trapped in sanity


Did you miss me?, he asked

A question from a Broken shell of a man

Right call, he said we’d made

Killed a man before our eyes

In his stead, the Man died

Problems we created without knowing

Lies he wove and used too ensnare

Incident upon incident, we fell to his lies

Everyone knew who it was,

Reminded of a lost fried, he trapped us

Lost sanity plagues him

Incomplete revenge unfolds as planned

Vengeance is inevitable now,

Eye for an eye, and life for a life, it’s only fair

Still, somewhere inside, Damien and Celine are weeping for the past.

(@jim-is-coming@ego-surveillance-squad@ego-surveillance-squad@splatoon-jim @mayor-damien-protection-squad Hello friends it’s ya girl back with an Anagram Angst poem.)

Ezekiel knew that exploring the house was a bad idea – time and time again, his hunches had been proven right. He couldn’t explain it, and Cassandra was right in saying that it wasn’t scientific (which was kind of hilarious considering that they meddled with magic), but that didn’t make his hunches any less right.

But still, he stayed. He followed Baird’s orders, searched the rooms as told. His mind was practically screaming at him to leave, to run, to get the hell away from the place, and his entire body itched at the wrongness of the house, but he stayed. For them.

And how was he rewarded? By being fucking kidnapped by a goddamn house. Being confined to this room that had nothing but ominous pictures hanging on the wall. He was trapped – and if there was anything Ezekiel hated, it was the feeling of being trapped, of being robbed of his freedom.

Ezekiel Jones lived by his own set of rules, made his own choices about what he did, and having that freedom taken from him?

It was absolutely suffocating.

He would later look back and at least be thankful for the fact that he had been the first one to be taken, and that he had been alone. Losing his cool wasn’t something he did in front of an audience, and… well, it hadn’t been pretty.

He knew that Jake had been disgusted by how he had been playing video games and eating samosas, but Ezekiel took that in stride, preferring that to having Jake – or any of them, really – know what had come before that.

Ezekiel had tried to jimmy the door open, but no luck. He yelled out of the window to try to get someone’s attention, but nothing. He’d searched the room from corner to corner trying to see if there were any hidden passages or escape routes, but no dice. He even resorted to violence at one point in his frustration, trying to knock down the door, but to no avail.

He paced the room, trying to think of other ways to escape, to warn the others – he stared at the pictures, but he found himself distracted when he felt like the walls were closing in. Finally, he slid down the wall, covering his face with his hand and letting out a humorless laugh, murmuring that he could really use a pint right now.

And then he had one. Which was disorientating to say the least, but one of his biggest strengths was adapting, so… he did just that. He asked for this and that before finally settling on the video game, using it as a means to distract himself from being trapped in this room against his will, knowing he was useless to the others outside.

When they were freed from the doll house, he tried not to be too obvious about checking all the possible exits around them and busied himself with ranting about the merits of the house. But that wrongness had left, and more importantly, he was free to do as he pleased again – and he did just that, even if Cassandra did thwart him in the end.


His very existence was an abomination. The bastard mixture of human DNA and ghostly ENA, an ectoplasmic core alongside a beating heart. To his parents, he was only a hypothetical, because creatures like him weren’t even supposed to be possible. Weren’t supposed to exist.

The knowledge of this fact was one of the very things that had been struggling with since the day his wretched half-life began. Was he alive, pretending to have died? Was he dead, pretending to be alive? Neither? Both? He knew, he just knew, that Spectra was right and always had been. He was a freak. Not a ghost, not a human. Something that was both there and not there at the same time; a sick, twisted Schrödinger’s cat who tried and tried but it was never enough. No matter how hard he wanted to belong; whether to ghosts like Frostbite and Dora, or humans like his best friends. He didn’t though, and it only reaffirmed his belief that there was nothing that he could do to end this constant mental back and forth.

The only person who even could attempt to understand him had long since abandoned sanity. Vlad had been alone for twenty years. Twenty years of feeling this desperation, the weight of the world collapsing on top of you with nothing you can do about it. Only he was alone, utterly and entirely. It was no wonder that he lost his mind to ghostly obsession. It seemed so tempting, too. To completely allow inhibition to take over and become numb to one’s own existence. To only have to focus on achieving the one thing that matters most without having the hindrance of human sanity. Danny didn’t have that choice, though. He’d seen what he would do if his mind was lost, if his beating heart was lost. He couldn’t lose his sanity over this, even though he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

An idea formed in his head to end his torment. It had only really became an actual plan when the people he had worked so hard to save decided to push him aside for a newer - more human - group of ghost hunters. He was so… angry. He could feel the heat burning inside of his throat. The one thing that he was doing in order to keep himself from losing his mind and it was snatched away from him, leaving nothing but a cold emptiness in its wake.

He warred with himself but when his parents were hauled away, he lost it. The frustration, the anger, hate hate hate it all became too much to handle. He didn’t want to be a freak. Everything he had worked so hard for. Everything that he had done to make sure he didn’t lose who he was, so he wouldn’t become Him. It was all gone; there was nothing left. He wanted his humanity back. He needed it. If he couldn’t end this fury through protecting Amity Park, he’d snap. He wasn’t protecting anyone anyhow, the more he held onto his bastard existence, the more people ended up hurt. He didn’t want to have to continue warring with two halves of the same whole. He needed it to end, for his own sanity.

They yelled for him to stop, warned him that no good would come of this, but the static in his head just wouldn’t leave. He could feel it coming, like a switch was going to be flipping inside of his head. Was this what Vlad wanted? For the both of them to lose their minds? No. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He calibrated the portal, pressing the right buttons and flipping the correct switches. Hesitation wasn’t allowed in the moment of true clarity that he was experiencing. A small voice spoke to him: “What if this doesn’t reverse it? What if you die completely this time?”, and he paused to whisper back.
“Then at least I’d be whole. At least, if I become a full-ghost, I’ll never be caught in the middle. If my human half dies, it’ll die as I lived. I won’t be trapped on the edge of sanity like this. Never again.”

And he pressed the button.

He felt the electricity rip through him again, he smelt burning flesh; but it was all so wonderful. He knew, one way or another, that a part of him would cease to be. Whether Danny Fenton or Danny Phantom left him, he’d get his answer. He’d find out who he was really supposed to be, which alias he really was and which part of himself was the true abomination.

anonymous asked:

I was wondering, because you know a lot about vocaloid stuff (I think), do you think you could tell me if Dark Woods Circus is based off of a true story? I heard some people say it's not, but a lot of people say it is so I'm just a little confused... Thanks... I read some stuff about it but I'm still confused.

i do know a lot about Vocaloid! been a fan for 4 years now, so i do have some knowledge!

as for Dark Woods Circus, there have been many people saying either or, but as for what i say, the events of DWC are fictional. i myself have believed that DWC was based off a true story when it had been mentioned (there also had been an original post about that but it had been taken down), but had later realized that it wasn’t.

let’s go over why the events of Dark Woods Circus is entirely fictional and not based off a true story.

Keep reading

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The highlight of this insanity is a show wherein a nurse yanks the babies from a field below a magic tree inside the hospital. A “doctor” informs the audience that the magic bees flying in the tree sprinkle pollen into some crystals, and that’s what causes the cabbages to “go into labor.”

Then the nurse injects “Mother Cabbage” with an epidural of “imagicillin.” She also makes the audience do Lamaze with the expecting mother – which, and we cannot stress this hard enough, is a fake head of cabbage.

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