#Look at me crying over two fictional cannibal

[superiorkenshi]

Loosing my mind over the fact that Hannibal would surely cry the fuck out listening to francis forever thinking about Will

[levis-wii-controller]

Our love is God (Nikolai Gogol x Fyodor Dostoevsky /One Shot Smut/)

!! Spoilers for Chp.111 and Ep.11-S.5 !!

Tags: Necrophilia, Fingering, Spit as Lube, Disfiguration, Blood Bath, Drinking Blood, Smut, Mental Breakdown, Nikolai being Mentally Unwell, Gore, Cannibalism, Pain, Masochism, Anal Fingering, Eyeball Eating. 1k words.

!!This is just fiction because ik there's ppl out there that don't believe that a writer can create art without wanting to make it real!!

Nikolai was left alone. Dazai went off with Chuuya and Nikolai was left with the two vampire corpses and Fyodor’s. Holding his detached arm. He thought he’d be fine, he wanted this. Surely? He wanted Fyodor dead! To..prove…he was..the strongest. But he was wrong. So much regret! Too much regret! His boyfriend…his love…his god. 

God is dead, now. Died in his arms. Well not exactly, but he’s holding his arm in his. He pulled the arm out of its sleeve and started to slowly kiss it. Taking the bandages off as well. The beauty of his perfect skin was destroyed by the explosion. His arm, charred and bloody. He kissed each imperfect fingertip. Each knuckle, every part of his arm. 

The same arm that touched and caressed him so lovingly. He couldn’t help but cry. He hated himself for putting those two against each other, for killing Fyodor. He was crazy, he knew it, and he thought this whole thing was a good idea, but it fucking wasn’t! 

He thought for a second…his ability, that’s right, he can retrieve Fyodor’s body. He was scared as he pulled him through his hand grasping the once perfect and soft hair. He placed the corpse down across from him.

Fyodor’s skull was cracked open, half his face so unrecognisable from the crushing, his other arm had a severe amount of broken bones, Both his legs were broken. One of his legs bent so far out to the side it was hard to look at, the other was only half there. Nikolai must’ve not pulled it through as it was detached, but oh well, what could he do now, no point finding it. His torso was mostly fine apart from the fact he had a huge hole where his heart had exploded from impact. There was also the giant hole from the pole he was stabbed with, and when he pulled his body through the pole had pulled through the bottom half of his body, cutting all of it in half. 

Nikolai looked over his body with blurry tear-filled eyes. He wanted to scream, he hated everything, he would do anything to change this outcome, to bring back his one and only.

He hadn’t even realised how his whole body was reacting until he felt an uncomfortable tightness in his trousers. He looked down to see that he was rock hard.

‘Of course, you always did make me so excited, didn’t you, Fedya?’ he thought to himself as he reached under his waistband, starting to stroke himself. 

He moved closer, kissing Fyodor’s half intact lips. Oh fuck, the still warm blood made Nikolai so horny. It felt so good as he started slurping it up off the corpse. He grabbed a fistful of the bloody, messy, hair as he made out with Fyodor. As he pressed a little too hard Fyodor’s tongue rolled out of his mouth, already a pretty blueish-purple. Nikolai moaned as he took the tongue into his mouth, sucking and kissing it. 

One of Fyodor’s eyes had been completely disfigured, same with that side of his head, and the other was hanging out of his socket. Those beautiful amethyst eyes could no longer look down at Nikolai, it made him so sad. He pulled away from Fyodor’s mouth, looking at the dangling eye. He took his hand out of his pants, using it to grab the eye, looking it over thoroughly, the thick nerve still attached. He pulled at it, seeing if it would come off. It did and honestly Nikolai didn’t know why he did that, he didn’t know where to put it. Well…maybe he could keep it somewhere on him? No- he shouldn’t, he’s already taken Fyodor’s ushanka and that’s enough for him. He took the eye, finally deciding to put it in his mouth. It was a little weird at first but as he started chewing it felt like biting into a new piece of bubblegum filled with that sour juice but this was better. 

As he swallowed the eye he felt a stronger sense of desperateness from his neglected cock. He could see the wet spot on his trousers, so he decided to just throw them off, same with his underwear. He grabbed Fyodor’s arm, starting to suck on his fingers as he stroked himself again. He was so close already, Fyodor’s blood from inside his arm dripped onto his lap, helping him lube up his dick as he jerked himself off. 

He edged himself till he almost came, though just before he stopped, whining, almost as if mad at himself. He took the bloody and spit covered arm, placing it to his hole. He wasn’t stretched, he wasn’t even touched there recently but he didn’t care as he shoved two of the burnt fingers into his ass. Letting out a pained scream as the cold, barely lubed up fingers thrust into his hole.

It hurt like hell but that didn’t matter, what did was the fact he could have a final time with his god, feeling his touch. He grabbed the palm of the hand tighter, thrusting it into himself quicker, the charcoal on his fingers brushing against Nikolai’s insides so painfully, scratching him up from the inside. Though all the pain was so worth it, he felt so good as he cried, it was his Fyodor that was touching him, his hand, his rotting hand. 

He felt his orgasm hit like a ton of bricks when he hit his prostate with one of Fyodor’s long fingers. Making a mess all over his thick thighs. Fyodor always loved having Nikolai sit on his face and letting himself get suffocated in-between them. 

Nikolai took the hand out as he panted, grabbing his strewn about garments and throwing them back on, not bothering to clean himself off. He leaned back down to the corpse, kissing it once more this time softly and lovingly, a final goodbye.

“I’ll see you in heaven, my lord. You are my liberty, and I’ll always cherish the days that you’ve helped change for me; my history, our history. Through Life and Death…it’s stronger than this stupid test I made for myself. You had all the answers for me, and I had the key to your heart.”

He gave Fyodor one final kiss on the forehead, before placing the arm in the corpse's lap, and walking off.

[chronically-sawyer-pilled]

TCSM Sissy x OC

"Sweet Sugar" Part 6

Part 1

18+, Minors BEGONE (DNI)

Warnings for whole story: NSFW, Murder, Cannibalism, Drugging, Coercion, Slight noncon, Unwanted touching, Abuse, Blood, Knifeplay, Bondage, Kidnapping, Sweat stuff, human faces being worn, pet names (sweetie, sugar, sunshine) general horror themes. This is a work of pure fiction, pure horror fiction - the actions in this story are not to be taken as positive depictions of affection.

Synopsis: 1973, Josie, a college student, is travelling across Texas with her best friend Sophie, when they come across a strange woman wandering the roads - horrible things ensue. (THERE ARE TWO VERSIONS OF THIS STORY, ONE IN THE Y/N FORMAT AND ONE IN THE OC FORMAT. THIS IS THE OC VERSION)

Word Count: I gave up on counting.

BANG BANG BANG. Josie awoke suddenly, unsure of if last night was only a dream, but unable to give it much thought before she was pulled from the bed. She was barely conscious enough to ask what was going on before Sissy shoved a gag in her mouth and bound her hands and feet back together. "GIT OUT HERE NOW! YOU SNUCK OFF AND THOUGHT I WOULDN'T NOTICE?!" The old man's voice echoed from behind the door. "GIVE ME A GODDAMN MINUTE!!" Sissy screeched before landing a kiss on Josie's forehead and pushing her under the bed. Another moment passed before she opened the door, Josie could only see the mans legs from under the bed, followed by Sissy's as she once again left the room, however this time, the door didn't click shut behind her.

'this could be my chance' Josie thought to herself, maybe not a chance to escape, but a chance to get something to eat, god she was hungry. Maybe freedom will be a bonus. She crawled out from under the bed, squirming like a worm across the wooden floor, she must have looked pathetic, but it didn't matter - she was going to get out. She crawled to the door, positioning herself at an angle to let her feet make their way up the doorframe, with some difficulty, she twisted the knob just enough to get the door open. It swung open to reveal a quaint hallway, animal skins and dusty photos on the walls. Taking a deep breath, she sat up, unable to get to her feet without the help of her hands, with a deep sigh she plunged herself forwards, crawling along the floor, trying to get somewhere, anywhere. Her skin burnt as she made her way along the carpet, her glasses had come loose, causing her to need to squint at her surroundings. The more she crawled, the more she gained a rhythm, the more she gained ground, the more her confidence rose - until she heard a screech.

It was like the cry of a terrified pig, it came from behind her, and before she could turn herself over to investigate, it had hoisted her up into the air - it was a man, he was huge, way bigger than her, he lifted her effortlessly, his big burly arms wrapped around her as he lugged her back to Sissy's room. Josie screamed into her gag, the smell of meat and oil filling her nose, she kicked and screamed until she was thrown down onto the bed, hitting it with a squeak. It was then she got a view of the man, he was big, wearing a pink shirt and an apron, and his face was-

Josie nearly threw up at the sight of his face, it was old, wrinkly, with stitches and grey hair sprouting from its head, it was only after being forced to stare did she realise it wasn't his face at all - it was another's, an old woman's, stretched and worn as a mask. The sight terrified her, but the man posed no malice, his eyes appeared frightened, like they were reflecting Josie's back at her. His hands stayed around his chest, as though he was nervous about something, he checked over his shoulder before running a finger through Josie's hair, and then with a quiet groan, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

The man returned around twenty minutes later, he opened the door gently as though trying not to startle her, in his hand was a sandwich atop a flower-patterned plate. He shuffled inside, gently placing it next to Josie's head as he pulled the gag from her mouth. "Thank you…" Josie whimpered, the man didn't respond, simply turning around and leaving the way he came. Josie stared at the sandwich, her stomach growled angrily, it'd been an entire day since she'd eaten, maybe more - time was beginning to feel absent. She stared at the meat sloppily packed in between the bread, although the alarm bells were going off in her head, the hunger pains were too great - she positioned herself awkwardly to bite down, eating more like a dog than a human as she took rapid hungry bites - it was good, unlike anything she'd ever tasted before, although the bread was a little stale, the blood of the meat soaked in enough to offset it - beggars can't be choosers after all. She continued to bite and chew until there was nothing left on the plate, except for the few horrifyingly thick bones she'd almost cracked her teeth on.

Several more hours passed before Josie was snapped out of her dissociation by the sound of yelling, it was Johnny's voice, as well as Sissy's, one was louder than the other. BAM The door to the room swung open, revealing Johnny, still caked in dried, flaky blood, he was still gripping the knife he had gutted Sophie with. He looked furious, but tired, like he hadn't slept since she disappeared. "Well I'll be." He chuckled, Josie tried to squirm away but it was futile, Johnny grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground, the wooden floor knocking the wind right out of her. "I knew she was hiding something. Found these out in the hallway." Johnny chuckled, waving her glasses around "SISSY! HELP-" Josie screamed before Johnny grabbed her, throwing the knife down on the ground and strangling her. "LOOK AT YOU! ALL WRAPPED UP NICE FOR ME, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN WEARING A BOW!" Johnny laughed as he squeezed at Josie's neck, she felt like her eyes were going to pop out, she couldn't get air in or out, and she couldn't fight back - things started to go dark, until Johnny was knocked off of her. "GET YOUR GODDAMN HANDS OFF HER!" Sissy screeched, slashing at Johnny's arm with her razor, her hair was done in a messy ponytail and she was wearing Josie's overalls. "OW! SISSY YOU BITCH!" "SHE'S MINE YOU HEAR ME?! I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FILTHY HANDS IN THE SAME GODDAMN ROOM AS HER!" Sissy screamed, waving her razor around wildly. Johnny looked around, shoving her against the doorway. The two exchanged wild, violent blows, Sissy trying to bite, scratch and claw just about every bit of skin she could get a hand on, and Johnny trying to throw her off him whenever she tried. Josie could only watch as the two fought, they seemed like they were out to kill each other, each blow becoming more violent than the last, Johnny had several bleeding scratches on his arms and neck, and Sissy had been thrown against the wall enough times to give her a nosebleed and a black eye. The two only relented when a familiar voice came echoing through the hall. "WHAT THE HELL'S GOIN ON IN HERE?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU FOOLS DOIN?!" the old man came running, a woman in her mid-50s following behind "JOHNNY, SISSY, GET THE HELL OFF OF EACHOTHER BEFORE I HIT YOU SO HARD YOU FORGET WHY YOU WERE FIGHTING!" The woman yelled, she pulled Johnny towards her and shoved Sissy back, angrily surveying the room before landing her eyes on Josie. "Look what sweet Sissy's been hiding from us." Johnny grunted, wiping blood from his mouth "Aw hell." the old man grumbled "In my own home..." The woman muttered "I… I can explain myself!" Sissy stammered, standing protectively in front of Josie "You better have a real good explanation for this Sissy." the woman snarled. "Nancy, go get grandpa. I think it's time we had a family meetin." The old man sighed before turning his attention back to Sissy "and you. Not a word outta you before grandpa gets here. Bring her downstairs." he huffed before turning around, Johnny smirking as he followed behind. "It's okay. It's alright. You'll be safe sugar, I promise." Sissy whispered, leaning down to cradle Josie in her bruised arms. "Sissy I-" "Shhh. Shhhh. Now now, I…I know we'll be alright. I'm grandpa's favourite. He loves me. Just don't say nothin' that will get us in trouble. In fact - say a whole lot of nothin' at all, okay sweetie?" Sissy asked, earning nothing but a weakened nod. "good girl. my good girl. Here, let me calm your nerves." Sissy spoke, pressing her lips to Josie's once again, this time more intoxicating than the last, poison spittle made its way down her throat, and she swallowed every last drop.

[knot-ilus]

Maternal Obsession

The first piece of fiction I've sat down to write and finish in years, and my first written piece for @sintember 's month of delightfully sinful prompts ^^ !

Day 1: Obsession - Love? Hate? Lust? Fear? Worship? Whatever the case, it’s all they can think about.

Featuring: original characters, a mother/underaged son pairing. Word count: 1k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, incest, (extremely) underage, medical neglect, rape, infantalization, fantasizing about cannibalism, descriptions of being pregnant and complications while giving birth.

This work isn't for everyone and contains material that may be upsetting, so please be careful if you decide to read it and let me know if there's any other warnings I need to add. Thank you! –🪢

———

These days, nothing ever seems to be enough for her.

It isn't enough to hold him close, the peak of her breast held in his mouth while his prick prods against her hip. It isn't enough to feel joined at the place he came from, either, to know that at least part of him had returned to her– she wants more. She wants him to climb back into her warmth, to be a part of her again... It's cruel that the two of them had ever been seperated in the first place, she thinks with a forlorn sigh.

"Mama?" Her baby's voice stirs her from her thoughts and she smiles, cupping his cheek as she meets his sleepy gaze. He gives her a small, concerned frown as he continues, "you looked sad just now."

"I was just thinking about something silly," she dismisses, kissing his forehead and letting her hand drift down to stroke along his spine. She's a firm believer that skin-on-skin contact is just as important six years into a child's life as it was on day one. And she takes every precaution she can to make sure no one has the opportunity to tell her otherwise. "...do you remember the story of how you were born, baby?"

"Uh-huh," he says with a little grin, having heard it a million times but seeming to enjoy retelling it as much she does. "I grew really big in your belly, because you didn't want me to leave, and I didn't, either."

"They had to take you out of me by force," she continues the story, her eyes misting a bit as she hugs him closer. It didn't matter how many times they went over the story together, the memory would never fail to make her emotional. "That's how much we loved being together. That's how close we still are, baby..."

He hugs her back, and her heart aches at the size and strength of his arms. He's always growing bigger, always soaring past milestones that make him less dependant on her– the quacks at the pediatrician clinic had said that he was actually behind his peers in terms of development, but she stopped taking him there. She's going to cling to every last bit of the baby in her baby boy, thank you very much. She'll never let go, never–

"Mama," he whispers, soft but still enough to ground her again. Her precious little anchor, her everything... He pecks her lips, holding her face in his chubby fingers. "Do you want me to go back in?"

She wants to cry at his thoughtfulness, at how he always seems to know just what she wants. Right on cue, he kisses her mouth again, holding still for her to kiss back and sob a bit into it.

"Yes, baby," she manages, smiling as she nuzzles his cheek and rearranges them so that his hips are slotted between her thighs. He purses his lips into that cute little pout he always makes when he's focusing, and already she feels the feeling of desperate need begin to ebb. The tension in her muscles melts further as the tip of his cock nudges against her opening, and she coos, "Right where you belong..."

She spreads her lips, guiding him forward by his buttocks to slip right inside of her, and he whimpers at the sensation of being engulfed by her warmth. She wraps her legs and arms around him, wriggling her hips to feel him press against her inner walls. A tiny squeak leaves his lips at the movement, and she relishes in the way he presses even closer, closer still...

She misses how he used to press against her from the inside, his tiny feet playfully exploring the walls of her womb. She misses being able to hold one hand to her ever-extending tummy, the other on her clit, while imagining he could feel all the pleasure that she could. She wasn't exaggerating when she said the hospital staff had forced him out of her– they'd graciously kept it off of her files, chalking it up to the delirious urges of a single mother giving birth alone, but nobody in the roomed missed it when she reached down and tried to keep her baby from crowning.

What wouldn't she do to keep him as close as possible? Every year he's bound to grow more independent, more eager to leave her side... She unconsciously digs her fingers into his soft, perfect skin as she contemplates making sure he can never leave. She could eat him bit by bit until his body becomes part of hers once more... She'd swallow him whole if she could, if only to feel her stomach bulge outward at the size of him again, the two of them becoming as inseperable as the day he first formed within her womb--

Her baby cums with his prick buried as deeply inside of her warmth as it can reach, his cry of pleasure muffled against her skin. The intimacy of the act tips her over the edge she'd already been narrowly balanced on, having become excited by her ever-spiraling fantasies. She groans softly in satisfaction, kissing the side of his head and ear over and over again until he squirms from overstimulation, releasing him with a chuckle.

"Mama, it's all wet, now," he gasps with a giggle, caught between wanting to pull his cock away from the intense stimulation of her cunt and wanting to hide it away from the cooler air of their bedroom.

"I'll keep it warm while I get the bath ready, okay?" She promises, gently cupping his crotch as she lifts him up and into her arms-- her perfect baby is still small enough to carry, she notes with glee. "After that, it's time for breakfast and then we'll continue your lessons."

"Okay!" He lets her carry him as always, taking a moment to affectionately press his cheek against her collarbone, and her heart melts.

The world might do everything in its power to seperate them, hell– time itself seems to be an enemy of what they have together. But for now her sweet baby is just as eager to be close to her as she is to him, and she'll cherish every second of it.

[oisinwrites]

              Bad Panda Mom

This is fan-fiction. I do not own Zootropolis. All rights go to Disney and Pixar. This fan-fiction was based on real facts about pandas and may contain spoilers for the movie.

“This is wrong!”, said Officer Judy Hopps, looking at the street vendor, where so many tabloids and gossip magazines all showed the same large, rotund, middle-aged panda in bright pink flowery clothing. Apparently, she was the worst mother in all of Zootropolis, but Judy didn’t think this was possible. Then again, if she hadn’t known better, she wouldn’t have thought it was possible for the media to be this unbearably harsh. It was bamboozling to her. “I’m not so squeaky clean myself, but having two cubs, only loving one and abandoning the other, that is very outrageous.” Said Nick Wilde, who was just flicking through his smartphone. “you’re a parent too, aren’t you?”, asked Judy. “I thought you had figured out by now,” answered Nick, “He’s not really a cub, He’s an adult of a different fox breed much smaller than me who pretended to be my baby as part of a con, which you fell for, because you were a rookie cop.” “It’s not like she was a cannibal trying to eat her own cub,” stated Judy,” it’s obvious she was just carrying him in her mouth, so we’ve both fallen for a con.” “Maybe I should have been more careful,” Nick admitted, “you can’t always believe what you read in the papers, but I know about con’s and this is technically more of a hyperbole than a con.”

At the station, Judy wondered if it was the same Panda that she was now seeing as an equally large  panda in the same pink flowery clothing entered the building, followed by cameras and wiping her eyes with a tissue. This was confirmed by the thunderous voice of Chief Bogo. “Mrs. Panderson, you are here for questioning in relation to your cubs!”, he boomed. Officer Judy, Chief Bogo and Mrs. Panderson withdrew to another room and began the questioning. Chief Bogo’s imposing demeanour and quick temper made him perfect for the role of “bad cop”, while Officer Judies soft heart and sympathy towards mothers made her more suited to being “good cop”. “You may introduce yourself”, permitted officer Judy. “Hi, I’m Pamela Panderson, I am a mother of two, they are twins, but unfortunately have not been able to maintain custody of both cubs.” Answered Mrs. Panderson, still sniffling and wiping her eyes. Chief Bogo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really”, he said, skeptically, “Why ever not?”. “I’m sure there’s a good reason.” Said Officer Judy.” Mrs. Panderson raised a paw and gestured towards her chest. “Well, I was able to get it going in here but…” “Argh, you’re on a tangent about breastfeeding!” interrupted Chief Bogo, “get to the point!” “No that’s okay,” said Officer Judy, “It’s a natural thing that all moms do or have done at some point, go on…”. Mrs. Panderson was already sniffling, but now she was really crying. “It was only enough for one cub! Their names are Fuzzy and Wuzzy, so I had to choose between Fuzzy and Wuzzy and have the other taken into care.”

“You had the choice no mother wants to have!”, exclaimed Judy. “Yes, but doesn’t Fuzzy have the right to know he has a twin brother called Wuzzy who was separated at birth?” asked Chief Bogo, “and are you aware that Fuzzy is obese?” “Panda cubs are supposed to be getting fatter and fatter,” said Judy, “I’d be worried if a panda cub wasn’t becoming a roly-poly blob of dough.” “Did you burn him alive by pouring barbecue sauce all over his body and lick it all off him?” asked Chief Bogo. “Why in blazes would I do that?”, exclaimed Mrs. Panderson, “then I’d burn my tongue!” “But did you lick him?”, he went on. “Well, that’s our culture,” answered Mrs. Panderson, “licking is a form of affection, it’s pretty much our equivalent of kissing and we panda moms lick our cubs all the time, but especially potty time, when we lick their tummies.” “So, you weren’t trying to eat him?” he asked. “what? No, of course not!”, Mrs Panderson spluttered. “Did you bite his ear off?” Chief bogo asked next. “That’s ridiculous! Ear-nibbling is also a form of affection among pandas and it’s a gentle bite”, she answered. “You’ve been accused of so many ridiculous things, they can’t all be true!”, stated Judy. “But we have found out one that is true,” replied Chief Bogo, “I would like to ask one more thing, did you sit on top of Fuzzy and crush him?”. “Well, yes and no”, answered Mrs. Panderson, “Thats another thing we Panda moms do, but it’s just a way of keeping them safe and we’re very careful not to crush them. I suppose it might seem strange to those outside of our culture, but in the panda communities its normal for mothers to squat down with their bum over their cub. It also signals to those nearby to watch out for those little cubs and please be gentle.” “Does that mean it was just a load of exaggerated nonsense all along?” asked Chief Bogo. “I think you’re a wonderful mum!” said Judy. “Thank you, but it’s very clear that Mrs. Tigerson does not agree.”, answered Mrs. Panderson.

“Who is this Mrs. Tigerson?” asked Judy. “I think it’s time to wrap it up”, said Chief Bogo, “We’ve found out what we needed.” “Well, she’s another mom, but she’s not a panda mom like me, she’s a tiger mom and I tend to avoid her.” Chief Bogo stood up. “You’re free to go.”, he said loudly and clearly. “Wait, I want to hear the rest of this!”, enthused Judy. “I Don’t bring fuzzy to the same pre-school where she’s around,” Mrs. Panderson went on, “or the same creche, or the same playground, okay, I think you get the picture now.” “I get that picture, but tell me more about why you avoid this other Mom?”, asked Judy. “I think the two of you can discuss this on your own time,” said Chief Bogo, “Its time for her to come back out of the station and you will probably be seeing her on parole.” Mrs. Panderson left the way she came, followed by cameras, journalists and officer Judy. She was still sniffling, but this time she was also thanking officer Judy in front of the press. The media had been incredibly harsh, but one particular Bunny had cut her some slack.

It was mostly Nick who she was seeing and talking to on parole and they were still arguing about whether Mrs. Panderson was really a “bad mom”. “When you put a cub into care, you make sure it’s the right place.” argued Nick. “let’s look at this logically for a moment.” began Judy, “She probably would have been very careful about where this cub ended up, you can’t just ASSUME!” “I am looking at it logically!” answered Nick, ”bottle-feeding is an option.” “Yes, but you see, it’s not a complete formula.” Explained Judy, “what do you know about babies anyway? He wasn’t really a cub, he was an adult of another fox breed smaller than you pretending to be your baby.” “So, you admit it, you were just a rookie cop!” snapped nick. “Yes, it was a rookie mistake and you can call me a dumb bunny, but do you have any experience with actual cubs?” “Alright, I don’t know much about cubs”, nick admitted, “but was that the only reason she had to choose between two cubs?” “There could have been more, but chief Bogo cut it short.” complained Judy. “I don’t think he was really all that interested in the whole mother’s story. He didn’t even want to hear about breast-feeding.” “Well, all that sounds dumb to me too.”, said Nick. “Goodness, That Mrs. Panderson really is a disgrace!”, butted in a rather intimidating mother tiger who was holding onto her cub’s paw.

“Are you Mrs. Tigerson?” asked Officer Judy. “Yes, I am Tiffany Tigerson and this is my daughter Tia, who I am raising properly!” roared Mrs. Tigerson, “I haven’t had the police involved!” Judies heart melted when she saw into Tia the tiger Cubs large, round eyes and Tia the tiger cub looked into hers. ”Hellooo!! I’m officer Judy!”, she said as she began slightly bending over before the little cub, with her paws on her hips and her legs arched outwards. “Er… Hewwo officer Judy!” Tia the tiger cub answered politely. “she’s just adorable, have you any other cubs?” asked Judy, “Er, no, just the one.” Answered Mrs. Tigerson. “Then how can you judge a mother of two?” Judy continued. Mrs. Tigerson became speechless. “Ha! You can’t answer, can you?”, Judy smirked. “That’s some solid policing right there.” Nick muttered with a slight hint of sarcasm. Finally, Mrs Tigerson was able to answer, but she was still coughing and spluttering. “Is it wrong for me to judge other mothers?”, she asked, “but when you’re a parent, you have to get your affairs in order, her life is a mess!” “Isn’t everyone’s life a mess?”, asked Judy, this time roaring back with passion, “If you don’t share another moms load, then you’re only contributing to the same problems you’re complaining about!” “Wow, where is all this fire from!?” gasped Nick, “You sure are sharing a mothers load, but you’re not actually a mother!” “I…I don’t know,” answered Judy, “something just took a-hold of me!”

“I… I never thought about it like that before at all!!”, Mrs Tigerson choked, “My whole life I’ve been roaring at everyone, It’s the first time anyone had the guts to roar back at me and it’s changed my entire universe! As for that Mrs Panderson, how will I ever make it up to her after having been treating her like this for so long?! Come to think of it, I don’t see her that often anymore, is she… avoiding me?” “I don’t weally see Fuzzy panda or her mommy anymore.”, added Tia the tiger cub. “I’m sorry Tia, you should have a playmate like fuzzy panda,” Said Mrs. Tigerson, “but you haven’t, because I drove a wedge between his mother and me, pushing us further away from each other.” Now it was Nicks turn to become speechless. He had no idea what to make of what he had just witnessed. After the tigers left, with officer Judy and Tia the tiger cub politely waving goodbye, Judy then said to Nick, “I’d like to meet Mr. Panderson, I wonder if he’s a family man? You know all the ladies love that kind of man! They go crazy over the domestic types who are fully committed to being the best husband and father!” “That’s not their culture, Judy.” Sighed Nick. “What do you mean, that’s not their culture?”, asked Judy. “Let’s get real here.” Snorted Nick, “A male bunny doing all that domestic stuff? Yeah, I could Imagine that, but a male panda, pull the other one!”

The next day, they did get the chance to meet Mr. Panderson at the tram-stop. A very sleepy-looking panda in work-clothes got off the tram saying, “What a day at work, I’m exhausted and a little peckish, I really want to munch on some bamboo and then take a nap.” “Excuse me, you’re not under arrest,” Judy addressed him,” But there’s been a case of a mother panda who had one of her two cubs taken into care, are you by any chance the father?”, “Er.. I think so.” Yawned the sleepy panda. “What do you mean you think so?!”, Screeched Judy. “Are you Mr. Panderson?”, she asked. “Yup, I’ve got my work-badge here, Peter Panderson.”, He yawned. “See, I told you!”, said Nick. “Even though it would make the girls go wild?”, asked Judy. “What are you talking about?” asked Mr. Panderson. “Well, you are a girl, so I won’t argue with you there.”, Nick backed out. “But what is this about making the girls go wild?”, asked Mr. Panderson. “Oh, you know, being involved in the childcare and stuff like that.” Judy answered. “You mean women just love being in childcare so much?” asked Mr. Panderson, “Are they really that crazy?”. “Nooo… they GO crazy over a MAN being involved in the childcare!” Judy explained. “You mean that’s the kind of man that’s irresistible.”, said Mr. Panderson. “Yes!”, answered Judy. “Uh-oh, that’s not very good news for me!”, said Mr. Panderson. “This is the good news, you just heard it too late, but better late than never.”, Said Judy. “I sure hope that’s not what they want from a man, that’s really scary!”, panicked Mr. Panderson.

When Judy saw Mrs Panderson at the station again, not only were Fuzzy and Wuzzy there, meeting each other for the first time, but chief Bogo also announced another visitor who was there to see her. It was Mrs Tigerson, who had also brought her daughter. Judy couldn’t help crying when, in front of all the reporters and all the cameras, the two mothers hugged one another. “I disrespected you and I’m sorry.” Whispered Mrs Tigerson. “I had much more favourable circumstances to be a mom in and I didn’t think about it being a lot harder for other mothers, but now I see that the cubs should be allowed to have playdates with each other and for that to happen both their moms need to be together as friends.” “If we are going to arrange a playdate, that would make it up to me.”, answered Mrs. Panderson. “I forgive you.” “I, too, feel that I owe you an apology.” said Chief Bogo, “I think its these adorable baby pandas that are bringing out the worst in us and I allowed my emotions to interfere with my judgement, which isn’t very professional for a chief of police.” “what’s wrong with police being emotional?”, asked Judy, who was still honking into a pink, lacy handkerchief. “Well, I mean when it’s getting in the way of logic and reason.”, explained chief Bogo. “Hey, you should have been there when I managed to convince Mrs. Tigerson to make up with Mrs. Panderson!”, laughed Judy, “It’s strange, I don’t have children of my own, but there was a new fire in me unlike anything I had ever felt before, yet I still think I was able to see rationally at the same time. If I may say so myself, I must have been able to come up some good arguments to get her convinced like this.” “Well, even when you get to be police chief you’re still learning and from now on I will try harder to look at things in a more objective and detached way.”, answered Chief Bogo. “Things aren’t all so black and white, there are fuzzy areas.”

“Hey, I think the tabloids have shifted their focus!”, said officer Clawhauser, who was showing the magazine he’d been reading. “They used to be obsessed with Mrs. Panderson being a bad mom, now they’re all about Mr. Panderson being a dead-beat dad, but some bits are in his own words, so we can see that he’s at least making an effort, even if it is driving him crazy because it’s so far out of his comfort zone.” So, I have a long-lost twin brother who was separated at birth and you are that twin.”, said Fuzzy. “The police have helped me find my real family”, said Wuzzy. “And your mother was there, though you may not have known it.”, said Mrs Panderson. “I always Thought my mom was checking on someone, now I really know.”, said Fuzzy. “If I had to give up one of my children, I wanted to make sure they’re being treated humanely wherever I’ve left them.”, answered Mrs. Panderson. The next day, Judy met Nick again at the same street vendor and Nick was swiping through everything on his smartphone, as usual. Just like officer Clawhauser had said, the tabloids had shited their focus, so now the new pandemonium was about Mr. Panderson being a deadbeat dad. “Wow, what a lazy father!”, remarked Nick. “Oh, come on!”, replied Judy, “He’s not mom, but he’s doing the best he can!”

[cinnnam0nngir16]

M

At times, I have heard people say that looking for love is futile. This can’t be true. The skin we were born in isn’t a body of water; the aches we feel are only the frost, not the depths of a harsh winter. If time isn’t the cure for my loneliness, what is it? If the progress isn’t linear, what makes sense of my habitual regression to rage and regrets? Why is it that when the bright yellow wallpaper peels off in my room, I can taste bitterness in my mouth? 

I have had similar dreams where I saw the Empress from the Rider Waite Tarto deck, illustrated by Pamela Colman Smith. The Empress didn’t have golden hair or a pomegranate-embroidered gown, nor was she holding a diamond sceptre. Instead, she sat on my bedside and smoothed the wrinkles on my sheets. A strange familiarity in her gaze made my stomach churn. I started to cry like a newborn: tears bolted off my face and merged into a tiny puddle. 

“Stay. Please, stay,” I wanted to say, but I couldn’t unstitch my sewn lips. I tried to avoid her burning gaze, but my eyelids were glued into a naked glare. It made me think of the dead animals I saw on the streets as a child; a compulsion drove me to look at their bloodied fur and lifeless bodies. I absorbed their owners' grief like an engine and learned to tune it into my own. 

In the darkness of my room, a faint blue light cast over the Empress’s figure. She taught me to forgive despair and remain tender. I read to her about the bats and the owl, the Yew Tree and the glassy moon. She did not understand the mild eyes of the moon. “But why doesn’t the moon see any of it?” she asked. But Plath and I both knew; we knew that the moon saw everything and understood the heartache that roamed from silence. We knew that silence was the cause of our deepest suffering. 

In the letter to her mother, Plath wrote, “I write only because there is a voice that will not be still within me.” The unspoken. When these words shatter into letters and wedge into frames of my memories, I have to pick them out of my flesh and let myself bleed a little bit more. To endure the throbbing pain of my mistakes is to repent for my silence. It is to say: I have decided to unravel my troubles and fall victim to the charge of introspection. I am to set myself in perpetual motion, thinking, “I am sorry,” until the day it builds up the courage to swim up my throat. 

Somewhere in real life, my counsellor was scribbling words down on her notepad and asking me questions. 

“Are you close to her?”

In my head was an image of the Empress sitting on my bed. My skin stung when I saw her hesitation to reach for my hand. 

I wanted to tell the counsellor that the truth is, you can never be close enough to someone. You can hold each other tightly, you can clutch their hands and press yourself against their chest, but there remain two pieces of skin and two sets of rib cages that set you apart— you can’t sync up the rhythm of your heartbeat. An indestructible distance exists between people, an interspace that swells into a void within our already isolated body. 

To seek the answer to these questions is to return to my dreams— a realm of fiction where everything has a spiritual meaning and symbolic importance. When I became a stranded island in the Pacific Ocean, the Empress came looking for me as a wandering albatross; when I was a failed rocket ship plummeting through the exosphere, she caught me in a Magellanic spiral; when I was a bishop genuflecting in a cathedral, she came in celestial clouds and brought a piece of heaven to earth. 

In a dream where I was a cannibal rejected by humanity, the Empress found me on the brink of starvation. Holding me in her arms, she said, “I allow you to consume my flesh and drink my blood”. 

The counsellor’s voice swung past the back of my head: “How close is close?” 

What distance exists within the bonding of blood cells, tissues, and fibroblasts? What weight of love must one bear to sacrifice herself for a flesh-eating monster? When diabolical forces are unleashed, who returns to the barren land where her child resides? 

I was once inside my mother’s body. She carried me for forty weeks and sculpted a version of herself: the same knobby knees and quick temper, the same twist in our eyebrows, sharing the same anguish that fueled our desire to venture far from our own mothers. Some scientists believe that sadness is hereditary; it is a curse that fell long before she was mine and I was hers. 

The sadness my mother feels isn’t a fetishisation of my own. She sees it because I am a mirror reflecting her youth. She understands it intimately, having cradled the same emotions thirty years ago. 

“Distance had an extraordinary power,” wrote Virginia Woolf. I remember the day very clearly: at the exit of the airport lounge, amidst white walls and the murmurs of conversations, I turned around and saw my mother standing on the opposite side of the glass. Her hand gestured as if shooing away a child; the arch of her lips mouthed the word “go”. I knew she had forgiven me then. But the silence was choking—a distance spawned from the mere separation of a glass to two thousand kilometres. There is no metric to measure the weight of guilt. 

I have always had this profound loneliness within me. It almost feels clinical, like a dull pain in my chest. Loneliness ravages my possessions: I hold on to nothing but air when I extend my arms; my pillow feels like a piece of paper. I imagine my skin conjuring into a water-like consistency, and I can’t find the strength to fight it. To eradicate the disease of loneliness is to find love: “Love had a thousand shapes.” It seems that finding love is not futile; it found me in the shape of a woman. 

When it comes right down to it, I realise my love for my mother has been muted by my cowardice; it is blighted by the poison of pride. I would find myself in distress, typing in the search bar, do I need to say I love you to mean it, and constantly thinking about how I should have apologised to her at the airport. 

After the day I announced my decision to leave the country, my mother and I started getting into heated arguments about minor things all the time. 

By the time the university offer came through, we had almost stopped speaking to each other entirely. My father congratulated me over the phone and said he would miss his little girl, but I couldn’t help but glance at my mother, hoping for a reaction. While waiting for the plane ticket to download, I noticed that the yellow wallpaper had started to peel off in the living room. Underneath the curled edge was a moulded grey. 

“We won’t have to argue again soon,” she broke the silence. Her voice was frail. 

“I never wanted to,” I snapped at her almost immediately, “you were always picking on me.” 

Instead of continuing to tell me how I should have been more responsible or scolding me for not respecting her, she said nothing. My eyes fell back onto the yellow wallpaper, and my tongue suddenly felt stale and bitter. 

My flight was scheduled to leave at seven in the morning. Having felt agitated and restless for days, I wanted to tell her how terribly I would miss her and how much I loved her, but my tongue got stuck in my throat whenever I tried to speak up. I didn’t want to show her my vulnerability and uncertainty about starting this new life: a new journey I was about to embark on, a path I had chosen. 

The night before my flight, an inevitable argument erupted from our conversation: “Why won’t you just tell me that you’re proud of me and be happy for me?” I screamed at her, fighting back my tears. 

“I am proud of you,” she said, “why do you keep trying to get away from us?”

“No, from YOU,” an evil force compelled me to spit out these words. My head spun. “Because you make me sad. Because you keep trying to make me stay here, and it’s my life.” That night, I prayed to God for the first time in years, begging for my mother’s forgiveness.

“Be angry, and do not sin; ponder in your own hearts on your beds, and be silent,” said Psalm 4:4. The guilt was thrashing. I have never learnt the language of love, yet I have been spoken to with nothing but tenderness. It dawns on me now that a mother’s forgiveness requires more than a willingness to understand. 

When I hugged her before entering the security checkpoint, I felt like I was holding on to her like a drowning man to a piece of floating wood, gasping for one last breath of air before descending to the ocean's depths. 

I remember a friend asking me what I would want to be in my next life if I could choose. I said I wanted to be a seabird: I wished to stretch my wings and travel to the far side of the ocean. She smiled and told me she wanted to be in a world where her mother lived— whether as her mother’s mother, father, husband or sister — just to be a part of her existence before she was her mother. 

Years ago, when I posed the same question to my mother, she told me she wanted to be a rock— a sturdy, plain, solid lump devoid of emotions and thoughts: an unyielding fullness untouched by the damage of learning happiness, anger and fear, relieved of all burdens inherent in the body of a flesh and bone being. 

I was disappointed by her answer. I expected nothing less than “I would still want to be your mother”. What makes sense of this profound selfishness within me? How is it fair that I wanted to be freed entirely, yet still longed for her to be a part of my existence? 

There is nothing fair about a mother’s love. 

After all, looking for love isn’t futile; it finds me where I exist. The love resides in the very fabric of my body, weaving through my dreams and staying with me in distant lands. The cure for my loneliness comes from within: to confront the silence is to peer beyond the edge of winter and surrender to warmth, letting the light in. 

___________________________________________________________

I call you at a quarter past ten.

It is loud there, you say.

When can you make it home?

I am standing near a gated window,

neon red and yellow,

kiss the rain and await the rapture.

You travel through the whim of time

returning a promise,

beholding the greyest of all skies.

Someone who I never got to know

told you it would be easier to try less and learn to transcend.

In another land of wind,

birds and salted sea,

I find you resting on the shore.

A grain of sand is a tiny rock

withered

down by time’s relentless force.

I plunge my beak to catch a fish

water twirls in a stormy swish.

You blend into the stream,

travelling down the river’s route,

towards the distant ocean,

finally washed ashore on an island,

joining me on the other end of the world.

The rain brushes down my face against the phone. I say,

I’m sorry, mum. I love you.

[xinkypotatoechipsx]

My fave MHA character's watching a horror film with their s/o

Warnings~ Mentions of gore, swearing

Featuring ~ Shigaraki, Tamaki, Shinso, Kirishima and Tsuyu.

Apologies if anyone seems out of character

Shigaraki

~ I believe he would be up for watching any genre of horror but prefers slashers and the films that come under the gore and disturbing genre (e.g The Hostel, Saw and possibly Cannibal Holocaust). Yet I can sort of see some of them bringing back a bit of PTSD from his childhood.

~ Okay so I see Shigaraki really enjoying horror films and watching them quite often.

~ He'd love to have a movie marathon with all of your favourites film series!

~ If you don't like horror films he'd still watch them with you and try to stop himself laughing when you jump at a jumpscare or cover your eyes at a gory scene or just simply when you find things too scary.

~ However if you love watching horror films and don't find them scary, he'd sometimes find it amusing (at other's quite annoying)on how you'd explain how the characters could've avoided their death, how you'd make sarcastic comments throughout it, making jokes here and there etc.

~ I also see him being that type of person that after the film or half way through it he'd sneak up behind you and scare the shit out of you.

Tamaki

~ I think that if Tamaki had to decide on what kind of genre/sub - genre to watch I think that he would choose classic monster movies (e.g Dracula, Frankenstien) as they don't go too over the top and you both find it interesting how much the franchises have expanded and improved throughout time.

~ He's terrified of any horror film! I mean he is scared of everything and horror films are bound to take a toll on him so make sure to reassure him that it's not real, he's safe and you are there to protect him all whilst you are giving him lot's and lot's of cuddles.

~ Tamaki will be clinging to you throughout the entire thing! Be careful with which film you choose to watch because the odds of it scarring him for life is like times out of 10. He will also most likely cry through it as well, poor baby :(

~ If you actually enjoy horror films and don't find them scary he will be in both total shock and awe. I mean there is so much blood and it seems so realistic yet there you were sitting entranced in a fictional gruesome world grinning like a maniac it may actually creep him out a bit.

~ When scary scenes come up he will either cover his eyes with his hands, with part of the blanket which was wrapped around the both of you or bury his face in the crook of your neck.

~ If you are jumpy with certain scenes be prepared for a bumpy ride. When you flinch you can almost guarantee that you almost scared the crap out of Tamaki and he in turn will practically jump out of his seat. As you're both sitting on the couch and another scary scene comes on you two would either be looking away from the screen or staring intently at it holding onto each other tightly as if one of the serial killers or creatures would reach out from the tv and drag you into their world.

Shinso

~ Prefers psychological, paranormal and sci-fi horrors (e.g The Thing, Poltergeist ).

~ Another person who I can see liking horror films and could watch them possibly for hours on end.

~ To be honest I think it's just the whole atmosphere that has been created; all the lights are turned off and only the soft glow of the tv is illuminating the room, your both cuddling, a blanket covering the both of you and snacks and drinks placed on the table in front of you.

~ I don't really think that Shinso would really be fazed by horror films, he may flinch slightly but I imagine that he'd just watch them as if they're a normal movie.

~ He would try to contain his laughs (rare sight if you ask me) if you are very jumpy with anything horror related and he would not hesitate to tease you about it.

~ If you were the type of person to make sarcastic comments on the characters, explain how they could've avoided their deaths or get out of the place they were trapped in or theorise who the murderer could be, Shinso would listen intently and if he had something important to add on, he'd pause the film and you guy's would talk it out and then play the rest of the film after you conversation. Or y'all would discuss and debate it after the film and for the rest of the night up until morning.

Kirishima

~ I feel like Kirishima would like post-apocalyptic films (e.g a quiet place and I am legend).

~ Has tons of snacks spread out on the table, either a pillow fort will be built or you two will just be cuddling on the couch with a blanket covering the both of you.

~ I feel that he would only watch horror films with you just so you'd cuddle up to him when your feeling scared and I see him only liking watching horror films because you like them and/or because of what was mentioned above.

~ One of those people acting all tough saying that horror films and/or games don't scare him and then halfway through he will be the one clinging to you.

~ Another person who will sneak up behind you either during the film after they went to get a drink or something or after the movie has ended and scare the shit out of you .

~ Loves listening to you ramble about how characters could've avoided their deaths and what you would do in that situation (it would take his mind off of the film). He would also keep thinking how brave you are no being scared by them even though they are not real lol.

Tsuyu

~ I'm not 100% sure what Tsuyu's preferred horror film genre is but if I had to guess I'd probably have to go with Zombies or animals and nature (e.g. Zombieland and Jaws).

~ Tsuyu only watches them if her partner would want to because she is scared of them, much like Tamaki.

~ She is another person who would cling to you all the way throughout it and possibly even cry if she finds it scary enough.

~ Lot's of snacks (so long as the movie isn't too graphic) and will most likely be lying/sitting in a massive pillow fort watching the movie on a laptop.

~ Would be so shocked if you didn't find the films you were watching scary! She doesn't understand how someone couldn't find being bitten or eaten alive by zombies or man eating sharks frightening, but I imagine she would look up to you more. Her s/o is tough as fuck!

~ Most likely would be too scared to sleep so you two would either just stay up till morning until she passed out or you would have to calm her down, give her loads of cuddles and say assuring words to her (trying not to giggle in the process)

[mldrgrl]

His’n

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: A Hanella Twitter prompt, of sorts.  Hank introducing Stella as his wife. https://twitter.com/hole4gillian/status/1411255101990203392?s=21

The whole Zoom appearance thing was getting to be old hat, so when Hank was asked to appear live and in person at the reopening of an independent book store he frequented, he jumped at the opportunity.  He missed reading to people that actually existed and weren’t just little boxes on a screen.  He missed that instant feedback and energy that only a live audience could provide.  He missed being the center of attention.  

The appearance was on a Tuesday evening.  He asked Stella to go, but she had a late class that night.  He asked Becca to come, but Ziggy had a puppy training session.  He wasn’t terribly disappointed.  It was a rare occurrence to have any of his family at an event and he was fine with it.

Hank was greeted by the owner and manager of Read This, a man named Philip, who he considered to be a step above an acquaintance, but not quite a friend.  They had a relationship built upon reciprocity.  Hank was a regular customer, even name dropped the store a few times in interviews to give it a boost, and Philip always stocked his books and made sure signed copies were on display.

The event space in the store was just a small stage at the back, barely large enough to fit two chairs comfortably, and an assortment of mismatched folding chairs scattered in front of it.  The bookstacks were at angles, pointed towards the stage in a vee formation like an arrow down the aisle.  Hank had done a few signings there in the past and they always felt more like intimate gatherings than events.

Philip kicked off the appearance with a short speech thanking everyone for coming out and for supporting the store over the years.  He kept it short and simple and then gave Hank the floor to a round of applause.  Hank stepped up onto the stage and gave Philip a quick hug before he sat down.  All the seats out in the audience were full - all fifteen or twenty of them.  He took a passing glance at the crowd as he unfolded the pages he’d brought with him that had been tucked into his back pocket.

“Any of you motherfuckers blog about this later and call me an old man for what I’m about to do, fuck you in advance,” he said, taking out the reading glasses he had hooked to the collar of his shirt that had recently become a necessity.  

Everyone laughed.  Someone woo-hooed from the audience and Hank dropped his chin to look over the rim of his glasses.  

“Philip said I could read whatever the hell I wanted,” Hank said.  “So I’m going to read an excerpt from a new novel I’ve got coming out in a few months called Alone Together.  A couple things you should know going in, the novel follows the story of Miranda and Scott, a married couple who are on the verge of calling it quits after fifteen years when the pandemic hits and forces them hunker down together when they’d really rather be anywhere else.  This bit I’m about to read is about half-way in, when Scott is starting to reflect on what exactly went wrong and when.”

Hank paused to smooth his pages again.  When he looked up, he straightened his shoulders in surprise.  He saw Stella, leaning against one of the bookstacks with a mild smile on her face.  She was in her work clothes, a white silk blouse and fawn colored pencil skirt and tan heels.  She had a tan blazer over her arm and her briefcase in hand as well.  He took a subtle glance at his watch as he adjusted his pages.  Her night class should have only started a half an hour ago.

“Uh,” Hank started and then hid a grin behind his fist as he cleared his throat.  “Scott watched his wife at her computer from across the room.  She had her headset on and she was laughing.  He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d heard her laugh.  It occurred to him that he’d forgotten what it sounded like.”

It took about fifteen minutes for Hank to read the full excerpt.  He was momentarily distracted when he saw Becca walking down the aisle.  She went straight to Stella, gave her a hug, and then turned towards the stage with Stella’s arm across her shoulders.  The surprise of having both his wife and daughter there for him almost made him cry.

When he finished, the audience clapped, and Philip came back onto the stage to moderate audience questions.  All the questions were the same variations of questions he had been asked his entire career.  He could answer them in his sleep.  While he was droning on about his routine and writing habits, he saw Becca tip her head back, whisper something in Stella’s ear, and then duck out from under her arm and walk away.  He hoped she wasn’t leaving without saying goodbye.

“Gentleman in the green shirt,” Philip said.

“You said earlier that you were inspired by the pandemic, so I have to ask, how much is fiction and how much is reality?”

“Are you asking me if I based it off my own life?” Hank asked.  “Well, first of all, I want to make a broad statement about writing in general.  That whole ‘write what you know’ garbage that people, mainly professors, let’s be honest, try to instill into you, is bullshit.  Do you think Bram Stoker was a vampire?  Do you think Thoms Harris was a cannibal?  And believe me, I’m not saying that writers don’t cull from their real life when they’re putting words to paper, but there always seems to be this assumption that if you’re writing a modern story, set in a modern world, that somehow that must be your life and your voice.

“Unlike Scott, I am happily married to the most beautiful, intelligent, way out of my league woman and I would never forget, not even for a hot second, that I am the luckiest bastard alive.  We started off the pandemic in very close quarters and when I was trying to think about what I might be interested in writing next, it occurred to me that I could very well be in a miserable position if my life was different.  But, it’s not my life that I was imagining when I finally sat down to write.  It was two people who were at odds with each other and how would they respond to this?

“I’ll say this, though, and then I’ll get off my high horse on the subject.  There is one thing in the story that I gave to Scott that belongs to me.  I even read from that passage tonight, and I’ll read it again.”

Hank put his glasses back on and flipped through his pages until he found the paragraph he wanted.  He glanced up and out to where Stella was before he re-read the lines.

“He could recall in stunning detail the moment he knew he was in love with her.  It wasn’t a romantic moment.  They weren’t out on a date.  It wasn’t during or after sex, when he was naturally euphoric.  It was on a hot summer morning in August when the air conditioner had gone out overnight and they’d both slept poorly and were pissed off at the world.  He watched her angrily brushing her teeth with her pink cheeks and dark circles under her eyes and in his exhaustion and anger he wished for a moment that she wasn’t there, but then he had a flash of his life without her and suddenly he felt a swelling in his chest that stole his breath.  He never wanted to envision a life without her again, not for a minute.”

Hank stared at the page for a few beats before he finally took off his glasses again and looked up.  He first looked for the man that had asked the question and then he turned his gaze to Stella.  

“The fictional situation was different,” he said.  “But, the feeling was the same.”

Stella gave him a subtle smile and her lips puckered very briefly.  His own lips twitched in response and he finally cut his eyes away.  He took a few more questions and then Philip thanked him for his time and invited anyone that wanted to stay to have a book signed to wait for a few minutes as they set up the table.

As people began to talk amongst themselves, Hank left the stage to go to Stella.  She was chatting with Becca, who had returned with two cups of coffee from the cafe next door.

“Hey,” Hank said, sliding his arm around Stella’s waist and squeezing her hip.

Stella put a hand on Hank’s face and her thumb briefly circled his mouth.  She didn’t say anything, but her eyes held his in a warm gaze.  She tilted her chin up at him and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“Daughter,” he said, turning to Becca while still holding onto Stella.  He put his hand on the top of her head and kissed the part in her hair.

“Father.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“We thought we would take you to dinner,” Stella said.  “When you’re finished.”

“I would love that.”

Philip came up from behind Hank and said his name.  “We’re ready for you,” Philip said.

“Philip, this is my wife, Stella Gibson.  And my daughter, Rebecca Moody.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Philip said to Stella and then nodded to Becca.  “We sold out of the hardcover of your last book.  Please, let me know if you’d ever like to do a signing.”

“Sure,” Becca said.

“You’d have to put twice as many chairs out,” Hank said.  He could tell Becca wanted to roll her eyes at him so bad.

“Go do your thing,” Stella said, putting her hand over Hank’s on her hip.  She rubbed her thumb over his and he captured it and pinned it down for a moment.  He nodded and then kissed her cheek again.

“Love you,” he whispered into her ear.

“I see what you mean,” Philip said, walking Hank back to the stage where a folding table was set up.  “She is out of your league.”

“Right?” Hank said with a laugh.  “And she married me.  Unfuckingbelievable.”

The End

[visceraah]

Intrulogical week day 7- Free day

“Smoking causes an extremely damaging buildup of tar in your lungs and, in some cases, cancer.”

Remus licked the edge of it, rolling it up without even looking at Logan. “Maybe I like choking.”

So that was how it was. Logan shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked. “You are aware we’ll have to act as though we like each other for this, yes?”

“You’re saying you don’t like me?” Remus pouted. If Logan didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he saw a flicker of hurt on his face… But whatever it was, it was gone in an instant. “Why, that completely changes things.”

“I am saying, we must act like a couple.” Logan corrected, unimpressed.

-

Or, a ridiculously self indulgent fake dating AU

AO3

Content warnings: homophobia, cannibalism mention, smoking, and the usual for innuendos.

Logan wanted to punch something.

Ordinarily, he was not a violent man. He believed resolving your issues with fists was an outlet for those too unintelligent to properly articulate themselves.

He also believed, had he spent any more time in that room, he would have tried to pummel his father to a pulp.

Hands shaking with rage, he pulled out his phone. It took a few tries to click the correct number, and he slowly raised it to his ear.

“Logan?” Pattons’ voice was full of concern and, for the first time in years, he wanted to cry. He didn’t trust his voice, but apparently his silence was enough. “We’re on our way.”

-

“Allow me to duel them!”

Romans anger might have been sweet at first, but it was beginning to wear thin. Logan rolled his eyes. “Even if I believed they would accept, violence solves nothing.”

“But they deserve it.” Roman muttered, sitting back down dejectedly.

“Hey, no mister! Violence is bad.” Patton reprimanded, although even he wasn’t too firm. Nobody was the biggest fan of Logans’ parents right now.

“I was expecting this. They have expressed their… distaste, for gay people. It was foolish to expect any other kind of reaction.” Logan tried, hating how his voice shook as he spoke.

Patton put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re their son, Lo, it wasn’t fo-”

“I’ve got it!” Roman declared loudly, startling the other two. Patton opened his mouth but Logan, glad for the shift of focus from his emotions (... because that was uncomfortable), shook his head.

“You take home to them the worst boyfriend ever! Fake, that is. He can be rude and dismissive and swear-y and the total opposite to a gentleman. That way, when you actually bring home a boy you like, they’ll be so relieved it’s not.. That.. and have no choice but to accept him!”

Patton clapped politely. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even if I consented, what makes you think this would work?”

“Oh, trust me. It’ll work.” Roman told him confidently, and Patton leant over to whisper “I’m convinced.”

What was he getting himself into?

“... I assume you have the perfect delinquent in mind.”

Roman grinned.

-

“What do you want, fuckwaffles?”

Roman spluttered, and Logan was already regretting this. The ‘delinquent’ in mind had been his twin, and even though Logan had been his friend once… That was a long time ago. He barely recognised the boy in front of him, lounging on bench and smoking what he sincerely hoped was just tobacco.

Logan figured he would cut to the chase, to spare any more stupidity. “Allow me to be frank- I recently informed my parents I was gay.” Remus seemed to perk up at that. “They did not take it well. Your brother seems to think pretending to date the worst possible influence will persuade them to accept a less abrasive boy, and I… Am out of other ideas.”

“That sucks.” Remus said, sincerely, and took a drag from his cigarette. “But I’m not interested. Fanfic rules say if you fake date, you fall for each other or whatever, and no offense Specs, but I don’t wanna bang a nerd.”

Logans brow furrowed. “Fanfic..?”

“Yeah, you know- works of ‘fanmade fiction’. Where you have a hard on for some made up guy and write about him fucking a different character you project onto. Ro writes it all the time.”

“I do not write smut!” Roman said indignantly, going red.

“I know.” Remus sighed sadly. “That’s why your fics suck.”

Logan was pretty sure they were speaking another language, but he decided to power through. Whatever they were saying, it didn’t seem too important. “It’ll be purely professional.” Logan reassured him. And, because he was a little desperate… “And I can pay.”

Remus stared at him for a long minute, before finally putting out his cigarette on the bench. Logan cringed at the burn mark it left on the wood. “My first job as a male escort… Fine.”

Roman sighed in relief, and Logan nodded, sticking his hand out. Remus eyed it, then spat onto his palm and slapped it against Logans, giving it an unnecessarily tight shake.

Logan didn’t bother to hide his disgust, making note to wash his hands ASAP. Remus just grinned back at him.

“I’ll bring a spliff. When dya need me?”

Ah. Logan cringed “... Now.”

“Lucky for you, my evening’s free. We should probably get a story straight, first though- you wanna go for a walk?”

What choice did Logan have? He nodded curtly, and they started the walk in silence. He heard Remus drag out a sigh, and glanced over to see him pulling out some paper and starting to roll himself another cigarette. He frowned disapprovingly.

“Smoking causes an extremely damaging buildup of tar in your lungs and, in some cases, cancer.”

Remus licked the edge of it, rolling it up without even looking at Logan. “Maybe I like choking.”

So that was how it was. Logan shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked. “You are aware we’ll have to act as though we like each other for this, yes?”

“You’re saying you don’t like me?” Remus pouted. If Logan didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he saw a flicker of hurt on his face… But whatever it was, it was gone in an instant. “Why, that completely changes things.”

“I am saying, we must act like a couple.” Logan corrected, unimpressed.

“So you do like me?” Remus teased, elbowing Logan in the side. “But… Alright. We hooked up at that gig down The Crown the other week- naturally, I was the top- and it’s been non-stop sex ever since. Happy?”

“I am not telling my parents any of that.” Logan said firmly. Once, he would have blushed at that, but he knew by now better than to take Remus’ words at face value.

“Why?” Remus tucked his cigarette behind his ear- just to crown the ‘troublemaker’ look, Logan supposed. Smoking was repulsive and all, but… It did kind of suit him. “Chose it cause you were there- don’t want them to know you go out?”

“No, actually. Whilst that was not my primary issue with your suggestion, it is not a detail they know, or I intend on sharing with them.”

Remus stared at him, and he shifted awkwardly under his gaze. “You didn’t tell them?”

“You… Remember what they are like.” Logan reminded him. “Can you blame me?”

Remus nodded, but for some reason he was still looking at him. “How’d you avoid getting caught, then?”

“Some of us are good at it.” Logan replied with a smirk

Remus gasped and elbowed him again. “Fuck off. Not my fault my parents don’t trust me!”

“I sincerely believe it is.”

Remus laughed, and Logan couldn’t help watching him. For someone so harsh, he was… Cute. He blushed when he was caught looking at him, quickly shaking his head and looking away.

Remus didn’t like silence, though, no matter how comfortable. It didn’t take long for him to open his mouth again. “What happened to us?”

Logan turned to look at him inquisitively, waiting for him to continue.

“I mean…” Remus seemed to hesitate, almost embarrassed. Huh. Logan hadn’t thought he could get embarrassed. “We used to be mates, yknow? We talked about weird shit together, like- fuck, I don’t know, how tigers have spikes on their dick.”

Logan snorted at that. “I suppose we did.”

And the silence was back. It didn’t feel right, though- Logan knew there was more to say, so, reluctantly, he explained, “We were just… Very different. I was interested in my studies, you were interested in…”

“Eh, I get it.” Remus dismissed before he could even finish. “M’a bad influence- couldn’t have the model student associating with me.”

Logan frowned, looking over at Remus. “I don’t see why that should be the case.”

Remus startled, almost dropping his cigarette. He seemed shocked, and Logan almost smiled.

Before either of them could try and make sense of this strangely emotional moment, though, Logan had stopped walking and turned to look at the nearest house. They were there, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“... I am unsure if I can do this.” Logan admitted, taking a step back. He felt a weight on his shoulder, and looked up to see Remus’ hand. It was strangely comforting.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be the worst boyfriend you could ask for.”

Logan snorted and took a deep breath, holding out his hand. When Remus just stared at it, he explained, “To sell it.”

Remus made a small ‘ah’ of understanding, linking their hands and walking forwards with him.

Before he even had the chance, Remus rung the doorbell for him. Once, then again, and again and again and-

His mother opened the door angrily. “Logan, that’s immature and, quite frankly, rather idiotic.” Her eyes landed on Remus and they narrowed. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, I’m Remus. Pogan’s boyfriend.”

Her eye twitched. “That isn’t- Logan, can I have a word?”

Logan, who had until now just been watching in fascination- Remus really did have this down- subconsciously straightened his back. “Yes mother?”

“Alone.”

“Oh, anything you can say to him, you can say to me.” Remus supplied, leaning on the doorframe. “You gonna let us in or what?”

The colour drained from his mothers face and, if he weren’t so nervous, Logan would be genuinely impressed. “I have invited him back for dinner. I hope that’s alright.”

The look on her face said it very much wasn’t, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. She stepped back, forcing a thin-lipped smile to her face. “Of course.”

“Sick.” Remus walked straight past her, dragging Logan with him. “What’re we eating, then?”

“Pie. Your father will be home soon.” She said, message clear as she turned on her heel and left the room.

“I’m a vegan, so leave out any meat!” Remus yelled after her, before shooting Logan a grin. “How much more of a Karen could she be?”

Logan let out a surprised snort. “I must admit, you have this down.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started~”

Logan doubted Remus could get any worse than this, but a large part of him was rather excited to see him try.

-

Remus got so, so much worse. He insisted on sitting on Logans lap despite the whole sofa being free- and he did not blush because of it. Nope- and spoke loudly about how much he wanted to smoke.

When Logans father arrived, the ‘couple’ were met with a stare of confusion and, after a whisper in his ear from his mother, a glare. He cleared his throat. Logan looked up, but Remus just fiddled with a lock of his hair- something that definitely didn’t make him blush, either. His father cleared his throat again, and Remus seemed to acknowledge him.

“Oh, hi. You must be… Pat?”

“Matt.” He snapped, and Logan realised just how well it worked to get someones name wrong. “Aren’t you that kid Logan used to hang around? Real trouble maker, always in detention.”

“Sure am- guess you could say Lo and I have a long history.”

It was honestly impressive how pissed he looked already. Logan squirmed but, before this could get any worse, there was a loud bang behind them. Everyone turned to look, just in time to see his mother slam the plates down onto the table. “Dinner.”

Logan watched in awe as Remus strode up to the table and seated himself at the head, awkwardly shuffling after him. He saw his parents exchange a look, but they thankfully sat down, too.

The next few minutes were painfully quiet. His mother served up the food in a way that could only be described as aggressive, and his father glared at the wall ahead of him.

“You guys read Titus Andronicus?” Of course it was Remus to break the silence. When Logan realised nobody else would reply, and he’d have to continue… Whatever this conversation was, he shook his head.

“The Shakespeare play? I am afraid not.”

“Oh, shame.” Remus picked at the food. “This Roman war criminal, Titus, brings back like four prisoners whose family he brutalised and whatever. They’re kindaaa pissed so, as revenge, they kill a couple his sons and mutilate his daughter. He finds out and kills them, then cooks them into a pie and serves it to their mother. He’s killed by the emperor or whatever, but that’s not important. This just… Reminded me of that.” He poked the pie again.

Logans mother actually turned green. “I… Thought you were a vegan.” Was all she could think to say, thoroughly disgusted.

“That’s the thing about vegans!” Remus jiggled his fork in her direction. “We won’t eat animals or animal products, yeah? But we eat human products. Soooo, by that logic, we could eat a person, too.”

“Are you saying you’re a cannibal?” Logans father asked coldly, speaking for the first time since they sat down.

Remus shrugged in a way that concerned even Logan. “Just a hypothetical.”

“This boy’s a maniac.” Logan heard his mother mutter, and his fist curled around his cutlery. His knuckles turned white.

“Don’t.”

Everyone looked at Logan in surprise, Remus included, and he found himself going red- not from embarrassment, but anger.

“Excuse me? You bring a fucking… Deviant, like this, into our house, and then you have the nerve to speak to your mother like that? Apologise, right now.” Logans father snarled. He clutched the cutlery tighter.

“Only if she does.”

“This, uh, really isn’t necessary-” Remus whispered to him, cut off by a shrill laugh.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said all day to make any sense.” His mother spat.

“Probably.” Remus agreed, easily, and Logan stood up suddenly. His chair clattered to the ground.

“Don’t agree with them.”

Logans mother glared up him. “You sit down and stop this right this second”

For the first time in his life, Logan ignored her. “We are leaving.” He said coldly, grabbing Remus by the arm and storming out.

-

The second they were out of sight of the house, he stopped walking. He shut his eyes, pressed his back to the nearest wall, and slid down against it. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone until Remus’ voice, uncharacteristically soft, called out “Lo..?”

He looked up, wiping at his eyes. “Apologies. That- none of it was fair on you.”

“What? No, I don’t give a shit about that. I signed up for it.” Remus dropped down next to him. “More concerned about you.”

“... Me?”

“Yeah, that was fuckin rough- just give the word and I’ll feed ‘em to the pigs, because damn.”

Logan laughed, a half sniffle. “I believe the phrase is ‘feed them to the fish’.”

“Well that’s stupid. Everyone knows you feed bodies to pigs.”

Logan decided not to question that… Instead, he hesitantly leant into Remus’ side. To his surprise, the other boy put an arm around him. “Specs?” He asked, after a minute.

“Hmm?” Logan shifted a little to meet Remus’ gaze.

“How come ya reacted so badly?”

Ah. Logan swallowed. He wasn’t too sure himself, really, but… “They had no right to speak to you like that.”

Remus stared at him quizzically, and Logan found himself meeting his gaze. They stayed like that, for longer than Logan cared to measure, before Remus finally asked, “Can I kiss you?”

For some reason, the question didn’t take Logan by surprise. He nodded and, grinning, Remus brought his mouth down to meet his.

[luminous-shifting-vibes]

*sequel* to actual fucking quotes from the shiftblr coffeehouse discord server

once again, it's out of context because x1000 funnier

also x1000 longer than previous post

"ur satan is gnc af"

"Bestie I’m already having gender envy over a fucking demon please"

"O_O ODEPIJHFbavevisdpvfhzdcnjawedsidjksjdkoeirjfmkdsoeirujdksodifjndmksoidfjdksidfj ITS" NOT IN MY FRAFTS IS SPEDNT 1 hour PN THAT SHIT"

"AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"ohoho sexy"

"I am very proud of myself"

"himbo x edgy fuck"

"YOU COULD SQUISH HES CHEECKS"

"he has teefs"

"SQUASH"

"good for biting 📷"

"he's a himbo basically"

"B͂̒̄iͫ̍̈tͧ̓ͯè̄̇"

"bifth"

"i havent watched blue exorcist in years but mr okumura my beloved </3"

"MY LIFE QUESTIONS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED"

"is it important information to mention that the person i put up for my turn is the son of satan" "I know like 1 thing about everyone who isnt ranboo lmfao"

"crimes"

"tumblr sexyman"

"idk why but my first thought was cowboy onceler"

"I vibe with him but he is very long and twisty"

"steampunk e-girl"

"steampunk tumblr sexyman"

"Canonically bi crimelord I agree!!"

"OOO FRIEND SHAPED"

"ARTIST SIGHTED"

"they look like someone i would want to be friends with but is way cooler than me so i'd never actually talk to them"

"babby..... would die for him"

"honestly i probably kin him"

"i'm sure he's lovely but he looks way too much like my ex i'm sorry-"

"i'd be down for another rotation! i have another twink to show y'all"

"Also :00 blonde friend"

"Let us all infodhmo"

"Hsjagdvbs shhh im on phone"

"Nix woukd you like to joon?

"skitters away"

"I have two braincells and they both drink dumb bitch juice"

"oof wait whats the order again i have 0 memory"

"i want to bond with him over cosplay-"

"Awkwardly watches in band kid"

"One day I'm gonna a broadway star"

"which isnt to say they were bad. they were just fortnite dancing during rehersals"

"I threw it so hard my glasses flew off and slid under the stage right divider"

"anyway heres my boi"

"emo"

"haha emo"

"virgil sanders kinnie"

"he looks like he listens to my chemical panic at the fallout boy"

"Bro I bet he'd kick my ass with his deck"

"bird man my beloved"

"fuck i had so much to say and then i forgot it all"

"Birds!!"

"guiguhuh"

"crabrave"

"She sounds like someone I would end up stealing her personality"

"yess name collector gang"

"alias glass aiden haven absinthe fish brick rice"

"But I have Cypress, Remure, Genesis, Lemres, and Comet"

"And she's named after a mars candy bar bc alien"

"Hey, if plato went by plato, you can be king thief"

"im not dissing my gramma like that shfojd"

"My dad has seven legal names" "bitches be like *looks at fictional character* *steals their name* it's us we're bithces"

"coraline lowkey traumatized me but i adore it regardless"

"mmmmmm magic man :]"

"°0° green man"

"criminal (affectionate)"

"he would shoplift a candy bar from walmart and then brag to all of his friends about the sick stealing he did"

"despite the fact he's canonically been capable of overpowering a minor deity"

"i would commit so many crimes for him"

"Very babey"

"Yes please tell green man he is very pog"

"he also keeps a lot of dumb secrets"

"but I will sorely miss the chaos and energy of this here chat until I wake again" (by request XD)

"i just say words and if they're funny then they're funny"

"* or extremly chaotic either works"

"at this point we are just taking turns rambling"

"oH--"

"bc my brain has a schedule"

"Hopefully they have gyoza there or I will lose my mind"

"hehe yes spooky man"

"my ghost glucose guardian"

"the head of the undead group that lives there, and we end up dating. (yes I date a ghost, no I will not be taking constructive criticism /lh)"

"ghosts r just inherently sexy"

"i mean im becoming a squid thing so"

"Raven quirk raven quirk!!"

"ł â m p"

"łæmp"

"mothman: ooh lamp you look very nice today! do you come here often? mothman: wait shit no"

"I'd date a ghost"

"mine is still accurate, i am still sobbing (/j)"

"p e e p e e"

""@nick wilde is a tumblr sexyman" is the best thing i have ever seen"

"im sorry im cackling like a dying hyena"

"you're all 12 year olds"

"PEENIE"

"He once caused global warming on accident so he could get a tan"

"god, what a himbo. i love him"

"that reminds me of my friends kin assigned me jesus"

"Man outside of battle be like: princely crying but then in battle hes like: "CATACLYSM! DISASTER! DEVASTATION!" Chill out man"

"Every time I talk about satan it never fails to shock people it's my favorite thing to do"

"im kin assigning him roman sanders" ""Oh yeah he caused global warming because he wanted to get girls" "he what""

"oh damn i forgot satan was straight"

"twink appreciation club"

"give us the twinks"

"my first thought was bottom-"

"so many people to try and get his dad to love him"

"daddy issued"

"OH MY GOD ITS WILBUR"

"Big boy but"

"anyways janus is swagggg"

"........................."

"gib twink"

"give twink then i will share"

"holds him gentle like hamburger"

"This dumb bitch opened a book that said "do not open" and got possessed by a little bastard"

"he is. fragile creachur"

"klug is beauty klug is grace i would let him step on my face"

"If I'm playing swap and I have to hear one more "Pwanet Powew" Im gonna lose it"

"Who is to blame? Pandora or the box?"

"Bakugo isnt my type but I respect the drip"

"i say like my type isnt long-haired pretty boys and girls that look so gnc that people have a history of confusing them for men"

"hes a gremlin and i can appreciate a pretty gremlin"

"that is to say i am attracted to VFlower vocaloid. This is a confession."

"note i am a lesbian"

"You may like Schezo wegey"

"why does he have one single expression"

"soul soul eater passes the vibe check"

"magic wand"

"I Want To Hold His Hand"

"i would commit a war crime for him any war crime idc which one"

"my favorite one is when he sounded rlly gay because he said "Muscular bodies keep me satisfied""

"p e a n u t"

"Klug is a homophobic homosexual its just facts"

"grug from the croods is peak male performance"

"jaw drops to floor, eyes pop out of sockets accompanied by trumpets, heart beats out of chest, awooga awooga sound effect, pulls chain on train whistle that has appeared next to head as steam blows out, slams fists on table, rattling any plates, bowls or silverware, whistles loudly, fireworks shoot from top of head, pants loudly as tongue hangs out of mouth, wipes comically large bead of sweat from forehead, clears throat, straightens tie, combs hair Ahem, you look very lovely."

"tag yourself im the fireworks shooting from the top of the head"

"i like essays"

"central time gang"

"11:11 pog-" (wait... is that a suprise angel number?? yes it is lovelies just for you <3)

"Then again im also a dumbass bitch who wonders what the souls in soul eater taste like. SERIOUSLY THOUGH. THEY LOOK TASTY AS HELL!!!! LIKE GODDAMN BRO YOU'RE MAKING ME FUCKING HUNGRY. Like. that shit- it's Bone Apple motherfucking Teeth. hell yea my guy. Im hongy now.... shlorp I'm seriously considering this. Like. They seem kinda like a liquid? But a solid? Are they like jello? The fuck they taste like my guy???? I keep imagining they're like sour, like sour candy maybe? Or do they taste salty? Sweet? Maybe some combo of two? Do they even have a taste or is it about the texture? The sensation? God my mouth is watering what the hell. I am starving. I think I need to go get a cookie. I'm gonna go get a cookie. Brb. I'm better. I'm still craving souls though. Which is a weird-ass cringey thing to say but I'm being dead-ass rn. They just.... look tasty???? And I wanna eat one. Thus. I am shifting to Soul Eater for the express purpose of satisfying my fucking cravings. enjoy"

"points were made"

"jello? more like helloooo schloooAHFJDSDAIDWNALDHSJKDAIDANDM"

"WAIT I THINK I HAVE AN ANIME GIRL BITING VIDEO TOO"

"anime girl voice: mmm! mm... ahhhhmp!! mmm, mmm... aaahmp!"

"i think it sounds great i'm going to start eating like that"

"several people are typing"

"do these look edible to you"

"forbidden gummies"

"when I was on lsd I couldn't eat my fruit gummies because I thought they were alive because they had little faces on them"

"oh shit yeah don't do drugs"

"anyways general consensus is puyos are edible, ty for your input everyone"

"everypony is a word so powerful it can bring nations to its knees"

"pls the self control it's taking me not to say "hewwo everypony" in gen chat when someone new joins-"

"hewwo evewrypony uwu deaw cewestia i hopwe it doewsnt wain owo"

"ive cooked up a sowution wiwth the knowwege ive acwued. they say a kitcwen time saves niwne, but im just savwing two. Ive gathewwed the inwedients to make a time sowbet. Thewe's hawdly woom fow seconds when the seconds mewt away."

"I had a ten year old sister... you know what happened to her??? very sad, very tragic... she turned eleven....."

"NIIICE"

"Guts dont say the secks word :( /j"

"watch your fucking language in front of the president"

"im so sorry lumi"

"i think you're like ehhhh 8/10 funny"

"now me???? 10/10. Hilarious"

"sometimes i have to take a step back and remember that this is the same guts i follow on tumblr /lh"

""ok every here's some good shifting advice!!! uwu have a good day" "yeah i did lsd and ate fruit gummies""

"i have one setting and it's whatever this is"

"my bitch ass cat just pushed the door open with his fuzzy face and now my sleeping dad is being lulled into dreams by Cosmo Sheldrake's 'Pliocine'."

"me on discord: nick wilde"

"me on tumblr: shifting water! haha funne! me on here: my hermit crabs are cannibals also i want to eat souls."

"im sorry yOUR VIBESA RE JUST SO DIFFERNT"

"u give off older cousin ive never spoken to but always admire at the family gatherings vibes"

"what the fuck"

"BC I HAVE LIBERTU"

"If you adopt me then yes"

"am I qualified for dad jokes???"

"we're all a lot smarter on tumblr"

"I'm like "awww... sweet... sweet little shiftlings... posting such sweet shiftling content... so pure, so wholesome... does not even know abcs....""

"can't think before you speak if you never think B)"

"I'm not responsible enough to be a mom"

"cat pet"

"show us pictures of the cat or i will do Crime"

"maybe thats me being a coward tho"

"MOTH!!!! MOTH MY BELOVED"

if y'all want I can make this a series bc shiftblr keeps giving me more content

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Now that team ITS is playing Phasmophobia on stream (I mean they are when I am sending this) can we get ghost hunters team ZITS?! I'd love to see the full team of morons (affectionate) dealing with ghosts.

I love Team ZITS so much, they’re such morons (affectionate). Just a few notes for this one:

1) CW: swearing

2) This loosely takes place in Phasmophobia. Some details are different/altered to fit the story better

3) Also I would just like to clarify that even though they reference playing Among Us, all my fics are set in the fictional world. I will never write about the real people, only their Hermitcraft characters/personas. 

...

  “Okay, guys.” Impulse addresses his team in the back of their van, handing out pieces of equipment as he talks. “We’ve got a poltergeist living in this house right here. Our job is to get evidence and get the hell out before it kills us. Any questions?”

  Zedaph raises his hand. “Yes, what happens if it kills us?”

  “We die,” Tango says wryly. “Permanently. So don’t get killed.” 

  “I guarantee at least one of us isn’t getting outta here alive,” Skizzleman remarks. “And all the times we played Among Us is telling me it’s gonna be Tango.”

  Tango shoots him a scowl. “Hey!”

  “Well, if you really don’t wanna die first, find some kind of electrical room and send Impulse there,” snickers Skizzleman. 

  Impulse rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Skizz. Anyway, we only have one piece of equipment each so we gotta make sure we work together. Skizz, you’ve got the camera to take pictures of the ghost. Tango, you’ve got the EMF reader so you can gauge the strength of ghostly presences. Zed, you’ve got the temperature tracker so you can check when the rooms get freezing. Everyone understand?”

  “What have you got, exactly?” Skizzleman inquires.

  Impulse holds up the item in his hand. “A flashlight that doubles as a UV light. I’m the one who’s gonna go first into each room and probably get killed in, like, ten seconds.”

  “A true hero,” says Zedaph, nodding. 

  “And don’t forget that the instructions say that if the flashlight beam starts to blink, that means the ghost is hunting,” Tango adds. “We should stick close to you so we know when to panic.”

“Gotcha.”

  The team makes their way towards the dark, dilapidated house. 

  “Man, the only way this could be more stereotypically creepy is if it had cobwebs in the windows,” mutters Skizzleman. “I dunno about you guys but I have zero trouble believing a ghost lives here.”

  Impulse pauses outside the house, glancing back at his friends. “Okay, the name of the ghost is William Thomas. And it said in the instructions that saying a ghost’s name will anger it, so try not to do that.” 

  With that, the four creep into the house. 

  They tiptoe into the first room in the house, Impulse shining his flashlight hesitantly around to make sure they’re alone. He switches to the UV light but no fingerprints show up anywhere.

  “Hey, have you guys heard that song about Shia LaBeouf being a cannibal?” Zedaph asks out of the blue.

  His friends stare at him.

  “No I haven’t, and also, what the hell?” says Tango.

  “I’ve heard it,” Skizzleman says. “What made you think of it NOW of all times?”

  “I was just thinking about how the ghost might be a cannibal and eat our bodies when it kills us, and that made me think of that song and now it’s stuck in my head.” 

  A pause follows this.

  “Aaaaand now it’s stuck in mine too,” Skizzleman sighs. “Great. Thanks.”

  “The image of a ghost feasting on our corpses is stuck in MY head and now I don’t want to move,” Tango says. “So thanks for that, Zed.”

  Zedaph grins to himself. “Anytime.” 

  A tense pause follows this.

  BANG!

  Skizzleman screams. “AHHH, WHAT WAS THAT?!”

  Impulse, heart now racing, instinctively shines his light towards the source of the noise. “I think it came from upstairs! Tango, Skizz, go check it out!” 

  “Why me?!” yelps Skizzleman. 

  “Because you’ve got the camera! Now go!”

  Tango drags a protesting Skizzleman away towards the stairs. 

  “Okay, while they’re doing that, let’s start eliminating rooms as the epicentre,” says Impulse to his remaining friend. “Keep the temperature tracker up.”

  Zedaph nods. “Will do.”

  The two start exploring the downstairs rooms. The kitchen and dining room show no signs of paranormal activity but when they enter the living room, something changes.

  “I’m cold,” Zedaph whispers, the temperature tracker trembling slightly in his hand. “It says three degrees. Not quite freezing yet.”

  “Right, okay… Stay here and monitor the temperature, I’ll go check for handprints by the stairs.”

  He moves off into the hallway and shines the UV light around at the staircase. 

  Upstairs, Skizzleman is clutching the camera so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. “Oh my god, I hate this so much. I feel like I’m gonna have a damn heart attack.” 

  Ignoring him, Tango activates his walkie talkie. “Impulse, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” comes Impulse’s crackly voice. “Found anything?” 

  “Nothing yet. We’re just having a look around.”

  “Okay, good. Remember, saying the ghost’s name a lot will make it mad so if you want to aggravate it a bit to get evidence, do that. But make sure you don’t say it too much or it’ll REALLY get angry.”

  Tango nods. “Gotcha. Talk to you later.”

  He puts away the walkie talkie and turns to Skizzleman, who is staring around the dark room with fearful eyes. “H-Hello, Mr William Thomas? Or, uh… Bill? Can I call you Bill?”

  He gets no response from the ghost, so he tries again: “Hey William, do you play Minecraft?”

Tango stifles a laugh.

  A few seconds later, a heavy-looking lamp in the corner tips over and falls all on its own, nearly crushing Skizzleman. 

  Impulse glances sharply up as he hears Skizzleman scream. He immediately hears Tango’s loud voice reassuring him, so he forces himself to relax. Nothing bad is happening. His friends are okay, they’re just a little on-edge, like Impulse himself. He just needs to relax.

  Inhaling deeply, he takes out the plastic water bottle he brought with him. As he sips at the cool water, he hears Skizzleman’s voice yelling from the upstairs bedroom: “HEY BILL, FUCK OFF!”

  Tango’s voice shrieks back, “SKIZZ, DON’T PISS OFF THE GHOST WHO’S TRYING TO KILL US!”

  “IF HE’S TRYING TO KILL US ANYWAY THEN WHY CAN I NOT TELL HIM TO GO FUCK HIMSELF?”

  Impulse chokes on his water. 

  “Impulse, I think Skizz is freaking out,” says Zedaph, peering round the door. “And I’m starting to freak out too. The temperature went below zero, like, six times in a few minutes.”

  “Right, okay, that’s one piece of evidence collected,” Impulse says. “Two more to go, then we can get outta here.”

  As Zedaph opens his mouth to respond, they both hear a loud thumping noise and Skizzleman screaming. 

  His heart leaping into his throat, Impulse and Zedaph dash upstairs at top speed and both almost trip right over Skizzleman on the landing.

  “Skizz, what the hell?!” yelps Impulse.

  Lying face down on the carpet, Skizzleman is glad it’s dark so the others can’t tell how red his cheeks are. “I… tripped over my own feet.” 

  “Oh, I hate you so much.” Impulse hauls his best friend to his feet. “Please tell me you have some more evidence for me.”

  “I got a level 5 reading,” Tango says, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. 

  “Okay, good, that counts. We got freezing temperatures downstairs, so now we just gotta look for-.”

  He breaks off as an ominous noise sounds from downstairs.

  The group stare at each other in terror.

  “Please tell me that was just someone’s stomach,” Skizzleman groans. 

  Impulse’s flashlight beam starts blinking.

  “Run!” Impulse screeches.

  The four scatter.

  Skizzleman and Zedaph dash inside the bedroom and jump into the closet, both breathing hard. They fall silent, listening intently for any sounds outside the closet.

  A minute goes by. Then another. Then a few more.

  “So,” whispers Zedaph. “Come here often?”

  Skizzleman can’t help a quiet snicker, despite the situation. “No, I really don’t. What about you?”

  “Well, oddly enough, this isn’t my first time hiding from a ghost in a stranger’s wardrobe.”

  “That genuinely does not surprise me one bit.”

  Zedaph’s walkie talkie emits a sudden burst of static, giving the two a fright. “Zed, come in. Where are you guys?”

  Zedaph fumbles with the device and hurriedly whispers into it, “Impulse, I think the ghost is still nearby.”

  “Nope it’s not. It’s currently having a very intense staring contest with Tango, so we could do with your help right now.”

  Zedaph and Skizzleman exchange a look of horror.

  Downstairs, Tango has been backed into a corner, frozen with fear as he makes terrified eye contact with the gruesome poltergeist, who is less than three metres away from him. “Impy,” he whispers out the corner of his mouth. “Help me.”

  Impulse dithers by the door, itching to go help his best friend but unsure of exactly how to do that without getting one or both of them killed. 

  Zedaph and Skizzleman appear next to Impulse seconds later. “Can we distract the ghost in any way?” the former asks urgently, as Skizzleman takes a picture of the spirit. 

  Impulse hesitates. “I-I don’t know how we’d do that.” 

  “Well, we have to do something! We can’t just let it kill Tango!”

  The poltergeist moves jerkily to the side, causing Tango to let out a strangled cry and press his back harder against the wall. “Help!” 

  Reacting quickly, Skizzleman snatches the temperature tracker from Zedaph and tosses it at the ghost. It passes right through its body, nearly hitting Tango.

  “Hey, William fucking Thomas, stay the hell away from my buddy!” Skizz yells at it.

  “Dude!” Impulse yelps, as the poltergeist turns on them. “RUN!”

  The three scramble for the door.

  Tango, seeing his chance, dodges around the ghost and follows, almost tripping over at least twice as he does.

  Skizzleman again trips over his own feet on the concrete pathway, and since he’s at the front of the group, the other three promptly fall over him and end up in a heap on the ground, panting hard from fear and exertion. 

  “Oh my God,” gasps out Impulse. “Is everyone okay?”

  Zedaph sticks his thumb up. “Very much below average, thanks.” 

  “My heart is about to die but yeah, I’m fine,” Skizzleman breathes. “I’m gonna have nightmares about this for months.”

  “Months?!” Tango is lying sprawled on his back, his heart still pounding in his chest. “Dude, I’m never gonna sleep well again.”

  Impulse pushes himself into a sitting position and watches the ghost float around angrily in the front doorway. “Looks like he can’t leave the house. PLEASE tell me we got three pieces of evidence.”

  At the same time, all three of the others speak:

  “Temperature,” says Zedaph.

  “Photo,” says Skizzleman. 

  “EMF reading,” says Tango. 

  “Right, then.” Impulse gets to his feet and opens up the back of the van. “Let’s get going. We can process the evidence in the van.”

  Skizzleman is the next to stand up and come to the back of the van. Rubbing his chest, he raises an eyebrow at Impulse. “Dude, we are DEFINITELY stopping at Taco Bell on the way home. We DESERVE Taco Bell.”

  Impulse chuckles. “Oh, you’ll hear no argument from me there, dude.” 

  As Zedaph hops into the back of the van, he grins back at his friends. “Now that was what I call a Shia Surprise.” 

  Impulse frowns and starts to open his mouth but Skizzleman shakes his head. “Don’t even ask, bro.” 

  Finally, Tango hands the EMF reader to Impulse and wordlessly starts to head to the front of the van but Impulse stops him. “Tango, are you okay? I-I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more in there.”

  Tango slowly shakes his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m just a little shaken up, that’s all.” He gives a pale grin. “Just promise me that next time we get the urge to do something stupid with the paranormal that we’ll use a oujia board like normal people.”

  Impulse laughs. After that experience, he’s just happy his friends are all okay.

  “Deal.”

[jcmorrigan]

001 - Tales of Zestiria?

Favorite character: It's a tough call between Maltran and Symonne, and Lunarre is trailing right behind both. I tend to call them the "Heldalf Squad," but make no mistake, Heldalf himself isn't part of it. I just like his swagalicious minions. The dry and sarcastic political manipulator, the sadistic and wordy theater nerd, and the flamboyant cannibal who hates everything. Yes. LOVE. But I have to give a shout to my boy Dezel on the hero side! Angsty/stoic characters are very hit-or-miss with me, but Dezel is the flavor I love - obvious soft spots and quirks, and slowly he builds from being antisocial to showing how big his heart is. When he stops the woman from leaping off the Guinevere tower...that's one of my favorite scenes in the entire game, because you can see when the switch flips, when he realizes that he CANNOT stay aloof any longer when there's a stranger's life on the line. He's still a grump about it but a compassionate grump.

Least Favorite character: Heldalf. His backstory is really clever, and I like the curse on him. But he himself just feels like Ganondorf but more boring. I kinda hate that he's so vanilla when his three lieutenants are in my arsenal of pet villains from the vastness of fiction. Also shout-out to Chancellor BART in the opening Ladylake act, because I distinctly remember liveblogging this to a friend, and I played Zestiria *after* Berseria (I'd loved Berseria and that's why I eventually sought out Zestiria) so here I am just comparing up the corrupt church in Ladylake to the Abbey's suave rogues gallery like "Yeah no BART has nothing on Lady Teresa Linares." Thankfully BART was never seen again.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): DezeRose, SorMik, Symonne x Coco Atarashi (The World Ends With You), Alisha Diphda x Sergei Strelka, and...I swear you have to bear with me here...Zaveid x Anna (Frozen). I also kinda wanna note a couple ships I'm on the fence about for my other favies - those being Maltran x Ebony Maw (Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel Ultimate Alliance) and Lunarre x Arkham (Devil May Cry).

Character I find most attractive: Dezel. It is a scientific fact that guys with pointy teeth are just hotter.

Character I would marry: Maybe Dezel, maybe Sergei. I wouldn't want to take them from those I see as their wifeys, but at the same time, they are husband goals, both of them.

Character I would be best friends with: Catch me clinging to Maltran's train and she drags me along annoyedly as I yell "PLEEEEAAASE LET ME HANG OUT WITH YOU GUYS" and Lunarre is losing it laughing while Symonne rolls her eyes

a random thought: So I toyed around with basically every accessory I picked up, and I decided to put the sideburns on Rose because fuck gender roles. Well then I just got used to seeing her with facial hair in every cutscene where her 3D model was used, and now I headcanon that she does get it. Maybe nonclassical CAH intersex? Like, I don't necessarily see her as trans (but I support everyone who hc's her as such) but moreso "a cis woman, but I grow this stupid damn facial hair like a dude and I don't get why." And this is why you shouldn't let me play with customizable accessories on RPG characters because I can and will abuse my privilege to headcanon.

An unpopular opinion: That this is actually a very good game. Listen, I think I get it - the initial marketing promised something far different. And that's disappointing. But coming back to it several years after its release, after the release of its PREQUEL, when I never had that hype building up...it actually exceeded my expectations. I held off from it for a while because I thought Eizen's fate would make me too sad, but that didn't end up the case at all. I actually had just come off playing a more recently-released triple-A game that was hyped up for years, and I completed it to my satisfaction in 20 hours. $80 for 20 hours. Zestiria gave me my money's worth in comparison; it took me about 60, and I loved just how MUCH story it had to offer me. I honestly like Rose better than Alisha anyway (Rose was one of the biggest aspects that interested me about playing it in the first place). I've also seen complaints that the characters weren't well-developed enough? Which I just kinda take to mean "They didn't angst enough." Listen. There are PLENTY of games out there if you want angst and sad stories. I don't really like sad stories in my games. I like adventures where the party is a goofy foundfam that jokes around with each other and helps each other work through shitty situations, and that's EXACTLY what I got. (And Berseria really worked on me too because it kinda started at the bottom of the angst barrel, then worked its way up through "The edgy and tortured protag has gained a party of idiots and oh noooooo she's learning friendship and happiness.") Dezel's death is one of the few game deaths that just made me SATISFIED to watch instead of depressed because of the closure he got and the themes tied into his final moments and sacrifice. I loved going on this adventure, I loved the idiots who I went on it with, and I loved seeing what Glenwood had to offer me in world design the further I explored.

my canon OTP: There's not much for canon romance in this game, come to think of it. Just subtext and some flirting. So I'm blanking on if there actually were any canon couples at all.

Non-canon OTP: DezeRose! Which maybe can be considered almost-canon based on the amount of subtext, but still. It's adorable. (And it's the exact same dynamic as EiRoku except M/F and a thousand years later. I need these four to double date...the dual-wielding goofs with their edgy, grumpy Reapers...)

most badass character: Rose! Not only able to wield the Shepherd's Armatization powers, but also to be a dang good assassin on her own, able to hold her own against Heldalf before she even had her eyes opened to seraphim! Though a shout-out goes to Edna because her armatization was my favorite to play with. There's something just satisfying about bashing the enemy in front of you with a pair of GIANT FISTS

pairing I am not a fan of: RoseAli. To be honest, it was at one point something I kinda enjoyed as a third-tier ship for Rose (Dezel first, then Lailah in second). But then...Alisha's Story. I didn't actually purchase it, thank goodness, just watched it on YouTube, and it was the most grating addition that anyone could've made to this game. First of all, I can sum up the issues with Alisha's Story by reminding everyone that it canonized a secret entrance to Camlann that was much easier to get to and wasn't protected by Muse's sacrifice. But the real thing that hurt to watch was how far down they had to knock Rose and Alisha's friendship to get them to rebuild from scratch. Rose claiming she was never Alisha's friend because she's grieving Sorey? The two of them getting into a PHYSICAL FISTFIGHT over it? Nope nope nope. That's not my Rose. Even less my Rose is that whole scene where she...you know...pounces on Alisha to dress her in the silly noblewoman's dress, and it's framed like...let's just say it's really uncomfortable to watch if you don't know the punchline is just a silly outfit. Even though Alisha's Story isn't canon in my head, it still really killed any buzz I had for RoseAli. I will also say I'm not a big fan of Eizavie - first of all, EiRoku or bust in this house, and second, I have a little bit of a hard time seeing Zaveid as mlm due to how much he goes on and on about The Ladies(TM). (Though I could see Eizen as having a tiny crush on him, though. Just like "Oh no he's hot but he's connected to Aifread's disappearance help")

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Mostly just in Alisha's Story. I was mad about the aforementioned Rose stuff, but also...like...they undid Lunarre's original cathartic death, they did so to team him back up with Symonne and then do a whole fakeout that they had Maltran with them too, but Maltran is just an illusion and immediately after this, Lunarre and Symonne just decide "Yeah, we're not gonna work together anymore, have a nice life." Why does Maltran need to stay dead if LUNARRE somehow survived EXPLODING? And just...look to next question for more clarification:

favourite friendship: I just want to imagine that Maltran, Lunarre, and Symonne were weird evil friends. The kind who'd take artistic selfies and caption them "Murder and mayhem with my besties!". Maybe they even had a sibling dynamic. They were all pretty dang jaded, so I like to think they sat around sometimes talking about the things in this world that did them wrong. The reasons they were drawn to Heldalf. Heldalf himself wouldn't have cared, he would've kicked them around like disposable tools, but the three of them were too entrenched in his dogma to see it. Maybe if they met up again after he was off the board...then they'd sing a different tune. Realize they're all three better than this, and now they're gonna do things THEIR way, because remember when they made a three-point attack on Glenwood and Sorey was barely able to keep up with them wrecking Lastonbell AND Pendrago AND Glaivend? Remember when Lunarre and Symonne had each other's backs the night Dezel died? Now they can do what they want on their terms! And I just - I have many MANY feelings about these three.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Okay silly self-insert time but the thing is, Archibald Snatcher (The Boxtrolls) and Roman Torchwick (RWBY) are my two favorite parental f/o's (and also my OTP to end all OTPs), and I have this thing about how they'd be PERFECT crime dads to Symonne in particular because she's like a little, more theatrical Neopolitan. So there's a universe in my head where Symonne is basically already my little sister, and I look out for her - well, okay, she's a seraph with powerful Artes and I am a powerless mortal so really she looks out for me because "I suppose SOMEONE has to make sure you don't die" and I am grateful to her for it.

[cmaddyshere]

Sukuna’s gunna eat ya

This is my first ever fan fiction. I love this anime and hope the fans enjoy! TW rape, cannibalism, blood play. 

Breakfast was bland. Everything is bland. He is just staring out of the window of this cafe watching people walk the street. I am stuck.... just watching. I want them all to burn. I crave nothing more than to destroy everyone and everything I can see. This is bullshit. I cannot over power Yuuji for the life of me. How does he do it? I whisper in his head constantly of my past indulgences. His heart races every time, I can feel his disgust with me and he begs me to stop talking. It is the only thing I have now; the ability to at least torture this putrid fuck. It feels like hours are going by and he is still fucking eating and staring. I begin to remember and whisper to him, he is getting aggravated with me. Yuuji stands and starts to leave. As we reach the door I see her. She walks fast, and hard in the street. She's clutching her purse tight to her body almost sprinting. I have seen one's like her before but she is pulling my attention for some reason. She is heading in the direction that Yuuji follows to get back to school. Somehow without my asking he is keeping pace with her. Not too close but not too far, I can make out her long hair half brown and half blonde. I haven't seen that before. Her shape is like an hour glass, nice round bust (at least from what I can tell from her back) a small waist and large hips. Her butt is round like there are two people side by side blowing big bubbles with bubble gum. She has long muscular legs and with all of that being said somehow her frame is petite. A gust of wind could probably knock her over easily. We end up on a path in the park where she seems to turn left, and Yuuji turns right. I cannot stop thinking about her, I just want to see her face.

"Yuuji, do me a small favor, and I may have to return it."

"What do you want?"

"Follow that girl."

"The two color hair one? She's pretty...but why should I follow her?"

"I will owe it to you if you indulge me just this once. Please follow her...I promise I won't kill her."

"I don't know...this seems risky and I don't know you're not actually going to hurt her. I don't know if I can do that for you."

"I promise I will not kill her. Please just this once, just follow her."

He's thinking it over, I can hear his thoughts. Yuuji is worried that I only seem to repeat my promise not to kill her, and how I won't acknowledge hurting her. He is so cautious of me although he is absolutely right to be. I cannot promise not to hurt her, that is all I want to do.

Yuuji turns to walk in her direction. We walk for over an hour. She had headphones in and has seemed to relax her body. She is completely unaware that he is following her. We near another part of the city by what seems to be an apartment building. Next to it there is an abandoned building about 4 stories tall. My need is building. I am so desperate to see her face I need to get closer. Strangely, as my need grows Yuuji's will to remain in control fades.

"Sukuna what are you doing? I feel like i'm losi.."

SNAP

I am in control now.

This body is growing, my muscles are peaking through, my marks are bright on his skin. I can feel my power growing. This urge is uncontrollable now. I have to get to her before I lose to Yuuji again. I pick up the pace and come within grabbing distance of her. I reach her in front of the abandoned building. I extend my right hand out and spin her around by her right shoulder so fast she almost falls over. I maneuver my left arm to catch her by her waist. She looks up at me stunned, maybe horrified.

"Who the what the what the fuck are you doing? Do I know you?"

Her voice is soft and high pitched. She sounds near tears.

"Nooo you do not know me. You look even better from the front princess. I think I will have you for dinner tonight."

"Wha..what do you mean by that?"

She's shaking. Her face has become red like a ripe tomato. She is doing everything in her power to make herself smaller. Crossing her arms over her chest, bringing her legs tight together, bending her knees ever so slightly making me tower over her; she's been hurt before. People like her had obedience beaten into them. Little does she know this is just fuel to the fire that is burning inside me now.

"I do not say things that I don't mean. I will have you now and for as long as I can stand it. You cannot escape me and I swear that I will have every last fucking part of you."

I cover her mouth and drag her into the building. She is wearing a tight black tank top and a short black skirt. With my right hand over her mouth and arm over her chest I reach with my free hand under her skirt. She's wearing thin silk panties that aren't quit a thong, but seem to blend effortlessly between her cheeks like they were made to be on her. I hook my finger into the top and pull them down to her feet. I lift her and swipe them off of her. She's crying now. Shaking hard and sobbing uncontrollably but not even trying to fight me. I remove my hand from her mouth but bring my arm across her throat. She grabs my arm with a feeble attempt at freeing herself. I bring the base of my hand to her mouth hard. Her bottom lip caught on her teeth and she cries out. Once her mouth is open I stuff her panties inside. I throw her over my shoulder and ascend the stairs. I decide to stop at the third floor, as there is a gaping hole in the wall facing the park that allows the moonlight to illuminate the room. I look around and see a dirty mattress on the floor by the wall next to the crumbled one. There is trash scattered about. I look around for something to tie her up with when I remember Yuuji had rope in his pocket. I do not remember why he had the rope, something to do with training I don't really remember or care. I walk over to the mattress and kneel onto it. I swing her over my shoulder and onto the mattress. Her face is stained with tears and a small amount of snot. I swear she gets prettier the harder she cries.

"Whaauudootttmmmm"

"Princess don't try to talk, and stop crying so much you're going to choke."

I could not make out what she was saying and I did not want to. I turned her on her stomach and pulled both of her arms behind her back. I used the rope to tie her forearms and wrists together behind her. I flip her back on her back and admire my work. I brush my fingers on her outer thighs, damn she is so soft. Her skin feels like butter. She smells so good I think I hear my stomach growl. She looks up at me with pleading eyes still with tears covering her face. I lean in close to her ear and whisper.

"You may call me Sukuna or sir. Nothing else will do. I don't mind a struggle but know if you actually are able to hurt me that will not help you. If anything it might make this urge stronger, and gods help you if that happens."

She nods in compliance. She's trying so hard to keep her legs closed but I am so much stronger. I pry them open and press my pelvis between them. I just can't stop looking at her. Chest heaving, warm body, shaking and panting like she cannot possibly get enough breath in her lungs. I trace my fingers again over her outer thighs, I drag them from her knees to her inner thighs. I reach her skirt and flip it up to her stomach. I press my thumbs and either side of her inner thigh so close to her lips. I glance up to see her eyes shut tight. A smirk emerges across my face. I keep my hands placed and lean down to her lips.

"Open them now."

Still they're shut tight.

"Baby girl open them now I won't ask a third time."

She opens her eyes reluctantly. There's drool pooling at the sides of her face, soaked with saliva and tears, I can feel the fear radiating off of her being feeding my inner heat. I lick her bottom lip, and pull it so lightly with mine. She opens her mouth slowly but not slow enough. I suck her entire bottom lip into my mouth hard, unforgivingly. Her breath is heating my face up and I let go of her lip slightly to where I bite just a little completely off. There is a lot of blood for such a small chunk missing. She cries and screams through her panties to which I chuckle. I bring my hand up to her mouth and toss the panties aside. Her shaky voice is so wonderful. I start sucking hard on her bottom lip drinking up all of the blood I can. I moan at the taste of her fluid. I crash my mouth fully onto hers forcing my tongue inside. I use one hand to choke her with the other sneaks under her back to bring her mid section tight to mine. I feel frenzied like I want to taste more, but I hold back as I am not ready to be done. Her nipples are so stiff now I can hardly ignore it. I release her from our kiss and let go of her throat. She's panting so hard now desperate to catch her breath. I pull her top down underneath her breasts, I did not even realize she wasn't wearing a bra. They're so perky and round. Her nipples have metal bars that pierce them, I haven't seen that before but I think I like it. I take a moment to soak in the scene in front of me. I lower myself to her throat, where I lick and kiss softly. I can feel the vibrations of her subtle moans on my tongue. I move to the side of her neck leaving a trail of butterfly kisses down  to her shoulder. I use both hands to press her breasts up and together. I gently suck and bite on her sensitive buds. They feel so amazing inside my mouth. I feel the urge to bite her again, but I think I will wait just a little longer. "This is different", I think to myself, as she adjusts herself. She wraps her legs around my waist and she has stopped crying. She's almost pushing her chest towards me like she wants more. I can hear her little moans as my need grows wild. I let go and smack her face hard. She's bleeding more now, I lick the blood from the corners of her mouth needily. I turn her over and smack her ass even harder, a bruise is already forming. I search Yuuji's pockets and find a little knife. It's smaller than I like but it slices his finger open smooth as can be. I taste the blood dripping off of it. Fuck. I take the little blade and trace the smooth side over her back. She's breathing hard again, but seems conscious not to cry. I flip the knife over and make small slices across her back. Small strokes turn to longer strokes. There is blood everywhere. I can hear her muffled tears. I take the knife to her shoulder and stab into it. She screams and writhes underneath me but there is nowhere to go. I am sitting on her lower back with my shins behind me holding her legs down. I slide the knife out of her and suck the blood from her wound. I lick fervently all over her back being sure to get as much as I can. I ball her hair up in my fist and pull her head towards me. I kneel behind her and wrap my left hand around her throat. I apply pressure slowly to the sides of her neck, I feel her panic seep in as her breathing becomes more shallow. I bring the knife to the top of her genitals. Again teasing her with the back end of it. I use my chin to force her head down so she cannot look away. I use my knees to keep her legs apart and force her to sit on my groin. I make a small slice to the inside of both of her thighs. Blood trickles down her legs. I play with it with my fingers, and bring my fingers to my mouth and suck them clean to taste her once more. I use the blade to slice her some more in the space between the lips of her pussy and her inner thigh. She inhales sharply and cries out gently. I fold the knife up and put it back into the pocket. I spread the blood across her pussy. I can feel it throbbing as I work more and more of her blood across her folds. She presses her butt into my hard cock. Another small moan escaping her. I work her over with small light movements of my fingers. I slide them over her slit and wonder how much she is actually bleeding. It seems to fucking wet and warm, I start to think she was actually sopping on her own. I slip my fingers into her folds and find her clit. She moans a little harder and presses into my member even harder.

"Princess tell me, if you could live without something what would it be?"

I lessen my grip on her throat to allow her to answer me.

"ahh what do you mean? What would I want to live without?"

I am still gently running my finger in circles around her nub.

"If there was a part of you that you could live without what would it be?"

She is looking down at herself, gently moaning and thinking about my question.

"You should think harder before I make that choice for you baby."

"Are you going to try to bite me again like before?"

I can hear the panic start to rise in her voice.

"Well I can just choose myself and let you figure out the rest."

"Okay, okay I know I know what you can have please just let me live please I don't want to be eaten alive I just want to go home I want to go home please please."

"Tell me little girl what part will you live without?"

She is sobbing again. Her face soaked with blood and tears, she mumbles lowly to me.

"You can have the inner lips, the slightly longer ones inside my actual pussy, or the inside of my thighs but nothing else please don't kill me please I am begging you. Do anything to me I can take it I can I don't want to die."

I press my mouth to the nape of her neck with a satisfied low growl. I open the knife once again and slice off her labia. She screeches and collapses face first on the bed. I turn her over and place myself between her legs, careful not to press onto her bleeding mound. She stares back at me, mouth gaping as she watches me suck her flesh into my mouth. I chew slowly and savor the taste of her. My cock stirs, I feel myself almost close to release. I make sure to chew in her face letting the blood seep out of my mouth. I lower myself to her bloody hole. I sit for a second to admire my work. I make a really clean cut. I can smell the irony smell and taste it once more. I bring my tongue over her fresh wounds, I lick and kiss them gently. I begin sucking the blood off of her, and take my tongue in circles around every part of her needy cunt. I settle my tongue on her pulsing clitoris. I start lapping at it, circling it and sucking on it. She's still crying but now she's moaning too. She's breathing so hard and moaning out into the open little curses. I move my mouth to her inner thigh. "I can't help this." I think as I sink my teeth into her. She screams so fucking loud. I can't take it anymore. I press the backs of her thighs to the bed as I tear these clothes off. I pull his pants down and my cock springs free. I dig my claws into her thighs just under her knees and position my tip to her entrance. I take it and slide it over her bloody wet folds, with no warning I slam my long, thick member into her hole. She cries out again, still sobbing and screaming I lean into her face. She's shut her eyes again.

"Open."

She complies.

I wait for her to gather herself as I take her in once again. Staring into her eyes I notice they're green, maybe jade. She's so goddamn pretty all messy like this. I keep our lips touching but sure not to engage and I pull my length out slowly, and slam into her once more. She seems to have forgotten about the pain. She looks into my eyes and evens out her breathing. I slowly pick up the pace, making each stroke hit her in just the right spots. She's so fucking tight and wet she has to want this. She seemed to know exactly what flesh she was willing to part with so easily I imagine she has always wanted this. Our lips graze together as I fuck her harder and harder. She starts to moan in ecstacy.

"Do you like that? Do you like how hard I fuck you? Do you like watching me taste you? Fuck baby girl you taste so goddamn good. You feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock princess. Tell me how much you want this."

She's moaning so loudly now. Crying out for me to bring her to her peak.

"Please don't stop sir, I've never felt so full before. I don't want to stop I need it, I need you."

She's building to her climax. I can feel the walls of her tight little hole almost sucking back, burying me deeper inside of her. I pick up the pace and slam into her. The sounds of her wet cunt sucking on my cock begging for a release is almost too much.

"Tell me what you want baby. Tell me and I'll give it to you just this once. Be a good girl and tell me."

"Sakuna....oh fuck...fuck..please..I wanna feel you inside me...please sir...I'm so close.."

Her walls were pulsing, her climax was coming. I couldn't keep from spilling my cum inside her. Hot, thick ropes of white spurt everywhere. Coating her walls completely, it feels like it lasts so long. My cock jurks repeatedly spilling more and more inside of her. I pull out a little and watch the tip spurt just a little over her lips. It oozes all over it. I notice my balls are soaked, she had been squirting her juices all over me. I fucking loved it.

I collapsed on top of her. I could feel my control fading..before I knew it, I was gone.

SNAP

I came to when I heard Yuuji sniffling. He was looking at this girl in front of us. She was covered in her own blood and juices. He saw my cum seeping out of her pussy, as well as the slices there. He pulled her up gently. Sitting her up he untied the rope from her arms and placed it back into his pocket. She looked at him so confused as to the change in appearance. He stared back, unusually blank in his own mind. He helped her to her feet. She was not able to walk well. He picked her up bridal style and carried her out of the building. He brought her to a near by hospital and sat her in the edge of the parking lot on a small patch of grass. She looked back at him.

"You're not Sakuna anymore....are you...?"

"No. My name now is of no importance. I am sure if you yell loud enough someone will come get you. Make sure you are seen you will not recover from this on your own."

With that he began to walk away.

"Hey! I'm Ari..... I am sure I'll be seeing you again."

She yelled to him. He kept his pace.

"Why did you not take her inside? That seems very unlike you Itadori."

Silence follows, I can hear him searching for the words to answer me.

"You know Sukuna...sometimes I get tired of being the nice guy."

[thatboomerkid]

PORTALS

We open weird portals to the Underworld and pull the Damned out for cash [part 1]

Hellcrashers Fiction by Nonbinary Bones

I broke open the factory door with a crowbar and entered a decrepit manufacturing plant. The soot-covered facility went bankrupt years ago and still leaked chemical waste into the “Mighty Missisip’” several decades later.

For a brief moment, the only noises were the icy wind racing over the waterfront and the soft ticking sound of the van’s engine behind me. The side panel of the van slid open.

“Sweet baby Jesus, it’s colder than a witches’ tit in a brass bra out here!” Felix exclaimed.

I nodded my agreement as a mechanized lift lowered my co-worker’s wheelchair to the ground.

Jackie hopped from the passenger seat, her military boots crunching on the wooden timbers of the boardwalk.

Sections of the greasy promenade had rotted away, revealing the polluted harbor below. The rancid waters stank of dead fish and petroleum. A huge rickety crane loomed overhead, its base squatting in the water, rusting its way towards oblivion.

Jackie opened the back of the van, rooted around, then pulled a bulletproof vest on over her tank top. She held another vest out in her grimy hand. I took it with a grateful nod.

Vasquez put The Club on the steering wheel, a sunshield on the dash, and began inspecting his gear. He may have been an OCD prick, but he knew how to plan a job.

New Kid hovered nearby, hands in his pockets.

“Hey Bitchnugget, try doing something useful for a change!” Felix jibed.

We grabbed our camping gear and entered the factory. Light filtered in through broken windows from sodium streetlamps outside. The center of the room was illuminated, but darkness clung to the corners. Conveyor belts and walkways filled the cavernous space like a real-life version of Chutes and Ladders. The air reeked of grease and metal. Rusted machinery spoke of long years of disuse.

Felix accidentally rolled right through a pile of animal droppings and cried out in disgust at getting shit in the tire treads. His shouts echoed in the gloom.

I dropped a duffel to the floor and opened it up, revealing a cache of weapons. We divvied up the contents so each of us had gas masks and guns.

“Alright everyone, huddle up.” I said. Everyone gathered in a semi-circle. “Vasquez, give us the rundown.”

“Today is a standard snatch-and-grab. Our target is named Aurora Laura.” He held up a centerfold spread ripped from an adult magazine. The lewd pose didn’t leave much to the imagination. “Real name Laura Brown. Originally from Omaha.” He squinted at the glossy pages. “Measures 34B, Waist 25, Hips 26. Likes puppies and men who aren’t afraid to show their vulnerable side.”

The New Kid blushed, Jackie snorted, and Felix grinned.

“We have reliable intel that the client’s Dearly Departed is being held in a Domain known as Hotel California. Basically, it’s worse than the worst ‘No-Tell Motel’ you’ve ever imagined; word on the street says each Dweller gets their own room, so we’re searching door to door.” He sighed.

The rest of us groaned out loud. “The floor-plan tends to change on its own, so watch out for that. This isn’t Scooby-Doo: we do not split up under any circumstances.”

“If you see something valuable on the way out, grab it. And I’m talking something portable. Smaller than a breadbox. We don’t want another incident like last time.”

Vasquez looked pointedly at Felix before continuing.

“Garrett, you’ll pop the Cherry for us.”

I nodded in response.

“We go in, acquire the target, and get the fuck out of Dodge. Any questions?” Vasquez looked at each of us with an upraised eyebrow.

New Kid raised his hand like a schoolboy.

“Why am I not surprised?” Felix asked the ceiling.

“What’s a Cherry?”

“It’s a door, Kid. A gateway Down Below Where The Bad Men Go.”

“Oh, right.” he said, blushing.

“Okay then, let’s get to it.” I said.

Past wasp’s nests and sticky linoleum floors I found a door with an “Employees Only” sign on it. The door-frame sagged, dislocated from rotted walls heavy with mildew. The door had warped over time so even though it was unlocked I almost couldn’t get it to budge. The factory door bore battle scars and boot prints from a hard fight with someone who lacked a crowbar. Someone like me. Busting open the door revealed a tiny office containing a desk, chairs, and an empty safe. Nothing worthwhile. I closed the door again.

From my backpack I took a jar of a milky yellow fluid and a barbecue basting brush. When I unscrewed the lid, a nasty rotting smell wafted out. My nose wrinkled in distaste as I began painting the door hinges in slime.

“What the Hell is that?” inquired the New Kid over my shoulder.

“Kid, Crashers never say the H-Word. Never. Not even Topside if we can avoid it. I told you this before we started.” I said.

“Aw, come on! That’s some superstitious bullshit!”

“I mean it.” I glared at him. “Watch your fucking mouth or you’ll jinx the whole Crash. Do not say the H-Word.”

“Sorry. What the heck is that?”

“Ever hear of ‘bukkake’?” I replied.

“No?”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, but why are you doing that?”

“This particular Cherry won’t pop until the hinges have been lubed with actual body secretions. And before you ask: no, spit won’t cut it. Just be grateful the gateway doesn’t need it fresh.”

“Are they all like that?”

“No, some of them only open at midnight or you have to make a cat cry in pain. It depends on the Cherry.”

“Can I ask you a question?” the Kid asked, shuffling his feet uncertainly.

“Another one? Sure, Kid. Ask away.” I replied patiently.

“What makes a Cherry open where it does? I mean, if they can open anywhere how come a gateway doesn’t open up in the middle of Times Square? Or in a daycare?”

I paused for a long moment, considering.

“Rust and despair. Plants need water and sunshine. Mushrooms need shade and shit. Cherries need rust and despair. Simple as that.”

When I finished painting the hinges the door creaked open on its own, this time revealing a rickety wooden staircase down into darkness. Felix cracked a couple chemical glow sticks and shook them. They began glowing with a golden-green light and he tossed them through the doorway.

I grabbed the handles behind Felix’s wheelchair and edged it closer to the Cherry.

“Hey careful with the merchandise, peasant!”

“I ain’t afraid to kick a cripple downstairs.”

Felix stood up on the other side of the portal.

“What the fuck? You’re just faking?” Kid asked in an angry, disbelieving tone with eyes wide as dinner plates.

“No, Cuntpuddle.” Felix said, rolling his eyes. “My legs don’t work Topside, but they work just fine in the Nether.”

“Topside?”

“That’s just a slang term for the world we live in. Topside is the place that the Damned covet beyond all else and the rest of us take pretty much entirely for granted. Don’t know what you got ‘till it’s gone, as they say. It’s the world you see out your window, where we get born, fuck around, and die. It is what it is and for the most part it’s a pretty okay place to be. For the most part.”

“But how can he walk on the other side of the gate?”

“I don’t know Kid, but as soon as you figure it out let me know.” I said.

We turned on our lights and the five of us moved slowly downwards, footsteps echoing in the gloom.

The staircase was built out of salvaged boards, no two of which were the same; different lengths, different colors. There were fourteen steps exactly, but the topmost step was smaller than all the others and bright red. A last minute addition to avoid Unlucky 13 perhaps.

My nerves were on edge as we descended. Every little creaking step telegraphed our movements to anything lurking nearby.

At the bottom of the stairs we found a diseased and barren wasteland. The ground was black and filthy like the Athabasca oil sands of Canada. My throat and lungs ached. Noxious smoke filled the air and made breathing a chore.

I saw a hundred burning fires lighting up the distant mountains. That made me real tense. I’d watched “The Hills Have Eyes” once and the things down here would have put cannibal mutant rapists to shame.

Glancing backwards, I saw the staircase slowly disappearing like it’d never existed.

----------

In front of us, our destination was uncomfortably close. Squatting less than two hundred yards away was a dilapidated motel modeled after every circa-1940s cheaper-than-shit roadside inn on “the wrong side of the tracks” but worse. The walls had been marred by fire. A flickering red neon sign stuttered “VACANCY” into the night. On the porch was a screen door creaking back and forth on its hinges as if begging for relief. Acid rain tinkled weakly against the corrugated tin roof.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Hotel California.” I said.

Inside, we found rusted pipes leaking raw sewage and rotting the stucco. Fungal blooms spread over paper-thin plywood with the texture of rotten leaves splintering at the softest touch. Nearly every window was boarded up over the remnants of razor-sharp glass.

We searched room to room, seeing some of the sickest things you’ve never imagined. Things that can’t be unseen. It took us almost three days to find our target. I think the New Kid must have puked twenty times during that stretch.

Sleep was damn-near impossible for a variety of reasons. The moth-eaten sheets were stained yellow, constantly and consistently damp with every body fluid imaginable.

Thanks to the AC units mounted in the walls, most of the rooms were freezing cold and when I say freezing cold I mean actual people covered in actual ice. Never thought I’d see someone with their own urine frozen in an icicle hanging from their crotch.

Some of the rooms were blazing hot, literally cooking the inhabitants alive.

“Mmm! Smells like down-home cooking!” Felix quipped as he caught a whiff of scorched human flesh.

The ice machine down the hall never actually worked until you were attempting to sleep at which point it spontaneously turned on. It wouldn’t do a damn thing when you wanted it to but it would happily and loudly make the sound of a thousand blenders grinding away at a fistful of pebbles as soon as you laid down.

The first night we were camping in one of the motel rooms when the old TV in the corner suddenly turned itself on, self-tuned those old rabbit ear antennas covered in foil, and scared the ever-loving crap out of us by blasting some repugnant program at maximum volume.

The New Kid unplugged the television from the wall, but it stayed on anyway, causing him to start pounding on it angrily.

“Kid, quit making such a damn racket.” Vasquez said.

“Okay, fine.” the New Kid huffed, throwing himself down on the bed. “So here’s a question.”

“Jerkstain, your entire life is one big fucking question.” Felix quipped.

“Where do those shows come from? Is it something the Hotel made to screw with us?”

“Actually, that is a good question.” I said, busily stripping, cleaning, and reassembling my rifle. “I’m fairly certain those shows are piped in from CRT.”

“CRT?”

“It’s another Domain in the Big Bad. Except instead of a motel imagine a sewer filled with television sets and bad wiring. All the TV channels are fucked-up versions of the worst shows ever made.”

“Yeah Dickcheese, if you survive this job maybe someday you’ll get to go there!” Felix said, holding out a flask.

The Kid ignored the jibe but accepted the flask and took a swig of whiskey.

“For example?”

“Okay, you’ve seen the show ‘Survivor?’ Now imagine it’s more like the Hunger Games except the contestants hunt and eat each other to survive.”

“Jesus…”

“Trust me Kid; you really don’t want to watch anything on that boob tube. Here’s a question for you, Kid. How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Well… I dropped out of high school and started getting into trouble, hanging out with a bad crowd. One night my gang broke into a moving van and the cops spotted us. So I ran and made it into the basement of an abandoned meat packing plant. Found a door leading to a hallway made of baby teeth. The cops following me got eaten by a monster made out of tumors and barbed wire. Bought me time to get back Topside. After that, it was only a matter of time before I found more Crashers. What about you guys?”

“Back in the day I was a long-haul trucker until I went into the wrong goddamn gas station. My partner never really came out again. I found that I’d lost the use of my legs when I dragged myself out of the Pit. I figure if I keep Crashing I’ll find a way to make them work permanently.”

“How about you?”

“Me? I’m in it for the money. Cold, hard cash. This ain’t no charity; I got bills to pay. When I do a job, I expect to get paid.” I said.

“Amen to that, brother.” Jackie said, tilting a bottle in my direction with a nod. “The bigger the paycheck the better.”

“How about you Vasquez? How’d you get into this line of work?”

“I’ve been doing this my whole life, man.” Vasquez replied.

“Say what now?”

“When I was a kid, I was a refugee. My dad brought me to the U.S. from Cuba on a raft made out of old plastic barrels he lashed together. I think I was about nine, maybe ten years old at the time.”

“You’re a Cuban?”

“Cuban-American to you, gringo. I’m a Hialeah boy, born and raised. Before ‘95, if a Cubano set foot on American soil they got the chance to apply for residency status a year later. Lucky for us, we made it ashore before we got picked up on Miami Beach. Dry-Feet, they called us.”

“Dad got a job working graveyard shift at a gas station and I started going to school. I always walked down there by myself to bring Dad a soda and we’d sit and chat for a while. One night I’m going down there right before bedtime and there’s all these police out front with that yellow crime scene tape strung up across the door. The cops say that the robbers put lit matches all over him before they killed him.” He takes a long swig from the bottle.

“So Mom couldn’t afford the rent without Dad, and after that we were sleeping rough. Couch-surfing, church pews, shelters, and sidewalks.”

“My God…” Kid said.

“God? God can’t help us, man. See, Satan led his army to storm the Gates of Heaven and drove God and the angels out. The demons smashed his palace of blue-moon marble into dust and Satan sits on the Throne of Heaven. That’s why our world is so fucked up.”

“So Dad’s spirit came to me. He was bloody and there were these tiny flames burning all over his body. He told me that demons found doors to our world. That’s why the gates keep opening, man.”

“Dad told me that he was joining God’s secret army of angels to take back Heaven. He told me that I needed to learn to fight. To stay strong and smart, so I could count on myself, no one else. To fight back against evil. So I went looking for the gates. You look hard enough and long enough, eventually you find something. And I did.”

“Man… is it worth it?” the Kid asked.

“That’s not the right question.” I said.

“Huh?”

“The real question is do you censor yourself or not?”

“What do you mean?”

“Option A: you say the things you ought to, and shut your mouth on what you actually think. You wear the clothes you’re told to wear, go where they say to go when you’re told to go there, do the things they tell you to do. In return, you get the job, the girl, the two-point-five kids, a white picket fence, and a dog. You get to eat three square meals a day, get laid occasionally, and probably enough money to get you everything you need, some of what you want, and a bed to sleep in with a roof over your head. You’re a slave but you’re comfortable.”

“Option B: you get nothing. You get fuck-all and you’ll like it because you’re free. Go where you want when you want and do what you want to do when you want to do it. Comfort means fuck-all because you’ll probably get arrested, get your head kicked in, or both.”

“So my point is do whatever you want to do because I really don’t give a shit, Kid.”

We sat there silently for the rest of the night. There was really nothing more to say.

It was the second night when the New Kid decided that he actually did want to watch something on TV. Scrambled Porn Sally was pole dancing and the fuzzy static bar was right where you didn’t want it to be.

We found the Kid staring and slack-jawed, his nose touching the flickering television screen. His eyes were watering and blood trickled from one nostril.

I shook him out of it and he mumbled a quiet “thank you.” Every so often I’d catch him stealing glances at the television when he thought I wasn’t looking.

If you were still so exhausted that none of that kept you awake, the phone rang and room service cheerfully provided a complimentary wake-up call just as you were nodding off.

Then there were the cock-roaches. Behind one door we found one of the Lost covered in chittering insects. Carnivorous, angry little bastards about three inches long and sporting chitinous dicks.

The moment it was dark the cock-roaches came scuttling out to bite a hole in your skin, pump their nasty bug-dongs in the bleeding orifice, and lay eggs in your flesh. After a few minutes, the cock-roaches deposited a load of eggs and goop into the poor bastard which then burst open and made a new swarm.

Hiding in every nook and cranny, they skittered into hiding beneath the bed and in the closet when illuminated by a flashlight mounted on the barrel of an AR-15.

The New Kid squashed a couple roaches beneath his boot and the rubber sole began to sizzle. “Damn it! That burns like battery acid!” he shouted.

“Then don’t do that.” I calmly said.

On Day Three we found a Damned that swore up and down he’d seen our target. We’d bribed him with a little baggie of black tar heroin that offered a brief respite from his torment, so we felt confident the intel was solid.

We were moving through the darkened hotel hallways, guns at the ready. The Kid was on point with Vasquez watching his back. Felix and Jackie were in the middle while I was behind the squad.

“This scary-ass motel reminds me of that movie ‘Identity’ with John Cusack. You ever see that shit?”

“Is that the one where Cusack delivers a bag to a creepy motel out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Nah, man. That’s ‘The Bagman’ but it did have a creepy motel.” he said.

“Okay, so is Identity the one where Cusack has to stay in a haunted hotel room?” Jackie asked.

“No goddammit, that’s ‘1408.’ Identity is the one where there’s like a dozen people stranded at this motel in the middle of nowhere and they start getting killed one by one.”

“Okay, first of all: why does John Cusack stay in so many scary motels?”

“Typecasting?”

“And secondly, why are we talking about this while we’re standing in the scariest motel ever?”

“Third question.” I interrupted. “Do you two ever shut up?”

We entered Room 303 and finding it completely thrashed, lingered in the doorway. Mattress slashed, threadbare blankets ripped, and every stick of furniture broken. The stench in the room was overpowering. The source was easy to spot; a cadaver lay rotting amid scattered toys on the floor.

“Rock and roll.” Felix said glibly.

We slowly searched the room.

“Dude check this out!” Felix excitedly waved his latest find: a teddy bear stitched together with human skin, complete with male genitals and real eyeballs too. Just looking at it gave me the creeps.

Giggling, Felix waved the bear inches from the Kid’s face. “Come here and let me give you a big old kiss!”

“Ugh, it’s blinking at me.” Jackie said.

“You’re coming home with me little buddy!” He stuffed the doll into his backpack.

We heard a scraping sound inside a large armoire in the corner with the doors shut. Everyone went silent immediately. Vasquez pointed his gun at it.

“Come on out of there slowly, and you won’t get shot.”

There was no noise or movement of any kind in response. Felix sighed before moving very slowly towards the armoire. He pulled the door open quickly, surprising the woman crouched inside. She was covered head-to-toe with bleeding holes from the cock-roaches.

“Climb out of there slowly, with your hands up.” Vasquez said. The woman seemed to comply with Vasquez’s order, her palms open and weaponless.

The Kid hesitated for just an instant when she sprang at him. The woman grabbed his hand, pointing the gun away from herself and he fired out of reflex, the blast ringing in our ears. He tripped over the corpse on the floor, falling backwards. His head hit the floorboards, dazing him momentarily.

She straddled him, clawing his face and howling like a banshee until Jackie stepped forward and bashed the other woman upside the head with the butt of her rifle. The woman collapsed to the floor, clutching her bleeding skull.

“Oh God, don’t kill me, don’t kill me!” she sobbed as she cowered and covered her head with both arms.

“Quiet!”

The woman shut her mouth instantly, but her body visibly trembled and her eyes welled up. Occasionally, tears ran down her face, leaving twin trails on her filthy cheeks.

“Damn guys, isn’t that a little harsh? I mean, look at her. She’s scared and she’s hurt!” said the New Kid.

“Look Kid, I explained this before but let me make it perfectly clear. She isn’t a person deserving of respect and dignity. She’s a very bad person who did very bad things and ended up in a very bad place.” I said.

“Yeah, but-“

“Everyone, and I mean everyone, in the Down Below deserves to be here. No one wakes up down here for being an atheist, or being gay, or for smoking weed when you were sixteen.” I continued.

“Every single person in the Bad Place committed at least one genuine act of pure, unmitigated evil.” I counted off a list on each finger. “Rape, murder, torture. Shoot, I’ve even been on a job to collect a Wall Street banker who stole people’s retirement accounts then blew it on hookers and cocaine.”

“The point is that they did something that caused pain and suffering to others and whatever they did was enough to earn a ticket Way Down to Hadestown.” I pointed to the woman crouched and shaking on the floor. “That includes Little Miss Sunshine here.”

“You try anything like that again, and I’ll shoot your hands off. You run, I shoot your feet. Am I making myself clear?” Jackie said to our target.

“Yes.”

“Is your name Laura?”

“Yes… how…?”

Felix gripped the woman roughly by her chin and held her face up. Vasquez pulled out the centerfold and looked back and forth from one to the other.

“That’s a positive ID on the primary target.” Vasquez said.

“Great, can we get the Hell out of here now?” said the New Kid.

“Goddammit Fucktard, we told you not to say the H-Word!” Felix yelled angrily. He grabbed the Kid by the straps of his flak jacket and shoved him back against the wall.

The New Kid stammered out an apology, but we all knew the damage had already been done. By all rights, we could have abandoned him right then and there. We could have left him to die, but for the time being, we still needed another pair of hands to finish the job.

“We need to get out. Now. We have definitely overstayed our welcome. Bag her up.” I said.

Felix and Jackie grabbed the target by the arms, holding them together and Vasquez locked handcuffs to her wrists. The Kid shoved a black bag over the target’s head despite her protests.

Prize in hand, we made our way out of the motel room just as fast as we could.

----------

At long last we made it to a stretch of blacktop. Abandoned vehicles filled the road and we cautiously threaded our way around them. Each vehicle was rusted or gutted, and most of them had corpses for passengers. The Damned turned their rotting heads to watch us pass, reaching weakly out to grab us.

Dead weeds stuck up wherever they could find purchase in the cracks. We found that the road had been melted, cooled, and reformed. Several Damned had been submerged in the asphalt, arms outstretched as if surfacing from beneath a pool of black oil. Their cries were muffled but still audible. There were impressions left behind in the asphalt after it had released its prizes to the scavengers who came later.

“Hey, do you hear that?” Jackie asked.

“Hear what?” said the New Kid.

“Sounds like something scraping on metal. Listen. It’s coming from over there.”

Obscured by the tinted windows of a camper shell, something moved in the back of a rusted pickup sitting up on cinder blocks. The New Kid crept slowly up to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate.

A sleek, obsidian hound with a human head launched itself out of the back of the truck. Its fur was black and glistening, with a body built for speed like a greyhound but with the face of a man. It opened its disjointed jaw and roared like a mountain lion, revealing rows of serrated shark teeth.

Like a heat-seeking missile, it hurtled itself at the Kid with every intention of clamping its jaws around his throat. He brought his arm up to block the hound’s attack and the beast locked its fang-filled maw around his limb.

The creature snarled, shaking the Kid like a rag doll, intent on tearing his arm off in a gout of blood. Claws tore his clothing, and the Kid screamed in pain as triangular teeth began to puncture holes in the flesh of his arm.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a short length of wood. He scrambled for it in the dust with his left hand while the dog savaged his right arm. The New Kid finally managed to wrap his hand around the sturdy board and brought it down on the canine’s square-shaped head in a sweeping arc. There was a loud crack as the board connected, but he could’ve been smacking it with a flyswatter for all the good it did. He struck the sharkdog in its human-shaped face with the board over and over again. The New Kid tried shoving the end into the monster’s mouth to pry it open, but the beast refused to release his bleeding arm.

The moment I saw an opening I shoved my old Ka-Bar knife right into the side of its head. The beast shuddered and died, collapsing in a heap on top of the Kid. He wiped blood and gore off his face and looked up with bleary eyes.

“Told you not to use the H-Word.” I said.

We stopped beside a rusting Quonset hut for a quick break. Jackie dug around in her backpack for a pack of smokes and her lighter. Felix went to take a leak on the other side of the building.

I took a swig from my canteen. The water in the canteen had a sharp taste of iodine from the purification pills I’d dropped in: not unexpected from reclaimed water, but always tough to stomach.

Vasquez sat the package down beside the Quonset and removed her hood long enough for me to give Laura a drink of water. She gulped it down gratefully before we replaced the hood on her head.

I mentally inventoried the remaining water. We all had plastic bottles in our packs plus had the canteen on my hip. I’d read somewhere that the best place to store water was inside ourselves. While I understood that intellectually, I couldn’t help but be daunted at the prospect of making our way across the desert without any water tucked away for later.

Rations were running low too.

We were still many miles away from an exit Topside, and the Bad Place was always full of surprises.

“Hey Garrett. Got a minute?” Vasquez beckoned me over to the side of the building. “You know what I just realized?” he asked.

“That simultaneous revelations aren’t a thing?”

Vasquez leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We are now standing in the Tollway.”

“Route 666?” I asked.

He nodded. “I didn’t recognize it before because there’s no tollbooth and no signs. But one of us is going to pay the toll. You know who I mean.”

I looked over at the New Kid. He was nursing a knot on the back of his head and his face was still all scratched up from Laura’s fingernails. The New Kid removed the sopping bandage wrapped around his arm. The wound where the sharkdog had bit him was black with infected tissue.

Together, we coldly calculated his chances of survival and came up short.

The New Kid was taking a leak on the side of a rusted Quonset hut while Vasquez and I decided his fate.

Rumbling engine noises heralded the arrival of a flat-black sedan on the horizon. A vehicle of generic make and model, the police cruiser had clearly driven through “You-Know-Where” and come out on the other side.

Jackie and Felix grabbed our target and the five of us hustled behind the Quonset, hiding as quick as we could and praying we weren’t seen. The New Kid wasn’t so lucky. The dumb fuck stood there with his dick in his hands and didn’t notice the police cruiser until it was too late.

The battle-scarred vehicle came to a stop, engine idling. The dented drivers’ side door opened and a bipedal male wearing a khaki uniform emerged from the dark interior of the cab. At first glance he may even have passed for human except that every inch of skin was horribly burnt and mutilated. Steel-toed boots crunched on the gravel as he approached.

The Trooper peered at the Kid through his mirrored aviator sunglasses. One hand rested on the nightstick tucked into his belt.

Unsure what to expect, I kept my hand near my pistol just in case.

“You live around here, boy?”

“No sir. Just passing through and found the place like this.”

“I find out you’re lying to me, we’re going to have a problem, boy.”

“Understood.” Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of scarred flesh beneath his shirt.

“Alright then. Just so long as we have an understanding between us.” The Trooper looked around at the horizon almost as if he’d forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation. His gaze settled back on the Kid. “What’s your name, son?”

“My name?”

“Don’t play dumb now.”

Without warning the Trooper pulled a baton from his belt and smashed the Kid with a merciless blow. He doubled over in pain, clutching his belly.

The Trooper loomed over the Kid, lightly smacking the baton in the palm of his palm.

“Looks like you in a heap of trouble here, boy.” the Trooper said with a pronounced Southern accent. He pronounced “here” like “he-ah.”

“You look healthy, don’t have the shakes. No sir, I can tell just from lookin’ at you. You a young man, your back is strong, and you got all your parts in working order, yes sir. You got your whole life in front of you. Seems to me you’ll make a fine slave.”

“You’re gonna dig for us with your bare hands, until your skin is gone, and you dig until your finger bones are worn down to lil’ nubbins. Yessuh, and I’m gonna beat you so bad you’re gonna thank me for the privilege of diggin’.”

The Trooper raised the baton to smash the Kid over the head.

Shots rang out as I unloaded my Glock 9mm into the Trooper’s head, blasting him over and over again. Bullets shattered his aviator shades and tore holes in his khaki uniform before the Trooper fell to the ground. We ran up and Jackie fired her shotgun point-blank into the Trooper’s face before checking on the Kid.

“That seems like overkill, Jackie.” I said with a smirk.

“Overkill is nothing but a word.”

“That stick looks like lacquered hickory but felt like rebar covered in nettles.” The Kid hissed.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here. If one Trooper found us, more are on the way.” I said.

The crew hurried into the Cruiser while the target went into the trunk like a piece of luggage.

“Buckle up.”

“I don’t want to.” the New Kid pouted.

That nasally whine was the last straw. Ice water flowed through my veins. It must have showed on my face because when he saw my expression he recoiled.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want. I ain’t your brother, I ain’t your dad. Lately I ain’t even a nice person. If you don’t do what I say when I say I will knock you the fuck out and make it happen. Now buckle the fuck up.”

He buckled up.

I shifted the police cruiser into drive and stomped on the gas. Nothing happened. “No.” I stomped on it again, shouting louder each time. “No, no, no! I do not believe this horseshit!”

“Is it a Ford?” Felix joked.

Aggravated, my forehead hit the steering wheel. The Troopers were bearing down on us fast. I stomped down on the gas out of frustration and the Cruiser lurched forward. Surprised, I looked up and the vehicle died again, whiplashing our necks. “What the-?”

I closed my eyes, gripped the wheel, and stepped on the gas. The Cruiser moved forward slowly.

“Guys, you’re not going to like this.”

An hour later and my heart was still hammering in my chest and I was white-knuckling the wheel. Vasquez sat right beside me, giving me directions as I drove pedal-to-the-metal with my eyes shut tight.

Bullets pinged off our vehicle and I ducked out of reflex. I could barely hear the gunshots over the roaring engines and police sirens.

“Can’t this piece of shit go any faster?!” Jackie screamed inches from my ear. Jackie turned in her seat, firing a few potshots at the other cruiser.

Felix rooted around in the Army surplus duffel bag and pulled a homemade pipe bomb from the bottom. He lit the fuse with a cheap gas station lighter, let it cook for a moment, then lobbed it out the window at our pursuers.

His throw fell short, and the pipe bomb landed in the middle of the road.

Whether it was Luck or Fate or God deciding to finally give us a break, the second cop car drove over top of the pipe bomb, straddling it with all four tires before it went off.

The police cruiser lifted off the ground, bursting into flame and sending two Troopers screaming into oblivion.

“Keep driving, let’s get as many miles away from here as we can before this thing runs out of gas.” Vasquez instructed.

The sun was setting, and already a cold wind was sweeping down from the hills. Within an hour the temperature would drop by fifty degrees. Sleeping in the exposed cab of the police cruiser would prove to be a very uncomfortable option that night.

And the next night.

And the next.

Four of us left the New Kid hogtied and blubbering in the middle of the road. None of us said a word about it, but we all knew our offering was accepted because we found an exit Topside within an hour.

To this day, I don’t know what dragged him screaming into the desert. But the toll had to be paid.

----------

We delivered the package to a seedy film studio on the outskirts of Las Vegas, Nevada. On the soundstage was a set built out of plywood and made to look like a teen girl’s bedroom: painted pink and full of stuffed dolls. Stage lights hung from metal bars where the room’s ceiling should be, and several cameras were aimed at the bed from different angles.

We were escorted by a couple of hired goons. Low-rent thugs with chrome-played Glocks tucked in the waistband of their jeans.

Vasquez led the way past the stage lights and cameras. Jackie and I flanked the package, while Felix rolled behind with a sawed-off shotgun cradled in his lap.

“You know what the worst job here would be?” Felix asked.

“What?” I sighed.

“Janitor. Can you imagine cleaning this place every night? ‘Excuse me sir, can you lift your feet? I’m trying to mop here’.”

“Jesus, Felix.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“Every night you have to clean it! You can’t imagine the smell!”

“Sure I can.” Jackie retorted. “Like a warm turtle tank probably.”

Felix chortled loudly.

Our customer was a loathsome weasel named Bob Gunkel. He was fat, slowly sliding his way to four hundred pounds. He came out of his office wearing a Hawaiian shirt with huge sweat stains under his pits. He wiped cheese puff dust off his hands, leaving long orange fingerprints on his khakis. The very sight of him made my skin crawl.

“Well? Did you bring her back to me?”

Vasquez pulled the black bag off the package’s head.

“You did it! I have to admit, I had my doubts when I heard you could bring her back but you actually did it!” Gunkel caressed her with his meaty fingers and the expression on his face looked like he was already creaming his pants. She flinched away, but we’d kept the ankle chains and handcuffs on for a reason.

“Laura, sweet Laura, I know I got carried away the last time we were together, but I promise you this time is going to be different!”

Vasquez gripped my arm before I even realized my fist was clenched.

“Sir, not to interrupt, but if you’ll just pay us our fee we’ll be on our way and leave you two alone together.”

“Of course!” He snapped his fingers and one of the goons retrieved a couple of greasy fast food sacks, handing them to Vasquez.

Vasquez checked the paper bags and the wads of cash inside. Jackie and I watched the goon squad to see if their hands moved towards their pistols.

“Are we good?” Gunkel asked.

Everyone held their breath for a moment.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Vasquez said. “Let’s move out, team.”

“You lovebirds have a real nice time now, y’hear!” Felix called on the way out.

Later that night we were sitting in a strip club called Sin Bragas working our way through our second bottle of Don Julio Blanco.

On the asphalt, neon-drenched streets of Topside, we're nothings and nobodies. Between the fast food and taxes, the bad gas station coffee and the past-due child support payments, we’re just pieces of soiled human garbage. In a world of drugs, traffic, radio, politics, smoke and mirrors, we’re little more than dirty, disposable pawns.

Yet amongst the freak show outlaws and leather-clad outcasts, the occult cabals and deranged sickos, the demon summoners, the adrenaline junkies, and conspiracy nuts who make up the heart of the Hades-diving fringe, we’re death-defying, bigger-than-life rock stars.

Every form of fame has its own form of groupies. There are women who sent marriage proposals to Ted Bundy when he was on Death Row, for God’s sake.

Most of us had a scantily-clad woman hanging on an arm or crawling in our lap. Jackie was busy showing off her new tattoo, flexing biceps as big as my head. Her upper arm shined with fresh ink depicting a sexy Devil Girl straddling a black spade with the number “13” in racecar red.

“Well, I gotta go drop the kids off at the pool. Felix said.

Vasquez rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb towards the hallway behind him. Felix rolled his wheelchair to the men’s room. I followed.

When I stepped into the men’s room Felix was pounding on the handicap stall door. “As if my life wasn’t hard enough!” Felix shouted.

I was standing at the urinal when one of the local yokels came in. I recognized him as the hillbilly at the bar telling racist jokes to the stone-faced bartender.

Now, every man knows that there are unspoken rules of men’s room etiquette. When you’re first and there are multiple urinals on the wall, you’re supposed to take the spot furthest from the door. When you come in second, you take the spot furthest from the first guy. What you don’t do, what you never, ever, ever do is stand at the urinal directly adjacent to the first man. That’s a surefire path to an ass-kicking in my book. Of course, this mullet-wearing motherfucker decided to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

“You guys are Hellcrashers, aren’t you?” he asked.

I didn’t respond.

“Dude, you guys just go down to Hell, kick Satan in the balls, and rescue the souls of big-tittied single moms. Man, that’s fucking awesome. “What’s it like being a Hellcrasher, bro?”

“Ever hear the one about the guy who wouldn’t shut the fuck up with his dick in his hand?” I curtly replied without looking at him.

“Um, no?”

I reached up and grabbed the hair on the back of his head then slammed him face-first into the tile. His nose broke and he crumpled like a wet paper sack, hitting his chin on the urinal on the way down to the floor. I hosed him down with the contents of my bladder for good measure.

“That’s what it’s like.”

I was washing my hands when I heard Felix shouting.

“Hey! Can somebody toss me some toilet paper? I’m all out of shit tickets over here!”

I left the club without a word.

[yanderenctstan]

Rotting

Second random imagine, another kind of gross one but I like it a lot. As you can probably tell, dark fiction is most definitely my forte, though I do have cute ones as well written up in my head~

Word Count: 1683

Warnings: F! OC, cannibalism, mentions of blood

Naomi shuffled into the small apartment that Renjun invited her to. It was messier than she expected. Stains dropped from the off-white walls, the blue fabricated couch torn in certain spots on the cushions, the floor broken up, and the giant flatscreen in the wall littered with wires swirling around and tangling into one dark spot inside the wall which she figured was the cable box and Ethernet cords. Renjun hurried ahead of her, setting his hat and jacket on the tattered couch and making way for the cluttered kitchen.

“Hungry for anything babe?” her boyfriend asked nonchalantly. A shudder ran down her body at the sound of the pet name he gave her. Something about the place she was in now unsettled her. She hadn’t noticed her arms wrapped around her chest or her legs tensing from standing so firmly. She craned her neck up to look at him.

“Uh… no, not exactly. I had lunch a few hours ago.” she lied. Naomi was hungry, she was just nervous for whatever he’d cook for her. On the outside, Renjun was nothing like this. He was sweet, well-groomed, and intelligent. His apartment made him look like a psychopath who had nothing better to do other than sit around and eat and maybe play a video game here and there. It needed some serious attention paid to it. Naomi was slightly surprised his past girlfriends hadn’t said anything to him about it. He’d had several that she knew of, though it didn't bother her much. Why hadn’t any of them bothered to say anything about it?

Renjun made a face at her, the dim lighting shadowing his features.

“Well, would you mind staying for dinner then?” a smile formed over his face, brightening him slightly. Something in Naomi told her to say no to him. To leave as soon as possible. Though she couldn’t find it in her heart to tell him so. He hadn’t exactly given her a reason and simply judging from his apartment was a bit rude.

“I guess, as long as it isn’t too too late…” she replied, finding a seat on the torn couch. Her bottom sank deeply, feeling nothing but spring beneath her. It wasn’t comfortable at all. Now, to her right, she had a better look at the kitchen.

Dirty and rusted pots and pans stood stacked on top of each other against the food encrusted walls. Dishes pile in the sink and even on the floor. The fridge donned a singular brown-reddish mark running down the side of the door from the freezer. Something about it made Naomi’s stomach churn. She knew it was probably just rust, but she had the eerie feeling hanging over her head at the sight. She felt her body begin to tremble slightly. Her mind immediately finding every bad thing and shoveling it to the front. It was so specific. An odd thing in an even odder place. 

“Everything okay Naomi?” Renjun snapped her out of her thoughts, her head whirling around to meet his eyes. Those deep, brown eyes. Most of the time she could find comfort in them. Something this time, however, made her feel uneasy.

“I- uh… yeah… I’m fine. You should clean your fridge, there’s rust running from the freezer…” she mumbled. Renjun twitched. She had taken him off guard. His eyes scanned over the fridge door where the single line of rust dripped down. He took a deep breath.

“Yes,” he replied softly, “yes I should...” he moved away from her. The disturbing aura around him didn’t calm her anxiety in the slightest. What was it about that drip? It couldn’t have been blood, could it? Why would there be blood in the freezer?

Renjun grabbed a reddened washcloth that hung over the sink. Dark red. The faucet squeaked in protest as he turned the handle, yellow-orange water rushing over the rag. As Renjun wiped the drip the cloth left a red streak behind it which he hurriedly rid of as well. Once he was done he tossed the cloth back into the sink. Naomi licked her lips nervously, which quickly dried again due to the cold a/c of the room. Renjun came by once again, smiling sinking himself into the cushion beside Naomi. His arm draped over her shoulder and it took everything in her not to jerk away. She didn’t want to be touched or even looked at by him as of that moment. She couldn’t place her finger on it, but something was just off.

“I’m going to the restroom.” she surged energy into her legs, up and forward, quickly making way through the house to what she thought would be the bathroom. She swung the door open and closed within an instant, letting her body fall forward onto the partially broken sink. She didn’t notice herself hyperventilating until she looked in the shattered mirror in front of her. Pieces of her face scattered along the glass. She could barely make out the fear in her own features. Naomi rested her back against the porcelain and stared around the room. More rust leaking from the bath faucet and the hole where the shower head was supposed to be. The light above her head flickered vigorously as a fly buzzed in her ear, the sound making her head spin. Blue-ish green nauseated her brain as it closed in on her. She had to leave.

Now.

Gulping, she waited another two or so minutes before flushing the toilet to make it seem like she had actually gone. She quieted her footsteps, padding to the bathroom door to sit back down with Renjun and try to convince him to take her home. The door didn’t creak as it opened, slowly, carefully. Naomi shut the light off with a flick of her finger and closed the door behind her. For some reason, she held her breath in her chest. What if he told her no? Could she make it out by herself and just walk home? Before any of these questions could be answered, she was already moving. But not to Renjun. Her feet took her to the kitchen.

Her eyes were locked onto the living room. Renjun hadn’t even seemed to notice her leave the bathroom, invested in whatever the tv was showing him. Another quiet gulp and she continued. She refused to turn her back on him, watching for the dishes and pans on the floor to make sure she didn’t trip. For the most part though her eyes remained fixated on him. His fingers tapped nervously against the back of the couch. He was waiting for her to hurry out to see her again.

A cold hard surface softly came into contact with her back. Naomi aligned herself with the wall, tearing her eyes from Renjun to the freezer. A faint streak of red still painted on the white fridge. A foul odor overtook her nose. She could almost taste it. Something like rotting meat that had been left for days. She wasn’t that surprised considering his living situation, but could the man at least throw out bad meat when he smelled it? There was absolutely no way he was insensitive to this.

Her small hand wrapped around the handle of the freezer. It wobbled, probably from being forced open and from old age. Naomi pinched her nostrils shut with her fingers before tugging on the handle. The suction from the inside held it closed. She pulled harder, finally yanking it open. A quiet hum resounded in her ears and the stench spilled out even stronger. Naomi nearly vomited right then and there, gagging to herself. She moved away from the wall, checking to see if Renjun had noticed anything yet. He was still there, on the couch. Watching.

Finally Naomi couldn’t take it anymore and forced herself to open the freezer wider. Horror shook her body to its core. The hand protecting her nose from the god awful stink moved to cover her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Indeed the meat was rotting, but the meat was human. Three arms with the hands cut off, a liver in a plastic bag, someone’s intestines in a red-stained tupperware container, different colored meat slabs on a plate, and a heart with some arteries still attached, flaring at her with an almost angry red. Bleeding over the freezer door. New.

Her knuckles were white from gripping the handle so tightly. She didn’t know what to do. How to react. Should she run back into the bathroom and call the police? Should she confront him? Attack him? Should she just leave and say nothing? She was too shocked to cry let alone move. Her head snapped back to where he was in the living room. He wasn’t watching the tv anymore. He was watching her.

“Find anything you like baby?” he cooed, smiling as if the sight in front of her were just some frozen vegetables and popsicles. She told her body to run, but instead she sank onto the floor against the wall as the hum of the freezer sang louder in her ears, a heap of sobbing, unmoving, terror on the linoleum flooring. It consumed all of her, compelling her to stay in her place. Footsteps started making way towards her, though she stayed where she was. Renjun stood in the archway of the kitchen, hands on his hips and gazing down at her.

“Aw it’s not so bad. You’ll come to like it, just tastes like chicken like the movies say.” he laughed at his own joke. Naomi couldn’t even bring herself to meet his eyes anymore, too much swirling and clouding her brain to comprehend what to do. She still couldn’t bring herself to move away.

Get up, god, please, get up...

She didn’t move.

“There there, Naomi, I won’t hurt you. I like you better than the rest, so you get to stay with me! Sound good?” he crouched down, holding her body close to his. She didn’t respond, instead opting to stay curled against him, a trembling, bawling mess.

[tiaragqueen]

On A Silver Platter

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Seokjin x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,4k

✂ Trigger Warning: Implied cannibalism, cheating, slight manipulation, possessiveness

✂  The story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“And I’m crazy for loving you. Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you. I’m crazy for trying and crazy for crying. And I’m crazy for loving you.” - Crazy [Patsy Cline]

              You were a curious woman.

      There was always something that caught your interest; be it a simple action such as how to get rid of thorns to why people do the things they do. Sometimes, you also asked some questionable things and usually gave evasive responses when people questioned your reason. You weren’t jaded like most people he knew, and you never felt as if you knew and experienced everything in this world.

      Like a moth to the flame, Jin was hopelessly and utterly enamored with you.

      However, no human is perfect.

      Due to your bottomless curiosity, you were often bored with banality and had a short span of attention before you moved on to a new, more exciting matter.

      It would be a huge turn off for some men, knowing that you might not be the most committed woman out there. And yes, even you felt that you couldn’t stay loyal to your partner.

      Jin knew it too, and yet he still endeavored to pursue a relationship with you.

      No fear or hesitation radiated from his being as he boldly confessed his undying feelings for you. He maintained a solid eye-contact throughout, and although you weren’t necessarily attracted to him in the first place, you could say that you were impressed with his bravery. Very few men would approach a woman and tell her their true feelings in fear of rejection.

      Thus, you began your relationship with the famous chef in the city, Kim Seokjin.

      At first, it was all sunshine and rainbows. You were an interesting girlfriend, always had something up her sleeves, and plan the strangest and spontaneous dates. You would share your discoveries and voice out the problems that had been gnawing your mind for the whole day.

      Jin was fascinated by how your mind worked; how you always questioned why things worked that way. To other people, you might seem nosy and fussy. But not Jin. Every day, he fell deeper in love with your personality. Those little quirks you unconsciously did when you were doing some things, your childish curiosity, the sparkles in your eyes, that cute grin when you finally figured something out, the triumphant smile when you bragged about a fact that you thought he didn’t know, or the appreciative look when you noticed him listening to your rambling wholeheartedly.

      You could count on one hand the people who truly focused on your subject of interest without interrupting or rolling their eyes in annoyance.

      But just because you were grateful for his attentiveness, doesn’t mean you would be together forever. Nor did you want to.

      You were a cruel woman, you knew that. Yet, you couldn’t change what you were born with.

      Slowly, you distanced yourself from him. It wasn’t anything new to be honest, as you had always been the person who wants their space, particularly after a bad day. Jin respected it, and despite his longing to dispel all of your worries, he knew that he shouldn’t push your boundaries.

      But when you started to spare him no glance or speaking with that dismissive tone when replying to his inquiries, Jin knew. He knew and realized that his fear had come true. And he definitely hadn’t expected it to happen within two months of your relationship.

      “Hey, want to meet up in that bar down the street?”

      It was by pure luck that he managed to catch that message on your phone. Maybe God finally pitied him and decided to give him a peek of what was going on behind the curtains.

      Jin couldn’t be more thankful.

      Snooping into someone’s business is wrong, but he could – no, needed – to make an exception to this one. He had to push aside his morals and the lines that you’ve set very early before you two started, for the sake of shedding some light on to your dubious relationship with this person.

      Unlocking your phone was an easy task, fortunately. It was your birthday, after all. How predictable, yet convenient in situations like this.

      There were a lot of messages from the same number, displaying witty banters and innuendos. He supposed that this person brought a naughtier side of you that he had never seen before. Either you wanted to put on a facade of an inquisitive child trapped in a grown woman’s body, or you just hadn’t found the right partner.

      Until now, that is.

      Thanks to his wide connections, Jin was able to learn the nearest bar they were talking about. Taking up your mannerisms in texting, he began to reply as fast as he could in fear of being caught in the act. You might have cheated on him, you might have been hiding things from him, but he would never want you to think less of him. He’d much prefer you going on with another man behind his back and still being with him than handling your hatred.

      How love had changed him for the worse.

      “Waiting for someone?” he asked casually, sliding down the stool next to a guy with light punky hair. Jin couldn’t believe this was the same man who had been flirting with you through text messages, although he knew that you never paid too much attention to people’s appearance. Even if it was a beggar, and they seemed interesting, then they would still be interested in your eyes.

      “Yeah.” Quiet guy, Jin observed. Not very expected given his eye-catching looks.

      With every passing moment, the guy became increasingly anxious with your lack of presence and stress drinking like a thirsty man he was. Jin made a mental note on every whiskey that he’d belted down and started counting down the second where he would eventually grow tipsy.

      When he was fully intoxicated, which didn’t take too long, Jin offered to accompany him searching for clear air outside. The guy had refused, but Jin insisted with a deceptively friendly smile. He guided him to the back of the bar until Jin proceeded with the first phase of his intricate plan.

      He punched the guy into oblivion.

***

      You came home to a delightful smell of food after another boring, tiring day at work. Inhaling deeply, you followed the source to the kitchen and found Jin cooking with his back facing you. You smiled, proud of your boyfriend’s diligence, and skipped towards him.

      “Jinnie~!” you sang, hugging his wide stomach. God, he was so huggable.

      The said man looked down and smiled. “Jagi, welcome home! How was work?”

      “It was boring~!” you whined as you shuffled over the dining table and plopped down on the chair. “Sometimes I want the time to move faster, but other times I want it to go slower. I’m so fickle, aren’t I?”

      “No, not at all.” Jin put down a platter of fried meat on the table and noticed – with pride swelling in his chest – your eyes lit up. “You’re just flexible, is all. It’s not a bad thing, you know? I’d say that it’s your main charm.”

      Regardless of the white lies, he’d told you – because it was true; you really were fickle – Jin was glad that there was another fact that he could use to his advantage.

      The fact that you were a foodie, just like him.

      “Yeah, yeah, thank you,” you said distractedly. Although your gratitude sounded insincere, he decided to gloss over it. You were always serious about food anyway, and it was nice to know that you were just as intrigued by his new creation as he had expected you to. “What’s this? Is this a new menu? You’ve never cooked this before.”

      Jin hummed in confirmation. “I’ve been wanting to try out this new recipe I’ve found a week ago. I hope you like it.”

      You laughed, and he swore he teared up a little at the melodious sound. How long has it been since the last time he heard you laugh – for him, even – like this? He never knew just how much he missed your laughter, or you paying attention to him in general.

      “Oh, Jin,” you wiped the tears from the corner of your eyes and smiled, unaware of the effects you’d inadvertently caused to him. “You know I’ll always like your cooking better than anyone in this world.”

      Jin forced himself to smile despite the overwhelming relief and happiness that threatened to flow. “Thank you. I’m so glad you still choose to be with me, even though there are more interesting men out there that want your attention just as much. Thank you... for always being with me.”

      It was low of him, he admitted, to alluded to your cheating situation like that. Especially when you flinched a bit; engrossed with your guilt and fear to notice the fact that he had never compared himself to other people before.

      But he didn’t care. It was about time you realized that he knew about your other relationship, and stopped your little act of innocence.

       Even if he had to serve that guy to you on a silver platter.