#more than a few didn't just sound like morbid jokes

[sangue-dolce]

I was watching this tutorial on how to make a noose (not for any sinister reason, I've just been into learning basic knots recently) and the comments under the video are so eerie and unsettling. more than any horror film I've seen recently. something about the offhand, almost joyous way people comment why exactly that tutorial will be useful to them soon.

[copinghex]

Blood hands | T.S

Summary: After killing someone for the first time, Tommy's wife has to deal with the emotional consequences of it. Luckily, he's there to look after her.

She was terrible in biology, never got more than a B, it didn't matter how hard she studied. Every exam period she went to the tiny, dusty Birmingham's library and took notes from the anatomy books. Nothing ever changed.

Analyzing the drawings, she tried to make sense out of them, the muscles, joints and bones, wrapped together in the masterwork of the human body. It just didn't make sense to her, the subject simply wouldn't get into her brain and honestly, it disgusted her too. She had no wish to see beneath someone's skin, aware the reality was much more bloodier and morbid than the books.

Less than ten years later, she did, but unlike she imagined, the bile didn't rise to her throat expressing the deep disgust. Her eyes opened widely, unable to move from the mess of what once must've been a beautiful body.

The curly golden locks hid the agent's frightened looks, gladly, because the murderer in the train station wouldn't bear to face the lack of life in her blue eyes. 

Blood ran down her nose, her hands shook and her left eye stung. The woman who a few ago held her in disadvantage, sticking a sharp nail into her orb, was reduced to nothing by the train's velocity. A push was all it took.

Then, her trance was interrupted by the sound of steps, she ran away like a child avoiding punishment, not many people dared to fuck with a gangster's fiancée, but the ones who did certainly would make her look much worse in the train tracks.

As she headed home, carrying her heels in hand so she could walk faster, another haunting thought crept into her mind, Tommy, the reason why she had blood in her hands. She was sure he'd be dead when she got home, with a bullet Billy Kimber would've put in his brain.

For a moment she considered not going anywhere, simply sitting down on someone's pavement so she wouldn't have to deal with anything. 

If she only could, she'd ask God to allow her man to be alive when she got home, she couldn't, asking Him to save a man like Tommy felt like blasphemy or a joke of poor taste. There was no salvation for the Small Heath's devil, at least not from divine sources.

Swallowing the bitter taste of uncertainty, she walked home with a heavy heart. However, much for her surprise, Tommy stood at the front door, his eyes slightly widened at her awful state. Her throat burnt with the urge to cry as she dropped her heels and wrapped her arms around him, he winced in pain from the bullet hole in his chest, nevertheless, allowed her to hold him.

His name poured from her lips in quiet, relieved whispers. His attentive eyes were quick to capture every irregularity in her figure, bruised knuckles, teary eyes and bare foot. He had never seen her so broken.

"I was coming to pick you up," he explained, "what happened? Where were you?" 

Lifting her head from his shoulder, her still shaky hands hesitated in cupping his cheeks, resting on his shoulders instead. She negatively nodded and peeked at the wound under his coat.

"You're alive, that's all that matters," 

"What happened to you?" he insisted.

"Tommy, please," she breathed out, caressing the length of his arms, "not now, not fucking now," 

His jaw tightened as he fought the urge of arguing, he hated to have things hidden from him, but knowing he'd eventually find out anyway, he obliged to her wish.

Gently, his thumb met the eyelid of her wounded eye, "That's fucking bad," 

"I'll go to the pharmacy tomorrow, they'll give me something to get it better," she drawled, "now, tell me what happened," 

"...Danny whizz-bang is dead," was all Tommy deemed as relevant, guilt weighted heavily on the sergeant's voice, he was responsible for his soldiers' safety and he had failed Danny badly.

"Oh, darling," she muttered, "I'm so sorry," 

Looking away from her merciful eyes, he slightly nodded. Reaching for a cigarette from his silvery pack before saying, "We're at the Garrison now," 

"I'm not up for it, you can go back if you want," with a quick brush on his cheek, she entered home and in a quick decision, Tommy followed after, "I'll take a bath, then take a look at your bandages, who took the bullet out?" 

"Jeremiah," he drawled.

She nodded, glad someone gentle as the preacher looked after her husband when she wasn't able to. Heading to the bathroom, she only hoped the hot water would wash away the weight on her shoulders.

-

Rubbing her hands together, she watched the quiet street through the window, every now and then a lonely citizen walked past and this was all keeping her from dissociating.

The bath wasn't of great help, the relaxation it brought also lowered the adrenaline, making her muscles and wounds ache. A knot tightened on her throat as she tried to convince herself everything was fine. Everything was fine, Tommy was alive, no one was after them anymore, nothing else mattered, nothing.

The door suddenly opened, making her jump. Tommy entered the bedroom with a towel on his shoulder, his bare torso was still wet from his bath and he moved slowly, careful to not get his injury bleeding.

Attentively, she noticed his mind was far away from there, a pout decorated his lips and his brow was tense. Eager to sooth his worries, she whistled the stereotypical catcalling sound. 

"Hello, handsome," she weakly smiled.

Lifting his eyes, a nearly nonexistent smile crept into his face, "Quit that," 

She walked to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, "Do you come here often?" 

"In my bedroom?" he chuckled, "Yeah, quite often," 

She took advantage of his momentarily good humor to take a look at his wound. Before she could avoid it her eyes got filled with tears, she had nearly lost him today, not all the killing she was able to commit would've brought him back if she'd done so, he'd be gone, simple as that.

"D'you want to tell me what happened now?" Tommy cupped her face, trying to distract her.

"...I love you, Tom," was all she was able to mutter.

"I know, and I love you," 

Slightly nodding, she sighed, "What now?" 

"Well, I-" he hesitated, "I thought of opening a club in London," 

"About Danny," she sat at the end of the bed, "what about his family?" 

"We'll help them, financially," Tommy explained.

"Get his children a job?" 

"No, no more business for the Owens," he sighed, "they'll be normal, his children will never know why he died," 

Hearing his words, her throat tightened, a heavy feeling settled in her chest. Did the woman she killed had children? When she first got into the Garrison Tommy found out she did, but that was before they ever suspected she was a copper, how much of everything she said was lies? How would her child react to knowing its mother was dead on train tracks? 

Tommy watched his fiancée's state with pity in his eyes, he hated her stubbornness at the same time he was well aware of how much they were alike. Both closed off before trouble, hating to burden the other with issues they deemed personal. 

"You know, eventually you'll have to tell me what happened,"

Her watery eyes met his and she pulled him to stand between her legs, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on the soft skin of his stomach.

Gently, he petted her hair away from her face and his rough fingers on her face brought some relief, still, she felt like a wounded beast. A wounded beast is still a beast and she'd forever be a murderer regardless of Tommy's acceptance.

"Tell me, eh?" he whispered.

"Tommy, I-" before she could answer, three knocks on the door interrupted.

Arthur entered the bedroom with a worried expression, "Tommy, hm, I just wanted to tell you we found the body of that barmaid in the train tracks, Johnny Dogs wants to know if he should get rid of it," 

She froze, eyes widened at the news, she was so deep into her own guilt she didn't even think about the further consequences.

Tommy switched a look between her and his brother, with a slight nod, he ordered, "Get rid of it," 

Small Heath had another murderer to call resident, there was no way of hiding it now.

[angelsanarchy]

Alkaline: Euronymous x Y/N Series CH 4

Tagging: @ophelialaufey @madamemaximoff06 @forever-not-gonna-sink @ajmiila02 @liquidsmoothdomme @shady-the-simp

Oystein had been caught up with the band and his friends the moment they picked up Pelle. He was the perfect addition to their band and he couldn't help but feel like a revolutionary in the black metal scene as they put together new music. Y/n hadn't seen him around much and his sister informed her that him and the band got their own place about 30 mins away.

Y/n couldn't help but be a little bit bummed that she hadn't seen him but she knew he would eventually be too busy to entertain the idea of her. She figured wallowing in what could have been made the most sense when she walked into the packed bar. She squeezed between bodies until she was able to get to the bar top, bumping into someone with long blonde hair.

"Oh excuse me." The bump caused something to fall out of his pocket and Y/n was quick to pick it up. She realized it was decomposing rabbits foot.

"That's one way to keep luck with you." Y/n joked earning a silent smirk from the guy.

"I just cut it today." Pelle explained holding it in front of her face. He seemed almost surprised that she wasn't disgusted by it but Y/n grew up with two brothers and an uncle that was a butcher. Dead animals didn't faze her.

"You should change the metal cord out for string. As it breaks down, the cord will slice right through that like butter. String will give it some more time if you're trying to keep it around long enough to smell the death." Pelle looked stunned and nodded his head.

"Thanks." He held the foot in front of his own face as he walked away and Y/n shook her head. She ordered a drink and suddenly felt a hand on her back. When she turned she was surprised to see Oystein standing next to her with a smile on his face.

"Miss me?" Oystein asked smugly.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Y/n replied with a smirk. She must have missed him and his friends occupying a big table in the corner of the bar.

"You can admit it. My mom said you came by a few times." Oystein bumped her shoulder with his own.

"Just because you move out doesn't mean your family stops needing groceries." Y/n laughed.

"Maybe I should order some groceries for our new place. It's not too far out." Oystein leaned on the bar top.

"I don't usually do the orders that go outside of the perimeter but you can always put in an order and see who you get." She teased. Oystein's friends were loud and he glanced back at them.

"You met our new singer. His names Dead." Oystein pointed out the morbid blonde she had bumped into earlier.

"Wow...that's very fitting. Does he have an equally suitable name as you or?" She teased and he rolled his eyes.

"I would say his name is very fitting. He's a lot more fucked up than you can imagine. Living with him has been interesting to say the least." Oystein watched as she took another swig of a beer and couldn't help but stare at her throat. He wanted to wrap his hand around her neck tightly and fuck her until she was gasping for air and release.

"Don't let me keep you from your friends. I only came for one drink before I head home. It sounds like they're getting a little restless without their fearless leader." Y/n looked at his friends who gave her odd looks. They weren't sure exactly what someone like Euronymous was doing talking to someone like her.

"I don't care. Let them fuck off. I'm talking to who I want to talk to. I've missed seeing you." This surprised her. He was never upfront with feelings like this, especially amongst his peers.

"Really? I thought you would have forgotten all about me now that the band is taking off." Y/n kept her eyes on Oystein as he shook his head with confidence.

"When are you going to give it up and realize I'm not going to just piss off? I mean I will if you ask me to but not before that." He smiled, letting his hair fall into his face. Y/n reached up and pushed it away hearing a click of a camera from behind her. Oystein's smile dropped and the girl taking photos spun on her heel quickly.

"Don't let me ruin your image. You know where to find me if you're really looking." Y/n polished off her drink and Oystein seemed disappointed that their interaction was coming to a close.

"Do you want a ride?" He offered but she shook her head.

"No I'll be fine, thank you. Just try and get back to your place in one piece." She walked towards the door and he kept his stance at the bar.

"Oh and congratulations on the new place and the new singer. I'm happy things are going so well for you Oystein." The gang at the table started laughing and cracking jokes at him and he cut his eyes at them. She pushed out of the bar hoping he wasn't too embarrassed by her farewell. She had considered caving and calling him Euronymous but it just felt weird to her. She didn't see him like the others did. They didn't get to see the sweet, sensitive side that made sure to make it home for his mother's holiday dinner parties or who taught his little sister how to headbang. He made sure to always show her boss respect and even tipped him on holidays when the shop was usually dead. She didn't see him as this dark hero that they worshipped. She had nothing against that side of him but she liked him just the way he was.

"Y/n! Wait up." She spun on her heel and waited as he ran towards her with a napkin in his hand.

"Just in case you start missing me too." His friends poured out of the bar shortly after him and he ran after them before she could open the napkin. Once she did she saw a number scratched across it underneath his name: Øystein 

[ghostfacebignaturals]

I just want to start off by saying that if you want an answer at the end, prepare to be disappointed. There isn't one.

I was an intern at Nickelodeon Studios for a year in 2005 for my degree in animation. It wasn't paid, of course; most internships aren't, but it did have a perk beyond education. To adults, it might not seem like a big one, but most kids at the time would go crazy over it.

Since I worked directly with the editors and animators, I got to view new episodes days before they aired.

I'll get right to it without giving too many unnecessary details: they had very recently made the SpongeBob movie. The entire staff was somewhat sapped of creativity, so it took them longer to start up the season. But the delay lasted longer for more upsetting reasons. There was a problem with the Series 4 premiere that set everyone and everything back several months.

Me and two other interns were in the editing room, along with the lead animators and sound editors, for the final cut of an episode. We received the copy that was supposed to be "Fear of a Krabby Patty" and gathered around the screen to watch.

Now, given that the "final cut" isn't final yet, animators often put up a mock title card at the beginning. It's sort of an inside joke for us, with phony, oftentimes lewd titles being used such as, "How Sex Doesn't Work" instead of "Rock-a-Bye-Bivalve", in which SpongeBob and Patrick adopt a sea scallop. Nothing particularly funny, just work-related chuckles.

So when we saw the title card "Squidward's Suicide", we didn't think it more than a morbid joke. One of the other interns did a small throat laugh at it.

The episode started with the happy-go-lucky music playing as normal. The story began with Squidward practicing his clarinet, hitting a few sour notes like normal. We hear SpongeBob laughing outside. Squidward stops, yelling at him to keep it down, as he has a concert that night and needs to practice. SpongeBob says okay and goes to see Sandy with Patrick.

The bubbles splash screen comes up, and we see the ending of Squidward's concert. This is when things began to seem off.

While playing, a few frames repeat themselves, but the sound doesn't. It's supposed to be synced with the animation, so yes, that's not common. But when Squidward stops playing, the sound finishes, as if the skip never happened.

There is slight murmuring in the crowd before they begin to boo him. Not the normal cartoon booing that's common in the show, mind you; you could very clearly hear malice in it. Squidward's in full frame and looks visibly afraid. The shot goes to the crowd, with SpongeBob in center frame - he too is booing, which is very much unlike him. That isn't the oddest thing, though. What's odd is that everyone has hyper-realistic eyes. All very detailed. Clearly not shots of real people's eyes, but something a bit more real than CGI. The pupils were red. Some of us looked at each other, obviously confused, but since we weren't the writers, we didn't question its appeal to children yet.

The shot goes to Squidward sitting on the edge of his bed, looking very forlorn. The view out of his porthole window is of a night sky, so it isn't very long after the concert. The unsettling part is that at this point, there's no sound. Literally zero sound. Not even the feedback from the speakers in the room. It's as if the speakers were turned off, though their statuses showed them working perfectly.

Squidward just sits there in this silence, blinking, for about 30 seconds, then starts to sob softly. He puts his hands (tentacles) over his eyes and cries quietly for a full minute more. All the while, a sound in the background is very gradually growing from nothing to barely audible. It sounds like a slight breeze through a forest.

The screen slowly begins to zoom in on his face. By slowly, I mean that it's only noticeable if you look at shots 10 seconds apart side by side. His sobbing gets louder, and more full of hurt and anger. The screen then twitches a bit, as if it twists in on itself for a split second, before going back to normal. The wind-through-the-trees sound gets louder and more severe, as if a storm is brewing somewhere. The eerie part is that this sound, and Squidward's sobbing, sounded real. It was like it wasn't coming from the speakers, but that the speakers themselves were holes that the sound was travelling through from the other side. As good a sound as the studio likes to have, they don't have the equipment to be able to produce audio of that quality.

Below the sound of the wind and sobbing, very faintly audible, something sounded like laughing. It came at odd intervals and never lasted more than a second, so you had a hard time pinning it (we watched this 'episode' twice, so pardon me if things sound too specific, but I've had time to think about them). After 30 seconds of this, the screen blurred and twitched violently, and something flashed over it, as if a single frame was replaced.

The lead animation editor paused and rewound frame by frame. What we saw was horrible. It was a still photo of a dead child. He couldn't have been more than 6. His face was mangled and bloodied, one eye dangling over it, popped. He was naked down to his underwear, his stomach crudely cut open and his entrails splayed out beside him. He was laying on some pavement that was probably a road.

The most upsetting part was that there was a shadow of the photographer, but no crime tape, evidence tags, or markers, and the angle was completely off for a shot designed to be evidence. It would seem they were the person responsible for the child's death. We were, of course, mortified, but pressed on, hoping that this was just a sick joke.

The screen flipped back to Squidward, still sobbing, louder than before, half of his body in the frame. There was now what appeared to be blood running down his face from his eyes. The blood was also done in a hyper-realistic style, looking as if you'd get it on your fingers if you touched the screen. The wind sounded now as if it were that of a gale blowing through the forest; there were even snapping sounds, like of branches. The laughing, a deep baritone, lasted for longer intervals and came more frequently. After about 20 seconds, the screen again twisted and showed a single frame photo.

The editor was reluctant to go back. We all were, but he knew he had to. This time, the photo appeared to be of a little girl, no older than the first child. She was laying on her stomach, her barrettes in a pool of blood next to her. Her left eye was damaged in the same way as the boy, and she was naked, except for underpants. Her entrails were piled on top of her above another crude cut along her back. Again, the body was on the street and the photographer's shadow was visible, very similar in size and shape to the first. I had to choke back vomit, and one intern, the only female in the room, ran out. The show resumed.

About 5 seconds after this second photo played, Squidward went silent. All sound cut out, like it did when the scene started. He put his tentacles down, and his eyes were now done in hyper-realism like the others' were at the beginning of the episode. They were bleeding, bloodshot, and pulsating. He just stared at the screen, as if watching the viewer. After about 10 seconds, he started sobbing, this time not covering his eyes. The sound was piercing and loud; the most fear-inducing thing of all was that his sobbing was mixed with screams.

Tears and blood were dripping down his face at a heavy rate. The wind sound came back, and so did the deep-voiced laughing, this time with a still photo that lasted for a good 5 frames.

The animator was able to stop it on the 4th and backed up. This time, the photo was of a boy about the same age, but the scene was different. His entrails were being pulled out from his stomach wound by a large hand, the right eye popped and dangling, blood trickling down it. The animator proceeded. The next frame was different, but we couldn't tell how. He continued to the next image and it was the same thing. He then went back to the first and played them quicker, and I lost it. I vomited on the floor, the animation and sound editors gasping at the screen. The 5 frames were not 5 different photos; they were frames from a video. We saw the hand slowly lift out the guts, we saw the kid's eyes focus on it, we even saw two frames of the kid beginning to blink.

The lead sound editor told us to stop; he had to call in the creator to see this. Mr. Hillenburg arrived within about 15 minutes. He was confused as to why he had been called down, so the editor just continued the episode. Once the next few frames were shown, all screaming and sound again stopped. Squidward was just staring at the viewer, his face taking up the full frame for about 3 seconds. The shot quickly panned out, that deep voice said "DO IT!", and we saw a shotgun in Squidward's hands.

He immediately puts the gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger. Realistic blood and brain matter splatters the wall behind him and his bed, and he flies back with force. The last 5 seconds of the episode show his body on the bed, on its side, one eye dangling from what's left of his head above the floor, staring blankly at it. Then the episode ends.

Mr. Hillenburg was obviously angry at this. He demanded to know what the hell was going on. Most people left the room at this point, so there were just a handful of us left to watch it again. Viewing the episode twice only served to imprint the entirety of it in my mind and cause me horrible nightmares. I'm sorry I stayed.

The only theory we could think of was that the file had been edited by someone in the chain from the drawing studio to here. The CTO was called in to find out when it'd happened. Analysis of the file did show it was mixed with new material. However, the timestamp of the change was a mere 24 seconds before we began viewing it. All equipment involved was examined for foreign software and hardware as well as glitches, such as if the timestamp was showing us the wrong time, but everything checked out fine. We didn't know what'd happened, and to this day, nobody does.

There was an investigation due to the nature of the photos, but nothing came of it. No child seen was identified and no clues were gathered from the data involved, nor physical clues from the photos. I never believed in unexplainable phenomena before, but now that I've had something happen to me and can't prove anything about it beyond anecdotal evidence, I think twice about things

squidwards suicide is so iconic. the blood and the eyes were hyper realistic!!!!!!

[psychomachy-ador]

Iypophrenia III

( Michael Myers x Y/n)

Hi! Its been a bit since I posted the next part, but here it is! I do hope you enjoy reading this as I write it :) Let me know what ya’ll think and if i made any mistakes, I try to keep this story gender neutral as possible so all readers can enjoy.

Tw: self harm mentions, drug mentions

—————————————————————————-

"Now what the fuck are you doin'?" a kick to my foot and a bucket of water thrown at me, pulls me out of deep sleep to see a happy familiar face.

" You know I love your nature-obsessed ass, but this is just a bit dramatic even for your taste, don't ya think?" I crack an eyelid open and peer up at a friendly face.

"Oh well isn't it God's favorite creature, James? What bridge did you crawl out of to end up on my stoop?" He laughs heartedly, a loud laugh that everyone on the street can feel in their hearts. A laugh the gods could envy, a laugh that brings greenback to the loneliest of winters.

"Well Honey Dearest, where'd your accent go? That's the only thing I liked that you got from mama! Could be silenced from the death inside ya!" He grabs me by the arm pulling me up off my feet and into a bear hug, twirling us around as if he's just come back from war when really, we saw each other a couple of weeks ago, but he's always been the one with attachment issues; like I'm one to talk though.

I laugh with him and punch his arm once he lets me down, "Listen 'ere, I'm no more dead inside than you! Don't tell me what else I got from that woman before I ban you from this lawn."

He ruffles my hair before giving me his cheeky smile, fingers crossed raised high; our sign of a promise.

Before going inside, he helps pick the leaves out of my hair and clothes, a nature cracks every few seconds till we were inside. He kicks his shoes to the side and looks at the carnage around my home. He stares till he continues his way to my kitchen probably waiting for when to bring it up if I didn't. I don’t plan to but I know he will pry it out of me some way.

He jumps up on my kitchen counter beaming that big ole smile of his, "So where you been at, Dearest? You haven't returned a single one of my texts, had me thinking you pulled a Ricky." I couldn't help but snort, Ricky was an inside joke of a somewhat childhood friend we had who died of causes unknown to us at that age, but years later we found out he was strangled. Morbid humor but to be fair, the kid was always bullying the quiet ones on the street. He bullied one so badly he just stopped talking, I haven't seen that kid since those days but James says the last time, he saw him was in the crowd surrounding Ricky's ambulance with a blank look on his face. Rumor was that maybe he killed Ricky after another session of teasing, though that didn't matter anymore because his daddy went down for the deed anyway, now livin' it up in prison despite the lack of evidence. The dad was a nice guy, it was a real damn shame. He used to drop off food to us or let us sleep over when mama disappeared for days, hence how we were somewhat familiar to Ricky.

For the boy that was his biggest target, I never took that youngin for a killer to be honest. He was a mousey one who seemed more indifferent to the gossiping than hurt by it and what a rare sight that was in that town. I only spoke to him once when Ricky put a stick between his wheels causing him to practically fly off the thing. Rick had a riot over the ordeal but the boy didn't make a sound at all and that pissed Ricky off. After a kick to the boy's stomach, he ran off with his friends who hid in a bush further up the street.

I was sitting on my porch to avoid another one of my mamas' tantrums when I saw it all go down, I wish I at least threw a rock at Rick but I was raised to mind my own business even if it was murder or my mamas' nails will find a way to dig into your skin, till you learned it all over again.

James always came home with busted lips and scrapes that made me carry every form of bandages I could get my hands on from the nurse's office. Prepared, I went over with the few bandages in my pocket and cleaned him up as best as I could on the sidewalk. If I must be honest it's one of the few memories I hold onto dearly to this day, one of few that left me warm and fuzzy inside for a long time. Do you know those memories with a playground crush that never seem to leave you? You could be washing dishes and bam, you're transported back to it. You can't help but imagine what could've been or what was, left me wondering what could've been with him...

"You'd be happy if I kicked the rusty bucket, wouldn't you? Then you'd get my Salem."

"Yeah, a real original name, by the way, Sabrina." He sticks his tongue out before jumping to the ground, "Where's my baby anyways? She's too much of a brat for the outside."

I bite my lip in guilt, cursing my damned self for forgetting about her in the past few days. She probably ran off after that bastard showed up. Fuck, where is she?

" I haven't seen her lately... She might've run off after..." Should I tell him? Is it worth making a fuss over? Of course, it is, but is it worth dragging him into this mess? His skin has never looked better and I haven't seen him this happy in a while.

"After what?" His brows now knotted, I put on my smile and wave my hand.

"Ah, it's nothing. Some creep came by and it probably spooked her. I'm sure she's hiding around here or she's outside making friends. I'll leave a window open for her."

"A creep, eh? You sure it wasn't one of your little friends with a bad streak? Your place was never known to be neat, but it's in rougher shape than usual for me to believe it was some Jehovah's Witness." He's known me since birth, and yet my lies never pass him. How I love him with every fiber of my existence, but now I hate him sticking his nose deeper into problems I want him out of.

I clap my hands together and straighten up, making a dash the fridge for whatever baked goods I made while out of it.

"You know coffee cake is my weakness! It'll be an overdue sleepover!" Not quite overdue; it's only been a few weeks of much-needed space from one another especially after the bridge. Down in the city, under a bridge a place for people like us. Different faces, different cries but all the same desire in the air; the need for a fucking fix.

"Remember how Mama would make coffee cake every morning? I seem to have picked up that habit myself, so now I've got more than I can eat. I'll give you a few of them to take home and you can stay the night if that comforts you. I'm sure the Jehovah's Witnesses will run from one look at ya!" He glared for a few seconds, searching for the truth but debating if he should fight me on this.

He lit up and pulled me into his arms, taking the plate in his other hand. This isn't him giving this up forever, just for now.

“Oh yeah before I forget to mention, I found this next to you but I moved it away before it got splashed on.” He reaches his pockets to pull out a small teddy bear with a few bandages to use, it was dirty and on the verge of tatters.

“You seeing somebody?”

I scoffed at him and grabbed the bear away from him, “Yeah right who would in the right mind do that?”

“Well Honey Dearest, I couldn't help but notice some bruising on that neck of yours.”

Bruising? What is he on-

in an instant, my body flares up leaving me pinker than fancy lemonade as the memories glide through my mind.  

“Before you get any more color pinky, just know I'm not judging! If anything, I'm happy for you as long as their name isn't skeeter or Beth Anne like last time.”

“I was 14 when those two happened, you asshat! This bruisin is just from a curling iron, sometimes getting dolled up is more dangerous than it looks.” He raises an eyebrow at me smirking away, “Alright Dearest, I'll believe your story for today. Why don’t you wash that nature away while I clean up your place? I promise not to snoop.” with a raise of his hand, fingers crossed and a big smile on his face.

I smiled back and hugged him tightly, “Thanks Jamesy...” He ruffles my hair as I take my leave to the bathroom. I stop at the sight of the mirror and undress to examine the damage along my skin. Tracing each fresh cut and bruise old or new, I practically get lost in my reflection or more so lost in my flaws. Lost in words, drawings, and tallies carved into me from years and years with her...

How’d I gone from the picture of beauty to this? I shouldn’t say that to myself, it is not my flaws are that terrible but I know they wouldn’t be here if I just stopped being a hopeless popper...stop being Ike her.

I run the hot water to sink into the bath, to scrub all the dirt and dried blood from myself. I sink deeper and deeper into the water for all thoughts to pull away from me, for to float my entire being instead of clouding my mind. The emptiness of my mind leads me to drift away to another place for the next few hours, somewhere other than this reality, secretly hoping ill drown within my sleep but that wouldn't be fair for the only one who cares about me...

But I awoke alive and freezing with my mouth only being the part of my face engulfed by water, unfortunately. From behind the door, I could hear snoring and view a shine of light from the television coming underneath the door from the living room.

Grudgingly, I lift myself out and put on my pajamas I grab from the dirty hamper. I need to make time for laundry.

Stepping out I see James passed out on the couch watching a rerun of Three’s company as I sit to join him. Feels like the old days again… actually, If I may say, it's like we’re stunted in those days where we only had each other. Us against the world and telling everyone around us to fuck off because nights and days like these were all we needed to feel safe.

On the couch, my grandma's crocheted blanket wrapped around my legs, It doesn’t take long to pick up the bruised-up bear and sew him back together. I gave him little touches to finish with love like an embroidered heart. As my brother snores away beside me, I can't help but get lost in the thought of the night before.

I stare down at the bear, a smile forming as I stroke its face, tracing its features imagining it was Michael.

That night he was really fucking seething by my attempt to rid his mask, choosing to distract me with love bites than attempt again. Teasing bastard, what did he expect? Anyone would wanna see how the famous Michael has been holding up after all those attempts Loomis has done to rid him. I guess that was rude of me he must wear it for a reason but fucker slashed at me, how can I stay nice?

I groan loudly bringing the bear to my face to lock eyes with dark orbs, “What to do, what to do…”

THUD.

I jolt up and look to where the sound came from to see Salem licking her paws by the window. I relax, eyes adjusting to the dark areas when I gasp and scramble to my feet.

There he stands, towering everything around him in the damned corner again. How the hell does he get in?!

I debate on running but I couldn’t leave James behind, waking him is barely an option he is such a deep fucking sleeper he wakes on his own time.

“ Please, I don’t know why you came again but just…not today, not him. Please don’t lay a hand on him.” I whispered, standing Infront of James blocking him from Michael. Despite my shaking, I stand my ground fists at my side trying to find eyes to lock with.

Knife in hand he strides effortlessly to me, not a damn falter in his step. As I look up at the man trying to hold any intimidation I could hope to show but that faded fast as he raises the blade.

With a wince I turn my head away, arms raised shaking to block whatever pain will come down on me but as long as James has a running start that's all that matters. He’s the one who had a brighter chance than I, it’d be corrupted if I was to save myself beside him.

As I count my hail marys to a being I haven’t spoken to in ages, a metallic sound hits beside my toes.

“E-eh?” I open my eyes to look above but the figure that stood taller than my nightmares has come down to his knees. Before I could find the right emotion for this moment a pair of arms wrap around me tightly, head nuzzling against my stomach, practically inhaling the scent of my shirt as if it were a drug; I couldn’t find the words. Who would? Why question it and piss him off though

Slowly, terrified and full of hesitancy I bring my hands to his hair. He jolts for a second, I almost screamed at that but he relaxes once I begin to play and brush his locks.

Yesterday, I was running along with my house like a pig to the slaughter and today I’m embraced as if I was salvation left standing. I honestly can’t tell if this is reality or if I’ve had a psychotic break finally. I know there’s too much evidence this isn’t a dream but this is such a cracked moment. A killer is literally in my arms, would you believe this was real?

Out of all the people to fall upon it had to be me. Why must I be the one to suffer whiplash from this boogeyman?

I pull him closer as his grip tightens around my waist closing any distance there could possibly be between us.

“Hey… thank you for the bear.” He looks up at me and there’s that feeling again.

His eyes.

The anger that sent flames through my veins igniting my dull heart, a fire I could get dance within but today a glimmer shines behind that anger. The warmth isn’t fiery, if anything this feels like your fourth shot after a breakup. A comforting fire within you, one you can’t imagine letting go of because it’s the only solace you have in this lifetime.

I bring my hands to the sides of his mask and bend down slightly to place our foreheads together. I don’t want to forget the art of his eyes I need to etch it into my mind, whether it be in my dreams or the haze states I can remember the pure beauty of his emotions that shine through these eyes. The battle of rage and humanity, a sight to see within one mind is captivating.

“Beautiful…” his eyes widened for the slightest of seconds and for a few moments he didn’t turn away from me. We stay lost in a moment of time together, heartbeats in sync as the clock ticks away. The moment is short-lived once he pulls away to grab for his knife.

He stands tall once again and points it at my neck, leaving me to shut my eyes tight.

You fucking idiot did you forget who you were petting? By the gods, how can you be so careless with your life and James?

The knife stayed at the nape of my neck, pressure slightly prodding only to be snatched away after blood slips out thru my new wound.

Tears swim at the rim of my bloodshot eyes, as I look up at him shaking like a brittle leaf on a dead tree. He takes a step back away from me but I grab his other hand pulling him back to me, “No don’t run again, tell me why me! Tell me why you keep letting me fucking life! Kill me or leave me, Myers! I can’t be whatever you want me to be if not dead.” He snatches his hand away and by the sound of murmuring behind me, he takes off once again except this time I get to see him storm out my front door and for once slam it behind him.

“Mmm…What’re you yellin and hitting bout? It's half past 1 am…” James rubs his eyes and tugs my shirt towards the couch, “Go to bed ya lunatic.”

I'm left agape from a moment gone sour and confusing in the blink of an eye. I can’t do this shit anymore, Either I push him to kill me or I fucking move out. I don’t want to do this anymore…

“Just another pill episode Jamesy, like mama used to have…Don’t worry about it.” I brush his hair back and kiss his head, before grabbing Salem to go sleep this all away once again.

Like the fucking Twilight Zone.

[msith]

I just want to start off by saying if you want an answer at the end, prepare to be disappointed. There just isn't one.

I was an intern at Nickelodeon Studios for a year in 2005 for my degree in animation. It wasn't paid of course, most internships aren't, but it did have some perks beyond education. To adults it might not seem like a big one, but most kids at the time would shit themselves over it.

Now, since I worked directly with the editors and animators, I got to view the new episodes days before they aired. I'll get right to it without giving too many unnecessary details. They had very recently made the SpongeBob movie and the entire staff was somewhat sapped of creativity so it took them longer to start up the season. But the delay lasted longer for more upsetting reasons. There was a problem with the series 4 premiere that set everyone and everything back for several months.

Me and two other interns were in the editing room along with the lead animators and sound editors for the final cut. We received the copy that was supposed to be "Fear of a Krabby Patty" and gathered around the screen to watch. Now, given that it isn't final yet animators often put up a mock title card, sort of an inside joke for us, with phony, often times lewd titles, such as "How sex doesn't work" instead of "Rock-a-bye-Bivalve" when SpongeBob and Patrick adopt a sea scallop. Nothing particularly funny but work related chuckles. So when we saw the title card "Squidward's Suicide" we didn't think it more than a morbid joke.

One of the interns did a small throat laugh at it. The happy-go-lucky music plays as is normal. The story began with Squidward practicing his clarinet, hitting a few sour notes like normal. We hear SpongeBob laughing outside and Squidward stops, yelling at him to keep it down as he has a concert that night and needs to practice. SpongeBob says okay and goes to see Sandy with Patrick. The bubbles splash screen comes up and we see the ending of Squidward's concert. This is when things began to seem off.

While playing, a few frames repeat themselves, but the sound doesn't (at this point sound is synced up with animation, so, yes, that's not common) but when he stops playing, the sound finishes as if the skip never happened. There is slight murmuring in the crowd before they begin to boo him. Not normal cartoon booing that is common in the show, but you could very clearly hear malice in it. Squidward's in full frame and looks visibly afraid. The shot goes to the crowd, with SpongeBob in center frame, and he too is booing, very much unlike him. That isn't the oddest thing, though. What is odd is everyone had hyper realistic eyes. Very detailed. Clearly not shots of real people's eyes, but something a bit more real than CGI. The pupils were red. Some of us looked at each other, obviously confused, but since we weren't the writers, we didn't question its appeal to children yet.

The shot goes to Squidward sitting on the edge of his bed, looking very forlorn. The view out of his porthole window is of a night sky so it isn't very long after the concert. The unsettling part is at this point there is no sound. Literally no sound. Not even the feedback from the speakers in the room. It's as if the speakers were turned off, though their status showed them working perfectly. He just sat there, blinking, in this silence for about 30 seconds, then he started to sob softly. He put his hands (tentacles) over his eyes and cried quietly for a full minute more, all the while a sound in the background very slowly growing from nothing to barely audible. It sounded like a slight breeze through a forest.

The screen slowly begins to zoom in on his face. By slow I mean it's only noticeable if you look at shots 10 seconds apart side by side. His sobbing gets louder, more full of hurt and anger. The screen then twitches a bit, as if it twists in on itself, for a split second then back to normal. The wind-through-the-trees sound gets slowly louder and more severe, as if a storm is brewing somewhere. The eerie part is this sound, and Squidward's sobbing, sounded real, as if the sound wasn't coming from the speakers but as if the speakers were holes the sound was coming through from the other side. As good as sound as the studio likes to have, they don't purchase the equipment to be that good to produce sound of that quality.

Below the sound of the wind and sobbing, very faint, something sounded like laughing. It came at odd intervals and never lasted more than a second so you had a hard time pinning it (we watched this show twice, so pardon me if things sound too specific but I've had time to think about them). After 30 seconds of this, the screen blurred and twitched violently and something flashed over the screen, as if a single frame was replaced.

The lead animation editor paused and rewound frame by frame. What we saw was horrible. It was a still photo of a dead child. He couldn't have been more than 6. The face was mangled and bloodied, one eye dangling over his upturned face, popped. He was naked down to his underwear, his stomach crudely cut open and his entrails laying beside him. He was laying on some pavement that was probably a road.

The most upsetting part was that there was a shadow of the photographer. There was no crime tape, no evidence tags or markers, and the angle was completely off for a shot designed to be evidence. It would seem the photographer was the person responsible for the child's death. We were of course mortified, but pressed on, hoping that it was just a sick joke.

I am so sorry but *pulls some glasses on* delete this ask if you are uncomfortable

🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓

The original Sonic.exe story centers on Tom, a young man who was a big fan of Sonic the Hedgehog, especially the older games. He claimed that he had not played any glitchy or hacked games before, though he admitted that he didn't want to after an experience he had.

He then proceeded to recount his experience, saying how he received a CD and an accompanying letter from his friend Kyle, begging him to destroy the disc before it's "too late" and not to play the game.

Ignoring his friend's warnings, Tom played the game and began to encounter odd, somewhat disturbing phenomena, from a title card featuring an evil-looking Sonic with bloody eyes and glowing pupils with a wide smile to the presence of a file select screen similar to that of the one in Sonic the Hedgehog 3, with a red background and chilling music playing.

As he picked the only available character, Tails and began the first stage, titled "HILL ACT 1", Tom continued to find more evidence that there was something wrong with the game, namely the copious amounts of dead animals, all murdered in gruesome ways and eventually encountering Sonic at the end of the level, standing completely still and with his eyes closed.

When Tails attempted to get his attention during a cutscene by tapping him on the shoulder, Sonic's eyes opened, identical to the Sonic on the title screen before cutting to black, with the message "Hello. Do you want to play with me?" In the next level, "HIDE AND SEEK", Tom witnessed Sonic chasing Tails, the latter flying despite an inability to do so without a Super form, before disappearing, teleporting in front of the distraught fox and killing him and cutting to black.

Shocked, Tom reads the next message, "YOU'RE TOO SLOW. WANT TO TRY AGAIN?". After playing as Knuckles and losing a supposed "boss battle" with Sonic, Tom decided to take a break from the game.

However, his rest was plagued by nightmares featuring the corrupted Tails and Knuckles, and the demonic Sonic, with him waking in a cold sweat. Returning to the game, Tom picked Robotnik from the file select screen and continued with the game.

At the end of the level, Sonic teleported in front of Robotnik, before the screen cut to red static. Then, a "hyper-realistic" image of Sonic appeared on the screen, with the words "I AM GOD!". After the game ended, Tom turned around to find, to his utter horror, a bloodied Sonic plushie on his bed. Tom's fate is ambiguous

🤓 that's all you can do????

BEN Drowned, or Haunted Majora's Mask, is a well-known creepypasta (and later, an alternate reality game) created by Alex Hall, also known as "Jadusable". The story revolves around a Majora's Mask cartridge that is haunted by the ghost (if it is a ghost) of a boy named Ben.

Okay, /x/, I need your help with this. This is not copypasta, this is a long read, but I feel like my safety or well-being could very well depend on this. This is video game related, specifically Majora's Mask, and this is the creepiest shit that has ever happened to me in my entire life.

Having said that, I recently moved into my dorm room starting as a Sophomore in college and a friend of mine gave me his old Nintendo 64 to play. I was stoked, to say the least, I could finally play all of those old games of my youth that I hadn't touched in at least a decade. His Nintendo 64 came with one yellow controller and a rather shoddy copy of Super Smash Brothers, and while beggars can't be choosers, needless to say it didn't take long until I became bored of beating up LVL 9 CPUs.

That weekend I decided to drive around a few neighborhoods about twenty minutes or so off campus, hitting up the local garage sales, hoping to score on some good deals from ignorant parents). I ended up picking up a copy of Pokemon Stadium, Goldeneye (fuck yeah), F-Zero, and two other controllers for two dollars. Satisfied, I began to drive out of the neighborhood when one last house caught my attention. I still have no idea why it did, there were no cars there and only one table was set up with random junk on it, but something sort of drew me there. I usually trust my gut on these things so I got out of the car and I was greeted by an old man. His outward appearance was, for lack of a better word, displeasing. It was odd, if you asked me to tell you why I thought he was displeasing, I couldn't really pinpoint anything - there was just something about him that put me on edge, I can't explain it. All I can tell you is that if it wasn't in the middle of the afternoon and there were other people within shouting distance, I would not have even thought of approaching this man.

He flashed a crooked smiled at me and asked what I was looking for, and immediately I noticed that he must be blind in one of his eyes; his right eye had that "glazed over" look about it. I forced myself to look to his left eye instead, trying not to offend, and asked him if he had any old video games.

I was already wondering how I could politely excuse myself from the situation when he would tell me he had no idea what a video game was, but to my surprise he said he had a few ones in an old box. He assured me he'd be back in a "jiffy" and turned to head back into the garage. As I watched him hobble away, I couldn't help but notice what he was selling on his table. Littered across his table were rather… peculiar paintings; various artworks that looked like ink blots that a psychiatrist might show you. Curious, I looked through them - it was obvious why no one was visiting this guy's garage sale, these weren't exactly aesthetically pleasing. As I came to the last one, for some reason it looked almost like Majora's Mask - the same heart-shaped body with little spikes protruding outward. Initially I just thought that since I was secretly hoping to find that game at these garage sales, some Freudian bullshit was projecting itself into the ink blots, but given the events that happened afterward I'm not so sure now. I should have asked the man about it. I wish I would have asked the man about it.

After staring at the Majora-shaped blot, I looked up and the old man was suddenly there again, arms-length in front of me, smiling at me. I'll admit I jumped out of reflex and I laughed nervously as he handed me a Nintendo 64 cartridge. It was the standard grey color, except that someone had written Majora on it in black permanent marker. I got butterflies in my stomach as I realized what a coincidence this was and asked him how much he wanted for it.

The old man smiled at me and told me that I could have it for free, that it used to belong to a kid who was about my age that didn't live here anymore. There was something weird about how the man phrased that, but I didn't really pay any attention to then, I was too caught up in not only finding this game but getting it for free.

I reminded myself to be a bit skeptical since this looked like a pretty shady cartridge and there's no guarantee it would work, but then the optimist inside me interjected that maybe it was some kind of beta version or pirated version of the game and that was all I needed to be back on cloud nine. I thanked the man and the man smiled at me and wished me well, saying "Goodbye then!" - at least that's what it sounded like to me. All the way in the car-ride home, I had a nagging doubt that the man had said something else. My fears were confirmed when I booted up the game (to my surprise it worked just fine) and there was one save file named simply "BEN". "Goodbye Ben", he was saying "Goodbye Ben". I felt bad for the man, obviously a grandparent and obviously going senile, and I - for some reason or another - reminded him of his grandson "Ben".

Out of curiosity I looked at the save file. Eyeballing it, I could tell that he was pretty far in the game - he had almost all of the masks and 3/4 remains of the bosses. I noticed that he had used an owl statue to save his game, he was on Day 3 and by the Stone Tower Temple with hardly an hour left before the moon would crash. I remember thinking that it was a shame that he had come so close to beating the game but he never finished it. I made a new file named "Link" out of tradition and started the game, ready to relive my childhood.

For such a shady looking game cartridge, I was impressed at how smoothly it ran - literally just like a retail copy of the game save for a few minor hiccups here and there (like textures being where they shouldn't be, random flashes of cutscenes at odd intervals, but nothing too bad). However the only thing that was a little unnerving was that at times the NPCs would call me "Link" and at other times they would call me "BEN". I figured it was just a bug - a fluke in the programming causing our files to get mixed up or something. It did kind of creep me out though after a while, and it was around after I had beaten the Woodfall Temple that I regrettably went into the save files and deleted "BEN" (I had intended to preserve the file just out of respect of the game's original owner, it's not like I needed two files anyway), hoping that that would solve the problem. It did and it didn't, now NPCs wouldn't call me anything, where my name should be in the dialogue there was just a blank space (my save file name was still called "Link", though). Frustrated, and with homework to do, I put the game down for a day.

I started playing the game again last night, getting the Lens of Truth and working my way towards completing the Snowhead Temple. Now, some of you more hardcore Majora's Mask players know about the "4th Day" glitch - for those who don't you can Google it but the gist of it is that right as the clock is about to hit 00:00:00 on the final day, you talk to the astronomer and look through the telescope. If you time it right the countdown disappears and you essentially have another day to finish whatever you were doing. Deciding to do the glitch to try and finish the Snowhead Temple, I happened to get it right on the first try and the time counter at the bottom disappeared.

However, when I pressed B to exit the telescope, instead of being greeted by the astronomer I found myself in the Majora boss fight room at the end of the game (the trippy boxed in arena) staring at Skull Kid hovering above me. There was no sound, just him floating in the air above me, and the background music which was regular for the area (but still creepy). Immediately my palms began to sweat - this was definitely not normal. Skull Kid NEVER appeared here. I tried moving around the area, and no matter where I went, Skull Kid would always be facing me, looking at me, not saying anything. Nothing would happen though, and this kept up for around sixty seconds. I thought the game had bugged or something - but I was beginning to doubt that very much.

I was about to reach for the reset button when text appeared on my screen: "You're not sure why, but you apparently had a reservation…" I instantly recognized that text - you get that message when you get the Room Key from Anju at the Stock Pot Inn, but why was it playing here? I refused to entertain the notion that it was almost as if the game was trying to communicate with me. I started navigate the room again, testing to see if that was some sort of trigger that enabled me to interact with something here, then I realized how stupid I was - to even think that someone could reprogram the game like this was absurd. Sure enough, fifteen seconds later another message appeared on the screen, and again like the first one it was already a pre-existing phrase "Go to the lair of the temple's boss? Yes/No". I paused for a second, contemplating what I should press and how the game would react, when I realized that I couldn't select no. Taking a deep breath, I pressed Yes and the screen faded to white, with the words "Dawn of a New Day" with the subtext "||||||||" beneath it. Where I was ported to filled me with the most intense sense of dread and impending fear I had ever experienced

The only way I can describe the way I felt here is having this feeling of inexplicable depression on a profound scale. I am normally not a depressed person, but the way I felt here was a feeling that I didn't even knew existed - it was such a twisted, powerful presence that seemed to wash over me.

I appeared in some kind of weird twilight-zone version of Clock Town. I walked out of the Clock Tower (as you normally do when you start from Day 1) only to find that all of the inhabitants were gone. Usually with the 4th Day glitch you can still find the guards and the dog that runs around outside the tower - this time they were all gone. What replaced them was the ominous feeling that there was something out there, in the same area as me and that it was watching me. I had four hearts to my name and the Hero's Bow, but at this point I wasn't even considered for my avatar, I felt that I personally was in some kind of danger. Perhaps the most chilling thing was the music - it was the Song of Healing, ripped straight from the game itself, but played in reverse. The music would get louder, building up so as if you should expect something to pop out at you, but nothing ever did, and the constant loop began to wear on my mental state.

Every now and then I would hear the faint laugh of the Happy Mask Salesman in the background, just quiet enough so that I wasn't sure if I just hearing things but just loud enough to keep me determined to find him. I looked in all four zones of Clock Town, only to find nothing.... No one. Textures were missing, West Clock Town had me walking on air, the entire area felt... broken. Hopelessly broken. As the reverse Song of Healing repeated for what must have been the 50th time, I just remember standing in the middle of South Clock Town realizing that I had never felt so alone in a video game before.

As I walked through the ghost town, I don't know whether it was the combination of the out of place textures and the atmosphere and the haunting melody of the once peaceful and soothing song being butchered and distorted, but I was literally on the verge of tears and I had no idea why. I hardly ever cry, something had gripped me here and this powerful sense of depression that was both foreign and crippling.

I tried leaving Clock Town, but every time I attempted to zone out, the screen would fade to black and I would just zone in to another part of Clock Town. I tried playing my Ocarina, I wanted to escape, and I did NOT want to be here, but every time I played the Song of Time or Song of Soaring it would only say "Your notes echo far, but nothing happens". By this point, it was obvious the game didn't want me to leave, but I had no idea why it was keeping me here. I didn't want to go inside the buildings, I felt that I would be too vulnerable there to whatever I was terrified of. I don't know why, but I came up with the idea that maybe if I drowned myself at the Laundry Pool I could spawn somewhere else and leave this place.

As I zoned in and ran towards the pool, that's when it happened. Link grabbed his head, and the screen flashed for a brief moment of the Happy Mask Salesman smiling at me - not Link - me with Skull Kid's scream playing in the background and when the screen returned I was staring at the Link Statue from playing the song Elegy of Emptiness. I screamed as the thing just stared back at me with that haunting facial expression. I turned around and ran out and back into South Clock Town, and to my horror the fucking statue followed me in the only way I can compare this is like the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who. Every so often, at random intervals, the animation would play of the statue appearing behind me. It was like the thing was chasing me, or - I don't even want to fucking say it - haunting me.

By this point, I was on the verge of hysterics, but not even once did the thought of turning off the console occur to me, I don't know why, I was so wrapped up in it - the terror felt all so real. I tried to shake the statue, but it would literally appear right behind me every single time. Link started to begin to make weird animations I had never even seen him do before, he would flail his arms around or spasm randomly and the screen would cut to the Happy Mask Salesman smiling again for a brief moment before I was face to face with that fucking statue again. I ended up running into the Swordmaster's Dojo and ran to the back, I don't know why, but in my panic I just wanted some kind of assurance that I'm not alone here. To my dismay I found no one, but as I turned to leave the statue cornered me in the cubby in the back. I tried attacking the statue with my sword but to no avail. Confused, and backed into a corner, I just stared at the statue waiting for it to kill me. Suddenly, the screen flashed again to the Happy Mask Salesman and Link turned to face my screen, standing upright mirroring the statue, looking at me along with his copy. Literally staring at me. Whatever was left of the 4th wall was completely shattered while I ran out of the dojo terrified. Suddenly the game warped me to an underground tunnel and the reverse Song of Healing queued up again as I was given a brief moment of rest before the statue started appearing behind me again... this time aggressively - I could only take a few steps before it would summon behind me again. I hurriedly made my way out of the tunnel and appeared in Southern Clock Town. As I ran aimlessly - in a sheer panic - suddenly a redead screamed and the screen faded to black as "Dawn of a New Day" and "|||||||||" appeared again.

The screen faded in and I was standing on top of Clock Tower with Skull Kid hovering over me again, silent. I looked up and the moon was back, looming just meters above my head, but the Skull Kid just stared at me hauntingly with that fucking mask. A new song was playing - the Stone Tower Temple theme played in reverse. In some sort of desperate attempt, I equipped my bow and fired off a shot at the Skull Kid - and it actually hit him and he played an animation of him reeling back. I fired again and on the third arrow, a text box appeared saying "That won't do you any good. Hee, hee." and I was picked up off the ground, levitated upwards on my back, and then Link screamed as he burst into flames, instantly killing him.

[carboniteprincess]

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, Canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, character death, murder, you're literally a rebel sniper, it's enemies to lovers boba is not going to be nice to you yet, love at first fist fight, I cannot stress this enough, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, he's kind of arrogant? but he's young give him time

Pairing: Boba Fett x F! Reader | 2.0k words

You're arguably the best sniper in the entire rebel alliance, with hundreds of high ranking Imperial officials on your belt. When you're given the order to kill Boba Fett, you are under the impression that this would be like any other mission. Unfortunately, he seems to have great skill of getting out of situations that aren't in his favor. Now you're on Tatooine, where your comrade Orda has lured him into discussing business in a shady restaurant under the guise of being an Imperial Commander. His luck has to run out at some point, and you intend that to be today.

Crossposted on Ao3!

Being a rebel wasn't as glamorous as you thought. You weren't conducting high-level espionage or anything of the like. Instead, your penchant for sniping was homed in on, making you one of, if not the best in the entire squad. The only flaw you had, was arrogance. Never have you let a target walk away, never have you allowed yourself into a tight spot. 

You were always ahead of the enemy, so when your general gave you the order to kill Boba Fett. You assumed it would be an easy in and out job, perhaps he would've posed a threat to other members of your squad. But to you it would be simple, right? Unfortunately not. 

This is your third attempt at some kind of ambush, luring him into a perfect position. Mandalorian armor had few weak points, meaning you had to meticulously spend hours figuring out where would land a good, clean blow. His neck. If angled correctly, one tilt of his helmet and it would be over. Right through the jugular, no more bounty hunter. Another imperial dog to add to your list. 

If he would just turn his head, a little more to the right. Sweat beads on your forehead, eyes focused down the scope. Being a good assassin was all about your ability to linger, to wait. You're positioned on a balcony, a blind spot to the restaurant below. Your associate kept him talking under the guise of being an Imperial Commander, negotiating pay for the next rebel target. Boba Fett sits across from him, drink untouched. If you could see his face you'd swear he seemed bored. His legs wide open, leaning back nonchalantly. 

Fingers clenching on the trigger, you close your left eye. It wasn't like you enjoyed your job, when this war was over you'd swore to never lift a weapon again. The Empire made you, molding you like clay into a perfect killer. A painful truth, a driving force. Your parents. Both were medical professionals, caught smuggling medication to the galaxy's poorest. Promptly executed and then you, an orphan. A street urchin, nothing more. 

It wasn't long into your teens that you heard of the resistance, your heart burned with a want of revenge. So you got stronger, learned how to use a blaster, pilot and any skills that would make you useful to their cause. But you weren't a rebel, not really. You didn't care for politics, didn't even bother listening to the speeches about restoring the Republic. It didn't matter to you, but what did matter was taking out as many Imperials as you could before you die in battle or finally become numb to the anger. 

Self-preservation was no concern of yours, and that made you dangerous. A loose cannon, hot-tempered, and scarily a woman. You were used to being underestimated by your peers on gender, height, birth planet…. and you were the one who gets the high-profile missions. You were the one who has the highest accuracy, years of practice which left your trigger finger calloused, and every other emotion muted. 

Boba Fett had become a real thorn in your side. Threatening your record, career and possibly your sanity. His uncanny talent for escaping situations, even if all cards were against him, was exasperating. You would be lying if you didn't have some modicum of respect for him though, you were somewhat alike. Respect, no matter how great, does not destroy a death warrant. 

Someday soon his luck would run out, and it would be you at the other end of the blaster. That day was today. Lips twitching into a smirk, you watch his neck turn. Bingo. You steady your rifle, pulse pounding in your ears. At last, this mission would be over. You'd become a legend, the woman who killed Boba Fett. 

Bang. You take the shot, accurate as ever. A hum leaves your lips, watching him fall to the ground. Your calculations were correct, there was a weak point. Every armor has one, even Mandalorian. It was like a drug, the puzzle pieces clicking together with every fragility you discovered. 

The restaurant below descends into chaos, even the bartender is panicking. All guests rushing from their tables, abandoning their meals as your associate checks the man's pulse. You stare down your scope, watching the ordeal. He gives a thumbs-up, definitely dead. A buzz in your ear alerts you to a comlink.

"He's dead. But I think you'll want to come down here." Orda replies through static. Your brow creases, what the hell could've gone wrong. Muscles twitching with irritation, you make your way through the currently uninhabited building. You were ordered to avoid collateral damage by all means necessary, a false fire alarm did the job well. 

Your feet tap against the stairs as you make quick work of assessing your surroundings— if something is wrong, then it's always better safe than sorry. It seemed to be all clear, so you proceeded out the door and onto the street. This area of Mos Eisley was pretty habitable, aside from the abundance of criminal undertakings. Dust kicks as you march into the restaurant, pushing through various guests who were piling out at lightspeed. 

With a gruff, you finally make it to the rooftop, an exclusive VIP spot which proved difficult to doctor identity necessary to enter. You're about to start asking what the hell could've been so important that he dragged you down here, but your eyes meet Orda's now slumped body, face down with all color residing. A frustrated sigh leaves you, he was a good man. Even worse, he was a great rebel. His heart was in it, unlike yours. He shouldn't have been the casualty here. You reach down, pulling out his identichip and stashing it in your pocket. An action that you've taken with far too many of your comrades. 

Painfully you pull yourself from Orda's body, standing upright. Lingering would be a deathwish, whoever killed Orda was skilled. An impressive marksman, obviously one of Boba's accomplices who mistakenly thought he was the one that shot him. You could go over what-ifs later, right now you were going to finish the fucking job. 

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in crimson constellations as the wind settled. Inspecting Boba's body was your primary concern, whatever Orda discovered, it cost him his life. You were determined to find out what exactly it was, from a glance it seemed like Boba Fett. With a grimace, you move his drooping head around. Concerningly heavier than expected, beskar is light and durable. 

You hook your fingertips under the helmet, pulling it off and coming face to face with…. not your target. Fuck. You'd be deceived, spectacularly. Knuckles white, feeling bile in your throat threatening to explode in a cocktail of frustration and admiration. The crudely made edges of the helmet abrasive against your palm, a reminder of your failure. 

Without a second thought, your balled fist comes into contact with the wall, encasing the helmet and sending tendrils of pain, a shock wave through your arm as you verbalize your confliction with a strangled scream. Orda died for nothing, you were a joke. Everything you had built, buried and locked away was floating to the surface. 

But you haven't felt this alive in years. Being outsmarted, so cunningly sent a morbid thrill up your spine. You could almost laugh, had you not heard footsteps approaching. Impulsively your hand fell to your blaster, making a mental note to thank your teacher for always carrying more than one. 

"Surely you didn't believe it was that easy to kill me." Before he can finish you turn, firing your blaster in his direction. Of course, his armor deflects it with ease. "I must admit, I'm impressed. Not everyone could distinguish beskar through weight alone." A snort leaves him at your feeble attempt to hold ground, looking over your pathetic secondary weapon that could barely injure an Ewok. 

"Go thing I'm not everyone then." You stand, keeping your right arm extended, blaster aimed at his inner thigh. It wouldn't kill him, however it would allow ample time for escape. "You killed my friend." He's circling you now. "Who's your Intel? How did you know I'd be here?" 

"You are hardly in the position to be making demands, little rebel." Another chuckle, you'd heard of him toying with his advisories before, but this was different. A teacher disciplining a student. 

"You're going to kill me anyway, what's the harm." You huff, shrugging. He stops pacing, chewing over your words. 

"Killing you would be a waste." That bastard. "Of my time and resources." He adds matter-of-factly. 

"Orda wasn't?" You spit, voice cracking in frustration. Figuring out what made others tick was your specialty, but the lack of motivation and reason within Boba's actions is what baffled you. 

"That was a favor." He sounds like you should be grateful, almost insulted that you hadn't figured it out yet even with him practically dangling the answer in front of you. Perhaps you weren't as clever as he thought. 

"A—favor? How would killing my comrade benefit me!" You reply astounded, cheeks burning red, hand shaking on your blaster. 

You think for a second, taking your eyes off him. Why did it take until after the kill for Orda to realize what was wrong with the body… He isn't… wouldn't…could've of… you've been double-crossed. "He wouldn't— I've spent months with him—" 

"And every little thing you did, he told me." His admission is calm, you look over Orda's body, no longer do you feel remorse. Just shame. You couldn't even see betrayal under your nose. 

You walk closer to him, the barrel of your blaster getting dangerously close. Nothing could stop you from finishing your mission right now, but he's letting you. Knowledge is far more appealing than rewards in the resistance. 

With your grip around the handle tight, you slam it down across his helmet, your knee reaching his groin. "You're very easy to fool." A smirk replaces the look of misery on your face, it was a dangerous game to pretend to let your guard down. Your risk paid off, managing to get a shot at his thigh. 

Swiftly, you press all your weight on him, knocking him back just enough to make a run for the edge of the balcony. He groans in pain, you're so close to the edge, escape almost in your grasp— when a grappling hook wraps around your ankle. 

You struggle against the cold floor, doing anything you can to wriggle free from his grasp.

It's fruitless, as soon as he's in reach you're kicking him, hurtling all kinds of abuse. Your attempts to wrestle him are almost comical and in a frenzy, you grip the only thing that seems viable. His Helmet. You manage to free it, your fingers hooking under and pulling it off his head, sending it on the floor beside you. For a moment you're the one stunned, not him. 

Dark curls frame his face, a beautiful border to tanned skin. His nose is prominent but compliments his features. Scars pepper his face, but he's young. Younger than you thought. You watch as his forehead crinkles in anger, hands pinning yours beside your head. 

Wasting no time, you bring your head to crack his, sending him back with a kick to the stomach. Your nose pours from impact, dripping onto the floor as you clamber to your feet. 

"This isn't over." You hear his voice, unmodified. You rush to the edge, peering over and assessing if you can land in one of the speeders below. He stands, trying to rush over to stop you. "Don't!" 

With a wink, you throw yourself over the side. In seconds you're hurtling onto the street, watching a bare-faced Boba Fett grow smaller with each passing second. His eyes are widened in either admiration or shock for your bravery. 

He eventually dares to look over and finds that you're gone. Whoever you were, he finally had a worthy opponent. He would find you again. His little rebel. 

[ambersky0319]

Idea: Intrulogical fusion, completely in sync despite being a fusion of Remus and Logan. But Virgil and Patton didn't like it. Virgil because, It's Remus. He shouldn't be with a lightside. Patton because it makes him feel like he failed Logan, after all, hes eith Remus. So they force them apart. But, their roles are switched. Logan looks like King George III, but he has shackles & broken crown. Remus looks like your stereotypical mad scientist. They have no memory of who they once were. -Rayne

I had a lot of fun with this- also I decided to draw Macabre! It also ended up being longer than I intended. I hope y’all enjoy this!

Pairings : Intrulogical, Background Roceit

Warnings : Unsympathetic Patton, Morally gray but also pretty Unsympathetic Virgil (I mean, he feels somewhat regretful of what he does at the end-), Fusion, blood and pain mentions, if I need to add anything else please let me know!

Masterpost 

—————————–

It started off as something small- an idea that Remus had, which Logan was more than happy to try. They were just figments of imagination, after all, it’s not like it was an impossibility. And it took a lot longer than either side believed it should have taken, but they got there.

Logan and Remus fused.

When they first fused, they cried. Tears streamed down their cheeks as they hugged themselves because it just felt so incredible, so loving. They hadn’t even looked in a mirror yet, but it felt right, being together like this. They fell to the ground just hugging themselves, rocking back and forth. He wasn’t them, though, and both Logan and Remus knew that. They could feel that. And when he looked in the mirror, that’s when they fell apart.

Logan and Remus were choking back tears of their own as they held one another, crumpled on the floor of Logan’s room. Remus buried his face into Logan’s neck, grinning wide as he laughed almost hysterically.

“I can’t believe that worked!”

“I can’t believe how that felt.”

The silence stretched on for a moment as they collected themselves until Remus broke it, pulling away from Logan slightly. “I want to do it again.” He said, reaching up to play with Logan’s hair. “Can we do it again, Lolo?”

Logan smiled the softest Remus had ever seen him smile, and he nodded. “Yes, whoever that was, it felt great. I would do it a hundred times or more.”

Remus giggled before leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to Logan’s lips before they fused once again.

And so, Morbidity was created.

Morbidity stayed hidden for a long while, and Remus and Logan felt strange each time they unfused. They felt lonely, more so than they had before fusing. Remus had correlated it to how Ruby felt when she and Sapphire unfused and Ruby had gone on that adventure. And Logan couldn’t agree more. Being Morbidity was intoxicating, because when he formed, neither felt lonely or unloved anymore. And Morbidity felt more love than when Logan and Remus spent time together unfused.

Morbidity just felt right.

Morbidity didn’t want to unfuse anymore. Logan and Remus didn’t want to be apart, not when they were constantly torn down and ignored. So they stopped unfusing, and Morbidity stayed in his room. His own room! He had been shocked when it had formed but felt overjoyed nonetheless. Because it meant he was a part of Thomas, a true part of him! But with the new room, that meant that the others would start to notice. And they did.

Macabre, the name Morbidity found he liked most when brainstorming, was peacefully watching a documentary about some of the worst crimes ever committed to date. He was fascinated with how the killers had gotten away with it for so long, and how all the evidence from the buckets of blood that had needed cleaning up to the finest of hairs left behind all played a roll in solving the cases. He was writing a novel, a murder mystery, and wanted it to be as exciting and puzzling as possible. So research was needed.

That’s when his door was opened, no one knocking as it slammed against the wall. Macabre flinched at the sound, finally looking away from his television and notebook littered with notes and random, horrific doodles.

Standing there was Roman, stunned when he saw Macabre, dual-colored eyes staring into his green ones. “Um…”

Then Patton peered over his shoulder, confusion flashing across his face. “A new side?”

Macabre laughed, and it sounded like glass shattering. “Not a new side, Patty-cake. Merely an experiment gone extremely well!” Macabre stood, stretching and hearing his bones pop and feeling the pins and needles in his feet creeping up his legs. How long had it been since he last got up? He made a mental note to set a timer so that his limbs wouldn’t fall asleep like this again.

“…. Experiment?”

“Who are you?”

“What are you?”

Macabre frowned only slightly, fixing his glasses. “I’m Morbidity! I would say it’s great to finally introduce myself, but I believe your facial expressions aren’t the proper reactions one would want.

"And I was an experiment. Not one any longer, though! Remus and Logan sure enjoyed doing them. Maybe I should try it out too!”

“You’re behind Logan disappearing?!” Virgil’s voice raised a few octaves as he started on at the fusion. Macabre crossed his arms, now frowning completely.

“I’m not behind anything. And Logan didn’t disappear. Not completely.”

“What does that even mean?”

It seemed Roman knew the answer to Patton’s question, though, because he broke from his daze to answer. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Morbidity, but you’re a fusion.”

Macabre smiled. “Right you are, Roman! Oh, I knew you would remember. Remus didn’t think you would, but I knew you would.” He clapped his hands together, once.

“What’s he talking about Roman?” Virgil asked.

Roman only briefly looked at Virgil, offering a small, half-hearted shrug. “Remus brought up the idea one time that maybe sides could fuse. I just brushed it off, but it was definitely one of his good ideas.” He turned back to Macabre. “So… You’re a fusion of Remus and Logan?”

“Morbid Creativity and Logic sure go quite well together, don’t you think? Both always ignored, finding that they are the outcasts of their supposed families, and finding love in one another. It really shouldn’t be a surprise that they got along so well.”

“Wait wait wait, Logan fused with… With Remus?” Patton looked absolutely horrified.

“Well, they were dating for a year before they made me. But yes.”

“They were together?!”

“It really isn’t hard to believe, Patton.” Macabre glanced at his nails, painted as though they were dipped into blood. “Now, unless you three are interested in watching this documentary with me, can I get back to work?”

“We still have-”

“What are you working on?” Roman cut off Virgil, approaching Macabre. He shot Virgil and Patton a slight glare when they tried to protest. Because he could feel the anger and frustration, and even the panic radiating off the pair. “If you two even think of pushing Morbidity to talk, by the way, I’ll let Thomas know why I actually chose to go to the wedding.”

That sent the pair off, and Roman sat down with Macabre, the door closing. If this is what Remus and Logan wanted, to be together like this, then Roman would support it. He wasn’t in any place to judge though, considering just this morning he and Deceit had attempted to do the same.

It suddenly became very different around the Mind Palace, what with Macabre (or Copypasta’ as Roman and Deceit had taken to calling him after seeing Macabre’s love of creepypasta) having introduced himself to Thomas not long after the others had ventured into his room.

Thomas didn’t really mind Macabre, while he sometimes felt uncomfortable by the insane amount of violent knowledge he had, knowing about certain chemicals and their reactions to drinks was definitely helpful when attending bars. Especially when his drink shifted in color just slightly, and Thomas knew not to drink, because Macabre had remembered a case where someone had drugged their date. And Macabre got along with Deceit and Roman just fine(though the two still hadn’t come out yet).

Patton and Virgil, though? They were furious. They were absolutely livid that Logan would even agree to ever fuse with Remus. Logan deserved better than Remus, in their eyes.

They fueled one another, Virgil and Patton. They fueled the negative thoughts towards Macabre. He shouldn’t exist. He should have never existed in the first place. Logan was too good for Remus. What could Remus possibly offer that Logan would want, anyway, that Logan didn’t already have? The others had been working on showing their appreciation of Logan. Virgil and Patton had worked on not cutting him off, and Virgil had tried listening to him a bit more. Patton had stopped laughing at a few jokes Roman made about Logan.

And then there was Remus. The imbalance of negative and positive ideas was weird. Because Macabre wasn’t intrusive, not to the extent Remus had been. Now, Remus’s gruesome ideas were rationalized or internalized, suppressed in Macabre until he could jot down the idea and either write or draw the thought. Everything just felt wrong.

So they devised a plan, about three weeks after Macabre had been found by them.

Virgil had been horrified by Patton’s idea at first, listening reluctantly as Patton explained to him how to split a side. Because even if Virgil hated Macabre being together, and didn’t like Remus, he still remembered what the split had done to the twins. And he worried how that would affect Remus, going through another split. But Patton persuaded him, claiming that if all the facts that Thomas knew were tainted, were bad, then Thomas was a bad person. And Thomas couldn’t be a bad person, he just couldn’t. So Virgil agreed.

He doesn’t remember it much, though. He purposely forgot Macabre’s scream as he was quite literally torn apart. Virgil blocked the image of Macabre’s agonized face from his mind, keeping it a blurred memory that could have been a dream. He felt sick at the thought that he did it, but the idea that Logan would come back was enough to keep him from stopping.

Patton though was completely unfazed.

However, they didn’t get the outcome they had wanted.

Remus and Logan had indeed been split, that much was clear. But they weren’t Remus and Logan, not the ones that Patton and Virgil wanted.

They were pushed out of the way by Roman and Deceit, who had finally broken into the room that Virgil and Patton had sealed off. It looked so incredibly wrong, and to say Deceit and Roman were angry would be an understatement. They were bursting with rage as Logan and Remus finally stopped whimpering, the pain no longer overwhelming them. They cradled the two sides, all the while having a shouting match with Patton, Virgil making no attempt to defend his actions.

Roman held his brother tightly, though Remus only blinked at him in confusion, and once Deceit and Roman had stopped arguing with Virgil and Patton, they had turned their attention to the two sides, taking them in. The guilty pair sunk out to their own rooms, leaving Roman and Deceit with the new Logan and Remus.

Though they didn’t even know Logan and Remus were their names.

—————————–

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[tamiddyinyourcity]

12:24am.

People are celebrating with me on twitter about my shitty grandma finally leaving. God BLESSSSSSSSSSSS.

And a few friends gave congratulations.

And theeeeeeen there's Pedro.

I keep forgetting that I stopped talking to Pedro for good reasons. My mind kinda blocks out that entire time from winter to spring in 2019 that we had nonstop hung out. Mainly since he's just so......

He's one of those specific types of dudes that made it obvious he had a crush on me, and I wasn't interested... Is there a reason I need to say, past "I was a barely legal 18 year old girl who he knew was having troubles at home, and had hung out with, but it was obvious he was a Yes Man for the sake of trying to repeatedly seduce me?"

I had a few moments of my own where I almost considered it, but decided not to.... He's like, 32 or something.... I didn't really need that.

It's just kinda icky.

:)

Anyway, we briefly talked recently. An awkward morbid joke where when I mentioned my grandma leaving my house and getting my room to myself, he had went "Did she die?", and I said "Sadly, no". He didn't know what to say, lmfao.

Whatever, my edgy words shouldn't really surprise people.

Hmmmmmmm.

Then I told him about a potential script idea I was into.

Unlike before, there wasn't a "I like it! You could do a lot with that!", and explaining potential things to involve.... He just kinda went off the bat doling out criticism for it off the bat? It wasn't super negative, I guess it was moreso me just looking for a film buddy to go back and forth with excitedly over an idea, yknow?

But nah, he just kinda started lecturing me about the Green Room.

Anyway.

Sadly, its not exactly the "feel free to post about your ideas and concepts with tons of people rooting for you" stage like I had in high school.

And I guess his reaction, one that was less excited than I would've hoped....

Reminded me of a woman I knew in the past. Fresh out of high school, (i noped the fuck out of a graduation and upset my whole family,) dived straight into networking with the hopes of being an onset PA. (That's how I also met Pedro, too.)

Arabella, was a gorgeous older woman. I think she was.... 41? Not like it mattered, since she looked 35 or less on a good day. Creative, goal-oriented, a jack of all trades type lady. Dark black shoulder length bob, Phillipino, big eyes and an overbite that reminded me of Slick Woods. (It's not me trying to sound insulting; I just don't wanna seem creepy or lusting or whatever by saying "she had doe eyes and caramel skin and plush lips", since I find writing like that about other human beings creepy. But I did want to clarify that I find overbites extremely adorable, and characterizing, really.)

All in all, she could've been a MILF if she had kids, all I need to say.

And not to sound Oedipus-y, or Freudian, but she did basically call herself "my new mother".

And juuuuuust like my mother, she went from pushing me to achieve every single possible goal I could, to....... Becoming extremely pessimistic and projecting about her own goals flopping, and taking it out on me, how hilarious!

(I'm noticing a trend of "older women adoring me, but then disappointing me drastically when i need help the most" in my life... thats kinda lame. Especially since they always say, "It's almost like I'M your mother now!", in sime sort of cutesy way, clasping their hands together and beaming at me... its heartfelt, tearjerking, and because I know the sad reality, it makes me want to puke out blood from the amount of disgust the memories give me now.)

I'm alright, I suppose.

Anyway.

Arabella pushed me to so much. Modeling, screenwriting, editing, directing, acting... I loved her as a mentor, since she really was the definition of "You've got one life to live, make all your dreams come true since they're more reachable than one could think!", type shit.

Oh but flash forward to the last time I ever saw her again; it had been a few months, and time had passed. Before we lost touch, she was a little passive aggressive over me not finding a direction with a pitch she gave me.

.

(I don't like films or TV shows without a message; even slice of life anime has a message of sadness, or the simple beauties in life, you know? I couldn't find a direction for hers. She gave me creative control, but, it was hard trying to work with 'two girls from two different time periods talk! one is in the 70s, another in the 90s!', and I almost found a route to take with it before she decided to put the project itself on hiatus.)

Anyway, time passed, a new year came, and I was depressed as fuck due to that relationship with Zack #2, that I choose not to remember, and it's better that way.

But eventually it was January, and I had that job at Chipotle. (Or did I? I forget. Idk, man, my memory does not like to remember much from the past few years since I was a younger lady...)

Anyway.

Arabella made it seem like we would be at the Google HQ to talk to eachother and hang out, and that it would be a light lunch delivered to the space... I showed up, with my enormous bag of sketchbooks and art supplies, full on tomboy, and a little disorganized in general that day.

But forgooooot to mention to my very casually dressed self, (borderline homeless looking,) that she was going to surprise me to a happy hour lunch that very day.

At a very upscale restaurant.

......

Not smart on her part. A big difference between "casually talking at a closed off space from the public, on a couch and talking about our lives", and "im getting stared at as the bartender says I'm not allowed to sit at the counter, people keep kicking my bag, and i am embarrassed entirely."

Fast forward to the dinner table, Arabella talked about nothing but herself.

Only herself.

Every single fucking thing was about her. I loathe people who do that, they make it obvious my presence doesn't matter past something that can be TALKED AT instead of having mutual discussions with.

Anything that remotely shifted the convo to me lead to her talking over me, or going "yeah, yeah, ah-huh", over me, then resuming whatever she felt like saying.

I just ate the shitty breadsticks and stared at her, after awhile.

Then when she finally shifted conversation to me.... I opened up. About how a bad breakup lead to me hitting REAL real rock bottom, like full on no eating or sleeping and completely losing myself, but how that while I was working at (the shitty fucking) Chipotle, I would be saving enough money from my checks to move out, and see how to go from there. And that in the free time I had after work or on the weekends, I could focus on screenwriting; and a casting call every now and then, if I feel alright enough to get back into modeling again.

And she juuuuust.... stared at me very blankly the whole time with a lowbrow look written on her face.

Till she didn't say anything at all.

Until she told me I was "spreading myself roo far"....

....

So...

Working a basic 10 to 6pm job swiping cards

Writing my own original scripts for fun on the weekends

An occasional casting call

......seemed like *too much*?

And if that wasn't bad enough, the rest of the conversation was basically her complaining that the type of stuff I was aiming for wouldn't get me far in life.

And it became clear what the problem *really* was, when she described her husband forcing her to quit her job at the network she worked so hard to build up....

To go back to marketing, since he was getting angry that she wasn't making enough money.

.........

Long story short, I left the hangout early. A plethora of terrible things happened that day, aaaaaand it took a lot for me to not kill myself or someone else. (Particularly my own mother, and maybe even Arabella; but everyone is alive to this day; so no worries.)

.....

One that kind of barely makes it to see the year 2019 alive, and actually is happily describing finally getting somewhat back onto their feet, landing a job, and reinvolvements in things she had felt somewhat grounded with....

.....will collapse if one of her support people says its pointless; or impossible to achieve.

No wonder I ended up breaking down that night. It was pretty terrible, full honesty.

Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, hence why I'm very "how dare you" in terms of people doing stupid shit. (It's the same absurd anger and insane feeling as if you saw a toddler stomping on baby turtles, who just escaped the seagulls, so close to them finally hitting the ocean.)

Anyway, nice.

Cool background exposition.

:)

1:27am. Time flies.

I just roasted a random person on Instagram, so its an interesting night among interesting times. Peace out.

[heartfulselkie]

Yeah so I'm back at it again with some more stuff for this still Unnamed AU. I'll figure out a name eventually..

Adrien and Felix are twins. People assume Felix is the older twin but its actually Adrien

Adrien has always been homeschooled

Felix was also at first but was allowed the option later (either midway through primary education or at the start of collège and goes to Françoise Dupont). He didn't care either way, but ended up going so he could tell Adrien what school was like (Adrien really wanted to go too but wasn't allowed because of his health)

Still thinking what kind of illness Adrien actually has. Probably something the requires him to need a cane like in this concept art. (maybe he has balance issues, chronic fatigue...I need to look into it more. If anyone can make any suggestions I'd greatly appreciate it)

Felix is still a little shit but he was very fond of their mother and is actually very fond of Adrien as well, he's just not as cheerful and friendly as his brother

Felix doesn't really make friends at school, he has his brother and that's enough social interraction. Chloe still insists she's best friends with the twins. Adrien is glad to have any friends while Felix just tolerates her for Adrien's sake

Adrien still models for the fashion brand. He likes it enough and its one of the few ways he can leave the mansion. Felix did when he was younger but stopped because he never cared for it

There's a "joke" conspiracy that there isn't two Agreste sons. Its just Felix with multiple personalities

Adrien still plays piano. Felix plays violin (or maybe cello I'm still thinking about it)

Because Adrien never gets to go to school he doesn't meet Marinette or Nino or Alya at first

The umbrella scene doesn't happen the same way either, but it does happen eventually

Love square stuff undercut cause this is getting looong

Adrien and Marinette do know each other though, they just don't realise it - they're actually anonymous pen pals

A school scheme to encourage communication and improve writing skills among young people set up a pen pal programme among students. Felix did not care at all for this, while Adrien was completely taken with the idea

Since Adrien wasnt a school student however he couldn't participate. He convinced Felix to help him. Adrien writes the letters while Felix takes them into school to be exchanged

Marinette decides to take part in the pen pal scheme as a way to try and make a new friend. Chloe's bullying left her fairly socially isolated.

She befriended Alya as normal and is becoming more socially involved at school, but she still likes the idea of talking to someone who doesn't know she's been Chloe's verbal punching bag

Since the letter exchange is anonymous, they use pen names

Marinette chose "Ladybug" as she just happened to see one and just went with it

Adrien signs his letters as "Chat Noir" because he wanted to sound cool. It's also a morbid pun on his innate bad luck

Awkward shy letters grow into LadyNoir banter as they get closer

They exchange letters a lot, but also omit a lot of certain things about themselves (Adrien doesn't mentioned his celebrity status or being kept at home. Marinette doesn't mention being a bully victim or that she's more of a mess than she lets on)

They don't know the other is kwami blessed/cursed

Adrien hides his because of the stigma that comes with having a Plagg influence

Marinette hides hers because she prefers to be known on her own merit, that what she does is her own and not just because she happened to get a lucky kwami blessing

Their letters start friendly but Adrien does fall in love with his Ladybug (this girl sounds so cool! she does so many things! she laughs at my bad jokes!)

Marinette also crushes on her Chat Noir but very much denies it. He's her best friend and their flirting/teasing is just how they have fun

Alya thinks it wouldn't be that hard to find out who the secret pen pal is but Marinette refuses

Ladybug and Chat Noir promised early on that their letters would remain an anonymous exchange. It's more comfortable that way (they very much want to know who the other is, but are frightened of revealing themself)

Dropping in with some Miraculous AU stuff cause I don’t have time right now to write it properly as a fic (and this one deals with a lot of lore/details that i need to work out first) but I want to share what I have so far before I forget it.

Blame @gentil-minou​ for giving me the minimal amount of convincing for me to note some of this stuff down to work on later 😅

Non-miraculous AU but magic still exists in a diluted form. It was once supposedly a much stronger force, but the “modern day magic” manifests in people excelling in certain ways or being particularly skilled

It exists in people from birth

Kwami still exist as concepts, but they’re something more similar to starsigns in that they’re something you’re “born under” and influence certain things about you (e.g. someone under Nooroo’s influence are often highly charismatic and can be very persuasive)

Not everyone has a Kwami influence (kwami guardian?). It seems to be more common between family members but it is not strictly genetic

Neither Marinette’s parents have this, but Marinette was blessed with Tikki, a rare but sought after influence because of how versatile Tikki’s chosen are

Gabriel has Nooroo’s influence and Emilie had Duusu’s (still figuring out how to translate making sentimonsters into this AU…)

Adrien and Felix are twins in this AU

Felix took after their parents and has Nooro or Duusu (I’m undecided right now)

Adrien wasn’t blessed at birth, he had no Kwami and was “normal”

Gabriel “perfection is everything” Agreste decided that it wasn’t enough that one of his sons wasn’t good enough to not be blessed. Surely there was a mistake or something was wrong

When Adrien was a young child his father tried to force a Kwami’s blessing on him through an ancient ritual he found in a old book

He originally intended to force a Nooroo or Duusu blessing since people were less likely to question Adrien’s seemingly delayed Kwami gain

He got greedy and attempted to force a rarer, more powerful influence. Probably Tikki

It goes horribly wrong. Adrien doesn’t gain a Kwami blessing, instead gains the influence of the outlier Kwami, Plagg

Plagg’s influence is considered a curse rather than blessing. It’s rare like Tikki, but still a strong one. Those cursed are burdened with bad luck, often being sickly/accident prone. There’s a higher chance of premature death

Adrien doesn’t die immediately from his father’s fuck up, but his physical health is affected

Felix gets to do most things normally (like got to school and such)

Emelie however kept Adrien housebound because she was now absolutely paranoid for him

Emelie does inevitably pass away. While it’s not proven that Plagg’s influence can affect those around its bearer, Adrien knows that certain people are blaming him (he blames himself too)

Gabriel still wants to bring her back. That old book he has seems to have a ressurection ritual, but he needs two people to make it work (consequences? side effects? fallout? Gabe definitely didn’t learnt he first time around cause this time its going to work like he wants). A Plagg cursed person and a Tikki blessed person. He already has Adrien, so all he needs is someone with Tikki’s influence…

I’ll add more to this later (like how the love square comes into this). This is probably a mess of an AU but it’s been sitting on my mind rent free so I’m just slapping it down for now

[daddy-devilish]

envioushyacinths​:

◇°•⏩} “As brutal as it may be, his singing voice will never be the same. Ripped into his throat with my teeth.” The scene was already a fucking mess thanks to that bastard, Envy had zero issues making it worse. He’d already made a considerable blow to it, had it been a different circumstance, they might have even praised him for the smart move. “A couple of good bruises and gashes, I wasn’t able to break anythin note worthy though. Unfortunately, pigs got to us before I could kill him.” Envy doesn’t think it’s too odd of an ask, the few that knew about what happened would ask something similar at some point. Although their reason for asking was more to judge Envy for whatever answer was given. It flicks the end of its cigarette with a light shrug. “Let’s just leave it at, it’s for the best I don’t know where they are holding him. With all my spare time, I’d get a couple of ideas to try out.” Its chuckle is down right unsettling, it would make any bystander question their safety for more than a few moments.

“You really should try it sometime, burning things with your wife…There ain’t nothin’ like it. The illumination of the flames dances on her face and buddyyyy. Lemme tell ya, you’d think about committin another three counts right then and there.” They get a genuine smile on their face. They had a ring of their own, it was more of a blue metal than gold. Much more their style. Everything was bright until Dante mentions his other sin, it’s face turns into an unreadable expression before going back to normal. Their eyes flick to the side, taking a large inhale, playing off the sudden change in demeanor. Sins weren’t a touchy subject, it was who the Sins were themselves. Reminded it that Envy really needed to call some people. …Do they even have phones??

“Aw, that’s pretty sweet. I’d make a joke about stopping by to record with you, but I dunno how well that’d go over with ya. I’m too old to be assuming things anymore.” It waves as it half laughs, “I might have to make somethin up now that I think about it. Got the wife’s birthday comin’ up and she had made demands on our wedding day that I sing for every birthday of hers. She’d be pissed if she knew I were slackin off right now.” The statement is said with such a cheerful grin that anyone would think getting scolded by their wife was the best thing that could possibly happen to them. For Envy, that probably would be.

𓏶✧♫✧♪ || Naturally, the violent answer puts his famously sharp grin back on his face, contented enough by their properly vicious answer as he nods and chuckles deep in his chest like the thrum of a bassline. God help whoever overheard both these malevolent entities, as one easily could, but he never did censor himself-- never to anyone but his child. " A fucking shame, that... but then again... killin' what little someone's worth-- that can be somethin' crueler... " Stated with all the truth of someone whose done it, multiple times. But he does leave it at that, no lingering questions of the personal details deemed worth asking as his specific morbid curiosity was satisfied.

But the memory of his wife steadily turns his sadistic grin into a massive, toothy smile, the kind that proved his face's odd ability to stretch a little too far and show a little too much gum. " The sound of her laugh, the curves of her silhouette against the fire..? Goddamn, you ain't gotta tell me twice, I get it, I know... " He growls and laughs. " Call me old-fashioned... but my first date with my wife was burnin' down a church. " It was one of the churches of the people who protested her all that time ago. That wasn't what they set out to do-- they were going to a maltshop diner. But, you know, one thing leads to another. " That woman, I swear... she had me almost proposin' on the spot. "

Maybe he was distracted with drawing from his cigar, or maybe he just didn't make a habit of concerning himself with what people around him were feeling when he spoke-- an ego like a bulldozer on this old rockstar-- but he didn't even notice the change at the mention. But he does make one short, sharp snort at the offer to record. " Get yourself a bass to bring with you, then maybe I'd play around with a little somethin' huh? " They're shot a smirk, almost like a challenge. What can he say, it seemed a shame they didn't play their instrument anymore. " But, I'm not releasin' any singles anyhow, don't misunderstand... " Of course it passes his mind, one with a cynicism well earned, that the other was vying for some sort of clout by suggesting to record with him. A very normal thing to do. So anything short of a blunt no indicated he didn't hate the idea of them being around even if that were the case.

That next part about their wife has him cackling, though. " Well, you're welcome for holdin' you up, then! " He flicks his wrist and glances at his watch. He was checking for nothing they needed to worry about, but for someone enjoying "retirement" Dante seemed like a very busy man. Still, he makes a smile much like theirs. " Satan forbid we piss off the wife... "