#Health Police

[cryptocollectibles]

Give Me Liberty #1 (June 1990) by Dark Horse Comics

Written by Frank Miller, drawn by Dave Gibbons.

[starry-bi-sky]

do yall ever think about bruce/batman!clone danny standing in front of his bathroom mirror after finding out he was a clone and silently tracing his face. The slope of his jaw and point of his chin. The high angle of his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes, the curve of his brow bones and the shape of his nose. The volume of his hair and the way it curls and gets fluffy when it gets too long.

His hair is black the same way a crow's wing is black. His dad's hair is black the same way a black bear's fur is black. His dad's eyes are blue like the ocean is blue. Danny's eyes are blue the same way a glacier is blue.

His dad has a square jaw and straight flat hair, and he tans and gets a face full of freckles when he's out in the sun for too long. Danny burns like a lobster and his face remains untouched. Danny has a sharp jaw and tall cheekbones, and Sam says when he's not smiling there's almost something regal about him. You would never call Jack Fenton "regal" when he's not smiling.

Sam says when he's not smiling he looks scary the same way a stone statue is. Jack Fenton when he's not smiling looks scary the same way that german shepherd staring at you across the street is.

Do you ever think he grew up wondering if he was adopted. Because of course, he has black hair and blue eyes like his dad. But having the same color doesn't make you someone's child.

Or, worse, things he's heard from the other kids and the other parents and even some of his teachers growing up; that he was the product of an affair. And that his dad was just too stupid to notice. And Danny would defend his parents until the day he died, because Jack Fenton wasn't an idiot and Maddie Fenton wasn't a cheater.

But doubt comes in with fickle tongue. his parents swear up and down that he is their child when he asks about either. That Danny just had his grandparents' features, but he was their son and they loved him.

But Danny doesn't look like either of his parents. His mom's eyes are blue like an aquamarine and Jazz's too. And they burn like lobsters in the sun too, but Jazz gets freckles on her face and so does Maddie. And as Danny grows up he doesn't bulk up or get stocky like his dad did, and when he hits puberty he doesn't shoot up like a tree like Jack Fenton did.

He stays small, and they say he's a late bloomer (and he is), or that he just has his mom's height. But he's fast and has good stamina, and some days it feels like he's built entirely different from his family. That the things they went through growing up just didn't apply to him. Jack and Maddie Fenton both had acne and breakouts when they hit puberty, and Jazz inherits it and he's seen the amount of skincare products she keeps on her side of the bathroom.

And then he hits puberty and breaks out maybe once or twice, but his skin stays clear for the most part and the problems and changes his dad went through just don't happen to him.

And the truth is worse than all of the lies.

How horrifying.

[queerism1969]

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

literally just saw another “call out” post in my fandom, “this person ships these characters together, they support fucked up things in fiction. moots, unfollow them, they’re disgusting for liking these fictional things 🤢” can we please just. not do this? especially with all that’s going on in the world recently, can we please not try to take away people’s source of comfort? who cares what fictional things a person enjoys? they’re ✨fiction✨. they’re ✨not real✨. you don’t know what battle a person is going through outside of social media. you don’t know if fandom is literally the last source of happiness they have left. you don’t know if fandom is the only thing keeping them alive right now.

ask yourself, is it really worth it? you claim to be “morally superior” by “exposing” people who find comfort in fictional things you deem morally unacceptable. but is it really worth it if your words drove a person into harming themself?

are you really being morally superior by being the reason someone hurts themself?

these characters are fiction. but the person you’re harassing in the name of being morally superior is a real person with real feelings.

if you find something that you don’t like, instead of going out of your way to harass someone, scroll past it, ignore it, mute it, block it. and focus on the things you do enjoy.

with everything that’s going on in the world right now, now is the time we need to keep fandoms safe. they’re the last source of happiness some people have left.

[grendel-menz]

a section from my comic the anti parking lot committee - you can find the whole thing here 

[alibonbonn]

gift comm for @johaerys-writes' fic, You're a Walking Disaster and Yet-

[girlcalledwhatsername]

This shouldn't even be need to be said but don't fucking report people who express being suicidal. I don't care how much you think you're doing it for someone's own good, it does NOT help us it only harms further

READ that AGAIN

You are ACTIVELY harming those people when you try to be a goody two-shoes and tell on them when they get suicidal

Don't fucking report them to social media app features that have the report for self harm option. Don't fucking call a suicide hotline on them. Don't fucking report them to therapists, paychiatrists, cops, controlling parents or partners

It does not matter how uncomfortable it makes you - this isn't ABOUT you - it doesn't matter how much it goes against your cute little saviour complex thinking you're being oh such a wonderful kind heroic person by "saving" someone from themself.

When you report a person to any of those places it heavily risks hospitalisation and incarceration. Where I live it's technically still a crime to attempt suicide, they never overturned the law. And if you think being in a ward might help them - do everyone a favour and go check out the actual conditions in the wards and talk to psych survivors about how they actually are. Otherwise shut up about things you have no experience with.

Everyone should have a right to autonomy, especially bodily autonomy, and you don't have to like what they do with their own body for you to know not to take that away from someone. It's not your place to judge, it's not okay to be moralistic about bodily autonomy suddenly because you can't handle the reality of mentally ill people.

And it's not fucking okay to lock us in and remove us from society just because our disorders are too fucking ugly for you to look at.

If you absolutely have to help just talk to a suicidal person if they're up to it, just ask them what will help, and if you can't do that then leave us the fuck alone you snitches

And don't come at me with the law, if you had to be an ally to mentally ill people, to queer people, to women, to any kind of marginalised people, historically a lot of it has always included standing against the law and with us.

STOP REPORTING US

[maeinthekinning]

So before I say this, note I am a disabled transfeminine individual thats not an mra. Say that now cause people like to caricature for those that go against them.

I've seen a growing number of people say men can't face specific struggles or discrimination with being a man as a factor. Or transman can't face specific struggles. Or there struggles are fine or should be downplayed. Or transmen aren't allowed a specific word for the oppression they face.

So discrimination unique to men or masculine individuals and how might impact transmen

Mental health: many men are discouraged from getting mental health for problems they face, this has been a problem the mental health field has known for decades. Many transmen as they transition are pressured more and more to "toughen up" while dealing with possible therapists transphobia

Sexual assault victims: if you count forced to penetrate, coerced, told have to cause married. Then its around the same for men and women

The thing is, there is an assumption that men can't be raped, or should be taken more lightly, or in the case of brittain with forced to penetrate a much lighter sentence on the perpetrator.

This makes it so even if a crisis center you want to go to says for all. You might not get any help cause a man.

For transmen,a unique position, do they go in as a man and get denied for that, or trans and possible transphobia.

"Men are all violent" is a stereotype, but the reverse, men are more likely to be the victim of violence. Infact of murder victims, more then 3 men for every 1 woman.

But going back to the stereotype. It's the reason that white woman are more likely to cross street to avoid a black man then a black woman.

It's the reason a mentally ill homeless woman seems to get more sympathy and money then a mentally ill homeless man...who is also more likely assumed to just be a drug addict

It's the reason for shot to death by police in u.s. is nearly 20 to 1 for men vs women (no statistic anywhere says men are that much more likely to be violent)

And there are a bunch of other problems unique to men ive seen that i didnt list in detail (like men victims of domestic violence)

Transandrophobia/transmisandry isn't just "misogyny plus transphobia" its also specific problems that transmen find themselves facing, some like i listed are general to men but primarily minority men, but some are for being a transman.

And saying transmen face unique struggles does not downplay struggles transwomen face.

Nor does talking about struggles unique to men (ussually more pronounced if other minorities) does not downplay struggles unique to women.

This is not an either or. All issues should be addressed.

[thisisthinprivilege]

I don't remember if I ever said it here but - fat discrimination is going to the ER for something completely unrelated to weight and having the doctor write down "mild abdominal obesity" in your report. as if it was somehow relevant, worth noting, or had ANYTHING to do with why I was in the ER. thin people don't have to put up with it.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XIV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here and this is part fourteen! Yes I messed it up this morning yes I had to wait all day to correct it it's all goooood

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Bart is a good egg who is having a Bad Time waiting for his friend :(

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny wakes up with a gasp.

He’s—where is he? Everything hurts. He can barely think. Danny groans, long and loud, and lifts up an aching hand to his temple.

His fingers come away green. Aw, fuck. What happened to him? What’s going on? Why is his hand…blurry? Is he concussed? Is something wrong with his eyes, or with his head??

(He hopes it’s not his head. It’s waaay easier to heal from one than the other.)

Danny tries to sit up, and— NOPE. Ow. Bad idea. Suuuuuch a bad idea. His arms and hands and his neck and his back are screaming at him, now that he’s awake enough to pay attention. Ughhhhhhhhhhh.

He lays back down. His eyes don’t—well, they don’t shut all the way, which part of his brain labels as very bad, actually, but the world does turn darker and greener as he tries to shut his eyes, and that’s close enough to closing his eyes that Danny can mostly zone out past the pain.

He licks his sore lips. They taste like copper. And battery acid. …And Pixie Sticks.

Ugh, ecto-blood. His own, he assumes.

Everything is blurry and everything kind of hurts and he doesn’t know how he got here or what’s going on. Danny tries to roll over, tries to get more comfortable, but something starts dragging on the inside of his arm, which means intravenous lines.

Ugggghhhh. He hopes it’s got pain meds at least.

Awake him can deal with this later. Danny zones out, his labored breathing evens.

He’s asleep before he knows it.

*

Danny wakes up next to quiet murmuring, and to weird sensation of something moving in his arm.

He yawns—and his jaw cracks apart farther than usual, with more clicking noises than his jaw usually makes. Weird. His arms come up, his eyes unblur…

The tugging sensation doesn’t go away. Danny sniffs blearily. Blinks.

Two white-coated humans(…?) in PPE pause at his bedside, a half-dissembled IV shared between them.

Danny stops breathing. He can’t—is he—

His eyes go to the ceiling. The floor. He doesn’t recognize the room he’s in. He doesn’t understand. Is this the Guys in White again? Is he— Did he never leave? Is he trapped? Danny doesn’t—he can’t—

—One of the white coats starts making worried noises, which. Danny’s never heard that before. It’s usually threats. They raise both their arms, and Danny flinches back—

…And so do they. Huh. Hm. Are the Guys hiring scaredy cats now? That would be a change of pace, if they were as scared of Danny as Danny is of them.

The second person clicks the new IV bag into place. Danny stops focusing on number one and starts focusing on number two.

They don’t make any overt tells either. The IV line is already in him, and the bag is… Well. It’s not red and Danny’s not in any pain, and it’s not green either. It’s just. Kinda opaque? Milky? The person doesn’t start cackling evilly or telling Danny how screwed he is, either. They both just sort of…tidy up?

The first one doesn’t get closer, either, but Danny can mostly tell that they’re scanning him visually. Their attention goes from his face, to Danny’s visible arm, to the puncture point in his elbow for the IV needle.

Danny also eyes his IV point. Well. It looks like a needle. Doesn’t hurt all that much.

Someone says something he doesn’t catch. But the tone isn’t…mean, or anything. If anything, it sounds quiet, and low, like they’re trying to keep him calm.

Danny doesn’t understand.

He moves as far out of the way of them as possible. It only has the effect of a few inches and it's so painfully slow. If that. He— he remembers. He’s supposed to be scared of— something. No, he knows it—

The labs. He’s supposed to be scared of the labs. The smell is rank there and there’s always screaming and Danny had been hurt there; really, really hurt.

He’s still hurt. He’s still in a lab. In a room. In some sort of too-small prison, and now his barely-sewn together lungs are trying too hard to keep air in his body and it’s not working, and—

Danny barely pays attention when the first doctor leaves. He sees the other back into the door and reach for the phone line, and he can’t stop breathing and he can’t calm down because that means that they’re calling for help and they’re going to hurt him all over again. Tie him down. Cut him open. Shock him, until he can’t breathe without screaming—

Someone new comes in. They look— rushed. Danny can see her actively tying up long black hair, threading a mask up over her face, pulling on one of those paper shifts the doctors wear. The only difference is that she doesn’t put boot covers on.

She has big, bright boots that go all the way up her legs. With his green vision, they look kind of…greyish? (Maybe they’re pink..?)

Either way. They look…ridiculous. Danny doesn’t exactly forget to be scared, but also…what the fuck.

The woman sees that Danny can see her. She waves.

Danny presses back against his— cot. Bed.

That doesn’t stop her. She pulls latex gloves from out of the paper slip she’s wearing and snaps them on, revealing a thin layer of something shiny underneath her elastic-bound sleeves. Once that’s on, she does a visible body checkup of herself: boots, gown, gloves, mask, hair.

…No hair net, though. Or goggles. The Docs in White always wanted to be fully covered when they saw their victims. Being able to see her eyes is a lot…friendlier.

She figures herself out. Straightens. Gives a double thumbs up.

…Danny's eyes roam around. There’s no one nearby. There's only a wall behind him. Is she looking at…him? Is that directed to him?

She doesn’t move immediately— and once she’s in, the second doctor leaves the room entirely.

…The new person takes over. She goes from monitor to monitor, getting closer, but with none of the focus on Danny, per se. She reads his stats, verbalizes them out loud, which, doesn’t sound like…English? But enough to confuse him? It’s kind of like trying to discern Esperanto when he's not thinking about how it's not English.

Ancients. The pounding in his head is getting worse. Maybe Danny has a concussion or something.

The woman doesn’t…get. Him. In fact, he seems to be the least interesting thing in the room to her. Her time is spent on reading the charts and the machines waiting around him, putting something into a…fridge? A Cabinet? In the corner of his room? And otherwise, she leaves him alone.

Until. She does get up and look at him, and all of Danny tenses up painfully. He can’t move. Something’s holding down his legs, his body’s stiff, and all of him is so tired that he genuinely can’t tell if his waist is tied down or if he’s just that exhausted.

He can hear his heart rate monitor kick up. He can’t move, not really. He tries to go intangible but his core just throbs with misery, and—

She mostly just pats his sheets. Not his person, even. Apparently the torture is being held off for now. “Eow eart wel?”

…Danny squints. That is almost English.

“Eom hebbjan yift,” she adds, leadingly, as if Danny is a friend she can tease and not a subject under threat of the knife. He doesn't like it. It hurts. Nothing is real and everyone hates him and all he wants to do is leave but his body is rejecting him and—

Something light and plastic thumps down onto the bed.

Danny blinks. He looks—down. (His neck makes him regret that.)

Is that a…is that a space shuttle? No, ‘cause Danny thinks he recognizes it. It’s Discovery? Isn’t it? That’s the one they just retired. He tries to grab it, but— ouch, oof, his fingers can’t even stretch, bad idea—

The woman gently guides the shuttle into his hand. It doesn’t even hurt. And.

It’s cold to the touch. The model is plastic, it shouldn’t be so cold, but the sensation is distinctly cool and kind of familiar.

…Oh. Danny struggles to flex his fingers around the thing.

It’s him.

Or. Well. The shuttle is his. It has his ectoplasm imbued all throughout it. He can even sort of feel the sensation of carefulplayingcareful he’d have felt while near it. The feeling is weak, and timid, but it’s still there.

So. Then. When did he get it? And…why? Why was it allowed to him? How did he get it?

Is this how they’re feeding him now? Instead of showering him with poorly filtered ectoplasm every time he gets rowdy, are they actually trying to feed his Obsession? For real?? That’s—that’s brand new behavior from the—

Danny blinks. Wait. That’s not it either. Because there’s an IV in him. So…they know he’s getting human food.

So. Uh.

Hm.

Danny doesn’t want to get his hopes up. But this…might not be the Guys in White.

Of course, they might not be better than the GIW either; it’s a total possibility that Danny’s getting suckered into some scheme where every gentle permission and soft voice is a debt he owes…some new reason to take…

His eyelids twitch as they try to shut. He’s so tired. Fear kept him mobile, but now…everything is so heavy.

The lady carefully shushes him, ever so gently. She pulls up his blanket for him. Pats it down.

Danny shivers. He’s so, so scared.

“Ræste þiht,” the woman whispers. The words sound fond. Danny’s so scared, but he’s so tired. His heart is beating so fast. “An freond becymþ hraðe.”

It’s reassuring.

Danny doesn’t want it to be.

He falls asleep the way the desperate do—clawing at the last traces of wakefulness, only to have his consciousness ripped from him.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

A Winnipeg-based criminologist is raising concerns about police violence in the city, saying that the incidents involving police are becoming more violent and preventable. “This is an ongoing problem...The Winnipeg Police Service has quite a history of violence against citizens and it really hasn’t changed,” said Kelly Gorkoff, chair of the Criminal Justice Department at the University of Winnipeg. Gorkoff said she doesn’t think certain measures, including using a mental health team to de-escalate the situation, are utilized enough.

Continue Reading

Tagging @politicsofcanada

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 5 | Whispers Of Madness

summary: ever since one unfortunate day, you havent felt the same mentally. The dark entity that now permanently stabled a special place in your mind, making you go more insane with each passing minute. Whenever you try to reach out for help to the one person you trust, being your best friend matthew he always argues that nothing is actually there and your brain is messing with you but you know more than youve lead onto. Are you going to finally shatter and possibly lead to murder, or maybe finally banish the evil living inside of you?

warnings: ANGST, demon possession, dark entity, murders, mental health issues, satanic language, dark topics, suicide, police involvement, heavy language, blood everywhere, choking, skin bruising, mysterious black goop, viewers advisory is supervised! Proceed continue reading caution!

authors note: somehow we’ve made it to day 5 of consistently posting fics wohoo !! This one took me a portion of my time and this week has been pretty busy for me so I’m surprised I got this far, hope yall enjoy this bc I surely did writing it

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

Ever since that unfortunate night, I have never felt the same mentally nor physically. A constant demonic voice mocking my every move and slowly driving me towards insanity, flashes of a dark entity remain stuck and impossible to get out of my mind, making me want gouge my eyes out to escape through death. Sometimes i dont even recognize myself in the mirror, just noticing each and every one of the changes in my physical apperance as well as my behavior and I think if others noticed them too or do am I the old me to them? or have I never actually changed and my mind can somehow create physical forms of different versions of me on its own?

- The night of the incident

I slowly stirr awake in the middle of the night due to strange noises my ears keep picking up, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand I glance out the window to see nothing but pitch-black ahead of me. The soft moonlight being the only available source of light pouring into the room, my eyes scan the dark room for a possible source behind the strange noises. Its almost like whispering but not human whispers in particular, almost like a demonic voice... yeah no, demons dont exist so there no such possibility. Just to be sure Im not going completely insane I do a double check but now looking harder into the dark to try and justify the source of the noise is nothing harmless.

Thats until I see something dark looming in the corner of my room.

It appears to be a shadow but with a dark and demonic energy radiating off it, my eyes scan the whole silhouette and get stuck on a pair of brigh red eyes staring down at me becomes imprinted in my mind permanently which sends a cold chill down my whole body, making me rise in awareness and fear, my body immediately waking and becoming completely stiff, my abilty to move vanishing from my grasp of control. The dark shadow figure starts to step closer to me and my instincts kick in, subconsciously backing away from the proximity of the red-eyed creature as it stands at the foot of it. "W-who are you?" I shakingly breath out, my mind becoming consumed with fear and theories that this could possibly be the end of my life.

The red-eyed figure doesnt make a sound or a single move, my breathing now labored and heavy as it continues to stare down at my shaking form. Feeling completely vulnarble and defendless, it’s like theres no escape and I've been trapped, even cornered in the dark depths of my mind. "Agite... Tenebrae... Abyssi..." I hear a faint demonic whisper, identical to the ones I've heard before and realize where its coming from. Suddenly I get a shock down my whole body, almost as if a feeling of being possesed or something possibly entering my soul and attaching itself to it.

I convince my overthinking mind its nothing and Im just imagining things now, this is not real. Demons dont exist and they surely can't possess you, right? it cant be real, its not. Shaking my head to throw away any possible negative thoughts left behind and lay my head back down on my pillow, attempting to sleep of the demonic energy I still feel coursing through my veins. My mind manages to slowly drift off to sleep, my eye lids falling heavy as I slip into unconsciousness but the demonic whispers still remaining surrounding the shell of my ears.

- A month after the incident - Present day

A sudden snap of Matt’s fingers in front of my face kicks me out of the negative energy in my mind, him giving me an unamused expression and sighing. “You seriously weren’t paying attention again?” He annoyingly huffs, his lips becoming a thin line as his arms cross over his chest. “I’m sorry, I was just-“ while I am in the middle of my sentence and want to explain myself, the demonic whispers cut me off and start whispering in my ear until I look around and see him. The red-eyes creature. No matter how hard I want to take my eyes away from him, they just refuse to move alongside with my body. Just becoming frozen all of a sudden, “What? Are you good?” He stammered visibly shadowed with concern, his eyes darting around the room to find the spot my eyes are stuck on but is met with a simple empty room.

“What are you staring at?” He pondered, still in desperate search to find something I could possibly be staring at with such horror contouring my features. My breath starts to become more deep and shaky, the same feeling I felt coursing through my veins every time it appears, it’s almost like it’s making its appearance known before hand. Matt finally snaps me back to reality, jerking one of my shoulders to give him a response to his worried questions, when I look at Matt’s face and back where it was standing. It’s gone. It’s not there anymore. “Where did it go?” I mumbled with a trembling bottom lip, becoming tense and more aware of my surroundings. “What do you mean by ‘where did it go’ ? You’re fucking freaking me out Eli.” He inquired, still anxiously looking around before moving closer to me. Immediately noticing me tense up for some reason he doesn’t have the knowledge of and I just wouldn’t speak about it.

“It’s fucking not there anymore! It’s gone, again!” I clutch Matt’s arm into my chest, seeking any comfort and safeness I could get a grasp on. The whispers start again, this time approaching me closer until I feel a faint icy breath breathe down my neck which makes me flinch. “ǨḐlēʃ-tū yǫur crēāṭōr, ǝLizaʊƃth…” my hands immediately go to cover my ears, the satanic words echoing in my head and bouncing off every wall, almost delivering me a headache. Under my breath I keep begging it to stop, to release me from the hellish cage it’s trapped me in against my will just to torment and demolish all that’s left of my soul that it hasn’t destroyed yet. My mental health wasnt the best before and it just got worse after, I reached out for help to everyone I could but they either called me schizophrenic or ‘completely gone off the rockers’ by professionals, refusing to help me and ignore the actual issue.

“Is it this again? Seriously Eli, you have to stop scaring me like that!” He argues, becoming slightly annoyed. No matter how much I tell him about this mister lurking in the shadows, he just says ‘you need to get some professional help or go to a psychiatrist’ but when I tell him the stories regarding the ‘getting professional help’ that they ignore me and don’t believe demons actually have a possibility of existing. “You didn’t believe in this demon shit and always denied it, why do you suddenly act like you got possessed by a damn demon or something?” In that moment it hits me, the realization and theory of being actually possessed by a demon hits my head and if we’re an object I would possibly get a concussion.

“I’m not! It’s just that… oh, forget it. It’s gone now so it doesn’t matter.” I state, taking a deep breath to wash away all of the emotions I’ve been feeling at once in a single moment. It’s shocking how much my body can take and has taken ever since it appeared in my life, or does it? Maybe my mind likes to think and make it seem like I’m doing good but in reality I’m loosing my mind completely? When is it going to end? How do I make it end? Questions rise in my head as I start to overthink and get my anxiety to an impossible level. “Eli, what the fuck has been happening with you? You seem completely psychotic like those possessed girls in horror movies.”

“I-I don’t know what I am at this point, please just go home and stay safe. I’ve scared you enough already I don’t want to give you a heart attack” I breathe out, gesturing for him to go away as I my ears perk up with the demonic soft whispers coming back, the dark figure standing right in front of me. I immediately cover my ears as the whispers get louder and louder, suddenly I feel a pair of cold hands wrap around my neck and pure force starting to pull me upwards into the air. I become short on breath as Matt freaks out and quickly runs over to my body in the air, now being face to face with the black figure. My arms immediately attempt to remove the arms off my neck for more air but it only tightens its grip, Matt pulls at my feet but it’s not much affective. The red gloomy eyes staring into my soul and twisting my insides with the dark energy possessing my body.

The world around me becomes silent and I can’t hear whats happening around me. “Ǩo ǃàdêr ȯf Ḑoom, ʔou Ƀhall kjømbāť ʔo ʃiln Ǫne ȯf ḏhe ʔeḥples ȯf Ꮑȯvær lǟv or ʔe ťæpt ǝn ḟi ʃhyād ǷārtǤ, ȯy ʗhǯice ElizǞbeth. ȶime Ƀ is spiraling ȯut…” the sentence constantly keeps being repeated until my ears start to bleed but I don’t feel blood coming out of my ears, some kind of cold black goop starts to escape through my ears as I finally get released. Falling back onto the ground with a loud thud and coughing hysterically, the pain and bruises spreading across my body as well as deep purple marks saturate my neck. I feel this sudden urge, something driving me up to my breaking point, willing to do anything to escape this hell.

Matthew quickly runs over to me, examining my body and the bruises left as horror and concern fill his features. “A-are you okay? Are you bleeding anywhere?- oh fuck!” He stammered, noticing the mysterious black goop coming out of my ears. His eyes were so focused on my body he didn’t notice it at first, seeking as if he couldn’t handle all of this happening at once and neither was I but he was scared out of his mind when I was left with no emotions in my face. My mind backtracks to the demonic words spoken to me and somehow I feel I know what to do, I don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s like I’m some kind of puppet in a show being controlled on how I’m supposed to act, I pick myself up and walk towards the kitchen while ignoring the concerned questions falling from Matt’s mouth.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this but I can’t live like this anymore, he follows behind me and into the kitchen. My body starts to almost move on its own as if someone else had full control over it, reaching into the drawer where all of my knifes are kept and pick up the sharpest blade I own. Rising it into the air and turning to face Matthew, his anxiety immediately spikes to ungodly levels as he puts his now trembling hands. “What are you doing with that? Elizabeth, put it down!” Desperate demands leave his mouth in attempt to make me out down the possible weapon in my possession but I don’t listen, as much as I don’t want to do it, I might be my only way of escaping.

I charge at Matthew and stab him in the chest multiple times as hysteric cries leave my mouth while he screams bloody. His blood squirts all over my clothes and stain them, he falls to the ground and quickly I jump on top of him to weight him down and deliver a stab to immobile his arms, more blood covers our clothes, faces and the floor all together as I continue to cry out apologizes and explanations. “I’m sorry… I have to do this, I’m so sorry, Matt I’m sorry but I have to…” I cry out as blood and tears run my cheeks, to end the miserable pain he is experiencing I swing high into the air, gripping the handle of the bloody knife with both of my hands before apologizing for the last time and plunge the knife through his head which kills him in an instant.

My hands finally detach from the knife and immediately go up to my face, wiping off the blood and pouring tears from my face. Loud sobs fall from my mouth at what I have done, I just killed my best friend. Out of pure cold blood I killed my best friend, I-I’m a monster, a psychopath and everything fucked up. I am the demon… the demonic figure whispers another sentence in the weird language it has been using ever since trying to communicate to me but now it sounds more evil, like curses stuck to my name by the black shadow and following me around anywhere I go. “Ǫne lǻst stȅp ǵhǵn ɓe dǿne, ȵaM Ƀǿ̃e ȅt Ƀe ǵhǵe ȶǿ Ƿȯrld ȩfree, hāv ǵʍоḏ tɼȯ ḏon sǿlf ɴǿw. Ḕdǿn ḥesīṭȅte, ȅLīzǝbeth.”

The same feeling of knowledge runs down my spine, realizing what I’ll have to do next in order to be set free. My hands go back and take the knife out of Matthew’s dead body and line the sharp tip with where my heart lies, I close my eyes shut and with one swing I plunge the cold bloody knife into my heart. My body falling down next to Matthew’s already dead one, hearing the faint sirens of police in the distance as I slip into unconsciousness but by the time they make it to the kitchen, my body disappeared and only with the bloody knife left on the ground. It was evident two people have been killed in the process regarding the blood bath that was created but no matter how long or how hard they searched for my body, it was just gone. Almost as if a dark entity dragged it down with them to the deepest pits of hell…

Guestlist!

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[hairtusk]

not sure there has ever been a worse time to be a woman or girl in the uk. random stabbing attacks, crimes on trains increased by 50% in the last few years, 50 women murdered by men since the start of the year ... and absolutely no urgency whatsoever. it's terrifying.

[sycamorality]

yall im getting fucking vagueposted about because im talking abt blocking palestine/gaza tags + blogs for ur own mental health. wild

[mueritos]

hope hope hope. hope is a practice we don't just live it we choose it. choosing it every damn day. living normal as usual during a genocide isn't natural. forced to survive. but seeing so much hope in practice in the lives of the Palestians I have met, in the words and embraces of my BIPOC peers, in the encampments at universities right now, in the de-arrests and locked arms of our comrades, in the Palestinians who fight to live every day. hope hope hope. hope is an action it is a practice it is a feeling and we must choose it every day.