ddarkstalker

[ddarkstalker]

I just rewatched the whole of Phineas and Ferb and I'm convinced this man thinks Perry lives on his little platyhouse Pokemon mystery dungeon style

[ddarkstalker]

QUEEN KILLER: Chapter II

Now on Ao3 and Wattpad!

[A/N: There is bolded text. It is not showing up on mobile. I decided to color code it instead, but Wattpad and AO3 show the right format, AO3 more (Wattpad doesn't bold on mobile either for some reason).]

I'm at the apartment again. The Madame is dead. The blood at my feet is nothing but a dried stain this time. I look outside, but the view is all black. A single Eye stares back at me through the vast darkness. I decide to keep the window closed.

As I turn back to the Madame, the Eyes have grown all over her body. They blink. I blink back.

The Eyes watch me as I pick up the body once again, dragging her to the bedroom this time. I can't explain why, but she belongs here. We belong here.

When I step inside the room, the Eyes are all over the walls and ceiling. They peer at me as I drop the Madame in her bed. They glare at me as I tie her down to the frame.

"What did I do?"

She gives no reply because she is dead.

I ask again. "What did I do?"

The Eyes on her body begin to multiply. Soon all I can see is a swarm of milky white orbs, popping over the ropes and down to the floor. I don't move. Not until I get an answer.

I hear a muted shriek as the sea of Eyes engulfs me. They all turn to look at me, and I hear a voice, ringing sharply through my mind.

"What did she do to you?"

I wake up to the usual sounds of my neighborhood—police sirens and children playing. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I peer through the curtains to see the sirens flash once more before turning around the corner.

Huh. They usually go straight past us.

A little part of me won't stop screaming that they've found me out, even as I know the Madame hasn't been found yet.

The alert hasn't gone off yet. I've got time.

Must be something nearby, then.

I check my phone; it's 6 pm. It's been a day since I found the Madame.

Yawning, I roll out of bed and step into the bathroom...and immediately recoil.

The first things I see as I look into the mirror is the bruises and bite marks around my collarbone, the scratches down my torso, and the dried blood dripping from a long slit down my neck.

I look...horrible.

I rub at the dark circles below my eyes, scowling at my disheveled appearance. As I move my neck, trying to examine the gash, the slit expands, beginning to bleed again.

Alright, that's enough of that. Stop gawking at yourself and get cleaned.

I'm not gawking, I'm—

Don't need to hear it. Just get in the shower, Prince Charming.

My frown deepens as I step in, turning on the water with a shiver.

An hour and several pained tears later, I'm wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe on the couch, watching TV.

I'm scrolling through YouTube videos, playing with the bandage wrapped around my neck, when the alert comes on over the speakers.

I jump as the government-mandated alarm buzzes through my sound system. A happy little jingle plays as the American Alliance's logo appears on the screen, a white silhouette of an eagle surrounded by an array of blue and red stars.

"Citizens of Illinois are advised to be on the lookout for Arlene Duncan, a 26 year old woman living in central Chicago. Her appearance is, as listed: red hair, blue eyes, and..."

Time's up.

Oh god. This isn't good.

I tumble off the couch with a small thud, scrambling to pull on my boxers and the closest shirt I can find, running to—

Oh. I know this shirt.

The pastel pink makes me stop in my tracks, looking down to see Hello Kitty sequined onto the front of my sweatshirt. My hair, still wet, makes darker pink blotches along the fabric as I fight the urge to scream.

It was a gift from the Madame, a little joke she found funny. She haunts me even after her death.

The walls are starting to close in, and shake my head, trying to fend it off. I grab a pair of black jeans along with my phone and struggle with the door, hands shaking too hard to hold the doorknob right.

What are you doing?

I have to get away.

I have to go see her.

As I step outside, the alert is all over the place, ringing from people's phones, speakers atop the power lines, screens below shop signs. The bandage wrapped around my throat is suddenly too tight, and I have to dig my nails into my hands to stop myself from clawing at it.

I break off into a barely controlled run, slipping away unnoticed as people look around, shocked as the Madame's photo appears on their screens. A cacophony of voices starts to rise, denial and confusion beginning to creep in as everyone seems to simultaneously realize what's going on.

"What? No way."

"Are you serious? What kind of monster would..."

I finally manage to escape the crowd, stopping at a small park around the corner. I look around, searching for the little brown cross I'd stuck above her grave.

Hey, wait—

There she is.

I step up to the small wooden cross, suddenly aware of the bodies below me. A little white rabbit I found dead on the side of the road is buried far above the Madame, but Her Majesty takes over all of my thoughts, even silencing the voice itself.

I hate that she can still do this to me after she's dead.

All of a sudden I can't take it anymore, tearing at the bandage around my neck, watching the blood flow down my hands.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. There's someone else in my head. You know I would never hurt you, right?"

The words come out like a broken record, echoes of every apology she ever offered me, long forgotten.

But apologies for what? I don't understand, but the words don't stop. So many apologies spill out of my mouth, till I'm out of breath, keep going.

Maybe I could have asked her what happened, if she was still alive. Maybe it would have been nothing.

I shouldn't have killed her.

What?

I didn't murder anyone.

That's what I want to believe, desperately, but the evidence suggests—

I DIDN'T MURDER HER

My chest tightens as I struggle to breathe, out of apologies but unable to inhale, vision blackening.

IDIDNTIDIDNTIDIDNT

Of course not. I would never hurt Her Majesty.

The clamp on my ribs releases, and I stand there, shaking, before collapsing on a swing nearby.

I shouldn't have come here.

I grab the bandage, wiping my hands like a tissue, before starting home. The alert is gone now, but a few people still stand around, talking about the Madame's disappearance.

As I try to walk past them, one of them notices the bloody bandage and my cut.

"Hey, are you alright?" Hesitantly, the man approaches, blond hair ruffled by the wind. **He's around my age, I think, but he's...really tall, towering way over my head. I step back to look up at him, thoughts going blank.

Bending down to inspect the gash, he continues."That...doesn't look good. I can take you to the hospital, if you want." He, thankfully, makes no comment about my attire, but as I dab the cut with the bandage, I notice a police badge shining on his jacket, loosely slung over his shoulder and flinch, stepping back defensively.

"I'll be perfectly fine, thank you very much."

The police department has been nothing but trouble since the Alliance came into power. It's not a good idea to get involved with them, even if they're seemingly trying to help.

He looks at me with bewildered eyes, before shaking his head, resigned. "Alright. Well, if you need anything...I'm Jason."

I nod, forcing a smile. "Rhys. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but the circumstances suggest otherwise."

Was I always this cringey? God, that's so embarrassing.

Jason mirrors my nod, turning back to his little group as I contemplate jumping off the nearest bridge.

When I step back inside, heart still racing, I see a tuft of white-blonde hair poking over the sofa, the television playing silently in front of my unexpected visitor.

You've gotta be kidding me.

"Hello, Daphne."

Wonderland is calling.

[ddarkstalker]

if you ever feel bad at writing just remember Colleen Hoover got published

[ddarkstalker]

i am very certain this has been done before but it didnt leave my mind for hours so i drew it anyways

[ddarkstalker]

shitpost

[ddarkstalker]

So, I've been writing this sort of side-quest for my main story...what do we think?

It's still a WIP, nothing finalized or anything, and I doubt I'll ever truly "publish" the story or this little segment, just because they're poorly written and have darker themes than what literally anyone wants to read.

T/W: suggestions of s/a and/or r*pe.

The boy in the mirror watches me with my face, but I can't tear my eyes away from the broken look in his own.

I can’t do this anymore.

What have I become?

I can still feel echoes of her hands trailing down my chest, wrapping around my throat, sliding down my legs. Suddenly I can't breathe, shaking with sobs as my legs give out. Blood trails down from my forehead, right where she hit me…but with what I can't remember.

I tug my shirt tighter around my chest, the feel of the fabric on my skin the only thing keeping me sane.

The sound of footsteps approaching has me scrambling back behind a shelf, trying desperately to stop my shaky breaths from making a sound.

“Rhys? Honey, you know I'm sorry. I just can't…It's not me, you know.”

Her voice comes from behind the door, scratchy but gentle.

“I love you, you know that?”

I find my voice again, about to deliver a scathing remark, but then she continues, sighing.

“It’s complicated. But you mean the world to me, kiddo. I promise, it won't happen again.”

And all of a sudden, all the fight goes out of me. How could I hate her?

I get up, opening the door ever so slightly to look her in the eyes. Her bloodred hair is open, tangled waves flowing over the lace tanktop she hastily pulled on. I can't see the rest of her face. “Promise?”

It's naive. Stupid, even. This isn't the first time she's said it, and it won't be the last. But all I can think of is her smile every time I let her in again, her loving gaze, her breathy laugh.

Isn't this love?

“Promise.”

Then why does it feel so wrong?

I step outside, slowly, hesitantly, and she scoops me up in a hug. “I know I'm a little…different. I…I don't know who I am sometimes. There's someone else in my head. She won't go away. You know I wouldn't hurt you, right?”

I nod. I can't breathe. My focus is laser pointed towards her hands, skirting the end of my shirt discreetly, barely grazing skin, and it takes everything in me not to throw her arm off and run.

She pulls back, watching my expression, blue eyes shadowed in doubt. “You don't believe me, do you?”

“Let me make it up to you.”

I nod again, exhausted. All I really want is to go to bed, alone this time, but it's worth making her smile again.

It's safer that way.

Her face lights up, and she ruffles my hair, giggling. “Thank you, thank you thank you thank you!”

I flash her a tired smile as she pinches my cheeks, grinning. “What are your thoughts on ice cream?”

“That sounds…good.”

She laughs as she skips away, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, just let me get dressed!”

I force myself to relax as I watch her leave. She's not the monster. She never was. The monster…It's a different version of her. If I can just keep it away…Keep her like this…we can be happy.

Can't we?

[draft ends here! unfinished.]

[ddarkstalker]

so perfect

“The writer's job is to get the main character up a tree, and then once they are up there, throw rocks at them.” — Vladimir Nabokov

[ddarkstalker]

how tf do I use tags

I'm struggling here

every tag I put I have to check because I don't even know if I'm using it right

jajahfhkahdhshasfag

[ddarkstalker]

So remember that story I mentioned? Here's Chapter One of [edit: new name] QUEEN KILLER (will rewrite because it's pathetically bad lmfao; yes I am aware of the poor quality):

T/W: murder, mild gore? basically descriptive bloody stuff but not really touched upon.

(*had to put in all the italics and holds again manually and I'm so exhausted wtf; also bold doesn't show up on mobile so I had to color it)

It’s a beautiful day outside.

There’s a light breeze coming in as the sky begins to darken with the promise of rain, the birds are chirping, and the flowers on the windowsill are blooming like I’ve never seen before. My fingers brush against the soft velvet petals absently as my heartbeat thunders in my ears. I can’t turn around. I can’t look.

The sun’s dying rays cast soft patterns upon the creaking wood, blood trickling down through the floorboards.

“Madame…Arlene…?”

I didn’t mean for it to go this way. I didn’t…I just wanted…No. I…I can’t have done this. I didn’t do this. It’s not my fault.

My heart beats wildly as I slowly turn around, watching the life drain out of her eyes, neck twisted at an odd angle. There are monstrous gashes all over her face and upper body, and I can't tell if the flashes of bone I see jutting out from her skin are real or just tricks of the light.

I steel my nerves as I stumble towards my former boss's stiff form, feeling around for a pulse. The tendons in the Madame’s neck make surprisingly satisfying popping noises as my fingers move, and I stifle a nervous giggle.

She’s dead. I’m certain of it.

It’s then I realize that I have no idea what I’m doing. I freeze, nauseous with terror.

hidethebodyhidethebodyhidethebody

It’s the voice that jolts me into quick action, quickly moving to the supply closet at the front of the apartment. I check the locks on the front door hurriedly before pulling out a box of gloves. After putting on the gloves, I reach in and find a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a cloth in a small bag. It's not much, but it’ll have to do.

I stop once more at the sight of the Madame’s body on the floor, blood gushing out through every orifice. Why am I doing this? It’s not like I was the one to-

hidethebodyhidethebodyHIDETHEBODY

I’ll have to move her.

Grabbing her hair, I pull her to the bathtub and shove her in the tub. I bite my tongue to fight the nausea as I hear more popping and cracking.

When I get back to the living room, it’s too late to get rid of the entire stain, but some time later all that remains is a light pinkish color against the brown wood. I cover it up with a green carpet and it’s as good as gone.

Alright. Now, for the bathtub. I shudder before slinking back to the bathroom.

She looks even worse than when I left her. I step back, unwilling to touch the defiled corpse, but the voice urges me forward again.

hidetheevidencehidethebodyhidehidehide

I leave the water running, then start rummaging through drawers, pulling out a pair of shears.

Her clothes are tangled and ripped, bone poking through in certain areas. I guess they weren’t my imagination after all.

It takes some maneuvering, but soon I’ve gotten all the fabric off and in the trash.

For some reason, I can’t help but think she’d enjoy this just a bit.

disgusting ew ewEW

That’s so real, dude.

Not long after, there’s a pale white corpse in the bathroom, and the bathtub is just a little pinker than before. I can see every vein in the Madame’s face. Or whatever’s left of it, at least.

Meanwhile, I pace the bathroom floor, thinking. What the hell am I supposed to do now? This isn’t my job!

I pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. I should call-

putthephonedown.

…What? There are cleaners for a reason, aren’t there? I do the dirty work, they’re supposed to—

PUTTHEPHONEDOWN

I wince, shoving my phone back in my pocket. Right. This isn’t just another Tea Party. I have to think for myself for once.

…Which means I’m basically screwed. Shit.

the madame’sroom.

Or maybe not.

I turn off the faucet before hurrying over to the Madame’s bedroom. As my hand grazes the doorknob, I realize I can’t move. Again.

I can’t go in there. Why can’t I go there?

What’s wrong with me?

The voice makes what almost sounds like a sigh before speaking.

turnthe knob

you willbefine.

As I step in the room, tensing against the strong urge to leave, my head begins to throb.

I don’t belong here. Not like this. Something’s wrong.

suitcases.camera. youwill be fine.

I shake it off, opening the walk-in closet to reveal rows of suitcases. Dozens of fancy trinkets and opulent dresses come out of the first case.

The rest are the same, though I’m careful not to dump everything out this time. I kick away the baubles and dresses and drag the suitcase out, then turn to the camera.

The laptop is logged in, thank goodness, but the camera is already off.

Huh. That’s odd. What purpose is a camera if not for security?

I go to click onto the saved files and—

GET OUT.

I leave the cursor hovering over the icon. Perhaps this is just a waste of time. After all, the camera is off. That’s the priority, right?

As I step back from the computer, I survey the room, looking around. Now that I’m really seeing it, the room is actually really tidy, save for several large bloodstains on the bedsheets and ropes and chains looped haphazardly around the bed frame.

I ignore my suddenly worsening headache as my jaw drops.

Woah. The Madame was freaky.

You think? I jump a foot in the air as I hear the voice once again. It seems more…tame.

There are a few boxes neatly tucked under the bed, which, upon closer inspection, are filled to the brim with a load of weapons and more restraints. I grab a rope and a long knife I recognize from my shows at the Tea Party. A long machete-like blade, with a black and indigo handle. I trace the blue-purple stitches on the sheath, thinking of all the lives it’s taken.

Anyway. No time for reminiscing. I don’t think I’ll be serving at the Tea Parties again anytime soon regardless.

I tie the sheath to my belt and grab the suitcase handle, hurrying back over to the bathroom.

At first, I try shoving the Madame inside the suitcase, but that just results in more blood and a bigger mess. I stare at the blood pooling on the tiled floor, too exhausted to move. I didn't even know there was any blood left to spill.

…Tissue?

I bark out a laugh, fighting the urge to curl up into a ball on the floor. That works.

It takes a while, and I really don’t know how no one has found me already, but eventually I get the secondary spill all cleaned up and put Madame Arlene back into the tub. I stand over the body, playing with the blade in my hands. That’s when it hits me.

Why don’t you…disassemble her? She’ll probably fit better, the voice says hesitantly as I smile in realization.

I pull the knife out of its sheath immediately, grinning madly now. Why didn't I think of it earlier?

Two arms, two legs, and a head later and I’ve got what looks like a perfect fit. I just need a cover…

I run back into the bedroom, grabbing the discarded dresses, and cut two open before dragging the rest of the clothes to the bathroom. I wrap the Madame in the ripped dresses and tuck her in, patting the lump where her head is hidden almost fondly before tying it all together with the rope.

The Queen of Hearts deserves no affection from you.

The voice says her Wonderland title with a mocking tone, and I can’t help but wonder what the Madame did to deserve all this.

The rest of the stuff goes on top, and soon the case is stuffed to the brim with clothes. It’s perfect.

I pick up the case, struggling to move it outside the apartment. This floor is completely empty, for the Queen’s convenience. Hard to run a criminal operation with witnesses living right next to you.

As I step out, I see the Madame’s keys hanging out of her coat. I reach into my pocket for my own key and lock the door.

Perhaps the Madame trusted me a little too much with her things. She was too sweet, I guess.

No she WASN’T, you idiot, she was a—

I mean, yeah. Yeah, she was.

I blink in confusion, trying to figure out whatever that means, but to no avail. Eventually I just push it to the back of my mind, trying to think of anything I could have forgotten.

I smile, satisfied, before remembering my phone. I pull it out in a panick but realize the signal’s jammed. That’s somehow scarier than anything I could have imagined.

The Madame has never had a bad signal, let alone no signal. Something’s off.

Just get out of here. Please.

I set the case on the floor, rubbing my temples in frustration. My head is spinning, and I can barely walk.

I roll the suitcase over to the elevator and slump against the wall as the door shuts.

This is going to do a number on my hair. At this rate, it’ll be gray from the stress by the time I’m twenty five.

I laugh at the thought, before going completely blank.

I’m about to hide a body. God, it’s like I’m in a movie or something. Who actually does this kind of stuff?!?

You work for a criminal organization. Whose favorite hobby is watching people fight to the death. What did you expect, a tea par—wait. No. That wasn't intentional.

Right. The Tea Parties.

How many people fight in the Parties…No, how many people are in Wonderland…? Will I have to deal with them too? I can’t do that!

My breathing quickens, and the same thought thumps through my head as my heartbeat thunders in my ears.

I’m so screwed. I’m so screwed. I’m so screwed.

When the elevator opens again, I’m close to tears.

What did I do…?

[ddarkstalker]

So, figured I might as well put something on here, so here's an introduction to...well, me.

Hi, I'm Darkstalker. You can call me Hans.

I like writing, reading, drawing, and a few other things, pretty basic. My favorite book series is the Insignia series by S.J. Kincaid, but I'll read virtually anything as long as it's interesting.

I play Genshin Impact, watch Miraculous Ladybug (occasionally, but still love it), play Sonic and Uncharted 4, and a few other games. I'm currently writing a psychological thriller about a guy who kills his boss and goes crazy from the guilt. The working name is Plastic Cages, but I plan to change it soon. It's really bad, but I'm just trying to push out chapters instead of really focusing on the quality for now. I write on Wattpad and I have an AO3 account that I might publish it on, but I'll also put my stuff here, just to get it out.

Anyway, that's all. Nice to meet you, Tumblr.

[ddarkstalker]

Sonic obliviousness is mostly harmless... Until mixed with Omega's blatant honestly

[ddarkstalker]

live footage of shadow getting adopted (he did not agree to this)