૮꒰˶ ❛ ˕ ❛˶꒱ა ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨!! welcome to my humble little corner of the internet where i scream endlessly into the void about my hyperfixations. i'm ˗ˏˋ bunn ˎˊ˗ and i'm in my 30s. it/itself pronouns, thanks! i'm an ace lesbian, autistic, and 𝖈𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖊. i talk way too much in tags.
currently, i post a lot of digital art and poetry! i also post gifsets, edits, and ramblings about my OCs on occasion. my current hyperfixation is supernatural! i very rarely reblog/post nsfw content.
𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒐: follow me, tag me, send me asks, message me, reblog whatever (even my insane ramblings). please interact with me!!! i love interacting on this hellsite and want more moots to giggle with!
𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕: if you're a proshipper, wincest shipper, or a minor! also, if your favourite doctor is thirteen, you like amy/river, or hate clara, we won't get along. i love the block button and use it often lmao.
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
interests & tags & misc. things below the cut! ૮꒰˶ฅ́˘ฅ̀˶꒱ა
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ゛i n t e r e s t s ˎˊ˗
𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵 Supernatural ; Doctor Who (Classic & NuWho) ; Good Omens ; Criminal Minds ; Orphan Black ; Fallout ; The Magicians ; Agent Carter ; The Twilight Zone
𝑭𝑰𝑳𝑴𝑺 Crimson Peak (2015) ; Sherlock Holmes (2009) ; The Batman (2022) ; Jane Eyre (2011) ; Gaslight (1944) ; Rebecca (1940) ; Stoker (2013) ; Der Tiger (2025)
𝑽𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑶 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑺 Sims 2 / 3 / 4 🏴☠ ; Assassin's Creed series (𑣲⋆ Odyssey, Black Flag, Ezio trilogy) ; Fallout series ; Control ; Nancy Drew collection ; Witcher series ; Professor Layton series ; Baldur's Gate 3 ; Stardew Valley ; Fields of Mistria
𝑩𝑶𝑶𝑲𝑺 & 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑺 Shirley Jackson (𑣲⋆ The Haunting of Hill House, Hangsaman, The Bird's Nest) ; The Hitchhiker's Guide series by Douglas Adams ; The Arthurian Saga by Mary Stewart ; Deep Time by Trevor Baxendale ; Daphne du Maurier (𑣲⋆ Rebecca, My Cousin Rachel) ; Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë ; The Gemma Doyle Trilogy by Libba Bray ; The Spiderwick Chronicles by Tony DiTerlizzi & Holly Black ; The WondLa Trilogy by Tony DiTerlizzi ; The Mysterious Benedict Society series by Trenton Lee Stewart
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
my tag page for desktop users ⤷ ゛here! ˎˊ˗
𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 my art ; my poetry ; my stuff ; my text posts ; my dreamlogs ; things i relate to
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
˗ˏˋ ꒰ this is a safe 🌈 space ! ꒱ ˎˊ˗
i will not tolerate bigotry of any kind. if you're a sicko and reblog or otherwise interact with any of my posts, you will be blocked.
the more i talk to extended family the more i learn that it was EXTREMELY obvious to all the adults around me as a child that something had gone horribly wrong and i needed professional help, but i guess there's some sort of prime directive thing where you can suggest to the kid's parents that the kid might need help but you can never ever ever let on to the kid that you can tell something is wrong. you just have to hold on to that until the kid becomes an adult who's able to say "so i think i experienced a lot of trauma when i was very little" and then you can say "yes, i know. i didn't know what happened but it was completely unmissable that something had." okay. thank you. that's very validating. but why did you leave me to suffer and keep feeling like there was no other explanation than that i was broken and going insane. would it really have been so bad to sit me down and go "i see you. i can't help much, but i can tell something happened and you're in a lot of pain. you deserve help and support. you're not going insane." or something. i don't know. my internal experience was mostly that i had suddenly become a bad child who couldn't seem to get anything right and was always being yelled at. maybe it would have helped if someone had said something.
Hello, tumblr! I saw something on here the other day that worried me, so I decided to Do Science about it. But I can't do it alone: I need your help to build the dataset!
Here's what I need you to do:
If you see a post with a "mature content" label, and it's 2026, DM me a link to the post.
Yes, that's really it.
I am hoping to collect several thousand such posts, so that I have a decent sized dataset. I do not care what the post is about; if it's labeled as "mature content", I want to add it to my dataset.
If I get 10,000 posts in my dataset before August 31st 2026, I will post my preliminary findings then. I won't feel comfortable calling my findings "settled" before 2027, unless I get over 50,000 posts.
I am not talking about that unless I have results to share. That would bias the results.
I did write them down and I did share them with a trusted contact who can prove that I wrote them down the same day I made this post. (While I did so before I made this post, I am not sure they will be able to provide proof of that, because I did so on the same day.)
OP are you interested in...?
Do you have to click through to see the post? Does the clickthrough contain the words "mature content"? Then yes.
OP are you interested if the post is about...?
I am interested in the mature content labels, not the content of the post. Is there a clickthrough that contains the words "mature content"? Then yes.
yeah i just love it when a character is in an escapable torment nexus for a huge portion of their life and it defines every aspect of their existence forever. also whats cptsd
The back roads that he usually took on his commute home from the station were poorly lit, but with the power outage, it was completely black. The rain was still coming down in sheets, and it made the road conditions worse. Ben turned on his high-beams, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He was white-knuckling the steering wheel at 10 and 2, and sat straight as a board. At least there wasn’t anyone else on the road.
The picturesque scenery that he usually enjoyed on either side of the road now looked like something out of a Poe story. The rolling empty fields, the naked trees reaching for his SUV, the abandoned barns sitting crooked and hollow... a shiver ran through him and he hissed out a sound through gritted teeth. Keep your eyes on the road, he reminded himself sternly. But it was no use – the landscape looked completely different. It unsettled him in a way he couldn’t understand.
Out of the corner of his eye, his high-beams caught something pale and red in the ditch.
He hit the brakes so hard that his SUV slid and skidded to a stop. Ben’s breathing immediately spiked, his heart beating in his throat. He stared straight ahead, not wanting to know what it was. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to go back and check. He didn’t, he didn’t, he just wanted to go the fuck home. A hot toddy sounded good right about now.
Ben smacked his palm against the steering wheel. He put the SUV in reverse and slowly backed up. He parked on the gravel shoulder and turned his hazards on. It wasn’t going to be a body. It couldn’t be. There was no fucking way. An exasperated laugh fluttered out of him and it got caught high in his throat. He popped open the glove compartment and rifled through all the junk to find his flashlight. It was clicked on to make sure the batteries still worked, and Ben got out of the car.
“Breathe, just breathe,” he whispered to himself. Rain pelted him, immediately soaking him through. His coat would need to be brought to the dry cleaners. His pants, too, probably. Fuck. Ben pointed the flashlight down the road, both ways, before he jogged across. It took him a minute of walking along the gravel shoulder, waving the flashlight’s beam up and down the ditch, before he saw it.
A body.
“Fuck. Fuck!” he hissed. He squinted through the rain and the dark, trying to discern if the body had been hit, or dumped. He had to swallow a few times to calm himself down. His breathing was too fast, and he didn’t want to be crawling around a fucking ditch at one in the morning. A snapshot was sent to his database. Ben flicked his free hand at his side to try and dispel some of his anxiety as he approached the body.
When he was finally close enough, Ben tried to find a way down into the ditch. He carefully lowered himself by grabbing onto a branch, but it wasn’t thick enough to support his weight. He slipped in the mud and fell onto his side, yelling out as the flashlight was thrown from his hand. The light blinked in and out as it rolled to the bottom of the ditch, finally settling near the body. It was aimed right at its smiling face. Ben opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Realisation slowly settled over his shoulders.
It was a fucking mannequin.
He stood up on shaky legs, his breathing heavy through gritted teeth; rage was building in his chest. His coat was ruined, he was soaked through to the bone, and his fucking wife had turned her phone off. “Fuuuck!”
Ben didn’t even realise he was kicking the mannequin until his foot started to hurt. There was red spray paint all across its torso. It really did look like a bloody, naked body from afar, but up close, it was so obviously a mannequin. Ben continued kicking the mannequin, his foot cracking a hole in the chest, imagining that it was Hanna, that it was his father, that it was himself. A guttural yell shot out of him as he swung his leg back and kicked the head clean off. “Fuck you! Fuck you!” he shouted. His throat was raw. He kept kicking the mannequin, swinging his leg back again and again, then tore one of the arms off and raised it above his head with both hands. The fibreglass arm shattered upon impact with the torso, which caused Ben to whip what remained in his hands towards the thin treeline. He gave the mannequin one final kick and collapsed beside it in an exhausted heap. The mud squelched under him. With his head clutched in his hands, elbows tucked into his chest, Ben screamed until something popped behind his nose. He let himself cry, blood trickling from his nose and settling along his top lip.
“What’s the fucking point?! Huh? What am I still doing here?!” he sobbed, face tilted up towards the ominous sky as if waiting for an answer. Lightning blossomed above him, spreading out like the wings of a bird. It struck a lone tree in the nearby field and the tree cracked in half. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He watched it burn for a few seconds, silent terror and awe flooding his lungs, the rage immediately dissipating. Ben scrambled up the side of the ditch, not bothering to grab his flashlight in his rush to get back to his car.
As he heaved himself up onto the gravel shoulder and got to his feet, a transport truck laid on its horn as it flew past. Ben froze, his mouth open and a hand reaching out to nothing. “Emmeline, don’t,” he choked. He blinked back to the present. The rain came down even harder. Thunder rolled across the sky towards him, warning Ben to get back in the car. He took his glasses off and folded them before slipping them into his pocket. He didn’t look both ways before crossing the road.
He drove fifteen kilometres under the speed limit the rest of the way home, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. Ben’s hair dripped into his eyes, wet clumps sticking to his forehead. This wasn’t real. This was just a very bad, terrible dream that he couldn’t wake up from. He hadn’t been able to wake up for months. He would wake up in a cold sweat with Hanna leaning over him, her small hand on his bare chest, and he’d laugh, pinch between his eyes. What a crazy fucking nightmare, he’d mumble, then tell Hanna all about it. This was just a terrible fucking nightmare. He smacked the steering wheel with an open hand and sniffed aggressively.
He was nearing the turn that would bring him down the last stretch of road towards his house. All the streetlamps were dark, and he hadn’t seen any lights on in the scattered houses along the way. The power must have been out everywhere, then. His windshield wipers were working double-time. Ben exhaled deeply, emptying his lungs completely for a moment before slowly inhaling. He hoped that Hanna was okay; she hated the dark.
A slick finger of dread ran up and down his back once he parked the car, but he couldn’t place why. The wipers had been caught halfway through their sweep when he pulled the key from the ignition, which allowed him a slight opening to see through. The rain pounded on the glass, and the wind rattled the car back and forth. Ben leaned forward in his seat to look up at the house. What was different? What had caused his hackles to raise? He put his glasses back on after wiping the rain from the lenses.
It was a large Victorian his father had bought for them as a wedding present. The huge wraparound porch was where Hanna spent most of her time, but her easel had been brought inside for the season. Their small, decorative trees were all wrapped with burlap and the flowerbeds covered. Ben paled and his lips parted, a scream building under his tongue.
In the window of his daughter’s bedroom, Hanna stood staring down at him with a hand to the glass. Soft orange light clung to her back. The curtain closed and the glow was sucked back into the room. Ben hyperventilated. He whipped his glasses off, tossing them to the passenger seat. They hit his phone with a sickening crack. He dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, mouth wide open and stretching painfully as he held back a screech. Ben tugged shaking fingers down his face and stared up at the roof of his car. He tried holding his breath to keep from getting dizzy. No. No, she wasn’t starting this up again, was she? He was going to have to commit her again at this rate. He wanted to drive back to the station. He couldn’t do this anymore.
Ben didn’t bother closing the car door after tumbling out. He made his way to the front door like a ghost, his legs slack and barely carrying him up the porch steps. His body was on autopilot; his brain had completely shut down, a white, milky film coating the inside of his skull. He had to fight back the urge to laugh.
He unlocked the front door quietly, an automatic motion. The keys were slipped back into his pocket as to not make a sound. He didn’t close the door all the way, although he had pushed it behind him. It didn’t latch shut. Water dripped off of him, leaving muddy puddles as he rose up the narrow staircase.
“Hanna?” he called out, his voice hollow. He hesitated on the landing before taking the rest of the stairs.
“We’re up here, love,” she cooed back in response.
Ben closed his eyes in defeat and a very soft whimper rolled out of him. With a hand on the railing, he had to grip it tightly as to not fall backwards with the shock of it all. He was heavy with the resignation that his wife had stopped taking her anti-psychotics. Again.
He pulled himself up with some difficulty, but finally got to the top of the stairs. His legs felt like they would buckle under him at any moment. Ben held his breath as he approached the second door on the right. It was open just a crack. Orange light pooled from underneath the door, shadows slow-dancing through the faint glow. He could hear Hanna talking softly, gently, as if to a child. He closed his eyes tightly and kept holding his breath until his lungs started twitching in protest.
How long was she going to torment him like this? With the psychics and the mediums and the fucking ghost whisperers. The spirit boards, the visions and dreams, the talking in her sleep to someone who was no longer there. The incomprehensible signs that only Hanna understood, that proved Emmeline was trying to contact her, but never Ben. The guilt he felt hung heavy around his throat, a hangman’s knot that itched and clawed and begged him to do something about it. His gun burned in its holster, the metal sparking against his ribs. He could go back outside right now, walk into the woods, and blow his fucking brains out. Hanna would get the insurance within the year; it would be more than enough to allow her to live a great life. She could even go live with Arthur and his wife. They’d take care of her. Ben swallowed thickly, his thoughts muddled and radioactive.
He nudged the door open with his foot, not wanting to touch the doorknob.
Hanna smiled up at him. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor holding a tiny ceramic teacup. She set it down in its saucer. “Welcome home, love,” she murmured. “We were just having a midnight tea party because Millie got scared of the storm; did you want to join us?”
Ben instinctively took a step back. His hands flew out in front of him defensively, as though he was afraid Hanna would throw something at him. He couldn’t comprehend what he was looking at. This wasn’t possible. He had finally snapped. A laugh gurgled out of him, the white hot shock exploding across his chest, up his throat, down his spine. “No,” he squeaked. “No!”
The smile fell from Hanna’s face, tugging into a frown. She made a move to stand up, and this caused Ben to take another two steps back. He bumped into the banister and gripped both hands around the wood. “Get that fucking thing out of my fucking house!” he shrieked. The fear was choking him. He was gasping down breaths, but he couldn’t keep his head above water. He was drowning. He was fucking drowning.
“Daddy? What’s wrong?”
Someone was screaming. He couldn’t accept that the screams were ripping out of him. Ben scrambled down the hall backwards, his legs finally giving out. He crawled backwards towards the stairs, one hand still clutching the banister. The desperation he felt was physically hurting him.
Hanna shielded Emmeline behind her as she stepped towards Ben. “Aren’t you happy? We have our baby back, Ben!” she cried out, her voice strangled with despair.
“No! That’s – that’s not – get that fucking thing away from me! Get back!” He tried to stand, but his legs refused. He finally reached the top of the stairs and the horror overwhelmed him completely. He heard a child’s blood curdling scream just as everything went black.
anothah one.......................... im very proud of this and it took me like an hour lol one panel left to do and then i can finally post this & the scene aaaa....
everyone's afraid of looking busted everyone's afraid of making mistakes everyone's afraid of looking stupid everyone's afraid of embarrassment everyone's afraid of imperfections because of the damn PANOPTICON that is current society and it's fucking STUPID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
