#mortis macabre

[dolly-macabre]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕴𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖉 - 𝕽𝖎𝖌𝖔𝖗 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖘

[countlessrealities]

@villains4hire sent:

From Ash to Rick C-137 for Father's Day!

"Hi Dad! I got this thing for you. What it is? Well, I remember you really hated this guy, so in my culture? We kill people like that and then make their skulls into a codpiece! So here you go, it also functions as a belt or a cup to drink from if you want that instead. Just undo the latch thingy here. Oh and here's adoption papers or something, apparently these are 'symbolic' to humans? In my culture, you just take what you want, hurray!"

Regardless, it is a skull that indeed could be belt, codpiece or to drink from, probably not in that order. Then indeed adoption papers, plus it'd mean taking Fox and Ash from Clarence if that tidbit matters.

For one, long minute all the scientist could do was staring at the gifts that Ash was so cheerfully handing to him. Any other person would have probably been startled, if not creeped out, by the skull, but Rick Sanchez was no ordinary human being, and he wasn't ordinary in most galaxies around the multiverse either. So, what had made his eyes go wide with shock had been the papers. Adoption papers.

...Holy shit.

"W-Well, I tend to be a supporter of the 't-take whatever you want' culture too, b-but humans love to get their asses stuck in useless bureaucratic shit, sooo..." He started feeling oddly awkward, as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

Sure, he had been playing the father to the version of Beth he was living with for a while now, but this was different. This wasn't something that had started as a cover up and that then had grown on him. This was real. Fox and Ash were being dumped into his hands as his actual kids. Not replacements, not hypothetical. Real and unique and his.

...HOLY SHIT.

Clearing his throat, he took the papers first, setting them down on the workbench, before accepting the skull too. He didn't want Ash to think that he didn't like or appreciate her gifts, so he would focus on the present he could accept without having an identity crisis.

"An-And damn, you hunt down, murdered an-and skinned that asshole for me? Tha-That's..." His voice trailed of for a moment, as he tried to figure out how he truly felt about it. The answer came more quickly than he had expected. "I-I'm fuckin' touched. G-Geez, I think this is the first time someone does s-something like that for me."

And he wasn't kidding or lying. He was moved. Perhaps the guy hadn't deserved to die just because Rick couldn't stand him, but fuck him. He was a cheating jerk who had done nothing good in his life. On the long term, what Ash had done would probably count as community service.

"This...These are great. I-I was not expecting...well, I-I was expecting nothing. B-But I guess you did your homework."

Awkwardly, he reached out, aiming to lend his hand on the girl's shoulder, but he changed his mind at the last moment and ended up settling it at the top of her hair and ruffling it gently.

"T-Thanks...sweety." It felt weird to call someone who wasn't Beth like that, but if Ash had to be his daughter, then she deserved that pet name too

"I-I guess we'll have to add two places a-at the table for the holidays. J-Jerry will fuckin' love it." An eyeroll. "N-Now he two more people h-he can boast to about his goddamn ham an-and honey and what-the-hell-not."

[deathswcrn]

this has been on in the background all day for me. basing an entire 'verse on this music video alone because i want to eat it.

[lop-witch]

Mascline Goth NPT

Names

pt: names

Thorn , Thorne , Chaos , Corbin , Draven , Edgar , Elatha , Elwin, Etienne , Hades , Merle , Morte , Mors , Mortis , Morte , Nocturne , Noctre , Oleander , Rook , Silas , Silver , Vervain , Jett/Jet , Morris , Noir , Orpheus , Obsidian , Onyx , Blade , Blair , Cain , Kane , Salem , Vesper

Pronouns

pt: pronouns

Neos: Vae/Vaer/Vaemself , Hy/Hym/Hyself , Hie/Hiem/Hiemself , Dae/Daem/Daemself , Xae/Xaer/Xaemself , Hx/Hxm/Hxself , Ve/Ver/Verself

Noun: Goth/Goths/Gothself , Bat/Bats/Batself , Dark/Darks/Darkself , Fang/Fangs/Fangself , Null/Nulls/Nullself

Emoji: 🖤 , 🕷 , 🕸 , 🥀 , ♠️ , ♣️ , 🦇 , 🕯

Titles

pt: titles

The Macabre [term] , The Chiroptera [prn]self , [prn] Who Is Melancholy , [prn] of The Dark , The Prince of Darkness/of The Dark , The King of Darkness/of The Dark , The Gothic One , The Dark [noun]

Identity

pt: identity

Goth Specific: noirgender , gendergoth , gothgender , gothcoric , tradgothic , coffingothic , cybergothmasc , gothlexic , spiritnightic , goththing , gothrosboy , edgeboy , batgothedral , gothvesil

Vibes: fogravet , eeriething

moth dividers by @/firefly-graphics

Tag List: @npt-archive , @id-pack-archive

[pupsmailbox]

DEATH︰REAPER ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abaddon. achlys. acrimony. adrienne. agnes. ajax. altar. ambrosia. angel. annika. apollo. ash. atticus. autopsesse. autopsette. autopsie. autopsy. azrael. bellona. blair. blaise. bones. brains. bram. cadaver. caddie. cain. carrion. casimir. casper. cassius. catalyst. catrina. charon. ciaran. claud. claude. claudia. coraline. cryonic. damion. dawn. deathe. deathesse. deathette. decease. demise. desdemona. desmodus. dolores. doom. draven. drow. edward. emeric. engel. ephraim. ether. ethereal. eve. exigent. fatesse. fatette. gareth. grave. graves. gravesse. grim. grime. grimes. grimesse. grimm. grimme. gwendolyn. hades. jesper. kilian. laud. lilith. lily. lola. lorelai. lucien. lucifer. lurk. macabre. maggot. magnus. mallory. mara. marie. marion. marionnette. martyrdom. mel. monody. morena. morgan. morganna. morgue. moribund. mort. morte. mortesse. morticia. mortimer. mortis. mortisse. mortuary. mortue. mortum. muer. murdock. myrtle. nikola. noire. noirette. nox. orpheus. perdita. perish. persephone. perseus. phantom. pierce. plague. plaguette. plaugesse. pluto. priscill. pyre. ran. reaper. reapesse. reapette. rhys. rigorre. rose. sacrifesse. scy. scythe. scythette. selene. seraph. sic. smierc. specter. thanatos. thorn. vacuous. valentine. vamp. vampyr. vendetta. vessel. victor. viktor. vincent. wounde. woundesse.

PRONOUNS ⌇　abyss/abyss. angel/angel. bite/bite. blade/blade. blood/blood. bo/bone. bone/bone. brain/brain. bur/burial. cad/cadaver. ci/cir. coffin/coffin. cor/corpse. crow/crow. dae/daem. dae/daemon. dea/death. dead/dead. death/death. decay/decay. dem/demise. die/dire. doom/doom. dust/dust. end/ending. fang/fang. fatality/fatality. fate/fatal. fog/fog. fright/fright. gho/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. gore/gore. grave/grave. grave/yard. graveyard/graveyard. gri/grief. grief/grief. grim/grim. guide/guided. holy/holy. hunt/hunt. ick/ick. kill/kill. leth/lethal. lo/loss. morbid/morbid. mort/mort. mortician/mortician. mourn/mourn. necro/necrom. night/night. omen/omen. pain/pain. para/paranormal. per/perish. plague/plague. reap/reap. reap/reaper. reaper/reaper. rebirth/rebirthed. rot/rot. rot/rotten. sacrifice/sacrifice. scy/sycthe. scythe/scythe. skull/skull. slay/slay. soul/soul. spec/spectral. suff/suffer. thy/thy. tomb/entombed. tomb/tomb. tragic/tragic. vamp/vamp. wilt/wilt. wound/wound. zomb/zomb. ☠️ . ⚰️ . ⛓️ . 👻 . 💀 . 🩸.

[glitchgw2]

Meet the Mortis Twins!

Goth musicians and actual twins Liv and Rigg Mortis are fans of echoed snares and synths, as well as the macabre, so they formed a duo to spread the gothic sounds to a wider Tyria.

Drew them with different outfits to share the diversity of their looks and eras. ^_^

Here's a playlist as well to give an idea of what kind of music they make!

[circinuus]

L'APPEL DU VIDE

beast! dazai x reader. 1.3k words

"When they found him, he was dead, his body twisted with the rigor mortis."

[first-person pov; unreliable narrator; mentions about suicide and corpses; reader is whipped for our local crime org boss but not in a good way]

When I was young, when youth had surged in my veins and hot blood had rushed along my cheeks, I met a peculiar man.

He was of every sense but ordinary. A ringleader of a colossal underground organization, equipped with an age not far from my green, half-ripe own. I am sure you'd known about him, perhaps more than I do.

Dazai Osamu was an enigma, and this is my last entry; a story about how I had been completely, perfectly consumed by his whole being.

"Have you heard about the rumors?"

Lowly insects, parasites, and cronies like me fear the unknown. That was the repugnant truth. At a point, we started to forget that he too, was of blood and flesh, not unlike ourselves. But it was too late by then. Our fear had dehumanized him, reduced him into a macabre myth. Not many eyes have bear witness to his figure, yet words about his uncanny competence and the horrors he commands ring like folklore passed down to generations.

"What rumors?"

"That guy who jabbered about the previous boss' death, they found his corpse just now."

Oh, that's right. The sad corpse.

Terribly mangled and dysmorphic, with broken limbs and torso. When I arrived, it no longer depicted a human. From the crevices of those grotesque bends were crimson liquid and bodily waste, seeping out like a fish being gutted. The putrid scent remained even on my bed and dining table.

"Shit. You better watch your mouth. That corpse could've been us at any time."

How terrible. The macabre ghost our fear created was.

And how curious, I thought, for such a living nightmare managed to haunt our mind and life; killing us with his silent bites and coerced us into committing suicide with self-destructive paranoia.

Truly, how terrible, how curious, yet how strikingly beautiful.

Dazai Osamu was an enigma, and I had been completely, utterly consumed by his whole being.

It was a week after that accident—if my memory served. It had betrayed me a lot in the past, and a doctor I knew mentioned how memories are all stack the deck; all tailored to our favor—when I was called for the boss's office.

"For what?" I tried to ask, but received only a scoff from my supervisor. “-If I may know, sir," I added. I knew he was not a horrible man, but my supervisor was not an individual of patience. He offered me nothing but a silent nudge to the boss' door. Like guiding a lamb to the slaughter, a virgin sacrifice to the altar.

I bled that day, I bled myself. Through my chapped lips that I've bitten hard, and through my fingers which dry skin ruptured raw by my unsolicited fidgets.

Out of uncertainty or cowardice, my memory fails to serve me. But I recall with great vividness how everything melted away to oblivion after that sturdy door opened before my eyes. What lay beyond was someone—something so incongruously beautiful, misplacedly sublime.

In that instance, I have realized that I am truly an abominable individual. On that day, I finally understood Basil's infatuation with his muse. Dazai Osamu was a beautiful man, and suddenly I bled for utter fascination rather than unfiltered fear.

My sentiment for this extraordinary man has nothing but become more defined, ever since.

His pale, almost translucent skin consumed my waking days, the flutter of his eyelashes when his eyes blink haunted my dreams, and the curl of his dark hair against the evening lights strayed me away from reality.

Like a sailor to a siren, like a lulling river that drowned the fool; Dazai Osamu was an enigma, and I was wholly enraptured.

I had been bewitched by the moments he kept me by my side, ever since. Fascinated by the moments where he slips up soft vulnerability. Spellbound by the moments he confide in my warmth and touch to soothe the horrors of earth's hell he faced and the pain he endured for a man who doesn't even know his name. Entranced by the moments he morphs to the horror he always has been, with chilling gazes and commanding words enough to shadow the times that reminds everyone that he is of flesh and blood. Beguiled by the moments he disregards me not soon after, as if he forgot I exist.

He was very cruel. But I did not despise him.

Dazai Osamu was cruel. But he was terribly, enchantingly melancholic. Like a dead man forced to be alive for a deed he hasn't finished. Like he was longing, waiting for the sweet mercy of his quietus. I was unable to despise him.

'Even so, what if I attempt to kill him?' under Yokohama's sky—which is too blue, too free. It never sits well with me—I received a call from the void.

'What then?' it continued beckoning. Will his delicate lips curl up into a beautiful, grateful smile? or will it wail and twist into ugly sobs of pain, anger, and fear? Will his empty, soulless mortal vessel stay as beautiful as the tragic beauty he is? or will it turn into another unimportant, unsightly corpse?

"Just now, you're thinking about killing me, weren't you?"

His words chased away the void, like a cold splash on a freezing morning. I was stunned into a fear-coated silence.

"Oh (Name), sweet (Name)," he laughed. It flows like silken honey and suddenly, I was once again drowned in his existence.

"Do you hate me?"

"No, sir," I said the truth.

"Really?"

"Yes, sir," I said the truth.

"Strange," he put a hand on his lower lip—a gesture that I find oddly fitting. "And you still want to see me dead, it seems.”

I stayed silent.

A sick, twisted feeling had emerged. If he had dropped dead at that moment, right there on the edge of the skyscraper, that would be all right. Fine, in fact.

(A sick, twisted feeling had emerged. if I had dropped dead at that moment, right there on the edge of the skyscraper, that would be all right. Fine, in fact.)

"How curious. You never fail to intrigue me."

(The thought scared me.)

I didn’t remember a lot after that day. The next few weeks were a shapeless blur of bullets, guns, and deaths.

Although on a cloudy Friday, I remember seeing hot blood pooling down like melted ruby.

It was unyielding. Seeping and seeping and seeping and it didn’t stop.

I was soaked and damp. His skin was warm as it was stone cold.

No, he wasn’t dead, he wasn’t dead. So I kneeled, gather what was left of him in my arms, and brought his chest to mine.

Viscous, fresh blood continued to gather on my lap, on my tie, on my fingers. The corpse engulfed me with his being, in every way possible. The corpse wasn’t dead, not yet, not yet. So I looked at his face, and pressed my cold beretta against his heart.

By then I realize, in the face of death I saw a soft smile instead of the ugly cries of fear and pain. Ah! So beautiful even surrounded by the crimson bloom of blood, pooling like a downpour along the concrete; limbs mangled and dysmorphic.

Would I be as beautiful, I wonder?

Two sounds of sharp firearms cut the air. It didn't take long for unfortunate witnesses to come and see the tragedy. It didn’t take long for two young men to look down with morbid from the skyscraper above. And it didn’t take long for my hatted supervisor to wake from oblivion. But it was too late by then.

When they found us, we were already dead, our bodies twisted with the rigor mortis.

(Oh, how we looked at so peace like this. How can it possibly scare me?)

fun fact! this was inspired by junji ito's tomie and stephen king's memory, more or less. and i just wanted to say: i'm sorry dazai you'll be forever famous. i'll write a fluff for you someday

♡ @ashthemadwriter

[ms-scarletwings]

A Messy, Sedulous Necropsy of Zib Membrane

That’s what we call him right? Not Invader Zib? Hell if I know, we’ll let the tags decide.

Whatever he is christened by his author, enemies, or fans, this titular villain of the Zimvoid is such a mind blaster to me. I wish we had more time with him within the comics. I wish he had been a concept explored in the show. I wish he had a movie. I am having fun with a little hyperbole here, but I truly do find him just as interesting and potentially pivotal of an antagonist as Tak was, if not even more.

Both, of course, were so badly underutilized for sake of the series status quo. To that, Zib was a much bigger threat than Tak, and especially to that of the comics’ own. He potentially changes everything, and somehow absolutely nothing by the end. The TV show always had a more overt tone of cruelty and the macabre floating about its themes. These print issues? I don’t dislike them. It’s still recognizably invader Zim, and the more the merrier, content-wise, but longtime fans can feel that there was this change of essence in the transition. More obviously, in the art, but more subtly, there was an audible softening of that bluntly darker, cynical tone the show was made iconic for. To put it very generally, they lean a little more into the whackiness of this world, there’s a lot more dark comedy to be found in what I’ve seen so far rather than in your face darkness, and in the absence of the ost and voice acting the show accustomed us to, the comics leave a lot more room to be read as you wile. To me, they’re goofier and more episodic in spirit.

This all is not a critique or rating on the comics.. It’s purely, I feel, why Zib stuck out to me all the more jarringly in his context. His reveal was a genuine twist that brought forth stakes higher than arguably any other threat in the entire franchise. He represents a plausible while horrifying prophecy of our main characters if only they made worse decisions. The most interesting of all, for every piece of amazing information he fed to us, he bred dozens more questions about everything than he answered, from Irken machinations, to his ambivalent backstory, to the secrets hidden by the sum of his parts.

Though he was left evidently alive at the end of his story, I don’t see any chance for him making a return, so he is memorialized as another defeated one-off the writers have brisked past and left behind for good. Therefore, I’m here today to take what we got and present it on the metaphorical autopsy table. I want to really pull apart why this character alone pulled me back into the TV series, really just flay open the bits I can’t get out of my own head and dig harder until we find something or we run out of threads to tug at. Starting with the one already hanging out of my mouth, but

• B.E.F

“Bad End Friend” is a term I learned the meaning of within the last 12 hours or so of writing this, and I’m exuberant over that discovery. It’s a niche trope i didn’t know ive been a giant fan of since I was a child. Summed up, fictional characters from beloved media, typically, animated child protagonists… given the worst case scenario treatment. Their “bad ending”, whether that means a corruption arc, demonic possession, a lovecraftIan tragedy… usually something that’s anywhere along the lines of a fate worse than death to a full villainous turnover. As a treat. The concept is strongly associated with fanworks and AUs of popular media, but just as often this is something that becomes explored in the source material as well. A couple great examples I know would probably be Ice Prince Finn from Adventure Time or what happens in Undertale when you decide you want to run the most depraved playthrough possible. From a more mature story, “Evil” Morty is another validly arguable sample.

Besides a bit of a fondness I got going for certain dark or spooky themes in general, what I REALLY love about canonical BEFs the most is their utility as characterization tools. They’re the “having your cake and eating it too” option! The perfect way for an author to explore certain things about any character without actually committing to well… a bad ending.

Almost always, they are necessarily hypothetical or reversible. If they’re not reversible, they go often hand-in-hand with a little universe tampering to make happen. Sometimes, this means the story goes the way of time travel and branching off butterfly effects. Sometimes it means confirming multiverse theory, which can be the same thing depending on your semantical position.

And Zib crossed off the BEF qualifications by far and away. His implications are extremely dark given any pause think about them, and he’s a living, disturbing tragedy in aftermath. If you want to view a rigamarole about that aspect of his characterization as he appeared in the comics, someone else long beat me to that and I’m enthusiastically recommending a peek at their own work. I’m thrilled to do so and build a little upon that with those extended what-if-wonders.

• Lessons From a Lost Episode

Elephant in the room I haven’t seen someone ask yet, uh..

By show rules, isn’t Zib supposed to be a clear case of the writers committing the sin of retcon? By show I’m including the unaired scripts, including “10 Minutes to Doom”. In that one we had what looked like the potential setup for a Zib case, and it was deconstructed across the whole episode.

In short recap, Dib learned the hard and reckless way about the true nature of what Irken PAKs actually are. This is not an inventory bag, it is not “gear”. It’s the actual Irken entity- at least, the primary component.

Detaching it from the organic shell essentially caused a temporary split into two instances of Zim, desperately trying to connect back together under threat of obliteration.

Like let me be very clear about this,

The PAK is an autonomous instance of Zim’s consciousness, and it’s the main one. We’ve seen it act to save his life when his body has been out cold or flatlined, and he doesn’t appear the least bit disoriented or confused once “he” wakes and jumps back into the action. There’s no known separate computer assistant AI or security autopilot in there. That code, that program, IS Zim. As Long as the PAK is active, he is capable of staying fully conscious and able to react to what’s happening around him, and that’s what we’ve been seeing, his own actions.

Zim proved me right when Virooz tried to replace him and detached the PAK. Take note of his phrasing after the chair event™.

“I” activated the protocol. Immediately after Virooz ran off with my shell.

“I” Voluntarily chose to do so.

I don’t remember it playing out like that in “10 Minutes to Doom”.

Attaching to a new host wasn’t the first reflex. Dib was not the least bit aware that that he has literally holding the actual Zim captive in sense, and the latter was fighting like a cornered animal to escape him. Failing that, alongside the distance between him and his original body growing fast, he made a last desperate gambit, and he willingly connected himself into Dib’s body.

I can see why he thought this was better than nothing, no matter how repulsive the notion might have been. If he couldn’t fend Dib off physically, he could incapacitate him in some fashion by trying to overtake his will. Maybe give the shell a better chance to catch up, maybe in the longshot hope of being able to pilot dib in order to become whole with the correct host again. And you can say he succeeded, at least in dominating bodily control away from Dib, but at the cost of his already tenuously held sanity. This could be because of the interference of Dib’s own mind still resisting to fully submit, or malfunctions because of the biological incompatibility; however, the thing that Dib mentally becomes is only the basic idea of what “Zim” is. Instead of remembering it needs to reunite with its shell ASAP, the PAK mistakes Dib’s body for its own and goes through the manic motions of following the Invader mission. And it does this, weirdly enough, with almost no regard for blowing its cover.

When things are set right again, Zim’s later words near the episode ending revealed that he knew that was an unsustainable state.

Such a risk was not just accounted for, he was actually banking on it if that clock had hit zero. If Zim had truly lost, if he was really doomed to meet his end on this nasty rock in the middle of Nowhere, Space, then by every damned circuit in his being, he was going to take down this insolent fool boy and as many other humans possible with him. A dying act of vengeful rage.

• The Exceptional… Exception

Now, wouldn’t all of this be the definitive reason for Zib’s existence to be an aberrant impossibility? Yes, but actually no. Fun thing about multiverses is if something doesn’t work in one setting, you can just tweak a few dials and suddenly you have a world where the impossible becomes possible. But that’s a pretty cheap answer, isn’t it? So, what exactly was that crucial difference?

What happened in Zib’s timeline that went down so, so divergently from the events of 10 Minutes to Doom?

Because the only one who was in any position to explain it for us was Zib himself, and he’s proven to be one of the most unreliable of narrators. It’s as @dana-chan-the-control-brain already spared no effort to demonstrate, when he does tell us something about his past, his story is pocked with contradicting half-truths or outright lies. Ergo it helps to break down each recount of events to pick out the real facts.

Version 1: This is an alternate version of dib who defeated his complementing Zim (logically sensible) and went on to achieve all of the success and respect he sought after in his timeline (absolute bullshit). He kind of gestures and only implies about what has happened to his body while explaining that he came to his current understanding of Irken technology by studying it through Zim’s lab (a partial truth). He lets slip in passing that he has in fact fused with the PAK in order to learn how to alter and reprogram its coding, lessons he has applied to Number 2 in order to have a brainwashed pawn (also apparently true).

Version 2, when cornered and red handed: This is an alternate version of Dib who managed to specifically stop Zim's mission (Again, makes sense) but somehow could not convince the world of his findings or his warnings about the Irken Armada (*VERY eyebrow raising). Frustrated with the people’s lack of cooperation, he decides he has no choice but to physically merge with Zim’s PAK post-mortem (concerning and evidently mostly accurate), dominate the Earth himself, and enslave humans to help him in his efforts (highly troubling and probably true). The construction of his EMP super-weapon is successful, but ultimately led to the creation of the Zimvoid when the device was field tested (self evident, absolutely horrifying).

You know what I noticed was missing from both of these accounts? Exactly how his Zim was defeated. Which honestly could have been some beyond useful wisdom to pass along to the main Dib??? More than anything else? I’m not going to fault our boy for not pressing that matter better under the awing circumstance; however, there’s an implication I’ve been reading between lines. 

When Zib mentions “defeating” his own Zim, he’s talking about something different than ours.

When our Dib has always talked about “defeating” Zim, he’s meant incapacitation and capture. Throughout the show he explicitly wants to present Zim before an audience alive and whole. Yeah, he fantasizes about other people torturing or disassembling him for study, but HIS role was supposed to be reaping the fame for an undeniable, ground-breaking discovery. Conspiracies and cryptids are all this kid breathes and lives by! And as long as pop culture has always been fascinated with the paranormal, and he has to know this full well, people keep bringing forward hoax after hoax after scam. I mean there’s a freaking current one or few still going IRL about this exact topic. Dib would want no room left for being dismissed as another one of those con artists. 

Nonetheless, I actually doubt this is the reason Zib couldn’t get through to the scientific community. A genuine alien lifeform, even a dead one, could still be confirmed by any basic medical examination. The world thinks Dib is too crazy to listen to, but his father is still Professor Membrane. In "10 Minutes to Doom" OUR Dib got as close as having Membrane literally analyzing a PAK, or at worst, preparing to. “Ultimate Dib” gets his hands on the same thing and pulls a move I’d expect from an HP Lovecraft Protagonist instead.

We’re assuming way too much to what these two Dibs have in common, because this ^^^ is really what made the Zimvoid an outlier in the multiverse. That world didn’t only have a very different, more threatening Zim from the main timeline, it had the Dib who proved even more formidable, cunning, and ruthless, even before the fusion. 

He didn’t obtain that PAK ala the “10 minutes to Doom” accident, it’s a personal trophy. This is extra strange remembering that capturing an Irken is realistically more easy than killing one. They’re seriously more tenacious than kudzu and will even fight back in PAK form alone. I’m convinced that whatever sort of final showdown made the Ultimate Dib the victor, there are two optional endings on the table.

Option 1: There was not a body even left intact enough to bring in to research. Maybe Dib’s fault, maybe an accident, maybe even Zim’s own luck running out and his incompetent antics finally swallowed him (and possibly GIR). This theory assumes that the PAK was the only sort of remains to come into Dib’s recovery/possession.

Option 2: Curiosity Killed the cat,

but satisfaction brought it back.

Or, the one I personally headcanon. Dib… all Dibs, I assume, don’t just hate the Irken species. They are mesmerized by them, and all that they represent from his perspective. Firstly, the epic villain he gets to roleplay nemesis to in order to feel his own worth and importance. Secondly, an unknown wonder from beyond the boundaries of the cosmos. He’s not really a ghost buster or a Men In Black agent at heart, but a scientist, like his father. Underneath his contempt for Zim’s plans to destroy the world is a genuine and appropriately childish awe for alien presence, especially for Zim’s technology. His silent, dopey smile when Tak’s ship ended up in his backyard said more than words ever will.. 

Earlier in the show, a great deal of Dib’s time and effort was spent on trying to infiltrate the lower levels of Zim’s base. Sneaking into the house was hard enough, but the computer security can’t be bypassed like the gnomes. Not even by Zim himself unless he really is all himself. Perhaps you’re starting to sniff where I’m going with this one when I refer back to “Bolognius Maximus”. I’ve another reference that’s a little more on the nose, and a lot more… dark.

Were an expired Irken husk before you, you too might take your victory and cash in then. Still, who knows what sudden impulse may run through the head of a less humble version of yourself, one some could call greedier, obsessive to a fault, a screw or two loose, yet, a hell of a smart cookie. Smart enough to see it for what it actually was, the keys to a whole world of discovery that went so many layers deeper than they could ever imagine. It’s possible the Ultimate Dib already learned beforehand the same hard lessons about the PAKs that our own did, and took that understanding toward not repeating the same mistake this time. What happened to Zim? I think he was murdered in cold blood, body, and entity. “10 Minutes to Doom” showed us a fight between 2 brains clinging to one body, struggling until one overpowered another, but that’s not what this is. Through whatever means of science were available to him, this Dib has probably tried to “disarm” the technology by either erasing Zim’s consciousness out of it altogether, or by forcing the autonomous code into a kind of dormancy. His intentions were to render it back to its basic hardware without losing its precious knowledge and usefulness, something like the brain-filled tank that was wired into Skrang’s head. Zim’s PAK doesn’t cling onto his body like a parasitic teratoma this time; it’s merged in a literal sense with his nervous and circulatory system. As well, he has fooled the device’s ability to detect and reject a foreign host shell, the exact same way he deceived the the base’s security AI. If an Irken biology is what these measures authorize to command them and their secrets, then he had the tools on hand to give them just that- in an atrocity I like to call

the darker harvest.

Within this theory, there is not as much room to wonder exactly what became of Zim’s organic remains. 

But where Dib fucked up was, for the second time, in his ignorance to the true nature of what he was even playing with. That was a mistake that even the mighty Elder Brains of Judgementia lost themselves to; How much more vulnerable was the weak, human mind? Though Zim can be devoured, he can never be digested. In that fact was born this aberration against nature, sanity, and humanity alike.

"Have you ever heard of insect politics? Neither have I. Insects… don't have politics. They're very… brutal. No compassion, no compromise. We can't trust the insect. I'd like to become the first… insect politician. Y'see, I'd like to, but… I'm afraid, uh… I'm saying… I'm saying I - I'm an insect who dreamt he was a man and loved it. But now the dream is over… and the insect is awake." - Seth Brundle, The Fly, 1986

By fusing what is half-mad and what is utterly mad, neither being was cured, only assimilated into the birth of a new madness. The madness of the creature that snickers behind the curtain in the Zimvoid. I rightfully fear that lonesome thing, but not I think as much as I pity him.

• Dejavu, or Re:Plagarism

One more thing about the Zimvoid arc I find curious is the way it makes you question more and more just how much of the aberration is actually still Dib, and how much of it is Zim's infection haunting him. He does nothing with all of his intellect, his resources, and his time in the void doing anything but surrounding himself in everything he claims he despises. He decries alien tyranny in one breath while lording over a homemade, cruel dictatorship in another. He calls for eradication of the very race who's technology and physiology he has thoroughly appropriated. He laments feeling unable to protect the Earth from the Armada alone, yet sneers literally through Irken teeth to insult humans as inferior and of no value to him any longer. Our Dib spent the whole damn show longing for the support of other people, but Zib pushes away potential allies in his arrogance. His broken timeline never became a Dibvoid instead because while only half of his mind can't stand Irkens, both of the souls inside him remember that they loathe and look down upon a Dib, deep inside.

The corruption goes as far as even subverting his own creativity. None of Zib's plans are wholly original. His anti-Irken weapon was already a concept blueprinted inside of that PAK before the merge. Our Dib has several times shown a propensity for some DIY ingenuity, sometimes dipping a toe into the supernatural. Zib entirely calls upon, scavenges and regurgitates Irken designs with a few modifications or upgrades. The Dib Virus, I think is his most uninspired creation yet, for it's original form was always something inside of Zim, even if the latter himself was not aware of the fact. Like all else, it is a weapon he has plundered, customized, and turned around on everyone else for his own selfish ends. This brief point I will end on one  more reflection. The one kind of help Zim ever allowed at his side were the likes of GIR and his own creations. Unable to connect and cooperate with his peers and own kind, his ego preferred to be around those defective machines he related to- drones to be owned by him and always loyally at his beck and call. A slave to admire him unconditionally is the only companionship he's ever been willing to admit to desiring.

And what was Number 2's purpose again? What role exactly were the arena combatants auditioning for, when you think about it?

[them4lware]

opened ; death/grim reaper npt pack ! target ; anonymous user . . . ⚠︎ loading file, please wait . . . ⚠︎ ⚠︎ names azrael ; morgan ; cain ; macabre ; persephone ; lucifer ; perdita ; mara ; dolores ; mel ; coraline ; lily ; mortimer ; lola ; mallory ; achlys ; vendetta ; draven ; bellona ; blair ; mortis ; murdock ; abaddon ; morena ; casimir ; pyre ; blaise ; ran ⚠︎ pronouns dae/daem ; dead/deads ; bo/bone ; reap/reaps ; scy/sycthe ; grim/grims ; gho/ghost ; mort/morts ; skull/skulls ; tomb/tombs ; dea/death ; mourn/mourns ; dust/dusts ; ci/cir ; lo/loss ; gri/grief ; crow/crows ; wilt/wilts ⚠︎ titles prn who deals the final blow ; the hooded (noun/one) ; the reaper of souls ; the angel of death ; the eternal (noun/one) ; prn who is waiting patiently ; the friend of the vultures ; prn who is adorned with black roses ; prn who brings death ; the silent (noun/one)

⚠︎ end of file ⚠︎

[dolly-macabre]

𝕱𝖔𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖍 - 𝕽𝖎𝖌𝖔𝖗 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖘

[acuar-io]

Thanks for asking about people's Sims headcannons! I couldn't keep these to myself 🤣

I love the lore of Bella being a secret agent! I live for her being this badass woman in red with skills that kill and a secret identity!!💃🏽 I think it could explain why she would have been kidnapped/abducted by aliens. And I love thinking about Morty being so focused on writing his macabre poems, that he doesn't notice his wife fighting off a bunch of assassins - just oblivious like, "what rhymes with glum?" hahaha When you first start playing Bella's household, she's just a desk agent - BUT, there is another secret agent in the game...her boss...Geoffrey Landgraab. My headcannon is that Geoffrey Landgraab needs Bella to become a secret field agent to infiltrate and learn the secret identity of the town's crime boss. And the twist is that he lives under the same roof as HER, his wife, Nancy Landgraab.

I also have a theory...that the reason the Sims 4 timeline is so off...is because of Bob Pancakes who only appears in this iteration of the game. I call it the 'Pancake Paradigm'. I believe he is causing the anomalies. I don't think he's supposed to be there and the whole "most boring man alive" narrative they tried to push was a smoke screen.

Thanks again for asking!!

no problem!! :3 I love hearing what u all have to say about the sims 4 townies !!!!~

also omg, I love the headcannon for Bella, Geoffrey and Nancy so much. I personally believe the landgraabs do some interesting stuff under the table for sure & I like that idea for The Goths too tbh (well Mortimer and Bella) they all imo have ties to the mafia

Your theory is really cool & I can totally see that as being the truth

[astrumocs]

also. dollmaker and deadstep (or their respective descendants) because of that one time I wrote dollmaker when i meant to say deadstep during our art trade jhdkfjhdkjs

Both of them normally covered one of their eyes and somehow we ended up where neither of them would? Wild.

I decided to go with the descendants because i understand them a bit better and this is what we ended up with:

Odarem Yharam:

Oda has always been motivated by affection and attention if I'm being honest, and that low bar for what he's willing to tolerate makes him very easy for Dollmake to manipulate. Sure, he wouldn't be allowed to socialize with living people, but he's allowed to socialize with the ghosts in his hive!

As long as he was given the bare minimum praise from his ancestor he'd put up with any mistreatment, honestly. He also wouldn't mind that the possessions were killing him because all of his friends are ghosts! He's just going to join them, nbd.

Drazms Mortis:

Draz would actually have a better relationship with Kali than Oda does in canon, since ironically they'd keep more to themself anyway, even in a life where they finally have that freedom to socialize.

They'd have Oda's death scent powers and still have their natural artistic inclinations, so I think they'd get into macabre and gothic art forms.. still dolls of sorts sometimes maybe, but much more bone and vulture culture focused.

They also wouldn't have any opinions on Deadstep, unlike Oda who kinda dislikes him.

[beevean]

I write very slowly. But I am making progress. Here's some... uh... cute Isaactor? Inspired by the scene in PtR where Isaac brings hands into their laboratory, and Hector gets a better look of the downward spiral he's facing.

~

The humans were becoming bolder and bolder. Foolish, even. Marching towards Lord Dracula’s castle was akin to knocking on Death’s door and pressing your throat on his scythe. Hector did not understand: he only sent his Devils to deal with them as he was told. They would have soon joined their companions in decorating the castle’s courtyard from pikes. Lord Dracula’s message was hard to misunderstand.

Hector was engrossed in finding a way to reinforce a tabar with adamantine, when a flapping of leathery wings and a cooing distracted him.

« Good job, baby, now give Daddy what he needs… »

Hector turned around to ask Isaac to not distract him while he was working, and he saw them.

Hands.

A cascade of hands fell from Abel’s clutches in a wheelbarrow. Greyish, severed neatly, not stained with blood – they had been taken after death.

Queasiness rose from his stomach.

« What is this? »

« My loot! » Isaac laughed like he had just said the funniest joke in the world, but Hector did not get it.

« What for? Do you plan to resell them? » he insisted, though it made no sense. Necromancers had no need for hands alone: their specialty was stitching up dismembered corpses. Hector had witnessed the process, the creation of bloated, multi-headed bodies manipulated like puppets by magic as cursed as his but with none of the elegance. He couldn’t say he was impressed – his Devils were far more sophisticated than those creatures – but Lord Dracula had requested the help of every inhabitant of the castle, even the lowest.

Isaac looked at him as if he were a dim-witted child, before answering: « It is the proof that we are carrying out Lord Dracula’s will. I wish to show them to Him, so that He’ll be satisfied with our work. »

« But there is no need for that. He trusts us. »

This time, he only received for an answer some muttering from a no longer cheerful Isaac. Hector did not insist, because his attention was caught by the “loot”.

The pile of hands were scattered in the wheelbarrow, almost looking like large, macabre spiders. Some still had swords in their grasp, in the rigid hold of rigor mortis; they could be reused. Many had rings, not opulent like those of priests, but sober, wedding rings. The calluses on the fingers and broken nails spoke of lives spent in the fields.

Hector picked up from the pile two hands clasping each other: one was slender, feminine, and the other was plump and much smaller. It was difficult for him to swallow.

« This was uncalled for, Isaac. »

His friend’s face clouded over. It was a sullen, nasty expression, that did not quell the nausea clawing Hector’s abdomen. « Why? Don’t tell me you’re growing soft. »

« You wish, » he snorted. « I’m just saying that it’s unnecessary. Lord Dracula only ordered us to kill anyone who stands in his way; at least grant them dignity in death. »

« Oh, you mean like Lady Lisa, left to bleed out like a pig?! »

Hector froze at Isaac’s scathing words.

It was forbidden to mention Lady Lisa’s name, but she was a tangible presence in every wing of the castle, in every painting that decorated the corridors, in the empty plate that Lord Dracula always left for her. Lady Lisa had died a terrible death, unworthy of a Countess and the kindhearted woman as she was.

Would such a kind heart have appreciated the way they were honoring her memory?

« No, of course not, » Hector stammered, « but… look, they brought children with them. They seem be running short of grown men. And… I don’t think… »

« So? Should I feel sorry for this scum? Idiots. » Isaac had an ugly sneer on his face. « Serves them right for daring to turn their backs on Lord Dracula. »

But they didn’t. We destroyed Targoviste months ago. These... are just desperate people.

He bit his tongue. He could not hear their screams from inside the stone walls, but still the resounded clear in his ears. The sobs of husbands who had lost their wives, much like Lord Dracula, the wails of the mothers who had watched their children being torn apart. For what sin? It wasn’t their sin…

«Lord Dracula better not hear you right now, Hector, or He would be very disappointed, » hissed Isaac, venom dripping from the last word.

His Lord’s disappointment was the last thing he ever wanted.

Hector looked at the two hands again, the bone fragments protruding from the wrists, the bruises mottling the skin. Moved by revulsion, he threw them back into the pile: they separated and bounced away from each other. Yet, the clammy cold of death clung to his flesh: he rubbed his palms together to get rid of it, unsuccessfully.

Lord Dracula would not approve of this senseless act, surely. He was a reasonable Lord, who never took more than his fill, who punished those who wronged him and rewarded those who deserved his generosity, like Hector and Isaac, nothing more and nothing less.

That was the Lord he knew. The roaring monster with wild white hair and burning eyes, who had declared that no one shall survive his wrath, was not him.

No, Hector grabbed his elbows, he had to understand… Lord Dracula was in the throes of grief. Who wouldn’t be? It broke his heart to see him slumped on the throne, when the flames of Hell burning from within suddenly went out and revealed the man hidden behind them. Hector wanted nothing more than to bring him comfort, as much as it was feasible… and Isaac too, in his own way…

« Hey. » Isaac’s voice and hand, too soft to be really him, called him back in the laboratory. A rare gift, that Hector accepted. « Hey, why the long face? It’s alright, I was exaggerating. Think of it like this: they’ll go to Heaven soon. So, in a sense, we’re doing them a favor. »

« Some good it will do to them, for what Heaven’s worth. » Hector rolled his eyes to the sky he harbored no respect for. « To worship for eternity the One who allows his creatures to spread so much misery… » He chuckled. It was a jarring sound. « Good thing we’ll never have to worry about it, right? »

«Ah, they can have it, » said Isaac nonchalantly waving a hand. « I have no intention of sitting around God and singing praises for the rest of time, that sounds dreadfully boring. We’ll be the ones making a Heaven of our own, Hector! »

Isaac grabbed Hector by the shoulders, like when they were children and his friend came up with another brilliant idea to get them into trouble. But at least his face was glowing again; Hector couldn’t remember the last time he saw such joy light up in him.

« What? »

« Yes! We will make this world our Heaven! A world where only the two of us, and Lord Dracula, will exist, and we will forge it in our image! No one will chase us and hurt us anymore! God will no longer punish us for being born! We will be able to study and create and be the masters of all knowledge and life! We can just… live, together. » Isaac's nose almost touched Hector’s, and a feeling he couldn't name colored his cheeks. He could see his reflection in the large, clear eyes. « What do you think? »

And for a split second, Hector was a child again, like when Isaac welcomed him into the castle with a smile and his heart thrummed and for the first time he understood that he wanted to live.

« Promise? » he asked, his voice soft.

Isaac sealed the promise with a kiss.

He was still his dear Isaac.

Hector held him close, and the tension in his muscles and stomach melted away in his warmth. He had no idea what Heaven was like, he would never know, and he didn’t care. But if it was spending the rest of his life with his friend, it didn’t sound boring at all.

[gargoyle-rick]

How did you and Morty first meet?

A fair question I suppose but I must say the answer is quite unremarkable.

Years ago a stonemason arrived to deliver a multitude of ornate headstone statues for a considerably small funeral. It looked out of place in my once great cathedral, who sits in the remains of a once even greater city. I was curious why someone would bother to send them here. After looking through paperwork and eaves dropping on what was passed along to remaining priest, I had an answer.

The statues were to honour a couple and their daughter. Left for dead during a home invasion, I heard the scene was left quite nasty. The husband, Jeckory smith, was the leader of a smithing company of sorts. Apparently his metalwork was renowned by many and even found it’s way to the king’s very crown.

His ancestral family honed their skills within the city hundreds of years ago, but left hastily as everyone else did during the great haunting. It was tradition for them to be left in this cemetery and so the remaining family made the arrangements. I learned that they had each of the, and I hesitate to call them this, Gargoyles carved to be direct likenesses of the family. Deliciously macabre.

The funeral party consisted of only the priest, a few mourners, and their remaining young son, Mortimer. Left to stare at the faces of his dead family represented in such cold solid stone. None of the mournful souls seemed to care what happened to the boy, as they simply left the priest some money or supplies and went back to wherever they came from. Mortimer and I grew somewhat acquainted as he started his new life here.

An orphaned boy left to the care of a priest. How utterly common. Even more unremarkable, the priest being as old as he was, died before Mortimer could finish his religious studies. Leaving him in this purposeless limbo without the ability to ascend to priesthood, as he so desperately wanted to. It would have given him the opportunity to leave. Yet now he’s forced to wander the cathedral surrounded by the crying faces of his loved ones. I found his overwhelming sorrow and despair to be particularly delectable.

Ever since then his weeping has filled the halls like a sort of music throughout the night.

-Gargoyle rick

[i-cant-believe-its-not-silk]

They say we don't grow through amputation but I do

The limbs of thy neighbor stacked, sewn, entwined into a macabre throne.

Your absolutes aren't so all encompassing anymore.

I'd bet my eyes and tongue you think me a villain of most nefarious intent.

Staring up at me as you are with your subjective morality and uncompromising ideals.

Boney stilts with which I tower above you pierce the ground with their jagged ends.

I bet you regret that mercy of yours now... maybe just a little bit.

Of all the chances you had to put me down.

Of all the times you could have wiped my wretched existence from this mortal coil yet refrained.

Through the unbearably slow eternity in which you watched me become the very thing I swore to destroy.

All because 'killing was wrong' and 'Friendship is magic'.

LOOK AT ME NOW YOU KIND HEARTED FUCK.

Look at my rigor mortis smile my forever lifeless eyes.

I've become a God damned monster for no person makes fucking furniture out of people even if they were criminals and scum.

So strike me down where I stand. Fucking smite me till i turn to ash and dust.

Say you empty words of 'It was never supposed to be this way' and 'I'm sorry I let you fall this far'.

Look at me with you face so filled with emotion bore your eyes so filled with regret into my withering skull.

And end me where I stand

Let this rotting tale of villainy end before my mind slips completely.

[liddell-fish]

Yes I am a Freak.

(Tw: mentions of paraphilia, corpses, death and shotacon)

About Me:

Hello, I'm Liddell. I was born October 16th, 1993.

I'm an aegosexual demiboy. I am a paraphile (fictophilia, shotacon, and necrophilia). I do not think having a paraphilia makes you a bad person, so long as you do not act on the harmful ones and are seeking proper help with them. I am also Proship/anti harassment. I'm an anrcho communist with some extremist views. (It's all for the greater good™.) Intersectional feminist still in the process of learning and unlearning.

My kins

Fictional kins

Janet (The Good Place)

Shirotani (Ten Count)

Keiichi Maebara (Higurashi When they cry)

Sal Fisher (Sally Face)

Korekiyo Shinguji (DR:V3)

Agatha Knife (Agatha Knife)

Wei Wuxian (MZDS)

Opal (Jack Straubers Opal)

Other kins

Corpse kin

Zombie kin

Ghost kin

My F/Os

Eddie Gluskin (Outlast: Whistleblower)

Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)

Eric Cartman (South Park)

Harold (Both TD and Totaldramarama)

Ichimatsu Matsuno (Osomatsu-san)

You know what, all six Matsuno Brothers.

Lloyd de Saloum (I was reincarnated as the 7th Prince)

Hans Christian Andersen (Fate series)

Giles De Rais (Fate series)

Likes

Death, corpses, the macabre

Horror

Guro

Queer romance

Sadomasochism

Sharp objects

Farming sims

Adult animated comedies

Anime about little boys in teeny tiny shorts

Tabletop roleplaying

Swimming

Dislikes

Bigots of all shades

Antis

Elon Musk

People who don't like musicals and have to make that opinion known to EVERYONE

Irl children

The cocaine shits

DNI

Minors (would prefer no one under 25 really)

Antis

Zionists

People who are "neutral" to the Palestinian genocide

"Vote Blue No Matter Who" Dems

Baptists

Bigots/trumpies/nazis

Terfs,Tirfs,swerfs, ECT...

Gender essentialists & trans meds

People for whom my blog may be unsafe for.