Kit Marlowe tells. It was a darker Faust; Gilles de Rais, who betrays the Maid in his lust for power, then, after his fall and the failure of his prayers, he descends to horror in his cellars. This theme lasted an age until man, appalled by his nightmares, turned finally to a dream of liberty.

It is the voice of Voltaire, jaded, cynical, weary of folly, that sounds the opening bar of a tremendous, mocking prelude. Tom Paine, one real man, broken and at last betrayed by all the wooden champions, Cagliostro, plotting the revenge of the Templars with a woman and a necklace, Will Blake, speaking uncomprehended with the tongue of angels, Shelley and his beautiful gesture; Swinburne, who almost recreated Helas before he too was broken – Byron, Pushkin, Gautier; all instruments in a prelude to a symphony that was never played. And Science – how it was to save us! That “Brave New World” of Huxley, Darwin and H.G. Wells with only the voice of Spengler in dissent.

Science remaking the world; an international language, a universal brotherhood beyond nationality, prejudice or creed… A beautiful vision fallen like a house of cards. You creators of the “New Age” who dare not speak, think or move without permission from the military, you unfettered titans who will hang for speaking across one border – where is your ‘New World’? Champions, where is freedom? What treasure have we lost? We must turn to women for that answer.

The key lies back ten thousand years ago in the Age of Isis that is mistakenly called “The Matriarchy”. It was not a Matriarchy as we conceive it; a rule of club-women, of frustrated chickens, in fact it was not a rule at all; it was an equality.

The Woman was and is the Priestess. In Her reposes the Mystery. She is the Mother, brooding yet tender, the lover, at once passionate and aloof, the wife, revered and cherished. She is the witch woman. She stands co-equal with her mate who is the chieftain, the hunter, the thinker and the doer. The woman is the Priestess, guardian of the mystery, syble of the unconscious and prophetess of dreams. Together they balanced each other until the catastrophe of the Patriarchal Age, arch-typified by the monosexual monster, Jehova.

Then, under the rule of Priests, woman became an inferior animal while man became isolated in his imagined superiority and found himself at the mercy of his own merciless intelligence. It was total war between the emotions that must and the intellect that will not. Every patriarchal religion is a self-contradictory monstrosity. They are dogmatic creeds that shift like straws in the wind of the intellect. Upon this shifting structure man has failed. He knows the futility of such artificial systems but he fights for them with all the sick fury his frustration can generate. In the process he has lost his mother, his wife has failed him and his lover eludes him. The Mystery has gone out of the Temple, banished by a senile and self-sufficient council of beards.

Woman, Woman – where are you? Come back to us again. Forgive even if you cannot forget and serve once more in our Temples. Take us by the hand. Kiss us on the lips and tell us we are not alone. Witch-Woman, out of the ashes of the stake, rise again! It was in the Dianic Cult that the old way continued. Those splendid and terrible women; Messilina, Toffana, La Voisin and DeBrinvillies raised revenge to a high art. Others sought the forbidden mystery in secret rites and purchased a brief reunion at an awful price. This was the ope in the Maid of Orleans, the dream of hopeless millions that the woman who was to redeem them had come at last. Her failure and her fate teach us that innocence is no protection. Be cunning, oh woman, be wise, be subtle, be merciless. I have asked you to understand and forgive – but forget not overmuch. Trust nothing but yourself.

Now I have spoken of those great poisoners but there is a worse revenge. Know that all revenge is revenge on self and the most terrible is that taken by the frigid woman. Count her in the tens of millions. The curse lies in the failure of her mate to be a man and her failure to be true to herself but the cause is the dark guilt with which parents poison their children. There is also suppressed incestuous love and the fear of unwanted children – yet those who have known of these things should have no shame there-from. Strength is not born, it is gained by understanding and overcoming. Go free; sing the old, wild song:

EVOE IO, EVOE IACCHUS IO PAN, PAN! EVOE BABALON!

Go to the mountains and the forest; go naked in the Summer that you may regain the old joy. Love gladly and freely under the stars. But you say your body is not beautiful? Here is a secret: the body is molded by the mind. If you have embraced fear, repression, hate – then you may find your body repulsive. But go free, love joyously and without restraint. Run naked then watch the cheeks flush, the breasts well and the supple contours develop from the flowing rhythms of life. Disease and deformity are bred in fear and hate, therefore be fearless lovers and ever beautiful.

The woman is the Priestess of the Irrational World! Irrational - but how enormously important, and how dangerous because it is unadmitted or denied, we do not want to be drunken, murderous, frustrated, poverty-stricken and miserable without cause. These conditions are not reasonable or 'scientific’ and yet they do exist. We say we do not want war but war seems a psychological necessity. Wars will continue until that need is otherwise fulfilled. We do not love or hate a person because it is “reasonable”. We are moved willy-nilly, despite our reason and our will, by forces from the unconscious, irrational world. These forces speak to us in dreams, in symbols and in our own incomprehensible actions. These passions can only be redeemed by intuitive understanding in the feminine province. Only after such understanding can will and intelligence be truly effective for otherwise they are blind and powerless against the tides of emotion.

Somewhere in the world today there is a woman for whom the Sword is forged. Somewhere there is one who has heard the trumpets of the New Age and who will respond. She will respond, this new woman, to the high clamor of those sar-trumpets; she will come as a perilous flame and a devious song, a voice in the judgment halls, a banner before armies. She will come girt with the Sword of Freedom. Before her, kings and priests will tremble, cities and empires will fall, and she will be called BABALON, The Scarlet Woman.

She will be lustful and proud, subtle and deadly forthright and invincible as a naked blade. Women will respond to her war cry, throwing off their chains, men will respond to her challenge, forsaking foolish ways. She will shine as the ruddy Evening Star in the lurid sunset of Gotterdamerung. She will shine again as a Morning Star when the night has passed and a new dawn breaks over the garden of Pan.

To you, oh unknown woman, is The Sword of Freedom pledged.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Today in Good Omens lines I’m having feelings about:

Aziraphale, upon realizing they’ve spent eleven years focusing on the wrong boy, and the real Antichrist is at large out there somewhere: “I just hope nothing’s happened to him.”

As if something happening to him wouldn’t solve your entire problem here, Aziraphale! But no, his first impulse is still to worry about the kid’s safety, because he may be the Antichrist but he is still a child. Listen to how many times they refer to him as a child in this conversation.

(Yes, we can talk about how, when push comes to shove, Aziraphale is willing to murder this child after all, but we know that’s the wrong choice and deep down Aziraphale knows it too. Something-something about how thousands of years of working for Heaven really fucks with your ability to trust your own moral compass.)

It’s striking to me how often Aziraphale’s impulses toward the Antichrist are protective. Both when they think it’s Warlock and when they know it’s Adam. Like, in terms of the forces of Hell, this isn’t your friendly neighborhood demon you’ve spent millennia getting drunk with. This is the literal son of Satan we’re talking about here, destined to end the world. In terms of the story Aziraphale is telling himself for most of the show (the version in which Heaven couldn’t possibly want Armageddon to start), the Antichrist is the antagonist. He is the thing to be stopped. But you still get the sense that Aziraphale sees him as a child first and a supernatural entity second. Crowley’s the one who seems constantly aware of the Antichrist’s powers and the purpose he was created to fulfill (even if he’s trying to change that). For all that I think Crowley is extremely soft for children in a way that is not at all socially acceptable for a demon, he is also the one who seems much more cognizant of the Antichrist as a force, as a tool in a plan that’s been set in motion. He’s the one who recognizes that Adam is the one being on the airfield who might actually have the power to stop Armageddon for good, and I could probably write a whole other meta about how the scene that happens in the time bubble is about Crowley appealing to the power of Adam’s supernatural side (“reality will listen to you now”) and Aziraphale appealing to the power of his human side (“you’re human incarnate”) but we’re getting a little sidetracked here.

I’ve seen some great meta about the parallels between Adam Young and Adam Old (ie. the original Adam) but I think there’s also an unspoken Christ/Antichrist parallel going on, especially if you lean into the whole “Heaven and Hell are just two floors of the same shitty corporation” idea. One child, born to save the world/end the world. (And it’s a nice inversion that Adam says fuck you and saves it anyway.)

It makes me think that Aziraphale has been here before, the first time, with the other kid who was born to fulfill a higher purpose in some grand plan. You can’t tell me that Heaven’s longest-serving agent on Earth wasn’t hanging around somewhere near wherever Jesus was for the first thirty-odd years of the Common Era. He probably watched him grow up. From a distance, maybe, and maybe he knew all the exact details of how things were supposed to go down and maybe he didn’t, but he surely knew something, that this Jesus fellow was never really here to just be a person, but always to be a piece in a game, a tool in a plan. And, knowing Aziraphale, there must have been times he watched this kid scampering around the Nazarene hills and thought, But he’s just a child. Does he have any idea, the weight of the fate of the world on his shoulders? How is that fair? (Don’t ask that. Don’t even think such things.) So this time around, even though by all rights Aziraphale should see the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, et cetera, et cetera...the first thing he sees is a child he can’t help wanting to protect. And this time, maybe he doesn’t just have to stand there and watch the plan come to its terrible conclusion. Maybe he can do something.

[supercultshow]

Howdy all you Supercultists out there on the interwebz! I’m Bad Movie Professor Cameron Coker (BS in “Robert E. Howard” with a minor in “The Lamentations of their Women”) and I’ll be posting my hype-tacular speeches every week along with some long lost speeches from past Supercult Shows!

This week Supercult contemplates what is best in life with Conan the Barbarian!

Enslaved and trained as a gladiator, his father and countrymen slaughtered by the evil Thulsa Doom, Conan wanders the savage world seeking vengeance. Along the way he meets valuable allies in Subotai the thief and Valeria the brigand, but danger lurks around every corner and the evil wizard Thulsa Doom and his snake cult seem all but invincible. Can one man topple a mighty empire? Yes. But he’ll need a mighty sword.

What is best in life? Those pecs! Mmmmm…

Conan’s response to the Mongol General is an abbreviation of a real quote attributed to Genghis Khan: “The greatest pleasure is to vanquish your enemies and chase them before you, to rob them of their wealth and see those dear to them bathed in tears, to ride their horses and clasp to your bosom their wives and daughters.”

“You broke into my house, stole my property, murdered by servants and my pets, and THAT is what grieves me the most! You killed my snake…”

Arnold Schwarzenegger is not wearing a wig. That is his own natural hair. In 1979, Schwarzenegger began growing his hair long for the film.

The sword’s inscription reads, “Suffer no guilt, ye who wield this in the name of Crom.” While he was governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger displayed it behind his chair in the Reagan Cabinet Room.

“No one in this world can you trust. Not men, not women, not beasts. [Points to sword] This you can trust.”

Between the time when the oceans drank Atlantis and the rise of the sons of Aryas, there was an age undreamed of. And onto this, Robert E. Howard, born in Texas and destined to write for Weird Tales, befriend H.P. Lovecraft, and invent the Hyborian Age and the swords and sorcery genre, brought Conan the Cimmerian into the world! Conan began not as a loin-cloth-wearing brute, but as a middle-aged king and a scholar worrying over the fate of his people and his legacy. Every story afterwards is told as a flashback of his adventures before maturing and carving civilization into a chaotic land. Conan is lethal, but he is also wise and cunning. Conan is an adventurer, but an essentially American character who disrupts established hierarchies and goes from slave to warlord through the sweat of his brow.

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Fifty years later in 1982, John Milius, the writer for Apocalypse Now, Dirty Harry, and later Red Dawn was tapped to co-write and direct an adaptation the books, comics, and other media into a live action film. Conan the Barbarian would star Arnold Schwarzenegger in one of his very first starring roles alongside James Earl Jones as Thulsa Doom, Max von Sydow as King Osric, Sandahl Bergman as Valeria, and Gerry Lopex as Subotai. The casting is magnificent. Arnold Schwarzenegger, who could barely speak English at the time, was not only the “living incarnation of one of Frazetta’s paperback illustractions” of Conan according to writer Paul Sammon, writer of Cinefantastique, but was apparently willing to put in the work required to excel in his role. Arnold had weapon, martial arts, and horse-riding lessons and even trained with an 11-pound broadsword in preparation for the role. Both Arnold and Sandahl did all their own stunts and according to Arnold the training was just as intense as his previous training for bodybuilding competitions. Meanwhile James Earl Jones and Max von Sydow lent some much-needed gravitas to the film while also tutoring Schwarzenegger in acting throughout filming.

To say that Conan the Barbarian is a cinematic touchstone would be an extreme understatement. Despite it’s modest $70 million box office on a $20 million budget, Conan is quite possibly the best campy fantasy action film of the 80s. Yes, Die Hard is a better film, but that’s not campy in the slightest. Yes, Raiders of the Lost Arc is pretty campy action film, but it’s clearly a pulp adventure film and not specifically a fantasy film. Yes, I’m being a stickler in an effort to over-hype a film about Arnold and his pecks hammer-throwing a flaming lantern like the sledgehammer girl from the 1984 Macintosh commercial, but to be fair, this is the film that kick-started Arnold Schwarzenegger’s career. Two years later he would star in Terminator and then it was off to the races.

Conan the Barbarian has a 66% on Rotten Tomatoes, and 6.9 on IMDB, and three out of four stars from Roger Ebert who wrote, “The movie is a triumph of production design, set decoration, special effects and makeup. Ron Cobb, the sometime underground cartoonist who did the production design on this film (and on “Alien”) supervises an effort in which the individual frames actually do look like blow-ups of panels from the Marvel Comics “Conan” books.” Of particular note is the soundtrack composed by Basil Poledouris, which has been called ‘one of the most spectacular film music achievements of the decade’ and the score has been used as temp music for other films and even early film trailers, while Poledouris’ work on Conan earned him other work on films like RoboCop and Supercult Classic Starship Troopers.

Conan the character and the Hyborian age has inspired everything from Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, and even Game of Thrones, while Conan the film inspired dozens of low-budget copy-cats and TV rip-offs including Supercult Classic Masters of the Universe and a mediocre sequel: Conan the Destroyer in 1984. According to writer Paul Sammon, Conan, being one of the only swords and sorcery films to ever turn a profit, became the standard against which future sword and sorcery films were judged all the way until the 2000s and the release of the Lord of the Rings films.

Grab your broadswords (you do have yours handy, right Supercultists?) and pray with me now:

Supercult Saints, we have never prayed to you before. We have no tongue for it. No one, not even you, will remember if this film was profitable or critically acclaimed. How we found it, or why we watched it. All that matters is that we enjoyed it. That’s what’s important! Amusement pleases you, Supercult Saints… so grant me one request! Grant me a kick-ass time watching this film with my friends! And if you do not listen, then to HELL with you!

The Supercult show proudly presents, Conan the Barbarian!

Conan the Barbarian Howdy all you Supercultists out there on the interwebz! I’m Bad Movie Professor Cameron Coker (BS in “Robert E.

[tocountonbothhands]

soo jin: the sinnamon roll

Soo Jin Takeda nonbinary, http://pronoun.is/ze/hir or they/them

born Nov 6 1989 5'4" half Korean (mother's side), half Japanese (father's side) born in Groveport, Ohio, later moves to Pittsburgh or Boston or New York old charahub page; has pictures

At first glance, Soo Jin is very much the "uwu" type. Ze's almost always smiling or laughing, and ze has a very light and airy look, both in terms of style and how ze carries hirself. Ze wears a lot of big sweaters and hoodies, fluffy skirts, loose jumper dresses, and knee socks. Ze's very affectionate with friends, and always seems to give off a casual, carefree vibe. But any idea of hir being a soft sweet waif is basically shattered once you hear hir speak. Ze's very crass--swears all the time, very candid with both insults and lewdness, and won't take anybody's shit. But smiling still, even as ze tells you to go shove a cactus up your ass.

Soo Jin is an artist and a storyteller, and lives for exploration and inspiration and discovery. Ze admires whimsy and change, but knows how to be patient and persistent enough to get things done. Mainly, ze's into drawing comics--silly cute cartoony shit, or cosmic horror, or porn. Ze's infatuated as much with cute and soft things as with horror and the grotesque. Especially mixing the two; ze was way into the whole creepy-cute, Invader Zim kind of aesthetic back when that was a popular thing. Soo Jin also has approximately 74686326 kinks. Also, a gamer, a dedicated shitposter, and weeb trash. Ze plays some tabletop RPGs and hir favorite character to use is an evil tiefling sorcerer who wants to get a castle and become a deity.

Ze's the kind of person who acts very differently toward the people they love and everyone else. If you're close, ze's going to coddle the fuck out of you, but if not then there's an even chance for hir to save your life or steal your car. It's not an 'inner face vs. outer face' kind of deal; they're all authentic--in fact, Soo Jin can hardly stand to be insincere. Ze just can't be bothered to give a fuck about most people, doesn't have the spoons for that shit. Ze's compassionate to a degree, but doesn't much care about morals or justice, and isn't very sympathetic to suffering that ze isn't directly witnessing. Although ze's somewhat active in social justice, it's motivated less by the idea of justice and more by direct concern for hir friends' safety. Ze's plenty good at lying to authority, though (which ze distrusts inherently). Ze hates following anyone else's rules, but will play along when ze knows it's the way to stay safe.

Ze likes to be seen as the caretaker, the strong one, the one all hir friends can rely on. Ze's terrified of being weak, and can't bear being seen when vulnerable--ze always holds the others when they're crying, it's never the other way around, it can't be. Hir doting, casual demeanor, and lack of judgment mean that ze winds up holding onto everybody's secrets, for better or worse. And ze takes pride in that. Even though it's tough to say whether everyone's secrets are truly safe with hir.

Soo Jin grew up upper middle class, and is the youngest of 3 or 4 kids. Ze doesn't have any ill will toward hir family, but doesn't get on especially well or feel very close to them. They're overwhelmingly practical people; ze's something of the dreamer of the family, and never felt understood, even though ze's well aware that pretty much everyone feels that way about their families. Ze's always been much closer with friends though, and had a big network of friends; even in childhood ze spent most of hir time at hir best friend's house next door. Ze was always a bright student, in the gifted program and whatnot, but never had much ambition. Still, ze was good enough at just quietly doing what was expected of hir to be successful. Ze ends up going to school for and working in biomedical engineering or pharmaceuticals, something that ze's good at but doesn't really care about, and that's close enough to hir parents' medical backgrounds for them to say they're proud. Soo Jin was born with a different (more gendered) name and changed hir name to this sometime around college. It's the name that hir mother told hir she used to imagine growing up and giving to her child someday.

AUs/Incarnations

Most of the time, Soo Jin is just a high school or college student with normal life circumstances, like mild anxiety/depression and going on 4chan with hir best friend in his basement and being in a complicated d/s relationship with hir roommate. Usually ze goes on to get a job ze hates but is good at and pays well enough to continue funding hir dorky hobbies like gaming and cosplay and having 583542 kinks. Ze's usually a passably ""good person"" or like at least within the range of acceptable behavior, but in some stories has occasionally been more cruel or even villainous. In most versions ze just saves that for the bedroom, though. Ze's been a professional dom in one story.

In a superhero AU, ze's an extremely amoral information broker who makes shady deals with heroes and villains alike.

In a Homestuck AU, ze's a Prince of Space, which equates to 'destroyer of matter' and meant being able to telekinetically tear apart the fabric of the (game?) world. Also a Derse dreamer.

In my brief deliberation I decided that hir Digimon crest thing might be Trust or Freedom.

In a Danganronpa AU, ze's Super High School Level Guro Artist (or webcomic artist or something), running multiple popular webcomics under different aliases, most notably a cosmic horror comic and an eroguro comic.

Back in high school I had this idea I yanked off of somebody's Deviantart OCs, about characters being personified 'Influences', ghosts that sort of haunt mortals with a certain feeling, and it was usually related to how they died. Soo Jin was the Influence of Laughter, who was violently murdered but laughing hir ass off the entire time because the killer was the last person ze would have ever expected to do something like that. And from that grisly place, ze went on to? spread laughter and joy??? idfk