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carrionsymptom · 27 days ago

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IM STILL ALIVE

its been like 1-2 years and my interest in writing is still low but i have so many Thoughts and Ideas idk if they'll ever be realized but i can hope lmao

tbh im less interested in the grabber rn, but theres a handful of characters bouncing around my brain right now (cooper adams/abbott from trap and jacob seed from far cry 5 mostly)

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carrionsymptom · 1 year ago

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Take It Easy | The Grabber x Reader

AN: I’m still here!! Can’t promise I will be particularly active, but I am alright. I’ve been busy and had little motivation to write, but I’m slowly getting more. This isn’t the best thing I’ve written, and I cut it off a little early, but I’ll just say my writing skills are rusty and leave it at that. Here’s a quick spiritual successor to Mistaken, but it can be read by itself.

CW: Implied age difference, bit of size kink, some non consensual touching to start, heavy petting

AFAB reader, no pronouns or gendered terms used. Jenga didn’t exist until the 80’s but I had no better metaphors since Tetris also didn’t exist until the 80’s.

There’s so much shit you have to take to college, it’d be a miracle if you can fit it all into the boot of your parent’s sedan, but God help you, you'll try. Boxes of clothes, bedding, a microwave, books, toiletries and whatever odds and ends you can fit get stuffed into the car. You’re lucky your roommate is bringing a mini fridge because there’s no way in hell you’d be able to fit that in with everything else.

While you’re busting your ass playing cardboard-box Jenga, he, walking past, certainly notices your ass sticking out of the car. Clad in too-tight jean shorts, you sway like an invitation and were it not for the prying eyes of the other neighbors, he would’ve fucked you right there. Instead, he sidles up behind you, pressing his hips into yours.

“Need some help?” You leap nearly a foot into the air, dropping the box you were holding and whirling to face your older neighbor. “Woah there kid, y’can’t have a heart attack this young!”

With a shaky hand over your chest, you tentatively smile at him. “Jeez, sorry, you spooked me. Uh, help would be nice.” You slot your work-in-progress box into the car, and he takes his place next to you. He’s clad in an old camp shirt and jeans that look way too thick to be comfortable in this weather, but he doesn’t even break a sweat as he easily hauls box after box into the sedan. If you weren’t so flustered from how his thick forearms graze your side as he brushes past you, you might’ve commented on how strong he is.

You wish you could gather your thoughts for a second, but you can’t help but hone in on the miniscule touches to your lower back as he passes, or how big his hands are when he takes a box out of your arms. Any attempt at conversation seems to end up with you embarrassingly stammering, but he always glances back at you with a half-chuckle and a shake of his head. With his help, packing is quick, and with a sturdy slam, the trunk door shuts.

“Whew!” Your neighbor exclaims, wiping his brow. You try not to stare at the strip of skin that flashes above his belt when he lifts his arm. “Not gonna invite me inside sweetheart?” He all but laughs at the way you freeze and your eyes widen.

You stumble over your words: “Uh, would you– would you like to come inside? I can… I can make some lemonade or something?” Your parents are out, but you’re not sure when they’ll be back. They’d understand inviting your helpful neighbor in to rehydrate after a hard day of lugging boxes, won’t they?

“Or something,” he smiles, sweeping past you into your house. He sits himself at your leather sofa, legs spread wide and looking far too big to be comfortable, but you can see his incisors with how he grins at you. “Really, I’m alright without anything to drink, but I’d still like your company, ‘f that’s ok with you?”

You nod– you have to nod, and make to sit on your dad’s old loveseat, but his mouth creases into a frown so you awkwardly hover.

“Don’t gotta be so far away sweetheart. C’mon,” he pats his thigh. Surely he doesn’t expect you to… “Come on. Climb up.” You wish you had a glass of lemonade now, with how difficult it feels to swallow the lump in your throat.

“I don’t want to crush you.”

Your neighbor barks out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. You don’t find it particularly funny, but he’s practically wiping a tear out of his eye as he settles down. “Sweetie, you’re not going to crush me. Now up.” With no better argument, you bite your tongue and climb into his lap.

Despite your initial hesitation, you can immediately tell he’s right. There’s no way in hell you’d be able to crush him. His thigh is thick and sturdy– everything about him is sturdy. A rough hand rests on your hip, rubbing little circles into the denim of your shorts while the other plays with the hem of your shirt.

It’s a little awkward though, the way you’re perched on his leg. You balance precariously on the apex of his thigh, teetering a little as he shifts up the couch seat. Your neighbor, he, tuts as you shuffle. “Mmm… a little uncomfortable, huh? Here, why don’t we…”

You yelp as he pulls you closer to him, swinging one leg over so you’re straddling his hips. The crux of your legs meets his, and through the layers of denim, you can feel the hardness in his pants. Christ, even his cock is thick. He lets out a low groan, holding your waist as he pushes his hips up against yours. You buck against him, but aren’t quite able to grind down how you’d like to.

“That’s it,” he sighs. “There you go sweetheart. That’s it.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, murmuring quietly in his ear: “Can I… can I take off my shorts? Please?”

He smiles. “Ah, since you asked so nicely.” You shuffle out of your shorts and he pants as you accidentally graze his cock. “Mmm,” he hums, tucking a finger under the waistband. “Why don’t you take these off too? Make sure you’re extra comfy.”

Once more you shimmy on his lap, out of your underwear, and as you settle back down, the thick seam on his jeans catches against your clit. You let out a whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder. Your neighbor wraps his thick arms around you in return, caging you against him as you bump and grind and move and–

Fuck! You come from nothing but heavy petting, clenching around air and tensing in your neighbor’s strong hold. The physical release is nice, but he’s still hard under you, and you’re struck with an overwhelming need for more. Your hands trail down from his neck, down his chest, until they’re struggling to undo his belt.

“Ah, sweetheart. That’s enough. That’s enough.” He pushes your hips back from his so you’re resting on the middle of his thighs. He laughs as he looks down at his jeans, a wet spot darkening the outline of his still-hard cock. “Shit. Would you look at that? Made a goddamn mess of me, huh honey?”

You suppose you should be feeling some sort of embarrassment, but you can only feel confusion; why did he stop you? “But… you didn’t… I mean, don’t you want to… y’know…” You trail off, head too fuzzy to string together the right words. Your neighbor shakes his head with an easy grin.

“Maybe next time, ok honey? I’m a busy man, I gotta get going. Thanks for such great hospitality though.” He says.

“Can I… I mean will I see you again?”

“You’re goin’ off to college pretty damn soon, aren’t you? Doubt we’ll cross paths again until you get back, sorry to say.”

#the black phone #the grabber x reader #the grabber #the black phone x reader

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carrionsymptom · 2 years ago

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it's all good! hopefully u get some good rest :)

ty :) college workload is lessening somewhat so hopefully i have more energy soon

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carrionsymptom · 2 years ago

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Dw dear !! Its your fic after all. I just cant wait since its one of my favs kinks 😅😅😅

thanks and same

currently in a fist fight with google because i had a couple things written that got eaten by google docs so idk where tf they are

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carrionsymptom · 2 years ago

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sorry i havent posted... anything in like over a month lmao. uh. idk i dont have an explaination, just too busy to write i guess.

um. my interest in writing waxes and wanes, and lately ive been in a slump so... yeah sorry this blog’ll probably still be inactive for a while. i’d still like to write more eventually, i just dont have a lot of energy to do so right now

thanks

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carrionsymptom · 2 years ago

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What's up with the rolls of carpet in The Grabber's basement? Did I miss something or does he also just use the basement as an actual storage area lmao.

#the black phone #the grabber

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carrionsymptom · 2 years ago

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Latchkey ch. 3

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

TW: Implied abuse but nothing graphic. AN: Sorry for the delay. GN reader, but they have a name. Basically an OC but in second person.

Alone in your new room, the house seems silent. Al’s footsteps had been heavy as he left, but the second that he shut the door, all outside noises went on mute. You get to work unpacking, placing the few clothing items in the empty dresser, blowing off dust as you go.

In all honesty, you weren’t quite sure how long you and your father would stay here. You’d packed for about a week, but Max’s fascination with the missing boys makes you doubt your estimate. As far as you know, the police don’t have any real leads, and Max’ll want to stay here until the case is solved, you're sure. You sigh into the empty room and gaze at the thin rays of light slicing their way through clouds of airborne dust. They dance around, oh so peaceful. Not at all like the tumultuous day you’ve been having.

It’s not like you dislike spending time with your father, nor uncle Al. They’re nice guys, and they’re family on top of everything. But the thought of uprooting your life for what? A handful of missing kids? You feel bad for how callous your thoughts are, but how much can one coked up father do to help the police? It’s a lost cause if you’d ever seen one, but you’ll never tell Max that. It’s not like you’re not used to his spirals, nor the hours of absence he seems to have, so letting him ride out his mania is all you really know how to do. That is to say, you’re used to being pushed and moved around like you’re a piece of furniture.

Unpacking is a quick task, your clothes barely taking up half of the dresser space. The room is still bathed in an orange glow, yet the Sun is on its last hurrah before going to bed. November daylight vanishes quickly; it’s barely 5:30 now. Too early for you to sleep, you venture back out into the hallway and head back to Al’s living room.

You take in the house. The linoleum tiling and wallpaper are several decades out of fashion, the latter having been sun bleached from years of exposure and beginning to peel at the seams between panels. Faint spots are lighter, did there used to be picture frames hanging up? Small holes poorly covered up by patchy spackle agree with your assumption. Thinking about it, there’s no mementos from your uncle and father’s childhood anywhere in the house. Did uncle Al take them down? At least the furniture in the living room seems somewhat new. Maybe secondhand judging by the scratches and indents on the coffee table, but they don’t clash with each other. You’d venture to say they’re quite tasteful even.

Max is up and at ‘em, positioning his corkboard like an expensive prized painting on the wall. “Hey Lonnie!” He exclaims, bounding over to you. “Al said it was alright if we pinned stuff on to the walls- well, he said he ‘didn’t give a shit’ but that’s basically the same thing right?” Your father doesn’t wait for an answer, flitting between pages and polaroids, stringing everything together like a fucked up connect-the-dots. The papers breach the boundaries of the corkboard, now sprawled on the wall behind, lit only by the nearly-fallen Sun and a tacky lamp to the left.

“...Are you sure it’s okay to put this stuff up? That’s… that’s a lot of tacks,” you say. Max continues though, turning the already ripped wallpaper into swiss cheese with a few missed pinnings.

“No no no, don’t worry. Al said it was okay.”

—

“Get that shit outta here,” Al grumbles. In the brothers’ shared bedroom, Max sits on the ground with a handful of colored pencils he stole from school, about to tape his finished masterpiece to the bedroom wall. “You know dad doesn’t want you hanging anything on the walls.”

Shaw senior doesn’t even hang up his children’s drawings on the fridge. The two have long since given up any attempt of a handmade gift for the man, father’s day and his birthday going uncelebrated for years. Instead, poorly-feigned smiles are captured on the walls, documenting the young boys’ growth over the years. Max, Al, and their mother are grimly bearing their teeth, their father’s grin the only genuine one. In every photo he smirks as if he’s secretly won the lottery.

Max frowns. “It’s just a drawing,” he insists. “Look, it’s us.” He holds the paper up to his older brother’s face.

It is indeed a crude portrait of the little family they have. Sure the coloring is patchy and chaotic, and the lines often swerve off course, but where Max lacks in talent he makes up for in earnestness. Each figure has a big smile on their face, and an arrow pointing to each proudly declares the drawing’s names. “Momma.” “Papa.” “Max.” “Al.”

“See?” Max grins. “Look, that’s you!”

But Al doesn’t give a shit whether his kid brother included him in his family portrait. If it were up to him, he’d be anywhere but this cesspool of a house. Instead of praising the boy, Al sneers down, hands clenched into tight fists as his side as he fumes.

“Don’t. Put. It. Up.”

The younger boy falters. His shoulders sag at the disapproval, a sight that only aggravates the older more. Christ, this kid. Did he really think Al cared?

He snatches the paper from his brother’s hands. “This is shit.” The page tears with the force of his grip, crinkling and splitting into three parts: one with “Momma” and “Papa,” one with “Max” and the last with “Al.”

Al clenches the “Max” portion, crushing the paper into a tiny ball and throwing it in the teary-eyed face of the artist.

“Why…” Max whimpers. Al can’t stand the sight of his brother’s big dark eyes pooling with pain and sadness. He’s so pathetic it hurts. He turns his back to Max, not even bothering to turn around to look at the younger boy as he steps through the threshold to the hallway.

“Don’t do it again.”

#the grabber x reader #the black phone x reader #the black phone #the grabber #tw abuse

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carrionsymptom · 2 years ago

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Sorry for no posts, been feeling a bit low energy lately. I’ll still try to write but I’m feeling sort of tired

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carrionsymptom · 2 years ago

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Saw that other people were backing you. What, you can't make a case for yourself? You and your pedo luvers need to fuck off and die. You especially. If you didn't have any reason to kill yourself before, you now.

DON'T YOU EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT AGAIN.

Wishing death on people who have done nothing to you is both pious and cowardly. I don't know what traumas you're suffering from, but that's no reason for you to project your own insecurities on others. You can take the piss out on me, that's fine. You aren't going to break my heart. If anything, I'm disabling my anonymous button, so the next time you try sending me an ask, I'll see the cunt who's lily-livered enough to hide behind the gray face. I don't need others to back my play, but even if they do, that's because they're decent human beings who care about others. Get the picture?

But don't you ever threaten my friends and mutuals by prompting them to kill themselves. I've lost many family members, friends, and colleagues over something as heart-wrenching as suicide. People don't deserve to hear your filth, and more so, you need help. Go to therapy, do something productive. Your whining and insistent warmongering is something we don't need. I would strongly advise you to look deep within yourself, admit how fucked up you are, and come up with a plan to fix yourself.

Harass others like this again, and I will find a way to bring you to light.

#simps: we want to be left alone please #anon:

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carrionsymptom · 2 years ago

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some people really need to accept the fact that their dislikes are none of other peoples concerns and the world does in fact not revolve around them. We don't have to abstain anything just cause you're triggered by it. That's such a ignorant and selfish thing to want. The more y'all hate and spread false statements like "we condone or support pedophiles" the more I will read and support writers just to piss y'all off.

Them: YOU LIKE A CANON PEDOPHILE SO YOU MUST BE OKAY WITH PEDOPHILIA

Me: What about The Joker? Are y’all okay with murder?

Them: NO!! BUT THAT’S DIFFERENT, HE’S NOT A PEDO

Me: