schizolidd

[schizolidd]

an ultra rare superbat fic in the wild…

☆.。.:・° relax. ☆.。.:・°

MDNI! superbat fic, NSFW!

clark just wanted his bfs attention! (sorry for any grammar mistakes.)

Bruce didn’t understand what the word “downtime” meant, and it frustrated the hell out of Clark.

Clark had finished up his assigned article earlier that day, and decided that the best way to wind down on his early start to the weekend was to pay his celebrity boyfriend a visit. He got his affairs in order, tidied up, and ate dinner- by the time he finished it was already 8 pm. Late enough for him to soar the metropolis skyline without the possibility of being seen.

He grabbed his over-night bag and took to the sky, arriving promptly at the estate. As he fixes his disheveled hair in the reflection of the large glass front door, he’s unaware of the fact Alfred had already appeared to open it.

“Master Kent, what brings you to the estate at this hour? An interview with Mr. Wayne? I’ll inform him of your arrival.“

Clark chuckled. “I’m not here on business tonight, merely as a friend."

“But of course. It was impolite to insinuate any less on a Friday night.” He laughed dryly.

Clark stepped into the manor, allowing Alfred to take his coat. It’d taken much convincing and he still wasn’t 100% okay with it, but Alfred seemed unbothered as he took his duffel bag upstairs.

When Alfred’s frame disappeared at the top of the staircase, Clark made quick work of storming down a hallway and finding one of Bruce’s upteenth passageways to the bat cave. It’s something you’d expect out of an old action film really, very dramatic but, what else could be expected of Bruce? He slipped down a narrow pathway and down a flight of even narrower steps. When he opened a sterile metal door he used his X-ray vision to search for exactly where Bruce was. He found him sat at his computer as usual, deep in focus staring at what seemed to be a million different things.

He hovered just barely over the steps, cautious of making noise. He crept up behind his boyfriend’s tall frame and embraced him from behind.

“Boo.” Clark whispered into the crook of his neck.

“Clark, I’m working.” He typed away at the computer.

“How’d you even know I was here?!” He sounded dejected.

“I saw you on the CCTV cameras the second motion was detected above the estate, and anyway, you’re not known for your stealth.”

He pouted slightly, seeing Bruce was already irritated.

“I just wanted to surprise you tonight, it’s been hard to get ahold of you lately.” He leaned against a console.

“Mm.” Bruce grunted, cowl still on.

The shifting fabric of Clark's clothes was the only audible interruption aside from occasional beeps coming from the monitor. He repositioned himself, moving in front of the screen to block his view.

"Needy today." Is the only response he garners from the Bat.

"You didn't respond to my texts, had I known you'd be so busy tonight I wouldn't have come.." He looked off to the side, waiting for Bruce's response.

"Mmm."

Clark took loud dramatic steps towards the staircase he came, hoping to get a reaction. Nothing.

"...I'm leaving.." Nothing he did could interrupt Batman's laser focus.

Nothing except... making his presence impossible to ignore.

Clark lowered himself to the ground, crawling slowly towards where Bruce was seated, situating himself underneath the bat computer, between Bruce's legs. He placed his hands on Bruce's thighs, slowly caressing the muscle. He knew he'd made progress when he felt Batman's thighs twitch at the sudden touch.

He made quick work of moving the utility belt out of the way, the armor proving to be a pain in the ass. As he undid Bruce's bottoms, he looked up at him, doe eyed. He wasn't even looking at Clark, instead viewing some insignificant (in Clark's opinion) file. Any man should lose their patience in this scenario, which is why Clark took Bruce's length into his mouth, whole.

Thankfully Kryptonians don't have a gag reflex. Bruce on the other hand, was very much human. He let out a gasp, looking down at Clark. He sucked his teeth, returning his focus to the computer, though undoubtably squirming. Clark withdrew, licking stripes up and down Bruce's now leaking cock, occasionally running his thumb over the slit. When he'd worked him up a little more, he decided to deepthroat him again. Only, when he didn't garner the anticipated reaction, his teeth "accidently" grazed the other males shaft.

Bruce hissed as his hips lifted slightly off the chair, his hands instinctively moving to Clark's hair, where he held an iron grip. With the cowl now gone, Clark could make out the frustration in Bruce's face, alongside the dangerous look in his eyes.

"..It's so thoughtful of you to come and relieve my stress, you wanna do that f'r me yeah?" Bruce slapped his dick across Clark's cheek.

The other simply nodded, desperate for his attention.

"Keep your mouth open."

And he did as he was told.

Bruce bunched up the other male's curls, using them as leverage to sloppily fuck his boyfriend's throat raw. The sounds he made were animalistic, and he'd stood up now to reallyyy make sure he was giving Clark his full length.

As for Clark? Tears were brimming in his eyes from the sheer amount of pleasure he felt. The burn felt just right, and he was hyper focused on Bruce's moans. He derived so much pleasure from the act in fact, that he'd failed to take into consideration the heat building up in his core. As he pressed his thighs together, a familiar warmth spread throughout him.

Bruce looked down at the now visibly wet spot soaking through his boyfriends jeans. Taking in Clark's disheveled appearance, he couldn't stop himself from finishing down his throat. Bruce made sure to support the back of Clark's head as he leaned back. Clark was completely spent, his eyes seemed empty as they rolled back, and he leaned on Bruce as he waited for his body to stop twitching.

Small whimpers and whines could be heard, as any additional touch proved to be too much. With Clark's senses overwhelmed, he was having a hard time controlling his alien physiology. Bruce came down to his level, planting gentle kisses on his forehead to ground him. As he looked his lover in the eyes, he knew he'd deprived him of his attention long enough. He'd definitely make it up to him.

[schizolidd]

dude

these fat asses are talking shit about me in my own room…? I CAN KICK U OUT I SEE YOUR SIDE EYE!!! but ig all the weed got to your fucking brain you stupid bimbo

[schizolidd]

im tried man.. off these cringe balls..

i can be the only cringe ball..

[schizolidd]

at least Miku is coming to fort tm, the only thing good in my chungus life...

[schizolidd]

hiiii intro post!!

Lydia, 18 fem feel free to moot ig :>

This blog is mostly writing and ranting!

and I apologize for my grammar and spelling mistakes you don't have to point them out, I know. :)

Socials:

My Art Tumblr: @defnotlydia

Insta: @j.lydia.m

Twitter(rarely post lol): @Lid_is_coloring

TikTok: @hiveme70

YouTube(Posting Soon): https://www.youtube.com/@LiddiDee

Ko-Fi: ko-fi.com/lydialidd

Thank u for reading <3

[schizolidd]

IM GOING TO JUMMP!

naw.... i dont want to.. i wanna travel .. 🍷

[schizolidd]

i’m going to freaking flip again

justtttt wait this is the flip of the century!!!

[schizolidd]

i want someone that will listen to me sooo bad im sick and fucking tired of being a good friend bc i simply sit and listen to them. I don’t give advice or try to therapize (bc i think that’s crazy inappropriate if they didn’t ask but that’s my personal opinion 🙄) BUT NO ONE LISTENS TO MEEEE ppl will come up to me with there crazy shit and i was always taught if u want ppl to like you, you have to make them talk about themselves AND YOUR RIGHT. ppl r so selfish and for good reason ig but im selfish too so let me get it out of my system PLEASE GOD.

I just want one person to talk to me and at the end just agree with me for once instead of them ignoring me OR giving me advice i dont want

[schizolidd]

[REDACTED]

Video entry 1.0 “Haul”:

“Hi everyone I’m Ray”

Rachel Ivory Gardner sits in the front seat of a 2006 Toyota Camry, with a camera positioned on the dash and a string wheel covering half of the screen. A stray streetlight slightly illuminates their side while the rest relies on their dimming car light.

“This is going to be my first video so I hope I won't let y’all down. Remember to follow [REDACTED] because I have some great plans coming.”

Their voice is chipper while their face stays stagnant. Gardner reaches down to the passenger seat. While out of frame all that can be picked up is the sound of crumpled bags and the wind hitting the car. 

Gardner shoots back into the frame swinging over a large plastic bag while her face finally shares a grin.

“Today we are doing a haul! I've really tried to make this interesting for y'all and have scalped some good finds today, all thrifted. Okay, let's start small!”

They start to pull out small nicknacks one at a time, like pinned butterflies and eclectic mini statues, and show them to the camera trying to capture the details in the dark space. Commentary is little, mostly likes and agreement about the objects. 

At time stamp 6:19, they go off the frame once more to get something from the large bag. 

“Alright, this one was the real find. He caught my eye at an estate sale on Main Street. He was just too funny I had to have him.”

Gardner carefully uncovers the prized possession: a life-like porcelain baby dressed in a worn sailor button-up from the early 1900s, its red wig, made of coarse, frayed horsehair The figure is crudely hand-painted, its features obscured by years of dust and grime, making it quite unsettling for a baby.

“Now I know he isn't in the best shape but I'm sure I can fix him up with some warm water. I'm sure my mom will hate him but he just called to me and he was so alone on his shelf”

They hold the doll like someone showing off a newborn, with the biggest grin they have had in the whole video. After a few moments of idol appreciation, Gardner shows the camera more in-depth shots of the doll.

“One of my favorite parts is his neck back here…”

She turns it over to reveal the etching in the porcelain. There is a cereal number, a company logo, and then a slightly more man-made etching of a name.

“Wow look at that. It looks like he was named Malachi..? It's hard to read but I like that name for him.” 

Now uninterested in their findings Gardner puts Malachi back in the bag in the passenger set. They whip off their hands and close out the video, back to their monotone exercise.

“Well, it's late... I hope you all enjoyed the haul, I'm thinking of making more but let me know if that's something you want to see! Thanks for watching.”

Gardner looks around before reaching for the camera and the video goes black. For about 3 seconds after, the wind on the car can still be heard. The video has ended. 

[schizolidd]

Slender man/ Marble hornets fan fic is going well :3

It is also a self-insert, so I'm going back to my roots <3

[schizolidd]

infinity

in dilating time itself, you stretch and bend it

perhaps i held on to my own interpretation of the moments we spent together

i curated an infinity for us

and searched for you in the surrounding nothingness

did you know that?

in utter silence i still sought you

you, and all the particles you’d interrupted and forever changed

i envied how they could hold your frame

but you didn’t know that

the photons that bounced off your face as you smiled

created a warmth

that led me to believe you were salvation

[schizolidd]

Where I walk I'll never retrace

Where I walk I'll never retrace.

Behind me a chill whispers to my neck; my hair grows right up to face me

In my stone position, only my shoes keep me nailed down; a post of sidewalk and tree

My back facing what posted me to the concert, but I feel the chills howl becking my lead

An unknown unpleasant leaks my shoes wet, sent as a reminder that I'll never see

I am sure the treck must have been eternal for my bones are the weight sinking me

The taking in of the path gets slow and gritty because, before my feet, there is an endless sea of black ribbon

The wisps of wings in the air push then burst into flame over the canopy of body and bones

Never spoke nor thought once of the tie I was pushed away, but I stay steadfast on my step,

Praying for no slip or dip in the journey that causes my stick to halt on her march

I know I will never dwell again on a momentary pause.

(Inspired by “What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why” by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892—1950))

[schizolidd]

[schizolidd]

Using a slender man fan fic I wrote in middle school for my creative writing final project

[schizolidd]

Her Empty Bed

short Story

A house is always and should be, comprised of four walls and a roof. Finally, a house always has the opportunity to become a home. These are the basic principles to keep you safe from the outside world. 

I was always taught that the home was a sacred balance between man and woman. Each partner should bring their respective strengths to create that balance. These strengths were taught to me from a young age; they were the strengths of the women who came before me. A strong home, as I came to understand it, should consist of a dominant man protecting and providing for the family. The woman takes care of the home's inner workings while submitting to the man. A strong healthy home was the end goal of all the people I knew. 

My childhood home was always full. Children running up and down the stairs, my Father off at work, and my mother rushing to do busy work. Same chaotic routine day after day, I was taught this was American luxury. Like every woman before me, I tried to find beauty in it, creating life and shaping someone to follow in my footsteps. We had no other dream. My dear mother taught me these ideals as often as she could. She saw me as a “black sheep” early on in my development. I didn't like the busy home she had created, at first. I felt stuck in a pile of loud aggressive bodies and I couldn't pull myself out. I learned to love it even with bearing stress. I had to love it because this was what was right, no matter what I felt. My mother slaving away and my Father working late every night was the right way to live. I loved my right, straight, and loud. My normal.

I'm now looking back after many years and countless mistakes I made from childhood to now, I’ve come to understand that my upbringing and steadfast determination have empowered me to turn any four walls into a home. Even those made of cold concrete and steel can become a sanctuary, infused with warmth and meaning through my choices and efforts. I've had a lot of time to think over this idea and share it with others. Many disagree but I believe they can't look on the bright side, since they have been in the four concrete walls and have never seen my perfect home. I believe if they were raised with the same convictions they would see what I see. They all call me a hypocrite because of what I preach. 

I was just a few years out of high school, navigating the early stages of adulthood and college. My mother and her mother before her and so on had never pursued higher learning but I believed that in this new society, it was mandatory, in case I needed to provide for myself. So I started my simple business degree out of state. Although I was seen as an independent woman about to enter the workforce, I was still pressed to settle down. Not only pressured by my family but myself. School went poorly, it was a stark contrast to the loud home I came to tolerate and eventually love. I felt alone and isolated in my dorm, I went home often and left it an empty bed. As my mother predicted I didn't last long, wasn't meant for my chosen path, she said. 

After college details of what conspired next went blurry, and I fell back into my routine and on the path to my goal. To settle and create my home. I seldom indulged myself in quiet hobbies. Hobbies that still kept me on my path like sewing and scrapbooking. I tossed myself to the first kind man my mother found for me, I felt like this was just one thing I had to get off my to-do list and I now believe he felt the same way. I had our first child, a healthy baby girl, only a year later. I named her after my dear mother who helped me get to where I was in life, and at the time, I was endlessly grateful for it. I would have more children in the years to come but that baby girl, I held the closest. She reminded me of myself and was the only one who was involved in my little world. My perfect little angel was always well-behaved, even when the others could be rambunctious. She followed me all around the house begging to help with any chore, almost trying to prove herself to me. It helped me feel that fullness that I longed for, even for just a moment. What she lacked in school and comprehension she made up for in kindness and family pride. She was just like me but easier to shape into my mold. My mother also held her dear to her heart; she was the perfect daughter and would make an even better mother as my mother would say. I never heard those words but I let my little girl have them, she gave me such pride. I'd make sure she was raised right. 

Every bed was always full in my home just like the one before, just as I was used to, everything to a point. But something felt different and almost debilitating when my balance was tampered with. I was used to being the little girl picking up after my brothers and sharing a bed with my sister, with an always planned and packed day ahead of me. I wasn't a little girl preparing for this day anymore, the day was here and I was living in an illusion. As the mother you know the inner workings of the home. You know why the Father stays out late and why it bothers you. You know why the pills are missing from the drawers. You know what comes in and out of the home, in and out of the food, toys, and sheets. At this point I thought I must be doing something wrong, this isn't my perfect TV family. The children are misbehaving, I feel no love for my husband and I try to get out of the house as much as possible. I look back at my past house, with my mother and start to see the patterns. Over and over and at the end of the pattern my mother was left alone, one side empty in her bed. I remember this day of revelation like it was yesterday, my own personal rapture. I've never had a thought everything after was a blurry mess. The last thing I remember seeing was my baby girl's bed empty, and perfectly made.   

The people all tell me what happened, what I did. It is something I would never willingly do. They tell me I did a terrible thing. They have the evidence. They show it to me often. It's just not enough for me to confess to something I don't remember and I've tried everything to remember. They forced me into group sessions and they say the first step to recovery is confession. I just can't. That wasn't me. Overall, I always try to turn a new leaf and stay optimistic. The other women I live with think I did it so and resent me for it. I have trouble building my beloved family unit back because of this but I will try to find my comfortable spot as I had before. I can never reach my end goal of my perfect family, because of one little imbalance in the system. 

I know that one day, in the little concrete home I’ve built for myself, I will be taken away—pulled from my sanctuary for a third time. As I depart, I’ll look back at my carefully crafted, empty bed, a reminder of everything I’ve tried to make, and the end of my goal.

[schizolidd]

One day i’ll have the money