havenothings-blog

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honestly i know yalls are probably #tired of me by now buT i am probs never gonna come back here bc im so lazy and i don’t like handling two browsers so if you wanna find me, hmu on @flaxsturbation or @vwfndr.

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anyone want a starter?

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You know, I’ve often wondered why it is we have children in the first place.

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no offense but i have every right to not trust men 

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                                                      JUST GO RIGHT THE HELL AHEAD! — written by jess.

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                                                                                          PLEASE DON’T TOUCH URANUS!

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norma louise bates died sad and that’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me

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“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

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brokenragdoll:

continued from here with @havenothings.

❝ you shouldn’t have done that. ❞ she could still feel the tightness of the rope around her neck, a fatal wound that would never truly heal, shades of red and purple that formed bruises scattered across the paleness of her skin. a wound norma bates had failed to notice ( as blind to everyone else’s problems but her own as she was ), for the junkie kept it well hidden underneath black chokers and other trashy jewelry, never to see the light of day again. when she fell into her arms, sally put her hand on the back of norma’s head and held her close to the crook of her neck, sprinkled with cheap perfume that would last an eternity: the very first act of shared kindness between the two women.

tears burnt inside her eyes, bright and close to falling, blurring her sight but she thanked them for it. sally wasn’t a stranger to human death and decay, she had seen her fair share of it before … but never her own. a rotten body, a mixture of eaten flesh and dirt, looking back at her from the shallow depths of a nameless grave. and she swallowed, hard while planting soft kisses on top of norma’s head as they hugged, wishing her body had stayed buried where it belonged. once unveiled, some things couldn’t be unseen.

❝ you really shouldn’t have done that. ❞

                   it’s the scent of her, thick and all consuming, that brings norma back to herself. sally is here, holding her, kissing her, and yet she is there, too — in the ground, rotting, driving away her guests. her whole body shakes and she gags against sally’s neck, knowing all too well she is never going to be able to rid herself of that image — of sally with her face half exposed, bits of flesh eaten through down to the yellowed bone. the thought makes her scream again only her throat is too raw, it only whistles.

“how?” it comes out like gravel, choked, as norma’s fingernails dig deep into the other woman’s skin as if searching for a sign that this is real, that it is not just some horrible, horrible DREAM. how is sally standing here, arms wrapped around her, soothing her? is this hell — is her body here, too? 

“get off me...” none of this makes sense, none of it, and yet it is happening anyway. what is sally, a demon? no, sally is not right but she’s not that. and maybe, if norma is being honest with herself, she has always known something was OFF about the junkie; the things she knows, the things she does...it has all been right there for her to see but she never let herself believe. 

“GET OFF ME!” something clicks and norma’s pushing her away. her whole body feels like white noise but it’s better than feeling her. she is a liar, she’s been lying this WHOLE TIME and now what? what does she want? why can’t everyone just leave her alone? norma sobs again and, before she can stop herself, her hand swings and connects with sally’s jaw, then her arm, her chest, strong and desperate and hoping that maybe, just MAYBE, she can will all of this away with a powerful enough punch. “FUCK YOU!”

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REBLOG IF YOU WANT CURIOUS ANONS

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explain the reason for your url

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" it's not much, but... " things have been good between them lately, more than good. so he holds out a slender box ( it's wrapping leaving a little to be desired // but isn't the saying it's what inside that counts?? ) a small smile lifting his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes. it was a simple gift : a delicate shawl patterned with birds. something he spotted in town and she immediately came to mind. " happy mother's day."

                 she doesn’t expect anything from dylan — a text, maybe, if he’s feeling kind enough, but not THIS. just to see him is nice, to find he’s coming for dinner is even nicer, but a gift? norma can’t remember the last time he gave her something ( too long ago, when dylan was still young enough to fight for her love and norma was too G O N E to care ) so excuse the smile, ear-splitting and toothy. “for me?” her voice is small, caught in her throat but it’s BIG, too, overflowing with affection. things have changed between them, he looks at her now and she doesn’t feel so guilty, so angry — finally, she just sees him. 

“dylan, you didn’t have to get me anything...” that won’t stop her from peeling at the wrapping, not bothering to notice how very him it is, the overwrapping at the corners and the terrible tape job. the box’s lid is discarded, too, and norma is left staring down at what she already knows is a shawl; she’s seen it in the window of a boutique in the village, spread across the shoulders of a dummy. she thought it was so lovely how the dark birds sat calm against the robin’s egg blue threads, ready to take flight . she’s even stopped in once, tempted to try it on, only she never did; once on her shoulders, norma knew she would never be able to take it off. now, she wouldn’t have to.

“it’s... beautiful, dylan. really —— thank you...”

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“don’t worry, i’ve got you.” (another one cuz they need love)

in the end, it’s the SMELL that gets her. guests complain ( there’s so very few to begin with ) and she says something must have gotten stuck in the ceilings and died, she’s sorry, she’ll fix it right away. but there’s no money to call an exterminator and they only stay a day, maybe two. they’ll never know and eventually it will pass. 

only it never does — it gets worse until she can no longer stand to sit in the motel office, until the scent of rancid meat becomes too much for her to handle and she stomps off to the house for gloves, cleaning supplies, and a shovel. 

norma starts in the rooms, stomach churning as she checks each unit ( all except the one that remained occupied for too long now ) but she can’t pinpoint the source of that god awful stench. it’s stronger outside, carried by the gentle spring breeze that rolls off from the distant mountains. instead of sap and pine she smells what she knows to be death ( when she was a child, a mouse had crawled into their vents and died — it’s that but worse, a thousand times so ) and while she’s not trying to think about it, norma can only imagine the size of the animal she is meant to find.

it’s only on her way back to her home, to return her supplies after her pathetic attempt to keep the world from crumbling around her, that norma notices something in the distance — beyond the motel, just through the tree line, a strange... she can’t place it, it’s both shadow and light at once and before she can begin to process what she sees, it’s gone and she is moving towards it. 

and then she’s digging. the earth is bare, no grass has had time to grow and there’s a sinking feeling in norma’s stomach because she knows what she’s meant to find even before she begins. the smell is at its strongest now, burning her nostrils; her eyes; her throat. it takes everything in her not to heave, not to empty the contents of her stomach onto the thawing soil as she disturbs the ground, digging deeper and deeper into what, in her heart, she knows is a grave.

what happened on this property? who is to know with the kind of people were living here before her, the kind who can break into someone’s home and attack, who can inflict the WORST sort of pain on a person — a suffering that’s meant to be lived with. tears blur and burn her vision and norma doesn’t know why, she doesn’t know what the hell else to expect because this? this is nothing. this is typical.  only then her shovel hits something hard and it is all too much to handle, the bile rises in her throat and she swallows it all, leaving her wheezing and choking for breath. norma can hardly bring herself to lift away the dirt, to see what is underneath but she HAS to — whether she likes it or not, this is her problem now. everything in the world is her problem now...

and nothing in the world could have prepared her for what she was about to see.

                        a SCREAM tears its way up from her lungs, bloodcurdling and painful as she lifts her shovel to find the blackened face of her motel’s sole, lonely occupant: drug-addled sally. the shovel falls from her grip as she stumbles backwards, hands shaking at her sides, dirty fingernails clutching at her floral skirt. norma doesn’t hear sally as she speaks, don’t register the SOLID feel of her as she crashes into her arms — all she does is turn, bury her face in the woman’s bruised neck and screams again, again, again, until her throat is raw and she is drowning in her tears. 

she wants to die.

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He knew me by heart. It infuriated me that he knew me by heart.

Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky (via drearydoll)

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“you don’t understand how dangerous this is.”

              “what don’t i understand, dylan? what? tell me.” what can he possibly know that she doesn’t? what could he see, what could he feel, that she hasn’t seen or felt? especially about norman... there is nothing she doesn’t know about him, all the good and the bad all laid out in front of her; she’s seen what he can do and so what? no one can help him the way she can. “you think i’m stupid? you think i don’t know what’s going on? i know what’s going on!” 

protective starters / accepting.