#x.wordvomit

[jimmyscanongf]

what are your headcanons for jimmy having an obsessive crush on the (preferably fem) reader (but not necessarily being a yandere about it)? do you think he would tell curly about it? i kinda wonder how jimmy would behave if he had the feelings of envy and admiration he does for curly but for a woman

hmmm jimmy obsessive crush, envy and admiration? horribly long rambling thoughts below 👇

i think you’d fall victim to the other end of dehumanization: youre Not Like Other Girls. total manic pixie dream girl. youre on a pedestal so high that if you deviate from his image of you even a little, only pain awaits you below.

it’s less about your eyecatching style and more about your attitude. (though having a unique look about you certainly helps to catch his attention). i think that if you were like curly; high achieving, successful and attractive with little (to jimmy’s eyes anyways) effort, his envy would probably just mix with hatred. what the fuck does he need another goody two shoes picture perfect reflection of his own deep and terrible inadequacy in his life for anyways? and this one’s a fucking girl, to add insult to injury!

but say you were a little more like him, shitty childhood, rough start to life, downtrodden, broke, not overly successful, life comes harder to you than most others, maybe not the most attractive (i mean i think hes shallow enough that you would still have to be somewhat good looking), or even attractive but with an otherwise offputting aspect to you (maybe like, the Autism Look, or some alternative style that doesn’t try overly hard to remain conventionally attractive), cant really find love. and all that with like, a genuine intelligence, a genuine potential, still working towards a good life for yourself against all the odds, he might find himself attracted to you.

the thing that would make him envy you would be your attitude, your outlook on your situation. because say all the above about you were true, sure, he can relate to that, but if you had an easygoing attitude about it? not stressed about your status, not pressured to be more than what you are, not scrambling and striving to prove you’re worth something, just rolling with shit as it comes, stand up and dust yourself off when you fall, enjoy the good things in security when they come. not grasping desperately for every little bit of control that comes your way. yeah hes envious. here he is, beat down by life, mired in his own self loathing and feelings of powerlessness so deep he can barely see it himself, so deep that he hurts and steps on every single person around him trying to claw his way out, and you breeze through every awful thing life throws at you, a little scratched and bruised, but you continue merrily on, trying again and again. he wants what you have. he wants your fucking secret. how, HOW do you do it?! (and remember how unreliable he is as a narrator, so whether you’re actually so unaffected underneath his perception is another thing 🤔)

what would make him obsess over you is your understanding nature. if you were kind to him. say he says something scathing and hurtful on impulse due to his own insecurity, you don’t necessarily have to be a pushover about it, but if he sees the words roll off of you… and the next day you come back again. here he is, a complete dickhead, weird and unpleasant to be around, and you reaching out anyways cause, hey, you know everyone has a reason for the way they are, nobody is born an asshole, everyone has triggers and limits, everyone wants connection deep down, and everyone has the capacity for kindness. this outlook will kind of, stun and confuse him. cause girls usually tell him to go fuck himself when he acts like a piece of shit. i really think he might soften up a bit, we only see him in his absolute worst moments but he can’t be that awful to be around 100% of the time, there has to be something, like a sense of humour, maybe he’ll help you out with something (if he thinks he’ll get the same in return at some point) maybe he knows your likes and interests cause it makes it easier to get what he wants from people.

what would really seal the deal is if you were able to see and strike deep into the heart of his insecurity, and try to soothe him. opening up, with vulnerability, about your struggles. laying out some genuine commonality between the two of you and then telling him, with the utmost sincerity, that he doesn’t have to be defined by his past. that he’s valuable for the simple fact that he exists. that he doesn’t have to fight to prove himself, that he is already worthy.

and oooh jimmy is a man who is incapable of believing that any of those things can come from inside, that they are inherent to him. (he literally actually consumes a part of curly to try and subsume curly’s good traits into him.) you made him feel worthy and now he needs you, needs to have you, needs to consume you and make you a part of his life, a part of him! because he cannot possibly be valuable and worthy without you there to believe it. its just not possible. for all he tries to be otherwise, he’s a deep dark void inside and he knows it, so he needs you to fill him up with your goodness.

and you guys are like, just friends at this point right? but now he thinks about you all the fucking time and his eyes are always on you and he’s daydreaming about stupid sappy shit like you holding his hand, pushing you up against the wall and kissing you, he’s seen you smile at him but now he thinks about you smiling at him and it makes his heart palpitate. he barely even thinks about you sexually because you’re so pure to him, you’re his madonna, not a whore. but yeah. he’s watching you constantly, taking notes, plotting, scheming to make you his. cause he knows he can’t just swoop in and demand it, or even force it, he knows that’s a burnt bridge waiting to happen. he wants to make you want him. he wants to really seal the deal, and he feels like he really, genuinely has a chance. he just has to manipulate you juuuuust right.

i’m not sure if he would tell curly. because on one hand, curly is way more charismatic and better at romance and picking girls up than he is, so i can see him coming to curly for advice. hey man, help me out here, how do i win this chick over? on the other hand, he feels really weak for you, he doesn’t just want a fling to fuck or eye candy to hang off his arm, he wants you to fill him up because hes so fucking empty, and the last thing he wants is for curly to think he’s weak like that. and on the other other hand, he wants to keep you and curly far far apart because like, you’re just like Jimmy except better in every conceivable way and he’s paranoid curly might realize how hopeless he is, then steal you and drop him.

once he starts wanting you the change is noticeable to you and to curly, and everyone else around him. he’s suddenly nicer and more pleasant? he just seems to be in a better mood all around. he smiles more, its kinda nice. he jokes around. he’s more thoughtful about your wants, kind of pathetically fumbles his way through trying to meet your needs but hey, he never even tried before so that’s a win right? he cleans up a little bit. goes less time between hair washes, shaves more, picks up some drugstore cologne. fresh fit. he splurges money he doesn’t really have trying to attract your attention. he still can be a dickhead but now you can see him trying to proactively make it right (he looks absolutely pained and strained doing so) (also he does this for you and you exclusively). hes trying so goddamn fucking hard to act like the kind of person he thinks you’ll want to love. he’s giving you compliments that have you taken aback, giving you encouragement, giving you little gifts. hey i thought you’d like this. he looks away while giving them to you. is he blushing???

eventually he might even ask you out. but what happens next is up to you. you don’t know this, but if you reject him, you’re in for a hellish ride. because he’s not giving up on getting you, and NOW hes gonna be a yandere about it.

[jimmyscanongf]

ok but just… realizing you love Laios and he loves you too and just,, crying

maybe you’ve been patiently waiting for this all your life, and now that it’s finally happening you hardly know what to do with yourself accept wrap your around around his neck and hold onto him, hoping his doesn’t notice you shaking.

he does. and he also starts to cry.

ok because i headcanon him as demisexual/demiromantic… after you become close friends i think it would take him a while to recognize how his feelings evolved. its just so unfamiliar to him! like how he wants to see you every day, and how he’s so invested in your happiness and making you laugh (and he’s very good at making you laugh without even trying). how his heart hurts when he sees you upset and how it stings to see another guy trying to get close to you. he thinks about you so much that its almost distressing until someone has to point out, hey Laios, maybe you’re in love?

but that just starts him agonizing over it, like for monthsss. its impossible for him to see it happening. he cant really imagine you loving him back, or him being partner material. the last thing he wants to do is ruin the beautiful friendship you already have. like, theres no way it could ever be the same if he makes his feelings known.

but hes not really that great at hiding things and lying about his feelings so its a very weird period of time for you, because one moment he’s acting in a way that makes you believe he has feelings for you and the next he’s just the usual old Laios. it makes you think, maybe he’s just clueless about how to act as your friendship grows closer. which leaves you confused and trailing along hoping for a clear sign either way. what a dream right? to have a love built on the foundation of friendship. thats the kind of love that lasts.

but i imagine - youve had the shittiest of shitty days. nigh apocalyptically terrible. whatever that means for you. and its you and him alone, and its up to him to comfort you. his heart just breaks seeing you hold it all back, and he’s not the greatest with words, he doesn’t know what to say, as much as he wants to make it better he doesnt want to make it worse. he tentatively draws you into a hug, quietly telling you he’s sorry, he wishes he could make it better - and the look in his eyes is all you need to know. his tenderness is what finally breaks you, you throw your arms around his neck and tremble trying not to embarrass yourself ugly sobbing. but his embrace tightens, bone crushing as he plants his face in your neck, shakily whispering “i love you, ok? i love you” through the tears.

[jimmyscanongf]

labor of love

norman bates (psycho 1960) taxidermies you (romantic) (gender neutral)

or, the strange mentally ill erotic fantasy of someone cutting me open and just getting all up in my guts (Nicely,) has surfaced from the old deep deep deep dark days of my life and now has a place ig?

cw death and detailed gore; cw fucked up content in general but if you saw this title and are still reading further you already know whats up, you sicko ;) this is unedited word vomit style typed directly into the tumblr post editor, bcs it was very very slow today and this was better than ruminating myself into an actual mental breakdown at freaking work so this is for the absolute freaks and please dont come for my ass if anything in the getting taxidermied by norman bates fanfiction isnt accurate

in thinking about the potential endings for an extended norman and reader romance... i think it would be such an extraordinarily delicate balance to manage a relationship and try to help him while avoiding the shitshow of human rights violations that was psychiatric care in the 1960s. and maybe you could manage it but if you couldn't......... perhaps he was hiding the true extent of his illness, even well into your relationship, even after getting married. some act of repression, of course he didn't want to scare you away and he was so certain he would, and nobody had ever loved him like you did and nobody ever would again. but ya just can't bottle it up like that without building and building the pressure... and to have a relationship, to have sex with you and marry you and try to be happy WITHOUT HER, oh what a grievous transgression to the ignored Norma, cast away to the far recesses of his awareness, he's managed to hold onto control for this long but the situation will simply not do, and she'll just have to eliminate the disgusting little bitch who stole her son away from her, take the reins back in a moment of weakness, of fracture -

and norman wakes up in a place he doesn't remember, in clothes he doesn't remember, but he remembers the fight and the fevered pitch of your voice, the wide-eyed fear in your face, his mixed up train of thought derailing, crashing, and the sound of his mother screaming in his ears. not a hint of a thought of what happened enters his mind as he retraces the trail of blood through the house, empty and automatic and despairing but still not connecting the ideas together until he actually finds the mangled heap of your body slumped on the floor, with the sick metallic smell of clotting blood, a dizzying lake of deep red bigger than he'd ever seen before surrounding you.... it's so shattering that he is disconnected even from the impulse to vomit, though he drops to his knees and screams and screams and screams...... and his mother is nowhere around to help him, and you're gone gone gone, forever! forever! but no! he hears your voice in his ear, soft though it startled him: "no, you can still save me, don't you remember? you've done it already before, norman, save me, save me before it's too late...!"

you're still even warm by the time he brings you down to the basement, cradling you in his arms and staining the clean clothes mother had gone out of her way to dress him in, still limp dead weight, he puts you on the table where he does his taxidermy and kisses your lips with blood on your mouth, pets your hair, coos a billion apologies. "oh my love, i should have never ever let this happen! i promised myself i would never let this happen to you that i would never let her hurt you im sorry im sorry im sorry i tried i tried!!" screwing his eyes shut at your body in front of him, crying tears that dripped onto your skin. and you shush him, your voice comes like a bell calling him in the darkness "i love you norman, i forgive you, but you must work fast now, you have to work fast to revive me!" he opens his eyes, far gone, nods fervently into your lifeless face, knowing that this would be very hard, and very easy, in that he had done it dozens of times before but not on this scale and not this fresh. he strokes the soft skin of your cheek, flits over to bring his tool kit near and then strips your body bare to begin his work - but he already has to stop, go up to the linen closet to bring towels and a bucket of water to clean the blood and gore off your skin, revealing in detail every grisly angry slash, stab, loose flap of skin that should still be all connected, should be, norman cries, with only an extremely dim awareness that it was his own hands that wrought this upon you. but he would fix it, he would suture your lovely flesh back together last, after the bulk of the work was done.

it takes significant effort to cut you with the same blade that he had cut birds and other small creatures with but he made it through all the layers of skin and fat and muscle, cut flaps to splay your belly open for easy access. and the inside of your body. explodes with colour and detail that he had never seen on this scale before. your insides were all shining red, and translucent membranous pink, with lipid yellows, greenish and brownish hues, pearlescent white fascia and winding lines of purple-blue connecting everything. and then he trembles all over seeing it his hands shaking violently, already slick with blood, as they approach the opening, and you comfort him, sweetly in his ear, "calm now, my love, i'm in good hands, i know i am, but you need to stop shaking, you need to be gentle." "i know, im just scared. i'm sorry, i'm so sorry..." "i trust you, norman." he steeled his nerves and then slips his hands oh so, so gingerly into the wet, the slick and smooth mess, the winding intestines, cold on the surface from contact with the air but still warm underneath, and he only loves you more and more and more that you trust him like this, that you let him do this to you, putting your faith in him to revive you.

he was struck by the intimacy of it, he was so close, closer than anyone else in the world had been to you, even closer than sex, up to his forearms in your body cavity, with all the beautiful unseen parts that had sustained your living body for so long, all those years........ you would have to learn a new kind of life now, with him. he scoops the intestines, they spill over the sides onto the table, attached at either end, and he realized he would have no place to actually put any of this once he removed it, he took the bucket with red translucent water and tipped it over into the floor drain. then, bringing it near, cuts your entire digestive tract free, placing it gently in the bucket. looking down at the heap inside, he feels a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and reached up to wipe it with the bloodied back of his arm. then, the pancreas, the kidneys and bladder, the liver (some cultures thought the liver was the seat of human love, he thinks), everything is so connected, tubes and gossamer-thin tissues that he has to dissect to separate the parts out. he has to reach underneath your ribcage to cut your lungs free, they sink in and deflate more as he works, and puts them too on top of the rest of your organs. then, last, your heart - he hesitates, and trembles, feeling the imperative to be especially delicate now, as if the muscle might disintegrate under his touch. but he feels around, remembering the anatomy diagram of the heart he'd learned so many many years ago, cuts free the three arteries connected to the aorta, the pulmonary vessels, both venae cavae, and suddenly he is holding the fist-sized organ free in his hand. he set his knife to the side and then reached in again, cradling the muscle in both of his broad palms as he brought it out into the light, letting out a shuddering breath - your heart! oh it was your actual heart, the heart that loved him, the heart that once beat in your chest, that he listened to countless nights to soothe himself, pressing his ear to your sternum. he sees the fatal gash the knife made, he turns his head and leans his ear in, though he knows it's silent anyways he almost starts to sob, "keep it," you say, and he startles "keep it, my love, it's yours, it was always yours" and he looks up into the ceiling "really? are you certain?" forgetting the anguish, and he feels your confirmation, your permission, as the warmth of your love. then, looks down at the deep red knot of muscle, presses a tender kiss there, and holds it to his chest, mirroring his own living heart. with reverence, he sets it on the table in his view and continues on -

it's best practice to remove the bulk of the skeletal muscle, too, and so he opens the skin on the arms that held him close, the legs and thighs that he'd had bliss between, and frees the long corded masses - the ones in the limbs come out of the body clean and compartmentalized, attached to the bone really only by two tendons on either end, separating easily from each other. this was by chance one of the largest buckets he had in the house but now it was full top with all your externalized insides, and the slippery smooth remainder of your muscles went to the floor - it was only a short distance to the furnace anyways, and all of this would have to go to the furnace, into the fire, you wouldn't be needing them anymore, and everything would have to be clean, clean, clean after. and now your body was ready for treating with the chemicals - there might not be enough, but it would have to do - and the sawdust which only seemed to come in large quantities, and it's easy, easy, art to craft the contours of your body that he learned, he knows from memory. he closes with care the long incisions he had made, making the flesh edges meet neatly all down the length of your limbs, up the i-shape he made on your abdomen and then, the awful wounds, slashes and gashes all over he sutures at last with a lingering feeling of sorrow, that dissipates when, finally cutting the last thread, he sees the miracle of life bloom forth on your face out from the monochrome of death "norman!" you smiled, with recognition in your eyes from where your head was limply rolled to the side

he smiled back at you, euphoria like a thrill of electricity tingling through his body as he reached out to cup your face - of course the fact he didn't have a sufficient amount of preservatives and anything didn't matter because it had little to do with the process of reviving anyways. it was all in the effort itself, in the way he marked his own soul in order to remake you and have you forever, it was in that labor of love where the actual transformation was made. he stroked his thumbs on your cheekbones, leaning over you and sobbing out "yes, yes, yes, yes, it's me, i'm here!!"

"you did it, i knew you could, i knew you would save me, norman."

"i could do anything for you, i would do anything for you!"

"i'm so cold now down here in the basement, i feel so weak and exhausted after everything... would you please help me get dressed?"

your bloody clothes were all heaped on the floor and he sniffled, blinking the tears from his eyes. "oh, those are all completely ruined..... I'm sorry... I'll take you up to the bedroom now, okay? and we'll get you into pajamas, and then you can just sleep for however long you need." and you would need the sleep - it was a strange and difficult new life to adjust to, being so dependent on him now for so many things, and you would never be able to leave the house anymore, which would likely be as hard for you as it was at first for his mother. but might get easier for you faster, he thought, as you had both found many more interesting things to do inside than he and his mother ever had in nearly thirty years until you came along. he kisses you on the forehead, and gently lets your head down, before he shifts his arms underneath you and scoops you up in a bridal carry, the whole weight of you in his arms as he carries you up the stairs to the main floor, then turned, climbing up and up again

"i was so scared when she killed me, Norman." Your voice makes his lip tremble as he looks down into your eyes, "but I know i'm safe now with you."

"Yes, you're safe here with me... You'll be safe here with me forever..."

He can feel the vibration of love coming off you, that keen resonation, it was always always there though he never managed to put it to its name, his heart absolutely swells with the sensation, love, pure ecstatic love! you were his one love and the most precious thing he had ever encountered in his life and now he could keep you safe from everything, forever, with him! oh, it didn't work out as nice for you as if it has never happened in the first place, but he could feel a new tension and energy, a precipice on which he was looking out at a new and encompassing depth of your bond, of your relationship, and he only had to dive in with you. he was almost even excited to start this new and beautiful era of your life together.

[jimmyscanongf]

y’all want some angst word vomit? literally the worst, most horrendous, cruel thing i can think to happen to stefan is for the reader to die in a fucking train derailment. could you imagine!

stefan insisted, too. you’ve moved out of town, or maybe you’re just staying out of town for the summer. you’re talking on the phone with him, it’s getting kind of late in the evening. and it’s been a bad week for stefan, maybe, and it’s all starting to come to a head, and he’s feeling all lonely and sad and anxious. the sound of your voice is helping but more than anything, he misses your touch, your warmth. you always, always calm him down, make him feel better when he gets to this low point

and maybe, maybe he knows he can get through it alone, without you physically there. he always has, before you were in his life, but he also knows you make it so much better and you’ve been telling him he should ask for help when he needs it, and he needs it - so he’s talking on the phone with you and begging for you to come over, just for the night! one night!

you protest. it is getting late, too late to embark on like a 2 hour train ride. you’re running low on money, your family would be annoyed if you just started packing so suddenly at like 7pm just to visit your neurotic boyfriend for a night. but he insists, and insists, and as you’re counting your funds you finally cave. you do love him so, so much, and if he needs you that bad -

you pack a small bag, and you inform your family of your plans, and you leave for the train station. your last call to him is from a payphone where you tell him which train you’re taking (and im not saying you end up taking the 8:45 train but ;))) wouldnt that just be the shit cherry on top?), and about when you should arrive, and oh, shit, it’s arrived, i’ve gotta go.

Love you, Stefan.

Love you, too.

there’s no anxiety, no nervousness, why would stefan be nervous? stefan just goes about the rest of his evening resting easy knowing you’ll be in his arms soon, and he’ll be in your arms, and -

his dad’s watching the late newscast downstairs. stefan hears him call his name, and in the tone of his voice, stefan knows something is wrong, very very wrong, so he hurries down, and as he’s entering his dad asks “which train did Y/N get on?”

stefan is transfixed in front of the tv - he hears something about “train derailment.” something about “no survivors.” and all he can manage is a small “that one.” before hes suddenly on his knees, ears ringing, the room so goddamn white around him, and he can’t breathe! his eyes are wide and hes silent aside from these desperate, gasping little wheezing breaths. the shock is so great that he can’t even cry for the first few moments as his dad rushes to wrap himself around his son, holding him so close, so tight (his dad cries too, hard, because the pain is so raw and so fucking real to him - he, after all, lost his love in the same way and to see his son going through it too, going through it again, and you were oh so kind and loving -)

oh, and then stefan screams. he screams until his head pounds in agony, until his vocal cords are raw and bleeding, that’s how hard he’s feeling. boy feels so much.

the funeral is particularly hard. not just for the whole concept of it, for the fact that your casket was closed (your remains were not, ah, fit for viewing), but the fact that your parents regarded stefan with a certain bitterness, a certain resentment, that they tried to keep under wraps for the fact that he loved you and he was mourning too, but it’s still painfully obvious anyways. they can’t help it. you were their child. you didnt have to go get on that train for him. it was late. you didnt have the money to spare. and you’d resisted his begging but he made you come anyways, and you died for it. and that makes it his fault. for the second time in his life, his fault.