dark big poppa cringe AHS preferences

ultraviolence

those ow fights where its much ow and things crumble like cheese cake
dedicated to elizabeth grant

oliver:

dude ow...
i dont wanna get into details because your locked in one of his closets living like a slave and accessory to many murders.

kyle:
shortly after you had finally murdered madison montgomery, your relationship soured like lemonheads.
her expensive corpse wasn't hard to bury when you had help of course, but kyle had noticed you were not the same, not the sweet lollipop you once were.
"do you think im a monster?"
you asked darkly as soon as he could even humour the thought of it, you saw his image of you change, as he remembered everything as anyone would do in a day while thinking of loved ones, but you didnt like the sight of you anywhere, but his head was a mirror.
"this isnt you"
who you once were was unregonizable to you today, you saw it through kyles eyes and it made you feel sick for how you were perceived by someone you loved, is this how everyone else felt.
"madison was a mean witch." you spat, madison's anger still buried in you, "she deserved to die a long time ago, besides, im not the only one who changed" you finished, blind of what you said, alienated by your own body.
you stopped mid track of walking away, a flicker of sadness and rage at a small idea of his.
"what? im worse?"
"i never said that.." he said lowly, you cant blame people for the little voice in their head, its the pinnacle of human impulse
"well you were thinking it" you stepped toward him. its true that killing her didn't make you feel better, it felt like you just took all her anger with you.
and it made you feel like you were wrapped in a plastic bag of suffocating rage.
"stop looking into everyone's head...youre hurting yourself." kyle said as he saw the hardness behind your eyes up close, calloused and desensitized, empathy confused as fuck.
"i cant... i cant i cant i cant"
it sucks being scared of yourself, no trust in your self and lack of impulse always brews up bullshit, you wish you could just switch being like this that easy, wipe clean all the grime and live normally somewhere in a small house, happy and normal like evil isnt real.
thats not how it works, the human soul is not a white board,
(im sitting in the fore-shade rn)

jimmy:
"get up jimmy!" you clapped loudly in his ears, not in the mood for his bullshit.
he groaned, flipping over to face away from where you stood over him.
you frowned, grabbing his blankets and yanking them off the man. "get the fuck up."
"gah, what time is it?"
"its 4 in the fucking afternoon"
he sat up and you could see the vomit coming up and the hangover rush to his skull, he quickly stumbled out of bed to puke in the small sink.
"jimmy...you gotta stop drinking." you sighed, worried that he might get himself in trouble or worse, kill himself.
"your mum would hate to see you like this" you sympathetically whispered.
going to pat his back as he continued to dirty the sink with bile. "you barely knew her."
"i know that she would be sick of this shit, going out and never coming home, making a god damn mess of the camp boozing all day and night."
he wiped his mouth, the tension grew into a car.
"what the hell do you know, you never had a mother who loved you." he spat.
it hit hard, you ignored remembering that he probably was just hungover.
fuck, he could've been half-cut.
but you did know nothing about the pain he was feeling, sold and pimped out the closest you had to parental love was your old boss. (pimp daddy) and even he beat you like a stray dog.
your eyes threatened to leak looking at the broken man as your heart burned like dry ice, the sour taste disappointment on the tip of your tip.
"so this is you now? a drunk? a man who goes out to hide his pain in whiskey, sleeping inbetween random whores legs to feel better? the old jimmy wou-" you reiterated, the sound of his palm against your cheek drowning you in a wave of nostalgiac fear.
"STOP ACTING LIKE YOU CARE ABOUT ME" he suddenly snapped, he crawled back into his bed and told you to fuck off, ignoring you and trying to go back to his hungover snoozle, the coppery taste of blood from your split lip didnt phase you, you just stood there until he started to snore again.
it was the last time you spoke to him

tate;

he took all your painkillers again, and after a shity day aurguing about not wanting to move with your parents, and the feening pit inside you took any chance to take a hit.
you realized you probably were making a big deal out of nothing when you slapped him in the face, besides they weren't the only drug laying around your room
"relax YN." he gritted through his clenched jaw, he rough gripped your arm, dull nails digging into your skin to stop your assaults.
"fuck off dont touch me."
you kinda loved him just for this, no body ever stayed when you said to go away, he always stayed. (like a leech)
still, as stubborn as fire you kneed him in the dick, still he doubled over in surprise and maybe pain, if he felt it.
he quickly struck back, your head snapped to the side by the force of his hit.
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME" you screamed as loudly.
"n-no wait im s-
" I SAID GET AWAY TATE" you clawed at his arms that were still bound to you, he seemed to panic and only pushed you roughly, you crashed against the drawer to the floor.
soon he was on you like an alligator in florida.
his hands griped you neck and his knees digging into your hips as he held you on the floor, anybodys first instinct when they're about to be strangled is to fight, to claw, to scratch and hit at his hands and face,
struggling and crying you screamed, the pleads being crushed as he tried to silence you.
you tried to scream his name, to beg hin to stop but it sounded so broken, you saw stars when he slammed your head against the floor, barely hearing the words he was saying with tears in his eyes, his cools tears dripped onto your cheeks to mix with your own. your head felt like it could've exploded.
"im only trying to love you."
he cried sounding confused but you barely could hear him, as you  flickered into darkness

james:

"how dare you disrespect me like that!" the following sting of his palm hitting your cheek didnt hurt as much as the tone of his voice.
the force staggered you enough to fall over near the beam in the hall, your hand flying to the stinging cheek.
you were a rat.
the snitch.
running miles per minute through the hotel in search of the women whose life you envied for so long, in hopes. thatyou could save it.
her hair still as peroxide blonde as ever, still as perfectly sculpted as it once had been in the 1930s. crimson lips curled into a smug smirk when you explained james desire to have her head on a stick, begging her to leave the hotel and never return.
as if she was shocked, she smiled.
you envied the countess, strong enough to keep her out of deaths grip and let her live furiously, the only thing glueing you and james together was that you both have been dead, a long, long, long, long time.
god dont let her die too
strong hands gripped you by the cuff of your cotton daydress, the whiplash as he tugged you off the floor towards him, your hearted pounded in your ears.
you didnt really think this far into the plan, james was far more obsessed with her than you were, she was more than anything, his crown jewel.
"he gave you the right to make decisions?" he gritted, at this stage james had probably pushed you out of windows at least 600 times, but you were scared.
"i- i- i did for us, i love you." you practically sobbed, he was gonna fucking kill you.
"LOVE? YOU WERE NEV- he resorted to hitting you again, the anger so thick he couldn't explain to you anything else, fuck love binch. afterwhich, he dropped you on the carpeted floor, this time you bolted away from him as he cursed loudly, punching holes into the walls erratically.
your tears running black, you nearly gave an old couple heart attacks when you ran by them, oh bother.
you dont where your running