#I’m sorry if this sucks

[theresaplagueinthehouse]

Hello

This is an attempt at horror based on SCP 4231

The idea is a true crime based atmosphere regarding Glass’ hypothesis, that maybe the happenings of the house were indeed as his patient Clef said they were.

It is also a bit of a character study for me, specifically regarding Lilly and how an abuser can reach a point of serial murder and obsessive torment, and how someone like that may react when given back their first victim

It follows Clef (obviously), Glass, Gears, Kondraki, Agent Atlantis the interviewer, Agent Lain and Dr. Cameron on the containment team, Dr. Mann and his two assistants Dr. Rose and Dr. Freiser who’ve done autopsies on all the bodies found, Lilly, Meri, and the O5 council who all are reading the copies of the reports and files relating to Incident-4231-B-Glass

Massive trigger warnings for everything-rape, violence, torture, home surgery, abuse, child neglect, etc

Written in the form of audio logs, notes, journal entries, and various other recording methods so sorry if it feels jumbled or hard to read/understand

I hope you enjoy this horrible creation :)

[sokka-simp]

Same Scenario, Different Girl

Steve Harrington x fem. reader

A/N: this takes place in October between season 3 and season 4, which I think is October 1985

Also, I haven’t written in like a year, so I’m sorry if it’s absolute shit

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: underage drinking, bad writing

Angst/fluff; happy ending

Steve had been antsy all night, not that anyone noticed as he covered it up with charming smiles and stupid jokes. It was Halloween night, and for the first time in years, Steve had decided to go to a Halloween party—though it was against his free will.

You had been begging him to go so you guys could have couple costumes. You pestered and begged until you got him to agree; he just couldn’t say no to your shining eyes as you suggested different fictional couples that came to mind. Danny and Sandy from ‘Grease,’ Zack and Paula from ‘An Officer and a Gentleman,’ Ariel and Ren from ‘Footloose;’ however, you both—finally—agreed on Han Solo and Princess Leia from ‘A New Hope.’

Now that the party was happening, Steve desperately wished he stuck to his initial “no.” You had both been there for about 45 minutes and he wanted to go home already. His nerves were uncontrollable, remembering this same night years ago.

Bullshit. You’re bullshit. Like we’re in love?

Every memory made it harder for Steve to keep up his unbothered act, his constant—forced—smile wavering every now and again. At the beginning of the party, every time his eyes shone with worry or pain, you would reach over and take his hand, rubbing his knuckles softly. This would make Steve feel worse, knowing you were confused; knowing he hadn’t gone in detail about his relationship with Nancy, and especially not how it ended. But after being there for awhile, you had already had a few drinks and your ability to read and comfort Steve went away along with your soberness.

Each drink you had worried Steve. The overwhelming fear that you would get drunk and reveal your true feelings took over his brain. He hated feeling like this: weak, vulnerable, scared.

Like, it's great. Like, we're in love and we're partying.

After around 3, Steve cut you off, leaving you in the drunken state between tipsy and genuinely drunk. You whined about how you wanted just one more and how he needed to loosen up. He laughed it off, masking his fear of you getting drunk with jokes and concern. Steve was concerned, obviously, you were his girlfriend and he didn’t want you to get too drunk, but his concern wasn’t just around your well-being. You reluctantly succumbed, leaving your empty cup on a table instead of refilling it and latched onto him, pulling him around the party.

“Stevie,” you giggled out, fingers gripping on his arm. “I want another drink.” You said, only 15 minutes later, and tried to lead him to the kitchen, away from the group of people he was talking to.

“No baby.” He said firmly, moving you to stand in front of him, your back to his front so he could lightly hold you in place and continue his conversation.

“Steve, please.” you whine out while trying to shuffle out of his light grip. If you weren’t already semi-drunk it would be easy, but your distorted brain and tired body stopped you from breaking free.

“Y/n, you already had 3. You don’t need more.” Steve said in your ear, bending down to your level. His breath caressed the shell of your ear causing you to shiver, but also pout at him turning you down.

Steve knew one more drink wouldn’t exactly hurt. He was there with you, so he knew you would be safe; and he had only had one or two beers, leaving him sober enough to safely drive. But he couldn’t shake the fear that came with you getting drunk at a party. Especially this party. On this day.

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. You’re bullshit.

When Steve had finally finished talking to the two guys who were on the basketball team with him, he took you by the shoulders and led you to a nearby couch. Pushing you down softly, he jokingly said “stay” causing you to giggle and went off to find a bathroom. He cherished the little sound you had made while searching for a place to relieve himself. He was trying to go fast, in fear that if he took too long you would make your way to the punch bowl and get another drink. He sped walk through the hall, peeking through doors to find the bathroom, cringing as he walked in on people.

When he finally found one and made it back to the couch, he realized you were gone. He turned his head frantically before realizing he must look crazy, and he instead began nonchalantly walking around searching for you. His heart was racing and his mind was screaming, but the only give away to his stress was the soft wiggling of his fingers. He couldn’t go through this again. This felt so familiar. So similar to the last Halloween party he went to.

It's bullshit. You don’t love me? It’s bullshit.

When he finally spotted you he stopped in place. You had definitely drank more. You face was pink, shining with a drunken glow. And you were holding a red solo cup filled with the red liquid from the punch bowl in front of you. You were laughing next to a girl you knew, holding onto her with your free hand. Steve couldn’t tell if it was just you being touchy or for stability, but he was betting on the latter. He could see it: Nancy standing next to the punch bowl going to drink more, him telling her to stop, the drink spilling on her, the bathroom, the end. He didn’t want another end, not when you were the best person to ever come into his life. Above every girl he’s ever been with—Nancy included.

He hands shook more as he slowly made his way to you, fighting the urge to leave. Fighting the urge to go home to avoid the inevitable conversation that was sure to happen; the end of your relationship. He watched as you laughed, your pretty smile filling your face, your eyes closing as you conversed with your friend. He didn’t want to lose you. Didn’t want to have to go a day without getting to see that laugh and smile. And he watched as you turned your head, and your eyes met his. They lit up, your smile somehow growing more—which, honestly, he didn’t think was possible at the moment. The way you acted when you saw him almost dissolved the worries in his head.

“Stevie!” You yelled brightly, letting go of your friend to get to him. It started as a little skip, your excitement at seeing him showing in your walk, but it quickly turned to a stumble as you tripped on your own feet and your drink sloshed out of the cup lightly.

Steve sped up going to help stabilize you. “Hi, y/n. I thought you’d re gonna stop drinking?” He grumbled out, his tone tense, portraying the stress he was feeling—not that you could tell in your drunken state.

“You were gone for so long, baby.” You whine, slurring your words and putting your head into his chest.

Steve wanted to laugh. Your state of whining and despair at his “long” time spent away would usually send him into bright laughter. However, his fear at what could happen next stifled the laugh and only a small smile made way to his face.

“Y/n, you need to stop drinking now, ok. You’ve had too much now.” He gently tried to take the cup, fearing that the same thing that happened to Nancy and her punch would happen to you.

Nance, put it down.

He wanted to stop pulling the cup, but Steve knew at this point you really did need to stop drinking. He kept his grip light, though. You, however, did not. Making a small noise of distaste as you tried to the pull the cup toward you, you tripped back slightly due to your lack of balance; consequently, the drink flew onto you, drenching your Princess Leia costume with red.

What the hell? Nance.

You looked down confused, not immediately comprehending what happened. And then looked up, your eyes distressed at your ruined costume.

“Y/n, I’m so so sorry.” Steve said, his voice slightly choked up, the fear at the current situation taking over. It was getting harder, almost too hard, to keep his true feelings from showing to everyone around him.

You didn’t know how to respond. Your distorted brain couldn’t focus on everything going on, and your eyes felt like welling up as you thought about your ruined couples costume with Steve. You quickly turned away—which was a mistake as you tumbled and almost fell—and made your way to the bathroom. Steve froze, rooted to his spot in fear. It was all happening again. Everything was exactly the same.

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. What the hell? Bullshit. Bullshit. Like we’re in love.

However, he couldn’t bare staying behind while you were in your drunken state. Pushing past his worry, he rushed forward after you, getting to the bathroom door just before you shut it.

“Y/n, that’s not gonna come out.”

That’s not coming off, Nance.

“No, no, I’m gonna get it.” You said sounding stressed.

It’s coming.

“Let’s just go home, ok?” He whispered out, the nostalgia and fear building up.

Come on. Let me just take you home, okay?

“No, Stevie, help me get it out.” You said, turning towards him, eyes slightly teary now.

Steve froze. His brain couldn’t keep up. This was different. You said something entirely different. This wasn’t Nancy. His fast-beating heart was slowing slightly at this realization. You’re not Nancy. You’re not gonna leave like Nancy.

“What?” He said, quietly.

“Baby, please. I don’t wanna ruin our costumes.” You looked so distressed and your eyes were filled with worry. Worry at ruining the night.

“Y/n, it’s ok.” Steve knew it wouldn’t come out, but he moved forward anyways and grabbed a towel from the counter.

He dipped the towel in water, slowly turning to you. Steve still felt apprehensive, worry still taking hold over his thoughts, scared that this could still end. But the worry was slowly going away. He took your shirt, stretching it from your body and dabbing at it with the towel. His eyes slowly rose from the stain to see you already looking at him.

“Thank you, Steve.” Your voice sounded wobbly. “I’m,” you hiccuped, from both the drinks and the little, unshed tears. “sorry I ruined the party. And the costumes.”

“Y/n, baby, you didn’t ruin anything.”

Steve put the towel down, and took your face into his hands. His thumbs caressed you face, soothing you slightly. You leaned into his touch, happy to be close to Steve in your moment of stress—even if your anxiety around the spilled drink was an overreaction caused from everything you drank throughout the night. He smiled at your reaction to his touch, being reassured that everything will be ok.

You sniffled. “You promise?”

“I promise.” Steve said smiling while moving his hands from your face to go grab one of your small, delicate ones dangling at your side. “Let’s go now, ok?”

“Ok, Stevie.” Your voice was content now—your drunkenness causing you to get over it quickly—and your worried eyes were exchanged for a small, dopey smile.

Tightening your grip on his hand, you followed behind as you left the party. Steve thought of the parallel, about how when this happened last time he left alone. And this time, he had you. This time, it was different.

A/N: this is actually so bad 😭

[cozy-autumn-moth]

Just going to post an image of my Oc that I drew.

[rendevok]

“Take my hand” a comic for NaruMitsu Week 2023

day 1 - lies & secrets - 2 - 3 - 4

[naturecalls111]

[rebornrosess]

happy hozier day to all those who celebrate

[shittysawtraps]

when your friend says “i’m becoming the joker,” reply, “well, i’m becoming jigsaw” to one-up them. do not elaborate on what this means

[plaguedocboi]

“Keep descriptions short and don’t use poetic/flowery language in a novel” “if a scene doesn’t advance the plot cut it” “avoid complicated symbolism and hinting at things, just say what you mean” “too much worldbuilding is distracting” bites you bites you bites you bites you bites y

[kenandeliza]

A random thought / headcanon

Superman learns knitting/sewing, deciding to give an “ugly sweater” to his friends, including captain marvel

He doesn’t make them ugly intentionally, he’s just bad at making designs

[showupnothrowup]

Jungwon hard thoughts

ass or tits?? nahh he loves your ENTIRE body. literally WORSHIPS your body every chance he gets, he adores you and your body

if he could eat you out every minute of the day he DEFINITELY would. you’re sleepy?? he’s gonna eat you out to help you fall asleep. you’ve had a bad day?? let him help you out and treat you like a princess

since we are on this topic…..he’s a messy eater!! (i’m obsessed with the thought of jungwon eating pussy) he looks so pretty with your slick coating his pink tinted lips, his eyes closed as he laps at your folds.

I personally think the he likes to have sex with the lights dim (totally not referring to the fact that he recorded the “criminal love” bridge in the dark) it’s not too light and it’s not too dark, it’s just right.

please pls ols hold his hand while you guys are doing the deed, especially while you’re in missionary but he will hold hands with you no matter what the position is. you two could be in doggy and he would wrap your arm around your back so you can hold onto his hand as he thrusts into you (did any of that make sense..?)

lowkey a sadist. he teases you for what feels like forever, almost until you start crying (he thinks it’s so hot when you’re so desperate for him) and when he finally does give in, he gives you just a little bit of what you need to get you over the edge (he is a little shit sometimes, not all the time but sometimes)

[quercus-queer]

“First Kill is bad” to YOU. It was actually made for ME personally though so shut up. Sorry you can’t appreciate a pining lesbian vampire with a gay best friend that’s ride or die, a lesbian monster hunter with a neon aesthetic and a relationship with her ex, milfs, a complete lack of homophobia, monster hunting, shitty cgi, and cliche romantic tropes queer people never get to enjoy, but me? Well I can because I have TASTE

[kaijukebox]

Jmart gets a silly lil smooch this week. 🫶

-

Today’s Reference

[purpledisastertwin900]

For all of the “Raph raised himself AND his brothers” fans out there I bring this train wreck of a thought (I’m a lil sleepy so sorry if it doesn’t make sense or if I repeat myself a lot-)

We do not in fact have any actual evidence that splinter was neglectful to the boys when they were little. In fact, we have the opposite.

All of these flashbacks indicate that Splinter acc spent a LOT of time with his boys-

With Mikey, he was obviously coached in his art, a smol child can’t paint like that no matter how talented they are so we can see that splinter put in the time/effort to get Mikey the supplies and teach him how to do it well. Which probably means he researched and learned it himself first, idk I just can’t really see Yoshi knowing how to paint/draw that well but that’s just a theory.

With raph and Leo, their lemonade stand is structurally sound: obviously not put together by an 8 year old, and there’s a lotta lemons lyin around that were probably a bit difficult to find, and just LOOK at their faces here they are definitely familiar with this kind of father/son shenaniganizing-also just LOOK at raph. That’s a happy child, one full of excitement and happiness, not a kid who had to grow up too fast. Also his dad is literally right there in the picture

And then with Donnie, I can’t really tell what he’s doing in the background (it’s a bomb) but what i take from that screenshot is that Donnie feels safe/loved enough to come to Splinter when he gets hurt. And Splinters taking care of him!! And, Donnie is wearing clothes, which shows that he went out and got clothes for them but also didn’t force the boys to wear them if they didn’t want to (see other screenshots lol) which also goes to show that he lets his boys choose who they wanna be and what they wanna do. At any point he could’ve forced all of them to train as ninja, at any point he could’ve made clothes mandatory, and at any point he could’ve forced them to drop things that made them happy like skating or science or art but nah. He was supportive every step of the way.

Now am I saying he was perfect? No. Am I saying he couldn’t have done anything better? No. What I’m saying is that Raph acc did not have to raise himself and his brothers. Splinter acc gave them a pretty good childhood, all things considered and it kinda makes me sad when ppl bash Rise Splinter or continue the neglectful parent trope. Again, I’m not saying he did everything right, he def could have spent more time with his kids on an individual basis and he should’ve been more present, but let’s cut him some slack bc he did a really good job at raising the boys. And he got so much better as the show progressed! But that’s another post lol. I’m also not trying to take away Raphs oldest sibling syndrome, he still def has that from being the leader and watching his bros while splinter was away-I’m just saying he didn’t have to do it ALL alone.

Look in the end he’s doing his best and his best was really good for what they had. He’s a good dad, he’s not neglectful.

[mediumgayitalian]

The crooked, creaky door of the cluttered infirmary storage room pushes open and slams shut in the span of a second, just barely allowing someone to dart through. Nico jumps, banging his head on the shelf he’s hiding under, chomping full force on his lip to bite back a shout. The shadows, on lucky reflex, bend around him and shroud his face. The rest of him he tucks further into the forgotten corner between two filing cabinets, holding his breath.

Under the unflattering light of the single swinging lightbulb, Will looks dull.

A thin headband attempts to hold back his frizzy hair, although it does very little. Curls stick out oddly and many shorter hairs are plastered to his temples and the back of his neck. His skin is unusually lacklustre, even pale, except for the high flush around his cheekbones. The bruising under his eyes rivals Nico’s. He has been wearing the same scrubs for the last two days.

With one last look at the closed door, nothing but garbled voices filtering through the heavy wood, he slumps. He drops his face into his chapped and bleeding hands, heels pressed into his eyes, and holds them there for ten seconds, twenty. Slowly, with trembles so minute they are at first glance unnoticeable, his shoulders begin to shake. The long fingers flexed and tensed around his forehead curl tightly, and he twitches, whole body trembling, teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip to stop his chin from quivering.

It does not work.

The first sob is quiet. He catches it quickly, forcing it back down, breathing heavily through his nose and out his mouth to beat it back. The second follows quickly, though, and it’s harder to choke down. When his face crumples, his resolve goes with it, and his knees hit the floor, sharp crack swallowed by the stillness of the room. He curls forward until his nose nearly hits his knees, hands sliding through his hair and over his ears and settling finally clutching together in the dip of his chest, bouncing with every heave of his chest. It’s quiet, his crying, enough that every dropped tear can be heard as it hits the dusty floor. The only time his sobs are ever audible is when he opens his mouth, trying desperately to soak up enough air to catch himself, to carry himself through.

Mute horror holds Nico’s tongue hostage.

He’d escaped in here the second Will had been called away this morning, dragged for the umpteenth time to handle a crashing patient or a complicated hymn or to soothe someone’s nerves. For the past two days he’s been doing his best to monitor Nico and a handful of other front liners who’d exhausted themselves in battle, but his focus has been split and the infirmary has been crowded. Whenever he runs off to put out whatever fire had cropped up — sometimes literally — the whispers start, the glances, the skin crawling up Nico’s back. Nico can hardly tell anymore what’s the shadows and what’s the people around him, watching him out of the corners of their eyes like they’re waiting for him to bust out a scythe and a black hooded cloak and start reaping.

The storage room is supposed to be an escape. Out of the way and forgotten as it is, it is supposed to be the place he can hide for an hour, escape the heavy gaze of the rest of the camp, collect himself before braving it all again.

Clearly, though, he’s not the only one who thinks so.

There’s something disorienting about seeing Will Solace cry. In the few times Nico has spoken with him during his visits to camp, he’s been a barely-contained explosion of energy, whether talking Nico’s ear off with updates about people he barely knows and references he hardly understands or cussing him out for overextending himself. He’s used — as much as he can be to someone he’s only beginning to really get to know — to his wildly flailing hands and widely playful grin, his loud drawling voice, his painful, constant brightness.

His hands, now, clench until they’re bloodless, trembling. There is no hint of his wide smile or twinkling eyes, because his face is hidden by all the hair that his given up on the pretence of the hairband, and the only sound from him are his gasping breaths and swallowed-back sobs. Nico watches him because he cannot look away. He flinches because every cry, every rough, scraping inhale, sounds like shattering rock, like an iceberg breaking off a glacier.

A quiet beeping startles them both.

For a stretch of time Will is motionless. The beeping continues, steady and soft, bouncing off the cluttered shelves and fading before they echo. After the third round — and Nico counts, if anything for something to do besides watch the chafed skin on Will’s hands crack and bleed with every flex — he drags himself upright, nails drawing lines in the thick dust of the floorboards, and rests back on his heels. He breathes for a moment, shuddering, hands pressed flat to his face; in, beep, beep, beep; out, beep, beep, beep. None of his breaths are ever steady, but he wastes no more time, swiping under his eyes and pinching his cheeks to restore his face to some of its usual colour. He grips onto each board of the shelf to his right as he yanks himself upwards, hand over hand, until he’s stretched, finally, to stand, although there remains a slouch to his broad shoulders.

The beeping continues, emanating from the watch on his left hand, growing softer or louder as he trails his fingers over the shelves from one end to the other, from the first, the second, the third. He pauses finally on a collection of bottles, turning them carefully to read the labels, then tucks them each gently into his already bulging pockets until he is left with what he must carry between his fingers.

The shadows bend to cover Nico again as Will turns, unknowingly facing him, and pulls himself suddenly straight-backed, chin set high, shoulders squared. He smiles, wide, fractured, squinting his eyes deliberately. The beeping stops. He breathes, in, smile, out, nod, and turns, striding, back to the door, opening it with flourish and swiping the dust off his clothes.

“Found them! Sorry it took so long, I really had to look —”

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Nico stares at it with bile churning in his too-empty stomach.

———

art by the incredible @clingonlikeclingwrap

[sonic-adventure-3]

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

Pathetic beast