#madeh0rror

Her father’s house was a hard place to visit now, with too many memories wallpapered up the walls, even clustered across the sheets of fine dust. Dark, shadowed by lights that’d stopped working since his passing two to three years ago. It was a monument to everything he’d held together in life, and always in his own haphazard way. Like the cords only he knew how to make work, like their relationship, or his relationship with anyone really. She tried all of the temporary switches which he’d never covered or replaced, checked the cables behind every appliance he’d ever cured with ample helpings of tape. None of them would turn on anymore, and a part of her wondered how they ever did. He’d always made it look so easy, but was there actual magic behind that ritualized innovation? Had every extension cord been a pact with something beyond the surge of electricity? If ever there was a sorcerer in her family she could have believed it was him. 

Night crept through the windows, but it had already been with her down in the basement. With nothing more than a flashlight to guide her, she stepped through the mess of useless contraptions, picking through shelves upon shelves of different sized gears. This place would never be hers, not really. Billie had inherited the building, but not its spirit. It was still his nest of wiry garbage, and no matter how much she’d scrapped from it already, the hoard only grew before her very eyes. Impossibly so. She had already come to terms with that reality a few months after his accident, but every so often she’d circle back to check, lured by the sad crowing of an empty home. Its doors open, waiting to shelter someone– not her, but him. 

At least this would give her another chance to find trinkets for herself, maybe set pieces for her own designs. One of these gears should probably fit her new statuette of whirring parts. 

Billie had shifted her grasp on the flashlight, trying to focus on the little bronze piece between her fingers, when she suddenly noticed the spread of goosebumps up her arm. No longer centered on her hand she realized she’d been sweating against the stark cold all the while, as if she were shocked or raving with adrenaline. She blinked a few times, let go of the flimsy thing and felt the patter of her heartbeat. Why was she anxious? Was she anxious? Another wave of something crashed through her and she turned around, believing someone would be there though all around her was as still and quiet as ever. There was nothing there.

"ah, don't apologize. you haven't disturbed me. merely surprised me." griffith smiles his welcome. he rests a finger at his place in the book he's reading, though it's not a book for children that he could recommend--it's far too violent. the story of a man hated and hunted by all the world, who presses on despite it. he finds his bookmark and presses it into the spine, closing the book so he can give the apostle his full attention, book set aside.

griffith hesitates for a moment before he speaks, gently smiling. "of course. literacy is the greatest tool one can have. an orphanage worker taught me, when i was a boy." though boy was not what he was called--he was called girl when he was very young, then thing and monster when he grew older and it became evident that what was between his legs was considered unnatural. the worker (who had been as close to a parent as he'd ever come) had taken pity on him then, told him to pass to protect himself. there's too much grief in being a woman. better to be a man, if you can manage it. don't let anyone know what you are, even if you trust them.

and so, most don't. barring a few exceptions. himself and vi are alike, in that way. griffith wonders if he was born correct, born as one thing or the other, if things would be different. if he'd be a married person with children by now, not the absolute.

Big blue eyes opened wide, a wild smirk spreading slowly through her features as she laid her eyes on the cookies and then back on the other. A squeal leaves her lips right before a series of “Yeah, yeah” as she shakes her head animately. Truth be told, she’s proud of them, she’s proud of anything she manages to do. However, she perhaps should be a little less proud of this batch, considering they are in fact slightly burned, and as Beck said, they do not taste that good, doesn’t make her less proud of them though. 

chiyo gently pats sissel's head, stiffly. frankly, she thinks something might be missing from her head. are all miqo'te required to lack something in the manner of intelligence?

he tips his head ,   a slow draw of amusement clocking his veneer on points of agreement .    HE PRONOUNCED  HEATHEN  by a master he’d hoped to mirror curls tongue in serpentine blues .    there are a thousand variations of gods -  for him  they are  the endless ones.  the primary foundations of man  picking the wounds of their playthings from their high perches.   and he despises the one of dreams the most ,  for from he came himself  not as a  man but an object .  A FUNCTION FOR MAN TO SEE AND CAST THEIR SINS ASIDE .   and  yet dream knew nothing of man ,  gave not one ounce of his heart to them .      but judged him for doing the same on pretense that he was faulty .          let reason state  he did kill out of hatred but to taste humanity , to hold their free will   and  to have on  to himself a creation made in his image that  was true to itself.        *    —    ❛❛       gods  are  an   UNSAVORY   bunch ,  toeing the line of decency with a toothy grin lying free will as a test  man is bound to fail .    they play nice   only to want to grab you from the insides while you burn .     there is not a tipping point for they are always monsters waiting to feast on you .   /  @madeh0rror      ❜❜   

       that remark earns the other a nasty look, brows pinched down in the famous scowl of disapproval. they’re clearly already getting off on the right foot. “ i don’t want your sister. ” never mind that a non-mermaid could never hope to aspire so high, given his standards. daniel has plenty enough to keep him busy, though the idea of anyone taking away even one displeases him (not happy one way or the other; that’s family for you).