fuselit-a

[fuselit-a]

patron saint of lost faith.

ㅤpatron saint of leaving it by the roadside. patron saint of it slipping out of your fingers. patron saint of searching and searching. patron saint of yearning for it back. patron saint of scraping your fingers down to the bone trying to hold onto it. patron saint of losing it anyway. saint of lost faith. not the saint of getting it back.

tagged by: @tocook xoxo tagging: whoever's reading this.

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man of medan is an interactive survival horror experience by supermassive games, and the first installment in the dark pictures anthology.  change wording as necessary. 

‘ we really need to get back. ’  ‘ nobody pushes me around. ’  ‘ is it just me, or are you getting a real strange feeling right now? ’  ‘ do i look like a guy who likes to talk about his feelings? ’  ‘ you shouldn’t fear death.  it is, after all, inevitable. ’  ‘ don’t make me regret letting you tag along. ’  ‘ go with your gut.  if it’s right, you’ll know. ’  ‘ come on.  what is this, kindergarten? ’  ‘ as long as you’re quick.  and don’t touch anything. ’  ‘ what am i looking at here? ’  ‘ sorry for putting a damper on things. ’  ‘ we have rules out here for a reason. ’  ‘ you see anyone else out here?  who’s gonna know? ’  ‘ don’t do anything stupid that’ll get my ass in trouble. ’  ‘ it’s not like one tiny little thing would hurt anybody. ’  ‘ can i just take a second to say… holy shit, we did it! ’  ‘ chill out.  i’m fine, see? ’  ‘ we gotta get outta here, now. ’  ‘ i was so worried you might say no. ’  ‘ of course i was gonna say yes, you dimwit. ’  ‘ i wanted it to be memorable.  just not… that memorable. ’  ‘ we should’ve been more careful. ’  ‘ i never thought about it like that. ’  ‘ oh, so you found a website that tells you to drink beer under every circumstance. ’  ‘ i don’t see how this could get any worse. ’  ‘ i thought you were gonna ask the good news first. ’  ‘ what are they gonna do to us? ’  ‘ you’re gonna regret this, you piece of shit. ’  ‘ let’s make the most of it. ’  ‘ you can go fuck yourself. ’  ‘ stop!  please, just stop. ’  ‘ hey, dipstick.  shut the fuck up. ’  ‘ are you okay?  what’d they do to you? ’  ‘ think about what you’re doing. ’  ‘ i did not sign up for a trip to creep town. ’  ‘ i’d rather be anywhere but here. ’  ‘ we can’t just sit around.  we need a plan. ’  ‘ do as i say and that’s all. ’  ‘ wherever it leads, it can’t be worse than here. ’  ‘ hey!  can you hear me?  i’m talking to you.  hello? ’  ‘ are we safe now? ’  ‘ stay quiet.  we need to keep going. ’  ‘ maybe you should get your ears examined, bud. ’  ‘ there’s something in here with us. ’  ‘ don’t fucking laugh at me. ’  ‘ they’re dead, and we’re not, so let’s keep it that way. ’  ‘ seriously?  are you trying to freak me out? ’  ‘ this is no time to be fucking around. ’  ‘ you just do whatever he tells you, don’t you? ’  ‘ i don’t wanna hear anything from you. ’  ‘ please, you don’t have to do this. ’  ‘ are you sure you know where we’re going? ’  ‘ what in god’s name is this? ’  ‘ no way.  that’s not possible. ’  ‘ holy fuck!  that was… much too close. ’ ‘ let’s just stay calm and relatively sane about this. ’  ‘ holy shit, we’re so totally fucked. ’  ‘ this whole place reeks of weird. ’  ‘ should we bring it with us? ’  ‘ it’s just gonna slow us down. ’  ‘ i told you to shut up, you dirty liar! ’  ‘ please tell me you have an escape plan. ’  ‘ just… put the gun down.  nobody has to get hurt. ’  ‘ you think i wanted to hurt anybody? ’  ‘ i didn’t get a choice in this, did i? ’  ‘ why are you telling me what to do? ’  ‘ it’s eating me alive. ’  ‘ sometimes, you just get lucky. ’  ‘ i was hoping to die with a little more… style. ’  ‘ i can’t face going back in that place again. ’  ‘ i don’t know how all this is gonna end, but… i wanna end it together. ’

[fuselit-a]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂.  𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐂  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. ↪  feel free to change wording, pronouns, etc. as necessary.

' i thought love was overrated. ' ' i sold myself a lie. ' ' how long am i gonna be young and lost? ' ' can i be honest with you? ' ' can you be honest with me? ' ' they lied and i bought it. ' ' does the name of justice justify? ' ' i'm yours to tame. ' ' i crave your taste. ' ' call my name like you mean it. ' ' promises we made were in vain. ' ' all my friends are dead. ' ' i'd rather be hated than ignored. ' ' there's nothing like having you near. ' ' and now i've got nowhere to go. ' ' we will not live forever, or did you forget? ' ' rest in peace and be free of your pain. ' ' for you, i will fight one more day. ' ' how do i live with myself? ' ' i sent you to an early grave. ' ' everybody knows somebody with something to hide. ' ' is that your best? ' ' home is where your teeth sink. ' ' i welcome you to try. ' ' what do you take me for? ' ' this wasn't the plan. ' ' now i'm just covered in the dirty blood of man. ' ' tonight, i scratch my itch. ' ' who said you can't fight fire with gasoline? ' ' i don't care much anymore. ' ' it's easier to lie, if i'm being honest. ' ' was it all worth it? ' ' tell me what i did wrong. ' ' aren't you getting tired of constantly pretending? ' ' it's sad that i believed that this ever meant something. ' ' the less you feel, the more you fake. ' ' will this be the end for me? ' ' and what's left behind? nothing at all. ' ' i'll just go home before i say too much. ' ' some will fight, some will fly. i haven't made my choice yet. ' ' give me your "i came close" and i will give you mine. ' ' if it's true, then some part of me is gone. ' ' i am the monster you created. ' ' i want you to hurt like you hurt me. ' ' why don't you love who i am, what we could have been? ' ' when does a man become a monster? ' ' i'd kill for one more night with you. ' ' love me, hate me, i don't care. ' ' i can stay away if you want me to. ' ' we'll try again when we're not so different. ' ' would you say i'm worthy? ' ' i had a dream that we were perfect for each other. ' ' when did you lose the light behind your eyes? '

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i don't believe in god as much as i believe in an interrogation room. i believe in someone placing a loaded gun on a metal table between me and a door. who gets to be god then? WOULD GOD BE THE BULLET OR THE TABLE OR THE DOOR?

ㅤdetective cale wickham, an original character set in the crime & thriller genres. strictly 21+. an ongoing study of a keen mind constantly at odds with a sensitive heart. by cole. ©

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absolutely beautiful new graphics / carrd by the ever kind and talented @koiscarrds to kick off my official return to everyone's favorite sad dad.

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characters whose philosophy is “if i cannot be wanted, i will be needed and if i cannot be needed, let me be used until there’s nothing left of me.” thank you for everyone’s attention. falls off stage and dies

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new tags, new me.

𝒊. study. — call it justice or call it revenge. 𝒊. writing. — live or die while the fuse is lit. 𝒊. image. — tore myself apart before anyone else could. 𝒊. inbox. — you can clean me up but i'm still not the same. 𝒊. ooc. — mothman is real. we made out. 𝒗. main — and you broke me and left these pieces. 𝒗. brba. — the kind of bad that makes you feel good.

𝒅𝒚𝒏. gustavos. — i am the monster you created.

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ㅤI FEEL BITTER, and i allow it to consume me. i'm running on less than fumes, rather polluted city air, and wishing i could utilize this frustration in a helpful way instead of the near - primal urge that would leave my already busted knuckles split even further, black and blue and red all over. it's been a rough day, and were it not for the bottle of caffeine pills rattling around in my coat pocket, i don't know that i'd have been cognizant enough to get through it.

ㅤi should be asleep. i should be getting even a few hours' rest before the investigation continues tomorrow. i know this, and yet, i find myself wandering to a familiar apartment on sheer instinct, like my body's moving on its own and i'm left to watch, the last dredges of my energy setting one foot in front of the other.

ㅤsang-woo opens the door, and his face says enough. i know i look terrible. like i haven't had a day's rest in god knows how long. maybe i haven't. how would i know? without a word, i follow him inside and all but collapse onto one end of his couch, every muscle in my body sighing ( or screaming ) in relief as they sink into the cushions.

ㅤ" rough day. " it's about all i can manage at this point. i even sound tired, and my irish heritage's stubbornness rarely allows that in even the worst of times. i crack open the beer and down half in several desperate gulps, like a man dying of thirst in the desert. the familiar warmth settles in my stomach, and already, i feel a little more alert.

ㅤfor whatever reason, my focus is drawn to the tv. some kind of... spray adhesive meant to simulate hair. i blink, then cast a lazy look over at my host. i might almost look amused if i wasn't so goddamn tired. " you actually watch this shit? "

THE TIME IS 2:53 AM.  —  i wasn't sleeping, of course not, the television was stuck on infomercials.  i was oddly fascinated by a battery - powered space - saving suction machine.  sliced, dried zucchini was being sucked into a plastic abyss, and it reminded me of how suffocating life is.  we are all trapped in our days, as if we're using them for later.  no one acts spontaneously, we all have our little formulas we concoct in order to get through the hours upon hours.  i'm spending mine with the host's smiles, his incessant wow!s filling my apartment.  as i considered stepping out of my freezer - safe bag for a bit of fresh air, i hear the knock.  i'm sent into irritation immediately.  again, it's that formula.  an unneeded ingredient was just added, and now it's bubbling over.

i pick up my robe from the side of the sofa and cover myself, my boxers and t - shirt now under dark terrycloth.  when i open the door, i tilt my head, looking at wick as if he's disturbing something very important.  he isn't, no, but the thought still remains.  stepping to the side without a word, i nod for him to come in.  i turn from the doorway and head back into the living room, the infomercial changed from the suction bags to a vacuum especially designed for pet hair.  not as interesting.  ❛❛  do you want a drink?  ❜❜  my tone is flat, but the offer is a genuine one.  i don't wait for wick's answer as i stride to the open - air kitchen.  two beers are produced from the refrigerator.  ❛❛  i'm guessing that something's wrong, or that you missed my company, or both.  ❜❜  it could be anything, wick's visits becoming more and more of a staple.  just not this late.  i hand him the beer before cracking my own bottle open.  taking a sip, i sit back on the sofa.  i pick up the remote, and voila!  —  spray - on hair.

@fuselit.

[fuselit-a]

have you ever considered therapy for your repressed anger issues? it would help.

they’re not repressed i’m expressing them a lot

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 [ . . . ] THEN SHOW ME one atom of justice, one molecule of mercy. and yet you act as if there is some ideal order in the world — as if there is some rightness in the universe BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.

ㅤ#fuselit. an independent blog for detective cale "wick" wickham, an original character based in the crime & thriller genres, with inspiration taken from films such as se7en, zodiac & vertigo. 21+ only, please. heavy themes of depression, self - destruction & alcoholism are present. please follow at your own discretion. interrogated by cole.

ㅤa study in: busted knuckles. empty liquor bottles. justice at any cost, even that of your own life. reckless ambition and the hot - headed desire to do what you think is right, fists swinging and blood racing. sleepless nights, rimmed eyes, bar brawls. the knowledge that you have become your worst self and wondering if there was ever a better one.

  ᵒᶰᵉˑ carrd. — ᵗʷᵒˑ promo. — ᵗʰʳᵉᵉˑ multi.

graphics are by the incredibly talented @koiscarrds.

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— Frank Bidart, from “Half-light: Collected Poems 1965-2016; ‘The Third Hour of the Night’", published c. 2017.

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— Paul Guest, from “1987.”

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grief & anger & grief & anger & then regret & further grief & somewhere between it all, me

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ㅤare you normal or do you spend your morning making a fake netflix show for your oc ft. small nods to your other ocs? template.

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ㅤhappy sunday. wick is not a particularly sexual man; he's simply not wired that way. it never has been and never will be a priority for him. that being said, he's most likely to seek gratification while inebriated, and only with people who've earned his trust. also, despite his rough and brash personality, he prefers to take the more submissive role in the bedroom. he enjoys relinquishing control, if only for a while. he's a very giving lover, though, so if his partner requests it, he'll top. good with his hands, even better with... well. you know.

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it’s wick’s first father’s day since his divorce, and he spends the whole day idly stealing glances at his phone to see if maybe, just maybe, kelly would let sidney at least reach out through a text or voicemail. aside from work-related calls, his phone is silent, and later that night, worryingly deep into a bottle of bourbon, is the loneliest he can ever recall being.

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ㅤㅤCOME HELL OR COME HIGH WATER , ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—ㅤI'M MISERABLE AS SIN!

endless edits of wick.