#encryptid texts

shakespeare plays seen and/or acted in: 12/38

hey there! you can call me cryptid, encryptid, archie, or any variation. i use they/it/he. i am a humanities loser

things you will see on my blog: my ocs (ask me about them and my life is yours), tma, red valley, hamlet (and shakespeare in general), gothic horror lit, house md, death note, neon genesis evangelion, severance, pluribus, disco elysium, outer wilds, bloodborne (haven’t actually played it but i like it a lot), sonic, music i like*, vampire movies, sci fi movies, poetry, philosophy, history, space, ghosts, creatures of all kinds, my brilliant taste in text posts (/silly), and many other fandoms i don't post about as often appearing every once in a while

*non exhaustive list of music i like: mcr, stomach book, sir chloe, jhariah, car seat headrest, modest mouse, the scary jokes, muse, radiohead, the cure, vundabar, dwellings, boygenius and its members, lemon demon, will wood, tally hall, neko case, the smiths, jack stauber, ratbag, alex g, the beatles, the weakerthans, belle and sebastian, the mechanisms, chappel roan, billie eilish, and my shiny rock collection of random emo/indie/rock bangers from bands i know max 3 songs by

tags i use:

#encryptid says things - tag for when i say things

#encryptid draws things - tag for when draw things, such as my comic, and copious amounts of fanart and oc doodles. you could also go to my art only blog, @encryptidartchivist

#encryptid texts - writing tag for the rare occasions when i actually do some

#encryptid audio - sometimes i use audacity for evil, this is the tag for that

#encryptunes - tag for music (there isn't much in there at the moment but there will be more eventually)

#encryptid's homemade blorbos - main tag for oc stuff. the only other specific tags i use are #zrin story universe for one particular story/collection of characters and #ivy and barbed wire for the various incarnations of/insane ramblings about my beloveds devon and valerie. there are also a few ocs i tag with their name because i actually bothered to come up with a full name for them but most of the time they're not individually tagged. i may try to go back and change that at some point

#🧊 - tag for posts i think my friend who does not have a tumblr account but goes through my blog every now and then like the newspaper (his words) would enjoy. all hail the cube

other socials: artfight, letterboxd

i try my best to tag trigger warnings but i do forget sometimes so if there's anything you need to be tagged just let me know

also send me asks!! i love getting them :] and if you want to message me go ahead! mutuals can ask for discord as well

It’s been two days in this room. More than two days. It’s been 49 hours and 36 minutes. The walls are white like everything else in the station. White walls, white shelves, white door. There is only one door out of this room. It’s sealed. Good. We’d be dead otherwise. 

  Emily is sitting on the floor next to me, her head resting on her knees and her arms wrapped around her stomach. Her hair falls in a short, light brown curtain over her face. Her back rises up and down with her breathing.

  We will die in this room. The only food and water we had was what was on us. A single water bottle, half-way full, and a handful of nutrient bars. This room is storage for spare parts Emily and I don’t know how to use. We can’t call for help. No one is coming to save us.

  I stare at the door. It’s here again. I can see its silhouette moving in the hall through the glass panel. It’s tall, taller than a human. It’s only vaguely the same shape as one; its limbs are too long, its surface grey and ever-shifting. It has no face, only a head with many rows of teeth. It’s hulking, but deceptively fast. And it’s not stupid. It knows we can’t stay in this room forever, so it’s been keeping guard.

  Emily lifts her head, sensing my staring. 

  “It’s here again?”  She sounds tired.

  “Yes.” 

  “How are we going to get out of this?”

  I stay silent. Emily, through all of this, still believes we’ll both get out of this alive. I can’t be that optimistic. The only reason we’re alive in this room is because it got to Eric first. Whatever it is, it seems to focus on one prey at a time and take some precious time to consume what it wants from the corpse. 

  Emily is a brilliant scientist. Dr. Emily Bird, renowned biologist, one of the best in her field. We were told that each of us picked for this research station were uniquely qualified for this job, but we all knew she was the best of us. If anyone should survive this, it should be her. There’s just one flaw in that reasoning. I don’t want to die.

  Emily furrows her brow. “What?” she asks me. I must be staring at her.

  I consider my words carefully. “We’re only here because it got to Eric first.”

  Emily’s breath hitches in her throat. “Eric. Eric,” she repeats. She rubs her eyes. “I can’t believe— it was horrible. He didn’t deserve to…” She shudders.

  “Emily,” I say, firmly, “we were only able to escape to this room because it killing Eric gave us time.”

  She gives me an odd look. I watch as the realization crosses her face, first confusion, then understanding, then horror. “No. No—” she straightens suddenly. “No, we’re not— You, you wouldn’t. Ally you— you won’t, you— I know you better.”

  I say nothing.

  “Ally. Ally, you— you’re scaring me.”

  I get to my feet.

  “Ally!” She’s shouting now. She scrambles up from the floor as well. “Don’t— NO!”

  I dodge Emily’s hand shooting out to stop me and dash across the room to the door. Before she has the chance to act again, I’m holding my trembling hand over the door’s release. I look back at her. We’re both breathing hard. Emily’s face is painted with terror and disbelief. 

  “It’s not personal,” I say. “Really.”

  “Ally, no, no—” Her voice is getting more and more panicked. “Ally DON’T, don’t do this—”

  “I don’t want to die, I— I can’t die here, Emily.”

  “ALLY, PLEASE!” It’s a desperate cry. I try not to flinch.

  “I’m sorry, Emily, I really am.”

  “ALLY—”

I know the blade well. So well. As well as any person could know an object. I know how my hand fits around its hilt. I know its sharp and even edges. I know the source of every scratch and dent that’s ever marred its surface. I know exactly how it cuts.

  It’s what makes me so good at my job. I know my tool. I know exactly what I’m doing.

  The monster haunting this town is amorphous and many-limbed. There is debate on whether it consumes the people it hunts or absorbs them into its body, simply more flesh for the pile. Either way, it’s grown in size over the weeks. Either way, I will feel nothing when I slay it.

  I turn the blade over in my hand. No moonlight glints off its edge, only the stars. I slip it into its sheath and slip out of the alley.

  The man is standing at the mouth of the little side street. He is dressed in expensive clothes and trying his very best not to look scared. His gaze lands on me as a stop.

  “Almost time.”

  “I know.”

  We stand near each other in a silence I’m sure the man finds excruciatingly awkward. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and fiddles with the chain of his pocket watch. I stare at the end of the road. My eyes are more well-adjusted to the dark than the eyes of the man. He jumps when I abandon my stillness and step quickly and quietly to the center of the street.

  It’s here. 

  The monster’s silhouette emerges with jerky movements, half skittering and half dragging itself. It’s horribly pink. Not nearly enough skin to cover all the grasping fingers and protruding bones. I stand perfectly still, my hand on my blade’s hilt. The monster has no discernible head or eyes, but I can tell when it notices me. It approaches. I stay still. It’s so close I can feel the heat off its body. The wet thump of flesh on the cobblestone. I move. 

  Sidestep its path. Draw. My eyes catch on a spot between the sinews. I sink my blade into it. It doesn’t scream. It has no throat. I rip out my blade viciously, taking hot blood and flecks of fractured bone with it. The monster stumbles, and I take my opportunity. I leap and sink my blade higher into its body, using it as a handhold to swing myself onto its back. I stab again, tearing. Again. Again, deep. Holding the buried hilt fast, I let myself fall. Gravity pulls me down and my blade through — ripping, breaking, spilling out the contents. I land lightly on the cobblestone as the monster comes undone around my boots. 

  I wait a moment before removing my weapon from what’s left. I’m not sure why exactly. Maybe I wanted to make sure my work was finished, or make the man take in this scene. Maybe I wanted to give my blade time to drink of the blood. 

  I turn from the carcass and walk back to the man, leaving my blade held at my side instead of returning it to its sheath. It drips red onto the stone. The man is staring past me to my work. It takes him a second to snap back to what’s in front of him. He inhales sharply, shakily, before averting his gaze and rummaging around in his pocket. He pulls out a pouch with a golden clasp.

  He holds out the money in a trembling hand. “That was… that was good work.”