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Myself [Psycho!Reader x Rivaille/Levi] chap.3Myself [Psycho!Reader x Rivaille/Levi]
WARNING! Attention readers! Beware of psychopaths and sadist. Don't like don't read. The further chapters, could contain creepiness and violence.
Chapter 3 — Monsters
"In case, maybe we should dissect her too..."
"Please wait! Maybe I am a monster, but she has nothing to do with this!"
"You're defending her, so she's still on your party! "
"It's the truth!"
"How can we trust you?"
"No!!" Eren yelled, following an awkward silence. Accused of betrayal of humanity, he was attached and bending on the ground. You stood there crossing your arm, beside Hanji, as bored as ever.
"I-I mean, you are wrong. But, you are only talking on your own too. And, even if you never saw a Titan, what are you so afraid of?" After a mere hesitation, he spoke again, "If you have the power, then why don't you fight? If you hold the power and are too afraid to fight, then lend me your strength! Cowards..."
«How interesting. Having
when spring comes - one.his bedroom is dimly lit, with a musty smell that reminds me of my grandparents old house. the curtains are dark and thick; allowing only small, fragmented beams of light through the dust-coated window. he has mattresses on his floor, slathered in thick, patterned blankets and old pillows. in the corner he has an old stereo system, with two large speakers sitting on top of it. from it plays a quiet, scratchy 1920s band - a jaunty and jazzy tune that scares away the silence that usually hangs gloomily over his bedroom.
the paint on the right hand wall was cracked and peeling in places but for the most it was covered with old photos that stretched from the floor to the roof. some of them made me smile as i ran my eyes over them, still trying to remain conscious of his movements behind me. i turned to face him and saw that hanging on either side of the windows were large, cracked mirrors in dark wood frames. i told him it was probably dangerous to have them there, and he smiled and told m
Have you ever been gassed by that venom crap? Let alone get injected with it?
You don't remember which way is up anymore, or what's going on around you, or even what you were doing a moment ago. All you can think about is this sudden rush that invades your systems. It feels like your lungs are going to collapse, and your whole BODY is screaming at you- all you hear is your own sick, uncontrollable laughing that could never possibly belong to you, and the thumping of your heart that's trying to rip its way out of your chest. You lose your balance immediately but you don't notice, and if you do you don't care. All that matters to you is stopping that laugh of yours. Like if it goes away, everything will be set right and whole again. If you try to stop, your throat only stings more, and if you ever manage to stop all you really want to do is throw up and pass out. It steals your breath so you're constantly gasping for more oxygen, your muscles tense as the venom takes quick effect so your
My Little Pony - Hospice X Pt. 2 - Epilogue
4 Months, 11 Days (Ibid.)
I was alone within the most private of all places. I had always been curious as to what may have existed behind that door, and finally the knowledge was mine for the taking; Rarity had allowed me into her Inspiration Room. She was still cleaning herself up in the bathroom, but I imagined that she would be quick it was a bold move indeed to let me into the room without supervision, and I did not believe that she would allow me to have free-access to roam for long. For a little while, however, the interior of her world was mine to gaze upon, as long as I restrained myself from touching anything. Thankfully, I had received no warning about looking upon her great trove of treasured possessions, and I found myself doing just that.
It was truly mesmerising how organised chaos could be perceived. To me, the room was the direct antithesis to Rarity's normal argument of cleanliness; here she allowed materials to fall with reckless abandon, pooling in mass
My Little Pony - Hospice I
Before diving into this, I think some background would be useful. When she was young, she had dreams. Dreams of shining and of making others shine. She made herself and others look beautiful; for that initial interim she held high. When she fell (south of Ponyville, Old Manehattan-land) her dreams became nightmares, seizing her by the hoof and never letting go. She was taken and put into a bed of rust and red crosses. I was one of the few who had the time to give. She wanted me dead but it pained her to see me walk out those sliding doors.
Now, I won't pretend I understand. I never will know what she went through for those ten months and two days. She had a constant sting in her side that she claimed she could only numb by sticking her head in the stove. Her nightmares became easier during this time. And I like to think that I did my best in the time that she had to make her comfortable, even when the sting became too painful to breathe.
But let it be known that this w
Mr. Abbine Speaks
Mr. Abbine, I'm going to show you a few pictures. I want you to identify the people for me.
"I'll do what I can."
Can you tell me who this is?
"That's my good for nothing neighbor. He sits around his deck and smokes all day. Then he goes inside and probably gets high from pot or something stupid like that. I'll bet that guy is living off Welfare, the scumbag. Don't even get me started on the whore he keeps around-"
Mr. Abbine, please try to keep your answers focused on the subject. Can you identify this woman for me?
"That's my mother. She calls me three times a day to complain about how something 'isn't as great as it used to be.' I once told her she sounded old, and she started crying. Then she started calling me more often. Even though I've moved out twenty years ago, that woman continues to be a drain on my life."
Very good. This younger gentleman, tell me about him.
"That's Gary. He's a needy pain-in-the-ass. I swear, he follows me around work all day. Every day, with this guy. I
The White Parade: V of VIChapter V: Four Weeks
It’s a month to the show. A month. Four weeks, give or take a day…
“I can’t believe it. Prismacolor markers, pencils…oil paints, turpentine…brushes…” He stares at the bounty with wide eyes. “Where did you get all of this?”
I just grin and set down a bag full of canvases of various sizes on the bed. “I happen to have very good friends.”
Actually, Mac happens to have very good friends. Friends in places an artist can only dream to have friends.
“Are those the…?”
“Mm-hmm. I think someone said something about bringing in an easel later.”
“Really? A-an easel?”
“Mm-hm.” I open the window. A small breeze blows through the screen, but nothing strong enough to disrupt papers. “It’ll be easier than painting on the windowsill.”
“Yeah…” He goes back to staring at the
The White Parade: II of VIChapter II: Perfect
“Why is she here?”
He’s sitting on the bench across from the elevator, waiting for me like he has been for the last week. There’s a square patch of cotton gauze taped to the inside of his left elbow, the telltale sign of the recently needled. His clothes are still the same (or perhaps, more believably, a different set) of cotton hospital pajamas in plain, standard white. He’s at the height of fashion in his clothes, at the very peak of classic American hospital chic that will never in a million years die out. If it ever does, then God help the masses without any other way of telling the difference between the medically experienced and the medically ignorant.
It’s the first time since our first meeting that The Patient has said anything to me, and the sound of his voice comes as a shock. The look of genuine interest etched into the permanent intensity of his face only serves to shock me further.
“Well? Are you gonna te