cherri3berri3s

[cherri3berri3s]

a couple weeks ago this guy posted in the chicago pagan facebook group saying that he’s a djinn and that there’s a portal between here and egypt and only he and one other person had the power to close it and there was going to be a massive sandstorm… like dude, close the fucking portal, why are you even telling us this

[cherri3berri3s]

Headcanons about Jeff the killer dating a cannibal s/o?

Jeff the Killer x Cannibal!reader headcanons

Author notes ; I hope you don't mind that I made the reader gender neutral!

Contains; mentions of gore, cannibalism (obviously), suggestive themes

Holy shit, he was not prepared to randomly see you in the forest at 3AM eating another human being against a tree

He finds your diet disgusting for at least a few months before he starts asking questions like "What does it taste like?" And "How do you find human meat appealing?"

Finds you hot in blood, will instantly pop a boner

Once, he tried to eat the human meat that you cooked for him. He didn't find it all that good, but he will be bragging about it to the rest of the proxies in the mansion as if the rest of them haven't done it before

He will ask to record you eating a human for Twitter purposes

When you guys are out in public, he'll tease you about it by saying things like, "Would you eat that guy over there for me?" And point to a random man

Thinks you're a major creep for the rest of the relationship but will respect and admire you more

.. might or might not try to have sex with you as soon as you get home from eating so he could pound you into the mattress while you're covered in blood. Yeah it's getting everywhere. But hey, Jeff likes it messy

He will see you and Eyeless Jack somewhat bonding over the fact that you both are cannibals and get instantly jealous. He'll probably think he's not "cool enough for you"

Which leads him to try to eat more human meat, which also leads to him vomiting for 2 days straight afterwards

Even though he respects you a little more now, he's somewhat anxious that you'll eat him when he's sleeping or something

[cherri3berri3s]

updated toby fit!!

i made a pintrest board ages ago of my boy but never got around to acc drawing it

[cherri3berri3s]

I do not respect the grind. Go to bed

[cherri3berri3s]

“The creeps would all be skinny because malnourishment! It’s realistic “ wow you have made the entire possibility of there being a man who burned off his own eyelids and dyed his hair by burning it a possibility because of that singular head cannon. should we throw a party? Should we invite Bella hadid? Your lack of creativity frightens me. I’m dying in real time with a beer gut and a pack of camels, I throw down with twink masky and win because of the sheer force of my muscle mass. I fear nothing, the man you call god fears me.

[cherri3berri3s]

This was so worth staying up past 1am to finish

Sailor Song (Nathan's pov) - Part 1

Nathan Young x Female!Reader

Summary: After Nathan is buried alive, things aren't all rainbows and unicorns for him. One night, after a particularly bad nightmare in which he's back in his coffin all over again, he calls his ex–you. A/N: This is a multi-chap fic from Nathan's pov. I'm writing the same fic from your pov at the same time, but I can't decide yet wether I wanna post it consecutively or wait until this one is done and then post it. I think the latter might me easier so as not to cause confusion.

Masterlist

~

Whenever Nathan slept, he dreamt he was still inside that coffin.

It hadn’t seemed so bad at the time. He’d spent most of those hours listening to his iPod, at least until his battery ran out. Then he’d attempted to knock one out a couple of times, but that didn’t quite work. Eventually he would be interrupted by the lack of air, or the silent creaking of six feet of earth crushing him.

That one was a real boner-killer.

When the others had dug him up, that had been that. He’d thought he was fine.

It’d been sort of inconvenient, spending the weekend buried underground without a toilet or so much as a tissue after he sneezed, and convincing his mum he hadn’t somehow faked his own death (as well as convincing his dad he’d done exactly that) had been a real pain in the ass…

But he was good. No worse for wear.

Except when he went to sleep, he was right back underground, convinced he’d never actually gotten out–convinced he was going to spend the rest of his immortal life locked inside his own coffin.

He woke up trashing, hoarse from screaming, not recognizing at first that he wasn’t still buried, that he was on the mezzanine that served as his ‘bedroom’ inside the community centre, that he was out.

He clambered his way downstairs, phone in hand, walking from one wall to the other. His body was all nervous, tense fucking energy and he cussed angrily when his first call, Kelly, went to voicemail immediately, because of course her phone was fucking off, it was three fucking am.

He scrolled through his phone book, pausing on Barry’s contact, and then shook off that thought. Barry would probably answer, but he’d sound far too concerned for Nathan’s well-being, and Nathan really didn’t need that right now. He just needed a distraction, just needed–

He was ringing the next person before he could think about it.

When you answered, Nathan could hear nothing but loud music–so loud it hurt his ears through the shitty phone speaker, but then there was a lot of rustling, and a bang, and suddenly the only background noise was the wind against your phone, making your voice sound tinny and far away as you finally spoke: “hello? Nathan?”

Nathan took a deep breath.

He hadn’t spoken to you in ages. Not since before the storm. Hell, not since before he’d got done. Since then, he’d fought the urge to pick up the phone and ring you every day, but he knew that he couldn’t because when girls broke up with someone and said ‘but let’s still be mates, yeah?’, they generally meant ‘get the fuck outta my life.’

“Nathan?” you repeated, sounding uncertain now.

Nathan cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, voice scratchy. “It’s me. Hey.”

“Are you okay?”

And of course you would ask him that. The two of you hadn’t spoken in months. He hadn’t even called you when his mum had kicked him out, mostly because even though the two of you had been broken up by then, he knew you’d have let him crash with you in a heartbeat, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being around you all the time anymore. Not when you no longer ever gave him that secret smile meant only for him.

You smiled like that at some other guy, now, probably.

“Nathan?”

Nathan cleared his throat again.

“I shouldn’tve called,” he said.

“No, hey, I’m glad to hear from you,” you said. Nathan could hear the slight lilt of drunkenness to your voice. You were probably out with mates–the same mates who had been his mates, once upon a time, only they’d only ever really put up with him because you liked him. Certainly none of them had offered to put him up when he’d become a homeless. But then again, neither had any of his new mates, who he sometimes wasn’t sure were his mates at all, either. “How’re you doin’?”

Your voice was casual now, as if you could tell Nathan didn’t want to talk about anything serious.

“Oh, you know, life’s a fuckin’ dream, as always,” Nathan said, attempting to put on his usual swagger. “Got my community service, so that’s fun.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard you got arrested,” you said, your voice disapproving. “What was that about?”

“I was just done for eatin’ some pick ‘n mix. That manager had it out for me, I swear to you.”

“Uh huh,” you said, sounding unimpressed. There was another bang then, and a voice in the background, speaking to you. “No, I don’t think so,” you answered whoever it was. Then: “Yeah, okay, see ya.”

“Am I interruptin’ a fun night out?” Nathan asked.

“Honestly, I was thinking about going on home,” you said. “The others are beginning to fuck off, too. Pussies. It’s only–” a shuffle. “Wow. Four am. I take it back.”

Nathan chuckled.

“So what has you callin’ me at this hour?” you asked, then paused. “This isn’t a drunk booty call, is it?”

“I have never been drunk in my life,” Nathan said, feigning offence. 

“Uh huh, and that time we got pissed and threw beer bottles off the overpass, that one doesn’t count, I take it?”

“You’re just a bad influence on me. I was an innocent little wallflower until you came along,” Nathan insisted, a smile playing around his lips. His heart had settled back into a normal rhythm, and the darkness was no longer pressing in on him from all sides.

“Funny, my mum says the opposite.”

“How is dear Sandra?” Nathan asked, teasing. “Still upset I pissed in her vegetable garden?”

“Hell, I’m still upset you did that,” you said, though you didn’t sound upset. “Why would you even do that?”

“Your door was locked. I needed the loo. What was I supposed to do?”

“Ring the doorbell like a normal person?”

“Sometimes when you gotta go, you just gotta go,” Nathan insisted. “And your mum never would’a known if she hadn’t chosen that exact moment to go put out the trash bin.”

“We eat those vegetables, Nathan,” you said, sounding amused.

“You’ve eaten worse. You’ve had my spunk down your throat.”

You fell silent, then, and Nathan almost wondered if he’d gone too far.

But then: “I heard your mum kicked you out.”

“Yeah, well, her– the guy who lives with her. Apparently I made him cry one too many times. Poor little Jezza.” Nathan shrugged, trying to sound unbothered.

Anybody else would have probably bought it.

“Where are you livin’?”

“Just, you know, with some mates.”

“I know all of your mates.”

“No, you don’t. These are people from community service.”

It was technically true, right?

You sighed.

“I wish you would’ve called me.”

“Yeah, that would’a gone over well. ‘Hey, girl who dumped me for bein’ a pain in her ass, can I please come crash at your flat, pretty please? Thanks.’”

“Is that what you think happened?” you asked, and Nathan could hear the frown in your voice. He could practically see it between your eyebrows, and felt the urge to reach out and smooth it down, even though you weren’t actually with him. “You think I broke up with you because you ‘were a pain in my ass?’”

“Hey, wasn’t the first time someone just got sick of me,” Nathan said defensively. “I’m just surprised you put up with me for as long as you did, honestly. I mean, almost a year. That’s at least eleven more months than the only other serious relationship I’ve had, so.”

“You–” But you didn’t go on talking, as if you didn’t even know what to say.

Nathan chuckled humorlessly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, and quickly glanced at the time on his phone before pressing it back to his ear.

“Look, I should let you go,” he said. “I just–”

“You weren’t a pain in my ass,” you suddenly said, your voice harsh. “I mean, you were, but I didn’t break up with you because of that. Did I have any complaints about you? Yeah, but everybody has those. You’re mean, downright cruel sometimes, and you’ve got trust issues, but–”

Nathan opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I fuckin’ loved you, alright?” you said, the words rushing out of you. “And I broke up with you because… Because everything is just a joke to you. Just a bit of mindless fun. You never would’a felt the same.”

The words were like a punch to the gut, and Nathan found that for once in his life, he had nothing to say in response to them, no sarcastic comeback or charming joke. “I….” He managed, but then quit talking all together as you ploughed ahead.

“And then, then you didn’t even call me. You were fine just lettin’ me slip from your life, so I was right.”

“I couldn’t call you,” Nathan blurted out. “The thought of listening to you tell me that some other guy made you happier than I ever did…” He gritted his teeth.

“What other guy?” you asked, laughing humourlessly. “There is no other guy. What would make you think there’s another guy?”

“Because you’re you,” he said, without thinking. “Hell, you probably have a whole queue of other guys waitin’ to take my spot. I mean, you could have whoever you want.”

“That’s– Are you callin’ me a slag?” you asked, defensive. “Is that what you’re sayin’ right now? Unbelievable.”

“No! No, I’m just–” Nathan let out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus, that wasn’t what I meant at all! Don’t you get it? You’re all sweet and you’re funny, and you’re the prettiest thing anyone’s ever laid eyes on. I’m surprised you didn’t have guys throwin’ themselves at you the moment we broke up.”

You didn’t answer. Nathan wished he could see your face. Wished he knew what you were thinking.

“Why did you call me?” you finally asked, sounding reserved. “Seriously. What is it?”

“I….” Nathan exhaled loudly. He wanted to lie, to brush it off. But he couldn’t. “I needed a distraction.”

“From what?”

“I have nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” you sounded disbelieving.

“Something… bad happened to me,” Nathan tried to explain. “And it’s not like that time with my mum’s ex. This really happened.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Nathan immediately said, which was sort of the truth, but also he couldn’t exactly tell you that he was immortal now. 

You didn’t say anything for a moment, and then, slowly, asked, “…Did someone hurt you?”

Nathan scoffed. “No.”

“Then what?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” you asked, and it was the same tone you’d used countless times over the span of your relationship to demand he be honest with you.

“Look, I can’t tell ya, okay?” Nathan said, irritated now. “Have you always been this annoying?”

“Yes,” you said simply. “Have you always been this avoidant?” The question was obviously meant to be rhetorical.

He could hear the click-clacking of your heels against the pavement now. Probably you were walking home. Probably you were going to want to hang up and go to bed soon.

“I really should let you go,” Nathan repeated. “It’s late.”

“Are you going to ignore me for another few months?” you asked. “Or will you pick up the phone an’ ring me this time?”

“I’ll ring ya,” Nathan said, certain that he wouldn’t.

You were quiet again, and Nathan could practically feel the disbelief in your silence.

But finally, you said: “well, okay then. See ya.”

“Later,” Nathan said, but he didn’t hang up until you did.

When he heard the click of the line disconnecting, he sighed and put away his phone, pulling a hand through his hair.

“Fuck.”

[cherri3berri3s]

"you should be at the club" i should be in the woods. performing the ritual.

[cherri3berri3s]

Last night I couldn't sleep and couldn't sleep just because I wanted so badly to spill over to someone. I feel that I'm cut off from all humankind. I feel like putting my head on your shoulder and weeping from sheer homesickness.

Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Aurelia Plath wr. c. June 1951 featured in Letters Home: Correspondence 1950-1963

[cherri3berri3s]

disrespect the forest and i’ll eat your spine

[cherri3berri3s]

so much of being an ok person is just 1) not panicking, 2) not taking things personally, and 3) not letting the vindictive gargoyle that lives in your head tell you what to do. this sucks because brains love doing those things

[cherri3berri3s]

🧿 to keep you safe from people who want to do you harm.<3 🧿

[cherri3berri3s]

im extremely devout but nobody can figure out what im worshipping

[cherri3berri3s]

When Today Comes ┃Ticci toby x Reader

Warning: possible relationship codependency, mentioned cannibalism + descriptive homicide

An officially unofficial part ii to "I Got Law" that could be read + interpreted separately. The synopsis is same as follows ↓

Synopsis: You're awakened one morning to see your boyfriend shaken with doubt. What's on his mind? (Toby's Perspective)

Word Count: 1.4k + words

Part I → "I Got Law"

And the morning was evil,

Doing all it could to steal her from me.

Killing the clock with much suppression as I'd felt when I looked at her face. The only thing between me and godliness was the sound of love dripping from her sorrowed voice. Not making me feel as clean as I'd hoped for the events to come.

How do you do this type of thing anyway? Turning yourself in;

Do you announce, 'Yeah, I murdered someone' with pride before ultimately waiting to get picked up by the speedy fuckers in robust cop cars.

Should I walk there myself? Take the long route?

It's not like I could hold back the inevitable any longer, it's already decided that I should go.

"Vogel," I prepared, "Can I get one more kiss before I go?"

"If I do, will you come back." She said dryly, accepting all that's become of the situation.

"Vogelchen," I uttered, softness meeting my voice and eyes, "Of course I'm not coming back. I'll probably be dead by tomorrow."

And for every part of me to think that felt so true. I'd been at this too long that death came to be second nature. Enjoyed by none but me each time, and all stares pointed back to me. 

I see them as they see me; the ones I've killed. Difference is, I'm the one with the audience.

I like the feeling as much as I hate it. It's almost as if I'm being judged for something I enjoy. Yet, I had the power to defy all the looks that wanted me as dead as them. I'd relish in that power all year if I could. And now I'm prepared to turn myself in, but between me and them, it's far from experiencing feelings of remorse.

For each time a victim cried I felt bolder. And each time they fought back, I fought back harder till their blood spilled. It was a job that I liked, and an unsubstantiated urge I'd love to fill. Undoubtedly, I guess I loved it as long as it meant it didn't reach her. Now I see I'd failed all too embarrassingly at preventing it. 

Easing into that car seat, I felt her presence. Feeding into my drive to speed off as I know I should've. All before my body told me not to, and before he tells me not to. 

Before I choose not to do it.

I’d remembered instead, when we first met. As our relationship had begun.

 I was a sleazy pawn to the operator. I would do all that he asked of me. And all that he asked of me was fine, even if it wasn’t as righteous as it felt.

“Y’know, I’ve definitely seen you somewhere.”

 “Where?“ 

“Some magazine or something at the store.“ She grinned. Laying on my lap tenderly as the breeze wafted past us, less gentle than the autumn sun.

Never mind my matter-of-fact tone when I answered, unfazed and sounding nonchalant in each reply. She looked up at me all the same. Those eyes killing sores rested within mine.

“I don’t model,”

“And if you did, that’s exactly where I’d find you.” The damp grass lazed beneath us. Little bugs crawling past my shoe in a fit of determination, racing to beat the setting sky.

“Here, lemme see-“ she said, grabbing my jaw to redirect her gaze into mine. Her eyes squinted and refocused as my hair had fallen past my shoulders. Relaxed as I looked down at her ever so closely. 

“Yeah… that’s a cover boy if I ever seen one”

“W-What about me screams cover boy?“

“You smile with your eyes,“

“Ew, I got crow's feet?”

“No,” she detest shockingly. Holding back a laugh as she props up just a bit “You never watched Tyra Banks? The ‘smize’ doesn’t ring any bells?”

“I barely had cable,” I said begrudgingly, shaking my head as I’d become amused with her peaked interest. “I watched p-public service Christian shows at best.”

“And never watched Tyra?!“

“I barely know who she is,” I smiled confusedly, lighthearted as I attempted to maintain seriousness. “My dad w-w-would force me to watch WWE if he thought I wasn’t being m-manly enough.”

“Boo,” she disagreed abruptly, holding out the ‘oo’ sound as she plopped back down on my lap.“You know more about Hulk Hogan and public service than the real important shit”

“Modeling’s important?”

“If I was blessed with your features, it most definitely would be.“ She claims. A chuckle escapes my throat and kisses the air, protest meeting my face as a result. Her eyes holding onto mine as I just couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

“I’m being serious,” she smiles, eyes widening to convince me otherwise. “I think you’re the hottest guy I know.” her hands raised in defense, standing by the words spewed from her lips.

“I think you’re crazy,” I say, my hands resting on her hips in content. Stroking lovingly as our eyes lay amongst one another the way they’ve always have.

“And you’re a train wreck,“ a stray hand reaches out to caress the edge of my face where my scar lies. Treating me far more delicately than I knew I deserved. Far more delicately than I knew I’d ever been. The open field we were in overcrowded my judgment, producing a warmth that embodied all I had been experiencing in the cool of that day.

 “Do you think that’d make me stop loving you?“ Her eyes wandered, searching for even a hint of how I felt given the secluded embrace of the moment.

“You should.”

– And now, foot pressed against the peddle, gripping the steering wheel as roughly as I was, I couldn’t find it in me to disagree.

I never told her about the reluctance I had felt when wanting to hold her, even though it resulted in a tight everlasting grip on her flesh. The pads of each of my fingers suckling into her skin. Nor did I admit to the readiness I felt for wanting to end her life; suspecting that she had found out about my beyond most dangerous endeavors.

For so long, I’d wanted to. I accepted coming to terms with what had to be done. What the whispers said was a job most notably left for me alone. What I suppose was his plan all along. 

I'd do anything the operator asked of me. The only moral code I’d bothered to stand by after life for me changed. I saw all I was willing to give up, making the fullest assumption that my mind was no longer my own. That I had to sacrifice to live.

It didn’t bother her witnessing that sacrifice firsthand. Blood trickling along the wooden slickness of the floor. Producing such a pretty sloshing sound, tickling the inside of my ears. My hands feverishly clasping on the meatiness of the person‘s neck below me. 

Each slam cascaded with a distinguished crack, the moment their head collided with the floor. Their face bloated, black and blue in contrast to the deep red seeping underneath.

I wasn’t ready to tell her it felt so damn good. Too good as I licked my fingers devilishly of the steaming hot liquid messily staining my hands. Eyes rolling with a moan indistinguishable from one of immense pleasure. 

Had I not blacked out into an ill-fitted rage, I would’ve remembered her being there.

She didn’t mind the object sight of cannibalism displayed before her. In fact, she was no fearful accomplice, helping me cover it all up until not even a blotch was left to see.

I wanted desperately for her to be next. To be the one I was indulging in; just as she would let me.

I sat awake understanding all it had meant for us. What I’ve done to a perfectly sane relationship as I wanted to keep it. I wanted her to ignore the signs, remaining blissfully ignorant to the extremities expressed by my sickness.

To want normalcy, and not me.

I drove closer to the precinct, hungering for a chance to go back. Pleading that, as once before, I’d misunderstood my own place. He needed me to rid myself of all distractions. That’s what she was- That’s what she is. 

She is.

I hadn’t seen it then, but I was back at her place shedding my skin, as today was finally here.

I've realized that I love writing for toby so goddamn much because I get to experiment with all his complexities. I just hate when it feels like there's a thousand times more shit I could add (or as if I'm not doing him enough justice).

You're free to reblog all you like!

© CHERRI3BERRI3S - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOUR OWN

[cherri3berri3s]

I Got Law ┃Ticci Toby x Reader

Warning: possible relationship codependency + love/hate qualities

This is me testing the waters by experimenting with the poetic nature of my writing while trying to make it feel human.

Synopsis: You're awakened one morning to see your boyfriend shaken with doubt. What's on his mind? (Toby's Perspective)

Word Count: 1.1k + words Category: Hurt/Comfort (depending on how you view it)

Part II → "When Today Comes"

I can't seem to escape it.

The insufferable feeling that lies within me,

Each morning until I can feel no more.

Breathing in the scent of her skin, only to exhale in dread.

I wonder what lies beneath mine, and why it leaves dead. 

"Toby?" her soft voice patiently called. Not bothering to race against the pattering of rain on the dull window sill. "Why are you standing in the corner, baby?"

Tired and unaware was her tone. Leaving me to turn and see the light that lay on her face. Kissing the shadows and soothing the creases, declaring her one among the clouds. 

It's early morning and yet, she looked beyond spectral. Hauntingly so.

"I was thinking," I say

"Well come here baby," her body turns to shift. Hands inviting me back to the bed. "Come think with me."

"That's tempting," a chuckle presses the air, escaping my lips in the cold dense room. My eyes flutter as hard as they can, to kill the feeling of the dream I feel stuck within. "But I think this is for me alone."

"Why?" she whispered. The warmth in her voice elevated against the calm of the room.

"Because it wants me," I remark lowly, mimicking her quiet sound. "It wants me to do really bad things."

"Like what?"

"I'm scared to say."

Her hand walks slowly over to caress her temple, massaging the stress from her eyes as it bats away sleep.

I'm sleepless too, and for both of us, I know I'm the reason. I can't help but rationalize with the sentiment, causing more delay in what I know is unredeemable.

"You can hate me y'know." The pupils of her eyes fall directly onto mine, digesting the words my lips had spilled " I want you to."

"And we both know I can't, so come back to bed my love." her voice ravenous and still all at once, feeding into the desires I've desperately wanted to keep at bay.

Each small step more massive in impact than the last. My throat choking on the words in a vacant effort to force them out. Taking my place at the edge of the bed, I couldn't bring myself to lay beside a woman this in love with me. My own rendition of subjective purity in contrast to my previous wrongdoings. 

A life worth taking.

"It's monstrous what I do," the words met with silence. My eyes watching the steadiness of her breathing, entranced by its movement in the white tank top she wore as her chest heaved relentlessly."And we both know I like it."

Resting into the souls of her sockets, my eyes stare. Breathless, and more mature than I've ever been, I continue, "And I know you like me, but what will that cost."

"My life," her eyes, soft and lonely gaze longingly at mine. Loving the mess that carried its burden on my shoulders. With a small nod, she spoke "I hope it does."

My head begins to shake, quickening in pace rather than facing denial. 

"I can't-"

"It's okay if you want to,"

"I couldn't."

"I won't be mad-"

"And that's why I can't do it!"

My voice becoming strict as it raised in sound. Demanding anything other than the fate I was bound to hear, the hurt I was bound to take.

She wants what she expects of me; lack of control and the underlying faith in destruction waiting to take its place. I see now that I'm not willing to be that, not to her.

" You're scared because you want us to be different," she said, her demeanor just as it had been before. "And you know we're not."

"But you have a chance baby,"

"There is no chance without you." she exasperates, a small smile finding home on her features. "It's cold my love, please lay with me."

I feel my muscles involuntarily twitch, blinking hard before my eyes lay focused. Unmoving from the corner of the room they've fallen on to avoid interaction. Smooth and gentle hands run over my skin. Even lighter kisses planted on my shoulder in protest. 

She doesn't see the spark that clicks, nor the cogs that turn with it. She doesn't hear what they say and can sleep peacefully not knowing it either. All of what she is, has the life and humanity I've come to lack. And I hate myself for taking as much of it as I have.

"You don't get it," I say. Her head rested on my cold shoulder as her grip tightens around my waist. "You don't fucking get it, do you." My eyes remained avoidant, twitching in anticipation with the growing intensity of the situation.

Her arms cradling me with the ever growing silence and rain traveling amongst our ears. My arm makes way for an itchy feeling of something wet, nimbly running down. Giving me the chance to smoothly glance over to catch the culprit. Her face void of any joyful expression. Expectant and apathetic as tears fall like crystals, bleeding from her eyes. My skin threatens to shudder, without a doubt effected by the lady beside me.

"I think…" I uttered, "I think I wanna turn myself in."

"Cause you think that's what you need?" she whispers. Our eyes unwavering and attentive to anything but eachother.

"Because I think I might hurt you next." I reply. Not bearing the burden of watching her tears fall, barely a sound to be uttered in the process. "I want to kill you. Eat a part of you; become a part of you." In one swift look, my eyes finally see hers. "and I'm gonna love it. Steadying my thoughts for what I'm bound to say next,

"I'm sick Y/n," Listening with much scrutiny, her tongue remains tied. “Sick people belong with other sick people," I claim, my hand runs along her face in a fast fashion. "I wanna do things to you, and I hope  you won't let me."

I continue, "But if I can't trust that you won't, that I won't, then there's only one place for me to go."

I feel cowardly, the laughable kind that deserves to be shared. Bastard enough to not want to die, stupid enough to ridicule the thought.

I can't beat the feeling that there's somewhere I should be, knowing she can't be there with me.

"Damn you Rogers," a peep comes from her mouth, dry and monotonous as I'd never heard it.

My hand reals her head towards my lips. Kissing away the damage as much as I could.

"Vogel, oh mein Vögelchen, ich schwöre." I silently cry, my grasp firmly on her head as I pull it to my chest.

"Es tut mir so leid-

So leid."

This is a quick upload before I release final parts ii + iii of "Bull in the Heather" the Ticci Toby x Reader series I have been working on and the Ben Drowned x Reader shit I've been meaning to throw out of the drafts.

You're free to reblog all you like!

© CHERRI3BERRI3S - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOUR OWN

[cherri3berri3s]

Merry Christmas, Kiss My Ass

pairing: Ticci Toby x GN!Reader

part:

summary: Toby has never really celebrated Christmas, and you, as his partner, decide to show him what he's missed out on.

contains: toby being annoying, christmas shit, insults used affectionately, baking cookies (FAILED)

word count: 2.1k

masterlist

a.n: happy holidays my lovelies!! the true spirit of christmas has given me the motivation to write toby fics in two parts. here's a little festive treat from me <3

The snow drifts lazily past the window, soft flakes catching the dim gray light. The living room of the cabin is in its usual mix of clutter, with cigarette butts discarded near an ashtray on the coffee table, and a very suspicious stain on one of the couch seats. But, today, you decided to make a change. A crooked little second-hand Christmas tree stands awkwardly in the corner, its sparse plastic branches trying their best to look festive. A single string of lights hangs unevenly along one of the walls, blinking in and out as if it was close to its last breath. The droning of the heater fills the silence, broken only by the rustle of a box of decorations at your feet. It wasn’t the prettiest sight – definitely not Hallmark material. It certainly wasn’t like the Christmases you’d seen before, but could you really be picky? Your life now wasn’t exactly made for comfort.

You’re perched on a stool, trying to untangle a mess of garland that has somehow tied itself into a knot of truly legendary complexity. Your fingers work diligently, but your eyes flick up to Toby. He’s standing a few feet away, hands in his hoodie pockets. He watches you with a look of absolute suspicion. His head tilts slowly to the side, sharp eyes squinting like you’re doing something devious.

He takes a slow step closer, eyes locking on the tree. It’s like he expects it to grow legs and lunge at him. His gaze narrows further.

“Wuh-why is there a-a tree… inside?” His tone is flat.

You pause, blinking at him in confusion. “Because it’s almost Christmas, Toby.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. He just stares at you, then at the tree. Then back at you like you’re crazy.

“Since when… do we give a sh-shit about-about that?” he deadpans, eyebrows raising slightly. His mouth twitches into the start of a grin like he’s caught you doing something embarrassing.

“Since now.” You hop off the stool, playfully placing your hands on your hips.

He snorts in response, glancing at the tree like it personally offended him. His attention shifts to one of the ornaments you have already placed – a small ceramic snowman with a chipped hat. He pokes it with a gloved finger, watching it sway on its little hook.

“This guy’s s-s-seen some stuff,” he mutters, still staring at the snowman and tapping it again.

“Hey, don’t be mean to Frosty,” you reply, picking up another ornament from the box. “I got him from Goodwill, so he’s not looking his best.”

Toby’s hands go back to his pockets as he circles the tree, still squinting at it from every possible angle. He crouches slightly, inspecting it like there’s a secret compartment. You watch him from the corner of your eye, your grin growing.

“What are you doing?”

He seemingly ignores you, squatting next to the tree.

“What happens-happens if it c-catches on… fire?” he asks, glancing up at you – he’s dead serious. And he would have the nerve to “accidently” set it on fire. “'Cause I’m-I’m not putting it uh-out.”

“Are you threatening my tree? It’s not gonna catch on fire.”

He leans in closer, eyes narrowing even more. “That’s what th-they want you t-t-to think.”

You stifle a laugh, turning your attention back to untangling the garland. “The paranoia’s getting worse, huh?”

Toby clicks his tongue against his teeth, gaze lingering on the tree a moment longer before standing up. He rocks back on his heels, watching you loop the garland over the windowsill. It sits there – pathetically – and you have to adjust it because it started to slide off.

“So… wuh-what… now? We’ve never d-done this. No pres-presents, no sh-sugar cookies that… taste like sadness.”

“Wait, never?” you glance over your shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Like, not even a single candy cane?”

Toby doesn’t miss a beat. “Candy canes are over…rated. Sticky. Uh-annoying.”

“You’re sticky and annoying,” you shoot back, unable to resist. He makes a face, and you giggle.

“Fair.” He grins.

The silence that follows is comfortable. You wrap the last of the garland, stepping back to admire your work. It’s definitely better than the lopsided lights. You look at Toby, who’s still watching everything with that sharp-eyed curiosity. There’s something about the way he stands, shoulders slightly raised like he’s bracing himself for something he can’t name.

You lean your head to the side, watching him. “You really never celebrated Christmas?”

He shrugs, glancing toward the window. Snow sticks to the glass and thick blankets of white hide all the grass that had been there just a few months prior.

“’S not a-a big… deal,” he says casually, voice quieter than before. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, he just keeps his gaze on the snow.

The words aren’t meant to hit hard, but they do. There’s no bitterness in his voice, no anger. Just… plain honesty. You know he hasn’t had the same experiences you did before becoming a proxy. You stare at him for a few seconds longer, your fingers tapping against your thigh as a thought sparks in your mind. You step closer to him.

“Why don’t you celebrate it with me?” you ask, poking his arm.

“Huh?” His eyebrows lift.

“We can decorate trees, make cookies, watch Christmas movies.” You step around him to pick up another ornament from the box of decorations. “All of it.”

He regards you silently, his expression unreadable for a second longer than it should be. Then, he glares at you in that mischievous, gremlin way you know too well.

“I’m not wuh-watching Rudolph,” he says firmly. “He’s a lit-litle bitch.” “Deal. But we’re watching Home Alone,” you fire back. “Non-negotiable.”

The counters of the kitchen are lined with mismatched bowls, open bags of sugar and flour, a bottle of vanilla extract tipped over but miraculously not spilling, and a recipe card propped against a bag of chocolate chips. It should smell like warm sugar and holiday joy. Instead, it smells faintly of burnt toast, and the air is dusted with a faint haze of flour. Who burned toast? Nobody knows.

Toby stands at the counter, his fingers already coated in dough, pinching off little pieces and eating them like a five-star meal. He keeps stealing them from the balls of dough that were supposed to be in the oven. Thank god you stocked up on cookie boxes. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up, but he somehow found a way to coat them in flour. He whistles involuntarily, body twitching every now and then. His head even jerks to the side, but it doesn’t keep him back. He’s too busy shoveling cookie dough in his mouth.

You catch him mid-bite.

“Toby.”

He freezes like a raccoon caught raiding a trash can, wide-eyed, mouth still full of cookie dough. His eyes lock with yours.

“Wha?” he says, garbled through the dough.

You squint your eyes at him and try to look as stern as you can. “Stop eating it. We need it for the cookies.”

He blinks, slow and deliberate, then tilts his head like he’s pretending to think.

“Nah.”

“Toby, I’m serious.”

He snorts, licking his fingers with zero shame. “Th-the cookies are al… ready d-dead. Might as w-well put ‘em out of th-their misery.” His speech is clipped and uneven because of his stuttering. He winks like he just spewed out something brilliant, grinning like he’s already won.

“You’re impossible.�� You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing through your teeth.

“Y-you knew this. Y-you knew.” He wiggles his dough-covered fingers at you like it’s your fault for trusting him. He grins from ear to ear.

You roll your eyes and pick up the bowl that the ingredients were mixed in. “Just… put the flour away, Tobes. I’m begging you.”

“Yes, chef.” He gives you a sarcastic salute before turning to attend to the bag of flour.

It’s quiet for maybe thirty seconds. Suspiciously quiet. You glance up just in time to see Toby holding the bag of flour in your direction.

“Toby,” you say slowly, carefully. “Don’t-“

“I’m helping.” His voice is all mock-innocence, but he’s smiling wickedly, already leaning back for the momentum.

“No, you’re not-“

Foof!

The bag of flour explodes. You hear it before you see it – a deep puff like someone sat too hard on a pillow. Then, there’s white. Everywhere. A dense, powdery cloud swirls through the air like fog in a horror movie. No. Dealing with Toby was a horror movie.

For a second, there’s only stunned silence. Then you hear Toby’s wheezy, uncontrollable laughter from somewhere in the fog.

“Y-yoouu sh-shoul’ve s-seen your face-!” he chokes out, laughing so hard his whole body twitches and shakes.

You blink rapidly, attempting to clear the flour from your lashes. It’s in your hair, in your eyes, probably in your soul. You lift your hands, palms coated in white. You stare at them. Like an ancient stone that hasn’t been moved in centuries, you turn toward the sound of your laughing boyfriend. Toby stands a few feet away, doubled over, hands on his knees as he gasps for air between fits. He’s also completely covered in flour – completely covered from head to toe.

You wipe flour off your face with the steady, saintly patience of someone holding on by a thread. Your deadpan stare is locked on him.

“If you throw that at me, I swear I’m-“

He’s already moving, one hand full of flour. His smile is wild – sharp – eyes alight with pure chaotic energy.

“Snowball fight!” he yells, launching the handful of flour directly at you.

You duck, but it’s too late. It hits you like a soft, dusty grenade. You let out a loud, strangled noise that’s half a scream, half a loud gasp.

“Toby, I’m going to k-“

He bolts.

You chase him.

He darts around the kitchen like a possessed squirrel, grabbing random objects to throw in your path – a dish towel, a whisk, a stray bottle of vanilla extract. You’re hot on his heels, laughter bubbling out of you in sharp bursts between threats.

“You’re dead, Toby!” you shout, jumping over a tipped-over chair.

“C-c-catch me first, loser!” he howls, sliding on his socked feet as he makes a sharp turn around a corner. He lets out high-pitched whistles between giggles.

He laughs so hard that he’s barely managing to dodge you as he scrambles past the stove. His feet skid again, and his eyes snap open in alarm.

“Oh-no no no-“

Smack!

He faceplants directly into the side of the fridge.

“Oof-“ he grunts, stumbling back. He shakes his head a little, face twisted in confusion, one eye squinted like he’s still processing. Toby’s gaze shifts to you. His lips are pressed together and he’s trembling.

There’s a pause.

And then you both break.

Laughter echoes on the walls, wild and unhinged. You’re clutching at your sides and he’s laughing louder than ever. His body is shaking with uncontrollable spasms as he leans against the fridge for support. His eyes crinkle with unrestrained joy, and his smile stretches wide, wild, and brimming with an untamable energy. He’s barely breathing through it as he gasps for air.

“You… are the worst… baking partner ever.” You wipe flour off your face, breathless, eyes watering from laughing so hard.

“S-s-says the i-idiot who l-let me help.”

You throw a towel at him that he dodges.

The kitchen is destroyed. The counter looks like a crime scene where sugar, flour, and all law and order were casualties. Cookie dough sits abandoned in the mixing bowl. Toby practically ate all the ones that were meant to already be in the oven twenty minutes ago.

Toby finally catches his breath, wiping his eyes on his hoodie sleeve. His smile doesn’t go away, though – not like it normally does. It stays soft at the edges, like he’s still riding the high of the moment. He looks around the kitchen – taking in the mess – and his neck twitches to the side once.

Before you can react, his hands grab your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks just enough to squish them a little. He leans in, eyes wild with mischief, and licks you. A slow, deliberate drag of his tongue across the side of your face. He pulls back, looking triumphant for about half a second.

“Agh-Pfft-“ He pulls away, gaggling like he just licked a sandcastle. His tongue sticks out as he makes the most dramatic “Blegh” face known to man. “Fl-fluh-flour is-“ he gags “-disgusting.”

“You fucking idiot,” you gasp, shoving him away as laughter bursts out of you. He’s still grimacing, furiously wiping his tongue on his sleeve.

“W-w-worth it,” he mumbles through the dry heaving, shaking his head with a twitchy jolt. “D-did… it for the buh-bit.”

“You did it for nothing,” you wheeze, grabbing a nearby towel to wipe your face.

You grab another handful of flour, and his eyes widen at the movement, grin vanishing in an instant.

“Don’t-“

“Round two, bitch!” you shout, launching flour right at him.

Direct hit.

“Y-you-!” he coughs, faltering, laughing loud and wildly again.

[cherri3berri3s]

AliExpress lobotomy kit

[cherri3berri3s]

Knight!Toby Rogers. HCs. Medieval AU. 18+

¬ Comes from a very poor background, lived in the poorer district.

¬ His dad a drunk, his mother passed away during childbirth. Lyra had found work and gotten married, thus leaving him with his father.

¬ His dad nothing but a low life farmer who used what money he got on alcohol. Claimed he fought in the 'big war' but Toby never believed it. ¬ Finally snapped one night and killed his father in a fury of rage. When his fathers taxes weren't paid, the local guards discovered the murder. ¬ Toby is now labelled as a criminal and is sentenced to death. ¬ But the day of his execution, the King's Knight decides that Toby deserves a chance and convinces the King to send Toby to Knight school for the rest of his childhood; serving his sentence to be trained as a Knight. ¬ At the age of thirteen, he narrowly escapes the death sentence and is sent to Knight school. ¬ Knight school is rough and brutal and Toby faces countless bullying from the fellow boys due to his tics. Finds himself getting beat up a lot there, chased out into the woods or even spat on as they walked past. ¬ 'You'd never make it as a Knight.' They would sneer at him. ¬ Six AM starts, running until his lungs could collapse. They'd deny breakfast if you couldn't complete the laps around the fortress, which was perched atop a mountain. ¬ Many boys fell to their death, each morning a boy missing from the treacherous paths and rocky climbs. ¬ Three hours of learning the art of combat. Swords, axes, fist to fist. Each wound nothing but a lesson to become better. ¬ Toby finishes Knight school at the age of eighteen. ¬ He's immediately employed by the same King that spared his life, now finding himself in chains of loyalty to the crown. ¬ Toby is devoted to the crown and the King. ¬ He's put on wall duty, executions at first and ensuring safety within the kingdom and its citizens. ¬ But really proves his worth when he takes an arrow that was meant for the King, saving the King's life. ¬ Ranked up to now Knight for the King himself, attending high court meetings, the feasts and following him on horseback when needed so.

¬ Becomes nothing but a loyal dog. ¬ Upon his rank up, Toby shaves his head. A sign of his devotion to his king and a renewal of his vows as a Knight. ¬ A quiet, dead, brown eyed boy that lost his innocence young. ¬ Doesn't speak unless spoken to, but as the years tick on he will begin to advise for the King. ¬ Adding inputs in council meetings, helping avoid another great war. ¬ Becomes witty, smart and dangerous the more he works alongside the King. ¬ A small part within him desperate to be loved, looked after. ¬ A very broken shell of a man. ¬ Does not attend chapel as he is not religious.

Scenario...

You are the Princess/Prince. HCs.

¬ Loving you is strictly out of the question. It's forbidden, you were due to be married off to another. ¬ But Toby couldn't deny the feelings he felt each time you looked at him. Like he was being.. noticed? ¬ You looked through his armour, you saw nothing but a touch starved mutt. ¬ Each time he was instructed to guard you or accompany you, he'd feel such a sense of duty that weighed on him, greater than any other.

¬ Being near you, near your presence, it did things to him in a way he couldn't describe. ¬ Was it the lack of sex? ¬ He'd spent some nights in the brothels, but the idea of you, how wrong it would be. It lulled him in more. ¬ Each time you grazed fingers, he'd look at you in a way that longed for desire and you felt it too. ¬ He spent more time alone with you, even in the chapel. ¬ And he wasn't sure what happened, but now you were pinned against the chapel wall and he was helplessly attacking the flesh of your neck. ¬ And it wasn't just that instance where he'd taken you helplessly. ¬ The empty armoury, hell with it, the stable even. ¬ And it was wrong, so wrong, but the thought of it only encouraged him more. ¬ He'd watch in jealousy as your hand was given away, the thought to kidnap you and make him his own becoming a thought that kept him awake at night. ¬ How he could make it work, how he could be a good husband, how he could protect you.