Artemy Mandus (Ec) | in my horror era

@artemymandus.bsky.social

611 Followers 83 Following

^ Pen name. Author of sci-fi, horror, and dark fantasy. Usually go by he/him, but call me whatever. Queer & AuDHD. NIN fanatic. Profile pic by @juniperlake. Find my work: https://www.patreon.com/c/artemymandus/about

We can't expect god to do all the work
Brindle pitbull licking her nose
"There is no 'me.' We are all that we are, congealed as one. One mind. One body. One tongue. One voice. One scream."
A opossum hiding behind some garden buckets
Two papillon dogs next to each other
Cover of CONGEALMENT, depicting scattered imagery broken up by darkness - most prominent one being a large bloodshot eye
Aggressive ace pride flag, reads "EVERYONE UGLY"
Civilization 5, 1958 hours
The Frenchman’s dead face morphed before his very eyes. Molded into something different. Both eyes sunk into black pits in their face, mouth and nostrils widened in grotesque proportions. Their teeth rotted. The skin of their entire body turned earthen-brown, its texture coarse and waterlogged, like it was made of mud and blood. Erwin froze in place, all misery in his heart overtaken by fear in a flash. Adrenaline pumped beneath his skin, but still he couldn’t move. The entity that had been a dead man slowly turned its head, looking at him with those hollow, sightless eyes. That gaze ripped into his very mind and soul. When its mouth opened, it had a voice made of a million different voices all overlapped, tone thin as if each person speaking was on their dying breath. The entity only spoke a single, guttural word: “Why?”
Leo grimaced, then forced himself to look away. No. You’re not there. I’m losing my fucking mind. If he didn’t acknowledge it, then it would leave. It had to. Even as he felt that viscous, rancid fluid drip atop his head, he didn’t look back up. He forced his head down into the bed, blotting his vision out in the firm cloth. The fluid mingled with the blood on his cheek, smearing down his dry, sweat-stained face. Their wheezing clawed at the insides of his skull, like nails on a chalkboard. You’re not real. That gas-filled field flashed in his mind. He heard his breathing in his ears. Felt the weight of a gun in his hands. The tar-like blood beneath his fingernails. None of this is real. He forced his eyes shut, steadied his breathing, and let the silence take him.
Alien isolation
Grid of 9 images, tinted brown-yellow: 1 - Close-up of fish eggs 2 - A trench from the First World War 3 - A room full of bunk beds in an old fort 4 - A muddy field in no-man's land 5 - Close-up of a bloodshot eye 6 - "I am forgiven" 7 - "I am free" 8 - An abandoned bunker/dugout with a skeleton out front 9 - An odd, malformed fleshy body
being doomed by the narrative is cool and all but i like when a character is doomed just by being a fucking idiot. sorry that happened to you but it is entirely your own fault and you could have just chosen to not do all that
what happened to her? her tweet left her target audience
Image of an account following me featuring a AI-generated book cover that looks like some kind of horrific nightmare blend of a frog and the Grinch, dead behind the eyes.
Birthday cake with the words "happy fucking birthday"
Screenshot of a bluesky account with 38.4k followers and 336.4k following
Play time: 96.8 hours
Play time: 59.1 hours
Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor
"What a year, huh?" "Captain, it's February"
Image of a screaming rat with clenched fists. Caption: i will not let the rot consume me
Early life Trauma begins Trauma continues
Tweet: "I'm not going to therapy I am going to forge a powerful sword"
Man Reaches First Of Dozens Of Breaking Points To Come
"I suppose if you're struggling to see, then this would probably help." Alex moved over and half-knelt next to me, almost expressionless. "There. Is this better?" "Very," I said. Then punched him in the face.
The Great Change (and other lies)
Reshen stumbled through the mud and out from the tree line. His hands dripped with blood. He clutched one of those hands to his side, covering the tear in his tunic that claw marks had left just beneath his ribs. With every step and stagger he took from the woods and out into the open night, it seared with pain, but he pressed on regardless. Given enough time and alcohol, it would seal up on its own anyway. Assuming it didn’t kill him beforehand. It would be pretty fucking stupid if this was how he died, after all this time. The other hand did not drip with his own blood. To anyone who walked past him, that night, they probably wouldn’t be able to notice the difference between the blood that dripped from the hand covering his wound, and the hand that carried a leather sack over his shoulder.
Screenshot of my follower count (420) and my following count (69)
Screencap of my username, with particular importance on the words "WRITING CONGEALMENT"
Grid of four images, in stark black-and-white. Row 1: - Photo of three soldiers walking across a collapsed log in muddy water, in the middle of no man's land - Photo of a period-appropriate radio device Row 2: - The white text "Numb all through, I can still feel you" on a black brick background - Photo of a procession of German officers walking up some steps in a busy city
Grid of four images, tinted a disgusting yellow color. Row 1: - Photo of a soldier looking at the camera, features entirely obscured by a gas mask - The yellow text "My disease, my infection; I am so impure" on a dark brick background Row 2: - A photo of burnt hands, palms down - Photo of a soldier in no man's land, firing a flamethrower at a dead tree
A grid of four images with deep shadows, tinted forest green. Row 1: - The green text "A lifetime of fucking things, all fixed" on a dark brick background - Photo of the interior of a field hospital, in a canvas tent Row 2: - Photo of two soldiers standing side-by side in a trench, flooded with mud. One of them has a rifle on their shoulder. - Photo of a thin, sharp knife, laying on its sheath.
Grid of four images, all low-contrast and washed in a soft blue color. Row 1: - A wooden digout in the trenches, floored with clay - An open, loaded revolver, laying on a fluffy white cloth Row 2: - A group of soldiers with gas masks, walking through a cloud of mustard gas. - The blue text "I don't know if I'm dreaming anymore" on a background of dark brick
First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.
ART IS RESISTANCE Here is one thing that the government wants you to forget You have a voice. How are you going to use it? Art is witness. Speak the truth. Art is community. You will be heard. Art is action without violence. Art changes hearts without breaking bodies. YOU CAN ACT!
Get to know my game taste. For every like, I will post one game I love.
Celebrating 10 million users. Number 455,025.
Title page for THE BLADE/DANCER: KILLS ROBOTS
"What a week, huh?" "Captain, it's Wednesday"
Close-up of a pale frog, with the caption "no. I. willin't."
Concept art of an "Amygdala" from Bloodborne. Resembles a huge multi-limbed, spider-like eldritch beast, with a head that's like a brain wrapped in a cocoon.
Photo of two papillon dogs laying on an area rug just under a bed. One is much smaller than the other. The small one has droopy eyes, the other's are wide and bright.
Photo of a white, black, and brown papillon dog laying flat on a bed
Photo of a small white moth with open wings sitting on a kitchen counter
Ask me for my top five [blank]. Any subject. I'll give my best answer.
Distant nighttime photo of a possum hiding behind a bamboo patch, crouched at the corner of a fence. It's eyes are glowing from the camera flash.
Photo of a papillon puppy with heavy eyes laying down on a rug
Song lyrics excerpt from "Starfuckers, Inc." by Nine Inch Nails: All our pain How did you think we'd get by without you? You're so vain I bet you think this song is about you Don't you? Don't you? Don't you? Don't you? Don't you? Don't you? Don't you? Don't you? Don't you?
Photo of a kindle oasis, displaying the opening paragraph of "The Blade/Dancer: Versus Himself" as a professionally-formatted ebook
Racoon meme with the caption, "Think twice? Bestie I don't even think once"