#i know its just the mental illness but FUCK. it has me on edge

[eggthew]

jesus I can't shake the feeling that I've done Wrong, that I've done something unforgiven or that I'm somewhere I'm not meant to be and it's only a matter of time before everyone starts realising and kicking me out

[2024skin]

It's fucked up that the sober population straight up ignores how a huge portion of addicts have chronic illnesses

[tittysuckersworld]

vent tw, if you have depression please please just dont interact-

[phagodyke]

venting sorry... don't want to just delete it bc it helps to get it out just ignore this post pls 👍

haven't slept much at all and feeling so sick andstressed and in pain bc my period is due and so tired its making me dizzy but i cant sleep more or ill just feel more sick and I want a hug and to cry so hard into someones shoulder but no one cares or will even come near me it makes me feel diseased they think things about me that aren't true bc I struggle so much to communicate and thry all make assumptions insteqd and no one wants to give me space to talk to them about it so I cant undo that now and its all my fault and I'm so. exhausted :-(

[in-som-niyah]

soft!oblivious!Jason Todd x fem!reader on her period

a/n: hey besties guess whos on the bathroom floor again haha its me!!!!! endo is trying to murder me but guess what jason's here to make it all better!!! this is entirely self-indulgent btw i wrote this to make myself feel better and to take my mind off the urge to rip my uterus out with my bare hands🫶🏾🎀🌸💝✨💖💗💕

Warnings: reader vomits, reader has a period, reader is in fucking pain, jason todd speaks spanish, reader is weakned, jason todd is a beautiful husband fuck you i said what i said

Note: reader and jason have a system where jason asks the reader what her pain is on a scale from 1-10 (10 being highest)

Jason's key turns in the lock of your shared apartment in Gotham.

To his surprise, the place is dark and lifeless. Upon checking his watch, which read 6:45pm, he noticed the peculiarity of the scene before him.

Usually, you would have started dinner by now, had some sexy 90's R&B playing (which you unashamedly sung along to) and would have greeted him babbling excitedly about what your colleagues thought about your new hairstyle.

But nope, there was nothing.

Though Jason was concerned, he tried to pass it off as a weird occurrence, until he heard a faint retch coming from the other side of the apartment.

Immediately, he parked whatever he was doing and came rushing (sprinting) to you, desperately needing to make sure you're okay.

When he found you in the bathroom hovering over the toilet, the sight clawed a hole in his chest.

You were gripping the edges of the toilet with shaky hands, trying to steady your unstable and shaking body. Your braids were tied back too tight, definitely causing you an uncomfortable and unnecessary headache.

Carefully, Jason stepped in the bathroom and lowered himself to you. He loosened your hair and re-tied it in a more comfortable way and kissed the top of your head.

In your dazed state, you barely recognized his lithe fingers in your hair, too exhausted physically and mentally to focus on anything other than the searing pain in your abdomen.

Finally empty, you reach to flush the toilet when a much bigger, scarred hand takes yours and kisses the back of it before flushing for you.

At this, you look up at him with bleary, tearful and irritated eyes, clearly indicative that you've been feeling like this for a while.

Jason's heart cracks.

Before either of you could speak, Jason pressed his forehead to yours and instructed you to steady your breathing. His hands expertly maneuver you to sit on your bum in front of him; this was not his first rodeo.

Jason was familiar with your illness, and what that meant for you sometimes. With practise, he was attuned to your needs and catered to them willingly. But still, his heart broke a little more every time he saw your body fold in on itself in pain.

When your breathing calmed he kissed your forehead just before another cramp seized your body, and your face crumpled in pain.

"Shit- You're okay sweetheart c'mere. Remember to breathe okay? In. Out."

You nodded lightly as you pushed yourself to move into his lap, the action only making your muscles strain but you were so desperate to feel his warmth you did it anyway.

As you continued to breathe Jason wrapped his strong arms around you and held you to his body, his hands came up to gently rub your lower back where he knew you were hurting.

"What's your number this time, amorcita." Jason asked in a tender voice, as to not upset your headache.

Through sniffles and shakes, you reluctantly surface your buried head from his chest to answer him.

"It was an 8 all day today..." you started, still in pain but able to speak.

"I took the painkillers too late, and they didn't work in time. I'm sorr-"

You're interrupted by Jason pulling you back into him. He would sooner take your pain than hear you apologize for a painful experience you couldn't control.

"Shhhh no sorries, princessa. You know that." He spoke into your hair.

Soon, the wave of pain settled, and you were granted a limited amount of small relief.

"I-I think I should move to the bed now. I don't know how much I have until the next one" you mumbled into his chest.

Through a positive rumble in his chest he agreed, and began to carefully untangle himself from you.

"Can you stand?" Jason asks, his eyes conveying sincerity.

You looked to the floor shook your head in shame. You couldn't believe you had to rely on Jason to help you so much.

"I'm gonna pick you up okay baby?" He says, but his eyes ask for your permission.

Upon granting it, he slips his arms under your body and lifts like you weigh nothing. He carefully walks to the bed, taking extra care in making sure he doesn't hit your head or legs on walls or doorways.

Once at your bedside, he places you down gently and presses a set of kisses to your nose, cheek and forehead. It is then when he notices how frigid your skin is, which worries him. But first, he needs more information.

"How long ago did you take the painkillers, mi vida?" He begins as he crouches to reach your eye level.

With an exasperated sigh, you close your eyes and shrug. Truly you had no idea how long it has been since you've been in such pain, much less since you've taken your last round of painkillers.

Jason returns your sigh, but with one of sadness as he reaches out his hand to absentmindedly rub your sore hips. Remembering your small remedies that help the pain, he stands and begins out the room.

Suddenly your hand grasp his ring and pinky, and he turns to face you again.

You look up at him with tears on your cheeks, silently begging him to stay.

At this, he leans down and captures your lips softly, silently letting you know that he would never do anything you wouldn't want him to.

With your hand still grasping his, he brings your hand to his lips to kiss, before breaking the silence.

"'Tell you what, amorcita. I'm gonna go get you your heating pad and boil some raspberry leaf tea, then i'll climb into bed with you and i'll rub your back as you fall asleep. But you gotta let go of me so I can do it, bien?"

Reluctantly, you took his offer and released his hand before he left a soothing kiss to your hairline and took off.

While he was gone, your were desperately breathing through another wave, trying not to scream or cry out. The pain continued to ebb and flow, but it was pain nonetheless.

When Jason returned with the tea, hot water bottle and a little square of dark chocolate he found you almost asleep, knees up to your chest while clutching your abdomen. He knew you well enough to know that your back is not enjoying the position at all.

He placed the tea and chocolate on your nightstand and carefully took his spot behind you. You slightly woke up at his shifting, but upon Jason's placement of the hot water bottle to your aching abdomen, you relaxed.

Jason breathed a silent breath of gratitude that you're able to rest easier than you were before now that you're comfortable. He moved himself closer to your body, firmly but delicately wrapping his arms around you and stretching out your aching back.

You appreciated this, the pressure releasing on your back and the soothing warmth of your hot water bottle contributing to easing your pains.

Jason retracted one of his arms from your waist in favour of rubbing your sore lower back. A sleepy hum of appreciation followed his ministrations just before you spoke.

"Jason?" you mumbled into your pillow

"Querida?" he replied, semi alert

"Thank you" you finish as you let yourself drift into a light and more comfortable sleep.

A peck to the back of your head is his response.

Jason knows he can't take away your pain. But when it cuts you deep, he'll be your remedy.

Always.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n pt2: bro im so sorry if this makes no sense im in pain leave me alone im tired its sleepytime

[luckieduckiie]

Daddy & Duke | d. dennis & chrisnxtdoor

in which Chris asks Duke to watch yall & he does…

Duke wasn’t a conservative guy by any means, everyone knew that, but nothing could have prepared him for the request which Chris had just asked of him.

“Man what?” Duke asked again, unsure if he had heard what his friend really said.

“Bro, I’m for real man. She said it was something she has always wanted and you’re the only guy I know mature enough not to go run they mouth about it or make shit weird,” Chris stated matter of factly.

Duke scratched his head through his beaning, “So you are asking me to sit and watch you and your girl fuck?”

“Yeah nigga, she says the thought of that shit turn her on.” Chris stated.

“Man, that’s some crazy shit. Did she say she wanted it to be me that watched yall?” He quizzed.

“No, actually she said she didn’t want it to be anyone from AMP at all since she aint met yall yet and she don’t want the first impression she makes to be one like that.” Chris sighed. “But Duke you a handsome guy man so who else better. No homo though nigga.”

Duke just stared at the man across from him for a moment digesting what was just said. “Nigga what?”

“Man yes or no, fuck you making shit difficult.” Chris said slightly annoyed and before Duke could think about what he was nodding his head in agreement.

“Bet, ima drop you a lo tonight around 9 ish. Ima take her to dinner and ill leave the key underneath the mat just go in to the bedroom and wait ight.” Chris said excitedly.

“Ight man, fuck.” Duke agreed standing up.

“Real shit, thank you man. I knew I could count on you.” Chris said standing up and pulling Duke into a hug.

“Yeah, of course.” Duke said hugging the other man back.

With a smile Chris pulled away and walked out of the older mans room leaving only him and his thoughts together.

→

Go inna bathroom we finna be in

Duke stared at the text as he sat on the blue bed. When he had got the location from Chris he had just woken up from a nap and had to hurry to shower and get dressed and drive to the apartment. He was scared that there would be someone else in it but he was glad to see that the only other occupant was a small dog.

He pushed himself up off of the edge of the bed and entered the bathroom. Just as he did he heard the front door click open and a string of giggles coming from who he could only presume was you.

“Chris, what the fuck did you do?” He heard you say still giggling as you two got close to the door.

“Nothing, just keep yo eyes closed ok.” He heard his friend say as the bedroom door creaked open.

“Fine.” He heard you huff as you sat on the bed.

“Ok ima just put this on you so I know you aint gone peek ok baby.” Chris said.

“Alright.” You giggled.

A few moments passed and soon the door opened to expose Duke standing in the bathroom grinning ear to ear.

‘Sit right there’ Chris mouthed pointed to the grey velvet chair in the front of the room. Duke gave him a thumbs up and slowly walked to the chair careful not to make any noise, a certain anxious feeling making its way into his stomach- excitement disguised as anxiety really.

“Ok babygirl don’t take off your blind fold until I tell you ok.” Chris said creeping closer to you.

“Ok daddy.” You said voice quieter than before Duke noted mentally. He could finally get a good look at you for the first time too and he wanted to congratulate Chris, he did good. He could tell you were tiny, at least in comparison to the two of them just by the way your feet dangled as you sat on the edge of the bed. He could also see your thick thighs as they were on display by your shorts, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. You looked good and honestly if you weren’t with Chris he would try to make you one of his.

Chris sat down beside you and pulled you into his lap positioning his dick right in the crevasse of your ass and your back to his chest. “You ready love.” He whispered in your ear before peppering kissing along your neck. His eyes locked with his friends for a moment before they started looking back at you.

You only moan in response tilting your head back and arching your back a little pushing your ass into his dick even more. Duke drinks up the sight, shifting in his seat as he sees his friends hand slide in your shorts and begin massaging your pussy.

“Daddy take them off please.” You beg spreading your legs apart to give him better access.

Chris silently obliges and swiftly removes them leaving you only in a gray thong. Dukes breath hitched as he say the wet spot right on your pearl. He shifted his hips up and legs apart as he began to feel himself hardening at the sight. It was so lewd, but so sexy.

He watched as Chris’ long digits began to rub circles right in the wet spot and the fabric sank within your folds- his lips still nipping at your neck all the while.

“Daddy, stop teasing me.” You whined, hands gripping his wrists.

“Tell me what you want mama, use your words.” He murmured into your neck, large hands rising to grip at your breast.

“Fuck me, eat me, anything.” You say breathlessly.

Chris smirks as he begins to tug the end of the fitted top you had on slipping it over your head, careful not to pull the mask off along with it exposing your breast. Duke took a sharp breath at the sight feeling himself becoming harder by the moment.

“You want daddy to fuck you baby?” Chris asked lowly in your ear his own length nudging at your ass.

“Yes please.” You pleaded, pussy throbbing as he was still rubbing slow circles through your underwear.

Wordlessly Chris lifts you from his lap just to slip his shorts down to release his dick and you can now feel it against your ass. He slides your panties to the side finally exposing your slick, aching pussy. Duke becomes restless at the sight and feels like this surprise for you is somehow punishment for him. He wants to glide his fingers through your folds and watch as you lick your juices off of them, but he is imprisoned to the chair in front of you.

Chris rubs himself through your folds basking in the slickness of your clit coating his tip before he finally positions himself with your entrance and slowly lowers your down onto him. Your breath hitching as he finally fully gets to a halt, the entire length buried inside of your wetness.

“Fuck.” The younger man mutters closing his eyes briefly to bask in the bliss.

At these words you slowly begin to grind on him and Dukes eyes become transfixed on your breast that bounce during this motion. He can’t help as his hand goes down to palm himself through the sweats. Chris notices this and grins. He grabs your hips and begins thrusting into you.

“Ah fuck, daddy.” You cry out, reaching back to find his body.

“ You like that baby?” Chris questions.

“I love it daddy!” You cry out.

As the words spill out of your mouth Chris without a second thought reaches up and takes off the fabric that was covering your eyes. As your eyes adjust to your renewed sense, you immediately lock eyes with the man in front of you and gasp.

“You like it huh baby, this what you wanted aint it?” Chris is the one to speak first and honestly it is turning him on too. He never expected that having one of his closest friends or anyone for that matter watching him in such an intimate setting as this would give him this kind of thrill, but it did. He wanted to bend you over and offer Duke your mouth as a sign of gratitude, but this was more than enough for the moment.

Your mouth is open, but words aren’t able to come out as you stare at the man in front of you. His lips were slightly parted as his hand gripped his own length through his sweatpants, and you were able to see the diamonds that were in his mouth. His high cheekbones and chocolate skin were illuminated perfectly in the lighting from the room, and you couldn’t deny that he was handsome.

Chris hand gripping your throat bought you back to reality and you let out a loud cry as he pulled you into the bed and pushed your head down into the blanket. Duke breathed heavily as he spotted thesmall cherry tattoo on your right cheek and snaked his hand underneath his waistband pulling himself out.

“Answer me baby.” Chris says again, snaking a hand around your neck “Aint this what you wanted.”

“Y-yes, this is what I wanted daddy.” You moan, as he slams into you.

“What you supposed to say? “He growls voice low.

“Thank you.” You say your voice barely above a whisper.

“I cant fucking hear you baby, what you say?” He asks again hips snapping into yours, sending ripples throughout your ass.

“I said thank you daddy.” You cry as you grip the sheets in attempts to brace yourself as he continues to assault your cunt.

“And what you wanna say to Duke?”

The older of the two perks up as he hears his friend finally mention his name.

Your eyes low and full of need bore into his tight ones and you moan. “T-thank you Duke.” You moan out.

Dukes tempo increases as he continues to stroke himself and for the first time since he has been here he spoke, voice low and full of lust, “Ya welcome gorgeous.”

Chris continues his assault of you and Duke continues to watch, transfixed on the sight in front of him and unable to take his eyes away even if that was what he desired. He wanted you, and in some small part of his mind he wanted to be with yall. He wanted to add to this dynamic of dominance and create his own role in your life. He wanted to see you underneath him just as you were with Chris, he wanted to be the one to taste you on his lips, to kiss you, to squeeze you. He wanted you more than anything right now, but Chris. He had the upmost respect for his friend, afterall if not for him he would have not been able to witness you and all your glory.

“You hear that baby,” Chris voice broke him away from his thoughts, “He said youre gorgeous. He thinks you look gorgeous like this- ass up, pussy full of my dick”

Duke now took a little time to admire his friend, and he was beyond surprised. He never took Chris as one to be this vocal ever, but here it seemed as though he was the shining star, leading you with his words and actions and everything that you did was as an extension of him.

“Y-yes daddy, I heard him” You whine, “Thank you Duke.”

Duke cant help but float at how effortlessly his name tumbles from your lips.

“You gone be a good girl and squirt for daddy and Duke?” Chris says feeling his climax nearing, and reaching his arm around and fingers beginning to massage your clit.

You cant help the loud whines that escape your mouth as he stimulates your center eyes locked on the man in front of you stroking himself vigorously to the tempo of you and Chris, lip between his glistening teeth.

“Yeah that’s it baby I feel it squirt on daddy dick and show Duke what a good girl you are.” Chris grunts his breath getting quicker as he feels himself closer and closer to his release.

Your body goes limp and a mixture of cries and huffs escape your mouth as you feel the man behind you pull out and attaches his mouth to your clit sucking as you squirt all over his face. He only stops when you go limp and fall onto the bed to reinsert his dick and pound you like a madman chasing his own climax.

Your eyes shoot to Dukes as you hear a struggled grunt escape his mouth as his hand and hoodie become painted with white stripes.

“Fuck.” You hear Chris cry as you feel his dick twitch within your walls and his warm cum fills your insides. His strokes are small as he fucks you through his release. Once he’s done he collapses onto your side, arm on your ass as he rubs circles into it.

Exhaustion washes over you like a tide and you feel your eyes become low and your mind clouded. Chris takes a few moment to catch his breath before sliding off the bed and walking in the bathroom taking a quick look at his friend as he did so.

“Hey, ima run her a bath if you wanna wait till I get her in I can get a rag and some of my sweatpants.” He offers his friend.

“Type shit, preciate it.” Duke agrees grateful.

As Chris begins to walk off he looks back at the older of the pair and grins, “That shit was good wasn’t it, I was killing her shit.”

Duke cant help the laugh that escapes his lips. “Hell yeah nigga you did yo shit.”

“On God nigga but say next time you gotta join that shit had her ass wet as fuck.”

Duke couldn’t help but smile “Type shit, next time.”

yall like it?? i felt like i finally got back in my element lmk what yall think!

[nathanbatemanfucker]

The Bee and the Bear, Chapter 3: Like a Bear to a Hive

summary: carmy cooks Bee dinner.

pairing: carmy berzatto x f!reader (Bee)

contents: 18+/NSFW/heavy content/eventual smut, mention of suicide/mental illness, grief, longing, pining, angst, friends to strangersish to lovers, food and alcohol mention

wc: 2.7k

an: god i love these two so badddddd. i love their tenderness despite the awkwardness…i love how palpable how much they mean to the other is. PS this isn’t beta’d so if you see something insanely fucked pls let me know! PSS totto’s market is real and located in chicago…highly recommend it!

series masterlist

< | chapter 2: Back in the Beef

You can’t figure out what to wear. You’ve been back and forth, digging through your suitcase like a madwoman and standing in front of the mirror in your childhood room. This crisis is silly, it shouldn’t even be a crisis. Carmy has seen you in more than 80% of your wardrobe. Sure, you’ve gotten clothing for work, some racier things from your bar crawl days in undergrad. You’d brought neither of those categories with you– jeans and sweaters, a polished suit suit for Mikey’s funeral.

But, how do you dress for hanging out with Carmen Berzatto for the first time since you were just a teenager?

The answer is a paradox because its unclearly clear. This isn’t a special occasion and it is decidedly not a date. You’re a faithful woman, one who’s trying so desperately to protect your heart while simultaneously letting yourself have this. It feels pathetic to think about how long you’ve been waiting for a moment like this.

There was a time where missing Carmy completely consumed you. This is your way of letting yourself heal, or maybe it’s just going to make that feeling resurface when you inevitably go back home and history repeats itself. Your thoughts start to grow, mind swirling with doubt when your phone begins to buzz where its sat on your bedside table.

A picture of you and Kyle pops up on the display, his contact name a simple blue heart.

You answer it quietly, “Hello?”

“Hi, honey.”

“Hey,” You breathe, falling back into bed, giving yourself a reprieve from staring at every piece of clothing you’d packed.

“You sound tense,” And while he’s bringing it up, there’s no true concern that you can detect in his voice.

“No, not tense at all, just—pretty tired.”

It isn’t a complete lie. Despite feeling wired and on edge about seeing Carmy, there’s a heaviness to your limbs– fatigue from the last few days.

“Oh, are you heading to bed soon?”

You take in a shaky breath. Outright lying to him isn’t an option, you’re a good partner— a faithful partner, so you’ll just be honest. You close your eyes, struggling to keep your voice nonchalant, “Actually I’m getting dinner– well Carmy’s making dinner.”

Silence stretches between the two of you and you open your mouth to say something, anything but Kyle beats you to it.

“First time you’re seeing him since you moved out here, yeah?” He asks quietly. There’s a stillness in his tone that sends a chill down your spine.

“Yeah, it’ll be good to catch up with him. See what’s changed since we were babies.”

“And you still trust him? I mean its been–”

“He’s one of my best friends, Kyle,” You say quickly, before he can voice any of his opinions on Carmy or any of your other friends from home.

He doesn’t understand your bond with Nat or Carmy or Richie— hardly understood why you felt so compelled to come home from Mikey’s funeral when you hadn’t seen him in years. Kyle has no friends from his childhood, it’s just him and the steady, sterile climb into corporate America, full of empty smiles and cold happy hours. He doesn’t understand the warmth that ties you all together no matter how far you go, like the roots of a tree.

“One of your best friends? That you haven’t seen since before you could order your own glass of bourbon?” He challenges, chuckling under his breath.

“He means a lot to me. You know that.”

“How could I forget.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, “Please, Kyle, it's not like that. It's never been like that. We’re platonic. I know it's weird for you but just– it's nice. To have him back after all these years. After losing Mikey.”

“Alright, I’m sorry. I know how much that little group of friends means to you even if they all have a weird way of showing it.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know when I make it home?”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Your conversation with Kyle feels like a cold shower. You’d just lied to him and now you’re second guessing everything. Should you really be doing this? Would this just be torture? Is having him in this way worse than not having him at all? Things with Carmy had never been voluntarily platonic.

Your phone buzzes and you think that its a text from Kyle– an overprotective “be careful” or “are you sure?”. To your surprise, its Carmy. Was he canceling? Why did that make your heart ache when you were just rethinking this yourself.

Bear 🤎: Looking forward to tonight. 8 still ok?

You stare at the text for several seconds, unaware of the soft smile that spreads across your face. He still has a contact photo– the two of you together for the last time before going off sitting outside the Adler Planetarium listening to the lakeside waves. Sugar had taken the photo while Mikey and Richie shadow boxed in the parking lot like a couple idiots.

Another text rolls in, pulling you from that memory.

Bear 🤎: We could do it sooner if you get tired early.

You: 8’s good, I still have to get wine.

Bear: See you soon.

You: Soon.

For a moment, you wish that you and Carmy were having lunch– you could take a walk down the Chicago streets, the wind whipping at your cheeks and clearing your head. But it’s nearly 7 and that wouldn’t be the safest thing to do. Finally you dress, settling on jeans and a chunky knit sweater that’s your favorite color. You bid your parents goodbye, ignoring their strangely wide smiles at the mention of Carmy and head for their car. Your favorite little store, Totto’s Market is just around the corner and you park the car and pop inside, needing to get in and out since your forgoed paying the meter.

Wine is an easy pick, one of your favorite whites that’s on the sweeter side. Dessert proves to be a challenge— Totto’s always has an assortment of killer pastries, flavorful ice cream and unique delicacies. You decide to play it safe with something you know Carmy will love: a orange and pistachio scone. He appreciates the brightness of citrusy paired with the earthy, salty pistachio, not to mention the buttery, crumbly scone. You’re out in less than 10 minutes and head towards Carmy’s.

When you pull up to his apartment building you do pay the parking meter, the hopeful part of you paying for a few hours. It could be something quick, dinner could be done and plated, awkward and over in no time. But you hope that that spark is still there, that he’s missed you just as much as you missed him.

He appears at the door pulling you out of your thoughts. He’s in a white t-shirt as always, but this one looks pristine with no wrinkles and is tucked into a brown pair of dickies instead of his usual messy jeans. He smiles bright, his eyes crystal blue, “Hey, c’mon in.”

“Yeah, sure,” You say awkwardly, following him inside.

“Whatcha got here? Lemme see,” He says, taking the bag from you once the two of you make it into the kitchen– you hope he doesn’t notice how slick your hands are, how they stuck slightly to the handles of the paper bag.His grin widens as he pulls out the bottle of wine you got, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “This is perfect.”

“Yeah? You’re not just humoring me.”

“I’m not, it’s a great pair with dinner. Sit,” He points to one of the bar stools tucked under the counter and you do, hoisting yourself up.

“What’s this?” He holds up the pastry bag, before opening it and inhaling. “Whoa.”

“Orange and pistachio scones. I didn’t know what you were making so I thought I’d go light for dessert.”

He gives you a nod of approval and sets down the bag, bending down to get a pot from the lower cabinets.

“I get to watch, hmm?” You ask, surprised but excited.

You hadn’t anticipated that he’d start cooking after you got there. Sure, he’d asked you to hang out but since then you’ve been wondering— is he doing this out of guilt? Out of pity? It had you thinking that he’d want to spend a limited amount of time with you, even with his enthusiasm. Your brain cycles through that back and forth, basking in his eagerness and questioning it many times in the span of minutes. But now you’re here. Now he’s cooking for you and those voices are a little softer in your head, overwhelmed by Carmy.

He shrugs, shifting awkwardly, “Thought I’d do it this way, for old time sake.”

“For old time sake,” You repeat quietly, watching as he starts to putter around the kitchen.

He heads for the fridge first, grabbing a couple wine glasses out of his freezer and pouring you both a glass before he gets started on prep. There’s soft music playing that you finally notice as you settle in, the gentle picking of guitar, accompanied by a piano melody.

“Actually…you still remember how to dice?” He teases, glancing over his shoulder at you, as he opens a container of eggs.

“Taught by the best,” You hop up, bringing your glass of wine with you as you join him at the prep station.

He looks smug for a moment before his brows knit together, “Wait— didn’t Mikey teach you how to dice?”

“I did say the best.”

He tries to look put out with you but the edges of his mouth twitch begging to smile. He nudges your shoulder, “Bull.”

“I think Mikey would disagree.”

“‘Course he would.” He’s quiet for a moment, squinting over at you, formulating his next words, “Where were you— when you?”

You take in a deep breath, shoulders dropping lower than before upon your exhale, “Uh, at work actually. Showing a new client around the gallery.”

“Sugar?”

“Richie. Sugar was…well she was telling you I’d imagining. Or falling apart. Both probably.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you slip into a comfortable silence, working at your respective stations. You glance over at him a few times, wondering if you should say what’s on your mind or leave it be.

“Say it.”

“Huh?” You finish chopping, looking up from the cutting board.”

“Whatever’s on your mind. You can say it.”

Incredible how after all this time apart, he can still read you like an open book. You shouldn’t be surprised since you can do the same to him…but what you’ve felt for him has always been different than what he felt for you. Right?

You sigh, shrugging a bit as you gather the onions you’ve successfully diced up in a pile, “Oh, uh, I was just…I realized I hadn’t said I’m sorry. About Mikey, I mean.”

He’s quiet for a moment, though his hands don’t stop working until he looks over at you, “Me too. For you. For all of us.”

“He’s your brother, Carm, you don’t have to extend me sympathy.”

“He meant a lot to you, too.”

You nod, staying quiet; there’s no use in arguing with that logic. He thanks you for dicing and tells you to go get comfortable on the couch while he finishes the rest. You protest insisting there's more you can do to help, but he gives you a no nonsense look pointing to the couch. You hold up your hands in surrender, grabbing your wine glass before taking a seat. From here you can still see him from the waist up and you watch him move around the kitchen. His quick, graceful way makes you realize that you would have just been in his way, slowing him down. As time passes his apartment fills with the scent of herbs, spicy chilis, aromatic tomatoes, and toasty bread.

Dinner is ready in no time at all– he isn’t an award winning chef for nothing– and you return to the counter when he plates the food at the bar. The two of you take turns talking, him first about the special changes he’s made to Mikey’s family spaghetti recipe, you about how well the gallery is flourishing, how its taking up too much of your time and that you haven’t gotten to create as much as you wanted in the coming months.

Your stomach is overtly full by the time you take the last bite, and you wipe the corner of your mouth with a napkin as you say, “I owe you for this, this was incredible.”

Carmy shrugs it off, “You’ve had this a million times.”

“Not from your hands. Not like this, all those tweaks you made shine through.”

It’s impossible to deny the flush that stains his cheeks but you do anyway, sparing your heart. “My hands aren’t special.”

You knock his shoulder with your own, tone teasing as you say, “Sure they are, they’re attached to you aren’t they?”

Carmy finds himself speechless, unable to do anything but stare at you in a mixture of shock and bashfulness. That soft pink blush deepens, and the plain evidence of your effect on him has your heart skipping.

You clear your throat, looking away from his gaze to fiddle with your fork, “I actually have something for you, give you an excuse to see me one more time.”

“I don’t need an excuse to see you.”

“Carmy,” You say knowingly and he dips his head a little in defeat.

“That’s the past. It shouldn’t have happened and– I’m sorry. Y’know, I’m sorry.”

Your gaze softens, and you reach out to squeeze his shoulder soothingly for a moment, “Don’t—like you said it's the past. I need to call in a favor so give me two days? Friday night?”

He melts under your touch, looking over at you with a soft smile, “Friday night.

“I’ll pick you up,” You offer.

“That much of a surprise, huh?”

“We can’t all cook the surprise, sometimes location is all a girl can have.”

“You’ve got more than that. Way more than that.”

“Oh really?” You roll your eyes playfully before meeting his gaze— its heart stopping. Sobering.

His eyes pierce into you, down to the softest part of your heart, the part only ever reserved for him. “Yeah,” He breathes roughly.

When had you gotten so close to him? You can smell his scent, worn leather and cigarettes, a hint of some citrusy cologne that he dabs behind his ears and the slope of his neck. His eyes are impossible to escape, a deep clear blue full intricacies you can’t look away from. Carmy’s just as entranced as you, drawn to you like a bear is to sweet honey. His thumb brushes your own, and you shiver, a soft jagged breath leaving you at his warm touch.

The spell is broken by the shrill of your phone, a telltale ringtone that has guilt blooming in your chest immediately. It’s Kyle.

Both of you lean away from each other quickly and you reach for your bag on the counter, fishing out your phone. “Sorry, it’s Kyle,” You glance at Carmy nervously, holding up your phone awkwardly before you answer.

He sees the heart by Kyle’s name and his own sinks into his stomach, “No, no, you’re good. All good.”

Carmy’s head feels as if it's about to burst, swirling a million miles a minute though he looks no different on the outside. Kyle? Who the fuck was Kyle? He was this out of the loop, had put so much space between the two of you that he doesn’t even know that you’re seeing someone? How long have you been together? Did you live with him? Did you…love him? Want to spend your life with him? Why would Sugar set him up like this— set you up like this, if you had someone?

He listens to you talk, the light that has been shining in his eyes from the moment you stepped into his apartment dimming with each word he hears you speak.

“Hey, honey. No, no, I’m just about to leave. Well, he didn’t start until I got here. Yes, I’ll call you when I’m home. I will. Love you too. Ok, bye.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, he just gets worried about me.”

“I’d worry about you too.” After a beat he murmurs, “I do.”

“I worry about you too,” You whisper shyly.

“Nothing to worry about here, Bee,” He struggles to keep his tone nonchalant.

The strain in his voice has you looking up at him. His eyes are cloudy, sad. He’s trying to keep it together as always and the sight has your will crumbling. You lean closer again, raising your hand to cup his cheek so that he has to meet your eye.

“You don’t have to pretend, Carmen. You know that, right?”

He swallows loudly, unable to hold your eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time. Nodding he places his hand over yours, rubbing it gently, “I know. But it’s easier that way. For all of us.”

Before you can formulate response he gives your hand one last squeeze and rises to his feet. “I’ll pack up some leftovers for you.”

And just like that, the moment is gone. That little glimpse of your Carmy is overshadowed by the one he’s become.

| > chapter 4: Like a Bee to Nectar

18+ carmy taglist: @treefingers , @mrsdominickstark, @princess-of-fanfics, @whore-for-murdock, @xxxstormyninixxx, @dreamingwithlens, @thecraziestcrayon, @jam1esl0v4, @lilylovelyxo, @jadeittic, @jotarokuj0, @bunnysthngs, @gcidrvsh, @mistalli, @luvr-bunnyy, @s3xymoonman, @cosmicspacewitch, @khena, @r0s3mm, @recklessgiraffelife, @i-am-typing, @salinaiacono6

If you ask to be added to the taglist but didn’t verify you’re 18+ you will not be added!

[neonacity]

DEAR MR. SANDMAN | Jaemin x Reader

Summary: You're afraid you're slipping into madness. You're wrong.

You're already mad.

Warnings: depictions of mental illness, disassociation, and negative way of thinking. Hypnosis and psychiatric themes. No detailed smut but there are HEAVY hints of it. Reader is highly unstable. Please, please, PLEASE do not read if you find this theme triggering. Minors are not welcome.

"Tell me, how does it start again?" 

Your lips parted slightly as you took in a half breath. In front of you, the warm lighting of the room resembled like dying flames—a sharp contrast to its supposed purpose of making the space look comfortable and welcoming. Your eyes, heavy from lack of sleep, lifted just enough to gaze at the set of hands in front of you. Blankly, you noted the pen resting patiently on the clipboard, and the long graceful fingers holding it. 

"Tortoise shell. That's a new one."

"I'm sorry?" 

You only realized you've said your thoughts out loud when you heard him speak. Your doctor's voice is calm as usual, unbothered despite the strangeness of your reaction. It's one of the reasons why you have decided to stick to him after going through so many shrinks who weren't able to fix you. 

"Your pen. You are using a new one." 

A pause. You watched quietly as his fingers started to move after to scribble some quick notes for himself. His hands have always fascinated you in a strange way; gentle, but with an odd edge you can't quite explain. You didn't dare look at his face out of fear of missing the way his fingers danced over the paper.

If only your dreams handled you the same way. 

You couldn't remember anymore when it exactly started. One day, you were just a regular boring individual, slaving through your nine to five to pay for your student loans with your scrap of a salary. You go to work. Eat. Sleep. And work again. Your life is so painfully average that living it every day felt like hell. Sometimes, you're lucky enough to catch someone's eye and get a fucking. More often than not though, you're pretty much a wallflower, uninteresting and forgotten, like a piece of furniture in someone's home that hasn't been trashed yet simply because everyone has grown so familiar with it.

You've resigned yourself to a life of waste, until one day, the dreams started coming. They started subtle at first, shadows moving slowly against nothingness, too far to reach you. You didn't pay them any mind initially despite the fact that before this, you never really dreamed at all. Painfully, you noted how they were the only things that stood out from your boring existence, the only signs that told you that you were, in fact, still living.

You accepted the discomfort, just like how you have settled to take your miserable existence without a fight. But then your nightly visitors started forming shape, a peek of a curve of a shoulder here, and an elegant stripe of a throat washed by moonlight there. Then came the voices. Words whispered to the shell of your ear, or breathed against your skin. The fact that you could never remember the exact words the moment you wake up infuriates you, but your flesh… your flesh seems to remember them. As if they are seared to your very core.

"It's a gift from a friend. This pen."

Your focus snapped back to reality like a rubber band. Your eyes automatically met the dark ones of the man in front of you who obviously broke your disassociation before it went full on spiral. You were pretty sure you looked lost, but he only returned your gaze with a patient one as he sat back against his chair. Every action of his seemed pointed, silent signals telling you that you are safe and unjudged, at least in his presence.

"Let me know if you are comfortable enough to answer my question. Do you remember it?"

You gave a stiff nod.

"Do you want us to move on to other topics first?"

"N-No… I… I remember some of my dreams from last night."

If that gave him any hope for a successful session today, he didn't show it. Other than a slight dip of his head, his gaze on you stayed professional. That was another quirk about him that has also gained your trust. He seemed so calm despite your struggles. 

Your madness. 

You cleared your throat and unconsciously tried to rub your damp palms over your skirt. You were already wavering, so you decided to stare at your pale hands to anchor yourself. 

"I slept at the same time yesterday. Around… 10pm. I made sure to take the new pill you gave me. The dreams… they didn't really come until around 3am… Just like usual…"

The sound of pen gently gliding over the paper filled the stale air of the room. You swallowed dryly to keep yourself from being distracted. 

"Did you wake up as usual?" 

You nodded. 

"How?"

You paused. It was one word, but it was enough to drag you back into the shadowy corners of your dreams. You remember the hands tracing your body, the way their fingers curved to make sure they touched the deepest parts of you. Then there was the pain that almost seemed to split you into two, followed by the unmistakable pleasure that sets over after the white blinding scream of your flesh. It always starts like that. Sometimes you could feel teeth against your throat and nails digging painfully on your scalp. But you always wake up from your slumber one way or another. By having your breath slowly cut off by the tightening noose of fingers around your neck...

And the pleasure buzzing from your core.

Pure, unadulterated pleasure that you have never ever felt before from any man or woman. At first, you have chalked off the changing tune of your dreams as another mad but regular twist to your nightmares, but you started feeling more convinced there is something more to what's happening when you started noticing the soreness… the fullness after. As time went on, the nail marks left on your skin started looking wider, same as the welts of red on your neck that you can no longer match to the size of your hands. Every single night you find them on yourself, you wake up even more detached from reality.

"I think I'm being haunted, Sir."

The words left you before you could even realize your thoughts. The scratching of writing stopped and you felt your doctor's eyes rest on you. 

"What makes you think of that?" 

You burrowed your brows into a frown and pursed your lips as if you were in pain. The expression didn't come unnoticed and you saw him finally put down his pen and fold his hands in front of him. 

"You know that this is a safe place for you, right?" 

You didn't answer, hesitation still masking your features. You couldn't bring yourself to put into words what happened last night. If you do, then it would make the madness even more real.

"I'm scared," you mumbled as you finally lifted your eyes towards the man sitting across from you. His features, handsome and gentle, looked even more pronounced by the light and shadow that suddenly crept into the room. You didn't know if it was all in your head still, but you can definitely feel the beginnings of your consciousness slipping from reality again. 

"Will the hypnosis help?"

Your heart skipped at his question. Like an addict offered a hit to stave off your edge, you gave a nod, eyes bordering on begging. You would be lying if you say that isn't the reason why you came running here. With both your waking and sleeping moments turning into your personal hell, you can only find reprieve now in moments when you relinquish your mind to him.

As if in slow motion, you watched as he lifted his hand to remove his glasses, gaze unreadable. 

"Close your eyes."

You did ever so willingly, your lips parting to give a relieved sigh as your vision blurred at the edges. 

And then the darkness came. 

*******

Jaemin gave a low sound of approval as he stretched himself on his seat at last. Head tipping back, his lips finally curved into a slow smirk as he let the waves of pleasure flow through him in waves. He knew he could have you anytime he wants, but oh, doesn't your vulnerability taste so much better when you come here, begging for release. 

What an innocent young soul, asking for help from him. Her doctor.

"They've always tasted so good like this. Maybe it's the trust," he murmured to himself as he reached to loosen his tie. He moved his fingers then to comb through his hair which fell back in dark waves over his eyes. 

He was right as usual in choosing you as a host—your insecurity and loneliness is perfect fodder for him. He has to admit though, he didn't expect you to break so easily under his wiles. If only you could hear yourself beg for him every night, the way you whine for him to fill the gaps of you that only his darkness can satiate. Poor soul. He had you addicted without even knowing. 

You have been perfect, but he only gives it one more month, maybe two tops, before he finally breaks you for real. Jaemin has no doubts how sweet you will taste at your ruin, but for now, he has your nightmares to stave off his hunger. 

Dark eyes followed the curve of your body now lying pliantly in front of him. His gaze stopped at the beautiful strip of your neck and the necklace of red that stood starkly against your skin like jewelry. 

He smiled. 

If only you have looked close enough earlier, then maybe you have noticed the perfect way his fingers matched your marks.

His gift. A sign of promise for making Nightmare fall in love himself.

*******

A/N: Hi. Guess who is randomly back with a semi-proper fic after disappearing for month. I don't know where this came from but the craving to make a story for Jaemin gripped me so bad yesterday. Excuse the long-winding thoughts; I've gotten a little rusty. Anyway, enjoy and advance Happy Halloween, loves!

[stnkiconverse]

you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.8 - Move.

⇠ Previous

Next ⇢

genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: none. (yet;) )

WC: 2.5k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse, cannibalism and strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Yes this has to do with Creepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

The flower shop should have closed an hour ago, but you linger, waiting for the moment when the streets are entirely empty, save for the two figures standing just outside. Their silhouettes are dark against the streetlights, unmoving as if they're statues waiting to come to life. You know they're watching you, have been watching you since Lisa left, and you can feel the anticipation building within you, your heart pounding in time with the seconds that tick by.

Your hand brushes the duffel bag under the counter. Inside, the axe rests, ready to be drawn, its cold steel offering a promise of the violence to come. But not yet.

There's a thrill in the waiting, in drawing them in, making them believe they have the upper hand. You allow yourself a small, calculated smile as you stand and head toward the door, making sure to keep your eyes on them-unblinking, so they don't vanish like mirages.

You open the door slowly, the creak of the hinges loud in the still ni ght air.

You lean against the doorframe, your smile widening as you catch their attention. "Need anything? Why don't you come in?" you say, your voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that barely conceals the malice beneath.

They exchange a glance, something dark and knowing passing between them before they step inside. Jeff, with his grotesque, carved smile, and Toby, with that unsettling gash on his cheek, walk in as if they belong here, as if this were their domain. You close the door behind them, the soft click of the lock sealing you in together.

The shop is dark, the dim lights casting long shadows across the walls. It's quiet, too quiet, but it's the kind of silence that hums with potential energy, ready to explode at any moment. You walk back to the counter, each step deliberate, your pulse quickening with every inch that brings you closer to the axe hidden just out of sight. You lean casually against the counter, your smile now a thin line of anticipation.

"So what was it?" you ask, voice low and taunting. "Frank? Mary? The cute little couple? Tell me, which one caught your attention?"

Jeff leans back against the wall, his smile widening into something obscene, something that belongs more in a nightmare than reality.

"We've been watching you for a while," he says, his voice a deep, scratchy, gravelly rumble. "You've got a real knack for this sort of thing. But Frank... he was fun."

Toby, standing just a step behind him, stutters slightly as he speaks, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y-you really p-put on a show with that one. K-kinda hot, actually."

Your fingers tighten around the handle of the axe inside the duffel bag, your patience wearing thin. The time for games is over. You slowly unzip the bag, the sound almost lost in the tension-filled silence. But they notice. Jeff's grin only widens, sensing the shift in the air.

"So, you're fans? Admirers? Or just creeps who get off on watching?" you ask, your tone hardening as the playful edge disappears.

Jeff's laugh is rough, almost manic, filling the small space with its grating sound. "Creeps? Fuck yeah, maybe. But we're not the ones leaving corpses with pretty little flowers stuck to them, are we? There's something about a girl with an axe that just... does it for me."

"You've got spirit, b-but let's see if you've got the guts," Toby adds, his eyes raking over you with a twisted sort of admiration. "I like a girl w-who knows how to use an axe."

You've heard enough. Your hand tightens around the axe's handle, and with a swift, powerful motion, you pull it free and swing at Jeff. The blade slices through the air with deadly precision, aimed right for his head. But Jeff moves faster than you expect, dodging the blow with a speed that sends the axe slamming into the wooden wall behind him, splinters flying everywhere.

"Feisty!" Jeff growls, clearly enjoying the thrill of the fight. "You know, I like it when they fight back."

Without hesitation, you yank the axe free, ready to strike again, but they're already on you. Jeff and Toby move like shadows, their movements almost too fast to follow as they slip past your attacks, dodging each swing, each stab, with ease. It's infuriating, the way they toy with you, their grins never wavering.

Your breath comes in sharp bursts, your frustration mounting with every missed strike. You're good—no, you're great-but they're better. Still, you refuse to back down. You grab the sharp scissors from the counter, your grip tightening as you change tactics. When Jeff gets too close, you lash out, the blade slicing through his arm. Blood spatters, but it only seems to excite him more.

"Now we're getting somewhere,"

Jeff laughs, his voice edged with manic glee. "If you wanted to get close, sweetheart, you could've just asked."

Without missing a beat, you grab his wounded arm, yanking him close and driving the scissors into his stomach.

The blade sinks deep, and for a moment, you see the flash of pain in his eyes. But it's fleeting, replaced almost immediately by that maddening grin.

"Is that all you've got?" Jeff rasps, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"You're gonna have to do better than that."

You shove him back, watching him stumble, but before you can capitalize on the moment, Toby charges at you, relentless. You barely manage to grab a nearby vase and hurl it at his face. The vase shatters against his cheek, sending shards of glass flying. Toby staggers, momentarily disoriented, but the grin on his face only widens.

"Nice shot," Toby sneers, wiping the blood from his face with a wicked smirk. "B-but you'll have to try harder than that, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, the back door creaks open.

"Y/N? You okay? Sorry, I just forgot my pho-" Lisa's voice cuts through the chaos like a knife.

You freeze. The sight of Lisa standing in the doorway, her expression shifting from concern to shock, sends a jolt of something-fear, anger, you're not sure-through you. But it's short-lived. Instinct takes over, you drop the pair of scissors and reach for the axe.

In one swift, brutal motion, you turn and swing the axe. The blade connects with Lisa's forehead, splitting her skull with a sickening crack. Blood sprays, and her body crumples to the floor with a heavy thud.

For a moment, the world goes silent.

The weight of what you've just done hits you like a freight train, but you can't afford to dwell on it. There are bigger problems now-two of them, in fact.

With a growl of frustration, you spin back around, adrenaline surging. You throw the axe at Jeff, who's grinning like a madman, but Toby shoves him out of the way just in time. The axe slams into the wall again, and you realize, with cold clarity, that you're outmatched.

Jeff and Toby close in, their movements calculated, confident.

You duck behind the counter, your mind racing. You can't afford to lose control. As you crouch, your hand brushes against the sharp scissors you used earlier. Grabbing them, you prepare yourself, refusing to let fear take over.

Just as Toby reaches over the counter, you spring up, slashing at him. The blade cuts across his cheek, the same one already marred by the vase shards. Blood trickles down, but his grin doesn't waver.

"You're making this fun," Jeff hisses, his voice a mix of pain and exhilaration. "But you're outnumbered, sweetheart."

Jeff moves faster than you can react, swiping the axe from the wall. He wields it with a sinister ease, his manic grin never fading.

You refuse to back down. As he closes in, you slash at him with the scissors, managing to land a deep cut on his other arm. He winces but doesn't stop, his eyes gleaming with twisted enjoyment.

With the odds stacked against you, your mind races for a way out. You grab the nearest object—another heavy flower vase, a much bigger one —and hurl it at Toby's head. The vase shatters on impact, sending him reeling backward, giving you the opening you need, Jeff drops the axe and you grab it.

Before they can recover, you bolt for the back door, your axe still in hand.

You don't look back as you disappear into the night, taking a winding, familiar path home where no one can see you.

The adrenaline pulses through your veins, making your limbs feel both weightless and leaden as you make your way through the shadows. The path is quiet, secluded, and you're thankful for it. By the time you reach your door, you're exhausted, every muscle screaming for rest.

You drop your axe by the door and stumble into your bed, not bothering to remove your shoes. The moment your head hits the pillow, you're out, sleep claiming you almost immediately.

—————————————————————————

When you wake, sunlight is already filtering through the blinds, harsh and unforgiving. Every muscle in your body aches from the fight, but there's a sick satisfaction deep in your chest. You survived.

You reach for the remote, turning on the TV as you sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The local news flickers to life, the anchor's monotonous voice droning on until the words "Local Flower Shop Burned Down Overnight" make your heart skip a beat.

The screen shows the smoldering remains of the shop, firefighters still working to put out the last of the flames. You feel a cold chill run down your spine, but it's quickly replaced by a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Jeff and Toby had destroyed the evidence, ensuring that no one would ever know what happened there last night. But it also means one thing: the police are going to be all over this.

You know you have to leave Greenville. The police are already suspicious of you, and with the shop destroyed and Lisa dead, it won't take them long to connect the dots.

You have to disappear, and you have to do it now.

But not without one last act. One final spree to leave your mark on this town forever.

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. You look like hell- dark circles under your eyes, your skin now pale and slick with sweat. But there's a fire in your eyes, a hunger that burns hotter than ever.

You can't leave Greenville without one final act of defiance. One last spree that will haunt this town long after you're gone.

You pack your weapons-your axe, a few knives, and whatever else you can find. You know exactly who your targets will be. The people who have wronged you, who have looked down on you, who have made your life hell.

You wait until night.

Your first stop is close to home- a neighbor who has always been a thorn in your side. They're outside, tending to their garden, completely unaware of the danger lurking just behind the fence. You wait, your breath steady, your grip on the axe firm. When the moment is right, you strike. The blade slices through the air, connecting with flesh and bone.

The neighbor's body crumples to the ground, lifeless. You drop a small petal right next to your now deceased neighbor.

You don't linger. You move quickly, efficiently, leaving the body behind as you make your way to your next target—a former employer. You slip into the building unnoticed, your footsteps silent on the tile floor. The boss is working late, just as you'd expected. He doesn't even see you coming. The axe slams into his neck with ease, his body slumping over the desk in front of him. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "This is for everything you ever did to me."

You leave a single flower petal on his desk, a final message to anyone who finds him—a petal from a red spider lily, the symbol of a final goodbye.

Your spree continues, each kill more brutal than the last. A random stranger on the street, caught off guard by the blade of your axe. A police officer, targeted specifically to send a message.

With each kill, you leave behind a calling card—a petal from the red spider lily, each one a cold, silent farewell.

As the night wears on, the bodies pile up. The town is in chaos, sirens blaring in the distance as the police scramble to contain the madness.

But you're always one step ahead, moving through the shadows with lethal precision.

Your final target is someone who has always been just out of reach—a high-ranking official, someone who has the power to ruin lives with a single decision. You've been planning this one for a while, waiting for the perfect moment. And now it has arrived.

You approach his house under the cover of darkness, your heart pounding with anticipation. The windows are dark, the street quiet.

Perfect.

You slip inside, moving through the house like a ghost. Your target is asleep in his bed, completely unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the door. You stand over him for a moment, savoring the power you hold in your hands. Then, with a swift, brutal motion, you bring the axe down.

The blade connects with a sickening thud, blood spraying across the room. Your target doesn't even have time to scream.

You stand there for a moment, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

The room is silent, save for the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You look down at the body, at the blood pooling around it, and feel a sense of satisfaction settle over you.

This is it. The final goodbye.

You reach into your pocket and pull out a single red spider lily petal. You place it on the pillow next to your target's head, a final message to the town you're leaving behind.

You don't look back as you leave the house, the darkness swallowing you whole. You have one final task before you can disappear for good.

You arrive in Tuscaloosa under the cover of darkness, just as you had planned. Two duffel bags propped on your shoulder, one with your axe and a couple knives, and the other with as many clothes you could fit in it.

You have a new place waiting for you, a small, nondescript apartment on the outskirts of town. It isn't much, but it's perfect for laying low. Plus, it’s near the woods. Something you’ve been planning to explore since you rented the apartment. 

As you unpack your things, you can't shake the feeling of satisfaction that lingers in your chest. You've done it.

You've left your mark on Greenville, and now you're free to start over.

But even as you settle into your new life, you can't stop thinking about the thrill of the kill. The way it made you feel alive, invincible. You know it won't be long before the hunger returns, before you're driven to kill again.

But for now, you'll lay low, bide your time, and wait for the perfect moment. And when it comes, you'll be ready.

Tuscaloosa looks like the perfect place to wreak havoc in.

FUCK COLLEGE😡

i don’t like this chapter lol 

Who’s gonna tell her who lives in the woods of Tuscaloosa??? 👀

Once you’re done reading this, go vote on this!! It is VITAL for the story, pinky promise.

🏷️: @mimmickmouse @stranger-of-the-internet @akashic06072007 @hey-an-original-url

[doberbutts]

As Disability Discourse 2.0 crosses my dash yet again I am left sort of wondering where the line is.

I am physically disabled. I am also neurodivergent. I do not consider myself mentally ill but I know that there are people out there with my exact diagnoses that do consider themselves mentally ill.

I have a brain injury. You can point to it on an MRI. I have the images to prove it. I had to re-teach myself how to speak. Those weird typos I have sometimes? Yeah my brain just reads letters wrong and sometimes spits out the wrong word or tense or grammatical structure sorry, that’s what happens when your brain gets shaken around in your head like a maraca following a serious car accident. I have a permanent tremor in my right hand and arm which results in me being incapable of fine motor control when having a flare. I am photosensitive and relatively intolerant of stress. I knocked an eye loose and was thankfully able to keep it but occasionally need to cover it or else it feels like someone is stabbing me directly in the brain when there is literally any light or movement whatsoever.

Did you know that over 30% of people who survive TBIs debate and even attempt to kill themselves within the first year? It’s still a bit unresearched but many neurologists believe it’s because many survivors have a hard time adjusting to their new normal when it feels like they have lost all control over themselves. I did not get that bad but I had many meltdowns where I would sob uncontrollably because it was all just Too Much, and the knowledge that it would be Too Much, Forever was curse over comfort.

Is that a mental or a physical disability? A part of my brain is damaged, like a scar. It is entirely neurological and mental in its symptoms.

I was diagnosed with a different brain condition, one that affects the autonomic nerve within my brain, causing fainting episodes, out-of-control mast cells, horrific digestive problems, and joints that bend a little too much. Average quality of life after diagnosis is roughly equivalent to someone with end stage heart failure.

A part of my brain is faulty and always has been. It is entirely physical in its symptoms. Is this a mental or physical disability?

My knee hurts. I was knocked off my bike one day on my way home from college. It was a hit-and-run driver and I didn’t have the money or the insurance to do more than slap a brace on it and limp around for several weeks while it healed. Less than a decade later it gave out. I was completely unable to walk for months. I lost my job. I ended up switching careers entirely so I could sit. I walk with a cane. I have to physically drag myself up stairs with my arms and my “good” leg. I spend nights grasping at my knee willing it to stop spasming as I try to get some sleep. I’ve had to beg for painkillers. Surgery will not help it. My knee is Completely Fucked, Forever.

This is a clear physical disability, that much is for sure.

I recently went to see Spiderverse. I warned my friend that it was entirely possible I’d need to duck out at some point because the movie would overwhelm me. I also warned her that I would probably need to immediately rest or go home and would not be able to hang out because I was anticipating it to be Sensory Hell. I went in prepared with my own snacks, tinted glasses to take the edge off the flashing, and even looked away during some of the worst of it.

I needed to duck out after an extended chase scene which featured a lot of flashing lights. I was able to come back and finish the movie. I needed nearly an hour of rest to stop shaking and be safe to drive myself home. I immediately went to bed upon getting home at about 4pm and by the time it was night had a pounding headache and shivers. I knew this would probably happen because the first one was very bad for my brain injury and I’d been pre-warned the second one was worse about it- truly I think it is really those movies’ biggest flaws is that they are very not friendly to people with problems with bright flashing lights.

My knee did not prevent me from entering the building. The theater was wheelchair accessible.

But even with sensory provisions, my brain injury and faulty nerve made it a monumental task to just finish a two and a half hour task of literally just sitting there.

I could go in. Staying was the part that was in question.

[ghxstyfae]

Heart Eyes ♡ J.B Routledge × Mentally Ill Kook

Warnings: manipulation, paranoid schizophrenia, anxiety, obsessive gf, knife play, spanking, overstim, edging, NOT x reader, daddy kink, casual dominance, etc

Laufey met John B when she was snooping through the cut and probably chasing a raccoon through the forest

JJ and John B stopped her and asked her what she was doing there. It was pouring raininag out and tensions w/ the kooks and pogues are at an all time high

She was wearing a trashy y2k inspired fit, and her her was very long and sorta wavy/curly, neither of the boys recognized her

She told them she got into an argument with her now ex boyfriend Rafe (she of course used some very ***interesting*** words to describe him) and jumped out of his car, then walked into a park, found a raccoon and has been chasing it ever since

"We cant just leave her out here in the rain" "bro shes a kook? What if shes undercover" (jb and jj to eachother, whispering like idiots)

By the time the look back up for Laufey, She has caught the racoon and is now carefully(?) womanhandling it into submission.

Now shes walking back to the chateau beside JB, holding her new raccoon friend all "youre really handsome you know... could kill a girl with that smile" Just openly flirting w him, Jj laughing his ass off behind them

"Oh yeah im sure pretty girl, did you get hurt in the forest? You're bleeding" of course hes just going straight into daddy mode. She just laughs it off "The raccoon bit me when we tussled. Its okay i have antibiotics for rabies at home just in case... you single?" "Jesus fuck. Mhm"

When they got back home, JJ made himself food and John B took Laufey back to find a change of clothes.

"This hoodie'll be big on you but'll fit. You can try these pajama pants" handing her one of his few hoodies and womens pajama pants.

"Why do you have girls pants. I thought you were single" "getting jealous pretty girl?" "Yes."

And he was kinda hooked from that conversation. He knew it probably wasnt good or sane, but he liked the claim she felt she had in him after barely knowing eachother

Maybe it comes from his own traumas, but he adores feeling needed and wanted.

They clicked very quickly, not doing anything inherently romanatic or sexual for weeks/months, just flirting and a lot of clingyness.

The pogues got use to her being around, not that they rlly had a choice because she wouldnt seperate herself from JB.

I imagine very early into their friendship, she explained a bit about her history to him, and that connected them even more. He wanted to be there for her

Laufey grew up in a pretty rich household with three older siblings. Her mother passed away and her father was extremely abusive growing up. He doesn't physically abuse her or any of her siblings now, but the damage has been done.

When she was 13 she was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. At that point she was sent off to a mental institution by her father (in her eyes to "get rid of her")

She explained to Jb that they shouldnt be friends, and she would eventually hurt him, she didnt want that

He didnt care, in a nearly toxic way the didnt care if he got hurt, he wanted her selfishly.

When they finally do get together, they are 4lifers

Laufey is absolutely obbsessed w him

He likes to do little things to take care of her, especially things that help take a bit of stress off her and make her faily life easier

Like brushing her hair and doing it in the mornings, picking out her outfits, making her food and making sure she eats, making sure she takes her meds and picking up the prescriptions, etc, etc.

Some nights are really rough. Its not all sunshine and rainbows especially after Laufey had her first big breakdown while dating him.

It started when she was left alone, and she got carried away even when he came back to her, tryning his best to ground her but instead she just called her dad and guilt trapped him into sending her enough money to buy herself a house to get an apartment on the cut with, and hid herself away in it for a weekish.

Jb realized he needed to take better care of her, he became more intune with her emotions and began to know her mind better then she did.

On rougher nights he would take of her makeup, change her clothes, wash her hair, hide her pills in food, brush her teeth for her, anything she needs

He needs it too tbh. He needs the feeling of being wanted.

Following him around everywhere, on all his adventures without a care in the world for her own safety.

Even when he tells her (in his stern daddy voice) that she'd better stay home and let him go on this one alone, because it would be so unsafe for her

Laufey of course ignored all his warnings, ("you'll take care of me daddy!!") hid herself in his boat, and sneaking up behind him once they were far enough away from the harbour for him to not want to turn back.

She got herself a spanking right then and there (although she enjoyed it)

When they finally go back home in the safety of the chateau, he had come up with actual punishments for her, for whenever they'd be needed. He had learned that edging her, overstimulating her, spanking her, making her cockwarm him, all of those were just incentives to her.

Things like taking away her vibrator, or not letting her wear any of his clothes for a bit, not doing her hair for her, etc

Speaking of incentives, he also has those set for her. The list os mostly things he wouldnt usually do, that make her horny asf.

Like cutting her, biting her (hard enough to draw blood), hunting her in the woods, etc, etc

Laufey adores fighting random cunts that try to hit on JB.

He has had to pull her off of many a drunk stranger at a party before she breaks their face

She actually almost fucked up jj on a bad night where be decided to fuck around and find out

He was drunk and making some stupid quips about some pogue girls checking Jb out. Saying that they were more "his type"

.......

Didnt go well for him😭😭💀

"I swear to god Johnathan if you even think about any of those other skanks id stab them in the kidneys"

And that just turns him on

Might add more to this later, let me know how you feel about her!!

[xchxsex]

A Night In: Mark Hoffman fic

Warning: SEVERE breeding kink like its bad and im mentally ill, mentions of pregnancy, alcohol use, praise, degradation, rough sex, oral (f and m), slapping, squirting, cervix kisses, just some rough shiz

A night in is what got me here. Normally on a Saturday night, i would be out on the town with friends, but ever since i met Detective Mark Hoffman, a night out doesn’t give as much of a thrill as just being around him. His unpredictability keeps me on edge, gives me a rush of something I haven’t felt from any man.

When i first saw him, i hate to admit that it was his cockiness that drew me to him. The way he pranced around with a “fuck you and everyone around you” type of vibe.

I started to fall for him when one night alone, we were talking and then he did something I didn’t expect: he smiled. I felt my face heat just at the sight of it.

Ever since then I’ve been attracted to him, not knowing how to deal with these feelings. The thoughts keep me up at night. The idea of what he might look like under that blazer and baggy shirt. I know just from looking at him, he has that perfect dad bod that i long to rub my hands against.

I haven’t, but after i invited him over one night to help with cases, after he took one look at me and connected our lips. Ive had him ever since. Tonight is no different.

After having a few drinks, laughing at all the dumb shit we see around the station, it doesn’t take much to get us a little reckless.

Soon, he’s grabbing onto me, throwing me over his shoulder and taking me to his bedroom.

Tossing me on the bed, his hands are already ravaging my body, fumbling every piece of clothing on me. It’s mirroring the first time we had sex: after our kiss, he took my body exactly how he wanted to. Telling me to shut up and take it, telling me how long he’s thought of having me.

I smell the alcohol on his breath and taste it on his tongue. He practically tears the clothes off my body until I’m bare, pinned under his wide stature.

His mouth and tongue attack my chest and stomach, leaving dark bruises behind. He bites my nipple between his teeth and i wince. I reach out blindly and tug at his clothes.

“God take your fucking clothes off already!,” i groan.

My body aches for his skin against mine. I beg to kiss and lick all over his firm chest and soft stomach. That was the first thing i noticed when he took control over my body. His big tanned body, light chest hair, his wide arms. And the way it tasted, the sheer sweat that dampened his skin, the smell of his cologne mixing with it. Ugh, it was everything i could have imagined.

When i get his shirt off, busting a few buttons along the way, my hands connect to his body like metal and a magnet. I squeeze all the desired parts of him, dragging my nails gently down his chest and stomach.

“God i fucking love your body… want your stomach resting on mine when you fuck me,” i beg.

And thats what happened last time. I never expected a man with a larger gut to turn me on, but the way it made a perfect seat for me on his hips definitely changed my mind. Not being able to watch his cock slide out of me somehow made me feel it more. And fuck, the way his body cupped mine, rubbing my clit with each thrust effortlessly.

“Never had a chick tell me that before sweetheart.”

He smiles as he kisses my neck, nibbling my ear, licking a stripe along the way. His hands fondle my breasts, grabbing and tugging on the soft flesh.

“Mmph- daddy, need your cock,” i whine. I reach down and fumble his belt enough to get it unbuckled, but not before his hand wraps around my throat, pinning me to the bed.

“Now listen here you little bitch, you’re gonna lay there and be daddy’s good little fuck toy, aren’t you?”

My head goes fuzzy from him choking me. “Y-yes sir.”

He pulls off his belt with one hand, undoing the button on his dress pants. My heart is beating faster seeing the outline of his cock twitching for me. My eyes are locked on his hand as he slowly pulls down his fly. My hips squirm under him.

“Please, take them off… i need to be used daddy. Bruise my insides and make me yours,” i beg, wrapping my hands around his flexed arm.

My mouth is watering at the thought of him pulling his pants down and pulling his hard cock out.

He groans as he pulls his pants and underwear down in the front, painfully slow. His grip around my throat tightens. He gets them pulled down enough for his dick to spring up out of his clothes. God i can’t stand it anymore. I need it. I need it so bad.

My body trembles as he wraps his hand around it. “Like a dog waiting to be fed,” he smiles.

He gently pumps himself, a drop of precum falling to land on my stomach. “My cock is so full, you want to empty it for me baby? Yeah? You want to suck it?”

God, yes fuck.

“Yes daddy please, wanna suck you until you cum.”

He lets up his grip on my neck and i catch my breath. “Come suck it with that pretty little mouth until i paint your little whore face.”

I raise up and get on my knees on the bed in front of him. He runs his fingers through my hair, pulling it back out of the way. I reach my hand out and move my mouth to take him.

“Ah,” he stops me,” you gonna be my good girl and behave?”

I nod, taking him in my mouth. I feel my head jerk with a sting on my cheek. He grabs my face and makes me look up at him, drool dribbling down my lip.

“You know better than to not use your words. Daddy wants to play with his good girl, bad girls don’t get to cum as much as they want do they?”

“No daddy, i want your cock in my holes. M’ just wanna taste you.”

I finally take him in my mouth, taking him all the way down my throat. His stomach meets my face, turning my head to take the rest. I watch his eyes roll back, following his head.

“Yeah, thats daddy’s good fucking girl that he loves so much.”

My eyes water as i bob my head, sucking nice and good for him. I just want to be his good girl. My hand reaches down, palming his balls while i suck him off. Im looking up at him as much as i can, trying to please him so bad.

“Yeah? You want daddy to lick your cute little pussy when I’m done fuckin your throat?”

More than anything. I nod, using my mouth enough to prove to him that I’m his good girl. His thrusts meet my mouth deeper. I gag, blinking back tears while he uses my throat.

“Got a good little mouth on you don’t you baby? Such a pretty girl taking such a big cock huh?”

I whine against his flesh, my legs rubbing together.

“Poor thing, drunk on vodka and cock… so adorable.”

He rests one of his hands on my cheek, gently rubbing his thumb as a tear falls from my eye onto his hand. He pulls my hair back, taking me away from his cock. Gagging and catching my breath, i pump him in my hand while kissing along his v lines and stomach.

“Daddy, I’ve been such a good girl for you, please use my hole. I can’t wait any longer for your cock inside me.”

I stay looking up at him. His eyes show the power he has over me right now. He loops his thumb into my mouth and i suck it.

“Tell me darling, has a man ever made your ankles meet your ears?”

“N-no sir.” I couldn’t even imagine it; being folded in half and fucked. I don’t think I’ll have to wait very long to find out.

He lets out a satisfied ‘mhm’. “Don’t worry baby, ill show you. But not before i use you the way little whores get fucked.”

He pushes me back on the bed and flips me over on my stomach.

“Pick your little ass up right now,” he demands. I pick myself up as he places his hands on the sides of my ass. He gives a swift smack to my ass and thighs, jerking against him.

“Oh daddy,” i whine.

“Yeah?,” he slaps me again,” does it hurt?”

“Mhmph- yes.” Before i can say anything else, i feel his tongue run against my folds. I grip the sheets in front of me, fabric muffling my moans. One of my hands reaches around to press his head deeper. His tongue slips into me as my legs tighten over his head. He licks a strip up my ass before he spanks me again.

He grabs my hips and pulls me back against him. Rubbing his tip up and down my hole, i press back into him, needing to be filled. He takes my arms and pins them behind me with one hand.

“You gonna take this dick baby? Yeah? All you want to do is please daddy huh? I want that poor little head empty for me.”

Thats all i want to be right now is his personal sex toy; for him to use and abuse my body in any way he pleases.

“Mhm, fuck, please daddy. Im your little whore, only yours,” i plead.

I hear him let out a growl. “Good girl.”

He slams himself into me and I cry out in pain as his girth stretches my hole. He entangles his fingers in my hair and tugs tight, pressing my face into the bed.

He fucks into me mercilessly, unable to fight back against his movements. Im practically screaming in pleasure as he uses my hole.

“Yeah? Got a tight pussy on you don’t you baby? Whose fucking pussy is it?”

Before i can respond he slams deeper into me, hitting my cervix, shooting a pain through my body.

“It’s yours daddy it’s yours!,” is all i can make out as tears and mascara stain the sheets. He tightens his grip on my arms, balls slamming hard into my clit.

Fuck, his cock is so fucking big, pounding away at me like I mean nothing. I know i mean more to him than how he fucks me, but who doesn’t want to be treated like a princess and fucked like a whore?

I can practically hear how deep he is in me. He releases my arms and pulls me up, arching my back against his body.

“Yeah? Daddy fucking you good? You’re such a little fucking whore for me, and i love it.”

He reaches down and presses on my lower stomach and my god. I can feel him filling up my entire body almost. I cry out, my legs slamming shut before he spreads them back apart with a smack to my face.

“Keep your fucking legs open you slut. You know you like all of it, you’re just as fucked up as i am.”

I feel my orgasm brewing at my core, and i know he won’t release it yet.

“Mhm, fuck… c-can i cum?,” i ask.

“Course baby, you make a mess on my dick like a good girl.”

I relax into his arms before he squeezes my neck, his large hand wrapping all the way around.

“What do we say when daddy lets you cum?”

I choke back the saliva drooling out of my mouth.

“Thank you daddy.”

It doesn’t take long before I finish, crumbling apart into his arms. He rubs my clit, cause a liquid to spray out of me and onto the bed.

“Fuck yeah baby, squirt for me.”

When its passed over me, he lets me fall back onto the bed. He pulls out of me, flipping me on my back. Im limp against the bed, my orgasm taking all life out of me.

He pulls my legs up, folding me until my ass is in the air. He stands on the bed in front of me, slightly squatting as he slides back into me.

Roughly using me once again, he keeps my legs pinned out beside my head, hitting even deeper than before.

“Gah, daddy fuck! Y-you’re so deep inside me!”

“Shut up and take it little girl,” he growls.

He bites his lip hard, the vein in his forehead and arms popping out. He almost has a sort of anger behind his eyes, a frustration needing to be released…

And i know how to get it out.

“Please cum inside me Mark. I need your warm cum filling me up,” i whine.

He wraps a hand around my neck and squeezes.

“Shut up,” he groans, trying not to cum yet.

“Daddy- fuck please cum in me! Get me pregnant please! I wanna have your babies!,” i whine, about to make myself cum.

“Don’t you fucking get me going like that. I will flood your poor little womb until it hurts.”

I need more, i need all of his cum.

“Mhm, fuck your cum deep in my pussy daddy, breed me daddy, breed me! Mark my womb with your seed!”

He finally gives into me.

“Yeah? You want me to claim your womb with a seed for 9 months? You want my cum that bad? You want to make me a daddy?”

“Yes daddy, yes! Mhm I’m gonna cum for you again. Please cum with me, shoot your load into me!”

“Ugh, fuck, you’re such a dirty little whore begging for me to knock you up. You know how much i love that shit.”

Soon, I’m cumming again for him, not as wet this time. Then, he groans. He grips onto me tight enough to leave bruises as i feel his warmth seep into me.

“Daddy yes! Empty your balls into my hole!”

He continues to fuck into me, getting every last drop he has out.

Finally, after our highs have both subsided, he rests his legs back down, sweat falling down his forehead.

“God that was so fucking good baby, you’re amazing.”

He kisses me gently, wiping my tears away from my face. He slowly pulls out of me, not wanting to let go of him. He looks at the tainted sheets on the bed and smiles.

“How about i go run us a warm shower and we’ll get the sheets changed and go to bed?”

I smile. “That sounds nice.”

And thats what we did. He pulled me into his arms, me in one of his baggy shirts, and kissed me gently.

No matter how hard he fucks me, I’m still his special girl.

[vellichorom]

Hello Discord User Vellichorom AKA Twinkie AKA Velli AKA individual who’s character I love so much who has consumed my literal every day for the last year plus that I have not stopped thinking about (literally, over three hundred and sixty five days have gone buy and every single one of them I’ve had this man in my head, Vellichorom, do you know what you’ve done Vellichorom, you did this to me.) 

NOW I MAY BE UNHINGED ABOUT THIS MAN but how about I take a step back for a moment to just, talk about it? To discuss the absolute mastery I feel has been carefully and lovingly crafted into him? 

I’m really picky about the characters I like. Yeah I am fond of characters, I’ll like them and talk about them and whatever, but NOT ONCE has a character CONSUMED MY LITERAL BRAIN CELLS like Thierry has. Of course he has an amazing base to go off of, he IS THE NARRATOR, and I will admit that I absolutely ADORE TSP and all of the lore that has been crafted into him... but that alone was not enough for me to be purely interested in him for a long period of time (cough: see me not doing much tsp stuff aside from Thierry cough) 

The way that you have woven in every aspect of TSP and its canon into him, and then MADE IT EVEN BETTER AND MENTAL-ILLNESS-INDUCING has got me gripping the edge of my seat like a feral goblin every time you post literally ANYTHING about him ever. You blended TSP/TSPCC/adjacent lore together in a way that makes Thierry his own thing and also the perfect embodiment of the Narrator.

I have hyper fixations that wane and grow over time, things that I have enjoyed for long stints, but NEVER, EVER, Has there been ONE CHARACTER that has captured my attention so wholly. 

Looking at just him as a character, I adore the way you actually embrace and show off his flaws in a way that feels so human and also just like the weird fucking creature that The Narrator obviously is. You paid SO MUCH attention to detail and THAT SHOWS! IT DOES!! The Narrator is EGOTISTICAL, he is AN ASSHOLE, HE IS NOT PERFECT! EVER!I won’t shit on other people for wanting that for their own interpretations, but by god if you aren’t one of the like, two other people I’ve seen PERFECTLY capture that in his actions and behavior. You interpret the scenes in TSP/UD with such a nuanced and in depth eye with Thierry that I actually ENVY YOU FOR IT because I WANT TO DO THAT TOO. The expression of his ego balanced with his simultaneous self-loathing is just a perfect coat of icing on the proverbial cake. You miraculously made this man exactly as loveable and hateable as the straight up copy-pasted canon. I want him to suffer, and I love him so much, and I feel awful for him, and I think he’s an asshole. 

His relationship with Rosemary? Do I even HAVE to say anything? No, I don’t, but IM GOING TO. 

I seriously have never understood how you and Tomie so amazingly captured that Stanley/Narrator relationship through Gore/Guts in such an AWE INSPIRING, BEAUTIFUL, AND HORRIFIC way. Like, I genuinely do not know how to put into words the way that I absolutely ADORE this interpretation of it. The never ending spiral of desperation, need and reliance that the Narrator has on Stanley (and vice versa) is FLAWLESSLY executed and showcased with Rosemary/Thierry. I know I don’t really talk about Gogu as much as I talk about Thierry, but I have said it before and I will say it again, they are AMAZING, THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL, AND I CANNOT THINK OF ANY LITERALLY ANY NARRATOR X  RELATIONSHIP THAT PERFECTLY EXEMPLIFIES THE WAY THAT THE NARRATOR WOULD BE WITH SOMEONE, AND THE HORRORS THAT COME WITH IT. EVER. 

And the most amazing part is that you, YOU, a fucking EXCELLENT, BEAUTIFUL, TALENTED ARTIST, have made THE design ever. THE. DESIGN. EVER. No exceptions. OBVIOUSLY the enjoyment of a design of a character of such a nature is mostly up to personal taste, but for one second can we stand back and think about who the fuck we’re talking about? 

We can go based off of a few things:

His VA, Kevan Brighting: Mr. Brighting is a fat, old man. He has JOWLS, he has WRINKLES, he has WEIGHT not only to himself, but his voice. OBVIOUSLY not all VAs match their characters, but when you consider someone’s voice and the voice you assign TO a character, you usually want it to mimic that, and The voice that Mr. Brighting does for the Narrator is literally just that. And old, crotchety, fat british man. 

Specifically based on his Voice: Again, to piggy back off of what I was just saying, a character is meant to match the voice, you can hear the way he slightly slurs/mushes his words together, (which, by the way, if people didn’t know, slight lisps can be caused by more weight/fat being in the face! :D) You can hear him creaking around in his chair!

Based on context clues/general ideas of what the character is doing/does: The Narrator, as described in the game, is old (context clues people, context clues), codes/can create things using code, is not human (‘various human sensibilities’ gives that RIGHT away) and sits in a chair coding/reading shit most of the time. If anyone looks me in the eyes and tells me that a person who does that would not at least be heavy set, I will wack them with a stick. 

ALL OF THAT BEING SAID: this means that YOU MADE HIM! Look at him! Look at that man! It’s FUCKING HIM, ITS THE NARRATOR REAL! HE’S REALLL!!! I don’t give a flying fuck what my bias says, if I think of the Narrator I am going to think of someone that looks either like Kevan Brighting, or Thierry Ellis-Baker. There is no other thing for me. I can kinda smush other designs into it, and see it that way via The Square Hole /ref - but it will ALWAYS AND FOREVER be that. He’s an omnipresent voice that doesn’t show himself, when he’s not, he is NOT WEARING A SUIT. But he is FASHIONABLE, WHO is looking at him, seeing the fact that he wears a fucking fancy, flowing, stylish cardigan WITH A GOLD CHAIN, and saying NO He LOokS lIke A sLOb??? Because you are literally wrong, I would AND HAVE worn things that are LESS FANCY than that in professional settings. He’s wearing a turtleneck sweater, dress pants, and some comfy BUT PRESENTABLE shoes. If someone thinks he looks slobby they’re delusional. Like what do they think? That that old man should be wearing a suit for whatever fucking reason??? In his Office??? In his chair while sitting on his fat ass? (NOT TO SAY THAT HE CAN’T, AND I KNOW THIERRY HAS, AND CAN, AND WOULD IF HE NEEDED TO, BUT WHO ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH, ESPECIALLY WHEN CODING AND SHIT, WANTS TO WEAR A SUIT 24/7)  Also, tacking this on here at the end, you have helped SO much with my comfort with acknowledging my own body weight, accepting it, and liking myself more than literally anyone could ever have, and Thierry is a HUGE part of that for SO many reasons.

I love everything about him, Vellichorom, and it is of my humble opinion that everyone who does not and looks at him like he is anything less than what The Narrator is at his most basic, are dirty little liars who are jealous

TL;DR: Anyone who is disrespectful and disregards the expert care, craft, and love that has gone into Thierry lore and design wise can go and suck the fattest, dirtiest rock they find outside in a river, and report back to me in fourteen business days with their illnesses so I can laugh at them :)

Thank you for coming to my two+ page essay/TED Talk Uh... oh yeah this is an ask box... uh... what's your favorite fun fact about Thierry/Romary? :)

ujm jm, umm um that they love you

[syluscore]

One Foot Here, One Foot Out the Door

~Leon Kennedy angst~

Word count: 854

Content warnings: PTSD, mental illness, gun use, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, near suicide attempt, self-destructive behaviors, Leon is depressed and contemplating suicide. No comfort, no happy ending, just pure sadness.

I've been having a hard time lately with the battles inside my own head, so I wanted to write about the part of Leon that most resonates with me. The one foot here, one foot out the door feeling. Teetering on the edge of the end. I've barely scratched the surface here, but it felt nice to release these feelings from inside of me.

!!!!!SUICIDE IS NEVER THE ANSWER. REACH OUT TO SOMEBODY, NEVER SUFFER SILENTLY!!!!!!

~masterlist~ for those who don't wish to proceed with this piece

Why are any of us even born at all? Brought into a world where pain and suffering is the primary universal experience.

He looks at an old lady pushing her grocery cart, knowing she’s experienced pains he’ll never be able to comprehend. He sees a newborn baby and knows there’s nothing at all anyone can do to prevent them from enduring countless heartbreaks and devastation. He looks in the mirror and sees the shell of a man he once was. Or maybe he doesn’t recognize the face staring back at him at all.

He’s merely the solution of an equation made up of trauma, ache, and dread. 

So that begs the question, why the fuck were we even born at all?

Graced with a life that we beg any higher deity to take away. Take it back, take it all back. Why must we be forced to exist? He never should’ve existed at all.

Projecting his own damage as the general consensus to aid in an endless loneliness that no company could ever fill. Emptiness. How can one person feel so empty and so full of disgusting emotions at the same time? 

Countless people tell him he’s worthy of a better life. That he deserves so much better, that there’s better out there for him. But no one ever offers a solution. It’s just words they tell him to make themselves feel like they did something for him. 

If one day he loses the battle between himself and his own brain, they can say that they tried to help him. They were there for him. They took care of him. They can’t believe that this has happened.

They didn’t do a fucking thing. Thank you, sincerely, for your meaningless phrases that went in one ear and out the other. Empty words that he tossed away. Meanwhile, the words inside his own brain telling him the world would be better off without him dug their claws deeper and deeper into this godforsaken soul.

This soul that couldn’t have possibly been designed to endure such bullshit.

If everything happens for a reason, he’s sure that the reason is to see what will be the final nail in his coffin. Each day is harder. The years pass and traumatic event after traumatic event after traumatic fucking event just keeps happening to him. What will it finally take for him to fall apart completely and give himself away completely?

He wishes he could summarize it so simply. He could proclaim that the darkness has him in its grip, but that wouldn’t do it justice. Maybe he’s become the darkness. Maybe any light left inside of him has burnt out and now he’s left with only the nothingness within him.

If he had a choice, maybe he would feel better. He’d tell himself that he does it because he helps people. But that’s just more bullshit.

He’s never had a choice. He’s always been expected to put everything above himself, who gives a fuck what happens to him? Another statistic? A plus one to the casualty count? He’ll destroy himself until one day, that’s all he is.

If he thinks about how much light he used to hold inside of himself when he was younger, he’s filled with a blinding rage. The hopes and dreams he’s long lost and buried. 

How is one person expected to mourn themselves while still fucking breathing?

He’s not himself anymore. The Leon he once knew, maybe even the one he was meant to be, is gone. And there’s nothing he could ever do to bring him back. 

No matter how much he tries to numb himself, to detach himself and just go through the motions, the depression and anxiety always creeps up. It’s the only consistent thing in his life, and it’s not much to cling to, is it?

And as hard as it is to admit it, he truly wants it all to end. 

Maybe not by his own hand. Maybe not intentionally. No, he’s a coward. Too cowardly to take that final step that he so desperately craves.

His daydreams have become a grim vision of what it would be like if a mission went wrong. If something out of his control finally ended his life. 

Perhaps he’s become careless. Acting despite the possible consequences. Because if something finally clipped that last thread tying him to our world, would that really be so bad? Is that really “worst case scenario”? 

He’s no hero. He’s a fucking fool. A fool who at the root of it all, should’ve never existed at all.

The only comfort he finds is in the fact that one day he will cease to exist and there will be no one left on earth who remembers Leon Kennedy. The pain and suffering he’s seen will die with him.

But unfortunately, today is not that day. Today isn’t the start of the world after Leon Kennedy.

“Fucking coward,” he whispers to his reflection as he clicks the safety back into place. He lowers the gun from his temple and smashes it against the bathroom sink with a loud clang.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hey. i love you. and i would listen to you any fucking time. don't let the worst day of your life be the last. -hannah

[gffa]

When you read this issue as a "oooh creepy nightmares haunt Batman!" story, I gotta say, Knight Terrors falls kind of flat for me.  We’re losing months of the main continuity to this?  It’s not bad, but it’s kinda just... there. Yeah, it's really cool symbolism and it's all the classic fears that Bruce has rattling around in that traumatized skull of his, right down to the graveyard headstones of his children, the literal bat-monster with the gun for a head that's vomited of him as a symbol for the monster inside the person, the bullets ripping through little goth princeling Bruce's body so that the adult Batman can burst forth.  But it's not treading any new ground. Until it gets reframed as, "That's the point. It's nothing new and it falls flat because we've had seventy years of Batman comics going to this well over and over, until it has lost its edge. Bruce himself has relived this trauma so many times that it can't show him anything new.  It's flat as a spooky story, but as a character story, it's saying something much more interesting." As a character story, what this is illustrating is a Bruce Wayne who knows what his traumas are and has worked to accept them so that they no longer control him.  He's done this through really fucked up processes and a whole boatload of comic book logic, but it is this world's version of processing his fears, in a sense.  And, as a character story that can be viewed through the lens of mental illness, this is about illustrating another point on the journey of trauma recovery, that today Bruce can stand up and face down a nightmare of seeing his parents get shot, feeling the monster inside him being vomited out and, instead of being horrified at what was in him, instead of being dragged down by seeing himself as a monster, even when his child self is shot by it and ripped apart, he himself, THE BRUCE WAYNE OF THE PRESENT, has control of his experience today. It's important that this is Bruce's nightmare, that everything here is what his own brain is throwing at him, because that's what trauma is--your brain throwing your own fears and horrific memories at you, trying to drown you, and the path of recovery doesn't mean you never experience it again, it means you learn to control yourself through it. It means, some days, you can be a child watching your parents die and the monster inside you ripping you apart, and you can stand up and say, "Yeah, this is part of me, but it's not in control of me." And now, instead of being an "oooh~ Batman's worst fears have come to haunt him~" story, it's a story about a trauma victim having gained enough sense of self to fight back and even go deeper into his own nightmare, because the best written fictional stories are ones where characters aren’t static.  They grow, they evolve, they face their fears enough times that eventually they learn to process it and a story where the point is that, on this day, Bruce Wayne has seen this so many times, there are no edges left for him or for us the reader, and we can see that it’s possible to grow beyond the things that traumatized us.

[sethdomain]

miraculous ladybug: london special reviewed by someone who only knows bit about the show

The movie follow along Bunnyx and Ladybug trying to stop this villain that has ghost like power from destroying the world

I think the animation in the special is nothing special, but i still want to applaud some of the cinematography was wicked as hell and set the mood very well, love it.

For the writing i say ehh? I would say its mid, but thats the problem(stay with me ill get on it later), but still i get what its trying to do, the special tries to explain more about Ladybug dilemnas in her action on why she keep secret from Adrien and show the weight of it all that keep her from telling Adrien. It made the viewer understand more about Marinette characters and her own mental struggle and i believe this is an effort from the show to tell us the audience to not take Marinette always in bad faith considering people always do that. Though i feel as though they forced this message of taking accountability of your action later on a little on the nose, but i really do not gaf

But heresss the problem, what i have beef with, is how fucking boring the special is. I'd say its moreso the pacing problem and how it fails to excite the viewer with the problem at hands that is the villain we're facing. For how the special has written Marinette struggle and how they handled it is pretty okay-ish but not perfect, but its so overshadowed by the fact how boring it is.

the ghost problem was supposed to be a good complementary, but they just underutilized soooo much. she's not an exciting villain, she's boring as hell, she only serve as a boring problem that ladybug has to always stop like any other villain. LIKE ITS BORING OKAY, she's just there to be an annoying ass and nothing else.

like the climax of the special was literally not that seat edging, its so ass. It doesn't make you root for how Ladybug would solve it, like at all.

still positive things i say is that AWESOME CINEMATOGRAPHY, i really love the white room shots, its so coooool, love that it delve deeper into ladybug character.