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running-with-kn1ves · 5 months ago

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CAN WE PLEASE HAVE A PART 2 FOR THE KILLER CLOWN POOKIE :((((

A/N: Long awaited, took me forever to actually finish, but HERE IT IS. I really struggled making an interesting part 2, so I hope you find it mildly interesting anon (-‿-")

Link to 1st part found here!

TW: Murderous killer clown, mentions of past killings, blood, kidnapped reader, forced close proximity, isolation torture

Synopsis: Kidnapped by your killer clown stalker, you navigate being stuck in his toy room and being fed a very personal dinner, all while trying to avoid his loving insanity.

A room full of dolls, no matter their origin or purpose, is never an endearing sight. You swore even if the off-putting, Raggedy Ann and porcelain, dust-ridden dolls were anime figurines and children’s collectibles, you wouldn’t feel any safer in this hellscape. “Your punishment” he called it, and a punishment it was. Like a child made to spend the rest of the day in its bedroom, you were tied snuggly to the recliner chair in birthday string, forced to stare back at the eyes and broken limbs of endless toys. Of his, toys. Was this room part of the abandoned warehouse connected to the shit hole he called his home? Why did this room smell so repugnantly of petrichor and mold, when the rest of the “house” was either doused in bleach or rot that made your nose so dry it bled?

Maybe, if you had ever learned to properly meditate, the hours in here wouldn’t feel so head-splitting. The darkness nearly brought you to insanity, begging for the arrival of your captor to come slinking back in with another microwaved meal. You would’ve welcomed his manic personality and demented point of view, if it meant you could hear anything besides the echo of your own thoughts and the crushing sound of an analog clock's ticking.

If only you were smarter, stronger, faster. You could’ve gotten out sooner, could’ve kept yourself away from this kidnapping entirely. But it was your stubbornness that led you to be “disciplined”, inside the toy room. Two hours ago on the shelf behind you, an old fire truck (you guessed, from the siren sound and reflecting red) went off, falling to the floor and proceeding to wail for several minutes. Even with your erratic, terror-stricken sobs leading you to beg for freedom from this room, your captor never unbolted the door.

You hadn’t even heard his footsteps from the other side. Maybe he was out luring another victim, adding to the stockpile of bloody buckets in the closet, or perhaps your replacement-- a relieving sentiment. But you knew, from the hours he droned on about soulmates and how your appreciation of him that night that seemed years ago, you weren’t going anywhere. Atleast, not without provocation.

Your exhaustion didn’t let you care if there was someone chained in the woodcutting section of the warehouse, if there was another layer of gore on the ground. You just wanted out from here, food in your gnawing stomach. You could even pretend to apologize, to care for him. Okay, maybe not that far, but you could give a convincing act. By now, you were sorry. Sorry you didn’t open your mouth to his prodding questions, didn’t comply when now it feels like it would’ve been so easy.

You licked at the corner of your mouth, hoping a salty, fallen tear could reach your tongue. Your lips were so cracked, you’d give anything for chapstick, for some water to cover your sawdusted throat.

So hoarse from screaming and wracking with sobs, you wondered if this was how he was planning to kill you. The day was inevitable, after what you’d seen him do… but, you really thought it’d be more horrific than this, more… agonizing. Maybe you should be grateful. Dehydration really isn’t too bad compared to drawing blood or whatever sick, Saw-type torture he had in mind.

And like that, when you were near accepting this newfound death, Satan spoke.

The creak of an industrial metal door respunded in your pounding head, your neck snapping and cracking to look toward it's screech.

“Hm-- I thought I let you out before I left.” His signature, raspy voice rendered muffled under his mask. “How long have you been in here?”

The swift blade of a hunting knife came to the back of the recliner, letting the tight ribbon binding your hands and body fall to the ground, harmlessly. It looked so small now, so thin and fitting for this uncharacteristically silly, dusted room.

“I--” You cut yourself off with a blood-spitting cough, the sensation of needles coming up and out of your throat.

“Oh rats… look at you, covered in dust and all tear-stricken; It was only twelve hours,” He brushed the wet spot on your dusty cheek. “Sweet doll… that’s all it takes to drive you insane?”

He laughed a short snort, reeking of dried blood and dirt. The diamond-patterned gloves usually adorning his bone-thin fingers were already gone, cold and clean hands pulling your bound wrists forward out of the chair. He drug you up far enough to get you out of the recliner. Legs weak and practically immobile, you did your best to keep your distance; but he was determined to make you lean on him, taking your hands to inspect.

“Bruises don’t look too bad on you…” He mumbled, watching the dark ring that had formed below your palms. “But it's not right, I need to take better care of you, don’t I?”

He asked, as if your say meant anything. But you knew this; you were getting a hold of the game now.

Nodding your head, you leaned just a tad against his damp shoulder for support, nearly ready to fall to the ground. From the sound of the metal roof, it had been raining only an hour earlier. You prayed it was rain drops staining into your sleeve.

“I don’t feel good..” You mumbled, voice cracking under pressure.

“Of course you don’t. That was the whole point of this little time out session, dollheart; but I bet you want to come out, to talk a little bit now, don’t you?”

He was always too comfortable, acting as if you were more than just an angry hostage. You were his darling, his pet, his everything. It made you sick, listening to the way he talked at you-- feeling like you were watching yourself from outside your body, as if these pet names were for somebody else.

You forgot the whole purpose of this endeavor was to get you to cooperate; when you didn’t respond immediately, you could feel him tense up.

Even a nod wasn’t enough, like you expected. What did he want, again? For you to say his name, to listen and to speak? All this time in here, and you barely reflected on the purpose of your discipline.

He gave you another opportunity, a short kindness, placing his ridden jacket over your shoulders.

“Are you hungry? Ready to come out and eat without problems?”

You swallowed the little saliva you could muster.

“Please, yes...Quin.” You were so quiet, a small part of you doing it on purpose, shame in saying your kidnapper’s name so casually like old pals. You kept that anger at the back of your mind, ignoring how speaking rubbed your throat into a deeper raw.

He led you through the thick steel door away from your prison, rubbing at the back of your neck in an attempt to soothe the state your throat was left in. You hobbled your way out, gaining some strength back in your jello-ified legs.

“What do you want to eat, chicken or beef?”

You almost threw up in your mouth remembering the frozen pasta options you had consumed for the past two months. Would you ever get to taste something besides starch and fake meat again?

“...Chicken. Please.” You added, forgetting you were on thin ice. One wrong move and another needle-full of mystery fluid was stuck into your thigh and you went eye-to-eye with Raggedy Ann again.

You let the apathetic creature grab hold of your sweating fingers, hand-in-hand as the labored breathing behind his stained, venetian-like mask became unbearable to listen to. It was different from the one you had seen him in the night you were dragged here; most of the time he wore something new, maybe depending on his mood or something as superficial as his outfit, you weren't sure yet. It made you more afraid, only being able to see shadowed green eyes beneath a painted porcelain, often accented with red and gold to accompany the splatters of gore that make way to his face.

Quin watched you walk barefooted and soulless, taking in the familiar sights of the small inhabitable area of his “home.” What wasn’t inhabited by you most of the time, was reserved for Quin’s… activities. Despite thinking about what he must’ve done today, you were ravenous.

He wasn’t wearing the usual get-up today-- the circus-like, ridiculous clown-inspired rags he dared to do most of his bidding in. It was… oddly casual, muted colors with dark layers to shield him from the cold. The mask looked out of place, wisps of fiery red hair covering his forehead and ears. The color was fresh, not fading into blonde like the last time you saw him a mere half-day ago.

Quin pushed your shoulders down, placing you in the wooden chair that had already been pulled out; the way it was left after you had been drug out of it.

“Sit. How tired are you?”

He pulls out a small keychain flashlight from his pants pocket.

“Tired.” You respond, huddling into yourself as the cold from the floor crept in. It was freezing outside, late November proving to be no joke compared to the windy October day you last saw the sun.

Quin gave you a dead stare, shinning the light into your eyes.

“Very funny. Do you feel like passing out at all? Your eyes are bloodshot.” He focused on each eye, temporarily blinding you before turning the flashlight off to put it back in his pocket. “Warm,” He mumbled, smoothing a finger from your chin to your throat. “A little too warm. Maybe got a fever being in that old room.”

“I’m just exhausted, I didn’t sleep… at all.” You didn’t have the energy to be angry, but the resentment and hate burrowing into you was making you more disgusted with him by the minute. Who was he to act worried and interested, after throwing you into a demented toy room for hours? “I couldn’t, being in that godforsaken room.”

“Hey, don’t take it out on the dolls, doll. I thought they’d keep you company.”

Your captor stood up, running his frozen hands along your jaw, smoothening your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Keep me company?” You remembered the firetruck, wanting to scream and cry until your body shook again. “I.. I don’t think I was alone, but there was something more than dolls in there. It moved, things were moved…” Tears rushed to your eyes, willing to fall faster after crying so recently. “ I can’t go back in there.”

You were firm in your words, looking up at him. You wouldn’t go back in there, you’d give yourself a heart attack before he managed to kill you.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.” Quin bent back down to lay a hand on the wooden chair frame behind you, scanning your eyes.

You tried to lean back, not too obvious yet not allowing him to get any closer. You could feel the exhale of air through the mask’s nose hitting your forehead.

“I’d rather you kill me than put me back in there.” His chest was warm, from where you put a shaky hand to stop him. You didn’t have the courage to be firm, to do more than rest your palm there, as if you were feeling his heartbeat. It was gentle, a rhythmic beat that reminded you he was just as human as you were. A monster of a human.

“Really? You’re that scared, baby?” Quin smoothed the hair above your ear, resting his hand on your scalp. “Even after everything I made you see, more that you’re gonna see? You’re scared of some collectibles?”

You looked away, being the first to lose the staring contest he put in order.

“It’s different.” You murmured through hoarseness, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach after hearing another sappy pet name.

“Fine. Next time I’ll just make you bleed our next guest dry. Its about time you learned the family trade.”

He placed a kiss to your cheek through the mask, doing little to acknowledge the wince you gave when he moved forward so quickly. By now, maybe you should believe him when he says he’s not killing you quite yet... But after witnessing so many of his activities, you can’t help but imagine yourself in his victims’ place, waiting for a knife to drag itself across your stomach.

The thought made bile rise in your throat. You had so little to vomit away, and yet you still felt the desire to rid last night's meal. You couldn’t do it. The dolls were better. You couldn’t hurt someone like that. It was now, that you realized how different watching was compared to actually doing it. You couldn’t stomach watching him work with his gadgets and coroner tools, how could you comprehend actually doing anything with them?

The microwave began to churn alive after Quin’s button pressing, refrigerator door swinging to a close as the microwaves’ hum filled the damp, grainy room. Peeling wallpaper reminded you of an aging housewife, brown stains on the floor being a more comforting vision than looking up at your captor.

Even if you kept your eyes down, you had to contribute-- to be more than a lifeless doll here, lest you get thrown back in again to that pit of clown memorabilia.

“What did you do, while I was here?”

Your voice cracks dryly, attempting to clean the dirt under your nails as you stare down.

“Do you really want to know?” You could hear the smile through his words. “you've got such a weak stomach,” He waited for you to protest, continuing when you sat silently. “It wasn’t anything you would deem oh so “horrific,” really. Just some shopping at the hardware store, odds and ends.”

“Oh.” Is all you could muster. You continued to pick at your nails until the ending beep of the microwave resounded. Quin opened its door, grabbing the tips of the cardboard meal plate as it steamed. The smell of chicken and pasta filled the small, round dining room.

Your stomach churned, hungry and yet sick at the thought of eating another mushy, microwaved meal of little to no nutritional value.

“...Thanks, Quin.” You were mildly sarcastic, a habit you had forgotten to shove down in fear of punishment-- but you tried to shoot him a crooked, half-smile to cover it up.

“Nothing but the best for you, doll.” The clown pulled out an unmatching foldable chair with a lengthy screech, a plastic fork with muted ends already sitting in front of him at the table. He was so lean, uncharacteristically gangly at the hips and forearms, but wide in his shoulders and thighs. It tooke everything in you to not scratch at the floor boards to get out, to run away from a man so close that took pleasure in hurting people just like you.

You were going to comment on the fork, again still not understanding how a plastic utensil could cause enough damage to need to be shaved down, but Quin did something that struck you as even more unsettling.

“I think, maybe we should go back a few steps. It would do us some good, rebuild our trust.” He stirs around the mixture in the cardboard frozen meal box. Quin looks toward you while he covers the bits of broccoli and chicken in alfredo sauce. “ If I can trust you again to be good to me, there’d be no reason to return to the toy room you’re so afraid of.”

You bit your tongue, trying to choose your words wisely. He overstepped, but you shouldn’t be trying to stomp on his toes either-- save future you some punishment, you told yourself.

“Thats not necessary, I’ve… you know I just need some time to adjust, I’m kept here all day and--”

Quin suddenly patted at his lap in interruption, opening his legs and turning himself to face you.

“Come sit.”

You look at him incredilously, trying to garner a reaction out of that stoic, masked face.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Just sit, you’re hungry, aren’t you.”

Gritting your teeth, you shoved down an insult, wanting to throw fast words on how the hell he knew what you wanted, who he thought he was to tell you what to do!

You sit there in defiance, utter disbelief and anger at how he watched you quietly, patiently stirring the pasta absentmindedly, the other tapping his leg twice again-- like he was calling a dog.

He puts both hands on his knees and looks as if he’s about to get up. His bottom nearly leaves the chair before you race out of yours, taking an uncomfortably close step to prevent him from moving any further. It would do no help in a fight, but you could at least make it as uncomfortable for him to try and hurt you if he wanted. You knew better now that when you were walking on cracking ice, to work faster than he did-- he was unlikely to carry out his undesired punishment that way.

Quin relaxes, putting his back against the fold-up chair with a squeak. His palms still grasp his knees looking up at you, an expectation in his body language.

“Well?”

You turn to the side, lining up with his thigh in preparation to sit. The idea of sucker punching his head is mouth-wateringly appealing. You almost consider it, despite the implications of what will come after; yet, the masked murderer is quicker than you, cutting off your plotting thoughts.

Cold hands grab at your hips, lurching you down and back against his chest, the full weight of your butt on his thigh. Immediately you hold your weight back up, hovering above his leg as you fear the oddly heated sensation of being against someone, close to another living being. It's been a long time since you felt skin on skin contact.

“Sit down, you're insulting me,” Quin complained with an effort of wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back. “Acting as if I'm the plague. Just eat.”

You'd try and pull up again but his arm would not relent. It felt uncomfortably close with his leg shifting under you, the muffled sound of his breathing and speech under the puckered mask.

He didn't seem uncomfortable with your weight on his lap-- weirdly… more relaxed, oddly calm. Shoulders slumped, legs open in the usual masculine spreading fashion-- if you didn't know better, you'd say he was enjoying this.

Staring down at the steaming pasta, you swallow down your dissipating apetite. Quin picked up the small fork, looking away from you. Every millisecond that he took his gaze away, you fought back the urge to escape. He twisted thin noodles around the fork, stabbing a piece of broccoli along the way.

Letting go of you for just a moment Quin used his free hand to lift up the Venetian mask from his chin, pushing it just barely above his lips. He bent down gently to blow on the fork, flurries of steam pushing away from the utensil. You watched, mildly weirded out at his softness, feeling the heat of the meal container radiate toward you.

Quin, finished with his motherly theatrics, pushed the fork towards your mouth. You instinctively pulled your head back in a flinch.

It looked as if he was about to say something, jaw clenched in a grating fashion.

“...Thank you.” This sugarsweet, docile behavior you had to pretend to play was even harder than you were hoping.

You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to take the fork as you opened your mouth. But Quin didn’t let it go, allowing your fingers to rest on his as you tried to take it. The pasta was gently placed against your tongue, filling your mouth as you bit down.

The killer slowly, --too slowly you might add-- removed the fork from your lips. He was watching, his eyes and gentle, plum lips nearer than they ever had been before. You had never seen him up so close, only mere inches away as you cautiously chewed.

A thought ran across your mind, wondering if the food had been tampered with-- but at this point, did it matter? It likely wouldn’t be the first time, or the last.

Quin repeated the process, softly blowing on the food before feeding you with a tenderness that wasn’t mean for a captor and his captive.

You appreciated the silence, though; no bitingly silly remarks or sadistic smiles, just a softly domestic scene with the humming of the yellowed refridgerator.

The wrongness of having someone watch you eat, waiting till you’ve swallowed, making sure you’ve taken every bit off of the fork-- it was like being watched by a crowd, not showing immediate judgement and yet just as uncomfortable.

“You’ve got a little,” Quin hesitated, putting the fork back down in the frozen meal plate. His nimble hand came to hold under your chin, pulling your face closer to his. You could feel his breath now tickling your nose as he parted his lips in concentration. A wintry thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, taking away stray sauce that hadn’t made it to your mouth.

“There; what a mess you make. Looks like you're trying to tease me, acting all helpless.”

You were ready to react, but a splotch of something dark resting on the clown’s open chest caught your eye. You thought it was a birthmark at first, one you had never noticed before-- but upon closer inspection, you saw it was uneven dots of blood, dried and smudged.

Your tongue went dry, breath getting caught in your throat as you recalled his words earlier. Was up to nothing, huh?

…How many people have died since you’ve been stuck alone in that room?

The fear of your impending death was rising in your throat in the form of acid, no longer hungry for anything-- merely sick and distraught. What was he saving for you, what were you going to become-- he may be spouting nonsensical “I love you” ‘s and such, but how could you believe it when so many have been killed in your stead?

Quin ignored the creased lines of horror on your face, the silence of your twitching frown as you kept your gaze on his soiled neck.

“Alright, now open wide.” Quin brushes your cheek with one hand, the other holding another forkful of pasta and chicken.

Your lips shake, finding it hard to keep your mouth anything but clamped shut as you remember the foul sights, the smells of the rest of this warehouse-- how could you be so stupid, thinking maybe you’d find one way to get this all to stop, a daydream of freedom from this dank hellhole.

You’d better start getting used to saying ‘I love you.’

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official-penis-posts · 1 month ago

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(beware of the potentially gross ask ahead)

my friend once said that period blood is essentially the same as peenor cheese (this is also how I learned about dick cheese unfortunately, though I won't share how the conversation was brought up because it's nasty lmao) I heavily disagree, because one is the byproduct of you not getting pregnant and your body being angry about it, and the other is a byproduct of bad hygiene. I am here to collect the official penis bloggers thoughts on this 6 year conundrum (it's not a conundrum, I've never brought it back up, I just randomly think about it sometimes)

Sounds like your friend was the lucky beneficiary of abstinence-only sex ed!

“peenor cheese” is also called smegma, and this is a mix of semi-dried bodily fluids and skin cells and bacteria found under a penis’s foreskin, with a sort of paste-like texture, akin to what people may find between their toes after wearing socks all day long. People with foreskins should clean under them regularly so this substance doesn’t build up, because it can get smelly and can lead to health complications. Yes, smegma is a matter of hygiene, but it’s not a sin to have smegma - just clean it if you notice it. Cleaning it can be fun (think jorkin’ it in the shower with soap and water)

Menstrual fluid / blood is the lining of the uterus sloughing off /slinking away after it realizes that no fertilized egg has implanted this month and its nutrients are not needed to sustain an embryo. Menstruation cannot be avoided by having excellent hygiene. It is a biological process. To avoid unnecessary smells, people on their periods are advised to wash thoroughly (but don’t put soap inside your vagina. That can burn and mess up your Ph / acid balance, potentially leading to a yeast infection. Just wash the outside)

While both of these things can be related to hygiene, they have very different causes and I do not consider them particularly analogous.

I hope that helps!

#official penis post #penish #official penis ask #if you have more or better context #Feel free to add it #smegma #menstruation #sex ed

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sirfrogsworth · 1 year ago

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When I got to this photo in Katrina's collection of vintage family imagery, I was pretty stumped as to how to approach it.

There is a major problem when you zoom in to 100%.

The paper it was developed on has little micro bumps. When it was scanned, the light from the scanner caused a highlight on one side of the bump and a shadow on the other. This causes a pattern which is nearly impossible to eliminate using traditional techniques.

The easiest way to fix this is actually quite clever. You scan it once, then turn it upside down and scan it again. The second pass reverses the side the highlight and shadow appear on, so you can combine the images in Photoshop and blend them together, essentially canceling out the bumps. It's weirdly analogous to noise canceling headphones.

But I don't have access to the physical copy of this image.

So... now what?

Enter Fast Fourier Transform or FFT.

This is a filter that uses extra fancy math to recognize patterns in the image and eliminate them. There is a pretty good filter for Photoshop, but it does not work easily with newer Macs with Apple Silicon. I really did not want to figure that out, and I also was too tired to go downstairs to my PC. However, I learned that a Photoshop competitor, Affinity Photo, has this filter built in. So, I downloaded a trial copy and started the process of trying to figure out how to fix this image.

It was amazingly simple. It brings up these star patterns and you just paint black circles over every one but the center. It literally felt like magic. (Full screen with sound recommended)

So once I did this process I ended up with this...

The paper still had a rough texture but it was much easier to work with using traditional techniques. I started with a black and white conversion and meticulously went through the photo zapping scratches and flaws and balancing tones and sharpening facial features. All of my photo restoration tricks were needed.

I eventually landed here...

I then thought maybe I should match the sepia tone of the original print, so I got to here...

I think the black and white looks nicer in this instance, but I always like having options and this is the most faithful representation of how the photo originally looked.

But there is something else I have been playing around with lately. Photoshop has these experimental neural filters that use cloud processing to do various tricky enhancements. Most of them are in beta and they can be very quirky. But they have a colorizer that tries to detect people and things and adds color to them. Not every black and white photo is a good candidate. I have found these professional portrait photos work decently, but the filter is very hit-and-miss. And there are tools within the filter to help you make a miss more of a hit, but often I have to accept the photo isn't going to work.

But I decided to give it a shot with this one and surprisingly, the colorizer got me most of the way there.

I can work with that.

The one thing it does well is skin. Manually painting color onto skin is tricky and requires more skill and knowledge of traditional painting techniques than I have. But if a filter can do that part for me, I can do the rest.

So after my touchups, I got the image to here.

All I have left to do is my standard color enhancements to make them a little less ghostly and a little more human.

And I present to you where I started and the finished product. I encourage you to flip back and forth.

I'm not sure how, but I was able to go from an image I thought was impossible to edit to a beautiful colorized memory for my best friend's mom. I cannot wait to show her.

#long post #photography #photo restoration

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

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Writing Notes: Retronyms

Acoustic guitar - distinguished from electric guitar

Analog watch - distinguished from digital watch

Bar soap - distinguished from liquid soap, body wash

Brick-and-mortar - distinguished from online businesses

British English - distinguished from American English, Australian English, Indian English, etc.

Combustible cigarette - distinguished from electronic cigarette, e-cigarette, etc.

Corn on the cob - distinguished from corn cut from the cob

Film camera - distinguished from video camera, digital camera

Hot chocolate - distinguished from chocolate bars

Live music - distinguished from recorded music

Manual typewriter - distinguished from electric typewriter

Online - distinguished from offline

Organic food - a long time ago, all food was what we now consider "organic"

Outdoor rock climbing - distinguished from indoor rock climbing

Regular coffee - distinguished from decaffeinated coffee

Rotary phone - distinguished from touch-tone phone

Scripted show - distinguished from reality show

Silent film - distinguished from sound film, talkie

Slow food - distinguished from fast food

Whole milk - distinguished from skim milk, 2% milk, etc.

Retronym

A new term created from an existing word in order to distinguish it from the meaning that has emerged through progress or technological development.

Describes an original after a new version has shown up.

Can be objects (pedal bike), experiences (snow skiing), or even places (meatspace).

Example: Cloth diaper is a retronym necessitated by the fact that diaper now more commonly refers to a disposable diaper.

The oldest print usage that we know of for the word retronym itself is from William Safire's column "On Language" in a 1980 issue of The New York Times. There, he discusses how then-president of National Public Radio, Frank Mankiewicz, collects what he calls "retronyms."

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#retronym #language #langblr #writing reference #writeblr #writing prompt #literature #writers on tumblr #dark academia #spilled ink #creative writing #light academia #words #writing inspiration #writing ideas #history #writing resources

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corey-beepington · 2 months ago

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Hello Friends

important life update

I bought a CRT TV finally. His name is Ace and he's the cutest thing ever and you all need to see him.

We've been bonding by watching through my Disney VHS collection together :) He produces a satisfying crackling sound as well as this beautiful hum. It's pure ASMR.

Also he has a radio built in? Really nice to listen to in the background with that analog bitcrush and tinge of static. I don't know what he connects to but he connects to something that plays beautiful indie music I've never heard before.

Almost like he's singing to me haha.

I am excited to also bring out some vintage consoles to play on him as well as seeing if I can connect my laptop/dvd player to him...maybe even make my own VHS tapes of my own work.

I love you Ace.

#corey speaks #AcePosting #Objectum

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tsukimefuku · 9 months ago

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the letter ꕥ higuruma hiromi

summary: reader writes a letter for an absentee. one that she will never send.

tags: f!reader, implied past relationship, higuruma x reader, angst, break up, longing and general heartbreak.

wc: 1k

notes etc.: this is actually my original style of writing in my native language before i began writing in 2nd(?) + 3rd person pov on ao3 and tumblr this year. it’s different from what I’ve written so far, but I hope you guys enjoy it. the style translation was hard, holy shirt. song → shake it out (florence + the machine).

ꕥ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist

i like to keep my issues drawn ꕥ it’s always darkest before the dawn

I was debating if I should start this with “hey, Hiromi”, “hi, Higuruma”, “dear” something, and I still haven’t arrived at an answer. The first sounds too casual for what we have become — and what are we now if not strangers? The second, however, is just too impersonal, and I don’t need such a stinging reminder of how much I’m not entitled to your first name anymore. At last, “dear” to start a letter is just tacky.

Alas, I digress.

I don’t quite know what possessed me to pick up a pen and a piece of paper (analogical, just like you’ve noted me to be) to blurt out the swirling hurts in my mind, but I guess I still had a lot to say, even if you weren’t here long enough to hear it.

Here goes nothing.

You might be wondering how I’m doing (at least I hope so), so I thought I’d let you know.

Tonight, more specifically, I’ve been for an insurmountable stretch of time — were it hours? Minutes? Days? Out of my priorities, tracking time has not been one of them — staring at the empty vacuum making its presence known by my side. It seems to mock my stare, that longs, against all odds, for a miracle — for you to simply materialize right there, out of thin air.

Seriously, you should see the mess you’ve made when you left.

You left an emptiness of shoes, black suits, wet towels on the bed, cup marks on the furniture, scratches of morning beard, warm legs under the covers — an emptiness of body that has been giving me nightmares. You came in, flipped everything upside down, blew up my walls and made so that every edge, vertex, color and smell of this heart and bones surrounding our leftover life would incessantly scream for you.

It’s like my misery extended beyond myself and resoundingly expanded against the walls of this house.

But… even though I wish you were here with every tiny part of myself, I couldn’t ask for you to stay. I know it wouldn’t be fair. You’d never ask me to betray myself, and the least I could do was to love you in the same earnest way.

You wouldn’t be the man I loved if you didn’t go. I wouldn’t be the person you loved if I asked you not to (I apologize for the past tense, it’s one of those truthless comforts I’ve decided to give myself for the time being).

You still linger here, though. I still keep your gaze close to my chest, your face pressed against my skin, your warm voice caressing the edge of my ear and your hair stroking through my fingers, even if it’s just my soul pretending for a minute.

A long minute.

You know, it has been hell without you here. The couch cushions wrap around me like your arms, the bed always bounces by the time you used to get up, and the kitchen smells like your favorite take-out meals (because God knows we’d set fire to this building if we so much as dared turning that stove top on). The window reflects two back at me when only one is looking at it, and my hiking boots are dearly missing those black oxford shoes. My coat hanging on the edge of the closet is also dearly missing your crumpled black ties sprinkled around the room (of course you took weeks to properly wash and organize them — when you ever did).

Oh, and the bed.

The bed is just not the same without that stupid, ridiculous blotch of water your towel would always leave on it.

A huge chunk of our house is missing.

I know I can’t let my selfishness kidnap you from what you need to do — and I do know you need it. But damn, sometimes it’s hard to fight the urge of hopping on the first train your way, grabbing you by your wrist and asking you to become once again part of my wallpaper, my duvet, my pillows. Just promise me you’ll make all of this pain worthwhile, even if you ran away with ten thirds of me.

Ever since you left, though, I learned a few tricks to mask your ever so present absence. I can pull the pillows towards the middle of the bed, eat in the living room and read in the kitchen, being sure to slowly put all my pieces back in place.

It’s harder to notice an empty chair across the table when you willingly choose to sit on the ground.

However, I didn’t want to do that. Not today. Call it insanity, clarity, or just meet me in my madness like you always so kindly did.

Today, I wanted to let you invade me, come into my house with my full permission and go on turning everything upside down once more. That way, I can almost feel you there. To me, at least for now, that’s good enough (or as good as I know it’s gonna get).

Your muted way of sharing our space could be so, so silent. That quietude brought me the deepest of peaces.

Unfortunately, I never anticipated the silence from your absence would be so loud, and not peaceful at all. It has been hammering at my breathless heart for days.

I miss you.

I love you, too.

***

With a sigh, you put the pen down and stared at the paper sheet for a minute, your own calligraphy so foreign with a pain you hadn’t let out properly ever since Hiromi… actually, Higuruma stepped out that morning.

Considering your options, you resigned, and pulled the letter in a crinkled messy ball, tossing it in the garbage can.

No need to talk to a voluntary absentee. No need to bother him, either.

You got yourself back up and picked up two pairs of keys, the blue buttoned shirt and made your way out of the apartment, not failing to hear the rumbling echo the door made when it slammed closed.

An echo that only happens in truly empty places.

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postpunkindustrial · 2 years ago

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Pink Noises: Women on Electronic Music and Sound by Tara Rodgers

Get it from my Google Drive HERE

Pink Noises brings together twenty-four interviews with women in electronic music and sound cultures, including club and radio DJs, remixers, composers, improvisers, instrument builders, and installation and performance artists. The collection is an extension of Pinknoises.com, the critically-acclaimed website founded by musician and scholar Tara Rodgers in 2000 to promote women in electronic music and make information about music production more accessible to women and girls. That site featured interviews that Rodgers conducted with women artists, exploring their personal histories, their creative methods, and the roles of gender in their work. This book offers new and lengthier interviews, a critical introduction, and resources for further research and technological engagement.

Contemporary electronic music practices are illuminated through the stories of women artists of different generations and cultural backgrounds. They include the creators of ambient soundscapes, “performance novels,” sound sculptures, and custom software, as well as the developer of the Deep Listening philosophy and the founders of the Liquid Sound Lounge radio show and the monthly Basement Bhangra parties in New York. These and many other artists open up about topics such as their conflicted relationships to formal music training and mainstream media representations of women in electronic music. They discuss using sound to work creatively with structures of time and space, and voice and language; challenge distinctions of nature and culture; question norms of technological practice; and balance their needs for productive solitude with collaboration and community. Whether designing and building modular synthesizers with analog circuits or performing with a wearable apparatus that translates muscle movements into electronic sound, these artists expand notions of who and what counts in matters of invention, production, and noisemaking. Pink Noises is a powerful testimony to the presence and vitality of women in electronic music cultures, and to the relevance of sound to feminist concerns.

Interviewees: Maria Chavez, Beth Coleman (M. Singe), Antye Greie (AGF), Jeannie Hopper, Bevin Kelley (Blevin Blectum), Christina Kubisch, Le Tigre, Annea Lockwood, Giulia Loli (DJ Mutamassik), Rekha Malhotra (DJ Rekha), Riz Maslen (Neotropic), Kaffe Matthews, Susan Morabito, Ikue Mori, Pauline Oliveros, Pamela Z, Chantal Passamonte (Mira Calix), Maggi Payne, Eliane Radigue, Jessica Rylan, Carla Scaletti, Laetitia Sonami, Bev Stanton (Arthur Loves Plastic), Keiko Uenishi (o.blaat)

#book #tara rodgers #annea lockwood #pamela z #le tigre #ikue mori #Pauline Oliveros #Pink Noises: Women on Electronic Music and Sound

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sweetestlamb · 5 months ago

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I Wanna do Bad Things to You

Authors note: honestly I was losing interest a bit and the second couple still has me in a chokehold but today's episode ate devoured and licked the plate clean. I have a million things I need to do right now but I wrote this instead🤷🏾‍♀️💃🏾

None of his fantasies could have ever prepared him for the vision Seok-ryu makes breathing hard beneath him, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen from their kissing.

Thoughts about her aren't new to him. Dirty thoughts about her are not new either. He's been locking his door since he first realized that his feelings for her were different from his feelings for Mo-eum.

He never dreamed about holding her hand, or kissing her or undressing her.

No. Those bad thoughts were reserved for one person and now she's under him staring up at him like she's having very similar thoughts and his thoughts are multiplying by the minute.

"What are you thinking about?"

'Giving you a hickie.'

But he only says that to himself in the safety of his mind because saying that out loud terrifies him and makes his palms too moist.

"Choiseung." She demands his attention again, as if he's not already too fixated on her.

"I'd.... rather not say." He whispers instead, leaning down to hide his face in the curve of her neck before he even realizes his mistake.

She grumbles underneath him but he melts at her hand settling in his hair, her fingers running through the thick strands. Nobody's ever caressed him like this before. He has the fight the moan that wants to escape.

"You're already breaking your promise."

That gets his attention and he shifts away, pining her with her eyes.

"What? What do you mean? What did I do?" He wants to fix whatever it is immediately, he can't handle another argument with her his heart felt like it would burst.

She seems stunned by his seriousness before she collects herself, "You said you wouldn't hide anything from me again. I want to know what you're thinking, whatever is making you look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're starving."

Her and these food analogies. But she's not wrong, he feels like he has been starving for years waiting, longing and wishing. Starved for her attention, her favour and her love.

"I'm hungry."

His eyes widen at the sudden announcement especially considering that they just ate, but maybe he can go outside and see if the store is still open and get her something to--

"Where are you going?" She huffs at him as he tries to detangle their limbs.

"You said that you're hun-

"Are you a virgin?"

He freezes and his brain short circuits before he can remind his lungs how to work and breathe again.

"Are you insane why would you ask me that?!"

"Woah. Look how red you got! Am I right? You're a virgin? Am I going to be your first?"

He stares at her slack mouthed before his competitiveness kicks in, she's always been the one to bring this petty immature side out of him.

Far too easily he grips both of her wrists in his hand and pins her hands to the bed over her head. She flails in his tight grip but he watches with fascination as her cheeks pinken and her eyes dilute.

Interesting.

"My first what? Are you offering Seok-ryu? Do you want it that badly?"

His nerves are still there but the desire to put her in her place overrides it momentarily.

But instead of arguing like she's supposed, like they've both been doing for years she zigs when he expects her to zag.

"What if I do? You're my boyfriend. Aren't I suppose to want you?" She stares back with open defiance, only she could make such a confession sound so aggressive.

"Seok-ryu..."

"I don't want to talk. Do I have to spell it out? I want you to -"

His lips slam into hers with a wet smack and he almost groans at how easily she opens up for him, kissing him back as if she's the one that's been pining for years. As if she wants him half as much as he wants her.

He jolts when her legs wrap around his waist, his hold on her wrists loosening for a moment.

When he can't resist the urge to grind into her heat he forces himself to pull away. They need to slow down this is...too much. Too fast.

"We should stop."

But that seems to be the last thing on her mind.

Instead she frees her hands and shoves them up his shirt, his stomach tightens at her touch and this time he isn't quick enough to swallow his reaction.

"Hey Seung-hyo when did you get abs? Is that why you think you can boss me around because you got some muscles?"

"You can't just touch me like that." She raises an eyebrow at his exclamation, challenge clear in her eyes.

"Oh. Why not? Aren't you my man? Can't I touch you just like this and even worst? If I can't touch you like this then who can?"

His jaw drops at her assertion and at the possessiveness in her tone.

He refuses to leave any room for a misunderstanding this time.

"Nobody. Only you."

She avoids eye contact but he doesn't miss the smirk on her lips and that twinkle in her eyes.

"But if you touch me like that then I'm going to get thoughts....I don't want to take advantage of you."

Her laughter is instant and he's tired of feeling like a fish out of water, she's his woman. He is allowed to act like it. He's done holding himself back.

So he retightens his grip on her hands and leans down to press a firm kiss to her neck. Then he waits and her reaction is immediate, her body bends to meet him giving him free range to explore.

Without hesitation he preseses another kiss opening his mouth to taste her and she moans in response.

"More."

That sends blood rushing through his entire body.

He kisses her again and again until she's twisting beneath him but he's too strong for her to break his hold, he shouldn't like that so much.

"I want to give you a hickie."

There. He's said it and if she says no that's fine this is still more than he ever hoped for, more than he deserves honestly. It's greedy of him to even want for more.

"Then do it."

And this time he hold on her completely loosens and she wraps her hands around his neck and yanks him down again, pressing his face further into her neck with a quiet, "Mark me I want it."

He opens his mouth and sucks gently, teething at the thin skin there with the barest amount of pressure. He does it for a minute, lost in her scent and in her soft skin.

"Harder."

He hums into her neck in response, too enthralled to move away for even a second.

"You need to do it harder to leave a mark."

He ignores the tinge of jealousy that flares up at her obvious expertise, she's here with him now that's all that matters.

And he obeys her, open his mouth wider and sucking harder even biting at the last minute and he almost pulls away at her soft shout but she tightens her arms around him refusing to left him go.

"I'm fine you just surprised me. But I like it. I like everything you do to me. Don't stop."

He feels like he's drowning in his own pent up desires.

But he continues to suck and bite and lick at her skin before he realizes that his hips have been moving of their own accord, each gasp from her lips feels him leaving lightheaded and wound up too tight.

He needs to stop before it's too late.

The hickie is huge and red, he realizes that he might have overdone it especially with them trying to hide their relationship.

She's going to kill him.

"How is it? Are you proud of yourself?" She teases him and he can't deny that he loves seeing his mark on her, loves that she trusted him enough to let him do that.

"Who knew you were so possessive?"

He bristles at her taunting tone, "Like you're any better? What did you call me your ma-"

"Hey! Shut up, don't repeat the things I say in the heat of the moment that's embarrassing!"

And this time she pushes him away, and he lets her flopping onto her bed.

"I'm going to check out my hickie, see how much concealer I need to cover it."

And that has him bolting up in the bed, "Wait a second Seok-ryu!"

But he's too late and he watches her eyes flare with anger as she touches the large red mark on her neck in awed silence.

"It looks worst than it really is, it should fade by tomorrow I'm sure!" So similar to the words that she said to his crying six year old self and they both know how that turned out.

"I'm going to kill you!! What did you do to my beautiful neck? What are you a freaking vampire? I said mark me, not destroy my neck!"

And he jumps over the bed trying to get away from her and he can't help but laugh as she trips over her own feet trying to catch him.

#love next door #couldn't figure out where to end it #spice but light spice #they made me come out of hibernation #choi seung hyo #baek seok ryu

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primrosebow · 1 year ago

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An open letter to bigfatbimbo.🪽

Reasons why you should write for Adam.

1 -> He is a misogynist (not for long)

Look at his face. He is so weird. I swear. He has been favoritized for far too long, leaving him with the most mind-numbing god complex. Don't you want to stab him to death like niffty? Don't you want to put him where he deserves to be (either underground or under me)? I do. You should too! Because his way of thinking meets it's end where my heels begin.

2 -> He is stupid

He has the emotional maturity of a boiled lobster. He fits into heaven like an orca in the amazon river. He is so unbelievably incompetent it is actually kind of mind boggling. Don't you want to crush him like he's a little bug (either with your fists or your thighs)? Didn't he literally say one of the "biggest issues evet" was math or something? He probably couldn't tell you where Africa is in the world map even if you paid him. Even the fruit of knowledge couldn't give him enough braincells to function as a proper member of society.

3 -> he deserves humiliation

He deserves to have his entire worldview rocked and destroyed, something we can surely provide. His shallow thinking should be promptly obliterated. He has only ever gotten away from beautiful tall strong women because he always had the option of just asking for a different woman. They didn't have the mental fortitude to put him in his place. We are the bearers of the curse (liking repulsive men), and, since there is no "mental fortitude" to begin with, there is nothing for him to break down. We (as a collective) should end him.

4 -> I know what he is

His entire persona is a gigantic act to make up for the fact he cannot appropriatelly cope with losing in general, much less losing the, like, 2 wives he ever had (to THE SAME GUY!! MIND YOU!!!) and if he had more people they were one night stands. Not because he left them, but because people know he is worthless scum and he is good for nothing other than his "original dick" ( eugh. I usually refrain from cursing >:// ). It is the reason for his pride and also the only thing that makes him even remotely worth the hastle of talking to. He is the equivalent of a carnival prize to the people in heaven, scoring him is more of a show of your own endurance rather than how coveted he is. He has been objectified through his own hubris. He should be made aware of that. He should fear the knowledge we posses. It should be used against him.

5 -> he sounds.. like.. . He sounds good.

I watched the series while skipping most of the songs but I genuinelly could not do it when he was singing. No wonder he's in a band or something, I didn't actually pay attention to what he was saying I was paying more attention to the sound of his voice so I don't remember clearly what's up with that. Like he sounds REALLY good. If only he knew how to just use his voice without saying the most repulsive atrocities to be ever uttered by anyone ever. Oh yeah! We can make him incoherent enough for that to happen.

6 -> Lute deserves better

Lute deserves, like, a woman. Not him. She's too gorgeous for him, and, the difference between us and her is that while SHE is dealing with HIM, in our case, HE has to deal with US. Really, we're just saving a beautiful, amazing, stunning, showstopping woman a lot of trouble, and getting an ENTIRE PATHETIC MAN AS A TRADE! WIN WIN! Literally no downsides, I swear.

7 -> he is girl dinner

Don't you just love looking into your fridge and seeing the worthless scraps that built up overtime but somehow taste better now than they usually would have, which is particularly shocking considering it has 0 nutritional value? That would be what girl dinner is, and also an appropriate analogy for what Adam is like! Just roughly ok looking enough for you to not downright call it a biohazard. You will go to bed satisfied after fighting tooth and nail for your dinner (getting him to behave properly) and, it'll be easier the next times maybe! Operant conditioning is a heavy hitter with this repulsive individual, so it might actually get easier! Who knows!

8 -> Pretty please? (´｡･д人)ﾞ

I really. Uh . I really want him if you couldn't tell? Maybe the cannibalism and the fear I want to instill into him got in the way of you seeing my point, but, like, that's just how I love. The highest honor I could bestow on him is wanting to eat him, so, maybe that'll assist in your judgement? I also just really like your writing and would love to hear your thoughts on his idiotic self. AND! AND! Other people also want you to write about him if I well remember the 1 ask you received about him!

I await your response when you are available @bigfatbimbo

If you need more convincing; I can, like, draw him? I'm going to draw him no matter what but like I can cook something up for you in particular who knows.

You did say you were already considering writing for him, so, maybe this can be a final push in that direction for you!

- sincerely, Bow

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam x reader #he is the worst #I want him reaaalll bad #if anyone also sees this letter and is convinced by my arguments #I absolutely insist that you @ me in whatever you chose to make #I would be honored

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upennmanuscripts · 4 months ago

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Since 2016 I (Dot Porter aka @leoba) have been offering Virtual Classroom Visits through the Schoenberg Institute for Manuscript Studies, along with my colleague, Schoenberg Curator of Manuscripts Nick Herman. Essentially these are video conferences where we share manuscripts from Penn's collections with classes at institutions that might not have firsthand access to primary resources. These are usually 1-2 hour visits that can be curated to specific course requirements, and we can offer them at levels ranging from K-12 through graduate school. For book history in particular it can be interesting to include "hands-on virtual" experiences alongside the usual analog vs. digital dichotomy.

You can find out more at this page on the SIMS website, and there are several sample manuscript lists linked there (ranging from Chaucer to History of Science; however we have many more books that aren't on the list! Please don't hesitate to email me if this sounds like something you might be interested in scheduling this year or in the future.

#medieval #renaissance #manuscripts #book history #rare books #event #classroom #pedagogy #virtual

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scoutswritingcorner · 9 months ago

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The Hotel

Charlie Morningstar x GN!Reader

HORROR.

TW: THIS IS A HORROR STORY- IT HAS DARK THEMES. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE IT, DO NOT READ IT. Uncanny Valley effect, there is no good ending, Lost media kinda deal. Body horror.

A/N: I’ve been watching too much lost media/analog horror type of stuff for my own good. ENJOY~

You are an Urban Explorer who has a very popular channel. You got word of this old Hotel that’s supposedly haunted but you're more interested in how it looks on the inside. Turns out to be your final resting place.

You pulled to a stop in the wooded area near the desolate town, quickly turning your vans lights off and pulling the keys out of the ignition as a police car slowly drove by as you snuck into the back of the van pulling your bag closer and making sure that you had everything. Strapping the small hidden camera to your chest before pulling out your phone and starting the livestream, your viewers slowly start to trickle in as you patiently wait for the cops to stop roaming around where your car is, too afraid to say something. But you slowly take a deep breath and collect your things, trying to make sure if you needed to run or climb over anything nothing would be holding you down.

Slowly pulling the duffle bag over your shoulder, you checked your phone once more before quickly turning off any sound notifications that could get you caught and sent one last text to your roommate and dad, before putting it away and into your pocket as you carefully left the comfort of your own vehicle. You locked and closed your van before slowly and carefully making your way towards the silent town, weaving through alleyways as you dodge the police and making your way towards the brightly lit hotel that sat on top of the hill. “..sorry for not talking to you guys, I don’t want to be caught” You whispered out as you quickly walked up the hill, trying to stay away from the bright lights of the path leading towards the hotel itself. You’ll check your phone once you get inside.

As you get to the front door of the hotel, you send a glance back towards the city to see the cops still patrolling the town, it wasn’t worth going back down, you were so close to what you’ve been dreaming about for months…but..you never knew about this place…why did you dream about it? You slowly opened the door expecting to be greeted by ruined furniture, walls lined with graffiti, broken things strewn around and nature reclaiming what was left of this hotel but..it looked brand new…well except for the tech stuff that looked like it came out of a 1980’s catalog…this was weird. First the townspeople were basically hostile towards you and when you asked about the hotel they shut down, some even pulling a weapon on you.

You closed the door behind you, fixing your jacket as you took a step forward the scent of a freshly smoked cigar hit you as if you walked through a cloud of it. You looked around, stepping further into the hotel to your left was a bar with an assortment of liquor on the wall behind it, to your right was what looked like to be the foyer.

“Oh! Hello!” A voice called from behind you making you jump and turn around dropping your bag on the floor. You cursed yourself and hoped your equipment wasn’t damaged. “H-Hi..I thought this place was abandoned..” you replied smiling, something felt off about her but you couldn’t seem to figure out what. “Oh no silly!~ Most of them are already asleep in their own rooms or just busy!” A sense of comfort washing over you as jazz starts playing down the hall causing you to look away from her. Unaware of her eyes snapped down to the camera strapped to your chest and her smile grew wider.

“Someone..awake?” You asked, looking back at her and crouching down to grab your duffel bag. “Oh yes! That would be the hotelier, he likes to listen to jazz as he works. It won’t bother you will it?” She asked and you shook your head watching as she looked around, “give me one moment okay?” She asked turning to head into an office…was that always there? You looked down and quickly checked your phone to see it was 3:30 am?? It just turned 12:00 when you left your Van, that didn’t seem right. Looking up as she walked back over and quickly getting you a room, her smile grew as she handed you the key, “If you need anything else don’t be afraid to call down to the front desk!~” She called after you, smirking as you unknowingly sealed your fate.

You looked down at the key, the room number '204' staring back at you. It wouldn’t hurt to stay the night, it beats sleeping in your van than anything. Sleeping on a bed will do wonders to your back too! As you went up the stairs, it seemed someone rushed past you with a sweet smelling perfume which made you do a double take..no one walked past you? You stopped and looked around before continuing up the stairs..that was strange.

It didn’t take you long to find your room and get set up for the night, as you looked around it had occurred to you that something about this place felt..off. The spear above your bed was certainly off putting, was it real or fake? You placed your bag down onto the bed, opening it up fast to make sure you didn’t break anything.

~~~

It’s been days since you’ve been at this hotel, at first you thought you were there for that single night but you haven’t. The footsteps got louder but now it was someone knocking on your door and a pile of dead bugs littered at your door. You started the camera that sat patiently on the desk in front of your bed, the red light on it slowly flashed as it began to record. A sinking feeling sat in the pit of your stomach as you stared back at yourself in the mirror..when did you become so sickly looking? Quickly you packed up, shook your head and grabbed the key to your room, “Just in case,” you whispered out “Just in case.”

You slowly made your way to the door ignoring the literal mountain of bugs next to your bathroom door. You slowly opened your bedroom door and peeked out seeing..no one. No one was around yet there was a distinct smell of that perfume that lingered way too long on the staircase. Another difference was that the lights were off and the wallpaper started to peel like the hotel was left abandoned for decades. A soft and distorted tune started to echo around the empty hotel, you moved to the railing of the gigantic staircase and slowly made your way down throwing the bag over your shoulder as you tried to ignore the creepy distorted music and creaking stairs.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs you slowly and carefully started to walk towards the front desk placing the room key on its surface before moving towards the front doors themself. Your hand wrapped around the golden door handles as you moved to open the doors..but they wouldn’t budge. How were they locked, you couldn’t be locked in here without anyone knowing.

“Leaving so soon?” A distorted voice called out as you slowly turned around, facing the woman you met a few nights ago. But something was wrong, her face looked..too human- too unnatural. “Oh uh..yeah..I have to go.” You said trying to ignore how suddenly it felt like there were a million eyes on you, your breath hitched in your throat as the lady's bones snapped and reformed into longer limbs and horns protruded from her head. “Why don’t you stay just a little bit longer?” she asked but her mouth didn’t move as if someone was pulling the strings..giving her a voice to use. You looked around her, trying to see if there was a way to get past her and back to your room safely.

You shook your head watching the hotel fall into disrepair in front of your very eyes. You took one last deep breath before throwing yourself into a sprint down the hallway and up the flight of stairs, a loud inhuman roar echoed through the hotel as you tried to open one of the many emergency exits. It was locked just like the front door, you silently cursed to yourself and made your way to the staircase to go higher up. Your legs and lungs started to burn as the once comforting smell of the perfume turned sour as something ran into your legs knocking you face first into the flight of stairs.

A sickening crack echoed through your head, you grabbed your camera and climbed up the steps as blood coated your tongue and dripped onto the old mold covered shag carpets. Throwing the bag down you forced yourself to keep running up the million flights of stairs this fucked up hotel had. You couldn’t look back and you couldn’t stop, if you stopped you would die. She knew where you were and she wouldn’t stop until she got you.

You slammed onto the fire exit door at the top of the stairs..once..twice..she was getting closer. That foul lingering smell wafted through your broken nose and it made you gag loudly as you looked down to see her staring back at you. Body visibly mutilated as her sunken eyes glared up at you, drool dripping from her maw. You slammed into the door and fell onto the roof as she stalked closer and closer to you- her prey. You scrambled to get up but stopped to see a large red pentagram that outlined the city.

You didn’t stare for long as long black claws wrapped around your ankle, digging into flesh and shattering bone as it dragged you back into the hotel. Your chin hit the ground as you tried to claw and beg whatever god was there to help you. The camera you were holding shattering upon impact as the door slammed shut behind you and your screams were forever silenced.

A/N: SORRY IF THIS FEELS RUSHED- I kinda did rush it cause I wanted to get this out to you lovely people. But I hope you enjoyed it and Happy Pride month!~

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #gn reader #charlie morningstar #charlie x you #charlie x reader #charlie morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel charlie #horror themed

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