March 2025

Don’t think about Jon picking at the tiny holes in his skin imagining if the CO2 had gone off a few seconds later. Pressing his fingers deep thinking about them crawling inside, he’d never be alone again. The itching in his soul, as he thinks what of he had accepted it? What if he could have been a home to something that truly loved him.

~AnAces (I am normal so normal)

skiesandcandy:

OHHH my god. Explodes. Dies.

Staring at the holes along his face, tracing them, remembering how it felt. Those small writhing bodies and their tiny little teeth and their song, that sweet sweet song that plagues him even now. Wondering what if they’d missed a worm or two. But no. Nothing writhes under his skin nothing burrows nothing feeds he is empty and he is alone in his flat and he is picking at that hole, that hole that has nothing coming out except blood. There’s something wrong in his brain but what if. What if nobody had gotten to that switch. What if that moment where he slumped was all they’d needed? There’d been so many of them still writhing towards him at rapid speeds when Elias pulled the switch. How easy could it have been for them to turn him into a nest. A home. If he’d let them. If he’d reached out and offered, like she had, like he can’t stop thinking about her doing, burying his hand in that wasp nest and feeling something so eager so excited to have someone to love and protect and feed off of and stay with forever and ever and adore begin to burrow into him. There is no nest. The worms are all dead. The worms are dead and gone and this is a good thing and he keeps walking through those dsmn tunnels and staring at them. Sitting down next to them and resisting the urge to touch but only barely. Only barely. It itches. It itches so horribly and he cannot shake the feeling that if they were in him they’d be alive they’d be alright and they’d be getting full and happy off of all his flesh and blood and be perfectly content and happily purring at him that he is a lovely host. When did he start scratching at those holes again? They’re so itchy. They’re so itchy he wants to scream and cry and would they love him, would they burrow inside so deep and find all his terrible flaws and think they were beautiful, eat them too? He scratches his arm all alone and he thinks of being a warm warm body for a hundred happy little creatures who love him very very much. Of laying down on the floor and accepting it. Of sighing softly and letting them begin to eat him, shuddering and shivering as more and more and more begin to squirm towards him.

Hes so itchy it hurts to breathe. He’s pushed everyone out. He’s alone. It itches. It burns. He wanders around aimlessly so so tired so lonely nobody WANTS him anymore and he doesn’t blame them and it itches. It itches so horribly he thinks he might break. He doesn’t know what will happen when he does. He keeps thinking he sees something crawling and squirming and going too quickly to check. There’s nothing there.

There is something trying to build a nest outside his flat. He hasn’t gotten around to call an exterminator. He’s tired. And he’s so, so itchy.

(If Tim and Martin and Sasha and Elias weren’t at risk. If it was just him. Would it have been so bad if nobody had been around? If he’d broken that wall all by himself and he’d gotten caught? Pinned down by a million warm, writhing creatures? Burrowing deep into his organs and feeding and feeding and feeding until they were satisfied? Would it have been so bad? He itches. He itches. God, he itches. He rereads Her statement over and over again and he still. Fucking. Itches. It’s so hard to think when he’s this itchy. It’s hard to sleep. It’s hard to eat. He just. Itches. All the time. Deep in his bones. Something is singing to him and the itch is so loud and he’s so alone. He’s all alone.

It itches.)

@anaceshornyblog just in case tumblr doesn’t work . Again

The way helen talks to Jon makes me a little insane. U know she talks to him like that when they fuck. Him currently struggling to heal around her sharp sharp hands and her going oh, that looks like it hurts. Let's get you all fixed up. Jon inhaling and shivering,,, covered in little injuries,,,, her talking to him in that same damn voice that gets to him more than he'll ever admit. I just think he should think about her whenever he's getting off by himself. And she should know about it. And maybe catch him red handed.

-skiesandcandy

@skiesandcandy Normal, normal, I am normal

Jon was thinking about Helen. Thinking how her hands slid into his stomach, pressing down on parts that weren’t supposed to ever be accessible, except in case of grievous bodily injury. Well he supposed grievous bodily injury was subjective when your body seemed happy to knit back together no matter the damage. Thinking of her voice, how she teased him, even when she had flayed him apart across her carpets.

Of course those thoughts had him grinding against one hand without thought, his other tracing on of the spiral patterns developing on his stomach. His breathing was shallow, short breaths, not as shallow as it was when his lungs no longer resided in his chest, making him feel as though he was suffocating, even if he didn’t need to breathe.

His nails were nowhere near long enough to truly damage himself, only earning a few drops of blood as the wounds sealed immediately. Still the pain made him moan, pressing his fingers inside, hoping the memory would be enough.

“Helen, please more please,” Repeating her name as though that would help, his hand working faster, groaning as his orgasm still hovered tantalizingly out of reach. He kept his eyes closed, whimpering her name, he could imagine what she would say, chiding him for getting all worked up, how much of a monster he was to need to be hurt to cum. Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice the door creaking open, well that’s not quite true, he just chalked it up to vivid imagination, it was only natural.

Helen, please, please, I need-ahh!” The scream was from equal parts surprise and pain as ten long knife-tipped fingers dug into his shoulders, yanking him out of his chair to pin him to the floor. His t-shirt that he had stripped down to was shredded easily, as was much of his skin, lying in tatters like the fabric.

“So sorry Jon, I would have popped in much sooner if I knew what fun you were having without me,” Jon whimpered as the she traced his sternum with one long sharp nail, her skin cutting through muscle, scraping the bone. This wound didn’t heal nearly as quickly his self-inflicted ones making him moan, it was excruciating, it was embarrassing, it was exhilarating.

“Oh that must hurt,” She ground her nail deeper, hooking just under the end of the bone, like she was going to leverage it up, pop his ribcage clean open, tearing through skin and muscle. He wondered if she could, what it would feel like, would it hurt more or less than cutting it free? Despite the pain in his arms he managed to get a hand back between his legs, it didn’t take much grinding against his clit to have him cumming. His hips bucked up driving the finger deeper, he Knew that she had just skewered his liver, and it probably said something about himself that if he hadn’t just came that might have done it.

“Greedy little thing, did I say you could do that?” Helen pursed her lips, as though in disappointment, her free hand cupping his chin. She lingered there for a moment, spreading his blood across his own lips, before sliding her hand to his throat. With what looked like no effort, and probably was, she lifted him by the throat. Jon instinctively struggled, whimpering, his legs kicking out, but it was like she was never where she had been a moment before.

“Such a bad boy,” She pulled him close her lips soft against his, the only soft thing about her right now, letting him wind his legs around her, letting him breathe. The reprieve was short lived, her free hand impaling him through his back, as she released his throat. It was bruised and bloody, healing enough so he could breathe, but not without pain. Though it was nothing compared to the nicer curling around his spine.

“Hmm do you really need this?” He could feel as scratched at the bone, likely leaving spirals etched into them. “I could just take it out you know, just for a bit.”

“P-please,” Jon whimpered against her, not sure if he was asking her to do it, pull his bones out. He’d heal, he Knew he would, but it would hurt, it would feel like he was dying. He wanted to experience, to Know exactly how it felt, but he was also terrified,

“Oh I suppose I can spoil you a bit.” Helen shifted him somehow, and Jon found himself now laying on his desk, prone his cheek pressed against a running tape recorder. He was certain he hadn’t turned that one on, but he supposed he should have expected it. These were some of his last coherent thoughts, until hours later when he would wake up curled in Helen’s lap, a fresh statement being waved beneath his nose, or if Helen was particularly benevolent, and actual statement giver. For now though he could only focus on Helen’s fingers curling around what the Eye informed him was his cervical spine.

“Now let’s see if I can get it all out in one piece.”