#my sleep paralysis demon is a fish

[midnightskraptor]

I had no idea that this is what the recreation actually looks like because for the whole time I've been going off of this thing

i hope i never ever ever see this image while im high or it will also straight up kill me. it would make me so scared my skeleton would run away And id be a boneless scared heap on the ground

[theoxenfree]

LUCID

sleep paralysis demon x reader | 3k | 18+

you've never known a true, good night of sleep in your entire life. when your doctor and best friend, dr. sujay patel, offers to vouch for you as the perfect candidate for a "last resort" sleep study and medication trial, you don't have high hopes. the first night of the trial, things go sideways very quickly.

warnings; technically somnophilia, dubcon, hair-pulling, restraint, some eerie/unsettling details, breech of patient-doctor boundaries, alcoholism, implied addiction/addictive personality, academic cheating, some culturally sensitive discussion, roughly proofread.

this is the first concept piece for my upcoming sleep paralysis demon x reader story!! to help me shape the story, pls answer feedback questions + reblog!!!

Children at your daycare liked to draw you fanciful pictures of the other lives they lived in their dreams during afternoon nap time. You were shown orange tabby cats with green eyes garbed in full-plates of knight’s armor, brandishing a fish sword against a foe to save the world. Most often, they dreamed of their families and drew bright, brave versions of themselves holding hands with a parent, a sibling, a bipedal family dog with an electric collar. A few of the children never smiled in their self-portraits.

The proportions of everything were always silly: gigantic tree trunks with tiny, green bundles sitting atop of them, three enormous fruits supported by brittle vines and growth in bushes, cats and dogs with ears as tall as their bodies, Mom with purple skin instead of brown, Big Sis looking particularly volatile with a theratrically large snarl. Despite this, the children beamed in pride whenever yesterday's drawings would come down off the wall to be replaced with the new.

For some of these kids, this was their own equivalent of having art hung on a refrigerator; to you, it evoked dull, thready jealousy because they were in possession so simple, so biologically normal to them and everyone else around them that to be incapable of the same thing was, surely, a major defect.

Sleep was already a treasure you were seldom allotted the pleasure of greedily surrendering to, but to dream sounded like a terrifying experience to you altogether. It took work; a stringent routine of warm showers (hot and scalding water was forbidden), with an array of chalky, dissolvable tabs and shower gels and shampoos and moisturizers and essential oil dehumidifiers and soy candles and hot tea and special pillow sleep spray you’d seen in an online ad while thumbing through socials.

It took pajamas that were loose, soft but not silky, it took a satin bonnet and a satin eye covering (the kind with pockets for your eyelashes to move), comforters soused in lavender spray meant to magically work out the tightness in your shoulders and calves without the need of paying for a masseuse’s bony elbow. It took purchasing a battery-operated alarm clock to wake yourself for work so you could shut off your phone and leave it plugged into the wall downstairs.

You'd nearly forgotten—you couldn't have sugar after half past six, you had to stagger your water consumption after that time as well because the urge to piss would keep you awake for hours after the fact. The television needed to be off once you finished putting away dishes after dinner.

If you were lucky, this would work and you'd sleep a total of two or three hours uninterrupted—never fully tipping over the edge of wakefulness into deep sleep, but enough to keep yourself going during the day, grocery shop, wrangle the small children, scrape at a bar, get dicked down into your mattress every now and then, and visit Sujay for your usual appointments.

“How do you feel about trying something different?” he always gestured to one of the modern-looking armchairs upholstered in teal polyester before bringing you a tea of some sort. Today was a floral white tea with a spoonful of honey. “Ah, my friend, I worry for you. We've done so many studies, we've tried so many different things. Does none of it help? At all?”

“Not really.” you admitted after a sip, singing your tongue once and placing aside the cup and saucer pair. “I don't know if I can keep doing this until the day I die, Sujay. What do you recommend next?”

Dr. Sujay Patel was your neurologist, an utterly brilliant man, and a close friend from your early university days. Despite the rest of your friend group falling apart, pulled in separate directions by the strings of fate and temptation of money, you'd managed to stay in contact with Sujay throughout grad school. There'd been an intermission, probably a period of two years, where you'd forgotten he even existed.

You were out making a disaster of your life on sleepless, drunken benders because you hoped enough alcohol would either knock you out or kill you. The normal distractions came with it: your entire family dynamic corroding and combusting, an ex getting too big for their britches, and a roommate suspiciously eager to rally behind that ex.

Sujay came back into the picture following a nasty incident of alcohol poisoning that left you bedridden in the hospital for a week. You had decided then, in that uncomfortable bed with their starchy, crunchy white sheets and the bathroom being too far away to simply get up and walk to, that you'd abstain from alcohol forevermore.

He'd seen you in a state of soul-weary disarray not long after you were discharged and had decided to take you on as a patient.

“Now, you have a choice here, just remember that.” Sujay sat adjacent to you in the exact chair you were in. He wasn't daunted by the heat from his tea and took some time with it, whether to savor the subtle notes of it or to consider his words, you weren't sure. “But, a colleague of mine at a… pharmaceutical company has been working to get an experimental sedative into some studies. Testing periods, I guess you could say.”

You're convinced by his dedication to his tea to pick up yours again. “Does it work?”

“As of now, one-hundred percent of those who have participated have reported high-efficacy, or at least have claimed it to be effective in some manner.” His mustache moved as he sipped. You drank as well. “I think you should submit to the study and if you're accepted into one of the control groups—commit to it. We're running out of options otherwise. I don't want you to start mixing up your own cocktail of things. All it takes is the wrong thing once, y'know?”

The chair groaned while you adjusted your weight in it. You sighed. “Would that once be such a bad thing, though? At least I could sleep.”

“I'm a doctor,” Sujay looked over his square-rimmed glasses at you, forehead wrinkles enormous, whites of his eyes showing more than the hazel of his irises. “Behave yourself.”

“Fine.” Mesmerized by the stray tea leaves that had managed to escape the metal ball steeper, you said, “tell me what I need to do.”

Sujay had sent you away that day with a whole host of follow-up appointments and a glowing review to his colleague in hopes of skipping the line as much as possible. Sometimes, it was beneficial to have friends in high places, especially when that means you get a call two days later for preliminary, formal interviews and an offer to participate in said study once clearances came through and your blood work came back as desired.

A month to the day when Sujay first mentioned the possibility of a magical cure all to your relentless insomnia, you were brought into a minimally furnished room—the standard, bland cookie cutter type that hadn't an ounce of personality—dotted from head-to-toe in stickers for neuromonitoring, heart rhythm, and whatever else they fancied, you supposed.

It was only after you had changed into your soft, but not too soft, pajamas and covered in wires that you were handed a tiny purple pill. The color of it was obviously a dissolvable casing and food coloring, but what amazed you was the fact a drug this small was meant to induce the best sleep of your life.

“Take the pill, drink at least four ounces of water, and lie supine.” The technologists outside your room, speaking into an intercom, elaborated afterward that they wanted you to stay on your back while you slept. You didn't bother to point out that you weren't stupid—just tired. “We understand that not everyone finds this position comfortable, but to receive adequate results and to measure your vitals at all times, we ask that you try your best.”

You weren't going to hassle them about this and did precisely as they instructed. Shoved the pill down the back of your throat, drank the bottled water, and tried to get comfortable on your back.

You closed your eyes.

A part of you wondered why you had assented to Sujay’s suggestion so easily, especially where everything else had failed. He was one hell of a friend, and had always been that way for you, but as a doctor, you wondered if two years of cheating through medical school, so as to not royally piss off his parents and be disowned for failing, was finally catching up with him somewhat.

You recalled being startled when he told you he hadn’t married yet and didn't intend to as some deep-rooted act of spite against his family and the traditions they had held over his head all his life. Traditions that had been weaponized against him, rather than supplement his life as an extension of his history, of the things he loved, of a chance to explore more of himself.

You had listened wordlessly the entire time he spoke about it, still sipping on his tea, the results from your latest brain scan clamped to a clipboard on his lap—

This wasn't working.

This was so stupid.

You opened your eyes and sat up in the stiff bed, carefully maneuvering your fingers around your orbital bone to force away the puffiness and exhaustion still lingering behind them. It was only as you rubbed your eyes that you noticed your face was empty of cold stickers and a thousand wires. You didn't hear distant blips in the machine measuring your heart rate, nor track the voices of anyone outside your door.

The room was still the same—the outdated, bulky dresser with claw feet, a few gray chairs you could buy on display in a window somewhere, a low oval table, a bedside table for your glass of water and a crisp, neatly folded change of clothes for the next day.

It was only unusual that you were bare of the technologist’s monitoring equipment and sitting amid an unfaltering, deep silence that amplified the sounds of your very existence. Your slow breaths with a quickening heartbeat, blood pumping in your ears, and the coarse rustle of bedsheets as you shifted around the mattress to bring some sense to what was going on.

Would the technologists have come into the room and removed everything from your body without waking you? More miraculously, without you rousing and throwing your hands on them for touching you first?

“Maybe the drug worked?” you had to consider the possibility, even though it still felt as far-fetched as the holistic medicine practitioners online telling you that an herbal cleansing juice could regenerate organs entirely. “Did I actually sleep? I don't remember dreaming, though. Aren't I supposed to dream?”

You looked to the one, single-paned window across the bedroom to spy how far along the morning had progressed, but found yourself sucking in and holding in a breath instead.

There, standing in your view of the outside, was the silhouette of a tall man. Everything about him was indistinguishable aside from the depth of darkness that made him up. Within the confines of the dim room, alight by a single lamp with an amber bulb that seemed to weaken by the second, this man stood apart from the shadows as something deeper, blacker, but corporeal.

He was every bit a part of the dark as much as he wasn't. And you couldn't tell if he was fading you or turned to look out the window at the parking lot two stories below.

“Hi—hello. Are—are you one of the techs?” you had finally let out that breath, now focusing on gauging the guy’s level of sociability, and by extension, his friendliness and the likelihood of him lunging at you. “I, uh, just would've really appreciated it if someone had woken me up before taking off the stickers.”

You were able to see out the window from the gaps around his body, taking note that it was still dark. Very dark. Beyond that, nothing else was discernible from where you sat and what he blocked.

The study wouldn't have finished yet.

Those techs would've taken precaution to wake you up if something had happened.

“Am I asleep?” you asked the wordlese man. “Am I dreaming now? Are you a dream? Is that what it's like?

You never imagined that there could be so much lucidity within a dream, a level of consciousness so similar to a state of wakefulness. When you thought about moving, you could perfectly flex your fingers, curl your toes into the high-pile carpet underfoot, touch the airy fabric covering your body and feel it touching you in turn.

How normal was this really, though? No one had ever told you about dreams like this. Theirs were always fragmented and discombobulated, just like the kids in daycare who drew pictures of pig astronauts and flame extinguishing spatulas. You knew of a rare few in the population capable of controlling their dreams, steering the outcome in the direction they pleased, but even those people were overrode by their own brains.

This was something completely different.

You became especially convinced of this when you thought the stifled air suddenly shifted with a light breeze, a soft whoosh in your ear. A chill erupted over you, making your skin burst with goose flesh, your brain chasing a shiver down your spine as if cold fingers stroked you all the way down the length of it. Those same fingers stayed low, hovering across your lower back before pushing into you, arching you down onto the mattress.

That freedom you thought you had only moments ago was gone, stolen by this invisible hand on your body that was rounding to you and reaching for your chest. Until now, you thought this had simply been a part of the dream—something you had believed to be in control in when the reality was much different—but, as the buttons on your sleep shirt unfastened before your eyes, the thin layers opening you to the cold, inky air, you weren't sure what to think, to do.

Another hand joined the first with long, heavy fingers to knead at your body and take your pants off of your hips until you were fully exposed to the darkness and the thing still dwelling within the room. It hadn't moved an inch since you'd noticed it a while ago; it never became any clearer, any more defined in the clothes or wore, and trying to look upon its face only filled you with puzzlement and dread.

The large hands were so cold despite all their movement on your hot skin, all of the work they did to start riling you up and making you moan. One of them groped your chest, felt your throat, squeezed your jaw as though to force your gaze at one point in particular (the ceiling), pushed apart your lips to dip into your mouth and wet its fingers on your tongue.

You did so as it was the only thing you could do freely right now.

Those fingers, covered in your spit, caressed you between your legs, stroking you in motions neither gentle or harsh. The muscles in your thighs flinched, stomach tightening, your throat vibrating to produce a moan smothered by the second hand circling your throat, gripping firmly enough where you could breathe, but just barely.

The thing couldn’t stop your thoughts, as much as it seemed to try, so it took to interrupting them—distracting you but squeezing your neck, yanking your head back into the pillow by your hair, adjusting itself to thrust multiple fingers into your body, burying them to the knuckle.

You tried to win this war of willpower by thinking about Sujay and his mustache and his stupid glasses. They were green, sometimes blue; seldom did he like the tortoiseshell look.

The thing lunged at your neck again, this time taking you underside the jaw and forced your head back into the pillow while it fucked you deeper on three fingers.

You wanted to make a sound; a moan, a scream, a torturous whimper or pleasure for the way your body was rocked on the bed, creaking with the weight of a pair combined and not just how it appeared. Your nostrils flared, heart rate at an uneasy high, breaths stuck in the column of your throat behind the hand holding it.

The pressure continued to stack higher and higher, building to such a point where you knew you were about to lose it, unravel, praying that this thing would grant you the kindness of fucking you out of your orgasm.

Your abdomen was wound tight, your groin ached terribly, and your thighs started to shake. Behind your eyes, the kaleidoscopic wheels of color intermingled with the darkness and it all slowly burned to white.

And then—

“Good morning!” you were being shaken awake by one of the technologists, a middle-aged woman with blue eyeliner. she didn't expect for you to jolt upright, stick straight, and launch the covers off of your body. “Oh—hey, honey, you alright? We’re done until tonight. How do you feel?”

You were slow to respond to her, occupied by the morning light filtering in through the window across the bedroom. She gave you some time to gather your bearings and took her time removing the stickers and wires from your skin, suggesting you spend some time really scrubbing in the shower later to get off all the adhesive.

“How about now, honey?” she pulled the last sticker and wire combination off of your shoulder. “You with us?”

You didn't know how to answer that, especially not with how damp you felt inside your thighs.

a/n; thank you for reading and choosing to help me shape the story further!! this is all inspired by the fact that I have frequent bouts of sleep paralysis myself and on three consecutive occasions, after taking some questionable drops from an ex-friend, I saw something. I want to make this very clear that this story is intended to be pretty extreme psychological horror. anyway, here are the questions

sujay will be a major supporting character in the story, so what would you be interested in seeing more: 1) sujay and mc further blurring that boundary and possibly becoming a pair, but their "relationship" becomes thwarted by SPD 2) sujay, possibly, ends up with more yandere tendencies as the story progresses and with the development of the plot, could result in a terrible ending for him—but interesting 3) sujay and mc are inherently a toxic duo, but he tries his best to support mc (platonically or one-sided romantically) as they spiral out of control?

in terms of SPD's appearance, what idea do you like better: 1) him, eventually, having a definitive, solid form and features across the span of the story 2) he remains like a "black silhouette" with the invisible hands, but he has the sort of voice that's lulls and lures and manipulates 3) he takes on features that mc (you) find attractive, but they're all wrong and progressively becomes more monstrous 4) he has a physical appearance that's "all wrong", but you can never figure why or what he actually looks like despite SEEING him. if you want to choose multiple, you need to get VERY specific.

I intend for this story to be incredibly dark in terms of sexual content bc SPD is a demon/monster. he is not good. he is not loving. when you think of "dark" for smut, what would you want to see??

[doudouo]

Izana Kurokawa joining the fish eye angle trend

this is what my sleep paralysis demon looks like

[illustr-ace]

I gave up on this halfway through because backgrounds are my sleep paralysis demon, but I drew my fish husband

[spotsupstuff]

OUGHHHRHGHHHHH MY LITTLE ASSHOLE FUCKS (and bessie little angel bessie)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AUGH THEY'RE SO PRETTY IN YOUR STYLE... watch out with cookin fish in a microwave he could explode like an egg

i am putting your little guys in my mental microwave @spotsupstuff

[stars-on-my-bedroom-ceiling]

masterlist of my moots and their tags!!

for some reason tumblr won't let me link the part 2, so check the reblogs if you want a real list

okay so i have a bunch of moots and not all of them have tags yet, so if you want to be added to the list, ask me please or just put an emoji you like and your preferred internet name in the replies and i will get to it :3

okay anyways

@lifegoalsofafish #fish 🐟

@mister-dirty-hands #crow 🖤

@i-live-life1313 #eli 💚

@bloophasarrived #mari 🐿

@liggy-not-potter #liggy 👹

@starcrossedmoony #peppa 🦕

@definitionoffuckup #star 💫

@wistfulenchantress #witch 🎧

@good-oldfashioned-lover-girl #evie 💙

@margaret-the-duck #maggie 🦆

@totalcharliespringsimp #charlie 👁

@figuring-it-out-slowly #mars ⚘

@dandelionflowery #dandelion 🌿

@random-bi-kid #petra 💜 or #asher 💜

@ashippingpotato #potato 🥔

@gildy-locks #gildy 🐥

@anglptera #ang 🦖

@cazzythefrogking #caz 🐸

@examishbookwyrm #bookwyrm 🐛

@random-doctor-on-the-internet #ash 🗡

@discoveredreality #ari 🗨

@biblically-accurate-chaos #bean ⚔

@blakat014 #kat 🕸

@rhystheaudhddaydreamer #rhys 🐺

@vizzly-sama #vizzly 🐁

@asclexe #cameron 🐱

@im-ur-sleep-paralysis-demon #demon ☻

@daydream-of-a-wallflower #kat 🍊

@aristos--achaion #void 🕳

@vintagetee13 #aimee 🌼

@childofposiden71 #kriss 💅

@cressthebest #cress 🌸

@idk-what-to-put-here-123 #ruby ❤

@sapphos-queer-kid #marie ✏

@aesthetic-writer18 #raine ✒

@njjisquiet8 #nj ⭐

@irisandthegayestpotatoes #iris 🍃

@jasonsbricky #elliot 🏳️‍🌈

@moonage-nightterrors #el 👀

@tequilaqueen #bea 🦋

@old-lady-habits #aspen 🏵

@buttercup-in-wonderland #buttercup 🌾

@midnights-dragon #tristen 🐉

@scatteredraysofhope #aditi 🦉

@themortalityofundyingstars #chase ✨

@garden-of-runar #ru 🥀

@theoneandonlypjofanatic #jia 🧡

@fairies-in-a-forest #dove 🕊

@dontknowanythingohwell #violet 🌌

this made me realize just how many moots i have lol

this will be updated once a month or so

so if you don't see yourself here, wait a couple weeks. if you still don't see yourself, tell me! you can drop into my askbox with your preferred name and an emoji :)

[jammechanics]

Jam Mechanics Episode 7 baybeeee

Episode 7 finds Matt and Bug writing some 4-chord pop songs and talking hedgehogs, Aliens, and Dr. Who. Bug disappoints Reginald Kenneth Dwight in a big way.

Jam Mechanics is a podcast hosted by Matt (The Narcissist Cookbook) and Bug (Bug Hunter) where we challenge each other to write a song demo from scratch every episode.

If you'd like downloadable files for this episode (and the demos we showed off), ⁠⁠you can go to our Bandcamp: website: https://www.jammechanics.com/ to pay-what-you-want to support us!

Our Music:⁠⁠ The Narcissist Cookbook⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Bug Hunter

-- SPOILERS FOR THIS EPISODE BELOW --

BUG'S SONG Matt's Challenge: BNE SZN (piano only!!) Title: Season Your Beanie Lyrics: I’ll eat my hat if you make it I’m not mad I’m just candid and someone just had to say it there’s no path where you’re headed and you can act all offended I’m a realist and I feel its best you never pretended that there’s a chance in a million you can be handsome or brilliant but you’ll crash like all the others so you can call me the villain one day we’ll look back and laugh, I’ll get a pat on the back but if you make it with your music I will eat my hat

Would like a salad on the side? we can sub it out for fries? We got a dad hat meal plan for 10.99 you can order a fedora that you’ll just adore we got a chef hat special, call it hat du jour Cuz I’ve got 30 milion reasons that can prove you wrong and 200 fans in london singing every damn song I’m rubbin salt in the wounds, just admit you’re defeated you can season your beanie, but you still gotta eat it

you’d eat your hat if I made it so I snapback with a menu when you throw all that shade if you took a bite of brim and didn’t like how it tasted you should’ve sampled the plastic long before you beret-ed

and hey, yeah, maybe you’re right a bit more often than not but you could choose to say nothing, it has no sticker or cost rubbin salt in the wounds to admit you’re defeated you can season your beanie but you still gotta eat it you can season your beanie but you still gotta eat it you can season your beanie but you still gotta eat it

MATT'S SONG Bug's Challenge: Cthulu (Radio-Friendly) Title: Get Deep Fried Lyrics: let's stay in bed all day we'll get away from here tomorrow if the monsters allow what did people ever talk about the television doesn't work right now sit with me beneath the nothing where the stars all used to be before they all went out

they're in the hallway at our door they're in the walls they're in the floor looks like it's all gonna end right as we begin

who called this son of a bitch half mile tall, man looks like a fish the deep one will swallow us all he can swallow my balls who spoke the summoning rite who's up for fresh calimari tonight the deep one? eat my ass more like get deep fried am i right

hentai tentacles gonna kick him right in the genitals he's gonna be like "this is terrible" i'm gonna be like "you look edible" elder god from the ocean floor I bet you wish you could sleep some more i'm your paralysis demon got hooked and you can't stop screamin

they're in the hallway at our door they're in the walls they're in the floor looks like their party's gonna end right as it begins

[g-a-r-o]

You wanna know what kinda shit I'm on? I'm on 15 parts Vicodin, 5 parts agent orange, 2 parts Krispy Kreme donuts ground up in a blender. 50 gallon batch size. I down that shit after every rep. I will fuck you up. I will fuck you down. I will fuck you north, south, east, west, and every other inconceivable secret cardinal direction. I will fuck you into Mordor. I will fuck you into MOUNT DOOM. I AM MOUNT DOOM. Ops call me MOUNT DOOM, because I'm MOTHERFUCKING MOUNT DOOM. The Aztecs built Tenochtitlan when they saw me on a cactus holding your bitch in my beak. I dap up Jesus on the daily. I've fucked Vishnu's butthole. Zeus is a real one. Allah is my op. The state of Utah could never be as huge as me. My circle is fifteen carbon copies of Judas smoking dried out rolled up algae from Leonard Nimoy's pool filtration system. Leonard Nimoy is my op. I would never smoke his algae but my real ones know I'm him. Week-long bender in New Jersey got me looking like Thom Yorke on a normal day. Sloppy toppy afterward, call that the Radio Head. The I-95 was not ready for my grind. That highway got adopted like a fish gets sucked up an intake valve. I'm smoking gnomes. Cheefing fuckin forest creatures like the fire that killed Bambi's mom. I can walk on water. I can swim in the ground. I know the Statue of Liberty very intimately. I have done unfathomable things to the Eifel Tower. I drink Gatorade and I don't even know what the fuck is in that shit. Author of the Kama Sutra self-defenestrated after he heard what I did to his mom. I'm a sex demon from sexy hell. Invented cunnilingus. Gunnifringus too, but it was so fire that the ops had to take me down. Hat man tryna get me off bennys because he knows he can't even fuck with me. I down 1200 mg, he's gotta take twice as much just to get away from me. Sleep paralysis demons couldn't even after they heard my flow. Worst mistake they ever made was forgetting to freeze my jaw. Second worst mistake they ever made was forgetting to freeze my dick. They never made a third mistake. THAT'S the type a shit I'm on

[chateautangerine]

Floorboards whimper. He can't hear them. The music rattles through his ears, fills his skull like a ship taking in water, and Lilac is here. He feels her, warm and solid, the tips of her nails nipping through his shirt, chest-to-chest. In his head: the low crackle of her voice and the infinite tease in it. His brain stirs then flounders—She's real. This is real, too—and he thinks of other things. A long-fingered hand along his belly. How she'd sound on top. 

The lights catch her piercings like little galaxies. Andromeda along her ears. 

She's never been insecure a day in her life. 

"She never saw you again, did she?" he asks, croaky and lighter, off the ground. Because she could tell him, 'I laughed it off.' Because she could also say, 'She lost both.'

She might not say. The truth is inconsequential. Lilac in all her harsh simplicity. Her irreconcilable duality. Ly is untempered and free and beaming. Ly may also be merciless, a thing that has never been sorry for anyone.  

Head swimming, silence blurring, Cliff imagining Ly doused in red, a sticky river running down her eye as she cackles, someone else staring frozen and mortified. Cliff imagines she's dripping red, now, her body sticky-sucking against the cotton of his shirt with a wide, toothy smile, her nails digging into the back of his head. 

They are. 

His mind is empty and full and loud and silent. Lilac presses tighter against him. He's out of orbit. 

When Cliff kisses, it is with both hands along the sides of her ribcage, a long and careful second; the one that comes with learning something new. When Cliff kisses, it is with a slow and winding inhale as though surfacing from an endless sleep. He kisses faster and re-kisses, his mouth closing and mouth open. He kisses like he's both here and not here, like he's absolutely everywhere and invariably nowhere. 

He knocks against the end table, the floorboards whimpering beneath them.

Cliff pulls back, and his face is steady-murky, as though he's never once noticed a thing in his life.

"...I always thought you would," he confesses, low, somewhere in the labyrinth of his own mind. He stares off at her cheek, and still floaty, like thinking aloud, "I only hope you make it quick."

❝Ooh, so I'm the lucky girl.❞ She winks, eclipsing the full moon in her eye. ❝Starting a trend for when the next cute girl comes and dances with you at midnight.❞ Even her, with her wild imagination developed by centuries of practise, has difficulty picturing Cliff cycling through woman after woman, giving out hats to beautiful ladies like they're business cards. Keep this and think of me.

No, he's not the type.

Then again, she's been surprised before.

❝Then you've missed the whole point of having a living room this big.❞ Because what good is all this space if it isn't going to be used whenever and however the fancy strikes? Living rooms are meant for dancing and laying spread-eagle on the floor, sometimes clothed, sometimes not, and making suggestive faces out the window at the neighbours when they spot you with your shirt off without a modicum of shame or decency.

❝Rude to ask about a lady's flaws,❞ she chides, with no bite behind those words. ❝I'm very self-conscious about it, you know.❞ She'd laugh if it wouldn't spoil the moment, the lie, this snapshot of a fairytale come to life, only this time when the wolf moves in for the human, she doesn't leave viscera and blood splattered everywhere in a grisly scene that could rival a horror film.

Self-conscious. She doesn't know the meaning of the term.

She effortlessly spins and breathes life into a story that sounds so genuine it could be real, maybe would have been in another time. Ly has told the tale of this wound time-and-time again, changing it to something equally as wild and fantastic as the last iteration, but there's always been some sliver of truth in there each and every time.

❝A friend of mine, when we were kids, was obsessed with Wolverine. The X-Man; you know the one. So I told her she can play Wolverine and I'll be the scary bad guy trying to kill all the humans. Her dad fancied himself a collector of old weaponry—fuck if I remember what it's called, but this thing looked like claws. The blades stick out between your fingers.❞ She hums, letting herself look lost in a tale that never really happened. ❝He kept it on a shelf in his office, so we grabbed it and, well. Lost my eye. She never forgave herself.❞

The story ends just like the song, abruptly, but this one has a much happier ending. In the real story, there is far more death, more pain and loss, and at the end of that tale, the offending wolf's stomach is ripped open in a fit of violent rage, along with many others of his pack. Anger was the dominant emotion, as red as the blood spilled across the ground and splashed on her face and dripping from her eye.

Ly pushes herself closer and smiles knowingly. She brings a hand up to the back of his head and buries it deep in his long blond hair, claws gently scraping against his skin as she does. He has no idea how easy it would be for her to kill him right now. Maybe he does and he decides, let her, and something about that is far more pleasing than if he'd never noticed.

That's not right. He has noticed something. Even when they come out of his mouth sounding like throwaway comments.

❝So do it. What's stopping you? Afraid I'll eat you?❞

[thelatexshapeshifter]

Just roughing out some Eldritch oc's i haven't ever done anything with they just kinda live in my head rent free.

Ell'crasshs (Ellie) is a eldritch creativity muse and has a living suit type of anatomy (lovely girl but will linger and "back seat art" )

Nickoto, think angler fish but a femboy instead of a light (horny bitch) also only emotes through the lure/ bait and will just stand in the background like a sleep paralysis demon, basically crippling social anxiety with the main body extroverted as fuck while puppeting the bait

[enarmor]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

There is something you can't do without.

O Knight, with such love and candor in your spirit,

Will you starve, or will you succumb to a heartless world?

It’s rather lonely to converse with your sleep paralysis demon, isn’t it?

But as Sain blinks, rubs the back of his neck with his hand and more importantly moves, he realizes this is no dream. It’s the dual edge of the crescent moon–gleaming white and stygian black. He could cloak himself in the splendor or fall into the pit in his own stomach. Quite the poetic fork in his road, he thinks. His eyes flare to life with excitement.

“Might I ask you something first?”

His gauntlet slides off his hand as he waits for a reply. He gets none. Fingers reach for food–grazing off a fowl’s bone and the flaky flesh of some fish–before silence is taken to mean ‘yes’.

One day, that habit will land him in trouble.

“You haven’t brought any to-go boxes, have you?” The air of their conversation flies like a harp’s song before slapping the Watcher in the face. Sain's question is asked in a high note, with a gentle turn of his head–as if he had even considered this a choice. “Because a feast is hardly complete without friends! There are a few I’d like to share this with.”

No response, again. This time, he chooses to interpret differently. “…No? Ah, what a shame,” the beast is poked on the nose, and Sain offers a parting shot before turning to leave, “I’ll take my chances on my own, then.”

[arizuume]

There is actually a lore behind this fish??? 🤯🤯🤯

His name is Seabastian, absolutely adorable fish with legs. He mostly was my crack OC in 2018-2019.

But now he’s a relentless capitalist mastermind and a mascot of a conspiratorial corporation, who’s related to sleep paralysis demon powers :3

[leffee]

your daily or more like weekly or whatever lps dump because I need to talk about it like it's 2014, mostly screencaps edition

I just love how done Vinnie looks here lol look at him, he looks like he's about to "Okay, Esteban danger danger danger listen here, you little shit-." Oop. Season 1 Vinnie was pretty sarcastic and done with everyone, and I miss him

I... don't remember why I took this screencap actually, probably just thought that Vinnie looked funny, like what he doing

I just love love everyone's expressions here especially Vinnie's and Zoe looks like she just witnessed true horror

A similiar one but from a different episode and also - the expressions are priceless, look at them.

Now those two birds eye view of the pets and it's absolutely terryfying each time. Vinnie looks nightmarish but so does Penny Ling and basically everyone whose eyes are visible.

"Littlest pet shop - we don't sell pets we cater to them 🤨?" I don't think so, who put Olive in this tiny aquarium? Girl can barely turn in there. Also kinda weird that she's here now (this is 2nd episode) and out of her shell but then in the same season they bring her back and hide her. Theen again I'm pretty sure no one really remembered that when watching it, so yeah. Still, they do sell pets 🗣🗣 at least in 1st season, there was also an episode when they were selling a turtle, a snake, and a fish. Liars liars

Bro- the look Vinnie is giving Sunil is just *cries from happiness* why is he so precious?? Why is he so smol. Obsessions obsessions. Also look at Zoe just happily walking like :]

My man is catching lamps

Sleep paralysis demon Zoe version

And last but not least

low quality blythe

[commonguttersnipe]

Smash or Pass: Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life" character edition*

At last, the finale SorP post has arrived! (Now that you've watched the final movie in the Monty Python quadrilogy.)

*(This time though, Smash or Pass the MoL characters but in order of the chapters from the film):

Introduction

Part 1: The Miracle of Birth

The Miracle of Birth Part 2: The Third World

(Bonus chapter that is a deleted scene) The Adventures of Martin Luther

Part 2: Growth and Learning

Part 3: Fighting Each Other

The Middle of the Film

Find the Fish

Part 4: Middle Age

Part 5: Live Organ Transplants

Part 6: The Autumn Years

Part 6 B: The Meaning of Life

Part 7: Death

The End of the Film

Yay! I can finally do this!

The fish- Pass (I’m not fucking a fish, let alone six)

The doctors- Pass (they treat that woman so badly. Brownie points for being progressive towards gender though)

Yorkshire Man- SMASH (there’s a reason he has so many kids…)

Protestant Man- Pass (he’s a twat.)

Teacher- Smash (I’m sorry. I apologise with tears.)

Teacher’s wife- Smash (she’s hot.)

The Officer- Smash (if he’s nice enough to receive gifts, he’s nice enough for me)

Army RSM- Smash (I know something I’d rather be doing than drill practice…)

British Empire Officers- Pass (look, I love a man in uniform. Not too keen on them if they are uptight racists)

Tiger Suit Boys- Smash (I could take them both... Not in a fight)

Middle Of The Film Announcer- Smash (Michael in drag? Yes please!)

Find The Fish- Pass (all three of them are my sleep paralysis demons. They scare me. I never want to see them ever again.)

American Couple- Smash (I’m actually very invested in a dungeon themed restaurant. Get on it, Disney)

Mrs Brown- Smash (I think she’s quite pretty)

Galaxy Song Man- SMASH (sing to me about my insignificance! PLEASE!)

Musician- Smash (sure, he sings about his penis but hey! At least he sings.)

Mr Creosote- Pass (*Vietnam flashbacks*)

Waiter- Smash (I also go on long spiels that end up nowhere.)

Death- Smash (something about his voice, y’know)

Condemned Man- Pass (most sexist way to die, if I may say so)

Dinner Party- Smash (why are they all so hot? Angela, if you’re free on Friday, I'm free on Friday.)

Heaven Singer- Smash (I feel like I'm mainly attracted to the people who sing in this film...)

I did it!!

[spidercookie18]

If you're in kahoots with my sleep paralysis demon, here's a few things that scare the balls off me.

Teeth ("too many teeth in a mouth" kind of teeth, and medical diagrams)

Those weird creepypasta eyes

The ocean (or any body of water with fish in it)

(^thalassophobia, basically the vast from magnus archives)

"Not" things (not dogs, not deer, not people)

Needles/scissors (but not knives)

Trypophobia (although who doesn't get the creeps from that stuff)

[adelaidedrubman]

2, 11, 27, 29, and 46 for johnjessie?

THANK YOU VERBS these were very fun to do for the normcore couple!!

2. Who wakes up early/Who sleeps in late? 

john wakes up earliest, consistently. unless it’s a day jessie plans to go fishing, then — just kidding john wakes up first then too, but it’s from jessie’s 4 AM alarm, as she proceeds to sleep through it and the next ten that follow it, and any effort of his to wake her. 

11. How do they feel about nicknames/pet names? If they like them, what pet names do they use? If they hate them, why do they feel that way? 

john called jessie “little red” exactly once before about-facing and radioing her the same day “OMG just kidding you’re actually the biggest, strongest person in the entire world haha wouldn’t it be funny if you crushed me with your giant muscles 🥺” and never really attempting a pet name again from that point. also driven by the setting in of his obsessive focus on simply learning her first name at all, and while what he does finally learn is technically a nickname he is also so dedicated to flaunting it as the world’s best prize to himself that he doesn’t bother to dress it up with any additional sweet talk. just jessie. that’s so incredible. (i guess spoilery and of note is that he will continue to call her “jessie” even after he learns her full name, because he knows she prefers it. something something symbolism). the most he ever does is tack on the occasional “jessie, dear” or “my jessie.”

jestiny throws out a stray “baby” or few in the heat of the moment, which is of course so taunting and belittling and not at all meant to make him feel like her most special baby boy. don’t get it twisted he would be so dumb to think that. other than that, it’s just “john” or “that fucking guy”

27. How do they say “I love you” non-verbally? 

managing to be comfortably non-verbal at all is an unprecedented miracle and massive “i love you” in and of itself with them. 

but also jessie will pause the rough handling to just look at him and give stray, unusually tender and doting touches — forehead kisses, tracing his freckles with her fingers, etc. john tends to full body cling, absentmindedly tangle fingers in her hair, touch her dimples when they’re visible. also mutual just constantly reaching for each other and finding ways to be in each other’s space. and these wild sons of guns do be holding hands. 

29. Describe their nighttime routine. 

fall asleep in THE DIRT. john snores so loud jessie thinks he’s a sleep paralysis demon for a sec then goes back to sleep. yeah they do this every night why not 

(real nighttime routine varies a bit by exact living circumstances, but usually consistents of jessie busying herself with something well into the night, john pestering her to come to bed already. then finally initiating sex in an effort to get her to the bedroom, never actually ends up in the bedroom because she is So Spiteful and Will Not Be Manipulated and he is too dumb and horny to have any follow through on his own plan. they go to bed anyways after but she has to Prove A Point first. yeah they do this every night) 

46. Do they consider their relationship casual or serious? Is the answer different depending on who you ask? Why?

they are both super fun super casual people known for being chill, laid-back, and having measured emotional reactions and attachments. which for her part jessie is actually deluded enough to believe about herself, she swears anything between them was a momentary lapse in judgment that means nothing. they just did Hand Stuff (she has not gone ten minutes without thinking about him) it was basically Church Camp Shit (she is actively hallucinating him as a coping mechanism to make her other hallucinations less stressful). 

john for his part is less in denial about that piece, while he occasionally downplays or obfuscates the motivations behind his obsession he has never once denied that she is the world’s specialest most importantest girl. “his world [had] been shaken to its foundations, cleaved in twain and hollowed out and rebuilt from its core to be filled with her” - guy who got jerked off and learned a woman’s first name. he thinks they’re pretty serious, yeah.