#the neighbors committed suicide

[selliho6530]

This is my mom telling me one of the scariest stories I've ever heard of...

[asurrogateblog]

I'm not just posting I'm asking a legitimate question: if you saw a really old man that looked just like john lennon, what kind of evidence would you need before you'd A) actually start thinking "oh my god....he's alive", and B) actually confront him about it

[russenoire]

roast their asses, OP.

also shou's powers of persuasion must rival reigen's if he was able to get them to abandon their children in the middle of dinner for an onsen retreat...

The Kageyama parents’ role in the finale of season 2 is hilarious. Shou apparently got them a hot springs getaway (that they left IMMEDIATELY THAT EVENING FOR, BEFORE MOB EVEN MADE IT HOME FROM SCHOOL, SEEMINGLY ABANDONING DINNER) that was so indulgent and engrossing that they completely missed the fact that almost the entirety of Seasoning City fell to violent domestic terrorists with ESP. They did not see a single news broadcast. ALSO, their home BURNED COMPLETELY DOWN, and their neighbors thought they and their kids were DEAD (they genuinely believed they watched Mob commit suicide by walking into the fire and never emerging), but they received not a single call or text about it. Seemingly no one tried their phones in case they weren’t in the house. Not even emergency services or their insurance company or other relatives. Or if they did, they did not even try to get in touch with Ritsu, who was canonically paying attention to and using his phone.

They are simply the most oblivious people in the entire world. They return home and most of the city is rubble, Ritsu is so wired that he looks like he’s about to start gnawing through the sliding paper doors, and Mob physically cannot stay conscious for more than a few seconds at a time, all spacey and scattered like he has a TBI, and the Kageyama parents are like, “Aaaahh, it’s so good to be home.”

[ponyboi-69]

I just had a very sad dream and don't believe I will be falling back asleep today

[mclacedes]

Yet Again (LN4)

NO PART 2 REQUESTS PLEASE!

summary: in which you are one step closer to death, but something—or rather, someone stops you

WARNINGS: dark angst - mentions of suicide, suicide attempt, talks about anxiety and depression, feeling of worthlessness

a/n: this was most definitely NOT inspired by my own life experiences. i did NOT write this during an episode.

THE POINT OF THIS IS NOT SUPPORTING THE COMMIT OF SUICIDE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

enjoy!

–

no one ever wants the beginning of the month to be as horrific as yours has been. it felt like your life was crumbling, like everything was falling at your feet. you felt simply imponent, like there was nothing you could do about it.

surely, you could have asked for help; maybe there was another way out. but what would your friends think after your claims of feeling unwell, yet again?

three months ago, you talked to one of them about how that gnawing feeling of not being enough; two months ago, you said life was meaningless and your existence was worthless; a month ago, you stopped being around as much as you used to, claiming you had “too much going on” trying to deal with your own things.

you thought you had no right calling any of your friends again and telling them life was shit and you were sorry. you couldn't do this to them, not yet again.

therefore, walking aimlessly around through the nighttime felt right. directing your steps to your 20-level residential building in the heart of the city felt right. it felt just right clicking the 20th floor button and climbing up the stairs to the open space up on the building until you were right on the edge of it.

there were chairs and tables, points of cigarettes and bottles of beer scattered around, like an adults playground. those people had a life. you didn't know and, yet, you envied them.

technically, you had a great life. but you hated every second of who you were and the life you had.

one of your feet moved just enough to be left hanging in the air between your building and nothing. down was the floor, cobblestones to an empty road. you knew nobody would find you for a while.

you could end it all. you were just about to end it all—the pain, the noise, the feeling of worthlessness.

you were gonna kill yourself if it weren't for the sound of the door opening behind you.

“jeez… you sure about that?” a male voice in a british accent disturbed your peace.

your obnoxious neighbor. Lando fucking Norris.

you froze at the sound of his voice, startled not just by his sudden appearance but by the audacity in his tone. it wasn't laced with pity or alarm. instead, it carried an almost casual confidence, as if he'd caught you about to make a questionable life choice—like ordering pineapple on pizza—rather than standing on the edge of a rooftop.

“go away, Lando,” you muttered without turning around. your voice was shaky, the words barely audible over the hum of the city below.

“yeah, not happening,” he replied, the sound of his footsteps approaching. “look, i don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but whatever it is, this isn’t the answer.”

you clenched your jaw. “how would you know? you don’t understand.”

“maybe not," he said, stopping a few feet behind you. "but i know something about feeling like shit. pretending you’re fine when you’re not. wearing a smile because it’s easier than explaining the mess inside.”

his words hit closer to home than you wanted to admit, and you hated him for it. you hated his stupid accent, his persistent optimism, and the fact that he couldn’t just leave you alone to finish what you came here to do.

“what do you want, lando?” you snapped, finally turning to glare at him.

he was leaning casually against a table, arms crossed, his sharp green eyes locked on yours. “to stop you from doing something you can’t take back,” he said simply. “you don’t have to talk to me, but you do need to step down from there.”

you laughed bitterly. “and if i don’t?”

a heavy sigh left his lips and then he stood beside you on the edge.

“stop it, what are you doing?” you asked, scared.

“if you don't stop, we're spending the whole night here, pretty. i’m stubborn like that.” he tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

in the midnight light, his eyes looked as green as a rainforest in summer, or slippery moss that would lead you to an abyss you'd need help to climb out of — his voice sounded like a summer sunset, and while he could be warm but chill, it could be sultry and rainy.

the wind picked up, tugging at your hair and clothes as you stood there, staring at him. part of you wanted to tell him to leave, to mind his own business. but another part of you—the part that was tired, broken, and desperately clinging to the sliver of hope his presence brought—couldn’t seem to move.

“you know, i’m just not a big fan of letting people give up on themselves.” he joked.

you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “i’ve already given up.”

he shook his head, stepping closer. “no, you haven’t. if you had, you wouldn’t be standing here. you’d already be gone.” he reached out a hand, palm up, and held it there between you. “come on. it's a bit chilly, let’s get inside, yeah?”

you stared at his hand, hesitating. it felt like a lifeline being thrown to you in the middle of a storm. did you deserve to take it? to ask for help yet again?

“please,” he said softly, his voice breaking through your spiraling thoughts. “you don’t have to do this alone.”

“i do, in fact, norris!” you yelled. “you don't know anything about me, so stop acting like we're friends, because i know for certain we are not. go and leave me the fuck alone.”

lando didn’t flinch at your outburst, his expression remaining calm, almost unreadable. he didn’t step back, didn’t argue, didn’t even blink. he just stood there, his hand still outstretched, waiting.

“you done?” he asked, his tone maddeningly even.

you glared at him, your chest heaving as the frustration bubbled over. “you don’t get it,” you hissed. “you have no idea what it’s like to feel this way. to feel so… so fucking worthless that breathing feels like a chore. so stop acting like you care, because you don’t.”

for a moment, there was only silence between you, the sound of the wind whistling around the rooftop the only thing filling the space.

“maybe i don’t know what it’s like to be you,” he said quietly. “but i know what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders. to feel like no one would understand if you tried to explain. like you’d just be a burden to everyone around you.”

“you know,” he continued, “i’ve been there. not in this exact spot, obviously, but close enough. questioning if anything i did mattered, if i mattered. wondering if anyone would even notice if i disappeared.” he glanced at you then, his green eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “turns out, people notice. more than you think.”

you swallowed hard, his words cutting through the fog in your head. “i don’t see how any of that matters,” you muttered. “even if people notice, what’s the point? it doesn’t change how i feel.”

“the point is, i believe that if you really were without any shred of hope, you would have already left. this conversation would be a waste of time for you, you wouldn't really care to talk to me if you really didn't have any hope, any... faith.”

“faith?” you asked.

“faith, yeah.” he said. “not just in god or anything religious, that's not my point. what i am saying is that if you didn't wait for better days, there wouldn't be anything of you left. just the thought of you, your memory for those who once loved you, and who will continue to endlessly love you despite the absence of your being.”

his words hung in the air, heavy yet strangely comforting. the idea of "faith" felt foreign to you, like trying to hold onto smoke, but there was something undeniable in the way he said it—like he truly believed it. like he believed in you.

“i don’t know if i have any faith left,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “everything just feels… empty. like i’m here, but i’m not really living. it’s like i’m waiting for something to happen, but nothing ever does.”

lando nodded slowly, as if he understood. “i get that,” he said softly. “sometimes it feels like the world’s moving on without you, like you’re stuck in this endless loop of nothingness. but that’s not true. life isn’t static, even if it feels that way. you’re still here, still breathing, still fighting—even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. that’s faith. that’s hope, whether you see it or not.”

you stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. “you make it sound so simple,” you murmured, a bitter edge creeping into your tone.

“it’s not,” he said, shaking his head. “it’s messy, and hard, and some days it feels painfully impossible. but it’s worth it. you’re worth it.”

his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence, and you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something raw, something personal. it made you pause, your anger and frustration wavering under the weight of his sincerity.

“i still don't understand, why do you even care?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

lando hesitated, as if debating whether or not to answer. when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more vulnerable.

“because i know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning. and i know how much it means to have someone reach out and say, ‘i see you. i’m here.’”

you swallowed hard, his words hitting you like a punch to the chest. for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the tiniest flicker of something—something you couldn’t quite name, but it was there, faint and fragile and alive.

“i don’t know if i can do this,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

lando took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “you don’t have to do it alone,” he said. “but you have to try. and i’ll be here, every step of the way, if you’ll let me.”

you looked at him, at the earnest determination in his expression, and for the first time, you felt the weight in your chest shift ever so slightly. it wasn’t gone—not by a long shot—but it was lighter, just enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was right.

against every instinct, every voice in your head telling you to let go, you reached out. his hand was warm and steady as he pulled you back onto the rooftop.

“see?” he said, sitting down across from you. “that wasn’t so hard.”

you managed a shaky laugh, clutching the bottle like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here i am saving your ass,” he replied with a grin, stepping down with you.

you sat beside him, your legs crossed awkwardly as the weight of the moment settled over both of you. the rooftop was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the city below.

“so what happens now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

lando leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky. the stars were faint, barely visible against the city’s glow, but he seemed to find them anyway. “now? now we take it one day at a time,” he said simply. “and if one day feels like too much, then we take it one hour at a time. or one minute. whatever it takes.”

you frowned, the simplicity of his answer almost irritating. “that’s it? just... keep going?”

he turned to look at you, his expression softer now, stripped of any sarcasm or pretense. “yeah. that’s it. because even on the worst days, there’s something worth sticking around for. even if it’s just the chance to prove yourself wrong.”

lando didn’t push you to say more, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. instead, he stayed beside you, his presence steady and grounding. the night stretched on, and for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to face it alone.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now: try yet again.

[thatswhywelovegermany]

German cartoon of the famous "Father and Son" series by e. o. plauen (civil name Erich Ohser).

The cartoon series was hugely popular in the early 1930s. Part of its success is thought to be the appearance and mindset of the two main characters that is fundamentally opposed to the Nazi ideas. Erich Ohser retired the cartoon series at his own will when he felt that it became too commercialized, and the pressure to produce more and more of the cartoons impacted his heartfelt connection to the two characters.

Erich Ohser was a staunch opponent of the Nazi party. He was immediately banned from publishing when the Nazis came to power in 1933. However, he was allowed to publish this cartoon series under pseudonym. After he abandoned Father and Son, he worked eventually as a cartoonist for the government magazine Das Reich to make a living, where he was praised for his Stalin caricatures. However, he was denunciated by a neighbor and arrested together with his friend Erich Knauf. Erich Ohser committed suicide the night before his trial. Erich Knauf was found guilty and executed by beheading.

[manifesto-of-a-femcel]

Beautiful Movies All Girls Should Watch

A list of movies that touch on coming of age, romance and complex female emotions.

May (2002): A socially awkward veterinary assistant with a lazy eye and obsession with perfection descends into depravity after developing a crush on a boy with perfect hands.

Audition (1999): A widower takes an offer to screen girls at a special audition, arranged for him by a friend to find him a new wife. The one he fancies is not who she appears to be after all.

Helter Skelter (2012): Top star Lilico undergoes multiple cosmetic surgeries to her entire body. As her surgeries show side effect, Lilico makes the lives of those around her miserable as she tries to deal with her career and her personal problems.

Ginger Snaps (2000): Two death-obsessed sisters, outcasts in their suburban neighborhood, must deal with the tragic consequences when one of them is bitten by a deadly werewolf.

The Craft (1996): A newcomer to a Catholic prep high school falls in with a trio of outcast teenage girls who practice witchcraft, and they all soon conjure up various spells and curses against those who anger them.

Malèna (2000): Amidst the war climate, a teenage boy discovering himself becomes love-stricken by Malèna, a sensual woman living in a small, narrow-minded Italian town.

Perfect Blue (1997): A retired pop singer turned actress’ sense of reality is shaken when she is stalked by an obsessed fan and seemingly a ghost of her past.

Rosemary’s Baby (1968): A young couple trying for a baby moves into an aging, ornate apartment building on Central Park West, where they find themselves surrounded by peculiar neighbors.

The Virgin Suicides (1999): A group of male friends become obsessed with five mysterious sisters who are sheltered by their strict, religious parents in suburban Detroit in the mid 1970s.

Sucker Punch (2011): A young girl institutionalized by her abusive stepfather retreats to an alternative reality as a coping strategy and envisions a plan to help her escape.

Piggy (2022): An overweight teen is bullied by a clique of cool girls poolside while holidaying in her village. The long walk home will change the rest of her life.

The Love Witch (2016): A modern-day witch uses spells and magic to get men to fall in love with her, with deadly consequences.

Pearl (2022): In 1918, a young woman on the brink of madness pursues stardom in a desperate attempt to escape the drudgery, isolation and lovelessness of life on her parents' farm.

Girl, Interrupted (1999): Based on writer Susanna Kaysen's account of her 18-month stay at a mental hospital in the late 1960s.

Black Swan (2010): Nina is a talented but unstable ballerina on the verge of stardom. Pushed to the breaking point by her artistic director and a seductive rival, Nina's grip on reality slips, plunging her into a waking nightmare.

Gone Girl (2014): With his wife's disappearance having become the focus of an intense media circus, a man sees the spotlight turned on him when it's suspected that he may not be innocent.

Jennifer’s Body (2009): A newly-possessed high-school cheerleader turns into a succubus who specializes in killing her male classmates. Can her best friend put an end to the horror?

Bones And All (2022): Coming of age romance about two cannibals

In the Mood for Love (2000): Two neighbors form a strong bond after both suspect extramarital activities of their spouses. However, they agree to keep their bond platonic so as not to commit similar wrongs.

Brokeback Mountain (2005): Ennis and Jack are two shepherds who develop a sexual and emotional relationship. Their relationship becomes complicated when both of them get married to their respective girlfriends.

Call Me By Your Name (2017): In 1980s Italy, romance blossoms between a seventeen-year-old student and the older man hired as his father's research assistant.

Maurice (1986): Two English school chums find themselves falling in love at Cambridge. To regain his place in society, Clive gives up Maurice and marries. While staying with Clive and his wife, Maurice discovers romance in the arms of the gamekeeper Alec.

Y Tu Mamá También (2001): In Mexico, two teenage boys and an attractive older woman embark on a road trip and learn a thing or two about life, friendship, sex, and each other.

Caroline (2009): An adventurous 11-year-old girl finds another world that is a strangely idealized version of her frustrating home, but it has sinister secrets.

Corpse Bride (2005): When a shy groom practices his wedding vows in the inadvertent presence of a deceased young woman, she rises from the grave assuming he has married her.

[contemptible-scoundrel]

attempting to commit suicide with a zip 22 and it misfires while Im chambering a round and blows off my finger but Im not deterred and cock it again and it misfires again and puts a hole through my neighbors dogs skull as it runs in through the front door to investigate the sound. the euphoric rush from killing a dog is enough to stave off my suicidal urges for a few days and I return to playing warframe and jacking off all day

[haveihitanerve]

What I believe would have happened to all the batkids if Bruce hadn't come in and been Batman, dark version-

Dick- he would have been consumed by vengeance and tried to kill Tony Zucco without Bruce’s guidance and support. Would have tried. He is dead by age eight. If he succeeds at killing Zucco, he is immediately caught by the police commissioner. At eight years old Dick Grayson is thrown in jail. He dies two years later, still behind bars. If he escapes the cops, he succumbs to his Talon nature as his tooth is not bitch slapped out of him by his father figure. He becomes a Talon and works for the Court of Owls, always present but never truly in control.

Jason- Jason never meets Bruce, never steals his tires, never gets killed by joker. He does not die at age 15. He doesn't even make it to age fourteen. He dies in an alleyway in Gotham, on a cold winters night, alone at age twelve. 

Tim- Tim does not stalk Batman and Robin. He is neglected by his parents and because there is no neighbor for him to stay with(cough cough bruce) Janet and Jack Drake take him with them on their cruise. Tim Drake is skinny as a bean pole and underweight. He gets rocked off the side and drowns because he never learned how to swim. 

Babs- Barbara Gordon becomes a detective just like her father at a very young age and makes it her mission to capture all the villains in Gotham. She succeeds almost and has about half of them in Arkam when she falls into a Joker trap. Due to the lack of technological access, she dies of a fatal wound at age twenty. 

Steph- Stephanie does not become a vigilante because of her father because he is taken down by Detective Gordon(age 18) before she has a chance to. Babs sees herself in the ten year old girl and starts to teach her how to be a detective and work with the law instead of outside it like vigilantes do. They create a strong bond however after Barbara dies Stephanie seeks revenge and is about to kill Joker when she gets shot from behind by none other than her own father, Arthur Brown, because with Detective Gordon out of the way he had a massive prison break. She dies at age 13. 

Cass- cass escapes from her father after her first killing and flees to Gotham, but without the protection of the Bat is captured by her father again and forced to become Ra’s Al Ghul’s bodyguard. Sickened with the death and killing required of her Cass committed suicide, but continually got resurrected by the pit until she could stand it no longer and stayed. 

Damian- Damian is never born, as there is no Batman. Talia never becomes pregnant with him. She does however, create a child with another assassin who is her lover and she gives birth to a strong, healthy boy named Aziz. He grows stronger every day until the day he turns twenty three, when Ra’s Al Ghul puts him in the pit and absorbs his youth, the same fate that would have befallen Damian had he stayed with the league(or in this case even been created). 

[lunastrophe]

About Drow Economy

From Drow of the Underdark (3.5e):

The drow economy consists of three separate yet inextricably intertwined systems of exchange, each of which is largely specific to a particular social and political caste.

Coins

When dealing with drow of a lower station, such as when a matriarch or priestess purchases goods from a vendor, the race makes use of coinage - just as do most surface dwellers. Gold, silver, and other precious metals have roughly the same buying power in drow communities as they do elsewhere, though the rate of exchange varies somewhat based on available metals, scarcity of resources, and the mood of the drow doing the shopping.

The drow rarely mint their own coins, preferring to make use of foreign monies brought in by outside traders or taken in raids on other races. On those rare occasions when they do mint coins, the results are exceptionally plain, either totally unadorned or stamped with the signs of Lolth and/or the house who produced them. The drow also use coins when trading with others, unless the foreigner has something of particular interest to sell.

Barter

Although one low-ranking drow might use coins to purchase goods or services from another low-ranking drow, the standard form of exchange between relative equals is a system of barter. A swordsmith might offer the neighboring baker a new blade in exchange for a few weeks’ worth of bread. A cleric might heal a wounded soldier, if the soldier in turn agrees to kill someone to whom the cleric owes a debt. A priestess might perform a marriage ceremony in exchange for several barrels of fine lichen wine and a potion of invisibility. At the upper levels of society, drow might trade slaves, individually or by the dozens, in exchange for exotic animals, valuable works of art, or access to a fertile mushroom farm.

Favors

The third practice, common only among the drow elite, is the exchange of favors. This system creates a web of debts and obligations that often stretches across the entirety of the house and church leadership, frequently binding drow to complete strangers by only one or two “steps.” A typical agreement of this sort might resemble the following: “If you ally with me to prevent the Matron of House Inlindl from gaining control of the northern trade route, I will owe you a great favor in exchange.”

The interesting thing about this system of boons is that drow actually prefer to pay off their debts as soon as possible. For a drow, having too many obligations hanging over one’s head is tantamount to political and social suicide. She cannot afford to directly challenge anyone to whom she owes a great favor, for fear of that favor being called in and ruining one of her ongoing schemes. Additionally, high-caste drow often trade favors to third parties, meaning that a matriarch might find herself suddenly obligated to someone with whom she would never willingly have cooperated, or even someone she doesn’t know.

One might imagine that the drow would simply ignore these commitments, but despite their selfish nature, very few actually do so. They know that if they refuse to acknowledge a legitimate debt, word will spread swiftly and nobody will deal with them in the future. They might even find the other houses turning against them, seeking to eliminate the threat to the system and the status quo.

Promise Tokens

Not even enlightened self-interest is always enough to keep the drow honest, so a wise dark elf making one of these deals often demands the exchange of promise tokens. These are small baubles or pendants, often made of silver, that are engraved with the symbol of the drow’s family or house. They are often also marked invisibly, such as with the arcane mark spell. If a drow refuses to honor a debt, the creditor might present the promise token as evidence of the arrangement when besmirching her name and seeking redress. Of course, it’s not impossible to fake a promise token, but their frequent usage does make reneging on a debt - or making one up - somewhat difficult.

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Franciszka Halamajowa

Chana and Moshe Malc were traditional Jews living in Sokal, Poland (modern-day Ukraine) with their two young children when the Nazis occupied their town in 1941. Immediately, local residents were emboldened to persecute their Jewish neighbors and violent attacks became common. A squalid, overcrowded Jewish ghetto was established in 1942 and the Malcs were taken from their home and forced to live there.

The Germans began rounding people up, a thousand at a time, and sending them from the ghetto to death camps. Frantically, the Malcs found an attic where six-year-old Chaim Malc could hide, and then Chana, Moshe and their toddler Lifsha, growing desperate, took refuge in a dank cellar with 30 other Jews. They were able to rescue Chaim from his solitary hiding place and bring him to the cellar, but unfortunately Lifsha wouldn’t stop crying. Tragically, a Jew who was forced by the Nazis to search for hidden Jews heard Lifsha’s wails and took her from her family and handed her over to a German soldier, making sure that the other Jews in the cellar wouldn’t be discovered.

Devastated by the loss of their precious daughter and aware that their own days in the ghetto were numbered, the Malcs knew their best chance of survival was to find a place to hide outside the ghetto. They managed to sneak out, but where could they go? They knew one Polish woman, Franciszka Halamajowa, and with nowhere else to turn, they went to her home and pleaded for help. Chaim Malc later explained how the family knew Franciszka. “You never know when you do a favor for someone what it will bring eventually. In 1936, my father and grandfather were traveling with a horse and wagon and they stopped for a woman who was waiting at the side of the road with a lot of parcels – this was how they met Franciszka.”

A kind-hearted woman who was grateful for the Malcs’ help several years before, Franciszka and her young adult daughter Helena warmly welcomed the Jewish family into their humble home. They furnished a small attic room above the pigsty for the Malcs and provided for all their needs. Franciszka’s son Wilmus helped them procure extra food and supplies for the hidden Jews. Franciszka and her family were fully aware of the risks they incurred by secretly sheltering the Malc family; the penalty for hiding Jews was execution on the spot. Franciszka was a devout Catholic who believed that God put the Malcs in her life so that she could help them. 

Soon, members of the extended Malc family also moved into Franciszka’s cramped attic, including Moshe’s mother, sisters and niece. A few months after that, Moshe’s brother Shmelke joined them, along with the four-person Kindler family, bringing the total of attic dwellers to thirteen. They had to keep quiet, and spent the long days praying, writing, and playing chess. Moshe Malc kept a diary in Yiddish, his native tongue. Amazingly, young Chaim later said, “There were high spirits in the hideout in the attic.”

Dr. Kindler was an experienced local physician who provided medical care when needed to the thirteen people in the tiny attic. Sadly, Chaya-Dvora Malc, Moshe’s sister, died of typhus and was buried under the apple tree in Franciszka’s yard. Dr. Kindler’s medical acumen prevented anybody else from getting sick, and in fact saved their lives in another way. Franciszka’s neighbors found out about the hidden Jews and threatened to report them to the Gestapo. In exchange for free medical care from Dr. Kindler, the neighbors kept their mouths shut. Meanwhile, the Polish residents of Sokal were abandoning the city because of the fear of enemy attacks. 

After the Jews had been safely hidden for twenty months, Franciszka was devastated when Nazis suddenly turned up at her front door. They didn’t know about the hidden Jews; they were there to build radar equipment on the roof of Franciszka’s home. Certain that the end was near, the Jews actually contemplated committing mass suicide rather than be sent to a Nazi death camp. Miraculously, the Germans suddenly abandoned the project – perhaps because the Russian army was closing in on Sokal. 

One month later, the city was liberated and for the first time in almost two years, the Malcs and Kindlers went outside. They were surprised to learn that Franciszka had actually hidden three more Jews inside her home, and they helped her cook meals and do laundry for the Malcs and Kindlers. Chaim later remembered the monumental day of liberation. “We emerged on a sunny day in July. We could hardly talk or walk. I was eight years old.” The thirteen Jews hidden by Franciszka were among only 30 of Sokal’s 6000 Jews to survive the war.

The Malcs went from Sokal to a Displaced Persons camp in Germany, where they had another son, Nathan, and then they immigrated to the United States. Franciszka never told anybody about her brave actions during the war, and went to her grave as an unknown hero. In 1984, Franciszka (posthumously) and Helena were honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem.

Moshe Malc’s diary survived the war to become a family treasure. Sixty-four years after they were liberated, Moshe’s granddaughter Judy Maltz made a feature-length documentary about Franciszka Halamajowa, the brave and pious Polish woman who saved three Jewish families. The movie is called “No 4 Street of Our Lady” – Franciszka’s address. It wasn’t until after the movie came out that Franciszka’s own grandchildren learned the extent of what she did.

For saving 16 Jews from the Nazis, we honor Franciszka Halamajowa as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[chronically-ghosted]

stay sexy and don’t get murdered

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 6K

summary: Trapped behind a secret wall to hide from a murderer, the close proximity forces you and Dieter to confront feelings you rather bury underneath your case to prove your favorite neighbor didn’t commit suicide. 

(This is the Only Murders in the Building smut fic in the chaotic stylings of Dieter Bravo.)

warnings: brief moments of tv-appropiate terror, arguing, mentions of suicide, mentions of death/murder, but more importantly: smut (like half of this is smut), oral (f!receiving), dieter’s bare ass nearly catching on fire, too many feelings for something that started as a crack fic idea

a/n: this is my submission for the Dieter Brainrot Club server challenge! Thank you so much to @sp00kymulderrr for putting this together!

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On the other side of the false door, the floor creaks. Fear arches up the back of your spine, your fingers digging into your thighs, your heart pounding somewhere near your ears. The threads of light that struggle through the nearly invisible cracks fade and emerge as heavy boots cross back and forth over the wooden floor. A thousand panicked thoughts pierce one after the other –

Did you shut the door all the way?

Could the intruder see the seams in the wall? 

What were they waiting for?

And then, like a red, bright flare barreling through your brain: what the fuck were they after in Dieter’s apartment?

Another step closer to the false door and dread smothers every thought in your head, until you can hear the thundering of your own heart, the quick draw of your breath that is obviously so loud, the intruder has to hear it. 

Another bootfall, another creak, less light – he’s coming right for you you’re drawing him in – you inhale sharply, fear beating your heart against your breast bone the closer and closer the shadow comes – all the light is gone – and –

His hand slips over your mouth and draws you against his chest. The chill of the hidden crawl space dissipates against his warm skin, his solid forearm like a protective barrier over your chest, his fingers suddenly around your wrist as if to catch you. Your body must think it's falling because your hands grip him around the forearm, pulling him even tighter, his warmth a balm to the sinking cold of fear. 

Shhh . . .

Maybe he says it or maybe you just hear it in your head, his lips against your ear, not a gust of air between your bodies, his own breathing so faint you vaguely think he might be holding his breath. The heady scent of his muted cologne – days old at this point – mixed with the zing of something citrus-y has your head fogging up faster, fear dripping away like melting ice. You want to keep your eyes trained on the cracks of light, keep your muscles tense and ready for a fight when that door inevitably opens – but you swallow against his fingers when you realize that underlying smell of spice coming from him is the smell of Takis sticks and how much it turns you the fuck on. 

In the silence, the footfalls stop. The pressure and overpowering heat at your back makes sweat peak at your hairline, heartbeat at a low thrum. You’re entirely sure both of you have stopped breathing, just waiting, hoping –

You squeeze your eyes shut – 

And then the boots turn away. Heavy, lurking, but in the opposite direction. The invader paces up and down the length of the apartment, never coming near the secret door again. And then, as quickly as he came, the front door opens and shuts. 

There is quiet, a ringing silence. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Dieter gasps out. He lets you go, giving you space again, and you are instantly cold. He drops his hands to his navy sweatpants over his knees, head dropping down against his chest. “Holy shit I thought we were gonna die.” 

Your lips are still warm from his hand so as if to give it back because you don’t want anything from him, you pout them out.

“If you didn’t fight with me about hiding, we would have had more time. Why are you physically incapable of listening to me?”

You watch sweat roll down his temples and you realize your back is also damp. Your knees quake as the adrenaline subsides. The droplet from his hair continues down his throat, catching on his collarbone between the two folded edges of pink-and-black see-through kimono he wore like it was a totally normal thing. Of course this is his painting outfit. 

If Dieter catches you oogling, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he straightens up and rubs his eye with the back of his wrist, still a bit out of breath. 

“You know, when someone with tits like yours pushes me into a dark closet, I’m not really one to argue, but I think I should get some credit for not calling the cops on the first person who broke into my apartment today. What the fuck were you doing in there?”

You’re not quite sure what makes you flush harder: that he caught you doing something highly illegal or that he thinks your tits are dark-closet worthy. 

“Your apartment is one of the few original rooms built as part of the Rhododendron,” you answer defensively, arms crossed. “And since these passageways never showed up on any later building plans, I figured no one knew they were here.” 

Dieter frowns as he wipes the back of his neck with his palm and your eyes definitely don’t track it. 

“You’re saying there have been people living in my walls, watching me jerk off and I never knew?” His dumbstruck look melts into one of lewd satisfaction. “Nice.”

No, see, this was why nothing was ever going to ever happen between you two. 

“God, Dieter, you’re disgusting.” You shove past him and lean into the door. “People aren’t living down here. Didn’t you hear what I said? Hardly anyone knows about this at all – and they aren’t waiting around – to watch – you come –,”

Three hard pushes and the door remains firmly shut. What the fuck? Your fingers skim the seams, looking for a latch or a handle, something.

“You can yell at me once we get back inside.” He shudders and wraps his arms around his chest. “I’m freezing my nips off in here.” 

“I’m trying, Dieter, but it won’t open –,” you push harder, using even more force than you did to open it on the other side. “It’s stuck.” 

“Move, I’ll do it –,”

“Fuck you, Dieter, I got it.”

“We’d be outta here by now if you did.”

“Just help me–,”

“Ugh – fine –  on the count of three – one –,”

“Two –,”

“Three!” 

Nothing. He slumps to the floor, his bare feet sprawled out in front of him. 

“For this much grunting and sweat,” he pants, “we should definitely be fucking.”

You flick his ear, glaring at him, the heat of exertion sparking up to your cheeks at his words. He scowls up at you and claps a big hand over his ear as if to protect it from further assault. 

With a huff, you take out your phone and slide on the flashlight. As suspected, the crawlspace continues on, long into the dark. 

“C’mon, there has to be a way out somehow.” 

“You’re not serious,” he snaps from behind you. “Even I know in an emergency situation you have to stay put and wait for the authorities.”

“Oh, you mean the authorities that don’t know we’re here and probably will never know, with my –,” you check your phone for emphasis, “zero bars!” 

His hands fly to his pant pockets and groans. “Fuck, I don’t have mine.” 

You step back, hinging at the waist in a low bow. “Then lead the way.”

“Fuck, this is not how I wanted to spend my night.” He groans again and shoves the heel of his palms into his eyes before crawling to his feet. He wraps the air-thin kimono around his torso and fixes you with a solid glare. “Fine, but I’m charging you for every toe I lose to hypothermia.” 

The hallways grow colder and darker the further you go, the air thickening with dust. You walk longer and longer as the passageway narrows until his shoulder bumps yours and eventually he has to follow an inch behind you to get through. But he’s not close enough to be warm.

“Can’t believe my last fucking meal was Froot Loops,” Dieter announces to the darkness after what feels like you’ve been walking for hours. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s scowling. “Fucking nasty.”

Your jaw aches from how tightly you grind your teeth together. 

“If it was so nasty, then why did you eat it?” 

“I couldn’t UberEats Captain Crunch,” he sniffs and you realize how cold your own nose is. “There’s a blizzard going on outside, didn’t you hear? Or were you too busy playing Nancy Drew, Baby’s First Break in?”

“I didn’t think you’d be home so early. You usually stop painting around eight, not 6:30.” 

“And just what were you hoping to find?” The casual sarcasm has been leached from his voice and genuine anger crackles over your shoulder. “I told you Mags gave me that key to her apartment of her own free will –,”

“– which you just conveniently forgot to mention–,”  

“– she gave it to me months ago and, so, yeah, sue me for forgetting!” You want to bite back with something, something to make the painful ache in your chest when you found out he had been lying to you go away. Something to scrape the taste of shame and disappointment off your tongue. But you know everything you’d throw at him would be unfair and childish. You stew so long in a bottle of your own rage and hurt that you don’t realize the silence has stretched on far too long.

When Dieter speaks again, he’s several steps behind you. You shine the flashlight on him and he barely flinches. You can see his broad shoulders shivering and you do think his feet look worryingly pink.

“The last time I saw Mags was just before a six month shoot. She gave me that key and told her to surprise her when I came back.” His teeth are chattering but he won’t look up at you. “I meant to call her, check in, while I was gone, but I just . . .” He shakes his head, eyes tightly shut. “I got back into town an hour after they found her body . . . which means I didn’t kill her, for the record. You can check my ticket.”

Your mouth drops open, shame spreading out like an electric shock across your skin. “Dieter, I never thought that you . . .”

His glare levels you and you wonder what his face looked like after you slammed the door behind you that night you found the key. You had spent two weeks afterwards wandering the halls looking for secret tunnels to peel the image of his face just before you left in a rush from the walls of your brain. What had he done in all that time apart?

“Whatever. Let’s just go. I think you already owe me a thousand bucks.”

He tries to move forward but you block him, standing in the middle of the hallway. The light of your phone hits him from underneath and his jawline plays shadows on his chest. 

“I didn’t leave because I thought you killed her, Dieter. You lied to me. I’ve been running in fucking circles over this thing for weeks and all this time you kept something from me! It felt like you were . . .”

“What?”

The heat of your anger rolls up to the back of your neck. “It . . . i-it felt like you were manipulating me. Play detective with the little idiot in 2B because you’re bored and I was . . . available. Like what we were doing, it didn’t matter to you.” 

Dieter’s teeth clench on the right side of his jaw. “Of course it matters to me. Mags was the only one in this entire building who treated me like a person and not a fucking spectacle. She was important to me and I know she didn’t kill herself. I wanna get the fucker who did it as much as you do.” 

“But you kissed me!” You feel the cold in the air drop down into your lungs so fast your chest aches. “You kissed me, Dieter, and then I found the key on accident – like you were hiding it from me – a-and I heard the message Anika left on your voicemail. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, but . . .” You squeeze your eyes shut, the cold from your lungs seeping into your bones. It’s nearly hard to breathe. “You and I are very different people, Dieter, and there’s not a world I can imagine you want anything to do with me, or Mags. I thought you were just . . . playing with me.”

The light of the phone hovers between you and him. Your toes are starting to ache from the ice-cold concrete and you briefly consider taking off your shoes and giving him your socks because that’s the instinct he draws from you. Despite how you fought it, how you clawed and scratched, you want Dieter Bravo to be okay, to be happy. But you can’t prostrate yourself on the altar of someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.

Not again.

“Dieter, please say something.” You can see his pant leg tremble in the blue light. “I’m sorry I–,”

“Did you ever think I like the fact that you’re different from me? From everything that my world means? That everything that makes you, you is amazing and gorgeous and I’m so fucking drawn to it, I lose sleep at night.” His voice is deep, hulking in a way that fills up the dark corridor until you feel like you are being smothered. But it’s not angry, not aggressive. If anything, his voice is thick with regret. “Anika was . . . a mistake. She knows that now. She’s seen it. So I can’t blame you for r-running the way you did, but . . . I’m not lying to you. Not about Mags, or how I feel, or anything else. I never have and I never will. You got that?”

Swallowing the grisly, meaty knot in your throat that could be mistaken for your emaciated heart, you nod. You are suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to fall to your knees and confess your own sordid past that made you the way that you are because he needs to know you’re NOT amazing or gorgeous or anything resembling someone worth losing sleep over. 

He needs to know he should run from you

“I’m starting to lose feeling in my toes, seriously. We need to get out of here.” 

He stands there staring, the dark shadows abandoned by the light of your phone hiding whatever is in his eyes. And then you realize he’s waiting for you to move. Your knees and elbows locked from the cold and the weight of his confession, you stiffly turn around, heading into the darkness without looking back.

About an hour later, Dieter bursts through his apartment again with a cry of relief and immediately bolts for the fireplace. He twiddles with the switch a second before a massive fire belches from behind the sleek black grate. With another deep groan, he drops in front of the fire and sticks his hands centimeters from the metal fence. He wiggles his toes and props them up on the marble lip. The stiffness recedes, the pink fading, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Either come in and shut the door . . . or leave.” 

Your fingers wrap around the edge of the black door. You are cold. Your fingers are cold. The hole in your heart that’s been growing there long before you met Dieter . . . makes you step through the threshold and shut the door behind you.

Dieter wiggles his toes against the marble lip, his elbows over his knees, his eyes the color of earth in autumn. He neither tenses or relaxes when you sit down next to him, extending your own extremities closer to the fire. 

The color has returned to his lips and you can’t find anything else in the room to look at. 

“I’d offer you a drink,” he murmurs to the flames, “but I still can’t feel my feet.”

I lose sleep at night.

“Dieter, look, I’m . . .”

His thick fingers wrap around the bone of his wrist and he shakes his head. “Don’t. You don’t have to say anything. Don’t . . . don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” 

“Thank you, Dieter.” You glance at him. The fire crackles in his eyes, wide in disbelief, fingers tangled together. “I mean that. I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I have without you.” 

He chuckles after a pause. “That’s not what you said when I broke into the super’s storage closet for you.”

“You’re going to get us arrested,” you roll your eyes and bump your shoulder into his. With a grin that is innocent and hopeful and full of bright fire from behind the grate, his gaze drops to the plush of your mouth, the wet crease where your tongue soothes dry skin, and his bottom lip curls between his teeth. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, “I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs.”

As though his gaze has a solid presence, it licks fire down your throat, over the back of your neck, rocketing into your spine and swooping low into the peak of your thighs. It darts over your lips, your nose, your cheeks, your ears, dragging lightning in its wake.

It isn’t the first time you’re consumed by the thought of kissing Dieter Bravo and it certainly won’t be the last, but it’s the first time you are made so overwhelmingly helpless by it, the wind is knocked out of you for a second. 

You wait too long to breathe, too long to tear your gaze away from his lips, too long to realize you’re leaning into him, until his broad hand redirects your forward motion up into his open mouth. 

This is the first time you’ve ever kissed Dieter Bravo and dear fucking god, please don’t let it be the last. 

His tongue lines your bottom lip, tasting, memorizing, marking that place that has you tilting in closer. Beneath your fingertips, the recluse beard scratches and burns and you take his jaw in both palms because you can’t wait to push it between your legs. His fingers wind into your hair and he’s leaning over you, consuming you like only your dreams of this kiss had before. 

All it takes is one soft sigh, one final moan of relief, your fingers curling around the flimsy kimono, and Dieter pins you to the floor in a single fluid motion. His knee digs into your thigh, trapping your legs apart, to make room for himself in the cradle of your hips, pressing himself into you and pushing air from your lungs. You can feel him hard, the tip of his cock warm against you, and that simple fact – the fact he wants you so badly – has you slotting an arm around the back of his neck, tugging him in tighter, closer, because not even sex would bring him deeper inside you. With a grunt, Dieter’s hand leaves your cheek, running hotly down your neck, the curve of your shoulder, and into the dip of your hip. He squeezes and you whine against his teeth. He rucks his leg up under your thigh, squeezes you again, rougher, more intentional, and you tug your head back, gasping for breath, lungs on fire and mind whirling like a book flipping open in the wind. 

You groan, air precious and limited, as he sinks just a hint of teeth into your jaw, your earlobe – harder, then – your throat, his tongue going flat and fat against your skin, then the valley of your collarbone. He mouths lower on your chest over your shirt, need overwhelming logic, and your fingers fly to slide up your own shirt, wriggling between his cock and the floor, and when he sees you peel your shirt up over your ribs, his mouth parts, eyes dark, framed by darker lashes.

“Fuck.”

Your back arches towards his mouth, towards his tongue and lips and teeth and the hot pant of air coming from the back of his throat. The lip of your shirt exposes your heaving tits and Dieter plants his mouth in the curve, groaning with a mouthful of your skin. He sucks, teeth prickling the skin, as if he could eat his way through you. His hips sway forward, heavy against the seam of your jeans and his nose draws up to your jaw before he’s kissing you again. 

“I’m not manipulating you,” he hums out of nowhere. He blinks his bleary eyes at you, his wide hands stilling in their touch, and you want to laugh and grin and tell him he’s being silly but you can’t, you can’t over the wild beat of your heart, the sincerity in his voice a grounding force beneath the bloom of pleasure riding up from where his hips press into yours. He dips his head and drops a hot, open-mouth kiss to your throat. “‘M not, I swear, I swear–,”

“I know, Dieter.” You tug his chin up with the press of your thumb, into your seeking mouth, and he groans, tasting the transference of want, of truth, of pure desperation on your tongue. The slip of lip between his teeth turns his touch frantic. 

“I want this.”

“Me too.”

Shifting over you, he kisses back down your neck, short whiskers stroking tiny burns against your skin, down your chest until he dips his head over your right breast, and bites – then soothes with his tongue. His hand nearly maps your other tit in one palm.

He squeezes as he bites again and your hips drive up into his, bliss sparkling like lightning between storm clouds beneath your skin. You aren’t sure if you moan his name or if it’s just pasted over every thought in your head. He makes you lose all sense. 

With a groan he lifts his head just an inch, the cold tip of his nose drawing senseless shapes over the curves of your breast.

“Wanna see your tits – can I see your tits, please?” His hand slides up your back, between your bra band and your hot skin and digs his nails in. “Please, pretty girl, please.”

You whine your consent, nodding into the messy heap of hair that tickles your chin, and he pinches your bra off before the last dip of your head. He flings it into the darkness behind him and with a strained groan, Dieter opens his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

The corners of his mouth are still a bit cold, the heat of the fire not quite enough, and when he slurps up from the underside, the fat curve of your tit, up to your nipple again it’s like someone outlined your goosebumps in ice. You scratch at his head, begging him deeper into your chest, and he obliges with a wet, swollen hickey on the top of your tit. His teeth hurt but with each suck, it’s like he’s plucking at the string connected directly to your cunt. You throb for him. 

His fingernail grazes the irate pink of your nipple, circling it again and again before he pinches and you arch, right into the flat hardness of his cock. You shake and intentionally, unintentionally, you don’t know your own body right now, rub up against his cock and Dieter, with your tit halfway in his mouth, chokes. 

“Fuck, I’d ask you to do that again, but I’m gonna come like a fucking jet engine in my pants. Lemme in,” he’s babbling as his hands drop to the button of your jeans and wrench the zipper down, “I’m gonna eat you out till you’re fucking dry.” 

Shoulders pressed back against the white shag carpet, you help him yank your pants down over your hips, up your calves, and off your feet. Dieter’s eyes can’t find a place to land – from the purple claim he’s laid over your tits, to the sucker pink swell of your lips, to the wettest cunt he’s maybe ever seen in his whole life –

He sits up on his heels and nearly gets caught up yanking the kimono off his shoulders. With shaking fingers, he unties his sweatpants and tugs himself out. 

You’d never noticed before when your mouth flushes with spit at the sight of a good meal.

You do now. 

He’s not overwhelmingly long, but he is thick, thick and a ruddy red, cream dribbling out. The sweat on his chest and stomach a few inches above sparks gold and warm in the light of the fire. In a single swipe over his palm, Dieter spreads that wet precum over his long cock, easing a few smooth strokes. 

“Mhn, this is what I look like when I fuck myself at night t-thinking – thinking of you,” he groans. His hand curls around your thigh, keeping you pinned, keeping you spread. But the sight of him jerking off and moaning your name drops your knees apart and your hand on your clit. With every swipe, you circle faster until you think it’s his hand on his cock that’s doing this to you. Dieter watches, mouth open, shoulders curved as you spin yourself wetter and wetter. “Came so hard I blacked out with the thought of you like this in my head. Wait, baby, move, I wanna –,” 

His hands on your knees, he shuffles closer and like you can see his words without asking, you tilt your hips up towards him, receiving him as he rubs his cock between your soaked folds. His blunt head catches your clit again and again, and you twitch, as though shocked in an electrical storm. 

“Oh, fuck, baby –,”

You dig your nails into the back of his hands over your knees, using the leverage to speed up his thrusts, the ruddy tip smacking where you need him most but never inside. His eyes flutter as he feels you soak his cock, slick dripping between your thighs and the shine against your skin nearly knocks the wind out of him. He grips you harder. 

“Fuck it, I gotta know what you fuckin’ taste like.” 

In a move that catches your legs over his shoulders, rolls your ass up off the floor, and his body back and further down, Dieter tucks his head and latches onto your cunt, presented high near his face. He inhales as he drinks, as he eats, as he dines on the spillage down to your ass. Dieter moans and suddenly the boiling heat of pleasure rages to an inferno when he wraps his lips around your clit and licks with the flat brim of his tongue. 

“Oh, oh-h-hmy fucking god, Dieter!”

It’s whiny and debauched, but it’s also a plea, a desperate bid to the last traces of your sanity. Your eyes roll back in your head and your back, flat, on the floor, but Dieter lays flat on his stomach, fingers pressing into your thighs, shoulders shoved up against the curve of your legs – his tongue still dragging breathless gasp after breathless gasp out of you. He’s tapping out nuclear launch codes with little licks of his tongue, eyes as effective at pinning you down as his thighs were. 

You can feel yourself drip for him, on him, into him because his mouth is pressed right up against the seam of your pussy. Words rise and fall and die in your throat, your mind following the rising path of your orgasm into nirvana. 

“Say it, baby,” he husks into your damp curls. “Tell me how good I fuck you with my tongue.” 

You groan, riding his nose. “So fucking good. Oh, fuck, wait, right there – oh, shit – Dieter, baby, ahh–,”

It comes on without warning, without slowing down, without giving you a second to breathe before bliss flattens you like a train. It courses through you, singeing your blood and showering sparks behind your eyes. You spill more for him, so much for him, and he eats, like drinking honey from the source – spill, and spill until there’s nothing but a thready pulse inside your body. 

He’s sucking directly from your tingling pussy when you finally push him back with a groan. Dieter retaliates with a huff, mhm mm, eyes black like the coals inside the grate, the entire bottom half of his face hidden from view as he hungrily tugs your hips to him with both arms. You’d never seen him quite so sure about something, so possessive.

Like he already owns your cunt. Stop me, I dare you, he taunts with his eyes.

“Dieter,” you plead, mouth dry, heart fluttering with each lick of his tongue. Your poor clit is drenched and stiff. “B-baby, I need you . . . up here.” 

With one last prod that slides just barely between your cheeks, up through your leaky hole, and swiping your clit one last time, Dieter unplugs himself from you, murmuring and wiping his mouth as he goes. Your skin glistens where his mouth leads and he can’t resist shining up that purple swell as if showing off where he lanced you through the heart. 

You half-expect him to shove his pants all the way down and shove himself into you, but he doesn’t. Instead the man known for his hedonism around the world and certainly within the building crawls up your body, drops a grateful kiss into the bend of your neck, and one by one, folds onto his elbows over you. His face smells like you, his aquiline nose inches from your own, his lips still damp and warm, and the soft brush of those lips high on your cheek has you shuddering in his arms, digging your nails into his expansive shoulders and tipping him into your waiting mouth.

He kisses you for a moment, breathing roughly out of his nose, before he wipes his broad palm across your forehead and pushes your hair back over your head, cupping the curvature of your  skull. The motion drags your eyes open.

“Hi there, baby,” he murmurs quietly across your lips, eyes soft and a thousand miles deep. Your legs tuck up around his hips. “Can I fuck you now?”

You nod through the sudden blockage in your throat, the swelling in your chest making your heartbeat twice as hard. You think you might die if he doesn’t. Dieter presses a kiss with just a hint of teeth against your cheek before sliding back down, littering your skin with kisses full of praise and heat, and hovering above your belly button, he knees off his sweatpants, fully down from his hips, the motion bending him forward and pressing his face into the swell of your stomach.

“I wanna make this last,” he slurs into your skin, “but I don’t think I can. Fucking dreamed about you for weeks. Scared out of my mind when you didn’t pick up your phone.”

Dieter covers you with his body, his palm planted by your ear, the other hand wrapped around himself, and his words register in your brain, the desperation peeling back the fog of lust-drunk. 

“W-when didn’t I answer my phone?”

His eyes, dark and wet, glance up from where you’re nearly combined and you nod, hands sliding from his biceps up to his shoulders. With a groan deep in his chest, Dieter rolls his hips forward, the blunt head of his cock sliding you apart and your mind nearly in half. You arch your back to take him more fully.

Half-way in and he drops his other hand to mirror the one by your head. He keeps pushing, keeps making room for himself, the thickness nearing choking you into blackness. You whine, incoherent syllables, and he grinds his jaw together.

“W-when you – fuck, baby, you’re so tight – when you went to that m-meat – ngh –,” he’s almost flushed against you, “that factory, ah-all by yourself.” 

Are you sweating? How are you sweating already? 

He ends against you, and you both groan at the sensation of his thick weight settling inside of you. You bury your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and tug – how dare you make me feel so good why haven’t you done this before please god don’t fucking stop now

“You were f-filming – Dieter! – you were in another countr-ry.” 

With half a laugh, delirium twisting his mouth up into a smile, he lowers down and kisses you, your own mouth slow to follow him. He pulls back, a fraction of an inch. 

“I would have dropped everything for you. Now, hush, I gotta fuck you until you can’t walk straight.” 

His palm cupping the back of your head, his arm curled with his hand flat on the floor, Dieter starts slow, his pace deep, curious just how much of him you can take without actually tearing apart, and his cock brushes something that sends sparks up behind your eyes, splits your mouth apart, and wrenches his name out of your mouth.

“There we go,” he hisses in your ear and speeds up his thrusts. Like music cranked up on a radio, you can feel yourself pulse, your heartbeat in your neck, as every tap of his cock overwhelms your body with pleasure. The least you can do is hold on; you wrap your arms around his heaving back, and tuck your legs up to your ribs and he squelches in deeper. 

“Hm – yeah – needed that–,”

Heat builds between you: between your neck and his panting breath, between the flushed skin of his chest inches from your sweaty one, between the brush of his course curls against your clit. He’s trying to make you remember every fight you had, every touch you shared, every shallow drop of his heart when you pushed him away again and again – he fucks you like he wants you to synonymize him with the very sensation of heat itself. But you’re unspooling rapidly with every thrust of his hips – more of you leaves as more of him comes in. 

For the first time in weeks, you don’t think about Mags. Or her murder. Or her blue-cold apartment. You don’t think about failure or fear, or your anger that you wield like a weapon. You don’t think of your parents or what the fuck you’re going to do with your life when this mystery is over – when Dieter inevitably tires of you – you can’t think at all. He won’t let you.

He knows you want to recuse yourself, retract and hide, but he won’t let you. 

The unimaginable stretch keeps your mind unfocused, blurred, and just when you think you might stabilize under the sensation, he kisses you. Harshly, softly, any kiss he knows you need to keep you in your body, forced to receive every devastating wave of pleasure he gives you. He palms back your sweaty hair off your forehead, salt clinging to his own curls, and sucks on your earlobe, asking how’re you feeling, my good girl? from between his teeth. 

Your stifled sigh is answer enough. 

“Almost there, love, what do you need, huh? What can I give you?” His words, offered in a voice so lust-strained, you feel the vibrations over your skin. You palm the center of his back, muscles hot and tight, and you answer with the only thing that’s on your mind:

“You.”

Breath suddenly short in his chest, he quickens his pace – shorter, faster thrusts that send you higher, sprinting towards an inevitable, bright end. His grip shifts as he squeezes your hip, that low ache tightening and locking down, the overwhelming sense of Dieter spiraling you apart. 

“Show me you mean it,” he whines, the scruff of his beard rubbing your jaw raw. “Come on this cock for me, baby, show me who you need.” 

You yank on his hair again and with a snarl, he snatches your wrists from around the back of his neck and pins them above your head. 

“Gonna fill you up with e-exactly what you need, gonna fuck you so full of me, your undies are gonna drip white for weeks–,” 

“Mhmn, yesDieterplease, yes, m’yours, y-your –,”

Another release, this one wild and spiraling, tears through you, up your spine, out of your mouth in a wide, silent scream. Your body curls around him, clinging to him as you pulse and seize, your legs twitching. Your hands tingle with a sudden loss of sensation as Dieter squeezes down on your wrists, head tucked into your neck, and with a shuddering, “f-f-fuck,” he follows your release with his own. A rough shove and he breaches your squirming cunt with his warm cum, the feel of it tugging your own smoldering orgasm along a bit further. Basking in the last twitches of your cunt, Dieter lowers his head to your shoulder, his thumbs distractedly rubbing soothing circles around your wrist. You can’t move, can barely breathe with his weight on you, but the pounding of his heart through his chest into yours settles the haze in your brain.

You know now you can’t hide the thunderous machinations of your own heart from him either. 

“Don’t wanna move,” comes the dispassionate grunt at your neck, “but my ass is on fire.” 

A smile then a full body laugh, that makes Dieter lift his head. His own smile strikes you in your heart: adoration, a little sleepy, and relief. He glances over his shoulder at the exposed flames mere feet from his bare ass. 

“S’ what I deserve, fuckin’ in front of an open fireplace.”

“We all must suffer for our art.”

At that he turns back to you, grinning wildly and a tad bit proud. His own ego blown up to excuse his softening cock, Dieter slides out of you and onto his back. Without his chest, the heat from the fireplace collides with your bare, sweat-slick chest and you shiver.

“Cold?” He sits up and tries to catch a loop of the sheer blanket on the back of the couch but you still him with a touch of your hand on his back. The look in his eyes, that dopey ease by which Dieter lives his life, makes your other hand on your stomach tremble.

You don’t want your overthinking to ruin a truly blissful mood, but anxiety chatters at the back of your teeth. Instead of suggesting you both go to his room to shower off, or if he thinks the police might know about the secret passageways, you ask:

“Did you mean it?” 

His face softens, eyes go warm. You should specify which part, but he doesn’t need you to.

“Yeah. I did.” He leans down and kisses you briefly on the mouth, knowing you have more to say and worry over. 

“But–,”

“As cute as your but is, we’re not gonna do that right now. You’re going to get under this blanket with me and we’re going to talk about what you’ve found about the case and then we’re going to solve this mystery together.” Dieter reaches back and finally snags the blanket. With a shuffle, he, sweat-streaked and cum-covered, lays down with the blanket over his shoulder and opens his arms to you as though he’d done it a thousand times. Your face hot and your eyes painfully dry, you curl up into him. 

“Together,” he repeats. “Did you hear that part? That’s important. We’re going to Scooby-Doo this together.”

Silence, where all the wrong things sit heavy on your tongue, your own twisted morality desperate to push him away and run out the door – silence stretches, uncomfortable and tight and –

“I’m proud of you for that pun, and not using it like I’m gonna ‘Scooby-Doo-Screw-You’.”

“Fuck,” Dieter groans and you giggle. “It was right there!” 

His chest is warm as you bury your face into his skin. 

You watched true crime television specials to be prepared for the worst. You listened to podcasts about missing women to avoid making deadly mistakes. You fought and hid-away your whole life to keep yourself safe and protected, but nothing – nothing in the entire world – could have prepared you for falling in love with Dieter Bravo.

His smile is soft and he knows you well enough to know that you’re thinking about something. With a brush of his thumb over your cheek, he asks:

“What?” 

And all you can do is shake your head, the deluge of words and feelings trapped behind your lips and the only noise you can make to keep them inside is a squeak.

You press your forehead into his shoulder and his arms smooth across your back, tugging you closer.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . I feel safe with you.” 

Safe, and happy, and loved.

+

[ceranchi]

another world

Headcanons

#chuuya headcanons

(alright i saw this fan art and i thought about some headcanons In a parallel world tell me if u like it this is my first post)

Im imagining about this picture

Like chuuya has been shift to another world . he has gone to a another world where he and those around him are just normal and civilian people with a normal life.What would their life be like if they didn't have the ability? What kind of people were they?Chuya remembers everything from his past and his world In this world, he has become the 16-year-old version of himself in high school Well... everything was not so different.

_ Dazai was still Dazai! Definitely not as evil as he was in his own world.They were classmates. Chuya was a high school boy And Dazai...well...he couldn't put a name on their relationship. They were definitely not friends! There was a lot of competition for this title and position.But those two were close neighbors.

_Chuuya lived alone with his mother in this world.His father had died many years ago when he was a child at the age of eight.His mother, but...oh, his mother was very calm Chuuya, however, did not go to his mother. He had a bad temper.Once in the alley, because the boys had hit his mother's shopping basket with a ball and threw her purchases on the ground, Chuuya started a fight with them.But it didn't matter how hot-tempered Chuuya was. He was always kinder, calmer and gentler around his mother and those he cared about.His mother sat for hours on the chair in front of the window and still thought about Chuuya's father. Sometimes he forgot that he was dead. If she was not his mother, Chuuya would have scolded him with a logical and rational sentence and reminded her to finish the lamentation and return to the real world. But she is his mother. . He swallows his sharp and direct sentences and brings blankets and tea for his mother.

_As much as he loved life as a normal boy, he still carried heavy burdens from his previous life In a way, it's like this life is the same life, just a little...different.Chuya was a famous character in school. He was the head of the school's sports team.Team captain. It made him a little proud to walk around in a school sports jacket and show off. His mother was proud of him.He had his own groups, his friendly and sports groups Although someone rarely fought with Chuuya because he was the best...but Chuuya never bullied anyone. He hates those who bother the little ones.And he would have prevented this as much as possible. He took the smaller ones under his wings

_.He was not addicted to anything, but I can see that he sometimes tried alcohol or cigarettes

_He loved the Nike Jordan shoes that his mother bought for him. Even in the worst conditions, he bent down and polished them to keep them clean and new.

_There was no mafia in this world, and there was no blessing. Chuuya should have thought of a more normal life for himself and his mother. So in the afternoons, he went to a part-time job to support his family.He somehow liked life in this version of himself more. It's true that he didn't have a father yet, but living with a kind mother with orange hair was very pleasant

_.His mother was strangely loved Dazaii like his own son!! Ah, That crazy beast commits suicide.He didn't know why her mother loves dazai this much. He was sure that the boy was playing a role for his mother. He was a master of speaking anyway.

_Strangely, there were memories of his childhood in this world in his brain. He knew Dazai in this world since he was almost a child.Dazai was their neighbor's son, unlike Chuuya, Dazai had lost his mother. His mother committed suicide when he was young. It is said in the neighborhood that Daza saw the scene of his mother's suicide and hanging with his own eyes.Chuuya didn't sure, anyway, Dazai had never talked about this issue.His father was not a very good man, he was addicted to alcohol, he didn't come home much, and when he came, Chuuya and his mother could hear the noise of arguments and breaking dishes from Dazai's house. Chuya never mentioned Dazai's bruises in the following days.

_His mother always told Chuuya to look for Dazai and invite him home for dinner. Anyway, that boy doesn't have a mother to cook for him and he is growing up.Chuuya would sigh in these situations And he was looking for Dazai.Dazai did not welcome Chuuya well, but Chuuya could somehow take him to their house. He didn't know how, but Dazai really changed in front of his mother. A part of him had suspected that Dazai was not playing a role, because his eyes somehow became kinder and calmer when he met his mother. He is somehow quieter and more polite He sat at the table and thanks for his short meal

_Some days Chuuya's mother would ask Dazai's permission and Dazai would stay in their house for days, Chuuya would grumble and hate to lend Dazai his shorts. He was very noisy.

_Chuuya was somehow focused on Dazai. He was a pure devil in his own world. He couldn't have changed that much in this world, right?

But somehow, Dazai had not harmed anyone in this world, of course, except himself!

_He was still a suicidal maniac, well Chuuya couldn't blame him too much. After all, he had seen his mother's body on the rope.He could see the destructive effects of his bad family. This made him think that maybe Dazai in his own world had his own personal issues.

_Most of the time they were just competitive boys. Dazai was a smart and intelligent boy in school. Chuuya wondered how this creature could be great at school while reading various books all day long. And he has a fight in his house practically every night, all his grades are so great He was known as the handsome boy of the school, the one who wins the hearts of girls with his tongue But even in this world, Chuuya had never seen Dazai have anything more than sexual activities with a girl Dazai returns emotional relationships and a girl's heart Every once in a while. Chuuya could see a girl in the corner of the school crying for Dazai and her friends comforting her.

_Dazai and Chuuya were competitive in school but in different ways. Chouya was the popular athlete of the kids. The one who kind of wanted to surprise Dazai with his grades. But Dazai always turned his back and focused on his book.

_+hey idiot did u see What a cool throw I had.

+yeah whatever chuuya . I don't really care

This would make Chuya angry and swear at him. Dazai was laughing under his breath

_They helped each other somehow. When their teacher found out that they are neighbors and have a close relationship, he forced them to help me in their lessonsIn a way, Chuya became Dazai's sports coach to force the skinny and lazy creature to exercise in order to get a passing grade in sports.And Dazai became the teacher of Chuya lessons Dazai is running around the ground in a sports sweatshirt and a white shirt. Sweaty and lazy, he grumbles + I can't do it anymore. Enough!And Chuya was looking at his watch relaxingly +You still only ran around the field three times, you idiot . But it was not a problem because Dazai compensated. He was explaining so strongly that Chuya hung up for a moment. And Dazai with a single word + are you so dumb? It broke his confidence No, he was definitely not dumb. Chuya was smart, but he was not good at things that required calmness and deep thinking. He couldn't concentrate. Dazai knew this but did not help him.

_ Other than that, they just spent time together. There was not much difference with the original world in this regard. They used to play games together. Sometimes they would sit for hours. And Chuya's mother had to forcefully wake them up for dinner.

_During the nights when Dazai stayed at Chuuya's house, Chuuya would give him a pillow and a blanket to lay on the floor next to his bed. Chuuya often fell asleep quickly, but that bitch sometimes stayed up until morning. Chuuya was shocked how he comes to school with a dimple under his eye and can live.

_In the nights when Dazai was sleeping, it was not much different, he would shake or make so much noise that Chuuya would wake up.

_ They would stay up late talking about various issues. Chuuya had noticed how Dazai became more vulnerable late at night.In a way, the mask falls off with his self-confidence. But as soon as their conversation became something more serious, Dazai retreated and fell asleep Chuuya did not insist.

_Dazai always had a band-aid on a part of his body. He was very skilled in self-harm It was enough to want to enter the room. He definitely banged his back on the door handle out of distraction. Chuuya noticed the new wounds on Dazai's body.He used to wear bandages just like Dazai in the original version. Chuuya was thinking about this + was Dazai of his own world also harming himself? Was this the reason for the ridiculous bandages?

_Dazai tried to keep his mental breakdowns in private. He wore a mask as much as he could.Chuuya would suddenly go to their door and see him somehow more tired, more wounded and dirtier. Dazai didn't even have the patience to argue.But sometimes these collapses happened in Chuuya's house. Chuuya would wake up in the middle of the night and find that Dazai was in the bathroom.

_Chuuya bandaged Dazai's wounds. While he was cursing him and saying how childish he is that he can't take care of himself.And Dazai just listens in silence

_Chuuya felt that he was closer to Dazai in this world. Of course, he had his friends who were in sheep in this world as well, but he seemed to like Dazai better.Dazai in this world is a wounded cat in need of love.Chuuya sometimes wondered if Dazai was the same in his world? he knew Dazai better in this world.

_Dazai also showed some good parts of himself. He brings a collection of autographs of her favorite singer for Chuuya's mother.He had helped Chuuya several times in the expenses of Chuuya's house, although completely indirectly! Neither Chuya's mother nor himself knew. And months later Chuuya found out indirectly, though he never brought it up to Dazai.

(tell me if u would like a part B)

[r--c]

The Tsuyama massacre was a revenge spree killing that occurred on the night of 21 May 1938 in the rural village of Kamo close to Tsuyama in Okayama, Empire of Japan. Mutsuo Toi  a 21-year-old man, killed 30 people, including his grandmother, with a Browningshotgun, katana, and axe, and seriously injured three others before killing himself with the shotgun. It is the deadliest shooting by a lone gunman in Japanese history.

Mutsuo Toi cut the electricity line to the village of Kamo on the evening of 20 May, which left the community in darkness. At around 1:30 a.m. on 21 May, he killed his 76-year-old grandmother by decapitating her with an axe in her sleep. Armed with a modified shotgun, a katana, an axe, several daggers and 200 rounds of ammunition, he strapped two flashlights to his head and prowled through the village like a youth engaged in "night-crawling" or "Yobai", entering the homes of his neighbors.

He killed 29 neighbors, 27 of whom died at the scene of the incident, while two others were fatally wounded, dying of their injuries later, and seriously injured three others, in about an hour and a half. This was almost half of the residents of the small community. At dawn, he committed suicide by shooting himself in the chest on a nearby mountain.

Mutsuo Toi (5 March 1917 – 21 May 1938) was born in Okayama Prefecture to well-off parents. His parents died of tuberculosis when he was a baby, so he and his sister were brought up by their grandmother. He was originally outgoing, but at the age of 17 he became socially withdrawn after his sister married in 1934.

Toi left several long notes which revealed that he was concerned about the social impact of his tuberculosis, which in the 1930s was an incurable fatal illness. He felt that his female neighbors became cold towards him once they knew of his illness, and that he was despised as hypersexual. He stated in the notes that neighbors insulted and treated him badly after he was found to have tuberculosis.

For revenge, he decided to enter their homes and kill them. He waited for the time when the women returned to their houses. The authorities were concerned, and his gun license was revoked. He prepared swords and guns secretly.

He regretted that he would not be able to shoot some people he wanted to, as that would have involved killing people he regarded as innocent. He wrote that he killed his grandmother because he could not bear leaving her alive to face the shame and social stigma that would be associated with being a "murderer's grandmother".

[perfectlysunny02]

2024 was the best and worst year I’ve ever had. Let’s Recap.

January: Nothing happened in January.

February: I turned 22! Yay! I never thought I’d be older than 21 so this was a big deal to me.

March: We got Bucktommy, and I was already pretty alright on here from Buddie, but my blog grew even more.

April: Nothing really happened in April.

May: my mental health was becoming terrible.

June: I got promoted to SGT.

July: new neighbors moved in and they had a mariachi band at least once a week, several at one am. i finally figured out my financial aid and i was able to start getting ready for college. stopped being friends with a person who later played the victim so hard like it was the fiddle and im so much happier. no one is hitting on my SO, or trying to steal my work every day!

august: i’m not gonna lie. this month kicked my ass. i tried to commit suicide. i met so many new friends. i went to see glass animals, started therapy, started meds, lost like ten pounds. started school, moved away.

september: i filed for divorce. it’s still very unclear if im happy about it or happy in general. but i no longer woke up and wanted to throw up. so progress. i also became so close to @cafe-con-letty ❤️

october: i hung out with my friends a lot. and went to halloween parties.

november: i cut off tons of people following the election. bucktommy broke up. i stopped being friends with the crew, but especially two members in particular, because it turns out, i don’t like bullying children, i don’t like people who say inconsiderate things, and i don’t like people who invalidate my feelings. i also saw taylor swift and it was so good.

december: i finished my first semester, and let’s just say i’ve learned a lot. i haven’t managed to take off my wedding ring just yet, but new year new beginnings. it’ll be okay, i’ll be okay.

and as always, thankful for

@diazsdimples @theotherbuckley @tommykinard @bidisasterevankinard @cafe-con-letty

@lfjho @laundryandtaxesworld @kinkykinard @livelaughbuck @exhaustedpirate

@geniusjester @mintedwitcher @notacyborg @whentheresidentsareevil @babygirltommykinard

@swagmaster9k @sweaters-and-silly @hyperfocusthusly @loulou-land

@shyaudacity @dearqueend @quintessenceofdust88 @bibibibuckleykinard

I hope you guys have a good holiday and the best next year.

all my love,

Sunny

[whenthegoldrays]

ELLY'S TOP TEN K-DRAMAS (with songs to match!)

10. Queen of Tears (2024)

Baek Hyun-woo is relieved to hear that his wife has only three months to live, which will save him the mortification of divorcing her — what he isn’t expecting is to fall back in love with her in those three months. This show gets a little crazy, but the acting is top tier, and the ensemble cast is one of my favorites ever. (Also, the OST is my new most beloved.)

Song for this drama: Don’t Take The Money

9. Extraordinary Attorney Woo (2022)

Woo Young-Woo navigates her career, life changes, and love as a rookie at Hanbada Law Firm and a woman on the autism spectrum. Young-Woo is a darling, and her boy is the greenest flag ever.

Song for this drama: scales

8. Castaway Diva (2023)

After 15 years stranded on a desert island, Seo Mok-ha pursues her dream of becoming a singer while searching for the boy who helped her escape her abusive father. Despite the horrors, this show will make you believe there is good in the world.

Song for this drama: Sweet Chamomile

7. Hometown Cha Cha Cha (2021)

Yoon Hye-jin moves to a seaside town to open a dental clinic and finds the home she always wanted amidst its colorful residents. So funny and the male lead is basically the perfect man.

Song for this drama: Apple Pie

6. Familiar Wife (2018)

A married couple who have fallen out of love get to see each other in a new light after the husband, Ju-hyeok, goes back in time and changes their history. You've never rooted this hard for such an infuriating man.

Song for this drama: No One Knows

5. Marry My Husband (2024)

After being murdered by her husband and best friend, a woman wakes up ten years in the past, months before her wedding, and must fight to prevent her marriage and eventual death from happening again. Swooniest male lead, cutest female friendships, and some of the most legit terrifying villains.

Song for this drama: Funeral

4. Lovely Runner (2024)

Immediately after her idol commits suicide, the devastated Sol is transported back to high school, where she discovers that the two of them used to be neighbors and begins a desperate mission to change the course of his life. Get ready for the most adorable, most pathetic loser of a male lead ever.

Song for this drama: Always Remember Us This Way

3. Crash Landing On You (2019–2020)

After a freak accident lands her in North Korea, Yoon Se-ri must rely on the soldier who saved her life in order to survive, stay hidden, and get back to South Korea. Rips you apart in the best possible way.

Song for this drama: If I Never Knew You

2. Live Up To Your Name (2017)

Renowned acupuncturist Heo Im falls 400 years through time and lands in Seoul, where his life and fate intertwine with that of cardiac surgeon Choi Yeon Kyung. Beautiful, unmatched chemistry.

Song for this drama: epiphany

1. Twinkling Watermelon (2023)

Ha Eun Gyeol is mysteriously sent back in time, where he meets his parents as teenagers and discovers he didn't know as much about them as he thought he did. Peak family feels, peak soft couple, and peak enemies to lovers.

Song for this drama: Long Live