Rose Grimm

hi guys! just a lil announcement that as we head into the holiday season, i am a RETAIL WORKER!
          
          so chapters are gonna be super slow since i’ll be busy with work and all that fun stuff 
          
          if you’re talking to me in my DMs i still love you, i’m just a corporate america drone now okay??
          
          i’m still gonna try to write! it’s just gonna be slow for the next couple months until february lol

Stop talking to me my dialogue doesn’t reach that far I’m an NPC not a story character. Talking to me longer than 2 minutes will not unlock a secret dialogue. 

Check it y’all im going to the fair this weekend ill let you know if any haunted fun houses happen.

Happy birthday to me :>

Nobody came for him.
          Nobody came when the monster that his father was wormed its way back again and again.
          
          Because there will never be a wall for you and him.
          
          Maybe this is wrong. Maybe it’s vile. He doesn’t care. Is it wrong? Is it wrong to want you so bad after what’s happened to him? He certainly doesn’t view it that way.
          
          You don’t see it yet—the way you fit perfectly into the hollow places he’s carried since he was small. Like you were poured into the cracks just to fill them up. Like you were made to patch the rot he can’t carve out.
          
          He tells himself he’s gentle, that he’s patient. But it’s getting harder to keep his hands to himself when you smile like that. When you laugh soft and tired like you trust him not to ruin it.
          
          Maybe that’s the part that keeps him awake. The trust. The knowledge that you don’t lock your windows all the way because it never occurred to you that someone like him exists.
          
          And he does.
          
          He exists because no one ever came.
          And now, no one will come for you either.
          
          Not when he finally steps out of the dark.
          Not when he decides it’s time to stop pretending he can stand the distance.
          
          Because he’s so tired of pretending.
          And you look so beautiful when you don’t know you’re being watched.
          2/2
          Chapter 7: Sugar and Scars

You grew up believing a locked door meant safety.
          
          He didn’t have that luxury.
          
          He learned early that locks are just an invitation. A flimsy little challenge to see who’s willing to turn the handle anyway. That’s what makes you so easy to watch—how sure you are that four deadbolts and a curtain will keep the monsters out.
          
          He’s not a monster, though. Not really. Just something shaped by worse things. By nights crouched in closets, breath held behind bitten knuckles, while voices slurred through the walls and footsteps dragged past the crack under the door.
          
          You remind him of the quiet he used to pray for.
          
          All that softness you wear like armor. The sweet, oblivious trust. Like you don’t realize he could step over your threshold right now and you’d never even hear the latch click.
          
          He wonders sometimes if you’d cry the first time. If you’d plead, or if you’d just go silent the way he did when the world taught him you can’t always be saved.
          
          And it should make him sorry. It should.
          
          But it doesn’t.
          
          It just makes him want you more.
          
          Because he knows the truth you’ve never had to learn:
          
          Nobody ever comes when you scream.
          1/2

I saw that.

Toby tries.
          He tries to be good.
          To be sweet. Normal. Patient.
          
          But you—
          Oh, you just keep testing him, don’t you?
          
          Wearing that little apron, spinning around the kitchen like some kind of dream. Like you’re not making his hands shake. Like he’s not standing there imagining what your whimpers sound like when no one’s around to hear.
          
          “Be good, Toby. Be good, Toby. Smile, nod, say thank you for the brownies—”
          They smell like vanilla and sin.
          
          You think he doesn’t notice?
          You think he doesn’t feel it?
          That heat crawling up the back of his neck when you lean over the counter, all soft and trusting?
          
          And your friends. Ohhh, your friends.
          So smug. So sweet. So fake.
          Whispering behind your back, smiling to your face.
          Calling you “crazy” when you know something’s wrong.
          
          They don’t deserve you.
          They never did.
          
          But Toby?
          Toby listens.
          Toby believes you.
          Toby would tear them apart for you. Limb by goddamn limb if it made you smile again.
          
          “I’ll be good, baby,” he mutters, knuckles white. “I’ll be good, I promise, just keep looking at me like that.”
          
          And if someone else lays a hand on you—
          If someone else makes you cry—
          Oh, they’ll see what good really looks like.
          

IM STILL ALIVE I SWEAR 

Chapter 4