#bc im devious like that
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loooove how we’ve decided that kaz is just the emo kid bc he wears all black. like he wears black for the aesthetic or whatever. when inej actually states in the second chapter that he wears all black to mock the merchant council, who all wear black, by wearing black
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gays4vulo · 10 days ago
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Actually speaking of my one shot do I be a little devious bc one of you has a really tasty hook in ur backstory that would fit so nicely.....
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twinknote · 3 months ago
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bywhatilove · 2 years ago
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i think i was just fed too much stevie/nate bestie, holmes /watson, chaotic duo in the box in the woods bc i’m 3/4 of the way through nine liars and i am DEPRIVED OF NATE CONTENT IM SUFFERING !!!!!!!
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lovedsick · 1 year ago
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……. .. whom want a one liner 😦
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tinkywinkyschauffeur2 · 10 months ago
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when I finally finish DotMPC i want the reading experience to be like:
noooooo
oh that's kinda fun
NOOOOOOO
don't you dare--
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
god no
jfc what is wrong with you people
oh wow that's written really well im sure the author is so smart and cool and sexy aha
WHY ARE THEY ALL DYING
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT
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warriorfujoshi · 1 year ago
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who is this haru and what is his deal
haru is the worlds specialest unmedicated bisexual menace with a gnc swag who skips and smiles thru the horrors while having the best gay sex filled summer vacation of his life ever topping previously-straight men 🥳🥳🥳!!!!
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REAL ANSWER: haru is the protagonist of the 2013 r18 bl game “NO, THANK YOU!!!” by parade and he is one of my favouritest characters ever 🥹…!
this got long so i put the rest under the readmore 🥹🥹🥹
at the beginning of the game he sees a man named inui kouichi about to get hit by a car, jumps to push him out of the way, and gets hit instead. he loses his memories because of this. due to not knowing basic details like his name or age, kouichi decides to offer him a job at his bar, sótano, while he recovers! will haru get his memories back…!? will romance blossom between him and his coworkers…!? i wonder…!!!
he is 22 years old(?) and canonically bisexual! he loves pools, bean daifuku, corn on the cob, and boobs! the quote used on his official profile is “all right, i’ve got it! let’s have sex!” he has a childish curiosity about everything and operates under an indecipherable set of principles. (<- also from his official profile)
hes definitely not for everybody bc hes always saying shit like this ↓…
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and he likes to test peoples boundaries… and he sometimes does morally questionable things… but i think he is not only really cute but also a really relatable representation of…! well…! brain damage. mental illness. being a bisexual guy with a high ponytail who wants to fuck big hairy titted old guys… he’s just a silly imp who goes through a lot but stays optimistic despite it all…!!! i love him so much 🥹 hes literally this ↓ ok. Do you trust me
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if ur interested in playing nty PLEASEEE make sure you check out the content warnings! 🥹🥹🥹 if you want more detail on those or the recommended route order or any other info, feel free to send me another ask…!
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sadserotonin · 2 years ago
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so you’ve got your murder husbands wires crossed... aka a comprehensive method to our madness @lewistan
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nomaishuttle · 2 years ago
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me 4 hours ago: I will simply wrap up summer and then go to bed :]
the little devil who lives in my savefile: You should do the first day of fall too so that you dont forget the layout you have planned
me:This is true...
me 4 hours later covered in blood visibly shaken:
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victory-cookies · 3 months ago
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a few chapters into the great gatsby and it pains me to admit that it’s good and I’m enjoying it
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lovevalley45 · 3 months ago
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i am gonna be thinking abt that callie n glen scene a shameful amount ik but i was like. that shit would make the dark romance booktok girlies go crazy in like a “that’s so romantic” way i know it,,,
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hall0wedwyrm · 9 months ago
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GUYS IVE MADE A DISCOVERY AND IDK WHAT TO DO
Okay so this might not mean anything... but In Shadow 2005 theres an Level in the Dark Route called Digital Circuit. and Black Doom says its called Cyberspace.
I IMMEDIATELY thought of Frontiers. I literally had to confirm that it was also called Cyberspace and i wasnt going crazy. Its called Cyber Space. but cmon its literally the same name. theres just a gap.
I remember the Black Arms were mentioned in frontiers too, which is why im thinking maybe the Ancients and the BAs could have figured out that this existed?? idk thats just a wild idea though lol
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groundbreakingdot872 · 2 years ago
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the tags roasting that old man in dragon fire ! Lol
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again
21st century Merlin is an absolutely horrific driver. The worst.
#there’s never been a truer stamenent in the history of mankind#he drives with the ‘brains of a donkey and a RBF that can be compared to the face of a toad’ 😂#getting his driver’s license was a whole other dilemma oh boy!#the devious old guy came in with more than 20 different costumes each correlating to a new test on the same day#of course the instructor turned down each one - not because she could tell they were different people no! - but bc Merlin stupidly forgot#to bring his permit for each one 🤦‍♀️#the engine lights on permanently im the tires are pretty much personified because they squeal and scream for mercy on the road#and her treats the old shit box terribly (he makes up for it because how *dare* cars put horses out of a job or something 🙄)#‘I’ve never been in an accident’ yeah yeah tell that to poor Freya who’s had to resurface at least three different Camaros from the bottom#of the lake!#this is such a good hc omg#so many possibilities for absolute crankiness#so much stupid stuff on merlin’s record he’ll never fess up to#like the time he got pulled over for driving drunk and tried to pull a trick that Gwaine taught him long ago with the bar keepers but#DEFINITELY won’t fly with the 21st century police#LMAO#random passerbys recognizing Merlin’s erratic driving like yes offICER that’s the man who nearly RAN me over yesterday and Merlin trying to#pull the ‘sweet old man look 🥺’ to no avail#just more Merlin being an absolute MENANCE on the road#bbc merlin#bbc merlin headcanons#merlin emrys
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sematarygirls · 9 months ago
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Living Dead Girl Pt. II — Patrick Hockstetter.
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part one
pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader
summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.
warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal cruelty , male masturbation , graphic descriptions of murder and suicide , reader being manipulative , degradation , sexual themes ,
word count : 4.5k words !
a/n : can't believe i'm finally posting this after a year and a half. also this is my first attempt at smut-ish so i'm sorry if it's ass. im not gonna say this is 18+ bc I myself am not 18+ (im turning 18 this year tho) also im not your mom and idgaf what you read.
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"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.
"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."
"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."
"That's not possible," he said through gritted teeth. "I watched you die. I buried you!" He opened his eyes, convinced that this was all some terrible drug trip. Maybe the weed he'd just got from Henry was laced, or maybe he was suffering from a temporary psychosis. Either way, there had to be some rational and logical reason that he was seeing you.
However, when he saw you there, sitting there with a smug look on your face, your presence as solid as any living person, he felt his heart skip a beat.
You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing as you pouted. "What's wrong, Patrick?" You asked condescendingly. "Don't act so scared now." You walked toward him slowly, watching him scramble backward in a panic. A smile spread across your lips as you saw the pure fear in his eyes when he hit the wall behind him, having nowhere else to go. "You weren't scared when you stabbed me. You weren't scared when you watched me bleed out in your arms. You weren't scared when you buried my body like some animal you found on the side of the road." Your voice was seeping with anger as you stepped closer and closer, cornering him. "So you don't get to be scared now."
Patrick Hockstetter was not someone who was frightened easily. In fact, up until this very moment, he didn't think he had the ability to be frightened at all. His unique ability to remain calm and collected in situations that would often stress others out was one he was prideful of. However, at that moment, he felt all composure and level-headedness dissolve. For the first time in his life, he was scared. Not just scared—terrified.
"What- What do you want?" He asked, his voice shaky as he looked into your eyes. You no longer looked at him like he hung the moon. There were no remnants of your innocence and naivety—willing to trust that people have the best intentions. There was nothing behind your cold, lifeless eyes. It was like staring at a corpse.
"Now, what's the fun in that?" You grinned, leaning forward so your face was inches away from his. Your gaze flickered to his lips. The same lips you thought he'd planned to kiss you with, but instead, he'd stabbed you in the stomach and mocked your intelligence. "You should really watch your back, Patrick," you whispered with a devious smirk, your breath fanning over his face. "I heard the search for me is really picking up after they found my blood in the woods."
Your words snapped him back to the reality of the situation at hand. He had killed you. What you were saying was impossible though. Right? He was meticulous in every stage of his plan. There was no way they found any trace of you. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his eyes searching you for any sign of deception, but you were impossible to read like this. He was no longer able to detect everything from a single glance. He only knew what you wanted him to know.
Without another word, you disappeared, leaving the boy spiraling as he went through all the events of that night over and over again. "Come back!" He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty house. "You can't just leave like that you bitch!"
Patrick let out a frustrated yell as he grabbed the nearest thing—which happened to be a porno mag—and threw it across the room in a fit of rage. Who did you think you were to haunt him? To come into his room, make him feel that horrible emotion, and tease him just to leave abruptly?
He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to control his heavy breathing as his anger took over. You had to have been lying, trying to get into his head. He hated to admit that it was working. He was supposed to be the one in your head. This was his world. He controlled everyone and everything. You shouldn't be here. You should be dead and buried like he had intended.
He fell back in his bed and took a deep breath, letting his mind settle as he chased sleep. He told himself you would be gone tomorrow and that would be that. Your appearance to him, like something out of a Charles Dickens novel, was just a fluke. Tomorrow you would be dead and all would be right with the world.
He drifted off to sleep, having convinced himself that he would never see you again. He was able to get a few hours of sleep, but you weren't going to let him be at peace for long
At around 4 am, Patrick had a very vivid dream that he was choking. He was gasping for air, clawing at his neck as he looked around frantically. His surroundings dissolved into a pitch-black room. He felt his lungs burning, his brain growing fuzzy as the oxygen left him. It felt so vivid, so real.
He awoke in a panic, sitting up straight as he gasped for air. His lungs felt like they were on fire. Like he had truly been deprived of air like he'd dreamed about. He panted, catching his breath as he looked around at his room, thankfully finding no signs of you. However, when he finally felt secure, able to draw a breath without feeling like a thirsty man drinking water, he realized the pillow that had been behind his head was now sat on his lap.
The realization dawned on him that he may have been actually suffocating, and you were the culprit. He shook his head, trying to expel the thought as he laid back down, throwing the pillow off into the black depths of his room, so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. It was just a dream. Just as you were just a vision.
Patrick wasn't stupid, though many would argue to the contrary. Just because he didn't give a shit about school and didn't try didn't mean he wasn't smart. He just saved his intelligence for things that actually mattered—like planning and executing a murder.
That in mind, his refusal to accept the things he deep down knew to be true was not, as some would think, him being stupid. On the contrary, he believed himself smarter than to believe in silly things like ghosts. Dead things stay dead. He'd learned that at a very young age. He knew when he killed his brother that he would not be coming back. Just as he knew when he killed you that you would not be coming back.
Ghosts don't exist. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that.
As he laid in bed, trying to rationalize himself into a calm enough state to fall asleep again, he found himself more on edge with every creak of the old house around him. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes conspiring with the moonlight to play tricks on him. His breath hitched at every shadow dancing around the dark.
You were proud of your work, and you had barely done anything yet. You watched from the shadows, pleased as he seemed to run himself in circles trying to cope with everything going on. The mere thought of you was torture enough.
You grinned, biting your lip as a thought washed over you. As a ghost, not bound by the physical realm, you had the ability to do a lot of things. One of those so happened to be raising and lowering the temperature in a room.
You focused hard, raising the temperature several degrees, making Patrick swear at the sudden sweat washing over him. You watched with a satisfied smirk as he pulled his shirt over his head, trying to cool himself off.
He didn't have a six pack or anything, but you didn't expect him to. He had a lean, toned torso with a very sexy v-line peeking out from his jeans. A small tattoo sat on his stomach just above his v-line on the right side. You couldn't make it out in the darkness, but you didn't care much. The sight of it alone was enough.
After all, who said you couldn't mix a little bit of business with pleasure.
He had taken away the rest of your life, all the possibilities of experiencing having your first kiss, losing your virginity, falling in love. It was only fair he made up for that in one way or another before your time together came to an end.
The time passed agonizingly slowly with Patrick staring at the ceiling and you watching him, studying him like he was some foreign thing. It was so interesting to watch someone when they don't know they're being watched. Of course, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his body detecting the unseen eyes on him, but he chalked it up to paranoia—as he did every other unexplainable thing that seemed to be happening to him.
His mind drifted off, the heat making him restless as his brain filled with gruesome images of his previous kills. He sifted through his memory for the most interesting ones—dismembering birds, beheading cats, snapping a squirrel or two's neck—but none of them seemed to get him off anymore.
The image of your face right after he stabbed you made it's way into his mind. Your eyes, so wide and filled with fear. He could practically hear your sweet voice crying out, asking why he would do this to you. The thought made his cock tighten in his jeans.
He reached down, palming himself through his jeans with a groan. Reliving the sounds of you choking and coughing up your own blood had his fingers working quickly to undo his belt. He tossed it to the side, practically ripping the button off his jeans as he pulled them down along with his underwear, allowing his dick to finally be free from the restrictive fabric.
He spat in his hand, gripping his cock and lubricating it. He caught his chapped lower lip between his teeth as swept his thumb over his pink head, smearing his precum across it. He let out a low moan, letting his hand travel up and down his dick at a slow, agonizing pace. He kept his eyes screwed shut, immersing himself in the memory of your murder as he stroked himself.
Patrick was not a moral man by any means but this was a new low. Getting himself off to you, in his mind, was no better than if he was imagining one of his dead animal playthings. You were nothing to him. You were roadkill.
But, for some reason, the fresh sight of you, wearing the clothes he killed you in with that dark blood stain right where he'd stabbed you, your hair all matted, and the cold, lifeless look in your eyes, made it so easy to relive that night in great detail.
It was the greatest night of his life. The biggest release of pressure he'd ever felt since he began getting those homicidal urges—those itches. He didn't think he'd ever get to feel that euphoria again, but fucking himself to the thought of it would get him pretty damn close.
He let out a strangled moan, his hips pushing into his hand as he came, and he was right, it was the second-best feeling he'd ever felt. It didn't compare to killing you, but it was enough to satiate his urges once again.
He laid there, panting for what felt like hours. The time moved by so slowly until finally, the sound of the alarm block beside his bed blaring pulled him from his thoughts.
The red numbers reading 7:30 blinked slowly, reminding him that he had to get up and get ready for school. He leaned over, smacking the top of the clock roughly to silence it before falling back flat on his bed, preparing himself to get up.
He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing a random pair of jeans and a shirt that smelled clean enough. He quickly got dressed before making his way back downstairs. He knew Belch would be here any second to pick him up—he always woke up later than he was realistically supposed to.
He slipped his boots on, and a few moments later, he heard Belch laying on his car horn. Rolling his eyes, he opened the door, heading outside and letting it slam just behind him.
"Calm your tits," he shouted in annoyance. Patrick always had a short fuse, but after the particularly restless night in which he'd been visited by some fucking ghost of Christmas Past, he found himself particularly irritable.
"Dude what happened yesterday?" Victor asked as Patrick climbed into the blue Trans Am.
"You were totally tripping the fuck out," Belch chimed in, starting the car and peeling out of Patrick's neighborhood.
"Dumb fuck can't handle his liquor," Henry scoffed from his spot in the passenger's seat.
"Shut the fuck up, Bowers," Patrick bit back, gazing out the window. "At least some of us don't piss our pants when we drink."
"It was one fucking time you dickhead!" Henry defended quickly, his cheeks turning red from the embarrassment.
At the feeling of someone's hand on his thigh, Patrick quickly looked over at Vic. "Don't fucking touch me you-" he paused just short of spitting some derogatory remark about Victor being gay and a freak when he saw you sitting between him and Victor, grinning at him darkly.
"What the fuck are you talking about, dude?" Victor asked, bewildered by Patrick's behavior. Patrick was always an odd one, but he never acted this weird.
"He probably smoked himself fucking dumb," Henry grumbled, still annoyed about the pants pissing remark.
You held a finger to your lips as climbed over onto his lap, holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You just wanted to rile him up a little, make him feel suffocated by you, like he could never escape. And truly, he couldn't. You were never going anywhere until you believed justice had properly been served, and you would take that in any form.
He glared at you, but you paid him no mind, leaning to whisper into his ear: "How cute," you condescended him. "You thought I would just go away." You dug your nails into his shoulders making him sharply inhale, trying not to tip off his friends to the seemingly unwarranted pain he was feeling. "You will never be rid of me," you whispered menacingly, looking deep into his eyes with a sickening grin that made nausea pool in his stomach.
In any other situation, having someone on his lap, digging their nails into his shoulders would probably have been a pleasurable experience, but this was not any other situation. This was a nightmare he couldn't seem to wake up from.
When Belch finally pulled into the school parking lot, Patrick couldn't get out of the car fast enough. You disappeared as he scrambled to unlock the door and get out, finally feeling like he could breathe. He pulled his shirt collar to the side, looking down at the angry red marks where your nails had been. They served as a disturbing reminder that you were really there, and you could do anything to him.
"You get laid last night, Hockstetter?" Belch asked, grinning as he saw the red marks.
"That why you ran off yesterday?" Henry snickered. "You pussy whipped?"
"At least, I actually get pussy," he sneered, paling as he heard your laugh echoing around him the moment the words slipped from his lips. It was a deafening sound. Like a mix between a cackle and a scream that seemed to permeate his surroundings.
His jaw clenched, eye twitching as he resisted the urge to cover his ears. Apart from not wanting to look insane, he also didn't think it would help much. You weren't around him. You were in him, in his head.
The bell could faintly be heard going off inside the school, making Victor curse under his breath. They had two minutes to get to class or they were late.
"Mrs. Denton's gonna throw a bitch fit if I'm late again," he groaned, watching as Henry lit a cigarette.
"Kiss ass," he remarked, taking a long drag before exhaling the puff of smoke into Belch's face as Victor walked away.
"You asshole," Belch coughed, shoving Henry.
"Oh, shit." Henry's eyes widened as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, quickly stomping it out. "Let's go," he ordered, making his way up the stairs to the front doors of the school, looking behind him frantically.
Patrick's eyebrows furrowed at the sudden shift in Henry's demeanor. He followed the brunette's gaze, his eyes locking with those of Butch Bowers, the sheriff.
"Wonder if they're here for you," your voice taunted him, breath tickling the back of his right ear. He turned, preparing to come face to face with that condescending smile you always seemed to be wearing, but you weren't there.
He looked back, finding Sheriff Bowers still staring at him, seemingly ignoring whatever the deputy was leaning into his ear to say. Patrick wasn't one to back down easily, but your presence, your warnings, had him on edge. He quickly advanced forward, his lengthy legs providing long strides as he followed suit in heading inside Derry Highschool.
The sounds of his heavy boots hitting the linoleum floor echoed through the empty hall as he made his way to his math class. Victor was right; Mrs. Densen was going to throw a bitch fit that he was late, but he didn't care. He wouldn't have cared on a normal day, but on this day, with the police sniffing around and you practically breathing down his neck, he cared even less—which he didn't even know was possible.
He pulled open the door to the classroom, a hush falling over the students as he entered. Most stared at him wide-eyed, some avoided looking at him altogether, and he briefly caught Vic looking at him with sympathy. The teacher, however, was glaring at him, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Mr. Hockstetter, late again I see," she said pointedly. "You've earned yourself a detention after school today." Patrick stifled a laugh as he made his way to his seat at the very back of the classroom. "Is something funny?" She asked, her tone displaying clear annoyance.
"Yeah, that you think I care," he rolled his eyes, slipping into his desk. He tuned out whatever lecture the teacher decided to give him after that. His gaze drifted to the empty desk in the front row— the one you used to sit at.
"Don't go feeling remorseful now," you said into his ear. He felt your arm around his shoulders as you leaned down, your face positioned next to his. He turned to look at you, and you turned to look at him, your faces almost touching.
your breath fanned across his face, the moment oddly intimate until you grinned at him, opening your mouth and emitting an ear piercing scream.
"Ah," he grunted in pain, his eyes screwing shut, and his hands gripping his ears. It felt like his eardrums were seconds away from bursting and causing blood to pour out of his ears. "Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, the room, and you, falling dead silent immediately after the words left him.
He peeled his eyes open, his hands falling as he looked around. "Excuse me, Mr. Hockstetter," the teacher gasped, clearly taken aback by his outburst. "Take yourself to the principal's office right this instant!" She ordered him.
His blood began to boil as he stood up abruptly, storming out of the classroom and slamming the door behind him. He was getting very very sick and tired of your little games. He headed toward the back door of the school, not wanting to cross paths with Henry's dad.
"This doesn't look like the way to the principal's office," you mused, appearing beside him. He stopped, turning to shove you against the locker. He groaned when his arms made contact with the locker instead of your body, and your laugh echoed behind him. "You think you can hurt me, how cute."
He let out a frustrated groan, smashing his fists against the locker. He couldn't stand you. He couldn't stand having someone that he couldn't manipulate or hurt but that could manipulate and hurt him. "What do you want with me?" He asked, refusing to look at you.
"To break you," you grinned. "To have you begging for it to stop."
Yeah, right he thought.
He was Patrick fucking Hockstetter; he didn't beg. He didn't bend to the will of others, especially not some dead bitch. He was determined not to let you win. You would eventually get tired of tormenting him and go back to wherever the fuck you came from. He was sure of it.
Oh, how he underestimated your patience and overestimated his resilience.
He lasted exactly a week. A week of you screaming and poking and scratching and fucking with his head. A week of people staring at him like he was insane with his random outbursts and talking to the air. A week of torment before you finally had him right where you wanted him.
"Just leave me alone!" He begged, standing in the middle of his room with his head in his hands. You had finally drove him to the brink of insanity, and he didn't know how much longer he could live like this. You, being everywhere all the time, taunting and touching and teasing, it was too much for him. He couldn't take it anymore. "Go away!"
You tsked, grinning at him, that condescending grin that filled him with indescribable rage. How could you look at him like that? Like he was stupid? You were the stupid one. You were killed by him not the other way around!
"I'm afraid that's not how this works," you told him, shaking your head slightly. "I get to stay until you give me what I want." You took a step, punctuating the next words you said with a pause between each one and another step forward. "However. Long. It. Takes."
"What the fuck do you want from me?" He yelled, desperate to get you away from him forever.
"Well," you drawled, running your index finger along his chest, making him flinch. You smiled at the effect you had on him. He talked a big game, getting mad when you left—cursing, throwing things, even—having the audacity to fuck himself to the thought of your murder— but when it came to being face to face with you, he cowered away.
Ain't nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble as Henry Bowers' father once said.
"I'll be nice and give you a choice," you said darkly. "You can turn yourself in," you almost laughed at the way his demeanor hardened. "Which we both know you're too proud and stubborn to do," you continued. The intrigue behind Patrick's eyes was undeniable as he eagerly awaited his second choice. "Or," you trailed off, grabbing a razor from his dresser and holding it in front of his face. "You can die."
"You're a crazy bitch!" He shouted, though his inability to mask the tremble in his voice made him sound less than threatening.
"Maybe," you shrugged, admiring the sharp piece of metal. "Hmm," you hummed. "I wonder how you'll feel about me in another week," you asked thoughtfully. "I bet you'll be wishing you took the chance while you had it."
His jaw clenched at your words. He'd already lost a considerable amount of sleep because of you, and the thought of you tormenting him any longer was a fate worse than death. "Why don't you just kill me?" He asked defeatedly. You'd backed him into a corner that he was positive he couldn't get out of without doing things your way.
"I'm not you, Patrick," you spat hatefully. "I don't kill people or things."
"What? Like driving me to suicide is any better?" He scoffed, challenging your sense of superiority over him.
"You have an informed choice," you told him, trying to regain your calm. You didn't like losing your temper, especially not to the likes of Patrick Hockstetter, scum of the earth. "That's a luxury you didn't extend to me."
He eyed the blade in your hand warily. He didn't like accepting defeat. He would never admit to killing you. Being confined to a tiny room, unable to satiate that burning itch deep inside him whenever he needed; it would drive him mad.
"Go on," you urged him softly, holding the razor out for him to take. "Put yourself out of your misery. End it all and be free."
He looked between you and the blade hesitantly, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tried to make a decision. Glaring at you, he took the blade. A scowl formed on his face as he observed the triumphant expression that you seemed to wear immediately after he made his choice.
"Two deep cuts, and you'll never have to see me again," you assured him. That all but sealed the deal. Patrick didn't believe in heaven or hell and death didn't scare him. Being caged like one of the many animals he's so cruelly killed scared him more than dying. He walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge.
He sucked in a breath, pressing the blade into his wrist and dragging it upward toward his inner elbow. He clenched his teeth, deeply inhaling through them. A groan of pain fell from his lips as he felt the warm blood begin seeping from his wound, running down his arms and onto his jeans. He continued the action on the other arm, feeling nauseous and lightheaded.
The blade fell from his trembling fingers, clattering to the floor as he fell back onto the bed. His head felt foggy, and the pain began to melt away into numbness. His eyes began to droop, and he faintly saw your outline standing above him.
He just barely felt you lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His ears began to ring as his eyes fell shut. The words you spoke next were the last he would hear before his heart slowed to an eventual stop. He almost couldn't make them out, the sound muffled, as if he was underwater, but his mind used its last bit of energy to process them before giving out.
"Goodbye, Patrick Hockstetter," you said softly. "May you burn in hell."
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tags! : @fatfagsj , @mysticalhills , @simpingforthe80s , @slasherho , @pinkpanther-44 , @slaggylemon , @kyranisnotdead , @ladydragiiss ,
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hotvintagepoll · 2 months ago
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Peter Lorre (The Maltese Falcon, Arsenic and Old Lace, Casablanca)—to me he DEFINES scrungle hes the first person i think of every time the term comes up! i want to fold him up like a paper accordion and put him in my pocket. guy that spawned a million voice artists and impersonators. they made a ghost version of him for halloween cereal staple boo berry. bewitched by his nervous mania and tooth gap <3 (for the purposes of propaganda im linking a photo from his extremely short appearance in muscle beach party bc ive been obsessed w it for years and i couldnt find any video for it :/ anyway imagine youre frankie avalon spending the whole movie battling a bodybuilder faction thats taking over your beach and your girl and then you find out this fucking guy is their mastermind mystery leader and hes stronger than all the bodybuilders combined. like Huh. What.)
Tony Randall (Lover Come Back, Pillow Talk)—he's SO TIRED he's three-wheeling ALL THE TIME on rock and doris's shenanigans and he is always SMALL. PATHETIC. INHERENTLY FILLED WITH ENNUI. i feel like all these 60s comedies are very Straight Laced and Heterosexual and yet somehow tony randall is always there having the worst day ever.
This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.
[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]
Peter Lorre
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he's pretty much the archetype of the scrungly little guy. the blueprint. the example by which all other scrungly little guys are judged
The perfect sniveling character actor, “scrungly” is the first word that comes to mind when I think of him.
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The entire point of his iconic role in Casablanca (apart from introducing the central plot mcguffin) was to be LITTLE and SCRUNGLY to make Bogie look even cooler. And Maggot in Corpse Bride - the littlest scrungliest guy in that film - was a parody of him.
I think Arsenic and Old Lace is his quintessential "scrungly" performance. He's so put-upon and tired...all he wants is sleep and some schnapps! I love the way his shoulders fall slowly when he thinks he's caught (he looks like a sad puppy!), only to gleefully sprint out the door when he realizes how dumb those police officers are.
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Between his big eyes, wheezy laugh, short stature, and expressive faces, Peter Lorre achieved icon status as the scrungliest, littlest guy in Hollywood. His scrungly little guy energy was often contrasted with the more typical masculinity of the leading man, but whether this contrast was meant to make him seem especially sinister, comedic, or pathetic, it always left an unforgettable impression!
I'm sure somebody else has already submitted him (if not then ???) but he's a cute kind of scrungly little guy. He's got a distinctive nasal voice with an accent that is instantly recognizable and often imitated. His later horror movies are so much fun, especially when he's playing off of Vincent Price. He's so good at being unhinged, creepy, or manic, but also pathetic and sympathetic.
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Classic scrungly hollywood golden age little guy who was friends with Humphrey Bogart and still played some of the wettest most sniveling characters ever committed to celluloid (complimentary) there is a deep despair and darkness in many of his characters that enhances his scrungly
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To be clear, I am one of those people who will argue that Lorre is one of the most underrated film actors, but the POINT is that he's also just a scrungly delight. A delightfully pocket-sized man. Somehow endearing even when he is being actively amoral (see esp. Casablanca. "I found myself much more reasonable!") The faces he makes while doing the Russian cossack dance with a butter knife between his teeth in Silk Stockings make me laugh just thinking about them.
Wikipedia described his typical characters as "timidly devious", lots of weird little villains and evil sidekicks that are pretty horrifying but still manage to be sort of pathetic and the very definition of "poor little meow meow". His look and voice and mannerisms are so iconic they're still imitated
Cartoons for the next century have and will continue to include Peter Lorre-esque characters when needed to up the scrunge factor (see Bugs Bunny and so many more).
[editor's note on below link: I'm not actually sure how many of these characters are directly influenced by Peter Lorre, so take with a grain of salt. tw for suicide.]
The poster boy for Scrungly. Everyone who wants to draw a scrungly guy draws Peter Lorre. Gomez Addams of The Addams Family was based on him
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Tony Randall
"you had everything going for you! poverty!! squalor!!!!" "girls again!!! what's this obSESSion you have with giRLS???"
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g-xix · 9 months ago
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🔞Eating Out Headcanons | Beta Squad
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Niko -This man's stubble would graze your thighs and have your flesh BURNING with each step and rub of your thighs the next day -Long ass fingers always working where his mouth isn't, ensuring that he hits every spot imaginable -I think he's a bit of a tease asw- gets you to the edge before pulling away with a sick grin right before you get a release -Bro's nose is so attractive in a weird way, and I feel like it'd nudge against your clit whilst his tongue works which would have knots forming in your stomach and make your head SPIN
George -Ohmyfucking GOD he's so fine and im SICK of ppl not noticing this -My tall lanky, rings n glasses wearing bf frfr -Has you sat on his face OFC -Loves all that pressure and the feeling of your thighs squeezing the fucking life out of his head as though you're tryna crush it -Just like Niko, his beard leaves your inner thighs feeling RAAWWW the next day the way he's so enthusiastic w eating you out -Sloppy with it too, mixes his spit n ur arousal all the same, making such sinfully pornographic noises that'll have your goofy lil head SPINNING at the mere thought of it -And when you've come undone all over his tongue and his arms are the only thing keeping your body upright? -He looks up at you with blown out pupils and a devious grin, glistening lips from your arousal looking so ungodlily corrupted you consider pushing his head back between your thighs again
Chunkz -It's so weird but I just CANNAE imagine Chunkz acc giving head 😭 -100% more receiver than giver vibes -And he's handsy with it, yk? Hand on the back of your head, running through your hair and getting through all those knots before wrapping his hand around the base of your skull and guiding your movements on his cock
AJ Shabeel -AJE AJE AJE! My no1 bf is an absolute DEMON when it comes to head  -It's like he's genuinely racing to have you cum - lapping up and sucking on your clit with no mercy, literally sending you barrelling towards orgasm -And my word he doesn't even stop after that. -Will litr lick your cum back off your thighs and pussy and have you an overstimulated, shaking MESS as he does it -And then has the NERVE to ask to go for another round?  -Such a little cretin, loves looking up with that smirk and seeing how much of an uncontrollably moaning wreck you are when he's using his mouth
King Kenny -I feel like bro would try a MAD position with it... Like, have your back resting against the bed frame of smth - but he's holding you up by your thighs so that you're literally suspended in air? -Leaves hickeys on your thighs bc he just loves the look of them against your skin n knowing that only he can see them... -I just KNOW he's got a long tongue too, like, he's hitting spots that have you legs shaking so that you're literally convulsing in his arms, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you barrel towards that orgasm -And I just know he'd be an aftercare king, esp after putting you through a HARD orgasm
Sharkyyyy -Oh my God of course he'd have Frank Ocean playing in the background and blue or purple or red coloured lights whilst he's giving head -Has you lying back in bed and is soooo intimate-romantic with it... -Like, he's pressing kisses onto your thighs and gently caressing n massaging your quads n muscles... -Sounds sooo dumb cocky when he's giving head too, bc he'll go from sucking your clit and licking you up to asking "That good, yeah?" and "You gonna be loud for me?" - those dumb littel questions that have you whining and being somehow even louder when he's got his head between your thighs
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