I swear my favourite stupid trope is very inhuman characters with very mundane and relatable personalities. Like, imagine a hive-mind colony of scuttling posthuman cyborgs whose faces are immobile masks with eyes of piercing flame and whose voices whisper terrible secrets in skin-crawling polyphony, but personality-wise they’re basically a Suburban Garage Sale Dad. Come on in and sit for a while, they made brownies! (They can’t actually eat the brownies – they just enjoy the process of baking them, and hey, more for guests that way.)
I like to think that at some point Ed got bored and decides to become a professor at some big name Amestrian college.
His specialty is a military funded class called Battle Alchemy, which he starts off by inviting any of his students to beat him in hand to hand for a conditionless passing grade (by the end of the first class, most students walk away sore and horrified).
It takes half the semester before they realize that Ed continues to beat them even when they use alchemy and he does not. They ask to see him use alchemy in battle. The next day, a man who looks almost the same as their professor shows up to class- he’s softspoken and polite, and the students expect a substitute lecture. Ed sits in the stands and laughs as Al proceeds to fight the entire class at once, and beat all of them. The students never ask again.
(And sometimes, in the middle of practicals, students swear they can see the Fuhrer watching from the edge of the field.)
I can also see him causing a hell of a problem when it comes to conventional textbooks-
“This is definitely wrong.”
“Sir, this is the most recently updated textbook for theoretical alchemy-”
“Yea fuck that, I can prove that soul alchemy isn’t unviable- someone hand me some chalk, I’m about to commit a mathematical felony.”
“I’m about to commit a mathematical felony” is probably the most in character Ed line ever, of all time
“this ain’t seelie OR unseelie territory, see? me and my boys run the lakes and the rivers round these parts, and I won’t see no upstart nuckelavees thinkin’ they can change that.”
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from
exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more
exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time
it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed
in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed,
creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with
all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are
tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the
utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled
walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever
known has lived in such an, ah, dated,
home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if
they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all.
Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen,
going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge
cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip
beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys
and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash
of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top,
as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger.
It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into
this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of
the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish
towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her
neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess
being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and
a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but
there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets
her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless)
grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year!
You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear!
Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a
heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite
figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem
to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I
don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t
mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or
maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a
few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a
bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear,
because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded
in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only
because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and
shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear
and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record
books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues,
while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or
how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have
gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic
that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans
would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into
the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why
it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully,
so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine
with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman
returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you
since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love
wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the
corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have
had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some
cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a
generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It
smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated
with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t
seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that
smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two
small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the
rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some
difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank
you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners
regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so
deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity
for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright,
dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood
without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s
ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love
that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You
never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I
just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime.
I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her
rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t
believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind
that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as
well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only
finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning
circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the
library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the
winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket
over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders
and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s
clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.
Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.
Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that.
With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.
Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.
Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.”
The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground.
He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case.
Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson.
The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
New Frisky Beast Readymade Inventory has been dropped! One of each and in limited supply – but we’re back! Frisky Beast inventory is now served from the TTC main location, for improved service and faster shipping!
Twin Tail Frisky Beast – sounds a bit like a Kaiju, doesn’t it?
I like to imagine that mothman is actually just some sort of giant freak anurognathid that’s just been hiding out in the forests of WV and living on squirrels and the occasional cat
Bringing back my favorite interpretation of mothman EVER.
holy HECK ems…! This is so perfect, this is amazing.
I need this. I need Ole Gammer Greenhand and her big happy lollopy puddle of a warg doggo, Heather.
With his big sad eyes whenever she is cooking, so that he gets the scraps. “Bottomless pit… all right, here you are. I spoil you rotten, y’know that?”
And his tendency to try and curl up on her tiny lap, even though he can only fit his head and maaaaaaybe his front paws on there. “Ooof! Oh, you big goof. All right, who wants an ear-scratch? Whosagoodboy? Whoosagooboyden! YOU ARE!”
And his goofy, tongue-lolling grin after he has done a good job chasing the birds off the seedlings. “That’s a boy! Good job, Heather.”
And oh yes FINE, sure – and his teeth that can crack an ox’s thighbone in one bite. “Oh, that’s just the dog, that noise – pay it no mind me dears.”
and the ranger sees him and stares.
And Gammer Greenhand notices where the ranger is looking, and waves a tiny, wrinkled hand. “That’s just Heather, the great lummox. He’s a big soft lump, but I keep him for the company, you know? It’s nice t’ have someone to talk to, at my age.”
You catch it out of the corner of your
eye, sometimes, skulking in the shadows. It’s amorphous and reminds
you of smoke, living smoke. Sometimes you see a tentacle-like
appendage, or a tail, the occasional claw or paw. The only thing that
seems consistent is the eyes. Four of them, softly glowing.
You’re not afraid of it. It’s never
done anything to hurt you and at times it can be nice, feeling like
there’s something else in the place. Like you’re not totally alone.
Today is a bad day, though.
You can hardly move, can’t get out of
bed.
Your head pounds from bouts of crying,
interspersed with long stretches of not feeling anything at all. This
particular depressive episode has been going on for a while. The
apartment is a mess, and you know you stink. You haven’t had the
energy or motivation to take a shower in…days? Days. At least.
The apartment is a mess of take out
containers and dirty dishes piled on the small kitchen counter. Piles
of laundry lay scattered across the floor while your open closet
displays mostly empty hangers.
You’re torn between knowing that you
have so much to do and being too overwhelmed to do anything, so
instead here you are, in bed, wishing you could stop existing.
Rolling onto your back, you open your
eyes to stare at the ceiling, and see a writhing, coiling mass of
shadow and smoke above your bed. It’s never come out in the open like
this before, in all the months since you moved in. Four glowing eyes
regard you, occasionally blinking in something that might be
agitation.
It drops to the floor beside your bed
and begins to slither up onto the blanket, making soft chirrup
sounds. You roll onto your side, facing away from it. It makes a
wounded noise and slithers away.
You think you fall asleep. At least,
when you open your eyes next, the light through the window looks
different. You notice the smoke creature staring at you beside your
nightstand. There’s a potato on the table. Wh..did it it bring you a
potato? Where did it get a potato? You don’t have any potatoes. It
pushes the potato toward you with a tendril. You decide to ignore it.
A few hours later you hear a crash
coming from the bathroom. You manage to get up and shamble over to
the bathroom and look inside. The smoke creature is clinging to the
corner of the bathroom ceiling over the sink. Your toiletries and
pill bottles are scattered across the tile.
“What are you doing?” you
ask it. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to your…roommate.
It slithers down the wall and rolls a
pill bottle toward your foot. Picking it up, you recognize it as the
antidepressants you haven’t been taking. Rolling your eyes at the
creature, you get a glass and fill it with water from the sink, and
take the damn pill.
“Happy?” you ask.
Its eyes squint in an approximation of
a smile and it vibrates, almost like a purr.
You lay back down in bed, having used
up all of your motivation to be ambulatory. The smoke creature
cautiously approaches your bedside.
“Yep, I’m still depressed, it’s not a
miracle pill.”
The creature seems to ponder for a
moment, then slithers up onto the bed and wraps around you like a
blanket. It’s soft, and warm, and it purrs. You decide to let it
stay.
It becomes a habit, your strange
roommate curling up around you like a cloak when you’re having a
depressive episode. Leaving little gifts of food and water for you
next to the bed. Occasionally even running a bath for you, though it
has let the tub overflow more often than not. There are lots of movie
nights and cooking disasters. And it’s nice, really nice, having
someone who doesn’t ask anything of you or expect anything of you,
someone who is just there.
There is something in your apartment.
And you hope it never leaves.
BettSplendens Tumblr Evac 