Monster.

“Traveling isn’t allowed in basketball, Dave. And you suck at this lying thing, y’know.” John grins from across the room to make it clear he’s messing with him, then he flinches to the side to catch the other cheesepuff.

“Dude, if town decided to investigate our shit we’d be locked up for life with no chance of parole. But we don’t gotta worry about it, cuz my uncle’s a cop. Plus literally every other cop we’ve ever dealt with knows the shit we’ve done and make a conscious decision to turn the other way. The only person who’d think about putting wanted posters with your ugly mug on it is Them with a capital T. I’m surprised They haven’t tried that yet.”

“Only when it doesn’t matter.” That was a lie. He sucked at lying all the time; if he and John ever needed to get their stories straight in a life or death situation, they’d be dead almost immediately. The last thing he’d hear would be John describing how his dick had it’s own gravitational pull, somehow making it relevant to whatever hypothetical story they needed to tell. 

“Yeah, that didn’t happen. They don’t pay two million dollars to bat boys, man. Plus throwing a can in the trash seems more like a basketball thing—” John doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as a ball of cheesy puff flies straight towards his chin. He bends his knees a tiny bit to make up the distance and the ball flies right into his mouth. He talks through a full mouth, “…don’t you think?”

“You’re thinking about the destination; focus on the travelling aspect of it. I threw that can far and at high speed.” Yeah, no he didn’t. 

“Think? Dave, I know I can catch a cheesepuff in my mouth from the other side of the store. The question is can you throw a cheesepuff to the other side of the store or am I gonna have to dive to attempt to—and succeed at—catching it halfway across the store?” John sucks on the straw of his Big Gulp drink which he turned into a white trash daiquiri by pouring a bottle of cheap rum into a 7-11 Koolaid slush. 

He moves through the aisles and opens his mouth wide.

“How far do you think you could catch a cheesepuff in your mouth?” He asked nonchalantly, his mouth stuffed with snacks as he spoke. He got a two pound tin at the grocery for five bucks and they hadn’t seen a customer for hours; boredom and bad ideas always struck concurrently. 

Send me “black bird” for a darker memory of my muse’s past: accepting! 

“So, he survived. Still in rough condition, but he’ll pull through.” 

Dave’s ‘father’ knotted his arms in front of his torso, a hardened expression reaching his son who did not reciprocate the eye contact. Instead, he stared at the floor and hid himself in his jacket’s hood. He could taste iron from his busted lip, not that biting the wound helped it to heal at all. A small amount of blood pooled in his mouth before he loosened his muscles enough to wipe it away with his sleeve. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” 

Silence, still. Anxiety-ridden fingers bounced against his arm as his mind raced back to that moment. Lockers, laughter. The feeling of weight on his arms and legs. The feeling of.. a lot of things. The emotion blended into a mess of colors; reds, mostly. Still, he mostly saw red. Tension rose in his lungs as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. He wanted to leave as the authoritative voice rose loud enough to echo the hallway. His mother sat across the room, saying nothing in support or defense. She refused to look at him.

“You BLINDED a boy in your class, David! Why didn’t you say anything about being bullied? Why did you decide bringing a knife to school was a better alternative? We could have helped you; moved you to another school, at least–” His father’s voice trailed off as he took a seat across from his adoptive son. Dave still said nothing, his only thought trailing back to the moment before his self-defense. The need to do more than blind him. Anger sprouted from the thought of his predator still breathing, pulling through at the hospital. Movement snapped him out of his internal thought process; his father shaking his head with a sigh. 

 ( i love all of this!! but stop encouraging me to buy the first book, you devil ) 

mun.

Ask me about my character’s series: accepting! 

I actually verbally went “THANK YOU.” when you mentioned the differences in relationships between the movie and books. I’ll mention now that the movie should be considered a different entity from the books; the characterization for John and Dave are perfect, but the plot is convoluted because they tried to keep in certain things from the first book, but it really only covers a third of what happened. You could watch the entire movie and only understand 30% of what’s really going on because of it. ANYWAY. Here are Dave’s major relationships in the series: 

John.His best friend, arguably his only friend. Dave is the person that keeps John from accidentally injuring and/or killing himself when he parties too hard and John keeps Dave from dissolving into his depressive episodes by keeping him distracted until he starts feeling better. They have a very complicated friendship, as Dave is often irritated or jealous of John’s charisma, while John can be very persuasive and jealous of Dave’s girlfriend, Amy. Their friendship has hit the rocks many times, but they’ve adapted and it has become very strong in recent years, in spite of their insecurities about each other. They help each other more than they don’t. The movie portrays this friendship and their characters very well. 

Amy.Dave’s girlfriend and an actual light in life. Amy is the reasonable one with a good head on her shoulders, a big loveable dork with an insane amount of patience. Dave is often very insecure about his relationship with Amy, often telling her that he cares about her happiness the most, even if it means not with him. Amy handles Dave’s emotional instability well and typically keeps him from sinking too far down the rabbit hole of ‘what ifs’. They have been engaged for several years but haven’t tied the knot. The movie... the worst thing the movie did was turn Amy’s character into Jennifer, Dave’s ex-girlfriend. They gave Jennifer Amy’s missing hand and dog and went “yeah, there’s Amy!” when their personalities are complete opposites. 

Molly.AKA, “Bark Lee” from the movie. Amy’s dog that lived with Dave for several months before returning to her. Molly bit someone infected with the Sauce and also gained the sight. She died and came back to life with no explanation why, has helped Dave escape a prison camp, and has saved the trio’s lives on multiple occasions. There is a lot of mystery to Molly, but she is definitely an extremely important character in the series and to Dave. 

I’ll mention the last two under a cut because this post is long and they’re not AS important, but still a little important.

Ask me about my character’s series: Accepting!

Dave is the sarcastic unreliable narrator, main character, and author avatar for the John Dies at the End series. In all three books Dave is talking to the reader as he recounts his story as he understood it, making notes about how “looking back on it; that was the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” or “If I had gone in that shed at that moment [as opposed to later on in the story] I would have put a bullet in my skull right then and there.” His monologue throughout the series is actually extremely popular on Tumblr, as he tells the reader his nihilistic understanding of the world that resonates with many (I guarantee you have seen a popular text post or aesthetic meme that was ripped from something Dave has said). 

Ultimately, he and John (his best friend and the other protagonist) are the two idiots with the ability to save the world from Lovecraftian horrors that most people can’t see, with Amy (the third and final character in their trio) there as the only one with the reasoning and level head to help them through it. Most of the time he takes up the reluctant hero role (as he considers himself a villainous presence and a monster), with some exceptions where his actions are morally questionable or self-preserving (in example, he one hundred percent tried leaving three hundred people to die without truly intending to help them). 

Send me “black bird” for a darker memory of my muse’s past: Accepting. 

“What would you like to do for your birthday, David?” Silence grew the distance between them as he watched business signs pass by outside the vehicle window. His new mother, a nice brunette woman by the name of Lana, kept manicured fingers on the steering wheel in a ten and two position. Her mouth curled into an uncomfortable grimace as time continued without an answer. Sight darting cautiously between the road and her son, she attempted the conversation again. “There’s a party supply store down the street. Would you like to pick the color of your balloons after we grab a bite to eat?” 

“I guess.” He managed to muster the energy to respond, his cheek sinking further into the curl of his right arm. He recalled all his past birthdays; they typically ended in his mother’s meltdown and a forgotten cake at the store, followed by several weeks of depressive episodes. He had a new mother now; he felt like a new house amenity that could be bought online. 

“We can start making invitations for your friends once we get home, too. Have you.. made any new friends at school yet?” - “No.” - “Well, we’ll just invite your whole class, then. It’ll be fun! Do you want to have your party anywhere special?” - “Can we invite mom?” 

Silence fell like a curtain, interrupted briefly by the hushed stammer of Lana. Finally, she gave a response. “She’s.. at the doctors for a while, sweetheart. She has some problems that went untreated for a while, so it got worst. I promise she’s trying to get better so she can see you again, but that won’t be for a while.” A empty promise made with a well-intending heart. The car slowed to a stop at a local restaurant. “Let’s just go eat, okay? We’ll talk about your birthday later. For now, let’s just focus on today.”

The simplest way to describe his series is a Lovecraftian buddy-comedy. John Dies at the End is composed of body horror, psychological horror, satire, pretty good representation on mental illness and substance abuse themes, and... dick jokes. 

Consider their series a combination of Night Vale, Alice isn’t Dead, and HP Lovecraft with the humor of Bo Burnham and Kurt Vonnegut. 

Dave and John have been gifted with the ability to see otherworldly creatures no one else can see and work as consultants for anything deranged, odd, haunted, etc. Half the time they have no idea what they’re doing, until they stumble on a ridiculous solution. The first book is a combination of body horror and psychological horror as it explains how they handle their new abilities, while visiting another universe with a ‘god’ that has a personality of a thirteen year old COD kid. The second book is a LOT of body horror (aka throat spiders the size of dinner plates that control humans like puppets, a lot of gore and... some really fucked up shit, with a finale that makes you think the humans are the antagonists in the situation). The third book, which I’m halfway through, is very heavy on psychological themes that deliberately play on your discomfort.

Overall, the plot is “here are a pair of idiots that society has deemed worthless and look at them struggle with self-worth while saving the world they hate with supernatural powers they didn’t want in the first place, while the world flips them the middle finger and shouts fuck you.” 

Send me “black bird” for a darker memory of my muse’s past: Accepting.

Maybe if he didn’t blink it would move again. 

His sight traced the outline of a person; arms peppered in bruises and occasional lacerations, a bloodied shirt collar that trailed down to a ripped seam, dark bags under dead eyes, a mouth hung ajar just slightly; his stare landed on his own reflection. His bathroom was poorly lit by a single bulb that desperately needed replaced; another issue he had no energy to fix in his apartment. It did not hold priority at this moment, not with his current predicament. 

                       He lost time again.                                An hour and a half; longer than usual, now. 

That was issue enough. Dave had work in the morning and it was lights out by one in the morning; he probably drifted to sleep at three. It was four thirty-seven in the morning now, and the first thing he registered consciously was his reflection moving on it’s own. Maybe it was the sleeping pills he took nightly; did he take an extra? Regardless, that wouldn’t have been enough for him to blank an hour and a half of something violent enough to warrant blood, bruises, and wounds. 

As he was about to proclaim ‘fuck it’ and leave the room, his expression (not HIS expression, but his reflection’s) began to flood with panic. Skin faded to blue, to purple, as a hand landed on the base of his throat. Tired eyes suddenly pleading with him; please, please.. help. Dave – the real Dave? – lifted an arm to the glass, his reflection failing to do the same. His expression rested on muted distress as he shook his head and shut off the light, leaving the room before the show devolved into anything additionally horrific. 

No, not tonight. I’m not doing this now. 

Peeling off his bloodied clothes in favor of fresh (only worn twice) pajamas, he threw his used apparel underneath his bed to deal with another time. He took another pill and in a lightless room, threw the bottle in his mess of a closet; a resist of temptation. He just needed rest. His reflection did not have its own will; this is just in his head. Just; a devilish word. Dave fought every instinct to check the bathroom mirror, mostly out of defiance to entertain whoever was watching him, but mostly out of fear that he’d find himself dead on the floor.