#not even my fault there is literally a dent in my skull but WHATEVER. I REMEMBER NOW SO IM GONNA GO FIND IT

[bidokja]

I KEEP RE-REMEMBERING AND RE-FORGETTING ABOUT THE VILLINIT DONGHUA FUCK MY STUPID BAKA BRAINNN

[wednesdaysgun]

stalkers and letters (wednesday x tyler)

To.. you know who you are. I don’t feel need to spell it out- figuratively or literally. Because of course you’re going to know I wrote this all for you. Are you aware of the dent in the side of my skull you’ve left me with? Are you aware of how often your voice collides with my train of thought before running it off the the tracks with the whisper of “come back come back come back come back come

DING. Thank you, whatever Demon heard her sanity slipping from so far up. Clearly she was reeling in her own thoughts and the Deity decided they were sick of it. God knows she was. This behaviour was beneath her, almost sickening to her stomach. Sitting up a little straighter in the squeaky chair, she readjusted the typewriter and continued. Not before looking around the room to herself. Her peripheral vision was never to be trusted, especially given the fact she was truly loosing her mind. Let alone his presence, it never stopped weighing on her. Playing tricks, as he always did.,

My point is, you know why I’m writing this. You feel this burning in your stomach the way I do, don’t you? This is no trap, before you begin to plot your averagely mediocre revenge you won’t carry through with. I mean it, about both of those topics. There is a bond that has been forged, and it disgusts me and intrigues me at the same time. Like the most beautiful blade stabbing through a jugular before it can be properly awed over.

She references the bond in question as her teeth catch her lower lip, until it punctures and slowly drips blood down her chin. It does not phase her, she thinks she can feel it dry on the pale skin in stark contrast. Maybe the scent of it will bring him closer. Out damned spot. How did he look nowadays? Was he more monster than human? The thought sends a pleasant chill down her spine. As much as Tyler was sweet, that was all he had to offer. Wednesday has never been one for a sweet tooth. Not to sound interested in the monster only, but the mixture of these two very separate entities created a specimen that Wednesday couldn’t help but obsess over. And that, is truly scary. She cannot stop thinking.

She wants to spectate his darkest horrors. Watch him sleep. See his eyes as he awakes and looks upon her, looking up to her.  She assumes through second-hand knowledge on such species similar, that when forced out of a domestic environment that a Hyde should typically reign in control of the host. Nature v Nurture, in some form. And looking at facts, nobody would willingly harbour such a beast. No friends in Jericho, or Nevermore. Not even his father would want to see his face. So why does she ponder on it so often? She should despise it, feel ill at the thought of him dripping with blood with that look in his eye. The twitch in his typically never-faulting smirk. She wishes she could pretend it didn’t send a lurch of something through her veins. She pushes on, refusing to name the rush.

I feel you pulling me. I hate to say it as much as you will hate to hear it but, I cannot be near you. Will not be near you, let alone return your clear displays of affection. By the way, I would appreciate it you returned the belongings you borrowed. 

Okay, even Wednesday was quick to admit that stalking was never a good  display of affection. It’s a bad trait even for her to admire. She believes he wears “I would kill or be killed for you, in a second’s hesitation.” very, very well. The thought of him, sitting all alone, watching her intently as his only form of entertainment was a good enough punishment, and sated whatever she still clearly felt for him. Knowing she was still on his mind somehow made her feel more powerful. He would praise her, whether she allowed it or not. But then he begun pushing. Entering her room as she attended class, smelling things, putting his Hyde-y claws all over her belongings. She felt the presence, saw when her Cello was a centimetre out of place. It wasn’t welcome, well that was what Enid heard of it anyway. She enjoyed he was becoming braver, but she would’ve preferred the danger toward Enid’s safety. She was on his List too.

I could have forgiven murder, Tyler. I probably would have enjoyed it if I’d have been given the chance to, you know that. But, what you did to Eugene was unacceptable. And for all things Unholy, you tricked me. As disgusted as I am to admit it, I was somewhat impressed. The knife wound in my chest that you have left is dreadfully infected at this point, but then again you never truly cared for me. Only what your Master required me for. It’s just typical, the one time I let my guard down. You will not be as lucky next time. Lesson learned, Galpin.

Yes, lesson truly learned. Next time a sweet, boy-next-door type begins to remember her coffee order and look at her the way he did and takes her for dates in crypts in order to steal and manipulate- she’ll remember to blow him up with the largest grenade she could possibly source. God- she’s still proud! This is what she deserves. The crushing torture, being so close yet so disgustingly far from her goal. From her possession. 

You’re probably the only person for me- and that’s the thing that’s the most crushing. Take yourself out of the equation and assume it’s literally any other person with somewhat murderous/psychotic intentions, and this would have been perfect. Incredibly so. But the facade no longer holds itself the way you could have held me. I am truly meant to be alone. If I ever thought of a way out of this measly problem- it could have been you. But this is His way, I must walk alone. Like Goody, to the dark hallway at the end of the tunnel. 

Her eyes feel wet- how strange. She hadn’t blinked, she was sure. That impulse to blink, let alone cry, was wiped years ago. It was unneeded, and how much do you think you miss in the blink of an eye? More than you’ll ever know. But that’s a different can of worms on Wednesday’s shelf. Goody was right, most definitely. This silly little dalliance she felt with potential romance was nothing more than that- silly. That was not the path paved for her, and since when had she been interested in staying on a single path? Love was far too committed, far too all-consuming. But then the question is poised, why was it so enticing?

When Wednesday loved, she loved hard. She loved Nero, took so much prides that the walks they took together faced him with his untimely death. She loved her family, maybe that’s why they were so off-the-wall. She loved Tyler the most though. The way she thought about him late at night was nearly surgical, imagining where she could take her scalpel to his skin. What colour he would bleed, if any blood emerged at all. How would he react to the blade, would he hiss in pain? Or would he whine, push into the pain until it mixes with pleasure and-

 Wednesday’s spiral into insanity was sure to be more timely, all because of some silly little Hyde. She didn’t even want to think about the Laurel of it all, him having a Master all that time. The fool had the sole of Wednesday’s boot destined for her fate- she just wished she had more time to be creative. It wasn’t something we wanted to expand on, once again so she didn’t loose her fucking mind, but she deemed Tyler hers. Her property, her boy.

Anyway, I must go, I have various other mysteries to solve and many other coffee shops to scout out since the Wethervane lost its interest. However, if you do read this, know my brother has an indescribable interest in Psychopaths but has worn weary of his discoveries of me. He says you’re welcome to come to our home, so he can discuss the topics with you personally. Mother and Father agree it could be good to give him a new role model. I’m backed into a corner. 

If you do show up to this invite, please know I will be waiting for it. For you. With my sharpest weapon, every poison you could imagine, and only the heaviest lust to see your head placed on our welcome gate.

Yours. 

Ripping the paper from the typewriters’ gasp, Wednesday wants to throw herself from the large window to her side and twenty feet down into the concrete sea of stone below. She’s disgusted in herself- then again, when isn’t she?

Looking to the window once more, a shadow slinks into the corner of her eye. Slowly turning her head, Wednesday discovers this shadow has a body. Tall, scrawny. Turning her intense stare upwards, meeting the glass panes, she sees a set of eyes in the fogged window. Glaring. Yearning. A look of undeniable excitement, and disconcerting insanity. There’s that pull again.

Speak of the devil and he may appear.