#unless you want to fuck real life serial killers or something like that but i wouldnt be friends with people into that anyways

[serial-unaliver]

electionpost.txt

"a convicted felon won". the worst felon in my life was never convicted, but his victims were. money first and foremost determines whether or not your crimes will be punished so of course rich people are allowed to brag about getting away with rape, and they will not be socially shunned because violence against women only "matters" to people when they can use it in a political argument without any real conviction.

and no, I don't think kamala lost because of misogyny, in fact I feel insane reading takes on this because it's actually shocking she got as far as she did without the clout biden had to get him votes. a lot of people voted for her just in opposition to trump, though, so ironically trump specifically being her opponent is likely what got her more votes. regardless, it's practically impossible for trump to lose no matter who the democratic candidate is. no matter how much democrats pander with policies it won't matter. they could literally copy-paste trump's platform and trump voters would still never vote for them because trump's main appeal is persona. he has a cult of personality that trumps (no pun intended) political platform. that's why no trump supporter gives a fuck about your arguments regarding trump flip-flopping on certain topics. melania even posted something advocating reproductive rights recently--none of them withdrew support. so, unless democrats are actually stupid, the whole 'appealing to the right' thing has always been a scam and democratic voters keep falling for it. they aren't appealing to the right because they think they'll win; it's because to them, going left is still worse than losing an election. going left would lose them more money in the long run.

trump's popularity is not a mystery. it can be explained by aggrieved entitlement combined with already existing political strategy. "aggrieved entitlement" is defined as "the fusion of a sense of entitlement with victimisation" and "anger and antisocial behavior in response to encountering the boundaries, limits, and refusal of another person". it is a repeat occurrence in response to social change threatening dominant power structures...or, if you want the most simple explanation, "women and minorities graduating university hurt my feelings". in the US aggrieved entitlement has also been proposed as a motive for some school shootings and certain serial killers with crimes comparable to femicides.

anyway, these are my thoughts.

[lamentofabramo]

Can I get an NSFW alphabet for Tobias Rogers (ticci toby) 🫶

I've been doing a bigger piece, so I might as well do something smaller like this since it's been a good while since I've posted now. (oops)

I'm basing this less on the fandom vers of him, hopefully.

Didn't proofread this much. (edit: I feel bad that I didn't acknowledge the heart, so <3 of course you can doll)

MINORS DNI

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Toby obviously is one of the more caring of the creepypasta's, of course that's a low bar, but he is considerably more human than some of them. He's still gruff and fairly untalkative after the deed, yet he'd offer some water before leaving if you were just a one-off/ casual fuck.

If you were his partner however, I'd imagine he'd be more caring, still untalkative and unaffectionate, but maybe he'd hold you or hold your hand in this. Of course, he'd blame this on being unable to properly feel what he's holding, but the slow decrease in his twitches as he holds you speaks a lot more than he ever will. He's not comfortable, but he feels slightly less stress in your presence, at least until he has to leave, his mind penetrated by the voice of the foreboding presence of the ever-taller man.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) His own favourite body part would probably be his arms, he was a scrawny kid for most of his life, but you sure would start gaining muscle if you swung your axe at people who you considered worthy of it. There's probably also some scars across his arms that remind him of his life before. Of course, he'd hate that idea, but he still has some attachment to his sister, his mother, no matter how hard he may try to push it out of his head.

For his favourite part of his partners, I feel like it'd most likely be your waist. It's something for him to grab, to hold onto to remember you're real, that you're still alive against his better judgement.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) If you asked for it in a specific place, sure he'd do it if he was in a good mood. On your chest, ass, inside even. He'd risk it, he had nothing to truly lose anyway. But his favourite place would most likely be on your stomach, just the wet streaks across your stomach would do things for him. He's not sure why either, he wouldn't register that he does that almost every time unless you pointed it out to him.

If you did, he'd probably consider why for a second, his eyes widening in realization before shrugging. "Any better ideas?" he'd mumble, absently listening as he stroked himself. Toby would listen if you told him anywhere else, but… his eyes focused on that smooth surface.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He secretly wants to push the boundaries of his condition. He wants your hands around his neck, trying to choke him until it hurt. It was strange really, he had a high pain tolerance, yet he craved this pain. Maybe it was because he wanted to be normal, maybe not. He didn't want to think too hard on it, like many other things he just shrugged at the idea and continued with his life.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Toby was definitely not an experienced guy, even before the accident where he finally became 'free' (If you could say being slenderman's lackey was free) the most he'd done was hold hands with a girl in primary school.

He wouldn't be insecure with it however, he never viewed himself as a sexual being, the most he'd ever fucked was his fist on particularly rough nights. Sure, he'd had crushes on women, but when you become a serial killer you go one of two ways. A sex maniac or a complete recluse. Unfortunately, Toby became the latter.

However, since he had a less than regular childhood, he was never able to go through the same sexual awakenings as many of his peers. Instead, that most likely came later, so when he met you he was awkward, like a teenage boy. Most of his language is through grumbles and grunts anyway.

When he realized you were stuck in his head it all changed though, his sex drive increased massively. His poor hand.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying) Cowgirl probably rocks his world, he loves that intense eye contact that comes with it. The way he looks up at you through his fringe, his mouth slightly open as he pants and grunts, is a reward in itself. However, he would get impatient, his hips thrusting up to meet yours or his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you down further on his cock.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) If something was funny to him, then he'd smirk, like if you hid your body from him even though he was about to be deep inside of you.

When he gets further into the activity, he'd let out breathless laughs, sometimes blaming that on his tics. He couldn't help it, though, he loved the way you responded to him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Toby probably doesn't care much about how groomed he is, sometimes he'll shave, but other than that he's got whatever going on.

He has a small happy-trail up to his belly button though, it shows when he raises his axe too high. It's a dark brown colour, just like his hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect) He's probably not particularly intimate, maybe some words here or there if he feels like it, but don't overestimate him too much. He probably came inside you before he kissed you.

His cheeks pinken slightly whenever you suggest kissing, but he quickly slouches and looks away with an almost childish pout to pretend as though he doesn't care.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Like I said in the earlier one, sure he jacked off every now and again, but it was more so a way to pass the time, to get some serotonin in his ever-pleasant life. But when he gets fixated on something, or rather in your case, someone, his sex drive spikes. He wants you in his hands, in his vice, it frustrates him, so he takes this frustration out on himself.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) He's probably degrading, mixed with praise. He's basically up for anything. He's killed someone, I'm sure a weird kink won't kill him.

However, if he does think your kinks are unusual he will take the piss out of you for it, teasing, but he still takes part in it. Its fun.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do) Wherever you want, he's not arsed, really. Against a tree sounds the most fun.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) As cheesy as this sounds, you. Maybe some aggression on your side would get him going too, that mouth of yours was lethal sometimes.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) Like I said before, he's practically up for anything. He might not be physically aggressive for you too much, though, it'd remind him of his past.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He's a munch, if he's in the mood enough, he could probably cum from giving you head. He'd deny that though, God that'd be embarrassing.

Not only that, but he'd receive too, no doubt, Toby would find it fun to just gently tug your head up and down on his cock.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) Toby would probably be slow but deep if he's teasing you. But if he's just fucking you, then it'd be fast, his hands pulling you down on his cock with faster speed.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Hell yeah brother. Just give him the words, he might tease you for it, but he'd never say no (unless he's in a more depressive mood).

He'd love to fuck you in the back of his car too, or masky's car. Just for the hell of it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.) He's a risky guy, but surprisingly, he wouldn't do anything that could get him potentially caught by the law. He's on the run for a reason, he's not willing to risk his freedom for a good fuck (sometimes).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?) He'd probably like to overstimulate slightly, 2/3 rounds before he's clocked out and completely dry. He'd last an average enough time, 20 minutes normally.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) Seeing your body twitch with something that isn't him would make him jealous. However, a little vibrator never hurt anyone. He'd tease you if you had any dildos or anything, though, asking pettily if he "wasn't enough" or that you were "stretching yourself out" for him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Big tease, but he always fulfils your wants. It may take a while, though.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) The only noise he really makes is grunting and whispers on how dirty you are. He's loud enough that you can hear him, but not loud enough for it to be a full-blown moan.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He does want to see how you'd look crying for him all bloodied up, most likely someone else's blood, but he's not picky. Maybe fucking you on top of a recently deceased.

But he'd never admit that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) An average to slightly bigger man, About 6.4 inches. Probably measured it one time when he was bored, and he hung onto the .4 for his ego.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Not too high unless you exist, then…as much as he can get his hands on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He doesn't sleep much after it, doesn't feel comfortable sleeping in front of others, even someone like you. His nightmares don't help.

[goodnightmemes]

YELLOWJACKETS SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ The only thing you should ever say to the police is, "I want my lawyer." That's why I put it on the cookie. ❜

❛ Before you go, you should take some Hawaii 5-0 punch. It's just regular Hawaiian punch, but I gave it a snazzier name. ❜

❛ I might have to break up with him. Unless I get lucky and he just disappears. ❜

❛ I don't want to talk about the future, anyways. I'm all about living in the moment. ❜

❛ You're, like, holding on to me or whatever. That's, like, haunting 101. ❜

❛ I had to cut back the rations again. There's not much left. ❜

❛ The thought of you with someone else always scared me. But it also turned me on. ❜

❛ I'll make a solid kidnapper out of you yet. ❜

❛ There's no such thing as false hope. There's just hope. ❜

❛ I'm not scared of you. I'm never gonna be scared of you. ❜

❛ This is how you're choosing to say "I love you," for the first time? ❜

❛ You weren't the only smart one. You just liked to think you were. ❜

❛ What if my only way of dealing is to numb myself into oblivion? ❜

❛ They're too focused on their own shit to even notice that I'm gone. ❜

❛ Well...you're not a picture of normalcy yourself. ❜

❛ I can feel your heart beating. ❜

❛ Everyone has their role. ❜

❛ Stop reliving this! You're in the vise grip of your trauma. ❜

❛ Every time that you try to save someone, a lot of bad shit happens. ❜

❛ Serial killers love puzzles. It's a documented fact. ❜

❛ For fuck's sake, shut up! Don't you see how much damage you are doing? ❜

❛ I don't even know where you end and I begin. ❜

❛ Believe me, if I could relax about anything ever, I promise you, I would. ❜

❛ As I'm sure you can imagine, emotions can run high in a place like this. ❜

❛ You never know when you might need to leave the country sans passport. ❜

❛ It made me feel like...I didn't know what was going to happen. And I liked that. ❜

❛ You can't blame yourself. We all did it together. ❜

❛ Dude, I don't even remember what socks I put on today. ❜

❛ I guess I'd kind of do anything to see him again, you know? ❜

❛ Moving in with you means everything in my life changes. ❜

❛ I think shit is gonna get a lot worse out here. ❜

❛ Thing is...it's one thing to point a gun at a person. It's another thing to use it. ❜

❛ There's a look people get when they realize they're going to die. It's that one. ❜

❛ My hand wasn't shaking because I was afraid. It was shaking because of how badly I wanted to do this. ❜

❛ I'm gonna live how I want to. How I know I'm meant to. And I'm gonna be the person that I know I am. ❜

❛ They're all lucky to have you. It's pretty rare to have a friend who's relentlessly got your back. ❜

❛ In small towns, everyone knows who and where the weirdos are. ❜

❛ I don't normally hitchhike and...look like this. ❜

❛ I know that you're depressed. I know that you can't see it, but I can always tell. ❜

❛ Yes, I am still depressed because it's kind of a forever thing, but I'm doing real work. ❜

❛ And I swear to God, if you lie to me again…I am so fucking over secrets. Like, I can't. ❜

❛ Oh, my fucking God. So, you… you killed a person? ❜

❛ Maybe one day I can talk to you about it, but for now, can that just be enough? ❜

❛ I don't understand why you won't see what's right in front of you. ❜

❛ I'm sorry I disappointed you. I love you even when you try to control me. But I'm okay now! ❜

❛ I think we need to get you out of here. ❜

❛ But I just got here. I don't - I don't want to leave you. ❜

❛ As parents, it's part of our job. We have to protect her, we have to shield her from making the same shitty mistakes we made. To throw our fucking bodies in front of her if that's what we have to do. ❜

❛ No, you can't deny this anymore. There is something deep inside of you that is connected to all of this. ❜

❛ So, you gonna tell me why you're here, or are we just gonna pretend this isn't super weird? ❜

❛ I'm doing a fucking thing here. I don't need you getting in my way. ❜

❛ If I happen to mention sacrificing anything on an altar, well, just ignore that part, okay? Thanks. ❜

❛ Do you get how lucky we are? Some people never find someone they trust enough to share their deepest secrets. ❜

❛ You think I'm capable of murder? ❜

❛ You're charming and impulsive, which are traits of most serial killers. Only, you pull it off. ❜

❛ Look, all I'm trying to say is, I like you regardless of your extracurricular activities. ❜

❛ That's medication for me to mind my own business. You should take two. ❜

❛ Maybe you don't have to be dying to have regrets. ❜

❛ I'm mixing my pop culture metaphors 'cause I'm fucking upset! ❜

❛ I can't ask you for your help 'cause I don't want to hurt any more of the people I love. ❜

❛ You should know better than anyone we can't define a person based on their past. ❜

❛ I don't need your fucking prayers, I need you to have my back. ❜

❛ We weren't alone out there. ❜

❛ You should get the hell away from me. I'm poison. I ruin people. ❜

❛ We did so much fucked up shit out there. And, yeah, maybe it was to survive. Maybe. But I don't think we deserved to. ❜

❛ Women have been having babies for millions of years. You're gonna be fine. ❜

❛ The wilderness recognizes your sacrifice. And so do I. ❜

❛ The power of that place. The god of that place. We did terrible things in Its name. ❜

❛ It's all your fault. There's just something wrong with you. You always do this. ❜

❛ Aren't you probably the last person who should be giving me legal advice right now? ❜

❛ I know I have no right to ask you this, but truly, what is going on with you? ❜

❛ I just want to know you haven't given up on love. ❜

❛ Maybe I have given up on love. But don't flatter yourself. It's not because of you. ❜

❛ You know I don't deserve your friendship, right? I just hurt people. ❜

❛ Suffering is inevitable. And only by meeting it with compassion can we truly begin to grow. ❜

❛ I never even wanted to be a mom. ❜

❛ I did not start out a bad person. But in case you haven't noticed, life doesn't tend to turn out the way you think it will. ❜

❛ Oh, no. What happened? Fuck, are we going to jail? ❜

❛ It's you and me against the whole world. ❜

❛ You lost a lot of blood and you were unconscious. We thought we lost you. ❜

❛ I kept surviving all this shit that should've killed me, and I just...I figured it meant something. You know, like maybe it meant that I had some kind of purpose in all of this, but, uh...Yeah. I'm not fucking seeing it. ❜

❛ I need to know why the fuck I'm still here. ❜

❛ Shouldn't you be in therapy? ❜

❛ I'm not like you, okay? I don't think of killing as a joke. ❜

❛ I really am very grateful that your hobby seems to be figuring out how to be the perfect serial killer. ❜

❛ I've always kept my daughter at arm's length. I think just out of fear that she would...die, I guess. Or maybe that she was never even real to begin with. ❜

❛ I can't have another death on my hands. ❜

❛ I can't wait for you. I don't have that kind of time. ❜

❛ Tell me, is there anything of value in this life that doesn't come with risk? ❜

❛ Does a hunt that has no violence feed anyone? ❜

❛ What, do you want to casually reminisce about our time in fucking oblivion? ❜

❛ Well, if I'm repressing things I don't know about, I am very okay with never figuring it out. ❜

❛ I know there's a lot of pain. You need to let it out. ❜

❛ I don't understand. You measured the grave to the standard six feet? ❜

❛ You're lying to me. And I want to know why. ❜

❛ Maybe [name] dying wouldn't be the worst thing. ❜

❛ When they get a whiff of how much of a liar your mom is, they'll realize that the ❜ psychopath apple doesn't fall far from the fucked-up, man-eating tree. ❜

❛ So, this is what you've all been doing with your lives? Chasing blackmailers and murdering lovers? ❜

❛ I think we can agree that it's in everyone's best interest that [name] is gone. ❜

❛ If I die, don't waste my body. Promise me. ❜

❛ I thought you loved all of me, like I love all of you. ❜

❛ We put ourselves in danger for you. You've been using us! ❜

❛ I've been trying to fix...No. I have been telling myself that I've been trying to fix things and make the problems go away, but the truth is, I've just been doing stuff that makes it worse. ❜

❛ We're all pretty messed up. It's time we finally fucking talk about it. ❜

❛ This isn't something that therapies can fix. ❜

❛ I think that you might be taking this whole, like, cult leader persona thing... a tad far. ❜

❛ I never meant... I didn't want this. ❜

❛ You started this. It's done. And it's going to save all of our lives. ❜

❛ I appreciate you trying to teach me...forgiveness. It's a nice idea. ❜

❛ I let him die in my place. It was supposed to be me. ❜

❛ You're a good person. You really don't belong in this place. ❜

❛ I'm not ashamed. I'm glad I'm alive. And I don't think that any of us who are still here should feel ashamed of that. Ever. ❜

❛ That was a beautiful false confession. I could see it came out of real love. ❜

❛ You want to help me move this body? ❜

❛ It's up to you. You can submit. Or you can run. ❜

❛ You know there's no "it," right? It was just us. ❜

❛ I never wanted to be in charge. ❜

❛ No. I'm not supposed to be here. ❜

❛ This is exactly where we belong. We've been here for years. ❜

❛ It's not evil. Just hungry. Like us. ❜

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Pleasure Is My Business: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Summary: You’re brought back to your high school days with this case. You put that behind you when you graduated, but life has a funny way of bringing you closer to the person who made your life miserable back then.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"The prostitute is not, as feminists claim, the victim of men, but rather their conqueror, an outlaw, who controls the sexual channels between nature and culture." - Camille Paglia

Before you leave for work, you grab the coffee you premade as soon as you wake up. The coffee is right next to your high school reunion invitation. The opened card stares at you whenever you pass by it, begging you to acknowledge it. High school was one of the worst years of your life because not only did kids bully you, but you felt their own pain as your own.

It wasn't fun.

This reunion is in a few days but you're still in Quantico. Looks like you won't get to go, and honestly, you're kind of relieved. Spencer wants you to go and prove to everyone you're this hotshot FBI agent (which you are), but you don't feel like proving to a bunch of people who never gave a fuck about you in the first place.

"Are you gonna go?" Spencer says from behind you.

"We'll, seeing how it's in a few days and we're not in Dallas, I don't think so. It's so stupid because instead of a night, they made it a whole weekend getaway. As if I want to spend more time with them than I have to."

"Maybe you can go to the other one."

All you can do is shrug. You really don't want to get into this right now, plus, you have to get ready for a case Hothc pulled together. Hotch got called to Dallas early in the morning to do a briefing on a case sent by Patrick Jackson, the attorney general.

Hoyt Ashford, a hedge fund manager for a major bank, has turned up dead in a hotel room. Hoyt didn't do too well in the public eye after going on talk shows and talking about how the real estate crisis wasn't a real thing. He posted an apology video about the issue, but once word got out that he died, his lawyers classified it as a suicide.

If you know any better, then that's not true.

According to Hotch, there was Viagra near Hoyt's body. Considering that his wife was at home with the kids, it's safe to assume the prostitute he was with killed him. Something that's confidential and not to be mentioned in any reports is that Hoyt took $10,000 out of a fund in cash. No one saw the prostitute he was with, which isn't surprising since they know how to be discreet. According to Patrick, this is the second murder in Dallas.

You might be able to attend your reunion after all.

"Female serial killers are a fascinating field," Spencer says once everyone is in the air. "We don't have much information on them, but what we do know involves throwing the rules completely out the window. Take the signature, for instance. They don't torture or take trophies because there is no sexual gratification when a woman kills. Murder is the goal. They don't have to do anything extra."

"So, basically, women are more efficient at killing," you half-joke.

"Historically, they have had body counts in the hundreds."

"Assuming that the job is the stressor, what are some of the reasons prostitutes kill their customers?" Hotch asks over the phone.

"Money, drugs, and PTSD. At some point, every call girl, no matter how well paid, gets coerced into an activity she didn't consent to. Aileen Wuornos used to purposefully stage paid sexual encounters as an excuse to murder men she thought would rape her," you explain.

"Wuornos was psychotic and disorganized. I think this girl is poisoning them before she has sex with them."

"She's using Tetramethylenedisulfotetramine. It's a popular rat poison in China which can be easily soluble in alcohol," Spencer explains after reading the files Hotch sent over.

"Poison is the perfect MO. It's quiet, quick, and the victims never see it coming because they think they're getting lucky." Hotch makes an uncertain noise. "Does that mean something to you?"

"These men are paying $10,000 a night for discretion as well as sex. She has a history with them. She didn't decide to kill them at the moment. She walks in with the intent to kill them, and she's doing it before she sleeps with them. She's not just organized, she's also methodical. She decides early which one of her clients is worth killing," Hotch says.

"Maybe the victims all share the same fetish. Both victims were in their fifties, highly visible, and careful of their image. If they were kinky in the same way, they'd go to great lengths to hide it."

"We're facing a corporate culture that'll do everything it can to keep us out."

"Actually, I had some luck there. Hoyt's wife isn't too happy with how he died. She agreed to talk to us but because every silver lining has a dark cloud, the hedge fund released a statement." JJ pulls out her phone to read the statement that was sent to her. "Ashford died peacefully in his home, according to lawyer David Madison.' They're already trying to close ranks."

"Does that language sound familiar to anyone else?" Spencer asks.

"What do you mean?"

"It's the same thing as the murder of the first victim. 'According to the company lawyer, Stanton died peacefully in his home'."

"Y/N and Morgan, start with the wife and see if you can get her to open up. JJ, call the lawyers and tell them I want to meet with both of them."

"You want to play them off each other?"

"I think one of them wrote both press releases. Let's see which one calls us back."

Once you land, you and Derek head over to the Ashford home where Yvonne Ashford is eagerly waiting for you.

"Mrs. Ashford, we're very sorry about your husband," you say.

"I've been getting nothing but condolences all day. I feel like a hypocrite for accepting them, knowing how he died."

"We think your husband might have been targeted because of something sexual he did with this call girl. I know this is hard, but is there anything you can tell us about what he liked?"

"In bed? I can sum it up in one word. Younger."

"How much younger?"

"Twenty-five. That was when I first met him."

"So, your age difference was part of the attraction?"

"Are you kidding? It was the whole relationship."

"Mrs. Ashford, no offense, but your husband spent a lot of money on this woman. Was there anything else at all that he liked from a younger woman besides the ego boost?" Derek asks.

"There's a certain kind of man, Agent, for whom the only kind of sex that matters is the ego boost. In a marriage like ours, you have to work at it or in my husband's case, pay for it."

Your phone rings and you step off to the side when you see Hotch is calling.

"Yeah, Hotch?"

"We got a meeting with a madame that sets meetings up like the one Ashford was in. Spencer is heading over to meet with her. I want you to go with him."

"Sure." You hang up and walk over to Derek. "I got to go. See what else you can find out about Hoyt."

"Yeah."

The madame, Lauren, is hosting an open house where she is able to meet clients discreetly. It's actually pretty smart since people might think they're there for the open house instead of something else entirely.

"This is actually pretty smart," you say when you meet up with Spencer. "Properties like this are safe and an inspection-free investment for large sums of cash."

An older woman walks out of the house with a big smile on her face.

"Well, hello, you two!"

"Are you the--"

"Isn't this neighborhood just fabulous? You're gonna love this house," she cuts your boyfriend off. She escorts you two inside the house for more privacy. "You two need lessons in faking it. I teach a class."

"So, you arrange dates for escorts?" you ask.

"All I arrange are meetings. What happens between two consenting adults when that meeting is over is something I'm not liable for. Now, who wants a scone?" she offers from a platter.

"Listen, we're looking for someone who is a high-end prostitute who takes fees up to ten thousand dollars. She has the intent of killing her clients before having sex with them."

"Oh, yes. We all know about this woman. She's terrible for business."

"I guess there's only so many men that can afford the service you provide, right?"

"Yes, but with the way she's behaving, she's only hurting herself. An escort's client list is the most important investment she has. It's her daily income and her retirement package when she sells the list."

"She's not working with a service then. No madam would allow an escort to kill off the clientele."

"What about the type of work your employees do?" Spencer asks nervously. "We're sort of operating under the assumption that this escort is killing men who make her perform a specific sexual act."

"What did you have in mind, sweetie?" she smirks.

"I... I don't even... I don't know."

"Don't mind him," you giggle. "It's his first time."

"If I may, I think you're looking at this all wrong. Start with this question: why would a man pay a woman five figures?"

"It's not just for sex, is it?"

"Of course, you've got to be good in bed to be successful, but that's the easy part. What men want more than the no strings attached sex is a therapist. Someone who will absorb the worst parts of their personalities."

"They're looking for someone to tell their fears and insecurities to. Everything they can't take home to their wife."

"That's what I groom my girls to do--how to talk to these men and how to listen. Don't get me wrong, deviancy comes with the territory. I can't tell you how many men need to be submissive as an outlet from their extremely stressful jobs. I can tell you that if the sex was the reason she was killing these men, she would have broken long before she charged $10,000."

"It isn't how these men act in bed, it's how they act out of it," Spencer says.

This unsub isn't killing at a specific time because it's whenever her client wants to meet with her. While you've been talking to Lauren, another murder has taken place. You and Spencer leave the open house and immediately head over to an office firm.

Joseph Fielding is found dead inside the elevator, tied to an office chair with X's marked in lipstick on his eyes, and clear tape wrapped around all over his mouth.

"The victim is Joseph Fielding. He was the CFO here," Rossi says when you two get there.

"Was he poisoned?"

"Yes, and staged. She killed him in his office and then rolled him out here to be found."

You walk over to the victim but pause when you see the energy left behind by the unsub. It's blue because the unsub is a female, but you recognize this energy. There are eight billion people in this world with eight billion different base energies. Every single person you've met has their own energy signatures, and you're familiar with this one. Not only have you seen this energy before, you know the person attached to it.

You've met and gotten to know this person before.

"I know this unsub," you say.

"You do?" Hotch asks.

"Yeah, but I can't put a name to it yet. I've definitely seen it sometime in my life."

Hotch gives you time to put a name to the unsub, but for right now, he focuses on what he can see physically.

"The lipstick is new."

"It was done postmortem. Reid said female serial killers don't leave a signature. I think she did that just for us. She's already exposed him at his most vulnerable. Now she wants to be noticed."

There is commotion by the barrier formed by local police by a man trying to get through, which he does eventually.

"Which one of you is Aaron Hotchner?"

"Me."

"I'm Larry Bartlett. I represent Mr. Fielding in Webster Industries."

"This is a closed crime scene, Mr. Bartlett."

"I know. I spoke to Ellen Daniels, and she said you're a very reasonable man."

"Escort him out, please," Hotch says to one of the officers.

"No, wait. Please." The officer tries to grab him, but he doesn't leave right away. "The press is outside and they can smell blood. Is there any way we can handle this discreetly?"

"We're not about to lie for you," Derek says.

"You don't have to lie. Just don't comment."

"Excuse us."

Hotch takes the team off to the side to talk about the benefits of not commenting on the murder. "Is there any reason to go public yet?"

"Validating her is exactly what she wants. If we hold back, she's more likely to make a mistake," you say quietly.

"He doesn't need to know that. We need everything you have on Fielding like bank accounts, tax records, and emails."

"Everything?" Larry asks in uncertainty.

"Everything."

"I'll gather everything and send it in the morning."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Upon a second watch of the trap and analyzing it from a psychological perspective (not taking into account the silly direction and at times nonsensical plot holes and character choices) and not a horny perspective, I think it’s so facilitating. Gonna leave my in depth thoughts below.

I think it’s fascinating how cooper just bullshited his way through the entirety of the concert. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening but he adapted to his surroundings and manipulated every single person he encountered in such a clever and cold way. He smiled in people’s faces as he listened to the police radio, he sneaked into a swat meeting and was even like “wow! You guys are huge!” (Which like lol no baby YOU are with your 6’3 mf ass). And his switch of body language as soon as he stepped out. He just seemed to know exactly what to say and what to do, and if it didn’t work, he thought of something else. I also want to note I find amusing that he almost thought of it as a game, in typical sociopath fashion (which yes ik is an outdated term but saying APD seems a little too clinical for my horny blog), he kinda enjoyed the chase and was even making faces at the description of himself (he also laughed at lady raven when she was like “you’re such a good boy”). He was very unbothered and collected up until he realized his perfect life was ruined, that the perfect image his family had of him was gone (the two lives mixed). Which is very on par with his antisocial personality traits.

Though I will acknowledge the fact that man actually was being dumb asf going back to the house knowing Rachel was the one that ratted him out (yes ig he didn’t know for sure but he suspected it, and let’s be real, he’s smart enough to piece it together without Rachel telling him verbatim). Unless maybe he wanted to get caught? It just seemed like very impulsive thing to do, which doesn’t seem on character for his more cold and calculating personality. His survival was the most important to him (other than his perfect dad of the year and upstanding member of society persona) and I don’t think it made sense for him to go back to the house and top of that eat something from Rachel when he suspected her, but then again maybe he wanted to get caught (or this is just bad character choice).

I also think it was incredibly dumb on his part to straight up tell lady raven he was the butcher. When this happened my expectation was that he’d kill her before she told everyone? I mean I can see why logically that’d be complicated but I expected a better outcome. It didn’t sit right with me that suddenly the focus was shifted to her and in the process they made him panic and make impulsive decisions (i.e run after her and pound on the bathroom door in front of his family, try to kidnap her instead). For someone who was shown to be incredibly smart and calculating and was described to never panic, this seemed like a very rash choice. Like what did you think was going to happen? But this movie does have character flaws and plot issues so I can’t be too critical.

Going back to the positives, another thing I found fascinating is once again his ability to manipulate every situation to his favor. Realistically speaking, in no sane world would a bunch of swat officers allow a suspected serial killer to grab something, they’d be dragging him to the van. But they allowed him to fix the bike. And the reason why I think Cooper knew this would work was because he already knew they knew he had OCD, so they knew if he had a “compulsion” he had to do it or else he would potentially lash out or get violent (this is typical when a compulsion can’t be accomplished there is a lot of anxiety that may lead to aggressive behavior or some type of breakdown). The thing was, this wasn’t a compulsion. He didn’t need to fix the bike. But the cops didn’t know this. Hence why (in my in movie understanding, regardless of logic) he was able to get the metal thing. But what’s funny about this is that you can see it in his face as he’s undoing the cuffs he’s like ooh and he laughs. I think cause he realized that he actually got away with that, that he manipulated everyone to his advantage once again, even when he was supposed to be “under control” and “subjected”. Even in cuffs he manages to be in control of the situation by coming up with ways to manipulate people to benefit his survival.

And I think that’s wonderful. I often enjoy seeing sociopaths actually be sociopaths (from a scientific standpoint as a psychology major) Like the level of manipulation and calculating cleverness (Dexter is my biggest example of this). Regardless if this movie is good or bad (I think it’s alright but it does fall apart after the concert), I think Josh (my hubby) did a fantastic job with what he was given. His mannerisms and facial expressions were so on point you could tell when he was being himself and when he was putting on the act. It was fantastic.

Anyway Josh I love you and everything you do, you’re so perfect you made this nonsensical silly movie enjoyable <3

[hazbinmurderparty1846]

Full list of casting for the Sweeney Todd AU (and reasons for all of them)

Mr Todd: Obviously it has to be Alastor. Why? Well, because first of all: serial killer. Second of all, I feel like Todd is what Alastor would become if he went off the deep end. I know he's already pretty fucked-up, but he's not as bad as he could be, and mark my words if you put him through something like what Todd's been through, that is exactly how Al would become. Possibly even worse.

Mrs Lovett: Rosie. Do I need to say more? She's a sweet, cheerful cannibal lady with motherly qualities, and she cares for Alastor a whole hell of a lot. I did have some issues with casting her as Lovett, though, mostly because Lovett seems slightly less stable than Rosie and her relationship with Todd is clearly not very healthy on either end even before he kills her. But Rosie still fit her too well not to.

Toby: Now here, look. I couldn't figure out who the hell to put as Toby, so unless y'all have any ideas I'm gonna be casting an OC in his place. Said OC was already intended to be Rosie's adopted child, so it fits. But if anyone has a better idea I'll be glad to hear it, I hate using OCs in things that aren't centric to them.

Judge Turpin: Valentino. Again, need I say more? His main thing is being a rapist, and so overwhelmed by lust that he would ruin a man's life for a small chance at a woman he found attractive. Val already demonstrates this kind of behavior in canon, albeit towards Angel Dust, not Emily. Who else could it be? Plus he dies, so.

Beadle Bamford: Velvette. She's the closest character to Val that I could think of, and them being assholes together would make sense. Plus I just really wanted to draw her in a suit and top hat.

Signor Pirelli: Vox, of course. His only purpose is to be Todd's rival and get murdered by him almost immediately, who else could it be? Vox would probably openly allow Alastor to murder him tbh, the bottom that he is- plus, I also just really like the idea of him singing opera in an obnoxious Italian accent.

Lucy: Emily. Now hear me out - I'm not normally an AngelicSmile shipper, but it's the only Alastor ship other than RadioRose that I can even remotely picture. Plus, she's sweet and naive enough to be Lucy - her getting taken advantage of by Val and attempting suicide after, while a very dark and sad concept, is very plausible.

Johanna: Again, unless y'all have any ideas, I'm replacing her with an OC. I considered Vaggie, but decided against it because she'd be Alastor and Emily's daughter and that just felt weird. I considered Niffy too, but Niffty x Charlie is really not something I wanna write, so I scrapped that too. Help is welcome.

Anthony: Charlie. Who else could it be? A naive, idealistic, determined young sailor who never gives up, especially when it comes to love. Sounds like Charlie to me. Plus, her rescuing Alastor and bringing him home is such a Charlie move, let's be real, nobody else on the cast would do that.

And that's it for now! :D So, do y'all agree? Any suggestions for improvement? I'd love some help if you'd offer it, but if not thats fine! ^^

[hoshigray]

⋆⁺₊⋆ Rules From .☽˚ the Stars ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 . . .

Minors/ageless blogs should NOT interact with 18+ posts. I'm very much aware that I'm not your mother; however, respect the principle: if you're not of age for it, then don't fucking do it. If you interact with my stuff, it's 100% on you, and I can't be held accountable for the things you read when I continuously warn my readers before continuing on.

Characters aged 18+ are the ONLY candidates for smut material. Do not ask me to write anything sexual for minors/characters that are canonically under that bracket. Timeskip ages will be checked if they're legal.

Unless specified, the reader I write smut for in my fics is always fem/afab unless stated otherwise, in which case they would be gender-neutral (or male! if specified). Prounouns are always they/them unless specified on contents.

My reader is blank-coded, meaning skin, complexion, hair, and physique are NEVER mentioned unless specified in my warning/contents because I want to leave more room for the imagination. The only thing that's implied is that they are shorter unless mentioned otherwise.

Reblogs and comments are always and forever appreciated. I thank you from the bottom of my heart when you rb + love reading your thoughts as they make my craft much more satisfying.

All of the things I have written on this blog are mine and are meant to stay on this site; if I wanted to post somewhere else, I would've already. In other words, do not repost, copy, translate, or use my works OUTSIDE of Tumblr (esp. w/ no credit).

To add to this, don't ever plagiarize any of my works. Would you like it if I copied you're whole fucking flow, word-for-word, bar-for-bar? Exactly, so be courteous.

Everything in this blog is organized, so use my tag directory if you need help finding stuff.

If you are racist, homophobic, sexist, a TERF, like to bring drama/discourse, or just generally a dick, please don't bring that here. My blog is a safe space for all, and I would be bummed having to block ppl that get in the way of that.

My blog is most definitely not spoiler-free; I will try to keep certain things censored; however, like I said, I can't be held accountable for what you see when I warn you.

Wanna be mutuals? Just ask! I won't bite, promise!

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑴𝒚 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝑮𝒐 . . .

In terms of requests/asks, I go by what interests me rather than who comes first. It's not that I won't like your idea; I just don't want to spend my time writing something that 1) I don't know how to write or 2) doesn't quite interest me at the moment.

Please summarize your ideas in a few sentences. I get wanting to see the big picture; however, I'm just one person and have ideas of my own. If you ask me something that is as big as my phone screen, chances are that I won't write it.

Once again, I'm only one person, so don't be surprised if I don't get to your asks/ideas with superhuman speed. I have a life of my own outside of writing (shocker), so be easy with me if I don't get to a certain ask right that second.

Read all the rules + what I won't write before you decide to go into my inbox and ask me to indulge in your horny fantasies.

𝑨𝒔 𝑭𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒔 𝑭𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝑮𝒐 . . .

As of now, this is a writing blog centered on Jujutsu Kaisen. I may sometimes expand to other fandoms, but my central fixation is JJK.

I write for both men and women characters, and smut material for said characters 18+ years of age (however, if you ask me to write for Mahito, I will break something and have you pay for it).

I tend to have my works in the small font option; it's just my style of preference (may or may not change upon consideration).

Please don't request the same thing over and over for the same character(s).

𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥�� 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞: r*p3/noncon - dubcon - real people (actors, idols, serial killers, etc.) - loli/shotacon/pedo - kidnapping - [pseudo]incest - scat/piss kink/watersports - abuse (physical and mental) - feet kink - aging up minor characters - gangbangs - yandere + tsundere - baby-trapping - noncon somno - vore - period sex (some ppl aren't comfortable) - pet play. * may subject to change + stuff will be added if i find it uncomfortable.

That concludes the rulebook; if you read it all, you're a real one!! And now, you are ready for the masterlist .ᐟ :33

Updated ✩ June 11th, 2024...

[yandere-fics]

if ya dont mind me askin, what are your oc's biggest kinks?

(ofc I don't mind! Ask away! Don't feel worried to send in any asks! This is a bit shorter.)

♡ What Are Their Kinks ♡

♡ The Kingdom Version ♡

♡ She wants you to use the strap on her. I've said it before but this girl is a complete bottom, there is not a single dominant bone in her body. She loves any way you dominate her but especially if you use the strap on her. ♡

♡ Kind of likes degradation but is also a huge baby about it. She will literally be crying and begging you to stop insulting her and teasing her, meanwhile she's clutching the bedsheets harder every time you degrade her and on the verge of the hardest orgasm in her life. ♡

♡ If you spit in her mouth, she won't complain. Her poor dick will be the hardest it's ever been in it's life though. Lol. Sorry but I am never going to shut up about my trans girl Miriel agenda. ♡

♡ Edging. This is personally why I am scared of Kassien. She loves edging so much. Why can't she have her fun? You force her to be your patient mate so she'll get her revenge by making you be patient for your orgasm. ♡

♡ You're not going to get to enjoy yourself for possibly a few hours and afterwards when it finally happens, it's gonna feel like your bones are melting and you just want to sleep. That's when the real fun begins. ♡

♡ She just loves seeing you so drowsy after she's finished with you. It makes her want to ruin your nap and keep you up with her fingers or mouth for another hour. ♡

♡ Nora, much like Miriel, she is basically no sex drive unless her darling initiates. Being immortal sort of dulled her ability to want such things over the years. She, unlike Miriel, has a very dominant side. She won't show it unless you want her to though cause she would never want to upset you or do anything that is less than perfect in your eyes. ♡

♡ She can't help it if she starts to push you around more than she would normally allow herself to do during sex though. She kinda wishes you would allow her to tie you up. It's the only time she'll feel confident to truly let loose. ♡

♡ As long as she makes you feel good then you'll forget all the concerning things she's says while you're tied up. No squirming away when she talks about possibly branding you with her name so you can't leave cause everyone will know you belong to one of the most feared assassins. You'll forget all about it when she unties you though, thinking it's just weird bedroom talk. ♡

♡ Runa is kind of gross. I mean obviously, she's a serial killer. She wants to intertwine your bodies completely. She'll hurt your feelings but it's all out of love, right? ♡

♡ She wants to fuck you in front of a victim, especially if they're someone who tried to damage your relationship. She might get a bit degrading with it. ♡

♡ Luckily she's good at aftercare and will comfort you. And by that I mean, she gives you a relaxing bath while you promise her that you still love her after she bullied you for hours of brutal railing. ♡

♡ She doesn't need to get creative. Knotting is pretty much enough of a kink for her. Sawyer does not have need to be inventive when she's an eldritch being. Sorry that Sawyer's is boring but she has to work most of the time so not much time for inventing. ♡

♡ She enjoys buying toys for you and watching you use them on the camera's in the penthouse apartment. It satisfies her need to touch you because at least you're using something she bought for you. ♡

♡ Sometimes she dreams of turning into her real form and enjoying you that way. She'd never do it though because it would dramatically alter your relationship in a way that could not be restored. Plus if she ever became her real form then the magic on the city might be ruined and the city might break. ♡

[toytulini]

Disclaimer im just processing some thoughts im not cancelling the show

have almost thoughts about how i find the like....narrative on here that if you have chronic "zebra" conditions youd want a doctor like House and wouldnt sue for malpractice bc at least youd have a doctor that cares about whats wrong with you but lets take it one step further. so often he does NOT give a shit about the patient and actively endangers them frequently with his god damn heoric era of medicine approach? non zero amount of times he gets a diagnosis but it comes too late, or he gets a diagnosis after their first wrong 3 guesses of the episode shut down the patients kidneys and they either have to get a transplant or they are just, doomed due to other preexisting conditions etc? idk. i know ppl are almost certainly exaggerating and just letting off steam about the very real failures of our current medical systems and the ableism baked in and All That Shit. i just think its weird how ppl romanticize House who STILL, FREQUENTLY, MULTIPLE EPISODES will actively dismiss shit in the exact way that is a problem in our current system, especially when hes being Forced Against His Will To See Clinic Parients, he loves to be dismissive as fuck of symptoms and if he was a real doctor i think he'd be fucking 50/50 on cases he Notices Something To Dig Into vs cases he dismisses as an Anxious Hysterical Woman Who Wants Attention, the only reason he's Right so frequently in his snap judgements is cos it reinforces the narrative. its like a crime drama that has the mastermind serial killer masterfully using "loopholes" and lawyering up all sneaky and dodging Justice and if only our poor little cop protags were allowed to do A TEENY BIT of Justified Police Brutality, they could Save Lives!

and like sometimes in the show they will have a patient die despite his efforts to narratively punish him. not to mention, i think its been at least mildly brought up and glossed over how much they absolutely do not think about insurance costs for these ppl for the insane amount of tests that find nothing and Wrong Medications To Force A Diagnosis they use? i think it was brought up once in the episode following a day in the life of cuddy where she had to fight a lawsuit bc a guys insurance like didnt cover his thumb being reattached but chase reattached it anyway while in surgery cos it was The Right Thing To Do and the guy didnt have the money to cover it and the insurance wouldnt pay unless he sued the hospital or whatever. thats like the only time its come up. whereas like frequently the doctor I go to for osteopathic manipulation tries to check in with me and make sure im covered by insurance etc and that im not going to go broke or get buried in medical debt seeing her.

idk. just some Thoughts. not a defense of our current system and all the flaws it enables and enforces etc. his approach to medicine is really reminiscent to me of what I know of the Heroic Era Of Medicine which i dont...love? and hes framed on here as being an asshole but would kill for his patients to get them a diagnosis etc. but hes definitely extremely paternalistic to patients ? and despite some good clippable lines about ableism and being against eugenics, it honestly feels like his stance on that is kind of a toss up.

[nerdby]

Just need to say this thing I've been keeping to myself: Judging people for the media they consume is the worst type of hypocritical pearlclutching that leftist extremists are guilty of.

ALL MEDIA IS PROBLEMATIC.

Unless someone is knowingly supporting whyte supremacists or pedophiles or something with the media they are consuming then shut the hell up. If people are on social media going off about how amazing cops are because of Law & Order or are actively fearmongering hateful bullshit cause they just watched Silence Of The Lambs for the first time or whatever then go ahead and say something.

But if someone is just saying shit like, "Oh, that was a great episode of CSI," or whatever then just shut the fuck up. People don't need to be fucking lectured and preached at twenty-four-fucking-seven. Especially cause most of the people watching shows like CSI are adults who are able to discern fact from fiction.

We know that 99.9% of cops are pure fucking evil.

We know that serial killers aren't good people.

We know that domestic violence isn't cute and romantic.

We know all of these things are true in real life, but luckily most media is FICTIONAL -- it's not fucking real. And yes while all media is political the media one consumes is not necessarily a reflection of their political leanings. Especially if the creator of the media in question is already DEAD!

Do you think everyone who owns a copy of Alice In Wonderland is a pedophile?

And if so, how can you NOT realize how batshit paranoid that is?!

People keeping going on and on about how there's no counterculture in the US, and I cannot believe I am saying this but it really is because people are too easily offended. Because once a piece of media gets labeled "problematic" anyone who enjoys said media is automatically pure fucking evil. Because pearlclutchers exist on BOTH sides of the political spectrum.

Like people hate Colleen Hoover because she writes toxic romance, but how many of them actually know Colleen Hoover? How many of the people criticizing her have ever even met or spoken with her? Cause writing toxic romance stories can be cathartic and therapeutic. It can help process trauma or let us confront our fears in a safe environment where we aren't in any danger.

By declaring things as inane as a romance novel problematic and therefore evil YOU are actively contributing to the erasure of counterculture in the US. Because counterculture is all about being an edgy McPunkRock emo edgelord -- that's sarcasm by the way. Because really counterculture is about enjoying the TABOO -- like banned books. Those are taboo and things like true crime, horror movies, toxic romance, and even things like the Civil Rights movement have also been historically considered taboo.

Because the taboo is anything that upsets the mainstream society -- anything that makes the suburban whyte Xstrians uncomfortable is taboo.

That is the entire point of the phrase ART DOES NOT EXIST TO COMFORT YOU. The phrase is directed at the whyte suburban Xstrians.

THATS WHY RIGHTWINGERS HATE THE ARTS FFS🤬

But we aren't allowed to enjoy the taboo anymore cause now everything is triggering or problematic. Everyone needs fucking spoilers for everything now whether we want them or not because everything is just SO shocking and SO traumatizing. For two fucking years, we had to listen to fangirls cry about Peter Parker getting turned to dust in Infinity War.

TWO FUCKING YEARS!!!!

If seeing a fictional character get harmed upsets you that fucking much then you should probably be in therapy, okay? Like if you're having an emotional breakdown from reading a Colleen fucking Hoover novel then you need therapy. Cause there is something else going on there. And that's not a bad thing.

Needing therapy is a neutral thing. Like obviously its something we'd all probably rather avoid, but realistically it's probably something we could ALL benefit from in the long term. Like everyone needs therapy. We're all fucked up, okay?

So just stop it.

Unless someone is using a movie or book or whatever as justification to be a racist, queerphobic eugenicist assholes just fucking stop it. Unless they are supporting LIVING people who are actively going out of their way to inflict harm on marginalized communities -- people like JK ROWLING -- then just shut up. Just let people fucking live and enjoy things.

Stop projecting your triggers and insecurities onto everyone else. Stop fucking shitting on people cause they like true crime or Law & Order or anime or whatever. Because you -- yes, even the noble leftists fighting for Civil Rights -- are really just acting like a pretentious, judgemental white fucking knight pearlclutcher and you're erasing counterculture.

And that is EXACTLY what the right wants.

[hellbubu]

Right!? Or like, after staging the suicide, wait for them to start picking fights with one another and then kill them all and stage a fatal fight between them. (Cause nothing sows discord better than being suspects in a murder investigation, pretty little liars style lmao). Idk, give two of them guns and shot at the others, something like that.

Forensics were kinda there? I mean, this *ïs* the time period where Sherlock Holmes came to be. But even then! The Queen would have shut this all up! (Imagine if she had sent Ciel to shut up the scandal instead of figuring out what happened; so when he found out he just let it be? Kinda difficult to believe, but if the loophole is there...)

For real!!!! Like, he is dumb, but not THAT dumb. So he has to have malice in him to suggest this (also, why were you telling your underage nephew about these experiments to bring the death back to life in the first place????). I'd completely forgotten that UT saved his sorry ass in the Campania, and was toying with the theory of Druitt being another secret identity for UT. Theory crumbled, but it was fun to play with for a lil while.

Even if Sebastian wanted to, he couldn't possibly recommend someone (except for Agni, who would NEVER leave Soma *cries in spoiler*) half as good as him, unless it's another demon. It'd be hilarious if someone lost his soul cause he wanted an eye candy butler that spoke fluent latin xDDD

Lol, yeah, Ciel totally gives "i'm carrying a weapon for self protection reasons" vibes when he's not busy keeping that smile on his face.

(Also, how did i *just* realized that each prefect has their colour house in their name? Like, I was 'its so lame that violet is the violet house prefect lol' but it never clicked that: Blue-wer, Green-hill, Red-mond. I'm sure Yana thought it was funny and also probably easier for the readers to remember which guy belonged to which house, but still. Really? REALLY?)

Btw, that each prefect and prefect's drudge has their colour house IN THEIR EYES is wilddddd- especially redmond and joanne! Sebastian should be the only one with maroon/red eyes ¬¬ (the eye colour was, to me, another hint that Cole wasn't the 'meant-to-be' prefect of the red house, since his eyes are green)

I doubt we'll get any more characterization for Cole, but it's cool to think about it. How trauma can go in such different directions and people choose to deal with it or deal *it* to others, to get over it.

Hmm. Estoy conciente de que me crié en un pueblo chico en una provincia del interior; y pase de una escuela pública a una semi-privada que tambien era religiosa y eramos poquiiitos por grado (de 20 a 30 alumnos por año, no mas) asi que probablemente sea eso lo que coloree mi opinion. En mi escuela si hubieron algunos casos graves (todavía me siento culpable por no intervenir por mi compañerito, pero mi cerebro de 13-14 no lo veia como gran cosa sino como 'ugh, cosas de chicos' y si los profes no hacian nada...); pero no se, al punto de matar a alguien? Creo que no. Igual, the "hazing" of US sororities (and of course, high school bullying), at least in media, has no equal. It'd be interesting to know if this kinda thing keeps happening on the UK and their universities, tho! I dont even know if they keep the house system at uni level...

The P4 are just idiots. They couldn't stop and think for one fucking second. Like, I can think of various ways to deal with the situation. But, you know, like Shane said, "It’s very easy to condemn from our vantage point in history. And so we do condemn! Wholeheartedly!" We live in a time where I can open YouTube and listen to how a serial killer hides the bodies or some mysterious death that hasn't been solved, so we have a better idea than some Victorian-era rich kids who probably don't even know how to do most basic tasks.

I just googled it and forensics at the time were... something. Like autopsies were done but according to this article it was mostly just approximating the time of death. This one says that they'd examine "the body’s exterior first, then internal organs, and then areas of interest in greater detail, like with a microscope." But I'm still unsure whether or not they'd be able to tell if Greenhill beat the dude up and then threw him off the roof. I'm willing to bet they wouldn't be able to tell because doing the Jack the Ripper investigations (allegedly) "He [Inspector Walter Dew] claimed that this [several photographs of the eyes were taken by expert photographers with the latest type cameras]was done in the ‘forlorn hope’ that the final image seen by Mary Kelly – i.e. the face of her murderer - had been preserved on her retina."

The boys could've gotten away with it easily. And if anyone suspects shit, get Druitt to pay off Scotland Yard. I know that's how he was let go from auctioning Ciel for some cultists or whatever. So he should help instead of fucking over his nephew.

It did click to me when they were introduced but I forget their name. I was calling them other things most of the time. I still forget Redmond and Greenhill's name. I have to think about it for a bit before I remember. 🙈🙈🙈

Yo me crié en la segunda ciudad más grande e importante de mi país. Mi escuela era religiosa pero realmente pocos eran religiosos o, por decirlo así, a casi nadie le importaba la religión durante las horas de escuela. Unos hablaban en la iglesia. Yo me quedaba dormida, parada, mientras orabamos. No es mi culpa q a esos pendejos se les ocurriera tener misa/hora de oración a las 7:40. Antes de las 9 no presto atención, sigo medio dormida. Bueno, ese no es el punto. Había este niño bien religioso que si se tomaba todo eso (las misas, la clase de religión, etc.) enserió y le hacían bullying por eso. Y todos los días los perdonaba y le seguían haciendo bullying. Pero el todo tranqui. Y se seguía juntando con ellos... a mi me hicieron bullying (de chiquita) unos majes mayores. Me salí del equipo de fut por un año pq me tocaba entrenar con ellos (solo habíamos como 3 niñas en fut ese año). Ya cuando se iban a graduar iban a los partidos y me hablaban como si nos lleváramos bien, pero whatever.

Creo que no paso nada peor pq éramos relativamente pocos por grado. Mi grado eramos apenas como 44 en total y en la escuela rica son como 60 mínimo y tienen un año extra pq muchos de esos güirros se van a estudiar a los Estados. La escuela tiene muchas maestras estadounidenses. Creo que por tener tantos estudiantes y un campus tan grande (es como del tamaño de una colonia) cuesta controlar a los niños. Y cuando digo q es un campus grande, me refiero a que tenían por lo menos dos canchas donde la U18 nacional ha jugado, un gimnasio, una como pista de carreras, una biblioteca de dos pisos, etc. Un campus tan grande + niños ricos con grandes egos a los q nadie les dice no = más oportunidades de bullying.

I found a couple of articles on bullying in the UK. One from 2023, one from 2020, and this one with no date but I assume it's from 2023 as well based on the "Pupil Bullying and Wellbeing Report 2023". So it does seem to be quite a problem.

[cchapsticck]

Hi lovely person! I feel weird sending prompts to writers, I never know if they’re too specific or too vague, or not up the ally of the writer. So no offence taken if these don’t float your boat.

I don’t think there are enough fics that see Eddie wind up in jail, for weeks, while things get sorted out, months if it can’t be waived away, and years if it all goes wrong. I also love the idea of him ending up in Pennhurst. These were grotesque killings, and even if he didn’t plead insanity, could a court potentially commit someone based on the acts committed? Or under enough pressure would Eddie start babbling about floating cheerleaders and psychic serial killers…

There you go, if nothing else it’s nice to talk about ‘what ifs…’!

I have been obsessed with this prompt since you sent it to me, and were it not for the sheer number of naps I took over the last week I'm pretty sure I would have had this posted days after you sent it. I think I went a little off the rails again from the spirit of the prompt but, here it is:

So. Felony Murder is when, quote, when someone is killed in the commission of a dangerous or enumerated crime, and so when Raymond Munson Jr. kills a man by way of vehicular manslaughter in the commission of grand theft auto, he receives a trial by a jury of his peers and receives 25 to life. He learns this particular way of the legal system in these united states at age 12. 

And you know. 

After everything, the thing that did it was a gram of weed in his glove box. 

So that’s. Coming down the pike for him too. Probably. 

Good ol’ dad. Teaching all kinds of lessons even after all these years.

But uh. You talk enough about levitating corpses and spontaneously broken bones when there’s a dead cheerleader in your living room and everyone’s ready to believe you’re a pawn of the Devil himself so like yeah yeah yeah whatever the more level headed people start thinking something’s fuckin’ scrambled about you even when its all true.

But it sounds like it sounds. 

So uh. He doesn’t get bail once he comes to, handcuffed to a hospital bed, but he gets transferred to Pennhurst for protective custody while someone tries to scrape up a public defender who could even be bothered, or the government fabricates evidence to keep their hands clean, or wait on someone to tell him he’s been arraigned or what the fuck ever. No one’s really keen to tell him what the fuck is going on. 

Figures. 

So he’s in police custody in a room with a door that locks from the outside and a new and different hospital bracelet and an ankle monitor that screams when he crosses his threshold unless the orderly is outside the door holding the key turned but he’s not cuffed to anything and the psychiatric doctors come twice a week and ask him about his mood and if he’s still seeing things or seen things before and it always feels like they’re looking for a specific answer. 

But he’s apparently not a danger to himself even if everyone’s fuckin’ sure he’s nuts so they let him have books from the day room - nothing good - paper and the shittiest pens imaginable because he might not be a danger to himself but they still don’t want him stabbing anything or anyone else. So he tries drawing, but all he ever used to draw was demons and monsters and swords and shields and maybe that’s gonna hurt more than help and it sure fuckin’ hurts to think too hard about when he’s seen it all in real life now. And he used to write songs and stories and he’s just not feeling terribly fuckin’ inspired but he starts writing anyway. 

Or he tries. Anyway. 

Because if fiction’s off the table, even if it's non-fiction, what’s he got? Like what does he have to say? Sorry Wayne? I fucked it up for you again? I’ll probably never repay you. Hey Harrington? What the fuck was that, right? How are the bat wounds? What was with all that eye contact? Hey Dad? Been a minute. Thanks for all that car shit I guess it came through in a pinch. How’s that prison food? Guess I’m about to find out for myself.

Like.

Fuck. 

So he tries and it doesn't come easy.

We weren’t friends but. Neither are most of the people I saved the world with and I guess and that’s probably kind of fucked up but I feel like you and I still have something to talk about. Or maybe I just still have something to say to you. I probably have a lot you deserve to hear. But you won’t. Sorry. I thought it was funny that you remembered me. I made it sound like we had some love connection standing around in the gym for the middle school talent show, it wasn't that. Like I think I wanted you to feel bad that you didn't remember it but honestly you just said good luck to me after I said it to you. Literally 4 words. So that was shitty of me. Add it to the list. But it kinda feels like the me you remembered and the me that was gonna sell you ketamine were entirely different people. They might be now. And it was middle school, right? I'm sure you heard all those "Munson went to jail" rumors. Back when they shaved my head after my dad locked up and there was a whole bunch of talk about how those things had to be related. Y'know? 14 year old bullshit. (If you're asking - there were lice at the home, wasn't living with my uncle yet, its a long story. I kind of wish I could have told you. I think you would have let me. I think you would have listened. I think you might have thought it was kind of funny. Its kind of a funny story.) Maybe this is too personal, we weren't close, it was like we just met, but I think I remembered you because you seemed like the kind of girl I was supposed to like. Pretty. Cheerleader. Popular. You know the type. You were the type. Fuck. Sounds like I'm blaming you. I'm not. Promise. Not your fault. Knew it then. Knew it for a long time. Just kinda hoped something could shake it out of me, I guess. Shit would have been a lot easier. I think I didn't so much think you were going to be mean and scary but more what I was gonna try to make you into was scary. I don't know if that makes sense. You were nice though. For real. Not in that bullshit way a lot of kids treat the weird kid. Y'know, that 'be nice to the weird kid until he does something weird you can laugh at' nice to the weird kid. False sense of security to ridicule nice to the weird kid. Got a lot of experience with those kinds of nice. I think I was kind of a jackass. That afternoon. I got pretty used to selling weed to jocks that'll be civil long enough to hand me a 20 before going back to taking a swing at me for looking at their girl wrong or whatever reason they decide they want to take a swing at me for on any particular day. So, I guess I expected one thing and got another and I got you being clearly freaked out and. I think I told myself it was good girl's first drug deal and I figured who cares, doesn't matter to me if you're nervous because I gotta pay my plug back but you uh. Stayed spooked. And I decided I didn't care. I'd put on my clown shoes because you'd pay up, not because I really. Cared if you felt any better. A sale's a sale. And if I'm going to keep being honest? I was kind of just talking shit when I said you should come to The Hideout, like I figured no fuckin' way, a place like that would eat a pretty church girl alive. But you. Didn't seem to hate the idea. Which was surprising. I was learning a lot about uh. Preconceived notions of people. That week. Jocks proving me wrong all over. You didn't ask me to turn it down or change the Iron Maiden in the van when I drove you to Wayne's. Kinda thought you would. Kind of turned it up to be an ass about it. I think I kept it loud so I wouldn't have you notice that you never stopped being that same flavor of scared. I think I need to apologize to you? I fucked up. A lot of shit happened that no one's gonna believe me about, about myself or about you and it all kind of boils down to: I fucked up. And I'm sorry. I don't think I could have changed anything, with what I knew then and what I know now. But I could have given more of a shit, at least. - EAM

Anyway he’s pretty sure it's all incriminating so he ends up eating a couple pieces of paper scribbled on with ball point blue pen, stuffs it whole into his mouth and waits for it to turn to mush and chokes it down. He's pretty sure, a few hours later, its not what's got him feeling sick to his stomach but he'll tell himself it is. 

[the-masked-ram]

Mannequin Part Three

A/N: Please read CW before continuing, this is my darkest work and not for those easily offended. This is part of my contribution to @cyancherub ‘s Wheel of Misfortune collab. CW: dark content, not sfw, non-con, medical torture, knife play, gun play, drug use, amputation, body horror, horror, minor character death, serial killer, living dolls, stalking, gore, violence, ambiguous ending, abduction, corruption, nightmares, mind break, breath play, dacryphilia, obedience, fear play, fem reader Summary: You are a mere secretary in the city’s busiest hospital, however with your current lack of luck you have caught the eye of a serial killer who likes to turn his victims into living dolls. It’s all you can do to survive when you can’t even speak unless he lets you.  

Part Three: I can give you life with just a single whisper Tsukishima could not believe how lucky he was, you had come to him. No one else had ever created a bond with him on their own. He had always needed to make sure they stayed. That they couldn’t run. When you showed up at the hospital a couple of days before you were supposed to be back, a few hours after he dumped the last body, he couldn’t stop the smirk that wormed its way onto his lips. You were so stupid. So beautifully fucking naïve. He was going to ruin every innocent part of you. He wanted to see you covered in red, sticky streaks of your own blood as he cut your skin apart. He wanted to watch tears roll over your face and spoil the makeup he’d carefully brush across your cheeks. His hands quivered. You would be worth keeping. He would destroy the current you, only to keep you immaculate for years as the twisted visage his mind craved. He sat across from you in the doctor’s lounge, drinking tea silently while he watched you practically shake in front of him. Kei’s face was a careful mask of neutral curiosity, something a stranger should express when a coworker drags them out of wrist deep stomach contents and sample collecting. You hadn’t given him much of a reason, but he could taste the fear rolling off you. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what gruesome little thoughts your mind was spinning, how they tortured you with flickering shadows and imaginary voices. It was funny, he didn’t quite know why you sought solace in him, but he had to bite back a laugh at just how broken your radar for danger was. He took another sip of his berry laced green tea as he waited for your eyes to stop darting and your fingers to stop quivering. He was patient while you steeped in his presence, and he slowly watched you grow calmer over the minutes. In all these years of hunting for those to add to his collection, Tsukishima Kei had learned one constant above all else, patience truly was a virtue. One worth investing in. ---- You had found your blonde savior quickly enough, once you got the panic under enough control that you could figure out the subway system. It was so easy to forget something you used everyday when the rest of the world was falling apart, your very mind slipping through your frantic grasp like particles of sand. Sand that was counting down what little time you had left, and perhaps what little sanity as well.

 He had welcomed you in his usual way, a cold glare and arrogant quirk of his eyebrow. The consistency had soothed your battered heart, reduced it’s panicked beats to a slower, skipping hum. His confidence radiated a calm energy, even if he was somewhat annoyed by your appearance and the fact you were interrupting his work again. But when you looked up at him, you saw a glimmer of interest in his eyes, and you assumed it was the closest thing to softness for Tsukishima Kei you would get. You stared down at the cooling tea in your hands, watching the way the green water ripple with each of your exhales, “Did you hear about the new… one?” It was too hard to be more specific, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say body or woman. Both made it all so much more real, so much more horrific. It made you aware that this person who was now dead, had once been living their life just like you were. It made you painfully conscious of the fact that you were just as likely to be next, like any of the women who had become before you. That they had been in your shoes once. You swallowed drily, once again so desperately parched, and you gulped at the bitter tea in hopes to soothe yourself in more ways than one. Tsukishima hummed affirmatively, and you were so thankful that he didn’t need you to elaborate. Your thoughts cowering away from the possibility. “I’m still the coroner on the case,” he said with a sigh of annoyance, as if it should be obvious to you. You wanted to be affronted with his flippant attitude, but you couldn’t be. If you’d been thinking clearly, you wouldn’t have even asked if he knew. But now… now you questioned everything. “What happened?” he prompted, you looked up from your hands again and there was no sympathy in his eyes, just curiosity.

At least you knew what to expect with him, you huffed as you glanced off to the side and said, “They called me. From what I can tell they think I fit the killer’s preference for victims. I’m supposed to be more careful.” Your voice trembled, and eyes warmed, the threat of tears once again pushing against your ducts. “Hn,” he grunted, and you looked up, for some reason hoping for more. “And why did you come to me?” That made you freeze, why had you sought him out? You knew on an instinctual level, but it made no logical sense if you were honest with yourself. You didn’t know Tsukishima, he wasn’t good at comfort, but you wanted to be treated as normally as possible, even when speaking about the darkness that had invaded your every breath. You chewed your lower lip, not noticing the minute widening of his pupils as he watched your white teeth tear into your soft flesh. He cleared his throat, shifting, and you focused back on him, assuming he was annoyed with your silence as you mulled over your answer. “Honestly, I don’t truly know. I do know that you treat me how I want to be treated,” you murmured, feeling an uncomfortable need to squirm as he narrowed his eyes. “You must be a masochist,” he said nonchalantly, sipping at his tea again. You let out a sound somewhere between a choke and a squeak and he scoffed, while you vehemently shook your head, coughing against the water invading your trachea. “Su-ure,” he drawled, eyes sparkling with renewed interest as they roved your face. “I come back in a couple days,” you wheezed. Tsukishima frowned, and grunted in acknowledgement again, “So?” You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face, “I’m scared.” “Obviously, you’d be amazing levels of stupid if you weren’t,” once again his eyes narrowed, and he leaned his cheek against his knuckles. “Why are you telling me? Usually, people want something with this kind of leading conversation.” You blinked, honestly you hadn’t thought beyond being in his presence and apparently spilling your guts. Shrugging a shoulder, you cleared your throat and deemed it safe to take the last sip of your tea. “Honestly, I wasn’t leading you anywhere. I don’t know what I’d even ask for if I was going to,” you said blankly. ---- Perhaps you were stupider than he thought or maybe you were truly just pure and didn’t have a manipulative bone in your body. He shifted again and suppressed a shudder as he felt his cock harden at the possibility. God, he wanted to destroy everything you held dear. He grit his teeth, inhaling quietly in hopes to calm the aching need to cut into your soft skin, and finally mark you as his. He wasn’t prepared yet. He needed a couple more kills under his belt here, before he went after you. Impulse control, patience. His nerves sang with excitement at the thought that you were so close, so trusting, he could ensnare you now if he let himself. Though his face didn’t twitch, his movements didn’t change, everything stayed smooth and easy, even as he was practically chomping at the bit for the chase. He paused, silence stretching between you two and he watched for signs of fidgeting from you, pleased when it didn’t show. Perhaps even if he couldn’t start the hunt, he could set up the dominos before the fall. “Maybe I could escort you from work, and if you live on the way, to work wouldn’t be an issue either,” he sat farther back against the chair with a feigned look of disinterest. “I couldn’t ask you do that, Tsukishima,” you said, your eyes darting to the side. “Well, you aren’t exactly asking, I’m offering. I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t willing to do it,” he said, his jaw twitching in annoyance. Couldn’t you just accept his generosity? It would make things so much easier for him in the long run. He clenched his teeth, tapping his fingers impatiently along the table as you waffled with your answer. “Let me know when you figure it out,” he sighed, pushing his chair back. “You may be on leave, but some of us are still working. So, I will see you soon, I’m sure.” You bit your lip and once his hand landed on the doorknob, he heard you clear your throat, “Wait! A-alright. You can help me. My first stop on the way from home is the J station. I’m not sure if that’s on your route.” “I will see you in the morning on your first day back, then,” he said, not giving you a chance to talk yourself out of it, leaving you to stew in your confusion as he stepped out the door with a cruel smirk twisting his lips. You were such a trusting and stupid woman. You almost took the fun out of the hunt… almost. He wasn’t sure if instead he was just more excited to have you under him, frozen, eyes wide as you felt helpless while he defiled everything you loved about yourself. He would make you his, carve himself into your body, your skin, and your mind. Nothing would be left untouched, and you would soon forget where you ended, and he began. ---- You trembled as your hand rested on the polished knob of your door. You gulped air into your lungs, even though you tried desperately to keep your breaths deep and calm, they came shallow and fast. You had to do this whether you wanted to or not. Whether your mind was right about the haunting shadows or was merely imagining the heavy stares you felt. Clutching your thermos in your hand tightly, you opened the door with a terrified jerk, as if expecting someone to be waiting on the other side. Maybe they would slash at you with a sharp knife and laugh as your floundered before them. Maybe they would carve your chest to strips as they subdued you and stole you away to a room made for torture and smelled of death. Yet… no one stood waiting and even though you became painfully aware of the fact you were safe in that moment; you still shook as you locked the door behind you. You still looked over your shoulder and chewed at your lip as you carefully walked down the steps to the street. Breathing even now felt far beyond your control while you made your way to the station. The early morning crowd of people; commuters heading to the train, walking to their job, or perhaps going to grab breakfast; jostled around you. Pressing so close it felt claustrophobic but at least you knew in this dense of a group you were safe from danger. Right? Though it was hard to shake the prickle of unease at the back of your neck. You pressed your lips together as you pushed through the turnstile, swiping your card easily. The shaking walls that surrounded you and the heavy sounds of passing trains was almost soothing, it settled your nerves. This environment was comfortable, something you had last seen when you visited Tsukishima and it was as if your brain associated that experience with the station. You wondered if he would truly be waiting for you. Or if you would traverse this part of the journey alone, if you would be forced to play a guessing game at who was a danger and who was innocuous. Who could you trust to meld in with, and who were part of those dangerous shadows that you felt watching your every move? When your platform came into view and the benches along the side flickered between the moving crowd, a familiar lanky profile soothed the frantic beating of your heart. His large hands were curved around a cup of coffee from the café you last met him at, and though he had his head ducked you could see the dangle of a wire from his ear. His fingers tapped along to whatever beat he heard; Tsukishima had met you after all. “You’re here,” you said as you moved to stand in front of him. Apparently, he only had one bud in, since his eyes flicked up immediately at your words and his face twisted into a frown that held a shadow of offence. “I said I would be,” he bent down and picked up something sitting by his foot. In his hand he held another, smaller coffee, and he offered it silently. “Oh… thank you,” you whispered, suddenly feeling a rush of warmth that chased away all the negativity and anxiety from the morning. “Let’s go, the train should be pulling up soon,” he muttered, not once acknowledging the gratitude and that just seemed to make your smile grow. As you took your first tentative sip of the coffee it flooded you with a familiar cheer. Did he remember your drink preference from the one time he picked up your coffee at the shop? Your heart pounded harder, only this time it was for a completely different reason. You felt almost giddy. You silently boarded the train with him, just thankful to have his steadying presence next to you. Maybe you could survive today, maybe if it continued like this not everything would be terrifying, and you would be safe. --- As Kei looked resolutely down at his phone his lips twitched in a tiny smile. Something that was barely a phantom of a curve. You didn’t question how he knew your drink order. You didn’t know that he’d heard you order it multiple times, not just the once. How could you when you were so busy worrying about everything but the one person you should be worried about? On the outside he looked like he was ignoring you, but in reality, it felt like every nerve in his body was painfully away of what you did, when you breathed, and where you were. You were so silent, you were more fidgety than usual, and he could practically feel your anxiety buzzing against his skin. Each stop seemed to make your nerves grow, until it was impossible for him to ignore. So, his head snapped up, his facial features carefully shifting into a thin-lipped scowl, and his hand clapped over yours on the stability pole. “Stop,” he hissed, just loud enough for you to hear. You jumped under his grip, his fingers tightened just barely, and his golden eyes narrowed. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. Your gaze dropped from him immediately, shame evident in your stance. It frustrated him, that you couldn’t look at him, that you were ashamed of your own fear. Something he had created in you, something that was completely valid, and he would never let you feel embarrassed of an emotion he instilled. “You are fine,” he growled, his voice broaching for no argument and demanding you listen. Your fingers trembled under his, muscles jumped in your body next to his. Yet he didn’t soften, instead he tilted his chin, looked down his nose at you, practically reared up and forced his presence on you. “Say it,” he murmured, his fingers tracing circular patterns softly along the inside of your wrist while his glare steeled. You looked up at him, eyes not quite meeting his and whispered, “I’m fine.” “Now say it again, and mean it,” this time he softened his voice, a soothing praise laced through his words and touch even though his demanding stare never lessened, and he never verbally acknowledged you. Your eye flickered up to meet his, “I am fine.” A smile twitched across his face, “Good girl.” He watched you light up under his words and the desire to laugh, to tuck his fingers under your jaw, almost won him over. Instead, he turned back to his phone, removing his hand from around yours. He wanted to play with you so much, to lead you bit by bit, and yet each time he had to back off. Slowly, frustration was building under his skin, and he felt like his nerves were twitching. Tonight, he’d need to start hunting again. He continued to scroll through the news on his phone, keeping careful note of the highlights surrounding those who didn’t meet his collection’s standards. His eyes skipped over to you, seeing you drink from the coffee he’d brought you while your thermos was strapped down across your bag. He was pleased he’d chosen to pick up something for you, something extra to gain more of your trust. To throw you off your balance, with each little nudge you’d fall over that ledge into his clutches. The ride to work was quiet, filled with air brakes and sliding train doors, low murmurs of passengers and the smell of early morning coffee. It was an easy ride, and even though your eyes still occasionally darted around the train when a particularly large influx of people boarded, you seemed to have calm down. He felt a strange stroke along his ego about being able to control your emotions just by being near you. “Our stop’s next,” he grunted as he looked up at the panel displaying the stations. You glanced up and followed his gaze. He felt your body tense beside him and there was a part of him that wanted to soothe you, just to prove he could. To prove that he was stronger than your anxiety, but he didn’t, and since he, or the thought of him, lurking among the crowd was the reason for your nerves, Kei really wasn’t that upset that he didn’t control you right now. It seemed like every breath you took, every thought running through your mind, already belonged to him. “It’ll be fine,” he sighed, annoyance woven between his words. “Yeah,” you responded, and then whispered so quietly he was certain he wasn’t supposed to hear it, “you’re here after all.” ---- The doors slid open with a woosh of air, you stepped closer with Tsukishima at your back, his silent presence a welcome comfort. Everything about the platform that you had known everyday for the last five years, now seemed like a monster waiting to drag you into a land where only your nightmares existed. You hesitated for a second too long, only moving when the steady pressure of Tsukishima’s broad palm on your back pushed you forward. “Don’t block the doorway,” he breathed, once again irritated. “S-sorry,” you stuttered, stumbling out into the platform, only to be caught by the hand that was pressing insistently against you moments ago. “Idiot,” he sneered, and you blinked up at him with large apologetic eyes. He shook his head and encouraged you to move forward, his firm grip a stabilizing force on your bicep. The two of you quickly made you way through the packed bodies and you unconsciously moved closer to the protection of Tsukishima. He moved without question, without pointing out how ridiculous you probably seemed. By the time, the two of you reached the hospital it felt like your heart had been pounding for hours, like you’d been full out sprinting instead of standing in a train and meandering through a crowd. Your throat was painfully dry, and your tongue felt thick, the anxiety only seeming to grow as your stepped closer and closer to your work. Once the doors were in front of you, your feet froze, and you hovered uncertainly at the entrance. This was different than going for a visit, after passing into the hospital there would be questions and lingering pitying looks. Tsukishima would part ways with you, and you’d be thrown into the deep end with no hope of swimming out of it yourself and no one to cling to as a life preserver. “Coming?” Tsukishima asked, tilting his head at the opened doors and waiting for you impatiently. You sighed, “Yeah, sorry.” He shrugged but continued to stand in the same place until you passed him. It was almost as if he was making sure you kept your end of the bargain. Did he truly care enough for that kind of thought process though? The air brushed your face as the doors slid open and the sterile smell of the ER welcomed you. No traumas were waiting, only the occasional sound of coughing and sniffles from the few non-emergent patients in the lounge broke the eerie silence. You clutched your bag closer to your chest, as you moved forward. Tsukishima cleared his throat behind you, “You’re blocking the doorway again.” He glanced down at you, tilting his chin in annoyance and stepping agilely around your prone form. You blinked up at him, feeling like everything was moving slowly, like your mind was buzzing in a slurry of sticky glue. You smiled, or maybe it was a grimace, either way it was an attempt to put him at ease and you felt from the way he scoffed and turned to walk down the hall to the lounge, that it failed. Everything was too quiet, like tension was slowly building and tightening until it would snap like a distressed string. Until everything would become too loud, too bright, too dangerous again. Like now that you had stepped back into the world it was just waiting to feast upon the paranoia you offered it and then prove every fear you had, right, by dropping more corpses in front of you. Yet, you couldn’t let yourself stand here and stew in the exhaustion and insanity eating at you. So instead, you followed Tsukishima, bag still clutched closely to your person and fingers digging into the fabric as if it could anchor you to safety. All you could do was get through the day. ---- It had been a handful of days, maybe four, maybe five, your calendar was starting to blur together, and you were now questioning what your own eyes told you. If you weren’t careful, you’d find yourself standing in one place staring at your phone for minutes on end, trying to make sense of the useless little pixels that ran your life. The device constantly telling you where to go and what to do, and though honestly a part of you felt resentment that it didn’t understand your confusion and pain, you also were incredibly grateful to it, because without it telling you what to do you were certain by now you’d have found a corner to die in. It may seem morbid to think so little of your own life, but honestly you were just so tired. Being in a constant state of anxiety and suspicion was not helping you with sleep, and the lack of sleep was not helping you control the moods that had decided to run rampant in your mind. There was one bright spot in your day. Tsukishima had now taken to eating lunch with you. You weren’t sure if it was out of pity or because he too was seeking out some sort of companionship. Though… it was likely the first one. You weren’t really certain if he was someone who could even feel pity, nor someone who craved companions, there was always the possibility he received something else from your arrangement. You sat across from him, picking listlessly at your sad looking salad. Glaring at the blue cheese that had snuck in between the lettuce, wrinkling your nose in disgust as you removed it and the surrounding leaves. “You’re awfully quiet today,” Tsukishima observed, his eyes not leaving the book in front of him as he took another bite of his strawberry shortcake. “Just tired,” you responded. You sounded it, voice thick and slow, and with each blink of your eyes it was that much harder to keep them open. He hummed, “Did you hear about the new one?” You frowned into your coffee. What cup were you on today? The seventh? God, how could you still think about sleep? “Yeah,” you whispered, the word felt like it was dragged from you. A flash of fear jolted through you, strong enough to cause your fingers to tighten around your mug and your eyes to dart to the door nervously. The memories of your nightmares, of the women who were lost to the world of the living, of the woman you saw, all slipped behind your fluttering eyelids in quick succession. Until you weren’t just gripping your mug, now you were breathing a bit harder, biting your lip hard enough that flesh tore and the tang of iron flooded your tongue. You couldn’t breathe, gasping drily instead. Feeling no air fill your lungs, or perhaps it was, and your body just finally stopped working, finally turned against you. Your nails clawed desperately at the table until two hands weaved around yours, and you glanced up, everything coming back into focus. Tsukishima looked at you with a disapproving frown, a mix between too hot and too cold, something that told you nothing about what he was thinking. It was within his eyes and the anchor of his fingers between yours, that you found your breath again. Tsukishima blinked, he didn’t move, was as steady and strong as always while he waited for the fear to loosen its hold. ---- Some tiny speck of societal understanding in Kei knew he shouldn’t have mentioned the new victim, that whispering of his doll’s existence would send you over the edge again. It always did after all. But he couldn’t help it, the fact he could just say a smattering of words and flip you from exhausted to panicked and then bring you back again with only his touch, made the wait to transform you worthwhile. It was so addicting watching you grasp at him like a chain that kept you tethered to the world instead of slipping off into the stratosphere. And he really couldn’t stop chasing the rush. He tilted his head and carefully crafted his smile to come across as gentle, instead of the hungry grin that was desperate to break through. It was fascinating watching you fall apart while he pushed and prodded from the shadows. He had never done this so covertly to one planned for his collection before. Usually, the torture all started when he had them physically but… perhaps he should change his methods for the truly special ones. When your breathing seemed more under control and hands shook less in his fingers, you gave him a watery smile in return. Kei was sure you meant it to seem reassuring, the fragility and way your lower lip wobbled, made it obvious you needed the reassurance. “What number is that this week?” he asked, calculatingly circling the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. You snorted thickly, “Who knows.” He hummed in agreement. He was careful to only push you over the edge once every few days, but you were plenty adept at doing it yourself now. He checked his phone and narrowed his eyes, withdrawing his hand slowly from yours. “I have to head back,” he commented calmly as he pushed up from his seat. You glanced up, gaze almost frantic when it met his, “See you after work right?” He couldn’t stop the way his grin sharpened just a smidge at the desperate hope in your tone, the fearful glint in your eyes even as he responded, “Of course.” Kei threw a half-hearted wave over his shoulder as he left the room, his smirk only growing as the door swung shut behind him. ----

The walk to the station was busy, but uneventful, as usual. By now you shouldn’t be breathing sighs of relief whenever your feet touched down on the train floor. But still the tingling fear only seemed to grow, until it never ebbed, until it only numbed you to its existence because it was a constant. Eventually the numbness washed away into a tsunami of fear because dissociation could only protect you from the pressure of your chronic anxiety for so long. However, your waning vigilance and persistent insomnia had finally eaten away enough of your reserves that you found yourself fighting against sleep as you slumped down in the hard plastic of the chair. Tsukishima’s body heat a welcome reminder that you were safe under his watchful gaze, and perhaps sleeping would be ok. All it took was one second of consideration and the darkness of dreamscape enveloped you. Dragging you down where faceless nightmares and ghoulish imagery haunted the subconscious. ---- Kei didn’t look over at you until he felt the heavy thump of your head fall against his bicep. He rose a brow and glanced to his side where you quietly breathed besides him, face frowning and fingers twitching. Even in the Sandman’s grip you were tortured by thoughts of him. By thoughts of what he could and would do to you. He smiled, the timing was perfect, your guard had been significantly lowered and by some luck which he had drawn and that which you’d lost, he had won your trust. Maybe now would be the time… in the next three days he would finally have his keepsake.

[the-decaying-ramskull]

Mannequin- Part Three

A/N: Please read CW before continuing, this is my darkest work and not for those easily offended. This is part of my contribution to @cyancherub ‘s Wheel of Misfortune collab.

CW: dark content, not sfw, non-con, medical torture, knife play, gun play, drug use, amputation, body horror, horror, minor character death, serial killer, living dolls, stalking, gore, violence, ambiguous ending, abduction, corruption, nightmares, mind break, breath play, dacryphilia, obedience, fear play, fem reader 

Summary: You are a mere secretary in the city’s busiest hospital, however with your current lack of luck you have caught the eye of a serial killer who likes to turn his victims into living dolls. It’s all you can do to survive when you can’t even speak unless he lets you.

---

Part Three: I can give you life with just a single whisper Tsukishima could not believe how lucky he was, you had come to him. No one else had ever created a bond with him on their own. He had always needed to make sure they stayed. That they couldn’t run. When you showed up at the hospital a couple of days before you were supposed to be back, a few hours after he dumped the last body, he couldn’t stop the smirk that wormed its way onto his lips.

You were so stupid. So beautifully fucking naïve. He was going to ruin every innocent part of you. He wanted to see you covered in red, sticky streaks of your own blood as he cut your skin apart. He wanted to watch tears roll over your face and spoil the makeup he’d carefully brush across your cheeks. His hands quivered. You would be worth keeping.

He would destroy the current you, only to keep you immaculate for years as the twisted visage his mind craved. He sat across from you in the doctor’s lounge, drinking tea silently while he watched you practically shake in front of him. Kei’s face was a careful mask of neutral curiosity, something a stranger should express when a coworker drags them out of wrist deep stomach contents and sample collecting.

You hadn’t given him much of a reason, but he could taste the fear rolling off you. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what gruesome little thoughts your mind was spinning, how they tortured you with flickering shadows and imaginary voices. It was funny, he didn’t quite know why you sought solace in him, but he had to bite back a laugh at just how broken your radar for danger was.

He took another sip of his berry laced green tea as he waited for your eyes to stop darting and your fingers to stop quivering. He was patient while you steeped in his presence, and he slowly watched you grow calmer over the minutes. In all these years of hunting for those to add to his collection, Tsukishima Kei had learned one constant above all else, patience truly was a virtue. One worth investing in. ---- You had found your blonde savior quickly enough, once you got the panic under enough control that you could figure out the subway system. It was so easy to forget something you used everyday when the rest of the world was falling apart, your very mind slipping through your frantic grasp like particles of sand. Sand that was counting down what little time you had left, and perhaps what little sanity as well.

He had welcomed you in his usual way, a cold glare and arrogant quirk of his eyebrow. The consistency had soothed your battered heart, reduced it’s panicked beats to a slower, skipping hum. His confidence radiated a calm energy, even if he was somewhat annoyed by your appearance and the fact you were interrupting his work again. But when you looked up at him, you saw a glimmer of interest in his eyes, and you assumed it was the closest thing to softness for Tsukishima Kei you would get.

You stared down at the cooling tea in your hands, watching the way the green water ripple with each of your exhales, “Did you hear about the new… one?”

It was too hard to be more specific, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say body or woman. Both made it all so much more real, so much more horrific. It made you aware that this person who was now dead, had once been living their life just like you were. It made you painfully conscious of the fact that you were just as likely to be next, like any of the women who had become before you. That they had been in your shoes once.

You swallowed drily, once again so desperately parched, and you gulped at the bitter tea in hopes to soothe yourself in more ways than one.

Tsukishima hummed affirmatively, and you were so thankful that he didn’t need you to elaborate. Your thoughts cowering away from the possibility.

“I’m still the coroner on the case,” he said with a sigh of annoyance, as if it should be obvious to you.

You wanted to be affronted with his flippant attitude, but you couldn’t be. If you’d been thinking clearly, you wouldn’t have even asked if he knew. But now… now you questioned everything.

“What happened?” he prompted, you looked up from your hands again and there was no sympathy in his eyes, just curiosity.

At least you knew what to expect with him, you huffed as you glanced off to the side and said, “They called me. From what I can tell they think I fit the killer’s preference for victims. I’m supposed to be more careful.”

Your voice trembled, and eyes warmed, the threat of tears once again pushing against your ducts.

“Hn,” he grunted, and you looked up, for some reason hoping for more. “And why did you come to me?”

That made you freeze, why had you sought him out? You knew on an instinctual level, but it made no logical sense if you were honest with yourself. You didn’t know Tsukishima, he wasn’t good at comfort, but you wanted to be treated as normally as possible, even when speaking about the darkness that had invaded your every breath.

You chewed your lower lip, not noticing the minute widening of his pupils as he watched your white teeth tear into your soft flesh. He cleared his throat, shifting, and you focused back on him, assuming he was annoyed with your silence as you mulled over your answer. “Honestly, I don’t truly know. I do know that you treat me how I want to be treated,” you murmured, feeling an uncomfortable need to squirm as he narrowed his eyes.

“You must be a masochist,” he said nonchalantly, sipping at his tea again.

You let out a sound somewhere between a choke and a squeak and he scoffed, while you vehemently shook your head, coughing against the water invading your trachea.

“Su-ure,” he drawled, eyes sparkling with renewed interest as they roved your face.

“I come back in a couple days,” you wheezed.

Tsukishima frowned, and grunted in acknowledgement again, “So?”

You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face, “I’m scared.”

“Obviously, you’d be amazing levels of stupid if you weren’t,” once again his eyes narrowed, and he leaned his cheek against his knuckles. “Why are you telling me? Usually, people want something with this kind of leading conversation.”

You blinked, honestly you hadn’t thought beyond being in his presence and apparently spilling your guts. Shrugging a shoulder, you cleared your throat and deemed it safe to take the last sip of your tea.

“Honestly, I wasn’t leading you anywhere. I don’t know what I’d even ask for if I was going to,” you said blankly. ---- Perhaps you were stupider than he thought or maybe you were truly just pure and didn’t have a manipulative bone in your body. He shifted again and suppressed a shudder as he felt his cock harden at the possibility. God, he wanted to destroy everything you held dear. He grit his teeth, inhaling quietly in hopes to calm the aching need to cut into your soft skin, and finally mark you as his.

He wasn’t prepared yet. He needed a couple more kills under his belt here, before he went after you. Impulse control, patience. His nerves sang with excitement at the thought that you were so close, so trusting, he could ensnare you now if he let himself. Though his face didn’t twitch, his movements didn’t change, everything stayed smooth and easy, even as he was practically chomping at the bit for the chase.

He paused, silence stretching between you two and he watched for signs of fidgeting from you, pleased when it didn’t show. Perhaps even if he couldn’t start the hunt, he could set up the dominos before the fall.

“Maybe I could escort you from work, and if you live on the way, to work wouldn’t be an issue either,” he sat farther back against the chair with a feigned look of disinterest.

“I couldn’t ask you do that, Tsukishima,” you said, your eyes darting to the side.

“Well, you aren’t exactly asking, I’m offering. I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t willing to do it,” he said, his jaw twitching in annoyance.

Couldn’t you just accept his generosity? It would make things so much easier for him in the long run. He clenched his teeth, tapping his fingers impatiently along the table as you waffled with your answer.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he sighed, pushing his chair back. “You may be on leave, but some of us are still working. So, I will see you soon, I’m sure.”

You bit your lip and once his hand landed on the doorknob, he heard you clear your throat, “Wait! A-alright. You can help me. My first stop on the way from home is the J station. I’m not sure if that’s on your route.”

“I will see you in the morning on your first day back, then,” he said, not giving you a chance to talk yourself out of it, leaving you to stew in your confusion as he stepped out the door with a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

You were such a trusting and stupid woman. You almost took the fun out of the hunt… almost. He wasn’t sure if instead he was just more excited to have you under him, frozen, eyes wide as you felt helpless while he defiled everything you loved about yourself. He would make you his, carve himself into your body, your skin, and your mind. Nothing would be left untouched, and you would soon forget where you ended, and he began.

---- You trembled as your hand rested on the polished knob of your door. You gulped air into your lungs, even though you tried desperately to keep your breaths deep and calm, they came shallow and fast. You had to do this whether you wanted to or not. Whether your mind was right about the haunting shadows or was merely imagining the heavy stares you felt.

Clutching your thermos in your hand tightly, you opened the door with a terrified jerk, as if expecting someone to be waiting on the other side. Maybe they would slash at you with a sharp knife and laugh as your floundered before them. Maybe they would carve your chest to strips as they subdued you and stole you away to a room made for torture and smelled of death.

Yet… no one stood waiting and even though you became painfully aware of the fact you were safe in that moment; you still shook as you locked the door behind you. You still looked over your shoulder and chewed at your lip as you carefully walked down the steps to the street. Breathing even now felt far beyond your control while you made your way to the station.

The early morning crowd of people; commuters heading to the train, walking to their job, or perhaps going to grab breakfast; jostled around you. Pressing so close it felt claustrophobic but at least you knew in this dense of a group you were safe from danger. Right? Though it was hard to shake the prickle of unease at the back of your neck.

You pressed your lips together as you pushed through the turnstile, swiping your card easily. The shaking walls that surrounded you and the heavy sounds of passing trains was almost soothing, it settled your nerves. This environment was comfortable, something you had last seen when you visited Tsukishima and it was as if your brain associated that experience with the station.

You wondered if he would truly be waiting for you. Or if you would traverse this part of the journey alone, if you would be forced to play a guessing game at who was a danger and who was innocuous. Who could you trust to meld in with, and who were part of those dangerous shadows that you felt watching your every move?

When your platform came into view and the benches along the side flickered between the moving crowd, a familiar lanky profile soothed the frantic beating of your heart. His large hands were curved around a cup of coffee from the café you last met him at, and though he had his head ducked you could see the dangle of a wire from his ear. His fingers tapped along to whatever beat he heard; Tsukishima had met you after all.

“You’re here,” you said as you moved to stand in front of him.

Apparently, he only had one bud in, since his eyes flicked up immediately at your words and his face twisted into a frown that held a shadow of offence.

“I said I would be,” he bent down and picked up something sitting by his foot.

In his hand he held another, smaller coffee, and he offered it silently.

“Oh… thank you,” you whispered, suddenly feeling a rush of warmth that chased away all the negativity and anxiety from the morning.

“Let’s go, the train should be pulling up soon,” he muttered, not once acknowledging the gratitude and that just seemed to make your smile grow.

As you took your first tentative sip of the coffee it flooded you with a familiar cheer. Did he remember your drink preference from the one time he picked up your coffee at the shop? Your heart pounded harder, only this time it was for a completely different reason. You felt almost giddy.

You silently boarded the train with him, just thankful to have his steadying presence next to you. Maybe you could survive today, maybe if it continued like this not everything would be terrifying, and you would be safe.

--- As Kei looked resolutely down at his phone his lips twitched in a tiny smile. Something that was barely a phantom of a curve. You didn’t question how he knew your drink order. You didn’t know that he’d heard you order it multiple times, not just the once. How could you when you were so busy worrying about everything but the one person you should be worried about?

On the outside he looked like he was ignoring you, but in reality, it felt like every nerve in his body was painfully away of what you did, when you breathed, and where you were. You were so silent, you were more fidgety than usual, and he could practically feel your anxiety buzzing against his skin.

Each stop seemed to make your nerves grow, until it was impossible for him to ignore. So, his head snapped up, his facial features carefully shifting into a thin-lipped scowl, and his hand clapped over yours on the stability pole.

“Stop,” he hissed, just loud enough for you to hear.

You jumped under his grip, his fingers tightened just barely, and his golden eyes narrowed. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. Your gaze dropped from him immediately, shame evident in your stance. It frustrated him, that you couldn’t look at him, that you were ashamed of your own fear. Something he had created in you, something that was completely valid, and he would never let you feel embarrassed of an emotion he instilled.

“You are fine,” he growled, his voice broaching for no argument and demanding you listen.

Your fingers trembled under his, muscles jumped in your body next to his. Yet he didn’t soften, instead he tilted his chin, looked down his nose at you, practically reared up and forced his presence on you.

“Say it,” he murmured, his fingers tracing circular patterns softly along the inside of your wrist while his glare steeled.

You looked up at him, eyes not quite meeting his and whispered, “I’m fine.”

“Now say it again, and mean it,” this time he softened his voice, a soothing praise laced through his words and touch even though his demanding stare never lessened, and he never verbally acknowledged you.

Your eye flickered up to meet his, “I am fine.” A smile twitched across his face, “Good girl.”

He watched you light up under his words and the desire to laugh, to tuck his fingers under your jaw, almost won him over. Instead, he turned back to his phone, removing his hand from around yours. He wanted to play with you so much, to lead you bit by bit, and yet each time he had to back off. Slowly, frustration was building under his skin, and he felt like his nerves were twitching. Tonight, he’d need to start hunting again.

He continued to scroll through the news on his phone, keeping careful note of the highlights surrounding those who didn’t meet his collection’s standards. His eyes skipped over to you, seeing you drink from the coffee he’d brought you while your thermos was strapped down across your bag. He was pleased he’d chosen to pick up something for you, something extra to gain more of your trust. To throw you off your balance, with each little nudge you’d fall over that ledge into his clutches.

The ride to work was quiet, filled with air brakes and sliding train doors, low murmurs of passengers and the smell of early morning coffee. It was an easy ride, and even though your eyes still occasionally darted around the train when a particularly large influx of people boarded, you seemed to have calm down. He felt a strange stroke along his ego about being able to control your emotions just by being near you.

“Our stop’s next,” he grunted as he looked up at the panel displaying the stations.

You glanced up and followed his gaze. He felt your body tense beside him and there was a part of him that wanted to soothe you, just to prove he could. To prove that he was stronger than your anxiety, but he didn’t, and since he, or the thought of him, lurking among the crowd was the reason for your nerves, Kei really wasn’t that upset that he didn’t control you right now. It seemed like every breath you took, every thought running through your mind, already belonged to him.

“It’ll be fine,” he sighed, annoyance woven between his words.

“Yeah,” you responded, and then whispered so quietly he was certain he wasn’t supposed to hear it, “you’re here after all.” ---- The doors slid open with a woosh of air, you stepped closer with Tsukishima at your back, his silent presence a welcome comfort. Everything about the platform that you had known everyday for the last five years, now seemed like a monster waiting to drag you into a land where only your nightmares existed. You hesitated for a second too long, only moving when the steady pressure of Tsukishima’s broad palm on your back pushed you forward.

“Don’t block the doorway,” he breathed, once again irritated.

“S-sorry,” you stuttered, stumbling out into the platform, only to be caught by the hand that was pressing insistently against you moments ago.

“Idiot,” he sneered, and you blinked up at him with large apologetic eyes.

He shook his head and encouraged you to move forward, his firm grip a stabilizing force on your bicep. The two of you quickly made you way through the packed bodies and you unconsciously moved closer to the protection of Tsukishima. He moved without question, without pointing out how ridiculous you probably seemed.

By the time, the two of you reached the hospital it felt like your heart had been pounding for hours, like you’d been full out sprinting instead of standing in a train and meandering through a crowd. Your throat was painfully dry, and your tongue felt thick, the anxiety only seeming to grow as your stepped closer and closer to your work.

Once the doors were in front of you, your feet froze, and you hovered uncertainly at the entrance. This was different than going for a visit, after passing into the hospital there would be questions and lingering pitying looks. Tsukishima would part ways with you, and you’d be thrown into the deep end with no hope of swimming out of it yourself and no one to cling to as a life preserver.

“Coming?” Tsukishima asked, tilting his head at the opened doors and waiting for you impatiently.

You sighed, “Yeah, sorry.”

He shrugged but continued to stand in the same place until you passed him. It was almost as if he was making sure you kept your end of the bargain. Did he truly care enough for that kind of thought process though?

The air brushed your face as the doors slid open and the sterile smell of the ER welcomed you. No traumas were waiting, only the occasional sound of coughing and sniffles from the few non-emergent patients in the lounge broke the eerie silence. You clutched your bag closer to your chest, as you moved forward.

Tsukishima cleared his throat behind you, “You’re blocking the doorway again.”

He glanced down at you, tilting his chin in annoyance and stepping agilely around your prone form. You blinked up at him, feeling like everything was moving slowly, like your mind was buzzing in a slurry of sticky glue. You smiled, or maybe it was a grimace, either way it was an attempt to put him at ease and you felt from the way he scoffed and turned to walk down the hall to the lounge, that it failed.

Everything was too quiet, like tension was slowly building and tightening until it would snap like a distressed string. Until everything would become too loud, too bright, too dangerous again. Like now that you had stepped back into the world it was just waiting to feast upon the paranoia you offered it and then prove every fear you had, right, by dropping more corpses in front of you.

Yet, you couldn’t let yourself stand here and stew in the exhaustion and insanity eating at you. So instead, you followed Tsukishima, bag still clutched closely to your person and fingers digging into the fabric as if it could anchor you to safety.

All you could do was get through the day. ---- It had been a handful of days, maybe four, maybe five, your calendar was starting to blur together, and you were now questioning what your own eyes told you. If you weren’t careful, you’d find yourself standing in one place staring at your phone for minutes on end, trying to make sense of the useless little pixels that ran your life. The device constantly telling you where to go and what to do, and though honestly a part of you felt resentment that it didn’t understand your confusion and pain, you also were incredibly grateful to it, because without it telling you what to do you were certain by now you’d have found a corner to die in.

It may seem morbid to think so little of your own life, but honestly you were just so tired. Being in a constant state of anxiety and suspicion was not helping you with sleep, and the lack of sleep was not helping you control the moods that had decided to run rampant in your mind.

There was one bright spot in your day. Tsukishima had now taken to eating lunch with you. You weren’t sure if it was out of pity or because he too was seeking out some sort of companionship. Though… it was likely the first one. You weren’t really certain if he was someone who could even feel pity, nor someone who craved companions, there was always the possibility he received something else from your arrangement.

You sat across from him, picking listlessly at your sad looking salad. Glaring at the blue cheese that had snuck in between the lettuce, wrinkling your nose in disgust as you removed it and the surrounding leaves.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Tsukishima observed, his eyes not leaving the book in front of him as he took another bite of his strawberry shortcake.

  “Just tired,” you responded.

You sounded it, voice thick and slow, and with each blink of your eyes it was that much harder to keep them open.

He hummed, “Did you hear about the new one?”

You frowned into your coffee. What cup were you on today? The seventh? God, how could you still think about sleep?

“Yeah,” you whispered, the word felt like it was dragged from you.

A flash of fear jolted through you, strong enough to cause your fingers to tighten around your mug and your eyes to dart to the door nervously. The memories of your nightmares, of the women who were lost to the world of the living, of the woman you saw, all slipped behind your fluttering eyelids in quick succession. Until you weren’t just gripping your mug, now you were breathing a bit harder, biting your lip hard enough that flesh tore and the tang of iron flooded your tongue. You couldn’t breathe, gasping drily instead. Feeling no air fill your lungs, or perhaps it was, and your body just finally stopped working, finally turned against you.

Your nails clawed desperately at the table until two hands weaved around yours, and you glanced up, everything coming back into focus. Tsukishima looked at you with a disapproving frown, a mix between too hot and too cold, something that told you nothing about what he was thinking.

It was within his eyes and the anchor of his fingers between yours, that you found your breath again. Tsukishima blinked, he didn’t move, was as steady and strong as always while he waited for the fear to loosen its hold. ----

Some tiny speck of societal understanding in Kei knew he shouldn’t have mentioned the new victim, that whispering of his doll’s existence would send you over the edge again. It always did after all. But he couldn’t help it, the fact he could just say a smattering of words and flip you from exhausted to panicked and then bring you back again with only his touch, made the wait to transform you worthwhile. It was so addicting watching you grasp at him like a chain that kept you tethered to the world instead of slipping off into the stratosphere. And he really couldn’t stop chasing the rush.

He tilted his head and carefully crafted his smile to come across as gentle, instead of the hungry grin that was desperate to break through. It was fascinating watching you fall apart while he pushed and prodded from the shadows. He had never done this so covertly to one planned for his collection before. Usually, the torture all started when he had them physically but… perhaps he should change his methods for the truly special ones.

When your breathing seemed more under control and hands shook less in his fingers, you gave him a watery smile in return. Kei was sure you meant it to seem reassuring, the fragility and way your lower lip wobbled, made it obvious you needed the reassurance.

“What number is that this week?” he asked, calculatingly circling the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand.

You snorted thickly, “Who knows.”

He hummed in agreement. He was careful to only push you over the edge once every few days, but you were plenty adept at doing it yourself now. He checked his phone and narrowed his eyes, withdrawing his hand slowly from yours.

“I have to head back,” he commented calmly as he pushed up from his seat.

You glanced up, gaze almost frantic when it met his, “See you after work right?”

He couldn’t stop the way his grin sharpened just a smidge at the desperate hope in your tone, the fearful glint in your eyes even as he responded, “Of course.”

Kei threw a half-hearted wave over his shoulder as he left the room, his smirk only growing as the door swung shut behind him. ----

The walk to the station was busy, but uneventful, as usual. By now you shouldn’t be breathing sighs of relief whenever your feet touched down on the train floor. But still the tingling fear only seemed to grow, until it never ebbed, until it only numbed you to its existence because it was a constant. Eventually the numbness washed away into a tsunami of fear because dissociation could only protect you from the pressure of your chronic anxiety for so long.

However, your waning vigilance and persistent insomnia had finally eaten away enough of your reserves that you found yourself fighting against sleep as you slumped down in the hard plastic of the chair. Tsukishima’s body heat a welcome reminder that you were safe under his watchful gaze, and perhaps sleeping would be ok. All it took was one second of consideration and the darkness of dreamscape enveloped you. Dragging you down where faceless nightmares and ghoulish imagery haunted the subconscious. ---- Kei didn’t look over at you until he felt the heavy thump of your head fall against his bicep. He rose a brow and glanced to his side where you quietly breathed besides him, face frowning and fingers twitching. Even in the Sandman’s grip you were tortured by thoughts of him. By thoughts of what he could and would do to you.

He smiled, the timing was perfect, your guard had been significantly lowered and by some luck which he had drawn and that which you’d lost, he had won your trust. Maybe now would be the time… in the next three days he would finally have his keepsake.

[whumping-valentine]

CW: Pedophilia, incest, and SA mentions

Some of the replies to this are fucking unhinged, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. This post doesn't mention any kind of specific media. It doesn't talk about age gaps, or incest, or torture, yet some people in the replies are acting like this post flat out said to support child predators, like ????

I'm sorry, but if you think that folks who enjoy taboo topics in fictional media actually want that to happen in real life, that says much more about YOU than it does them. And as a whump blog, I'm not just talking about torture. There is no room on my blog for, "Yes! Unless you write *blank* in which case you should die!" No. No censorship. Period.

Yes, even if they don't continously state that it's immoral and wrong. Yes, even if they present it in a postive light. Yes, even if it's "glamorized". How someone writes literature is not a reflection of themself. It's kinda like acting. Ever hear of an unreliable narrator? I think y'all just have piss poor media literacy. Sometimes I write about kinks I don't have, characters I genuinely can't stand, and content that even squicks ME out. Why? Because I'm writing a story. Again, it's like acting. It's not who I am, and it's not what I believe.

Exploring topics in fiction can be a way of dealing with your own trauma, like how I sometimes write about SA and incest. That does not mean that I support rape or incest, or that I'm somehow a predator, or a rapist. God, it pisses me off so muuuuuchhhh. I'm sure you don't think that everyone who has ever written horror is a serial killer, yeah? It's the ame sentiment, and you know what? Even if people aren't victims of the topic, my verdict still stands. People are allowed to write about whatever shit they want to, even if it hasn't directly harmed them. They don't owe you an explanation in order to make it okay in your eyes. They can write it simply because they enjoy it, and that doesn't make them evil.

The important thing is to tag your works so that folks can avoid topics that may be triggering to them, or to at least warn them before they continue. You are not serving justice by harassing someone that you deem to be dangerous. If you truly think people who write taboo fiction are dangerous, I believe you're too immature to be on the internet in general. Dark fiction is actually much more common and mainstream then you think, you just live in your sanitized little internet bubble so you wouldn't know.

"Your parents would disown you if they knew what you wrote!" My mother recently wrote a novel about a woman who is kidnapped, beaten, and raped by a man and falls in love with him and they live happily ever after. She's paying me to be her editor. She thinks you guys are insane. It's not really my cup of tea, but she wrote it and it's hers. Just because I don't particularly like it, doesn't mean it's wrong or that it should be censored or changed.

And if you're one of those "think of the children!" types, let me tell you, you're just annoying. Dark content is not for children. Children should not be on my blog. They should not be in adult spaces. It is not my responsibility to censor myself just because children could possibly see and read my work. My work is for mature adults who understand that fiction isn't real, and that what I write about is not indicative of my own moral beliefs.

Let me say again; Minors are not allowed on my blog.

If you read that and still wanna yell predator, I don't know what to tell you, man. You're just dumb. The terms predator, pedophile, and groomer really mean NOTHING now, huh? What a way to belittle and water down actual horrible things.

Way to go protecting kids! No one cared that my cousin molested me, but they sure as hell care when I sometimes want to write about incest! 🙂 "but why do you want to write about something that hurt you??" I don't owe you an explanation. 👍

I'm sorry op, I kinda completely derailed your post, I got carried away. I apologize. Rant over.

Repeat after me:

It is OKAY to have content preferences and to be uncomfortable with certain ships or topics, controversial or not. It is OKAY to distance yourself from such content and block certain tags or creators.

It is NOT OKAY to actively hate and harass real people for creating content of fictional characters that features things that make you uncomfortable.

[yanderelovlies]

✨Galaxy Anon ✨ here!

Thanks viví! Yeah I am I just may respond less and not as fast since work is horrible! I’m sorry you had a bad day yesterday viví! I hope it gets better!

I see your point. For me the second pause was the best since I like the colors and designs the best not to mention there the most attractive in that artsyle but I Don’t like that people are being so vicious the new resigns though. I get it you don’t like the redesigns as much but they acting like the artstyle looked like the first look of Sonic in the Sonic movie trailer. Nice nice.

Yea it’s even worse because I couldn’t ask my teachers back then about it since I didn’t want to appear stupid to them and now I am expected to know even more which I don’t fucking know! Np!

Don’t apologize. You have limits and they need to know you need a break. Your aren’t a robot and even robots need breaks or they overheat sometimes!

Yup hope so too.

Thanks for understanding. Dude no it wasn’t, you were suggesting something that could work and also you didn’t make me uncomfortable. Trust me I got experience online on people harassing me why I didn’t give certain social medias information to them when they asked and I explained why. Trust me you made a good suggestion. Sounds like a hoot, I would want to hear them that be fun. Pfft damn that sounds hilarious honestly and I wish I could do that people just think I’m going to be a future serial killer if I discuss things like that.

Honestly I’d be surprised if it didn’t. The curses of trauma and maybe being a introvert sometimes. Dude your not alone on being terrible with that, I literally can’t make any friends for the life of me and made only few including you. Yikes I sympathize that’s one of the worst pains since as humans we strike for social interactions even the most shy do. Thank you my sweet viví your so sweet! Thanks and I will also notify you when I do delete it one day so if you wonder why I haven’t been on tumblr for a few days and make sure you don’t worry too much.

Yay! * waves hands frantically and in a silly way*

That's understandable don't forget to take care of your galaxy, and thank you. I'm doing way better than I have been. 💕💕

Oh I know! I'm honestly so surprised that there was such an uproar that they felt the need to change Nick's design. I really liked all their designs as they were. I don't get where the rude ass comments are coming from.

Ugh I get that. If I don't understand anything I don't ask my professor unless I HAVE to. Cause I feel like they are looking like I'm stupid.

I can't help but apologize because I feel bad when others are affected by my actions. I try not to let my real life reflect on my blog because I want it to be somewhere that everyone feels welcome.

Okay just making sure, and I get it that's why I hide behind my main oc's name. I used to use my name, but that didn't turn out well so I don't do that anymore. Lol it's always interesting to hear the stories my mom is willing to share about her experience in the medical field. Maybe one day I can share a couple with you.

It has been difficult. I've known this group since elementary. So now I'm lost and unable to make friends that are better for me. Doesn't help that some of them can't take a hint and won't leave me alone. Oh! You don't have to notify me if you don't want to. I can patiently wait for you. I'll even throw the red carpet out when you come back!

💕💕💕💕💕