#im SCARED and EASILY FRIGHTENED

[wackywatchdotcom]

knowing pomnis favorite color is red makes me emotional and also slightly more in love with her, for some reason

[soundleer]

fuck it, imma face my fear. i will bun the jevin hotdog. I MUST GAIN MORE TOLERANCE

...hold on this is such a creature—

[thelightfantastik]

now THAT is how you write an episode

[sirfetchd]

just hada bout of paranoia and anxiety so bad that it gave me a headache

[xx1badhabit]

You seem like an interesting creature

why thank you my friend

[grimbeak]

anyone want to watch the thing (1982) with me on the plane tomorrow

[poisonjams]

i absolutely refuse to take stars warring as a series too seriously... and then i see people that do that and i get scared

[loganhowlettshousewife]

request for a logan x reader where logan comforts the reader after they come home from a mission all bloodied up? i see a lot of reader comforting logan fics but im curious to see how itd be the other way round :)

me? responding to a request like three weeks later? it's more likely than you think. also sorry it's so short. originally it turned into smut but i didn't know if you'd want that given the request was for hurt/comfort. (if you guys want i can publish the alternate smut version of this fic too).

solace

summary: you come home from a mission gone wrong and logan helps you through it.

warnings: death (offscreen), blood, non-sexual intimacy, nudity, reader has hair, pet names (logan canonically calls his love interests "darlin'" and this is me pushing that agenda), english is not my first language so please do not be rude

word count: 1004

you’re splattered in blood and grime, grey ash streaking your skin from the fire created by a little boy lashing out at the world. he had set his own house on fire, his parents dying in the most brutal of ways, burned alive.

“oh princess, c’mere,” logan pulls you into his arms. you’re in too much shock to argue, letting him manoeuvre you like a doll.

you don’t like going on missions, don’t like hurting people. you’re only ever sent on the easy ones, the non-violent ones, where you try to convince mutant kids to join the school. you’re good at talking to children, at getting them to admit their fears to you, at soothing their worries. but even the easy missions don’t always go well.

charles could sense that this particular child was powerful, and far worse than that, he was angry. he’d lashed out when he’d seen you, screamed in anger when his parents expressed a desire for him to go to xavier’s school, to learn to control himself before he came back home again. his parents were frightened too, scared of what might happen if things continued the way they were.

they’d all died in the explosion of his power.

he was so scared. he never meant to hurt anyone, you could see it in his eyes when the fire continued to burn despite him letting go. it was out of control, no longer a part of him that he could control like an extra limb, but something with a mind of its own.

it reminds you of yourself when you’d first discovered your abilities, scared and alienated from the rest of the world, from the non-mutants around you. you see yourself in every kid you save, and in every kid you lose.

you stay in logan’s arms for a long while, the only sound in the room his steady breathing contrasting with your ragged, choked out sobs. his chest rises steadily against yours, a rhythm that you try to imitate but you can’t, and with every failed inhale you feel your frustration grow, your panic increase.

he picks you up easily, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, clutching onto him so as not to fall. he would never drop you, you know that, but it’s always a slight surprise when you’re not expecting him to lift you from the ground.

he leads you to the bathroom where he helps you strip out of your clothes, so gentle with your shaking form. his hands trace each new sliver of skin revealed to him, keeping a firm pressure on you always, grounding you, reminding you of where you are. not in a burning house watching a child’s corpse go pitch black from the flames, but in the house that logan bought the two of you, not too far from the school but enough to give the two of you privacy.

in the shower, the blood rinses off your skin, pink rivulets swirling down the drain. yet you can still feel it, thick and sticky and warm. you want to scrub at your skin until its red and blistering, until you have to grow a new layer of skin, a fresh one that hasn’t been touched by death.

logan doesn’t let you. he catches your hand and whispers, “let me take care of you, darlin’.”

you lean into his bare chest and he massages shampoo into the roots of your hair, over your scalp until it foams, and then rinses it away. he runs your conditioner - the one he always claims is too expensive and why would you spend so much on hair products - through your hair, tugging gently at the strands when he notices you disappearing into your mind.

afterwards he pats you dry, and kisses every inch of your skin, reverent, on his knees before you. and then he rises to his feet and finally presses his lips to yours, soft and intimate, not rushed or heated, just reassurance that he’s here, he’s got you, and he’s not going anywhere.

“do you want to talk about it?” he asks eventually.

you shake your head, “he was just a kid.”

“i know,” logan says, rubbing his large, rough hands over your arms, up and down, “but it’s not your fault, you know that. you can’t control what other people do. d’you blame storm for what happened?”

“no!” you exclaim, eyes wide at the implication that one of your best friends could have caused the boys death.

“but she was on the mission with you,” logan comments, and you shake your head, “if you don’t blame her, you can’t blame yourself. neither of you knew, you couldn’t’ve stopped it.”

“maybe,” you say. you don’t really believe it, but logan knows it’ll take you time to get back to your usual happy self, and he’s fine with staying by your side, whispering praise and reassurance until you start to believe him again.

afterwards, he puts on your favourite movie. he spends the whole time making fun of the characters and their decisions, grumbling about how movies will base their entire plot progression on actions no real, rational person would ever do, until you giggle wetly and slap him in the arm, telling him to shut up and let you watch the film.

you lean back into the circle of his arms and he holds you tight, occasionally wiping stray tears that run down your cheeks. there’s less tension in your muscles now, but you’re not quite relaxed, so he shuffles the two of you around until he can massage your shoulders and back.

you moan at the feeling, sinking into the sensation of his large hands working at the knots, until you’re putty for him. you feel warm and fuzzy by the time his hands start to stray down, massaging your thighs.

“feelin’ better?” he asks as the end credits roll, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“yeah,” you sigh, “thank you for taking care of me.”

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl Pt. II — Patrick Hockstetter.

part one

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal cruelty , male masturbation , graphic descriptions of murder and suicide , reader being manipulative , degradation , sexual themes ,

word count : 4.5k words !

a/n : can't believe i'm finally posting this after a year and a half. also this is my first attempt at smut-ish so i'm sorry if it's ass. im not gonna say this is 18+ bc I myself am not 18+ (im turning 18 this year tho) also im not your mom and idgaf what you read.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

"That's not possible," he said through gritted teeth. "I watched you die. I buried you!" He opened his eyes, convinced that this was all some terrible drug trip. Maybe the weed he'd just got from Henry was laced, or maybe he was suffering from a temporary psychosis. Either way, there had to be some rational and logical reason that he was seeing you.

However, when he saw you there, sitting there with a smug look on your face, your presence as solid as any living person, he felt his heart skip a beat.

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing as you pouted. "What's wrong, Patrick?" You asked condescendingly. "Don't act so scared now." You walked toward him slowly, watching him scramble backward in a panic. A smile spread across your lips as you saw the pure fear in his eyes when he hit the wall behind him, having nowhere else to go. "You weren't scared when you stabbed me. You weren't scared when you watched me bleed out in your arms. You weren't scared when you buried my body like some animal you found on the side of the road." Your voice was seeping with anger as you stepped closer and closer, cornering him. "So you don't get to be scared now."

Patrick Hockstetter was not someone who was frightened easily. In fact, up until this very moment, he didn't think he had the ability to be frightened at all. His unique ability to remain calm and collected in situations that would often stress others out was one he was prideful of. However, at that moment, he felt all composure and level-headedness dissolve. For the first time in his life, he was scared. Not just scared—terrified.

"What- What do you want?" He asked, his voice shaky as he looked into your eyes. You no longer looked at him like he hung the moon. There were no remnants of your innocence and naivety—willing to trust that people have the best intentions. There was nothing behind your cold, lifeless eyes. It was like staring at a corpse.

"Now, what's the fun in that?" You grinned, leaning forward so your face was inches away from his. Your gaze flickered to his lips. The same lips you thought he'd planned to kiss you with, but instead, he'd stabbed you in the stomach and mocked your intelligence. "You should really watch your back, Patrick," you whispered with a devious smirk, your breath fanning over his face. "I heard the search for me is really picking up after they found my blood in the woods."

Your words snapped him back to the reality of the situation at hand. He had killed you. What you were saying was impossible though. Right? He was meticulous in every stage of his plan. There was no way they found any trace of you. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his eyes searching you for any sign of deception, but you were impossible to read like this. He was no longer able to detect everything from a single glance. He only knew what you wanted him to know.

Without another word, you disappeared, leaving the boy spiraling as he went through all the events of that night over and over again. "Come back!" He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty house. "You can't just leave like that you bitch!"

Patrick let out a frustrated yell as he grabbed the nearest thing—which happened to be a porno mag—and threw it across the room in a fit of rage. Who did you think you were to haunt him? To come into his room, make him feel that horrible emotion, and tease him just to leave abruptly?

He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to control his heavy breathing as his anger took over. You had to have been lying, trying to get into his head. He hated to admit that it was working. He was supposed to be the one in your head. This was his world. He controlled everyone and everything. You shouldn't be here. You should be dead and buried like he had intended.

He fell back in his bed and took a deep breath, letting his mind settle as he chased sleep. He told himself you would be gone tomorrow and that would be that. Your appearance to him, like something out of a Charles Dickens novel, was just a fluke. Tomorrow you would be dead and all would be right with the world.

He drifted off to sleep, having convinced himself that he would never see you again. He was able to get a few hours of sleep, but you weren't going to let him be at peace for long

At around 4 am, Patrick had a very vivid dream that he was choking. He was gasping for air, clawing at his neck as he looked around frantically. His surroundings dissolved into a pitch-black room. He felt his lungs burning, his brain growing fuzzy as the oxygen left him. It felt so vivid, so real.

He awoke in a panic, sitting up straight as he gasped for air. His lungs felt like they were on fire. Like he had truly been deprived of air like he'd dreamed about. He panted, catching his breath as he looked around at his room, thankfully finding no signs of you. However, when he finally felt secure, able to draw a breath without feeling like a thirsty man drinking water, he realized the pillow that had been behind his head was now sat on his lap.

The realization dawned on him that he may have been actually suffocating, and you were the culprit. He shook his head, trying to expel the thought as he laid back down, throwing the pillow off into the black depths of his room, so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. It was just a dream. Just as you were just a vision.

Patrick wasn't stupid, though many would argue to the contrary. Just because he didn't give a shit about school and didn't try didn't mean he wasn't smart. He just saved his intelligence for things that actually mattered—like planning and executing a murder.

That in mind, his refusal to accept the things he deep down knew to be true was not, as some would think, him being stupid. On the contrary, he believed himself smarter than to believe in silly things like ghosts. Dead things stay dead. He'd learned that at a very young age. He knew when he killed his brother that he would not be coming back. Just as he knew when he killed you that you would not be coming back.

Ghosts don't exist. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that.

As he laid in bed, trying to rationalize himself into a calm enough state to fall asleep again, he found himself more on edge with every creak of the old house around him. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes conspiring with the moonlight to play tricks on him. His breath hitched at every shadow dancing around the dark.

You were proud of your work, and you had barely done anything yet. You watched from the shadows, pleased as he seemed to run himself in circles trying to cope with everything going on. The mere thought of you was torture enough.

You grinned, biting your lip as a thought washed over you. As a ghost, not bound by the physical realm, you had the ability to do a lot of things. One of those so happened to be raising and lowering the temperature in a room.

You focused hard, raising the temperature several degrees, making Patrick swear at the sudden sweat washing over him. You watched with a satisfied smirk as he pulled his shirt over his head, trying to cool himself off.

He didn't have a six pack or anything, but you didn't expect him to. He had a lean, toned torso with a very sexy v-line peeking out from his jeans. A small tattoo sat on his stomach just above his v-line on the right side. You couldn't make it out in the darkness, but you didn't care much. The sight of it alone was enough.

After all, who said you couldn't mix a little bit of business with pleasure.

He had taken away the rest of your life, all the possibilities of experiencing having your first kiss, losing your virginity, falling in love. It was only fair he made up for that in one way or another before your time together came to an end.

The time passed agonizingly slowly with Patrick staring at the ceiling and you watching him, studying him like he was some foreign thing. It was so interesting to watch someone when they don't know they're being watched. Of course, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his body detecting the unseen eyes on him, but he chalked it up to paranoia—as he did every other unexplainable thing that seemed to be happening to him.

His mind drifted off, the heat making him restless as his brain filled with gruesome images of his previous kills. He sifted through his memory for the most interesting ones—dismembering birds, beheading cats, snapping a squirrel or two's neck—but none of them seemed to get him off anymore.

The image of your face right after he stabbed you made it's way into his mind. Your eyes, so wide and filled with fear. He could practically hear your sweet voice crying out, asking why he would do this to you. The thought made his cock tighten in his jeans.

He reached down, palming himself through his jeans with a groan. Reliving the sounds of you choking and coughing up your own blood had his fingers working quickly to undo his belt. He tossed it to the side, practically ripping the button off his jeans as he pulled them down along with his underwear, allowing his dick to finally be free from the restrictive fabric.

He spat in his hand, gripping his cock and lubricating it. He caught his chapped lower lip between his teeth as swept his thumb over his pink head, smearing his precum across it. He let out a low moan, letting his hand travel up and down his dick at a slow, agonizing pace. He kept his eyes screwed shut, immersing himself in the memory of your murder as he stroked himself.

Patrick was not a moral man by any means but this was a new low. Getting himself off to you, in his mind, was no better than if he was imagining one of his dead animal playthings. You were nothing to him. You were roadkill.

But, for some reason, the fresh sight of you, wearing the clothes he killed you in with that dark blood stain right where he'd stabbed you, your hair all matted, and the cold, lifeless look in your eyes, made it so easy to relive that night in great detail.

It was the greatest night of his life. The biggest release of pressure he'd ever felt since he began getting those homicidal urges—those itches. He didn't think he'd ever get to feel that euphoria again, but fucking himself to the thought of it would get him pretty damn close.

He let out a strangled moan, his hips pushing into his hand as he came, and he was right, it was the second-best feeling he'd ever felt. It didn't compare to killing you, but it was enough to satiate his urges once again.

He laid there, panting for what felt like hours. The time moved by so slowly until finally, the sound of the alarm block beside his bed blaring pulled him from his thoughts.

The red numbers reading 7:30 blinked slowly, reminding him that he had to get up and get ready for school. He leaned over, smacking the top of the clock roughly to silence it before falling back flat on his bed, preparing himself to get up.

He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing a random pair of jeans and a shirt that smelled clean enough. He quickly got dressed before making his way back downstairs. He knew Belch would be here any second to pick him up—he always woke up later than he was realistically supposed to.

He slipped his boots on, and a few moments later, he heard Belch laying on his car horn. Rolling his eyes, he opened the door, heading outside and letting it slam just behind him.

"Calm your tits," he shouted in annoyance. Patrick always had a short fuse, but after the particularly restless night in which he'd been visited by some fucking ghost of Christmas Past, he found himself particularly irritable.

"Dude what happened yesterday?" Victor asked as Patrick climbed into the blue Trans Am.

"You were totally tripping the fuck out," Belch chimed in, starting the car and peeling out of Patrick's neighborhood.

"Dumb fuck can't handle his liquor," Henry scoffed from his spot in the passenger's seat.

"Shut the fuck up, Bowers," Patrick bit back, gazing out the window. "At least some of us don't piss our pants when we drink."

"It was one fucking time you dickhead!" Henry defended quickly, his cheeks turning red from the embarrassment.

At the feeling of someone's hand on his thigh, Patrick quickly looked over at Vic. "Don't fucking touch me you-" he paused just short of spitting some derogatory remark about Victor being gay and a freak when he saw you sitting between him and Victor, grinning at him darkly.

"What the fuck are you talking about, dude?" Victor asked, bewildered by Patrick's behavior. Patrick was always an odd one, but he never acted this weird.

"He probably smoked himself fucking dumb," Henry grumbled, still annoyed about the pants pissing remark.

You held a finger to your lips as climbed over onto his lap, holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You just wanted to rile him up a little, make him feel suffocated by you, like he could never escape. And truly, he couldn't. You were never going anywhere until you believed justice had properly been served, and you would take that in any form.

He glared at you, but you paid him no mind, leaning to whisper into his ear: "How cute," you condescended him. "You thought I would just go away." You dug your nails into his shoulders making him sharply inhale, trying not to tip off his friends to the seemingly unwarranted pain he was feeling. "You will never be rid of me," you whispered menacingly, looking deep into his eyes with a sickening grin that made nausea pool in his stomach.

In any other situation, having someone on his lap, digging their nails into his shoulders would probably have been a pleasurable experience, but this was not any other situation. This was a nightmare he couldn't seem to wake up from.

When Belch finally pulled into the school parking lot, Patrick couldn't get out of the car fast enough. You disappeared as he scrambled to unlock the door and get out, finally feeling like he could breathe. He pulled his shirt collar to the side, looking down at the angry red marks where your nails had been. They served as a disturbing reminder that you were really there, and you could do anything to him.

"You get laid last night, Hockstetter?" Belch asked, grinning as he saw the red marks.

"That why you ran off yesterday?" Henry snickered. "You pussy whipped?"

"At least, I actually get pussy," he sneered, paling as he heard your laugh echoing around him the moment the words slipped from his lips. It was a deafening sound. Like a mix between a cackle and a scream that seemed to permeate his surroundings.

His jaw clenched, eye twitching as he resisted the urge to cover his ears. Apart from not wanting to look insane, he also didn't think it would help much. You weren't around him. You were in him, in his head.

The bell could faintly be heard going off inside the school, making Victor curse under his breath. They had two minutes to get to class or they were late.

"Mrs. Denton's gonna throw a bitch fit if I'm late again," he groaned, watching as Henry lit a cigarette.

"Kiss ass," he remarked, taking a long drag before exhaling the puff of smoke into Belch's face as Victor walked away.

"You asshole," Belch coughed, shoving Henry.

"Oh, shit." Henry's eyes widened as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, quickly stomping it out. "Let's go," he ordered, making his way up the stairs to the front doors of the school, looking behind him frantically.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed at the sudden shift in Henry's demeanor. He followed the brunette's gaze, his eyes locking with those of Butch Bowers, the sheriff.

"Wonder if they're here for you," your voice taunted him, breath tickling the back of his right ear. He turned, preparing to come face to face with that condescending smile you always seemed to be wearing, but you weren't there.

He looked back, finding Sheriff Bowers still staring at him, seemingly ignoring whatever the deputy was leaning into his ear to say. Patrick wasn't one to back down easily, but your presence, your warnings, had him on edge. He quickly advanced forward, his lengthy legs providing long strides as he followed suit in heading inside Derry Highschool.

The sounds of his heavy boots hitting the linoleum floor echoed through the empty hall as he made his way to his math class. Victor was right; Mrs. Densen was going to throw a bitch fit that he was late, but he didn't care. He wouldn't have cared on a normal day, but on this day, with the police sniffing around and you practically breathing down his neck, he cared even less—which he didn't even know was possible.

He pulled open the door to the classroom, a hush falling over the students as he entered. Most stared at him wide-eyed, some avoided looking at him altogether, and he briefly caught Vic looking at him with sympathy. The teacher, however, was glaring at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Mr. Hockstetter, late again I see," she said pointedly. "You've earned yourself a detention after school today." Patrick stifled a laugh as he made his way to his seat at the very back of the classroom. "Is something funny?" She asked, her tone displaying clear annoyance.

"Yeah, that you think I care," he rolled his eyes, slipping into his desk. He tuned out whatever lecture the teacher decided to give him after that. His gaze drifted to the empty desk in the front row— the one you used to sit at.

"Don't go feeling remorseful now," you said into his ear. He felt your arm around his shoulders as you leaned down, your face positioned next to his. He turned to look at you, and you turned to look at him, your faces almost touching.

your breath fanned across his face, the moment oddly intimate until you grinned at him, opening your mouth and emitting an ear piercing scream.

"Ah," he grunted in pain, his eyes screwing shut, and his hands gripping his ears. It felt like his eardrums were seconds away from bursting and causing blood to pour out of his ears. "Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, the room, and you, falling dead silent immediately after the words left him.

He peeled his eyes open, his hands falling as he looked around. "Excuse me, Mr. Hockstetter," the teacher gasped, clearly taken aback by his outburst. "Take yourself to the principal's office right this instant!" She ordered him.

His blood began to boil as he stood up abruptly, storming out of the classroom and slamming the door behind him. He was getting very very sick and tired of your little games. He headed toward the back door of the school, not wanting to cross paths with Henry's dad.

"This doesn't look like the way to the principal's office," you mused, appearing beside him. He stopped, turning to shove you against the locker. He groaned when his arms made contact with the locker instead of your body, and your laugh echoed behind him. "You think you can hurt me, how cute."

He let out a frustrated groan, smashing his fists against the locker. He couldn't stand you. He couldn't stand having someone that he couldn't manipulate or hurt but that could manipulate and hurt him. "What do you want with me?" He asked, refusing to look at you.

"To break you," you grinned. "To have you begging for it to stop."

Yeah, right he thought.

He was Patrick fucking Hockstetter; he didn't beg. He didn't bend to the will of others, especially not some dead bitch. He was determined not to let you win. You would eventually get tired of tormenting him and go back to wherever the fuck you came from. He was sure of it.

Oh, how he underestimated your patience and overestimated his resilience.

He lasted exactly a week. A week of you screaming and poking and scratching and fucking with his head. A week of people staring at him like he was insane with his random outbursts and talking to the air. A week of torment before you finally had him right where you wanted him.

"Just leave me alone!" He begged, standing in the middle of his room with his head in his hands. You had finally drove him to the brink of insanity, and he didn't know how much longer he could live like this. You, being everywhere all the time, taunting and touching and teasing, it was too much for him. He couldn't take it anymore. "Go away!"

You tsked, grinning at him, that condescending grin that filled him with indescribable rage. How could you look at him like that? Like he was stupid? You were the stupid one. You were killed by him not the other way around!

"I'm afraid that's not how this works," you told him, shaking your head slightly. "I get to stay until you give me what I want." You took a step, punctuating the next words you said with a pause between each one and another step forward. "However. Long. It. Takes."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" He yelled, desperate to get you away from him forever.

"Well," you drawled, running your index finger along his chest, making him flinch. You smiled at the effect you had on him. He talked a big game, getting mad when you left—cursing, throwing things, even—having the audacity to fuck himself to the thought of your murder— but when it came to being face to face with you, he cowered away.

Ain't nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble as Henry Bowers' father once said.

"I'll be nice and give you a choice," you said darkly. "You can turn yourself in," you almost laughed at the way his demeanor hardened. "Which we both know you're too proud and stubborn to do," you continued. The intrigue behind Patrick's eyes was undeniable as he eagerly awaited his second choice. "Or," you trailed off, grabbing a razor from his dresser and holding it in front of his face. "You can die."

"You're a crazy bitch!" He shouted, though his inability to mask the tremble in his voice made him sound less than threatening.

"Maybe," you shrugged, admiring the sharp piece of metal. "Hmm," you hummed. "I wonder how you'll feel about me in another week," you asked thoughtfully. "I bet you'll be wishing you took the chance while you had it."

His jaw clenched at your words. He'd already lost a considerable amount of sleep because of you, and the thought of you tormenting him any longer was a fate worse than death. "Why don't you just kill me?" He asked defeatedly. You'd backed him into a corner that he was positive he couldn't get out of without doing things your way.

"I'm not you, Patrick," you spat hatefully. "I don't kill people or things."

"What? Like driving me to suicide is any better?" He scoffed, challenging your sense of superiority over him.

"You have an informed choice," you told him, trying to regain your calm. You didn't like losing your temper, especially not to the likes of Patrick Hockstetter, scum of the earth. "That's a luxury you didn't extend to me."

He eyed the blade in your hand warily. He didn't like accepting defeat. He would never admit to killing you. Being confined to a tiny room, unable to satiate that burning itch deep inside him whenever he needed; it would drive him mad.

"Go on," you urged him softly, holding the razor out for him to take. "Put yourself out of your misery. End it all and be free."

He looked between you and the blade hesitantly, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tried to make a decision. Glaring at you, he took the blade. A scowl formed on his face as he observed the triumphant expression that you seemed to wear immediately after he made his choice.

"Two deep cuts, and you'll never have to see me again," you assured him. That all but sealed the deal. Patrick didn't believe in heaven or hell and death didn't scare him. Being caged like one of the many animals he's so cruelly killed scared him more than dying. He walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge.

He sucked in a breath, pressing the blade into his wrist and dragging it upward toward his inner elbow. He clenched his teeth, deeply inhaling through them. A groan of pain fell from his lips as he felt the warm blood begin seeping from his wound, running down his arms and onto his jeans. He continued the action on the other arm, feeling nauseous and lightheaded.

The blade fell from his trembling fingers, clattering to the floor as he fell back onto the bed. His head felt foggy, and the pain began to melt away into numbness. His eyes began to droop, and he faintly saw your outline standing above him.

He just barely felt you lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His ears began to ring as his eyes fell shut. The words you spoke next were the last he would hear before his heart slowed to an eventual stop. He almost couldn't make them out, the sound muffled, as if he was underwater, but his mind used its last bit of energy to process them before giving out.

"Goodbye, Patrick Hockstetter," you said softly. "May you burn in hell."

tags! : @fatfagsj , @mysticalhills , @simpingforthe80s , @slasherho , @pinkpanther-44 , @slaggylemon , @kyranisnotdead , @ladydragiiss ,

[multy-d00dles]

Sex hc for twst but like, less about sex itself and more about interpersonal/ how I see the cast relationship with sex. im proship/profiction and very into sex education, so respect your own dni.

Trein definitely thinks sex is a private matter, not sex negative per sé, but definitely more of a “I don’t care what you do in bed” type of guy.

Divus slept around, probably in his teen or young adult days, willing to brag about it around friends if two shots of vodka are added to the mix. Preaches sex-ed and consent.

the only thing Crowley is fucking is dying. But definitely masturbates

Sam is another one who slept around, with guys mostly. May or may not have a sex toys selling business.

Vargas FUCKS, he’s loud too and has gotten backlash for it

Riddle has HORRIBLE relationship with sex, like he knows it’s normal but feels ashamed of what turns him on. Cried when they showed how labor works in class

Trey empathizes more with his mom after learning how much pregnancies affect the body, probably the first top/dom alignment in Heartsaybul.

Hate to break it to y’all but Carter is into gang bangs, doesn’t care for their partner gender but is waay into his own pleasure. Knock him down a peg

Did Ace had a girlfriend? Yes, did they do it? I don’t think so, for me he only hit first base and they broke up before it happened (nothing concerning happened, they just weren’t compatible). Still feels self councious abt his performance since then

Deuce, This king is scared, but curious, but scared. The talk on STDS frightened him for life

bottom Bottom bottom!! Leona Kingscholar is 100% not putting much effort in sex, likes to be pampered and cuddle. Immediately dizzy after orgasm

Ruggie is the first guy with a dildo toy, it hurt the first times, but learned that mosturizer goes a long way.

Thank GOD Jack’s got good people in his family who don’t shame him when he can’t control his way to stress relief. He also cums a LOT and hates cleaning after.

Azul is the first guy I can see into body worship, like it doesn’t get him hard per sé, but it’s his favorite thing.

Floyd drive is fucking horrendous, can go for hours and cumming doesn’t make him stop. Which is bad bc his thing doesn’t go forever, gets very upset when he can’t continue.

Another one for the sex toy user, Jade is into some ‘risky’ things (such as orgasm control). Thinks fluffy handcuffs are impractical but fashionable

Contrary to popular belief, Kalim knows more about women's health than anyone, definitely the person you want around when ur fighting period. Also very polite during sex, consent king!

I know people like to picture Jamil as kinky but I don't, I don't see it personally. Very vanilla but likes to give his partner massages during aftercare

"Vil is a pillow princess" WRONG. He's already pampered and given the princess treatment everyday by his fans. Likes to take charge when hes in bed

Rook is 100% a vouyer, the idea of having sex doesn’t turn him on as much as it does watching others do it. The only problem he does it without people consent ♡

Epel thinks sex is a competition, probably the e most kinky out of the first years.

if you think Idia fucks I’m sorry to disappoint you, he does NOT. This guy needs a HUGE amount of preparation

Ortho knows about sex the way Wikipedia lists it, he will make his own experiences but this is all he will get for now

Malleus is a virgin, like full on “I haven’t kissed anyone yet” virgin.

I would have said the same for Lilia but, considering what we now know form chapter 7,,,

If I didn’t say that Sebek wants to be dominated I’d be doing a terrible job. Gets turned on pretty easily too, but never enough to cause him boners

Silver is a biiit struggling with sex because he keeps falling asleep during the middle of it. May have some rape/cnc fantasies that he’s not too proud of.

[strawberrypu11]

WIP New Fankid!!!! :D

I don’t have a name or a chumhandle for them yet, and I’m still working on their identity in general but so far I’m loving them so much<33

Themes I’m working with:

They are SOME kinda gender, not cis though (which would be a girl), though this also leaves room for a possible tFEM route🤔 which I don’t mind

•They have issues with social interaction, in a situation where something is wrong- they will, without asking anyone else, attempt to fix the problem the way they think it’s just the “right thing to do”

(In a sburb game this would likely look like them going on random missions, not communicating with people, and doing important things without others)

•They don’t react to most panic, most frightening things just don’t scare them, or affect them that deeply. This can be hard on them emotionally when it comes to things like grief, which feel almost unreal most of the time and it takes a very long time for them to process.

•Generally they are a dull person, not straight up personality, but as well as not being affected by most strong emotional stimuli, they have a very high pain tolerance, and could easily get a small injury without realizing it.

•They enjoy ballet, classical music, aannd uhh need more ideas

•Personality wise, im still working it out honestly, so any ideas are welcome along w first/last names, chumhandles ect! :B

[wackywatchdotcom]

im obsessed with pomni cus shes one of the most multifaceted characters ive ever seen in a way that doesnt feel so contradictory that its inconsistent. she is nice but also shes impatient and snippy but also her response to stress is to stop thinking OR to bolt OR to start hitting things and launching herself at things and which of these she picks is almost completely random except for the slight degree that what is scaring her influences which one it is. she is jaded but also she is not jaded. she is easily frightened but can also handle being extremely scared for a long time. under mild pressure she can work on solving problems relatively calmly. shes selfish but also she tries to help when she can. she is an asshole under pressure. she is shockingly quiet and casual under normal circumstances. shes not receptive to reassurance half the time but the other half of the time she appreciates it. she is distrustful of others. shes severely logical but also spends a lot of time too stressed to think and is easily confused. she is very observant and can put things together in her environment but also she has no clue whats going on and is often guessing. she knows what larping and collisions are and how to exploit design flaws in the game. despite her fearful nature she is calm in social settings. she is bad at socializing but engages in it frequently. she is emotionally intelligent but also has to be not scared first. despite not being quick to comfort she is very good at knowing how to cheer people up. she is comfortable speaking her mind and is extremely blunt. she gets annoyed at inconsistency and things being loud and active and eventful. she hates being in a game it pisses her off and upsets her but also shes the only player weve seen to get EXTREMELY invested in the npcs, even more than ragatha. theres so much to her. theres so much to her i never stop thinking about her

[hangingoutwithcorpsez]

Viva x Barb angsty headcanons

(because im sensitive and stupid)

Barb

She's VERY insecure about struggling with relationships, but never really shows it. (looking at the movie scenes where she says that her kingdom tells her only what she wants to hear and how upset she is about poppy's card) All her heart really needed were friends and love, but she put too much pressure on herself.

Easily gets jealous over Viva, because of her abondment issues. She still feels like a pop troll could not love a hard rock one, especially knowing her conflicting past. This starts most of their fights, as Barb can just be TOO MUCH with that.

Insanely pressured about her role as a queen. She's scared of becoming what she used to be, no matter how much time has passed.

Struggles to control her emotions, especially anxiety and anger. That sets a specific picture of her to some, with only her closest ones knowing the real Barb, and only Viva understanding and supporting her through it. It even seems like her soft spot exists only because of Viva.

Used to be deeply depressed (before the events of World Tour) Thinking that "reuniting trolls" with her music is the only solution to her personal emptiness and pain. Not knowing yet, that the event that's actually going to change her is meeting a specific curly haired troll. (but hard rock was probably involved in that event, let's be honest)

Viva

Is deeply traumatized after the bergen attack and how she got seperated from most trolls. She falls into PTSD episodes in which her colors fade away and she leds Clay to cover her work.

Just after they started to form their mini-civilisation, she was still completely disturbed and turned to auto-agression as a coping mechanism, leaving scars on her body.

She's still frightened by bergens, trying to start a bond with Bridget, but the rest... Poppy still has to convince her to them, as Viva prefers to not visit them, if not necessery.

Feels VERY lost in Trollstopia. Not like it's a bad place, but it's so overwhelmingly different to her, that she feels like she has missed too much to normally function there.

Easily falls into panic and anxiety attacks as she's a really stressful troll. She still struggles to take part in bigger social events among unknown trolls. But Barb goes EVERYWHERE with her to support Viva, as well as giving her little motivational speeches before it.

Probably gonna write more some other time but now i'm really tired and i just have to let my imagination live here😭😭 AND ALSO I DONT WANNA GET TOO SAD ABOUT THEM MY BABIES DESERVE A HAPPY LIFE (which only means that i will make more post yapping about them)

[smutinlove]

Hello! I hope you are doing well.

I just read the rules for requests post and I wonder if I can send one. Hopefully, this is alright... Would you mind if the reader was non-binary? Not sure I can ask that so I'll leave it to you.

I kinda really wanted to read Jason and reader being best friends, and reader and Jason going to an amusement park with other friends. Whether friends and bestie/reader know about Jason's identity as Red Hood is up to you.

Reader wants to go to the haunted house attraction, but since they're easily frightened, they always avoid going on one. But they really want to have the experience someday, because even though it's scary, other people seem to have fun.

Maybe Jason sees that and decides to drag Reader and their friends inside, and they all have a grand time, because Jason is scarier than the actors. 😆

—hope i did this right!

•non-binary reader. (i really hope i did this right otherwise im cooked)

•no use of y/n, she/her, he/him for the reader (if there is let me know!!!)

•i've never been to an amusement park so idk if i got any of the amusement park shit right

The scars on his face and arms had slowly started to fade, but they were still there. It showcased what Jason Todd, your best friend had, been through.

He had died and then was reborn, shocking you especially. And later on, you found out about his identity as Red Hood. But that didn't matter. Today is supposed to be a fun day full of adventure and excitement.

The sun hit Jason's face, causing him to blink rapidly. "Idiot," you muttered. He rolled his eyes playfully. "Whatever," he said, digging into your bag of popcorn while your friends laughed.

You and the others continued to stroll around the amusement park. As you and your friends went deeper into the park, you noticed a giant medieval-themed haunted house with a sign that read, "FREE FOR TWO HOURS!"

You wanted to go. But it looked terrifying. There was a man dressed up as Dracula taking pictures with tourists outside the haunted house. He looked terrifying.

You gulped as you tried to lead Jason and your friends away from it. But then Jason uttered the most jaw-dropping words ever. "Hey, there's a haunted house! Let's go," Jason said. He grabbed your hand and led you and the others right to it.

Jason opened the door and motioned for you and your friends to go. "Scared, Todd?" you challenged. "We'll see." He winked and went in after you.

The interior of the haunted house was scarier than the exterior. There were cobwebs everywhere. It was dark, and there was only one way. Straight.

There was a curtain. Jason, being the brave soul he was, slid the curtain. Someone dressed up as a skeleton jumped up and screamed in Jason's face.

Jason stared at the "skeleton," totally confused, before chuckling. "Funny," he said. The "skeleton" gulped. Jason pushed past the skeleton, venturing further into the haunted house. You and the rest of your friends followed behind him; some were already terrified but also trying not to laugh.

As you, Jason, and the others ventured further, the walls became more closed in, making you feel trapped. You heard a creak and gasped. The lights started flickering. Jason laughed.

"A little trick. I bet a fake spider or a vampire will pop out any second now!" Jason declared, running a hand through his hair. You and the others murmured "okays" and "whatevers."

And sure enough, when Jason turned a corner, you heard a scream and rushed in front. Jason stood there, laughing as the man dressed as a zombie fumbled to get up, and he looked terrified of Jason. Soon, you and the others burst into fits of laughter.

───── ❝ authors note ❞ ─────

yayy

it's not my best work

it's been sitting in my drafts for a week or something but oh well

anyway it's pretty obvious that i've never been to a haunted house or an amusement park... #poor

[charl0ttan]

aaaa charlottie do u like horror? i dont bc i am comically cowardly and extremely easily frightened. im not even joking that for years as a kid i refused to rewatch barbie mariposa bc there were a few sequences that scared me. idk just what r ur thoughts

thats valid toys are really scary

[foundfamilyhq]

Propaganda under read more:

She was an abused and bullied kid!!!!! Her bad attitude was a defense mechanism!!!!!!!

-

she's like 12, guys. or 14 at most. she's just a kid and she's scared and grieving and YEAH she's a really mean twelve year old but i think we've got plenty of good parental figures in this found family to give her the support and positive reinforcement she needs to like. enjoy her life instead of being a jerk to people. i think she's a good (if easily frightened) person who just doesn't have a lot of… constructive. ways to express her discomfort. please let her in I am playing SDR2 right now and im really sad about her.