#vuglar

[mslangermann-a]

[ stare ]

non-sexual acts of dominance / accepting 

@vuglar​

    Lynn thought keeping a low profile would be easy when she begrudgingly peeled off sweat-drenched clothes and replaced them with that of a dead patient’s. She thought she would blend in amongst those whose minds were lost to the static hum of the asylum. She was wrong. Simply because there were no women. Several hours in this hellhole had passed, filled with the screams of the broken and chases deeper into the asylum’s hungry jaws, before she came to realize this. Lynn Langermann stood out like a black sheep amongst a sea of white. 

    Her urgency to escape drilled deep into her bones, pushing her forward, in hopes of forming a path, a route that would take her back to her car and away. How long had she been gone? Would Blake be worried by now? The hours seemed to stretch on like years within these walls. 

    Into the darkness she travelled, her phone’s light guiding her way. There was a shift then, something cold in that hall. Music. Music was coming from... Somewhere. Far. Distant. She couldn’t make it out. It was all around her, humming, a shiver beneath her skin. Lynn stopped then, frozen in place. At the end of the hall stood a hulking shape, its shadowy mass she had mistaken for a trick of her eye. No, what stood down the hall was real with eyes glittering in the darkness. 

                                                          And it spoke. 

                                             “Darling, you’re just in time.” 

                                     She ran. She ran and didn’t look back. 

[alicemarion]

@vuglar​:    what’s  your  name?    ( <- ominous )

the  wick  of  her  soul  flickers  dimly  against  the  darkness.   encroaching  shadows  play  unkind  tricks  on  the  ruins  of  the  stranger’s  face,   though  his  voice  unwinds  like  poisonous  honey.   meant  to  comfort  someone  unwary,   perhaps  ensnare,   but  his  presence  only  serves  as  a  clear  warning  sign.   kindness  is  a  meager  crumb  in  this  place.   alice  is  only  certain  of  her  gut:   instinctually,   this  imposing  man  frightens  her.

thusly,   backed  into  a  corner  like  a  prey  animal  merely  fighting  against  the  inevitable  fate  of  being  eaten  whole  by  some  slavering  beast,   a  fully  formed  answer  to  his  question  eludes  the  girl.   she  wonders  if  she  has  become  many  persons  over  this  night,   in  pure  defense  of  herself,   the  true  alice:   if  this  were  the  case,   she  shouldn’t  hand  her  victory  over  to  anyone  else  so  easily.   crescent  moon  eyes  blink,   capturing  what  little  is  left  of  the  light,   calling  illumination  to  the  blue  void  like  a  lighthouse  beacon.

there  is  a  glint  of  silver  in  his  hand.   pleasegodno.   alice  blanches,   the  rosy  flush  of  blood  leaving  her  pale  skin  drained.   ravenous  fears  are  hardly  assuaged  at  the  sight.   she  begs  her  composure  to  stay  with  her  as  an  oblivion  waits  behind  her  eyelids.   there  is,   at  the  very  least,   a  trellis  of  rusted  metal  behind  her;   she  threads  both  frail  hands  into  the  door  as  a  support  while  her  shallow  breathing  returns  to  a  steady  rhythm.

she  can  only  settle  upon  one  thing:   she  thinks  she  wouldn’t  like  him  to  get  to  know  her  any  better.     ❝   alison,   ❞     she  firmly  decides,   and  the  name  feels  strange  upon  her  tongue.   like  being  in  roll  call  on  the  first  day  of  class.   alice,   she  would  insist  later  on,   before  the  teacher  became  comfortable  with  using  her  full  name.   not  alison.   likewise,   her  father  barely  used  her  full  name  either,   not  even  when  he  was  cross.   that  is  not  who  i  am.

somebody  would  need  to  forgive  her  manners  if  a  later  date  ever  reckoned  with  her:   poor  alice,   pinned  like  a  butterfly,   does  not  ask  his  name  in  return.

[hereticalmother]

@vuglar

The woman blends into the crowd of prisoners, stringy blonde hair and ice blue eyes overshadowed by the same beige jumpsuit as everyone else. The improvised art studio contains roughly 30 patients; too many for the two armed guards at the door or the doctor at the front to overpower if they were to plan a coordinated attack. She's noticed a pattern in these sessions, though. Two or three inmates with a history of extreme violence, the rest harmless, the majority nearly comatose, whether naturally or through chemical sedatives.

Even the harmless aren't allowed paintbrushes. Fingerpainting is safer. She doesn't mind it, not anymore than she minds this whole infantalizing procedure. They're encouraged too often to paint what they see in their dreams; she's know that's what this is really about. She's over being analyzed; she's opted instead to paint a tasteful nude that's just a little too simple to really resemble the doctor leading the class. But, he knows that it's meant to be him because she tells him so on the first and only time he comes around to Val's corner of the room to check on her progress.

Cellphone rings and it makes her flinch. Unfamiliar noise. The doctor's demeanor shifts from bored to irritated as he answers. "Jesus fucking Christ- again!? Listen, I told you- No. Okay. Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll be there."

Phone call is ended; the doctor once again addresses the crowd. "I have a pressing matter to attend to. Keep working. I expect to see progress when I get back."

Gaze briefly, accidentally, lands on Val. He looks away just as quickly upon realizing his mistake. She doesn't allow it to go unacknowledged. The doctor swerves on his path to the door, narrowly avoiding Val's attempt at grabbing ass, though he's still subjected to her whispering something obscene as he passes. She has a feeling he's going to take his sweet time with whatever interruption has lead to him being able to leave her presence.

She's up from her seat nearly as soon as she's left unattended, gravitating towards the largest man in the room. Not her type, but she's heard whispers of him, of his crimes, of his violence. She recognizes that he's the other wolf in their room full of sheep. Something more exciting than her half assed painting that exists only so the men in labcoats will get off her fucking case.

She comes to stand behind him, leaning into his personal space, hand on the chair in which he sits and weight leaned into it. Not touching him. Still apparently too much, as the guard just behind them at the door clears his throat in warning. Asshole. She stands upright, gives Eddie the extra few inches of space. "You're a natural."

[perritasgif]

Cuando las cosas se pasan de corrientes y te ofendes poquito

[ineedmoregrain]

More self-righteous ego maniacs on tumblr

You don't have high expectations. You have unreasonable expectations. You expect everyone to have the same ideas and morals as you. If I called you an idiot, you'd probably call me an ableist. So you turn it into "Well now you are saying there is something wrong with mentally handicapped people". No. This is completely untrue. The fact that you think me insulting you by using "Ableist" and "Misogynist" slurs, gives you free reign to go on some self-righteous rant about how what a piece of shit I am is totally ridiculous. You're a cunt. Just deal with the fact you're a cunt. It's like you can't handle the fact someone can use sexist/racists language and be a completely reasonable functioning part of society. You aren't a better person than me because of my crude choice of words. You're actually just a whiny preaching cunt. Now I may be just as bad as you, going on a rant and what not. But at least I don't think I'm a better person because I can point out the fact calling someone an idiot is offensive. You're offended, I don't really care. I'm comfortable with calling you a moron. I'm comfortable calling you a stupid dick filled ocean of cum. I'll sleep just fine at night.

[sing-for-absolution-blog]

Ew. That is just outrageously repulsive. Idek what to say to you.