—monster

when is a monster not a monster? oh, when you love it.

[glutton-hou-blog]

Watching as the man scratched his words down swiftly onto a paper pad, Tai leaned forward, weight shifted to his elbows. 

“You remind me of someone, with how you speak.”

“I’m afraid we’re all monsters here, you’ll have to specify exactly what kind of people you refer to.”

[greyreapers]

Do I? That’s interesting. I doubt they’re like me in many other ways, though. If they’re still around, be sure to introduce me sometime.

An eyebrow rose as the other responded, and he was quick to write his reply - The kinds of people that aren't human. Maybe they used to be, but not anymore. That written, he set his notebook on the table, turning it about and sliding it forward so the demon could read it better.

[glutton-hou-blog]

“Strange, that English is my third language, yet even I know that taking a long look falls within the scale of staring.”

“If you intend to stare, then sit.”

[greyreapers]

This version of English is rather foreign to me, but I make do as I can. Grey didn't bother to argue, though, instead seating himself across from the demon. If I was staring, it should be known that it was only for being unused to the kinds of people on this island.

[glutton-hou-blog]

“You know it’s impolite to stare, yes?”

[greyreapers]

I wasn't staring, only taking a long look. It seems you caught me at an inopportune moment.

[greyreapers]

🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 ( .ask meme )

I. GENESIS        he does not realise others cannot feel pain, given that he does not

II. INCEPTION        the robberies he was pinned with were not his, but he did not know

III. MEDIAN        some did find him stealing, but let him go, thinking him harmless

IV. CONTINUUM        there are creatures on tartarus older than he

V.  FINALE        to exist as a reaper will appear only as a half-life to him, whose life was full        of adventure, and he has yet to learn as much.

[alonesomes]

Start by pulling him out of the fire and hoping that he will forget the smell. He was supposed to be an angel but they took him from that light and turned him into something hungry, something that forgets what his hands are for when they aren’t shaking. He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen because you had him first, and you would let the world break its own neck if it means keeping him. Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and pretending to understand. Repeat to yourself “I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you” until you fall asleep and dream of the place where nothing is red. When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep. Here are your upturned hands. Give them to him and watch how he prays like he is learning his first words. Start by pulling him out of another fire, and putting him back together with the pieces you find on the floor. There is so much to forgive, but you do not know how to forget. When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled. Here is your humble offering, obliterated and broken in the mouth of this abandoned church. He has come back to stop the world from turning itself inside out, and you love him, you do, so you won’t let him. Tell him that you will never know any better. Pretend to understand why that isn’t good enough.

Caitlyn Siehl, “Start Here” 

[mavenbarrow-deactivated20230220]

 Modern Mythology: Grim Reaper

The Grim Reaper is the personification of Death and is a common figure across many cultures. In some cases, the Grim Reaper is said to have caused the death of it’s victim to collect their soul. Her arrival is unexpected and, most often, unwanted, like a thunderstorm. She wears misfortune on her sleeve and walks with a skip in her step. Sometimes on colder days she buries herself in her cloak and lets the thick, black fabric drag behind her on the ground in the dirt, in the rain, in the snow. On slow days it saddens her that the humans cannot see her and she sits in on their conversations and sneaks into movie theaters. Very soon her sense of loneliness turns to boredom and she regrets ever having sat down in the first place. Clumsy as she is, she misplaces her scythe and spends hours retracing her steps until she finds it. It’s too heavy a thing for her fragile arms and she’d prefer not to have it at all. The sound is grating as she carves deep gashes into the concrete behind her.