#psychological story

[gummybearsandgreenmango]

His Bleeding Heart

The air has been knocked out of me. The little whoosh silent but taking me by surprise. My vision narrows, and I reach my hands out to steady myself. It feels as though the world has tilted. I must maintain my equilibrium, keep my poker face on, despite the sweat that's starting to dot my forehead.

Everyone who sees me would never see the turmoil behind my eyes. The pain and the panic swirling within my thoughts.

What should I do? What will happen next?

I see his face in front of me, blurry and unfocused. Quickly, I swipe an arm across my eyes, crouching in front of him. I cup his face with my quivering hands. His declaration has taken me by surprise, and I couldn't think properly. At first.

Now that the shock has waned, every detail of my surroundings is coming into sharp focus. Our curtains lift a little with the breeze, the napkin tucked under the saucer fluttering without care. I see the remnants of my lipstick on the rim, the last dregs of the coffee I'd been drinking cold inside the cup.

My eyes scan every feature of his face, committing each to memory. I remember how many times we'd spoken about the future we'd share together. The dinners we'd spend laughing about this and that.

I just sigh, straightening up and heading toward the kitchen. It's getting late, and I need to prepare dinner. He chooses to stay in the living room. His eyes looking almost vacantly at the basketball game on tv.

I wash my hands carefully. I was planning to make burger patties out of our leftover ground beef, and I needed every inch of my hands clean.

He used to bring every stray he meets into our house. His bleeding heart unable to fathom them being hungry and abandoned. After the fifth one, I'd put my foot down.

He would go to work every day, and leave the actual care to me.

I can no longer stand the toll it takes - not only physically, but emotionally. We can never keep these animals; our children are allergic to them. We've had to hide them in the shed for fear our children would meet them and fall in love.

Tonight is our anniversary. I'd taken special care with my appearance. Our children have been sent off to their Grandma's to spend the night, a little sleepover party I'd told them.

Of all the nights he could have given me the bad news, it had to be this night. I could scarcely accept the news. The shock forces me to widen the distance between us. Him into his designated spot on the couch, and me to the kitchen.

I sneak a glance at him around the corner. He's just sitting there, with nary a care in the world. And why should he look disturbed? His world hasn't changed. He knows I'll be here to pick up the pieces.

But I don't think I will be.

I look around the brightly lit kitchen. At the marble countertops and wooden shelves. When we first moved in here as newlyweds, it was what compelled us to buy the house. Since then, I've spent many a time preparing meals for our family in this house.

Placing the cast iron pan on top of the stove, I turn the knob, waiting for the pilot to turn on. The sound of the vent sucking up any smoke fills the small room until I can no longer here the game.

My hands toil even as my mind calms. I've known what I need to do. Known it for a couple of months now.

I go over all the details of my plan. It won't be easy. But if I do everything right, I can make both of us happy.

"Dinner's ready," I announce from the doorway.

With a grunt, he pushes a hand against the chair and stands. His figure has filled out since I first met him. The shoulders and arms heavily muscled, his hips slim, and his legs sturdy.

"Thanks," he says as he slides into his chair. The piping hot burger I'd placed on his plate still emitting steam. I'd fixed it just the way he liked - with copious amounts of ketchup, lettuce, tomatoes, bacon and slices of cheese.

I won't be begging him to stay. Not me.

But if he's leaving, I want him to realize what he's missing.

"I appreciate you not making a fuss about it, Eileen," he says before taking a big bite of his burger.

My mind flashes back to the suitcase waiting in the hallway. I didn't even think he knew how to pack his own clothes, let alone where the suitcases are.

I just make a murmur in my throat in response. I've lost my appetite, but I know I have to keep up my strength. I'm going to need it in the days and months ahead.

"About the kids," he starts.

I hold up a hand. "Why don't we talk about that next time? Our lawyers can figure that out, surely?" I say, using my knife to cut myself a sliver of meat. I detest burgers, I prefer my patty plain. If I'd know this was where we'd end up, I'd have chosen a different menu.

"I'm hoping for joint custody," he says, ignoring what I've said. "I'll do my best to find a place nearby, so they won't need to go far."

"No reason for things to change for them just because we're divorcing," he chews noisily, taking a big gulp of water to help the meat go down.

"I agree," I say, resigned to having this discussion.

"I do appreciate your sensibility and cooperation on this," he informs me. "I'll need your help in making sure the kids accept Amara, too. After all, she's to be their new stepmother."

I make another murmur in my throat, taking a sip of water. He must have mistaken it for assent, as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

I wait for a few minutes before I speak again, my voice stronger this time. "I do have a few concessions regarding that point."

He looks up. "The children shouldn't meet her until you're sure of your relationship. I won't have them hurt. They'll already be hurting once they hear the news. We should take it easy on them."

"I don't see any reason to rush."

He snorts derisively. "They've already met her a few times. I don't think they'll need a bigger adjustment period. Maybe you do, but not them."

I clench my skirt into a fist under the table, not deigning to give him a response.

Instead, I stand to take away both my plate and his. I've cleared for him during all the years of our marriage, and even though it's about to end, I wasn't going to stop now.

He grabs my wrist, stopping me as I turn away.

"You'll always be my first love. It's just - I've fallen in love with someone else now. You have to learn to accept it."

I take a step firmly away from him. "I don't need to accept anything. You're the one who'll need to adjust. I doubt you have anything in common with a 20-year-old fresh out of college."

"That's beneath you," he admonishes. "I'm leaving soon, I just need to grab a few things I've forgotten in the bedroom."

Making no acknowledgement, I move away finally, walking with leisurely steps to the kitchen. Heaving a deep breath, I slowly place the plates inside the dishwasher, clicking the door shut with finality.

No one can fault me for not being an exemplary wife. I've done everything that's to be expected and more.

Thud.

The sound reaches my ears, and I walk toward where I guess it's coming from. Perhaps something's fallen out from the closet.

Pausing at the bedroom door, and clutching the frame, I look at him in the bedroom, having fallen backward into the mattress.

Moving closer to him, I give him a smile. I slip the syringe I'd prepared earlier from my apron pocket and quickly gave him another dose. His eyes look desperate and pleading - frantic - but I don't give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I hum to myself, grabbing him by the legs and pulling him to the kitchen.

It's my domain, after all.

I've had enough of his strays. I can't believe he dares to build this one a home.

I always knew his bleeding heart would be his undoing.

I warned him.

[saints-who-never-existed]

“In the war film, a soldier can hold his buddy—as long as his buddy is dying on the battlefield. In the western, Butch Cassidy can wash the Sundance Kid’s naked flesh—as long as it is wounded. In the boxing film, a trainer can rub the well-developed torso and sinewy back of his protege—as long as it is bruised. In the crime film, a mob lieutenant can embrace his boss like a lover—as long as he is riddled with bullets. 

Violence makes the homo-eroticism of many “male” genres invisible; it is a structural mechanism of plausible deniability.”

–Tarantino’s Incarnational Theology: Reservoir Dogs, Crucifixions, and Spectacular Violence. Kent L. Brintnall.

[bl00dfroma-fairy]

[lyss-butterscotch]

This game makes me ill. I've never had so much fun being oh so humbled by a video game.

Anyways PLAY NINE SOLS

[dukeofthomas]

"Are the Robins child soldiers" It depends. If the story is super serious and into exploring complex morality and grounded from reality's standards, then yes. If the story is lighthearted, made for children, fluff, etc., then no. If it's somewhere in the middle, it might depend.

If an author wants to write a story seriously delving into the fucked up-ness of children fighting criminals, they can, and if you don't like it, you can read something else.

If an author wants to write a fun story about villains and heroes featuring Robin in a world where that's not an issue, they can, and if you don't like it, you can read something else.

If an author wants to write a serious story but not apply IRL-logic to Robin, they can, and if you don't like it, you can read something else.

[chihirolovebot]

on a real note that bit near the end of the video was genuinely haunting. hearing somerton talk about how gay writers are erased from history was one thing (with all the irony being that he stepped on the backs of numerous underpaid, underprivileged and uncredited queer writers to build his youtube channel) but when h revealed it wasn't even somerton's quote in the first place? the worst, most crushing sort of irony. how do you lament about the erasure of gay people and gay writers in history... whilst erasing a gay writer and taking his words as your own?

[childrenofcain-if]

DEMO

Wealth. Power. Death.

The Ballad of the Young Gods is a dark academia interactive fiction story, with dark fantasy and psychological thriller themes. Some of the romances also contain tropes and storylines which may be disturbing to some readers.

It is based on media like “Ninth House” by Leigh Bardugo, “The Secret History” by Donna Tart, “Masters of Death” by Olivie Blake, and SYFY’s “Deadly Class”.

It is rated 18+ for depictions of swearing, sexual themes, gore, violence, and death.

Getting into an Ivy League school is a dream that thousands of American students nurse from a young age. Luckily for you, that dream is your reality. Four years of continuous hard work and pressure have made you a proud freshman at Yale University. And as if that wasn’t enough, you have been handpicked to attend Rathore College, whose selection process is revered across all the nation’s top educational institutions. But you should’ve known this stroke of luck came with a catch.

Yale is a crucible of power, where secret societies wield arcane magic and the dead are far from silent. The illustrious House of Styx wants you and this is a situation that not even your money can get you out of.

They are powerful, elite, and most of all, controlling beyond recognition. They are also the heart of the eight secret societies that attach themselves to Yale. From the White House to Hollywood’s most acclaimed stars, their influence reaches farther than anyone can dare to imagine.

A sinister conspiracy brews under Styx’s watchful gaze, one that threatens to unravel the fragile balance between the living and the dead. But in a graveyard of secrets, you and your accomplices are the ones with the shovels. You’re now in a world where the past is never truly dead, and the lines between life and death blur with each passing day.

But some secrets are better left buried, and some prophecies are destined to drag you to hell.

Cédric Armand Lacroix / Céline Armelle Lacroix (M/F)

Vindictive. Conniving. Ruthless.

As the heir to the Lacroix fortune, C is every bit as arrogant as their bloodline demands them to be. Even after the messy divorce of their parents which further led to their disownment by their father, Alain Lacroix, they refuse to give up on their dignity. They’ve vowed to destroy him one day and take what’s rightful theirs, brick by brick. The world bent to C’s whims, what money couldn't buy them, those pale green eyes probably did.

There is nothing that they can’t have, especially if they set their mind to that. That is until you came along and stayed one step ahead of them every time in everything that mattered. It wasn’t just the fortune or the legacy at stake; it was the bruising of their pride, the constant reminder that someone—anyone—could outmaneuver them. But beneath the layers of resentment and anger, there’s something more—something darker, even more dangerous.

An obsession takes root, one that blurs the line between hatred and fascination. And they vow to spend their whole life despising you for everything.

Romance trope: Enemies / Academic Rivals to Lovers.

Vance Kasper Næsholm / Vanessa Karina Næsholm (M/F)

Pious. Haunted. Disillusioned.

Raised under the oppressive influence of a rigid, fire-and-brimstone faith in a Danish Catholic orphanage, they were taught to see demons in every shadow and sin in every touch. Forever haunted by the visions provided by a wrathful God they can neither fully grasp their mind around nor escape from, their only reprieve came on the day they got adopted at the age of six and diagnosed with schizophrenia. But the truth of their ‘psychosis’ may be far more sinister than any medical diagnosis could account for.

As the tides become even stormier and their medications become ineffective when they arrive at Yale, all V can do is hold on to the last threads of control over their lives. Your first meeting almost makes them teeter over the edge.

Now that they’re your roommate, they’re bound to you by fate or folly, but whether they’ll be a stable ally remains to be seen.

Romance trope: Roommate Romance.

Wilhelm Johann Ostendorf / Wilhelmine Johanna Ostendorf (M/F)

Exhausted. Abandoned. Lost.

What does the world think of you when you’re a product of brilliance and neglect at the same time? With an Oscar-winning filmmaker for a father and a mother ensconced on the American board of directors at the Louvre, their pedigree is undeniable, yet it is a legacy more hollow than it appears. While their parents sculpted their careers into masterpieces and amassed accolades, they left W to be raised by their paternal aunt and uncle. A sizeable trust fund and periodic checks served as their parents’ only gestures of care, a shallow substitute for the love and attention their only child so desperately craved.

The only times they had felt more than someone who was deeply unlovable were the summers you spent on rusty swingsets and fast bicycles with training wheels. But the swingsets have long been dismantled, and the bicycles have been traded for cars.

The only questions remain—are you the same kid who saw them, really saw them, beyond the reality of being unwanted and the suffocating looks filled with pity that came with their name? Or will this reunion only serve to confirm their deepest fear—that they are, and always have been, truly alone?

Romance trope: Forgotten Childhood Friends to Lovers.

Dumitru Constantin Diaconu / Dumitra Constantina Diaconu (M/F)

Charismatic. Reckless. Guarded.

D’s name is the one that comes up in almost every conversation about Yale’s wildest parties. A natural-born rockstar charmer with a magnetic presence, they effortlessly draw people into their orbit, collecting hearts and bodies with the ease of someone who’s always been in the center of the gold rush. Despite the countless admirers and the trail of broken hearts left in their wake, you’ll always find them with a Marlboro between their lips and a new person in their arms to warm their bed at night. Their smile is a promise, and their laughter a siren call. In the haze of flashing lights and the thrum of bass that pulses through the walls, they are a heartbreaker in every sense of the word.

Feelings are a complication they don’t allow, a line they never cross. They’ve perfected the art of detachment, of keeping their connections strictly no-strings, because to let someone in would be to risk the vulnerability they’ve long since sworn off.

Will you be the only person they'd let peel back the barbed wire surrounding their heart? Or will you be left with nothing but the faint scent of cinnamon and a tale that wasn't meant to be?

Romance trope: Friends with Benefits / Sex First, Feelings Later. [You will only be able to unlock their romance route through a hookup.]

Maxwell Edmund Whitlock-Singh / Maxine Edythe Whitlock-Singh (M/F)

Duty-bound. Noble. Untouchable.

Politeness and decorum are second nature to M. They are the embodiment of manners, a living testament to the art of subtlety in a world where spectacle often trumps substance. They are the sort of person who commands attention without seeking it, a product of both royal blood and rigorous self-discipline. Dubbed the “Paragon of Styx,” M is a modern Plato, someone who finds as much solace in philosophical debates as in the classical texts they’ve devoured in multiple languages. As the second-born child of the Crown Princess of Wales, they have always understood that their life would be one of service with every action scrutinized, and every word weighed.

Their intellect is vast, but it is their passion for the esoteric that sets them apart. For all their convictions, there is a restlessness within M that even they cannot fully articulate. It is the paradox of their existence—a life of privilege that feels at times like a gilded cage, a role that demands both reverence and obedience. Indeed, heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Will you make them realize that life is more than duties and expectations? Or will you become yet another figure in the background, another reminder of the golden cage they were born into?

Romance trope: Forbidden Royal Romance / Secret Relationship.

Step into the shadows as the wealthy heir apparent to a billion-dollar industry who is just starting at Yale University as a freshman.

Be a part of Yale’s most enigmatic secret society, the House of Styx.

Fully customize your character including: pronouns, gender, physical appearance, personality, sexuality, and more.

Romance 1 out of 5 love interests (all of them are gender-selectable). Or not. Platonic relationships are valid too.

Study forbidden knowledge, practice dark magic, and try not to fail at your actual coursework.

Test your mind, body, and soul in rituals that blur the line between reality and nightmare.

Learn about the secrets that your mother took to her grave. Is she really the same woman you remember so fondly from your childhood?

Will you rise to navigate the sinister plans brewing under the nose of the House? Or will your actions drag you and your companions to the fiery depths of Hell.

W̶̗͖̝͆h̷͕̲̑̎̓̍̄̎͠͝a̵̢̛̫̾̓͗t̴̙̫͛̐͆̾̀̓̔̊͝ ̴̪́́̈́͛̂̉̀͒̊́ạ̸̗̯̲̘̬͗̀ͅr̸̢̪̜̭̼̠̟̜͚̂̈́͋͋̅͑̉́̎͝e̸̩̯͉̿̊̔͛̃̎͝ͅ ̵̢̹̜̤͍͙̩̬̰̜̏̃͝͠y̷̢̨͇̘͍̌́͐̍̆̓̑̐ǫ̶̢̧̡̛̥̤͉͎̟̃̏̍̓̒ͅu̷̓̂̾̇̇͜͝,̸͎̖̮̲̳̻̱̬̎̒͑͝ ̸̡̛̰̌͐c̶̛̪̗̰̻̜̲̘̺͗͊h̴̡͔̦̘̤̖͊̿̓̇i̵͉̘͙̥͍̼̜̐̐̄̅͝͝ĺ̶̡̧̧̼̦̦̗̰̝̼̓̊̀d̸̡͎͔͔̰̖̿̐̈́̓͊̌̃̓͜?̷̩̗̲̫̮͕̍̈́́̽͜͝͝

DEMO (Sep ‘24)

RO DETAILS

SPOTIFY (for RO playlists, click on their names in the cast section)

PINTEREST

WRITTEN BY: axel (he/him)

CODED BY: @albywritesfiction (they/them)

[nightmarefoodauthor]

If you know, you know. A few of these little "easter eggs" are hidden throughout this story, and I can't wait to see who finds them and understands them. If anyone does. I'll leave it at that. ;)

[arrimorr]

My ocs, Sir and Ser, aka the eldritch malevolent policemen 😔

[blueberry-fiction]

The Narcissist's Daughter

This is a flash fiction piece I wrote based on a recent conversation- enjoy!

Dining room tables made Hannah nervous. Well, not the tables themselves, but what the tables implied- Family time, conversation, sharing. Luckily, Hannah’s dad never asked personal questions and honestly, she was grateful that he wasn’t the nosy, overly involved type some of the other kids at school had while growing up, which is why as an adult she still accepted his occasional dinner invitations. Prying just never seemed to be his style, not unless it was to butter up Hannah or her sister for the next big favor he needed from them, anyways.

Once, a few years back, it was money for a surgery (because he’d drank away his last paycheck- A tiny detail he conveniently left out over the phone but that Hannah’s sister later learned from their mom), making a point to ask all about Hannah’s new job, but another time it was just to ask for a ride to work while his car was in the shop and about her thoughts on a movie that had come out a few weeks earlier.

Usually though, when he called he was looking for someone to back him up in the ongoing and increasingly petty arguments with Hannah’s mom over their ill-organized joint finances. He knew those favors were the toughest to decline because they were just so easy for her to grant. It’s not like he was asking for her time or for resources she didn’t have enough of, and Hannah knew how happy it would make him if she took his side for once, but her therapist insisted that enforcing at least one permanent and unmovable boundary was a healthy step toward repairing the unimaginably callused relationship her and her dad now shared. So, a few years ago she drew the line in the sand, if for no other reason than to appease her therapist when she eventually reported these conversations back to her during their monthly check-ins.

As with all big asks, Hannah’s dad’s asks came swiftly followed by the hollow promise of some form of repayment slapped on the backend, but whether the repayment in question was sufficient, let alone possible, depended entirely upon how many drinks he’d had before picking up the phone that evening. She and her sister learned at a too-young age not to hold their breath waiting for him to hold up his end of the bargain.

But, all of this is not to say Hannah’s dad was an entirely awful person. Dads are only human after all, and her dad struggled a little more than others sometimes, so she learned to sympathize the best she could. “Some people are just wired that way” had sort of become a mantra to her over the years, playing on a sad little loop behind her eyes during the rare occasions when she’d felt a tinge of disappointment or anger bubble up to the surface after another phone call full of empty promises and faked interest. Mostly though, she tried not to question his bad habits and instead accepted them the same way someone accepts that the sky is blue, because that’s what unconditional love is anyway, right? Experience had taught her that confrontation didn’t really work with her dad, and it made her a little uncomfortable too, but years had passed and it still stung a little when he called at a too-late time of night asking for a too-big favor with a too-little promise to make it up to her later. She thought it probably stung the same way for her younger sister too, even though they never explicitly talked about it, but even if they had talked, it wouldn’t have changed anything anyhow.

Hannah and her sister understood from a young age that their dad was different from their friends’ dads, but also that it wasn’t entirely his fault that he was so different. See, he was diagnosed with a chronic disease at 11 years old and, since becoming a father, he liked to remind them how lucky they both were to have their own good health, as if good health is the most important thing about a person. As if good health was going to put food on the table or keep the lights on in the house. As if good health was going to stop their parents’ marriage from disintegrating before Hannah reached middle school. But, because of his chronic health issues he was sick pretty often, and not just the physical kind of sick, but mentally too.

Twice, Hannah and her sister saw the EMTs show up to their front door, their noses pressed to the chilly window pane in their upstairs bedroom, silently watching from between blinds as the ambulance lights flashed red and white against the neighbors’ darkened houses, eventually whisking their dad away to stay at some hospital downtown- Once when he threatened to kill their mom and the other when he threatened to kill himself. To Hannah, the first night felt like a lifetime ago now, but at the time her dad was only four years older than she was now.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why things went as far as they did those two nights, and I’m not even sure it’s my place to understand, but as an adult I can at least sympathize with needing a few days away from the world and all of its responsibilities to focus on mental health” are all the words Hannah had been able to string together during her first and only conversation with her therapist about those memories. She wasn’t sure if it was the answer her therapist was looking for, but the thing about personal questions is that after going so many years without them being asked in good faith, they’re suddenly too difficult to answer with complete honesty.

Hannah’s mom insisted that a short stay with trained medical professionals was a good thing and that their dad was being taken care of, and mostly he was. Mental hospitals have a great number of resources available and lessons to teach, but the lesson that seemed to stick with Hannah’s dad the most was how to share his thoughts and feelings openly when he felt distressed in the future. For the sake of her childhood mental health, Hannah had secretly wished he’d absorbed any other lesson but that one because he seemed to have skipped over the importance of nuance when taking notes in class that day. She couldn’t recognize it then, but her therapist later described what happened next as years of “trauma dumping”.

Decades had passed since her dad went away for the first first time and now Hannah couldn’t remember the last conversation she’d had with him that wasn’t centered entirely around his thoughts or emotions, but something strange had happened this evening and she couldn’t shake the feeling that things may be changing for the both of them. She’d been mindlessly blowing the steam from the top of her post-supper coffee when her dad looked up from the newspaper he’d been thumbing through at the table across from her to ask in an almost somber tone “What was it like growing up with me and Mom when you were little? Did you have a happy childhood?”.

Silence suddenly sucked the air from the room, like it had dissipated all at once, leaving Hannah mute and gasping for anything else to fill her aching lungs, fighting against every muscle in her face not to let it betray the turmoil below her surface, and attempting to coax the truth that clawed at her throat like a starved animal back into submission.

X

[macdenlover]

i really can not stand the “fandom is so fun we’re all just projecting and making shit up” thing. because no i actually deeply admire the canon of my favorite media and all the intention and care and craft put into it. we are not the same.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

Always Watching, Done Waiting

Yandere Stalker x Terrified Fem Reader

TW: paranoia, psychological horror, STALKING, horror, yandere themes, unhealthy behavior that should never be romanticized, Your STALKER is not attractive

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.” (Your name) wept into her knees when that haunting melody began to echo throughout her home. No doubt from the same radio it had played from countless times before late in the night…

The young woman trembled in the confines of her closet while heavy foot steps echoed down her hall. If she kept herself as small a possible, would (your name) be able to avoid being caught by this psycho?

For months she had been harassed by a mysterious man… a man who would not take no as an answer.

At first it was innocent! It was small bouquets of cheap flowers, the kinds that one could buy at a grocery store for under ten dollars. Then it was boxes of her favorite candies. Simple gifts that once brought her joy since she’s never really received such flattering attention… but then it quickly began to snowball into a darker matter. This was no simple puppy love, this was an obsession.

Notes made from magazine clippings for each letters so he couldn’t be recognized through his handwriting, dozens of intimate pictures of her placed in envelopes, and body parts of the local cats she fed all had littered her doorstep over the last two months. Each ‘present’ inspired dread within (your name).

Then began the break ins, the holes in her walls and ceilings that could fit an eye in there to peep, the notes delivered to her job, the isolation from all of her friends and family, and the paranoia. There was not a single place that felt safe to her any longer… and the police wouldn’t help since her stalker had never done anything to harm her.

What on earth could he possibly want from her? Her first born? Maybe he wanted to harvest her organs and sell them on the black market? No… even someone as dense as a rock knew this stalker was utterly obsessed.

“And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

The nursery rhyme continued to echo down her hall as her pursuer continued to explore her home with agonizing slow steps. (Your name) had gotten rid of her spare key so how was he able to get in? Had he been staying here prior? God, she didn’t want to think about what this sicko was capable of.

Creak!

(Your name) silently scooted herself into the corner of her closet when she heard her bedroom door creak open. The young woman placed her hands over her mouth to prevent any noise from escaping despite the desire to scream. Hot tears fell down her cheeks, her body trembled like she was in below freezing temperatures. Oh god… she was about to die.

And that’s when the door was swung open to reveal a greasy man around her age. His dark hair greasy and his face covered in stubble and acne scars. (Your name) had seen this man before… he was the guy she gave a few sandwiches to last year! He was so drunk and lost, she felt bad for him… oh god. Was that small act of kindness her catalyst to her fate?

“My darling girlfriend!” The man bent down in front of her and set the radio beside him. His hands snatched hers up in a tight grip. He brought her knuckles up to his chapped lips to press kisses on them. “You’re so skittish… it’s just me!”

“W-who are you?” The man threw back his head and laughed before he gave her a small smile.

“It’s me, silly. Malachi? Your boyfriend of a year?” (Your name) remained as still as stone. A million thoughts ran through her head while this mad man continued to ramble. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to fetch you sooner but money has been tight.”

(Your name) was suddenly pulled into a hug, the young woman tried her best not to gag from the heavy scent of musk and cigarettes that permeated from Malachi. “It was hard to stop drinking, but you were worth it! You were always so kind to me with your pretty smile and your sandwiches… I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you!”

“W-what-“ (your name) nearly fainted when her eyes met his crazed blue ones. How could someone hold so much emotion in their eyes?

“I got my life together and I found a nice place for us… it’s perfect!” Malachi pressed his nose against hers. “It’s away from all of the weird men that harass you in the convenience store and away from all those nasty animals. It’ll be our little safe haven!”

(Your name) snapped out of her stupor when he said that. She had to get away… she needed to run!

The young woman tried to pull away from Malachi but his grip on her was stronger than an anacondas.

“I know it’s a really big step, but it’s been a year now! And I’m tired of waiting for us to take bigger steps! I know you liked my gifts! You never threw any of them away!” Because she needed evidence to give to the police! The same people who wouldn’t protect her…

(Your name) gulped when she felt Malachi press his hips into hers. Something large pressed against her that made her stomach drop. “I’ve been watching you for so long… and I’m done waiting.”

[bl00dfroma-fairy]

me & who

[shy-raccoon]

The damsel in distress slowly starts getting more and more unstable from the unaddressed trauma of being frequently kidnapped. One day they completely snap and the villains start being found mysteriously murdered with increasing brutality.

[moonatic-game]

MOONATIC BOY COMIC

はじめまして、HITOTWO (ヒトツー)です。

お絵かきやアニメーションが好きな日本人です。

これは現在製作中のゲーム、ムーナティックのイラストです🌘

ムーナティックは懐かしい過去を舞台にしたサイコホラーRPGです。主人公達は二人います。ネット上の若い引きこもりボーイと自閉症を持つ月へ行くことを憧れる女の子の冒険です。

もし興味を持ってくれたなら、フォローやリブログしてくれると励みになります🙇

Hi I'm HITOTWO, artist in Japan, i like to draw, animation i hope you enjoy. 🙇 MOONATIC is an upcoming cute 2010’s nostalgic urban fantasy psychological/social media horror RPG game, about the struggles of a chronically online boy and a lonely space girl. 🌘 An official announcement trailer is coming in the future, follow and reblog to support us and not miss out! 🙏❤️ Update: You can now subscribe to youtube.com/@HITOTWO for more MOONATIC updates and animations from HITOTWO! Here's an animation you may have missed

Update 2: Here's now a sneak peek at MOONATIC's soundtrack, we hope it will make you excited to hear more about it and make you more immersed in the equally nostalgic and anemoiac world of MOONATIC!

[sevenines]

i saw this tweet and found it interesting for two reasons. one is that some people base how good cartoon network would be to toh by how it treated su, and despite the fact that su’s treatment by the network was considered poor at the time, now its thought to be exceptionally good in comparison to modern shows.

two is how exactly su got impacted by a limited budget. a common criticism is how characters like connie, peridot, and lapis are left out of missions. but balancing a lot of characters is not only hard but also costly (extra animation, extra voices—it’s been revealed that the show is limited to a set number of characters per episode otherwise they’re over budget). animation mistakes are not uncommon since retakes cost extra. the entire reason the original show got cut short was due to loss of funding!