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mywifeleftme · 11 months

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189: The Haxan Cloak // Excavation

Excavation The Haxan Cloak 2013, Tri Angle (Bandcamp)

Through his work as the Haxan Cloak and as a film composer (notably on a couple of Ari Aster pictures), Bobby Krlic has helped define the modern aesthetics of what we might call Upsetting Music:

Extremely low frequency synthesized bass with a subliminal roar

Slow, deliberate, violent industrial percussion with a ton of reverb

Creepy whirring noises that simultaneously evoke machinery and insects

Staticky, panned whooshing sounds, that suggest rapid movement captured on degraded video tape

Piercing whines, reminiscent of alarms or the shrill violin notes exploited in scores like Psycho

Snippets of higher pitched noises that sound like muffled or glitched recordings of human cries

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Unlike traditional symphonic scores or even the kind of throbbing but ultimately melodic progressive electronic stuff used in ‘80s horror scores, this music largely eschews melody in favour of manipulating sounds to provoke a visceral sense of unease as directly as possible. Electronic music made its initial inroads into horror in the late ‘70s largely because it was cheap to produce, but the runaway success of independent/low-budget films with keyboard-heavy scores like John Carpenter’s Halloween made the aesthetic popular. Since then, genre film has continued to evolve alongside the darker strains of electronic music, from schlocky early ‘90s flicks that incorporate techno and horrorcore rap, to the way industrial became de rigueur for a certain variety of desaturated, nihilistic, almost fetishy brand of cheap ‘00s torture flick.

Independent of this history though, I think there’s something specific about recent horror and thriller filmmakers’ embrace of dark ambient/drone music like Krlic’s that links to Western contemporary anxieties and how these audiences experience fear. I remember many years ago (I’m 51) reading an article in a film theory class about how the rise of automation in the early 20th century kicked off a minor craze in the newspapers of the day for grisly stories about bodies being maimed by trams and the like. The author argued that these sorts of accidents were a new form or vector of terror specific to the industrial age, and that there was a corresponding spike in depictions of these tragedies in contemporaneous films, which tended to pull their subject matter and aesthetics from the well of public worries. Genre music has evolved along parallel lines. Traditional orchestral horror scores derive from ominous motifs found in classical music and opera, which reflect older notions of how evil and despair should be depicted—a Christian understanding of evil, with attendant tropes. A world mediated by religion and versed in devotional music (masses, hymnals, Gregorian chant) would naturally imagine Satanic music as its inversion (dark, baroque renditions of the religious cannon) or opposite (“primitive” tribal music).

By the middle of the century a secularized notion that evil might derive from the personal psychoses of individuals, or (as the tram reading suggested) the indifference of technology and institutions, became widespread, and was duly reflected in the cinema. Today, in the West anyway, our bodies are more insulated than ever before from daily exposure to the sorts of violence depicted in horror films, and our fears have become more secularized and more abstracted still. Our most immediate experiences of dread and bodily harm have tended to come from what we witness on our screens, the fear of seeing something troubling. At the same time, filmmakers have realized that the sonically unsettling aspects of ominous symphonic music (extreme high and low frequencies; disharmony; jerky rhythms) could be divorced from the orchestral context, leaving artists with a set of specific tools for physically startling audiences in tandem with the action onscreen.

Krlic’s music is a product of these parallel processes. As noted, much of his work prioritizes psychological and physiological effect above all, pushing these notions (in his Haxan Cloak work especially) about as far as they can be taken outside of extremist genres like harsh noise and powerviolence. When he makes his synths literally growl, our bodies respond to the perceived threat, even though we know what we’re hearing isn’t produced by a living animal. Some of what he’s exploiting, again, is stuff that goes back to our base threat-detecting instincts, but the overtly technological aspect is also the sound of horrible things both real and simulated we’ve seen through media. Staticky screams and the scrape of metal on concrete summon the spectre of snuff films, hostage videos, extreme BDSM porn, war footage, and all of the movies, video games, and music videos that have adapted their imagery to get a rise out of people. It also, especially to a broad subset of “average” moviegoers, sounds like the type of music people who want to rape and murder your family would listen to for kicks.

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There is a good deal more going on in Krlic’s music than simple fearmongering though—we can look at Excavation, his second and final LP to date as the Haxan Cloak,as part of a long lineage stretching from ‘60s experimental electronic music like White Noise through Nurse with Wound, Aphex Twin, and Nine Inch Nails among many others. “The Mirror Reflecting (Part 2)” eventually reveals a sequence of austere, crystalline guitar-like sounds that post-metallers Agalloch might’ve produced; “Dieu” opens with some subterranean breakbeats and chopped up samples that nearly threaten to look in the direction of a dancefloor before a creepy violin quells the thought; the rain-drenched “The Drop” flashes a bit of a Baths-style emo/downtempo vibe when it isn’t trudging past the sounds of dark satanic mills. Just as some people will hear Excavation as sadistic junkie music, others will no doubt find it an exceedingly warm and plush casket to disappear within, the overwhelming weight of its sounds divorced of violent associations, just signals strobing across the darkened hemispheres.

189/365

#the haxan cloak #bobby krlic #ari aster #a24 #horror movies #horror music #halloween music #halloweek #dark techno #dark ambient #electronic music #'10s music #music review #vinyl record

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truckreincarnation · 6 months

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New Game Plus | Manami Epilogue

On days like today, someone like Manami… should probably be burning in hell.

Even if it hadn’t come to pass, she was still fully complicit in and ready to aid the destruction of an entire capital city. But, with tensions mellowing and a new age of peace flourishing, she too had cooled down on her general villainy and had mostly become a personal nuisance at her worst. In fact, once she was settled back in Hivemount, she’d gotten to work on establishing a rudimentary Stone Network as part of her diplomacy efforts. It would start as direct calling lines between the most major cities and settlements willing to accept them at first, like New Last Haven and Perry’s Place. She would take advantage of this to call Frank and Perry and whoever else for “”testing purposes”” as often as possible. But as the years, decades, centuries went by, her efforts to Bring Back Phones And Also The Internet As Most Of Them Knew It would continue and, eventually, bear some sort of fruit. Magitech might not have worked quite like in her animes, but Manami was surprisingly damn resourceful when she wanted to be. And nothing if not dreadfully determined. Her Desire domain corrupting into something that compelled her to assert her will more and more forcefully was… a mixed bag, in that it was at least a good vehicle for positive change. When she could channel it productively.

The Demon King was understandably deeply reluctant to give her any more of a direct line to him than she already had through her Domains, although with him being a lot less evil… eventually, her link to what she desired most in the world would shift away from him. She would remain devoted to the success and prosperity of Demon King’s lands, but even she wasn’t quite sure when it stopped being entirely about pleasing her king. She just… Desired a more fun world, she surmised. It was a massive undertaking - just negotiating the necessary magical infrastructure with the rest of the continent would have been almost a century’s worth of work by herself. Having Frank’s support made it much easier in the newly anointed Arisen Kingdom, at least, and it wasn't like the other countries were keen to fall behind on the latest magitechnological developments.

As for her progressions over time, well…

Mana(mi), the reddish Love Bug, had ghostly outlines of her face and limbs out of sync with her movements. It was more ethereal than it was unsettling, once one had a moment to get used to it. Her edges were more rounded, wings adopting a softer heart-shaped silhouette. She wore her heart on her sleeve - her body was now overlaid with a sprawling pattern mapping out her veins. It was a more subtle look, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it or looking at her directly, but it did bring everything back to her heart in the end.

(Ma)Nami, the bluish Game Breaking Bug, looked more and more like something that crawled out of a video-game corruption. Her eyes took on an almost LED screen-like appearance, shifting from red to black and her pupils forever defaulting to little red pixel hearts (but changing shapes as they reflected her emotions better than ever before.) Where there was subtle sprawling vein pattern on Mana was a striking, disjointed set of bright red and blue and black circuit board patterns that snaked up Nami's limbs and across her angular, glitchy wings.

On top of the existing issues with her Glitch domain that you were all more familiar with, she was… kind of scary to look at. One could be forgiven if they mistook her for a Lost Bound at first glance. While Manami herself was never shy about this development, the Mana body handled most of her diplomatic work. She was pretty excited to show off all of her other new changes to everyone else, but she got a particular kick out of dropping in on Bian and Nao with her new creepypasta-ass look. It was fun! It was funny!

Being in two places at once was actually quite helpful in stalling any further progressions. A lot of her stress had come from all the responsibility she’d taken on in this world, and eight hands were significantly better at managing it than four. Her proximity and surprising… friendship…? with Germain after all was said and done was another positive. They’d been at this for a lot longer than she was without losing themself, and it turned out that having a healthy outlet for her more aggressive urges when they arose was a pretty major benefit. Even when she had the time to make it technically two-on-one, it still took her countless tries to actually beat them in a spar.

Quite excitingly, though, after some slow but steady amends were made and well before The New Internet… she would ultimately get that collaboration with Harriet. KANOJOSORE would release in the format of a set of Choose Your Own Adventure books, a spiritual sequel to her beloved KARESHINPAI full to the brim with beautiful, spooky women for the reader to kiss and/or be killed by. It was better than a dream come true, being able to have that kind of rich, creative relationship with someone again. Manami had come to realize that even in the ritual, she’d been undervaluing non-romantic relationships as a source of love and fulfillment. While she'd still seek that sort of love to little success wherever she went, she felt a renewed sense of gratitude for the friendships she'd formed during her time on this Eart.

She tried to keep up with Shin’s group as best she could, always nosy about their latest adventures. Mercenary work was fucking cool, and it was comprised of some people she considered very good friends of hers. When the occasion and opportunity arose, she would gladly get into a little trouble with any of them. Esmée and Luz particularly - she’d gotten into all sorts of mischief with them before, and saw no need for that to change. With her newfound Recursive Mimic Duplication Mastery, she re-resolved to solve the ultimate mystery of how many targets Shin could hit with only one punch.

Ultimately, she would at least try to stay in touch with everyone. She did keep her magic journal, and she had her bird, Oowashi, that she'd gotten from Luz. Whether anyone responded in kind was up to them, but everyone would get at least occasional check-ins from her even without responses. She was just so busy she barely noticed the time flying by as she worked tirelessly towards creating the New Internet, towards re-introducing her beloved craft to the continent - and maybe eventually the world - at large.

She barely noticed some of her friends getting worse.

Perry’s decision to be unsummoned was one she respected. It couldn’t have been an easy choice to make, but at least it had been just that this time - a choice. It was a devastating loss, and her constantly elevated emotional responses made it difficult to handle, but knowing that it had been her decision made it… a little easier, at least. If there was any sort of service or ceremony or celebration of life, she was absolutely in attendance. She would check in on Esmée and Yuliya a little more often after that, pay Perry’s settlement as many in-person visits as she could manage. She would try to be a little more like her in all the ways she respected. If anyone else were to make the decision to leave for their original afterlife, she would strive to carry a part of them with her too.

She had always been a bit of a completionist like that. She never liked leaving things unfinished, and to that end - she finally found some closure with Pixel Heart. A version of the musical leitmotif Kotone had identified as her favourite became the default ringtone, or ‘call sound,’ as the cellstone network developed. With what it would mean for her immortal soul, she’d already never wanted to see Kotone again. She never would now, with Incarnate summoning as a lost, forbidden art. She’d been an important person to Manami for as long as they’d known each other. It only seemed right to honour her in some way.

But all of that is in the future.

Today, it's a beautiful day outside.

Birds are singing, flowers are blooming.

On days like this, people like Manami were thriving. She had a lot of business to attend to in Last Haven, and a brilliant idea she wanted to pitch to Frank. She was pretty sure she’d hit on something that would revolutionize the way this world communicated - and if he didn’t mind helping her out with it, she'd like to test some of the basic infrastructure between Hivemount and Last Haven.

#Manami #epilogue #submission

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dishtothedeath · 1 year

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MAPS | MALWART

Back to Maps

Malwart: The World’s Megastore™

Dish to the Death’s first official sponsorship with the world’s fastest growing Megastore - Malwart™! This is a supermarket, a huge building with various departments inside. Malwart™ at its core, however, is a grocery store. Assured quality products at your convenience - if for some reason your kitchen or pantry is lacking in ingredients, you can head on down to Malwart for groceries.

Not only are you spoiled for choice for food and produce, but there are aisles dedicated to healthcare, toiletries, and beauty! Running out of your favourite clown make-up? Are your roots showing or just fancy a new hair colour altogether? Need some more sunscreen after all that time on the beach? Malwart™ has got you.

Have you ever been to a store after 12am? This Walmart seems to have those vibes no matter what time of day it actually is. To say that this store is unsettling is… an understatement. Aside from the outdated pop music echoing around the giant store, you could swear you saw a shadow stocking the shelves, or a shopping cart suddenly rolling away down an aisle all on its own. Anything that’s spilled is mysteriously cleaned up 5 minutes later. The pricing labels are prone to glitch and warp sometimes as you read them.

Maybe it’s best not to browse here for too long…

Anyways, while you do not need money to purchase items, it is heavily encouraged to use the self checkouts towards the exit. Mostly for the viewers’ curiosity… and to keep track of stock demands, of course.

BB’s Bakery and Café

Once you’ve entered the Grocery Store, to the immediate left you’ll find a Hole in the Wall style Café. It’s cosy and cute and decorated like it was on a Parisian street. The smell of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee beans hits your nose the moment you step through its door. Of course, it's self-serve - but the kitchen is perfectly equipped for even the most expert of bakers, and a stunning barista station that can brew any beverage to the perfect flavour and temperature… if you know how to use it.

There’s a handful of small tables for sipping your lattes inside, and through some patio doors, you’ll find a very small private garden. This garden will only seat a couple, with its table hosting two chairs, a forever-burning candle and a rose in the centre. How romantic!

The Deli

Located towards the back of Malwart™, the Deli can be found. The freshest cuts of meat (both real and faux!) can be found here. You can choose from a pre-cut selection done by automated machines, or try a hand at it yourself! There’s a professional meat slicer, so many knives, and even a salad bar—gotta have some greens with that meat.

Malwart ™ is not responsible for any injuries, illnesses, or death should you cut your own meat.

Warehouse

Attached to the very back of the megastore, the Warehouse is a very large and spacious place. It’s easy to get lost, as all the aisles look the same, with the occasional flickering light. You know the show can afford decent electrics, so it's assumed the flickering is done for ambience.

Since Malwart ™ isn’t staffed with actual people, the Warehouse is eerily empty and almost non-functioning. There’s a forklift parked in the middle of one of the aisles, but the keys are nowhere to be found unless you’re forklift certified, which is probably for the best. It’s heavy machinery! Speaking of, there’s also an industrial trash compactor back here, too.

In the hours of the early morning, there is a rare chance you may catch robots scurrying around doing their stock fulfilment duties. Just… you’re not sure where they get their goods from. Is it delivered by sea? By air? By secret tunnel? (SECRET TUNNEL!) Who’s to say…

Breakroom

Connected to a corridor from the Warehouse, you can find yourself in the Breakroom! Not like there’s any cashiers or anything to take a break, so it’s free for you to use. There’s several well-stocked vending machines for snacks and drinks, tables and chairs for sitting or whatever else you do with them, and even a pool table to smack some balls around. It looks like someone has been playing tic-tac-toe on the whiteboard mounted on the wall.

There’s an old stereo—do any of you young’n’s know how to use it? Many tapes feature Toppin’ Pop Hits from the 80s to 90s. Maybe even some early 00s. Get your boogie on… if you manage to get the stereo playing, that is.

Security

Malwart ™ takes its security very seriously, even on an island that only hosts 18 people! Well, less now but – You can find the security room just opposite of the Breakroom. It’s a very small box room, with a desk, a defunct computer and many monitors. The technology seems to be retro purely for aesthetic’s sake.

And yes, the cameras and monitors work. You can watch the goings on of all of Malwart ™ (and only Malwart™) from these monitors, as each location has its own screen that periodically cycles through the different cameras.

Every once in a while, you could swear you see unfamiliar figures in the footage walking down the aisles, but you know that no one else is on this island besides you… right?

Parking Lot

Following the corridor from the Warehouse, past the Breakroom and Security office, you’ll find yourself outside in an obsolete parking lot. Like, really, what was the point of building this? Who has cars on an island? It’s totally empty.

Oh well, there’s plenty of space to race around in the Malwart™ shopping carts if you so desire. Maybe set up a course with the traffic cones left around the place. It seems like a makeshift basketball hoop has been put up on one of the lamp posts. Surely you can keep yourself entertained out there if you need to.

#ch3 #maps #malwart

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the-vile-menac · 3 years

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(My Thoughts for Come and Learn With Pibby)

- I saw a recent video from Adult Swim [AS] YT account and sees a preschooler named Pibby, her bunny friend named Bun Bun and a weird crocodile (that no-one even wants to talk about) with their world being consumed by an unknown evil flowing through their lands, eventually Pibby is separated from her friends and got lost from her world into other countless cartoon universes or people would call it, The Multiverse. She teams up with a sidekick and a Cruella De Ville inspired villain to work together to save not only their worlds, but others as well.

Now that the synopsis of the series explained, it's time for my thoughts and criticism of this upcoming show.

All I can say is that this would made to a real series; but to me, (maybe, just maybe) it would FAIL tremendously.

Why? Because of 2 main reasons:

1. Is that making a preschool character a protagonist of a very violent and harmful show that features terrifying and unsettling glitchy monster versions of familiar cartoon characters and nostalgians. You may or may not see what I'm heading here, Pibby will go through a hell of a time throughout this series, if this is a real life scenario, a child her age would be traumatized and petrified of all the danger happening around her surroundings and that would not be a good sign for children who suffered the same way in the real world... Well obviously with no darkness consuming all but facing realistic events with real life consequences. Pibby would be a representation of those children, going through a lot of pain and suffering in a young age. Now that I think about it, I felt bad for Pibby going through all of that trouble. She just want to be herself in her very peaceful world with her friends, but then strips all of that away with only the darkness destroying all of it, leaving nothing but the fear and anxiety and the challenges to face, even if the series gets like a happy ending, it's not gonna wash away all of her trauma she went through.

Now for my second reason, remember I mentioned about "terrifying and unsettling glitchy monster versions of familiar cartoon characters". That would be the second major flaw of this show. Sure the people who watched the YT video is hyped about this seeing the famous cartoon icons such as the Flintstones, Jetsons and other cartoons return, but that's where the problem is. Seeing them again as glitch out MONSTERS?!?! Like come on, people! Surely you would not want to take a picture with those pupil-less, mouth wided, aimless shell of cartoon icons such as Shaggy Rogers, Gumball Watterson, Finn the Human, Steven Universe and more. I mean think about this, those frightening features would scare the living daylights of younger audiences (mostly if it's by accident) and for those diehard fans of those shows would NEVER EVER look at them the same way ever. Look, the glitching darkness can be a great monster of this show, but turning our beloved cartoons into mindless oozing zombie like beings is messed up! We see them in that trailer, but would expect more of the greatest hit cartoons to make their appearance, but in the most unpleasant experience EVER!

You can see both of my reasons are linked to each other in like different ways. I'm not judging of criticizing the work of the mind behind Come and Learn With Pibby, it's just something that plagued my mind in a while now after I saw that YT video. And TBH, seeing this as a series is too much of a stretch, I would rather see this concept into a MOVIE instead of a full series, just to be sure.

#learning with pibby #pibby adult swim #pibby

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mysterytickingegos · 4 years

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I’ve Created a Monster

Pairing: Darkiplier x Clairvoyant!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,480

Summary: After a bad date, you made a rather interesting friend. But better yet, you discovered something just as interesting about yourself. This something leads to a very exhilarating part of your life, but you learn the hard way that it’s not quite as glamorous an adventure as it may seem. The last person you’d expect is the one to bring you back to reality.

Anonymous Request: If I may request! :) Can I have a darkiplier x fem!reader fic with the prompts 37, 44, 45? After the events of wkm? Just some hurt and comfort to give me dem feelz 😀👍 Maybe Dark is the one saying it please? Much thanks!

Authors Note: Probably not what you were going for with the prompts but I hope you still enjoy it!

Want to read more?

[Image Description: A Gif of Darkiplier from the “horror” branch of “A Date with Markiplier,” speaking to the viewer at a table, while another image of him leans away and yells. End Description]

Junk mail, bill, wrong address, junk mail...

The usual. You weren’t sure what ‘cool thing’ you were expecting to get in the mail in 2020 but the disappointment was there anyway. Just as you shut your mailbox you heard somebody coming down the stairs and cringed, bracing yourself as you hoped it wasn’t who you thought it was. But of course it was.

Your upstairs neighbor, AKA the worst date ever. “Ah, hey Y/n.”

“Hi Mark...” You gave him a sad attempt at a wave, and he gave you a nod, walking over to his own mailbox.

‘How’s it going?”

“Great, yeah...you?”

“Good.”

And with that the room dissolved into awkward silence, and you took your leave back up the stairs. Funny enough these moments used to be filled with dumb jokes and flirting, that was until he finally asked you out. You had been overjoyed, happy that someone had taken an interest in you and glad that something was breaking your dull everyday routine. Little did you know the highlight of the date would be the end. He had taken you to an expensive restaurant only to reveal that he had ‘forgotten’ his wallet (which ended up falling out of his pocket in front of you in the theater.) Then he had been upset with you for accidentally falling asleep to what must’ve the most boring Rom-com you had ever been subjected to. You both seemed to be in silent agreement that this should never, ever happen again.

But unbeknownst to you and Mark, somebody else had been lingering around. That was the first time that specific somebody had decided to visit you, making a sucky date the least of your concerns. You spent the rest of your night watching compilations on YouTube and eating chocolate Ice Cream. You kept going from sad to angry over your horrible day in your head.

Were you only worth asking out for a free meal? A meal that for you took about half your grocery budget. You should’ve given that ass a piece of your mind.

You sniffed, wiping your eyes and scarfing down even more ice cream. “Damn it.”

“Aw, don’t cry, darling. It wasn’t that bad.”

You screamed and nearly jumped out of your skin, scrambling away from the man now next to you on the couch. The moment your feet hit the ground you grabbed your phone and locked yourself in your bedroom. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“Let’s say I'm a... friend of a friend. I thought I’d check up on you after that train wreck.” He spoke through the door. You heard a laugh layer over his voice, and wondered if somebody else was there.

“I’m calling the police!” You shouted back.

Then you heard the same voice just in front of you, clearly amused with the situation. “You’re welcome to do so, though I’m not sure they’d believe you.” It was the same man from the couch, smiling at you. You noticed how he seemed to be glitching, and how as his head tilted to the side his figure had duplicated in blue for a split second. “As I’m sure you can tell by now, I’m not exactly human.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I’d like to get to know you, Y/n. Is that so much to ask?”

The first few nights that you had stayed up a little too late and wound up speaking that deranged spirit again, you had been terrified. But soon enough you learned to enjoy his company. Sure, he could be a little unsettling at times, particularly when he was irritated and got...cold. Not just figuratively, which he was, but literally. The temperature in your apartment would drop a significant amount and you would change subjects shivering. But all in all, from what you could see behind that wall he had up, he was simply lost at worst, not exactly evil. And it was nice to not have to be so lonely all the time.

But during one of these visits, early on, you had decided to ask why.

“Why me, of all people?”

The man you had come to know simply as ‘Dark’ leaned in, lighting up as though he had been waiting on you to ask that this entire time. “Oh, Y/n. Don’t you know?”

“Why would I ask if I already knew?”

He let out an impatient sigh. ‘That’s...I was being...” He glanced up at you just in time to catch the smile playing at your lips after successfully ruining his aesthetic. “You know what? You can stay in the dark.”

“No no no, I’ll shut up, just tell me.” You turned to face him on the couch, tucking your legs under yourself.

He left you in suspense for a few moments, before dropping his voice down low when he spoke so you would have to lean closer in just to hear him. “Let’s just say you are...spiritually attuned to my world.”

“Spiritually attuned?”

“Yes, you are psychic, a medium, clairvoyant. Whatever you want to call it.” He explained. “You are a magnet to things outside the realm of the natural. A strange pair, aren’t we?”

And that was all it took, so many unexplained events from your past were now explained, and a world of possibilities was opened to you. You must’ve spent weeks researching how to harness your abilities, starting the second he left. Sure, most sites and blogs were absolutely full of it but you got the gist. With that and some common sense, how much could go wrong?

You started to take silly jobs on the internet, from old women who thought something was off with their mirrors to amateur ghost hunters who wanted a ‘consultant.’ It took you a while to gain some confidence that you weren’t just pulling this stuff out of thin air, that you hadn’t lost your mind. But after a few months, once you hit that learning curve, man it was fun.

Your latest job was a little more hardcore, a young family wanting help to push a poltergeist out of their new home. Their stories had chilled you to the bone, but you were happy to help. Your evaluation at the house went fine, nothing too far past what you were used to. Except, the entire time you were there you felt as though you had weight sitting on your chest. You could barely listen to the poor couple tell you what they experienced due to a faint scratching feeling at the back of your mind. You weren’t an expert yet but you could tell that whatever this thing was, it did not welcome you there. Worse yet, the feeling of being drained that the couple mentioned was certainly affecting you as well. Perhaps worse.

But all that accomplished was making you even more determined to rid the house of it. You took notes for your research later, tried to communicate in the most active part of the house (with no results,) and gave the couple the best advice you could at the moment.

“Until this thing is gone, it’s best you stay somewhere else.”

A few nights later, you had just finished packing your bag and begun heading for the door when you heard Dark just behind you. “Good evening, Y/n.” His voice was layered, followed by a subtle echo bouncing off the walls of your small apartment. When you turned to face him you saw he was already frowning, having realized you were on your way out. “Where are you off to so late?“

“I’m going to hang out with some friends. So I’m sorry, you’ll have to find some other way to entertain yourself tonight, instead of ya know, slowly but surely turning me into a nocturnal hermit.“ You joked, adjusting the tote bag on your shoulder.

He chuckled, bringing his hands behind his back. “I hate to break this to you my dear, but you were there well before we met.”

“Ha ha.” You turned to leave but were stopped short when you saw that he had apparated directly in front of you.

“What’s in the bag?” He asked, starting to reach for it curiously before you stepped back.

“Nothing.” You said, a little too quickly. “Just some party supplies, alright?”

He raised his brow, no longer amused. “...Convincing. Is it really so difficult to be honest with me?”

“Oh don’t even try and pull that card, you won’t even tell me why you’re haunting that jerk upstairs.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away from you. “That’s different. Bringing such things to light would only do more harm than good.”

“Well, I may be wrong but...my thing is kinda the same. And I like what we’ve got going on so just let it go. Please?”

Dark stayed quiet, peeved off and clearly even more curious than he was before. Finally, he side-stepped out of your way, “Just be careful.”

When you got to the house, you were careful. Keeping lights on and keeping quiet while you did everything your research said you were supposed to. As you did, the spirit was also quiet, too quiet. And on your way home, you kept waiting for that heavy feeling on your chest to fade away.

Your apartment was freezing when you stepped out of the bathroom after your shower. Cold air brushed over your shoulders as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “Dark?” You called out, looking around for him. This wasn’t like him. He usually made you aware of his presence as soon as he showed up. You walked into your bedroom and when you locked eyes with another in the mirror, you froze.

This wasn’t like Dark, because it wasn’t him.

Instead, the person standing behind you was a very decrepit and very angry old woman, seemingly fading in and out of reality as she glared at you. “Y̸o̵u̶ ̴s̴h̷o̵u̶l̶d̸ ̸h̵a̵v̷e̷ ̵l̸e̴f̷t̶ ̷w̶e̶l̵l̶ ̸e̴n̵o̷u̶g̷h̶ ̶a̸l̶o̴n̸e̷.̴“

The mirror shattered and you whipped around to face her, but she wasn’t there. The air whirling around the place started to pick up, and picture frames flew off the wall at you, then other objects that had decorated your room. You tried to flee but your front door wouldn’t budge. You started to bang on it, crying in fear and praying that anyone would hear you. Next thing you knew though, you were flung towards the wall.

Finally, everything settled. The weight was off your chest, but there was plenty of pain there in it’s place. You slowly pulled yourself into a sitting position, then wiped the tears off your face with one hand and held the other over your ribs. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, waiting for something to happen and your heartbeat overpowered the ringing silence in your ears. You wanted to get your phone, to call for help but you were terrified of gaining attention again. You didn’t even really stop shaking until you heard a familiar voice.

“...Y/n?” Dark didn’t see you when he first showed up, just the disaster area that was your living room. Once had seen you, he was beside you in a blink of an eye. You didn’t even think about it before you wrapped your arms around him. He only gave you a moment of comfort before he pulled back, looking over you in concern. “What happened? Who hurt you?”

You couldn’t really get much out between pained wincing as he scooped you into his arms. “It was a -Ow- s-spirit.”

He laid you down on the couch as gently as he could, and you could see his face change from confusion to recognition to irritation. “Why, pray tell, would a spirit be here?”

“I may have taken a job to get rid of it...” You muttered under your breath.

“Unbelievable.” He shook his head, about to say something else before he stopped himself. Instead he moved his focus to your hand, moving it to reveal the dark bruise over your ribs.

“See, I knew you weren’t gonna like it.”

“You going off and messing with things you haven’t even begun to understand? Of course I don’t like it.” His figure glitched and layered itself in different colors before he got up and went to the kitchen.

You scoffed at his remark, trying to sit up. “Hey I understand more than you think, I’ve been doing this crap for months!”

He came back around the corner with an ice pack from your freezer in his hand. “Months?” He apparated in front of you, gently placing the pack down on the bruise, allowing you to squeeze his free hand until the shock wave from the pressure passed over you.

“I started looking into all this after you told me the truth.” You confessed. “I mean with the internet it wasn’t difficult, and I do my due diligence alright? I don’t know what went wrong.”

The aura behind him flashed pure red for just a moment, he approached his next words much softer than usual. “You can’t navigate things like this using the internet, Y/n.”

“Well I didn’t think you’d want to help me help everyone else get rid of their ghosts.”

He scoffed at you, beginning to raise his voice as the aura swapped back to blue. “You were right! I don’t understand why you would want anything to do with this, anyway. Why would you do this to yourself??”

“I thought...I thought it’d be fun-”

“This isn’t a game!”

“You know I really don’t get you, why-”

“Of course you don’t! Do you even know what I am?”

“Well, no...”

“Neither do I.” He growled. His words truly sunk in once you saw the pain behind his eyes. He collected himself, taking a deep breath before continuing, “What I do know, is that I was human once. And people screwing with things that they shouldn’t have for selfish reasons is what turned me into this. Over the years I’ve had to see other terrible things happen to well meaning people. I’ll be damned if you throw yourself into the fire for fun.”

You nodded softly, breaking the intense gaze between you to look as your hands. “...Okay.” You opened your mouth to speak again after that, but decided against it.

“What is it?” Dark asked, trying and failing to hide the impatience in his voice.

“I just didn’t think...well I really didn’t think you’d care. Well, about this part I guess-” You sighed, cutting yourself off this time, rather than rambling.

He was quiet for a moment, placing his hand under your chin and tilting your head up to look at him. “I care...more than you know.” It was the silence after that, that spoke volumes, and even more so the way he moved forward to press his lips to yours. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a poltergeist to take care of.”

#darkiplier x reader #darkiplier fanfiction #darkiplier fanfic #darkiplier x y/n #markiplier egos x reader

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tonenoth · 3 years

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Unknown Something: II

I have felt alone most of my life. Lonely most of those times. As a kid, I always felt like I didn’t fit in. Teachers called me smart, kids my age called me weird. As I got older, teachers saw me as a nuisance. Kids my age still called me weird. I made friends along the way, as anyone does, but none ever really stuck around.

I think I have been a poor friend in general. I always seemed to betray anyone who I was close to. I chose to stick around people that didn’t value or appreciate me. I yearned to be accepted by those who did not accept me. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I cared so much about what people thought of me. Now, I sit alone with thoughts that no one seems to care about. I still yearn to be accepted, but now I do not know who I want to be accepted by.

Many disorders fly through my head in search for some kind of understanding. I have been diagnosed bipolar and schizoaffective with very, very little discussion or insight on how those labels apply or even make sense to my identity. I considered autism as a label, or Asperger’s at least. ADHD quite possibly. Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder. I believe I am just paranoid.

What does it matter? What someone calls me or thinks of me… I can’t even settle on my own definition. Another’s half assed attempt to toss me into a bin of others who wouldn’t accept me anyway seems so futile and fruitless. Still, I want to belong to something.

I have somehow managed to survive a horrifically reality altering, mind sacrificing, and soul damaging experience that has only led me to a desert filled with snakes. Nothing adds up. Humanity seems so distant to me. I don’t even know if I am human, in the natural sense. I don’t know if I am anything that anyone can understand. I don’t know if anyone can really be understood anyway. But, sitting here alone, thinking all of these grandiose thoughts with all of these flowery words, I can’t help but feel some sort of… value. To me. My mind. My life. Something I am compelled to share.

Does anyone even want what I have to offer? Do I even have anything to offer? Do I even know what value is? I do not know. Quite often, I’ve felt I don’t know anything. Mostly, I’ve felt as if I know everything. To be told otherwise unsettles my soul to a degree that is foolish and near impossible to shake. I must know. I must discover. I must find the answers to this world that has no real answers to give. No other answers but what others have deduced.

Whether they be terrestrial, cosmic, or artificial. Magical, conceptual, or simply domestic. I want to know more than I can carry. I want to see more than I can fathom. I want my ridiculous, absurd, and possibly corrupted mind to undergo a deep, boundless, unnecessary shift into something beyond what a black hole can generate. I fear that at some point, my mind will freeze. My experience will glitch and whatever I have searched for will be delivered directly into my unprovable being, only for me to stall for infinity, wondering forever whether or not knowing even exists at all.

I guess I am a masochist with a martyr complex. A simple being with an innate desire to deconstruct whatever falsity I have built within me, and build something so massively unsustainable, that I collapse under it’s weight. I imagine myself laying in a field of dirt, staring up at a star filled night sky, incomprehensibly asking, “What else?”

I both envy and pity people who do not consider anything outside their realm of entertainment. People who spend their whole lives chasing money, fancy clothes, and fast cars. People who stay up all night to buy tickets to the next hit movie, join chat rooms to discuss rumors of the next cameos, and passionately relay their theories as to what story will unfold in the next chapter of their Disney stories. I wish I was a real human. I also wish I wasn’t able to deny myself the definition of human.

Words and their meaning have no purpose other than to convey an idea or principle. I have no use for words beyond conveying what I do not know. Always encapsulated in what I imagine and define, I am simply shouting out to everyone I meet “I do not know what is going on.” I only know that whatever is going on is not encapsulated in whatever is being sold to us. Whatever we can find online is not an answer to the mystery of existence. Whatever existence is, it does not seem to care what it is. It simply is, and I am just a person.

Comfort is a poison that I have become addicted to, and I am only comfortable when I generate discomfort. Whatever the hell that means, I am stuck in this reality with no goal but to get through it with some sort of revelation that I can leave behind. Whether or not it is useful, satisfactory, or even true, I just want to get through this in the hopes that something else is promised in return, even if it is only eternal vacancy.

#unknown something #II #nonsense #word vomit #vulnerability #need #2/22/2022 #happy twosday

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fazscare87 · 3 years

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Fazbear World- The Puppet (1983)

-1983

During the construction of the 2nd Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. Henry made “The Puppet” for Charlie, as a birthday present. Everyone, mainly children, kind of found the Puppet creepy, with his long spindly body, his somewhat unsettling face, his voice, and not to mention how was so tall, to kids at least. Charlie herself, liked the Puppet,(not romantically!) in fact he was her favorite, over time, the 2 became “friends”. The Puppet was also one of the animatronics William never got to touch, or rather make into a deadlier animatronic. The Puppet’s personality is described as a naturally very friendly and caring character, as well as being somewhat naïve at times. He expresses great care for Children, the Emily family, and Charlie, as well as the other animatronics, claiming them to be friends, then again the whole animatronic character being friends is part of his programming. Speaking of which, the Puppet always seemed to be, sentient in its own way. He used to be able to “walk” around like other animatronics, however, he could only do this by being carried the strings attached to him on his head and arms. The strings were attached to a mechanism, which resembled a Marionette “Control” (That’s what they’re called apparently) was on the ceiling, going a track that would carry him around, the track would go all around the Pizzeria. Henry also designed the Puppet to protect the guests, mainly kids, and Henry’s kids. But it always seemed to try to protect Charlie whenever she was at the Pizzeria. One of its distinguishing features to its protection system is it’d make sure kids wouldn’t leave without an adult with them. It was also worth noting that the Puppet, always seemed to have a certain, disliking towards William, the Puppet wasn’t really fond of most adults/staff to be fair. But the Puppet just never seemed to like William. As if he knew something was up with William.

-1985

It was a stormy night, Henry was busy with a birthday party, handing out sweets to little kids wearing a Freddy costume. Charlie was locked out, She kept trying to get in, but no one could hear over the rain, The Puppet could sense Charlie out in the rain, alone, he tried to go out and help her in. But presents had been left of his box, to were too heavy for him to lift, but he managed to get them off. He was just about to let her inside, which was luckily where his Stings stopped, so he’d be able to open the door. But then, he saw her walking with a man, around the side of the building. At first, he had no clue who it was, then he saw who it was with her, William. The puppet began to “panic” No one was in the same room, and everyone was too busy at the party to notice. So the Puppet realized he’d have to go outside. He tried to go out, but his strings held him back from going out the doors. broke off his strings, nearly taking the “Control” down with them, falling to the ground, but he managed to pick himself up and walk, despite it nearly being an impossibility due to his lack of feet and overall, never walk without the “control” carrying him. He made his way out the door. He was already getting damaged by the rain, some of his paint started to peel a little, sparks would start to come out, some robotic parts would become exposed, and his voice-box was getting drenched, glitching. The other animatronics could get minimal to no damage in rain. t the Puppet was a little fragile, he wasn’t made for this kind of environment. But the Puppet persisted, but he wanted to find Charlie. “Ch-Cha-Charlie? -CHa-Charlie?” He called out, barely being able to speak due to rain getting in his voice-box, making it malfunction. He kept looking around the Alleyway, until he found her. But sadly, he was too late, she was already dead, no pulse, no scars on her body were found. The Puppet slumped over to her body, and just hugged her close “I’m so sorry Charlie…” the last words the puppet ever said before his voice box completely gave out, never speaking again. But Chad made its way into the puppet's body, giving her/him/“ them” life. The Puppet's body began to change as Charlie began to possess him. His body changed into a more feminine design, stripes running on his lower arms and legs. And his mask, his eyes changed, and his face now had tears and lipstick. Henry went out to the front area, having heard the Puppet’s box playing “pop goes the weasel” but the Puppet not being anywhere to be found. He only saw the Puppet’s box open, the “control” was hanging by wires, and he saw the door was slightly opened. Not to mention, she saw Charlie’s green wrist name with her name on it. He rushed outside to find her, he found her dead, right next to the Puppet. He was mortified by the sight of his daughter’s corpse. He blamed himself for not being there. He was too sad at the moment to notice the Puppet’s changes. Though when he did, he was a little puzzled of course, in fact, he wasn’t even sure if it was even the one he made at first.. but he decided to keep it around since it was originally Charlie’s gift, he couldn’t bring himself to just throw the Puppet out. Despite attempts from the company to try to change, remove and paint over the Puppet’s new features, nothing worked, the Puppet would just always revert to its new look. So they just decided to give up on trying to change the Puppet. that’s just how “he’d” look now. But unknown to everyone, mainly Henry, who was too distraught over the fact that Charlie was gone and he’d never see her again. Charlie was still there, she was now, the Puppet.

#fazscare87 #fnaf #fazbearworld #fivenightsatfreddysfanart #fazbear world #fnaffanart #the puppet #fnaf puppet

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

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Secret Admirer //Twisted Wonderland Yandere! Idia Shroud X Reader//

My first attempted at a song fic! This story is based off a Persian song called “Bade Man”. Both the song and Video show a lot of yandere tendencies so I decided to write two stories based off them. If you do decide to watch it please note that there is mention of suicide (Which I didn’t add in my own story) and stalker behavior (Which there is a lot of in this fic). Other then that please enjoy the story!

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Idia's hand shook, sweat racing down his brow as he tried to accurately insert the miniature spy cam into the teddy bear's golden orb. Pushing the tiny device further in so it would remain anonymous. The little camera buzzed and glitched trying to come online and focus.

Idia stretched his arm up trying to place the stuffed animal back on the top shelf where he had found it. Maneuvered it, checking the angle on his phone trying to find the perfect spot. Finally, at a position of 5 cm to the left, he had achieved the absolute angle, providing him with a view of your entire dorm room. The underworld god let out a sad sigh, he turned on his heels, habitually placing his fingers on his hips, digging his long chipped nails into the bulky fabric of his black sweater. Observing the room for a final time he gradually made his way to the door, mentally reminding himself to use the duplicate key to lock the door. Four steps from the door and he stopped, turning his head to look at something he'd spotted from the corner of his eye. There one shelf under where he'd set up the bear was a forgotten chocolate eyeball. His fingers twitched, trying to fight off the urges to grab it. You surely wouldn't notice if it was eaten, would you? You didn't have the most attentive mind nor the sharpest deduction skills. His long pale fingers slowly stretched to meet the sugary treat...

The blue screens were the only source of light in the pitch-black room. Their luminosity casted an eerie shadow over Idia's face. The flame-haired boy's eyes were glued to the screen, wait for you to return from your classes. He subconsciously reached for another piece of candy from the glass jar, mindlessly discarding the wrapper into the pile around his computers. He gazed at the time displayed on the corner of the screen.

3:30 pm

classes finished fifteen minutes ago, so where were you? What was taking so long? No doubt those two Heartslabyul first years were keeping you busy once more. They were always circling you, always touching you in some form, they were like buzzards..worst actually.

3:32 pm

you finally pried open the worn-out door to your so-called "dormitory" walking inside, flinching each time you stepped on a creaky part of the floor. Behind the tiny cat-like terror skipped in. A large toothy grin danced across his furry face. He was going on about the A+ he'd gotten in the Alchemy test.

For a brief minute Idia's mind wondered to that very test, he was sure he had taken it. He sighed, the school was so troublesome and distracting, he'd just ask Ortho to retrieve his test later on.

His attention floated back to you, his darling, his beloved...who he would continue to admire from afar. You carelessly discarded your school backpack and uniform coat onto the broken couch and headed for the kitchen. Idia leaned closer eyes soaking in every microscopic aspect of your body. Giggling slightly as he watched you peer into the fridge, hanging off the handle of the door and pouting at the lack of content in the fridge. Without looking he plucked his phone from the table and typed a reminder to get Ortho to buy you some groceries.

You finally picked two eggs and some olive oil. Casually making your way to the stove, calling over your shoulder for Grim to set the table. You grabbed the lighter form the island and flicked it, trying to start a flame.

Idia tensed, his eyes grew as big as the Heartslabyul mushroom saucers. He remembers passing by the kitchen, he remembers sparks from his hair landing on the stove. Initially, he'd disregarded them, believing they would become completely dormant by the next day. He hadn't thought that you would be making dinner. His heart skipped a beat, the tiny embers were sitting there, ready to ignite at the smallest heat.

His fingers frantically tapped at one of the screens, calling yourself hoping it would be a worthy distraction. His heart sank as he watched the dreaded cat pick up your cellphone. He ignored it pressing the hang-up option.

His golden eyes flew back to the screen displaying your actions. He nervously shoved another two bonbons into his mouth. He ran a hand over his face, sighing trying to come up with something to do before his precious caught on fire.

"Think, Think, Think, Think," his pale finger stabbed his forehead, do something! his thoughts screamed. Apahthcaly he cracked open an eye. He watched uselessly as you brought the lighter to the oven.

There was a spark, blue flames spread along the surface of the oven like waves. You squealed and jumped back eyes gawking at the flames. They were familiar somehow...

"What happened!"

The cat's screechy voice caused Idia to flinch, subconsciously his hand dove back into the bowl pulling out a handful of the wrapped goodies.

The look on your face was one that tore Idia's heart into pieces, yet at the same time caused it to speed up tremendously. You hadn't moved an inch, eyes still wide and gawking at where the fire had been minutes ago. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, breaths shaky and uneven. "T-the ghosts m-might be...playing some pranks again, yeah that's it! It was those ghosts!.... Ah!..(y-y/n) what.. what are..." Grim's voice trailed off, his gem-like eyes darted to (Y/N) after witnessing her sudden movement. She chucked the lighter at the stove, her hands balling into tight fists. She closed her eyes permitting tiny teardrops to race down her cheeks.

"Can't I do any freaking thing right?" This was loudest Idia had ever heard (Y/N) raise her voice, though reasonably this was the angriest he'd ever seen her. Why was she so irritated over a small slip up? Was there something else weighing on your nervous that Idia had failed to notice? His golden eyes went back to monitoring your posture, recalling if you'd seemed off the couple of times he'd seen you in class or the hallways. His mind kept drawing blanks, you were always so cheerful and happy every time he laid eyes on you. Was there some subtle hint he was missing? Where you maybe as cursed as he was? The thought was unsettling and quite heavy on his broken heart. You didn't deserve to be cursed as he and his lineage where, you were too innocent, too pure...but alas you may very well be cursed just as he was, after all, you had the misfortune of traversing into this accursed world in addition to having caught his eye.

After what felt like decades, your posture finally eased, the sniffling and flow of tears halted. You rose your head looking down at Grimm, a frail smile grazed your lips. "There's tuna in the fridge if you're hungry...." saying no more, you turned on your heels and trudged towards the doorless doorframe. "But, aren't you hungry?" the cat called after your concern laced his usually haughty voice. Idia could feel a nervous tik coming on, a cold wet substance fill is eyeball as it twitched uncontrollably. "Eat something dame it" he whispered to the girl on the screen. Taking his own advice he unwrapped another piece of candy and popped it in his mouth. He watched helplessly as you merely shook your head, continuing to march upstairs. Floorboards creaking from your weight.

Idia threw his back, palms pushing over his cheeks, resing on his closed eyelids and applying apathetic pressure. He groaned loudly, watching you was consuming more time then he'd initially planned. The cameras where set so he could keep tabs on you, not to watch your disheartening days in the ramshackle dorm. Yet it proved to become an addiction rapidly. It was remarkably melancholic, the two of you were both leading your respective blighted lives waiting impatiently for some inconceivable miracle to rescue you. You could save eachother...but nither of you knew how. Thus you remain oblivious to his presence and he had to content himself with observing you from afar. This whole situation was much more tragic than anyone of the Greek tragedies he's read as a child.

By now, the sun had dipped behind the large school, disappearing from view for the night. Idia's once dark room had fallen into the color of the abyss engulfing him in endless darkness. However that notion seemed to escape the fire-haired third year as he remains immobile at his desk, orbs stilled glued to the blindingly bright lights of the multiple screens displaying different angles of the Ramshackle dorm. The object of his infatuation was changing out of their uniform tossing the blouse and skirt onto the bed as the grabbed an oversized T-shirt and some pajama shorts. Their footsteps echoed around the vacant room as they walked up to the shelf. Idia gulped fingers diligently shoving two tiny chocolates into his mouth. He watched as you reached up to grab the stuffed bear. Idia's sweaty palms covered his mouth, nails digging into the flesh of his cheek. He watched as you dropped the bear and let out a blood-curdling scream...

You missed your home, your real home. You missed the nostalgic scent of your mother's perfume and your father's aftershave. Lately, the thought of your home had become a crushing force on your mind. You wanted nothing more than to head back home, then to sleep on your old bed, talk to your old friends, to just bask in the feeling of your old house. But Crowley still hadn't found a way for you to return. The headmaster did try but with the constant troubles caused by the other students, he just couldn't focus. Letting out a depressed sigh you walked over to the decaying shelf in the further corner of your room. On top of that shelf sat an old Teddy Bear, it resembled one you had back home. Who would have ever thought you'd find the very same toy in this twisted world. Retrieving the stuffed animal from the shelf, you smiled at its stoic face, playfully you moved it around watching your reflection from different angles in its golden eyes. As the right eye remains in place, the left eye kept seemingly following you, curiously you tapped the eye. The golden ord whizzed stretching out while spinning trying to get a better look at your face. A camera! There was a camera placed in the bear's eye! You dropped the stuffy, shakingly stepping away from the spying bear. A loud high pitch noise echoed in your ears, making your heartthrob. It took an endless moment before you realized that it was, in fact, yourself who was making the dreadful noise. Your hands covered your mouth trying to stop the sound, you gulped as your eyes filled with tears.

You back hit the wall, having nowhere else to go you sunk down wrapping your arms around your shins, goosebumps ran across your skin, spiking your flesh causing a cold sweat to break over your body. Someone was watching you...Someone had been watching for god knows how long.

"(Y/N)!" Grimm's panicked voice barely reached your ringing ears. You remained curled in your tight ball. The cat-like monster ran over to you, pawing at your arm trying to get you to talk. "What happened? Why did you scream!" His pitchfork like tail wrapped around his tiny body. Hesitantly you pointed to the tumbled over bear. Your voice cracked as you tired to speak "C-camera...there's a camera in the b-bear's e-eye." Grimm's eyes widen as he ran over to the spycam to investigate.

Idia watched as the tiny cat hoisted up the bear, clawing at the eye camera. The blue screens glitched for a second, the went back to broadcasting the room. Idia turned the deal on one of his speakers trying to better hear what Grimm was whispering to you. "Someone was in the house" the cat mumbled into your ear. "I had candy on the third shelf and now only the wrappers are left". The cat's words only caused you to sob harder, your mind being overtaken by panic to such extents that you could hardly move. The grey monster shook your numb hand trying to get a reaction out of you. "We...we need to call the headmaster..." at Grimm's words you banged your head against the wall, fresh tears flowing from your eyes. Slowly you nodded, "On the count of three, run like all hell for the front door...we don't know if there are any other cameras, it'll..it..it'll just be safer to go to his office.." Using the wall for support you stood up, eyes never once leaving the bear. You took a final shakey breath...

"one.."

Idia's eyes widen, you weren't serious where you?

"Two.."

A lone tear rolled from his eye...no please no

"Three!"

Idia watched helplessly as you and Grimm ran down the stairs, disappearing out the front door.

Nervously Idia turned off the screens. His heart pounded so hard that he was sure it would crack his rips and burst right out. He had lost you...he had tried to keep an eye on you, to be with you in the only way he knew how..and that had caused you to run away...Anger bubbled in his veins, his fingers twitched as he stood up "DAME IT" his voice sounded throughout the Ignihyde dorm, causing the rest of the students to stop whatever they were doing and listen to the rare sound coming from their dorm leaders room.

Sinking down to the floor, Idia let the tears roll out from his eyes, his throat burned as he let out another frantic scream. How could he have been so stupid? So useless?

"Big brother?" Ortho's curious voice caused Idia to cease his screaming, reluctantly he turned his head to look at his little brother. Ortho walked over to him, kneeling down in front of him. His large golden eyes scanned the turned over chair and broken candy jar. "I-I lost her..." Idia's voice trailed off as he leaned his head on Ortho's metal shoulder. His posture sunk into his brother's cold hands. "I-I" his tears kept coming, trailing down his cheeks. Calmly Ortho wiped the teardrops from his creator's face. Bloodshot golden eyes met sympathetic golden eyes. "Big brother...why do you do this to yourself? If you really love her you should go see her in person.."

The younger Shroud's words tugged on his brother's heartstrings. The cursed older brother reluctantly pressed his face to his creations chest and mumbled: "I...I really should".

In the unholy hour of midnight, Idia found himself, leaning against a tree in the Ramshackle front yard. His golden eyes watched as his darling frantically tried to explain to the mask-wearing headmaster what had happened hours prior. His shaky legs dragged the God of the dead to a tombstone that was closer to the window. Crunching by the marker Idia lolled in the sound of his beloved's voice. Silently he whispered a promise to himself.

"One day I will make you mine my love...one day very soon"

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thefloatingstone · 5 years

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If you’re doing Self Quarintine (and you should be if you can help it) here’s some Youtube recommendations! Some of these I have posted about or recommended before but with almost all of us stuck indoors now’s a good time to remind you of some cool things you can watch for free!

I’m not gonna imbed the videos, I’ll just post the link because otherwise I would only able to post 5 and I want to collect a few so you can make a playlist or something. (I could make a playlist too but then I couldn’t tell you what each video is and you can’t pick and choose which one sounds interesting to you)

In no particular order:

Polybius: The video Game that doesn’t exist

An hour long documentary in which the youtuber did extensive research to find the origin of the “Polybius” Urban Legend, which speaks of an early arcade game reportedly seen around the early 1980s which reportedly gave people migraines, insomnia, nausea, subliminal messages, and in some cases heart attacks.

The Universal S

A shorter video in which LEMMiNO does his very best to try and track down where exactly this S that we all drew in middle school comes from? Why does literally every country on earth seem to HAVE their children draw this S?

I also recommend LEMMiNO’s video on the Dayltov Pass Incident and the perplexing UFO cases

Down the Rabbit Hole: Henry Darger

Fredrick Knudsen has an incredible fascinating series called “Down the Rabbit Hole” which simply focuses on... anything you can discover and go digging into. From weird internet personalities, to bizarre happenings in history. This video is about the artist Henry Darger, a man who lived in the early 1900s and for all intents and purposes had a perfectly average, lonely life, until it was discovered just before his death he had spent literally decades writing and drawing a fantasy world in what is possibly the longest piece of literature ever written.

I also recommend his video on the Hurdy Gurdy

Bedtime Stories Channel

I’m actually just gonna link the whole channel for “Bedtime Stories”. If you like weird and creepy stories, all of which at least claim to be “true” then Bedtime Stories is great. Coupled by illustrations and subtle sound effects, Bedtime Stories is literally listening to someone tell you a story about such things like hikers who mysteriously went missing, Sightings of Bog Men in Florida and giant Birds over Chernobyl, as well as weird and unsettling murders that remain unsolved. Sometimes the facts are a little dubious or have been disproved, but that’s not the point of the channel. It’s here to tell a creepy story, not give you a documentary.

A Journey Through Rule of Rose

Rule of Rose is a Survival Horror gave for the PS2 which has rather bad gameplay... but a FASCINATING story with just as many layers and symbolism as Silent Hill 2 could boast. It tells the story of one young woman traveling back into her own childhood in an orphanage in the 1930s, and all the horrors that contains. From repressed grief, abusive relationships, child neglect, abuse, and bullying... but it ALSO contains symbolism of societal class structure, politics, eating the rich, and how power structures work. Not for the faint of heart, but HIGHLY recommended.

I also super highly recommend his video on the similarities between Silent Hill 2 and Solaris

Clemps Reviews Crisis Core

Mr. Clemps is a great internet gamer who reviews JRPGs and other games he simply enjoys. Sprinkling in a heavy dose of comedy and very fast jokes and observations, Clemps’ videos are always upbeat, fun, and incredibly enjoyable to watch. I’m linking part 1 of his Crisis Core video in which he explains why the PSP game remains a personal favourite of his despite its flaws.

I also recommend his video on Eternal Sonata

Defunct TV: The History of Dragon Tales

Defunctland is a channel that deals with theme parks and theme park rides that are no longer standing, or which are no longer around in their current form. Defunctland also has a sub series though, called “Defunct TV” where they look at the origin of children’s TV which are no longer airing. I recommend the video on Dragon Tales which is incredibly wholesome, and a genuinely uplifting and soft story of good people trying to make good things for children. (I also recommend the videos on Bear in the Big Blue House, Zoboomafoo, and Legends of the Hidden Temple)

Hagan’s Histories of Polar Exploration

A Playlist for Diamanda Hagan’s videos about the doomed Franklin Expedition from the late 1800s, where England tried to find a passage through the Northern Arctic to the Pacific Ocean. This went horribly horribly wrong, with every member of the Expedition dead. Over a 100 years later we are still fuzzy on what EXACTLY happened, but apart from the arctic chill, there is also evidence of faulty canned food, a series of bad decisions, and cannibalism. Caution advised for this series.

I also recommend the rest of Diamanda Hagan’s channel. She is NOT for everyone, but if you enjoy somebody reviewing Z grade indie movies as well as just BIZARRE films, really bad Christian media bordering on Science Fiction (without making fun of religion itself) hot takes of classic (and modern) Dr. Who, an introduction to Red Dwarf, She’s an EXCELLENT channel to check out.

Good Bad or Bad Bad: Pass Thru

A half podcast half review show where two guys watch a terrible film, decide if it’s “Good” Bad or just Bad Bad and tell you if you should watch it too.

That’s it. That’s the whole show.

I recommend diving into the untold madness that is one of the best(?) bad film makers currently still producing batshit insane movies, the immortal Niel Breen.

There is literally nothing I can say that’ll prepare you for Niel Breen.

(I also recommend their more recent video for “Dancin’ It’s on!”)

History Buffs: Apollo 13

Do you like History? Do you like movies ABOUT History? Do you want to know if the movies about history you watch actually resemble what really happened in any way at all? History Buffs is an EXCELLENT channel, which does talk about the merit of a film itself, but is mainly focused on letting you know just how true to life that historical film you watch is. I highly recommend his longest video which covers the space race between the USA and the USSR, leading to what is known as “The most Successful Failure in NASA’s History”. The Infamous Apollo 13 and where the words “Houston, we have a problem” came from.

If you’re not interested in Apollo 13 however, I also recommend his video on the movie Casino, as well as his video on the female philosopher, Agora.

The Internet Historian: The Goodening of No Man’s Sky

With videos with literally MILLIONS of views, you probably already know the Internet Historian. But I still want to recommend him very highly because his videos are just THAT good and entertaining. I recommend his newest video, documenting that time we were all pissed off about No Man’s Sky, the difficulties the game studio was in when the game released, and how they have been working hard to finally create what is now a truly brilliant game which is winning major awards. A really good underdog story of how a video game company actually saw what was wrong with their game, and FIXED it.

I also recommend his video on Fallour 76 as well as the Failure of Dashcon

8 Creepy Video game mysteries

Hey. Did you know that sometimes there’s some REALLY weird shit in video games, hidden easter eggs which took literal decades to find as well as just a lot of “what the actual fuck?”. Oddheader is a channel with a dedicated discord and Reddit form solely focusing on trying to find or replicate bizarre video game finds, mysteries, and hidden glitches. Even if it means getting in his car and driving to a specific arcade just to check a rumour about Street Fighter II’s arcade version. So if you like getting spooked by weird game shit that’s not just some dumb creepypasta, this is a great place to start.

I also recommend his video on weird discoveries in DVDs and movies.

Red Letter Media: Best of the Worst

Look you already know who Red Letter Media is.

You know... these guys:

Here’s a video of them and Macaulay Culkin watching 3 terrible movies together.

I recommend literally any and all of their videos. Their discussion on Carpenter’s The Thing is amazing.

The Impact of Akira: The film that changed Everything

Ok trying to pick just ONE Super Eyepatch Wolf video is literal torture. Originally I was going to suggest his recent video on Final Fantasy 7 for the PSone but I realised I recommended something FF7 related with Clemps, so instead I will recommend The Impact of Akira, a video talking in depth about Akira both as a film as well as a manga, how it completely and utterly changed the anime industry both in Japan as well as the west, and why it is still a meaningful and one of the most important anime/manga even to this day, still being unsurpassed despite so much competition.

However, ALL of Wolf’s videos are incredible, so I also recommend his videos on wrestling (despite me not caring about wrestling at all), His video on how media scares us, The bizarre reality of modern Simpsons, Why the Dragon Ball Z manga is great, and literally any other video he’s made. He hasn’t made one bad video yet.

Was Oblivion as Good as I remember?

Exactly what it says on the tin. The Salt Factory goes back to playing The Elder Scrolls Oblivion and now with hindsight and modern sensibilities, gives feedback on his experience and whether Oblivion still holds up. This isn’t a super in depth review of the game’s mechanics or how its put together or how it was made. This is simply one guy talking about his experience replaying it with somejokes thrown in and how he felt revisiting it. It’s pretty good.

I also recommend the video he did on Morrowind (because I’m biased).

Weird Japan Only PS1 games

Thor High Heels is SO GOOD and deserves SO MUCH MORE subs than he currently has. THH focuses a lot of obscure and lesser known games as well as big popular titles like the Yakuza series, talking about what he likes about them, what he thinks is cool, and just what kind of atmosphere and mood a certain game has, even if the game itself is kind of ass. He’s done several videos on games that were only released in Japan, as well as videos talking about the fashion in Squaresoft games and how it inspired as well as was inspired by real world street fashion, the aesthetic of PC-98 games and other topics. He also styles his videos and thumbnails after promotional art for video games from the 90s and generally just has an excellent style to his channel over all. Very chill.

Blue Reflection Review

ValkyrieAurora is a channel run by Sophie where she talks about games she personally likes and enjoys. Her videos are really laid back and her voice is really calm and pleasant to listen to. She’s made a bit of a reputation for herself as “The channel that talks about the Atelier Games” and general is just a really enjoyable channel worth checking out if you just want something soothing to listen to.

Ancient Chinese Historians Describe Japan

Voices from the Past is a channel were historical text is read out loud in english. These can be anything like the above video where Chinese historians describe the people of Japan around 297 AD, Accounts of “Dog-Men”, or the worlds oldest letter of complaint from 1750 BC. If you’d like something interesting historically to listen to but don’t want a full blown history lesson, this is a really good way to hear contemporary people talk about their experiences and what they thought about each other in their own words, without opinions or input given by the narrator.

The Most Mysterious Song on the Internet

Whang! is a channel that covers weird internet stories, some horrifying, some curious and interesting, and some just plain weird. His video on The Most Mysterious Song on the Internet and its update, are about a song which was recorded off the radio in Germany around the 1980s, and after one person online asked if anyone knew who the artist was as they couldn’t find any information, led to the realization that NOBODY online knows where this song came from or who sang it. It’s a fun mystery to look into that, unlike some others on this list, is not creepy or unsettling, although perhaps a little frustrating.

I also recommend his video on The Most Mysterious Anime theme song, and the haunted Ebay Painting.

5 Lost, Destroyed, and Locked away Broadcasts

Yesterworld is similar to the Defunctland channel in that it talks about obsolete rides, theme parks and other forgotten pieces of entertainment. Although the majority of the channel focuses on movie rides, rollercoasters and Disneyland, I recommend the video on lost and locked away broadcasts which you can no longer see. I also recommend the video about Lost and Rediscovered movie props.

The Nightmare Artist

I talked about this one recently as I just discovered this channel. This video is about the renowned Polish artist Zdzislaw Beksinski who painted surreal and horrifying paintings during his lifetime. There is no mystery here or anything like that, it merely talks about the impact WWII left on Beksinski and how the trauma his country and people suffered influenced his painting, and how certain images and motifs can be seen to directly reference this terrible part of Poland’s history.

Disabilities in Prehistory

Modern media likes to portray how “savage” the ancient past is, and tell us stories of how any person born with a deformity or disability would be thrown over a cliff or dumped in a well because they would be too big a drain on a community to look after. But here’s the thing... according to archaeological evidence, it turns out our ancient ancestors actually did their best to look after its disabled members to the best of their abilities. This video talks about archaeological finds of people who had genetic disabilities and what we can learn from their remains. TREY the Explainer is a great channel for archaeology and also talking about what answers we could have for sightings of cryptids. (not ALL of which we have answers for)

I also recommend his video on Pre-Contact dogs as well as Homosexuality in Nature and the Genetic History of the Ainu.

Decoding “The Secret: A treasure Hunt”

“The Secret” was an art book released in the 80s full of beautiful paintings, but it is also more than that. The book has a fantasy story talking about 12 fantastical races who left wonderful treasures for humans to find,and the book’s paintings and riddles will tell you where you can find each of these treasures which are yours to keep if you can solve the puzzle... and the treasures are 100% true and can actualy be found and claimed, if you can solve the riddles in the book. The video tells the story of the artbook, who was behind it, what the treasures are, how many have been found and various other facts and details.

I also recommend the videos on this channel “The Game: A scavenger Hunt” and “The investigation of Erratas”.

5 Ancient Inventions That Were WAY Ahead Of Their Time

I would recommend you be careful with this channel as its main focus is existentialism and rather alarming topics such as “how close are we to the apocalypse” and other things whose titles alone are enough to upset me. However this video is nothing like that. This video is exactly what the title suggests it is. 5 ancient inventions that were so incredibly ahead of their time you’d think they were made up. From the computer used by ancient Greeks to steel swords we don’t know how to replicate, this video is a great mix of mystery and history.

Although I caution you with this channel, I recommend Joe’s other videos about mysterious books, as well as his video on the most inbred people in history.

However, I know I keep repeating this, I highly recommend caution with this channel. Perhaps its just me and the topics of life and existent are just triggering for me, but I’d recommend maybe just doing a search for the titles I mentioned and not to go searching through the video library unless you’re not bothered by this kind of thing.

Anyway I could keep going, but I think that’s a LARGE amount of videos to keep you occupied for the time being as well as some suggestions for further viewing.

Please enjoy, let me know if you found something interesting, and look after yourself!

If you enjoyed this list at all, please consider tipping me for a coffee

☕️ Ko-fi ☕️

#self isolation #Youtube #Links #Recommended #recommendations #documentary #long post #ask to tag #tumblr ate the 'read more' I put on this so screw it #Just scroll past or hit J to skip this if you want #No editing we die like men

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Text

Footnotes

it’s been a bit since i added to the bookshop au: time got away from me!

We’re taking over the world/a little victimless crime -Do It All the Time, IDKHBTFM

Tony notices that Bucky doesn’t come into the store for a month. This is fine. Should be fine. Not like he wonders what Bucky will think of the newest latte, which is geared more to the warmer weather that has been breezing in cheerfully. The iced latte, flavored with caramel and coconut, had been a hit with MJ and Ned, who both loved it.

But Bucky hadn’t come in and tried it.

His anxiety tells him that he is found out and are currently waiting until Tony leaves the building to set up a trap and probably blow up every single book and also him.

But that would be stupid. There’s no way that the Avengers know who Iron Man or War Machine is. Tony Jarvis is a nice guy who runs a bookstore, has a suspicious amount of money from inheritance, and got a degree in English from a local college.

He even photo-shopped pictures there with Rhodey and everything. (Thank god for anti-aging technology and Rhodey’s genius.)

But he still kind of wants Bucky to come in and look at books. He even has a few records pulled just for the occasion.

“You are quite honestly the worst kind of person,” Rhodey says. “Who gets a crush on who is supposed to be their arch-nemesis and wants to make a custom coffee menu for them?”

“Not me,” Tony says quickly, pushing away the lemon-blueberry scone idea. “And besides if anyone would be my arch-nemesis, it would clearly be Black Widow. We match each other intellectually.”

“Not a chance,” Rhodey says with a snort. “Or did you forget the time you got so nervous you—”

“Hello?” comes a voice from the front. Rhodey immediately cuts off, going back to filing new shipments. Tony looks over.

“Hey, you’re back!” Tony cheers.

Rhodey makes a motion of gagging. Tony flips him off with one hand behind his back as he comes forward.

“Sorry I haven’t been in. Work has been…enlightening.”

“Usually code for ‘I-don’t-get-paid-enough’” Tony teases. “You wanna try an iced coffee drink?”

“I’m game.”

“Sit down at the table, I’ll get it out for you.”

Bucky has to admit that a good apron can do wonders for an ass. Or maybe Tony just has a really nice one. Either way, the view is spectacular.

“What has work been having you do?” Tony asks, pouring in syrup.

“Oh just…the usual,” Bucky says. He’s horrible at lying. He really, really is. “They keep twisting up what they want, it’s getting confusing.”

“Bookshops, luckily, are much simpler than that,” Tony says, smiling. He slides the drink over to Bucky. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”

Bucky takes a long slurp. Puts his head back.

“Tony, you ever experienced a masterpiece?”

“Once or twice,” Tony says, smiling.

“This is the damn Mona Lisa of drinks.”

Tony grins. Bucky sips a bit more, sighing in contentment.

“Hey, I know that last time I learned that you sold records. What are, um, your favorites?”

“I’m glad you asked…”

Bucky learns about new music. He learns that he needs to google new bands. AC/DC is a clear favorite of Tony’s, who sings along. It’s a funny juxtaposition with his cardigan and old jeans, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

Bucky finds some of the old ones, which Tony doesn’t look surprised at.

“You have an old soul,” Tony says.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Bucky mutters.

“Don’t I?” Tony teases. “You act as if you’ve never had iced coffee before.”

Bucky has to turn back to the player to stop from laughing in front of him. What Tony doesn’t know…well. He’s damned sure he doesn’t know that technically all of Bucky’s favorite records were either unable to be found, most likely questionable, or long disintegrated with time.

Oh, Tony knows. He knows for a damned fact that Bucky has never had iced coffee, most likely does not know who the hell Jimmy Carter was and knows how to disassemble and reassemble most weapons in under sixty seconds.

But it’s cute to mess with him. His brow furrows. Tony has a thing for furrows.

“Hey Tony?” Rhodey asks, head popping up from the upstairs. Bucky automatically looks up, finding the face to be vaguely familiar.

“What is it Rhodey-dear?” Tony calls back out.

“I have a computer glitch, you gotta come see it! Now!”

“This better not be a repeat of the pinball incident,” Tony mutters, turning back to Bucky. “I’ll be back in five minutes, I promise.”

“Take your time, love,” Bucky responds.

Bucky then immediately wonders if he bangs his head against the column near him if Tony and Rhodey will hear it. Tony also called his…person “Rhodey-dear.” Dear! Does he even have a chance?

But this brings him to think about Rhodey. He looked familiar. Bucky’s life doesn’t consist of knowing that you know someone from a certain social event and trying to place them. No, Bucky knows people because of two reasons:

1.) He tried to kill them.

2.) SHIELD has something on them.

He’s pretty sure that if he was faced with someone like Rhodey, he wouldn’t be able to kill him. Even from the head poking out, he could see a pretty defined shoulder and a look set to his gaze that read as very competent, entirely capable of taking down an authoritarian government, and also probably likes gourmet cheeses. The last one is a guess. But Bucky likes to guess pretty damn accurately.

Rhodey…

Rhodes. Colonel James Rhodes. Close with Tony Stark, who went missing. They thought he had something to do with something. He moved to New York pretty quickly after that, refusing to go into military service to a “previously unreported mental incapacity.”

Bucky smells bullshit.

Tony Stark. Another mystery in this puzzle. Bucky remembers trying to kill Howard and Maria Stark. It was the wrong person. Winter Soldier never missed his targets. Of course, Tony Stark wasn’t the target.

Rhodey is freaking out. Someone at SHIELD figured out there was a tiny bug in the system.

“When did they hire someone competent?!” Tony whisper-yells. “I thought they were two years behind schedule!”

“We made that schedule when we were drunk out of our minds from Moscato,” Rhodey hisses.

“Still! It was Moscato. It wasn’t like we drank vodka until we were shit-faced. That would’ve ended up disastrously and possibly given Dum-E and U a new sibling before Butterfingers.”

“Butterfingers wants a baby, just so you know,” Rhodey says.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Tony asks.

“Because you know what you’re doing and I figured you should know what your daughter is up to. It’s very important in developmental psychology.”

“Do not,” Tony hisses. “Let me fix this…”

With a couple more frantic curses, one eye shut, and a yelp, the problem is (mostly) taken care of.

“You think they can trace it?”

“It’ll trace back to a random e-café,” Tony says. “And there will be Justin Hammer who is currently trying to work out why his dating profile isn’t working. I’ll give you a hint: it’s the bio and the fact that he looks like he’s going to bail on paying for your dinner.”

Rhodey smiles, shaking his head and looking out the door.

“Get back down to Barnes. Don’t let him know what this is.”

“When would I?”

“You tend to be a terrible liar around people you like.”

“Why you—!”

“Thank you for helping with the pinball machine again!” Rhodey says, throwing his voice. He shoves Tony out of the office. Tony’s cheeks are bright red, he’s flushed, and he can barely walk down the stairs.

He’s not sure what exactly happened. He knows someone found out about them, tried to trace the bug back. That simply wouldn’t do because Tony runs a legitimate business. Pays taxes on April fifteenth and everything.

“Sorry about that, emergency with a pinball machine game,” Tony says.

“Understandable,” Bucky says. “What was wrong it? A bug get in?”

“Uh, not exactly,” Tony responds, body going tense for a moment. “You want to pick out a new record?”

“Yeah, sure…”

They find out that Bucky absolutely hates the pop, almost-fake music from the fifties.

“It’s…unsettling,” Bucky says, shuddering. “Gross.”

“Let me get some Benny Goodman then,” Tony says.

“How’d you know?”

“Everyone likes his music,” Tony says. “But then again, you did say you were an old soul.”

Bucky can hear the familiar music fill the air as he hums to himself.

“Hey handsome, wanna help me with something?” Tony asks. “I have some books that need to be shelved. I was wondering if you could help?”

“No problem,” Bucky says, grinning. “Can’t reach the top shelf?”

“Why you—”

“I’m shelving!” Bucky calls, grabbing one of the boxes.

Tony thinks that no one should be attractive when they’re lifting boxes. Especially when they’re holding what is essentially about forty pounds with one arm. His left one, but still.

There is also the matter of making sure that Barnes never finds out who he is. Tony has been quite careful about that, although the “bug” comment got to him. Does he know about them? Is he playing some sort of long game?

Answer: no. Bucky got distracted by a book title that he remembers from years ago.

“I forgot I read this,” he says, smiling. “It was forever ago.”

“Old books get to you like nothing else,” Tony responds. “I grew up with Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You read that one yet?”

“Add it to the recommended box,” Bucky answers.

He has his own box now. Technically a crate, but Tony’s been putting books there for Bucky when he thinks he’s found one that he’ll like. Which of course, Bucky will like whatever book is in there if Tony chose it. He likes anything Tony chooses. He would wear the worst outfit in existence if Tony chose it.

Shelving goes by with little conversation, although they both hum along to the music being played softly over the intercoms. Tony comes and goes, helping customers with different items, brewing some more coffee, and getting some more boxes.

Bucky likes the routine.

He’s sad to go, taking his books with him and waving a soft goodbye. Tony’s leaning against the doorframe, a fond look on his face as the bookshop light floats out onto dark pavement. He wishes he could be there all the time.

And then, of course, people are in his apartment.

“Bookstore again, huh?” Steve asks. Natasha’s looking through the pile of receipts on the kitchen counter.

“You go there a lot,” she murmurs.

“I like being literate, gives me a headstart on Clint,” Bucky answers glibly.

“Even if someone liked reading this much, they wouldn’t be buying obscene amounts of books and coffee.”

“I don’t buy every book. To—the owner lets me take some home if I return them the next day.”

“You’re on a first name basis?” Natasha asks, eyebrow arched. “Just what bookstore are you going to?”

“One that’s none of your business,” Bucky says.

“It says it on top of the receipt,” Steve says.

Bucky curses.

Steve laughs at him.

#bookshop au #lovelyirony writes #sorry it took so long #i've been dealing with personal stuff and schoolwork #but now schoolwork is done #writer's block on the other hand.....#winteriron #rhodey #pepper potts #tony stark #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

emerald dreams: REDACTED | kth

⇢ pairing: taehyung x reader

⇢ genre: series, blackmirror!au, angst, fluff, artist!taehyung, strangers to lovers, set sometime in a dystopian era of technology, taehyung is s o f t

⇢ word count: 4.5k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, memory loss, mentions of death, themes of grief/depression

⇢ summary: in a technologically advanced utopia where a memory can be stored as a data file in a chip inserted in your head, it was entirely impossible to forget anything. when you met taehyung, a young at heart yet talented artist, he garnished an odd familiarity, raising suspicion that some of your memories had been lost in the digital cloud, or worse, erased from your memory chip.

♪ playlist: IDK you yet - alexander 23 • 4 o' clock - v & rm • jamais vu - bts • the story - brandi carlile • moonlight - ariana grande ♪

╰ episode index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: if you don't watch black mirror then just imagine that everything is technology based, even the inner mechanisms of your thoughts/mind/memories and social culture has centered around the automation of the human body. also the government is sleazy and controls literally everyone in this au >:) also, i'm going to try and update this weekly!!

Scenario No. 2: Re-test

You didn’t expect to be spending your weekly visit at your favorite coffee shop gasping for air in the single occupancy commode. An unsettling familiarity had reached into your chest and compromised the body of your lungs, now savagely hyperventilating for air, and seized control on the reins of every sensory neuron in your body.

First, it was the sensation of sound. That voice, that unusually specific coffee order, the soft lilt of politeness riding through his etiquettes of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ struck right in your chest with a shockwave of deja vu, like you’ve heard that order before, a million times before perhaps. No part of you would let go of the fact that for some reason, this stranger was someone you knew very well.

And yet you had no idea who he was.

“Hi, how are you?” He smiled to ease the nerves of the overworked barista on this Sunday afternoon. Your ears picked up his husky, sweet tone through the scuttle of customers walking in and out of the shop and a commotion of side conversations that filled the room. It was quite noisy, enough so that it muffled any specific utterances, but the bass of his voice had met your ears with a strong posture of familiarity.

You looked over to the sweater draped over his frame that fit snugly against his broad shoulders. That was when your visual senses were overrun with the muted forest green of the knitted jumper. You’ve seen this color green. To be fair, green was always secured in your life abundantly through your own will. You had always loved this color and demonstrated this through small displays such as picking the green straw from a bundle of multicolored ones, or scanning over a set of shirts to find which one had the most green in it.

You surrounded yourself with a life full of green, but when this green sweater was paired with the voice there was a strange jolt of reminiscence.

It was not just a sweater, it was a sweater that you have touched, even worn before. And when he wore it, it wasn’t just any green. It was his green.

His figure drew closer to you as he waited at the side bar for his drink to be called, sending a waft of his scent to nullify those of fresh brewed coffee and pastries. Along with your eyes and ears, your nose now fell to the magnetism of this stranger.

He smelled of fresh evergreen with a bit of pinewood, mixing into an overwhelming oaky aroma. As the smells that resembled a tranquil forest ruminated through your lungs and your bloodstream, it weakened your body to a state of paralysis. Your motor skills were numbed to endow a series of mental backflips to figure out where this estranged attraction was coming from, and why it was him who provoked it.

Standing comatose in the middle of a populated coffee shop meant the clash of your body into another's was bound to occur. And of course, it was his body that bumped you out of the trance of obscured memories. It was his arms that held your shoulders steady so you wouldn’t topple over and spill your latte over yourself.

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you there. Are-” His eyes studied your aghast expression, “Hey, are you okay?”

This marked the compromise of your visual sensory. You looked right into his eyes, kind and concerned, and your surroundings had melted away into a whirl of unidentifiable colors. Your body was transported to a purgatory that rested between reality and a dream-like setting, which eventually molded itself into actuality before your eyes.

Redacted File No. 6

Suddenly you turned your head side to side and the territory that was once a café was no more, and had alchemized into a zone of unparalleled comfort. To your left, you were warmed by a wood-burning fireplace with stones crested along the frame of the pit. Your body was covered in a blurred canvas of forest green, and there were two hands holding your body gently and lovingly. It was a vision so incredibly clear and intricate it couldn’t be conjured through imagination or illusion, but a very real and vivid memory.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry… You’re okay right?” His jostling hands fainted the memory that swept you from the cafe. You blinked a few times before your eyes could refocus and land you to your present circumstances.

The man’s firm grip hadn’t abandoned your shoulders even though you regrounded your balance, which quickened the pace of your heart. They you earnestly, that even though you were certainly not going to fall over, he wouldn’t have let go. Without more than an array of unintelligible stutters to confirm you were okay, because you weren’t okay, you hobbled backward quite ungracefully to the privacy of the bathroom. After your rushed retreat, you tried to analyze the string of memories that pervaded your mind.

How do you know this man? Were these your memories? Or perhaps your memory chip glitched and downloaded files that didn’t belong to you?

The blunder of confusion racked your head with a slight tension headache. What was once a temporary occupancy of the restroom turned into a marathoned hideout until you could safely assume the stranger’s drink was made and he would leave the vicinity.

You checked your phone to count the duration of time spent. It had been about ten minutes since you pathetically holed yourself up, and it would be about five more minutes until you felt you could confidently emerge and escape.

You knew him, and for some reason it sent you into a fearful sequester.

Luckily, just last week you downloaded an upgraded storage plan which gave you access to all your past memories.

You activated the chip residing in your temple to trace every single unit in the archives, even the ones from as early as your birth, to see if anyone, including the likes of a passing stranger, a waiter that took your order three weeks ago, even a student from your high school class, resembled the man in the café. There were no records in your memory files of someone who echoed the same unsettling familiarity that this man had.

If the advanced technology that contained each capsule of every moment in time that you have ever experienced couldn’t give you the data on this man, then perhaps it was just an unusual coincidence.

One of those Twilight Zone-esque occurrences that isn’t deployed through factual evidence. Though you weren't entirely met with closure for this reasoning, it was enough to cope through the rest of your lengthened stay in the restroom.

What battered your precisely timed and nearly successful plan to avoid further interactions with this man was the light knock against the door. And it was the feeling of guilt that there must be other customers who planned on using the bathroom for its intended purpose that hoisted you up and had you reluctantly vacating the protected area.

Though, it was punishingly ironic that the one who had torn you from your sanctuary was the same person who put you there in the first place.

“Sorry,” He apologized about three times within the small window of time he’d been confronted by you and you already caught on to his habit of perpetual remorse, “Um, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I bumped into you and you kinda… freaked then ran and hid in the bathroom.”

If he weren’t so considerate to a stranger that was acting oddly evasive, this would have been easy. But he was considerate, and this was unbelievably difficult.

“Yeah um,” Your eyes sank down to rest on the comforting hue of his sweater, “I’m, uh, I'm okay. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, dislodging the nervous laugh blocking his words.

“Okay well, I was just wondering if you were all good. You seemed a little shaken up back there.” Frankly, he still sensed something about him was off-putting to you, but he tried to deny it for the moment.

Your assurances fell gravely short of convincing since you couldn’t even bring your eyes to level with his. The soft-spoken gesture of kindness made you feel like a helpless animal that would surrender at the slightest sign of danger. It was a fair assessment for you acted as though his accidental collision into you through a crowded space was the end of the world.

“Yeah, sorry. Thank you!” You chirped to imitate a normal reaction despite this tremendously abnormal situation. “I was just um… It's just one of those days, ya know?”

Then, it was his smile that cluttered your sensation of touch. He was standing a respectable distance from you, however, his smile touched you. It cornered you into blurting out something even more peculiar than the overwhelming deja vu that had been commencing the moment you noticed him.

“Do I-” You paused to lower your voice that could have outsourced to the collection of ruckus in the café. Now in a whisper, you continued, “Do I know you?”

He didn’t offer a voiced response, but an equally bewildered expression. You couldn't quite read what this implied so you assumed he thought you were crazy, maybe even a bit creepy.

“Sorry! Fuck, that’s so creepy. I’m just gonna go.” Before you had the chance to push past him and the billowing clouds of regret, he obstructed your path to the doorway with his body.

“No! I think I know you too. Like, I’ve never seen you but I remember you. Like… Like a dream.” He scaled the length of your body with his eyes, which only manufactured his intuition into an undoubtable certainty. “I know you. How do I know you?”

“Hell if I know. I’m just as confused as you.” You felt your body slumping into itself under his gaze. He was attentive to every detail of you, from the length of your hair to the twitch of your fingertips, making you feel over exposed to this stranger that wasn’t a stranger.

“Well, do you wanna maybe sit? Have a coffee with me?” He propagated his interest like there was no reason to be afraid which only intimidated you further. There wasn’t a real threat in his invitation, however accepting it felt like you were walking on thin ice.

The government agent standing guard with a perfect earshot of every conversation wiring through the small café didn’t help ease your nerves either.

“I really should be heading home soon.” Guilt worked quickly to try and compensate for the discouraged expression on his face, “But… if you give me your number I’ll call you and maybe we can go out for lunch or something?”

He traded his grim with excitement while pulling a pen from his pocket and walking over to the condiments bar to write his number on a napkin. You had no clue as to why, but the fact that he had a pen on hand was strikingly nostalgic, much so as every other detail you had acquired from him.

Although entirely unheard of, you felt like this new knowledge of him was not adding to the collection, but rather dusting old artifacts that had simply been forgotten. You weren’t learning things about him, but instead remembering them; the more you stood watching him scribble his name and number on the napkin, the deeper you entrenched yourself in this theory.

Not to mention, you couldn’t recall the last time someone favored using a pen over a keyboard and a paper napkin over a digital contact entered on your phone.

What kind of person carries around a pen in the age of modern technology?

“Thank you. I’m ___, by the way.” Your hand wavered a bit before holding out to greet him, and when his hand made contact, you could have sworn on your own life that this wasn’t the first time it happened.

This was no introduction. It was a reunion.

The fix of his gaze had suggested he too felt reminiscent with the feeling of your hand.

A shared inability to let go held your hands together, trying to harness a bit of recognition or recall a social function where you two might have met in passing. Neither one of you had shown any intention to pull away, which dragged the formality of shaking hands into a gesture of mutual wonder; now you were not so much exchanging a handshake but rather holding each other. Holding tightly, as if you were rediscovering a mass of feelings that would give you an answer.

However, the answer was not generous enough to make itself available to either of you.

It could have been hours until you were able to unriddle this strange sensation, so you made the preventative move of pulling away before the warmth concocting between your hands would produce a light sweat on your palm.

He too seemed to retract upon regaining his sensibilities, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he would have held on for longer, maybe even forever if necessary. If it would regroup the unattainable and partially inexistent memories into cognizance.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Redacted File No. 12

You clung with desperate persistence onto the flaccid hand. Trailing up the arm was an indiscernible figure that had no features, no notable detailing, not even a vague outline of facial structure; just an ethereal glow that projected throughout the entire room. The nebulous haze terminated any identifiable aspect of the room except the hand you were holding, so you focused on the scant detail your eyes offered.

There was no specified context, no real evidence that you had to hold on, but something deep within you was urging for it. Some omnipotent instinct which prophesied that if you let go of the hand, you would in turn be letting go of the world.

You had to hold on.

However your hands wouldn’t obey you. Each time you tried to tighten your fingers, it felt as if the hand would continue slipping from your grasp. Or maybe, your hands weren't gripping at all.

They were numb, or paralyzed, and unable to execute your urgencies. The more force you exerted into your dire intentions, the easier it was for the hand to grow limp and melt through your fingers like liquid. It was frustrating, your willful attempts to hold on seemed to elicit the opposite effect as the hand, unowned by a certain being, resigned from yours.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.” You chanted through the tears, feeling as though that would somehow ignite a stronghold on the lifeless hand falling away.

But even so, it did fall away.

Perhaps the pain of it was that it wasn’t you who was letting go, but the hand that was being taken away from you. That you had been fighting a losing battle far beyond the prospects of your own decisions or control.

You begged for mercy, but were bestowed with your hands clean of what it was trying so desperately to hold onto. The hand slipped and when you peaked through the glaze of tears, your knuckles and fingers were gripping airy, cold emptiness.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.”

Soon you were captured in a perpetual aria of pleas to the ears of a God that would not listen. Unsettling despair had mutilated the illuminating glow of the room to bleak darkness. The world of colors had fallen absent akin to the cold hand vaporizing alongside the dispersal of light.

Then, everything was black.

Your eyes shot open with deep distraught.

The full moon flashed against your dampened face; half of the moisture sourced from a cold sweat and half from the heavy tears pouring from your eyes.

You knew the only explanation for this dream, which resonated more closely to a memory than a figment of sleepful imagination, was curated by the peculiar events that took place earlier today.

Soon, the dream drifted from your mind as consciousness took its place. Your tardy response to write the sparse remnants of it had left you with nothing but a distorted plot of what transpired during your slumber.

Widening your awakening through long sips of water had forced you into an obsessive rewinding of your memory files. It was a shame there wasn’t technology yet to store memories of your dream, or you’d have been replaying the one you just dreamt about a hundred times.

You scanned through a collection of moments in the afternoon when you first met Taehyung. The clear, digital picture of him glassed over your eyes, taking the place once inhabited by the moon, as you pressed the play button on the handlebar of functions.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

You rewound no later than a second after he introduced himself back to the beginning.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Rewind. 0.5 x speed.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” Said in a distorted voice from the ‘reduce speed’ function you equipped.

“Kim Taehyung.” You muttered to the empty room and the bright moon.

Sleeping was abstracted to an impossibility, and for the sake of your sanity, you walked over fish out the napkin in your coat pocket. It took you a while to move on from meticulously inspecting Taehyung’s handwriting.

The aimless effort to recall if it was the penmanship of some classmate had slackened to yet another unmet hope. Taehyung didn’t reside in your memories, but claimed quite an existence in your intuition. However, that wasn’t satisfying enough. You settled with the unsolved familiarity, though not before a lengthy wrestle between your eyes and the seven numbers scribbled into the napkin.

After dancing with the idea of it, you resolved some courage to finally dial. Each ping of the phone had you dreading for the automated message to inform you the recipient was not available at the moment, that you would have to hang up or wait for the tone to leave a message. Little by little your spirited nerve had depleted as you were now practicing what message you would leave Taehyung in his voicemail box, praying that it wasn’t full.

“Hello?” The sound of his voice interrupted the seventh or eighth ring, along with your rehearsal of the voicemail you assumed you’d have to leave being that the moon had been aging the sky into midnight.

“Oh! Oh, sorry I didn’t expect you to pick up.” After the chaotic pounding in your chest settled, you realized how nonsensical you sounded. Everything you methodically planned to say had been scattered by his unprecedented answer.

Instead of asking why you would call if you expected him not to pick up, he asked with a kind curiosity:

“Who is this?” He didn’t sound tired, in fact it sounded as if he had been hard at work preceding this call.

“Oh yeah! It’s ___, from the coffee shop. You remember me right?” Though you powered through, the worry was quite deafening. Taehyung seemed to pick up on it and diffused it with a gentle chuckle.

“Of course I remember.” On the other end of the line, he had been penciling a sketch on a blank page in his notebook.

The serenity of the stars and moon pinned on the navy blue sky never failed to spark inspiration. Taehyung was the type to refuse passing up a surge of an artistic muse, even if that meant he would shed a few hours of sleep from his routine. No matter the time or place, he always had a pen on hand to honor his heart’s unremitting passion.

He loved the moon and stars. He loved it so much as one would love a dear friend. He wished to be a part of the scenes of lights that hovered just out of reach, but could only settle on capturing a piece of the starry heavens on paper with his trusty pencil, sketchbook, and emerald-tinted muse.

“It’s late to be calling, but you’re lucky I was awake.” He said to hide how ecstatic he was you had actually called.

For someone you had just met, or at least you thought you just met, he threaded a flirtatious coyness in his response. It difficult to hush the winged eruption in your stomach because of that.

“Lucky, huh.” You repeated through a mumbled laugh, “I was just… I was thinking.”

“About what?” He had placed his phone on speaker mode and laid it next to his sketchbook.

There was a new inspiration that bore a louder siren than that of the moon and the stars. He sifted through the memory files throughout his day to the minute he first bumped into you, and though your face had been ingrained quite clearly behind his eyelids with each blink, he relied on the accuracy of a reference to perfect his drawing of you; not to mention he projected the image of your face to delight his undeniable attraction and to moderate the wildly romanticized version of you in his head.

Perhaps if he hadn't, he wouldn't be able to discern your face from the arena of glimmering stars scattered along the shaded skies.

“Just about how I think I was too quick to pass your offer.”

“Really?” That endearing lilt hope in his voice, the excitement expressed, acted as some puppeteer that manipulated the corner of your lips to lift into a smile.

No muscle in your body could ever be moved with the same conviction as it did when he was the reason for it. It bewildered you, almost to the point of frustration, as to why he had this power over you.

I just met him. I'm already getting this worked up? You thought how absurd it was you'd fallen this quickly, hoping it would ground you to the reality that he was still a stranger you hadn’t exchanged more than two conversations with.

Though, reality and memories and data files had all been obscured ever since you met Taehyung which was fascinating more than it was disorienting.

“Would you want to, maybe, grab coffee? Say next Thursday?” Your hand was subconsciously gripping the bed sheets, just like the way you gripped the disembodied hand in your dream, and awaited his response with full-blown suspense.

“I’ll see you next Thursday, ___.” Taehyung's confirmation put all your anxiety to rest, as well as your tightly clamped hand around the cotton fabric.

“I’ll see you.” You mimicked as if that would make the idea of seeing Taehyung again any less surreal. He laughed at this and brushed up a few finishing touches on his drawing.

“So just to clarify.” His pause gave entry for curiosity to wire through your head.

“Yes?”

“When you said you were thinking… you were thinking of me?” You wanted the upper hand to be reinstated with you, but your shy chuckle was no match to the smirk adopted on his lips that you couldn’t see, but you knew was there. You knew he was prideful when he swept the rug right out from under your feet, and you were right.

“Perhaps. And what if I was?” You framed your question to render your intimidation as flattery. Though, you had no idea how convincing this facade actually was and that it came off more suggestive than you had expected. There was a part of you that had fraternized with the romantic idea of Taehyung which might have registered your motive to reciprocate an undertone beyond platonic.

“Then that would be one thing we have in common.” He sounded responsive to your flirting and raised the bar significantly.

Your eyes and smile were directed towards the scenery displayed by your window, but they were not dedicated to the moonlit beauty of the diamond encrested sky. Though the midnight glades of stars were the ones to witness your smile, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, dedicated to Taehyung.

He was staring at the same moon, the same plot of stars, so perhaps you were looking into each other. When the moon twinkled, it looked awfully similar to a smile. Your smile.

For the moment, there was a radio silence that splintered through the two speakers of your and Taehyung’s phones. Even if the use of his hands weren’t engaged by his needful recreation of your face through his art, if his hands were left unused, he wouldn’t have mustered the discipline to end the call. Your unoccupied hands were trying to find any employment so you could have some excuse for not hanging up as well, not that there was anything else to be discussed.

Again, it felt familiar. The feeling of hesitance to be the first one to hang up despite the conversation’s recoil.

The cohesive idleness of you and Taehyung was unprovoked and ran out for about a minute. Neither of you had the intention to sever the virtual communion quite yet. The awkwardness of sitting in silence on the phone with a newly acquainted stranger was a delicacy compared to preemptively ending the call.

At one point, you were about to question if he had hung up; but the rhythmic and light breathing told you otherwise. And because of that mutual need to stay on the line, it seemed to be unreasonable to hang up, save for the yawn that eventually trimmed the call to an end.

“You’re tired.” He stated, now prompted with a yawn of his own upon hearing yours. “Goodnight, ___.”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” Saying his name out loud sent you into that same blend of reminiscence and nostalgia.

His name was not unexplored by your tongue, that much was certain, and the thought of putting your entire life on hold to discover why it felt that way was a tempting venture. Why when he said your name, it felt like sitting in front of a wood-burning fireplace under the security of a green sweater and wrapped in safe arms.

More than that, you wanted to know if he felt all these things too.

“I’ll see you?” You asked instead of saying that dreadful word 'goodbye'.

“I’ll see you.” He repeated before reluctantly hanging up.

“___.” He whispered your name, hoping the inky sky would design it in the stars for the world to remember forever.

Hoping that the next hours, which would surely be spent on multiple sketched renditions of your face, would amount in some revelation of the mystifying familiarity. He believed shedding a few graphite imitations onto the surface of his sketchbook, soaked by the glow of moonlight, would somehow make him remember everything hidden in the dark compartments of his heart.

However, if it didn’t, he would be okay with it. Because at least he knew he would see you again.

“Meeting place: Silver Lining Café.”

“Thank you, Agent Park. Heighten surveillance on the two subjects.”

#bangtanarmynet #btswriterscorner #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts writing #taehyung series #bts series #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #artist!taehyung #rubycoast #emerald dreams: REDACTED

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signalterminated · 4 years

Text

Altered Item S-96 (Control/TMA crossover)

a while ago when i was playing Control i wrote up a little crossover fic for fun. a week or 2 later i found out jonny was streaming control on twitch which was one hell of a coincidence. i figured i might as well post this here in case anyone else finds the concept interesting or fun to play around with.

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ALTERED ITEM S-96

Description:

A black and white children's book titled A Guest for Mr. Spider. Story details a cartoonish spider greeting flies as "guests" to his house. There are two doors on each side of the house but no furniture save for a single table with withered bluebells. Each fly has a moniker as a name that refers to their individual species.

Setup for the story is cyclical: one page introduces a fly offering a gift to the spider in an attempt to appease him. Subsequent page heavily implies Mr. Spider ate them after being dissatisfied with the gift. The final fly is shown offering his own son to the spider for reasons unknown.

The doors and Mr.Spider are depicted as being progressively bloodier. Mr.Spider's abdomen is also swollen to gargantuan proportions but the text states he wants more, even desiring another guest for dinner. Last page of the book is a cutaway of the right hand door that simply says, "It's polite to knock."

Ability:

While unsettling, the pages themselves possess no visible paranatural qualities. The reader is instead put into a trance while reading that can only be broken by an outside force or intervention. Age, gender, height, or any other physical characteristic does not seem to affect the potency nor threshold of interruption for this trance.

The reader is rendered oblivious to their surroundings but is capable of walking, oftentimes significant distances. Furthest distance recorded for this effect was [REDACTED] observed at [REDACTED]. So far no measurable distance has been noted as a "minimum" requirement, though a median of approximately [REDACTED] has been recorded for all controlled tests. It's possible that the distance a reader must travel is random, or (more possibly) is quantified by factors we are as of yet unable to ascertain.

The reader eventually reaches a stained door. The door is different colors depending on the environment but the stains remain consistent regardless of locale. If left uninterrupted, the reader will place the book against the door and knock on it. It's uncertain if this is necessary to prompt the next part of the ritual or not, as testing beyond this point is fatal for any subject.

The door opens to reveal pitch blackness. Shortly after, the reader is yanked inside by limbs described as [REDACTED]. No one taken by the creature behind the door has ever been seen again.

See S-96-CV-1 for further details regarding testing.

S-96-CV-1

Variables:

Various factors have been tested to determine the strength of the book's controlling properties. Photography had proven to be impossible in both digital and film formats, as any photo taken always comes out completely black, damaged, or distorted beyond recovery. Video recordings of the book being read have been tricky to establish, as digital equipment will almost immediately glitch and stutter within a range of [REDACTED] of the book. Attempting to use even an advanced zoom feature from far away results in similar phenomenon.

So long as the patient's back is obscuring a view of the book, it's relatively safe to record. Additionally the effect operates in a far more reduced capacity while S-96 is closed, causing glitches and technical issues within a range of [REDACTED] instead.

Strangely enough, motivation presents more of an obstacle in attempting to monitor S-96. Nearly every agent instructed to photograph or record the book reported a sudden lack of motivation to do so when approaching the containment room. Many formulated excuses for why they couldn't at that very moment. Others simply forgot why they were there. Installing sheets of Black Rock within the containment room helped reduce this effect considerably but did not eradicate it.

See JS-P1-95 for an interview from the only known survivor.

JS-P1-95

Transcript for an audio recording between Jonathan Sims, aged 8, and a child therapist appointed by local protection services. Interview occurred approximately 2 days after the disappearance of [REDACTED].

Therapist: Hi there, Jonathan.

Jonathan: Call me Jon please, ma'am.

Therapist: Right, of course. How are you feeling, Jon?

Jon: I'm not sure, ma'am.

Therapist: Please, call me Imogen. And that’s alright. After what you went through, that’s a very normal reaction.

Jon: Noth—

(There is a brief moment of silence followed by the sound of clothing rustling. Jon is shifting uncomfortably in his seat.)

Jon: Yeah. I guess.

Therapist: What were you going to say, Jon? Remember, I’m not here to judge you.

Jon: O-okay. It’s just...nothing about this feels normal.

Therapist: How so, Jon?

Jon: You won’t believe me.

Therapist: You told the police that you saw [REDACTED] being kidnapped. They believed you, right? So will I.

Jon: I didn’t tell them everything.

Therapist: And why is that, Jon?

Jon: Because what I saw, it...it doesn’t make sense. It was really dark out but I know what I saw, and...

(Small set of hitching breaths followed by a deep breath. Jonathan appears to be repressing a breakdown very well for a child.)

Jon: It happened so fast but I saw it. It took him.

Therapist: What took him, Jon?

Jon: Mr. Spider.

(There is a brief onset of soft static here. Most likely due to the age of the recording.)

Therapist: ...Mr. Spider?

Jon: From the book.

Therapist: What book, Jon?

Jon: A Guest for Mr. Spider! He took the book when he pushed me and I followed him a-and he knocked on the door and --

(More shifting, this time including papers and seats. Jon is breathing harder and the rest of his sentence is unintelligible.)

Therapist: Jonathan, take a deep breath. There you go. You’re okay.

Therapist: Now, tell me about this book. The police never mentioned finding a book by that name.

Jon: That’s because he was holding it. Don’t you understand!? The book, it made him go there. It forced him to knock on the door and...and then...

(A small sob followed by the hushed cooing of the therapist. Jon seems unresponsive and there’s the creak of a chair, followed by silence.)

Jon: I don’t want to talk about the book anymore.

Therapist: Okay. That’s okay. You’ve done very well so far.

Jon: I’m not a toddler.

Therapist: I’m sorry, Jon. I know you’re not a toddler, this is a lot for anyone. Even an adult.

Jon: I knew you wouldn’t believe me.

Therapist: Now what makes you think that?

Jon: I can see it. I see a lot of things.

(Recording ends here.)

There are no other audio logs regarding this incident. Additional services were turned down by Jon’s grandmother, [REDACTED], and there are no other records of him seeking out professional treatment in the following years.

For more information regarding Jonathan Sims, refer to JS-19-UAE.

JS-19-UAE

Initial Impressions:

Jonathan Sims displays a very high intelligence for his age. Whether due to trauma or his orphaned status, he exhibits a world weariness rarely found in a child. This emotional aloofness coupled with a lack of any close relatives might indicate an affinity for future leadership.

Bureau agents stationed in the UK are instructed to closely monitor his activities for the following 2 years. This is to determine potential eligibility in the Prime Candidate Program and to assess if the Altered Item will return to claim its intended victim.

Pre-Adolescence to Early Teenhood (10-13)

Jonathan Sims has exhibited no further paranatural abilities. He appears to have thrown himself into academic pursuits and has not made contact with any other Altered Items. The book mentioned in his initial therapy session has not appeared within his vicinity, nor has it been reported by any other agent stationed in Great Britain.

As of now, surveillance will continue, albeit in a reduced capacity.

Teenhood (13-17)

Still no indication that Jonathan Sims possesses any paranatural talent. However, he appears to have a heightened sensitivity to paranatural events and items. There have been at least 4 instances where he nearly stumbled upon AWE’s or Altered Items, only to just skirt by them. Each instance has been logged in a separate report and successfully apprehended before it could catch public attention.

Whether this is a 6th sense keeping him out of danger — or drawing him to it — is currently unknown.

Early Adulthood (18-21)

Agents recently discovered the book mentioned in Jonathan Sims's therapy session. It does not appear to be tied to him in any way, given the fact it was found in a check-out bin at the [REDACTED] Library in [REDACTED]. It was contained successfully by [REDACTED] and shipped back to the Oldest House in a crate lined with Black Rock.

Jonathan himself has become a full time student in Oxford. He has exhibited no latent talents or abilities of interest. Due to his growing age and the fact the book has been found, his eligibility in the Prime Candidate Program has been revoked.

That being said, he is an excellent accidental bloodhound. More than once his intuition has led him within the range of an AWE or Altered Item. By proxy, we are made aware and are able to act quickly to avoid further disaster.

Whether these items are reacting to his presence, seeking him out purposefully, or this is all simply coincidence is not yet determined. Closer study could risk exposing Bureau operations, as Jonathan has grown increasingly paranoid since teenhood. Measures have been taken to avoid any further unintended alterations in his usual behavioral patterns.

Adulthood (22-24)

Nothing to report between college and entering the workforce. His grandmother's death led to a period of instability but nothing atypical of a grieving individual.

ADDENDUM: Jonathan's habit of accidentally brushing up against the paranatural has culminated in a job at the Magnus Institute.

While not tied to the Bureau, the Magnus Institute has been partnered in some capacity with the Bureau for over 2 decades now. This coincidence has been logged as potentially being influenced by paranatural forces.

An ambassador will be sent to the Magnus Institute to investigate and negotiate with the current Director of its operations, Elias Bouchard. Extra caution should be exercised to avoid arousing further suspicion from Jonathan or the Institute.

#the magnus archives #tma #magnuspod #Control

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sweetsmellosuccess · 4 years

Text

Sundance 2021: Day 4

Films: 4 Best Film of the Day(s): Mass

Mass: Predictably, Fran Kranz’ film opens with a shot of a church, but the title turns out to be a reverberating double entendre — both the religious service towards forgiveness; and a term commonly used in conjunction with a multiple-homicide shooting event. The church, Episcopal it turns out, is the agreed-to meeting place for two sets of grieving parents: Gail (Martha Plimpton) and Jay (Jason Isaacs), whose teen son Evan was killed some years before in a high-school massacre; and Linda (Ann Down) and Richard (Reed Birney), whose son, Haden, was the shooter, before killing himself in the school library. They have agreed to meet, long after the lawsuits and legal wrangling have been settled, to possibly provide answers and solace to one another. As can be expected, the atmosphere is fraught with tension — a setting Kranz, an actor making his directorial and writing debut, expertly mines before the couples arrive, with a kind but overenthusiastic church administrator (Breeda Wool), fretting about the details of the food arrangement — and the couples, wary, at first, of letting things get hostile, work diligently to avoid disagreement by staying mild (an arrangement of flowers Linda brings is speculated upon a great deal). Eventually, however, the four wounded parents get down to more brass tacks, Gail and Jay eschewing their therapist’s call for them to avoid “interrogation” questions, to get at the root of what they are after. In truth, as Kranz has the characters cannily come to understand, there are no details that shed new light, no explanations that help rectify what they’ve lost, only a grim understanding that, as parents, they are all subject to the laws of chaos and chance. Unsurprisingly, Kranz has an actorly sense of conflict and explication, but, despite the limited setting (this could easily have been an adapted play), he gives his actors plenty of room with which to work, and the quartet are more than up to the task. They are each terrific, and given opportunity to shine, but it’s Plimpton’s monologue near the end about her son that becomes the film's singular tour-de-force moment, a scene with so many hooks and edges, it sticks to you like velcro. Kranz is careful not to overstep his dramatic boundaries, difficult given the potentially melodramatic elements of the story, and allows his actors enough time to breathe so it avoids feeling polemic or preachy (an early scene with Gail and Jay in the car before they arrive is a scintillating bit of set-up, where words are spoken, but our attention, like that of the characters, is entirely elsewhere). No easy answers, thankfully, just brutal realizations that can’t be avoided.

A Glitch in the Matrix: By this time, documentary filmmaker Rodney Ascher has carved out a sort of niche for himself: As with Room 237, and The Nightmare, he has gathered up fringe thinkers displaying a sort of group psychosis in order to explore other ways of seeing, and interpreting, our world. His docs don’t come down on either side of a given conundrum — are any of the far-out, would-be explanations of The Shining in 237 the least bit sensible? Is it possible in The Nightmare for people experiencing the horror of sleep paralysis to share in the same horrific vision? — but he carefully doesn’t contradict any of his subjects either. His new film, an exploration of what’s known as “simulation theory,” concerns a pattern of thought described back in 1977 by the heavily adapted science fiction author Philip K. Dick during an appearance in France, suggesting, Matrix-style, that all that we think we see and know is actually an intricate virtual reality, brought to us by an unseen technological force. True to his form, Ascher interviews numerous applicants to the theory — many of whom portrayed by VR avatars in their own homes — including scholars, practitioners, and skeptics, and bolstering their arguments with an assortment of other media, from Minecraft, Philip K. Dick-based films, and crude computer animations, to video games, and youtube videos. The views are intentionally conflictive — one subject suggests the very idea of such conflict is the basis of the simulation — and anything but conclusive, but, of course, that’s the very point. Less unsettling than The Nightmare, one of the few true horror movies of the documentary genre I’ve ever seen, save for the account of Joshua Cooke, who pled guilty to killing his parents in cold blood after cementing his belief that the ideas portrayed in The Matrix were completely real. Listening to his step-by-step description, from prison, of his descent into madness, and where those impulses took him, is to drop into first-person shooter psychosis.

Coming Home in the Dark: Both Australia and New Zealand are blessed with spectacularly beautiful land that is filled with wide-open, terrifying vast spaces in which any amount of evil may lurk. In dark, violent films like Wolf Creek and Killing Ground, all that beauty and space is turned on its head by far more chaotic inclinations, rendering brutally effective, and stomach-churning sadism as a means of displaying the horrible duality of the land. Kiwi director James Ashcroft attempts to add to this cinematic legacy with this film, a murder-abduction sort of thriller, in which a family on a camping trip in the wilds, is brutalized by a pair of killers they come across. In a twist that at least one of the killers, Mandrake (Daniel Gillies) would have us believe is a coincidence, it turns out the patriarch of the family, Alan (Erik Thompson), used to teach at the abusive orphanage school in which both Mandrake, and his partner, Tubbs (Matthias Luafutu) suffered as children. It’s not a believable conceit, which Ashcroft seems to readily admit, but because it makes the connection, the film attempts to work as a kind of metaphor for the violence which we didn’t perpetrate, but also did nothing to stop. Mandrake as an avenging angel, foisting Alan’s lack of empathy back onto him in violent spades. It’s difficult to fault a film for not being transgressive and shocking enough, exactly, but despite the theatrics of the situation, and Mandrake’s coldly comic engaging of the couple in “regular conversation,” it doesn’t have the heart to be as effective and unsettling as it needs to be. It plays it too safe, which saves the audience from being plunged into the all-too-realistic terror of, say, Killing Ground, but also dilutes the stronger point it wants to make about systemic brutality.

The Blazing World: Related to the 17th Century Margaret Cavendish novel in basic concept, Carlson Young’s feature debut walks a wobbly line between linear narrative, and neo-gothic opera — only with a soundtrack instead of singing. The story concerns a young woman, Margaret (Carlson), who loses her twin sister to a drowning accident as a child, but has imagined ever since that her sister lives in some alternate vortex of reality, heralded by a grinning demon, Leonid (Udo Kier, of course). Coming back to her childhood home before her battling parents (Dermot Mulroney and Vinessa Shaw) move out altogether, Margaret meets some old friends, does some drugs, and finally enters the fantasia-like world that Leonid has been beckoning her to for most of her life in order to find her trapped sister. There, she must amass a series of keys, plucking them from demon versions of her parents, and confront her own guilt and pain in order to unlock her twin and set everyone free. It would be easy to say Young’s reach far exceeds her grasp, but the fact that she was willing to attempt such an audacious project says something about her artistic chops. And for every moment that hits wrong, there are several more that work in interesting ways. Her aforementioned use of music, and sound design invokes a kind of Kubrickian aesthetic, and her commitment to her vision is palpable. This likely won’t be the best film she ever makes, but it does portend to a filmmaker worth keeping an eye on, going forward.

Sundance goes mostly virtual for this year’s edition, sparing filmgoers the altitude, long waits, standing lines, and panicked eating binges — but also, these things and more that make the festival so damn endearing. In any event, Sundance via living room is still a hell of a lot better than no Sundance. A daily report.

#sweet smell of success #ssos #piers marchant #films #movies #sundance 2021 #Film festival #virtual #mass #the blazing world #a glitch in the matrix #coming home in the dark

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secret-vore-lair · 4 years

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Fear and Wisdom

Ara and Fervent, both mostly-corporeal metaphysical entities, are a picturesque couple most days. But sometimes only one of them can have what they want. Contains lots of romantic teasing, the melancholy of ages past, and safe cuddly vore.

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Ara stood still as a statue, watching the sunset from atop a dais in the ruin where she and her partner lived. The roof of this place had long ago crumbled, leaving the sprawling, colorful mosaics within exposed to the elements. Ara looked out on the world from its center looking like the only piece of history in the whole place that time couldn’t touch. A great lioness with fur of gold, feathered wings of purest white folded motionless along her back. Not even breath broke her stillness and silence, as she drew no air into her lungs, made no rhythm with her heart.

There was a family of waterbirds that she was watching, their nest on a worn stone that rose up from the bay below the ruin. That stone had been much taller, long ago. The tallest of many, and there had been more nests as well. She overlayed the old memory over reality with the slightest thought, watching it play out in perfect clarity and fidelity.

The sphinx could hear the cacophony of the swarming birds calling out to each other, squawking in indignation as they swooped down on the baskets of fish the villagers carried only to be batted away. She could see the small ships drifting languidly through the clear, lively waters of the bay. She could feel the shade from the roof over her head, and observe as the priests, her priests, meted out blessings from the steps of her temple.

She sighed and let the vision slip away. The village was gone now, and the priests. All lost to time. Even the stones had been worn down. It was the way of things. Now she watched two birds land at the edge of the single nest. The parents, returning to roost with a freshly caught fish for their chicks. That nest had been passed down, destroyed and rebuilt many times over countless generations. No, not countless. She knew the number. She knew the exact number of bird generations between the fall of her civilization and now. She knew the precise number of sunsets, and what the weather was like each day. Her memory spanned eons, and it was flawless. And she needed a distraction.

Lucky for her, night was falling.

A black-feathered wing draped over her shoulder, and an ivory claw caressed her cheek. “I’m awake, my love.” Ara turned to face the source of the deep, velvety voice that seemed as one with the chill, misty air rolling in from the calm waters of the bay. Fervent looked refreshed and composed now, his inky down fading into and deepening the sunset shadows, obscuring his outline and adding to his imposing stature. Far from the messy, exhausted pile of feathers he presented during the day. Unlike Ara, he actually needed to sleep. He blinked his luminous green owl eyes at her as she nuzzled into his chest. “You seem somber, dear.”

“I feel better now that you’re here. I think I just need something to occupy my mind. How was your rest? I heard you moving around and muttering to yourself earlier. Bad dreams again?” She curled up on the stone platform, and he joined her atop it.

“Indeed. Giving me indigestion as usual. Conscious fear always sits a little better. It’s a little more . . . straightforward. The stuff the subconscious conjures up tends to unsettle my stomach with its surreality.” He nestled himself closer to her, relishing her warmth. She shone so brightly. She was his guiding star. “But sometimes someone falls asleep inside me and dreams frightful visions. What am I to do but accept the free meal? Besides. . .” His jagged beak split into a sly grin, and his forked tongue slithered around its edges. “I know I have you to soothe my insides, don’t I?” His form blurred, and he was on top of her, beak wide open and dripping with jet black saliva. Little silver stars spun and twinkled in the fluid, winking in and out. Ara smirked and reached up with a paw, closing his beak.

“Tempting. And an excellent opening move, darling. You know I find that view hard to resist. But have you considered . . . this?” With a wry smirk of her own, Ara wrapped her wings around her partner’s neck and dragged his head down, planting an extremely sensitive ear right on her gut. “Check. . .” Ara took in a breath of the cool evening air and let her body come alive. Her lungs expanded, her heart took up a steady tempo, and best of all—

grroooaargle. . . gruuurrr. . .

“. . . aaaaand mate,” she purred, feeling rather pleased with herself as her lover’s entire body shivered, his form distorting and glitching out for a moment as the full might of her internal soundscape left him stunned. Ara laughed and used the opportunity to roll him off the dais and onto the temple floor, pinning him down as he let out a very undignified yelp. She lowered her head beside his and licked her chops in his peripheral vision. She whispered, “Imagine being in the middle of all that, Fervent. And I’m just winding up, too. You know from experience that it’s only going to get much, much louder once you’re inside. Why don’t you claim your rightful place?”

“But. . . You ate me last night, too,” Fervent protested halfheartedly.

“Really? I don’t remember,” Ara replied with a chuckle, dragging her tongue up the side of his face.

“I just mean, when do I get another turn?” He asked, a bright purple blush staining his cheeks.

She raised up, perched on his chest, eyes glowing in the dark, watching him with the certainty of a victor. “When you can tell me, with absolute and unshakeable assurance, that the thing you want most in this moment is not the pressure of my body reshaping you, taking that ethereal fear fluff you’re made of and compressing it into a perfect fit for the innermost chamber of my body, my being, a stomach shaped by the gods themselves. Is this the night when you can convincingly tell me that you desire to eat me more than you desire the musical bliss of belly gurgles tuned against the instruments of the divine to perfectly convey the absolute satiation your presence within me provides? Can you look me in the eye, nay, look me in the maw and say with conviction that the idea of your feathers dropping from my lips as I surround your body and seal it away for the evening doesn’t fill you with a sense of purpose?” She spread her wings wide, angelic and silhouetted against the final, red light of the day. She brought her muzzle down to his beak and opened wide, ruffling his feathers as she breathed out a sweltering, glowing mist. A breath of holy light. “You, my love, are my chosen one. Rise into me. Let my light deepen your shadow.”

Fervent hummed, staring up into her wide, welcoming jaws. He knew when he had been beaten. “You make a compelling argument, as always,” he said with undisguised awe. Sure, she was getting her way, but she always made him feel like he was the lucky one, even so. Arguing over which of them was hungriest for the other was hardly the worst disagreement a couple could have, he knew. So with a mix of resignation and excitement, he raised up his head, his shape becoming more fluid, and she took him in her jaws, and he was pulled into her softness and her inner glow.

Ara worked quickly, her beloved disappearing into her jaws with only a few swallows. He was as big as she was, but easily compressible, and eating someone alive was much easier when things like breathing were elective. The sphinx felt her belly round out with her meal, the glowing walls stretching and flexing to accommodate him with relative ease. “Ahhh, ambrosial as ever, my dearest.” She cleaned a feather from the roof of her mouth with a flick of her tongue and sent it flowing down her gullet on a river of saliva to join the rest of Fervent’s mass. She flared her wings and looked out over the water. “And far lighter than you look.”

“If you’re going to be the lover of a sphinx, the one thing you shouldn’t be is dense,” Fervent replied, shifting around to get comfortable.

“Indeed not. And it’s certainly convenient that devouring you doesn’t keep me earthbound. Why don’t we take a quick flight over the bay?”

“Whatever you wish, my star. I would follow you anywhere.”

Ara purred and ran a paw along the curve of her stomach, summoning up a few lengthy gurgles for Fervent to bask in as he sloshed around. “Thank you for this. Truly, it was just what I needed. And tomorrow night, if you’re still in the mood, I’ll be yours. Sound good?”

Fervent hummed in the affirmative, cozying up to the walls as they moved around him, focusing on the sounds of her body as she held him in the fullest, greatest sense. Her concession was appreciated but unnecessary. He could play this game and lose to her every night and still be satisfied with the outcome. He adored her. It was as simple as that.

#vore stories #soft vore #safe vore #oc: Ara #oc: Fervent #willing vore

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