#i’m trying to find more clues to feed my delusions

[matchalovertrait]

PLEASSEEE i know this is wishful thinking (esp because of the leaks), but i want mexico 😭😭 that looks like papel picado, c'mon!!

[yanderecrazysie]

If you don’t mind could I please request the yandere alphabet with Ushijima 🥺? Thank you 💜💜

OOOH Wonder Boy Ushiwaka! I swear I'm the worst with writing him- he's like simple and complicated at the same time-

Thank you so much for requesting!!! I'll do my very best!

Ushijima Wakatoshi (Haikyuu) -The Yandere Alphabet

🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

Warnings: yandere themes,

A is for Affection: How do they show their affection for their darling? How often do they show it?

💖 Ushijima isn't the most affectionate type to be 100% honest. It's not that he won't ever show you affection, it's just that he doesn't quite know HOW to.

💖 Physical affection will pretty much have to be something you directly ask for if you want it. He won't pick up on hints well and he's not the type to randomly want to cuddle.

💖 He can be kinda protective/possessive though, so he may wrap you into an embrace or hold you close. That's not so much out of affection though-

💖 Basically: Ushijima's way of showing affection is his ever-constant presence, over-protectiveness, and gentle way of treating you.

B is for Blood: How messy are they willing to get for their darling? Why?

🔪 I don't think Ushijima sees the need to kill for you. It's not that he doesn't want to kill- I honestly don't think it'd bother him if he had to- it's that he doesn't see any real threats to you.

🔪 This guy looks terrifying and he wants to be around you 24/7. Do you really think anyone's going to try something on you with that giant, intimidating man hovering behind you?

🔪 If someone was stupid/drunk enough to try something, Ushijima would just casually toss him across the street. If that guy was strong/big too, you better believe Ushijima will fight as hard as it takes to get the guy to back down/become unconscious.

🔪 If someone tried something on you while he wasn't there, it just means he has to work harder to protect you. Which means being around you even more. Always...

C is for Care or Cruelty: How would they treat their darling when they kidnap them? Would they mock them?

💔 Ushijima wouldn't mock you in the slightest. In fact, he'd be genuinely confused if you tried to run away or were upset that he kidnapped you. He seriously just won't understand why you're scared.

💔 He'll take good care of you though. Honestly, he'll probably baby you a little. He'll want to be the one to feed you, he'll check in on you every 5 minutes, he'll make sure you're in his line of sight at all times...

D is for Delusion: How delusional are they when it comes to their darling? Do they believe their darling loves them?

💭 It's difficult to say with Ushijima. He isn't exactly good with social skills and he's a little awkward, to put it lightly. So, he does kind of expect you to love him back and will think you're confused if you say you don't.

💭 But I don't know if that's considered delusion because that's just Ushijima being Ushijima. Yeah, he thinks you love him. No, it's not any different than him being 100% sure he's going to win a volleyball match.

E is for Expose: How much of their heart do they bear to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling? How much time will it take to trust them?

💧 Uh... Ushijima will flat-out tell you what he's thinking and if you say "bear his heart" he'll think that you're trying to skin him down to his organs or something. He's kinda blunt, basically.

💧 Trust though? I mean, Ushijima trusts you in a way, but in a way, he doesn't. He doesn't trust that you can take care of yourself but he trusts you to be honest.

💧 Like I said, he's complicated. Best way I can explain it is: he trusts you completely but he kind of underestimates your abilities. He has no doubts in his mind that you won't try to run away but he'll also lock up all the exits tight because he worries that you'll get outside and get hurt. Contradictory, I know.

F is for Fight: How would they react if their darling fought back?

👊 Picture a confused puppy that you just pushed off your lap. Like this boy has literally no clue why on earth you're fighting back and he's going to stare at you like you've got a second head growing out of your shoulder.

👊 Ushijima's secretly wondering if you've caught some sort of illness that's making you delirious as he calmly picks you up and tucks you into bed. Your flailing fists and clawing nails are nothing compared to this hulk of a man carrying you away.

G is for Guilt: What would it take for them to feel guilty about their actions? Or do they feel guilty from the start?

😔 Ushijima truly, honestly doesn't see the wrong in what he's doing. Like, I don't think he can comprehend that he's doing something very bad. He's doing what's best for you! That's good, right?

H is for Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

🔥 Ushijima would NEVER hurt you and he doesn't really get angry either. I guess the worst experience would be the struggle of trying to gain freedom or even get the point across that you aren't happy about something. It's like talking to a brick wall. A very confused brick wall.

I is for Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

👩‍❤️‍👨 I don't think Ushijima's really thought too far ahead, to be honest. He loves you and that's all that matters to him. As long as you don't leave (which he's positive you won't) life is happy.

👩‍❤️‍👨 He'd probably want kids one day. Only one or two, but he'd be fine if you had more. He'd take good care of them and teach them to act just like him...

J is for Jealousy: How easily do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

💢 Ushijima doesn't get the concept of jealousy. Worrying about your safety when another guy talks to you? Sure, he does that. But jealous about it? Not really.

K is for Kidnap: How would they go about kidnapping their darling? How much do they plan it out?

🔒 You're just walking home and suddenly you're waking up in a bedroom that you don't recognize. Don't worry, you're not alone! Ushijima's sitting in a chair next to the bed, making sure you wake up.

🔒 Ushijima would plan just far enough to buy all the things you'd need to be "happy" with him. Medication, hygiene products- nothing will go unaccounted for. This man will have a shopping list longer than a roll of toilet paper dedicated to you.

L is for Love Letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

💌 I think he'd try to walk right up to you and he'd be very disappointed that you're kind of nervous around him. He can't really blame you, considering he looks kinda scary- from his stature to his expression.

💌 Okay, so trying to talk to you didn't work either. Ushijima's a little socially awkward. But that's fine! He'll just bring you back to his place and keep you there until you understand that he loves you. Flawless plan, right?

M is for Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they acted before?

🎭 Other than being a little softer and gentler towards you, Ushijima doesn't change in the least. Like, I'm not sure anyone would notice "odd behavior" because he doesn't find it strange or out of the ordinary himself. He's still the stoic guy we all know him as.

N is for Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

🚓 Ushijima really wouldn't punish you. If you're freaking out, he'll just calmly tuck you into bed and check your temperature because, surely, you're ill if you're acting like that.

🚓 In Ushijima's eyes, you can do no wrong. So, you're honestly safe around this giant of a man. Congrats?

O is for Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling? What rights can be earned with time and trust?

📜 You may be able to wander around his house, but you aren't leaving it. But you're kind of... babied. Anything remotely sharp will be tucked away and locked up, you'll have a set bedtime, and you'll probably feel like a kid again.

P is for Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

🕊️ Since Ushijima doesn't think you're doing anything wrong and, when you fight back, he thinks that you're having a hard time or you're sick or something, he'll be extremely patient. He could never get frustrated with you!

Q is for Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

🏃‍♀️ If you died, Ushijima would probably just turn to volleyball x100. He wouldn't want to think about it and would just try to distract himself from it all.

🏃‍♀️ If you escaped, Ushijima would just keep searching until he found you. You poor thing, you must be so scared and lonely out there, without him to protect you. Hold on, he'll find you and bring you back home again.

R is for Rage: How do they act when angry? How do they calm down?

👿 He doesn't get angry at you. I'm serious. He rarely gets angry in general but he could NEVER get angry at you.

S is for Soulmate: What made them fall in love with their darling? How did they first meet? When did they realize they loved their darling?

💍 You showed up at one of his volleyball games and he immediately noticed you. He's not sure what drew him to you, only that you were the most beautiful thing in the world to him. It really was love at first sight for him.

T is for Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

😭 Ushijima would be so confused. Why are you crying? Are you injured? Where are you? Oh, are you trying to play hide and seek?

😭 You're honestly digging your own grave because you're making him concerned and his protective instinct levels are off the charts. He's not going to give you time alone to cool down because he's pretty sure you need him by your side- even though he's the thing that's scaring you.

U is for Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

👌 Like I've said, Ushijima honestly doesn't understand your reservations about being kidnapped and forced into a relationship with him. You have no chance of reasoning with him- you'll have more luck trying to convince the walls of your new home.

V is for Visit: Would they allow anyone else to visit their darling? Do they trust their darling to talk to their loved ones (in person, on the phone, etc.) or not at all?

🧳 Ushijima doesn't trust anyone with your safety. No one can come over to visit you under any circumstances. It's not so much "hiding the evidence" as it is "protecting you from his insane buddies".

W is for Weakness: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

❌ I think some affection and some tactful persuasion is your best chance. Especially the persuasion.

❌ "Wakatoshi, did you know that direct sunlight is better for you? Not just through the windows, I mean. I miss the fresh air too, you know..."

X is for Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

🛐 Ushijima doesn't worship you, but he prioritizes your safety over everything in his life, even volleyball. He doesn't care so much about trying to win you over- he sees no need to wait for you to realize what he already knows.

Y is for Yearning: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

😍 When Ushijima kidnaps you, you're going to be VERY taken aback. You won't even know him personally- you're lucky if you even know his name. And even that's likely just by word-of-mouth, considering he's pretty famous.

😍 This man saw you and knew he had to have you. He doesn't wait long, trust me.

Z is for Zero Tolerance: What is the thing that always makes them snap? What things will they not allow their darling to do under any circumstances?

0️⃣ I mean, he won't let you leave. But like, even if you try to escape, he's just going to assume you're confused about where the bathroom is located or something. You cannot make this man mad.

0️⃣ Ushijima probably would be very hurt if you called him names. Even if he chalked it up to you being sick or confused or something, it still stings worse than any volleyball injury. His expression won't even change though...

🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

HOLY CRAP THAT TOOK A WHILE-

I really hope you enjoy! Ushiwaka's so hard to write for, in my opinion! The wiki's description of his personality makes me laugh so hard-

[eldritchcryptids]

Resurrected

Tim jogs down the stairs of his home, it was 7:30am on a Tuesday - the beginning of a day for him. He was just heading off to his job. He snatches his keys off his dining room table, and pauses as he approaches his front door. At his front door sat Lily, a calico kitten which Tim had adopted earlier in the year. The kitten was meowing loudly and pawing at the front door. “What are you meowing about, huh?” Tim questions, walking over to Lily’s feeding bowl.

Both bowls were full. Tim sighs, scooping up the cat and placing her in front of the bowls. However, as soon as she was placed down, she headed directly back to the door and began meowing again. “Annoying..” Tim mumbles, shaking his head. He unlocks the front door, gently nudging the kitten back before opening the door to leave. As soon as he steps out onto the front porch, he freezes.

Tim stumbles backwards, back into his house, at the sight before him. His eyes flicker back and forth over his front yard, seeing three all too familiar males sprawled about. Tim furiously blinks multiple times, rubbing his eyes too, trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. He’s been taking his prescribed medications, there was no way that this could have been any sort of delusion or hallucination.

Tim snaps out of his frozen shock once Lily bolts off the porch and over to the nearest unconscious male. Tim couldn’t be any more relieved about the high fences that surrounded his front yard, for the reason that passersby couldn’t see what was currently going on.

The brunet hesitantly approaches the unconscious Alex, which had been the one that Lily bounded towards. Alex was in the same exact pose that Tim had last seen him in. Sprawled on the floor, one hand pressing down on his bleeding throat. Tim flinches at the memory, quickly picking up the kitten who had taken to pawing at Alex. Tim stumbles his way back to the front porch, placing Lily inside and shutting the door.

He runs a hand down his face before sinking to the floor of the wooden veranda. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his phone, dialing a number before pressing it to his ear.

“Uhh..Hey, Myra?...Yeah, I’m not going to be able to, um, make it into my shift today..” Tim mumbles, words all too familiar to him from how many times he would have to say them during the Marble Hornets investigation, “Yeah, I’m not feeling the greatest...Thank you, yeah, see you soon.”

The call ends and Tim glances out over his yard again, what the hell was he supposed to do now?

---

The feeling of something soft repeatedly hitting his cheek is what awoke Jay. He squeezes his eyes tightly before slowly opening them, confused as to what was going on. His memory was fuzzy at first until it all came back to him, searing pain in his side quickly reminding him of what his fate had been. He shoots up, looking around and observing his surroundings. He is...in a living room? It wasn’t familiar to him at all. The next thing he notices is a small, fluffy orange, white and black kitten, sitting on the top of the sofa. That was the culprit of who was hitting him.

He pushes his legs off the side of the black plush sofa, sitting up, before lifting up the side of his shirt. Jay expects to be met with a lot of blood due to the gunshot wound, but was instead met with bandages wrapped and applied snuggly against his midsection.

“Huh..” That was the only sound he let out at that. He pushes himself off the sofa, intending to explore this new location.

Brian wakes up in what is obviously a guest room and is immediately confused. He was supposed to be dead, he knows that. The memories were extremely fuzzy to him, but he could remember falling. Brian attempts to push himself out of the bed, but as soon as he stands up, he quickly collapses to the floor, under weak legs, with a loud “thud”. Brian curses to himself.

Jay hears the thud and his curiosity immediately gets the best of him, quickly going to where he heard the noise originate from. He arrives at a guest room, opening the door, “Hello?” Jay calls out. It doesn’t take long until he notices the collapsed male next to the bed,

“Brian?!”

The hoodie-clad male’s head quickly snaps over, “Jay? I thought you were dead!”

“Y-Yeah..I’m admittedly just as confused as you are..” Jay mumbles, lifting up the side of his shirt to show the bandage gunshot wound. Brian winces at it before grabbing the side of the bed and pulling himself off the floor, “Where are we?”

Brian shrugs, looking around the rather blank guest room for any indication of the house’s occupants, “I have no clue at all.”

A shiver wracks through Alex’s body and his eyes flew open. Shooting around the room. He is in a bathtub. He sits up in the tub, he is missing his shirt and his neck is wrapped with gauze and bandages placed over the many stab wounds that litter his torso. Alex stands up and steps out of the bathtub, quickly finding his shirt’s location. The dark gray shirt was submerged in the bathroom sink, the water had turned red from the blood which had soaked into it from Alex’s many injuries.

“What the hell..” He mutters, but regrets that as the pain in his throat flares up. He leaves the bathroom, stepping into the hall. But as he did that, the door to the guest room opened as well.

Alex came face to face with Brian and Jay. All three froze, staring at each other, “You guys are supposed to be,” Alex interrupts himself with an involuntary cough, hand going up to his bandaged throat, “Dead.”

“Where’s your shirt?” Brian questions, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh that’s the big question is it?” Alex grumbles, rolling his eyes.

As the three stood in the hall, their attention was caught up by a loud meowing. Lily lays in front of a shut door, meowing as she tries to put her paws under the door. Alex blinks and walks over, opening the door for the calico. The kitten bolts inside, maneuvering up onto the bed in the corner of the room. Alex notices who’s asleep on the bed and moves away from the door quickly, stumbling away, looking back at the other two,

“I...know whose house this is now…”

[fairytalefantasia]

Still on hiatus. Still plan on coming back soon.

Things are still sort of settling down. I imagine I’ll be close to getting back on my feet in the next couple weeks and around then, I should feel relaxed enough to write.

In the meantime, though, I have a few feelings I need to get off my chest and I really just need to journal them. There’s not really anything to do about them other than just to get them out, so I’m throwing that under a cut aaaaand thanks for reading my little update and sticking with me. See y’all soon.

So I know that a lot of y’all who know me in the real world know that I’m actually a real hard-ass with thick skin and a stiff upper lip who always tells it like it is with no sugarcoat. And I am this kind of human, but I’m also just super sensitive and soft and a storm of feelings on the inside. I guess it’s fitting I’m a Cancer, because it really fits--tough, hard exterior protecting the soft, buttery delicacy inside. Times like this remind me just how soft I am and ugh. I hate it. 

Without getting too much into it and divulging too much detail, boyfriend and I are in a l o t of debt. Like, a substantial amount. Several thousand dollars. It’s bad, Brenda. Well, now that I’m working, my boyfriend has really like, gotten on my case about making sure that I pay him back what I owe. I get that he’s stressed. I get that most of the debt is his. But he tried to stake a claim on almost 25% of my monthly income without even consulting me first. I asked for how long and he said “for at least the first 18 months.” 

....wait, hold on--18 months?!

So he hasn’t itemized everything he’s qualified as a loan for me yet, but apparently, he hasn’t been helping me out in my time of unemployment just out of the goodness of his heart. I really have NO clue what he thinks I owe him and what he’s just been arbitrarily adding to my tab. So there’s that. Not to mention, I still have my own monthly payments to make towards my own debts. Plus bills. Plus food. 

And I get it, he’s super stressed about money, so I want to try to commit to pulling my weight and easing his mind. I don’t outright agree, but I don’t disagree to his proposition either. Then this happened.

On Friday, he told me his parents have pitched the idea of giving him a loan. It would be a clear loan, with interest, but it would be enough to pay off all his debt and square away everything for him. Awesome, right? So I say “great! That would mean we could focus on just paying my stuff down so I can catch up!” And in my mind, I’m already thinking of everything that would mean: savings, comfort, stability, good credit, and soon, my own car--but he dashes that with a stern “well, I’d still want you to pay me back.”

.....oh. oh okay. 

So....you get to wipe your slate clean and find yourself in a sudden state of NO financial distress whatsoever, other than normal bills.....and you want me, someone who has been unemployed for 9 months, depleted their savings, has no available credit, someone who JUST started working again and has their own things they have to pay towards and will never, EVER be given the same opportunity where my Mommy and Daddy can just swing in and fix things for me, to line your pockets and make sure I don’t get the same chance to dig myself out? okay.

It just hurt my feelings. When he and I first started dating, he was unemployed. Like, he was a total busta and we both acknowledge it. I was working a really cushy job at the time so I paid for everything. I didn’t mind. When I have a couple bucks in my pocket and it’s enough to feed me fancy or feed me and a friend junk, I’m gonna go the junk route every time. If I have it to give, I don’t mind giving. I love it. It makes me feel good to do things for people and just make them smile. And never once, for those first 6 months we dated, I never asked him for a dime back. 

But here he is, clinging more to money than me. Because of his parents, he has never wanted for anything in his life, and if it comes down to it, he will never know what it means to struggle because they can bail him out. Me? When I was unemployment, my parents would regularly ask me for loans. They asked me for loans when the unemployment and savings ran out. I won’t ever get that same kind of opportunity. He’s going to be comfortable one way or another, and he’s literally trying to Scrooge me into a lifestyle that will keep my head just underwater until I’m probably in my 40s. It just really opened my eyes about him and the way he sees me and certain things.

And then this evening, something unrelated happened that ended up giving me some clarity about this whole situation. He called me and told me his parents have tickets to Hamilton next weekend, both Saturday and Sunday. His dad was going to take his brother on Saturday, and his mom thought it might be nice to take my boyfriend with her on Sunday. Boyfriend told her that he has a social engagment, but Erica loves Hamilton and would love to see it. So she said she’d run it by his dad, who is the actual ticket holder. So I’m like, RAD! I CAN ACTUALLY HAVE A REAL SHOT TO SEE THIS GIG! 

welp, about an hour later, his dad texts him. The long and short of it was, ha, no, all four tickets are claimed and if boyfriend wasn’t going, it was never up for debate that someone else would go in his place. He would just keep them. “Dad is just weirdly stingy about some things,” boyfriend said as he shrugged it off. As is his right. They’re his tickets and he can do what he wants with them. I have no delusions of entitlement at all. It would have been difficult to go anyway. But like....dude, you’re already seeing it the night before? Why not share that with people, not just people but FAMILY, who can’t afford to go and would really love to because they love the show? I know I would if it were me. That would be my first thought.

But then it finally occurred to me--this family does not consider generosity a virtue. It isn’t a value for them. They didn’t teach it. They didn’t encourage it. They were so cozy and comfortable in their modest wealth and prosperity that it never occurred to them that it might be nice to share when you can. I know all about sharing and sacrifice. I was forced to share my favorite toys with my baby cousin even when I just wanted a few things for myself. I was forced to sacrifice my childhood so that my mom could have her emotional breakdown. I had to go without things so many people take for granted, like nice toys, nice clothes, trips, and other things growing up because my parents were too busy living their lives for them. It taught me that when I have something special to appreciate it. And if someone else didn’t have the fortune of knowing what that was like, give, and give freely with an open heart. It felt good to do for myself what was never done for me. My boyfriend was never given the same chance to learn this.

It’s not a big deal, in the grand scheme of things. It’s just another thing I know about him now. It was just a hard learned lesson that not everyone values the same principles I do, or sees the joy in giving to others. Not everyone gets satisfaction from just doing something nice that would mean a lot someone when it really wouldn’t hurt them at all. It’s sad, and it hurts my sensitive little heart to see the world this way. I don’t want to have to wake up tomorrow and know that I’m going to have to fortify my armor so that this can’t happen again, and that I can’t just naively assume someone would automatically be programmed to do the same generous and kind things I would do. But that’s life. This is growing up, and as the rose color fades from my vision a little more, I’m just going to have to remember that people aren’t basically kind. It’s a learned concept, and it’s one that a lot of people I love are ignorant to.

[sleepdeprivedghoul]

My Demon [JHS]

Genre: Angst 

Word Count: 5K

Pairing(s): Hoseok x Reader, Jin x Reader

A/n: Real quick this talks about abusive relationships, don’t read if triggered easily. If you do read please understand I’m not here romancing these relationships, this story is a fanfic and should not be taken serious. 

Paranoia... 

I’m paranoid... 

Delusional..

Stuck in my own head, deep in my own thoughts, that I can't even realize that he’s not real. Or so says my therapist, but I’ve never seen this man or experienced such feelings of being watched until I moved.

He’s real and he lives in my apartment. I’ve put him off for so long, at first he was just this constant, annoying buzz, like an angry fly, I could easily ignore him and push his presence off; because at that time I didn’t know. 

I had no clue that he existed outside of my nightmares, until I started to awake with bruises on my neck. Hickeys, that’s what they’re called, but to me I don’t see it. The bruises look more like someone was strangling me, I can just barely make out where the fingers were. 

Again, my therapist claims that these delusions are just in my head, and while I’m in one of them I could easily be hooking up with strangers. But something like that, I would know. I’d know what I was doing and where I was going. 

“Schizophrenia is hard to understand, most certainly for someone of your age, it’s hard for anyone to understand really,” she’d start as we’d sit across from one another in her office, the heavy maroon desk the only thing blocking me from her. Most sessions I never look at her face, ashamed of my disorder, and instead focus on the colorful hot air balloon hanging behind her, with the cheesy quote of: Life’s a journey, chase it. 

That was a measly three months ago, even when I took the prescription pills, which she said should help me cope, did absolutely nothing and he was still chilling in my home. Sometimes I’d come in after work and he’d be on the couch, his black hair styled neatly, his soft brown eyes watching me as I’d cross the room and head to my bedroom. 

Occasionally he’d follow me. 

Three months ago, God that feels like a lifetime from where I am now. He, Hobi, a demon, summoned by the previous tenant, stuck around in hopes that she’d return. Instead, I came into the picture, a new toy for the childish demon. 

“Y/n,” he groaned lying on my couch, his eyes closed and an annoyed look plastered on his devilishly handsome face. “What?” 

“The Tv’s out.” He grumbled sitting up and looking at me as I was typing up an essay. “The Tv needs some freetime too you know.” My words came out light and jokingly, only Hobi didn’t find it very amusing.  

“I’m serious,” he growled as he stared me down, if I knew one thing an angry Hobi was a scary one. 

“So am I, you’re always watching it and running up my bill. I barely have enough money to keep the lights on and to feed myself. It doesn’t help that you, a paranormal creature, keeps snacking on all my food and running up my bills. Seriously Hobi, aren't you like dead or something? You’re a demon not a human, you don't need to watch Tv or eat. You’re immortal.” 

His frown deepened as his calm brown eyes became a bright shade or silver as he glared me down, fear nested deep in my gut, telling me that I screwed up. “Don’t you remember, you’re a meek mortal that I’m allowing to live, out of mercy. Keep trying me and I’ll drag you down to Hell by your hair.” He snarled and turned his attention back to the dead Tv. 

The lights began to flicker, and I worried that the power company was about to shut off my power for being a week late with the payment. The ground shook as things began to rise from the ground and hover mid air, Hobi was raging. 

“Hobi! Calm down, please!” I yelled the lightbulbs instantly shattered, glass flying everywhere. “Ah, ow... Fuck.” I cursed under my breath as I pulled a piece of glass out of my forearm, biting my lip not to cry out from how deep the glass flew in, and the pain of removing it, instead I focused on how badly I was hurting my lip. 

“Y/n,” everything fell back into place, except the lights were still shattered and my arm was dribbling blood. The demons eyes softened as he took in the damage, his shoulders sagged a bit as he walked towards me, head down as he scowled.  “

Taking a step back to avoid the ill tempered demon I came in contact with the counter. “St-Stay back...” I managed while whimpering in pain. He growled and ripped my hand away from the cut.

“Stop,” I whispered as he sniffed my blood, his cold tongue darted across the wound making me gasp. “Hobi, knock it off.” He chuckled as he stared into my face, eyes full of mischief and glee. Whatever he was planning I didn't like it. 

Pinning my arm down he took his free hand and shoved his index finger into the cut, wiggling it around as I let out a scream in agony. “Stop trying to fight me,” he barked into my ear he released my arm, finger still wedged into my skin, his now free hand falling to my throat strangling me, my free hand fell onto the hand crushing my windpipe, my nails fell into his skin. 

My eyes began to roll back, black spots fell into my vision, my hand fell loosely from his, my body became limp. “You left me, Ro. You left me and here’s what you get!” His grip tightened, my legs gave out, I started to slide down, only for his tight grip to lift me up off the floor by my neck. His cold silver eyes met mine, widening slightly at the sight before him. I wanted to scream and beg for mercy and remind him, I’m not Ro. 

I fell to the ground in front of him, my hands flying to my throat as I tried to regain my breathing. The air burned as it filled my lungs, I looked up and onto his face, a mixture of emotions swam in his eyes, shaking his head he moved back to the couch and sat. 

“Pay the bill...” He grumbled leaving me on my knees, blood still oozing out my arm as tears clouded my vision. I stood up shakily, supporting myself with the counter as I glared him down. 

“I...I hate you! I hate you! I wish you’d leave me the fuck alone, I’m not Ro, I’m just Y/n! Whatever your business is with her you should take it up with her, not me!” I screeched, tears running down my cheeks. “I hope you rot in Hell,” I cursed and he chuckled. 

“Oh sweetheart I already have, that’s where I reside. My forever home, but you dear, you’re what’s keeping me here. Grounded and safe from the eternal misery, I could just drag you right down to Hell. Wanna go?” He asked a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

My lower lip trembled as I ran out of my apartment, down the halls to the stairs, taking two at a time, nearly falling but two strong arms captured me. “LET ME GO! LET ME!” I screeched, tears running down my cheeks as I fought against the demons grip. 

“H-Hey calm down, I heard what happened, I came to check on you after the commotion.” He released me as I turned around to face the male. He was quite attractive, a friendly face. Warm, soft brown eyes, a blonde mullet,and a soft face that could put anyone at ease. 

“Y-Yeah, um, sorry about that.” I whispered head bowed in embarrassment. “Holy Hell you’re bleeding, did he do this to you?” Asked the male causing me to look up and at my cut. 

“He?” I questioned surprised that this male knew of the demon. “Yeah, your boyfriend. I know it’s none of my business really but I can hear you two fighting through the walls, him yelling at y- Your neck!” He exclaimed fingers ghosting over where Hobi’s hand had been. 

“You don't have to remain in an abusive relationship, you can just leave him.” My eyes flitted to the ground as I shook my head in sorrow, “I really can’t. I have nowhere else to go, I spent all my money on that shithole of an apartment, plus all my belongings are in there.”  

“I have a friend, his name’s Jin, and I’m sure he’d love to have such a nice, pretty young lady around. Sorry that came out as creepy, Jin helps those who have been in abusive relationships, he’ll give advice and a nice place to stay until you can get back on your feet. Here’s his card.” I took the piece of paper and read it.

Dr. Kim Seokjin.

“Thank you, but really I-”

He grabbed my hands and looked into my eyes, “It’ll get worse if you stay with him. No matter how many times he says he loves you, it’s not worth it, he’s not worth it. You’re beautiful and young, you can find someone way better than him.” 

“I- Who are you?” I managed to ask and he smiled softly. 

“Right I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Taehyung, but everyone calls me Tae.  Here I’ll escort you to Jin’s place.” 

“Th-Thank you but-” 

“Trust me going back there will solve nothing.” He grabbed my hand and started to lead me downstairs. “Y/n,” came Hobi’s voice causing me to jump slightly in Tae’s grip. 

“Wait for me in the lobby,” he whispered and released me, giving me a gentle shove towards the stairs. 

“Y/n, upstairs,” Commanded Hobi, anger evident in his voice. I blinked and looked between the two males, one a mere mortal the other a powerful demon. “Upstairs,” he gritted his eyes hard, a small whimper escaped my lips. 

“Go wait in the lobby, if i’m not down in five minutes go to Jin’s.” Whispered Tae looking me over one last time, obviously I wasn't his first case. “I-I can’t....” I whimpered and Hobi smirked in pride. 

“You can, just go to the lobby.” I shook my head and walked over towards Hobi, “I’m sorry Taehyung... Really I am.” I blinked back the tears and walked back towards my apartment, Hobi laughing as he put his hand on my shoulder leading me back. 

Taehyung grabbed my hand and pulled me back, “I’m sorry but I can't let that happen.” 

“Taehyung, just-” Before I could finish my sentence Hobi had Tae by the throat, his eyes a searing red. “This is my girl.” He growled, his grip tightening on Tae’s throat. His eyes pleading me, his mouth moving quickly shaping the word. RUN. 

There I stood momentarily frozen, eyes wide, tears falling quick.  “Hobi, let him go! I’ll go back and-and never leave. Just let Tae live.” He chuckled his grip loosening slightly, as Tae managed a breath in. 

“You will, after I make sure that this menace is dead. I can't have him getting any ideas.” Before I could say or do anything, Tae had shoved a knife into Hobi’s stomach. 

“Run!” He shouted and this time I did not hesitate, I sprinted down the stairs until I reached the lobby. Even as I got to the lobby I pushed open the glass doors and ran down the street, pushing past random pedestrians earning a few angry shouts in protest; but none of that mattered. 

Once I was a block away from my apartment complex I looked down at the card Tae had given me. I knew where Jin’s apartment was, I passed it daily on my way to work. Catching my breath I took off in a sprint and ran to the building.

Fifteen minutes later I was out of breath and standing in a fancy lobby, glass chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, marble floors, and rich wooden walls. I felt so out of place here, carefully I padded to the front desk and looked at the annoyed receptionist. 

“Yes, how may I help you?” He asked in a bored tone, obviously done with me. “I’m h-here to see K-Kim Seokjin...”

“Do you have a meeting?”

“No but-”

“Then leave.”

“No it’s important please!” 

“Security!” Shouted the receptionist. 

“No. no, Kim Taehyung sent me here. He gave me Seokjin’s business card. Please don't send me back out there. I’m begging you.” I wanted to scream and kick, anything to make the tired eyed receptionist understand my pain. 

“Please...” I begged falling to my knees crying while two arms grabbed me, a finger fell into my cut, forcing a scream out of my lips. “Stop,” ordered the tired receptionist looking at me, the guard let go and looked at his hand and my wound. 

“Stitches,” he muttered, the male behind the desk nodded, boredly, obviously not giving a single fuck. “Give me the card.” With shaking hands I did.

“Lead her upstairs and take her to Jin.” The guard nodded and grabbed my hand in his, my hand was so small compared to his. I was lead to an elevator and together we got in. 

The guard pushed his thumb to the fifteenth floor and the doors closed slowly. “What’s your story?” He asked in a gentle tone, he looked so shy and nervous around me. 

“Previous tenants ex-boyfriend showed up to my home...” I lied carefully and the guard nodded, sympathetic eyes landing onto me once more. “Your neck, he tried to strangle you to death.” I nodded my head slowly.

“But he stopped before I could die.”

“Doesn’t make it better.” 

“I know.” 

“How long has this been happening?”

 “He’s been staying with me for three months. No issues really at first, today was the first time it ever really happened, the Tv went out, because I hadn’t been able to pay the the bill. We got into an argument and then he choked me.” 

“And stabbed you.” Finished the guard.

“No, the lights shattered and a stray piece of glass flew into my arm and I pulled it out, then he shoved his finger into the wound.” I finished and the guard looked at me sadly. 

“That dude sounds like a real ass, no wonder his girlfriend left him, I’m sorry you got stuck with him.” 

“I am too, hopefully this Seokjin dude can help me.” 

“He can, he’s good at his job.” Finished the guard as we reached the fifteenth floor, the two of us got out, his hand still in mine as we walked down the hall and to his apartment. 

“Everything will be okay.” Spoke the guard giving me a quick hug before returning to the elevator. I softly knocked on the door. Waiting patiently for the man to answer. 

After a minute I knocked harder and louder. After a second I heard footsteps and the door swung open. “Ahh you’re the girl Yoongi just informed me about. How was the elevator ride with Jungkook, he was nice right? Didn't hurt you did he? Oh your arm, worse your throat. Oh dear, sit, sit.” He said urgently taking my hand and leading me to one of the couches. 

“Y-You’re Kim Seokjin, right?” 

“In the flesh,” he said with a soft smile as he grabbed a first aid kit from the kitchen. “I’m going to disinfect your arm, then I’m going to stitch up the wound, depending if it’s as deep as it looks. Are you okay with that?” Nodding my head slowly Jin gave me an empathetic smile. 

Wiping away the blood as gently as he could, he slowly grabbed a rag and the bottle of disinfectant. Resting the rag under the cut he poured the peroxide into the wound, a hiss of pain escaping my lips. 

“I know this hurts but it’ll feel way better after it’s treated properly, while I work on you, tell me something about your abuser please.” So I did, just not the part that’s he’s a demon, or that my therapist and the psychologist all claimed that I have schizophrenia, which has been proven 100% incorrect. 

“Do you know his real name?” 

“No, he just told me it was Hobi.” 

“And he never told you anything else about him?” 

“No I’m sorry, I probably sound crazy. I should g-”

“You’re not leaving here Y/n. Everything is fine, if you leave and go back to him... It could get worse, you could be dead by tomorrow.” 

“O-Okay, but where do I stay. I don’t want to mean you harm or anything.”

“You can rest here, I can show you to your room. You also mentioned Taehyung, I’m sure the accuser will be arrested thanks to Tae.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Taehyung’s a cop, off duty when this happened but a cop. He’s also my business partner.” 

“He was strangling Taehyung before I left,” Hurrying off the couch and looking at Jin with wide eyes, “H-he could be dead because of me. I-I-”

“Calm down Y/n, Taehyung’s a smart man, he would’ve radio-ed in before coming to your rescue.” Even as he spoke those words it was evident that he too was having doubts. 

“I’m so sorry, I-I, it’s my fault.” I mumbled sinking to my knees on the carpet and Jin watched my behavior in interest. 

“You blame a lot on yourself, but this isn’t your fault. He’s still alive, I’m sure of it. Did you see what else happened?”

“Tae stabbed him.”

“See he’s still alive then, no human could survive that.” Jin’s smile was too much and I felt bad, Hobi wasn’t a human and I knew that, only Jin didn’t and I can't tell him that or else he’d see me as crazy. Taehyung was most likely dead. 

“Come along Y/n, let’s go to your room. Relax and take a nice warm bath please.” He lead me down a narrow hallway and we came to a stop in front of a nice guest room. The space was much bigger than my own room, the bed was about the size of my kitchen. 

“Th-This place is too much. I-I can't stay here, I’ll ruin-”

“Stop Y/n, it’s all okay. You’re okay. Don't stress over it.” His hand fell to my cheek as he gently stroked his thumb over a tear I didn't know I had cried. “Go and make yourself comfortable, you deserve it after what he put you through, and wash off your feet, don't need them getting infected.”

Looking down I noticed I was in only one sock, my feet were dirty and cut. “I-I...”

“Stop, it’s okay, here. Go rest beautiful.” I blushed and moved into the room as he went over to the closet trying to find something for me to wear out of all the female clothes inside. A moment of panic struck me, why did he have so many females clothes? Then I remembered he helps abused girls get back on their feet. 

“This looks about your size,” he said handing me a black tee shirt and some sweats. “Thank you,” I whispered looking at the ground and he laughed. 

“You don't have to be so shy around me, I’m here to help you, I’ll be in the kitchen shout if you need me. After you’re finished let me know what you’d like for dinner, I can order takeout or cook it, whichever you prefer.” He smiled brightly at me before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. I moved away from the bed and to the attached bathroom. 

I pulled open the door and turned on the lights and gasped at my reflection. I looked terribly pale, bruises on my neck, blue veins popping up with my deep purple, dark circles. That wasn’t the only issue I saw in the mirror. 

“What’s so good about him?” Asked Hobi and I shivered as his hands fell to my waist pulling me into him, my hands dropping the clothing, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“Don’t fret princess, I’m not here to hurt you.” He spun me around and pinned me to the bathroom wall, my reflection showed my wide eyes and fear painted face. “Pl-Please...” I whispered, his cold brown eyes watching my every movement. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered closing my eyes in fear of what he’d do. Releasing my arms he stepped back, peeking out at him I noticed him sitting on the sink, arms over his chest, ankles crossed. 

“Do I scare her that much?” He pondered aloud looking me over. Noting the fear in my eyes he sighed, “I do.” He muttered carding his hand through his rich black hair. 

“Am I...Harming you?” Obviously.

I nodded my head and his eyes landed on the gauze on my arm. “I caused that,” he acknowledged, sadness in his tone. He moved towards me and gently grabbed my chin forcing it up into the air, as his cold fingers trailed down my neck and to where his hand once laid. Taking in a few shaky breaths, afraid he’d kill me for real this time, instead he retracted his hand and looked into my scared eyes. 

“I never really met a human before, besides Ro, but that bitch chickened out and ran away. Afraid of me, you stayed and put up with my antics until today.” He whispered his fingers ghosting over my clavicle, my breath hitching in my throat. 

“You don’t have to fear me any more Y/n,” he muttered brushing a kiss to my neck making me gasp as I pushed him away. “You’ve never feared me until today, I fucked up.” He mumbled, his lips now against the shell of my ear.

“But you no longer need to worry or fear me, I’m about to give you power over me.” I looked at him in confusion as he moved back to cup my face in his hands. “A demon's name gives you power over them, mine is Hoseok. Anything you say to me, a command or plea, anything, I have to abide with it. Kick me out of your life, make everything better.” 

He sat back on the counter looking me dead in the eye. 

“Okay... Hoseok why’d you stay, why didn't you leave when Ro fled.” 

“Denial.”

“Why didn't you leave when I moved in, Hoseok?”

“Interest, feelings. You were so innocent and soft, naive to the bad of the world. Something I was jealous of, but I got attached. I wanted to be human so bad, you don’t know this part, and you’re gonna call me creepy. Sometimes instead of chilling on the couch watching late night shows, and you were asleep in bed, I’d just lie with you close my eyes and act like I was normal. Act like a human, feelings, dreams, all that. And that I had a girlfriend,” his cheeks flushed. 

“I learnt anger today, but I used it wrongly. Nearly killing you wasn't an intention, nor was scaring you. Harming you was an accident. I’m sorry. I just want to be human, to feel. Obviously I’m still learning and trying to apply human emotions to my life, and I failed.” 

I bit my lower lip and stared him down, arms crossed an angry look on my face. “Just because you apologize doesn’t make what you did any better. How do I know you won't hurt me more.” Even as I said those words I felt a pang of guilt in my heart. He wants to be human, but he’s a demon by nature, and demons are cold, hard, vicious monsters. What if he’d never change and would continue to hurt me?

“Hoseok, if you stayed would you...hurt me?”

“No, unless you’d tell me to.” 

“Well I wouldn't, why the fuck would I do that?” 

“Some people like it rough,” he said with a laugh making me shake my head. “Oh God why?” I said with a snicker, he smiled softy at me, eyes warm and full of life. 

“Hoseok, promise me you’ll  never hurt me.”

“I swear I  won’t hurt you, if I do I’ll forcefully take myself down to Hell, and chain myself in the eternal flames. I swear it.” His eyes darkened with his words as looked down at me, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. 

“Ow Hobi you’re hurting me,” I whispered and he pulled back. “well fuck, I gotta go chain myself in Hell now.”

“You’re joking right?”

“No, I said if I hurt you that’s where I’d be.” 

“Ugh, you ‘re so stubborn sometimes. Hoseok, stay with me please? Just don’t hurt me on purpose or out of rage.” 

“That I can do.” he said smiling as he rested his forehead on mine. “Usually in late night movies this is where two characters have sex... So?” 

“We are not fucking Hobi.” 

“Please....?” 

“Maybe later.” 

“Okay can I kiss you then?” 

“Go for it.” Without a moment’s worth of hesitation he grabbed my chin and dipped his head down for our lips to meet. He was a soft kisser, surprising due to his hot, rough exterior. His hands slid down to my lower back, then to my ass, squeezing strongly. 

“Jump,” he muttered against my lips and I did as told, wrapping my legs around his well toned body. He started to walk out of the bathroom, lips still on mine. He moved one arm away from my backside, pushing open the window. 

“Hobi w-what are you doing?” I questioned and his dark eyes glimmered in mischief and lust. “Going home,” He muttered against my neck, softly biting the flesh. 

“That could kill us.” He chuckled against my neck using his free hands to brush my hair out of his way. “You seem to forget, I’m a demon. You’ll live, wouldn't let anything happen to you.” His eyes locked with mine and a smirk plastered on his face as he looked at my face. quickly he jumped, a scream escaped my lips, quickly capturing mine with his again. 

Clenching my eyes in fear I landed on a squeaky, but comfortable bed, his hand holding my head up while I was lying down. I opened my eyes and noticed I was back in my room.  His lips still on mine, he pulled back and looked into my eyes.  “You look tired,” he stated as he buried his head in between my neck and shoulder. 

“Hobi what are you doing?”

“You need to sleep and I’m just gonna rest here with you, taking in your scent.” His lips tickled my skin as he spoke causing me to giggle softly while I rubbed the back of his head. 

“Ugh, you’re heavy,” I whined playfully and he softly bit my neck. 

“And you’re sexy.”

“What?”

“Thought we were listing facts here.” 

“Funny,” I muttered raking my fingers through his soft, rich locks. “I’m a serious demon. I tell no lies, especially to you.” 

“Dork,” I mumbled closing my eyes to sleep. “But I’m your dork.” 

“Is Taehyung alive?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t kill him, I saw your fear there and how serious you both were. Hurting you like that scared me.” 

“Thank God he’s alive.”

“Why are you thanking him? I spared him...”

“Thanks Hoseok for not killing a cop who was trying to protect me.” 

“You’re welcome,” I rolled my eyes, it was obvious he didn’t know what sarcasm was. 

“Can I fuck you now?” 

“Hoseok what the fuck? You just told me to get some rest, rest does not involve sex.” 

“Can I fuck you after you rest?” 

“Maybe, depends if you’re nice to me. Relationships don't revolve around sex, you know.”  

“I know but come on, it’s been three months.”

“Three months of me annoying you.” 

“Fine you win. Sweet dreams beautiful,” he mumbled into my neck.

I awoke from my nightmare, in a cold sweat looking around me. I was alone on my side of the bed, Jin peering out the window as the mornings sunlight peeked in. That stupid nightmare of Hobi hurting me always managed to sneak up on me, even though I knew I was long gone, protected after the day I told him, “Hoseok go to Hell.” 

He was shocked that I had managed to see through the hazy dream like state he put me in, trying to make me stay with him. When I said those words his eyes softened and he looked down at his toes. 

“If that’s what you want Y/n. Goodbye, but I hope you know everything you saw and heard from me was the truth. I wanna be human for you, but right now I’m a demon and I’ll do as you wish and leave.” He had bowed his head 

Maybe his words were true, but I’d never know, after all I wasn't gonna stick around, I was afraid. He never snapped like that before and in the heat of the moment I made my decision, Jin was so much nicer anyways.

Staying with Jin had became something else besides a place to stay, slowly after a month of living with him, and the feeling had grown, we slowly began to express how we felt towards one another. I no longer lived with him as someone escaping a demon, but as his girlfriend. 

So, because of that I can really only thank both Hoseok and Taehyung. Speaking of Tae, Hoseok had been telling the truth when he said he spared him. Every few days Tae would show up and greet both me and Jin, more so me with hugs, and Jin with casual handshakes and news on how some of the other girl’s that they’ve helped or need to help. 

Everything ended up well in the end. But deep in my gut I still felt sorry for Hoseok. But seeing Jin smile at me, or just hold my hand, made everything better and squashed the sorry thoughts I felt for the demon. As did Tae’s presence, Taehyung could’ve died that day, but Hoseok had spared him for me. Even so, I still feel both sorry and angry with him, but because of him, I’m happy, I ended up with a top notch, caring boyfriend and an amazing, goofy best friend. 

A better life. 

[lilietsblog]

LETS GO MIRAI NIKKI LIVEBLOG THIS TIME HOPEFULLY WITH SCREENSHOTS

(update: nope didnt work. guess i do have to save the pics separately and not just copy-paste them into an rtf o well)

last time on: is Gasai trying to kill them??? i have no idea last time she was onscreen they (she and Yukki) were drinking soda from the vending machine????

I LOVE AKISE AND HIS FACIAL EXPRESSIONS SO MUCH like theres the normal guy freaking out and then theres this beautiful white haired disaster

meanwhile I think Yuno is??? roleplaying??? like she counts on him being non-responsive to play out her fantasy of being a caring housewife? anyway yeah she's done this offscreen huh. that was a jarring transition

AND SUDDENLY OPENING its somehow SUDDEN every time and I admire that man I love this opening so much and I cant take a single screenshot reflecting how awesome it is because the entire Thing is constant movement so hey Akise whatcha thinking man I love just the CONTRAST Akise:

Other people:

what is it with me and characters who never show their emotions on their face or in their voice but act exclusively based on them??? like theres this very specific anime trope of a white haired character who is stoic as fuck but instead of making rational decisions motivated by human people logic they do 100% self-destructive things based on curiosity / love / sense of duty / whatever the fuck else and in the end they appear to be missing precisely one emotion and that's self-preservation (yes self preservation is totally an emotion look it up) Akise is that exact trope and I LOVE IT SO FUCKING MUCH meanwhile, Yuno is having trouble feeding an unconscious prisoner... what an unexpected problem that could in no way be foreseen. let me guess: she's going to try to wake him up so he can swallow his damn katsudon ah no instead Hinata intervenes. hon SHE BEAT HIM UP AND TIED HIM TO A CHAIR HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK SHE CARES IF HE WANTS KATSUDON. what made you think speaking up was a good idea here

theres a meme of 'ask someone whos not in the fandom to interpret whats going on in this picture' but you know i think random ppl would identify this situation 100% correctly +- who Hinata is to Yukki. this anime is a cultural icon "Aren't you Yukiteru's girlfriend? Can't you tell?" I love the moon logic this anime operates on, that people inside it are forced to work within. Hinata knows how to put it in the one and only way Yuno would be willing to engage with it, ha. Aaaand looks like it's less roleplaying and more delusion. oh Yuno ah she figures out how to make him open his mouth by pressing on his jaw Yuno honey maybe the police wont come after HIM but after the shit you pulled it sure as fuck will come after YOU then again according to Akise it was coming after you anyway I guess I'm morbidly curious as to exactly how Yuno is going to organize Yukki peeing >_< huh, a sock aaaand Akise goes for the win! two skulls alas I already know One Spoiler that they are her parents, and her actions Almost Kinda Make Sense in that dream logic way so I think last time we saw the bodies they were mummies? but now that's definitely skeletons. huh

okay I'll be honest this is a reaction I did not predict this anime keeps surprising me with happenings that make perfect sense in retrospect, I really respect that about it OH IS THIS THE SCENE THAT SCREENSHOT SET WAS FROM NO I THINK THAT WAS YUKKI ASKING HER but Akise what the fuck are you counting on, that she'll come murder you in person??? I doubt all three of you could overpower her in Murder Mode tbh did you see her with an axe oh right you didnt :>

OH HEY THAT'S CLEVER I like how Yuno goes between 100% self-delusion about Yukki and painful 100% sane clarity about the horrible stuff with the other option being relatively normal interactions with Yuuki, memory suppression about murders and cheerful willingness to kill anyone for Yukki I think that second option really is better for her long-term )= you two do you realize she hears you as well maybe shut up okay no not really -I- know she's thinking because of the camera movement and stuff, -they- don't aaand she laughs. i dont think anyone (other than Akise I guess) saw this coming okay yeah looks like the gamble failed. the mind-preservation instinct of retreating into delusion overpowered the more mundane concerns so that's totally ventilation up there huh. I'm not sure if the gas plan will work for her huh so hum moment of truth WILL Akise send the email to the police or was that just a threat? (orrr the police might know already? he might have told That Nice Cop Guy about it) awww Kousaka's dying message is kinda cute

kinda superfluous - the police already know who they're looking for - but nice AHAHAHA POST LIMIT THAT'S KINDA HILARIOUS THAT'S WHY EVERYONE ELSE JUST USED THE MEMO FUNCTION ah no the rank increased fair enough wait what????? what the fuck @ Deus ah okay to clarify: what the fuck @ 8th well hey it worked out! I still quesiton a ventilation duct in a gassing room but hey I guess there was a lot of gas and Yuno didn't see a reason to conserve it and Kousaka's question is of course why the fuck is Yuno in her underwear. I mean... fair enough, I'm kinda curious too omfg

HELLO POLICE I WOULD LIKE TO REPORT A MURDER oh right... bad joke anyway I like how camera doesn't play along with Kousaka, while he's saying he's the ultimate weapon he's literally blocked by Yuno's head. we know who the main character is oh hey Yukki is coming to his senses! but can't talk huh right I figured it'd be the soda

*whaps with newspaper* NO NO BAD YUNO STOP THAT (she's drawn so prettily tho damn <3)

oh my sweet summer child you don't know the rules of this game AT ALL hum and the girls can't escape the same way he did because they aren't tall enough dude she's gone up against like five diary owners already and came up on top every time you don't know who you're challenging

huh she actually agrees to play the game wonder if that's genuine or if she has a plan like, I can imagine she's just been pulled into the situation and the role of the big bad setting up traps enough to enjoy toying with people and not just getting her way at the very least she hasn't axe-murdered him... or Hinata for that matter... yet

SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED it definitely wasn't just one event tho. Yuno doesn't act like someone who used to be a normal healthy kid in a supportive environment until One Bad Thing Happened and took their entire world. No, Yuno is acting like someone who'd built up the dissociation/delusion defense mechanisms over a long, long time, like, say, a victim of abuse who finally snapped and then didnt find a way to snap back I just wanna knooooow

OH MY GOD SHE SOUNDS LIKE SHE HAS A PLAN IS IT NECROMANCY IS SHE GONNA DRESS UP YUKKI AND HINATA AS HER PARENTS WHAT THE FUCK hum what did Yukki realize that's not a key is it?

IT ACTUALLY WORKED I CAN'T BELIEVE aaand

yeah at least she didn't kill him... immediately hum

Hinata and Yukki are both tied up so I'm not sure what they can do together behind Yuno's back but I know a foreshadowing shot when I see one for all that this anime keeps genuinely surprising me with twists, it does take care to make the events easy to follow, and I like that this is Quality Storytelling

yeah but it would have shown a Dead End, right??? or does it not work like that because it's like a 'secondary' diary, an offshoot of the 8th??? I wonder

AHAHHA sorry Yuno you're used to being up against diary owners, but so is Yukki, and he's been growing more competent at this too

NICE and she'd given him his own diary -> ???? brilliant decision but seriously if Hinata did something to Yukki wouldn't that be predicted orrr I guess Yukki's actions were actions of a diary owner so when he made a new decision based on his diary (again, brilliant decision) it changed he prediction ooooohhh she kicked the key that wasn't doing anything to Yukki in itself, it just enabled Yukki to act, which, again, the actions of a diary owner three diary owners????? please tell me that's Akise and Mao and oh right Kousaka was the third one the math doesn't add up :x I think the three diary owners would be able to find them bc of Kousaka's Diary and that's the 8th's plan

this must look so utterly surreal from the side

Yuno? You're not going to drug me and tie me up and try to kill my friends, are you? This girl seriously needs to learn how normal relationships work and I Yearn to learn what the fuck fucked her up like that.

BAD MOVE YUNO HE ALREADY TRIED THAT THIS IS THE RESULT

congrats Yuno you Fucked That Up

sorry but... yeah. you deserve this

???? someone in the cast lives in an orphanage??? I'm calling Akise in that case

oh nm it's something else huh

ah that's what it was oh Kousaka everything about you was a bad idea ...

... what

it really, really fucking isn't Yukki acted on information he had, and made the best decisions he had available. but he can't control other people's actions

...are these... the apprentice diary owners? how does the system work, anyway? how does the 8th send them after anyone? Kousaka has no clue...

uh was the dramatic slo mo effect in-universe too??? they were kind of racing on opposite lanes that couldn't have taken more than like. two seconds

see that's not wrong but. you really need to up your girlfriend game dammit im just rooting for Yuno in all this. you go girl. you fight your inner demons and figure out a happy ending for yourself damn that felt like a really long episode. probably because of the screenshots here's a proposition of a new function for the tumblr staff: uploading .rtf files automatically, splitting into several posts if they are too big. thats the kind of convenience the social media is supposed to offer, right? oh hey Murmur's diary! third installment of the You Saved Me series

beautiful

you naive fucking child oh my god Murmur

MURMUR NO

so was this, like, a dream or something? hum interesting

[dreadhaus-literature]

{Collection} 5 Shots in the Dark.

1.) “How could you do this to me?”

Anamaria didn’t say a word in the wake of your raw, heated demand. She scarcely blinked as the chain binding your arms to the bed frame rattled when you angrily pulled, yanked, desperate for freedom you’d never have again. She was difficult to read, always had been, and the fire in your eyes was met with ice as she slowly inclined her head to one side, perfectly cut strands of blonde hair sliding over her shoulder.

“You wouldn’t come willingly, so I improvised.”

Your anger was a tangible thing, the binds biting into your supple flesh as you tried to lunge off the bed at her, teeth bared like a wild animal waking up to it’s cage.

“Ana, you let me go this instant or I’ll--”

“You’ll what?” Anamaria seemed enraptured by the rage darkening your eyes, twisting your mouth into a snarl and for a moment she was disappointed she’d bound you. You’d likely attack her and she found herself curious how good it would feel to be at the receiving end of all that anger. Instead, she folded her arms, long fingers against her biceps. “You’re tied up, my love. You can’t do anything. By design, if I may add, because you can’t be trusted to do as you’re told.”

Anamaria was referencing the numerous times she’d invited you to live with her and the number of times you’d turned the invitation down--not realizing she’d just take matters into her own hands. You all but screeched your outrage, yanking fruitlessly on the chains until your wrists ached but there was no give, no relenting, and in your struggling you didn’t notice Anamaria closing in on you.

The bite of the needle in the side of your neck was like a snake, quick and painful, the lethargy hitting you like lightning even as Ana brushed her fingers along your cheek in a gesture meant the comfort.

“There there, dear. We’ll see if you’re happier to see me when you wake up.”

2.) “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

You’d expected that to be the last thing you ever said to Ivette, but you were wrong--very, very wrong.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart.”

You could feel the brush sliding through your hair, Ivette’s ringed fingers following the smooth line because she loved your hair. She loved everything about you...which is why she’d taken what you’d snapped at her literally and fixed what she thought the problem to be.

“I believe we’ll put you in green today.” Ivette’s husky voice sounded thoughtful as her nails brushed along your bare throat. She was still standing behind your seated form, you could feel her press a bit closer before bending to press a lipstick kiss to your cheek--red, no doubt. You remembered she wore red, the same shade as her hair. Hence the enjoyment of putting you in green to compliment her eyes. Hell, it didn’t matter to you what color she put you in, or what color lipstick she wore.

It wasn’t like you could see anyway.

3.) “I don’t care if you don’t want me, I’m yours!”

You grabbed Vladimir by the elbow, leading him out of the crowded ballroom into the empty hallway, trying to ignore the stares and whispers that followed you both out the double doors.

Whirling, chest heaving with the effort to control your voice, you gave Vladimir’s arm a shake. “Have you completely lost your fucking mind?!”

Vladimir heard the hiss of barely restrained anger in your tone but he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying the way your voice slid over his skin, his grey eyes closing for a moment to savor the feel of your fingers even through his jacket sleeve. It had been too long since he’d been this close to you.

“Vlad.” You bit his name out between clenched teeth, knowing you were losing him by the way his eyes closed. But as you moved your hand from his elbow he reached out to catch your fingers in his, refusing to let go when you twisted your hand. “Let go--!”

His kiss was more of a forceful smash of his lips to yours, devoid of the class you’d once attributed to him--he was lost in wanting you, needing you, and it showed. Too big to be pushed off, you whined your protest and he swallowed the sound greedily, moving your hand to his chest to clutch near his heart, other arm sliding around the small of your back, his black hair falling to brush against your forehead as he kept possession of your mouth.

You could taste the truth of his words on his tongue.

4.) “There’s something wrong with you.”

“What was your first clue?” Lucifer asked, flashing you a smile with too many teeth. “A little on the nose, don’t you think, honey?”

You folded your arms, plate of food in front of you untouched--because it was very likely drugged. The last time you ate anything Lucifer gave you, you lost three days and came to in different clothes, covered in love bites, and every contact in your cellphone deleted except for him.

No, Lucifer wasn’t actually Satan but that didn’t stop him from acting like it.

“Not hungry?” Lucifer stabbed a bite of meat onto his fork from his own plate, lifting it to his smiling mouth. He was always smiling around you. “I worked very hard on that food, special just for you.”

“Yeah, I just bet it is.” You sniped, making no move to try the elegant spread.

Lucifer giggled, the sound a strange mix of attractive and terrible in his tenored tone. “You’re so cute when you fuss at me.”

How do you insult a masochist? Anything negative you say, Lucifer giggles at, and going the opposite way just feeds the delusion that you feel the same way about the raven-haired male that he does about you.

“Ah well.” Lucifer shrugged, picking up his knife to cut off another piece for himself. “If you won’t fill your belly this way, I’ll have to find another way to do it.”

Your head snapped up, met that toothy grin, and balked at how eager he was to do just that. Without intending to, you’d just walked into another trap.

“And since you won’t eat, you’ll actually be awake when I do it, this time.” Lucifer giggled again, reaching for his wine glass. “It’s almost like you’re making me this happy on purpose, darling. Almost as if--”

“Don’t say it!”

Lucifer’s giggle deepened, undeterred. “Almost as if you love me too.”

5.) “Do not make a sound.”

Your breath was muffled, trapped behind the roughened fingers pressed so insistently against your mouth. You were inclined to ignore the words spoken against your ear but the sharpness to the baritone advised you otherwise. Theodore was not in the mood for your rebellion, not after he’d had to work so hard to find you after you ran away, again.

Footsteps approached rapidly, then faded just as fast, leaving you with your captor in a darkened hallway--but unfortunately, not so dark you couldn’t see the hard line of his jaw and the harshness in his eyes as he stared down at you. His hand was still firmly against your mouth, not trusting you to listen, even as anger poured off him in waves. His broad shoulders were visibly tense, the blunt tips of his nails threatening to dig into your skin if you moved at all. There was no give in him, no space to be had between you, as he lowered his forehead to rest against yours.

“Do you have...any fucking idea what I’m going to do to you when we get home?”

You tried to shake your head but Theodore pressed your head back against the wall and kept you still. He’d had enough of your bad behavior.

“You don’t get to leave me.” Theodore continued. “Not after I worked so hard to get you. To keep you. To love you.”

You blinked back tears and saw some of the anger seep out of him. Theodore responded to your tears, even if it was a little...unnerving at times, but you would take it. You’d rather he not be angry with you, he got so much more forceful with you accepting him when his fuse was lit.

“I’m going to move my hand...and you’re going to give me a kiss. To say you’re sorry.”

You nodded slightly, immediately. Obediently.

Theodore’s fingers slowly released your mouth and you lifted up onto your toes, lips shaky against his but the moment he felt you, he lost himself to you, pressing you back hard against the wall as he took from your mouth what you’d freely offered. Theodore had a loud bark, a terrifying growl, and the body to back it up, but he was weak for you, and in some ways you knew you had him wrapped around your little finger, even as he cupped the back of your head and drank from your mouth like a dying man.

Maybe...Maybe home wouldn’t be so bad.

[duckball]

#ZING

ZINGGGGGGGGGG tonight it's Mark vs the rest of the house along with Zingbot. You know what I love zingbot but it's overdone for me.... like bring back Pandora's box. Especially during the season of "temptation." So episode starts off as the pawn nomination ceremony with Matt vs Jason on the block with Jason as the backup target. Jeeze guys put the man up as the back up target who just found out he is going to be a dad for the second time. I really like how the house sees how they can get other people out right now besides Mark... but they don't see Paul as problem.... HE MADE IT TO FINAL 2 LAST SEASON. Cue sad Mark timeeee. He's upset that is stressful so they are showing Mark reading the Bible. He is very lonely. TIME TO PICK PLAYS FOR THE VETO COMPETITION Christmas-Jason-Matt-Raven (HG choice by Christmas)-Paul (HG choice by Matt)-Mark. Mark is happy he got picked he screamed when he got picked. Everyone was visibly annoyed when Jason Picked Mark. People are questioning Christmas for picking Raven. Even Christmas was questioning Christmas. Can Raven just fade away. Sooooooo irrelevant. Mark is ready to go play veto he recognizes his back against the wall. I admire players who keep playing even when everything isn't in their favor. Sleepy houseguests which means the zing is ready to ping.... I know I'm lame. "WAKE UP EVERYBODY." Zingbot 2017. *cue the hysterics. Raven is freaking out and me along with the rest of America are like shut up. Zingbot is making them bow down but Kevin is like WTF why are you loser bowing down to a robot. Mark: "I think you like being bisexual because every time you tried getting sexual with Elena she said BYEEEEE." 😂 Cut to Mark crying hardcore in DR. Hahahahaha. Alex: "I see you have been forced to carry a lot of dead weight or as I like to call it... Jason." Zingbot you have done better.... Raven: "oh poor Raven you get the clownotard... this is the worst punishment ever... oh wait that's just your face." thank god someone said it.... Josh: "my heart goes out to you this summer... you have shed a lot of tears this summer... too bad you can't shed any weightttt" Josh was shook in the DR it was funny because the kept cutting to Josh laughing at everyone else's ZINGs. Paul: "last season you taught me so much. You taught me friendship.. how to be pissed.. and how to lose half a million dollars." Production way to not call out the houseguest for his followers 🐸☕️ but you will call Christine and Cody out for their flirting in BB16... Matt: "you are in the game... especially since the only thing you have done in the game is Raven." Zingbot don't feed into Raven's delusions. Kevin: "I hear you like to use plastic wrap to preserve your youth... news flash.... to freakin late." Kevin flipped the bird. Alexxxxx: "what do you call someone with beach blonde hair, wears cat ears and handles wieners... a *ship noise." Christmas: " you have such a good heart I can guarantee you will find no coal in you stocking this season.... however you will find... ten shattered bones, nine weeks in a cast,eight surgeries,seven more X-rays, six years of rehab,five TITANIUM screws, four hospitals, three pain pills, two crutches, and a guilty rodeo clown." Jason better apologize everyday for that. That was a cruel one. Zingbot needs to get to go home to planet zing so the houseguests will probably have to assemble something. OH I WAS WRONG it's the slippery back and forth cup one. They have to get zingtroulem (I have no clue how to spell that.) weird seeing this as a veto not an HOH. Hahaha Mark forgot the slime at one point. Raven/Jason/Mark are going for the super scooper. LAST YEAR PAUL... I'm going to repeat that again... LAST YEAR PAUL used the time to get the big scoop and he feels that was a waste. Everyone is falling. Doing this as the veto just adds to the conspiracy that production wants Paul to win... having this be the veto because it sucks Mark is so big. And the winner isssssssssssss JASOOOOONN! Now he is done with his punishment. Alex is done with her camp guide. Mark is trying to strike deals with Christmas & Josh. If Christmas was smart Josh/Paul/Christmas/Mark as final four. I appreciate Mark's game play right now. Props to him. Jason took himself down with veto and Christmas puts Mark up. Will the house flip? Doubt it but that would be nice. 😝

[crossedbeams]

Post-Mortem - Trinity Ch. 6

And I just realised I never actually posted part 6 on tumblr... so here’s that!

Genre: Casefile | Fandom: The X-Files x The Fall x Sreetcar | Rating:Mature | Setting: Circa 2012. Canon compliant | Chapters: 6/6 of Part 1

Chapter 1 - Perfume || Chapter 2 - Impression || Chapter 3 - Connection Chapter 4 - Delusion  || Chapter 5-  Confrontation

Post-Mortem

I’m not sure how much time has passed since the heavy doors of the morgue sealed me away with only my thoughts for company.  Doubt and reason echo in confusing cacophony around this hollow room. There is always a timelessness to this type of inbetween place; the dead will remain dead no matter what I do, and yet, tonight, I feel feel a sense of urgency, some ticking secret that is running steadily away from me. Something dark.

I was confident when talked my way past the receptionist, dropping DSI Gibson’s name heavily on her objections, but now, alone with the bodies I feel like a stranger. It’s been years since I’ve spent this much time among the dead, since I’ve breathed this formaldehyde air for long enough to become accustomed to the chill, the smell and the quiet. I purposefully distanced myself from law enforcement, conspiracy and all the confusing darkness of the X-Files, but my withdrawal from pathology had been less calculated and so I assumed it would be easier to go back to.

I was wrong. I have made myself at home now in hubbub and humanity of a busy hospital, got used to taking my blood and bleeding with a chance of recovery. I recognise all the markings of the morgue, it is a cordial reunion, but I feel somehow like an outsider in this silent place. It’s almost like I have walked away and returned to a pale facsimile of the real thing, a film-set reality. I shake myself. Maybe the distance is the hangover of my conflict with Gibson. Or maybe it’s the fact that I have only been allowed in as an observer; I can read and I can review but I may not touch, may not open up the bodies and learn their secrets in my own way. These autopsies are complete, test results pending on all but the first victim. All I can do is look on and try to connect someone else’s dots. But it feels like more than just distance, like something is wrong and a foreboding knots tightly with my feeling that we are running out of time. I press back hard at those lingering thoughts, determined to rise above whatever strange mood has gripped me and do my best by these women in the time I have left. After all, it’s hardly the first case where I’ve come in at this stage of an investigation. Bad timing has never before stopped the dead from telling me their stories.

Digging in my purse for a rubber band, I scrape my hair back, shuddering at the cool air on the nape of my neck. I snap on latex gloves from the smallest box, drawing my old self over my uncertainty and force myself into the past. A quick external exam is my only means of corroborating the information I have been given and, if it all matches up, if I can find nothing to support my doubts, I will walk away. My trip to the morgue was born out of frustration, rebellion, and a feeling that I, along with the investigation, am missing something important. Time and fatigue are chipping away at that idea, urged by Stella’s dismissal leaning heavily against my conviction as it teeters on the shaky foundation of Blanche’s testimony. Maybe I should just go home. I can admit that the visit to the hospital has shaken me, made me question things I haven’t questioned in a long time, but I’m beginning to wonder if I wasn’t just looking for something to believe in, trying to play Mulder’s part. Perhaps my feelings about Blanche’s testimony say more about me than they do about her, the old Scully would never have responded so violently to Stella’s scepticism or confronted her in so heated a way over her methods.  It’s been a long day of high hopes and intense conversations coming to an end now in gruesome reality. Even if the truth is lying on these gurneys, it may not be mine to find.

But I am here and so are they.

Four women, dragged from their lives to stand as pawns in the fantasies of a madman and abandoned when their part was played out. They lie, the unmoving points of a compass, that will lead us to their killer if only we can find somewhere to start. If we can just find a pattern, something to make sense of all the scattered clues, to map out a man who could do these things to them. His capture will be some small settlement against the impossible loss we will return to their families, a tarnished silver lining to cloud their remembrance. I know that bitter comfort too well, but there is some release in burying the washed out shell of someone you love and knowing their killer has been stopped. For a family, it’s a sort of closure, firm ground above the storm of grief and the clumsy black tideline of autopsy stitches holding things together. But an arrest alone is not enough for the investigation. Even if we find their killer, will be long buried by the time we are finished fighting. Every shred of evidence, every shadow of motive will be held up to the scrutinizing light of a courtroom, tested by the untrained process of a jury, until the man who wrote this sickening story on the flesh of four women is proven guilty or set free. I shudder at the thought. This is the six-week haul of a predator I have no doubt is only just beginning to feed his urge. Whatever differences DSI Gibson and I may foster, for now I am here. The least I can do in my last few hours in the city is apply my unusual expertise and try to contribute in some way to the people trying to stop him.

I tap the record button on Mulder’s phone and break the graveyard silence as I step up to the first body.

‘Victim is a female Caucasian, identified as Jennie Stokes, 27. No signs of external trauma, no obvious predation, minimal decomposition. Condition of the body is consistent with a relatively short window between time of death and discovery of the body. Autopsy report lists cause of death as heart failure, induced by an unknown external factor; the victim had no preexisting medical condition which would contribute to a natural death by cardiac event. Initial Toxicology could isolate no one agent that may have caused heart failure and further tests are being conducted, results due in the next couple days.’

The story is similar on victim two, Lianne Chang, 22; no obvious trauma, no bizarre anomalies on my sweep of the body, the autopsy report and the tox screen. One evening she stayed behind to lock up her travel agency and 52 hours later she was found dead in Crescent Park by an early morning jogger. Victim three, Miranda Vernay, 44, of Atlanta, Georgia, complicates the pattern. A tourist, an older woman and a new cause of death. Asphyxia with no sign of strangulation, the markers on the body telling a different story but of the same origin: death by way of some as yet unidentified chemical, introduced by some as yet unknown method.

There are too many unknowns, too many questions. I begin to understand what Gibson means when she says there are both clear connections and confusing differences between the victims; their killer is both a man of habit and an adaptable predator. The women before me have little besides their gender in common and yet there is no doubt in my mind that they fell prey to the same man. Even without the flower there are small similarities that link them: they have almost identical stomach contents, a last meal of instant soup and cheap white bread, a strangely homely gesture in the face of their impending deaths; they have been washed with the same brand of household soap, their hair with the same cheap imported shampoo; and the crime scene photographs show them laid out in a grim approximation of sleep, hands at their sides, flowers blooming between airless lips.

I turn to the most recent victim, Nanette Arnaud, 24, college senior and freshly autopsied. Somehow she is more alive to me than the other three. She is exactly as Blanche DuBois described her, petite and pretty, nutmeg brown skin warm against the steel of the table. She has a small mole on her cheek, not far from where my own lingers persistently under the makeup I use to cover it. That seems such a petty vanity now, in the presence of a young woman whose entire potential has been wiped away in an act of senseless violence, everything she was now reduced to lines of data in a casefile and the memories of those who knew her. I examine her gently, praying for inspiration and find nothing. No signs of external trauma, no answers traced in the lines of her palms or the short hairs behind her ears.

I wanted so badly to find something here, no matter how slight the chances were that my old habits would find something a practicing pathologist has missed. The last 24 hours seem now to have been an exercise in great expectation and dull reality. At every turn I believed I could be of assistance, could make a difference, and at every stage I have found myself lacking. It’s hardly the escape I was hoping for, so I discard my rose-tinted glasses along with my gloves and gather myself to leave. The chill weight of my watch at my wrist tells me it’s coming up on 4am, that I’ve gone 26 hours without sleep and that there’s a flight to take home just three hours away. I let the call of the familiar drag me to the door. Even Mulder’s silence will be less oppressive than the unyielding vacuum of this room.

And then I smell it. Faint and utterly foreign.

I stall and it passes, just one more trick of the mind I suppose. Until it is there again, jasmine blossoming impossibly in the cloyingly cold air and beckoning me back across the room. It grows with every step until I stand once again over Nanette Arnaud, my shadow adding depth to the deep contours of her body under its crisp white sheet. The scent grows, becoming almost unbearable when I uncover her and for a horrid flash I smell other things: decay and blood and stale sheets and then nothing. There is still nothing here.

I walk a lap of the gurney to calm myself, struggling to rationalise away what I have just experienced. Every textbook in my past tells me that the phantom smell is some strange manifestation of my exhaustion, that a tired mind is a suggestible one and that my nose is hardly my most reliable sense. I have seen, heard and touched every piece of evidence available to me and found nothing helpful. At the end of the day, that has to be my cut-off point. I am a scientist, a medical doctor, and I can’t allow my unexpected personal entanglement with a witness to alter my point of view. Regretfully, I reach over to straighten the toe tag that ties together the body and its identity. As I grasp the cool cardboard a shiver runs over me and I jerk away, loosening the tag and tugging the toes slightly apart, cursing my overactive imagination and the resulting clumsiness.

And that’s when I see it.

I blink hard, sure that I’m seeing spots but it doesn’t move. I turn away, shakily find a fresh pair of gloves and return to my standpoint. It’s still there. A tiny dot, almost invisible and right where the toe tag would have been looped since the moment she was matched to her missing person’s report. I pull myself together enough to find a magnifying lens and stare blankly at what is quite possibly an injection site, Nestled deep between the valley of her toes it blends into the texture of her skin, little larger than a hair follicle and only a shade darker. It would have been easy to miss, the search for needle marks generally focusing on more accessible places especially as this forensic team hadn’t even been sure they were looking for an injection site; the lack of direction from the toxicologist had left them with a lot of ground to cover, endless tissue to search. If it hadn’t been for the strange perfume, for that unexpected shudder accidentally disturbing the toes I would never have seen it.

I cross to the body of Miranda Vernay and bend to examine her feet. There it is again, muddied by the smudge of fake tan gathered in the cleft between her pinkie and her next toe is a tiny prick mark. A dressmaker’s pin, Blanche called it, striking again in the shadow of one of Jennie Stokes’ freckles and in the partial syndactyly of Lianne Chang’s second and third toes. These are the marks of a fine needle in a practiced hand, no pressure from an overzealous application has added bruising to the tiny wounds that our killer has hidden as completely as possible.

If he is this thorough in his delivery of his killing stroke then it stands to reason that he would be as careful in his choice of weapon. I photograph my findings, and start to mentally catalogue drugs that would leave no trace on a standard tox screen, intravenous drugs that could trigger the sort of catastrophic reactions that ended these women’s lives. The list is surprisingly short and I scribble down my ideas on a fresh page of my notebook, hopelessness fading through the paper as I realise this strange string of events could give the toxicology lab a new focus, a place to narrow their search…. I can’t wait to tell Mu-

No. This is not the X-Files and Mulder doesn’t even know I’m here. The call I have to make will be devoid of shared excitement, possibly even confrontational. That’s assuming Stella Gibson even picks up.

Stella tosses her phone on the side table with more force than necessary, taking small satisfaction in the snick of a sleek corner denting on the hardwood top. It’s gone 4am and she can’t sleep, the last phone call just one more waste of time to finish a day of running hard at dead ends.

The agent on the phone sounded as though he would rather be sticking his head in a bear’s cave than be making the call, and Stella gave as good as she got, cursing herself as much for not making it clear she wasn’t to be disturbed as she did the field office  for disturbing her.

Blanche DuBois had had another dream; the story relayed via a harried doctor who said that his patient had to be sedated and had been screaming Gibson and Scully’s names amongst other, less logical things. He sounded as tired in the recorded message as Stella felt, that bone deep weariness that dulls every positive energy and sharpens every flaw. She tells the agent not to bother the people searching through Jane Does with this new description, as there will be plenty more promising wild geese to chase in this investigation, and then hangs up without pleasantry.

The agent’s sullen reticence concerns her and she decides that she’ll take in donuts in the morning to sweeten the sour taste of her presence in the field office; as the outsider she can't afford to be thoroughly disliked, though she hates the half-hearted platitudes that seem to carry weight in law enforcement this side of the Atlantic. Back in the UK the sound of her heels outside a conference room is enough to command a hush and nobody mistakes the silky fabric of her shirts for softness or worse, an invitation for flirtation. She worked for that respect, refusing to become one of the boys but demanding they make space for her in their clubhouse. Stella is satisfied that ripples of her reputation preceded her arrival in New Orleans, curtailing the most obnoxious misogyny and the laziest would-be suitors, but there is a long way to go before these men, and still they are mostly men, will afford her the respect they give her male FBI equivalent.

She sighs. The Blanche DuBois thing has not helped matters. Something in her gut told her there was something there, that maybe a relative or an ex-boyfriend was sending Miss Blanche sick love notes with the descriptions of dead girls in them. That would have explained the dreams, given her a starting point, but instead of leaping forward she’d taken two huge steps back; firstly in the destruction of her theory, and secondly in the gossip that will no doubt follow her back to the field office due to the hasty involvement and equally hasty dismissal of the former X-Files department.

Stella rolls on to her back with a guttural sigh. For a few hours, working with Dana Scully had been refreshing. The woman was smart, successful and the kind of person Stella would drink with after a case if it weren’t for the fact that she were also completely delusional. There are all kinds of liars in the world, from the truly malignant sociopath to the bashfully guilty child. Blanche DuBois is on that spectrum, somewhere between macabre imagining and being deeply, pathologically disturbed, but somehow she got into Scully’s head. There was no mistaking the light of belief in the woman’s eyes and though she’d remained rational in her questioning, Stella had known from her history that her objectivity had likely been compromised.

Scully’s reaction to the photograph test had been a testament to that. Yes, it had been hard on Blanche but as far as Stella was concerned the woman was under suspicion of withholding information and any tactic was fair game as long as it was legal. Some small voice in the back of her head starts to whisper that Blanche is not linked to the crimes by any more than coincidental dreams but she hushes it, squeezing her eyes closed and trying to find a quiet thought that will let her sleep.

Her phone starts to buzz again on the bedside table and she slaps at it angrily, silencing the ringer and pushing it off the table and onto the carpet. She’ll deal with whoever it is tomorrow. The FBI have her room phone number if it’s a real emergency and if she doesn’t get some rest her brain is going to short circuit. She closes her eyes and wills herself to sleep.

Thirty minutes later Stella’s eyes snap open, flashing ice blue frustration at the incessant working of her mind.The endless loop of information plays over a soundtrack of Blanche DuBois’ stories, hot surges of anger, disappointment and the bitter understanding in Dana Scully’s eyes when Stella dismissed her. She is no closer to sleep than she is to the killer, but that doesn’t mean she can’t work off some of the stress and frustration. The hotel pool will open in less than an hour and until then there are soft sheets and satin pajamas…

Sliding one hand into her pajama bottoms, Stella sighs. She’s too tired to be really aroused but she knows that with five minutes of long-perfected pressure she can rely on her nerve endings to burn off at least some of her tension. Usually she’d take the time to unfasten the tiny buttons along her breastbone, to tease herself through the satin, under the satin, reminding herself of those years in her teenage bedroom when she learned her body so well that by the time she shared it with another she could lecture him on exactly when, where, and how long to touch her. But tonight she has no energy for self-seduction, only the basest need for release and despite a standing start she knows that two fingers and a circling thumb will take her where she wants to go.

Her rhythm is steady, unhurried as the tick of the wall clock and right on schedule she starts to collect sparks in her spine and her toes. She arches into the sensation, breath coming harder now and pulse joining the race to her climax when it all falls apart with the peals of the desk telephone.

‘Fuck!’ She snaps her hand away and throws her head back in a bitter approximation of her scuppered orgasm before storming off the bed and over to the desk.

‘Gibson,’ is her curt warning as she listens, stony faced to AD Gilmore’s update.

‘SHIT!’ When she finally hangs up a steady chant of panic and impossibility chases the adrenaline through her body. Retrieving her mobile from the floor she sees three missed calls and as many voice messages from Dana Scully, and her stomach drops at the conversation she’s about to have, at the impossibility of what she’s being asked to do and the implications of this latest development.

Stella straightens her pajamas and stands tall, shoulders back in some approximation of composure as she hits dial, wondering for three endless rings if Dr. Scully will even answer when a voice cuts through the noise, frosty politeness on a cold wind of resentment.

‘I wasn’t expecting to hear from you DSI Gibson,’ is Scully’s only greeting, the rancour in her tone adding all the detailed displeasure that her words leave unspoken. Stella flinches slightly, unsurprised but still chilled by the difference between this voice and the one she’d first encountered. But, with the phone call to mask her physical agitation, all Stella has to do is find some formal non-apology for her recent inaccessibility and make her request; the past is passed and this is hardly the first time she’s had to handle a specialist’s ire.

‘Dr. Scully. I… We’ve had a busy night, hence my delay in contacting you and picking up your earlier messages...’

Silence.

‘It seems we’re not the only ones not sleeping. We have another body. And…,’ she hesitates, as if time will make what she’s about to say less implausible, the silence thickening in the coils of the phoneline. ‘It seems that Blanche DuBois somehow witnessed the death. From her room. As it happened.’

A slow exhale is Scully’s only response though Stella feels her animosity start to ebb away in its wake. There is a long pause as they both try to figure out what this means, what this says about their beliefs and reservations. After an eternity Scully speaks.

‘I’m at the airport. And I found something.’

Stella nods. Of course the infamous Dr. Scully would not have just walked away when told to, and thank god. It seems perhaps her particular brand of delusion might be exactly what Stella needs. Scanning the room for her dry cleaning, she mentally adds a quick shower and the journey time.

‘I’ll be there in 40 minutes.’

It’s more brutal this time and she comes to with the gasp of those waking moments when you’re falling with lungs screaming for air and terror caught in your teeth. Dim light bleeds through her eyelids washing with it that sickly sweet perfume. Where she used to smell jasmine there is now only fear. The scent of death.

Five previous trips to this killing room should leave the outcome beyond a doubt, and yet hope sends her heartbeat and breath into a ragged, desperate race for some alternative ending. The sharp pain strikes, an accompanying pressure restraining her ankle as she tries to escape the needle and the wave of heaviness that chases it up her body.

She fights the stillness, fights the inevitable and thrashes against the hard surface she is lying on. Seconds pass as hours before she manages to drop one leg over the edge and starts a reaction which gravity amplifies, a slow, desperate slither towards the ground and a flicker of hope punching through. This has never happened before.

But then there are hands, dragging her back and the heaviness is not just in her blood but on top of her. Crackling plastic sticks to her sweat slick skin as the man who hides in the shadows holds her down. One last, despairing struggle runs through her, but he has tamed her movement, extinguished her hope. There is a triangle of light creeping past the edge of the displaced blindfold but she closes her eyes. She does not want the last thing she ever sees to be the man who killed her.

She counts her heartbeats and remembers instead: a diamond ring on a white tablecloth, summers on the bayou, smiling, laughing, dancing….

Then nothing.

Blanche DuBois looks down on the girl in whose mind she has just watched wedding plans, lazy Sundays and dancing in the rain. How dull she looks in this place after the vibrant shades of her memory and yet still she is pure light compared to the crouched shadow of a man who hovers over her still, waiting to be sure that this time his prize will not try to escape.

‘You bastard’, Blanche mutters, surprised to find that her voice works, but nowhere near as surprised as the man beneath her whose head snaps upwards, pale eyes searching for the source of the sound invading his most secret place.

For the first time his face is not shrouded in shadow and as light floods the cruel lines of his face Blanche shrinks away, wishing more than ever that she were anywhere but this small, deadly room. She presses her eyes shut and screams and screams. She doesn’t stop screaming when she feels warm hands shaking her gently or when someone peels one eyelid back to show the blurry, concerned face of her doctor. She doesn’t stop screaming until she feels again the sharp scrape of a needle and then a welcoming, warm nothingness carries her away from everything.

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>

[naomi-l-tiessen-blog]

Things You Should Know Before Becoming a Writer

 Hellllllloooo everybody ~

Happy Thursday Blogday!

I had a rude awakening the other day. After wasting a great many hour on The Vlog That Never Was (see post, “The Adventure Continues...”), it occurred to me that 1) life is unfair, 2) it turns out that yes, I am indeed technologically challenged, and 3) there was so much to the writing world that I didn’t know and OH LORD was I unprepared. And as I sat slumped in front of my computer, arms clenched across my chest, my mouth twisted into a perma-frown, I felt cheated...how come no one told me about these things or, at the very least, gave me a heads up? What was I getting myself into? In my defense, it’s not like writing comes with some sort of warning/disclaimer label, but still...I was way over my head. 

Sound familiar?

Well, have no fear! I’ve got your back! Today’s blog is about 9 things you should probably take into account before diving head first into the Writer Pool. I imagine that there are many more out there, but these were the heavier-duty ones that you’ll, more often than not, encounter.  

1) You need to whore yourself to the social media world. For reals. And at first it’s going to be scary, but just do baby steps, and you’ll be fine. I started out with Instagram, Twitter, and Tumblr, and I’m still alive. Really, it shouldn’t even be scary! It’s not like the world is asking you to leave your house and socialize with real people. On the internet, the worst thing that can happen is an invasion of trolls. 

But honestly, the social media world is horribly important for a writer. How else will we get our name out there, market our book, promote ourselves, and seduce people with our awkwardness? I don’t know about you, but I had this really weird delusion that 1) I wouldn’t have to market myself until the publication day of my book, and 2) even if I didn’t market myself, people would still be interested in my book. Well, true, people MIGHT be interested, but chances of people even finding your book in the first place will be a hell of a lot slimmer if you don’t promote your stuff. I LITERALLY HAD NO IDEA that I had to put in promotional work before my book was even done. God, was I naive, and dumb, but mostly naive. 

And on that note….

2) Hashtags are your friends. Seriously. Use the shit out of them. They are a great way of connecting with other people with similar interests, or finding fellow writers, or potential beta readers and critique partners. I used to hate jumping on my Facebook and seeing people posting a single picture with, no joke, about 30-40 hashtags after it. But now that I’m actively on social media, I totally get it. Granted, the chicks that drowned my FB feed were using really dumb hashtags like “hair,” .... yes...yes you do have hair...good observation. Having said that, there are some really great hashtags out there: #WritingCommunity, #WritersofInstagram, #AmWriting, #NewWriter, to name a few. Don’t be afraid to test these waters and try some out. 

3) You need to be technologically savvy. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. THIS. Honestly, I need a lesson on computers. I have no idea how to create a website, or purchase a domain name. I don’t know the first thing about creating a vlog and posting it on my YouTube channel. I haven’t a clue how to edit videos, and how to format my word documents. And HOW the FUCK do I market my book when IT’S NOT EVEN DONE!? 

Word, Robb Stark, word.

4) You [sometimes] can’t just publish a book and immediately quit your day job. This might not be a shocker to some, but I was really delusional when I first started writing. I figured that as soon as I published my first novel, I could immediately resign from my position at the hospital and become a full-time writer. Well, as nice as that would be, it’s not really realistic, especially when you are relying on your day job for financial stability. The first authors convention I went to, every single author on the panel still had a day job, and to be honest, it blew my mind. I was like, “are...are they doing that on purpose?” Unfortunately, I never got a chance to have a 1-on-1 chat with any of them, but I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that none of them seemed really driven to become a full-time writer. I mean....isn’t that the point for some? It is for me! The idea of being a nurse longer than I need to be is freaking torture, and I want to jump off that ship as soon as possible. But it’s going to take time. I need to remind myself that every day. Unless you are the next Tolkien, chances are it might take some time getting your feet off the ground. And that’s ok! It’s not a race, after all. Primarily, you need to look out for you, even if that means staying with your dead-end job in order to pay the bills. Don’t fret, just keep working by day, writing by night, and conniving during your sleep. Mind you, some people HAVE managed to accomplish the act of quitting their day job, so its not altogether impossible. And really, who doesn’t love a good challenge? 

5) It’s a long ass process. The writing itself can take years. YEARS. I started HBE back in April of 2014, and it’s STILL not done. And when I finally get around to finishing it, I’ll have the joys of editing, re-writes (and re-writes, and re-writes), and recruiting beta readers and critique partners. Depending on how many rounds of betas I want to do, not to mention how long they take to read my work, this can add on several more months to my writing timeline. Then there’s the professional editing. Not only are professional editors sometimes hard to hire in a timely manner, their process of going through your work can take large chunks of time. For this reason, it’s best to look into hiring one about 3-4 months before you are actually ready for them to cover your manuscript in red ink. And depending on which route you take for publishing, you’re going to have to deal with query letters (and waiting), submissions (and waiting), and contracts (and potentially more waiting). Bottom line: it’s not exactly an overnight sort of ordeal. 

6) It can be a bit pricey. Now, this might not apply to everyone (lucky buggers), but it definitely applies to moi, and I know that, for the most part, writers aren’t rich bastards. There are the typical expenses: hiring a professional editor, a book cover artist, and self-publishing. Granted, these are things that TECHNICALLY don’t have to be pricey, but in the long run, you might suffer because you weren’t willing to shill out another dollar. It’s sort of like a tattoo...if you pay for a $50 lion, you’re going to get a $50 lion. Trust me...that shit ain’t pretty.

If you are cheap when it comes to things like the cover and the editing, you’re going to end up with a book that doesn’t sell as well as you’d like. Talk about a bummer. 

Then there are the hidden expenses. These include things like: equipment to vlog (camera, microphone, not to mention an editing program), throwing giveaways for your followers, purchasing a domain name for a website, and *obviously* a computer to write on (unless you like doing long-hand...weirdo...). And while some of these aren’t exactly essential, they are still fairly noteworthy to take into consideration, lest you get the surprise of your life when it’s time to front the writing bill. 

7) Nothing is going to happen overnight. You can’t post your first blog before bedtime and expect to wake up the next morning a brand new internet sensation. You’re setting yourself up for failure and disappointment if you do this. It can take months before you scrounge up even the littlest following, and even if that following is your proud mother, sister, and loyal friend, that’s ok! Use this time to find your writing voice, what you want your theme to be (if you want one at all), and how you want to portray yourself on the internet (whether it’s through blogs, or vlogs, or Twitter, or Instagram, etc). Figure out who your target audience is, and work towards reaching out to them. 

One thing that will help your cause that you should definitely consider is the art of consistency. Post often, whether it’s little writer updates, excerpts from your WIP, or pictures of your work station. Have a playlist for one of your characters? Share it with the world! Have a character inspiration aesthetic? Post that shit! The things you post don’t always have to be writer-oriented, as well. Post things about your fur babies, or what you had for dinner, or about the epic dance battle you just held in your living room. And if you choose to jump into the blogging realm, make sure to pick a day to post, and stick with it. Obviously if that day stops working out for you (especially if you have shift work and don’t have much control over your schedule), let your readers know. But if you skip blogging for weeks at a time, sporadically posting here and there...well...no one likes a flaky blogger. That shit ain’t cool, and leaves everyone disappointed.       

8) Research will be needed. A lot of it. *Eye twitch*. Ok, if you’re a writer, you’re going to know that saying, “write what you know.” I’m going to call bull shit on that one. If we merely wrote what we knew, most of us would be writing about high school, and going to work, and completely mundane things. Uh, hello!? Writing is meant to be an escape from all that, right? I already have to go through the torture of 12 hour shifts being a nurse...what makes you think I want to write about it too? So, unless you live a wicked double life or something, chances are your life and what you know isn’t exactly writing material (no offence). If we simply wrote what we knew, how would we discover the elves of Rivendell, or the witches and wizards of Hogwarts? How would we write about mermaids, and dragons, and zombies, and vampires? Does that mean that I, a female, never get to write about men? Ever? Ok, ok, that’s a fierce exaggeration, but you get the point. 

However, on the flip-side, if you wake up one morning and are suddenly itching to write about a gay vampire during the American Civil War, or about a neurosurgeon that’s also a zombie, or about a police officer suspected of the murder of well-known celebrity, you might want to consider doing some research. If you don’t, chances are, you might come across as ignorant, not to mention offend some people. However, research isn’t simply for the writing process. What genre are you writing in? Do you know a lot about it? What about POV’s? Past vs Present Tense? If you aren’t well-educated on even these types of things, people are going to notice. Joy.

9) Writing isn’t the only *hard* part…and screw anyone that says “writing is fun! And easy!!” ….cue hardcore eye roll.

Seriously, anyone that says this is a freaking liar. Yes, writing is fun, but not ALL the TIME. There are times where it’s hard as fuck, where you have been suffering from Writer’s Block for what seems like an indefinite amount of time, where writing is literally the last thing you want to do. There are times you are going to think you aren’t good enough, or smart enough, or brave enough to write an entire novel, let alone publish it.  You’re going to want to quit a million times, and some days, it’s going to be really hard finding a single reason to keep going. 

And not only that, if you had the expectation that things would get easier after your manuscript is complete...boy, you are in for a rude awakening. After finishing your novel, you’ll have to deal with the repetitive process of editing and drafts till you want to punch yourself in the face. Then there’s the critique partners, beta readers, professional editors, cover designers, agents, contracts, and publishers. Honestly, that’s just to name a few obstacles; I could keep going. You’re going to have to deal with criticism, receiving positive and negative feedback, and not to mention trolls (who have no souls and like making people cry for fun). Depending on which route you take to publish your work, you might lose some control of your novel baby, and won’t get much of a say as you’d like.      

Are we having fun yet??

And there you have it! I hope that these pointers are as enlightening for you as they were for me, and that perhaps I can save you some grief, and hoarse vocal chords (from…you know…screaming with consuming frustration into the abyss). Also, keep in mind that writing is still a great adventure, and honestly, if it were easy, everyone would be doing it. But it’s not. It’s hella hard, and takes a special breed of human to be up for the challenge. I applaud you, human! Go you!

And yes, I’m still hoping to throw a vlog out there one of these days :)

With that said, I post new blogs every Thursday, and if there is anything you’d like me to discuss, feel free to message me on here, or tweet me @ScarletteStone

Until next time,

Happy Writing!

[dfroza]

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Psalms and Proverbs

for Saturday, April 4 of 2020 with Psalm 4 and Proverbs 4, accompanied by Psalm 17 for the 17th day of Spring and Psalm 95 for day 95 of the year

[Psalm 4]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by strings.

Answer my prayers, O True God, the righteous, who makes me right.

I was hopelessly surrounded, and You rescued me.

Once again hear me; hide me in Your favor;

bring victory in defeat and hope in hopelessness.

How long will you sons of Adam steal my dignity, reduce my glory to shame?

Why pine for the fruitless and dream a delusion?

[pause]

Understand this: The Eternal One treats as special those like Him.

The Eternal will answer my prayers and save me.

Think long; think hard. When you are angry, don’t let it carry you into sin.

When night comes, in calm be silent.

[pause]

From this day forward, offer to God the right sacrifice from a heart made right by God.

Entrust yourself to the Eternal.

Crowds of disheartened people ask, “Who can show us what is good?”

Let Your brilliant face shine upon us, O Eternal One, that we may know the undeniable answer.

You have filled me with joy, and happiness has risen in my heart, great delight and unrivaled joy,

even more than when bread abounds and wine flows freely.

Tonight I will sleep securely on a bed of peace

because I trust You, You alone, O Eternal One, will keep me safe.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 4 (The Voice)

and these lines of the same Psalm mirrored in The Message translation:

Complain if you must, but don’t lash out.

Keep your mouth shut, and let your heart do the talking.

Build your case before God and wait for his verdict.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 4:4-5 (The Message)

[Psalm 17]

A David Prayer

Listen while I build my case, God,

the most honest prayer you’ll ever hear.

Show the world I’m innocent—

in your heart you know I am.

Go ahead, examine me from inside out,

surprise me in the middle of the night—

You’ll find I’m just what I say I am.

My words don’t run loose.

I’m not trying to get my way

in the world’s way.

I’m trying to get your way,

your Word’s way.

I’m staying on your trail;

I’m putting one foot

In front of the other.

I’m not giving up.

I call to you, God, because I’m sure of an answer.

So—answer! bend your ear! listen sharp!

Paint grace-graffiti on the fences;

take in your frightened children who

Are running from the neighborhood bullies

straight to you.

Keep your eye on me;

hide me under your cool wing feathers

From the wicked who are out to get me,

from mortal enemies closing in.

Their hearts are hard as nails,

their mouths blast hot air.

They are after me, nipping my heels,

determined to bring me down,

Lions ready to rip me apart,

young lions poised to pounce.

Up, God: beard them! break them!

By your sword, free me from their clutches;

Barehanded, God, break these mortals,

these flat-earth people who can’t think beyond today.

I’d like to see their bellies

swollen with famine food,

The weeds they’ve sown

harvested and baked into famine bread,

With second helpings for their children

and crusts for their babies to chew on.

And me? I plan on looking

you full in the face. When I get up,

I’ll see your full stature

and live heaven on earth.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 17 (The Message)

[Psalm 95]

[It’s Time to Sing]

Come on, everyone! Let’s sing for joy to the Lord!

Let’s shout our loudest praises to our God who saved us!

Everyone come meet his face with a thankful heart.

Don’t hold back your praises;

make him great by your shouts of joy!

For the Lord is the greatest of all,

King-God over all other gods!

In one hand he holds the mysteries of the earth

and in the other he holds the highest mountain peaks.

He’s the owner of every ocean,

the engineer and sculptor of earth itself!

Come and kneel before this Creator-God;

come and bow before the mighty God, our majestic maker!

For we are the lovers he cares for and he is the God we worship.

So drop everything else and listen to his voice!

For this is what he’s saying:

“Today, when I speak,

don’t even think about turning a deaf ear to me

like they did when they tested me at Meribah and Massah,

the place where they argued with me, their Creator.

Your ancestors challenged me over and over with their complaining,

even though I had convinced them of my power and love.

They still doubted my care for them.

So for forty long years I was grieved and disgusted by them.

I described them as wicked wanderers

whose hearts would not follow my ways or keep my words.

So I made a vow in my anger and declared,

‘They will never enter the resting place I’ve planned for them!’

So don’t you ever be hard-hearted or stubborn like they were!”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 95 (The Passion Translation)

[Proverbs 4]

Listen to my correction, my sons,

for I speak to you as your father.

Let discernment enter your heart

and you will grow wise with the understanding I impart.

My revelation-truth is a gift to you,

so remain faithful to my instruction.

For I, too, was once the delight of my father

and cherished by my mother, their beloved child.

Then my father taught me, saying,

“Never forget my words.

If you do everything that I teach you, you will reign in life.”

So make wisdom your quest—

search for the revelation of life’s meaning.

Don’t let what I say go in one ear and out the other.

Stick with wisdom and she will stick to you,

protecting you throughout your days.

She will rescue all those who passionately listen to her voice.

Wisdom is the most valuable commodity—so buy it!

Revelation knowledge is what you need—so invest in it!

Wisdom will exalt you when you exalt her truth.

She will lead you to honor and favor

when you live your life by her insights.

You will be adorned with beauty and grace,

and wisdom’s glory will wrap itself around you,

making you victorious in the race.

[Two Pathways]

My son, if you will take the time to stop and listen to me

and embrace what I say,

you will live a long and happy life

full of understanding in every way.

I have taken you by the hand in wisdom’s ways,

pointing you to the path of integrity.

Your progress will have no limits when you come along with me,

and you will never stumble as you walk along the way.

So receive my correction no matter how hard it is to swallow,

for wisdom will snap you back into place—

her words will be invigorating life to you.

Do not detour into darkness or even set foot on that path.

Stay away from it; don’t even go there!

For troublemakers are restless if they are not involved in evil.

They are not satisfied until they have brought someone harm.

They feed on darkness and drink

until they’re drunk on the wine of wickedness.

But the lovers of God walk on the highway of light,

and their way shines brighter and brighter

until they bring forth the perfect day.

But the wicked walk in thick darkness,

like those who travel in fog,

and yet don’t have a clue why they keep stumbling!

[Healing Words]

Listen carefully, my dear child, to everything that I teach you,

and pay attention to all that I have to say.

Fill your thoughts with my words

until they penetrate deep into your spirit.

Then, as you unwrap my words,

they will impart true life and radiant health

into the very core of your being.

So above all, guard the affections of your heart,

for they affect all that you are.

Pay attention to the welfare of your innermost being,

for from there flows the wellspring of life.

Avoid dishonest speech and pretentious words.

Be free from using perverse words no matter what!

[Watch Where You’re Going]

Set your gaze on the path before you.

With fixed purpose, looking straight ahead,

ignore life’s distractions.

Watch where you’re going!

Stick to the path of truth,

and the road will be safe and smooth before you.

Don’t allow yourself to be sidetracked for even a moment

or take the detour that leads to darkness.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 4 (The Passion Translation)

“Keep vigilant watch over your heart; that’s where life starts.”

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 4:23 (The Message)

[qunot]

Venturing Onwards

You may, may want to read my first blog post before reading this or you will lack a lot of vital context!

What happened in the meanwhile since blog post 1? That is a very long story.

I have gotten sick a bunch of times and some of the symptoms which I won’t list in full detail are frankly terrifying. I’m sure these withdrawal symptoms from the really nasty stuff that is supposed to make me “normal”, especially as my body tries to adjust to hormones it has adjusted to the lack of.

Going off them more slowly would have likely been better, but I’m not too fond of being disturbed and depressed or suicidal. Greater society would say that this is a good thing, even though it obviously backfires in some ways (I have never, ever seen a case despite talking to dozens of people where it couldn’t be handled more normally like a normal well-adjusted person by simply consuming harmless content), but I think we have heard enough out of them.

I am still weird, but I am just weird in general for a number of reasons. There is no cure for weird or these irritable attractions, they are sort of more tolerable now, but they do still really bug me, especially when their intensity jumps up and down. This is likely one of the side-effects, a side-effect which ironically is more useful than the pitiful excuse of an effect that the stuff was supposed to do, if not for it being random and irritating me due to being moved from a cold glacier like state to a volcano in a short time-span making it hard for my brain to adapt.

I have also joined groups, left groups, saw groups get corrupted and fall into depravity, saw previously friendly groups turn all passive-aggressive (you can only tolerate so much before you simply can’t deal with the drama any-more), saw a few people who seemed smart go crazy and do stupid things, sites have risen, sites have fallen. It seems to be par the course for this community. I’ve gotten advice, given advice including how to avoid attacking random people, and worked myself through a number of mental break-downs.

What an adventure in only six months, it is like years have passed.

I am also slightly confused as to why I exist, this makes sense when I literally have no clue what my future is, if I even have one with people constantly formulating ways to screw with me. I have to keep a very close eye on newspaper headlines to see if some new law or misguided policy has wiggled it’s way into the sphere to “better” society.

I am also more tolerant towards people struggling with viewing things they really shouldn’t, although cracks show if they view particularly violent content that would not seem to be necessary for them to satisfy such desires. I will also add that while many view all the content as exactly the same, when they are worried about what they consume, they will often try to pick the least harmful tier of content, sometimes eventually shifting to an alternative that doesn’t involve any real people.

This means that while they may continue to engage with such content, the worst of the worst ends up getting viewed much less frequently on a whole. They may even eventually shift themselves to alternatives that lack real people entirely or are less problematic. One advantage of such alternatives have is variety, you can easily procure content without legal risk, which means that you can keep your body happy without as much work or risk. There are also many scenarios which would be physically impossible or improbable to carry out in reality.

In many cases, elevated sexual interest in such may be due to:

Puberty (many who consume such content are teenagers, people with such attractions don’t just pop out of thin air)

Hypersexuality (a controversial “disorder” which many psychologists believe to be caused by shame regarding one’s sexuality and other factors).

Unstable levels of hormones (including lowered hormones in some cases, it may be difficult for someone to adapt to alternate outlets with lower levels of receptivity, if they have fallen out of range and sexual release can easily be a a coping mechanism when one is depressed.

I do not know of any other factors which may play into this, but they may well exist, my vantage point is fairly limited given my meager nine months of experience in the community and there are all manner of people with all manner of mental states in the world. There is even supposedly a rare form of OCD which someone might have rather than the condition itself which might appear similar to the untrained eye.

As for physical acts, I am not too tolerant towards these. I have tried to be, when someone tells me of such acts to deal with them according, but ultimately, they are harming both themselves and others. This applies no matter what faction’s views are in play.

Such relationships are always destined to fall apart with both people being hurt in the process, confusion can ensue, serious misunderstands can be allowed to grow unchecked, serious damage both physical and psychological could be caused. There are a lot of reasons which could fill a post of it’s own.

Let’s not feed the silly delusion that people can “get away with it” either. People always get caught in the end, it is just a matter of time. Even if they can’t do it now, even if they have to wait twenty years for the technology to be ready, they will find a way and no one knows what sort of cruel and unusual punishment will be in place at that time. Or it could happen earlier, no one ever knows and no one is perfect.

If anyone has any information they want to add (or refutations, I love learning new things), then feel free to poke me. No nastiness tho -

–

There seems to be somewhat of a hysteria around sexualisation lately with the definitions of sexual material being expanded dramatically, hysterical reports about surges in such content being pushed out as a response and the hysteria simply feeding itself into full panic mode. Report helplines are being overloaded with false reports, dodgy processes are resulting in incorrectly tagged images being pushed forward and things are generally falling into chaos.

There are also a number of absurd conspiracy theories floating around which couldn’t be further from the truth, along with a tinge of fear that we are in “control” despite suffering nothing but losses in policy and law at every single level for the past fifty years.

Despite this, we are portrayed in all manner of conspiracy theory as omnipotent puppet masters capable of anything, I cannot fathom how one could possibly come to such a conclusion. In normal circumstances, such theories would be tossed aside and considered a part of fringe politics, but in the current hyper-charged state of politics with one faction throwing mud at the other to try to undermine, convenient villains have been pulled out of thin air.

And who better to play this villainous role and we play it we do, while I personally do not commit any manner of horrific crime, crime is the way of the world, so you can always find members of the groups and many many more who have nothing to do with us, but commit crimes traditionally associated with us. This leads to sites clamping down on us and shoving us out. This isn’t due to some huge public outrage, but as part of relatively peripheral issues. Our presence, understandably but ever so annoying, is nothing but trouble to platforms and only serves to soil their reputation by association, so it really costs them nothing to shove us out.

Unlike the stories, we are not part of some shadow government that can twist them around our fingers, there may be shenanigans going on upstairs, but I not privy to them and I very much doubt it is some grand conspiracy, as much as they are human desires functioning as they have since the start of time for their own individual purposes.

[jessiesent-blog]

Dave

I slept at 5am this morning tossing and turning, suddenly intensely thinking about Dave and Kai. This was brought on by discovering a whole file of voice memos I'd kept over the last three years. It made me realise how I'd definitively lost my mind and regained it. I was such a mess. I was talking such nonsense, incoherent shit that centred around the themes of a lack of identity, nonexistence of self, the absurdity of life, love, love and love. What the hell was love to me then? Some kind of infatuation and dependency. Did I really see these two boys I claimed to love? Did I really understand them and their needs? I concluded that I was selfish, and had my head up my arse. I was too messed up and scrambled in the head to have a coherent experience of reality. I thought that Dave was telepathic and he was communication secretly to me while I lived in his house. I hallucinated that he arranged and orchestrated my entire hospital admission and stay, declaring his love for me and his wish to marry me. I was scared and overwhelmed and I ran away, back to Singapore. Later, not being able to make sense of him suddenly becoming cold and cutting me off, I started having delusions that he was still in love with me and was stalking me while I was in Melbourne. I left graffiti on the walls of bathrooms for him to read, I left presents and cards on the street for him to pick up, I arranged things in my bedroom and left the window open, convinced that he would come in whenever I was out, and understand my secret messages. At the student's union in Monash, I was playing the piano and found a simple Casio watch. Later, I found a ring. I was convinced he had left them both for me. I went shopping for jeans and the next day, I was sure that the rips on the jeans weren't there when I bought them and that he'd snuck into the apartment to replace them with a different pair. When I met various people on the streets, I was convinced he'd sent them to talk to me and was communicating with me through them. This may all sound out of the blue, but it all started on the day of my first hospital admission. His roommates showed me a video of his brother marrying a Chinese girl right before him and Louis walked me to the hospital. I thought he was trying to tell me that we were getting married. At the hospital, I heard the receptionist call out "Anna Kendrick" instead of my name, and I thought Dave had planted that too, because I recently told him I'd seen the movie Pitch Perfect 2, which starred as its lead Anna Kendrick. In the first examining room, Dave and Louis were with me. The nurse said, looking between Dave and me, "I can see why you want to marry her." Later, as I was transported to John George hospital in Oakland, I heard in the ambulance the Superman song come on. It was spliced: "It's not easy to be CHEESY me." In the second hospital, a man named Ricardo kept telling me to keep an eye on an old woman with one prosthetic foot, saying that something was about to happen at any moment. She was then attacked by 7 security guards for wanting to go to the bathroom. I was convinced this entire experience was orchestrated by Dave, as a test of my character, to see if I had the leadership to lead a team with him on a mission to escape purgatory. Before the hospital, I had yelled for Dave from his backyard. He had come down and, calm and amused, asked if I wanted to see him. I immediately asked, "When did I die?" To which he answered, "We are in a kind of purgatory. There will be monsters coming after us and we have to stick close to our friends." That convinced me that I really was dead and in a different reality, and started this whole belief that the entire hospital experience was a test set up by Dave to train me for something even tougher. When I called Dave from the hospital, he didn't answer. Now, two years after all that, I'm sure that I must have hallucinated most of that. I'm still in slight disbelief - that my eyes and ears could betray and trick me so thoroughly, creating an entire reality that was unreliable. I'm no longer in love with Dave, but his figure still carries this sense of mystery that would make me pale and scared at the sight of him. For months I thought he was stalking me in Melbourne and there were so many moments I was afraid he was going to appear. Every time I came back home, I was relieved when I didn't find him in my bedroom. I was attracted to him but also freaked out that he was intensely stalking me. My mind didn't create a purely innocent fantasy, it created something of a horror too. I stuck to Kai even more closely, treating him as a shield against Dave. I felt that if Kai was around, Dave would not appear. Now, it is all embarrassing and slightly funny. Dave is just an ordinary guy who liked me but did not love me. He never did all the strange things I experienced; my mind created those. He was never in Melbourne. For months I was behaving irrationally, running away from no one. I'm not sure if it was the antipsychotics or that enough time had passed to convince me that he did not care about me and was not going to reappear in my life. I'd always thought of him as a magician, but now I see him as an ordinary guy, just leading his life far far away, mostly ignorant of my psychosis. I spent many months after my second hospital stay piecing together what had happened, examining all the clues obsessively, analysing every word and expression Dave and his housemates had whenever they said something strange. My world split into two realities: the reality where Dave was going to marry me and appear some day soon, and the reality where I had hallucinated everything that suggested the first reality. Now, I'm certain it was the latter: I had hallucinated and also Dave and his housemates were factually odd people who said odd things, feeding into my delusions. The main reason for that conclusion is that if Dave loved me, there would be no reason for such an elaborate orchestration of events. He would simply show up and look for me, or he wouldn't have cut me off to begin with. He must not love me. I know that now. The reason I fell in love with Dave was not because of who he is inherently. I don't think I even really knew who he was. It's because I was perpetually stoned and becoming schizophrenic, interpreting secret codes and messages in ordinary things. Finding his instagram recently really helped me disperse any remnants of the delusion. In the month I thought he was in Melbourne, he was still in America, working on his passion project, updating his instagram regularly with his progress. Having that proof before my eyes was the final confirmation that he was not a magician but an ordinary guy. All the mysticism fell away from him. I had attributed superpowers to him: telepathy, mind control, genius intelligence, Machiavellian leadership. I even remember at one point I was convinced he was a sociopath who ran the world through mind control, and I was scared. Looking at his Instagram, I was somewhat relieved and embarrassed. He's just an ordinary harmless guy, a little odd but not magical. I have a very open mind, too much for my own good. I believe that telepathy, mind control, hive minds could exist. I believe that the universe could be a simulation which is why we see so much coincidence or signs. But when I got very sick, those things weren't just an open-minded belief. They became certainties, and I acted logically according to those premises, resulting in bizarre behaviour. I know now, without a doubt that I had lost my mind. That knowledge means I've somewhat regained it. There's still some confusion about certain events, real or imagined, but I no longer have firm beliefs of big conspiracies of the fight for world domination, the fight against evil, the quest to kill everyone's egos. I'm okay now, but I'm still scared. I'm scared because I took the blue pill thinking it was the red pill. I'm scared that I can't tell the blue and red pill apart. Maybe there is no blue or red pill. It's just one reality, subjectively interpreted, not black and white, blue and red. Madness is not what you think. It's not confusion. It's certainty about a very different set of premises. One day I'll find the words to describe it all, but now I'm just unscrambling the experience. Dave and I will never be friends again, even if my delusions are gone. Too much has happened between us, even in the absence of him. He will be too wary to ever be in contact with me, maybe unless like 30 years have passed or something. That would be an interesting meeting to have 30 years from now. I wonder how he feels about me. Does he pity me? Does he worry about me? Does he feel scared of me? I will probably never know. And it matters less and less as he fades into a distant memory. He's just a guy.