MEANER THAN A JUNKYARD DOG

sel. priv. horror OC. NSFW. 21+. penned by LANI.

[toheel]

#TOHEEL : an independent &&. private &&. selective portrayal of an ORIGINAL CHARACTER in the HORROR genre. 21+ only. dark & triggering content. nsfw. narrated by lani. affiliated with the wonderful @tohilt / @sunbentsky / @hellweep / @khirurg❤️

CARRD.

[animentality]

[kostusha]

to be loved is to be seen

[mcflymemes]

"STOP PUTTING YOURSELF INTO DANGER!" PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue for expressing your fear that the person you care about might get themselves hurt if they keep acting like this, adjust as necessary

i thought i told you to stay back.

i love you too much to let you get hurt like this.

this affects me, too, you know.

every time you leave, i sit up all night waiting, praying you'll come back alive.

you keep pulling stunts like this and something bad will happen.

do you have a death wish or something?

this isn't fair to me.

i deserve better than this.

i didn't get any sleep last night because i was so worried about you.

you promised me you'd stop going out at night.

i don't like hearing this.

you've been risking your life, and for what? so you can feel like a goddamn hero?

i said i would handle it.

what the fuck are you doing here?

you told me you'd stay put.

so much for laying low.

you remember how bad it was last time.

seems like you haven't learned anything.

i believe you promised me you'd lay low.

i can't keep doing this.

don't give me that look.

we'll discuss this later.

this stops now.

i'm tired of picking up the pieces once you've left.

you keep throwing yourself into danger.

you don't give a shit about yourself, do you?

i'm sitting here, worried out of my mind, while you're out doing god knows what.

that was really stupid of you, and you know it.

i thought you knew better than this.

what's your excuse this time?

you do realize what this does to me, right? seeing you get hurt like this? you know it hurts me, too?

you really don't give a shit how this affects me, huh.

that was the dumbest possible thing you could have done.

i need you to stop throwing yourself into harm's way.

that was completely unnecessary.

they had it handled.

you didn't need to step in like that.

why do you think you're invincible?

the last time you pulled a stunt like this, it nearly got you killed.

i can't just sit here and watch you get hurt.

what are you trying to prove?

you just like fucking with my heart, don't you.

this shit hurts me, too, you know.

you're not the only one affected by this shit.

you've got a lot of people counting on you to come home every night.

what happens if you don't come back?

you think we can just carry on without you?

you think i can handle things if you end up dead?

i'm not sticking around to watch you get hurt.

you're not even slick.

you think you're invincible, don't you.

quit pretending you've got everything under control.

let someone else do it for a change.

you can't keep putting yourself through shit like this and expect me to just sit back and watch.

i'm done with this.

next time you do this, i'm not coming back.

promise me this is the end.

look me in the eyes and tell me you'll stop doing this.

let the authorities deal with it.

you're making a big mistake.

is it worth dying for?

i've dealt with enough pain over the years.

[toheel]

ooc. Happy Pride to everyone except Ber. Whatever he's doing, he's doing it wrong

[anxeious]

[toheel]

a chemical dependency.

[scondstar]

݁⋆⭒˚.⋆ @toheel liked for a starter ⋆˚࿔ 💜 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

THERE WERE FEW PLACES IN SANTA CARLA THAT DID NOT CARRY THE ACRID SCENT OF BLOOD. something about the way things worked around here ── it just got everywhere. seeped into the wood, the sand. carried on a salt-breeze with corn-dogs and cotton candy. to the average person, this meant nothing. to star, it was a faint buzzing that liked to eat away at her mind. sometimes, like now, that could be a problem when she wasn't thinking about where her feet were going. even when they were kids, ber had always been somewhat imposing. she remembered back when he used to bark and snarl, sometimes at adults, or other children playing in the field. sometimes at nothing at all. his skin was almost opaline beneath the light of the bridge, burning through oranges and yellows, and the white sheen of sweat that licked his arms. from where she was standing, it crawled across the crevices of his forearms, which she did not remember being quite so sinewed. star had never seen them covered in blood before either, and that was also a revelation. it mostly stuck to his fingertips, and she knew instinctively before she even saw the other man at his feet that it was not beraiah’s. a sound like a scream and ecstasy reared up and died in her throat. she strangled it herself with her own shaking hands, palm-to-teeth. she shuddered against the taste of her own blood, and in between all of that, star really wished she could've said that she cared about the person bleeding out on the floor when the fact was she barely noticed them aside from their open wounds. ber's hurricane eyes got bigger when they saw her, and she went weak at the knees. star was so hungry.

[toheel]

Here's the deal: He can see the tar. That's what sets him apart. That's what makes him stronger and faster and harder than anyone else. He first saw it when he was four years old; bubbling up in the sink after his mother's blood swirled down the drain all pretty and watery and pink. He saw it in the corners of his eyes, in the corners of his mouth and in the crevices of the ugly, creaking pull-out couch he called a bed.

By the time his father told him the truth, about mama, about the world, Ber had long since been able to see it oozing down the streets, dripping into his food from open vents and cracks in the wall. He already knew then that the people he saw around him, their soft fluttering bodies, were not victims of its creeping, suffocating conquest. They were receptacles. And he was, too.

The tar is boiling hot and viscous. It sticks to the back of his eyes and tastes like iron in his teeth. It's acrid, sweltering stench permeates everything. He can smell it now. It blots out everything else. It covers his skin, chokes the oxygen from his blood. He can see it bubbling out of the groaning body by his feet and his steel-capped boot hacks hard into the matted glistening scalp. Hollows him out, the action. The dead-minded violence of it. He forgot what he came here for. Information or gas money. Fucking bullshit town full of fucking bullshit people. Fakes and flakes. No one wonder vampires would nest here, getting fat like ticks sitting on a cow.

His acerbic, bloodstained thought process is sharply interrupted. The hunter's head whips around when he sees a figure standing just outside the light, just there, uttering a singular aborted cry.

The voice goes through him like an icepick through an eye. Star is standing there, useless and frail, with her massive brown eyes glistening back at him, her face half covered in her hands. She got something of a saint there, like the plastic saints that used to dot their way to school. Remember that, buddy? Remember being eight and stupid and thinking the world ended at the water tower? Blood is thick in the air, makes breathing difficult, at least without his mouth watering.

Ber cuts the distance in half with three long strides. He barrels for her like a gun dog, like a freight train. There is not stopping this. His brain pounds red and hot, tar in every whorl. She saw. They cannot see. Her least of all. Strange half-beast, fragile figurine. He didn't know what to make of her as a kid, and he doesn't know now. He knows she's not running, and that she looks like she's about to faint. Weirdly lady-like, all in all. Women do that. They faint.

"Hey, stop. Don't you dare drop on me." His paw of a hand grabs her by the forearm, pulls her back up. He's got strung up like a hare by the hindlegs. He could skin her, flay her at once, see what she got under that dress of hers. The thought isn't his. It's been put there by some music video, some R rated movie he watched because he felt it's what a man should do. But his hands are covered in blood and her eyes are rolling and the tar is clogging his lungs.

"Look at me," he snarls as he shakes her, but her hands won't stop clinging to her mouth. Tar sputters from her full, moving lips. It drips onto his shoes, mingles with the red stains. Except— Is she bleeding? "Jesus, fuck, Star. The fuck did you do?"

With little extra effort, he finally pries her wet palms from her mouth. They bloom in his grip like roses, fall apart like so many petals. Blood spurts and drips. She went and gnawed the fucking stigmata into her hands. He freezes. Her blood runs in thin rivulets down over her wrists, over his fingers. Red on red on red. He isn't looking at that shit. He is looking at her open mouth, her hanging jaw. The teeth. The teeth that glisten there, white and perfect and sharp.

Fangs.

Beraiah's mask of dull concern, dull annoyance, morphs into something new. Something heinous. He pulls the corners of his mouth back, and there is no telling whether this man is grinning or hissing. The grasp on her arms turns iron-hot, iron-wrought. Everything in him falls away, into some other, newer pit. The tar eats it all. No disbelief. Only the coldness of another loss. His eyes strike like chips of flint, a vicious glint pooling in his irises. Rage. Betrayal that has no other understanding of itself.

"...You."

[toheel]

@hawksblooded : Alizebeth says: you're an asshole after all.

Her voice knocks into him like a gangly animal, all elbows. The reproach roughs it up, makes her speak from deep in her throat. Each word is dredged up as conscious effort. That's the way with Liz. Nothing she says is useless drivel. Nothing she says doesn't need saying. It's part of what he enjoys about her company, what he's enjoyed since he was a kid, brooding over his stew while he watched her train. He prefers her silence, that thick gravelly absence. But each word he does drag out of her by hook or by crook scratches a juvenile itch in the back of his grown mind.

She comes round the inn now, her wire-hound by heel, pressing too close to her thigh. Ber ducks his head on instinct. Not because of her; he's just exiting the ramshackle stable. Thresholds trained him since adolescence. In each hand he has a pair of reins, two long-legged beasts of burden swaying in his wake. The horses' ears swivel lazily.

When he catches his sister's eye, there is at long last a spark of light in Beraiah's expression. He grins. Somewhat. He pulls one corner of his mouth back and reveals the points of his teeth. She's some coins lighter for her trouble now, but what's it to her? Never much use for coin in these parts, not in their line of work. What was she going to do? Shack up in a bathhouse with some whores for a fortnight? He'd laugh if he found it funny.

"Left. Right."

His voice neither lifts nor shifts. He plucks the words out of thin air, holding Liz' scowl with muted amusement. Two sand-colored dogs come to life against the stonework of the low building. Their heavy iron collars twist into twin crowns of thorns, stabbing outward in all directions from their throats. The hounds stretch and yawn, pink tongues folding back into their own jaws. They take their places on either side of Ber's mount and he reaches down to take one of them by the soft ear and rub it between his thumb and forefinger in some aborted show of affection. Their brown eyes fix Mara, bristling with a desire to bully and shove. Their master's word keeps them but between the canines there is an understanding that this is a courtesy at best.

Ber hands the reins over to Liz as if they're an olive branch.

"S'called division of labor. Figured you'd be honored to invite me."

[ba1laur]

thank you for teaching me how to kill

[toheel]

ooc. Its about the way this dead inside man only comes alive in a fight. The way nothing touches him except for pain. If you want to see him smile, give him an enemy.

[toheel]

a chemical dependency.

[jimmythecookiemonster]

SAS: Rogue Heroes (2025)

[toheel]

Everything is delicately interconnected.

[dearavonlea]

⚘. LYRICS FROM NOAH KAHAN'S ALBUM THE GREAT DIVIDE. CONTENT WARNING: ALCOHOLISM, DEPRESSION, CHILDHOOD TRAUMA, ABANDONMENT, SELF-SABOTAGE, LONELINESS.

i can't recall the last time that we talked.

we got cigarette burns in the same side of our hands, we ain't friends. we're just morons who broke skin in the same spot.

i've never seen you take a turn that wide, and i'm high enough to still care if i die.

so i tried to read the thoughts that you'd worked overtime to stop.

you know, i think about you all the time, and my deep misunderstanding of your life. how bad it must have been for you back then, and how hard it was to keep it all inside.

i hope you settle down, i hope you marry rich.

i hope you're scared of only ordinary shit.

i heard nothing but the bass in every ballad that you'd play.

the world is scared of hesitating things.

i'm finally aware of how shitty and unfair it was to stare ahead like everything was fine.

did you wish that i could know that you'd fade to some place i wasn't brave enough to go?

i hope you threw a brick right into that stained glass.

i hope you're with someone who isn't scared to ask.

i hope that you're not losing sleep about what's next.

i stretched my arms real wide, tried to break your fall...

you got up, mad as hell, and told me that i had it all.

 i tried to heal your wounds just to say i helped.

it ain't a high road now, it's just uneven ground.

you ain't a goddamn hero now 'cause you cry on live TV.

at least i got a soul still, even if i'm in a bad place.

i'm happy for your haircut, i'm glad you got your act clean.

you're showin' up like bad news and leavin' like a bad dream.

help me if it helps you sleep.

you grew your hair out long, now you think you're jesus christ.

there ain't nobody mistakin' your guilt for some great sacrifice.

drove your ass home. you walked into a haunted house and got angry at the ghosts.

oh, when my weight left the room, did you take a deep breath?

i stole a beer, drove home; there was only one left.

when i make my flight, i'm the devil, but when i stay the night, then we drink.

we stay up and fight 'bout the childhood lie that we both had the courage to leave.

i'm willing and able. if you wanna kick this rock around, if you've got a bone to pick with me, if you've got a flag, plant it in the ground.

i'll stay here 'til mornin'. we can fight like we used to fight.

look at you leavin' again; it's all you know how to do.

go ahead, take the last of the drinks; the world belongs to you.

they all say you're a light; all i see is a shadow.

'cause if i call you out, i'm an asshole.

i tell the truth when i drink.

so come home; let's fight 'bout the childhood lie.

we don't care what the other one thinks.

i wish you could know me, and i wish i could know you much more sometimes...

wish i could do nothin' with you. sit in the yard while the day dies.

leave it all on the table.

i'll say, "i love you," and mean it this time. say, "i'm sorry,” for everything else, if we found a way to the other side.

if you're willing, i'm able.

you always went lookin' for an easy way out.

and you tell yourself lies and disguise them as facts.

just when you think that the road's straight ahead is when the devil shows up on your dashboard again.

all your new friends look a lot likе your last, i wonder why.

it ain't our fault that you aren't suddenly somebody else.

you're an asshole after all.

half as drunk as i thought i'd be by now, that's good.

i can still see the people around me change shape. speak their minds and pretend they were misunderstood.

preachin' 'bout sin over lines of cocaine.

even when you're not here, it becomes about you.

they all want me to tell 'em your story.

you stand over half a foot taller than me.

naïve to believe you would come back.

stay gone. won't you stay gone?

tattooed your initials into my right arm.

there ain't nothing else here worth catching up on.

so, i hope that it's warm wherever you sleep.

i've got a feeling that won't go away.

i still ball up my fists when they mention your name.

no one gets to talk shit but the ones you've shit on.

well, i'll beat your ass in the morning.

you know i've been running all this time.

'cause if i never see you again, you could be anything i want.

i would ask you how you've been, it's all over the internet.

but, hey, i mean, you knew that after all.

if you're looking for an autopsy or a half-assed half-apology then i think you picked the wrong time to make this call.

it is not irrelevant that you stopped taking your medicine but i'm giving you the benefit 'cause it's raining out.

i'll tell you how the weather is.

i should shut you down.

but it's cold, and it's cold, and it's cold, and it's cold, and it’s cold.

i don't know, i'm alone, i'm alone, i'm alone, i'm alone.

i hope you tell me that you're winding down, that you lost thе taste to face the crowd, that whatever made you famous made you sick.

you can only do what pain allows.

it ain't up to you to make it out.

there ain't no shame in callin' this thing quits.

you're a ghost, you're a ghost, you're a ghost, and you're—

poison spreading to my lungs.

i ain't holdin' breath, ain't holdin' any faith at all.

and i'll pray for you, be in pain for you.

i'll leave the porch light on.

heartbroken, each morning when it's me that turns it off.

i try to drown out all the talk, the eyeballs in the parking lot.

i wanna drop the gloves, but you're far too patient.

i wanna see you lose it, i wanna hear you say it.

do you still have a heart or has somebody stole it?

i'm far too tired to watch you lie, so let's just watch TV.

another thing we don't talk about anymore.

don't worry, i won't bring it up.

you can scream at me when i come home drunk.

when i ask about the past, you deny-ny-ny.

we're both exhausted for different reasons.

i used to care to know your secrets.

you said you got a guilty conscience, but i ain't ever seen it.

i'm well-prepared to never meet him.

[toheel]

ooc. Today might be a ber day actually

[fuckyoubaker]

I ALWAYS REMEMBER THE SUPPORT