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riseatlantisss · 2 years

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♧♧♧ Turn me Up ♧♧♧

Rockstar!Kyūma x gn!reader

TW : Fluff, light smut, our King of Clubs being hot AF, as per usual

1,2K words, part 2 soon :)

Widely inspired by THIS feel free to listen on repeat while reading ! The fact that there’s no full version of this song available is a crime and I might sue.

The Sology rocks the stage tonight. And Kyūma, the band’s singer who also happens to be your boyfriend, is on fire.

Tonight, in Tokyo, the place to be is The Sology concert. The venue is completely sold out and in the pit, people are standing absolutely jammed together, yelling, cheering, jumping up and down, pushing each other around. Girls from the front row are screaming I love yous at the top of their lungs. It’s ridiculous and amazing and perfectly fitting for the band. Even though everyone seems to be having the time of their life, you count yourself lucky to be able to enjoy the show from backstage, away from the madness. One of the perks of dating a rockstar.

Kyūma, standing right at the front and center of the stage, is clearly stealing the show. He looks ethereal, almost god-like and sounds fucking amazing. He glows and glitters and shines, you think, and don’t even bother to scold yourself for exaggerating, because you’re not. To you, Kyūma is everything. Seeing him bounce around on stage like he owns the place warms your heart. Up there, surrounded by bright lights and intense heat, he is completely in his element. You couldn’t be prouder of him.

You got a mind and a tongue of silver so,

His powerful, hypnotic voice echo through the whole venue, all the way back to the last rows. All of the energy of the room seems to be directed toward him. His dark eyes glitter brightly underneath the spotlight. All you can do is stare in awe. Sometimes you still can’t believe you get to have him as your boyfriend. It’s a gift beyond compare.

Please oh please I gotta get out.

Kyūma clutches the mic tightly and thrashes his head with excitement, his hair weeping accordingly, and the audience erupts. God he is fucking sexy. His broad shoulders and the rigid lines of his muscles are obvious underneath his black t-shirt, now soaked with sweat. He is a total shameless thirst trap on stage, but you think he’s hottest when he’s not even trying, when he laughs so hard he falls over, or distracted on his phone, his eyes wide and lips parted. When he performs, he looks deceptively smug and serious, but you know him better than anyone and you know that deep down he is a sweet, goofy, caring idiot. It was definitely that side of him that you fell in love with.

I can feel the same thing,

It’s coming down like a fever over me,

I ain’t feeling like that now with myself.

As the band members continue playing, they sing along with him, harmonizing and amplifying his voice. He grips his microphone and carries it with him, the dark wire trailing behind him as he turns towards you, facing away from the crowd. His eyes didn’t take long to find yours despite the blinding lights and thick smokes invading the stage. He now looks right at you, smiling a mischievous sort of grin, and you want to catch on fire and melt on the floor. Those signature looks he gives you, the ones he’s always given you ever since you met, filled with love, hunger and malice, will never cease to make your heart race and your knees weak. Even after all this time.

So turn me up right now!

He sings that line to you and you only. You smile wide and try to fight the impulse to run to him, jump into his arms and do things to him that are definitely not appropriate in public. He turns back to the crowd as they cheer louder than ever and winks at you one last time over his shoulder.

-------

The last song fades out and the crowd roars at the end, having sung along throughout the entirety of it, as you try to regain control of your racing heartbeat.

TOKYO! We’ll see you soon!

The lights come up and the crowd goes wild, cheering for the band, chanting their names as they walk to the edge of the stage and bow, hand in hand, waving goodbye to the crowd.

Kyūma immediately rushes over to you. He wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you. Sweat is pouring down the sides of his face, his hair damp and his shirt completely soaked through, but you didn’t care. You put your hand behind his neck and tilt your head slightly to deepen the kiss. You can feel him smile against your lips. You slip your hand under his shirt, splaying it across his flat abs. After several long, hot seconds, he pulls his mouth away and breathes harshly against your throat, still riding the wave of euphoria from the performance.

“So, what did you think?” He pants.

“The show was absolutely amazing.” You wrap both arms around his neck. “You were amazing. Most of the time I was just… watching you and no one else.”

“Of course you’re a tad biased!” He chuckles and shakes his head, disbelieving and flattered, flushing just barely. He runs his fingers through your hair, his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way as he smiles. “You know, I was nervous before I got on stage, knowing you would be watching the entire show.”

“What?! Kyūma Ginji was nervous? That’s a first!”

He lets out a sarcastic huff of laughter. “I know, right! You should be flattered.”

You laugh and grab the buckle of his belt to pull him closer to you, further reducing the already thin gap between your bodies.

“You look so hot on stage.” You say, licking your lips. “I had a hard time having to just watch you from afar when all I wanted was to get my hands on you.”

“What, and you made me wait around until now?” Kyūma teases and pushes you against the venue wall behind you. He claims your mouth once more, more hungrily this time, like he’s been waiting all night. The kiss is quick to devolve into a sloppy make out session that’s all tongue and teeth and you find it harder and harder to restrain yourself. You want to kiss him harder. You want to undo his pants. You want him to rid you of all your clothes and to fuck you so ha –

“Alright boys, let’s make this quick!” Your foreplays are cut short by road crew members shouting and running around the stage to pack up the band’s gear. You almost forgot about all of this. About the fact that you are still in a public place. Lucky for the both of you, your apartment in Tokyo is private. And nearby. And it has a bed. And a couch. And a shower.

You discretely reach for his crotch and gently stroke his cock through his pants, as to give him a foretaste of what he could and should expect from you later. He is already so fucking hard. He throws his head back and moans loudly. You put a finger against his lips and whisper into his ear.

“Take me home, Kyūma.”.

He grins and looks at you with lustful eyes.

“Oh, it’ll be my pleasure.”

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sideprince · 9 months

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for the snape asks: 1, 12 and 14 please :)

Your favorite thing about Snape?

He gives no fucks and yet also cares so SO deeply.

He doesn't care what people think of him. He has a wonderful tenacity that comes from standing up for himself and not being intimidated by how others perceive him. We see it on the Hogwarts Express when he meets James and Sirius, we see it in the way he fights back again and again when they bully him, and we see it in him as a teacher. He doesn't care if people don't like him, because he's certain in his perceptions and perspectives. He doesn't care what the students think of him, or what Fudge thinks of him as he shows him his Dark Mark, or even what someone like Umbridge thinks. He can't help but be snarky because however full of self-loathing he might be, he also knows that he's the smartest person in the room and ran out of patience for everyone else's bullshit a long time ago.

At the same time, he is so deeply invested in serving Lily's memory and protecting her son, and as he grows as a person he comes to care so much for saving any lives he can, that his dedication ultimately costs him his life. As he works towards that moment, knowing it's on the horizon, his lack of needing to be liked by anyone serves him every step of the way. Chef's kiss.

12. While on the topic of Movie Snape, what’s your favorite Snape-shot from the films?

Brilliant. Best moment in the entire film series, without a doubt. Not one word of dialogue, yet it says so much. This is why Rickman was right for the role, in my opinion. He was incredible with physical work, and Snape, being a terse, serious, closed off character needed to be portrayed by an actor who knew how to speak through their eyes and movements.

The way he lowers his wand to signal he means no harm to Harry and isn't threatening him. The way his eyes convey a trust in Harry while also asking him to trust him in kind. The certainty in his hand as he puts his finger to his lips to convey that he knows something Harry doesn't. The look on his whole face, that says, we're not teacher and student right now, we're both here to serve the same greater purpose and we both know what's at stake. It starts with these these two characters who have a history of not trusting or respecting each other raising their wands to each other, and ends with him having Harry's trust and being in control, all in the span of three seconds. It shifts the dynamic between these two characters entirely. It’s the most connected and intimate these two are in the entire film series.

Snape's motivation is that he knows the moment he's dreaded has come, that he has to kill Dumbledore now, and he also knows that he needs to keep Harry quiet and below the action of the scene to protect him. Even though seconds later he will kill Dumbledore, in this moment Rickman is able sell the audience on the idea that this character has Harry's trust, serving both the goal of the moment between these two characters, and of the story itself because having that trust gives him something to subvert and raise the stakes in the drama of the moment that follows immediately after. There's an incredible amount of storytelling packed into three seconds here, and it's all character work. It's not the dialogue, and it's not the direction, it's pure physicality and decades of acting training and movement work culminating in a moment that looks deceptively simple and is beautifully, profoundly effective.

14. Favorite Snape line/moment? (books or movies!)

I love the moments where he lets the control over his facade slip for a moment and gives away who he really is, like when he's in the middle of an Occlumency lesson with Harry and hears a scream upstairs and immediately runs off without locking his office or telling Harry to get out. Or like when he runs upstairs from the dungeons in his night shirt in the middle of the night because he hears the opened TriWizard egg screeching and doesn't know what it is, just that it sounds like wailing. He forgets his own vulnerability, running out in a nightshirt that would, no doubt, make him look silly in front of colleagues or rogue students, and definitely doesn't help when he's confronted with Moody who already has him on the back foot Not to mention that the castle is described as cold and the man doesn't even think to throw on a dressing gown, he's just off like a bullet because someone might be in danger. I love seeing this character who's controlled, meticulous, who thinks first and then speaks, who observes more than he reveals, who's set up as a foil and is villainized by the protagonist of the narrative, drop everything because he thinks someone is threatened. Love a good chink in the armor.

I also love his first scene in the PS film. Dramatic. Ruthless. Establishes exactly who this guy is and his zero tolerance policy on bullshit. Irrevocably changes the vibe in the room when he walks in. Threateningly charismatic. Love to see it.

#asks #st-severus

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luimagines · 8 months

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It's is I, the wizard!

Monsters had been appearing more lately. [Reader] couldn't tell that within a heart beat, all of them could. Their blood was darker. and visibly wanted with magic. It took them all to take down a single moblin from Time's world, which was. . . unusual.

[Reader] sighed audibly. They weren't a hero, not like the others were, however, they were still a hero. More specifically, a hero of fairies. As a young child, [Reader] was always able to understand fairies. and they loved [Reader] as much ad [Reader] loved them. When the fairies magic and homes were threatened, [Reader] set out on a quest to find the four great fairies of their world, and used the power granted by them to slay a beast that was sucking the land dry of its magic.

They weren't a hero of courage, but they were treated as an equal in the group, all the same.

Yet, something was wrong. They could sense it. Usually, fairies would always cone yo visit [Reader], night and day, wether yo relax or to just say hello, they always visited. Yet. not one had come by in two days. It was worrisome.

"Are you alright?" the voice belonging yo the ranchhand asked, sitting next to them. "You look like you've got something on your mind. Rupee for your thoughts?"

[Reader] sighed. "It's just. . ." They ran a hand through their hair. "I can't help bit worry. Fairies always came to me often and in small groups. Yet. . . I haven't seen one in the past two days."

Twilight hummed. "Well, normally I would say we have bad luck. But we aren't accustomed to being popular to fairies, so we don't find them nearly as often as you." He looked at [Reader], seeing the worry in their eyes.

[Reader] felt a reassuring hand on their shoulder. "I'm sure that if something happened, they'd be hiding. Maybe we are scaring them off, with how many monsters we've been encountering as of late. I can't promise this, however-" he gave a squeeze on their shoulder, "I promise, if something has happened, we will do everything we can to help them."

[Reader] smiled at Twilight, his pretty eyes holding no deception. He was always an attractive man, strong with nice looks, and a wonderful personality to boot. He was a dream (Shame he seemed to have someone else in his heart. . .)

Hyrule suddenly rushed into the camp, looking Paniced. "We've got issues! Monsters are nearby, and they're attack a great fairy!"

[Reader]'s neck snapped from Hyrule and looked at Twilight in alarm, and within a heart beat, a small group was running to where the monsters were.

They were indeed attacking a great fairy, who was trying desperately to protect the small balls of light around her, yelling for them to go away. It looked like a great fairy from Wild's time, yet the lizalfos (from Sky's time) were still snatching the fairies, all sounding like thousands of bells ringing to the heros. but [Reader] could very well hear their tiny screams of panic.

Twilight ran in and attacked a lizalfos holding a bag full of captured fairies, slicing its arm off and making the bag fall. It shrieked in rage and spun, nearly hitting Twilight with the spiked ball on its tail.

Warriors ran to another one, which rose its large metal arm to mock him. only for it to get slashed in the face. He gasped seeing the dark blood seep through its wounds. "Infected!" He yelled, narrowly dodging a burst of flames from its mouth. A sword went through the back of the lizalfos and Sky stood, Master Sword in hand before rushing the the Great fairy's aid. who was currently defended by Hyrule.

"Leave us alone!" a tiny voice shrieked and [Reader turned to see a dark purple fairy hitting a lizalfos in the head over and over, trying to stop it from taking its friends. [Reader] drew their sword and charged, but the lizalfos blocked their sword with their arm, hissing and mocking them before spinning and jumping in the air, knocking them back. [Reader] landed on the ground but rolled out of the way of a punch before stabbing their abdomen. It didn't even flinch.

The Lizalfos opened its mouth. about to spew fire at [Reader] when Twilights sword appeared into their vision and sliced its head off. it fell down, lifeless. He offered his hand to [Reader] who gladly took it. "Thanks." they said, "Took me off guard."

"It's nothing." he said, before turning and checking the others. "Everyone okay?" he called.

Warriors pressed on a cut on his arm and a bleed on his stomach. hit by the tail of another lizafos before it was killed. Hyrule and sky were near the great fairy who was all frazzled and in a panic.

"Thank you." She said, as the heros and [Reader] got onto her platforms. "Those wretched beasts appeared from thin air and started to attack the little ones!" she explained, as the pink fairies swarmed the group and healed their wounds. At least ten were fluttering around [Reader], all singing their praise and thanking them, despite the others only hearing bells.

"Really?" Hyrule asked, concerned. The great fairy nodded.

"It started earlier today. when the more color varied ones here came to me asking for help finding their fairy whisperer. They were looking until those monsters found us and started to attack!"

"Fairy whisperer?" Sky asked, looking at [Reader]. "Isn't that what you are?" Reader nodded, when the dark purple fairy appeared and she spoke, the others able to hear her.

"Yes!" the fairy spoke. "Oh it was awful! Our whisperer and the rest of us were minding our business when this scary shadow with red eyes appeared and attacked us! It went after Lu and then more monsters came and we had to scatter!" the fairy turned to a shade of indigo. "Oh, I hope they're alright. . . "

"Wait a second!" [Reader] exclaimed "You're that fairy that always yelled 'It is I, the wizard!' when ever you entered a place or started to speak to someone!"

"This one if from your era?" Teilight asked as Warriors looked at the fairy. [Reader] nodded

"I've never seen a dark purple fairy before. . ." Warriors muttered

More colored fairies flew out, surrounding them and thanking them all before flying back to the Great fairy. The dark purple one turned a dark shade of red and slammed into his forehead. "Personal space!"

"Wizard-" [Reader] spoke in an urgent tone. "Are their more lizalfos around? You need to tell us."

Wizard Turned back to her main color again. "oh no! thats right! There's a camp a bit away on the mountain!"

Hyrule looked alarmed. "If the shadow is after the fairies, it must be for a reason! And the shadow might be there! We need to warn the others!" He turned to run, the others about to follow suit when Wizard flew in front.

"Please, I wanna help, at least allow me to help you!" she cryed before flying onto [Reader]'s sword, and it was surrounded in a light as Wizard's wings flapped. In a flash, [Reader]'s sword went from a simple blade to one with jewels on the hilt and a noticeable power within it. some fairy markings on the blade now. The group looked in awe as Wizard flew up. "There! now your sword it stronger! But it doesn't last more than 20 minutes, so hurry! Please!"

"Thank you!" [Reader] exclaimed.

"Lets go!" Sky yelled and the group ran into the woods to get the rest of the group, and defeat the rest of the lizalfos at their camp.

....

Hope you enjoyed this! I decided to write something based on a ask I left earlier, about fairy whisperers. Enjoy, and have a good day/night!

Wizard!! What a delightful surprise!! XD

I wasn't thinking that there was going to be anything more in the Fairy Whisperer idea. This was super sweet! Thank you for sending it in. :D

#pinky replies #anon stories #except not really

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sofiadragon · 2 months

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Coming soon in Stripped Down and Rebuilt...

When the rat poked his head out, likely puzzled by not hearing the boys climb onto the bed adjacent to his hiding place, Severus dropped the web of spells he’d been weaving near the ceiling. A rainbow of revealing, negation, reversing, and stinging magic swirled down to envelop the rat. Pettigrew squealed in shock the same way he had at twelve years old as he returned to human form, his sudden bulk lifting the bed. Severus thought he was ready for this, he’d been anticipating it for months. It was a bit like popping the lid off of a pressurized system. All the boiling hot rage, his distilled grief and pain, and the liquid violence he kept a tight lid on in his day to day flashed into vapor in an instant, expanding to fill every corner of his mind and body and overwhelming him in its intensity. The shockwave moved through him, blasting formless magic across the room toward the frantically scrabbling man half-caught beneath the bed. “Snape, oof, Snape please, you know how dangerous Sirius is! I was scared for my life. Please, mercy,” the rat groveled. Severus had no mercy in him for this creature. Curses rolled off his tongue that could get him six months in Azkaban at best, but the deceptively agile man freed himself from the furniture Severus’ rage had helped tip over and escaped the sloppy spells Severus cast with shaking hands. “It’s your fault she’s dead,” Severus wailed. “You sold them to the Dark Lord! For what?” “No! No, that was Sirius!” “Then why are you still alive?” The words tore out of him like shrapnel from a bomb. Severus launched himself at Pettigrew, who was stocky and slightly shorter than Severus, a change from when they were young and Severus had always been the smallest in his year. Sectumcempra took off three more of the rat’s fingers, this time on his wand hand, and then Severus raised his left hand, holding his silver potion master’s knife. Pettigrew twisted, but Severus was faster. He slashed down to embed the blade in the stocky man’s shoulder. They grappled, and the knife came free. Accuracy honed from dissecting animals for potion ingredients guided the second stab into the joint, rendering the rat’s right arm useless, but Pettigrew was left-handed and had pulled a wand from somewhere. There wasn’t much room for spell casting, and he was dimly aware of the children screaming along with Pettigrew as warm blood coated Severus’ left hand. “You should have died protecting them.” “That’s the pot calling the cauldron, isn’t it?” Pettigrew said when he got his breath back. The rat raised his wand, but Severus didn’t give him enough room to cast. Pure-bloods knew nothing of the kind of brawls Severus had been in. Fights fought with teeth, elbows, and fists instead of wands on the streets of Cokeworth gave him an edge in close quarters that had ended several who’d seen more than Severus wanted them to during the war. Even muggle-born wizards were afraid of snapping their wands in a grapple, and few had the magical power or mental focus to cast at full strength when they didn’t have free movement of their wand arm. “You were a Death Eater in the inner circle! You wanted Lily for yourself after James and Harry were dead!” “I was protecting her the only way I could!” Severus screamed, managing to fire off a close-quarters blasting curse that punched into the rat’s side and exploded the side table behind him. “Of course I begged Him for mercy, just as I begged Dumbledore to protect her!”

Time for some revenge.

#severus snape #peter pettigrew #Stripped Down and Rebuilt #Severitus #Snape loved Lily he wasn't in love with Lily

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karatekels · 1 year

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Dark Desires October Masterlist

Once I finish Fresh Start, my next post will be on October 1st, and I'll be aiming to post 1 part of a fic EVERY DAY in October! Some of these are based on your requests; here's what you're in for! These aren't in any official order yet (with the exception of the last one, I think!), so if there's one you really want to see let me know! While I've currently planned for these fics to fill all 31 days of the month, if you have a creepy, dark idea feel free to submit a request! (If I don't get to it in October, I will eventually!) TW: Most of these are quite dark (because, y'know... Halloween), and some involve non-con, dub-con, or consensual non-consent. Specific warnings will of course be added to the fics as I update them.

"Unjust Reward" (request from @terrysilv): Complete! Part 1 here! A dark non-con with KK3 Terry. Daniel warns Reader that Terry is nothing but trouble, and she tries to avoid him, but when she's being chased by a group of men she turns to Terry's dojo for help. He swoops in to save the day, but expects something in return...

"Disorderly Conduct": Complete! Part 1 here! A dark Reader x Cash fic. Reader is a cop who has been working at the same precinct as Cash for awhile, and gets the vibe that something is... off. Trusting her instinct, she follows him to an abandoned building one day and catches him in the act. Unfortunately, he also catches her, and keeps her as a hostage while he tries to figure out his next move. (Takes place before events of the movie) "Heirloom" (request from @hopes-handicrafts): Complete! Part 1 here! An enemies to lovers fic with Jan Valek. Reader is Jack Crow's daughter and a vamp-hunter-in-training. When Valek attacks the old Catholic school where the Black Cross of Berziers is kept and discovers Crow's daughter is a student, he kidnaps her and takes her with him, hoping that Jack will take the bait...

"Scream for Me": In Progress! Part 1 here! [Finished for DDO; Happy-go-lucky follow up to come... maybe] Part of the "Fresh Start" universe! A dark CK Terry x Reader fic. Reader makes the mistake of telling Terry that she can't believe he was ever scary, and certainly isn't that way anymore. Terry decides to teach her a lesson, hunting her in their own home until she admits that he is still very much something to fear...

"All's Fair" (request from @terrysilv): In Progress! Part 1 here! A dark KK3 Terry. Reader has been dating Terry for awhile, and he's been patient. When she surprises him with a date at their local funfair, he thinks she'll be willing to finally make their relationship physical. At the top of the ferris wheel, he makes his move...

"In Deep Water" (anonymous request): In Progress! Part 1 here! A dark non-con with Gus Travis. Reader is an undercover cop who has gotten in with Gus's gang to get the dirt on him and Malcolm. Gus gets wind of your deception and decides to punish you - for lying, for making him fall for you, for everything. "Clear as Mud": A dark non-con with KK3 Terry. Reader pushes Terry too far asking him about his time in the Vietnam War. He does his best to describe the fear of being stalked through the jungle, but doesn't feel like he's doing it justice, and decides to help her experience it for herself... "Solar Flare": The OC x Valek romance fic I've been babbling about for awhile! Rose is forcibly turned into a weapon by the Catholic Church to help them hunt down vampires, but their ritual goes wrong. Inexplicably drawn to Valek, Rose slowly falls for the world's first vampire as they struggle to stay alive and search for a cure together. "[Currently Untitled CK Terry is a Stalker]": CK Terry x Reader fic. Terry can't help himself; what started as innocent snooping around Cobra Kai's biggest obstacle for dominance of the Valley (Reader) has escalated into full on stalking. He can't keep himself from watching your every move, stealing into your home in the dead of night... wanting. But how far will he take things? "A Tale of Two Terrys: Masquerade": In this much anticipated sequel (well, I've been looking forward to writing more, anyway), CK Terry plans a masquerade at his and Reader's manor for Halloween. He's planned for a special guest to join them, but how long will it take reader to recognize them? And what do they plan on doing with her once she does?

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rametarin · 1 month

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Psychosis is not a mark of intellect.

Psychopathic people mistake the ability to manipulate other people and exploit their emotions to be a mark of intelligence. They have a belief in their own superiority and flatter themselves with the idea that because they can break the rules of how feelings work, trick people into thinking they're emotionally neuro typical only to deceive them for their own ends, it makes them a smarter, more mature person.

That's not how intelligence works. People like this aren't smarter, they're broken. Just as the ability to lie and disrupt communications doesn't make you more intelligent, it makes you a violent predator. Just using a different means to exploit, trap and deprive your prey. And when it's your own family or species, that's just virtually cannibalism.

Exploiting somebody's trust is not a mark of intelligence, it's a mark of someone that does not have those inhibitions natural in a functioning brain. The willingness to suspend them for selfish reasons is not something to praise. And that's kind of why you have all these disgusting assholes calling themselves empaths or "dark empaths." You aren't some gifted genius, you're a monster. And because of people like yours predations, others have to learn to reign in their emotions in disbelief you could act like this, just to deal with you.

It's easy as pie to deceive and manipulate people that trust you or think you also share those healthy social and emotional inhibitions. The same ones that go off like error messages in your brain if you kill someone. Those same ones that make you sleepless if you unknowingly engage in cannibalism- even if it's necessary to survive. You can rationalize it all you want, but objectively speaking, we're animals. We're hard wired for certain things, and to not do certain things. People not missing these essential things have to cultivate violating them in order to condition themselves to continue doing them. It's not a mark of supremacy or cleverness to exploit another person by deception or manipulation. It comes natural to people that are broken and willing to engage in that sort of behavior.

Often I've come across people that thought they were superior for their willingness to exploit someone else. That being able to extract something from another and get away with it was proof of their supremacy, or at least, that of another's inferiority. If you confront them and tell them you know they're being dishonest and deceptive, their brains interpret that as, "Hey! You took advantage of how I'm too dumb to comprehend what you did!" And take it as a compliment. The inexperienced person confronting the deceiver expects the person receiving this to come clean or acknowledge they did wrong and panic because they've been caught. But that's not how a person built like this reacts, unless it's also another form of manipulation.

I'm lucky enough that as a child I had a firsthand experience with a peer like this that was a rowdy little boy. Because it meant, not only did I get the hard, cold life lessons of what dealing with a manipulative psychopath meant pushed on me, and the time to parse it out, it also meant I got to beat his fucking ass for being a manipulative and violent shit. So badly, he screamed hysterically for his mother. And then I never saw his disgusting, psychotic self again.

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tlgpandoramia · 10 months

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Neon Blood : The First Chapter

Just the first chapter of my new book. Currently it's the second draft, however I still didn't decided entirely about many things, so It may drastically change it in the future...Or Not XD Any (kind) feedback it's appreaciate it. OBS: It contains several spelling and grammar errors.

Welcome To Near Dark

Great and creatives mind preaches about the Devil and evil in the form of a horned man, that the world started as a ball of nothingness, beginning when the first human were born...A little egocentric thought, it isn't?

The devil can be quite a genius, tricking people to believe that It doesn’t exist, alive in the mind of the faithful that if though they pray for Its destruction, fear gives birth to strength, after all it’s a standard human thing to ignore the fact that if you despise something, then you’re acknowledging its existence. A perfect disguise for a world where no one believes the very thing in front of their eyes. Think about it, a perfect disguise, for the evil to do the Devil’s job.

Mary Shelley once said ‘’No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks’’. Few blood-hand individual will see themselves as doing a genuine macabre thing, instead perusing the path of justifying their actions, either by using the excuse of a god complex, or just for fun, true evil draws in the weakness of the unfaithful.

How easy it would be to tell a tale and make as if some guy in a jumpsuit, or a creepy clown acted as the antagonist bogeyman in my closet, after all many children are scared by that. When I came to be, Father called me a perfect angel, saying how pretty those bright blue eyes were, or the pretty ginger flocks coming out of the skull. An ordinary man, disguising himself as an angelic persona with fluffy white wings, yet later that child grow to be a girl and she started to see his true self, a definition of deception and pain.

I could indulge in a story about some child that got crushed by an incoming truck and left on the scorching asphalt. However, nothing worked as in the movies, as she learned why fiction is called fiction, no reanimated corpses attempting to eat your brain, werewolves howling under the moonlight and ripping humans apart, or the cliche that danger is outside and lurking in the dark.

Sometimes it happened in the dark, I would cry and beg for someone to be telepathic and read my thoughts. Father loved horror movies, he used to tell stories about shadow like beings living in the house, and locked me inside a dark closet just for the laughs.

‘’You talk and our family’s over, you don’t want that, do ya?’’ the raspy tone still plagues my mind, in special during the night. A perfect child, quiet, intelligence, non problematic and quite independent, yet I had to act as a the clumsy and silly girl that would fall and injured herself in a daily basis.

Now I’m seventeen, just achieved that milestone last year February’s, although no pride behind it, I saw more disgrace, poverty and pain than an experience slash horror protagonist, no scary slasher killed me, in the final scene a random car appeared and picked me up. On the outside a neutral persona, yet inside things were different, screaming, crying and laughing, all in the same time, and in the same order.

Things changed, and the prophecy of the family being separated came true, although I stayed in the good guys side, it could a case of Freddy and Frank, that returned to the sequel to suffer the same fate in a different place, nevertheless it feels that a mantle of fog envelops me and prevents anyone to see me the same way they did before, it can be so cold and lifeless inside of it, a feverish dream, or a summer afternoon nap, nothing has the sensation to be real, a collective madness that involves my brothers and mother, a dream sequence of some kind, although it sound absurd, not a single souls enjoys when everything’s perfect and the character realizes that it happened during a dream.

No demon or haunting are present in this plot, I’m haunted, okay, yet not by some gray skin with spiked fangs. It may be wrong to think, but it would’ve be easier if the haunting stayed physical, the screams and traumas caused more injuries that the metal leash or the slaps, no one wishes to hear from their parent that they were a mistake, that nobody would missed me, Father acted cruel without trying, or he tried to offer a lesson about real life.

The Dilemma that ‘’if it’s bad, why not leave?’’ can be common, and I have an answer for it, a caged bird that lived its entire live inside bars sees flying as an illness. If Shelley’s quote has real knowledge, then it means that father held no evil inside of him, trying on his own way to prove a point of view.

By thinking about it, I can’t shake the thought that no one stood up for me, how wrong its to think it, even as a intrusive emotion, I didn’t asked for help, feeding the foolish judgment that somehow any of the three could notice it. Kids dream about strong heroes flying and save them, later in life that children becomes the adult that were their ideal savior. I don’t feel like one, or capable of aiding that little girl, to be honest from time to time I tend to still be scared of the past.

I had mother in my thought when the decision to reveal what happened won, I didn’t wished for her to remain married with that boomer, yet the doubt that she would take his side and refuse to believe in my version kept me from sleeping for many nights. Telling that a child is bad when it isn’t changes their soul, starting as a thought, then confirmation and last, vengeance, when the wish of wanting nothing more that to be evil comes over.

I didn’t turned into a slasher. However I didn’t gained justice for ten years of abuse, we just left it all behind in Detroit, hoping that moving somewhere else could help all four of us.

She couldn’t afford Las Californias, or a one bedroom house anywhere in the country. We were lost, they all enjoyed our old home and it broke the younger one.

As a child, I imagined how the sea and a beach would be, photos could’ve helped, if only people without a neural implant could access it. The sea fascinates me, how life began in it, so full of life and history, a living poetry of billion of years.

For three days and three nights we stayed in cramped hotels that smelled as if a chem party happened there, I preferred to stay on the chair instead of sleeping on those bed sheets, imaging the beach waves and how it could feel during late evenings, more that once I caught signs of people meant to be road killers, yet much less charming.

Mother talked about that town hundred of times, describing it as the perfect haven for the punks and wires, a woman born and raised there, leaving it behind for some steam surfer guy.

The trip proved to be brutal to mother’s wallet, and for me, since I have a bad breath dog breathing on my neck for hours.

Both boys kept going on who should decide the radio song , quite annoying bantering, songs changing every two minutes, until one of the great lords decided that it’s worth to be played.

‘’In the web that is my, I begin again…’’ Mom hums to the song coming out of the dusty radio, she has her moments, sometimes longer that usual.

‘’Nope’’ Jesse leans over, pressing the button and changing station for the fifth time.

‘’Come on, that was rad in my time’’ the next music station proves to be boring to both boys, two industrial guys cringing over the slang and non synth wave song.

‘’Not yet’’ the two syncs their voices, Mom sighs in defeat, pressing the button three times until a rock music plays, something about a teenage frankstein.

Xeno stretches its paws, forcing me to further shrug my legs, between the travel from that creepy hotel and the three hours on the highway my poor lower limbs took the worse, not to mention wearing a long skirt had been the stupidest thing ever after the name Jesse gave the dog. It feels that every lower muscle cramped and shrink, January should've been colder, winter and all, yet the climates changes, plus the local humidity made everything worse.

It amazes me how neither of them bother to ask ‘’Are we there yet?’’, classic line in any horror movie, a family moving into a chaotic and fisherman town, to live in a decayed overpopulated building, still requires a decent author to make things interesting, it could have some dark romance, and no computer generated imagery, or that virtual reality images, I’m a practical effects girl all the way.

‘’Look, jus’ a little longer’’ Mom points to the neon billboard on a small island a few meters from the shore and the coastal rocks.

It says ‘’Welcome To Near Dark’’, a turned off neon LED banner, daytime reduced it to a giant glass letters, erasing all the traces of the images.

‘’Real niche, Mom’’ Jesse adjust the headphones that ran out of battery hours ago’’It smells funny, fish, and oil, and fuel…’’

‘’Jesse...’’Mom rubs his left arm, glancing back at Michael and I, she told so many tales about this town, conjuring images of a true Las Californias haven experience’’I know things are awful, like totally gnarly, but I think that you’re goin’ to really like here’’

Mom optimism can make a corpse believe in resurrection, it makes my heart twitches, almost if it would hurt if I chose not to believe, as if she speak it enough times it will be true.

The air’s hotter, cursed be humidity, making my hair frizzy and reducing my head size. A fresh breeze comes from the sea helps to fend off the thick warm air, Michael has a stoic expression, yet this type of weather its his thing, how Jesse and him would spend hours in the backyard old pool, the horrible combination of aromas is just a side effect for him.

For me it plays a different role, as the sun only purpose is to burn my skin, causing some friendly fire on my exposed forearms.

And so it begins, the first sights of civilization of Near Dark, which promised nothing and delivered everything, a kaleidoscope of styles and bizarreness. People driving convertibles, whooping and hollering at anything that has legs, pedestrians showing middle fingers and shouting bad names, cursing the driver’s family down to their first generation, a few throw things at it, a true free for all, a true beach town experience, the weakest here could send the strongest from Detroit to a clinic.

To add further, sunburn skins and bodily implants seems to be the fashion, plus a notorious clothing shortage, a lady wearing a yellow fluorescent bikini spins around on a Rollerblade, waving at the upcoming vehicles and just acting as the standard gore character that get kill in the first forty minutes.

Tourist and locals alike passes by the street, carrying their frozen treats and ice cream cones melting on the two afternoon sun, a thrill of sweat grease on the sidewalk, it should be the least of the contamination worries, as the gutter are filled with wasted cigarettes, discarded food packaging and plastic, I can imagine the state of the water drainage system, at least no one will flow down there.

Mom flags the pedestrians, giving time for the crowd to disperse, some do just that, allowing us to pull over and enter a side way to some rinky dink gas station. Others are not so polite, screaming at mother to be careful, a guy punches the hood, not hard enough to cause a full argument, yet loud enough to make her apologizes. He passes by my window, although the wagon truck is tall, I just sink lower on the seat to avoid eye contact, a gang of Nazi Runners, mowhanks, loose tank tops, thick gloves covered by spikes, shoulders pad meant to tackle on their victims and the surgical implanted enhance eyes, dark silver goggles scanning me and waiting for a breach to engage in their illicit hobbies.

As soon as the wagon parks, Jesse jumps out, dragging Xeno along by the leash, running to the opposite side of the station.

Although Michael’s my brother which I love with all my heart, being alone with a male a few centimeters away sparks an unsettling sensation, he breaks the uncomfortable mood between us by distancing himself.

‘’Hey, you saw that thing on the sign?’’

‘’What?’’

‘’Nevermind’’ Michael sighs, leaving the car and entering the gas station, just standing there without any goal.

My knees twinges on the chance to be stretch, however the humidity is worse outside, forcing me to shield my eyes from the sun and the breeze of warm wind. The beach has a second sea, this one of people, some laying on the hot sand, cooking alive while others are enjoying the water, most of the frequents are tourist, it can be spotted with ease due to eye squinting and expensive sunglasses, over the years pollution made the sun increased its radiation rays, or whatever its called. People passes by and throw glares at me, the worst part is how I can feel the sweat sliding on my legs below the socks, lack high knees frying my skin, can’t blame them for the crooked eyes, I would do the same if someone’s wearing fluorescent bikinis back in Detroit.

Mom fills the car with gas, giving me an accidental high from the smell, natives from here drinks fuel as part of an initiation ritual, how she knows this is beyond me, although I can guess the answer for this enigma.

On the outskirts, three older teenagers ignores the beach across the street, instead diving in the dumpster, Jesse run past it, pointing beyond the city.

‘’There’s a freakin’ amusement park there, look, Mom!’’

At the distance, a glorious roller coaster shape decorates the horizon, even two enormous spotlights simulating eyes of some sort, below it a large construction gives access to the pier, beach and a coastal mall. The whole place’s sleeping, the glass signs and billboards, plus it lacks crowd, although Jesse’s swooning over the sight, Mom’s unphased, mere giving him an agreement and focusing her attention to the gas pump.

One of the teens falls on the floor, laughing about it and complaining about the cement hardness, only to dive right back in. A faded green hair girl pick a white and red fast food package, taking a piece of a half eaten pie, biting it as it’s a delicacy of some sort.

Runways escaping from someone or something, those three could’ve been Michael, Jesse and I, Mom worked hard to prevent that, pointing us to the right direction and creating an environment where we could talk to each other, instead of dwelling within our heads and battling it alone.

Near Dark it’s full of this type, overpopulated it, one on every sidewalk, some better dressed, a few with implants, yet all carries the same essence, a dozen bleed with the background, attempting to survive and just go on another day.

As I open my bad, the wallet beg for some content, it’s being a whole month since it saw money, yet a single ten Neodollar chip remains, the last memory from my collection sold two months ago.

Mom expressions frowns, yet she makes the choice to handle over her last chip to those teenagers, urging Jesse to approach.

‘’Jes, get those kid this for some food’’ although Jesse don’t challenges her orders, yet gives me a side look when I also give some chips for the homeless youth.

He opens the mouth for a split second, a single word coming out, however Mom rubs his shoulder, although he’s reluctant, Jesse budges, giving the chips to the teenagers, signaling that the task went smooth. It mesmerizes me how happy those kids are by receiving the chips, jumping around and teasing each other by touches and playful punches, waving at Mom and screaming around.

‘’Thanks, cougar, you’re ten!’’ the green hair one performs a gesture with both hands, Mom face lights up on the compliment.

No doubt that those chips will be quite useful for them, buying food for tonight or maybe rent some place to take a shower, nevertheless we could’ve used it as well.

Jay insist on going into the amusement park as a reward from following the command, circling around the car and putting Xeno back inside.

‘’Come on, I’m more desperate that a brain eater zombie in a influencers party!’’

‘’Later, zombie punk, Grandma’s watin’ for us’’

A convertible full of Runners approaches, the beat coming out of their speakers vibrates the wagon interior, at least it look that the group’s having fun, unlike me, being burn alive by the scorching seat. Michael has the right idea, getting the key for his motorcycle on the wagon’s cart, a true classic from decades ago, a custom Cynthia Davidson model, bough in a junkyard and customize to his taste, the memory of Jesse bringing the possibility that it could’ve belonged to someone that died in an accident cheers me up a little, he cherishes that motorcycle so much, and to think how he tried to sell it for money.

The remain of the city follows the same pattern, crowds of gangs, runaways, guys and gal rocking ripped bodies , turned off neon billboards and a awful brightness for a place that has the word ‘’dark’’ in its name. Ahead of the park the avenue gives access to several residential streets, the terrain so flat that I can see homes miles away, Mom calls it the ‘’Diamondback’’ where the rich lives, near the beach and the city’s center, the poor lives near the mountains, and below.

Jesse seems unpleased by the idea of meeting Grandma, crossing the arms and shaking the legs, to be honest, I can’t recall much of her and I understand his disinterested by it, she meet him the day he was born , almost fifteen years ago, even leaving the in the same day, Grandma refuses to leave the house for the past fifty years, she didn’t even show up for mine or Michael birth, so one can imagine everyone surprise when that old lady ring our apartment. Although, it seems cruel of a grandparent to do such thing, she never hide the distance between us, her and mom had many issues and it strained further the day she discovered about Michael’s pregnancy, I still remember the day she call and mistaken me for mom, ‘’Hey, did you or the kids die yet?’’, when a negative answer came, the call ended.

It must be hard for mom to have no one else to turn to help, forced to live with her three children in their grandmother’s house in some backwater Las Californias town. However, its amazing how Grandma agreed to offer us shelter in the first place. I have the best memory between the four of us and even with this quality, I recall little of her, a reddish brown hair woman with the same eyes as mine, although I’m not expecting a graceful elder lady serving milk and cookies, I hope that we ain’t digging yourselves in a house that will be plagued by constant discussions, it may be a sign of weakness, yet I no longer can’t take violence and screams, at least for the next months.

The stimulating from earlier vanishes as quick as it came, turning into the only clues of nature in this place. Bleached from the sunshine, overcrowded by rangy flora, almost if this place segregates from the rest of the city, who could’ve guess that’s the same location from forty minutes ago, a harsh, yet positive chance, I only hope Michael didn’t forgot to put on googles. Following an inclined road, and a eerie view of a ravine by the right, the Andrei matriarch house shows itself by the cliff. Large wooden poles laying around, forming symbols that fails to be familiar, some are craved to resemble animals, one type is the trident poles, it means ‘’Algiz’’, belonging to the Elder Futhrark runic alphabet, its use to offer protection and security, surrounding the fence project that seems untouched in decades. A six foot pentagram forged in metal hangs on the arc by the entrance.

Mother parks the car in front of the eight steps wood stairs leading to the porch, a delicate two people size swing agitates by wind, no doubt Jesse’s thinking how much this resembles the Knowby Cabin, although it’s larger and with luck no evil book in the basement. A shed ahead seems to act as a garage, however its impossible to go any further, as all manners of bizarre symbols and ornaments blocks the passage, some are unfinished poles or craving of the symbols around the property. Dolls head are hanging on the trees, their eyes replaced by shards of mirror, crosses made of wood circles around, either grandma’s trying to keep the evil in, or out, guess we’ll see soon.

This house, or cabin, it’s something else, to be mild. The design dates back to the two thousand, yet the construction pattern from the today is strong with this one, large windows, brown and neutral colors, lack of vibrant ones and a double glass door featuring seven tiles in a pair of segment top and solid, whatever it means, I read once about it in a magazine that explained about it, it was the same door, it seems heavy and sturdy, way to thick for the house of an elder lady edging her eighty years.

All is so quiet, Mom stares around, from her blink less eyes she’s expecting something to occur. Michael climbs down , going a few steps ahead before freezing, staring at the porch hidden for my vision.

A pair of legs sprawled out, wearing a worn out slipper. On the floor, Grandma’s impaled by a short wooden pole, right through her chest. The body lies below an aluminum plate, crushing the fragile body, a brick broken in half close to her head indicates how it happened.

An absurd amount of crimson blood overflows the porch, dripping on the stair as he eyes are wide open, and the tongue already purple, spread out on the right corner of the lips. Michael pupils dilated as if he saw his soulmate, while Jesse quint ahead, shaking the head and sitting on the part of the porch untouched by the substance. Mom sighs and kneels.

‘’Mom?’’ Michael’s unruffled about it, stepping back.

‘’Great, she died, how’ bout we sell this and go back to Detroit?’’ Jesse ignores a answer and takes Xeno out .

‘’Syrup mixed with red dye’’ Mom wheeze in disappointment, showing us the scheme, as the stake proves to be a mere piece of foam ‘’Mom, get up’’

The former corpse comes to live, removing the false eyeballs and laughing, like if anyone found it funny.

‘’Did a damn good job this time’’ the elder put her glasses back on, coughing the red syrup that invade the mouth.

Mom embraces her, still it doesn’t make the situation better or helps me to forget about the silly prank. The air get stuck in my throat, as if invisible hands strangulates me, I could pay the same way, fall on the floor and pretend to be dead, that would make us even, good thing Mom gave me such a good education.

She opened both main door, allowing the boys to bring in the boxes. Unpacking it’s the easier part about it, every appliance and furniture we owned was sold to either pay the lawyers or the bills, plus most of our belongings were left behind. We couldn’t afford a true moving trailer to bring everything, so everything ended up on the general store balcony, not even Jesse rare comic books escaped the fate, good thing Mom raised us in a bohemian style, avoiding implants, neural links and eletronics, instead letting us focus on physical things, I still remember about high school, while the others had their fancy neural implants, I resorted to dusty books fabricated in the past century, a few nicknamed me ‘’Time Traveler’’, teasing all the time about the peculiar way my family lived, I don’t miss school or technology.

The last books in the wagon are the rest of my books and Mom’s vinyl collection, tunnels to the past. Weird how much life changed over such a short time, it feels scary to be on this highway, things can go over the weather so quick, I had good memories about those vinyl, if only Dad hadn’t blighted it, once he kicked the door of my room because the music was too loud, wielding that leather leash that hurted so bad, the metal parts were heavy and wide, meant to cause bruises and with enough force, broken bones, the final hit would hurt me the most, as if each hit I would shrink, getting smaller and smaller, the final one gave me some nasty purple bruise on the back of my neck, a soreness that last for almost one week, in a few occasions I would catch my reflection during shower and see the damage on my back and shoulders , one more reason for a silly teenager to be disgust with her body.

‘’You alrigh’?’’ Mom pulls me off the trance, petting my shoulder and smiling, I know she means well and I’m not ashamed to talk about feelings, yet I can’t shake off the feeling of shame, as if she knows something quite embarrassing about me, I don’t want people pitying me or mentioning all the time what happened, on the other hand there’s nothing I wish more that to be given a lot of attention.

‘’Darling, you’th only woman that got nothing in a divorce’’ Grandma smokes a jet, grape flavor, a horrible smell raises.

‘’I know, but the guy had nothin’ to take, and I didn’t wanted a huge fight’’Mom takes off one box, putting on the floor before organizing everything in a weight order’’We didn’t need more fight’’

That’s my queue to leave, before they starts to referring to me in the third person as if I’m not present.

Inside, those two are already jumping around and exploring the first floor. Two bathrooms, one upstairs and other below the stairs, four bedrooms and a thick door blocking the access to the basement, eight padlocks and four locks, none of the fancy electronic codes or locks, just the vanilla way people used to do it. A woman living in a isolated house on the hill inviting people to live with her, talk about The House On The Skull Mountain.

The place’s a mess, to be delicate about it. Melted candles stick on the chandeliers, long ago since cleaned, weird symbols hanging around the living room, plants with vines and covered by thorns, the awfull scent of religious aroma and the essence of jet grape smoke. A true alternative nightmare, to add further, the huge statues of owls and wolfs don’t make things better in any degree, up on the wall a taxidermy head of a bear stares at me all the time, as if those glass eyes are following each step, and watching over the entrance.

It’s cozy, won’t lie about it, a certain charm mixing several styles and delusions. Aside from how muddle the house is, it’s clean enough, the wood floor shines and the decoration has no traces of dust.

Every room is a living tomb.

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chryzuree · 11 months

Text

stitch me up

ALT TITLE: (send me back out to dance)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: impulse fic or w/e. ummm, there’s going to be more parts than this, since i’m not immune to elaborating on ideas 🫶🏻

Next ->

———

At the funeral, the only thing he could think was that he was responsible for Chrysi’s death.

Jacks had no illusions otherwise. But even if he did, a simple look into her casket would drive the point home.

Again, and again, and again,

and

again.

She looked so deceptively prim, in her neat little dress that he’d never once seen her wear—dark, collar buttoned up to her throat, all lines strong and crisp from the ironing board. Her pink hair curled away from her pale, pale face, waxy with embalming fluids and corrective makeup. The expression on her face was set as something too serious for her, like a Victorian portrait.

She looked like a stranger, but for none of those reasons.

Whoever had prepared her hadn’t remembered to put a ribbon around her neck.

Jacks wanted to grab one of the funeral home employees and beg them to get a ribbon. Hell, even a choker necklace from the Hot Topic at the mall down Main. Anything to prove that the girl in the casket was his best friend and not some nightmarish physical form of his failures.

But then he would get cold and itchy whenever he thought about whoever prepared her and he wouldn’t do anything but stare at her still body in the casket.

He didn’t want to think of someone taking her battered body from the car crash. Didn’t want to think about someone clinically taking her internal organs from her before sewing her back up and shoving her in a dress she never wore. If he got too far down that line of thinking, his stomach would drop and he forgot how to breathe.

Somebody came up to his side and said something. When Jacks didn’t reply, he heard them mutter, step aside. Something about him being rude, maybe. Maybe something about their condolences. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. He’d stopped caring the moment he woke up to the fifty-three notifications on his phone and a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

There was a line, he knew. Murmurs in the room behind him, stuffy with too many bodies and the heater cranked up too high to combat a relatively mild chilly day outside. People that would step up beside him and crane their necks to get a look at the head cheerleader, set so perfectly in repose that it no longer looked like her. Words mumbled to him—some kind, some annoyed, some worried.

Jacks merely stood closer to the head of the casket to give them space.

He hoped they would take the hint and stop talking to him. Let his intent studying of a dead girl be response enough.

I’m sorry, he thought—transmitted, really, and desperately too. I’m sorry, Chrysi. Is that enough? I’m sorry. Please come back.

He’d not been able to stop it, this silent prayer: I’m sorry, I was wrong, come back, come back, come back.

Sometimes, his apologies made sense. Other times, they didn’t. He didn’t care. If admitting that he’d wished he could’ve given Chrysi mono too made her eyes flutter open and her mouth twist in that self-satisfied smirk, then he would’ve screamed it aloud to the entire room.

I’m sorry. I should’ve said yes. I should’ve ignored Castor. I should’ve kept kissing you. I’m sorry.

It all seemed stupid now. What did he care if Castor Valor had a crush on the same girl as Jacks? Castor had never made blood pacts in the summer, or accidentally swallowed one of her baby teeth, or crawled into her window for an illicit sleepover (which, coincidentally, meant more blood pacts). Jacks would’ve been fine ruining that friendship forever, if it meant he got to be with Chrysi.

Staring into her still, dead face, Jacks couldn’t believe it was only two and half weeks ago that she’d confessed to him, that they’d fallen into her trunk, legs tangled and lips locked, that he’d ruined any future relationships with her. Not that he’d been counting. Not that he’d tried to ignore the passage of time and their fight, and instead replayed their kiss over and over again in his mind, clipped to be without any of the unhappy missteps afterward.

I was wrong, he repeated, for the thousandth time during that awful viewing. Can’t you come back now? I was wrong about anything you’d like me to be wrong about. I’ll let you make fun of me forever. I won’t complain when you bring up that stupid kissing booth.

“Just stop being dead,” he finished, begging aloud, under his breath.

A familiar hand touched his elbow, like many other hands had clasped him there. He’d shaken off all the others. But this time, Jacks pulled away from the casket to peer into his sister’s sorrowful face.

“The service is about to start,” she said. Her eyes darted to Chrysi. Her face crumpled and she dragged her attention back to Jacks forcefully.

Jacks remembered once Chrysi said she never would go up to the casket during a viewing.

I don’t want that to be my last memory of the person I care about, she’d said with a tiny shrug, so alive as she wasn’t now. I already know they’re dead—I’d rather remember them as they were than as the mortician’s vision of them.

He didn’t know if his sister was of the same opinion as Chrysi, but he knew that his lingering at Chrysi’s side was enough to make it the same opinion. But knowing that didn’t mean that Jacks was willing to step away.

Muse’s face dropped a bit. She bit her lower lip, like she might cry too.

“Jacks?” she whispered.

It was so rare she wasn’t trying to kill him. He almost wished she’d hidden some electric shock buzzer in her hand, just to make this situation feel normal. But he still waded through it like a waking nightmare.

He dipped his head. “Yeah. Sorry.” His mouth felt wrong, and his vocal chords rebelled against making any noise that wasn’t the scream he could feel building up. “I’m coming.”

He cast one more look at Chrysi's corpse and, when Muse turned to join the rest of the funeral-goers, he tucked a sprig of wisteria under her folded hands.

—

Jacks didn’t go to school that week, to the concern of… everybody, if he tallied it all up. He barely even got out of bed, and that was only to drag himself, zombie-like, to his door to take whatever food his parents handed him. His limbs moved slowly, heavy, like he had a fever. He didn’t even sleep—not really.

He just curled up in his bed and ignored his phone buzzing with text after text after text. After the third day, they started getting repetitive—Lyric, asking if Jacks wanted to get out and hang out, even if they were one short of their trio; Missy, with her box of Chrysi’s things that she said she somehow knew Jacks would want, even when he didn’t think he wanted the reminders of her at all; Aurora, desperate like always, begging him to spend time at the Valor household, never knowing when to stop.

Most days, Jacks tried to remember every tiny thing Chrysi had done. Her Chrysi-isms. The catlike smirks, the feeling of her metal rings grinding against his fingers whenever they held hands, the wicked sense of humor that sent them to detention more frequently than not. The list unspooled more and more and more. Jacks didn’t think he’d reach the bottom before some of the details grew hazy, and the thought terrified him.

Others, he practiced not breathing.

He’d gotten better. It was a good distraction, he thought. But thoughts of Chrysi always broke through.

He felt bad, not grieving Castor as much—but then he’d remember the panicked gleam in Chrysi’s eye from across the parking lot and Castor’s tiny shake of his head, and Jacks stopped feeling as bad.

He replayed the night as what ifs, maybes, as if he’d manage to get a time machine and step into that night to change everything.

Maybe he’d have been willing to reluctantly step into the gulf that had sprung up between them after their failed make out session. Maybe he would’ve gotten Chrysi home. Maybe Castor would still be dead—but when Jacks weighed the options, he knew he’d take Chrysi over Castor any day.

Jacks burrowed into his bed. He knew it smelled musty, probably. Thick with sweat and sleep and greasy hair and grief. He knew it was nice enough in the middle of the day to open the window and air out his room, when none of his family was home to hear him move around and rush upstairs to ask if he was finally feeling better, and more importantly, was he willing to go back to school now?

No, and no. No, no, no, no, no. Jacks couldn’t go back to school and look at the F-wing wall and remember Chrysi’s squirrel-like climb to the top. He couldn’t go back to school and peer into Mr. Nielsen’s room and remember how he’d wedged himself at the end of the table Chrysi, Castor, and Aurora were seated at, even though he wasn’t in AP Literature. He couldn’t go back to school and see their lockers, next to each other, and know that hers had been emptied out and that he’d never be able to slip notes into the angled slats again.

Just thinking about it made him feel like drowning all over again.

He pulled his blanket over his head, buried his nose into the oppressive softness of his pillow.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

With a start, Jacks jerked up to a seat. His blankets spilled to the ground in a waterfall.

He peered oddly at the window, his heart pumping in his chest. That was knocking, right?

His heart surged, then fell to nothingness with an anvil-heavy thunk.

“Lyric,” Jacks said, warningly, with the threat of tears in his voice.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

“Lyric,” Jacks repeated, aggravated.

Don’t use her knock, he wanted to warn, but he knew if he said that aloud, he’d burst into the tears he’d been holding back since Chrysi and Castor’s deaths.

As if he could sense Jacks’s distress, he withheld.

Trembling, Jacks curled his hands into fists. He made no move to open the window. Instead, he held his breath. One, two—he’d gotten good with his practice, up to a minute and a half now, even though he knew Chrysi could hold hers for two and a half minutes, and—God, God, God, it wasn’t like she needed to breathe anymore.

The world began to swim. He’d forgotten—none of his breath-holding practice had been done while standing. His bed was far more comfortable, and it was safer. Cradled him when he wanted to forget, held him together when he realized he’d never feel Chrysi’s warm breath against his ear whenever she whispered to him in class.

Jacks turned back to his bed. Lyric could fuck off—Jacks hadn’t answered any of his texts for a goddamn reason.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT.

The ground beneath his feet slid. The world tilted at a sharp angle, swung around wildly.

It wasn’t until Jacks was tearing back the curtain at his window that he realized he’d been the one to pivot and run—not merely the floor beneath him. Fury roared in the blood in his ears—a shitty patch slapped over the cracking thing in his chest that had once been a heart.

“Lyric,” he cried, “fucking stop!”

Then he looked through the window and all the air went out of him.

On the other side, a girl in a neat black dress smiled through a face covered in dirt. She clutched the tree branch as she leaned from tree to window—squirrel-like and raining more dirt to the ground below.

Muffled by the glass, Chrysi Solstice said, “So when are you going to let me in?”

#w.mine #s.chrysijacks #au.zombie gf #i’m like mayyyybe almost done but i hope that i’m able to finish it soon!!

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yanderes-galore · 2 years

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Would you kindly do prompts E-3 and J-2 for Atlas/Frank Fontaine as a event request?

*stares at your wording* ... You did NOT-

Prompts Found Here

Yandere! Atlas/Frank Fontaine Prompts E-3 and J-2

(Halloween Event - Hypnotism)

Pairing: Romantic

E-3: "I removed the problem. You should be thanking me."

J-2: "Shouldn't you be spending more time with me?"

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Manipulation, Drinking, One night stand mention, Hypnotism, Murder, Possessive behavior, Kidnapping, Forced relationship, Creepy behavior, Sadism, Gaslighting.

Everyone knew Atlas. They saw the man as a hero, a hero that vows to fight against Andrew Ryan's tyranny. Yet, Atlas was not an open book.

He held dark secrets just like Ryan. In fact, his goal was power and money. He wanted to live the good life, the only way to do it? Kill Ryan and inherit his throne.

Atlas was not the best person to be around. Although... by an accident involving one too many drinks... you hooked him. A one night stand later and the man was craving more of you.

You barely even knew what you did until it was too late. You had no idea the man you hooked up with that night was Atlas. The Atlas... a man of deception and lies.

You already struggled on what to tell your spouse. If you told them you got drunk one night and slept with someone else... then the relationship was off. You were completely unaware of Atlas monitoring you and all your problems the entire time.

Atlas was not one for sharing. He didn't take too well to the fact you were already with someone. Luckily, it seemed him tampering with you caused a fall out between you and your partner.

A perfect opening for Atlas to swoop in and claim what's his.

"I removed the problem. You should be thanking me."

Removing the problem was the same as shooting your spouse in the head. He didn't even get his goons to do it. He did it himself, enjoying it all the while.

Now he had you. You should feel lucky you managed to seduce someone like Atlas! It must be some sort of calling that brought you together.

Did you really think he'd let someone like you walk away after such an event? No, he remembers you. He'll keep you, even if he has to resort to underhand tactics.

That's nothing new to him, anyways.

"Thank you!? It was just one night! You killed them!"

"Murder in Rapture isn't anything out of the ordinary, sweetheart. This was your fault anyways."

"Excuse me-?"

"You were the one who got drunk and threw yourself at me. Was I not supposed to take that as an invitation?"

"You're sick-"

"Everyone down here is, dear. They're either high off ADAM or lost their mind."

"Stay away from me-"

"Only if you come with me."

"Hell no...!"

You flinch when you feel something sticky and red smack into you. You look down and recognize that glow. Atlas used a plasmid on you-

Hypnotize to be specific.

Atlas grins at your surprise, watching as your senses falter. He had a feeling you wouldn't come with him willingly. Too bad... he was hoping you'd want to be with him just as bad.

"Shouldn't you be spending more time with me?"

You try to stop yourself from responding, unfortunately it's useless.

"Yes...."

"Good.... Would you kindly come with me? I have a comfortable place to keep you, dear."

You visibly try to fight against your answer. Your struggling only amuses the con man further. You didn't want anything to do with him-

"Yes...."

In response to your forced compliance, Atlas takes your hand. You cringe when he places a teasing kiss on the back before leading you along.

"Boys." He calls to his goons. "We're heading out."

He looks back at you, grinning sadistically. You can't respond due to the plasmid coursing through you. Even though you yearned to kick and scream at him... it was futile in your current state.

"I have found what I was looking for."

#yandere bioshock #yandere bioshock atlas #panther halloween event 2022

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mlmvoreconfessionals · 2 years

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Mysterious old sentient armor finds an admirer, and they’re such a willing participant that they keep him around, “admirer” keeps them well fed, oiled, and polished

I think that sounds cute!

The old antique shop was out of place in the middle of a city, but that's what helped bring in customers. The guy who ran it looked way too young for a shop that seemed so old, but Willy was what he went by and it's the name plastered on the sign out front so people just chalked it up to him being an eccentric. That eccentrisim certainly resonated with the clutter that lined every shelf and table in the store, junk upon junk practically overflowing. But no matter what item people took interest in, Willy always knew everything there was to know about it off the top of his head.

There was always one thing that got plenty of people's attention, though: the large set of armor that sat just behind his counter, practically looming over him. Whoever it had once been made for must have been huge, given how tall the armor was, and its large, bulky stature. It even had a belly, with the round dome of a gut jutting forward, as it made for someone heavyset. The black metal shined like new, though, clearly well cared for, and people often came in just to find Willy polishing that metal himself. People who do happen to notice he seems to be talking to the thing, and well, rumors like that often spread.

People that get too curious about it tend to ask the same questions. How much does it cost? Nothing they could offer. Where did it come from? It came with the store. Who made it? No one knows. Can they touch it?

Wally always grins when that gets asked. He's more than happy to let curious customers come behind the counter and get close to the armor. the metal is smooth, polished to a sheen, and...warm. And it almost sounds like someone is inside of it. By the time people start to find it weird, it's too late. Metal hands hoist them off the ground as if they're light as a feather, letting them look into the glowing blue eyes that exist in the darkness under that visor...a darkness that will consume them.

No one has ever gotten away. Wally has seen man of all shapes and sizes come in and go down and no amount of kicking, screaming, begging, cursing, or struggling has ever stopped the inevitable descent down the armor's hungry gullet...or whatever it has in place of that. Wally can't say, it's always empty when he peeks under the helmet, but he can hear the thick gulping of prey sinking down the hatch. By the time it's all over, the person is sealed away, and the armor loves to belch and feel along his stomach when it's gotten live meat. Wally loves to feel it, too. The armor of the belly is always deceptively soft and warm, like he's feeling a real stomach. He can sometimes make out the noises the men make inside but the heavy gurgling tends to drown it out. A full belly always gets an extra polishing from Wally, and the groans from the armor always tell him it's well received.

Besides, when people walk in seeing him polishing the armor's stomach, there's no reason to think it strange. And if any weird sounds come from it around customers, he does love spinning a tale of his haunted suit of armor--it always gets a laugh, no matter how true it may be. That armor is one of Wally's most prized possessions and he'd always working to keep it content. After all, letting something as amazing as this go hungry would simply be a waste.

#v.ore #male vore #mlm vore #m/m vore #gay vore #vore story #oral vore #digestion #fatal vore #knight vore #ask

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tomepact · 1 year

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“tharivol!!” he rushes to the mage once they're all ejected out of the convoluted prison that loras constructed to trap the drow. objects and artifacts are flung across the forest floor as the demiplane collapses and implodes onto itself. the caster too is spat out and lands unconscious a few yards away like a broken butterfly. but vespin hasn't the mind to check if the chronomancer is alive or dead. he scrambles toward tharivol, pulling the sailor up by the shoulders. his scarred face twisted by a deep panic.

– i might not be able to kill you ... but i can break your heart worse than death.

loras' dark and sinister words echo in his mind. he saw the flash of malevolent magic leaving loras' hand like a barbed whip to rip tharivol asunder. once upon a time, he had seen loras disintegrated a beast with those deceptively beautiful, shimmering tendrils. his counterspell wasn't strong enough to penetrate the strings that had joined into a single beam to strike tharivol from across the room –

he didn't see what happened next. something happened that disturbed the weave all around them as loras cried out in pain and his magic crumbled, flushing them out of the elusive castle built on the grief of a mad man.

and here they are. in the rubble. he turns the drow over, feeling tharivol's face, his arm, his chest marked with a compass and an invisible hook, frantically confirming that he is still, still here ...

“h - hey ... can you hear me? tharivol, are you alright? say something!”

he was trying to warn loras all the while. the effects of magical corruption, of trying to pull on strings long severed -- the dancing along of a wizard through time meant he dangled between the old magic and the new. it never ended well for wizards like that.

summoning vespin, while not easy, is the easiest part of the equation in many ways. there's an anchor here after all. the hardest part is already taken care of. the part tharivol is expecting doesn't entirely come true, because he's expecting his blood to feed the circle that brings vespin to this plane.

what happens if you bring three remnants of a dead age into the same space? well, nothing good.

tharivol pulls at his bonds, feels them break under his grip, and gets his feet under him in time for the magic to sail through the air and strike him. it's the most pain he's been in in his life, he thinks (when he can think past the searing sensation of something trying to strip flesh from bone.)

when the castle crumbles, he's still screaming, though the resulting scattering leaves him dazed in the grass, his head lolling when vespin dragged him halfway upright. it makes his body throb in pain all over, every inch of him alight with it, and that makes him grit his teeth as he flutters his eyes a little.

" i. . .i hear you. i hear you. " he closes a hand around vespin's wrist, looking at dozens of lacerations that had opened across his skin. it burned in the warm air, enough to keep him awake with the hurt.

there's a moment where he reaches out to catch vespin's cheek, letting his hand linger there before he leans on him to try and sit upright under his own power.

" i'm here, i hear you. my body hurts. "

he scanned for loras, eyeing the chronomancer, before something in him twisted. he couldn't leave him for dead. it felt wrong to do so -- but. . .

" vespin, you're -- you'll be in trouble if you stay, won't you? "

#thank FUCK tharivol has 135 hit points LOL #viilein #ch. you could do anything but live for yourself / tharivol.

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marshmallowprotection · 1 year

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hello hello. i dont know if you're into pokemon but I started playing Violet the other day and I tend to nickname my pokemon after whatever my current hyperfixation is so ofc right now they're getting mysme nicknames (right now my charcadet is (suit) Saeran (gonna evolve into ceruledge), my kirlia is Ray (gonna evolve into gardevior). i plan to catch a sneasel/weavile for unknown (totally didnt get the idea from an art i saw). Trying to pick something for saeyoung but nothing has felt right yet. an electric type? fire? maybe a dog pokemon bc with his loved ones saeyoung is both an excited puppy AND a guard dog)

ANYWAY so I started wondering about everyone's favorite twins and pokemon

What kind of pokemon do you think saeyoung and the various saerans would have? what would they be if they WERE pokemon? in a canon setting would they play pokemon?

i can see saeyoung with fire/steel/electric types, especially robot- or machine-like pokemon. ray/ge saeran with grass types is obvious, but I can also see him with fairy types. theyre deceptively cute but can mess you up. suit and unknown scream dark type teams. maybe some poison types for unknown. like i think he'd have team rocket/[insert region team] grunt-esque pokemon.

saeyoung and all of the saeran's have at least one pokemon (probably their first/partner) that they found abandoned and in bad shape that they took in and it decided to stay with them after it recovered.

maybe they have an espeon (saeyoung) and an umbreon (saeran) to complement their "we're opposites but in a balanced and complimentary way" vibe.

and also bc i must inflict this on all my faves who are convinced they're bad and unlovable: at least one pokemon on their team evolves with high friendship/affection. even better if for some reason he doesn't know what causes that pokemon to evolve and he maybe cries a little when he finds out. what do you mean he's LOVED??

ANYWAY sorry for the really long ramble haha. this was supposed to be a short ask but it kinda got away from me 😅 anyway, i hope you have a good day!! i love your writing and character analyses!!

Oh, you've come to the right person today, because I spend my time stressing out over what Pokemon I would use on their teams if I ever wrote a story for it. I've done this a few times before but I can never really make my mind up so I wouldn't say that this is a concrete idea. So, here is a slider I would use for Ray > Suit Saeran > GE Saeran. I think some of it is self-explanatory. I suggest dark, ghost, and grass if anything.

Phantump for a Ray who feels lost and dead to the world. Polteageist for his desire to feel like a prince in his haunted castle. Budew for a boy who can't be fully blossomed just yet... but, he's so close to that chance. Suit Saeran would only use one Pokemon in my mind and it's Banette. A Pokemon that happens to be seeking revenge in the same way he is. It might seem like a major stretch but mega evolution seems incredibly possible in this situation.

Shaymin is the Pokemon of gratitude and I feel like it would appear in the garden when he is in the process of thanking you for being there with him as he finally freed himself from his heavy chains. He and Saeyoung do have a set of Eevee together! I feel like they need to have a matched set, and his Eevee has been tucked away in their pokeball for a while until he realized the error of his ways.

Whereas, Saeyoung is always really tough to work with because there's so many different Pokemon that would work for him symbolically. Sure, we can pick some joke options if we want to do so, but I'm trying to imagine what would work for his work in the agency. Did they give him a team or is it a team he's caught himself?

In the end I just decided to give him a team that he crafted. He deserves to have a cat that shoots fireballs from its mouth. Of course, I don't imagine that'll end well for him since the cat likely gives him a free haircut everyday with burnt edges. Rotom is the given. Everybody who's ever drawn him with the Pokemon always gives him Rotom. It's right. Three heads are better than one! Magneton helps to hack and unlock problems!

His Eevee doesn't battle. It's kept safe in his bunker, or it's Pokeball. He hates to make Eevee sad about not seeing its own twin or Saeran. Magearna makes sense to me, because what is more in character for him than to discover this mechanical Pokemon and help bring it back to life? Minior for the stars! It's either that or Clefairy. I couldn't make up my mind but in the end I decided on stars.

Which brings me to Unknown and SE Saeran. Yeah, SE Saeran will receive that Megearna as a gift from his brother. His Porygon-Z likely was released after Mint Eye was taken down, or it's still in the box for now since that was likely his main partner for being able to hack into the RFA. Mimikyu and Banette are self-explanatory. Budew would be a new addition in his time spent trying to enjoy the clouds and grass! Milcery is a surprise, though! I have a feeling that is a companion he made one afternoon that tried to sample his ice cream and now he's got a friend that helps him craft his own ice cream.

#mod kait #ask #anon #pokemon au

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lifeasatargetedindividual · 2 years

Text

So as usual, the Brinley Brigrade remains so wedged up Lynn Brinley's ass, I promise you the smell of his shit will stick in their nostrils for the rest of their lives. I just began typing this and as expected, Michael and his "lovely" whore/girlfriend Regina are already fighting to try and shut me up, screaming through V2K: "You're guilty!" In THEIR world, being "guilty" translates over as no longer possessing the right to have a voice in any way, form or manner. Yet the entire point of me leaking Brinley's background record just last night was to show TRUE guilt on his behalf and get the implied message across: "You all are utilizing lies and deceptions in your hate campaign against me, yet your "almighty" leader has two charges on his record. So clearly he isn't squeaky clean innocent either, but you allow him to speak and live as freely as he wants. Common sense thus begs the question: Why can't I?"

I've come to understand it however in a different sense, as the minions remain deeply loyal to their god, Lynn Patrick Brinley. It's like with how Hitler was: he was having Jews abused, mistreated and killed left and right. Yet the Nazi's followed him unquestionably, rarely if ever showing any remorse for their treacherous actions. It's the same in gangstalking: once that stronghold of deception is established against you, only through the intervention of God can there be any type of breakthrough. You can hand out fliers of information on the truth of gangstalking and offer any credible evidence you may have against who you believe is leading the masses against you, but people in general remain invested in what they want to believe.

I've been accused of almost everything under the sun by Brinley and his troll buddies: I've been called a pedophile, a whore, a slut, a narcissist, a dangerous individual, everything you can think of. Despite their being no proof whatsoever behind the allegations, the masses persist in believing it and mistreating me. Michael and Regina outright abuse me via V2K and their DEW's technology every single day. Yet they turn a stiff neck away from the true documented crimes of the very man they follow.

I am very well aware many are being paid off to say and do things towards me on the downlow. But I'm also aware there are various others who fight against me, showing their evil, dark sides merely because they want to. They figure because they are backed and covered by the government, their dirty misdeeds will never catch up to them.

Michael and Regina and their family by far have to be Brinley's biggest fans and supporters. I'm not kidding when I say those involved regard Brinley as if he is their God; the backyard neighbors from hell take the cake. Even now, they remain attacking my body with their remote technology. Any time I began speaking about Brinley, they go into lapdog attack mode. I imagine if they were in person with Brinley, they'd all drop down on their hands and knees just to suck his 2 inch dick in worship, and would probably force their child to follow suit, as they've involved him before in their hate campaign against me. Michael, Regina and their daughter are going a-wall right now, trying to shut me down. All for Brinley's sake. If you gotta have that much support on your side, you've got to be the weakest man in all the world, that's all I can say. And his weakness always shines through the masses. Always. I'm no longer trying to sway anyone into seeing the evil in what's being done to me. With those involved, it's an impossible feat as it is. I suspect it is only when this entire thing is publicly exposed in a way it can no longer be denied or hidden, only then will those participating show any remorse (real or fake) and offer up guilt ridden excuses, Michael and Regina being among the firsts. Sometimes in the midst of one of their attacks, I like to imagine seeing them in court, finally being condemned for their wrongdoings against me. I can picture Michael sobbing, shoulders shaking, with Regina looking outright dumbfounded beside him, and he will be repeating shamefully how they were only doing what they were being told to do while under the impression despite my many complaints and tears and pain, it was all "helping" me. It's what they will occasionally tell me via V2K. And I'll just be staring them down, waiting for my turn to speak while seeing with my own two eyes how the tables have turned--how the power junkie abusers who once relished the corrupt authority they held over me have now been made the frightened, teary eyed victims pleading for mercy and empathy. It'll be MY turn to throw it back in their faces: "You deserve it. NOW who's guilty?" with whatever sentence they are handed. For now they're confident, thinking they'll never be caught. Funny thing is, Cointelpro was exposed before. Many scandals throughout history have been exposed no matter how long it took despite those running their underhanded deeds thinking they'd never get caught. The fact I'm being persecuted out of revenge and one man's desperate desire to have me by his side for his own wicked purposes is in itself a laughingstock, almost completely unbelievable. My enemies beef up their bs with lies to try and "justify" themselves, but as I'm still being urged to "give up" and just call my biggest enemy let's me know, the majority of this is still being done to try and grant him his own selfish wishes. Ahhh well, I've already made up my mind that's never going to happen, and will always stand by my decision of free-will.

#organized stalking #gangstalking #targetedindividual #organized harassment #persecution #gangstalkers #harassment #organized crime #v2k #lynn patrick brinley

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