#cw splitting

[theswiftheartsystem]

[stagesofkiller]

Was reminded of that ask on my primary blog that asked me if i thought killer could develop another Stage and then recent posts I made on this blog—like this and this—made me think of a horrible way he could

[thr4shit]

A ??? In The Life Of These Motherfuckers™️

/silly but this is basically what happens and GHFHRHTG >:/

Us: *watching/listening to/otherwise enjoying a form of media*

Us: Wow! This is really cool!

Brain: *evil giggling,* Say no more...

*The already torn apart and shattered pile of hazardous material and broken glass that is our brain enters factory mode.*

. . .

. . .

*Silence*

Us: Did that... do anything...?

New bastard from the beloved media: WHY AM I HERE?!

Everyone else: GOD FUCKING DAMNIT NOT AGAIN-

Or the alternative

Life: *stress of any form that seems to moderately to severely impact us*

Brain: Guys don't hate me-

Us: You did it again, didn't you...

Brain: I did it again- 🥲

Varying amounts of new guys from various medias with no predictability: Uh-

Everyone else: ...Yay. -_-

[thekids-onholiday]

hii!! id just like you to know that trump + elon bribed millions of people into voting him, so they're looking into it right now to see if it was illegal, and if so? we might have a fighting chance!! please stay strong <3

Hell, we knew about the fraud and bribery and shit.

People were fuckin burning polling boxes or whatever the fuck they're called and threatening people into not voting or voting for Trump.

They did a bunch of shit to try to ensure their fuck's victory.

Yeah, we're gonna be strong, but we're still fuckin stressed out.

It's a lot.

But we've been dealing.

If involuntarily splitting new headmates to cope can be called dealing of course... and they're all fuckin pissed.

But yeah, you stay strong too.

Here's to the hope of recount, revote, and new result.

She won't fix everything, but it's better than having a rapist, felon, fraud man-child who wants to be a god.

[habitual-creatures]

OOC

My brain is kinda mushy rn, but this blog is keeping me grounded and I’m so thankful that I met all of yall :)

Glad it's keeping someone grounded.

I'm barely lucid right now.

But yeah, I'm glad i met you too. Life would've been waayyy different without yall, really.

[th3webhorr0r-coll3ctive]

Why the hell am I here.

Like.. seriously.

How did I even get here?

Is this because we rewatched some of the Entries?

It better not be.

– Alex, who has just been randomly dragged out of the depths of hell*

*(aka our subconscious. I'm jokingly calling it hell... - Alex)

[ Context: he split back in our first watch of Marble Hornets but apparently saw no reason to actively contribute so he sort of just... didn't until now when all of a sudden viewing the Entries made him pop back in front. *and no, I'm not happy about it. I liked my sorta half non-existence thing that I had going on in our subconscious. now I have to do stuff because I'm stuck :/ - Alex* ]

[the-cult-collective]

Hello!!

As our system’s protector against dysphoria and imposter syndrome, i have a lot to say about accepting others and accepting differences, but there are a couple things I’d like to normalize! (And here’s why)

Normalize not knowing who you are in the morning. (Our system has a really difficult time with that, and we often dont know who’s fronting until someone is triggered)

Normalize persecutors getting better, healing, and making amends. (Our persecutor recovered after we collectively started healing and trusting others more, which was even before our syscovery!)

Normalize splitting often. (And do NOT fake claim systems for having high alter counts because of lots of splitting right after their syscovery. We were particularly sensitive to splits because of imposter syndrome and dysphoria; that’s why I’m here!)

Normalize having low to no amnesia barriers, even in traumagenic systems. (Chara was really scared about being fakeclaimed for that, but in truth, having low amnesia barriers is real and valid, just as much as any other system experience)

—and many more! Feel free to keep expanding this list!

~☀️

[ganymedian]

Napoleonic ineffables…………

[pricetagged]

Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Masterlist l Previous l Next

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you. 

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/

[ribbittrobbit]

Hacaea, the Witch of the Woodland Green and Grimore, the Witch of the Wild Hunt

(@worldsbeyondpod has me pacing and fearing for the pcs lives)

[marypsue]

Man, it's cool and all if you see a metaphor for marginalisation in the monstrous, and if you want the power fantasy of 'what if you could just eat anybody who threatened you/pissed you off'. Me too.

However, as soon as you start saying 'no, these monsters are a 1:1 on Specific Marginalised Group, and you have to treat them in the fiction like they are directly representative of real human members of the marginalised group', BUT you also, in the fiction, make them hurt/kill/eat humans? And then try to shame me, your audience, for noticing or engaging with the bit where they kill people, because you made them directly representative of a real-world marginalised group? You have lost me, and also, I think, the plot.

[thr4shit]

How today's been feeling lmao-

Lower text version:

It's like no??? stop???

We don't need more people??? We don't what- stop. LET US FOCUS PLEASE I DON'T WANT TO LET MY GUARD DOWN???

Edited from this one

[crush-echoes]

I’ll always be more scared of you leaving me then caring for myself

Whatever you want I’ll give

 My heart, my soul, every fucking thing

[joshiepopop]

More Regretevator! Expect to see a lot of it for the time being; can't stop thinking about this game.

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

so five and lila being a thing is going right next to allison literally sexually assaulting luther in the box of things we are absolutely under no circumstances accepting as part of canon right

[spicyraeman]

Durge Time