#she's on a first date with this girl she's been violently wanting to [REDACTED]

[dippindaz]

Saints, Sinners, and Sleepwalkers | Kit Walker x Reader

Series Masterlist Here

8.3k words

Expect Disturbing Themes

Chapter 1: Curiosity is the First Cut

📄 Briarcliff Records (October, 1961 – Last Updated March, 1962)

Patient Name: [REDACTED] Alias: “Lady Reverie” Date of Admission: October 13th, 1961 Age: Estimated mid-to-late 20s

Recent Addendum – March 2nd, 1962

Staff Observations: Patient demonstrates increased periods of lucidity during waking hours. Fugue states have decreased in frequency, though still present. Shows consistent protective behavior toward fellow patient “Pepper.” Frequently observed intervening when Pepper is distressed or targeted by others. Speech still fragmented. Instances of poetic or metaphorical language remain, but content appears more focused.  Nighttime episodes remain.

Religious Staff Note: Unnatural contortions and trance-like movements continue to be interpreted as signs of possible spiritual unrest. The Chaplain’s previous request for private prayer sessions has been approved by administration and is currently awaiting formal scheduling. Staff advised to document any further episodes of religious speech or behavior. – Schedule with Father Howard by end of month?

Attending Staff: Dr. Arthur Arden Dr. Thredson: Pending evaluation

The air in Sister Jude’s office always smelled faintly of smoke and floor polish. Clinical, but not quite clean. Dr. Oliver Thredson folded his hands neatly in his lap as she spoke, nodding with a tight-lipped expression that suggested agreement, though his mind was already two thoughts ahead.

“She’s not violent,” Jude was saying, thumbing through a thin, dog-eared file. “Not like some of the others. But she’s off. Unsettling.”

“Off?” Thredson echoed politely, already glancing toward the open folder.

“Former sideshow performer. Calls herself Lady Reverie—or did, once. Now she mostly doesn’t talk. Spends most of her time sleepwalking through the halls or twisting herself into a knot under her cot.”

Jude slid the folder toward him.

“She speaks in verse sometimes,” Jude added dryly, lighting a cigarette. “When she speaks at all.”

Thredson scanned the top sheet. Hysteria. Catatonia. Fugue states. A tangle of diagnoses from facilities that probably hadn’t known what to do with her, so they’d passed her along like a cursed relic.

“And yet,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “she still moves.”

He tapped a finger against a line about her nightly contortions. A kind of sleep-dancing. Bodies remembered what the mind forgot. He’d read about cases like this in med school. But none had the strange poetry that trailed behind this one like a ghost.

“She doesn’t cause trouble,” Jude said again, but with that pinched tone she used for anything that bothered her even if it didn’t break the rules. “But she’s magnetic. You’ll see. Other patients are drawn to her like sheep to a wolf with lipstick. That’s the problem.”

Thredson smiled faintly. “Or perhaps… like sheep to a shepherd.”

Jude’s eyes narrowed, cigarette paused just before her lips. “You planning to take a particular interest in her?”

“I plan to observe,” he said smoothly. “That’s all. She’s an intriguing case. And since she’s begun interacting more frequently with the Pinhead girl—”

“Pepper,” Jude corrected, grimacing.

“—Yes. Pepper. Since then, her file notes fewer fugue episodes. That shift alone is worth understanding.”

Jude took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaled toward the window.

“Do what you want,” she muttered. “But don’t come crying to me when she starts climbing the walls and speaking in tongues. Arden says she’s half demon already.”

“Then perhaps it’s time someone asked which half.”

He stood and collected the folder, careful not to show how eager he really was. His fingers itched to open it again. To dissect each phrase. The mind was a map, and she was already presenting the most intriguing detour Briarcliff had offered yet.

Down the hall, the metal doors to Occupational Therapy clicked open.

He would only observe. Quietly. Briefly. Harmlessly.

For now.

They’d put you and Pepper at the same table again. Not out of kindness—just rotation. A shuffle of patients to avoid patterns, they said. But for once, it worked in your favor.

She greeted you with a squeal and a flurry of excited hand-flapping, nearly knocking over the tray of beads the orderly dumped between you. You caught the tray before it spilled, and she beamed like you’d just pulled a rabbit from a hat.

“Twiiirly,” she whispered in sing-song, dragging out the word like it was a secret spell.

You said nothing. Just smiled—small, careful—and nudged a pink bead her way. She gasped, delighted.

It was quiet enough, at first. Just the clink of beads and buttons. The soft rustle of fabric and the faint wheeze of the radiators pushing against another cold morning.

You let yourself watch her. Counted the rhythm of her fingers sorting colors. Matched your breathing to her little hums. She made it easier to be here. She made you easier to be here.

Then something shifted. The sound of shoes—too crisp. Too new. Someone watching.

You didn’t look up right away, but the hairs on your arms prickled. Staff changed often. You didn’t recognize this one.

A clipboard scratched against a sleeve. A murmur between two men. The rustle of papers. You felt it—not like threat, exactly. But like someone testing the weight of a door they might one day unlock.

You moved closer to Pepper. Just a fraction. Her knee bumped yours, and she looked at you with wide, steady trust.

You turned back to the beads. Threaded one. Then another.

Still here. Still with her.

The clink of beads slowed. Across the room, a nurse glanced at her clipboard, then began calling names—one by one, slowly peeling people away like petals off a dying flower.

“Time’s up,” she said flatly. “Sort yourselves out.”

Pepper frowned at her half-finished bracelet, lip wobbling just enough to tug something deep in your chest. You reached over and touched the back of her hand.

“Hey,” you murmured, soft but certain. “We’ll finish it later. I promise.”

Her eyes lifted to yours. You watched her search your face, looking for cracks. You gave her your best smile—even if it didn’t feel like it belonged to you. It worked. She nodded, the way children do when they decide to believe in something.

“No forgetting!”

“I won’t,” you said. “I’m still here, remember?”

She giggled like it was a joke. To her, maybe it was. But around her, you were more awake than you’d ever been since the show disbanded.

You hate it. But you care for her more.

You stood from your chair, offering Pepper one last smile, just as an orderly entered the room. He called your name. You followed without a word, leaving the faint scent of glue and yarn behind. The halls stretched longer than usual, walls tilting ever so slightly inward. Fluorescent lights flickered like they were trying to blink something away.

You didn’t ask where you were going. You never did.

The hydrotherapy room was colder today.

Not by degrees—by feeling. Like the air itself didn’t want you there.

The tub loomed where it always did: claw-footed, rust-kissed, bolted to cracked tiles like an altar made for silence. The water was already waiting—cloudy, off-color. You didn’t want to know what was in it.

The orderly didn’t speak. Just walked you to the tub and began unfastening your gown. The buttons came undone one by one, each tiny pop echoing off the tile like distant thunder. You stared at the grout between floor tiles and tried to stay inside your body.

It didn’t work.

When you stepped out of the gown, you didn’t feel the chill. Your skin did, but you were watching from somewhere behind your own eyes.

Lowered into the tub, your limbs folded like paper. Your back met the basin and the cold climbed in. Restraints clicked shut at your wrists and ankles.

You didn’t fight. You never did.

The water lapped gently at your collarbones. You stared at the ceiling.

Dirt.

Your fingers were in the dirt, kneeling under a sky you couldn’t see. Someone was behind you. Close, but not touching.

"You're always doing that,” a voice said. Soft, amused. Jimmy.

You didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to. You could feel the warmth of him at your back. His presence curled around your shoulders like an old coat.

“Does it mean something?” he asked, crouching beside you.

You shrugged.

“I like it,” he added after a moment. “The circles. Looks like you're making little worlds.”

You traced another loop, slower this time. His hand rested lightly against your spine—warm, grounding. You hadn’t realized how cold you were.

“Maybe I am,” you murmured. You liked the idea of that. Building something. Even if you couldn’t stay in it.

Then the water shifted. Real again. Heavy.

Jimmy was gone.

You were trembling. Bound. Alone.

Your fingers wouldn’t stop twitching.

The restraints came off slower than they went on. The water lapped around your ribs as the orderly muttered something you didn’t hear. You stepped out of the tub, dripping, the floor cold against your feet. He handed you a threadbare towel that didn’t quite reach your knees.

You dried off on instinct. One hand. Then the other. The order in it made your body feel real again.

Your gown was returned to you, slightly damp at the collar. They never waited for you to be fully dry. By the time you were dressed, the chill had settled in your bones.

No words were exchanged. Just a nod. A hand on your back.

The hallway stretched out like something hollowed. You walked it anyway. You always did. Flickering lights. White tile. Turn left, then right.

They didn’t send you back to your room.

“Common room,” the orderly said, jerking his chin toward the double doors.

You didn’t respond. Just walked through them.

The common room was already half-filled. Two patients were locked in a quiet argument by the window. A woman in a fraying nightgown tore pages from a magazine, stacking them neatly on the floor. The same old music playing on repeat.

You looked for Pepper. But you knew she wasn’t here.

You made your way to your usual chair—near the old bookshelf where the encyclopedias were out of order. You sat.

Folded your hands in your lap. Breathed in. Out.

Still damp. Still here.

The low drone of voices filled the room like fog. You let it settle over you. Let it blur the edges just a little—but not too far. Not now. Not yet.

You stared at the rip in your sleeve and counted the stitches until they stopped meaning numbers.

Then switched to counting the flickers of the light above you. Two. Pause. One. Long pause. Then three. You weren’t sure if it had always done that or if you just noticed today.

Then—

Bang.

The hallway door slammed open, loud and fast like it was kicked. You flinched.

A voice—male, raw with panic—echoed in the corridor. “Get your hands off me! I didn’t do anything!”

Footsteps. Two, maybe three sets. Struggling. A thud against the wall. Metal clattered. Someone swore.

You didn’t move. Not really. Just turned your head slightly, like it was someone else’s.

“Another one,” a nurse murmured at the desk.

“Not just anyone,” someone else answered, voice low and tight. “He’s one of them. From the Bloody Face case.”

“No kidding. Thought he’d get the chair.”

“Should’ve. But not yet.”

Their voices drifted off into the rhythm of the day.

The footsteps faded. So did the struggle. A moment later, the common room returned to its usual static rhythm. Cups stacked. Pieces moved. The TV buzzed on.

But something in your chest had changed. Like a key had turned inside you.

Not enough to unlock anything.

But just enough to click.

You looked toward the hallway, where the noise had come from. Nothing there now. Just the closed door.

You didn’t know why it stuck with you.

But it did.

The voices had stopped. The hallway was quiet again. But your thoughts moved differently now—like something had shifted them off their usual tracks. You couldn't name the feeling, exactly. Not fear. Not curiosity. Just… a pressure. A presence. Like someone had walked across your grave and kept going.

Your eyes conveyed your sudden restlessness more than any other part of you. They flitted around the room, as if trying to figure out why your heart was beating a little harder.

Eventually, the bell rang.

Not a real bell—just the old, wheezing chime they used when it was time to shuffle patients from one part of the ward to the next. You’d learned its pitch months ago. Lunch.

Everyone stood in slow ripples. Chairs scraped. Slippers scuffed tile. The usual drift toward the door began.

You stood last.

Not out of rebellion. Just habit.

It gave you time to brush a hand over the carved eye on your chair’s armrest, a ritual you hadn’t bothered to question in weeks. Or maybe months. You weren’t sure.

The hallway was brighter now, though it still hummed too loud. You filed in with the others, trailing just behind a woman who whispered prayers under her breath. You didn’t listen to the words—just the cadence.

Orderlies and nurses led and followed you all to the lunchroom.

Lunch meant noise. Trays. Smells. A hundred kinds of presence pressing down on you at once.

You didn’t mind the blandness of the food anymore. You didn’t taste it, anyway.

Lunch was already halfway served. You sat where you always did—second row from the wall, three seats down from the cart with the chipped plastic utensils.

You didn’t look up when the nurse came by. You didn’t have to. Your tray was always placed in front of you, always the same way—lukewarm, grayish food and a paper cup of water that tasted like rust.

But today—

A pause.

A tray dropped beside yours.

“You’re sitting here,” came the nurse’s voice, brisk, not unkind. Then the tap of her shoes retreating. You felt it before you saw it. The change. A new weight beside you, unfamiliar and too alive.

You looked up.

And there he was.

Someone new.

You didn’t remember most here, but you were sure you’d recognize him.

Messy hair, a scrape darkening on his cheekbone, hands clenched too tight around the edges of his tray like he might bolt or throw it. His eyes met yours.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did you.

Something cracked—just a hairline fracture in the surface of your stillness. Not recognition. Not quite. But a pull.

He opened his mouth, maybe to say something, maybe not.

Nothing came out.

You blinked.

He sat down.

The room carried on around you. Chatter, trays scraping, the clink of plastic forks.

But at your little corner of the table, time hung different.

Something had arrived.

The two of you ate in silence.

You peeled your bread roll slowly, piece by piece, pressing crumbs into your palm without noticing. The man barely touched his food. His spoon clinked once against the bowl of something that used to be soup, then stilled.

He kept glancing your way—quick, uncertain flicks of the eyes, like he wasn’t sure if you were real or just another one of this place’s ghosts.

You didn’t meet his gaze. But you didn’t turn away, either.

A long moment passed.

Then, softly—like he was testing the weight of his own voice—he said, “Is it always so… quiet in here?”

His words surprised you. Not what he said, but that he said anything at all. Like no one had told him you weren’t… you. Maybe he didn’t care. That would change.

You looked up again.

His eyes were tired. But kind.

He waited.

You blinked.

It had been a long time since anyone asked you a question like they expected you to answer. Like you were still someone who did that sort of thing. Did you know how?

Your lips parted. Then closed again. You looked at your tray—at the pale mush congealing at the edges, at your own trembling fingers.

“…Usually,” you said, voice small and grainy, like a sound unused to daylight.

He nodded, like you’d said something important. Like you’d given more than just a word.

He nodded a little, like her answer confirmed something for him.

Then, after a moment spent fiddling with his spoon, he said, “I’m Kit.” Not loud. Not proud. Just simple. Honest. Like maybe he wasn’t sure it would matter.

Your eyes flicked to him again, slower this time.

“…Hi.”

That was all. Just that one syllable. But you met his gaze when you said it.

And it was enough.

He smiled, just barely.

You looked away first.

Not out of shyness—but something closer to habit. The quiet had become armor. And this new voice, this boy with soft eyes and scuffed knuckles, had cracked it just by looking at you like you were still there.

You risked a glance across the room.

Pepper sat hunched over her tray, but her eyes were on you. Not on the food. Not on the noise behind her. On you.

She smiled. Big and goofy and proud—like she’d known this would happen. Like maybe she’d waited for it.

Kit followed your gaze.

“She your friend?” he asked gently.

You gave the tiniest nod.

He smiled. “You always this quiet?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

The truth sat somewhere between the past and whatever you were now. You’d always been quiet, yes. But not like this. Not the kind of quiet that made your voice strange in your own throat. Not the kind that made people forget you were there.

“…I wasn’t,” you said finally.

And that was true enough for now.

Kit didn’t press. Just nodded, like he understood something unsaid.

The rest of lunch passed in soft sounds—metal against trays, the occasional mutter or clatter. You picked at your food, not out of hunger but habit. He did the same, though he seemed more focused on you than the plate in front of him.

You didn’t speak again.

But you didn’t leave the table either.

For now, that felt like something.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t heavy. If anything, it felt… okay..

You took another bite of whatever passed for lunch. Warm, beige, unmemorable. He did the same. The clatter and clink of trays filled the space around you, but in your corner, the world felt muffled.

Then—

A hand closed around your upper arm. Not hard, not cruel—but firm. Familiar.

An orderly. Already turning you away from the table before he spoke.

“Time to go.”

No name. No explanation. No need.

You didn’t resist. You never did.

The spoon slipped from your hand with a quiet clink against plastic as you rose, letting yourself be steered out of the cafeteria.

You didn’t look back.

But you could feel them.

Pepper’s worry. Kit’s confusion.

Their eyes followed you out the lunchroom.

The hallway to Arden’s lab always felt colder than the others. Colder than hydrotherapy, even. Not the biting cold of water—but dry, bone-humming cold, like the air didn’t want to be breathed.

The orderly said nothing as he guided you through the narrow corridor. You knew the path by heart: left at the supply closet, past the small window covered in wire mesh, take a right, down two more doors and—

There.

The one with no label. Just a thin slit of light beneath it.

The orderly knocked once, didn’t wait for an answer, and opened the door.

Inside, it smelled of iron and rubbing alcohol. Too clean, in a way that made your stomach twist. Nothing ever smelled like that unless something wrong had happened—and been wiped away.

Dr. Arden stood at the far end of the room, already in his coat, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. He didn’t look up right away. He never did.

“Leave her,” he said.

The orderly let go of your arm. The door clicked shut behind you.

You stood there. Still.

Arden glanced at you finally. His eyes were pale, washed out, like something left too long in the sun. He wrote something on a clipboard without speaking, then motioned toward the exam chair in the center of the room.

You walked.

The exam chair was hard. Cold. Designed more for compliance than comfort. The light above you buzzed faintly, flickering at the edges. Arden circled behind you, and for a moment, the only sound was the rustle of paper and the metallic squeak of his instruments.

He began his routine.

Blood pressure. Pupil dilation. Reflexes. Cold metal pressing against your skin.

His hands were always precise. Too careful. He touched you like you were a machine—one he didn’t trust, but was obsessed with keeping in working order. You learned not to flinch.

“You’ve been more alert lately,” he said, voice neutral. “More present.”

He tapped the edge of your knee. Your leg twitched.

“And yet, the dissociative episodes continue.”

He didn’t ask. He never asked. Just wrote.

Something clinked into a tray behind you.

“How fortunate,” he murmured. “To study such phenomena in real time.”

He adjusted the angle of your head.

“And your flexibility—still intact, I assume?”

You said nothing.

He smiled—just barely. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ll show me, of course.”

He said it like fact.

Like order.

The silence stretched thin and sharp between you, vibrating like wire.

You didn’t blink. Still here.

But shrinking, inside yourself.

Like a knot pulled tighter, tighter, tighter.

Arden turned away again, scribbling. Something about the way he moved made you feel smaller. Dissected.

He hadn’t touched you improperly. Not today. Not yet. But he looked at you like he was waiting for permission. Or for the rules to change.

They always changed here.

Eventually.

Arden set his clipboard aside. “Stand.”

You obey.

With clinical slowness, he stepped behind you once more. You heard the snap of gloves. The slide of a drawer.

Then the rustle of fabric.

Your gown.

His fingers were at the back, unfastening the buttons one by one. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just methodical.

“You’ll be cooperative,” he said quietly. Not a threat. Not a request. Just… truth, as he saw it.

The gown slipped from your shoulders. Cold air touched your spine like ice. You had never been more grateful for the cotton underwear given to you by the asylum.

“You’ve done this before,” he added. “Hundreds of times, if I had to guess.”

He guided your arm upward, not roughly, but firmly—stretching it behind your head, elbow bent at a sharp angle.

“Hold.”

You did.

His hand adjusted your wrist with the kind of care one might use for taxidermy. Fingers precisely positioned. Palm facing the ceiling. He circled you, pausing to examine the lines your body made.

Click.

A camera. Somewhere behind you. No flash. Just the heavy mechanical sound of the shutter.

He didn’t tell you he was going to take a picture.

He didn’t tell you anything.

“You’ve trained your body to obey,” he said absently, scribbling something down. “Even when your mind… detaches.”

He tilted your chin next. Pulled the opposite arm forward. Bent it across your stomach in a shape you recognized from your old acts. One of the more graceful ones.

You held the position. Not for him. For survival.

Click.

You stared at the ceiling. Counted the cracks. The stains in the paint. Pretended your body was only light and muscle. A shadow someone else was wearing.

“Backbend,” he said simply.

You hesitated—only a fraction.

A mistake.

His fingers wrapped your bicep. Not cruel, but possessive. Steady.

“You’re not here to perform,” he said, his voice dipping. “You’re here to be studied. And I expect consistency.”

Your breath caught as you shifted. Let yourself fold backward. Spine curved. Chest stretched open.

Vulnerable.

Click.

Click.

You stared upside-down at the far wall, heart climbing your throat.

Arden moved closer.

You felt the shape of his gaze—how it narrowed, intensified. How it settled at your sternum like a weight.

“Fascinating,” he muttered. “Even now… the body remembers.”

A touch—flat, clinical, palm to your ribs. He counted your breaths. Said nothing as you trembled.

Still here. Still here. Still here.

But the knot inside you pulled tighter.

And his hand didn’t move.

Arden’s hand trailed lower.

Not hurried. Not hesitant.

From your ribs, down the line of your waist, across your hip. Gloved fingers pressing into the muscle—not groping, but measuring. As if your body were an anatomical model he’d memorized long ago and was now checking for inconsistencies.

He stopped at your thigh.

“Too tense,” he muttered.

His hand adjusted your leg—lifted and rotated it outward, forcing your pelvis to tilt with the movement. Then the other. Folding you inward now, one knee drawn up, one stretched behind, your spine curving into a twist.

A contortionist’s pose.

One you hadn’t used in years.

Click.

The sound made you flinch.

He didn’t notice. Or he didn’t care.

“Muscle memory is remarkable,” he said, more to himself than to you. “It outlasts the mind. Outlasts trauma. Even obedience can be learned in the tissue.”

He stepped back again, examining you like a specimen pinned beneath glass. Something in his expression flickered—not quite desire. Not admiration. Something colder. Sharper.

Something hungry.

“You’ve always made yourself small,” he murmured. “Even now. Tucked into yourself like a prayer.”

He crouched beside you, adjusting the angle of your wrist again. His face too close. His breath smelled like old metal and antiseptic.

“Tell me,” he said softly, as he reached to place your chin just so. “Do you even remember why you do this?”

Click.

The silence after the shutter was deafening.

The final click echoed through the room.

And then—nothing.

Just the hum of the overhead light. The shallow rasp of your own breathing. The drag of Arden’s shoes against the linoleum as he moved back to his tray.

Without the shutter snapping you back, the world started to tilt.

Colors dulled. The cold beneath you seeped deeper into your skin, heavy and anchorless. The sharp edge of awareness—the one you fought to keep—wavered like a candle about to gutter out.

Arden’s voice slipped around you, muffled at the edges.

“Fascinating,” he said, almost tenderly. "The body's betrayal of the mind. The mind's betrayal of itself."

His words were shapes you barely recognized.

Your body stayed folded where he had put it, obedient even in absence.

You felt his hand reposition your arm again—soft, impersonal. Heard the scratch of pen against paper. Distant. Harmless.

You weren't here anymore, not fully.

Not in this room. Not in this body.

Somewhere safer. Somewhere quieter.

Somewhere he couldn’t reach.

At least for now.

You drifted.

No time. No place. No you.

When the world stitched itself back together, you were standing.

The rough brush of hands tugged at your gown—rebuttoning, fixing. An orderly’s hands, not Arden’s. The metal tray and instruments blurred into the edges of your vision.

“Move along.” The orderly muttered.

Your legs obeyed before you understood the command. Out the door, into the hall, the cold trailing you like smoke.

Somewhere above, thunder grumbled low across the ceiling. The storm had rolled in.

No outdoor time today.

The halls veered left instead of right, leading you back toward the common room.

The common room smelled like bleach and wet wool.

The orderly shoved you inside without ceremony. You stumbled a step, caught yourself, and blinked against the low gray light.

First thing—you looked for Pepper. You always did.

But the corner where she usually sat was empty. No hunched figure, no wild hands playing with whatever they grabbed first. Just a scuffed floor and a humming radiator.

You drifted toward the old bookshelf instead.

You didn’t remember sitting. One moment you were moving, the next, the cracked vinyl chair creaked under you. Your fingers brushed the armrests out of habit, tracing the worn edge where the material had split open years ago.

The music looped, faint and staticky, from the record player shoved against the far wall. The same song that always played. You didn’t remember what it was about, if you ever even knew. It blended into the background long ago.

You stared at the dust haloed around your shoes.

The door creaked again.

Someone new. A shuffle of boots and cuffs and a sharp, questioning voice. A familiar one. Kit.

You didn’t look up—not yet—but you felt him move across the room, a different rhythm than the others. Less slouched. Less beaten.

He headed straight for the record player.

You recognized the mistake before he even touched it.

You shifted, your body moving on reflex, a flicker of urgency stirring in your gut.

You started to rise—

But someone else was faster.

A woman—sharp, pale, her brown hair messy like she hadn't stopped moving for days—cut across the room and caught his wrist just before he could reach the needle.

Her voice was low, fierce, too fast for you to catch the words.

Kit jerked back, confused, but didn’t fight her.

You sank back down before you even realized you’d stood at all.

The record spun on. Outside, the thunder was getting just a touch louder.

You tried not to look. You really did. Your gaze was supposed to stay fixed, empty, the way you’d trained it to. The way you needed it to. But your eyes slid sideways anyway. Drawn to the scene across the room like a moth to a slow-burning flame.

The girl—you knew her, but you couldn’t remember her name—was speaking low and fast. You couldn’t hear all of it over the hum of the record, but you caught the shape of her urgency. Warnings, probably. Maybe an apology tucked inside it.

Kit leaned in, frowning, his hands half-lifted like he didn’t quite know whether to argue or surrender.

There was something strange about him. Not the way most of them were strange, cracked and hollow from the inside out. Something… newer. Rough-edged. Not worn down yet.

You dropped your gaze back to your lap. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t your business. Nothing here was.

But still—

Still—you found yourself glancing back, quick and secret, just once more.

Kit was nodding now, slowly, like he understood whatever Grace had said. His shoulders, still tense, dropped a little. He shifted awkwardly, scanning the room like he was trying to find somewhere he wouldn't be swallowed whole.

And just for a moment… his eyes caught yours.

You froze.

It was only a second. Maybe less. You looked away first, your heart ticking louder in your ribs than it should have.

It didn’t mean anything. He was new. He was looking at everything.

You pressed your palms flat against your thighs, grounding yourself in the sharp, worn texture of the chair’s fabric. Waiting for the minutes to bleed into each other again.

The storm moved closer. You could feel it. Like a slow, gathering pressure in the walls.  A low rumble shivered through the floor under your feet. The old building groaned with it, every window rattling faintly in its frame.

You held your breath without meaning to. Somewhere deep inside, some old instinct warned: Brace yourself.

The next crash came without warning— A crack of thunder so loud it rattled the cheap light fixtures overhead, peeling a scream from one of the patients across the room. She shot up from her chair, wailing, hands flailing wildly at nothing.

The music crackled on in the background, cheerful and tinny and wrong. A nurse shouted something. Two orderlies crossed the room in five long strides, closing in on the woman.

You flinched when the chair she kicked over clattered hard against the floor.

Kit looked up too—half-standing from his seat like he wasn’t sure whether to help or stay out of the way. The woman touched his arm and said something under her breath, firm and quick, and he sank back down reluctantly.

The woman’s screams pitched higher. Another crash of thunder. You squeezed your hands into fists in your lap to keep them from trembling.

The orderlies grabbed her roughly, dragging her struggling toward the door. One of her shoes came off in the scuffle, spinning across the floor before slapping to a stop near the old piano.

The common room felt bigger and emptier when they were gone. Everyone pretending not to notice. Everyone shrinking inward.

You stayed still. Small.  Ears pricked to the sound of the girl speaking in low tones to Kit. You didn't mean to listen. But your mind clung to noise, lately, like it was a rope keeping you tethered to the world. You weren’t sure why. You weren’t sure you wanted to know why.

“Don’t bother,” She was saying, her voice crisp and dry. “You’ll get used to it. Or you’ll stop caring. One or the other.”

Kit murmured something you couldn’t catch. You heard the scrape of his chair shifting against the floor. When you dared a glance, quick and careful, you caught him looking back at you.

Not at her. At you.

The look wasn’t sharp or mocking, the way new arrivals sometimes were. It was curious. Quiet. Like he was trying to understand something he didn’t have words for yet.

Your breath hitched, barely. A tiny jolt under your ribs. You dropped your gaze fast, hands knotting tighter in your lap.

She didn’t seem to notice. She just kept talking, something about the storm, about the routine here, about surviving.

You stared hard at the floorboards. But a part of you—the part that hadn't been completely crushed down yet—still felt Kit’s gaze. Still flickering and uncertain, like a flame struggling in a storm.

The storm outside rumbled again, rattling the old windows in their frames. You barely noticed the sound now, too focused on not focusing, trying to blend into the worn fabric of the chair. Kit and the woman’s voices blurred into the low drone of the common room’s usual noise.

Then—A sudden scuffle of footsteps near the door.

You turned your head automatically.

Pepper.

She was being herded into the room by an orderly, but the moment they let her go, she lit up like a lamp. Without hesitation, she beelined across the common room, weaving past shuffling bodies and sagging couches.

Straight to you.

No words. No questions. She simply plopped herself down at your side, so close her shoulder brushed yours. Like she’d been there the whole time. Like nothing bad could ever touch you while she sat guard.

You blinked, feeling the faintest, strangest flutter in your chest. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

Pepper smiled wide, a little crooked from the missing teeth she still hadn't stopped being proud of. She tucked herself even closer, humming something low under her breath—a half-forgotten tune from another life.

Across the room, you caught Kit looking again. Not staring. Not rude. Just... noticing.

You glanced away first.

Pepper leaned her head against your arm, humming for a moment longer before she spoke—soft and sing-song, like sharing a secret with a doll. “You talked at lunch,” she said, her voice tilting up like a question even though it wasn’t one. “Talked to the new boy.”

You stiffened slightly, but Pepper only giggled quietly, like it was funny.

“Not scared,” she added, patting your hand once with her small, worn fingers. “Good.”

Her smile stretched wide again, proud in that way only Pepper could be—proud of you for doing something as simple as answering a few questions.

You always believed Pepper was more perceptive than she let on, knew more than she let toner believe. This was definitely sinking a nail in that coffin.

The thought tightened something low in your chest.

It had felt like nothing at the time. A few words, a breath of conversation. But to Pepper, it was a lighthouse flickering on in the dark. A sign you were still in there somewhere, even if you barely recognized yourself most days.

You didn't know if that made you feel lighter or heavier.

Pepper curled closer, content just to be near you. Her trust was something you hadn’t earned lately, not really—but she gave it to you anyway, same as she always had. Unconditional.

You kept your gaze forward, trying to ignore the prickle behind your eyes. Trying to ignore the way Kit’s voice still echoed faintly across the room, low and warm, even if it wasn’t meant for you anymore.

The afternoon stretched on, heavy and slow. The record player hiccupped in its endless loop of warped music, thunder grumbling low against the walls.

You stayed still. So did Pepper, her head nodding drowsily against your shoulder, her small fingers absently twisting the edge of your sleeve.

Across the room, Kit had stopped talking with that woman. The newness of his arrival clung to him—awkward, restless. But he stayed where he was, tossing glances now and then like he was still figuring out the rules. He was.

Maybe you were, too.

A crash of thunder rattled the windows again. Somewhere near the stairwell, a patient shrieked—a high, broken sound—and the orderlies moved fast, their heavy steps pounding toward the noise.

You didn’t flinch. Neither did Pepper.

It wasn’t your business. It never was.

The hands of the old clock ticked forward, scraping toward the next hour.

Soon enough, a pair of orderlies appeared at the threshold. One of them jerked his chin at you—impatient, bored. You recognized the signal. Pepper stirred beside you but didn’t fight when you untangled from her. She just watched, wide-eyed, hugging herself as you stood.

The orderlies didn’t bother with words. They didn’t have to. You were expected to follow, and you did.

One last glance at the common room: Pepper’s small figure tucked against the window, Kit’s curious gaze lingering from across the room. You lowered your eyes and turned away.

The hallway beyond felt heavier somehow. Observation. Thirty minutes of being watched through glass you couldn’t see behind, locked alone with yourself and the hum of your own blood in your ears. They said it was for your safety.

They always said that.

The door clanged shut behind you. Heavy and final.

The observation room was empty except for a metal chair bolted to the floor. No windows. Only a dull grate whispering stale air into the corners. Somewhere beyond the mirrored glass, you knew they were watching.

You sat where you always sat: cross-legged on the ground, hands folded in your lap.

Good.

Obedient.

Easy to leave alone.

The storm still grumbled through the bones of the building, low and constant. But in here, it might as well have been a whole other world. You let your mind drift. It was easy. Too easy. Like a scab you’d been trained not to pick, but your fingers knew the motion by heart. The walls blurred. The hum of Briarcliff’s old veins faded.

Something else crept in.

Wooden floorboards. The smell of sweat and greasepaint. A canvas tent breathing heavy in the night air.

In a shadowed corner backstage at the freak show. You were small again, curled against a crate, heart hammering against your ribs.

Voices echoed, angry and slurred:

"—goddamn useless, you hear me—"

A thud.

A sharp grunt.

The crack of knuckles on bone.

You tried to press yourself smaller, invisible, but you saw it anyway— Dell towering over Jimmy, his fists wild, red blooming across Jimmy’s cheek.

You didn’t remember why. You only knew it happened. It always happened.

Your hands clenched against your skirt. Your breath snagged in your throat. You wanted to move. To help. But you were too scared. Too useless.

Like always.

The memory buckled, tearing itself in half—and you slammed back into yourself.

Observation room. Briarcliff. Now.

You gasped without sound, chest heaving once, twice. Your gown clung damp to your back. You stared at your hands, trembling and raw, and you knew with a cold, alien certainty:

You hadn’t remembered that before. But it wasn’t new. It wasn’t a lie.

It was real. And it had always been waiting.

The door creaked open without ceremony.

An orderly’s shadow filled the frame. You rose without being told, feet silent against the floor. Your body moved on muscle memory alone—out into the hall, down past the peeling walls, toward the dining area where the faint smell of boiled potatoes and burnt meat clung to the air.

Dinner. Another piece of the clockwork routine.

The room buzzed with low, unfocused noise—cutlery scraping metal trays, murmured arguments too slurred to matter. You slipped into your usual seat at the end of the row, back to the wall. A habit, not a comfort.

A tray clattered beside yours. The same as lunch.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The air shifted. Lighter. Less... heavy.

Still, you glanced. Still, there he was.

Kit.

He looked better than he had earlier—less rattled, but still frayed at the edges. His hair was damp, like he’d been shoved through a rushed cleanup. His tray held the same sad helping of food as yours: gray meatloaf, a few limp peas, mashed potatoes that looked more like paste.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. The clatter and hum of the cafeteria filled the space between.

You pushed your peas into a corner of the tray with the edge of your fork, not really tasting the food.

Kit tapped his fork once against his tray. Not loud. Just enough to get your attention without pulling it. "Hey," he said, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

You glanced at him, wary. Not because it was him. Because you were used to silence meaning safety. Talking got you noticed. Getting noticed got you hurt.

But Kit didn’t seem dangerous. He looked tired. Frayed around the edges in a way you recognized too well.

"Grace said you been here a while," he said, quieter now. His accent softened the words, rounded them out like river stones. "Long enough to know how this place runs."

You blinked. Your fork paused halfway to your mouth. They talked about… you?

He gave a little shrug, almost sheepish. "Figure I oughta stick close to someone who’s survived it."

Something stirred in your chest. Not quite warmth. Not quite trust. Something more like... the first flutter of movement after being frozen too long.

You forced yourself to look back down at your tray. "I don’t talk much," you said—barely a whisper, barely more than truth.

Kit huffed out a soft laugh through his nose, like he wasn’t offended. Like he understood. "That’s alright," he said. "I talk enough for the both of us."

The words slid into you like a needle. Small. Sharp.  Unstoppable.

For a heartbeat, you weren't sitting in the Briarcliff cafeteria. You were somewhere else—somewhere warmer, dimmer. A canvas tent lit by bare bulbs. The smell of sawdust and smoke.

And him.

Jimmy, flashing that lopsided grin you’d always pretended not to love, teasing you the same way. "‘S'okay, doll. I talk enough for the both of us." His voice, roughened by laughter and cigarettes and hope.

It hit so fast you barely had time to register it. A blink. A flicker. Gone.

You sucked in a slow breath through your nose, grounding yourself back into the present—the sour stink of mashed potatoes, the buzz of the fluorescents, the low rumble of thunder outside.

Your hands had clenched tight around your fork without you realizing. Kit didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t push.  He just sat there beside you, easy and quiet.

Like he wasn’t in any rush to figure you out.

Another crack of thunder rattled the windows high above. Neither of you flinched. You were already used to worse.

He scooped up some mashed potatoes, made a face, and put the fork back down. "Jesus," he muttered, "what is this?"

A twitch almost—almost—tugged at your mouth. Not quite a smile. Something broken and half-remembered.

Kit caught it. You knew he did, because he smiled a little in return.  Not the smile you were used to seeing from people here.  Not the kind that meant danger. Just... tired and human.

For a few minutes, you ate in silence. Side by side. A strange kind of peace, fragile as spun glass.

The clock above the door ticked louder with every second. Each beat chipped away at the fragile bubble you sat inside, reminding you that nothing here stayed soft for long.

Around you, the cafeteria thinned. Trays scraped over metal counters, chairs scraped back. The heavy shuffle of bodies herded toward the next part of the night—the part where everything got quieter, darker, harder. Orderlies clearing out patients group by group.

Lights out.

An orderly’s bark echoed down the hall, sharp enough to make a few heads jerk up.

You rose when Kit did, a second behind him, moving like a shadow. His tray clattered onto the return cart. Yours followed. No words. Just motion.

You could feel Kit glance back once as you trailed behind the line of patients, could feel the quiet question of it—like maybe he wasn’t ready to let the thin thread of something between you snap just yet.

You kept your eyes on the floor.

The halls narrowed the deeper you went, swallowing the noise until there was only the thunder rumbling overhead and the scuff of slippered feet against cracked tile.

Your room was the same as always. A bed, grey sheets, and a window barred and curtained against the storm. The stale air clung to your skin, heavy with old fear.

The orderly gave a grunted order you barely heard. You moved on instinct, letting them shove some pills into your mouth before climbing into your bed, turning your face toward the wall. Fabric rustled around you as the others settled. A final flicker of light as the overheads snapped off.

Darkness.

You fall into your routine with ease. Reciting your names as you tap. Three quick taps. Break.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Elsa.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Ma Petite.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Paul.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Ethel.

Tap.  Tap. Tap. Eve.

Tap Tap Tap. Desiree.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Pepper.

Tap. Tap. Tap. A pause. A breath held too long.

"Jimmy—"

Your fingers froze mid-tap. The word hung there, raw and unfinished, like an open wound.

The air shifted.  The thin mattress beneath you seemed to heave once, then settle wrong, off-balance. The walls bled out at the edges, gray smearing into black. Your hand, still poised in the air, forgot gravity.

Something inside you slipped.

And you were falling.

The floor was rough under your knees.  The air smelled like whiskey and sweat and old anger. You were crouched in front of him.

Jimmy.

His lip was split, the blood already drying rusty at the corner of his mouth.  A bruise was blooming across his cheekbone, ugly and deep purple. One of his hands cradled his ribs, careful like they were broken.

You held a damp cloth in shaking fingers, dabbing gently at his face. Your other hand kept fluttering, unsure whether to touch his hair, his arm, something steadier. He was breathing hard—half from pain, half from rage he couldn't spit out yet.

"You gotta just..." Your voice barely rose above a whisper. "You gotta just let things go sometimes, Jimmy."

The cloth slipped from your hand. He caught your wrist—gently—and gave it a squeeze.

His eyes were glassy, wet at the edges, furious and hurting and helpless all at once. "When he's yellin' at you," he rasped, "I'm never lettin' it go."

Your breath caught. Something twisted sharp and sweet behind your ribs.

He meant it. He always meant it.

The world around you blurred again, the walls bleeding back to grey, the ground tilting—and you felt yourself slipping, the memory clinging like cobwebs to your skin.

The mattress pressed cold against your palms. You blinked hard. Once. Twice. The constant Briarcliff white noise The sour smell of bleach. The rattling pipes. The heavy dark of night pressing against the barred windows.

You were lying on your side. Hands curled close to your chest. Breathing shallow, like you’d been running.

Your cheeks were damp. You touched your face with clumsy fingers—salt and heat.  Tears. You hadn’t even felt them fall.

The memory still clung to you, half-faded but sharp enough to bleed.

Jimmy.  The fight. Dell’s fists. The shouting you couldn’t hear.

And you—there but not there.

You remembered now. You'd drifted. In the middle of it all, you had slipped away. Your body had stayed, frozen and helpless, while your mind fled somewhere safer.  That’s why you hadn’t remembered.  Not because it wasn’t important. Because it had been too much.

You shut your eyes tight, trying to hold the pieces together.

Outside your door, a nurse’s heels clicked against the tile. The night rolled on, indifferent.

You curled tighter into yourself, whispering old names against the noise.

Trying to stay here. Trying to stay you.

[joanofexys]

drop more info about the now-named redacted 👀

Angelo “Angel” Di Fiore

He popped into existence yesterday night and was officially named this morning lmao

A quick overview:

18-19 years old (haven’t firmly decided where he fits in the timeline I’m working off of. Either same age as Neil or a little younger)

He/him

Backliner

6’4

Plays for the foxes

Queer (otherwise unlabeled)

English major

Girl dad

Will only answer to Angel, doesn’t like being called Angelo

Okay so Angel is still in the early stages of development obviously but I’m slowly getting there with the things that would make him a fox and all that

Angel has a daughter named Phoebe (or just called P most of the time) with his ex-girlfriend Harper Shaw. Phoebe is around 2-3 at this point, they had her when they were 16.

The two co-parent the best they can, they both attend PSU. Angel obviously plays Exy and Harper is a Vixen. Harper has the busier schedule (nursing major plus extracurriculars) so Angel has Phoebe with him the majority of the time. Before Angel was offered a scholarship with exy he wasn’t even planning on going to college and it had been agreed by them that Harper shouldn’t have to give up any of her future plans just because they have a kid now. Phoebe goes to a lot of Angel’s classes, stays in his dorm most of the time, and attends a lot of practices (usually being supervised by Abby. Sometimes running through the stands. Sometimes on Wymack’s shoulders)

Angel ended up in the foster system at 10 years old. His mother went missing when he was 4, leaving him with his abusive father. When Angel was 10 he ended up in the hospital, his father’s abuse escalating beyond the hidden bruises. CPS had been called to their house before, on multiple occasions, and with his father out of the room and his anger with how far it had gone this time, Angel admitted it was father’s doing.

The first home he was placed with was fine. Good even. But once the broken nose, the wrist, the ribs, all fully healed they weren’t prepared for the trouble he would start causing. He acted out. Frequently. Fought with other kids at school. Slammed doors. Refused to eat. Yelled till his voice was hoarse. They tried their best. He went to therapy. They took him on trips. But when he started lashing out at their other kids they let him go. He made it 7 months with that family, that was his longest placement.

He never stayed with another family longer than a few months. He was an angry child and a violent one. When he reached high school it was like the flip of a switch. That loud, brash, aggressive child became a quiet, withdrawn teen. One of his foster parents kids at the time played exy, she was a senior at the time he was a freshman, and seeing this change figured teaching him could be a positive thing. He ended up joining the high school team, playing as a backliner because that was the position they needed. When he hit a growth spurt and stopped being that gangly teen he ended up being their best player. He would’ve stayed with that family. 5 months in they were moving out of state, they offered to try and start the adoption process, but Angel didn’t want to leave.

When he was 15 he met Harper Shaw. She sat in front of him in biology and he thought she was an absolute genius. They ended up as lab partners for one assignment and it became routine to meet each other in the library. They dated for 8 months, obviously things happened, and Harper found out she was pregnant. The two thought about staying together when Harper decided she wanted to keep the baby but decided they didn’t deserve to make each other miserable and they would just co-parent instead.

Throughout it all Angel continued to flit through foster homes. Causing just enough trouble that no one would let him stay. His plan was to get through high school and get whatever job he could. Harper’s family was welcoming enough to him, they would help the two get an apartment to raise Phoebe and whatever they needed.

Shortly after Harper had announced her decision to go to PSU, Angel received an offer for a full ride from Wymack. His coach had submitted his file without Angel’s awareness. At first Angel wanted to reject it outright. He knew the foxes reputation. And knew he’d fit right in. It was Harper who convinced him to accept and they started at PSU together in the fall.

I know he ends up with the monsters. I’m not quite sure how yet. There’s more of his background that I have to flesh out. Most of my focus has been on his high school years but there’s a lot with his father that I need to work on that makes him fit right in with Neil. All connecting to his mother’s disappearance, unfortunately. It’s all just kind of developing as I go since he is so new. For now what I’ve shared abt him is tame. His story is swinging straight into batshit crazy territory the more I think about it.

Anyway, yeah, that’s a little glimpse into him.

[14dayswithyou]

i pm'ed you this already but i thought i'd share it here as well to help others. here's my lame attempt at cracking the 14dwy playlist mystery :] i have a feeling i only got 3 or 4 of them correct loool

1 shapeshift - Ren the song is about changing your personality for the one you love. "she's so sweet, bubblegum, cherry / i'm salty, might make your gums bleed" might be talking about Ren and Redacted's contrast, and how angel prefers Ren's persona over his true self. it also gets violent and gory towards the end which might allude to his redacted counterpart and how he'd go to extreme lengths to keep them happy.

2 almost had me - Violet "you were a wolf in sheep's clothing / and you almost had me." this song might be talking about how Violet was almost fooled by Ren. she knew he was suspicious from the beginning and you also said if it weren't for the storyline, Vi would've known Ren's real identity immediately. you also said that she's incredibly perceptive and has final girl material which fits the theme... and it's also in her official spotify playlist ;P i cheated a bit hah

3 heart shaped hologram - ren's second song "I keep forgetting you're somewhere else with someone real / You're laughing in their arms while I'm in the dark" this might be ren's introspection song because he can glitch the game and only wants to be with angel [who is real] which matches the lyrics of the song. in day 2 bad end he also mentions being in a dark void and begs the player to let him out.

4 wild enough - jae it's mainly about changing yourself to fit in with your friend group. in day 2 Jae is described to always be following along with Teo and Leon because he wants to be included with them, such as "am i wild enough for you?"

5 body - kiera this is the only song i had left so i figured it was for the mystery character which i believe is Kiera. her name was brought up in the past and also appears in the very first game files.

6 city of the dead - Moth "white light fades to red / as I enter the city of the dead" this could potentially be about moth because they don't live in corland bay [judging by the timezone difference in day 1] which makes them safe from Ren. they're not part of the city of the dead because Ren can't reach them.

7 Harvest Moon - Elanor "i've been hit with wonder since you caught my eye / slow down, I just want to stay all night with you" it's a hopeless romantic kind of song which is how you described El. it also sounds like it could come straight from her romance novels. it might also be Violet's song because harvest moon is also a game and she's a gamer girl. but it might not be her song after all because violet doesn't seem to be romantically interested in angel or interested in relationships at all.

8 Glimpse of us - leon "cause sometimes I look in her eyes and that's where I find a glimpse of us" possibly leon because the lyrics talk about seeing the person they love in their current partner. and Leon seems like he has feelings for angel and has to watch them date Ren in day 2. he also went to australia for a while and his character in 5 minutes sheet says he has a bit of relationship experience so maybe he had a partner and kept seeing angel in them.

9 god complex - leon ending "don't you say that / i'm your best friend" this might also be leon's ending song because the lyrics talk about the singer's best friend betraying them. there are also other songs by the same artist in Leon's personal playlist.

10 backstabber - conan this could be about Conan because he seems to have ties with the police and gangs which can be seen as shady. he might betray us in the game by siding with Ren which fits the "you're such a backstabber" line.

11 angel - good/neutral end "I thought you were an angel / I lost myself when I caught sight of you / I'm bidding you farewell / you'd never stand a chance in hell." the song to me seems like Ren accepting angel doesn't like him and letting them go. possibly the neutral end? or the ending with the secondary charas instead of rendacted

12 gun - bad end "You had better run from me / cuz I am gonna come for you / I am gonna break you down to tiny parts" it might be the bad end song where Ren becomes a murderer or something along those lines. it could be about him hunting down all the other charas who tried to harm angel or take them away from him.

13 fvck somebody - Teo "i wish you'd fuck somebody, steal my money, say you never loved me" yep that's all teo. rich, non-commital and not caring about his partners sleeping with others. this was probably the easiest to guess after shapeshift.

14 days - true end the entire song screams 14dwy to me with the scars on Ren's hands, the lyrics possibly alluding to angel getting kidnapped, and even the song title being called 14 days. to me this sounds like it could be the true ending since you said that's how you intend the game to canonically end. you're also very cryptic with some of your posts having hidden meanings, so making this song number 14 on the playlist could be a deliberate and important decision.

✦゜ANSWERED: Wahhhh you got 5 1/2 character songs and 2 ending songs correct!!

Also I'm sooo in love with your analysis ;v; It's made me realise that some songs work really well for other characters too!! I won't say which songs though in case I spoil something, but just know that I'm seein things from a whole nother angle now gjkgjndsk

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Alright, everyone, this is a personal post as much as it’s a public post so feel free to scroll all the way down to the  colored text for the public part of the message but if you, like me, enjoy drama, then continue on!

So, to make a very, very, very long story short for those who don’t know, I call my birth mother Mother Gothel due to her emotionally abusive upbringing of me that caused me to suffer from severe depression, anxiety, and even hair loss! A few years ago, back in 2016, my friend-turned-sister drove down with her mother, packed me and my bags up, and gave me a place to live and start over where I’ve been able to get jobs, go to school, and become much healthier than I used to be! 

During those years of growth and recovery, however, I kept in contact with Gothel through emails and the occasional phone call. Over the years, from the safety of being hundreds of miles away, I told her that I was gay and dating a girl. The resulting emails were not pleasant and she had no problems about calling my girlfriend a whore. Lovely, right? 

Every email she has sent me has contained detailed bible quotes and scripture and needles of guilt over everything I’m doing “wrong.” She’s still “so proud of me,” however. So at least there’s that, right? 

As of recently I emailed her and told her that I will be attending a four-year university in Tacoma Washington (moving away from Illinois) to continue my education. Her resulting email was lengthy. Here is some of it - cut for length.

Hi Michelle.

... 

You have to watch everything you say this day and time, at least that is what Jesus said in the Book of Matthew 5:37-- "Let your Yes be Yes, and let your No be No. Anything else is from the evil one." (anotherwords the devil will take your words you speak and trip and mess you up land you in jail or prison for 10 yrs)That would be really sad after you work so hard for an education and degrees then let him mess you up but read in John 10:10--the enemy comes to steal--kill--destroy--but Jesus said I have come so that you may have life and have it more abundantly.  That is why Jesus said in Proverbs 18:21" Life and death are in the power of the tongue"

...

I was telling Mom on the phone just this morning we talked for two hours-- that I was going to get a restaurant job here as soon as possible and let it move me out of here--I am moveing to Battle Creek or Marshall by Sept (labor day) and that I was sooo excited that I would finally get to see you, she said either her or Carl would drive me to [REDACTED] every now and then to see you. So Yes, I feel like a bomb was just dropped on me, my heart is broken, however I hope you will be happy and I wish you well in body and spirit-- I wish you nothing but the best. Just know one thing is for sure, I read my Bible and I will tell you right now, we are living in our last days you need to be concerned about where you are going to spend eternity. I just finished up reading the book of Matthew. In Matthew 21:25 The Heading Reads: "The Coming of the Son of Man" vs 25- And their will be signs in the Sun, the Moon, the Stars--mens hearts will fail them for fear and the expectation of those things which are coming on the earth, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. vs 27--THEN they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with Power and Great Glory. Now when these things begin to happen, look up and list up your heads, because your redemption draws near". Jesus said He would give us signs in the Heavens above and the earth beaneath. All of the earthquakes that have been happening for the last decade leading up to the Austrailian wildfires, and billions of animals died, God is giving us the signs, its just like He said in Matthew 24:36-44. 

Lastly, 1 Thessalonians 4 :13--But I do not want you to be ignorant brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God wil bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord will by no means precede those who are asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from Heaven With A SHOUT--with the voice of an archangel, and with the Trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rist first. Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And thus we shall always be with the Lord, Therefore Comfort one another with these words.

After the Rapture, then comes the tribulation. I have read Revelation many times and to say the least you don't want to be left behind.  In Heaven their will be 30 mins of silence that is when all Hell breaks loose down here. Just whatever you do, Do NOT take the mark of the beast if you do, then you will mark your soul for eternal damnation. Then you will hear the devil say----"Hello! Welcome to Hell!

I am saying all of this bcuz now you have a choice to live for God or for Satan. If something should happen to your body or God forbid but if someone tries to take your life or you get in an accident and your heart is not right with God--That is exactly how you will stand at the Judgement Bar. The minute you take your last breath in this body, you will be ushered into the presence of God then it is too late to make a decision there it is if the Angel does not find your name in the Book of Life, then the devil stands there waiting to escourt you to------Well lets just say---You Don't want to go there. But the Bible says you will answer for every deed done in the body good and bad.I know one thing, it can't be too much longer according to scripture. The greatest tool the enemy uses from his toolbox is that you have plenty of time--well I can say the devil is a liar cuz Jesus just says--Be Ready it is not up to us how long we get to stay down here, that is God's calling.Second Timothy 3----But know this, that in the last days perilous times will come. For men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having a form of godliness but denying its power. And from such people turn away! For of this sort are those who creep into households and make captives of gullible women loaded down with sins, led away by various lusts, always learning and never able to come to the knowledge of truth. 

Sister, we are living in our last days, make every day that God gives you breath in your body count bcuz you don't know when it will be your last day. There is pleasure in sin for a season--Hebrews 11:24. Whatever you do, don't let the devil take your life and your soul, it is not worth it.

Love You So Much and want to make sure your soul doesn't go to H---.  I am praying that you will have a preacher as a husband.I miss you Michelle, I miss hugging you, I miss walking up those stairs to bring your meals to you I would LOVE to hug you just one more time. That may or may not happen before He Returns ony God knows this.Please write me back when you can, you are always on my heart and mind. I have made mistakes while we were all living at 2414, I am so very sorry I pray that you forgive me if I have offended you please forgive me, I thought I had it all together. But now I see, I was just messed up and made lots of wrong choices, but God came along with His Holy broom and cleaned up my mess and said to move on. I am so glad when He forgives our sins, He forgets never no more to be remembered. All I can say is ---Thank-you Jesus.

...

Love You Forever my dearest Daughter and Friend.

This is the average email from her and I’ve been told that it’s not normal to receive emails this long talking about how she’s ‘devastated’ by my choices and how the world is going to end in hellfire soon. Please allow me, however, to show the email she immediately sent after the above.

[T]acoma is Washington's most dangerous city, with a violent crime rate of 953 incidents per 100,000 residents. While this is a relatively high rate — the 96th worst in the country — the city's incidence of property crime stands out even more. ... Indeed, the city had the country's 15th highest property crime rate in 2016

The overall crime rate in Tacoma is 138% higher than the national average. For every 100,000 people, there are 16.81 daily crimes that occur in Tacoma. Tacoma is safer than 3% of the cities in the United States. In Tacoma you have a 1 in 17 chance of becoming a victim of any crime.

Have you done the research for this city?They said Tacoma is the most violent city in Washington,I love you and want you to be happy. There are sooo many universities with the same opportunities.

How would you get around, does your friend drive? I did see how beautiful the area is but you just have to be careful I guess everywhere you go. 

As you can see, she immediately invalidates my choice - something I was very truly wonderfully excited about - and sends me a message that triggers my anxiety. I should note that she did not allow me out of the house without her even when I was an adult and over 18. If I went somewhere she had to be there with me.

Ah, but now we come to today and the email that spurred this post to creation. The above emails were sent two days ago and I have yet to respond. The email below was sent just today. 

Hi Michelle.

While I cannot apologize for what I said, It was not my intention to offend you in any way. I just went to google and typed in most dangerous city in the state of Washington and Tacoma popped up, that is out of 100 cities in the state.Okay, I know you say you have been there and all and you are no match for all of the evil there. God forbid, should something happen to you--you would be just another name and another number to them there is no much evil there they can't control it, I say to you just watch on a daily basis all of the crime that goes on in that sin city.

You better be praying about this cuz I don't think God would want you to put yourself in harms way--make a wiser choice, and God will bless you for it.Look at what happened to kobe bryant incident.... they met a very bad situation face to face and of course their was no way they could turn that around. My whole point of conversation.....sure you can do what you want bcuz you are an adult grown woman, but I would strongly advise you to pray to God about it and make a wise choice here, your life and future depends on right choices you make now.

What about University of Michigan in Ann Arbor or East Lansing University, Michigan University Kalamazoo, they are on the ten universities in Michigan. You need to reconsider your decision and think about your resourses you can get more help from family  bcuz I have all kinds of family up there and I will be up there soon. You are no match for Tacoma Washington. I only say this bcuz you are my daughter and I don't want something really bad come out of this just bcuz you are trying to get an education behind you--this calls for wise decisions.

You may never speak to me again, but I just want to inform you that you need to be very very cautious here.

Love You Forever.

... 

“You may never speak to me again.” 

...

This is the last email I have read from her and it will remain the last email I will ever read from her. I also will not be sending her any emails ever again because you know what? 

Her scared, anxious daughter Michelle Jean Anderson died and I’m what’s left - and I’m sick of her shit. 

So, hello, everybody! My name is Andy Alex Anderson and my pronouns are he/him (or they/them if you panic and forget) and it’s a pleasure to meet you! 

[defeyeant]

tiny rundown of oc muses:

DOLORES GORDON

stranger-aligned avatar, she/they enby lesbian, 30s but her appearance is fluid, irish by birth and weird by entity influence, unwitting shapeshifter, silver tongued devil. 

former human who somehow fell into family influence with the stranger and was changed. has never stopped changing, really. originally a tall, slender figure with straight black hair, blue eyes, and an angular face dotted with freckles. has shifted over the years into a variety of forms, though is currently somewhat fixed as a chubby, short figure with brown wavy hair, grey eyes, and a soft, mischievous face with a few moles. her eyes have also taken on the glassy, inhuman stare of a doll. besides this, she has some ever-present ‘red right hand’ at all times, some subtle othering to let humans know to be wary, that this creature is not quite human.

largely based on the concept of fair folk mythology being based upon humans trying to interpret stranger influence in less enlightened eras.

like most stranger avatars, is affable and eager to reach out to the world. she even does it completely free of her work for her patron, and notes having several friends outside of the circle of her entities servants. she’s quite good at getting others to let their guard down for at least a short time, and then striking as soon as she finds a way in. easygoing and devil may care, she is easily one of the most approachable of her kind.

despite this, she is good at big games, but loses the plot in other regards. she tends to be more bark than bite at the end of the day, lacking the power or influence that her superiors in the stranger’s food chain lord over her. she tends to be wishy-washy, an anywhere the wind blows type who realizes she’s in too deep far too late to course correct.

while she works for them, she did not originate in the circus. she just thought nikola was a riot and has had fun watching them go about their business, and decided to join in. it’s something she has come to regret several times, but keeps her head up because they’re really going to change the world. she only narrowly misses the explosion at the wax museum by sleeping in on the big day -- she had a last get together with her human friends before nikola made the world intolerable for them come morning. escaped in the van with breekon while holding a macabre memento of the day. currently possesses one of @sittimoranimiinterfectorem​‘s tim’s hands, left relatively intact in spite of being violently blown off of his body.

wishes she could shapeshift into agnes so jude would [REDACTED] her [REDACTED] :’(

‘MISS LUKAS’

lonely-aligned avatar, cis woman of unknowable orientation, appears to be in her twenties but is likely older, originates in the old family stomping grounds of kent, a bright young servant of her family’s entity, a woman who calculates love as sacrifice.

only child of a lukas family solicitor and his morose wife, their daughter showed a particular talent for the forces that her family had invoked for generations. a small, insignificant girl who is pretty in a way that does not particular stand out. rather old-fashioned features, a soft face made more delicate for her anemic complexion, defined by heavy-lidded blue eyes and a slightly too small mouth. her hair falls in soft ringlets to her mid-back when loosed, and is an unremarkable shade of brown. petite and delicately built, she is easy to ignore unless one is really looking for her -- but why would anyone do something so silly? her clothing is often dated, less in the style of annabelle’s vintage glamour, and more like she’s in a relative’s hand-me-downs or stepped out of a cheap period drama. she does not stand out as either a threat or anyone of note.

reserved and apathetic, she is the model of a perfect lukas. she puts off an aloof aura when she chooses to be perceived, something that should keep others at arm’s length. she has a penchant for dramatics and soliloquy, and leads a rather inactive life from her seat of power. obsessively bookish, preferring the company of literature to any other pleasure in life. a talented manipulator and vindictive enemy. she walked out of a gothic novel, mysterious and cultured in a way that says she could care less about your opinion about it. 

despite this, she still has some sparks of humanity. she is a great lover of mischief, and has been known to at least make an attempt to interact with those who excel at it. deeply loyal to her clan, she keeps her distance from them as she should while still aiming to do the family name right. she is rarely seen to act against those who do not act against her first, a sort of old world standard of ‘don’t start none, don’t want none,’ though admittedly her sense of who earns her wrath is arbitrary at best. she lacks any sense of self-awareness towards her oddities, which can make her either grating or overtly amusing to interact with. she also feeds fuckboys to the lonely so idk what more you could ask for.

operates out of the moors, where the mist comes in thick and the landscape can make one feel like the last person on earth. her typical prey is that of entitled men who refuse to respect a woman’s desire to be left alone to her devices. she approaches it from the idea of ‘you wanted to be part of my solitude so bad, then join it.’ she tends to court their interest, string them along for some days or weeks, then lure them into the mist. has also been known to have the lonely swallow lost travelers who approach her property and it’s implied she might have fed several friends from her youth to the mist.

she hates peter bc she is clearly a virtuoso but he gets the acclaim as a family representative. that’s an oxymoron. they are lukases, they should not have a representative. twat.

her true name is carefully guarded and never spoken. every man she takes on as a sacrifice has known her by one of several names. the most common she falls to are aurora, esther, rosalie, and faith.

yes, these two know each other. yes, dolores is the extrovert that adopted miss lukas as an introvert. miss lukas keeps throwing dolores into the lonely hoping it will grant her a moment’s peace, only for dolores to come crawling out citing her love for her friend as the north star to guide her back here. dolores also does not understand that the lukas family is not nuclear, but a clan, and repeatedly wonders aloud if peter is her friend’s father, uncle, or grandfather. miss lukas suffers constantly in the other’s presence, which is no less than either of them deserve.

[convndrums]

here the FAWK she ( the semi-finished masterlist of all my characters ) is ! took way too long but hopefully as you proceed to click on the linque below you’ll know why smh but yep ! i’ll be adding their pages on my account when i’m done with them soon i hope and maybe come back with a bunch of connections for each character but for now this is all i got & smash this like or im me for plots i’d love to get on those finally xx

reintroducing amanda wheeler;  intro & info page.

queen of irony. rich post- faux country gal who’s a loud homosexual and writes hetero fics/has an indie het smut for the absolute shits and giggles. dates a married woman she’s utterly in love with and will pull the life support cord for. said to be possessed by a possessed flapper. cute and knows it even though she looks like a republican. socially open & everywhere. morally grey.

reintroducing imogen yates; intro & info page. ( tw violence )

the grey area between your mom friend and your drunk aunt. happily vegan & owns a vegan restaurant called the fork, alt. the vegan cult’s lair. won’t kill you, but will convince you she really wants to. local brat tamer. minds her business via minding others. clashed head-first into nature’s very own reset button: amnesia. used to be satan and traumatized everyone. disgustingly active and accomplishing.

reintroducing ethan holland; intro & info page. ( tw suicide )

he is a sk8r boi, she said see ya later boy ( and meant it. they’re dating now. hey lourdes ! ) a nice person, so nice he doesn’t realize how fake he sounds/is. a certified headass. previously a bully/bully enabler, current guilty fuck. #torn. does the most for his loved ones. doesn’t remember his own birthday. googled foot fetishes once. trolls stan twitter with his fake selena gomez stan account when tumblr crashes. burned a sue of cide note with his name scribbled on it.

reintroducing sebastian miller; intro & info page ( tw violence )

kazimer sokolov whom. russian ex-cult member well-adjusted into a mundane life via lies, a fake canadian accent he’s ‘trying to get rid of’, being a twilight saga aficionado and a dickwad, a lame record store and a tumblr blog to keep himself sane by maintaining a general aesthetic and shitting on people and every discourse out there. knives/books sniffer. allegedly fucked a moose. probably kinkshames as a way to deal with his own “kinks” aka please keep the dead bodies away. ( im kidding i swear but [redacted] )

reintroducing prudence zima; intro & info page ( tw death )

parents died in a fire when she was two months old and it shows. idolizes avril lavigne & her favorite movie is lords of dogtown for aesthetics references. dude. social leech or effortless networker ? both. remains in her lane regardless. cry-types probably. here for a good time, not a long time. steals your stash and smokes you out with it. avid dick connoisseur. minimum effort lifestyle. either on her way to become a manager of some one hit wonder band that finds it’s demise in a freak accident, a drug dealer or god forbid, a guidance counselor; depends. mild cool girl syndrome. 

reintroducing jennifer meade; intro & info page ( tw death, violence and abuse )

bi/pussy muncher and proud misandrist, first and foremost. remembers killing her brother very fondly. the one girl in a room to call when you want to kill a bug and you’re relieved until she kills it with her bare hand. tops. unstable & chaotic evil, respectively. the ginger devil. biased and has her minion whom she invests a great deal of her time in brain washing and obsessing over. supposedly here to make amends but that’s not happening any time soon.

reintroducing margot williams; intro & info page ( tw mental illness )

deserves better. very gay. all her friends are heathens xtra, take it slow. corrects typos in the gc. a nerdy editorial assistant daydreaming about publishing houses instead of the magazine she works for. lowkey shy and she’s angry about it. goes off if she must. jacks off to #knowledge and yuri anime. helps with homework and essays and takes the kids out. deadpan because we’re original but she swears it’s just the face & unresolved trauma. stans her therapist. unofficial older sister.

reintroducing chandler accardi; intro ( re-written ) & info page

needs to do better. dropped out of college for culinary school then dropped out of that too. was engaged to an absolute goddess he ultimately wronged ( with her damn best friend, bitch disgostin* ) and got kicked out to the curb. currently residing in the couch of his sister until things are resolved. thot-by-default & annoying. has like three ( 3 ) redeeming qualities. has never been told to shut up and it shows. works at buzzfeed.

reintroducing abel gautier; intro & info page

french and “confused”. lives a minimalist n’ expensive life. if american psycho & french kiss were the same movie. wine sniffer. the devil bakes croissants. will watch you die. takes grudges to the afterlife. gets attached but either ruins it or ruins it to spare everyone, himself included. falls in love a lot but knows how to calm the fuck down. very giving, fortunately. manipulative but isn’t too wild about bending everything to his will. 

reintroducing simini gale; intro & info page ( tw abuse, violence & mental illness )

token white actress & character in rosie’s show. [ britney vc ] its me.... against dissociation. a loud mess with an intense mental state and anger issues dulled out by her prescribed meds and whatever pill she got in the bottom of her manager’s purse. dependent and distraught about it. grocery shopping for garbage food and attending comedy stand up shows half drunk as a hobby. stable ? where. very nice and super flighty. heels are hot. wishes she could fight someone without feeling the urge to actually fight someone. 

reintroducing calvin o’shea; intro & info page ( tw mental illness )

it’s not just the depression more than the incredible self hatred. walks into rooms with his bad energy, grumpy mood and cunty attitude. graduated college just to shut his dad up. wants to die harder than edward cullen. just doesn’t give a shit. has a baby named freddie mercury ( also known as the antichrist, with alanis, his mortal literal enemy whom he absolutely despises and will not hesitate to put his dick back in again lbr ) who will probably grow up to talk shit about his parents whom he also mentioned in his tell-all book on ellen. works at his family’s bookstore that sucks the life energy out of college students nearing a mental breakdown.

reintroducing isabel pavia; intro & info page ( tw drug use )

contemporary dances her feelings away. too ambitious for her own good but knows what she’s doing. in a goth ass secret society ( here ) a.k.a her new found purpose. knows everything eventually. oddly trustworthy. doesn’t know what speaking loudly is, let alone yelling. loves the moon & has that moon app. had to take painkillers when she twisted her ankle very badly and would take them for a while for stress and performance reasons, but has stopped. a quiet angel. 

reintroducing anastasia zeller; intro & info page

ambitious/multi-talented asshole. horror trash & an emotional/mental maze which translates well into her weird works on no sleep reddit and current horror comedy podcast. ( click here for info ). needs a therapist according to a friend, whom she dropped for saying that. will bite your head off. obsessed with her works to an unhealthy point. would love to establish a company and stuff out of it and is working on that. healthy relationships are a semi-foreign concept.

reintroducing morgan booker; intro & info page ( tw death )

vape-curious and takes photos of ghost towns and abandoned-everythings because #vision. had a roadtrip phase like the fake deep idiot he is. morally grey. genuinely here for a good laugh and spreading joy in the form of hover-friendships and taking lit candids of his friends. knows shit and comes off as a creep sometimes but does he really care. knows your mom’s name. lives in a disused hospital bc he’s marinating on that aesthetic. 

reintroducing bowie harmon; intro & info page ( tw drug use & abuse )

part of a duo in a web series as the anxious n’ cackling mess. showcases her depressión & anxieté by her colorful wigs n’ new hair dyes. painful receptionist at a tattoo parlor. recovering addict who advocates for drug use. thinks tattooing a ruler on someone’s dick one day would be the peak of her accomplishments as a tattoo artist. daily bad decisions. “ it’s complicated. ” when asked about literally any relationship she has with anyone in her life. traumas include her failed singing career. an ex viner-by-association.

reintroducing shaheen bin baz; intro & info page ( tw violence & mental illness )

the physical deception of going through hell in a short amount of time with zero mental durability to begin with during midterms. trigger-anxious. will shoot your toes off your foot if caught off guard. aided in criminal operations with the brilliance of his mind in codes. would not mind dying. seasons your food. waters his crops in his balcony garden. the grey area between a super laidback dude and a crackhead with violent tendencies. nearing a mental breakdown probably. 

reintroducing minka abbott-santos; intro & info page ( tw abuse )

defeats the evil stepmom stereotype one breath at a time. the human embodiment of a deer. gothic angel. alarmingly gets black swan. type to wake up to her staring at you from an armchair across the room, but lovingly, with a book she was reading in hand and two hot cups of tea; she was waiting to start the day with you. spooky until you get to know her and even more spookier when she’s ( note: calmly ) pissed but that’s extremely rare. gentle voice, soul and everything.

reintroducing reuben faulkner; intro & info page ( tw abuse & violence  )

rekt hell prince. lived in an amish community with his family until he got kidnapped away from home when he was seven into an awful living situation. doesn’t remember if the gas leak that happened five years later and killed everyone was his doing or not. knows where his real family is after months of tracking them down but. blood kink under investigation. shady bouncer at a shady club. has issues he has no care or time to diminish. fights for the shits and giggles. leaves texts at read. leaves you alone for your own good and his own sanity. 

reintroducing alexandra turunen;  info page

wants to do everything and be everything and doesn’t know what to do with herself ( read: post-graduation identity crisis ) currently investing in a motorcycle for no reason. essentially jobless. a “retired” kathryn merteuil who “outgrew” her cunning ways since highschool but really only found new socially destructive interests. appears to be self-possessed but she’s #shaken. doesn’t care about how well she presents herself anymore after getting rejected by four universities and refusing to accept her father’s offer to pull some strings to get her in one. sleeps a lot. 

reintroducing giuseppe del vecchio;  info page ( tw death & drug use  )

goes by pepe because well. son of italian oil peeps & is extra. said to be in a cult when all he’s in is this extra ass dining club that does the most for initiation ceremonies. ready to fall in love with you. goes to the king’s college in london and studies business & changes his minor way too often for everyone’s liking. into everything and will be down to do whatever. faux deep. mischievous shit. incredibly unbiased. had his rawrk n’ roll phase that died along with someone in a club literally. still has it but he knows god now & less drugs.

reintroducing kelian scott;  info page ( tw death & drug use  )

a father/father figure who tries™. runs a mechanic shop/chop shop because bad decisions and dire needs ( had his son to send to school and his daughter who passed away due to a disease he couldn’t afford to treat even after turning his shop into a chop shop. his wife then left him ). stares into the distance. wants the best for the kids but one of them is a junkie ( he doesn’t know yet ) and the other -- his niece -- is an orphan he’s worried about. thinks ahead 24/7. needs to pull out of this dull n’ depressing daily routine he has fallen into like the basic ass divorced dad he is. 

reintroducing sal presley;  info page

smexy trace & fingerprint detective. talks. the perfect illusion to bring home to your parents and friends. gets shit done which is both a good thing and a bad thing. looks calm, collected n’ well-rested but isn’t. his actual name is salvatore but no. knows how to mix drinks and more; used to showcase his multi-talented ass to make his ( currently ex ) fiancée look good now just himself. was engaged three times; two of those times with the same person. obsessive; gets into his job a little too intensely for no reason but #justice and maybe something else whom knows. loses sleep at least two nights a week as a habit at this point. has an extended family back home he misses occasionally. wishes he could calm down truly. 

[613526362]

Touching the Void

I was at her door, and she was wearing the coat she bought just to walk my dog.

I told her thank you for the best three and a half months of my life, and that I loved her. Then I turned to walk away.

She yelled my name. Then she left the doorway out on to the sidewalk. I kept walking, and I didn't look back.

I got into the car.

She ran to my car door, and opened it.

I wasn't going to force her to talk through the car door, so I got out and cane around.

She said, "Now don't act like this is me breaking your heart. We discussed this together. We came to an agreement together."

I said, "I know. I guess, I just wanted to thank you for introducing me to your friends, your coworkers, your family. And I wanted to thank you for the happiest three and a half months of my life."

She looked at me and said, "You're going to find someone better than me."

I stopped her and said, "No one ever finds someone better after you Cat."

We hugged, and this was a different hug. Back in her apartment, she had hugged me, and pushed her pelvis into mine, trying to seduce me into staying. She'd tried a couple other things too. When I arrived, I saw she'd chosen some cute but revealing clothes to wear, done her makeup, put on perfume. After I took out the first load of things, she forced me to open one of the Christmas presents she had gotten me. I tried to do it at first, but I couldn't. It hurt too bad. Tears running down my face, I finally got it open. It was a pair of custom made socks with my dog's face printed all over and words saying, "I love you dad."

She'd chosen a picture I sent her of my dog when he was younger. I guess she thought he had a cute look on his face in that picture. But I know his expressions better. He had a terrified look on his face.

It was the most thoughtful and sweet gift anyone had ever given me. The tears were already falling from my face as I tried to open it, but they fell so much harder when I looked at the socks.

She had also cried in the apartment sitting on the couch where we cuddled so many times. The couch where I had slept one night because she was so angry about something I had said.

She started crying, saying how bad it hurt that I had told her she had an anger problem on the phone earlier. She said no one had ever told her that before.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Maybe I'm a little crazy. But all girls are a little crazy. I have my faults. Everyone has their faults. You never even saw my darkest side."

She cried as her mascara ran, and her hair fell over her face.

She tried to kiss me, and she tried to pull me into her kiss. I resisted.

I didn't kiss her. I said, "Cat please. We talked about this on the phone."

If she had acted sweet, or remorseful, or even human on the phone, we wouldn't have been there, both overdressed and wearing cologne and perfume, sitting six feet apart and crying. We would have been in each other's arms, me breathing softly on her neck, my face lost in her hair.

But instead she had been so cruel. So hateful. It was one thing she said that absolutely destroyed anything that was left of my heart on the phone. When I said that we should still exchange gifts, and that maybe we could still stay in touch, she said she didn't want to. Why would she want to? she asked.

"Maybe if you we had been good friends before we started dating or something we would stay friends, but we met on a dating app. And this was a relatively short relationship. You just want to stay in touch once a week so you won't allow me to get over you. Am I crazy or something? Am I saying something crazy? Why would we stay in touch?"

So it was clear, she wanted me for the ring and kids, or nothing at all. She wanted the relationship exactly how she wanted it, or she was going to be angry and hurtful to me. Four of five days of not seeing me wasn't allowed. Not calling and talking for at least three hours a day was not allowed.

"When I care, I care hard."

"Cat, you said to me, "Marshal, you think you're so fucking perfect, don't you." That doesn't show me that you care hard. That's an extremely resentful and hurtful remark."

She had bought my dog a dog bed, a special refilling water bowl, a dog bed. I told her to keep them in case she got a dog, or take them back. She wouldn't. She insisted I take them.

Redacted

When she ran to my car, after I came out and hugged her, I kissed her on top of her head, three, four, five times. Then she looked up at me, and I saw her face so innocent, her eyes red and crying. I hadn't seen her face like that in a long time. She looked so sweet, and childish. I loved her so much.

I said, let's walk back to your door. I scratched her back and put my arm around her as we walked. After we opened her front door, she just kept walking forward, as if I was following. She was expecting me to follow inside. But I hadn't. Eventually, when she realized I hadn't followed, she turned. I went to kiss her on the forehead. At first she told me no, because if I had refused her kiss earlier of course she wasn't going to allow a kiss now. But then she saw I was kissing her on the forehead, and she allowed it.

I couldn't look her in the eyes when I said it, but I said, "I really do love you Cat." And then I turned, and walked back to my car. I heard her say my name twice. But she didn't follow this time. I never looked back. I didn't want to see her face.

After I got in my car, and started to back up before driving forward, I looked back. The door was open, and I saw just the edge of her coat at the edge of the door frame. She was standing beside the door, waiting to see if I was really leaving. Or if I was too paralyzed with sadness to actually drive away. I drove away. I drove for maybe three, four seconds.

I started screaming, "No God. PLEASE GOD. PLEASE DONT DO THIS TO ME GOD. PLEASE GOD."

I turned around and drove back. If she was still at the door, I would take her back. I would hold her tonight. I would love her, I would marry her.

Seconds later I was at her apartment.

The door was closed.

Redacted

I only made it about three blocks before I couldn't drive anymore. I pulled over in a city park that had a pool. I was walking through the parking lot, sobbing, holding the socks with my little puppy's face on them.

The truth is, he doesn't really love me. He's scared of me. Because I have beaten him ruthlessly. I have beaten him until he urinates and defecates all over himself.

The truth is, my anger problem is at least as bad as hers.

Probably way, way worse.

I sat on the curb at the park, feeling the pain of the 38 degree cold. I had a thin polyester jacket on, a polo underneath that. I sat there, looking at the small suburban houses on the street adjacent. I saw a woman washing dishes in a window. I wondered if she saw me. I saw a Christmas tree in another home.

I thought that I would be happy, in a small house, with a SUV, if I just had a wife who loved me and two children.

Shivering violently, I thought, for the first time in my life, that I would be happy,

if I just had someone to love.

I considered sleeping in my car there. Maybe she would call. If she called, I would tell her I had only made it three blocks. I would go back.

Driving back towards the Big City, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

The convent.

Was it open? How could it possibly be open at 10:30 at night?

It looked to me like the gate was open. I made a last second decision and dived across the oncoming lane into the convent driveway, nearly missing an oncoming car.

Walking the grounds of the convent, sobbing in studders, tears falling from my face into the cold air, I gripped the socks so tightly. I held them to my face and covered my audible cries. I looked up at the building where the sisters sleep, several times. I didn't know if anyone would see me, or hear my cries.

I curled up on the stairs just below a statue of Christ. The ceramic was painted to show small spots of blood where his feet were pierced.

Shaking, shivering, nearly convulsing with sobs and cries, I lied there.

I've always wanted nothing more, than to just die.

I thought about how Brad had driven my dog to Arkansas yesterday, and the videos they had sent me of him so happy playing on the field.

It's so easy to let yourself die here. All you have to do is fall into the lake, when no one is looking. I live not one block from the lake.

Eventually I stood, and walked further, thinking of when my father once told me, "Don't ever hurt yourself over a woman."

He didn't give me many words of wisdom, but the ones he did have counted.

Eventually I arrived to it. An outdoor structure made of rough, misshapen stones. A kind of chapel.

I said quietly, "Is anyone here."

Just quiet. Just the sounds of cars in the distance passing by at night. I was deep in the grounds now.

I walked inside, and it was quiet inside.

I knew where the shrine was, because I'd been here before

After I said a few sentences to Christ, I said a new sentence. It was a new conclusion. I said,

"Teach me your love."

I had both hands up on the flat counter of the shrine. My head towards the shrine, towards the face of Christ. My eyes closed. In my right hand gripped the socks Cat had given me. As I finished my prayer, still with eyes closed, my right hand released its grip, and I took both hands off the shrine.

I turned, and walked away

Teach me your love O God

Please, teach me Your love

Redacted

I woke up about an hour ago. It took about three minutes after my consciousness re-ignited for me to recall everything that happened the night before.

It took about ten minutes for me to start writing this and start crying.

Brad called me and I didn't answer. My employee at the office said that the light in the bathroom went out, so people are using the bathroom in the dark.

I told him I'll try to make it by, but I'm not if I would be able to.

I need to study if I'm going to pass this medical licensing exam.

But I don't want to pass it.

I just want Cat.

I just want her.

I guess that's really why I left her.

Because I wanted her more than anything.

I guess that's why.